Woof !

A popular TV show. The host is comfortably parked on a pink sofa. The décor is nothing extraordinary except a few stray dogs that look heavily sedated.

Host: And tonight, dear viewers, we have a special treat for you. Our guest of today needs no introduction.

A Pause during which some behind-the-scene whispers and scuffles can be heard.

Host (looking beyond the camera): But I’d still like to introduce him…. The man behind the pulse that the world is now rocking to, the voice that has penetrated deep into our souls, rattling the consciousness and make us rethink, the preacher of many a merry lessons, the creator of music beyond all genres, the face that symbolizes not just rock but a culture, a cult, a cu, a C…

He trails off, now looking impatient, finally sighing with relief.

Host: And here he is, ladies and gentlemen!

Goddie walks out, dressed in black leather pants and a loose shirt with a silvery sheen. He is heavily adorned with trinkets and a bandanna partly conceals golden brown dreadlocks.

Thundering applause rings out. We all know it’s prerecorded, don’t we?

Host (hugging Goddie): Welcome, God. You don’t mind that nickname, do you?

Goddie (speaking in a hoarse throaty voice): Not at all. Haha.

They both laugh.

Host: Godric, or God as the world likes to call him, for you!! Voted the Youth Icon of this year, the phenomenal song writer, singer and musician whose sensational rise to stardom has attracted more attention than the fall of Nigeria….Niagara. He’s with us tonight to share his story.

Goddie: Thank you, Hanky. You don’t mind that nickname, do you?

Host: Uh, actually. Hank is short enough… So, God. How do you feel about what you have achieved so rapidly in an industry overstuffed with talents and talons? We know something about it, though, if your latest song “Fig for the pig” is any indication of what you feel about this merciless world of musical entertainment.

Goddie: It still feels unreal. I mean, it seems just yesterday that I was sitting on the small hill behind my ancestral home, staring at the sunset and thinking, “Is this the end?”

Host: You sound like you are hounded by a unhappy childhood. Did you torment animals as a child? Killed some cockroaches?

Goddie (speaking slowly): Not everyone is fortunate enough to have two parents. Some have three.

Host: You mean you had three parents?

Goddie: My mothers were always divided on the question of me practicing music.

Host: And your father?

Goddie: I had no father. Three mothers.

Host: But that is not possible.

Goddie: Like I said, people born and bred in the plush comforts of city life don’t know the harrowing details of life in the wild.

Host: I am sorry if I touched a nerve. But –

Goddie: I used to sit alone in the attic with my guitar, strumming aimlessly. I taught myself music to shut out the yells of arguments.

Host (nodding): There was trouble in the household.

Goddie: They’d fight over lipsticks, over shower caps, over the TV, over everything. And they fought over me. Look –

He lifts his shirt to show scars on his chest.

Goddie: I was trampled by high heels, smothered in perfumes, mistaken for laundry….

Host (clearing his throat): Then one day you ran away from it all.

Goddie: With nothing on my back but my guitar.

Host: But you took some peanut butter as well. That’s what your song “Don’t chase my hot-air balloon” is all about. Am I right?

Goddie: I never looked back. But some hurts never heal. I guess that’s where most of my music springs from.

Host: Yet there’s a healing quality to them. People identify with your words, even if they can’t understand your pain. They learn from your words, they rock to your music.

Goddie: Every time I read a fan mail “Dear God..” I am overcome with tears.

Host: let’s talk more about your songs, God. Which one is your favorite?

Goddie: They all are a part of me. I like to think of my songs as pieces of my self. All of them hold a special place. And the heart is “The crimson ball”. I wrote it while on run from home. I was tired and hungry and I stole a tomato from a grocer’s. I ran with it all day. Then, at sundown, when I lay down on a field, I saw how the sun rays made the tomato look so red. A red tomato…it was such an incredible sight. That’s when I wrote the song.

Host (smiling sympathetically): And now you have bought a tomato farm… Destiny, ah! What about your latest hit “The Harrowed Dawn of Native Kangaroo”? It has stormed the city clubs, you know.

Goddie: No, that’s the dick.

Host: I’m sorry?

Goddie: That song. It’s my dick. Penis.

Host: I see. Wonderful. It’s very catchy, I admit. One last question, God. What would you like to say to the millions of fans – kids, teenagers, young men and women, Old Age Homes’ receptionists?

Goddie: Don’t be scared of your dreams. There are no monsters under the bed. Santa Claus is coming to town. We will never surrender. Life is a piece of cake. Or the mold on it. Chase your tails..I mean, dreams. May God be with you.

Host: That’s a very witty one, God. Haha. Now, before you leave us, I’d request you to perform for us.

Goddie gets up and walks to the podium amidst loud applause. He picks up the guitar and fiddles a bit.

Goddie: I will sing my new composition from the soon to be released album “God’s Best Friend”. The song is called “You Are Just a Polka Dot on The Knickers of My Dream.”

Loud applause and whistles. On cue, heavy metal background starts thumping.

Goddie (singing with a deep throat):

Never washed, no…never clean.
Bound by sins of Halloween
The night’s so long,
Unbroken thongs..

The music picks up

Bring forth the light
Let me see that face
I won’t be fooled
By just some lace….

The credits start rolling as the chorus begins:

Rip you, nyah nyah…
Strip you, nyah nyah..
Fragile are those seams
Like freshly whipped cream.
You’re just a polka dot….…….

Goddie at 7:10 PM | Permalink | Comments

An informal yet elaborate tea is in progress. Goddie is playing host to Bugger and his smelly socks.

Goddie: Thank you so much for coming.

Bugger: Why, thank you dear. I couldn’t have avoided it seeing that it’s my balcony and my crockery.

Goddie: Of course, the tea is just an excuse. I wanted to discuss a matter of utmost importance with you.

Bugger: Now don’t you start that oath-taking bullshit again. I’m not –

Goddie: Sometimes I seriously feel you shouldn’t have been inducted so soon.

Bugger (speaking rapidly): That is a purely malicious and personal opinion of yours, probably prompted by my callous use of –

Goddie: . Prompted probably, if you please. We are intellectuals -

Bugger: Meaning we are actually intelligent.

Goddie: The cream of society –

Bugger: That floats on top and sticks to the side.

Goddie: And we have a right to look down upon those that are considerably thinner –

Bugger: The skimmed ones, that is –

Goddie: In intellect. We have silent authority over the have-nots in the brain equation.

Bugger: We can whip, strip and search, arrest and sentence to death the dumb. All in the wonderfully graphic imagination of our beautiful brains.

Goddie: We shall be rich. We shall have the reins of the world in our hands -

Bugger: These creamy, 10-digit, delicate limbs.

Goddie: And the world will be a brainy garden -

Bugger: Where intellectuals meet intellectuals and have proper teas.

Goddie: In borrowed crockery -

Bugger: And stolen underwear.

Goddie: There! It wasn’t difficult, was it?

Bugger: You lured me into taking that oath again.

Goddie: We do things with precision and order. But just between us, I am afraid we have a slight problem on our hands.

Bugger: Ah. The matter of utmost importance.

Goddie: We need more stuff.

Bugger: Stuff. Material. Of tangibility and tangibleness. Matter as proposed by Democritus the Ionian –

Goddie: I mean, look at us. Put together, we have enough gray matter to plunge the world in darkness by dazzling it with our brilliance. But where does it show? When was the last time we put forth some stuff -

Bugger: Stuff. Redefined as something you can see, smell, touch, hear, taste. The more the better. In sharp contrast to Plato's vision of the ephemeral nature of ideas -

Goddie: That we could sell….?

Bugger: Money. Cash. (Also see: bucks). I need to buy razors. My beard is starting to get in the way when I relieve myself.

Goddie: Bluntly put, we are stuck. We need to show the world we are to be taken seriously as the frontrunners of the 837^th revolution in the history of this earth.

Bugger: 837.57^th, if I remember correctly. There are many 0.2ths and 0.01ths of revolutions scattered around, even if we ignore 0.0001ths and beyond – the likes of liposuction and personalized shoelace knot-makers.

Goddie: There seems to be a flood of ideas but a draught of 'stuffable' ideas.

Bugger: Ideas pregnant with little infant stuffs that will bring joy.

Goddie: Not a single contribution of slightest merit since that gentleman from Peru proposed herbal nailpaint removers made from llama droppings.

Bugger: As it turned out Chanel uses something similar. A pity, really. There was a fortune -

Goddie: But is no more. So what do we do?

Bugger: I had a feeling you’d discuss this so I brought along a list of potential stuffs and also ideas from the past that weren’t stuffed enough. Maybe we can glean –

Goddie: Excellent. Let’s see…

Bugger (reading): Shampoo for your favorite spiders…nah, we dumped this early on…sprinklers with sneeze activation…lavatory grip for three-fingered invalids…water bottles for the lipless…ultra-slow hair remover…all taken. Damn. We should have picked up that last one right then. It’s –

Goddie: Sshh..

Bugger: 'Sshh' being an indication that we still have air –

Goddie: No, WAIT! Your socks just said something.

Bugger (sniffing): They want out.

Goddie: There! You hear that? That was a definite “grmph”.

He pauses, takes a couple of deliberate sips of his tea. They exchange looks of profound realizations.

Goddie: Let’s check if there’s a sound like that discovered before.

Bugger: I will be darned if there is. And the socks could do with some darning, too.

Goddie: Do you even realize the implication of this?

He starts tapping on his PDA.

Goddie: We are going to be rich! And then the world shall know –

Bugger: That I haven’t forgotten how to shave –

Goddie: And we will usher in the biggest and possibly the shapeliest cultural and scientific paradigm since Angelina Jolie…. There.... Cheers! I have confirmed that there is no existing claim or even knowledge about the specific sound “grmph” originating from some internal disturbances in a pair of socks. There is a report from Wigan in UK about occasional “grrrhmp”s, but they have been conclusively proved to be emanating from the abdomen.

Bugger: It’d be worthwhile to –

Goddie: FILE IT !!!

Bugger: Uh, but they are my last –

Goddie: NOW !!!

Bugger pulls out an iron file and saws his socks into little shreds cheered on by maniacal laughter from Goddie.

Bugger: When will we get the money?

Goddie: Very soon, I should think.

A stuffable pause.

Goddie: Of course, the matter of utmost importance was just an excuse. I just wanted to have tea with you.

Bugger (whining): A proper tea. But my socks…

Goddie: Sacrifices on the altar of intellectual progression. Martyrs to the cause of liberation of mankind.

Bugger: You bastard.

Goddie at 6:20 PM | Permalink | Comments

The evening news on See-A-Nun TV channel. Goddie is disguised as a news reader by clever application of violet mascara and a few strips of cloth dangling loosely from his ears.

Goddie (in a Newsreadese accent): A tragedy struck the small village of Strawberry when sister Agatha – local nun and a member of the Sisters of Holy Johnny Depp mission – was found mysteriously dead inside a toilet cubicle. Sister Agatha was a lady of admirably stout constitution with no history of ailments except a slight incident of food poisoning caused by eating earthworms in her early adolescence. The local community is deeply aggrieved by her demise. To tell you more, we have Irma Bishop on the scene.

The screen now shows a masculine lady in a polo t-shirt bulging with muscles, baseball cap and wristbands. Her voice is surprisingly melodious, reminiscent of autumn breeze and milk vans.

Irma: A tragedy struck the small village of Raspberry (burp) I am sorry.. Strawberry -

Goddie (from the studio): Yes Irma, I just read out all the lines in the report you had written so painstakingly. So you are in a jam. Raspberry, indeed. Haha!

Irma (panicking): There is mass hysteria in Strawberry due to the unexpected death of one of the few local attractions. Sister Agatha was a popular and well-known figure of 34-28-32 in not just her village but as far as Pickled Herrings. A kind and loving soul of 32, she hardly looked out of her teenage years and, according to Rev. Budwielder, was “a most accompalished organ player.”

Goddie (from the studio): Irma, you just stepped in muck. Hoho!

Irma (wiping her shoes on her stockings): Sister Agatha was also a member of the SJD mission – a global communion of nuns devoted to spreading the cause and words of our Lord JD. She was an active gossiper, patient listener, marriage counselor, divorce specialist and organizer of many garage sales in this lively little pink village.

Goddie (from the studio): Irma, what do people remember most about Sister Agatha’s last days? Show us some other ugly mugs. I am sick of your blue lips.

Irma: As I said before, there is widespread disbelief in this God-fearing community. No one has fully come to terms that the chirpy nun that was so much a part of their lives and livelihood is no more. There was nothing suspicious in her behaviour in the past few days. Some people do claim she had become a bit nervous and was drinking quite a lot more rum than her customary three glasses of ‘Sailors’ XXX’. But all this is just speculation.

Goddie (from the studio): Yes, indeed. That’s all they ever do. Speculate. Did anyone think of checking her dressing table? Any hidden cameras in her bath? No! And now when she’s dead – Lord bless her – they all speculate.

Someone (from off-camera): Hey, calm down. This isn’t personal, remember?

Irma: Uh, right. Even as the town prepares for a lavish funeral to bid goodbye to their favorite enchantress and prime source of revenue in this otherwise barren garbage dump, the applications have started pouring in from around the world to replace sister Agatha. Thousands of young nuns who have joined SJD in the recent years wish to continue Agatha’s work of illuminating the followers and spreading the faith in this agnostic region.

Goddie (in studio): Pagans! Communists! Bastard sons of Tom Cruise…!! (he starts foaming at the mouth in rage.)

Someone (off camera): Restrain him! He’s getting his fits again.

Goddie (recovering): I am fine. Go on, Irma.

Irma: I am done. That’s all. Back to the studio while I sample the local brew.

She strides off with her arm around a three-year old.

Goddie: A sad day, indeed for Strawberry and also for us at See-A-Nun. We need such pious souls alive and kicking ass –

Someone (off camera): Shut the heck up! Where’s your Appropriate Language Substitution Device?

Goddie (to someone): You are wearing mine, you idiot.

Goddie (to audience): Please forget what I just said. Pull it out of your ears. Pious souls like sister Agatha are badly needed and sorely missed in this world of little faith. We only hope other gorgeous women will hear the call and join this noble cause. Otherwise we at See-A-Nun will be out of business. Now for the sports news.

He bends down to pick up something and produces a super-sized replica of Raphael’s “Depp in the Bogs”.

Goddie: The Annual –

Some people come running and gag him with red handkerchiefs. They handcuff him and drag him forcibly away from the studio. An immaculately dressed German Shepherd comes on the scene.

GS: We are terribly sorry for this interruption. I’d like to apologize for the shameful behaviour of one of our news readers. His actions are a blatant breach of the policies of our organization. I assure you he will be relieved of his responsibilities till he gets rid of that horrible violet mascara and that mongrel accent.

We at See-A-Nun are committed to provide you with the finest piece of ....uh, news round the cloak and sometimes behind it.

Three more stooges join him and they shout the trademark chorus:

“It doesn’t come any fresher.”

Goddie at 5:45 PM | Permalink | Comments

Bugger’s kitchen. Bugger is trying his hands at baked pasta. Goddie is playing with cheese.

Bugger: I want to be a writer.

Goddie: What do you mean you want to be a writer?

Bugger: Precisely that.

Goddie: Is that a wishing kind of wanting, or a decisive kind of wanting?

Bugger: Err, both I guess.

Goddie: What would you like to write?

Bugger: Why, anything. Anything at all. The world is full of writable things, my good man. From cabbages to kings. Didn’t you know? Sometimes I think every little thing – from bird-poop to retired bureaucrats – is just sitting there, rotting away while it awaits a writer.

He picks up a carrot and starts chopping it.

Goddie: Sadly, there are not many writers left who are versatile enough to cover such sheer variety. Everyone is out for quick money. It’s a sick world. What I don’t understand is why anyone would waste time writing about obvious things. Why, there are books like –

Bugger: Did you move my cheese?

He has a mad gleam in his eyes as he wields the knife. Goddie hastily puts back the cheese cube.

Goddie: Um, yeah. So my point is that there are too many writers writing unnecessary stuff.

Bugger: And I could make a difference? You think so? You are too kind.

Goddie: Uhm, no. I meant you shouldn’t spoil the broth further. It’s already stinking terribly.

Bugger (poking the pasta): It’s not even half-done.

Goddie: Besides, you just think you can write. It takes more than just words to write, you know.

Bugger: Yes, yes. I know well enough. Imagination, a keen eye for detail, sympathy, impeccable morals, money and lots of free time. But I think I’ll manage. I am quite an observant, imaginative, sensitive, rich and jobless saint. You know that.

Goddie: Can you write about mothballs?

Bugger: Eh?

Goddie: Or tiny, adamant tendrils of pubic hair that don’t wash away with the roaring torrents of sanitized water?

Bugger: You are ribbing me, aren’t you?

Goddie: My point, flushed away in that poetic overflow, is that you are not imaginative enough. Yet.

Bugger: Yet? You mean there’s still hope?

Goddie: Maybe. Maybe. You should always have a finger on the pulse of society.

Bugger (muttering): Last time I tried, they called me a pervert.

Goddie: What do your readers want? Think. Do they want morbid tales of lust and gore, or fictitious true accounts of psychopathic serial killers? Or would they prefer travelogues from Haiti? Do they ask for saccharine romances,tear-wrenching heroic sagas from the past or demented scientific fantasies about a future civilization? Do they read stories so real that the stench of gutters is brought alive…(sniffs)

Bugger: There! It’s done. Want to try some?

Goddie (wrinking his nose): No thanks.

Bugger: I agree. It’s important to know what your readers want. But they are so bloody fickle. And there is so little time to give them all they want! What if I wrote a book with a bit of everything in it?

Goddie: I get the idea. A rapist who is murdered by a psychopath, who in turn is caught by a heroic rebel soldier of Alexander’s army. Except all this happens while he’s time traveling. He then marries the daughter of an Iraqi general, escapes with her to Krypton and sends in the sequels to the book in form of travelogues.

Bugger: Something more exotic, maybe. But you get the idea. Yes.

Goddie: Maybe you should just write greeting cards. They would really sell. And they are universal.

Bugger: “To the flower of my life: when I think of you/I long to feel your touch/When I’m with you/I wish the moments wouldn’t fly so fast…Can’t live a moment with you.”

Goddie: Without you, you mean.

Bugger: Yeah. The same.

Goddie: See? You lack the inherent expressiveness that makes a writer ‘click’. Maybe you could write screenplays for Hindi cinema.

Bugger: Look, I asked for a listening ear. You are getting on my nerves.

Goddie: A very poetic expression.

Bugger: If you don’t leave my ketchup and the kitchen in three seconds, I will drown you in…in…

Goddie: Lack of words. A writer’s block. I recommend an unmoved piece of cheese taken thrice a day with single malt whiskey.

Bugger: I don’t care what you say. I have all it takes to be successful in the writing business.

Goddie: I think –

Bugger: COOKIES!

Goddie: mmph hmmph…woof woof..!

He struggles a bit with himself, then runs away.

Bugger: Ha! That did it. Insufferable pest. I won’t let him get to me. Imagination? I’ll show him.

He starts singing softly

"Shredded ribbons of charcoal heart
Never sinking, how brave thou art
Now the rivers of sorrow wash you clean
Splotchy and blotchy and gurgly-glug-glum"

(Dies down in whispers)

"They think you are pubic
But you are survivors.
Remnants of a long-forgotten war."

Goddie (from far-off): I could let you write my biography but you have a lousy sense of humor.

Goddie at 6:54 PM | Permalink | Comments

The weekly meeting of a group of scientists is in progress. Goddie, disguised as Dr. Gaudy, is only slightly noticeable in the bunch. He is wearing a t-shirt that says “Nothing shocks me. I am a scientist.”

S1: Yes. Good morning dear colleagues.

A murmur of “good morning”s, yeah”s and “up yours”s go around the table.

S1: We can discuss the progress of experiments since we last met. Let’s start with… S2?

S2: 现代汉语通用字表 ….

S1: In English, if you please.

S2: Right, sorry. I was thinking aloud. So as you all know, I have been trying to produce the WSP2 protein from the recombinant baculovirus. Last week I succeeded in cloning my promoters and now I will start cell studies. But my cell lines are not healthy.

He smiles. And the group smiles in return. Then they burst out laughing.

S1 (wiping tears): Really? Haha…So funny !! Lovely joke. Now let’s get serious.

S2 (with a serious face): My cell lines are not healthy.

Everyone nods solemnly.

S3: I am trying to conjugate FITC with AMCA, X-SE. Does anyone have some BOR-TYC-23 to spare?

S1: What?

S3: Honestly, are you uneducated? I asked for BOR-TYC. And also some HPK-(SRS).

S1: Oh, definitely. Of course. I couldn’t hear you at first.

Goddie: You can use Sexithiophane instead.

S3: Hmm. Yes. I think so. In fact, it’s a brilliant suggestion. But I am not sure how it works.

Goddie: Well, Sexithiophane should be reacted with Fukugetin overnight in the presence of Funicone. Then you can use either Clitoriacetal or Vaginatin to remove excess Fukugetin. Next, you co-incubate the conjugate with Fornacite and Constipatic acid. After that, just do the standard activation.

A collective murmur of admiration spreads at this very obvious display of scientific acumen.

S1: When will you start the animal studies, S4?

Everyone seems (a)roused by this.

S4: We have received all the mice, rats, fishes, lizards and Royal Bengal tigers we had ordered. Also, one of my graduate students caught a couple of pigeons and my wife has agreed to let me have Snoopy the IV on the condition that I buy her a new one.

S1: So it’s all set for this week, I hope?

S3: Yes. We will be injecting all the animals with U251 and T298G.

S2: Intracranial?

S4: Yes. We will plunge it right into their brains. The bastards. I can’t wait..

S1: Patience, S4.

Goddie: So what is the purpose for this animal study?

A silence follows.

S1: Surely you know we are trying to see the destabilization of the Retinoblastoma Tumor Suppressor by Human Papillomavirus Type 16 E7

Goddie: Uh..

S2: by Frameshift Signal Transplantation and the unambiguous analysis of mutations in the Yeast Retrotransposon

Goddie: Wait -

S3: as seen in recombinant respiratory Syncytial Virus deletion mutants.

Pause.

Goddie: Can you explain this in a simpler way?

Everyone looks incredulous.

S1: Well, you know that CD8⁺ Lymphocytes from Simian Immunodeficiency Virus-Infected Rhesus Macaques recognize 14 Different Epitopes bound by the major histocompatibility complex Class I Molecule.

Everyone laughs at this brilliant pun.

Goddie: Uhhuh. Whatever. So I understand it is absolutely essential to use animals?

S4: Absolutely. The buggers asked for it.

S3: So will you be doing a brain section analysis?

S4 (rubbing his hands in glee): Yes! Cut those little vermin open with a sharp knife, snip the heart vein, let them bleed out, then inject the heart with saline. The blood flows all over the white sheet and drops into the sink with a steady ‘drip..drip..’. It looks enchanting.

S2: We hope that the miRNA targeting sequence we have designed will show a reduced tumor growth. 常用字字形表…..

S1: We will all come and watch, S4. You can’t deny us this pleasure.

Goddie: I have a feeling we are getting carried away.

S1: Carried away? But it’s for a noble cause.

Goddie: I am sure the data you have collected for the effect of Pubescine and Uranate in vitro should be enough to prove your point. It will make a good publication. That’s what you all want, don’t you?

S2: He has a point. Why are we doing all this bullcrap anyway?

S1: Please mind your language.

S4: I don’t give a damn. I want those animals. I bought a new cleaver at a garage sale. And we are having guests for dinner next weekend.

S1: Well, that’s all for today then. Let’s meet next week to discuss the progress again.

S4: eeek !! ughhh…..

Goddie: What happened?

S4: I spilled some coffee on my trousers. Eww..Disgusting.

Goddie at 11:04 PM | Permalink | Comments

Bugger’s bedroom. Goddie is reclining on the bed, watching one of those Indian movies filmed in New York. Bugger enters with a can of Bud and some ice-cream.

Bugger: Hullo there.

Bugger: Ah, that walk was most enlightening, I must admit. You should get out more, my dear fellow. Nothing like a whiff of fresh air to charge those super brain cells of yours.

Goddie is completely immersed in fancy dress dances on the screen. He barely nods this time.

Bugger (continuing to himself): For example, I was struck by a most fantastic thought today. A business proposition, to be precise. It came to me so suddenly that I almost tripped. A most Bill Gate-ish feeling.

Goddie (raising an eyebrow): Right. Well, I have had my share of those moments. Nothing beats opium.

Bugger: Opium? No no, you have quite –

Goddie (sitting up): Please don’t do that. It’s disgusting.

Bugger: What? You mean you saw…

Goddie: Uh-huh. Never mind. What about this fantastic business proposal?

Bugger: Ah. Yes. What if cows wore brassieres?

Goddie: Brassiere?

Bugger: You know, that itsy-bitsy lacey stringy jumble of cloth wrapped around mammaries –

Goddie: Yes I know what a brassiere is. But you were telling me about your business proposal.

Bugger: Exactly. We will make brassieres for cows.

Goddie: When you say we…

Bugger (ignoring him): Allow me to summarize the manifold advantages of this revolutionary product.

He pulls down a whiteboard and starts scribbling on it as he speaks.

Bugger: 1. Our product will address the major concern for hygiene in all dairy products. We will stop contamination by nipping it in the bud.

Goddie: Haha. The bud.

Bugger: 2. It will infuse a sense of modesty in cows worldwide. A cultural revolution. Sort of anti-nudism, even. It will certainly reduce the number of sadistic crimes by little kids against cows and pigs.

3. It will open a new employment sector. It’s a shame to see all that creative talent going waste. Think about it. All those fashion designers, creative photographers, wannabe authors... It will be a great boon to this stagnant society.

Goddie: Authors? Aren’t you stretching it a bit?

Bugger (stretching his legs): Not a bit. You mark my words. Once we get going, we will need everything in-house. Brochures, campaign productions, do-it-yourself guides, the works.

Goddie: Whoa.

Bugger: And just think of the potential. It’s a product that ingeniously combines necessity with luxury. Strapless clip-ons, red silk from China, denim for the boycows… the possibilities are endless. And we can easily charge thrice the price of the standard product in the market. Three times two, you see. We will create our market and never get out.

Goddie: Great! You know, I think it just might work.

Bugger: Hmm. Yes. Uhmm..err…there is one tiny problem though.

Goddie: And what might that be?

Bugger: I can’t think of a dynamic punch-line for this business proposal.

Goddie: And so you need my help?

Bugger: Well, I thought you might just contribute your tiny bit if we are going to be equal partners.

Goddie: ….

Bugger: What’s that?

Goddie: Will we buy a yacht?

Bugger looks at the TV screen for the first time.

Bugger: Hullo. That’s quite astounding.

Goddie: Yes, they are deeply in love.

Bugger: No. I meant the bra. Did you see it? Hold on..THERE! See? It’s got..holy cow! The cheats! Sniveling buggers. My design..! Oh, I am ruined.. I didn’t even file for IP.

He breaks into genuine sobs. Unlike the guy on screen now.

Goddie: There goes my yacht.

Bugger (sniffing): Yacht? Is that all you can think of, you selfish brute? Just look at that…there! It’s an exact copy of my design.

Goddie: I never saw your design.

Bugger: Well, I just dreamed of it, didn’t I?

Goddie: Never mind, now. I am sure you will think of something new very soon. What are walks for, after all?

Bugger: Is that a tail there between your legs?

Goddie: Woof.

Bugger: You barked??

Goddie: It means "buzz off", dickhead.

Goddie at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments

So if you haven't noticed, I am a dog named Goddie with a capital G. I have been named Goddie (with a capital G) by that bugger of a guy who thinks I have some supernatural powers. I would prefer a name like Alan or John or even Gulaab Singh from Jabalpur but this is something I cannot control. Besides, according to the latest survey one out of every five people is dissatisfied with his/her name. Three out of ten names in this world don’t have a logic behind them. It could have been worse.

I am far more intelligent than any dog and many humans I have met or heard about. I have an IQ a notch above the average Scandinavian’s, the logical abilities of 7 X Neumann and ingenuity only slightly less than that of Jesus Christ. I also am as curious as a hundred cats (I am not proud of this, but it helps).

I like Garry Larson‪ for breakfast, Calvin for lunch and different bits of Fry and Laurie for dinner. I don’t relieve myself in public and I do it standing up just like the bugger, I avoid scratching myself unless absolutely necessary, I don’t indulge in frivolous displays of affection for people who call me ‘cute’ nor do I sink my teeth in human flesh. I don’t know who my dad was, but my mom was quite possibly British.

But none of this has anything to do with these powers I possess. What makes me really interesting is my ability to see through walls, disappear and re-appear at will, change appearances, morph into anything I want (from table to talc to tacos to Madam Tan) and a secret spell that makes me irresistible to bitches. I enjoy using all these powers as you will realize soon.

The reason I am here is because the bugger asked me to. Seeing that he himself has had ample web space for voicing his frustrations and pathetic views and that he has failed remarkably in producing 'literature' even by standards of a loser like him, I decided to go public myself. It’s only fair that a paranormally gifted being like me is allowed to advice, critique and opine once in a while.

So welcome all ye who have well come to the brink of literary extinction. Unlike the bugger’s melodramatic ideas, this space will host practical and real-lifey stuff. Making good use of my gifts, I will mingle with the crowds, see what they think, think what they see, converse, discourse and predict. I might bump into you one of these days and you may not recognize me (just don’t say “cookies”. It blows my cover every time).

I will write in third person. It makes me feel very accomplished.

I am not God. I am Goddie with a capital G. Thank you.

P.S: On second thoughts, I reckon I too have the right to name the bugger who gave me this stupid name. I will call him Bugger (with/without capital B).

Goddie at 12:23 PM | Permalink | Comments