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When I masturbate, I like to imagine the Battle of Kurukshetra. I see the Kauravas, fair of skin, dull green eyes forged from the environment of the Indo-Gangetic plain, the plains providing them with ample food. They ruled like princes, from father to son, with each generation living in idyllic pastoral bliss. Their women are petite, yet beautiful Indo-Aryan maidens.
And then I imagine, KRISHNA, DRAVIDIAN AUSTRALIC BBC BULL. PROUD. TALL. BOLD. STRONG. Skin BLACKER than the coal mined at Kollur. He worships no God, he is the Lord. Taming the horses like his black bulls he rages into the battlefield with his four horsed chariot with reins protruding from his horses as the chariot wheels leave a dusty trail, his mighty arm moving forward and backward alone controlling the movement of the four great white stallions, absolutely crushing the pride of the opposing Kaurava forces.
"See and admire the movement of those Godly arms!", proclaims a widow as she sees the black forearm wrestle the laws of physics turning the chariot a completely three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees, now facing the heart of the Kaurava-Aryan military formation. The eyes of the fairest of maidens sitting at the battle stadium at only at him.
He lunges forward with his sword and lets off the chariot crashing the four horses into the Chakravyuh utterly decimating the organized army formation. Leaping forward into the now completely confused crowd of soldiers he lifts his mace and starts slaying them, because they are physically inferior to him. One by one each of the well-trained soldiers is slain on the battlefield and sent to Svarga by God himself.
He establishes a new patriarchal Dharmic order as laid out by the Holy Gita. He caresses the hair of his beautiful consort Radha, a Indo-Aryan maiden, as they proceed to make love after war. Her moans are louder than the roar of a thousand Lions. I ejaculate with this thought, my vital life force gets forcibly excreted from my body and I collapse, spent.
