Virus

The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in
Meltdown expected, the wheat is growing thin
Engines stop running, but I have no fear
'Cause London is drowning, and I live by the river

It doesn’t feel like a month. It was only yesterday I was sitting at the airport waiting for the flight that was 7 hours later in the morning. I still remember the pretty Hong-Kong airhostesses. The tall, elegant Lufthansa flying girls. And the unsavvy yet good looking Kingfisher ladies.

I wonder what was the point in creating thousands of beautiful women and restricting access to them.

And entirely irrelevant wonderment: why do people like cats? I mean aren’t they unfaithful, uncourteous and smelly—everything you don’t want a pet to be?

Cats aside, having nothing better to do, I twittered(?) my often misunderstood observations all night long. Long legs—yes sir, give me some. Small, firm breasts—thank you sir, I’ll have a couple of those. Curvy hips—much appreciated, I’ll ride there all night long.

I think I’m a gentleman.

My flight touched English ground after couple of pegs of scotch, couple of vodka shots and a good number of visits to the loo. The thing about loos on airplanes is they are bloody pint-sized. I’m not asking for a playground up there, but you know a little more leg space. It feels like you are trying to fit yourself into a Kitty litter.

I still have no clue what went on during the immigration check. It was only when I reached the hotel with my cabin luggage run over by my cab driver spilling the cough syrup all over my cloths and documents that I realized I was somewhere far from my country. And it took me a couple of pints of beer and a night’s sleep to realize I was here.

You ask jetlag? Let me tell you about the hangover. Yeah. That was a good movie.

It’s been over a month and a half. How time passes.

Moving on, I prefer beer over any other drink the Good Lord has ever created. I believe the whole point of creating water was to make beer. I mean who would prefer drinking a colorless, odorless, tasteless mixture of two elements? The Good Lord has never seen raised hands and heard voices saying, ‘Me, my Good Lord’.

Beer. Man, how I love that shit.

Beer is good. Dogs are good. Elegance is good. Non-top-pulling chicks are good. Chicks that don’t hate the word chick are good. But cats? Why on God’s...

Know what? I want to see Tweety peck Sylvester to death and poop on his face. I want to see Jerry knife Tom for one final time. I want to see Swat Kats crash their fuckin’ plane in the Bermuda triangle. I want to read about a Billi go to Prayag and drown in the damn river.

Sanity. Come in Sanity. Earth to Sanity. We’ve got an ailurophobic freak on lose here. Sanity?

Until we hear from Sanity allow me to present a few observations I’ve made about this city, my lovely audience. The two of you.

1] Sun hasn’t yet been discovered here. The big hot ball that appears and disappears in our country is part of the Viking mythology.

2] We have nothing and then a sentence and then nothing again. Here they have Please before the sentence and Sorry after it.

3] If there was no beer there would be no rail roads in India [citation needed].

4] Every chick born here should be hot. If you are migrating you are not allowed entry without passing the Hotness Filtering Examination conducted by the Hotness Filtering Agency—the only agency that is reportedly in-corrupt.

5] Shitty music is prevalent everywhere. Even in the birthplace of punk and metal [I say Sex Pistols and not the Ramones]. Timbaland is the new Jimmy Page and Lady Gaga is the new Janis Joplin.

6] People prefer minding their own fuckin’ businesses. Except for thugs. No. Not the Bajarang Dal.

7] The Police… well they were a good band.

8] Plenty of opportunities for young, male, virgin Indians. Plenty. Just £20.

9] You run a convenience store or you run another convenience store or you pay for sex. Three things we are really good at here.

10] About businesses and minding them only if you are the owner. That’s true.

Getting back to beer, I love beer. This famous guy once famously said, ‘You give me beer and I’ll give you money.’ This famous guy was a famous nationalist who died in a plane crash that was supposedly being flown by a couple of kats over Bermuda Triangle while he was on the loo complaining about Englishmen.

But then again, seriously, why cats?

Now get this:

London calling, yes, I was there, too
An' you know what they said? Well, some of it was true!
London calling at the top of the dial
And after all this, won't you give me a smile?
London calling

I never felt so much alike, alike, alike, alike.