P1921 Hell is totally cool…

Plunk Plink Plunk 

On a cloud and full of funk.

Can't find my asshole, where is it?

Maybe left it on earth, 

The last time I took a shit.

Plunkity Plunk Plunk.

A creepy bearded guy,

Looks like a hobo, la la lal la laa,

Showing him a finger right now,

Plink, ha ha and fucking ha 

If ambience was my point of concern, I’d go to hell in a heartbeat. I'd like hell, I think; it’s embellished, I've heard, with variety and excitement, torture and trauma. Heaven strikes me as unadorned and clinically bare. The description of heaven begs the question—who designed it? If the answer includes this hobo, then that’s one more reason why I wouldn’t want to stay here. I can see colorful articles of food decorating his beard. Jiminy fucking Cricket, aren't there any decent barbershops here, or a place to take a bath?

Clouds are probably okay for a week, but every day for eternity, now that’s inconceivably and inconveniently boring, almost a contrived punishment. Who would think you’d be punished in heaven? And what about stability? Imagine you get a chance to hobnob with an incredibly sexy angel when the fucking cloud under your feet disappears as rain. 

Haven’t we already suffered all sorts of clouds, having spent an entire lifetime with a sky over our silly heads? Given that, how the holy fuck can clouds entertain us? Creating slight variations of the cloudy day theme? That’s predictably unoriginal when, almost by definition, we're not good at predicting the weather. Looking at clouds from inside an aeroplane is great the first time, but it gets dull on the second ride. Imagine being stuck on a plane forever with nothing but clouds to look at. I say fuck clouds, and while we are at it, and if we get lucky, fuck rainbows.

And what’s with this harp shit? Do I have to take music lessons? What if I don’t want to? Can they kick me out of heaven and send me to hell, or even worse, back to earth?

Anyway, mister god, please hire the decorator who did hell. I mean, all this anally retentive stuff religions have people do throughout their lives and then it shovels them into this cheap motel with some clouds and a father for eternity. Most of us don’t even want to live with our own biological father, or the situational whoever, as the case may be. And eternity sounds like a harmless word, but eternity without variety is far more pernicious than a clear-cut exit.

Heaven's uninspiring. There would be, I'm quite certain, constant attention from gangs of nauseating religious asswipes, no television, and no internet porn. All that is enough to drive a grown man mad. Feminists would be pissed, as I only see shrivelled scrotal sacs with withered schlongs, not even loving men from what I see. And that’s not all. There's a chance I might have to board with the church people. The sort I can’t stand, even when they’re in their formals with their mouths shut. 

I say fuck heaven, let me go to hell, or if I don’t have a choice, go back to earth. At least there's a smartphone and home delivery. Oh, and porn. I wouldn’t be alive without it. Also, I need high-speed internet for porn. It's really a must-have. I like it hardcore. You know, where the girl takes off one piece of clothing at a time and then takes you in her ass.

But I know hell has its share of problems too, mainly allegorically. One theme that seems common across all religions is fire. And there seems to be a lot of fire in hell. It’s a technical requirement. You've got to burn these sinners on the stake, or for lesser fouls, simmer them for eternity. Think about how much fuel would be needed. What would you make of hell if you believed we were causing global fucking warming and assumed hell existed somewhere on the planet?

Also common across most mainstream hells is a CEO character at the helm. Christians call him the devil. He has an amazing job. A bonafide psychopath, he gets paid to be this sick, sadistic pervert. A hefty perk, eternal post, no competitors, and god’s scared stiff because he is the democratic opposite and the balance of power. You wouldn't know what good is without a relative comparison with the bad, and hell is as bad as it gets. The devil is in the driver's seat. Sinners look at him and shit in their pants. Then he burns the motherfuckers, their shit, and their pants and then gets to laugh — "Ha, Ha, and fucking HA!" Hell’s motto is "eternal damnation" with no exit signs. Cool concept. I’d love to be the devil's assistant. It's the best job to aspire to in the whole supernatural universe, and this blog will be my resume.

Plunkity Plinkity Plunk

That's it, that's it, god eats my shit,

Sends me to hell, scratching his ball.

There I find startled back to my sense,

I wasn't dead after all.

Plink Plunk Plonk.

 

P1920

P1919 Balls bloom in spring

Oh I'm a pretty pretty man,

Whose balls bloom in spring.

Need to get some nectar, 

Or I die a dumbass fledgling.

I flit from flower to flower, 

I poot the asshole arthropods away.

Today was a bad gas day I'd say,

My shit's blocking the way.

My luck is fucked, but I like to suck,

Whatever looks like a straw.

I've been foolish before, a painful sore,

Where moustachioed men spanked me raw.

The bitch I'm dating is behind a leaf,

Her ass makes even the taciturn talk.

I pretend I don't notice her looks, 

I fuck her asshole with a chalk.

She's fucking a caterpillar, 

A lover that always looks spooked. 

I'll light its cocoon on fire,

I'll clap until its cooked. 

The nectar gives me worms,

That itch at night and in the rain.

Makes me scratch my asshole like a whore,

Taking a shit is always a holy pain.

The maggots are faggots, 

I pick them from my shit and eat.

But before I toss them in my mouth, 

I roll them with my feet.

My eyes are blurry, speech a little slurry, 

A spray of hot piss hit my eyes.

The enemies are all around me,

They want to see me die.

But balls this ripe knows the rules well, 

I'll poke their asshole with a spiny stem. 

There are these overconfident acid ants, 

I'll go right now and urinate on them.

P1918

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P1916

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P1914

P1913

P1912

P1911 Health gone south

The world is full of bullshit people, 

They have the clout, loud and crass. 

Anyone else just toilet paper to them,

To wipe their shitty ass.

I hate everyone, I really do,

And everything in this world I see.

Forced on a staircase of lies,

That don't even belong to me.

Enemies and traitors, a tapestry of turds, 

Their vocabulary plain fucking lies.

They always shit in my mouth,

Their means, their end justifies.

Shitting from my mouth, my health gone south, 

Don't have any reason to prolong existence.

Bloated full of hate, I'm resigned to my fate,

An algebra of wretched subsistence.

The turds are so sickeningly smooth, 

The farts from my lungs like a cello.

My asshole is wrecked, I've inspected, 

Can't shit like an ordinary fellow. 

My soul to sell, to the nearest branch of hell,

My rectum is an injured abscess. 

I have nowhere to go, peristalsis in reverse flow,

Shit leaves a shitty recursive trace.

The reveries are sour, in my last hour,

It's perfectly alright to expect I die.

I spot a drop of red, a color I've always dread, 

Right in front of my one remaining eye.

Badly broken, and bad, flashbacks of the life I had,

As the blood drips from the internal sores. 

Way too weak to speak, muttering invectives, 

A failure at seven and four scores. 

The shit I shoot, balancing on one foot,

Is the color of horrible despair. 

All's hell that's fucking unwell, 

My life a series of nightmares.

 

P1910 Hackboy

I'll spank your ass with a ping pong bat,

I'll use your asshole to keep spare balls.

Every nightmare you lose a match,

I chase you naked through strange halls.

I'll hack your guts, I'll crush your nuts, 

I'll make sure you're never a dad. 

Look at my balls, tremble and fall,

I'm hackboy - the scantily clad.

I program bugs, but I appear deeply smug, 

I want to control software from home. 

In every layer of fat, I've hidden smelly rats,

That will start gnawing at your bone.

I like to look at girls, wearing pinkish pearls,

I wonder why they never look at me!

I'll sit on top of them, flattened vector planes, 

I'll force them to drink my pee.

What's that girl I see, blonde and kind of short, 

I want to please fuck her ass.

I'll eat all her shit, do what she thinks is fit,

Dance a jig with vodka in a glass.

Oy, my farts are warm, they do no harm,

I like to sit on a chair heated with it. 

The company where I work badly sucks ass, 

Their product is a box full of shit.

P1909

P1908

P1907

P1906

P1905 Why show all your teeth?

Darling why are you so upset,

Why show all your teeth?

Surely I can fuck if I try,

If I can talk my dick out of its sheath.

You know how tired I feel, 

Work is such a bossy bitch.

And when I come back home, 

You're working up a shrill pitch. 

Calm down and turn around,

I need to take a shit.

Last time you hated the color, 

The smell gave you a fit.

Don't worry our last eggs are good,

Maybe they're taking a little time. 

The grubs are warm inside the shells,

Pretty sure they're just fine.

Bake me a cake or something, 

I could appreciate a wine.

Be good to your man always, 

To get his dick in line. 

P1904 I dig my nose

I dig my nose, I think I'm close, 

For gold you never say never. 

I sit on a poplar branch, with a hunch, 

I'm a dude whose awfully clever. 

Today was all mixed results, 

Just gooey snot of some sort. 

The booger did ring my spectrometer, 

"Nothing of value" was its retort.

I'm hard at it, this is my life and shit,

My balls are just shriveled skin.

I'm so old, that only through gold, 

I'll be able to make a livin'.

And so I dig my nose,

I dig hard and every hour. 

The freaking world is failing on me,

And everyone's really sour.

They say "you're too honest", 

That serves no good end.

They say they'll cut my balls,

And stab me like a friend. 

I can't get a job these days,

They say your pubes are all white.

We want an impressionable mind,

To pack in it our shit tight. 

From branch to branch I hop,

No one wants me I see. 

It's all up to the gold in my old boogers, 

Only they can set me free.

 

P1903 I stepped on shit

I stepped on shit, I think this is really it,

The country to call my home,

Here I'll shit, in people's mouth I'll piss,

They'll gargle it into a foam. 

I'll be the leader of the land, I have planned, 

I'll fuck every asshole I meet.

If they don't accept my dick, they'll be sorry sick, 

And forced to eat my shit.

The cymbals will drive their earwax out,

Deafness for the fuck nuts. 

I'll skin their foreskin with a knife,

And shove it in their butts.

Haven't pissed for days,

A bladder full of frothy piss. 

When the smell makes them retch,

I'll push them into the abyss. 

I'd murder at will, guts I'll spill, 

Drive them to below a living wage.

I'll fuck their kids, auction them for bids,

Put them in a revolving cage.

It'll feel good, feed them my shit for food,

It'll make the fucks dull even more.

The guys will lose their spine, become asinine, 

The girls made into harem whores.

 

P1902

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P1895 গুন্ডা আমি ভালো না

গুন্ডা আমি ভালো না,

খুন খারাপি করি.

মাইরি বলছি হাসবেন না,

ফাঁসিয়ে দেবো ভুড়ি.

পকেটএ যদি কিছু থাকে,

বের করে ফেলুন তাড়াতাড়ি.

নইলে খাবেন সিগারেটের ছ্যাকা,

ঘামও মাখিয়ে দিতে পারি.

দুর্গন্ধ ভর্তি মুখের চুমু যদি চাই,

পটলচেরা চোখের দিকে তাকান.

নকল মদ খেয়ে এসেছি,

আমার চিত্তে শুধুই গান.

ভালো গান নয় অবশ্য,

সব গালাগালিতে ভরা.

কুকুর বিড়াল গরু,

নিরীহদের পোঁদ মারা.

যা করি আমি নেতাদের জন্য,

খুনের হারিয়ে ফেলেছি খেই.

ভূত ও ভগবান দুটোই নেতার হাতে,  

ক্ষমতার সঙ্গে তর্ক নেই.

অন্ধকারই বন্ধু আমার,

আলোতে হয় চর্মরোগ.

স্যান্ডো গেঞ্জি খুললে দেখবেন,

দগদগে ঘা ছোপ ছোপ.

 

ছুরি মারা নিয়ে করেছি পিএইচডি,

তাই করবেন না সময় নষ্ট.

মানিব্যাগ পেলে হামি দিয়ে ছেড়ে দেবো,

নইলে বেজায় কিন্তু কষ্ট.

P1894

P1893

P1892

P1891 করছি হাগু করছি হিসু

করছি হাগু করছি হিসু, 

রাস্তার ধারে বসে.

পেট ফাঁকা না করলে ,

খাব কি করে .

বমিও আমি করতে পারি ,

তার জন্য খেতে হয় ঘাস .

কোনটা আমার জায়গা ,

বেড়া আমার হিসুর সুবাস .

নেতাদের মুখের ওপর ,

করব হাগু ভেবেছি .

আমার মালিক লাজুক ভারী ,

বলছে খালি "ছি ছি".

নেতাগুলো দেশটাকে ,

লুটে নিচ্ছে ল্যাংটো করে .

হিং টিং ছট আর ভগবানের নাম  ,

বলে নিজের ব্যাগ ভরে .

 

অরাজকতায় দেশটা ভরা ,

মধ্যবিত্ত নর্দমায় .

মানুষের হাসপাতলে হাগবোনা আমি ,

ঘাস ছাড়াই বমি পায় .

মিথ্যে কথার মায়াজালে ,

নিজেরাই নিজেদের পোঁদ মারে .

ভাগ্যিস মানুষ হয়ে জন্মাই নি ,

খুব বাঁচা বেঁচে গেছি এইবারে .

 

P1890 ঘুড়ি ওড়াতে পারলে

ঘুড়ি ওড়াতে পারলে কিছু আর চাই না, 

কিন্তু সত্যিই কি শান্তি আছে ভাই?

পোঁদে ফুটবে কাটা বা ছোবল মারবে সাপ,

বা না হয় যদি ছাদ থেকেই পড়ে যাই.

কিন্তু কিবা তাতে হবে করি প্রশ্ন,

বড়জোর মরে যাব.

এমনিতেই কিবা উদ্ধার করছি,

খালি ভাবি কি খাব কি খাব.

সাপটা কামড়ালে ওর বরাত মন্দ,

আমার চর্বিতে ভেঙে যাবে দাঁত.

ডেন্টিস্টের জন্য ছটফট,

শাপ শাপান্ত করবে দিনরাত.

ক্যাকটাসের হবে ভারী লোকসান,

ওর কাটা ফুটোতে হারিয়ে যাবে.

পাছাড় ফাঁকে টর্চ নিয়ে খুঁজতে,

পুলিশের অনেক ধৈর্য্য লাগবে.

আর পড়ে গেলে তো ভূমিকম্প, 

ভারী শরীরের তলায় বিস্তর লাশ.

বালি আর জালি দিয়ে বানানো বেআইনি বাড়ি,

ভেঙ্গে হবে সহজেই ধপাস.

P1889 I inspect my shit

I inspect my shit, quite a bit,

It's a good way to break your brain.

Thinking about a microscope now, somehow, 

To resolve the details plain.

The percussive fart, a form of art,

Resounding in decibel glee,

I hold the power, the height of the tower, 

The proud master of all I see.

No trace of sin, just shreds of skin,

There's a whole lot of yellow in me.

The turds are good, once good food,

Now just overbearing spaghetti. 

Unexamined shit is an unexamined life,

You can't get more clueless than that.

At least, if you see what comes out,

There's some satisfaction with getting fat.

Well, people think I'm mad, it's sad, 

They ought to respect their shit.

It tells you of the time you've got, or not,

There's information in every bit.

The losses and ravages of time, 

Show up in the smears of bloody red.

The sugar in the piss attracts, 

Sweet-toothed ants queued to be fed.

The place stinks a lot, steaming stench pot,

The neighbors aren't at all happy. 

I think I wear out their thin patience thinner, 

When I proffer my stories of poop glory.

The gods never shit they say, nay,

They must then be hideously full of it.

I find it funny, my nose all runny,

Unlit the pious and puny dimwits.

When the gods explode, the only road, 

Can lead to a room without a fan.

Their shit when the fan it hits,

Will be worse than this overflowing can.

I don't count my blessings, but my turds, 

They speak only truth to me.

Today was a day, blessed I'd say,

The freshness of being shit free.

I ate a lot, this overflow a holy spot,

Many flavors of worms to see.

I touched one, it went back in the turd,

Its convinced I'm a hairy banshee.

P1888

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P1876 Fluttering flags

Flag = Patriotism, national pride, true something etcetera.

I think the more we confuse words with inventive expectations unrelated to their original interpretation or intent, the less likely India will make headway as a nation.

 

While a logo, or a certain geometrical arrangement of shapes and colours, represents a country's uniqueness in the roster of other such combinations on the world stage, these patterns are mere understanding, or placeholders, or shortcuts to convey the impression of something that is much more complex, interesting, and bigger in scope where the representation or proxy is needed.

 

And even inside the border, feeling one with an assortment of parts of a country, culture, and language that are largely just an accommodation of our imagination, we do indeed look for a crutch.

But after the festive theme has elapsed, these items will end up jamming landfills, sewers, and rivers, not to mention strewn across thoroughfares, where most people will either step on them or find them as just another irritating inconvenience.

 

At this point, a little thinking, which has become an extremely difficult exercise these days, will reveal that the core component of national unity is to realise that we are a small cog in a big machine. If we do our part right, chances are the whole hulk of metal won't come screaming down. Even highfalutin concepts eventually come down to mundane realizations, which unfortunately aren't all that glamorous and require work and personal sacrifice. But here we can't turn to the leaders for precedent, or at least for honourable ones.

 

And it is only after we depart from the flimflam that we realise that the ministers are really pulling fluffy wool over our eyes. We should recognise that encouraging a few rituals infested with ulterior motives and tribal fanfare is really just a deceptive diversion. And it doesn't alleviate any of the existential anxieties that come with living in a poor and extremely corrupt country that, thanks to the minister and alliance, is plunging headlong into a one-way abyss.

 

And this is what should worry us when the flag-fluttering euphoria subsides, and we find ourselves none the better.

 

 

It's fascinating how many of the tricks that politicians play are as old as the earliest civilizations. Yet, the sad part of our education system is that it doesn't teach us how to be more rational, or where our blind spots are, our cognitive biases. The majority fall, time and again, for the same lies, pretenses, and superficial amity, where there's nothing but a hollow shell of deception.

 

We flutter flags but don't think, don't ask the hard questions. This nation could be one of the best countries in the world, but it's not. We are still a poor, underdeveloped, and extremely corrupt country, no matter how high we flutter the flags or its size. The realisations are strange and the contradictions are sad.

P1875

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