Nobody gives a flying fuck. No, wait; they do!

Nobody will do anything out of genuine goodness. Nobody. People always expect something in return. Always. Do I hear a “thank you, Captain Obvious?” in the background? Shut the fuck up, and listen.

It’s how mother nature always intended it to be. You give and you take; you take and you give. The moment you cease to give, the only thing you take back is crap. One big, steaming pile of crap.

Your spouse, insignificant other, parents, bosses, friends, colleagues, pets, servants, superiors, inferiors, they are all guilty of this. Yes, even your parents. (They don’t even realise this, but your parents expect you to take care of them when they’re old and grey – because they’re human like that). People will do you favours to get in your good books, to look good in the eyes of the world, to feel good about themselves, or, if they’re religious, expecting some kind of divine/karmic payoff either in this life or the next.

That doesn’t necessarily make them bad or evil, however; it’s just who they are – something the people around them need to come to terms with. (I call it emotional capitalism). Very few people do good things just for the heck of it. Very few, indeed.

Anyone who “genuinely” cares about you expects you to (at least on a subconscious level) return the favour one day, in some form or the other. And when you end up not meeting their expectations (which is often the case) and you fail to deliver, naturally, they’re disappointed and go all emo on your ass.

And then you go and make a big, pointless racket about how “misunderstood” you are, when, in reality, you’re the one who’s doing all the misunderstanding in the first place. You just don’t ‘get it.’ That’s nobody’s problem but yours.

The truth is, people will always disappoint you – ALWAYS – and there’s really nothing anyone can do about it. When you get the inevitable raw deal, mope for a bit, pack your shit up, and move the fuck on. I mean, what else can you do, really?

Meh.

Life blows. And it’s four o’clock in the morning… I really need to get some sleep.

Later.

The Godfather in two minutes (spoilers ahead)

This is something I wrote for a laxative ad a few months ago. I hear it was published somewhere. Will post the link later if I can find it. It’s not particularly funny or anything… The idea was to tell a long-ass story in less than five minutes – to constipated people. Also, please note that this is an abridged version of the book, and not the movie; so you might find some key differences down the line. Hope you don’t hate it too much.

___________________________________________________________

Meet Don Corleone – biggest, baddest badass in the history of big, bad badasses. If you’ re not his friend, you might as well go cut your prize stallion’ s head off and just die. Real smooth guy. Will first make you an offer you won’ t understand. You refuse, you’ re dead. Diplomatic, too. So diplomatic that, once he’ s done threatening your ass, you actually WANT that bullet in your head.

We have him, his useless wife, three sons, annoying daughter and her wife-beating bastard of a husband. Oh, and family lawyer Tom Hagen, who is actually the Don’s super awesome errand boy. Eldest son Sonny is a hotheaded moron – finds orgasmic pleasure in running things his way. Second son Freddie is a pansy and (ironically) a skirt chaser. Youngest son Michael is brave and educated. Wants to have nothing to do with the family business (OR SO IT SEEMS). Has a non-Italian girlfriend – which is a crime.

The Don gets shot at – by random freelance gangster Sollozzo. Survives, but severely incapacitated. Sonny wants revenge. Michael (SURPRISE!) wants to do the job – at a frickin’ restaurant. He DOES. Packed off to Sicily, where he cheats on his girlfriend in style. The Don recovers, but is not his old menacing self. Sonny is gunned down in the streets like a bitch – for being a moron.

Michael returns. It’ s now up to him to take up the family business of selling olive oil – and killing people in cold blood. Asks girlfriend Kay if she can forgive him. She says no. Then says yes. They get married. And make babies.

The Don dies. Michael appointed successor. Orders execution of the heads of five other families – for plotting to kill his father – or something. Murders his own brother-in-law, too – supposedly for being responsible for Sonny’ s death and for being an overall jackass, but actually just for kicks. Sister Connie throws a fit. But later she’s all “meh; whatever.”

Michael is now the biggest, baddest badass (a.k.a. Don) EVER. Kay doesn’ t approve, so she runs away. But Tom Hagen manages to bring her back – because he’ s awesome like that. She’ s bitter that she’ s married to a cold-blooded mass-murderer. So she goes to Church. Everyday. And prays for poor little Micheal Corleone’ s soul – just in case he goes to Hell, overthrows the Devil and fucks shit up for everyone down there.

The end.

Why are we so superstitious?

I don’t want to get into a religious debate here. People are entitled to their beliefs, without having to be judged or made fun of. And before you go “ah, stupid atheists” on me, this post is not about faith. Faith and superstition, I believe, are two different things. Belief in abstract concepts like an all-powerful creator god (or force) and life after death, while not necessarily ‘scientific’, is not half as ridiculous as, say, locking yourself up for good because you saw a black cat, pissed on your mirror and cracked it in half on Friday the 13th. (For the record, though, I am an atheist of sorts – even though I’m not a big fan of that label. But that’s another post).

Everyone does it. People go to great lengths to avoid doing things that will result in ‘x number of years of bad luck’ when going about their daily lives. We are all guilty of this. Like, for instance, I had this habit of saying ‘one for sorrow’ out loud every time I would see a magpie, until one day, I saw several of them together and said, ‘this is fucking retarded.’ There are people I know who react the same way whenever they see a Buddhist monk. And some, when walking down the road, insist on always keeping to the left or right of roadside objects such as postboxes and street lamps (although, this could be a mild case of OCD). Others find wisdom in a gecko’s mating call. It’s bizarre!

Then there are those who pray to statues made of cement and brick, and worship trees, watering them and going round them in circles, hoping for miracles (mostly Christians and Buddhists). Does nobody realise that this is completely pointless? And what’s funny is that, in some cases, this sort of behaviour goes against the very essence of whatever religious doctrine these people follow. For example, Buddhists can’t “pray” or ask for things, and Christians, as far as I know, can’t worship idols. Whatever happened to the one true God? I mean, it’s not even a trinity anymore. There’s Saint Mary, Saint Anthony and so many others. But I digress.

Why do normal, everyday people who are otherwise quite intelligent and rational, believe in things that are so utterly and obviously nonsensical? Of course, like for everything else, there is an explanation to this. According to the Skeptic’s Dictionary, superstition is all to do with patterns.

The driving force behind seeing patterns where there are none is hidden in the mists of natural selection. We’ve evolved to see patterns and this natural tendency often leads us to see many false causal connections. The main driving forces behind superstition are ignorance and fear of the unknown or unpredictable. Superstitious beliefs give us the illusion of control over events that we don’t understand. With our superstitious beliefs and practices, we try to control things that aren’t even known to be controllable.

That makes perfect sense. We are hard-wired to see patterns everywhere and attribute our fortunes (and misfortunes) to them. But, I guess, the question here is not really ‘why are we superstitious?’ (Yes, I’m aware that that is title of this post). That’s about as useful as asking ‘why do we listen to music?’ I think the real question is, why do we still cling to these beliefs in this day and age? I mean, it’s 2011 for God’s sake.

Sri Lanka World Cup dream-team, and other things

State and corporate-sponsored fantasies aside, do we have a realistic chance of winning the World Cup this year, with our current squad?

If the Sri Lanka/Canada match result is anything to go by, and also considering the fact that we’re playing in familiar territory (the subcontinent) this time around, I would argue that we have a better chance of winning than, say, the UNP getting a landslide at the upcoming elections.

Sanga and “the boys” (as Arjuna would call them) are in great shape and form, and, arguably, our spirits as a nation have never been higher. (‘Arguably’ being the operative word). This, undoubtedly, plays a crucial role in boosting our players’ morale, and our team is looking as good as it did back in ’96 – if not better.

So, fingers crossed! God knows we could do with a World Cup victory.

And, I say, the same law that now seems to apply to Papare bands, placards, banners and other such dangerous items should also apply to squash balls. Seriously. (Gilchrist, if you’re reading this, fuck you, you asshole!)

Anyway, here’s my Sri Lanka World Cup dream-team:

• Arjuna Ranatunga (C)
• Aravinda de Silva
• Roshan Mahanama
• Kumar Sangakkara
• Mahela Jayawardena
• Asanka Gurusinghe
• Sanath Jayasuriya
• Kumar Dharmasena
• Lasith Malinga
• Chaminda Vaas
• Muttaiah Muralitharan

What’s yours?

Famous movie quotes in Sinhala

The Dark Knight:

Why so serious?
මොකද ෆුල් සිරා ගහල?

Pulp Fiction:

English, motherfucker! Do you speak it?!
අම්මට හුකන්නො, තොට සිංහල තේරෙන්නැද්ද?

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back:

I am your father.
මමයි උඹේ තාත්ත.

The Godfather:

I will make him an offer he can’t refuse.
මං දෙන්නං මිනිහට බැහැයි කියන්න බැරි offer එකක්.

Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring:

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!
අඩියක් තියන්නෑ ඉස්සරහට.

Snakes on a Plane:

I’ve had it with these motherfuckin’ snakes on this motherfuckin’ plane.
මට නං ඇති වෙලා මේ අම්මට හුකන සර්පයොත් එක්ක මේ අම්මට හුකන ප්ලේන් එකේ.

Feel free to add your own.

How I almost lost my phone

So, I’m on the footboard, and I take out of my phone and hold it up, cuz it’s too dark and the conductor can’t see the change; I drop my phone, to the ground, like a clumsy little bitch. I panic and make the bus stop – a good 50 metres later. I run back to where I suspect the phone must be…

Keanu Reeves appears in front of me, shades and all, and says, “there is no phone.”

I look around, and see a suspicious looking threewheeler, driving slowly in the opposite direction, clearly having paused for a couple of seconds. My heart sinks as I put two and two together.

I start walking towards the nearest bus stop, with my head down – like a little emokid. Suddenly, I see something rectangular on the road. My heart races. I dart towards it. It’s my battery! I pick it up. It feels like something’s run over it, but thankfully it’s still in one piece. I don’t know what to think. I look around frantically. No sign of my phone.

Just then, I spot another, longer rectangular… something… a few feet away. It’s the back cover! It’s still very much in tact, and nothing seems to have run over it, thank God. Stil no sign of my phone, though.

I walk a few paces more, not knowing what to do. And then I see it! Lying on the sidewalk (or where there ought to be a sidewalk) is my PHONE! My stupid fucking phone! :’) I’m all “WHOA! I’m so happy! I can’t believe I almost lost you!” for, like, two seconds, and then I’m all ‘meh’, and I walk back to my bus stop, like nothing happened.

Meh.

The End.

PS: (The phone’s not working, though. Must be the battery. And I’ve lost all the media buttons).

In other news, I have an awesome collection of masks. I occasionally hide behind some of them. Isn’t that cute?

ETA: Just realised that this is my 100th blog post.

Has anyone actually seen REAL Sri Lankan porn?

I haven’t.

I’m no prude (far from it), and I certainly don’t find Sri Lankan women unattractive; but I have never seen a single locally-produced porno that, to me, was even remotely arousing.

What’s up with that?

Yeah, this about as good as it gets.

“Adults only” flicks don’t count — they’re neither porn, nor art. And the women in these movies are usually either very fat or very old – or both. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that).

But seriously, why is our porn industry not even up to scratch? If Wikipedia is to be believed, even India is doing better than us – despite porn being banned in all 28 states there. Is it the pay? Is it a lack of moaning tal acting talent? Or is it simply because our women are not (financially) desperate enough or downtrodden enough to earn a living that way?

If that is the case, then (which can only be a good thing), how do you explain the 30,000+ prostitutes currently operating in the country?

The fact that pornography is illegal in Sri Lanka is a moot point, since, obviously, so is prostitution.

And, yes, there is a much higher risk of getting caught; and potential actors are probably worried sick that they’ll be identified as porn stars and/or are just too timid to perform sexual acts that’ll be witnessed by more than one person.

The thing is, the men and women who are already in the business are fully aware of the risks involved. I’m sure they know quite well that their job description goes a lot further than just faking an orgasm. They’re putting their entire lives at risk. You really gotta admire their balls. (Figuratively speaking, of course).

But the problem is, they just don’t LOOK like porn “stars.” The kind of porn these people make has about the same effect on you as seeing your grandma doing a pole dance.

Sucks, no?

Why don’t the hot ones ever get into it, eh?

Sad.

Disclaimer: I, as a cultured Sri Lankan citizen, am dead against pornography in any shape or form, and this is NOT an attempt to advocate a “better” porn industry in the country. Seriously.

Begging as a career option?

Note: This is, by no means, an attempt to make light of the plight of real beggars with real problems. It is for the unemployed, lazy-ass bastards like you and I.

Say you’re a beggar/bus-singer/performer/whatever with a solid story and documentary evidence to back up your claims to life-long misery. You start at 8 in the morning at the Kesbewa or Maharagama depot, get on the bus and do your thing, everyday — you tell them your story, sing your (terribly off-key) song, do a couple of back-flips, or swallow a fucking baseball bat, and, once you’re done, casually ask the passengers to shoot some dough at you.

They, of course, oblige – being the generous souls that they are. (Or, if they’re like my friend, ’cause they don’t want the other passengers to think they’re selfish, heartless pricks – ‘specially not the ones in tight jeans).

If, say, you collect an average of five rupees each from at least 40% of the people on the bus (which usually translates to about 20), that’s about 100 rupees in total from a single ride. On a good day, you should be able to do at least 20 trips, which means, by 5 o’clock, you have raised up to 2000 rupees. (Most days will be good days).

That’s a minimum of two grand in a single day. Two effing grand!

Not counting weekends, when you’re too busy enjoying your well-deserved break at the Cinammon Grand poolside – and sipping on that disgustingly delicious cocktail just because you can -, you’re left with roughly 22 days a month to go bus-begging. That’s quite a lot.

Let’s do the math now.

2000 x 22 = 44,000.

Rs. 44,000.00.

Just think about that for a bit. Really let it sink in.

44,000 bucks a MONTH, for doing fuck-all!

Not bad, eh? Not bad at all!

And mind you, that’s only the minimum you could make – the bare minimum. The possibilities are virtually endless. The Layland-roof is the limit. Soon, you’ll be rolling in peacock bills. Rolling! Like Sakvithi fucking Ranasinghe!

Yeah…

I’ll see you on a 138 tomorrow. Bring some loose change, please.

Thanks.

Emo shit

Have you ever loved somebody so much that just thinking about them hurts physically? So much that they’re constantly on your mind, and you see their face everywhere you look, all the time? So much that you often find yourself having meaningful conversations with them in your head, or see yourself doing things to try and make them smile?

I haven’t.

Is that what they call true love? What’s it like?

Or is it simply a bad case of schizophrenia?

I want to know.

Now this is one sexy-ass song!

A friend just sent me the link. She called it a “horny” song. It probably is, but I don’t care. Haven’t heard a party song this funky in months! Enjoy!

ETA: WTF? It’s over a year old? Why hadn’t I heard it before?

Meh. Who cares. It’s awesome!