it wasn’t me who started that old crazy asian war
Updated: Aug 4, 2020
This blog title is brought to you by the song Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love To Town. Take control of the future of your future by not supporting Crazy Asian Wars and Crazy Asians.
So, did you hear about that white dude from New Zealand who did the most adorably poopoo-peepee racist shenanigans on TV because of Sheila Dikshit’s name and then he got suspended or something? Which is like SO unfair and is clearly just another instance of white dude persecution. Because, let’s be honest homibabaterroristpeepal. The problem here is not the white dude. It’s Sheila Dikshit’s name. And if there was any justice in this world, all foreigners with weird names (like Kuzhali Manickavel, for example) would just change them to normal white dude names so white dudes wouldn’t keep getting in trouble like this! Stop white dude persecution! It’s so mean, you guys!
Anyway, did you hear that Julia Roberts is allegedly looking to adopt an Indian bebbeh? If you are reading this blog post Julia Roberts (which I’m sure you are) can I just say that I think you should adopt me. Why because I kinda speak English but not really and I know all about Jersey Shore (hollaholla for Snooki and her new novel) so that means I am very well-versed in American culture, which means I will integrate into your society very easily. Also, just think of the great bio you will have. ‘Julia Roberts has an adopted daughter from India who has written a book and has a Pushcart Nomination also’
What’s that you say? You got a Pushcart nomination? Why yes! Yes I did! The fine, upstanding and all-round awesome people at mud luscious press have nominated my chapbook Three Scenarios Leading to the Rape of a Teenage Girl in the Tropicool Icy-land Urban Indian Slum for a Pushcart or as we can also call them, a Pushkee. Now I know Pushkee Noms are sorta passé now that every online zine can nom which means that everyone and everyone else has at least ten noms and now Pushkee noms suck because teh internetz just came and ruined everything. But this is my very first Pushcart nom ever. And I am soveryhappy that the people at mlp thought my chapbook was worth nominating.
And now, I offer for your eyeballs, this picture of one of the best bookshelves I have ever seen in my life. Please note my one number book is there, chilling with Lorrie Moore, Aimee Bender and other noteworthy peepals.
Now, this article is another good example of how the internet ruins everything, although some people might say it’s how the First World ruins everything but that’s just so rude, ok? Now from what I understand, some filmmakers (who are American I think. Which sort of reiterates that whole First World ruins everything argument but that’s rude zomg!) made this documentary about Indian sex workers who were “selling their bodies in the name of the Hindu Goddess Yellamma”. Totes hot, right? It’s like poverty porn and sex and weird Hindoo stuff all mixed together and that’s fucking haut. Now apparently, apart from a whole lot of other stuff, they didn’t bother to get the proper consent from these sex workers for this documentary because pffft, what the fuck for? They’re SEX WORKERS! They’re in INDIA. They don’t speak ENGLISH. How the fuck are they going to know what’s on here? Because these illustrious filmmakers seem to have jacked up the sensational factor on this one, and who wouldn’t? I mean it’s Hindoo! And sex workers! In India! Anyhoo, totes bummer because then these sex workers found out what was really going on, made their own video and posted it on YouTube. See? Internet ruins everything.
Now, I feel compelled to give illustrious filmmakers like these, who exist all around the world, some worthy advice. There is only one way to make Hindoo sex worker India documentary type things and not have shit like this come and bite you in the ass afterwards. And that is to make the whole thing up, which won’t be that hard because you’ve almost kinda done that anyway and LOTS of people do it! SERIOUSLY! So just round up some generically brown people (brown means not orange like how some people in your country look after getting tan), make them eat monkey brains in honor of their great and ancient god MonkeyBrains and BAM! Oscar for you, I guarantee it and you won’t have to fret your pretty little selves with all those bothersome things that come with dealing with the real thing.
At this juncture, I want to say that I feel a little bad about saying all that stuff about Julia Roberts and adopting Indian children, which I am sure is a good and noble thing to do because there are probably no poor children in America to adopt, which is why so many celebs need to go to other countries to find them. I fully admit I am a charity impaired person. But. I’m cool because I have charitably-inclined acquaintances. For example, there is one very illustrious acquaintance of mine who often goes to godforsaken villages that are so teenyweeny they would probably slip through the cracks in the ground. Said acquaintance goes and cleans the temples there because… that’s what they like to do. At one such teenyweeny village, the village children asked for one of the old cardboard boxes that said acquaintance was about to throw away. The box was given and said children initiated an incredibly rousing and exciting game of soccer, with the box being used as a ball. I myself did this in my youth but that was in a First World country where all the children behave normally so I’m guessing this is normal children behavior. Anyhoo, from what I understood, there was a lot of laughing and shouting and people stopped and watched and the sun was going down and all that sort of thing.
It was at this juncture that said acquaintance admitted that this was possibly the saddest thing they had ever seen in their life. Because I am charity impaired, I was unclear as to why this person was feeling sad, especially when everyone else was apparently very happy. And the acquaintance said that everyone would have been so much more happy if the children had a real soccer ball instead of a box. And then, because I am stupid, I said but they’re having fun with the box, no? No. Apparently they really weren’t happy with the box. And the worthy and most illustrious acquaintance assured me that the only way they would be happy was with a soccer ball. Which kind of sort of but not really reminded me of those people who tell you that your life is a hot fucking mess and you need to be saved, even though you think your life is ok and while you may need some things, saving isn’t one of them.
I’m sure said teenyweeny village could have done with some help and I think maybe you can ask them what help they need instead of forcing soccer balls on them. But charity is hard and I haz fullrespect for all the folks who want to “make a difference” over their summer holidays, because making a difference is one of the easiest things to accomplish on a summer holiday, next to contracting food poisoning. Although it can be such a bummer when that difference doesn’t happen by the time you have to head back home. Like when the natives don’t learn English and save their village with that valiant English knowledge. Charity is also a very high-risk affair. For one thing, you have to make sure you don’t scar poor Indian children for life by showing them an iPod.
Anyway, this montage of 80’s dating videos is filled with white dudes (which is unfortunate in the face of all this white dude persecution) but I think it’s universal in its awesomeness, most of which, interestingly enough, seems to still exist even today. Also, generally not a good idea to mention sexual abuse when you’re hoping to get laid.
You know, sometimes I would see this late night ad on the teevee where there was this dude and he had this wife and she always wore nightie and always the next door aunty was coming to see her and they both sat very close to each other and rubbed each other’s arms, which I think meant they were lesbians but luckily the dude got this jar of something that cured his wife of the lesbianism and everything was ok.