Blackbirds Are Racist

Sana

Today is story telling night, so here goes:
This is a story about a black bird named Jun.(The name's Jun coz our dear protaganist is attention seeking and can't take any other name for the bird!)

Now Jun was a very special person( like will you bring down your raised eyebrows, you finicky old perverted nancy, with sand and other things in your vagina... hmph..person... bird... potato...potaaahtoe!)

Jun was a blackbird singing in the dead of night. Dead of night because when he sang, birds started to die and some of them charred to a color closer to the night. Like birds were dying when he sang man. He used his voice (baritone, as he would like us to believe) as a weapon to get back at all the pretty white birds who Kaula Lumpur Police Departmented him.

So then the anti-protaganist (antagonist?) jumped onto the scene because she was the saviour of the world and could never mind her own business, coming from a small island on Mars. Mars because Venus people, being the racial bitches that they were, weren't very supportive of the extremely active hormones she was endowed with. So our lady, Menrfrombrasnwomenrfrompenis (she did have a long name!) did not have a happy childhood, thanks to her resemblance to all the 43 yr old Mr Uglyanymouses and with a name like that, you wouldn't be expected to have a jibe free existence,would you?! This led her to be very frustrated. Like 'smash the skulls of animals' frustrated. And she had a best friend called Mary Jane in whose company she would achieve what she couldn't otherwise. She would go to trips with her very often. And on one such trip she decided to stay back on Mars.

Now onto the showdown between our hero R.D Jun (Red Diamond Jun, Racist Doofus Jun) and Miss Long Name. On one of her skull smashing sprees, she happened to chance upon a tree shaking to its death when she realised that R.D. was trying to sing the hit song 'The Call is Songed' which was causing all the commotion. So madam decided to take prompt action and shot him down. He died. That's it. End of story

Go shoot yourself now, for subjecting yourself to this inanity. We will go finish our unfinished assignments and put to test our pathbreaking memory erasing device on the 7 yr old who heard our story.

Tatah, less noise and more music awaits you in the next post. *ya right!*

Jun

After that educating, inspiring and oft tremendously urine inducing talk on how NOT to wear dirty underpants backwards, we must now move on to further matters that may or may not wet your pants.
At this point I must warn you that what you are about to read is a secret of national, nay international, nay inter-galactic proportions.

You are not cool.

That's right. And very soon, you may die of a fart attack. Similar to a heart attack in that your body goes into arrest. Only, here it is due to paralysis caused by inhalation of your pungent flatulence.

"But then", you may ask "who is cool?" Now, now young nibbler. If we were to tell you that, you may take the intiative to be cool yourself. And that certainly wouldn't be cool. The world has enough people trying to be cool as it is (read smellmyundies).

In my endeavour to make the English language more descriptive, secular and thoroughly shameless parseltongue, I have invented a new word - kuhboob. A kuhboob is a kebab (likely to be either chicken tikka, garlic chicken tikka or banjara kebab) that is so savoury, so spectacularly luscious, so brilliantly exploding with favour that you will eat at least enough to ensure that the next day will be spent solely in the pursuit of making it out of the potty in time for a particularly boring Media Strategy lecture, or in escaping a fatal fart attack. It could also be used to describe an exploding bosom.
usage: "Man, those tits just blew up, like KUHBOOB!"

The enlightenment will continue, same time, same channel, aapke mann pasand underwear ki smell waali show par. Good night, shubh ratri, tumhara kutta mere private parts smell kar raha hain.