Woof !

Gaudily decked, goaded by Bugger, a certain dog-like creature has finally ventured out of the hole-in-the-wall that’s called ‘home’ by some. This reluctance to smell the fresh air is born in part from the beast’s snobbish stubby snout, as well as the Bugger’s unashamed addiction to what he calls ‘work’ - scribbling, muttering, recording, reading, meeting….which leaves virtually no time to accompany his best fiend in leisurely strolls. But let’s get on with the walk. After all, it’s Goddie’s first in India.

Goddie (to himself): I always knew nothing pleasant would come of living with the idiot. Of all the alluring charm in the world, he’s chosen this crappy corner. Why did I allow myself to be dragged along? I thought we were off to Hawaii, the way he was chirping when we closed shop in Singapore… Banana daiquiris and bare brown butts……

He is interrupted by a proper street dog, which approaches him suspiciously.

Dog: Hello. Can we play?

Goddie: Play? Sure. I’d love a game or two of squash.

Dog: Squashed tomatoes? I’m liking that game also. There is a trash bin here only.

Goddie: Uhh?

Dog: I love the smell of rotten tomatoes. And also the feeling on the nose…

Goddie: Yuck. You play in garbage?

Dog (looking uncertain): Food.

Goddie: I better get going now. Sorry, I’m slightly pressed for time.

The dog tries to scratch Goddie, but hastily retreats seeing the bared fangs.

Dog (to Goddie’s back): Ok ok. I’m very sorry, ssir.

Goddie (muttering again): What’s all this noise, man… Jesus! Look at that guy…

And so, with such grumbles and grunts of disbelief, Goddie walks far out into the battle-ridden terrain of Mumbai’s main streets.

Goddie (avoiding a well-aimed kick by a passer-by): Bloody… oh, I’d have chewed a piece off that leg if I hadn’t sworn never to taste human flesh. If this is how they treat people out here, I wonder how they ever get along with each other.

As if in answer, he’s surrounded by a dozen demented-looking strays, adorned with saffron bandanas and vermillion smudges on the foreheads. For the first time in his life (and this takes a lot of courage to admit), Goddie looks a bit… scared?

Dog 1: Where’re you from?

Goddie: Err, I live right there.....?

Dog 2: You think we are fully idiots or what? You are speaking Hindi and you are walking like you own this street.

Goddie: Well, I’ve this power…

Dog 1: Power? Oh, so now you’re telling you have powers. In Maharashtra?

Goddie: Now, look here…

Dog 3 (growling): Shut up your mouth!! This city is ours. Milwaukee Naturalists’ Society is going to clean it.

Goddie: I didn’t know globalization has reached such levels in India that Americans want to clean up Indian gutters…..

Dog 2: Globalization is the root cause of all evil. We are not doing anything with it. We want the city only. And its people only. No outsiders.

Dog 1 (aside to others): It’s Mehta’s Nimbu-paani Stall, by the way…

The crowd is getting increasingly agitated, with froth visible from many jaws and louder growls each minute.

Goddie: Hold on, now. There’s no need to get so worked up –

Dog 3: We have no work! You outsiders are taking everything only. The only way to win back our living (also elections) is by driving out such dirty people.

Dog 1 (scratching himself): Wait… I think it’s Mallika’s Nascent Sexuality….shit, I’m forgetting what I am barking for.

Goddie: You mean you really want to forcefully eject people? But why?

Dog 2: We are asking you to shut up your mouth! Don’t ask questions for which there are no answers.

This is cheered by renewed growls and pawing of the ground. Goddie starts backing up.

Goddie: You guys are nuts… I mean you no harm. Look –

Dog 1 (now really on the verge of tears): Is it Motel New Sunrise or Marconi’s Nameless Signal? I am getting old. Please….

His faithful followers start chanting in a monotone, while advancing steadily on. Goddie is desperately seeking a way out.

Goddie: Hey… did you say Am An Ass?

Dog 1 (jubilant): That’s IT !!! AM AN ASS !!!! I am remembering !! You cannot be an outsider. You are knowing our values. You are a part of us only. We are very very sorry, ssir.

Goddie (wiping sweat discreetly): That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along.

The mob parts, bowing in reverence to Goddie, who struts past (a little shakily, we must admit). The chants soon drown in the sea of ear-splitting noises from the traffic.

_________________________________________________________________________________

A couple of hours later…..

Bugger: Wake up!! Man, you’re rolling in fat sitting all day at home. The least I expect is a nod of recognition from you when I return.

Goddie: Shut up your mouth!

Bugger (taken aback by this blatant assault on language): Whoa.. take it easy! I just –

Goddie: I went for a walk.

Bugger: Really? Alone? Are you okay?

He begins his usual, suspiciously feminine fuss but is cut short by another spectacular show of fangs.

Goddie: I can take care of myself. Back off.

Bugger: Okay okay. Someone’s mean today. I’m getting myself dinner. Want something?

Goddie: Nope. I’m off to sleep.

Bugger (after some time, from the kitchen): So… how’s Mumbai?

Goddie (half-asleep): Next time, will you come along? Please?

Bugger comes running out.

Bugger: You mean.... Err, are you…. Scared?

Goddie (frowning): Meow.

Harsh at 11:04 PM | Permalink | Comments

It’s a scene of chaos in the chaotic little household of the two main characters this blog is concerned with. The bedroom shows all signs of a recent battle and shouts coming from the sitting room hint that things have not yet settled down.

Bugger: I’m warning you, you sonuvabitch, you hand it right back –

Goddie, at this moment, waves two sheets of paper like a matador. The documents are evidently the objects of dissent here.

Goddie (reading while keeping an eye on Bugger): C’mon, dude. Why wouldn’t you share this with me, now? It’s just your curriculum vitae. What species is that again? Biology was never my strong point.

Bugger: See? That’s exactly why I don’t want to share stuff with you. Your sole purpose is to poke fun at everything I do. Now –

Goddie: “Education…. Experience…Achievements…” Fairly textbook.

Bugger: Yeah, well, being a deviant doesn’t always serve the purpose.

Goddie: I never knew you spent three years in a fume-filled laboratory. What were you inhaling?

Bugger: It’s not my fault that my university didn’t provide ventilation.

Goddie: Is that what addled your brain? I wonder…

Bugger: That, and a combination of cheap street food. And lot of Nietzsche and Russell.

Goddie: Don’t be so sanctimonious. You spent your life trying to become a nerd.

Bugger: …

Goddie: “Experience – can tie shoelaces with one hand.. Proficient in using a nail-trimmer…” Impressive.

Bugger: Hey –

Goddie: And you even have a certificate for backstage production help for a theater company. Wow. That must have really been an illuminating experience.

Bugger: Yes, I was holding one of the stage-lights in place for three-hour periods.. Almost got electrocuted… that was really a turning point in my career.

Goddie: I can imagine. What’s this? “Managed to zip up my fly all by myself after the annual Oktoberfest celebration?” This should go under “Achievements”.

Bugger: Yeah, I am still formatting this part.

Goddie: You have a long list of honours, man. “LFAPR medal – 2005”. That’s for…?

Bugger: It’s for growing a magnificent goatee outside France, that too without a beard trimmer. Awarded by –

Goddie: You’ve got a lot of Heineken coasters as well.

Bugger: Collected from several bars over the period of time. Memoirs of –

He makes a sudden grab at the papers. Goddie deflects.

Goddie: A small fortune spent in developing a robust flab across your midsection. What kind of job market are you targeting?

Bugger: Well, I try not to get entangled in the already super-segmented professional world. I am ready for all challenges. Anything.

Goddie: In other words, you are willing to serve anyone – from call centers to becoming on-street Santa Claus figures for Giordano.

Bugger: As long as it pays.

Goddie: And this… 3 consecutive years spent as chairman of the International Committee for Prevention of Cruelty Against Junior High Students by Inebriated Middle-aged Manchester United Fans.. Uh. Man, that’s awesome. Really.

Bugger: I hate Man-U.

Goddie: How long have you been looking for a job?

Bugger: Umm…

Goddie: These papers look dog-eared and yellowed, man. You might want to print another copy.

Bugger: You wanna skip your meal tonight? Because I can either feed your bottomless stomach or spend on printouts.

Goddie: Oh, c’mon now –

Bugger (looking tearful): I don’t care if my talents go unappreciated. I will bear neglect with honour but not compromise on my dignity. We will starve but I will not sell insurance to gullible people.

Goddie: Well –

Bugger: We shall not surrender.

Goddie: I heard one can earn up to $30 a day playing guitar on Orchard Boulevard, provided the stationing is strategic.

Bugger (indignantly): Are you suggesting…..?

Goddie: Not at all. It’s just my nature to plan for contingencies.

Bugger: Did you check the mailbox today? Any responses?

Goddie: For the fifth time – YES. I checked the mail. Still no responses. And your rich aunt in New Delhi is still healthy and munching three hundred pistachios a day.

A considerable pause.

Bugger: Well…..ok. Where’s my mandolin?

What? You still want more? Shameless rubbernecks! Leave us to drag on in peace.

Goddie at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments

It’s a lovely evening for shopping. Shimmering city lights, a hundred scents in the air and fluffy plastic bags full of material pleasures. Crowds are… well, crowded. Money is alive and flowing in countless shiny rivulets. But two great and sanctimonious assholes have somehow been left bone-dry in the midst of gold and silver and green paper streams.

Goddie: Look, will you just explain what this is all about?

Bugger: I told you I want to buy a gift.

Goddie: And you also said it’s not for me. You have been raining hideous smiles lately, I also heard you singing in the shower and it was NOT one of your own lousy rhymes. Something involving ‘hearts’ and ‘holding someone tightly’ and... ugh. And now, you drag me to this extravagant place with invisible dollar signs glowering down at everyone…. What IS it? Are you sick?

Bugger (blushing… well, sort of): You won’t understand. Just come along. Help me choose a gift.

Goddie: Well, that settles it then. But I have to have some clue. How can I just choose a present not knowing whether you need diapers or diamonds?

Bugger: Diamonds! Aha… you are illuminating today even in ignorance. And there is the place. Right there.

Goddie: You realize they might kick you out if you are wearing underwear worth less than $40? It’s that kind of place…

Bugger: I am not letting them find out, am I? Come on.

They enter an expensive-looking showroom with glittering jewels and sparkling stones. Everything is mirrors, lights, velvets and marbles. Goddie looks a bit hesitant, but Bugger is already gliding.

Bugger: See.. this one is beautiful.

Goddie: $1300.

Bugger: And this..?

Goddie: $1190.

Bugger: It’s not that nice. What about this pendant?...... Uh-oh.

Goddie: I wouldn’t even bother reading the price tag on this one. Are you sure you can afford something from here?

Bugger: I have…$30.

Goddie: 3 with One zero? One fuckfuckitylousy zero…?? And you want to buy emeralds?

Bugger: There has to be something cheaper…

Goddie: You can’t even afford one of these fancy light bulbs. Get real, man.

Bugger (sighing): All right, then. Let’s find something else.

Goddie: What’s her name?

Bugger: Who?

Goddie: C’mon. Love songs in shower, stupid grins, dreamy eyes, bouncing steps, diamond gazing…. You take me for a fool?

Bugger: I… uh, well. Let’s find a gift first.

Goddie: Clothes. Women love dresses. I love taking them off. But, yeah..

Bugger: Ok… That store –

Goddie: Is beyond your reach. Try something simpler.

Bugger: Lingerie?

Goddie: Uh…simpler doesn’t always mean lesser, you know? But you can try.

They enter a lingerie store and are immediately engulfed by scantily-clad figures, statues with scary faces and missing eyebrows. Half-moon pieces of multi-colored cloth and a lot of amused stares greet them.

Bugger: Wow.

Goddie: Satin?

Bugger: Red… white? I am already confused.

Goddie: They start at $110.

A salesgirl comes up to them.

Girl: Sir, may I help you?

Bugger: Hmm.. mmm… No. Actually, yes. I need… I mean, I want to buy a gift.

Girl (smiling): I see. Do you have an idea of her size, sir?

Bugger: Umm.. not really. But she’s somewhat like you, I guess?

Girl (not smiling now): So have you chosen something yet?

Bugger: No, I really… I have never given this a thought before. I just came in…

Girl (moving away): Sure sir. Take your time.

Goddie (whispering): Are you done making a fool of yourself? Let’s go, you idiot.

Bugger (being dragged off by Goddie): I like this blue one..wow.. wow.

Goddie: Why can’t you just buy some little useless piece of wood or metal? Women love to keep those things on tables, dressers and all over their house. The more useless the better.

Bugger: Will $30 be enough?

Goddie: No. But the shock and disappointment will be lesser.

Bugger: What’s the point of being in love when you can’t celebrate it?

Goddie: I never thought I’d hear you saying that. You can’t celebrate love without a gift?

Bugger: Of course, I can. But don’t you realize I want to give her something? It’s an urge I can’t explain.

Goddie: Well, then give her any damned thing that you lay your eyes on.. How does it matter if it’s a silver-ruby ring or a tea coaster, as long as you kiss it before you give it to her?

Bugger (picking up something from a huge flowerpot): Well, what about this then?

Goddie: It’s a pebble.

Bugger: But see how beautiful it is! Shiny black and worn smooth… with tiny dents on it. Barely visible, but always there. This has imperfection written all over it. And it’s so beautiful! Where did it come from, I wonder…

Goddie (smiling): You found a gift, then. Diamonds are rocks, so is this stone. The difference lies, as you rightly say, in degrees of perfection. And we both know what the real deal is, right?

Bugger (grinning): Thanks, buddy.

Goddie: Now, about those $30. How about buying us a couple of pints?

Goddie at 11:21 AM | Permalink | Comments

Goddie and Bugger are dressed as door-to-door salesmen. In addition to cheap jackets and cheaper trousers, Bugger is wearing a fake moustache and Goddie has put on imitation RayBans. They are about to ring the bell of the first house in the locality. (First from the right. No, left. My right…no…)

The bell rings rather politely with just two ‘R’s, as befits well groomed bells of decent households. Trring.

Goddie: Ready?

Bugger (tapping his nose): Hrrmm..All right. Here goes…

A middle-aged matronly woman opens the door.

Goddie: Good afternoon, ma’am. Sorry to disturb your bath –

Woman: But I wasn’t bathing.

Bugger: Your nap –

Woman: I was baking some coo –

Goddie (hastily): Ma’am, we are here to introduce a radical product.

Woman: I am really sorry, but –

Bugger: Ma’am, we are in complete awareness of how you feel at this exact moment. We know there are thousands of pesky door-to-door salesmen and women who hound model citizens like you to death. Insufferable, ungrateful, irresponsible and rude bloodsuckers they are, ma’am. They trap you in silky but venomous webs woven verbally, then smother you with sugary smiles and force you to buy perfectly useless junk.

Goddie: We know the type, ma’am.

Bugger: But we are not them.

Goddie: Look into these honest eyes and ask yourself, “Can anything possibly be purer than this?” And then, rest assured, your life will change.

Bugger: For in the next two minutes, you will be introduced to a product that guarantees to bury you in happiness many feet deep, make you feel as if you have entered a sci-fi movie, and become a source of pride to you.

Woman: Oh, all right then. So what is it that you are selling?

Bugger digs into his bag and whips out something. They both take a step back and display it with flourish.

Woman: It’s a balloon.

Goddie: Forgive me, ma’am, but you have jolted us rather severely by saying something so preposterous. Why, a BALLOON? But I suppose we can’t blame you. It does resemble a balloon somewhat. It’s made of rubber, has a blowhole, is pink in colour.

Woman: So if it’s not a balloon, what is it?

Goddie: It’s an –

Bugger: Artificial womb.

Woman: Beg your pardon?

Bugger: A womb.

Goddie: Artificial. Without going into technical details, we can say it grows babies.

Woman: And how does that work?

Goddie: I’m afraid that’s a trade secret ma’am.

Woman: Uh. What’s your company?

Bugger: We don’t have one.

Goddie: A man is known by the company he keeps. We wish to remain anonymous.

Woman: Look –

Bugger: With this portable, pocket-size, adjustable, inconspicuous, reusable, sturdy, aesthetic product, you can grow babies of any size when and where you want without embarrassment or pain.

Goddie pulls out a handful from the bag.

Goddie: Comes in different colors to suit your mood, light in weight, easy to handle.

Bugger: And it’s dirt cheap.

Woman: Well, I really don’t see what I could do with another womb.

Goddie: This product has been made keeping people like you in mind. With 40 years of rugged life behind you, don’t you think you are ready for a change?

Woman: I don’t think I need more kids.

Bugger: Think again.

Woman: I just did. Now I really think I should –

Goddie: Wait! That’s not even half of what this amazingly simple gadget can do.

Bugger: The most outstanding characteristic of this product is that it is multi-functional.

Woman: You mean this is a womb and also something else?

Goddie: Exactly. Look here. It is a handy weapon for self-defense for timid women like you, ma’am. Just pull it back and let it go. SNAP! Better than pepper sprays and rusty umbrellas, eh?

Bugger: It can come in handy when you lose your hair-clip in a crowded bus. Jus wrap it around those lovely tresses.

Goddie: Are you asthmatic? Just blow it full of air and carry it around. Your ready supply of precious air when you need it.

Woman (quite irritated): Listen, I really need to –

Bugger suddenly starts digging his nose furiously.

Goddie: Uhuhh. Here, ma’am. Let me demonstrate.

He blows out the almost-like-a-balloon gadget.

Woman: What’s that written on it? “H.A.P.P.Y B.I.R.T…”

Goddie (deflating it quickly): It’s a welcome message. We took care to make the gadget user friendly.

Woman (now furious): Y'know what? I think you are a couple of frauds.

Bugger redoubles his nose-digging efforts.

Goddie (hastily): Ma’am..Smile, you are on –

She slams the door on their faces.

Goddie (whining): Well? Did it work this time?

Bugger: I dink nod.

Goddie: Damn. I told you that camera-in-the-nostrils trick is useless. New hosts for “Candid Camera”... Exciting career, eh, you nitwit?? May Madonna take me to bed if I listen to you ever again!

Bugger: I can’d ged id oud!

Goddie (softening): You were quite impressive, though. If only we had managed to film it...“Venomous webs woven verbally…” Hmmm..Try saying that double fast.

Bugger (with a hand on his nose): I dink id’s sdug really deeb.

Goddie: Venomouswebswovenverbally venomouswebswovenverbally….

Goddie at 10:20 PM | Permalink | Comments

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