There are things you'd want to upchuck out of utter joblessness. Topics that you know shall turn stale in a day and thence reek of goo. By writing, or better, by answering the Nature's call, you'd actually be justifying your present coordinates as some government-owned Engineering toilet in India, where the cows drop the cow plop on the barren lands(in an attempt to make them fertile) and dogs leak their chocolate muffins(though Dog-shit is never known to have brought fertility to Calphurnia, or Earth. Bitches? Always a mystery they are!), on barren lands.
You too hit the John with the preemptive knowledge that it ain't going to smell like lilies or ladies. Of course, toilets would not have the aroma of benzene. They stink and they are meant to stink. But these government-run-toilets are different. They aren't just foul-smelling holes serving human esthetics, but are in fact the glorification of Human excreta and Assholery. Instances of you not being able to open the door of one of these gas chambers because you could not face the ugly brown Hitler(resting on the commode) smirking inside were reported on several floors. The festering turds had sent their nasal messengers everywhere. They say the sight was so gory after the water supply ran out the previous night, that the choc-a-bloc you, stymied at the bottom but unguarded at the mouth, defied all gravity laws and well, got relieved the other way round. Upchuck Woodchuck? Yuck! Fuck!
Sad, this hostel has got no place, for frustrations, excretions and educations. The education is dumb, the syllabus is as stupid as a bimbo-American-transvestite, and you often find yourself in a cul-de-sac seeking this one destination, The Barren Lands of Dog-SHIT, in your face!
P.S. Utter Joblessness. Gutter Lifelessness.
P.P.S. The Finance Budget I heard smelt no better. It reeked of a bureaucrat's french underwear sprayed with Eau-de-cologne but blotched with Desi shit, digestions of corrupt money.
P.P.P.S. "A ship in a harbour is safe, but this is not what a ship is built for"
P.P.P.S. "A ship in a harbour is safe, but this is not what a ship is built for"
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