Where we sing and dance to the hypnotic poems of the pastafarians

Like totally man.

I still haven’t managed to get around to reading poetry on a consistent basis.Sure, some random chutiya may catch my eye and I will be all like “ooooh, kya awesome hai” and all but nothing that has really gripped me nomads if you know what I mean.

Speaking of which, came across a whole host of old photos the other day. Like ancient shit. Like when the dinosaurs were all like, “Oooh where are we” and shit.

Fuck. Dinosaurs.

There is something inherently funny about dinosaurs. Little arms flailing here and there. Dumb motherfuckers. Just standing there and looking at all the volcanoes going “puttttttt” all over the place.

Fucking dumb dinosaurs. But cute at times. Perhaps.

Where are you going with this Mr. Kroswami? No where? What the fuck do you mean no where? Haven’t you fucking heard of story telling and linear shit and engaging the audience you goddam retard?

Please excuse us for a minute.

Bang. Dhoooof. Dishoom. Bhishooom.

That should sort things out for a while.

.

My mind. Oh my mind. 

Koi hai? Koi haiiiiiiii?

..

Then then what else you did.

Sala I have been stuffing face like the world is going to end. Last night, I had aam rabdi. I shit you not. Can you fuckin even imagine what that tastes like? Thick, oh so thick, sweet sweet rabdri wrapped and tossed around with large chunks of fresh mango. Swimming in this thick, creamy (oh ma fuckin lord creamy) sweet creamy syrup. 

Hai hai. Kya saaxy.

And then the night before I went and had me a chuski. But no ordinary chuski but one dipped in this god awesome syrup and the crushed ice hanging onto the stick for dear life. And on top of the cold, cold ice and the yummylicious syrup – a healthy dose of rabdi. I fucking died. Thats what happened.

I died and then I was reborn and then someone pressed fast forward on my life ka tape and that is how I am here. Right now. Typing this shit out. So that you, yes you, can read it.

Kya be.

Doo kya? Kaan ke neeche?

That would actually be quite a romantic line if made in reference to a kissy wissy. 

Kya be darrrrling? Do kya? Kaan ke….neeche. All seductive and shit.

It is called perspective.

Oktatabye.

 

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5 Responses to Where we sing and dance to the hypnotic poems of the pastafarians

  1. Hey Kro! Y u no marry me? I did ask!

    • kroswami says:

      Haan haan, email ko karo ignore or public view mein love shuv de chicken da korma. Kya poppy shame ho re la hai beedu

  2. Email? What email? I can haz no email!

  3. And oye pyar kiya toh darna kya and all that you haven’t heard of or what? What men? (Excuse the ‘men’ bit. I’m currently being Bandrafied)

  4. RTi says:

    *buys popcorn*

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