THE INCREDIBLE SULK AND THE LOVE SHOVE

The Incredible Sulk's biggest challenge to date has been to eat that last piece of Tibbs frankie without turning the front of his t-shirt into a chicken curry plate. The last annoying piece smirking at you, taunting you as it sits ensconced in its plastic womb.

And exactly as the evil, sadistic people at Tibbs with their stupid paper hats had planned, the biggest piece of chicken with melted cheese has sunk to that last morsel of frankie. But this blogpost is not about how I think the Tibbs people plan to take over the world by distracting us with impossible to eat last frankie morsels...

(At this point the Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend thanks God that I don't hold a position of any power. Little does she know how upset the Big Boys in their leather chairs get when they don't get their morning dose of caffeine.)

So, the Incredible Sulk while obviously, not afraid of big challenges has never really been faced with a REAL challenge; thanks in good measure to Nature's wisdom of giving the weak, appropriate weapons to defend itself. In the Incredible Sulk's case, body odour.

So imagine when the Incredible Sulk's slightly underdeveloped brain was confronted with this concept of Love. At the best of times, three-letter words confound the Incredible Sulk.

You see, at the time when people's parents tell them,

"I hope you're using protection,"

The Incredible Sulk was being questioned,

"Why has the internet bill come so high this month?"

So at first when the Sulk (we already know how Incredible he is) felt this feeling in the pit of his stomach he thought it was his stomach's way of telling him that there definitely was something wrong with the Chinese bhel he had just consumed. And then the feeling moved southward and the Sulk KNEW it was his stomach's way of telling him that there WAS something wrong with that Chinese bhel.

So you see what I meant by confusing. The first time the Sulk felt the Love Shove, he wasn't sure if it was diarrhea or Love.

But worry not my lovesick confused puppies. Soiled underwear and Love are not connected. Unless...well...we won't stray down that path....

The Incredible Sulk HAS felt love, and although the aforementioned incident will not inspire confidence, the fact is you lovesick puppies are in love with girls way outta your league and you will listen to any Love Shove advice anybody gives you.

So beginning now...The Incredible Sulk starts his new segment called,

THE LOVE SHOVE

That's right. All 16 of my readers (Official ratings now put this blog higher than the "Where is Ricky Martin?" blog and "Is Virginia Woolf a canine sub-species and if so who killed them off?" blog) can now write in with their love queries and get rather unsatisfactory answers.

Leave a comment and I will get back to you. As the Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend proves, he does know a thing or two about love.

Oh.

That's what they mean by irony.

THE INCREDIBLE SULK'S INCREDIBLY LATE MOVIE REVIEW - DIE HARD 4

First there was Die Hard 1.

("Naturally," says the Incredible Sulk's imaginary girlfriend, "otherwise it'd be called Die Hard 2.")

The Incredible Sulk's imaginary girlfriend is a bit ticked off. She got the entire Die Hard die cast original DVD set as an anniversary present. And she's not so sure it was from the heart. I try telling her, she's imaginary, what good would diamond earrings do? But she wants to go to a marriage counselor. I tell her, that the only counselors that would listen to me rave about my imaginary girlfriend would be the ones that would interview me behind a glass screen in a room with padded walls....

But I am straying from the point.

First there was Die Hard 1. It made being bald cool. Then there was Die Hard 2. It made being bald and 40 look cool.

Then there was Die Hard 3. Die Hard 3 was more an "improvement" on the first two movies. As much as you can improve on the-wild-bald-guy-shooting-theme. I would compare it to taking a simlie such as, "like a little boy in a candy store," and changing it to "like a little boy in a Triumph store."

Then you sat back in your wooden rocking chair, smoking your pipe, overlooking your cotton plantation, and you wake up from your dream, and realise you're not an integral part of the British colonial empire in India. You still wonder what you're doing in an 1890s British army costume with a half-finished bottle of rum lying next to your bedside table. In this reverie you say to yourself, they definitely will not come out with a Die Hard 4. For one, Bruce Willis is now an exhibit in the Natural History Museum. Plus after the first three Die Hard movies, you think all those Eastern European idiots who underestimated John McLane would know better by now. And hopefully got a speech coach.

However Die Hard 4 brings you a new villain. A son of the soil. No, he's not Maharashtrian! He is in fact, an American. His name, Thomas Gabriel. No! He's not Mallu either!

As an Indian watching this movie, you will not spend your time trying to decipher Thomas Gabriel's descendants. You will instead spend your time, drooling over Maggie Q. The minds of people who have not watched this movie will immediately revert to a limited edition of a two-minute noodle. I assure all 10 people(viewership is up 50%!) who read my blog...Maggie Q is a much tastier dish. She dies in the middle though. So you might wanna stop watching at about 01:09:12.

If one looks beyond the mindless shooting and the hot villainous chick, one can see what the director is trying to convey throughout the movie. That eternal message of immortality; because Bruce Willis just cannot die.

Let me prove this point. There is an F-22 Raptor fighter jet in the movie that is firing wildly at a truck Bruce Willis is driving. The F-22 Raptor is invisible to radar, impossible to trace and will be the US Air Force's formeost fighter jet. However, the good men at the plane-making place thing forgot to make it Bruce Willis resistant. Watch the movie, you'll see.

Last heard, the Chinese were contacting black market arms dealers looking for a weapon they called, Thee Broos Weeleese.

There is another message the director is trying to convey through this theme of immortality. And that is...the sequel. Expect Die Hard 5.0. And a 70-year-old Bruce Willis. With a walker. That has in-built machine guns.

THE INCREDIBLE SULK'S RAMBLINGS

The Incredible Sulk has long sat and pondered on his Throne. A majestic throne it was. Made of green emerald and inscribed with the words Parryware. It was in the process of these ponderings that was born...The Incredible Sulk's Ramblings.

The Incredible Sulk, for example, has always wondered why people ask him, "Whassup?" and then walk away when he is the middle of a sentence. For the Incredible Sulk will start of with by telling the questioning authority the state of this morning's bowel movement but lose the attention of said questioning authority before he even touches lightly upon the subject of roughage.

The Incredible Sulk soon realised that MAYBE, bowel movement wasn't the ideal subject to start of a "whassup?" answer with. So he changed tack. Rather clever of him. So he started of with what he thought of the country's political situation. He had a "Behind-every-Manmohan-Singh-is-a-Sonia-with-a-whip" joke. He even had a "Mr Karat-can-you-move-a-bit-to-the-right-please". But before he could even utter the words, the questioning authority rode off into the sunset.

The Incredible Sulk was rather puzzled. He was bluer than a Pepsi ad on an Indian cricket jersey. But he was not one to give up easily.

So the next time he was asked what was up, he gave said questioning authority a taste of his own medicine.

"Whassup?," he bellowed, shaking the very foundations of the questioning authority's toupee. Unbelievably, with a nod, the said questioning authority was once more off into the sunset leaving behind a trail of goat droppings.

It was then that it struck the Incredible Sulk that, "Whassup?" had in fact replaced, the greeting "Hey," that had replaced the 80s greeting "Hi," that had replaced the primitive greeting of bashing your friend on the head with a crude club. So the only proper response to "Whassup?" was another "Whassup" in return.

Only after solving this and the answer to time travel, did the Incredible Sulk stop rambling.

The Incredible Sulk is not Incredible for no little reason.

And the answer to time travel is Roy Orbison. Not 42. Or that movie with the car and Micheal Fox.

THE INCREDIBLE SULK'S CRYSTAL BALLS - 2

However this may sound to you...

Welcome to another edition of the Incredible Sulk's Crystal Balls. For a better understanding please refer to the following link:

http://onparoleinmarol.blogspot.com/2011/01/incredible-sulks-crystal-balls-1.html

For the five of you who already know what I'm talking about, here it is:

-Following the success of the 2G, 3G and 4G scam, a new scam will hit India.

The G-string scam.

But(t) naturally, it will be difficult to keep it under wraps. The scam will involve a couple of politicians who conned prospective buyers into thinking that they were buying into a very narrow telecom spectrum. Many will be caught with their pants down.

-Lady Gaga will finally be declared mentally unstable. She will be diagnosed with new illness. It will be called "Popokerface." No one will be able to read it.

-Lindsay Lohan and Amy Winehouse will open a rehabilitation centre. So no one will "try to make them go to rehab." Hence, they won't have to say "nooo, nooo, no."

-Saurav Ganguly will play for the Jaipur Jockstraps in the 67th edition of the IPL. He will then wake up from his dream, and realise its the year 2074. And that he's a 102 years old.

-Miley Cyrus, after 50 botox injections to keep her sweet, innocent, annoying girl-like smile, will be dubbed Smiley Cyrus and spur a thousand different emoticons.

THE INCREDIBLE SULK'S CRYSTAL BALLS - 1

Why crystal balls, why the plural you ask? is he just another dirty bugger, a sick pervert? The answer is, if the Incredible Sulk had one crystal ball to look into, he would use the singular form of the noun. However, he has two.

And without any further ado, here are some of the Incredible Sulk's predictions for the future.

-Cosmetic companies will come out with a new face wash, that is anti-pimple, anti-ageing, anti-blackhead, anti-aircraft, anti-war, sunscreen, Chinese screen, and will help with your sinus. Upon application of the cream, your head blows up, thereby solving all your facial problems.

-In the future, we will not have cricket matches, interspersed with commercials. Instead, we will have commercials interspersed with cricket matches. Channels will deem dotballs, wides, singles, twos and threes to mundane and boring to air. Hence they will only show the match when a batsman hits a four or a six, or when someone gets out. In this scenario, Yusuf Pathan will be made obsolete (and will probably be dead since it is 2050) since the channels will have advertising revenue in mind and Rahul Dravid will come out of retirement.

MY PRIVATE'S DETECTIVE - Part 1

The windows were dirty. He liked the windows dirty. It helped him make sex jokes. If a pretty lady walked in he would say, " You like my dirty windows?" She wouldn't understand, but it was worth a try. Private detectives were endowed with humour the way Keira Knightely was generally endowed. Not much there. Not the way the woman walking into his office was endowed.

In a red strapless number with high heels that put the sex in sex appeal, she said, "Hmmm, your windows are dirty..."

His heart skipped a beat.

"I have a case for you to solve," she said.

"Oh I'll solve your case alright," he said, taking a suggestive step towards her.

She took a suggestive step back.

They did this little dance for awhile till they had done a full round of the room. Then after realising they weren't getting anywhere with this they got down to business.

"You know Lois?" she asked.

"Lois and me go way back. "

"How far back?"

"Real far back. When Nsync were all straight. That far back."

"Good so you know Lois," she said, wasting time, money, and electricity.

"In fact," he said, giving his i'm-about-to-make-a-sex-joke-sneer, "I've been down Lois' lane, if you know what I mean."

"Lois is a guy," she said.

He would sneer no more.

She could turn him on and off like that small red button on one of those cheap Chinese toys.

And he LIKED it.

"Lets get back on the case," she said.

"I'd like to get on yo...Oh. I already said that," he stuttered. She liked him like this. On his knees, metaphorically, that is.

"Anyway Lois stole something from me."

"And what exactly did Lois steal?," he asked picturing a mud wrestling match between these two girls, before realising Lois was a guy.

"She stole a pair of antique pantyhose, worn by Queen Something the five hundredth and Something. In the Invasion of No-Undy. It was a commando mission"

"Aah," he concluded, pretending to understand, but picturing something completely different.

"I need you to find it and place it back in the Underwear and Banyaan Hall of Fame," she cried, desperate for his help.

AND SO BEGAN...

"MY PRIVATE'S DETECTIVE"

ALL PUNS INTENDED

BLOODY STEREOTYPES MEN

It sucks being a stereotype. It really does. And in India every community has its own stereotype.

The Marvadis say EmmCee Donald; Tamilians live solely on a diet of sambhar and idli; people from the North-East eat dogs; the roads in UP and Bihar are red in colour (from all the paan); all Parsis are at least half-crack; you could find more oil on a Mallu's head than in Saudi Arabia.

The list is endless. I could go on. And I will.

The Anglo-Indians think they are direct descendants of King Edward the who cares; Bengalis have eaten all the fish in the Hooghly; Bengalis all know either one form of classical music or dance or do something intellectual; Punjabi=lassi; all Biharis cars are painted yellow and black and are called "rickshaws"in Mumbai.

But possibly the worst community to be affected by stereotypia (© The Incredible Sulk) are the Goans. You shake your head in disbelief and you scream "WTF!" but the mental image you are forming in your head is one of a short unshaved man, in shorts with one of the those "palm tree" t-shirts, and a bottle of alcoholic nature, the consumption of which would lead him to lie down on a beach and go off to sleep. And to you I say, tsk-tsk (no, ignorant fool, it is not a fly that gives you sleeping sickness; that's tse-tse! This is a me shaking my head in disbelief at you woeful ignorance)

The Goans have for many decades been the victim of stereotypia (© The Incredible Sulk). It is now time for me to dispel those myths and come to the aid of those alcoho-I mean Goans.

Firstly, don't associate Goans with beer and rum. This is wrong. You associate them with cashew feni! Any Goan worth his alcoholic content, drinks cashew feni. Now I don't mean that Goans only drink cashew feni. But in the words of the Wise Goan, "A Goan who doesn't drink cashew feni is like a gentle breeze without a face to breeze upon. Like a fart that goes unheard and unsmel-". We're going to stop the Wise Goan right there for I think you get the big picture.

Another common myth is a Goan's favourite food. When you think Goan, you think pork vindaloo (so named because after a good plateful, the only place you're headed next is a bathroom; vindaloo originated from ancient Portuguese word indaloo which meant "to relieve oneself"). A Goan's favourite food is sorpatel. The very mention of the name is enough to send Goans into a feeding frenzy that would put piranhas to shame. Those little heavenly pieces of piggy soaked in a red spicy-sweet gravy that (if by now you're mouth isn't watering, your taste buds have been shot to hell, or you're one of those vegetarian thingies) that heavenly pieces of piggy soak in. The Wise Goan, whose front is now messed up by him slobbering over a plate of sorpatel, says with his mouth full, "Mmf jdsh reybsh dssdks." We understand oh Wise one. We understand.

Those of you who don't understand, well....get yourself a plate of sorpatel and you will.

Also it is entirely untrue that Goans don't "suit up," and roam around Goa in a sad imitation of California-surfer-boy-bermudas. As is the myth that we wear shirts that have palm trees and the setting sun on them. It's usually the rising sun. And seeing as half of Goa is involved in the hospitality industry and the other half work on cruise ships, this is a silly assumption.

You reel under the weight of these revelations, and you catch at things nearby to steady yourself, which is why The Incredible Sulk (who loves talking about himself in the third person) shall spare you any more stunning myth-busting awesomeness for now. To all those of you afflicted with stereotypia (© The Incredible Sulk), be very wary. The time has arrived for stereotypes to burst out of their shells. For the stereotyped to cast away their burden, and other dramatic stuff like that.

I leave you with words from the Wise Goan," Nothing like anything. Impossible is nothing."

While this might not make much sense now, it will when the Wise Goan signs a multi-million dollar deal to endorse a new entrant in the mobile phone market and a another multi-million dollar deal with a sportswear manufacturer.

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER AT BOTTOM OF PAGE

The Incredible Sulk is an extremely secular person and loves fluffy kittens and walks on the beach and the above stereotypes were provided for humour and not to offend any communities' sensibilities. So don't kill me or anything.