Life is pretty darn unpleasant these days. Traveling sucks the fun out of most glorious mornings when you could just be splayed on a stuffed to the brims couch, leading a happily sedantary life as opposed to getting suburnt in Alaska. I am not entirely against discovering idiosyncracies of a hitherto overpopularized culture but I lack the slippery insanity of , say, a Megan McCormick. That girl is delicately perched on the cusp of eternal madness and a writing deal with Conde Nast. It’s vile on both accounts. You are hardly to find me banging on about some prodigious horned melons brought to South American coasts by the first bunch of the Conquistadors or something equally surreal. Niether do I take any particular pleasure in encouraging the culinary exuberance of the natives. In fact, I positively detest it. I didn’t just fly a gazillion miles, leaving mammoth carbon footprints (I don’t have kids and I am not likely to breed anytime soon, so to hell with the glaciers melting in the Arctic, get your kids to take swimming lessons if they want to survive my generation’s abuse of this planet), while subjecting myself to the torture of watching Eddie Murphy “classics” in a plane that was held together by some scotch tape and enormous quantities of gum, so that you could hand me a bucket of chicken claws to nibble on. Hell, no. If the Good Lord wished for me to comprehend weird Chinese eating habits, he would have made me Chinese. That rests the argument. The widely renowned scientist, Dr Colonel Sanders, invested his blood, sweat, tears and mustard in determining exactly what parts of a bird should be served in an oversized tub to make an aptly fattening snack, and I don’t think talons were it.
On second thoughts, you may want to dispute that chickens are not known to possess talons. Then, if I may ask you – Have you ever encountered Chinese fowl (or even a fowl Chinese)?
Yeah. I didn’t think so.
Its just the me and the Tibetan goat herders then.
Update!
I keep hearing news about increased racial attacks on Indian students in Australia. It’s disheartening to imagine those peace loving buzzards from the Southern Hemisphere perform such damnable acts of violence. It tarnishes the island nation’s image of everlasting innocence. Perhaps, they have us (Indians) confused with the Koreans. Not that I would recommend hurling “suspected” petrol bombs at Korean people but other than that I can’t think of a more rational reason. Ozzies aren’t exactly the brightest bulbs on the tree anyway. I once met an Australian tourist outside Leopold, he insisted on addressing me as Sheila. Barmy rodent!
I repeatedly told him that Sheila is the name of the screeching harridan who gave birth to me. He couldn’t fathom the difference so I slapped him with a pink wig.
So, the gist of the story is, always have some false hair handy when you catch sight of an Australian.
I spoke to an old acquaintance in Queensland about the sad events.
This is what he had to say:
Ever been to Brazil in the summers? Land as dry as a nun’s nasty. Me mate, bloody sandgroper, chucks a fucking sickie at landing, think he is gone troppo anyway – that gutful of piss. Don’t get me started on the grog, slimey shit and the cooks are top whackers, they don’t mind spitting dummies when torched. The Brazilian man is a pissing hoon I reckons. Not quite the full quid, any of them. The ladies no better. I says to this one tasty lolly, I says – Even been to the Lucky Country? What does I get? A bunch of fives, thats what! Touring Rio is hard yakka. The old fella hurts.
He makes little sense, of course. We can’t blame him for he is only half human. Like all other Oz inhabitants, the other half of him is a dingo wallaby.
In any case, 89.7% of all Australians are Arab. While 75.6% of all Arabs are from Delhi.
Aha! now it all makes sense.
Some gentle Aussie lads participating in an act of group revelry. Torchbearers of the moderatism that Australia is well known for.
