What Gay Means to Me

I am gay.  We all know this as a fact…well…I would hope we all know this as a fact by now.  I mean, I guess there could be a few folks out there still “holding out” to see if I don’t succumb to the pressures of being an Indian-American man, born to my parents with the hopes and dreams of one day starting a family with a nice, loving wife and beautiful children.  Well I can confirm that those hopes and dreams flew right out the window when I was 15 and realized that I could bust a nut in 10 seconds while looking at penis shots on the old net, but couldn’t manage to come close to finishing while staring at nude shots of Pamela Anderson.  And still it took me 9 more years to utter those eternal words…”I’m…bi-sexual!”  Which of course a few months later turned into “I’m so fucking gay!”  Hey…baby steps right?

Well today of all days has put me in the reflecting and reminiscing mood.  Why?…you may ask?  Because there’s still a chance…right now…in this day and age of 2000 and fucking 9…that my partner and I could have our basic, basic…and let me repeat that…basic domestic partnership rights stripped away with one filling in of an empty hole… no not that…I mean the voting process perverts!  “Protect Our Families” is the opposing side’s slogan against Ref. 71…because let’s face it…all faggots and dykes are evil and seek to indoctrinate anyone and everyone we can into our sadistic, blasphemous ways…especially young children.  I can’t tell you how many nights Shawn and I have stayed awake til 3am plotting how many kids we can force into a trip to Fagopolis.  Every Friday we go over our quota…”Babe…how many this week?  I got 5!”

When will the opposing side learn that being gay is NOT a choice.  Like…do they understand how chafed and blistered my hands and dick got by trying my damndest to cum while watching 2 ladies go at it?  I fucking TRIED people!!!  I really did…for like 9 years.  Even dove into the muff a few times too.  And then there was this time I took shrooms at a rave at old Naf Studios…and when I got back to my fraternity I swear I thought I was “cured” because nothing sounded hotter than Jessica Biel wet and naked.  That lasted about as long as the shrooms did…WhaWha.

When I finally figured it out…thank you “Brokeback Mountain”…I was so scared and nervous I almost wet myself everytime I envisioned telling someone…especially my straight guy friends.  I could just envision them thinking…”Well did Vik have a crush on ME?”  Luckily this wasn’t the case…and if it was…I did not hear about it…and you are a douchebag…because the last thing that would ever turn me on would be getting it on with a brother…and that is how I viewed all of my straight guy friends.  There!…I said it!…I never wanted to fuck any of you!

But do you see where I’m going with this folks?…why would anyone choose a life where they could possibly lose friends and family…and face discrimination and persecution almost everywhere in the world.  That’s a no fun, yah?  Once I was able to tell my friends and family…it took me even longer to finally be PROUD of who I was.  Cuz I am PROUD that I am gay.  I’d rather it be me than some other poor soul whose parents have kicked them out to the curb, or whose friends have ostracized them.   I am proud that I can talk openly and freely about it and not be ashamed.  Because that’s what we need…the more of us that put it out there…the more the opposing side will realize we’re not all a bunch of pedophile freaks.  Gay is me…and for some…gay is you.  And that means gay is beautiful, funny, loving, everywhere, everyone and anyone.  And me…we can throw in fabulous, amazing, awesome, ridiculously handsome, and wittier than Dave Chappelle and Wanda Sykes love child.  But we all know THAT would never happen…because Sykes is a dyke!  Whoo Whoo!

“Babe…that puts me at 6!”

APPROVE REFERENDUM 71 BITCHES!!!  Brown out.

A New Religion

Alright bitches…brown is back. I know it’s been a while since I’ve expressed myself literally, and I’m sure you all have been waiting with baited breath…because let’s face it…I’m just that good. So let’s get started…

As I sit here pondering where my life has taken me since my last literary masterpiece…which I believe may have been about enlarged prostates and Flomax…from 30,000 feet in the air…cramped coach seat…oh…and a goddamn crying baby 2 rows behind me…hold up. Question for all of you…or more so…my friends with children. So there is an empty seat next to me…and earlier as passengers were boarding…I saw said child and her parents walking towards my row. A wave of panic came over me, envisioning the next 6 hours in the air with a hysterical child right next to me. So I ask you…in the event of the scream box being by my side, was it utterly disgusting of me to actually consider feigning being a pedophile just so they would think otherwise than to sit by me? I mean nothing inappropriate, but ya know…maybe just a quick trip to the bathroom to shave my stache into a tiny little perv patch and maybe a bite of my lip as they pass by?…ok ok…not that there’s anything good or funny about pedophilia, cause there’s not. But I’m just saying…not a bad idea huh??…I digress…fucking kids…

Ok, so back to the matter at hand. When one thinks of religion…what first comes to mind? For me it’s death and destruction, or worse, cults and their leaders. And more importantly…their “followers”…but hey…that’s just me. So let’s run with that.

Religion…for me…brings to mind images of those freaky Manson girls holding hands and singing as they skipped down the courtroom hallway to face multiple murder charges…or a bunch of dead bodies covered by sheets with only their white sneakers sticking out…belonging to those that thought they were going to leave Earth on that Hale Bopp comet…and can we take a moment to realize what a fucking ridiculous name that is? Hale BOPP…makes me think…Bop IT!…Twist IT!…Pull IT!

But man…you have to give it to their leader…he really had those fuckers convinced…he even had all the dudes chop off their balls. You have to wonder how he came up with that whole mission of mass suicide to hop aboard a comet. I can just see him behind a big old wooden desk…in his white robe…tapping his dip feather pen thinking…it has to be this…or we must hitch a ride on the READING RAINBOW!

So anyways…where am I going with this you must be wondering? Ok…so I attended a rather large Indian wedding a few months ago. I usually do not necessarily enjoy these functions as it has become standard practice now to pass over any detail of my life that would indicate my love of the cock…because let’s face it folks…I love it…what can I say.

I must grin and bear it as all of my mother’s long time friends come up to me and tell me (in Indian Auntie voice)…”Oh little Vikki…yoo arre soooo grroown uuup! Ven arre yoo going too finde a nice Indian gerl too marry??”

I wonder what they would say if I told them I have…and that her name is Shawn…and she’s white…and has a penis?

Anyways…as I walked through the hallways of the hotel conference center to the ballroom…I was stopped by an old family friend. A truly nice Indian woman in her 30s that I’ve grown up with…our parents being friends for years. And if you’re reading this…I mean no offense whatsoever. ☺

So she stopped me…and I say hello…and she says hello. I ask how she’s doing…blah blah blah. She says she’s doing well…and then there is an uncomfortable pause…and then she goes…”Soooo…I’ve been following you on Facebook…(dot dot dot)…” I smile and say…”Oh that’s nice”…and in my head I think is this your roundabout way of telling me you know I’m a fag? Cuuuuuz…I don’t hide that shit in my normal life…these “Indian Evenings” are the only time I don’t discuss my personal life. Otherwise I’ll plaster that shit across a mutherfucking billboard in Times Square if I could. One word, one image bitches…TEABAG.

So we engage in some more polite conversation…and then I head on my merry way toward the ballroom…when once again…I’m stopped by an old family friend…another Indian girl in her 30s…and if you’re reading this, I mean no offense whatsoever. ☺

So she stopped me…and I say hello…and she says hello. I ask how she’s doing…blah blah blah. She says she’s doing well…and then there is an uncomfortable pause…and then she goes…”Soooo…I’ve been following you on Facebook…(dot dot dot)…” I smile and say…”Oh that’s nice”…and in my head I’m thinking…is another person finding a roundabout way to tell me they know I practice buggery? Cuz I do…a lot…like just call me Vikbuggered Choprass.

So we engage in some more polite conversation…and then I head on my fairy way toward the ballroom. I make it this time!…yessss…and take my seat with my wonderful sister and mom. 10 hours later the ceremony is only halfway over…so we get up to get a drink. My sister and her friend ditch me for lady time in the bathroom, so I go to the bar and order a glass of white wine…I don’t think the bartender hears me properly…as he hands me a glass of PINK zinfandel…awesome. Cuz if there’s one thing a dude carrying a glass of pink wine doesn’t scream…it’s FAG!!!!

As I sip on my surprisingly delicious pink zinfandel…the sister of the first Indian woman in her 30s approaches me. Another lovely Indian girl…in her 30s…and if you’re reading this, I mean no offense whatsoever. ☺

I say hello…and she says hello. I ask how she’s doing…blah blah blah. She says she’s doing well…and then there is an uncomfortable pause…and then she goes…”Soooo…I’ve been following you on Facebook…(dot dot dot)…” I smile and say…”Oh that’s nice”…and in my head I’m thinking…is this seriously ANOTHER person finding a roundabout way to tell me they know I’m an ankle grabber? Cuz I am…Shawn Johnson’s got nothing on my queer flexibility…just call me Mary Lou Bendin’ (Over).

The conversation ends and she leaves…but I stand there for a moment and think. Following you…following…followers…(cock)…follow me…religion has followers…GOD has followers. Am I a mutherfucking god?…like if I was Ray in Ghostbusters and Gozer asked me if I was a god…could I tell the mohawked demon dyke…YES I AM BITCH!!!!

Nah…I’m no god just little old me. But maybe all of us on Facebook and Twitter ARE! Each of us has “followers”…we preach our sermons (status updates and tweets)…is social networking a new religion??? Didn’t see that one coming did ya? Pretty deep huh?

Well if it IS…come follow me into MY heaven bitches…filled with Britney Spears, Adam Lambert and Lady Gaga…where everyone is gay and religion really doesn’t matter…but just don’t follow too close…I may have to bend over…TEE HEE…(twinkle twinkle bitches). Brown out.

Musings from the Gay, Brown Perspective (oh yes there is one bitches!)

So I finally did it…welcome to my “official blog page”…whatever that means.  Visitors looking to laugh, chuckle, ponder, vex and wax without judgement or inhibition are welcome.  Everyone else can go find Jesus…every Easter I hear he’s risen…so that elusive fucker must be around somewhere.

Sidenote:  Anything published before this is from my original blog on MySpace…take  a gander into my archives if you’re so inclined!

Vikram Chopra and the Quest for Fame and Fortune – Part I

Prologue:

As some of you may know, I have recently implemented my plan of attack for complete domination of the Entertainment Industry. That is right…Vikram Kumar Chopra is a star…now all I have to do is get everyone else in the industry to realize it.  Simple plan…right? First step – write a screenplay.  In progress.  Second step – get an agent.  Done.  Third step – go on auditions.  Done.  Fourth step – book a job.  Yet to be determined…

And this, friends, is where my story begins…

With the help of my dear friend Megan Munroe, I was able to secure representation through her former local talent agency, ABC Model & Talent.  With my previous experience as a side host for KCTS pledge drives, and what they call a desirable look…aka diverse…aka BROWN…it was a no brainer for my wonderful agent to “sign me”…there, however, was no paperwork in the process.

Ok, that was somewhat easy.  I love my agent…she rocks and I have complete faith in her abilities to find me work.  Now all I had to do was secure my first audition.  She had emailed me about 2 different “jobs” she was submitting me for…one I believe was a dating service commercial (LiveLinks probably…chat with live hot guys, right now!), and the other I have no idea.  Strikeout on both accounts…but no worries.  I would stand tall in the face of rejection and laugh…HAHAHAHA!  After all, I had a diverse look…soon the jobs would begin pouring in.  I represent a new face in the talent realm…one that is not of the norm…brown is the new black bitches.

Then it came.  Leah emailed me about an audition for a Samsung Mobile commercial.  The part she was submitting me for was “Indian or Pakistani Man…late 20s…video gamer.”  Score!  I’m Indian!  I’m a man!  I’m in my late 20s!  I play video games!  No brainer!  Then came the follow up email…I had secured my FIRST audition…whoo hoo!  Fame and fortune, here I come.  Soon I would be sipping mimosas with Britney and Christina, poolside at the Chateau Marmont.

I was quite nervous, I must tell you.  There were no lines, but this was my first.  My agent had informed me there may be some improv…like pretending to play a video game or something.  Sure…I can do that.  I’ll give em my best Wii stance!  I called Megan for moral support…she gave me the lowdown on the audition process.  Walk in…sign the clipboard…don’t say anything…and wait your turn. And don’t forget your 2 headshots!

I was to audition for one of the largest casting directors in Seattle.  No pressure.  I got there about 30 minutes early to mentally prepare myself.  As I sat in my car downing my delicious Ice Breakers Sour Mints, I noticed a fellow of similar breed.  Shaggy hair, brown skin, Costco wardrobe…could this be my competition?  Sure enough, he walked into the casting agency building.  Ha!…if this was my competition…I was set.  About a minute later came another Indian gentlemen…but this one was dressed to the nine.  Spiky hair, D&G t-shirt, 7 jeans…ok…so maybe this guy would be my competition in real life…but they’re looking for a video gamer, not a douchebag.  I thought I was dressed quite the part, if I do say so myself.  Faux-hawk hair, white long sleeve t-shirt, black “Bi-Mon-Sci-Fi-Con” t-shirt over it, Express jeans, and Pumas.  I was a shoe-in.  Another minute passes, and ANOTHER Indian guy goes into the building.  Then ANOTHER.  Then ANOTHER!  I felt like I had been cloned into several low-rate, K-Mart versions of myself.

So now it was time for me to make my grand entrance into the casting agency office.  I was sure that once she had seen ME in comparison to the rest, I was a shoe-in.  I could taste the mimosas in my future.

When I entered the office, sure enough I was directed to the clipboard to sign in, then fill out a generic informational form about myself.  As I wrote down the stats that would ultimately define me on paper, I glanced around the room, eyeing my competitors…and they did the same.  It was a brown man stare down.  The smell of curry filled the air.  I half expected a quick-draw to see who could whip a turban onto their head first.

I thought to myself…do they have accents?  Should I play it like a boater??  Maybe they’re looking for more of a nerdy Indian gamer than my cool Indian gamer persona?  Maybe I’m not dark enough?  Maybe I’m not INDIAN enough??

Then it was time.  The casting agent called me and one of my competitors into the audition room together.  I gave him a look of contempt as we walked in…this was MY time Apu…go back to your home with your arranged bride and eat your rice and beans…just don’t fuck with me.

We stood in front of a video camera and introduced ourselves.  She then handed us a fake cell phone, and asked us to take turns pretending to play a video game on it while the other cheered on.  It all happened so fast, I wasn’t sure how I had done.  I left with the comments of “great energy…we’ll let you know.”

After a long weekend of an unknown future in the industry, I found out that I did not get a call back.  No feedback was given, but I’m sure I didn’t fit the mold of “Indian or Pakistani man…late 20s…video gamer.”  Perhaps it was because I didn’t look like a nerdy Indian gamer.  Or maybe they preferred a darker skinned gamer.  Whatever the case, my hopes and dreams of sipping mimosas with my pop idols would have to be put on hold…for the moment.

But fear not friends…my brown, gay phoenix will rise from these ashes and press on!  And my dreams of being cast as Kumar’s better looking brother in Harold and Kumar 3, in The Namesake 2 – Another Namesake, or Bend It Like Beckham Used To, will be fulfilled!

 

 

Bunk Spunk

As I was watching television last week, I was caught off guard by a commercial for a new prescription drug named Flomax. Normally when these types of advertisements flash across my TV screen, I usually just laugh. C’mon, you know you do too. Hikers crossing steep terrain, kayakers rowing through dangerous rapids…all with a smile on their face because they can now “somewhat” prevent the spread of their genital herpes…”It’s a Brand New Day!” Or the ridiculous list of side effects that the voiceover guy so non-chalantly reads through as if they were completely normal…anal leakage, decrease libido, abnormal taste, etcetera etcetera. But even now…after repeated viewings, I thought I was completely desensitized to these horrible, ridiculous prescription spots. But no. Flomax reeled me right back in.

It started off as a normal enough prescription drug commercial. You see, Flomax treats enlarged prostates, or to be more technical, Benign Prostatic Hyperplasia (BPH). BPH can cause stress on the urethra, impeding the flow of urine, or in some cases, causes complete blockage…all together now…YEESH! I can just imagine myself standing over the toilet, repeating over and over…”C’mon…gimme a little pee pee…just a couple of drops.” Anyways, back to the Flomax ad…there was a lush forest…several grown men were riding their mountain bikes, free from the discomfort of BPH due to taking their Flomax. It was a beautiful sight to see. All was well…until the list of side effects came. Initially nothing fazed me…all were typical…headache, dizziness, diarrhea…ya know, the normal stuff. Then it hit me…”Decrease in semen.”

Uh-wha? Decrease in semen? Did he really just say that?

Oh yes he did.

You see, in two U.S. Short-Term Placebo Controlled Clinical Studies, 18.9% of men who were administered 0.8 mg of Flomax experienced what they like to call “abnormal ejaculation” i.e. decrease in semen. I know this because it turns out my friend “Dry David” (names have been changed to protect the innocent) was one of these men. After watching the Flomax ad, and finding out about David, I had to press for more answers. Luckily David allowed me to interview him, and share his story with all of you.

David is in his mid-forties, and until recently, was a very active and healthy man. About a year ago, he began to experience what some like to call “weak stream.” He didn’t have the healthy, thick braids of urine he was so accustomed to. Instead, all that came was a few drops at a time. One instance he told me about that was particularly frustrating was when he was at Safeco Field, about 5 beers deep, with a bladder that was at maximum capacity. When he finally made it to the urinal, he was ready to let it flow, but as he stood there, nothing happened. He began to count to one hundred, and still only a few whimpering streams squeezed out. David started to panic…he had been at the stall for about 5 minutes now, and his bladder was still expanding by the minute with no evacuation route opening. Finally, David had no other choice but to walk into a stall, sit down, and bitch piss for the next hour…drip, drip, drip.

Fed up with his predicament, David went to his doctor the next day. David’s general practitioner informed him he had BPH, and wanted to know if David was interested in being part of the clinical trials for a new drug called Flomax. My weak streamed friend was hesitant, until the doc told him there was a cash incentive. Quicker than you can say “cum”, David was enrolled.

After the first few days, David didn’t notice much difference. Around the fourth or fifth day though, David nervously stepped up to the porcelain plate, and swung. Miraculously, it was a homerun!…David’s stream had never been thicker, healthier, or more golden. Astounded and amazed, he felt on top of the world. He went out with some friends that night, and felt so confident, managed to pick up a very gorgeous young blonde named Heather and bring her home with him.

As things got hot and heavy, David could feel his little soldier approaching a full salute. He shouted, “Yes, yes, yes…oh god I’m c-“…and as his body convulsed with pleasure, Heather shrieked with fright. You see David’s little soldier did not spill forth with its salute juice as expected. Instead, all Heather got was 4 powerful blasts of air into her eye, like the eye pressure test at the optometrist…followed by 3 milky drops on her neck.

David immediately reported this to his clinical trial supervisor. The man did not seem surprised, and told David that several others in his test group experienced the same “decrease in semen.” Shocked and appalled, David immediately withdrew from the clinical trials, and found solace in another BPH treatment drug called Hytrina. The most common side effect is fatigue and dizziness, which David experiences on a daily basis. He even revealed that he frequently passes out during sex. When I asked him why he chooses to stick with Hytrina, he smiled and said, “If I pass out during sex, I know now I can at least leave her a glimmering pearl necklace.” David and Heather are still dating.

The Golden Indian Curry House

Welcome to the Golden Indian Curry House kids. Garlic naan only $2! Butter chicken for $5. We have a special on Spicy Curry…2 for the price of 1!

But why the great deals Vik…you may ask?

Because apparently I am the owner of the one and only Golden Indian Curry House in Tukwila. It would seem so as I get about 5 calls a week on my personal cell phone asking…either to speak to the owner of the Golden Indian Curry House, whether or not we do take-out, and what our specials of the day are.

It all began about a year ago. It was a rainy Seattle morning, and I was sitting at my desk at my previous employer, Jet Parts Engineering. After slacking off for about the first hour of my morning, I was surprised to get a call on my cell from a private number. Seeking the thrills of a conversation with an unknown caller, I eagerly answered my phone. To my surprise, it was one of my Indian brethren…a voice unfamiliar, yet the accent a dead giveaway. He asks…

“Ees thees thee Golden Indian Curry House?” My immediate thought is…who the f*** is this and what kind of joke are you playing? I mean I get it…I’m Indian. HAHA. Indians eat curry. No brainer. And do one in five Indian families in the Northwest own Indian restaurants? I’m sure of it. But this was not part of our repertoire. I tell him…

“No, I believe you have the wrong number (jacka**)!” He said sorry and that was what I hoped would be the end of it. Unfortunately for me…the calls kept coming. I even had one caller ask if there was a place close by my restaurant to get beer to bring back to his hotel room. Finally one day, one caller in particular refused to believe that I was not part of the Golden Indian Curry House Mafia. Believing he was proving me wrong, he stated…

“But this number is listed in Verizon YellowPages as the number for the Golden Indian Curry House!” I then proceeded to get my point through his thick boater skull that this was a mistake on their part. At this point, I decide to do a little investigating of my own. I go to Verizon YellowPages online, and sure enough, there was MY cell phone number listed for the Golden Indian Curry House! What the f***? Why in the name of all that is holy “Vishnu Shiva Ganesh on a lotus flower” would this happen to me?? It was time for me to take the matter into my own hands. I call the restaurant and ask to speak to manager…the conversation went something like this…

“Hello, my name is Vikram Chopra, and I believe that you have made a mistake in your listing on Verizon YellowPages for your restaurant. It seems good sir, that you have MY cell phone number listed as the telephone number for the Golden Indian Curry House. It would be jolly good for me if you would kindly remove my number please.”

“Vut doo yoo mean? I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry old chum…let me be a little more clear. You have your restaurant listed in Verizon YellowPages, no?”

“Yes.”

“Well, haha, it would seem that whomever did your fabulous listing in this online directory mistakenly put MY cell phone number down instead of your real number for the Golden Indian Curry House…world renowned for your Curry and Aloo Ghobi I might add.”

“OOOOhhh, HAHAHAHAHA…I doo nut know haouw thees happened Veekram! I am soooooooo sorry! HAHAHAHA!”

“It is fine old man…can you please correct this error in due time?”

“HAHAHAHAHA…I don’t know vut too doo!” At this point I feel the laughing is quite unnecessary, and am about to lose my temper.

“Listen DUDE, in respect to the gods and our fallen brethren that trekked 100s of miles to bathe their shriveled bodies in the Ganges river…just f-ing call them and have the listing removed! Ganesh ganesh.”

“Ah ok, I understand. So sorry once again.”

I felt I had made my point quite clearly in a language he would understand. Yet my beautiful people, to this day, I still get the random call for the Golden Indian Curry House on my cell phone. Could this be some cruel cosmic joke the 8 armed gods are playing on me? Is Karma coming back to bite me in the a** in the form of deals on curry? Only time will tell. But for now, perhaps I will make the trek down to the restaurant as fate so apparently wants me to do. What may happen? I don’t know. Perhaps they have a curry so strong it will forever change my soul. We shall see…we shall see.