Happy Birthday, Climate Maker!

Today is the birthday of one of the funniest guys I know. Every single word that comes out of his mouth has me in splits. He can make the description of a wall sound funny!!!

A month or two ago, he was preparing for his GRE, and he came up with this:
"GRE words
are long and hard
just like my manhood."
Hehehe. It cracks me up to this day. No. All his humour is not lewd.

He has a blog. I recommend everyone read at least every post in it, which shouldn't be too much of a task since his lazy ass updates his blog by this equation - ( 1.5 * 1/3) * 12 bpm. Believe me, I'm not making that up. He says bpm stands for "blogs per month." (And even that's a lie!)

Anyway, to give you a taste of what he's like, here's a post from his blog; if I'm not wrong, I believe it's his favourite. And if you like what you read, check out the links to some of his other posts I'm putting up here. I haven't taken his permission but I'm allowed to do things like that ;)

Oh, and before I forget, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AJITH!!! Thanks for all the times you've made me laugh so hard that my gall bladder hurt. When I grow old, I know whom to credit all the laugh lines on my face to! I do hope you write a book some day. I'll buy it, I promise!!! Jokes apart (Hee hee. Okay, I'm losing it now.), you're an awesome person, and not just because you make people laugh :) I wish I'd taken advantage of the situation when I was around. *snicker all you like, you stupid lemon-eaters* (Don't even bother trying to figure that one out.) Hope our paths cross again real soon. My funny bone can't wait to meet you again! *love and hugs*

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Sit down. Buckle up. Now read.

I'm a frikkin villager at heart.

Yesterday was really fun. We went to this little uppity restaurant in Champaign called The Olive Garden where they have fancy mood lighting, waitresses who re hot in the classy and super confident and charming and not slutty kinda way. We got a particularly purty waitress called Kathy for our table and right away, my heart was smitten.

So she comes up to our table and says…”Hi I’m Kathy…and I ll be ur ‘server’ for tonite.” Computer geek me….I promptly went purple in the face with imploding snickers at the phrase ‘Ill be ur server’….but yikes…that wasn’t a classy thing to do. I quickly rearranged my face and became sober again. Now I just HAD to prove my class to Kathy…which would make her fall for me over the five other guys at the table of six. I looked at her pretty face…professional notepad for taking orders….her bowtie…. AHA!! I had to have a bowtie. As luck would have it, I was wearing a sweatshirt. So while she went around the table getting orders for the drinks…I furiously fashioned a bowtie with the drawstrings of my sweatshirt’s hood.

And then, she looked at me and said…”And you sir? What would you like to drink?” WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO she called me Sir…hmm...I think she liked me. I disdainfully looked at the wine list wishing I d read it instead of fashioning my bowtie. The drink HAD to be classy….and all I could think of was a soda. How do u make a soda classy?

I looked her in the eye…ostentatiously fingered my bow tie and said …”I think I ll have the Soda tonite.’ She flashed me her special classy-charming-confident-non-slutty grin and my heart skipped a beat. Maybe I should have referred to my drink as 'So ala da'. She left the table to get our drinks…and suddenly, I was calm again. No performance anxiety.

Instead, my attention shifted to the basket of complimentary bread sticks on the table. Seven breadsticks…six people. The task at hand was well defined. I’d have to extricate the seventh breadstick without appearing hungry and villagerly. But now, I was not performance anxious…Kathy was gone and I was thinking clearly again.

I started reciting a ‘priest rabbi and engineering student go to a bar’ joke and coolly used three breadsticks as props to represent the three people in my joke. When the joke was done, I casually dropped the rabbi, the priest and the engineering student into my plate. MUAHAHAHAHAH….not only had I got the seventh breadstick….I had EVEN stiffed the last guy at the table of his breadstick. The bread basket went around…and the guy who didn’t get one looked around embarrassedly as his stomach rumbled.

I ordered a ‘chicken marsela’ when Kathy came around again because I felt there was this certain’je ne sais quoi’ about the word marsela. I was hoping Kathy would think I knew what marsela meant because I smiled knowingly as I enunciated the word murSELLaaah.

But horrors of horrors. From there on in, some other dude started serving us. Kathy had been rudely removed from my life. Stupid dumbass male waiter. I ll bet he had his finger in my marsela. Ugh….made me sick. I felt like Devdas.

I ate my chicken marsela in stony silence occasionally making ‘mmm….tasty’ noises at the guy who was treating. But even as I smiled to the outside world….my heart was bleeding. My chicken marsella was no longer ‘fine slices of tender chicken served with a tangy Italian sauce with fresh tossed peppers and garden mushrooms’ as Kathy had described it to me. It was just ‘some chicken and vegetables I couldn’t care for.’

I was downing my sorrow by getting drunk on several glasses of my So-ala-da. Sigh…it was the last thing I had that Kathy had given to me. As we walked out of the restaurant, I looked hither and thither for signs of her…but she was gone.

‘The greatest thing in life is to love and be loved in return.’

I had nothing to look forward to now. We stood outside waiting for the bus on the interstate. I tried to hide my emotions by taking pictures of cars speeding down the interstate with my camera. Poor bastards probably got their respective bejeezuses freaked outta them when they saw a flashing camera behind their car.

But bah!...I d have to sleep this one off… and make a solemn vow to myself never to get emotionally attached to ‘pretty servers.’

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Oh, what the hell. Here's another classic -

Crisis on Valentine’s eve…My CS225 Programming Assignment don’t love me anymore.

I agree, it was my fault. I hurt you by sending you away on an infinite loop. But I was angry. And disillusioned.

Your once full and enticing indentations are now sagging and yet reminiscent of the millions of spacebars I had injected into you to get you perfectly aligned like those programs on Baywatch. U loved me when I footed the bill…

It was always the little things, wasn’t it? Those little comment statements with clever little remarks about what each part of your body did….now lie dead and un-laughed-at…like a jokebook read too many times.

Why have you forgotten the times we spent together? Thru thick and thin…the late nights…the sanitizing handwash I used so that the missus didn’t smell keyboard on my fingers after our intense groping sessions.

Is it just me? U seem to be happier in the company of Chinese CS majors now. Come on baby, lets try it one more time. Lets do our moves…and break through the earthly barriers of segmentation errors and erupt in a thunderous and simultaneous climax of perfect compilation.

Don’t walk out on me you frigid bitch. You infidel. Time is not on our side. You’re due tonite at 5:00pm….come on…once more, for old times sake…

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And these are the other gems:

• Bombay from the Eyes of a Bloody Firang Guy
• On Pulling off a Programming Internship with Very Little Know How but a Lot of Panache
• PMSing Myself to Death.
• Yeah, Would you stay on the line a second?
• Toystory 3
• About an Ad.
• Of Pickles, Masala powders and a Semester in an Apartment.
• You have reached the end of the net....hit back now.

Enjoy!