Bummertime Sadness

It’s that time of my life when I’m unable to do anything except watch from a distance as my life crumbles down to nothing. Fuck everything. Fuck everyone. I’ve reduced Twitter usage and will possibly leave it entirely within one/two years. This isn’t supposed to be a gloomy post, I’m not supposed to be a gloomy host, but shit happens, and here we are, at a mental crossroads.

Tough decisions lie ahead (took this line from a horoscope paragraph) and the thought of growing up scares me too much. I mean I’m already grown up (not that anyone cares) but not in the sense that my family wants me to be. They think I’m far too mature and want me to become a bit more light-hearted towards the simulation that is life. I’m afraid the time to do that has passed ages ago. Having finished everything that was thrown at me, I am now at a loss for action. Life has seemingly exhausted itself of all kinds of challenges that it normally gives to a person of my age group (early- to mid-twenties) and again, I’m pretty bummed out.

There is no contest at this particular stage. I’ve thought about the concept in following paragraph since I became woke some years ago, and it still pains me to even think about the occurrence, or rather, the lack of occurrence.

All I want in my life is an arch nemesis. Being partially schizophrenic helped in fooling myself, for a sweet but short period of time, that there was a living entity that I could openly compete with and live the thrilling life I always wanted. But as I cured myself of the disease, I was left alone, wondering whether I actually have an enemy…

Very few people will realize how important it is for someone as disturbed, and disturbing, as me to have a credible goal, i.e. in this case, a counterpart. A white to my black (not talking about dick colors here), a right to my wrong. As I write this, I cannot help but wonder if there’s a worthy opponent out there feeling the same way I am. Suddenly I can relate to fictional characters who went into depressed states when their fictional rival was absent. I now know what melancholy means.

This might seem like a daft post to you. It’s not. I really crave for a worthy adversary at this point. Even better if it’s a female. I would absolutely love a hoe foe.

My face is bulletproof, bitch

Crippling Loneliness And Other Overused Phrases

No one’s cripplingly lonely bois. A truly lonely person exists, however, in all of us. Imagine being trapped inside a huge black hole with no one for company and silence the only background score OST™ as entertainment for your drained brain. And now imagine it all morphing into an unimaginable, unreal, untoward horror which is your ex’s asshole [an asshole’s asshole, yep] and your miniaturized body is trapped on the tip of anal hair, just waiting out the intervals between dankkk farts. That’s loneliness. I’d have gone for a loner-in-the-desert story but that’s too mainstream. And I’m too much of an iconoclast. I am also lonely; I have like, 3 friends in real life. Everyone else is just someone that I know well. Burp.

In other headlines, I have reduced my usage of Twitter (shocker) and have started experimenting with the various other forms of social media. I did a stint on tumblr back in the day, then I moved to Facebook top comments, then to YouTube, then to Twitter. Bloody marvellous journey, eh mate. In five years I will have deleted my Twitter account wholly. RIP bad jokes. Spending all this time online has made me realize something though: you can never, never  have enough of it.

Also, my friend had visited the Ariana Grande concert. Messaged me in the middle of it saying “we’re having a blast”, the wanker. Blocked him immediately. At this point I don’t need trivial updates from close acquaintances. Haven’t heard from him since.


Post Title

So yeah, I’ve been busy with making excuses about how I’m busy while attempting to be not busy all the while. Exhausting shit. Macron won the election. Good man, although I’m not sure whether he’s the right choice for president. No one’s reading this and no one cares but I’m still writing it. Because freedom of speech and imperfect analogies.

I have exams soon [who really doesn’t?] and I’ll possibly ace them, but I don’t want to. I’ve written about this in the past and I’m further upholding my belief that all curriculum-based educational systems are, with a rare exception(s), flawed at their core. They do not allow for the margin of error that is creativity to push in the boundaries of their strict policies, their unshakable faith in rule-based learning. And what a filthy type of learning that is. I’d rather spend time on the net and learn new things and get certified for those activities than be subjected to an array of rather monotonous subjects [oh shit wordplay] and get the same exact result.

But hey, who cares. Not me. Definitely not me, since I have all marks under control; a past experiment has proved that it is far simpler, than the layman would imagine it to be, to keep your marks in control, to be able to let loose and reign in as needed. All you need to do that is a capable enough cortex and above-average understanding. Which is also great.

I’ve been rereading some classics that I perused as a child, and now I can feel the effect of the dense prose creeping into my writing. Life’s [I also gave up on my hero-centered novel and picked up on a past draft] good. I develop more and more dank memes every now and then, laugh at and delete them because no one should be exposed to such vicious, sadistic humor. May the froth be with your friend who drank poison. When I watched 13 reasons why, I never flinched. Feel free to share this horseshit and be the harbinger of my lynching.

For the time being, leave me 🅱

41°C and steamy as fuck

​Sorry if you clicked expecting a hot South Indian belly button fetish video. Been a very long time since I logged on here; surely to the relief of the visitors whose numbers never go beyond the single digit.

Update post using continuous verbs only. Still spouting shit/genius content on twitter, writing very less, gaming a lot, studying somewhat better, upping the ladiesman game [haha get it?], sleeping lesser, working out more, reading pretty much anything I can get my hands on, making very cringeworthy memes, etcetera and so on.

The heat, my friend, is ON. Here at [redacted], the sun – little bastid – seems to have taken an impromptu oath to help people lose fat by way of sweat, and people are slowly losing faith in the concept of sub 20°C temperature.

Even now, as I type this, a moth is hovering here, fooled into thinking there’s a flame nearby lol

Relationship update: another girl has a crush on me but is in for a huge disappoinment since, as I’ve made clear before, I have zero interest in the very concept of immature and impulsive love. This thinking could very well backfire, but I’m up for it because hashtagrebel.

Superb stand-up comedy specials available on Netflix at the moment (time to bring out the extrs email IDs). Good shit.

What now? ’bout to tap some pussy yeahh (the neighbor’s tabby)

Guess Who’s Back

Lol obviously it’s me since I’m the sole owner/proprietor/editor/creditor/blah/blah of this site. After spending a good, harrowing week of pseudo-study mainly designed to check a student’s ability to learn shit and not actually comprehend it, I’m back. As I’ve very lucidly said in a previous post, I very strongly believe that the system is fucked. In other news, I wrote a music video script for because my friends want to shoot a video about a girl making a boy falling in love (talk about cliches am I wrong lol). The song is Ed Sheeran’s Shape Of You, I think. So there’s that. Make a geometry joke? Sure why not. Pythagoras would’ve loved the song, I hate it. Recently finished a superb book by Ray Bradbury: Fahrenheit 451. A shockingly close-to-the-truth reality in a dystopian future, the story is a must read. Others can peruse Savita bhabhi’s adventures as always.

If WikiLeaks’ latest reveals are to be believed, the CIA and/or the NSA have had full surveillance over a tangible amount of e-communication all over the world. Guess who saw you touching yourself while watching Powerpuff Girls lolol.

Keep calm and carrion. Peace. War.

Joke #1: Guess What [long]

Disclaimer: keep your cringe to yourself

In an unnamed county, new LGBT laws are passed for law enforcement enlistment. In the same county, a new drug cartel is formed. A large number of people are recruited for both organizations, and work begins. The new police teams start slow sweeps of the region, and the cartels start swift drug ins-and-outs. Some weeks later, the drug shipments start getting caught, and raids become frequent. As a result, the drug cartels recruit a special batch of 20-something guys to act as mobile informants. One particular guy, Timmy, is rather excited to work with the cartel. Things start moving smoothly; the informants work nicely and develop a method for information transfer. They make a single call and decide a catchphrase each to signal danger. Almost all informants choose “code red” or some variation, others choose something like “shit” or “fuck” or “cocksuckers are here”. Timmy, however, has a rather peculiar phrase. The first time he senses a raid, he calls at the drug shipment warehouse and says “guess what” and cuts the call. The confounded cartel members are unable to make sense of it, and hence, get raided. Timmy gets reprimanded, with specific instructions to be clear. The next time, he calls again and says “guess what” and cuts the call, thus resulting in another successful raid. The cartel gang-rapes him and then cuts off his balls. They don’t kill him, because he’s one of their best spotters. The third time, he says the same thing: “guess what” and this time, a cartel member gets killed in the crossfire. They beat Timmy up to a pulp, and leave him to die. The cartel head walks over to him.

“What the shit were you trying to say, you dumb twat? The hell are we supposed to guess?”

Timmy coughs up bloody phlegm and says, “But I was trying to be very specific!”

“How the fuck?”

“Whenever I knew one of the new police teams was coming with a raid party, I always said gay S.W.A.T.!”

[rant] It’s Not You, It’s Me

sounds like something a drunk Iraqi would tell his cousin sister after banging her, in answer to her earnest question: “Who’s gonna be today’s suicide bomber?” This isn’t that context.

This context is very akin to the actual context, although I’d like to shed light on one little distinction. The popular context is associated with regret whereas I’m using the phrase in a warped version context of regret: pity.

Why? one highly curious individual might ask. The answer is rather simple: I don’t fucking have anyone who could make sense of the shit I’m dealing with. Yes offense, I’m surrounded by stupid people, which, by your measuring scale, might seem reasonably sane. 3 people I know personally are the only ones I can actually talk to without pulling intellectual punches. The remaining chunk [even friends + family] think I’m a crazy, sadist prick whose arrogance is going to be the end of him.

They’re not entirely wrong either. I process emotions, too [i won’t say I’m emotionless like 98% of half-arsed eggheads]. I can imitate all emotions to perfection, and I can read almost all emotions like a pro. I just don’t do emotions. My thought process keeps upshifting, and I keep getting better at both swift contemplation and bypassing emotions. My online presence (each and every one) is primarily for watching people and their reactions/actions only; I care far less about retweets and the like than the average social media connoisseur.

Even today, on my birthday, I watched people smile at me like it was a great achievement I’d made. I pity their sentiments, and I despise their frail minds. The only birthday to be celebrated is the day you were actually conceived: the first race you ever win. Apart from that, birthdays are just a day that people take out from every year to remind themselves to love themselves and make others show that they love them. An elaborate excuse to make one feel good, no doubt. Fuck you all.

I’ll just live with myself. Will you? With all the emotional anchors weighing you down? Probably not. I’ll do a post soon, and I’ll dissect love to pieces. Fuck everyone.

As a wise man once said: Sue me.

How Validation Works

“Look at me, tell me how [good] I am!”

It starts with a bit of insecurity, a little nugget of self-doubt, and leads to the unquenchable thirst for constant validation. And this occurrence is even stronger in case of validation by utter strangers. Who doesn’t love getting complimented by random people in the streets? You do. I do. Fuck, everyone does.

Also brought in by this yearning to be [positively] judged is a rush of unnecessary comparisons between peers, and, in some cases, superiors. I, for one, have always known how smarter I am than “the smartest guy in the room”, and I’ve always been comfortable with keeping that fact to myself.

In high contrast, however, one can observe how an insecure person falls over himself [girls, as I’ve noted, are much more at peace with themselves than boys] in the process of proving himself better to/on par with a secret standard known only to himself.

Even as I draft this, the bumbling adult in the front of the class (read: professor) tries to hold her impression high in the minds of the students. She’s not doing great.

Teach yourself to teach yourself. Self-validate. Self-suffice. Self-ie. Shit. Fuck off.

Aptitude Exams From An Average Student’s Perspective

Lookin’ good, babe

[clarification: this isn’t my perspective; I’m way above average]
Giving exams has always been fun, even if the level of fun has always varied with what topic the exam centers around. For the record, fully theoretical subjects are a universal sux. I’ve always watched my peers’ body language while attempting these kind of exams [multiple choice online tests] and decided to write about it, adding my own nonce nuances. Mostly because I’m fucking bored again. Here’s what goes through their minds:

  • Oh I’ve logged in. Fuck my life already.
  • Quants? Lmao sorry, this requires me to randomly click options
  • Someone’s watching me, I’ve got to pretend to be solving something
  • Damnit I don’t know the formulae, better if I just submit
  • Verbal section? Lololol fast forward pls oh fuck 
  • Logical/analytical skills. Why not call it logical anal skills hehehe am I right 
  • Goddamnit kill me already. Am I sweating? Holy shit, 5 minutes remaining.
  • I’m going to fail, time to buy a sturdy rope
  • Holy wh- time up??!? Shit, someone’s coming.
  • “Haha, it was good, yes the quants were harder than usual. Right? RIGHT?”

I really need a job, to be honest. Even an impromptu rimjob from a specially-abled midget will suffice at this point.

The Weakend

A lot of shit has been happening this week. I became more adept at winning pissing contests; literal as well as figurative. Also became a professional at switching from taciturn mode to garrulous mode and vice versa. Job opportunities are getting closer by the day, although it is a distinct matter for every guy in my class. People are falling over each other to get a shot at a job. I’m rather calm about it, since I follow a very pedestrian principle: eh, fuck it

I got hold of another catfish account [for the layman: a catfish is a guy pretending to be a girl] but I let the guy walk; not out of sympathy. In fact, it was empathy. I know the amount of effort it takes to handle such an account.

My weekends are quite lazy, to be honest. I spend a good chunk of the time stalking people, checking who’s stalking me, tweeting some shit that is stupid and/or extraordinarily clever, writing, reading, and watching a minimum four episodes of a good T.V. series. On that note, watch Tom Hardy’s Taboo. 

Another tip: when you think of something to do when you’re bored but you can’t get around to doing it, remember to make a note of it so that you can look at it in your free time, i.e. the weekend. Example: you have to check out the new porn category? Make a note. Your subconscious is sometimes weakened and hence, the note helps.

Cheers. Screw you.