Kaali teri choti tay paranda tera laal nee.

This song came on very randomly somewhere around Chichawatni. Chichawatni, by the way, isn't on Mars it isn't a name concocted by an autistic child very high on some psychotic drug, its actually the name of a seriously dilapidated city which sorta props up on your way towards Karachi. It is another in the long list that I just may some day compile of absolutely goshwoggling names of cities. Peelu Wains, however, will forever head this potentially mind-fucking list.
So this song, black your braid and the fake braid(?) red, came on randomly on the bloody cassette the driver owned. It ended up triggering this weird as being fucked in the ear feeling. It was a bit like nostalgia, but only a bit… mostly it was that tell tale gulp which you get when watching dependably predictable Indian movies when a tragedy is about to transpire. You don't want the cute as a button heroine to get brutally raped by the hideous Gulshan Grover, or some equally repugnant dude, but its all set to happen cuz if it dun than moti the kutta (dog) will not die trying to save Jackie the hero who will kill himself in the end anyway cuz he was singing songs on the top of a moving train while his lovely senorita was taking it up all the wrong holes and cuz his doggie died trying to save his sorry ass so why give a damn fuck about the dog's sacrifice or the girl's sad demise and just croak at the firstest opportunity. But this whole plot is from an entirely different movie to the one the aforementioned song is from. In fact, and this is the sad part, I could not, for the love of the only woman I actually want, recall what movie the phucking song is from. I couldn't but I knew that it either had some nasty hindi twist happening during it or shortly after it or whatever and the feeling if not the movie has stuck fast somewhere under all the damn gore inside my head.
It's quite like how we react to smells. Certain perfumes, for example. Rumba, a fairly cheap perfume in the most grossly designed box ever will forever remind me of the woman who I fell in love with before I even really knew what the fuck love actually was. She is sadly married now with a dude who belongs to the same phucking clan that my ex belongs to. This sucks on many levels but none that can possibly earn me any pity sex from any one at all so I don't mention this somewhat cruel but mostly repulsive irony to anyone but it hurts, oh it hurts so… please, anyone… sleep with me to cum all over the scars inside my head or heart or all over my… well
Yes, okay, I'm horny. This is what happens when you end up with a gosh danged hot as freshly bbqed mutton tikka chick from BWP and don't do jack despite all her umm… tits in your face type tactics… because you're on an 'official' tour and sadly enough getting some in the ball sack of hell does not earn any Kudos in shitsville, Pakistan.
This makes me wonder what exactly the merit is in this 'cautious' approach towards life. They do not make movies about people who say no to stuff. They just don't, it's a sad state of affairs, or perhaps a sad state of our entertainment industry but the ways of the normal do not make for a good cinematic experience. But when you have issues like honor and legacy and respect etc. clogging your head it is hard to find the reckless abandon which led you to get your freaka on in parking lots and girlfriend's brother's bed. I do believe this is what they call maturity. And I must say, its sucks. I always thought… nay, I always BELIEVED that I was the sort who would gladly be used by a gold digging wench looking for a quick lift into the professional stratosphere which an American degree has gotten you to, but alas, I am not. Dad's decision to go chill in limbo might have something to do with it, it has more than something to do with most of everything I do off late. Or don't do. Being an orphan changes you. At least at my age it does, and I feel, it should. Whether it should interfere with the pursuit of poonan is a matter of opinion, I suppose, but even if what was right got done in the end, I am not particularly elated about it.
What I am elated about, however, is my ability to tear assholes a new asshole. Its disgusting how some people, okay MOST people, will look at an initiative geared towards empowering the down trodden as an opportunity to fill their coffers further as if the blood of the weak hasn't filled it beyond capacity already. I used to be extremely volatile, when angry. Still am but only when really really angry. The boiling point has risen considerably over the past couple of years and the net result is that I'm so much smarter now than I used to be. Whoever said patience is a virtue fucking hit the bull's-eye. Patience is one of the most awesomest skills any one can possess. Not only does it allow you to retain dumbass idiots with hearts of gold in your ensemble of acquaintances, it also allows you to always, ALWAYS reach the best damn conclusion. Anger leads to mistakes, invariably. Anger should be harnessed. Anger should be used. And it is patience which allows you to rein your anger in. Plus, if you allow the person arguing with you to keep going to the logical end of their anger fed argument, more often than naught they will self-destruct. Then you can utter a casual 'I rest my case' with the most irritating self assured smile on your nicotine-stained lips and viola, the person's ego will go kablooie. Of course it is vital to be absolutely certain of your own argument because it's very likely that you will be the one self destructing. Wherein, the ability to bull shit will come to your rescue. The most successful people in the world are nothing but great bull shitters… unless their pathetic geeks like Bill Gates… if you ain't got the smarts, you gotta have the shit…the bull shit.
And thus armed with my twin Deagles, P and BS, I take on the world everyday whether it's in LHR or BWP or In the arms of the most buxom women since the ex. Funny thing, she even had a mole on her left udder. Now that I think of it that was possibly the hugest reason I balked when I should have actually soldiered on.
Any how, there is no point crying over spilt milk or unspilt milk, heh, gross. I'm so gross its incredible. I caught myself digging the other day and I burst out laughing, wondering how long I have been exploring the nether regions of my own nose without even realizing it. It doesn't really matter does it? I mean. Its my fucking nose and my fucking finger, if you don't wanna 'hang' with someone who digs, up yours. Of course I know enough to not dig in public, just as I know enough to not fart at seminars, or burp at parties but I'd like to be around people I can dig in front of when I'm in chill mode. I'd like to be friends with fellow diggers, I'd like to have a fellow digger for a spouse. Ah, yes. Digging ability and tolerance go up there on the ever expanding list for potential wives. I started out with one point, the love for weed, I now have around 5784. 5786 now. But that's what it comes down to. Sad part is that none of these desired attributes have jack to do with the normal stuff you'd look for like, sense of humor, or good cook, or huge gazongas, or a brain. My list is more like the stuff that you'd be NOT looking for.
Smoking Pot, eager and able to give BJs, killer rizla roller (the gravity bong ain't built for sharing), smoker with the ability to hold off while preggers and yes I swear to quit along with her, NOT a drunk, drunk women are incorrigible, hijabans will strip off on table tops when drunk, that is not acceptable behavior. Non manipulative! Now this in a woman is no short of a miracle. Yeah I know I'm gonna get a lot of 'lurve' for this one, but you know what, face the truth. Women are manipulative, its nature. Just like guys are horny. You may think yur not, you may believe yur not, but you are, my dear. You are.
Huge gazongas! Yes! Please please lord let me have a woman with the most perfect of all racks. I'm sorry if this sounds shallow, I truly am, but I like them big. I just do. Yes I know I said that this list does not include this particular requirement but I lied.
Speaking of lying, sense of humor is a must! I need a woman who can make people laugh.
NON NAGGING. Gosh, this is probably an even bigger deal than the non manipulative thing cuz seriously, even women know they nag.
NON HYPOCRITE. Women, are the most judicious people in the world. But when it comes to significant others and themselves, it's like if I hug a female friend I'm a cockroach but if you do and I freak out just like you have I'm still a cockroach. What's up with that? Either be okay with me doing what you're doing or don't do it yourself. Admittedly, most women aren't this way, I have known some very fair women but never as a love interest. I would like to though, then I can stop being jealous and start giving out bear hugs on the street.
And so the list goes on and on but the fact is that most of these terms are extremely negotiable. End of the day, I just want to be with someone who I actually want to be with. You know? Who I can lie next to and feel totally at ease with. Even if she doesn't have huge gazongas or pretty hands or compassion for the suffering of mankind or a desire to blow me at all hours of the day, as long as she and I can both lie entwined on a single bed in utter silence, stoned out of our fucking heads, I'll be happy.
Until then though, I'm passing up poonan like I'm a fucking priest and that makes absolutely zero damn sense. So if you want to hitch a ride to the next to top tier of the corporate ladder and are not a virgin please feel free to contact me, I assure you, I will not act like a silly self-righteous prick this time around.
Speaking of priests, I met a real life one the other day and was totally bowled over by the audacity of a humanoid in this day and age to be absolutely selfless. Its incredible, this guy is from Malta, and despite the name this citrusy place is fucking heaven compared to here but here is where he is, pulling a Mother Theresa for nothing more than the absolute faith that after apocalypse has come and gone it's the rest of us who'll be feasting on his snot balls till the end of eternity, which incidentally will never come cuz its eternity, stupid. How cool is that? Its like this guy KNOWS, you know, he's all smug in his beliefs and he's looking at us like what fucking retards, they're pissing their lives away after material gains and red sports cars and hot women and power and all for what, all you'll get in the end is a 6 x 3 pit full of sand or not even that if you prefer being vaporized. It led me to readjust a lot of my beliefs, this guy did. Come to think of it, this encounter may also have played a part in the failed episode of wannabe Lewinski 's dream comes true.
No, I'm just looking for excuses to justify my inexcusable behavior. This is weird cuz It now seems that I tend to write nonsense even when I'm entirely sober. I'm so sober that it's like being born again and yet I'm blabbering like my mind's ensconced in haze.
2,117 words, says Word and I plan on posting this on the blog. Lately I've begun to wonder whether I post on the blog to:

1. Purge
2. Bitch
3. Whine
4. Be read
5. Read my shit myself like the narcissist that I am
6. None of the above
7. All of the above

But I have no clue.
I still have no clue what fucking movie that fucking song is from. Or why I actually did not take up on the most blatant come on I have received in several years. I don't even really know why I'm still up writing this.
I guess the answer is: go to sleep shithead.
Good night.
And good luck.
And by the way, aren't women who sleep with men for practical considerations utter sluts?
And even if they are, why the hell should it bother the dude she's sleeping with?
Good bye.