Friday, March 31, 2006

Driving ET-E-KET




Post aptly titled so our northy counterparts can pronounce and understand the word, separated with hyphens to make it easier on their peanut sized brains.

What with today, I was traveling down Bannergatta Road, making my way back home on the newly laid tarmac, when I had to slow down rather drastically thanks to one northy dimwit, or a southy dimwit for that matter of fact in a northy's car [read: MH registration]. Now, what the fuck a south indian would be doing in a second hand northy car, i don't know and highly doubt that happening, so its safe to assume the driver of the car was northy as well.

So, as i slowed down behind the maathar chooth (choice of words just to make them feel more at home) the bastard politely takes the fucking cigarette he's smoking and taps the ash outside the fucking window. Now don't get me wrong, I don't complain about most of the things (hehe), but I really don't fancy a mouthful of northy cigarette ash. Now, this ant a northy bashing post or anything like that. I don't fancy a mouthful of southy cigarette ash either, but just that he was northy pissed me off that much more i am guessing.

I sped up to the dimwit, right next to the drivers window and since I was in no mood to fight, I asked him politely (again), "Umm, care to tap your ash inside the ash tray provided with your car?" to which Mr. Forgive-me-but-i-have-a-sock-stuck-up-my-ass replied, "Eh, your fathers road ahh?" to which i grumbled and replied, "YES" and he sped away.

How much of dhumm he has no? That too at 12:10 in the morning. Then i wondered to myself as i was getting back home - how stupid are these mother fuckers? I mean, do they really have any driving etiquette at all? Why would someone want to tap their ash outside their fucking cars? Why would someone want to spray their windshields with water while traveling at 40 kmph? Invariably, they all end up being northy and somehow or the other, i manage to find myself behind one of them.

I am telling you, i need to get myself a fucking gun. The time has come. I just cant let this go any further. Its time we took our city back.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Mental Arm Rest



Oh man, I've really lost it for blogging eh? I know I cant write terribly well or any of that jazz, but I am the best person I know. I love myself :)

Anyways, so here's another thing that pisses me off. Your at the movie theater ok. Now you pay the same amount of money as anyone else, atleast if you went to one of those snappy Multiplexes like Inox or PVR or Innovative Multiplex or whatever. Considering that the ticket costs anywhere between 75 bucks and 150 at times, you expect to watch the movie in peace of mind.

Now let alone the million rats, lizards, cockroaches that are attracted to the 12 corn puffs that you throw down under your chair, but you've got a bigger problem at hand. If you go with your friend or friends and end up getting the last seat and it aint being a corner seat, your fucked man.

You'll engage in a mind game with the dude sitting next to you. It happens in the fucking aircrafts, it happens everywhere where there is an arm rest. What I don't get is, neither you nor the dude sitting next to you will have the courage to fucking stand up and tell you "GET YOUR FUCKING ARM OFF FUCKING THE ARM REST ALREADY YOU SON OF A BITCH WHORE. I WANT TO REST ON IT NOW".

Throughout the movie, the flight to Mumbai, you'll keep sitting there, thinking, if maybe he could move his hand up maybe by a little so you could quickly put your hand there. Trust me, I've done it and it fucking pisses the jazz out of me. The worst part is, not a word is said. Its all in the head. And both of you are consciously aware of it too.

My point is simple and I blame no one but the fucking theater authorities and the airlines and whoever else has arm rests. Make fucking bigger arm rests you dickwarts. Make two for all I care. That way, I can keep my hand and the person sitting next to me can also keep his/her hand and we can watch the movie in peace or fly to Mumbai in peace, without being bothered by such a simple thing.

But honestly, it does piss me off. A lot. If those guys are reading this, do something you bastards...

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Yellaru Salute Maadi



Wokay, yellaru salute maadi [translated to: everyone put salute]
Dont forget to stand up also.

Now while your at it, let me tell you guys why you are doing what your doing. Basically you are saluting our cops, cause you HAVE to. I mean come on. We all love them now, don't we?

Anyone read the papers recently? Fucking bastard cops here in bangalore end up scamming away shit loads of money, in crores, over various bank accounts, beds, sofas, drawers and other such "secret" hiding places. Whats more important is these mother fucking cops aren't put to death or anything, considering they've been scamming all our money. They are just "suspended" on our Honourable CM's word. How thoughtful.

And whats worse, one of the dickwarts is from the Fraud Branch even. Morally upright aren't we? Gee man. For once, i think we should employ punishment like they did in Saudi Arabia and all.

First we should tie Mr. Ur-I-Dont-Care-Whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is and his friends to a tree ok. Then we should basically round up everyone like you and me and we should form a semi circle around the tree. We should be given rocks of different sizes based on our height/weight/sex. We should have a leader - a jominder if you please who'll scream "throw" and we should all throw the stones given to us at these mother fuckers with the intent to hurt them as much as possible.

How much faith am i expected to have in the system after all this crap eh? And if you notice, the whole scam is already fading away. I love my India, don't we all?

____

On a lighter note, i want to look like this when I wake up tomorrow morning.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Missed me anyone?



So its been a month. Thought I'll stop after 1 full year of blogging, but apparently, I cant. Got loads to write about. Lots of things have pissed me off since Feb 13th. Geez..

So, who missed me?