Some day, Baby Fox and me are going to get thrown into jail for lewd and lascivious behaviour. Or perhaps for cracking jokes in public which no one gets. And I do mean no one. You have to have a particularly messed up sense of humour to get it along with experiencing certain experiences.
Hmmm I think Fox reads this but I aint too sure. Should I tell you about it?
fuck it, I think I will.
Fox and me had this absolutely killer game back in college. The aim of the game (that rhymes!) was to get the other person to look at your middle finger.
Yup, that was it.
Except you could not shove the finger in the other’s face and you could not say “dude look at this” and show the finger. Oh no.
It had to be more subtle, it had to be more devious.
The best of the best was this one time during class. I am sitting next to him and bored as hell. He starts drawing something on the desk. Me becomes curious. That bastard continues drawing something. Me becomes curiouser cause the bastard is covering his Mona Lisa with his hand. So now I am trying to peer over his shoulder, desperate to see what he is doing. And he keeps covering it up. Finally, I just yank off his hand and……………..
He has drawn a hand giving the finger.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that was the standard at which this game was played.
And it kept us occupied for about two and a half years.
A lot of people did not get it. And still don’t. They do not know the joy of pulling out an elaborate set of diversions and distractions. All with the sole intention of getting the other to see the birdie.
But that is not what I was going to tell you.
Fox and me were once witness to a rather sloshed evening of free booze, “dhik chik” music (which kinda sounds like tranny music but whatever..) and all the other things which come along with someone else’s fancy salary.
So there we are, chilling at the counter. Too sloshed to stand straight. Egging on another chap to ask this girl stranger for a dance. And we egg and we egg and the bugger is high so he is eggable.
And so he walks up to the girl stranger, taps on her shoulder. She turns around and sees him grinning at her. And then (I swear this is true) he points at her, points at the dance floor and sign languages “do you want to dance?”. Like “you, me, want to party?”.
And the song in the background was some crappy version of “say na say na” and we are laughing our guts out and the sweet woman who had brought us our drinks thinks we are mad. And so she orders another round and we get a little more buzzed and we laugh a little harder.
I guess you had to be there.
The number of my family members has increased by one.
This one is black, shiny and bites. She does not have a name (yet), gives me great pleasure at night and comes from Madras.
Say na say na how you said it to me.
I have an incredible urge to run down the streets wearing me boxers and baniyan and doing the ghati dance.