Officially it's spring. The sound of sniffles, sneezes and prolonged snoring will soon be replaced by more musical notes. Swishing trees and twittering birds and suchlike ( though of course, it is no longer necessary for one to be a birdie to twitter) Yes, spring is on the move and let us hope that the wool has not reached uptil our eyes.
Winter has been a slow time. The library clock, in fact,gave up waiting for it to pull up at 8:40 one day. Several other clocks also decided to call it a life . The one in my room however insists on being the maverick of the Clock Kingdom and keeps ticking to glory, smug faced. Stupid thing should join Enid Blyton's crew. No music, the bellow of an alarm, even if 'tis spring.
Speaking of spring, one's conscience might hesitantly try to put in a word about spring cleaning. That is a wonderful thought and a very pertinent one too, especially since it is only by using the most sophisticated of GIS tools that I could locate my only remaining clean sock's twin. Of course the missing twin had picked up a couple of piercings and quite a tan on its vacation so the other twin denied recognizing it and soon a sad song that K-serials save for dying/rebirth/slapping scenes filled the room.
And then suddenly spring happened and well, it was Season 2. Stay where you are, we'll be right back.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Frost-Byte
Initially this post was supposed to be a parody on the Six Concepts, a die-if-you-haven't-read-it kind of architecture essay, by Bernard Tschumy ( and go die if you haven't heard of him ).
However my optic nerve refused to have anything to do with the essay and also passed the unfair judgement that Tschumy talked gibberish, and also that Six Concepts was itself a parody.
The post could have taken shape much before, since the world is not short of gibberish ideas but then there cropped up another obstacle. Something far more personal, even physical.
Frosted Fingers.
Beglove 'em, burn 'em, boil 'em, they're still bound to turn a bitter blue if the winters in your place are bad enough to trigger Penguin Sighting Expeditons around. Mummify them and they may turn a putrid green. Other rainbow colors might show up if you explore other sciences of frosted-finger prevention.
Those sciences are crap, I learnt when one faced by this terrible affliction and so this post was put on hold for an indefinite time.
Now today when some unexpected sunshine interrupted the grey weather's miserable run, I felt defrosted enough to put my fingers to use. But fingers, one learns, show a large amount of hysterisis or they probably like to stay stuck together, so all I could manage was some random WHAM!!!! WHAM!!!! on the keypad. And so this post came out to be...
When one skims through it, one can almost sense an undercurrent of coherence through the jumble of random alphabets. Can you? I am fascinated by how that bored WHAM!! WHAM!! session could produce a couple of intelligible words. In the middle of this experimental post, if you search hard enough, you'll find TWO words which can be spotted easily in any Archaic English Dictionary. WHAM, WHAM ofcourse. To decode the rest of the words, try the Pox-ford Dictionary of Gibberish.
Infact, Tschumy might have chanced upon the same happy discovery too. Master of everything that he was, he might have got up and danced on the typewriter keys to roll out that gobsmacking piece of work- Six Concepts- that was hastily lauded by critics worldwide, before anyone could mention actually reading the sticky essay.
Magical, it feels, to be sharing a century-old secret. And also glad, that one escaped nearly burning one's retina in pursuit of reading the Arbit. I only wish that you, dear reader, could say the same!
However my optic nerve refused to have anything to do with the essay and also passed the unfair judgement that Tschumy talked gibberish, and also that Six Concepts was itself a parody.
The post could have taken shape much before, since the world is not short of gibberish ideas but then there cropped up another obstacle. Something far more personal, even physical.
Frosted Fingers.
Beglove 'em, burn 'em, boil 'em, they're still bound to turn a bitter blue if the winters in your place are bad enough to trigger Penguin Sighting Expeditons around. Mummify them and they may turn a putrid green. Other rainbow colors might show up if you explore other sciences of frosted-finger prevention.
Those sciences are crap, I learnt when one faced by this terrible affliction and so this post was put on hold for an indefinite time.
Now today when some unexpected sunshine interrupted the grey weather's miserable run, I felt defrosted enough to put my fingers to use. But fingers, one learns, show a large amount of hysterisis or they probably like to stay stuck together, so all I could manage was some random WHAM!!!! WHAM!!!! on the keypad. And so this post came out to be...
When one skims through it, one can almost sense an undercurrent of coherence through the jumble of random alphabets. Can you? I am fascinated by how that bored WHAM!! WHAM!! session could produce a couple of intelligible words. In the middle of this experimental post, if you search hard enough, you'll find TWO words which can be spotted easily in any Archaic English Dictionary. WHAM, WHAM ofcourse. To decode the rest of the words, try the Pox-ford Dictionary of Gibberish.
Infact, Tschumy might have chanced upon the same happy discovery too. Master of everything that he was, he might have got up and danced on the typewriter keys to roll out that gobsmacking piece of work- Six Concepts- that was hastily lauded by critics worldwide, before anyone could mention actually reading the sticky essay.
Magical, it feels, to be sharing a century-old secret. And also glad, that one escaped nearly burning one's retina in pursuit of reading the Arbit. I only wish that you, dear reader, could say the same!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
H-EAR-SAY
'It's that time of the ear' , rang out a warning on the radio. 'This New Ear..' spelt out an ad, in red letters. ' Want to make this New Ear Really Really Big?' asked a stupid female in some booze ad on the telly.
I sat up, eyes saucer-wide with shock! How could they take it so lightly, how could they think of night-long parties and soirees in the midst of these all -important nation wide alerts?
"' 's Matter?" asked my long-suffering M.O.M, not at all impressed with the state of utter ruin my room had fallen into. The phone began to jangle in the other room and M.O.M turned to go.
"MOM! Can't you see..all these things..telephones and all.. ARE NOT IMPORTANT ANYMORE. Mankind is done for. We are all dying..Hey, You can't just GO!"
She just rolled her eyes and exited, leaving me alone to deal with this catastrophe.
A New Ear. Sounded like a highly tumorous affair. I could take in a few bacteria, but THIS would be the pits. Dubiously, I checked my head for any growing appendage. There was a small wart but it was too early to predict what unearthly thing it might transform into.
There was this friend at school ( Highly Classified Info), she had this tiny third ear behind her left one. I had envied her then but times had changed, I wasn't sure if three ears were in vogue anymore.
After the morning coffee had been gulped down, and the fog cleared off my mind a bit, things started to fall in place. Oh ,a new year. Nothing tumorous, though it was highly disgusting of December to come and go so quickly and tip us into frosty, vacation-devoid Jan. Old, sepia-tinted memories of Roorkee reeled by..Last Sem suddenly seemed so distant, so far-away. Next sem- Not So Distant. Just a measly ten days more and...
My thorax prepared to let out my hourly sigh (observed to be more punctual than the Big Ben) but it never came out. Because I was busy turning saucer-wide eyed again.
Something had just cleared its throat. Ahem, ahem, ahem.
"This is crazy!", I howled, stricken. I knew I was alone in my room, excepting a few visiting spiders.
That something suddenly buzzed out of my ear and made itself visible. My optic nerve was fair frazzled from the very task of resolving it- it was TINY as hell, luminescent and had wings. Whatever it was, it had to be friendly, because it was waving wildly at me and trying hard to look cute.
" Who? Are? You?" I gurgled.
" An Ear Fairy Am I
Neither Friend, Nor Spy!
Hear Ye, This is the Gospel fact
As I implore, you must act!
You must resolve this New Year
Never to crib ever!", Its surprisingly high -wattage thorax rang out full force.
It was hovering around my nose. Its trying-hard-to-look-cute efforts had long since snapped off and now it sported a furious look. Moody, like all fairies.
Promise." it demanded, in a sinister whisper. Made my skin crawl. And I used to think fairies were in the business of granting wishes.
SWAT! Down spiralled the ear fairy, its wings lifeless. Brave Agent M.O.M had wielded her deadly mosquito- swatter. " Pesky mosquitioes!", she said before rushing back to the ever jangling phone.
A Year-Fairy? Or was it really an Ear Fairy, since ,after all it had taken up temporary accomodation in my ears. To tell you the truth, I was glad it was silenced for ever but then..that was quite some poem ( rock song?) it had belted out, you know...Resolve This New Year, Never to Crib Ever...Maybe it wasn't just trying to bug me. Maybe like all fairies, it had had the Greater Good in mind.
I sat up, eyes saucer-wide with shock! How could they take it so lightly, how could they think of night-long parties and soirees in the midst of these all -important nation wide alerts?
"' 's Matter?" asked my long-suffering M.O.M, not at all impressed with the state of utter ruin my room had fallen into. The phone began to jangle in the other room and M.O.M turned to go.
"MOM! Can't you see..all these things..telephones and all.. ARE NOT IMPORTANT ANYMORE. Mankind is done for. We are all dying..Hey, You can't just GO!"
She just rolled her eyes and exited, leaving me alone to deal with this catastrophe.
A New Ear. Sounded like a highly tumorous affair. I could take in a few bacteria, but THIS would be the pits. Dubiously, I checked my head for any growing appendage. There was a small wart but it was too early to predict what unearthly thing it might transform into.
There was this friend at school ( Highly Classified Info), she had this tiny third ear behind her left one. I had envied her then but times had changed, I wasn't sure if three ears were in vogue anymore.
After the morning coffee had been gulped down, and the fog cleared off my mind a bit, things started to fall in place. Oh ,a new year. Nothing tumorous, though it was highly disgusting of December to come and go so quickly and tip us into frosty, vacation-devoid Jan. Old, sepia-tinted memories of Roorkee reeled by..Last Sem suddenly seemed so distant, so far-away. Next sem- Not So Distant. Just a measly ten days more and...
My thorax prepared to let out my hourly sigh (observed to be more punctual than the Big Ben) but it never came out. Because I was busy turning saucer-wide eyed again.
Something had just cleared its throat. Ahem, ahem, ahem.
"This is crazy!", I howled, stricken. I knew I was alone in my room, excepting a few visiting spiders.
That something suddenly buzzed out of my ear and made itself visible. My optic nerve was fair frazzled from the very task of resolving it- it was TINY as hell, luminescent and had wings. Whatever it was, it had to be friendly, because it was waving wildly at me and trying hard to look cute.
" Who? Are? You?" I gurgled.
" An Ear Fairy Am I
Neither Friend, Nor Spy!
Hear Ye, This is the Gospel fact
As I implore, you must act!
You must resolve this New Year
Never to crib ever!", Its surprisingly high -wattage thorax rang out full force.
It was hovering around my nose. Its trying-hard-to-look-cute efforts had long since snapped off and now it sported a furious look. Moody, like all fairies.
Promise." it demanded, in a sinister whisper. Made my skin crawl. And I used to think fairies were in the business of granting wishes.
SWAT! Down spiralled the ear fairy, its wings lifeless. Brave Agent M.O.M had wielded her deadly mosquito- swatter. " Pesky mosquitioes!", she said before rushing back to the ever jangling phone.
A Year-Fairy? Or was it really an Ear Fairy, since ,after all it had taken up temporary accomodation in my ears. To tell you the truth, I was glad it was silenced for ever but then..that was quite some poem ( rock song?) it had belted out, you know...Resolve This New Year, Never to Crib Ever...Maybe it wasn't just trying to bug me. Maybe like all fairies, it had had the Greater Good in mind.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Enteritis The Dragon
Contrary to popular disbelief, it has now been proven that exams are highly injurious to one's health. Yeah! They gave me the nefarious Salmnonella Typhi! Stuff that does something to your spleen and gives you the sensation of being a saucepan on the sizzle.
Buried under a five inch thick layer of blankets, I dreamt many dreams. Hot, boiling pasta..sinful tiramisu..and then,slowly, like a black shadow loomed into my sight the blasted SP lunch- the REAL cause of all the brouhaha!
I tried to punch down the shadow but it stuck its tongue at me and vanished.
The carnival however truly took off when they began the vaccines. I have had enough needles ploughed into me to make a tattoo out of it. Cute, innit? And a cute intravenous thingy sticking in my vein. One turn of its valve, and hurrah, out floweth the blood.
I got a cute alternate tagline for this post. Tyfried.
Stay Warm.
Buried under a five inch thick layer of blankets, I dreamt many dreams. Hot, boiling pasta..sinful tiramisu..and then,slowly, like a black shadow loomed into my sight the blasted SP lunch- the REAL cause of all the brouhaha!
I tried to punch down the shadow but it stuck its tongue at me and vanished.
The carnival however truly took off when they began the vaccines. I have had enough needles ploughed into me to make a tattoo out of it. Cute, innit? And a cute intravenous thingy sticking in my vein. One turn of its valve, and hurrah, out floweth the blood.
I got a cute alternate tagline for this post. Tyfried.
Stay Warm.
Monday, November 2, 2009
cribbity crabbity
One of the top 3 things i hate doing is WRITING. I prefer the egyptian heiroglyphs, thank you. However it is positioned at # 3 with Drafting and Model making grabbing the top honors. I also hate several other things which i am unable to pinpoint.
I like dozing on the couch, with the TV and the stereo simultaneously in blare-mode, one eye on a Wodehouse, another on the telly..and preferably the comforting crunch of a cookie resonating in my ears.
Sadly, Roorkee is no couch-potato's den. Cruel, piercing sunrays wake you up to another day of drudgery. You shunt from one place to another, in vain hope of a yielding prof cancelling his class..only to troop out of his class four hours later, using the T-pulley for support..
BeWigged sets us off to survey the godamned Roorkeescape in the blazing sun. The Wobbly Man shakes his head with calculated disdain, when we enter the class at 9:01- one minute past the official time. And the best part: We are not spared the gospel knowledge of Quantum either. Add to it the interesting angle of crackpot despots teaching us how not to build a house. A stint here, and the Taliban would renounce their weapons and take up knitting.
Agreed. Cookiecrunching and tvstereotwotiming are luxuries beyond the realms of non-royalty. I mean you are supposed to slug it, if you want to turn into a Steve Jobs. On the other hand, NO, slugging is a purely personal choice. You don't slug for The BigWig or the Crackpot Despots at the beck of their bloody fingers. As a principle, i am anti-rebellion because you can always shut up and bear it. But my principle is already straining under the first of the 42.
Cribbing, they say, is a hypochondriac's first stage. But think ye, where would Pink Floyd and RHCP be without a little cribbing.
I like dozing on the couch, with the TV and the stereo simultaneously in blare-mode, one eye on a Wodehouse, another on the telly..and preferably the comforting crunch of a cookie resonating in my ears.
Sadly, Roorkee is no couch-potato's den. Cruel, piercing sunrays wake you up to another day of drudgery. You shunt from one place to another, in vain hope of a yielding prof cancelling his class..only to troop out of his class four hours later, using the T-pulley for support..
BeWigged sets us off to survey the godamned Roorkeescape in the blazing sun. The Wobbly Man shakes his head with calculated disdain, when we enter the class at 9:01- one minute past the official time. And the best part: We are not spared the gospel knowledge of Quantum either. Add to it the interesting angle of crackpot despots teaching us how not to build a house. A stint here, and the Taliban would renounce their weapons and take up knitting.
Agreed. Cookiecrunching and tvstereotwotiming are luxuries beyond the realms of non-royalty. I mean you are supposed to slug it, if you want to turn into a Steve Jobs. On the other hand, NO, slugging is a purely personal choice. You don't slug for The BigWig or the Crackpot Despots at the beck of their bloody fingers. As a principle, i am anti-rebellion because you can always shut up and bear it. But my principle is already straining under the first of the 42.
Cribbing, they say, is a hypochondriac's first stage. But think ye, where would Pink Floyd and RHCP be without a little cribbing.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mountain Do's
Finally, Blogger.com catches me in a contemplative mood. I have always wanted to write a post that would fire up the waterworks in the reader's eyes. And so it is today, that I give up jackassary, demon worship and relentless pursuit of arbitness in search of higher emotions- beginning with contemplation on the delicate aspects of life. Starting with Food.
You don't want to read this if you want to preserve your body fluids. Drool, mostly.
WATCH OUT trip, Sunday the 26th: At the crack of dawn we trooped out of the Bhawan even as the first rays prepared to start their 8 minute journey to earth. Deprived of morning coffee and breakfast, I was desperately low. This led me to consume a certain super-saturated sugar solution, sold as Coffee by the Marketing Division of Bus-T In Mussorie, someone comfortingly remarked, we would get awesome food. For it was to Mussorie where the 17 early-rising WONA folk decided to head to.
The coffee sloshed in my innards merrily as our bus twirled and pirouetted across the mountain roads. Everyone responded rather differently to the ballerina moves of the bus. Some nodded off, some like me stuck their necks out and drunk in the beautiful view ( with the steadfast gaze of a pigeon), some turned green with sickness.
A final grand jete and the bus threw us out. Into Mussourie, the land of breathtaking views.
Mussourie is a lovely hill station dotted with confectionery shops, expresso machines and ice-cream parlours. It understands the growing appetite of its tourists very well and as you walk up the Mall Road from the Bus Stop, the density of eating joints grows in delightful numbers. Anyone with the fatal Chocolate Deficiency Disease will find instant cure in this heavenly abode.
The smell of roasted coffee beans, bittersweet chocolate and of rum-raisin whiffs fight for space up your olfactory machinery as you walk by. Shepherding us was our Great CheerMan, who seemed immune to the intoxicating caffeine-scented air. Immune and impatient.
Ah, caffeine...
[Citation Needed]
The historic goat-herd beat the Zero-inventing Indian Nerd to the Greatest Discovery, when he stumbled upon the magic coffee bean. Lore has it that his goats went for a change of diet and grazed on some unknown herb. The goatherd went bonkers when he saw the herb transform his usually lazy goats into active, lithe and frollicky creatures.. So he went and sold his goats, pocketed the capital and started his own chain of expresso shop, which we all today know as Costa Coffee.
Every calorie of the chocolate binge was required when we took a detour from the plain path and took the primate-friendly path, negotiating precarious footholds, slippery gravel and itch-causing plants. Successful in getting ourselves lost, we also stumbled upon some ruins. Of course, death lurked in every move we made but what better place was there to die than this untramelled sliver of the mountains. Poignant yet timeless, deserted yet alive, Steep yet inviting.
I was still thinking about the very awesome trek or whatever it was, when we returning back. People again walked coldly past the choc shops, the famous Cheese Omelette shack and the expresso shops.
Such a cold attitude towards food comes handy in Roorkee though, especially towards the blistery chap at Happinezz or the Waste Reusal Dept of the Mess. WHEN will the entrepreneur within us open the patisserie we need? When will Italian Dining at Roorkee stop meaning Cheese Pizza at Prakash? On this quavering note, the post draws to its end. Burpbye.
You don't want to read this if you want to preserve your body fluids. Drool, mostly.
WATCH OUT trip, Sunday the 26th: At the crack of dawn we trooped out of the Bhawan even as the first rays prepared to start their 8 minute journey to earth. Deprived of morning coffee and breakfast, I was desperately low. This led me to consume a certain super-saturated sugar solution, sold as Coffee by the Marketing Division of Bus-T In Mussorie, someone comfortingly remarked, we would get awesome food. For it was to Mussorie where the 17 early-rising WONA folk decided to head to.
The coffee sloshed in my innards merrily as our bus twirled and pirouetted across the mountain roads. Everyone responded rather differently to the ballerina moves of the bus. Some nodded off, some like me stuck their necks out and drunk in the beautiful view ( with the steadfast gaze of a pigeon), some turned green with sickness.
A final grand jete and the bus threw us out. Into Mussourie, the land of breathtaking views.
Mussourie is a lovely hill station dotted with confectionery shops, expresso machines and ice-cream parlours. It understands the growing appetite of its tourists very well and as you walk up the Mall Road from the Bus Stop, the density of eating joints grows in delightful numbers. Anyone with the fatal Chocolate Deficiency Disease will find instant cure in this heavenly abode.
The smell of roasted coffee beans, bittersweet chocolate and of rum-raisin whiffs fight for space up your olfactory machinery as you walk by. Shepherding us was our Great CheerMan, who seemed immune to the intoxicating caffeine-scented air. Immune and impatient.
Ah, caffeine...
[Citation Needed]
The historic goat-herd beat the Zero-inventing Indian Nerd to the Greatest Discovery, when he stumbled upon the magic coffee bean. Lore has it that his goats went for a change of diet and grazed on some unknown herb. The goatherd went bonkers when he saw the herb transform his usually lazy goats into active, lithe and frollicky creatures.. So he went and sold his goats, pocketed the capital and started his own chain of expresso shop, which we all today know as Costa Coffee.
Every calorie of the chocolate binge was required when we took a detour from the plain path and took the primate-friendly path, negotiating precarious footholds, slippery gravel and itch-causing plants. Successful in getting ourselves lost, we also stumbled upon some ruins. Of course, death lurked in every move we made but what better place was there to die than this untramelled sliver of the mountains. Poignant yet timeless, deserted yet alive, Steep yet inviting.
I was still thinking about the very awesome trek or whatever it was, when we returning back. People again walked coldly past the choc shops, the famous Cheese Omelette shack and the expresso shops.
Such a cold attitude towards food comes handy in Roorkee though, especially towards the blistery chap at Happinezz or the Waste Reusal Dept of the Mess. WHEN will the entrepreneur within us open the patisserie we need? When will Italian Dining at Roorkee stop meaning Cheese Pizza at Prakash? On this quavering note, the post draws to its end. Burpbye.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
BLOG OF SMALL THINGS
PROLOGUE
"With the lights out , its less dangerous ,
here we are now ,entertain us"
called out the Lizard on the south -facing wall to the Lizard on the east- facing wall.
All this in ultrasound frequencies but enough to wake up the tuna coloured semi-corpse from her sleep.
Its been a week Of Eggs, Bones( broken) and Cramp-ets. One still doesn't get whether the insti is pro-sports or not. On one hand they make us guzzle calories with the air of the doting grandma and then switch roles with the pop-eyed, stuffy Grandfather and make us sit for eighteen TSs and nine end-sems. Speaking of pop-eyed and stuffy, he has done it again. Any event of potential joie de vivre continues to get culled at the altar of the One Who Must Not Be Smelled- Monsieur Swine Flu, all thanks to the Pignacious One.
But still hols are hols, and rollicky they must be according to PG's First Law of Strife, Unihearse and Nothing. With the first signs of autumn creeping into the air, and skies turning bluer than usual and the clock taking its own sweet time to tick,numbing pains easily dissolve into endless hours of slumber.
It was from such an endless slumber that the semi-corpse woke up. In stark contrast to her tuna-like greyness, the lizards were green.
Corpse turned white as death as a lizard expertly rolled out its tongue, caught a passing fly and rolled it back.
Burped. (in ultrasound)
Corpse shrieked (very audibly)
The whole room was wall-papered with lizards. Some were shy, some the romantic types, some had forked tails..they waltzed, jumped, hip-hopped..and because with every species, happiness is intrinsically linked with the presence of plentiful food, there were gazillions of insects too.
One insect decided to take refugee in Corpse's ear-folds, another decided to fish for food in her blood-streams. A malicious mosquito dived into her nose. Corpse yelled in terror and then spat out a fly that had entered her mouth.
The Lizard with the Forked Tail saw this. It gave a snarl and suddenly it looked very like Papa Dinosuar, as it lashed out its tail angrily.
With mean intent, it crept down the South Wall to the floor...
across...
Its big, black eyes never left Corpse as it drew a deep breath and launched itself into the air, straight for Corpse...
SHOWDOWN
General Lee grabbed the blood-bottling fly in one limb, the ear-wig in the other and banged their heads into one another. All in less than a nanosecond. Its tongue caught the phlegmflea and crushed it.
Victory! cried out all the admiring lizards on the walls. In ultrasound, ofcourse. Some of the albino-lizards turned green with envy, which was exactly what they had always wanted, so in the end everyone loved General Lee.
In every scene of Good Versus Evil you always have the sulking, stupid dumbass and here Corpse played that part. She turned blue with fright, as Lee did a victory flip. Purple, as he turned to her with beseeching eyes. Dead, as his mates flocked besides him for the victory march.
Which was when P.G Woodhearses(Fine Makers Of Oak/Plastic/Composite hearses, we help you carry back your beloved dead in style) were commisioned for a mass supply. Which is how we know the details of the above story.
cast
Corpse - Me
Lizard on East-facing wall - Some Lizard
he - Sonofabutcher
credits
Music score - What do you care, most of it was in ultrasound?
Director of Action - Quentin Tarantula
Fitness Advisor - The Cricket
"With the lights out , its less dangerous ,
here we are now ,entertain us"
called out the Lizard on the south -facing wall to the Lizard on the east- facing wall.
All this in ultrasound frequencies but enough to wake up the tuna coloured semi-corpse from her sleep.
Its been a week Of Eggs, Bones( broken) and Cramp-ets. One still doesn't get whether the insti is pro-sports or not. On one hand they make us guzzle calories with the air of the doting grandma and then switch roles with the pop-eyed, stuffy Grandfather and make us sit for eighteen TSs and nine end-sems. Speaking of pop-eyed and stuffy, he has done it again. Any event of potential joie de vivre continues to get culled at the altar of the One Who Must Not Be Smelled- Monsieur Swine Flu, all thanks to the Pignacious One.
But still hols are hols, and rollicky they must be according to PG's First Law of Strife, Unihearse and Nothing. With the first signs of autumn creeping into the air, and skies turning bluer than usual and the clock taking its own sweet time to tick,numbing pains easily dissolve into endless hours of slumber.
It was from such an endless slumber that the semi-corpse woke up. In stark contrast to her tuna-like greyness, the lizards were green.
Corpse turned white as death as a lizard expertly rolled out its tongue, caught a passing fly and rolled it back.
Burped. (in ultrasound)
Corpse shrieked (very audibly)
The whole room was wall-papered with lizards. Some were shy, some the romantic types, some had forked tails..they waltzed, jumped, hip-hopped..and because with every species, happiness is intrinsically linked with the presence of plentiful food, there were gazillions of insects too.
One insect decided to take refugee in Corpse's ear-folds, another decided to fish for food in her blood-streams. A malicious mosquito dived into her nose. Corpse yelled in terror and then spat out a fly that had entered her mouth.
The Lizard with the Forked Tail saw this. It gave a snarl and suddenly it looked very like Papa Dinosuar, as it lashed out its tail angrily.
With mean intent, it crept down the South Wall to the floor...
across...
Its big, black eyes never left Corpse as it drew a deep breath and launched itself into the air, straight for Corpse...
SHOWDOWN
General Lee grabbed the blood-bottling fly in one limb, the ear-wig in the other and banged their heads into one another. All in less than a nanosecond. Its tongue caught the phlegmflea and crushed it.
Victory! cried out all the admiring lizards on the walls. In ultrasound, ofcourse. Some of the albino-lizards turned green with envy, which was exactly what they had always wanted, so in the end everyone loved General Lee.
In every scene of Good Versus Evil you always have the sulking, stupid dumbass and here Corpse played that part. She turned blue with fright, as Lee did a victory flip. Purple, as he turned to her with beseeching eyes. Dead, as his mates flocked besides him for the victory march.
Which was when P.G Woodhearses(Fine Makers Of Oak/Plastic/Composite hearses, we help you carry back your beloved dead in style) were commisioned for a mass supply. Which is how we know the details of the above story.
cast
Corpse - Me
Lizard on East-facing wall - Some Lizard
he - Sonofabutcher
credits
Music score - What do you care, most of it was in ultrasound?
Director of Action - Quentin Tarantula
Fitness Advisor - The Cricket
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