Sunny Leone joins Vivid

Model and former Penthouse “Pet of the Year” Sunny Leone will make her long-awaited acting debut in a self-titled movie produced by Vivid, a powerhouse in the adult entertainment industry:

Leone, 23, is the first performer of Indian descent (her parents were born in the Indian state of Punjab) to become a Vivid Girl … “I wanted to sign with a company that would really help me advance, so I chose Vivid to help me take this big step in my life because you only get one chance to make a debut,” Leone said. “For the past six months I’ve been working on my Website, www.sunnyleone.com, and I’ve come to realize that it’s time for me to start acting.” [AVN]

The video is due to hit shelves at the end of the year, which means our Christmas stockings might finally yield something worth keeping (hint, hint).

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Goodness gracious, Peter Sellers is alive

Here’s a crude parody of Indian TV by Jay Leno’s Tonight Show (air date unknown). This is a purposely lame clip — its sin is its artlessness. Two of the cast members are wearing brownface, and the accents and turbans are all wrong. ‘Sanjay Leno’ isn’t wearing a turban, he’s wearing a helmet from the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa María. The white guy with his ears exposed is wearing Smurfette’s cap, not a patka. Wajid, the actor playing the Kevin Eubanks-like sidekick, isn’t bad, but then he doesn’t have to make a cultural stretch. Watch the clip.

You know what’s happening — some people are nostalgic for Peter Sellers. They prefer the crappy approximation of desi culture they grew up with rather than the real thing. The Americana which relies on mocking India badly (calling Apu Nahasapeemapeemapetilon) has, over time, become comfort food. No wonder the original title of Goodness Gracious Me was Peter Sellers is Dead.

Yeah, yeah, we all love The Simpsons. Does anyone remember when it first came out? Heh, heh… hey, wait, that shopkeeper with the long, fake last name, limited social intelligence and shit-eating grin, that wasn’t cool. Like a cancer survivor missing his tumor, like an East German missing the Wall, every poison, once custom, is remembered with fondness.

… producers were initially concerned about making the character Indian. “We were worried he might be considered an offensive stereotype,” producer Al Jean once said. “But then we did the first read-through, and Hank said, ‘Hello, Mr. Homer,’ with his accent, and it got such a huge laugh; we knew it had to stay.” [Backstage]

You see? It’s ok as long as you can mimic Mr. Birdie Num-Num (or as long as it’s funny: hoisted by our own petard?)

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Beer Label a Hate Crime

Overlawyered reports

The Lost Coast Brewery in Humboldt, Calif. says it will take off the shelves its Indica India Pale Ale, whose label currently depicts the Indian elephant-god Ganesh “holding a beer in one of his four hands, and another in his trunk”. Although brewery co-owner Barbara Groom said her Hindu friends don’t mind the label, a California man named Brij Dhir sued the brewery, along with other defendants such as the Safeway supermarket chain, claiming that it is offensive and intimidates Hindus from practicing their religion. “Dhir seeks at least $25,000 and his lawsuit mentions that $1 billion would be appropriate to compensate Hindus around the world.” “It’s a hate crime”, Dhir told the Contra Costa Times.

Thanks to Ennis for the pict pointer! Continue reading

Mr. Hughes isn’t taking visitors

The Air Sahara magnate, Subrata Roy, has apparently fallen ill and disappeared from public view:

One [rumor] says that an entire floor of a super deluxe hotel was recently bought by Sahara in Mumbai (Bombay) and converted into a make shift hospital… the blood pressure of the Sahara boss has fluctuated frequently… He said the Sahara chief was now leading a much more disciplined and orderly life – even doing yoga and regular exercises…

Roy has Mughal tendencies:

He has a fleet of private jets and helicopters and one of his mansions is modelled on the White House. Another residence – located in a private city he has built at the cost of tens of millions of dollars – is a replica of Buckingham Palace.

He commands a swarm of worker bees which is almost as large as the standing army of the United States and almost three times as large as IBM:

… [with] 900,000 employees – Sahara is India’s biggest private sector employer…

The rumor mill has reached Jacksonesque proportions with a petition of habeas corpus filed:

A habeas corpus petition, claiming that Sahara group Chairman Subrata Roy had been kept in ‘illegal detention’ by his wife and some other senior officers of the company, was filed with the Lucknow bench of the Allahabad high court on Monday.

Other rumors:

According to Sahara group insiders, Roy was resting in the Sahara group’s Amby Valley – a 10,000-acre resort-style getaway – a few hours drive from Mumbai.

Maybe Roy’s chillin’ with Amby Valley fans Michael Douglas and Christina Aguilera. Billionaire disappears into private valley — could it be Galt’s Gulch?

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Blinkey takes friendly fire

Blinkey the death tank, the preferred steed of Lt. Neil Prakash, took friendly fire outside Fallujah in November:

A round exploded 50 meters in front of our front slope. “HOLY SHIT! BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP!!!!!. JUST GO GO GO!!!!!” The concussion knocked the air out of my lungs. I felt the soft punch of the air on my face. I didn’t know if more rounds were coming in but the effective kill radius of a 155mm artillery round is 50 meters. And if it was a V/T round (variable time), then it would detonate right above our heads and liquefy us…

The whole back left side of the tank exploded. Grey. Black. Smoke. Dust. Sand. It all happened so fast. I see Langford sitting up on the turret with his legs dangling in the hatch like normal. But against a wall of debris at his back. The image is fleeting. He either fell or got blown forward and down into his hole. Langford and I both fell into our hatches at the same time. My seat went into my back as I looked up at the sky through my hatch…

… where we had just been, my left track was laying out in all of its glory. Broken. With only the right side of track on, the tank could only turn left…like being in a rowboat with just your right oar.

Luckily, Prakash survived to deliver a can of whoop-ass to whomever was calling artillery.

Update: It was an anti-tank mine, not artillery.

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Huffington Toast (updated)

Dimly sensing through his/her reptilian sub-brain that Greg Gutfeld’s contribution to the Huffington Post wasn’t offensive enough, someone doing a parody of that site took it even further:

Keep the curry and coffee flowing and I’ll get right on it. — Kumar…

“damn i spilled curry in the server…”

Have you withheld curry from them, too?

Because who’s M. Night anyway except another one of those curry-eaters with long last names who all look the same.

As for the original post, Om Malik says, ‘Huffington Post: Now promoting culturally insensitive racist pigs.’

Update: In Saturday’s update, the hilarity keeps coming:

I have no idea how that IED [roadside bomb] ended up in my backpack… — Kumar

Because desis and Arabs are the same, brown people from that-thar region who need to be killed.

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Rocky Horror Le Jayenge

The earworm-inducing classic Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge just completed its 500th week of showings in India (thanks, Ennis):

Bombay audiences are some of the toughest in the world, and a bad movie can be pulled before the end of opening weekend. Most films bloom for a week or two and disappear. But “Dilwale” has become a Bombay institution, a perfect masala of location, entertainment, and low price. Young men and women, but mostly young men in their untucked white shirts, wait every morning outside the cinema. The box office sells balcony tickets – the choicest seats – for 15 rupees… On busy weekends, the 1,000-seat theater sells out with visiting families… The audience snuggles down in the dark, ready to make jokes, applaud the hero’s arrival, and urge the lovers to “Kiss! Kiss!”

I’m surprised they don’t throw rice. Desi film audiences apparently share a geeky obsessiveness with fans of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Star Wars. It’s not surprising, really. All three genres are high camp.

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Translate a Huffington Post

The Huffington Post, a recently launched group blog aimed at the B-list starfucker demographic, hosts a bizarre post by U.K. Maxim editor Greg Gutfeld. It appears to be something about a party in Delhi, or perhaps a dream sequence conceived in an opium-induced stupor:

Things are still going nuts at Alaknanda Jayagopal’s house. Aparjita and Agilah broke into the liquor cabinet, and Gaurika, Fulmala, Heenfu and Indrani started a dance party in the garage. Remember Crystal Water’s “Gypsy Woman?” Well, Dishwari, Fazeela (and her sister, Devapriya) do. They are kicking it, live. Dishwari is also playing truth or dare with Anvita, who dared Deepika to actually swallow a live chicken. Deepika isn’t even speaking to Gangika. Totally off the hook. [The Huffington Post]

If anyone can speak Gutfeldese, please decipher this for us. Winner gets the pride of proving they’re at least as smart as an editor of Maxim. Losers must live with the shame of having read the The Huffington Post.

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