An actual exchange on a social networking site

"World of Idiots": i haven't scrapped you in a while... it's only because orkut is a cumstain on the proverbial pants of humanity and needs to be wiped out before we're all wearing google t-shirts and swearing allegiance to the oogle. remember back in the old days when monkeys wore trousers and the giant pig-demons only demanded sacrifices once every six weeks. Sigh... i miss those days when you and i would gear up in our thongs and mud wrestle for the ultimate control of the universe. I also miss the mighty buffalo as they scampered across the plains leaving steaming rivers of cowpies in their wake. I remember when i ran into you in zurich as you were trying to subtly remove all traces of that transvestite's spittle from your zipper and then we teamed up to battle Archduke Ludvig Von SimonNGarfunkel the Vth before he used his ray of meat to turn the entire world's beer into that juice sausages are preserved in. Good times.... sniff... good times... give me a call. I need to meet with you in Singapore.

Me: I know it's been a while, but let me assure you that I am not avoiding your twin-orbs because of the fact that my underpants were found in your girlfriend's bedroom. Until the DNA tests are declared, everything is purely circumstantial. So, I shall most definitely rendezvous with you in Singapore. As per my contacts the chip we implanted in you using that anal probe shows your location as 1.20.54 N / 103.40.54 E in Singapore. That is where I shall meet you. As I type this I am on the Gulfstream G550 of the Dutchess of Stone Temple. The Pilots inform me that ETA at the above co-ordinates is 33.11" minutes. By the way, she says Hi!! She is reminiscing about that time when she and her cronies caught you paying for that sex change operation in the Bahamas using the Indian government bonds. I feel terrible, you had to become the pin-cushion for her mindless droves until you finally escaped. Too bad that limp never left you. Aah… Good times, good times. So what might be on the agenda in Singapore, old friend?

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"World of Idiots": A few months ago I received a communique from our mutual friend Sir Winston Huntingtoncarmichaeljerkoffonavich. It seems Sir Winston has run into a spot of trouble in Singapore regarding an old acquaintance of yours. That's right! I refer to none other than the crown prince of buggery : Felix Bastardton "Fatality" Jackson. It seems Felix is upto his old ways yet again. The last word I received from Sir Winston said he was pursuing his investigations regarding Felix in the number of bars in Singapore that cater to the um.. male persuasion specifically. It seems Felix Bastardton "Fatality" Jackson is attempting to round up an army of dainty men. Who knows what kind of terror he may unleash upon the world with such a force of fearsome, ferociously feminine fairies! It is up to you and me my old friend to stop him and rescue Sir Winston from Felix's deadly powers of tube suction. What say you? Can you tear yourself away from your busy schedule of skullbuggery and bestial fornication? I eagerly await your reply.

Me: If Sir Winston is in a spot of bother then the only honourable thing for us to do is for us to save the man. After all the pig's heart that beats within you was transplanted by none other than Sir Winston himself; when you got a heart attack thanks to that particularly ferocius squirrel you were trying to poke. I never saw a critter bite like that, and haven't to this day. Now regarding our crises at hand: I propose the following plan. Across the road from the mansion we set up an a chaste looking boutique which only sells baby pink shirts and g-strings & a has a beauty parlour. For this we should enlist the services of your old friend Archduke Humphry Buggery and his pet iguana. This should distract Felix's army of man fairy's for a significant enough time. Then you make your move. You shall simply walk inside waving an industrial strength tube of KY Jelly (it is the equavalent of a white flag on Felix's mansion.) Now, when I hear the sound of incessant pounding coming from the main chambers, I shall use the jetpack given to us by the Gorgamoks of Delta V and rescue Sir Winston. Your signal to get out is when we shut down the boutique on the opposing road - Listen closely for a loud, collective "Awww" from the man fairy's The real problems will begin once we have to leave Singapore - Felix has contacts in the government. Any ideas?

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"World of Idiots": It looks like we wont need to go to Singapore after all! I tracked Felx Bastardton "Fatality" Jackson to a remote island in the Carribean using the magical powers of google earth. I fear his going there leaves me only 1 conclusion. He's attempting to team up with your ex-fiancee Col. Horatio Dunderbangley Galaxyingots Jones, Mrs. I don't know what he wants with the Col. but it can't be good. I can understand your trepidation in dealing with the Col. after all he still has the ring you gave him. But I think the fate of the World should be given more importance than your illicit sexual escapades in Zanzibar. Once you arrive in the Caribbean I will give you further instructions that will tell you where to place the Ferret powered Rocket Launcher and we'll have to coordinate when to fire the Custard Cannon. I've been given special access to the inventory of my ex the fabulous supermodel Miss Penelope Sexyngton and she's let me have her remote controlled thong bomb which you will need to wear. See you there!

Me: We have a problem. My sources in the Interpol tell me that the thong bomb which is being sent to you by Miss Penelope , is in fact a highly fatal letter bomb. It seems Miss Penelope is still irate at you, because on when you swung around to kiss her on your first date, your man breast whipped around and lodged itself in her eye. She is now the proud owner of a Louie Vitton glass eye. But we still must save the world from Bastardson and his evil schemes to make everyone Fat, with his Collagen Cannon. To this effect I have called in a favour from the Chinese. The Premier, Hu Jin Tao is still pleased with your Courtesy Suck services rendered in the dense bushes behind their Parliament. We blast off from Jiuquan Satellite Launch Center in the Gansu Province and rendezvous with the Chinese death ray satellite in orbit currently 0 degrees over Lake Tangianika. We then incinerate Felix's compound of doom. Of course, Mr. Jin Tao expects a full week of your services. Remember to brush your teeth Agent.

The Airport

c3. The Airport.

The auto sped over the bumpy, undernourished roads of Bangalore. Quite unimaginatively the road was called ‘Airport Road’. As we turned into the narrow lane approaching the airport, I wondered how much time before ‘Airport Road’ would be rechristened after an ambitious politician.

It was 6:30 in the morning, the warm glow of the streetlights lit up the passage to the airport. I was early, as always. Thanks to this I had to pay the auto 1½ times the usual fare. Smiling, as I shelled out the cash, I swore at him in Hindi. The serene Kannadika wasn’t corrupted enough to understand, as he thanked me and fired up his 3 wheeler to life.

I rummaged for my ticket and showed it to the security guards. I could’ve sworn they didn’t give it half a glance, as I was ushered inside. I could have been a terrorist you know. With my baggage sufficiently violated, I collected my boarding pass and moved into the waiting lounge.

I sat down and proceed to open up a book I was carrying. From Beirut to Jerusalem, by Thomas Friedman. I couldn’t read more than 7 words as I found myself in a highly distracted state thanks to the cute girl I had deliberately placed myself next to. A green Tee proudly proclaiming the wearer to be Von Dutch, her blue jeans and white converse sneakers grabbing my attention. Or perhaps it was the cleavage which drew me in. A deviation from normal behavior, I didn’t feel the need to initiate conversation. It was almost entirely to do with the girl whom I just started to date. While I came to grips with this hold she seemingly had on me, the girl got up and left. While thinking, I had obviously forgotten perform the ‘mission critical 5 second cleavage look away procedure’. Cursing my luck I withdrew into my moth eaten seat, and just looked out of the huge glass window panes.

I don’t know what it is about airports and airplanes but it gives me an irrevocable high. I observe all and sundry and find the time to identify planes from the bright motifs on their tailfins. The international carriers are usually the larger four engine planes. The Indian ones are all either Boeings or Airbus’s, with the exception of Paramount which uses Embraer. Regarding the artwork, I find Air Sahara’s logo the most plaid of all. All at once I have this mental image of an out of work copyrighter coming up with the most non-original idea possible, a tri colour. I would understand, believe me, had India just gained her independence and the air fleet was newly established. Under the current scenario, I feel their brand managers should handle more mature themes – like Adult Diapers.

The Go Air motifs are definitely more eye catching. The colours on their planes, probably, don’t even have proper names – like red, blue and the likes. But the Indian Airlines planes are definitely the most unique. Half their Airbus’s sport one logo, and the other half another.

The people at airports, are inherently more ‘observable’. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that so many of the passengers there, have their trips financed my someone else – companies, the airline they serve candies on, parents, political parties etc. It’s a collection of people who find themselves in the confines of a brightly lit and highly guarded environment with nothing common among them.

In the corner sat a man with an IBM thinkpad series laptop plugged into a power socket, courtesy Airports Authority of India. Clean shaven wearing a shirt, and a jacket. His extra short cropped hair reminded me of farmers from the Hindi heartland. He had an unmistakable rustic air to him. The jacket was embossed with the logo of Bosch Machine Tools. It loudly proclaimed the slogan, ‘Invented for Life’; But not nearly as loudly as the music blasting from his laptop. A nauseating mixture of Ricky Martin and Westlife smashed into my ears at the speed of sound. He spoke on his expensive cellular phone, in a practiced street-smart Hindi. “I don’t have enough pieces with me to make the sale”, he said for the benefit of the passengers sitting more than 50 meters away. I assumed he was a salesman doing brilliantly in the company, thus rewarded with laptop and air travel privileges. With some nostalgia I remembered my days in consulting, when I’d lug around a laptop and feel important.

I caught sight of Von Dutch girl again, this time a glimpse of her fanny heading into the transit bus. I got up and made my way to the bus as well. As the bus lurched forward, I reflected on my Bangalore trip. It had been a wonderful experience. I felt a lot better and more enthusiastic about life in general. She had obviously contributed more than she’d ever realize. In a way she got me reading again. Somerset Maugham and Virginia Woolf were new words in my vocabulary. Delhi was going to be good again. I could feel it in my bones.

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Excerpted entry,

Odd mixture of non-fiction and cheap thrills fiction and aviation nonsense.