This news will cheer up every member of the Fool's Paradise. For my fellow paparazzis...guys, it's party time. The Perpetual Thinker has learnt from reliable sources that Mr. Oxford is down with muttongunuya. The deadly virus that has been doing rounds in God' own country targeting innocent individuals decided to attack people who harass the intellectuals, who call themselves pissedoffpaparazzis . Apparently, Mr. Oxford didn't show any signs of the virus attack for three weeks.
He developed nausea, high temperature, restlessness (the symptoms we get while attending his classes) while cooling his nerves during a holiday in the hills. Heard that he preferedd the picturesque locales to come up with new ideas on how to make his classes people friendly.
He has been rushed to his house and is under medication. It is understood that the virus will take a looooooooooooonger time to part ways with Mr. Oxford, as the virus thrives on highly cerebral heads . Long live muttongunuya!!!!!
So, where are you guys treating me for breaking the news????
Report by The Perpetual Thinker
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Ice Maiden's Corner
"Remix is something like more wreaths and less dead bodies."
"Changing clothes in a glass house is better than changing clothes in a basement."
"Eating vegetables? High time you switched to earthworms."
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
In the midst of all this I sit, feeling more and more like a piece of shit..
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
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
Q&A
For the benefit of all the unfortunate paparazzis who missed Mr.Oxford's classes this week.Excerpts from the session.
To a packed classroom sailed Mr.Oxford gaily (by the way, he is GAY), showing all his wonderfully brushed teeth. The little fair pig, emitting short shrieks of anticipation, sat facing Oxford, his small ears, all pricked up.Ms.Big B had a sombre air about her. Might have been meditating over the free community lunch that was to follow after the classes.Then a few enthusiastic journos pulled out papers and pens to jot down the pearls of wisdom.
Mr. Oxford (MO): Now, tell me, the shoddy subeditor, how would you approach a colleague who has bad body odour? a) wear a mask b) spray hit on him/her c) grow a pair of antennae on your head so that the colleague's movements can be sensed from a distance d) none of the above.
Shoddy Subeditor (SS): (silently swearing) Probably go on a picnic.
MO: Hmm...interesting answer, Mr. Lilli, what tactic would you adopt?
Lilli (L) : I would first spary hit on him/her and then subject him/her to a few of my stories. That should do the trick. (satisfied chuckle followed by uproarious laughter from the rest of the class.)
MO: Okay, okay, rrright. Now, how would you tell your boss who doesn't wear underwear that he probably must wear one? Tell me, the perpetual thinker. Here are your choices. a) send him an SMS b) Tell his neighbours, parents, wife, children that he doesnt wear underwear c) Organise a peep show d) Avoid him.
Perpetual Thinker (PT): Uhh...gasp...gulp...question pass.
MO: The Snob, would you like to answer this question?
The Snob (TS): (Nose held high in the air, answering confidently) I would talk about underwears- the size, quality, texture and the advantages of wearing one. I would also tell him what kind of underwear I use. Tight ones with little holes for air conditioning. He would sure be inspired to use one then.
MO: Bravo Bravo! Three cheers for TS! hip hip underwear!
At this point, the Ms.B is awakened from her reverie and pitches whole heartedly into the discussion.
Big B: Sir, one could even try this. Ask the boss to write a story on the disadvantages of not wearing underwear. A proper feature. With pictures and infoboxes. (grins widely). He could also give tips for readers.
MO: My my, what a wonderful response. Except SS and PT, every one else has given amazing answers.
So, I hereby declare that the award for the employee of the week goes to ..(any guesses?)..
The Snob!!
As a gesture of encouragement, the office would be gifting her a set of underwear.
To a packed classroom sailed Mr.Oxford gaily (by the way, he is GAY), showing all his wonderfully brushed teeth. The little fair pig, emitting short shrieks of anticipation, sat facing Oxford, his small ears, all pricked up.Ms.Big B had a sombre air about her. Might have been meditating over the free community lunch that was to follow after the classes.Then a few enthusiastic journos pulled out papers and pens to jot down the pearls of wisdom.
Mr. Oxford (MO): Now, tell me, the shoddy subeditor, how would you approach a colleague who has bad body odour? a) wear a mask b) spray hit on him/her c) grow a pair of antennae on your head so that the colleague's movements can be sensed from a distance d) none of the above.
Shoddy Subeditor (SS): (silently swearing) Probably go on a picnic.
MO: Hmm...interesting answer, Mr. Lilli, what tactic would you adopt?
Lilli (L) : I would first spary hit on him/her and then subject him/her to a few of my stories. That should do the trick. (satisfied chuckle followed by uproarious laughter from the rest of the class.)
MO: Okay, okay, rrright. Now, how would you tell your boss who doesn't wear underwear that he probably must wear one? Tell me, the perpetual thinker. Here are your choices. a) send him an SMS b) Tell his neighbours, parents, wife, children that he doesnt wear underwear c) Organise a peep show d) Avoid him.
Perpetual Thinker (PT): Uhh...gasp...gulp...question pass.
MO: The Snob, would you like to answer this question?
The Snob (TS): (Nose held high in the air, answering confidently) I would talk about underwears- the size, quality, texture and the advantages of wearing one. I would also tell him what kind of underwear I use. Tight ones with little holes for air conditioning. He would sure be inspired to use one then.
MO: Bravo Bravo! Three cheers for TS! hip hip underwear!
At this point, the Ms.B is awakened from her reverie and pitches whole heartedly into the discussion.
Big B: Sir, one could even try this. Ask the boss to write a story on the disadvantages of not wearing underwear. A proper feature. With pictures and infoboxes. (grins widely). He could also give tips for readers.
MO: My my, what a wonderful response. Except SS and PT, every one else has given amazing answers.
So, I hereby declare that the award for the employee of the week goes to ..(any guesses?)..
The Snob!!
As a gesture of encouragement, the office would be gifting her a set of underwear.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Take a nap
Dedication flows in their blood. Come what may, the torch bearers of the fool's paradise will see to it that they get their daily dose of sleep. Nothing can deter them, even if you drop a bomb in the neighbourhood. They live by the dictum sleep first, stories later. You can catch them snoring away to glory in various locations of the office. One of our paparazzi's neighbour uses the trick to hog the limelight, quite literally.He perfects the act so well that even our jobless lensmen have been inspired to click his photographs. Now you know where the term armchair reporting comes from. But Mr. Lilli is different. As he is from the royal clan, he prefers the cosy comforts of an AC room, neatly maintained by the fatso for such purposes. So much in love with Mr. Lilli, that Mr.fatso prefers to oogle women in office, on the roads, in his neighbourhood for hours together, so that Mr.Lilli's woudl have a peaceful sleep. Where do you see such dedication? I am speechless...
More to come
the perpetual thinker
More to come
the perpetual thinker
Monday, August 20, 2007
Luncheon
Tomorrow is going to be quite a day for a few of us paparazzis.
We are gonna have a community lunch with the bearded bastard. The pig, lilli, the Boss, Ms. Big B, and all...wow. Scintillating company we are going to have! I'm shit excited, It's making me restless.
We are gonna have a community lunch with the bearded bastard. The pig, lilli, the Boss, Ms. Big B, and all...wow. Scintillating company we are going to have! I'm shit excited, It's making me restless.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Share a tit, the big B arrives
I can already sense the excitement. Hold on! Mr. Lilly and Mr. Scum will pale in comparison, for the lady with the ever expanding big B (Bum and Belly) is a class apart. She is round, dark and ugly. If bad karma has to take an ominous human shape, it has to be the one and only big B. Her day begins with ‘doom for office colleagues’ yagna conducted at the most protected garbage yard in the city, which is home to dead pigs, dogs, human beings and human shit. She performs the puja in nude and all her wishes are granted in a jiffy. Even the dead want to escape from her evil spell and the smell emanating from all parts of her body.
Her expertise lies in breaking affairs (last heard, she got a divorce for her housemaid because her husband refused to have sex with the big B). Now, the poor guy has to make out with big B. This is just the tip of the ice berg of her roaring sex life. She can handle men of all class with élan. A professional in matters of marital affairs (of others), she eats, sleeps and breathes sex. In fact, her part-time job is to counsel office colleagues (whose sex lives are already fucked up) on how to get fucked in the most interesting way. The reasons for this behaviour are varied. She is separated from her partner by miles. Earlier, she used to visit him in the nights, now I guess he is having a loyal partner and prefers the big B to stay out of their way. Size doesn’t matter to him. He is happy with small Bs.
Battered by this sudden turn of events and betrayal from her puppet husband, who always played a silent spectator to her outdoor adventures on sex, she slipped into a state of depression. Locals recall how she walked about the streets nude, howling and throwing abuses at her husband. Counselling sessions with popular sexologists in the city and exposure to porn videos helped her regain her senses. And, thus began her journey of extra-marital enjoyment. There was no looking back.
Now, I shall tell you some simple steps on how to get a glimpse of the big Bs. Huddle in a group and throw the keywords...sex, sex, sex. For starters, may be something like how people have sex in a swimming pool? Do women use condoms? The choice is yours. Now, sharpen your ear drums and there it arrives like a thud: "You know, it is so nice to have sex in water. You don’t even need to take any protection. Last time, I tried a combination of hot parathas and cool sex with a young guy, it is ecstatic. No one has done it before, you know..." The big B is here.
Her bulbous eyes would instantly launch a thousand people into a delirious state of nausea, aggressive behaviour (like throwing chappals, acid bottle or even a bucket of shit) and that dark and ugly mouth ready to fall off at any moment has an incredible capacity to wolf down mountains of shit, but strictly vegetarian!
As she walks about the corridors of the office, with that bouncy pony tail (wonder when was the last time it got a nice wash), a nauseating stench fills the air. She has valid reason too. Because of the nude yagna commitment everyday, she has no time to spare and as a policy bathes once in five years. So, pardon her.
The other source of smell could be from the stinking parathas, which she neatly wraps and carries it in her smelly bag, to thrust it down the throat of any newcomer to the office. It is a tough battle to win for the new girls, as their physical attributes are minimal when compared with the ever expanding parts of her body. They suffer from high fever, anorexia and a sense of constant fear when they are exposed to the big Bs.
The best part of her bulging physique is the mammoth, monstrous Belly. She fills it everyday with shit, human blood and garbage. Her neighbourhood is where the entire city dumps their wastes of every kind, from the kitchen, from the toilets...and what more people even throng the place at dawn to unload their stomach. Anything that is free and edible finds its way directly to that container called big B and that explains the secret of the shape. (On the enormous size of the other B, I’d like to leave it to my fellow paparazzis. The subject is worth a detailed research. We should bring it up in one of our brain storming sessions. May be we’ll need to get someone to stalk her toilet habits and her notorious night outs and we’ll have the answer. It’s worth it!)
Another interesting facet of her personality is that she is the know-all of this fool’s paradise (synonym for office). Even if a cat has delivered kittens near your house, she must have handled the labour. And she will have an interesting tale of how she sobbed when she saw the cat in pain and how she rushed to feed the kittens with her breast milk.
Her fan following is immense. Age no bar; the only qualification is you need to be from the opposite sex, potent and willing to go that extra mile for sex. The innovative you get, the chances of getting up close and personal with the big Bs are more.
No wonder, our ‘fatso’ of the paradise with fucked up looks tops the list. He takes her to those places far away from the madding crowd, inside the deep jungles and has sex in harmony with Nature. He spends time poring over his rich collection of erotic books on how to bring the wow factor in sex life, the role of dark women in sex and more. He gives such a terrible complex to other members in the club. They are conspiring to drop a bomb when he is having sex with his wife.
The big B is also planning to include people of the same sex in her club as her bum chum partner; an activist in the making is starved of sex because of her abnormal behaviour. She argues that sex is enjoyable only when the partner wears vegetarian condoms. The big B is working on it.
(to be continued… other facets of the big B will be uncovered one by one. I would request my fellow paparazzis to join me in this endeavour. I am sure the big Bs have touched their lives too in many disgusting ways)
Her expertise lies in breaking affairs (last heard, she got a divorce for her housemaid because her husband refused to have sex with the big B). Now, the poor guy has to make out with big B. This is just the tip of the ice berg of her roaring sex life. She can handle men of all class with élan. A professional in matters of marital affairs (of others), she eats, sleeps and breathes sex. In fact, her part-time job is to counsel office colleagues (whose sex lives are already fucked up) on how to get fucked in the most interesting way. The reasons for this behaviour are varied. She is separated from her partner by miles. Earlier, she used to visit him in the nights, now I guess he is having a loyal partner and prefers the big B to stay out of their way. Size doesn’t matter to him. He is happy with small Bs.
Battered by this sudden turn of events and betrayal from her puppet husband, who always played a silent spectator to her outdoor adventures on sex, she slipped into a state of depression. Locals recall how she walked about the streets nude, howling and throwing abuses at her husband. Counselling sessions with popular sexologists in the city and exposure to porn videos helped her regain her senses. And, thus began her journey of extra-marital enjoyment. There was no looking back.
Now, I shall tell you some simple steps on how to get a glimpse of the big Bs. Huddle in a group and throw the keywords...sex, sex, sex. For starters, may be something like how people have sex in a swimming pool? Do women use condoms? The choice is yours. Now, sharpen your ear drums and there it arrives like a thud: "You know, it is so nice to have sex in water. You don’t even need to take any protection. Last time, I tried a combination of hot parathas and cool sex with a young guy, it is ecstatic. No one has done it before, you know..." The big B is here.
Her bulbous eyes would instantly launch a thousand people into a delirious state of nausea, aggressive behaviour (like throwing chappals, acid bottle or even a bucket of shit) and that dark and ugly mouth ready to fall off at any moment has an incredible capacity to wolf down mountains of shit, but strictly vegetarian!
As she walks about the corridors of the office, with that bouncy pony tail (wonder when was the last time it got a nice wash), a nauseating stench fills the air. She has valid reason too. Because of the nude yagna commitment everyday, she has no time to spare and as a policy bathes once in five years. So, pardon her.
The other source of smell could be from the stinking parathas, which she neatly wraps and carries it in her smelly bag, to thrust it down the throat of any newcomer to the office. It is a tough battle to win for the new girls, as their physical attributes are minimal when compared with the ever expanding parts of her body. They suffer from high fever, anorexia and a sense of constant fear when they are exposed to the big Bs.
The best part of her bulging physique is the mammoth, monstrous Belly. She fills it everyday with shit, human blood and garbage. Her neighbourhood is where the entire city dumps their wastes of every kind, from the kitchen, from the toilets...and what more people even throng the place at dawn to unload their stomach. Anything that is free and edible finds its way directly to that container called big B and that explains the secret of the shape. (On the enormous size of the other B, I’d like to leave it to my fellow paparazzis. The subject is worth a detailed research. We should bring it up in one of our brain storming sessions. May be we’ll need to get someone to stalk her toilet habits and her notorious night outs and we’ll have the answer. It’s worth it!)
Another interesting facet of her personality is that she is the know-all of this fool’s paradise (synonym for office). Even if a cat has delivered kittens near your house, she must have handled the labour. And she will have an interesting tale of how she sobbed when she saw the cat in pain and how she rushed to feed the kittens with her breast milk.
Her fan following is immense. Age no bar; the only qualification is you need to be from the opposite sex, potent and willing to go that extra mile for sex. The innovative you get, the chances of getting up close and personal with the big Bs are more.
No wonder, our ‘fatso’ of the paradise with fucked up looks tops the list. He takes her to those places far away from the madding crowd, inside the deep jungles and has sex in harmony with Nature. He spends time poring over his rich collection of erotic books on how to bring the wow factor in sex life, the role of dark women in sex and more. He gives such a terrible complex to other members in the club. They are conspiring to drop a bomb when he is having sex with his wife.
The big B is also planning to include people of the same sex in her club as her bum chum partner; an activist in the making is starved of sex because of her abnormal behaviour. She argues that sex is enjoyable only when the partner wears vegetarian condoms. The big B is working on it.
(to be continued… other facets of the big B will be uncovered one by one. I would request my fellow paparazzis to join me in this endeavour. I am sure the big Bs have touched their lives too in many disgusting ways)
Monday, August 13, 2007
Will you walk into my parlour?
I would be failing in my duty as an evidently pissed off paparazzi if i do not mention other special features of this place, apart from its mindboggling variety of arseholes.
This place can take pride in having a lavatory that is desired by all. It is a dream destination for every one working here. So much so that it is permanently occupied. Certain people refrain from answering nature's call in their own homes and save it all up for the loo here. Like this particular staff, Lady Loo, who is the guardian angel of the lavatory. She would guard the loo, like a lioness would her cub. She would be on the prowl to see who is planning to visit the loo and the moment someone goes near the door, she runs in and slams the door on their face. Just in case that person outwits her in the race, she bangs the door until it gives away at the hinges. This blog pays its warmest tribute to this wonderful Muse, who with her obsession with peeing has inspired us to excercise greater control on our bladders.
Grapevine has it that efforts are on to beautify the premises of the lavatory. Probably fit in a few more commodes to satisfy the ever-growing demand of the staff, especially, Lady Loo.
Then comes the pantry. A quaint name at that. But, stinks like a rotting corpse. One would find delightful little lunch bags in bright yellow, green and orange colours, with pictures of mickey mouse, goofy and whatever comic characters are in vogue now. The proud owners of these bags,
Mr.Lily, the Monarch of all he surveys, and Ms.Big B (who will be discussed in detail in this blog soon.) "Such a lovely place indeed!," one would exclaim just before blacking out into the longest of fainting spells.
Last,but not the least, we have the attenders whose voices act like instant laxatives. (actually, it loosens up your bowels). They scream away in their supersonic voices even if they are standing so close to each other that their noses touch. Such darlings!
Oh yes, this would be incomplete without the mention of Mr. Escapee. A Good Samaritan to the core. It is needless to say that his desire to help people can rival even Baba Amte (who the hell is Baba Amte? never mind...some social worker is all i wanted to say). I, on behalf of my co-authors hereby swear that we would erect a statue for Mr.Escapee and decorate it with a garland of dead crows, to express our gratitude for the invaluable help he has extended to each one of us.
Ok ma, so thats all for now.
This place can take pride in having a lavatory that is desired by all. It is a dream destination for every one working here. So much so that it is permanently occupied. Certain people refrain from answering nature's call in their own homes and save it all up for the loo here. Like this particular staff, Lady Loo, who is the guardian angel of the lavatory. She would guard the loo, like a lioness would her cub. She would be on the prowl to see who is planning to visit the loo and the moment someone goes near the door, she runs in and slams the door on their face. Just in case that person outwits her in the race, she bangs the door until it gives away at the hinges. This blog pays its warmest tribute to this wonderful Muse, who with her obsession with peeing has inspired us to excercise greater control on our bladders.
Grapevine has it that efforts are on to beautify the premises of the lavatory. Probably fit in a few more commodes to satisfy the ever-growing demand of the staff, especially, Lady Loo.
Then comes the pantry. A quaint name at that. But, stinks like a rotting corpse. One would find delightful little lunch bags in bright yellow, green and orange colours, with pictures of mickey mouse, goofy and whatever comic characters are in vogue now. The proud owners of these bags,
Mr.Lily, the Monarch of all he surveys, and Ms.Big B (who will be discussed in detail in this blog soon.) "Such a lovely place indeed!," one would exclaim just before blacking out into the longest of fainting spells.
Last,but not the least, we have the attenders whose voices act like instant laxatives. (actually, it loosens up your bowels). They scream away in their supersonic voices even if they are standing so close to each other that their noses touch. Such darlings!
Oh yes, this would be incomplete without the mention of Mr. Escapee. A Good Samaritan to the core. It is needless to say that his desire to help people can rival even Baba Amte (who the hell is Baba Amte? never mind...some social worker is all i wanted to say). I, on behalf of my co-authors hereby swear that we would erect a statue for Mr.Escapee and decorate it with a garland of dead crows, to express our gratitude for the invaluable help he has extended to each one of us.
Ok ma, so thats all for now.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Freudians’ haven
Welcome to the haven of eternal perverts.
They are the hardcore Freudians……
As our youngest paparazzi swears….
everything here justifies Freud theory.
All seven (more) sins are here…..without doubt next Sodom,
Frustration, perversion, jealousy, lust…..
Reason: all suffering from erectile disfunctioning.
He is the ‘Hagrid’ (…..the semi-giant in Harry Potter),
who gets a high even with the remotest mentioning
of anything related to women.
He gets his highest orgy when women abuse him.
His perpetual repulsive character, along with the rotten smell
he emanates from all parts of his body….(….even sewage/garbage stories of Lilli can’t beat it), will make even you an impotent.
His antenna captures each whisper of his woman colleagues,
and he feels his irritating comments are must add-ons.
He is the epitome of sacrifice, that he even skipped his orientation class, when a girl got diarrhea…..
The ever-sleeping ambience of the office gets an occasional high when internees come, once in an year.
All the mentally-physically oldies will take a bath.
Wearing new clothes with pungent smelling perfumes,
the ever-late comers reach office early, to take internees for tea, for assignments, to toilet….etc
They sit to late night referring volumes of books for jokes, compete each other to entertain them.
The male internees will not even get to type an engagement
while giggling girls get bylines and even a lift to restaurants, and shopping mall.
Mr. Scum, who doesn’t have any police stories or Anglo-Indian looks to claim, starts his sentimental stories of losing his parents…….buying his widow sister’s kid a packet of glucose biscuit to impress internees. He, while scratching balls, will describe in full length how he got psoriasis with frequent use of holy ash and pre-owned underwear.
Mr. Lilli, who thinks girls will automatically fall for him with his charismatic presence, will sit and wait in wane.
Interns often fail to notice that bonsai culture.
In that frustration he would bare his fangs and gossip for another three hours with his venomous counter part at the centre.
And this paparazzi heard those internees quit journalism and joined barber training institute.
There are certain very interesting characters, who need entire episodes, so will be unfair to include in this.
They are the hardcore Freudians……
As our youngest paparazzi swears….
everything here justifies Freud theory.
All seven (more) sins are here…..without doubt next Sodom,
Frustration, perversion, jealousy, lust…..
Reason: all suffering from erectile disfunctioning.
He is the ‘Hagrid’ (…..the semi-giant in Harry Potter),
who gets a high even with the remotest mentioning
of anything related to women.
He gets his highest orgy when women abuse him.
His perpetual repulsive character, along with the rotten smell
he emanates from all parts of his body….(….even sewage/garbage stories of Lilli can’t beat it), will make even you an impotent.
His antenna captures each whisper of his woman colleagues,
and he feels his irritating comments are must add-ons.
He is the epitome of sacrifice, that he even skipped his orientation class, when a girl got diarrhea…..
The ever-sleeping ambience of the office gets an occasional high when internees come, once in an year.
All the mentally-physically oldies will take a bath.
Wearing new clothes with pungent smelling perfumes,
the ever-late comers reach office early, to take internees for tea, for assignments, to toilet….etc
They sit to late night referring volumes of books for jokes, compete each other to entertain them.
The male internees will not even get to type an engagement
while giggling girls get bylines and even a lift to restaurants, and shopping mall.
Mr. Scum, who doesn’t have any police stories or Anglo-Indian looks to claim, starts his sentimental stories of losing his parents…….buying his widow sister’s kid a packet of glucose biscuit to impress internees. He, while scratching balls, will describe in full length how he got psoriasis with frequent use of holy ash and pre-owned underwear.
Mr. Lilli, who thinks girls will automatically fall for him with his charismatic presence, will sit and wait in wane.
Interns often fail to notice that bonsai culture.
In that frustration he would bare his fangs and gossip for another three hours with his venomous counter part at the centre.
And this paparazzi heard those internees quit journalism and joined barber training institute.
There are certain very interesting characters, who need entire episodes, so will be unfair to include in this.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Lilly, dont be silly
This is a sequel to the previous post on this blog featuring an eminent personality. At this juncture, we must admit with considerable pride that we, the authors of this blog, are surrounded by the most inspiring of characters. Some like the ballscratcher who undoubtedly, deserved the first tribute. Then we have compulsive liars, sexual deviants, perverted drama artistes, and those whose laughter makes you wonder whether you just heard the mating cry of a pig. Of course, the all-time attractions are people who resemble mummified corpses and slimy molluscs.
This week, we feature another 'towering' personality, who with his magnificent Lilliputian presence, sends us all into a temporary trance.
He believes in the supreme power of the tongue. The moment he begins wagging it inside his mouth that resembles a rat's ass, he gets a strange sort of orgasmic thrill. One that can be rated better than a blow job. His passion is blowing his own trumpet. Once he begins, everything else blurs into oblivion and Mr.Lilliput drones on and on, in sheer orgasmic ecstasy as his hapless victims are sent into convulsive epileptic fits. Sources say that some of his victims' jaws had been rendered immobile due to excessive yawning. A close observation of his victims' personal lives has also revealed that they have often suffered bouts of mental derangement. However, scientists are working with him on his enviable ability to cure insomnia.
This in a nutshell, is Mr.Lilliput.
In case a guest comes along, Mr.Lilli gets all excited. He sniffs around the guest, waiting for an opportune moment to start his oral masturbation. If he happens to hear anyone trying to take part in the conversation, talking about anything remotely sensible, he gets restless. It causes an irritating sensation in his ass, which he gets over by way of his verbal diarrhoea. And in this massive sea of shit, we wallow, sometimes drowning in it. But of course there are some faithful mongrels who lick Mr.Lilli's ass so artistically, who would lap up this shit to the last morsel, licking their lips for more.
Measuring about four feet in height, Mr. Lilliput is convinced that he is a descendent of the Great Shakespeare himself. Waxing eloquent about his Anglo Indian good looks and his impeccable accent, Mr. Lilliput has a fetish for branded stuff. Gucci bags for his dim-witted wife and Armani suits for himself, which needs to be reduced many sizes smaller to fit his puny, spineless, disgusting body. What sets him apart from the rest of the shabby looking journos are his spotlessly shining shoes. He takes utmost care to polish them every morning, using everything from spittle to hair oil to make them shine. And, he takes great care in preserving his jaundiced complexion. When he realised that imported sun-screen lotions didn't prevent his smug face from getting sun burnt, he decided to stop venturing out.
Stories of his crowning glory – locks of shimmering golden hair – abound in this office. A sure sign of his Shakesparean legacy!
Thus he walks about, brandishing his tongue at every unsuspecting soul. It is amazing how he inspires his colleagues to shove something sharp up that asshole of his. Now, this prick also suffers from a serious personality disorder. He nurtures delusions of him being the King and owning vast expanses of land in a neighbouring State. In this delusion of grandiose, he treats his dedicated asslickers to his benevolence with a story or two about his great feats. In his kingdom, which he often thinks is the office, his subjects are not allowed to make phone calls, check e-mail or least of all leave office after their work is done.
Terribly vindictive and sadistic in nature, Mr.Lilli can wreak havoc in his subjects' personal lives if he so wishes. And, he almost always thinks he has the last laugh, twitching his browning, used toothbrush-like moustache, revealing a set of decaying, yellow teeth.
And this is Mr.Lilli for you, for the time being.
It is humanly impossible to capture his versatility in one article. So, I sincerely hope readers would wait for more updates on Mr.Lilli's tales of grandiose.
This week, we feature another 'towering' personality, who with his magnificent Lilliputian presence, sends us all into a temporary trance.
He believes in the supreme power of the tongue. The moment he begins wagging it inside his mouth that resembles a rat's ass, he gets a strange sort of orgasmic thrill. One that can be rated better than a blow job. His passion is blowing his own trumpet. Once he begins, everything else blurs into oblivion and Mr.Lilliput drones on and on, in sheer orgasmic ecstasy as his hapless victims are sent into convulsive epileptic fits. Sources say that some of his victims' jaws had been rendered immobile due to excessive yawning. A close observation of his victims' personal lives has also revealed that they have often suffered bouts of mental derangement. However, scientists are working with him on his enviable ability to cure insomnia.
This in a nutshell, is Mr.Lilliput.
In case a guest comes along, Mr.Lilli gets all excited. He sniffs around the guest, waiting for an opportune moment to start his oral masturbation. If he happens to hear anyone trying to take part in the conversation, talking about anything remotely sensible, he gets restless. It causes an irritating sensation in his ass, which he gets over by way of his verbal diarrhoea. And in this massive sea of shit, we wallow, sometimes drowning in it. But of course there are some faithful mongrels who lick Mr.Lilli's ass so artistically, who would lap up this shit to the last morsel, licking their lips for more.
Measuring about four feet in height, Mr. Lilliput is convinced that he is a descendent of the Great Shakespeare himself. Waxing eloquent about his Anglo Indian good looks and his impeccable accent, Mr. Lilliput has a fetish for branded stuff. Gucci bags for his dim-witted wife and Armani suits for himself, which needs to be reduced many sizes smaller to fit his puny, spineless, disgusting body. What sets him apart from the rest of the shabby looking journos are his spotlessly shining shoes. He takes utmost care to polish them every morning, using everything from spittle to hair oil to make them shine. And, he takes great care in preserving his jaundiced complexion. When he realised that imported sun-screen lotions didn't prevent his smug face from getting sun burnt, he decided to stop venturing out.
Stories of his crowning glory – locks of shimmering golden hair – abound in this office. A sure sign of his Shakesparean legacy!
Thus he walks about, brandishing his tongue at every unsuspecting soul. It is amazing how he inspires his colleagues to shove something sharp up that asshole of his. Now, this prick also suffers from a serious personality disorder. He nurtures delusions of him being the King and owning vast expanses of land in a neighbouring State. In this delusion of grandiose, he treats his dedicated asslickers to his benevolence with a story or two about his great feats. In his kingdom, which he often thinks is the office, his subjects are not allowed to make phone calls, check e-mail or least of all leave office after their work is done.
Terribly vindictive and sadistic in nature, Mr.Lilli can wreak havoc in his subjects' personal lives if he so wishes. And, he almost always thinks he has the last laugh, twitching his browning, used toothbrush-like moustache, revealing a set of decaying, yellow teeth.
And this is Mr.Lilli for you, for the time being.
It is humanly impossible to capture his versatility in one article. So, I sincerely hope readers would wait for more updates on Mr.Lilli's tales of grandiose.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Personality of the week
He appears as a short, filthy, nose-picking, ball-scratching government clerk with an insatiable interest in other people’s business. But behind this not-at -all deceiving appearance is an equally inspiring personality….
Here, in an exclusive feature, the ace paparazzi – the shoddy sub-editor explores the multi-faceted personality of Mr. Scum, one of the most fascinating persona who has perfected the art of ass-licking and taken it to new levels. The secret of perfect ass-licking, he says is to lick the entire ass thoroughly and if possible the underwear too until it is dripping wet. {He even mentioned the rectum, but that is a debatable question which his numerous admirers having varied opinions}
The most extraordinary trait of this wonderful person is his enviable ability to survive and walk on two legs without even a trace of a spine. Defying all laws of anatomy Mr. Scum manages to live spineless.
Turning to his scrounging talents, he describes his incredible gift to identify and reach on the spot wherever there is food, and to ask for it shamelessly provided that it is given to him free of cost. And the food includes anything from squashed chocolates and stale biscuits to two-week-old rotten bananas, left over milk, and even chewed up bubble gums.
Mr Scum has an aversion for the degraded capitalist, materialist school of thought that the rest of us follow - He can’t bear to spent money. The very thought gives him week-long insomnia. Every time he went out to lunch with his colleagues, he ate his stomach full, but when the bill came, he just got up and left. Of course, how could he indulge in such a degraded practice of spending money on such perishable luxury!! Finally their spirits broken, his colleagues stopped asking him to joining them for lunch. Such is his iron strength and unshakable resolution.
However, he spends his money on the noblest of all causes. [Which almost caused this writer to clutch her hand together, and look upon him with utmost reverence, her eyes welling up with tears of admiration when he described it to her in vivid detail.] He spends all his money on upsetting tons of milk and ghee over the stone figures of his divine protectors placed in temples scattered all over the city. [I suppose they might be enjoying getting drenched in milk and ghee while having to watch this man’s face through out – combined torture??]
Mind-blowing stories of his remarkable children eating cucumber, getting constipation, falling into open drains and smearing snot under the dining table, dominates his conversation. He thinks of nothing else but how his family eats, sleeps and farts.
He loath anything that is out of ordinary – even the if you show the most minute trace of possessing a bit of intelligence, individuality or creativity, he’ll stare at you as if you had just taken off your cloths, painted yourself pink and blue and went dancing in the rain. [ though this writer personally feels that its an interesting thing to do !!]
His photographic memory records every conversation, which he strains to hear and is meticulously repeated with his own interpretation to the ass lickee [i.e. the owner of the ass which he licks, remember employer / employee?? Similarly, ass-licker/ ass-lickee].
His insatiable curiosity to reads our mails and chats, and find out what is in our hand bags, combined with his ability to accept anything [When I mean anything I really mean ANYTHING!! – there are inspirational stores of how he used to take home pens, note pads, used paper cups, crumpled tissues and once even a used torn underwear- (and that explains his perpetual ball-scratching)] makes him the towering example of a perfect ass-licker.
Being a mixture of so many enviable characteristics, Mr. Scum makes his presence felt in the office – like a stagnant malodorous sewage in the middle of the road. You simply cant ignore him- If you don’t see him around, all you have to do is to get the cheapest packet of diet biscuits, any left-over cakes or even those 10ps worth sickly sweet toffees [any thing will do as long as it remotely resembles food] there- he’ll appear before you with the characteristic street-dog-who-was-starving-for–a-month expression on his face, one hand stretched out in front of him, waiting to get at the food . And there - You are in the majestic presence of the inimitable Mr. Scum!!
- the shoddy sub-editor. Copywrited material.
Here, in an exclusive feature, the ace paparazzi – the shoddy sub-editor explores the multi-faceted personality of Mr. Scum, one of the most fascinating persona who has perfected the art of ass-licking and taken it to new levels. The secret of perfect ass-licking, he says is to lick the entire ass thoroughly and if possible the underwear too until it is dripping wet. {He even mentioned the rectum, but that is a debatable question which his numerous admirers having varied opinions}
The most extraordinary trait of this wonderful person is his enviable ability to survive and walk on two legs without even a trace of a spine. Defying all laws of anatomy Mr. Scum manages to live spineless.
Turning to his scrounging talents, he describes his incredible gift to identify and reach on the spot wherever there is food, and to ask for it shamelessly provided that it is given to him free of cost. And the food includes anything from squashed chocolates and stale biscuits to two-week-old rotten bananas, left over milk, and even chewed up bubble gums.
Mr Scum has an aversion for the degraded capitalist, materialist school of thought that the rest of us follow - He can’t bear to spent money. The very thought gives him week-long insomnia. Every time he went out to lunch with his colleagues, he ate his stomach full, but when the bill came, he just got up and left. Of course, how could he indulge in such a degraded practice of spending money on such perishable luxury!! Finally their spirits broken, his colleagues stopped asking him to joining them for lunch. Such is his iron strength and unshakable resolution.
However, he spends his money on the noblest of all causes. [Which almost caused this writer to clutch her hand together, and look upon him with utmost reverence, her eyes welling up with tears of admiration when he described it to her in vivid detail.] He spends all his money on upsetting tons of milk and ghee over the stone figures of his divine protectors placed in temples scattered all over the city. [I suppose they might be enjoying getting drenched in milk and ghee while having to watch this man’s face through out – combined torture??]
Mind-blowing stories of his remarkable children eating cucumber, getting constipation, falling into open drains and smearing snot under the dining table, dominates his conversation. He thinks of nothing else but how his family eats, sleeps and farts.
He loath anything that is out of ordinary – even the if you show the most minute trace of possessing a bit of intelligence, individuality or creativity, he’ll stare at you as if you had just taken off your cloths, painted yourself pink and blue and went dancing in the rain. [ though this writer personally feels that its an interesting thing to do !!]
His photographic memory records every conversation, which he strains to hear and is meticulously repeated with his own interpretation to the ass lickee [i.e. the owner of the ass which he licks, remember employer / employee?? Similarly, ass-licker/ ass-lickee].
His insatiable curiosity to reads our mails and chats, and find out what is in our hand bags, combined with his ability to accept anything [When I mean anything I really mean ANYTHING!! – there are inspirational stores of how he used to take home pens, note pads, used paper cups, crumpled tissues and once even a used torn underwear- (and that explains his perpetual ball-scratching)] makes him the towering example of a perfect ass-licker.
Being a mixture of so many enviable characteristics, Mr. Scum makes his presence felt in the office – like a stagnant malodorous sewage in the middle of the road. You simply cant ignore him- If you don’t see him around, all you have to do is to get the cheapest packet of diet biscuits, any left-over cakes or even those 10ps worth sickly sweet toffees [any thing will do as long as it remotely resembles food] there- he’ll appear before you with the characteristic street-dog-who-was-starving-for–a-month expression on his face, one hand stretched out in front of him, waiting to get at the food . And there - You are in the majestic presence of the inimitable Mr. Scum!!
- the shoddy sub-editor. Copywrited material.
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