Of unceremonious returns

There’s this theory we heard in school. Heard, not learnt. You never LEARN anything even remotely useful ever, only hear it. And then because you weren’t told to remember it or adhere to it or use it as life guiding philosophy it’s basically useless, redundant banter in the back ground to the Pythagorean theorem, that I have yet to use in anything that can earn me a penny. But I fucking remember the hypotenuse and the squaring of the sides, and the sneaky bastard math teachers who would throw in the under root thingie just so students like me who suck at maths COULD NOT pass the course. I remember it like the license plate number on that car we followed all the way from KC to canal view back in ’96. Its one of those things that I get to remind old friends of. Which is weird because the friend I reminded of the license plate was the one who got some from the excursion, while I got to drive, like a maniac, for a measly spit swap. And yet I remember the number… I remember the darndest things. I don’t remember my ex’s phone number, which is actually a good thing considering how sad it would be if I did, but its also scary considering how often I used to dial that number and that its not really been long enough to start forgetting contact info, also since I still not only remember well, but can dial at warp speed, the number of the teacher we used to harass with crank calls about a decade or so ago.

But then, this damn post is not about the things I remember and get to remind forgetful friends of. This is about vice versa.

And vice versa in this context is a theory we heard in school. Who came up with it, I do not know. Could very well have been me(doubt it), because I used to do that. Make up weird ass theories about life and love and aliens and such without really knowing a damn thing about any of it. Which could be the reason I wasn’t really popular in school.
Any way....

So this theory that a friend reminded me of yesterday goes like this:

The theory of Pinto and Minto (names changed for reasons of forgetfulness (he just told me yesterday… I have truly smoked too much weed)) (notice the equation-like double-bracketing there, I do remember mathematics though):-

Man, in life does everything stupid that he does (also most of the brave things that he gets applauded for) because of two tiny fungi that go by the names of Pinto and Minto.

Imagine the size of the finger of a fungus, now imagine that finger belongs to Pinto, who lives in the rectal cavity of a man’s ass. Now imagine, every time you feel compelled to do anything even remotely ‘Interesting’, it’s because of Pinto’s tiny finger ‘khurking’ you up the ass. Khurking means, scratching, which when carried out inside an ass as opposed to on the outside surface of it, has an amplified effect, which causes the brain to stop functioning which leads to men doing things like head stands to impress women (?!) or lets say, attending an ex’s wedding, drunk, while firmly believing that a scene will not be created. Only to find out that the mere sight of you leads the ex to feint out of sheer fear, in her magnificent red wedding gown, which qualifies as a scene because it happens on the stage.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, fuelled gratuitously by the booze, you forget that you have been dumped and abandoned and NOT the groom at this wedding, and rush to her side to cradle her swooning head in your lap. The only thing that stops you from pulling a Prince Charming and sleeping beauty fiasco is well… the fact that your breath smells like third rate booze perhaps, or maybe, the fact that you are surrounded by dangerous looking men who are rolling up their sleeves in order to drive the golden devil out of you by force.

Lets not go into what happens later, because it’s not pretty and it his nothing to do with the P-M Rectal Insurgence Theorem. What happens later happens to knock some sense into you; that’s providence at work to undermine the work of Pinto the fungi. It’s almost like trying to instill an aversion to stupidity with the threat of bodily harm. Which would work, which truly would work. If it weren’t for Pinto’s incessant refusal to learn and cooperate. Why pray tell, would Pinto not cooperate? Because Pinto is to Minto what a man is to Pinto.

Yes, you guessed it, while man must contend with an itchy fungi up his ass, the itchy fungi must contend with an itchy fungi up it’s ass. And Its Minto khurking Pinto that leads pinto to khurking us. And therefore, next time you(I) pull a blinder, the kind that the world has never seen, I will be quick to blame the fungi up the ass of the fungi up my ass.

Yes that would do nicely I would think. Even though there may very well be a Linto to every Minto but that would unnecessarily complicate things. We need someone to blame, and two tiers down would do nicely, what with Pinto being so close and all, picking on him would be unfair.

I wonder if farting really hard would dislodge the bugger and restore some semblance of maturity to life, but then the theory never developed far enough to tackle such questions.

In case you are wondering why I choose to return to blogging with this anal/banal piece of writing, I have no clue.

Blame it on Minto.

Interesting facts :

*Words first spell check choice for Khurking? Churching!

*’The wedding fiasco mentioned above, had nothing to do with me, luckily, but is a legend associated with a ‘cousin’.

*Pinto and Minto do exist. As surely as Man.
And stupidity.