I saw Om Shanti Om today. Nah, it was not an nth repeat - I lost my cherry. Movie buffs would scoff at me, I suppose. Fans of the actor/director would be up in arms, probably. Since I am neither, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Contrary to box office performance, I liked the movie. I could even love it. It had the potential to be an all time classic. But I am probably nitpicking. Perfection is hard to replicate, more so outside the confines of this blog. That does not mean I am above doffing my hat when I see something fantastic. I am simply amazed that this movie came from the same person who made Main Hoon Na, a movie that by setting the box office on fire considerably lessened the credibility that film collections had of being the prime indicative factor of a film's watchability.

Phew, the above sentence took a lot out of me. Perhaps I am getting too old and senile. That is besides the point of this post. There really is no point to this post, the same way there never has been any point to any post on this blog. However, I should like to choose this moment to insert a disclaimer: The point of this blog is to be completely pointless. Whether I have actually made a point by making that disclaimer is going to be a source of endless debate among the intellectually challenged.

The same way whether my point of view matters in the larger context of things is not going to be a source of endless debate since no one knows what the larger context of things ever is. Om Shanti Om, though, is a good movie. And it is a good movie even in isolation. Whatever I said about isolation in my previous post can be shoved up some unfortunate bloke's creek.

I have always held my blog in high esteem. Have never allowed this place to become a movie review forum, not that there is anything wrong with a review forum. It is the reviewers I cannot stand. But this movie made me. It is unlike anything I ever expected to come out of the Hindi Film Industry. It is the most spicy masala movie. Parts of the movie are brilliant, sheer genius. Importantly, as far as I am concerned, the songs were poetry. How can you not appreciate things like 'Chand teri roshni ka halka sa ek saaya hai'?

This hangover will take time to shake off.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Om Shanti Om - Om Shanti Om
One of my all time favourite dialogues is from Kshatriya, a pretty obscure movie if you were born after 1981. Being as it was released in the 90s with no cable television or internet porn, yours truly watched it at least three times - twice in colour, and once in black and white on my granny's Beltek TV. Those were simpler times indeed. We were happier then with much little than we are sad today with much more. Whoa, that was quite an insightful statement. I had to read that over ten times to completely soak in its beauty.

Anyway, the dialogue. It was a scene between Vinod Khanna and Sunny Deol. Deol, who had just returned from London, wanted to get married to Khanna's daughter, which was impossible for the same reason that Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawla could not get married in QSQT. The father of the not-to-be bride (Vinod Khanna, of course) says something to the effect that their families share a fiery enmity to which Sunny says that you cannot fight fire with fire and you need water to douse the flames. This is when this gem of a line comes from Vinod Khanna, "Oh, and you have brought the fire-dousing water from London!"

In isolation, the dialogue itself is not interesting. Then again, in isolation nothing is interesting unless I happen to find Angelina Jolie in isolation. However, the dialogue has stayed with me for a good fifteen years now. In retrospect, perhaps those fifteen years were not all that good if the only solid memory I have of those years is that of a cheesy dialogue from a super flop movie. I should have got out more often, and not like those Goa trips with my parents. I probably should not have said that out loud. Hot women reading this post should disregard that statement.

This raises another question. No, not the question if any hot women read this blog at all. The question simply is this, "Would a woman continue to be perceived as hot if she had the time to wander in the online space reading some loser's ramblings? Shouldn't she be out there getting laid?" Another insight to nicely round off this post.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Katy Perry - I Kissed a Girl
I don't consider myself to be a person with a particularly non-defeatist attitude. Heck if I were in a fight, I would run away today to be alive to run away some other day. It is not without my reasons, most of which are those of self-preservation, that I consider the pen to be mightier than the sword. At the same time, I do genuinely believe that violence is never the solution. We resort to it because we want to spare ourselves the effort to thoughtfully resolve a dispute.

That said, I have not come across a more resigned proverb than 'When in Rome do as Romans do'. Succumbing to the lure of being a sheep among the herd is even too much of a thing for my plastic spine, and my spine is pretty plastic. I could bend over backwards to get a woman to sleep with me, though for the life of me I could never fathom why it is this very bending over that seems to put most women off me.

Seriously. Why would anyone with a semblance of self-esteem ever want be a part of the crowd? Had Galileo believed in the Church's doctrine we would still believe that if we travelled to the horizon then we would drop off into the abyss. Had Martin Luther King not believed in civil rights the African Americans would have no right to vote. Had the Mahatma not believed in the then alien concept of non-violence we would not have a movie like Lage Raho Munna Bhai.

Yes, it is not easy to live with the consequences of your choices if they are not in conformation with the beliefs of the time. You will be ridiculed. However, to state "A girl with a Look Or You Miss tee won't get much crowd sympathy in Hyderabad if she gets into trouble." is like saying "It is not the rapist but the victim who is the perpetrator of the crime. The rapist was just the harmless participant."

I have never been one for saving the world through blogs, nor do I believe anyone can ever do that. The world cannot be saved, really. But that is besides the point. The point is when people who are a part of the so-called thinking strata of the society we live in make blanket statements like the one above, it is saddening to put it euphemistically. I suppose that is what being a Roman in Rome does to you.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Buffalo Souljah - Too Hot Too Shii
What is it with smokers?

1. Honour: Every smoker I know, no matter how miserly, has never refused a fag or a light to a fellow being in need. It is like there is an unwritten code - thou shalt always share the death stick. It could be a stranger who speaks ancient Hebrew for all you know. But when she has to borrow a stick, it is as if they all speak some universal language. An act as simple as sharing a cigarette could lead to a BFF scenario.

2. Bonding: Male bonding is over-hyped when you compare it with the nicotine bond. It forges ties stronger than those that motherhood does. Make no mistake, I will probably never know what it is like to be a mother mostly because I am a man - I am simply going by what the advertisements project motherhood to be. It could be anywhere - airport smoking areas, office galleries, homes, pubs, streets, open fields, toilets, or even shady back alleys - once a butt is lit you can rest assured the backslapping will ensue.

3. Whining: Then they whine! Really, they whine. Yes, we all whine. It is just that smokers take it to a whole new level. What makes it particularly unbearable is that they whine solely about one thing - not being able to quit. Sadly, we seem to have given them a licence to do that since we all tend to think it takes superhuman resolve to quit the habit. Jeez! I know people who have smoked 50-60 cigarettes a day for 25 straight years, and they have quit. They were smokers. A day later not a single fag. Just like that - on and then off.

4. Defensiveness: They know they are going to die young. But they make it sound romantic, almost like Jon Bon Jovi does in Blaze of Glory, "You ask about my conscience, and I offer you my soul. You ask if I'll grow to be a wise man, well I ask if I'll grow old." What they do not know is that unlike Jovi who talks of a painless death by the gun, these guys are probably going to be breathing out of ventilators in a few years time.

I could go on about this. But I won't for two reasons. One, I have used up my thinking time for the day. Two, I have done my, as Aran said once, four reasonably sized paragraphs.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Aerosmith - Dream On
I have never been one for quoting others - well, quoting famous people anyway with the exception of Douglas Adams. I have never been one for reverance especially when most people on this planet are only slightly more intelligent than jelly fish, no offence to jelly fish. I have never been one for modesty, what with vanity being my favourite indulgence. I have never been one for glossing over the monstrosities of our shallow existence - euphemism is the reason we are all in the mess that we are.

Of course, the readers of this blog should know all that by now had they been remotely exercising that one organ that differentiates us from other primates - the brain. That is not such a bad thing, really. Why else could I keep making posts about the same insipid things if people understood what I wanted to say?

Why am I getting defensive? Has my desire to be read by more people made me weigh quantity over quality? No, I am not talking of my posts. I am talking of the readers who read my posts. Do I really want to make posts that are non-ambiguous enough for the E. Coli bacteria to understand? More than that, should I even bother commenting on posts that are not even worthy of the E. Coli bacteria's attention?

I have in all my blogging life of almost five years not made more than a handful of comments, other than those made on Aran's blog or mine. Of that handful, the few that were meant to be offensive were never taken offense at. Those that were subliminally subtle were deemed offensive. Perhaps that tells a story. SETI (Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence) should focus all their telescopes on the earth - let us be convinced that there is such a thing as intelligent life.

Current Music: Ugly Kid Joe - Everything About You
I knew I was getting ahead of myself when I spoke of the readership of this blog in plural terms, unless the blog author herself (purely used to make the language non-sexist - not indicative of the gender of the person in question) counts as a reader. That does beg the question. In my zest to be gender-neutral, have I become sexist? Quite some insight that. I am amazed how I can be so full of myself, yet recognise the little sparks of brilliance I come up with every now and then.

However ('however' is a fancy 'but' that we tend to use when we wish to rise above the mediocrity of conjunctions), this one time even I could not get ahead of myself. I heard somewhere that if you went around a tree at the speed of light you could kiss your own ass. And if you did that at twice the speed of light you could see yourself kiss your own ass. Whoever thought that physics could actually be fun!

This professor of mine used to say, "To understand physics you need to feel the pleasure of it, not the pressure of it." I had no idea that this was the kind of pleasure he was talking about. I could have aced physics you know, that I did ace physics irrespective not withstanding. Yeah, sometimes I like to let the geek in me out. Other times, it just comes out of its own accord.

Anyway. This post was about the exaggerated readership of this blog. I believe I have started regressing into the abyss of banality, what with all my trademark digression now being a thing of the past. That is not depressing enough to not rejoice over my widening reader base. It could be heart-breaking for Aran, though. The exclusivity of all this being exclusively for her would be, well, not so exclusive anymore.

Then again, Aran has stuck by me through thick and thin. That takes resolve, and a pretty thick skin to do. I am not sure anyone else can match that. Really.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Alice Cooper - Poison
In my previous post (Technically, the post prior to the previous post since the previous post has been previously deleted but who is into technicalities these days? Especially since we now know that older technology scores over the newer ones, a case in point being the robustness of the Nokia 1110 over the touch-me-not sensibilities of the N95.) I had made a sweeping statement to the effect that it could be the last post on this blog.

Ardent readers of this blog would note the inherent irony in that statement (Of course, they should also note the supreme dullness of their lives if this blog is their sole source of entertainment.). It is absolutely characteristic of me to make such a claim. It is even more characteristic of me to not abide by it. As they say, if horses start befriending pastures what are they going to eat? Not only was that a crude translation, it was also quoted out of context.

Now, now. Here is a brilliant brainwave. Media houses quote celebrities (let's not go into the 'celebrities are proof of the decline of human civilisation' discourse, hard though it is not to) out of context all the time. So, if celebrities start talking out of context would that make the work of the media easier? May be I should patent this idea before anyone else starts to make money out of it. But that would be akin to a non-violent person dealing in guns. I would not be true to my beliefs, my principles - all because the greens would have me blinded. Well, I can live with that.

What I cannot live with, however, are two women. And that is only because my wife would have none of it. Make no mistake. A charming lady she is. Very classy too. It is just that I fail to understand why I cannot keep my box of snacks on the living room centre table. Keep it in the kitchen, she says. Why can a man not be the man of the house?

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The sound of generator
I am a man. No, no. I don't need to constantly restate that to reaffirm my 'man'liness. I simply like emphasising the obvious. The same way I like looking down upon people. Oh well. Most people deserve being looked down upon. With the Intelligence Quotient (yes, my lowly nincompoops, that is what IQ stands for - jeez, if I had a dollar for everyone I knew who had no clue what IQ was an abbreviation for I could wipe off the fiscal deficit of India) of a doormat, there is only so much that you can do with them. They, for their part, should be thankful that I don't use them as toilet paper.

I am not cynical. Only one man has ever been able to do justice to the tag - George Bernard Shaw. I am blunt. No, not that Grammy nominated singer. And to think Grammies were once considered to be the Oscars of music! Not like the Oscars have much substance left in them, especially after the Karan-Joharesque Titanic walked away with eight of those naked statuettes. But there is hope. May be they will start dressing the figurines up now.

Anyway. I do anything for a woman when she so much as smiles at me. That no woman has ever smiled at me notwithstanding. But ladies if you are listening, you know what to do if you want me. Grrr! Twigrl did so much more. She left a comment on my post, and on a post that had been abandoned even by my dear Aran who I thought would stick with me through thick and thin. Only goes to show that you really don't know someone till you know someone. Okay, I have no idea what that means. It is a yank phrase. It is not supposed to mean anything.

Of late, I have been having performance anxiety. There is too much pressure to perform. As if the constant nudge from Aran on Travailogue was not enough there is Twigrl on this space who has instructed (read 'commanded') me to write something interesting. I can't remember ever being in a place where I was deemed boring. Well... There was this one time when this 'straight as a mild steel rod' woman walked out of the bar with a lesbian after I had spent all of four minutes talking to her. But at least that has a good image to it. Besides, to change someone's sexual preferences is the stuff that legends are made of. How many men can claim to have turned a straight woman gay? Yeah, right. Ross Gellar. And look what happenned to him. He got Rachel Green. Yippee!

I often think. Not exactly. But whenever I put some serious stress on that muscle between my ears I come to realise, as Morpheus said in The Matrix, the obviousness of the truth. I don't quite remember what it is but I am damn near certain that I conclude the same thing each time. I don't have it in me to be creative. This blog is testimony to that. I write the same thing over and over again. That I still have readers looking forward to new posts is surely an outcome of people having short memories.

That said, it felt good to have someone yearn for a post. It was a huge fillip to the vain me. How redundant! It was a huge fillip to me. Period. Whether I will continue making posts on this blog I cannot say. However, I do hope to be consistent with making posts on Travailogue. Thank you, and goodnight.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The banging in my head
It is not often that guys like me do things, or even women for that matter. But let's just stick to the more pleasant things in life. Of course, critics may argue that nothing could be more pleasant than sticking to a woman if you are a hormonally active heterosexual male or a hormonally active homosexual female. And even if I concur with them for once, I cannot really make that stand official for those who concur with critics have no opinion of their own, at least none that can ever be a force to reckon with (What is a force to reckon with, do you ask? Stacey Valentine in Sex Commandos.).

It is often thought that my blog is laced with sex though no one has ever brought that thought out in the open, especially never in an accusatory type of way. It is easy to understand why. Sex is everywhere. It is all around us. As Agent Smith had said, "It's the smell, if there is such a thing." About 200 million couples have sex each day on this planet, which means at any given minute there are about 1400 couples having sex. And that is only the number that gets reported, though where it is to be reported and whether the number includes sex acts performed for pornographic movies or celebrity sex tapes has never been made public.

We owe our existence to sex. We aspire to have sex too someday, hopefully with someone we like. We date. We spend enough money on personal products that could otherwise be used to buy a couple of nuclear missiles (Why we should choose to not buy nukes can only be attributed to the human tendency to place sex over violence, difficult though the choice seems.), which are, for what could only be due to the scientists' expressing their desire to be allowed out more often in the only way they know, shaped like phalluses. Basically, we are willing to go through hell and back just for a few moments' pleasure. Isn't that fantastic!

A millenium of evolution has not been able to get rid of the most primitive of our carnal instints (Thank the devil for life's small favours!). No, not procreation as previously thought. There are other ways to procreate these days though, sadly from the feminist point of view, all of them still involve the union of the egg and the sperm. Not even violence, as Hollywood would have us believe. Even so, violence ranks right up there. It is the act of procreation that takes the cake, and the ale too.

Enough sex, already! Or is it? There can never be enough sex. If there ever could be, then the population growth rate would be negative. In other words, it would signal the end of civilisation as we know it. I say 'as we know it' because other beings would definitely replace us as the planet's most sexually active species. And I am not particularly interested in the sex lives of life forms other than human. So there.

Current Music: Bon Jovi - Bed of Roses
I have no business really being up at this hour making a blog entry. I had hit the sack. Was almost in a trance, floating in a dream world. And then I discovered it. I unearthed the importance of perspective, not of putting things into it for putting things into anything is not interesting. The perspective of putting them most certainly is.

For that matter, any perspective is good perspective as long as it is a perspective I have. Otherwise, it is not worth the mind it resides in. I'll tell you why it is not worth the mind it resides in. As long as a perspective resides, it is unknown. The moment you get to know what your perspective is, it comes out.

It comes out with all the force that your mind can muster, and you hit everyone who has a face with it. Since faceless people don't have ears, at least none that listen, it does not matter what you hit them with unless it is a club. So basically once a perspective is out, it resides nowhere in the mind where it should have cocooned itself if you chose to differ it from mine. Thus the worth of the mind it resides in is zero since it resides in no mind, and if something does not exist in some place that place cannot be of any intrinsic value to that thing. Thus, such a perspective is not worth the mind that it resides in.

Now, I am not sure what I was trying to say here. I have managed to entangle myself in my own web of words. That is what happens if I let my fingers type faster than I can think. Or may be they have their own mind. May be it is a part of a bigger scheme of things that fingers usually are up to at this time of the night. That does not, however, un-predicament me. But, as an ardent reader of my blog always says, I am at my most charming when I say nothing.

PS: I started reading my first Dilbert book. Scott Adams is such a Douglas Adams wannabe!

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The sounds of the night...
I have always considered myself the absolute authority on love. After all, I do fall in love almost every day. That I fall out of it within a matter of a few hours is not the bone of contention here. Come to think of it, since we are not even remotely canine there is no bone anywhere except that funny thing near the elbow that sends a sensation that can be only described as almost but not quite entirely unlike spine-tingling every time it is so much as brushed.

But seriously. Why is that bone called 'funny bone'? What is funny about scratching fingernails on the blackboard or banging empty steel vessels? Or for that matter, having your entire life flash before your eyes the moment your funny bone rubs against cotton-wool? Again, why is it called cotton-wool? Did the Merino deserve this?

Anyway. Coming back to the point (When was the last time I did that? No, really. I am curious.). If I could count the number of women I loved (No, not made love to.) I would have the most number of fingers any being ever had during the entire evolutionary history of not only this planet but many others put together. And if I could count the number of women who loved me I would have the least number of fingers any being ever had during the entire evolutionary history of not only this planet but many others put together. Basically, that tells you I am not just large-hearted but thick-skinned too.

I have issues. No, not of the heir kind. Partly because I don't have any fortune of any size that anyone would ever want to inherit. Mostly because I have been lucky so far. Ha ha ha. Even I could not keep a straight face with that one. May be I am losing my touch. Old age is cruel. That does not mean that the women readers of this blog should take me completely off their radar. Who knows? You could be the next person my heart decides to go to. Why deny yourself that?

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Don McLean - American Pie
I consider vanity a highly undesirable trait when others around me try to be vain. The keyword here is 'try'. As Master Yoda said, "Do or do not. There is no try." Trying to be something you are not is just plain sad. There is no better way to describe that. However, being a natural at something is only praiseworthy. And that includes vanity too. Mind you, only a select handful of those of us who walk on two legs and breathe oxygen are naturally vain, which is why I am so in awe of me. Damn, it is good to be me!

Modesty I don't care a darn about. If you don't beat your own drum, no one will beat it for you. Gaah! Doesn't it just take the biscuit? Even when I least intend to, I use innuendos. Put differently, if you do not blow your own trumpet, no one will blow it for you. Believe me, every married man knows that. He he he. Don't you just love me? All this double-talk just flows out of me of its own accord.

Anyway. My vanity stems from my being great (if not the best) at whatever I do. Like I said, a window is meant for modesty to jump out of. Basically that is why I do not usually make a sojourn on anyone else's blog (Aran is an exception but since she has not been posting these days, that does not really count). What's the point? It will tell me what I already know. I am good. Period.

Once in a while, though, I do make exceptions. Even the best among us is sometimes fallible. But that is not the point. The point is that when I do, apart from my belief in me getting re-inforced further, what mostly happens is that I leave a comment - truth in its most absolute form on the blog. In other words, the writer is told in no uncertain terms what I think about their (like I have always done, non-sexist language shall be used on my posts) writing. Truth, usually is a bitter pill to swallow. Some learn, and their writings start to reflect it. Others don't.

This one writer, however, did exactly against what blogs stand for - free speech. She (purely used to make the language non-sexist) deleted my comment. Not satisfied with that, she actually replied to that comment. So that blog has a reply to a comment that is not there! The reply was something to the effect that she was trying to get a message across and I could be her guest if I thought I could do better.

Apart from mutilating free speech, the one fundamental principle of blogging that the writer failed to understand was that blogging never really was or is about getting a message across for getting a message across is an exercise in futility. As Douglas Adams had said, "Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so."

To round off, another Douglas Adams quote, "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be." No reason to use it, except for effect.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Eminem - Lose Yourself
There is something wrong with the world. Hah, my first statement laced with the obvious! Of course, the world is a wrong place. As Douglas Adams had said, "In the beginning the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move." That I am actually quoting someone on my blog means two things - one, the man managed to say what I could not properly say for myself (and, that does not happen ever - this must be an aberration to say the least), and two, he is the absolute man for it takes something to be spoken of in exalted terms by me.

Anyway. I am the last person to be concerned about matters of the world on a wordly plain. You know, the shenanigans of globalisation, international trade, diplomatic relations, extradition treaties - that sort of thing. At any rate, the power does not vest with the powers that be - they are just a face. Again I quote Douglas Adams, "Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job." And, I was right. He is the man. Notice the usage of non-sexist language.

Worldy issues aside (which really do not affect the world that much anyway), the point of interest here, as has been so often on my blog, is Aran. We have started meeting more often than our usual once in a hundred and fifty six years routine. Being as I am the man between the two of us, I do all the right things too. Pick her up, drop her back - that sort of thing.

This one time I told her that despite being an out and out male chauvinist, I do like to be driven by a woman. Her face brightened up instantly and she said that she would make up for it the next time we were out. So, on a fine Sunday morning I was all happy and joyous (no offence to Wordsworth) waiting for her to show up. She obviously had the wrong idea when it came to making up for what she said she would make up for. She showed up in her car to pick me up! Hey, that is not what I meant when I was talking of being 'driven'. I mean, how much more succinct can you get?

That, basically, sums of the story of my life really. Enough said.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Mad TV - I am Not a Child
Most people in this world are mouldable, which translates to having the ability to listen to both sides of the argument before forming an opinion. Basically, they are completely spineless. There is a certain charm in being that oak tree that never bends in a storm - at least as long as you are standing you are held in awe. At any rate, once you fall no one really cares anyway.

I, as I have stated and restated many times over, am not anything like anyone you may ever have had the pleasure of not knowing. That does not, in any way, mean that there is not any reason for you to not know anything about anything that has to do with anyone who is in any way any thing like me. Anyone who has spent any amount of time on my blog (any of those handful who has seriously good karma) would know that I feel very strongly about my opinions. As I have always held, why have an opinion if you do not feel strongly about it?

That should not, in any way, be any reason to be crucified. Some people like tea while others prefer coffee. Now unless anyone is like me, which is highly unlikely for usually such occurrences are decently spaced out in time, she (used purely to make the language non-sexist) would not believe, at least in principle, that being opinionated, even as highly as I am, is a flog worthy or blog-boycott worthy act. And, really. If you don't believe something in principle, you don't believe in it at all.

In case anyone's cranium has yet not registered what this post is about, apart from the usual suspect 'nothing', then they (the usage is grammatically correct - refer to the non-sexist language section of your favourite dictionary) should either jump into the Hussain Sagar or read the comments made by 's' in the previous post.

And, in case anyone has not read between the lines, even those like me care about the people who read their (again, the reference is to 'those' - hence the usage is correct) blog. What is a blog without its readers? Right. A personal diary.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Guns and (fucking) Roses - November Rain
I have always laid (nope, not punning) great emphasis on sex, also known as fornication, copulation, intercourse, or plainly, if you have your priorities right, a fuck. We could have actually made that adoloscent infatuation termed 'world peace' a possibility if only people had more sex than rabbits in heat.

Whoever said 'Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus' eventually ended up making a truckload of money. If ever there was a case put forward for money being made for all the wrong reasons, this would be it. Truth be told, men and women are only as different from each other as chalk is from, well, chalk. And, I say shoot all those feminists who rise up in arms against that statement!

The fact of the matter is simply this. Men and women, from time to time, need a good humping - a good old-fashioned gamming of the boots purely for satiating their carnal desires. If ever variation is observed in the behaviour of the sexes it is in the event of their not getting any.

Women usually take to bitching or rumour-mongering for an outlet to their pent up frustrations, an activity completely harmless as long as they are not in a position of power. Men usually take to masturbation - after all, didn't some wise man say that God helps those who help themselves? Not that women don't masturbate. They do, but most of them have these feelings of guilt about it, and only indulge in it when the going gets really really tough. Besides, I have come across only four women in my life so far who have ever admitted to being in the habit of doing it. And none of these four women bitches. Go figure why!

There is this dangerous species of man, though. One who neither masturbates nor gets any. Then he just goes to war. That makes him feel man enough. Oh no. I am not talking out of my hat. Why do you think George Bush has declared war on terror? Because he could not do what Bill Clinton could do with White House interns, though his choice in women is questioning.

So, basically. Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus. Men and Women both stem from between a woman's legs, and around that their worlds orbit. Crudely said, but I have always called a spade a spade.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Dire Straits - Heavy Fuel
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