Alrighty Then

Indiecision

2008-11-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

Indiecision
India's #1 independent music blog.

Check Out The Nu-Music

2007-03-21T08:28:00.000-07:00

Here

Woo!

Banned!

2007-03-08T00:05:00.000-08:00

THE SANA HAS BEEN BANNED FROM SMELLMYUNDIES. AS THINGS SEEM, SHE MAY NEVER EVEN KNOW.

Boredom At 3 AM

2007-03-02T13:54:00.000-08:00

Jun

It's a well known fact that lack of sleep, coupled with expected periods of little or no sleep, leads humans to turn into werewolves. Now now, don't laugh. It's the truth. Try it. Stay up two whole days, and on the night of the third day at 3am, look at the moon, and you'll automatically start making "Oooooo!" noises. I did, and now that I'm out of jail (thanks Sana for posting bail), I can tell you about prison.

It's a decent place.

The lighting is bad, and it could do with a room freshener. Food is not exactly great but they make great mutton goop on Sunday nights when all the inmates gather around the black and white television and watch Chitrahaar. Oh iPod! How I missed you!

But jail isn't all bad. There's a lot to look forward to in prison. Like the conversation is fantastic. Nobody talks about mundane stuff like music and movies. Oh no! It's all murders and rapings here coupled with the usual who's-seeing-who gossip and who's-gonna-snuff-it-tonight updates.

Also to add to the excitement is the whole conjugal visit scene. Given that all the inmates are men and ironically, have no mates, there's a French midget whore who has been assigned the duty of 'fulfilling' a daily conjugal visit. You know, to keep spirits up and everything.

There's also a completely different underground music scene there. Since inmates aren't allowed to keep any items of entertainment in their possession, they are forced to bury these smuggled items under their beds. I was surprised to find an old Hum Log - The OST tape under my bed. That show went off the air so, so long ago.

Good times, good times.

The Vagina Dialogues.

2006-11-01T03:37:00.000-08:00

Sana

Ladies and genital men, presenting to you in all his titan glory… the one, the only Exhibit A *heavy drumrolls, all totally off beat and noisy*

Aah aah, please maintain a safe distance of 3 mm from the screen, this one is for real. Believe it and save us some time. He (we know IT is a he because WE KNOW ALL ABOUT SEX, its about time you gave in and stopped disputing certain basic facts of life. Hmph.) is found in the jungles of concrete often trying to get off a flying bat. Yes, he is dumb and he knows it. That is what makes him ‘oh fo fpecial’. Its all about crickets and bats for Mr. Taketake. Repeat in your head, taketake, taketake taketake *to fade*

Now that I have you hypnotized I shall talk about, rather give you a rather lame excuse at being away for so long. Mental constipation can last longer than you thing and the joke is that at the end of it, all you will get is smelly crap. But then again we can do with some 'odour' here in this uncivilized and unnineteeneightyfoury blogspace!

On another track that I can derail to, thanks to my super hypnotizing powers or the infinitenumbnessofthebrain syndrome that you all suffer from, getting a first job can be fun. Reasons for the aforementioned blasphemic, super cheeky statement are as follows:

1. You get paid… a ransom if you kidnap the boss’s mystery mistress (don’t count on it though)
2. You get job satisfaction… when you spit in people’s coffee and switch notes just like you did in class which is probably the reason why you are where you are *muffled smirks*
3. You get to be part of office politics since bitchiness comes naturally to you, you biyaatch… to sate your K serial Kravving that you miss everyday thanks to your shitty job
4. You get to think of reasons just so you don’t feel very bad for growing up because you after all you always did want to be a Management trainee for the first 8 yrs with ‘SomeGodForsakenCompany’/associate vice regional for the south east of east of west region for tampons for obese ladies/ media programming consultant’s left toe’s right sided muck as a child.

You can stop clinging onto the chair now, you might spoil it. It was nice serving you as always, please come back in 2012 maybe and it will be a pleasure to serve you again… NOOOOT!

Yes, we have seen BORAT and love it. Like duh.

Jun

You may be wondering why this blog has seen such tremendous amounts of inactivity, and why, apparently, owners of real estate websites and cialis vendors love our website. Well ladies and gentlemans, the answer is 42.

Over the last few days... okay weeks... okay months, we've been up to our necks in two things - laziness and more laziness. Now obviously the former cannot be helped. I mean, we never updated even when we weren't more lazy. But the latter is a function of the economy. Essentially, it's inflation. We just don't dig it. And some days, we even end up paying 100, that's right folks, one hundred rupees to the auto rickshaw guy who moans like a midget whore with appendicitis and takes us to "the city" (it's more a collection of varied size shops) under the assumption that listening to Gujarati music on a sucky tape deck at a volume that would make most dogs hearing impaired, is what we really meant when we said "Please turn the music down", and mumbled "you bitch" under our breath. See, the thing is, we really really want to update this thing, but we find staring at dogs fornicating and betting on which one's the bitch a better use of our time.

And now, a public service message from our sponsors.

Sometimes one wonders. Other times, two wonder. Teheh. *shoots self in head with blank round*

We have initiated a defaulter payment scheme via which said person who defaults in updating the blog contributes to the other's waist line. If you see two obese people walking towards you shoveling heaps of chicken kebabs in their respective mouths, fear not, it's just Sana.

If you're nice, he'll give you a bite. However, if you're really lucky, you may even get a french kiss.

The Mighty Disease Post

2006-10-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

Sana

The recent increase in the visits to the local quacks posing to be doctors has exposed me to a new genre of medicines and diseases. I am going to elaborate upon these right about now.No, actually this whole goddamn post is going to be dedicated to one such disease.

Appenisitis... the disease. *punk rock music on loud in the background*

Appenisitis is a disease that afflicts a) only males, b) only males with increased desires and decreased *ahem* means to fulfil these spending way too much time on the evil evil medium - the internet

It happened one night to a dear and close friend. No, not Jun... it is no longer funny when he plays the lead role in all our brilliant stories ok. Besides Jun has had a lil too much sand in his vagina lately *nursing a shiner in the left eye and the premonition that she is in for another one*

Freaks and others all gathered to help lil (muahahahaha) non Jun with his condition but alas, they couldnt do much. He was stuck with the disease and wouldn't come back, all because the night before while 'talking' to a friend online (he could never do better than that, tsk tsk tsk), he was struck with the disease. The conversation goes something like this

Non Jun: Hey sexy
Online Chick: Whatever
NJ: a/s/l please
OC: Loser
NJ: Ya , I wish we were closer too.
NJ: I think you have a faulty internet connection.
NJ: Did you know that the human brain weighs 670 grams.
NJ: You there, honey????
NJ: Honey?????
NJ: Faaine. Hmph! Go talk to the other boys. I will spring upon you my extremely useful knowledge when you least expect it... and then... and then... you will appreciate true lurve!
NJ: I have my headfones on now, talk to me OC . OC please see! I'll bring out another fact only for your ears! Did you know that the headfone is the singlehandedly responsible for increasing your chances of having an ear infection by 700 times. And all this while I went to get felt up by almost nude chicks in public swimming pools to get the damn infection... urgh!
OC: Dude you are extremely annoying. Just like the nagging appenisitis ache. I mean appendicitis.

But our dear NJ had already been cut to size by then, if you know what I mean ;), come on work those perverted brains of yours, sick nancies! End of another day, another story. Tune in again soon enough, to have another exciting round of trivial trivia, right here as you smell my filthy undies, you jackass!

Jun

Hello boys and girls. Gather round now. Uncle Jun's gonna tell you a story. It's called, "Why Jun the Lazy Frog Does Not Update This Blog On Time". It's an interesting story children, about a man who was dashingly handsome and ate lots of chocolat. He also liked the French language, French. Here goes children, listen carefully now.

He is lazy.

Now what's the moral of the story kids? No little Patwardhan, it's not "Shut it old man or I'll burn your testicles." The moral of the story is, one must not pretend like one is too busy so one can procrastinate. The other moral of the story is, The Unlike No Ones rule.

Hours of deep thought have brought out from the deepest recesses of my mind (four inches away from any point on my skull), the realisation that 42 hours of inter-state bus travel isn't something you should look forward with the same glee as say, sausages. Really. I mean if I had the choice I wouldn't do it. You wouldn't either. It's like paying a tonne for a buffet dinner only to find that the food was vegetarian. And three days old. Cooked by the watchman of the mortuary who moonlights as the Mexican version of Yan from Yan Can Cook. He doesn't make very good sausages by the way.

And then one would imagine that one would be fed up with just the sight of travel. But when one is forced to use a rickety auto-rickshaw in the darkness of five in the morning, on a road traversed weavingly by drunk truck drivers in a dry state, one knows that one has hit shit creek and the smell is beginning to overcome the dank state of affairs that presently cloud one's mind. Therefore, it is my esteemed opinion that all dogs be labradors and all meat be either chicken or beef. Whoopedeedoodda!
*are we there yet, are we there yet*
*is it the smell, or is that just you*
*how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood*
*are we there yet, are we there yet*
The rhetoric gets to you like the inevitability of the rickshaw driver getting into a fight with aforementioned truck driver who, in his state of inebriation, crossed the thin line between just a stupid drunk jackass and a stupid drunk jackass who threatens a rickshaw driver.

Life is good when one knows how rubbish it can be for somebody else.
*deep thought*
*like the four inches between your skull and your brain*

Still Standing

2006-09-18T12:31:00.000-07:00

Sana

On post number 15, you really start to believe you have something important to say or maybe it is the lack of life in your... er... life?!

Other girls are busy flashing Jun with lightbulbs coz he needs to be beamed up.

Us MBA people have too much time on our hands, thanks to the amounts of work that comes our way screaming to be shirked. Hence, another post, another attempt to avoid the ninny's fan mail who believes that someday we will spew something intelligent on him and he will fit in with his homies whose idea of intelligence just comes to a 'stand' still at trying to expand the acronym IQ. I like his spirit.

There are standards and then there are sub standards. We believe in none.

Did you ever have to go through the trauma of not knowing what Icecream is as a four year old? I didn't either ok, stop staring at me, I didn't. *shifting glances*

So the following are rules you need to follow to the tee when out to please a chick on a casual date.

1) Don't talk about that temper of yours that compelled you to shoot the breeze so you no longer are capable of enjoying a good blow.

2) Don't ever mention your love for explosive bosoms and don't order them for starters. Ever.
3) Don't order chicken for main course. She might not take too well to the idea of having one of the parents for dinner.

4) Don't fart. Period. Farts are off limits, even the silent deadly types. There is a high chance she might find out who farted between the two of you, inspite of the sub zero IQ she is blessed with. I mean she is out with you. You. Yes, you with a face that looks like a roller coaster just ran over it.

5) Don't talk about your fixation with nuclear physics and Schoppenuer. You lost her at "explosive bosoms". (Some habits die hard, Mr Juve N. Ile)

6) Whatever it is never refer to the lasagne stuck on her tooth as sexy. She might never leave you then. And then you will have to behave all your life. Loser, think of the consequences. Of having a real live chick by your side with rotten teeth to nag you forever. What fun!

Now I shall go, contribute to the greater good of mankind by making a power point presentation on 'Below the line advertising and its effect on the economy of Timbaktoo and other Afro American nations'. Ya, shoot me now, why don't you?!

Jun

They say a good story always has a hero. And a villain. Here's a story of two villains.

Long, long ago when the lights were low and people were looking out for a place to go, where they played the right music and everything was fine, there lived two Wholesome individuals. They were so Wholesome it was difficult to fit them into a small car without having to take out the seats. Wholey Cow and Wholey Shit were best pals and nothing could seperate them except for the surgeon who split them from the head when they were born. And in this story of evil, there was the innocent lamb who would be slaughtered. This innocent lamb was called San Ity. San Ity was a sweet cow that had nothing to do with the Wholesome Twins apart from the fact that it was stupid enough to stand stock still, eyes wide open in the bewilderment of standing in the middle of the road stupidly, not expecting two fat guys on motorcycles to come by, and run it over. Of course it wouldn't think of moving; San Ity was stupid, dumb even, to the point that you could slap it in the face with an dove called Brayns and it would just stare at you and say something like "We love you India, we love you." So essentially, our story begins a whole thirty seconds before a lamb called San Ity is run over by the Wholesome Twins, and ends fifteen seconds after it is. The bloodshed that two fat men on motorcycles caused that night will be remembered forever as the night that chicken was not the meat of choice at Chotte's Kebab Corner near the bus stop at Colaba Post Office.

The End

PS. All characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to man, beast and obese pornstars living or dead is purely coincidental, and a topic for some interesting cocktail conversation.

After that heartwarming tale of how McDonalds runs its business, we must move on to graver things. Like the vestigial organ sticking out of the daughters bum. Okay, not her bum, but really, with her you never know. Our wishes and condolences go out to the poor mutton tikka that was the cause of such expansions.

And you can never really trust Middle Eastern food anyways, what with their money and smuggling and everything.

Blackbirds Are Racist

2006-08-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

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.

Only Because We Have Promises To Keep And Vaginas To Bleed

2006-07-28T14:30:00.000-07:00

Sana

The Jun is fond of oneginas, well who isn't. And he has priapism to worry about! Now onto the sexual innuendo route that I shall take to make this blog an interesting read for you sick minds, this happens to be our 13th time and let me assure you the sex is still good. We still have fun *twinkle in the eye*

Blogging is just like a marriage, you need nurture it (oh wipe those tears off, Oprah!), you need to adjust and fine tune and work your way through to a happy and fulfilling relationship!

You also need to bribe the worse half with obscene amounts of chocolate to write and you dare not have mindless issues (psst, Women's lib, someone needs help!) in getting bullied into shamelessly plugging the blog. Ya, we have been the 'ok tata (w)hore please' variety!

Now a quick and spritely jump onto the next topic to appease the annoying thought germ crawling in my pinky, or was it brain?

So I am going to ask another one of those useless rhetorical questions: What is that one thing that makes you behave the way you do (crotch itch doesn't count here)? As in, is it the sand or is it weather or is it just your sad existance in this vast cosmos where all you can look forward to is reading a few thoughts on pathology, scatology and world piss (overdone joke and yet funnay as hell!) dished out to you crassly by 2 retarded imbeciles with the mental faculties of an evil genius trapped in his laboratory for seven, that's right seven long minutes.

I've run enough for my pinky today, time for the Jun to hypnotise you into believing plugging our blog is the best use you can put your worthless life to.

Jun

What is this picture really about?

If you look at it carefully, you will realise that it's about much more than four hungry, deprived SEC A1+ children at McDonalds. Oh no, it's about much more than that. It's about cruelty to animal(e)s. And world peace. "Why?" you dare to ask. After reprimanding you for your impudence, I direct your flailing attention to the happy meanl toy lying carefully wrapped in a semi-ball like plastic holding device. "Where?! Where?!" Next to the fifth Coke from the left, or the first Coke from the right you ninny. See it now? It's a lizard like creature. Wrapped in plastic. Can you even begin to understand what that means? It means that while you're shaving the hair off your schlong to make it look bigger, you aren't realising the damage that huge corporations are causing to endangered animals like the iguanamadeupbullcrapnomenclature smooshedupwordus lizard. You're no better than the four uncaring boys in the photograph. Just look at the face of the boy on the right. Look at the anticipation on his face as he waits to sink his teeth into his third juicy, tender, Mayonaissey McChicken burger.

It's about world peace because I say so.

But what is really the problem with the world today, is the total, and I mean completely up-to-the-brim-can't-take-anymore-can't-breathe-help-someone-beeeep-ECG-stops total lack of interest shown by certain professors in improving the grades of obviously revolutionary Dissertation Concept Notes. I mean, what the eff! Screw the world, I'll make it on my own as a travelling circus monkey. Or I'll just be content with a goddamn B-. Die devil bird.

Toodleloo!
(etymology - "to the loo". Commonly used by energetic youth who suddenly have to stop interesting conversation because of the urgency ensured by wetting their undergarments. For no fault of their own of course.)

Everybody Farts

2006-07-27T14:24:00.000-07:00

Sana

When the meal is huge and the dessert,
the dessert is yours alone,
When you're sure you've had enough of the beef,
Well hang on
Don't let yourself go,
'cause everybody farts and everybody poops sometimes
Well, everybody farts sometimes,
Everybody poops.
And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody (also) constipates sometimes.
So, hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on,
hold on, hold on, hold on,
Everybody farts. You are not alone.

So this ladies and gentlemen is the post which celebates *glint in eye for brilliant typo* the return of the champions of the cause of the poor souls who live their life hoping that one day would come when the hot chick in office would lose her top in a fit of rage against irritating co-workers who keep staring at their LCDs with mouth agape at the audacious literature they come across in useless blogs!

The sand in the vagina (refer to my own personal blog for more details on this... *shameless pushing of personal agendas*) of few corrupt beaurocrats has been sent to the beach and life in the happy land of blogs is back on track. Yippee.

And now we (that would be me and the conscientious alterego dying of immense boredom it gets subjected to by not so little evil me... muahahahahah) present to you in all his guts and glory... THE JUN A.K.A THE (woo)MAN A.K.A THE FARTSALOT A.K.A ITSNOTFUNNYNOMOREBIYAATCH

Jun

The thing with Women is, they're weird. There's women and then there's women. There's those who look at you like you just stepped on their little toe and splashed mucky water all over their brand new pink polka dot dress. Then there's those who'd punch you in the face for it. And then there's those who'd frisk your motionless body and flick your wallet.

What I'm trying to say is (apart from "GET OFF THE EFFING CAPS LOCK") that men should really put their foot down and make it known that just because you bleed from your onegina, you don't have the right to demand attention, chocolate and people who understand poor grammer. Especially the last one.

On a wholly unrelated but related note, we've been lazy okay. It's not easy typing so much, so fast, without care for man, beast or the feelings of those poor African children your parents keep ranting about when you don't eat stupid bhindi. It's an ugly vegetable okay!

However, as with all stupid promises (like "I'll donate my eyes after I die"... I mean, what the f*** dude!) there will be updates sooner, better and with further inaccurate references to fictitious professors you want to kill (one tiny little finger at a time) because they gave you a B- for your goddamn Dissertation Concept Note.

The world is always to blame.
And stale bread pudding is always to be avoided.
Trust me.
*not*

Welcome... But Clean Up After You Leave.

2006-06-05T23:13:00.000-07:00

Sana

What happens when you cross dress a unibrowed monkey?
You get a jack ass staring at his screen with his gob opened expecting answers to inane questions. *Dr Spite Mouth strikes again*

This post is not dedicated to such jack behinds but to the month Jun. (The resemblance to a certain name is purely intentional, father, for once, let it be!)

Today I shall speak with great affection (yes, displaying gay emotions comes naturally to me, whoopsy daisies!) about coming.*shameless juvenile grin*

So where were we, yes, coming and specifically coming in Jun.

Firstly, it is very important to use protection (against making sense maybe!). By the way, referring to an older post, automatically, one’s personal genitals’ (as opposed to one’s public genitals?!) get protected as protection, ladies and gents, is directly proportional to one’s ugliness. I mean what fun is it squashing ‘hairy toad onion breath’s’ nads in a local train, sick boy? *Ouch*

The following, now, are useless rules that have been tried and tested by our very own name sake. These allow you to come in the holy month of Jun (or July if you are that desperate!)
1.) It is in coming that you go, just like it is in giving that you realize the other person didn’t need it in the first place, being full of hot air himself (or herself as your sexual orientation may be)
2.) It is imperative to have an affinity for birds like swallows. Holds you in good stead.
3.) You shouldn’t brush that often, you might get tired.
4.) Be persistent. Try, try until you succeed. (I mean, brilliant pun, Watson, brilliant)
5.) If you still need a rule, don’t bother. You are the crossdressed unibrowed monkey, who should just be happy for being acknowledged on a famous (hahahaha) blog! *rude rude rude*

So that is an end to yet another childish attempt at being funny. Thanks for being patient (nota bene: shameless PR attempts)

See you around. ‘Come’ back for more!

Jun

Friends, Romans, people who're too bored with office work and feel the need to browse the internet aimlessly. Lend me your bandwidth.

Today we will observe how simple replies to commonly made statements and remarks can make you feel good about yourself, and give you a sense of satisfaction. "How now, brown cow?" you may be tempted to ask. There's a fitting reply to that as well.

1. Statement: "Why am I not surprised?"
Reply: Well maybe you just don't get surprised much. Maybe you were born a guy when the gynaec was sure you'd be a girl. Heck, what a shocker it was when the doc handed you to your mum and she saw your little thingy. Things haven't changed much since then.

2. Statement: "It's not you, it's me."
Reply: F#@*&^% Idiot! You should've told me earlier na. Then I wouldn't have to hide the fact that camels in the Sahara deserts haven't seen a hump like my new secretary.

3. Statement:

"How now, brown cow?"
Reply: What then, black hen? Who there, white hare? Why do a blind emu?

4. Statement: "You're fired."
Reply: No, I'm not.
"Umm... err... Yes, you are."
No, I'm not.
"You see, we're downsizing and everything. And..."
No you're not.
"Yes, we are."
No, you're not.
"But you're fired."
No, I'm not.
"Look, I don't know how to explain this better..."
Don't.
"No, you're not getting (gatting) it."
Yes, I am.
"That's good then, you're fired."
No... I'm not.
*repeat from start till security is called*

5. Statement: "Will I live, doctor?"
Reply: Yes, yes. Of course you will. You'll live till you're ninety, easily. *patient heaves a sigh of relif*
"Haha! That's a relief."
Haha, I was just kidding! You're dead by Thursday. Ask the secretary to show you the way out, and oh!, have a nice day!

Putting a pen in your eye could make you blind. Like sex. So if you intend on having sex, make sure there aren't any pens in your eyes.

The daughter and I have pledged to donate our toe nails to the needy, after we die. We've also pledged to write more often, but that's another entry. Like she said, "Thank you, 'come' again."

Bloggers Attack!

2006-05-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

Sana

When you are about to get interviewed by a magazine world famous in Bhatinda I guess you certainly have arrived. (And by that I mean we love you Delhi’s premiere magazine which is read by the farteratti and the who’s who of the ‘First city’, Please don’t hate us. You are good, seriously. Come back I say… please… on my knees licking the words back, just like the heart is garden garden with joy at the prospect of being young, restless and famous all in two!)

So what if Jun had to sleep his way through to get the frikkin interview fixed, what are we complaining about? We are going to be famous and then we can bully our way into getting us economy class tickets to go to Bangladesh or maybe Zaire or better still, Nice.(No, can’t go to places we can’t pronounce properly… personal joke again morons, don’t stress.)

Now comes the all important life changing question.*Hindi film background music, the kind that plays when our Mithun has a revelation*

Why wasn’t I entrusted upon the all important job of providing the *beep* favours?
The answer my friend is in blowing the wind, the answer is blowing (now that is funnay, honnay!)
Continuing, it’s because I suffer from a disease called ‘havingus no lifus andus you would be kiddingus if you thoughtus that someone would be actually wanting youas’! Oh I am very sick!

On a more reflective note, I was just thinking about how some readers must think that we suffer from a deep-set psychosexual disorder, the one that is a result of our childhood insecurities, the one that causes us to direct the much generated angst towards the lesser mortals that read our constipated versions of saving the world!

Our answer to that is DIE MOTHERF!@#$@! DIE. Hmm hmm hmm(those are deep sighs of rage, by the way)

Now I feel good to go. Tata and return, that is, if you live the life of a masochistic moron who takes pleasure in being insulted. I only have one thing to say to your kind, prepare to orgasm next time around!

(The other side of my schizo self would like to offer a garland of marigolds as a peace offering…sorry, thanks and much love!)

Jun

There are many things that I
Would like
To say
To you
Like "You big fat cow"

I said oh-bese
You're eating too much
Of cheese
And don't you stall
Your stomach will make you fall
*over*

I shall explain now why, if you value your personal hygiene and your personal genitals, it is not the best idea to get into a local train in Mumbai, headed towards the suburbs, at 6.30 in the evening.

1. First of all, everyone travelling home at this point of time is frustrated, sexually and otherwise. Poorly paying jobs, long hours, bosses who think today's work needs to be completed yesterday and you spend too much time in the loo, hot secretaries who wouldn't notice you if you ran around the office yelling "Here! Here! I'm Here!" with a huge poster saying "Notice Me!" attached to your forehead, office toilets that stink worse than the refuse of a skunk who hasn't bathed for six long years and ate beans for dinner last night, are the simple things that one can possibly deal with in the so-so of the day. What really starts pulling at one's weiner, is the intense nagging of the heat? Now one may think that the heat may have a possible opposite effect on the aforementioned weiner, but I was speaking metaphorically of course. The temperature in Mumbai these days is a gazillion point nine degrees centigrades, and it drops down to a gazillion point five these nights. So by the time the rank and file have made it to the railway station, you'd better not mention how the air-conditioning in your office was so effective, you spent the whole afternoon cutting diamonds with your nipples.

2. You don't want to be inside the train as it pulls up to the station. Avoid it, like measles and bad breath. For the love of God, if you value your nads, you wont do it. The massacre is imminent. The ones inside the compartments want to and don't want to get out at the same time. It's like the frighened, cute little bunny rabbit stuck in the middle of the road as the glaring lights on the oncoming truck cast reflections in its innocent eyes. Before it gets squashed, and there's bunny flesh remains stuck in the grooves of the Goodyears.

3. Brut, Sure, Axe. Just some of the brands of deodorants local train travellers have NEVER heard of. Some of the more popular brands, however, are Notbathedforsixmonths, Iateonionsandgarlicforlunch and Didyousayskunk?.

Apparently, our fame precedes us. They tell me people (that’s right, not just quadrupeds with the mental capacity of a dead snail) actually read this blog. Damn! I think the daughter and I will go now, and get our nads squashed in a local train.

Tatah! Say hi to your retarded, one legged donkey for me.

No Name Post

2006-04-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

Sana

In Dharamshala, (where I haven't gone but know so much about it, just like a lot of things in my life), there is a cafe named No Name. And this post, my friends, Roamans(those are the species who DO go out on weekends!) and countrymen is not dedicated to that stupid cafe. It is dedicated to the nothingness which compels people into dedicating precious(hahahah) time to activities which numb the minds of others.

Did you know that the human brain looks pretty obscene when you smash someone's skull? If you do, don't ever get near us, you psychopath! But onto some more useless facts ripped(that's the new tech savvy term for plagiarism) right from a science journal, did you know that the liver regenerates itself so in case you lose a part of your liver in a freak accident where your younger brother is experimenting with the bullets in your house, rest assured you will only die of a splattered spleen and the good wishes your enemies send you and not because of the aforementioned cause.

And since I am in that mode where I have an opinion about everything I ever knew or did not, I will now talk about the stance that the world has taken against budding 17 year olds going on 54 writing about loser American children getting wild... Got over the mode, so you shall be spared. Read on, it always gets better from here on... hmph!

Jun

Or not.

...

And then there was the uncomfortable silence...

Somehow everyone driving on Marine Drive this evening was totally potty in the head. Children on cycles were screaming Marathi stuff, cabs were screeching past without a care for man, beast or traffic lights, people were jogging at 9pm... fat people, like with flesh dropping all over the place, I mean, you could start a soap factory with any single one of 'em. And then there was the insane honking. On and on and on like an Energizer bunny who wouldn't stop humping the leg of a pomeranian. I could almost make out a tune. I could almost make out. But that's a story for another day, and another crazy time by the seaside.

There is an art in pretending to look busy in an overcrowded office that the daughter and myself have mastered to such levels of perfection, sometimes we even manage to fool ourselves. Heck, the other day, I was actually reading the newspaper, and not just drawing mustaches on the women politicians faces (take that you Italian swine!).

The daughter and I had "the talk" a few days ago. It was interesting. Several pressing and pertinent issues were discussed. Here are the minutes of the meeting:

1. Size is not everything. But for reasonable satisfaction a pre-decided average length must be, at least, a minimum requirement. If this is not met, plans must be dropped. The instrument will probably follow suit.

2. Protection is a must. So I gave her a can of pepper spray.

3. If he smells bad, its probably not a good idea to do 'stuff' at his place. In fact, its probably a bad idea to do 'stuff' at all. If you really want to, however, pay him at the end of the 'session'. Then hold your nose and tell him it was bad. He should get the hint. Proceed to the bathroom and do not emerge for 45 minutes. Leave. And replace his KY Jelly with a bottle of that Hand Sanitizer crap that doesn't need water or towels.

Now go. And do something interesting. Hopefully, whatever you do will not involve use of KY Jelly. Or, for that matter, Hand Sanitizer.

I on the other hand have Uma Bharti's vacant upper lip to take care of.

Sweet Luuuurve

2006-04-23T12:02:00.000-07:00

Sana

What do you get when you cross a chinese orangutan and a chemistry professor? *refer to footnote*

A rockstar who thinks he has the nicest band aids! No pun intended.

For the people who got that, congratulations on your realisation (which has indeed come a little late in life for you to care, or more importantly and sadly, to make amends!) that you are a loser since you stalk one or both of 2 really sad people and for those who didn't, don't fret, you will be loser too and soon as you are not cool enough to join the league of extraordinary gentlemen and gentle women who get our jokes.

Since Jun's and my brains work faster than a computer just like Chacha Choudhary's I will now be randomly switching topics through the post.

Switch.

Ladies and gentlemen, a volcano has erupted in some obscure part of the world (and by that I don't mean Jun just farted!), since I just offended Sabu (the tall dude who has come to earth from Jupiter in the Chacha Chaudhary comics, you firang dudes) for making such a sad joke.

Having talked about classic Indian literature that shapes the Indian youth, I will now go drown myself in a glass of water while Jun sleeps merrily (with his mouth open ofcourse!) in his mansion!

Sigh!

Goodnight and God bless.

Footnote: Confucius says, you are the president of the losers who like to be anonymous club... actually waited for a footnote, cheese, but what the hell, Jun got new Peter Parker glasses AND THE JOKE WAS ON HIM YIIIIIDIOT!

Footnote's footnote: This is probably the most boring post I have ever written, buck up Jun, we are still competing!

Jun

Seeing the daughter's apparent lack of humor, combined with a blatant disregard for the feelings of Nepali Gorkhas, I have taken it upon myself to shave her eyebrows. Now the thing is, this morning I came to office with 6 minor shaving wounds. So it is likely that Sana may lose whatever little eyesight her frail body hastens to provide her.

And in other related news, we are making preparations for a Bharat Darshan tour that will take us all across the small towns and villages of our great, and often smelly, country. It promises to be fun, and profitable for deodorant companies.

Have you ever wondered why sometimes you want to potty, but you don't want to at the same time? It's like the potty is stuck in your bum, and you know it wants to get out, but its shy. So no matter how much you cajole it, talk to it gently, whisper sweet nothings in its ear, it just wont come out. And then, just when you want to urgently do something really exciting like watch porn or something, Mr. Potty decides to make an Irish beggar's exit. The ungrateful whore decides to depart just at the very moment the busty blonde is flicking back her hair as she begins to approach Australia.

Goddamn crap.

Somehow if you spend some time with the venerable daughter, and then with the doting father, it will come to your notice that all that remained of frivolous sanity will soon take your leave. Just like your reticent turd.

So make sure you don't get too excited.

Under Pressure

2006-04-02T11:37:00.000-07:00

Sana

What do you do when you are about 2000 miles away from Jun?

Get pressured into writing 300 words of mediocrity. Since we were never that good anyway, this doesn’t matter! (stop smiling you jackass, that joke wasn’t for you, you are the one who keeps returning to read more, so for you WE ARE GOOD OKAY!)

Ever since we came up with this super cool template, we actually have started to get visitors (stop being in denial, you didn’t just find your way here, you CAME here!)

Hmm.

So the train of thought gets derailed from here on…

The world needs more creative ways to deal with anger. One way could just be to make the only 3 people who read your blog feel miserable and never return to read stuff history is made of (loooooooosers!). That could be one.

*Sniff ‘please be back’ Sniff*.

The other way could be to lick the jam off your gangrened toenail and poison yourself but before that write a suicide note to your dog who is dying of cancer due to excessive smoking maybe. You are the ones on drugs, you imagine while I continue not writing what I am writing.

Have you ever wondered how the hair in your nose grows 8 inches outside the frikkin nose just before an interview for an HLL job? We haven’t either. This is due to the following three reasons:

1. We are clean people.

2. We used to carry photos of ourselves for inspiration in our kitbags before we were thrown out from our jobs on grounds of being ‘ungroomed’. (I still believe they were plain jealous of us)

3. They lacked sense of humour

4. We didn’t know how to count. (Like that is a bad thing?!)

So then one more thought so my 300 words are up and I make up for lost time.

Since my able compatriot and fellow nose hair person(that’ll be Jun, slow joe!) is obsessed with writing to distract him from mosquitoes which bite him on the neck areas, I shall give him company for another 36.5 words. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…29.5.

We love you India, We love you.

PS: We still love you

India

and that is way more than 300. Thank you Jun. I miss you!

Jun

What happens when a swarm of bees decide to attack an unsuspecting crowd of happy family members waiting to see their precious 21+ year old 'children' receive their Post Graduate Diploma degree? Here's picture by picture highlights:

1. A lone bee is heard buzzing near someone's chair. It is assumed to be a stray incident. All is calm. A long, droning, and perhaps wholly unappreciated Chief Guest continues his long, droning and so highly academic speech, one could possibly get a Ph.D. just listening to that crap.

2. The lone bee is suddenly a scout formation of five divers. Ears have perked up, though unfortunately there is absolutely no buzz in the Chief Guest's speech. One wonders if even eight shots of tequila and a beer IV could help. The bees however, need no such encouragement. The affected individuals pretend not to care. The fake look of indifference that they show towards the flying buzztards reminds one of the frightened rat brandishing its claws to the big fat house cat as feline canine prepares to make an interesting meal of the ridiculous rodent. Yeah, they're just waiting to be stung.

3. "Scout commander to Squadron leader. The humans are juicy, unaware, pretentious and just waiting for chaos to happen. I recommend an all out swoop kamikaze attack."

4. And on come the bees. Frantic flapping of the convocation invitation is followed by muted shrieks of surprise, and possibly pain; from both the Chief Guests seemingly never-ending discourse on everything boring on Earth, and B-squadron attacks.

5. The speech continues. As hordes of people and bees leave the main lawns.

6. Somewhere in Delhi University, someone's orgasmed because the Sensex crossed 11,000. That's whats called a business peak. Ah, the pleasure of unprotected Sensex.

While the daughter causes havoc in the nation's capital my mother has taken it upon herself to fatten me up. Its an interesting exercise involving a constant shovelling of food of all kinds into my mouth. This is the life.

Sana dear, methinks the world needs more chocolate, more perky cheerleaders, less Ph.Ds and more crazy, crazy love!

*missing the daughter*

Bullshit Smells

2006-03-25T08:40:00.000-08:00

Sana

Flatulence is a common ailment among life forms lower than us. On the other hand, Jun and July (my alter ego's/evil twin's name) just fart from their mouth. The following is a conversation between them I happened to overhear. The evil twin and Jun were talking the other day and here ladies and gentlemen is the totally fabricated account of the same:

Evil twin July: Oh 'Month before me and shameless copier of names', lately, a common observation has been that our abodes have been infested with mosquitoes, but funnily they just attack some people's necks. (My comments):
1) Oooooh! *dirtaaay*,
2) July is a lil complicated ever since she returned from Turkemenistan with a funny British accent.

Jun: Die bitch!

July: I love you too honey. Would you like sugar in your tea and crumpets to go with it.

Jun: Die bitch!

July: Oh dear God! I am a little woozy in the knees now. Oblimey! The affection.

Jun: You are wierd.

So there, life has never been the same for the two.
But coming back to more pressing matters, I think we need to allow crotch scratching in public. (How can a post be complete without juvenile sexual innuendo, however direct it may be!). Come on, think about it. Living would be so much easier. And while we are at it, I say ban the stupid rules the British left behind in the name of civilising us. I say be filthy. Filth is the way to be. Yay!

Are you listening, my countrymen and frustated 'no sex is good for me' feminists? If you are, get a life people! But before that read the bit written with so much effort (who are we kidding!) by my able friend and compatriot Jun. Tata.

Jun

Here is what all HLL sales representatives selling possibly soap, detergent or their souls (soles... in case they are also selling footwear), are carrying in their 'kitbag' today, according to acclaimed marketing guru, insight miner and slow bather (hey, being clean never killed anyone... except Mr.Jhunjhunwala who, in a record attempt to clean all ten toe nails with one stroke of the Guiness approved toothbrush, died in an unfortunate incident when a toothbrush accidently lodged itself in his brain through his left ear - experts blame it on poor sweeping action combined with the untimely entrance of a rabid German Shepherd who also sunk four very sharp canines into his crotch. The brain damage killed him before the rabies.) The Jun:

"Picture of mother/father/Gandhi/Sai Baba/etc. for inspiration."

We all need it ladies and gentlemen. No, not a toe-nail. Inspiration. We need it like we need that little piece of icing from the birthday cake that fell on the floor which you picked up with your finger after making sure that no one was looking. And licked off with glee. Before spitting out what was actually the remains of a squashed piece of doggy poo. Nice.

And as this great crescendo of an academic year comes to an end, it is a time for reflection. Take a mirror. Hold it at an angle where the sunlight can be rebounded off into some unsuspecting Jaikishen Rathore's eye. Do that for a while. Go ahead, knock yourself out.

Here are some important decisions you may have to make in the coming two minutes:
1. Do you continue to display your bottom to your boss who's just caught you reading this blog?
2. Or do you blame it on schizophrenia? *it wasn't me, it was me*
3. Should you check out The Unlike No Ones now, or should you wait for someone to kick you in the nads?
4. Should you continue the draft of that fan mail letter thing you were writing to Sana before you realised that Sana was a girl who looked like a male chemistry professor? On drugs.
5. Should you stare out your cubicle to look at that hot new chick in HR who's just about curving her bum provocatively enough to make you feel like maybe it was a better idea to wear boxers today?

Think young Champu, think. Your nads could be in danger!

Living The Dangerous Life

2006-03-07T02:12:00.000-08:00

Sana

3 42 in the night.

Finished all projects much before the usual 15 minutes to the actual submission.

'Jun irritated' 28 times through the day.(number 29) *sheepish grin*
Ignored the earthquake... Life can be just that dangerous.
Have you ever, like ever wondered how you are that zit on the face of mankind that was forgotten to be healed by nature. It sure looks like you haven't because if you had then you wouldn't be wasting your time here, you mother's eye (hindi translation for the unitiated: maa ki aankh, a popular euphemism in the hindi language)! *evil resounding laughter of a schizo*

Well now that my ability to flirt shamelessly is so evident, boys call me on Jun's phone, girls wait. I may soon go the Jun way.

Coming back to life, Floyd once said that everything is yellow. Or was that Chrissy boy?
Just on the random trip that I am on, someone also said "Arre, main se, meena se na saaqi se, dil behelta hai mera, aapke aa jaane se" *pelvic thrust*

For all the elitist bitches other than Sir Yankee Doodle himself the above lines translate to something like this: "Exclamation of joy! Not by myself or by liquor, not by some ugly fat woman named Meena nor from the bartender, my heart is pacified only by your coming"
So keep coming back, someday we will reveal the chemical equations involved in obtaining cold fusion.

Till then toodles (because we try that hard!)

Jun

And then there was the "atom bum"...

Here's some interesting questions one must ask oneself. Read slowly as these are cause for great introspection, nail-biting and one hand shoe lace tying.

Question 1. What am I doing with my liver?
Question 2. Have I stopped beating my wife?
Question 3. Kya aap close-up karte hain?
Question 4. Why is three a five letter word and five a four letter word?

So it is quite likely that often, especially when you're in a position where you're underwear is on the OUTSIDE, you may find that the chafing on the inside of your thighs is not because of the five whole squats you did at the gym three weeks ago. You wiil realise that you can pinpoint the existence of all your problems to a scraping sound that you hear when you shift the elastic of your Jockeys because its been turning your skin red, and angry. Like the time when you realised that your girlfriend left you because she was a man. You were angry then too. Before it became evident that it was pointless. Like the freshly sharpened pencil that you just dropped on the ground in an attempt to flick the crusted ear wax out of your ear. You have a knack for dropping things don't you?

In the ineffectiveness that I display in completing an entry on time, and the pursuant angst that the daughter displays, combined with her displeasure of my apparent (but truthfully not meant) lack of quality time spending, I have learnt something. I have learnt that good grammar is not just about punctuation, sentence construction, etc. It is also about sex. You must get it right for things to go on. Like this blog.

So memorise your goddamn Wren & Martin. NOW!

Bitch.

I Hate Sticks Especially When They Are in Your Backside

2006-02-28T12:08:00.000-08:00

Sana

Face off had a dialogue where this woman goes "Sir, how was the operation?"
Johny boy Travolta is like "What operation?"
Super clever but ugly lady retorts "The one that took out the stick up your ass!"
Hehehehehehehe... everyone had a good laugh and went back home believing all the trash they dished out in the brilliant piece of art that helped them get away with a kind of story line for the kind of movies that makes Mithun and Rajnikanth what they are today.
I am never sure of what I say when sentence construction is long and complex like the previous one. But that is what helps me get away with all the trash I dish out too!
Everyone needs to learn the adroit way of releasing stick in arse and letting it fly free just like the birds so it hits a dumb freak standing to get back his boomerang.
Two purposes solved... you refrain from being the waiting for boomerang loser and make the stuck up loser waiting pay for just being! *Die mother f#$%!*$ die*
I must warn you all at this point of time that sleep deprivation is a major cause of Verbal Dairrhea for many.
3 rules for a happy and prosperous life
1.) Scratch your crotch when YOU want to
2.) Fart when there are only two people in the elevator... you and person X. Make the most disgusting face you can get yourself to make at that person. The disgust on your face is directly proportional to the happiness within for making person X wonder.
3.) Write a blog which 3 people read and make them actually fall for the rules that you say you live by.

Thank you. Good night and God bless!

Jun

I think everyone should be Japanese and have names like Kenyo, or Kinjitsushi. Think about it. Immediately people will think of you to be the son of a slain samurai on a mission to avenge his father's death with his katana, and bad breath. Pull your eyelids till you get this slinky chinky look, and talk like there's a rat in your throat screaming out in pain because it can see your stomach where only a few minutes earlier boiled frog legs made their way. You didn't like the way they tasted, but Kawasaki, your sensei, told you that in the year of the snake the legs of a boiled frog saved the world from the coming of the evil Lord Chowmeintsu who terrorised people with faulty consumer durables like Walkmans that used 4 (that's right, FOUR) AA batteries!

And then you feel like the whole world is working against you. But that just maybe because you're wearing your briefs backwards. Does it hurt? The elastic pressing against your privates as if a rabid dog were sinking his teeth into your crotch? Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. The reason you feel like a complete dweeb is that you are one. Think about it. Remember that girl you tried to kiss in the bar when you were drunk? Well guess what, she was a he. And you bit his nose. Which is why you woke up the next morning in the hospital with three broken ribs, a shattered pelvis and no money. Hah! And you thought you had a car accident while she was... um... bowling down under.

I think you should sit in a corner now and think. And while you're at it, you might want to turn around those Jockeys.

Vote For Thermal (waterproof) Underwear

2006-02-22T11:30:00.000-08:00

Sana

What do you do if you are the biggest scaredy poo in the whole wide world huh?

Just saw the most awesome pantwetter scary video, one of the many sidey forwards you get.
And now I am figuring out ways to find a way to break it to July... oops Jun ( making jokes is hard for some people, okay!) how I am going to spend the night on his floor, you see he us not the most chivalrous guy around what with the wife beating tendencies he displays.

On a more philosophical note, dancing isn't easy friends. That is why all you people must visit the site www.zefrank.com , watch the dance lessons he dishes out, and reduce the already small number of visitors to our joint blog. *Sweet*

Talking about underwears, now these are something which come in all shapes and sizes and if you ask me they can be multi purpose as well. How, now that is something I leave to you imagination as I lack that skill, Jun more than makes up for it. He is a walking retard recovering from drug addiction.

Why this obsession with sexy female/male (last thing we want to be called is sexist!) lingerie you might ask, THEN READ THE BLOG ADDRESS YOU FREAKING DUMBASS!

Okay now that I have gathered my calm demeanor (I am not sure how you can do that but that is besides the point), me and Jun (awwe! isn't that a sweet name, my eyes are more than moist already) have these commonalities ranging from super to the power of infinity (stop orgasming Dexter wannabe!) stupidity, obsession with 3 letter words( one has had too much of it, so much so that he/she((we are still on concluding about that)) is hooked, what a wannabe and the other with the lack of it!) and it makes us both laugh till a lil pee comes out each time we talk about such things. Ya, we are of the juveniles and we are happy!

Jun

What happens when a chemical reaction caused by human error and a monkey dressed in a lab coat pretending to be all smart and everything, infects the positively fickle and desperately hungry young mind of a 21 year old? You get Sana. Now you may get confused figuring out a connection between a monkey in a lab coat and a monkey with fat abs who eats oats, but don't. Just ask her. Once she finishes prancing up and down scratching the insides of her underarms making noises reminiscent of Brain from Pinky and the Brain, she will inform you that we are all descendants of the apes and some people are just more ape-y than others. No, she's not talking about AP, which as MICAns are aware, is an orange juice concentration involving ad agencies, lard and words like insight which means absolutely nothing if you do some insightful thinking.

So where were we? Ah yes, lard. It's nice. She has a lot of it. You'd be forgiven if you thought that it was jelly because it too jiggles. And then chicks na, they say they don't have inhibitions, but they wear condoms all the time. You just won't get it if you think too much. Neither Sana, nor Jun think. At all. Henceforth Jun shall refer to himself in third person. Jun is a handsome and sexy guy. He uses a Nokia cellphone. It has buttons and everything, like his belly. Which is a little flabby. Like lard.

Here is why lectures suck ass. Because they involve academics. And studies. And professors who think couldn't lip sync to Ashley Simpson if they're lips were connected to electronically controlled wires hooked up to a remote control with alphabets on it so you just press the letters and tiny electric shocks go to the wearers lips and he shrieks in pain first and then says lines like "tu kutta, tera baap kutta aur teri maa ki aankh".

Five pointers for a healthy sax life:
1. Brush your teeth regularly.
2. Blow. Balloons.
3. Don't use it if someone else put his mouth to it first.
4. If you blow too hard, somebody or the other is bound to complain.
5. Playing in a group is always more fun.

So When You Are Really Wasted

2006-02-20T03:51:00.000-08:00

Sana

Once upon a time, far away, at band aid camp I learnt the eternal truth ... because it was out there.(*heavy metal strains*)
Boys will be boys and girls will have sex change operations!
Why do I say so?
I dont know, you tell me.
You know I also learnt life's most impotent truths. (Ya, impotent is a typo, or that's what you think *evil fiendish grin* )
The truths:
You will get fat if you eat a lot.
Your underwear will smell after 3 days of being your most faithful companion.
Boys don't talk to you if you don't brush your teeth daily.

God only knows how the above text has changed my life for the better, I eat better, stay healthy and more importantly I feel good. I love you Mom. And Oprah.

If wishes were horses I swear I would have taught you to fall from them.
You see it is an art to fall from a horse 24 and a half times. That's what I learnt when I took up horseriding back in 1870. Though I still pass it off as an activity I am into!

And writing this is as easy as it comes ... just like cute French, non gay boys.
I tell you too much pressure, afterall between the two of us we are shaping the world's opinion about nuclear weapons and its effect on the coming generations (ya right!).
So like where were we. Horsing around, I remember. Don't wish I say, just beat the crap out of the one who has what you want. Or better still whine till the other party relents. The second option has worked for me to an extent that I have set new standards in the area of my specialisation.
Phew! Now I shall go and do something worthwhile like count the zits on Arjun's face while you go get a life.

*muah*

Jun

Have you ever wondered what a dreadful waste of time licking jam from the inside of your big toe nail is? Also, has it ever struck you that maybe you sticking a wet finger into an electicity socket is not exactly the right way to get a spiky hairdo? If these questions trouble you, don't let them. There are other precious wastes of your time waiting to be... er... wasted.

Like bouncing your head to some song on your mind, it takes little effort to shake your leg too. Here's an extremely cool thing to do - dance (or as the French would say - omlette du framage. Okay, they wouldn't say that, but doesn't it sound... cool?) Why? Because you can't sing jackass. Neither can you play any instrument. And everything else that you do makes you look like a putz. Get a grip of yourself, man. And of your toilet paper.

Eight easy steps to dance, and be cool:
1. First of all, get off your lazy arse and get onto the dance floor. Don't be shy. It's not a woman fellating for the first time (it won't bite). So move doofus, and get on the goddamn floor.

2. Now that you're there, and probably by yourself (heck, if you weren't alone you wouldn't be reading this gibberish would you... stupid virgin) find someone. This is going to be tough because you're wearing checks the size of Scotland and you've spilt your virgin pina colada on your trousers. But this is essential; finding someone. It is irrelevant if someone is already with someone. You're used to piling on as it is.

3. Hopefully, you are past step 2. Assuming you are with a person of the opposite sex (woah, I think I just complimented you) what you need to do is shake.

4. Shake anything. Just don't laugh too much. She's (you're obviously a guy) not a stand-up comedienne, and "Applause" is not pasted on her forehead in size 76 font Times New Roman.

5. Unless your butt is curved like the spinal cord of 86 year old Raju Chachha who last stood straight pre-indpendence when the days were good and old just like Demi Moore's breasts, don't jiggle too much. You'll end up looking like someone wedgied you with a hungry squirrel.

6. Talk as little as possible. No one wants to hear what you want to say. If you must talk, say something suave like "My cravat was made in Switzerland. I skiied there on my resort last winter with Angelina Jolie. She's nice." Actually, don't say that. Say "What?! You haven't heard of the Screwdriver?" and then proceed to spin around and round slowly reducing your height as it you were being screwed.

7. Don't look too serious either. She'll think you're a rapist. Did I mention something about checks?

8. Under no circumstances can your fly be open.

There children. Now dance. Or wait till we update this damn thing again!

Because The World Needs More Rubbish Literature

2006-02-20T03:41:00.000-08:00

It is that time of the year again when Sana and Arjun do the deed. By deed they do not imply any sexual or real estate things. What they mean, is just plain ... garbage. You are priviliged to not know them, and useless if you do not understand that everything that they say makes all the sense in the world, and no sense at all, at the same time. Confused? So are they.

These are the conversations of madness.