Die ye soldiers of obesity die...

Yawn. Midnight. And my first session on the net today. Busy day. Finally got a chance to get my laptop serviced. Bought it from here a couple of years ago. A nice hardy little Toshiba Sattelite. 5 months ago the CD drive emitted a medium sized screech during a Mozart cd. Then promptly fell into a coma.

Once it was safely in the hands of the engineer walked over to the "Abu Dhabi Mall" next door. Have my eyes set on a cute little Benq USB MP3 player. Scores highly over the technically superior Creative Muvo models aesthetically. Please tell me if you have any handy tips on these thingies.

Made a quick round of all the new shops in the mall. There was of course the new "Radio Shack" where I saw my pretty little USB things. A cafe had prospered tremendously over the year and had now more tables. Twice the number before atleast. I plan to do a status update of the multiplex in a couple of days and see Troy. After window shopping for millions of dirhams I came back home with a pair of cheap floaters and a two litre bottle of orange juice. Expenditure thou hast been foiled!!!

Came back home hoping to quickly resuscitate my desktop. However I did not anticipate my desktop's utter contentment with its present state of unusability. It refused to move an inch. Not one weak registry entry, not one yielding modem setting. I was tearing my hair out feeling most Guillermo Coria-ish. (Did you know its pronounced "Jee-ler-moe"? I hate these complicated names. And with Bollywood all full of numerology its getting worse. What next? Mylickher Shareherwhat.)

All the while I had to fend off sly attacks by the Bulge Brigade of chips and cookies and juice and sandwiches mom keeps unleashing relentlessly. After a paticularly robust broadside of pulao and sausages, I was thoroughly fatigued and relaxed to some home improvement programmes on BBC Prime. Wonderful TV. We will talk about BBC Prime over the next few posts as well I guess. Here its my favorite channel. I have over 80 channels. 60 of which are in languages I dont understand, and the rest I do and dont want to. Except of course BBC Prime.

Dad has a sperm whale's butt full of old NRI jokes. And he always has us on the floor laughing ours off. (What a homophone pun no? "ours") Last night he told us about the guy fresh off the airplane and off to an interview with some European company sometime in the 70s. His ever faithful mallu friends tell him that his prospective employers will expect protocol. Be on time, clean and wish them as soon as you enter. "Wish them? Wish them what?" our jittery phenomenon wondered. "Anything maashe, just make it polite and confident."

Our debonair was never any good with the Queen's. The degree certificate he had was not exaclty the fruit of intellectual pursuit. The only english he knew was "Comrade", "Rail roko", "Lockout" and "Management go back". And "roko" wasn't even english. Yet he sauntered in with the air of a champ.

Knock knock
"Come in Mr. Kutty"
"Thank you sir.. and err.... (ayyo how to wish...).. sir.... Happy Birthday Sir..."
"Err??!!.. umm... thank you... now please take a seat..."

Who says the NRIs here work all the time. They have their moments too. Egads!!! I see mom approaching with a armoured battalion of Fish Curry and rice... YOUR END IS NIGH EVIL VILLAINS OF BODY FAT!!!

(P.S. I have already received some feedback for the stories. No, I won't write anything non-funny anymore. And no, I won't pay you to leave a rather supportive comment on my blog.)

(P.P.S. My comp finally succumbed a tiny bit before midnight. I dont know what happened. But everyones asleep. I will be a hero tomorrow...)

Burp.