Of Kings, Jesters, and the Pursuit of the Limerick

See, I've never been very good at making rhymes, and this is probably my first time making a string of limericks. Or even one, for that matter. So, feel free to correct any lines that seem dysfunctional. And please, be gentle. I have a heart,, you know.
Here it is:

Says the Jester to the Prince, "Sir, you.
have married not one, but two.
It must be hard to decide
of whom to sleep beside.
In such a case, whatever do you do?"

The Prince says sheepishly, "'Tis true,
I am the husband of not one, but two.
And, since I cannot decide
of whom to sleep beside
I don't sleep with either of the two."

The Jester turns to ask His Imperial Majesty,
who has wed not a wife, not two, but three;
"So, how do you decide
of whom to sleep beside?
Or do you, too, sleep with neither of the three?"

Puffing up his chest, quoth he,
"I am the husband of not two, but three.
Since I, too, can't decide
of whom to sleep beside
I sleep with them all, you see!"

P.S. I thought of this over a cup of espresso, so if it's bad, I blame the coffee.
And, if it is good -- it's all me.

How to take care of Kids the Sangeeta Way OR ...Why the sh*t is there a BABY on my couch?!

*NOTE*: To all those parents who love their children, do NOT follow the regimen provided.

Illumination engulfs me as I begin to open my eyes to the agonizing world of misery and self-deception. A constant sound gurgles disconcertingly in my mind as I stir in bed. I gather all my strength to shuffle around for the blasted alarm. God, the sound is unnerving! When I find it –which is after an eternity of groping and profanities (courtesy of me)–I pick it up gently and throw it on the floor. Mom’s going to kill me for breaking this one… I close my eyes and drift away to a more alluring world of pink skies and chocolate bunnies. When I finally am positive that I’ll not a get a wink of sleep now, I haul myself off my bed, unsteady and bleary-eyed, and walk slowly toward the bathroom.
“Toothbrush… my… toothbrush… Where the… is my toothbrush?!” I scratch my chin, half-crazed with sleep and anger. Cabinet after cabinet, I use my coarse vocabulary to its zenith, looking hastily for the device of human creation that kept me from having the certain cavities my mother would put her will on to happen. While on my hurried quest for the pink, chewed-up toothbrush, my eyes landed on the mirror. I looked like a trailer-trash mom with eyes dripping off Kohl. I shuddered at the sight of me. Reminds me of that “TALKING TURLEEN” doll with the rollers, cigarette and a c-section scar.
Seriously, a c-section scar?
Yes, I was kinky enough to actually undress dolls and check out what they looked like. Even if they were NOT mine...
Washing off the kohl from the rims of my eyes, I continue my quest for the abducted toothbrush. A series of swear words slip casually off my tongue, and my hands moved diligently on the islet of spits-villas and faucet-waterfalls. I turned over each box of tissues, medicines, and miscellaneous, but the occasional swearing continued to flow. Sighing a bit, I finally took a finger, added a dollop of toothpaste (Mint! Yummy!) and cleaned my teeth. I then resorted to flossing my teeth and fetching my towel for a quick shower.
After dressing up, I walk into the Drawing Room, pick up the Daily, and resort to dropping down on the couch and reading it, like I always do.

"Be careful. There's a baby on the couch..." My mother says.

Ahh... my sweet, innocent, delusional mother. I make The Face at her, the one i usually make at people just before i prove them wrong. I shuffle around on the couch.

"OYE!" I yelp and jump off the couch, almost running away from the puddle of animal matter.

I can't believe it. She was right. There IS a baby on the couch.

"B-but... But...."

How can she be right?! I made The Face! This is wrong!! This is so goddamn wrong!!
I want a lawyer.
~:~
"It's moving." I say to my mum.
"It's a girl, sweetheart," she says, her almond eyes glittering with motherly joy and affection.
Now, usually, when most girls see such an expression -the one my mum had on her face -they widen their eyes in disbelief and begin to shower all possible attention on the foreign baby, treating them as their own.
Instead of doing what most girls would do, I simply cock my left eyebrow at my mum and, giving her the most disturbingly grim expression, i resort to conquering the knowledge the Daily has to provide to me.
Now, i have nothing against babies -nothing at all! It's just... i haven't the slightest clue of what to do with them.
Babies are like boys; first, you don't know how to kiss them, and, when you figure THAT out, you don't know what the hell to do with your hands.
The baby stirs -on MY couch, sleeping on MY pillow, drooling over MY blanket -and yawns lazily.
Life is so unfair, its not even funny.
Soon, she wakes up and, goggle-eyed, she stares up at me.
I'm not very good with Kids, boys notwithstanding. Let me give you a step-by-step guide to taking care of kids my way.

HOW  TO TAKE CARE OF KIDS THE SANGEETA WAY

STEP 1: THE BABY WAKES UP

• Baby opens eyes: Ahh... another day... OF TORTURING, CRYING AND NAPPY-CHANGING!! ~~A little bit bit of pee on the sofa, topped with fresh baby drool. Just how i like it.
• Baby stares at Sangeeta, and Sangeeta stares at baby: A Divine discovery.

STEP 2: EX POST FACTO OF WHEN THE BABY WAKES UP

• Baby's state of mind and Body

Body: Smiles at Sangeeta
Mind: Not Applicable

• Sangeetas state of body and mind

Body: Stares at baby like a freaking lunatic
Mind: "...uh?!"

STEP 3: EX POST FACTO OF ALL THE WEIRD GOGGLE-EYED SMILING

• Baby

Body: Pulls toes with hands and laughes (I don't blame him...)
Mind: N/A

• Sangeeta

Body: Perspiration, nervousness, temporary aphasia, horror, more perspiration and acute nausea.
Mind: "Why is it so #$!&ing HOT in here?! Where are we, in ASIA?!
...Oh wait...
#$!&...

STEP 4: BABY CRIES

• Baby

Body: *Horrifying shrieking similar to that of when a colossally large woman with six-inch heels steps on ones foot. Seriously, either ban overstuffed people, high-heeled shoes, or the combo of the two. It's murder, i tell you!*
Mind: Food! Food! Food! Goo-goo-gaa-gaa! OR N/A

• Sangeeta

Body: Perspiration, nervousness, temporary aphasia, horror, more perspiration,acute nausea, and surreal calm.
Mind: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! IT'S LIKE THE WRATH OF SATAN!!  IT'S... IT'S LIKE VALENTINE'S DAY ALL OVER AGAIN!!

Why did i have to think of that?! C'mon, there's a BABY in the room....

So, you see, i could never be worse with a child. Believe me, if you were to ever leave a new-born within fifty yards of me, he's sure to develope atleast one type of psychological disorder. SO, if you hate you're kid, send him to India! He'll be taken care of well.... Really well...(Cue satanic laughter followed by a strange hacking noise and awkward spluttering.)

And, of course, there is a baby on my couch "Because my mother said so".
Mom, I'm not fourteen anymore.
That was ages ago.
Seriously, parents have to come up with better lines...

I hate to burst the Indian Bubble.

Indians are very schizoidal. We have a knack from coming up with an array of neologisms, half of which are merely words that have a condemned pronunciation.
And that's not it.
We also conveniently MAKE up the spellings of the words we pronounce differently. Sic today, i have sought to officially calling it BUBBLEBURSTIN' Day, where i shall cast aforth light on the various words most of us make up without having the slightest clue of it.

• Presumptious (Obsolete!): Today, this word is officially known as presumptuous, the pronunciation being presump-choo-us. This word is a hybrid from the verb 'presume', which, in Latin, is Janus-faced in a way the it not only means "to suppose", but also, "to take liberties". An anecdote about Sir James M. Barrie aptly illustrates; One day, he opened the door on a reporter he didn't want to see.
"Mr, Barrie, i presume," the reporter says.

"Yes!" The, usually calm, Mr. Barrie snapped back and slammed the door shut.
• Prophesize (sic): The word is prophesy(the last syllable pronounced as sigh) and the noun is prophecy(the last syllable being pronounced as see).
• Portentious: The word is portentuous, which comes from the noun portent (strange signs or omens)
• Unctious: Though this word is found on Webster's Second and Third, this word doesn't exist. The word is actually unctuous, again, the choo sound quite audible. It means to be oily in a suave, insincere manner. The words unctuous, annoint, and ointment come from the same Latin verb.
• Unequivocably(which, by the way, is Unequivocally Wrong!: The word is unequivocally,meaning without any qualifications, absolutely, clearly, and unambiguously.
• Undoubtably(again, undoubtedly wrong.): This word, without any doubt, is undoubtedly, and not undoubtably. Both this and the former words have common mistakes.

So, that's all for today!

P.S. I wrote all this not because i am a purist, but merely because i am preoccupied with the purity of a language and its protection from the use of foreign or altered forms.
P.P.S. I do not know if that was tautology, or a juxtapose. I'd appreciate if someone could help me with that.

The Farewell and a Dream that Never

Dreams are vivid part of ones life. Dreams constitute ones own thoughts, beliefs, and day-to-day happenings. Dreams are the very heart and soul of our inner Self: They are the portals through which our subconcious communicates with our concious self. Dreams are also said to have a very large role in portraying ones own intelligence level to oneself. Recently, researchers have found that ones dreams are linked with ones own IQ level. This is possible due to the strangeness of our dreams. The more strange ones dreams are, the higher is ones IQ level. In the same pretext, the more dreams one has, the high his capacity to learn, and retain knowledge. I had a dream which i haven't been about to understand. This is odd, since i'm so good at it. No matter how intelligent my dreams are, i always seem to get what the gist is all about. So, anyone wanna help me?

THE DREAM

this was just a simple dream about XKCD. I was in our class room, just the way it looks in reality. Except for the fact that not only were all my classmates there, but also the ones who come to REMS with me. We were on the last seat. XKCD and i were lightly talk we seemed to all be working on something or the other. So, as a joke, XKCD made me a card-like structure with a picture and a cartoon on it [excuse the pun]. So, naturally, i chose the cartoon [excuse the pun, again.] I cut out the cartoon and paste it in my diary [which, by the way everyone is interested in, seriously, if it's not personal, why is it called a PERSONAL diary?!] . Then he says something about me being a complete miser. "That is SO not true, XKCD!" I say to him, as i begin to walk all the way toward the other side of the class, right to where he is sitting. Invariably, he scoots to make room for me. I sit down there, and, before i know it, we've got our arms around each other. I'm on his right and, though everyone can see us, they don't seem to mind at all. Nobody interrogates us, or judges us for sitting so intimately together.

The best part about the dream is that its so casual, yet it feels so very delicate; so intricate. And the elation of it all, the loving joy... I've never been so happy after waking up from a dream.
But, then again, i've never cried for a dream only because it wasn't real, either... So...

In other, completely UNrelated news,

Ok, so, its not very clear. I'll write down what it says, instead:

FAREWELL PARTY ON 17TH (of February) FROM 11AM-2PM AT PODAR HALL DRESS CODE- BLUE AND BLACK. PASS ON THE MSG..

Now, i know the timings totally suck, but hey! Atleast i've GOT a farewell at school. so that TOTALLY accounts for SOMETHING! I'm looking forward to it so much, i actually fell out of my chair when i read this message.

"I'M GONNA HAVE A FAREWELL!I'M GONNA HAVE A FAREWELL! The timings suck, the dress codes totally drab and the venue's straight from hell, but~~~~

~~~I'M GONNA HAVE A FAREWELL! I'M GONNA HAVE A FAREWELL!!"

Jeez Whiz! I'm as excited as a fat person is about cake!

Or as i am about cake...

Ummm...Yum... Cake...!

"I"M GONNA HAVE SOME CAKE! I'M GONNA HAVE SOME CAKE! I SOUND like an IDIOT.... BUT WHO THE FUCK CARES?!"

The First Post

A blog. A real, live journal. No, it's not something i do very often. Such things signify change, and i'm the last get along with anything that dirupts the equivalent balance that is me.
So, why did i make one? I'm not so sure of this, myself. All i know is that someday -maybe not today, or tomorrow - sometime soon enough, i'm going to regret ever making this happen to me. For a start, change is hard.
Change hasn't happened to me ever since puberty. To humor the sorry souls reading this, i wouldn't ever get in the details of THAT. The last time i experienced environmental change was in the shower. And thats not even applicable.
So, what drives me toward such an uncanny furor of emotion? Its just that -emotion. A spur-of-the-moment action -and based solely on impulse and inner intuitive conflict -has made me finally make a blog i've not even bothered to give a good look at.
Now, here i am, writing the first post. A milestone change in my life has finally come.

Its a wonder why i have no social life beyond school, is it not?