Talk Cock

Well, I ran out of idea to put in my blog and I asked Ms. Caffeinhigh for ideas. She was happy with my research on banana leaf and its affect on insomniacs (see my thesis: The Predicament of Post Banana Leaf Lunch Predicament. Unfortunately the research has to be halted as the authorities issued budget cuts. Damn the authorities!

I offered her to offer me…wait, let me get that right. I asked her to give me a subject to research on with my limited budget (RM 17.60) and she asked me something rather personal to MANkind. But then, things might get personal. And when things get personal, it means sequel. And you know sequel, bigger budget, higher expectation, etc.

I declined on a research on that subject, and she asked this:
Why does cock crow in the morning?

That’s right. Cock. Crowing in the morning.

I take it that she meant rooster.

With my miniscule budget, I went straight to….Straight Dope (www.straightdope.com), and here are the excerpts:

David Feldman, in WHEN DO FISH SLEEP, says that ornithologists believe crowing marks out territory -- kind of like male dogs peeing, only noisier and easier to clean up after. Kind of saying, "This is my coop, get the heck out of my way, don't mess with my women."

I immediately took to the task of interviewing (hey, Uncle Grouchy is also a journalist, remember) to interview a prominent rooster (or cock) in a prominent coop, Colonel Sand Dust. I offered him Feldman’s explanation.

“Chicken shit!” the colonel almost spat at me. “All these intellectuals, with their chicken feed knowledge. I’d rather be henpecked than agree to his explanation.”

So, I asked him the exact reason for cocks, err…roosters, to crow in the morning. “We crow in the morning,” said Colonel Sand Dust, “coz we don’t crow in the evening, moo-haha-haha!” Later an ambulance from a local asylum passed by. God knows why.

Another explanation was given by the site, it says the following:

There presumably could be some other phenomenon that occurs regularly to trigger the crow. For instance, if a bus goes by at that time, and your rooster interprets the noise as that of an intrusion by another rooster. Or it could just be that your rooster's sleep cycle wakes him up at that time.

That actually explains why a rooster became Chicken Rendang the following day during my estate (plantation) days.

But to mistake a bus for another rooster, maaaan, the rooster must be stupid. We all know that roosters don’t have four tyres.

One last explanation was given as thus:

Feldman quotes Janet Hinshaw of the Wilson Ornithological Society: "Most of the crowing takes place in [early] morning, as does most singing, because that is when the birds are most active, and most of the territorial advertising takes place then. Many of the other vocalizations heard throughout the day are for other types of communication, including flocking calls, which serve to keep members of a flock together and in touch if they are out of sight from one another.

To be in touch, it would help if the roosters have cell phones. Like human, instead of saying hello, the usual greeting can be, “Where are you?”

The tradition of recognising roosters as some religious creature still exists. I found this explanation in the net:

Various religions throughout history have assigned special significance to the cock's crowing; it was said to have been the first animal to proclaim the birth of Christ. Both some Christians and the Norsemen held a belief that the end of the world would be heralded by the crowing of a mighty rooster.

Not only them, but Lord Murugan (A Card carrying Hindu Lord) has a rooster has one of his favourite creatures. He rides peacock for a quick transit, but I am not sure why he need a rooster.

Roosters have also been used as a sacrificial lamb in some cults. Shouldn’t it be sacrificial rooster then?

IT should also be noted that a noted obscenity ‘Cocks*cker’ comes from the word cocksacker – the bugger who sacked too many cocks, despite Rooster/Cock union protest.

Okay, I made that up. Just cock and bull story.

Why Blog?

I woke up suddenly yesterday and a question lingered on my mind, "Why me? Why do I blog?"

Look, blog is an important innovation in the 21st century. Everyone and anyone can become journalist. A journal of their personal thoughts and actions. I am a writer with a publication, and shouldn't that be enough?

The question wrecked my mind and I couldn't go back to sleep. Then, I realised that it is not good to have long naps on Sunday afternoon. So, I got up and set to writing this.

You see, long time ago I had wanted to become a columnist. An important columnist who dedicates his weekly column addressing socially critical issues like why the armpit need bushes of hair. My training was in scriptwriting, and it is basically about actions and thoughts and voices of other individuals, not your own.

Being a movie freak (as opposed to movie buff) I set up a site (http://rakeshkumar7.tripod.com) to post my reviews, but they are reviews, not my thought on all those important questions in life. I want a place to talk about life, death and why the in-between sucks. I want a site to reflect on my own life and bore the hell out of the visitors. I want a log book where I can look back and say, "Men, was I that bad in writing?"

And so, this blog was born.



But right now I have only two dedicated visitors. One is a gal whose blood circulation is fuelled by caffeine, and another, an ex-colleague, who one day innocently asked: "If Singapore has its own little forest reserve, do they have Orang Asli in it?"

I need to work on attracting more people to this blogsite. So, first thing first, I need to do branding. That's right, that hot thing they poke in the cow's ass. You call that branding, right?

Now, how the hell am I going to sell Grouchy Days as a brand? What kind of logo would I use for it? Can I cheat the visitors by proclaiming that it is a reality-Blog, now that everything on reality is sellable? Can I offer special downloads, like addresses of pirated DVD vendors who can give "special discount wan."?

How? Alas poor Groucho!

To be continued...

Not for the weak stomach!

Warning: like most of my writing, it smacks of political incorrectness. For example, I think US of A is run by a Dictator. See, incorrect politically. I'm gonna talk about weight problem here, so, for those who are not comfortable in reading it, I suggest you go the next blog which is probably about flowers, bees, and bird dung.

Now, my weight problem. Called my mom that day, and guess what was her first query? "When are you getting married?" Okay. That was first. The second was, "What's your weight now?" I can imagine her standing by the phone holding the ladle, even if she has finished cooking hours ago. I mean, shouldn't moms be asking stuff like, "hey, checked out any babes lately?" Or, "How many crates of beer you want this weekend?".

But then, mom is mom. So, I confessed. I said I saw the latest picture of myself and I looked like a pig. A PIG!!!!!!

Scenario:

Pig 1: Hey, you look fat like a pig.
Pig 2: Snort.
Pig 1: Right.

Well, it was not only mom. Some folks I have not seen for sometimes said that too. I was going, "Man, haven't seen you for sometimes now. How the hell are you?" "Oh you know, miserable as usual. What's with that tummy, bro?"

And my face! When I put on weight, it gets bloated, and I get double chin. So, off to the regime.

I have started to jog now. I was doing okay when an uncle of mine said, 'no, don't jog unless you used to be a runner."

What? Like running guns. Hehe.

He said, "Walk".

Fine. Walk. But don't we do that everyday? We walk to the room. We walk to the fridge. We walk back to the room. We walk back to the fridge and when we run out of beer, we take a quick walk down to the shop to get a few more. I mean, how much more walking can we do?

If the feet can talk, what would it say, with all these walking?

Feet: Listen, you yellow bellied chicken shit! Why torture me when it was all about your tongue and belly.

Me: Shut your mouth. Oh hell, you don't have mouth.


That, folks, is where the problem is. Its all about our mouth. Tape it shut, and sure you'll lose weight.

Speaking of which. History of weight watching began back in...

Hey, where the hell do you think you are going? Come back here.

The Predicaments of Post-Banana leaf lunch.

I had banana leaf lunch today.

And I feel sleepy. Don't you get sleepy right after having banana leaf meal? No? What did you do? Eat the leaf?

I mean, I smell controversy. Why banana leaf? Let me tell you what I think, I_

What? What do you mean you don't care what I think? I have a theory, okay!

My theory is this: Banana leaf contains stuff that makes you sleepy. It is not the meal, its the banana leaf. Get it?

As usual, lets uncle Groucho take you a ride back in time.

The Indians were mostly credited for inventing banana leaf. They have also been credited for other invention, like chewing betel leaf, spitting betel leaf juice, creation of language spoken while holding the betel leaf juice, and of course the favourite fable of crabs.

Coming back to the invention. My theory is, they were soooo workaholic at that time, to the point of risking their lives working their ass off. So, the King summoned the chief scientist cum doctor cum lingual professor cum.

"Professor cum, my workers are working too damned hard. I fear that their lives may be threatened."

"Great to hear that O' King."

"Not that, idiot, if they die who are going to work in my kingdom? The Bangladeshis?" (note that this could have been first case of immigration in the history of the world, even though the country Bangladesh didn't exist).

"Quite right, my master. I shall work on a remedy," saying which the professor took nap right in the middle of the king's court.

"What nonsense!" said King in southern Indian accent, though he recently mastered the Northern Indian accent."Sleeping in my own court, when I have not even dismissed you. Wake up you son of a bitch."

The professor woke up and apologised. But somthing struck the king.

After rubbing the swollen part, the king said, "You just took a quick rest. What did you have? Did you eat or drink anything that made you sleep?"


"Oh, I was experimenting on zopiclone. Supposed to be sleeping pills. Good for rest, you know," said the professor raising his eyebrows appromixately three and a half time.

The King couldn't believe it. He finally found a solution. "Lets manufactur it and sell it in US dollars."

"But the workers?" asked the professor.

"To hell with them!"

And so....where was I.

Yeah. Banana leaf. Right. I err...gotta go, now.