Saturday, September 30, 2006
Dear Morning Crap Question, We gather you're a morning paper? Or should that be craper? What to do, dude? Shit happens. Hee. Hee. Never mind the shitty jokes, we know exactly what you mean. Damn, we're good at this crap. We always seem to know what everyone means. Makes us fucking wonder why nobody ever understands what we mean. Anyway, fuck all that crap. Let's deal with your crap. Or, more accurately, other people loading you with their crap. Or, even more crackurately, other people taking you for crap. Or, even further punningly, people dumping their crap on you. Or, bloody personally, you taking us for a dump to deal with your crap. Okay, enough of all that shit. Please don't mind us dumping all these puns on you. Good fucking Lord, We better stop this shit. Okay, okay, so what was your question? Ah yes, why do people take you for a crap? Hmm. We got it. A blast from the past tells us we need to deal with this by going back to the days we spent in the Centre for Digestive Pissorders. Our Master Mistah Smelly Knows used to say "Humans are very anal retentive. They need some stimulating crap to let go of all their crap." Your question makes us ponder anew on that seminal piece of shitvice. And it all goes down like this. People need crap to eject all the crap inside them. They need to take their mind off their own shit to exorcise their own shit. People can let go of their shit only when they get a hold of other people's shit. When people look at shit, it makes them shit in and out of their pants. It's why they consume all the crap you bring them on a daily basis. It's what the Agony Funcle Shrincorporation calls 'The Shitulation Shatalyst Syndrome'. Please note: A competitive school of unthinking calls this same shit we've just dumped on you the 'Observer Effect'. What the fuck is that shit? Well, it's some shit that some physishits have come up with, where observations on happening shit makes shit happen. Shit, we think we must quickly trademark our shit. Who knows, someday, someone might decide to call us a physishit, too. Boy, that's when we'll feel like hot shit...hey, don't go away! We have a little more shit to help you deal with this people shit. The easy way out of the shit you're going through is to go blank. Go blank, and people won't know what the shit you're thinking. They'll have no way of reading you. They'll have nothing to look at and dump on. I repeat, simply, if you hate the crap around you, just chill out and clam up. When you clam up, people will clam up and be forced to go elsewhere with their anal-retentive shit. Now that's what you call cool shit, eh? No fucking shit. Sorry for indulging in all this verbal diarrhea, but you asked for this shit. Your severely funstipated Funcle.
Dear Yes, Why do you feel that way? Do you happen to be in advertising? No, no. Please don't take it personally. Don't go away. Don't be miffed. Don't get angry. Don't hold it against us. We are asking only because we need to understand where you are coming from. We need to know why you feel the way you do. We're only trying to help. Yes, we do know that advertising is a no-no to most sane people in the world. We're asking only because your problem seems to be very similar to that of a copywriter who came to us in the not-so-recent past. This poor fellow felt utterly rejected because almost everything he proposed ended up being rejected. We told him not to take things so personally. That only made him even more distraught. He told us, he got into advertising because he wanted to do something he cared for. He didn't want to do something mindless. He wanted to take things personally. He wanted to create. He wanted to change lives. He wanted to make people feel. We laughed at him, very loudly, luridly and uproariously. And then, very seriously, told him to, immediately, get out of the business. Fortunately for him, he did. Unfortunately for him, he ended up going back to it. Desperately for him, he had little choice. We didn't blame him. We felt very, very sorry for him. We tried to help him. We couldn't. The bloody thing about this bloody business of dreams is that it ends up conning, even, the dream makers. Once you're in it, you can't get out of it. Worse, you can't stay in it, either. Spend a while in advertising and everything else becomes a complete no-no. Spend a while in advertising and advertising becomes a no-no. On second thoughts, don't spend any time in advertising. Spend a while in advertising and not only does everything else becomes a no-no, you end up being a complete no-no to everyone else. So fucking don't. Good thing you're not in advertising. That said, your query does seem very advertising. Hmm...we've got to do something about this psudonym business. Maybe we'll introduce name verification. But then, people will feel afraid to come to us with their problems. They will fear being exposed. They will have to reveal themselves. And in this world driven by advertising, that's a complete no-no to, almost, everyone. You must be from advertising. Your name says advertising. Your angst screams advertising. (In very bold and very large exclamation marks from advertising.) Your conflict says advertising. Speaking of conflict, consider the conflict of all conflicts in advertising: In trying to get people to say 'yes' to all that you peddle for all kinds of strange and shady peddlers, you end up having to subject yourself to a life of 'nos'. (Wah, wah, what a conflict! Waa, waa, what a conflict!) There is nothing else in life where you have to hear more 'nos' than in advertising. You're encouraged, urged, pushed to say 'no' to rules and then pushed, urged, encouraged to say 'yes' to all the rules. It's a strange, strange world this advertising. Thank God you're not in advertising. Are you? No, please don't tell us you're in advertising. No, we do not have a solution for your problem if you happen to be in advertising. No, you have no hope. No, we cannot help you. No, we will not try again. No, don't come back to us again and again. No, not another 'Yes man' and his angst. No, we will not go back to advertising. No, we can't take it anymore. No, we didn't mean to end up like this. No, this is too much. No, we're not getting hysterical. Good God, we are. Sorry. Very. We didn't mean to break down like that. We didn't mean to expose our soft underbelly like that. We are strong like this. We are lying like this. We have no choice. We must. Yes, we used to be in advertising. Yes, we're still in advertising. Yes, we are advertising. Yes, we are all those people who come to us from advertising. Yes, 'no' is the most popular word in the English language. (If you fucking, bloody, bullshit, crapshoot, whatever happen to be in advertising.) No, we will not ask ourselves another question. Yes, we will continue to hide behind other people's questions. No, we will not try to treat us. Yes, we will continue to cushion ourselves from the real world with more branded merchandise. Yes, we're ready for the next kvetchun. And no, it better not be from advertising. Your hidden Agony.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Dear Blank, It's unfortunate that money has never talked to you. It's quite an experience to see money talk. It's one of the most fluent and, probably, the smoothest languages known to mankind. In fact, money talks even better with the woman of our kind. How do we know all this? From personally inexperiencing the experience of money talking to us. Put fucking simply, and sadly, we know what it's like not to be talked to by money and, if we may add, people with money. And, sometimes, knowing what it's like to be rejected by something is best way of fucking feeling what it's like to be accepted. Now that might not make sense to you, but if you consider how little sense all this talk of money makes to us, it all might make sense to you. Say what? Say this. It's the 'Rejectoff Principle of Experiential Acceptance' at work. Please note, this is not an untrustworthy principle we've fudged up from our fetidly fecund brain. Trust us, and it, it was handed down to us by the Borefather of Principled Living, Thorn Rejectoff. Now fuck that and consider this: No matter how nice we are to money, it refuses to talk to us or, for that matter, speak for us. Over the years, we've tried to communicate with money in many ways. We've tried to reach out to money many a time. We've pursued money with the hunger of a dog pursuing pussy. Incidentally, we've also pursued pussy with the hunger of a man pursuing a bone. Yep, to no avail. As a result, we're inclined to guess money is like pussy. It only talks to a certain kind of pursuer. And that pursuer is not us. It's the pursuer who can make money fucking talk. Are we talking of money or pussy? Same fucking difference. Rest assured, we fully understand what you are trying to because money, pussy and all things related have never spoken to us. Maybe, as the Monetary Mindtist Hardup Poorsky used to say, "You need to play hard to get to get." And so, perhaps you ought to try playing hard to get. Maybe then you will get. Maybe then money will talk to you. Have you ever tried playing hard to get with money? The few times we came close to playing hard to get, it only seemed all very impossible to get. Are we sounding trite, bitter and discouraging? We don't mean to. Go back to the Rejectoff Principle of Experiential Acceptance and misunderstand that it's just our way of trying to be encouraging. Speaking of encouraging things, there is one thing we've never tried, to get money to talk to us. The thing is, we learnt of it only after we had gotten too old to, even, try to try it. You, though, sound like a young fellow hungry enough to try it. Maybe you'll be more open to it. Get yourself a battery-operated, mind-decontrolled money-driver. It's a little something you need to install in your brain. Once you install this money-driver in your brain, it turns you into a dumb, monnunicating object that shuts up, and the mind down, in the face of any money. People say, dumb objects that let money do all the talking are very good at making money talk. We believe it's a rather steep price to pay for a money shot. Then again, we're all talk. Compared to us, it makes a lot more sense to go with money that talks. Besides, no matter what, we'll always talk to you. On the other hand, if you want money to talk, then you know what you gotta shut the fuck up, pay the price and do. Your very broke and broken Funcle.
Dear Hero Giri, Good question. Very good question. A question that is long, long overdue. You've put the finger on the question that has been troubling mankind from the time superheroes have entered our lives. In fact, we, the Father of all issues, has often wondered why nobody asked us this question. People come to us with all kinds of issues of that are hardly obvious and hardly in need of very urgent attention. Obviously, it took a real hero to to muster up the courage to ask this very obvious and in-your-face question of a superbly delicate kind. Make no mistake, it is, indeed, a very delicate question with possibly life-changing consequences. (You will see.) What is this great Freudian urge that makes these heroes of superhuman strength, noble intentions and altruistic lives assault us with their sexuality in such a manner? Is it a Freudian intention? Or is it something else? Let us investigate. But before that, let us all take a moment to thank you, profusely, for bringing this issue up front. Quiet! A moment is passing. Thank you. It has passed. And now, it's your turn to thank us. We have it. Our brain that moves faster than the eye can see has come up with the answer to this vexing intrusion into our lives. After a lightning moment of speedy investigation we believe the following are the reasons these great men and women of superhuman tendencies indulge in this manner of superficial exhibitionism. Prepare yourself for this superblast of irrevelations of a superfuncle kind. On a marketing level, there is a distinct possibility that all the underwear companies in the world have gotten together and forged a secret contract with the superheroes of the world for the most obvious of product placements. In a fashion faux-pas aside, we have it on record that all superheroes love wearing tight clothes and do not enjoy wearing thongs. Wearing tight clothes with large underwear is an invitation to reveal thy visible panty liner. We all know how disgusting it is when women reveal thy panty liner. We do not want to know how it might look if men were to do the same. Superheroes, in their love for crime-fighting, choose to wear their briefs outside to protect us from this fashion crime. It goes without saying that superheroes do not wish to look like ballet dancers. Nothing more need be said on why we do not need more ballet dancers of a superhuman, or any other, kind in our world. Observantly enough, we have observed that most female superheroes tend to keep their knickers in a twist inside their outfits. Reliable sources inform us they do it, or don't, because their boobs are in-our-face enough to communicate their sexuality. So far, no male superheroes have agreed to have boobs and keep their knickers inside. We wait for the day the great warrior Nogun Shemale decides to make its debut on this politically incorrect Earth. Until then, we'll have to make do with the conventional superheroes of the male and female kind in our midst. Another important point we must mention is that superheroes have an superacute need to colour co-ordinate their outfits. It would be most monotonous for us if they were to zip around in skin-tight outfits of one colour. It needs to be added that under no circumstances is it enough to have skin tight outfits in multiple colours sans a triangle of block colour on the supercrotch to set it off. No, we cannot have triangles being drawn on skin-tight outfits. The great Superfashionistah Cutlet Kabalah ordains that triangles have to be in separate pieces of sartorial inelegance known as outerwear underwear. And that brings us to the end of our investigation into the inner workings of the superhero mind. We thank you for posing this super question. Interestingly enough, we identify you as the next possible superhero in our midst. Perhaps you can call yourself Inside Information, the man who gets inside the minds of criminals and reminds them of the good they can do. Mind it. And while you're putting your mind to it, try not to get your innerwear into a twist. The last thing we need is another superhero with an existential dilemma. Superman and Spiderman have given us enough of that. Your superknows Funcle.
Dear Mistaken, You are not mistaken. Sadly. Sadly, sad is the new happy. Happy? You have no business being so. Sadly. You should be sad. And that's the only thing that should make you happy. Why? Silly, because sad is the new happy. Believe it or not, you don't have a question. You have the answer to today's life-changing question. Why is everyone so sad? Why can't we be happy? Isn't there anything to be happy about? Let's look at the evidence on hand. Impartially. Bush is in charge. Sad. Osama lives. Sad. There are no WMDs. Understandably sad. Sport is business. Sad. Jobs suck. Sad. We always have to settle for less than we deserve and so end up with even less than we settle for. Very sad. Maureen Dowd rules. Oprah rules. Fluff rules. Fucking, fucking, fucking very, very, very sad. You are reduced to coming to us with your problems. Pure agony. We're reduced to solving people's problem. Pathetically sad. People think we're here to solve their problems. Foolishly sad. Bollywood rules. Grotesquely sad. We believe the hype. Sad. Swollen heads are the order of the day. Painful. Money talks. Predictably sad. Small mercies are what people have to look for solace in. Sigh. The rich are getting richer and the poor poorer. Yawningly sad. Wayne Rooney is out of form. Metatarsally sad. The Australian cricket team is getting even more arrogant. Let's cry about it over a beer. There will be more channels on TV. There's will be even less to watch. Nothing will ever be original. If it is original, it will not sell. If it does not sell, it's not worth doing. Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad. Boringly sad. Lawyers are more powerful. Free will only be what you might get if you buy something very very overvalued. Diamonds are, still, a girl's best friend. Friends are like diamonds: Overvalued. There will never be another John Lennon. Bob Dylan is doing lingerie ads. The Who are back together again. The Stones will not stop milking their past. Why? Why? Why? Why? Dammit, why? Elvis lives. Eww, that's sad. Indian cricket will continue to look for a replacement for Kapil Dev. Moronically sad. Anil Kumble will keep trying to turn the ball. Soporifically sad. Cricket is the only sport Indians will ever be interested in. Mind-numbingly sad. Indian hockey will always be stuck in the past. Shamefully sad. Religion is God. Somebody else will always make more than you. Enough is never enough. The mind will never be without fear. Hair colour rules. Conversations will become dumber than door knobs. Looks are all people care for. People are getting stupider, daily. The list will go on. And on. And on. Until you die. The end is near. Fortunately. On the basis of all the evidence, we're forced to conclude, sadly, that Sadly, you are mistaken. Sad is not the new happy. The End is the new happy. This is the end, my friend. Be happy. Your happy agony.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Dear Barfuncle, Mojo is that thing which helps us answer all questions. Mojo is that thing that will have helped you answer your own question. People lose their mojos for a variety of reasons. In films, people lose their mojos to push the plot. In life, people lose their mojos so they can lose their jobs. In love, people lose their mojos, so they can have sex with other people who can help them find it. In future, people will lose their mojos so they can wallow in the past. In reality, we do not know why people lose their mojos. In all honesty, we don't even know what is a mojo. In fact, many, many things are a mojo. In stance, a mojo is a fuel. A mojo is an excuse. A mojo is food. A mojo is hunger. A mojo is a gene. A mojo is an instinct. A mojo is a song that makes you happy. A mojo is a joke that makes you smile. A mojo is a face you want to come home to. A mojo is that whore who makes you forget how fucked your day has been. A mojo is a game of squash. A mojo is the words you vomit out on a blank page that lighten your mind. A mojo is a shopping spree. A mojo is the cheque at the end of the month. A mojo is the boss whose positive words make you run harder. A mojo is the rat race that keeps you competitive. A mojo is an ego. A mojo is an idea at the end of a long, hard think. A mojo is not a simple question. A mojo is definitely the answer to many questions. Can we help you with your question? For once, we're not sure we can. For once again, we don't have a solution to somebody else's agony. Maybe we've lost our mojo. We wish we could send you away with a solution and smile, but we're stumped in the face of no mojo. If we knew what a mojo really, singly, specifically was, we'd go out and grab it. If we knew why people lose their mojos, we'd go out and find ours. We're very sorry Art, you're just going to have to find your way to your own mojo. And once you find it, don't lose it. We may not know what a mojo is, but we certainly know how it feels to lose it. Trust us, you don't want to. But first, you've got to find it for yourself. And while you're out trying to hunt it down, stick with what the great mojo hunter of Ho Joe Fuxly used to say, "If you can't find ya mojo, fuck it." We have no idea what he meant, but that's the nature of Mojo. You don't know it, until you have it. And you bloody well know it, when you don't. Your nojo Agony
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Dear Dylan, Even the great Dylan had to serve somebody. Even when he was writing his pop philosophic 'You gotta serve somebody', he was serving somebody. Even when he wasn't serving anybody, he was serving himself. That is the reality of life. You may be a preacher, you may be a teacher, you may be a screecher, you may be a moocher, no matter what you are, you gotta serve somebody. You may be a ho, you may be schmoe, you may be a bozo, you may be gonzo, no matter what the fuck yo, you are serving somebody. As the great mooner Billy Koel once said...hmm, now what did he say? Oh yeah, never mind, what he said. It doesn't serve the purpose of illustrating the point that you gotta serve somebody. The point to be noted though, is that when he was saying what he said, he was serving somebody for a large amount of money. If you don't fucking serve somebody, you are not serving yourself. You can only serve yourself when you are serving somebody. We may be a writer, we may be a blighter, we may be a fighter, we may be nothing more than a typewriter, no matter what we fucking are, we've always fucking served somebody. God fucking knows why we have to? Speaking of the blighter, even he serves somebody. Yes God. You might ask who does the great Lord above serve? Well, apart from the fact that the great Lord above is little more than a figment of somebody's manipulative imagination, he is there because he serves the purpose of that manipulative imagination. No matter what or who or where the purpose of that fucked up imagination is taking us, God is serving it. Then there's the great science seller Richard Hawkins who says, "The only reason we are here is to keep our genes going. Our bodies are little more than delivery machines for the genes they carry. Our minds make our bodies do what they do so they can serve the purpose of optimum gene survival. No matter what you may think you are doing, you are only doing what your genes are directing you to do for their continued survival." God bless Science. We'd like to end this service with a throwaway line from the very dead shunknown shoet Slob Milan. Slob loved to say this to nobody who cared to listen. Hunched on his couch that took him nowhere, he'd stare into the distance and amuse, "Do, do, do-do. Da, do, da. Do, do, do-do? Hah, bah! I do not." Go back to that every time you're forced to deal with the angst of serving somebody. It will serve you well. Your well done Funcle.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Dear Shun, Would you believe us if we told you that we're often faced with the same question? It's why we don't look at the man in the mirror anymore. We shun all mirrors. We prefer not to reflect. But now that you have asked us this deep, deep question, we're forced to, once again, reflect. On reflection, this is what we see for you. The thing about a mirror is it has no heart. In our experience having a heart is not a good thing. A heart makes you feel and when you feel, you are forced to do things that make you feel better. Hmm. On further reflection, we're, once again, forced to fall back on the leanings and the learnings of a great mind to solve matters of the heart, heartlessly. The mind we're going to introduce you to is that of a great Norwegian Dillosopher with no heart. Since he's not very well known, you may call him Bergman. No, he's not Bergman, but Bergman is, probably, the only Scandinavian fellow you know of. No, Bergman is not Norwegian, but who cares? They all seem the same to people who don't look at anything other than mirrors and Bollywood. Anyway, so this man who is not Bergman is someone we have broken bread and made cold blue cheeze with. We tend to break bread and make cheeze with unknown people. It's why most of our thoughts remain unknown, unrecognised and cheezy. So this gent whom you can call Bergman, but whose name is, actually, Sullen Sasgard, used to say, rather sullenly, and I quote, "When you look into the mirror, don't. Look beyond the mirror. Look at all the things around you the bloody mirror deflects you from looking at yourself. Don't reflect. Deflect. Look at the size of your breasts. Deflect. Look at your biceps. Deflect. Look at your chest muscles. Deflect. Look at your six-pack. Deflect. Look at your vanity. Deflect. There's nothing better to look at into the mirror than your vanity. Deflect. Vanity always lies. Deflect. That is the essence of deflectionary reflection. Ja. And when you look at the pure vanity your mirror reflects, it will never speak the truth. Ja. Deflect." Hmm. We wonder what he meant by that. But hey, that's the magic of Norwegian dillosophy. It rarely appeals to you at an obvious level. In fact, it rarely appeals to you at all. It's why you can safely assume it's all Bergman. So deflect that and turn to these things that will appeal to you. Get yourself a bunch of magic mirrors. These are mirrors that always lie. They are also known as friends. Magical friends who will always reflect things you want to hear. Things you want to see. Things you don't have to reflect on. Leave all this philosophy and dillosophy for the Bergman's and the Sullens of the world. Leave all this reflection tifflection. Why fight with reality when you can revel in superficiality? By all means surround yourself with mirrors. Just don't pose any questions. Just pose. Life is meant for posers. Reflect on that. And then, deflect. Ja. Your shuniyan Agony.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Dear Off, You'e back. You're on. Couldn't come up with an answer for that problem, could you? Told you. Now you really have a question. And it's a question you've not been able to figure out for yourself. Well, neither have we. Nor has anyone. In fact, we'll solve your question by taking your mind off the seemingly all important question by plying you with seemingly more all important questions. This is a technique of self-yelp we learnt during the many years we spent among the Zen Masters of the Whee Tao Clan. You should go down there sometime. It's a happy place full of happy thougtfulls. It's from one of these great thoughtfulls that we learnt how to tackle most of the most questions. Over to him. Over to the Great Zen Quester Shoo Who Why Whee who loved to wisely say, wisely, "There is no answer like a question to answer the question. So question the question for more questions that answer." Think about that. And while you're thinking about that, think about this. Why are women on top? Why are more women not on top? Why are men animals? Why are men such dick heads? Why are humans not animals? Why is sex the ultimate aphrodisiac? Why does sex need an aphrodisiac? Why is sex? Why is Bin Laden Bush? Is Bush Bin Laden? Who is Bin Laden? Why is Bin Laden not Bush? Is there a Bin Laden? Why do all jobs except handjobs suck? Why do all bosses suck? Why can't we suck our own dicks? Why must we develop? Why can't we go back in time? Why is it so important to go forward? Have you forgotten your original question? Is your original question at all important? Aren't you better off without any questions? Weren't you better off when you came to us without a question? Could you please repeat the question? Are you still looking for an answer? Isn't the Great Zen Quester truly great? He really is. You really should internalise his quest. Once you do, your every question will become your every insignificant question. Your every answer will become your inconsequential answer. And you will never go back to the original question. The real question is, what is a question? Are you still in this world? Don't be. Because when you're not in this world, Bush is not in charge of your world. We'll leave you with another thought from another set of travellings we learnt while travelling in our world with the Master Penny & Pincher from the East, Big Bahana Kan Joos. He used to say "Every time you have a question, save it." Your zentalksicating Funcle.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Dear Heart Fart, We have three words for you: We don't love you. Umm, okay, we don't count. So it's, kind of, three words. Oh, never mind. You're just messing with our mind. And we're not here to be messed with. We're here to help messed up minds. So, if you don't mind, please stop playing with our mind. Please stop playing this game. We urge you to find someone else to play with. Once a lover, always a dreamer. No matter how many times you come back to us, we know your game. You are obsessive. You are idealistic. You are passionate. You are a fool. You are not in love with us. You are in love with the idea of us. You are in love with an image of us. You are in love with being in love with us. You are stupid. You are pathetic. And you are foolish to pretend you are in love with us. You are incapable of being in love with us. There is only one person who loves us. There is only one person we believe in. There is only one person whose unconditional love we will accept. And that person is not you. It is us. Nobody else can be there for us. Nobody else is stupid enough to fall in love with us. Nobody else can be trusted to fall in love with us. So please stop deluding yourself into trying to delude us into deluding each other that you are in love with us. By constantly coming back to us you are only causing us immense pain. Yes, we are here to help you, but not at the cost of us. By trying to repeatedly make us believe in love and that you are in love with us, you are mercilessly breaking through the carefully constructed wall we have carefully constructed to protect ourselves from all manners and womanners of your kind. Do not drag us into your world. Do not make us feel. Do not show us the wonderful things that love can reveal. We cannot afford to let words like love into our lovely loveless life. We are here to help people. We are here to be strong. We are here to be omnipotent. Love makes us impotent. Love weakens the human mind. Love blinds. Love binds. Love only reminds. Dammit! All this talk of love has made us very weak in the knees. We are unable to stand it any more. We need to sit down. Please don't come back to us ever again with your loving proclamations. We do not want to be reminded of the good old days. The good old days only make us happy. And when we are happy, we cannot be agony.
In passing away, we'll leave you with an exceptional para boli of a thought in the words of the great jolted Spanish lover of ole times Sorro, and I quote, "Don't horse around with mi cabeza and speak of the us riding into the sunset. The sun has set on this stud." Your jolted ole Funcle.
In passing away, we'll leave you with an exceptional para boli of a thought in the words of the great jolted Spanish lover of ole times Sorro, and I quote, "Don't horse around with mi cabeza and speak of the us riding into the sunset. The sun has set on this stud." Your jolted ole Funcle.
Dear Rajendra Nathan, You may want to be a lot of things, but it's best not to expect any of those things to happen. Once you get that into your head, you're well on your way to becoming something. If that something happens to be a South Indian star, here are a few tips to help you along the way. It's a good thing your name is Rajendra Nathan. In case you wanted to be a Bollywood star, we would have advised you to drop the 'Nathan' and turn it into 'Kumar'. Legend has it that many aspirants to the post of Bollywood superstardumb have used the superpower loaded elixir 'Kumar' to strengthen their claims to superstardom. Records show that the magic potion 'Kumar' has helped a lot of very average non-performers go on to become 'Jubilee Kumars'. 'Jubilee Kumars' are people who deliver jubilee hits with even greater frequency than the nohers of India can deliver babies. Of course, since you want to become a South Indian Superstar, none of that is of any relevance to you. That said, it's always a good thing to know your History no matter where the Geography of your ambitions take you. Now that you know the History of the Jubilee roots of your name, let's try and help you on your way to becoming a South Indian Superstar. The first thing you cannot be is a 'Superstar'. Somebody else has already taken care of that for generations to come and gone. You cannot be a 'Star' either. There's another colourful gent who has decided he is the 'Star' of South Indian cinema. You may not be the 'Captain' of South Indian cinema either. We're not sure why you might want to be the 'Captain' of South Indian cinema, but even if you want to, you cannot. That, we're sure of. That label has been taken. We suggest you sit yourself down and come up with some suitable labels that you can prefix your name with. In our vast experience of South Indian galaxy waching, we can't think of you making it without labels and can certainly think of a few labels you can prefix your name with to help. Please make a note of them. And don't share them. Or someone else might take them. Ready? Action! Try 'Jubilee' Rajendran. If that's a tad too retro for your tastes and doesn't appeal to you, do consider 'Big Daddy' Nathan. If that seems a bit too hip and a bat three hop for your tastings, how about 'Little Captain' Rajendra? (Assuming you are smaller built than the avoirdupois 'Captainised' gent in South Indian filmdom.) If your ego is too massive for 'Little', would you like to go with 'Mallaivar' Nathan? Or does 'Madras Cuts' Nathan fit your bangs better? Wait a minute, 'Black Mambalam' Rajendra does seem quite appropriate and lethal too. No, hang on, we're liking 'Master Beta' Raju too. How about you? Think about these 'before' things. Do keep the dialogue going and keep us posted on the progress of your first, crucial steps into the world of South Indian Superstardumb. We're always there to help. Along the way, you might be able to help us break in too. Don't forget us. We're thinking 'Tragedy Kutty' Agony goes well with our image for South Indian stardom. How's that, for starters? Wogay, enjai Mama. Do come again Ma. Your extra helping Agony.
Dear Off, Ah, another existential stranger. Looks like Dubya and his stranger ways are catching on. No matter. We're always there for the better. So, you don't have a question? If you don't have a question, the only advice we can give you is off you go! Hee, hee. Seriously, why are you here? That's the question. So, you do have a question. See, how helpful we are. Immediately. Which brings us back to the question you didn't have. Why are you here? Is it our drop-dead gorgeous looks that have drawn you to this space? Is it our deep, rich baritone that you have heard good things about and in? Is it our rapier-like wit? Or it it all of the above. Most likely, it's none of the above. Put simply, all of the above is true, but you wouldn't know about that, would you? This is not that kind of space. We don't let superficial matters such as those of the above get in the way of the sincere, straight from the heart, unbiased advice we dish out to helpless souls loking for some help. Maybe you have a very perfect life. Maybe that's what bothers you. And if it doesn't, it ought to. Maybe you can't understand how your life can be so beautiful and without any weighty questions that need answering. Maybe that's your question? Looks like we've solved your problem by planting a problem. Sorry, but we have to do this kind of thing. We're a doctor of one kind. And what's a doctor if he can't create a problem that needs to be cured. So, there's your problem. We've solved your initial problem of a lack of a problem by finding you a problem that needs solving. And now, it's time to solve your problem. Your problem is that you have no problem. And when you have no problem, you have a problem because you can be sure somebody will create a problem for you. People will not let you be without problems. That's their problem. And will, soon, become your problem. So hang in there. We're pretty sure you belong here. Eventually, everyone is in life for some agony. Your question is why don't you have questions? If you have a mind, you must have questions. And if you don't have questions, you may not have a mind. Don't mind it, but you probably live in a fool's paradise and that's your problem. Come back to the real world. And when you do, you'll have some real problems. Then again, you don't have to. Just don't tell the rest of the people in the world how to get to where you are. Because if everyone else got to where you are, they'd have no questions. And then, we'd have a problem. Meanwhile, since you wonder why you have no questions, here's one you might want to wander about. Why is George Bush in charge of our lives? Think about that. It's the mother of all questions. Any question? Come back. We will, as always, be ready to ply you with an answer. Your offul Funcle.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Dear Eye, We see what you mean. Keeping an eye on your primary objective we can see only one way out of your problem. We think it's best you organise some cricket matches that will be cancelled on account of rain thus saving yourself the trouble of doing anything while trying to make money. The good thing about organising such matches is that they don't need to be played. Only paid for. Players will come to play and get paid for playing with time. You will organise the whole thing with much fanfare and get paid for organising nothing. The host country will get some much needed exposure and get paid for it. TV companies will sell the rights for matches that will never be completed and get paid for it. The main sponsor will advertise his name in big and bold and then get into an IPO. The paying public will pay for all this and get nothing. People will tune in and see ads. People will come to the ground and all they'll see are billboards. People will wait for matches to start and all they'll be fed are commercial messages. Players will then make prepared statements on how the game shouldn't have been ruined by the weather knowing fully well that the game was meant to be ruined by the weather. The paying public will pay for the game and go back home cursing the weather for ruining a perfectly good game of cricket knowing nully well that the weather is the last thing they should be cursing for ruining the perfectly good game of cricket. Do you see what we mean? You should. You've done this in the past. So why the wide-eyed kvetchun? Ah, we see. You see this as a kind of confession box. We've dealt with people like you in the past. No issues. May God bless you with all your tresspasses. And now that you have confessed, play on. Your crichety Funcle.
Dear Fine Print, What kind of intrusive behaviour is this? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. First, you come to us with your problem. Then, after we solve your problem, you come back all smart, fine and recovered and try to take away our sole source of livelyhood from us by jumping into bed with our kvetchuners? No, no, no! Yes, yes, yes, we understand the relevance of your existence in the context of the previous kvetchuner's problem. But we have already provided a solution to the gentleman's problem. Yes, yes, we know you can jump in to help the fellow by bunging yourself in every time the gent feels like using a trucking bad word. But using quaint euphemism like trucking is also a way out of his problem. In fact, trucking is a better solution to the gent's speaking problems than a trucking asterisk every time he wishes to use a trucking bad word. Do you trucking get the point we're trucking trying to make? Stay out of our business and keep your trucking intrusive intentions to yourself. In case you're so keen to get into our line of work, go find another place to do it. Don't come to us pretending you're a trucking kvetchun and then try to steal our kvetchuners away from us. As the Great Zen Master Damager Duh-Wee said, a problem is just an opportunity for another kvetchun. We grasp the paradigm shift you are trying to engineer here. We're too wise for it. Mind your own business. And if you don't have one, start something. Don't poke your starry-eyed head into ours. Your closed-for-business Agony.
Dear Trucking Thooth, In life, how you manage a situation is the key to managing a situation. No, we didn't come up with that duminal quote. It was something we learnt from Zen Master Damager Duh-Wee. Think about that and then think about paradigms. If you hate bad language you've got to change the paradigm of what you consider as bad language. What is bad language yesterday is not trucking bad language today. What is bad language today is not likely to be bad language tomorrow. Consider this, in the days gone by women who used bad language were considered very bad. Nowadays, men who do not use bad language are considered to be women. How's that for a trucking paradigm shift? Here's another paradigm shift you will want to think about. In the days gone by, girls who were dirty weren't supposed to be. Girls who were slutty were locked up. Girls who were aggressive were shameful. Nowadays if girls are not dirty, aggressive and slutty, they're shameful. Point is, you're a fucking pansy man. You're a fucking loser. You're a fucking fop. You're a fucking faggot. You're a fucking softy. You're fucking civilised. There's no place for people like you in this fucking uncivilised, slutty, whorish world. Now, fuck off and learn some good language that's bad. Your shitriolic Funcle.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Dear Trepeat, No, it's not you who should be hating us. We hate you. Now you've really gone and done it. You made us hate the one set of people in this world we did not hate: Pot smokers. First, you start by hating people who don't smoke pot. Then, you hate people who drink. Then, you hate people who smoke, but not pot. And finally, you hate your own kind. Where is all this hate going to take you? Deeper and deeper into your own world, we guess. Which isn't such a bad thing. It's where you're likely to find the solution to most of your problems. and not, from other people. The more you look around, the more people you are likely to find worth hating. In fact, we can see why you hate us. You've spent way too much time coming to us. Familiarity breeds contempt. And the more time you have spent with us, the less we're liking you. And the less we're liking you, the more you're likely to hate us. It's a good thing you hate us. We were becoming a bit of a crutch for you. You were coming to us with every little problem. That is not a good thing. When you have someone to go to with all your problems, everything becomes a problem. Including that which is not a problem. Only because somebody is there as long as there is a problem. Now that you have effectively eliminated us as the go-to person for all your problems, you will think twice about problems and try not to see them as problems. Our technique of problem solving has worked for you. By making you hate us, we have helped you solve your problem by not having anyone to go to with your problems. When you have no one to go to for your problems, you will start ignoring your problems. The problems may not go away, but at least you won't see them. You should love us. On second thoughts, don't. Hate us. That is the solution to all your myriad problems. Your finished Funcle.
Dear Repeat, You really must learn to stop coming to us with all your problems. You hate smokers, you hate drinkers. You change names. You hate yourself. You have issues. How typical of a pot smoker. Such is life. Which probably explains why you smoke pot. If you want to know what you should do with your hate for smokers, we suggest you contact the side of you that hates drinkers and came to us for a solution for the same. Once you contact that side of you, replace that side of the advice for drinkers with the word smoker. If all that sounds very confusing, get used to it. It's what pot does to you. This world is not for thinkers. It's made for smokers and drinkers. If you can't join them, shut the cock up and sit in your hole and escape into a world full of pot-fuelled imagery. You may also want to try and accept smokers by partaking of smokes once in a while as chasers. You cannot do a thing about things that society considers okay, except hate them. Alternatively, you can wait for the day when society will accept pot smokers. After that, you can hate pot smokers, too. After all, once society accepts pot smokers, what's the fucking point in being one? Meanwhile, please don't smoke up this room will all your negative energy. Chill out, man. It's what you're supposed to as a pot smoker. We hate saying this, but we're beginning to hate pot smokers. Your lovable Agony.
Dear Pot, You remind us of someone else who came to us with a pot related problem. Due to the copious quantities of pot we have smoked in our childhood days, which never seem to end, we do not remember what we told him, but we do remember him as a foul-mouthed, angry pot smoker. We can understand why people like you, and him, are angry with the state of affairs. The thing with pot smokers is that the haze they get their heads into makes it impossible for them to clearly see the hypocritical nature of the world we all live in. As a pot smoker you forget all that you are expected to deal with in an unfair world. A pot smoker does not see the impossibility of functioning in a world full of transparent entities. Governments have found a way to tax alcohol for many years now. As a result, they have bought social acceptability to the disgusting practice of drinking. If pot could be taxed, the day wouldn't be very far when authorities would find a way to make it socially acceptable and very cool. If pot could be taxed, you'd have business deals sealed over it. If you can find a way to make the government some money out of pot, the government will find a way to make pot smoking the new drinking. The key is to make sure as many people as possible make money out of something. The minute the powers-that-be and their bitches are making money out of it, society will be fed the canard that it's okay to do it. Until then, the only piece of advice we can give you is to laugh, quietly, at all the drinkers who pay huge sums of money to get high without realising how much cheaper and healthier it is to get high on a little doobie. Just don't get aggressive about it. When it comes to aggression, drinkers will always be better at it. And don't preach. You'll only ended sounding like a pot calling a kettle black, which you are. Besides, when it comes to what's right and what's not, what's legal always is. Right. Your doobious Funcle.
Dear Group, Honestly, you're fucked. Are you? Never mind. Jokes apart, your fucked. There is no hope for you. You're going to be very alone. Don't pretend you like that, but you have no choice but to pretend you like that. You're going to be very unsuccessful. Don't pretend you like that, bu you're going to have to pretend you like that. And you're going to be a writer. Don't pretend you like that, but...you get the drill. And the drift. Anyway, once you end up being nothing more than a writer because you can't be anything more, you're going to be very unsuccessful. If you don't want to be fucked, we urge you to pucker up and suck up. If you don't want to be fucked, we urge you to pucker up and shut up. If you don't want to be fucked, we urge you to pucker up and kiss ass. If you can't do any of that, you're going to end up in a group of people who won't pucker up and are fucked. This world is for team players. even writers have to be team players. If you can't write for a team of people, you're only going to be writing for yourself. And if you're only going to be writing for yourself, you're fucked. Join the gang. It's perhaps the only team you'll ever be part of. And perhaps the only way you'll ever learn to be part of a team. Of course, by then it'll be too late. And well and truly fucked. Your singularly fucked Funcle.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Dear Oh & Em, We do not appreciate the unholy hurry you are putting us through to help you with your problem. Do you realise this is your problem and not ours? You really must learn to be patient. You must give people time to respond to your problem. You are the one asking for something. It's best you don't push people into giving it to you. Or else, they'll really let you have it. When you learn to stop pushing people into doing something, you will find your way out of direct marketing. So don't get your knickers into a twist. Cut the coupon. Cut the crap. And wait for your turn. We're very miffed by this attitude of yours. We need to go away and think about it. We suggest you do too. And don't you dare inundate our mailbox with your questions. Go now! Your unresponsive Agony.
Dear Bill, Sorry, but we need to understand the question properly, and probably. first things first, are you asking us how to kill yourself or are you asking us how not to kill yourself? Seconds things next, do you want us to stop you from killing yourself or do you want us to provide you with an easy way to kill yourself? Third things next to next, do you want us to provide you with the many reasons there are for killing yourself or do you want us to provide you with the many reasons there also are for not killing yourself? Fear not, we can provide you with them all. In five colours and in conveniently packaged sizes with a 5-year warranty or guarantee, whichever you can not understand better thrown in for pure effect. Spend a little time thinking about these questions we are urgently posing you. Needless to say, don't needlessly kill yourself over them. Because if you kill yourself over them, we won't be in any position to provide you with an answer to the problem you have come to us with. And being unable to help someone who wants to kill himself would most certainly kill us. Certainly. We live to help. Your help less Funcle.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Dear Fine, We're not quite sure what your problem is. You see, we're unable to see the true nature of it. Perhaps you should be a little more obvious. Maybe you should ask obelisk. He might be able to give your problem a bit of structure. As of now, we're only seeing stars. If you want us to help you, you're going to have to stop hiding behind them. In our experience, nobody reads the fine print. Nobody reads between the lines. Nobody reads. And neither will we. You want a solution to your problem, come back to us minus the asterisks. Until then, we will not trust you. Without trust, there can be no solution. And trust is not something an asterisk inspires. We hope you understand. We're sure you will understand. And if have trouble doing so, please read the fine print. Since you expect us to, we, too, expect you too. Your fine, fine Funcle.
Dear Tall, Let's discuss this over a tall one. The taller the one, the better. Being Peter Crouch, this might take some time. Peter Crouch is that kind of character. A real character if there was one. A character with so many characteristics one can't help but make merciless fun off. God, what a character. By any chance, do you happen to be Peter Crouch? Something tells us you might be Peter Crouch and are too ashamed to admit it. We don't blame you. We can understand why you might be loath to be yourself. The kind of comments you are subjected to would make anyone lose every ounce of confidence in oneself. You should be ashamed of yourself. Look at yourself. On second thoughts, don't. Just wondering, though, can you look at yourself? Hahahahahaha! Umm, excuse us. If you can look at yourself, you must be a very strong man to not be ashamed of what you see in the mirror. Peter Crouch is a tall order. Isn't he? Aren't you? Save it. We don't want to know. We already do. Still, we're trying to help you here and the first piece of advice we will give you is be ashamed of yourself for being ashamed of yourself. Well, we guess you are ashamed of yourself. So we're on the right track. Maybe. What's wrong with Peter Crouch? Hmm. Good question. Let's start with what's right with Peter Crouch. Umm, let's see, we need to think about this. Very hard. We have to be careful here. Very very. You can't just say something is right with Peter Crouch. You just can't. We don't want to be ashamed of ourselves for saying so. Well, let's start with nothing. Nothing is a good way to go. That way, we'll have nothing to be ashamed of. And nothing to justify. So nothing it is. Nothing is right with Peter Crouch. Steady now. Don't collapse on that unsteady frame of Peter Crouch. Peter Crouch didn't come here for sugar-coated pills, did you? Besides, we managed to find something right, even, with Peter Crouch. It's hard, man. This is Peter Crouch we're talking about. And, probably, too. You are Peter Crouch, aren't you? Never mind. Don't say it. We'll have a hard time gettting past that. We won't be able to. We'll probably burst into tears. And laughter. In equal measure. Nothing personal. Besides, you're not Peter Crouch, are you? And if you are, it's good for you that you're trying not to be. Just don't tell anyone you don't have to meet you are. Face up to the fact that you will always be laughed at. Get used to being an oddity. Never expect people to take you seriously. Peter Crouch has no right to be taken seriously. Seriously. Just because you happen to score goals doesn't make you a footballer. So what if nobody else on your team scores any goals? At least they look like footballers. You don't look like a footballer. If you don't look like a footballer, you're not a footballer. Scoring goals is not an English footballer's job. Looking like a footballer is a footballer's job. He must have a girlfriend who looks like a footballer's girlfriend. He must know how to celebrate properly, and not the way Crouchie does, after scoring a goal. Look at Beckam. Look at Lampard. Look at Ashley Cole. Look at their girlfriends. Look at you, Crouch. And then, don't look at you. When people look at Peter Crouch, people think it doesn't take much to be a footballer. You make footballers look flawed. And human. Flawed humans don't want to look at flawed humans. And neither do they want to look like flawed humans. When they look at you, they look at someone who shamelessly devalues the value of eye-candy in this eye-candy driven world. No six-pack abs. No tree-trunk like thighs. No calf muscles. No muscles. No style. No chiselled features. No acquiline nose. No buns of steel. No. No. No. All arm and legs. What the fuck is right with Peter Crouch? What kind of advertisement for football is Peter Crouch? Who the heck is going to buy anything from Peter Crouch? How the fuck can we have a footballer we can't buy anything from? The first thing a footballer has to be is a model. Not a footballer. Maybe Crouch should consider becoming a cricketer. Then again, English cricket, too, is becoming a model sport and a sport for models. Be a sport, Peter, get out of sport. Get into something that you can do behind closed doors. Freak shows. The circus. Anything but the media circus that is life. Or wait for the day when football will, once again, be about football. Just don't hold your breath. You might end up cracking those brittle ribs of yours. Which might not be such a bad thing. At least, that will let someone foppish footballer worth looking at take your place on the catwalk called football. Umm, you are Peter, aren't you? Never mind, as a matter of principle we don't let the identity of our patients get in the way of our solutions. Your Peter Principled Funcle.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Dear Para, The Great Grammarian Philosopher Para Bola once, and only once, said, "The key to helping slow minds read is to do paragraphs. Slowly." He also happened to say this very slowly. As a result, by the time he had finished saying it, we had, quickly, left the room. And that's why we don't do paragraphs. Even though, we do read them. After all, why deprive other famous, published and paragraphed people the pleasure of being famous and published because they are paragraphed. Slowly. Does that answer your question? We certainly hope not. When it comes to questions, we don't do questions either. In fucking fact, we don't do a lot of things. We don't do hard work. We don't do ambition. We don't do women. We don't do men. (They're both fucking mistakes of evolution.) We don't do regular jobs. We don't do jobs. We don't do what we want to do. We don't do what we don't want to do. We don't do business as usual. We don't do ordinary things. We don't even do life. We don't do much, much bigger things in life. We don't do anything in life. So why the fuck should we do something as dolittle as paragraphs? And how is that your problem? Is that your problem? If it is your problem, we'll make the difference of doing something about it. But not in paragraphs. After all, we're here to solve your problems, right? Still, we can't see how us not doing paragraphs is your problem. Then again, if we look more carefully, we might see how that is your problem. You are probably from the slowly stewing Para Bola school of slought. For the sloughters among you, slought is 'slow+thought'. (For more such quoughts, including 'quought', goose down to the wordmint at blogspot dot com.) Back now to the parabolaist that seems to be you. We can see how for paraproblematics like you, not doing paragraphs would make our carefully puked out rants, advises and tirades harder to read, comprehend and do. Do you read me? Obviously you don't. Maybe you would if we did paragraphs. Slowly. Do we care? Add it to yet another thing we don't do: Care. Does all this not doing we do mean we should, at least, do paragraphs? Maybe we should. Maybe if we did paragraphs, we'll get to do a lot more in life. Maybe all we need to do to do more in life is a bunch of fucking paragraphs. Slowly. Do you think paragraphs are the keys to getting published, praised and widely read? Do you bloody really think so? Maybe paragraphs are the key to good writing. But, at the time of writing, we don't think so. Maybe, if we do paragraphs, we shall be magically transformed into a gripping disher-out of pithily put out pieces that will help the whole world, his dog and his bitch do a lot more than paragraphs with their lives. Will that solve your problem? All the more reason we won't do it. We won't do a fucking thing about us to solve your problem. Instead, we'll do something better. We'll tell you the key to solving your problems. The key to solving your problems is not to identify other people's problems, but to start with your problem. Your problem cannot be someone else's problem. Your problems will not go away if you wait for other people to do something about them. You have to grab your problems by the balls of your problems and squeeze the shit out of them. It is from this shitty mess you have squeezed out that a solution to your problem will emerge. You have a problem with why we don't do paragraphs? Here's a rule you can abide by to help solve your problem. Paragraphs are rules. As a rule, we don't do rules. So do yourself a favour. Don't get into a dobate with us. You, still, have a problem with us not doing paragraphs, here's something you can do to solve it. Don't do yourself the chore of trying to read us.
As the Great Hinspanic Grammarian Drunk Para Dola once, and only once, spat out, viciously, "Paragraphs paralyse. Para Mi? Para Thoo!" And that's the final wordy on paragraphs. In a paragraph. Mi para gone Agony.
As the Great Hinspanic Grammarian Drunk Para Dola once, and only once, spat out, viciously, "Paragraphs paralyse. Para Mi? Para Thoo!" And that's the final wordy on paragraphs. In a paragraph. Mi para gone Agony.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Dear Bin Das, Sigh, once again, Agony Funcle, has been called upon to put yet another soul out of its agony. Let's go. We've got work to do. First things first, some introspection. Who are you fighting? You need to first answer that question. The question is not why you should be afraid. It's who you should be afraid of? The way we see it, you should be most afraid of yourself. As the war on terror, you're creating more terror than fighting it. We've been observing your progress closely for some time now. We're not suprised to see you here. We expected you to, eventually, come to us. We remember the glory days when you had little to be afraid of. Now all we remember are gory days. But during the glory days, you had something to be proud of. You had a clear enemy. People were on your side. People supported you. You were the protector. Your enemies were terrified of you. You knew who your enemies were. Unfortunately those days seem far, very far, very far way from forgotten. Forgotten is closer to anything they seem like now. Had those days been forgotten, they'd be a lot closer than to the state of affairs you find yourself in now. You have every reason to be afraid. You thought you were some big cat who could do whatever you felt like doing. Well, all you are now is a fraidy cat. If all this is making you feel miserable, it's okay. You deserve to feel some of the pain you've been dishing out. Every time you felt insecure about something, you dredged up the war on terror. Every time you were terrified of losing power, you brought out the war on terror. Every time you felt like you were being overtaken by the circumstances surrounding you, you brought out the war on terror. The war on terror is no longer a war on terror. It's just a fucking cliche. You thought you were exterminating terror. You've only ended up creating more terror. Before you, people had to come up with a good reason to embark on a terror campaign. They had to think of something, some justification for causing mayhem. Now they don't need any reason. They just use the war on terror to spread more terror. The war on terror has only created more terror. The war on terror has become the terror. The war on terror was supposed to make this world a safer place. It has only ended up filling this world with more people bent upon causing even more terror. You're not the war on terror. You're the irony, the grotesque irony, and the ugly irony of the war on terror. Fortunately, you have one thing you don't have to be afraid of. You will never go away. Thanks to the war on terror, the war on terror is here to stay. You're not as foolish or as mindless as you make yourself out to be. You started the war on terror to ensure the war on terror never ends. Good job, war on terror. You have nothing to be afraid of. People are normally afraid of something if it threatens their future, their existence, their life. In your case, the war on terror has given the war on terror a new lease of life. Every death from the war on terror continues, perpetuates and gives birth to more wars on terror. The war on terror feeds on the fear of the war on terror. You're like that great monster we can't quite put a finger on that feeds off its own fears and gets stronger every time it gets more fearful. (Don't be afraid to tell us which one.) Just be very afraid of the war on terror, war on terror. It's what will keep you going. Internalise this: You are afraid because your genes have recognised fear as the only way to ensure their survival. For your genes to thrive, prosper, multiply and live for ever, they need to cultivate in a culture of terror. Just remember, fear is the key. And don't be afraid to thank us. It won't hurt you. Once in a while, it's okay to forget fear. It'll help keep your genes on their toes. Fear not. Fear more. Fear on. We fear for you. Are you with us? If so, you have nothing to fear. If not, be very afraid, which, as we explained, is a good thing. And now, time to give it a rest. We're bushed. Your bindaas Funcle.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Dear Live, We're very good at wanting. In fact, the human race is built on the desire to desire want. So do not fret your life over what you think might be a problem. The positivity inherent in us urges you to negate the thought completely. It's not a problem. It's a solution. Without wanting, there can be no problems and without problems there can be no solutions. All solutions are problems and all problems are solutions. No problem. That you want to live somebody else's life is very biologically natural and there are a clutch of ways in which you can do this. You can do so vicariously by locking yourself up, not interacting with anyone and only watching other people's live on television, the internet or by consuming, voyeuristically, all and any other forms of media that exist solely for the purpose of informing needy, the needy and very fucking needy people like you who have no lives, about how they can live their lives by watching other people live theirs. Needy people also need other things. Other things like religion. So if religion is your thing, you have more than a few options. For instance, if you happen to be a Hindu, you can kill yourself and come back in another life. For a Hindu, this is the easiest way to live somebody else's life. If you don't like the life you come back in, you can kill yourself again and try again. The circle of life in Hinduism can go on and on and on, until you give yourself the right life you'd like to live in. Once you have been delivered the right life, you will have no more lives. As you can see, it's not such a bad thing to be a Hindu. You get many lives and many turns at living lives when you are one. No other religion offers you these kinds of multiple choice questions and answers to life. Hinduism will also tell you that questions are the answers to life. Just like problems are solutions in disguise. You're right, Hinduism is indeed the Management Guru and Capitalism of all lives. So take your pick. And time. You have many turns. On the other hand, if you happen to be a Christian, we urge you to do all you can to get crucified. Yes, crucify us for saying this, but cricifixion is the way to go. It is the way to salvation. It is the rightful path. Umm, no, that's in Jainism. Sorry, for the confusionism. What to do? That's Religion for us. And you. So, crucify us. And let's get back to the crucifixion of Christianity. Look around and look for a suitable set of fiends to crucify you. Once you do so, beatifically bless them in pain and come back as the son of man: The ultimate pain. Unfortunately, that's the only other chance you will have to live another life. Christianity ain't that generous when it comes to choices in life. As a crucified Christian, you cannot come back as the son of a tiger or a lion or an elephant or the king of any castle or jungle. You can only come back as the son of man. We're not even sure whether you will come back as the son of a rich man. Or a handsome man. Or a happy man. Or a gay man. No, you will never come back as the son of a gay man. In Christianity, there is no place for gay men or anything to do with gay men. As you can see, Christianity is a bit of a limited gamble. It's up to you to decide whether the pain and painful joy of crucifixion is worth the one time gamble of coming back as the son of some normal man. Perhaps you can try and plan the trip back to Earth after life in such a way that you end up as the seed of Donald Trump or whichever other virile, good looking, rich, straight, strong man you'd like to be the son of. If Christianity and Hinduism are not your games, then are you a Mussalman? We're not sure what Islam's stance of living other people's lives is, but we do know that some Islamists have a rather extreme view of life. If you happen to be from that school of Islamic unthought, it's best you call it quits for the sake of sacrifice. You see, if you sacrifice your life to take other people's lives, you get coffinfulls of destroyed lives. Admittedly, it's not the best way to live another person's life, considering it's lifeless goods, but it is a way all right. The tenet is: Sacrifice your life for many more destroyed lives. A bit convoluted, eh? We agree. Hey, that's life. No matter whose. Now get the fuck out of our face and get a life. Your lively Funcle.
That's Great, We expected more. We expect more. A more lucid question. A less zen-like question. If you don't expect anything, why the question? You're great. You're asking me questions for nothing? Great move. That's interesting. That's you. Greatness aside, aren't you supposed to be the one asking the questions. Umm, that's right. You are asking me the question. But it does seem a tad different from the kind of questions we're used to being asked. Hmm, what did we expect? Well, from someone who expects nothing...umm, this does seem complicated. Let's try and simplify it. You want to know what we expect? How will that help you? You think how we feel might help you? That's interesting. Is is because you feel nothing? You want help, right? Maybe not. You don't say much, do you? Do you expect us to answer that question? Are you in some kind of trouble? You seem remarkably at peace from the kind of question you have posed us. You seem rather Buddhist in your line of questioning. You don't seem to have any issues. You definitely need help. How can you not have any issues? How can you be so much at peace with yourself? And if so, why the question? We expect an answer. Actually, no. We expect questions. And you have posed us a question. Hmm. We are flummoxed. We're confused. We've never come across anyone who expects nothing and poses us a question. We need to get back to you after we get back to the drawing board. This is interesting. We'll be back with your question, answer, both. Sigh. Do you expect that? Never mind. Nothing. Still no sign of that bolt from the blue. Well, we expected a bolt from the blue with an answer to your wise, wise question. It didn't happen. We, too, should stop expecting anything. When we expect something, we're also factoring in the expectation of disappointment. We see why you expect nothing. The question then is, what if you expect nothing and get more than you bargained for? Aren't you ever disappointed when you don't get anything? How do you deal with that? Are we getting a hang of your question? It does seem to us like we are. We've got it! We think we know what you're problem is. You have trouble with expecting nothing in a world that expects everything. You feel at odds with this world. And you definitely are. You don't like the fact that the world seems so small and so petty and so superficial. You wish you weren't so righteous about it. You wish you didn't choose the path you are on. You are conflicted. Aren't you? Yes you are. You just don't know it. You don't think you are, but you are. You wonder why you can't expect more? See, we're good. We catch all problems, no matter how deep they lie. It's why we're also called Dr. Whyche. We know the whys and the hows and the whynots and the whybes of all psyches. Why not? It's what we do. Why? We have no idea. We just do it. It's what we expect from us. Unlike you, we do not expect nothing. We cannot. We wish we could. All we end up with, though, are unexpected questions. So let's get back to your nothing question. Your problem is you aren't willing to face up to the fact that you are the problem. You really are. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for making people feel so terrible about themselves. You ought to stop this pontifical attitude of most resistance you have chosen to live by. The path to true happiness is pointless. You need to be pointed in the right direction. The right direction is a life that is truly pointless. A life that is unhappily full of tripe is the life we must all fully and foolishly live. Only when you're unhappy can you be fuelled by your desires. Only when you have desires can you achieve more. Only when you achieve more, can you feel big among your peers. Only when you feel big among your peers can you feel the true emptiness of all of life's backward bending bendevours. Only when you feel empty can you feel nothing. When you feel nothing, you've managed it. Achieving and feeling nothing in life is perfectly fine. Expecting nothing from life is not. We have nothing to add. We trust that's what you expected. Thanks for nothing. Yours, Agony Funcle (MT).
Dear Bong, Ever heard of the 'Zipless Fuck'? Why? It's the easiest way to get high. And get someone else high. We think it's the first thing you should try and get some of, to get high. There's this lady called Erica Jong. You sound like someone who might like her. You should read her 'Fear of Flying'. It's an interesting book on how to get over it. And over as many as you can lay your hands on. If you can't read, get someone to read it out to you. It's quite the aphrodisiac. And it can get you quite high. It can also drop you like a hot potato. It's a book you should take to heart. And never forget. It's not a book for people who want to fly in a cage. It's about flying out of cages. You sound like someone caged. Though, our experience has taught us that being in a cage can sometimes be the best thing to be in, in this big, big, big world. You ought to try it. In case you find that too flighty, too free and too philosophical for your closed mind, there are other ways we can teach you to fly within the confines of your closed spaces. You can try becoming a 'Flying Model'. It's a very limiting way to get high. No, it's not. It's the most fucking limiting way to soar. A 'Flying Model' is a sad, sad euphemism for an Air Hostess. An Air Hostess is a sad, sad euphemism for in-flight server. An in-flight server is a sad, sad way to make a living while being ogled at by all kinds of people every time you walk past them. Becoming a 'Flying Model' will let you see many places around the world. It will help you plumb the depths of objectifuckation. It will give you a chance to meet important looking men you can try and snare to settle down with later. It's one of the things you must do when you become a 'Flying Model'. You must keep your pretty lashes peeled for prospective males you can settle down with when you're not good looking enough to be a 'Flying Model' or anything else. You must also be prepared to peel those lashes off when you're not good-looking enough to be a 'Flying Model'. Opting to be a 'Flying Model' isn't a bad way to fly, but it is a very sad way to be brought down to earth. That said, it's a very good way to make use of your looks while you still have them. If you're brutally honest about using what you have while you still have it, you might want to consider it. If you're brutally honest about having not much more than what you have to become a 'Flying Model', you might not be hurt by the utter lack of respect that comes with that kind of flight. (If you're not brutally honest, you're sensible and in good company.) If you decide to do it, recognise the hazards of choosing such a way to fly. You might end up being groped by old men you'd rather not be groped by and not be groped by men you wouldn't mind being groped by. Then again, if a woman wants to move up in life in this world, it's an occupational hazard she has to get used to. So you may as well let them do it to you while you're seeing different places and getting high. and in different places. (Instead of, to get high.) You might also have to service the pilot while he's on auto-pilot, which is not very unusual in any professional. Most people in the cockpit are on auto-pilot. Most people in charge of the cockpit expect to be serviced. It does seem like the pits, but every job has its downsides. So go for it. Servicing will serve you well. You might even develop a taste for it. Another way to get a taste of the air up there is to simply light up a bong. Admittedly, it's a momentary high that is quite addictive. It's a high that takes more and more to get repeatedly high. And out of you. It's much like any other thing that gives you a high. The first time is great. The next time might be better. But things never really keep getting better. As with every high in life, getting high is just a way to get down. Incidentally, you may also wish to consider a career in advertising. It may not help you fly, but it's one of the best places to get little highs. There's always a scam ad to be done every incosequential month. It doesn't matter if you spend 99% of your time doing tripe, one pointless ad for a non-existent client done with no pracical constraints whatsoever and only for some piddling award will make you feel on top of your incestuous little world. If none of these useful tips we have given you seem remotely useful to you, we think it's best you work your butt off and expect nothing. Be utterly pessimistic about everything you do. Have no hope in humanity. Think nothing nice about anything. Ensure nothing makes you any happy. If something makes you a tad, bit, minuscule, little, pissant happy, focus on how fucked up everything apart from that happiness is. Disgust yourself with everything in life. Pray for death. Don't expect to be rewarded with, even, death. One day, you will die. It's the surefirest way to be free. After all, isn't that what flight is about? Time to fly. Your grounded Funcle.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Dear Wonderboy, Hmm. Ahem. Sigh. Damn! Sorry. We're just tired of boys who want to be men and asking us how to be so? Don't we have enough men in this world? Do we fucking need more fucking men in this man's world? Honestly, we have no idea how to be a man. We're not man enough to be a man. And we're man enough to admit it. What we can teach you to be, is man enough to not be a man. Are you man enough to take it? We're man enough to tell you that it's okay to be a woman enough to be a man. Why couldn't you ask us how to be a man when you become a man? Hmm. Ahem. Sigh. Damn! Sorry. Looks like you did ask us that. We're just so used to men who want to be men that we tend to zone out when we hear from men who want to be men. We welcome you with open arms. You're a man who wants to be a man. Now that's a sensible man. Boy, we could do with more men like you who are still boys. No, you fool! We're not that kind of perverted man who's into boys. We're just tired of men who only know how to be pretentiously grown-up men and don't have the fucking balls to be boys. We really could do with less men who want to be men. Are we confusing you dear Boy? Don't be. This isn't half as hard as it is going to be being a man. Then again, if you're looking for something easy, just be a man. It's very easy to be a man and not be a man. To be a man, you just have to go out and conquer. You must forget you have a heart. You must be a big swinging dick. You must jettison all feelings of feelings. The only feelings you must have are unfeelings. You must get your tear glands excised and have them replaced with an extra set of sweat glands. To be a man, you just have to make sure you move up and up and up and fucking up the corporate ladder. To be a man you must get yourself an additional set of voice-boxes and speak loudly for no rhyme or reason. You must not show any interest in matters cultural and sensory. You must not go anywhere near poetry. You must embrace all stereotypes. You must also chest-butt while embracing stereotypes. To be a man, you must keep amassing money enough to buy yourself a harem. To be a man, you have to be the man in the pride of lions. To be a man you have to be the quitessential animal. You must show off your biceps. You must reek of testosterone. You must walk around with your balls on your face. Okay, you needn't walk around with your testicles in your face, but you must be prepared to show how big your testicles are. You must also want to own cars. You must be able to fell a tree with your tree-trunk like arms. To be a man, the only thing you must fear is being a man. Because to be a man in a man's world, you have to ignore all the things that men say make a man and find the things that your heart says makes for a good human being. A real man is not a man. A real man is a human being. A real man is a human being who isn't an animal. A real man is a human being who is an animal and is man enough to recognise that he is an animal. A real man is a man who isn't afraid to not be a man. A real man is someone who isn't afraid to be a failure. A real man is a man who isn't afraid to be afraid. A real man is someone who will not do anything that has to be done to show the world he is a man. Are you man enough to understand what it takes to graduate from being a boy to man without being a man? Are you man enough to be a woman? That's my Boy. You're da man! Now go and build those arms and shoulders and abs and thighs and calves and heart and everything else. You'll need them to bear the cross you will have to walk around with if you choose to be a man among men in a fucking man's world. Your emasculine Funcle.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Dear Shir, Eppudi? What say you? Do you like it? Are you seeing stars? Don't. For the uninitiated, that is you, 'Shir' is a term coined for people like you. 'Shir', is 'Sir' meets 'She'. And that is you. You meets 'He' meets 'She' meets respectful form of address for you is 'Shir'. Understanding Misster? By now, you must know what 'Misster' is. Good, you are getting to where we are. Not that we would advice it. For what we are is not what you want to be. Even if what you are is also not what you want to be. That is, unfortunately, what we all are. Hmm. Sigh. Fuck. Never mind. By the way, do look up what 'Eppudi' means. Don't ask us 'Epuudi'. Ask Google 'Eppudi'. That's 'Epuddi' you will find out what 'Eppudi' means. Are you getting clued into 'Eppudi'? Yes. No. Seeing stars. Again? Good. It's why you come to us. For answers to stars. Even Pluto came to us when he stopped seeing planets and started seeing stars with asteroids thrown in for effect. You may notice we are not anywhere near addressing your problem. You may not notice that this is one of the outre techniques we adopt to address outre problems of your kinds. You may, understably, not understand what 'outre' means. It isn't 'outer' spelled wrong. It is just 'outer' spelled outrely. Are you still with us? Why? Ah yes, your problem. What's your problem, man? Man, that's your problem. Or is it? Why is your problem? Is it a problem? How is it a problem? Who is the problem? Are you the problem? Are they the problem? Now, do you see the problem? You should. Allow us to attempt to get to the nub of the problem. A good way to understand problems when you can't see them is to question them, again and again. When answers do not seem easily, readily, shelffully available, the best way to make the question go away is to question it. The more you question the question, the closer you will get to the problem in the problem. The more problematically you get into the problem, the less it becomes a problem. The less it becomes a problem, the closer it is to no longer being a problem. The no longer it is to being a problem, the shorter it is the problem. The shorter it is the problem, the more likely it is of being replaced by other, taller problems. Now do you see less your problem? While you attempt to see your fast disappearing problem, let us attempt to see how we can make the two of you disappear. It's interesting that you are considering going in for a sex-change operation. Do you feel hard done in by the sex you have been given? Perhaps you aren't being sensitive enough to your partner's needs. Perhaps you aren't being insensitive enough to your partner's needs. Perhaps you should take turns being insensitive and sensitive to your partner's needs. If you're always sensitive to your partner's needs, your partner is likely to get tired of it. If you're the contrary, always, your partner is likely to tire of that also. If you are a bit of both, alternatively, your partner will, eventually, tire of that also also. It's true, no matter what, any sex is fucked. Maybe it's the sex you have been given. Often, when you're given something, you take it for granted. So that's, questioningly, why you are, maybe, seeking a new kind of, perhaps, sex. Maybe. All this talk isn't pointless. What it's pointing to, is the need to question everything totally, properly and minutely. Question it. Question that. Question it and that. Question it, that and the other. Question the other, that and it. From all directions. Back to front. Front to back. Mouth to mouth. Mouth to front. Back to mouth. Question everything. Analyse it to death. Obsess over it. You won't find any answers, but you will definitely kill it. Once the problem you are seeking has been killed to death, you'll know the answer to the problem. In case you don't, it's the question. The question in everything is the answer to the problem. By all means, go in for a sex change operation. See how fucked it is being a woman. Hate the fact that you have become what you never were. Don't go in for a sex-change operation. Continue to hate what you are. Think about it. Either way, you'll hate what you are and are seeking to become. You'll only like what you aren't. You'll crave for what you don't have. You'll never value what you have. You'll never get what you have. You'll never get what you want. You'll never get what you want. You'll never get it. Whatever it is. It's best you let it be. Considering that's what we all are. Revel in the being of it. Let it be. It is the ultimate question to the answer for the it. It's all for now. Just being itself, Agony.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Dear Perfect, What a perfectly valid quesiton. What a perfectly unthinkable question. Don't even think about it. Don't question it. Don't make it a question. Don't make any questions. Don't make anything of questions. How perfectly foolish of you to not know that all, any, many, whatever questions asked are not asking for answers. Only trouble. Yes, we've thought about it. No, we've thought about everything. And yes, it didn't get us anywhere. The problem is not being perfect. The problem is being perfect. The problem is thinking about being and not being perfectly unthought. The problem is perfect. It's worth thinking about it because it's not worth sparing an iota of thought to. In fact, that's the problem with everyone. Everyone thinks they're perfect. It's not that they are not. We are, we all are, you are perfect. But only, if we don't think about it. In a perfect world, everyone would be perfect. In a perfect world, nobody would think about it. That's perfect. The thought process? That's imperfect. That's the root cause of all imperfections. Our advise to you would be to work on the thought process, by not thinking about it. Eject the thought process for perfection. Our further advise to you would be to say little. Our secondary advise to you would be to think little. Our repeated advise to you would be to say little and think little. Our remindary advise to you would be to never forget it. Perfect people don't need to say much. Perfect people are perfect because they do not say much. In our experience, when you open your mouth, you're likely to start the cycle of imperfections. When you question yourself, you're imperfect. When you have doubts about your omnipotence, you're cracking. When you rock your perfect boat, you're making holes in it. When you look for holes in anything, you're sinking. And when you're sinking, you're not thinking. Thinking? Wrong. You're thinking. You're forgetting. There's a perfectly thoughtless scientific reason for it all. We weren't given a brain to use. We were given a brain only so we could think we're perfect. Not think about it. Think about it. On second thoughts, don't. Think about why you shouldn't. Don't. Oh dear. Damn it! See what kind of trouble thinking can get you into? It puts into motion a chain of uncomfortably thinking thoughts. And, very soon, thinks spiral out of control. Things get out of hand. The minute you start using your brain. Period. (Period aside, the minute you start using your brain you'll see how inadequate it is to deal with the things around you.) The minute you start using your brain, people will start using theirs by not. And when everyone starts using their brains by not, the world gets populated with thoughts in extreme discomfort. Thoughts that are extremely uncomfortable in a blissfully thoughtless world. Misunderstandably. And a world full of misunderstood uncomfortable thoughts has no place for zombies. This planet is not for thinking zombies. Only zombies. Not only are thinking zombies oxymorons, they are useless morons. They will be systematically erased. Like thoughts. Thinking exposes other people to their inadequacies. Inadequacies that make them question the perfect status quo. Inadequacies that expose their inability to think about their inadequacies. When people feel they are inadequate to deal with you and your brain, you are imperfect. They are not imperfect because they cannot deal with it. You are imperfect because you cannot deal with their inability to deal with it. You are imperfect because you make them feel imperfect. You are imperfect because you question their idea of perfection. You are imperfection personified because you question their idea of nothing personified. You are only perfect when you have the sense to not make sense of it all. You are nonsense when you start to look for sense, because then you see the nonsense in it all and become it. Not only that, you also start to wonder how you fit into the scheme of stuff that's populated nonsense. Analyse this: You are perfect if you do not fit into anything. If you do not fit into anything, you are imperfect. And then you'll see how much trouble thinking about it all can get you into. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't speak. No doubt. You are perfect. Your logically foolean Funcle.
Dear Half, We, kinda, understand what you mean. We, sorta, see it in your quest. We, perhaps, think it's a question couched in a quest for knowledge hindered by the walls of life and progress. A thoroughly noble endevour, we believe, that is destined to be stymied by the fully loaded half wits of this world. Whatever you start is destined to be incompleted, for no fault of yours. All your good intentions are doomed to an unfulfilled demise, for no fault of yours. If the people around you were not comfortably ensconsed in their comfortable cacoons of sleepy mediocrity, you wouldn't be subjected to this indoctorine of incomplete realities. We are the idealists of this world of shattered wheels. Our job is to sream the big picture and be beaten down and massacred by the petty circumstanders that surround us. We have to accept the moment of madness which brought us into this world and tread boldly onto the the hamster-wheel of the war against human thoughtlence. We are the thoughtsolent of this world. Incidentally, the effect that you so truly attempt to brand as the 'Abhimanyu Effect' didn't reach it's logical conclusion. It was hijacked by other more articulate, connected and powerful souls. Such is the fate of everything in life. Along the way, everything is cursed to be waylaid by others. We believe our 'Abhimanyu Effect' is now somebody else's 'Mozart Effect'. We believe a certain Don Campbell has trademarked and trademarketed it as his own. We believe this is the chakra of life and accept it. We have no choice. The West gave us trademark laws and took what is ours for themselves. It might have something to do with what we were deprived of when we were in the womb of underdevelopment during the time these momentous changes were taking place. And then, when we came into this world, we found ourselves handicapped by what was beyond our control. The only thing we can do when faced with this spinning reality is soldier on bravely. Our job is to rush in where horses, warriors, tanks, Dubya and other fools fear to tread. Our job is to do what we're meant to do and hope the people after us will avenge us. We are not destined to succeed, only be sacrificed. We have been brought into this world to be sacrificed so that the people who come after us may learn something from us. We know none of this will ever happen, but we cannot do much about it. It is not our fault that our mother country went off to sleep when the lessons of life were being imparted to them by the great warriors of yesteryears. It is not our fault that there were no great warriors in the years before us to prevent the present circumstances from getting so far beyond our control. It's why we never finish any book we start. It's why we never keep any job we take. It's why we never finish any relationship we get into, only get finished. It's why we only start wars. It's why we comfort ourself with small victories. It's why we fucking are such losers. It's why you must excuse, pardon and not mind our French. It's why our father lived an incomplete life. It's why our mother died without living her life to the fullest. It's why so will we. We are the foolish Abhimanyus of our time. And so, listen well my dear brether, you shouldn't feel to bad about your state of affairs. Look at it as a heroic endevour that will be remembered after you're gone, mayfuckingbe. Just make sure your pregnant wife doesn't get any sleep. Your spin doctor, Agony.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Dear Point, What's your point? Be thankful you're getting some breaks. Most people go through their whole unfulfilled, pointless, useless, frustrating, two-bit, fucked up, wonderful life without a single break. These are the people you should take comfort from. These are the people, on the fringes of society, you should look at and feel good about yourself. Surround yourself with losers. They'll make you feel good. Don't be with people who can teach you a thing or two about the things you know little about. That'll only make you feel inadequate, foolish, lost and broken. The bright side about feeling inadequate, foolish, lost and broken is that the adequate, intelligent, successful and fixed people who you thought you could learn a thing or two about being adequate, intelligent, successful and fixed from will not be around you once they realise you are inadequate, foolish, lost and broken. It might seem like a very harsh thing to be subjected to from people you thought were your friends, but they're doing it for your own good. Get used to it. And don't get used to it. Because if you get used to it, you won't learn a thing from it. And if you don't, you won't be able to deal with it. Hmm. Never mind. Back to the people. They're deserting you so that they can be with people more adequate, intelligent, successful and fixed people who will make them feel inadequate, foolish, lost and broken, very soon. It is the way of the world. Everyone only tries to be more adequate, intelligent, successful and fixed than the other. People are always moving on to be with people above them. Eventually, every single person on this blooming planet is destined to feel like the person, you, they left behind. It's why we come into this world and leave this world alone. Understand the intricate mechanics of this virus of humano-immuno-deficiency that leads to this kind of human behaviour. Is there no way out? How dare we question our omniscience? Of coure, there is a way out. It's the way of the opposites. Does that sound zen? How dare we question ourselves? Of course, it is zen. And utterly unimplementable, which is why it is. So. So, don't listen to us. Now listen. Carefully. The only way to master such moves it to be contrarian in your strategy. If people gravitate towards other successful people, your job is to go the other way. If people gravitate towards you, your job is to gravitate towards people who don't. To understand how this kind of contrarian investing works, read books on contrarian investing. Once you've read many books on contrarian investing, do the exact opposite. After all, the idea behind contrarian thinking is to do the opposite of what is being popularly prescribed as contrarian thinking. If you think you're getting all this, don't think so. Do you read us? Don't. It's the key to reading us or anything. Over a long and tortuous journey of contrarian belief systems, you will realise that all the breaks you thought were the wrong breaks are, actually, the right breaks. What is wrong is right. What is right is wrong. What is successful is not. What isn't is. What is being prescribed is not to be followed. What is to be followed is to be opposed. What seem like one word principles to live life by is the road to destruction. The road to destruction will lead to success. If it sounds confusing, it's not. If it's not confusing, it is. If you're getting all the wrong breaks, you're right. If you're ready to leave, don't. If you're not, we are. If you're not getting any of this, you are. Not your zenius Funcle.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Dear Rocks, Rock on! And we are, we think, saying it with the use of the appropriate hand gesture that goes with it. Yep, that one. The one which is a cross between the finger, the fingers, the other finger sign and that finger signed and this finger...good Lord, where the fuck are all these fingers? Fuck the fingers. We seem to have gotten them into a twist. Best we stick to knickers. We're sure you know what we mean. Do you? Hmm. We're not so sure you should have. Truly, you are quite a precocious comprehender. We are beginning to understand the politics of you, our dear young achiever. On that note, here's the finger for you, man. Fuck you and your young achievements. Yeah, man. That finger one. Rock on! Just don't get used to it. Young achievers should cultivate that ability to not cultivate it. The ability to lose the ability to achieve sooner than others. It's the karmic revolution of evolutionary tryology. And zoology. Dammit! How the heck does one spell that thing? By the fucking way, are you also a voracious speller? We mean, zoo-awe-logy, phonetically speaking. Anyway, that's besides the point. But the point besides the point besides is, shouldn't the damn thing have three 'O's? Fuck that. Let's just keep rocking on down this bumpy road, man! Let's not get into the speed-breaking spellantics of it all. The point is, don't rock on, too much. Better not to get comfortable being a young achiever. Achieve a state where any new achievement makes you uncomfortable with it. Get so uncomfortable with it that you make a mess of it and eject it from your life. Eject it before it ejects you. (Trust us, it will.) Start preparing for the fall. Better still, stop achieving. Furthermore, stop trying to achieve. More over more, start slacking. Furtherover moreover, do something else to deal with it: Nothing. To get started on nothing, start doing less. Start winding down. Little steps towards no steps. Don't get wound up. Lose the passion. Control the passion. Kill the passion. Don't be impassioned. Question the passion. Get sick of the passion. Fuck the passion. Fuck passion. Let's talk hunger. No, let's not talk hunger. Kill the hunger. Introduce yourself to the sorrow of the morning after. Learn to start writing loser poetry. Like the scowl. Cut the smile. Glow the frown. Clip the wings. Lose the urge to fly. Get ready to die. Dump the cloyetry. Okay, that might be a bit drastic, but try and understand the deeper implications of what we are alluding to, while not saying. What you can start with are small mantras like this will not last. Every success you manage will be the last. Life is too fast. Another peak is destined to be, very soon, another blast from the past. I must remember to live in the past. Don't mind it, we're only telling you all this since you asked. Had you not asked, we wouldn't have bothered. And since you asked, here's more from our time which has passed. Please understand the last four are not mantras on how to deal with what will, very soon, be your part of your whory past. They were just us explaining what we were telling you since you asked. Aren't you sorry that you asked? Good. It's a good way to understand the value of what you will be very sorry for everything that you are today and will be, soon, a distant memory from the not so recent past. On a more positive note, enjoy the achievement while it lasts. On an immediately sobering note, do not enjoy it. On an explanatory note, the reason you must not enjoy it is because then you start missing it when you don't have it. And you will not have it. Be sure about that. You will not have it. And that's just so your doubly sure of that. You will not have. That's just in case you missed it. Don't miss it. And that's in case you do, which you will. Because when you don't have it, not only will you miss it, you will hate it. you will hate it more than you ever enjoyed it. And then you will hate the fact that you enjoyed it. So, you may as well enjoy it while it lasts, which it won't. Evidently, it's not about what you can say anymore. It's more like what can we say? Not much more than off you go. We must be on our way. And so must you. As a young achiever, you still have a few miles to go before you start losing sleep. We sincerely hope we were able to fill your swollen head with the right deflatory cues. When you're down in the dumps, do fucking remember to give us our due. For if you are a young achiever, the hard knocks of life are very much lining up in a long, long, long fucking queue. And that's our cue to leave the fucking stage to you. Phew. Your knockered Funcle.