SMOKING PARRYWARE CERAMICS !!!

Caught in the whirlpool of file submissions in my college, the last few days were torture for me. I desperately sought a friend to help me complete my block diagrams while I struggled with my written work but all the damn monkeys had vanished after submitting their files on time. To top it all, I contracted a stubborn stomach virus. I suspect it had invaded my body after I had had a late night snack of Monaco biscuits dipped in liquid cheese. Maybe it was a carbohydrate complex…I thought that it was a damn protein….

The after effects of the virus caused me to occupy the bathroom for an extraordinarily long period of time. Most of the time was spent lying on the bathroom floor .One of my friends came over to my place as he was concerned about my illness. My piteous moans and groans shook the life out of him and he seemed poised to haul me to the hospital whenever the situation would get out of hand. But even he gave up after a while because he arrived at the conclusion that I was trying to merge with the bathroom floor tiles and spent his time watching a comedy flick about a terminally ill student on Star Movies.

I called up one of my family doctors who had settled in the south and asked him to treat me over the phone. Through his South Indian accent, I grabbed some of the points he stated for my welfare. “STUPID ASS” and “DO NOT EVER CALL HERE AGAIN YOU SWINE !!!” were the ones which left a profound effect on me. I contacted one of my pals, Dr Gautam Kumar. He is not really a doctor; as a matter of fact I am not sure if he is a person after all. He suggested that I drop my pants and roam about on the terrace in my underpants while carrying a dumbbell in one hand. This procedure he claimed, had cured many patients. After I threatened to smash his face with two huge bricks and lynch him with my old socks, irritated, he suggested another cure. He advised me to get hold of a rag picker’s shoes and smell them till I fainted. After regaining my senses, he promised that I would be fully cured. I cursed him with all my might and slammed the phone down after threatening to sell his body to Da Vinci’s descendants for exhuming. ( Did Da Vinci have relations ????? )

After this mentally disintegrating incident, I fled to the zoo and observed baboons curing their stomach aches by feeding on grass. I stealthily entered their cage to steal some of the grass, only to driven away by the guard who ripped the shirt off my back and gave me a red a** akin to a baboon.

Exhausted I reached home only to find a digene pill and a glass of water by my bedside with a small note which read “Dear Abhik, have this and please contact Monaco Industries for a job as they want a lab rat to test their new mint flavored biscuits on ….”