I'M UP FOR GRABS!!!

Over the past 18 months or so, I have been to various colleges across India to participate in quizzes. They have been more or less restricted to Business Quizzes. And the experience has been far from satisfactory. That is, if one leaves aside the winning part of it. I have won quite a few and have been there in the big league, so to say.

But, being a true quizzer, I have to admit that an overwhelming majority of these quizzes have left a lot to be desired. I cannot remember the number of times I have sat through shoddy quizzes by so-called professional quizmasters and cursed them for ruining my evenings. Have witnessed Sid Basu boogie-woogie on stage and Derek No Brainer degrade participants. In the process of taking quizzing to the masses, they have reduced it to the level of a tamasha.

Any rant on the pathetic state of affairs in Indian quizzing will be incomplete without a mention of Pornob-without-the-B. In the garb of catering to die-hard quizzers, he has done the maximum damage to the spirit of quizzing. The blatant lies and concoted truths that he spews off quicker than the blink of an eye are the stuff of legends.

So all ye people out there, hear...I'M UP FOR GRABS!!!

If your college/institution wants to do a quiz for quizzers and not for the family, here I am.
If you believe that the centre of attraction should be the quiz and not the quizmaster, here I am.
If your sponsors aren't hankering you for a celebrity QM, here I am.
If you want a quiz without the flashy presentations and high-tech gizmos, here I am.
If you want a quiz without the nonsensical anything-under-the-sun or any-page-from-the-newspaper rounds, here I am.
If you are looking for a QM who can pass logical/witty comments without going overboard, here I am.
If you are a believer in 'simple quiz format' and 'tough yet enjoyable quiz content', here I am.
If you want a QM who makes, neither tasteless remarks at participants nor passes at female organisers, here I am.
Lastly and most importantly, if you crave for original, well-researched questions, here I am.

What I have...
I do not want to gloat over quizzes that I have conducted so far. Its for you to find out. For starters... ARMAGEDDON. Ask any Bombay-based business quizzer worth his salt and he/she shall inform you.

What I can...
General, Business, Sports, Literature and Entertainment. I guess that pretty much covers the entire spectrum.

What I will...
There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch. So, SHOW ME THE MONEY. When I do my job, I expect to be paid for it. It will be peanuts when compared with exorbitant-to-the-extent-of-extortion amounts that are charged by 'biggies'. But, charge...I will.

E-Mail: dhanu80@rediffmail.com
Ph: 09821842410

I'M ALL YOURS!!!

My Quiz Blog

This post marks the debut of my quiz blog titled Quizzing Nirvana.

Sports quizzing is one of my weaker areas. Took it up as a personal challenge and have posted a Sports Quiz. Here are a couple of questions:

1. He played baseball for New York Giants, Cincinnati Reds and Boston Braves. In his lackluster career, he amassed a .252 batting average over 289 games. He continued to play with teams in minor leagues until 1922. He also played Amercian football for Canton Bulldogs and went on to become the first President of American Professional Football Association, the predecessor of National Football League. Who?

2. She was initially a ballet artist, but turned to gymnastics after her choreographer moved out of town. At the age of 19, she debuted internationally at the 1954 Rome World Championships. She won a total of 18 Olympic medals (still unbeaten) including 9 gold, 5 silver and 4 bronze). Who?

Read the rest of the questions here.

BEST Trip

Ui Shamasha Ui, Ui Shamasha,
Le Ja Pyaar Zara Sa, De Ja Pyaar Zara Sa.
Thus, blared the speakers.

In the midst of inadvertent mouthing of the lyrics, my cellphone rang,
Me: Hello
She: Hello
Me: Bol Tillu
A two-second pregnant pause in humble homage to the Ui Ui Ui Ui line.
She: Abe! Subah Subah Mujra Dekh Raha Hai Kya?
Me: Nahin! Main Bus Mein Hoon.
She: Achha. To Kya Shirdi Ja Raha Hai.
Me: Arre, Nahin Re. Main BEST Ke Naye Bus Mein Baitha Hoon Aur FM Pe Yeh Gaana Baj Raha Hai.

Thought Bubble: Hell!!! A two-year stay in the US and the birth of a baby hasn't frayed her sense of humour.

As our conversation (strewn with such inane leg-pulling quite inconsequential to the post) progressed, the seamless transformation onto 'Ambe Hai Meri Maa, Durge Hai Meri Maa' went unnoticed. I am not too sure of the exact sequence of parentage. So, Durga might be the first mother and not Amba, as mentioned above. Anywhichways...

After my phone-call ended...
Thought Bubble: Hmmm...two songs from the same movie on FM. Quite Strange....Maybe, they started some new program like Channel V, where we are treated to Shakira's backside Back-2-Back.

And then, 'Mera Chana Hai Meri Marzi Ka'. To quote Dhritarashtra's character from the hilarious Mahabharat sequence in 'Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron', "This is too much." If some radio station plays three songs from a movie like Kranti, rest assured, some or the other person will sue them for 'Wilful Mind-Fuck'.

Clouds of dust raised in the air, what with a Thought Bubble clashing with Visual Imagery.

Thought Bubble: Chana. But, why Chana?...I have a long way to go in understanding metaphors.
vs
Visual Imagery: Manoj 'Bharat' Kumar with a noose around his neck swaying in a see-saw fashion.

Deep into the conflict, the cute-like heaven girl (that I have mentioned in one of my earlier posts) smiled. Probably, she understood my predicament.

My heart skipped a beat, what with dark visions of fourth-degree torture doing a danse macabre in front of my eyes. In fact, I'm quite sure, I slipped into a coma. Then,

Thought Bubble: What if the next song turns out to be "Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladiiiii, Pyaar Kar Le Ghadi Do Dhadi."

One of my childhood fantasies was a Hema Malini drenched to the...ahem...whatever. And, Manoj Kumar with a constipated look on his face, struggling to unshackle those iron chains all in the hope of touching Hemaji's tips (I mean, fingertips) made comical viewing. Perfect blend of Sex and Comedy. And I came back to life.

In the absence of any traffic jams, the bus was cruising at top speed. And considering the fact that it was BEST, Top Speed = 30 KPH. All I could hope for was some stray dog to do a Dharmendra-like Suicide act. And I would have compensated the dog's family and friends with an unending supply of bitches. Anything to ensure that the bus ride lasts a few minutes more, so that I could relive the Hema act. See, I love animals, lest any PETA activist reads this post. But, lets face facts. I LOVE HEMA MALINI more than bloody dogs.

Alas! Real life ain't no Bollywood movie. As the opening bars of the afore-mentioned song added fuel to the fire in my...well...wherever, the crude voice of the conductor, "Chala. Maker Towers Waale." Damn the KLPD!!!

Strand Ki Jai Ho!!!

What do you do when you have less than a 1000 bucks in your account and the Annual Strand Book Sale is on? Well, just drag along a friend who can finance you and make him cough out quite a hefty amount and promise him to pay back next month interest-less.

Today was the second day of the sale and the visit was worth it. Excellent collection.


Richer by:

The Trial - Franz Kafka
The Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka
The Age of Reason - Jean Paul Sartre
Foucault's Pendulum - Umberto Eco
Portnoy's Complaint - Pihlip Roth
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Complete Adventures of Feluda (Vol. 2) - Satyajit Ray
Crime and Punishment - Dostoyevsky
The Myth of Sisyphus - Albert Camus


Messaged a few friends just for their reactions.

Friend 1: "When will I be able to indulge myself? Waiting for my first cheque."
((Oye! Pehle cheque se books khareedegi. To party kya mere paise se degi?))

Friend 2: "Abe saale. Daaru ka poora paisa uda diya."
((Apna Daaru ka hisaab alag hota hai. The Calvin & Hobbes collection would have given you an erection, something that even blue-films have been unable to.))

Friend 3: "Plath?? Will definitely go there."
((Found just four copies of Bell Jar. Two of them are with me and Mr. Misogynist. Now go and trace the other two, if you can and if its still left.))


Mom's reaction: "Poora stall utha ke laya kya? Abhi rakhega kahan par?"
Hmm...never thought of that. In fact, I did. But, it was just a fleeting one. I do not waste my brains on such petty affairs. And, considering the fact that 11 of my books are in private circulation, I am actually starved of shelf space. Anywhichways...

What's It Going To Be Then, Eh?

Appy polly loggy for the lingo, lest you label me bezoomny.

Alex (a lex, 'without law' in Latin), the protagonist is a nadsat who roams the street with his banda committing ultra-violence for enjoyment. Drunk on Moloko Plus, eyeing at groodies and sharries and armed with britva and nozh, Alex and his droogs indulge in crast and tolchoking and the old in-out-in-out routine. The dripping of krovvy and the creeching of victims gives them a horrorshow high.

Classical music, a passion of Alex leads to an unsavoury bit of dratsing with his droog named Dim. During an act of razrez at a rich baboochka's domy, Alex is betrayed by Dim leading to his arrest by millicents. He is sent to Staja for having murdered the baboochka. There he is picked for the experimental rehabilitation technique 'Ludovico's treatment', which consists of drugging the plenny and making him viddy sinny of Nazi torture and such like. So much so that even the thought of violence induces nausea.

Upon his release, he is rejected by his pee and em and receives some tolchoking from one of his earlier victims and his droogs. He stumbles upon the house of F D Alexander, whose wife he had once in-ou-in-outed. FD drugs him and plays Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. What was previously his favourite, now drives him to suicide. After surviving the fall and having Ludovico's Treatment reversed, Alex is back to his 'normal' self (droogs and all) but exercises his moral choice and renounces violence.


Supposedly inspired from an incident involving the author's wife, the book raises some fundamental questions regarding human behaviour and the role of the state. Is a conditioned human capable of only doing good really human? Is lack of choice and being good better than the choice to be bad? Should the state repress the free-will of an anti-social individual through conditioning thus denying him the right to learn from experiences and make moral choices? Is inappropriate punishment justifiable in transforming violent youth into civilised individuals? Civilised, My Syphilised Yarbles...


PS: 'A Clockwork Orange' by Anthony Burgess

You've Got Mail

I usually do not open any of the spam mails. But, today I made an exception. And it turned out to be a revelation of sorts. Here is the spam I received (Quite Graphic):

As seen on "Sex and The City"
http://shoottheduckad.com/

This classic vibrator is a womans best friend...
The Jack Rabbit Vibrator is a dual control multi-speed vibrating and rotating 7 1/2" x 1 1/2" Vibrator.
Made of a bright pink, pliant jelly, the tip is realistically sculpted.
The rotating pearls in the center of the shaft provide both internal and external stimulation to all her sensitive spots.
While the pearled shaft rotates and vibrates, massaging her inside, the Jack Rabbit's ears are busy tickling her clitoris outside. The shaft and stimulator are controlled separately, so she can customize her experience every time.


Jack Rabbit Vibrator Features:

Dual Control Multi-Speed Vibrator
Rotating Pearls
Rabbit Ears for External Clitoral Stimulation
The Jack Rabbit is 7 1/2 inches long x 1 1/2 inches in diameter

More info here:
http://shoottheduckad.com/


Planning to write them back thus:

I am touched with your sustained interest in my personal life.

Firstly, my TV viewing habits are restricted to 'K'-rappy serials that my mom watches and hence I have not been a witness to your product placement in "Sex and the City".

Secondly, just as the Hindi Muhavra goes "Taali Do Haathon Se Bajti Hai", similarly I believe there is a minimum requirement of two when it comes to the act or art of pleasuring up. Unfortunately, my life resembles a banjar zameen with no oasis in sight. Pardon my lachrymose prose, but I am sure you understand that the lack of a significant better by your bedside is quite a touchy issue.

Thirdly, notwithstanding the great features of the tool, aren't you targetting the wrong section of the population. Honestly, which male in his right senses would buy your product. Do you envisage a scenario where a man might gift it to a lady thus, "Look honey, what I bought for you. I hope this stops your complaints. And I'm going off to sleep rightaway. Have fun."

You Oughta Know

Hurt, Hatred, Self-deprecation, Love, Revenge, Anger, Envy... This song has it all.


I want you to know, that I'm happy for you
I wish nothing but the best for you both
An older version of me
Is she perverted like me
Would she go down on you in a theatre
Does she speak eloquently
And would she have your baby
I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother

Cause the love that you gave that we made wasn't able
To make it enough for you to be open wide, no
And every time you speak her name
Does she know how you told me you'd hold me
Until you died, till you died
But you're still alive

And I'm here to remind you
Of the mess you left when you went away
It's not fair to deny me
Of the cross I bear that you gave to me
You, you, you oughta know

You seem very well, things look peaceful
I'm not quite as well, I thought you should know
Did you forget about me Mr. Duplicity
I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner
It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced
Are you thinking of me when you fuck her

Cause the love that you gave that we made wasn't able
.............
But you're still alive

And I'm here to remind you
.............
You, you, you oughta know

Cause the joke that you laid on the bed that was me
And I'm not gonna fade
As soon as you close your eyes and you know it
And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back
I hope you feel it...well can you feel it

And I'm here to remind you
.............
You, you, you oughta know

Nameless Faceless Commentless Readers

I am a small fish in an ocean. Alright, it would be wrong to classify the Indian blogosphere as an ocean. But, there are certainly some sharks present. OK! I am a new-born jhinga in a pond. Sorry about that last line.

But, I have my small set of readers. For the past 10 days or so, my sitemeter shows a slow and steady 50-60 hits per day. So there are people who read my blog. And, I believe around 20-25 of them might be typing my blog url every couple of days.
The hits increased by more than 50 between yesterday evening when I left office and today morning. Maybe, the outsourcing sweatshop slaves (as some stupid report classified them) who have nothing better to do, visit my blog. But how many of them leave a comment? Honestly, if you all actually don't have anything to do, why not leave a comment like "Hi. I am so-and-so. Your post on Peter North gave me dreams of the non-dry kind." or "The puke that you spew as writing sucks bigtime." Though if you do the latter then pardonez moi, but I might ask you to "Go and get a life", "Take a chill pill", "Buy yourself 10 kgs of sense of humour", etc. etc. And I wouldn't be too wrong, would I???

I can liken this phenomenon to my 110-member strong JBIMS yahoogroup where hardly five people send mails. And three of them send stupid forwarded jokes or 'you will be lucky if you forward this' kinda mails. The other two bash the daylights out of those three, albeit on cyberspace highway, for sending such mails. I really do not know why this happens. Is it that difficult for people to send an e-mail or just post a "Hello. Liked it." comment on blogs. It just takes 10 seconds.

I am sure, this post will receive comments only from the usual folks. Maybe, even they won't. The rest might read it and say, "What a loser! Writes lines starting with Maybe/OK/But/Honestly/Alright and expects us to comment and bloat his ego." Anywhichways...

Unknown Star!!!

Yesterday was the last day of my self-imposed Cellphone Vanvaas. Friends and Comrades, bring on the corny, horny, porny messages. The last 10 days have been quite peaceful, what with me not having to listen to the Roadhouse Blues ringtone. As they say, familiarity breeds contempt and all that jazz.

One man I have never felt contempt towards is Peter North. In fact, I am plain jealous. Some of the bachha party reading this post, might be inclined to ask "Who, Peter North?"

Alright, how many of you have watched slightly-hued films aka Bhakt Prahlad aka devotional movies, etc, etc. Oh! I can see thousands of men. Ladies, don't feel shy to raise your hand. Hmmm...1...4...13...78... Whoa! Whoa! ....922... So many of you females. Wow!!! How many of you remember Peter North? Its indeed sad that even with such a huge audience, the man behind the famous thrusts and the music-to-the-ears Oohs and Aahs remains forgotten.

Woe betide you, if you haven't witnessed some of the most stunning sequences filmed in cinema history. For more than 20 years, he has captured the imagination of young impressionable minds like mine by playing out our wildest fantasies on celluloid. His inimitable manner of saying, "Oh, Yeah." has transformed film watching habits of millions across the world. A star so famous he has movies named after him and his...well...ahem...Ok, the movie is North Pole. On last count, there were 58 parts to this longest running series in the history of cinema. Guinness Book, anyone.

Standing ramrod straight at 1.80 m, armed with well-chiselled athletic features coupled with ancient Grecian looks of the kind Adonis would have been proud of, Peter entered the big bad world of more-than-just-skin flicks out of sheer desperation. Heavily in debt and a zaalim duniya to cater to, his life story is a source of inspiration for thousands of struggling starlets. With over 1600 films to his credit, he has indeed gone where no man has gone before. From Rebecca Wild to Jill Kelly to Traci Lords, he has rubbed shoulders (and a lot more) with them all. His nicknames include 'The Sperminator' and 'Sir Cumalot', indicating his deep interest in science fiction and history and other such exotic topics.

Much before Clinton shot to fame with his cigar smoking trick, Peter was busy setting new 'job' responsibilities for the White House designate in The Oval Office.

Those who lament the lack of a storyline in his flicks, better watch Adventures of Tracy Dick: The Case of the Missing Stiff. A true blue (detective) film. And the beauty of the last word. Replace the 'i' with the vowels 'a' or 'u', the essence of the movie remains the same. Perfect example of arming oneself against possible spelling mistakes by lazy poster designers. And, if you think this is the only detective movie he has acted in, remember there is Ass Ventura: Crack Detective and several others to boot.

Pit all the James Bond actors against Peter, I am sure they all will come a cropper. With a movie that goes by the name of Jane Bond Meets the Man with the Golden Rod, what chance do poor Sean, Roger, et al stand. Nada. Zero. Zilch....

Wanna watch classic novels captured on screen? How about Midslumber's Night Dream (Move aside Shakespeare. Here comes Sex Spear.) or The Three Muskatits.

Being an anti-war movie fanatic, something that my neighbourhood VCD wallah is quite oblivious to, I once asked for Born on the 4th of July. A prompt handing over of the VCD was followed by a slight snigger. The reason behind the chuckle became obvious when I switched on the CD player, only to realise that the movie was a slightly different interpretation of the 'Make Love, Not War' theme. You see, the movie was Porn on the 4th of July. What's more, a Peter North starrer.

At an age where the hoi polloi are busy gaping at protrusions and apertures of all sizes and shapes, poor moi was absorbed in studying the full-throttle vibrations and the action-reaction mechanism of the actors. Peter astounded me with his Energiser Bunny-like performance, and his copious amounts of bodily fluid, besides leaving the female co-stars a bitter pill to swallow also reminded me of the endless potential of the human vitals. An actor who took perfection to its highest level, so much so that his co-stars are barred from touching his hair during the act, coz., it disturbs him.

Alas, age has caught up. Not with him, but ME. Have reached the crossroads of my life where people lament, "Yeh Game Dekhne Ka Umar Nahin Raha". The ride has been worth it, Peter. So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish. Sorry, Jizz...

Sapna Mera Toot Gaya....

Nahin!!! Mera Stan-C Dream Run registration ko reject kiya gaya. Also, the Supreme Court rejected my petition seeking 0.0001% reservations for Shettigar Khandaan.

Not that I would have done too well, this time around. Yeah! 7 kms might be regarded as short-change or chutta paisa by a lot of people including my Big B. (Incidentally, my brother harbours ambitions of running half-marathon next year and full marathon the year after.) But, all the cigarettes have indeed taken a heavy toll on my stamina. Though yours truly quit smoking recently, there was probably no chance of him completing a proper 7 km run without the customary stopovers. To compound problems, I don't even have the Pooja Bhatt kinda legs to expose and hitch rides. (Not that she had great legs, anyways.) In all probability, I would have sputtered and stuttered and breasted the tape long after the organisers had gone back home and consumed a nice hot lunch. OK! Add a mid-afternoon quickie, as well. I am not much of a distance runner anyways. Give me a 100 m dash anyday and this Dhanno will run faster than what my equine namesake ran when Basanti's izzat was at stake. Bets!!!

But, in typical Arnie fashion, I'll Be Back. Jogging, Main Aa Rahaa Hoon....

Links to some Excellent Posts

It is unusual to encounter high-quality writing on blogs and that too within a couple of days. Maybe, the new year has injected a fresh dose of life into bloggers. Among some of the posts that I have been reading since Monday, here are the top-5.

http://sidin.blogspot.com/2006/01/phyrds-uykl-33.html
Sidin is back with a bang. This time with a post on his attempts to gain mastery over Hindi.

http://aashraya.blogspot.com/2006/01/chapter-6-forest-hump.html
Crystal Blur's installment of Mahabharata - Chapter 6

http://greatbong.blogspot.com/2006/01/great-indian-humor-challenge.html
Great Bong on the quality (or the lack of it) of humour in India and its reasons.

http://mysticmusician.blogspot.com/2006/01/blind-mans-buffcome-twilight.html
Surya has an excellent post on a friend. Its just that her friend happens to be blind.

http://opinion.paifamily.com/?p=1773
A post on reservations and a heated debate in the comments section.

What a 10-year old held on to dearly in life

Sometime in 1990, a 10-year old picked up a newspaper and proceeded to read an article whose headline screamed about Mandal Commission. The boy, who until then had never gone past the sports page stood up and took notice. On asking what the entire controversy was all about, his dad dismissed it off as "Bandal Commission". His eyes opened and his morning newspaper reading habits were never the same again.

To be honest, the boy understood very little of politics or sociology. But, what he found disgusting was the caste card being flashed to move ahead in life. Later, the boy found that he himself belonged to the 'lower-caste'. Yet, the disgust lingered.

He performed below expectations in SSC. On the day of submitting application forms he mistakenly stood in the queue for SC/ST candidates and found 16-year olds dressed in Calvin Klein jeans and Polo T-shirts. He was asked to play the caste trick and gain admission into some respectable college. He refused and settled for a college that is more (in)famous for the brothels that surround it.

He ended up making a hash of HSC exams. Yet again he refused the SC/ST quota and gained admission into one of the lower-rung New Bombay engg colleges. That he went on to quit engg (after two years) is a different matter altogether.

He took the entrance exam for an undergraduate management course and ended up with a decent rank. On his first day in college, he met students who had scored less than 25% of what he had, proudly proclaiming their top-10 ranks. Students, whose sole claim to fame in life was their surname. The boy never discriminated against these free-riders, but somewhere at the back of the mind, his contempt for them remained.

Later, his attempt at belling the CAT proved successful. With his almost-99 percentile and decent GD/PI at IIM-L, all he needed was a caste certificate and he would have been duly inducted into the hallowed precincts of an IIM. He refused. He claimed, "I am a Narcissist. I like to watch my reflection, first thing in the morning."

He had to rest content with cracking CET and got admitted into a top-rung B-School. Managed to pass without any problems and is currently working at a private bank. A boy who always told himself, "If you are good, you will be successful." had finally got his due, without the help of artifical crutches like caste and quota.

Today, around 16 years after the day that shaped his belief, he read about the Govt's attempts (or is it arm-twisting) to introduce caste-based quota in private firms. He cried.

Just a random post

For the first time in weeks, I am short of ideas. I don't have any topic in mind to blog about and here I am, trying in vain, to type something. Maybe, the tip-tap-tip of the keyboard gives me a certain pleasure. Call it writer's block. Though, to be quite frank, I am no writer. I am just a silly blogger who, in moments of insanity (which in my case, lasts almost throughout the day, except currently), believes himself to be a writer. Its been around 80 words already and I am still searching for a suitable topic.

I can wish you all a Happy New Year and proceed to bore you with my New Year exploits with litres of liquor and packets of cigarettes. But, who writes about them anyways? And, if someone does, who reads?

I can blog about the resort owner's daughter, on seeing whom, the first thought that crossed my mind was, "Is she the reason why this place is named 'Ultimate Paradise'?"

I can rant against those couples I encountered, who sat on their partners laps and cootchie-cooed in broad daylight (or was it moonlight) and danced to the tune of 'Nothing Else Matters'. I can use cuss-words and ask them not to insult Metallica, but I don't feel like it. Maybe, they are just not worth it.

I don't have a love-life to write about. (Not that if I did, I would.) Whatever I had, is history and I would want it to remain that way. Maybe, I am too decent a guy to talk about my ex-es.

I am no expert on political matters to comment on Vajpayee's retirement. I am happy that he finally did. Right man in the wrong party, I guess. Though, which is the right party, I wonder.

I feel like laughing on all those stupid idiots who read Bombay Times at 8.30 in the morning while commuting to their workplace. I can ask them not to insult their intelligence, but I don't care.

I can talk about that girl in the 8.38 Thane-VT slow train who has been reading 'Atlas Shrugged' for the past 10 days. Or, the one with the cute-like-heaven looks whom I eye every morning in the VT-WTC Bus No.2. How I wish I could speak with either or both of them, atleast once. But, I won't.

I can weave a poetic web of fantasy in my attempt to describe the chilly breeze that hits my face and rejuvenates me everytime I climb down 13 floors after moving my ass from my chair at my workplace. But, I don't want to.

I can blog about a fellow-mate who recently took the plunge into wedlock. I can refer to it as "Another One Bites The Dust" or some such, but shall refrain from it.

I can describe the thoughts that crossed my mind when I chanced upon the phony quizmaster Pornob-without-the-B at Baghdadi on the 30th. How I wished to squash his balls and make mincemeat of them. That is, if he has any. What I did instead, was extend my hand in a courteous gesture. And my mind was racing with the filthiest abuses. I can ask you all whether my action was hypocritical, but I won't. I know.