Learned a new acronym, SAD – single and desperate. Hey, stop sniggering I am not SAD. I am glad not Gladwell of the Malcolm tribe. This week, if the head hunter is right, I will be going in for a job interview. It’s been exactly four years since I had a job interview. It’s always fun. There was a stage when I used to shit in my pants and sweat like no ones business. Hope this one will be different. I saw some kickass creative from India today. Awesome stuff guys, when and where do you creative brains think? Wherever it is, hope that it doesn’t end up like the g-spot injection. “Hey do you want to get ideas in the loo? Shove some botox up!” What’s this world coming to dude? Is there any injection to cure the world we live in? No, weed is definitely not the answer. Pass me that joint will you, while I deliberate on this. Cheers.
I have to write. Those were the words that escaped the dying man's lips. He was found lying unconscious near a mountain of blank paper. His autopsy revealed over exhaustion as the reason. But what did he want to write so badly that it killed him, no one knows. The task was designated to the junior cop who was part of the investigation team. Let's call him Namura. So here we are with Namura in a room with the mountain of blank paper. He is awed as to why should there be so many papers near a dying man. He picks a sheet on the top. He studies it. It's as blank as blank papers can be. No pencil or pen has violated its virgin whiteness. Namura thinks of the white bed sheets back home. He is tired. All he wants is to crash on his bed. He feels angry about the whole situation. Here I am, staring at a blank piece of paper, wondering why someone who wanted to write so badly didn't write a single word, while the whole world is sleeping on their comfy beds. He wanted to tear the ...
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