Where the alphabets shake their booty, naughty little bastards with all the grace of drunk hippos

Drunk hippos would FTW. Quite literally.

I wonder what it would be like to ruled by a family of drunk hippos. King Hippo with his crown at an angle and Queen Hippo belching away every few minutes. Prince and Princess Hippo, already showing signs of binge drinking.

The royal photographer trying to get them all to focus at the camera. Failing miserably. Until he places the bottle of Hendricks gin right on top of the camera. The very last bottle that is.

Gets them all to look at the same spot for more than a fleeting moment. Gets them to smile as well.

So after months and months (read minutes and minutes) of soul searching, I have decided not to sell Brutus. Despite all the trouble she has given me, Brutus shall remain part of the family for some time now.

But I am going to make a few changes. Probably get a better set of tires (grippier ones) and perhaps change the seat. There is this guy in Shivajinagar who makes these fucking amazing seats. Like tailor made and shit. I wonder if he measures the bums before making them.


Went and visited the Triumph showroom and was like “Hulk WANT”. I don’t think the salesman really got it cause he gave me this super strange look. Dumb bastard.

Went to this super sexy place called Chez Martineck or something like that in Marthahalli. Whattey place man. Like I know “wood fired” is the new “hipster” but this one is totally (like oh so totally) worth it.

Dripping and bubbling cheese on this crispy thin crust. Pulled out from the oven and placed right in front of you so you breathe it all in before you start the chomping.


Saax. Mera saax ho raha hai. Kya garmi hai beedu. Saax. Bhrastachaar ho raha hai. Ekdum.

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