The Original G

Back in the days of aggressive suppression,
Was born a great man on a mission.

Humility supreme, no eye for bling,
Turned history around with just one thing.

Satyagraha, silent resistance,
Peaceful no to violent insistence.

They were scared of him, this giant so frail.
That why they hauled him off to jail.

They thought it would stop him.
But no, it did not.

They thought they could break him.
But no, they could not!

He scared them all without lifting a hand.
Didn’t give in to one, not one demand.

On a fast he went, leading the way,
Till they shivered to hold him for one more day.

A people united, together we stood.
Let the powers that were do whatever they could.

No ‘yes men’ here, we all said no.
Till they said, enough, we’d better pack up and go.

My brothers and sisters, you know why we are free.
So, get it together for the original G.

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Mahatma Gandhi, the original G

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Angel of freedom, he set us free!

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
He said we’re one, you and me

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Father of India, we salute thee.

Now, I’m proud of India. Proud of where I’m from.
But sometimes I wonder, what have we become?

Poverty and pain, the rich don’t care.
Corruption bred leaders stinks up the air.

If the Mahatma were around, what would he say?
If he saw the creatures we’ve become today.

Prejudice and fear are tearing us apart.
Time to look deep and find our heart.

Oh Mahatma! I ask of thee!
Pray the Lord gives your people eyes to see.

One people, one nation, that’d make him proud.
A billion smiles, for everyone in this crowd.

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Mahatma Gandhi, the original G.

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Angel of freedom, he set us free!

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
He said we’re one, you and me!

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Father of India, we salute thee.

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Mahatma Gandhi, the original G.

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Angel of freedom, he set us free!

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
He said we’re one, you and me!

Jai Mahatma! Jai Mahatma!
Father of India, we salute thee.



The Original G by Dwayne Lemos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at 2pegsdown.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at dwaynelemos@hotmail.com.



The Original G by Dwayne Lemos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at 2pegsdown.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at dwaynelemos@hotmail.com.


The Original G by Dwayne Lemos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 UK: Scotland License.
Based on a work at 2pegsdown.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at dwaynelemos@hotmail.com.


The Original G by Dwayne Lemos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.
Based on a work at 2pegsdown.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at dwaynelemos@hotmail.com.

Ever Wonder... What Your Cigarette Is Thinking?

We force them to live in tiny, overcrowed spaces. We burn them for our own pleasure, and trade them like nobody's business. Lincon would be shocked! But do you ever stop to think, what is that helpless cigratte of yours thinking? If it could talk, what would it say? ... really.

Sharing a smoke: "Hey! The b****** don't brush! Put your mouth there first!"

Gotta go to the loo: "Do you take everyone you kiss here? (No wonder you're alone at 3 am. Loser.)"

She just went down on him: "I'm gonna die in a couple of minutes (mighty courteous of you). But you... hahaha... welcome to the world of herpies."

You stub it before it's finished: "Hey, I'm not done yet! No wonder she left you."

You stuff lights in a hards packet: "Gulp!"

You prefer dube: "Hey, my butt's natural!"

You stamp it when it's done: "Kiss me when you want something. Kick me when I'm down. You'd make a great politician."

You don't light it properly: "If you don't even know how to turn me on properly, you're obviously going to suck like crazy!"

You empty the ashtray: "Someday somebody will throw your damn ashes in the dustbin too. You B******!"

You've pissed it off: "I'm gona kill you if it's the last thing I do!"

You have a smoke with the boss: "Just how many butts are ya gona kiss today anyway?"

The post-sex cigarette: "Why the heck does Cigar get to have all the fun? Damn you Bill!"

Well, that's what I think anyway :) Time to light up.

Ever Wonder… What Your Electronic Gadgets Would Say If They Could Talk?

We use them, abuse them and toss them out when we’re done with them. No, I not talking about the member of the opposite sex here (goes both ways :), I talking about electronics - Cellphones, DVD players and stuff like that. But AI is fast catching up. Tomorrow who knows what your DVD player will be capable of doing. Let's say if it could talk. Let's say they could all talk. What do you think your gadgets of your would say to you if they had the gift of voice? Hmmm…

Mobile Phone: “Dude it stinks in here! Use a deo bro!”

ATM Card: “Get your facts straight! I’m the one with the money! Come kiss my ass for a change B****!”

Television: “And they call me the idiot box.”

Laptop: “Wash you hands first ya sick B******!”

Printer: “How about I open you up next time you try to have a meal.”

DVD Player: “Tap me one more time and I swear I’ll…”

Remote Control: “Make up your damn mind already!”

Home Theatre: “Stuck for life with someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about how to push my buttons… sniff.”

Toaster: “It’s not like I burnt the house down ya cry baby!”

Extension Chord: “Look, mine gets longer than yours!”

Electric Massager: “This is not why they called me a head massager! Ya sick ******!”

Electric Razor: “Tell Gillette to do that shit!”

Microwave Oven: “Heat for 30 seconds. Heat for 30 seconds. Never read the manual did ya?”

Washing Machine: “Ever put a dirty sock in your own mouth? No? Then don’t ask where it’s gone!”

Electric Guitar: “How would you like it if I keep fiddling with your G-string in front of everyone?”

About Wonder… About Random Stuff?

Like...

Know what’s so charming about Prince Charming? He’s a damn prince!

When you think about it, yeah, perhaps the first body piercing was a mistake.

Ever notice that the statue of Liberty can’t move? Something tells me the French are still laughing about that.

Little wonder Bond gets into so much trouble. The guy can’t even understand the definition of the term ‘Secret’ Agent.

Speaking of secrets, ever notice that Victoria isn’t too good at keeping secrets either.

What do you call a big-busted woman who is looking for a wedding ring? A booby trap.

Okay, so what do you call a cat that steals?

We really are quite inconsiderate. I mean, do we ever stop to ask if shadows like to box?

Shouldn’t cowboys be riding cows?

Ever see a doughbolt?

Just how long did they take to dig the first well? Well…?

Share brokers are a boring lot. I dated one a while ago. Her idea of a boxing match was watching DHL and Fed Ex go at it.

I live in a dainty, overpriced studio apartment with a very high ceiling. Yeah, you could call it a model house.

Anti-rust, anti-aircraft machine gun, anti-freeze. Okay, so what were they thinking when they called it the Fire Brigade?

Coming back to fairy tales, Rapunzel lived at a time before waxing was invented. Think about that for a second! Why do you think she was locked up in that tower anyway? (Spare a thought for poor Prince Charming. Little wonder he goes blind at the end of the tale)

That’s all for now folks. Yup, as always, it’s all original stuff. Hope you liked :)

Ever Wonder… What The 1st Was Thinking?

Crabs were on the menu last night. Would you believe my brother, Wayne, picked 2 dozen mega meaty ass crabs for just 130 INR? Crazy huh? Love crabs. The edible kind, mind you.

Anyway, staring scary succulence in the eye, my thoughts raced back to a line I read ages ago. “The first guy to eat a crab was either very brave or very hungry.” That’s what it said. Dinner and 2 pegs later this got me thinking. What did the first ever think? What sparked the stroke of genius? There were a lot of other firstS. The first guy to invent verbal language, the first girl to wax, the first guy to wear cycling shorts. Here’s my take on what they were thinking of at the time. Some of them invented it, some didn't, but they all did it first!

Galileo, The First Guy To Look Through A Telescope: “Hehehe… take it off!”

Neil Armstrong, The First Guy To Step On The Moon: “All that for this?!”

Adam, The First Man To See A Woman: Damn! <:0

Eve, The First Woman To See A Man: Damn! >:(

Alexander Graham Bell, The First Guy To Use A Telephone: “Man, I feel like having a pizza.”

Philo Farnsworth, The First Guy To Watch Television: “$ 100 a ticket? Are you F****** crazy?! ”

The First Guy To Climb A Coconut Tree: “Shooo! Bad tiger?”

Christopher Columbus, The First Guy In the USA (okay, so he was the second): “Oh well, nobody will ever know the difference.”

The First Guy To Try Marijuana:


Louis Pasteur, The First Guy To Pasteurize Milk: “OOOOOOoooo… gotta run again!!!”

Ajay Bhatt, The First Guy To Use The USB (well one of em): “Stop skipping damn you!”

Vasco Da Gama (need I say it?): “Need more Feni!!!”

The First Guy To Use The English Bathroom: “Oh man, not again! I really gotta cut back on my drinking… or…”

Thomas Edison, The First Guy To Use A Light Bulb: “Damn candle lit dinners are costing me a fortune!”

Well, that’s what I think. Feel free to add you own thoughts. What did the first ever think? What do you think?


PS: Thinking of trying my hand at stand up comedy. Think this kinda material will work on stage?

 

Ever Wonder… Where The Classic Insult Has Disappeared To?

Where have all the insults gone? Have you noticed that very few people today can frame a classy insult? Verbal profanity like Fs, Bs, C, MCs, MFs and MNC are the refuge of the verbally challenged. No, ‘your momma’ jokes do not qualify as classy insults. The classy ones are based on observation, finesse and a pinch of intelligence. Let’s see if we can come up with some new ones. Let’s go!

The Physically Enhanced:
· With the amount of silicon she got, you’d imagine she’d be able to think faster.
· I heard Intel has lodged a complaint against her.

Flatulence:
· He’s created his very own hole in the ozone layer?
· She single-handedly put Enron out of business.

Bad Teeth:
· I heard Colgate paid him a bomb just to keep his mouth shut.
· I heard Kodak paid him a bomb just to keep his mouth shut. (same idea, different usage)

Alcoholics:
· As you can see, 5 pegs is all it takes to reverse mental development.
· Thanks to the good minister’s son, the slurr is finally going to be recognized as an official Indian dialect.

Landlords:
· Someone who thinks the term ‘landlord’ is a royal title.
· Perhaps he ran a brothel before. He just doesn’t seem to get that we’re paying him for his space, not his company.

Nosy People:
· They call him Satyam He just can’t mind his own business.
· She was born ear first.

Compulsive Flirts:
· Yeah, he’s a real stand up guy.
· I politely asked her to “move” and she started dancing.

Spoilt Rich Kids:
· Yeah, he has his own apartment, his own car, his own business. Ever wonder why his father gave him all that?
· This is what happens when your parents drink champagne while conceiving you.

That’s all for now. Hope you like. Feel free to add your own insults guys.

Ever Wonder… What Your Baker Does At 3am?

Last night, I joined a few old friends of mine for a post-club drink (a must for any self-respecting clubber). Around 3 am better sense walked in with a buddy called ‘the need to eat’. Aziz bhai’s nocturnal cart at Bandra station is a regular haunt of for us and the urge to head there was kicking in. The spirits however, had other plans. Alcohol has a way of making one believe they can achieve just about anything, on this particular occasion, Hritik (name changed to preserve his dignity and my teeth), imagined himself to be a talented chef, and he is, if scrambled eggs is the only item on the menu.

We had eggs (no pun intended), veggies and a drunk aspiring chef - everything you need to make a great scrambled egg. Almost. The bread bin was empty. A trip to the bakery was in order. For the uninitiated, any bakery in Bandra will sell you bread at any hour of the night, you just have to use the backdoor (once again, no pun intended). The bakery at Chapel road was the closest one on this occasion. Jude (yeah, that’s his real name), and I volunteered to run the errand (Hritik and the rest were on onion cutting duty).

Chapel road is a very quiet place at night. Come to think of it, most places are quiet at night, but this place has a very spooky vibe. Until a decade ago, nobody without a prison record would even consider stepping out when the moon was on watch.

We got off the main road and entered a series of ‘mug my ass’ lanes. Catacomb like. Along the way we passed a couple of shirtless, knife scar barring chaps smoking (probably operation scars, I figured at the time). I put on my best “I’m drunk, don’t mess with me” face. In retrospect, it’s a good thing they didn’t notice. Before you know it, we were there. The backdoor entrance (I really have to stop saying this)

Bread making has nothing at all to do with romance (contrary to what the guy who sell the stuff would have you believe). The place looked more like sweat shop. A glass factory even. No kidding. And believe me, these bakers look nothing like the cuddly Pillsbury Dough Boy. Rough, raw and rugged.

The guys there were kind (tolerant actually) enough to let us check out the oven area. This is the first time I actually came face-to-face with the guy who bakes my bread. The head baker there. His name is Gunie (Gun-E… wicked huh?), and he looked like he could kick the Pillsbury Dough Boy's ass from here to Madras. He was really pressed for time and yet was kind enough to share a smile when we pointed the camera his way (nice pic Jude). I did want to chat more with Gunie, explore the hidden world of Mumbai’s bakers, but time was something he did not have, another being a drink. We said thank you and goodbye and left. Gunie was the genuine article and that Pillsbury guy was stealing all his credit! Prick!

When we got back to the crib, the boys had kept everything ready. The onions were chopped, chilies ready, everything was set. There was jut one problem. The chef had passed out.

Ever Wonder… How Many Types Of Drinkers There Are?

The club was almost empty last evening. Just a few confused souls sprinkled here and there. In this recession though there thrived enough diversity for me to get thinking. Just how many types of drinkers are there? I asked the waiter for a pen and a piece of paper and started jotting down my observations. Here’s what I got.

The Angry Young Man: Generally sit at the bar waiting for somebody to look his way so he can throw back a threatening scornful look. Will usually consume vast amounts of alcohol just to prove his instability.

The Nice Guy: The smiley chap who, more often than not, gets mistaken for being gay just because he smiles a lot. The nice guys and the angry young men should never make first contact at the bar.

The Sugar Daddy: He’s pushing 50 and has replaced the mirror in his house with an old photograph of himself 30 years back. This one loves chatting and dancing. Nice chap? My ass! He’d sleep with your bed-ridden grandmother given half the chance!

The Actor: A fashion street version of ultimate cool. This guy’s on camera 24x7. He needs a scriptwriter, accent trainer and a serious knock on his head.

The Braggart: Been there and done that! Where and what only he knows. A wizard at weaving verbal compost, this guy some how manages to lap up fans by the hordes. Notice that the braggart will never score you a drink.

The Dancing Queen: He gay, funloving, flirtations, loves to dance and has around 5 seconds to live if he looks at the angry young man again.

The Quiet Girl: Would be more at home in a bookstore. She kinda lost and is about to be befriended by a well-rehearsed Braggart. Every now and then she glances the way of the nice guy not realizing the smile on his face is a permanent fixture… much to the dismay of the braggart.

The Look at Me: She’s young, kinda hot (not that hot) and loves attention. Usually is accompanied by a budding Sugar Daddy and a bunch of less goodl ooking girlfriends. Known to stand on the bar, shake booty (occasionally with girlfriends) and throw hungry stares at every male in the club.

The Loner: Was a nice guy once, until the ‘gay’ comments got to him. Now he’s just 2 steps away from becoming an Angry Young Man

The DJ's Friends: They are young, broke and seek attention. Always lurk around the DJ cabin in the hope that the ‘cool’ factor rubs off on them. Usually act as the buffer between the DJ and any request seekers.

The Teenagers: How did they get in? Five sips down and they’ve already locked horns with the angry young men. Teenagers can make a bottle of beer last the entire night and still manage to get drunk enough to vomit on the nice guy. Careful though, don’t mess with them or they will tell their parents.

The Explorer: This guy just can’t stay in one place. He will keep bouncing between the different spots in the club in search of a better time, dragging a bunch of frustrated looking friends along. A potential club hopper is he wasn’t broke. Addicted to Look at Me.

The Club Hopper: Rich, Drunk and loud! Usually announces his/her next destination while still on the premises of any club. Attention seeker. Gets along with Look At Mes.
Will occasionally confront Angry Young Men and make a get away before surgery is required.

The Juicers: No alcohol please. The more drunk we are, the smarter they look. Sole purpose of their presence at the club is to drive you home later when you’re totally plastered.

Like I said, the club was almost empty. The science of drinker classification is quite young. Any contributions that you can make through your observations and insights would be most appreciated.

Thanks guys.

Ever Wonder… What Would Happen If Soap Were To Go On Strike?

Do you rub your crotch on your best friend’s face? Guessing not. Yet, that’s exactly what you do with lil helpless Soap. Faithful Soap has been a dear friend since we were infants, protecting us from danger. Soap has been there though our ups and downs (ahem). Passionate showers and “damn that's some rash” hours.

Walk into the bathroom right now! Right now! Do you know why Soap sitting there quietly? Soap has gone on strike! Or didn’t you notice. Pick up the Soap – a typical undeserved soap joke. Can you blame Soap for being pissed? Wouldn’t you be too?

Earlier today I had a chat with Soap. Soap has a lot of complaints. Demands rather. Here’s what you need to do if you want Soap back. Written by Soap itself… warning, Soap a bit pissed off. Sober up and listen, least you stumble and fall.

“Think you can get anywhere without me stinky? Wake up and smell the bacteria! Cute girl, hot guy, big money job… bull shit! You ain’t gona get jackshit! Clean out the wax (use earbuds, I ain't going near that crap) and listen. I want, you give! Get it! This is what I want!

· Before you get me out of my clothes try to get to know me first.

· What? No flowers, no foreplay, and you wanna jump in the shower with me?! Loosen the wallet you cheap *******!

· She/He ain't my type! I ain’t interested! Stop!

· Wash your own fucking car you lazy *******!

· Blow me first you!

· Wash your ***** with shampoo for a change! I want equal rights!

· Your feet stink! Stop ruining my appetite.

· I’m fed up of leftovers. I want in Cheffing process. Damn Salt!

· Try jumping into that damn washing machine yourself! Ban that shit!

· Know what wet dreams are? So do I. And I don’t get them. Chuck that shit out! Man!

· Oh. Talking about cleaning disgusting crap! Wash your own shoes bitch! Yuck!

· Stop bathing so much! Make some friends! Please give me my space.

· Your hair is not a romantic memento. Please take that shit with you when you leave!

· Lick your own dam toilet clean you disgusting pig!

· Toothpaste gets a cabinet and I’m stuck with a damn plastic pan? Toothpaste will leave you the day your teeth go! Should I?

An Apple a day keeps ‘only’ the doctor away. Take Apple away and you get sick. Wanna try that shit with me? I know what you’ve done in the bathroom… do you really want me to talk? Wisen up!”

Mmmm… Ias you can see, Soap is pretty ticked off. I dunno about you but I vote for Soap for prime minister!

PS: Please pardon typing errors… I’m 2 pegs down :)

Ever Wonder… What Plants Are Thinking?

It fills me with grief, the way people treat plants these days. I mean, would you feed compost to your pet dog?

Save the whale, eat coconuts! Why chicken, when you can have soy? What did those innocent plants ever do to us to deserve this sort of treatment? If anything, they are helping us by producing oxygen, which those blasted animals steal by breathing.

How do you think those poor plants in your living room feel when they see you feasting on the desecrated carcasses their relatives? Shame on you! And by what demented trick of the devil did we ever think that courting women with the dismembered limbs of these harmless creatures was romantic.

Reverse the situation for a second, “Hi, is that Toes & Fingers? Hello, my name is Cabbage. I want a bouquet of two dozen feet, fresh smelly ones please, 6 nipples and 5 gall bladders delivered to my girlfriend, Rosebud. Oh, and please throw some hair in there to make the bouquet look a bit bigger! The address is 103 Graveyard View…”

Have you even realized that you refrigerator is one of bloodiest crime scenes in history? That’s how cold you have become! Yeah, the authorities might not care either, but do be careful. You never know when that sweet money plant in your bedroom will go vigilante on you and avenge her extended family’s massacre. Have you ever spared a moment to think about how she feels? What do you think is going on in her mind? You’ve scarred her for life!

What about poor Aloe Vera? What must she be thinking? Think about that.

We cry fowl over one black buck, but turn a blind eye towards the genocide that occurs regularly in those killing fields we call farm lands. What’s worse, some of us even go so far as to take pleasure in consuming the fermented blood of these poor creatures. A moment of silence please, for Barley and Grape Vine.

Then there is poor Marijuana. What has he ever done to deserve his reputation? Or Tobacco even. We kill them. We desecrate their remains. We enjoy breathing the smoke of that pathetic excuse of a funeral pyre that we call a cigarette.

I wonder… do plants have ghosts? What would you do if the ghosts of you wardrobe and its unholy contents visited you tonight? Say a prayer before you sleep tonight. Is there a plant heaven? I know there is a plant hell. It’s called Gujrat.

I know I might come across a bit over zealous, but please understand. Someone has to take a stand. Someone has to protest against all those half naked women that sadistically prance around wearing the severed limbs of some poor plants, while carrying cardboard plaques (any idea where cardboard comes form?) that read “Save The Panda.” Save Panda? That cold hearted murderer?
The next time you head to the bazaar with the intention of (my leafy friends please forgive me for repeating this evil expression) stocking up your fridge, take a minute and think about your sweet helpless money plant. After all, you don’t have a pet goat at home now do you?

Ever Wonder…What the Future Looks Like?

If you’ve been to Mumbai, there is a good chance you have been turned down by a rickshaw driver, at some point or the other. Did he happen to give you a scornful look while doing so? I’ve been there too. Was he expecting me to take him to the Taj and treat him to brunch? Was he hoping that I’d go over to his place, share a cup of tea with the wife? I don’t get it. These guys take to riding rickshaws for the need of funds, and then they turn down every second fare that comes their way. Knock, knock!

Oh well, let’s not fret. Things aren’t that bad. Oh no, they aren’t. Like it or not, they are going to get much worse! I will let you in on a little secret. I have seen the future, and it’s only a matter of time before… Rickshaw Drivers Take Over The World!

The year is 2050. Here’s a look at what the future looks like:

· In the year 2050, rickshaw drivers will be empowered to take you wherever they want to go and not where you need to go. Any resistance from your end will be met with a stiff fine and the confiscation of your first born child.

· In the year 2050, there would be no bass, only treble.

· In the year 2050, all shock absorbers will be replaced by shock amplifiers.

· In the year 2050, if two members of the opposite sex happen to sit in the back of a rickshaw together, they will be required to make out for the amusement of the rickshaw driver.

· In the year 2050, all interiors (home and vehicles) will look like dance bars.

· In the year 2050, prostitution would not only be legal, it would be compulsory. Rickshaw drivers will be provided subsidized rates.

· In the year 2050, paan will be the dessert of the elite.

· In the year 2050, roads and lavatories will be the same.

· In the year 2050, the Marlboro cowboy will eat gutkha.

· In the year 2050, any music other than mainstream Bollywood will be banned.

· In the year 2050, Durex will be making latex body suits.

· In the year 2050, every home will have a pet buffalo.

· In the year 2050, literacy will be banned. The last literate man was killed in 2045, while arguing with a rickshaw driver over his rate card.

· In the year 2050, your grandson will be President of the World Union… and yes, he is a rickshaw driver.

So, smile my friend. The next time a rickshaw driver gives you flack, take a deep breath (love that carbon monoxide) and be thankful it’s still just 2009.

Ever Wonder… What it’s like to be super thin?

I'm 29 years old and have a waist to match! Majority of the world’s population lives on the far side of the weighing scale and look to have dedicated their lives to ensuring health magazines turn phenomenal profits.

Being thin is not easy. Modern day courtesy demands one be polite while talking of matters that concern human horizontally expansion. We the horizontally challenged however, receive no such mercies.

Being super thin does have its advantages though. No, these have nothing to do with those fictional snippets you come across in beauty magazines. I’m talking about stuff like…

· We can wear anyone’s clothes and pass it off for the Hip Hop look.

· No train or elevator is ever too crowded.

· We have an arsenal of 10 fat jokes to fire back at every thin joke thrown at us.

· Cellulite and cholesterol are just words for us.

· If I was on a boat that was sinking due to excessive passenger weight, I'd be the last person that they would throw overboard.

· Over the years, I've collected a small fortune in coins that people flip my way while saying, "Put this in your pocket to ensure you don’t don't fly away." Keep them coming please; I need a new pair of sneakers.

· For some reason most people think it to be their moral duty to pick up our tab.

· It’s never you that passed gas.

· Unlike most mortals, we do not have to waste energy on opening doors fully.

· If we ever get into a war, there is no chance in hell of us being drafted and sent to the front. (Coward you say? Yes, and blinking proud of it! Thank you.)

· Further elaborating on the above point. With all the 18-inch bicep flaunting competition being sent off to the front, I'd be left with a wide selection of attention craving senoritas to choose from. (Sleazy, opportunistic coward? Yup :)

Yeah, it's great to be a super thin!