Trust the government to come to your rescue and put a smile on your face when you feel down in the dump.
I have not been able to look at another shop window display the same way again after reading this.
This got me thinking.
Yes it does happen.
Who makes these laws? I mean, what is the provocation behind this? Is the society a little safer due to this? It also makes you wonder about the person who is 'bothered' when he sees a plastic female figure in underwear. But to be fair, men are also known to get turned on by pictures of female figures. Go figure.
So as a mean to entertain you, I decided to find out some more of these strange laws. Yeah. Absolutely jobless.
In Virginia,USA, chickens must lay their eggs between 8am and 4pm.
In UK , a pregnant woman can legally urinate anywhere she wants, including if she requests, in a policeman's hat.
In Hong Kong, a woman can kill her husband if he has cheated on her. She must use her bare hand though. This isn't a requirement for the man's lover, who can be killed by any means necessary.
In Samoa, it is illegal to forget your wife's birthday.
Portugal makes it illegal to pee in the ocean
In South Carolina unmarried women are not allowed to buy edible panties.
In Singapore chewing gum is illegal
In Israel, you could be prosecuted for picking your nose on Sunday.
In Sweden it is illegal to use the services of a prostitute. Prostitution is legal though
In Thailand, it is illegal to leave your house without your underwear on.
In Lebanon, If a man is caught having sex with a male animal then the penalty is death- sex with a female animal is ok
In Bahrain, a male doctor may legally examine a woman’s genitals but is forbidden from looking directly at them during the examination; he may only see their reflection in a mirror.
In Indonesia, the penalty for masturbation is decapitation.
So I guess as long as society exist we can be assured of a good laugh.
Even if it will get us jailed or worse, decapitated.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Too sexy for your love.
There’s this myth that is been going around for a long time which I will proceed today to dispel.
- Indian men are not sexy.
I have no idea about the origin of this myth but I am sure it’s been around a long time. It was already prevalent during the colonial times and the trip Gandhi made to London in his loin clothes didn’t help the image much either.
Now, that’s not to say Gandhi wasn’t sexy. He was. No man who isn’t sexy can have the confidence to meet the English Prime minister in his underwear. That man was sexy and he knew it.
Thing is, if you actually think about it you will realize how stupid one has to be to believe this biased allegation on my Indian brethrens.
We all know that Indian women are known as the most beautiful in the world. They have won beauty contests, acted in movies and are lusted by men/ women of all races. (My blog is whichever-way-you-swing supportive).
Further proof can be derived by the sheer number of porn sites that will open up if you Google 'desi girls'. I myself have verified this as research for this post.
Now consider this.
Enquire on whom 90% of these Indian women will marry?
Indian men.
Case closed. Bara boom Bara bam.
I know the existence of rumors about the character of an Indian man. I am shocked by the generalization of a whole population due to the flaws of a few. Never the less, let me take the time to make you see it from another perspective.
Rumor 1: Indian men treat their women badly.
This in my opinion adds an edge to the Indian men. We are the Rhett Butlers of the world. Now we all know that women tend to sway more towards men who treat them bad. Don’t ask me why they do it but they do. Ask any of those nice guys who finished last.
Rumor 2: Indian men do not know how to pleasure a woman.
What!? Man, you are talking about the guys how invented sex. We made religions around it. We have even given the world the maximum permutation and combinations possible in doing it. So in the midst of all this wonderful research for the benefit of the humankind, we kind of missed the clitoris and the g-spot. Big deal. The maximum pleasure for a woman is in pleasuring a man. It is written.
Rumor 3: Indian men are all mamas’ boys.
I fail to see the problem with this. The last I heard there’s no way papa can give birth.
Rumor 4: Indian men are horny.
Of course they are. You try living in a country where your women are declared as the most beautiful in the world.
Rumor 5: Indian men lust after white women.
Actually this is true and the blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the western media. Until an average Indian man reaches adult hood, the only naked women he has seen would have been a white woman. This is thanks to the prevalent western porn industry that caters to our collective Indian lust. Moreover our Indian national pledge has made us feel a little incestuous in having any 'dirty' thoughts on our Indian sisters. So that kind of leaves only white women for our fantasies. This problem, however, is normally cured by marriage to a nice Indian girl from a good family selected by the mother.
I have observed, in my years of study on sex and its relevance in Indian society, that there are basically 3 types of Indian men. They can be termed as:
1. T man.
These are the ones who have been stereotyped by all mallu naughty movies as the master of the house or the son of the master of the house who is always staring down the blouse of Shakeela chechi, playing the maid swapping the floor. They can also be recognized by their inability to have a conversation with a woman without their eyes dropping 6 inches below her eyes.T-men are just grown version of a boy who has not been weaned yet. Fascination towards an anatomical part of the female body whose sole function is to provide nutrition to its young cannot be termed in any other way than being the result of an early weaning.
2. A man.
These species can be found in all Indian Public transport services. In their highly active stage they can be found groping, pinching, touching the derriere of Indian women who are unfortunate enough to catch their attention. In their normal stage, these are Indian men whose attitude towards sex are normal and are focused on procreation. They wear their intention on their zip. Women are advised not to drop anything in front of these guys; worse try picking it up.
3. The T&A man.
A balanced individual. Indian version of a metro man. To this man the only criterion is that the focus of his passion just has to be a woman. Nothing else matters. What can be sexier than that?
For the Indian men reading this, a simple test to determine your type:
If you saw boobs, you are type 1
If you saw a half exposed pair of buns, you, my friend, are a type 2.
If you saw a boob and wondered what her arse will be like is a type 3
If you closed your eyes when you saw the picture, then my son, you are way too young to be googling 'Indian cleavage'.
- Indian men are not sexy.
I have no idea about the origin of this myth but I am sure it’s been around a long time. It was already prevalent during the colonial times and the trip Gandhi made to London in his loin clothes didn’t help the image much either.
Now, that’s not to say Gandhi wasn’t sexy. He was. No man who isn’t sexy can have the confidence to meet the English Prime minister in his underwear. That man was sexy and he knew it.
Thing is, if you actually think about it you will realize how stupid one has to be to believe this biased allegation on my Indian brethrens.
We all know that Indian women are known as the most beautiful in the world. They have won beauty contests, acted in movies and are lusted by men/ women of all races. (My blog is whichever-way-you-swing supportive).
Further proof can be derived by the sheer number of porn sites that will open up if you Google 'desi girls'. I myself have verified this as research for this post.
Now consider this.
Enquire on whom 90% of these Indian women will marry?
Indian men.
Case closed. Bara boom Bara bam.
I know the existence of rumors about the character of an Indian man. I am shocked by the generalization of a whole population due to the flaws of a few. Never the less, let me take the time to make you see it from another perspective.
Rumor 1: Indian men treat their women badly.
This in my opinion adds an edge to the Indian men. We are the Rhett Butlers of the world. Now we all know that women tend to sway more towards men who treat them bad. Don’t ask me why they do it but they do. Ask any of those nice guys who finished last.
Rumor 2: Indian men do not know how to pleasure a woman.
What!? Man, you are talking about the guys how invented sex. We made religions around it. We have even given the world the maximum permutation and combinations possible in doing it. So in the midst of all this wonderful research for the benefit of the humankind, we kind of missed the clitoris and the g-spot. Big deal. The maximum pleasure for a woman is in pleasuring a man. It is written.
Rumor 3: Indian men are all mamas’ boys.
I fail to see the problem with this. The last I heard there’s no way papa can give birth.
Rumor 4: Indian men are horny.
Of course they are. You try living in a country where your women are declared as the most beautiful in the world.
Rumor 5: Indian men lust after white women.
Actually this is true and the blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the western media. Until an average Indian man reaches adult hood, the only naked women he has seen would have been a white woman. This is thanks to the prevalent western porn industry that caters to our collective Indian lust. Moreover our Indian national pledge has made us feel a little incestuous in having any 'dirty' thoughts on our Indian sisters. So that kind of leaves only white women for our fantasies. This problem, however, is normally cured by marriage to a nice Indian girl from a good family selected by the mother.
I have observed, in my years of study on sex and its relevance in Indian society, that there are basically 3 types of Indian men. They can be termed as:
1. T man.
These are the ones who have been stereotyped by all mallu naughty movies as the master of the house or the son of the master of the house who is always staring down the blouse of Shakeela chechi, playing the maid swapping the floor. They can also be recognized by their inability to have a conversation with a woman without their eyes dropping 6 inches below her eyes.T-men are just grown version of a boy who has not been weaned yet. Fascination towards an anatomical part of the female body whose sole function is to provide nutrition to its young cannot be termed in any other way than being the result of an early weaning.
2. A man.
These species can be found in all Indian Public transport services. In their highly active stage they can be found groping, pinching, touching the derriere of Indian women who are unfortunate enough to catch their attention. In their normal stage, these are Indian men whose attitude towards sex are normal and are focused on procreation. They wear their intention on their zip. Women are advised not to drop anything in front of these guys; worse try picking it up.
3. The T&A man.
A balanced individual. Indian version of a metro man. To this man the only criterion is that the focus of his passion just has to be a woman. Nothing else matters. What can be sexier than that?
For the Indian men reading this, a simple test to determine your type:
If you saw boobs, you are type 1
If you saw a half exposed pair of buns, you, my friend, are a type 2.
If you saw a boob and wondered what her arse will be like is a type 3
If you closed your eyes when you saw the picture, then my son, you are way too young to be googling 'Indian cleavage'.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Godless in the Gods own Country
You would think at this day and age, people would have evolved enough to move away from religion.
Come on, you have to be really stupid if you think that religion gets you closer to god.
Even if the version of the said god is of a big man in the sky who is partial to a segment of his creation, who is as sensitive to slight as a PMSing girl, who is jobless enough to keep a tab on if or not you have masturbated in the morning and who finds delight if his mad fans kills off some of his creations as a PR stunt to further his name.
Come on. Seriously.
Personally I am of the belief that believing or not believing in the existence of a god is not a necessary criterion for a human to lead a civilized, social life.
By no degree am I an atheist. I am whatchamacallit, a 'who gives a fuckist'.
But it wasn’t always so.
Few know that there was a time when I went in search of an external god and found myself.
I know. Anticlimax.
Sanyaas had caught my fancy. I must be honest enough to admit that the attraction was not due to any spirituality from my side (this is on reflection, though at that time I was under the impression that the brightness of the halo around my head was the reason why people couldn’t stand the sight of me). I was actually recouping from my stint with drugs during college days and like any scoundrels had only two refuges.
I chose the one that involved the least work.
Having crammed my head full of second hand versions of the supposed divinity, I thought I was on my way to becoming the next messiah.
The things people do for popularity!
So one day I found myself in front of an ashram, head shaven, waiting for the darshan of a lady who is called Amma and who hugs every single person she meets.
Why? Well, this was the only thing I could get at such short notice.
Now if you are familiar with religion, you would know by now that it’s an epidemic. Half the state of Kerala was there getting their share of hugs while the remaining half was probably at home enjoying their kappa and fish curry washed down with toddy.
Being a tad bit of a misanthrope, I find crowds unsettling. So I waited outside, until the hall became almost empty. Then, very self consciously ,approached this lady who sat on the dias, wearing a white sari. I couldn’t help noticing that she looked a lot like the maid we had when I was small, Kuttiamma. As I hugged her (again very self consciously), she asked me in my ear almost whispering: What happened to you, son?
It wasn’t a question.
I replied: Nothing.
Then she asked: What do you want?
I replied: To become one.
She told me to sit next to her on the stage. So there I was, sitting , very uncomfortably, along side the God woman and a sundry mix of some 10 or 12 other holy bunch from different sects.
I tried my best to look holy. This involved sitting cross legged, keeping my eyes half closed and ignoring the itch on my nose.
Thus I passed the next hour or so until everyone left. Since there was nothing much to be done after becoming a holy man, I continued sitting there ignoring the itch. I was startled to my senses by someone touching my feet.
I must have jumped about 2 feet while still sitting cross legged. I opened my eyes to find an equally startled man who must have been as old as my father still lying supine on the floor with his hands stretched reaching out to a place on the floor where my feet was about 2 seconds ago.
That’s when I left. I apologized to the man and left.
Who is the worshipper and who is the worshipped? Both are fools.
That in short was, my friends, one of the steps towards me becoming a who gives a fuckist.
But then who really gives a fuck?
Come on, you have to be really stupid if you think that religion gets you closer to god.
Even if the version of the said god is of a big man in the sky who is partial to a segment of his creation, who is as sensitive to slight as a PMSing girl, who is jobless enough to keep a tab on if or not you have masturbated in the morning and who finds delight if his mad fans kills off some of his creations as a PR stunt to further his name.
Come on. Seriously.
Personally I am of the belief that believing or not believing in the existence of a god is not a necessary criterion for a human to lead a civilized, social life.
By no degree am I an atheist. I am whatchamacallit, a 'who gives a fuckist'.
But it wasn’t always so.
Few know that there was a time when I went in search of an external god and found myself.
I know. Anticlimax.
Sanyaas had caught my fancy. I must be honest enough to admit that the attraction was not due to any spirituality from my side (this is on reflection, though at that time I was under the impression that the brightness of the halo around my head was the reason why people couldn’t stand the sight of me). I was actually recouping from my stint with drugs during college days and like any scoundrels had only two refuges.
I chose the one that involved the least work.
Having crammed my head full of second hand versions of the supposed divinity, I thought I was on my way to becoming the next messiah.
The things people do for popularity!
So one day I found myself in front of an ashram, head shaven, waiting for the darshan of a lady who is called Amma and who hugs every single person she meets.
Why? Well, this was the only thing I could get at such short notice.
Now if you are familiar with religion, you would know by now that it’s an epidemic. Half the state of Kerala was there getting their share of hugs while the remaining half was probably at home enjoying their kappa and fish curry washed down with toddy.
Being a tad bit of a misanthrope, I find crowds unsettling. So I waited outside, until the hall became almost empty. Then, very self consciously ,approached this lady who sat on the dias, wearing a white sari. I couldn’t help noticing that she looked a lot like the maid we had when I was small, Kuttiamma. As I hugged her (again very self consciously), she asked me in my ear almost whispering: What happened to you, son?
It wasn’t a question.
I replied: Nothing.
Then she asked: What do you want?
I replied: To become one.
She told me to sit next to her on the stage. So there I was, sitting , very uncomfortably, along side the God woman and a sundry mix of some 10 or 12 other holy bunch from different sects.
I tried my best to look holy. This involved sitting cross legged, keeping my eyes half closed and ignoring the itch on my nose.
Thus I passed the next hour or so until everyone left. Since there was nothing much to be done after becoming a holy man, I continued sitting there ignoring the itch. I was startled to my senses by someone touching my feet.
I must have jumped about 2 feet while still sitting cross legged. I opened my eyes to find an equally startled man who must have been as old as my father still lying supine on the floor with his hands stretched reaching out to a place on the floor where my feet was about 2 seconds ago.
That’s when I left. I apologized to the man and left.
Who is the worshipper and who is the worshipped? Both are fools.
That in short was, my friends, one of the steps towards me becoming a who gives a fuckist.
But then who really gives a fuck?
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Smokin'
Now Iam the kinda guy who will not judge you for your persumed vices. Hell, Iam not even sure which of the things people do are vices or versa (couldnt resist, though it makes no grammatical sense). So it kind of get to me when I see the frantic waving of handkerchieves and opening of windows when I light up my cancer stick, in areas Iam, by law, permitted to smoke.
Hell, it aint fart.
If second hand smoke bothers you, I wonder how you react to a kiss, if you were aware that colds, glandular fever (kissing disease), herpes infection, warts, hepatitis B and meningococcal disease may all be transmitted by kissing.
Remember that the next time you pucker up.
Have you seen the area where a smoker is allowed to smoke?
I mean, heres a habit that brings in millions of dollars to the government, and you would expect some sort of courtesy rather than be treated like some sort of freak show.
Why on earth would anyone ban smoking in a coffee shop? Or for that matter in a pub?
I mean people who goes there already give two fucks about living life like an organic pumpkin, they live like a real human should; dangerously.
How in hell does someone drink a coffee or a larger without the accompanied toxic intake?
Thats like having Pamela over for dinner and deciding to spend the night watching porn together. Hey, Iam sure that works for you but why dont you sit at home to do your stuff?
What I dont understand is why can't we have coffee shops and pubs that has licence for smoking , while others that caters to moral sniffles can have establishments which do not allow smoking?
There! That my friends, is called liberty, pro-choice, anti- putting-your-finger-up-my-nose-to-pull-out-your-snot kind of freedom.
But nooooo. You will sue the shit out of the smokers joint because you want to sit amid smokers and want us to respect your bubble of air. You , my dear, are like what we mallus call a dog that lies on the haystack; you wont eat it and you wont let the cows eat it.
Let us get the logic straight. When you walk into Dam Square at Amsterdam, you are going to be confronted with ladies in various stages of undress standing behind windows . Now if this bothers you, theres the Van Gogh museum nearby.
What I mean is, certain things go hand in hand.
Pubs and coffee shops goes well with cigarettes. Let it be.
If the smoke bothers you, go outside. Iam sure we can arrange service there for you. But wave another handkercheif and it will be you that goes out of the window.
Look, like I had told earlier in some long ago post, Iam all for raising hell against the moron who lights up in an elevater or in a train. Infact I find the fucks who smoke in public transports and public places needs to be put in their place; outside. But I draw a line when someone tells me I cant smoke in a coffee shop or a pub.
Now you are pissing on my territory.
So heres what I will do. When you come to my house, I wont give a rats arse if you are pregnant, have an allergy, wants to die with a lung as pink as a salmon or that you just cant stand the filthy habit. I will light up.
So there!
Photo courtesy : http://mathurakalauny.blogspot.com/
Hell, it aint fart.
If second hand smoke bothers you, I wonder how you react to a kiss, if you were aware that colds, glandular fever (kissing disease), herpes infection, warts, hepatitis B and meningococcal disease may all be transmitted by kissing.
Remember that the next time you pucker up.
Have you seen the area where a smoker is allowed to smoke?
I mean, heres a habit that brings in millions of dollars to the government, and you would expect some sort of courtesy rather than be treated like some sort of freak show.
Why on earth would anyone ban smoking in a coffee shop? Or for that matter in a pub?
I mean people who goes there already give two fucks about living life like an organic pumpkin, they live like a real human should; dangerously.
How in hell does someone drink a coffee or a larger without the accompanied toxic intake?
Thats like having Pamela over for dinner and deciding to spend the night watching porn together. Hey, Iam sure that works for you but why dont you sit at home to do your stuff?
What I dont understand is why can't we have coffee shops and pubs that has licence for smoking , while others that caters to moral sniffles can have establishments which do not allow smoking?
There! That my friends, is called liberty, pro-choice, anti- putting-your-finger-up-my-nose-to-pull-out-your-snot kind of freedom.
But nooooo. You will sue the shit out of the smokers joint because you want to sit amid smokers and want us to respect your bubble of air. You , my dear, are like what we mallus call a dog that lies on the haystack; you wont eat it and you wont let the cows eat it.
Let us get the logic straight. When you walk into Dam Square at Amsterdam, you are going to be confronted with ladies in various stages of undress standing behind windows . Now if this bothers you, theres the Van Gogh museum nearby.
What I mean is, certain things go hand in hand.
Pubs and coffee shops goes well with cigarettes. Let it be.
If the smoke bothers you, go outside. Iam sure we can arrange service there for you. But wave another handkercheif and it will be you that goes out of the window.
Look, like I had told earlier in some long ago post, Iam all for raising hell against the moron who lights up in an elevater or in a train. Infact I find the fucks who smoke in public transports and public places needs to be put in their place; outside. But I draw a line when someone tells me I cant smoke in a coffee shop or a pub.
Now you are pissing on my territory.
So heres what I will do. When you come to my house, I wont give a rats arse if you are pregnant, have an allergy, wants to die with a lung as pink as a salmon or that you just cant stand the filthy habit. I will light up.
So there!
Photo courtesy : http://mathurakalauny.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Props to help you through another day.
Its been a month. Another year has been ushered in.
Actually I think the year tends to come in irrespective of whether we usher or try to shoo it away. Damn the fucker.
Anyhow; 2011 is upon us and while the world has been making resolutions or making resolutions not to make any further resolutions, I have been trying to live with the resolutions I have made in the last 41 years.
Recently I was part of a conversation with a married couple who was talking about how they should have just kept at having a live in relationship instead of tying the knot.
Translation: I want to wake up with someone else.
I mean what the fuck is the difference?
Being Indians, Live in relationship still does not mean that it will be just the two of them. There will always be 'the' families or 'the' friends. All relationship comes with a whole string of genealogy.
Of course, there will no longer be any of those stupid invitations to your niece's birthday parties or the mother's 60th birthday. If you do make the effort to connect with either of your families, you are going to be a source of embarrassment to all those born on the wrong side of the century and an envy to everyone on this side.
What’s the big deal in a live in relationship? For that matter what’s the big deal in a marriage either? The only difference seems to be in how fast one can get out of it.
So when couples say that they wish they never got married, what they mean is, they just don't want it with that person they are married to.
Yep. You heard it here first.
What’s with couples and the constant berating up of an institution like marriage? Personally I am not much into any type of institutions but I am not burning any bras over marriage either.
Living with a woman is hard enough without having to try deciphering the relationship. My antidote to an early visit from the grim reaper is not to wonder about a woman. You are never going to figure it out and even if you do, there’s no one there to verify if you are right.
Yeah, you try getting a woman to say, 'You are right.'
So among the other pertinent questions like; does the tree that fall in a forest, with no one to hear it, make any noise? Or do dog dream in color? Or is what I see real or just a neurotic translation of something else? ; I bury this deep.
Now those that have the misfortune in knowing me will be aware that I am a cheerful person.
Really.
You guys just happen to catch me in a bad mood.
All the time.
Make you wonder, doesn't it?
Thing is, off late, I am not finding too much to be cheerful about. So I decided to make a list of things to do this year.
It’s not a bucket list. The way things are going and the absurd sense of irony the universe seems to have, I am probably going to survive 2012.
No.
This is just 10 things to get done this year. And if I accomplish all of it, I plan to consider the year as a successful year.
I even made the rules:
The list should contain:
- Something foolish
- Something dangerous
- Something new
- Something considerate
- Something naughty
- Something painful
- Something scary
- Something bad
- Something life changing
- A good deed for a total stranger without his/her knowledge.
I got my list ready about 7 days ago and I have already stroked off one. Only 9 more to go.
The things we do to wake up every morning!
As you are aware I am a very goal oriented individual who’s planning ahead span is about 12 hours. This means that I get through the day with the thought of spending the evening with my friend JD.
Now, for the ones who are shaking their heads and saying, that’s no way to live one’s life, I would like to politely ask; why the fuck not?
Thing is off late I am getting kind of tired of this blog. I feel like I have compromised. Like I have chickened out. I feel I am writing all this with the (2) readers I have in mind. I feel I have been diluting what I want to say. Sugar coating it.
This is why no one knows the identity of the Vendetta. He’s not like the wimp Spiderman who gets his tights laundered by Mary Jane. Vendetta dies unknown and therefore he can do what the fuck he wants. Say what the fuck he wants. Be the fuck who he wants.
When I started this, I aimed to laugh at everything. I wasn’t looking for friends. I was looking for people who will smile and say 'he’s got a point.'
I think I let them down (not that I care too much for that). More than that I feel I let myself down (this bothers me).
Truth is important to me. And I like it neat.
So thats how its going to be from now on.
So thats 2 things off the list now. Only 8 more to go.
Actually I think the year tends to come in irrespective of whether we usher or try to shoo it away. Damn the fucker.
Anyhow; 2011 is upon us and while the world has been making resolutions or making resolutions not to make any further resolutions, I have been trying to live with the resolutions I have made in the last 41 years.
Recently I was part of a conversation with a married couple who was talking about how they should have just kept at having a live in relationship instead of tying the knot.
Translation: I want to wake up with someone else.
I mean what the fuck is the difference?
Being Indians, Live in relationship still does not mean that it will be just the two of them. There will always be 'the' families or 'the' friends. All relationship comes with a whole string of genealogy.
Of course, there will no longer be any of those stupid invitations to your niece's birthday parties or the mother's 60th birthday. If you do make the effort to connect with either of your families, you are going to be a source of embarrassment to all those born on the wrong side of the century and an envy to everyone on this side.
What’s the big deal in a live in relationship? For that matter what’s the big deal in a marriage either? The only difference seems to be in how fast one can get out of it.
So when couples say that they wish they never got married, what they mean is, they just don't want it with that person they are married to.
Yep. You heard it here first.
What’s with couples and the constant berating up of an institution like marriage? Personally I am not much into any type of institutions but I am not burning any bras over marriage either.
Living with a woman is hard enough without having to try deciphering the relationship. My antidote to an early visit from the grim reaper is not to wonder about a woman. You are never going to figure it out and even if you do, there’s no one there to verify if you are right.
Yeah, you try getting a woman to say, 'You are right.'
So among the other pertinent questions like; does the tree that fall in a forest, with no one to hear it, make any noise? Or do dog dream in color? Or is what I see real or just a neurotic translation of something else? ; I bury this deep.
Now those that have the misfortune in knowing me will be aware that I am a cheerful person.
Really.
You guys just happen to catch me in a bad mood.
All the time.
Make you wonder, doesn't it?
Thing is, off late, I am not finding too much to be cheerful about. So I decided to make a list of things to do this year.
It’s not a bucket list. The way things are going and the absurd sense of irony the universe seems to have, I am probably going to survive 2012.
No.
This is just 10 things to get done this year. And if I accomplish all of it, I plan to consider the year as a successful year.
I even made the rules:
The list should contain:
- Something foolish
- Something dangerous
- Something new
- Something considerate
- Something naughty
- Something painful
- Something scary
- Something bad
- Something life changing
- A good deed for a total stranger without his/her knowledge.
I got my list ready about 7 days ago and I have already stroked off one. Only 9 more to go.
The things we do to wake up every morning!
As you are aware I am a very goal oriented individual who’s planning ahead span is about 12 hours. This means that I get through the day with the thought of spending the evening with my friend JD.
Now, for the ones who are shaking their heads and saying, that’s no way to live one’s life, I would like to politely ask; why the fuck not?
Thing is off late I am getting kind of tired of this blog. I feel like I have compromised. Like I have chickened out. I feel I am writing all this with the (2) readers I have in mind. I feel I have been diluting what I want to say. Sugar coating it.
This is why no one knows the identity of the Vendetta. He’s not like the wimp Spiderman who gets his tights laundered by Mary Jane. Vendetta dies unknown and therefore he can do what the fuck he wants. Say what the fuck he wants. Be the fuck who he wants.
When I started this, I aimed to laugh at everything. I wasn’t looking for friends. I was looking for people who will smile and say 'he’s got a point.'
I think I let them down (not that I care too much for that). More than that I feel I let myself down (this bothers me).
Truth is important to me. And I like it neat.
So thats how its going to be from now on.
So thats 2 things off the list now. Only 8 more to go.
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