Say no to crackers? Why? Diwali without crackers is like a woman without a vagina. How can Diwali even be celebrated without fireworks, loud noise, smoke engulfed streets, burnt fireworks remains rotting on the roadways for a few days until those lazy ass government servants decides to clean the place up? What’s next? Holi without groping females under the pretext of applying colors? GAY! Do we really want something like that? Seriously, when did India turn into a nation of whiny assed pusses who can’t stand loud noise and excessive amount of smoke? Why don’t we all wear skirts and gambol around like a nation of nancy boys while calling ourselves citizens of Vaginaistan?

I don’t know why everyone is turning into a sissy but I won’t let it happen. I want people to burst firecrackers every Diwali till eternity. I want children waking up in the middle of the night traumatized as to why some cunt is so keen on exploding his fireworks at that time of the night when the only people awake should be call center employees. I want these children to wonder that if these late-night noise producing assholes really want to enjoy the loud sound then why do they run away shutting their eyes and plugging their ears with their fingers like little girls? Can’t these people just shag to some porn and go to sleep like the rest of the world?

I also want the loud noise to scare stray dogs so that they shoot around barking as if someone just squeezed their hanging testicles. At least that’s what it sounds like because the only time I would run helter-skelter growling is, if some random bloke felt up my precious family jewels. From the ball touching part, important notice to men and even women, no one is allowed to touch by balls? I’m always worried that someone might apply too much pressure and I may end up as Mahendra Singh Dhoni. Is this so hard to understand or do you want me to print this on a fucking T-shirt? While I’m at it, the same applies for men who feel up random women. No one wants to be touched by strangers. There is a reason it’s called private parts not ‘your tax money has been paying for the construction and development of these, please why don’t you feel them up and let us know what you think of them’ parts. Men need to stop touching stuff. The next time you decide to touch something go through the ‘can I touch it?’ algorithm.

The ‘can I touch it?’ algorithm.

Is the object you want to touch attached to another living creature? If yes, go to step 3.
Is the object that you want to touch attached to you? If yes, does it have the adjective private preceding it? If no, go to step 5.
Do you have permission to touch them? If yes go to step 5.
Write a 250 word essay titles, “Reasons I should be granted permission to touch the following object”. If you have already done this step once go to step 6. Else go to step 3.
Touch them.
Go back to what you were doing.

If you notice carefully, you’ll observe that it’s essential to have permission even for touching yourself. That’s because when you are in the company of others it’s considered ethical to seek the permission of everyone in your near vicinity before you scratch your balls especially those of the elderly. If you decide to scratch your balls without asking them they (the elderly) may feel hurt. Start of with “Hello, how are you doing today” and smoothly steer to “Hey, I’m going to grab my balls right now and scratch them like there is no tomorrow”. Point to your balls if they seem confused.

Coming back to my requirements for Diwali, I also want old people to suffer from high blood pressure caused by the random sharp sound of a bomb exploding because some kids wanna have fun. I want remains of firecrackers lying all over the street so that they get stomped enough times that they might actually end up turning into fossil fuels. I want more and more people purchasing fireworks, so that it provides employment for kids in poor villages. I know these kids don’t get to do what they want or enjoy their lives but then again neither do those kids who get forced into Engineering or those lucky ones who are prostituted by their parents on T.V. shows where they perform embarrassing dance routines or sing songs so that one day after they’ve grown up and watched their performance they’ll have something interesting to write in their suicide notes. I want people to waste their money on something that lasts only for few minutes and is fun because the other things that last for few minutes and are fun, are either illegal and may cause STDs or are legal and may cause lung cancer. I want generation after generation to grow up hating a festival that instead of bringing joy fucks the living happiness out of any animate object with hearing ability.

That’s how I want my Diwali and that’s how you should celebrate it. Not like some pansy assed losers sitting around with family, dressed in good clothes and enjoying a pleasant conversation with smiles on their faces and their ear drums intact. Clean houses and sweets? Fuck that. And I specially don’t want my Diwali to be celebrated by having multiple people tag me in images that say “Happy Diwali”. I’m not a fucking diya and neither do I look like a black background with vector art on it. Is this what people think of me? A fucking wallpaper? You know, the concept of rebirth in which you die and depending on your sins you are born again as a different entity. Only if I come back as a wallpaper with happy Diwali on it, you are allowed to tag me. Fuck! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! Next time people have this unbearable itch to tag me, at least let it be an animal or a tree or even an amoeba.