The Lovell Dies Crapsite

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Everyone loves the Goan Wedding. So do I! Like who does not like to watch the freak show of outfits, the drunkardness, the chaos and crap.

Now that age old question might have propped up by now, who the hell blogs at a wedding? The answer is me.

Now lets document the crap.

First on the list are the people, the crowd, the guests. The card says the reception will start at 7.30 pm, it’s 9pm now and there is no sign of any activity. The guests is the major factor that screws up weddings. My piece of advise to you would be, “when you get married, Fuck the Guests”. If they don’t turn up on time, fuck them, let them make their own snacks. So, fuck the guests.

Next in the line of morons are the wedding couple. These two are the biggest nuts of the night. They don’t realize it is their special day. The fucking fools sit in the car waiting for the guests to turn up. I don’t understand this nonsense. I think it is a trend now, which couple can set the longest guest wait record.

Just picture this.
Couple #1: We waited for 4 hours till the guests showed up.
Couple #2: We waited three days, and then decided to postpone our wedding.

Like who the fuck needs guests to get married?

Once again, as I said, fuck the guests.

Up next. The Ugly Fucking.
Now I don’t mean to be rude here, I know there are a lot of you ugly people out there and I don’t have a problem with you being ugly. The ugly fuckling are those people who are ugly and dress up like they are the hottest piece of shit around. This stuff is though to document. I don’t want to hurt my people here, yes you ugly people, you are all my people. Well the ugly fuckling is that one who tries to hard but grasses me out. I mean like seriously, if I see you ugly fuckling first thing in the morning, I will fucking shit I’m my pants, puke and go into a coma. My advise for you guys is to go some place far, away from society, and die.

Next. The kids.
All the kids at weddings. Well, all, and I mean ALL of them are freaking retards. The should die too. They chase confetti and run around. Makes me wonder whether they had the zygote fused with some some animal DNA.

Father: Hey baby, my soldiers, when they all swim to your castle, well only one soldier will make it in. Was thinking if you’d like to have a lion soldier invade your castle too?
Mother: Oh sweetheart that would be awesome.

Too bad the lady at the sperm bank gave them a pig soldier and now the fucking kid is rolling on the dance floor squealing like a wild piglet.

Shoot the kids.

The biggest pain in the ass next is the MC. The so called Master of Ceremonies. I really don’t know what MC stands for. As my good friend from UP would put it, I think MC in this case would be MadarChood.

The fucker is paid to talk shit. Like “ladies and gentlemen I’d like you to now kick me in the nuts and tell me what a wonder experience it is”. Woohoo, fuck you MC. Hope you choke to death.

Now for the ‘Best Man’.
No the best man is not the groom. Yes I’m confused too. Like who the fuck came up with term best man. Yeah like steal the grooms thunder. He’s now married and gonna get fucked anyway, lets fuck him a little more and call that ugly fucker by his side the ‘Best Man’. The best man should die.

Oh fuck no! The toast master is gonna start. This role should be killed from weddings. If anyone can fuck the MC then it’s the toast master. When the battle of bullshit, as far as words are concerned, starts, these two lock horns. Thwarted toast master is just one of those useless people who make you wonder, who the hell wants to hear his crap. Just show me the food and the booze. They will talk about how the grooms is such a nice boy, MBA, PHD earns a million a week. And then he will talk about how the bride is a talented young piece of shit and done her MBA and then decided to fuck her career and put her certificate on the wall instead and stare at it when she needs to reach her orgasm. Fuck the toast master, he is making me a bad person.

Don’t kill the toast master, kill the role. Save all brides from screwing with certificates in their heads.

I need some booze, where is the fucking bar?! Ah Yes,m Old Monk!! Now on with the post.

Next. The wedding march. This should be renamed to the death march. Have you ever seen prisoners lined up and walking? Well at least the prisoners are upbeat. The wedding march is like a death march.

Ah this Old Monk tastes so good. Screw this post. Old Monk I’m coming back to you..

Posted by Wordmobi

So I’m at some friend of my pop’s place. It’s some new year party, but it’s like a major drag of crap. Which means I’ve just installed Wordmobi and I’m blogging via the phone. Wanted to do this long long back but just did not bother. Thank God for technology. This software is going to be used a lot from now on.

And yes, screw the new year. I know all you jackasses are like “yay, it’s the new year.” But seriously, screw that. It’s just another year, so face that.

Over and out for now.

Posted by Wordmobi

Continued from: Part 2: The Dying Sequence.

Before I start Part 3, let me throw some light on the content that you are going to read. Please consider this as a work of fiction. The characters are real no doubt, but the manner in which they are displayed is exaggereated a lot. Danny is not really a paranoid fellow, Rahul does not use ‘Dude’ and ‘Awesome’ so much, I do not swear the whole day, and so on for the other characters too. I have used real characters, real events, but the content is part of my imagination or lets say ‘talent’.

Also, after some feedback I got from some readers, I’ve now decided not to censor any of the foul language.

Part 3: The Day, The Wait.

Yes, finally the day to leave had come. All of us were in office, all filed in our half days and were ready to hit the Himalayas. The enthuisasm was high and none of us even bothered to do any work. The flight was scheduled for the afternoon, but I guess the entire morning went with us discussing about how exciting the trip was going to be and stuff like that. The mini conference at Johnny’s cubicle was in full swing once again.

Vignesh who was slogging his ass off in the United States of the one and only America had just hit Indian soil at around 1 a.m. the same day. He caught on a few hours of sleep and was ready to hit the road with us in no time. What I learnt that night was that that thing called jet lag, it either does not affect machaans, or they just don’t know that something like that exists.

Rahul: Dude, this is so awesome dude! Just a few more hours and we will be on our way.
Me: Fuck you man. Don’t remind me. I can’t wait.
Johnny: Ya man, let’s do this!
Vignesh: Machaan, I hope I haven’t forgetten anything. I feel like I’m missing something.
Me: Yeah, your brain you fucker.
Danny: Somebody tell him to stop swearing so much.
Me: Fuck you man. Cock sucker. Suck my cock mother fucker. Son of a bitch.
Danny: Hehehehe.
Johnny: Okay, now listen. I’ve booked a cab. It shall be here in the afternoon. I want all you fuckers to be ready on time. If any of you are absconding then well will leave without you.
Me: Yeah, fuck you fuckers.
Rahul: Dude, this is awesome, I’m so excited!
Me: Fucker, take your awesome and shove it up your awesome ass man. Fucking UP choot pakoda.
Rahul: Hey, hey! No regional violence okay? No regional!
Vignesh: Machaan, but what about girls da? You think there are hot chicks there?
Johnny: Dude, the place is white listest. All good stuff. All firangs (foreigners), but the Indian maal (stash, wrt women, not supposed to be offensive) is good too. And, for that matter, all the women who go there, Arabian chicks too.
Vignesh: Danny machaan, heard that? Arabian girls. Surely from Muscat.
Me: Fucker, if Danny even thinks of doing a girl on the trip, Jesus will fall from the cross.
Danny: Arrey, what are you fellows talking all rubbish.
Rahul: Dude! Awesome man! I love chicks!
Me: Ya, I hope you find a real hot chick, who has a cock. Fucker!

With that most of folks there grossed out and we decided to go to our respective desk and do some work. Well at least we pretended to be doing some sort of work. John Paul was frantically typing, trying to convince eight women that everything will be okay in the few days whe he will be gone. Danny dialed a number that took him straight to his lady love and then the two of them started speaking in some language that I could not understand. May be it was arabic, but then again, I got a hearing problem I think. Well that’s what I tried telling myself, but I guess I did not hear myself well. Vignesh went to get some coffee for himself and disappeared around the corner.

Rahul and I headed off to the urinal. Rahul on his way telling people how awesome their desktop wallpapers were. We both enter the room marked ‘Men’ and relieve ourselves, ah, bliss.

Me: Fucker, you know what would be really sad?
Rahul: If it’s one of your cock jokes, then don’t bother.
Me: Fucker listen at least.
Rahul: Okay, okay!
Me: Yeah, you know, if we are taken hostage, we escape, but Danny dies.
Rahul: Hahahaha!! Oh, and you know what would be even worse?
Me: What?
Rahul: Say, we all are abducted, no once can do anything, not even Mayawati. We all die, but somehow, against all odds, Danny escapes and comes safely back to Hyderabad and goes home. He is just about to enter his house, he slips on the door step, bangs his head on the door knob and dies.
Me: Hahahahaha!! Oh fuck, that too funny man! Hahahaha!! Shit, if we tell him that he will cry man.
Rahul: Hahaha.

We head back out and return to our respective cubicles. The seconds tick by slowly. The few hours seemed like forever. Then I get a call.

Guy: Hello Sir, am I speaking to Mr. Lowaal Bear-neeard Deeessuuu.. er…
Me: D’souza (fucker), it’s D’souza.
Guy: Yes sir. I’m ’some-tamil-name’ speaking on behalf of Citibank. Sir, is this a good time to speak to you?
Me: Regarding?
Guy: Sir as an esteemed customer of Citibank.. blah blah blah.. credit card.. blah blah.. Birla Sun life insurance.. special offer.
Me: (fuck, I shoud have said ‘no’).
Guy: So sir are you interested in the offer sir?
Me: No, thanks.
Guy: Sir, but as a Citibank Credit Card holder, you are one of the lucky..
Me: No thanks. I already got myself insured.
Guy: Sir, but this offer..
Me: So, are you from Citibank?
Guy: No sir, I’m from ’some-fuck-who-gives-a-shit’ marketing company. I’m calling on behalf of Citibank, we are authorized to..
Me: Are you from Birla?
Guy: No sir, as I said, I’m from ’some-fuck-who….
Me: Then you are not from Citibank and you aren’t from Birla either.
Guy: Sir but our company..
Me: Wait, I’m too busy right now, speak to my assitant.

Enter into the scene Mukesh Mukhi. Also known as Mukesh, Mukhi, Babu and Anna. But most of the time referred to as Mukhi or Babu. Mukhi wasn’t on the trip due to health reasons, so he shall not be documented in detail.

Me: Babu!
Mukhi: Cheppu Babu. Wassup?
Me: Phone Babu. Some Citibank poser. Selling me some shit. Insurance I think.

Mukhi puts his hand out. My phone flies across a couple of cubicles and lands into Mukhi’s hand.

Mukhi: Helllaaaa.
Guy: Sir, am I speaking to Mr. Lowaal Bear-nard Dejuja?
Mukhi: Noooooooo. But why are you calling sir?
Guy: Sir, I’m speaking on behalf of Citibank sir.
Mukhi: But why are you calling everyday and disturbing sir? Sir is a very busy person.
Guy: No sir, I don’t call everyday.
Mukhi: Now you are lying. Everyday you call and say you are from Citibank and asking to buy credit cards, insurance, car, house loans, etc.
Guy: No sir, I’m speaking on behalf of Citibank..
Mukhi: Oh! So you are not from Citibank!
Guy: No sir, behalf sir.
Mukhi: What is this behalf? Can you explain?
Guy: Sir, our company is an authorized marking company for Citibank sir.
Mukhi: But you told sir that you are selling some Birla insurance. Are you from Birla?
Guy: No sir, behalf. We are authorized to..

Just then Vignesh passes by. Mukhi signals to him and calls him to his desk.

Mukhi: Where are you calling from?
Guy: Chennai sir.
Mukhi: Ah, Chennai. So you must be knowing how to speak Chennai right?
Guy: Sorry sir?
Mukhi: Chennai people, you speak Chennai right?
Guy: Sir, I ‘am’ from Chennai.
Mukhi: Yes, I know. That language, ah, Tamil, you speak tamil right.
Guy: Yes, sir. I speak tamil sir.
Mukhi: Ah nice. I got my tamil friend here, speak to him. He will know what you are saying.

Mukhi hands the phone over to Vignesh who starts some inga inga illa iila. He goes on to ask the guy why he keeps calling me. The guy is in tears by the end of the conversation. We felt bad for him. But at the same time, screw him. If they don’t understand the meaning of “No, I’m not interested” then to hell with them.

I look at the clock. The conversation did not eat more than 7 minutes of the long wait. Forever felt like forever++. I put my head onto my desk and sleep.

Continued from: Part 1: The Cast.

Part 2
In office one morning. At Johnny’s desk.

Me: Danny is coming for the trip.
John: What? F*cker are you serious?
Me: Ya, f*cker. Why the f*ck would I joke for no reason?
John: F*ck.

Eight heads pop over to the cubicles and give us blank stares.

Me: Not so loud man.
John: F*ck them!
Me: Vignesh called him from the US. Threw some senti dialogue and convinced him. Said something something, Jesus something, you have to come something. Basically he is coming and I’m gonna book his ticket right now.
John: Awesome news man. But I think he will ditch us at the last moment.
Me: He can’t man. F*ck him. His wife said to take him and show him the world. Said he is a boring fellow and he needs a holiday. So we have her green signal too.
John: F*cker, what if he dies on the trip? Who will take care of his kids?

Time for some context. Danny’s wife is actually his fiancee. And they do not have kids. John Paul’s and my conversations are always over exaggerated and we make things sound like the end of the world is near.

Me: F*ck his kids man. I mentioned that Danny could die, she said “Danny can’t die” and that Jesus will keep him alive.
John: Ch**tye he is not even married.
Me: Yeah, screw all that man. He wont die. Jesus will save him.

‘Jesus does not exist. Hanuman is the real God’, shouts Rahul from nowhere. He joins us at John Paul’s desk.

John: Abbey saale, we are both Roman Catholics here, we will convert you and your whole family!
Rahul: Hahahaha, Mayawati will convert you guys as soon as you reach UP man.
Me: Lets take a fire truck to his house and spray his whole family with holy water.
Rahul: Abbey, teri behaan ki…..
John: Okay, okay, Important news here. Danny is joining us for the trip.
Rahul: Dude, that is such awesome news dude!
Me: Yeah, f*ck that sh*t.

Danny arrives and place his bag at his desk.  He puts each and every strand of hair in place and starts walking towards us. All the ladies stop what they are doing, time slows down and then you hear a collective siiiigghhhh. Danny joins us. The ladies resume work.

Rahul: Dude, I heard you are coming for the trip. This is such awesome news man!
Danny: Arrey, what da. I don’t know man. I’ll decide today and let you know.
Me: F*ck you man. Lets go my desk and book the tickets.
Danny: We shall book it later man, I’m not sure.
Me: Suck my c*ck, motherf*cker, f*ck your sh*t and just come to my desk and we will book the f*cking ticket, b*stard.
Danny: Arrey.. but..
John: Ch**tye, just book the tickets and you can decide later.
Rahul: Dude, book it man, this is awesome dude! Don’t worry Jejus will protect you.

More context. We weren’t just seven of us. There was actually eight. The last person on the trip was Jesus.

This is not a joke, nor is it supposed to be any kind of mockery. Yes, Jesus was on this trip too. Little did we know that He would be playing an important role in the trip later on. Jesus will be referred to as Jesus or Jejus.

We all leave to our respective desks. Johnny unlocks his computer and resumes chatting with eight women, yawns, scratches his head and resumes consuming his cornflakes.

Me: What’s your problem man? Too much fuss. Just shut up and come for the trip else f*ck off.
Danny: Hehehe, what are you saying man?
Me: F*ck you come to my desk, lets book the tickets.
Danny: Okay.

Danny reluctantly comes over and we start the process of locating flights and in the next half hour or so the tickets were booked. Daniel Peddity was officially part of the trip. The spoilt brat who could not live without air-conditioning, fresh water or toilet paper was now in for the trip of his life.

Me: Now you are in.
Danny: I can cancel the tickets man.
Me: F*ck your cancellation. If you even think of that I’ll get some 400 horny hairy f*ckers from Madhya Pradesh to gang rape you!
Danny: What are you saying man? Disturbed child you are. Did someone abuse you when you were a kid?
Me: My b*lls are disturbed. Now go to your desk and do some f*cking work. Ch**tya saal, talking too much for your height!

Danny laughs and goes to his desk. A days work begins.

1230 hrs IST.
John Paul’s stomach starts to growl. The smell of chicken and mutton travel from the cafeteria into Johnny’s nostrils triggering a chain of events which results in him locking his computer. Fourteen women are now left on their own. They will have to wait till Johnny comes back. Nothing stops the John Paul from satisfying his hunger.

John: Chal, lets go.
I look above my cubicle and see a hungry John Paul ready to sink his teeth into the next thing that moved provided it tasted good.
Me: Go where f*cker?
John: To the loo, to hump the guys there, ch**tya. Lets go.

I lock my computer.

Me: I don’t wanna hump any guys man. F*ck you.
John: Abbey saale, lets go eat.

I leave my cubicle and throw a drumstick at Danny (who sits diagonally opposite me). It missed his head by a few centimeters. Danny turns back all surprised.

Danny: Arrey, I could have got hurt man.
Me: F*ck  you, Jesus is protecting you. Nothing will happen. Lets go eat.

Danny locks his computer. One girl is left waiting. We head towards the urinal. More sighs are heard. The output graphs of the female members in the team take sudden dips whenever Danny is found walking around the floor. We reach the men’s room. Three of the seven sh*t compartments are occupied. We head to the urinals and relieve ourselves. A collective sigh is hear, but this time out of relief.

Me: Johnny, lets beat the sh*t out the first guy who comes out of any of these sh*t compartments.
John: Hahaha, dude, I think they are beating themselves right now.
Me: Hahahaha!
Danny: You fellows are so bad.

And saying that Danny heads off, stares into the mirror and starts adjusting every strand of hair on his head. There are times when I felt the mirror would crack after having to look at him do this at least five times a day. Johnny and I wait outside while Peddity grooms himself. He comes back out after like, forever.

Me: F*cker I hope you go bald.
Danny: Hehehe, dude what’s wrong with him?
John:  Dunno man, never really bothered to ask. But seems like he is okay. If he stops abusing then that means something must be wrong.
Me: F*ck you both, motherf*ckers. Suck my c*ck.
Danny: Disturbed child he is.

We head off to Rahul’s desk and drag him for lunch.

Rahul: Arrey, saale, kamine log, let me work man. I’ve created this awesome tool man..
Me: F*ck your tool man. Shove it up Danny’s ars* f*cker.
Rahul: Dude, what’s wrong with him?
John: F*ck him man, let go to eat and plan for the trip.

The four of us head to the cafeteria. A majority of women stop eating and stare at us.

Rahul: Dude, all the girls are staring at me.
Me: F*ck you, they are staring at me. These Hyderabadi women, they like guys with beards. So f*ck you.
John: Ah, chicken! Woohoo!! (And heads off to serve himself).

Danny adjusts his hair and puts that stray strand back in place. The place goes sigh again. In a few minutes we are done serving ourselves and head off to one corner of the cafe so that we can survey the entire floor for hot women.

Me: F*cker sit on the other side, f*cker.
Danny: Huh?
Me: B*stard, you are committed what the f*ck do you wanna check out chicks for?
Danny: Arrey, what are you saying?
John: Abbey saale, go sit on the opposite side.

Danny reluctantly goes and sits on the opposite side of the table with his back facing a freak show of colleagues. Rahul comes with his plate filled with some vegetarian nonsense.

Me: F*cker how can you eat that sh*t?
John: Ya f*cker, eat some meat.
Rahul: Oye! I’ll complain to Mayawati, she will eat you.
Danny: You guys are crazy!

John: Okay, now serious stuff alright. Just few days left for the trip. We need to plan everything and make sure nothing goes wrong.
Me: F*ck that man, lets just go all out and if we have to die then so be it.
Danny: I don’t want to die man, I have to come back and marry my girl.
Me: F*ck your girl man. No offense okay, I didn’t mean it. All respect to her, but f*ck your girl man. F*cker.
Danny: You are really disturbed man.
Me: My b*alls are disturbed.
John: Arrey, f*ckers listen to me at least.
Rahul: Dude, this paneer is awesome man. Try it!
John: Abbey, shove your paneer up your ars* f*cker, now listen to me.

We all start munching our food while Johnny takes charge of the proceedings.

John: All tickets are booked and a list has been made of what to carry so make sure not to forget anything.
Me: You know what would be really cool, getting abducted by terrorists.
Rahul: Dude, yeah man. I heard they take tourists hostage sometimes.

Danny’s face goes white. He stops eating.

Danny: You serious man? I’m not coming then.
Me: Then f*ck you.
Danny: No man, I’m serious. I don’t want to get into this terrorist nonsense.
Me: Yeah hope they catch only you and cut your b*alls and feed it to the dogs.
Danny: Dude, if there are terrorists there then I’m not coming. I’ll go cancel my tickets in the evening.
John: Arrey f*cker, you think they will be standing there with boards saying that they are terrorists?
Danny: I can’t take the risk man.
Rahul: Dude, try the palak also. Awesome food today man.
John: F*ck your veg sh*t man.
Me: Danny f*cker, don’t worry. You won’t die man.
Rahul: You have Jejus also no?
Danny: Dude, it’s Jesus man, stop making fun.
Rahul: Ah ah! Jejus for me. All same. Jejus, Hanuman, Allah, all are the same.
Me: F*cker, Allah means God.
Rahul: Same thing man.
John: F*cker chill, we are there to save you incase we are taken hostage.
Danny: I’m not coming man, that’s it!

With that Danny goes into deep though. He starts thinking of the great future that is in store. He will marry his girl. Make small Danny’s. All talented. Yes all. One will play the guitar, one the drums and the other will sing. They will start a band and form a Counter Strike team. Danny starts to wonder why one of his son has a beard.

Me: Screw that, Johnny just think man, we are taken hostage and then the terrorists ask the government for a ransom. All the media coverage and in between we kill the terrorists man. We will become stars man. Chicks will dig us.
John: No man. What terrorists f*cker? If I got to die, I want to die after fighting a tiger man. Imagine a tiger comes and attacks us. I start to fight it and save you guys, but I die in the bargain. That’s the death I want f*cker.
Me: That’s so cool man! Getting killed by a tiger. Chicks dig that kinda stuff man! You will be a hero man. Imagine all the necrophilic chicks would so want to do you man.
Danny: What rubbish you guys talk.
Rahul: Dude, paneer man. Really awesome!
Me: Abbey vegetarian go f*ck your paneer and die!

John: Danny f*cker, listen. If any of us have to die, we will die in proper order.
Me: Sounds so cool man!
John: If we are attacked, I will die first.
Me: F*ck you man, I will die first.
John: Abbey saale, we will both die first f*cker. The point is one of us will die first. Then Rahul.
Rahul: What about Vignesh and those two friends? What are their names?
Me: One’s Maruthi. God knows the other guy’s name.
John: Suzuki.
Me: It’s not Suzuki man.
John: It’s a joke f*cker!
Me: F*ck your joke.
John: So lets do one thing. Let those two f*ckers die first man. We will use them as decoys. Make them do something to distract the terrorists and die, you and I will fight and let Danny run away.
Me: F*cker but I thought that you wanted to die first. Ah, nevermind. So let those two machaan die first. What about Vignesh man?
John: Vignesh will also die man but later.
Rahul: Dude, paneer. Awesome!
Me: This f*cker. They should kill him first. I’m telling you man. They should f*cking shoot Rahul even before they take us hostage.
John: So then it’s just you, me and Danny.
Me: F*cker, we will fight man. I’m not going down without a fight. I will f*cking kill at least two terrorists man.
John: Danny, f*cker. Stop getting upset. You won’t die.
Rahul: Dude, Jejus man. Jejus will save you.
Me: F*ck you man. Johnny and I will save him.
Rahul: Even I’ll save you Danny.
John: F*cker, you are dead.
Me: My b*alls are dead, f*cker!

With that we finished out lunch. We headed out of the cafeteria. Heads turned, sighs were heard. Danny was still in shock hearing about terrorists and death.

But one thing was fixed. The Dying Sequence. Rahul would be killed even before we could be taken hostage. If the terrorists did not kill him, we would. This would be done just to keep the sanity of the terrorists in check and save us from getting killed too early. Next, Johnny and I would come up with a plan on the fly and execute it commando style. We would use Maruthi and Suzuki as decoys, make them do some sh*t and distract the terrorists. The terrorists would in turn get angry and start shooting at the two of them. Johnny and I would then put up a fight against the terrorists while we instruct Vignesh and Danny to make a dash for safety. Maruthi and Suzuki die. Johnny and I would hold the terrorists for however long it would take us until we knew that Vignesh and Danny are safe. During this stand off Johnny and I would die. The terrorists would then spot Vignesh and Danny at the horizon, just almost out of sight. They fire shots. Vig and Dan are about to fall out sight, when one bullet hits Vignesh right on the head. Tall f*cker that he is, he did not manage to clear the horizon in time. Danny survives.

Danny would go on to tell, his three songs and the world, the story of how three machaans sacrificed themselves and how two brave men stood up against the terrorists to keep him safe. Chicks dig dying brave guys!

Update: Part 3: The Day, The Wait is now up.