Friday, December 29, 2006

Whaaaaaaaat?!

Ok, I shall play it safe and not comment on the quality of the review. But, Mr. Tathagata Chowdhury, I solemnly declare that I did NOT squeal "I could have cried..." at my own performance. I mean, hullo? Am I fucking Eliza Dolittle? [Yea yea, I know. She sang "I could have danced..." Shutupnow.]
I resent such insinuations.
And the names are Soumitri. And Rockaby.

Anyway, if the lights went out, how does he know who screamed? Unless of course, he would like people to believe I was speaking my thoughts aloud while still on stage.

Oshobhyota egulo.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

The Winter of Our Discontent

For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as tie heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive,
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!
- Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II Scene ii
'Nuff said. Heh.

Monday, December 25, 2006

Because It's Past 4 o' clock on A Christmas Morning And My Feet Are Killing Me

Ho! Ho! Ho!


... and a pimp!




Distasteful joke courtesy: The Office


Merry Christmas everybody! :-]

Ok, my head hurts.


Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Please Don't Think About Sex While Reading This Post

Subject: [breathes heavily behind closed door]
A person, let's say X: Do you need help?
Another person, while we're being imaginative, Y: Open up! Let us in!

Subject opens door. Looks embarassed. Focus on unzipped fly. X and Y go in.
Door closes.

Subject: Uh, oh my God. No, I can't do this. I can't do this!
X, presumably: Yes you can, we're here to help.
Y, without a doubt: Suck it! Just suck it in!
Subject: Hochheee naaaaaaa!

Heavy giggling ensues.

Y, as it would seem: Look, I'll hold it up from the back. X, try to get it through the hole.
Subj: Oh! Aaaa! Oh! Oh! Oh mummy!

Noise of communal panting.

X: Ok, almost there. I got it.
Y: Suck in, goddammit!
Sub: Yes! Yes! It's going in!
Y: Lean against the door, it'll be easier!

Crescendo of unmentionable sounds.

X and Subj: YES!!!!! We did IT!!!!!!
Y (wiping the sweat of toil, as the case may be): Wooh! There there. You're not a virgin any more.

Dramatis Personae:
Subject - Our beloved lil numb.
X - The inimitable Bobby G., otherwise known as Bob/Vuv/The Starlet.
Y - The Rainbeau in all your collective consciences.

The Setting:
Inside a fitting-room at the Park Street Levi's store.

The Action:
Trying to get Numb to fit into the pair of jeans that had fit snugly the evening before, but stubbornly refused to acknowledge her presence the morning after. [So like men, do I hear you say?] The 'it' in the first instance thereby, as all substantially endowed women will recognise, meaning her stomach; and the 'it' of the second instance and all subsequent instances referring to all several parts that make up a pair of blasted denims.

The Themes/Lessons Learnt:
[1] If you want a pair of jeans to fit perfectly, you must seek the help of friends and proceed to embarass a storeful of customers who just want to shop without distractions that take the shape of seemingly lesbian orgies.
[2] The Peep, should she ever be reckless enough to buy and wear jeans ever after, shall do so alone, in top secrecy. And it shan't be at the Park Street Levi's store. Nope.

To celebrate our success, we lunched at KFC, and vowed to stick by each other in fatness and in belch.
Which makes for a happy ending. Except that I need to buy a pair of jeans.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

And Because You Were All Animation And Tell-Me-More

Yay!

I did it!

I'd like to thank 3 bowls of rabri, 5 Benarsi peras, 4 nolen gurer kachagollas, and an enormous amount of Irish Cream.

:-D

Saturday, December 16, 2006

The Biannual Potty Post/What You've Been Waiting For With Hated Breath

Friends, backslappers and assorted glorybees. Burn the sweetest incense and dance ritualistically round a holy fire, because these times are so very wrong. The Peep, the one abrim with the booze of satanic wildness, is in the teeth of a butt-clenching crisis. She, and her toilet, as it were, have fallen apart. At loggerheads, them both. And if you think people are going to be sympathetic, on this the second day of my bowels not rising to the occasion and shining forth toward the path of duty [or potty, if we're being specific], then you're wrong. It is with a sense of bitter resentment that I have resigned discussion of my ablutionary activity to this my only vent, my beloved blog, as opposed to that which is haunted by unfeeling types whose bowels, presumably have vowed lifelong allegiance to the upkeep of their well-being. I will not name names, but the pimple on my left cheek and I are feeling grossly misunderstood.
I've tried eating bananas, drunk warm water, pots of coffee. I even put on trackpants and took a long, long walk. Still nothing. I'm telling you people, this is war. And stop trying to tell me about Isabgol. My system works in wondrous ways, which are least affected by the onslaught of guzzling glasses of tasteless fleaseed husk.
Ok, I'm tired of this now. Bottomline, Peepie needs to poopoo. Khyak, I just really wanted to use that line and chuckle while you squirmed.
But seriously, it's my only weightloss programme - this relieving myself business. If I keep stuffing myself anymore with no hint of release, it's going to be a really really long time till I can buy a pair of jeans that I'm not going to be embarassed about when people suddenly come up from behind me and lift the backside of my shirt just that little bit to expose what is not the shapeliest bottom in the world (panu, thank you for the comment you shall now proceed to write), all the better to see what brand denim i'm wearing. Seriously, why the fuck would someone do that? You can just ask, yea, and I'll tell you? It's not a secret that I've got to keep or else the evil Mr. Strauss is going to monkeywash the world and put it into his slimfit pocket? And what is the DEAL with Levi's having the waist size embossed out on that patch for all the world to see, eh? My waist size, now That's an important secret. Notice the caps in the middle of the sentence and the italics, and appreciate the gravity of that statement immediately. And stop lifting my shirt from the backside already!
Uhm, that's a weird phrase. Pretend I didn't just use it twice.

Otherwise, the exams are over. I am done with the outstanding menace that was the Lit Theory paper. I need a 6 in the endsems to pass, which, considering how I unabashedly wrote 2/3rds of the paper based on life's experiences and buttercups, and NOT on any kind of literary theory, is still a tough call. But I mean, come on, I'm going to get a 6 out of 30, no? Touchwood.

And now for the true, the blushful Hippocrene! :-]

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Shoopin' Hour

Listen, I can't think. The voices in my head are having a tea party.

Chew on this.

Minstrel Man

Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
And my throat
Is deep with song,
You do not think
I suffer after
I have held my pain
So long?

Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter,
You do not hear
My inner cry?
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing,
You do not know
I die?

- Langston Hughes

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Excuse Me, Mr. Derrida

I would like my mind back, please.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

You Know

There's no hope in hell for me, when barely 2 days before my end-sems I'm googling, not 'waste land sparknotes', but 'boots for short fat women'.

And you know I'm not entirely out of tune with academics, when the best site I reckon that suits my requirements, is an article by a Victorian Baroness, published 1893.

Now all I need is to find the "long boot, buttoned or laced at the sides". They're still making those, 113 years on, yea?

Help me. I'm nuts.

No, seriously, someone ram a book on my head and tell me to STUDY at gunpoint.