DISCLAIMER: Ladies and gentleman welcome to the disclaimer ,yes, that's right THE DISCLAIMER. The editor might cleanse any sense of innuendo or sarcasm from this post that may actually make you think and parts of it might actually make some sense. So protect yourself as this post may contain insulting content of things which are true. So if it seems sarcastic, don't take it seriously. If you think this is dangerous, don't quote it and if it offends you just don't read it.
Forget Oceans Eleven, Twelve to Hundred & Thirteen, the greatest con ever has been on for two millennia and a few centuries. I call it God, with a capital G. I shall present you with the story of the 20th century in support of my blasphemous views.
God is most probably Harry Houdini's granddad or close blood relative. It seems wherever us humans go in search for him he disappears with great efficiency and finds himself a new safe haven. We lived on land while he resided in his great old palace high above in the clouds. But, with our wickedly cool cerebellums which he bestowed upon us we found ourselves a way to invade his home in an air mobile which was remarkably similar to his mode of transport, The Chariot of The Sky. Except ours didn't have a name as grand as God's. The best we came up with was an aeroplane, which is pretty dull compared to the name God gave his flying machine. Well, we used this aeroplane machine and to our dismay we found nothing but vast expanses of fluffy, white, cotton like masses of compact water. No Kingdom of Heaven, no Grand Palace with dancing maidens and no sign at all of our guiding light. A lot of use were miserable over this and to keep the hope up a lot of cool theories were put forward. One man said that Big Daddy-O was on vacation and used the disturbed state of Russia and west Europe to prove his point. Another said that He by mistake had rubbed fried chicken on his face and was suffering from severe acne and that most probably he was just too embarrassed to show himself. Dermatologists supported this theory with great enthusiasm and even made a few million bucks writing books like '101 Reasons Why Fried Stuff Is A Bad Facewash' and 'Acne: A Holy Embarrassment'. Finally the guys with a horrid sense of dressing living in a tiny country in southern Europe said they'd misread the location of Heaven and that it had sent them a change of address letter and was now located just outside of the atmosphere. If God's top servitor said so from his high balcony, safe from being stoned by an early 20th century punk, it must be true. So all places of worship were up & running once again and a lot of swimming was going on there in the cash God asked for.
Everything was hunky dory for the men of religion for another half century, especially the donations. But, God made a huge mistake by going on holiday at a very wrong time. The result was catastrophic. That bad boy Hitler decided to make most of this opportunity and went on a killing spree sending only a few million to Hades realm. Poor Hades down below was overworked and he too disappeared as soon as the first deep earth sonar was used. Tssk tssk, that poor God.
God cut his vacation short and decided to give the most awesome minds to the two most powerful countries in the world at that time. One in Europe and one in North America. The one in North America dropped a Little Boy (seriously) to end the war. But alas, we humans being the ungrateful snobs we are decided to use our new intelligence to go check out God's new out of the world (quite literally) premises. God ran away once again and the guys who saved him last time soiled their underpants. At this point many became of the belief that God wasn't being particularly clever these days for having axed his own foot by giving us the brains he did.
The men of religion were stuck in a blind and decided to play it safe by blaming themselves for misinterpreting the sayings of the messengers God had sent long back. They said the interpretation should be our own for our faith to be truly successful. This took a majority of humans by surprise as these men had executed hundreds of intelligent dudes for having suggested the truth. For example - the Earth revolves around the Sun, our planet is spherical not flat, there is no horror of empty space and that vacuum exists. Our heads went all crazy like a compass near a magnet and we turned to dope for answers. And that my friends was the advent of the Hippie Generation.
The servants of God decided to use our dazed state of mind to their advantage by proposing that God was actually invisible and was watching over us all the time. H.G. Wells disagreed. His ghost came back to haunt us and begun demonstrating against libraries for having his book 'The Invisible Man' in the fiction bookshelf.
Three fourth of the world's population felt the need to escape this drama and resigned to accept the existence of god. That is the population that rules the planet today.
Looking at the hunger in the world, overpriced beer, violent deaths, booger, wars, dog poop on the streets and chewing gum stuck on your shoe it hard not to accept that God is at least incompetent. These kind of results are expected from an office clerk with a bad attitude, they wouldn't look all that good on the resume of a supreme being.
To end this I announce to the heavens, IF THERE IS A GOD MAY HE STRIKE ME DOWN!
See, nothing happened......NOO!!! Wait, I'm having.......... mass...... convulsions. Shit, my ballllss hurt.. Fuccckk I've gone blind. sdaohfiaofaffl
Nah! Just kidding, I'm as good as god can be.
P.S. Many of you may feel the urge to lynch me after reading this so just to buy myself a few more years I assure you I do respect your faith though I might not agree with it. I mean no harm to your sensibilities so try not cutting this young boy's life short.
19.8.10
27.6.10
I'm Sorry...I Think
¡Hola!
¿Qué pasa? He estado más o menos bien.
Nope, I haven't been learning Spanish. I just have a new found fascination of going through my sister's lessons every once in a while, I hope that doesn't count as learning, or does it? :s
I just love hibernating, especially when I have no excuse to. Actually, I don't but whatever. I like writing, I just created a shell that has stupid and blank graffitied over it but I'm a smart ass, have always been. My black little book is half full with scribbles, weird sketches, a song or two and drool from sleeping on it and that to me was a sign to get my ass back here.
Manchester City should never have sold Elano, he's shown us why already. The Vuvuzelas are awesome. I know their noise is being compared to the sound of a million bees or a hundred chainsaws, but that's exactly what I like about them. I had a magnetic moment (not the physics term, science-ys) with these irritating things during the Uruguay-France match. I love studying Physics and Math, but Chemistry should be ranted on by Cartman or Homer. It's so irritating and mind space consuming. And anyway to protons and electrons are too small to be given a fick about.
I fell to the dark side and I'm gonna have a Star War-sy post on it within the week, I've written half of it.
Now I have an uncontrollable urge to pee, WHERE'S THE BATHROOM?!
Regards and everything,
EDI
¿Qué pasa? He estado más o menos bien.
Nope, I haven't been learning Spanish. I just have a new found fascination of going through my sister's lessons every once in a while, I hope that doesn't count as learning, or does it? :s
I just love hibernating, especially when I have no excuse to. Actually, I don't but whatever. I like writing, I just created a shell that has stupid and blank graffitied over it but I'm a smart ass, have always been. My black little book is half full with scribbles, weird sketches, a song or two and drool from sleeping on it and that to me was a sign to get my ass back here.
Manchester City should never have sold Elano, he's shown us why already. The Vuvuzelas are awesome. I know their noise is being compared to the sound of a million bees or a hundred chainsaws, but that's exactly what I like about them. I had a magnetic moment (not the physics term, science-ys) with these irritating things during the Uruguay-France match. I love studying Physics and Math, but Chemistry should be ranted on by Cartman or Homer. It's so irritating and mind space consuming. And anyway to protons and electrons are too small to be given a fick about.
I fell to the dark side and I'm gonna have a Star War-sy post on it within the week, I've written half of it.
Now I have an uncontrollable urge to pee, WHERE'S THE BATHROOM?!
Regards and everything,
EDI
12.3.10
HAPPY BIRTHDAY WENA!
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!)
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!)
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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