What would you get if you cross a pseudo-intellectual goat, a sexually repressed rat, and an insecure cockroach? The answer is obviously the one and only Mr Oxford.
However much I try I simply cannot match the indigenous writing skills of my fellow paparazzi – the eternal cynic- regarding yesterday’s class. I guess I was too dazed and stoned [not literally unfortunately] to notice the intricate aspects of the intellectual discourse that was taking place there. But in my perpetually perverted mind, I found everything as dull and irksome as getting fucked by a centipede [I haven’t tried it, but have imagined it a few time to pass time in the office]
As usual I forgot to brush, pee and bathe and arrived like a 3-day-old corpse to gape dully at his squat frame, which resembles a hideously warted, wrinkled butt. I sank down between my fellow paparazzi and the ‘gloomy spinster’. Then started the cerebral orgy, each one vying the other to reach that exquisite climax. Mr Oxford asked me some random question about my communication strategy but in my dazed state of mind, nothing registered. It was like explaining Dialectical materialism to a dim-witted hippopotamus. I merely blinked and mumbled something that made the Giantess almost wet with profound mirth [god alone knows why!!]. Then Lilly had his first attack of verbal diarrhoea, it was much more severe than usual and everyone in the room was literally drenched with the oral excrement that spewed from his mouth. But unlike usual, almost every one see to be suffering from this terrible malady, the room reeked of ideas, opinions, point-of-views and suggestions which was as dull as Mr. Oxford’s beard. The frantic community masturbation went for nearly 3 hours. There were snide remarks from everyone and Mr. Porn experienced sporadic half –hearted erections which he vainly tried to maintain and looked enviously at Lilly who was having ejaculations after ejaculations with the speed and ease of a coffee vending machine [I even wondered whether he underwent some kind of testicle upgradation]. Even the prim ice-maiden seemed unusually excited and aroused, as if someone was secretly fingering her from under the table [her typical I-have-rotten-bananas-stuck-up-my-ass look was gone] which is highly unlikely as she was sitting in between the Pig and the Giantess, and each of them were concentrating hard on their own orgasmic gratification to bother about her.
The giantess/ Ms Big B reached her climax while reminiscing about an internee with a body odour and how her innovative plot helped her attain nirvana. The perpetual thinker, looked as if she could have puked. The AC was on at the maximum and the room as frozen as a morgue with a lot of cackling, masturbating corpses. I guess the gloomy spinster lost her trademark cackle, she unusually silent. The pig snorted and grunted in ecstasy while describing his glorious days as an English professor.
It ended when I thought it would go on forever, many of them had pleased post-intercourse smiles on their faces, the 3 paparazzis , including me came out like victims of holocaust.
With Mr. Oxfords parting suggestions that I should talk more often to The pig and on how I should deal with people with bad body odour…. I simply wished I could fart on his face and die… (the writer had to stop right here as she has over come with too many powerful emotions bordering on to a mild form of hysteria , she had to go to the loo to clear her mind and asks the readers to pardon her)
- the shoddy sub-editor