Where we battle the Odds, a deliberately asymmetrical army of misfits and people with straws in their mouths

Some times the odds can fuck you over. Like just like that. No reason nothing. Chumma for kicks.

Like have you ever looked at a group of uniformly ugly women? Like proper uniformly ugly. Not a single hottie in the group. Not a single one, even if you follow the CTF,FTB line of thinking. Do you wonder, “Oh my Jod, look at that uniformity! What are the odds of that happening”


You just got odd-fucked.

Odd fucking.


Like going into a mall in the middle of the day, bladder bursting only to find all the stalls on all the floors occupied.

What are the odds of that happening?


KAkhahahahahahahahah. Or going to a dinner and finding out that you are the only non-vegetarian person at the table. The rest are Jains.

What are – BOOM!

So getting odd-fucked is kinda like getting Fate-fucked right?

No mucha.

Odd-fucked occurs when you say the magic words i.e., “What are the …”

Okay okay, we get it



If I could I would walk around with firecrackers in my pocket (But you already have a ladi. Ha!- Ed). Randomly lighting them here and there. Just for kicks. Crossing the road and suddenly feel like lighting a rocket (Ed go clean your mind) and then just pulling it out of my pocket (Ed really!) and setting it ablaze.


What a powerful but dreamy word no? Ablaze. Like kinda like daze except things are getting hot.

ITs getting hot in here. So take off all your clothes.

Worst fire-fighting advice ever.


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