"What can I say, I'm perfect. What can I say?" Perfect Fool

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.

"I'm imprisoned by the 'Abhimanyu Effe'." Half Wit

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.

"I'm getting all the wrong breaks. I don't get it." Breaking Point

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.

"I'm a young achiever. What can I say?" Kid Rocks

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.

"I am Catholic. Find meaning in this." Virgin Meri

Dear Meri Virgin, Teri toh! You, of all people, are asking us this question? You? You are the mother of all that you are. You are the meaning of this. You are the reason for thy etres. You are a miracle that man created in the name of God so that man could create God. You are the mother of all fuck ups. (And we do not mean that in a blasphemous manner. Only in the religio-conceptual manner.) You are what make people follow your faith. And you are asking us this. You are enlightening. Allow us to enlightern you. Make no mistake, Meri Ma, this is a miracle. A true miracle. A miracle of God-drinking-milking proportions. We gratify thyself for this miraculous turn of events. So rest easy. We see the crisis you might be going through. In the face of so much aggressive religious marketing from followers of Gods that drink milk and from followers of Gods that bring down tall buildings, we can see why you may be going through a promotional, existential and futur-centric dilemma. Please enter the confession box so we may confess our jargontastic strategio-marketing plan for you. For the sake of essential differentiation to enhance psychographic targetting, this will be a confession of an opposite kind. We will marketingly confess our crapegies for your socio-economic benefit. We will confess and bless you with a proper strategic plan that might help you unearth the hidden meanings in your holy psyche. The first thing you must do is pat thyself on thy back for having introduced the ambient role of ambient media presence in the form of a confession box. Unlike other forms of tactical advertising, the confession box is a truly big idea. It is an idea with legs even better than yours. It is an idea with mass-market appeal. It is an idea that, like all true big ideas, appeals to the mass common denominator. The great thing about a confession box is we can say what we please, knowing fully well that we aren't talking to a piece of stone or some lifeless object. There's great strength is sharing one's darkest deeds and feelings with a fellow human being and knowing that the fellow human being will do absolutely nothing about it, apart from listen and dish out some advise that one is under no obligation to follow. Ne'er has there been a more tangible placebox than a confession crox. Then again, a stone idol is a pretty good piece of religious ambient media, too. The problem with a stone idol is it comes in many brand extensions, which, eventually, dilutes the message. The concentratedness of the confession crox is what makes it a powerful tool of marketing. The confession box, we confess, takes the cake. So please don't mind it. Anyway, you have no right to. You only have the right to listen. You listen, while we confess our feelings about what you mean to us. After that, we both can shamelessly and blamelessly go back to our old ways. Ah, for the unburdensome powers of religion. Anyway, the meaning of what you are is a very hard one to answer. Some of the views you hold are totally at odds with the practical principles of humanity. For instance, look in the orphanages around the world and you will see the lack of meaning in what you are. You look at bastards around the world and you will find examples of what you shouldn't be. (Once again, we mean that word, which we dare not repeat, only in the religio-conceptual sense.) You look at people paying for their youthful mistakes and you will see what you are preventing people from being. We will, for the sake of peace, abort this train of thought. After all, abortion is something your kind are totally unable to comprehend and discuss. Admittedly, we may seem rather liberal in our use of views towards you. Trust us, we're being conservative. If we decided to be liberal, we would go to hell. In fact, we are in hell. And on that note, we request you to go to hell. We see no meaning in anything that you or milk-drinking and tower-humping brethren do. It burns our stake-ridden heart to think of the the fools that buy into your kind of marketing. You are worse than the most shill kind of advertising. We opt out of this presentation. The meaning of all this is the presence of the lack of any meaning whatsoever in any of what you psycho-religio-marketers preach. Thank you for listening to our confession. Please do not involve us in your promotional ways. Your faitheist Funcle.

"I am a Creative Director. What should I do?" Seedy Somebody

Dear Somebody, Obviously, you're a so-so somebody and so we'll be respectful to you. Not too mucking fuch. Just a wee bit. Or, at least, we'll bloody try to. Don't blame us if we can't. Or don't. Dude/Dudette/Whatever, we aren't in the business of respecting anyone. We're all about giving honest advise. And if you want honest advise, you don't want respect. Know what we mean? Probably not. Up there, where you find yourself, the air tends to be really dense and the head very light so you're not very likely to know a thing about what anything means. No issues. All that matters is that it doesn't matter if what you want is respect, with honest advise you will get no respect. Besides, as a Creative Director, you probably get way too much of that sycophantic animal called respect. And if you happen to be fair, your thick white, pale skin profuckingbably gets oodles of it from all fucking genuflecting quarters. So don't come down here looking for anymore of that disgusting animal. Is that clear? Good. Now sit the fuck down and listen to us. Hmm, so you're a Creative Director. Hmm, so you probably work in an advertising agency. No, make that, you definitely do not work in an advertising agency. As a Creative Director in an advertising agency, that's what you must be doing. Rather, not doing. Glad we got that agreed upon. It's important that we agree, to move forward. As a Creative Director, you must be getting a lot of agreement. So this shouldn't be so hard to comprehend. Though, it might be just a tad hard to do. Well, like we agreed, you don't work in an advertising agency, but definitely do shirk in an advertising agency. What the fuck do you do? No, we're not asking you. In our position, we do not fucking ask. We just tell. What we were doing, when seeming to repeat the question you posed to us, was just asking fucking aloud for our stupid, underling-minded mind's benefit. So, once again, what the fuck do you do, chump? No, don't answer. Keep quiet. We're the one providing the answers. First question to pose for the answer: What did we do when we were Creative Fucking Director? Hmm. Yes, yes, we too were that animal that you now are. But only for a very, very short while. Like in everything fucking else, we weren't too good at being a CD either. The thing is we weren't seedy. We worked our butt off. We fought for what's right. We, even, thought for what's right. We stuck by our team. We stuck by our team. We stuck by our team. Oops, sorry, we didn't mean to get stuck on that. But, we did fucking stick by our team. We didn't care for clients. We didn't care for suits. We only cared for the brands we were championing. And that's why we sucked. Now, we know better. We've seen many, many successful Creative Directors. We know what it takes. We also know fucking well what it doesn't take. And we shall generously share all that crockvise with you. Obviously, you aren't doing a terribly good job of it, which is why you're asking us. Good move. Bad move: You're probably making the mistake of trying to work on the job you have, somehow, landed yourself. We suggest you go back five lines in this nonveration we're having between us, read the few lines of rants we've puked all over this piece of shitty paper and make sure you do the exact oppositie of all we proudly, bitterly and vituperatively said we did as a Creative Fucking Director. And that's pretty much all you need to do. Now get the fuck out and just don't do it. Your righteously wrong blagvertising Agony.

"I build skyscrapers. What am I?" Sky Hi

Dear Hi, Hi there. Agony here. Heh, heh. We trust you appreciate our quickly thought out pokey little jokey greeting. We've always been a friendly sort of person. And to come across someone with such an appropriately friendly name is a true, true pleasure. Hi there. Funcle here. Heh, heh. No harm in saying hi again, is there, Hi? Heh, heh. We could do this forever. Don't worry, we shan't. Still, you will agree that it's always nice to be friendly in this world. God knows, this fucking world has no fucking friendly fucking people because it's so bloody fucked up and full of lying motherfuckers who are friends only for selfish reasons. So, hi there. Okay, we better stop and get down to helping you. After all, that's what we're here for. Apart from that, we're also here because we couldn't get anywhere, but that's not the issue. That's just the father of all issues. The issue on hand now is, who are you? Considering your second name, are you Chinese? Never mind. We won't get into ethnicities and ehtnivillages. We are unbiased. We will not let a person's origins skew our method of dealing with the person's problem. Are you male? Never mind. We won't get into sex. Not just because we never get any, but because we never let a person's sex skew our method of dealing with the person's problem or fucking with the person. No, no, it's not meant to sound like that. So forget that and hear this. Hi there. All we wanted to say is we really don't care. Heh, heh. A tad poetic too, eh? Don't care too much for it. We don't. In fact, nobody fucking really does. Which is why you are up there and we are nowhere. But, but, please don't care distracted. Our method of dealing with all issues is to try and make the issuer forget about the issue and then spring the solution for the issue. It's kinda like pulling a tooth. Heh, heh. We're in quite a painfully jokey mood today. You still there? Hi. We do care about your existential dilemma. We envy you. My, my, you build skyscrapers. You are hungry for phallic symbols. You may have a miniature phallus. You may not be a man at all. You might like large cars. You may have a king-sized ego. You may be a queen. You may be very messed up. You may not be any of that, but you do build skyscrapers. What are you? Yes, that's right. That's what you are asking us. Forgive us for posing the issue right back to you. That we no can do. What you can do, to get a deeper and better understanding of what you may be, is a few weeks with the absurdists and the existentialists. We urge you to try Camus. If you don't care much for Camus, may we suggest you contact the Sheikhs of the Arab world. Not because they get killed by Camus' Mersault, but because they won't care much for what you are. They'll just make you forget what you are. They will kill all your individuality with their money. They're so full of themselves, they will piss on you with a contract after a contract after a contract after...you get the long and the long of it. Yep, you got it. They're just like you. They love big cars. They love tall buildings. They have king-sized egos. They don't have what we cannot mention because if we do, they will cut off our what we cannot mention. All said and done, they are you. They will own you. And you will become nothing. After that, you wil not be you. And that you which is not you will be you. Seeing what we seem to have gotten into with you and the other you of you, we think you really should delve deep into the non-existential side of you. Are we getting through to you? Hi, you there? Looks like we lost all of you. Where the fuck are you? We miss you. Heh, heh, guess we shouldn't have been so jokey with you. You've left us too. Just like the rest of you. Fuck you. Your low-life Funcle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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