Where we carefully procreate, in silence and determined not to leave any stains

Hey. No one forced you to be here.

You came of your own free will.




Imma gooona sex you up. Sexxxxxxxxxxxx.

Oooooh. Sexy sexy.

Bappi Lahiri.

Ohhhhhh. Do that again.

And Again

Bappi Lahiri.


I hope to god I never become a hypnotist. The kind of shit I would make people do. Totally fuck around with their minds. Like totally. Years later, their grandkid’s grandkids will be all fucked up and talking to their shrink and saying, “I always felt there was something wrong with the insides of my eyes.”

Smack my bitch up.

I don’t think I know what that means and I am pretty cool with that. No point in unnecessarily ruffling the grey cells if you know what I mean. Ruffling the grey cells. Now that is a strange idea.

Sometimes I like to clash two completely alien things. Like just get them by their heads and clonk them together. And watch.

What could possibly happen now?


The problem with having a hairy belly, as everyone knows, is that things get a bit difficult when you have to tie something around the belly. A swimming float for instance. You know that round thing which looks a bit like a giant Eclair (the cadbury one and not oooo I’m so french or italian or whatever motherfucka one).

Anyway, so since I am (re)learning how to swim, I gotta tie one of those things around me. And the belly hair gets stuck in the ropes. And my face goes all spazoidal and in my head I am like “Should I just wear the fuckin thing all day?”

Fuck. Now thats a good idea. Walking around, taking a local from Dadar station, with a fucking swimming buoy thing tied around my beer belly. Fuck. I should totally do that. Just walking around, you know, looking here and there and shit. All the time that brown buoy thing above my bum.



In spite of (or despite) being the ugly bastard of the lot, the Harbour Line has some absolutely incredible scenery. Sure, if you head from VT then a lot of it is just along the new Expressway but there are parts where it goes through some really quiet and neglected parts of the city.

Plus, the first 5-6 stations (from VT) are all on the left side so you can nicely dangle from the right side without having anyone push/pull/drag you away.


Chayaa chaiyya chaiyya chaiayyya – what the fuck does chaiyya mean?

Just do the chamak challo baby.

Also, this song be the shizzle dizzle:

I swear chotti dress mien bomb lag ti menu.

Wolf whistle.


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