2010
07.14

Oh Paulo Coelho, why? Why did you do this to me?!

I don’t normally do book review or things of that sort, but The Alchemist was one of those best sellers that I had heard of and I just had to read. I managed to get my hands on a nice pirated copy of it and thought to myself, ‘Now I shall read this shit and I can converse with the masses on what a great book it is.’ Or so I thought!

Now, if you are a Paulo Coelho fan, or if you are Paulo Coelho himself, you may be offended with what you are going to read next. So let me warn you, like I always do, this post may really hurt your feelings. Let me also warn you that I’m gonna save all you aspiring readers from reading the book by telling you what happens in a few paragraphs. So you may thank me at the end.

In my hand was the great book. I start reading it. Some dude staring into a lake of some sort and all that jazz. Out of this world kinda stuff. Paulo, you are bending my mind. You are awesome! The reviews said it is a book that would change my life. ‘Change my life’ it did. I almost gave up reading.

The story is about this young shepherd who takes his sheep around Spain I guess, and keeps dreaming non stop. He sees Egypt in his dream and some treasure is to be found and all that jazz. Amazing setup. Young boy, seeks glory, has sheep, ready to travel. Brilliant! Lets name him Mr. Dumb Ass. Oh wait, he is Spanish, we shall baptize him Senior Culo Tonto.

So Culo Tonto, stud man sexy Spaniard that he is, decides to go to some fancy place to sheer his sheep in front of some rich mofo and say, “Ola Senorita” to the mofo’s chica. Culo supposedly is in love with this chica. But no! He meets some smart ass old man on the way who I bet got a lot of chicas in his glory days (coz he is some kinda king), who convinces Culo to give him his sheep and says, “Go chase your dream tiger, grrrr.” And Culo was on his way. Les Pyramids, here I come. What happened to the  chica no one knows. I bet the smart ass old king kong musta shown her some shamalama ding dong and lets not go any further.

Oh yes, king kong also gave Culo a couple of his shiny nuts. He pulled em off his chest plate. Some kinda shut. I guess its some Spanish tradition or something. I don’t really know why so much fuss was made over this scene considering that those nuts were not even used anywhere in the book. Okay, they did fall a couple of times, so what?

Culo is now on his way to the great Pyramids. Ambitious dumb **** that he is, he gets robbed and decides to stay at some lousy town and work till he can make money to buy sheep. Lots goes on here. Our Culo Tonto becomes Gran Culo Tonto and somehow he and this shopkeeper make some monies and Culo is back on track.

Culo then thinks, screw these sheep. I’m going to Les Pyramids! He now has to cross the desert. Which is a long boring journey with other men. Like when did the Spanish men start hanging out with men? Somewhere here I think I thought of committing suicide, but no! I had to read the book! It was going to change my life. I bet the life changing scene would be at the end. So read I did.

Somewhere and somehow all these men land up at an oasis. And voila what do they find? Chica #2 (and dates and water too). Chica #2 is equally dumb as Culo. We shall get back to her in a moment. Now everyone is chilling at the oasis, you know, smoking up their weed, abusing in Arabic, having a good time while doing their own shit. Until Culo decides to take a walk and sees two hawks flying in the sky. One hawk kills the other and Culo goes psycho. He tells the dude who runs the show at the oasis that they are gonna be attacked. Like who gives a shit in the first place?!

Chica #2. She comes to know that Culo is going see Les Pyramids and gets all senti. But says that she is a ‘woman of the desert’ and she will wait for him. Like yeah right. She gets all upset and watches him leave.

On the way to Les Pyramids, Culo (and his friend, some Alchemist guy) get robbed by some bad men. Who make Culo talk to the wind and the sun. Real dumb scene this was. Like I pushed my imagination to the limit but still could not figure out what problem the sun had with the wind. But the two were like having this face off in the middle of the desert (like its not already hot enough) and then Culo is the stud man again.

Back to seeing Les Pyramids!

So stud man Culo the Spaniard is back with his Alchemist friend and the two are en route. But Alchemist dude suddenly decides to pull back and like as though it was some kinda movie scene, he lets Culo go on alone from now on. So our man is now almost near Les Pyramids, he sees them and then starts digging a hole. And… and… and.. tada!!! He gets mugged. And for the third time Culo the dumb ass gets robbed. Oh, and if I forgot to mention, he did not find any treasure.

He comes back to Spain, to the spot where he had the dream and finds some stash there. Amen. Life changing book!! My culata!

Oh and Culo is an Alchemist to.

Somebody stab me for Christ’s sake!!

2010
05.30

The Shit We Eat

I was sitting and wondering what to do. Thought I’d start editing some photos but then I was feeling too lazy. Thought I’d stalk the hot chick who stays opposite our place, but then I think her guy was over. So then again I thought I’d open up Picasa and edit some photos, and lo and behold I came across some photos that I had clicked long back when I was in Goa.

As always, like a good author, I’d like to throw a disclaimer at your face saying the content that you are about to read and the photos that you are about to see may be very disturbing and offensive, so please read on (you bet you wanna) at your own discretion. Having said that let me dive into the crap that I titled (drum roll) – “The Shit We Eat”.

First lets get to know the “We” in picture. We would be, my people, my family. Basically the Goan family. We eat a lot of shit that you people would not even think were edible. If it moves we eat it. If it’s on my plate, smelling good and tasting even better, we eat it. If it’s not tasting good, we make it taste good and then we eat it.

Below is a photo of my mom at the butchers shop at the Mapusa Market in Goa.

Butcher - Mapusa Market

Now please do not be offended if you see your God’s leg hanging and being bargained over. That shit tastes real good. It may smell bad there hanging from a hook, blood dripping (which is good, fresh) from it. But now imagine that shit, on your plate smelling awesome and tasting real good. How do I explain that?!

I think we bought some cow’s tongue that day. Yes we eat tongue. Name the animal, state if it got tongue or not, send it through the kitchen and we are eating it next thing. Didn’t I just say, if it moves we eat it? Well the tongue is lying somewhere in the butcher’s shop. If you are a regular, you get the best meat and the other body part will be available on request.

Cow is just one of those poor animals that make it to our kitchen. Pig being the other regular. Will dissect the pig later and let you know what we do with that. For now, and as far as my knowledge is concerned, I shall try and recollect what all have made it onto my plate, into my stomach and now resides in our septic tank. Cow, pig, tortoise, swine, deer, camel, porcupine, duck, frog, goat, sheep, rabbit (?) and a lot more I guess. Even if I had to eat human, I’d eat as long as it tasted good.

Now I know all you People for Animals, Save our Animals and ‘OMFG I dunno why I’m an animal activist’ people might really hate me by now, but how do you expect me to control my hunger for blood. It’s the freaking Goan food chain. Eat the meat else be banished from the family. Yes, I’ve seen all those PETA websites and advertisements, and yes, I fell sorry for the manner in which the animals are treated. And, let me stress on this, no one has the right to slam an animal on its head and kill it. That’s really bad. But at the end of the day, the meat eaters are not gonna stop eating meat.

Alright, now to the real shit that we eat. Its pig and its called ‘Sorpotel‘. Wikipedia threw up some bullshit and I could not find any relevant information, so now I’m gonna share the graphic recipe of preparing the all so famous, Sorpotel.

Ingredients:

1 pig (piglet will do too, depending on the number of hungry people waiting to eat)
A few Goan women (mothers preferred, grandmothers a bonus)
A few Goan men (to catch and kill the fucking pig in the first place)

Now that we have what takes to get this shit started, lets dig into the details and learn how to catch the fucking pig.

A typical Goan house would consist of a front yard, the house, the family pet running around, a well and a nice spacious backyard. Now, this is the typical Goan house. Most of the house are not so typical, like our. The front yard is so fucked up that there is no front yard. I’m gonna fucking break that shit and make a front yard, but don’t let my pop know, not while he is alive at least. The house would be this thick walled stone structure that’s like really high and with a tiled roof. Tiles are sexy. Concrete is fuck all. The family pet could be a cat, a dog or the neighbor’s dog. The back yard, and yes we got this fucking shit right. It’s this awesome huge area with a well, a lot of plants and trees and enough of space to keep animals that we can kill and eat some day.

So the typical house would have a back yard with hens, pigs, snakes and sometimes cows too. Now we never had cows but yes we did have a pig and we baptized that fucker ‘Slayer’ and slay he did. Mother fucker listened to heavy metal and head banged and threw the horns at the neighbors pig. Satan was there in our back yard. The sty was the moshpit.

Well, seems like I got a bit carried away and drifted way outa topic. Okay, now that we have a back yard and a pig. Lets get on to “How to kill the mother fucker”.

How to kill the mother fucker

First, make sure all the exits of the back yard are closed. Make sure the back door is closed too. You don’t wanna sacrifice the swine in the bed room. Not that its uncool, more because you don’t wanna have blood all over the walls. Once the exits are sealed, get hold of some of the local butchers. These guys can be found at the local bars or ghados (tea/snack stalls). If you cant locate one of these dudes, just leave a word at the bar or local joint and the dude will show up at your door step. Lets baptize him as Pig Killer.

Pig killer will show up at your back door and take you by surprise. Most of the time you and the whole village know the pig killer, so lets make it clear that he is not dangerous and he will not rob your house even if its unlocked. Pig killer will come, have a look at the pig and then go for a walk. In his absence, the women in the house will keep the knives, utensils, etc ready. Pig killer will go and get a few more men depending on the size of the pig. He will also smoke a few cigarettes have a few pegs of the local liquor and then turn up at your door step once again. Now, its not a bad thing to have stinking men roam around the village, its actually very cool and part of the culture. Our drunken men happen to be very nice and effective.

Pig killer (and his men) will survey the area. Pig by now knows that he’s gonna fucking die. Pig radar and telepathic pig signals from kilometers away (even from other villages) have already informed pig that the stinky Pig killer is here to kill him. Pig goes into defensive mode. Pig surveys the backyard for exit points. Pig killer sharpens knives. The stove in the kitchen is lit up. Water is set to boil. Pig killer approaches pig. Pig’s defensive mode turns into panic mode. Chaos breaks lose, pig shoots towards the exit, pig killer chases pig, pig killer’s supporters distract pig, pig gets scared, runs into the wall, tries to jump, no hope, runs back, runs around the back yard. Pig killer and associates corner pig. Pig makes a dash and tries to run past them, pig killer manages to grab hold of pig. Associates jump in and pig killer ties up pigs legs. The squealing can be heard kilometers away, other pigs mourn the what would be the demise of one of theirs for the sake of a family meal. Pig is properly tied up and brought to a stone or step where what would next be the cutting of the neck.

Seeing that pig is all tied up, the women of the house brings out a bowl of hot water and another bowl to collect the pigs blood. No this is not for some voodoo or mumbo jumbo ritual, its to add to the taste of the what would become sorpotel.

(Lovell D’souza is hungy now, he steps out for dinner.)

Pig killer now has a tight grip on pigs snout, his knee digs into pig’s body disabling any moves that pig could throw at him. And, in one clean swipe with precision that would impress the best of surgeons, pig’s neck is slit.

(Please stand and observe two minutes of silence for pig.)

Pig’s blood is collected in the utensil. This is taken to the kitchen. Pig dies in a few minutes and Pig killer loosens his grip. The hot water is poured onto pig so that the hair is loosened up. With a blade, most of the time a Wilkinson, pig is cleaned and ready to be chopped up. The chopping part happens in the open, amidst the other animals including the neighbor’s kids. This is a very important event in the life of a Goan child. The killing of a pig is a significant symbolic act depicting the beginning of a family feast. Oh yes, it also makes you immune to those PETA vidoes on Facebook and YouTube. Now, I’m not saying don’t kill the animals. Kill them. But kill them with respect, like the way Pig killer does.

Pig’s body by now is fully chopped up. Pig killer will chop pig up as per the instructions of the woman of the house. The only part of the pig that does not go into the Sorpotel are the pigs hooves. Or wait, maybe they do. I’ll have to ask my mom. Anyway, then entire pig is chopped up and all the body parts are ready to be cooked. The heart, kidneys, lungs, brain, intestines all form an essential part of the all so great Sorpotel.

Intestines get a little more attention compared to other body parts. Mainly because, well er, they fucking lead to the asshole. Now pig would surely shit when he sees Pig killer, but some shit would of course be lying there, deep down at the end of the lower intestine just waiting to make it onto your plate. But, NO! The intestines are nicely cleaned and the food, shit, etc is pushed out and what we are left with are nice, clean, washed intestines. Yay!

How to cook this shit

The women set the kitchen abuzz. Pig is now ready to make it onto the stove. I’m not going to go into these details, so please refer to the recipe link on top. Oh did I forget to mention, I hate the smell that it emits when being cooked.

The conclusion

Oh wait, did I forget to mention? I don’t eat Sorpotel. That shit fucking stinks and tastes like fucking shit!

2010
05.26

The Good, The Bad, The WTF

A couple of weeks back, 6 not-so-young boys decided to battle the floods, the land slides and head off to the extreme right of Mother India. Arunachal Pradesh was the destination. After this amazing outa this world mind fucking intro I shall now get straight to the point. This is about that part where we go from Assam to the Arunachal border only to find some fucking short Arunachal men waiting to beat us up. This post will also document how we got the ‘permit’ thanks to the all so great scavenger of the the season, Mr. Mukesh Mukhi.

Yes, 6 young boys jump into a Sumo at Guwahati ready to hit the road and explore Arunachal Pradesh (AP). Now for some trivia on AP. Nice sexy state lying on the right sharing borders with Bhutan, Burma and China. If India were ever to punch China in the nuts, AP would be put to the job. Now China’s and India’s love for AP is so immense, that there was this battle some few decades back. Some Chines dudes were like, “Neehaw, we is going to takes the AP to China!” And, India was like, “Fuck that shit, we are keeping our momos.” All this meant we needed a damn permit to enter AP else if we were to die, we’d be buried in Bangladesh.

Now we could get this permit from some dude in Tezpur. I’m not really sure who he was, but he surely was some smart ass important government official and he had to sign the damn permit stating that 6 suicidal boys have expressed immense pleasure and interest in entering AP. If they were to die we will take them off the Indian head count. It also stated that no one will give no shit and we would be served under the name of some exotic meal at some Chinese cafeteria.

Mr. Someone Important who had to provide us the papers had gone somewhere to do something that somehow nobody gave a shit about. Basically that meant we were at his house in the middle of the night ringing the bell only to be looked at by a locked door. We were like fuck him (actually we had no option), lets just go to Bhalukpong (the Assam and AP border), spend the night there and then figure out what to do the next morning.

And off we were. Now that I’ve given you a whole lot of boring bull, let get straight to the jazz.

Location: Bhalukpong. Assam – AP Border
Time: Sometime around 9 pm
The Scene: Heavily armed army personnel, a lot of police and really short locals

Our sumo stops at the check-post. Army guys head over to scan the vehicle. We step out and look around.
One army guy comes up to me and says, “We were told that some people in a silver sumo were clicking photos.”
I was like, “Er, yes. That might be us.”
Army guy, “Come with me, there are some people who want  to talk to you guys. Call the driver also.”

Fuck, what’s gonna happen now? As soon as I reach the police check-post, one really tiny local fucker starts jumping and pointing the shit at me and goes ballistic. I was like wtf, hope the other guys are behind me, I’m gonna fucking shit in my pants if I don’t have support.

Tiny fucker goes on with some jazz yelling some shit which sounded to me like I just eloped with his new born calf. Army guys, cops, tiny fucker and his associate, me and Rahul Rishi are there. A crowd builds around us. Fucking scene. Get me outa this shit someone. I want my mommy.

Tiny fucker to the cops, “Someone in the back of the sumo was clicking photos of us and on top of that they did not allow us to over take. They blocked out vehicle.”
Rahul to cop, “No Sir, it was not us. We were just clicking photos of ourselves.”
Tiny fucker, “He’s fucking lying, there were two people in the back of the sumo. Him (me) and him (pointing to Mukesh).”

Suddenly a bell goes off in my head.

Flashback: Mud road. Back wheels kicking up some sexy dirt. Headlights behind us flashing. Amazing photograph it would make. Out came the bad ass Canon EOS 1000D. The cheapest in the EOS series. Click, click, click, click. Review, review, delete, review. I’m fucking awesome. Photoshop here I come.

Ah fuck man. Shut the fuck up tiny fucker.

Me to cop, “Yes, I did click some photos while we were on the road.”
Cop, “Get your camera. Lets have a look.”

I head back to the vehicle and get back my camera. Tiny fucker goes berserk again pointing to the camera, point to me, saying some shit. Fuck you tiny fucker. I show the photos to the cop. Tiny fucker start to point and yelp again seeing his headlight in the photograph.

Tiny fucker, “That headlight, that’s our car. That out light. He fucking captured the light from our car without asking our fucking permission. That’s against the laws of AP. Kill the Goan fucker who looks like a Sardar.”
Cop, “Okay fine, delete these photos.”
Me, “Okay, sure (I don’t wanna fuck around with tiny fucker).”
Tiny fucker, “Now, become a Murga (video) and say sorry.”
Me, “Dude, I’m sorry man I’ve deleted your photos, isn’t that okay.” (But the fuck I’m gonna do a murga for you mother fucker, fuck you).
Cop, “It’s okay, let him go, they are tourists, they don’t know of you fucking nonsense.”
Tiny fucker, “yelp yelp yelp murga yelp yelp.”

Thanking my stars, I walk away from the scene. In the meanwhile our man, Vignesh ‘I dont know a single fucking word in Hindi’ Anand was conversing with an army guy, in Hindi! I was like wtf are those two talking about.

Vignesh, “Abba abba, amma. Thank God you guys came I don’t know wtf that dude was talking about.”

What he did manage to derive from the conversation was that all AP people are psycho and that they only want to pick fights and the army does not involve tiffs between civilians, else he would’ve beaten the AP shit outa the AP guy.

While all this shit was going on and while everyone were thanking their respective Gods the great Mukesh Mukhi comes and announces that he got the permit. How he got the permit, who he spoke to, what he did will never be known. But all we know is that he did get the permit and all it required was to have our fucking names on it and we were off to AP.

And this is what took us in.

AP Permit

2010
02.02

I had decided not to abuse. But then there are those moments in life that make you do. I had my moment a few minutes  back. This is the story.

The great company I work for is kind enough to provide us with cabs to and from work. This is like great, coz you don’t wanna die on the road in Hyderabad. You can also look out of the window, appreciate all the shit going on there and relax inside, chilling. There is nothing wrong with cabs as you might know. But at times there are people in your cab who are completely fucked up and they fuck the shit out of you fucking sane mind. I mean that. I fucking mean that shit when I say that.

So, I’m sitting in my cab on the way home with these other two guys. I’m on the back seat. Next to me, seated behind the driver, is this other dude who is in his own world staring out of the window, doing his own thing. On the seat in front of me is, lets call him, Mr. X.

Some context about Mr. X now. Mr. X is a fucking dumb-ass. This is how he introduces himself if you meet him: “Hi, I’m Mr. X. I’m an engineering manager”.
Well fuck you!

So the cab passes through the fucked up streets of Hyderabad and then suddenly Mr. X asks the cab driver to take the next right turn. Now that’s a “Wow great” moment for me, as my house is also that way.

I lean forward and ask Mr. X, “So where exactly are you getting off?”
Mr. X: At my home.
Me (in my head): Arrrgghh, right! I should’ve guessed. FuckKK!!!

Yes! Fuck with two trailing capital K’s. That bad a fuck answer it was. FucKK!!!

I regain my composure and ask him, “And, where exactly is that?”
Mr. X: My home.
Me (in my head again): Ahh, fuck yes! Fuck, I’m so fucking dumb!! I’m such a dumb fuck I couldn’t figure the our right. Like where in the whole wide fucking world would you be going now right! FuckKK!!!

As my brain cells resurrect, I realize we are at the road to my place. We have to turn left and go around 100 meters in to reach my house. I ask the driver to stop the cab.

Mr. X: It’s okay we can go to your place, we are not in a hurry.
Me (my head, yes): Ah, suddenly saw the Jesus in you right?! Motherfucker. Die!!!
Me (in reality): No, no. It’s a short walk in. I’m safer walking.

FUCK!!!

I know. I’m not supposed to being abusing. But seriously. What the fuck! Freaking engineering manager in the middle of the night, going home. Damn, why the hell didn’t I listen to my father and join an engineering college! Why, God why?!?!

Pop: Son, I know you are dumb. But I am rich. I shall get you a paid seat. But go to engineering college. Let the money do the talking, you just make sure you pass in your examinations.
Me: Eh, no. I don’t wanna study with boys who tuck their shirts and have soda bottle spectacles. I wanna study with the girls. I’m going to regular college. Yay! And, I’m gonna be a stud!

If only my father had been more elaborate.

Pop: Son, I know you are dumb. But I am rich. I shall get you a paid seat. But go to engineering college. Because, when you grow up, one fine night, you will meet an engineering manager who will fuck your mind so bad that you will not know how to respond and you will have to fucking walk home.
Me: Where do I sign?

So here I am, writing about this shit. I hope that engineering manager’s mommy has kept his fucking milk warm for him. Else, she is so gonna get fucked up when he reaches home!

Fuck you engineering manager. SMC!!!

2010
01.02

Everyone loves the Goan Wedding. So do I! Like who does not like to watch the freak show of outfits, the drunkardness, the chaos and crap.

Now that age old question might have propped up by now, who the hell blogs at a wedding? The answer is me.

Now lets document the crap.

First on the list are the people, the crowd, the guests. The card says the reception will start at 7.30 pm, it’s 9pm now and there is no sign of any activity. The guests is the major factor that screws up weddings. My piece of advise to you would be, “when you get married, Fuck the Guests”. If they don’t turn up on time, fuck them, let them make their own snacks. So, fuck the guests.

Next in the line of morons are the wedding couple. These two are the biggest nuts of the night. They don’t realize it is their special day. The fucking fools sit in the car waiting for the guests to turn up. I don’t understand this nonsense. I think it is a trend now, which couple can set the longest guest wait record.

Just picture this.
Couple #1: We waited for 4 hours till the guests showed up.
Couple #2: We waited three days, and then decided to postpone our wedding.

Like who the fuck needs guests to get married?

Once again, as I said, fuck the guests.

Up next. The Ugly Fucking.
Now I don’t mean to be rude here, I know there are a lot of you ugly people out there and I don’t have a problem with you being ugly. The ugly fuckling are those people who are ugly and dress up like they are the hottest piece of shit around. This stuff is though to document. I don’t want to hurt my people here, yes you ugly people, you are all my people. Well the ugly fuckling is that one who tries to hard but grasses me out. I mean like seriously, if I see you ugly fuckling first thing in the morning, I will fucking shit I’m my pants, puke and go into a coma. My advise for you guys is to go some place far, away from society, and die.

Next. The kids.
All the kids at weddings. Well, all, and I mean ALL of them are freaking retards. The should die too. They chase confetti and run around. Makes me wonder whether they had the zygote fused with some some animal DNA.

Father: Hey baby, my soldiers, when they all swim to your castle, well only one soldier will make it in. Was thinking if you’d like to have a lion soldier invade your castle too?
Mother: Oh sweetheart that would be awesome.

Too bad the lady at the sperm bank gave them a pig soldier and now the fucking kid is rolling on the dance floor squealing like a wild piglet.

Shoot the kids.

The biggest pain in the ass next is the MC. The so called Master of Ceremonies. I really don’t know what MC stands for. As my good friend from UP would put it, I think MC in this case would be MadarChood.

The fucker is paid to talk shit. Like “ladies and gentlemen I’d like you to now kick me in the nuts and tell me what a wonder experience it is”. Woohoo, fuck you MC. Hope you choke to death.

Now for the ‘Best Man’.
No the best man is not the groom. Yes I’m confused too. Like who the fuck came up with term best man. Yeah like steal the grooms thunder. He’s now married and gonna get fucked anyway, lets fuck him a little more and call that ugly fucker by his side the ‘Best Man’. The best man should die.

Oh fuck no! The toast master is gonna start. This role should be killed from weddings. If anyone can fuck the MC then it’s the toast master. When the battle of bullshit, as far as words are concerned, starts, these two lock horns. Thwarted toast master is just one of those useless people who make you wonder, who the hell wants to hear his crap. Just show me the food and the booze. They will talk about how the grooms is such a nice boy, MBA, PHD earns a million a week. And then he will talk about how the bride is a talented young piece of shit and done her MBA and then decided to fuck her career and put her certificate on the wall instead and stare at it when she needs to reach her orgasm. Fuck the toast master, he is making me a bad person.

Don’t kill the toast master, kill the role. Save all brides from screwing with certificates in their heads.

I need some booze, where is the fucking bar?! Ah Yes,m Old Monk!! Now on with the post.

Next. The wedding march. This should be renamed to the death march. Have you ever seen prisoners lined up and walking? Well at least the prisoners are upbeat. The wedding march is like a death march.

Ah this Old Monk tastes so good. Screw this post. Old Monk I’m coming back to you..

Posted by Wordmobi