Portrait of my Innocentfulness

As a baby, I had two problems:
A. I was too cute to handle.
B. I had a moustache.
But as every baby tries to come in terms with his inner old man, I came in terms with a moustache. It was a hard time. I was too cute for this uncute world. I know you are nodding your head in unbelief. You are wondering: "How can this beautiful and sexy man be so cute as a baby child? How can he be cute and sexy at the same time? What kind of double-role is being played here? Will I ever show my face in public after knowing this fact? Why am I so unbeautiful? Should I shave my private beard? What if I keep a small goatee there? No? How about I just give it a crew cut, or a duck-cut? Would I look good in ponytails in my body's Tamil Nadus? If I keep ponytails, will PETA kill me? I know they can. Because I once read this internet forward message that said: "Cheetah bhi PETA hai." And Cheetahs can easily overpower one extremely powerful man, sell his hugable kidneys to black market and analyse him, if you know what I mean. But aren't cheetahs an extinguished species?"
This is what YOU are wondering. Right? Yes? I knew it. I knew it.

(Enclosed above is cute and cuddly baby picture of me when I was a baby-man taken in Champion Photo Studio. Don't forget to go: "Awww!")

My sexful letter to all beaches of the world

Dear Beaches,
It is with sad regret that I write this non-perfumed letter, my beaches. I know, I know, in the past I have done things that would put me in shame-shame-puppy-shame position with my peer group. And it is sad because I love peers. They are my favourite fruit.
But beaches, listen please. Listen to the sexy beats of my heart and tell me I'm wrong. Look into my cuddly eyes and tell me I'm bad (yet sexy) man. Just tell me. Don't hesitate, beaches, just DON'T!
You know beaches, as I've walked all over you, buried delicate parts of me in you, eaten pani-puri on top of you and even made nice urination patterns all over you, I felt like a sun-tan-lotion. You rub me all over you and throw me once I'm emptyful of SPF 40. I feel like I was being thrown sand on my beautiful face. So much, that I named my cat Sandy. I named him after my regret. But my cat expired, my regret did not expire. The expiring date on my regret is 05/ 06/ 07. Why? Because that is when leave for heaven. How do I know? I took accurate Facebook quiz.
No, no, don't cry for me. Don't regret my passing away. Do you cry when gas is passed? Do you cry when motion is passed (by government and in toilet)? Do you cry when orphanist childrens of American singerman Seal are killed in North Pole? No, no? I thought so. I knew it, in fact. And how do I know? I'm psychicologist. I know the future and as a wise, saintly internet forward once said: "Past is history. Future is mystery. Present is gift. Enjoy it." So true, so true. It brings tears to the eye. No, really. My eyes are tearing. It is not a genetical disorder. It cannot spread through AIDS or Swine Flu. Don't worry. Don't worry. Be happy and gay.
But beaches, I am a cooler and changed man now. Which is why my friends call me 'chiller'.
And this is why I'm not going to you all beaches. Because beaches is an offensive, bad, dirty and cursive word for beaches. But I wonder why it is a cursive word like God made it. Why? Isn't it 'woman' in dog-language? Language is sexist. But forget not, 'Cool Peepal' magazine voted me 'the sexist man alive'. And it is true, I tell you. You can ask my neighbourhood watchman.
So, Non-beaches (I was not going to call you all Beaches, remember? You don't? How forgetful of you. Ha ha ha. I laugh at you forgettingness. But as another internet forward once said: 'Forgive and forget and let die', I will do so. Ha ha ha. I laughed at something else now. My friend send me nice adult joke on my cell-phone. Nevermind my wanderful mind.) I say goodbye to you with these remarkable wordings: Good bye.
Missing you all as I watching porn on my cell-phone,
Troubullizing Creature.

P.S: 'Sex on a Beach' is a lady-offensive drink.