As a bonafide Ass, I can say with reasonable conviction that some people are complete manholes. And there is one day in the year when Nepali alfa males can make even bigger manholes of themselves than they would on other days in the year. And that day was last Monday, when the government thoughtfully declared a horriday in Kathmandu so us guys could make Jack asses of ourselves. It is an indication of Nepal’s improving gender parity and inclusiveness that this year, you gals out there also went out of your way to make Jenny asses of yourselves.
But the question troubling all able-bodied Nepali males of reproductive age is this: did we fully use the opportunity provided to us during this year’s Guy Jatra to stoop to an even lower level of debauchery than we usually do? Can we in our heart of hearts say, with full self-assurance, that our level of idiocy meets international standards? Unfortunately, the answer to both questions is: Yes and no.
It is only now becoming clear that we have been seriously lax on the irreverence front since the promulgation of the Interim Constitution, we take ourselves far too seriously, and must make up for this deficit in the current fiscal year by stooping even lower to be insufferable. Why do only snowmen have the right to be abominable?
Guy Jatra was a day we gais could have made up for lost time by taking rapid strides in the arena of
farce and buffoonery, forgetting our cares and worries, letting our hair down, and casting aspersions about the gender, if any, of the Rt Hon Prime Minister and members of his and/or her cabinet.
Why exactly this particular festival ended up getting the sex of our rulers mixed up has a long and glorious history which I will tell you about in the run up to next year’s Guy Jatra. Suffice it to say that this week us macho menfolk of the new federified republic got temporary license to make even bigger oxymorons of ourselves than we usually are by carrying out the grooming rituals of Nepali manhood, including:
- As a civil serpent in the Ministry of Commerce and Surprise it is in your job description to put your hand in your pocket and vigorously attend to a subterranean itch in full public view when the occasion so demands. As a member of the male species, you can do this whenever and wherever you want, especially when someone is looking. After all, it’s a free country.
- As a microbus driver, you can take a break as passengers alight to admire yourself in the rearview mirror and squeeze blackheads from your nose cone. (Government Health Warning: Zits may be larger than they appear in the mirror.)
- Sharpen the non-flammable end of a matchstick and use it like the robotic arm of the Mars Explorer to reach hitherto unexplored and remote caverns in your mouth cavity containing fossilised remains of last year’s Dasain goat, and dispatch the specimen for further olfactory inspection and ingestion. The above habit is in full display among the male clientele of the Red Cock BBQ outlet in Naxal.
- One of the easiest ways to tell if people are still alive is to ascertain if they are still breathing. Therefore it is of paramount importance that we keep our pulmonary tubes clear of obstruction and in good working order. The art of dislodging phlegm accumulation at regular intervals by setting off controlled explosions has been passed down from one generation of Nepalis to another, right to the present day. This is done by a sharp intake of air through the nostril which propels said glob from the nasal cavity into the oral cavity whence it can either be expertly defenestrated with a smart pthoo onto the street below, or inducted into the alimentary canal as a protein-rich nutrient. At first, badly aimed ooze may land on the head of a passing policeman, but with practice most Nepali men are capable of winning gold medals if Throat Clearing is ever included in the Asian Games.
- Who said press freedom in Nepal has been curtailed? This column proves we can get away with writing any disgusting rubbish.