Adolf Hitler: The Humorous Side

Hey

Check the following videos out.. I must say that the creators (whoever they were) were really brilliant…
Do note that there are occassional swearing in English which might be unsuitable for minors. Go ahead only if you are OK with this fact.. The following videos are from the same movie but the stories they say (as subtitles are quite humorous). For those of you who might want to know more about the original source: It is a movie called “Der Untergang”: Wikipedia Link

Hitler’s Xbox Live Account Killed

Hitler finds out Lampard is signing for Inter

Somebody Stole Hitlers Car

Advertisements

Hak June and Sung Eun

Along with memoirs of true friendships, this post also contains brief references to Prostitution and Illegal Trading. Read along only if you are not offended by any of the above topics. If you belong to the other category, please click http://www.cartoonnetwork.com for an appropriate website. 🙂 🙂 🙂

Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) Rating for this post: NC-17 (No one 17 and under admitted) / PG (Parental Guidance Suggested). Source: http://www.mpaa.org/FlmRat_Ratings.asp🙂

Am just kidding guys… I believe all the readers of my blog are adults.. Read on..

This post is the second in a series dedicated to some of the most beautiful people in my life and I don’t mean just the outsides alone. You can find the first one here. This one is about my Mentor became friend Kim Hak June (Korean: 김학준) and his girlfriend Kim Sung Eun (Korean: 김성은).

Let me start with a funny and “weird” instance that I remember. Seoul is famous for prostitution, thanks to the US Army base here. And there is a US Army Base camped at Yongsan, where Hak June and Sung Eun lives. Once I visited Yongsan and told them that I want to see the red light street in Yongsan (since I never saw one before). Here in Seoul, I cant call it “Red Light Area”. It’s different and i believe it should be called “Pink Light Areas”. Such roads have arrays of rooms with one wall completely made of glass (facing the road), beautifully decorated. Each of these rooms is like a bedroom with a makeup table and a mirror. The sex-workers sit inside them wearing minimal to normal measure of clothing and acts out daily routines like doing a make up in front of the mirror, comb their hair etc. All these rooms have pink curtains in front and is is flanked with a  dim “enticing”??!!?? pinkish glow. Any “customer” who goes there, watches them through the glass walls and “selects” his “friend” for the night. I was really intrigued when i had heard about such a different system and was really longing to see one of such streets. Naughty Naughty Me!!! 🙂 Sung Eun was really bold and told “Kiran if you wanna see.. Lets” and we walked through a smaller version of the above described road, since if we dare to go through the main streets, the sex-workers will come to us and then you know what… 🙂

I first met him as a mentor when I came to SNU as a first semester student and our friendship has been growing ever since. It’s through him, of course, that I came to know of Sung Eun and we three became really good friends, in other words “clicked”. SNU, like many other universities had a tradition of assigning a Korean Mentor to every foreign student admitted here. It’s more important here in Korea due to a social handicap. That is, you cannot survive here (outside SNU), if you don’t know the basics of Korean language. As any newly admitted student, we had to do some bank work like opening an account and filling in all the details for internet banking, academic work like course registration, registering for dormitory, and the initial shopping for all the necessary things etc. could not have been done without his help. Thanks to him, the expected “few difficult months” in the beginning turned out to be not so difficult at all. Thanks bro. Thanks a lot.

Then through him, I met Sung Eun, another wonderful individual. We three became fast friends and months passed by; they are the people I meet the most excluding my lab mates at MWNL, whom I meet every weekday. Hak June even gifted me my first mobile phone in Korea. I still have that wonderful piece of technology with me and obviously it is an integral part of my daily life. Ever since we met, we have been visiting some places and we have also had opportunities to have dinner together. Since the couple stays at Yongsan, I have been there a lot of times and it has one of the biggest railway stations in Korea, as far as I know.

Did I tell you that Sung Eun plays good violin too? She is really good that she was invited to play as a part of a really famous concert at Yonsei University. SNU, Korea University and Yonsei University are called as SKY universities. The letters from the first letter of their names, and these three are the top universities in Korea (Though the other two are incomparable with SNU in the world ranking 🙂 ..). She was like a really kid playing violin amongst really old and thereby experienced people. I was invited for the concert and Hak June and I went to Yonsei University on 10th November 2007 to see her in action. I had uploaded some photographs of the concert, starting from here, in my online photo gallery (press the right arrow when you reach that page to see more photos).

As a dedication to these wonderful people I had also made a video composing of the photographs of that event. You can view the video here, on YouTube.

We three have shared lots of wonderful time together visiting new hangout locations and tasting different cuisines. Sung Eun is really an adroit person in shopping. She knows how to get things and from where. She has taken me to some amazing locations for certain daily-use purchases (I can’t reveal the details here due to some legal issues, and I am NOT kidding, and NO, it’s none of what you are thinking with your “dirty” mind hehe 🙂 🙂 ). From the road, no one can guess that such a shop exists, and I guess you need to be a known customer for the shopkeepers to let you into those clandestine shops. From outside, they are just old not-used-anymore dusty door covered rooms, but inside they are full-fledged shops with selections beyond your imaginations.

I can never forget the time Hak June helped me with a medical emergency I had. Now, don’t worry my readers. Nothing fatal. hehe 🙂 How can I leave you all so soon?? 🙂 He was with me all the time during the hardships I had faced just like my brother. That’s one thing I respect in Koreans. Accepted that its difficult to get accepted into their circle, but once you are in, you are like a family. I mean a real family. Not like those who say “we are like a family” but they mean “like a family only in terms of disagreements, not in terms of mutual prosperity” (A good example would be I*** for those who know what I mean). Hak June was by my side all the time and he even paid for my medicines, though medical bills are pretty high here in Korea. When I requested to take back the money from me, he just smiled and said “Kiran, This is the least I can do. You have paid a lot for the main treatments; Let me get the medicines for you”. So so so kind of him.

Hmm I can actually go on writing about these friends of mine you know, but the fact is, words cannot describe their character. I am proud to call them my best friends (or rather my bro and sis). Cheers to you guys and Cheers to our bond of friendship. Let us be friends for ever..

The Freak Murder…

A game of logic to prove that even if you make all the proof and witnesses logically arranged, it could still lead to some amusing and amazing alterations in the legal facet.

On March 23, 1994, the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus and concluded that he died from a shotgun wound to the head. The decedent had jumped from the top of a ten story building intending to commit suicide. He left a note to that effect indicating his despondency. As he fell past the ninth floor, his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast passing through a window, which killed him instantly. Neither the shooter nor the decedent was aware that a safety net had been installed just below at the eighth floor level to protect some building workers and that Ronald Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide the way he had planned.

Ordinarily, Dr. Mills continued, a person who sets out to commit suicide and ultimately succeeds, even though the mechanism might not be what he intended is still defined as committing suicide. That Mr. Opus was shot on the way to certain death nine stories below at street level, but that his suicide attempt probably would not have been successful because of the safety net, caused the medical examiner to feel that he had a homicide on his hands. The room on the ninth floor from whence the shotgun blast emanated was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing vigorously, and he was threatening her with a shotgun. The man was so upset that when he pulled the trigger he completely missed his wife and the pellets went through the window, striking Mr. Opus. When one intends to kill subject A, but kills subject B in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject B.

When confronted with the murder charge, the old man and his wife were both adamant. They both said they thought the shotgun was unloaded. The old man said it was his long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her. Therefore, the killing of Mr. Opus appeared to be an accident, that is, the gun had been accidentally loaded. The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple s son loading the shotgun about six weeks prior to the fatal accident. It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son s financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother.

The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus. Now comes the exquisite twist. Further investigation revealed that the son was in fact Ronald Opus. He had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother s murder. This led him to jump off the ten story building on March 23rd, only to be killed by a shotgun blast passing through the ninth story window. The son had actually murdered himself, so the medical examiner closed the case as a suicide. Very tidy of him.

——————

Disclaimer : Source of this story is Internet. I found it amusing, so just Cntrl-C ied and Cntrl-V ied..

No Indians, Please!

 

I came across this article through a link forwarded by my friend swetha. Its portrays a real life situation which actually I faced in Trivandrum some years back. It shows that the biggest discrimination being done to Indians are by none other than fellow “compatriots” (Indians) itself. Recently there was an accusation of Racial Discrimination on Australian Cricketer Andrew Symonds by Indian Cricketer Harbhajan Singh. Regardless of that news being true or not true, you can see how “weirdly” Indians discriminate Indians, in this article. I found it amusing and hence copied it to my blog for you guys to read. You can find the original article written by Sidin Sunny Vadukut @ http://in.rediff.com/getahead/2008/jan/02sidin.htm

 

 

 

No Indians, Please! – by Sidin Sunny Vadukut

 

 

The week right after Christmas I spent a few wonderful days with the wife on the sunny, sandy beaches of Goa. We just lay there soaking in the sun, reading our books, making small talk and trying to ignore the four million or so people who offered to show us dolphins, deep sea fishing and, when the wife was away getting a juice from the restaurant, ‘a good time with Russian lady and ayurvedic massage you like?’.

 

I was mildly offended of course. I had no interest in the ayurvedic massage whatsoever! What with all those oils and herbs and such like.

 

Alas, the wife returned in a jiffy with her grape juice and Svetlana remained a fleeting moment somewhat.

 

Something about the sun and sand makes them foreign folk throw away their clothes, change into swimming clothes, run down to the beach, swim for 15 minutes and then run back to lounge chairs where they spend the rest of their holiday taking in the natural beauty and unspoiled lush environment of Goa, mainly in the form of marijuana.

So much so that individual beaches in Goa are now, quietly, turning into the purview of intrepid entrepreneurs from certain countries. For instance, the beach we were on was apparently the Russian zone. Shortly northwards was a strip that was resolutely Italian with some Belgians thrown in. And to the south was a famed beach run by the Israelis seeking oneness with themselves using organic products in little pipes.

 

One morning, we were gently sunning ourselves on lounge chairs by the beach in front of our resort. As we read our novels, a thin, scrawny local ran to us and asked us to leave immediately. I sipped on my seventh vodka orange juice and spoke defiantly to the centermost of the five identical men in front of me:

 

“Why should we?”

 

“This lounge chair is not free.”

 

“Well there was no one sitting here.”

 

I sensed a scam coming up. No way he was going to get me off a vacant lounge chair, one of thousands, on an otherwise abandoned strip of beach. I was determined to show the wife that I was no pushover.

 

“Well, sorry but we ain’t moving mister!”

 

“Okay fine. You should know that it belongs to the Russian mafia.”

 

“Well, in that case you can keep this lounge chair for yourself dude! I don’t want it! Let’s go darling and not feed the international crime syndicate!”

 

By now I was screaming as I had already reached my room, running in my urgent need to show fearless disgust with this criminal nexus. My wife followed a few minutes later very quietly, possibly in awe of my moral uprightness.

But soon we were to learn that keeping the locals at bay from ‘foreign property’ was the job of the locals themselves.

 

Let me explain.

 

Thanks to the extreme cultural diversity of the beach crowd in Goa, there are a range of fine restaurants along the seafront that cater to a variety of culinary tastes. Our experiences with one of them more than illustrate the fact that when things get elite, the desi takes great pride in giving the other the cold shoulder.

 

We had heard high praise of an Italian restaurant on a beach half an hour up the coast. Apparently their pasta was most spectacular and they made the cheapest cocktails you can get in a non-election year anywhere in India.

When we walked in, we quickly noticed that we were the only locals around. Amidst a sea of a hundred or so foreign tourists all lustily biting into pizzas and pasta and garlic bread. Also lots of seafood.

 

We were both dressed in most civil jeans and t-shirts, looking very Friday casual like they show in the TV clothing ads. Shoes even.

 

Pointlessly, of course.

 

The Indian waiters ignored us completely. It was like they were looking right through us. Like we were Indian footballers in a bustling public place anywhere in the country.

 

“Can we get a table for two please?”

 

He stood and gave us the complete once over from head to toe. A condescending smirk spread on his face.

 

“Waiting.”

 

He spat the word out with utter disdain.

 

“How long?” I asked him, beginning to get a little pained at his insolence.

 

“I don’t know. Wait.”

 

If you are wearing a purple shirt with a yellow collar, crimson coconut palms plastered all over it and a wide-brimmed straw hat you expect to be treated by waiters with some respect. Instead, I was beginning to appreciate what it feels like to be a Congressman in Ahmedabad.

 

Just when we were about to give up and go back to our room and another night of violent, relentless, animal Scrabble, the Italian owner walked over and immediately spoke to us with great politeness and humbleness.

He apologised for making us wait and in 10 minutes had us seated as a table with the same ‘attitude’ waiter now waiting on our every whim and fancy:

 

What is it with waiting staff at premium restaurants in India that make them treat Indian customers like crap?

Why, in our country, do we suddenly have to treat everyone else like royalty except our own people? Sure we might not know our Camembert from our Chardonnay. Sure we might not leave thousands of rupees in tips, but we still have every intention of paying our bills provided the Rediff people send us our cheque for our columns in the preceding week.

 

So why treat the phirangs like they are some sort of godsend?

 

There is a restaurant here in Mumbai on Marine Drive that is quite popular with the swish set. I will refer to it by the false indicative name “Fault Matter Frill”. Once, a few months ago, a friend called up and tried to get a booking:

 

“Hello Fault Matter Frill? A table for two please.”

 

“Name?”

 

“Parthasarathy.”

 

“Sorry, we are all booked for the evening.”

 

Partha was mildly upset till someone in the office gave him an alternate strategy. Partha called them up again 10 minutes later. This time with some extra emphasis on the vowels.

 

“Hello, Fault Matter Freell? A table for thoo please.”

 

“Of course sir. Your name please, my dear sir!”

 

“Parto. Parto Cerratti, frowm Naaapolee”

 

“Oh, how exotic sir. Would you like a table by the sea?”

 

“Of kowrse, of kowrse.”

 

“Our pleasure sir. Look forward to meeting you sir.”

 

“Okay da.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ooh la la, I said ooh la la.”

 

Then there was the time I went to Chennai. There was this disco type place that allowed no single men inside UNLESS you were a fair-skinned foreigner. The others had to go upstairs and look at the crowd from a balcony above though a net.

 

Why, when foreigners are around, do we have to suddenly look down upon our own countrymen? Frankly, the whole thing gets me a little upset. And frustrated. I would never think of giving priority to any foreigner over an Indian if I was running as establishment. Except, of course, Angeline Jolie.

 

Thankfully, later during that trip to Goa we went for dinner to yet another restaurant. This one managed by a French man who was known for his excellent customer service. We went with much hope only to be made to wait while an ugly, blond man with a paunch, bad teeth and stubble was waved in ahead of us.

 

However, this time we didn’t take it badly at all.

It was only Rohit Bal. He is, after all, one of us.