Why Is Women’s Virginity So Important?

It isn’t. If nations had honest taglines based on their socio-cultural development in the modern times, India’s would have been “Marital Rape? Cool. Pre-Marital Loss of Virginity? FUCK NO.” because it would honestly describe how far we have come in all these years when it comes to sexuality, taboos and in strict senses of sexual freedom, gender equality too.

I think these gender-specific shackles of virginity are grossly unjust towards women. I’m not exactly an advocate of women’s rights (which I hope you wouldn’t misconstrue as “I yell at my girlfriend in public for expressing her political views”) and yet, when a mere outsider, a non-advocate feels the need to so much as speak about it with a certain amount of critical rage, I think the message about how gross it is should be visible in considerable magnification. When it comes to bare sexuality and especially virginity, we are still an orthodox lot, not just as India, but as the whole world. Let me explain this to you with the power of your own vision. When I say “A Virgin”, what do you see? I see a beautiful, 20-year-old young girl in white robes, honestly. And I am dead sure you see something similar if not vaginas, although some may go as far as seeing that. I don’t blame you, it is how we have been growing up – reading, listening and talking about it. But say, on listening to the word Virgin, does anyone see uncircumcised dicks? Or any kind of dicks? Heck does anyone even see a handsome man in white robes?

Now further, the assertion is also based on the fact that you would religiously remember a virgin woman with the adjective stuck to her name, thus kind of emphasizing that her virginity was the most important thing about her life. Other words, Virgin Mary. Why cannot she just be Mary, the mother of Jesus? Okay she gave birth to a child with the supposed interference of a Holy Spirit and no man was involved in the act (remember that Anakin Skywalker was also born the same way but no one called his mother Virgin Shmi), but just to remind the world that this birth was magical, why couple the mother’s name with a permanent adjective which she probably regrets anyway? I mean, we all want sex right? And if there was such a pushing necessity to emphasize on the fact that Jesus was no ordinary, why couldn’t you say Biologically Fatherless Jesus or Jesus The Magically Born? It even has a nice ring to it. While saying all this, I also want you to remember that this isn’t a mindless rant in a sudden fit of feminism. I am strictly talking about our obsession with virginity.  Every culture, every civilization, every religion underlines some importance or necessity of virginity. Some religion wants the blood of virgin women, some cultures like those of the Greeks asked for virgin women, who could be messengers of the Gods in ancient times, and some others like the Indian culture ask women to stay virgins in their youths because it is chaste, which apparently also means that God likes it. I don’t see how is God always involved. Does it mean He can smell dick and is repelled by it? No? That hurts your religious sentiments?

I don’t know how it is where you stay but in India where I stay, there is this thing called an arranged marriage, which you have probably heard of. In this system, parents sit over cups of tea and decide who can nail their children for the rest of the children’s lives based on the nailing-enthusiast’s family’s social status. In this arrangement if a girl candidly admits to having had a sexual intercourse in the past, the guy’s set of parents can go as far as asking the girl’s set of parents something that can well be translated to what you would ask the cashier at Walmart when you go home and see that the seal of the pack of cookies you bought is already broken. If it can be any more blunt, you would say “Look at your nerve! You tried selling me an already opened and used commodity?!”

Yes, they take virginity that seriously. The depth of this problem is so grave; it needs to be measured in time rather than any other unit. When I think of it, I guess this system of praising virgin women, linking them with chastity and promotion of virginity until marriage was all done in ancient times so that people would not fuck around like animals and the institution of marriage would be saved, which was really a wise way of doing it because it went on to become successful. It was like saying, “Hey daughter, you can go fuck Ed in the neighbourhood and lose your virginity, no problem because I’m a modern 7thcentury BC, open minded dad, but God can smell dick and he don’t like it. What you gon’ do about that, huh?” But then, I guess some forefather mistakenly fucked some fore-aunt in the dark (can’t blame him, he lived in a 7th century B.C. joint family and there was no Tesla to invent the bulb) and the product of incest created all the dumb shit crowd in the middle years which believed in stuff like monkeys believe in, well, stuff. But I think it’s all changing because in the last couple of centuries we have fucked as outside of our families as possible and also because if I can understand this much, which is so little really, there must be brighter fucks out there who can and would certainly know better.

This all goes to say, of course don’t fuck around and destroy the institution of marriage but don’t make a fucking demon out of virginity. It is not important at all. Just something your body is meant to lose some random day. It is in fact not even more important than something as small the mobile phone in which you’re reading this. How? Here’s how: What would you prefer losing more when you wake up tomorrow morning? This phone or your virginity?

That there, is your answer.

 

PS: When I thought about where did all this come from, I realized it was because 51-year-old Salman Khan said “I am still a virgin”, on a talk show. It angered me to see how he was keeping up with the taboo, promoting it. If it’s true that he’s a virgin, he has literally lived this cartoon. Fucking dick.

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Slaving China To Make It Build Modern Pyramids, Why Is It Impossible And Tips To Get Free Cookies

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This is my friend and an ancient evil overlord trapped in a modern normal girl’s body, Gargi. If you don’t know Gargi I’d suggest you go to Deenanath Mangeshkar Hospital in Pune. Outside this hospital, she distributes free walnut cookies to rich industrialists’ children every Saturday evening. You see, charity isn’t her agenda. She’s building a network so that she can eventually step on the fucking scalps of the kids’ mommies and daddies three years later and climb up the ladder of the corporate world. Also, she doesn’t wear that tiara while distributing cookies so if you’re going there to see that, I’d suggest you wait for approximately another seven months until she again wins the Miss Tiara in her MBA college’s freshman party.

But why are we talking about Gargi? Because a while ago, while I was talking to her, she randomly said, “Chinese people are really smart but at the same time they’re inhuman. They lack empathy. They’re the only ones capable of building modern day pyramids. So someone needs to enslave them and make them build pyramids.” Now since I was trying to write something during this conversation, I asked her if she thought there was something I could write about and still in her obsession, she said “Write about how to enslave Chinese people and get them to build pyramids.” And since I agreed, here we are. Now when I think about it, I realize I might write on, but not about how to enslave them and get the pyramids done. I’ll rather cite the reasons why it is sorta impossible from my spectacle.

I’m not much of an architect or a feudal lord from the medieval times so there is a very little chance that I might be able to enslave the whole Chinese population and even if I do, get them to build a fucking pyramid. On a side note, what I also find rather inhuman is, pushing the poor blokes in slavery to build a pyramid especially when they have already spent 1700 valuable years of their history to build a simple stone-wall and another 300 to finish and retouch it. That’s 2000 years in all. Asking them to put more stones together therefore not only sounds insensitive to me, but also as a total loss of huge potential. But who am I to tell that anyway? All I am saying is I don’t know how can I get karate enthusiasts to bow to my rather desi moves and then also get them to put together a stone structure already available somewhere else since 4000 years.

Apart from my inability, another trifle, less important reason why it seems so very difficult is because China has begun strengthening its relations with many nations using a shared civilization strategy. It has already been noticed that most of the nations in the Southern hemisphere of the globe sympathize and relate with China on a deeper level than they do with its European and American counterparts. Of course this comes with some exceptions like Australia-New Zealand because they don’t give a fuck and India, because, well you know. Now that doesn’t exactly make much difference to China because it doesn’t want diplomacy or friendly relations with any of its immediate neighbours, if it wants anything with them, it is to annex their territories. But this of course isn’t going to be easy for the emerging super-power because Hague’s ruling over the South China Sea that came about five months ago underlines how resentful the West is of China’s policies even in its own neighbourhood. To counter this, China has been trying to play the shared civilization card wherein, it is trying to rebuild the historic, celebrated Silk Route with its One Belt, One Road initiative that would go cutting through all of Asia, all the way up to Cairo. China has also gone as far as asserting that, according to new archaeological discoveries that have conveniently happened in China itself, there is evidence that points towards the fact that the Chinese have their biological origin in Egypt. This is literally a simple game of playing with people’s emotions and while it is absurd, that very absurdity has been phenomenal in its success. That is to say, Egypt seems pleased. Further China is also funding a $45 billion project to build a completely new city in the deserts outside Cairo. And all this for what? For strengthening ties with Egypt. One might wonder what might it get or plans to get from all this strengthening of ties? The answer lies a little North of Egypt. The Middle Eastern Islamic nations haven’t exactly been appreciative of the West since Bush-Blair’s little show in Iraq. China plans on using this resentment to its own advantage by forming a strong alliance with all these Muslim nations, and Egypt is its first step on this route. The gateway. And if it becomes successful in this endeavor, it would result in a whole belt of Chinese dominance running right through the middle of Asia, probably resting somewhere near Turkey, a gateway to another continent – more room for the dragon to grow. After all this, if Gargi still chains the Chinese, I am very certain that Putin and Trump might put up congratulatory hoardings for her all the way from Sinhagad Road up to Vimaan Nagar.

I sincerely doubt it though. Military expansion and annexation of territories doesn’t seem like her thing because her action plans aren’t exactly thoroughly thought – an assumption based on the fact that she once tried to feed birds inside a house by throwing cake pieces on the walls, when the birds were not even there. But she says this is her retirement master-plan. She will grow powerful and then do it. That’s well thought. Considering her career span to be about 35 or 40 years, she has enough time to learn Mandarin cuss words and orders because how else is she going to tell Wi Wang to pick up one stone and put it on another? Sign language would be a disaster because I hear they have different meanings for different angles of bowing. So if Gargi bows down to enact picking up a stone and mistakenly sends out a message that they are all free and she is taking them to Ibiza for a send-off trip, her whole fucking retirement plan would become wastage of time, money and effort. My retirement plan is therefore fishing on my own boat. Boats never go out of style and there are plenty of fish and God bless Leonardo Di Caprio, there are going to be more. But I’ll tell you about it another time.

Apart from entertaining you with Gargi’s rather unusual idea(for which you can thank her if you want), this article is also an attempt to tell you what the Chinese are up-to these days, because you wouldn’t have read it any other way.

Mandu

So we had been to Mandu. If your Hindi is good and you’re a poet at heart, you cannot resist the temptation of saying “Toh mai kya karu gandu?” after reading the first line. I know this because I couldn’t resist that temptation either. If you observe, you’ll see that apart from being an irrelevant addition to an article which seems to be about a place of some importance that I visited, the Hindi expression has also been arranged to send across a very clever message about how I am a poet at heart. I don’t have to say it and yet, you know it. That, dear reader, is exactly how I suck my own dick most of the times – cleverly. But because we are not here to talk about clever methods that can be employed by one to achieve self-pleasure, let us stick to Mandu.

So, we had been to Mandu. I know you probably don’t give a fuck to where I had been unless it is either the third base and you’re a porn-literature addict or it is your property with a yellow board that says “Trespassers will be shot”, and you’re an American weeping over what the nation has brought itself into but have secretly voted Trump so that you don’t have to part with your Smith & Wesson. In all other cases, I assume you’re least interested about where I had been. But you must understand that this is my blog and when I seem to be running out of ideas, I decide to churn some really useless shit. You have to oblige with it and settle for what’s served on the platter. In this case, Mandu.

Before we get any further though, let me share something that just struck me while writing. It is amazing how you just want to use some phrase but the idea in that phrase leads you into thinking something completely different, away from the topic. See how, in the last paragraph, I said ‘you have to settle for what’s served on the platter’? Doesn’t that mean that I am, or for that matter any blogger, or for that matter any writer even, is the literary equivalent of an owner of a gastronomical restaurant serving only one type of, self-decided cuisine every day? This also leads me to ask a more substantial question which may sound like total bullshit but is actually relative if you think about it – can even remotely successful writers run special-menu restaurants successfully? I am asking this because Isha wants to open a restaurant like that someday.  She once said to me, “We’ll decide our own daily menu and people can eat it or fuck off.” which, I must say, is quite a singular way of serving food. Although I appreciate her for being so straightforward with the restaurant’s menu, the fact that she is an Indori at heart worries me because Indoris are stupid poha-jalebi fucks and therefore, although people would love having different special cuisines at our specialized restaurant every day, I wonder how many days are they going to tolerate the poha-jalebi special because after all this time of staying together, sometimes when I look at the breakfast, I wish I had a choice at least remotely close to what she is going to offer to our future restaurant customers because then, I swear I would fuck myself off to Jupiter (everyone keeps fucking off to Mars, Moon and the non-existent Pluto and I am therefore very certain that there are some Indoris there too , thus this planet) where it would be practically impossible to find a poha-senv-jalebi stall.

But wait, that isn’t even the point. Point is, we had been to Mandu. I don’t blame you if you don’t know Mandu because it is like calling a person named Antoinette ‘Tony’. Who the fuck is going to deduce that? Mandu is actually Mandavgadh (phonetically accurate spelling). And it isn’t anything like Disney World – another reason why your inability to recognize the place wouldn’t surprise me. Anyone staying outside Madhya Pradesh is not going to give a flying fuck to a fortress town built in as early as the 6th century. Except my mom. She’s a history buff. And you. If you’re a history buff. There are many such historical sites in India and it is a pity that they generally go unnoticed for some of them display spectacular architecture and hold quite some historical significance. I have always been keen on finding such places and visiting them to figure out what our great forefather have left for us to preserve and celebrate. It was this very keenness of mine that led me to plan a trip to Mandu.

So we went to Mandu. That’s about it. There’s nothing to tell because it isn’t like I am Indiana Jones and Isha is Lara Croft, inviting trouble at every single fucking historic place we go to. Nothing happened. We went with a few of Isha’s friends and roamed around and had fun. So what’s this article about? In the second paragraph itself, I told you that I am going to churn some really useless shit. Further, both the first and the second paragraph begin and end with almost the same fucking lines. Yeah, okay go and check it. That should have given you some idea. But if you have stuck with me as long as this point, you might as well read a couple more lines because we are now done with this anyway. Funny how I went all out in this article talking about pretty darn bizarre stuff but you stuck all along. You also deserve a virtual hug for that, dear reader. I love you.

And just so that you know the whole Mandu thing isn’t a hoax, here is a photo of Isha from Queen Roopmati’s bedchamber’s door-step.

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Don’t ask me what she’s doing. I couldn’t answer the question that day when some other tourists asked me about it either.

 

How Shit-Headed Pakistan Is: An Analysis Based On Sharif’s Phone Call With Trump

I don’t generally write political posts because it is too much work. You have to find out who said what and quote their fucking words, and then find out what others think about it and then formulate your own opinions and present them in such a manner that they would sound original although they are fucking replicas of what some senior journalist from CNN or BBC thinks. With respect to that, it is a lot easier to write about loser Bengali women in your office who have eaten so many roshgullas in their lives, they have begun looking like roshgullas and who, due to lack of a relationship, which in turn is because of their round faces and rounder bellies, have settled for virtually blowing the City Editor. I’ll definitely tell you about those bitches some time. Not today though, because today I want to talk something political.

So while I was working on something related to Donald Trump and Nawaz Sharif in the office this morning, I realized it was shit enough to be here. And now when I come to think about it, I realize that it isn’t even political really. It is shitty as fuck. If nations had visible brains, Pakistan’s would still be invisible. What would instead be visible is a large dick because that is where they generate their ideas from. I am not saying this out of hatred for them but they keep doing stupid fucking things – an old habit  that began right when Jinnah asked for a separate nation and has continued all along until today. This time around, it is the transcript of their Prime Minister’s phone call with Trump that has again shown that Sharif’s parents were probably playing football with his fucking brain when he was born.  Not going into too much detail, what happened was Trump decided it was a good time to call random fuckers from around the world and tell them how terrific they are. In this long list of people, one person was Pakistan’s PM Nawaz Sharif. Trump called Sharif and told him a bunch of fake things that Sharif was dick enough to believe and pass on to the media. The transcript which was thus released, quotes Trump, quotes the details, and according what Trump’s inner circle has accused, also grossly overstates the conversation.

Quoting Trump? Dickiest Move Ever.

While it can be understood that you want to show the world how America has agreed to make you one of its side bitches whom it can drill for other things than oil when Iraq is being an unyielding hoe, it cannot be understood why you would disclose what a leader of another nation has told a leader of your nation. Such a thing goes against the protocol because according to unsaid rules, you can definitely quote what the leader of your country has said but should positively avoid quoting a foreign leader’s words on a private phone call for the sake of, if nothing else, dignity.

Quoting Details? Dickier than the Dickiest.

When you make a dick move like that, the next immediate thing you do is damage control. What Pakistan did was they became dickier by stating the minutest details of the call. They quoted Trump saying, “You (Sharif) are a terrific guy. You are doing amazing work which is visible in every way. I am looking forward to see you soon. As I am talking to you Prime Minister, I feel I am talking to a person I have known for long.”

You do NOT FUCKING DO THAT. Trump may wish your wife to have a triplet the next time she’s pregnant or he may tell you that he feels like he knows you for long because you were his sperm which fertilized your mother’s fucking egg. It may be literally any fucking thing. You DO NOT QUOTE THINGS LIKE THAT, PAKISTAN.

Overplaying It? Okay Now Seriously, What Do You Eat for Breakfast? Dick Salads?

Even if you shit more than a ward full of diarrhea on the next day of some regional mutton fest, you should know enough to not overplay it. According to some of Trump’s close associates, the transcript released by Pakistan is exaggerated to quite some extent. This really beats my fucking wits. My editor doesn’t even let me alter the words of someone as much a choot as KRK because that is not only against media rules, it is against all fucking human rules in the world unless you are a villain woman in a Hindi serial trying to break a large family by telling some other woman what some yet other woman said about her red saree (because men generally don’t  give a fuck and they’re not important in serials anyway). And this isn’t even KRK. IT IS A FUCKING INTERNATIONAL LEADER YOU ARE QUOTING. YOU DO NOT PUT YOUR FUCKING WORDS IN HIS MOUTH NO FUCKING MATTER WHAT.

When it comes to politics, I am not exactly the sharpest tool in the shade and yet, if someone as fucking dim-witted as me can understand this, why can’t you Pakistan?

A lot milder version of this article has previously been published on Postpickle.

Why Are Their Butts Soft?

If you began reading this with a sincere sense of curiosity, congratulations! You must know that you have voluntarily, secretly declared that you are a hard butt, which is good because no one is going to be anal with you.

Now let me begin with what this is not. If you’re looking for shitty, foul words, bad, degrading, degenerate, deteriorating, despicable, dick humour (just trying to show off my D-knowledge. Pun sincerely not intended because that’d make me sound gay), congratulations again (see, we celebrated two things inside two paragraphs. You’re going to enjoy this). Great choice coming here. If you’re however looking for something docile towards today’s social standards of writing and speaking where you cannot call a retard despite her being a batshit retard, and you’re hurt because of the gay joke and hurt also because while talking about retards I said her instead of him, thus disrespecting women and showing what a dirty, chauvinistic pig I am, this isn’t for you. If you’re hurt because of all this, it self-evidences the fact that you’re a soft butt. And it is exactly your soft butt that I am talking about here. Anyone whose parents aren’t siblings (that eliminates Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella from this round) may have now gathered the simple knowledge that these soft butts are those that get easily pierced by something as simple, as technically benign as words.

Getting hurt by words is completely human and therefore normal, true. But that is applicable only until the words come from someone really important in your life. Then again, it isn’t the words that would do the damage. It will rather be the thought. For example, if your mother tells you that you are a retard, you wouldn’t even so much as look up from your phone but if she tells you that your father is actually her first cousin and therefore your rather slow understanding of things is justifiable, you’re certainly going to feel hurt. After five minutes. And that sums up all the getting hurt because of words in the world. Only those whom you love can hurt you with words. And because of this very reason, random people getting hurt for random things that other random people randomly say somewhere on the internet is, I reckon, unnatural and to some serious extent, abnormal too.

Look around and you’ll see them everywhere. They’re fighting because someone calls someone else fat, retard, black, ugly, brown, gay, slut and what not. I don’t understand this. Whereas it is justifiable that you’re not going to stand someone insulting someone else seriously or someone being insensitive to someone else on purpose – without a tinge of humour to it, it isn’t justifiable when a joke, no matter how inappropriate, how degenerate stirs you up. And if it does, you can always give it back to them with a harder joke, a better roast but for fuck’s sake stop putting up these banners of “How Could You Call Her A Slut When You Could Have Easily Said She Is A Woman With Her Choices And Her Body?” Every bad word resonating to women, or describing the lifestyles of some of them isn’t necessarily misogyny. If that’s true you should kiss the asses of all the pigs in the world for the next 8000 years for identifying and comparing them with dirty looks.

What you don’t understand is, you, the butt-hurts, are a major part of the society and your I-am-easily-annoyed attitude is conditioning people to mentally become your puppets. Just because you can lash at them, just because your community consists of supposedly intelligent people, the wise ones, others are scared of you and are unknowingly following you into thinking and saying only those things that you would rule socially acceptable and further, be pleased to hear.  I see people on Quora answering questions with so much bullshit, it is disturbing and at the same time saddening. Before writing any answer that may have something to do with women, racial differences or castes or religions, they first have to churn a lot of shit about how they don’t mean to be mean, how they’re not being offensive and how they’re apologetic to anyone who is hurt because of their answers. Do you see what are you doing here? You are pushing one whole generation into mental slavery by making them believe through fear of getting ambushed that only a certain way of thinking or saying things is appropriate. You’re doing what the whites did to the blacks. Only it isn’t physical this time around. Further, your tremendous outrage at someone saying something which you deem unacceptable underlines the fact that your ideology can go on to become a social threat at some point. Sounds farfetched? Let me cite one incident from the recent past.

In January 2015, gunmen walked in Charlie Hebdo’s central office and killed 12 people as a reply to the magazines satirical post about Islam and their Prophet. This happened after the magazine had received several threats over the stretch of a long time. Something as benign as pencils and pens pierced these extremists’ soft butts and resulted in them physically assaulting, killing those whose sketches and words displeased them.

It may sound unreasonable to you because you certainly wouldn’t walk out of your house with a gun to kill someone just because of their online comments. Despite not knowing you, I can vouch for that. But if these unofficial rules and restrictions harbour within people for say, the next six generations from now and if someone then decides to say something about retards or sluts – which will have definitely become a taboo by then, it wouldn’t be a surprise to see someone following your ideology pull out a gun and kill twelve others.

In 2013, the Independent wrote, “Just because Muslims refuse to portray the Prophet, there’s no reason why non-Muslims should feel compelled by the same restrictions and fear retribution if they go ahead with picturing Islam’s founder.” On similar lines, just because you refuse to use some words because you consider them insensitive, there is no reason why you should incite fear in people and push them into a rather obvious choice – following your lead or face flak. Do not smother the freedom of speech – for as much as your beautiful, noble thoughts about freedom of speech are true, as much as it is true that everyone’s expression of opinions – most importantly that of women, falls under freedom of speech, insensitive words and jokes and degenerate language is also a part of it. Broaden that view. Moreover, be a sport.

As for those who are actually looking for methods to get physically soft butts, I am sorry. I have studied engineering, so I don’t know anything about it. Try implants, maybe.

Soap And Some Chemicals

This poem is based on a fan theory that says Tyler Durden from Fight Club goes on to become The Joker from The Dark Knight.

I remember the day.

“Do you know him? They say he was born in an asylum”, says Bob.

His words come from a distance,

A copy of a copy of a copy.
My ear still hurts.

Pain is liberation.

I smile at Bob.

He knows.
And that’s how it started

They all knew.

And the more they expected it from me,

The more I had to be.
Today if you ask me about it,

I would just smile.

You won’t ask again.

But it will sink in you after a while.
After that project,

The little, fancy antic of mine

I was at peace.

I could even sleep just about fine.
Then you failed me.
What can one fall do to a man? Nothing.

You took my home. Nothing.

You took my job and it in turn took my wife.

And then what? Nothing.

I took three falls and nothing.
Then you robbed me

And left me in the dark.

I stumbled and fell.

One more time.
What can one fall do to a man? That one did.

It bleached me.

The Lazarus Pit.

Did I change? Nonsense!

It just brought me back those lost colors of youth.
And since, I’m trying to do

What I did then.

Only my hair isn’t blonde anymore. It’s green.

Only this time, I do it in Gotham

Which is infested by bats.
I’m just a mischievous boy.

You can ignore me because I won’t kill you.

All I’ll do is hurt you really, really bad.
But you don’t know this story. You don’t know my story.

Why? Because I’m probably talking in my head.

No one knows it.

I myself wouldn’t have either.

But I know it, because Tyler knows it. 

What The Fuck Was I Doing?

For those of you who don’t know, this what this is about, it’s nothing related to my life’s awakening prior to which I was doing some really fucked up job. Or it is. But it is also about what was I doing all this time when I was away from the blog.

So let’s see, this hasn’t really been a hiatus or a sabbatical or whatever I would otherwise call my time spent rubbing the sweat on my ass until it turns to a mound of dirt. Literally.  I guess that’s how the word rubbish came into existence. You see it’s because of rubbing something that is originally liquid and turns to many semi-solid pellets when you keep rubbing it for a while. So since we don’t really know how to define things that are incomprehensible but do exist, we found the idea of putting an -ish after them. However since the motive of this article isn’t lighting upon obvious facts that you don’t know because you don’t rub the sweat on your ass, I think I’d move on. When I come to think about what really is the motive of this article, I realize that there’s nothing particular I want to speak of. Perhaps this is just one really desperate attempt to get started because I have spent a lot of time not writing. There were times when I saw something or happened to be in a situation and thought “Hey that can go on the blog!” but then I was also obligated to devote my time to typing product descriptions for Amazon and Snapdeal. One time I wrote 37 descriptions of 200 words each, save the calculations 7400 words in all about what? Toilet seats. That kind of work burns your brains like acids burn, well I am not  very well-versed with chemistry but you get the idea right?

Funny how I now realize that even getting to work in your favorite (I hate the fact that when I type favourite this WordPress editor puts a red line under it) field is not always as rewarding as it may seem to someone who is not you. People always tell me that I am a lucky bastard because I am getting to work in the writing industry like I always wanted to and I want to tell them that this was not what I was looking forward to but then too much complaining makes you sound like a cunt. Of course I am placed with a good company now where my work primarily consists of sipping free coffee and typing words in the computer whenever I feel like, which is good because it gives me a lot of time to follow up people’s lives on Facebook and see how they are getting married or getting jobs or just doing something that is better than sitting and drinking free coffee. However my days with the product descriptions were really unpleasant. Then again, I guess more or less, that’s how it begins for every person. And since I am almost over that phase, I thought it would be a good idea to go back to what I really love to do – write this blog. For most of the times, I have been pretty mean with all the words and glorious abuses (this editor just did it again with humour) towards you, but I would really love to try and do something different this time around.

I know what you’re thinking but for once, I am not going to be a fucking jerk and make some really inappropriate remark because if you come and see me in person you will also see that I don’t use penis-metaphors all that often. That would be fucking crazy which reminds me, I do use the word fucking as much as you would use the loo if someone turns the AC to 18 degree Celsius and makes you sit in that room for nine hours (describing my office, nothing personal). So yes, without being abusive of the fine person that you are – something I otherwise love to do, I’d like you to know that I am here now, and I am going to try and write again and this time, I am going to be a little nicer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, I am really not going to say “Fuck off.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, fuck off.