Read the synopsis: http://siyahi.in/2011/06/
Read an excerpt from the novel: http://www.tehelka.com/
You can order the novel here: http://www.flipkart.com/
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/
Monday, July 30, 2012
Toke. A Novel.
Read the synopsis: http://siyahi.in/2011/06/
Read an excerpt from the novel: http://www.tehelka.com/
You can order the novel here: http://www.flipkart.com/
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/
Friday, December 30, 2011
We're on a mission now!
If you read the text on the above image carefully, the fifth name from the bottom is MINE. Tehelka ran an excerpt from my forthcoming stoner novel Toke. Click here to read more about the book. Click on the image to read the fourth edition of Tehelka's annual fiction issue. And if you insist that you want to read my story only and not these other cool stuff (an excerpt from what is being regarded as the greatest novel written in Urdu ever, a short story by the writer and associate director of Delhi Belly and a short story by Kalki Koechlin of Dev.D and The Skeleton Woman fame) then you can simply click HERE.
Monday, July 04, 2011
The legend of Morning Monday
In the kingdom of Work, lived many a hard-working slaves. The kingdom was ruled by the rather tyrannical Morning family. The Mornings were of the warrior class. And they had settled in the land of Work way before people could remember when. And there were no schools. And so there was no history.
Over the years, the Mornings had grown into a large family and as brothers over generations kept splitting into clans. The most powerful clan of which were the Monday Mornings. The only clan, which over generations of progress, had stuck to its warrior ways. In fact, they had only gotten more fundamentalist with every new row that got added to the family tree.
The leaders of the clans took their rounds to look into the matters of their subjects. Also known as slaves because of it being the relevant word for their lifestyle. So basically, imagine a fortress district in Japan. Over generations, the position of the leader had just become a costume. The person inside kept changing.
Monday Mornings were always the healthiest of the clans. Healthy as in if they went shopping in America, they would mostly be allowed only in the Plus stores.
After Sunday Morning had implemented a wake and bake policy for all the subjects, and Sunday Evenings had introduced sluggishness-inducing decadent red velvet cake as a ritual, the Monday Mornings were left fuming.
"People should not be smiling. They should be working." A fuming Monday Morning slammed his fist at the breakfast table. Mrs Monday Morning was upset. Why wouldn't he, for once, eat the goddamn rice cake quietly. Yes, they were also hippies. Can you imagine, a giant hippie named Monday Morning, wearing a robe and a rice hat, carrying two swords, walking briskly on the bridges that ran over the countless fields? Always walking between the farmers and the direction of the sun because his large silhouette and the shadow it cast on the farmers was supposed to be terrifying.
So yes, Mrs Monday Morning and the two little Monday Mornings were shaken at Daddy Monday Morning's breakfast table outburst. Little did Mr Monday Morning know that after he left for his rounds, she would be playing bridge with Mrs Sunday Evening and Mrs Sunday Morning and get baked. And if the weed was good, she'd even let Mr Sunday Evening fondle her bosom.
So it was a little after Mr Monday Morning had left for his rounds. Slaves had begun to gather in the farms after Mrs Sunday Evening's home made red velvet cake. No kidding: she had an oven the size of a fucking castle. As his large body passed across the bridge, like the moon walking across the sun during an eclipse, one heard the racking of a gun.
Mr Monday Morning's pursed lips met at two corners like everybody else's. One of the corners curled into the cheek. His rice hat low, covering his eyes that nobody could see. He did not stop. Just slowed down the pace at which he glided over the bridge. Mr Monday Morning's hand slowly reached his waist, fingers stroked the thick ribbed handle.
Far, far away in a room with red velvet curtains, Mrs Monday Morning was sucking some smoke out of Mrs Sunday Morning's mouth except that their nostrils shot out that same smoke and they continued kissing.
"MONDAY MORNING!" A slave screamed as he pulled a big, fat gun out, "I have come to avenge the death of my father."
Monday Morning did not say a word. His fingers slowly moved over the thick ribbed handle and wrapped around it tight. He continued walking, a voice inside his head droned on, "If I had a slave for every time a slave threatened to kill me... I'd have a lot more slaves. But this one has a gun! They all can get guns. The fort walls have been weakened by my kin..."
Meanwhile, Mrs Monday Morning was being pampered to no limit. Her eyes bloodshot and her robe undone from the front as she was being fed and smothered with red velvet cake by Mrs Sunday Morning and Mrs Sunday Evening.
"He fired! The motherfucking goddamn son of a bitch fired!" Monday Morning thought before yanking out his giant sword and whipping the bullet out of its path. The priest of that little hamlet lost his eye that day. No records of how have been found. And the slave who fired at him... Wait, what slave?
Over the years, the Mornings had grown into a large family and as brothers over generations kept splitting into clans. The most powerful clan of which were the Monday Mornings. The only clan, which over generations of progress, had stuck to its warrior ways. In fact, they had only gotten more fundamentalist with every new row that got added to the family tree.
The leaders of the clans took their rounds to look into the matters of their subjects. Also known as slaves because of it being the relevant word for their lifestyle. So basically, imagine a fortress district in Japan. Over generations, the position of the leader had just become a costume. The person inside kept changing.
Monday Mornings were always the healthiest of the clans. Healthy as in if they went shopping in America, they would mostly be allowed only in the Plus stores.
After Sunday Morning had implemented a wake and bake policy for all the subjects, and Sunday Evenings had introduced sluggishness-inducing decadent red velvet cake as a ritual, the Monday Mornings were left fuming.
"People should not be smiling. They should be working." A fuming Monday Morning slammed his fist at the breakfast table. Mrs Monday Morning was upset. Why wouldn't he, for once, eat the goddamn rice cake quietly. Yes, they were also hippies. Can you imagine, a giant hippie named Monday Morning, wearing a robe and a rice hat, carrying two swords, walking briskly on the bridges that ran over the countless fields? Always walking between the farmers and the direction of the sun because his large silhouette and the shadow it cast on the farmers was supposed to be terrifying.
So yes, Mrs Monday Morning and the two little Monday Mornings were shaken at Daddy Monday Morning's breakfast table outburst. Little did Mr Monday Morning know that after he left for his rounds, she would be playing bridge with Mrs Sunday Evening and Mrs Sunday Morning and get baked. And if the weed was good, she'd even let Mr Sunday Evening fondle her bosom.
So it was a little after Mr Monday Morning had left for his rounds. Slaves had begun to gather in the farms after Mrs Sunday Evening's home made red velvet cake. No kidding: she had an oven the size of a fucking castle. As his large body passed across the bridge, like the moon walking across the sun during an eclipse, one heard the racking of a gun.
Mr Monday Morning's pursed lips met at two corners like everybody else's. One of the corners curled into the cheek. His rice hat low, covering his eyes that nobody could see. He did not stop. Just slowed down the pace at which he glided over the bridge. Mr Monday Morning's hand slowly reached his waist, fingers stroked the thick ribbed handle.
Far, far away in a room with red velvet curtains, Mrs Monday Morning was sucking some smoke out of Mrs Sunday Morning's mouth except that their nostrils shot out that same smoke and they continued kissing.
"MONDAY MORNING!" A slave screamed as he pulled a big, fat gun out, "I have come to avenge the death of my father."
Monday Morning did not say a word. His fingers slowly moved over the thick ribbed handle and wrapped around it tight. He continued walking, a voice inside his head droned on, "If I had a slave for every time a slave threatened to kill me... I'd have a lot more slaves. But this one has a gun! They all can get guns. The fort walls have been weakened by my kin..."
Meanwhile, Mrs Monday Morning was being pampered to no limit. Her eyes bloodshot and her robe undone from the front as she was being fed and smothered with red velvet cake by Mrs Sunday Morning and Mrs Sunday Evening.
"He fired! The motherfucking goddamn son of a bitch fired!" Monday Morning thought before yanking out his giant sword and whipping the bullet out of its path. The priest of that little hamlet lost his eye that day. No records of how have been found. And the slave who fired at him... Wait, what slave?
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Statues of Posterity
By the power vested in me by the Internet, the freedom of speech and complete and utter futility, I hereby propose a policy change in the building of statues in public places by the government, out of our tax money. But not before I lead you all to the spectacular buildup which led me to my great idea itself. A journey of the mind, if one may call it that.
Most people may argue that why build statues. They are a waste of money. I disagree there. Not exactly disagree but let's say I am only half-convinced. Here's the reason why. The latest overambitious project that a political leader has announced is The Statue of Unity, a statue of Sardar Patel, which will be twice the size of Statue of Liberty and will cost Rs. 1000 crore (approx. US $200 million).
According to a 2005 World Bank estimate, in India, if you are making less than Rs. 21.6 a day in urban areas and Rs. 14.3 a day in rural areas, then you are officially poor. Now let's assume you have decided to give away the 1000 crore as cold hard cash to people. Let's raise the bar from the poverty line and start giving away Rs. 50 a day to a bunch of people. The average lifespan in India is about 60 years. I've done the math and let me assure you, it will support about 90 people throughout their life. Hate me if you wish to but I'd rather have a Rs. 1000 crore statue, please. (Let's not forget the other means of employment that the statue will generate. Those 90 people could be employed for life and the same jobs could then go 90 poorer people when they die. And the state will figure a way out to collect some form of tax from the visitors/tourists at the statue. Income for everyone. And a statue is like a flag for a country's psychosexuality. Only more phallic.)
Not saying that there haven't been delusional for statues. Like take the Shiv Sena proposal to build a statue of Shivaji as tall as the Statue of Liberty in the sea, near the Bandra-Worli Sea Link. This delusional demand was of course sorted in the family as Raj Thackeray (MNS), on live television, said, "You need to be practical. If you build a statue as tall, you have any idea how big and long the horse will be? Where will you get all that material from? How will you transport it to the centre of the sea?" People may hate him but just by the sheer force of logic he won my heart and my non-existential vote, which I am pretty sure is misused (by impersonation) by whichever political party has the stronger foothold in my area.
We hate our politicians and our leaders. They have given us strong reasons to do so. They are our representatives. They are the go-getters among us when it comes to power. I respect that but we must accept that they're not (at) all good looking. Neither are our founding fathers. No disrespect but Gandhi, with his scrawny body and round head, was one ugly motherfucker. Ambedkar, I'm sorry, was fat. Neither would Patel have made it to the People's Sexiest Man Alive, 1947 edition.
Having giant statues of ugliness inspires more ugliness. Haven't you heard that theory about how people start looking like their parents or their dogs or other stuff that they spend a lot of time around? So do we want our future generations to be as ugly as our leaders? I'm not saying we should not read or listen to what they have to say. Their words are important and will help in building a great nation. But their looks will only help in building a great nation filled with ugly people. Why do you think Italians and Greeks are such handsome men? Their forefathers left them with statues of the Gods, naked and handsome and beautiful.
Thus, coming full circle to the change in policy about Statues
(dangling modifier alert!) that we so badly need. If we are hellbent on having a statue that is twice the size of the Statue of Liberty, the least that we can do for our future generations is make it pretty. Like, how about a statue of Katrina Kaif instead of Sardar Patel, just as big and on the same location. A statue of Katrina Kaif smiling and looking down at the tourists who have come to picnic around the sprawling lawns around the base of the statue, and polaroid photographers snapping family portraits, and jalebis and gaathiyas and dhoklas and the littering. And the giant lettering across the gate and smaller lettering engraved on the foundation stone will say:
'KATRINA KAIF, Posing As THE STATUE OF UNITY, In Loving Memory Of SARDAR VALLABHAI PATEL. This foundation was laid by Shri Narendra Modi.'
OR
'ROBERT DOWNEY JR. (in his Iron Man suit minus helmet), Posing As THE STATUE OF UNITY, In Loving Memory Of The 'IRON MAN' of India: SARDAR VALLABHAI PATEL.'
Now be good boys and girls and fill in your suggestions for statues across the country. Here's the template:
'[handsome/beautiful celebrity], Posing As THE STATUE OF [virtue], In Loving Memory Of [political/religious/etc leader who can somewhat fit into the virtue]. This foundation was laid by [political leader who proposed the statue].'
Most people may argue that why build statues. They are a waste of money. I disagree there. Not exactly disagree but let's say I am only half-convinced. Here's the reason why. The latest overambitious project that a political leader has announced is The Statue of Unity, a statue of Sardar Patel, which will be twice the size of Statue of Liberty and will cost Rs. 1000 crore (approx. US $200 million).
According to a 2005 World Bank estimate, in India, if you are making less than Rs. 21.6 a day in urban areas and Rs. 14.3 a day in rural areas, then you are officially poor. Now let's assume you have decided to give away the 1000 crore as cold hard cash to people. Let's raise the bar from the poverty line and start giving away Rs. 50 a day to a bunch of people. The average lifespan in India is about 60 years. I've done the math and let me assure you, it will support about 90 people throughout their life. Hate me if you wish to but I'd rather have a Rs. 1000 crore statue, please. (Let's not forget the other means of employment that the statue will generate. Those 90 people could be employed for life and the same jobs could then go 90 poorer people when they die. And the state will figure a way out to collect some form of tax from the visitors/tourists at the statue. Income for everyone. And a statue is like a flag for a country's psychosexuality. Only more phallic.)Not saying that there haven't been delusional for statues. Like take the Shiv Sena proposal to build a statue of Shivaji as tall as the Statue of Liberty in the sea, near the Bandra-Worli Sea Link. This delusional demand was of course sorted in the family as Raj Thackeray (MNS), on live television, said, "You need to be practical. If you build a statue as tall, you have any idea how big and long the horse will be? Where will you get all that material from? How will you transport it to the centre of the sea?" People may hate him but just by the sheer force of logic he won my heart and my non-existential vote, which I am pretty sure is misused (by impersonation) by whichever political party has the stronger foothold in my area.
We hate our politicians and our leaders. They have given us strong reasons to do so. They are our representatives. They are the go-getters among us when it comes to power. I respect that but we must accept that they're not (at) all good looking. Neither are our founding fathers. No disrespect but Gandhi, with his scrawny body and round head, was one ugly motherfucker. Ambedkar, I'm sorry, was fat. Neither would Patel have made it to the People's Sexiest Man Alive, 1947 edition.
Having giant statues of ugliness inspires more ugliness. Haven't you heard that theory about how people start looking like their parents or their dogs or other stuff that they spend a lot of time around? So do we want our future generations to be as ugly as our leaders? I'm not saying we should not read or listen to what they have to say. Their words are important and will help in building a great nation. But their looks will only help in building a great nation filled with ugly people. Why do you think Italians and Greeks are such handsome men? Their forefathers left them with statues of the Gods, naked and handsome and beautiful.
Thus, coming full circle to the change in policy about Statues
(dangling modifier alert!) that we so badly need. If we are hellbent on having a statue that is twice the size of the Statue of Liberty, the least that we can do for our future generations is make it pretty. Like, how about a statue of Katrina Kaif instead of Sardar Patel, just as big and on the same location. A statue of Katrina Kaif smiling and looking down at the tourists who have come to picnic around the sprawling lawns around the base of the statue, and polaroid photographers snapping family portraits, and jalebis and gaathiyas and dhoklas and the littering. And the giant lettering across the gate and smaller lettering engraved on the foundation stone will say:'KATRINA KAIF, Posing As THE STATUE OF UNITY, In Loving Memory Of SARDAR VALLABHAI PATEL. This foundation was laid by Shri Narendra Modi.'
OR
'ROBERT DOWNEY JR. (in his Iron Man suit minus helmet), Posing As THE STATUE OF UNITY, In Loving Memory Of The 'IRON MAN' of India: SARDAR VALLABHAI PATEL.'
Now be good boys and girls and fill in your suggestions for statues across the country. Here's the template:
'[handsome/beautiful celebrity], Posing As THE STATUE OF [virtue], In Loving Memory Of [political/religious/etc leader who can somewhat fit into the virtue]. This foundation was laid by [political leader who proposed the statue].'
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Latest in 9/11 conspiracy theories
It didn't really happen. A holographic projection of a Michael Bay production was broadcasted to the world. Then they managed to cloak the existing twin towers using latest refractive technology and now the real invisible twin towers are the secret operative base for US military intelligence.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Truth.
–“The Douchebag Collectives 18, Jugal Mody 0 – I don't know why you even bother to play when there's no chance in hell that you're gonna win.”
–“Heyyy! I don't play at all. It's like I'm AFK and stuck in gameworld.”
–“But even if you did, not like you're gonna win.”
–“But I don't want to play!”
–“But even if you did, not like you're gonna win.”
–“Truth.”
–“Heyyy! I don't play at all. It's like I'm AFK and stuck in gameworld.”
–“But even if you did, not like you're gonna win.”
–“But I don't want to play!”
–“But even if you did, not like you're gonna win.”
–“Truth.”
Friday, September 18, 2009
Nonsensical Story: Crap-O-Matic™
Crap-O-Matic™
It was a lonely Sunday morning and Sandy was sitting on his couch. His mind was glued to the blur his unfocused eyes cast on his retina. He admired that blur. He was wearing red checkered boxers and a white vest with three holes in it. It was 10 AM and Sandy had moved only once in the two and a half hours since 7:30. At 7:30, he had parted his thighs a little so that his fingers could scratch his balls. His bored love for his retinal blur was a fortress behind which hid a secret anticipation.
Sandy had not slept a wink in the last forty eight hours because he was waiting for his teleshopping delivery to arrive. The black, sleek and 'lite' edition of the Crap-O-Matic ™. Sandy was filled with warmth just at the thought of the arrival of the Crap-O-Matic ™. Because from that day on he wouldn't have to flush an empty commode everytime he visited the toilet. His ecological guilt would not torture him for wasting all that water.
The Crap-O-Matic ™, as seen on TV, was a ring the shape of the golden throne seat. One had to place it over the seat, where it fit, and then sit on the Crap-O-Matic ™. This is how the TV commercial described the magnificient device to have worked. The more the pooper controlled his or her poo pressure, the harder the Crap-O-Matic ™ manufactured poop. Sensors were planted on the upper surface of the Crap-O-Matic ™. The sensors determined the pooper's poo pressure control by gauging his or her blood pressure, the tightness of his or her ass clench and a variety of other factors which the manufacturers did not reveal because it was a trade secret. The more number of times had Sandy watched the commercial, the more he had desired the technological marvel that the Crap-O-Matic ™ was.
He wanted to own one so bad. He sold his television on ebay and received the payment on his PayPal account. He then proceeded to log on to the website of the teleshopping network to place an order for the device of his dreams, for which he paid from the same PayPal account. After forty eight hours of staying awake, the morning of the promised delivery had finally come.
At 11:30, the doorbell rang. A man wearing brown overalls, that was the uniform of the package delivery service, showed up at Sandy's doorstep. The brown of the delivery man's uniform reminded Sandy of poo. The poo reminded Sandy of the tightness with which his own ass was puckered, which then reminded him of the sound of fresh poo being manufactured that he had heard on TV. He smiled for the first time in the last eleven years as he signed the delivery receipt and shut his door.
It had been eleven years since his pot had felt the texture of roughage. Even his flush tank had been feeling equally worthless recently. The two were facing a severe identity crisis and an inferiority complex the size of a small island in the Pacific. Their self esteems had hit an all time low recently. They felt like the illiterate country bumpkin housewife of a highly educated womanising slash gay city businessman. They were just not sure of themselves. But the truth is that in this metaphor, Sandy was neither a womaniser nor a homosexual. He was plain asexual or at least he chose to be one.
Sandy installed the Crap-O-Matic ™ on his toilet seat and tightened its clamps. He then proceeded to drop his boxers to his ankles and rested his ass. The moment his ass touched the Crap-O-Matic's sensors, they wen™ad. Their input was considered by the processor, which rushed into an overclocked state trying to calculate the amount of poop to be manufactured. In a matter of microseconds, the processor sent its output to the crap generator. The amount of poop that was generated was HUGE. It was the biggest dump ever.
Meanwhile, Sandy's commode exploded into an orgasm as the poo slapped along its surface. The flush tank moaned and jumped with anticipation like a ticklish woman, who hadn't gotten laid in over a decade, was blindfolded and her inner thighs were being pleasured with a feather till she felt release. A giant whoosh of a whirlpool swept away the creation of the Crap-O-Matic ™ and the two bathroom fixtures felt closer to Sandy than they ever had.
The Crap-O-Matic's first dump was so gianormic that Sandy ended up using its entire battery life in one go. He plugged the charger in and while he waited, he walked into his kitchen and made himself some toast, which he smothered with a tablespoonful of butter. Sandy glowed as he continued to devour his toast and butter with immense satisfaction while his eyes kept stealing glances at the charging indicator LEDs of the Crap-O-Matic ™.
Sandy was in love, for the first time ever in his constipated life.
The End.
Epilogue: One fine day, after eight years since that happened, Sandy just vanished. Nobody ever saw any of him ever again. When his family finally broke into his house, it stank. They followed the stench and a line of castor oil bottles into the bathroom, which had its door blown off. The insides looked like a damp cave. All the walls were brown like painted with poo and plants were growing out of it. The Crap-O-Matic™, though, was still there, just as shiney and just as new. The commode and flush tank on the other hand had a few brown spatters on them.
It was a lonely Sunday morning and Sandy was sitting on his couch. His mind was glued to the blur his unfocused eyes cast on his retina. He admired that blur. He was wearing red checkered boxers and a white vest with three holes in it. It was 10 AM and Sandy had moved only once in the two and a half hours since 7:30. At 7:30, he had parted his thighs a little so that his fingers could scratch his balls. His bored love for his retinal blur was a fortress behind which hid a secret anticipation.
Sandy had not slept a wink in the last forty eight hours because he was waiting for his teleshopping delivery to arrive. The black, sleek and 'lite' edition of the Crap-O-Matic ™. Sandy was filled with warmth just at the thought of the arrival of the Crap-O-Matic ™. Because from that day on he wouldn't have to flush an empty commode everytime he visited the toilet. His ecological guilt would not torture him for wasting all that water.
The Crap-O-Matic ™, as seen on TV, was a ring the shape of the golden throne seat. One had to place it over the seat, where it fit, and then sit on the Crap-O-Matic ™. This is how the TV commercial described the magnificient device to have worked. The more the pooper controlled his or her poo pressure, the harder the Crap-O-Matic ™ manufactured poop. Sensors were planted on the upper surface of the Crap-O-Matic ™. The sensors determined the pooper's poo pressure control by gauging his or her blood pressure, the tightness of his or her ass clench and a variety of other factors which the manufacturers did not reveal because it was a trade secret. The more number of times had Sandy watched the commercial, the more he had desired the technological marvel that the Crap-O-Matic ™ was.
He wanted to own one so bad. He sold his television on ebay and received the payment on his PayPal account. He then proceeded to log on to the website of the teleshopping network to place an order for the device of his dreams, for which he paid from the same PayPal account. After forty eight hours of staying awake, the morning of the promised delivery had finally come.
At 11:30, the doorbell rang. A man wearing brown overalls, that was the uniform of the package delivery service, showed up at Sandy's doorstep. The brown of the delivery man's uniform reminded Sandy of poo. The poo reminded Sandy of the tightness with which his own ass was puckered, which then reminded him of the sound of fresh poo being manufactured that he had heard on TV. He smiled for the first time in the last eleven years as he signed the delivery receipt and shut his door.
It had been eleven years since his pot had felt the texture of roughage. Even his flush tank had been feeling equally worthless recently. The two were facing a severe identity crisis and an inferiority complex the size of a small island in the Pacific. Their self esteems had hit an all time low recently. They felt like the illiterate country bumpkin housewife of a highly educated womanising slash gay city businessman. They were just not sure of themselves. But the truth is that in this metaphor, Sandy was neither a womaniser nor a homosexual. He was plain asexual or at least he chose to be one.
Sandy installed the Crap-O-Matic ™ on his toilet seat and tightened its clamps. He then proceeded to drop his boxers to his ankles and rested his ass. The moment his ass touched the Crap-O-Matic's sensors, they wen™ad. Their input was considered by the processor, which rushed into an overclocked state trying to calculate the amount of poop to be manufactured. In a matter of microseconds, the processor sent its output to the crap generator. The amount of poop that was generated was HUGE. It was the biggest dump ever.
Meanwhile, Sandy's commode exploded into an orgasm as the poo slapped along its surface. The flush tank moaned and jumped with anticipation like a ticklish woman, who hadn't gotten laid in over a decade, was blindfolded and her inner thighs were being pleasured with a feather till she felt release. A giant whoosh of a whirlpool swept away the creation of the Crap-O-Matic ™ and the two bathroom fixtures felt closer to Sandy than they ever had.
The Crap-O-Matic's first dump was so gianormic that Sandy ended up using its entire battery life in one go. He plugged the charger in and while he waited, he walked into his kitchen and made himself some toast, which he smothered with a tablespoonful of butter. Sandy glowed as he continued to devour his toast and butter with immense satisfaction while his eyes kept stealing glances at the charging indicator LEDs of the Crap-O-Matic ™.
Sandy was in love, for the first time ever in his constipated life.
The End.
Epilogue: One fine day, after eight years since that happened, Sandy just vanished. Nobody ever saw any of him ever again. When his family finally broke into his house, it stank. They followed the stench and a line of castor oil bottles into the bathroom, which had its door blown off. The insides looked like a damp cave. All the walls were brown like painted with poo and plants were growing out of it. The Crap-O-Matic™, though, was still there, just as shiney and just as new. The commode and flush tank on the other hand had a few brown spatters on them.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Mouse
So today evening, when I went to buy a 8GB pen drive for myself to make minor transfers like music/movies/tv shows when in smaller numbers, at the computer store, it also struck me that my mouse has been misbehaving, like double-triple clicking whenever it feels like. So I pick a nice, cheap (150 rupees) and simple looking mouse...
You see... simple, insconspicuous and black which kinda goes with my black laptop and its got some nice transparent plastic parts. So, I place it in place of my old mouse, pushing the old mouse into the box that this new mouse came in. Returned to my desk to plug the new mouse in and start working with it and then...
I was all like WTF! OMFG! IT'S GOT MOTHERFUCKIN' LIGHTS! My MOTHERFUCKIN' MOUSE has got MOTHERFUCKIN' LIGHTS, blue and red and BRIGHT! So now, I have to live with this bling strip club lit mouse till it starts double-triple clicking...
You see... simple, insconspicuous and black which kinda goes with my black laptop and its got some nice transparent plastic parts. So, I place it in place of my old mouse, pushing the old mouse into the box that this new mouse came in. Returned to my desk to plug the new mouse in and start working with it and then...
I was all like WTF! OMFG! IT'S GOT MOTHERFUCKIN' LIGHTS! My MOTHERFUCKIN' MOUSE has got MOTHERFUCKIN' LIGHTS, blue and red and BRIGHT! So now, I have to live with this bling strip club lit mouse till it starts double-triple clicking...
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
LOLtehrapie - We drew first LOL!
Unconventional healing and alternative therapies include the strangest of all methods. From the weird ones about drinking one's own urine to the absurd green therapy, where one has to wrap green cellophane paper around a bottle of water, keep it in natural sunlight for a week and then drink the water. But I digress.
Animal therapy is yet another fancy word that lifestyle and features magazines have gotten their eyes on. Keeping a dog around where you're training "special" children is supposed to help increase the speed at which they learn. Something as simple as having a pet around makes healing faster. Maybe the animals just make you happy and happiness helps heal faster. But what if one is allergic to animals? What if cats make you sneeze and dogs make you feel like you badly need to pee? What if the constant crotch sniffing gives you a hard on?
In which case, my zoophiliac friend, you can watch any animated film on repeat where animals smile and grin and have smart ass comebacks for anything the other animal says. Happy times. But not Happy Tree Friends. Watching them is another kind of therapy, the kind that leads to more therapy if you forget when to laugh. But if you are a part of the Venn diagram where an internet addict is intersected with a copyright anti-piracy freak, then u can has LOLtehrapie!
Those damned cute cats that once belonged to the much-hated forwards suddenly seem to make more sense when they speak in murdered English. They have their own religion. On a digressive note, someone actually translated the Christian Bible into a LOLcat Bible, all written in LOLspeak. Yes, the Ceiling Cat rested on the seventh day. There's even a LOLwalrus whining about his buckit.
People by the millions will claim that mutilating something gives them immense satisfaction and brings joy. As much as the average discerning reader will deny this, it is also called the Jungian principle of the opposites. Women, when depressed, assault their bank accounts, credit cards and tubs of chocolate ice cream with a fork. Men when depressed assault their own bodies, if assault can be used in that context, or maybe even a ball, not in that context. Both of the above species and sometimes even children assault their liver or maybe other children. Don't hide when I ask you to raise your hand if you haven't tried your best to fuck up that smiley-faced styrofoam ball. The fucker still keeps smiling, right? But I digress.
So how does LOL-ing help? LoL-ing involves multiple mutilation. A nice image of a well-behaved pet with the ugly fat Impact font. The English language as previously established. And you also get to vent your rage against fellow hoomans by pretending to be a LOLcat and writing in its voice because the tone of LOL is always hooman-deprecatory.
For example, I ended up creating the following anti-hooman LOLs on days of stress at work and in my social(?) life on the (in)famous cheezburger site. 
(Image source: Wacked from a images.google search, so if it is your cat, apologies, it is now a LOLcat)
The Cute Cat Theory Of Digital Activism. An interesting essay that I read online discussed how tools that people make to have fun with their cat and dog pictures/videos are helping activism in the digital age. This MAY be a good side effect.
What I fear... is the bad side effects. Every therapy has side effects. Drugs lead to addiction. Violence to more violence. The "special" children start to think that when one meets a stranger, it is okay to sniff their crotch. Like how women grow fat and unappealing and pages of fitness magazines come stuck together.
It is starting to feel like that story I once read where a ventriloquist ends up believing that he is the puppet. Like the emo and goth movement, I fear the oncoming LOLculture which will then be called the LOLkulchur. Humans will start thinking they're cats, specifically LOLcats. And the humans who are still humans will be hoomans and later hoomins (human added to vermin). A war will break out and the effect will be something like the classic internet viral meme: ALL UR LOLZ R BELONG 2 US! 
(Concept art, Image source: GIMPed, not Photoshopped. Random cat image from search and the Cats image from AYB site.)
So who wants to LOL Lita? Save hoomanity! Don't LOL cats! LOL Lita! 
(Image source: Lee advert on the web, LOLcapped on the cheezburger site.)
Notes:
Art idea to go with the post: The AYB intro animation done in an animated gif, but with the following script and manipulated images.
IN A.D. 2101
WAR WAS BEGINNING.
CAPTAIN: WHAT HAPPEN?
MECHANIC: SOMEBODY SET UP US THE LOL.
OPERATOR: WE GET SIGNAL.
CAPTAIN: WHAT !
OPERATOR: MAIN SCREEN TURN ON.
CAPTAIN: IT'S YOU !!
KATS: HOWZ U GENTLEMEN !!
KATS: ALL UR BASE R BELONG 2 US.
KATS: U R ON TEH WAI 2 DESTRUCSHUN.
CAPTAIN: WHAT YOU SAY !!
KATS: U HAS NO CHANCE 2 SURVIV MAK UR TIEM.
KATS: LOL LOL LOL LOL ....
Animal therapy is yet another fancy word that lifestyle and features magazines have gotten their eyes on. Keeping a dog around where you're training "special" children is supposed to help increase the speed at which they learn. Something as simple as having a pet around makes healing faster. Maybe the animals just make you happy and happiness helps heal faster. But what if one is allergic to animals? What if cats make you sneeze and dogs make you feel like you badly need to pee? What if the constant crotch sniffing gives you a hard on?
In which case, my zoophiliac friend, you can watch any animated film on repeat where animals smile and grin and have smart ass comebacks for anything the other animal says. Happy times. But not Happy Tree Friends. Watching them is another kind of therapy, the kind that leads to more therapy if you forget when to laugh. But if you are a part of the Venn diagram where an internet addict is intersected with a copyright anti-piracy freak, then u can has LOLtehrapie!
Those damned cute cats that once belonged to the much-hated forwards suddenly seem to make more sense when they speak in murdered English. They have their own religion. On a digressive note, someone actually translated the Christian Bible into a LOLcat Bible, all written in LOLspeak. Yes, the Ceiling Cat rested on the seventh day. There's even a LOLwalrus whining about his buckit.
People by the millions will claim that mutilating something gives them immense satisfaction and brings joy. As much as the average discerning reader will deny this, it is also called the Jungian principle of the opposites. Women, when depressed, assault their bank accounts, credit cards and tubs of chocolate ice cream with a fork. Men when depressed assault their own bodies, if assault can be used in that context, or maybe even a ball, not in that context. Both of the above species and sometimes even children assault their liver or maybe other children. Don't hide when I ask you to raise your hand if you haven't tried your best to fuck up that smiley-faced styrofoam ball. The fucker still keeps smiling, right? But I digress.
So how does LOL-ing help? LoL-ing involves multiple mutilation. A nice image of a well-behaved pet with the ugly fat Impact font. The English language as previously established. And you also get to vent your rage against fellow hoomans by pretending to be a LOLcat and writing in its voice because the tone of LOL is always hooman-deprecatory.
For example, I ended up creating the following anti-hooman LOLs on days of stress at work and in my social(?) life on the (in)famous cheezburger site.
(Image source: Wacked from a images.google search, so if it is your cat, apologies, it is now a LOLcat)
What I fear... is the bad side effects. Every therapy has side effects. Drugs lead to addiction. Violence to more violence. The "special" children start to think that when one meets a stranger, it is okay to sniff their crotch. Like how women grow fat and unappealing and pages of fitness magazines come stuck together.
It is starting to feel like that story I once read where a ventriloquist ends up believing that he is the puppet. Like the emo and goth movement, I fear the oncoming LOLculture which will then be called the LOLkulchur. Humans will start thinking they're cats, specifically LOLcats. And the humans who are still humans will be hoomans and later hoomins (human added to vermin). A war will break out and the effect will be something like the classic internet viral meme: ALL UR LOLZ R BELONG 2 US!
(Concept art, Image source: GIMPed, not Photoshopped. Random cat image from search and the Cats image from AYB site.)
So who wants to LOL Lita? Save hoomanity! Don't LOL cats! LOL Lita!
(Image source: Lee advert on the web, LOLcapped on the cheezburger site.)
Notes:
Art idea to go with the post: The AYB intro animation done in an animated gif, but with the following script and manipulated images.
IN A.D. 2101
WAR WAS BEGINNING.
CAPTAIN: WHAT HAPPEN?
MECHANIC: SOMEBODY SET UP US THE LOL.
OPERATOR: WE GET SIGNAL.
CAPTAIN: WHAT !
OPERATOR: MAIN SCREEN TURN ON.
CAPTAIN: IT'S YOU !!
KATS: HOWZ U GENTLEMEN !!
KATS: ALL UR BASE R BELONG 2 US.
KATS: U R ON TEH WAI 2 DESTRUCSHUN.
CAPTAIN: WHAT YOU SAY !!
KATS: U HAS NO CHANCE 2 SURVIV MAK UR TIEM.
KATS: LOL LOL LOL LOL ....
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
When you're happy and you know it...
When you're happy and you know it, kill some ants... *crush crush*
When you're happy and you know it, drop your pants... *zip, fall*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, loot some banks! *bang bang, everybody get down, this is a robbery!*
When you're happy and you know it, spook a ghost... *BOO!*
When you're happy and you know it, eat some toast! *CRUNCH!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, y' shouldn't boast! *silence*
When you're happy and you know it, lose a spoon... *WHERE?*
When you're happy and you know it, be a loon... *THERE!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, you should moon! *Victims of indecent exposure: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!*
When you're happy and you know it, be a ninja... *Aiiieeeyyyaaa!*
When you're happy and you know it, I love to singa! *About the moon-a and a-june-a and a-spring-a*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, call Jerry Springa! *Ooo, nice tits!*
When you're happy and you know it, /facepalm *slappingsound*
When you're happy and you know it, say Salaam! *"Salaam saab!"*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, bear an arm! *"Back off, I have a weapon!" kick-at-the-door*
When you're happy and you know it, show some rage *FFFFUUUU!!!*
When you're happy and you know it, come of age! *"Mom, I have hair on my you-know-what!"*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, jump off the stage! *sound of chanting fans!*
When you're happy and you know it, play a sport! *footballwhistle: tweeeett!*
When you're happy and you know it, row a boat! *singsong: gently down the stream!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, call tech support! *Please stay on hold, your call is impotent for us!*
When you're happy and you know it, you're a fish! *Really?!*
When you're happy and you know it, on a dish! *Fried?*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, don't you wish? *Serious tone: That did not make sense.*
When you're happy and you know it, roll a joint! *Duuuuuddddee!*
When you're happy and you know it, make your point! *I'm too stoned maaann!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, you disappoint! *tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk*
When you're happy and you know it's murphy's law! *Happiness is WRONG!*
When you're happy and you know it, start a chainsaw! *dhhhrrrrnnngggg*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, *bored french accent* you're so bourgeois...
When you're happy and you know it, sell your soul! *Mwahahahahaha*
When you're happy and you know it, be an ASS hole! *Eww... gross!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, don't-you-wish-your-parents-used-birth-control! *Hey! My name is Jesus!*
When you're happy and you know it, drink some rum! *Glug!*
When you're happy and you know it, spank a bum *Ow! giggle*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, suck your thumb! *squelchsuckingsound*
When you're happy and you know it, drive your car *honk! honk!*
When you're happy and you know it, into the bar! *CRASH!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it's not your car! *Woohoo!*
When you're happy and you know it, snort a line *sssnorrrt!*
When you're happy and you know it, step on a mine *click!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, DON'T STEP OFF THE MINE! *You're not happy anymore!*
When you're happy and you know it, drop your pants... *zip, fall*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, loot some banks! *bang bang, everybody get down, this is a robbery!*
When you're happy and you know it, spook a ghost... *BOO!*
When you're happy and you know it, eat some toast! *CRUNCH!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, y' shouldn't boast! *silence*
When you're happy and you know it, lose a spoon... *WHERE?*
When you're happy and you know it, be a loon... *THERE!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, you should moon! *Victims of indecent exposure: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!*
When you're happy and you know it, be a ninja... *Aiiieeeyyyaaa!*
When you're happy and you know it, I love to singa! *About the moon-a and a-june-a and a-spring-a*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, call Jerry Springa! *Ooo, nice tits!*
When you're happy and you know it, /facepalm *slappingsound*
When you're happy and you know it, say Salaam! *"Salaam saab!"*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, bear an arm! *"Back off, I have a weapon!" kick-at-the-door*
When you're happy and you know it, show some rage *FFFFUUUU!!!*
When you're happy and you know it, come of age! *"Mom, I have hair on my you-know-what!"*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, jump off the stage! *sound of chanting fans!*
When you're happy and you know it, play a sport! *footballwhistle: tweeeett!*
When you're happy and you know it, row a boat! *singsong: gently down the stream!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, call tech support! *Please stay on hold, your call is impotent for us!*
When you're happy and you know it, you're a fish! *Really?!*
When you're happy and you know it, on a dish! *Fried?*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, don't you wish? *Serious tone: That did not make sense.*
When you're happy and you know it, roll a joint! *Duuuuuddddee!*
When you're happy and you know it, make your point! *I'm too stoned maaann!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, you disappoint! *tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk*
When you're happy and you know it's murphy's law! *Happiness is WRONG!*
When you're happy and you know it, start a chainsaw! *dhhhrrrrnnngggg*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, *bored french accent* you're so bourgeois...
When you're happy and you know it, sell your soul! *Mwahahahahaha*
When you're happy and you know it, be an ASS hole! *Eww... gross!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, don't-you-wish-your-parents-
When you're happy and you know it, drink some rum! *Glug!*
When you're happy and you know it, spank a bum *Ow! giggle*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, suck your thumb! *squelchsuckingsound*
When you're happy and you know it, drive your car *honk! honk!*
When you're happy and you know it, into the bar! *CRASH!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it's not your car! *Woohoo!*
When you're happy and you know it, snort a line *sssnorrrt!*
When you're happy and you know it, step on a mine *click!*
When you're happy and you know it, and you really want to show it
when you're happy and you know it, DON'T STEP OFF THE MINE! *You're not happy anymore!*
Thursday, May 21, 2009
What?
A lot of my recent random rants are either suppressed or I forget before I get to a computer or they're dissolved into a storyline that I'm thinking about or they're on Facebook or the latest twitter experiment I'm running (those are the really small ones which are like one line and I don't feel like writing an entire blogpost about them).
Nevertheless, this picture deserves a mention:
My Caption: Suck it, all you Gray's Anatomy fans!
Otherwise everything else is fine :D
Nevertheless, this picture deserves a mention:
My Caption: Suck it, all you Gray's Anatomy fans!
Otherwise everything else is fine :D
Sunday, March 29, 2009
An attempt to rap
draft 1
shut up bitch, just because i'm polite
means not that i can't fuck you up in daylight
them laughing, don't mean you're too smart
you're the alpha-female in a gang full of old farts
shut up bitch, just because i'm polite
i'm takin' your shit cause i am too nice
it's not my party, no, it's not my scene
i wouldn't wanna dirty someone else's clean
day, right?
shut up bitch, you're talkin' shit
just cause i'm complacent and this is my third hit
you don't seem to make sense, you don't speak in words,
your mouth unleashes unflushable turds
(and the face is a target for potty training birds)
word?
shut up bitch, you think you're too slick
like jelly coated (pause) not donuts but dick
wait right there, the records need some scratching
(one line scratching)
your so-called claws won't work against my hatchet
in my cuckoo nest, i killed nurse ratchet...
shut up bitch, just because i'm like that
i'm self deprecatory, i know you won't know that
so i got you a dictionary, you can better at combat
of wuh-rd artillery, unlike the pregnant wombat
that you are... period, you missed that.
shut up bitch, cause i've got the mic now,
it's a phallic symbol of my masculine powerhouse
no, i wouldn't rape you even if you spread your legs
i'd practice my aiming with a crate of rotten eggs
shut up bitch, respect the last stanza,
of this cowardly rhyming extravaganza
i could take you down but i had to fight it
but you couldn't stop cause you had to shyte it
all!
[ps: 13 year old me wrote this...]
shut up bitch, just because i'm polite
means not that i can't fuck you up in daylight
them laughing, don't mean you're too smart
you're the alpha-female in a gang full of old farts
shut up bitch, just because i'm polite
i'm takin' your shit cause i am too nice
it's not my party, no, it's not my scene
i wouldn't wanna dirty someone else's clean
day, right?
shut up bitch, you're talkin' shit
just cause i'm complacent and this is my third hit
you don't seem to make sense, you don't speak in words,
your mouth unleashes unflushable turds
(and the face is a target for potty training birds)
word?
shut up bitch, you think you're too slick
like jelly coated (pause) not donuts but dick
wait right there, the records need some scratching
(one line scratching)
your so-called claws won't work against my hatchet
in my cuckoo nest, i killed nurse ratchet...
shut up bitch, just because i'm like that
i'm self deprecatory, i know you won't know that
so i got you a dictionary, you can better at combat
of wuh-rd artillery, unlike the pregnant wombat
that you are... period, you missed that.
shut up bitch, cause i've got the mic now,
it's a phallic symbol of my masculine powerhouse
no, i wouldn't rape you even if you spread your legs
i'd practice my aiming with a crate of rotten eggs
shut up bitch, respect the last stanza,
of this cowardly rhyming extravaganza
i could take you down but i had to fight it
but you couldn't stop cause you had to shyte it
all!
[ps: 13 year old me wrote this...]
Friday, March 20, 2009
Nonsensical Mockumentary
I have lost my sense of nonsense. It needs to be found as soon as possible. My (in)sanity has been suffering from irreparable attacks and all my healing potions have been consumed in attempts to write, write propah fiction that I am working on on the side (Not like it helped a lot, but nevertheless was worth a try.)
I didn't know I would ever post a proper personal blog entry on any of my blogs but unfortunately, the time has come. I wish I could carry an axe in my pocket only to fish it out at the right moment and then start attacking people. Hey, that gives me an idea, attempting to write, and documenting that attempt to write.
The Axe Murderer
In a far away land lived an axe murderer. He was so passionate about murdering people that he started carrying a portable folding axe in the back pocket, the one in which he did not keep his wallet. He invented the special axe himself. The axe murderer was rumoured to have an IQ of 190. He loved Sharon Stone though. One day, he swore upon his own axe that if he ended up killing Sharon Stone by his axe, he would end his life. He never met Sharon Stone in his entire life. He did meet another axe murderer who after sharing a cup of coffee swung his axe straight through the centre of his chest.
The End.
Hmm, not a bad attempt at all. But definitely not a good nonsensical story. For example, the story did not at any point make you go, gasp, or WTF? It was just too simple to be nonsensical. There were no interrupting aliens or surfer dudes who interrupted that coffee date and not even a poster of Sharon Stone. Let's try and modify this ghastly attempt.
The Axe Murderer
Axe Murderer, the early days:
In a far away land lived an axe murderer. He had a beautiful wife who called herself Sharon Stone. She did a few movies like Basic Instinct. Axe Murderer, yes that was his name, was so passionate about murdering people that he started carrying a portable folding axe in the back pocket, the one in which he did not keep his wallet. He wasn't that bright as a child. When he was six, he had fallen straight on his forehead and damaged his frontal lobe. One particular day when he was 16, he met a bunch of aliens who were riding motorcycles and carrying giant surfboards which had tiny blue flying saucers printed on them.
Impressed by his axe-work and getting drunk on all the human blood that flowed, the aliens gifted him the ultimate folding axe. He loved Sharon Stone though. One day, he swore upon his own axe that if he ended up killing Sharon Stone by his axe, he would end his life. He did not end up killing Sharon Stone though he did meet another axe murderer who ended up raping Sharon Stone and driving the axe through her skull. Our hero was seriously pissed and committed suicide by hanging himself on his fan.
The End.
Here's a rough visual representation of how things happened:
Now, that's fairly decent nonsense but unfortunately, it doesn't have the required brevity that is needed to transmit the nonsense over from my side to yours. Though, you may note a new development in the style by adding images which are not necessarily coherent. Among other things wrong with this nonsensical story, the sentences are longer and not as tight as they need to be. But well, Fuck you!
I didn't know I would ever post a proper personal blog entry on any of my blogs but unfortunately, the time has come. I wish I could carry an axe in my pocket only to fish it out at the right moment and then start attacking people. Hey, that gives me an idea, attempting to write, and documenting that attempt to write.
The Axe Murderer
In a far away land lived an axe murderer. He was so passionate about murdering people that he started carrying a portable folding axe in the back pocket, the one in which he did not keep his wallet. He invented the special axe himself. The axe murderer was rumoured to have an IQ of 190. He loved Sharon Stone though. One day, he swore upon his own axe that if he ended up killing Sharon Stone by his axe, he would end his life. He never met Sharon Stone in his entire life. He did meet another axe murderer who after sharing a cup of coffee swung his axe straight through the centre of his chest.
The End.
Hmm, not a bad attempt at all. But definitely not a good nonsensical story. For example, the story did not at any point make you go, gasp, or WTF? It was just too simple to be nonsensical. There were no interrupting aliens or surfer dudes who interrupted that coffee date and not even a poster of Sharon Stone. Let's try and modify this ghastly attempt.
The Axe Murderer
Axe Murderer, the early days:
In a far away land lived an axe murderer. He had a beautiful wife who called herself Sharon Stone. She did a few movies like Basic Instinct. Axe Murderer, yes that was his name, was so passionate about murdering people that he started carrying a portable folding axe in the back pocket, the one in which he did not keep his wallet. He wasn't that bright as a child. When he was six, he had fallen straight on his forehead and damaged his frontal lobe. One particular day when he was 16, he met a bunch of aliens who were riding motorcycles and carrying giant surfboards which had tiny blue flying saucers printed on them.
Impressed by his axe-work and getting drunk on all the human blood that flowed, the aliens gifted him the ultimate folding axe. He loved Sharon Stone though. One day, he swore upon his own axe that if he ended up killing Sharon Stone by his axe, he would end his life. He did not end up killing Sharon Stone though he did meet another axe murderer who ended up raping Sharon Stone and driving the axe through her skull. Our hero was seriously pissed and committed suicide by hanging himself on his fan.
The End.
Here's a rough visual representation of how things happened:
Now, that's fairly decent nonsense but unfortunately, it doesn't have the required brevity that is needed to transmit the nonsense over from my side to yours. Though, you may note a new development in the style by adding images which are not necessarily coherent. Among other things wrong with this nonsensical story, the sentences are longer and not as tight as they need to be. But well, Fuck you!
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Happy New Year
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Lessons we can learn from around us
We have a lot to learn from King Bruce and the fucking spider and stories like that. Actually, we have just one thing to learn from each of those stories like maybe from the ants, on how they keep going on and on and on carrying if I remember correctly, eight times their own weight. Ancient wisdom that has been passed on for years has taught us to live by learning from the animals and insects. I'd usually ask, look where it's got us! But, I am going to change my attitude (I know that is hard to believe) a little and make an attempt to tell similar stories, lessons we can learn from around us.
1. Mosquitoes
Ah, the noble creatures of blood-sucking nature. They will do anything to suck your blood. They'll keep coming at you again and again despite they know they weigh less than your nail. To test, peel your nail and weigh it on the scales with a mosquito. Make sure you use rather delicate scales. They keep coming at you, hungry as ever, buzzing around you, getting smacked, losing their lives and yet they never learn. Their fat blood-filled selves can be seen clinging onto the walls in the morning, at least the ones that survived your slaughter. Lesson to be learnt: There is always enough blood! If your competitor is stronger, bigger, heavier, there is a good chance you will die but if you don't you're gonna be squished in the morning when you can't carry your own weight.
2. Frogs
Noble, really noble creatures, the frogs. There's a lot that you can learn from them. First and foremost, optimism. No matter how ugly, slimy and green you are and however sure you are that nobody will kiss you, you should keep croaking for a princess. God knows you maybe the Prince, cursed by a ton of bad luck, waiting for the kiss that will transform you into a star. So no matter how ugly, fat, sick, unhygienic you look, you can live your life proudly hopping from one lotus leaf to another in the hope that you'll find a sugardaddy or sugarmommy till one day when you'll just croak. (See, what I did there with the croak pun.) Unfortunately, if you're a toad, we can't help you. So try and be a frog, unleash your inner uglies and stick your tongue out ever so often. Who knows, you might just catch a fly.
Yes, more to come. I hope I keep learning from the many wise (and soon to be extinct) creatures around us so I can educate the rest of you. And no, we're not going to learn anything from the cockroaches. They can't be wise because they're never going to go extinct.
1. Mosquitoes
Ah, the noble creatures of blood-sucking nature. They will do anything to suck your blood. They'll keep coming at you again and again despite they know they weigh less than your nail. To test, peel your nail and weigh it on the scales with a mosquito. Make sure you use rather delicate scales. They keep coming at you, hungry as ever, buzzing around you, getting smacked, losing their lives and yet they never learn. Their fat blood-filled selves can be seen clinging onto the walls in the morning, at least the ones that survived your slaughter. Lesson to be learnt: There is always enough blood! If your competitor is stronger, bigger, heavier, there is a good chance you will die but if you don't you're gonna be squished in the morning when you can't carry your own weight.
2. Frogs
Noble, really noble creatures, the frogs. There's a lot that you can learn from them. First and foremost, optimism. No matter how ugly, slimy and green you are and however sure you are that nobody will kiss you, you should keep croaking for a princess. God knows you maybe the Prince, cursed by a ton of bad luck, waiting for the kiss that will transform you into a star. So no matter how ugly, fat, sick, unhygienic you look, you can live your life proudly hopping from one lotus leaf to another in the hope that you'll find a sugardaddy or sugarmommy till one day when you'll just croak. (See, what I did there with the croak pun.) Unfortunately, if you're a toad, we can't help you. So try and be a frog, unleash your inner uglies and stick your tongue out ever so often. Who knows, you might just catch a fly.
Yes, more to come. I hope I keep learning from the many wise (and soon to be extinct) creatures around us so I can educate the rest of you. And no, we're not going to learn anything from the cockroaches. They can't be wise because they're never going to go extinct.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I lend my support to the smokers...
I don't smoke and I don't intend to as of now but I totally support the smokers' rights which are severely abused by the so-called Human Rights activists and the anti-smoking lobby and so this post goes out to all the smokers in their support--
I wish all of you who support the smokers' rights, link this image on their blogs, somewhere. It doesn't matter if the authorities see this or this post inspires a revolution that will change the world because in all probability it won't but I still insist on taking a stand. I also know there won't be any revolution coming our way anytime soon but what the heck! Like we care! But we still insist on showing our unapologetic support to freedom!
Original Video by Tex Williams: http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=dbKQklwNScA
I wish all of you who support the smokers' rights, link this image on their blogs, somewhere. It doesn't matter if the authorities see this or this post inspires a revolution that will change the world because in all probability it won't but I still insist on taking a stand. I also know there won't be any revolution coming our way anytime soon but what the heck! Like we care! But we still insist on showing our unapologetic support to freedom!
Original Video by Tex Williams: http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=dbKQklwNScA
Friday, September 19, 2008
Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories - V
Welcome to yet another edition of Nonsensical Stories, but still Stories. I really don't care if you've read the past four editions or not but for your own better, I'd advise you to. I'm not going to go through the effort of finding and posting the links to earlier four editions, you can do that yourself.
23. Holy Child
Once upon a time in a distant land, there lived an orphan. People called him the holy child because he could recite any scripture from any religion ever since he learnt to talk. Most people didn't understand what he was saying originally because he was reciting the old testament and sometimes even other scriptures in Pali. He had no control over what scripture he would vomit as a kid. So people thought he was a retard and they made him go work at a tea shop. Then one day, people recognised the whole Tulsidas' Ramayana coming out of his mouth which the idiots understood and fell at his feet. His tea became holy tea. They kept insisting he be taken away and treated like a king since this was the return of God himself but he refused. He had already found his simple joy in the simple art of tea making. It was his zen spiritual guide, the boiling tea leaves and their randomness, the impermanence of sugar as it dissolved and the ever changing and evolving colour of the liquid in the vessel.
The End.
24. A Sentence
Sentence was a good girl. She was named so because she never really completed her sentences as a young kid and her father and mother were famous grammar teachers in their city. They were really embarassed of her since they expected their child born out of their eight parts of speech conception to be really perfect. One day, she met a man named Full Stop. His father's name was Bus and his mother's name was Shopper's. They flirted, then there were sparks and then some romance. On a moon-lit night, on a park bench, she looked into his eyes and said: "You complete me" Their marriage was quite a riot. Her parents were finally happy. Soon they had twins Phrase and Clause. Tragedy struck when Full was working hard and he fell into a comma. A lonely Sentence didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to take care of her two kids. Soon, she came across a handsome but mismatched gay couple since they couldn't really do anything together. They just had the same surname, Question and Exclamation Mark. The unhappy couple realised that they both fell in love with Sentence at the same time. They loved each other as well. Thus started a polyamorous relationship between the three. They had eight more kids... C'mon you really want me to tell you the names? Don't you freaking get the pattern by now?! Jeez! I can't believe you aren't chasing me with a fucking sickle for writing this!
The End.
25. Strength and Courage
No, they were not two boys or two girls. They were just strength and courage. They helped a king win a war, a boy fight a bully, a wife beat her drunk husband and a fool die a miserable death.
The End
26. Sex, Whores, Dudes and Double Standards
[title credit to Phil from teh cult]
Guys hate it when girls have slept with as many people, or more than they have. Guys just want to be seed-throwers, so when girls start doing that and in order to compete they start throwing their eggs around, the guys get a complex! They go like "OI! only seeds can be thrown not eggs you dumb whore! Eggs fall and crack open and they're a waste anyways." And then the women go like, "Ow yeah! Fuck off piggyfucking bastard! I will throw eggs too and your mum threw them too!" Then the man goes: "Seeds can be sown and they grow into plants to bear fruits!" Then Paris Hilton says: "Fuck off, man-bitch! Haven't you ever eaten eggplant!" And the rest of womankind feels very sad.
The End.
[More, but later...]
23. Holy Child
Once upon a time in a distant land, there lived an orphan. People called him the holy child because he could recite any scripture from any religion ever since he learnt to talk. Most people didn't understand what he was saying originally because he was reciting the old testament and sometimes even other scriptures in Pali. He had no control over what scripture he would vomit as a kid. So people thought he was a retard and they made him go work at a tea shop. Then one day, people recognised the whole Tulsidas' Ramayana coming out of his mouth which the idiots understood and fell at his feet. His tea became holy tea. They kept insisting he be taken away and treated like a king since this was the return of God himself but he refused. He had already found his simple joy in the simple art of tea making. It was his zen spiritual guide, the boiling tea leaves and their randomness, the impermanence of sugar as it dissolved and the ever changing and evolving colour of the liquid in the vessel.
The End.
24. A Sentence
Sentence was a good girl. She was named so because she never really completed her sentences as a young kid and her father and mother were famous grammar teachers in their city. They were really embarassed of her since they expected their child born out of their eight parts of speech conception to be really perfect. One day, she met a man named Full Stop. His father's name was Bus and his mother's name was Shopper's. They flirted, then there were sparks and then some romance. On a moon-lit night, on a park bench, she looked into his eyes and said: "You complete me" Their marriage was quite a riot. Her parents were finally happy. Soon they had twins Phrase and Clause. Tragedy struck when Full was working hard and he fell into a comma. A lonely Sentence didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to take care of her two kids. Soon, she came across a handsome but mismatched gay couple since they couldn't really do anything together. They just had the same surname, Question and Exclamation Mark. The unhappy couple realised that they both fell in love with Sentence at the same time. They loved each other as well. Thus started a polyamorous relationship between the three. They had eight more kids... C'mon you really want me to tell you the names? Don't you freaking get the pattern by now?! Jeez! I can't believe you aren't chasing me with a fucking sickle for writing this!
The End.
25. Strength and Courage
No, they were not two boys or two girls. They were just strength and courage. They helped a king win a war, a boy fight a bully, a wife beat her drunk husband and a fool die a miserable death.
The End
26. Sex, Whores, Dudes and Double Standards
[title credit to Phil from teh cult]
Guys hate it when girls have slept with as many people, or more than they have. Guys just want to be seed-throwers, so when girls start doing that and in order to compete they start throwing their eggs around, the guys get a complex! They go like "OI! only seeds can be thrown not eggs you dumb whore! Eggs fall and crack open and they're a waste anyways." And then the women go like, "Ow yeah! Fuck off piggyfucking bastard! I will throw eggs too and your mum threw them too!" Then the man goes: "Seeds can be sown and they grow into plants to bear fruits!" Then Paris Hilton says: "Fuck off, man-bitch! Haven't you ever eaten eggplant!" And the rest of womankind feels very sad.
The End.
[More, but later...]
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