Historical laziness

Well, if my blog was in history textbooks, I think this would be the most easiest lesson.

Inactive for so long, I kinda lost my touch.
So I have decided to get it back.

Cleaning the cobwebs of my brain. Something's in there!
Yup, it's a little rusty but let's hope I can get that humour back in my head.

So, I hereby vow to add Blogspot as a bookmark on my browser and ensure this blog gets updated, if not for your enjoyment, than to ensure that my mom knows that I'm still alive. (I did suggest twitter to her, but she's just not into it)

So what can you expect?
-Sarcastic posts on the everyday life
-Satirical posts on current affairs
-Poke fun on idiots running the country
-Conversations of inanimate objects

Come back to my blog if you want to!
No, I won't keep your family hostage if you don't read my blog.

Mocking Problems

It's really irritating, frustrating and you keep banging your head. The moment you get closer, more tension rises. You look at the clock, and you think for a split second on how much time you have.

You have seen the other problems, and they were all 'no-problemo'. Obviously, when the person next to you is a genius and you can easily copy from him/her.

And it's just this one you are stuck at. Why?

The genius has finished his paper and left, basking the glory, and enjoying the sun. You scope around the classroom for a check. There are still people struggling. The invigilator has her back turned to you. Someone mimes you a question number, and you mouth back the answer. 

Ok, let's get back to the game. You don't have time. Clock's ticking. Clear your thoughts and let the mind guide you. 

And you see it through. You are getting there. A few more lines, and there is the answer. You have triumphed. But when you look at the answer, it's mocking you back. Like seriously. And you can't wonder asking:

"Why the f*** I spent twenty minutes on that stupid sum just to get a brilliant answer like zero?"

Yeah, all efforts spent for nothing.

Remembering What is Winning!

Time doesn't wait for anyone. But we have to wait for it. Even beyond midnight.

For some, this is the most important day of your life. You wouldn't even stay up even if your high school marks were coming out.

I will give you the hint. Twenty-three people on the field, and the just one does not play. He judges.

Yes, I am talking about football. Yes, what Americans call 'soccer'.

Let's take an example of the Champions League '08, United vs. Chelsea.

The table is set. Seats on the sofa have been reserved. Food has been decided. Beer is kept for chilling in the fridge. 

Even the phones are switched to silent. The calls will be made, my friend. But the receivers will not answer.

The war has begun. You look at the warriors on the field. You scream if the squad is incorrect, you stay still if it's perfect. You jeer at the opponent, no matter how better he may be.

For the next two hours, nothing else matters. The beers will be drunk quickly. Food will be finished off. You will scream in agony, scream in joy. Expletives and abuses will not even matter. It's a matter of honour, respect and pride. Your team has to win.

The only person on the field, not playing, will be hurled with abuses and applauded. Rarely, both teams abuse and applaud together. Rarely.

The whistle is blown. Is it over? No, it's not. You may have won, and you make the calls. You may have lost, and the phone is not even looked at.

And if you have lost, you might as well avoid the next day. No chance that the opposite team won't jeer.

If they are kind, they may make a suggestion.

"Need a brown paper bag to hide your face?"

FOOD!

It's 10:30 am.

Your stomach rumbles. You're hungry.

And everything else is secondary.

You don't focus on the that class you're sitting. You don't care whether reports are submitted or not.

You don't care you are going to loose a multi-million dollar deal.

Your whole attention would be on eating what and where.

The bakery across the street will have put out those fresh muffins. Or the local eatery knows how you like your omlette, and will prepare it the minute you enter.

Time creeps by. Slow torture, isn't it?

It's time for lunch. YES!

You head out, run before anything can happen. You will not answer your calls. Emails and messages will not replied, even though you have that fancy new Blackberry.

The guy behind the counter stands there. He looks at you and asks "What do you want?"

The order is placed. The wallet is out for the money to leave. But then..

"Oh crap! Can anyone lend me a couple of bucks? I'll pay back tomorrow!"