Impeachment isn’t just what the millennials euphemistically call twerking… they are so politically correct they don’t need toning down; even having an impure silent thought around them can irk.
But the hot topic of the day needs to be addressed. We shall do that another time. Meanwhile, let’s talk about impeachment and just how the world is out to get Trump. I think all this is too knee-jerk. Now, I am no supporter or redactor — I exist above such petty planar desires — but I do feel that in writing off Trump, we have missed a few more juicy candidates along the way. This is not my way of deploying what-aboutism, merely saying that whether he deserves to go or not, the ones I am talking about certainly have it coming.
Chandragupta Maurya: Okay, I didn’t say all my luminaries were contemporary. He was the king who gave us taverns and bars, but he was also the first to tax alcohol. It all started with him. If Yogi Adityanathji can blame the Mughals, I can do one better and predate the blame to this guy. Impeach him before he legalises the arthashastra and the excise department will disappear, just like that.
The chap behind ‘Rowdy Baby’: Have you even heard the song? Nothing transcends cultural borders and language barriers than a song about how your love interest is better than mutton curry or explains the maths of ‘you plus me is three’, all duly accompanied by a few Prabhu Deva-esque dance movements. That song is my Pied Piper; it comes on and I just have to get those hips going. It has been quite embarrassing at the last few meetings; maybe I should change my ring tone, or at least set the phone to silent. Meanwhile, impeach the person and don’t let him/her write such catchy numbers. By the way, has Bollywood been inspired from it yet?
The toilet people: There are two here who need to be impeached. The first is the one who thought it is okay to replace water with toilet paper. Since when does wipe beat wash? What kind of kinky rock-paper-scissors is this? And speaking of kinky, who was the other guy who made hygiene faucets that pump out water at the speed of enema? Between those two, including those two, they need to go.
Oxford comma haters: I say impeach them all. Or worse yet, let them live with sentences like this one: “I love my parents, Modi ji and Donald Duck”. With the Oxford comma, it is love professed for three entities, without the comma you are the happenstance offspring of whatever happened between the leader of the world’s largest democracy and a cartoon duck!
Maker of salted caramel: Yet another failing of mine. Who was first ridiculously off-centre enough to imagine that salt and overcooked sugar could mix and then propagate the idea? It is the one thing standing between me and Olympic glory, unless being overweight becomes a sport. Find the fella’ and dissolve him before he leads to this discovery.
This column is for anyone who gives an existential toss.
