Tuesday, June 21, 2011

More Excerpts from I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep

I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep is the subversive title of my subversive book of humor that was just published ten days back on Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble Nook. (Every one of my books, no matter what their subject, has a subversive/humorous element in it.)

Here are a few excerpts
 I: From "What You Don't Know about Bangaloring" (comedy on outsourcing)

Dear Brothers and Sisters of the Great Hamburger Cowboy Nation of America: There is no need to introduce myself. You know my entire family already. My eighteen brothers and sisters, bred and currently breeding like rabbits in Bangalore, have all taken your jobs (alternative pronunciation: yer jaorbs?). What’s more, you have spoken to one or more of them. Remember Sue (Sushmita) at AT&T, Kelli (Kalinadi) at Walmart Customer Service, Billy (Balwant) from AOL, Jake (Jayakrishnan) from Citibank Visa, Victor (Vikas) from Microsoft Tech Support, Bob (Babbar) from Allstate Auto Insurance Claims Department who took down your rather imaginative and completely fake accident report, and last but not least, Ruth the real all-over blonde (Rudramma) from 1-888-Talk2Me, the toll-free erotic phone fantasy hot line for heavy breathers, just put it on your Visa card, and it will be billed as a business/technical consultation? They all fooled you with their flawless American accents, didn’t they?

Well, don’t get mad at them, and don’t try to get even either. Not only because they are merely trying to put tandoori goat on their tables, low-fat milk in their G.E. Refrigerators, and to bury gold ingots in the secret holes they’ve dug under their beds as is the ancient Indian custom, but also because they have access to all of your confidential and sometimes embarrassingly personal information . . .
[As dictated to a Blackberry with Voice Recognition by Gundappa Gowda while milking his personal cow in Patagonia. Richard Crasta is his—Gundappa’s—American name. For your smooth reading pleasure, moos, bovine expletives, suspicious orgasmic moans, and milk-sploshing-in-a-bucket sounds have been erased from this transcription.]

 II: From Death of a Minister (satire on Indian politics, which is among the most corrupt and cunningly cynical in the world) The Minister is a senior politician starting his election campaign for the Prime Ministership:

And now began the historic speech, the speech that would change the face of the planet and perhaps be memorized by pint-sized debaters for centuries to come.

Soiled white dhotis of the Revolution, and those dhotis beyond the seas being washed by Chow's Dry Cleaners in Kew Gardens: lend me your sisters—I mean, your ears!
Four score and seven minutes from now, free drinks and gourmet aperitifs will be served unto you. [Pandemonium.]
Until then, I shall a tale unfold—of my 75-point Plan for fighting crime, waste, and hunger and for promoting Beauty, Employment, and National Integration—that will make spears start from your eyes . . . I mean, that will make your eyes start from their spheres.
Generations to come will remember what was said here; but few will care to enquire what was done here: specifically, the vintage of the eggs thrown here.
And so, my fellow Gandapurians:  Ask not what your Minister can do for you, but ask instead whether there is any point in asking questions for which the answers are further questions.

III: In the first essay, the child responds to his/her father's emphatic order that he/she goes to sleep with this:: 
Hey Dad—Grand Patriarch, Pater Sanctus, Daddykins, King-Emperor of this Household, Lord and Master of all you survey, my dearest, darling Pop—I, your humble child and the product of a glorious night between you and Mom, bow before your Awesome, Almighty power, and offer virtual incense before it. But I refuse to, and I Will Not Go the F**k to Sleep. Consider that on this one issue, I have drawn line in the sand, like George H.W. Bush did with Iraq, get it? And my reasons are as follows:
1.                  The dog ate my sleep.
2.                  The last I heard, we were living in a democracy. Has this become a fascist dictatorship now, and is your name Adolf, or am I just dreaming?
3.                  Too late, Daddy, I just injected myself with amphetamines.

The book is available on many e-book platforms including: http://amzn.to/iQtcqe and http://bit.ly/jazP3W


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