Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Plain way to travel

So, I landed in Bangalore yesterday and to my chagrin the bloody weather was almost the same as that of Mumbai +- a degree here and there. I however reconciled with the fact since I was not here for the weather but to see my dear family (yeah right). Stepping out of the aircraft I couldn’t help thinking yet again of what I always no in an airport and the one thing that still amazes me till today - the concept of flying. I mean what were the Wright brothers thinking to have been able to conceive this amazing invention? Beats me, but then so do all the other things – who invented corn flakes, why do only the same species get attracted to each other (at least in most cases, so all those who’ve watched pink movies please ignore), or for that matter of fact why is “what” in the English dictionary mean what it does and not “who”? I mean now a simple statement like “What are you doing there?” might seem quite mundane. But then what if all the “What” were actually “Who”. Now that would not only be something to think about but also a tad revealing for quite a few of us. Anyways not to drift away from what I was actually talking about earlier – flying.

With the number of airlines that have made inroads (fly paths) in India, air travel has become so much more affordable. There however still exist some segmentation here and being a marketing student I consider it an obligation to meander away a little again. There exist the following categories of flyers nowadays

  1. The shifters - These guys typically were the early 1990’s second class sleeper travellers who later migrated onto the third AC sleepers towards the end of that decade. They are now content with travelling in the Spicejet’s and the Air Deccan kinds and it is not surprising to see them carrying their Tiffins and water bottles in jute handbags or Potli’s and ravenously devouring the entire thing before takeoff. There are of course the occasional students (the poor dears) who can’t afford more elaborate means of travel (For contributions please send me an email)
  2. The users - These are government officials or the people who get tickets on easy fare. The LTA availing civil servant and his family in tow to another holiday in the past 3 months block an entire row of seats on the craft. Adjacent to them are the miserly wealthy people who have searched all over the internet and exhausted their phone bills in calling up all their travel agents to select the best price for the ticket, and have finally procured one of the throw away tickets from somewhere. Indian Airlines is a very realistic fit into this category
  3. The maintainers - The businessman and the executive who wouldn’t be caught dead in any other flight and the middle class fellow who in an emergency couldn’t get any other flight all end up on flights such as that of Jet Airways. The foods good, the service is excellent and the flights are never delayed. Although I do suspect that the male attendants are a little too metro sexual for their own good. “Why, of course sir”, “I don’t see why not”, “It would hardly be of any problem sir”. All these statements harmless as they seem, when enunciated in a pansy accent can make quite a few of the hair on the back of your neck stand.
  4. The cult - The King of good times and hence for all the people who rock.

These airlines by the way are also not in ascending order of the “quality” of the air-hostesses they house. (My apologies to all the fairer sex who took offence to that line and now brandish me as an MCP for referring to them as objects. To placate them I’m just clarifying that when I say air-hostesses I also mean stewards). But talking about air-hostesses (yes, yes and stewards), I do feel that their “quality” is inversely proportional to the age of the airline. Whoever said as good as old wine, pretty much wanted that phrase to remain only for the spirits and not for extrapolating it to something as fine as women.

Obviously since Microsoft had pitched in for the tickets I could now travel and rather gleefully may I add in Jet Airways (I have travelled in these before but to lend credulity to the premise of this article of Jet being the business people’s airlines, I need to talk of this with enthusiasm), which in turn meant that I needn’t carry my food and a small water bottle for the flight. But on the flip side this also meant that my 9 year old backpack wouldn’t do. After a quick wash, my poor dilapidated bag was looking as good as new and after stuffing it till the brim with clothes (so that the creases of the bag were hidden) I was now in tune with being a Jet traveller. At the airport, giving scornful looks to the small peddlers travelling in the cheap airlines, I was now in queue for getting onto the plane where I would be inundated statements such as “Sir, cold tower for you?”, “Sir, some sweets?”, “Sir, would you like a massage?” etc. Ok, so I made the last one up, but wouldn’t it be great if they did actually offer that on flight and while they are at it why not Malaysian massages?

The flight was fairly uneventful (and thank god for that), except for the kid who kept screaming, but only briefly. Now see, this is where I appreciate airlines like Jet which house enough candies to stuff down a crying kid’s face, unlike other planes where the pests keep jumping up and down like wailing banshees and thus understandably scare the shit out of the other passengers as well. Over the last couple of years I have been avoiding one thing when I fly and that is to check in baggage. I think that is the single most irritating thing of the entire flying process. I mean out of 100 travellers, 90 don’t mind checking in 1 hour earlier, 70 don’t mind if they get the centre seat, 50 don’t mind no good looking air-hostesses (obviously these 50 have no male in them) and 30 don’t mind if they get poor service. But waiting for baggage at the conveyor belt line, now that’s frustrating. You can clearly make out the people who have checked in the baggage from those who haven’t. The former have beads of sweat on their foreheads within the AC confines of the plane, wondering if their baggage will reach the same destination, would it have the lock on place, would it picked by someone else before they get there etc. At the conveyor a dash is made for the starting of the line where people with trolleys hang with bated breath for the baggages to start rolling in. The tension can be cut with a knife with all of the poor blokes trying to maintain a calm demeanour while all their apprehensions are eating them up inside. And finally the first bag rolls onto the belt and one lucky man is the owner of that. The claimer breaks into a smile and you can see the others watching him with a mix of envy and admiration. He has just won the lottery, and “sir for your prize, your luggage will be the first to be rolled out”. Elated, he can hardly hold back the tears as he hauls the heavy suitcase out of the queue. Luggage by luggage, people get their worst fears to rest and they move out of the line. But have you noticed how Murphy managed to make its way into the context of airports as well – I mean how many times has the only bombshell on the plane sat next to you during a flight? How many times have you got a window seat not overlooking the bloody wing? And how many times have you been that lucky bastard to get your luggage first on the belt? It’s always at the end, isn’t it? The bloody bags take eternity to come out and just when you feel that you’re going to suffer a stroke from all the anticipation, they show their ugly mugs and smirk at you as if they were avoiding you on purpose.

The trip ended, you have reached your destination, you’re safe, your bags are safe and all’s well that ends well. Just one thought still remains in my mind - how much ever I crib about the perils of flying, two things are for sure – one, train travel now sucks and two, I still can’t imagine what those Wright brothers were thinking.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

PP"oh"

‘This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last’ – Oscar Wilde. They got the vowels wrong - It’s not ‘I’ or ‘O’. It could have been ‘A’ for Agony, ‘E’ for entropy or ‘U’ for Ulcer. That’s what should ideally follow the PP in the words PPO or PPI. Two months gone by in the autumn project. The one thing SP rests heavily on for getting its junta out and able to work is this hallowed bi-monthly period. These are the statistics so far (PLACOM please forgive me in case I’m not up to date) – 6 people confirmed with 5 in the middle of interview proceedings and the rest have either rejected their offers as they believe that their dream companies will consider THEM as their dream candidates. The grass on the other side is indeed greener (pun intended for the colour of money). That is, at least till you come back to campus and realise that it was autumn’s in the true sense of the world and the greenery (like that of the leaves) has paled by the end of this period.
But what’s wrong with a little ambition, a little hope? Everyone comes here with the intention of getting the big bucks money don’t they? True, but there’s no end to the expectations held by everyone. The economy’s booming – increase the pay by 1 Lac, your company rolled out a tremendous oversubscribed IPO – give me 2 Lacs more, I saw the CEO shopping at SPAR the other day – I want HIS bloody salary. Although salary is the overwhelming factor to why people want certain companies it becomes an inherent art to clarify their stance on worshipping these companies as they offer “amazing roles” or since the management growth paths are totally in line with “my career goals”. Utter hogwash – not one person who walks out after being brainwashed for two years has any clue about what his career goals are.
What beats the entire thing is that before the internship he thinks that he has got it all figured out; but there is definitive pattern to this anomaly. Let me offer an illustration with that of an IT guy – (since every third person in a top ten b-schools is from Infosys, so this makes for an apt example. Obviously my intention here is to talk about the rigorous recruitment criteria of the behemoth where it houses brains which crack into the premier leagues of management institutions). Anyway the protagonist typically starts off with announcing to one and all that care to listen that he is only considering consulting or BDM (Business Development Manager) roles. Any self-respecting company which considers him for anything below that ought to be dissected mercilessly at Dalal Street and thrown to the stock market dogs.
Of course there’s an overhauling of his career plan done daily. He focuses on the vertical he is “passionate” to work in. This will more often than not be some sort of fallout from his prior work experience. Otherwise all he has to do is understand the kind of sectors that are featured mostly in the news. Our man then goes about his promulgations as if they were part of his daily ablutions. “Dude, the banking sector looks hot man. As a future consultant, I see immense opportunities for technology here.” The next day he’s back after browsing Rediff for 15 minutes with “Man, my experience in the manufacturing vertical makes me to believe that as a business development professional I can really make a mark in this exponentially growing area”. This goes on for a while and before you can say “MBA rulez”, our poor bloke is flustered beyond repair about the meaning of his worthless existence and he is then mostly christened a saint or some sort of baba. (Please note fellow SP jainers, this is no indication towards our very own baba)
Placement time comes along and then the omnipresent bandwagon theorem takes over, where you now see the tech savvy, IT passionate B-scholar applying to all and sundry companies “to expand his horizon” or as it would “help him leverage this experience later on”. So, off he gets packed off to an HLL, ITC or an ICICI, Citibank etc. Back after frolicking around totally unrelated fields our hero is now still as confused only this time with a broader circumlocutory mystification in his head. His dreams vanquished, he is still stuck up on the big bucks and gets his feet firmly placed for the (as he hopes) inevitable PPO or pre placement offer. This is where it all goes wrong.
The HR people who had nursed and pampered you while you were elusively passing the two months in their organization suddenly turn hostile. The starting point in most cases is the interview or the PPI. It’s back to basics for you with regard to answering the most baseless and useless questions describing in intimate detail your goals, your feelings, your bloody anatomy and god knows what not. After some more senseless interrogation by a couple of other blokes you’re so rushed you’re made to believe that in case selected you would need to start working from tomorrow come hell or high water. So it does come as a surprise when three weeks after the PPI you are still sitting at the edge of your seat awaiting some sort of response from the company. Not for the love for the same, but more for the mental peace of having this entire placement trauma done with. Getting back to what I started with, this suspense is indeed terrible and at the end of the day it may lead to failure or glory. So for all those who need to move past this milestone whether elated or with a heavy heart, do so judiciously and do so with hope and trust in what the future holds for you. What one needs to realize is that all this is short lived and that there are opportunities galore, ones that will catapult you far beyond your expectations. So rest back and let life take over where there is constant flux and a constant state of suspense. With this very thought I conclude with the words of Mary McCarthy who said – ‘We all live in suspense from day to day; in other words, you are the hero of your own story’

Sunday, November 20, 2005

A Spanish curse - El Aichi?

I know I haven’t been blogging for quite some time. I have received my fair share of flak from all the readers of the blog for the same. Both of them were unhappy with me not having written anything for over a month now. As I recently read in Dilbert I could have made that number sound large by saying that the number of readers was between 1 and 2 billion and technically I would still be correct. So why am I here? What exactly is it that causes me to blog? What do I generally blog about? I’ll tell you what it is – when I come across something that is either so alluring or just so despicable so as to have some trace left of it in my memory cells (which I must say, is quite an achievement considering my academic track record), I get this impending turmoil in my head that can only be dispensed off by penning it, or in this case typing it.

So my precious dual benefactors, this blog is for you about something that I hold dear to my heart and as far away from my stomach. It was just another day at work (obviously you can guess that work has not been endearing enough for me to have written about it) and when a man sits down to eat at dusk after slogging the entire day he expects a good hearty meal from his wife or mother or as in my case the anna (brother) at the mess. How good or hearty the meal was, is another point of contention but nevertheless I was hungry and I could eat anything that could make even a golliwog puke. So here I was stuffing down some – (tastier looking than it actually was) red gravy, (reminds you of what you ate last night) yellow dal, some (less white than a bears teeth) white rice and some bits of half cooked brown chapattis. While chewing a mouthful and summarizing the day’s events to the people who cared to listen, I bit into this humongous piece of – yes the one and only Elaichi

Now here is one condiment that has got me so enthralled by it’s acceptance in the modern world and atrociously wonderstruck at people’s taste buds in putting this no-do-gooder condiment in each and everyone of their dishes. I mean like seriously – chicken biryani, let’s put some Elaichi, palak paneer oo oooo let’s stuff it with big horrendous pieces of Elaichi which people can bite into and orgasm at its taste. Even kheer is not left out. Every time we had kheer being made at home and I would get the faintest hint of the dammed spice’s essence finding its poisonous way into the desert, it would be like slow motion. Me coming running from the bedroom towards the kitchen shouting “NOooooooooooooooo MOooooooooooooooommmmm….NOT THE ELAICHIIiiiiiiiiiiiii” and I would see these little drops edging their way from the stomach of the bottle tilted over the bowl till the rim and defying surface tension to give in to gravity and mix homogenously with my would be desert. I remember once pouncing from the couch of the living room onto the dining table and grasping the bowl of kheer from the evil grip of the Elaichi ridden hands of my mom’s.

People who consider these natural faeces wrapped in a green suit to add a distinct flavor to their food preparation have definitely got it right (These very people have also often been found using the phrase - “Elaichi rocks”). A distinct flavor it definitely adds, but one that brings with it vile and contemptuous shouts of protests from the opponents of the pro-Elaichi community. People garnishing their sweets with Elaichi essence I can still comprehend. But what beats me is that why someone would put in a rock solid piece of this revolting piece of “food” into each and every dish they prepare. Sometimes I get the feeling that these are just sadistic people who get their laughs by watching their guest eating their food very closely. And every time the poor fellow chews on a piece of this pesky seasoning, they smirk with the same intensity as the grimace of the guest who is now in the process of swallowing the small pesky little seedlings that have erupted from their skin.

I guess this seasoning has been so deeply engrained in the Indian cooking that it would take generations of mass brain-erasing, to not only get Indians to stop using these in their recipes but also to subsequently stop a whole bunch of people from eating it as well. In the meantime I don’t think I can ever get used to the taste. So that leaves with only two choices for when I feel a piece of Elaichi in my mouth – either to swallow it whole, or not give a damn about the ambience and just spit it out as far as I can. Somehow and as far as evidence from the other night goes, it’s always been the latter, and I don’t think it’s ever going to change.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

"Major Hard" Work as "Micro Soft"

I was on my way to Worli by Bus today ambivalently pondering about the early settlers at a town later called Bombay and now Mumbai. It’s got a lot to it’s credit, the financial capital, Bollywood, night life (at least for SP guys), friendly people (did I speak to soon?) etc. The reason I was also simultaneously cussing our poor naïve ancestors, who underestimated the Libido of Indian’s to give rise to 17 million inhabitants here (refer wikipedia.com), was the fact that three wholesome parallel roads running from north to south are totally inept at maintaining a comfortable journey. The solution is the dilapidated local railways, on which I shall elaborate later. I was tapped on the shoulder by a friendly gentleman wondering why I looked so harassed and randomly asking people for where Centruy bazaar was. I explained that I was from Microsoft going to meet Kotak Securities, who work at this hallowed place. “Microsoft? Engineer Hoge?”. “Ummm..true, but I am an MBA from SP Jain doing my project there in Sales and Marketing”, I said in a tone which made me wonder whether it was inlaid by a pronounced sense of regret. “Oh Windows na?” he said rather enthusiastically. “Yes sir”, pat the reply with a little bit of pride. “So you sell windows to people?” ……and I forgot all about century bazaar.

Understandably for the benefit for my ego not to mention that of Vishnu, Surabhi and Madhusmita, I spent the better part of the next 20 minutes explaining our projects and how we are a little more qualified than Eureka Forbes sales people. The man thanking his stars as his stop approached graciously also told me where to go in return for letting him go. That was my ninth day into Microsoft and things are far from what I had expected them to be on August 17th.

On October 5th while others were packing their bags to go home, I was pressing F5 on Outlook for any news of my project details or location. Finally the news was out and the four of us were in Mumbai with very vague projects carefully worded to maintain the suspense even further. Basically we had no clue what they were talking about. D-day approaches and by October 10th we have not been able to get through to anyone of the project managers, as they always seem to be traveling (which generally entails leaving the country or at the least the city). In fact that word is used so frequently nowadays that I was in the local the other day and some HDFC credit card person called up and I ended up using “Could you call me back, I’m traveling now”

After our unpleasant experiences with dealing with the HR (which we hoped was on account of MS being a newbie in the campus hiring scene and thus the processes were not in place. However this reasoning as Gan would say is a perfect example of CYA, so essentially MS for us till this point sucked) we reached Nariman point. In a way I’m glad that that’s where the office is….(fine fine, no more CYA. _|_ to you Gan). Ok, so the office is atrociously far and after getting (barely) into a Borivali fast we wondered why people go to Kerela for massages, but south Mumbai so rocks.

By the time we reached the office we evolved a motto of “Zero expectations”. So assiduously did we adhere to it, that the MS office located on the 8th, 11th and 12th floors, giving a beautiful view of the southern peninsular tip of Mumbai impressed us beyond words. The cafeteria housing free drinks (relax Ankur, just soft drinks), cans, juices, biscuits (Achaa wala) and my personal favorite flavored milk proved to be a bonus. So, we were now on a roll. MS was beginning to look great after all. “Screw the orientation, what would we get for lunch?” – the one question lingered on in our minds. Buffet lunch, four non-veg dishes, followed by a pastry cart with coffee to wash it down? Rambling into the cafeteria at sharp 12:30 we were treated to two bearers holding out two Thalis each with our food neatly laid out. The dejeuner made mess food look royal and worse still we have to pay Rs. 20 per thali. Crestfallen we have decided to eat lunch around the office premises. Remember – south Mumbai rocks? We do get good FREE snacks in the evening as well as the weekly Friday buffet breakfast, however, I still squirm every time Arun comes back at night having spent only Rs. 8 on a sumptuous lunch buffet, or when Farhan recounts tales of his meals at Rs. 20…..per month. By the way not being able to eat anything this month, Farhan bhai has resolved to gaining at least 10 Kilos next month. While I’m talking about the company being a novice in handling interns (This is NOT a CYA) let me also elaborate on the fact that we have no access badges, no email id’s and no access to the intranet. Internet speed on the other hand is blazing (yeah, I know small pleasures in life). The good things about the projects are that they’re pretty interesting and we get to interact with the sales teams of one of the leading product companies of the world. So after all that hullabaloo I emphasized about before I guess the prime reason we are still thankful for being here is the fact that we get to be associated with the brand “Microsoft”.

At the same time however, I’ve heard this famous quote – What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”William Shakespeare. But then some others contend that if this statement were true then why pray tell would Mr. Shakespeare sign off with his name?

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

GRrrrrrrrrrrrrr - Net down

Today i discovered that our institute has blocked all downloads of upto 2Mb. While one may question as to what the hell is the need for such heavy downloads, i question the basic right of using the internet, a facility for which we pay good money. This net regulation falls in line with another one of the ridiculous policies, this hallowed place betows us with. Something as basic as a yahoo messenger is not being allowed to be downloaded and i call this plain and simple absurd.
I therefore recommend that we call our 13 (because it's a lucky number) representatives
and ask for a senate, where our honorary dean might consent on his presence
we can then systematically put down our case forward and ____ (beg/grovel/lick ass - fit in one) to have the net regulations removed. Of course it would not be totally considered. After the next faculty meeting it would be decided that according to their records 4 people were found to be downloading yahoo messenger (one among them being Veda) and so a suitable punishment must be dealt to these 4 "Participants" found to have commited this henious crime. It would be dealt out in the following manner
1. if he/she belongs to IM major it'sa straight F in any subject he was getting more than B in
2. Any other major, would get a grade down grade in all subjects. (and yes this is MULTIPLE subjects across majors and minors)

Net regulations of course now would be relaxed and we may now be allowed to download files of upto 2.0001 MB. Considering all 147 participants were standing in unison for this just cause, this achievement would then be conferred upon as an urban legend and remembered for time immemorial.

HAIL SP JAIN..

Monday, September 05, 2005

Anger Management

I remember reading a quote somewhere down memory lane about anger. I thus logged onto my favourite search engine. Yes that’s right msn.search.com (from Microsoft) now since I believe Google is for the masses. Please note that this shift in preferences has nothing to do whatsoever with my getting an internship with Microsoft. I managed to get a translation of the quote we had imbibed in Sanskrit in the sixth standard. It’s from the scriptures of Buddha and translates to "Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned." I think this is one of the biggest reasons I don’t keep anything to myself, and at times am considered very tactless and blunt. But my theory is, hey if you’re ugly, someone ought to tell you before you go and participate in Ms. India.

I have however been reminded recently of my tendency to be a little uptight and impulsive as far as talking to near and dear ones goes. It’s true as much as my calm and patient demeanour might tend to mislead people (Please refer picture – I mean can you actually imagine me flying off the handle??). But I have done this very often. I have done some research on this and luckily there are other idiots on the net who are jobless enough to document such aspects of their lives. The problem it seems arises when we take the people we love or are close to, for granted. Angries out (Man this author Lynne Namka has got some issues) claims that anger stems typically from a feeling of threat to something and a typical situation occurs as

Threatening Event---> Perceived Meaning---> Body Reaction---> Self Talk---> Feeling--> Anger Reaction-> Evaluation

Ok by now I’m guessing two types of people are still reading this - one, those wondering what the hell I am talking about and what’s with all this jargon. And the likely second, who feel that I’m responsible for 75% of the hate/anger crimes in this country. I appreciate your concerns but well, it’s not that bad at all. As my girlfriend can easily testify I have not beaten her up in quite a few days now. (Yeah, she bloody well testifies that). I decided to map some infamous event of my unappreciative ness towards someone, with the flow I discussed above. I have for the faint hearted reader chosen an event which elicits my anger towards creating an air of non-violence and non goriness. By the way just to dishevel any misconceptions about Chani and I, and to dash some people’s hopes who claim to see eye to eye (ICI2I), we both have never fought (so far) and I don’t think we’re capable of it either.

The event I was referring to was that of my credit card not getting terminated after a request and the lousy bast***s (bet you couldn’t guess this word) kept charging me for the renewal. Ah-ha, I’m sure I evoked some amount of sympathy moment I said charge and “not wanted”. I’ve outlined the following according to the framework

  • Well as you can imagine the threatening event in this case was my bank account in a deficit (it just takes 2K to do that).
  • The perceived meaning was me broke and having to survive on mess food.
  • The Body reaction was inordinate sweating, greasy palms and some motions. Once I had relieved the tension and was less horny enough I was engulfed with a feeling of doom
  • Self talk I did and a lot of it, since I didn’t realize that the customer service representative had cut the line 10 minutes back.
  • Feeling – wasn’t this the one that had led me to the body reaction in the first place.
  • My Anger Reaction was bellowing at the customer service representative and…ahhhh that’s why he cut the line
  • I did do a careful evaluation of the way I handled this situation and I think I could have definitely done a much better job by being a little more tactful. I mean there was no need to drag his family into it.

“Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret” - Ambrose Bierce. I was recalling the movie Anger management and thus logged onto Wikipedia to try and see what the curatives are. Apparently typical anger management "techniques" are the use of deep breathing and meditation as a mean to relaxation. There goes any hope of even trying to go ahead and try to fix this problem that was plaguing me. Deep breathing? Yeah right, you try that in Mumbai and guaranteed by evening you are dead by inhaling some bug or getting chocked on some plastic caught in your nostril. As far as meditation and relaxation, apparently these solutions weren’t recommended for people doing their MBA. There are no such things in the Webster’s dictionary for Management students.

So at square one in the end and my problem with anger remains the same, I do have to try and overcome it someway or the other. I strongly urge anyone who faces such impulse rash moods to embrace some anger management practices and aid me as well. Life’s too short to be angry at things, at people, at situations. To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson who said - "For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness." Go ahead spread the joy.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

The Private Eye - Van der Merwe

This is not mine, just what someone forwarded, but it's awesome so i'm putting it here. :)

(With that low monotonous Detective voice)

I was sitting in my office when a case came in. So I finished two bottles from it.

I was tough, so tough I wore my clothes out from the inside.

Suddenly a tall blonde walked past my window. I knew she was tall because I was on the second floor.

The phone rang and I knew something was wrong. I didn't have a phone.

It was a girl and she was in trouble. I knew she was, 'cause she said so.

I raced down the stairs and called a cab. The cab stopped with a jerk.

Then the jerk got out and I got in.

We took the corner at hundred kilometres per hour, but a cop stopped

Us and told us to put the corner back.

We kept on the pavement, because there was a sign that said:"Keep Death Off Our Roads".

Then we were out of the city. I knew it, because we were not hitting so many pedestrians.

As we came to her house, she greeted me with a burning kiss.

Then she Took the cigarette out and kissed me again.

She pointed two thirty-eights at me. She also had a gun.

She had the most beautiful blonde hair I have ever seen - hanging from her left nostril.

She had teeth like the ten commandments - all broken.

She also had the most beautiful eyes - so beautiful that the one eye could not stop looking at the other one.

There was a man on the floor. He had stab wounds in his heart, bullet wounds in his head and his wrists were slashed.
He was dead.

I said: "Lady, if this man was alive, he sure would be ill".

So I took her for a drive to calm her nerves.

Suddenly a brick came flying through the window and hit her on the left breast - breaking three of my fingers.

We had a flat tyre, so I pumped and she pumped and I pumped.

Then we got out and fixed the flat tyre.

Then I took her home and as I was kissing her goodnight, her father opened the door and stepped on my back, almost breaking it.

As I was giving her a final good-night kiss, she closed her legs and broke my nose.

Now I am more careful on my assignments.