Single Scribbler

Girls!! How do they get hooked with the dumbest, weirdest, most uncool, guys on the planet? I’m sure every sane single guy or an ex-single guy must’ve asked this himself at some point or the other in his otherwise normal life. I mean, how is it that women drool over guys like Matthew Mc Connaughey and still end up with a guy no taller than Danny de Vito, no thinner than him for that matter, and with a brain quarter the size o’ the brain he’s got?? Is it just because they’re the easiest catch??....Hmmm…Are all dumb guys rich then??...Maybe…But sane, single guys like me never seem to get the answer. I guess that’s probably why we fill our status as ‘single’. Not that we complain about it. We’re pretty happy if you catch the view from our side.

We’ve got no one to make up a thousand times because we didn’t cry on hearin’ a beautiful girl’s plight with her best friends, OR because we didn’t ‘awww’ on seein’ a li’l boy dressed in the shabbiest of rags, (I know I know…rags ARE shabby….Just adds to the effect you know), beggin’ for a rupee, (Yes…That’s what they charge….The most recent one that I heard included a Money plus scheme from the Life Insurance Corporation), OR some crappy film starring SRK, who must be spendin’ half his life in Railway stations or Airports (In case you happen to be an alien from outer space, that’s where this guy picks up chicks from, whines and dines ‘em, (Yeap…I spelt that right), makes ‘em cry, and at the end starts cryin’ himself, which is of course after he’s made sure that every other character has shed half a bucket o’ tears, and in the end gets the chick back at the same airport/railway station, whichever’s whiter in background, whom he let go of with utter stupidity and stubbornness somewhere before the interval, which would’ve saved us insensitive singles, if he didn’t, on cigarettes, who sometimes make the mistake of goin’ to watch such pathetic excuses of films because they don’t have a girl to take out to, who, on the contrary, if we did have, would obviously ask us to take them to such pathetic excuses of films, and we ex-singles now would have to end up payin’ for two tickets in place of one, and absolutely NO cigarettes which we less brighter mortals think that it relieves all the tension caused by the repeated question imposed on us by our bitch of a conscience….”What’re you doin’ here??...What’re you doin’ here??...WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN’ HERE???”), cryin’ his head off over some overtly made-up stunning woman, who eventually comes back to him anyway, makin’ his whole cryin’ worthwhile (Well, that’s what the audiences are made to believe. They don’t know what she’s gonna do to the guy after they get home. She’d probably try to kill him with her mascara or hair-dryer by shoving it into his…uhh…nose, so that she wouldn’t have to waste her polka-dotted hand-kerchief on a guy who’s never grown a beard, and ahem ahem…waxes, and never ceases to weep like a baby who’s candy has been stolen by one such pathetic guy).

We don’t spend a thousand bucks on a 1cm x 1.5cm newspaper space reserved for love notes (PUKE) which go like,

‘Every moment I’m away from you I feel I’m walking on knives,

If I had one wish, I’ll wish we’re together for all the seven lives’

- Name withheld

*Barf* Excuse me dear. Now is that puke-inducin’ or what? I mean, what kind of a guy, writes stupid love notes like that? Jeez, walkin’ on knives? Get rid o’ those filthy loafers and get yourself a Nike you bastard.

And the reaction on the chick’s face the next day you ask? How the hell would I know? I didn’t write that. And even if was drunk on, like, 10 bottles of vodka, and I do happen to write such a romantic rhyme which has the ability to wipe out Shakespearean works from the surface of the Earth, I wouldn’t wanna find out.

Oh! I forgot to tell you the most important advantage we singles have. We can look at any gurl, for any amount of time and as many numbers of times as we count err...sheep, before dozin’ off. Now hold it right there.

I know what you non-single readers’re thinkin’ (Yeah right, the only probable readers of this post are gonna be a coupla my jobless friends who’re gonna resist with utmost disgust at the words ‘read’ and ‘blog’, and I’m talkin’ about categories of readers here??? Man, some hopes I’ve got). You’re probably thinkin’ I’m jealous o’ these not-so-impressive guys who end up with drop-dead gorgeous women.

All I'd say is you’ve got a point there, a pretty valid one. But if us singles (read sane bachelors) can walk away with the above mentioned advantages of being single, and the ones that I haven’t mentioned with utmost interest in Google’s storage limit, with just a small teeny weeny itsy bitsy accusation of bein’ jealous, then we have reasons to believe that you non-singles are definitely on the wrong side of God’s blessings. And with the utmost satisfaction of makin’ non-singles look pathetic, which does hurt me a bit too as I happen to have a heart of gold, studded with diamonds in between, I think I’ll stop my very first blog right here. Oh and people who did buy a Nike after readin’ my blog and are currently lookin’ for me with their former filthy loafers in hand, please do notify your nearest dealer in Nike of me as I would be grateful to receive a reasonable amount for such generous publicity.