Thursday, August 31, 2006

"Insecurity is my middle name. How do I change that?" Bastard Child

Dear Child, Please note, we haven't stooped to calling you a bastard, you little insecure bastard. We know how much that would hurt and make you feel like all your names are insecurity, you little bastard. We understand your predicament very well, you bastard. It's one of the reasons we're, actually, subtly, sneakily, fuelling your insecurities, you bastard. Doesn't make sense, does it? Think about it, you bastard. Once you have your insecurities fuelled by more insecurities, you will have only insecurities. After that, you will find it much easier to deal with your insecurities, because you will see nothing but insecurities. Leaving you with little else to deal with, apart from insecurities. And then, you will get totally used to any frigging insecurities. Are you comprehending thy insecurities? You may ask why and how is it that we undertand the salient principles of these insecurity, and you, so well? Well, you little bastard, insecurity is not our middle name, but insecurity is our full name. Don't believe us? Ask the wise men of insecurity, and they will tell you that it is one of the root causes of agony. Well, now that we've gotten to know each other a little better, let's get right down to getting you out of our hair. We would like to ask you a few things before trying to help you. Not because we're overly interested in your predicament, but because we do not want to be seen as one of those Gurus who dish out advise without understanding fully, completely and properly the reasons, circumstances and grounds for a sad bastard's problems. Please listen carefully to our queries and don't bother to answer us. It won't get through to us. Nothing ever does. We're too insecure to let any of that two way communication take place. And that's why we indulge ourselves in one-way conversations of a non-responsive, regressive nature. It's a lot easier that way. To help you, it's best we don't get into a conversation, dialogue or argument with you that will only add to our insecurities. All we will do is answer all the questions we pose and provide you with all the solutions. It's only us who will reach you, reach out to you and shelter you from all your problems so that you may face them without the need for any shelter or us. Clear? Amazing! So tell us, why do you feel like insecurity is your middle name? Is it on your report card? Is it on your birth certificate? Is there any proof of it? Is it on your school leaving certificate? If it isn't on any one of those very important documents, we urge you to go to your local municipality and put it on them. Without your complete name on these very important documents, you will find it impossible to do much in life, which will only add to your insecurities. No matter what you say, if your middle name is not on an important piece of paper, it can never be accepted as your middle name. And if you do not have an accepted middle name, you will not have the security of being a fatherfull person, you little bastard. Not being a fatherfull person is the imperfectly documented recipe for distasteful insecurity. That said, you seem pretty sure that insecurity is your middle name, so we suspect your documents are in order. In which case, the only person who should be blamed for the state of affairs you find yourself in are your parents. In particular, your insecure father. Consider that. Seriously. Something that might make you feel less insecure is blaming your parents for everything. Most people feel very good when they absolve themselves of any responsibility and blame their childhood for everything that makes them insecure. You might want to keep telling yourself that. Try telling yourself many times a day that insecurity is your middle name because it's your father's name. It might not offer you much comfort, but at least it will make you feel like you are what you are only because of your father. We know that will fuel, even further, your deep-rooted insecurity and surround you with a cacoon of insecurities. In our nature, a cacoon is the perfect place to find security. Problem? Solution. Your soluble Funcle.

"I want to write a book. What do you think?" Book Bound

Dear Bound, You don't want to know what we think. There, we've said it. That said, it's time to tell you what we think. You want to write a book? Why? What the fuck for? Who gave you that hair-brained idea? Who planted that iota of unthought in your potato head? What makes you think you can write a book? Don't you know there are many, many, many, fucking many writers who want to write books and never get around to writing them? Don't you know there are many, many, many, fucking many writers who want to write a book and write it and never get around to publishing them? Don't you know how much discipline it takes to write a book? Haven't you read our considered and considerably fucked thoughts on the inconsideration of being that fucking disciplined enough to write a book? If you haven't, we suggest you wait for our book that will never, never, never, fucking never be published and will contain those very same considered thoughts that you will never, never, never, fucking never read. Don't you know that to write a book you have to write something substantial every day? Don't you know that to write a book you have to read at least one book? Don't you know how much more than one book you have to read to write a book? Do you think you can write a book without spending ten times the amount of time it takes to write a book on reading many, many, many, fucking many things apart from books? Don't you know how notoriously hard it is to find a book you can get through? Don't you know your attention span cut to shreds as it probably is by TV and other form of instant distertainment is incapable of reading even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fucking fraction that it takes to write a book? Don't you know there are no topics left worth writing a book on? You probably know all these things, which is why you have come to us. Which makes us wonder, is there any other reason you have come to us? Hmm. Did you by any chance think we will write that book for you? Are you famous? Come to think of it, we might just write that book for you. Are you really famous? Do you have contacts? Are you a superstar? Are you a movie star? Are you an English cricketer? Are you Wayne Rooney in a humble mood? Are you Kevin 'Instant' Pietersen? Are you the next big thing? If you are any of those fellows or someone like one of those fellows with an agent who wants to make you a quick buck by coming out with a book on your incredibly short career full of little achievements, you have every right to write a book about just about anything without writing one. And you have come to the right person. Not only are we a ghost of the person we once used to be, we're more than willing to ghost write any bloody minor achiever's book. Dammit, we'll write any book. Just tell us to write a book. (Please, please, please, fucking please.) You want to write a book? That's a great idea. An even better idea would be to let us write it for you. It doesn't matter if we get no credit for it. It doesn't matter if nobody knows we have written the book for you. If you're charitable enough, as you most certainly seem to be, please add our name to the list of thousand people you'd like to thank for having written your book. That might be the only bloody pathetic way we'll ever write a published book. That might also be the only way you'll write your book. As we had mentioned earlier, everyone wants to write a book. It takes a person with a lot of contacts to eventually write one. In the absence of contacts or any achievement in some other high-profile field, you need sheer writing talent. Obviously, that's not something a loser like you possesses. Why else would you come to a kindred soul like us? Your book bound Agony.

"I'm fair & lovely. Where do I go from here?" Unfair Kvetchun

Dear Kvetchun, Indeed, you are right. That is an unfair kvetch. Considering the unfair world we live in, there couldn't be a more unfair kvetch than the one you have just posed to, and for, us. You deserve to be pulled up for it. But we're not of that disposition. We're compassionate, kind and very, very fair. Our experience as a very, very dark personality has made us very fairly disposed to your disgusting kind. Since we have absolutely no bloody ill-feelings towards your empty, superficial good-looking and unfair kind, we abjectly apologise instantly for calling you disgusting, but we do not think we or you should be blamed for the negative feelings people like us feel towards your kind. It is only natural. Everywhere we look around, your kind seems to have a larger share of life's pie. Furthermore, everywhere we look around, your kind seems to have the whole pie. It bears repeating because everywhere we looking around again and again, your kind just takes the cake and the whole fucking bakery. What the bloody hell is the world coming to? Excuse us for our unruly, ugly, dark rage. It bears repeating that we have no negative feelings towards you. It is, after all, very unfair on our part to blame you and your fucked up ilk for being little more than superficial and fair and lovely. In case you do not see that happening whereever you are, you are, obviously, in the wrong neck of the woods and should instantly rethink, thoughtlessly, about which neck of the woods you should refuckinglocate to. You should also immediately tell us where this mythical place you find yourself in is? Point is, if you are not making the most of what you are, you are not in India. If you are not in India, that is the place you should go to from whichever fair and foolish part of the unfair world you are currently in. India is where the action is, baba. The stockmarket index is set to hit 1 billion points. The economy is booming. P. C. Chidambaram is pushing investing. The women are giving. And the fair are prospering. While the white world may be exotically disposed towards a darker shade of whiteness, the unfair people of the incontinence of India are helplessly disposed towards all things white. Believe it and yes, it is one of those rare places on this fucked up Earth where the men try to look like women and women try to look like something out of this world. Believe it and yes, it is one of those totally fucked up places on this motherfucking Earth where marriage proposals are decided on the basis of skin whiteness. God knows what happened to the old-fashioned virtues of caste, money and money. (He really must, because we certainly don't.) All this to say, shortly, we urge you to pack your bags and head right off to India. It doesn't matter what you may possess in your cranium or in your pocket, if you are fair and lovely, you stand a very good chance of making it fairly very big in India. It's true. Large corporate houses have made billions from your name. Lesser corporate houses have even gone to the extent of making disgusting commercials full of foppy looking males working themselves up into a lather to look fair and handsome. Bollywood is built on the fair practice of fair trade. Thanks to this neck of the woods, the quaint, archaic and, now, obsolete term tall, dark and handsome has undergone a warped Micheal Jackson like makeover in this land of the formerly lovely eastern dark. In parting, here's an even more encouraging parting shot in the arm for you, confirmed reports confirm that more large corporates are doing their best to make the obsession with your kind even more biased and open. No reports have come through regarding the implausible impossibility of this kind of racial profiling being proscribed. All this should make it as white as daylight to you that India is where you should go from here. Please don't repeat the kvetchun. We might kill you. Not that we hate you or anything. Your fairly fucked up Funcle.

"I'm greedy. I'm desperate. I need help. Help!" Hungry Mouth

Dear Mouth, We don't know how to say it, so we'll say it the only way we don't know how to. Go easy. It's not that hard to solve your problem. Put simply, it's easy. As easy as one, two, three, four and five, actually. One: If you're greedy for sex, find a whore. Pay her. Or him. If you like her, or him, stick with her. Or him. Try and find an expensive whore. Don't let her, or him, out of your sight. Very soon, you'll have no money. And then, you won't have her. Or him. That'll leave you completely shattered. After that, you won't have the balls to be greedy. S/he'll be gone with them. Two: If you're greedy for money, go straight to the stock exchange. Follow the market. Wait. Don't invest right away. Wait for some more time. Look around. The only people you'll see, are people making money. The only people who will be talked about, are people making money. The only people who will talk, are people making money. Not just small money, but hand-over-fist kind of money. Wait. Wait till you can't wait any longer. Wait till everyone you know is making money. Wait till everyone you know and don't know has made money. Then, jump in when the lure is irresistible. By then, the market will have made everyone money and will be preparing for the downturn. And you'll be the poor sucker caught in the downturn, losing money. Not just money, but hand-over-fist money. Of course, you won't know what to do with this sudden downturn of events. As a result, you'll end up very shattered and very suicidal. Of course, you won't give up. You'll throw more money after bad money. And lose more money. Not just more money, but more hand-over-fist money. After that, you won't have the balls to be greedy; they'll be making their way down your mouth to form a lump or two in your throat. That should cure you of your greed for money. Three: If it's stability you crave for, take up a job. Do all that it takes to stick to it. Suck up to the people around you. Rub your nose into the ground for that fucking salary they pay you at the end of the month. Do it long enough to get used to the stability of a fucking salary. After that, you'll be so mindfucked, let alone greed, you won't have the fucking hunger for anything in life. Better still, you'll be dead. In our life experience, that is a surefire way to end greed. Four: Try and identify what, exactly, is it that you so crave for. If you think hard enough, you'll see that there are too many bloody things you're greedy for. Think a little harder and the list will just keep lengthening. Think for some more time and you'll be so discouraged by the number of things human beings like you crave for that you'll hate yourself. Once you hate yourself, you won't want anything. Not even yourself. End of greed. Five: You're greedy for knowledge. Yeah, right. What crock! Fine, maybe you are so foolish that you're greedy for knowledge. Well, seek it. Read. Talk to people. Read. Collect bookmarks. Read. Join a library. Read. Think deeply about things. Read. Understand the way the world works. Read. Train yourself to be an intelligent person of knowledge. Read. Grow wise with your knowledge. Read. And then try to apply it. You'll be snubbed, kicked, ridiculed, slapped, booted out and rejected. And rejected. And rejected. And fucking rejected. Post that, we can bet you won't feel the need for any of that crap greed for knowledge or any knowledge at all. If none of this seems remotely like the greed you're greedy for, maybe you're just greedy for answers to everything in life. In that case, keep coming back to us. Our answers are sure to leave you so dazed and confused that you won't have any more questions. Any questions? Thought so. Incidentally, we hope it's not food that you are hungry for. If so, we apologise profusely for the callousness. Please do visit us. We're a great cook. We'll take care of it. And shut your grubby mouth. It's, perhaps, the only thing we know how to take care of. Your unstomachable Funcle.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

"I want to learn discipline. I...hang on, I've got a call. I'll be back. Please stay with me." Missciplined Mauji

Dear Mauji, The least you can do is complete your questions before we proceed to blahnswer it. It's very undisciplined of you to interrupt our session for a phone call. We take strong issue with this kind of behaviour. We have often to tried to explain to people who don't really come to us at all that when you come to us with your problem, you've got to leave all your other problems behind. You see, when you come to us with your problem, which rarely happens, we will, almost inevitably, proceed to create a slew of fresh problems for you. Which is why it's imperative for your mental safety that you don't complicate or communicate your problems with the problems our problems will create for you and not come to us at all. Our biggest problem, honestly, is honesty. And when we try to solve your problems with our honesty, we only end up creating more problems for you. Come to think of it, it's very sensible of you to deal with more important matters, like a phone call, while we are seriously trying to make a hash out of solving your problem. You see our problem? Good, now we have a real problem, unlike your problem. The problem with people like you is that you know your problem, but will never do enough to get rid of it. We have come across many, many people like you and nothing we say seems to help them. (Sensibly.) And yet, we shall waste your time trying to provide you with a solution for your problem. Since you haven't completed your question, as usual, we will proceed to solve your problem without knowing what your problem is. Not that it is very clear, but very clearly your problem is you are too undisciplined to think in a proper manner to arrive at what your problem is. (In that respect, you are much like us.) You think you are undisciplined, but don't have the time to be disciplined enough to identify the issue you think you have after having identified it quite well. The best way to deal with the issue you haven't told us about is to be bold enough to realize it is not an issue. When you don't think it is an issue, it is not an issue. Only people who think they have issues, have issues. The ones that don't are perfect, because they think they are issueless, no less. We think. Don't you think so? Think about that, while we think, with or without you, on your problem. Discipline is an issue only with people who know they're undisciplined. Once you have faced up to the fact that you are real and undisciplined, much like everything that's real and undisciplined, you're well on your way to solving your problem. Indiscipline is not a problem you should try very hard to solve. Because once you become disciplined, it is impossible to live life. As the great proletarian saying goes, 'When in discipline, do as the undisciplined do.' Please make a disciplined note of that saying. For, or against, you are not likely to find it anywhere else, thankfully. Back to the indiscipline of this session on discipline. Disciplined people end up suffering all kinds of unnecessary hardships under the guise of being disciplined. For instance, disciplined people will not buy into simple creature comforts and thus end up being idiotically disciplined, misfitted and discomfitted creatures of nothing. Disciplined people will try to attain Nirvana because they are incapable of attaining much else. Disciplined people will not keep in touch with other normal people because they think that is the way to foolhardily maintain the indiscipline of disciplinedly not making phone calls. Disciplined people will try to lead a life of useless principles, which will make them complete pissfits in this chaotic, randomly undisciplined dysfunctioning world. We hope you are still on that very important phone call of yours. Thank you for not letting us discipline you. Obviously, you have missed nothing. This session on discipline has been brought to you by the Histree Channel - Showing you all the short cuts to becoming a relic. And no, we will not stay with you. We are too disciplined, closed and alone to enjoy any of the things that normal, undisciplined, happy people enjoy. In fact, we're too disciplined to enjoy anything. Elliptically speaking, Agony.

Monday, August 28, 2006

"We don't have the guts to do anything. What to do?" Guts & Gori

Dear Guts & Gori, A real pleasure to be of service to the first couple of question ever posed to the 'Father of all Issues'. We're touched by your love for each other. Clearly, you have identified our core competency and your core incompotencies. We don't like mentioning it, but we're, above all, a marriage counsellor. Which is why we mentioned it to demonstrate to you that if you're looking for a place to learn about guts, looks no further. We're not only the 'Father of all Issues', we're also the 'Father of Guts'. You will, surely, agree that it takes guts to mention things one doesn't like mentioning and then proceeed to be pompous about having the guts to mention that one has guts to mention the things one doesn't like mentioning. Not only that, it also takes guts to string together a wholly unintelligible sentence like that and make it sound like we are not being so. We shall continue in this gutsy vein and reveal our experiences with people like us that we do not like to bandy about as us. Back to marriage fucking counsellors. Oh no, we do not dislike the bastards at all. Please do not be under that impression. No, not at all. We fucking insist. Banish the bloody thought. Okay. Good. Anyway, so we choose not to bandy that we're, too, a marriage fucking counsellor because our experience with marriage fucking counsellors has been rather appalling. Allow us to share, yet again, our fucking experience with you in the hope that it may give you the courage to deal with your fear full experiences. The way we see it, marriage counsellors suck. Thanks to our marriage counsellor, our Gori ran away with the cad. The cad charged us humungous amounts for every session with the cad and convinced our Gori that she was better off with a cad with our bank balance, which, by the end of our sessions with the blighter, was no longer ours, but added to his bank balance. On hindsight, though, we agree emptyheartedly with the state of affairs, and the cad. After all, if that's all our Gori was after, she's better off with the cad. Of course, we couldn't accept the assessment of the cad, which is why we hid the fact that we chose to turn marriage counsellor-cum cad. Instead we dishonestly bandy the fact that we're little more than the 'Father of all Issues' and are here to fucking help all comers. Thanks for coming to us with your issue. Please prepare to pay us a not-so-large sum of money once we finish with the first of the many, many money-sucking sessions we will have over your issue. You can be sure, we will not be finished with you, until we finish you. Quite frankly, we do not think you do not have the guts to do anything. You have chosen to come to a perfect stranger with your problem. That takes guts. You have chosen to take the first step and will proceed to share intimate details about your life with a perfect stranger. That takes guts. You have chosen to reveal to a perfect stranger that you and your lovely gori are having problems in and out of bed. That takes foolish guts. Come, come, do not be so hard on yourselves. You fools have a lot of guts. You fools also have no brains. Instead of sitting down and talking like sensible human beings, egolessly, about the state of your problems, you have chosen to wash your dirty lingerie in a public forum. Thrice again, that takes guts. How can you say you have no guts? We're sure you and your Gori are with each other only because you both know you can't do any fucking better. That takes a lot of guts. Then, think about this, you are together. Boy, that takes guts. Then again, the fact that you haven't chosen to be alone, shows what cowards you both are. Clearly, you both possess no guts. May we suggest you schedule a personal appointment with us? If after all this, you decide to go ahead and schedule more sessions with us, it'll go along way in proving to yourselves that you do have the guts to do anything. You know what to do. Next. Your nutsy Funcle.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

"Help! My bookmarks are overflowing me." Nooky Browser M.D.

Dear Nooky Browser M.D., Please do be going and learning some gooder English. We do not apprecate peoples who come to us with questions posed in badly questioned English and worsly written spelling. Are we clearing ourself with you? Good. Coming now to your question. Are your bookmarks overflowing you? That is a good question. Why are your bookmarks overflowing you? That is another question. Are you collecting them too much? That two is the third question in the first too questions. If you are collecting your bookmarks too much, then they are very likely to be overflowing you. You see, the thing about bookmarks is they are not very obstructing and obtrusive. They grab your attention at the first and then hide away at the later. Very soon, you are realizing that you are having so many frigging bookmarkings that you are not personally marking them anymore. The result of not marking bookmarks is that when you do notice them later, you start wondering how much of them you have been missing. You again see, bookmarks are great followers of Shakespeare. They tide and time for no man, not even people with names that have M.D. Something we casually marked carefully while responding to your query on bookmarking? We are wondering to ourselves what does M.D. stand for? And answering, to ourself, is it being Mad Doctor? Or is it Minor Doctor? It doesn’t really matters, because whatever doctors are there do not matters to us. We have marked doctors for life and will never be bookmarking them, which is why we were waylaid into asking. Please do not be mind our asking. Coming back to your asking, the solution to it would be to quit the exercising of thy rights of bookmarking. Ahem, yes, you may be noting that we, also, are a little rarely liking quoting Shakespearing. But no more on that fakespear and more on your bookmarkings that are going overflowing. As we were saying, when you are too much bookmarking, you may be better off offing the bookmarking. Of course, the problem we are jolly well agreeing is that when you are not bookmarking you are likely to may end up forgetting what you are liking and so have been bookmarking. But we are on our feet now thinking that it is better than remembering to bookmarking and not much doing after all that bookmarking. Are you understanding? Gooding. The badding of not bookmarking is that you will be constantly searching for the things you are liking and are no longer bookmarking. As always, you lose much when you lose some. You will, though, be gaining a few things. You will gain the unfeeling of not being overflowing by your bookmarking. You will also be gaining the ignorance that is coming from not bookmarking. Then, you will be gaining the headache that will be on-setting from having to be looking for the sites and sounds and things that would have been better off remembered by bookmarking. Most of all, you will not be having to tolerating the answerings from us in English that we is you mimicking. You are such a fooling. We are also bigly fooling. Go back and do some more reading. Then, you might be improving your Englishing and not have to be worrying about silly thingings like bookmarkings that you are overflowing. Hope we are helping. Thanking you very muching for asking. It was great making of you funning. Your slanguist Funcle

Saturday, August 26, 2006

"There is no match-fixing in cricket. What should I do?" Thuggies Adda

Dear Thuggies, Naam ho toh, appke jaisa. Wah, wah, what a lovely name you've given yourselves there. Rawther appropriate too, we say. Ne'er a truer name spoken. Being Thuggies, Sirs, you're trying to convince us that there is no match-fixing in cricket? Sirs, kya Sirs? Give us another one, Sirs. Chalo Sirs, for agony's sake we'll assume there is no match-fixing in cricket. What about fancy fixing? Chalo for agony's sake, we will assume there is no fancy-fixing in cricket? What about management-fixing? Chalo for agony's sake, we will assume there is no management-fixing? What about micro-fixing? Chalo for agony's sake, we will assume there is no micro-fixing. What about commercial-fixing? Chalo for your sake, we will assume there is no match-fixing in cricket. Let us now try to fix your problem. So what should you do when there is no match-fixing in cricket? Hmm, how about nothing? How about letting teams play to their true potential? How about not worrying about which section of the audience needs to be entertained? How about not scheduling matches as per the whims and fancies of the television channels? How about not confusing people with technology that is meant to hide and not reveal? How about taking the legalese out of cricket? How about not bending backwards to please certain lobbies? How about not changing rules to suit certain countries? How about not doing all that's wrong to make chuckers medically passed bowlers? How about not turning cricket into a business? How about taking a few steps back to the days when cricket was a sport? How about bringing the gentlemen back into the gentlemen's game? How about turning it back into a game it was from the game it has become? How about not asking us questions the answers for which you don't want to hear? How about not gagging people who want to speak the truth? Obviously, we're not being very helpful with this train of thought, are we? We'll try and do better with the next. Isn't it nice that there is no match-fixing in cricket? Isn't it nice that everything is fair and square in the great game? Isn't it nice that transparency has so transparently been restored to the great game? Isn't it nice that people are being entertained so truthfully? Isn't it nice that the spectators are not being taken for a ride? You should be proud of yourself, Sirs. You have done your job. You have restored the bismirched name to the fair game it used to be. Ulp, excuse us. What we meant was you should be proud that the fair name has been restored to the bismirched game it used to be. Umm, well...oh, never mind the semantics and the sarcastics. All that matters, is that the people watching the game are happy. The people playing the game are happy. Everyone is happy. Why are you pretending to be unhappy? Ah, we see why you are pretending to be unhappy. As true businessmen, you must wonder how else can the game be milked for more money. No worries, Sirs. You have taken some wonderful steps in the right direction. For instance, this 20/20. It's a gambler's dream. Place all your bets on it. Devote all your energies to it. Lure all the gullible people to it. Make it the horse-racing of cricket. It is the horse racing of cricket. It's a version of the game that's less about pure skill and more about taking chances. It's where the bookies, the players and the gamblers can make, even, more money. It's the casino royale of cricket. You are doing all that needs to be done, Sirs. Happy Sirs? Thank you for taking the mickey out of us. Thank you for wasting our time. Thank you for reminding us how powerful you are. Thank you for taunting us with your rhetorical question. Now please wipe that faeces off your smirks. And don’t come to us with your specious questions. This is a place for serious problems that deserve serious looking at for even seriouser answers. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask us. No thanks for asking. Yours impotently, Funcle.

Friday, August 25, 2006

"Why doesn't my God drink my milk?" Good Lord

Dear Lord, Let us bray. We have sinned. Many times. And are going to sin. Even more often. Please forgive us, again, for all the sins we have committed. Again. Please show us the path to your abode. Maybe. And thank you for all the milk of human mindless you have bestowed upon us baby. May God be with you. In the name of the Blather, The Broad and The Holy Spirit. Shamen. There, we feel better now. Our Lord told us never to take the his Lord's name is vain. Thank you Lord for letting us devote a little time to our Lord before dealing with your problems with your God, Lord. So Good Lord, you say your God doesn't drink your milk? We shall desist from descending into anything vulgar here beause in Lord we trust. We trust you are giving your God the right kind of milk. Have you checked whether it is pasteurised milk? If so, maybe you should desist from trying to feed the good God processed crap. Reliable sources tell us that The Lord is totally against big corporations and processed foods. While our Lord may not be the same as your God, we'd like to believe that they come from the same selfishly selfless gene and have similar beliefs when it comes to the Arudhatitold evil that big corporations do. Perhaps you should change the brand of milk you are trying to shove down your God's throat or trunk or whichever orifice your God prefers to have his/her/it's milk. In fact, we urge you to not go for another brand of milk. Most brands are promoted with fallacious forms of advertising. They are totally untrustworthy. We urge you to carefully consider purchasing an unbranded, organic cow and housing this said holy animal in your living room. Make it a point to feed this cow you purchase, unbranded, only unbranded and organically grown grass. On a good day, you may try and feed it some tofu too. Tofu is the preferred choice of food for many well-known organic peoples and we're quite sure the cow will take to it ravenously. The cow will also appreciate the sentimentality you will be showing by opting for tofu. You see, tofu is also the preferred meat of these very well known organic peoples. Once your cow is convinced of your organic, eco-friendly and non-meat credentials, it will gladly give you the perfect kind of milk. Needless to say, you must impregnate your cow and force the cow to give birth to a calf. No cow without a calf can ever give any milk. No, we do not encourage you to impregnate the cow. We suggest you stick to the God-given rules of impregnation. Bestiality is not something any God will tolerate under any fucking circumstances. Unless, the devotee happens to be a sheep-farmer. In that case, anything goes. That said, if you, not being a sheep farmer, stoop to such desperate depths of a holely anti-God nature, no matter how good the milk your bestially impregnated cow yields, the Good God above will not drink it. We hope you are taking all this down. It is very important that you follow the correct rituals down to the last teat. The right procedures leading to the perfect teat will provide you the perfectly purest form of milk that no fair, racially sensitive, politically correct, liberal minded God will ever be able to resist. Please keep us posted on how things develop. Enjoy the ride. Gullible, foolish, miracle-crazed people like you deserve a good one. Something us humans are so very capable of providing. Your Silligious Funcle.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

"I'm Pluto. What next?" Plutonic Relationship

Dear Pluto, We're very tempted to say what the scientist of the world have asked you to do, as in, chalo, chalo, yahaan say phuto! Of course, you have no idea what that means, even though, you know the feeling. Stumped? Awesome. That's why we're here, to stumper the stumped and then unstump them. Stumper, what da fuck is dat? Super. Since you're getting stumper and stumper by the minute, we shall further elaborater. 'Stumper' is the next stage of being stumped. Unstumped? Good. Coming now to your originaler question of what next, now that you have been told to phuto? But first, a quick primer on 'phuto'. 'Phuto', in the not-so-ancient 'Bambaiya' dialect of the ancient language of Hindi means 'get the hell out of here', rudely, callously, astronomically and scientifically. We're sure you know the feeling, right? Good. Which is sure to raise another question in your mind full of more weighty questions like what is this rude-sounding thing called 'Bambaiya'? Time for some more unstumping from the Father of all issues. 'Bambaiya' is 'Bambaiya' for 'Bombayspeak'. 'Bombayspeak' is oldspeak for 'Mumbaispeak'. 'Mumbaispeak' is a kind of Hindi spoken only in Mumbai. And Mumbai is the the new name for Bombay. Are we clear? Really? Doesn't matter. Really. Considering you don't matter no more. Ah well, get used to it. Unemotionally, scientifically, and unscientifically, speaking it's the way this world operates. They use you as long as you're useful enough, big enough, significant enough and till they are ignorant enough about other weightier things. The minute they find other more interesting, bigger and more significant matters, you cease to matter. You are cold. You are dark. You are solitary. You are distant. You are unapproachable. Boy, you were lucky. Be thankful, they paid attention to you for this long. It's rare for people like us to pay much attention to people like you. People like us prefer big things. For instance, big hips are preferred by some Earthlings. Big breasts by most Earthlings. And big planets by the big astronomers. Come to think of it, you shouldn't be too miffed. Before now, you were a loner. Now, you're a huge part of a gang of little fellows. You're now the biggest fish in a smaller asteroid pond. You can lord over that pond. You were nothing in our pond. As that big fish in the human marketing pond, Al Ries and Jack Trout, would say, you are now better positioned to exert more influence. You have no reason to feel down and out. You used to be down and out there. But now, you're the Thing in the Kuiper Belt. How cool is that? Very fucking cool, that's how cool. You've just been given a fresh lease of life. You've been released from our oblong orbit of Astronomical Karma. You can now relaunch yourself as T.A.F.K.A.P., (The Artist formerly known as Pluto). You were a renegade among mortals. You can now be the Prince of Asteroids. Just don't get too comfy. You never know what heartless humans have in store for you next. Goodbye, my lonely soulmate. You are no longer like us. We like you. No more.With stars in our eyes, Funcle.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

"I'm a career woman. Should I get married?" Miss Fortune

Dear Fortune, Even if you don't want to get married, there will tons of losers who will gladly want to marry you. Of course, the issue is would you want to marry a loser? And if you are considering that question, another question crops up and begs for secondary consideration two, which is what is a loser? Is a loser someone who doesn't have a career? Or is a loser a loser who will lose every ounce of self-respect and conscience for a career? If you can solve this most complex of human conditions, you might find an answer to the original question we posed you in response to your original question. You catch what we're saying? If not, you may want to consider posing this question to a gentleman of questionable intelligence like Michael Noer. Chances are, you will not find an answer of a satsifactory nature from the gent who likens all wives to whores and seems utterly convinced with his unfortunate delusion that all career women are likely to cheat. Obviously, this world is full of very insecure men like him who will lap up such drivel. So we urge you to please, immediately, disregard that option and stay with us. No, no, we're not suggesting that you consider our proposal to get married to us. No, no, we did not make any such proposal. No, no, we wouldn't dream of offering ourselves as a sacrifice on the altar of your career aspirations. We wouldn't let you go forth and conquer lands that we failed miserably at conquering. Besides, we have no interest in doing all the cathartic cleaning and lovely cooking at home while you go and bust your ass with all the arseholes that you will definitely have to deal with while trying to make a career out of your life. Why should we choose the easier option of staying at home and doing far more interesting things with our life while women like you are endangering their lives in the hostile environs of the alpha-male infested corporate jungle? Umm, we apologise for getting a bit carried away. We forgot this was not about us. We always forget that nothing is about us. If only we remembered, more often, that we are nothing and so nothing can be about us. Back to you. So you were saying...ah yes, you were wondering whether you should get married? A very good question, indeed. We, too, were wondering whether we should get married? Unfortunately, every time we wonder on the situation, we are faced with women who seem to want to be like us and would like us to be unlike us. You see, we're not a career woman. In fact, we're not a career man, either. So much so, that we, sometimes, wonder whether we're a man at all. We're not a career man. Should we get married? Your questionable Agony.

"We need a name for our baby. Any thoughts?" Thotless Couple

Dear Couple, A couple of things, think more. And then, think Brangelina. Think neologisms. Think Puri. Think Fury. Think Suri. Think about the future. Think IBM. No, don't think IBM. Think about what people will say. Think about the atom bomb. Think about the end of the world. Think about birth certificates. Think about fucking school admissions. Think about unfortunately named people. Think Dicks. Think Pussy Galore. Think. Think. Think. And if you still can't think of anyhing, think no more. You've come to the right place, we think. Great, now that we've got all that uneccessary thinking out of the way, time for a real good unthink and some thoughtless advice. Quick question, why not kill the baby and save yourself all this thinking? Not only will you save yourself the thinking, you will also save yourself a ton of money. Not only only will you save yourself a ton of money, you will also save yourself the trouble of dealing with a whole load of shit. I'm telling you babies, babies shit a load. So why deal with baby shit? You've got a shitload of shit to deal with in life anyway. You've got to make sure your spouse doesn't stray. You've got to make sure the housework gets done while the two of you are at work and trying to stray. You've got to think about what a pain the baby will be when you two get fucking sick of each other and want to end the coupling. You've got to think about who's fucking you guys when the baby is keeping you up all night and depriving you of sex with each other. You've got to, never mind, you really should get rid of the baby. Don't believe us? Here's more shit to make you. On second thoughts, let's not. Let's give you some encouraging shit to save the baby. Hmm...ahem...well...damn it! Looks like we can't think of a single reason you should keep the damn critter. What were we thinking? Oh yeah, keep the baby. Babies make great toys. You can manipulate the critter and try to make him/her what you never were or will ever be. You can fuck with the kid's mind. You can home-school the baby and make sure the outside world doesn't get a chance to mess with the kid, while you're messing with it. You can blackmail the kid into believing it owes you guys for the wonderful life it is going to live. You can also plump your hopes of an insurance policy in your old age on the kid when it grows us. Right, we see lots of good reasons to keep the baby. That apart, the baby is perhaps the only thing you can call your very own in this world. Everything else is just an illusion of ownership. The baby is not. The baby is your flesh and blood. The baby is you. And the damn baby will be the reason you will be torn apart and forced to stay together. What a ball of joy it will turn out to be. You really must think of a nice name for it. Don't waste your time coming to a fool like us for ideas on such sweet little things. You had the bloody baby. You thought about it, we hope, before deciding to have one. Now go and bloody think about it some more. Do us, and the baby, a favour. Give the poor child a nice name. God knows you haven't done it any favours by bringing it into this stinking, fucked up world. Oh and one more thing, the ball of flesh has got to live up to the name you people give it. So don't go and think of something morose like Agony. Thank you for asking. Please come again. Your baby's loving Funcle.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

"I miss her. What should I do?" Mr. Misserable

Dear Mr. Misserable, You miss 'Her'? Who doesn't miss 'Her'. Everybody who is single misses 'Her'. You're not the only person who is single and misses 'Her'. 'Her' encompasses the the overall gravitude of the human condition. If you don't know the meaning of 'gravitude', join the gang at But back to 'Her.' As we were holding forth, forthwrongly, 'Her' is the essence of the miserableness of the human conundrum that is we. And 'Her' is a piece of airy-fairy crap. So let us get back to some real 'Her' crap. Let us consider the unlikely possibility that a sure-fire loser such as you who is doing not much better than missing her is not single. Hahahahahahohohohohehehehehahaha! Sorry, we didn't mean to laugh uproriously at you like that. Ahem. We're now suitably serious. Of course, if you are not single and you still miss her, there is something far more serious to ponder about. Allow us to ponder for a millisecond and come up with a seriously suitable response to your seriously fucked query. Got it! We're too good. We're ubergood. We're supergood. We're Superman Returns. Oh no, Superman Returns is so gay. So we're just repetitively many good. We're back with you. That said, it is swiftly so true that our mind thinks faster than the Phantom's eye can see. Obviously, you have no idea what we are yammering on about, which could be one of the reasons you miss her. Never mind. We're sure you're missing all the pearls we are judiciously subtly throwing your way. And so, we shall be obvious. We shall dumb it down. We shall slap your miserable face with solutions to the serious problem you seem to be facing. Have you wondered why you miss her? Since you likely have little else to do, we're pretty sure you probably have wondered ponderingly, and ponderously, enough about the issue. We suggest you go back to the writing board and ponder over all the reasons you miss her. Once you do that, you wil realise, miserably, that you are the miserable reason you miss her. Once you realise, miserably, you're the reason you miss her, you will secondly realise you can't do a frigging thing about it. Once you realise you can't do a frigging thing about it, you will thirdly realise how helplessly unmissable you are. And once you realise how helplessly unmissable you are, you will fourthly, and finally, realise that she doesn't miss you one bit. That's when it will dawn on you how pointlessly helpless and hopeless, it is to miss her. In case all this doesn't work for you, consider going back to where you left her. There's a very good chance that that will go a long way towards alleviating your miserable problems. Just don't be too sure. You see, what you don't see is whether she misses you at all. Take a little time out to consider the possibility that she isn't missing you one bit and is in fact forgetting you by going off with someone else who isn't foolish enough, loser enough and isolationist enough to moon about romantically useless matters like missing her. Instead, there's a very sensible chance that she is with a very sensible bloke who cares about more practical things like what one must do to ensure that nobody misses anyone. In which case, there's no fucking point missing anyone, is there? Silly fellow! Your problem is not you miss her. You've just fucking missed the bloody bus. Bus, we'll stop now and leave you to your miserable life. And go write ourselves a letter or something. Sigh, we miss her. Hahahahahahehehehehhohohohoho! Sorry. We didn't mean to laugh uproriously at ourselves, either. Your Agonising Funcle.

"I'm immigrating to Canada. How should I prepare for this trip?" Cold Comfort

Dear Comfort, So you too have decided to join the bandwagon. You know, this isn't the first time somebody has come to us with this kvetchun. We come to ourselves all the time with this kvetchun, even after having gone way past the stage of needing an answer to this kvetchun. Hmm,how do we answer this kvetchun? Honestly, of course. We know no other way. Which is why we're stuck in this one way street of life. But enough about our kvetchuns, on to your kvetch. There are many ways to prepare for Canada. The easiest way, of course, is to prepare yourself not to go there. And like all easiest ways, it is the toughest way to prepare. To not be enamoured by what the Great White seemingly has to offer for us dark souls is a task not for lesser humans like us dark souls. It's hard to think the world out there is not better than the shitty world you find yourself in currently. As the great cliche which comes and refuses to go goes, the grass is always greener on the other side, even when hidden under a thick coat of very white prejudices and snow. So we will quietly not try to discourage you from going. Instead, we shall pound you with all the encouragingly discouraging options you will have at your disposal when you go there. If you are a computer programmer, you will end up going to a country which will always remind you of how much better it is for code-pushers of your kind in the country you did not manage to go to, US of fucking A. If you are not a computer code-pusher, you will be stuck wondering what you are expected to do in a country that invites qualified people but has no clue what to do with them. If you are not good-looking, you will be very lonely. If you love cricket, you will be lost. If you are dark, you will be little more than a curiosity. If you are a writer, you will be a loser. If you are submissive, you will be tolerated. If you have a mind, you will be berated. If you are educated, you will be asked to go back to University. If you are old, you will be up shit-creek. If you are young, you will be encouraged to learn how to speak in a foreign accent. If you are a Sikh, you will become a car salesman. If you speak French, you will be hounded out of all provinces and into Quebec. If you are in Quebec, you will have no great jobs to look forward to. If you are considering quitting a good job in the place you currently are in, we urge you not to. If you are planning to do it for yourself, you are a fool. If you want to do it because your kids might be better off growing up in a western country, you are a fool and don't deserve the one life you have been given to live and are considering sacrificing for your kids. If you are an Indian woman, you will be the flavour of the month. If you are an Indian woman, prepare to be fucked. If you are a Canadian woman, come to India. If you're not a woman, you're fucked. If you have contacts, you will make it anywhere. If you think you'll make more money there, you haven't been looking around you. If you are coming from India, you ought to be in India. If you are not happy in the place you are in, you will not be happy anywhere. If you are happy in the place you are in, you will be happy anywhere. If you can be happy anywhere, why go any place else which is going to be just like anywhere? If you don't like what we've told you about Canada, be thankful, you didn't ask us about Australia. If you think this is the end, it's just the beginning. If you think you can be fully prepared to go to a foreign country, you are wrong. If you are unable to get the drift of our conversation, you deserve to go there and find out for yourself. Go forth and hanker, my child. There's no place better than Canada to help you grow up. Warmly freaking Funcle.

Monday, August 21, 2006

"Any ideas on what's the best way to make a movie?" Idea Less

Dear Less, We have no idea how to help you, but what we can do is offer you a few time-tested ideas borrowed from other more experienced sources. Actually, that's not a bad idea at all. You want to make a movie? Here's a great idea. Borrow a bunch of ideas from other movies. Lock yourself in your little hole with a whole bunch of hit DVDs. For a little intellectual pretension, throw in a few foreign language DVDs. Not because any of the foreign film ideas will be remotely workable, but just so you can drop the names of all that foreign cult crap in the right places and during the conversations you will try to have with people who won't be listening to a word of all that intellectual cult crap you'll anyway just have to passionately spout. Trust us, it works. Not that we ever managed it, but beause we didn't do any of that and we didn't manage anything. During the days gone by when we tried our best to pass off our original ideas as our ideas, we were always met with stinging disapproval and a clutch of 'better' ideas from other people's ideas. Are you getting any ideas? We certainly hope they're not fresh. Not to belabour the point, but what we're saying is if you're trying to write a movie, or get a movie made, it's best that you load your cranium with a whole bunch of other movie ideas. Watch as many movies as you can lay your hands on and make copious notes. Make sure none of these notes you make contain anything stirringly original. That will only make them utterly undoable. The rule for getting anything done is, if it hasn't been done before, it fucking means it just cannot be done. Don't you get it? If something can be done, it's done. So let's do more of it. Right? Wrong. Which is what makes it so fucking right. Well, at least, that's what we've learnt. Since we're stuck with the agony of doing a fucking agony column, and little else, it must mean they were wrongly right and we were rightly wrong. In case, you find that a bit hard to swallow down your foolishly stubborn original gullet, just do a sequel to a great movie and call it '-1'. Why '-1'? Because that way you will be killing two turds with one stone. You will appeal to all the unoriginal folk that make movies by pandering to their base desires of milking a hit with a sequel. And you will be pathetically satisfying your pathetic urge for pathetic originality with little more than an originally pathetic title. Besides, the very very very least you can do when making a crap sequel is come up with an interesting title that tries it's best to break the rule of thumb which says no bloody sequel will make any money worth making so if you're trying to make a sequel let it be a sequel that's not a sequel. Mindfucked? Good, you're ready to make a movie. Your filmily fucking Funcle.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

"I'm a poet. I want to be a poet. Can you help me be a poet?" Soppy Joe

Dear Soppy, Good Lord, what a non-existential soulful fool you are! Ah, glad we got that out of our system. Now coming to your problem and other problems. First of all, you've chosen to write, which is bad enough. Worse, you now want to be a poet. What the bejeebusjesufeesus is wrong with you? Understand this, poets make no money. Poets think being drunk or potted out or drunk and potted out is the only way to be. Poets wallow in self-pity. Poets spend all their time thinking of soulful things. Poets make no money. Oh, we already said that. Still, it's well worth repeating. Again. Poets make no money. And since poets spend all their time thinking, they find it impossible to make the money people can make by doing anything but thinking. God fucking knows what you are thinking? Whatever it is that you are thinking, it's very clear you aren't doing the right kind of thinking. Here's more dope of the right kind to get you unthinking. Poets become famous only after they die. That too, very rarely. Poets hardly get any sex, which is why they write about all these sombre things that overcome them because they get no sex. Furthermore, poets think they're better than writers. It's bad enough being a writer of poetry without thinking you are better than a writer of more useful forms of writing. Incidentally, writing in circles doesn't make you a poet. Nor does writing in straight lines. (In case you thought it was all about writing in shapes. It's not. It's more about form.) Just saying you are a poet and you want to be a poet and similar circular seemingly deep statements of the ambiguously vacuous same kind don't make you fit enough to be a poet of any kind. And what makes you think you are or can be a poet? Did some lovesick woman in her weakest moments tell you you were one? Be warned. If you believe what women say about your writing, you're in for a very short lifetime of long-drawn out penury. Women do not think rationally. They only like a kind of writing that will provide you with nothing in life. They will indulge all the heartfelt crap you pass off as powerful writing. They will try to prevent you from being a hack who writes for little more than money and turn you into a soulful poet who never writes for anything or anyone but himself. They will show you how to dream dreamy dreams of a life sans the pressures of kowtowing to corporate morons. They will suggest utopian options like becoming school-teacher in a idyllic hill-town. They will feed your idealistic brain with thoughts of working towards making the world a better place. Be very careful and very afraid of such big-hearted women. They will offer you a glimpse of a wonderful life that can be yours for the taking. They will also tell you that they will work very hard to make this life possible just for you. You will be tempted to give up being a well-paid hack and turn into a contented, creative, productive and writerly human being. It's a life very few are fortunate enough to manage. You want to be a poet? Good on you. Good fucking luck to you. Just make sure you find an intelligent, ambitious woman who can help you deal with the real world and let you not have to. That's all we have to say to you. Anything else you force yourself to do is destined to be an intellectually empty pursuit meant to do little more than add large sums of fucking money to your gloating bank balance. The choice is clear and only yours to make. Couple of more things, learn to write in visually pleasing line breaks and read with a hand-rolled cigarette of the doobie kind dangling from the corner of your mouth. Off you go. Yours for no rhyme of reason, Agony

Saturday, August 19, 2006

"My only father is dying. I don't know what to do?" Only Son

Dear Son, We're glad you chose to write to us during this difficult time in your life. We feel honoured that you think we might be able to help you. Though, we wonder what we can say to make you feel better. We assume, you're writing to us as a last resort. Unfortunately, it's what most people do. Still, we're here to help you. You've probably been to all the doctors in the land and outside. They've probably pumped your father with all kinds of poisons they call medicines. Chances are, you've helped them kill your father by overdosing him with all the medicines they most certainly would have prescribed. You don't have to share the gory details with us, but we're pretty sure that the doctors who said they would be able to save your father are probably holidaying, as we speak, in the Bahamas or some such exotic desifuckingnation. We wish them the worst we can imagine. And more. We can understand why you have come to us. They alongwith all your friends and relatives have most likely abandoned you. Don't worry, they'll be back for a piece of the pie once your father is gone, ready as ever to offer their help and support when you need it least. In the meantime, let's see what we can do to make your life a little less miserable. What you must try and do is everything to make your sad father happy. In case you are still single, we advise you to add to your misery by getting married. Your father will be very pleased if you do so. He may not say it, but he will be. How do we know? We just do. You see, most Indian parents consider getting their children married off to be the ultimate achievement of their lives. They find it very hard to die in peace without ruining your life before leaving theirs. We urge you to sacrifice your freedom, your desires, your future and your dreams at the altar of your father's impending death. So what if his life is almost over? That shouldn't come in the way of you ruining yours. You must do it for him. If you don't, his soul will not rest in piece. Never. God fucking knows what that means, but since it's what the fucking wise men and old fucking fogeys of our land say, it must be bloody true. For the sake of his intangible and unprovable soul, please do get married. In case that's not something your dying father has asked you to do, don't stop yourself from doing it. Everyfuckingone wil tell you that even if your father hasn't asked you to do it, it's definitely what he would like you to do. And if you don't do it, they will blame you for your father's untimely and unahppy death. How they know these things, we don't fucking know. We just know. Once you decide to get married, it'll be time for you to die. After that, you won't have to do anything for your father. You will be on your way to join him. Isn't that what you want? Never to see your father go? Always to be with him? Exactly. Don't wait too long to do what it takes to make your father feel like he has done what he is suposed to do for his son. And if you do what we're advising you to, if you're very lucky, you'll be gone before him. Frankly fucked Funcle.

"I am a book. Help me." Book Mark

Dear Mark, We're not sure what kind of help you're seeking here. The tone of your letter, though, sounds urgent. And so, we're going to try and read between the lines. We gather, from what we read, that your problem is you're not being read. Are we reading you right? Good. Well, you see, the thing is people don't have time for old fogeys like you. We don't blame them. With the advent of sexy new item numbers like SMS, camera phones and the Internet, who has time for old hags like books? Why the heck should people waste their time turning pages when they can, with a lot less effort, get a lot more sex. Just ask yourself this, why start a relationship if you can get what you're getting into a relationship for without the relationship? Do you read me? Does it hurt? Sorry, Mark, we're not known for pulling our punches. We say it like it is. If the net can give you as much and much more than what you can give you, would you opt for someone like you? Face it, Mark, you're a lot more accessible as an e-book. So why the fuck should I waste my time getting to know you? Go ahead, say it. Ouch! There, does it feel better? I hope not, because there's more pain coming your way. So brace yourself for it. Consider this, Mark, you're a lot cheaper as an e-book. So why the fuck should I pay the price of a lifetime committment with you? Sure, you can tell me that you can only cuddle up with someone like you. That you, a cup of hot chocolate and a warm blanket is what makes life worth living. That there's a whole different feeling in turning the pages of a real you. To which we'll say, save it Mark. Quite frankly, that's all marketing speak. Humans don't have time for the real things in life anymore. Humans have stopped feeling. All they're looking for is quick fixes. Humans are into the use and dispose age. Everything has been reduced to the status of a sanitary napkin, a pad, a condom, an instant gratification. Humans have become collectors of things, quickies and stuff. If they don't like something, they want to trash it. And it's a lot easier living that kind of life via a computer hard disk. A computer can store more than a bloody, lovely, intimate bookshelf ever will. A quick handjob, as opposed to the whole she-bang, is often all human beings want. Thankfully, you're not any of that Mark. You're a long term relationship. And that makes you a real pain in the arse. Sorry Mark, it's time to get rid of all the excess baggage and come back as a slimmer, sleeker, disposable short-term relationship. Do you read me, Mark? You better. Or else, nobody is ever going to read you. Goodbye and good luck. Your well-read Funcle.

"I'm trying to be Charles Bukowski. I need help." Some Charlie

Dear Charlie, You're damn right you need help. How much do you know about Bukowski? Do you know that his gravestone reads "Don't try"? Do you know what that means? It means don't try to be Charles Bukowski. It means don't try something as hare-brained as being like him. His wife, of course, will say it means something far more romantic, but it's best that you pay no attention to his wife because Charles Bukowski never really did. He was a serial womaniser. He didn't care much for women or the institutions that society lays so much emphasis on. He was also a confirmed misanthrope. So, for a start, don't try to be Charles Bukowski. Just be him. He had the right idea of humanity. He knew how much human beings sucked. And so, he drank himself to death. It was the only way he could escape from ugly reality. In the light of your question and all these intimate details about the man we've shared with you, here's what we propose you do. Drink yourself silly. Take a series of jobs you'll never want to keep. Keep a series of jobs you shouldn't take. Hate writing from the bottom of your heart. Love writing from the bottom of your heart. Be conflicted. Don't be conflicted. Be. Don't be. Wallow in self-pity and angst. Play the role of the intense sufferer to the hilt. And pray that someone falls for the crap. In case nobody does, keep at it. It's the only way you'll be able to escape from the mess you willfully got yourself into. Once you start being Bukowski, you'll never manage to be anyone else or anything. It's a journey to the point of no-return. And one you cannot return from. Every time you try not be like Bukowski, you will be reminded of the many reasons you should be like him. Every time you try to take up a regular job, you'll hate yourself for it. Every time you go back to being with normal people, you'll want to drink yourself back into the stupor away from normalcy. We firmly believe anyone who doesn't try to be like Charles Bukowski needs help. This is not to say anyone who tries to be like Bukowski doesn't need help. On the contrary, everyone who tries to be like Bukowski needs all the help and encouragement he or she can get to be more like Bukowski. And that's what we're here to provide you with. Here are a few more tips on how to be Bukowski, and more. Try mescaline. Try pot. Try heroin. Try mindfuck. Better still, don't, as the great man would say, try. Just do the whole fucking shebang. Once you've done 'em all, you'll see all too clearly why there's no point trying to be like Charles Bukowski. Rather, it's best to be Charles Bukowski. Dead. And you will be. Before you know it. Happily. Always encouraging Agony.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

"I read that women with breast implants are more likely to commit suicide. Should I go in for one?" Breast Wishes

Dear Breast, Always a pleasure to talk to breasts. That apart, we'd advise you, if you do decide to go in for one, to go in for two. One breast implant would seem like a very silly compromise. Admittedly, it would lessen the possibility of your committing suicide by 50%, but it wouldn't really make for a very enjoyable life either. In fact, if you decide to go in for one, we gaurantee you that you are more likely to commit suicide. After all, you do realise what going in for only one breast implant would mean. Better to go in for a masectomy instead. Between going in for one breast implant and a masectomy lies a very tricky choice of less suicide or less breast cancer. A choice so tricky is clearly beyond the purview of our discussion and so we urge you not to waste your time considering it. Instead, we urge you not to make any compromises. You either go in for two breast implants and increase your chances of committing suicide but reduce your chances of contracting breast cancer or don't go in for any implants, thereby increase your chances of contracting breast cancer and losing your minuscule, useless breasts to a single or double masectomy. While you consider the implications of the quick fix we have just put you in, allow us to consider your real question. Should you go in for two, not one, breast implants? Yes, we too have read about that seminal study which revealed women who go in for breast implants are more likely to kill themselves. Well, what can we say? You, probably, are already suffering from and know of the consequences of not having a decent pair of knockers in this testosterone-dominated world. You, obviously, know that not having a decent pair of knockers doesn't make life that much fun to live. No boyfriends, no expensive gifts, fewer promotions, saturday nights at home and the company of only chocolate ice-cream in front of the boob-tube. Worse, if you have a boyfriend, he's looking at other breast-implanted breasts while pretending to look at your little titty-bitty ones. How much fun can that kind of a life be? Not much. Our own carefully experienced research has also proved that women with smaller breasts really have to work much, much harder to make something of their lives. They're also less likely to be married to rich men. Women with smaller breasts have to focus on much harder tasks like using their brains to get by. Would you rather do something as silly as that when air-head options such as getting breast implants, two not one, exist? Moreover, why go for the sensible thing when more of our own experienced research has shown that the sensible option doesn't really end up being the sensible option in the long run? As that great economist we don't care much for but love to quote said, in the long run we're all dead. Put simply, big breasts or no breasts, you're likely to be dead from killing yourself because you decided to go in for big breasts or from killing because of losing your breasts to breast cancer. In other words, going in for breast implants, two not one, might increase the chances of your killing yourself, but it will reduce your chances of contracting breast cancer. Not going in for breast implants might mean you stand a greater chance of losing your breasts, one or two, to a masectomy. Either way, you're fucked. My advice would be to go for the boob job and get yourself some real fucks before you decide that you're so mind-fucked that you want to kill yourself. After all, in the long run, one way or another, we're all fucking dead. Hope our little tit-a-tit helps. Yours niplomatically, Funcle.

"Everyone thinks I'm stupid. What should I do?" Stupid Cupid

Dear Cupid, You mean, that's a problem? Whatever gave you the impression being stupid was a problem? You should be glad people call you stupid. You have no idea how far you can go with your stupidity. You should also be very careful with the people who try to make you feel bad by calling you stupid. You should look very suspiciously at these people. There's a very good chance that they're smart people who're very envious of you. They might well be calling you so to try and provoke you into doing something stupid, which they can then learn from. Trust us when we say this, some of the stupidest people in the world end up being very powerful and very successful. See how far George Bush has gone with his stupidity. See how far the American people have gone with their stupidity. See how far Bosses have gone with their stupidity. Which Boss in the world is not stupid? See, what we mean? Of course, and as always, we shall substatiate what we are saying with irrefutable logic. The reason why stupid has always been the blackest black is very simple. Stupid people don't make other people insecure. As a result, stupid people always get promoted. When you're stupid, people don't feel threatened. When you're stupid, you're popular. People tend to like people who they feel are less capable than they themselves are. We advise you to wear your stupidity like a badge. Wear a T-shirt that advertises your SQ, that's Stupidity Quotient, Stupid! Distribute T-shirts that say 'I'm with Stupid.' Make sure you stick with the people you distribute these T-shirts to. Make sure the 'stupid' in the 'I'm with Stupid' is in all capital letters. And just in case you're too stupid to know what that is, here's what all capitals look like STUPID. What else? Ah yes, when people ask you something or for your opinion on something, make sure you say "I don't know". It's the safest safest ever thing you can say in the world. The less you profess to know about anything, the better it will serve you. And yes, this is very important, make sure you blink your eyes vacantly, every time someone asks you something, and then say the magic words. "I don't know". The same words. The three magic words. Every single time. Are you getting all this, you fool? Good. Along the way, if you can also get yourself a pair of tits, big ones, stick 'em on your chest. They go very well with stupidity. And don't fret over your stupidity. The stupidest thing you can do in this world is to strive to show people how intelligent you are. Only stupid people try to do that. The truly stupid, cruise through life making the most of their stupidity. Here's hoping you're intelligent enough to understand these valuable life lessons we're dishing out for free. You're a cool guy Cupid. We love you. Don't ever change. Your envious Funcle.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

"I'm always lost for words. Any ideas?" Mr. Silent Typer

Dear Typer, Have you ever tried to analyse why you might be lost for words? Could it be because of what you are faced with? There could be many reasons why you might find yourself lost for words. Do any of the following situations sound familiar to you. For instance, you're lost for words when you're faced with a sobbing lover. In such situations, it's best to start sobbing two. This normally makes the person who is sobbing stop sobbing. Once that person stops sobbing, she will blink and wonder why you, a grown man, are sobbing? As soon as you see her stop sobbing, stop sobbing. After all, only women are allowed to sob, not grown men. Not even when they are faced with women who will do nothing but sob. Of course, once you regain your compusure and stop sobbing, she will start sobbing. Note, do not fall for this tactical ruse. Respond in kind. And restart sobbing, quickly. This absurd process could, happily enough, go on forever, which will make it absolutely unnecessary for either of you to say anything at all. The result of all this relay sobbing is that you will not be lost for words. On the contrary, if you indulge in such behavioural patterns, words will have no use for you at all and both of you can then lead the rest of your life in this dumb manner. If that sounds unlike anything you have experienced, maybe this will strike a chord with your experience. Do you have a pussy? Is it an aggressive pussy? Does she despise you? Does she control you? She might have got your tongue. Has she got your tongue? In which case, there's not much you can do about your predicament except put the bloody pussy to sleep. And if your pussy happens to be your girlfriend, put the bloody relationship to sleep. Clearly, your pussy and your girlfriend are not compatible with each other and you. From what we have seen, they have most certainly conspired to rid you of your tongue. We advise you to immediately get rid of them. Once you do this, you will slowly notice your tongue coming back to you. Just make sure you don't, ever, put it in the place the sun don't shine in again. Does all that sound a tad too graphic to you? Does none of that sound like your problem? Perhaps you're just destined to be a writer. Why don't you shut the fuck up and write? Trust us, being lost for words is not such a bad thing. In our experience, not saying much is a lot safer than always having something to say. Over time, you'll see that the virtues of being dumb far outweigh the transient pleasures of all talk. Wisely hurting Agony.

"Help! I'm being verbalised." Google Boogle

Dear Google, First things first, what is the meaning of the term verbalised? Could you please google it and find out what kind of results the word throws up? While we do pride ourselves on knowing the meanings of most words, when it doubt we prefer to advise people to google things. We suspect googling is the best way to find out about anything. When you google for something, you not only get what you are looking for, you also end up being exposed to a whole bunch of wonderful new things. For instance, if you decide to google something up and enter the wrong spelling, Google will, very helpfully, ask you whether you were googling for something else. If you don't wish to google for something, you can always go for the 'I'm feeling lucky' option, which is a silly albeit fun option to googling something. We're quite amazed that you with a name like google has never thought of googling for most things in the world. Why come to us when you can simply google up the solutions to all your troubles? Unless you are The Google and are asking us to solve your problem with respect to people making a verb out of your very exclusive brand name. Ah, now we get the meaning of the word verbalise. So that is the matter we hear you, the Great One, are considering sueing people for. For using you as a verb? Are you? If so, we profusely apologise for misusing your brand name oh Great One. We also apologise for assuming you were a maverick company that didn't care for such silly things. We further apologise abjectly for thinking you were a company full of smart people who were smart enough to see the obvious benefits of letting your brand name become a generic verb. We instantaneously apologise for thinking you were savvy enough to know that history has shown that only the most popular and iconic brand names in history get...umm, verbalised. If you take our advice, we say you should be very happy that people are, as you would put it, verbalising your brand name. What that will do is even more firmly imprint your so very exclusive brand name in the people's minds and make it unforgettable and omnipotently inclusive. In the light of this proven finding we find it quite odd that you're asking for help with respect to this rather beneficial un-problem. Unless, of course, you're threatening to sue people only because you see this as a very smart way to stay in the public eye. Honestly Mr. Google we can think of much nicer ways you can try and stay in the public eye with. Come to think of it, we can't think of why you'd want to do anything to stay in the public eye. You don't see Apple threatening to sue Adam or, for that matter, God for using their brand name, do you? Don't you get it? People can't get enough of you. So much so, that people have turned you from a mere brand into an iconic verb. How cool is that? Very, very cool, we think. And very, very uncool, we think, of you to talk about such corporate and fuddy-duddy terms like sueing. If you don't desist from doing such things, you will very soon become the face of corporate shilliness and not the dream company that everybody wants to work for. Honestly, we'd so love to be verbalised. It would be so heady if people were to, some day, say they'd like 'to funcle' something up. Or if people were to say something like how they've been 'funcled'. Admittedly, at this point in time the verb 'to funcle' doesn't mean jackshit, but as more and more people start to google us up, we think the day is not far when we, too, shall be verbalised. In the meantime, we suggest you do something useful like, perhaps, google "google" to see what gets googled up. Thank you for your time. And no thanks for wasting ours with your shillanthropy. Oh yes, in case you do not know the meaning of 'shilliness' and 'shillanthropy', please google it. It'll show up as one among the 1364 neoligisms that some jobless wordsmiths from India have thought up. And yes, please feel free to sue us. We, more than you, could certainly do with the free publicity. Yours verbally, Funcle.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

"I am circumsised. Am I in trouble?" Cutpiece Charlie

Dear Cutpiece, Depends on what you're up to. If it's sex, sleep the fuck around. Go forth and conquer. Research has proved that circumsised males are better protected from contracting the HIV virus. Think about that while we go and get a quick job done. We'll be right back in one piece less. Hang in there. Still there. How's it hanging man? So, you were asking whether a circumsised wee-wee is a safe thing to have? Well, if the Kennedy of our generation says so, it must be safe. Bill Clinton says a circumsised penis is a safe thing to have as a counter to AIDS. He should know, no? Just make sure your partner doesn't know, not that you have a circumsised penis, that's something she/he will most certainly discover, but the fact that you're sleeping around. Though, he/she would probably understand. You see, unoffical research has proved that a circumsised penis provides and receives more pleasure than a non-circumsised one. There are, unfortunately, some places on this planet where you could get into trouble for having a circumsised wee-wee. There's a country in South Asia peopled by animals who try to pass off as men where under conditions of extreme pressure and hatred, they will make you take down your pants to determine whether you are from a community they're out to get. If you find yourself in this country during the many times that this country experiences pogroms against the minority community, try to pass yourself off as a Jew. The people conducting the pogroms aren't very civilised, but if you tell them you're a Jew and from that other country they'll probably let you off, solely because you come from a community and country that happens to terrorise and is against the same community these animals happen to be against. No logic, pure perverted hatred. Note, there's a very good reason we're trying to be very careful and very ambiguous here. We don't want to identify the country/countries. We don't want to get into any trouble. And we don't want to be subjected to any further agony. So careful where you go with that little fellow, Mr. Cutpiece. And very careful before you pull your pants down in certain countries, except if you happen to be sleeping around, In which case, you have less to worry about now. All thanks to some crazy-ass research. Yours diplomatically, Agony.

"I hate sex. What should I do?" Pee Weewee Herman

Dear Weewee, I've got two words for you: Enjoy it. You don't know how lucky you are to not like sex. Most people in this world will go to the most ridiculous lengths to get sex. When you like sex, you tolerate crap jobs for the money, which, you hope will buy you sex. When you like sex, you will subjugate yourself in the face of the vilest bilge from members of the opposite sex, in the hope that you will get some. When you like sex, you will lather your face will all kinds of chemicals, in the vain hope that you will get some. When you like sex, you will stoop so very low to conquer, in the hope that you will get some. When you like sex, you will kill your soul, in the hope that you will get some. When you like sex, you will imagine all kinds of things are wrong with you because you don't get some. When you like sex, you will genuflect your way up the corporate ladder, in the hope that you will get some once you're on top. When you like sex, you will ruin existing relationships, in the hope that you will get some more. When you like sex, all morals will get ejected for a little more sex. When you like sex, you will stop looking at yourself in the mirror and see yourself only through the eyes of the people who you think will, might, maybe give you some more sex. When you like sex, you will fake orgasms and a lot of other things in your life. When you like sex, you will be settle for a life of mostly agony, in exchange for a few fleeting moments of pleasure. When you like sex, you will willingly dislike yourself. You're blessed. You're free. You are released. You are totally great, Paaji. We suggest you start up a self-help practice and render some yeoman service to mankind by teaching the rest of us pathetic souls how to be like you and detest sex. You make us feel very small Weewee. Very, very small. Please do tell us how you got yourself to hate sex? We too would like to get it out of the way and focus on the more important things in life. We think if we started hating sex we might become a great person. Unfortunately, right now, we feel utterly inadequate in the face of you and are unable to help you. On the contrary, we ask you, we love sex. What should we do? Can you help us? Yours very humbly, Funcle.

"I'm gay. Will that help me become a CEO?" Bitter Moon

Dear Bitter, We're not liking one bit where you're going with your question here. Are you suggesting people become CEO's for reasons other then merit. You're not alluding to the CEO of Pepsico, are you? Do you happen to know her. We don't, but reports suggest Indra Nooyi is an incredibly capable woman and that she has been elevated to the post of CEO by sheer dint of her work and excellent skills as a manager. You're not saying she has become CEO because she's a woman or some such inflammatory thing, are you? You might want to suggest that she has become CEO because she happens to be Indian and that Indians are the next set of suckers the American fast food and junk food giant is looking to exploit, but surely her femaleness has nothing to do with that. Surely, the Indian Government is not going to be swayed into taking some soft decisions because they will now have an Indian, and a woman at that, to deal with. Yes the Indian politicians have shown a weakness for that kind of shit in the past. Yes Rebecca Mark came and took them for a royal ride on the Dabhol power project, but I urge you, rather sincerely, to desist from stooping so low and insinuating that the good folk at Pepsico have made Indra Nooyi CEO because they expect her to lobby some special favours from Indian politicians. Trust us, no Indian farmers are going to be exploited. No Indian water resources are going to be polluted. No poor people are going to be taken for a ride. We suggest you take such bitter thoughts out of your head Bitter. Instead, we advise you to focus on your job and work very very hard to hide you homosexual tendencies. The corporate world is not ready for unbiased decision-making. They're still working on making token concessions to feminism and politicians. Back to work. Quietly. Your righteous Funcle.

Monday, August 14, 2006

"My son tells me he's gay. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do." Unhappy Dick

Dear Dick, Don't be a dick. So what if you're son is gay? Let him be what makes him happy. How does that affect you? Does it affect your sex life in anyway? There's a very good chance that his sexual choices might even be as a result of your sexual choices when he was a kid. Have you ever thought about that? Read up a bit on what makes people gay, it might give you something other than your son's sexual choices to think about. On a less negative note, here's a happier thought. In a few years from now, you'll probably be dead and gone. So why make the few years you have left on this planet a living hell when there's a very good chance you'll be on your way to hell for whatever you may have subjected your son to which may have contributed to what he is today. So don't bother with something you're not going to be part of soon. People like you desrve to die. Please don't mistake us. We have nothing against you. We're just very against people who refuse to acknowledge that they may well be the cause of the problems they think other people have. Besides, respected Dick, you should be proud of your son. He has come to you and told you he's gay. Few sons have the guts to talk to their parents about such things. Parents tend to be so fucking controlling and puritanical about such things, not to mention hypocritical, that they end up knowing little about their kids' real lives. Parents just bloody prefer to believe what they'd like to believe. You should be thankful your brave son decided to prick your delusional bubble. Imagine if you'd found out from someone else. Worse, imagine if you didn't find out, but always suspected there might be something different about him. Just imagine how hard that would have been to deal with. Your respectable friends would keep asking you all kinds of uncomfortable questions about your son's marital status. Now, you can just tell them he's fucking gay. That should shut them up. Of course, they might end up wondering whether you had something to do with it. Well, deal with it. And if you can't, please do write to us. Take a little time off, think about the bad old days and let us help you exorcise yourself of what you may have done in your younger days to your helpless children in their younger days. Thank you for helping us get it all out of our system. If there's anything you'd like us to help you get out of your system, the mind is open. Yours no-longer-in-agony, Funcle.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

"Statcounter is tormenting me. Help!" Number Cruncher

Dear Number Cruncher, What do you mean Statcounter is tormenting you? Don't you think you're being a little indulgent here? I mean, you've written to a blogger telling the blogger than Statcounter is tormenting you? Do you have any idea how painful that might sound to a blogger? Understand this, all bloggers are tormented by their Statcounters. Bloggers live for their Statcounters. A blogger without a Statcounter is not a blogger. What's the use of starting a relationship with a Statcounter if you're not willing to be tormented by it? You knew very well what you were getting into before pasting that malicious piece of code into your blog. Did you think Statcounter would generate the big numbers for you by itself to please you? I suppose you thought you were doing a very noble thing by disabling the feature that allows you to inflate your own Statcounter. Well, serves you right for trying to be over smart and not deluding yourself. If you decide to get into a relationship with Statcounter, prepare to delude yourself. Disabling your own IP address is a surefire way to ruin your self-esteem and diminish your Statcounter's. What disabling your own IP address means is that you're hoping many people will visit your blog and make your Statcounter say nice things about you. What that also says is that you're an utter idiot. Clearly, you're a fool and deserve the pain Statcounter is dishing out to you. Honestly, we don't feel very inclined to continue talking to such a nincompoop, but since we're nice, we'll give you some quick tips. If you'd like to go for the 'cold turkey' method, instantly remove the malicious piece of code from your blog and live the rest of your life wondering how many people are reading your rantings. It's easier to fool yourself when you have no way to cross-check the impression you're giving yourself about yourself. On the other hand, if you're too dependent on Statcounter and cannot do without it, prepare to hit the super-highway. Make it a point to visit as many blogs as inhumanly possible during the day and leave behind as many offensive comments as humanly possible on each of the blogs you visit. What that will do is make the other poor Statcounter-driven folk come scurrying down to your blog and see what one earth you're going on about? Make no mistake, they'll probably not spend more than a second on your blog, considering the bilge you're blog is most likely to be filled with, but at least their visit will register on your Statcounter and inflate it, alongwith your pathetic ego. Just make sure you don't go to your Statcounter page and try to see how long they're spending reading your tripe. That will only end up depressing you even more. If you keep at it and keep visiting the millitude of blogs that are created on a daily basis and keep your stock of offensive comments flowing, your relationship with your Statcounter is sure to keep you happy. Just don't make the mistake of trying to analyse it. Incidentally, thank you for strengthening our relationship with our Statcounter with your visit. Now get out and work on yours. We're sure, like you, your Statcounter, too, feels most neglected. Stats-fuelled Agony.

"People say I'm easily satisfied. Is that bad thing?" Miss Action Satisfaction

Dear Action, How about giving us your telephone number? We'd like to handle this query on a one-on-one level. Just kidding. Actually, We're not. It's great to meet someone who is easily saisfied. In this day and age of over-achievement, it's refreshing to meet people who don't want more. You must be a very popular Miss. Honestly, we don't think your problem is a problem at all. That doesn't mean you should stop contacting us. We think you're just the kind of person who should write to us, often. Most of the time people are most dissatisfied with the solutions we so thoughtfully dish out for their bloody problems. They keep writing back to us asking us to elaborate on various micro-matters of the suggstions we give them. It really gets to us. I mean, it's not like we don't have other things to do. We may be jobless, but being so is a full-time job, you know. In your case, though, we'd really appreciate it if you could tell us more about why you think you are easily satisfied? Do you hang out with losers? Are you the kind who doesn't care whether the man you're dating has a car or not? Do you pay all the bills? Are you the kind of woman who doesn't expect her man to bring home the bacon? Will you slog your butt off while the man of the house sits around the house in his jockeys wasting his life away? We'd really like to know these micro-details of your easily satisfied persona. In fact, we suggest you immediately make a trip down to our private chamber and allow us to hand-hold our way through your problem. Needless to say, it will be no problem at all for us. The perennial underachiever in us is pretty sure you will be very satisfied with the deep personal attention we will pay to your non-issue. No issues at all. We sincerely hope you are not satisfied with our response and will take the trouble to keep the dialogue going. Quite frankly, when it comes to your problem, we're most dissatisfied and desperately hope you are not satisfied. We don't think you have a problem, but you can be sure we're more than willing to look into it and create a problem. We also hope you're not old enough to solve your own problems. Eager to please, Dirty Funcle.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

"I have an orginal idea. What should I do?" Shydea Shastri

Dear Shydea, Above all things, lovely little moniker you have there. By any chance, is that your original idea? We're asking because, quite frankly, nothing is really original. Originality is over-rated. Originality is a pain in the arse. And nobody has any time for anything original. Coming now, to your question, do you still want it answered? I guess you do. I guess you're one of those earnest sorts who thinks orginality is the mother of all inventions. No way, but no sweat. Allow us to quickly lead you down the garden path. So you think you have an original idea? Snigger, snigger. So did we. Umm, sorry, what we meant to say was, that's awesome. Of course, it's not the most original thought in the world to think that one has an original idea, but we shall allow you to enjoy your utterly tired delusion of originality. Well, here's what you can do with your original idea. If you want it to be butchered and cut down to shreds, take it to people. They will look at your original idea and the first thing they will ask you to do is change it. You, being the passionate, naive sort will fight tooth and nail for it. Two words. Fucking don't. If you fight tooth and nail for your idea, they'll ignore you. Then again, if you don't fight for your idea, they'll ignore you. Are we being downbeat? Fine, let's get high on your idea. Look at your idea. Think about it. See how it fits into the way the world currently works and don't google it up on the internet. If you do that, you're sure to discover about a million others who have the same idea in different avataars. You will also discover cynical folk who will say things like originality is over-rated. Ignore these people. Fall in love with your idea. Nurture it. And then, send it across, fearlessly and shamelessly to ''. It's, perhaps, the only place in the world where your idea will get a hearing, unchanged. No matter how crappy your idea is, it will not be changed. It will get all the respect it deserves and die a quiet, unobstrusive death. Glad to be of help. Best of luck to you and your idea. By the way, if you'd like to improve your idea, do send it across to us. We've been at the recieving end of so many improvements, that we've dropped the idea of being original and taken up the comfortable option of being a changemaster. My lines are open. Always. Yours defeatedly, Agony.

"I work in advertising, should I continue?" Floppy Writer

Dear Floppy, Hold that thought. Well, did you think about it? Did you get your answer? Tough one, eh? What is your question, anyway? Are you wondering, very candidly I must admit, whether your working in advertising is the problem or are you asking whether you should continue to work in advertising? If you held that thought long enough you ought to have found the answer for it in the question. Allow me to elaborate, because I have no doubt working in advertising must make you a very troubled soul and completely unable to think straight. Which should, once again, answer your question. Still thinking? Stop. Your dear old Funcle shall put you out of your misery. Yes, working in advertising is a problem, but it's not as big a problem as working elsewhere or even just working. You see, and this is how we see it, advertising is perhaps the only profession that's honest enough to admit its dishonesty. Advertising makes no bones about the fact that it's the business of spin. Imagine if you were a journalist. How very hard that would be on your conscience. You'd think you are working in a noble profession when what it actually is is plain spin couched in self-rightous boring copy. Imagine if you were a banker. You'd be telling people you're growing their money when what you're actually doing is growing your money. Which might not be such a bad thing, actually. At least you'd be making pots of money under which you could drown your conscience. But that's not really the point. That's a different question for a different time. Back to imagining some of the things that could be far worse than working in advertising. Imagine if you were a doctor. You'd think you're curing people when what you're actually doing is ensuring they stay sick enough to keep coming back to you. Which isn't such a bad thing, actually. You'd be making many pots of money and a lot more than you will ever need to drown your conscience with. But that's not really the point, once again. So back to the point on why advertising is actually the noblest of most professions. It's honest as hell about the fact that it's spin and it doesn't pay you that well. It puts you out of your misery faster than the other professions by making you obselete a lot faster, thus releasing you from the circle of spin. Better still, it doesn't pay very well leaving the people who are in it, in it purely for the love of it. Love. Release. Honesty. Penury. What more can you ask from a profession? No wonder it sucks. Not only does it make no bones about the fact that it's dishonest, it doesn't even bloody play you well enough to compensate enough for eating away at your soul. I used to be in advertising, should I continue? Helplessly yours in agony, Funcle.

Friday, August 11, 2006

"I want to raise interest rates. What should I do?" Bull Bernanke

Dear Bull, Hang in there. I need to go consult the newspapers before dishing out any advice to you. Aren't they the people you generally look for for guidance? So what made you come to us? Still, glad you decided to drop by. Don't go anywhere. We'll be back with next month's newspapers. You there, Bull? Good. Here's what we have for you. The low down is we think it's best to keep people guessing. Next month's newspapers point out what you're going to do, but don't reveal your hand just yet. Let the common investor go through the pain and heartburn of a fluctuating market. Let the insiders know exactly what you have in mind. Let the insiders make all the moolah. Along the way, make a bit of moolah yourself too. And then, once you've benefited from all the uncertainity drop the bomb. Listen to everything people say to you. Make sure you don't have a mind of your own. Worry about how the people of USA will see you. After all, it matters not a whit what the economy really needs. What's important is how the media portrays you. Will they think you're a dove? Will they think you're a hawk? Will they ask you to show your balls? Or will they wonder how you sleep at night? These are the weighty issues that should really be on your mind. Not the fact that what you do now will have long term implications. No, no, that is none of your concern. You just want to make sure the news of the day makes you look good. Are we on the same page Bull? Awesome. Now go get yourself a good night's sleep, while the rest of us have sleepless nights wondering what's on your mind. Hope that helped, beause whatever it is that you're setting out to do is most certainly not. Antsily yours, Agony.