Pain, Misery & Doubt

Yet again, we experience pain and misery; and yet again, we have all the excuses to defend ourselves. But yet again, we were pathetic. It's just like those fantasy football games we all used to play. Each team had three formation options going into each match-attacking, defensive and counter-attacking. Defensive worked best against counter attacking; attacking worked best against defensive; and counter attacking worked best against attacking. From this we can figure out what won't work against what.

Stating facts: Portsmouth fielded an immensely creative and attacking formation. Liverpool fielded an extremely defensive formation, in addition to a left back in midfield. Logic said that Liverpool were going into this one hoping for some Torres magic and a 1-0 win or a draw at the very least. Logic also said that Portsmouth were going into this one looking for a win over a team badly lacking confidence. Fuck Logic, i said. We have Torres, and in him alone, we have a counter attacking presence like none other. That bit didn't work out too well either.

Of course, it can be argued that Dossena is pathetic at the back, and his only real skill lies in his creativity and his forward forages. The fact remains that he is simply not Riera, Aurelio or even Babel, for that matter. It can also be argued that with Torres in front, Liverpool were as close to counter attacking as they could get. Yet again, it seems that the best goals are always scored against Liverpool; and yet again, it seems that the referees just don't like us.

I'll still defend us when them Mancs try to shove their noses in our butt cracks; but will i really believe it? Is it really the end of Rafa? Mark Hughes has gone, and will Rafa go too? God knows that if anyone's a bandwagon humping cowboy, it's the esteemed 'owner' of Liverpool, so will he look for the quick fix, or will he stick with the fans?

There's just too much doubt. When i see the Liverpool's starting eleven, i don't see creativity and a top four squad. It doesn't matter who's to blame, i just don't see it. I see Arsenal, City, Villa, Chelski and even the fucking Mancs' quality, and i don't see the same in Liverpool. It's no surpise that fucking Birmingham are above us right now.

I don't care if we don't make the top 6, i just want to see some heart, man. Where is the fucking heart? What defines Steven Gerrard? His skill, speed, accuracy, passing ability or his sheer ability to motivate?

Keep the fucking faith, Liverpool.

PS: You'll Never Walk Alone - Gerry & The Pacemakers

How I Function

I cannot function without inspiration; and i don't mean inspiration in the Steven Gerrard way. The Steven Gerrard way of inspiration, for those who do not know, is 'leading by example and thereby inducing results by sheer awesomeness'. Steven Gerrard will score a spectacular goal, make an awesome tackle or give a brilliant through ball, and will hence goad his team mates to try and reach his own level of awesomeness. That is what is portrayed as true inspiration; and that is precisely what i do not feel.

I see people doing shit, and i feel jealous. So i do shit. If i see people aren't doing shit, i don't feel jealousy and hence i don't do shit. Y'know? By shit, i mean stuff; but you know that already, don't you, you awesome reader. You beautiful, handsome, clever ape. You ape aping, grape gaping, Bolton Wanderer. You toilet paper, you.

Functioning for me is a way of life; and what really, is life? Life is a bunch of functions that are verbs. Life is the void that one feels when one is in a crowd. Life is the awesomeness that one feels when one's team is knocked out of the Champions League. Life is the eccentricity that one foregoes to pre-determine change. Life is more than just a full stop, and anyone who stops with a Life Is.

The point i'm trying to make is that i'm hopelessly writers blocked. I feel empty inside.

The bright side is that Liverpool have won their last two games; and that i have awesome music to listen to.

PS: The Fort Minor album really is awesome. The Demi Lovato album is ruddy brilliant.

Trials & Tribulations

Liverpool just lost. I didn't even watch the full game. Again, all of us Liverpool fans will brandish our latest collection of excuses, insults and accusations; and the worst part is that they're all very true and extremely justified. It seems that we're attracting nothing but bad luck in increasing degrees.

Everything is just so fucking pissing off.

The media will yet again vilify the Kop; the commentators become opinion leaders more than fact providers and every ex player that Liverpool ever had will try to prove they're better than Rafa at what he does. Lines like: "Noone is above criticism" will be chanted over and over, and even though he really doesn't deserve it, the fucking cowboys will now be pressurised to kick Rafa out. That's a thought i don't even want to contemplate. Everyone will forget that we just made the Mancs pee in their pants last week; and the Mancs themselves will yet again regain that infernal swagger that they don't deserve.

The referees, the beach balls, the injuries, the sicknesses and the fucking cowboys. What we wouldn't do for some fucking luck..

Football & Catharsis

That, my friends, is genius. I know i cannot avoid copyright infringement with this one, but here's the site where i found that. Please check it out if you're a football fan:

http://www.studs-up.com

I'm kidding, you really aren't my friends, and i won't disrespect you by using such careless terminology again.

See, i'm still very pissed off at the fact that people just say shit and look like they've won shit. Okay, well fuck that, i'm just really really fucking pissed off at them mancs. I hate them, i hate what they stand for, and i hate their fucking attitude. I accept that Manchester United are a good team; i do not accept you, fucking Man U fan. Bhende, this isn't only directed at you, so don't feel all hurt and shit. I desperately do not want to look like i'm saying this just because people i know actually read this.

It's a jumble of emotions, man.

No, but seriously, today's been a bad day; and not for the usual reasons that make my days bad. Let's explore this, then.

A bad day is one where i had to get up early for college. I didn't get much sleep because i slept late the earlier night trying to finish my project. I couldn't finish it in the night, so i procrastinated; and regretted it the next day. After college is done, somewhere around noon, i head home as i have no money on me. I eat food that i don't like at home, and get a hearing from my folks for another stupid reason. I want to sleep, but i realize that i have to go to Thane for a fucking band meeting. I cannot cancel on those humpers because being their friend is a hefty fucking toll. I go to Thane, and endure another painful experience, what with the usual oh-i-don't-mean-it-it's-just-in-fucking-jest shit. I reach home late and go to sleep. I feel guilty throughout because i didn't finish my project, it's overdue and my teacher screams at me in front of everyone. Public humiliation really is a bitch. The guilt is because in my head: i've brought it on myself.

Today was painful as i wanted to play football but i couldn't for some stupid fucking band meeting. I don't like meeting the band members unless we have to jam. Well, not the ones i met today anyway. The band meeting occupied my full evening, and what a fucking waste that was. Being friends with some people really isn't fun. This isn't a hidden reference, it's a general statement. I will ensure that i don't say what i don't mean to, and my paranoia helps this. Call it insecurity, if you will.

Catharsis at it's very best, my friends. You really are my friends.

The happy ending: I have truly come to realize the magic and awesomeness that is "Blood Sugar Sex Magik". The full album is insane, and i strongly recommend it to funk fans.

The Devil Is Amongst Us. He Is Big, Fat & Red.

A quick snippet from Ricky Gervais' (highly controversial) stand up act:

This is a converstaion Ricky narrates between an elephant who is 'caught' swimming two miles off coast.

Coast Guard: "What're you doing?"

Elephant (Swimming worriedly): "Nothing"

Coast Guard: "It's not nothing, is it?"

*Elephant shrugs while still swimming worriedly*

Coast Guard: (points to a spot behind the elephant) "what's that?"

Elephant (Swimming worriedly) "Beach ball"

Coast Guard: "Tell me what you're doing"

*Elephant looks around nervously*

Coast Guard: "Don't look at him, look at me and tell me what you're doing"

Elephant "Swimming"

Coast Guard: "Yeah, you are", (Scolds), "d'you know how far off coast you are?"

*Elephant shrugs while still swimming worriedly*

Now, you may wonder as to what point that particular narrative carries. Or you may want to know how the conversation ended. Or you may question the point of putting it in this particular post. Or, you may simply be irritated at it's seeming pointlessness and it's frustration inducing properties. I could've put the full conversation up, but then, that'd leave you, the reader, satisfied. Contrary to what you may believe, i do not wish to satisfy you. I wish for you to be as frustrated and pissed off as possible, and then some; and Jennifer Love Huge-Tits on a platter of intelligence wouldn't please me more right now.

Now, i begin. The devil, in his final incarnation is amongst us. He showed himself at the Stadium of Shite last time out in the 5th minute, exactly as Nostradamus said; and if the celebrated prophecy-maker's prophecy does hold true, then the devil's next sighting may well be more than just huge and red. The Mayans did get it right, after all. Even if they were off by about 3 years.

The beach ball is the devil, in all his glory. We all know the devil's colour, size and ego. He chooses reincarnations that are red and big. If one looks at a beach from above, what stands out the most? The hot women? The dogs? The crabs? The sea? The shops? Or the big red balls that are bouncing about, strongly contrasting with the yellow sand? Yup, that religious terror that is now coursing through your veins may be 3 years early, but at least it's there. So even if you're not dying, you're at least feeling shitty.

Let's think back to the person who invented the beach ball. Everyone was happy at the beach. Hairy men and hairy women working out, swimming etc. Suddenly someone comes with a huge red ball, and everyone is transfixed at it's sight. Everyone now wants to just splash about pointlessly in the water with the stupid fat ball. Slowly, but surely, everyone turns fat, much like the fat red ball. Even surfing, the then popular sport/pastime, now faces competition from the fat red ball.

Mayan folklore has it that the fat red ball is a direct descendant of the devil's first incarnation's testicles. But noone repeats these facts, no no. Noone will tell you that within that ball is a flesh memory of all who touch it; and the final aim of all beach balls will never be voiced out loud: to kill all humans, and hump the Gujaratis.

Look at it from Pepe Reina's point of view: he has to compete with Casillas and Canizares. The poor baldie's not gonna get any games anyway. None really worth keeping for, that is. I don't fucking care if Canizares doesn't play for Spain any more, and i don't even care if fucking Victor Valdes is Spanish. The point really is moot with you fucking statistic relying chawnds, isn't it?

PS: Think about it. In the highly likely event of a global cataclysm, only a beach ball will survive.

The Return

Today is the 16th of October. My exams ended on the 10th of October. So, if you count the build up time to my exams and the exam time itself as non-blogging days, i should've posted something or the other in the last 6 days ie in the days immediately following the end of my exams. However, i do not control my own whims and urges, and i really didn't feel like posting anything at all. Hence, the silence. Now, however, my conscience will not let me be; hence, in order to appease my super-ego, i post.

Shit that's happened since you last saw me:

1. Dan Brown's new book is out! People like Daniel, who are well versed in the actual facts and history of the shite he talks about will probably hate it (much like they hated the last four); but i will love it. I must love it. In fact, i feel so strongly about it that i will buy the original, not the pirated copies.

2. Liverpool lost twice. Much like Gerry said: "It doesn't do half my head these days-supporting Liverpool". Now, i can't relate to that, but you get the general mood. Now, however, with the return of Dani Agger, the injury of Hercules, and the prospect of finally seeing Aquaman in a Liverpool jersey lifts my mood. The choices that Rafa has at his disposal for centre backs are (in the following order): Carra, Skrtel, Dani Agger, Ayala. This is taking into account the fact that Hercules is injured. Quite badly, it seems. Anyway, about the losses: I didn't get to see either of the games, but there are a lot of positives to take from them (from what i hear). Most importantly, the return to form of Masch and Carra. So even if Gerrard is injured (which i hope to God he isn't), it seems like we could just manage without him. Anyway, my TV is back, which means i get to watch the match at the Stadium of Shite. So hooray for boobies, then.

I could've written more, but that involves writing. Forgive me.

PS: Poets of the Fall - Fire; Vavamuffin - Vavamuffin on the road.

The True Fan

What is a true fan? I'm talking about football, of course; but this can branch off into any sport. There's always the hatred of the 'non-true' fans by the 'true' fans.

The True Fan must know everything, and if someone tells him something about his own team, then he must say: "Yes, of course. I knew that already. Hunh!". The true fan must feel a compulsive hatred bred in him by other earlier true fans of non-true fans and other such fosers. The true fan must also scream very loudly every time a goal is scored/saved/good pass/good play/good tactic/good skill/water boy/any event happens. Okay, i'm branching off into football now, but you can derive what you will from here. It involves using your brains.

If the fan does not know shit, then he is not a true fan.

I had a lot of more points, but i forgot them all. Maybe i'll put them up later. Maybe i've already put them up and you don't realize. Maybe i should stop breaking the fourth wall or however that phrase applies to blogs.

PS: Fosers = fucking posers

PPS: I keep saying 'he'. If ever a feminist reads this page/blog and gets highly upset at the 'he' usage, my mission will be completed. For it is but an honour to piss off a feminist.