Thursday, 13 December 2012

APOCALYPSE - MY BUCKET LIST


A lil birdie tells me the world is gonna come to an end on the 26th of December 2012. I guess God made sure Jesus didn't miss his birthday celebrations. I wish he’d keep his plans on hold for my benefit too, coz there’s a few things I wanna do before the Apocalypse comes calling.

So here’s my bucket list:-


  • I wanna grab my school Arts teacher who beat kids for lame reasons and kick his ass (jet) black & (navy) blue
  • I wanna perform a drum solo to an Iron Maiden/Pantera/Metallica/ AC-DC classic
  • An Angus Young-esque guitar solo would be equally fulfilling
  • I wanna lobby for pets’ entry into heaven/hell (whichever applies to me)
  • I want Mamata Bannerji to define a  Mhaaoisht  Maoist
  • I want all Premier League teams including Wigan, Reading and West Ham to thrash Man Utd. I want Arsenal to beat Man Utd 10-0
  • I wanna stuff Patrice Evra up ‘Sir’ Fergie’s backside
  • I want the ‘great’ Mr Dhoble to be assigned the task to clean up Shivaji Park
  • I want Maharashtra police to show me a faster way to get arrested than updating my facebook wall
  • I want the ‘Senas’ to extend their good work towards tasks like cleanliness drives. They’d probably do a good job on the borders too – pack em off to Ladakh or Siachen or PoK
  • I wanna get hold of the Jackass cool chap who produces farty noises blows the Shankh on each and every Indian TV serial
  • I want Ram Gopal Varma to direct an entire week’s schedule of CID. I’m sure he can’t do worse than B P Singh
  • I wanna come across a few more women who ‘really’ believe in gender equality. Down with hypocrites and manipulative bitches
  • I want Raghu Ram (of MTV Roadies fame) to spend a week in the Big Boss house and Imam Siddique to make his life hell
  • I want Narain Kartikeyan and Karun Chandok to win a Grand Prix…or to at least finish their races without retiring mid-way
  • I want Kingfisher Airlines to fly again
  • I want my stocks portfolio to show gains
  • I want my income tax refund
  • I wanna yank the masks off fake friends’ faces and to give them the royal finger
  • I wanna refuse an autorickshaw ride and video-record the auto driver’s reaction
  • I want SRK to kick Salman Khan’s ass…literally. And I want Salman to let out a painful yelp…in that stupid accent he acquired from God knows where
  • I want to conduct a poll on which dance step is better - Daler Mehndi’s Tunak Tunak Tun or PSY’s Gangnam Style?
  • I want the Apocalypse to be postponed to after 9th January. I have a birthday too, God
See you on the 27th. Venue to be announced later, depending on what happens on the 26th ;)

Till then, Hasta la Vista!

Sunday, 21 October 2012

THE KING OF NOT-SO-GOOD TIMES



Kingfisher Airlines' license to fly was suspended yesterday. Someone wrote something on his FakeBook wall soon after.

Click the link below for a view of the said FakeBook Wall. 

LINK

Sunday, 2 September 2012

BLAME IT ON THE DARK

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 31; the thirty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is 'Strangers in the Night'

Dark was the night and weird the atmosphere. It rained from time to time. Gusts of wind shook the nearby forest. Between thunderclaps and the moaning of jackals could be heard the eerie laughter of spirits. But King Vikramaditya held his nerve. Braving extreme fatigue and a throbbing headache, he walked towards the ancient tree once again. It was pitch dark, and he could barely see his own nose in whatever little light the moon could afford. Nevertheless, after struggling for more than ten minutes, he climbed the tree and reached out for the corpse that hung from it. Ignoring the corpse's violent protests, he brought it down. In keeping with the usual routine, he flung it over his shoulders and walked towards the cremation ground for the umpteenth time.

However, as soon as he began crossing the desolate cremation ground, the spirit that possessed the corpse said, "Pardon me, I have a really sore throat, so you're gonna have to pay a little extra attention tonight. I'm sure I've said this to you a million times already, but I can't understand what your aim is. What do you seek from me? It is pitch dark, and you & I can barely see anything. Aren't you afraid of the dark?"

The King merely shook his head in a horizontal motion to indicate that he wasn't, careful not to break his vow of silence. He kept walking.

"I don't intend to be rude, but your back smells like shit. When was the last time you had a bath? You seriously need to gome home."

The King was tempted to say 'My back smells like crap coz it's you who's been piggybacking me a million times.' But he kept mum.

The spirit continued, "Alright, without further ado, let's get back to business shall we?", in a tone that sounded like he was teasing the King.

The King nodded in the affirmative. 

"Very well then. Adinath from Maynagadh had seven livestock animals - three goats and the rest cows. He had a policy of milking only one animal per day. In a week's timeframe, what is the probability of Adinath having milked a goat? If you know the answer and still keep mum, your head will be blown into a thousand pieces."

The King was annoyed. He thundered back, "Hey, time out mister! This ain't fair! You're not supposed to ask me mathematics and statistics-based questions! And where's the story?"

The corpse was stunned. He leaned over the King's shoulder to take a look at his face.

Their eyes met for the first time.

"Which tree?", the corpse asked in an irritable tone.

The King smiled sheepishly, visibly embarassed at his faux pas. "Tree no. 43C - Moral Science."

"That's about a dozen trees from mine.I'm from 39A - Statistics"

An awkward silence dwelt over the strangers in the night thereafter, as the King carried the corpse back to its creepy abode.

Picture and background of the main write-up thanks to Chandamama Comics - www.chandamama.com
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. I've participated in 3 editions so far.

Tuesday, 21 August 2012

FAKEBOOK - RETIREMENT


V V S Laxman bid farewell to international cricket a week ago. Here's what his Facebook wall must have looked like as soon as he made his announcement.

Please click the link below:-



CLICK --->  THE LINK

Sunday, 5 August 2012

THE GREAT HOLD UP

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 30; the thirtieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.



With every passing second, Mr. Dastur was getting impatient.  

Everyone else, on the other hand, was soaking in the sun. At leisure. 

Akbar had gotten hold of a starfish and was showing it off to his three kids.

The Sule brothers - Akshay, Sandeep and little Sandesh seemed to be racing each other. Strangely, they weren't quite running in the same direction. 

Jason was walking all alone. He was probably slightly disappointed that none of the girls had agreed to join them for this picnic. Unfortunately for Mr.Dastur, he too didn't seem to be in a hurry to get back.

Mr.Dastur couldn't take it any longer. He placed his legs closer together. "When the hell are we gonna leave?", he cried out to no one in particular.

Can't blame the old chap. When you wanna pee, you just can't hold on for too long.


The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. I’m thankful to Sadiya Merchant, who introduced Blog-a-Ton to me, and I debuted in the 23rd edition.

Credits 

Image - Shades of Orange by Harsha Chittar
Courtesy - Curious Dino Photography via www.blogaton.in

Saturday, 21 July 2012

HUNDRED STROKES OF INSANITY


You are reading the 100th post on SCRIPTED IN SANITY. I missed my blog's 5th anniversary on 16 May 2012. Honestly speaking, I never thought I'd get this far. Feels good, though...REALLY GOOD!

The blog started out as 'DREAM ARENA' on 16 May 2007. Like most beginners, I started out with posts that were preachy, and filled with angst. Slowly, I graduated to satire and poetry. Tags kept me interested for a short while. Then came short stories. I dabbled a bit in doodles and so-called art. Co-writing was fun. In July 2008, DREAM ARENA donned a new avatar and SCRIPTED IN SANITY was born. I ventured into what I call 'weird stories'. Till date, it remains my favourite genre.

There are a lot of people I need to thank:-
  • SSNAB - For introducing me to Blogging. She's the one who taught me the basics, helped me with my blog name, proof-read my first few posts, designed the first real banner for DREAM ARENA, and encouraged me to keep blogging.
  • Socorrina - For being the first person to ever leave a comment in my blog.
  • Creation -  For being a constant source of encouragement and for regularly following the blog
  • Pranay - For designing the first banner for SCRIPTED IN SANITY.
  • Pooja, Swatz, Rohini and Shane - For having given me the honour of co-writing with them.
  • Alisha - For helping with BLOGGERATTI and for being a source of encouragement at every juncture.
  • My wife, Cheryl - For encouraging me to continue with my passion, in spite of my promising to help her with marital duties :P
  • To all my readers, for your loyalty. You keep this blog alive.
I have a few wishes for the times to come. I wish:-
  • That I complete the 200 posts milestone...and that it does not take another five years to get there
  • That I have at least a 100 followers before the year comes to an end. Greedy, eh?
  • That the visitors count on my blog would cross the six-digit mark some day. Long way to go!
  • That I could find a way to remember every thought for a blog post that crossed my mind. Do I see some of you smile? 
  • I wish I could do a comic strip some day. I've done a 'Fakebook' post...but it doesn't quite compare.
  • That I win a lot of contests.
Cheers
CRD

Sunday, 1 July 2012

TWO MINUTES

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 29; the 29th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'TWO MINUTES'.

This post won the GOLD batom (1st position)




Butch Arnold felt his face for signs of stubble. It never felt smoother. He couldn't remember the last time he had shaved. It felt good, but only momentarily. In less than an hour it'd all go to waste. He was to die at the gallows today.

He leaned against the dirty wall of his cell, eyes fixed on the floor. He thought about how life, as he knew it, was going to end without him having accomplished his goal. How close he had gotten. He thought about how those darned detectives had gotten the better of him, just before he could have completed a milestone. What a shame! His mind dwelled upon his diary, and his eyes turned moist. He didn't notice the sound of quiet footfalls nearing his cell.

The guard stopped right in front of the door. "Dead man thinking, eh!!" he sniggered, careful not to graduate to full-fetched guffaws.

Butch raised his head. "Are we ready to go?"

"I hate to ask, it really doesn't matter much to me...", the guard stifled a smile, "...but I have to ask you something before we send you packing."

"Sure, go ahead", said Butch, eyes now fixed on the ceiling as if looking towards the heavens.

"Uhm, okay", the guard let out a long-drawn yawn that seemed to echo through the corridors of the prison. When he was done, he cracked his fingers, placed both hands behind his head and asked uninterestedly, "Any last wishes?"

Butch's face hardened. His mind immediately drifted towards something. He stood up, dusted his pants, wiped the sweat off his brow and said, "I want five minutes alone with my DIARY and a watch."

The guard suddenly froze. The wretched DIARY. The very thought of it made his stomach clench and sent a sudden shiver down his spine.

"I don't think I can do that. I can give you the watch and five minutes though."

"Whatever happened to kind gestures to a dying man?"

"Ask for something else."

"Nothing but my DIARY!!"

"I can't."

"You shouldn't have asked then!!!", Butch thundered back, his hands clenching the metal bars separating them. His eyes were bloodshot and his voice commanding. The guard was taken aback at the vulgar display of temper.

"Hey, alright...alright...relax...I'll see what I can do." The guard quickly turned around, leaving the prisoner alone once again. A faint smile returned to Butch's lips, probably for the first time since the dream he had the night before. He sat himself down, closed his eyes and waited.

About fifteen minutes later, the guard returned with a heavy book and a digital clock. He passed it through the bars. "Here you are my friend. It's 8.46 AM now. Five minutes then?"

"Alone", said Butch, this time calmly.

"Of course", said the guard, already turning away.

Butch sat down. He gently placed his diary on his lap. He ran his fingers over the cover. Legend was rife that Butch's diary was covered with human skin. The thought amused him. Only he knew that wasn't completely true.

He flipped the book open. It had initials. Each initial had a serial number as a prefix and a date for a suffix.

His eyes scanned through all the entries. It took him barely over a minute to reach the last entry.

'Sr.no. 99 - T.S. - 13th December 2010'

Tracy Scholes, he remembered vividly. He smiled as he recollected the look on her face as she lay dying.

The next entry...
'Sr.no.100 - blank'

He closed the book and his eyes, almost in perfect harmony. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't remain stranded on 99. There was only one way Butch Arnolds was gonna go down in history.

He opened his eyes again. He turned the book on its side and used his nails to scoop out the hidden cabinet it concealed. He opened it and yanked out a device with a pen at one end and a small knife at the other.

Carefully, he made the 100th entry in his diary.

'Sr.no.100 - B.A. - 23rd June 2012'

He looked at the watch. It was 8:49 AM. The guard would be back in two minutes. In two minutes he'd be walking towards the end of his journey. But he wouldn't be going with regrets. He was glad he'd found a way to accomplish his mission on earth. He'd go with a smile. Just two minutes, and he'll be done. He sat down in a corner of the cell, with his back to the cell's door. He then picked up the weapon and held it under his chin.

Just then, the guard came back. "Butch Arnolds, five minutes up?"

Butch yelled out without turning back, "You promised me five minutes! I have two minutes left!"

"Oh no you don't", said the guard, still struggling with his keys. "I'm sorry, but you're scheduled to hang at 8.55 AM. I'll have to get you going right away."

The prisoner didn't move. "Very well Mister Ashley. Let's go."

"It's Astley...Brad Astley.", he said with a wry smile, completely oblivious to what was about to transpire in the next few moments.

TWO MINUTES...to be precise.



The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

 

Sunday, 24 June 2012

KILL ANOTHER DAY







"You can't kill em anymore" they said. "Darn beasts die hard these days" they said.

Well, I was out to prove them all wrong.

I peeked into the room, hiding myself carefully behind the door frame. The lights were still on, exactly the way I'd left them an hour ago. The creatures had all crept out of hiding by now, feasting and mating like there was no tomorrow. I froze at the ghastly sight. I could've sworn there were at least a 100 of them, if not a thousand.

I pulled my head back behind the door frame. My pulse was racing like never before. I closed my bloodshot eyes, striving to collect my thoughts. I was only prepared for a dozen, a hundred was more than what I could handle. After a minute of self-prodding, I decided to go for only one. 

I tiptoed my way into the dimly-lit room, trying my best to keep my entry unknown. I had to choose my victim. I spotted a large one. I whispered a little prayer, picked up my canister and lunged towards the beast.

The invaders sensed my presence almost instantly. They all began scurrying towards their nest. My target was on his way too, but I wasn't going to let him go away that easily.

I aimed my canister at him and went straight for the face.

I expected him to turn turtle and choke to a painful death.

He did get startled by the sudden splash on his face. I'm dead sure the smell must've offended him. But he ran faster than lightning, back to the safety of his lair.

No kill for me today.

Nothing seems to work on darn cockroaches these days.


First post in 2012. Better late than never.

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