I want to go to Kashmir. I have no idea why, it must be the fact that these fucking books are giving me a serious case of wanderlust, it's not enjoyable any more. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I've finally finished Shalimar the Clown, took exactly a month. Disappointing of course, considering I finished half the book in the past 3-4 hours. Procrastination is being my new fucking mistress now.
Before I forget, I'd like to thank the people who actually rate my post-disguised rants. It brings me much joy, whoever it is, I thank you and urge you do more. I don't think people know how I appreciate this blog being read (And read. And commented. And loved. And used as material to get the love juices flowing down to the sides of the thighs. Call me.), it gives me something to do. I realise I don't thank people enough. It's the ego probably, the incessant psychological foundation in which I believe that I'm extremely independent. This could of course be a rue to actually lure more readers in hopes that they fall for the tough-guy-blooming-heart routine, which come to think of it is highly probable given the fact that I cannot arrest my need to be constantly manipulative. I digress. Where the fuck was I?
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| And I.... I.... Fuck, where was I... |
That's Prachi Desai. One of the hottest fucking creatures to roam the earth nowadays.
I now have a portrait of Audrey Hepburn up in my room. The extent of her beauty is such that it falls into the category of sin, no woman should be that fucking beautiful. It's extra-ordinary. It eats one up, making one reluctant to move from one's bed, where one could get the full view of her smile as soon as one wakes up and restricts one from going to class. Honestly - And this is meant for both genders - could you actually have the fucking heart to break away from a smile and go to class when the smile looks like this:
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| No you can't, you cunt. How could you even consider that fucking thought. No you can't. Doing so would be going against the rules of motherfucking nature. |
I believe I'm stuck in that void where women's beauty are accentuated in the event where they don something traditional. It does not matter what kind of garment it is; it could be a kebaya, salwar kameez, cheong sam, kimono, whatever, point is that if they do, I'm a sucker for it. Bonus points - No - A hundred million fucking stars for them if they actually act as polite as they look. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Give me a goddamn gun already. Cultured. Yeah, that's how they should come.
Suddenly, a wave of depression as one realises that they are no longer made as they were used to.
Ah well.
My mind is so fucking boggled nowadays with the thought of what to study for the oncoming surgery exams. No, I'm not that much of a retard so as to not have a clue at all, I'm just confused considering there's also a fucking oral exam. This unnerves me. Quite a lot.
Someone asked me about my take on adoption before. I shrugged it off, probably because I don't actually care much about the topic or it must've been the inquirer was not someone I was fond of. No matter, the subject has piqued my interest now.
I guess the simplest way to say it would be that a person would have to walk over my cold dead corpse before he or she could manage to convince me to adopt a kid. Call me shallow, call me an insane cunt, whatever. I have an abnormal hatred towards kids in general, and by general, I mean those who are not connected to me by the bond blood. I cannot, under any circumstances, take in a child who shares nothing with me and call him son/daughter. I find the thought two inches short of being revolting. How am I supposed to take this... Being whose history I know nothing of and teach him or her things that has been passed down to me from my very own ancestors? Perish the thought. Out of the question. Sure, call me an insensible husk of a human being but when it comes down to certain issues, I honestly do not believe in any compromise.
What the fuck is with this ramblings...
Eargasm of the day: The greatest song to have ever been created.
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