The week in re(ar)view
Some 44,000 fishing boats and 147 trawlers skim the Bay of Bengal every day with sea-floor-scraping nets that scoop up everything except sunken treasure. Experts fear this is a bad thing as sunken treasure would have been awesome. Decline in fish stock is bad too. Imported canned fish never tastes good enough. Turns out they are also dragging in eggs and little fishes that never grow up to suffer the pains of growing up. Even the fishermen themselves agree catches are less.
The court asked the fine to be paid to three welfare organisations, including Kidney Research Centre and National Heart Foundation within 30 days after getting the certified copy of the verdict. The petitioner said as per the existing law, playing of the national anthem arbitrarily is illegal and also derogatory. He said using the national anthem as ringtone on mobile phones is a criminal offence.
Early self defense
About 500 people were killed in shootouts involving RAB since its inception in 2004. But they also arrested 13,500 people including 50 militants, 16 members of outlawed parties, 560 extortionists, 125 counterfeit currency makers and 130 stalkers in the last seven months. That can't be all bad.
Fight is right
At least 10 students of Noakhali Paramedical College were injured last week as the students in charge of running the college dining hall beat them for protesting the supply of stale and low quality food. The solution? Authorities closed the college for seven days. Maybe that's how long the diarrhoea and injuries will take to heal.
By Mood Dude and Someone
“THIS is madness!” I said, bursting into the room, arms flailing around like Nemo out of his tank. They all stumbled out of their haze, looks of shock and awe and utter amazement (C'mon, I was there) etched across their faces in stark brushstrokes. Obama followed me from behind, grinning in silent adoration at my actions, and glad to be taking part in world orders. Doing good, affect-the-world kind of things are really new to Americans. The other family members scattered to different corners of the room, except for the King Juan Carlos I, who stands up slowly, methodically, and stands beside Pauline, his eyes blood shot, vacant, as if in a trance.
Pauline doesn't move.
Juan suddenly shakes himself, as if waking himself up from some kind of meditation and stares back at me.
“This!” Pause. “Is!” Pause.
“Aprayerceremonytypethingtopayhomagetothetruequeenofqueens!” He yelled at me, spit spewing forth and drizzling on the floor between us. He had lost dramatic effect with the elongated 300-like exclamation, but his spit was shinier than ever, reflecting the golden lights that hung from the ceiling. I spied a remote clutched in his right hand, but he wasn't using it at the moment.
“How did you get in?” he asked me sternly.
“Your guard recognised me.”
“Ah, well-played, Doctor. The I'm-so-famous-that-the-guard-recognises-me-and-lets-me-in technique. A classic. I applaud you.”
“This is no time for you to elaborate on my amazingness!” I yelled. “I hear that enough from everyone! Now, do the stereotypical end-of-the-movie villain speech thing already!”
“Ah, Dear Doctor, you always lacked patience, despite your unerring perfection.” He started pacing towards one end of the room, towards a wall and raised his remote behind him and clicked. Immediately, a Windows screen appeared on the wall with PowerPoint open. “My real name is Jack Clouseau, not to be confused with Jacque, the Pink Panther. I'm Canadian and as a result, I would get little or no respect. But I had a skill you see, a skill that even I, myself, didn't know I had. I could understand what animals meant, with their sounds and body language, I had learnt to decipher the language of the Animal Kingdom.” He pressed another button, and on the screen was a picture of a Royal Bengal Tiger. “From Tigers,” Click. “to Lizards,” Click. “To Arnold Shcwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone. I translate them all. That is when Reina Paulina came to me and offered me salvation. No more cleaning people's feet with my tongue! No more eating cockroaches for brunch! No more making straw hats for the snobbish American tourists with the discarded hair from outside barber shops! I came, and stepped in as the façade for the true Queen of Queens, translating her orders to suit the true purpose of humanity and the animal kingdom! I would laugh like Mandark at this point, but I'm afraid that has grown old, so I'll just snigger snob-“
Bang. A shot, and blood spurted out through a hole from Juan's chest. I looked back to see Obama pointing his gun.
“What the hell was that?!” I yelled, “You didn't let him finish his end-of-the-movie-stereotypical-villain speech! And just when I was really getting into it.”
“Naïve docteur. You know so little. Just because I'm American, you think I will follow you as your chamcha. Which I do, no offense, most of the time. But now, you think I came here to help you? Of course not! I'm just hungry and I have a thing for Japanese food. He wouldn't do the Mandark laugh, so I will. Ha! Haha! Ha! Hahaha! Ha! Haha!” He snorted. “I'm POTUS, and nothing less than Paul would do for me. Let's eat that pulpo.”
I stared at him, unable to believe the words I'd just heard. But I realised something: with all that I had witnessed, with all that I had had to bear, and all that I had experienced that day, the ups and downs and the whole roller coaster ride that was the journey for the truth, I, through all that, had been really, really hungry. So I patted Obama on the back, took the gun from him, and killed Paul on the shot. And it turned out to be an amazing dinner.
Anti-climactic, I know, but a story's a story, and food is food. And Paul the Oracle Octopus tasted oh-so-good.
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By Dr. Lovelove
The Japanese are a fascinating people. Other than bouncing back from two nuclear blasts in a nationwide Karate move, they've shown the world economy who is boss, gave the fashion world a shake with trends like Ganguro and the Gothic Lolita, introduced little children as the source of all horrors and scarred us with their love for tentacles. On the side, they've come up with a bazillion cool gadgets. But sometimes, they just want to appear as human as every other Bangali. We give you, the Ear Wax Camera/Cleaner.
We're sure you've seen the wandering ear cleaners on the streets of Dhaka. They have this long, thin metal stick with some cotton on top and lots of bottles full of unknown and, reputedly, very potent concoctions which they proceed to apply to the ears of their willing victims, though from the looks on their faces, the service receivers look anything but victimised.
The Japanese have just removed the middleman. Now you can insert this tube with the camera fitted near the top, into your ear and see where the earwax has built up and, as the name suggests, clean it. It's like those operations you see on the medical shows, the ones where the doctors have cameras. Except it's you doing the operating and it's your bloody ear. We say “bloody” metaphorically, of course. So if you are interested in making intimate acquaintance with your eardrums, the price is $90 or thereabouts. Did we forget to mention that the Japanese are very, very rich?
By Dr Who
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