Monthly Archives: August 2013

Lord Ganesha’s Message to India: 2013

All right minions, this is it.

It’s that time of the year all of you gather together to butcher the very essence of my existence. One would think that I thoroughly enjoy the aura of hospitality created by you’ll for ten days every year. If you have ever had that delusion, I must finally prick this bubble you live in. I have had enough. I have tolerated enough for the past eight decades.

Let’s start off with how I look. You degenerate twerps gave me the head of an elephant? Really, an elephant? I’ve heard of stupid storytelling but this takes the cake. My father was a three eyed alpha-god. You think he would have agreed to replace my head with a crippled elephant? Do you even know how big an elephant’s head is? It’s fucking humungous! It’s like fitting an Airbus engine in a Nano. The absurdity of it simply staggers me. Don’t you think Mum would have thrown a slight fit?

Secondly, whatever gave you the impression that my stomach looks like a balloon. Oh, sure! The elephant head has to be blamed here. Right, I am supremely intelligent, but I’m sure I wouldn’t know how much to eat to suit my physique. If I had a grey elephant’s head on a human’s body, I would be one astoundingly ugly creature.  I’m pretty fucking fit. I fought off three divine armies. I go running with my bro everyday.  Don’t you dare think of carving that pot belly again.

I am not a vegetarian. I eat meat, all sorts of it. I chill with Yama, another buddy and eat humans sometimes. We don’t have exceptions, us. Whatever catches our fancy. The way we look at it, it’s all life. Plant, platypus or possum, it’s all finger licking good depending on our mood.

Fashion – I live on a snow capped mountain. You really think I like roaming around shirtless? Ramdas liked yellow, so he said I loved it too, just to make a fashion statement. For those of you who don’t know who Ramdas is, rap out my aarti, second verse. Try figuring out what it means before screaming it out every evening.  What kind of a self respecting human being would make me wear the clothes he’d never touch himself. Would you go to a club in yellow jeans? No, no, why don’t you try it? Try hitting on a girl with that shade of yellow and say, “How do you like ‘Mah new Ganesh fashion’”

Why a mouse? Why the fuck do I get a mouse! Kartik gets a peacock. Dad gets a bull. I get a mouse!?!?!? Whatdawhatdawhatdafaq! Elephants hate mice. Humans hate mice. Would a combination of the two logically like mice? NO! Would you like a real mouse eating my food during the festival? NO. I don’t need a mount. I don’t need a vehicle. I don’t need anything rodentish.

Please don’t play Munni Badnam Hui or Sheila ki Jawani around me. I’ve put Rohit Shetty and pretty much most of Bollywood on a special reservations list in hell. I don’t need any of these actresses shaking their bosoms to provide myself entertainment.

The very essence of your religion is so messed up, it insults me sometimes. You give Gods the same emotional and physical qualities you have yourselves. We’re supposed to feel anger, thirst, lust, desire and greed. We’re supposed to fight battles with our own brothers. We’re supposed to enjoy viewing women dance in the heavens. We’re supposed to make mistakes and repay for them and earn that right to live freely again by meditating. It’s all a convenience and excuse for how you live. You see divinity in human life. Divinity for you’ll, is the ultimate luxury as compared to ultimate selflessness. You worship my dad’s penis and censor sex in cinema. You sacrifice animals for wealth but prohibit eating them. I’ve never understood it.

I come to your houses as a guest. I don’t enjoy it. I’m a God remember? I don’t need this. I don’t enjoy being flushed down a river stinking with your shit (literally) at the end of ten days. Your lives and your country is so fucked up, it nauseates me to be a part of it. This ten day thing was supposed to be an arrangement between Loki Tilak and myself till you kicked the English out. We knew you’ll were too dumb to unite on your own. We knew you’d do it under my name. But no, you kicked Elizabeth Mary out, and let Edvige Maino sit on your head. You don’t even know who Edvige is, do you?

Maybe you should think, rather than pray?

I must leave. Playing doubles, partnering Jesus. We’re through to the finals, up against Allah and Buddha. They’ve got a bit of an invisible serve, bit tricky, really…

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