Birthdays are pointless but I’m sure trying to appreciate them once wouldn’t hurt me as long as it makes the person smile. And I really really hope this does; I’m wasting a bloody post.
She’s dumb, feigns innocence, and is a little cooler than me, wears a nose ring, listens to rap metal and gets stares from everyone. Everyone includes boys in white cars with tinted glasses; old men with erectile dysfunction, girls who it seems want to eat her, Biharis in rickshaws and strangely even street dogs. She likes her men tough and to look like amateur wrestlers and I’ve seen a few with mullets too. Either they’re older or younger; I guess guys her age are a terrible turn off for her. The older ones turn out to be bastards wanting only what’s not legal at 17 in India and the younger ones are so effin dumb that thinking that you can be a winning villain in Texas Ranger is more believable.
Well, it’s this girl’s birthday today and I wanted her to know that she needs to quit being played around so easily and shriek “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” on her terrace every night before sleeping.
Wena, you seriously need to learn a few things from me, I’m god so it is an obligation for me to help you mortals. I know you feel sorry for yourself, but learn to blame it on everyone else, be self centered and make everyone feel sorry for me, no wait, not for me, for you. Take a vacation now, and relax for a while, and throw all those who you so sweetly call ‘bastards’ on the floor.
Happy birthday, put your left hand over your heart and say, “It’s perfectly fine to be happy individual and that’s what I shall be this year, I will not be sad anymore, I will not be mad anymore coz I know EDI loves me and he’ll be there to ring around the friggin rosie.” ♥♥ (I though this’d make you happy, love you!)
12.3.10
4.3.10
DepartMENTAL Stores
Yo.
How have you all been? It’s been ages since I’ve hurt my fingers over a keyboard. I’ll try not to go back to my almost irritating habit of trying to bring myself down every time I start a new post. I know you’re most probably wetting your laptop or computer desk or whatever it is that you use knowing that I’m writing again. (Ha-ha! Old habits die hard.)
Screw the formalities; I’ve never been much for them anyway. I’m getting older and much more sober. What people usually do when they have this thought running in their head is to snub their little immature friends who by the divine intervention of one of the million gods created to make primates such as us feel better (A million still isn’t enough), they throw in the same category as a horny orangutan trying to be Natalie Portman. You try to find a purpose, and six months into it you’re back to swimming in the pot. I laughed for 3 hours reading that shitty thing I called a blog, it’s pretty awesome for a 12 year old who’s running from his dad. I laugh with scorn at people who are like I was, here’s why:
Okay, your life sucks, and you refuse to see it’s the same for everyone but c’mon, get a goddamned life, crying isn’t helping remove the blisters on your sorry ass. Go out have a laugh and if you can’t, just laugh at yourself.
If you’re finding it difficult then here’s what you do, roll your hand into a fist and punch the wall as hard as you can. If your hand hurts then you’re so brainless that you’d put Jimmy Kimmel to shame because you actually did what I told you to do and you never thought of using your own doodle under your cranium. The only time you should believe me is when I’m in my dad’s company or if I’ve downed 15 beers or if I’ve been telling you to let me sleep but being so considerate you say ‘Just 5 minutes more..’ or if BFS breaks up.
Today I shall bullshit about departmental stores. The ‘mental’ in departmental is a very subtle warning to those about to enter one. Whether you walk out the store cursing like Gordon Ramsey when he’s nice or beaming like the guy from the Close-Up ad depends wholly on the alignment of your stars, hence it is advised to consult your astrologist before planning a trip to the store. We all have to visit such a store no matter what your age is, everything but a kids teeth will attract an 8 year old to the candies on display, a 12 year old will think he’s responsible and mature enough to help run the house and make daily visits to the store, those who are 16 will be forced by evil mothers to get out of their rooms to get stuff and be reminded to turn the music down thrice before leaving, I could carry on but I’ll assume that you’re an above average retard who got the picture by now. We all encounter the store clerks, the incredibly long lines which somehow have an old lady coughing every time and the friendly storehands.
Storehands have this uncanny ability to jump on you from nowhere and ask what you’re looking for when you’re just about to pick up the item for which you came to the store for. Their cockeyed stare does nothing to hide the contempt and suspicion they reserve for every human being that enters their store. It’s difficult to not turn around and shout this at the guys face “PISS OFF! IF I WERE A SHOPLIFTER I WOULDN’T STEAL HALDI!” Though it is advisable to not have a tiff with the guy because no human I know likes being stared at contemptuously for the remainder of the trip to the store. Sometimes you encounter an overfriendly storehand whose behavior screams ‘My favorite movie is Rocket Singh’. No, thank you, I do not need these pads even if you’re selling them for half the price because one, guys usually don’t menstruate and two, I only buy Whisper.
The easiest way to handle storehands is to go have a PC with the manager asking him how the kids are in full view of the welters who are commonly known as storehands.
The waiting line is the best part of the trip as this is the only time your troubles at home/workplace/school amount to nothing compared to this arduous task. If you’re a queer this is where you should hang out for eternity, you’ll always be hard with the pushes and touches the very patient citizens of this country give you. I think I should grow up and scientifically prove that the person in front of you in the line somehow always manages to forget something with 4 baskets full of goods and always has someone dying at home because he insists on going first despite you just having a packet of Lays to purchase. Have you ever been amazed how the word sorry is used close to a hundred times by the gentleman behind you after every push? You should be kind enough to explain the meaning of the sentence – I won’t do it again, or the word – sorry. The best of us who are restless to get home and waste some time have a very clever habit of changing lines and its actually surprising how they end up switching lines till the store closes. Consider this as a store line decree – NEVER SWITCH LINES. Sometimes this wait can be made interesting by a very nice young lady in the row next to you who seems oblivious to the fact that she’s wearing very revealing attire which is drawing stares towards her even from the basement. If I turn out to be a bum and work at such a store I’ll hire one of these girls and make her stand on a pedestal in the middle of the counters for customer satisfaction. Maybe the Nobel Judges will be beaten up to make a trip to my store by their wives (Wives aren’t lazy they just enjoy making other people do their work) and they’ll recognize my service to humanity and award me the prize. When you’re buying lots of shit and are staring at the false ceiling with the shopping basket at your feet you shall always be disturbed by the polite poke on the shoulder by someone or the other who unlike you preferred staring into your basket and asked “Son, where did you find that pack of Fosters?” You should be polite enough to point out to the old man that at his age he wouldn’t be able to survive the six-pack and that you wouldn’t tell him unless he hooked your best friend up with his granddaughter.
The line ends with the cashiers’ counter towards which reactions have been pretty much a mixed bag. Some lucky bastards get the old hand who’s The Flash’s distant cousin and gets you through in less than 30 seconds even if you’re buying half the store. Some are unlucky and get the summer job student who couldn’t tell you a company that made razors for shaving your pubes.
I’m going to have to apologize now. I’m cutting this post short because I love me and I’ll die if I don’t get some sleep.
I’ll go with this final sermon, visit the departmental store only if your astrologer promises that the storehands will have an off day, the lines will be short and you get the awesome cashier. If you’re not promised this, don’t visit the store unless you’re suicidal.
Regards
EDI
How have you all been? It’s been ages since I’ve hurt my fingers over a keyboard. I’ll try not to go back to my almost irritating habit of trying to bring myself down every time I start a new post. I know you’re most probably wetting your laptop or computer desk or whatever it is that you use knowing that I’m writing again. (Ha-ha! Old habits die hard.)
Screw the formalities; I’ve never been much for them anyway. I’m getting older and much more sober. What people usually do when they have this thought running in their head is to snub their little immature friends who by the divine intervention of one of the million gods created to make primates such as us feel better (A million still isn’t enough), they throw in the same category as a horny orangutan trying to be Natalie Portman. You try to find a purpose, and six months into it you’re back to swimming in the pot. I laughed for 3 hours reading that shitty thing I called a blog, it’s pretty awesome for a 12 year old who’s running from his dad. I laugh with scorn at people who are like I was, here’s why:
Okay, your life sucks, and you refuse to see it’s the same for everyone but c’mon, get a goddamned life, crying isn’t helping remove the blisters on your sorry ass. Go out have a laugh and if you can’t, just laugh at yourself.
If you’re finding it difficult then here’s what you do, roll your hand into a fist and punch the wall as hard as you can. If your hand hurts then you’re so brainless that you’d put Jimmy Kimmel to shame because you actually did what I told you to do and you never thought of using your own doodle under your cranium. The only time you should believe me is when I’m in my dad’s company or if I’ve downed 15 beers or if I’ve been telling you to let me sleep but being so considerate you say ‘Just 5 minutes more..’ or if BFS breaks up.
Today I shall bullshit about departmental stores. The ‘mental’ in departmental is a very subtle warning to those about to enter one. Whether you walk out the store cursing like Gordon Ramsey when he’s nice or beaming like the guy from the Close-Up ad depends wholly on the alignment of your stars, hence it is advised to consult your astrologist before planning a trip to the store. We all have to visit such a store no matter what your age is, everything but a kids teeth will attract an 8 year old to the candies on display, a 12 year old will think he’s responsible and mature enough to help run the house and make daily visits to the store, those who are 16 will be forced by evil mothers to get out of their rooms to get stuff and be reminded to turn the music down thrice before leaving, I could carry on but I’ll assume that you’re an above average retard who got the picture by now. We all encounter the store clerks, the incredibly long lines which somehow have an old lady coughing every time and the friendly storehands.
Storehands have this uncanny ability to jump on you from nowhere and ask what you’re looking for when you’re just about to pick up the item for which you came to the store for. Their cockeyed stare does nothing to hide the contempt and suspicion they reserve for every human being that enters their store. It’s difficult to not turn around and shout this at the guys face “PISS OFF! IF I WERE A SHOPLIFTER I WOULDN’T STEAL HALDI!” Though it is advisable to not have a tiff with the guy because no human I know likes being stared at contemptuously for the remainder of the trip to the store. Sometimes you encounter an overfriendly storehand whose behavior screams ‘My favorite movie is Rocket Singh’. No, thank you, I do not need these pads even if you’re selling them for half the price because one, guys usually don’t menstruate and two, I only buy Whisper.
The easiest way to handle storehands is to go have a PC with the manager asking him how the kids are in full view of the welters who are commonly known as storehands.
The waiting line is the best part of the trip as this is the only time your troubles at home/workplace/school amount to nothing compared to this arduous task. If you’re a queer this is where you should hang out for eternity, you’ll always be hard with the pushes and touches the very patient citizens of this country give you. I think I should grow up and scientifically prove that the person in front of you in the line somehow always manages to forget something with 4 baskets full of goods and always has someone dying at home because he insists on going first despite you just having a packet of Lays to purchase. Have you ever been amazed how the word sorry is used close to a hundred times by the gentleman behind you after every push? You should be kind enough to explain the meaning of the sentence – I won’t do it again, or the word – sorry. The best of us who are restless to get home and waste some time have a very clever habit of changing lines and its actually surprising how they end up switching lines till the store closes. Consider this as a store line decree – NEVER SWITCH LINES. Sometimes this wait can be made interesting by a very nice young lady in the row next to you who seems oblivious to the fact that she’s wearing very revealing attire which is drawing stares towards her even from the basement. If I turn out to be a bum and work at such a store I’ll hire one of these girls and make her stand on a pedestal in the middle of the counters for customer satisfaction. Maybe the Nobel Judges will be beaten up to make a trip to my store by their wives (Wives aren’t lazy they just enjoy making other people do their work) and they’ll recognize my service to humanity and award me the prize. When you’re buying lots of shit and are staring at the false ceiling with the shopping basket at your feet you shall always be disturbed by the polite poke on the shoulder by someone or the other who unlike you preferred staring into your basket and asked “Son, where did you find that pack of Fosters?” You should be polite enough to point out to the old man that at his age he wouldn’t be able to survive the six-pack and that you wouldn’t tell him unless he hooked your best friend up with his granddaughter.
The line ends with the cashiers’ counter towards which reactions have been pretty much a mixed bag. Some lucky bastards get the old hand who’s The Flash’s distant cousin and gets you through in less than 30 seconds even if you’re buying half the store. Some are unlucky and get the summer job student who couldn’t tell you a company that made razors for shaving your pubes.
I’m going to have to apologize now. I’m cutting this post short because I love me and I’ll die if I don’t get some sleep.
I’ll go with this final sermon, visit the departmental store only if your astrologer promises that the storehands will have an off day, the lines will be short and you get the awesome cashier. If you’re not promised this, don’t visit the store unless you’re suicidal.
Regards
EDI
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