Category Archives: “Zapped”

Older and, hopefully, wiser

I’m not going to use any gimmicks in this post. No protracted sentences. No loquaciousness. No references only understandable to certain people. It will just be my attempt at simple, straight, hard facts.

I have often complained of how life throws shit in my face. Whined in wangst at fate and the tortures it puts me through. And I did nothing about it.

A mining analogy:

We are all digging for gold, diamonds and other gems (ideological and literal) to enrich our lives. And some of us happen to hit a drainage pipe and end up with a pile of shit in our beloved gold mines. I am one of these people. People try to assist you out of this (in this analogy, literal, but otherwise metaphorical) shithole. And I was no different. Except that I didn’t use them to get out. Rather, I almost pulled them in.

Now, I’m through.

If I whine again, shoot me.

It is time for action.

But first… A few words which I have to make known public.

The people I knew while I wrote this blog over the past 4 years have defined this era of my life. An era that is reaching its end. And they deserve my thanks. I will not hide any details, by the way. If anyone here would like me to; say so and I will give you my id and password for WordPress. Knock yourselves out.

First, and most important:

Monisha Vemavarapu: Venom, SuperMon and a million sobriquets. No one has influenced me as much as she. Currently in London on an exchange program, she is dating a large, oafish, somewhat paranoid, whiny, self-obsessed and neurotic nutbag. I feel that she perhaps deserves better; but she’s a wiser judge of such things than I am. No one I have ever known has ever evolved so much so quickly. When I first was re-acquainted with her, she was a wild, kranti-kari, ultra-modernist pseudo-hippie. She is now one of the most level-headed determined and pragmatically intelligent people I know. I will be frank: When I first met her, both online and in person, I felt I was the superior individual. But I must now concede this title to her. She has proven herself to be a most fascinating person and one who accepts a random destiny with an élan that I wish I possessed. Monisha is one of those people who you just know will not fade quietly into the night, and will leave a mark on the world. I find my vocabulary failing me in my attempts to describe how happy I am to have known, and know, this singularly unique individual. I sincerely hope that we will never become strangers through providence or (more likely) some ridiculous action of mine.

Nimish Batra: After working at Infosys Technologies in Bangalore, Nimish is now pursuing a Master’s degree at the University of Florida. Nimish’s jesting misanthropy was what really resulted in our ever becoming friends. We shared in our fandom for Douglas Adams, I introduced him to Radiohead, and he introduced me to Monty Python. But in our protracted one-downmanship contests, (held periodically over the internet, the telephone and in person) I believe I learnt a lot. And perhaps too much. I appreciate and respect him for a lot of things, but I must say that what applies to me in a large measure applies to you too… Stop whining. Shut up and live. The thing about Nimish that few people get is that he is a genuinely warm-hearted person. Try visiting his home in South Ex, and be amazed at the hospitality shown by him and his family. One part of his brain has the capacity to make him do what’s necessary and drag him across the finish line while the other part is kicking and screaming. As long as that former part dominates the latter, he has nothing to worry about. Genuinely.

Dinesh Kapur: Decay is currently working in Gurgaon for a sustainable ventures firm whose name I can never remember, but it starts with a W. (edit: WinRock! It’s WinRock!) His George Best old-school footballing skills are no longer useful to him in the modern game much like my Karl Marx old-school thinking skills are of no use to me in the modern world. As I’ve often said; this man is a kindred spirit. We’re almost alter-egos of each other. Decay is someone who I can trust to understand my point of view on a matter, usually because he’s been there before. Like Monisha, Dinesh is someone who I feel is destined for far bigger things in life than he can possibly see now. And like Monisha, is an individual in possession of far too many talents, such that it looks unfair to the rest of us.

Anupam Guha: After a successful stint at the Georgia Institute of Technology (where he completed a 2-year Master’s course in a year with a perfect 4.0 CGPA), Guha is currently in Ahmadabad, working for a company that pays him to essentially be their poster-boy. His relationship with Anupama (who I’ve never met properly) was much joked about (my contribution was the idea for “Anupam (1+a)” wedding cards) in college. Oddly enough, it appears to be highly likely that theirs’ will be the first marriage of a friend that I will be a guest of. The conversations on every topic under and beyond the sun were, and still remain, much appreciated. Even the ones where we vehemently disagree. And his conviction to “save” me and show me that humanity is worth saving might just pay off. The path of the wannabe Bushido-ist is fraught with many perils, I joked of him. Well it appears that he intends on making these words an eerie prophecy. Much like a Katana, he has forged his tamahagane worldviews by repeatedly putting it through fire, folding it and beating the shit of it. And that’s why Guha will probably end up as that rarest species of all: A happy, intelligent man who is satisfied with his life and the world he is living in. Or we’ll embark on our plan for revolution. He’ll be Trotsky, I’ll be Stalin… Minus the backstabbing, of course.

Ashwin Murali: After half a year of working 80-90 hour weeks at Citibank, he’s now at his palatial penthouse in Nasik preparing for a second MBA. Ashwin’s greatest trait as a friend has been his ability to listen to me constantly abuse, demote, shout at, vilify and generally insult him for over 3 years with a patient nod and that irritatingly reassuring stupid smile. He set me off on a tangential path in my worldview, for which I still hate him by the way, but it might perhaps lead to a better future. You better hope it does bro.

Akhil Garg: Working at Accenture in Hyderabad, his tryst with the Alagappa family continues as my sister was his HR rep as a trainee. We have both learnt, very late, that we weren’t as bad roommates to have as we thought. Perhaps immaturity came between what could’ve been a far more rewarding friendship for us.

Swati, Priya and Ankur: Swati is working with Wipro in Bangalore while Priya is doing her Master’s at the University of Sussex, I believe. Ankur is doing his Master’s at IIT Kharagpur. I drove you guys away from me in a fit of madness and have regretted that decision since. My yet unfinished college life would have been far better if I had not done that.

Nitesh Bhasin: The entrepreneur and fellow backlogger. We really dump on you more than you deserve. The fact remains that if you hadn’t taken the effort of befriending me in IP University that day, I wouldn’t have gotten to know a lot of the people mentioned here. You’ll either end up in jail or in Forbes. Have fun in Vegas.

M.V. Harish: Another man at Georgia Tech, here’s to perpetuating the “crazy Telugu mofo” image with me. Keep it real with the brothas in the hood in Atlanta. We’ll meet up in a gun shop or seedy beer bar someday.

Many others ought to feature in this list, but I feel it has become so sappy, your monitors might have started leaking already; so wait for another epiphany and moment of emo-ness.

Seriously, I have so many epiphanies; it’s hard to tell which ones are genuine.

Oh, and I almost to mention… This post formally ends this blog. There will be no more posting on Chaosverse any longer. Frankly, I would like some order. Unpredictability and randomness are, as always, welcome; but I’ve had it with the chaos.

I would like to delete this blog, but perhaps will save it. Someday, the people mentioned in this post will look back and this and other posts and laugh at the naivety, stupidity, folly, and immaturity on display.

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Planning my vengeance that I will soon unfold…

Good morning and welcome to Classics Hour!

I’ve been in classics mode while sleeping (yes, I slept early tonight! I know what caused the insomnia now.)

The point is, my dreams were sponsored by a classic rock radio station. Because I have woken up with three songs stuck very distinctly in my head. Rather than just give you the title of the songs with the corresponding advice to “check them out! They rock! LOLZ!”, I’ve decided to do the even more annoying thing at this point; i.e. post these songs here. With lyrics, if you – like me – like to air sing and air guitar along with the song.

I guess anyone familiar with the significance of the title knows the first song.

And a bit of advice: If you are ever in the need to serenade Venom (who’s left a comment here after a 2-year gap?), NEVER use any of these songs. Trust me. Stick to “Words” by Ronan Keating or “Paint My Love” by Michael Learns To Rock. This advice applies across the board to all girls, I would assume.

But FUCK THAT! LET’S ROCK!

Song #1 that featured prominently in the soundtrack to my sleep: Iron Man by Black Sabbath.

Song #2: Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas (a.k.a. The song around which the South Park episode, Guitar Queer-o revolved. And to anyone who has thoroughly enjoyed ‘Rock On’, give this episode a watch!)

Song #3: More Than A Feeling by Boston. (This song refuses to leave my head. It’s been there for more than a day now!)

Why the sudden classic/prog phase? Who knows? A diverse and often eccentric taste in music is something that’s associated quite strongly with me. Tomorrow, I’ll put up a video of this cool Aria I found on youtube.

Till then, raise your index and ‘pinky’ while holding your middle and ring finger to your palm using your thumb. \m/

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Filed under "Zapped", Music, Random

Canon (and I’m not talking about cameras)

You know you love someone when not only their happiness gives you joy (cliched as it may sound, I believe it’s a litmus test to judge the emotion), but also when their pain hurts you. Of course, when you are the cause of the pain, it hurts MUCH, MUCH more. The expression “it breaks my heart” is not just a figure of speech, it actually hurts in the region around one’s chest. If you think about it, it makes sense. Your brain goes into overdrive, all kinds of chemicals are released and this calls for a sudden increase in blood flow which causes one’s heart to beat ever so fast with the result that it feels as if the internal structure of your anatomy is tearing. Well, the pain aspect is more of a neuro/psychological reaction as the heart beats very quickly during moments of happiness too; but then it feels more euphoric than painful.

The point here is canon. Thanks to a debate at KNC which is forever etched in my memory as the most profitable few hours of my life, I know it’s meaning quite thoroughly. However, the fashionable thing to do in a situation like this is give a dictionary definition andin homage to pseudo-intelligentsia chic, I shall do the same. (there were 14 definitions of the word divided by the context in which it is being used,  so I picked the ones that pertain to my point here)

can⋅on

–noun

the body of rules, principles, or standards accepted as axiomatic and universally binding in a field of study or art.
a fundamental principle or general rule.
a standard; criterion.

The universal, fundamental principle I am talking about here is the desire to not hurt someone whose happiness is essentially the only bright spot in a dark and dreary world. And especially to not hurt them by doing something you misguidedly thought would make an interesting experiment. To quote the almighty,

“If I ever meet myself,” said Zaphod, “I’ll hit myself so hard I won’t know what’s hit me.”

The fundamental, guiding principle that it is your duty to be the cause of someone’s happiness just as they are the cause of yours’. People who defied the canon were heretics. And as we all know, heretics were burnt in village squares as sort of a matinee entertainment show, this was , of course, before the arrival of CGI.

So gather ye wood, villagers!

And to conclude… I’m taking a page out of the canon of the Fox News Network. Their fundamental principle is misquote and misrepresent. Their approach follows the tactic: Display images and videos that are grossly out of context to justify your point.

So, the first half of an otherwise hilarious (and, needless to say, depressing) Perry Bible Fellowship comic. Dedicated to: but of course…

Though in the original comic, the chap gets depressed by looking at the decisions made by the others... I'm not. SO THERE! BOO TO YOU PBF!

Though in the original comic, the chap gets depressed by looking at the decisions made by the others... I'm not. SO THERE! BALLS TO YOU PBF!

can⋅on

1 // // <![CDATA[
var interfaceflash = new LEXICOFlashObject ( "http://cache.lexico.com/d/g/speaker.swf&quot;, "speaker", "17", "15", "“, “6”);interfaceflash.addParam(“loop”, “false”);interfaceflash.addParam(“quality”, “high”);interfaceflash.addParam(“menu”, “false”);interfaceflash.addParam(“salign”, “t”);interfaceflash.addParam(“FlashVars”, “soundUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fcache.lexico.com%2Fdictionary%2Faudio%2Fluna%2FC00%2FC0097000.mp3&clkLogUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fwzqa01oak.jeeves.ask.info%2Fi%2Fb.html&var_t=a&var_d=d&var_s=di&var_c=a&var_ti=1&var_ai=51359&var_l=dir&var_o=0&var_sv=00000000&var_ip=7aa31b8c&var_u=audio&var_proxyUrl=http://dictionary.reference.com/whatzup.html&var_validVars=Array&var_defaultVars=Array”); interfaceflash.addParam(‘wmode’,’transparent’);interfaceflash.write();
// ]]><a href=”http://dictionary.reference.com/audio.html/lunaWAV/C00/C0097000&#8243; target=”_blank”><img src=”http://cache.lexico.com/g/d/speaker.gif&#8221; mce_src=”http://cache.lexico.com/g/d/speaker.gif&#8221; border=”0″ /></a> [kanuhn] Show IPA
–noun

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Filed under "Zapped", Arrgh!!!, Life, Pain, This is not a joke!

A Short, Meandering, Pointless and Badly Written Story

Gasp!

He was awake.

“What time is it?”

5 AM.

It was a torrid slumber. He had two styles of sleeping. Either he slept in a manner that could make a casual observer confuse him for someone dead or at least in a comatose state or it was a sleep punctured by sleepy, incoherent muttering peppered with the occasional swear or three and sudden awakenings where he would jump out of his bed with an unexplainable adrenaline rush that would rapidly dissipate as he struggled to decide what he should do now that he’s awake and fresh before he felt sleepy again. Sometimes he would wake up, sit in a corner and contemplate about absolutely nothing, but contemplate nevertheless.

He decided he wanted to take a bath.

It was cold; unseasonably cold for a mid-October morning. He didn’t know that he was shivering while asleep and even though the cooler in his room was switched off by his room-mate, who was watching ‘The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford’ on the nearby desktop, there was a discernable chill in his room. His feet would’ve felt the cold floor if they weren’t sheltered by the socks he had been wearing continuously for the past three and a half days. It should be “almost continuously”. He had been wearing them throughout with the exception of ten minutes a day, when he removed them to take a bath. The left sock was blue and a very good quality one he had got as a free gift when he bought a brand new pair of shoes from Reebok (He had two pairs of shoes, both bought from Reebok. He didn’t even like the company that much). The free socks were the least they could give him in exchange for his act of brand loyalty. The right one was white and had been bought two weeks ago at a department store which were selling them at 149 bucks for three pairs.

He headed for the bath room he shared with 4 other people. The space between bath and room is accurate, as it wasn’t a bathroom – the toilet was a separate room. A pedantic individual might’ve described it as a bath cell. A normal human being would feel claustrophobic inside it. At 6 feet 2 inches tall and 85 kilograms, he was larger than a normal human being and felt constricted having to bathe in a room where he couldn’t move in any direction without stubbing his elbow against the wall. The floor looked clean, but that was a misconception. He opened the tap and stared as the water filled the plastic bucket, making a racket which he believed would be sufficient to wake the person in the room nearby. He touched the boundary of the water with his fingertips, gauging its temperature.

“Cold.”

He went outside.

“Cold.”

“Redundant.”

He went downstairs to the kitchen and opened the fridge. In the freezer lay two plastic bottles, each filled to the brim with the regulation two-liter capacity. They had been there all night and were just beginning to freeze. He pulled both out and went back up to the bath cell. He emptied the bottles into the bucket and let it fill. He took of his clothes and stood there, waiting. He touched the water again. Better, he thought. He couldn’t imagine how, but there was a cold draft in the cell. He shivered just a bit. He continued to stare at the water, feeling it occasionally with his fingertips. He would’ve liked it to be even colder. He finally lifted a mug, dunked it so that it was three-quarters full and then lifted it to eye level. He took a few drops and rubbed them across his eyes. This, he thought, will sting. He took a deep breath and lifted the mug over his head. He breathed out, slowly and emptied it over himself.

As he felt the frigid water pour over his body, his closed eyes allowed him to see his biggest fear. He could never describe his biggest fear in the form of an abstract noun or even a proper noun; which is why he was perennially inconsistent with replies to any question whose gist was ‘what are you afraid of?’. The answers ranged from darkness, ignorance, failure, death, a life filled with mundane mediocrity and bees, wasps, hornets and any insect that could fly and sting. In reality, his biggest fear was a scene. It featured him in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean on a cold winter’s night, floating with the support of Athe-knows-what in waters you couldn’t see through because they were that cold and the night was that dark. All around him, all he can see are heaving waves that somehow never reach him. Then, he would see below his feet the form of the largest animal to have ever existed on this planet – a blue whale. Though he knew it subsides on plankton and poses him no predatory threat, he would feel an unnameable fear that was darkness, ignorance, death and insects with stings and wings multiplied and raised to the power of a googolplex. If the same creature were to turn and then break through the surface of the water to take a breath and release a mixture of air and sea-water from its snout, he would at that very moment die of sheer terror. He continued pouring the frigid water over himself and felt his thoughts shift from his fear to his memories. He felt a funny taste on his lips and instantly recognized it.

“You have to be kidding me.”

For someone who doesn’t eat a lot of fruit (unless you count mango shakes), she does taste very fruity. Like apples or strawberry ice-cream or the 3-rupee raspberry icicles you used to get at Bethany High.

Another mug of water over his body. This time, he thought of the drawing he saw somewhere, of how fashion was at the top and nature at the bottom. He then hoped that the “artist” meant nature in the way physicists talk about nature, as opposed to environmentalists. He thought about how nature encompasses everything. Right from him, a dung beetle, the planet Earth, the Andromeda Galaxy and vast tracts of general emptiness between our galaxy cluster and the next. He decided to try to always refer to the environmentalists’ interpretation of nature (trees, animals, clear lakes reflecting the snowy peak they’re situated next to…) with a more accurate word. Biosphere will do.

He was finished with his bath. He didn’t wipe himself off with his towel; instead he just wrapped it around himself and went outside to the balcony to feel the cool breeze against his wet body. This innuendous act complete, he retreated to his room and dried himself. He put on his socks, the blue Reebok on the right and the white local on the left. He wore his clothes, he can’t remember what. He rarely remembers what he wears. He lay down on his bed and went to sleep. He woke up three and a half hours later by shouting “What!” thrice in a row.

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Chutiya aur bewakoof…

Bewakoof aur chutiya mein dhaage barabar ka farak hota hai. Dhage ke henge bewakoof aur hunge, chutiya. Dhaga khench lo to kaun hai bewakoof kaun hai chutiya, carore rupiye ka prashan hai bhaiya.

I don’t usually do the human interest beat. Reasons range from me not giving a hoot about such incidents to the fact that it’s done far too often by far too many other blah-gers. (Natansh, Venom and even Decay have dabbled in such stuff. These posts are usually ignored by me or I leave pointless, vague and marginally demeaning comments that go largely unappreciated by the authors or make Decay turn green and rip his clothes out!)

But I guess I can make an exception. Just this once.

His name, he said, was Raju. He told me this after I asked him, which was strange as most cab drivers tend to introduce themselves to me. I provide some respite from the boring and arduous task of ferrying people from AIIMS to Rajnigandha (sec-19), Noidaa nd it is rare for them to get more than, say, 2 or 3 passengers at the afore-unmentioned time (which happens to be around midnight, if not later). I’ve met a cab driver who asked to guess his age. I thought he looked 34, but I wanted to go easy on the chap (may end up dropping me off for free!). The conversation went as follows:

Me: “Bhaiya, pachees” (25)

Rakesh: “Nahi” (Nope)

Me: “Chabbees, Athayees? Tees se toh kum honge!” (26, 28? Less than 30, for sure!)

Rakesh: “Saale, mein bayees ka hoon” (I’m 22)

Rakesh has a 5-month-old kid. He named him Abhishek, after this guy. And ended up dropping me off very close to my place for free.

There was the inimitable Jayant. Swearing at everyone on the street and trying to pick up chicks. (“Jaanu, horn aise daba rahi ho ki jee karte hai main teri horno ko daba doon!” Translate that yourself.)

And the chaps who question why am I out there in the first place. (“Ladki se milke aa rahe ho? Sahi hai, yaar! Sahi hai!“)

But Raju was different, because I didn’t see him as a representation of how, despite the injustices of the bourgeios, the oppressed worker can manage to smile and bring some humour into the life of others, even if it just for a 16-km ride.

Raju was driving a black Chevrolet Tavera. He stopped suddenly at AIIMS, but not so suddenly so as to disrupt anything on his dashboard. It was the perfect sudden halt. He turned his face slowly and looked at us fools, standing there at midnight. I looked the silliest. Dark blue kurta that extended up to my knees, jeans and a bag. Everyone backed up. I went forward and asked him, “Noida?” He nodded his head. “Kahaan?”, I said. “Rajnigandha” he replied. He spat the word out as if the place was his dominion. I got in. He drove like a character out of the Matrix. Average speed: 70 (before the DND Flyway). And this may be the Tavera rather than the driver, but I have rarely had such a comfortable ride. He made his customary near-perfect screeching halts at South Ex, Lajpat Nagar, Maharani Bagh and Ashram. He didn’t stick his head out of the car and yell his destination. He just looked. If no-one approached the car in 3 seconds, he was off.

I noticed that even though I was his only passenger, he did not utter a word. Or even look away from the road. It wasn’t even as if he was looking at the road. He just stared ahead, not even in the manner of contemplating the vagaries of existence. His face was austere. It wasn’t austere from rage or anything. It was pure, emotionless austerity. When we exited the toll booth, I asked his name. He didn’t even look at me. He just asked why I wanted to know. (Actually what he said was, “Kyon?” – “Why?”).

Aap itne chup they. Mujhe laga ki agar is wakt main yahan mar bhi jaon toh aapko koi farak nahi padega. Iske liye angrezi mein ek shabd hota hai, Stoic” (You were so quiet that I thought that even if I died at this very moment, it wouldn’t affect you at all. There’s a word in English for this, Stoic).

He smiled. Actually his lips on the right of face moved just a bit. We had reached Rajnigandha Chowk. As I got down from the batmobile, he turned to me and finally spoke,

Kum bolna ek kala hota hai. Jyaada bologe toh public tereko chutiya samjhegi“. (Keeping queit – speaking very little – is an art. Talk too much and people will take you for a fucker/pussy.)

Thus said, he drove off.

This. This is what I wanted to be, back when I was 13-14 years old. Why did I change? I guess, no-one can be truly apathetic, truly “heartless” (as she put it), truly stoic. Except Raju, perhaps.

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Filed under "Zapped", Blah Blah Blah, influencing things that I am influenced by, Life, Phil0s0phy, Random, role-models, Travel and Living

The presence of an absence

I’m bad at pretty much everything, but I’m exceptionally bad at social activities. I have always been under the impression that people prefer the presence of my absence. It’s not dissimilar to the sequence from Black Adder the Third, where Baldrick explains why he thinks his first name is “sod off“.

When I was a child and playing in the gutter, I used to say to the other snipes “Hello, my name’s Baldrick,” and they would reply, “Yes, we know. Sod off, Baldrick!”

This is usually okay with me. But the strange bit is when I start receiving evidence to the contrary. So, the idea that the reaction (not exactly prevalent everywhere, but prevalent nevertheless) to the presence of my absence is not indifference but rather a very slight amount of sadness is… surprising, gratifying and also frustrating.

Surprising because… Hell, I never expected people to miss me! It’s such new and unusual territory!

Gratifying. That’s obvious isn’t it?

Frustrating… Because it is not only one-sided. And more importantly, WHY THE FUCK AM I ALWAYS SHORT ON CASH?!

This is new. I miss someone pretty badly. And I’m doing nothing to alleviate the situation. Yeah, ain’t I just great? Goddam it, I feel so inadequate right now. It’s pathetic, pitiful and also true. What I need is a vacation! Ankur’s not enjoying Himachal, so I guess I better keep away. Question is, where do I go? A lot of places come to mind: Leh, Agra, Varanasi, Hyderabad, Vishakapatnam et cetera. 

This weekend is perhaps the best one I’ve had since the end of May! Today was a great afternoon spent in the company (cum panis heh heh heh) of friends, rum, butter chicken and a joke involving a girl mispronouncing the last word in the sentence “I want a Large Coke”; whereas tomorrow is some free Pizza and Beer at Gurgaon. After that, it’s back to the old charade of summer training. Sec-37 to sec-125 and back.

As for the bloc and this thing here… I guess I’m going to stick around and try to beat it. The problem is that I do not truly understand why I blog.

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Mental MP3 Attacks Again!

My mood can usually be encapsulated by studying which songs are playing in my head. And since last night, it’s been the same damn song. This one. Which is odd because House or Dance Electronica isn’t what you’ll usually catch me listening to. Though I can’t say I despise it. I have nothing against any genre, actually. (Except Bubblegum Pop. I HATE THOSE FUCKING BUBBLEGUM POP MORONS!)

So, yeah, I guess that does express what’s the state of the thing formerly known as my mind. I know it’s kind of lujjar-esque lyrically, but it’s not that bad. There are, in fact, very few songs that deal with that topic and do not have lujjar-esque lyrics. My personal favorite is…

You can laugh, a spineless laugh. We hope your rules and wisdom choke you. For now we are one, in everlasting peace. We hope that you choke. That you choke.

Strangely enough, the song that did occupy my mind until this one replaced it does not immediately give one any hint as to what my state of mind was then. So, Mars bar to anyone who can tell me. The song is what Terrance and Phillip sing in their maiden appearance on American television on the Ed Sullivan show. (Check out Season 5 ep.5 ‘Terrance and Phillip: Behind the Blow‘)

Till then… ‘Days Go By…’

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