The following piece is graphic in content. Reader discretion advised. Ilost my lunch just writing it.
It was the patterns. They got me. Morphology unlimited. Hues of red/amber/vermilion. Take your pick. Sometimes colorless. They were everywhere. Crept into the mind's eye. Indefatigable. More powerful in presence than that favorite symbol of the Indian landscape, the mosquito.
I stepped out one fine morning. Feeling nice and dandy. This chap gave me a demo. Sucked back. Smirk on face. Delivered with aplomb. Fine spray barely missing moi. Ugly stare to man. Man shrugs shoulders. Gets ready for round 2. I have limited wardrobe. Just bathed after mom petitioned High Court. I ran. Sped. Disappeared. I love to give up.
The prostate gland as is well-known is a single. No colleagues. Still most women (sorry all) will confirm that it is the most overworked gland in male humans. Same human possesses several salivary glands. Many. Meant to aid digestion and speaking and fund our favorite pastime, Spitting. Have glands will spray.
Our wonderful roads are world-famous for a myriad reasons. Among them potholes (who can resist a pothole reference) and spit patterns. One, more glorious than the other. Using the tar as an innocent canvas humans are such fine artists. Gory. Disgusting. Gut-wrenching.
Animals of the world urinate to delineate their territory. We spit. Use the saliva to mark our world. Get into a bus, spit out the window. Get out of a bus, spit. Using a lift, spit. Using the stairs, spit. See a spittoon? Spit by its side. We are the champions my friend.We'll keep on spitting till the end.
Mind you. Spitting is good for us. Otherwise we would't do it. Not us. It keeps us humble. How? Head-down while walking on road. Avoiding the red beauties. Becomes a part of behavior. A modest,non-assuming race is defined.
Agility. Yes. Evading saliva artwork. Will make a super- athletic people.
That's the logic.
Movie to watch compulsorily: My Cousin Vinny
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
The AjjiBujjiKere(ABK) phenomenon
Things you need to know before proceeding
Ajji = old lady,grandma
Bujji = crushed,smashed - for this piece it is considered an english word and thus used in various forms like any self-respecting english word eg: bujjified, bujjifying, bujjied
Kere = snake of the rat..he he he...ratsnake i.e. snake that limits rat population
ABK = the phenomenon that was a vital part of my primary school days
It was PT period (you know...1-2-3-4 drill...the melee for the deflated footy). Little Ramu(say) went to retrieve ball from near gutter. Unbeknownst to this math-fearing, teacher-respecting, mugging-specialist there is some spillover from gutter content. Nothing mutagenic (i.e. can be washed off with apna dettol). But, its there. Ramu in his haste to pouch ball steps on yucky matter.Looks at his hawaii chappal in dismay. Tries to cover/wipeoff damage. Too late. Sham, yes, the one with the baritone voice witnesseth. Screams. AJJIBUJJIKERE rents the air.Horrifying. Ramu's spirit crumbles. Can he make it to the next tap? Can he make it in life? Ramu turns around. The till-now crowded PT field looks like the school library. Empty. Everyone has scooted. Saving themselves. Their souls. Their dignity.
But Ramu being a creature who hasn't yet encountered an entrance exam doesn't give in easy. He hunts. Like a tiger after a seven-day crash diet. Hungry. Eager. Vengeful. Finds little Frida. Cowering in fear. Attempting to hide behind the trunk of a tree. ABK he yells. More with relief. But wait a minute. What does little Frida have? Clutched in her left hand. A leaf! GREEN!! GREEN!! She dangles the savior with nonchalant ease. Ramu is crushed again. He sets off again. He must find non-green-possessing child to transfer this ABK. He must.
Well, whatever happened to Ramu I'm not sure but ABK was the phenomenon that ruled my limited-vision world as a primary school attendee. It was like the sword of Damocles that hung over our tender necks. We never knew who would be next? When would be next? Where would be next? Haunting.
Legend says (atleast the legend I have coffee with every tuesday) that ABK originated in the early 1700s. The story goes thus (if anyone disagrees then I will do karate for you).
There was this old lady. You know the type.Late 60s. Active. Kind-hearted. Betel-nut chewing.Jasmine flowers in oiled hair. On her way to the village fair. Spring in arthritic step. Folk song in heart. As she was walking, she felt that uncomfy squishy feeling under her left foot, only to look down in dismay to see a kere(ratsnake-remember) writhing in pain due to her bujjifying left foot. Hissing the choicest kere abuses he slithered away into the bushes to nurse his bujjified body back to its rat-hunting best (relax, nobody dies in my stories). This incident was observed by the Kere Gods. They obviously weren't too happy(Kere population figures were at an all-time low and acts like these certainly wouldn't help). Curse they hissed. Curse. But, wait one minute. Ajji was draped in a parrot- green saree (sent by son in phoreen). Gods were in dilemma now. Why you may wonder? Green was their patron color. Green was their gold. They couldn't punish granny now. A Kere law was passed. AJJIBUJJIKERE for any yucky steppings from now on. Possessing green will give immunity. However, an ABK individual can pass it on to some other unsuspecting non-green soul and rid himself/herself of the ABK tag. Thus, a hex was born. To terrorize thousands of school children in the years to come.
There are other fables (not true) about the origin of ABK by other 'experts' in this field. However, efforts are on to initiate a PhD position in ABK studies. One only hopes the truth (see above) will be established soon.
Acknowledgements:
Wah-Duuh girl
Choop Suri
Sujju Baba
Stanny my boy
I promise to share TV and film rights with you guys
Ajji = old lady,grandma
Bujji = crushed,smashed - for this piece it is considered an english word and thus used in various forms like any self-respecting english word eg: bujjified, bujjifying, bujjied
Kere = snake of the rat..he he he...ratsnake i.e. snake that limits rat population
ABK = the phenomenon that was a vital part of my primary school days
It was PT period (you know...1-2-3-4 drill...the melee for the deflated footy). Little Ramu(say) went to retrieve ball from near gutter. Unbeknownst to this math-fearing, teacher-respecting, mugging-specialist there is some spillover from gutter content. Nothing mutagenic (i.e. can be washed off with apna dettol). But, its there. Ramu in his haste to pouch ball steps on yucky matter.Looks at his hawaii chappal in dismay. Tries to cover/wipeoff damage. Too late. Sham, yes, the one with the baritone voice witnesseth. Screams. AJJIBUJJIKERE rents the air.Horrifying. Ramu's spirit crumbles. Can he make it to the next tap? Can he make it in life? Ramu turns around. The till-now crowded PT field looks like the school library. Empty. Everyone has scooted. Saving themselves. Their souls. Their dignity.
But Ramu being a creature who hasn't yet encountered an entrance exam doesn't give in easy. He hunts. Like a tiger after a seven-day crash diet. Hungry. Eager. Vengeful. Finds little Frida. Cowering in fear. Attempting to hide behind the trunk of a tree. ABK he yells. More with relief. But wait a minute. What does little Frida have? Clutched in her left hand. A leaf! GREEN!! GREEN!! She dangles the savior with nonchalant ease. Ramu is crushed again. He sets off again. He must find non-green-possessing child to transfer this ABK. He must.
Well, whatever happened to Ramu I'm not sure but ABK was the phenomenon that ruled my limited-vision world as a primary school attendee. It was like the sword of Damocles that hung over our tender necks. We never knew who would be next? When would be next? Where would be next? Haunting.
Legend says (atleast the legend I have coffee with every tuesday) that ABK originated in the early 1700s. The story goes thus (if anyone disagrees then I will do karate for you).
There was this old lady. You know the type.Late 60s. Active. Kind-hearted. Betel-nut chewing.Jasmine flowers in oiled hair. On her way to the village fair. Spring in arthritic step. Folk song in heart. As she was walking, she felt that uncomfy squishy feeling under her left foot, only to look down in dismay to see a kere(ratsnake-remember) writhing in pain due to her bujjifying left foot. Hissing the choicest kere abuses he slithered away into the bushes to nurse his bujjified body back to its rat-hunting best (relax, nobody dies in my stories). This incident was observed by the Kere Gods. They obviously weren't too happy(Kere population figures were at an all-time low and acts like these certainly wouldn't help). Curse they hissed. Curse. But, wait one minute. Ajji was draped in a parrot- green saree (sent by son in phoreen). Gods were in dilemma now. Why you may wonder? Green was their patron color. Green was their gold. They couldn't punish granny now. A Kere law was passed. AJJIBUJJIKERE for any yucky steppings from now on. Possessing green will give immunity. However, an ABK individual can pass it on to some other unsuspecting non-green soul and rid himself/herself of the ABK tag. Thus, a hex was born. To terrorize thousands of school children in the years to come.
There are other fables (not true) about the origin of ABK by other 'experts' in this field. However, efforts are on to initiate a PhD position in ABK studies. One only hopes the truth (see above) will be established soon.
Acknowledgements:
Wah-Duuh girl
Choop Suri
Sujju Baba
Stanny my boy
I promise to share TV and film rights with you guys
Friday, May 26, 2006
Are you a LOLaholic?
LOLaholism - Found in 'net-savvy' (lol) people of age 17-29. Common in both sexes. Insidious onset, rapid progression. Response to treatment is highly subjective.
If you have any of these symptoms, then you are afflicted by this emerging problem named LOLaholism. Do not worry. Help is available.
Call 1-800-NOLOL today
or
visit www.LOLaholicsanonymous.com
issued in public interest by,
LOLaholics Anonymous - Its no laughing matter
- Do you burst into LOLs when somebody cracks a joke?
- Do you have a LOLmeter to rate comedies?
- Do you keep telling everyone how much nicer 'November Rain' would sound with a few LOLs in it?
- Do you tell people to have a LOLy day?
- Do people call you LOLo? (and you do not resemble Karishma Kapoor)
- Do you have your comp maintenance dude on speed dial? (to replace keys L and O)
If you have any of these symptoms, then you are afflicted by this emerging problem named LOLaholism. Do not worry. Help is available.
Call 1-800-NOLOL today
or
visit www.LOLaholicsanonymous.com
issued in public interest by,
LOLaholics Anonymous - Its no laughing matter
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
just lounge it!!
The triangle had been formed. It took all of 243 seconds, not that I was counting, a mere estimate. But then, how do you evaluate bliss time? How? My lower back formed the hypotenuse of this instrument of joy. The super comfy lounge cushions made up the other two sides. Thoughts ran through my head or did they? I don't remember. It was like a flow of imagination had broken out but at a subconscious level. Ecstasy without effort.
Lounging for long has been a favourite pastime for yours truly. Whether it is in the lobby of a 'posh' hotel or the hardwood benches of the corner coffee shop I have always indulged in it with enthusiastic fervor. People would look at me and feel superior to my apparent good-for-nothing existence. I didn't care. I couldn't. I was in heaven remember. I wish they could feel what I was experiencing. They would think differently then.
It doesn't matter what you do while you lounge. You could be getting your nicotine rush, sipping your preferred beverage, reading a book, staring at the ceiling, anything. Its just the feeling of this 'activity' that takes you away to a different dimension. If I had a penny for every minute I lounged....lol
And, if your lower back still hits your choice of furniture. Slide. Before its too late. Lounge. Try.
book to lounge with : Freakonomics
Lounging for long has been a favourite pastime for yours truly. Whether it is in the lobby of a 'posh' hotel or the hardwood benches of the corner coffee shop I have always indulged in it with enthusiastic fervor. People would look at me and feel superior to my apparent good-for-nothing existence. I didn't care. I couldn't. I was in heaven remember. I wish they could feel what I was experiencing. They would think differently then.
It doesn't matter what you do while you lounge. You could be getting your nicotine rush, sipping your preferred beverage, reading a book, staring at the ceiling, anything. Its just the feeling of this 'activity' that takes you away to a different dimension. If I had a penny for every minute I lounged....lol
And, if your lower back still hits your choice of furniture. Slide. Before its too late. Lounge. Try.
book to lounge with : Freakonomics
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
the dynamics of having a swedish middle-name
Bjorn- say it like beyond but without the 'd'
Cut to 1976. The Wimbledon Gentlemen's Singles Finals is in full swing as Bjorn Borg beats the wily Romanian Ilie Nastase in 3 sets. 'A new star is B(j)orn' screams a newspaper the next day. Accolades deluge the 'Iceman' ( he never lost his temper on court and was said to have a pulse rate constantly in the 30s!) and miles and miles away a fan is born of the great man, somewhere in Chandigrah, India. This fan goes on to have a son in 1981 and decides that he must be named after the master and thus yours truly has an exotic, swedish middle-name! Borg didn't stop at 1976. He came back in 1977 and repeated Wimbledon. Realising this was child's play(!) he marched on to 3 more victories '78-'80. Thus, becoming the only man ever to have 5 wimbys in a row. My dad, was an anaesthesiologist and had another Bjorn hero. A doctor called Bjorn Ipsen, whose work in the field of mech ventilators saved many lives in Copenhagen(not sure of the details). So, there I was with an unpronouncable middle-name in my arsenal and ready to take on the world (yeah sure)
The following are the various versions/mutilations my beloved middle-name received over the years,
Bon-Bon - from my kindergarten teacher....loved this nick...she still calls me this
Beejorn - very common...usually by new school teachers, overeager to make a performance out of attendance
Bajorn - like the previous one...variety is the spice of attendance too
Beejahoran - I don't even wanna start,luckily this was a one-off in some hall ticket
B. Jain - How innovative!Wonder what they thought the new 'B' stood for
Also, there are two distinct reactions I get to the discovery of the 'Bjorn' in my name. One is absolute surprise mixed with amusement and a barrage of queries. The other, is just indifference, almost like its the commonest middle-name in Asia! When something looks dicey (middle-names have been known to carry out savage attacks) people generally try to avoid it like it never exists. So some people won't go anywhere near 'Bjorn' even with a 9-foot barge pole.I also told a girl once that I was a 4th generation Swede who was forcibly brought to India from Sweden!! (heh heh - my cheap humor)
And finally, some other famous Bjorns I've come across
from the band 'ABBA' - one of the Bs is a Bjorn
the singer Bjork - ok ok..there's a point mutation..but I'm keeping it
pro- golfer Thomas Bjorn - stop rolling your eyes..lol
if you find more....lemme know..I'll buy you some candy
Cut to 1976. The Wimbledon Gentlemen's Singles Finals is in full swing as Bjorn Borg beats the wily Romanian Ilie Nastase in 3 sets. 'A new star is B(j)orn' screams a newspaper the next day. Accolades deluge the 'Iceman' ( he never lost his temper on court and was said to have a pulse rate constantly in the 30s!) and miles and miles away a fan is born of the great man, somewhere in Chandigrah, India. This fan goes on to have a son in 1981 and decides that he must be named after the master and thus yours truly has an exotic, swedish middle-name! Borg didn't stop at 1976. He came back in 1977 and repeated Wimbledon. Realising this was child's play(!) he marched on to 3 more victories '78-'80. Thus, becoming the only man ever to have 5 wimbys in a row. My dad, was an anaesthesiologist and had another Bjorn hero. A doctor called Bjorn Ipsen, whose work in the field of mech ventilators saved many lives in Copenhagen(not sure of the details). So, there I was with an unpronouncable middle-name in my arsenal and ready to take on the world (yeah sure)
The following are the various versions/mutilations my beloved middle-name received over the years,
Bon-Bon - from my kindergarten teacher....loved this nick...she still calls me this
Beejorn - very common...usually by new school teachers, overeager to make a performance out of attendance
Bajorn - like the previous one...variety is the spice of attendance too
Beejahoran - I don't even wanna start,luckily this was a one-off in some hall ticket
B. Jain - How innovative!Wonder what they thought the new 'B' stood for
Also, there are two distinct reactions I get to the discovery of the 'Bjorn' in my name. One is absolute surprise mixed with amusement and a barrage of queries. The other, is just indifference, almost like its the commonest middle-name in Asia! When something looks dicey (middle-names have been known to carry out savage attacks) people generally try to avoid it like it never exists. So some people won't go anywhere near 'Bjorn' even with a 9-foot barge pole.I also told a girl once that I was a 4th generation Swede who was forcibly brought to India from Sweden!! (heh heh - my cheap humor)
And finally, some other famous Bjorns I've come across
from the band 'ABBA' - one of the Bs is a Bjorn
the singer Bjork - ok ok..there's a point mutation..but I'm keeping it
pro- golfer Thomas Bjorn - stop rolling your eyes..lol
if you find more....lemme know..I'll buy you some candy
Monday, May 08, 2006
the origin of chicken 65 - my version
The following is purely based on what a dear friend told me.Any anger/disbelief/brickbats can be directed at him ( ask me for contact details..heh heh). Anyway I found it fascinating.
NOTE: Geographical references maybe messed up.Kindly excuse.
We roamed the streets of Chennai. First gulping down some bread-omlette at this famous gaadi shop in Egmore(I think).Fingerlicking stuff. Then hopped onto the bike and roamed some more. Saw an accident. It was gonna be eventful this night. You could smell it in the air even with a cold!
Finally found our way onto Mount Road. Gaped at the Hindu office. My friend, almost nonchalantly asked me whether yours truly knew about chicken 65. I looked at him incredulously, which confirmed that I indeed had. He then proceeded to stump me with the do-you-know-why-its-called-that question.Taking my silence for a no he gave his machine some torque and we landed at this ancient place called Buhari. Its a small place, obviously revamped recently for a more modish look. He told me that the famous chicken 65 originated here and is so named because it used to be item number 65 on the retaurant's menu!! We didn't have time for much more talk as we sank our fangs into that red heaven they call 65 at Buhari. Yummy in my tummy!
Of course, there are many other stories to the name, like 65 ingredients required to make it (yeah sure), 65 days to make it ( i nearly fell off my chair when i saw this), using only chicken with 65 feathers (that one i just made up) etc...I mean as long as they keep belting it out by the plateful what does it matter.
Another day. Another discovery.
PS: Had a solid dose of petrichor today evening. Magical experience. Magical.
Book to read : for good timepass- Q and A
NOTE: Geographical references maybe messed up.Kindly excuse.
We roamed the streets of Chennai. First gulping down some bread-omlette at this famous gaadi shop in Egmore(I think).Fingerlicking stuff. Then hopped onto the bike and roamed some more. Saw an accident. It was gonna be eventful this night. You could smell it in the air even with a cold!
Finally found our way onto Mount Road. Gaped at the Hindu office. My friend, almost nonchalantly asked me whether yours truly knew about chicken 65. I looked at him incredulously, which confirmed that I indeed had. He then proceeded to stump me with the do-you-know-why-its-called-that question.Taking my silence for a no he gave his machine some torque and we landed at this ancient place called Buhari. Its a small place, obviously revamped recently for a more modish look. He told me that the famous chicken 65 originated here and is so named because it used to be item number 65 on the retaurant's menu!! We didn't have time for much more talk as we sank our fangs into that red heaven they call 65 at Buhari. Yummy in my tummy!
Of course, there are many other stories to the name, like 65 ingredients required to make it (yeah sure), 65 days to make it ( i nearly fell off my chair when i saw this), using only chicken with 65 feathers (that one i just made up) etc...I mean as long as they keep belting it out by the plateful what does it matter.
Another day. Another discovery.
PS: Had a solid dose of petrichor today evening. Magical experience. Magical.
Book to read : for good timepass- Q and A
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
the unbearable difficulty of queueing
No, its not about the queueing theory. It can't be I don't know what the queueing theory is. Damn! Its tough typing queueing in. I've lost my sense of spelling (sniff sniff). Anyways,
An MCQ for all you entrance exam junkies,
What have we not inherited/adopted from the brits
a) cricket
b) the english language
c) super huge buildings like the Rashtrapathi Bhavan
d) the ability to form an orderly queue
and the answer is (drum roll............) D....if you didn't get that do not despair...help is on the way
Lemme start with a simple example which just happens to be a brutally true story (ok the brutally shouldn't be there..but what the heck, this is MY blog). I was at the train station the other day to pick up a friend and being the law-abiding (ahem) citizen that I am, I proceeded to the platform ticket counter where there was a grand total of one person buying his ticket. I walked up leisurely and noticed from the corner of my eye that someone else was approaching this counter. But, fleet-footed as I am (ahem again) I happened to reach a micromilli second before this other chap, but, he wouldn't have any of it. He shoved his hand across my beer belly and tried to get his ticket. All he got was me being ticked off!! I gave him a piece of my mind (and then took it back.. I need all I got!!) and proceeded to have an unnecessary argument in front of the counter. Finally we both walked away platform tickets firmly clutched in our palms each convinced the other was a fruitcake.
So, do we have a queueing culture? I mean is it in us? All of us? Hell no. Take the movie Rang De Basanti. Good movie. Many people loved it and rushed off to the nearest ammo store to stock up (kiddin..kiddin). I mean the movie instills a sense of pride of being an Indian and being responsible ( though I totally condemn vigilante justice). There was this story doing the rounds about people burning/tearing their H1B visas ( if you've read my previous post you'd probably know that there was no way I would check the veracity of that story) and stuff like that. But the funny thing is, for all that adrenaline pumping through the veins in the name of improvement, the queues outside cinemas showing RDB that I saw were all disorderly and many of these people were coming in to watch for a second or third time. I might have been confusing in this paragraph, but what I'm saying is we do know that we need to queue up but we don't bother. I wish that would change. Sincerely do.
Every year when the preeminent tennis tournament of the world, Wimbledon commences in June, we see telly pics of people literally camping on the pavements waiting to get their tickets the next morning. Not one of them breaks the order. You come first, you in first. You come 173rd, you in 173rd. I read somewhere that during the 7/7 bombings in London, the brits were so orderly during evacuation procedures that even a single individual formed a queue! I'm no brit-fanatic but I feel that we as a people must adopt this culture. We'll be better off with it. I'm sure.
word of the day: petrichor ['pe-trê-ko(r) or -tri-] the smell of rain on dry ground .....sexy word
An MCQ for all you entrance exam junkies,
What have we not inherited/adopted from the brits
a) cricket
b) the english language
c) super huge buildings like the Rashtrapathi Bhavan
d) the ability to form an orderly queue
and the answer is (drum roll............) D....if you didn't get that do not despair...help is on the way
Lemme start with a simple example which just happens to be a brutally true story (ok the brutally shouldn't be there..but what the heck, this is MY blog). I was at the train station the other day to pick up a friend and being the law-abiding (ahem) citizen that I am, I proceeded to the platform ticket counter where there was a grand total of one person buying his ticket. I walked up leisurely and noticed from the corner of my eye that someone else was approaching this counter. But, fleet-footed as I am (ahem again) I happened to reach a micromilli second before this other chap, but, he wouldn't have any of it. He shoved his hand across my beer belly and tried to get his ticket. All he got was me being ticked off!! I gave him a piece of my mind (and then took it back.. I need all I got!!) and proceeded to have an unnecessary argument in front of the counter. Finally we both walked away platform tickets firmly clutched in our palms each convinced the other was a fruitcake.
So, do we have a queueing culture? I mean is it in us? All of us? Hell no. Take the movie Rang De Basanti. Good movie. Many people loved it and rushed off to the nearest ammo store to stock up (kiddin..kiddin). I mean the movie instills a sense of pride of being an Indian and being responsible ( though I totally condemn vigilante justice). There was this story doing the rounds about people burning/tearing their H1B visas ( if you've read my previous post you'd probably know that there was no way I would check the veracity of that story) and stuff like that. But the funny thing is, for all that adrenaline pumping through the veins in the name of improvement, the queues outside cinemas showing RDB that I saw were all disorderly and many of these people were coming in to watch for a second or third time. I might have been confusing in this paragraph, but what I'm saying is we do know that we need to queue up but we don't bother. I wish that would change. Sincerely do.
Every year when the preeminent tennis tournament of the world, Wimbledon commences in June, we see telly pics of people literally camping on the pavements waiting to get their tickets the next morning. Not one of them breaks the order. You come first, you in first. You come 173rd, you in 173rd. I read somewhere that during the 7/7 bombings in London, the brits were so orderly during evacuation procedures that even a single individual formed a queue! I'm no brit-fanatic but I feel that we as a people must adopt this culture. We'll be better off with it. I'm sure.
word of the day: petrichor ['pe-trê-ko(r) or -tri-] the smell of rain on dry ground .....sexy word
Monday, May 01, 2006
then he went around the world...twice...before he posted his second one
Well its official, my laziness is certifiable. Yippee!! Gonna laminate this beauty and hang it on my prettiest wall for all to gawk. I'm gonna be the star of my neighborhood. Wait a minute. Wait just one minute. What neighborhood? I don't even know the name of my next-door neighbor!! How do you like that? I'm lazy, I like to show off and I'm anti-social. Wonderful. Just wonderful. It ain't been a good last few days for me. Thought I'd just slip that in to leave you in a sense of suspense plus sow the seed of sympathy for myself. Cunning ain't I? Holy long list of qualities Batman!!
a) lazy (certified)
b) show-off
c) anti-social (almost like I have a neighbor called neighbor-sad situation sadder joke)
d) cunning
Ok so if you're still reading this by now, I admire your fortitude (testicular or otherwise). Was watching Anthony Bourdain on Travel and Living this evening. That man is good!! He swears at the drop of a hat and makes it sound like he was cooing to a baby. Wish I had a job like that.
All righty then. Till next time whenever that may be. Ciao.
This time's book to read : TIN FISH
a) lazy (certified)
b) show-off
c) anti-social (almost like I have a neighbor called neighbor-sad situation sadder joke)
d) cunning
Ok so if you're still reading this by now, I admire your fortitude (testicular or otherwise). Was watching Anthony Bourdain on Travel and Living this evening. That man is good!! He swears at the drop of a hat and makes it sound like he was cooing to a baby. Wish I had a job like that.
All righty then. Till next time whenever that may be. Ciao.
This time's book to read : TIN FISH
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