Return Of The Yo-Yo: The Yellow School Bus :)

Three interesting things happened yesterday, which forced me to come out of my forced hibernation and write a post, in order to enlighten the world about the interesting things that happened yesterday. By the way, I’ve been experimenting with redundancy in my sentences, and I think it’s working quite well.

1. The Yellow School Bus:

school-bus1:30 in the afternoon, melting under the unusually hot sun in the middle of Bangalore, sitting hunched up in a tiny auto with two other people, afraid to move for fear of falling out of the ridiculous excuse for a motor vehicle, and wondering when the horror would end. We were on our way to a meeting and the ride would normally take 40 minutes. But yesterday, we stuck behind a yellow school bus for most of the journey, and took us close to 90 minutes to reach. Once we reached, we had to resort to acrobatic stunts (that would’ve made the Russian gymnastic team from the last Olympics Games proud) to get out.

I didn’t give it much thought at that time, mainly because I was too busy setting my spine in order, but then, as the day wore on, I realized it was something ominous.

2. The Yellow School Bus:

school-bus5:15 in the evening, stuffed into a small white cab, driving back to office after the tremendously long and boring meeting, and wondering when the horror would end. The ride back to office usually takes just 30 minutes because of the general lack of traffic in that direction. But yesterday, we were stuck behind a yellow school bus for most of the way, and it took us more than an hour to get back.

I was beginning to think something was up. I glanced up at the sky and heard the faint hint of laughter fading away. Was the yo-yo trend coming back? I shuddered and ran into the safety of my cubicle.

3. The Yellow School Bus:

school-bus9:30 in the night, loud music blaring through my ear plugs, I was riding my rickety bike back home. the roads were surprisingly devoid of traffic last night and I was beginning to think that I’d make it back home well before the usual one-and-a-half hours it takes me. But then, I got stuck behind three yellow school buses that were rolling gently in the middle of the narrow road, leaving me with no chance to overtake them. I didn’t bother honking. I resigned to my fate and thankfully for the heavy music, I did not hear the cacophonous laughter up above.

Open Question: Am I ‘down-to-earth’ if I give up my suit and tie for tattered jeans and T-shirts and fly to the next town in a helicopter?

Bigger! Badder! Stronger! Smellier!

returnFor the first time in its life, this website hid its face from the world for a few hours. MirrorCracked has always lived up to a rich legacy of smelly nonsense, guaranteed to make you smile and wrinkle your nose at the same time. And this time, I promise you more of the same, better packaged and bound to make you laugh so much that you’d cry. Well, I’ll try. 😀

The scientists at the MirrorCracked Labs have successfully installed a rotating  cleartext mutation string algorithm that churns out a password for the site every three minutes. Now, I don’t know what any of that means, but I found that phrase in a novel and thought it would be really cool to use it here to intimidate any professional hacker jobless enough to hack into my useless site and color my sidebar pink. Well, I’m sticking out my tongue at you, hacker!

Ive become quite paranoid all of a sudden. Just the other day, I snorted on my cup of hot coffee (in the makeshift coffee stand across the street from my office) when I overheard a couple of people plotting to kill me. Very covertly, I crushed the tiny plastic cup and bent down to dump it in the trash bin, and knelt down to tie my shoelaces, and listened to their conversation.

Killer 1: This fellow is irritating me.

Killer 2 (sporting a macho mustache): Yeah! Let’s get rid of him, once and for all!

Only when Killer 1 threw a stone at the ugly dog standing next to them did I realize that they weren’t talking about me. That was when I decided to learn some really nasty words to defend myself. For example, “I’m a black-belt in kicking your ass!” is something my younger brother once told me, and I’ve been using that line against a variety of opponents, both real and imaginary.

Anyway, I digress a lot. The main objective of this post was to announce that MirrorCracked just got bigger, badder and a whole lot funnier! I guess that’s my Christmas present to you all this year!

Okay, I’m kidding. About the Christmas presents, not the blog. You’ll all get free beer wine! 😀

Oops, He Did It Again! :)

Deve Louda Gowda - The Art Of Holding An Entire City At Ransom!
Deve Gowda - The Art Of Holding An Entire City At Ransom!

Every country has it’s fair share of jackass politicians and India perhaps has the most. Topping the list of overachievers is the supremely anal Deve Louda Gowda. He was the Prime Minister of the country a while back, and during his stint, India stooped to an all time low. He was notorious for disrupting the lives of the citizens with his absurd political campaigns and crap-all marches. Last night, he outclassed himself by holding the entire city at ransom. Here’s what transpired two days prior to the incident:

Scene: Deve Louda Gowda’s toilet.

For sake of convenience, we’ll refer to him as Fuckhead.

Fuckhead is sitting on the pot and trying to forget the past 15 painful minutes. At his age, he realizes that he shouldn’t be eating spicy curry for dinner lest he goes through this marathon session in the toilet again. He has his laptop on his knees and he is reading MirrorCracked – his daily dose of laughter. He reads this post called “Living In Ghost Town,” where the author has written about how empty the roads of Bangalore were and how he’s so happy that he reached his office in half an hour, instead of the usual one hour.

Fuckhead frowns and hatches a plan to make that author’s life miserable. He calls it Operation Manic Monday.

On the 17th of November, he holds the biggest political rally in his miserable career. Worse still, he holds this rally in the heart of the city – Palace Grounds. Three hundred and fifty thousand people thronged to the rally from all around Bangalore (Please note: People came from all around Bangalore, not from Bangalore. Over 1000 vehicles, including 400 buses were allowed into the city carrying the hopeful and the misinformed villagers.)

Roads are choked and the entire city comes to a standstill, in the biggest traffic management disaster the city has ever seen. Fuckhead smiles in satisfaction.

“The author of MirrorCracked has been taken care of,” he says to his personal assistant. “No longer will he write about Bangalore roads being empty. I have triumphed.”

The scientists at the MirrorCracked Labs were shocked and angered at this cruel, below-the-belt tactic that Fuckhead employed. They think that Deve Louda Gowda is jealous of Nikhil’s sexy beard and the luxuriant hair on his head. Maybe…

The Dummy’s Guide To Breaking Up!

So, here we are again, after a few rants and a lot more beer, trying to learn some of the basic things in life through the evergreen Dummy’s Guide. This time round, the scientists at the MirrorCracked Labs decided to be a bit more human and latched on to topics that are studied and researched the least around the world – breaking up, ditching and getting ditched. Not many people want to talk about it, but psychologically speaking, it’s a very easy thing to talk about, especially after a few rounds of vodka. Alcohol loosens tongues.

There are guides to lose a girl and there are guides to lose a guy, but The Dummy’s Guide is perhaps the most comprehensive of the lot.

Anyway, the MirrorCracked Labs decided to publish their research here, after careful observations with spy cameras, hidden microphones and tapped telephones. For anyone who is in a relationship they don’t want to be in, this is a must read. Follow these techniques and you’ll be single again, that’s a guarantee. The Love Guru endorses these techniques, by the way, so no need to worry about the credibility of the claims.

It’s Not You, It’s Me…

Popularized by Seinfeld and immortalized by the Love Guru millions of times, the “It’s not you, it’s me” routine works wonders when dealing with stubborn partners. I know many of us would just wish that we could say the things we think about, on their faces, but unfortunately, that would get us killed. For instance, there was this girl who once accused me of ‘taking advantage’ of her when she was drunk, and I really wanted to say, “I wouldn’t take advantage of you even if you were not drunk, and even if I did, it would be a disadvantage, you paranoid bitch,” but I ended up saying, “Of course not, baby. You can trust me,” and we cuddled the whole night. I broke up with her the next evening using the “it’s not you, it’s me” routine.

This is what you need to do. Take your partner to a very nice restaurant and sit across the table and stare into your partner’s eyes and tell them, “Look, this really is not what I had in mind when I started seeing you. I am really crazy in my head and my notions of love and relationships are obsolete. You’re a great person and I am sure you deserve someone much better than me.”

Then your partner will look shocked, maybe shed a few tears and ask you, “Please don’t say such things.”

And you should say, “It’s not you, it’s me. It’s just me. I am not the right person for you. Let’s not argue further.” Hold your partner’s hands while saying the line, it adds to the effect. Trust me, this always works.

I Need A Break…

This technique is ideal for people  below 25 years of age, and those who are not considering a commitment with your partner. More often than not, your partner will be seriously considering committing and would want to marry you or something. So, once you see the signs (excessive drooling around you, stupid look in the eyes, blindly agreeing to whatever you say, every conversation leading to marriage and future and babies), you should make sure that you break it off.

Take your partner to the place where you first went out for a date, or any other nice coffee shop would suffice. Tell your partner that you need a break and that you just want to be friends and that you have a career to think about at that moment in your life. Your partner will be confused and won’t understand what you’re hinting at. Then you should say, “I don’t want to date you anymore.”

If your partner still doesn’t get it, then you shouldn’t be with that person in the first place!

I’m Already Married…

If neither of the two routines are applicable to you, then the best and (sometimes) the safest way is to tell your partner that you’re already married. Choose a public place to tell them this, because there are chances that they might get violent. To be sure, call the cops beforehand.

The Other Routines…

Other guides would probably harp on other routines and the most popular one I found was to tell your partner that you’re gay. This is a big No-No! Do not tell your partner that you’re gay, because you have no idea what effect this will have on your image in the market. Your partner will stop at nothing to make the whole world know that you’re gay and that will seriously affect your chances of scoring with anyone else. Dialogues like, “Oh, you’re that homo, aren’t you?” and “Don’t I know you from somewhere? Oh yeah, I remember. I’m sorry, I don’t date homosexuals” become quite common and your life will be miserable.

If You Get Dumped…

…then, don’t worry. Just contact me and tell me your problems and why you were dumped and I will take up your case in the MirrorCracked Labs and figure out a way to make your life better. 😀

Letter To An Asshole

Dear Asshole,

It’s been nice knowing you for so long. Really, when you stumbled upon my blog a month ago, I never realized we would be forging such a strong bond of indifference. With all that’s been happening in my life right now – work tensions, women, money issues, women, health issues, women, etc – I really think that I can do without your incessant stupidity.

You remind me of an ancient monkey-like creature that has been dead for a million years; it died because it mistook professional courtesy for unconditional love. Of course, since I haven’t even met you, I don’t know whether you actually look like the stupid monkey-like creature, but I’d put my money on it.

You are sexually insecure and your parents hate you. You were a mistake to begin with. You were the result of one night’s heavy drinking nine months before you were born. Your parents are ashamed of you, aren’t they? That’s why they named you like that. You are ashamed of your lineage, and you can’t do anything about it, except roam around the blogosphere harassing people when you could do something useful like kill yourself.

All said and done, my dear dear Asshole, I still like you. I like you a lot, because the world needs people like you. Where else will the scientific community get human specimens for experimental trials? Where else will car manufacturers get dummies for their crash tests? The world would have a boring place without you, my friend.

My dear Asshole, I salute you with a lot of feeling, but I am sorry that you can’t see which finger I’m holding up. Go rot in hell.

Sincerely,
God’s Yo-Yo

Disclaimer: Asshole is real. He is an Asshole. He is an ancient monkey-like creature. Maybe someday, when he kills himself, I’ll throw a grand party where I’ll reveal his name, Till then, let’s play the guessing game. 😀

Checkmate!

The white Queen stood facing the black Bishop. They were three squares away, in front of each other, in a single file. The Queen was tempted to kill the Bishop, but realized that there are other forces acting. The black Queen and the black King were very near, one square apart, on either side of the black Bishop, providing excellent protection and at the same time, harboring a threat to the white Queen. The white Queen was of a pure heart, unlike the three enemies facing her – they were dark and sadistic. She knew that if she doesn’t think rationally at this juncture, she would be killed.

She called out to her White Knight – her trustworthy adviser, her secret love, her Man among men – and asked him to help her. Ever the gentleman and always ready to lay down and die for his lovely Queen, the white Knight rode forward and in one brilliant move, stood in front of his Queen, defending her, and called out, “Check!” to the black King.

The black King was taken by surprise and the black Queen could not believe her eyes. Where had the white Knight come from? Her respect for the Knight grew, but was overtaken by her hatred and anger. She had to protect her dark King at any cost, and in her anger, she misjudged the existing threat to herself. She asked the dark King to move back a square, and as he did, she realized her folly. In an instant, the white Knight was on to her; drawing his sword, he plunged it deep into her black heart. She let out a horrifying scream as she lay dead on the battlefield. Her last words were, “White Knight, I salute you.”

Turning to his lady love, the white Knight bowed. The white Queen had tears in her eyes. “You risked your life to save mine,” she said.

“That, my lady, is my destiny,” said the white Knight.

The white Knight now stood right next to the black Bishop, who was quivering in his boots and had wet his pants just looking at the white Knight standing next to him in all his glory. The black King knew that his hours were numbered. He looked back into his camp and saw that his trustworthy assassin – the black Knight – was still available. He called out to him, “Save your King, O blackest of black Knights!”

Heeding to his King’s call, the black Knight leapt into action, and in one spring, he landed next to his King and threatened the white Queen. The Queen looked helplessly at her white Knight. He just smiled at her and said, “The dark ones are going to lose, my Queen. We shall triumph.”

He leapt high in the air and landed in front of his Queen and called out, “Check!” to the black King again. The King could not believe it. He had overlooked such a simple maneuver. “Shit!” he cried, and moved to a square to his right.

The white Knight then looked at his Queen, at her lovely face, at her beautiful eyes and extended his hand. “Do you trust me, my Queen?” he asked.

“Of course, I do!” said the Queen. “Why?”

“Then take my hand and come to me. Move a step towards me, my Queen. Trust me.”

She took his hand. She loved him more than anything else in the world and so far, he had saved her life thrice in three moves. She took a step forward and came to him.

The white Knight looked at the black King and said, “Checkmate, asshole!”

From Bangalore With Love

Stranger Than Strange
My Life: Stranger Than Strange

Strange things seem to happen to me most of the time. I don’t know if anyone else experiences weirdness on a daily basis as I do. Today, a DHL courier guy sniffed my butt, I broke my thumb, and I managed to get myself locked in an ATM counter. All within a span of two hours.

I wanted to send a package to Trivandrum, in Kerala. It was a set of pretty Fabindia kurtas for a friend, on the occasion of Onam. She had specifically asked me not to send anything, and that was why I had to send her some nice clothes. So, after some confusing shopping, I settled on a pair of kurtas. I vowed never to shop for women again.

In the evening, I left office a bit early to courier the package at the DHL office in Malleshwaram, which is just a few miles from home. A harrowing one-hour ride on my rickety bike later, I reached the place.

“Hi,” I said to the courier guy sitting behind the desk. “I’ve got a package to be sent to Kerala.”

“Sir, all connections to Kerala are closed for Onam. It’ll reach only on Monday,” he said.

I sighed and said, “Ok, fine. Give me the earliest connection,” and tried to un-sling my backpack, but it wouldn’t budge. There was an irritating hook in the bag, which had gotten stuck to my belt buckle and my bag was locked in place. When I tried to move it, my pants rode up, giving me a wedgie. It was quite embarrassing, and the courier guy was looking at me with some amusement.

“Excuse me,” I told him. “Can you please check this hook? I think it’s stuck to my pants.” I was utterly, completely, thoroughly embarrassed and I hoped to hell he wouldn’t recognize me on a later day.

He came around and stood behind me and crouched down and held his face as close to my butt as he could. After a while, he said, “Yes sir, the hook is stuck to the belt buckle.” He took a pair of scissors and bent down again. We struck a queer pose – me, standing there and him, bending down, examining my ass with a pair of scissors in hand. I was desperately praying that no one walk through the door at that time and find the both of us in this compromising position. My prayers were answered and no one walked in, and soon, he had freed the hook from my pants and I could un-sling my bag. We avoided looking into each others’ eyes.

“Can I pay with my credit card?” I asked as I handed over the package to him.

“No sir, we don’t,” he said. Of course they won’t. Things can never be too easy, right? So, I told him, “Ok, then start billing, I’ll go to the ATM next door.”

Three people stood in a line outside the ATM, and I stood there, patiently awaiting my turn. Ten excruciating minutes later, the guy in front of me finished his transactions and I withdrew my money. As I tried to open the door, I realized that it was locked. The ATM counter had a button that we needed to push in order to open it from inside, and that button had been ripped out, with only a few dangerous wires hanging from the hole. I didn’t know what to do. There was no phone inside the counter. I had my cell phone, but I didn’t want to call the cops and be embarrassed a second time.

I waited there for exactly 9 minutes until someone else came up to the counter. I told him that I was locked in and that he could open the door by inserting his card through the slot on the other side. He did so and I was free. I thanked him and together, we hauled a piece of tile and blocked the door so that it wouldn’t shut completely, trapping some other poor fellow.

I ran up to the DHL office and paid up the money and took my receipt and ran out. Finally, I said to myself. I can go home in peace.

As I was removing my bike from the parking lot, I dropped my helmet, which I was holding in my hand. Instinctively, I bent down to pick it up before it rolled away onto the main road, and lost control of the bike and fell over to my side, with my left thumb being pinned between the concrete road and the bike’s handle. One tiny bone somewhere inside that thumb snapped and driving back in that pain was hell. I was screaming all the way home and people thought I was drunk.

From Bangalore, all the way to Trivandrum, with love. I hope they deliver the package to the right address! 😀