Where I cater to the common denominator... meaning YOU.

Hurricane Sandy has taken Gizmodo and most of the Gawker network down. Bereft of my daily post lunch ritual of scrolling through Lifehacker (if ever there was a life that needed hacking it is mine) and Giz, I decided to pay a little attention to my own small neglected corner of the web.

I often imagine what would happen if prospective employers read my blog before the interview. Would it garner a favorable response (you’re on your way to the top of this insane asylum, my son), or would my racism and perversion turn them off? ‘Let’s just try it once and see how you like it’, I’ll plead. 'I’ve got a lot of love to give this organization; I've done it before and people have enjoyed it. let me just squeeze the tip in…'

What were we talking about?

Well, it’s not really a problem, as no one reads my blog anyway. I've therefore decided to make this blog a lot more adult oriented, and eliminate that veneer of social acceptability that I've hitherto tried to incorporate in my posts to cater to a discerning audience. The lack of an audience, discerning or otherwise has made this now redundant. Family, friends and other prudes, please avert your eyes; I shall now sell my soul for the seamy popularity that sex brings to any publication and cater to the prurient interests of the base masses.

…lonely crickets chirp…

Hm, the problem with above bravado is that the intent is clear, but the method is lacking. How DOES one emulate the sexy formula that sells copies of Playboy, X Men comics or every single popular British daily newspaper?  ‘It’s Obvious’, you might yell, dear reader. ‘Just increase the boobage ratio of your blog and people will come flocking, just like they do to that guy who built a better mouse trap. Pocket mice or real mice, the principle is the same; the cheese is the boob.’

Well, dear reader, we all know about cheeseboob, but how do I smear it on my blog? I keep trying to cull pictures from the interwebs, but get… distracted… every time.  I was then inspired by the Kate Middleton photographs, and slotted in my telephoto lens, attached my tripod, and started peering into the neighbouring apartments from behind my curtains. The problem is, the quality of the average Ghaziabad high rise dwelling lady falls more into the ‘BURN IT WITH FIRE’ rather than the ‘So hot I assploded all over my tripod’ category.

Assploding is going to be a regular theme in this blog now.

So you see, it’s not that easy catering to the common denominator. Just like in real life, where rather than causing girls to fall over in a frenzy and start spontaneously humping the sidewalk, wearing skinny jeans just forces me to walk with my leas at 60 degree angles to each other and end the day in hospital, trying to get sexy up in this blog may just have a counter-intuitive effect.

And also forces me to write long convoluted sentences.

So, I’m just gonna throw my door open to suggestions and volunteers. Especially volunteers. If you’re a girl and want to support this blog, just email me those tittay pics. Or ass. Armpit? Chin? Whatever; just send them to mdtl@outlook.com. Once I’m done with them (and it may take a while so be patient), you’ll get prime position on my sidebar. And the satisfaction of having done a good deed. And the knowledge that I’m gonna have to drink a LOT of Gatorade to replenish my fluids. 

Remember, the more pictures you send, the more likely I’ll perish of dehydration. It’ll be a win-win, for at least I’ll die happy.

Bom Sabado!

WTF is Bom Sabado?

This may help.

Supersize me (or) I wrote this whole post just to work in the last sentence

I'm deathly afraid of travelling on planes. Crashing and going to hell in a fireball of molten metal is the least of my worries, however. No, what really scares me is the torture my knees will go through for the next eight hours. Because once I wedge myself into my seat and my knees are jammed into the back of the seat in-front of me, I'm sure not going anywhere till they pry me out with a crowbar. No wonder I've developed good bladder control.

And of course the diminutive girl next to me has enough space to stretch her legs out, do a few lunges and open her food tray and rest her feet on top of it. At which point I finally loose my patience and smack her upside the head. To which she responds by biting me.... In the knee.

People always envy tall people. But believe me, the world does it's best to compensate for what few advantages we have by trying to compress us into the tiniest spaces meant for normal mortals. When you can't hear the radio while driving, because your knees are blocking your ears, it's time to pull over and set fire to the car.

And dont get me started on the whole opposite sex thing. How can you make out how a girl looks when all you can see is the top of her head. I once dated this girl for two months, she had a haircut, and I couldn't recognise her any more. We broke up shortly after. Nowdays, I duck and weave like a boxer when meeting women, trying to get a glimpse of their face.

All in all, it's quite tough. I have repeated concussion from having knocked my head off various doorframes, ledges and overhangs. And that's why I have this lazy eye. Now, I just keep my huge fat head tucked into my shoulders. and envy all the small people around me.

Because sometimes, there's nothing better than a little head.

Yule Blues

Apparently 'tis the season to be crappy. When night falls at 3 pm, and that's the only time it stops raining, you can bet your ass the suicide rate is going up like anything. SAD they call it. I call it WTF is wrong with this weather. At least if it snowed or something, that would make up for the cold. But no, a fine drizzle persists throughout the day till one feels like all wrinkled up like a prune.

It's only going to get better, as we're going to Scotland over Christmas. And what's more, the Isle of Skye is on the itenary, so when I return, impotent, having frozen off various parts of my anatomy, I can reflect on whether this was a good idea or not.

But this break is going to be a lifesaver. Not that work sucks or anything.... no, wait. It does. It sucks worse than Cathy down the road, who tries her best to impress a gent.

The only thing, with this trip and all the work pressure I've been under lately, I'm not going to have time to make my annual flash greeting card. Which is sad, because I've been doing it three years running now.

And so, if your life wa in as much a mess as mine, why.. Yule be Blue too...