I got pulled over by Det Svenska Polisen about a week ago. There was this typical piece of ‘shit out of my league’ ass walking down the street and I went well, fuck that, let’s embrace the Indian stereotype. Took a right on a red. 100m down the road this police van with sirens blaring did a fucking all out Vin Diesel J turn and cut me off. I swear the whole of Die Hard flashed in front of my eyes and I was momentarily convinced Bruce Willis was going to step out and shoot me in the face.
‘So I responded to his repeated PLEASE PULL OVERs with bobbing my head Mithun Chakraborty style and not stopping at all, for a good thirty seconds.’
They pulled up beside me, and the cop put his window down. Unfortunately, instead of yelling Yipikayay Motherfucker he started giving me road safety guidance. And trust me, I would’ve preferred the Yipikayay Motherfucker, because this set of very integral road safety tips were being thrown in Swedish. When your brilliantly compiled ‘service to the community’ safety speech is interrupted with ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying’, you become the opposite of Kanye West. When your ego gets shit on, by a brown immigrant, in a pink jacket, it’s fucking over, it’s a full stop. It’s going to brought up at every party you attend for the rest of your life. Your obituary will read ‘loving husband, brother, and local delivery boy’s bitch’.
I also had my earphones on. So I responded to his repeated PLEASE PULL OVERs with bobbing my head Mithun Chakraborty style and not stopping at all, for a good thirty seconds. In my defense, everything he said to try and make me stop was being replaced by Kendrick screaming ‘Keep it a whole one hund’, don’t got you I got nothing ay’. I was pretty amused at this so I might’ve smirked at the cop a couple of times.
‘Contrary to popular belief, ‘paoti mat phado, 100 mein kam chala do chacha’ doesn’t work in Stockholm.’
Contrary to popular belief, ‘paoti mat phado, 100 mein kam chala do chacha’ doesn’t work in Stockholm. Neither did he know mera baap kaun tha. So I decided to pay the fine. ‘That’s 1500 SEK’, 12000 rupees. I came back home, and my mother decided to console me. ‘Maybe it was a gesture from God, maybe it was to avert imminent danger in the future, maybe you were going to jump a red light the next day and have a horrible accident’. I just wanted to stop her and tell her, ‘lady, here’s the thing, my soul is worth a tenner, not twelve grand’.
Death, slick punt to the head, some blood, and dead, works for me. At least I wouldn’t have to live with the herpes of nullifying a week worth of sweat and toil in pursuit of butt.
Bollocks 