If metaphysical activities were considered equivalents of physical activities, it would mean two things:
- Jesus was real.
- I have gotten more blowjobs in the last month than all of you put together.
This assertion is based on the fact that since I have shifted to Koregaon Park, I have found an immense change in the way people perceive my habitat. When I was in Baner, people used to look at me in sympathy like I was living in some old-age home (which is true because Baner is full of 68-year-old Brahmin women with scornful looks who stab you with their elbows on the footpath and believe that if there is anything purer and more chaste than them, it is their own version two hours later when they’re leaving the Bhajan-hall). Back then, I felt sad about myself because I thought I was missing out on things that people do in ‘all those happening places’. Then somehow, after house hunting for four months and getting my testicles touched in inappropriate manners by men twice, I finally found a decent place in Koregaon Park. One of the perks of staying in this place is that we have two refrigerators here, of which one is not working. So I am planning to buy a fake human head from Amazon (honestly, a real one would also do but I hate having to deal with rotting cartilage), and put it in the non-working fridge and whenever someone comes over whom I dislike (generally, all people who do not pay the rent of the place), I can point at the non-working fridge and tell them to ‘make themselves home, open the fridge and chug a beer maybe’. I’d love to see how that works.
But anyway, the subject of interest today, is people sucking my phallus in a metaphysical manner. It generally happens over conversations, which go like this:
Them: So where do you stay?
Me: Koregaon Park.
Them: Oh, where in Koregaon Park? (At this point they’re really hoping that I either stay in Keshav Nagar or Mundhwa, which are adjoining areas made for people who want to stay in Koregaon Park but haven’t gotten their testicles touched, thus getting disqualified).
Me: North Main Road.
Them: *Proceed to virtually fall on their knees and open their mouths*
I don’t get this obsession. One of my friends has told me that since I live in the place he has always wanted to live in, he is going to occupy my living room free of cost because one time, five years ago, he had let me use his father’s office for making joints, most of which he had smoked. In eternal dread, I still await the day when he comes with his six bags of meth. On another occasion, a friend said, “Wah wah wah wah wah, KP! Awesome!”
Like bitch what’s awesome, I am paying 1800 bucks for a normal fucking gas cylinder and 3000 bucks to a woman who ‘claims’ that she cleans my house.
My office colleagues told me that I would get laid more frequently than ever, since I now stay in Koregaon Park. This is how that conversation went:
Them: You’re going to get laid!
Them: You stay in Koregaon Park man!
Me: How is that relevant to me scoring chicks?
Them (excitement intensified at this point): You stay in KP maaaaan!
Me: But I am just going to go to work and then go home. Wouldn’t try to socialize with anyone, so no chance. Is there any other way I can possibly get laid? Nope.
Them (on the verge of hysteria): You stay in KP duuuuuuuudeeeeee!!
To all such people who have metaphysically choked on my dick (I like to repeat that because I have never gotten a real blowjob, bear with me please), I want to say a few things:
- It isn’t Las Vegas.
- No, girls don’t pick you up from the streets because you happen to be a male born in the homo sapiens species.
- Most of the area is occupied by Rajasthani grocery store owners whose looks would never give you a boner.
- The only time I felt some sexual energy on the street was when I accidentally opened Google Chrome in my phone to see a porn video in progress.
- Yes, that stuff about homosexual men roaming around with unleashed libido is true. They’re everywhere, I once got touched and I won’t stop talking about it until the end of time.