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Datta Datta Phuge is a wealthy money lender from western India but he had a little bit of a problem. He was self-conscious about his looks, and he kept striking out with the ladies.

In order to catch their attention, he did what any sane man would. He paid 15 goldsmiths to work for weeks to create gold thread and then fashion him a shirt of solid gold. And since the shirt wasn’t enough, he then had them use the leftover gold to fashion matching cuffs.

Mr. Phuge said that no woman could fail to be dazzled by his new garment, but honestly, did he really need it? Just look at that guy – he’s fucking awesome!

Mr. Phuge is the total package. The leering gaze. The porn star moustache. Christ, he even has a job title I literally haven’t heard of since the time of Christ. What exactly separates a money lender from a banker? A roof?

I imagine him sitting on an oriental carpet in the middle of a mud brick market while a queue of merchants and peasants wait patiently for his ear. One probably needs money for a daughter’s dowry. Another a few rupees to tide him over until his caravan of spices arrives. Little Anish hopes to buy a cobra he can charm so he can dazzle tourists in nearby Mumbai.

I’m no specialist when it comes to the fairer sex, but I have to assume when Datta hits the town now, the poon has to be lining up around the block. He looks like Mr. T and Omar Sharif had a love child.

God damn he’s magnificent.

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