Holy schmuck! Its The Treacherous Tart!
This is it. The day all of y had been waiting for. I hang my cape, yes I wore a cape whenever I wrote, and put my mask away for good.
Today, as my glasses were being passed around all the juniors in yellow shirts, someone said I will write about this in my blog. And I just did. I have become a fucking bitch. Bitching about my life. And that happened because of my goddamn followers. My blog was meant for channeling my anger, but then I had to suddenly become politically correct. Because of all my followers. SO, I will start a blog which is far too geeky for any of them to follow or understand. This blog is NOT being deleted. All posts are left here for viewing and always open to comments, I might not reply or even read though. Deal with it!
Anyway, before I leave, a poem.
Would you do it with a friend?
Would you do it end to end?
Would you do it with a clock (not a spelling error, so relax)?
Would you do it in a smock?
Would you do it in a tree?
Would you do it with your knee?
Would you hug a moth?
Do you really want to read this blog?
Anyway... for the last time... GO FUCK YOURSELVES!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Super-Post No.2: Give me fuel, give me fire and medium fries.
Hello you Nazi bastards,
Yes, it is the second Super Post. First of all I'd like to thank the people who have and still are supporting this blog. Thank you so much and call me, I'll give you the number of a professional, because you people need help!
Today is holi. White people won't get it, like most things in life. Holi is the day when you can squirt a girl you like and you don't get arrested for it! Holi is the day when you can blind a person if you use the wrong chemical colour. And you don't get arrested for it!
For people unaware of the reason we celebrate Holi, I shall give you a very brief explanation for why I might be wetting you.
Now, a long time ago, a kid doped on acid started hallucinating about... um, fashion-impaired people. His father got worried, so he asked his leather-pants wearing sister, who was also constantly high on prescription pills, to take care of his son while he was away on “business”... if you know what I mean...
Anyway, Long story short, the sister was trying to make tea but she ended up starting a fire. She learned two things that day: 1. Trying to make tea while still in bed is not called bed tea. And 2. Kerosene make big fire!! I'll let you (or your imagination) fill in the gaps.
The kid survived, the sister died. And THAT is why some chump in a T-shirt which reads “Abbibas” will be squirting you.
Anyway, moving on to the Pope. I always wondered about the pope and his position and his life before Pope-ism. I mean, stuff like; Has the Pope ever had sex? Or Does the Pope really like little boys or is that just a publicity stunt? So many questions, so little thinking capacity. >SIGH<...
Ever wonder what you have to do to be the Pope? I mean, the Pope is supposed to be the leader of the Roman-Catholics or some shit, right? Oh, another question, can I use 'Pope' and 'shit' in the same sentence?
What if the Pope was a porn star before he became the Pope? I mean how the hell do we know what he did before he started wearing that funny hat of his? And why the hell does he need to adopt a name that sixteen other guys before him had? Why can't he keep his porn star name? I mean imagine; Pope Joe Hardwood Or Pope Handy Ironsling Or Pope Long Dong Silver Or Pope Arnold Schwarzenpecker.
So, I was having a bath today. I looked down, and I thought to myself 'hmm, THAT looks new...'. I reached down, shook it a little. It came off! Thankfully it was just a broken nail. Whew!
I like Muslims. And I am not saying that because I am afraid they will freaking bomb me. I like Muslims, the ones I know are really nice people. Really. I am not kidding. Yes, I am aware there is a gun to my head.
Well, that was fun. A little gross, sure. And not as funny as my previous posts, hey, if you wanted funny, you wouldn't be reading this. This blog is like those new TV shows, it keeps getting worse after each season. And so am I, each day people go; Wow, he went from crappy to crappier!
So, like all TV shows going down the drain, I got famous and intelligent and funny people to write for me. I tried to at least. But they refused. So I got my friends to do it. All women by the way (Yeah. And no, I am not paying them by the hour).
The first one here is by Radhika Chakraborty. The Editor-in-Chief of the school magazine. Yeah. So, here is her article.
Soo, holi.
Festival of colours and all that.
Definitely not the day of love. Week of breakups more like it...
Anyway.
Have you noticed that the only colour you really get to see is that god-awful pink? By the end of the day, it’s just pink, filth, and water. It isn’t really very colourful. However hard it tries to be.
oh yes, it starts of all pretty, with organic colours that look like cowdung, and chemicals that probably destroy your skin cells faster than cancer, but look so picturesque that they make even cynics feel happy. But eventually, you’re wet, freezing, muddy, and pink. And it’s fun, strangely enough.
I had a "fun" holi. I think we all did. I’m not going to describe it to you, firdaus will probably do that. I was thrown into a bucket of disgusting muddy blue water, had more dangerous blue chemicals added to it, had a bucket of mud thrown at me, and then thrown into some more mud myself. Fun fun.
What was strange though is that such random people had such a good time together. A twenty year old in their midst had an equally good time. And everyone was wet, muddy, pink, and happy. (Except golum, she was purple.)
I’m so uninspired. I wonder what kirat will write.
Real holi is crap though. Grease, eggs, tar, toothpaste, and bhang, don’t really go too well together. It’s a bit scary really. I wonder how long tar takes to come off.
Nick got pakka rang in his eye. Bani got pakka rang in her contact lens. I got gulal in my ear. If anyone got anything up their nose, they didn’t tell us.
I wish yesterday would come back though; it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I think we should make holi our de-stressor. Whenever the whole class twelve thing gets to be too much, we can play holi. Desna will stock up on gulal and little animal-shaped pichkaris. And we'll feel happy. It’s so odd that so many people can be happy together. No one had issues, no one fought, no one cried. Everyone laughed, shrieked, and shivered. And it felt like life was good. Oh wow I sound like a retard.
Tara likes fall out boy, Arnav drives "well". Firdaus finds Arnav driving "well" amusing. Akshat looks like a pixie, kanupriya is paranoid, and Desna isn't really a harlot, it just bothers us when we see her without a floppy art bag and a purple shawl. Avanish is a penguin, firdaus is a panda, Hegde is a hyperactive polar bear, and we have ourselves an animal farm. Radhika mathur is adorable, and bani looks like she's thirty. Devika is not too bright, and very colourful, Aditya narayan is large, and a scaredy cat. Desna’s parents are the coolest. Seriously. And... Well. That’s about it, everyone else is relatively normal.
Tar is fascinating though. Have you ever thought about it? It’s utterly revolting, but fascinating.
If you think about it, holi is clichéd. All the colours are overly bright, and obnoxiously cheerful. Except that disgusting green urvashi tried putting on me, it was like troll bogey. I wonder why it’s so much fun; you’d think that people hate clichés by now. Strangely enough, no one seems to get sick of it. Except those "cool" people who think they're above it, but are actually too scared to play.
I wonder what I’ll do tomorrow. (Am I supposed to be writing this like its tomorrow, since Avanish is only putting it up tomorrow? well too bad)
I’m rather bored. And am trying desperately not to write about writer's block.
There are birds in the air conditioner. I’ve always wondered about how they reach there, no?
There are lots of people walking around on the road.
People are just about beginning to surface with tiny smidgens of colour on their faces, in anticipation of the grand colourful chaotic cacophony that is tomorrow.
Holi.
Hmm.
--- --- --- ---
Well, now we know what to get you for your birthday other than socks; Tar.
Fascinating. No, really.
Moving on, We have Urvashi Bahuguna. She has written an article (call me Captain Obvious). And, well, I'll let her article do all the talking...
The Million Pieces
Pyre.
Flames.
Unscathed.
Legend.
Festival.
Bullshit.
Smothering skin in color, sense in alcohol and cynicism in exuberance?
Its the skeptic talking.
Its my customary pre-festival spirit.
Its the I-don't-see-what-the-fuss-is-about syndrome.
I sound like the this cynic I know. Scarrrrrrry.
Okay no. This was just post fighting with parents for permission, being rather heartlessly enlightened by Avanish and my mother that JNU is actually crossing Chattarpur and doubling back.
Honestly, I was terrified-excited.
I hadn't played Holi in 8 years. And the holis before that are a blur. In fact I'm pretty sure I reconstruct my memories of them from hideous photographs that ruthless parents take/preserve/frame/display conspiculously/pass around at dinner parties...You get the picture. Literally.
So I'm in dire need of happier, prettier(Is that even possible?) photos.
For example the one below.
Yeah because the measled, mutated, disfigured look is what I was going for.
So I, not to mention a few other similar stupid-not-so-hypermyopic-people, went with every intention to play with only 'dry' colors.
Uhm its funny in retrospect. Actually. Refer to above pictures.
And thats before the permanent colour, the mud and TANYA.
I uh...had fun?
Whether it was Nick stalking me with the pipe...
Or encountering an agitated Radhika M. when she had came out of the bathroom after having washed her face and turned around to find Avanish taking uh a leak(or so she thought)...he was actually washing his feet. But it was pretty funny while she was under that particular delusion.
Or Tara turning into the nightcrawler...
And Akshat's singing...if you can call it that...
Or Radhika's realising after about three hours that Kirat had lied to her and decided to skimp off...
Or Desna's nude...uh sorry semi-nude...quarter-clad...whatever attire....
Oh and a willing Firdaus taking a NOT-QUITE-SO-WILLING Avanish on his lap in my rather over-crowded car.....
Or Avanish's bouncing...I call it bouncing because dancing doesn't cover it...to soulja boy...
Or Shatru's over-enthu fetish for mud...
Or Arnav's determined striding towards Firdaus and Shatru as they spirited his lady-love to the depths of the 'tumbler' and then proceeding to pick her up and dump her in it...Nice, Knight in Shining Armour, nice...
It had its moments…
Angoori Badi.
Colour. Every imaginable, and some not imaginable shades.
Painted. Permanently in some cases. Tara, are you coming to school Thursday?
Memory.
Photographs.
A million little pieces
Things we’ll remember and they’ll forget
And the things we’ll forget and they’ll remember
A million little pieces of a whole.
--- --- ---
Wow. Umm... yeah, that.
Okay, now we have Tara Esha with her article. She is a sarcastic little midget-woman, who is the devil's favorite pupil. Yes, I do mean her. But, she is that good.
“Everyone’s a letdown,
It just depends on how far down they can go…”
The welcoming of spring. A little boy was set on fire, and he didn’t get burnt.
Oh! That is reason enough for us to throw colour on each other and, excuse the expression, wet people.
We are a community of retards.
How else can the festival of holi be explained?
Ask that poor scrawny man in his best shirt, on his way to work, when they attack him, and they ruthlessly shower him with chemicals.
Ask the young woman coming from the hairdressers, who’s assailed by a spray of eggs, or something of that sort.
Ask the guy whose car they cover with their vibrant torrent of permanent colours.
Ask them.
And they’ll tell you.
“We are a community of retards.”
All together now.
I have friends in holy (pun not intended) places where the festival of holi means delicately patting colour on the others cheek, and then gorging on sweets of various kinds in a very dignified manner.
And then there are the others.
The kind that live around me. And you.
They’re everywhere.
They’re hiding just around the corner, waiting to ambush you.
Those bastards.
They get giddy drunk on disgusting ‘bhaang’ and stumble around with lame water pistols, squirting everybody with water. Some of them, I’ve heard, use their own personal pistols, and squirt people with not-water. Disgusting.
THEY sing in harsh, excruciating ways, throwing the random “HOLI HAI” in their chorus. THEY attack the poor scrawny man in his best shirt. THEY assail the young woman coming from the hairdressers. THEY cover the guy’s car with their vibrant torrent of permanent colours. THEY drench you with a water hose. THEY pick you up, and dump you in a giant container filled with everlasting purple water and dunk you in. THEY cake mud on your hair. THEY turn the container over. THEY pour the entire contents on your head. And then, THEY laugh at you.
THEY are retards.
That’s all.
May you all have a happy holi.
--- --- --- ---
Hey, they laugh because they care. And also, is funny.
>SIGH<... I am really considering hiring monkeys for this. No, seriously
There you have it ladies and gentlemen and you lifeless vermin reading this. Women at their best? I prefer not knowing the answer. No, but seriously, this went pretty well. Not the way I hoped it would, but really well. Also I am just glad there were no fax-in-ass or Thor jokes. And I made fun of th pope. Go Pope!
Also, some people might be wondering why I posted it tonight and before 12. Well, Holika died tonight and the kid survived. So... in honour of the kid and the burning bitch we throw colours and drink bhaang until we puke and then our best friends clean it up. But not sure if you puke after drinking too much bhaang.
Well, I'd like to conclude with thanking the women for writing. And for other people supporting me through this. My therapist OG Hankey and my trusty stead, Herpes. Thank you all again. And before we leave tonight, one last message for the people put there; By the character of Evil on my back, I won't let Kyoto burn!
Happy wettings whoresons!
BLOG Details
Radhika's Blog:
http://www.radhika92.blogspot.com
Urvashi's Blog:
http://www.al-kimiaresurrected.blogspot.com
Tara's Blog:
http://www.radiocativesongbird.blogspot.com
Yes, it is the second Super Post. First of all I'd like to thank the people who have and still are supporting this blog. Thank you so much and call me, I'll give you the number of a professional, because you people need help!
Today is holi. White people won't get it, like most things in life. Holi is the day when you can squirt a girl you like and you don't get arrested for it! Holi is the day when you can blind a person if you use the wrong chemical colour. And you don't get arrested for it!
For people unaware of the reason we celebrate Holi, I shall give you a very brief explanation for why I might be wetting you.
Now, a long time ago, a kid doped on acid started hallucinating about... um, fashion-impaired people. His father got worried, so he asked his leather-pants wearing sister, who was also constantly high on prescription pills, to take care of his son while he was away on “business”... if you know what I mean...
Anyway, Long story short, the sister was trying to make tea but she ended up starting a fire. She learned two things that day: 1. Trying to make tea while still in bed is not called bed tea. And 2. Kerosene make big fire!! I'll let you (or your imagination) fill in the gaps.
The kid survived, the sister died. And THAT is why some chump in a T-shirt which reads “Abbibas” will be squirting you.
Anyway, moving on to the Pope. I always wondered about the pope and his position and his life before Pope-ism. I mean, stuff like; Has the Pope ever had sex? Or Does the Pope really like little boys or is that just a publicity stunt? So many questions, so little thinking capacity. >SIGH<...
Ever wonder what you have to do to be the Pope? I mean, the Pope is supposed to be the leader of the Roman-Catholics or some shit, right? Oh, another question, can I use 'Pope' and 'shit' in the same sentence?
What if the Pope was a porn star before he became the Pope? I mean how the hell do we know what he did before he started wearing that funny hat of his? And why the hell does he need to adopt a name that sixteen other guys before him had? Why can't he keep his porn star name? I mean imagine; Pope Joe Hardwood Or Pope Handy Ironsling Or Pope Long Dong Silver Or Pope Arnold Schwarzenpecker.
So, I was having a bath today. I looked down, and I thought to myself 'hmm, THAT looks new...'. I reached down, shook it a little. It came off! Thankfully it was just a broken nail. Whew!
I like Muslims. And I am not saying that because I am afraid they will freaking bomb me. I like Muslims, the ones I know are really nice people. Really. I am not kidding. Yes, I am aware there is a gun to my head.
Well, that was fun. A little gross, sure. And not as funny as my previous posts, hey, if you wanted funny, you wouldn't be reading this. This blog is like those new TV shows, it keeps getting worse after each season. And so am I, each day people go; Wow, he went from crappy to crappier!
So, like all TV shows going down the drain, I got famous and intelligent and funny people to write for me. I tried to at least. But they refused. So I got my friends to do it. All women by the way (Yeah. And no, I am not paying them by the hour).
The first one here is by Radhika Chakraborty. The Editor-in-Chief of the school magazine. Yeah. So, here is her article.
Soo, holi.
Festival of colours and all that.
Definitely not the day of love. Week of breakups more like it...
Anyway.
Have you noticed that the only colour you really get to see is that god-awful pink? By the end of the day, it’s just pink, filth, and water. It isn’t really very colourful. However hard it tries to be.
oh yes, it starts of all pretty, with organic colours that look like cowdung, and chemicals that probably destroy your skin cells faster than cancer, but look so picturesque that they make even cynics feel happy. But eventually, you’re wet, freezing, muddy, and pink. And it’s fun, strangely enough.
I had a "fun" holi. I think we all did. I’m not going to describe it to you, firdaus will probably do that. I was thrown into a bucket of disgusting muddy blue water, had more dangerous blue chemicals added to it, had a bucket of mud thrown at me, and then thrown into some more mud myself. Fun fun.
What was strange though is that such random people had such a good time together. A twenty year old in their midst had an equally good time. And everyone was wet, muddy, pink, and happy. (Except golum, she was purple.)
I’m so uninspired. I wonder what kirat will write.
Real holi is crap though. Grease, eggs, tar, toothpaste, and bhang, don’t really go too well together. It’s a bit scary really. I wonder how long tar takes to come off.
Nick got pakka rang in his eye. Bani got pakka rang in her contact lens. I got gulal in my ear. If anyone got anything up their nose, they didn’t tell us.
I wish yesterday would come back though; it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I think we should make holi our de-stressor. Whenever the whole class twelve thing gets to be too much, we can play holi. Desna will stock up on gulal and little animal-shaped pichkaris. And we'll feel happy. It’s so odd that so many people can be happy together. No one had issues, no one fought, no one cried. Everyone laughed, shrieked, and shivered. And it felt like life was good. Oh wow I sound like a retard.
Tara likes fall out boy, Arnav drives "well". Firdaus finds Arnav driving "well" amusing. Akshat looks like a pixie, kanupriya is paranoid, and Desna isn't really a harlot, it just bothers us when we see her without a floppy art bag and a purple shawl. Avanish is a penguin, firdaus is a panda, Hegde is a hyperactive polar bear, and we have ourselves an animal farm. Radhika mathur is adorable, and bani looks like she's thirty. Devika is not too bright, and very colourful, Aditya narayan is large, and a scaredy cat. Desna’s parents are the coolest. Seriously. And... Well. That’s about it, everyone else is relatively normal.
Tar is fascinating though. Have you ever thought about it? It’s utterly revolting, but fascinating.
If you think about it, holi is clichéd. All the colours are overly bright, and obnoxiously cheerful. Except that disgusting green urvashi tried putting on me, it was like troll bogey. I wonder why it’s so much fun; you’d think that people hate clichés by now. Strangely enough, no one seems to get sick of it. Except those "cool" people who think they're above it, but are actually too scared to play.
I wonder what I’ll do tomorrow. (Am I supposed to be writing this like its tomorrow, since Avanish is only putting it up tomorrow? well too bad)
I’m rather bored. And am trying desperately not to write about writer's block.
There are birds in the air conditioner. I’ve always wondered about how they reach there, no?
There are lots of people walking around on the road.
People are just about beginning to surface with tiny smidgens of colour on their faces, in anticipation of the grand colourful chaotic cacophony that is tomorrow.
Holi.
Hmm.
--- --- --- ---
Well, now we know what to get you for your birthday other than socks; Tar.
Fascinating. No, really.
Moving on, We have Urvashi Bahuguna. She has written an article (call me Captain Obvious). And, well, I'll let her article do all the talking...
The Million Pieces
Pyre.
Flames.
Unscathed.
Legend.
Festival.
Bullshit.
Smothering skin in color, sense in alcohol and cynicism in exuberance?
Its the skeptic talking.
Its my customary pre-festival spirit.
Its the I-don't-see-what-the-fuss-is-about syndrome.
I sound like the this cynic I know. Scarrrrrrry.
Okay no. This was just post fighting with parents for permission, being rather heartlessly enlightened by Avanish and my mother that JNU is actually crossing Chattarpur and doubling back.
Honestly, I was terrified-excited.
I hadn't played Holi in 8 years. And the holis before that are a blur. In fact I'm pretty sure I reconstruct my memories of them from hideous photographs that ruthless parents take/preserve/frame/display conspiculously/pass around at dinner parties...You get the picture. Literally.
So I'm in dire need of happier, prettier(Is that even possible?) photos.
For example the one below.
Yeah because the measled, mutated, disfigured look is what I was going for.
So I, not to mention a few other similar stupid-not-so-hypermyopic-people, went with every intention to play with only 'dry' colors.
Uhm its funny in retrospect. Actually. Refer to above pictures.
And thats before the permanent colour, the mud and TANYA.
I uh...had fun?
Whether it was Nick stalking me with the pipe...
Or encountering an agitated Radhika M. when she had came out of the bathroom after having washed her face and turned around to find Avanish taking uh a leak(or so she thought)...he was actually washing his feet. But it was pretty funny while she was under that particular delusion.
Or Tara turning into the nightcrawler...
And Akshat's singing...if you can call it that...
Or Radhika's realising after about three hours that Kirat had lied to her and decided to skimp off...
Or Desna's nude...uh sorry semi-nude...quarter-clad...whatever attire....
Oh and a willing Firdaus taking a NOT-QUITE-SO-WILLING Avanish on his lap in my rather over-crowded car.....
Or Avanish's bouncing...I call it bouncing because dancing doesn't cover it...to soulja boy...
Or Shatru's over-enthu fetish for mud...
Or Arnav's determined striding towards Firdaus and Shatru as they spirited his lady-love to the depths of the 'tumbler' and then proceeding to pick her up and dump her in it...Nice, Knight in Shining Armour, nice...
It had its moments…
Angoori Badi.
Colour. Every imaginable, and some not imaginable shades.
Painted. Permanently in some cases. Tara, are you coming to school Thursday?
Memory.
Photographs.
A million little pieces
Things we’ll remember and they’ll forget
And the things we’ll forget and they’ll remember
A million little pieces of a whole.
--- --- ---
Wow. Umm... yeah, that.
Okay, now we have Tara Esha with her article. She is a sarcastic little midget-woman, who is the devil's favorite pupil. Yes, I do mean her. But, she is that good.
“Everyone’s a letdown,
It just depends on how far down they can go…”
The welcoming of spring. A little boy was set on fire, and he didn’t get burnt.
Oh! That is reason enough for us to throw colour on each other and, excuse the expression, wet people.
We are a community of retards.
How else can the festival of holi be explained?
Ask that poor scrawny man in his best shirt, on his way to work, when they attack him, and they ruthlessly shower him with chemicals.
Ask the young woman coming from the hairdressers, who’s assailed by a spray of eggs, or something of that sort.
Ask the guy whose car they cover with their vibrant torrent of permanent colours.
Ask them.
And they’ll tell you.
“We are a community of retards.”
All together now.
I have friends in holy (pun not intended) places where the festival of holi means delicately patting colour on the others cheek, and then gorging on sweets of various kinds in a very dignified manner.
And then there are the others.
The kind that live around me. And you.
They’re everywhere.
They’re hiding just around the corner, waiting to ambush you.
Those bastards.
They get giddy drunk on disgusting ‘bhaang’ and stumble around with lame water pistols, squirting everybody with water. Some of them, I’ve heard, use their own personal pistols, and squirt people with not-water. Disgusting.
THEY sing in harsh, excruciating ways, throwing the random “HOLI HAI” in their chorus. THEY attack the poor scrawny man in his best shirt. THEY assail the young woman coming from the hairdressers. THEY cover the guy’s car with their vibrant torrent of permanent colours. THEY drench you with a water hose. THEY pick you up, and dump you in a giant container filled with everlasting purple water and dunk you in. THEY cake mud on your hair. THEY turn the container over. THEY pour the entire contents on your head. And then, THEY laugh at you.
THEY are retards.
That’s all.
May you all have a happy holi.
--- --- --- ---
Hey, they laugh because they care. And also, is funny.
>SIGH<... I am really considering hiring monkeys for this. No, seriously
There you have it ladies and gentlemen and you lifeless vermin reading this. Women at their best? I prefer not knowing the answer. No, but seriously, this went pretty well. Not the way I hoped it would, but really well. Also I am just glad there were no fax-in-ass or Thor jokes. And I made fun of th pope. Go Pope!
Also, some people might be wondering why I posted it tonight and before 12. Well, Holika died tonight and the kid survived. So... in honour of the kid and the burning bitch we throw colours and drink bhaang until we puke and then our best friends clean it up. But not sure if you puke after drinking too much bhaang.
Well, I'd like to conclude with thanking the women for writing. And for other people supporting me through this. My therapist OG Hankey and my trusty stead, Herpes. Thank you all again. And before we leave tonight, one last message for the people put there; By the character of Evil on my back, I won't let Kyoto burn!
Happy wettings whoresons!
BLOG Details
Radhika's Blog:
http://www.radhika92.blogspot.com
Urvashi's Blog:
http://www.al-kimiaresurrected.blogspot.com
Tara's Blog:
http://www.radiocativesongbird.blogspot.com
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Post No. 19: Damn nazi's... can't do one jobe right...
Hello, my sweet bitches,
So, um... today was far too messed up. I actually argued with my parents about going to school. THATS not messed up, but I wanted to go and my parents didn't. THAT was.
Well, the day had only begun. Yes, this post IS about my day. But trust me it gets funnier. Well, actually only one funny thing happened today. A bird, um... took a crap on me. Yeah. That is correct.
Fucking birds!
Anyway. Today wasn't actually half bad. Still alive. And the women man, I can't help but be a sexist. Anyway, there is this girl, who is unbelievably strong. Not you. Anyway, these other two bitches told her that wrote about her in her blog and I didn't but then the freak-bitch started hitting me again. And it hurt. Sometimes I get the feeling, they don't like me. The women, I mean. But, I really can't blame them.
Moving on, I hate those idiots who think they are all that but really aren't (I know, I know, I am a hypocrite... well, deal with it...). They can go blow the pope. Yes, I picking on the pope. Again. For some reason the pope pisses me off. I think it's his hat.
SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!
Okay, kids, now we shall play a game called “My Days as a Male Prostitute!”!!!!
DAY ONE:
Lost on my way home, lost on the road.
A sliver of light remains in the sky,
Oh look the Pope!
Lets get him high!
Smoke and smoke, sniff and snort.
Drugs are fun,
Going over the moon,
I think the drugs are working,
Days of future-past,
I am the king of kings.
Whore and more, lined up.
Oh, look! Mr. T!
Lovers lost, brothers dead,
That sounds so wrong,
But when they do come,
hit them with the gong!
My first day was fun.
Join me, won't you, next time?
--- ---
Now, THAT was fucked UP!!
Carpe Diem, assholes.
So, um... today was far too messed up. I actually argued with my parents about going to school. THATS not messed up, but I wanted to go and my parents didn't. THAT was.
Well, the day had only begun. Yes, this post IS about my day. But trust me it gets funnier. Well, actually only one funny thing happened today. A bird, um... took a crap on me. Yeah. That is correct.
Fucking birds!
Anyway. Today wasn't actually half bad. Still alive. And the women man, I can't help but be a sexist. Anyway, there is this girl, who is unbelievably strong. Not you. Anyway, these other two bitches told her that wrote about her in her blog and I didn't but then the freak-bitch started hitting me again. And it hurt. Sometimes I get the feeling, they don't like me. The women, I mean. But, I really can't blame them.
Moving on, I hate those idiots who think they are all that but really aren't (I know, I know, I am a hypocrite... well, deal with it...). They can go blow the pope. Yes, I picking on the pope. Again. For some reason the pope pisses me off. I think it's his hat.
SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!
Okay, kids, now we shall play a game called “My Days as a Male Prostitute!”!!!!
DAY ONE:
Lost on my way home, lost on the road.
A sliver of light remains in the sky,
Oh look the Pope!
Lets get him high!
Smoke and smoke, sniff and snort.
Drugs are fun,
Going over the moon,
I think the drugs are working,
Days of future-past,
I am the king of kings.
Whore and more, lined up.
Oh, look! Mr. T!
Lovers lost, brothers dead,
That sounds so wrong,
But when they do come,
hit them with the gong!
My first day was fun.
Join me, won't you, next time?
--- ---
Now, THAT was fucked UP!!
Carpe Diem, assholes.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Post No. 18: This is hell-a lame!
CHIPS A-WHORE! (if you haven't noticed , it is on 'chips ahoy!'... a crappy one, sure),
Religion. It is funny. Very, very funny. And you can read about I how funny it is during the second super-post releasing this holi.
So anyway, Today I found out that one of my friends is a harlette. If you don't know what I means, here it is.
The female on the back of a Harley, riding bitch. Native dress includes combinations of the following: a bikini, leather vest, jeans, leather pants, hot pants, a bandana, leather jacket, concert t-shirt and high heeled, leather fuck-me boots.
And yes she is. Yes you are. And I did not type this out myself. Its a proper definition. Look it up.
Anyway, I kept making fun of her, don't know if it ticked her off or not, but she was chucking chalk and thumb tacks at me. And she missed. But she is a good girl. Hmm, that doesn't sound right. At one point I was afraid she going to spank my ass and make me adopt the name 'Ginger'. Okay, not really. But it sounds funny.
Moving on, now this super-post. I said somewhere that I wanted women to write for it, but I can't help it if they are acting like harlots. Now I don't mean the above mentioned thing.
See, women annoy me. If I'd have asked guys, they would have definitely said yes. Why? Because guys don't mind doing something like this for a friend. Earlier also I mentioned I don't chose to be a sexist because I like the way it sounds, but because I see things happening around me. And not to just one woman, as some people assume I talk of only one girl on this blog. I can't form a sexist's opinion if just one woman is being a bitch.
So... I am bored and I have three projects to start and finish. And do art work. Yelling 'fuck' right now would not be inappropriate.
Anyway, to make a long post short; go fuck yourslef!
Religion. It is funny. Very, very funny. And you can read about I how funny it is during the second super-post releasing this holi.
So anyway, Today I found out that one of my friends is a harlette. If you don't know what I means, here it is.
The female on the back of a Harley, riding bitch. Native dress includes combinations of the following: a bikini, leather vest, jeans, leather pants, hot pants, a bandana, leather jacket, concert t-shirt and high heeled, leather fuck-me boots.
And yes she is. Yes you are. And I did not type this out myself. Its a proper definition. Look it up.
Anyway, I kept making fun of her, don't know if it ticked her off or not, but she was chucking chalk and thumb tacks at me. And she missed. But she is a good girl. Hmm, that doesn't sound right. At one point I was afraid she going to spank my ass and make me adopt the name 'Ginger'. Okay, not really. But it sounds funny.
Moving on, now this super-post. I said somewhere that I wanted women to write for it, but I can't help it if they are acting like harlots. Now I don't mean the above mentioned thing.
See, women annoy me. If I'd have asked guys, they would have definitely said yes. Why? Because guys don't mind doing something like this for a friend. Earlier also I mentioned I don't chose to be a sexist because I like the way it sounds, but because I see things happening around me. And not to just one woman, as some people assume I talk of only one girl on this blog. I can't form a sexist's opinion if just one woman is being a bitch.
So... I am bored and I have three projects to start and finish. And do art work. Yelling 'fuck' right now would not be inappropriate.
Anyway, to make a long post short; go fuck yourslef!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Review Post No.1: Nick Drake sucks!
Long time... assholes...
I haven't blogged for the past few days because I have a life...
… Okay, I do not. But I realized my writing was becoming too... unhurtful... and, yes, it is not a ord. Nor is 'ord', but 'word' is.
This is a special post, it is my very special REVIEW POST NO. 1. I shall be reviwing a movie, TV show, book, comic book and etcetera when I get bored of ranting on about how my life is full of idiots dancing and walking around in leather pants (Yes, I mean YOU!).
Today, I shall review my favouritest movie ever. Ever. Sholay. If you haven't seen it, just imagine me (I am a hunky funny guy with facial hair... seriously) insulting you and kicking your faggy ass. And you suck. Oh-so very much!
“Sholay”
People around the world know of bollywood movies or as some people prefer hindi/ Indian movies. But the thing is, they haven't seen true Indian cinema until they have seen Sholay. According to me, is one of the greatest movies ever made. Ever.
Some people in my film are planning to become film makers. And it is highly possible they haven't seen Sholay. Which is actually very amusing and slightly disgusting (And here I am talking about two women. Because some people think I only mention one woman in this blog).
Moving on, Sholay, just like the western classic 'The Magnificent Seven' is a plot pick up from Akira Kurosawa's 'Seven Samurai' and (according to rumours) some Sergio Leone westerns. But the only difference is there two main protagonists instead of seven.
The plot runs on like this. The village of Ramgad is being terrorized by Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan) and his bandits. Thakur Baldev Singh (Sanjeev Kumar), who used to be a cop once, hires two ruffians he once arrested and they helped him defend a train they were traveling in and also save his life before running away. They are Veeru (played by Dharmendra) and Jai (Portrayed by Amitabh Bachchan). And the story unfolds as they meet various characters from the village and defend it from Gabbar and his gang of hoodlums (always wanted to say that!).
This movie is also known as a 'Curry Western'. Racist bastards. Commenting on the music, well, all songs are brilliantly done, with music from the legendary R. D. Burman (lyrics, I have no idea...).
The most brilliantly written movie. Till date. I swear. Javed Akhtar and Salim Khan have written the characters so perfectly, it's not funny. But it is when they want it to be. This is a must watch for anybody who calls himself a 'movie buff', the hell does that mean anyway?
---
There you have it, a review from a man so bored he painted his nails. Okay, no. But I could if I wanted to. This will not be a regular thing so, if you are looking for movie reviews old or new, hindi or english (though you'll find mostly english movies, the guy is slightly gavaar when it comes to hindi).
Here is the link; http://www.nick-movies.blogspot.com
Do go there and do NOT click on his ads (And 'NOT' doesn't apply, so do click on them)
Okay, this has been fun. And everytime you think of me, you'll get some!
Ciao (okay, never again...)
I haven't blogged for the past few days because I have a life...
… Okay, I do not. But I realized my writing was becoming too... unhurtful... and, yes, it is not a ord. Nor is 'ord', but 'word' is.
This is a special post, it is my very special REVIEW POST NO. 1. I shall be reviwing a movie, TV show, book, comic book and etcetera when I get bored of ranting on about how my life is full of idiots dancing and walking around in leather pants (Yes, I mean YOU!).
Today, I shall review my favouritest movie ever. Ever. Sholay. If you haven't seen it, just imagine me (I am a hunky funny guy with facial hair... seriously) insulting you and kicking your faggy ass. And you suck. Oh-so very much!
“Sholay”
People around the world know of bollywood movies or as some people prefer hindi/ Indian movies. But the thing is, they haven't seen true Indian cinema until they have seen Sholay. According to me, is one of the greatest movies ever made. Ever.
Some people in my film are planning to become film makers. And it is highly possible they haven't seen Sholay. Which is actually very amusing and slightly disgusting (And here I am talking about two women. Because some people think I only mention one woman in this blog).
Moving on, Sholay, just like the western classic 'The Magnificent Seven' is a plot pick up from Akira Kurosawa's 'Seven Samurai' and (according to rumours) some Sergio Leone westerns. But the only difference is there two main protagonists instead of seven.
The plot runs on like this. The village of Ramgad is being terrorized by Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan) and his bandits. Thakur Baldev Singh (Sanjeev Kumar), who used to be a cop once, hires two ruffians he once arrested and they helped him defend a train they were traveling in and also save his life before running away. They are Veeru (played by Dharmendra) and Jai (Portrayed by Amitabh Bachchan). And the story unfolds as they meet various characters from the village and defend it from Gabbar and his gang of hoodlums (always wanted to say that!).
This movie is also known as a 'Curry Western'. Racist bastards. Commenting on the music, well, all songs are brilliantly done, with music from the legendary R. D. Burman (lyrics, I have no idea...).
The most brilliantly written movie. Till date. I swear. Javed Akhtar and Salim Khan have written the characters so perfectly, it's not funny. But it is when they want it to be. This is a must watch for anybody who calls himself a 'movie buff', the hell does that mean anyway?
---
There you have it, a review from a man so bored he painted his nails. Okay, no. But I could if I wanted to. This will not be a regular thing so, if you are looking for movie reviews old or new, hindi or english (though you'll find mostly english movies, the guy is slightly gavaar when it comes to hindi).
Here is the link; http://www.nick-movies.blogspot.com
Do go there and do NOT click on his ads (And 'NOT' doesn't apply, so do click on them)
Okay, this has been fun. And everytime you think of me, you'll get some!
Ciao (okay, never again...)
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