I have been told I have nose hair, which is-- according to the Hilton Encyclopedia of Human Body-- the grossest thing you can have in a human body.
The first time I came across the concept of nose hair was in grade 9, when I read this humorous Nepali book called 'Mr Jhappu Singh Double M.A. kaa interview haru' where Jhappu-- an interviewer-- has more nasal hair than hair on the head, which at that time I found somewhat disgusting. And then I began noticing the elderly with graying hairs making their way out of the nose holes and then I had to accept the sad fact of our existence. And then I kept wishing death before the appearance of nasal hair because you cant shave them off, and you cant bleach them off, so the only option is trimming.
I was horrified to be told that I have nasal hair. A clarification here: everyone has a hairy nose(yes, even you, pretty keti) but nasal hairs are disciplined and know that hairs inside the nose are supposed to be inside, so they don't come jutting out as if they were on a paid vacation to Hawaii. It's a slightly different story for men of older age though, when bodily organs start malfunctioning, the bodily defense starts giving up, and bodily hairs start doing whatever they want to do. Like hairs popping out of noses.
And ears. It's true-- a lot of people have hairs coming out of their ears,-- even famous people like George Clooney and Brad Pitt, though their stylists make up for them, so you can't see their auditory and nasal hairs because of Photoshop and Videoshop.
Back to my nose-hair--I freaked out about it, and I pretended to have runny nose and blocked the public view of my noseholes. I secretly tried to pull out the offending strands using my nosecloth, but all I got was lots of other nasal material and a few particularly long strands of my mustache. One time, I did really get hold of strands of nasal hair but I much inside my nose, I could see my hanky from INSIDE my eyes, so I didn't attempt pulling the hairs out, fearing the possibility of accidental organ dislocation from my cranial cavity. Of course, there's nothing much of value in there-- a tiny-tiny brain, a poorly-functioning eyeball that needs repair, few scattered gray matter, and several assorted semi-useful organs in there-- but hey, they're my organs and I love them for whatever they are. Old, cranky, weak, and possibly on the verge of a breakdown.
So why did so many people think that I have gross gross hairs jutting out of my noseholes? Was it a particularly long and strong thread of booger that had gone undetected? Or perhaps, I had snakes growing inside my brain, and they finally grew up big enough to show their tails through the noseholes? Or maybe maybe my eyes are growing tendrils inside my head and turning into Octopi, so it was a beginning of something mysterious? Maybe it was an optical illusion? Mass hysteria? Aliens who landed on earth just to convince everyone that a certain guy
in a certain part of a certain planet has nose hairs, omg?
We may never find out the true answer. But this much, we know: the world around us is crazy, mysterious and full of surprises, and if we were to delve into the secret locker of nature where she hides her precious secrets, we would then know that we don't know very much, that Nessie is in fact a living form of shiva linga(the organ of Shiva bhagawan), that Ban Mancches have a secret agreement with the lamestream media so that their existence is not acknowledged, and in return the papers get a hefty sum in form of random advertisements(all those Bryan Adams ads you saw in the papers? All paid by the Ban Manchhes. Where else did you think all the money came from?), that wizzards are interested in getting hold of a terrible new power source that would make them the most powerful beings in the whole wide universe, but for that they'd need 3 billion fresh human brains, and the problem with the idea is they don't have a container big enough to contain so many human brains, and that the Sinai Peninsula is actually under the Dominion of the Glourious Empire of Nepal and It's Territories, but due to the 1951 treaty they were snatched away by the greedy foreign who have links with RAW, ISI, Mossad, CIA, MI6, MI5, Pronovdova and NID. They are also involved in a conspiracy to convince the masses that I have nose hairs, which is NOT at alll true.
Grandstanding freewriting
Dear Peoples,
It has come to our knowledge that you are not happy. We have been informed that you are showing your dissatisfaction by taking to the streets, burning shops, vehicles, government property, killing people, looting, and doing several other things that would be deemed illegal were things in the usual state. And we understand you.
You want change-- change in the governance, change in the faces who govern, change in the system of unaccountability and lawlessness, and we hear you. We have, from time to time made known our desire to be with people and help them as need, by supporting. The time has come for us to give to the nation and we consider it our greatest responsibility-- to help the nation at the time of need.
Therefore, we have decided that from tomorrow we shall be conducting the matters of the state in such an inclusive manner that no one will understand what the hell are we doing anyway, and then get stumbled over if by we they mean themselves or Us, which technically should be the same thing but its not because we are viewed as corrupt, incompetent, whereas all the peoples view themselves as essentially honest, god-fearing patriots who have been wronged by Us.
While we do not subscribe to such sentiments, any institution the harbors such sentiments can be understood in its views, at least after the recent economic crises that has limped the economy of our nation. We must be together, and work hand-in-hand, despite the seemingly insurmountable differences which will get none-too-great in time as we start cooperating with each other on more regular and person-to-person way. it is to be understood that while there are only a few of those who wrong others, the majority is always wronged, therefore they should hold the dictatorial powers of the state, as described by Article 127 of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Nepal 2047, which also, for the first time in the entire region, guaranteed the rights of all minorities, based on their ethnicity, color, race or sexual orientation, albeit implicitly.
It is our greatest misfortune that our financial backers in the constitutional process, the-then ECA(now EU) did not agree with us on the all-embracing concept of equality,which we have reasons to suspect was influenced heavily by the Vatican, even by the protestant countries, so that there's no point in fighting over one another.
However, as system commanders go, you must be informed that a ill-performed operation or death will not only get you expelled from the college but also bar you from entering the medical profession in the entire planed., Howsoever, as time has come we feel that while those hopes are over-exaggerated, there must be certainly some figment of truth to us, which we mush try to confirm from her own mouths.
However, those reports slandering the reputation of the college, and also those do deny that prove that there's certainly more than an average brain capable of making connection and proving incriminating information to the computer, but he may have something to understand, but now that he's weirded out, she can't see properly or cant even see, because hes got only one driver. And that too, is not a chauffeured gentleman.
Update: I do not remember typing the last two paragraphs-- I was sleeping as I typed. Post has been updated for spellings.
It has come to our knowledge that you are not happy. We have been informed that you are showing your dissatisfaction by taking to the streets, burning shops, vehicles, government property, killing people, looting, and doing several other things that would be deemed illegal were things in the usual state. And we understand you.
You want change-- change in the governance, change in the faces who govern, change in the system of unaccountability and lawlessness, and we hear you. We have, from time to time made known our desire to be with people and help them as need, by supporting. The time has come for us to give to the nation and we consider it our greatest responsibility-- to help the nation at the time of need.
Therefore, we have decided that from tomorrow we shall be conducting the matters of the state in such an inclusive manner that no one will understand what the hell are we doing anyway, and then get stumbled over if by we they mean themselves or Us, which technically should be the same thing but its not because we are viewed as corrupt, incompetent, whereas all the peoples view themselves as essentially honest, god-fearing patriots who have been wronged by Us.
While we do not subscribe to such sentiments, any institution the harbors such sentiments can be understood in its views, at least after the recent economic crises that has limped the economy of our nation. We must be together, and work hand-in-hand, despite the seemingly insurmountable differences which will get none-too-great in time as we start cooperating with each other on more regular and person-to-person way. it is to be understood that while there are only a few of those who wrong others, the majority is always wronged, therefore they should hold the dictatorial powers of the state, as described by Article 127 of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Nepal 2047, which also, for the first time in the entire region, guaranteed the rights of all minorities, based on their ethnicity, color, race or sexual orientation, albeit implicitly.
It is our greatest misfortune that our financial backers in the constitutional process, the-then ECA(now EU) did not agree with us on the all-embracing concept of equality,which we have reasons to suspect was influenced heavily by the Vatican, even by the protestant countries, so that there's no point in fighting over one another.
However, as system commanders go, you must be informed that a ill-performed operation or death will not only get you expelled from the college but also bar you from entering the medical profession in the entire planed., Howsoever, as time has come we feel that while those hopes are over-exaggerated, there must be certainly some figment of truth to us, which we mush try to confirm from her own mouths.
However, those reports slandering the reputation of the college, and also those do deny that prove that there's certainly more than an average brain capable of making connection and proving incriminating information to the computer, but he may have something to understand, but now that he's weirded out, she can't see properly or cant even see, because hes got only one driver. And that too, is not a chauffeured gentleman.
Update: I do not remember typing the last two paragraphs-- I was sleeping as I typed. Post has been updated for spellings.
Transcedental poetry
I ate and ate and ate
Till there were like several basketballs in my pet
And then I tried to walk
But couldn't because there were several blockades in the path
Which doesn't make sense at all, at first
But once you think about the parties that suck, not where you drink but where you thirst
for a normal life, for things to get back to the usual
You say, of course, I think I know what you are talking about, them maobaddies, lets get casual
Which doesn't make sense at all, or maybe it does?
But you don't want to because--because--dude, what the fruck?
So you say, err not now, I am with someone else, so maybe later?
And the person's like, okay what are you talking about?
And there's some confusion, and lots of lying(the easy kind)
Until you both decide you were talking about drinking
Which is okay, because what could ever go wrong
Except, it's the day the Adams family plays the concert
Octopi invade and broomsticks take control of the wave
Morticia comes in, with her snakes and the pet Dragon,
Gomez too, and the thing, and lurch, and all the Adams family
And they play and sing, because this is how the cookie crumbles
Why am I being tortured, you wonder, as you read this
Because if Poe were a Poet
So am I
Which is all I gotta' say
Lets pretend you really liked this now,
And click the like on the bottom left
Because you know it and so do I
That poems are meant to mystify
Till there were like several basketballs in my pet
And then I tried to walk
But couldn't because there were several blockades in the path
Which doesn't make sense at all, at first
But once you think about the parties that suck, not where you drink but where you thirst
for a normal life, for things to get back to the usual
You say, of course, I think I know what you are talking about, them maobaddies, lets get casual
Which doesn't make sense at all, or maybe it does?
But you don't want to because--because--dude, what the fruck?
So you say, err not now, I am with someone else, so maybe later?
And the person's like, okay what are you talking about?
And there's some confusion, and lots of lying(the easy kind)
Until you both decide you were talking about drinking
Which is okay, because what could ever go wrong
Except, it's the day the Adams family plays the concert
Octopi invade and broomsticks take control of the wave
Morticia comes in, with her snakes and the pet Dragon,
Gomez too, and the thing, and lurch, and all the Adams family
And they play and sing, because this is how the cookie crumbles
Why am I being tortured, you wonder, as you read this
Because if Poe were a Poet
So am I
Which is all I gotta' say
Lets pretend you really liked this now,
And click the like on the bottom left
Because you know it and so do I
That poems are meant to mystify
I was cheated
Here's some pseudo-sexist incoherent farce:
The Hardy boys were 17 and 18 years old when they became world-famous detectives, and Nancy Drew was 17 when she tried becoming the female version of Hardy boys, except that she could not do anything right by herself, so she needed help from her wonderful boyfriend/father(not the same person) whenever she was in trouble. The first woman voter in the world only voted in 1902?
Women have the special ability to make sandwiches and make other girly stuff, which men can bothered with, which is the reason why the world is so awesome and women have to stay at home even when they don't want to, because its Techonocracy and Singapore has it, so whatever could go wrong with it, so stop complaining and go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich, bitch. Extra sardines. And get yourself whatever the hell you want but please stop bothering me.
Wha-wha. What is--heyy, are you angry? No, I was just teasing you, I swear. Heh-- no, no, I would never treat you that way, not even in my dreams, so please put that long shotgun away and I'll make you a nice mushroom pizza with lots of extra toppings, okay? No?
Okay, how about I bake you a cake with my special secret ingredient? Uh, oh. Maybe I should have thought before marrying the woman whose previous six husbands all died under mysterious circumstances. No, no, I was not talking about you sweetie, I was just telling myself what an awesome tennis player you are and that you would beat me in a set of 23 games--you'd win all of them, so you are that awesome. No, honest!
I was cheated by this new film. If you're a regular reader here, or know me from outside, you know that I have been going crazy over this particular film for the past few weeks. We went to watch it yesterday--its a wonderful movie, and you should watch it too-- but I felt cheated. I was promised two different versions of the song Darling in the album release, but they had only one and that was the shorter version. Boo! They suck, those suckers!
Talking about suckers, the husbands in the film are the biggest idiots I've seen in Hindi films, and trust me there have been big idiots in the past (when Anil Kapur becomes invisible, he abuses his power by taking some sick revenge instead of--never mind). Fourth husband onwards, everyone knows that the previous husbands died under mysterious circumstances and that the wife is under suspicion, but they are Meh, I am probably the hero of this story, and the hero never dies, so I won't die, so I totally gonna marry her and become the guy Who Lived, but they aren't the heroes, they're some poor suckers who may or may not be terribly bad people but don't deserve to die nonetheless.
It also has some pretty sick sex scene, though it is not very graphic-- Anu Kapur from Antakshari does it with only his facial expressions and dialog delivery. It's going to be quite embarrassing when the little kid next to you asks you what is happening to that guy, though, and how come he is dying for no apparent reason at all, like the little kid next to me almost did. And someone else--who was not a little kid-- did too, and that further complicated the things, but I chose not to answer her because we are sojho people and we don't talk about that kind of stuff with friends who will actually ask those questions.. Be prepared to discuss the bees-and-birds story with your friends when you go watch this.
How do they do it: loveletters
Momos taste better than love letters, though if you dip them in chocolate sauce, they are pretty rad too. Or you could make a love letter pie, but that needs the works so I don't usually eat that.
I am not sure if the color of love letters affects their taste, but I personally prefer purple love letters, dipped in chocolate sauce and caramel, with Kaju-kissmiss topings. I think they call it burberry pie. Or blueberry pie-- though I suspect your letter has to be written in blueberry to have the name 'blueberry' attached to it. Yellow letters are good to, though most of the time they look too much like excreta than I would want them to look(though, of course, I don't want them to look like a hobo to begin with, so it doesn't matter anyway).
I am led to believe that people of the Old Ages made love letters in blood. In their own blood. Those cannibals. There's a specific word that means self-cannibalization, but I forget it now, and instead am reminded of a friend who scratched the name of the girl he had a crush on on his arms with blade when he was in grade six. The point I am trying to make is, I think, that love makes you wanna eat yourself. Or love letters. Since I am the type who likes eating, I decided to make a recipe out of it.
Love letters never taste good with tears. They are too salty for a sweet dish, wash all the tasty blue-purple ink away, and EWW dude, what kind of sicko bakes food items with tears inside them? But boogers are fine, though. Totally awesome. If you want to get sued, that is. So, first rule with making and eating Love letters: ABSOLUTELY no bodily fluids or any other part remotely attached to the human body, and that includes nails, hair, earwax, eyeballs and sweat. Also, NO kidney stones. Kidney stones are too buttery.
Now you need the content. Make some stuff up, but don't be a judgmental bitch(wherein men can be bitches too). For reference, Shakespeare was one of the most judgmental dude everrr, but even HE could not beat the bitchy judgmental writers of classical hindu texts. They make you feel anyone without the eyes of a deer, the skin of a nymph, the hair of... Rapunzel(?), the manliness of Hanuman(who, incidentally, is also the hairiest dude in history...but then, body hair in men was the IT thing, so we can't even do that anymore), the whiteness(soo racist) of snow, the voice of nature, is unworthy of your love, and you should totally not write a love later to him/her, which you will later eat. The letter, I mean, not the person. I mean, if the person does not have any of those qualities, what will you write anyway? What do people write anyway? I, for one, was fortunate enough to read a love letter one of my friends received in grade 8(which later turned out to be fake, which he realized only after he called the girl, told her he hated her, she was bewildered, told him she never wrote him any kind of letter, and he would not have to worry about getting such letters because he was the last guy she would send such letters to, but its all besides the point), so I know what a modern-day love letter looks like.
The second thing one should remember while writing love letters is that Love letters should be addressed to Human beings and other anthropomorphic creatures, and certainly not other beings, like animals, for example. Writing a love letter to your dog or your parrot may sound cute at first, but once the novelty wears out, you are going to be known as the person who had a thing for her pet for the rest of your life, so you take care of that.
Third thing: try to make the addressed as real as you can. Corollary: Try avoiding imaginary lovers in your love letters. I mean, I may not understand why so many girls have a thing for the hairy-ickyicky manliness of Jacob(who, I've been told is a WOLF, breaking the second rule already) from Twilight, though I suspect hairiness for men may be coming back to fashion, but I still think it is best to avoid those things. No, Harry Potter is just as imaginary as Jacob, and you cannot have him as your lover either. Any character from Salman Rushdie's books is totally okay though.
After you are done writing the letter, slowly dip it in a cup of liquid chocolate. After every inch of the letter is covered with chocolaty yummyness, put it in the freezer for a few hours, add caramel, the topics, put it in the freeze for several more hours and then eat. Yum!
I am not sure if the color of love letters affects their taste, but I personally prefer purple love letters, dipped in chocolate sauce and caramel, with Kaju-kissmiss topings. I think they call it burberry pie. Or blueberry pie-- though I suspect your letter has to be written in blueberry to have the name 'blueberry' attached to it. Yellow letters are good to, though most of the time they look too much like excreta than I would want them to look(though, of course, I don't want them to look like a hobo to begin with, so it doesn't matter anyway).
I am led to believe that people of the Old Ages made love letters in blood. In their own blood. Those cannibals. There's a specific word that means self-cannibalization, but I forget it now, and instead am reminded of a friend who scratched the name of the girl he had a crush on on his arms with blade when he was in grade six. The point I am trying to make is, I think, that love makes you wanna eat yourself. Or love letters. Since I am the type who likes eating, I decided to make a recipe out of it.
Love letters never taste good with tears. They are too salty for a sweet dish, wash all the tasty blue-purple ink away, and EWW dude, what kind of sicko bakes food items with tears inside them? But boogers are fine, though. Totally awesome. If you want to get sued, that is. So, first rule with making and eating Love letters: ABSOLUTELY no bodily fluids or any other part remotely attached to the human body, and that includes nails, hair, earwax, eyeballs and sweat. Also, NO kidney stones. Kidney stones are too buttery.
Now you need the content. Make some stuff up, but don't be a judgmental bitch(wherein men can be bitches too). For reference, Shakespeare was one of the most judgmental dude everrr, but even HE could not beat the bitchy judgmental writers of classical hindu texts. They make you feel anyone without the eyes of a deer, the skin of a nymph, the hair of... Rapunzel(?), the manliness of Hanuman(who, incidentally, is also the hairiest dude in history...but then, body hair in men was the IT thing, so we can't even do that anymore), the whiteness(soo racist) of snow, the voice of nature, is unworthy of your love, and you should totally not write a love later to him/her, which you will later eat. The letter, I mean, not the person. I mean, if the person does not have any of those qualities, what will you write anyway? What do people write anyway? I, for one, was fortunate enough to read a love letter one of my friends received in grade 8(which later turned out to be fake, which he realized only after he called the girl, told her he hated her, she was bewildered, told him she never wrote him any kind of letter, and he would not have to worry about getting such letters because he was the last guy she would send such letters to, but its all besides the point), so I know what a modern-day love letter looks like.
The second thing one should remember while writing love letters is that Love letters should be addressed to Human beings and other anthropomorphic creatures, and certainly not other beings, like animals, for example. Writing a love letter to your dog or your parrot may sound cute at first, but once the novelty wears out, you are going to be known as the person who had a thing for her pet for the rest of your life, so you take care of that.
Third thing: try to make the addressed as real as you can. Corollary: Try avoiding imaginary lovers in your love letters. I mean, I may not understand why so many girls have a thing for the hairy-ickyicky manliness of Jacob(who, I've been told is a WOLF, breaking the second rule already) from Twilight, though I suspect hairiness for men may be coming back to fashion, but I still think it is best to avoid those things. No, Harry Potter is just as imaginary as Jacob, and you cannot have him as your lover either. Any character from Salman Rushdie's books is totally okay though.
After you are done writing the letter, slowly dip it in a cup of liquid chocolate. After every inch of the letter is covered with chocolaty yummyness, put it in the freezer for a few hours, add caramel, the topics, put it in the freeze for several more hours and then eat. Yum!
Cousin Lymon of Georgia
Happy Valentine's Day to you all
Since the plan with Sthani and her guy is not working out as well as I hope it would (mainly because it was imaginary, but also because both of them are such big douches and don't care at all about their other friends during Valentine's day), I have changed my V-day plans.
I am getting hyped about it because of the obligatory 'what about the culture, young people don't know anything' pieces that you see in the Nepali papers. I enjoy those, just as much as I enjoy eating little infants dipped in chocolate and mayonnaise. Even more, now that I think about it... Them, and the sadeko momo they sell in Naya Baneshwar (sadeko, NOT saandeko). Best combination, ever.
Talking of rotten stuff, our country has a new PM, which I'm totally hyped about because now I can invite him to this event. You are a total Square if you don't want to go there, and you don't like having fun, and you are against the very idea of having fun. You should be there, or... something's bad will happen-- no one will ever care for you ever again. And then you will be made the PM, which might sound like a good idea, but it's not because you don't know your stuff as pretty much no prime minister until now has known his issues, except, of course Dr. Kunwar Indrajit Singh, who was a total badass PM in the 1950's but he's not a household name because he's got an Indian-sounding name, and OMG, INDIANS!!! RIGHT?
I mean, riight? Indians are bad people, and they will totally eat us up, so we should be very scared of them. Also, everything that has ever been wrong with Nepal is their fault. Aaand, they fry their infants eating them! Heretics! Don't they even know that there's no other way of eating children than boiling them? I am sure those bastards will never understand that.
Valentine's Day. I want to do something fun this year. I mean, yeah, sure there's that pillowfight thingie, but that's only for 10 minutes. And then there the thespianism I have to attend, but that's the daily deal, and I want to make this particular V-day different. My first plan was to get drunk on the Rum from Rum Raisin icecream at Baskin - Robbins, but you cant apparently get drunk-drunk on it. And then someone suggested I do shots till I drop, but I found several flaws with the idea so it didn't work out.
So now I am planning to EAT till I drop. Alone, because I like eating. And I think the very idea of eating alone till you drop is quite romantic. I am like those Russian writers of the yore, those fat bastards who were rich and wealthy but got all the fame from writing about poverty and sadness and war and illness and death. Or like that Henry the Xth(where x is a variable and NOT a roman numeral) who died of heart attack. I've read somewhere that most people get fat because they take up eating to get forget about their problems, and it sounds like a damn good idea to me. OM, NOM NOM!
Last year, at about this time, I was cooking up ideas for people to celebrate the V-day, for TKP. We came up with all kinds of interesting ideas, but apparently it's TKP's policy to not suggest that couples spend the night together, so we had to contort the ideas and morph them into borring stuff so as to not suggest that people 'enjoy' valentine's day. And my ideas didn't make it to the final list because it apparently sounded too err.. progressive (melt some dark chocolate, smear it all over your partner, and lick--what's wrong with that?)
Which is my official recommendation for Valentine's Day 2011. Do that.
Happy Valentine's Day to you all.
I am getting hyped about it because of the obligatory 'what about the culture, young people don't know anything' pieces that you see in the Nepali papers. I enjoy those, just as much as I enjoy eating little infants dipped in chocolate and mayonnaise. Even more, now that I think about it... Them, and the sadeko momo they sell in Naya Baneshwar (sadeko, NOT saandeko). Best combination, ever.
Talking of rotten stuff, our country has a new PM, which I'm totally hyped about because now I can invite him to this event. You are a total Square if you don't want to go there, and you don't like having fun, and you are against the very idea of having fun. You should be there, or... something's bad will happen-- no one will ever care for you ever again. And then you will be made the PM, which might sound like a good idea, but it's not because you don't know your stuff as pretty much no prime minister until now has known his issues, except, of course Dr. Kunwar Indrajit Singh, who was a total badass PM in the 1950's but he's not a household name because he's got an Indian-sounding name, and OMG, INDIANS!!! RIGHT?
I mean, riight? Indians are bad people, and they will totally eat us up, so we should be very scared of them. Also, everything that has ever been wrong with Nepal is their fault. Aaand, they fry their infants eating them! Heretics! Don't they even know that there's no other way of eating children than boiling them? I am sure those bastards will never understand that.
Valentine's Day. I want to do something fun this year. I mean, yeah, sure there's that pillowfight thingie, but that's only for 10 minutes. And then there the thespianism I have to attend, but that's the daily deal, and I want to make this particular V-day different. My first plan was to get drunk on the Rum from Rum Raisin icecream at Baskin - Robbins, but you cant apparently get drunk-drunk on it. And then someone suggested I do shots till I drop, but I found several flaws with the idea so it didn't work out.
So now I am planning to EAT till I drop. Alone, because I like eating. And I think the very idea of eating alone till you drop is quite romantic. I am like those Russian writers of the yore, those fat bastards who were rich and wealthy but got all the fame from writing about poverty and sadness and war and illness and death. Or like that Henry the Xth(where x is a variable and NOT a roman numeral) who died of heart attack. I've read somewhere that most people get fat because they take up eating to get forget about their problems, and it sounds like a damn good idea to me. OM, NOM NOM!
Last year, at about this time, I was cooking up ideas for people to celebrate the V-day, for TKP. We came up with all kinds of interesting ideas, but apparently it's TKP's policy to not suggest that couples spend the night together, so we had to contort the ideas and morph them into borring stuff so as to not suggest that people 'enjoy' valentine's day. And my ideas didn't make it to the final list because it apparently sounded too err.. progressive (melt some dark chocolate, smear it all over your partner, and lick--what's wrong with that?)
Which is my official recommendation for Valentine's Day 2011. Do that.
Happy Valentine's Day to you all.
Harry Potter Yo Mama's so fat jokes supercollection
Thanks to Pr for allowing the use of these. The original posters cannot be attributed, but THANKS GUYS, for posting in Pr's wall.
- Yo moma's so fat, the sorting hat sorted her into all four houses!!
- Yo mama's so fat, she has to apparate in sections.
- Yo mama's so fat, a dementor looked at her and said "I can't eat that, too much cholesterol"
- Yo mama's so fat, the spell wingardium leviosa cant lift her
- Yo mama's so fat, jk rowling had to write another book just to fit her in
- Yo mama's so fat, her wand core is icecream
- Yo mama's so fat, she ate the death eaters !!!!
- Yo mama's so fat, she makes Hagrid look like 'Mini-me'
- Yo mama's so fat, her patronus is a cake.
- Yo mama's so fat, that she ate cornelius fudge
- Yo mama's so fat, that she looked into the mirror of erised and saw a cake!!
- Yo mama's so fat, that if she confronted a boggart it would morph into a treadmill.
- Yo mama's so fat, the dementor couldn't figure out what part to kiss.
- Yo mama's so fat, it takes two boggarts to shapeshift into her
- Yo mama's so fat, that she ate Neville's toad and she thought it was a chocolate frog.
- Yo mama's so fat, she got stuck in the floo network
- Yo mama's so fat, when you shout "engorgio!", your wand says no.
- Yo mama's so fat, tht even her quidditch robes have strech marks
- Yo mama's so fat, that she spliched herself and none noticed
- Yo mama's so fat, when she joined the death eaters, they changed their name to ham-eaters
- Yo mama's so fat, she has a blanket of invisibility
- Yo mama's so fat, that if you use sectesempera on her she bleeds butterbeer
- Yo mama's so fat, they added a new house table in the great hall just for her
- Yo mama's so fat, that when she gave her elf a sock he thought it was a parachute !
- Yo mama's so fat, that she had 15 kilos of doxy eggs for dinner
- Yo mama's so fat, that a picture of her is hanging outside the gryffindor tower!!
- Yo mama's so fat, that the dementours cant suck out her soul at once ;)
- Yo mama's so fat, she had to hire a contractor to sew her new dress robes !!1
- Yo mama's so fat, that she makes hagrid look like a house elf LOL
- Yo mama's so fat, that if she was an animagi she would be a blue whale !!
- Yo mama's so fat, that she got stuck between platform 9 and 3/4
- Yo mama's so fat, the great lake had to be refilled after she dived in.
- Yo mama's so fat, she's in the portrait guarding gryffindor
- Yo mama's so fat, she uses the Firebolt as her toothpick
- Yo mama's so fat, the Goblet of Fire chose her as two out of three contestants for the Triwizard
tournament.
- Yo mama's so fat, she has to use seven time turners at the same time to get to the past in once piece.
- Yo mama's so fat, the Quibbler has a monthly column to find out if you are actually inside her stomach.
- Yo mama's so fat, no one can survive her deathly farts, not even her parents.
- Yo mama's so fat, that even fiendfyre cant burn all her carbs !!
- Yo mama's so fat, that dumbledore put her as one of the obstacles in the triwizard maze !!
- Yo mama's so fat, that the ministry has classified her as a XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX fatso specie
- Yo mama's so fat, that she fell off from both sides of the hogwarts express!!
- Yo mama's so fat, that madam rosmerta had to put up a sign that reads "Maximum Occupancy: 24 Patrons OR Yo Momma"
Runil's Laws of Flirtation
Also Published in The Kathmandu Post on Jan 2. You can read it here.
I don't flirt. Ever.
If you ever get the slightest hint that I am attempting to flirt, you should immediately inform me, so that I may stop doing whatever flirt-y thing I did. To be on the safe side, you should also have a mullet or other heavy object with you, but that's optional.
I have absolutely no idea how this flirting thing works. Perhaps that's why I am asked by guys all the time if I am gay or what, and that I should totally stop talking to them that way.
“What way?” I ask sarcastically?
“There, you just did it just now. Dude, you must stop doing that or I am totally not hanging out with you. I have a girlfriend now, you know,” they say. Good for you, well done! Now help me here and tell me what I did when I flirted with you.
Once, I complimented a girl classmate for a great dress – I told her that purple dress went great with her fair complexion from across the class. A fellow girl classmate piped in - “You know he's trying to flirt with you, right,” she asked the girl. I had to shout in, swearing that I would never 'flirt' with her, that I did not even know how to flirt, and make several secret-spilling threats to the loudmouthed classmate to bring the situation under control. Granted she's a model, and the purple dress did look rather pretty on her, but I swear I was not trying to flirt.
I understand that this lack of knowledge in one of the basic social moves makes me a outlier. So my friends have tried to help – provided that I do not talk weirdly with them. So, do you want to flirt with guys or girls, they ask, just to confirm. Guys, I answer. 'Sure?', I am asked? Definitely.
The first step, I am told, is confidence. You have to talk smooth, and if a subject that you don't know pops up, you have to make things up on the go. “How do I feint knowledge about ancient Greek mythology,” I ask. “What? You don't talk about those kind of stuff. Smart girls are boring, and no one's interested in that kind of stuff. Talk about cool stuff, like music, and guitarists, and songs—things like that,” I am told. I disagree, but hold my tongue.
The next step is apparently a modicum of arrogance. “You don't get girls by being the lovable cute guy who nods his head, and smiles kindly. You have to be mean,” they say. I nod my head vigorously to indicate I understand. I would be making notes too, had I not been informed that making notes for anything other than economics class is dorky. The final step is a mean smirk. When someone smirks at you while speaking, it means s/he is flirting. I think of the innumerable times Harry Potter's nemesis smirks at him in Harry Potter books, and start to rethink about their relationship, but then I remember the part about not being a dork. I try practicing smirking, and after several dozen rather awful attempts, told that I should probably give up, that there's nothing they can do for me, and I should wait for my parents to find a suitable girl to – marry. The guys have given up on me, and even though I know the basic theory behind flirting, I still cant flirt.
So the next time you see me flirting, that's probably me practicing for some drama, or complimenting someone in a rather manly manner. I want to change, really! For now, I still don't flirt.
That was the draft; here's the edited piece which was published in the Post.
I don’t flirt. Ever. If you ever get the slightest hint that I am attempting to flirt, you should immediately inform me, so that I may stop doing whatever flirty thing I did and remember it for a more suitable occasion. I have absolutely no idea how this flirting thing works. Perhaps that’s why I am often asked by guys to, ‘Bro, stop talking to me like that.’
Once, I complimented a girl classmate for a great dress—I told her that the purple dress went great with her fair complexion from across the class. A fellow female classmate piped in, “You know he’s trying to flirt with you, right?” she asked the girl. I had to intervene, swearing that I would never flirt with her. That I did not even know how to flirt! I understand that this lack of knowledge in one of the most basic social interactions makes me an outlier and so my friends have tried to help—provided that I do not inadvertently flirt with them.
The first step, I am told, is confidence. You have to talk smooth, and if a subject that you don’t know pops up, you have to make things up on the fly.
‘How do I feign knowledge about ancient Greek mythology?’ I ask. ‘What? You don’t talk about those kinds of things. Smart girls are boring, and no one’s interested in that kind of stuff. Talk about cool stuff, like music, and guitarists, and songs—things like that,’ I am told. I disagree, but I hold my tongue. These are experienced flirters I am dealing with.
The next step is apparently a modicum of arrogance. ‘You don’t get girls by being the lovable cute guy who nods his head, and smiles kindly. You have to be mean,’ they say. I nod my head vigorously to indicate I understand. I would be taking notes too, had I not been informed that taking notes for anything other than economics class is dorky. The final step is a mean smirk. When someone smirks at you while speaking, it apparently means he or she is flirting. I think of the innumerable times Harry Potter’s nemesis smirks at him in Harry Potter books, and start to rethink their relationship, but then I remember the part about not being a dork. I try practicing smirking, and after several dozen awful attempts, am told that I should probably give up, that there’s nothing they can do for me, and I should wait for my parents to find a suitable girl to marry. My mentors have given up on me, and even though I now know the basic theory of flirting, I still can’t flirt.
So the next time you see me flirting, that’s probably me practicing for some drama, or complimenting someone in a rather manly manner. I’m hoping to improve, maybe give tuition another shot, but for now, I still don’t flirt.
Once, I complimented a girl classmate for a great dress—I told her that the purple dress went great with her fair complexion from across the class. A fellow female classmate piped in, “You know he’s trying to flirt with you, right?” she asked the girl. I had to intervene, swearing that I would never flirt with her. That I did not even know how to flirt! I understand that this lack of knowledge in one of the most basic social interactions makes me an outlier and so my friends have tried to help—provided that I do not inadvertently flirt with them.
The first step, I am told, is confidence. You have to talk smooth, and if a subject that you don’t know pops up, you have to make things up on the fly.
‘How do I feign knowledge about ancient Greek mythology?’ I ask. ‘What? You don’t talk about those kinds of things. Smart girls are boring, and no one’s interested in that kind of stuff. Talk about cool stuff, like music, and guitarists, and songs—things like that,’ I am told. I disagree, but I hold my tongue. These are experienced flirters I am dealing with.
The next step is apparently a modicum of arrogance. ‘You don’t get girls by being the lovable cute guy who nods his head, and smiles kindly. You have to be mean,’ they say. I nod my head vigorously to indicate I understand. I would be taking notes too, had I not been informed that taking notes for anything other than economics class is dorky. The final step is a mean smirk. When someone smirks at you while speaking, it apparently means he or she is flirting. I think of the innumerable times Harry Potter’s nemesis smirks at him in Harry Potter books, and start to rethink their relationship, but then I remember the part about not being a dork. I try practicing smirking, and after several dozen awful attempts, am told that I should probably give up, that there’s nothing they can do for me, and I should wait for my parents to find a suitable girl to marry. My mentors have given up on me, and even though I now know the basic theory of flirting, I still can’t flirt.
So the next time you see me flirting, that’s probably me practicing for some drama, or complimenting someone in a rather manly manner. I’m hoping to improve, maybe give tuition another shot, but for now, I still don’t flirt.
War of the worlds
The underclothes attacked when the socks were most vulnerable. You have no fighting chances when your enemies are pointing there weapons at you and your soldiers while you're all are trying to wash the soap off you face.
Despite being told repeatedly to change their defense strategy-- an entire nation washing itself, soldiers and all, together-- the socks kept insisting their culture was above everything else. "We have always showered together, as a nation, and we always will. That had held up the fabric of our nation for centuries, and if we stopped doing it, we will be no more than some old singlets, " the SocKing had said in an interview just a week prior to the invasion.
The only consolation was that the underpants were not as cruel as the socks expected them to be-- they just wanted the same level of respect given to underpants in other places. "Everyone here pretends we don't even exist. It hurts, you know. We are people too," the Lingerie Representative said while he was interrogating the SoCabinet. The radical faction of Negligees shouted slogans against the fearful regime of underpants and demanded stronger action to be taken against the Socks. They were detained and let go only when their parents bailed them out. It was the underpants' view that you would never win a war by treating your enemies like they would have treated you. They believed that every problem in the world could be solved by love, understanding and care. Which is not very surprising, considering the rosy world they lived in.
The 22 different factions of Boxers' Party, and 4 factions of Briefs' Forum and united and formed a Men's Underwear coalition, for the war. The differences had existed, but they were forgotten amidst the cacophony of battle cries, shocked shrieks reverberated in the bathrooms all over the Sockland, modest "sorry, will come when you are done" of all the Sock soldiers(the elite squad was the most modest. That's why it was the elite squad), and the groans of indignity as all the senior socks were captured after their baths.
"WAR OF THE WORLDS!" read a popular daily.
"KINKY GARMENTS DEMAND EQUALITY" read another.
"IS IT JUST ME, OR ARE THE SOCKS STILL KINDA WET" read a tabloid.
"TROUBLE IN PARADISE?" was how a paper put it in a faraway land, portraying Sockland as a 'heaven on earth' that had been invaded by skin diseases.
"27TH GOVERNMENT IN 17 YEARS! IS SOCKLAND DOOMED TO FAILURE?"
" 'GIVE US LIBERTY, OR GIVE US THE APPROPRIATE TIME TO INVADE YOUR COUNTRY' SOCKS THREATEN T-SHIRTISTAN"
Despite being told repeatedly to change their defense strategy-- an entire nation washing itself, soldiers and all, together-- the socks kept insisting their culture was above everything else. "We have always showered together, as a nation, and we always will. That had held up the fabric of our nation for centuries, and if we stopped doing it, we will be no more than some old singlets, " the SocKing had said in an interview just a week prior to the invasion.
The only consolation was that the underpants were not as cruel as the socks expected them to be-- they just wanted the same level of respect given to underpants in other places. "Everyone here pretends we don't even exist. It hurts, you know. We are people too," the Lingerie Representative said while he was interrogating the SoCabinet. The radical faction of Negligees shouted slogans against the fearful regime of underpants and demanded stronger action to be taken against the Socks. They were detained and let go only when their parents bailed them out. It was the underpants' view that you would never win a war by treating your enemies like they would have treated you. They believed that every problem in the world could be solved by love, understanding and care. Which is not very surprising, considering the rosy world they lived in.
The 22 different factions of Boxers' Party, and 4 factions of Briefs' Forum and united and formed a Men's Underwear coalition, for the war. The differences had existed, but they were forgotten amidst the cacophony of battle cries, shocked shrieks reverberated in the bathrooms all over the Sockland, modest "sorry, will come when you are done" of all the Sock soldiers(the elite squad was the most modest. That's why it was the elite squad), and the groans of indignity as all the senior socks were captured after their baths.
"WAR OF THE WORLDS!" read a popular daily.
"KINKY GARMENTS DEMAND EQUALITY" read another.
"IS IT JUST ME, OR ARE THE SOCKS STILL KINDA WET" read a tabloid.
"TROUBLE IN PARADISE?" was how a paper put it in a faraway land, portraying Sockland as a 'heaven on earth' that had been invaded by skin diseases.
"27TH GOVERNMENT IN 17 YEARS! IS SOCKLAND DOOMED TO FAILURE?"
" 'GIVE US LIBERTY, OR GIVE US THE APPROPRIATE TIME TO INVADE YOUR COUNTRY' SOCKS THREATEN T-SHIRTISTAN"
Darling is such a nice word, yes.
The previous post is titled Darling, after that wonderful song, but I noticed only now that its a great word to think about and speak out loud. Not the literal meaning-- just the word. Daarr. Lin. G. Daar-ling. Harr Harr Harr Tin Tin Tin Ling Ling Ling. Darrdardar ling ling ling. Speak it aloud. Seriously, do it. Feels nice right? Ting ting ting, daarleeng!
Darling Valentine and Shaktiman
Darling, aankon sey aankein char karney doh.
Darling, public mein sansani ek baar karney doh
-7 Khoon Maaf, where Priyanka Chopra sizzles, and definitely is NOT the murderer, whatever you may otherwise assume. I am watching the first day first show. Releasing Feb 18.The most romantic thing I have heard this year, from the song:
He is some Pushkin from Russia, and then left Moscow for me, because he loved me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1q8-AHHAYk
Update: It's apparently based on a Russian folktune and some old Russian song. Both of my favorite songs of all time are now either Russian or Russian-based.
There's a river Darling in Australia, where I hear they sell porcupine-baby meatball for cheap. And they add babypig's blood sauce with that, for free, but you have to ask them to do that. And then they have a special valentine's day offer, where those who can eat alive babies the most get a free supply of means of birth control for free. I don't see the logic behind that, but then I don't see logic in general anywhere, so that's not a big deal anyway.
Why does Valentine's day exist, and what is the best way to celebrate it? Getting drunk on the rum in that ice-cream they sell in that Ice-Cream place in Durbarmarg is a good idea, but I think it was Sthani who told me that you needed to eat a LOT of Icecreams to get drunk on that, and no, she and her boyfriend were not going to sponsor the icecream so that I could get drunk on it on valentine's. She says that I should be thankful they're allowing me to tag along with them for the day in the first place, because according to her, most romantically-inclined couples don't let a third guy, who's not related to either of them in any way, and is not a good friend either, follow them for an entire day and do whatever they do, with them. I told her that it was probably her boi who was giving her those mean ideas, and she should care about her friends too and not just her hunnybunny to which she replied that she has barely known me for three weeks, and doesn't even know why the heck they are 'adopting' (her words, not mine) me for the day in the first first, which to be honest, seems a pretty good question to ask yourself before you make a decision. Then I shut up, because you don't argue with fools. Especially not fools who'll take you with them for Valentine's day, even when you don't know their last names.
So there's this place where they let just anybody to sing songs, and they plan to go there, and sing songs, to win the Grand Trip to Thailand, which they will not be using as a couple but give to one set of their parents. They are tossing coins to decide which one.
You have to be very careful with coin tosses. They are not as easy as they sound. First, its best of 1. Then it becomes best of 5, 7, 9, 15, 17, 23, and so on, until you have exhausted pretty much all the prime numbers till 83. Then you have to think real hard because which is the next prime number. It's 89. I know because I have been involved in way too many best-of-prime-number coin tosses. The trick to winning to those things is to calculate the next prime number in your head, and ask for the set to be extended so that you have a comfortable lead. Until the other guy gives up because of fatigue and Stockholm syndrome.
And then there's the singalong, which sounds a tad too stupid and unbelievably retarded, where I am going to give singing a shot. There's a rule that says that only couples are allowed, but I have been told that there are many others like me-- nosy irritating buggers who have no business in other people's relationships, but enjoy the entertainment-- and I plan to find someone else like me to sing with. I can't sing, of course, but I think that's not the issue here, because puh-leeze, arnold could not act, einstein could not do basic geometry, jane goodell was scared of monkeys, hugh hefner would get strokes whenever he saw women unclothed, and camels have a sand-allergy, but heyy, that did not stop them from being great.
And I am definitely NOT going to this event tinyurl.com/pillowktm, which one of my acquaintances is organizing, because I HATE FUN, and I want to spend that day having not-fun, because what could be a more interesting way to spend the day, amirite?
In other updates, my thespianism is going pretty well, and events have taken interesting turns, so it's nice and all that yippidy dapiddy. As for this blog, which is becoming SUCH a headache for me, because gah, I don't want to be read, please wait for 10 more years, I will probably be limiting myself to a weekly What I have been Reading update. Or not
...back to the Valentine's Ballads...
And then the Hatim got up and kissed the Shehzadi. She spit in his mouth, and then at his eyes, because she was disgusted by his bad breath, so there was a tussle between him and the palace guards, and guess who won? Hatim the hero, obviously, because that's what they do.Then he and the Shehzadi ran off to Russia where they invested heavily in energy but things tanked out and their property was seized by the Molotov Administration. Slavianka Tatiana, the first Lady President of the Russian Republic fell in love with the Princes, and she escaped with her to Ukraine, where they were murdered by a Nepali Mossad Agent, who had been trained as an Egyptian Double-agent in Yemen, and been sent to infiltrate the Saudi secret services. Which brings us back to our first question-- who is love, and why is he so annoying?
Most philosophers have been dumbed by the question. They stare blankly at the ceiling, mumble something about having to pay the mobile phone bill even when they have pre-paids, and hurriedly leave the room. Then they close the doors and windows to their flats and tell their wives that
if a guy named Runil calls, tell him I died, or something. Make something up, you bitch, I don't want to talk to that runt. Geddit? Now dont bother me and make me some sandwiches.
Then he's clubbed over by the wife, and taken to the hospital, because seriously, modern wives/husbands should really not take that at all.
The dude with Latino looks and really large curvy mustache that should remind you of one of the major characters of Dame Christie. Why is everyone so obsessed with him--Oh wait-- I think I know, but nevermind. I have to consider family-friendliness here, and since most families are friends with each other, I do not want to make immoral decisions that could tear apart the very fabric of our traditional and highly respectable society, only to create chaos and confusion everywhere, so that, as Mr Main Villain from Shaktimaan says, Andhera Kaayam Rahega(the Darkness will remain/may the darkness remain).
Oh yes, Shaktimaan.
What happened to Gita Vishwas anyway? Did they marry, and did she have Gangadhar's babies, who, if she did, is probably going to be celebrating the valentine's day with ' family friends' too, and then eat a porkchop with mustard sauce and red bull, and fresh yak milk in the organic bistro so that the great Egyptian pharaoh who has ruled the entire planet for more than 17000 years may drink the bloods of frikin' fat kids. It is a commonly known fact thatAmericans will be the first ones to be killed in a zombie attack because no sensible ghost will ever think of capturing smaller countries like Nepal because that's the way the cookie crumbles, and the marbles roll.
Bad dreams, and dying
When Aaditya passed away, we were in grade 10. Of all the emotions I had that day, the strongest was Damn, I should have told him I really liked his hair style.
I used to brush teeth with Aaditya. We were not particularly close, but I used to hang around a lot with Ay, and he was roommates with Aaditya. I was particularly worried about Ay during those weeks, but he handled it rather well--without going insane.
I had a bad dream today. I was lying on the bed, and everybody was crying. I would try to move, but my arms and legs would just not move. I would try to speak but my pharynx was jammed. And then I realized I was dead. I know, its not terribly original. But I was scared. So this is what it feels like to be dead. Why isn't dying like my parents have always told me it is: you die, and PUFF! its over. Like a bulb going off.
I tried waking up. I knew it was a dream, because far too many people were crying. Oie, you people, I am DEAD, don't cry. You're crying for yourselves, LEAVE ME BE! And I woke up.
I was sleeping in my room in Baneshwar. I tried waking up. I couldn't. My legs and arms were jammed, and I could not speak, not matter how hard I tried. I was dead.
Of course, it was a dream too, because I am not dead--yet, anyway. I tried waking again: after several levels of deep dreams, I finally did wake up, but fell asleep again to see the same f*king dream.
I used to brush teeth with Aaditya. We were not particularly close, but I used to hang around a lot with Ay, and he was roommates with Aaditya. I was particularly worried about Ay during those weeks, but he handled it rather well--without going insane.
I had a bad dream today. I was lying on the bed, and everybody was crying. I would try to move, but my arms and legs would just not move. I would try to speak but my pharynx was jammed. And then I realized I was dead. I know, its not terribly original. But I was scared. So this is what it feels like to be dead. Why isn't dying like my parents have always told me it is: you die, and PUFF! its over. Like a bulb going off.
I tried waking up. I knew it was a dream, because far too many people were crying. Oie, you people, I am DEAD, don't cry. You're crying for yourselves, LEAVE ME BE! And I woke up.
I was sleeping in my room in Baneshwar. I tried waking up. I couldn't. My legs and arms were jammed, and I could not speak, not matter how hard I tried. I was dead.
Of course, it was a dream too, because I am not dead--yet, anyway. I tried waking again: after several levels of deep dreams, I finally did wake up, but fell asleep again to see the same f*king dream.
Pretty girls poop too
Su just said "I would like to cook my own poop..." and then added only as an afterthought "IF I EVER COOK POOP"....
Life is weird.
I am sorry. It's not my fault life is weird
On a related note, Harry Potter just won the Nobel Peace Prize but gave away the prize money to the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare! It's related to poop because Harry Potter poops too. And Hermione and Ginny do too, probably a LOT, if we are to judge by the size of helpings they take in the movies. Which reminds me of my dear old friend Bi, who was the first amongst us to realize that pretty girls poop and get diarrhea too, and once famously said that their poop probably consists of lot of the green stuff of saag served in the dining hall, referring to one particularly pretty girl. I am not sure what views he has about Cooking poop, though.
Update1: To put in context, we were talking about poop and cookability of poop, and Su had said that if he HAD to cook poop, he wouldn't cook anyone else's. Sorry if that confusion caused emotional distress to anyone.
Update2: Thanks to Pr, the biggest HP fan I know, for the idea that HP should win Nobel prize. You are acknowledged.
Update3: Pr, Yo mama's so fat, the great lake had to be refilled after she dived in.
Life is weird.
I am sorry. It's not my fault life is weird
On a related note, Harry Potter just won the Nobel Peace Prize but gave away the prize money to the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare! It's related to poop because Harry Potter poops too. And Hermione and Ginny do too, probably a LOT, if we are to judge by the size of helpings they take in the movies. Which reminds me of my dear old friend Bi, who was the first amongst us to realize that pretty girls poop and get diarrhea too, and once famously said that their poop probably consists of lot of the green stuff of saag served in the dining hall, referring to one particularly pretty girl. I am not sure what views he has about Cooking poop, though.
Update1: To put in context, we were talking about poop and cookability of poop, and Su had said that if he HAD to cook poop, he wouldn't cook anyone else's. Sorry if that confusion caused emotional distress to anyone.
Update2: Thanks to Pr, the biggest HP fan I know, for the idea that HP should win Nobel prize. You are acknowledged.
Update3: Pr, Yo mama's so fat, the great lake had to be refilled after she dived in.
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