blaDE for PM

The general elections are around the corner. Mr. Advani, as you know, is already in full flow with his campaign. Part of his slogan is right – The world is looking for a new icon, a leader of men, someone who can take things into his hand and turn them on their head. Where does the world find such a hero?

As a self-proclaimed campaign advisor, campaign propagator and campaign initiator for blaDE, I present to you seven reasons why you should vote for blaDE to be PM.

Reason 1: Age factor

Lets start with a very trivial and basic reason just to get readers in the flow of things.

blaDE is [or looks like he is] old enough to a PM. But, he is also young enough to make a fuss about little things in life and throw tantrums all over the place. Beautifully balanced.

Reason 2: Public presence

Haven’t you noticed? blaDE is everywhere. He is at his room, at the cafe, at the RC, at the galla and at the football field all at the same time. There is barely a person on campus who does not recognize his face [not to mention his voice].

Reason 3: Influence among youth

blaDE is at his dynamic best whenever there is entry of new youth into our campus [admission time of course]. Year after year, he has spread his influence among unwary youth who fall unsuspectingly into his trap.

As a result, he never has had any dearth of fresh followers [although they don’t last too long].

Reason 4: Leadership qualities

blaDE is, no doubt, one of the leading leaders leading on campus. He led his humanities group in his very first year, and our professor was so impressed with his leadership qualities that he bestowed an A upon him.

Oh, if that wasn’t enough, blaDE is the new dynamic leader of the NPG party.

Reason 5: Off-the-roof thinking

[You might be wondering what off-the-roof means …]

All of us have heard blaDE’s banter at some point of time. But those unfortunate souls who have actually bothered to listen to what he says, will realize the truth in my words. You do feel like pushing him off a roof.

Reason 6: Efforts

blaDE tries.

But the problem is, he would have already said too much. So, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, a lot more is said than what is actually done.

Reason 7: PING!

That’s right.

If there is any trouble brewing anywhere, on campus of off, you can count on blaDE. He will bring the trouble [and the troublemaker] to his knees with a 36,000 [yes, a 36,000!] kilobyte ping packet.

The decision is yours, and the power is in your hands. So is the future of our campus. You can make a difference. If there is to be change, you can be the trigger. Do what you must. Vote for blaDE !

[PS: How you decipher PM is upto you. My personal favorite (that was suggested to me) is Pingy M***c***]

Kudos, and long live India.


The Almighty Writer (A Tribute by Bhand)

Legends have in them about a mighty author, whose words were sharper than the arrows of Arjuna, whose words were powerful than the mighty Bheema and more accurate than the words of Dharmaraj Yudhistira. There are stories that say that Godess Saraswati herself writes from his hand. His might was spread from Chetlur to the whole of the world. He was once heard saying that “the KEYBOARD is mightier than the sword”. None had seen him. None had touched him. His might was approaching the height of the Himalayas which made other powerful Gods including some of the most powerful ones “the Mighty beCkS”, “the powerful 3m!g0”, “the God of Gold ViRuS”, “the God of Boasting Sniper”, “the God of cUrSeS rUdI” envy him. All the other Gods met and named him “Cancer” after the dreadful disease. After Cancer knew it, he started writing about all the Gods and made their followers stand against them. (“Remember now it was: the KEYBOARD and the INTERNET together are mightier than AK and AWP”). The mighty Gods can’t do anything but to hail the Might of Cancer and his KEYBOARD. Legends have in them that Cancer would take an avatar in the KALYUGA to save his followers from the fear of the KALYUGA avatars of the mighty Gods.

The echo of “aey Chaneeeeee slot hai ki nahiiiiiiiiii” in an ultra high pitch that can tear the eardrum of normal people, could be heard at his dwelling place and the Almighty writer could be found pawning the normal people in DOTAAAAAAAAA like “Sniper pawning the BOTS(easy) in CS”. When there were no more people left to pawn in DOTAAAAAAAAAA he went on to pawn in AOE with his allies HITLER and HULK eating all the GOLD leaving Virus “THE GOD OF GOLD” with nothing but food and wood. Legends say that one day he will get into CS and pawn everyone everywhere. So all the great warriors of 88.55, 98.67, 91.89, 91.27 lets QUIT CS and watch “the Mighty Writer” pawn.

[Bhandvad Gita Chapter 1 : Verse 1 ]


The curse of the rUdi

Gather around kids; I’ll tell you a story. Mind you, you will not get to hear this from anyone else, so pay close attention.

Once upon a time, in a town called Kota, there was a great CS player. He was feared by every man and every BOT. Whenever he would arrive in a LAN game, all hell would break loose. Players would scramble to be on his side. The people on the other side would simply give up. [So he never really played that much].

His name was whispered in the alleys of the town. He was, all at once, more powerful than the dons, had more influence than the ruling political party and was cute enough to impress the best girls in town. His name was Sniper. [Legends have it that he was a close associate of the legendary beCkS]

But all great people have their nemesis. Hidden in the shadows [Which was not very hard because of his size], was a contemporary villain, rUdi. He was as cunning as a fox, as agile as a fox, and as quick as a fox.

Children : “So he was a fox??”
Me : “Err … Well, you can say so”

Anyways, sniper with all his bravery and CS skills got to one of the premier institutes in Gujjuland. Little did he know, it was rUdi’s stronghold. Yahaan rUdi ka raaz chalta tha.

Nobody knows how sniper ran into trouble. It is only known that he did. Trouble in the form of rUdi. For mysterious reasons, rUdi refused to acknowledge sniper by his real name. He had his own title for him – Meri Jaan Ka Jaan.

The battleground was set, the lines had been drawn. The battle was long and hard fought. In the end, rUdi lost to the pr0ness of sniper. But as he watched his heart being torn away from him, he mouthed a curse – “Thou shalt no more be pr0, sniper pr0. Nee lanja ! Naade Peddhadi !”

Sniper in his haughty pride, ignored rUdi’s curse. He refused to believe that his pr0ness could ever be lost. He bravely formed his army of paladins – The BTF (Born Tobe Fked).

In the early ages, BTF won every CS clan. They humbled clans as mighty as O Level. Everything was as per plan. There was nothing that could stop sniper pr0. Or so they thought…..


Children : “Wtf suspense re ! Tell us the story in the name of God ! It’s now or never !!!”

Ok Ok … There was something terribly wrong with sniper. His aim started faltering. Somehow, he started missing headshots. Bullets flew between the legs of enemies, over their shoulders, through their armpits, and from between their guns and their bodies, but they never hit them. No matter how hard sniper tried, he always got knifed.

Bombs exploded in his face. He got killed by team mates and got flashed in Cat rushes. He got wallbanged, cratebanged and doorbanged. Somehow, his enemies could get headshots on him with pistols while he hit their toe-nails with an Awp.

In the dead silence of being a spectator for a CS game, he could hear it. He could hear rUdi laughing from his abode in the MFi. The curse had come true. The curse of the rUdi.

Disclaimer and Note of Thanks

This is to inform readers that all content on this blog is purely fictional. Situations may carry resemblance to real life incidents, but they are the result of the author’s wild imagination. Kindly treat all content light-heartedly.

Also, my hearty thanks to all those who read my seemingly worthless articles. Keep up the spirits, and I’ll keep churning out the goods.


Abandon hostel

There is a lot happening in college these days. A lot of people have questioned my involvement in the same, but I completely deny all alegations. For you see, the ‘happenings’ that I talk of is the recent migration trend. Quite a few hostelites, fed up of their routine hostel life, decided to strike quarry elsewhere. I’ll take liberty in reporting what has been going around for a couple of weeks now.

It all started with a rebel 3rd year group wishing to move out of hostel.[Let’s name them ‘The rebels’ for the sake of this article]. They did their research and found that alcoholism was a crime that was most severely treated in the institute. So be it. They found an ally in a 4th year whom they knew and wished to move to the greener pastures on the other side.

On a certain night, they arranged for empty bottles of vodka, and filled them up with the water that was used to water the institute’s gardens.[You see, none of them were actually alcoholics.] As they entered the college campus, they bribed the watchman into catching them with the bottles. The watchman was an honest guy and flatly refused. The rebels had hit an unforseen hurdle. Who would have expected honesty in our country?

Luckily, one of the college spies was on patrol that night. He spotted the rebels and the watchman in conversation. From what his feeble eyesight could make out, he could recognize the bottles of vodka. [This spy was a drunk guy himself]. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, to the hostel supervisor. He gasped and panted and blurted out reports of the scene he had seen.

So, while the rebels were trying to negotiate with the watchman, the supervisor appeared out of nowhere. To the rebels, it was as if God himself had descended. They heaved a huge sigh of relief as he glided towards them. The watchman, of course, changed state quicker than ice in a blast furnace. He gave what he thought to be a smart salute and pointed first at the rebels and then at the bottles, with some finality.

The supervisor held up a hand to ensure silence. [Even the chirping crickets jammed their feet up their mouths.] He opened a bottle with caution and held it to his nose.

[Now here I must add, this guy had never seen or drunk or smelled vodka before. So, he had no idea what it looked or tasted or smelled like.]

Anyways, he held the damned bottle to his nose. The most outrageously disguting smell emerged from the bottle. The garden water had done the trick. The supervisor ran into the bushes to retch as the watchman looked on with curiosity. The rebels struggled to hide their glee. They were hugging each other when the supervisor got back. He assumed them to be hugs of grief and comfort. In his eyes, the wrong-doers had been caught. The warden will be delighted with his catch. He would probably award him a medal.

As for these bastards, they will get thrown out of hostel.

[To be continued …]