never attend alumni [ homecomings ]. not even by accident. every attempt by the administration to call back its rich and successful graduates results in an assimilation of the lowest dregs of society; the losers, moochers, assholes and CEOs of their own companies accompanied by hoardes of children. and i thought it was a obligation that some people had to go through maybe once, twice in their lives. but no. there will be people there whose paunches date back to the mesazoic era.
so this is what bankers, CEOs and market analysts do after they leave college. proliferate like fucking bunnies and produce several offspring- each as hideous as their parents- in a matter of years. we're talking up to four children in a go. because condoms are clearly for paupers. you'd think that educated people would make smart parents. i am being proved so wrong, continuously, vis a vis this educated=smart equation. dressed hideously, trying to look professional and young at the same time and ending up looking awful, they'll come in pushing preambulators with another addition of stupidity to the human race. when the thing in the pram senses that its pet monkey has ceased to push it, it begins to whine pitifully. the monkey- mother swoops to the front of the pram and brandishes ten different plush toys in front of its face simultaneuosly: "ooh lookit thisss innit ekshiiiting oooh lookit shoo niiiiceeee!!!" because that is the spirit of education and learning- to perpetuate idiocy, forever and ever.
"spouse," i have learnt, is codeword for "my anaemic prosthetic limb." because life would be so much simpler without the endless "this is my wife/husband, . these are my college buddies, dear. now you know why i turned out so pathetic, look at the company i kept! har, har, har."
if life were about truth, there would be none of that. a conversation would go like this.
"oh, man. you were the fuckhead who never shared his class notes with anyone."
"im amazed you got your tounge out of the professor's arse long enough to notice. man, you were such a bitch. this is my anaemic prosthetic limb."
"mail order?"
"Dawn Classified."
"tsk. how prole. mine's from the rapidly shrinking gene pool of second cousins. d'you shag a lot? any kids yet?"
"just a couple."
"wheres the one you conceived behind the tennis courts, back in final year? har, har, har."
"look, i gotta go TC the senior executive of Shell over by the coffee counter, so why dont you just cut the crap and get on with the CV-strip tease?"
"im working for Nestle. i kill babies, sell non-biodegradable packges of useless things and occasionally hump a desk at office parties for a promotion. ive been promoted twice already, and i've only been there for two years."
"really? who's ass did you kiss to get there? can i have their number?"
"no, fuck off."
"bitch."
"asshole."

theyre very religious, ill give you that. they'll even stop stand-up performances twenty minutes into the namaz because hufkndgdfwoieg... you know. sami shah has a new act these days. those guys should learn that all the money in the world isnt worth the hell that is an audience full of the class duffers. of every class. in every batch. (note: batches, like cookies. this is lums' latest batch, fresh from the oven of intellectual dozakh. beelzebub himself spat on these shytes- please, wont you buy a few?)
and now the monstrous cookies are home. the term "homecoming" is actually quite appropriate, in reterospect. inn jaisey ghaddon ka yeh hi ghar ho sakta hai.


finally. in loving memory.

P&G mein kaam karney key
dekhtey the hum khwaab
ab CDO ney kar diya hamara
jeenaa azaab
homecoming par mera dil jo
tutaa hai isshi tarha
socha "kya main bhi banun gaa, kisi din,
chutiya isski tarha?"

alumni sey allah bachaye
P&G sey allah bachaye
CDO sey allah bachaye
jaaney kyun hum LUMS aaye.

[ding, dong, teh witch is BACK.]

there are things you can get away with saying in Magic Realism. the imagery is full of flesh. the cock and angel symbolise fertility. given enough time and practice, a magic realist can write about fuckin'anything, i kid you not. so here's the low-down on one of the biggest wastes of my time... Love in The Time of Cholera.

it is now a well-known scientifically proven researched and documented fact that women have fewer teeth and therefore smaller, weaker and less-capable-of-knowing-whats- good-for-them brains than men. so punydick protagonist Ariza ends up meeting these hoardes of stupid, childish, psychotic, twisted women who end up sick, dying, dead, raped, murdered or with a pacifier stuck in their mouth after he's done with them. important lesson, boys and girls: no matter how inane a man's life is, there will always be six-hundered and fifty-two women who are willing to have sex with him. because thats the male right (refer to bit on less teeth, etc).

having recovered from the more brilliantly inspiring aspects of Ariza's personality, you might just get a glimpse of a few other characters before the throbbing in your brain forces you to throw the book down. the doctor, urbino. i dont remember much of him, except that he was.. er.. um... pretty much exactly like every other Marquezian model of the modern major-general-colonel-doctor-insert noble profession here. to be very fair, i dont know urbino too well, except that he pissed like a horse and died trying to catch a parrot. very manly, godpromise.
i never reached the end. i think i got past ariza's final declaration of everlasting obsession (and his now long forgotton virginty) to Fermina Daza before screaming ENOUGH!!! and tearing all my hair out. what was Daza doing at the time? crying, tolerating, riding a bicycle and flying in a hot air balloon with her husband in order to keep him happy at the same time never forgetting the idiot who once proposed to her. what does that matter? it is art! and i have it on good sources that it is tres chic to rape warm corpses of young virgins until someone from the anti-surrealist, post-modernist school of thought is brave enough to raise his noble pen and shout "STOP! you cowards. if you were MEN, you'd rape them ALIVE, good sirs!"

sigh. i think im done for the day.