Tag Archives: sex

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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Party like a rockstar. Or maybe not.

We at Tantheta don’t like December very much. This month reminds us of our inability to party like pseudo-high ‘bangla’ band rockstars. It reaffirms to us our lame, non-kewl, firgin-like existence. But like true sado-masochists we trawled through the city hotspots at night, cursing the higher beings with shitloads of cash picking up hot-n-stupid bimbos with the calmness and ease of Amol Palekar’s acting. This time around we were in Park Street.

Waiting for someone alone in Park Street anytime after 6 automatically converts you into a sex-hungry young/old professional with fond affection for school girls and college girls. (For the uninitiated, Park St pimps generally approach potential customers with a rhythmic chant of “school girl, college girl” .) Or maybe some of us just emit the “come hither pimp” vibes that attract the sex merchants. Whatever it is, it’s pretty fuckin irritating. At 16 if the same pimp approached me, I would feel a sense of dark thrill, perhaps. But at 23 the courtship of a pimp translates to “You look like you need sex and haven’t got some in a long time”. Which maybe true but that’s not the point.

where's the party tonight bhenchod?

Anyway, we ended up going to a disc in Cal (-cutta, not -ifornia). Excited like a bunch of horny hares, we shelled out 1500 bucks as cover charge. We ran out of this money in the next 25 min, following which we danced like fucktarded monkeys doing Pranayam and dard-e-disco at the same time, hoping to make it to the next Mimoh starrer (ayyee saala, woh Mithun ka laadkaa haii, agar tum bhula nahin toh ). Or at least to the bedroom of one of the many sloshed women gyrating like Johnny Lever on the dance floor. One hour and several epileptic dance moves later, we realized that the Gods have spoken. No sweet love for us for the night.

I switched on my razor sharp chick-vision and located 3 chicks promoting fags. Cigarettes I mean. A fellow Thetan was quick to spot them as well and immediately declared: “naati waali meri hai” (the short chick is mine). In a state of I’m-drunk-as-fuck-but-you-won’t-notice-it, he zig zagged his way to the girl with remarkable alacrity. Then, with all the panache of Shakti Kapoor ripping open the blouse of a mortified lead actress and the subtlety of Prem Chopra’s lustfull expression, he delivered the pick-up line of the century “I saw you standing alone and I didn’t like it.” He is still a Firgin.

Thetans never give up. They may procrastinate like hell, but never give up. So when it was my turn to score some points, I waited for 20 mins and made a mental flowchart that could be most appropriate for such situations. But such is love (or sexual desire) that all flowcharts are forgotten and all pick-up lines blurred when you are faced with your beloved slut. And when I walked up to the slut of my dreams and asked like a third-world James Bond look-alike “Are you as bored of this party as I am?”, I knew I had overcooked the chick.

“Yes” was the monosyllabic reply that had a get-off-my-friggin-face-jerk ring to it.

I was in damage control mode immediately and pat came my witty observation:

“So…do you, like…get commissions on each packet you promote or is it a per cigarette basis thing?”

Did you ever taste your foot as it entered your mouth? No? Well I did that instant.

“No” came another monosyllable with another get-off-my-friggin-face-jerk ring to it. Only the ring was louder this time.

Another Thetan, the most practical and methodical amongst us, was making inroads into the hookers circle. Realistic expectations are always easier to live upto I guess. Anyway he liased with some regulars and located 2/ 3 hookers who were quite eagerly looking for customers. We resumed our tribal dance and got as close as possible. The hooker, lets call her Miss Khanki, joined in too ! Oh the joy !! But before attraction could turn into action, a middle-aged man, with of course way more cash and sexual deprivation than us (at his age) started franctically grabbing his crotch and thrusting his hips sideways in a pendulum like motion. All the while his eyes were closed in a trance-like state, so we assumed he had a third inner eye to sense hookers around him. There are indeed superpowers in all of us. We were alarmed at first but realized later that he was only dancing.

The weight of rejection by sluts and hookers alike crushed us and we were about to go out and watch Twilight to end our lives when God showed us that good things happen to good, and horny, people on new years’ night. Two Russian women came out of the shadows and refreshed our sagging carnal desires. They took to the poles and displayed their flexibility to the enthusiastic and drunk crowd. Some articulate Bong muttered behind me : “amake amar moto thapate dao” (Let me hump it my way) a sly variation of a song with similar lyrics, almost. The raucous crowd seemed united in the appreciation of beauty in fishnet stockings on a pole.

Thus ended our night of glorious debauchery.

Happy new year to all Thetans !!

And to all our idols indulging in regular bang-o-rama sessions throughout the year: Spread love not AIDS.

(no apologies for PJs will be made)


pic courtesy Elin Elisabet (flickr)

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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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Facebook frustrates

It’s fast becoming an inescapable aspect of our social media existence. Lame status updates on Facebook. Dunno about the others but I hate to see the chastity (or whatever’s left of it) of my inbox getting violated repeatedly by update notifications which range from the inane to the obnoxious. I accept that social media has started to redefine the concept of privacy and/ or content sharing but I can live without knowing which brand of chaddi you got for the Pujas. And I won’t believe if you say you got it from CK. Also, since I have a bit of life left yet, I will not ask for evidence to substantiate your claim.
So anyway before I digress, here’s my attempt at categorizing uber-lame FB updates based on content and tone.

The Kewl bindaas update (ex- “Next stop Goaaaa.. Chill karunga jaake..bye bye work” or “Fuck exams, me goin 2 Vegas for the week woohoooo) : yeah, these are the types that leave you wondering why the fuck can’t you too maaro-chill, instead of maaro-gaand at office/ college/ school. These people are the single biggest reason my Mondays seem longer than Sonali Bendre’s legs and Ashutosh Gowarikar’s movies combined.

Apparently they do not have any worries in life, except to wonder where else to spend their money on, apart from the Iphone-4G they got last week and the new car that Daddy gifted them for retaining enough intelligence to pass the semester. And it gets worse with females. Because they keep posting ridiculously hot pictures of their dumb carefree “mein toh bindaas hun” selves at parties with various males from the similar intellect clan. If I could, I would shove the ‘bind’ up their ass for making me feel like a retired government clerk at 22. The metaphor doesn’t make sense to you? Well, the existence  of such people doesn’t make sense to me either, so whatever.

The meaning of life update (ex- “Why does life have to be such a bitch?” or “where will we all be in 10 years?”) : While I’m getting brain-fucked by the above category, I stumble upon these kinds. It’s like a cruel and ironic joke that FB seems to play.

So these are the types that will spew about dark, depressing, self-probing questions about life, relationships and why we don’t enjoy a utopian world. Well, guess what Socrates-fucker, I already know that life is a bitch, I already know that I have enough problems at this age, I already know I am not a chick magnet, I already know Sachin won’t play for India forever; AND, I also know another essential fact you may have missed during your gay musings : Life moves on even if you don’t. So please take your questions/ philosophies to Rituporno Ghosh. At least he will make better utilisation of your useless threadbare thoughts.

Self-obsessed updates : Move over you ‘cattle-class’ bunch of ugly faced, non-branded jeans wearing, Reliance black&white handset using, non-happening job doing,  piece of plebian shit. The modern day Narcissus has arrived.

With over 1000 photos in an album rightly titled “Meeeeee” or “Your’s Truly” or “Myself” or worse “I”, this entity is absolutely in Love with itself. It showcases its beauty by clicking its own photographs ONLY, in various poses of self-absorbed ecstasy. Its updates will be severely self-centric and/or snobbish and you wonder if it is at all aware of the existence of others in the world as well. It is always elated and eventually assured by the 50 ass-licking comments it gets appreciating its beauty/ importance to the universe, that it is indeed so divinely good. More than chocolate. Or biryani and chicken chaanp. Yes, it is even better. And with this grand realisation it goes to sleep. And dreams about its own self jumping over a fence, chanting “You’re the best, You’re the best, Yes You are the best.” And no, its not Shahrukh Khan this time.

Show off/ pretentious updates (ex- “loving my job at [random famous MNC goes here] !” or “has delivered a killer presentatn 2 client ! talk abt a gud day!!” or ” the nuclear liability bill is set to cause more faultlines in Indian political spheres”) : Okay, if you have a great job or if you did something superawesome like tying your shoelaces blindfolded with one hand while jerking off with the other, why don’t you blog about it since you so desperately want to share the epic news with the world ?? The blog is your personal space to share whatever shit you want with whomever you want to. On social networking sites, many people may not give a rat’s fuck about your feats. Announcing every single milestone on a social networking site shows how much you crave, and by extension lack, appreciation from others. Despite getting the plum job !

And what’s with behaving like one of those “experts” that our government always seems to have loads of? Posting deep political/ economical/ sexual insights do not make you seem intelligent. Ok, maybe not the last one.. but you get the drift. Unless you are a journalist or something, please refrain from making political commentary. I already know you read the news. Get a fuckin medal now and watch Southpark for a change.

Validate my existence updates (ex- “where’s the party tonight??!!” or “guys when is our next roadtrip??” or “im in love again..shit !”) : This one makes you cringe and want to watch RGV ki Aag ten times over.

These updates stem from the need to make oneself more prominent among the group, which treats the person as invisible in turn. If you don’t know where the party is on a particular night and you have to resort to FB to find out, chances are you are not on the list. And please also don’t inflict more pain by posting about how you fell in/ out/ around love. I mean seriously, who cares??!! If you need to share such news/information or are seeking advice or counsel on the same, then please seek out an agony aunt on those late night shows on Changa TV.

Posting interrogatives about future vacation plans and such on FB is equally inexplicable. Why don’t you simply call them and ask?? Or email them?? Why FB??? Because you wanna show the world that as they slave away to corporate hell, you are taking your punk ass on a roadtrip? Because as they get acidity due to erratic sleeping patterns during exams, you are indulging in cheap erotica and needlessly expensive sea-food in Goa? Which one is it huh? Please organise your kitty parties and trips or whatever fuck you want to, on your own time in a more private manner. And if you really wanna prove the world you’ve arrived, then take a roadtrip across South America or something, 10 years into a job(considering you get one) that is. Then you can be forgiven.

Pagla Premi updates (ex- “my shona/janu/[random term of endearment] I’m so lucky I have you in my life” or “Heyy baby, thanks for standing by me. Muaah”) : I can categorically say that this is the most pseudo-romantic, needlessly affectionate, schmaltzy to the point of being dangerously nauseous kind of update, that is doing the rounds on FB. If you come by such updates, report as spam or report abuse ASAP.

These online romance updates can be divided into 3 neat parts: 1. Pre-relationship : this is when we are subjected to thoughts on how difficult life is for a single man(read NO SEX) or a single woman (read NO FINANCER/ EMOTIONAL CUSHION).   2. In-relationship: this is when you learn about how rosy things can be when a man (got SEX) and woman (got FINANCER/ EMOTIONAL CUSHION) share a life together.  3. Post-relationship/break up: this is when we are made to learn the perils of heartbreak in love that can assail a man (read SEX NOT WORTH IT, I WILL DO IT ON MY OWN) or a woman (read NOT ENUF SHOPPING, NEED A RICHER GUY).

The second category is most viral. They come from people who don’t just fall into the deep ocean of love. They like to create a huge splash and play the prem-pichkari while they are swimming. It is imperative for these people to act like two dogs going at it, on a social platform. Starting from posting display pics together as a couple, to getting cyber-cozy. I just have one question: Why don’t you get a room?? Or rent one?? Why do you have to discuss your ‘private’ sentiments on a huge public platform? What point are you trying to make with such PDA ? That you are oh-so-KJo film mein jaise hota hai- happy??? My friend did attempt to explain an almost similar phenomenon which he termed Compulsive Coupling. Maybe that’s the reason?

Whatever man. Just please spare us the emosanal attyachar.

Image courtesy: http://www.cagle.com

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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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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.


Filed under TAN Awareness