Sunday, May 20, 2012

The South Park test..

It was a dull and dreary morning, the clouds obscuring the sun in all their darkness. There wasn't the slightest trace of pure sunshine anywhere. Whatever light there was, was impure - contaminated by the dark clouds. The only thing missing was rain - to make that November-end morning an epitome of sorrow, depression and hopelessness.

In house W-10, Scrotie McBoogerballs sat by a window, identifying with the weather outside. For him, life was equally sad, dreary and hopeless - if not more. "Good bye", that is all it said - careless and unpunctuated; the capitalization, a courtesy of the T9. His world was turned upside down. He was hurt by the neglect, and also by the sudden ignorance of his existence. He yearned for yesterday, when things were alright, but he wasn't smart enough to build a time-machine. He realised that he needed a distraction, to take his mind off the whole. He started by trying to suck his manly appendage, but owning to the lack of sizability and of a flexible body, he failed. He was sad again.

He needed something else to distract him. I'll watch T.V, he decided.

So he went to lie on the couch, and simply mechanically switched from one channel to another. In nothing did he find interest.

He tuned-in to VH1. It was time for South Park.

Maybe, just maybe, that will do it - given that its so freaking awesome, he thought. Maybe there will be something ridiculously funny to make you laugh your gut out. Yes, laughter - the best medicine, isn't it? Or is that Viagra? Dunno, something. But maybe it will help. Maybe some celebrity will be heavily picked upon today, and there might be yet another innovation in the ways to kill Kenny. Let's watch.

But the half-hour passed, and it had not helped. He hadn't managed to laugh - or even grin, for that matter - at any of the punches. HE HAD NOT FOUND SOUTH PARK FUNNY!!

It was then, that it really dawned on to him how deep he had fallen into the pit of depression and hopeless. He abhored his existence. He had lost all will, he had lost all desire..

Two hours later, policemen crowded the neighbourhood.  In W-10, they found Scrotie McBoogerballs shot in the head, and hanging by his scrotum. The gun lay on the floor in all the blood underneath.

Suicide, they decided. So, they searched the house for a suicide note - because that is what all the morons do, write moronic notes and kill themselves.

After a fruitless but arduous search, when one of the officers went to get some chilled water, the note was finally found in the refrigerator under a soup bowl. It went like this:

"I do not wish not live anymore. I have spoiled everything. I do not think repentance will be of any significance. There is no way for me to get out of this - unless, of course, I kill.. Yeah, that will do it! I should kill myself! That is exactly what I will do, but getting back again.. My life is a lost cause now. I have chicken-arms, a bullet-head and I can't suck my own cock! And, if that wasn't enough, now even South Park doesn't make me laugh. And that just does it!

So if anybody ever finds this, I just have one message to pass on to the world:

Boys and Girls, don't ever let yourself become so helpless that you don't find South Park funny. Remember, No matter what the sorrow, so long as find it funny, your life is freaking awesome! So, if you're ever depressed, take the South Park test - watch an episode - and if you are not amused by it, GO KILL YOURSELF ASSHOLE!

Its all over. I can't take this anymore. It just hurts too much.

Good bye"

And so, after an unpunctuated farewell, Scrotie McBoogerballs hung himself by his scrotum.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Unfit To Feel..

I tried to love I could not be,
One to give and care, unselfishly,
So I tried some hate, but couldn't bear,
To, by rage and anger, be so impaired.

Hence, I gave it up, for now I
Know I'm not fit for emotion,
Neutrality, impartiality, and aye,
Indifference, is my position.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Purism and the Public III

The Resurrection of a Purist..

"He was trying to inspire me to react."
"Incite, you mean?", said I, exasperated at such abuse of the language.
"Thank you. As ever, the leader of the Puritan clan."
The smug expression on his face when said that made my head go steaming like a rice-cooker about to blow up any instant.
"For god's sake, I'm a purist, not a puritan, and most definitely NOT their leader!", I bellowed.
"Hey, you were the one who insisted on being called a puritan", he responded with his hands up in the air, as though at gun point.
I sighed. I had insisted on being called that. Something I'm going to regret for the rest of my life.

"You could call me a purist", I used to say," but I prefer puritan. The word has a nice tinge to it, if you know what I mean."
It is exactly this love for the tinges that makes me what I am today - a colossal ass. Still, maybe I might have managed to slip out of all the mess had I shown a little tact. But when one goes around bursting with arrogance and confidence about everything one says, there isn't really any room to doubt one's own choice of words, let alone for tact to rectify an error. And, thus, I went around bursting with arrogance and confidence, claiming that I'm a, well what is said before. You feel rather superior and pompous at such times, particularly when people display a lack of comprehension at your remarks.
So, if ever by sheer bad luck - assuming that the arrogance and confidence is justified, in that you really has some knowledge about the language - your choice of words is found to be lacking the usual spark, it is, almost everytime, the end of a career in Insultation, Mockery & Sarcasm . Of course, in defence you would like to say that you were not in the best of shapes on that particular occasion - probably a bad cold or something - but the world is full of unforgiving hard-boiled eggs who will pounce on you at the slightest provocation, and thence onward vigorously undergo the routine of pouncing on you every time you cross them on the street. Rising back to the old form from this lowly point of disrepute, is a herculean task. However if you show discretion and exercise complete care and caution in your method, all may not be lost. Hope might still exist. you need to become the master of your fate and the captain of your soul and steer your ship out of that restless storm of disrepute and disdain.
An attribute that you shall need to possess if you are to achieve this, is absolute shamelessness coupled with strong disregard for everybody around. Because I tell you, the stigma is never washed away. No, it lurks on and it captures the minds of all those hard-boiled eggs who have ever faced the razor of your criticism. So every now and then one these hard-boiled eggs will pounce on you, menace in his eyes, malice on his mind. If on such an occasion you do not have the necessary credentials on your C.V you are bound to falter. You will be left wounded and hurt and slip back into that storm again. But if on the other hand, all is well, and you are, in fact, shameless and arrogant you shall be able to look a hard-boiled egg of any description - large and extra large are the usual sorts - in the eye and make him wilt like an aspen leaf. Thus, if you carry out this practice day-in and day-out, you are bound to go from height to height everyday and overcome all those any scyllas and charybdises that try to get in your way and dock your ship into the Ports of Glory eventually. And thus, you shall be back into the business of Insultation, Mockery & Sarcasm in mid-summer form.

Purism and the Public II

The Rise of The Puritan clan
and the Fall of a Purist..

"You, too, don’t know what a puritan is?", I asked a friend as I saw her blank expression.
"A puritan is a-", Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S started.
"- Here, let's just google it.", I cut him off, as I pressed "Enter", to google for it, irritated by the lack of common knowledge among the people around me. The page was taking time to load.
"You can say a puritan is another word for a purist. I'm a purist, strictly. But I like the word puritan. There's a tinge to it, if you know what I mean", I used to tell them and I was tried of having to tell everybody this same thing again and again. Manas Samant, then Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S and now this girl. How many more ignorant people would I have to encounter before somebody showed a trace of perception.
The results page appeared, finally. I clicked the link for one of the results, and waited impatiently, full of unswerving confidence. The page opened and my jaw dropped as I read what it said:

Pu·ri·tan (pyr-tn)
1. A member of a group of English Protestants who in the 16th and 17th centuries advocated strict religious discipline along with simplification of the ceremonies and creeds of the Church of England.
2. puritan One who lives in accordance with Protestant precepts, especially one who regards pleasure or luxury as sinful.
1. Of or relating to the Puritans or Puritanism.
2. puritan Characteristic of a puritan; puritanical.

I have never in my life felt so stark naked, despite being so densely clothed.
"Wait till Manas hears it", said Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S, overjoyed that I'd made an ass out of myself. He hurried out of the Computing facility in search of Manas.
I, meanwhile, was still gaping like a goldfish to do anything. Sensing him dash out, I hurried after him, still feeling naked. I somehow managed to mentally clothe myself on the way, and caught up with him. We both scrambled our way into the hostel mess, and surveyed it carefully. No sign of him there. Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S went outside the hostel to continue his search.
I have no idea what got over me, nor any about what I was going to say if I found him first. All I knew was that I had to get to him before Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S.
It was on. Both desperate to get to him: one to share delight, the other to prevent its illicit trade. It was like a quest for the Holy Grail. Only this time it would have been silly to argue that the Grail was a cup.
I came out of the mess and waited there deep in thought. I wondered, where the Grail could possibly be. And then, I had a stroke of genius: I called the Grail from my cell phone.
"Hello", came the voice from the other side.
"Where are you?", this was no time to niceties.
"In my room", said he.
"Aha! no wonder we couldn't find you in the mess! I wish you wouldn't potter off to your room like that. Sit in the mess. It's a good place. Comfortable chairs. What?"
I was starting to enjoy the conservation and it would have go on breezily like this, only I saw Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S turning round the corner at that moment. He must have sensed that I was talking to the Grail - I haven't a clue how he did but he did - because he ran in my direction.
"Hullo, Manas", I started talking hurriedly, "listen. Remember I told you that I'm a puritan. Well, I'm not. I mean I can't be -", I extended my arm to keep Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S at bay just as he approached, and continued,"- I mean to say, a Puritan is a..", I told him the definition and added, "So my usage of the word was, in fact, wrong. Now here is Arul, he wants to say something to you."
Looking visibly triumphant, I thust the cell phone in Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S's hand, "Ha! You said you'd find him and tell him, so that you could make me look like a giant troll. Well, guess what? You can't. and you want to know why? Because I told him first!"
There was absolute dumbfoundedness in his expression - obviously, his plan had failed - as I turned away and went some distance. Not being familiar with my cell phone, he accidentally switched on the loud speaker and I heard some noise, almost as though a hyena were on the other side. It was the sound of an amused Manas Samant laughing like one.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

To Chester (who forgot himself) and Me (who wanted to)

and also to P.G. Wodehouse..

I smoke in chains, to make my head go a-spin,
I quench my thirst on a tonic and gin.
Yet I don’t get numb; no spell to break the curse
So I sit at my table and write some free verse.

Alas hades, even that won't cheer my broken-heart blues.
However do I get rid of this jinx?
Thus I grab my clubs, and put on my plus-fours
And trod off for a game on the links.

I hold the wood, my "ee on the ba'"
And "drive 'em straight", not short nor far;
Missing the bunker and over the lake,
A perfect swing, that's hard to make.

The brassie-shot, I "dinna press",
Right on the green, so far.
I take my putter; hole out in two,
Doing it all one under par!

Oh the joy, in this noblest game!
Puts all wounds and sorrows to shame.
So, I tee the ball and take an aim,
Keep my "heid still"; do it all again.


I beat the pro. with a sixty-five,
In amazement he says, "Gosh!"
A woman, you know, is only a woman,
But a hefty drive is a slosh.


Most quotes and ideas are creditable to Wodehouse.

Monday, March 28, 2011


Tell me that I'm not very bright in Biology, I'll nod in acceptance;
Tell me that I'm no good in Chemistry, & I'll tip my hat in acknowledgement;
Tell me that in Physics I'll never make the grade, & I'll tell you that I couldn't agree more;
Tell me that the most ludicrous thing in the world is me trying to learn Mathematics, & I'll pat your back for pointing it out.

But dare to tell me that my English is flawed & I'll plug you in the face with a straight left.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Purism and the Public..

A primary attribute that one must possess if one desires to be good company at the chat window online, is the ability to type like a complete retard. Of course, the choice of the word might be make some sensitive soul gasp and the people for human rights might even scorn at it, declaring it as a public outrage, but I think they are only too eager to draw conclusions and categorize everything. Sometimes one should just analyze things from the outside, and take them for their face value.
Just analyze the word in question for a moment, it goes "reee-taahhrrrdd", the sound has a funny tinge to it, if you know what I mean. To be more visual on that point, think of a person with a long face, wide open eyes, and a gaping mouth who talks very slowly as though to savor every word that escapes his mouth. Or if you haven't been able understand this, just think of Goofy and save me the trouble of making one more feeble attempt at a nonsensical description. Now with this in mind take a look at the following conversation:
"Heyyyyyyyy, how r u???????"
"i m guddddd!!!!!! u????????"
"i m gr8888888!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Notice how each statement is prolonged, how each word is expressed slowly and steadily as though in an attempt to savour it.
A single question mark indicates that the statement is interrogative; two-three of those means that the person is really curious; but filling up line after line with "?" simply indicates that intervention from the asylum is of the essence.

Such chats, however, appear to be the norm online these days. And thus no matter how hard one tries, one is always faced with the rather tricky question of whether or not to be retarded; follow the norm and be normal. Although most of the public does not face much difficulty in making a choice, those that are most severely affected by this dichotomy are the purists - whether to write such language and use such syntax to seek acceptance of the public, seek normalcy, or not?
It was a similar sort of question about whether to or not to die that often lead Hamlet to his famous soliloquys - and a reservation in the looney bin owing to those. For although by one mere glance at the question, a by-stander would comment, “What-ho! It’s simple”, and go on to wonder what a mutt-head that Hamlet - or whoever that was – might have been, because he couldn’t make an obvious choice. But if that accomplished by-stander puts even a single of his grey cells to work on the point, his answer would seemingly encompass both the options, with no favourability for either one of them, and the gravity of Hamlet’s dilemma would dawn on to him.
A similar status prevails of the purist: the choice between sanity and sanatorium (of the mental kind) is not an easy one for him, and following a similar procedure on the lines outlined above even the dumbest by-stander would see the gravity of his dilemma, too.