Monday, May 23, 2011

Here's... Anonymouse! HA you thought I'd say "Johnny", didn't you.

Hmmm. Ink On My Fingers. I've heard of it. Obviously, it's some cleverly phrased reference to Macbeth. And obviously, it's written by some jobless teenager.

OWAIT IT'S ME.

*facepalm*

So, how are you guys? Okay? Cool.

Niceties aside...

I'm ANGRY.

Why are you even surprised?

I mean, anger is a wonderful emotion. It makes you think of headless unicorns, murky rainbows and knife-wielding elves.

Teehee my morbid sense of humour makes me laugh.

So, why be angry, you ask?

Well. It's because of all that drilling that's been going on here.

I'll pause for a moment for you to shriek with laughter and wheeze, "NYAHA THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID".

But 'tis true. There's some road construction going on, and I'm unable to study for my AS Level exams. Statistics and Economics, though I'm sure you weren't curious.

Oh, A Levels! Why must you be so fickle?

JUST GIVE ME THE FRICKING A* GRADE, IDIOTS.

It's pretty easy. You read my essay, white boy, and then you go, "Well, dear me, I suppose I should give this full marks. God save the Queen! Jolly good".

I'm not being racist. It's an observation.

Purely objective.

I'll probably write a bit more in this piece of crap after the exams get over, so get prepared.

Everyone, look over there! It's a KNIFE-WIELDING ELF!

Sorry, I've always wanted to say that.

Oh, but before I leave, I wantto ask-

If curiosity killed the cat, is it possible that the cat can be alive and dead at the same time?

I'm pretty sure I defeated the true purpose of quantum physics with that one... but there you go.

BYE EVERYONE! And wish me good luck for my exams, because-

OH MY GOD, CAN YOU STOP THAT DRILLING?

Monday, January 4, 2010

That time when friendship could begin with a cookie.

When you're five years old

and on your first day of pre-school,

there is nothing more exhilarating

than walking up to that kid in

the corner, in the red sweater,

looking him in the eye and saying

"Would you like a chocolate cookie?"

and waiting for his answer

under that oddly discerning stare

and hearing him say

"Let's share it".

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Coffee with a side plate of angst.

& then I woke up
in the middle of the day-
night, Tuesday, Thursday,
January, September-

Loneliness trickling down my
temple,
In the form of perspiration.
In disguise.

Can I have a double shot espresso in the mean time?

While I wait for someone to
pick up the pieces?

While I wait alone?

Oh, most definitely alone.

Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy New Year, fools. :)

It doesn't feel like it's the eve of a new year.

On the contrary, it feels like any normal Thursday evening.

Minus the citizens of Madras who have decided to stop hating each other and have joined in merry-making and some other happy celebrations.

What are you doing for New Year's? Have you jotted down any resolutions?

I haven't. For lack of better phrase, I can't be bothered. I never keep them anyway.

So, you unicorn turds.

Have a happy new year.

Don't get hit by a bus!

ILY GUYZ SO MUCH. :D

No, really.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

I've utterly ruined the meaningfulness of this. Sorrypleaseforgiveme.

Yeah, so I kinda just realized that Makuluwo tagged me for the "write a letter to your 16 year old self" thing. On the 27th of November. It's now the 23rd of December.


Aren't I the most tech-savvy person in like ever? -.-


& I KNOW. I'm not over the age of 16. Who knew, right? :)



& I KNOW. I think everyone's already moved on from this tag.



BUT I still want to do it, OKAY? Thank you.


So I'm just going to do what I do best.


Bear with me. :D



Dear 16 year old me-


FIRST of all don't open letters from people stating to be you and shizz. What if it's some psycho bio-terrorist sending you an anthrax sample? :O I reprimand you.

So let's get back to you. Me. Us. Whatev.


I'm currently at this point of time 30 years old. I know. You actually made it to this age. We're all surprised.


So now you're probably out of school, and headed to university. You skipped a grade, right? You lucky girl, you.


Some pointers- Drop anything mathematical. But you knew that, right?


Start going to the gym- which won't work, btw till you're 27. & even then... :[


Oh and invest in some rabbit cages. Don't ask. Just do it.


You'll end up the CEO of a major children's publishing company. By day, you're printing Lucy And The Shiny Red Firetruck.


But by night you're publishing anarchist pamphlets for 7 year olds.


You'll remain a spinster for the rest of your miserable life.


NO YOU WON'T. You're engaged to be married to a billionaire who owns a Coca-Cola factory. & a Jolly Rancher Lollipop manufacturing company. I'll give you 2 minutes to do your "Squeeeeee! Dance".


Done?


Okay yay.


By age 23, you would have written a novel. I know that you're now really stuck on ideas, but it will come to you sooner or later.


You will never publish your novel. Ever. Because it is really too awesomelyawesome to be understood by common plebeians like Barbie.


Yes. The Barbie you know and loathe is still alive. You haven't killed her yet, but it's only because of the restraining order she filed against you.


Damn that 100 feet.


Okay, now I'm bored.


So, I'll just leave you to be.


Remember to look both sides before crossing.


Because maybe Barbie will suddenly appear 98 feet from you and the cops will come and put you in stinky jail. Especially when they find out about the anarchist pamphlets.


Hubby won't be happy, hun.


Not that this has ever happened to me before. Not at all.


With lots of love,


You. Me. Us. Whatev.


PS- You know that feeling you get all the time? That you're being watched?



It's true.




I live in your closet. It smells nice in there. Bahahaha.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Our Freaking Feathered Friends.

Warning- Multitude of references to bird poo. No, I'm not kidding. I wish I was. I so dearly wish I was.

Hey.

I'm back from a drive around the beach.
Nice drive, nice drive.


I ate some ice-cream.
Nice ice-cream, nice ice-cream.


What? You think I'm being boring? You think that I'm not being my usual hilarious, genius self? *ahem*

YOU THINK RIGHT, MORON.


COZ YA KNOW WHY?


Some stupid pigeon/crow/evil bird decided it had too much of food to eat last night, and gratefully used my very expensive shoes as a place of excretion.


The left shoe, to be precise.


Cheeeeeeeeeeeee.


Birds, I feel, have radars in their little brains. Sort of like- "ALERT. ALERT. Girl has just stepped out of the house after a nice shower. Engage missile."


Stupid birds.


Let's make a pact, okay? Let's train birds.


No, really. Not joking.


Let's TRAIN those freaking poo-zookas into knowing exactly where and when to let out their S-Bombs. No, not the cuss words. An actual S-Bomb. O.o

I'm going to write a letter to our state government saying that we all want bathrooms for birds. Nice colorful toilets with therapeutic oils that instigate the dropping of bird S-Bombs.

What say you? They may laugh?


So what.


Because when a pigeon decides to drop an S-Bomb on the Chief Minister, only I shall be having the last laugh.


& the pigeon, though that is entirely besides the point.



A classic example

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

I was listening to 21 Guns, in case you were wondering about the Green Day song.

Chilling in my room, listening to Green Day. I have an english test on friday... writing obituaries, how appropriate... we're out of maltesers, dammit-

Piercing scream.

Stunned. Looks around suspiciously for mass murderer armed with steak knife.

Aiyyo! it's reaching the banister! Oh my gaaawd!!!!

Runs down hallway. Finds mother and grandmother cowering behind sofa.

What are you doing?!

Listens to teary tale of finding a rat on the ground floor. Widens eyes at the shrieking adults pointing at a small, mysterious figure trying to scurry up the stairs.

Piercing scream from three generations of frightened women.

Grandmother narrows eyes. We have to get rid of it. NOW.

Mother and myself nod furiously.

Well?! bellows grandmother, Call the watchman!! What are you waiting for?!

Mother runs to intercom. Grandmother spots another pest- this time an enormous white cockroach.

Mother runs back. He's coming-he'll take another 10 minutes!

Mother spots the cockroach Grandmother has found. Wields her house chappal in crazed fashion.

No no, says grandmother, picking up a chair from the side Let me do it-

And she decapitates the cockroach.

I almost pass out, but the sound of the scurrying rat downstairs hits me like a speeding train.

EEEEEEK! AMMA WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! screeches mother.

It had to be done says grandmother with a defeated sigh.

I'm here I'm here! Memsahib rat where it is?!?! shouts watchman.

It's crawling up your leg!!! I yell.

CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE says watchman, shaking his legs in an oddly comical dance.

Another shake of the leg causes the tiny rat to be flung across the ground floor. The rodent lands with a thud.

Is it over? I ask fearfully.

The rat scurries out of the house as if in answer.

It is over says grandmother looking at the decapitated cockroach Now who wants to eat idlis for dinner, eh?

Mother and myself pass out.