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.

The Path

This is based on a true story.

Sweat poured down my brow, and into my eyes blinding me. I was in a trench, my breath inside my faceplate loud in my ears. It was a bright and sunny day, but the light struggled through the thick foliage, and all that reached us was a dim ambient glow with only a few rays breaking through and dappling the ground.

The undergrowth was wet and a light mist snaked around my ankles. Twisted roots churned in the mud, like pythons frozen in the act of copulating. The stillness of the forest was disorienting; it was hard to believe there were others like me silently creeping through it.

"Clear the path!” they told me. Even if it cost me my life, I had to clear the path!

Drawing a deep breath, I risked a quick peek out of the trench, but quickly ducked back down as a volley of shots sprayed mud a few inches from my face. This was ridiculous; I had to move forward - they were depending on me.

But we were pinned down by enemy fire. They were swarming everywhere and four snipers had entrenched themselves in front of us. I looked at my mates on my right in the underbrush. A nod, and we were in agreement; we started inching our self forward, wriggling through the mud and the foliage.

It was nerve-wracking business. And the guy on the right couldn't take it. He broke. With a sudden yell, he bolted from his shelter, and within a few steps, was gunned down, his body jerking as several bullets tore into him. But his sacrifice was not in vain. We had placed the enemy positions, and in a sudden surge we cleared all five of them out.

Elated, I bounded forward; when like a deadly jack in the box an enemy trooper shot out from around a curve in the trench, and fired a spray of bullets at me. I flattened myself against the wall of the trench and watched as shots whizzed past. I fired a few shots around the corner to distract the trooper up ahead, and then scrambled a few feet back to safety.

My visor was misted up and I could smell my own fear. So this was what war was like. I felt utterly drained, as though I had been running for miles. Only adrenaline was keeping me going now. I looked at my mate sniping from the bushes to my right. He shrugged helplessly; the enemy was too well hidden in the trench and he couldn't draw a bead on him.

I crawled forward a few paces only to fall flat as a volley of shots whizzed around my head. I had to clear the path; we were running out of time. I knew what I had to do.

My breath was echoing in my ears and the cold stone of fear was heavy in my stomach. I crouched silent for a second and then I was off; running down the trench firing a hail of bullets. He waited till I was almost on top of him. I rounded the corner and almost thought the trench was empty, when he stood up and shot me down point blank. But, as I fell backward into the mud, I saw the cruel smile on his face change to shock as red bloomed on the front of his jacket. He had given away his position to the sniper on the right.

I had done it; the path was clear.

Epilogue - We lay for a minute in the mud, till we heard the whistle. I grabbed the enemy trooper by the hand and hoisted him up. The paintball game was over. My team had captured the flag.

Baby got Back

I know, right? WTH was he doing for a year? Sleeping? A coma? Perhaps he decided to unplug himself from the interwebs.

Well, conjecture no more. It's time to share a deep darke secret about myself; a secret which will explaim the tragic story of my year long hiatus; a sordid secret which will shake the foundations of your reality. No, it's not that I dress as a obsessive compulsive superhero every full moon and solve crimes involving geriatric penguins. It's just this - I'm Lazy. Note the capital L.

This is not simple lethargy folks. I have elevated ennui to an art form. Much like the Mona Lisa, my lazyness looks out at the world with an enigmatic smile.

And now that's cleard up, lets move on. I have resolved to start posting again, though, of course, my words are not worth the the htm that renders them. I got a few queries about when I'm going to start posting again. . . got a few ideas percolating. Lets see how long I can keep it up.

I've been getting quite a few views on some posts; unfortunately these are on those post which are most derivative (containing plaigarised content, in other words). Depression Dog's V day and Baww seem to be up there. Also, MDTL seems to have been discovered by spammers. If I were to take them up on their offers, I'd be sitting in a casino, wearing jewellery, sporting a massive errection with my herpes all cleared up.

By far the most hilarious of these are, and I quote,

HELP! I’m currently being held prisoner by the Russian mafia xyzrxyz [url=http://www.buypenisenlargement.com]penis enlargement[/url] xyzrxyz and being forced to post spam comments on blogs and forum! If you don’t approve this they will kill me. xyzrxyz [url=http://www.male-sexual-styles.com]penis enlargement[/url] xyzrxyz They’re coming back now. xyzrxyz [url=http://pills.buypenisenlargement.com]vimax[/url] xyzrxyz Please send help! nitip [url=http://www.male-sexual.com/vimax-pills.html]vimax[/url]

I can just imagine the poor bloke, battered, bruised and chained to the table, forced to spam a neverending procession of no-account blogs. That just moves me to tears that does.

I've also been making a few tweaks to the layout and colours of the page; hope you like them. Colours tend to look much more vivid on my glossy RGBLED than others, so I apologise in advance if everything looks washed out on your screens.

Wow! So that's like two posts in as many days. Maybe I AM turning over a new leaf. Eh. . . or maybe not. See you in a year folks!

Haloween Special - The Rhythm

MDTL is proud to present our latest guest blogger - DarkeArun, who brings us a twisted tale of horror and perversion. Without further ado..

The Rhythm:

You did it. Finally. Its all over. Its the kind of feeling you see at the end of a good horror movie. You look around. This is the moment everyone has been fighting for. But they all looked too exhausted. You decide to get some rest. So you say goodnights and go to your room with a new sense - a sense of freedom. You get your beer and play your favorite NiN songs in your computer. Then you lie back on the chair and fall asleep almost instantly. A big mistake.

Few minutes go by. Then you feel it. The same feeling that was haunting everyone for years. Something is waking you up. You knew what would happen if you wake up and turn around; you will see what you never wanna see. You are scared again. But you stay asleep and almost ignore it. After a while it stops. A moment of silence. While you are still trying to make your mind for your next move, it strikes back. This time it almost feels like an electric pulse is passing right through you. From your left to right. You even hear the buzz. You feel the wave. The rhythm. The rhythm that kills. But you stay strong and do not move. Few seconds pass and it stops. Silence. You hold on tight with your eyes still closed. You know its gonna hit back and you know its gonna hit back real bad. You hear screams from the other rooms. You try to remember where you left your transposer. Too late. You are hit again. And this time with a real strong force. It freezes you. You have no control. You scream. And then....you open your eyes. It twists you back and forth real fast in the chair. It feels worse than a roller coaster ride. You try to see, but its all so dark. You just keep screaming. Then almost instantly everything stops. And you just drop on your table. You open your eyes again. You see the progress bar moving from 99% to 100%. Then you see the word that haunts you for the rest of your life - MDTL.

Happy Halloween!

Greetings with a Smile

MDTL is proud to present our very first guest blogger, DarkeRose. Here is her first post -

Say not the struggle nought availeth,
  the labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faint not, nor faileth,
  And as things have been, things remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
  It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
  And, but for you possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
  Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back through creeks and inlets making
  Came, silent flooding in the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
  When daylight comes, comes in the light,
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly
  But westward look, the land is bright.
                                   ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

Greeting the morning with a smile.

We used to have a cheap blue alarm clock which we acquired early in our marriage after we realised that our body clocks were just not doing their job after a late night of partying. It served us well through the years. Only now and then would we fail to wake up to its dulcet tones. On those days I and my better half (worse half on those days) would miraculously find ourselves on our feet with staring eyes and hair on end screaming at each other for not hearing the alarm. Then there would be a mad rush for the loo, sometimes in the wrong direction. While doing the job and going through Femina's tips on how to greet the morning with a smile, I would be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door and a voice asking frantically where the sugar was for the tea he was making. Grumblingly I'd crack the door sarcastically asking if this was a hotel or what that he didn’t know where things were kept. Then I would give directions that the sugar was in the cupboard whose keys were in the other cupboard whose keys were in the--------. This exercise was a painfully failing attempt on my behalf to curb the pilfering activities of my maid servant, who invariably when I lost them would hand them to me with a smirk. Hence the continuous change of hiding places. Finally after the keys were found, he would make his way to the kitchen, but not before passing snide remarks on senility and Alzheimers. I would go back to what I was doing hastily. No time to peruse through that article now!

Nowadays we wake up to the ring of a brand new alarm clock, which has come all the way from Disney land, Paris and was presented to us by our son. Its ring in the morning is enough to wake up the dead. Its ring is also a cue for me to cower under the bedclothes as I see my sleeping partner flail his arms searching for the clock and bringing crashing down all the doodahs with the vase of flowers I had placed on the headboard following another mags advice on how to spice up your bedroom life. In the ensuing silence I'm asked, ’Where did you say the old blue clock was?' I mumble something about senility and Alzheimer’s and turn over.

Have sex NOW. The world ends at 1pm.(or maybe not)

Well, the large Hardon.. er Hadron collider will be switched on around 12:30 pm Indian time. And of course, we don't believe in CERN's safety nonsense. Heres how it'll go..

In about 3 minutes it'll have produced Strangelets and Vaccum Bubbles and Magnetic Monopoles.

At 7 minutes , scientists will discover the God Particle (even more fantastic than the Jesus phone) and will almost instantly come up with the Grand Unified Theory which will be so magnificent, so stupendous, that scientists, at a flash will understand how to achieve faster than light travel, solve global warming, and even make Sarah Palin VP.

Just past 9 minutes, a stable black hole will be created which absorbs enough matter to be self sustaining.

Ten seconds past this the event horizon will overtake Earth.

In twenty minutes, the black hole will crash into the sun, extinguishing it. Jupiter has already been swallowed and Neptune will be spiralling into the hole.

One hour later, the solar system does not exist.


So, my advice is; grab your towel and hitch a quick ride from a passing Volgon ship. The end of the solar system should be quite a spectacular sight seen from a couple of light days away.

Update - apparently today was just a test run. We have till Oct 21.

Carpe Diem, 2008

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song
still in them. - Thoreau

That is the saddest but truest thing I have read. People travel through life shackled to their crosses. Only those of us unaware of their burden can ever be content. The rest of us peer up to the night sky through the bars of our school, our job... our life.

Few are those who dare to unfasten the shackles, to unbolt the shutters to walk in the light beyond. Because isn't that what society teaches us; shoulder your responsibilities, do the right thing, be part of the team. And most of us, cowed into submission, resolve to 'do the right thing by others', never imagining that maybe we were intended to do the right thing by ourselves.

And in the end when we look back, is the path not stewn with regret? For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been’…

So to you gentle reader, I entreat; live your life to the fullest and remember, your biggest responsibility is to yourself. Let not the fears, aspirations or opinions of your parents, your friends or society dictate the terms of your life.

It's not too late.

And so this 2008, Carpe Diem, baby.. Carpe Diem.

Snow Day

Gentle Flakes,

spiralling softly.

Covering me

with melancholy.

Emu Therapy

Humans are complex beings.. or so they say. I say, everyone is just fucked in the head. It's only the degree which varies. In fact, trust me, the degree to which peoples brains are dysfunctional rarely varies too. I mean why does anyone need meth, once life does a number on your brain ?

I guess everyone has moments when they wanna slit their wrists, sit in a dark corner and rock backward and forward, keening. These are called Emu moments, and don't worry; everyone gets them. My advise to you, is that when you get an Emu moment and want to slit your wrists, don't worry. Just remember, cutting across your wrist is NOT at all effective. For the best results you have to cut DOWN the wrist along the forearm. More hints here.

Remember this is not for teenage angst ridden Avril Lavigne listening emo-bois. This won't give you a cool scar. This. Will. Kill. You.

It's funny though; most of the music I like are Songs to Slit your Wrist by. Check out a few here. Maybe thats why I am the way I am, and maybe thats why this blog is called Mine Darke and Twisted Life. And mabe this is the most truth you've ever read here.

Besides slitting your wrist, there are other options open, of course. You could join the foreign legion and get fisted by a hundred other crazy fuckers. When bending down in the shower to get the soap has you scared silly, there's not much brain space left to contemplate the complex emotional tangle that drove you emu in the first place.

Or you just move to Australia for some Emu-therapy. Coz' when the world is looking bleak and you feel that you just can't go on, there's nothing better than the love of a large flightless Aussie bird.

And I know this, because I'm Mr. Brightside.