Happy burdday to me,
happy burdday to me,
happy burdday dear Supreme Leader,
happy burdday to me.
I couldn’t stop singing in the shower this morning, I’m so excited that cameras from every single news channel in India are going to follow me every second of the day, apart from bathroom breaks, of course.
I must tell Amit to ensure that Kavita of Crimes Now channel does not try to follow me to the restroom, that shameless lady frequently does that to Rahul Gandhi!
The Ministry of PR got Amit to write an article praising me and it was published in the Hindustan Times today because they want more government ads! Of course, Amit didn’t write it himself, he probably used one of those pompous Bengali babu ghostwriters who used to write Arun’s blog (I think their names were Awe Shock and Shop On; well, frankly I’m not so sure).
I have cut it out and asked my lackey Amit (the IT cell-walla, not my main man) to get it framed. I have insisted on a pure 24-carat gold frame: I need to invest wisely because the economy is up shit creek, but shhh. Now off to the park for some photo ops, hooray.
My PR minister had captured pretty butterflies in a big net for me—at first I was touched, because it was like a tribute to one of my greatest acts: the jailing of all Kashmiris after the abrogation of article 370. Then the idiot asked me to set the butterflies free.
What the…? I argued with him, but he insisted that it would be good optics and make me look like a human being. I finally relented, because the camera crews were getting restless, some of them even moved away to smoke e-cigs (note to self: fix those ADHD creeps and get Nirmala to ban e-cigs asap).
Amit called me a split second after that butterfly nonsense was aired. He was furious that they were released (termites, he called them) and we agreed to sack that touchy-feely PR Minister. The fool probably believes in human rights too!
I did the usual photo ops: hung around looking moody near a river, humbly prayed in public because my voters love it when I pretend that there is a superior being to me (as if!), and stood beside the Made-in-China statue of Sardar Patel. The man banned the RSS and now we’ve punished him by making him stand forever, haw haw.
Fortunately that idiot PR minister had got mummy out of the attic and dusted her nicely for my lunch time photo op. I had instructed the make-up artist to make her look like as glamorous as Dimple Kapadia in Bobby, but in a nice saree, not shorts. He did a decent job. The food looked and smelt good (from my favourite 5-star hotel, though we pretended Mummy made it, hee hee).
Sadly, it was stone cold because the photo ops took ages and the Rotis tasted like leather after I shooed the camera men away. I never eat in public, no matter what. I keep meaning to go to the IAS Institute in Mussoorie where they teach you how to eat in a posh manner, but I never seem to have the time, what with back-to-back appointments with beauticians and tailors. I’m the busiest Supreme Leader in the world!
A special burdday cake was made for me in Surat. It weighed 7000 kgs and I told them to give half to Amit, as power isn’t the only thing he’s hungry for (happy burpday to him).
The icing on the cake was provided by Devendra’s wife, Amruta. I was a bit upset when she called me daddy of the nation—hello, 69 is not that old, and she’s no spring chicken besides!
I called Amit and asked him if she goes for mornings walks, but he assured me that she was just doing tel-maalish like a good wife to ensure that Dev is not replaced by Aditya Thackeray as CM of Maharashtra. “Get that Sanjana from India Tomorrow TV to fix Aditya,” I barked.
At the end of the day I relaxed on Twitter, checking to see which world leader had forgotten to wish me. Must ensure that I buy wildly expensive stuff from those nations to bring their leaders in line!
Ooh, I love my burdday. I’m going to make sure the nation celebrates it every day!