It may seem ludicrous to you deadbeats that I pray to a hybrid elephant human creature but then again, the drunk Mexican in charge here prays to a goat with a large anal abcess. So mock my culture if you like. Just because I dry rub my virginal girl area with pungent spices is no reason to disgrace my heritage with your slander. All I have is my call center job in an industrial park in Bangalore, a three hour walk from the poor shanty where I dwell with my parents, five brothers and sisters and uncle. My uncle is not even my real uncle, just a psychotic old yogi who contorts his body in erotic positions while I stroke my tender clitoris under my sari. He eats daal all day and refuses to kill the ants and rats which live under my meager cot. All he ever gave me was a sculpture of sweet Ganesha that he fashioned from his own feces. I treasure it to this day and keep it under my desk at my horrible call center job. It smells of turmeric. My parents told me they will never find a man who will marry a girl with a feces Ganesha but I think they are wrong. Perhaps in America I will find such a man.

Posted in:Uncategorized|Unsorted