Now Would Be A Good Time To Flash....... Please....

Choco Syrup now has his own blog - a real one, a public one. Earlier, he claimed that he had a "secret" blog. But I have a feeling that he made that shit up 'cause Choco was offended that Bhains Lana had a blog and that he didn't. Choco's blog is new and most of it is kinda boring, but one really cool post cracked me up. This one.

It reminded me of a very recent conversation that I had with Bhains Lana.

FYI 1 : Bhains Lana is a Marwadi. Which means that he is a stingy little bitch and also that his family comes from Rajasthan.
FYI 2 : It is IPL time.


Bhains : Dude, today is Mumbai vs Rajasthan.

Me : So?

Bhains : I’m not sure who I must support.

Me : Think of it as Sachin vs Warne

Bhains : Sachin obviously. Cool, I’m supporting Mumbai.

Me : But then again, it’s Nita vs Shilpa.

Bhains : Oh damn.. I want Shilpa to win, so now Rajasthan. Dude, you’re confusing me.

Me : Ok fine, think of it as Sachin vs Shilpa. Now decide.

Bhains : Oh cool, now I want Sachin to win. and Shilpa should be so sad after the match that she comes on to the ground and flashes!


Unlike Choco, I don't find such conversation preposterous or even pointless and I hope that the universe supports me in my quest to keep such banter from dying. 



When you flash, flash hard....
--Ravi Shastri (the wisest thing he has ever said)

When in Rome Do the Romans. When in Vancouver Become a Hooker.

Vroooooom vroooooooooom vroooooooooooooooooom….

That’s my car – the Volkswagen Jetta. Ok, technically it ain’t mine, it belongs to the car rental company but for four days it was mine. And I decided to take it to Sydney. The only aspects of Easter that trump the chocolate eggs are the four day vacation and hot chicks in skimpy bunny costumes (not necessarily in that order)! Anyway, leaving the chicks and the chocolates aside for now (you bet I’m gonna get back to them soon), let me tell you something interesting about my four day vacation. Five guys, one rented car, 900 km of empty road and 2 hotel room reservations. Now the bane of modern civilization is the Internet. Ironic that I decide to voice this thought on a web blog, but seriously, it is! Rooms reserved on the internet in a hotel that is “In the heart of the city, walking distance from King’s Cross Station with Queen sized beds, laundry facility, blah blah blah” for only $120 per night seemed like a spectacular deal, akin to those pirated DVDs available at Andheri Station for Rs. 40, but only up to the point that the car pulled up to the hotel entrance. The description should have read “In the heart of the city, walking distance from King’s Cross station but more importantly lolling-on-your-bed distance from 25 strip clubs, 10 brothels, 5 ‘massage’ parlours and over a hundred independent ghastly looking pavement hookers.” That was my welcome to Sydney. The rest of the trip probably deserves another blog post, maybe some other time.

In other related news, Choco syrup has left for Vancouver. Since his departure, he has been checking out older but younger looking Oriental women and younger but older looking Caucasian women. All of you, who are wondering why Choco has deported himself to the great white north, have no fear, I have the answer. He has gone there to become a “ghastly looking pavement hooker.” Vancouver will soon be transformed to wank-you-over.

Shatter Island

Greetings, my fellow homo-sapiens...

In my very first post I launched many creatures whose sole purpose of existence was to perform acts of nincompoopery and amuse the populace. Some of these ill-fated souls have featured in blog posts since; a few of them will soon make their debut and the rest were added there only so that they didn’t feel bad. Anyhow, there is one idiot I know, who isn’t really inconspicuous, yet managed to sneak out of the limelight. I shall call him Johnnie Dropper.

Johnnie Dropper thinks that the joke about Marjava and Mitjava being the 2 latest versions of java is hilarious and cracks up every time he narrates it to somebody. No one else finds it funny but yet they laugh when they see his head bobbing back and forth as he guffaws. His inebriated foolishness is solely responsible for the hot chicks around us knowing what we call them behind their backs.

I have no idea what my friends are up to but all of them seem to want to go to Jakarta. Cheap sex, booze and dope I guess. Numa Numa, Wind Cheater, Cold Cream and Bhains Lana have been there on multiple such debaucherous expeditions and now Johnnie Dropper decides that it’s his turn to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh. Sinners!

Johnnie Dropper comes from a relatively small city in one of the two “dry” states of India. “Death before alcoholism” is the state’s backup motto. It falls a close second to “Shimmering shirt on garba night shall lead you to true happiness.” Johnnie has spent a better part of life eating “theplas” with fermented “chundo” hoping that, having preserved the chundo two years beyond its expiry date, the effort would totally be worth the buzz that he may get. Now, when such a fool travels international and sees all those liquor bottles in the duty free shops at airports, it is totally expected that he gets a boner! It’s like when kids from an all-boys school enter the world of junior college and are forced straight into the path of multiple underwear and baggy jeans!

Scene 1
Place: Changi airport, Singapore
Occasion: Johnnie Dropper meets Johnnie Walker
Side-effect: The promised Boner

Bhains Lana is already in Jakarta. Johnnie Dropper is joining him there for what seems to be an orgy. Different “client” they say, but in an orgy does it really matter? Johnnie cannot go there empty handed. He knows that his dealings in Jakarta are going to be pretty lucrative and so our hero decides to indulge in some classy scotch.

Scene 2
Place: Soekarno–Hatta International Airport, Jakarta
Occasion: Johnnie Waker meets ground
Side-effect: This blog post

A six foot tall man with a really small head would have his shoulders at somewhere around five and a half feet. Yes, it’s a really small head! Anyway, the bottle in a plastic bag is slung neatly over his shoulder. How the %*&$ (clue: rhymes with luck) does the damn thing slip out of his hand?
Advice for you Mr. Dropper - I’m not much of a drinker but I know one thing, always respect the holy trinity of booze - Johnnie, Jack and Jose. And just cause the black label (get it???) says Johnnie Walker doesn’t mean you try to make it walk.

Cheers to Wind Cheater for her inputs. Thou shalt get a steak with onions - at Leopold - on me.

The Solitary Sleeper

Guess what guys, all this chilling out that I’ve been doing for the last couple of months has come to a screeching halt. As crappy luck would have it, I am now (shudder) On-Call for the next whole month. Actually, not one month, it is for five whole weeks. That’s (Window+r calc Enter 7*5 Enter Alt+F4) 35 whole days (shudder shudder shudder). Let’s try this with a more positive attitude. I now have the power to sit alone at the computer all day and solve issues. Yayyy!! With great power comes great responsibility, so I am now responsible for another mobile phone. Wait bachcha…. It’s not just any phone - it’s a Nokia 3310 - the cool one with absolutely no features. Sorry, it does have Snake II and an annoying alarm clock. My first phone was the cooler cousin of this one. Nokia 3315. Other than the fact that it was “newer” in the “market” and that the keypad had “funkier” joined keys, the phones were the same. These were the two points I repeated over and over and over and over again in those extremely aggressive “my phone is better than yours” brawls. Those were the silly old days. I don’t engage in such futile arguments anymore. I guess it’s the effect of the “you are not here only to learn, you are here to become mature young individuals ready to face the world” policy followed by the educational institutions I have “studied” in. I digress. Back to the phones. I say they are the same because other than having no difference in features, both have the amazing ability to shut off even when the battery has surplus electrons ready and raring to go. It is this phone that earned me the reputation of “the guy who hangs up on you mid conversation.” That’s when the chicks stopped giving me their numbers. (Woohoo – Eureka moment) That IS the reason. I have hit it! So I finally got tired of playing the snake game and graduated to a phone that could store porn photos, videos and other forms of extreme pleasure entertainment. And now when I hold this piece of primitive electronics in my hands, I realize how much I missed playing with the virtual snake.

Speaking of missing things, a “yo wassup!!” to all you guys. Miss ya loads!! I promise to be back soon to make your lives miserable once more! Till then, cheers and peace out!

Welcome to Melbourne

There are two types of people who read my blog. One is the type that’s thinking, “What!!?? No drawing on this one?” Then there’s the other that’s thinking, “Whose case is he on this time?” If you’re thinking neither, then you’re like a hermaphrodite - the type that possesses neither male nor female sexual organs. If both the thoughts crossed your mind, you’re still a hermaphrodite – with both male and female organs. Go gonads! And, if you’re thinking “Where the hell is he going with this?” Well…. Errr… Nowhere! I just wanted to call a few of my readers eunuchs!

Kuch Bhiiii…………

Anyway, enough of the stupid and mindless nonsense and let me start with the more important and intelligent nonsense.

As his handsome self sits down on his toilet paper wiped ass and begins writing this blog post, he begins to think to himself, “Why am I referring to myself in third person?”

So, this is my first post from Australia - the land down under. Or, as the Indian media likes to call it - The Slaughterhouse! Just as any cow, goat, pig, hen, or any other yummy animal, has absolutely no clue what’s in store for it when it’s being led to the butcher, I started my journey to Melbourne chaste and innocent (He he). After the two totally unnecessary stops at Bangkok and Hong Kong, the pilot of my Cathay Pacific flight finally realized that I had to be dropped off at Melbourne and very reluctantly landed the plane there.

Melbourne Airport is awesome.
It is awesome because the immigration fellow doesn’t even check if you have a visa. He just stamps your passport and thinks “Hahahaha, one more Indian not getting out of this country alive!”
It is awesome because the unattended sniff dogs smell you and your bags and walk away thinking “Hahahaha, one more Indian not getting out of this country alive!”
It is awesome because by the time you realize that you’ve been waiting an hour for your luggage, you’ve considered the possibility of your bags not arriving at all and you slowly start seeing yourself having to sleep in the buff because the only clothes you have are feeling up the insides of a washing machine. We all know someone who has been-there-done-that, don’t we? ;)

Finally my bags tumbled down the shaft on to the conveyer belt and a huge sigh of relief later, me and my bruised bags headed towards the taxi stand.

Taxi Drive: “Are you Indian mate?”
You know you’ve outlived your welcome in Australia when you say “mate” with a Punjabi accent. That is the reason why Mr. Khattar is going back to Ludhiana after the summer. “Summer mein Melbourne ki kudiyaan kuch kapde nahi pehenti. Dekh ke jayenge.”

“Summer mein Melbourne ki kudiyaan kuch kapde nahi pehenti.” This time I am saying it. I honestly do not know what the reason is - the sun, the heat, the desire to undress, or the longing to die young of skin cancer, but the girls here do not believe in the concept of covering themselves. It’s an absolute nightmare for those (weird men) who like to have a little left to the imagination. I, on the other hand, am not complaining! :D

Now, coming back to Khattar saab. The man gave me the creeps. Five minutes into the journey, he very casually mentioned “Abhi radio pe suna, ek Indian ko jaan se maara.”
@#$%^@&*%!!!!!!!!!!!!????????
His nonchalance can be explained. He didn’t want me crapping my pants in his taxi. Then he followed up with a “Yaar, tu dar mat. Tu toh city mein rehta hai. Wahan kuch nahi hoga.” Yes I believe you, you human enema!

Then in true Indian style (I refrain from using ‘Punjabi style’ for fear of sounding racist), the bugger cheats me. When the taxi pulled up in front of my hotel, the meter read $45. Reasonable. So I hand him my credit card and say “Receipt lagega.” Aaaahhhhh.. That was just the opening that Khattar needed. “Receipt??” and he jumped on to the meter and the console below it. Several seconds of arrhythmic ping beep beep beep ping ping pong ping beep pong ping ping ping beep beep beep passed by nervously. Suddenly the printer showed signs of life and out popped a receipt for the full amount of $59!!!! The meter glanced at the receipt, got the joke, and decided to play along. So, right there, in front of my eyes, the big red $45 disappeared and to take its place on the electronic display came our old friend Mr. Big Red $59.

Score:
Khattar 1
Amdocs 0 (Yeah, yeah, they’re paying for it)

$59 - $45 = $14 = Rs. (14*42) = Rs. 588/-

GO KHATTAR, GO KHATTAR, GO!!
GO KHATTAR, GO KHATTAR, GO!!

I felt so proud to be a ‘desi’ and as I heaved my bag out of the boot, I glanced up at the smirking crook and I swear that I could hear him think. “Bevakoof saala!! Hahahaha, one more Indian not getting out of this country alive!”

Cheating the Wind

This is a story of love, of passion, of temptation, of betrayal, of sorrow, of denial....... But most of all, this is a story of lust!

In a classroom filled with students he noticed only her, she noticed only him. Her bashfulness, his apprehension and a common fear of the unexplored prevented their gazes from meeting. He made the first move. She was waiting for it. He was all she hoped he was. She was errr.. Well.. Somewhere there. This had the makings of the perfect clichéd love story.

The flowers, the chocolates, the midnight messages, the kissing smilies (:-* for the uninitiated), the "you keep the phone down first"s, the endless mushy talk.......

It lasted for some time. Six years to be precise.

He thought he had done everything right. He thought she was his and he was hers. Together they would laugh, cry, fight and love. Together they would live their lives. He thought they were forever.

But the perfect clichéd love story was not to be.

She soon left him for another........

Every night he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. Wondering where he had failed. Other than the auto rickshaw, what did Babban have that he didn't?

 

Wind Cheater had earned her name!

The BIG Bang Theory......

A snippet of what transpired at the lunch table today....

Jhakaas Boy: ………… (The Elephant Story)……… How can anyone miss a freaking elephant walking in the middle of the road????

Shy Shen: He's obsessed with this story, he has recited about 15 times already.

Choco Syrup: He's just obsessed with you.

Shy Shen: (nazal twang) Whaaatt??

Choco Syrup: If you don't get married, not that you won't, you know who you can go back to. Jhakaas will marry you..

Shy Shen: Yuck.. I’m not marrying him. I’d die a virgin but I will not marry him.. Cheeee..

Choco Syrup: Hahaha.. You’re gonna die a virgin. Btw, do you know what they write on tombstones of virgins??

Everyone Else: What??

Choco Syrup: Sent back unopened...

Shy Shen: All because of you I'll die a virgin.. And if that happens my ghost will come and haunt you forever...

Everyone Else: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... :D

Choco Syrup: you want me to make sure you lose your virginity?? Come...

Every1 Else: ha ha ha ha ha ha :D

Shy Shen: (nasal twang) noooo..... (Then proceeds with a stoopid explanation in a nasaler twang)..

Choco Syrup: you know what you should do.. If you die a virgin, then your ghost should get into Bhains Lana's body and make him have sex with a man!! That way both of you will fulfill your respective desires...