In no specific order

I’m tired of media cashing on every tragedy: Every time a dog pees on a car in Delhi, a Barbie falls on the face of earth from 22^nd floor in Mumbai, a crow dumps on Mayawati (I wish) or the latest shortcut to fame – a particularly self involved kid falls in some remote unfinished bore well: its Christmas time at Aaj Tak’s office. Not just the journalist will have a ball smashing microphone at everyone’s face instead of helping, news readers will keep reminding you every 30 seconds.

I'm tired of hearing people argue about abortion, quota row, female infanticide, mercy killing and all the other bullshit that makes up the average Indian political discussion board: It’s good that you’re arguing. But just for a change have you consider listening to what people on the other side are ranting about? If you do not care for the ideas presented by the other side, why even bother participating: might as well blurt out your partisan argument to a wall. It’s not like you are helping your case by selective acknowledgement of the obvious.

I’m tired of short term memory loss: more commonly known as, oh fuck!

I’m tired of self-help authors telling me how to live MY life: You think people like to constantly frown as if someone buried their face in a 10 ft deep pit filled with cow-shit? Well for this once, try to have a look at life from their point of view. My advice to you is put your pen down and bullshit before a person who isn’t already a designated loser. You'll end up empty-handed like every other shallow idiot in the room

I'm tired of science being set back by superstition: Human Genome Project receives little-to-no government support in India because of our moronic Prime Minister's twisted religious beliefs and woeful understanding of biology. The Big Bang Experiment at NASA keeps receiving lawsuits from paranoid dimwits with a limited knowledge of Physics who think slamming a few protons together is going to destroy the universe. And this hasn't happened yet, but eventually some idiot "numerologist" is going to freak out and try to ban Calculus for fear of causing the Apocalypse. I wish I'm exaggerating.

I'm tired of people whinging that TV and movies are getting blood obsessed for them: The developers of TV also give a freebee called remote control with it and you dont have to take lessons from Mr Poirot to look for it. Try pressing that red button on top corner before crying out loud. My suggestion to you is to get a DTH and subscribe Pogo for your sorry ass. And before you walk out of your momma’s lap, please throw away your rose tinted ridiculous idea of the world and face it head on. Dodge this.

I’m tired of people blaming my music for death of their sex life: If it did, let me play a record or two of Cannibal Corpse so it ends the remote possibility of you procreating. Its not my fault that you were busy chasing butterflies when He was distributing sense, connoisseur for creativity and music, fresh unprejudiced brains, better eardrums and mojo. The gene pool you are creating is anyways a total trash and not just by Spartan standards. Your DNA is not even worth a bottle of formaldehyde. So let me start by crashing a cymbal on your head, stuffing your elephant ear in my sub woofer and disclosing the fact of your slothful penis by confronting it to nude cheerleaders.

I’m tired of people crying after 2 shots of tequila: Our own Uncle Sam made coke for kids like you and then they made Diet Coke for the fussy ones. 50% alcohol is for people who CAN handle it. How I wish your age reduce by one year every time you sulk, I’m sure it would make your case more curious than that of Benjamin Button. And I know I’m a very good person but I’m not a brother of a cry baby.

Labels: Bitching, I, Sentiments, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

Homosexuality is a touchy subject; gay footballers even more so.

When you consider that footballers are invariably looked upon as role models for children (for better or worse), many otherwise liberal and politically-correct parents would throw a fit if they found out their precious offspring was idolizing a baller sporting a chin-strap, and I’m not talking about Mr Cech.

There’s a time and place for being sensitive and to deal with issues in seriousness - but most of the time, football is just football - entertainment for those playing and entertainment for those watching. And if the entertainment turns into sexual innuendo, as any contact sport invariably does, then we’re on the front line cheering on the participants while pointing and laughing at the same time.

Enough talking - here’s a look at some of the less serious moments in football. Football is not gay, and footballers are usually not gay, but if there was a gay football team, would feel comfortable watching such photos of them?

Labels: Laff Riot, Soccer, Sports, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

Title : What should I do to marry a rich guy?

I'm going to be honest of what I'm going to say here. I'm 25 this year. I'm very pretty, have style and good taste. I wish to marry a guy with $500k annual salary or above. You might say that I'm greedy, but an annual salary of $1M is considered only as middle class in New York. My requirement is not high. Is there anyone in this forum who has an income of $500k annual salary? Are you all married? I wanted to ask: what should I do to marry rich persons like you? Among those I've dated, the richest is $250k annual income, and it seems that this is my upper limit. If someone is going to move into high cost residential area on the west of New York City Garden (?), $250k annual income is not enough.

I'm here humbly to ask a few questions:

1) Where do most rich bachelors hang out? (Please list down the names and addresses of bars, restaurant, and gym)

2) Which age group should I target?

3) Why most wives of the riches is only average-looking? I've met a few girls who don't have looks and are not interesting, but they are able to marry rich guys

4) How do you decide who can be your wife, and who can only be your girlfriend? (My target now is to get married)

Ms. Pretty

-------------------------------

Here's a reply from a Wall Street Financial guy:

Dear Ms. Pretty,

I have read your post with great interest. Guess there are lots of girls out there who have similar questions like yours. Please allow me to analyze your situation as a professional investor. My annual income is more than $500k, which meets your requirement, so I hope everyone believes that I'm not wasting time here. >From the standpoint of a business person, it is a bad decision to marry you. The answer is very simple, so let me explain. Put the details aside, what you're trying to do is an exchange of "beauty" and "money": Person A provides beauty, and Person B pays for it, fair and square. However, there's a deadly problem here, your beauty will fade, but my money will not be gone without any good reason. The fact is, my income might increase from year to year, but you can't be prettier year after year. Hence from the viewpoint of economics, I am an appreciation asset, and you are a depreciation asset. It's not just normal depreciation, but exponential depreciation. If that is your only asset, your value will be much worried 10 years later.

By the terms we use in Wall Street, every trading has a position, dating with you is also a "trading position". If the trade value dropped we will sell it and it is not a good idea to keep it for long term – same goes with the marriage that you wanted. It might be cruel to say this, but in order to make a wiser decision any assets with great depreciation value will be sold or "leased". Anyone with over $500k annual income is not a fool; we would only date you, but will not marry you. I would advice that you forget looking for any clues to marry a rich guy. And by the way, you could make yourself to become a rich person with $500k annual income. This has better chance than finding a rich fool.

Hope this reply helps. If you are interested in "leasing" services, do contact me…

Signed,

J.P. Morgan

-------------------------------

Here's a reply from oh-not-so-dumb blonde:

To the gentleman who called me a depreciating asset


Dear Sir,

I must confess that I was somewhat taken aback upon reading your email. Indeed, it has taken some time for me to sufficiently recuperate from my surprise. Lest your confidence quickly inflate for little reason (as we know is the predisposition for Wall St. types), allow me to hasten to reassure you that the source of my surprise was neither your candor nor the accuracy of your perception. Indeed, it is your "claimed" success in light of your poor grasp of economics which has me baffled. If the standards required to meet with financial success on Wall St. have sunk so low, perhaps I should indeed "make my own money", except for the fact that the effort/reward ratio is far too high for my liking - especially when so many of your ilk have displayed a far more cogent grasp of market realities than you have.

By now you are likely scratching your ever-vanishing hairline in confusion, so allow me to elaborate. To build some credibility I will tell you a bit more about yourself. Though you did not mention the details of your occupation, it is clear that you are an investment banker and not a trader, as any good trader would understand that human courtships are based upon a semi-efficient open market, and not an investment banking cartel. However, your inability to grasp the realities of the dating market is not surprising, given that you have successfully employed the tools of collusion and market manipulation rather that true acumen in your supposed wealth generation.

If your grasp of finance were not a minority partner with your ego, you would realize that the "outflows" associated with my depreciating "assets" are quite certain, and therefore subject to a low discount rate when determining their present value. In addition, though your concept of economics evidentially failed to move past the 1950s, advancement in plastic surgery is not subject to the same limitation. Thus, with some additional capital expenditure, the overall lifetime of "outflows" generated by these assets is greatly increased. Sad that Ashton Kutcher has demonstrated understanding of the female asset class which you, in all of your financial "wisdom", have not.

You, on the other hand, are, given the uncertainty of the Wall St. job market, more of an inflation-indexed junk bond with an underwater nested call option. Though you may argue that you are more of an equity investment, my monetary minimums required from you do not change, and if you are unable to pay them, I will liquidate you without the benefit of a chapter 11, just as you would me.

Because your outflows are so much more uncertain with respect to mine, I require additional compensation in the form of a underwater nested call option on your future assets. I say underwater because, even taking into account the value of your junk bond coupon payment to me, the value of my "outflow" is in excess of the market price of your equity (which is quite low due to its riskiness associated with your poor grasp of finance and my existing claim upon your junk bond coupon).

I must thank you though for raising the question, despite the reputation cost of subjecting your weak logic to such widespread scrutiny. This took either considerable courage or ignorance on your part- and we'll give you the benefit of doubt, just this once. My current boyfriend (a trader who lives in Central Park West, of course) and I thoroughly enjoyed discussing your response and we wish you the best of luck in your unhappy pursuit of that elusive market inefficiency.

Ms. Pretty

Labels: Bitching, Laff Riot, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

DISCLAIMER: Few facts have been molded, curbed, exaggerated to spice up the story.

Scene 1: Embezzlement

“Holy Fuck” said I, jumping up from a cosy sofa of lounge at ITC Sonar Bangla when S called me up saying that we were conned and the passes we bought for the New Year bash were fake. My next reaction was – “Ha-ha!! Very funny, smart ass. Tell me where to come. In fact, please come and escort us. Over and out!!” I turned towards other four who were busy bitching about the vile traffic jams of “city of joy” and staring two hot chicks by the corridor. I reiterated S’ words and burst out laughing. But before our smiles faded, we saw all the dorks, including S coming towards us. Well, Atlas did shrug and we were conned.

The quest for dinner began.

Scene 2: The cracks of imperfect focus group

In P’s room six-seven ‘non-sceptic-fairly-optimistic-hardball-attitude’ studs sat together exploring the options which included a trip on a barge, a bar-b-que, hotel Radisson’s party and of course coveted “ITC Sonar Bangla” party. Hasty scheduling and lack of prior planning directed first two options off-stage. For remaining two, choice was not that hard to make. Monetary optimizations, ease of conveyance, brand name and most of all a miraculous discount made it quite an obvious unanimous select.

ITC it is.

Scene 3: Hysteria

No other word can describe what we witnessed at Park Street.

Post dinner, we guys turned on the damage recovery mode and decided to conclude the mishap by having a decent cup of coffee @ Park Street Barista. Little did we know that the hypothesis “’Just when you think that life can not suck anymore, a bird shits on you.’ was true.

Hooligans were erupting at Park Street. A wheelie, ugly naked dance on the middle of the street, whacky fights, drunken snotty bastards; they were all available, absolutely free of cost. But the deranged of the evening award goes to bunch of reckless boys which were coming out of a speeding car and pilling beer all over. And guess who the greatest cheerleaders were?? No points for the answer, “The ever alert Kolkata Police”.

Even guy were feeling pretty vulnerable, I couldn’t possibly fathom about the fairer sex. So amidst all the mayhem we decided to hide out in less affordable but better guarded Hotel Park.

Scene 4: The Park Scenario

Like refugees of park street frenzy, we were bestowed shelter in Hotel Park. Hell, it was crowded. Understandably we didn’t expect to get entry at any pub, disc or bar, but all we asked for was a little attitude from the coffee shop. Alas!! Lady luck was pissed with us and not just coffee shop but even the lounge was mobbed.

Drunken rabbles were everywhere, from sofa to floor, from dance floor to stairs. But the scene was in male restroom. A guy sunk in his own puke was lying unconscious. Man unleashes the beast within on special occasions, location no bar. Finally authorities called up an ambulance and the last I remember was when I saw them lifting him like a sack and taking him away.

Anyways petrified of the whole incidence and considering the safety of girls, we headed back to joka-land only to get mocked and deprecated by fellas.

Scene 5: The diamond in the coal mine

Amongst all this crazy set of events, there was a time when clock strike 12. All of us losers, how much ever I don’t want to use this word but can’t find a better fit, were sitting in Balwant ka Dhaba licking our fingers. Not that food was that delicious, but anything after such an atrocious night had to be sweet. Nevertheless, lassi was some serious gourmet shit and was designated toast for the evening. It was the most festive moment of one of the most unforgettable night of my life.

We had seen enough for the day, so thought we, before heading for a coffee.

Scene 6: Verdict

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It may not be the way I conceptualized. But I did spend my new year with my friends; with people who mattered. Few of them were missing, but then...

This time it was different from the usual jazz. Two five stars, one dhaba, one coffee shop and countless hooligans; we did all. Its not about blame game or fault analysis, but forgetting about the sunk cost. The lassi toast, the awesome group hug, I shall never forget this New Year. :)

Labels: Bitching, I, Pet Pooja, Sentiments, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

Such untainted was Amol Gupta’s effort with the script that I was overwhelmed. Simplicity and sincerity were the key ingredients of Aamir Khan’s directorial debut “Tare Zameen Par”. And during the first 15 minutes of the movie I could draw parallels with my life of all the mundane commotions of our naïve protagonist Ishaan, which by the way gave a splendid performance.

The innate similitudes took me back in time when I use to toss gazillion innovative bahanas to bunk school just for one day, pull some crazy prank, add layers of mud over me by the time I am back from school, virtually box with kids next door, run for a kite, get pampered by mom when dad was designated villain, indulge in rowdy peer comparisons, lie precariously, unleash those captive imaginations in most dilapidated manner, fancy a virtual friend, get over protective about my baby sis, get thrown out from class for every single possible reason, get notes of excellence and not-so-excellence and even worse, of disapprobation.

I did it all and I relived those moments when Ishaan did it. Its not about whether it was appropriate or not or my guilt conscious was taking command or something; it just rejuvenated those careless, or should I say apathetic days of my life. It was about the time when I used to be wacky and reckless. Thinking of consequences was not my obligation; ma-pa did that for me. All I was supposed to do was to do, do whatever I please, however I please.

The childhood that’s eroding with every passing day, was gifted back to me in those 3 hours. The genuineness of the movie was because director himself was living each of the moment with Ishaan. There is a scene, where Ishaan was getting late for school and while running for the bus, he saw a mud-hole. He jumped and splashed it all over. Now to think of it, you need to be a kid. You and I are probably too self-conscious to do something like this now, even to think of it. The scene of flipbook exposed the vulnerability of a 9 year old. A thing like this requires getting into the script, feeling the mood of the movie and most importantly pouring your heart out. Aamir did that.

The second half of the movie was even better. It strikes a chord, leaves a itch somewhere. Parents do make their child live their dream, many a times forcefully. Imaginations are curbed as we grow older. Instincts are kept at bay and materialistic results become the benchmark of life. Dreamers, by default, are labelled as losers.

This movie dares to ask why!! And such innocent, yet mature is the approach that it makes you think. It compels introspection. The impact travels from heart to brain, from emotions to thoughts.

It raises even bigger issues like why in a country like India with such a diverse population; innovation is still an occasional hunch. Why do people here make run of a mill choice and not think beyond the horizon? Why kids like Ishaan have to struggle because they dare to be Howard Roark? The flaw is inherent in us and we all are responsible shelling million kids like Ishaan.

So after all this, do I think I’ll let my kid be so independent that it exempts me from his/her every action? The answer is NO. But then that’s the discussion of some other day. This day and this post is about the movie “Taare Zameen Par”. This movie made its way in coveted “Anshul’s Fav Movie” list and I’ll ask all the readers of this blog to do yourself a favour. You owe it to Ishaan in you.

p.s. I don’t feel like discussing the acting, animation and all those things. Trust me, they were all secondary. But before I forget to mention, lyrics and music were phenomenal.

Labels: From the other side of the Lens, I, Lord's review, Memoirs, Sentiments, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

I'm putting up something after God knows how long. Well, sorry for being so irregular and hopefully i'd match my used-to-be frequency soon :). But for now, enjoi this video. Hilarious !!

Labels: Laff Riot, LITBM, WTF

Ok I confess!! I am bad with kids. Bad as in real bad. Most of them would plainly refuse to come to me and if sometimes someone comes to me by mistake, the interaction is sure to end up in a saline free flow. For the clarification, by kids I mean teeny-weeny kiddo who needs to be baby talked and who can’t drink milk from glass (ok as it is a confession, I accept, for kids less than 4 years I’m devil personified). Few days back I was at my uncle’s place for 3 days and my kid cousin refused to talk to me. Poor guy started crying every time I tried to hold him. And I sat contemplating and I came up with possible reasons (I know this blog is turning out to be extremely stupid, but whatever!! My kid bro is afraid of me and didn’t talk to me at all. I’m sad)

1) My size/voice: With my 185cm+ and 90kgs+ built I’m like Gulliver for the Lilliputian kids. And for the lazy bastard I am I refuse to shave daily (ok it’s a weekly thing for me) and I get scarier everyday. And my loud voice does the remaining damage to my reputation. I’m like a living monster. I’m like one of those fantasy devils which moms use to scare kids. But then this part is not under my control. Genetic faults, I would say.

2) Cant baby-talk: I claim to be very creative and a blabber-mouth. But when it comes to kids, I can’t talk for more than a second. I’ve realized that my monologue skills are directly proportional to size of the person.

3) Scared of kids: As embarrassed I am to accept it, it is a fact. I’m extremely scared of them especially when they curl in my arms. I think they are fragile and I’ll end up doing some harm. And even more than that, I can’t see a kid crying. My aunt kept on saying, let him cry for a minute but take him out and he will become ok. But no thank-you!! I’m scared of crying babies.

I guess I have to wait for another 3 years before I could properly talk to my bro. But only saving grace is my kid sis who found her new best friend in me. Yaaayyy!! We had so much fun together. And my entire family was, OMG!! A kid with bi2. It’s worth a foto. :D

p.s. happy first birthday Yash!! Love you bro. :)

Labels: I, Sentiments, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

statutory warning : Explicit content. Proceed at your own peril. Author wont be responsible if this post hurts feelings or offends anyone. Only fun intended.


sweet17: Hi
bloodninja: hello
bloodninja: who is this?
sweet17: just a someone?
bloodninja: A someone I know?
sweet17: nope
bloodninja: Then why the hell are you bothering me?
sweet17: well sorrrrrry
sweet17: I just wanted to chat with you
bloodninja: why?
sweet17: nevermind your an jerk
bloodninja: Hey wait a minute
sweet17: yes?
bloodninja: look I’m sorry. I’m just a little paranoid
sweet17: paranoid?
bloodninja: yes
sweet17: of what?
sweet17: me?
bloodninja: No. I’m in hiding.
sweet17: LOL
bloodninja: Don’t fucking laugh at me!
bloodninja: This shit is serious!
sweet17: What are you hiding from?
bloodninja: The cops.
sweet17: gimme a fucking break
bloodninja: I’m serious.
sweet17: I don’t get it
bloodninja: The cops are after me.
sweet17: For what?
bloodninja: I’m wanted in three states
sweet17: For???
bloodninja: It’s kindof embarrasing.
bloodninja: I had sex with a turkey.
bloodninja: Hello?
sweet17: You are fucking sick.
bloodninja: Send me your picture.
sweet17: why?
bloodninja: so I know you aren’t one of them.
sweet17: One of what?
bloodninja: The cops.
sweet17: I’m not a cop i told you
bloodninja: Then send me your picture.
sweet17: hold on
bloodninja: Hurry up.
bloodninja: Are you there?
bloodninja: fuck you, cop!
sweet17: Hey sorry
sweet17: I had to do something for my mom.
bloodninja: I thought you were trying to find a picture to send to me.
bloodninja: When really you were notifying the authorities.
bloodninja: Weren’t you!?
sweet17: thats not it
bloodninja: Then what?
sweet17: I don’t want to send you the picture cause I’m not pretty
bloodninja: Most cops aren’t
sweet17: IM NOT A FUCKING COP YOU DICKSHIT!
bloodninja: Then send me the picture.
sweet17: fine. What’s your e-mail?
bloodninja: Just send it through here.
sweet17: alright *PIC*
sweet17: Did you get it?
bloodninja: Hold on. I’m looking.
sweet17: That was me back in may
sweet17: I’ve lost weight since then.
bloodninja: I hope so
sweet17: what?!?
sweet17: that hurt my feelings.
bloodninja: Did it?
sweet17: Yes. I’m not that much smaller than that now.
bloodninja: Will it make you feel better if I send you my picture?
sweet17: yes
bloodninja: Alright let me find it.
sweet17: kks
bloodninja: Okay here it is. *PIC*
sweet17: this isn’t you.
bloodninja: I’ll be damned if it ain’t!
sweet17: You don’t look like that.
bloodninja: How the hell do you know?
sweet17: cause your profile has another picture.
bloodninja: The profile pic is a fake.
bloodninja: I use it to hide from the cops.
sweet17: You look like the Farm Fresh guy lol
bloodninja: Well, you look like you ATE the Farm Fresh guy….
bloodninja: Not to mention all the groceries.
sweet17: Go fuck yourself
bloodninja: I was going to until I saw that picture
bloodninja: Now my unit won’t get hard for a week.
sweet17: I shouldn’t have sent you that picture.
sweet17: You’ve done nothing but slam me.
sweet17: you hurt me.
bloodninja: And calling me the Farm Fresh guy doesn’t hurt me?
sweet17: I thought you were bullcrapping me!
bloodninja: Why would I do that?
sweet17: I can’t believe that cops are after you
bloodninja: I can’t believe Santa lets you sit on his lap..
sweet17: FUCK YOU!!!
bloodninja: You’d break both of his legs.
sweet17: You’re a fucking wanker!
sweet17: I’ve been teased my whole life because of my weight
sweet17: and you make fun of me when you don’t even know me
bloodninja: Ok. I’m sorry.
sweet17: No you aren’t
bloodninja: You’re right. I’m not.
bloodninja: HAARRRRR!
sweet17: I’m done with you
bloodninja: Aww. I’m sorry.
sweet17: I’m putting you on ignore
bloodninja: Wait a sec
bloodninja: We got off on the wrong foot.
bloodninja: Wanna start over?
sweet17: No
bloodninja: I’ll eat your kitty

sweet17: You’ll what?
bloodninja: You heard me.
bloodninja: I said I’d eat your kitty.
sweet17: I thought you said you couldn’t get it hard after seeing my picture
bloodninja: Do I need a hard-on to eat your kitty?
sweet17: I’d like to know that the man eating me out is excited yes
bloodninja: Well I’m not like most men.
bloodninja: I get excited in different ways.
sweet17: Like what?
bloodninja: Do you really wanna know?
sweet17: I don’t know
bloodninja: You have to tell me yes or no.
sweet17: I’m afraid to
bloodninja: Why?
sweet17: cause
bloodninja: cause why?
sweet17: well lets see
sweet17: you say you have sex with turkeys. You call me fat. then you wanna eat me out
sweet17: doesn’t that seem strange to you?
bloodninja: Nope
sweet17: well its strange to me
bloodninja: Fine. I won’t do it if you don’t want me to
sweet17: I didn’t say that
bloodninja: So is that a yes?
sweet17: I guess so.
bloodninja: Ok. I need your help getting excited though.
bloodninja: Are you willing?
sweet17: What do you need me to do?
bloodninja: I need you talk like a pirate.
sweet17: ???
bloodninja: When I start to go limp… you say “HARRRR!!!”
bloodninja: ok?
bloodninja: Hello?
sweet17: You can’t be serious
bloodninja: Oh yes I am!
bloodninja: It’s my fantasy.
sweet17: this is retarded
bloodninja: Do you want it or not?
sweet17: Yes I want it.
bloodninja: Then you’ll do it for me?
sweet17: sure
bloodninja: Ok. Here we go.
bloodninja: I gently remove your panties and being to massage your thighs.
bloodninja: You get really juicy thinking about my tounge brushing up against them
bloodninja: I softly begin to tounge your wet kitty.
bloodninja: I run my tounge up and down your smooth cunt.
sweet17: mmmm yeah
bloodninja: uh oh …going limp.
sweet17: Har
bloodninja: You gotta do better than that!
bloodninja: Your picture was really bad.
sweet17: HARRRRRRRRRRRR
bloodninja: Ahhhh. Much better. I feel your kitty get more moist with every stroke.
bloodninja: I softly suck on your clit bringing it in and out of my mouth.
bloodninja: Your juices run down my chin as your scent makes its way to my nose.
bloodninja: I begin to feel empowered by your femininity.
sweet17: mmmmmm you are good
bloodninja: I feel your thighs tighten as I fuck harder
bloodninja: going limp
sweet17: HARRRRRRR
bloodninja: Mmmm I grab your swelling buttocks in my hands.
bloodninja: You begin to sway back and forth.
bloodninja: going limp
sweet17: this is stupid
bloodninja: …still limp
bloodninja: Do it!
sweet17: HARRRRRRRRRRRRR
bloodninja: I turn you around to lick your asshole.
bloodninja: I pry apart that battleship you call your ass.
bloodninja: I see poo nuggets hanging from the hair around your ass.
sweet17: WTF?!?!?
bloodninja: They stink really bad.
sweet17: OMG STOP!!!
bloodninja: I start to get fed up with your ugly ass
bloodninja: I tear off your wooden peg leg.
bloodninja: I ram it up your ass.
sweet17: YOURE A FUCKING PYSCHO!!
bloodninja: Then I pour hot carmel over your head.
bloodninja: And turn you into a fucking candy apple…
bloodninja: I kick you in the face!
sweet17: FUCK YOU DICKHEAD!!
bloodninja: The celluloid from your cheeks hits the side of the cabin…
bloodninja: Your parrot flys away.
bloodninja: …going limp again.
bloodninja: Hello?
bloodninja: Say it!
bloodninja: HAARRRRRR!!!!!

Labels: Laff Riot, LITBM, WTF

In one word “Liverpool Sucked!!” I never thought I’d say that but I am. It was their worst game in long-long time and they played exceptionally bad. Everything was disjointed. Chelsea didn’t need to make any steals; Liverpool anyways was passing ball to them. Possession was completely ignored. Only surprise was Reina’s performance. O Dear Reina!! Savior of pride of “the Reds”. Thank You!!

I’m in a big-big shock to write anything about this match. But the worst part of the game was Rafa’s tactics. It was blown apart. There were millions of flaws. To start with

1) Why no player at far-post even for one corner?

2) Why no attack from right wing, that’s our strength and we all know Zenden is major out of form this season. And Pennant is playing his best football ever.

3) Why not Gerrard in centre midfield and Pennant to start as right winger

4) Why no Crouch to start with? Chelsea in weak in set-pieces and air. Crouch and Kuyt can launch a virtual air raid and also feather-weight crouch attracts a million fouls near the box, like a magnet.

This much is more than enough to give way a win even when Chelsea was not playing a good game. But the only saving grace is the fact that next game is at Anfield and Liverpool is tough nut to crack there. But a lot of introspection has to go in it

Hope to see a much better performance at Anfield. Come on!! You can do it. But whatever, you’ll never walk alone. J

Verdict

Liverpool

Best payer: Reina, Gerrard, Crouch
Worst payer: Arbeloa (he is much better that what we saw of him last night), Alonso (where was he in the first half), Rafa Benitez (reasons above).

Chelsea

Best player: Drogba, Carvalho (I always say, he is much better than Terry), Makalele
Worst player : Sheva, Kalou

Labels: Lord's review, Soccer, Sports, WTF, YNWA

A supersonic thriller. Kaka is God and Dida should be hanged. Both showed moments of brilliance twice. Bah! And AC lost 3-2. Could I be more pissed??

5^th min and Dida almost held a ball by Ronaldo’s header but wait; he pushed it in back of net. “Thank you very much!!” says Ronaldo. 1-0 ManU. Dida was actually petrified. He was paler than Dada facing Shoaib. He was trembling and shivering. God saves AC.

But then it was brilliance of Italian midfield on the pitch. Gattuso hit Englishmen, the English way. Hard and plenty. He sure is backbone of AC’s game. And I told ya, Seedorf was a force to reckon with.

And then all of a sudden came the second goal of the match. Kaka pulled it through out of nowhere. Absolutely brilliant. If AC has Dida, ManU has Carrick. It could not have been worse for him. He just saw Kaka past by him and so did Van der Sar, and BANG!! The jacket hanging at the back of the net was dancing with a brilliant left footer by the Brazilian.

No it was not over. Just before half time, Kaka again! This time even better. Carrick, Evra, Heinze were spellbound, confused and Van der Sar helpless. Kaka hit the net again with one of the most creative moves of the season, garnished by the lethal right footed finish. 2-1. AC in control at half time. “Sir” Alex fucked royally. Old Trafford fans were gasping with a big mouth open.

In first half, ManU tried few futile attempts at goals and despite Dida at post, AC managed to keep them off courtesy Nesta.

But at half time two things hit AC. Firstly, substitution of Maldini and Gattuso (well, his was almost half time) and secondly, and more problematic a thing call complacency. One should not underestimate any team at a UCL semifinal. And certainly not when you are on the road. This problem is not new for AC though, they faced more of it 2 yrs back in Istanbul in final against Liverpool.

Gattuso was heavily missed in the midfield. And Pirlo is just not at his best this whole season. He was imperious last season. Together with Gattuso he makes a formidable pair just that he is not performing this season. Anyways AC’s attacks were getting fewer in number. But they managed to keep Ronaldo quiet, but Scholes and Rooney got louder.

Suddenly, in one of such moves, Scholes lofted ball was held at Rooney’s chest and only thing between him and net was poor Dida. I smiled “here comes the equalizer”.2-2. Game on!!

Not much happened till injury time and I was thrilled with the scorecard. Good Old Traffordians are going to have nightmares. But Dida was not quite finished yet. In injury time, on a counter run on a highly slippery pitch Rooney got the ball and Nesta was running alongside. He did all good to block far-post and Rooney was left with no other option then to shoot near-post. And another flash of brilliance by Dida. And Old Trafford went berserk. I was like WTF!! 3-2 L

It’s over. Its UCL knock-out again, it’s a 90+ goal again, and is it a fate-sealer again? We have to wait and see in 2^nd leg.

Verdict – top 3

AC

Best player: Kaka, Gattuso, Seedorf
Worst player: Dida, Dida, Dida

ManU

Best player: Ronaldo, no one else impressed me
Worst player: Carrick, Evra, Heinze

Labels: Lord's review, Soccer, Sports, WTF

i have a threshhold, i have a fucking threshold. i might burst. i might do a "rang de basanti"

Labels: Death, Sentiments, WTF

came across this hilarious mail sent all over...go thru it, the info in the mail is incorrect in the first place...the lengths that ppl go to to promote religion!!!

Iron Maiden [the band is named after an instrument of torture] are slated to perform live in Bangalore on March 17th, 2007. This explains why it is suggested for Christians to stay away and to inform their friends too. "Unleash the Beast Within" is the caption of a full-page advertisement released in the New Indian Express and other newspapers of March 2, 2007, welcoming to India the rock band, Iron Maiden, which "ranks fourth on MTV's 'Top 10 Greatest Heavy Metal Bands of all time'.It also states that their 1982 album "The Number of the Beast" was a Top Ten hit in 1982, and their single, "Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter " was the fastest ever to hit number one.

We are informed that the band's mascot, Eddie- that looks like a partially-decomposed corpse- "is a perennial fixture in the band's horror-influenced album cover art, as well as in live shows ."
I submit 'The Number of the Beast' as evidence that a deadly serious Satan is right now bargaining for the very souls and minds of our children. Billboard magazine's full page ads proclaimed the record as being 'Forged in the fires of Hell' which it undoubtedly was. The album can only be described as satanic.

Some of the album's song titles are equally revealing: 'Children of the Damned', 'The Number of the Beast', 'Hallowed be Thy Name', 'Run to the Hills'.

This verse is repeated as a spoken introduction just before the song 'The Number of the Beast' begins. Here are some of the lyrics to that particular song: 'In the night the fires are burning bright / The ritual has begun / Satan's work is done…/ I'm coming back / I will return / And I'll posses your body / And I'll make you burn

Iron Maiden are slated to perform live in Bangalore on March 17th, 2007.
Plz stay off this concert !

p.s. its a copy paste from orkut iron maiden india community.

Labels: Laff Riot, Strings and Drums, WTF

was just going thru this news.

so now they are making JEE a objective type paper. cool !! ministry of HRD is all set to degrade one of the best exam all over the world. and the reason they give it for this brainless move is that it will help reducing stress. roflmao !! JEE is all about the few guys who can take that stress. i dont want to sound like a bragget, but i have had it and i jhelofied it. and so did a lot of my frnds. if they can, i can, why cant anyone else.

wat is troubling me even more is the fact that every year they are virtually screwing up the level of the paper. the peak was achieved in 90's when the each paper just had 6-10 ques and all of them were directly summoned from geeky hell. that time they were looking more for the approach rather than the exact answer. but now attention is shifting from intelligence to speed. but then CAT is there for that. why compromising on JEE. let it be wat it is known for. let it be one of the toughest paper around.

and with quota system just about to be implimented, no wonder level will fall even more. with objective ques they will miss out the most important thing, that all guys at iit seem to have i.e. approach to solve a particular problem. its about that lateral thinking. its about rugged schedules, never ending nightouts, and conceptual brilliance. JEE was never tough for the one who is thorough with the concepts. ofcourse hardwork is the key for that. and after that, a lil bit of confidence and traces of luck will land u into iit.

but now, i dont know wat they are looking for.i just hope that this day never arrives when a company recruiting ppl ask one to put in the resume which year he/she cleared JEE. its already getting tougher to get schols in US univs these days. and thes stupid policies will be final nail in the coffin.

and all i can do is curse them and write this blog !! :(

Labels: Bitching, Wandering Thoughts, WTF

a home that can withstand heavy rains, enough to submerge half the town, may not be able to counter carelessness of few dumbos, who claim to be one of the most intelligent ppl of this country.
needless to say, i too am a proud member of that list. :P

it was a cool saturday morning, and all of us were bizzy getting rid of last week's fatigue..by rolling into bed late in the morning..hmm correction..noon.
*if its morning, its not late..isnt it ??*
such puny things count more than any high end leisures, once college life is replaced by a rather more hectic "corporate life".
and lucky i m to get roomies who belong to similar school of thought.

ok enuf, lets carry on to the story..

so, i wake up at..i guess 11..to find other 3 are still in "aagosh of nidra devi". ;) though i was subdued and dizzy, but still cant forget those hilarious postures. one was smiling mildly..i m sure thr was some hot and sexy lassy in her dreams.other had his mouth wide open, he was sleeping like a baby but snoring like a bear, and yet other..cant see his face, he had packed himself in a blanket..
*they were gaurav,punit and anjan, but i dont exactly remeber who was who*

nyways, i started the day with all normal activities, and while shaving i realized, the water-tank at roof-top is about to dry up...grrr.."DARN !!" said i, and ran downstairs to turn on the pump.i reached at ground floor only to find out, there was no power for last two hours.though sleepy, i was smart enough to place a mug under the tap to hold on last few drops for a face wash. when i came back upstairs, i found tht mug empty and one of my roomie laughing and showing middle finger to my smartness. :P

meanwhile, we tried a futile attempt to "jugaad" a mugfull of water from all the taps at home, but failed miserably.reluctantly, we had to consume all of our drinking water to clean ourself up.the only good thing was, we all got a valid reason for not taking a bath. so one of the adventurous souls suggested lets go to hyderabad house (this place makes best biryani and kebabs in bangalore) and then to marathalli (this place has lots of factory outlets) to celebrate the salary we got recently."Bravo!! Bravo!!"

yeah, before i forget to tell, one of my roomie "gautam" was at his frnd's home last night, so it was four of us who went for this day-out :P. we called him and told bout our plans, and confirmed that he had a duplicate key with him, and then hailed for an auto.

next 6 hours were bindas masti, ate nice food, earned a lot of bonus points on our credit cards and tons of jokes throughout.

then suddenly i heard "woh lamhe", my cell was ringing. and ..
anshul : hello

gautam : sala, kahan hai tum ??
*needless to say, he is bihari*

anshul : hum bhi ghar aa rahe hai, auto main baithe hai..ka hua ??
*when u talk to a bihari, talk in biahri*

gautam : sala, tumhe pata hai ki kya hua hai ghar mein ?

anshul : kya hua bhai ??

gautam : sala hum abh ghar mein ghuse to dekha, poore ghar mein paani bhara hua hai!!

anshul : WHAT !!!!!!!!!! :O :O

gaurav,punit,anjan : abe kya hua be ??

anshul : gautam bol raha hai ghar mein paani bhar gaya !!
WHAT !!!!!!!!!!! * 3, :O * 6*

anshul : kitna paani hai be ??

gautam : abe bahut jyada hai, wat lag gaya hai..ek room ka to. dono matress literally float kar raha hai..mera joota aadha paani mein doob gaya hai.

anshul : WTF !!!! kaise hua be yeh ??

gautam : yehi hum tujhse poochne wale the !! *for a bihari, he is surprisingly cool*

anjan*literally shouts* : are beta !! subah paani nahi tha..to ghar pe saare nal khule chor gaye honge..

*damn !!!!!!!,cried us all*

*gautam overheard him on fone*
gautam : height hai carelessness ki !!!

anshul : chup be sale, tu jaldi se kuch kar, hum log 1 ghante mein pahuch rahe hai.
*anshul ponders and turn pale, bhak !! comp to floor pe hi pada hua tha, wat lag gayi beta*

anshul : abe comp ke paas paani to nahi hai na ??
*oh god !! not near comp, kahin bhi aur chalega*

gautam : nahi, bach gaye..us room tak paani nahi pahucha !!
*ohhhhhhh !!!!!!!!!!, sigh of relief*

gaurav : abe tera i-pod !! woh bhi jameen pe hi pada tha !!
* we all could see fear of death in his eyes !!* :D

gautam : dekh liya !! u are lucky, usse kuch nahi hua !!
again *ohhhh !!!!!!!!!, sigh of relief*

anshul : chal theek hai, do watever u can..hum log ghar pahuch rahe hai !!

*click!!*
*click!!*

we reached home in about 45 mins. the door was wide open. i stepped in first and *chappak*, i thought "anshul in waterland!!".cant explain condition of home. a top notch mess. auuugghhh !!!!

finally to get over tht trauma, junta bought some booze. we first threw all wet matresses and blankets on the roof and then sat besides. unlid the RS and i went on with my pepsi. came back to flat at 3 in the morning, and reached a unanimous decision, we have to go to some other home to spend tht night. and took off immediatly.

i know after reading so long, you wont like me giving you funda, but a small one is more or less mandatory.

"pray to God, you wont fall under such drastic condition, for i know, if histroy repeats itself, which it will, like me, you too will commit same blunder"

Labels: I, Memoirs, WTF