Hush

Hush little baby don't say a word
Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird
If that mocking bird don't sing
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring
If that diamond ring don't shine
Mama's gonna get you a porcupine
If that porcupine don't prick
Mama's gonna smash your head with a brick
If that don't make you shut up
Mama's gonna have to give you up.

Movies I watched this summer

The new X Men movie blows.

And the only thing remarkable about Poseidon is the guy who laughs maniacally every time nothing happens. This movie too was a load of bullshit.

Da Vinci Code kicked ass, but only because I watched it almost immediately after Fanaa. Fanaa was so stupid I had to bite my tongue to keep from feeling embarassed for the director and Aamir Khan and let out a cry of anguish as a result.

Then I saw Knife in the Water. It was Roman Polanski's first film. It was by far the best movie I saw this summer; considering the competition that doesn't say much but this is indeed a classy movie. What more, the movie was screened for free at Satyam. And had its fair share of scenes containing a scantily clad Polish chick. Five stars.

Ode to Thamie

Thamie's a man with a lovely aquiline nose.
Talk to him about anything - trust me, he knows.
He's a quizzer, a thinker, a topper and all the rest.
But it's really his Brit accent that's simply the best.

Classic Game - No nonsense this

Day of the Tentacle was a puzzle/turn based RPG game I'd played many years ago (back in 10th i think) and even then it was rather old. And when I stumbled upon the game online, the ensuing rush of nostalgia that it brought (it took me a couple of days to complete the game but those were the best couple of days of my pathetic juvenile life) left me with no option but to post the link.

http://www.holyfile.com/search.php?q=day+of+the+tentacle

The file size is a wee over 6 MB. Do play the game. It's really clever; and funny too at times.

Fantasy leagues are daft.
Especially the one on sportinglife.
Ah, hell.

The panda series

Panda - I

The poor panda - he cannot see his knees!
For he, my friends, is frightfully obese.
(Pleasantly plump, he prefers me to say.)
No wonder, it is! He sleeps all day!

"I'm a nice guy", he calls to us and deceives,
"The panda", he claims, "only eats shoots and leaves".
But when our back is turned he makes rude fun
Of us. The ingrate! It is not done!

The innocent creature with cherubic face
Is of an immensely virulent race.
So in his own style, we call him by
His true name and nature - fat, ugly guy.

Panda - II

Panda, Panda, sleeping tight,
In the forests of the night.
What moronic hand or eye
Shaped you - you fat, ugly guy?

Ode to airlines food

The food on airlines tastes like cement.
For the delicate of stomach, it is not meant.
The hunger I feel on a long, lonely flight
All by myself and without as much as a bite

Fried idlis, burnt sambar and half-cooked rice:
My palate doesn't think they're all that nice.
It's quite so depressing, and reason, hence,
For nonsense and maybe some reasons for abstinence.

Ratchel was the name of a pretty air hostess
Who dreamt of making it big in the business
Her goal was to serve American Presidents
And make Air Force One her temporary residence
Alas the world came crashing down around Ratchel
She failed the test on how to evacuate a throat of a pretzel!

There once lived a fair maiden in China,
She came to India and opened a dine-ah.
Squids and sparrows
Snake's bone marrows
With a menu like that, her profit was mine-ah.

A footballer there was, his name Wayne Rooney,
So popular he was, girls shouted "Wayne do me!"
But he broke a metatarsal one day
'twas like he had feet of clay
So Ericsson said "We're screwed".

Introductions

"What shall we do?", was the pertinent question.
We never before wrote anything of mention.
Spelling and grammar are not really our friends.
Chaste curses are better means to our ends.

Nonsense, said one, is the easiest to write.
No rules, no meter, no scansion to fight.
Just string a few words and add a quick rhyme,
You'll have doggerel in positively no time.

Poems are easy to write, you see,
Make them as stupid as they can possibly be
Pass them around as deep reflections.
And be sure - there will be no objections!

For each true poet are a million pretenders,
Who know not, in truth, what poetry engenders.
To show them their place, these veritable goons,
Did we start to write on runcible-spoons.