What if. What a brilliant combination of the two most widely used words. Two words which could send you reeling back into the past or push you headlong into the future. These same two words provide such a contrasting arousal of emotions depending on what division of the time dimension you use them on. The past inevitably causes regret when 'What if.' is used for it. The same 'What if.' gives hope when used while looking forward.
It's amusing, the way I'm overdosing on 'what ifs', on both sides of time. Hope and regret are hardly the mixture emotions which makes me feel pleasant when filled to the brim with. It's making my present - my reality suffer consequentially.
What if I had lived last year differently. What if I graduate from my minuscule woes. What if my imperfections have begun to superimpose on my few positives. What if everything I've judged to be absurd, is in fact completely correct. What if I don't get to be any more than a fading memory in the head I want the most to be in. What if light eludes me from inside my dark solitary shell. What if I actually live up to the expectations they have in me. What if that hand actually does become mine, what'll I do then?
What if all of these what ifs are a load of bullshit..
What if there's nothing here for us
When the world comes crashing down
Who do we turn to trust?
What if everything here is meant to hurt
When an open mouth - releases no sound
When all emotions begin to float - at the crust
What if there's nothing we can do
Maybe we move with the larger wave
The only hope I see for me now is you..
24.11.10
23.11.10
Men - The Good, The Bad & The Ugly
Hello there readers. New readers, rather :)
I think I've already been introduced, yeah, so I'm just going to start with saying thank you to the original owner of this blog, EDI, who has given me the chance to share with the world again.
I'm here to talk about men.
Yes, I am. I shall tell you what I really think about them. On second thought, this is what most women think about men.
So this is a question for the girls/women out there.
How often do you ask yourself, "Are all men the same"? Real often, yeah? Yes, that's what all men make women think of them. They can be nice, they can be amazing. But in the end they all make you feel like a piece of doggy doo. Well, most men respect women. But what about the others? Don't think so. I've seen, men do all nasty things that girls hate. They cheat, they lie, they make you feel unimportant, and then they look around for something better. They're the ones who have their eyes on different butts, but they stop you for everything. They're over-possessive; they're idiotic most of the times.
They claim they care, but all they want is you to be all theirs. They want you to be happy, but they're the ones who bring sorrow along. They commit mistakes; they put the blame on you. How does their brain work? Are pussies, drugs, boobs, legs and bums so important? Well, yes, that’s what their worlds are all about.
I don't mean to offend any guy here. But this is what a girl’s point of view is.
But, then comes the nicer side to them.
When they make you feel amazing, when they make you feel like you're the prettiest girl on this planet, when they plan awesome things and make sure you're happy. When they remember little things that make you want to smile. When they make you feel important. When they get you gifts. Just everything that they do to makes you feel on top of the world.
Some people can really turn your life upside down, right? I met a person like that recently. I was a prisoner before I met him. I had a guy in my life that would make me feel suffocated, destroyed, guilty, regretful, and unreal. He would want me all to himself. And in order to do that, he made me cut off from everyone that I was connected to. He would insult me publicly, he would push me around like I was his property, and he would humiliate me till I felt like I was really nothing but a piece of trash. He would never understand the problems I had besides him manipulating my life.
Anyway, fuck him, guys like him, really don't deserve love or any kind of respect or even a long enough mention in a blog post.
The best I can think of doing to him is, chop his balls off and then after a while cut his thingy off.
Yeah, then he would learn how to respect women and how to treat them..
And the worst part, dudes do horrible things like this and claim that they "love you".
I mean.. how is someone who is getting so humiliated all the time supposed to believe that ?
Being immature is one thing and being violent another.
Well, I wish he goes and rots in hell for whatever he’s made ME go through.. And I know there are girls all around the world who have abusive boyfriends like him.
Really. Husbands beat their wife’s up too. So before you get into that, just avoid having people like that in your life.
I regret it, yet I've learnt.
But now that I've met this person who is completely the opposite of what my ex boyfriend was, I've started to feel I'm getting what I deserve.
I think I need a little respect and love, after going through all that bullcrap in the past.
I just want girls who are vulnerable, easy to be aware.
Cause its a mans world out there. You just got to find who is wrong and who is right.
Trust me, claim a guy to be your bestetststs Friend in the world, He might just be the one to trick you into a relationship that is just perfect from the outside. And he'd be the one to hurt you the most, because he’s aware of all your weaknesses and strengths.
Never go out with your best friend.. Consider it a SIN, aite?
I guess I said what I had to.
I feel relieved to have overcome my past, and to have stepped into a brighter present :)
I hope it all goes well with all of you there.
I think I've already been introduced, yeah, so I'm just going to start with saying thank you to the original owner of this blog, EDI, who has given me the chance to share with the world again.
I'm here to talk about men.
Yes, I am. I shall tell you what I really think about them. On second thought, this is what most women think about men.
So this is a question for the girls/women out there.
How often do you ask yourself, "Are all men the same"? Real often, yeah? Yes, that's what all men make women think of them. They can be nice, they can be amazing. But in the end they all make you feel like a piece of doggy doo. Well, most men respect women. But what about the others? Don't think so. I've seen, men do all nasty things that girls hate. They cheat, they lie, they make you feel unimportant, and then they look around for something better. They're the ones who have their eyes on different butts, but they stop you for everything. They're over-possessive; they're idiotic most of the times.
They claim they care, but all they want is you to be all theirs. They want you to be happy, but they're the ones who bring sorrow along. They commit mistakes; they put the blame on you. How does their brain work? Are pussies, drugs, boobs, legs and bums so important? Well, yes, that’s what their worlds are all about.
I don't mean to offend any guy here. But this is what a girl’s point of view is.
But, then comes the nicer side to them.
When they make you feel amazing, when they make you feel like you're the prettiest girl on this planet, when they plan awesome things and make sure you're happy. When they remember little things that make you want to smile. When they make you feel important. When they get you gifts. Just everything that they do to makes you feel on top of the world.
Some people can really turn your life upside down, right? I met a person like that recently. I was a prisoner before I met him. I had a guy in my life that would make me feel suffocated, destroyed, guilty, regretful, and unreal. He would want me all to himself. And in order to do that, he made me cut off from everyone that I was connected to. He would insult me publicly, he would push me around like I was his property, and he would humiliate me till I felt like I was really nothing but a piece of trash. He would never understand the problems I had besides him manipulating my life.
Anyway, fuck him, guys like him, really don't deserve love or any kind of respect or even a long enough mention in a blog post.
The best I can think of doing to him is, chop his balls off and then after a while cut his thingy off.
Yeah, then he would learn how to respect women and how to treat them..
And the worst part, dudes do horrible things like this and claim that they "love you".
I mean.. how is someone who is getting so humiliated all the time supposed to believe that ?
Being immature is one thing and being violent another.
Well, I wish he goes and rots in hell for whatever he’s made ME go through.. And I know there are girls all around the world who have abusive boyfriends like him.
Really. Husbands beat their wife’s up too. So before you get into that, just avoid having people like that in your life.
I regret it, yet I've learnt.
But now that I've met this person who is completely the opposite of what my ex boyfriend was, I've started to feel I'm getting what I deserve.
I think I need a little respect and love, after going through all that bullcrap in the past.
I just want girls who are vulnerable, easy to be aware.
Cause its a mans world out there. You just got to find who is wrong and who is right.
Trust me, claim a guy to be your bestetststs Friend in the world, He might just be the one to trick you into a relationship that is just perfect from the outside. And he'd be the one to hurt you the most, because he’s aware of all your weaknesses and strengths.
Never go out with your best friend.. Consider it a SIN, aite?
I guess I said what I had to.
I feel relieved to have overcome my past, and to have stepped into a brighter present :)
I hope it all goes well with all of you there.
21.11.10
Apes.
Evening.
I've been amused by just about everything these days. It's funny, it makes me happy. Not like a hippy always on a good trip though, I know when to be serious. The 'big' things, things that really matter, I'm serious about them and could fascinate Socrates on them but the minuscule materialistic things exist to make fun of. For example, I could talk for a long time on the non-existence of god like a clear headed 45 year old but I'd be nowhere that age or serious while talking about someone picking me up for the next big party. I could spend most of my mornings and afternoons studying my hot ass off for THE exams but then I'd be like Ted Mosby in a hot chick bar when it comes to convincing a girl to like me. I think moderation is the simple answer to life's complex problems. Bullshit, but whatever, it's working for me at the moment.
So, I want whoever reads this shitty excuse for a blog to put their hands together for writer number 2. TANMAYA! She's the one who somehow got me to write her a birthday post. She's a fascinating human being and a clear headed writer. Her punctuations are kind of...ahem ahem, but then what's the point of my existence. Service to others is the greatest something. She'll be writing her shit here too now, with me editing it. And just so you know, her views are her own and in know way do they signify my outlook on life. My outlook is awesome in my own crazy way. So welcome her and blah blah blah.
There might be another writer here, but she's yet to respond to the invite.
Ciao Human Beings.
I've been amused by just about everything these days. It's funny, it makes me happy. Not like a hippy always on a good trip though, I know when to be serious. The 'big' things, things that really matter, I'm serious about them and could fascinate Socrates on them but the minuscule materialistic things exist to make fun of. For example, I could talk for a long time on the non-existence of god like a clear headed 45 year old but I'd be nowhere that age or serious while talking about someone picking me up for the next big party. I could spend most of my mornings and afternoons studying my hot ass off for THE exams but then I'd be like Ted Mosby in a hot chick bar when it comes to convincing a girl to like me. I think moderation is the simple answer to life's complex problems. Bullshit, but whatever, it's working for me at the moment.
So, I want whoever reads this shitty excuse for a blog to put their hands together for writer number 2. TANMAYA! She's the one who somehow got me to write her a birthday post. She's a fascinating human being and a clear headed writer. Her punctuations are kind of...ahem ahem, but then what's the point of my existence. Service to others is the greatest something. She'll be writing her shit here too now, with me editing it. And just so you know, her views are her own and in know way do they signify my outlook on life. My outlook is awesome in my own crazy way. So welcome her and blah blah blah.
There might be another writer here, but she's yet to respond to the invite.
Ciao Human Beings.
19.8.10
Yo God! Where You At?!
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.
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.
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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