Warning: If the mere sight of Dr. P already makes you want to vomit in your boots, I recommend not reading any further. No, really. This is disgusting stuff. Also disgustingly hilarious.

But seriously, fair warning.

Over the past several months (hell, days) Dr. Rajendra K. Pachauri has been working hard to secure his status as a bona fide international laughingstock by warning us about the not so rapidly melting Himalayan glaciers, using Climbing magazine and a student’s dissertation as “peer reviewed” sources for IPCC reports, and — Oh! — telling the Financial Times just yesterday that climate change skeptics:

are people who deny the link between smoking and cancer; they are people who say that asbestos is as good as talcum powder — I hope that they apply it (asbestos) to their faces every day.

Isn’t that sweet?

So in a brave move to salvage what’s left of his tarred and feathered, Mel Gibson-esque reputation, Pachauri thought it would be an awesome idea to release … wait for it … a smutty bodice-ripper novel. Based, oh-so-transparently, on his own life.

The Telegraph reports:

In breathless prose that risks making Dr Pachauri, who will be 70 this year, a laughing stock among the serious, high-minded scientists and world leaders with whom he mixes, [Ed. -- Too late!] he details sexual encounter after sexual encounter . . .

“Sanjay saw a shapely dark-skinned girl lying on Vinay’s bed. He was overcome by a lust that he had never known before . . . He removed his clothes and began to feel Sajni’s body, caressing her voluptuous breasts.”

Continue reading ‘Pachauri Reveals the Softer, Smuttier Side of Climate Change’