Archive for February, 2011

Mashed Potatoes

Posted in Mashed Potatoes with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 20, 2011 by mmeeviloverlord

I have so much to write about today. If I were to write about them individually, they’d form at least 2 different blog entries. I’m lazy. So there.

The Messenger by Daniel Silva – Good book. Stupid ending. You spend 400 pages on infiltrating Jihad Inc., kill off the Villain 1 in two pages, Villain 2 in three pages – man, that’s worse than Voldemort’s death! On the other hand, nothing could be worse than Voldemort’s death. But the end showed quite a few bits of sheer stupidity. Like how the protagonist was willing to kill off Villain 1’s maybe-wife just because she was his maybe-wife and probably knew that he was a terrorist (even though the only thing she seemed to be interested in was going to the salon and getting her hair done), but how Villain 2’s definite-daughter was allowed to live, who would know that he backs up major terrorist activities and who was left standing over her father’s dead body, screaming for revenge.

And those are not my words.

Yes, the author was looking for a new character for another book. Nadia the Villain. Born of sheer stupidity on the protagonist’s part. Or, as MFG puts it, a case of writer’s block. C’mon, the maybe-wife with the hair obsession could’ve been a villain!

‘The mysterious stranger rose out of the ocean, her blonde(?) hair shining in the sun. The face was slightly familiar. She took a caprioska from the shack and sipped on it slowly, her blue eyes darting about. The place was perfect. Soon she’d avenge the death of her not-husband, and only on that day would she step into the salon and get her hair done.

Revenge is a dish best served in a tropical setting.’

One of the Worst Things – You know, one of the worst things you could ever see is your mom crying. My maternal grandmom’s not well. Actually, that would be quite an understatement. But she has her good days. And bad days. Her graph is a curve that goes *zoom up* and *zoom down*, and every weekend her graph dips quite a bit.

This is a weekend.

Today, my mom’s eyes were red when I went to the hospital. She tried to put it off on the cold and stuff and blah. Grandmom not really responding. Mom crying. I wanted to bawl my eyes out. I want to bawl my eyes out. I just want my grandmom to get better and my mom to stop being sad. And my aunt. It’s sometimes so hard to keep up a nonchalant exterior.


How Bollywood Is Screwing With My Brain

Posted in Weird Tales with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 8, 2011 by mmeeviloverlord

I had the weirdest dream last night.

Now, generally, I do have weird dreams. Dreams in which i'm falling from mountains/waterfalls, getting lost in jungles/mazes/compendium of buildings, dreams within dreams a la Inception. But yesterday I had a truly freaky dream.

No, sorry, nightmare.

The setting was very realistic. It was my house. I was sitting on my bed and reading. For some reason there was a tailor on the rear balcony, stitching away to glory. I got up and went to the front door and heard footsteps. I looked through the peephole and saw two huge, hairy guys – one of whom looked suspiciously like Himesh Reshammiya. The Himesh doppelganger decided to peek through the peephole. I screamed nightmare! in my head and ran back to my room. After five minutes I came out and saw those two hairy apes in my living room!


I told them to leave. They ignored me. It freaked me out like crazy. Yes, having huge hairy strangers in your living room, who got in without making absoutely any noise at all, is freaky. I ran to our neighbour's house for help. Mr. Neighbour (same name, different person, I think from some reject villain hell) said he'd help me out, but first I had to touch everyone's feet – you know, the one that's supposed to humiliate rather than show respect – and I had to start with the youngest kid, who looked about 3 years old and totally unlike his real grandkid, and move on to a few hundred chacha-chachis, taya-taijis, the like. Okay, about 20.

At this point, even my dream self said what the bladdy faaack?!! I tried lifting my middle finger, but since I was still dreaming and had to follow a script (presumably), I touched everyone's feet, true Alok Nath ishtyle, browbeaten and humiliated. I went downstairs and found that both the goons had disappeared. Then Mr. and Mrs. Neighbour came down to assert themselves. By this point even my dream self was sick of the whole effin thing and banged the door in their faces.

At which point I mercifully woke up.

The. End.