Indiana Moans

The High Commission of India (HCI) have complained to the BBC about the Top Gear India Special which was broadcast over Christmas (or Winterval if Christmas offends you).

I don’t usually watch Top Gear as cars don’t interest me and I am lucky enough to be blessed with a cracking penis. However, the furore forced me to have a look, like Lady Chatterley's Lover did to the closet horndogs in 1960.

The show began in Downing Street with David Cameron telling them to “stay away from India” and “you do the cars and we do the diplomacy”, after they offered to go on a trade mission jolly. Apparently Belgium does more trade with India than England which is pretty surprising. Maybe they just pay more to the sweatshops. We must get quite a good deal.

The HCI complains that sensitivities have been offended due to a toilet seat built into the boot of a Jaguar as “everyone gets the trots when they come to India”. Is carrying a stockpile of Imodium offensive too? I'd prefer privacy if I was shooting off an explosive one in the mountains rather than being mounted on a plopping plinth. Diarrhoea is a really rather humiliating occurrence - especially annoying.

A senior diplomat at the HCI says “India is a developing nation with lots of issues to address”, sense of humour hopefully high up on that list.

I don't understand why India feels the need to deny that when tourists visit they may have to dash in a real rush, hurry or else accident. Why are Indians worried about a toilet in a car when so many of them use the street?

To Indians, the left hand is unclean as it's the hand used to wipe the arse so you should not use that one to handle food. Why they don't use toilet paper is a mystery. Keep an eye out for Indian McDonald's employees to see if they extend the same courtesy over here.

I once worked with a lovely bubbly chubby Indian guy in an English call centre. I won't mention his name to spare his blushes. Anyway, Bush was hopeless with women, a virgin at 30. I was delighted when he told me they had arranged for him to get married, even if it was to a cousin in India.

She was a pretty girl over in India and would normally have been well out of his league. They were going to get to know each other over the telephone. This was in the pre-Skype days. Every day he would come into work and regale me with stories about their lengthy chats the previous evening. Some went on a bit (like this story), but it was genuinely warming hearing him be so passionate and happy.

They had arranged to meet and marry in India in a couple of months. I knew when he returned there would be so many stories to hear. There was a mammoth amount of morbid curiosity in the office to hear how he prospered on honeymoon night. It was a few days before his best story surfaced though...

He had to formally ask her family for her hand in marriage so the first time they met was in front of them all. He had a long and tiring journey there so he met everyone at her family house on his second day in India. They had exchanged gifts and greetings and had just sat down to dinner when Bush suddenly felt a gurgly rumbling heading down his Passage to India. He excused himself from the dinner table and went up to the 'toilet', a hole in the ground in the bathroom. I have researched why these exist and apparently one of the advantages is “Squatting might help to build the required exhaust pressure more comfortably and quickly”. I shit you not.

Anyway, needless to say Bush had no such problems with pressure. In fact it was a high pressure situation, so much so that the pressure forced things out in more of a horizontal jet-pack fashion than the desired vertical drop. When he steadied himself and turned around to see the damage he realised that not only had he missed the hole, he had avoided much of the floor like a jewel thief in the movies. What he had created was a dirty protest of Bugsy Malonesque proportions all over the wall.

Bush had made the mother of all messes, like he often did in work. At least he was consistent, although this time it had the consistency of slurry. He did his best to clean it all up, but he was smearly rubbing it in.

Bush returned to the dinner table and sat next to his fiancée, who took one sniff and raised eyebrows, like a mother catching a nappy breeze - his tragic trajectory had splattered all over his shirt tail. She casually excused them from the table and her first duty was to scrape the shit from his shirt. Her second was redecorating the new bathroom as best she could. It never rains but it pours - all over the wall. They were both in deep shit (sounds like an Indian name).

As he told me this story, smiling like a simpleton, I was wondering what that poor girl must have thought when she saw the gift he had splurged. She must have been dreading the wedding night cock. Although I guess he could even the score by making her bleed all over the new bedsheets.

Back to Top Gear - the BBC initially received just 23 complaints out of an audience of 5m after the show. i.e. nearly 0.0005% felt incensed enough to call up. I imagine that number will have increased exponentially when the hysterical paper-readers express their mock outrage despite never having watched the programme.

The Indians were supposedly also offended by a banner prank Top Gear cleverly engineered on the sides of a train. When the carriages separated, the banner ripped and converted 'Eat English Muffins' into 'Eat English Muff' on one side and 'The UK promotes English IT for your company' into 'The UK promotes sh IT for your company'. A clever, albeit puerile prank. However, for some reason it is being treated almost like an act of war on Indian soil.

Clearly they are unfamiliar with the supercilious humour but it was not really an attack on the Indian people or culture. Indeed many Indians have risen up and appealed to the rest not to be so stuffy. These Indians should learn to laugh at themselves like the rest of us do.

Stewart Lee once said “Clarkson has outrageous politically incorrect opinions for money” (watch his rant at Top Gear here). Jeremy Clarkson is the Derek to Richard 'The Rodent' Hammond's Clive. They like causing a fuss then revelling in the commotion that unnecessarily follows.

If Clarkson was sacked what would people have to complain about? Everything else is so politically correct, nobody takes risks any more. As an example, I recently watched the filming of the Matt Lucas Awards, a show in which they hand out awards for left field categories. They were comedically discussing China as a nomination for 'Smuggest Country'. They had been jokingly piling into them for nonsensical reasons when filming was halted with instructions from the production team for Matt Lucas to introduce some positive aspects of China to appease the BBC impartiality execs. It was completely unnecessary as it was clearly comedy of which nobody would have taken seriously.

Incidentally the other nominations were Sweden and England. The roguish Jason Manford, when asked for his nomination, said 'Pakistan' and then paused while we all laughed before saying “I can hear the BBC lawyers having heart attacks from here!”, knowing that the BBC would never allow a joke about Pakistan, as jokes are not allowed about that country just in case.

There is nothing wrong with criticising stereotypes, we have all laughed at it for generations. Eurovision was always an opportune time for each country to take swipes at each other in a good-natured spirit, but of course Europe is a different beast to Asia. In recent years there seems so much worry that we will offend someone that it has become a taboo subject. Banter about different nationalities is no different from teasing someone about having a big nose, being fat or having a slag for a mum.

India are trying to force the BBC into backtracking over the antics, hopefully without the threat of sanctions. The situation may well be similar to what is happening in the cricket with the Board of Control for Cricket in India holding far more sway in the game than they should, due to the huge amount of revenue advertising brings in.

The BBC will investigate and will conclude that Indians have no sense of humour, Top Gear is a cash cow, and the team are free to continue making publicity-grabbing headlines with schoolboy antics. Although I am sure the official diplomatic release will read slightly differently. There will be a grovelling apology from the BBC and a thinly-veiled (shouldn't have used chiffon) apology from the presenters. It is all political correctness gone mental health issues. It is arguable that being on before the watershed it could have done without the use of 'shit' and 'muff', but kids nowadays are familiar with these words and hairstyles anyway, and choose not to copy their mother's pubic perm.

It has been said many times that what I write is a load of shit and today is no exception. Today you will also have to settle for a bog standard ending.

Boy Selecta!

One of my friends in America is pregnant for the fourth time. She has just been for her 20-week scan and was looking forward to knowing the sex of her next baby. However the hospital refused to tell her, saying they no longer did so as people could sue if they were wrong. My initial thought was “Stupid Americans! Why don't they just get the parents to sign a waiver? Surely waiving isn't too much exercise for them!”

Hospitals in Luton (amongst others in the UK) have also undertaken a non-disclosure policy but their reasoning is slightly more clandestine. In a heavily Asian area, the sex of the child is the cause of many terminations. Asian families are keener to have male progeny and an ultrasound showing no winkie would often lead to an abortion. Birthing pools are becoming increasingly popular for Asian families. It leads to a more relaxed delivery for the mother and is convenient if a girl pops out.

So-called 'gendercide' (when parents abort according to the sex of the child) is on the increase with a rapidly growing population of Asians in the UK. To many it seems the lack of a Y chromosome is viewed as a genetic defect. There's the old joke about the Indian guy going to the hospital for the scan with his wife saying “I can't wait to find out what we are having - a boy or an abortion!”

Gendercide is relatively uncommon with Caucasian British parents but a massive problem amongst the Chinese and Indian cultures, as well as others like Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, South Korea. It is estimated that an astonishing 100 million girls have gone missing from Asian countries in recent times. That's over half the population of Pakistan and there's a lot of those fuckers!

As many as 12 million female girls from the expected population disappeared in India in the noughties. Naughty naughty indeed. Up to 20% of female foetuses over there are aborted, but shockingly many are dumped or drowned.

The Herodian cull of the innocents in the womb is a 'relatively' new revival of an old plague. It is only since the advent of ultrasound that people have been able to banish the disappointment of nature in the womb. Ultrasounds and subsequent abortions for sex selection have been banned since the mid 90s in India and China but are rarely enforced so are about as useful as a cloakroom attendant in Newcastle.

Infanticide, disposing of the evidence after birth, was a tolerated crime in these countries in the past and is still prevalent now although modern technology has lessened the need for this heinous deed.

In the highly patriarchal India, the cost of a wedding and dowry is about £25000. Typically, incompetent call centre workers with fake English names earn about 10% of that. It is effectively like taking on a mortgage for each girl. No wonder so many are prepossessed.

Chinese families have an incentive to have a son as their one-child policy would mean their family name dying out if they have a girl. Not entirely sure if that applies to pandas though - that would certainly be a boo-boo.

By 2020 there will be a surplus of 60 million Indian and Chinese males, outnumbering women by 20%. Contextually that's the entire population of the UK pottering around looking for someone to make them a cup of tea. 2020 sounds far from perfect.

The Chinese city of Lianyungang has the highest birth ratio in the world with 163 boys to 100 girls. Imagine how hard it is to pull there!

With so few females on the shelf, women are obviously in high demand and there aren't enough to go around as Indian and Chinese girls aren't as slaggy as English girls. Mail-order brides have to be shipped in from other countries to negate the shortfall. No wonder so many Indian men come over here to “steal our women”. Dating websites are finding themselves homes to many desperate Indian men scouring for a chance of happiness. Not too long ago, a well-known dating website claimed they had too many women. I bet they don't in India or China.

You may think that the absence of a few women would liven the dating game up and force the guys to raise their game. It actually creates a detrimental effect with a surplus of unmarried, violent young men. In China these men are called “bare branches”, an ever-increasing dangerous subculture blamed for many problems. These offshoots have no one to shoot off in and seem more interested in shooting others instead.

Sex selection is proving to be a contraceptive against overpopulation. If left to nature, it wouldn't be that unusual for a family to have 3 or 4 costly girls before popping out a boy. If gendercide wasn't possible there could be hundreds of millions of extra people on this planet already, with more to come from their offspring – in fact we would be looking at an additional world population of 2-3%.

It does make you think to the future. Imagine what will happen when science makes it possible to decide on the sex of your child? Women could become a rare breed indeed. Alternatively, think how interesting the world would be if the reverse was true and there were 150 women to 100 men? And imagine the outrage from liberal groups if science makes it possible to predict a homosexual from their genes rather than growing up being influenced by Glee.

Well, I'd like to keep the women and I'd like to keep the gays. But which is better? There's only one way to find out – bitch fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggghhtttttt! Go on, the girls!

Women's Toiletries - Fact or Phallusy?

Have you noticed how women's toiletries are becoming increasingly phallic? Is it purely psychological or functional doubling-up? Why take two bottles in the shower? I just like to Gush and Go!

I have recently started observing more and more bullet-shaped fanny-rammers in the bathrooms of female friends. They do seem to fit well in a lady's hand, although I do find two hands preferable.

There is no doubt that sex sells. It is much less embarrassing to purchase a tall tin of dicky deodorant than a 12-inch diesel-powered 5-gear vibrator.

Looking at a can of Sure deodorant it made me think it could easily serve as an internal freshener (Boxfresh!) if it went off suddenly. It's not just me that has that problem I know.

There is a certain degree of irony behind an anti-perspirant making a woman wetter. They claim it stops you getting hot and sticky? Sure! The only way Sure could become more phallic is if they stuck a couple of cheesy bollocks at the bottom.

I decided to do some research into how 'widespread' the shapeliness was. On the Boots website when you navigate to women's deodorants you can now sort products by 'meatiest'.

Umberto Giannini seems to be the squatter's shampoo of choice. A good workout with one of these babies will certainly leave you well-conditioned. It hasn't quite got the bell-ended bang of a Sure but the sleek bullet-shape ensures it's the gift that never stops ogiving.

Even Palmolive does Soft and Genital. The name cleverly has phallic undertones – Jasmine and Cock Milk.

Other deodorants are available...