Category: rants

as difficult as this is for me to believe, somebody stumbled upon my blog by searching for the following on google:

gift for person who falls asleep in meetings

in other more disturbing news, if you do search for that term in google, my blog is the fourth result that comes up. don’t believe me? see for yourself.

anyway.

if you hadn’t gathered from my last few picture posts, i am currently in seoul, south korea, just inches from kim jong il’s itchy finger on a nuclear weapon.

it’s actually quite difficult to rant about koreans or south korea. korea is a nice place, and the people seem mostly friendly. however, when has the unrantability of anything ever stopped me?

the most disturbing thing about korea is not the fact that koreans resemble chinese, a race of people i really and truly hate, but the fact that these people are so used to technology, it’s scary. for instance, after checking into the hotel, i decided to take a nice well-deserved crap. however, as hard as i tried, i couldn’t find a single piece of toilet paper in the bathroom. instead, i found this:

right.

so, i figured, this thing can’t be that difficult to figure out, could it? well, as you know by now, i’m usually quite wrong about everything.

before taking a crap, i decided to try it out, and so i pressed the wash button. immediately, a long pipe came out of the back of the commode and started sprinkling water in the general direction where i presume my ass was supposed to be. however, my ass was nowhere in the vicinity. as a result, the roof of the bathroom started getting real wet.

now, in moments of panic, i’m probably not the most reliable person to defuse the crisis. if a nuclear missile was about to be launched, and there was one specific button to be pressed to stop the launch procedure, i would probably press every single button available before pressing the correct one. and this is precisely what happened in this situation.

immediately after the roof started getting moist, my mind seems to have completely blanked out the concept of the clearly marked pink stop button. instead, i first pressed the middle nozzle adjust button, which, i realized much later, is to nicely and evenly wash your ass. however, once again, my ass was nowhere to be found, and the two bathroom walls began to get nicely moist.

i then tried my very best to adjust the direction of water flow using the other two nozzle adjust buttons, but this only succeeded in diverting the flow from an even spread of the bathroom to a unidirectional washing of the bathroom mirror.

what was i doing during this interval, you ask? i was actually playing an intense game of hopscotch, involving hopping around trying to avoid the flow of water while still trying to stay within the vicinity of the control panel. ever seen one of those intense martial arts fights between two evenly matched opponents who keep on avoiding each other’s kicks and punches? that was pretty much what it was like for me. i was in the zone, man. a duck here, a jump there, a weave and bob in the middle.

between the time of the fifth duck and the twelfth weave, i realized that there was a stop button, and happily pressed it. unfortunately, by this time, there was enough water on the roof to start dripping on me, and thus the most exercise i have ever gotten in my natural born life turned out to be in vain as i ended up soaked to the bone anyway.

well, now what? call housekeeping and run away while they clean the bathroom up, or clean it up myself and pretend like none of it ever happened? unfortunately, my embarassment quickly overpowered by intense hatred of cleaning bathrooms, and so i got to it.

first i pressed the dry button, hoping that that would do the trick. unfortunately, the range of the dry function isn’t quite as large as that of the water, meaning that if you were to master the hidden art of electronic ass-cleaning, your ass would still be wet after you used the drying option. thus, with no other avenues left in sight, i got to work with towels.

ever since, i’ve been too scared to take a crap in the toilet. and as a result, i’ve been severely constipated for the last three days.

but seriously. i’m all for the mechanization of complex processes, but some of these processes are sacred, for god’s sake. even if all my other daily functions are automated, i’d still like to manually clean my ass, thank you very much.

and the technology doesn’t stop there. the koreans can access their bank accounts from their mobile phones. they can set a barcode in their cell phone wallpapers that allows them to charge purchases to their bank accounts, thus removing the need to carry credit cards. in two years, they’ve decided to make it possible to allow people to press a button on their cell phones that will activate their refrigerator and stove at home, so that when they reach home after a hard day of work, there’s going to be a hot meal ready and waiting for them.

now, technology is great and all that jazz. in fact, i like to think of myself as a technically adept person as well (i.e. a geek). however, i wasn’t ready for so much technology at one time – it’s a bit difficult to take in sometimes. i now know what an african tribesman who was plucked from his village and dumped in the middle of manhattan would feel like.

could this technology ever be possible in bangladesh? i doubt it. two months ago, the first ever gprs system on cell phones was inaugurated in bangladesh, and immediately the bandwidth was fully occupied by hormonal teenage boys downloading porn onto their cell phones. if you made bank accounts and/or stove functionality available on bangladesh cell phones, people with cell phones would become even more obnoxious then they already are.

so anyway, with my intestines making angry growling noises throughout the last three days, i decided to partake in some good, wholesome food, which is why i promptly ended up at mcdonalds. lo and behold, the menu was entirely in korean. the only information in the english language was the numbers of the meals. therefore, having to choose from the pictures of the meals, i chose the one i thought was the most delicious.

unfortunately, the burger turned out to be a shrimp burger.

now, seriously, what the fuck? shrimp? burger? shrimp burger? shrimp burger? shrimp burger? (ad nauseam).

and the traffic! god damn! i thought that making people drive in lanes would help reduce the traffic congestion in dhaka, but if seoul is any example, it won’t help one bit. all the technology in the world, and yet they don’t know enough to synchronize their traffic signals in order to ensure the smooth flow of traffic.

god, i hate this country.

on the bright side, the internet in the hotel rooms is completely free. which explains how i’m able to post such long winded posts in the first place.

i’m going back home on monday morning. i’ll really miss the subzero temperatures and the ability to watch stupid teenage movies on television at any hour of the day.

not.

well, in spite of every possible thing going wrong, and every delegate turning out to be a jackass, we’re done with malaysia and singapore, and are now in seoul, korea. more tomorrow. for now, here’s a picture to depict the state of my mind. a wonderful prize awaits the one with the most creative description of this picture:

much to the delight of all the fans keeping track of my love life (yes, i mean you), i am proud to announce that i finally went on a date last night, albeit under extremely strange circumstances that i will not get into.

the date was born of a sort of mutual attraction: i was attracted to her, and she was attracted to the steak that i promised to buy her. all in all, it ended well for everybody concerned, except of course for the steak, which ended up digested.

now the fans ask, will there be another date on top of this one? perhaps, my children, perhaps. but only if her culinary desires tend towards something slightly cheaper, like maybe a cup of tea and a biscuit. it’s not that i’m cheap – it’s just that my meager salary can’t tolerate two hungry mouths. and, judging from my recent massive weight gain, i don’t think it should be supporting even my own hungry mouth as much as it has.

oh, and if you were wondering, this was not a date with the forcibly betrothed. those aren’t really dates; rather, they are scheduled bouts of torture. now i know what those secret cia prisons feel like.

i’m off to malaysia, korea and singapore for eight days tomorrow. you know what that means, don’t you? pictures! especially of the five star hotels i will be staying in (yes, you may turn green with jealousy now). oh, and prufrock, you will be happy to know that the facial fungus is gone as of this evening, due to a disastrous accident with the gillete mach 3 turbo. pity. i shall miss it. it had started taking on a life of its own.

peace out, y’all.

right.

so, i took a short break from the blog. and it turned into quite a long break. but no more of that.

meanwhile, bangladesh has been doing its best imitation of iraq. yet, just like every other time bangladesh has tried to imitate an international phenomenon, it’s failed miserably:

1. apparently, we now have a squad of 20,000 suicide bombers to contend with. the only problem is, of the last three “suicide” bombers who tried to pull a suicide bombing, none of them happened to die. instead, all three survived to be interviewed by the press while lying on a stretcher subjected to massive blood loss from missing limbs, and saying really dumb things like, “the koran tells me to blow off different appendages on my body” and “i’m doing this for allah”. i’m not certain that these bombers can, in all honesty, be called suicide bombers anymore. perhaps a more appropriate title would be “disfigurement bombers”.
2. these suicide bombers decided that they wouldn’t stick to blowing random people up, but rather would focus on different groups of people. that said, they embarked on a mission to kill lawyers. now, if you were a suicide bomber boss, wouldn’t you try to at least save the lawyers so that when the police come to lynch you, there’s at least one person to defend you? apparently not this bunch. seeing as they are too incompetent to kill themselves while killing everyone else, they’re also too incompetent to save the only group of people who could possibly come to their aid.
3. the reason the lawyers are being killed, however, happens to be because they follow laws made by man, not those made by allah. if this were the case, i would expect suicide bombers to strap themselves to every single traffic light and blow them up. i’m quite certain that the koran doesn’t at any point state, “thou shalt stop at a red light, and go at a green”. therefore, this must be a law made by man. i guess, however, that they decided to forego this specific man-made law, especially since no one really stops at a red light anyway.
4. the government, meanwhile, isn’t holding back any stops in adding to the entertainment. what do you do when one policeman gets killed by a bomb? immediately assign another dozen to the same place, so that they can get blown up in turn. simply brilliant.
5. terrorists ravaging the country? surely the prime minister is extremely busy getting to the bottom of this mess? no, wait! bill gates is in town! henceforth, the prime minister and every single minister must meet bill, and sit through a speech and presentation on microsoft’s future plans in bangladesh! and surely the police is too busy finding the terrorists before they strike again? but no! who, then, would provide a massive security deployment for bill freaking gates, the richest man on the planet? and the science and ict minister is surely doing something, right? perhaps figuring out what to do about the much-ballyhooed submarine internet cable which would finally give bangladesh internet speeds deserving of human beings, instead of the current snail’s pace speeds? nope. he’s needed urgently to act as bill gates’ personal tour guide. granted, i can’t think of much else for the science minister to be doing. but still, last time i checked, one of those people was the elected choice of the 7th most populous nation on the planet (well, not of all the voters), while the other made millions being a geek. man, i can’t wait until my geekiness pays off in billions of dollars. i think i’ll hire the commerce minister to be my personal food taster.

well, anyway. i could go on and on about our commerce minister. for instance, at the inauguration of a seminar on capital markets, he started off with a joke about capital punishment, and then said that the two were very similar. i kid you not. after all, on january 1, 2005, instead of partying all night and sleeping the rest of the day, i rushed off to a meeting with him at which i spoke for 15 minutes, only to realize that none of what i had said had penetrated his thick skull.

but no. i shall refrain from poking fun at the ministers of bangladesh. that’s not the point of this post.

the point of this post, however, is to poke fun at the slaves of these ingenious ministers – the civil servants. more specifically, by popular demand, i will talk about my experience shepherding a group of 17 civil servants to dubai and jordan.

first of all, the point of the trip was to visit various economic zones in these countries. however, this was clearly lost on the group. this was not because of a lack of understanding of what an economic zone is – we’ve been training them about them for the last six months. the problem arose, however, with the fact that none of them could pronounce the word “zones”. instead, they referred to it as “jones”. without a doubt, our hosts were very confused, and kept searching for this strange family called the jones.

while this was amusing the first three times, it soon grew old. at one point, i thought that i would punch the living daylights out of the next idiot who called a zone a jone. the climax, however, came when we visited the jebel ali free zone, which they referred to as the “zebel ali free jone”.

now, i understand the fact that the z sound is not in our mother tongue. so therefore the “jone” is acceptable. but, when confronted with a word that actually begins with a j, they go ahead and convert it to a z. somebody please explain it too. prufrock, you guys have zones too, don’t you, or are they jones as well?

in jordan, we paraded a host of ministers and very senior government officials by our delegation, but they weren’t very impressed. we were very concerned. i mean, if the ministers don’t make them sit up and pay attention, what would?

therefore, we were happily surprised when several delegates came up to us and said they were excited about someone we had just met. when we asked them who it was, they replied that it was the bangladeshi chef at the hotel. the entire group was very excited to meet this individual, to the point that we considered simply giving up and going home, since the brightest minds in jordan couldn’t elicit nearly the same response as a chef.

and the disinterest in the various people we met with could hardly be contained by several of the delegates, who promptly fell asleep at every single meeting. now, my boss is an expert at falling asleep at meetings, but these guys obviously need a world of practice in this respect. one person fell asleep with his head lolling back on his shoulders, his mouth wide open, and a column of drool proceeding down his chin. another’s head would tilt to such an angle that we were worried that it would fall off. and another’s head was always bent, with his chin making intimate contact with his chest.

concerned that our money was being spent on a useless exercise, since all the meetings were being attended by a group of zombies who were either asleep or thinking about sleeping or awake for a few minutes between naps, we decided to lecture them on the propriety of falling asleep at the meetings. the lecture itself was going quite well, until three of them decided to fall asleep while we were telling them not to. nevertheless, we made it through the entire study tour without killing a single delegate.

finally, no group is complete without its usual assortment of strange characters:

• one of them had decided to get inebriated at every single opportunity, resulting in him often getting lost in transit, with the rest of us searching intently for him, only to find him seated at the nearest bar. and then, in jordan, he became convinced that his life would be infinitely better if he shared a drink with me. henceforth, every single evening, he would call me to go drink with him in his room. to top it off, he had a really creepy, child-molester kind of voice. therefore, every evening i would try and fend him off with some kind of excuse or another – which is the only part of the trip where my sprained ankle actually came in handy. on the final day, while checking out, i find he has left me half a bottle of scotch at the hotel reception. not being someone to waste any consumable items, i proceeded to polish it off rapidly. it certainly helped to ease the pain in my ankle, i’ll tell you that. in fact, i quite forgot that i had ankles in the first place.
• another seemed to exist for the sole purpose of shopping. this woman spent approximately $500 on various items every single night. while most of her shopping was confined to jewelry, she also bought a commode. yes, you heard right. a commode. apparently there’s a severe shortage back home in bangladesh, or it was meant to be a nice eid gift for someone special.
• several of them enjoyed eating mcdonalds. which is fine – i enjoy a double cheeseburger as much as the next person. however, this entire group of seven or eight men insisted on going to mcdonalds every evening in a suit and tie. and, to top it off, each and every one of them wore a trucker’s hat. you haven’t lived until you’ve seen eight men in suits, ties and trucker hats gorging on big macs and french fries.
• it being the month of ramadan, we expected some of our delegates to be fasting and/or in a religious frame of mind. however, we weren’t prepared for four of them to turn out to be fanatics – when we got to the jordanian border with saudi arabia, these four leapt up from their seats, just to be able to kiss the soil of the holy land. apparently the strict border security, waving uzis and shouting in angry arabic, didn’t deter them one bit from this goal. we barely managed to prevent them from getting shot or from causing an international incident.
• and then there was the prospect of exercise:
  

  us: how many of you want to go to petra?
  [all hands go up] us: it costs $30 per person…
  [most hands go down] us: …and you have to walk for at least half an hour…
  [all hands are down by now] us: …but we’ll pay for everybody.
  [all hands go up again] [after a gruelling four hour bus ride] us: well, we’re here. let’s go.
  them: umm…err…half hour walk…err…maybe not…we’ll wait in the bus…we don’t have walking shoes etc. etc. ad nauseum.

  in comparison:

  us: the nearest shopping mall is in that direction…
  [half the group leaves in that direction] us: …about half an hour’s walk.
  [the other half start walking too].

• last but not least, there were the usual who came up to me and tried to engage me in conversation, with reckless disregard for any particular topics that may be of interest to me:
  

  dumbass 1: did you know that dead sea mud is great for the skin? i hope we get to buy some!
  me: haha…how interesting…lol!
  my brain: i’m afraid that your skin condition is incurable. no amount of mud will help you, whether or not it is from the dead sea. if, however, you really want it, i can get some mud from outside the hotel and throw it at you, for no extra charge.

  dumbass 2: did you know that the export policy of bangladesh is blah blah blah blah blah blah blah?
  me: haha…how interesting…lol!
  my brain: i wonder where the nearest bar is, so that i can get severely drunk right now?

  dumbass 3: you know, i worked for your father, and he loved me like a son! he’s so great, he’s so interesting, he’s so handsome etc. etc.
  me: haha…how interesting…lol!
  my brain: i didn’t realize i hated my father quite as much as i do now. although it’s interesting that he’s treated the entire bangladesh civil service like they were his children. so therefore, even if he was never there for me, it’s great to know he was a great father to somebody at least.

  and yes, i did say “haha…how interesting…lol!” a lot on this trip.

well, thank god. another eid come and gone.

it’s funny. when i was much younger, eid was always like “eid!!!”. then i got to middle school, and eid became “eid!”. then high school and college came around, and it turned into “eid?”. and now, it’s turned into “@^&*&@#* eid”. sad. i’ve grown too old for this crap.

one thing changed this eid, though: generally, most of the 90392148293842 residents of dhaka migrate back through the netherworlds they came from to celebrate eid, leaving the city empty, clean and somewhat bearable. this time around, it seems like they invited their other 30984092384 relatives to the city to celebrate the occasion, thus resulting in worse traffic, pollution, dirt, and a significantly larger population of ugly people.

i also noticed that, this eid, all the cool guys started driving their dad’s expensive cars, put some funky rap in the cassette player, placed their girlfriends in the passenger seat, and made out with them at every stop light. being the nonconformist and strict setter of fashion that i am, i promptly took out my dad’s expensive car, turned on some folk music live off the radio, put my dad in the passenger seat, and proceeded to ferry him around the city, visiting random mind-numbingly boring relatives. and no matter how boring said relatives were, my father found a way to make the conversation even more boring, resulting in a tremendous urge on my part to get severely drunk. if there exists a quota for the amount people are allowed to talk in a given period of time, i think my father’s way over quota for the rest of the twenty-first century, just based on the amount of talking he’s done these past four days.

in other sad news, this eid has definitely provided further proof to my theory that dhaka is severely lacking in hot girls. refusing to spend yet another day masturbating, i went out and hit all the trendy and cool spots in town. now, there’s no reason to be shocked by this sudden spurt of social activity on my part – after all, there are only a sum total of 3 places that count as trendy and cool spots. anyway, after being severely disappointed at each of the first two spots, i found my way to an ice cream parlor where one particularly good-looking female was seated.

unfortunately, the illusion of good-lookingness lasted for a sum total of 8.4 seconds – the time it took for the girl’s order to arrive. after which period of time, she started to digest the food product. now, there are approximately 76 ways to eat an ice cream cone, of which 75 are sexy. however, as luck would have it, this girl chose to eat her ice cream in the only completely unsexy way: she unfurled a tongue the size of long island and proceeded to lick the ice cream without closing her mouth even once.

and so i ran home and spent a couple of hours throwing up into the toilet.

of course it wasn’t all bad. at the end of the last month, when i was in a tremendous fiscal crisis which almost spurred me to whore myself out to raise money for gas, my office gave me an eid bonus. now, this is the thing about my job that pisses me off the most. everytime i decide that i’ve had enough and i’m about to quit, they do something nice. last time around it was a mobile phone, the time before that it was a promotion and a raise, and now it’s a bonus amounting to half my salary. stupid fuckers.

of course all good spawns some evil. i quickly realized that i was expected to pay the huge battalion of peons, janitors and guards at the office a bonus for their hard work, not to mention the eager palms extended at home by my driver, maid and guard. in order to decide what amount would be satisfactory for each of the individuals involved, my colleague and i sat down and arrived at a complex mathematical formula:

bonus amount = 4a^3 + 3x^2 + (7y^4 – 6b^9) – 8z

where:
a= number of cups of tea they’ve given us over the past year
x= amount of work they’ve done for us over the past year
y= number of sexual favors they’ve given us.
b= venereal diseases that resulted from y
z= number of times they’ve hinted that we should give them a bonus.

of course, seeing as i haven’t had any forms of sex for an eternity – almost long enough for me to regain my virginity, in fact – the y-factor was missing in all bonuses that were eventually paid.

the last straw, however, was that i was expected to go and visit all the relatives of my forcibly-betrothed-fiance (fbf for short). it was at this point that i truly began to loathe arranged marriages. not only do i have to visit my own seemingly endless list of boring relatives, but i also have to add on an entire set of equally boring relatives of the girl to visit and make friends with and impress and pretend to be interested in.

on the bright side, i finally managed to meet this girl i’m supposed to marry, and she isn’t completely unhot. but – she has a shitload of relatives. half of whose names i don’t even remember.

i’m now weighing the options of the ways available for me to convince this girl to break off the engagement. which initiative, if successful, will earn me the world record for the number of fiances who have dumped me.

next eid, i want an uzi.

oh wow.

the outpouring of sympathy and condolences at my recent sad news is amazing, much like the time i found out i have aids.

oh shit. i haven’t told anyone about that yet. fuck.

anyway.

i’m off on wednesday to dubai and jordan for a week of fun and frolic while learning about private sector development. yes, i know my life rocks, and all of you wish you could be me.

in other, more important news, it seems that my favorite movie channel, star movies, whose defining quality is the fact that they show pretty decent movies without commercial breaks, has been infected with lindsey lohan. seriously. i’ve wasted what seems like several precious days of my life watching lindsey lohan frolic around on my tv screen, mainly because there’s really nothing else to watch at 4 in the morning.

all this lohan exposure, in addition to katie holmes’ disgusting obsession with sucking off tom cruise’s face, has convinced me to finally change my priorities. and therefore, i present:

list of women i would make sweet love to:
1. aishwariya rai
2. keira knightley
3. drew barrymore
4. sania mirza
5. lucy liu

list of women i would bang:
1. mandy moore (just to get her to shut the hell up)
2. jennifer lopez
3. eliza dushku
4. jennifer anniston
5. you know…whatsherface.

there. i can no longer be blamed for a lack of diversity in my sexual appetite. i think i’ve basically covered all the major ethnic groups in that list, except italians. i fucking hate italians.

by the way, if you are any of the above, please do stop by anytime.

see you in dubai, or next week.

the worst part about this whole arranged marriage business is not the fact that i don’t even remotely know the person who i’m being hitched off to, but rather the fact that there seem to be no opportunities to do the same.

it’s been two weeks since my relatives hatched this scheme, and, until recently, the only form of contact that i had with her was the resume that my aunts initially paraded in front of my face non-stop. while it’s greatly assuring to know that my betrothed enjoys listening to music and had a 4.0 gpa in high school, in addition to boasting a veritable who’s who of bangladeshi business and politics in her family tree, it really doesn’t add much to the falling-in-love angle, if, in fact, that is what is expected of me.

seeing as this girl was most probably making a huge mistake in wanting to get married to me, i figured that the best thing to do would be to find out exactly what she wanted from this impromptu betrothal. and so i asked my relatives for her phone number. not unreasonable, right? but no. apparently her parents were extremely conservative and forbade all contact with any creatures that a had a y-chromosome floating around anywhere in their bloodstream.

fortunately, through the cousin of a friend’s friend, i finally managed to get said phone number, and, when i gave her a call, she asked me what took me so long to do so. and when my family found that i had talked to her, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

now, theoretically, if calling this person were to be such an important prerequisite of the marriage process, wouldn’t it have been much easier for all concerned to just give me the phone number so we could have gotten it out of the way much earlier? but no. my aunts told me that half the battle of falling in love was finding things out about the person by myself.

i swear, there is no nuthouse in the world appropriate enough for my relatives.

now that i had procured the famous phone number, i came upon yet another quandary: what to talk about. with one week left till a horde of smiling aunts would descend upon this person in order to put a ring on her finger, i had to summarize my entire life in the span of a few minutes, so that she could figure out what a huge mistake she was making.

unfortunately, though, when it comes to talking to strange females, i am at a complete loss. i can barely get beyond the general hi-hello-how-are-you when this dreadful pall descends upon the conversation in the form of the nothing-left-to-say demon. there’s only so much that i can say about how much i hate my job and how much i hate my boss and how much i hate everything before i run out of things to say. and there’s only so much of the above that can be said in any given conversation, and therefore i like talking with relatively talkative people who can guide the conversation in various interesting directions. but when i’m left to do the talking, it’s usually a disaster. true story: with one of my ex-girlfriends, i was at such a complete loss for things to talk about that a major portion of our daily phone conversations involved me reading to her from the newspaper. thankfully, though, such a cruel exercise was not necessary in this case.

two days after our first conversation, my aunts descended en masse upon me to find out if i was in love with the girl yet. now, even though it’s often taken me less than two days to fall head over heels for someone, those previous circumstances were not as binding as marriage. therefore, for this purpose, i decided to take it nice and slow before falling head over heels in love with this person, in case she turned out not to be the wonderful person her resume claimed, and instead morphed into my worst nightmare. my aunts, needless to say, were disappointed, and regaled me with stories about how they knew after three conversations with their spouses that they were meant to be together for eternity. the only ammunition that i had to counter this argument was that said three conversations had taken place over forty years ago, and therefore held no relevance to present times, and i used this argument fervently.

if you’re thinking that my aunts have been doing a lot of descending upon people, let me be the first to say that they are experts at this descending business. they seem to live for the opportunity to descend upon people. without the planning of the weddings of their own children, then their nephews and nieces, and finally their grandchildren, i fear that they would soon lose all hope and meaning in their lives. the engagement ring that will be placed upon the finger of ms. sarah quayyum in five days was purchased twelve years ago, and the saris that will be worn to the engagement ceremony were purchased at least five years ago on one of their frequent jaunts to calcutta. in fact, they have already purchased all the clothes and jewelry that they will wear to the weddings of all their children. however, i am the last in line, and therefore there is much urgency to get me married off, not so that they can wear all their saris and jewelry, but rather so that they can start planning and buying for the grandchildren.

but enough of the aunt-erlude. back to ms. quayyum, who will, in five days time, be engaged to me.

after our first such conversation on the phone, i realized that it was expected of me to call her approximately every hour on the hour and get the latest update and brief on the state of her mental/physical/emotional health. now, i don’t even keep track of my own mental/physical/emotional health on an hourly basis, but, apparently for this marriage to be a success, i have to ensure that i create an hourly chart of her slightest concerns. unfortunately this arranged marriage deal does not come with a contract, otherwise i’m certain that this would be in violation of several clauses and articles.

upto this point, i still had no idea what this person looked like. true, there were two pictures affixed to the resume – one of her during a visit to the zoo, and the other of her giving a speech at some occasion or the other – i felt that it was imperative for us to meet. when i communicated this desire, she laughed in my face and asked why i was in such a hurry. well, excuse me, but clearly i was the only person on the face of the planet who realized that, in less than a week, she would be engaged to marry me, and that i wanted to know what the hell i was getting into before the fact. in response, she told me about her parents, who hadn’t met till the night of the wedding.

clearly, then, i was the only person in this country who was not stuck in what seemed like a perpetual time warp, and actually realized that the events of decades ago possibly did not pertain to the present day. but she was not to be fazed. instead, she insisted that her young cousins all should meet me first, because she was the eldest in the family, and they would, due to some hidden skill that i wasn’t aware existed in pre-teens, be able to deduce whether i would be a good husband for her. and therefore it was decided by the council of elders that the next appropriate step in the marriage step was the treating of all 24 cousins, aged between 4 and 17, to ice cream at the trendiest joint in town, at my expense.

now this wouldn’t bother me much except for the fact that:

• i am allergic to ice cream
• if i’m clueless about what to talk to girls my age, i’m even more clueless as to what to talk about to a menagerie of strange children
• none of my so-called “friends” agreed to come with me as backup for the occasion, leaving me alone with a group of children, looking suspiciously like a child molester/kidnapper.

my worst fears, however, came nowhere close to the reality. no sooner than their arrival than the youngest, a four-year-old was plopped in my lap, to remain there for the duration of the festival. and clearly these kids had no problems in terms of stomach capacity, or in throwing ice cream at whichever of their cousins they happened to disagree with at any given moment. and, while i was slowly adjusting to sitting amid flying ice cream, dropped spoons and the glares of the owners of the establishment, the kid in my lap started pulling my nose.

now, if you’ve ever seen me, you know that my nose is a very prominent part of my face, and not something i’m proud of. having a toddler pulling on it with the equivalent ferocity of a rabid dog did not help matters much. to add insult to injury, one of the fourteen year olds decided to ask me if i was in love with their cousin. since the pain associated with vigorous nose-pulling was bringing tears to my eyes, i was unable to compose a reply. unfortunately, the kids took this as a sign of my undying affection for their cousin, and the whole host of them started chanting, “he loves sarah apu” at the top of their voices. if the flying ice cream and the yelling had not attracted enough attention already, this sure did. in fact, out of the corner of my eye, i noticed people lining up outside the plate glass window of the store to laugh at the spectacle.

alas, all good things must come to an end, and when the kids had departed and i had paid an exorbitantly high bill, which i’m sure included the cost of cleaning up the mess, i finally managed to head home, albeit covered in five different flavors of ice cream, chocolate sauce and a whitish substance that i was convinced was snot.

that evening, ms. quayyum called to inform me that i had been a hit with the cousins. i wasn’t exactly sure how that conclusion had been arrived at, but i wondered whether, now that i had passed the cousin-acid test, it would be possible for me to meet her.

to which she laughed again – a sign that i have learnt is anything but positive in nature. and said that she would meet me once the engagement was over, if i was lucky.

sigh. i don’t understand women.

right now, all over the united states, countless eighteen year olds are taking part in the age-old magical coming-of-age ritual marking their transition from high school and their parent’s homes to the reaal, cruel world that is freshman college orientation.

and i hate it. why, you ask? because it’s evil.

right now, all over the united states, college freshmen are engaging in a dizzying array of hot sex. in an attempt to try and explain this phenomenon, i have conducted an objective study*, the results of which i will share with you here.

the primary reasons for this ourburst of prcoreation are outlined below:

• all eighteen-year olds are dumbasses anyway
• being apart for the first time from mommy and daddy, who they fight with constantly at home, causes the freshmen to be complete emotional messes
• puberty is still raging, and they haven’t gotten control over their raging hormones yet
• they meet many different people, often for the first times in their lives
• all eighteen-year olds are dumbasses anyway.

while the first and fifth points in the list above are extremely important and must be kept in mind, and the second and third points are undoubtably pointless to argue, let’s focus on the ever-important point number four. this is, indeed, the first time that many of these freshmen have met people who are completely different from themselves. as a result, they are easily impressed, and seek to solve the mystery of the people they meet by taking off their clothes and engaging in rampant orgies. some real conversation snippets may help us understand the situation better.

sometimes the differences arise because the individuals are from entirely different states.

her: hi, i’m from kansas.
him: hey, i’m from iowa.
her: wow. [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

taking the geographical factor further, sometimes the distances are even bigger.

her: hi, i’m from america.
him: hi, i’m from [insert name of random west indian/african/asian nation here.] her: wow. [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

often, the sexual situations arise because of different ideologies:

her: hi, i’m a conservative.
him: hey, i’m a liberal.
her: wow. [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

or even due to differences in tastes and likes:

her: hi, i like britney spears and backstreet boys.
him: hey, i’m really moody and deep. i like radiohead.
her: wow. [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

finally, the situations may be differences in lifestyles:

her: hi, i’m a deeply sheltered girl from the bible belt who fanatically attends church and loves all small creatures.
him: hey, i’m a free spirit who spends all my time riding around campus in a shopping cart/playing varsity sports/picking my nose and eating the debris/making a general fool of myself so that other people want to kick my ass.
her: wow. [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

as the reader can easily grasp, the freshmen, who are left to their own devices for a week of fun and games before the pain of college classes actually begins, will engage in wanton and graphic sex at their earliest opportunity.

and this is only the case of freshman-freshman sex. let us not forget the diseased subsection of society known as the child molestors, composed of seniors who return to school early every year for the sake of getting some fresh freshman ass. these perverts come in two basic forms: the deep, dark and mature guy and the raging alcoholic.

for the deep, dark and mature senior, the challenge is not so much to seduce the freshmen as it is to appear to be utterly incomprehensible, thereby increasing the freshman’s opinion as to how cool they are:

deep, dark senior: freud’s oedipus complex theory has no attraction for me. instead, nietzsche holds much more appeal for me. did you know that nietzsche was an individualistic moralist rather than a systematic philosopher, and was influenced by schopenhauer and by his early friendship with richard wagner, leading him to passionately reject the “slave morality” of christianity for a new, heroic morality that would affirm life? leading this new society would be a breed of supermen whose “will to power” would set them off from the “herd” of inferior humanity. his writings, e.g., thus spake zarathustra (1883-91) and beyond good and evil (1886), were later used as a philosophical justification for nazi doctrines of racial and national superiority; most scholars, however, regard this as a perversion of nietzsche’s thought.
freshman girl: [has only understood the words attraction, philosopher, life, supermen, and scholar] wow. [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

the other subspecies of pervert is characterized by a stupor induced by excessive alcohol consumption, which gives them a permanently dazed look and an inability to separate the words of a sentence, leading to utter incomprehensibility. the characteristic of this subspecies that attracts the freshman ideology is the readily available supply of booze that seems to follow him around:

alcoholic senior: heybabyyouarereallyfuckinghot. maniamsodrunkoutofmyskull. god. fuck. youliketoparty? ilovetopartybabyallnightlong. damn, youarereallyfuckinghotandsexybaby. seethesemuscles? i’mafootballplayer, althoughmycoachsaysthatmybiggestmusclesliebetweenmyears! lol!!!! wantsomefreebeer?
freshman girl: wow [kissing, groping and fucking ensue]

clearly, the fault of this rampant sex that occurs during freshman orientation is not to be laid at the feet of the freshman, who are dumbasses and cannot help it, or at the feet of the senior males who prey on them, because god did curse them with a penis. instead, the fault lies wholly on the shoulders of the college orientation program.

having been involved to a pathetically great extent in several orientations at my college, i know for a fact that the sex education program for the freshmen is the most boring and pointless lecture ever contrived. going to college involves a world of different pressures, including adjusting to a new place, a habitat, new people and conforming to new standards, so who has the time, energy or mental capacity to sit through a long, boring session on the pitfalls of engaging in gratuitous sex? instead, something should be done to make these sessions more fun. for instance, the college authorities could enact a play, featuring dick, the sad and scared penis, and pussy, the scared and lonely vagina, who discover that the best way to overcome their problems in adjusting to the new environment, is to poke each other. enter trojan, the proud and brave condom, who, in the spirit of the “friends don’t let friends drive drunk” ads, inserts himself between the two and prevents an “accident” from happening. or, if that fails, scare the shit out of the freshmen. have pat robertson come to orientation and deliver a forceful lecture on the sins and evil of engaging in intercourse. for the muslims/jews/buddhists/atheists, have the same lecture delivered by a imam/rabbi/monk/satanic devil. make sure the lecture is really fucking loud, so they can’t fall asleep. or, better yet, provide every male on campus with free beer and porn, so he can take care of his raging hormones before he meets any women. and, as a last ditch effort, put hidden cameras in every dorm room so that after the freshmen have sex, you can broadcast the tape on the campus television channel for the general enjoyment of all.

this, of course, brings up the question of when is the right time for freshmen to engage in intercourse? the answer to that after the first week of classes. by this time, all freshmen should have met enough people to negate the potential hypnotizing effects of the various examples above.

so, if you are a parent thinking about putting your child in college, know now that, during orientation, your child will have sex, maybe even many times. unless they are butt ugly or severely lacking in social skills, in which case you never have to worry about them getting laid. instead, consider sending your child to religious school, like the seminary, where they can grow up so sexually frustrated that, after taking their holy vows, they molest children, but then you’ll be long dead and won’t have to worry.**

footnotes:
* by objective study, i mean based solely on my own opinion. if you disagree, that’s your problem.

**if, however, you have a daughter who closely resembles aishwariya rai/keira knightley/katie holmes/mena suvari, send them my way. the law of the land says that i can have up to four wives, as long as i love them equally. if your daughter looks like any of those four, i will.

appendix
a. n. pl. ap pen dix es or ap pen di ces
1a. an appendage.
1b. a collection of supplementary material, usually at the end of a book.
2. the vermiform appendix.
3. anatomy. a supplementary or accessory part of a bodily organ or structure.

b. it seems to me that, every year, ever since the movie american pie made it cool, more and more self-confessed band geeks seem to be coming out of the woodwork, and actually take pride in being band geeks. i remember when being a band geek used to be a confession of deep shame, akin to admitting to someone that you were gay/a pedophile/had genital warts/played varsity tetherball in high school. to all the hot, female band geeks (although i doubt that hot, female and band can ever be used in the same sentence), all i have to say is this: i have a really big flute – want to blow it?

i rule. i so rule.

Visitors to this date
United States: 75
Canada: 41
Bangladesh: 36
India: 28
United Kingdom: 11
Hong Kong: 3
Russian Federation: 2
Germany: 2
Australia: 2
China: 1
Kuwait: 1
Italy: 1
Singapore: 1
Finland: 1
Switzerland: 1
Tanzania: 1

with the addition of tanzania, i can now proudly claim that my blog is read on 5 inhabited continents in the world. the 6th continent really doesn’t matter. only pat robertson cares about south america, and who the fuck cares about pat robertson?

the referrer of the month award goes to prufrock who took a solemn vow to increase my traffic, and therefore caused the untimely death by reading of 13 poor souls.

in second place is gawker, who, although he did not take any such vow, killed 12 other innocent souls by adding me to his “indian blogger” list.

huh.

i am sure that the politicians of this great land will soon brand me as one of the following:

• anti-liberation
• pro-liberation
• anti-india
• pro-india
• anti-bangabandhu
• pro-bangabandhu
• anti-fundamentalism
• pro-fundamentalism
• etc.

if you are looking for something to brand this blog as, try the following:

• anti-abstinence
• pro-blowjob
• pro-murdering-dumbasses
• anti-mugger
• pro-nudity
• etc.

anyway.

i realized lately that i hate my job. and not in a platonic “i hate my job but this is what i want to do for the rest of my life” way, and not in a freudian “i hate my job but i’m not good at anything else” way either. i know for a fact that there are many things i would be good at that i’d rather do for the rest of my life. the list includes, in no particular order:

• getting laid
• marrying aishwariya rai, keira knightley or mena suvari
• banging either of the above
• being rich and famous
• getting a blowjob

no. i completely, truly, utterly hate my job. first of all, i’m nothing but a glorified typist. i have written approximately 76582 letters, at last count, over the 6 months that i worked at the present job. not one of these letters was signed by me – instead, they were all signed by my boss. in fact, i’m certain now that i have written enough letters in his name to be able to claim myself as being him. which would rock. my boss has the most active social life of any human being on the face of this planet. if there is a meeting, dinner, reception, inauguration, party, dance, ball, festival, pie-eating competition or pornography-screening anywhere in this country, he will be there, sitting in the front row with a strange smile on his face, talking pointedly to all the pretty girls present. if, by some sheer misfortune, an employee of his is also present, he will take great delight in making fun of the employee, usually in front of the pretty girls. needless to say, the employee, whose sole motivation to stay alive throughout the mindnumbingly boring proceedings is thinking about how to make the pretty girls fall in love with him so he can bang them, is suitably embarassed and runs off to a corner to curl up into a foetal position, suck his thumb and cry softly after the verbal barrage. i speak from personal experience.

did i say personal experience? i meant the experience of colleagues.

yes i did mean that.

so what if you don’t believe me?

go fuck yourself.

moving on…

it’s not just the letters. in addition, i have to devote months of research to writing papers that he passes off as his own, giving him the opportunity to travel to different exotic countries to tell people about his research. of course, after i do write a paper, he doesn’t so much as read the damn thing. in repayment, the most exotic thing i get to see is the huge ass-crack of the fat guy who sits in front of me in the bus with most of his body hanging out of his jeans.

finally, my job description seems to entail the responsibilities of several different full-time people at the same time. as part of my job, the things i have to do are:

• manage a multi-million dollar project
• design and update the website
• provide all forms of technical support to the organization, because the existing “expert” is a dumbass and has only one solution to all computer problems: “rishtart, plij”
• answer all of the boss’s personal correspondence, because aforementioned expert, who also happens to be his personal assistant, is less english-literate than my 3 year old nephew
• ensure that good karma and peace reign throughout the organization.

the last part of the above list is not made up. here’s what my job description says:

• Create a work atmosphere conducive to teamwork, continuous learning and innovation; building alliances and promoting open communication and collaboration to achieve joint objectives;
• Maintain high standards of personal integrity; establishing straightforward, productive relationships; treating all individuals with fairness and respect. Influencing and resolving differences across organizational boundaries.

what the fuck?

concerned about all the stress heaped on my poor shoulders, and my ever-thinning sexy and irresistible hair, i told my boss on july 1 that i was giving my one-month notice and was going to quit effective august 1.

it’s now august 27, and i’m still working at the same job. clearly, there’s a communication gap, or my boss does not understand the concept of resignation.

in order to prevent me from resigning, my boss offered me a better package, including:

• doubling my salary
• buying me an office-sponsored cell phone
• getting me a consultant position with the world bank
• offering to find me a bride.

the last point in this list was offered by him as that would provide me with “ample, post-work stress relief”. clearly he forgets that the last conversation that he had with his own wife that did not involve screaming was in the year 1954, as far as i can tell. since then, it’s been downhill.

while i was initially excited by this heaping of gifts upon my shoulders, similar to the feelings of the baby jesus after the visit by the three wise men, i soon learnt better. as part of the package, i was supposed to work part-time with the world bank, and part-time with my current organization. unfortunately, neither my new boss nor my old boss seem to be able to grasp the concept of “part-time”. i now put in 12 hours of work a day, and commute for a further 2 hours, meaning my personal quality time with my massive penis is now severely limited to 10 hours, of which i spend the requisite 9.5 hours asleep.

in addition, the torture increases. the other day, at 12:30 am, i get the following phone call from my old boss:

me: yes, sir?
him: yeah, what are you doing?
me: i’m sleeping.
him: sleeping? don’t you have any work to do?

clearly, somewhere along the line, the definitions of employee and slave got kind of hazy for him. i won’t be surprised if one of these days i find that he’s gotten in to chains and whips as a way.

it wouldn’t be so bad had it not been for his penchant for meetings. if he has a fifteen minute break anytime during the day, he likes nothing better than to call meetings. he likes to call them “sessions”, which, ironically, is what i call sitting on the toilet with a good book taking a massive crap. either way, both events feel pretty much the same, although i must admit that i am generally wide awake when emptying my bowels.

but it isn’t all bad. i’ve learnt valuable lessons during my tenure:

• how to pretend to look extremely busy while actually doing nothing
• how to download all kinds of software from the internet and blame the intern for hogging up the bandwidth
• how to bitchslap people, which is what i do every time the tech support guy tells someone to “rishtart, plij” in case of a hard drive crash/virus attack/spyware hijack/excessive porn downloads
• how to sound smart and impressive enough while actually summarizing what everyone else before me just said
• how to blackmail/guilt-trip my boss into giving me a raise (“i quit” “here’s some more money” etc.)
• how to bullshit about stuff enough to make a two paragraph summary into a 7000-word article
• how to add enough stuff to my email signature to make me look extremely important (name, address, email, designation, organization, fax, phone, mobile, bank account number, pulse, heart beat rate, penis size etc.)
• how to call everyone in the office, including the guy who brings me my morning tea, my “colleague” in all correspondence
• how to make a six-figure income, then realize that in dollars, it’s actually a four-figure income, and then realize that friends who work at home depot and walmart make more in a week than i make in a month
• how to earn in taka and yet spent in dollars, so that by the end of the month the beggars on the street are giving me money
• how to simultaneously suck up to people while stabbing them in the back (a valuable skill in any job in this country)
• how to make “glorified typist” sound much fancier by calling myself a “senior research associate”
• and finally, how to get so frustrated and burnt out with your job that you bring a gun to work and shoot all your coworkers.

just kidding. i didn’t bring a gun.

i just stabbed all of them to death. much more painful (for them) and much more satisfying (for me).

fuckers.

good fucking lord.

i have come to a grudging acceptance of the fact that absolutely none of the people who read this blog ever leave comments. it used to be fine with me, i guess. most of the people who bothered to visit this site in the first place came here because i made subtle death threats, and so therefore may not have been in a mood to leave nice ego-boosting comments. and then, i found this one blog.

this blog is on xanga, and i’m not absolutely certain how i ended up there. but anyway. the point is, every single post on that blog comes with 20 comments each, at the very least! i am in shock.

it’s not like the next theory of relativity is being posted on this site. in fact, it seems like the person who owns the blog is a girl in grade 9 or something along those lines. and her posts are…well, crap. let’s dissect.

first off, the title of this particular blog is because of you i laugh a little more, i cry a little less, and i smile alot more followed by two hearts. i should have been warned by that in itself, but like a moth being drawn to an open flame, i couldn’t resist figuring out what she actually posted about that could attract 20 comments. here’s an average post.

Updating Since I am Happy with 10 Comments..lol..Thats Nice of everybody!! lol..Umm Yesterday I Went to Kyle’s House..We went Swimming and watched Elf..Had a Fun Time!! lol..I Love that Boy to death!! Umm My Mommy left for Indianapolis this morning..The Race!! lol..Umm And Not to much has been going on, I have been here all day with my sister and talkin to My Kyle!! YaY!! lol..Umm I Just Killed a Big Spider!! and It was scary!! But Im gonna go and Talk to Kyle..So Comment Me..Or Maybe Just Kyle will comment me..

I LOVE KYLE!! 4EVER!!

now i don’t know about you, but when i read that post, i was so bored by the fourth word that it seemed to me to read something like this:

Updating Since I am Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle…

Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle

is this the kind of crap that you expect from a blog? i could do that too, you know.

by far the most interesting post on the entire front page was:

This is For EVERYONE who thinks Im some kind of slut or something!! Me and Kyle Did not have Sex!! So therefor wont everybody shut their Mouth about it!! Even IF we did!! Its none of your buisness!! So Wont everybody shut their Mouths and quit makin up shit..I WILL REPEAT IT AGAIN!! WE DID NOT HAVE SEX!!! Damn, Do i look like a Slut to you guys? But Ohh ofcoure I look like a slut to all yall haters!! Fuck Off and stay out of my damn business!! Thank You and have a Nice Fuckin Day!!

I will tell about My Day, Well I went to Chipotle with Kyle C, Kyle K. and Steven C.(Kyle’s Brother) For anybody who dont know..It was Fun..I had fun gettin out of the house, and then we went back to My Kyle’s house and hung out there, and then Kyle K brought me home..And then me and and him talked for like an hour..But thats About it..and then I Find out that shit up there ^^^^^^!!!! But Im about to go watch a movie or something..So Comment If Yall want to..Im not really worried about it anymore, Kyle is the only who comments me..But Later Yall

I LOVE KYLE!! 4EVER AND EVER!!

first of all, someone needs to tell this girl that the entire world already knows about her boyfriend and she can stop ending every post with her profusion of love for kyle, especially since she posted the following in her “about me” section:

Interests: *Mr, KYLE !! =)* Singing*Dancing*Smiling*Laughing*Taking Pictures*Shopping*Talking On the Phone*Computer*Hanging Out with My Baby Kyle*Old Navy*American Eagle*PacSun*Being Hyper*Acting Stupid*Flip Flops*Swimming*KYLE *
Expertise: *Loving Kyle =)*And Being Extra Hyper at Times* and To make Sure Everybody Knows!! KYLE !!!*

right. kyle. a.k.a. “my baby kyle”. gotcha.

although i must say, she takes quite a lot of pride in not having sex with kyle. poor kyle. must be waiting to get some ass, and then she dashes his hopes by putting a public declaration on her own public blog.

and apparently this girl has a profusion of kyles in her life – note the second paragraph. apparently there’s a kyle c. and a kyle k. i wonder which one she didn’t have sex with. and i wonder if she had sex with the other kyle. damn. i should have been named kyle. clearly, the kyles have (not) gotten more action in this post than i have in the past year.

although i must say that i’m worried for her, as this guy kyle has got to be gay, although he probably doesn’t know it yet. either that, or a eunuch. he swims with her, watches elf with her (for god’s sake, elf? i don’t know about kyle, but will farrell destroys my sex drive) and does a tremendous amount of talking to her on the phone. there is something severely wrong in this equation. the girl’s mom goes off on a trip, and he doesn’t even make a move. he should be shot. he’s a shame to all men everywhere.

out of curiosity, i decided to find out what kind of comments this person gets. and that’s when i met kyle.

You really should go on and on about me, lol. And you said something to me about a long post? That didn’t seem to be all that long. And you made a joke about that as well, lol. Which I am still laughing about. But yeah, I love you to death as well. And you are I believe the only person that I’ve said that to. Sure, I’ve told others forever and always, but you know how that is. But honestly, no matter who I go on to be with, which I highly doubt happens, but you know; There will always be that special place for you with me. Although, you said you’d make that person’s life a living hell, lol. But yeah, I’ll get back to talking to you. I LOVE YOU!! Bye bye honey.

damn. that basically destroyed any suspicion of kyle’s straightness. how do i know he’s straight? here’s some proof:
1. “I love you to death as well. And you are I believe the only person that I’ve said that to. Sure, I’ve told others forever and always, but you know how that is.”: obviously a straight guy. only a straight guy says i love you, and follows it up with “you’re the only person in the world i ever said that to”. although i wonder how many people he could have said i love you in his 14 year lifespan. when i was 14, i wasn’t even sure if my balls had dropped yet.

2. “no matter who I go on to be with, which I highly doubt happens, but you know; There will always be that special place for you with me.”: damn. he basically tells her that there’s no future for them, and that he’s going to be banging someone else soon. but no matter. if he’s horny and alone, he can always hook up with her later, because there’s that “special place” for them. clearly, at the tender age of 14, kyle’s hormones are in full swing. two thumbs up, son!

3. “Bye bye honey”: no gay guy in the closet would call his girlfriend honey. he’d be more creative – think honeybunches of oats or sweetybum cheeks or something.

i think i’ll end there. i fear that if i venture beyond page 1, this post will never end. if people want to really badly, let me know and i’ll post the link here so everyone can go tell the kyle-lover how sad her life is.

breaking news: i think this line says it all and makes the point in a much better way than i ever could:

Kyle-Babe It is so weird to say I have known your for a little over a week..But I Love You Soo Much!!

quick, break out the dictionary! i’m beginning to forget the meaning of the word “love”. agh!