Recently my friend paid me a hefty sum of money to see '2 Girls 1 Cup'. It was an educational film of the several ways we can creatively dispose of one's organic waste. But instead of the gag reflex I expected on seeing such creativity, my mind wandered to the Mastercard Ad's tagline- 'There are some things money can't buy.' And how that was evidently incorrect. Money, evidently, if thrown around in a large enough denomination, can buy all kinds of crap. Literally, in the case of the aforementioned video.
Boring classes bring out a strange devil in you. In one of the several boring classes I have had the honour to be awake through, I heard of a strange movie. It's premise was that of stitching one person's arse to another's mouth, thereby creating a sort of 'Human centipede.' The movie contained several shots in which the three protagonists actually filmed such that they redifined the phrase 'Ass-licker'. It was an appalling sight, and yet all I could think as I stared at this intimate three-person being was ' How much were they paid?'.
I recently had the proud distinction of representing my college in a football match. Naturally, we lost our very first match to be unceremoniously dumped out of the tournament. A month later, our exalted captain tells me, for our valiant efforts, we shall be paid one crisp hundred rupee note. Rather than soak in the experience and pride of representing my college, all I could think was ' No way in hell I'm giving this to my dad as the bollywood-esque "first salary" ', 'Party Bitch' and 'When is the next match? I need more money.' I went to a boarding school where we carried zero cash, therefore coming to college with all it's financial constraints, turned me into Russell Crowe from 'A Beautiful Mind'. I kept seeing conspiracies everywhere, people trying to cheat me of my father's hard-earned money. Money does strange things to men, right up there with cheap alcohol, breasts and Salman Khan movies. What about money brings out the Marvadi in every man? Even now, writing this post has reminded me that I am owed a whole one thousand by my college, which causes me to spontaneously burst into tears and wish a giant hole would engulf me to rid me of this sorrow. But since the probability of the earth randomly giving way below my feet is sadly quite low, the cost of hiring men to bury me alive is far more than I can handle now, so there goes that.
Dubai, though, is proof that every thing I say here is crap. Here's what the His Holiness, the sheikh of Dubai's planner must have looked like while planning Dubai-
10 a.m- Wake up to your harem dancing sexily to exotic music.
1 p.m- Finish breakfast and lunch. Might as well go for dinner.
3 p.m- Smoke up.
4 p.m- Find large chunk of desert. Build shit in.
3:30 p.m- Find expats to do 4 p.m. (Find new dealer and planner writer.)
5 p.m- Convince miserly people of world to stay here and spend practically everything.
6 p.m- You are rich. Smoke some more and make passionate love to someone or something.(FIND NEW DEALER)
Rest of life- Do whatever the fuck you want.(Dinner sounds good)
Oh well, if only we had a patch of desert to build malls on. Those man-bury-ers suddenly seem affordabble now. Excuse me now, while I look them up.
Boring classes bring out a strange devil in you. In one of the several boring classes I have had the honour to be awake through, I heard of a strange movie. It's premise was that of stitching one person's arse to another's mouth, thereby creating a sort of 'Human centipede.' The movie contained several shots in which the three protagonists actually filmed such that they redifined the phrase 'Ass-licker'. It was an appalling sight, and yet all I could think as I stared at this intimate three-person being was ' How much were they paid?'.
I recently had the proud distinction of representing my college in a football match. Naturally, we lost our very first match to be unceremoniously dumped out of the tournament. A month later, our exalted captain tells me, for our valiant efforts, we shall be paid one crisp hundred rupee note. Rather than soak in the experience and pride of representing my college, all I could think was ' No way in hell I'm giving this to my dad as the bollywood-esque "first salary" ', 'Party Bitch' and 'When is the next match? I need more money.' I went to a boarding school where we carried zero cash, therefore coming to college with all it's financial constraints, turned me into Russell Crowe from 'A Beautiful Mind'. I kept seeing conspiracies everywhere, people trying to cheat me of my father's hard-earned money. Money does strange things to men, right up there with cheap alcohol, breasts and Salman Khan movies. What about money brings out the Marvadi in every man? Even now, writing this post has reminded me that I am owed a whole one thousand by my college, which causes me to spontaneously burst into tears and wish a giant hole would engulf me to rid me of this sorrow. But since the probability of the earth randomly giving way below my feet is sadly quite low, the cost of hiring men to bury me alive is far more than I can handle now, so there goes that.
Dubai, though, is proof that every thing I say here is crap. Here's what the His Holiness, the sheikh of Dubai's planner must have looked like while planning Dubai-
10 a.m- Wake up to your harem dancing sexily to exotic music.
1 p.m- Finish breakfast and lunch. Might as well go for dinner.
3 p.m- Smoke up.
4 p.m- Find large chunk of desert. Build shit in.
3:30 p.m- Find expats to do 4 p.m. (Find new dealer and planner writer.)
5 p.m- Convince miserly people of world to stay here and spend practically everything.
6 p.m- You are rich. Smoke some more and make passionate love to someone or something.(FIND NEW DEALER)
Rest of life- Do whatever the fuck you want.(Dinner sounds good)
Oh well, if only we had a patch of desert to build malls on. Those man-bury-ers suddenly seem affordabble now. Excuse me now, while I look them up.
