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.