Being Magnificent

Magnificent. Yes that’s the word that has been doing rounds inside my mind since a long time now. I’m a kind of obsessive person. I know it’s brave to accept any such fact, but that is it. On many occasions, I’ve found myself having a fetish for a particular thing or theme or person or a word. It never stays for long, but it sure influences me to a certain extent. This time, its this word magnificent that has taken the hold of my mind.
And I didn’t pick it up from a dictionary or read it in some great author’s great work. I mean yeah, I’ve been reading this word right since my first English lessons when I was six years old and the teacher asked me to read out loud, “as magnificent as a lion.” Since then, I’ve known that magnificent stands for something awesome because lions are awesome. So the word is one of the oldest that I’ve known but getting obsessed with it is an altogether different story. A few days ago, a girl found something going wrong with my blog. She believed that I had experimented enough with picking topics that weren’t even topics and making them substantial through my spectacle. What she believed in a stronger manner was that I should talk about real substantial things and make them more substantial. And she coined that as magnificent. Right since then, I cannot seem to get the word off my mind.
I really adore this idea of writing something way better than what I’ve always written, but writing magnificent also sends a gulp down my throat. Its not going to be easy. It will demand efforts. I’ll have to use every word with brevity and sensibility. And at the same time, I’ll have to see that it tickles you, makes you giggle, and right when you’re giggling, it creates a soothing feeling inside you. That’s how I look at magnificent writing. It hasn’t necessarily have to be grand. Grandeur generally makes people feel awed than anything else. And I don’t want you to awe at me. Not yet. I’m just another person like you with a pen and a stack of papers. I want to show you what you look at but don’t see through all the pace of your life, and then make you feel good for finally having a vision of that kind. That might be a great deal of a challenge because I believe I have, through my own work and style of thought, created a cliché that has funnily spun around me like a web. I’d have to break that ice too.
And that’s just about the writing. Learning to see things that can be the very foundation of magnificent prose is going to be time consuming, it will require me to be indulgent and a non-extremist, which I sometimes fail to be. And since it demands so much out of me, since I want to present so much to you, and since it would be entirely unethical and fraudulent to write pointless things just to keep the blog going, I think I should take a break.
And therefore, that has lead me to the decision that I won’t be writing here for a couple of months from this point onwards. I’m not sure if two months would be enough to meet the demands of what I want to write, but I’m going to try doing that. I don’t know to what extent might I reach, I don’t even know where do I begin from. However, I’ll make it a point that you like what I come up with and find it far more promising than what you’ve always read in my blog so far. For now, let me take your leave. Curtains. 😉

A Hope

In silence, slowly crept the long night,
The tear in her eye, shone in the faint moonlight.

She could not sleep, nor could she pretend,
All she could do was lie in hopes and wait for it to end.

At times, she would fall back and comfort herself in the memories of him,
Of how together, they had, had a dream.

Living with him had made her life blossom,
It couldn’t be better, there could be nothing more awesome.

But a dark cloud hovers in every sky bright,
He had a fate, that was to put her in fright.

The rulers of their lands,
Had set eyes on new seas and new sands.

He was a part of the king’s cavalry,
And so he had to fight His Majesty’s rivalry.

The conquest demanded the blood of the young and brave,
And he knew well, this could bring him glory or grave.

She had cried and begged him not to go, all in vain,
He had to fulfill his duties, and for those, he overlooked her pain.

The day thus arrived and the troops began marching to the east,
With valor in their hearts, and the flag of the yellow beast.

She saw her man go, till the horizons swallowed him,
How she wished, he would turn with a whim.

Her eyes were wet, her clothes tattered,
She had grieved so bad, she was shattered.

His memories had every day made her cry,
Her tears won’t stop till her eyes went dry.

There was no joy left in her, peace neither,
In his concern, she had slowly begun to wither.

She could see not a sunshine but a sun that burnt hot,
Storms were a part of her life, breezes were not.

She saw the world through a spectacle of gloom,
Which showed her nothing but a void of doom.

And yet, deep in her mind, she had a hope that he would return from the gory,
Bringing along love and all the war’s glory.

In that hope, she learnt not to be sad,
For he had her love, and so, things won’t be so bad.

With a pale smile on her face,
She begun keeping up with life’s pace.

In hopes of him, she had got herself bound,
It was what made her world go round.

With time her hope grew into a large belief,
And only in that hope, she could now seek some relief.

She dreamt that someday he would come,
And in his name, she used to hum.

Her hope soon became an obsession of her mind,
And only in it, solace she could find.

Time flew and one day, so did the sands,
Under the feet of the victorious, marching back to their lands.

In the name of glory, many men had slain, and many more, lied down,
But her husband was one of the few fortunate who had returned with victory for the Royal Crown.

As he reached his home, he saw her and jumped in joy,
But she looked at him like an ant would at a wanton boy.

“I’m here darling, your husband!”, he said,
To which she replied, “My husband is on a war, he isn’t dead.”

Not knowing what she meant to say,
He embraced her to make love in a moment so gay.

But she couldn’t recognize him, nor could she see,
That he was the man with whom she had wanted to be.

All she could see was a man forcing himself on her for lust,
All she could see was this would break her husband’s trust.

Ashamed, she pushed him away with all her might,
And ran out of the house naked in fright.

She cried, “You scoundrel, he  will return and you will be killed,
My husband will punish you, my husband who is on the battlefield! “

With these words, she tossed herself in the hollow,
Of a well whose deep waters awaited her to swallow.

He couldn’t understand, and he would never know,
Why, on his arrival, she treated him like a foe?

Why she believed he was on the war, still engaged in a fight,
When he was right there, in front of her sight?

He would never know any of these,
Because he didn’t know what living in an obsessing hope is.

She had died when they pulled her out with a rope,
She had died, died in a hope.

The Breakup Song

Waking up in the morning the first thing I see,
Is her message that says, “We’ve broken up, you’re free.”

With a heavy sigh,
I wonder if this should make me smile or cry?

Standing in the porch, sipping coffee from a mug,
This feels quite good without her morning python hug.

The bathroom looks clean without her scattered hair,
And that rises my spirits to walk in with feet bare.

Getting ready for work, I feel independent and better,
Now I can decide for myself which shirt matches the sweater.

In the office I can see how much can I concentrate on my work,
When I don’t have to worry about her going public with the twerk.

By the time the office closes down,
I see I’ve worked without a single frown.

To enhance this mood,
I decide to stay out and spend some time good.

A normal day hence passes,
Without the girl in perfect solace.

The dimming lights of the bright day,
Aren’t as melancholy as many sad souls say.

Sitting alone in a café, I look at the buzzing crowd,
And realise how much I used to miss listening to her croaking loud.

I gawk seeing couples with entangled fingers,
For the memory of her sweaty palms still lingers.

I look around and check a pretty ass,
Life’s so easy without the old lass.
Watching a guy buy his girl a gift,
I’m relieved that I don’t have to buy any more CDs of Taylor Swift.

Back home, I see her lingerie on the floor,
And just hope she doesn’t come back for it banging my door.

Looking at our photos I feel quite sad,
The selfies she clicked are just so bad.

Now that we won’t get laid,
I can actually enjoy sleeping alone in a single bed.

Lighting a cigarette, I smile wide,
Now I won’t have to listen the old story of how her uncle smoked and died.

W hen I turn on the radio and listen a Drake song,
I pity him and wonder, what’s with him so wrong?

And now I realise, the breakup isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,
At the end of the day, what you look for, is what you’ll see. 😉

The Desperate Gandhi

I was wondering if I did a mistake by not talking anything about the AAP, or the NaMo wave, or Rahul Gandhi and how stupid he is, since the past couple of months. I mean that’s what is trending in the nation right now, a lot is being talked about these men, no one seems to be getting irritated by all that, in fact on the contrary, everyone just wants more of it, and if one blog writer forgets to add his ’precious opinion’ to the hottest topic in the nation, he is sure to feel that he probably did a mistake. But I had read so many people saying so many things over all this that it looked hyper-exploitated already. And so when I was being increasingly  determined to keep a mum over it, I saw something no one is looking at and then thought, what the hell, let’s just do this.
So if you see all the talk, good or bad, about the general elections of 2014, you’ll see that by this time, many columnists, TV reporters, newspapers, bloggers and even news channels seem pretty much biased towards or against a particular party or person (that includes my favorite columnist Tavleen Singh). And since media influences people to a good extent, the people in turn are turning  towards or against whatever the media tells them. And generalising this whole picture on a rough scale, this is what the media has projected: Narendra Modi is a true leader, the rest of the BJP is voiceless, Kejriwal is a leftist (that’s Tavleen Singh talking! ), Congress sucks, and Rahul Gandhi sucks more. Now I don’t find any reasons to differ with whatever is being said and in fact, I believe its all genuine.
So far, so good. But amidst all this talk of wanting a true leader and being brutally, honestly partial to Narendra Modi over that, we’re overlooking a poor, wannabe boy who has always been pampered by his mama’s servants and who has been brought in the family business so instantaneously that he has lost his mind. That boy is pretty scared because of his mother’s expectations from him which he is sure he cannot fulfill, and also because the way he is being considered a political jester. And these exact reasons make me write this article.
Right since Rahul Gandhi publicly displayed what an oaf he is while talking to Arnab Goswami, he has been the talk of the town. The whole nation is enjoying cracking some very bad jokes on him, he has been trolled, he has had his share of memes, he has been mocked at by everyone including the highest circle of politicians, and he has clearly lost all the little chances he had to win the elections. And that’s actually good. We don’t want to thrust this nation in the hands of a fool. We want a leader. And it looks like we’ve just spotted one in Narendra Modi. And since we have, I believe we should just calmly, happily celebrate the fact and do what we have to do, change the government. But that’s not what we’re doing. We love to make a miserable creature feel more miserable. That’s natural, that’s human. And so we never miss a chance to remind Rahul Gandhi that he is dumber than anything dumb India or Italy has produced  in the last thousand years of their respective histories. I’m not taking sides with Rahul Gandhi & Co. in any manner, but can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re turning RaGa into a loser already. And you’re seeking a devilish joy in doing so. But that’s not just bad for him or his mother or his party, it can as well be bad for us in near future.
Picture this, there is no person named Narendra Modi in existence. India has the 2014 general elections. Now, imagine what would happen next? Can you see anyone else who can fit in the Prime Minister’s shoes? Sharad Pawar, Mamta Banerjee and Mulayam Singh Yadav dream of being the PM, but so what? Even I dream of topping the university next semester and winning the next Man Booker Prize. Fact is, its surreal. Fact is we don’t have an option apart from Narendra Modi. And fact is, to have a better future, we ought to have one. And since it’s clear that no one from the old league can play this role fine, its Rahul Gandhi at whom we can look up in hopes. He sure isn’t a leader or anything close to that now, but sure is a leader-in-the-making, that is if we give him a chance.
The Noor Jahan of today’s age, as Tavleen Singh quotes her, Sonia Gandhi never let her son get acquainted to politics the way a Gandhi should. Campaigning in Uttar Pradesh for the state level elections and being a MP from Amethi which is a cakewalk for him since he carries that heavy surname, is all he has done, or at least that’s how much I have seen his ’active participation’ in politics which is sure very scanty to contest for the highest seat in the nation. But the Congress either didn’t see that, or saw and decided to overlook it altogether. Anyway, they made him run this race of being the PM since the regent, Manmohan Singh got tired of playing a mute puppet. And the brave boy did as he was told. He got ready for the battle. But since he had never really fought one, and since all his mother’s servants had always done everything for him, he thought they might play the battle as well. But his hopes crashed, and the battle looks like he’s already half-lost it. But if God decides to favor him, a little, he might have already begun learning from his mistakes. He’ll need time though. What I’m saying is let’s give him as much time as he wants and see what happens. I’m well aware that he represents a pathetic party and has a corrupt entourage. I’m also acquainted to the fact that the Congress runs more on the words of the henchmen than the party supreme. And that is where RaGa has to learn a few lessons from the chronicles of his nasty granny. He can also learn, in fact learn better from his counterpart Narendra Modi. If this Gandhi wants to win in near future, if he wants the legacy of his party to survive, he has to change things, change the crew around him, and change himself. It is a lot to ask from a person as petty as RaGa, I know, but that’s exactly how much is required to run a country.
You might find this article surprisingly contradictory to your own thoughts because you’re agitated against the Gandhis. And agitated people are seldom in the spirits to listen. But try looking at this like I am. Yes, Rahul Gandhi is a fool, a loser and very much a mama’s boy. But let’s give him a chance to be a man, because even if he looked like Charles I in his interview with Arnab Goswami, he said and kept repeating desperately that he has a vision. And desperate is good. Desperate promises action.

The Poor Man’s Greed

(This is a poem I wrote 6 years ago, found it this morning in an old closet. Then I thought of posting it here as well. Hope it doesn’t sound bad.)

Once upon a time, there lived a man in a certain town,
And he was sad for in business he had gone down.

In his house he had three mouths to feed,
And therefore a better income was his immediate need.

And in spite of these shortcomings, his family was happy and merry,
And his wife never complained of feeling weary.

One night when he was fast asleep, a nightmare he saw,
That death took him away in her bloody claw.

With cold sweat and colder fear,
He woke up and about the dream told his dear.

At that instance the death-watch-beetle made a sound,
And the man’s wife knew the gravity of this was profound.

The next day she put up a cross,
Near their wicket and the road across.

And maybe by His fear,
No death came and the still terror in her eyes was clear.

But a woman of glitz and glamour,
And who was too rich, came with a clamour.

It seemed that all the luxuries in the world were at her behest,
And all this, the man’s wife did detest.

The lady demanded the man, “Thou shalls’t come with me,
Marry the princess and the king thou will be.”

The man was tempted to go, and he paid no heed to the words wise,
That were a part of his wife’s advise.

The journey thus begun and on they went,
Till they halted at a kingdom that didn’t contain a single saint.

As they rode, a chill went down his spine,
For he could see some hideous hags stabbing a swine.

Forth they went and saw an ugly woman dressed in rags,
And she was the queen of the hags.

They reached the royal court and he had a feeling sick,
When he was embraced by the king, an old man called Nick.

The king declared his intent of marrying the man to the princess,
And so the man did his joy express.

The bride arrived thus, wearing a robe that hid her face,
And yet she seemed a woman full of grace.

As she gave her hand to the man,
He kissed it and cold his blood ran.

“Who art thou?” he cried.

And she said, “I am but thy fate,
None other than the beautiful Death.”

Struck with horror and grief,
The man spoke quick and brief.

“Who was the lady who came to my place?
And who was the woman dressed in rags near this palace?”

And she replied, “The woman who came out your house was my dearest sister Avarice! She cast her spell ’pon thou,
The hag was our mother, Poverty, such a miserable cow!

Your dear and wise wife,
Was the last person who could save your life.

But my sweet Avarice played her role fine,
And now, thy soul is mine! “

How to Write a Blog

It’s a year. Yes, its been exactly one year today since I began writing this blog. No don’t make that face, I’m not going to cut a cake or jump in joy or cry or do anything else that would make this article pathetic. I’m just going to tell you what it takes to write a blog, all of it coming from my experience of writing this very blog.
Its kind of awkward and funny to write this today, because you’re all ears, you’re looking at me expecting me to say something really good since I’ve told you that I’m going to tell you how a blog is written and in all my honesty, I’ve read a lot, but I’ve never read anyone telling how they write their blogs. So this article I’m writing is also going to be the first article I’ll read about writing a blog. Okay, before I get confused anymore and make this article what I don’t want to make it, I’ll somehow begin.
Since I began writing this blog in March last year to this date, I believe I have gained a few things. Apart from weight, the list includes a great writing experience, a respectable number of readers, a better outlook, 56 blog posts including this one and a bad handwriting. If you look at this like an optimist (or like Rahul Gandhi when he looks at Congress), you’ll see that the good things are very good but the bad things aren’t so bad. The boy so bad things are an outcome of my own flaws, but the good things couldn’t be so good without a few handful of people and amongst those few handful there are some of you reading this now. I won’t be naming everyone of you because that would make this article nothing but a plain list of names. But I thank all of you for telling me that I suck every time I sucked. Especially the girl whom I call Irene Adler and who gets pissed every time I call her that. I like the way she dissects my articles and makes me want to be a better writer. Thank you miss.
I’m also grateful to all of you who have been reading this blog since a long time, since yesterday and since a few minutes ago. Having readers is the most important thing for a writer and that’s why you’re more responsible for making me keep writing this blog than I am.
Writing isn’t an easy job. And writing good takes more than just a good vocabulary. Its more about how you look at things, how you analyse them and how palatable can you make your thoughts  for the reader. At the same time you shouldn’t echo the reader’s thoughts because it would make the article plain boring. And every time I write an article I have to do this exact thing. And that is where the fun actually lies. It makes me battle with my own thoughts, debate within my mind, prove a point to myself in a satisfactory manner so that I can explain it to you, and keeps me getting evolved at a mental level. But my mind is just a place of ideas, it isn’t a source of knowledge. So to feed my intellect, I’m required to read continuously. And that is another of the many challenges of writing.
Reading is not just reading books. And as much as it isn’t reading just books, it isn’t either reading just magazines or just newspapers or just blogs. Its a combination of all these things. And it needs to be balanced. Anything you want to talk about has to be extensively studied for its facts and statistics. I have, at times, not been able to do that in a satisfactory manner and that’s what I’m trying to improve.
And yet only reading cannot help you every time you wish to write. I remember times when while playing a boring game of cricket or sitting stoned, I have thought extensively on some minute things that have later turned into huge articles. I’m not saying that being a writer demands you to be thoughtful every moment but it sure requires you to be an observer who can analyse everything he sees.
Analysing is a funny process. It is like a personal interpretation question we some times have in our exams. Analysing things is completely a matter of your perspective. It depends upon your way of looking at things, the thoughts that influence you, the people who influence you and the environment that you’re raised in. Environment is what differentiates my perspective of looking at a nuclear bomb from that of Kim Jong, if you know what I’m saying. You cannot change the influence of the environment that has enveloped you. And any irreversible, unshakable influence, however good or bad, is an unhealthy sign for a writer. So to neutralize that, you require strong judgements about anything you see from conflicting points of view. You have to keep the facts intact and while doing that, stick to your morals and yet while doing that, at times, shape the morals the way you want and push them down the throat of the reader in an acceptable manner, with a smile. This long process I just described is called influencing people. And as long as your writing cannot do that, everything you write is just trash.
Then comes the vocabulary part. You need to be very good with the words. And by good, I don’t mean you have to use dictionary – picked words. I just mean that every word you use should convey exactly the same meaning and exactly as much as you want it to. It has to be simple, yet not common so that the reader can both understand and awe at what you’re saying.
After coming this far, you’re quite a writer. And when you’re quite a writer, your readers expect you to deliver good, then better, then yet better and that demand never ends. There is a common misconception people have about ’good writing’. It is generally believed that using a complicated language or saying bizarre things in an uncommon fashion or using the Victorian English is what it takes to write good stuff. But if you ask me, good writing in one word can be defined as versatility. If you can talk about women and the depletion of the ozone layer equally well, if you can jump from a tough topic to a simpler one and again back to a try tougher one, you’re versatile. Good writers are supposed to be versatile and entertain as well as enlighten the readers in an equal amount. I’m not sure how much I follow of what I just said. But in all certainty, I’m trying to do that and I hope you might as well be a spectator to that.
Being a writer is a process of continuous evolution. There is no destination here  where you’d get a tag of perfection. You just have to keep moving. That’s pretty much of what I’m doing.
This article isn’t a lame attempt of telling you how tough it is for me to write what I write. It isn’t even something I wrote to win your praise. It is just a narration of what blog writing is about, and when you read an article of mine, what has it been through to reach your screen. It’s been a year. I guess today I can talk this much about my most adored activity, writing. And you my dear reader, keep reading. 😉

Still Learning!

Okay its time to see some cheese now. I know many of you have been waiting very eagerly for the incomplete series of my breakups. Its funny to see that actually, I don’t understand what can be so exciting about a breakup. I mean its not Baywatch. And I don’t find anything as exciting as Baywatch (yes of course because of the plastic). So anyway, here is my third breakup story and even if it isn’t Baywatch, its not Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam either. So sit back, chill, and read how this guy got screwed, again.
The third of these relationships or rather breakups (since we are talking breakups) was with a girl who swore that she’d marry me and kept repeating that till her throat went sore (please bear with my rhyming puns). You know everywhere you go, there is always that one girl whose known for her looks, her brilliance and the kind of attitude she therefore, by default carries. This one was that kind of girl, or precisely, that same exact girl. This relationship began soon after I had broken up with the girl we talked about in the last break up article (I’m never going to forgive myself for this terribly pathetic cheesy sentence). The break up had done things to me and I was feeling like the last dinosaur on the earth – I was alone, hurt, I had lost directions, I craved companionship, I was deprived of sex, and I had lost hopes on myself. Then this girl appeared in my life pretty dramatically. A common friend introduced her to me in a coffee shop. The conversation we had on this first meeting was just a ’hi’. The same age-old patterned things followed. I went back home and saw her friend request on facebook, accepted it, we began talking, by the end of the first week since being friends, I had her phone number, and barely after knowing each other for some 20-odd days, she claimed that I was the best thing that had happened to her. Now you’d ask me if I was a fool to fall in love with a girl I knew for just 20 days? No my wise reader, I wasn’t a fool. I had just been mentally damaged from the last breakup (other words, a fool to be honest) and I just needed someone, anyone. And in such times when you’re distressed, you quickly believe all the good things you see, however surreal they may be. Because such things show you a ray of hope. This girl was that kind of hope for me.
There was a lot of emotional involvement in this relationship on my side. I won’t be jumping in the details of telling you how emotional it was because that would sound like a Hindi movie from the late 80s. The girl behaved like she was my wife already and I was just happy that someone loved me so much. Yeah I know having a wife when you’re just 20 is a terrible idea, but here, I was the last dinosaur. And last dinosaurs don’t have much choices, have they? And anyway, since she behaved pretty much like my wife, I had just begun to believe she was the one meant for me and right then, I learnt that she was double dating. Bang! No I didn’t smash my fist against the wall silly, I punched in the face of my friend for introducing me to her in the first place. A break up was inevitable, but I didn’t know that break ups can be dumb too. I asked her if she was double dating, and her answer was, “I want to marry you.” I asked her who the other guy was, and again she answered the same thing. That was pretty much like talking to Rahul Gandhi. Then all of a sudden, she said, “I don’t want to see you ever again.” I couldn’t really understand what was happening. But since the last line meant obvious break up, I left the scene. Now replaying the whole break up in my mind, I was laughing my heart out. It was bizarre. I was in that jolly mood for the whole day, but you know sooner or later, the reality hits you and so it hit me.
Initially, there were no mistakes on my side in the whole course of the relationship. She had proposed me, she had double dated, and she was the one who finally broke it up. But after the break up, I did some things and those, I believe were my mistakes. I was hurt. Not just because she had double dated, but also because she had done that to me when she knew that I was in the most vulnerable state (yes, even if you’re dead bored of the joke now, I repeat, the last dinosaur). I turned grumpy soon and that was so gross that had anyone painted me green, I’d have been called The Incredible Sulk. A few weeks after the break up, she began calling me again and tried to play the wifey part, but I was in no mood to compromise then. I called her names, told her that she wasn’t worthy of my love and lost the best opportunity life has offered me. I mean what kind of girl on the back of the earth breaks up with you and comes back to you? God has given me a payback time. But I couldn’t see that. I was just engrossed in rejuvenating my pain. She tried talking to me for months but all I ever replied was: go to hell. She gradually got tired and quit talking to me. And now, when she isn’t there, I understand what I’ve lost.
Even if she played the wife part, it wasn’t mandatory for me to marry her. I could have just continued the relationship ,she’d have cared for me like she always did, and I’d have enjoyed the perks of having the hottest girl in the town run around me. But that’s not how it happened. And I quite regret it sometimes. So what’s the moral of the story? Well the moral is, its not the wisest thing to sulk and act like a grumpy kid when the girl you love is found cheating on you. Certainly not when the girl is hot. Grow into a man. If the girl has manipulated you, manipulate her in such a manner that she should still feel that she’s manipulating you. Yes, if she has broken your heart, she deserves a payback. But revenge isn’t when you call her a bitch or a slut. That’s stupid. Revenge is best served cold.
My biggest mistake above all was however, falling for a girl who fell for me in 20 days. Even if you’re in the worst abyss of your life and God decides to help you out by every means possible, he won’t be sending you a girl who will fall in love with you in just 20 days. That’s not how women are programmed and we should get that straight. Another thing worth learning is, never let your girlfriend play your wife. Get real! You haven’t married her. She is your girlfriend and she should behave like one. It’s not a very amazing experience to have someone in your life who would tell you what should you do, who should your friends be and what should you eat. That’s like having the girl tie a dog collar around your neck. And that sure won’t make you a man.
The last thing all of you should know, and I insist, implement, is that no matter how bad the girl behaves, if she’s the hottest property out there, keep her. Like a keep. 😉