Proof, you ask? Well, take this, my American friend, and weep. For have you, unlike my homeland, done away with all plagues that befall mankind? Everything that has ever troubled man and other primates has been captured and banished to Burma, and parts of Uttar Pradesh, in my motherland.

We have evolved to the highest nirvana of all. Well, maybe the second highest. The one where we plate every building with gold. The highest one is the Godhood attained by plating each Indian with solid gold. By then, the tantra or alchemy of attaining all sustaining nutrition by eating solid gold will have been learned by all, and will not just be an esoteric art practiced by Mayawati et al.

We will be God-cannibals that feast on each other’s gold plated bodies. Not regular life-sucking bastards like we were in the Dark Ages of 2009 when we had a third of the world’s poor.

This is Mayawati’s gift for being Super Amazing Empress of Everything.

Mayawati's Blingathon

If you’re like me and initially thought that the garland was made of each Uttar Pradeshi resident’s middle finger, to denote something like a reverse Fuck-You, you’re wrong. But not by much.

Its actually made from 1000 Rupee notes. Estimates vary from 21 lakh to 2 crore Rupees, but one thing’s for sure. Its more than what your little peasant ass is worth.

Now all those pseudo-intellectuals fell over each other gasping and pointing at some ridiculous hypocrisy inherent in the image, such as how she could afford to take not 1 but 2 garlands but claim there was no money in the State Exchequer to pay the next-of-kin of the victims of the Pratapgarh stampede.

Fuck that. They’re only people. Not celebrities. Duh! What these justice-obsessed assholes don’t understand is how significant this is. Do they know how important bling is? Specially in the world of hip-hop? Bet you didn’t know Mayawati was gonna spit some fierce verses out for Lil’ Wayne’s next album? The one he’s going to record in the slammer?

You didn’t, you say? Well, fuck YOU, you ignorant so-and-so. If Mayawati’s going to have to break into a fiercely competitive rap arena, she’s gonna have to bring some swagga, nahmean? And what’s more fuckin’ gangsta than a necklace made out of Mahatmas? You tell me. Because I can’t think of it. Top that, muthafucka! You can’t!

But genius, and even great talent, springs less from seeds of intellect and social refinement superior to those of other people than from the faculty of transforming and transposing them. To heat a liquid with an electric lamp requires not the strongest lamp possible, but one of which the current can cease to illuminate, can be diverted so as to give heat instead of light. To mount the skies it is not necessary to have the most powerful of motors, one must have a motor which, instead of continuing to run along the earth’s surface, intersecting with a vertical line the horizontal which it began by following, is capable of converting its speed into lifting power. Similarly, the men who produce works of genius are not those who live in the most delicate atmosphere, whose conversation is the most brilliant or their culture the most extensive, but those who have had the power, ceasing suddenly to live only for themselves, to transform their personality into a sort of mirror, in such a way that their life, however mediocre it may be socially and even, in a sense, intellectually, is reflected by it, genius consisting in reflecting power and not in the intrinsic quality of the scene reflected.

MARCEL PROUST: Within a Budding Grove

Can you imagine how amazing it feels to open the first page of a book and see the quoted lines? You can feel it too. Rush out to your nearest library or bookstore and get Christopher Hitchens’ Why Orwell Matters.

What can I say? Except that jealousy is a terrible affliction. Also note the various attempts to make the blog  appear “tongue-in-cheek”. Also please note the air quotes.

Have you also ever realized that sometimes you really really want ice-cream and then you have only a little bit left because you were a greedy bastard and ate giant handfuls of it for no apparent reason? And then you cry in frustration?

That is all.

Anyway, what I was saying before I ambushed my own train of thought was that as I was trawling the Hindu feed, I noticed the follwing article, submitted in its ghastly entirety.

Dismissal of railway constable upheld

NEW DELHI: The Supreme Court has upheld the 1989 dismissal of a railway constable found glued to his radio, listening to cricket commentary, during duty hours. — PTI

Wha? Notice the startling lack of any pertinent information. Its like The Hindu suddenly decided to have a Madlibs column. The name, age, sexual orientation,  IQ, the make of the radio etc. have been thoughtfully omitted, but we know for sure that it is a male of the species Homo sapiens, who at one time, in the year of our Lord 1989, was employed in some capacity as a constable of the Indian(?) Railways.

I was puzzled. Surely some editor somewhere must have noticed that this was not particularly germane to any previous conversation or article or to anyone on earth except the afore-mentioned ex-constable. It was then that it struck me. OF COURSE!

The Hindu is the Indian media equivalent to Wowbagger, the Infinitely Prolonged.  Just as the original Wowbagger whiles his time away by insulting all life in serial order, The Hindu spends its infinite life going over all Indians in serial order and printing trivial news stories about them.

Take that, all you other half-baked conspiracy theorists. Not you, though Alex Jones. You’re way fucking crazier than I am.

Sample a small slice of this awesomeness.

If you can see this and not have your jaw wrenched open in incredulity, all the while making monkey-noises of pleasure, you’re sad fuckers with no sense of humor and should choke yourself to death post-haste.

The English dubbing is simply magnificent, there’s no other way to describe it. Please see it. Your father would be proud. If you’re like me and have inside access to the Cincinnati Public Library, I order you to avail of it! If not, Youtube will kindly oblige with inferior video quality but great satisfaction.

Listening To – Magnetic Fields, The Charm Of The Highway Strip

You’re walking through the frozen plains of Scandinavia. The trees have no leaves and there’s a coating of clear transparent ice on them. You’re scared but stumble on. Just when you’re losing sanity, Skwisgaar Skwigelf steps out from a clearing with a pack of grey wolves, strumming a Fender Stratocaster and tells you that he’ll take care of everything.  THAT is what Sigur Rós feels like.

All those of you who have no idea who Skwisgaar Skwigelf is, please feel ashamed of your very existence and watch Metalocalypse on Adult Swim. You’ll be better people because of it.

Mythbusters, you have failed me. I had faith in your mythbusting abilities, but now the only thing I believe about you is that Jamie Hyneman is a walrus-man of some sort.

All those who saw the episode where they “proved conclusively” that peeing on the 3rd rail couldn’t kill you and had accordingly adjusted your ideas of hygiene, must now readjust them.

Can Jon Stewart and Bruce Springsteen possibly get any awesomer?