So she sat high and mighty at her candlelit dinner table. Forking through sea-weed, nicely set in a grey plastic dish, as her obese cat purred around, often brushing against her bare legs. Raptula was a good cat, unlike many other rowdy ones adopted from the street. He practised much patience, like his mistress.
She had had a bad day at work. Much too similar to yesterday. Or the day before. Like every single day life had shown her. Life, since she started earning a living for herself. What good could selling pebbles at the shore bring anyway? Other than a few obnoxious gestures from some creeps adorning man boobs.
You’d enjoy those gestures if you were a nympho. But Sigret. She wasn’t one. In fact she couldn’t even spell ‘nympho’. Or ‘sex’ for that matter. She was just 6.
Living alone in an abandoned beach house with a patient cat has its own charm though. Especially if you’re an imaginative 6 year old. You get to christen your name, your cat's name. You control its existence. Or your own for that matter.
Man at times I just don’t get situations. And people more often.
But it’s all so funny, so I don’t mind
This post is a lie. We dont even like the mentioned brand. But advertising often forces deals down your throats.
After a week long camping trip you’d usually expect to come back feeling fresh and all charged up. But the three of us felt rather drained on our arrival in the city. It was probably because of all the walking we did. And once we stepped into our pad, all but one of us wanted to do, was to crash.
Wangdi, being on a metro sexual trip these days, was rather pepped up. His pep had something to do with an apparent detox that his body had gone through. Because of all the sweating we indulged in while we trekked in the past week, wangdi had his “skin glowing with radiance”. Very gay.
So after stepping into our messy heaven, we threw our rucksacks where they least belonged and collapsed. A few minutes of lazing on the floor – in a room as hot as an oven is when thirst struck. The kind of a thirst that knows what it needs to quench itself. A thirst with a very specific antidote. We were all probably thinking about it in these many words when we passed a smile amongst each other. Wangdi being the prince of gaydom, popped up and offered to strut to the safe.
“Safe?” you might wonder. See, with beer this Godly, its imperative to have a separate refrigeration facility for it. So our very own Paris Hilton (as we’d recently started calling him)catwalked and got us our favorite golden bubbly. On the count of 4 and not 3, we chewed our retro looking botts open.
Budwieser is something that goes back quite some time, when it comes to the collective lives of the three of us. Back to our days of glory – barely a year and a half back as the “quite some time” may be. The many University matches that we not only were witness to, but part of, under its happy influence. The many classes that we attended, while our backpacks clanged with empty botts of Bud.
So we took our first sip, spared a moment of nostalgia, that hardly qualified as being called it; and carried out our ritual of sprinkling the second sip onto the framed Katrina Kaif poster. We’d only commenced with our trash talk about the failures of the National Highways Authority of India, when Wangdi snapped back to reality and screamed “Aaah… fuck detox. Im gonna guzzle”
We walked/crawled/writhed to our huge balcony that overlooks an all women’s gym and enjoyed what we realized we had been missing for a whole week. And after an hour of cleavage gazing and mathematical calculations that had a lot to do with mass and its relation to gravity, our discussion got to a point when we just couldn’t understand what it was that made us do the “get away” in the first place. The city is where us buds belonged! The city is where the life is! The budlife!
Something that got bombed at the agency today. But i love it.
9 steps to a perfect first date
1) Sport a slight stubble. Shaven to the skin, is well, just gay!
2) Before picking her up. Make sure you’ve left no trace of gum residue on the windscreen, while you peeled off that “rent a car” sticker from your Bentley.
3) Needless to mention, wear your best attire. If she was the kind who didn’t care, you wouldn’t have needed that Bentley.
4) You don’t want to scare her with your love for BDSM on the first date. Your hold must be gentle when you greet her.
5) The first three pages on “greatoneliners.com” have been abused to death. Arm yourself with jokes, the 4th page onwards.
6) You don’t want her to know that your familiarity to Italian Cuisine is limited to just pizzas. Take her out to a Lebanese restaurant – she’d be equally clueless.
7) Never order cola. You know you can’t hold that burp in.
8) No matter how big and mushy, talk to her not them.
9)Save this ad for future reference.
my shite.
Hot and mellow, almost yellow,
In thine eyes i see.
For a reason not known to man,
you continue in continu-um
and try. In vain.
To reach the divine shite
with your waggy tongue.
my shite.
Eat it.Bitch!
