Can you handle the power and intensity of my animal sexuality?

After last night’s poorly thought out attack on yours truly, I thought it wise not to leave the house today in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I’ll recap. Last night upon leaving the gym I was attacked by the Tae Bo Underground, led by Incognito Sweetie, armed with spears and light machine guns. But me in my lemon ghargra choli that Urmila Matondkar wore in the movie “Deewangee.”, I was totally prepared to unleash the horrible fury of my Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. With savage intensity I sang “Dholi dhol baajaa” (E-groove mix). They were all dazzled by my speed, style, the flourish and panache of my lemon ghargra choli, my strength, and my precise but soulful rendition of the song. I don’t know what possessed me to put on my lemon ghargra choli that evening, but doing so saved my life. I’m not taking any more chances until I find out who among my sycophants betrayed me.

So I’m going through my closet. It’s stocked with the kind of garments you’d expect from a master of the deadly and savage martial art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. Maybe my white churidar like the one Esha Deol wore in “Na Tum Jaane Na Hum.” Hmm. Too plain. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I possess an inner flair that must be buttressed by my accutrements. Or maybe my blue kurta and white trousers, an outfit much like the one Sushmita Sen wore in “Aankhen.” No. Deemphasizes my abs and pecs. Aha. How about my orange and lilac choli and lehenga that Kareena Kapoor wore in the movie "Jeena Sirf Merre Liye." She gave it to me after she experienced my version of man on woman pleasure that no other man to this date has ever been able to recreate. And the outfit has a lot of flair.

So, I’m riding the Orange Line to Dunn Loring. I’m wearing my orange and lilac choli and lehenga that Kareena gave me after some powerful and intense lovemaking the likes of which she has never experienced and will never again. My head and shoulders bobbing to the sound of music only I can hear. I throw a few flex-point-winks to the ladies on the train. Give them what they want. A little slice of me. Brightens their day.

I’m running late for my meeting with reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They want to run a profile on me and my upcoming trip to Maryland to meet with high government officials to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity and how to import some of my style to Maryland. Branding feminine hygiene products, maybe cookware, maybe crockery. More on that later.

For now, let it be known. Ripped definition. Intensity. Style. Stamina. Bricolage. Langue and Parole. Dignity. That is what I am about. If you think you can handle the power and intensity of my animal sexuality, get in touch. Grrr.

He gets letters:

"You are oddly but distinctly amusing. However, we are sworn enemies via my family ties to the Tae Bo underground. So I will merely smirk and flip my hair."

"Dude I have read your ads & you crack me the hell up. The Menses one, eh, that made me me a wee bit nauseous. I thought I was gonnaa hurl, but overall you rock! Good luck sir."