Sax 'O Phone
I've always wondered what people talk or more so what pleasure they get when they dial a hotline after seeing an obscure ad on the paper that says "Call 116-999-900-19 for a chat that’ll heat you up!" ....and there is a picture of a very attractive aunty holding on to the phone with a sleazy look. Something up their sleavez? I've tried sounding conservative as hell. Enough is enough! Gawdd I just can't wait to think of what the women in that picture might sound like.I can imagine pressure mounting on my readers and so lets let off some steam.
Personal Diary 2006
Notes for self help.
Page Number 78
3:00 A.M: I woke up or opened my eyes from hibernation. Closing your eyes and waiting for that golden unconscious state can be quite a bugging thing. I’m confident today that I can, with all due respect, christen my head a bastard. Bastard!! Bloody bastard! Why the fuck can’t you sleep? Bastard! No more respect for you. No caps-lock on for you! bastard!!!
The dry ice-cream cup on my dining table, among a 1525 million things reminded me my name. And also the sexy HR manager in my company. Arunaaaaaa…What a lovely, sexy bitch! But I quickly reverted, as I remembered the time when she refused to take a lift on my sexy M 80, with “what the…?...No thanks. I’ll walk” Gawdd, it made me real sick. Sick bitch(without caps-lock on!)!
I personally thought I was getting a bit sick thinking of all that, then.
The channels in my TV don’t like me either. Anytime, Arun turns them on and its always so blasé. My TV is a combination of the bastard and the bitch( of course without caps-…..) . Channel 3 – BIRD FLU AGAIN… What a dumb headline….Channel 18 – Malaika Arora pole dancing….Shit! Reminded me of what I can’t have. I changed and changed and changed….the channels of course and switched off the frickin thing.
Just then I noticed someone looking at me. It was Fatso! That’s right with a fuckin capital F. I tried squeezing my stomach. Wouldn’t help. Gym is a fucking waste of time I say. You work so hard for 15 mega minutes, you sweat like a Bastard( caps-…) and you eat a measly burger, with French fries, with a hot-dog(sause added, strictly), with a can of diet letsi, and all you get to have is this – a protuberant pot belly?? fuck this system! That’s right, without the caps.
My portentous stomach reminded of my bleak chances with Aruna. That’s right the one whom I called a bitch earlier. Just then I saw an ad in the corner of a crumpled page of a week-old newspaper which had this hot chic holding a phone, with pretty inviting and lustful eyes for a chat. My eyes are pretty smart I must say. It was a hotline. Hotline.
With the old enthusiasm I dialed the number and tried to sound as manly as possible. My fuckin colleagues call me ‘Femme fatso’(that’s right with the caps turned on). The line cracked with the sound of the woman. I sometimes get back my old reverence. Nevermind.
“Hello. Is this the 24 hour hotline?” I asked. I was pretty okay.
“Hello! Yes of course, Mister….aah your name sweety?” asked the silky siren, sounding from California, maybe. How do I know? That’s the way I like to imagine it no matter what you say. She is from California. ‘Cos California is a sexy place.
I immediately became so happy, that I forgot my belly area. “ Yeah..ah.. my name is Arun…Arun.R ….ahhh…you?...your good name madam?” I counter-questioned her. He he…
“So sweet of ya baebay..My name’s Courtney…Courtney Vamp.”, she obliged and I was feeling a bit handsome. Did she stress on the word ‘baby’ a bit too much?
“So tell me…where are you from?” she persisted. I wouldn’t give in so easily. I said “ I’m from Sri Lanka”. I remained quiet all of a sudden as my mind blanked out, after a brilliant surge of creativity. I’m a real Indian. Would never give away my country’s name to some sexy hot chic. Or maybe I should’ve…….Shit!
“Ahaaaan…So must be around 3 or 4 in the morning there, aint it?” said she. I was flabbergasted at her genius. She still wasn’t done. She went on. “So not getting enough sleep honey?” I was puzzled to say the least. She knew it was 3 or 4 in the morning and that I wasn’t getting enough sleep. Man! I wish Aruna would learn a few things from this Woman.
And so with my usual elegance I continued and surprised her with something that to this date makes me wonder. “Yeah. That’s right! Ma’m, I guess you’re a genius. Its so sad that women here in India can’t sound like you.” I remarked. And immediately the line hung up with a thud. Did I piss her off or something? I tell you what, I’ve figured it out. She is a fuckin whore without the caps. That’s what she is and that’s what she deserves to be called!
So never call such sleazy looking women, apparently looking innocent, and beautiful and sexy and intelligent and all, on such hotline ads. I never will. I promise. Wonder what Aruna is doing now. Guess I’ll call her. Whats her number? ….ahh 98432….shit! bastard!
That's right, some of the best ideas come at 3 in the morning.
Personal Diary 2006
Notes for self help.
Page Number 78
3:00 A.M: I woke up or opened my eyes from hibernation. Closing your eyes and waiting for that golden unconscious state can be quite a bugging thing. I’m confident today that I can, with all due respect, christen my head a bastard. Bastard!! Bloody bastard! Why the fuck can’t you sleep? Bastard! No more respect for you. No caps-lock on for you! bastard!!!
The dry ice-cream cup on my dining table, among a 1525 million things reminded me my name. And also the sexy HR manager in my company. Arunaaaaaa…What a lovely, sexy bitch! But I quickly reverted, as I remembered the time when she refused to take a lift on my sexy M 80, with “what the…?...No thanks. I’ll walk” Gawdd, it made me real sick. Sick bitch(without caps-lock on!)!
I personally thought I was getting a bit sick thinking of all that, then.
The channels in my TV don’t like me either. Anytime, Arun turns them on and its always so blasé. My TV is a combination of the bastard and the bitch( of course without caps-…..) . Channel 3 – BIRD FLU AGAIN… What a dumb headline….Channel 18 – Malaika Arora pole dancing….Shit! Reminded me of what I can’t have. I changed and changed and changed….the channels of course and switched off the frickin thing.
Just then I noticed someone looking at me. It was Fatso! That’s right with a fuckin capital F. I tried squeezing my stomach. Wouldn’t help. Gym is a fucking waste of time I say. You work so hard for 15 mega minutes, you sweat like a Bastard( caps-…) and you eat a measly burger, with French fries, with a hot-dog(sause added, strictly), with a can of diet letsi, and all you get to have is this – a protuberant pot belly?? fuck this system! That’s right, without the caps.
My portentous stomach reminded of my bleak chances with Aruna. That’s right the one whom I called a bitch earlier. Just then I saw an ad in the corner of a crumpled page of a week-old newspaper which had this hot chic holding a phone, with pretty inviting and lustful eyes for a chat. My eyes are pretty smart I must say. It was a hotline. Hotline.
With the old enthusiasm I dialed the number and tried to sound as manly as possible. My fuckin colleagues call me ‘Femme fatso’(that’s right with the caps turned on). The line cracked with the sound of the woman. I sometimes get back my old reverence. Nevermind.
“Hello. Is this the 24 hour hotline?” I asked. I was pretty okay.
“Hello! Yes of course, Mister….aah your name sweety?” asked the silky siren, sounding from California, maybe. How do I know? That’s the way I like to imagine it no matter what you say. She is from California. ‘Cos California is a sexy place.
I immediately became so happy, that I forgot my belly area. “ Yeah..ah.. my name is Arun…Arun.R ….ahhh…you?...your good name madam?” I counter-questioned her. He he…
“So sweet of ya baebay..My name’s Courtney…Courtney Vamp.”, she obliged and I was feeling a bit handsome. Did she stress on the word ‘baby’ a bit too much?
“So tell me…where are you from?” she persisted. I wouldn’t give in so easily. I said “ I’m from Sri Lanka”. I remained quiet all of a sudden as my mind blanked out, after a brilliant surge of creativity. I’m a real Indian. Would never give away my country’s name to some sexy hot chic. Or maybe I should’ve…….Shit!
“Ahaaaan…So must be around 3 or 4 in the morning there, aint it?” said she. I was flabbergasted at her genius. She still wasn’t done. She went on. “So not getting enough sleep honey?” I was puzzled to say the least. She knew it was 3 or 4 in the morning and that I wasn’t getting enough sleep. Man! I wish Aruna would learn a few things from this Woman.
And so with my usual elegance I continued and surprised her with something that to this date makes me wonder. “Yeah. That’s right! Ma’m, I guess you’re a genius. Its so sad that women here in India can’t sound like you.” I remarked. And immediately the line hung up with a thud. Did I piss her off or something? I tell you what, I’ve figured it out. She is a fuckin whore without the caps. That’s what she is and that’s what she deserves to be called!
So never call such sleazy looking women, apparently looking innocent, and beautiful and sexy and intelligent and all, on such hotline ads. I never will. I promise. Wonder what Aruna is doing now. Guess I’ll call her. Whats her number? ….ahh 98432….shit! bastard!
That's right, some of the best ideas come at 3 in the morning.
posted by Arun at 3:09 PM
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