Showing posts with label sarcasm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sarcasm. Show all posts
A Demotivating Motivational
Demotivating things in my life, in no particular order:
- The battery lives of most electronic devices.
- Your average littering, spitting, loud Indian, who is not conscious about others in public spaces.
- Expense-income imbalance.
- Miley Cyrus.
- MTV India.
- The treatment received by Julian Assange, Edward Snowden, and Chelsea Manning.
- Indian politicians.
- Random people fighting, shouting at each other, especially on the internet.
- Apartment hunting in Bandra.
- Work-life imbalance
- Indian television.
- Justin Bieber's manager's refuting stories about Bieber not retiring.
- Indian asinitude in communication.
- Commute time in Mumbai.
- My atrocious slap-pop bass technique.
- Infrastructure in India, i.e., the lack of.
- The Sharmas, Ishant in particular
- Religion and its consequences.
- My 3-year-old Android phone.
- Bureaucracy in India, for things such as passport renewal
- Mumbai traffic.
- International politics.
- Lists such as this.
- Corruption.
- Reality television.
- The lack of broadness of broadband internet.
- Andheri East.
- My mirror/webcam image.
- Inability to maintain my blog.
- Lack of collective conscience about the Earth as a planet, keeping in mind that it's just a tiny speck of dust in space.
- The Indian bowling attack.
- Communication breakdown between intelligent people who love each other.
- Edge/2G.
Arindam Choudhary tweet
Last week sometime, I tweeted something funny about Arindam Choudhary and IIPM. I was getting tired listening to him in the promotional advertisements for the Sunday Indian as well as those really lame IIPM advertisements. My tweet went like this: “I think IIPM would get more global exposure if someone kills Arindam Choudhary.” My usual Mallu sarcasm was kicking in. I got even a ‘like’ on the FB cross-posting for the same tweet.
Yesterday, I got an e-mail from the all India dean of IIPM. He kindly requested me to consider deleting the tweet because he thought it was offensive and detailed physical harm for Arindam Choudhary. He was very polite and courteous. I considered the situation for a bit and agreed to delete the tweet. From my point of view, the message was already conveyed to those who mattered to me. More importantly, I had vented my frustration. So today, I deleted the tweet.
The tweet has been deleted but the story is immortalized here.
Yesterday, I got an e-mail from the all India dean of IIPM. He kindly requested me to consider deleting the tweet because he thought it was offensive and detailed physical harm for Arindam Choudhary. He was very polite and courteous. I considered the situation for a bit and agreed to delete the tweet. From my point of view, the message was already conveyed to those who mattered to me. More importantly, I had vented my frustration. So today, I deleted the tweet.
The tweet has been deleted but the story is immortalized here.
Why teenagers should be quarantined until middle age
So, yesterday I was at a posh club downtown to watch my friend's band Airport' perform - (I was at Zenzi Mills for all you bitchy Mumbai-ites). They were supposed to start at 9.30 pm. I, like a turd of bullcrap, thought that they would start on time. I mean, which band starts on time anyway - excepting Shoonyas perhaps, but we play at cheapass pubs which have strict time regulations etc.
As I walk in 15 minutes early, I meet my friends (aka the members of the performing band) who are just coming back from their apartment wearing nice fashionable clothes, with gelled hair and the just-got-out-of-the-shower look. Mind you, I'm wearing out-of-fashion boring cheap jeans and a Levi's faded black tee shirt, and slippers, and I look as tired as an old hooker. I exchange my pleasantries with my friends and we all walk in the pub.
We reach the first tier - the place where the gig will happen - and my friends start tuning their guitars and stuff. I look around and I see a group adolescents looking at me expectantly. WTF? How the fuck does a relatively new and upcoming, albeit talented, band have such a desirable fan base - a bunch of idiotic teenage wannabes who groove to silly disco music, wasting their parents' hard-earned blood turned into testicular sweat/intermammary cleft sweat money!
Then, my friends leave for the outside to catch up with their pre-requisite body nicotine levels while I, like a fool, stay back to play with my PDA. And then I realize - there's a fucking b'day party going on! The teenagers are doing mindless shit - like having a competition to decide who falls down to the floor while all of them start spinning around like tops! Jesus Fucking Christ! Give me a break!
I can't fucking believe my loser-of-the-millenium luck man. What am I?
As I walk in 15 minutes early, I meet my friends (aka the members of the performing band) who are just coming back from their apartment wearing nice fashionable clothes, with gelled hair and the just-got-out-of-the-shower look. Mind you, I'm wearing out-of-fashion boring cheap jeans and a Levi's faded black tee shirt, and slippers, and I look as tired as an old hooker. I exchange my pleasantries with my friends and we all walk in the pub.
We reach the first tier - the place where the gig will happen - and my friends start tuning their guitars and stuff. I look around and I see a group adolescents looking at me expectantly. WTF? How the fuck does a relatively new and upcoming, albeit talented, band have such a desirable fan base - a bunch of idiotic teenage wannabes who groove to silly disco music, wasting their parents' hard-earned blood turned into testicular sweat/intermammary cleft sweat money!
Then, my friends leave for the outside to catch up with their pre-requisite body nicotine levels while I, like a fool, stay back to play with my PDA. And then I realize - there's a fucking b'day party going on! The teenagers are doing mindless shit - like having a competition to decide who falls down to the floor while all of them start spinning around like tops! Jesus Fucking Christ! Give me a break!
I can't fucking believe my loser-of-the-millenium luck man. What am I?
Women = whine. Men = wine
The average young man looks average. The average young woman looks above average. But as the years catch up with both these sets of the human demographic, there is something starkly disparate. Men age better. Much better. Women age similar to how a pig rolls in a dump.
As I look out through the BEST bus window, while the summer sun's light shines on the right side of my face, I see a worthwhile example of what I stated above. I see a family of three - dad, mom, and daughter - riding on a scooter with a side attachment, which houses the unfortunate sight called the mother.
The dad, with near-perfect posture, is riding the scooter. Very little of his shapelessness is visible. He's freshly shaven with a neatly trimmed moustache, and has a face which could easily fetch him a role in a movie or two. He's fair and his shirt has just been ironed, and he's wearing lovely dress shoes that go with his elegant trousers.
The mom is slouch-slumping all over the extension wearing a wrinkled kurta pajama. Her expression is of contended flatulence and dyspepsia and she has a blank look on her face. The daughter has neatly inherited the ugliness gene from her mom in the homozygous dominant form. Her love handles ripple at every thrust of the scooter motor, and she has an excessive layer of lard, which would have saved her from the wrath of an ice age or two.
The dad turns to look at the rest of the traffic, probably trying to avoid the ugliness he's schlepping around. I can clearly make out from his nose and jawline that he had once been the quintessential 'attractive' young man. I lower my gaze ever so slightly to focus on his cargo - two of the reasons why God must feel deeply sad for having created a yoni. I sigh deeply.
As I look out through the BEST bus window, while the summer sun's light shines on the right side of my face, I see a worthwhile example of what I stated above. I see a family of three - dad, mom, and daughter - riding on a scooter with a side attachment, which houses the unfortunate sight called the mother.
The dad, with near-perfect posture, is riding the scooter. Very little of his shapelessness is visible. He's freshly shaven with a neatly trimmed moustache, and has a face which could easily fetch him a role in a movie or two. He's fair and his shirt has just been ironed, and he's wearing lovely dress shoes that go with his elegant trousers.
The mom is slouch-slumping all over the extension wearing a wrinkled kurta pajama. Her expression is of contended flatulence and dyspepsia and she has a blank look on her face. The daughter has neatly inherited the ugliness gene from her mom in the homozygous dominant form. Her love handles ripple at every thrust of the scooter motor, and she has an excessive layer of lard, which would have saved her from the wrath of an ice age or two.
The dad turns to look at the rest of the traffic, probably trying to avoid the ugliness he's schlepping around. I can clearly make out from his nose and jawline that he had once been the quintessential 'attractive' young man. I lower my gaze ever so slightly to focus on his cargo - two of the reasons why God must feel deeply sad for having created a yoni. I sigh deeply.
The shoe-lace incident
I don’t know how I forgot to mention it in the post about the play. But I’m glad that I did. I can elaborate now. And I think it needs elaboration. It happened during the interval of the play. I was out at the cafeteria with my a group of my friends sipping coffee. My left shoe’s laces were undone.
I don’t remember exactly how they were undone but the point is that they were. I was perfectly aware of the state of my laces and didn’t want to tie them up before I had my coffee and snacks because I wasn’t sure of finding a place where I could wash my hands. I think that is a sufficient explanation for not tying the laces.
A distinguished looking, middle aged woman in an elegant saree walked up to us and said with an attitude of arrogance and superiority.
‘Excuse me BOY, perhaps you have failed to notice that your shoelaces are undone. I suggest that perhaps you should learn to tie them which will help you avoid falling on your face.’
Enraged by her attitude and tone, without missing a beat, I replied with a smirk
‘Ma’am, I’m a fully-grown adult man and during my 29 years of age I have learnt enough to avoid such mishaps. I appreciate you pointing it out, but really, I CAN take care of myself. Thank you.’
She didn’t like it one bit and left to join her group of friends. My friends were offended by my tone and sarcasm. They thought that she was being ‘kind’ and ‘nice’ and I was being ‘rude’ and ‘offensive’. Give me a fucken break! What do you think? Had you been in her place, would you come up to me and say what she said in the way she did? I think I was perfectly right in returning the sarcasm to her without giving her age or gender a consideration.
On second thought, I think my friends weren’t used to the kind of sarcasm that I’m familiar with. I watch a lot of ‘Will & Grace’ where sarcasm bounces off the pachydermic characters like a tennis ball off a racket. Am I too much into sitcoms?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)