If I think hard and put word to word sensibly I can write, even write well, but in my book that’s dishonest, I’d rather me speak a language than a language speak me. That’s where the bumbling bullshit I write starts. Often times in my writing I write like a mad man gasping. Milwaukee! That sounds good don’t it, Milwaukee! See what I am talking about,

Oh, don’t you worry I got theories for this sort of thing, like the Pulp Fiction™ theory. Pulp Fiction™ is a trade mark of Tarantino™ hence the ™. Tarantino™ is a trademark of Quentin Tarantino. He is just that sort of a thing. Anyways as theories go, Kilgore Trout used to say, the Pulp Fiction™ theory is a good one.

When I was 19 I used to indulge in mutual self gratification naked with a friend of mine, its different from what I do with my wife, what I do with my wife is have sex, but with this friend guy, Mahesh, we were just helping each masturbate together. Some conservative types would call it homosexual sex, but I find that the wrong way of putting it. Anyways the freaky part is what happened next.

I had another friend. Let’s call him Sunny, Sunny used to be called Suraj normally. He has moved on and has done well for himself, as a person that is; he’s ultimately a nice guy. As the story goes, I used to tell him everything I do, we were hungry for experiences, all kind of experiences and someone or something had taught us not to be judgmental and jump into anything that seems less drab than what our lives had already become by then. So it was sacrilege to not share with each other experiences that we had had. He got piss horny and left out when I told him about Mahesh and all the things we did. And anyways we are still kids after all, bragging about shit we did though we really didn’t mean to, words used to come out that way.

One thing lead to another and he asked me to do the things I did with Mahesh with him, which amounted to me giving him a blow job, so he knows what its like. And I did it; it was disgusting for me and it did him no good either. Man, the fact that this incident didn’t fuck up our friendship and we are still great friends is testimony to how cool we are. But even after writing it out so coolly, I don’t feel cool, a bit of that creepy disgust still lingers in my head.

You know I know why I feel sick about it. It goes something like this:

  1. Sunny felt a few points down when I told him I did it with Mahesh.
  2. he didn’t have to do it to me coz I knew how it felt anyways
  3. but when I did it to him he was a few points up
  4. so he insisted hard
  5. I hate to say no to him for anything
  6. we hated all the people who said no together
  7. plus I believe I ought to go for any option that’s better for the other than what is good for me in situations of conflicting interests
  8. suffering ennobles
  9. I am an idiot
  10. and I feel sick of my soggy pushover self


Pulp Fiction™ theory is about how me and Sunny discovered Pulp Fiction circa 1995 in Videoscan™, a small video store run by a strange dark man called Ramesh who talked like he was from one of the Hollywood films in his store, in Tiruvalla, a small town in Kerala, a small state on the southern most end of the peninsula of the great nation of India. Funny how Milwaukee penetrated this far, I wonder if anyone in Milwaukee has heard of Tiruvalla.

So when we saw the film the first thought that came to us was whoa, interesting, nice story to tell and nice way to say it. Then we thought, fuck we got it, we saw it and we got it. That was exciting.

Let me elaborate:

We spoke English and watched films with white skin people saying white things. And rarely would we see something that we could try and ape, some thing, some model, some design we can follow as cool. And then there was Pulp Fiction, with the coolest black man I ever seen, saying such cool things that in spite of the presence of one Butch and one Vincent, who were both superstars in their own right, he was the god of cool in it. I knew some black skinned guys who worked the farms when I was a kid, those guys were proud fuckers with massive reputation, cot breakers they were called in our part of the world. They fucked hard, drank hard, had hard bodies and were very cool, known to say smart things in crass but poignant words. Jules was a version of those guys, with guns and a black suit. How awesome is that!

And then there was Jimmy. Jimmy was just like me and Sunny, useless and at the same time trying not to make himself a nuisance to his family, and boy the dork motherfucker that he was, he was proud to be and proud of his little shit he had like his coffee. He was like me in so many ways and yet he could have been no more distant from me.

Now we come to the crux of the Pulp Fiction™ theory; all this was only in my head. Its not fucking real you twerp! I was 29 by the time I realized that. It’s cool and powerful, so it lodged itself in my head like an ingrown toe nail, hurting my head and I kept wondering why. For a year after Kill Bill and my realization about Tarantino I hated him, but was afraid to articulate that feeling, it felt like thinking about fucking my mother.

By the time I got over that feeling, he had released Death Proof and Inglorious Basterds, and I had realized the full extent of the Pulp Fiction™ theory. In the last 20 years, like always things had gone on changing paradigms like a suspect shifts lanes in a car chase on a C.O.P.S. episode. This discovery ought not to be at all revelatory, but unfortunately irrespective of my age I lacked maturity, besides I have been feeling broken and defeated for at least 15 years now, so this is something that my mind cribs about, maybe there are many more ingrown toe-nails in my head I am not able to do anything but to complain vaguely about hurts like a dog whining.

Pulp Fiction™ theory states that the coolth that dorks losers and defeated generally create out of the drab everyday life is way more worth celebration than anything else in the world. This is something I always knew while hanging with my friend Sunny, but when Tarantino came around and made Pulp Fiction for us, it reiterated our beliefs in the way of life we had chosen for ourselves. Hence we are still the fuckups we use to be and still celebrating our lives.

That in some way is a theory, isn’t it?


I am not one to talk of sunshine when it’s poring down with rain.


I have a friend whose father in law, a malayalee from Tiruvalla, has a grocery store on East Michigan Street in Milwaukee, I am sure he has some friends who have heard of Tiruvalla.