Dont pull my finger. No really. Alright ok. One last time……ahhhh

My dad’s friend used to do that. Fart on request. It took me quite a while to realise that he would only ask me to pull his finger after a meal.

I met him a couple of weeks ago. They were celebrating 50 years of their friendship or something like that. It was kinda cool.

…………….

You know for all our cynicism, we are pretty gullible bastards. Something made me think about “egg less cake” and I was just wondering how the fuck would anyone know if there was any egg in it? Like all they do is modify the sign and that is all. Its even worse with these “diabetic” versions of mithais. What the fuck man. How the fuck does anyone know.

I think it is some sort of suggestive marketing technique where the customer is told what s/he wants to hear.

Sala sala.

…………………………

In my last two flights, my seat was conveniently grabbed by the better half of a fat bastard. Expectantly looking forward to a window seat to find some random bleddy fucker sitting there. And looking at me like its no big deal. And one fatty in the middle. So if I wanted to rightfully claim my allotted seat, the fatty would have to shift and there would be a whole lot of rustling and hustling.

What the fuck man. Sit in your fucking seat for the love of fuckin heyzoos.

Today’s fatty went to sleep. Snoring sleep. Right next to my ear. And the chutiya in front was shoving the back of his head into my nose. Saala upright your fuckin seat please sir.

And the mandatory baby was crying. And there was air turbulence. A lot of it. It got so bad for some time that I was actually telling myself that I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die right now. I really don’t.

……………………………

Para para paraaaa dise. Para para paraaaaaa dise.

I wonder what the “graph” part of “paragraph” is supposed to signify.

Toodles.

Advertisement