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Gent is at the service center to pick up his car. He was bang on time and bubbling with delicious anticipation of the kind usually reserved for special occasions.
Ruddy place, thought Gent, but where were these buggers who were to hand over his shiny new car to him? Oh, there they were!
He saw a tousled head bob up from behind a car. Ugh... Why was he bobbing behind a car? Did that mean the buggers hadn't touched his car? If that was the case, they sure had something coming.
Gent walked gingerly into the service area of the service center, straining to catch snatches of conversation to arm himself for the verbal duel he was sure would ensue.
"Who that?" he heard a guttural voice.
"Man for Hunndei Guesstt..." a faintly feminie voice trailed off in answer.
Obviously Guttural hadn't heard Feminine, for he repeated his question.
"Man for Hunndei Guesstt..." Feminine hissed.
It was all that Gent could do to hold back his smile. Hyundai Getz should have been christened here. Right here, he told himself and pictured a design that was a cross between Attila the Hunn and a gazebo on wheels. Ha! But he mustn’t laugh. He was almost near them now. Guttural was speaking again.
"You holding light. I oorain first" said Guttural in answer, catching the general picture of the setting. But our visitor didn't quite catch on.
He what first? A puzzled Gent wondered as he saw Guttural head for the back door. Well not that there was a door, or any proper walls to hold up the roof. The only proper wall was a fallen hoarding.
"Why you going there, you going here" Feminine shrilled pointing ahead of himself.
Immediately Guttural changed direction and headed behind the hoarding. Shortly thereafter Gent suspected he heard the sound of falling rain. Or oorain as he quickly realised. Guttural was taking a leak.
He couldn't stand there anymore. He quickly decided that he'd pick up his car a little later and presently nip away to some place where he could laugh out loud.
Guttural can wonder where he'd disappeared to when he gets back from making oorain.
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Showing posts with label carrots. Show all posts
Showing posts with label carrots. Show all posts
On The Wings Of A Poppadom!
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Lunch hour is so much fun. And it’s specially so because I can enjoy the sheer agony of dear friend of mine. (Slurp!) The poor dieter is now paying his comeuppance for all the vile plotting he’d indulged in, in the not too distant past.
Back then, he used to drag the rest of us friends and colleagues, fretting and fuming, often sacrificing our lunch boxes, to greasy joints that served the most sinful biriyanis and parattas and burgers with piles of cheese and dollops of mayonnaise even!
In the process our gent gained weight where he shouldn’t, along with the rest of us. The belles were no longer giving him a second look or so one should assume because then he went about dragging his angel of a wife over to a gym where he paid 34,000 to get his flab off!
And did he? We thought he did about a month ago. I even complemented him by calling him Slim Jim. But true to my impulsive self, I’d said things too soon. The Slim Jim persona that our dieter friend had taken on to deceive his poor wife and maybe the gym instructor too was a well-planned farce. He fell ill! No…that’s not it. How do you say it? Words fail me now. It must be the magnitude of the deception. It went like this.
He took himself willingly to a Chinese flea restaurant, ordered himself a spread and promptly came home ill. Here I actually feel for him. The gent was indeed ill. So ill that his concerned brother had to remind him gently that the upper body orifice empties into the washbowl and the lower into the potty! Endless trips over the next two days between the washbowl and the potty left our gent a few kilos less. And one fine day he came to office looking all trim, fit and glowing too!
He ate only carrots for a week. And just when a Hollywood production house that had got wind of a potential replacement for the tired Buggs Bunny, were doing a background search, our dieter was spotted by one of the production house’s spies digging into a juicy double decker burger! And another the next day!
Guilt gnawed at our dieter again and he went into a rehabilitation diet. But again I suspect it’s all a farce because the waistline is pushing the shores! Now I didn’t say that. The gent himself did. So he furiously plays table tennis with a paddle he over paid for. And when he falls for our vile persuasion and accompanies us for lunch he sips soup or nibbles on poppadom!
Hoo! (That was a verbal cartwheel!) Isn’t someone’s waistline phobia blissful lunchtime amusement? That reminds me, it’s about lunchtime. About time I played the Lucifer again! Bless me! But then I’ve been trained by the Devil himself! Pin It Now!
Back then, he used to drag the rest of us friends and colleagues, fretting and fuming, often sacrificing our lunch boxes, to greasy joints that served the most sinful biriyanis and parattas and burgers with piles of cheese and dollops of mayonnaise even!
In the process our gent gained weight where he shouldn’t, along with the rest of us. The belles were no longer giving him a second look or so one should assume because then he went about dragging his angel of a wife over to a gym where he paid 34,000 to get his flab off!
And did he? We thought he did about a month ago. I even complemented him by calling him Slim Jim. But true to my impulsive self, I’d said things too soon. The Slim Jim persona that our dieter friend had taken on to deceive his poor wife and maybe the gym instructor too was a well-planned farce. He fell ill! No…that’s not it. How do you say it? Words fail me now. It must be the magnitude of the deception. It went like this.
He took himself willingly to a Chinese flea restaurant, ordered himself a spread and promptly came home ill. Here I actually feel for him. The gent was indeed ill. So ill that his concerned brother had to remind him gently that the upper body orifice empties into the washbowl and the lower into the potty! Endless trips over the next two days between the washbowl and the potty left our gent a few kilos less. And one fine day he came to office looking all trim, fit and glowing too!
He ate only carrots for a week. And just when a Hollywood production house that had got wind of a potential replacement for the tired Buggs Bunny, were doing a background search, our dieter was spotted by one of the production house’s spies digging into a juicy double decker burger! And another the next day!
Guilt gnawed at our dieter again and he went into a rehabilitation diet. But again I suspect it’s all a farce because the waistline is pushing the shores! Now I didn’t say that. The gent himself did. So he furiously plays table tennis with a paddle he over paid for. And when he falls for our vile persuasion and accompanies us for lunch he sips soup or nibbles on poppadom!
Hoo! (That was a verbal cartwheel!) Isn’t someone’s waistline phobia blissful lunchtime amusement? That reminds me, it’s about lunchtime. About time I played the Lucifer again! Bless me! But then I’ve been trained by the Devil himself! Pin It Now!
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