Ramblings of a delusional dumbass

Most cookery books or cookery shows teach you how to cook exotic foods. Elaborate dishes whose names are just as exotic as the places they come from. You have these internationally acclaimed chefs with chefy sounding names like Heston or Nigella teaching you how to make stuff that they promise, will leave your guests wanting for more. Here’s the thing, most people, way over 90% of them, don’t try out any of those dishes. You know this. I know that you know this. How many times has your mother or wife threatened to murder you in your sleep when you try to change channels when they are watching their favorite cookery shows? I’ve lost count of mine. And how many times have they cooked any of those dishes? That’s right. He: Honey, quick! Turn on the news! There’s an alien invasion!!! She: Not now. I’m watching Nigella make chocolate stuffed chocolate balls covered in gold wrappings, served with chocolate syrup. He: That’s just chocolate all over… You know that stare she g

     He lay in his bed. Breathing. Every now and then a faint smell of sweat would linger under his nostrils, and then flee, just before his mind could trace its origin. Was it from his shirt? Was it from his blankets? Was it from himself? He  couldn't  remember the last time he took a bath, or  he last time he washed the sheets or the last time he did the laundry. No, wait. He took a bath every day. At 12:30 pm, everyday like clockwork, he would go into his bathroom and take a shower for exactly twelve and a half minutes. He knew this, he was so bloody damn sure of it, because this was the only consistent thing in his life. He had been doing it for so long, and he had been doing it the same exact way, every single time, that it had become second nature to him. His mind didn’t have to make a single conscious decision when he got into the shower. He automatically phased out for those twelve and a half minutes- from the time he turned on the hot water knob and until he got out

NOTE: This isn't directed towards You. But if the shoe fits... 1. Hmmmmmm............ 2. ok ok/ k/ okei 3. ya.......... 4. :) :):) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) 5. :D :D :D :D 6. LOL! (doesn't matter if conversation isn't intended to be funny) 7. OMG! :0 8. "Typing" "Typing" "Logged off" 9. Luv u dahlin :* (as said to other girls) 10. But I didn't think of you that way (as said to guys) P.S: You = any girl who's reading this. YOu wouldn't be reading this if you were THAT dumb. Peace \/..

"We Indians are so shy, that sometimes it makes uslook like fucking idiots" - Anonymous Indian This is what happens whenyou go visit a friend-but-not-such-­a-close-friend-that-­you'd-let-them-borro­w-your-iron-maiden-c­d, or when you accompany yourfriend (the one with whom you wouldn't mind sharing your iron maiden cd) to his friend's house who is essentially a stranger to you. You better read that again, it's confusing as hell. After verbal pleasantries and small talk, your host, usually a middle aged aunty who's wearing a duppatta over her nightie asks you with a wide smile"Tea or Coffee?" And you immediately reply with a "No, i've just had some", or something to that effect, with an equally wide smile, even though the last time you had coffee was way back in the morning before you went to the john. At this point all conversations take a back seat, and that tea- coffee tangent suddenly becomes important. The host is hel