It’s that time of the year again. The birds are chirping and flowers are blossoming.
Actually, no.
Let’s start all over again:
It’s that time of the year again. The birds have just been killed by a Khap panchayat near Gurgaon. Apparently, they were of the same phyla.
Look at them - Incestuous fuckers.
As for the blooming flowers, they recorded an MMS and lived happily ever after.
Screengrab taken right before the money shot.
But that isn’t reason enough for me to make a post, is it? Now ‘Rakhi Ka Insaaf’, now that’s a reason for a post. Sorry to disappoint you guys, but I am a man of class now. A lot has changed, in my quarter year long hiatus. My tastes have been refined to the extent of people mistaking my farts for avant-garde violinists. So, nevertheless, I choose not to indulge in such low-brow, blue-collar, bourgeois entertainment. Instead, I will talk about Roadies.
Pictured: Target Demographic.
Some might say that Roadies is the Chetan Bhagat of Indian television, catering to the same honour-killing demographic.
I say, nay.
Roadies is more like the Arindam Chaudhuri of Indian television – catering to a demographic several notches scarier than honour-killers: IIPM aspirants.
After posing for the ad, each one of them went and molested a snail.
So without further filler-content, from the deepest, darkest corners of Noida, I give to you:
An Open Letter From A Roadie To The World
Hello World (especially the ladies and madams),
There is not enough space in the bonnet of my constantly throbbing heart to store the love that is within me. This love is sexy like a well-oiled Hrithik-bicep, it is kind like the soulful eyes of Ram Gopal Verma, it is full of emotion like a papaya tree in Gurgaon and finally, it is forever, like Batman in 1995. Girls have looked straight into my cuddly eyes and told me to not break their hearts in public. Even though by ‘their hearts’ I actually mean ‘wind’, you have samjhofy the Bhavna within.
People ask me sometimes, “How are you so manly?” I say, “Simple. It is from devotion to God, failing matriculation exams twice and having Chavanprash with milk.” When they stare at me disbelievingly, I interject with “Also, Whey Proteins.” After which I ceremoniously do a wheelie on my bike while going triple-seat with my best friends Chandu and Rocky. Or as you might know them from newspapers as “Two caught in jewelery store robbery at Bhandup”. Good luck to them.
But ‘manly’ is not the only compliment I receive from everyone. From time to time, I am also called ‘sexist’. Cool, no? In fact, I’ll go as far as to say that I’m the Sexist Man Alive. Peepal Magazine said so twice. Rod promise. LOL. See what I did there? Of course you didn’t. You don’t have any IQ. I do, however. I know IQ personally. Inzamam Qureshi is my childhood friend from my colony.
Some people are critical personalities. They say to my face that I don’t have ambition. I tell them, “Listen, I have ride on Unicorn and Splendour. They are much better than ambition.” Then I show them the ‘thumbs up’ which means ‘bad luck’ in Indian culture. I’m so smart, it scares me sometimes. But most of the times, it keeps asking for pocket-money.
Speaking of Indian culture, I love my country. I hate western culture, especially if the ladies practice it. I hate premarital sex. According to me, it is the main cause of sexy diseases like dyslexia and pimples in your special area. But at the same time, I support STDs. How else would I talk to my mamaji in Ranchi, then? You tell me.
But the real reason I hate western culture is that the Britishers were colonizers. They performed colonoscopies all the time. In all regions. At the same time, I grateful to western culture for giving me things like Internet and fairness-creams. By the way, please add me on Orkut. That way you can see a photo of posing next to a red Lancer that belongs to my neighbour. Don’t you feel lucky already?
You don’t? Well, you shouldn’t. Lucky is a very good friend of mine from the call-center. He can do twenty push-ups in two minutes. He is today’s generation’s Mamta Kulkarni.
Like my favourite actor Harman Baweja’s career, this open letter too, should come to an end. But before I go, I have to say these inspirational words: “RAGHUJI, IF YOU ARE READING THIS, PLEASE TAKE ME FOR THE ROADIES. I AM THE BEST ROADIES YOU CAN FIND ON THE STREET. I HAVE BEEN RIDING BIKES SINCE AGE THREE. I AM RESPECTFUL, GENTLE HUMAN BEING WHO BELIEVES IN THE POWER OF LOVE AND ‘ALL NIGHT STAMINA’ PILLS. PLEASE GIVE ME ONE CHANCE, SIR. ONE CHANCE!!! I PROMISE TO STOP HARASSING YOUR PET DOG.”
Thank you for reading so far. I feel like you are my best friend already. So please respond to my friend request.
Regards,
A Roadies.
Illegal Briefs 