Note:- This post was guest blogged by Sambhav Kundalia. He studied with me at The Hyderabad Public School for a considerable amount of time during which we had a lot of fun times and quite a bit of fights too. After reading this post, if you, by some rare coincidence, wish to read more of Sambhav’s literary work, I suggest you visit his blog here. And after reading his blog, if you still wish to hook up with him for a date, send me an email, and I will probably forward it to him.

I’m the kind of friend that no one likes to talk about. So, when Kishor said that I could guest blog on his website I realized that this is probably the only time I can leave an indelible stain on something as significant as his website and perhaps scar his friends and acquaintances permanently. Kishor shall probably regret this for the rest of his life; this is going to be worse than getting a misspelled permanent tattoo.

Now that I’ve lowered expectations down to a reasonable level I think it is time for you to know me for the insidious individual that I am, which you shall as you continue reading, which I am sure most of you shall not as by now you have probably gone to the purveyor of porn you were looking for before you accidentally landed on this page. Don’t try and deny it, for better or for verse it’s your choice and I respect that. (If you still haven’t left, that putrid pun has probably given enough reason for you to leave now.)

I like to write about things that affect socially awkward teenage boys like me, for example I have written several times on the shortage of scantily clad girls with low self esteem and our dependence on foreign sources, on why flatulence is fancy and farting isn’t and of course the 2008 presidential election. I also occasionally write about nothing, just spewing random, inane fecal matter like I am right now. I like to think of the internet as a stagnant pool where floundering fish like me can make our ode to the ordinary and snatch attention away from the exceptional and the deserving by ensuring that whenever someone Google’s in “buffalo, bison mating habits” our blogs show up on the first page.

Don’t worry I shan’t talk about the mating habits of the bison and buffalo however interesting and fascinating they maybe. Today I shall talk about a day that all involuntarily celibate teenage boys like me dread, no not Chaka Khans’ birthday you idiots, I am talking about Valentine’s Day, a day of joy and celebration of love for some and a day of loathing and reverse peristalsis for others. I absolutely detest this day, for one despite what you might consider to be an obvious fact I have no girlfriend, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever had one for longer than a fortnight or two. The girls I choose to involve myself with either are on different continents; different earth-quake zones or sing along to the Spice Girls.

Don’t get me wrong; these girls were close to my heart and even closer to my wallet.

Anyway let’s move on, what’s done is done and I’m pretty sure if I stay a little bit longer in the organ-trade game I shall recover all my financial losses. Vital organs! Who needs ‘em eh?? (If you do, e-mail me!)

So this year since the only thing Cupid’s arrow did was poke me in the eye and make it gangrenous. I have, after several hours of deep deliberation and study, come up with a fun-filled Valentine’s Day for one. Here’s the itinerary-

1. Wake up, weep a little.

2. Watch the television show based on that boy without a bellybutton for the next couple of hours.

3. Call up friends who are busy with their respective boy/girl-fiends and talk about the terrific television show on the boy with no belly button.

4. Attempt and affect removal of belly button.

5. Write about the day on an unsuspecting friend’s web-site, after a brief visit to the hospital and a quick sobriety test.

Before I get back to wallowing in my cesspool of self inflicted misery and melancholy there are a few questions I’d like to ask, now that I’ve been given the opportunity to do so; and these aren’t trivial issues, but of deep socio-cultural and geo-political implications-

1. Why did Nelly Furtado dye her hair blond?
2. What’s your phone number? Yes you, the pretty girl who just minimized this page! Please!
   

Till next time this is goodbye; before I forget- if you can’t remember the last time you were dancing to the Venga Boy’s it probably is a good thing.

Unoptimistix.

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This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 13th, 2008 at 9:05 pm and is filed under Friends, Guest Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.