Undercurrent. We cannot believe.

Awake. Alive. Hopeful

House Arrest on HBO

The Boss on TV!

An insider's look at Chris Colombo, who was indicted for federal racketeering, as he lives under house arrest in upstate New York.

This film follows Chris Colombo at home and around town, after he's been released on bail.

HERE.

and here..

Batman Begins Sequel

A bunch of smart alecs on imdb decided to suggest names for the sequel scheduled for 2008. I think these guys either are kidding or have muffin crumbs for brian cells. Check these out:

BATMAN CONTINUES
BATMAN & ALFRED
BATMAN & ALFRED FOREVER
HOW BATMAN GOT HIS GROOVE BACK
BATMAN VS. PREDATOR
BATMAN: C'ERA UNA VOLTA IL GOTHAM (FUNNY!)
BATMAN: STRAIGHT OUTTA GOTHAM
BATMAN & THE FUNKY BATS
BATMAN I LOVE YOU
BATMAN: RETURN TO GILLIGAN'S ISLAND (VERY FUNNY!)
BATMAN: THE RETURN OF THE DARK KNIGHT'S SHADOWY BIRD OF PREY
BATMAN GOES TO SCHOOL

I have a few suggestions too: (in the spirit of the talk of the times)

BATMAN TAKES CARE OF BIDNESS
BATMAN AND THE GANG BANGIN' UNIT
BATMAN ORDERS A LOW FAT NO-WHIP DOUBLE VENTI SOY LATTE
BATMAN AND THE BLACK FRIDAY SALE
BATMAN AND THE COIN RETURNS
BATMAN AND THE TAX RETURNS
BATMAN: OATMEAL BRAN RAI-SIN'
BATMAN AND THE LEMON PIE

Looks like I'm a nutbar too. Ha!

Syriana

Watch it. It's brilliant.

Returns...

http://supermanreturns.warnerbros.com/trailer.html

Vileful Tuesday: A definitive insight

This morning I feel, was one of the rare occasions where I commited the most number of acrobatic unlawful maneuvers so as to inflict maximum damage on my self esteem. To that effect, the entire episode ensued in a matter of 22 minutes while paying a visit to the friendly neighborhood dry cleaners weilding a money clip with six one dollar bills and no check book. You see they do not accept plastic. In debit, credit or tidbit form. Most people do not agree with bananas as a form of currency like our predecessors shamelessly dealt in . Nor did I happen to have enough yams or llamas from my personal stock to trade in.

Scenario:
The transaction: for six shirts and four trousers
The cost: unknown
The customer: half asleep me (without the benefit of cash/slef esteem or check book)
The store owner: Gregorian chanting 600 year old Korean lady (no offences to anyone!)
The apprentice: Chavo the Vato with iq levels matching the writer's (zilch!)

So this is what happened. I woke up at 7:30 wrestling with the ridiculous mission-impossible gameplan of going through my morning ritual, which is sh*t/shave/shower in under 25 minutes. The idea was to finish that, kick Arun in the rear to wake him up, drive to the dry cleaners, pick up my clothes, return home, change into my working man's monkey suit and head to the salt mines. Little did I know that a small calculation error on my part to gain 20 more minutes of snooze would cost me wrinkles on my shirts, two donuts, my self esteem and sixteen ounces of body fat.

I walked into the dry cleaners rubbing my eyes and presented the receipt that had some scribbled code which deciphered as "big dodo of a man, six shirts, four pants, plenty space in each item." So the kind lady walked upto me gave me a look like I was from the IRS and proceeded to spell the query, "Isa today?" I nodded. "OOOOOOH!" To which my reaction was short but effective, "uh-oh!" I mean, I could've worn my loin cloth and spear to work, but that would've given away my secret identity as a boar hunter. So, she disappeared behind this huuuge mass of clothes and there was silence for the next few minutes. She reappeared with my friend Charming Chavo the vato with the power of the steam iron holding my loot without the benefit of the plastic bags and laundry tags. I was confident that no one would've misused my stuff. Who'd want to wear a shirt big enough for two with a guest room!?!?

Now the real deal. She pronounced the expense. "Twenty nine doll-uh!" To which my reaction was "!" In my infinite wisdom I'd neither carried enough cash nor a check book. Talk about the collective wisdom of a bag of rutabagas. I was staring at a sign that said "No checks for amounts less than $20!" And here I stood with my sixpence wit. So, now what? The bright glow of the Seven-11 sign blinded my sight as I slowly turned towards the storefront to look outside. I made a dash for Arun's car, jumped in the seat and exclaimed "7-11!! GO!!!" Arun turned to me with a raised eyebrow and grimaced "It's 8:10 dude, I'm late...." The next 30 seconds were most influential in convincing him to make that trip. He watched in horror as I gasped for breath throwing my arms in all directions mumbling incoherent babble and skillfully mouthing the words "Work! Clothes! Gah! Pig! Clumsy! Bah! Attire! Gimp! Sheeshkabob!"

I saw was the Seven Eleven sign. In front of me. Ehehehe.. Nothing like a panic attack impression to threaten! I made a dash for it. The guy behind the counter was a renegade Bangladeshi with a 72 inch beard and the demeanor of a mountain lion. I asked 'ATM?' His eyes grew wider, his mouth opened to reveal steel teeth implants while a wisp of smoke escaped. I tottered to the section with donuts, instinctively picked two danish cheeseblocks, bagged 'em and walked to the register. $10 dollar cash limit. Rats!

We backtracked. Arun had to park on the otherside of the road. I had to jaywalk! I dont support breaking the law. Unless it's absolutely necessary. When the ice cream wagon's music turns into a nightmarish ritualistic dirge meant to enslave your mind and churn your brians into roadkill. It's a funny feeling... When you're running across a major street in one direction holding your shorts, a handful of dollar bills and your sanity. When motorists are either eagerly flipping you or identifying the similarities between you and body cavities. It's an even more stranger feeling when a few minutes later you run across the same street in the opposite direction with dry cleaned trousers in one hand and dry cleaned shirts in the other, while your shorts have given up holding to the sides of your aerodynamic waistline. The same motorists still find it most amusing to identify more similarities between you, terminologies referring to copulation and the human ear. All in a morning's work. Ha... back to work now...

Viva La Raza!

Eddie Guerrero
(1967~2005)
We will miss you Eddie. God bless your soul.....

A Time For Swift Justice

Finally they've got the bastard. He's reached India. The day of reckoning's here. I dedicate this day, this moment to my dear friend who died on that fateful day of the Bombay blasts. The black Friday, March 12 1993.

Read on...

Article in the TimesofIndia.com

Source: Central Bureau of Investigation site

I miss you...

A year has gone by since your passage, but your memory remains. God bless your soul.

Spam Seeking Clowns

I have something to say. I guess I always do. But this time my slandering is sharply aimed at spammers of the world. And I don't mean only the one's who send you pornographic content or updates on poker sites for the scone-heads. Let me ask you this;

What the devil, is your problem?

Spending hours on the internet, forwarding jokes, naked pictures, fun facts about mating season for ants and mysterious facts about gout in this day. I am a part of a Yahoo! group for my classmates from undergrad and there are two neanderthals of the feminine realm who have nothing better to do than forward filth to our mailboxes that was forwarded to them by some other neanderthals (in one case a husband to a wife, can you believe the uniqueness of their prehistoric dispositions?) who sat during their office hours and concocted time slots for this precious task on which the very balance of the world's cupcake population rests. Go get laid ladies, stick your finger in, toss your cookies! You're too fat! Try to identify the ants in your apartment that maybe registered to vote. Maybe get an education or try out some new drugs. There's plenty of 'em! But leave my mailbox, the fuck alone! I am not a chauvinist, but hey, some women are born to test your adrenaline levels. Couldn't have been more brief, discreet, direct or grammatically coherent!

About 20 minutes ago, dang in the middle of my lunch hour, I opened my mailbox to see a barrage of reply mails to forwarded messages. I mean what is that, eh? Either you have to have a superior IQ level to reply to forwarded messages (because your ulterior motive is to relay a secret message pertaining to the welfare of water buffaloes) containing emails addresses matching the count of a whale's sperm population; Or you have to be a monkey. I don't know what this mysterious woman has been upto. Other than celebrating every mediocrity that passes her eyes, like my friend says. And what's with the letters that tell me that if I don't forward one of them to 1,000 more mailboxes, something bad will happen to me. I'll tell you this, if you send me one more of these letters, something horrendous will definitely happen to you. Let me elaborate: I will come to your home / apartment / cage / rathole / dumpster / bordello / shithole with a 24" meat cleaver and knight you in the most clumsy fashion. Then I will replace your right ear with your left leg, your right leg with your left eyelid, your left ear with your left hand, so on and so forth. Think you're creative? I can get creative too, you have no idea! Alternative ending: I will set you on fire and heat marshmallows while you burn! So, beware!!

To conclude, if you have time to read all those forwarded mails, you're a prick. If you have even more time to forward those again to more unsuspecting group members who're trying to stay in touch for friendship sake's and not your annual intelligence report, you are a shitpile. If you have even, even more time to reply to those forwarded messages, hell I can't even find you an apt title. If you've got nothing better to do, why not stick a thumb up your ass and see what the temperature's like. No matter what room you may be in, it'll always be room temperature.

Morons!!

Our Hero in Peril....

Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw, who has been suffering from acute pneumonia, is being shifted to the Army Hospital from Wellington in Tamil Nadu. The 91-year-old Manekshaw had been undergoing treatment at the Military Hospital in Wellington and was being brought to the Army Research and Referral Hospital, Army sources said.

Born in Amritsar on April 3, 1914, Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw served as the 8th Chief of the Army Staff between June 1969 and January 1973.An astute war planner, Manekshaw led India to victory in the 1971 war against Pakistan, which ended with the surrender of over 90,000 Pakistani armed personnel. He was among the first batch of cadets to pass out of the Indian Military Academy in October 1934 and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Indian Army.

Decorated with the Military Cross for valour in Burma during World War II, Manekshaw was awarded the Padma Bhushan (1968) for handling the insurgency in Nagaland as the Group Officer Commanding in Chief of the Eastern Command.He was awarded the Padma Vibhushan in 1972 after the 1971 war against Pakistan which led to the creation of Bangladesh.

Salvation. Guaranteed.