:(

It is hard to explain how the Incredible Sulk is feeling at this point in time. There are probably words in the English dictionary that aptly capture the emotion...but I don't know them so I will subject you to a long-winded simile adapted from that 3 major motion picture book- The Lord Of The Rings.

I understand dear reader, that you probably chanced upon my blog completely by accident while you trawled the internet. That's entirely YOUR problem dear reader. You should refine your searches. Now that you're here, you WILL listen.

Picture if you will a Morgul Orc, working his way up the grimy crude wooden ladder that is Mordor. After years of toiling he's finally close to making Senior Assistant Scumbag, only to find that a small man with hairy feet named Elijah Wood has gone and dropped his ring in a mountain, rendering his years of toil utterly hopeless. 

Apart from red-hot anger towards small men, midgets and hairy feet, there is a sense of despair. That dear reader is how the Incredible Sulk feels. Except for the midgets and hairy feet part.

ELIJAAAAAAAAAH!!!! 

You see dear reader, the Incredible Sulk's sulking is largely due to the fact that Adele is just Neil Diamond with curves and that the world's grammar is quickly and surely disappearing down the shithole. And to prove my point, none of you buggers wondered whether shithole was one or two words.

All his life the Incredible Sulk learned the difference between a preposition and a proposition. And which would be appropriate where. It speaks volumes of the patience of the Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend when the Incredible Sulk used a preposition instead of a proposition to prove his love for her.  

It unnerves the Incredible Sulk to see a 2 where to or too should be or the emoticon for a cow and poop for the word bullshit. Researchers at the (where else) Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department recently came out with a study that wasn't published anywhere. In that study dear reader, they believed they had found evidence that life had come full circle for humanity. From paintings on the wall and hieroglyphs in Egypt to actual words to emoticons or emojis. Decades from now when life from other planets land on Earth they will find polar bears standing on small floes of ice and semi colons and parentheses on communication devices and KNOW that they've found a lower life form. They will also find The Incredible Sulk's internet history which they should delete immediately. 
(No darling, those lingerie ads on the side are random)

You see, his whole life The Incredible Sulk has studied the works of Shakespeare and Deadmau5 intently. The former to improve The Incredible Sulk's English and the latter to look for signs of dyslexia, for the Incredible Sulk gets Taare Zameen Par vibes from the way he writes his name. Naturally Th3 Incredibl3 Su1k thought that studying the works of Shakespeare would automatically make him superior than everyone else. And that that would lead to better job prospects. That plan has gone to shit. Or as Generation Zzzzzz says...sh1t.

After killing Deadmau 1 to 4...

So now, like an out-of-work Morgul Orc, The Incredible Sulk must plod through this grammatically incorrect life. Probably stand by the side of the ride with a sign, "Will work for...THE BETTERMENT OF YOUR GRAMMAR! BOOYAH!

ALL (CRYSTAL) BALLS

The Incredible Sulk is a Gemini. He is the very symbol of duality for he is blessed with two hands, two eyes and ears and two unmentionables located below his waist.

Dirty guttery minds abound as The Incredible Sulk hears his reader say "The b*lls on this one..."But no dear reader (or more likely reader looking for another site with similar name), The Incredible Sulk speaks of his legs as unmentionables for his leg hair forms intricate patterns, that would drive Madame Tussad bonkers were she to try and replicate them on one of her waxed statues. Or wax statues for that matter.

Back to the matter at hand. The Incredible Sulk is a Gemini. Armed with this knowledge, you'd expect the Incredible Sulk to hit the tabloids with gusto, looking immediately for the horoscopes page where the soothsayers would predict that The Incredible Sulk's destiny today lies in brushing his teeth counter-clockwise.

But no dear reader! The Incredible Sulk detests these soothsayers, these fake fortune tellers!! Pray tell, harbingers of doom why thee wreck havoc on people's lives? Examples abound as to the wordplay of these fiendish fellows.

Aries. Known also by the name...Mutton.

Take for example the man who reads his horoscope "...allow the loving and caring side to be visible..." and finds his pants ripped of by an active escalator to reveal shaved legs. Or the man who never saw it coming when it said "...your two ruling planets collide today..." and his mother and wife got into a fistfight as to whose bread pakodas killed off Dadaji. Perhaps the man whose horoscope read "...your karmic cycle supports family matters..." never really thought he would have to transport half his bloodline on a cycle rickshaw because the car breaks down. Or the man who read the grammatically incorrect "...you may have to be patient today..." found himself on the surgical table because of appendicitis. 

But dear reader, the most evilest of the fortune tellers is that end-of-meal, bowel inducing, bum clenching thing called...The Fortune Cookie.

Now it isn't like The Incredible Sulk to quiver in the face of nonsensical-ness but imagine his disgust when after a rather satisfying buffet when he opens up his fortune cookie and it reads "...delay a major purchase, a better deal is coming...."  What is that supposed to mean?

Are you telling me dear fortune cookie that I shouldn't have eaten this meal (AFTER I've consumed it by the way) and instead gone to the neighbourhood seekh kebabwala? Or perhaps you speak of the pair of shoes I was about to buy online with coupon code GODADDY31. Will you please specify?

I know of a dear, very hypothetical friend whose fortune cookie read "...an unexpected relationship will become permanent..." The next thing this very hypothetical friend knows, he has gone and quick-glued his hand to his crotch. I see you sneer dear reader and then immediately grimace as you realise what relationship this said hypothetical friend shared with his crotch. I ask you to keep up dear reader. Do stop being a dumbass.

A Misfortune Cookie

The Incredible Sulk of course does not put much faith in these readings. He has his own fortune teller. The Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend however is more of a teller than a fortune teller.

"Yes dear. I know you said argyle socks dear. They just happen to have gargoyles on them dear. No dear, I know you didn't mean gargoyle socks dear."

THE ASIAN GUY...WILL DIE.

The Incredible Sulk has a grouch. Oh and what a grouch he is....Has!

When the Incredible Sulk has a grouch he indulges in all sorts of nefarious activities that can be blamed on the neighbour's dog. The Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Expensive Therapist refers to these as The Incidents That Shall Not Be Named. However The Incredible Sulk has a creeping suspicion. The Incredible Sulk doesn't know what the creeping suspicion is yet. It's still creeping up on him. There's a reason the Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Expensive Therapist is...expensive.

But this isn't why the Incredible Sulk is ticked off. Indeed no! What, then you might say, has got the Incredible Sulk's chaddis in a knot. Is it perhaps the inability to decide whether to capitalize the 'The' before the Incredible Sulk. But once more you'd be far off the mark. Like a drunk William Tell.

The Incredible Sulk's concerns this time are far greater than any one individuals' problems with capital letters. The Incredible Sulk is afraid dear reader(s?). Very afraid. A disturbing trend seems to have hit The Movie Makers in Hollywood. The Dead Asian Guy.

The Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department found that in 90% of movies the Asian Guy is the first to kick the bucket.*
*(The movies the Incredible Sulk polled were Gravity, Fast & The Furious series and Bambi)

There are several flaws The Incredible Sulk sees in this. For one, Asia has two of the most populous countries in the world. We didn't get there by dying. First, last or anytime. The Incredible Sulk has on more than one occasion had less than a centimetre to go through the upheaveals (and downheavals) of breathing in a local Mumbai train. The Incredible Sulk fondly remembers the time he was a bonny baby in a Borivali (#whothoughtthatcouldbecomean alliteration) local and his hand was pushed by sheer force of humanity onto a the rear cheek of an elderly gentlemen. The Incredible Sulk needed therapy to wipe the elderly gentleman's ensuing smile from his memory. But the Incredible Sulk deviates from the topic like a politician caught with his lungi down but doesn't want to answer questions from Arnab about it. Asians don't die fast. And they shouldn't be dying first in movies. If Asians know one thing, it is how to survive. In a Borivali local. At 8:30 pm. On a Monday. With creepy elderly gentlemen leering.

Secondly, and more importantly, Asians are way smarter than the tanned Westerner one chances upon in Dharavi getting ripped off buying leather bags. In any given movie we're more often than not, the ones who invented the software/hardware/rainwear that ultimately leads to our untimely demise. You'd think with the number of software engineers we churn out that we'd safeguard against these killer viruses that somehow manifest themselves physically and kill...Asians. In RaOne.

The Asian Guy also caps it first in Gravity. A movie with 4 characters. A movie in which one of  the characters is "The Voice From NASA." The Incredible Sulk fears that embedded in such movies is a not-so-subtle message that Asians are weak and stupid and due to their diminutive stature should pop it first. This the Incredible Sulk feels this is all rather silly. The Asian Guy is not the one floating around in space. With George Clooney's ghost.

At this point the Incredible Sulk feels he should have indicated that there would be spoilers ahead. But he didn't feel like it. The Incredible Sulk in this regard is a cinematic sociopath and firmly believes if you haven't already seen Gravity you should drop that bag of Cheetos and do 10 rounds of your local park. Coz chances are, you're a fatty.

The Incredible Sulk feels at this juncture he has rambled on enough. And he would like to doff his hat or in this case his red skull cap to Jackie Chan. The only Asian guy who manages to remain alive THROUGHOUT his movies. Mostly because he produces them.

Jackie Chan. He can punch through...paper.

He's so alive he manages to even do blooper reels at the end of his movies. So the Incredible Sulk doffs his cap at him. And Shahrukh Khan. Another Asian who refuses to die in movies he produces.

THE INCREDIBLE SULK RETURNS AND SHIT

The Incredible Sulk isn't exactly the brightest bulb in whatever the collective noun for a group of lightbulbs is. At the best of times he walks around with a dull, dim-witted expression on his face. That sort of hangdog look on his face. Quite what a hangdog is the Incredible Sulk doesn't know. Possibly some sort of doggy executioner. He worries not with trivial matters such as these, safe in the knowledge that such is the expression on his face.

But bright and sharp aren't attributes the Incredible Sulk is attributed with (the Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend noddingly interjects, knowingly stroking her chin; She has much to say on the matter).

(But it's MY blog so Booyah!!!)

The Incredible Sulk's dim witted expression is hard to fathom you say. Well...picture if you will a man of average intelligence. Now ask him how Sharukh Khan and rickshaw drivers who don't want to go anywhere make money. That fair maidens and scruffy looking men is what the Incredible Sulk's permanent face-state is. So it's little wonder then that when The Incredible Sulk (who is slave to autocorrect who is master of when the 'T' in the Incredible Sulk is uppercase, lowercase etc etc) is ridiculed frequently. How could they?!?! my loyal reader(s?) cries. Blasphemy! you spew forth, drowning The Incredible Sulk's enemies in a flood of your spittle. Foul! you cry, little knowing this isn't a game of football and you're looking at the wrong screen my dear befuddled chap.

But it is true dear reader. Sad, but true.

In recent times-like today-The Incredible Sulk was ridiculed for deriving philosophy from a movie that intellectuals believed was far beneath their plane of thought. A plane of thought of Ship of Theseus and Thateus. A movie that The Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department dubbed "This Season's Most Watched Movie That Will Only End Next Season." Far beneath the plane of intellectual thought that included a movie like "Lincoln", said to be "Movie That Shouldn't Be Watched While Operating Heavy Machinery" & "Movie That Should Have Remained A Car" by The Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department.

Lincoln.
Navigator. 

These very same intellectuals scoffed at The Incredible Sulk for putting forth the theory that there might be some philosophy in After Earth. They scoffed dear reader and sniffed their noses in that haughty way, haughty people sniff and scoff. They put a dainty index finger and manicured thumb through a fine china cup of tea and drank deeply. They dipped cream scones and dusted the crumbs onto The Incredible Sulk's face. They thought his mouth wasn't open. Ha!

A Haughty Man. Umm..Woman. Basically A Haughty. 

The Incredible Sulk's apparent folly was to use a quote from the Will Smith & Family starrer that ran as such:
"Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. That is near insanity. Do not misunderstand me danger is very real but fear is a choice."
The Incredible Sulk as his reader(s?) and building night watchman knows is terrified of dogs. However on repeating this quote to himself and drinking copious amounts of alcohol The Incredible Sulk managed to overcome The Not Real Fear and ended up chasing said dogs and did other questionable things to mark territory and empty bladder. The Incredible Sulk would however miss out on a crucial part in the quote. The Very Real Danger part of the quote. The Incredible Sulk misunderstood. And was subsequently chased by said dogs.

Which is not to say that The Incredible Sulk hasn't learnt anything. He has learnt that Will Smith had to say "fear" four times in that quote. He has also learnt that those who scoff and sniff usually end up having serious sinus issues and ultimately end up laughing like Janice from Friends. This alleviates The Incredible Sulk's dim witted look from time to time. Aaaaaand it's back again.

ARYABHATTA WAS SINGLE

While debate rages on over whether this single-cloth clothed man (how and why) spelt his name with one or two Ts (ironic for a single-cloth clothed man); the Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department decided to undertake a study as to whether this uni-clothed man was hitched. 

Aryabhata/Aryabhatta as you surely don't know, since you'll are the famed Generation Zzzzzzz, was a famous mathematician. As I hear loud groans and moans I realise that the Incredible Sulk's audience is distinctly uninterested in this drab subject. That accounts for the groans only. With raised eyebrow The Incredible Sulk must deduce and put the moans down to the fact that one of the Incredible Sulk's little flock is naughty, naughty.

But I deviate like a ballet dancer with two left feet. Aryabhata was a famous mathematician. Apart from having won the Most Trippy 6th Standard Textbook Illustration award for 10 years in a row he is known for the use of zero . Although he never really used the zero symbol (0). No. That went to some bright soul who couldn't draw a proper circle. He also is known for the approximation of Pi.

"Or as he is better known, Piscine Patel," The Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend interjects. As The Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend espouses the qualities of the visual orgy that was Life of Pi the Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department has all the research it needs to carry on research into the personal life of Aryabhat(t)a. 

It is this unasked for soliloquy on the part of The Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend that has led to The Incredible Sulk to believe that Aryabhat(t)a, single T or no, was a single man. Let us look at a few points of discussion then (only the second time that The Incredible Sulk has ever said that. The first time was at a Junior Church Youth Group meeting consisting of 1 person)

The first so-called point of discussion is inevitably The Zero(ironically). Any man inspired by the opposite sex would have dedicated his Eureka moment of discovering the zero to a woman. The modern-day zero symbol looks something like this - 0. Which not only looks like the sensous curves of a woman but looks uncannily like that part of a woman that....

(The Incredible Sulk takes momentary pause here for the simple fact that Google's Eyes are now rested upon the Incredible Sulk's back, finger hovering dangerously close to that Ages 18+ button.)

...looks like a shapely belly button.

(Good save, good save)

The second and most important point was the fact that Aryabhat(t)a wrote his most famous work, Aryabhatiya, which is not vain at all, at the tender age of 23. I must confess my ignorance for the way people lived back then primarily due to the fact that my I was still but a thought in SKYNETs' Human Embryo Development Strategy. And that I wasn't alive at the time. But even at the age of 23 my uneducated guess was that there were some boys who would steal out late from the ashram at night to peek across the wall to where the girly ashram was. 

But not Aryabhat(t)a. Oh no. He was diligently working on a mathematical piece of art that would shape the Trigonometry and Algebra that would ultimately make me opt for 'Arts' stream. Bloody nerds. Not for him were the distractions of the flesh or sneaking peeks into the loose brick at the girly ashram's showers.

The Incredible Sulk's Incredibly Useless Research Department is also inclined to deduce that if Aryabhatta were not single he would have created a seperate number system for the opposite sex.

The Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend raises an eyebrow at this juncture, a particularly difficult manouevre and akin to animals behaving weird before natural catastrophes. But the Incredible Sulk persists, bravely ignoring the facial expressions and the Maori war paint the Imaginary Girlfriend daubs on, sharpening her battle axe at the same time.

You see, the opposite sex operates on a completely different number scale. The Incredible Sulk reminisces about the time he got ready for a movie/wedding/work in 10 minutes flat. However said duration of 10 minutes does not exist in the opposite sex's lexicon of numerical phrases. For although the Incredible Sulk's Imaginary Girlfriend remonstrates that it indeed takes her 10 minutes to get ready, it would seem that her new Titan watch be stuck in some sort of time warp. For, till date, it has not taken her less than 45 minutes to "get ready." I use this term loosely as by "get ready" I mean "drag her out." 

Oh Aryabhat(t)a! How hast thou failed thine own sex!
For if you were you to tread the road that would have led you to lead a life forever betrothed you would have realised. I present to you oh not-so-discerning-reader my last focus group. They are the men strewn outside trial rooms, laden with the spoils of clothes yet to be tried on, usually a drooling baby or naughty twin boys hanging off the other arm. Vacant, blank looks on their faces.Their morbid existence is broken every 2 minutes by a voice that says, "This size doesn't fit me. I'm not a size 28 anymore." Whatever the answer the poor bugger decides to reply with one can be assured that hell on earth is a given for said poor bugger.

Need I say more? No. Primarily because it's nap time.

THE OBVIOUS AUNTY

The Incredible Sulk has come across many a strange species on his travels that took him to the nooks and crannies of Andheri East. On many of these voyages I have sought to document these strange species and today I seek to bestow my knowledge upon thou of that most fearsome of species, "The Obvious Aunty."

Now the Aunties I allude to here have nothing to do with aunties related to me by a bond of blood (a bond they no doubt curse), for any aunty related to me by blood has a tendency to whack one on the head, if one gets too obvious. Older people look at The Incredible Sulk and shake their head, offer their pity and say, "he must have been dropped on his head when he was a baby." But the asses are sadly mistaken. The result of The Incredible Sulk's idiotacy is because of one too many whacks on the head from the steel arms of aunties related by blood.

No, no the Aunties I refer too are the type that go "tsk tsk" at the immoral youth of today and tell couple off for holding hands before marriage. That sort of aunty. Let me give you an example of a specimen of this sort of aunty that I happened to come in contact with. Picture if you will, an ATM. And a long line that leads to the ATM. An Obvious Aunty stands behind the Incredible Sulk. One of the ATM machines has a sign on cardboard that says "Out of Order." Obvious Aunty looks at said sign, then at long queue and remarks, "That's going to cause some problems."

Quite brilliant Aunty. Sherlock friggin Holmes and his emasculated assistant Dr. Watson would not have seen that coming. Oh NO Aunty, you're powers of observation far exceed that of Ms Marple's. I'm sure you'd go to an F1 race and say something like, "They are going so fast no?".

Or maybe you're the type that likes to say, "Now they won't win," when India need 45 runs of the last ball in a World Cup final. Oh! How the blood boils Aunty, how the blood boils.

You're the type that thinks Justin Bieber MIGHT be a girl when the rest of the civilized world knows otherwise. And yes Aunty, there is no small chance that Rebecca Black could be less obvious than you...and that's really saying something. Because this is the girl who had a rather Eureka moment when she realised that Saturday, did infact, come after Friday.

I see you cowering in fear. I did too when I was first faced with an Obvious Aunty. Rather like Livingstone when he was being mauled by a lion or tiger or Teletubby or some such heinous creature in the jungles of Africa. The thing to do, when faced with an Obvious Aunty is be completely random. For nothing but Utter Nonsense will stave off an Obvious Aunty. For example when she remarks needlessly about the traffic when your bus has moved 5 inches in 2 hours, greet her with a, "I wonder what time I will reach Germania and whether the 12th moon of Romulus will be housed safely in a Moratarium."

Unless of course you meet the sub-species of the Obvious Aunty.

The Obvious Aunty With 35 Cats. In which case you should run.

DRIVING MISS DAISY CRAZY

The Incredible Sulk hates you. And this is no minor dislike for you. This is real, bottom-of-the-heart type hatred.

Now before you baulk at this candid confession and come up with a charity or NGO against it, let me provide your noggin with a gentle tap (what we call a katoos) and turn your open-mouthed-in-surprise face to what this blog is called. I am The Sulk. Not the Hulk, who is green and saves people, not The Bulk who (I just made up and I'm guessing) is a genial, "healthy" man. I am The Sulk. I DON'T LIKE YOU.

Before we get sidetracked any further, let us come to WHY I hate you. I hate you with every last atom of my being. I hate your slick gear-changing-with-the-clutch-pressed-cooly thing you do. I hate the fact that you know the difference between the accelerator and the clutch. And I also HATE THE FACT that when you dabao the brake, you don't find the passengers sitting in the backseat of your car going flying through the windshield.

And you can't pass off stuff like that by saying "inertia's a bitch."

Also you're "Let's JUUUUST miss the pedestrian" routine really pisses me off. Oooooooo, so you have superior judgement. Yes YOU!! With your cool, math-calculatingy mind. With your, "Hmmm, I have 3.6 seconds till I hit that speedbumb which means I have to hit the brakes in 3.6 seconds. The squeal of my braking will last an exact 2.3455 seconds which gives me enough time to pass wind at 3.78 mph...."

Yes, we know.

And lets not forget ALL you show-offs with big cars. But then again, you know what they say about men with big cars....

That's right all you Merc, Ferrari and Jag owners. Oh and lets not forget all you rich buggers who ordered the extra-long wheelbase Maybach. You have absolutely no idea what the female psychologists at Harvard are saying about you, do you?

Oh and lets not forget all of you who drive those mini toy car thingies. You think you're so smart buying small, cheap, eco-friendly cars.

I have a suggestion. When you buy your next car, how about a rickshaw instead? You'll be eco-friendly, encourage public transport, make a quick buck. Even a friend (or axe-murderer, depends on the city) or two. But more importantly, you won't have your damn windows rolled up when I verbally abuse you, when you try and squeeze your Smurf car into an impossible space.

I'm scared of quite a few things. Dogs, unpredictable cats (they got that look in their eyes), people who KNOW they have body odour, reality checks from my imaginary girlfriend....the list is not endless but it would fill a few pages. Few things however strike fear into my very soul more than the "Undecided pedestrian." You know, those idiots who think about crossing but stop midway to (I'm guessing) weigh the pros and cons of existentialism. I'd rather face a horde of two-headed animals with a head of a dog and an unpredictable cat run by a tribe of people who shun deodrant.

The Incredible Sulk advocates driving with a helmet and recommends the Government put up signs in areas notorious for "Undecided Pedestrians." Please don't drink and drive. Please aim properly after you drink and pee.

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.

MY MISTAKES YOU SHOULD LEARN FROM

# 4: PIRANHA 3D!

THE INCREDIBLE SULK's MOVIE REVIEW: SKYLINE

This is not your run-of-the-mill "alien invasion" movie. This IS however, you're run-of-the-mill "Aliens-wanna-kill-us-THEY'RE SUCKING MY BRAINS" movie. The Incredible Sulk recommends you carry one of those brown paper bags you puke in on turbulent flights. Oh yeah, this is that kind of movie.

The movie stars one hot chick, one guy who looks like that guy from LA Ink with his irritating pointy goatee, the black guy from Scrubs, and one hot chick you just know is gonna die.

Skyline is set in Los Angeles. I mean the directors couldn't possibly set it in New York coz Godzilla, King Kong, and those zombies from I Am Legend haven't left yet. Also that tsunami stuff that happened in 2012 (the movie, not the year) hasn't dried up yet.

One of the unique things about this movie is that you never learn the lead character's names throughout the movie. There is no arty-farty reason for this. It is not beacuse the filmmaker "wants you to have an emotional disconnect," or coz he wants you to "view the movie dispassionately, as though immersed in a world without right or wrong," or anything else grey-matter stimulating.

You don't learn the characters names coz they really don't get to complete their sentences.

For example:

"OMG, watch out behind you Lau_______and *FLOOMP* she gets her brains sucked out.

Another example:

"Be careful Ke________and *FLOOMP* she gets her brains sucked out.

Last example:

"You know I love you Ja_____and *FLOOMP* they ain't no sex scene in the movie

So you see, dear reader, while it may not exactly be a grey-matter stimulating reason, you, in fact get to see a lot of grey matter.

L'arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat (translated from French into English as The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Station) is an 1895 French short black-and-white silent documentary film directed and produced by Auguste and Louis Lumière. This 50-second silent film shows the entry of a train pulled by a steam locomotive into a train station in the French coastal town of La Ciotat. It has one of the distinct honours of being one of the first moving pictures ever screened. It now also has the distinction of having more of a plot than Skyline.

Skyline is directed by the Brothers Strause. They sound cool, but they are actually pot-bellied and bald middle-aged men. But the Incredible Sulk is not judging. For the Incredible Sulk has a receding hairline and when he looks down he sees the makings of a beer belly, that grows at a slightly slower rate than the Incredible Sulk's pregnant neighbour. Worrying signs indeed.

But back to the Brothers Strause. The Brothers Strause are most famous in Hollywood for their visual effects, both brothers being expert visual effects guy things. With classics such as Alien vs Predator movies, 300, X-Men, Constantine and classucks suck as Titanic to their credit, the Brothers Strause are masters of special effects. Their ultimate achievement, according to the Incredible Sulk, would be if they find a special effect to help Keanu Reeves act.

And by act we don't mean, The Matrix, which required one emotion from Keanu Reeves - don't laugh.

Skyline is what happens when you give special effects guys like the Brothers Strause, a WHOLE movie to direct. Brilliantly realistic aliens, who have nothing to do. No "ET wanna go home" scenes here. ET just land on earth and kill.

If it were upto the Incredible Sulk, the Incredible Sulk would drag his imaginary girlfriend for this movie (which proves she's imaginary, coz no self-respecting girl, nor the most loyal, loving girlfriend would set foot inside a cinema that showed this movie). However, you should wait for it to come out on DV...err...okay, it's not coming out on DVD, so wait for it to come on TV..err...okay, no channel is willing to show this. Well, that's your bad luck.

As for the Incredible Sulk:
"Two tickets please"
"Yes for me and my girlfriend"
"What do you mean what girlfriend??!!??........

THE PRESIDENT IS COMING, CAME, WENT, BROUGHT HIS PLANES AND BLOCKED THE LANES

Barack "that fucking IT country" Obama came to Mumbai. So they spruced up the city. Takes me back to the days when I used to shove all my toys into the box and pretend the room was clean.

Obama bought lots of planes. 1 for him and his family, 1 for his not-so-Secret-Service-i-can-see-them-what's-the-big-Secret. And another 18 to carry the ego the American President is supposed to have when he visits other countries. Those psychoanalyst chicks who like to point out what a small peepee I/every second guy has just because we like "big" cars; they're going to have a field day.

Someone should remind him that apart from Bangalore, not many people in India wanna kill the President of the White, Red and Blue. So there's really no need to bring 3000 millitary personnel. Plus if we REALLY wanted to kill you we'd give you some chilly chicken from Patel's Roadside Chinese Food. The Air Force Commode One would never be the same again.

While in Mumbai, President Obama made a few speeches. Some of them took 15 minutes. Some of them took a bit longer. Below I've been kind enough to transcribe one of them.

"Good afternoon. I've come to this wonderful country and Mumbai in particular to get back at you brown bastards for stealing all our jobs. That's right. Hell yeah! Gimme a Hell Yeah! Here's a contract for 10 second-hand US millitary planes. Now, 5000 Americans will take 5 years to build those planes and you're gonna pay them. Okay? Good. Now I'm off to Malaysia. Where the f**k am I gonna park all these damn planes when I get there. I've got small states in the US that are bigger than Malaysia. Oooooo. More jobs. Namaste India. Don't know what that means."

This is not really what he said. It is my interpretation. Sue me. Actually don't.

A news channel did an expose on Obama's hair and how it changed from black

("Don't say that word, he's the first AFRICAN-AMERICAN US President")

("I was talking about his hair")

(DON'T SAY THAT WORD")

("I WAS TALKING ABOUT HIS HAIR...")

("THEN SAY HIS HAIR IS AFRICAN-AMERICAN")

("WHAT IF AN AFRICAN-AMERICAN HAS BLONDE HAIR?")

("When's the last time you saw an African-American with blonde hair?")

to a salt-and-pepper colour. Well at least our media hasn't dumbed down to the extent where we'd do a piece on "Why is the latest US President so tanned? What? He's not...OH! AMERICA HAS ELECTED IT'S FIRST EVER AFRICAN-AMERIC..." You get where this is going.

By the time this post comes out the US President will have left our muddy shores on an Asia tour more successful than Boyzone's. He wisely avoided Bangalore. And Patel's Roadside Chinese Food.

MY MISTAKES YOU SHOULD LEARN FROM

#3 Do not touch the poles at the entrance of the train compartments on the Western Railway and then eat dahi puri and lick your fingers and then remember you touched the pole at the entrance of the train compartment on the Western Railway.

My experience with the Central Railway and Harbour Line are limited. Thank God.

THE BATTLEGROUND

I've seen the men that emerge from the battleground. The bleary-eyed, beleaguered men. They haven't bathed for days, unshaved, but not unscathed, they emerge from the battleground called Love. Men that wake up in the middle of the night traumatized by the ferocity of the battle. Men who touch their necks gingerly, reminiscing hickies they received in battle.

I saw a man once whose entire neck was choc-a-bloc with blue and purple patches. The scars of battle.

Mosquito bites, he told his mother.

Bullshit, said his mother.

Son, we weren't born yesterday, said his father.

He has a girlfrie*SMACK*, said his brother.

The battleground is strewn with burnt love letters and broken hearts and Little Hearts and flowers in dustbins and smiling-couple polaroids that are torn in two and sometimes look like someone tried burning them. It's a grim war.

Men with six packs less than those hairless wonders from 300 "This is Sparta," forced into battle. Many a young man, in the prime of life forced into war.

This post is for them. Those courageous men, who braved the battle and got burnt. Some of them twice bitten and twice shy. How many men can say they've come out of that alive. This post is for you.

This is NOT for those men who were hurt at The Battleground of One Night Stands I Don't Think She's Coming Back For More. That battleground is 2 blocks down the road, take a left at I'mgonnagetlaid, a right at WooHoo, then walk 100 yards north of a primate dressed in a purple velvet suit called The Pimp Chimp, and stop where Sex marks the spot.

THE INCREDIBLE SULK'S RECOMMENDATIONS

I don't know how to make a pictue in blogspot bigger. So if you can't read this click on the picture or follow this link.

http://www.laptoplit.com/p/workshops.html