Archive for the Silly Tales Category

Breakfast at Voldy’s

Posted in Silly Tales with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2011 by mmeeviloverlord

Today's breakfast was a fiasco. Fiasco at 10 a.m. My mom is visiting my grandmom for a day. So, while I'd had lunch outside yesterday and dinner was already made, breakfast was the one thing I had to contend with. Now, breakfast – easy-peasy, eh? What could be simpler than bread and butter, maybe a glass of milk – all that you need, isn't it?


Enter Dad.

My dad and (paternal) grandmom had already had breakfast by the time I woke up, so it was just me who was left. Options – bread, butter, nutella, eggs. I could've just toasted a couple of slices of bread and had them with nutella. But my dad had an idea.

Enter Chips 'n Eggs.

Now, Chips 'n Eggs was something my dad had at his cousin's place when he was staying over. It was supposedly really good and different. He immediately calls up my aunt (whose birthday is today btw), and the conversation proceeds something like this:

Dad: "Hey! Happy birthday! Listen, how did you make that recipe…………."

For the first time, I felt like I was in '8 Simple Rules'.

So, after wishing her happy birthday personally and thanking her for what would be my breakfast in 10 minutes, I proceeded to keep aside all the ingredients I'd need.


Here's the recipe:

2 eggs


Chips (I used salted)

Salt and Pepper to taste

Personalize it your taste by adding your favourite condiments. I wanted to use oregano and cheese. Yes, wanted. Yes, couldn't.

It's simple to make. Put a dab of butter on the pan. Layer the chips without crumbling them. Break the eggs on the chips and spread the albumin, which will bind the chips to the base. If you want a sunny-side up, don't flip. Spread oregano and grated cheese. Finally add salt and pepper. Easy, isn't it?

That's where the fiasco began.

I put the butter on the pan. Next step – I crumbled the chips. While I was about to crack the eggs, dad enters the kitchen and finds crumbled chips on the pan. He tells me, a good 5 minutes after explaining the whole recipe to me, that I was not supposed to crumble the chips but layer them whole. Now, I'd already crumbled a sizeable amount. We had a small tiff, after which I put whole chips also on the pan. Now I had a mini-mountain of salted potato chips roasting in butter. I didn't really mind – I like chips. Next step – the eggs. I cracked the first one pretty well. Yeehah! The second one went awry and part of the albumin looked like a waterfall tumbling off the side of the pan, into the inner sanctum of hell. I hate cleaning up egg. Anyhow, it fell on another pan which I set aside for cleaning. When I came back, my dad was standing in front of the pan with a knife in his hand, and my fried eggs looked as if something had died!

Caught red-handed with the murder weapon, mister!

10 seconds ago it looked beautiful. Now, it looked a horrible mess of white and orange. After getting into my 'Not At All Nice Mode' and asking my dad to leave my breakfast alone, I realized I had to do damage control. Alas! I was too late. My eggs looked… well… dead! Again, the feeling of being in '8 Simple Rules' came over me.

I just put salt and pepper and flipped it over. Warmed a couple of bread slices and spread nutella. Something told me that if I put oregano on my whatever-it-was-now, I could say 'Happy Republic Day!', but it was too late. The oregano and cheese was put away for next time.


How did the eggs taste?

Rubbery. I think I cooked it slightly longer than I should have. Plus oregano and cheese would've made it amazing, but that's for next time, with my mom in charge of the kitchen.


How was the bread?

I loved it! I love you, nutella!


How is the kitchen now?

It will survive.


Next on list: Eggless pancakes! ^_^


Granny’s Theories – Episode 1

Posted in Granny's Theories, Silly Tales with tags , , , , on December 28, 2010 by mmeeviloverlord

My grandmom has a lot of theories. Some are okay, others are downright hilarious. Since she’s going to be staying with us for the next few months, I expect to be an audience for at least 50-60 such theories. The ones that interest me more or make me laugh till my sides hurt are going to be featured on my blog, along with rating out of five. So, clap your hands for the very first episode of Granny’s Theories!

No offence, grandmom.

Theory of the Day: Single children need competition in the form of siblings otherwise they turn out to be brats.

Comments a.k.a. Squashing The Theory: This sentence was, fortunately, not directed towards me. It was in the context of a first cousin once removed who is supposed to be a it of a brat. A little background story here – the kid is about 8 or 9 years old and fights with one cousin (out of four). The fights he has are the reason for him being declared a brat. He recently got a brand new baby sister and my grandmom thinks that the competition he’s going to get from her is going to ease him out of his bratty nature. And then she generalized the whole thing by including every single kid living on the face of this planet.

Now, what could be wrong with this theory, I wonder…

a) I’m a single kid. I have three close cousins who are single kids. We were never brats and we aren’t still. Who knows about the future though, so no comments on that :D

b) I used to fight with those aforementioned single cousins. The result – we’re really close today. Even if we don’t talk to each other for ages, when we meet, it’s like we never left.

c) Competition in terms of what? Considering the age difference, the baby sister’s going to look up to him. Even if she doesn’t, where is the competition??

d) Generalizations. Aren’t. Good.

I know that kid much better than my grandmom, and he’s not a brat. If she considers him a brat, she’s never met one (which makes me wanna be bratty :D). Just because you’re a single kid doesn’t mean you’ll turn out bad. Sure, if you enjoy being a single kid, people might consider you crazy, but if not, they’ll consider you crazy anyhow (for a different reason, or perhaps the same).

Theory Rating: ** (Because my grandmom didn’t realize that her two eldest non-bratty grandchildren are both single kids.)

New Title! Whoop-de-doo!!

Posted in Silly Tales with tags , , on December 27, 2010 by mmeeviloverlord

I thought of a new title for my blog. It just came to me yesterday while my dad was teasing me about training to be a bloodsucker.

Yeah, I get my sense of humour from him.

Anyhow. Now, Obscurum Per Obscuris doesn't really fit in for me, though the sub-title is what I wanted the title of one of my books-to-be-if-I-ever-think-of-writing-and-find-people-to-read-them. So, 'A Theory of Uncommon-sense' by yours truly might hit the bookstands in a few decades/centuries (if I ever get the Philosopher's Stone). Please keep an eye out (and some cash ready) for that book, or keep passing this message on from generation to generation. Who knows, if I get the Stone, I think it would be your great-great-great-great-extremely-great grandchildren who'll be reading that book. So, please make me rich whenever it does happen, ok?

So… New blog title! I like it. I don't care if you don't :P

A Tale of Clutter

Posted in Silly Tales with tags , , , on October 18, 2010 by mmeeviloverlord

I sat down to declutter my stuff today. All those things I'd been saving since fifth grade were lying in front of me in four boxes. Okay, maybe fourth grade. Now, I'm someone who used to never let go of the tiniest scrap of paper. I was The Cluttermeister – the Big Kahuna of the Clutter World. Even expressing the need to throw away (unnecessary) stuff by anyone would have me huffing and puffing away to glory. Consequently, half the stuff we used to lug around while shifting from one place to another used to be mine.

Then I changed. From the seene-se-na-door-kar-paaongi attitude, I became just the opposite. Now clutter irritates me. It makes me want to tear my hair out. It makes me want to turn into a humongous dragon and unleash my awesome firepower on the nearest person. And I love decluttering. It's therapeutic for me.

However, today I was slightly upset because of a text I'd received after my dance class. Combine that with the decluttering phase in which I need a private bubble measuring 8×8 feet and I instantly became fiercer than a tigress guarding her cubs/ Voldemort in his I-must-kill-POTTER! phase.

I emphathize with you, Voldy. I really do.

The worst thing that happens is if you intrude in my private bubble. I become unnecessarily rude and cranky and it doesn't matter who you are – I don't discriminate. The following exchange took place between me and my dad:


Father Dearest: How's it going?

Yours Truly: Go away!

Father Dearest: Have you decided what to keep?

Yours Truly: <steely glance that could melt ice>

Father Dearest: Umm..

Yours Truly: <steely glance that could melt steel>

Father Dearest: *sigh*


I'm not nice. Not at all.