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A Thetan who got tanned !

This Valentine’s Day …


.. Fuck You!
Fuck You, you pathetic pretentious lover. Everyone knows you hoodwinked that ass-faced, gourd-shaped whore from next door so that you could get a couple’s discount to the ‘great Tantra Valentine’s bash’. So wipe that stupid grin off your face before I tell your ‘date’ about your gonorrhea issues from last month.
Fuck You, you retarded micro-mini clad bimbette. Just because you have a bunch of desperados jerking off to the sight of your bare fat legs every night, it doesn’t mean you are hot. I am not betting against you getting drilled into on the 14th, but just remember that there are tons of others getting paid for it.
Fuck You, you rich, fat, brainwashed lover-boy. Have you checked your dad’s bank balance lately? I bet you bought your ‘girl’ a diamond-studded necklace for the occasion and she promised you her undying ‘love’ in return. Now you better prepare to masturbate to her pictures on Valentine’s, because there some things and huge dicks that money can’t buy.
Fuck You, Yash Chopra and Suraj Bajratya. It is your brand of mind-fucking cinema that has proliferated a generation of confused idiots. It is your fault that populations of perfectly normal teenagers now experience an epiphany about divine love every time they pass an Archies Gallery.
Fuck You, Mark Zuckerberg. It is your money-minting, life-fucking invention that shoves an ejaculation of unbearably mush-filled messages down our throats on this very day every year. It’s your website that drives a thousand loners to suicide every February.
Fuck You, all you bunch of bullshit spewing astrologers with medieval hindi vocab, who promise sex on 14th if we wear your ring. Seriously? Is that why you have more rings than fingers on your body?? And you still haven’t got any???
Fuck You, you manufacturer of rose-imprinted-teddy-bear-hugging-a-heart cards. It’s because of you, that there is a 90% increase in blindness levels which is a direct effect of every consumer product turning into red on 14th.
Fuck You, owners of coffee shops for making coffee rates look like I asked for a year’s supply of ultra-thin condoms and a French prostitute. And also for decorating every bloody corner with heart-shaped balloons which look like they have been reused since 1969. And also for giving (un)romantic names to coffee/ food items. I do not want a Cafe de Pyaar, bhenchod. Just pass me an espresso.
Fuck You, you restaurant owners for destroying the notion of a romantic candle-light dinner, again by jacking up prices so high that I won’t have the friggin dough to buy candles after 14th, let alone dinner. And this for something that can be arranged in the simplest, cost-effective manner.
Fuck You, to all diamond chain owners for spreading your shameless discriminatory propaganda about diamonds = make your woman feel special. Because they don’t make men feel special about their wallets. They make us feel poor. Very poor if you’re a post-recession boyfriend.
And lastly,
Fuck You, all those who think V-day is the day to observe love,affection and crap. If you can’t find or observe love for whoever in the entire year, if you need one working day to suddenly celebrate love and indulge in consumerist pornography (because that’s what it’s all about apparently); then you have failed to see that love is in the celebration of those little moments of togetherness that you can, and do, experience for 365 days.
We at TanTheta pity those who need specific days to feel “isspeshul” and love.
You fuckers don’t need a day. You need a Life.
Pic Courtesy: FunnyChix.com
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Bruste



P.S: http://translate.google.com/#de|en|Bruste

At the very outset, allow me to present this post the “Dummies Guide to Understanding Blogposts” award for the sheer straightforwardness of its title. Yes breasts. Oh breasts! Go breasts! Mighty breasts! That’s what this post is about. With the ever-dipping readership numbers of this blog, I have decided to give it a Hindi movie like fillip. So this is the “Item Number” post or “Zandu balm” post if you so like.

The inspiration behind this post comes from none other than Sania Mirza. Yes, you guessed it. It’s the chick with big boobs who married a Pakistani. She is also known for another activity where she and her hefty bosoms go bouncing on a grassy lawn for hours at end. They call it Lawn Tennis.

So, breasts. I trust that the readership of this blog (which at last count was .. wait .. never mind) has by now discovered its deserved niche. Its now limited to jobless sex-addicts and pink slipped whores. So we have no more boundaries. No pretence of being cultured and suave. Cheap is as cheap likes it.

I have for long been a keen observer of breasts and would be more than happy to share my knowledge. So here goes the first lecture of Breasts 10. Today we discuss Breast Types

1. Ping pong: This is one game Sania will definitely never play. Ping pong breasts, also known as “marble” breasts are the most diminutive variants of breasts. As is evident from the nomenclature, breasts of this type appear to be like ping pong balls and in some malnourished African states, like marbles. Those possessing this variety of breasts have certain advantages. With an appropriate wardrobe to go, these breasts can act as a life savers in the event of a femicide. This kind of breast also saves the possessor the burden of investing in bras. Hence this variety is also referred to as “inflation resistant” breast. Disadvantages include difficulty in establishing gender and a reduction in options while procreating.

2. Cornetto: This is a recent neologism for what was previously known as cone breasts. These breasts are in the shape of inverted cones. As can be visualized, such a shape remarkably reduces the surface area of the nipple which for most parts is reduced to a dot. Definitely not the succulent variety. However, this form of breast has been used to provide an advantage in situations of physical conflict. Some varieties of these breasts have even been known to pierce Rhinoceros skins.

3. Mango: Deservedly, the king of fruits lends it name to the indisputable queen of breasts. “Mango” stands for all that is good about the female chest. The juicy and fleshy nature of these breasts make them the pride of the possessor and the even greater pride of the possessor’s partner. Breasts of this type are ideal for delicate fondling. They can be effectively put to use to pass examinations and get jobs. In fact, the proliferation of such breasts is now being put forth as an antidote to unemployment woes. These breasts need to be nurtured and delicately treated for the greater good of the human race.

4. Gravitized: This rather complicated name is derived from the word gravity. These are referred to in normal parlance as saggy breasts. These unlucky variety of breasts owe their dismal appearance to the cruel forces of gravity. Those possessing this variety of breasts are often marginalized, especially by the mangos. As opponents of the idea of racism and discrimination, Tan Theta requests readers to treat people with this variety of breasts with special care and attention. The distribution of Push-up bra campaign taken up by Sherlyn Chopra has gone a long way in relieving some of the miseries of this unfortunate lot.

5. Yaa-ba-da-ba-doo: This is what Swami Nithyananda said when he saw a breast of this variety. Yaa-ba-da-ba-doo breasts are the humongous lot. Some of these have been known to weigh in tonnes. Those having Yaa-ba-da-ba-doo breasts have been known to develop incredibly strong bicep and shoulder muscles. It is rumored that breasts of this nature were used in the demolition of Babri Masjid.

So much for today. The world of breasts is deep, dark and mesmerizing.

Next time: Cleavages

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We are …


.. we promise !

(Image Courtesy: Telemarketing blog )

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Why does the hot chick dig the dork ?


Lets face it . We have all thought about this at one time or the other .By “we” ,I mean everyone .The hot chick who isn’t dating a dork feels sorry and confused for obvious reasons. The ugly chick is angry as to why the dorks can’t be left alone (read: left for them poor souls). The disillusioned ugly chick smirks at the thought of having made a better score.The ugly guy tries to kill himself in vain. The Greek God feels hard done by. The disillusioned ugly guy denies that the chick is hot. And so on. For one reason or the other , we think. When those googly-woogly cheeks are squeezed by the hoofs of a black baboon, we cringe.We all do.

So what is the deal really ? What prompts them hot chicks to so blatantly violate the most sanctified social norm? We at Tan Theta have a few theories:

Theory 1 : Make-up man

This is possibly the oldest and most popular theory. Now , as you might know, hot chicks are not always born hot. Their growing hot and remaining so, entails a number of difficult procedures. Hot chicks wear hot clothes and use hot cosmetics. All of these are expensive. And hot chicks don’t particularly enjoy working hard. Hence the need for a rich dork. Such couples are generally the ones you find in malls. Hot chicks of this category possess a certain special quality of being able to curl their lips and roll their eyeballs in a hypnotic manner, so as to convince their rich dorky boy-toy to buy them anything. “The make-up man” in such a  scenario is either merrily oblivious or knowingly chooses to ignore his ever thinning bank balance. And who can blame him .

Beauty and the Geek

Theory 2 : Emo cushion

Chicks are, in general an emotional species. They experience all emotions in higher than normal doses. So , when they are sad , they don’t weep but wail. When angry , they don’t bang fists but wail out loud. When happy, they don’t smile or laugh , but wail their lungs out over how they have never been happier. In other words, chicks cry. A lot. Such chicks often need shoulders to cry upon and and a pair of ears to listen to their stories of pathos. Dorks often take advantage of such situations and dive in with their welcoming shoulders and super-senstive ears wherever they spot an emotionally needy hot chick. You got to admit that the “emotional attyachar” is a cheap price to pay for the pout lips and petite bosoms. And so it goes.

Theory 3 : Rockstar

If you have read any of our posts, you would know that Tan Theta likes sex. We support fornication and approve it in all forms.Now now, don’t let your imagination wander.So yes .Sex. That’s our third theory. Now if there’s one right we concede to all hot chicks, it is to have good sex. In fact, so much so, that all of us with balls are willing to personally further their cause. But of course, hot chicks can’t oblige everyone. And not every guy can rock a hot chick’s world like she deserves it. And hence the need for Mr.Rockstar. Rockstars are those rare Indian specimens who possess both the right tool and right techniques, if you know what I mean. They could , for all purposes, be dorky and ugly but lets face it , the face isn’t going to give them the orgasms. So rockstar gives  “pyaasi zameen” the required “baarish ke boondein” whenever she needs them and they make love happily ever after.

Theory 4 : Lucky boy

For all our ingenious theories, there are certain cases which defy any logical explanation. Cases of hot chick and dorky guy so unpalatable, that they make you question our very evolution. We club all these cases under the unimaginative “Lucky boy” header. Lucky boys are just that. Plain simple fucking lucky. They were born lucky and keep getting so against all odds. Lucky boys specialise at being at the right place at the right time and fortuitously saying the right things.Everything else follows.

I would like to say it outright that Tan Theta does not approve such blatant aberrations. We regard the hot chick-ugly guy combination as blasphemy and strongly condemn it. In fact , we approve only the following combinations.

Hot chick – Hot guy

Ugly chick – Ugly guy

Hot chick- One of us

Here’s hoping that the rest of the world unites in agreement. TANk You !

(Image courtesy : bbs.chinadaily.com)

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The Compulsive Coupling Syndrome


Hello ladies and gentleman and welcome to the dissemination of the latest new epidemic to have spread in our little god forsaken part of the world. It is what I choose to call the “compulsive coupling syndrome”.

I will explain the phenomenon with a story.

Subject-A is your average Indian schoolboy. Brought up on the traditional diet of heavy textbooks , music lessons and cricket coaching classes , he had rarely had time to catch his breath, leave alone discover puberty. It’s when he reached the ripe age of 17 that he suddenly came across the song, “main sola baras ki , tu sathra baras ka”  (Translation: “I am 16 , you are 17” .Yes, we keep it simple) and discovered his true calling in life , falling in love. With about a year of school left, Subject-A  with his new found pubic hair set out on the search for his Sweet 16.

Subject-B is your above average Indian schoolgirl. In stark contrast to Subject-A , Subject-B had been fed on  fantastic DDLJ-esque love stories since she was 12. By the time she was 16 and had developed lemon-sized bosoms, she was ready to take the leap of fate and run into the woods to play hide and seek with her prince charming. As destiny would have it , Subject-A and Subject-B met and in course of time , our man mustered up the courage to say those  golden words, “ Do you want to fall in love with me ?”. Now Subject-A was the dorky Bengali kind with a moustache and beard (he discovered puberty late, but boy the testosterone! ) and Subject-B was , as I said, above average and with boobs now almost the size of snooker balls. But she didn’t want her Facebook profile to read “single” when she entered college and so ,clipping her nostrils so as to not to have to smell his stinky beard again , she hugged and said ‘yes’ . The Compulsive Coupling Syndrome (CCS) had snared its first victim.

Subject-A and Subject-B soon proceeded to the customary rituals to solemnise their “falling in love”. Both of them updated their relationship status’ on Facebook and also changed their display pic to identical ones, showing the two sipping strawberry juice from the same glass. They also “Like”d every “Item” on each other’s “Wall”s so as to leave nothing to the imagination.

Now, more characters. Subject-C is the typical college student who doesn’t give shit about college because , as his Facebook profile says , he “love doing masti” .He is also Subject-A’s best buddy and used to play with his beard before he shaved it on Subect-B’s orders. Subject-D is , as you might guess, is Subject-B’s soul sister and classmate at college. She is secretly jealous of Subject-B because her breasts have now grown to the size of oranges as a result of Subject-A’s fondling.

As you might be aware , people who “fall in love” are bound, by Social networking laws, to go visit a shopping mall with common friends and click pictures to post on Facebook. They are also, perforce dictums, required to comment on how their partner’s nose looks bigger in every alternate picture before commencing the thread ending “I love you baby” , “I love you too”, “Muah”, “Muah muah muah” sequence. So Subject-A and Subject-B, both responsible Social networkers, tagged C and D along, on these visits and clicked scores of snaps. The typical positioning of the 4 in any picture is diagrammatically represented below.

As is evident , while the pictures, splattered across the site were precious to Subjects A and B, it became a source of abject embarrassment for C and D who were often alluded to as the “haddis in the kebab” .Under such circumstances , Subject C, who had secretly day dreamt of humping D, popped the all-important question “Do you want to fall in love with me ?” .For Subject-D, the lure of the jorai jorai (pair pair) pictures on Facebook was enough to surmount C’s rotten egg breath. CCS is a bitch !

A,B,C and D were now a couple of twosomes. Of course , the vicious CCS cycle doesn’t end there. As described previously, Subject-B with her “above average”ness and now melon-like boobs was always beyond A’s league. B realised this in about 4 months time. They could have quietly parted ways ,but no. Subject-A spilled his over-sensitivity on Facebook with pictures of an unshaven self and status messages like “It’s better to have loved and lost , than never to have loved at all”.

And now, more characters. Subject-E is a 23 year-old obese video-game addict of Bangalore and Subject-F is the  27 year-old even fatter shopaholic who lives on the apartment above his. By a strange twist of fortune , they both happened to chance upon A’s heart-wrenching ejaculations on Facebook. On seeing them , E experiences a moment of inner awakening and abandons his “Call of Duty” to answer his call to “fall in love”. Post “Do you want to fall in love with me?” and “Yes”, earth-shattering (literally) sex ensues. CCS claims more victims.

And so it continues. The above is an example of one of the possible courses, the spread of the CCS can take. Others run on the lines of self-pity, dwindling bank balance and a general desire to have sex.

The Compulsive Coupling Syndrome can basically be described as a pathological state wherein two human beings, under the influence of certain external circumstances, succumb to the illusion of having “fallen in love”. In most other parts of the world , such associations would safely be called one-night stands ,hook-ups or open relationships and not be extended beyond a few mating sessions. But we in India don’t believe in half measures. We in India believe in sticking to our deep-rooted principles of love and running around trees.  As the venerable Yash Chopra once said , Indians don’t just “cum” , we “Come and Fall in Love!”.

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Housefull – A Rape


When the movie starts with a suggestive “He’s such a loser!” ,you almost start to contemplate the utopian possibility of Sajid Khan accepting his directorial prowess in his own film. But alas ! The “loser” only alludes to the obvious winner among the sea of losers around  , Akshay Kumar.

To describe Housefull as “nonsensical comedy” , will actually be giving credit where it is not due . Sajid Khan’s latest is another example of how “funny” Indian directors seem to believe that the average cine-goer has an IQ of -150 and is willing to laugh at any horrendous caricature they put together .The film begins with Sajid Khan acknowledging the likes of Hrishikesh Mukherkee who apparently taught him that cinema was all about “Entertainment”. I would instead , he told us who told him that “entertainment” was about a bunch of giggling fools and their successful portrayal of themselves being passed off as a movie.

Not that it matters, but Housefull has a ,well, story. Akshay Kumar is the “loser” a.k.a “panauti” . The film begins with the aforementioned song and a scene of a bunch of gamblers getting incredibly lucky at a casino in Macau. The owner of the casino , now perspiring profusely, calls on the “cooler” to save the day. In steps Aarush (Akshay) and brings with him a literal wave of bad luck. Scenes of gamblers howling , girls breaking into tears and for Sajid Khan’s even dumber audience , the roulette ball settling on a ‘0’ follow. If you haven’t guessed it yet, Aarush is an employee at the casino and his “bad luck” is his USP. To establish his misfortune further , Aarush is next seen in a scene proposing to and (obviously, Bad Luck remember?) getting dumped by Puja (Malaika Arora). A comical caricature of the Priydarshini kind follows with a closing shot of Maj.Krishna Rao (Arjun Rampal), Puja’s brother landing a right fist on Aarush’s cement-caked (you don’t need to imagine much to figure out how that happened) face which sends him flying into a billboard (previously introduced in a screen-wide shot with the word “CLOSER” spread across it) and by a strange kind of fortuitous magic pins his face into the ‘C’ , establishing once again ,you guessed it -“LOSER”. Anyhow , a few scenes later we are introduced into the rest of the jokers at another casino in London. Hetal (Lara Dutta) is seen in a Play Bunny costume (the skimpy clothes ! Did I not mention ?) along with dealer and husband Bob (Ritiesh Deshmukh) at a casino owned by the old and freakish looking Kishore Samtani (Randhir Kapoor) .

The film rolls on. Mr.Bad Luck drops into his London Chaddi Buddy Bob’s place without notice. Scenes involving Hetal in lingerie (Really skimpy ! Did I not mention ? ) , a garrulous parrot , transmission of “visible” electricity , a vacuum cleaner and a bunch of break-dancing niggers follow. Hetal married Bob against father’s wishes (Hello Bollywood !!) .So now father Batuk Patel (Boman Irani) doesn’t speak to her. To prove that even Play Bunny costume wearing and Victoria’s Secret clad Hetals of the world  have a heart and love their parents, Lara is seen recording grief-soaked messages on Batuk’s phone and in a subsequent scene requesting “Mr.Nuisance” Aarush to stay with her and Bob. Tears are shed. Then smiles. Rich man  Samtani has a salwar-clad “overtly Indian” daughter named Devika (Jiah Khan)  who wants to marry an Indian-Indian , not London-Indian .So Mr.Bad Luck steps out of his character and into a party where he meets Devika and about five and a half seconds later, they decide to marry.

Now, Sajid Khan might be a shitty director but he sure as hell knows the value of the assets at his disposal, especially Jiah Khan’s. So in a dream song sequence in honeymoon destination Italy ,Devika in what seemed under-sized lingerie (Skimpy skimpy ! Did I not mention ?),  is seen lip-syncing to “Aaja tujhe heaven dikhaungi”  while crouching and crawling towards Aarush who (obviously) doesn’t know “what to do”  (as opposed to who to do or how to do?). Devika’s  (and more importantly Jiah Khan’s) good girl image was too difficult to swallow. Hence in the very next scene Devika is once again seen in an under-sized bikini (no dreams now !) as she emerges Jism-style from the Italian seas and starts hugging and kissing her boyfriend who she wants to but can’t marry because of typical NRI father-woes (Namastey London ?). On hearing the news ,Mr.Panauti a.k.a Loser a.k.a Aarush decides that he has had enough of his bad luck and virginity and swims his way into the seas till he starts to drown. Of course its only an hour into the movie and so Akshay can’t die. So even has his unconscious body starts sinking into the depths of the sea , a mermaid-like Sandy (Deepika Padukone) in hot pants (There were skimpy-clad heroines. Did I not mention?)  does her bit. Mr.Bad Luck finally gets lucky with Sandy. The three couples unite in Italy .More cleavage, hot pants , cheesy songs follow.

And now the twist ! Maj.Krishna , Puja’s brother, is also Sandy’s brother. You would guess that since Aarush didn’t know “what to do” , it would not be a problem. But turns out it is. Also, Sandy (hot pants but emotional Indian all the same) advices Hetal to patch up with her father. So Maj.Krishna and Basuk Patel are coming to London. When they do, more cleavage, stupid jokes and Priyadarshini-style confusion ensue. It ends in amidst typical outrageous grandeur and tantamount insanity. All (absolutely all) of the film’s characters serendipitously land up in the Buckingham Palace (where else?) where a delightfully cheerful Queen Elizabeth and a cheeky looking Prince Charles make their appearances. The setting was ripe for Sajid Khan to once again bring his impeccable comic timing to the fore. In probably the most amazingly clever sequence in the movie , the Buckingham Palace’s AC repairers (also Indian obviously) are shown mistakenly substituting the AC coolant with Nitrous Oxide ,which Santa (one of the repairers) dutifully explains is another name for Laughing Gas and which ,he goes on to explain, (this Santa is a genius) makes people laugh their guts out. Post this Chemistry lesson ,the Nitrous Oxide takes effect. Everyone laughs. And yes, Queen Elizabeth’s laugh was the funniest. A few long drawn emotion-filled speeches (Aarush makes one from the Queen’s dias) later, the film veers to an expected happy ending. In a parting stroke of genius , Sajid Khan replaces the “He’s such a loser!” chorus in the beginning with a “He’s such a winner!” chorus in the end. And so the masterpiece ends.

The worst part about Housefull is how it wastes some really talented performers. The likes of Boman Irani and Lilette Dubey and even Ritiesh Deshmukh and Akshay Kumar (both of whom I believe can pull off comedy well) are wasted with cliched dialogues and childish scenes. Sajid Khan , as a cover for his lack-lustre comic timing, casts hot bods Deepika, Lara and Jiah in meaningless roles and simply dresses them up in the hot pants and skimpy bikinis to hog the hold on to the viewers’ attention. The music isn’t that bad and there are quite a few quirky numbers.The heroines look great and so do the locales. About the script and the direction , I think I have said enough.

If you are looking for an air-conditioned hideout to escape the heat for a couple of hours, Housefull should be running in the best theatres in town. If you can’t stop day dreaming about Deepika Padukone , there’s a lot of her on show in the movie. But if you have a IQ of about 10 or greater and are looking for good laugh, I suggest you ask a bunch of fat people to dance and watch them instead.

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Society And The Frustrated Virgin


Defn: A frustrated virgin (also referred to as ‘firgin’) is a living entity which is male ,21 years old in India and 16 in some other parts of the world , has never experienced sexual intercourse and is ,hence , in a state of perpetual frustration.

If you have ever seen a man sporting an innocent smile to hide his gloom, expressing utter disinterest for almost all things earthly and having a veritable fixation for female chests, you know who a ‘firgin’ is. The frustrated virgin has walked on this earth for decades. And yet , the fact that you have absolutely no knowledge about him goes to prove that he has indeed been neglected. This creature, cruelly starved of sexual gratification has for long yearned for a voice. And today I shall give him one.

A firgin is not much different from a normal man. He is physically normal (possibly not a looker, per se, but normal otherwise) , intelligent and has normal cravings. He craves for a job, money and first and foremost, sex. It’s the sex, or rather , the absolute lack of it , that makes him a firgin. A firgin has a very simplistic view of sex. He believes in sex as a mating ritual intended for the furtherance of a generation and as a happy side-effect , an act of pleasure. When sex is denied or withheld, however, the firgin finds himself at his wits end. Unable to comprehend the reasons for society denying him what he feels humanity and at least one female accomplice owes him, the firgin experiences repeated bouts of severe depression. It continues in the said manner over a certain period of time spanning from a 2 months to 2 years . After which , the firgin willingly forsakes his frustrated self to either bury alive his desire for sex and lead a celibate existence or kill himself. Resulting, in either case, in the death of firgin and an indelible scar on the face of humanity.

Lump in the throat, isn’t there?

As responsible members of society, we need to wake up to the reality of firgins. We have ,living among us, men, who in spite of being potentially viable mating partners are mercilessly denied the right to participate in the act. And we need to do something about it. Now !

A firgin basically categorises humans around him under three broad heads: females or potential sex accomplices, men who have had sex and fellow firgins. And while he seeks solace from fellow firgins and envies men who have had sex ,it’s the females he obsesses about the most. A firgin has great respect for the female anatomy. A sentiment he naively chooses to express by ogling the female anatomy’s most glorious part, the breasts. The intensity of this religious obsession manifests itself in a firgin’s day dreams where he finds himself gently paying respects to the female body. A firgin is very conservative in his expectations from women. He does not demand love, security or trust. All he most humbly expects, is a chance to hump one of them. Is that unreasonable ? The women of our society need to realise their faults. When presented with an offer to pleasure a perfectly viable male, women often tend to deny it on flimsy grounds such as receding hairline , blunt nose, smelly armpits, bad breath, lack of feelings and the like. On certain occasions , a female is seen deferring her decision to a later date without realising the potential consequences. Scariest of which being , the birth of a firgin. It is such irresponsible behaviour on the part of women that has resulted in the proliferation of firgins.

It is time the women of our society take corrective measures and the rid the world of this pandemic. Women should be more accommodating in terms of their expectations from their sex partner and be more considerate towards a firgin’s approaches. Women can also help the cause by being more expressive about their sexual desires and taking proactive steps to initiate the process of courtship. Suggestions to that effect include putting a greater area of their breasts on show and sporting phrases like “I am a slut.Do me !” on their items of clothing.

Firgins are a symbol of the degradation of humanity’s core values. We as a people need to act fast to check this phenomenon. The firgins have presented themselves as timid creatures thus far. Restricting the open display of their inner frustration only to social networking websites. Their growing numbers, however, might change that all too soon. We need to act fast. The frustrated virgin needs to relieved of his burden. He needs to be fucked. Hard.

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