Asif Khan Inc.

Thunderstruck by the Taxman

All this for being what they euphemistically call being a ‘responsible citizen’; responsibility may shove itself up the taxman’s posterior in the form of a pinpoint laser beam which defies the laws of physics and diverges its dimensions to an infinitesimal limit to result in a supernova of anal disproportions. That would probably be the least the taxman could do to sooth the excruciation which started off from my rectum and has gone on to successively conquer my spine and now my entire psycho-sensational ability; a feeling which climbs another step on the winding staircase of agony at the ascension of the understanding that this is just one more in the list of quite a few contributions we make towards the Saving of the Whorehouse; a Whorehouse which turns the conventional definition of its affiliation inside out; you aren’t the one here who solicits gratification of your social necessities, rather it’s the Whores who strip you bare and rip apart all orifices and any possible resemblances thereof on your physical and mental being, and that however still might have been somewhat comforting had there been some manner of reciprocation for the fulfillment of the Whore’s carnal instincts, which just goes on to classify this act under what is conventionally defined as Rape, but funnily, you are the one who pays to get Raped, now what would you call that – I seriously want some more expansion of the lexicons of vocabulary.

The Joker had started raising its head during the time the Whorehouse was drowning itself in a fit of gleeful abandon rubbing its hands together in anticipation of self imposed sadistic necessities. And as he lost himself in incessant spasms of lip smacking cackles which pierced a permanently etched ear to ear smile, something which make even Macavity wince in horror, all he had to ask was, Will the real Batman Please Stand Up?

Stand up please, will you, else make your peace and never speak again.