There's robots everywhere. The destruction of the world is imminent. I'm a bit confused as to why America's newest stealth bombers are flapping their wings as if they were pigeons. The robots are coming after me. I'm all alone in my house. This doesn't even look like my house. I'm bathed in a mild panic of fear and confusion. What the fuck is going on?
Suddenly, out of nowhere I find myself being hoisted into the air with mechanical precision. The grip around my neck suddenly tightens as I feel the cold touch of metal. Then, a bald guy walks in. He introduces himself as the ruler of the world.
What the fuck?
He introduces the whirring claw around my neck as Samantha 2000, his wife.
What the fuck?
She's a robot.
He tells me he's going to ask me this once, and once only. If I don't answer correctly, he will have me killed without a second thought. I believe him.
"What is the name of your girlfriend's classteacher?"
"Yo, Ankit! Wake up! You have class in like...8 minutes"
"Shut up, baldy! You're just pissed off that Samantha won't take it in the ass from you."
"Oh, sorry. I got you mixed up with someone else. What time is....SHIITTTTT!!!"
I throw on the same shirt I've been wearing for the past week, hurriedly brush my teeth, grab a jacket and bolt out the door.
Exactly 7 seconds later, I return. I forgot to fix my hair. Must always look sharp. Or messy. Whatever your style is, lol.
I just realized, I spend 10 minutes every morning, not disciplining my hair, but actually trying to make it look like my head was hit with a howitzer cannon. Strange world.
I walk over to my friend to pick up the day's copied homework. I am a leech. A parasite. I've been living off other people's efforts for as long as I can remember in my college life. And I seem to have made a pretty good living of it, too. A normal person would probably feel some pang of guilt, a flicker of consciousness, a late-night visit from God - to tell him he was wrong, but not me. You see, the fact that I'm Indian overrides everything.
Being American gives you a free pass to Europe.
Being a rockstar gives you a free pass to drunk pissing on the streets
Being Indian gives you a free pass to being an asshole.
It's as simple as that.
This very privelage will now allow me to walk into my class 30 minutes late; like I own it. ha-HA. (Because after I did my hair, I sat down to blog - philosophically)
I'm on the path to self improvement, though. I've decided to dilute the acid a bit. You know, do something other than convince my friends to do my homework, while I sit home watching Rock of Love bus on TV. (Addictive show)
Ah yes, watch out for my post on the perils of American TV in the near future, only shortly after the post on the perils of American fast food.
Yayness! Excitement :D
Next time I'm going to tell you guys about the weirdest fucking thing that happened to me the other night. Stay tuned!