Posts
Like a waterfall in slow motion, Part One
2 years ago
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
i eat pussy
i eat it for breakfast. i eat it for lunch. i eat it for dinner. i eat it for every meal in between. and when i feel like bingeing, i snack on it in bed.
pussy's an excellent diet to be on. it's no fuss. it's non-fattening. it's soul food. it doesn't give you gas. it doesn't get you constipated. and it loves to be eaten.
pussy's just yummy for a flat, flat tummy.
excuse me while i cough up a furball.
pussy's an excellent diet to be on. it's no fuss. it's non-fattening. it's soul food. it doesn't give you gas. it doesn't get you constipated. and it loves to be eaten.
pussy's just yummy for a flat, flat tummy.
excuse me while i cough up a furball.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
every morning you leave me
small and wise
i say goodbye to thookie the cat every morning by giving her instructions on how to spend the day without me
1. thoda khelna
2. thoda khana khana
3. thoda pooja karna
4. thoda poopoo karna
5. thoda safaee karna
ok? bye booboo
i say goodbye to thookie the cat every morning by giving her instructions on how to spend the day without me
1. thoda khelna
2. thoda khana khana
3. thoda pooja karna
4. thoda poopoo karna
5. thoda safaee karna
ok? bye booboo
rumble in the tropical jungle
i was gonna burn up the race track on Sunday morning. reached the venue for the Nike Human race Traning Run venue looking like a real pro in professional running gear, sunglasses, my ipod touch. as newbie type runners and older people threw envious glances in my direction, the golden tints from my hair shone.
the run started off with me in the front row (having positioned myself there strategically by chatting with the guys from racers toolbox). we ran on cobbled stone paths along the river.
soon the sun was out in full glory and the others were starting to catch up...i decided to put in that little bit extra to propel myself just a wee bit faster and as i did so, i felt something stir inside me...something deep, primal and....smelly
could this really be happening? i needed a fire in my stomach, but the only one i could summon was this? i ran harder pushed forward by the need to be near civilisation and amenities. but the harder i ran, the more it burnt
the cleaners at the pub area were just about finishing with their morning duties, cleaning the place of the bacchanalian detritus from the previous night when i reached, unaware that i was about to render all their effort and toil meaningless.
and i did...three kilos of pushing and heaving, six presses of the fancy flush button and ten minutes from a twenty minute run later
and as i left the toilet i left behind me three things- my bravado, a stench that reached high heavens and my position in the run. i finished last but i had gained for myself one thing which made it all worth it- a sense of satisfaction so deep it came from my stomach
the run started off with me in the front row (having positioned myself there strategically by chatting with the guys from racers toolbox). we ran on cobbled stone paths along the river.
soon the sun was out in full glory and the others were starting to catch up...i decided to put in that little bit extra to propel myself just a wee bit faster and as i did so, i felt something stir inside me...something deep, primal and....smelly
could this really be happening? i needed a fire in my stomach, but the only one i could summon was this? i ran harder pushed forward by the need to be near civilisation and amenities. but the harder i ran, the more it burnt
the cleaners at the pub area were just about finishing with their morning duties, cleaning the place of the bacchanalian detritus from the previous night when i reached, unaware that i was about to render all their effort and toil meaningless.
and i did...three kilos of pushing and heaving, six presses of the fancy flush button and ten minutes from a twenty minute run later
and as i left the toilet i left behind me three things- my bravado, a stench that reached high heavens and my position in the run. i finished last but i had gained for myself one thing which made it all worth it- a sense of satisfaction so deep it came from my stomach
Thursday, July 24, 2008
i'm no pee wee league
there are essentially two kinds of people in this world. there are the ones who pee and the ones who can’t.
there is dignity in pooping if you are indian. we have been bought up answering with the whole truth and nothing but the truth to solicitous enquiries about our bowel movements. my family doctor for example, simply and effectively dispelled all ice with this startlingly evocative conversation starter - "totti kiya?" potty was what my oldest friend's grandmother and i bonded over. she'd tell me all about hers and since she was hard of hearing and refused to endager the battery life of her hearing aid by switching it on, i listened. enthralled. i recently ran into a long time acquaintance and the first thing he enquired about was whether i was still constipated. my boss and i have discussed the relative aesthetic lent to poop by a dinner of boiled beet vs. spinach soup.
potty comes up without fail between colleagues, friends, family, lovers. it’s not one of those mechanical ‘how’s it going’ questions either. when we talk about potty, we delve. we discuss frequency, colour, consistency, aroma, past history, there in no such thing as too much detail. we compare notes, take note of achievements. congratulate each other, worry about each other, share tips and tricks. it's a secret indian socialization ritual. after all there's little you can get hoity toity about post comparing notes on the morning's ablutions.
as a chronic constipative, i have been at the recieving end of much admiration and approval every time i poop. it goes without saying that this is a phenomenon has greatly endeared it to me.
peeing is different. the first sound i associate with peeing is 'cheee!' (most likely because i'd just had my evil way with my mother's sparkling sofa) and this has stayed the soundtrack to peeing in a part of my head that has receded beyond logic and reason.
my maid's two year old comes home every morning, pees copiously just outside the loo and looks at me beaming with relief and well, a certain sense of achievement i suppose. and all i have to say to this happy little girl is cheeee! i drive to work and count off what seems to be the entire male population of the city marking territory along the road and i'm thinking, cheeee! i get to work, reluctantly answer to the call of my bladder, find no toilet paper and believe me for the rest of the day, i feel cheee! i get home, put away my work stuff, wash up and settle down in the couch for a nice evening of mind numbing reality tv only to find myself sitting in about a litre of cat pee. i look the culprit in the eye and pointing to my wet bottom and ruined cushion cover solemnly say to him, look what you have done, cheeee! this now, is the culmination of the entire day’s face offs with peeing because the cat knows exactly what he's done and he's ok with it. he looks down his pink nose at me and advises me to check on the condition of the litter box, cheee!
the fact is, i’m a proud pooper and a mortified pee-er. i’m struck with admiration when killer phuss tells of her final consecration of rome international airport. and i cringe every time i realize that somewhere in the security system of one of the nation’s leading banks, there is a video of me desperately desecrating an atm kiosk. it’s true that i’ll do just about anything to avoid peeing and that i’ll pay handsomely for the pleasure of having someone else do it instead. i can’t help it. after a lifetime of constipation, it’s enough to no longer be anal retentive. to expect me to confront my vagina in the throes of a watershed is just asking too much, killer phuss!
there is dignity in pooping if you are indian. we have been bought up answering with the whole truth and nothing but the truth to solicitous enquiries about our bowel movements. my family doctor for example, simply and effectively dispelled all ice with this startlingly evocative conversation starter - "totti kiya?" potty was what my oldest friend's grandmother and i bonded over. she'd tell me all about hers and since she was hard of hearing and refused to endager the battery life of her hearing aid by switching it on, i listened. enthralled. i recently ran into a long time acquaintance and the first thing he enquired about was whether i was still constipated. my boss and i have discussed the relative aesthetic lent to poop by a dinner of boiled beet vs. spinach soup.
potty comes up without fail between colleagues, friends, family, lovers. it’s not one of those mechanical ‘how’s it going’ questions either. when we talk about potty, we delve. we discuss frequency, colour, consistency, aroma, past history, there in no such thing as too much detail. we compare notes, take note of achievements. congratulate each other, worry about each other, share tips and tricks. it's a secret indian socialization ritual. after all there's little you can get hoity toity about post comparing notes on the morning's ablutions.
as a chronic constipative, i have been at the recieving end of much admiration and approval every time i poop. it goes without saying that this is a phenomenon has greatly endeared it to me.
peeing is different. the first sound i associate with peeing is 'cheee!' (most likely because i'd just had my evil way with my mother's sparkling sofa) and this has stayed the soundtrack to peeing in a part of my head that has receded beyond logic and reason.
my maid's two year old comes home every morning, pees copiously just outside the loo and looks at me beaming with relief and well, a certain sense of achievement i suppose. and all i have to say to this happy little girl is cheeee! i drive to work and count off what seems to be the entire male population of the city marking territory along the road and i'm thinking, cheeee! i get to work, reluctantly answer to the call of my bladder, find no toilet paper and believe me for the rest of the day, i feel cheee! i get home, put away my work stuff, wash up and settle down in the couch for a nice evening of mind numbing reality tv only to find myself sitting in about a litre of cat pee. i look the culprit in the eye and pointing to my wet bottom and ruined cushion cover solemnly say to him, look what you have done, cheeee! this now, is the culmination of the entire day’s face offs with peeing because the cat knows exactly what he's done and he's ok with it. he looks down his pink nose at me and advises me to check on the condition of the litter box, cheee!
the fact is, i’m a proud pooper and a mortified pee-er. i’m struck with admiration when killer phuss tells of her final consecration of rome international airport. and i cringe every time i realize that somewhere in the security system of one of the nation’s leading banks, there is a video of me desperately desecrating an atm kiosk. it’s true that i’ll do just about anything to avoid peeing and that i’ll pay handsomely for the pleasure of having someone else do it instead. i can’t help it. after a lifetime of constipation, it’s enough to no longer be anal retentive. to expect me to confront my vagina in the throes of a watershed is just asking too much, killer phuss!
jopee at five years of age
papa to jopee: jopee tootee aayi? (tootee=susu=pee)
jopee to papa: haan aayi. tara do na
jopee to papa: haan aayi. tara do na
a regular ray of sunshine
today was a rainy day. i went all the way across town and back, had a beer for lunch, watched a movie, drove back home, fought with two people over the telephone, made 4 phone calls, missed 3 phone calls, bought cat food for the cats and dog food for the building stray, got sopping wet getting from the car to my building, cooked dinner, watched three reruns on tv. and nothing happened.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Gobar Granger: The Lone Ranger of the Cowbelt
i've been working on this proposal for some client at work and it requires me to talk about this price elasticity calculation technique called the "Gabor Granger method", the first part of which is very cool nordic sounding and sexy (remember zsa zsa gabor?).
but for some reason i cant seem to restrain the cowbelt dweller in me (a skill it has taken me a lifteime to acquire) who goes on embarassing herself and everyone around by referring to it as the "Gobar Granger Method"
but for some reason i cant seem to restrain the cowbelt dweller in me (a skill it has taken me a lifteime to acquire) who goes on embarassing herself and everyone around by referring to it as the "Gobar Granger Method"
in all honesty,
this here is our deepest fantasy. this is what we want to stun you with when you surprise us in the raw. this is what we look like to ourselves in our mirrors in the lazy light of dusk and sunday afternoons.
this here is jopee. this is what we inevitably do look at in the raw. this is also our fantasy. i have no idea why. maybe it's that stunning smile, maybe its the mood lighting...
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
aspiring intellectuals, closet idiots
grr: ok, think of a 'expressive sound' kind of name for yourself
???: paun
grr: paun? as in thuski?
???: the n is a nasal sound.
grr: heh heh spell it better... what about thussss?
???: what about...pau(n)? its not thuss...its paun.
???: the onomatoepic paun
grr: heh! can i call you 'its not thuss, its paun'
???:...
???: actually youre right. im more thuss than paun
grr: how about psst?!?
???: that sounds too much like psst
grr: you are the lethal silent bomber
???: ok just call me the silent bomber
grr: phussss?
killer phuss: i am killer phuss
???: paun
grr: paun? as in thuski?
???: the n is a nasal sound.
grr: heh heh spell it better... what about thussss?
???: what about...pau(n)? its not thuss...its paun.
???: the onomatoepic paun
grr: heh! can i call you 'its not thuss, its paun'
???:...
???: actually youre right. im more thuss than paun
grr: how about psst?!?
???: that sounds too much like psst
grr: you are the lethal silent bomber
???: ok just call me the silent bomber
grr: phussss?
killer phuss: i am killer phuss
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