Monday, February 12, 2007

MOTHER FUCKER's GONNA DROP THE ANKI

SCENE I

What can be better than a never-ending spell of rain on a Saturday?

Duh... running around in the rain.

It’s not everyday that you spot a semi-hot boy in Delhi. It’s also not everyday that you fail to spot the protruding iron sprinkler, camouflaged in the wet slushy gardens of India Gate; quite obviously designed to trip terrorists. And, yet another intelligence failure...

Thud!

Ssssppp---llluuuu---chhhhhhh!

Fuck…fuck… fuck!

Never ever try to seduce semi-hot boys while lying in a puddle of mud. They tend to laugh their asses off.

“Guys... you missed it... quick get the cam,” screamed the moronic PP.

Oh... and please don't bother picking me up!!!

SCENE II

A few hours passed and now I was grindin’ and windin’…

Thud!

Not again!

Fuck… fuck… fuck!

This time, the seduction attempt targeted at a super-cute, curly haired hottie was regretfully aborted. The swelling on my foot began to resemble one of Pamela’s famed assets and the beer bottle promptly impersonated an ice-pack with the covert ambition of giving me a frost-bite. I decided if it’s broken, then Chris Martin ain’t comin’ right away to fix it, might as well make the rest of the night worth something. Besides, seven hip-hop lovers quitting their grindin' session to sit beside me with me with fake sombre expressions was quite a pathetic sight. After all, it was the mother fuckin’ D-O-double-G.

Off to the doctor… hoping it's not a hair-line.