To Meet a Mocking Bong

Statutory warning: The entire story is a figment of my imagination. The story is about a retarded asshole who was once bitten in the posterior by an orangutan, now living the life of a circus clown churning out all his grotesque and bizarre acts to impress the audience. A clown is never meant to be taken seriously, particularly so, if his orangutan gene did not change so much to be called a homo sapience. Having said that, never miss any opportunity to clap the Orangutan in the zoo, particularly when it dances boom-boom-boom with full enthusiasm, makes a face thinking it looks like Marlon Brando, sticks out its tongue or growls.  

Any resemblance of the abovementioned retard to any monkey-junkie-chimpanzee or any blogger, living or shitting or farting, is purely coincidental.

 A few days back when I was travelling on the internet I met a fellow bong with whom I had some conversation that went somewhat like below …. The bong whose penname is GB granted this exclusive interview to me. I sold that interview to an unknown magazine to earn an unknown amount of money..

Q: Hello, Mr. GB, nice to meet you, Sir. How are you doing today?

GB:  What kind of a question is this?  Why are you ‘trolling’, whatever the word `trolling’ means? Why do you want to know what I’m doing today? Why today and not tomorrow? What is your intention? You told me that you would ask me some ‘relevant’ questions. Such questions are not permitted. I will ban you then.

(I felt scared to the bone marrow when GB threatened me with banning. Last time I was banned when I was trying to gatecrash a party at the White House. I can live without having a conversation with the president of the US, but how could I live with the ignominy of a ban imposed on me by one great bong. So I tried to cool him down…)

Q: Mr. GB, sorry about the question. I should not have done that. But, what happened to you? What is your problem, man? It’s a simple exchange of greetings between two people meeting for the first time.

GB: I do not think so. Who knows, maybe, your intention is to slow down the web-traffic to my blog. Anyways, if you cannot figure out my problems from my writings then you miss out all the nuances of my creations.

Q: Mr. GB, please explain a little bit of the `nuances of your creations’ that your readers are unable to grasp.

GB: This is a good question. For example, when I write so much about Mithun-dada, so obsessively, try to admire him from so many different angles, did it ever strike to anyone that my admiration of that tall, dark, muscular man is no longer limited to my weblogspace within a number of words, it goes far far beyond.

(I can see grin on his face as he got the opportunity to ramble on his favorite topic “Mithun-dada”…In fact now he is an emotional man for the first time like a human not an orangutan.)

GB continues: You know my emotion is elevated to a sublime level… to the level of *my desiring Mithun-dada with all my passion very aggressively*, *my desire to be close with him*, *to feel him*, you know ..to `lust’ him? In fact, LUST is still an under-expression of the passion I feel about Mithun-dada. Everything he does causes a testosterone burst in my blood streams. It is not easy to write so passionately about Mithun-dada’s C-grade Hindi movies, if your heart is not on him, if your testosterone is not high at his sight.  He is “my man”. I feel sad when people misunderstand me and think that all my Mithun-dada writings are fun stuff.

Q: GB, it is indeed sad, my sympathies are with you. Now tell me, why are you so paranoid about the possibility of decline of your web-traffic? Your paranoia has gone to such an extent that it seems you have become a psychopath. Take it easy, man.

(GB retorted angrily at the question. Back again from human to primitive species.)

GB: Please, please, stop. Be serious. Please be serious. I don’t like people make fun out of potato chips, neighbor’s wife and my web-traffic. You know what. One day I was so upset, so upset because of low internet traffic on my weblog that I went to office without putting my under-pants on.  People thought I forgot to wear it. Hehe. But actually it was a self-punishment, exactly like what Jesus did; he took others’ sins on to himself and suffered for others’ misdeeds. Next time if the web-traffic goes down I shall take more serious measures. You know what I mean by “more serious measures”…

Q:  God help your office-mates, GB. OK, let’s get to the point. Let me ask you some “relevant” questions now. Why do you write blog? And that too way more vigorously and frequently than other bloggers. Why so?

GB:  See, India is a country where Rakhi Sawant sells, where Baba Ramved gets PhDs for supplying quack remedies for illnesses; Mayawati hoards hundreds of crores of money despite being a leader of the poorest of the poor, then why not me finding large readership even if I know very well that what I write is way more crap than my own shit by any standards.  At least I can write in English, unlike them. Ain’t I?

Q: Mr. GB, fair enough. But why do you sometimes engage in character-vilification of famous people in the name of humor and that too in a very explicit, raw and undignified way?  It seems that this is your *only* selling point which distinguishes you from other dignified bloggers. Is it not like online-whoring?

GB:  Do you think I myself have any character of any sort that you expect me to give character certificates to others. Dignity, my foot.  You know my own ass is as miserable as the condition of Gaza strip nowadays. Potholes, smelly everywhere, signs of missile attacks all around and whatnot. To put it metaphorically, my character is like rolls of soiled toilet papers scattered all around my home.

(I was really amazed by GB’s sense of metaphor as he stopped for a while to take a breath. And then he continues….)

GB continues: My only inspiration in life is my blogspace. My blogspace is my house, as I said that many times before. But for my readership, it is a public lavatory. And I’m proud to be the owner of that lavatory. You come, throw filth, mud-wrestle and then go away entertained. I’m happy. Is not it a huge contribution to the society? Nobody says nothing about that. Now you got the point? Nobody cares about my character; in the same way, I do not care about others’ characters. 

(GB is now about to reveal a dark secret of his life. Brace yourself, it is a headline.)

GB murmurs: When I was young I was sodomized by one of my teachers in the school-toilet because I wrote a love letter to his 11 year old son.  The wound of that sodomy is still sore in my “anal orifice”.  That event of yore left an indelible impression on my young mind and yes, on my ass also; it was in fact the turning point of my life. I was a man reborn. All my anger, frustration, agony expressed in my blog can be traced back to that rainy afternoon when `than thing’ happened… (GB winces in pain as he revisits the scene.)

Q:  GB, it is really interesting to know that a new man could be born after sodomy too; this phenomenon is a bit contrary to medical sciences.  However, many thanks for the interview. I really appreciate. Before we depart, will you please oblige your readers by revealing what GB stands for?  

GB: When I used to argue in my school days with my friends using all my nonsensical ideas  that I dreamed up during my “nighttime discharges” and “bathroom flushes”, they used to call me *GamBart*  for my obstinacy and silliness. GB came from that word.  As a matter of fact, when I grew up I could not give up the old habits. You know old habits die hard. My pseudonym GB is a tribute to my school friends.

(GB left. And left with a good promise of another more telling interview sometime later. OMG. I spent whole two hours recording this exquisite piece of literary work. Who says I do not care about weblog traffic too;);))