Dear Lizards

I urged people to look beyond your obvious ugliness
Into your hearts, your soul, and nothing less
I coochie-cooed your babies
Not worrying about rabies
And never once hit you with a fly swatter
Or splashed  you off the wall with water
I felt the pain in your beady eyes
Which remained blank, unaffected by surprise
To be shunned by entire mankind, I thought
Must be like burning in hell .. hot
I never let your pukey green exterior
Make me feel superior
You were an equal, as equal as a dog
But obviously my vision was affected by fog
Ungrateful little dinosaur
I was so wrong before

You are creepy, slimy and loathed by all
And you rewarded me with a fall
Pachakk on my face
With such uncalled-for grace
Run little reptile
For you have made me vile
You just lost your last friend
Could this perhaps be your end?

Zombeh!

Staring at the laptop screen
Bright White Light
Words spindle across like ten-legged spiders
Disturbing the snow-like pixels for a moment
Every now and then a *ping*
Snapping out of the trance
Consciousness
The cold blast from the air conditioner suddenly makes its presence felt
Shudder
Distant snores rumble, shaking the silence ever so slightly
The clock running in a circle: 4 am
When did I awaken?
When did I sleep?
Trapped in a dream
Hands click clacking on worn out letters, rebelling
Against the beholder
Against the dark clutches of sleep
Against the glowing silhouette of the morning

Cause I'm just a teenage douchebag baby... (The unmaking and making of a Douchebag)

There once lived a douchebag. He was not very bright. But he wasn't a bad sort of douchebag; he said his prayers, was kind to others and above all, took very good care of his. . .bag. Together, they led a humble, yet satiating life. This is an account of the downfall of the DB.

One day while DB was trotting back from school, tie dangling like a pendulum, schoolbag trudging along in the dirt, he came across a billboard: Buy the Blackberry 9700 Bold 2 and experience a whole new world! Now our DB was one who was easily influenced. Giving in to consumerism, he didn't think twice before parting with all of his savings. The DB got a BB.

And a whole new world is just what he experienced. Now that he spent all his time on his BB, he soon lost interest in his trusty old bag, and was reduced to a bagless douche: a Doucheberry. He would spend day and night on BBM, chatting up girls and boys alike, loving every minute of it. One would think this was a 'Happily Ever After' tale. It would have been, had it not been for a tomato red bag, lying forgotten in a corner, drowning deeper and deeper into a dark abyss of mental trauma.

Mr Bag, who once worshipped the ground beneath his douch-master's feet, overcome by feelings of alienation sought for comfort elsewhere. He had not seen his family since the day he was adopted by DB, so he prepared himself to search for his father. He embarked upon a tumultous journey to... BagDad, equipped with only a few meagre rations and inexorable determination. He travelled through hail and storm and finally arrived at his destination. Exhausted yet happy, he took slumber under a shady tree and decided to begin his search after a good night's sleep.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself looking into the loving, drugged eyes of - could it be?- yes it was his father. There was not the slightest doubt. They were both the same crimson red with identical drooping zippy-mouths. Mr Bag found a whole new zest for life, and along with his father became a junkie bag. He spent a good 3 months snorting coke and sleeping with baggirls.

Meanwhile, Doucheberry discovered that his new BB was not equipped to carry his essentials. The virtual world was rendering him fat and grumpy. He craved to smoke a cigarette in the wilderness, amongst the many woodland critters under the vast clear skies. But he had no way to carry them! In a moment of desperation, he flung himself into the dust-filled corner to grab onto Mr Bag. But alas! He was nowhere to be found. Unable to control himself any longer, Doucheberry sunk into the dusty corner and wept. "What a silly douchebag I have been," he cried. "I had everything, EVERYTHING and yet I threw it away." He vowed that he would get MR Bag back and bestow upon him the love and respect he always deserved.

He set out on foot, following the thready trail Mr Bag had left behind. When he reached BagDad, the scene in front of him shocked him. His beloved Mr Bag was stumbling around in a hallucinatory state, unable to recognize anyone.. not even his old Douchey. Doucheberry nursed him back to health. He was at Mr Bag's side 24/7. Soon Mr Bag was as good as a new Bottega Veneta.

They went back home, smoking all the way, hand in hand.  So Doucheberry once again became his former self- the lovable Douchebag and to mark their reconciliation, that weekend, along with his friend, Superwoman, baked a lovely BB pie. <3

(Which she gobbled up before they could even get a bite. But then she's Superwoman, and can get away with anything. Up, up and away).



Discalimer: The characters in the story are fictional. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely co-incdental. (not)

Trippy

For Tripathi

May you remain forever yummy.

Trippy the frog hopped around, following a trail of biscuit crumbs. She hopped some more and found herself in a gigantic white hall with glistening silverware displayed grandly on the smooth marble slabs. "Wherever have I stumbled upon?" thought Trippy the frog. And out of the vast skies came a massive steel apparatus and scooped her high up into the clouds. Trippy was panicking and finding it difficult to even breathe. She was then plunged through a mist into a pool of warm water. "Ah spa!" she was relieved. But as the temperature of the water soared higher, Trippy the frog knew something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. And then Trippy was thrown into a whirlpool of pure, black darkness. Her eyes remained open, fixed eternally onto a lump of butter... the butter that would soon smother her, stifling her voiceless cries.

Jog Hog Blog

I am not an exercise type of person. And that is an understatement. I have been blessed with some strange kind of metabolism, which has kept me skinny throughout my life, regardless of how many doughnuts I devour. In fact, the last ten years or so have been spent in attempting to put on some flab. Which did eventually happen, but not uniformly. In a nutshell, I pretty much ended up looking like a pregnant teen.

So after two decades, I resorted to .. exercise. And thus I bought new sport shoes, track pants and prepared to rocket past everybody in the park. It started out great but would always ended up as just another stroll in the park. So much so that one day I felt myself falling behind the most ancient man there ever was. Flabbergasted, I trudged on day after day. But my food baby was thriving fabulously. What was I doing wrong? Could it perhaps be the sausages and eggs I would crash upon after returning from a jog? And here I thought I was compensating for lost nutrients :O

Sooo I attempted to control my diet, much to the horror of fat people. "You'll disappear!" is one thing I've been hearing ever since the age of 10. Eleven years later, I'm still here, so I think I can stop worrying about going extinct. Anyway, abstaining from brownies and fried chicken was pretty much the worst feeling in the world so I gave up on it. Conclusion: Jelly Belly = oh no! No jelly + No jelly belly = the end of life itself !


And thus emerged the Jog Hog.

The Devil Swears Nada

"An idle mind is the devil's workshop"
(Pretty much defines this entire blog)

Thinking individuals- something we all strive to become. But some of us never do reach that stage. I have to admit I would probably be part of that minority. I am not suggesting that I have a constant blank in my head- far from it- I am currently thinking about the perfect pair of black shoes, the salmon I had for breakfast, the smell of coffee beans, my dog curled up on his mattress, some of my friends, the approaching sweat-filled summer, college, internship, love, hate, stupidity, you get my point...

But much like we need stuff to fill our day and make it fulfilling, we need stuff to fill our head too (marshmallows are a good substitute but we don't want to be worm food do we?). Basically, constructive thinking is what I think I lack- let's face it, thinking about those shoes is not getting me anywhere (except maybe the closest Aldo showroom)- it does not render me a better/worse person. More importantly- it's not getting me anywhere. Not that I want every single thought to bring me closer to success.. okay that would be quite super.. but that's not what I'm talking about.

Introspection is probably the word I'm looking for- it is completely meaningless to me. I have never felt the need for it, in spite of being pushed in that direction several times. But I'm starting see the importance now that I have become completely unpredictable to myself. I have self diagnosed myself with bipolar tendencies- it is actually creeping me out- bouts of wallowing in self pity immediately followed with uncalled for cheerfulness accompanied by an excess of really really bad jokes and laughing fits. And I am faking neither of these extremes- it's just who I am. And finally I come to the million dollar question: Who am I? (must not answer with Spiderman . no no no)

I've lost interest in this.But I will post it- the result of an hour at work.

Thought for the day

Wish
Upon a fish
Because to find a star
You'll have to go pretty damn far

That girl is so dangerous...

It rolls out the red carpet for itself marking its grand entry. No, I'm not talking about the Queen but the most unwelcome guest of all time. Is it a woman? Is it a man. NO. It's MENstruation !

And like all men, it makes one suffer like never before (or so it feels like), irritable and prone to suicidal urges. Most of you have understood the state I'm writing this in.

The only escape from this dreadful affliction is to get pregnant- which comes with its own set of problems, not to mention a howling little bundle of joy. It's time we accepted that we are completely dictated by hormones. (So much for womens' empowerment ^_- )

So moving on (or back) to one of the prime aspects of this phenomenon.. PMS- pre menstrual syndrome. Don't pay heed to the 'pre,' this starts prior to, but lasts throughout the ordeal. Many of us have had the pleasure of dealing with it directly or have at least been at the receiving end from one of our female friends. So what is it all about? It is that time of the month when a lady decides to give up on being civil and creates havoc for all those around. The pain is enough to make her nonchalant towards most other things. And during these difficult times, in Eminem's words "I don't mean to be mean, but that's all I can be."

So don't take at face value a woman who is snappy

Maybe on the inside, she's just being crampy :(

Which is a feeling very very crappy

So be understanding and make her happy

(After all, we do give you babies and occasionally bake brownies)

____________________________________________________

I blame this post on YOU.