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