Ramblings of a delusional dumbass

So you don’t think that’s subversive? No. Absolutely not. If you don’t think that’s subversive, then I’m sorry to say this, but you don’t know the meaning of subversive. Do you want me to get you a dictiona… Apology accepted. But only because you’re as stupid as a wet plank. You can’t be serious. No, I seriously accept your apology. But only because you’re… I get it, I get it. Stupid as a wet plank. You don’t have to be that condescending. Especially when you’re so wrong. I am not being condescending. And I’m being especially considerate because YOU are wrong here. I’m not wrong, you’re wrong. No, you’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. So you REALLY don’t think that’s subversive? No. How many times do I have to tell you that? I’m sorry, this whole conversation is making my head spin. I’m so confused. Yes. That’s how you usually operate. Dazed and confused. Okay. Okay. Bye.

The UN recently declared that a mother’s love towards her children is directly proportional to the tastiness of the chitranna she makes. Which doesn’t say much because the quality of chitranna is measured on a binary scale- it’s either wonderful or aweful. Most people I know who hate chitranna are also the same ones who are unable to appreciate the finer nuances in life. Unprofessional humans. Chitranna happens to be one of the go to breakfasts of Indian mothers because of its ease in making, simplicity of ingredients and it being a great way to get rid of last nights’ leftover rice- your share of rice- which you didn’t eat because you had gobi fried rice at the corner shop 12 minutes before dinner time although our mother warned you not to. This type of chitranna is a punishment of sorts- bland, colourless, and even the bloody kadle beeja tastes bitter. Then there’s the chitranna your mother makes for special occasions, especially when you have guests over. The one with cashews