I Am the Eggman
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Oh boy! There's so much to say. So many things happened since my last post. My life's full of interesting trivial incidents that I presume interests the ones that read this blog. If blogging generated money every time some fine gentleman/lady (including those of you there that think I need to enlarge my penis and also the ones that think I might also need a boob job) visited this little blog of mine I'd be bankrupt by now. Yes, that's the exaggerated number of visitors that wander around the cobwebbed corners of this blog that's been in existence since 2005. But that's alright. I don't visit any of your blog either; blogs of the bloggers that don't visit my blog. Ha! In your face.
What's up with the new blogger, anyway? What's up with Google, in fact? The new design stinks, alright. I know these statemenets will never see the light of Google's day but I need to get this out of my system- the new desgin and the whole idea of Google+ stinks. I might have rambled about it before. I sense the need to ramble about it again. It bloody stinks like an army of skunks. I love Android and everything that you are doing to hard fist Apple's anus but this entire restructuring of Gmail and Reader and Blogger and what not under the influence of false hope that Google+ might one day take off and fly like Flight 666. But that's not what I and the world thinks will happen. So you might as well please your existing customers by giving them what you are good at giving- search fuckin' results. Alright. Having said that, I still love you Google. Just for Android. And Google Finance. And Gmail. And not disabling the 'safe search off' button.
The Office is not the same now that Michael Scott's gone. I always had a feeling that Holly would come back and they'd hit it off and go get married and make babies. I cannot imagine Michael being with anyone else. Look at it- Holly is equally dorky (in a pretty way), equally crazy, equally leading a bizarre life (getting attracted to Michael is bizarre enough). That's the female version of Michael and another one like her cannot be found anywhere else on this planet. Hence, it was bye bye Dunder Mifflin and hello sweetheart. I'll accept that. But The Office without Michael is like Pulp Fiction with Mr Wolf.
I finally quit my job and moved on. I finally did it. I remember going on and on about how I hated engineering and how I hated my first job and how I hated not being able to do anything about it and how I loved walking around in Spain, but I finally quit my first ever job. It feels good to let go of something you've always wanted to let go of. Something that been a pain. A fuckin' genital tumor. You know what I mean? It's a bloody nice feeling. You feel like you lost those extra 20kgs you gained duing all those years of cursing and hating your work and your workplace and your colleagues and the policies. Yes, those policies. Damn them policies. Fuck them in the ass. The only good thing that comes out of company policies is a new job.
How do I love to start my mornings? I would love to wake up to alternative rock on Mondays, blues on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, progressive rock on Fridays, blow jobs on Saturdays and British heavy metal on Sundays. Yes that's how I like to begin my mornings.That should lead to a good old fashioned 10 minute long dump fiddling with my smartphone (yes I have one now, thanks to my new employer). Then raging at the general life related fuck ups, deciding to make a rage comics about them but never quit doing it. A hot bath. Slipping into fresh, neatly pressed, formal wear on weekdays, nude on weekends. This is how it should be. This is my idea of sipping King's beer on the quiet and solitary beaches of Northern Goa.
Films- I watch Tintin. It's what Steven Speliberg would do with any good idea he's presented with. And it's what he's done with all the projects he's ever undertaken. It's entertaining. And skillful. I'm waiting for Hugo. People have been raving about how it's the finest 3D film that's ever been made and me being quit the 3D-phobic person I'd still love to watch it. It's Martin Scorsese. And it's a nice story. I can't remember-- at this point where my mom's shouting from the kitchen perstering me to eat the gajar ka halva-- the other films that I've watched since I last blogged. I might add an edit later. If I feel like it. Okay.
Vidya Balan, sweet! Those jugs on her, sweet Lord! Those eyes and those jugs, sweet sweet Lord! And those jugs, sweet sweet sweet Lord!
That's it.
I leave you with this Beatles' number.
Have safe sex. And care.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.
What's up with the new blogger, anyway? What's up with Google, in fact? The new design stinks, alright. I know these statemenets will never see the light of Google's day but I need to get this out of my system- the new desgin and the whole idea of Google+ stinks. I might have rambled about it before. I sense the need to ramble about it again. It bloody stinks like an army of skunks. I love Android and everything that you are doing to hard fist Apple's anus but this entire restructuring of Gmail and Reader and Blogger and what not under the influence of false hope that Google+ might one day take off and fly like Flight 666. But that's not what I and the world thinks will happen. So you might as well please your existing customers by giving them what you are good at giving- search fuckin' results. Alright. Having said that, I still love you Google. Just for Android. And Google Finance. And Gmail. And not disabling the 'safe search off' button.
The Office is not the same now that Michael Scott's gone. I always had a feeling that Holly would come back and they'd hit it off and go get married and make babies. I cannot imagine Michael being with anyone else. Look at it- Holly is equally dorky (in a pretty way), equally crazy, equally leading a bizarre life (getting attracted to Michael is bizarre enough). That's the female version of Michael and another one like her cannot be found anywhere else on this planet. Hence, it was bye bye Dunder Mifflin and hello sweetheart. I'll accept that. But The Office without Michael is like Pulp Fiction with Mr Wolf.
I finally quit my job and moved on. I finally did it. I remember going on and on about how I hated engineering and how I hated my first job and how I hated not being able to do anything about it and how I loved walking around in Spain, but I finally quit my first ever job. It feels good to let go of something you've always wanted to let go of. Something that been a pain. A fuckin' genital tumor. You know what I mean? It's a bloody nice feeling. You feel like you lost those extra 20kgs you gained duing all those years of cursing and hating your work and your workplace and your colleagues and the policies. Yes, those policies. Damn them policies. Fuck them in the ass. The only good thing that comes out of company policies is a new job.
How do I love to start my mornings? I would love to wake up to alternative rock on Mondays, blues on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, progressive rock on Fridays, blow jobs on Saturdays and British heavy metal on Sundays. Yes that's how I like to begin my mornings.That should lead to a good old fashioned 10 minute long dump fiddling with my smartphone (yes I have one now, thanks to my new employer). Then raging at the general life related fuck ups, deciding to make a rage comics about them but never quit doing it. A hot bath. Slipping into fresh, neatly pressed, formal wear on weekdays, nude on weekends. This is how it should be. This is my idea of sipping King's beer on the quiet and solitary beaches of Northern Goa.
Films- I watch Tintin. It's what Steven Speliberg would do with any good idea he's presented with. And it's what he's done with all the projects he's ever undertaken. It's entertaining. And skillful. I'm waiting for Hugo. People have been raving about how it's the finest 3D film that's ever been made and me being quit the 3D-phobic person I'd still love to watch it. It's Martin Scorsese. And it's a nice story. I can't remember-- at this point where my mom's shouting from the kitchen perstering me to eat the gajar ka halva-- the other films that I've watched since I last blogged. I might add an edit later. If I feel like it. Okay.
Vidya Balan, sweet! Those jugs on her, sweet Lord! Those eyes and those jugs, sweet sweet Lord! And those jugs, sweet sweet sweet Lord!
That's it.
I leave you with this Beatles' number.
Have safe sex. And care.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob.
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