Hyuk! There goes the chomu...

The blank page! I never thought I would admit that the blank page staring back at me could be intimidating. And thank whoever controls the universe that I never did because it is not going to happen. The admittance, of course. I have spewed enough gut on this blog. Why add to the gore?

There are chomu (Chomu: 1. Anyone whose parents should have had the good sense to abstain since their ten minutes of pleasure produced nothing but an annoying irritance. 2. Anyone who is lesser than you, more specifically in their fashion sense, personal hygiene, eating habits. 3. Anyone with intellect limited to the extent that you risk spontaneous head implosion everytime you ask them a question.) people everywhere. I don't think very highly of chomu people. I believe they should be exterminated, a la ethnic cleansing.

Everytime I see this male (yes, yes I mean that as a highly derogatory reference) my anal hair stand on their end almost jutting out of my pants through my underwear. Whether I have very coarse hair or I wear silk underwear I shall let the women who read my posts decide. But that male is the quintessentially real chomu. Pardonable chomus are those who have no qualms of being otherwise. The anal-hair raising kinds think that sliced bread is the next best thing since they happened.

Personally, I don't know why sliced bread is accorded an exalted status. Trust the yanks to come up with something this banal. I don't approve of many things as it is but if the yanks were the last things (things only - they are an accident that happened to the human race and let us leave it at that) left in this cosmos I still would not approve of them. The same way I would not approve of chomu people using face creams or people sharing bathrooms/loos. Who does that?

That brings us to something very tragic. I have had to share my housemate's bathroom the last few days because the drain of my bath has become a Centre for Study in Transport Phenomenon. It has re-engineered itself to work the reverse way. So what if I am all for personal toilets? I am not very approving of casual sex either. The point being?

It was not very long ago when this woman ran her hands all over my tight ass. A near repeat occured two days ago at a bar. I say a near repeat because this woman went a step ahead. She actually felt me up. I don't know how drunk she was, which is not to say that I don't have the stuff that deserves feeling up even if at that moment in time it very much preferred to be by itself. What happened next? I can't say for my sister reads my blog. What I will state, however, is that I don't have in me what it takes to take advantage of a drunk woman, unless she is that former colleague of mine. For her, ethical issues are good for only one thing - to be flung out the window. At the same time, I am not saying that the woman who felt me up was drunk or even that she was not.

I put two and two together the other day. And voila! I realised that during the first half of business about 300 people walk in and out of my office. The abrasion on the tiling mocks the manufacturer's claims of 'scratch resistance' like Neha Dhupia mocked the Miss India contest when she entered it with those atrocious teeth of hers. That she won it quantifies the foul odour there would have been due to the collective bad breath of all the contestants. In some cultures, France for instance, bad breath may be a turn on (come on, show me a French with good teeth) but good sense prevails elsewhere.

Thank you and goodnight.