Saturday, February 21, 2009

CARS CAN PUMP KIN

I had a dream. Oh, I had one of those bigger ones. A big car. One of those big ones that you buy and imagine yourself driving down the road and everyone drops everything and looks at you with their eyes wide and mouth agape.

And...In my dream it actually happened… I drove down the road and everyone looked at me with their eyes wide in astonishment. I could almost read their mind. The eyes were actually wide. The mouths were really agape. A child asked his mother “What is this thing mamma??… Why does it croak? It is a Big Froggy, no??”

“Yes my child” I wanted to tell him “It is a big froggy that uncle…no… sorry... bhaiyya... It’s a biiiiiggggg froggy that bhaiyya’s mechanic dissects every month in his metal laboratory.” Children are sooo cute, no. Can I choke one to death please?

I dreamt that I bought this car for my mechanic. At least, that is what it seemed. The man, in his almost shoulder length Caribbean hairdo, dark glasses, long!! Shorts (are they Bermudas… does any one wear them anymore), floral shirt, rum breath, a$$H@@!# drove my car more than I did. I could almost see his gleeful smile and his hair blowing in the wind as he took the 500th post repair trial. I could see his golden tooth sparkling in the sun (this wasn't true… made it up in my dream… was frustrated… please understand). His father, of curly hair fame, thanked me when I paying him. “Tank You” ha baba, lemme know if any ting happens, Ok.”

These ‘Ting’ happened like shit happens.

I dreamt that I had bought the damn car second hand. Yup. I know you are grinning too. You B!tc#. I was always smart. Born smart. I am a work of art. Just like a whistling fart.

Why pay all that dough for a new car when it depreciates like a D!@k after a fu@K. Might as well buy a good (???) second hand car and save all that money. You idiot… you.

So, in my dream, I went to this friend’s (???????) brother’s wife's uncle’s wife’s brother’s nephew, who happened to be a car dealer. “Mere rishte mein hai yaar… kidhar aur jaega to maamu banega”. Reassured, I went forward with my head in the sky and my feet in my a$$. And as it turned out, my friend WAS right. Barabar bola tha… maamu nahin bana…

Ch@t!ya ban gaya…

This smooooth operator. This grease bag. This fat pumpkin sold me a bigger pumpkin. He made me feel good about pumpkins. “Boss”, he said, “Boss, Yeh pumpkin hai naa… ekdum best hai. Aur pumpkin ka color to dekho, hain. Pumkin kya dikhta hai boss. Kya lagoge aap jab aap pumpkin ke oopar baithoge. Pumpkin mein ek baar bait ke to dekho. Wah! Kya Pumpkin hai sirjee”. In retrospect, all that remained was this small round pumpkin pulling his d!#k out (after finding it somewhere, hidden under multiple layers of meat) and getting off on the bigger “pumpkin”. Well, he did sound as if he was getting an orgasm.

I was his relative’s friend. So he thought he should pump-kin. He must have. That’s what my friend, in the dream, said a few months later when the engine screamed WHORE WHORE one morning. Horny pumpkin… my pumpkin.

And the things that happened to my pumpkin... apart from screaming out for WHORES every couple of months (a mating cry which, by the way, was answered, at lightening speed by the wannabe Caribbean mechanic slut), it found new ways to deprive me of my hard earned money between each WHORE cry. Oil leaks suddenly sprouted and when the mechanic had fixed that with his D!@k, it was time for the pumpkin to land on its ass as the suspensions gave way. Then the Air conditioning thought that that its only objective in life was to warm the cockles of my heart.

I contributed too. I loved my car, so I took it swimming. In the rains, that is. Then I pampered it more by buying it a brand new engine made by (guess who???) a Caribbean.

Now, in my disturbed sleep, I saw that my pumpkin has gone crazy. It has lost its gears. Literally.

And I am finally about to take a post pumpkin meal dump. Anyone who likes pumpkin… please give me a shout. I promise to sell you the most expensive pumpkin shit ever.

Who knows, you might just make it to the record books as the proud and bankrupt owner of the most expensive pumpkin... if you do manage to convert shit back into pumpkin.

Kya lagoge aap jab aap pumpkin ke oopar baith ke jaoge, sirjeeeeeee.

3 comments:

agent green glass said...

“Tank You” ha baba, it was a priceless post bout a pricey pumpkin!

Choco said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

Yes dear... You can pump kin... You probably do... Pump kin..