Requesting Invasion…
Time and again the world’s super powers have come to the rescue of those they presume are suppressed (doing air quotes as I type. Heck we need emoticons for that stuff too). So they fight. They kill. They destroy and they restore whatever iota of freedom they can gather. But, before you think this is a freedom democracy propaganda scribble dribble, I got two words for you – Hell No. you guys know I don’t care about that stuff, well, alien invasion yes. Boy what would I give to be the brown over-fed Chihuahua in a she alien’s dinosaur-skin handbag. But this more serious.
I have some friends, not tonne of them, coz I piss most people off with my narcissism. But they are all mostly married. Now here’s where it gets interesting, so they are married and they transform from a ME to a WE. Well, that kind of social dilation of character is now accepted – suppressing a lot of agitation but still yeah accepted. Now I know these guys wanna step out, unwind and just for one be happy. Well, they can’t because, and I quote “We have to go to the 1st birthday of a friend’s neighbour’s son’s pet…for god’s sake…please oh please super powers of the world, or my friendly fungus green aliens. If you are listening, just come on down on a quick trip. No need for a residence visa, just a visit. Come abduct the married men and take them away. I promise you they will be the happiest lot of slaves/pets/sex toys/ probe cushions whatever you wanna use them for, you ever had.
So next time my married friends you see a bright shining light overhead, don’t runaway, jump into it. Screw leap of faith, this will be leap of joy – freedom- and oh so sweet….happiness…
Until next time.
Keep smiling.
Pamper me
I want to start by saying, am not being vain by discussing age. No. Am not against growing old. Am against growing up all together. Passing by a school bus this morning I realized how much I miss being a useless kid.
There’d they were sitting, excavating through their nostrils. Spitting on their clothes. Knowing very well, they need not worry about cleaning up after them. And above all, they still posses something that somehow becomes a victim of age, their oh so innocent smile. One shy at hat and women weaken in their knees and the toughest men drop their dumbells to pick their droppings.
No inhibitions about oneself. No damn care about bank payments, deadlines, first dates, last dates, marriage, scrotum itch, world domination, aspiration, ambition and worst of all evil, Career.
Damn, screw cure for diseases,just work on re-kidding me. The world would be such a fun place:-)
Until next time.
Keep smiling.
Sign Em Up
I love people. Interacting with them, knowing them. Heck I would even buy a round of drinks if they pass the preliminary like test. But there is this one sub specie. Something that comes to life 90 minutes before a long deserving weekend is about to set. A set of individuals who together unit to destroy my weekends, early evenings or any iota of fun I have ever intended to surrender to. They go by many names to graphical to publicize, let’s just call em Clients.
Just like always their intuition led to the untimely demise of my weekend, yet again, but while I was given the bad news, like the hammer of Thor landing on my scrotum, I thought to myself if only I could sign up these bunch of nutards. Simply carry a sign or a placard that says Out Of Order and place em on these anti-fun raccoons just when they about to spill their verbal deed.
How cool would that be? It’d be the grown up version of being punished and asked to be as elated on the naughty chair! Imagine walking down the business district and one could see just two sets of people. Happy people and sign-bearers. Would the world be a much better happy stress free place if we could sign em up?
Until next time.
Keep smiling.
Let’s UNSIZE
I hate shopping for new clothes. It’s not that I love moth infested clothing either. It’s just the fact that one human error and u r wrecked….still no idea what am talking about…well…imagine this…u r happily strolling through the aisles. Browsing through rows of desirable clothing made by underpaid kids. But let’s not get there.
So you confidentially reach out for a shirt. You look at the size, a bit too big a bit too small? Let’s try. You head to the changing room. Try to put you hand through the sleeve and disaster. Maybe it’s ur mistake off picking the wrong size or maybe those little kids messed up that one piece but sends ur self confidence in a jiffy.
More often than not I come out of a store with one shirt and a truck load of resolutions.
This brings me to the main issue, Who the hell other sadistic state of mind decided to name sizes in such hurtful derogation way?
For one, why call them Small. Medium, Large and sizes I shall not mention of the fear of bringing them into my universe.
Why couldnt they call them the following
Small – Adorable
Medium – LAU (Look At U)
Large – Lovely
XL – (Xtremely Lovely)
So on and so forth. You get the picture. But hey. As long as we are slaves to the system, might as well add this to the things we hate to do, to do.
Until next time.
Keep Smiling.
The death of desire and the rise of the machines?
Let me start by saying, am. The second last person to talk life’s philosophy especially while blogging. But somehow this thought is stuck to my mind like a well chewed gum stuck to the sole of my shoes.
Being in the ad industry, u r usually surrounded by people fueled by passion and imagination, but lately this lot has been taken over by the alien within who wants to just look at the watch and the calendar and do things for a bloody paycheck. Well am no different everyone loves a little Vitamin M, but somehow capitalism has plagued the industry which was pure and fueled by ideas.
How do we get out of it? Well, here’s an idea.
Let’s monetize ideas with a advertising twist.
Each headline gets the writers a meal. Each approved layout gets the art director a steak. Every change in logo size takes away from your quota of water and top it all, if you loose a pitch no cigarettes, beer and the mother of them all….no coffee for the entire team.
Well I said I had a solution, not a friendly one. I guess that’s the only way we can redeem our creative freedom. Keep the banks at bay and keeps the fun times rolling. Coz common, even am bored writing this piece, imagine u trying to read it…..
Until next time.
Keep smiling.
Natural Disaster
So you hear this every passing day, at every flick of any gossip magazine about some celebrity in some celebrity land going all natural. Zero chemicals. And what have you. On the face of it yes it’s a noble gesture. A kind thing to do for mother nature for the security of the future. And as you guys must have sensed it, there’s a big but coming. A rather nostril-punching but. The pursuit of saving the future does kinda really hits the present below the belt.
Someone very close to me just jumped on the natural living bandwagon. It’s all good and jolly for the one who is practising the noble way of living. But god almighty, the only thing natural products lack is a sense of scent. For she who I shall not name in order to save my family jewels from being crushed like an egg in the hands of a toddler, has little or no idea the pungent odour she is bringing into the world along with her goodwill of saving the planet.
I guess that is the ulterior motive of natural products. They know if one third of the world uses them, the rest will automatically die due to its stench. And the world surely will be a better place with more than half dead and the rest brain dead. Well, common, you gotto be brain dead to switch from perfectly normal and sooth smelling products to something that is so grotesque and sense defiant.
So here’s a little piece of advice from William Shakespeare. Everything must come to an end. Everyone born must die. Now who are we to prove the wise old man wrong? Let’s carry on living the legend. Let’s all die using our P&Gs and Armanis. Let’s all smell like fresh daisies everyday rather than smelling like fresh bowel movement. And if we do want to save the planet, let’s not sacrifice precious nostril hair, and come up with a better smelling alternative. Preferable jasmine.
Until next time,
Keep smiling.
The Post-Pre-Marital Stress
So like everything else that goes cock up at the last minute in my life, my wedding recently was called off 51 hours before the D-Day. A lot of my friends flew down to India to watch me bid adieu to happiness, smiles, freedom, threesomes, foursomes, orgies or any kind of enjoyable sex ever again. If happened, this event would also cement my relationship with my right hand.
Surprisingly a friend of mine thought the whole thing was a facade to get some free air miles. Some thought it was for the gifts. But hey, where the fcuk were the gifts to begin with. In a way it was good. I realised all my guests didn’t get any of the gifts I registered for. So, now i know who not to call for Round 2.
The weirdest thing is when u change your status on facebook. People didn’t actually believe me when they got my cancellation text, which trust me was an ass of a job to write, and I write for a living. But the minute i clicked the Single status tab on facebook, its like i clicked the flood tab on an old Russian dam.
Things I have realised after the whole experience, never take any decision, life altering or not when you are racing against time to finish a bottle of Jack. Alcoholism does help. And more importantly its now got a justification attested to its balls. Plus i get a new lease on life to avoid the little handcuff on my finger with no key to unlock.
So wat else has changed. Well, I got my own list of commandments.
Monogamy is a lie propagated by Oprah and Cosmopolitan
Marriage is that little speed bump on ur life line on your palm, which say, your life is over. Now you are just living.
When you sign the dotted line, you are also getting into a foursome with you, your spouse, Visa and MasterCard
You have to call in NASA tech support to disable your chick radar, so your head doesn’t keep flipping everytime a female specimen is within your radius.
You know when they say there are many more fishes in the sea. Fcuk that, and swim in the ocean. Fcuk fishes go dry hump the blue whale.
Well I can go on and on and am pretty sure I have made some enemies whilst reading this, so until next time.
Keep Smiling.
Someone with an opinion please stand up
Not a day goes by these days when am not face-to-face with yet another social media junkie, who thinks he/she know the all about the known universe. That a simple LIKE or a RETWEET makes them part of the action, development, revolution what have you. But where the hell in all this ruckus are those wonderful souls lost who used to posses this beautiful gift. The gift of opinion. Sharing their thoughts, ideas, choices, tastes whatever and everything at the same time without giving a flying rat’s hairy arse for what others thought.
If technology is the game changer, it sure also is the root cause of the brain drought. If the people are lacking food for thought, we better start harvesting soon, coz at this rate, we are all gonna be Social Media Powered Zombies with no sense of opinion of individuality. We might as well start packing for Orwell’s world. And maybe 2012, would actually be 1984.
If so far the blog isn’t getting your brain activated, its probably too late for you. And guess what, theirs is no cure for Zombieism and neither is any research underway to find one. So if you are a Zombie, you are screwed. So shutdown this damn screen, don’t even bother completing this sentence and go out and see the sky. Depict the different shapes of the floating clouds. Or simply smile. But hey, you are still reading so forget it. You are a lost cause.
Until next time…
Keep Smiling.
God’s lil hell-hole!
We all have been blessed or cursed (depends how you look at it) to be born and surviving in this age of conspiracy theories. Everything from the attacks around the world, to the divine light…everything has a conspiracy theory attached to it. But ever stopped and wondered whatever it meant to be in hell.
Describe hell! A place where it’s always hot …. Aka modern day world…thanks to suv sucking every drop of fuel and nitro-boosting global warming. The devil is thy lord…well…just look at ur boss and u’ll know what am talking abt… and it’s a place u can never run away from.
So which part of the description differs classic hell from our very own…semi-rotting earth? And yes…THEY also say…hell’s on earth..well..i’d say…hell is earth…or atleast all the squeekly earthlings are trying their luck in making this little accidentally created planet as inhabitable as possible…as soon as they can.
Unfortunately I can’t even tell my mother-in-law to see me in hell…she might just ask me to drop her there on my way home.
Until next…keep smiling and continue rotting….lol…
