Tuesday, October 10, 2006

"We have a problem, we're looking for a word that describes what you do." Neo Illogism

Dear Neo, Nothing neo about your problem. You think you have a problem with what we do? Well, guess what, we have the biggest problem with what we do. And still, we keep doing no matter what? What? We have no idea. We keep trying to come up with words for what we do, but all we end up doing is coming up with words for what we think other people do and nothing to help us get any closer to understanding what we do. The long and the longer of it is, we spend a great deal of time grappling with what we do while trying to get closer and closer to what we really want to do. What's worse, we're not quite sure we know what we want to do. Every time we think we know what we want to do, we only end up getting even farther away from what we should be doing. Should, should. should! That word again. That's another problem we have with what we do. We always think it's not what we should be doing. Naturally, we have no idea what we do; we're always trying to do what we should be doing. Which brings us back to the question of what do we do to solve your problem? We think. We agonise. We worry. We deny. We wait. We wait. We wait. We wait. We grate. We do not mate. Yes, that's one thing we just do not do. We do all the things that make it impossible to mate. And that solves an important side of what we do. You now know what we do not do. Back to what we do. We write. We write. We write. We try not to write. We wish we didn't write. And then, we write. We write. We write. Some people say we do not write. We sometimes wonder, is that what we do? We write to find out if writing is not what we do. We question. Yep, that's something we most certainly do. We answer. Yep, that fucking too. We do not provide the right answers, but we definitely answer to humans' nature. It's what makes us write. Write. And write. We spend most of our miserable life answering. We answer all the questions that life demands of us. At least, we try to. We wish we didn't have to. Oh yeah, we wish. Hmm. Yes, we definitely wish. We wish all the time. We, even, wish we didn't wish. And because we wish and do not wish to wish, we write. Write. And write. So many word years later, we're still not sure what we do. Are you beginning to understand what we do? If so, do tell us. It would be a very neo spin, we're sure, on what we do. Of course, we could have saved you all this talk from us trying to tell you what we do by simply telling you what our not-so-friendly but very wise inner voice Conscience Confucius once said when, in a weak moment, we asked him what we do. He said, "The only thing you do is what you don't want to do. You're too afraid to do what you want to. The day you start doing what you want to do, you won't need another word on what you do." After that, we were too afraid and confused to ask him anything. Still, if you're still looking for a word for what we do, try muse. Waste. Cut. Paste. Copy. Edit. Undo. Do. Redo. Rail. Fail. Gaze. Debase. Wank. Tank. Hide. Cry. Try. Try? Try...hmm, interesting word that. Probably, the perfect word to describe what we will never do, while trying to. Conscience was right, we're too fucking petrified to. Your garbose Agony.

"I have worries. I don't know what to do with them." Worry Wart Hog

Dear Worry W. Hog, You have worries? No worries. Just give 'em to us. We collect worries. Other people collect stamps, coins, ideas, books, money, bodies, scalps, designations, degrees, music and the like. We prefer worries. We're pretty sure you don't care much for your worries. We know you'd rather be rid of them. We know that's why you've come to us. We know how little people care for worries. We know people are too little to care much for worries. Unfortunately, worries demand that people care for them more than people care to. That's the thing about worries. They're high maintenance. Very. Worries take your mind off more important things. So take all your worries of your mind and give 'em to us. We don't mind. It's why we got into this business of dealing with agonies. We used to be in many other businesses before this. We got into all these businesses, typically, to deal with the many worries we were faced with in life. Unhappily enough, these other businesses we were in just couldn't deal with the worries we thought they'd help us banish. Every time we worried about something, we turned to our business for help. Everytime we turned to our business to help us with our worries, we ended up neglecting the business of the business. All our businesses felt let-down, were a let-down and let us down with a thud on a bed of more worries. As a result, we always ended up distraught and helpless with the state of affairs we found ourself in. Our businesses ended up getting ruined. Everything went down the tube. All we were left with were worries. Nobody bothered to help us. Nothing came our way. Everything was broken. We were broken. Then, we picked ourselves up and looked around. And when we look around we realised, the most valuable things we were left with were pure, priceless, gold-standard, unadulterated, big, small, medium sized, chunky, nuggetlike, spotless worries. Everywhere we turned, we were faced with more lonely, orphaned, unwanted worries needily staring us back in the face. Our heart melted. We were hooked. We couldn't say no to the poor critters. Besides, why look a gift horse in the mouth? And so, we decided to turn to worries for the solution to all our worries. Happily enough, they didn't let us down. Very soon, we turned all our worries into a big, successful, blue and chipper business of worries. What's more, we channelled this world full of worries into our business of worries. Now, when we worry, it's just more raw material for the profit centre of Worry Gory Inc. When anyone has worries, it's just more raw material for the company of prospering worries. Free. Every worry only adds to the bottomline. Freely. Willingly. Gladly. Happily. Efficiently. Our bottomline is everybody's worries. Pithily speaking, our selling line is our bottomline. Trust us, you have no business being in worry. Stick to your core competencies. Worrying is ours. Just remember, don't worry. It's none of your business. Your business like Agony.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

"I'm a block head. Please give me a list of websites to block." Block Head

Dear Block Head, As the great shoet Leonard Knohen would growl, "Everybody knows how to get to the sites they want to. Everybody knows one more proxy than you can block. Everybody knows the minefields you lay are all crock. Everybody knows the Internet is free. Everybody knows you're way too free. Everybody knows you have nothing better to do. Everybody knows you don't have a fucking clue. Everybody knows you're rubbish. Everybody knows you're squeamish. Everybody knows you're paranoid. Everybody knows you brain is null and void. Everybody knows, everybody knows, everybody knows all the things you never will. So go ahead and block one more site if you bloody will." Still, if your problem is the need for one more site to block. One more chance to to show no one in particular you're an idiotic block jock, help you we will. What to do? We're the Funcle and our job is to put people out of their agony. Even if all they're attempting to do is dish out pure pointless agony. Open your mind and prepare to have it filled. On second thoughts, don't. Close your mind, completely. To block anything, you must get to the one site that attracts all the things you're out to block. And that site is the human mind. Some people call it Google, but we don't think we're there yet. That's a vision of a newman mind we'll reserve for a more dystopian future. Umm, please wake up. No zoning out in this room. We're very sorry. We shan't go to the places you can't, even, comprehend right now. Let's get back to the simpler present. And to the mother of all sites we were talking about. The site which attracts all sites: Your mind. Blocking it is the perfect block to block every site you don't approve of. Without a mind to infest, there will be no site for a site to take up residence in. Unfortunately, once the mind is open, it can only be likened to a bottomless see. A see that is open to seeing everything and everything. A see that we ride, bravely, on a daily basis with our dear, dear surfer friend Bay Botch, the ultimate surfer dude. Bay Botch always tells us, while we're all at see, "Dude, the Internet, much like life, is a bloody beach. No matter what you do, the waves will keep coming. Under such morecumstances, the only thing you can do is keep surfing. If you can't surf with the tide, if you can't ride the waves, don't try to swim in them. You will drown." Wise stuff, eh? To think, it comes from a surfer dude. That's the power of the Internet. Block it. Don't mind it one bit. Or you might end up shocked out of your nonsenses by an open mind. And that's not something a block of head will find easy to deal with or control. Your seefaring Funcle.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

"I want to be black and white. Can I?" Off Colour

Dear Colour, That's an interesting question. It's nice to meet someone who is unbiased and seeks the middle ground. It's a good thing to see the world in shades of gray. Unfortunately, most people see things in a black and white that's not gray. We hope you, too, are not seeking to be the black and white that most people see things in. Wait a minute. By any chance, are you seeking to be a zebra? We think a zebra is a most balanced animal. A trifle showy, but very balanced. We have no issues with people who want to be zebras. Actually, we have no issues with anyone. It's people with issues who have us. Speaking of zebras, when we look down the tubes humanity is heading, we can fully understand why someone might want to make the crossover and be a balanced animal in shades of black and white. Though, we're pretty sure you don't want to be a zebra. We just threw in that thought so you know it's not such a bad option. Anyway, in case you do want to be a zebra, we can hook you up with a switch doctor we know from the Serengeti. His name is Kaka Animal Rights. His speciality is dealing with human wrongs. He deals in the spirits of all the animals humans have so far massacred. He can very easily exchange your inhuman human spirit for that of a humane animal. What you must be careful of, though, is that he has a no-refund policy. So think about it. The option of being an animal that's not part of the rat's race that is humanity might be tempting, but you'll always have ratty humans to contend with. Come to think of it, as a human, too, you have the inhumanity of humanity to contend with. Hmm. Zebra. Not a bad thought. Give it some thought, look left, look right and then cross. That said, we suspect what's really bothering you is the fact that most things look better in black and white. Especially people. In black white, your warts don't show up. In black and white, your flaws look like character. In black and white, all women look like Greta Garbo or Madhubala. In black and white, and with a cigarette dangling from the side of your mouth, any man can so very easily pass of for Humphrey Bogart, Cary Grant or Guru Dutt. Sigh. Why? Ah well, we're reminded of a time long gone by when we were fraternising with a photographer who fornicated with us only when she had her shades of gray on. On the days she wore her normal blue lenses, her judgements about the way we looked were rather coloured. We used to wait for the days she'd put on her black lens for the left eye and white lens for her right eye and see things in sensibly moderate shades of gray. Those were the days she'd call us Humphrey and have sex with us like we were Cary and ask us about Guru over a whisky until it turned sour. Those were the days, my friend. We thought they'd never end. But, they did; the minute she realised we were not much more than a coloured Asian from a developing country somewhere in South Asia. And that she was a blue-eyed, blond-haired, pink-lipped, white skinned lass from a Caucasian beyond we couldn't even dream of aspiring for. Her name was Barbie Fucking Whites and she was a figment of everyone's coloured imagination. What we're trying to say dear fellow is that you cannot have the best of both worlds. You cannot be black and white. If you try to be black and white, you'll end up in neverland. And once you end up in neverland, there's no way back. So don't kid yourself. Colour is the only black. And white is the only colour that's right. Of course, there's always Kaka Animal Rights. His bol-free number is FREESPIRIT-800. He's always open. And then closed. It's your call. Your graying Funcle.

Monday, October 02, 2006

"Why does Bollywood make a song and dance of everything?" Bolly Parton

Dear Bolly Parton, We're tempted to deal with your problem with a song and a dance. We think that would make you forget all your problems. Unfortunately, song and dance is not something we're very good at. Come to think of it, we aren't too good at solving problems, either, but that is not your problem. What we will do is turn your problem over to our falter-ego, the very unreliable boresspondent from Bollywood, Psychobabble Pasha. Take it away, Psycho. Tank ooh, Funcle Dada. Oye Bolly! Psycho Pasha hair. How it is? Want to act in fillums? Come down to Bumbai. We will show you lats of things in fillum city. And you can show us your things in your body city too. (Wink, wink.) Please escoose our pronunciation, but we're not very educated. Only very rich. Rich in Bollywood sesperiences of the unreal kind. So what Pasha says is this, singingly, dancingly and very tunelessly. You have praablems? Don't make a song and dance about it. Just song and dance about it. Song and dance is the perfect formula to ensure people do not make a song and dance about their praablems. If someone is making next to nothing a day, show him a song set in Swisserland. It will take him to Swisserland for five minutes and make him forget the years and years of subsistence living he has to live through. It also makes up for the fact that most people in India cannot go to any beautiful place because they can't bilaadi afford to. If somebody has one too many mouths to feed, show him a marriage movie full of songs and excessive consumption of fatty foods by very fat people. It will salve his food praablem and make him forget his starving family. Another thing about Bollywood, it's part of a very wise culture of denial and not saying anythings in a straightforward manner. We're very decent. So we must show everything without showing. Let me esplain. Instead of showing people lovingly fondling bubbles in the privacy of their homes, we believes in showing people squeezing fruity bubble substitutes like oranges, lemons, round vegetables and, even, watermelons in public places. You know what is bubbles? Boobles, big ones on the chests. Yes, that only. Then, instead of doing the perfectly normal things like waking up on a lovely morning and making love, we believes in showing people waking up and being mind-transported off for minutes and minutes of violent and painful rolling over each other down powder snow hills, rocks, in farms, on haystacks and in other exotic and not-so-exotic locations in fillum city. All in the space of a few minutes. Instead of telling someone exactly why they are unhappy or hurt about something, we will explore the pathos of it all in screechy song and preachy melodiraama. Besides, Bollywood movies and peeples tend to be rather long and winded. So song and dance is the perfect time to dash off to catch your pisser. Yes, yes, cutting out song and dance would cancel the need to introduce piss-breaks, but that would piss people off. And that's why it cannot be done. Arre, this praablem of yours will take very long to esplain and salve. I thinks it is best if you sing and dance for a solution. Bester still, you just take a quick course in heaving and vulgaring and come off to Bumbai. We will show you the stuffs and see if you have the stuffs to song and dance and salve your, and India's, praablems. It is the bestest way. Finally. Oye Funcle Dada, she is songing and dancing! Praablem salved. Where is thee bathroom? Your Psychobawla Funcle.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

"I'm a newspaper. Why do people take me for a dump?" Crap Question

Dear Morning Crap Question, We gather you're a morning paper? Or should that be craper? What to do, dude? Shit happens. Hee. Hee. Never mind the shitty jokes, we know exactly what you mean. Damn, we're good at this crap. We always seem to know what everyone means. Makes us fucking wonder why nobody ever understands what we mean. Anyway, fuck all that crap. Let's deal with your crap. Or, more accurately, other people loading you with their crap. Or, even more crackurately, other people taking you for crap. Or, even further punningly, people dumping their crap on you. Or, bloody personally, you taking us for a dump to deal with your crap. Okay, enough of all that shit. Please don't mind us dumping all these puns on you. Good fucking Lord, We better stop this shit. Okay, okay, so what was your question? Ah yes, why do people take you for a crap? Hmm. We got it. A blast from the past tells us we need to deal with this by going back to the days we spent in the Centre for Digestive Pissorders. Our Master Mistah Smelly Knows used to say "Humans are very anal retentive. They need some stimulating crap to let go of all their crap." Your question makes us ponder anew on that seminal piece of shitvice. And it all goes down like this. People need crap to eject all the crap inside them. They need to take their mind off their own shit to exorcise their own shit. People can let go of their shit only when they get a hold of other people's shit. When people look at shit, it makes them shit in and out of their pants. It's why they consume all the crap you bring them on a daily basis. It's what the Agony Funcle Shrincorporation calls 'The Shitulation Shatalyst Syndrome'. Please note: A competitive school of unthinking calls this same shit we've just dumped on you the 'Observer Effect'. What the fuck is that shit? Well, it's some shit that some physishits have come up with, where observations on happening shit makes shit happen. Shit, we think we must quickly trademark our shit. Who knows, someday, someone might decide to call us a physishit, too. Boy, that's when we'll feel like hot shit...hey, don't go away! We have a little more shit to help you deal with this people shit. The easy way out of the shit you're going through is to go blank. Go blank, and people won't know what the shit you're thinking. They'll have no way of reading you. They'll have nothing to look at and dump on. I repeat, simply, if you hate the crap around you, just chill out and clam up. When you clam up, people will clam up and be forced to go elsewhere with their anal-retentive shit. Now that's what you call cool shit, eh? No fucking shit. Sorry for indulging in all this verbal diarrhea, but you asked for this shit. Your severely funstipated Funcle.

"Is 'No' the most popular word in the English language?" Yes Man

Dear Yes, Why do you feel that way? Do you happen to be in advertising? No, no. Please don't take it personally. Don't go away. Don't be miffed. Don't get angry. Don't hold it against us. We are asking only because we need to understand where you are coming from. We need to know why you feel the way you do. We're only trying to help. Yes, we do know that advertising is a no-no to most sane people in the world. We're asking only because your problem seems to be very similar to that of a copywriter who came to us in the not-so-recent past. This poor fellow felt utterly rejected because almost everything he proposed ended up being rejected. We told him not to take things so personally. That only made him even more distraught. He told us, he got into advertising because he wanted to do something he cared for. He didn't want to do something mindless. He wanted to take things personally. He wanted to create. He wanted to change lives. He wanted to make people feel. We laughed at him, very loudly, luridly and uproariously. And then, very seriously, told him to, immediately, get out of the business. Fortunately for him, he did. Unfortunately for him, he ended up going back to it. Desperately for him, he had little choice. We didn't blame him. We felt very, very sorry for him. We tried to help him. We couldn't. The bloody thing about this bloody business of dreams is that it ends up conning, even, the dream makers. Once you're in it, you can't get out of it. Worse, you can't stay in it, either. Spend a while in advertising and everything else becomes a complete no-no. Spend a while in advertising and advertising becomes a no-no. On second thoughts, don't spend any time in advertising. Spend a while in advertising and not only does everything else becomes a no-no, you end up being a complete no-no to everyone else. So fucking don't. Good thing you're not in advertising. That said, your query does seem very advertising. Hmm...we've got to do something about this psudonym business. Maybe we'll introduce name verification. But then, people will feel afraid to come to us with their problems. They will fear being exposed. They will have to reveal themselves. And in this world driven by advertising, that's a complete no-no to, almost, everyone. You must be from advertising. Your name says advertising. Your angst screams advertising. (In very bold and very large exclamation marks from advertising.) Your conflict says advertising. Speaking of conflict, consider the conflict of all conflicts in advertising: In trying to get people to say 'yes' to all that you peddle for all kinds of strange and shady peddlers, you end up having to subject yourself to a life of 'nos'. (Wah, wah, what a conflict! Waa, waa, what a conflict!) There is nothing else in life where you have to hear more 'nos' than in advertising. You're encouraged, urged, pushed to say 'no' to rules and then pushed, urged, encouraged to say 'yes' to all the rules. It's a strange, strange world this advertising. Thank God you're not in advertising. Are you? No, please don't tell us you're in advertising. No, we do not have a solution for your problem if you happen to be in advertising. No, you have no hope. No, we cannot help you. No, we will not try again. No, don't come back to us again and again. No, not another 'Yes man' and his angst. No, we will not go back to advertising. No, we can't take it anymore. No, we didn't mean to end up like this. No, this is too much. No, we're not getting hysterical. Good God, we are. Sorry. Very. We didn't mean to break down like that. We didn't mean to expose our soft underbelly like that. We are strong like this. We are lying like this. We have no choice. We must. Yes, we used to be in advertising. Yes, we're still in advertising. Yes, we are advertising. Yes, we are all those people who come to us from advertising. Yes, 'no' is the most popular word in the English language. (If you fucking, bloody, bullshit, crapshoot, whatever happen to be in advertising.) No, we will not ask ourselves another question. Yes, we will continue to hide behind other people's questions. No, we will not try to treat us. Yes, we will continue to cushion ourselves from the real world with more branded merchandise. Yes, we're ready for the next kvetchun. And no, it better not be from advertising. Your hidden Agony.

Friday, September 29, 2006

"People say money talks. Why doesn't it talk to me?" Blank Account

Dear Blank, It's unfortunate that money has never talked to you. It's quite an experience to see money talk. It's one of the most fluent and, probably, the smoothest languages known to mankind. In fact, money talks even better with the woman of our kind. How do we know all this? From personally inexperiencing the experience of money talking to us. Put fucking simply, and sadly, we know what it's like not to be talked to by money and, if we may add, people with money. And, sometimes, knowing what it's like to be rejected by something is best way of fucking feeling what it's like to be accepted. Now that might not make sense to you, but if you consider how little sense all this talk of money makes to us, it all might make sense to you. Say what? Say this. It's the 'Rejectoff Principle of Experiential Acceptance' at work. Please note, this is not an untrustworthy principle we've fudged up from our fetidly fecund brain. Trust us, and it, it was handed down to us by the Borefather of Principled Living, Thorn Rejectoff. Now fuck that and consider this: No matter how nice we are to money, it refuses to talk to us or, for that matter, speak for us. Over the years, we've tried to communicate with money in many ways. We've tried to reach out to money many a time. We've pursued money with the hunger of a dog pursuing pussy. Incidentally, we've also pursued pussy with the hunger of a man pursuing a bone. Yep, to no avail. As a result, we're inclined to guess money is like pussy. It only talks to a certain kind of pursuer. And that pursuer is not us. It's the pursuer who can make money fucking talk. Are we talking of money or pussy? Same fucking difference. Rest assured, we fully understand what you are trying to because money, pussy and all things related have never spoken to us. Maybe, as the Monetary Mindtist Hardup Poorsky used to say, "You need to play hard to get to get." And so, perhaps you ought to try playing hard to get. Maybe then you will get. Maybe then money will talk to you. Have you ever tried playing hard to get with money? The few times we came close to playing hard to get, it only seemed all very impossible to get. Are we sounding trite, bitter and discouraging? We don't mean to. Go back to the Rejectoff Principle of Experiential Acceptance and misunderstand that it's just our way of trying to be encouraging. Speaking of encouraging things, there is one thing we've never tried, to get money to talk to us. The thing is, we learnt of it only after we had gotten too old to, even, try to try it. You, though, sound like a young fellow hungry enough to try it. Maybe you'll be more open to it. Get yourself a battery-operated, mind-decontrolled money-driver. It's a little something you need to install in your brain. Once you install this money-driver in your brain, it turns you into a dumb, monnunicating object that shuts up, and the mind down, in the face of any money. People say, dumb objects that let money do all the talking are very good at making money talk. We believe it's a rather steep price to pay for a money shot. Then again, we're all talk. Compared to us, it makes a lot more sense to go with money that talks. Besides, no matter what, we'll always talk to you. On the other hand, if you want money to talk, then you know what you gotta shut the fuck up, pay the price and do. Your very broke and broken Funcle.

"Why do superheroes wear their underpants outside?" Hero Giri

Dear Hero Giri, Good question. Very good question. A question that is long, long overdue. You've put the finger on the question that has been troubling mankind from the time superheroes have entered our lives. In fact, we, the Father of all issues, has often wondered why nobody asked us this question. People come to us with all kinds of issues of that are hardly obvious and hardly in need of very urgent attention. Obviously, it took a real hero to to muster up the courage to ask this very obvious and in-your-face question of a superbly delicate kind. Make no mistake, it is, indeed, a very delicate question with possibly life-changing consequences. (You will see.) What is this great Freudian urge that makes these heroes of superhuman strength, noble intentions and altruistic lives assault us with their sexuality in such a manner? Is it a Freudian intention? Or is it something else? Let us investigate. But before that, let us all take a moment to thank you, profusely, for bringing this issue up front. Quiet! A moment is passing. Thank you. It has passed. And now, it's your turn to thank us. We have it. Our brain that moves faster than the eye can see has come up with the answer to this vexing intrusion into our lives. After a lightning moment of speedy investigation we believe the following are the reasons these great men and women of superhuman tendencies indulge in this manner of superficial exhibitionism. Prepare yourself for this superblast of irrevelations of a superfuncle kind. On a marketing level, there is a distinct possibility that all the underwear companies in the world have gotten together and forged a secret contract with the superheroes of the world for the most obvious of product placements. In a fashion faux-pas aside, we have it on record that all superheroes love wearing tight clothes and do not enjoy wearing thongs. Wearing tight clothes with large underwear is an invitation to reveal thy visible panty liner. We all know how disgusting it is when women reveal thy panty liner. We do not want to know how it might look if men were to do the same. Superheroes, in their love for crime-fighting, choose to wear their briefs outside to protect us from this fashion crime. It goes without saying that superheroes do not wish to look like ballet dancers. Nothing more need be said on why we do not need more ballet dancers of a superhuman, or any other, kind in our world. Observantly enough, we have observed that most female superheroes tend to keep their knickers in a twist inside their outfits. Reliable sources inform us they do it, or don't, because their boobs are in-our-face enough to communicate their sexuality. So far, no male superheroes have agreed to have boobs and keep their knickers inside. We wait for the day the great warrior Nogun Shemale decides to make its debut on this politically incorrect Earth. Until then, we'll have to make do with the conventional superheroes of the male and female kind in our midst. Another important point we must mention is that superheroes have an superacute need to colour co-ordinate their outfits. It would be most monotonous for us if they were to zip around in skin-tight outfits of one colour. It needs to be added that under no circumstances is it enough to have skin tight outfits in multiple colours sans a triangle of block colour on the supercrotch to set it off. No, we cannot have triangles being drawn on skin-tight outfits. The great Superfashionistah Cutlet Kabalah ordains that triangles have to be in separate pieces of sartorial inelegance known as outerwear underwear. And that brings us to the end of our investigation into the inner workings of the superhero mind. We thank you for posing this super question. Interestingly enough, we identify you as the next possible superhero in our midst. Perhaps you can call yourself Inside Information, the man who gets inside the minds of criminals and reminds them of the good they can do. Mind it. And while you're putting your mind to it, try not to get your innerwear into a twist. The last thing we need is another superhero with an existential dilemma. Superman and Spiderman have given us enough of that. Your superknows Funcle.

"Is sad the new happy?" Sadly Mistaken

Dear Mistaken, You are not mistaken. Sadly. Sadly, sad is the new happy. Happy? You have no business being so. Sadly. You should be sad. And that's the only thing that should make you happy. Why? Silly, because sad is the new happy. Believe it or not, you don't have a question. You have the answer to today's life-changing question. Why is everyone so sad? Why can't we be happy? Isn't there anything to be happy about? Let's look at the evidence on hand. Impartially. Bush is in charge. Sad. Osama lives. Sad. There are no WMDs. Understandably sad. Sport is business. Sad. Jobs suck. Sad. We always have to settle for less than we deserve and so end up with even less than we settle for. Very sad. Maureen Dowd rules. Oprah rules. Fluff rules. Fucking, fucking, fucking very, very, very sad. You are reduced to coming to us with your problems. Pure agony. We're reduced to solving people's problem. Pathetically sad. People think we're here to solve their problems. Foolishly sad. Bollywood rules. Grotesquely sad. We believe the hype. Sad. Swollen heads are the order of the day. Painful. Money talks. Predictably sad. Small mercies are what people have to look for solace in. Sigh. The rich are getting richer and the poor poorer. Yawningly sad. Wayne Rooney is out of form. Metatarsally sad. The Australian cricket team is getting even more arrogant. Let's cry about it over a beer. There will be more channels on TV. There's will be even less to watch. Nothing will ever be original. If it is original, it will not sell. If it does not sell, it's not worth doing. Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad. Boringly sad. Lawyers are more powerful. Free will only be what you might get if you buy something very very overvalued. Diamonds are, still, a girl's best friend. Friends are like diamonds: Overvalued. There will never be another John Lennon. Bob Dylan is doing lingerie ads. The Who are back together again. The Stones will not stop milking their past. Why? Why? Why? Why? Dammit, why? Elvis lives. Eww, that's sad. Indian cricket will continue to look for a replacement for Kapil Dev. Moronically sad. Anil Kumble will keep trying to turn the ball. Soporifically sad. Cricket is the only sport Indians will ever be interested in. Mind-numbingly sad. Indian hockey will always be stuck in the past. Shamefully sad. Religion is God. Somebody else will always make more than you. Enough is never enough. The mind will never be without fear. Hair colour rules. Conversations will become dumber than door knobs. Looks are all people care for. People are getting stupider, daily. The list will go on. And on. And on. Until you die. The end is near. Fortunately. On the basis of all the evidence, we're forced to conclude, sadly, that Sadly, you are mistaken. Sad is not the new happy. The End is the new happy. This is the end, my friend. Be happy. Your happy agony.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

"Who is this Mojo and why do people lose it?" Art Barfucle

Dear Barfuncle, Mojo is that thing which helps us answer all questions. Mojo is that thing that will have helped you answer your own question. People lose their mojos for a variety of reasons. In films, people lose their mojos to push the plot. In life, people lose their mojos so they can lose their jobs. In love, people lose their mojos, so they can have sex with other people who can help them find it. In future, people will lose their mojos so they can wallow in the past. In reality, we do not know why people lose their mojos. In all honesty, we don't even know what is a mojo. In fact, many, many things are a mojo. In stance, a mojo is a fuel. A mojo is an excuse. A mojo is food. A mojo is hunger. A mojo is a gene. A mojo is an instinct. A mojo is a song that makes you happy. A mojo is a joke that makes you smile. A mojo is a face you want to come home to. A mojo is that whore who makes you forget how fucked your day has been. A mojo is a game of squash. A mojo is the words you vomit out on a blank page that lighten your mind. A mojo is a shopping spree. A mojo is the cheque at the end of the month. A mojo is the boss whose positive words make you run harder. A mojo is the rat race that keeps you competitive. A mojo is an ego. A mojo is an idea at the end of a long, hard think. A mojo is not a simple question. A mojo is definitely the answer to many questions. Can we help you with your question? For once, we're not sure we can. For once again, we don't have a solution to somebody else's agony. Maybe we've lost our mojo. We wish we could send you away with a solution and smile, but we're stumped in the face of no mojo. If we knew what a mojo really, singly, specifically was, we'd go out and grab it. If we knew why people lose their mojos, we'd go out and find ours. We're very sorry Art, you're just going to have to find your way to your own mojo. And once you find it, don't lose it. We may not know what a mojo is, but we certainly know how it feels to lose it. Trust us, you don't want to. But first, you've got to find it for yourself. And while you're out trying to hunt it down, stick with what the great mojo hunter of Ho Joe Fuxly used to say, "If you can't find ya mojo, fuck it." We have no idea what he meant, but that's the nature of Mojo. You don't know it, until you have it. And you bloody well know it, when you don't. Your nojo Agony