Go for it!

They say, when you want something really bad, you should go for it. But what if that something you want is a person? What do you do then? What do you do when you want someone so bad?

Some say, go for it even then. Make sure he knows you like him. Make sure you keep making moves. If he doesn’t seem interested, try harder. And if that doesn’t work, keep trying some more. Try and try until you succeed. Bless old adages.

But should I? How long must I try? Do I stop at some point in time and tell myself that I’m pathetic? That if he wants to come to me, he will? And that if he doesn’t, I should just find someone who wants to? How far should I go to try to win him over? And then, what if I do? Am I going to feel like I achieved something? Is someone really worth all that time and effort? If yes, then why is it only coming from your side? How do you know that he just didn’t throw his hands up in the air and decide - alright, so she’s crazy about me, and well, I haven’t really found anyone to be crazy about, so what the heck.

Should I go for it? Should I convince him that he needs me? Or should I let him realize that himself? And if so, should I wait till he realizes that he needs me? Should I tell myself that nothing is impossible if I try hard enough? Or should I tell myself that I shouldn't want what I can't have?

Who answers these questions? Why isn’t there a doctor for this? Love is a disease, dammit. Why do I have a feeling that even if there was a ‘love doctor’ of some sort, I’d only scoff at her advice?

*Let’s keep exes, love triangles, homosexuality and ‘already married’ out of this situation.
**I’ve used first person narrative because I figured you’re going to assume this is about me anyway.

Don't read this post. Just let me bitch.

Content rating: E (for Expicit, not Everyone)

People amaze me. Stupidity, I can deal with to some extent, but insensitivity, I just don’t get. Maybe some of us are truly born without a heart. It is a possibility. But unless some weird scientist with a beard proves that, I am going to stick to the fact that the hearts are there; only, they’re made of stone instead.

I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m not even asking for understanding. Why should I have to ask for anything? Isn’t it supposed to be human nature to be consoling and understanding towards someone who is going through a hard time? Don’t friends support each other during difficulties? But I think humanity is overrated, if something like that even exists. In fact, I cringe at the word “human”. I would pick an animal over a human any day. Even cats. And I hate cats.

Just because I’m blogging as usual and have funny nicknames on MSN does not mean that I’m okay, you fucking stupid morons. I’ve lost my dad. Don’t you get it? My dad is dead. Oh, but it’s been two months. So it shouldn’t be that bad. I’m probably used to it by now. If I’m still moping around, I probably have some deeper psychological issues. Because I should just learn to accept reality and move on, right? Life's like that. Blah blah blah. It’s easy for you to be Deepak Chopra when you have not even an iota of an idea of what I am going through. You’d probably only understand when you lose your dad. But being the insensitive prick you are, you won’t lose him. Because life’s good to bastards like you. Unless, of course, you want him dead. Then, life will ask it’s good friend, Luck to hang out with you for a couple of days, so as to make sure you get what you want. It’s funny how movies always portray that good wins the battle against evil. But then again, that’s what movies are for - to take us far far away from reality.

I’m the happy-go-lucky girl, laughing all the time, being nice to everyone, pleasing everyone. I’m not supposed to change. I can’t be mean, I can’t be depressed, I can’t not be nice, I can’t stop being the mat you like to trample over. Gosh, did I dare ignore you? So, now you won’t talk to me again. You think I’ve suddenly developed an attitude. You don’t like me anymore. I’m not the sweet girl who was always there by your side. Now I’m the bitch who has mood swings and chooses when I want to talk to you and when I don’t. My dad died. What a lame excuse! Why should that change how I am? Yeah, you gave me an entire month to recuperate. Now, I should just pull myself together and get back to staying up till wee hours in the night to talk to you and make you feel better. Because that’s what I always do. Boost your ego. And how dare anything come in the way of that. I’ve still got a mother and a sister. That’s something to be grateful for. It's natural that your heart went out to the people who lost their loved ones in the Tsunami. Your eyes still tear up when you think about 9/11. For complete strangers you don’t even know the first names of. How they don't deserve such cruelty. But I’m your friend. So, I’m different. They didn’t know you. You can empathize. But me! How dare I let a tragedy change my behaviour towards you. In fact, it's not even a tragedy. I'm just over-reacting. It's life's test that I just have to face, whether I like it or not.

Well, you can bloody well take that time you used to spend with me and go jerk off to a porn magazine. Because I don't have time for cold-blooded beasts like you. I have a fucking, valid reason. It’s not an excuse. An excuse is what you are - a sorry excuse for a human being. My dad has left this world, and I haven’t jumped off a cliff. A bunch of you completely disappearing from my life is not going to tear my world apart.

I’m not sorry that I don’t feel like talking to you anymore.
I’m not sorry that I haven’t left comments on your blog in a long time.
I’m not sorry that I don’t leave you feel-good messages on your Yahoo or MSN anymore.
I’m not sorry that you mistake my automatic sign-ins to be me ignoring you on purpose.
I’m not sorry that I wasn’t aware that it was my turn to write you that email or place that call this time around because you did so the last time, two months ago.
However, I’m very sorry that I thought you were worth befriending in the first place.

I take great pride in my friends. But I’ve insulted the word 'friends'. Because it doesn’t matter whom I choose to make my friend, some people don’t know what being a friend is all about. You don’t feel like reaching out to me and making an attempt to understand what I’m going through. You think you should give me some space because you don’t want your good mood to be ruined by me who seems to perennially be in a bad mood. You will change topics immediately when I begin to talk about my dad because you assume I will start crying a river like Justin Timberlake. “You” astoundingly does not stand for just a handful of people, but for so many in number, that it has made me question my friend-picking abilities of the past 3 years.

I will still hurt everyday. I will still cry everyday. I will still talk about my dad everyday. Because I love him everyday. That's my way of dealing with pain. Love me or leave me.

Notes –
1. If you did not understand a single word of this post, it's a good sign.
2. If you were offended by this post or felt that you were being targeted, and felt bad about it, then it’s probably not you. Insensitive people feel no emotion – neither grief nor guilt.
3. This will probably be the least grammatically correct of all posts, as I’m not bothering to spell-check or read through the post to change errors.
4. There is something about the f word that is so calming, especially when you’re fucking mad!
5. I wonder how this post would have turned out if I was PMSing too.

Whatever happened to minding your piss and q's

At the restroom of a bar somewhere close to Washington D.C.

Rather inebriated random guy: Do you know what the difference between a slut and a bitch is?

My I-just-came-here-to-fuckin-piss friend: Uhm.

RIRG: Well, I’ll tell you.

*Drums roll, curtains open. Behold, the pearls of wisdom. Be enlightened ye all!*

Still RIRG: A slut gives it to everybody; a bitch gives it to everybody but me.

The things you learn at a bathroom, eh? Whoever needs school anymore...

Go ahead. Test me, Life.

My great-grandmother passed away day before yesterday. That's my mom's grandmother. She was a real sweetheart.

Yet I feel nothing.
Maybe because we knew it was coming.
Maybe because she was 97, and has lived a good life.
Maybe because after you've lost 4 people in a span of 3 years, death doesn't affect you anymore.

Whatever.

Have you found your soulmate?

Most of us live this life yearning for different things. We work towards different goals. We follow different sets of rules. Yet in a weird way, we’re all the same. Because let’s admit it; all of us hope that somewhere down the line, we will meet our soulmate.

I don’t mean to brag, but I have met my soulmate. Hah! Her name is Aabha.

Yes, you heard me right. No, I haven’t gone cuckoo. My soulmate is a girl! Me, who cannot stand 99% of the female population. So, I guess I wouldn’t be lying when I say that I was a tad bit shocked at first, when I realized that my soulmate for this life was indeed a girl! Maybe I am one of the few chosen ones to have more than one soulmate. But I’m pretty darn sure that she is one. At first, I thought the idea was preposterous. But soon, it grew on me, like fungus does on bread when left out in the open for way too long. Okay, fine. So, it wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it wasn’t a good thing either. It was a great thing! So great that I almost wish I was a guy!!!

We met in typical Bollywood fashion. We were living in the same dorm. It was two or three weeks into the semester. There was some open-door-day thingy going on. I didn’t feel like keeping my door open because for one, I lived right next to the bathroom, and two, I’m not much of an “everybody-make-a-mess-in-my-room-because-I-love-cleaning-up” person. Well, Aabha was trying to take advantage of this opportunity to look for other Indian girls. She came upon my door and knocked, only to find I wasn’t there. I’m sure when she read my name tag on the door, the first thing that crossed her mind would have been “Eww. Madrasi!” I think she even admitted to it. She left me a note saying she had come by, and wrote down her door number and her name, so I could go up to her room to meet her sometime. So when I got back and found the note, I was kind of excited, because for one, I love getting notes, and two, I was dying to meet anyone Indian. All the white faces were driving me crazy. So, I went up to her room, only to find she wasn’t there. So then, I left her a note. And well, the ‘note leaving’ went on for a while. Everyone on my floor knew of this by now and was as curious as I was. Then, Aabha came up with the brilliant idea of looking up my name on the university website and finding my room phone number. And what do you know? She reached the voice mail. I call back later and I reach her voice mail. And a whole-damned-month later, we meet. Finally. She comes down to my room and knocks on my door. I open the door. I see her and the entire floor crowding around her. She says, “Hi, I’m Aabha.” The whole floor is abuzz now. “Ooh, so she’s the mystery girl.” And some girls saying, “We approve!” I say ‘hi’ back. But in my mind, I’m thinking, “What the fuck? How can she be Indian? She is so WHITE!!!” But I try to be open-minded about it, and accept her invitation to go downstairs and chat in the lounge for a while. A while turned out to be an entire night. And when the sun came out the next morning, it dawned on me, that I’d found my soulmate.

So who is she? She’s the typical Punjabi kudi – terribly gorgeous, and amazingly loud. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that came out of that girl’s mouth. Absolutely ridiculous, and outrageously hilarious! And you won’t believe the things that go in there. Alcohol, for example. And lots of it. She drinks like a fish! She’d put all you guys to shame. I’ve had to take care of her drunk-ass quite a bit. A lot of you may be thinking, “Sheesh! That sucks.” But that’s because you don’t know how adorable she is when she’s wasted. So is her ass actually. But I think I’d get beat up if I were to discuss that on a public forum.

But the reason I truly love her is because she is beautiful. Beautiful on the outside obviously, but beautiful on the inside too. I love her unconditionally. But that’s not a big feat because for one, she’s so easy to love. Secondly, I’m merely reciprocating the feeling. It would usually be very hard for me to admit it if I found a girl even remotely interesting. But somehow, in this case, I love boasting about her. Other than my real sister, I’ve never really felt protective about another girl. In fact, if we were to fall in love with the same guy, I’d gladly step back. And I say this with such conviction, but you guys wouldn’t believe it. She’d do the same too though. But it makes more sense for me to step back. Why would I dare want to compete with her? Interestingly, there was a situation once but it was more like a crush than love. But still. However, a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ one night changed all that. One question from his mouth, and we were both immediately “out of crush! But what I mean to say is that I love this girl so much that nothing else really matters.

We’re different in so many ways.
For one, she’s breathtakingly gorgeous. I’m far from that. And most often than not, gorgeous girls are absolute bitches. But luckily for me, she’s the exception.
She’s not afraid to speak her mind. I’m a little more shy and gutless. Comparatively!
However, she’ll never say anything to hurt anyone she cares about. I try hard too.
She loves to party. Keep the booze away from me!
She has no stage fright whatsoever. I sound like a complete stranger to my own ears when I’m speaking in public.
She is an amazing dancer. I, uhm, move.

And we’re also similar in many ways.
She gets very emotionally attached to people. Ditto.
She loves to help anybody and everybody. Ditto.
She’s naïve when it comes to realizing that bad people actually do exist and is not limited to an Amrish Puri or a Shakti Kapoor. Ditto.
For having been born and brought up in a country outside India, she hasn’t lost touch with her roots at all. Ditto.
She hates girls’ giggles. DITTO!

And that’s what makes her my soulmate. We are different, and yet we’re same. We’re two different pieces of the two-piece jigsaw puzzle, and yet we’re part of the same puzzle. And when put together, we complete the puzzle. We fit. And it’s perfect.

Aabha, it’s a blessing to even be acquainted with people like you. You are a gem of a person, and a beautiful human being. Your compassion and love moves me. I didn’t believe in angels. But that was before I met you. I hope that a smile always graces your face, and that your life is filled with laughter. Because you deserve all that and more. Thank you for giving me a cozy little place in your heart. I love you, babe.

P.S. >> As tempted as I may be to show her off to the entire world, I don’t think I should put her photo up without her permission.

P.P.S. >> I want all you guys to know that in the eventuality that I give up hope on men altogether, I have first dibs on her. So get in line, pal.

P.P.P.S. >> There’s so much more to us than I’ve just outlined here, but I’ll save that for another post – karaoke nights, graveyard walks, ‘Padosan’ sessions, boy problems! Good old days.

Feeling cold without the Latino Heat!

This is weird. I actually MISS Eddie. A whole lot more than I thought I would. Today was Smackdown's tribute to Guerrero. The match at the end between Triple H and Chris Benoit is especially heart-warming.

Actually, this entire incident is very touching in an ironic sort of way. To see such big buffed-up men cry on TV, showing true emotion for the first time on a show that's completely fake is, in a weird sense, beautiful.

Eddie was the kind of guy that made wrestling fun for me, a girl - the kind of girl who shudders when she sees a clenched fist, and faints at the first sight of blood. But Eddie was funny! Actually, he was hilarious. His motto of "I lie, I cheat, I steal but at least, I'm honest about it." suited him to a T. That mischievous smile he has is one of the cutest I've ever seen!

Even the last match he fought on Nov 11th was classic Eddie! While the referee was conveniently distracted, Eddie picks a chair from outside the ring and throws it at Ken Kennedy, which Ken catches obviously. Then Eddie throws himself onto the ring floor, pain contorting his face. The referee turns when he hears the loud thud, only to see Eddie in pain and a chair in Ken's hand. Ken is disqualified and Eddie wins. That smile on his face dripping with mischief is absolutely adorable, to say the least.




Just look at him in this photograph. So cool. Chillin' like a villian.




WWE will just not be the same without him. People loved to love Eddie. He was naughty, childish, playful and funny. And when it came to providing entertainment value, he was a 15 on 10! He was the perfect performer.

From what his employers, colleagues and friends have to say about him, it seems that Eddie was a wonderful human being too. The saying goes that "nice men finish last". But personally I think that nice men don't ever get to reach the finish line.

Eduardo Guerrero, I'm sure you can hear the chants of "Eddie Eddie" reach you wherever you are. But just to let you know, you have died living up to your motto. You have cheated death too, because your memories will live on forever.

I'm Your Papi! Viva La Raza!

You LIED. You CHEATED. But you STOLE our hearts.



You will be missed. And I'm NOT LYING about that.

Home new home

Okay. So it looks like vulgar humour doesn't go down too well with my male-dominated audience. Even Sonu Sood received more attention! I don't really know what to make of that but well, whatever makes you happy.

So I shifted to a 2 bedroom apartment, because it just made sense. Three people cannot live in a one bedroom apartment for too long without things getting a bit too uncomfortable, what with our differing sexualities and all that jazz.

I love the apartment. I hate the apartment.

Why I love the apartment?

1. We have cute furry racoons as our new neighbours. They just sit all night outside our windows and look in at us curiously.
2. It's bigger! There's lots of space, and it feels good.
3. We have tiles! Yippee. No more burnt carpets. I love tile. So much easier to keep clean. So much easier to tip-toe on without making any noise.
4. The bathroom's painted a funky blue, instead of boring white. I love bathrooms. They're the only place in the house where you can stay uninterrupted.
5. We have a working vent in the bathroom. Yes, I know. I KNOW.
6. It's our landlord's ex-apartment. So it's in pretty good condition.
7. It's right next to the laundry room. No more going down only to find all the machines taken.
8. We can jump all we want because we live in the basement. So we have no bitch downstairs who complains about it!
9. We get channels we don’t even pay for!!!
10. I still live with the same old roommates.

Why I hate the apartment?

1.It’s further away from the bus-stop. So now I have to give myself 10 minutes to spare instead of 2 minutes to spare.
2.We won’t receive the ex-renter’s copies of Reader’s Digests anymore!!!
3.I have a smaller room than before. So that means there’s less ground space to fling my mess onto.
4.Since we now live in the basement, the curtains have to be pulled close all the time lest I want to be putting up a free show for the people walking by.
5.The damn racoons bite. So the windows have to be kept shut as they have no nets.
6.Now the shower’s not only a water-heat-fluctuating wretch but a water-pressure-fluctuating wretch too. And that’s not too much fun when you’re facing the shower!
7.Our exhaust fan in the kitchen supposedly vibrates too much. So now we have a bitch upstairs who complains about it.
8.Well, obviously the rent’s more since it’s a bigger apartment.
9.The kitchen kinda sucks. Not enough cupboard space, and a much smaller and older fridge. Ugh.
10.I still live with the same old roommates.

And I end with a hilarious quote I read somewhere - "Nobody dies a virgin because life fucks us." Never heard words so fine eh?

Warning: The following WILL be offensive to some people

As much as it breaks my heart to have to move on from my previous post, if I've learnt one thing in my lifetime, it is the fact that life goes on.

Anyway, I don't know how many of you have ever listened to a song and then wondered what it means. I have. I wonder what the writer was thinking about when he wrote the song. And I wonder if most of us interpret the song in the way the writer meant for it to be interpreted.

Fortunately, I found Darryl and Jerry, and I need wonder no more.

(Click on the song titles to view lyrics)

1. Elton John - Don't let the sun go down on me

D: It always amazes me how often people can sing along with a song and never have any idea what they're singing. What we have here is the cry of an obsessive stalker. You get the feeling that there will be at least one violent death before this is all resolved. And yet people sing along thinking this is just another love song.

J: This song definitely starts out with a cold detachedness that sends a chill to my bone. I'd like to say that I'm a huge fan of Elton John's abilities as a pianist but this song both disgusts and worries me. I think this song is all about his initial denial that he wanted to play on the other team as it were. I'm fairly certain this song is also about his guilt of seducing young men!

D: Jerry, I think you're thinking of Michael Jackson. Yes, Elton has been confused over his life, but I don't think he ever got THAT confused. Furthermore, the song was actually written by Bernie Taupin, although Elton, as the singer, is taking responsibility for the protagonist role. In the song Elton has focused so much on this other individual -- we'll call this person "Pat" for brevity's sake -- that his entire life revolves around Pat. Yet he thinks of himself as a hero, lighting Pat's darkness. In fact, he seems undecided wether Pat is a sun or a black hole.

J: I think it is rather clear that though he has the cover of the lyrics saying 'sun', he is in reality saying, 'son'. Read this way, the song makes so much sense. Obviously he couldn't say the lyrics are, "Don't let your son go down on me.", but it does not mean the artist didn't intend it that way. Even if the original writer was not Elton (which I have not verified and am openly doubt the truth in it because you are a chronic lying bastard), it's obvious that he added his own special flair to the song. This song is most definitely him knowing he will go straight to hell for letting this person's son (possibly his own if he has one) go down on him. Perhaps it is a warning for other people? I'm not sure but I am sure the intent of the song is to be heard as 'son' and not 'sun'!

D: You know, for a brief moment I thought that maybe you were going to take a more intellectual slant on the song and interpret it as a cry to Jesus, the definitive Son. What was I thinking? You're not about to pass up such an opportune chance to delve into pedophilia. Well, maybe it's not so opportune, but with a little twisting here and some flagrant misinterpretations there, Voila! The perfect pedophiliac song. You disgust me.

J: Oh, I'm sorry that I don't have the flare of making up a movie that doesn't exist or something like that. I'm simply saying that there is a very good possibility that this song was meant to be heard this way. I don't condone it but I seriously don't think he's singing about Jesus. Or is that your thing? You want him to be singing about Jesus going down on him?!

D: I'm not even going to respond to that, you sick, perverted bastard. May you rot in hell for eternity. Anyway, if I can get back to the song. Elton is obviously taking two opposing points view here. First, he think he's the be all and end all, changing Pat's life and blinding himself with his own brilliance when Pat's not there to absorb it. On the other hand, Pat is the sun, the center of his universe. What worries me the most, however, is Elton's not-so-subtle hints of violence. He acknowledges that Pat expects him to be violent, but he tells Pat to expect the violence and embrace it. Then he ends the song by talking about his self-inflicted wounds. Personally, I'm surprised Bernie and Elton didn't both get hauled away in straight jackets after this song came out.

J: I do agree that if your interpretation holds any merit what so ever that Elton does put the B in subtle. But if artists were held accountable for what they sang, Sting would be in jail for stalking people with his little ditty 'Every Breath You Take' and Weird Al would be in jail for torturing rats with a hacksaw and pulling the wings off of flies. Here I am worried about a sex offender out on the streets and you think Elton is going to hurt his 'life mate' or something. Who really has their heart in the right place?

D: Actually, there's no evidence that Pat has any sort of relationship with Elton at all other than knowing him. At least Glenn Close's "Fatal Attraction" was based on a heated relationship. Elton seems to have more of a John Hinckley kind of obsession. That can do at least as much damage as the priestly desires you're obsessing over.

J: All I'm saying is at least my interpretation is based on known facts and educated guesses. Yours is based on nothing but some thriller murder novel type story.

D: Known facts, huh? Elton, if you're going to sue for libel, please note that Jerry is the one saying you are a known pedophile. I think you're nothing more than a psychotic stalker.

J: Damn it Darryl! Who has been sitting at my keyboard?! Remember what happened last time you let someone pretend to be me?! To get out of that lawsuit I had to tattoo a picture of John Mellencamp on my ass! If you don't stop this tomfoolery I friggin' quit!

D - Summary: Gotcha!

2. Harry Belafonte - Banana Boat Song

D: Okay. This one's a no-brainer. The guy's working all night loading bananas and he can't wait to get off work. End of story.

J: My ass it's a no brainer! This song most definitely has something to do with porn. I believe the term is fluffer.

D: WHAT!?!? Okay, I can't wait to hear this one.

J: Well, the fluffer part is all summed up in the comment "Come, Mister tally man, tally me banana." Only a child would think they are talking about fruit.

D: Apparently this porn experience isn't a good one? After all, he keeps saying he wants to go home. And what in Hades does "fluffer" mean?

J: Apparently you've never heard of continued vasocongestion of the testicles also, not so lovingly, known as "Blue Balls". Being a porn star is a lot of hard work! As for "fluffer" my naive friend, a fluffer's job in the porn industry is to keep the porn star's manhood erect between scenes.

D: Aahhhh. I hate to say that I have actually heard of a fluffer. I don't know if I ever knew the technical term, however, oh porn guru. I know I'm going to regret this, but what do you suppose is the meaning of, "Lift six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch"? And what unspeakable act does the black tarantula indicate?

J: I actually had made a slight mistake in my syntax earlier. When I said being a porn star was hard work I actually meant being in the porn industry is hard work. It's extraordinarily hard work if you are a fluffer which is the basis of this whole song. Let me break it down for you so you can understand. This fluffer has been working all day doing what he does. He has to drink to blur out the fact that his life is disgusting but this night he only had one drink of rum which isn't quite enough to make him able to ignore what he is doing. He has three guys he has to simultaneously fluff, so he lines them up by size. When I mean size I mean height, not the length of their third leg. This IS porn, but eight feet, I think not... Anyway, he goes down the row of guys, fluffs and starts over, the whole time wanting to go home. The Tarantula and Black Widow are two of the most common tattoos for male porn stars and it disturbs the fluffer quite a bit, hence him trying to hide it. Does that clear it up for you?

D: Wow. I never knew. I understand this song so much better now. NOT!!! You're a sick puppy, Jerry! Get some mental help before it's too late!!

J: You are one of those people that sticks your hand on a hot stove burner and fails to learn that you shouldn't stick your hand on a hot stove burner. When will you realize that I am always right, especially when it comes to porn! I can sense a porn reference from a mile away, and this entire song is a huge porn reference!

D: I'm awfully glad I didn't know your feelings about this song when I saw Harry Belafonte sing it with the Muppets. When he looked at Kermit and Fozzie and sang about a "Beautiful bunch of ripe bananas" I would have been ill.

J - Summary: THAT SICK BASTARD!!!

3. Kelis - Milkshake

J: Darryl, the obvious initial impression one would get from this song is, "WHAT THE HELL?!" followed by, "Oh, this must be a sexual reference.." This song is far far deeper than that. This song, is about business. It is about marketing, secrets of the trade, and good business conduct. Kelis is using a Milkshake recipe as an example. Everyone wants her Milkshake, but it's her secret recipe. If she were to give it away she would shatter the market and lose her customers to the lowest price. She's demonstrating the inverse relationship between Supply and Demand. When it is only her supplying the "good" milkshake, the demand is high, and thus prices can be higher because there are no competitors. If others were to have her recipe, the supply would go up and the demand would go down, thus losing her customers and profit. She does bring up the idea of licensing though. Kelis obviously would not sell her rights to her recipe, that would just be stupid. She does talk about teaching others the recipe for a charge. I would have to assume that she will be selling it for an outrageous price to make up for the lost customers she will have in return. Generally I'd say she would be better to make a franchise, but this is her song, not mine.

D: Jerry, when I read your analysis I think, "WHAT THE HELL?!" followed by, "What kind of brain-addling drugs are you taking?" Anyone in their right mind can see that "Milkshake" is all about a world class slut who thinks she can do "the boys" better than her friend. This song is just filth put to a rhythm. If this song is even remotely about business, then it's about whoring. What's wrong with you, man?

J: What do you mean, what's wrong with me? It's not my fault if you can't follow along. This song is about business. Perhaps I see this and you don't because I spent 7 years as the CEO of Yvonne Ondler's Utility Servicing for Uma Craigmire the King's Aristocrat Surveillance Systems, or YOUSUCKASS for short. Even if I were to go with your nasty description conjured by a sick perverted deviant, you do admit that it could still be about her whoring her self out. I'm willing to bump it down to your level for just a second. Lets say she has a secret gyration that makes the boys go wild. Why would she give up her market share by showing other women how to do it. That would be insane. She would essentially be the "Queen of Nookie" if she was the only one that knew the gyration. This demonstrates the exact same Supply and Demand as a Milkshake would, but you had to make it all nasty. How DO you describe the term Milkshake in your interpretation anyway? Sick bastard.

D: If this is in fact about the "business" of whoring, then she's a pretty pathetic businesswoman. First she offers to sell her "secret gyration," although that's bumping it UP a level from Kelis's obvious meaning. By selling it, she is, in your words, giving up her market share. Then she decides not to sell it at all. She's just willing to let her friend learn her techniques by watching. Talk about sick. To sum it up, she's just a Stupid Whore!

J: Darryl, where is this anger coming from? Do YOU need medication like you always claim that I do? I believe when she's referring to someone learning her secrets by watching, she's refers to them as thieves. If someone were to steal her recipe by watching her make it, they would be violating her patent by making their own and thus get in trouble. They would be thieves. I would like to note to the public you did NOT answer my question as to what she means by milkshake in YOUR interpretation!

D: If the thief is the one watching, then why does she say, "Watch if you're smart"? Okay, I'll try to define milkshake for you while staying within our PG-13 guidelines. The human male has some milkish fluid that a female can usually "shake" out of him. Clear enough? And if someone were to steal her recipe by watching her make it, they would be violating a lot more than just her patent!

J - Summary: Oh.. Hmmm.. Umm.. Eeeeew! OH MY GOD! She IS just a stupid sick wretched filthy sexually deviant whore! You are too, Darryl, for understanding (and explaining) what she meant, however, I now see the light! Down side is, I'm gonna be rather creeped out and probably unable to sleep for at least a few days. I am also never going to be able to enjoy milk, or milkshakes ever again and probably die of osteoporosis. You are a bastard, and Kelis is a nasty whore.

For more hilarious song interpretations, visit www.songcrossfire.com.

Unfortunately, I know neither of them, and they're not paying me either.

Watch out, Mr. Rampal. I've found another married man to drool over!

Since a picture’s worth a thousand words, I’ll let them do the talking!

Introducing Sonu Sood...

And here's a little something to excite you boys...

When was the last time I did something for the first time?

Today!

For purposes of anonymity, I can’t mention what it was. And I owe it all to this absolutely wonderful guy, whom I once again cannot name for purposes of anonymity. Of course, he’s ‘booked’, because all wonderful guys are. Sigh. But I can’t even begin to put in words how delighted I am that he made me do it. The adrenalin rush was quite incomparable. I can’t remember the last time I was so nervous and anxious and excited all at the same time. And it’s been hours since I did what I did, and I’m still feeling exhilarated! A sense of naughty accomplishment, like a small kid who has just found and eaten the box of chocolates that mommy had hidden somewhere. My emotions were constantly having a silly tug-of-war between mischief and pride - mischief for what I was doing, and pride for getting away with it without being caught. And like he told me, “Come on, you live one life. You’ve got to experiment a bit of everything.” I don’t necessarily agree with that, but boy, am I glad that I gave in to this.

Thank you so much, yaar. I don’t think I’ve genuinely had so good a time since dad left. We should do this again sometime; the doing something for the first-time part of it ;)

P.S. –> The song-of-the-event (defined as a song that will only remind me of a particular person or significant moments) is Black Eyed Peas' ‘My humps’, for reasons other than the obvious.

Disclaimer: Those of you with wild imaginations can tell your thoughts to go to hell because it's not what you think it is :p Perverts!

Lonely Day - Phantom Planet

I could tell from the minute I woke up
It's gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day
Rise and shine rub the sleep out of my eyes
And try to tell myself I can't go back to bed
It's gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day

Even though the sun is shining down on me
And I should feel about as happy as can be
I just got here and I already want to leave
It's gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day

Everybody knows that something's wrong
But nobody knows what's going on
We all sing the same old song
When you want it all to go away
It's shaping up to be a lonely day

I could tell from the minute I woke up
It's gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day