Ramblings of a delusional dumbass

Today, I sat down to write, with a cup full of coffee by my side Irish But the words wouldn't flow So I began wondering how wonderful it would be, If one could buy words for a pirce like the cheap liquor I buy at the cheap bar where the bartender tenders my poison in a glass bottle wrapped in a dark cover in exchange for some rupees without an extra word uttered between us. I return to my damp, dreary room crack open the bottle, pour out three fingers of dark liquid into my favorite coffee cup and top it off with freshly brewed coffee. On the table, it's set, next to last night's incomplete work. Knuckles cracked, nib licked. And as I ponder, the words begin to fill up the pages, as effortlessly as the warm liquid filling up my belly. So I write some more I drink some more merrily, until the words begin to choke again

All he wanted was for her to spend some time with him An hour or half or quarter or two  She always made excuses, “Sorry, I’m busy!” “Not today, darling! No time for you!” He pursued her, nevertheless Unabashedly Shamelessly Expectantly For he knew, That time didn’t exist Before the Big Bang

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...

 “Yeah, and he loves midget porn” “I absolutely do not!” “Dude, shut up. Your favourite pornstar is a midget” “She’s not a midget, fool” “Wait, how do you know who his favourite pornstar is?” “Nigga she’s over 5 feet tall, at least” “So, she’s a tall midget. But she’s still a midget” “Shut up dude. There’s no such thing as a tall midget” “Yeah there is. You know Mountain guy from Game of Thrones?”  “He’s a midget?” “No dumbass, he’s a fucking HUGE normal person. So, it’s only possible that there are 5 feet tall midgets, equivalent to him in midget world.” “But isn’t he like Icelandic or something? And everyone there is like 7 feet tall, man.” “I wonder if the pipes match the building” “What?”  “It’s like if the carpets match the drapes. Except with size” “Dude that’s gross” “I knew you were a faggot.” “I’m not, you morons. It was an honest curiosity…” “Yeah, curiosity to suck a dick” “Fuck you!”...

"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 ...

"Love is a strong term, and in this case, nearly mythical. You see, the reason our parents expect us to get married is because we have a similar soci-economic background. Which, according to their twisted logic, has resulted in similar upbringing and life experiences. Which is surprising, considering their age and everything they have been through." "So you don't believe in love?" "I do. I am just no too hopeful that love will blossom in our case." "But that is what our parents expect from our relationship. Isn't it?" "I am pretty sure that is not what they want. I guess they want a baby or something." "So... what do you expect from our relationship? In the long term." "Just that we will tolerate each other without wanting to gouge out each other's eyes at the end of the day, everyday. Ten years from now, of course" "Well, that's optimistic" "It's realistic, actuall...

"Take your documents" Sid said, lighting his Gold Flake. At first we thought he was joking. He was always a joker, we had a nervous laugh and returned to our serious discussion. "I'm serious, you fuckers. Take your documents- study certificates, marks cards, passports, bank passbooks, fucking birth certificate if you can get your hands on it. Take it all" He said again. The joke was getting real old, considering what we were talking about. "Enough with the jokes man, Sid" Prakash intervened. "This is not one of your..." "Shut up Sid" I pitched in. "Come on man. This is not the time." "Look man," Sid leaned in and looked at Prakash square in the eyes. "You are running away with your girlfriend. You have no fucking idea if you parents will accept you both..." "Well they will accept me. They have to! I am their only s..." "Yeah. Yeah... let me finish you faggy. IF they don...

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.          ...

They cry, they shout they squeal, and they yell those empty threats, and cocky retorts makes you wonder if they ever evolved offended by things that is beyond their comprehension they don't get it they don't even try but they complain, oh how they complain! makes you wonder why they aren't locked up in cages internet trolls they're unwanted, undesired but they come in uninvited polluting healthy discussions with hatred and stupidity ruining it for everyone involved why don't they go away? why don't they mind their own business? more importantly, why do they multiply?

I

     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 wa...