Ramblings of a delusional dumbass

I was at my desk trying very hard to not pass out from the sweltering Bangalore summer heat when trouble came knocking at my door. She was wearing a wide brimmed hat and a pair of big sunglasses, which obscured her face just as much as the long, black woollen poncho obscured her figure. Just looking at her made me sweat a little more. "I need you to find a man." she said in a thick, raspy voice. She was no stranger to whiskey and cigarettes. "The marriage bureau is in the next road, lady" I said, knowing very well what she meant. But it's not every day that a poor, private dick gets to chat up a pretty lass. I wanted to make this last as long as possible. "Please mister, this is no time for jokes." she said, nervousness slipping past her sandpapery voice. Maybe it was the way she said it, but I immediately cut the crap and up straight. "Does this man have a name?" She fished out a glossy eight by ten from her purse and slid it acro...

"I promise I won't try to stab you again" Well, that's reassuring. Bitch. She tried reaching her hand out to feel my abdomen where she had plunged a good part of the six inch kitchen knife just weeks ago. I instinctively slapped her hand away. "Hey!" She looked hurt. She wasn't, although I hoped she was. "Look, just get away from me. I want nothing to do with you" "But I do" She inched closer. Damn her pretty blue eyes. They were actually a dark shade of brown, but she always made me call them blue. "Look, if this is about the cheating, I just want you to know that you are better in bed and I was thinking of you the whole time" "What the fuck does that even mean?" "He was so small, I could hardly feel him inside me" "Great" There was no point talking to her. I was trying to be the bigger guy and let this die out on its own. Silence. And I knew that the shit show would begin ...

This was written within a week of the massive Maggi unrest of 2015. If you are a historian from the future then you should know that the past is not as great as it is made out to be. "It's not cancer" Cameron said, distraught "Of course it's cancer" House leaned on his wounded leg, the sharp searing pain blocking out his own doubts. "It has to be" "House!" Foreman said, calling out on his bullshit "The radiation treatment isn't working. She's getting worse. It's not cancer" The room fell silent for a minute. Foreman continued, calmly "We have to stop the radiation before it further weakens her immune system" "So. What behaves like cancer when it isn't cancer?" House asked no one in particular "It could be an infection" said Cameron "No fever" Foreman said "Food poisoning" "It can't be. No..." "You idiots!" House sai...

            “Jonny! JONNY!” bellowed Jonathan Smith Sr., banging on the apartment door.             “Goddamnit Jonny, open the fucking door!” he banged on the door again, the green flakes on the faded door reverberating. “I know you’re in there.”             Jonathan heard his son scuffling inside, hastily making way towards the door. He could hear his son, Jonathan “Jonny” Smith Jr. clumsily fiddling with the latches on the other side of the door, cursing under his breath every time he fumbled. Jonathan flung the door open, almost knocking over Jonny, and barged right in.             “What took you so long?” Jonathan said, and went straight to the only bedroom in the apartment, not waiting for an answer.          ...