I am watching Roadies.
Yeah yeah… laugh… snicker… roll your eyes… bleh. It’s still fun. It is! Seriously! Haha. So, I am watching Roadies.
Apart from laughing at the ridiculously stupid yet self important smug morons living in our country, I really want to meet these awesome specimens and interview them. I want to talk to them. Hell! I want to give them books and pamphlets and literature about things like self respect, respecting others, the world around us, how to treat individuals, and AIDS. Sex education is also something a lot of these people need. Can we make them also watch some History Channel, some NDTV… anything man! Read the newspaper of a magazine once in a while! Its un-fuckin-believable! They are SOOOOOO STUPID!
Here is a list of quotes from the show -
“If you have vending machines in college, then vahin pe sex hona shuroo ho jayega” – Hahahahahahaa!
“A gay parade is not progress, India should maintain it’s culture and tradition, and ban such things” – Whaa?!!?!!
“Gays are mentally retarded” – Kill her! Kick her! Tell her she’s mentally retarded.
“The wildest thing I’ve done is dated three guys at the same time…” – the same girl said, “I will kill that guy if he cheats on me… maar doongi yaar”
“I have an insanic mind” – Oh-kay.
“Meri mom ne bola, ki beta aaj jaa raha hai, kuch karke dikhade… phir se fail mat hona” – Can a psychologist please meet his mother?!
“I like slapping guys and screwing with their minds” – Ohkay, sweetheart, you need to stop trying so hard…
“The wildest thing I’ve done – I always have sex without a condom… then I use and throw the girl” – Can he be zapped off this planet? It’s an order to the zappers out there.
“I tried to commit suicide by jumping into the hugli” – ?!?!?!!! she also said she did that because she was under the effects of black magic that some guy tried on her….!!!
“I have quit my job for Roadies…” – he then proceeded to weep like a baby about his girlfriend cheating on him – she was chatting with some boy. Chatting on MSN with some boy. Argh.
“If my girlfriend cheats on me, I will marry her. And then have sex with another girl in front of her and leave her.” – So ummm like, she’s supposed to watch him doing it?!
And the list goes on… you just sit there and wonder… of course you laugh. You laugh so that you don’t leave everything and go on a mission to educate these people. Because, seriously, can’t they watch tv? can’t they read? can’t they try and know more than how to fill in the roadies audition form? If they can get on the show, then some of them even go on to become VJs on weird-ass shows, can’t they make an effort and just voice opinions with some thought behind them instead of just blabbering crap?!
Also, I like the producers of the show. Despite their abusing the shit out of these people (oh who am I kidding? I love it figuring out what abuses are being beeped out :D), they also do respect people if they are making sense. They are nice to people who are not totally fucked up or trying to fool themselves as well them. What else? I like that in their way they try and promote ideas/opinions that seriously need to be talked of amongst our “youth”. Ok, I’ll shut up now.
PS: Do try and watch Lamhe… lowweeellyyy movie!
Epiphany. Really?
About those hot unattainable ones, they are quite out there, aren’t they? With their chiseled to perfection features or masked imperfections, beard or stubble, or make-up when it comes to women – so very hot. They make you purr, “You’re so purrrttyyy”, over and over in your head. Sometimes, you forget they are real.
Well, we come across such eye candy, such drool-worthy candidates NOT very often. Hardly. Once in a while. Once upon a time? And we all know, there are no happy endings with those who strut their stuff in your face and never talk too much. Limited conversation. Practiced smiles. The oomph. The strut. The baritone (like really? I KNOW it’s fake!). See what they do! I yap about them instead of my epiphany! Back to them, beauty, my dear friends, is skin-deep. And sometimes I wonder if all that talk about brains is crap. Be-cau-zse… We always WANT some pretty. Don’t we? And we all stare. Of course, the well mannered ones don’t touch.
No. We don’t.
So, we stare. We giggle to make matters worse. Not we, some little kids, who embarrass ”we” by giggling. Little kids should not be in offices, they should be enjoying college in college, not learning on the job!
So, we feel. We do. That ‘em unattainable ones keep quiet and stick to “Heys” or nods of acknowledgement followed by killer practiced smiles to stay hot.
Don’t talk.
Stay hot.
Let ‘em stare.
Show that you don’t care.
Don’t talk.
Stay mysterious.
Don’t get too serious.
For you lack the art of quick wit and conversations.
Don’t talk.
That is their mantra. And it works. For we giggle.
Shiny new shoes.
Shiny
New
Shoes!
Go save yourself…!
It’s Friday.
It was a beautiful day. Now, I am struggling. Brain-dead and struggling to figure out what my boss wants me to do. Struggling to make ‘em frozen slushy grey cells work. It’s all downhill. It’s not happening. I think he’ll yell at me today… surprisingly, for the first time ever, I really don’t care. He ruined my beautiful day. I mean, sure, he’s an almost awesome boss and all that but why?! What did I ever do to you? Don’t you know I am brain-dead and incapacitated and in winter slumber (on a FRIDAY!)? How can you not know? How? This is so totally unfair. Leave me be. GAH! GAAAHHH!!!
It’s still Friday. (Yes, save draft IS a brilliant button)
It was supposed to be a beautiful day. It wasn’t. No. It wasn’t. It isn’t going to be a great eveningnight either. Unless I am provided with some seriously good alcoholic beverage selection. And soon. But nooo… I have to wait. Wait for boss. Wait for this. Wait for that. Wait for a call. Wait for an approval. Wait for my brain to work! AND NOW wait for him to finish his work. I officially hate reports. I hate reports. I no heart work. NO heart. None whatsoever. Thankyouverymuch.
Yeah. Friday.
I am still waiting. Will continue to do so. The only good thing coming out of this never ending wait is that I don’t have to go in the Terrible Tavera.
The Terrible Tavera doesn’t let you recline the seats. So you just sit there, trying to keep your back so straight that even nature doesn’t allow it. You sit there hoping that your back will somehow find a place for itself. You know, trans-mutate-o-fy for a while, and un-trans-mutate-o-fy when you need to walk again. The Terrible is driven by a man who stinks. His music collection stinks too, but at least it IS bearable. But He! He reeks. He STINKS. It is unavoidable. Is it I-will-gag-and-die-if-I-don’t-open-the-windows-bad! But the cab-mate doesn’t let me. She starts snivelling and sneezing and whining. High pitched whining. It’s un-fuckin-believable! Her thickthin shrill bengali accent; her horrible woollens that have never been aired and hence, smell of a musty old cave inhabited by a gazillion rabbits who have been at it for over a year and have collected… oh never mind; her greasy hair which stinks of some weird concoction of oil, the rabbit cave, a rotting plant, and so much more that oh-my-god-I-wish-I-could-die. I keep on eating mint and breathing through the tiny vent I am allowed. The air actually gives me a reason to live. So I try. That. That, is my cab ride. To top it off, she decides to make conversation with the driver yesterday. So, the idiot forgets to take a crucial left turn and we land up in the mother of all traffic jams. And she continues to talk. In that voice. And I try desperately to master my survival technique: breathe… not breathe… breathe… not breathe. The driver tells stories of skulls crushed under tanker tyres, beating up thieves, giving money to authentic beggars and what not… and she ENCOURAGES HIM. IDIOT. Honestly, he was THE most boring story teller ever. I wanted to claw my own eyes out! I managed to calm myself down and stop myself from screaming and jumping off the cab by visualising kicking the crap out of the stink bong and using her to bash the shit out of stinker 2. Fun fun. Ninety minutes later. Ninety minutes of excruciating hellish pain later, I RAN home. I did. And I took in large gulps of pure non-stinky polluted Delhi air. Yummy!
So you see, I am quite lucky that I am waiting for him to finish work so that I can go get some alcohol. Why don’t I just leave? Well, I cannot. I don’t have a ride or a cab or anything. And I am broke. Very. BROKE. So, no radio cabs for me… Also, more importantly, I am supposed to be working on some godforsaken fuckall chutiyaap presentation. But I don’t want to. Anymore, that is.
So what if it’s Friday?!
I will leave when I can want to!
