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Tuesday 31 July 2007

the dark mysteries of the shopkeepers-the vendorship of the the of the the.

ok...my bad.there are no myster-IES of the shopkeepers....none that i know of,atleast! but on a very wide scale(from vijay nagari annex to thane...isnt that VERY WIDE?) i have noticed one peculiar thing just a few million times and have been (hardly) trying to solve the mystery that i'll be sharing with u guys.so many of u may have very well guessed by now that i am currently as busy and important as a fly trapped in a closed jar with only one hole in the lid to let in the aroma of mouth watering sweets(i know my analogies are as bad as.....u know...)

ANYWHO,
we'll continue talking about some useless mystery of the shopkeepers.so according to my studies on the protocols of trading as followed by the shopkeepers, i have observed the following peculiarity innumerable times---

after having paid,if i stick my hand out to collect the change money back from the shopkeeper,he inadvertently puts the change right on the desk or the table below. in fact, when i observed a few of them carefully, many of them literally tried hard not to place the change in my open palm. GOD knows why!!

this is for real.

in fact,when i started doubting the shopkeepers of some kinda conspiracy against my palms,i started to stick out my hand more often to see if they cracked under the pressure,which sadly they havnt till date.... but i hope to rattle some cages and if we all join hands against this treason we may succeed in bringing down this tyranny against palmhood.

but till then i was planning on simply confronting one of my regular vendors and bust this mystery out. say wt?

oh...time for my morphine shot...brb

shamie,
31st july,2007.

Sunday 15 July 2007

Choco-Thick Shake

On a crowded Sunday afternoon, Manoj fought his way through the mass. He reached the machines before the sweat from his eyebrow trickled down his cheek. He smiled wryly. He wished it would rain so that the mercury dropped down, but immediately shrugged off the thought. The last thing he wanted was more people trying to squeeze in for shelter. "Why do we humans get wet?" he muttered. Reaching for a glass mug, he started the tap water. Hot! Water, nonetheless. As he washed it, he pictured himself shrinking to the size of the mug and enjoying the waterfall from the tap.

The crowd's noise brought him back to his sweaty self. He pulled one of the machines' lever and a stream of chocolate syrup dropped into the mug. He wiped the sweat off his lips. Next he turned on the adjacent machine. Chilled sweetened milk spurted down into the mug. He could feel sweat droplets flow down the back of his ear. Then he placed the mug into a blending probe and turned it on. He could not hear anything for the next few seconds. It was his favourite part. After a count of 5, he turned it off and pressed the CHOCOLATE button on the adjacent machine. Soft and cold chocolate ice cream oozed out of the hose below as he held the mug loosely. This was the slowest machine. He hated it. As the chocolate filled the mug,he twisted it to create a swirling serve,tapering at the top. "Art!" he thought. He ruffled through the rack and caught hold of a plastic chocolate sauce bottle. After shaking it a few times, he squeezed it while swirling its mouth over the chocolate dump. He tossed the bottle into the rack and sprinkled some choco-chips and vermicelli onto the dessert. He reached out for a large spoon and stabbed into the shake. Placing the shake on the desk in front of him, he yelled,"Choco-thick shake...ready!"

A teenager pounced onto the counter with a huge smile on his face. He had waited long enough for this moment. Just as he saw the shake, he retorted,"Hey,where's the choco-wafer that goes with it?" Manoj reached out for a box full of such wafers, all the while staring down at the restless teenager. Taking out a wafer, he stuck it in the blob and watched in disgust as the boy got high on chocolate. "I wish you choke your arteries on it!" snarled Manoj. The boy was too busy enjoying his shake to listen.

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