The secret source of humour is not joy, but sorrow.
-Mark Twain

Humour and good taste are contradictions.
Like a chaste whore.
-George Bernard Shaw

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Location:

Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India.

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Saturday, September 16, 2006
Avoid Direct Contact

   They never suited me. I've lost one of them today. 500 bucks down the drain. Sheesh. :(


Posted at 02:57 am by sirpy
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Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Shocking Pink - Part Deux

   I sprinted in the direction of my hostel, adrenalin pumping in 6 ton V8 cylinders. Terrifying images of my poor computer enveloped in smoke flitted across my mind and I ran even faster. My myopic eyes were able to make out BLOCK V with the 'L' hanging upside down, written at the top of my hostel block. I sped throught the main door, up the stairs to Room No:37. 
   I fumbled with my keys, kicked the door open and stepped right into my bathroom bucket which I usually keep next to the door. I extracted myself, not before putting a few yogic jackanapes to shame and smearing my vitals with liberal doses of shampoo. And then what I saw, made my heart skip several tonga drum beats.
   Two things happened simultaneously that threw me into a frenzied war dance.

 a) My poor old computer was puffing out rings of smoke, like someone who had just decided that Smoker's Anonymous was all bogus and had reverted back to his old habits.

 b) And unfortunately, my bowels chose that time to loose themselves.

   It IS disgusting, I know. But truth does hurt. Sometimes, even stink. I pulled off the power cord, tugged at a towel that was drying itself happily on the clothesline and fled in the direction of the toilets.
   Twenty minutes later, with a couple of hundred mosquito bites on my rear, I entered my room once again, and sat down on my cot with a small yelp of pain and a swear word directed at the Anopheleses, and commenced wondering.
   The fact that I was doing EEE in a God-forsaken college would have hit me after twenty years, if not for the fact that my brain was faster than my computer*. I stood up, electrical intelligence shining in my irises, walked upto the switchboard and started banging it like Arnold Swarchznegger beats up the phone booth in Terminator-2.
   The switchboard erupted in a Ka-Boom! that shook the foundations of the Rashtrapati Bhavan. My hostel was razed. But I escaped miraculously and I became a hero overnight! Ninety people died and I was the only one who escaped unscathed! Wow! Three days after this incident, I received a phone call from Samuel Jackson who started talking about comics.
 
   Now hold on a sec.
   This sounds too familiar.
   Isn't this the story of Unbreakable??? Bloody !@#!@#!###..!

   Errr, sorry... nothing like that happened. As I was punching my switchboard with long roundhouses and swift uppercuts, I only managed to damage my knuckles. Anger clouded my judgement and common sense. I had to do the inevitable. The last resort. The only one way to check the working capacity of my darned switch board.
 
   I plunged my pinky into one of the three holes.

   The sky descended on my head and sparks jittered around my ears. My edges charred. My frame darkened and I started sputtering smoke in gallons. 
   I barely managed to pull my hands free before I was nigger-ed (No offense meant ;-)). It was the nastiest shock ever in the history of mankind.

The Lesson:
   Dear children, never put your pinky into the hole of a switchboard which has been continuously on for twelve hours, with the switch in the ON position, after having just returned from the toilet wearing wet slippers, unless and until you've just discovered that your girlfriend likes David Hasselhoff.

 *a la the pitiable Chacha Chaudhary.

 



Currently listening to:
Home
By Dixie Chicks



Posted at 02:14 am by sirpy
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Sunday, September 10, 2006
Shocking Pink - Part Uno

   Class got over at 4:00 p.m. sharp. I picked up my pink satchel and trudged back to my room, singing 'Mitwaaa' in an off-key tune that would have made Pt. Balamuralikrishna gouge his eyes out. My voice was supposed to be on par with cleaning the blackboard with an iron-nail duster; from what I was told often by lesser mortals who have no sense of the intricacies and nuances of natural music.
    As I sedately hummed the song, blissfully unaware of the havoc I caused all over the place, Fate set in motion a series of presages for me to decipher and prognosticate the disaster that awaited me. Unfortunately, enraptured by my own singing, I failed to acknowledge those 'dark' signs and paid for it. Darkly.
 
1) The first was the most obvious of them all and the most cliched; a singularly unfed, brown cat crossed my path. Somebody had overturned a bottle of blue ink over the poor thing making it look like a sort of a deranged feline clown.
2) The second too was a bit obvious. My nose sniffed out, along with the ever-prevalent fragrance of used rubbish, the unmistakable vapours of a bonfire.
3) The third was a crow which apparently needed a Digene very badly. It was cawing amongst a mountain of it's own poop. The other crows looked at it with ill-concealed distaste and disgust, something akin to the looks which John Abraham gets when he starts crying. (No offence meant. :P )
4) The fourth happened to be three rascally monkeys sitting on an oak tree doing what, for all in the world seemed like discussing the current trends in filching food from the canteen, but made no sense to the observer, whatsoever.
5) The fifth was totally unexpected. As I was walking, scratching my head, in the distance I could see a vehicle approaching swiftly. It was a Honda Activa with the number 07 written prominently on the dashboard. (Numerology, I guessed later which was too late, ironically.)
6) There was a female squatting on the vehicle and driving it at the same time, who was so fat she could have easily floored an expert Sumo wrestler, simply by exhaling normal atmospheric air. There was a computer monitor wedged between her hippo feet. Not wedged, moulded. The sixth omen.
7) She wobbled to a stop, right in front me and gave a sheepish grin. I returned her a sympathetic grin and stepped forward to help her when my eyes fell on her watch. It was a Timex and was twenty minutes fast. It showed 5:00 p.m.
8) I leaned back, surveyed the knots properly and gave a tug at the rope. It loosened and fell away. I switched the position of the monitor with that of the girl's bag which was occupying more space than it should.
9) In the end, after tightening the ropes holding the monitor, I slapped my palms and gave her my guarantee; valid 67 seconds. She thanked me very sweetly and pushed off. I was still trying to push the excess fat from my eyes, when suddenly I felt like I was hit with a skate-board. The ninth omen.
10) I had left my computer switched ON, in my room. It was almost seven hours. I burnt rubber as I sped in direction of the hostel, my pink bag swinging. The final omen.
 
PS: Sequel is up next...



Currently listening to:
Dookie
By Green Day





Posted at 04:19 am by sirpy
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Thursday, September 07, 2006
Chimp Jobs, CEO.

  Exactly. I DO NOT WANT TO BE THE CHIEF EDITOR OF THE DEPARTMENT NEWSLETTER AGAIN!!!!!

  The problem is that, I cannot say this with the same amount of emphasis and anger anywhere else. And moreover as they are paying me, it does not really matter, does it?  :D



Currently watching:
Lucky Number Slevin (Widescreen Edition)
Staring Josh Hartnett



Posted at 04:51 am by sirpy
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Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Balls!

    Do you know what happens when you stick stamps in the kitchen? Read on.
    My stomach rumbled with distant hunger. I was so hungry that I would have easily eaten a live kangaroo. Both the needles were moving like millipedes with arthritis, inside the clock, that seemed like would have been manufactured right when sundials went out of fashion.

    The Solid State Devices ma'am was droning on and on, with not even an ounce of pity for seventy hungry, tired, bored individuals, 99.23% of whom were showing symptoms of acute mental disorder after listening to so much drivel. It was basically mass murder.
    Ten minutes later and the boys were thoroughly peed off. Knives, chainsaws, cycle chains, broken soda bottles, machetes, live wires, mobile guillotines, paper rockets, pencil points and other weapons of mass destruction appeared out of nowhere. The seconds ticked away and our SSD ma'am's life candle was on the verge of petering out, when she said the magic words,
 "Any doubts?"
     Everybody froze in mid air, cycle chains, knives et al., and seventy jaws fell open. The stench that emanated was enough to drive a pig to use an oxygen mask. There was a valid reason for this violation of environmental norms for human beings to live safely and in harmony.
     This woman was worse than Hitler's mom. And was damn strict. It was a wonder that she left us so early. We were too stunned. And by the time we recovered, she had taken the roll call, bundled up her papers and marched out of the room.
     I collected my stuff and started hobbling towards my hostel, apparently weak with hunger gnawing the lower portions of my abdomen. I reached my hostel, dragged myself up the stairs and slugged it out in front of my computer. I slowly opened one of my dead-yellow eyes and bleakly gazed around. They fell on a small, shapeless brown cover.
     I extended my hand and my fingers clasped around many irregularly shaped lumps. Hope waved her dupatta at me, and with superhuman strength I rose up and opened the cover. And they contained....
   MY MOM 'S COCONUT BALLS!!!
     I was simply thrilled. I gave a small, squeaky whoop and took one. It must have been premonition but right then, I had a fleeting image of Adnan Sami on a swing. He was huffing and puffing but the swing stuck to his massive bottom. Screw him; I am hungry. I gave thanks to God and bit the coconut ball. And regretted it instantly.
    'Bit' it would be an understatement. Wrestled with it, would be more apt. After a few minutes, during which the delicious coconut juice slowly ran down in rivulets down my throat, I tried unclenching my jaws and realised with growing horror that I was not able to. My teeth had got really, completely, truly stuck. I tugged, pulled and even used a crowbar, but they resolutely refused to budge. I sat down in desperation.
     Eventually, after many hours of hammering and splitting, my jaws were set free. The coconut ball lay on the floor, smiling viciously.
     With two of my molars, embedded in it. Gug. Goo.
     I had to speak in baby language for three days after that.
     How My Clever Mom Somehow Managed To Include Glue In Her Recipe For Coconut Balls, is predicted to be a best seller.


Currently listening to:
Encore (Deluxe Edition)
By Eminem


Currently reading:
Complete Yes Prime Minister
By Lynn



Posted at 02:00 am by sirpy
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Monday, September 04, 2006
Cars

      Slick storyline, sterling imagination, beautiful characterisation and excellent casting; that's Cars. With just the right dose of humour, sentiment, romance and of course friendship, this movie is a treat for people of all ages.
   I saw this movie after a particularly hard day, what with nothing going my way, I was very pissed off with life as a whole. And then, as I walked out of the theatre after watching the movie, it was with a pleasant feeling in my heart that I did. 
  The music deserves special mention. The title track, "Life is a Open Highway", is just simply awesome. Cannot stop humming it.So are the other songs too, going in line with the story and not deviating at all. Paul Newman's voice stands out, with his gruff, cowboy accent replete. But the guy stealing the show is Larry, the Cable Guy (Mater).
  The ending is not all what you would normally expect it to be. The small cartoon video before the movie, trademark of every Pixar movie, is riotously funny. Full marks to Mr. John Lasseter (who also directed Toy Story, Toy Story 2) and crew!! Can't wait for their next movie. 
 

PS: Check out the last scene and the storyline extension during the final titles. Hysterical... ;-)


Posted at 02:28 am by sirpy
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Saturday, September 02, 2006
Paatum Mettum Kathukku Kuruthi*

    Nobody believes me when I say that. Humph. And I listen to songs from all languages; Telugu, Hindi etc. etc. So what difference does it make anyway? Humph again.

* It's a Tamil saying which, when directly translated runs as, "Song and Dance are blood to the ears".



Currently listening to:
Master of Puppets
By Metallica



Posted at 04:06 am by sirpy
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Thursday, August 17, 2006
K.I(A).N.K.Y




In a word/line: BLEEEEEAAAAAAARGGGGGGHHHHHHHH !!!

Posted at 10:32 am by sirpy
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