India Uncut
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Friday, July 28, 2006
Breaking news: Mixie falls on Amit Varma's toe
I'm so tired of linking to things, you know. Link, link, link, comment sometimes, wisecrack often, hey, what about me? So this post is going to be personal blogging, the kind I never do, and I thought I'd warn you at the start.
A mixie fell on my foot today, making a toe spurt blood. I was moving the toaster out of the way of the microwave so I could heat some water to gargle with -- yes, my throat is aflame and my nostrils are in turmoil, though those around me point to PMS as a likely cause of my mood swings -- and the wire of the toaster was tangled up inblue the mixie, and it came crashing down.
Luckily, the toe it hit was not the one I'd famously busted in a lit-blogger's kitchen -- it was separated from that one by one innocent toe. And as blood burst forth and I let loose a series of plaintive yelps, the innocent toe spoke up.
"Such misfortune it is, to be surrounded by you wimpy toes," it said. "You should just wear nailpolish next. Why're you always moaning and groaning and getting hurt, why can't you just be an alpha male like your owner Amit?"
"Ha," snorted the previously injured toe. "Alpha male my foot! Amit's a pussycat, a thin-brained, weak-hearted, flabby loser. And you know what, I can take the pain. The only reason I make these noises is because Monsieur Wimp wants attention."
"Yeah," said the blood-squirting toe. "What's a little blood or a probable bone-break to me? All this noise is for Amit. He wants attention. He's a blogger."
"Oh come come," said the toe in the middle. "He's not that kind of blogger. He blogs about, well, things other than himself."
"In the end," said previously injured toe, "they all blog about their toes. There's nothing else, really."
"There's mixies," pointed out blood-squirting toe. "But you can't blog about mixies. Who'd be interested?"
And now the little toe at the corner squeaked up. "What about pixies?" it asked. "Can someone please tell me a story about pixies? I'm lonely down here."
The blood-squirting toe looked at him. And squirted blood.
A mixie fell on my foot today, making a toe spurt blood. I was moving the toaster out of the way of the microwave so I could heat some water to gargle with -- yes, my throat is aflame and my nostrils are in turmoil, though those around me point to PMS as a likely cause of my mood swings -- and the wire of the toaster was tangled up in
Luckily, the toe it hit was not the one I'd famously busted in a lit-blogger's kitchen -- it was separated from that one by one innocent toe. And as blood burst forth and I let loose a series of plaintive yelps, the innocent toe spoke up.
"Such misfortune it is, to be surrounded by you wimpy toes," it said. "You should just wear nailpolish next. Why're you always moaning and groaning and getting hurt, why can't you just be an alpha male like your owner Amit?"
"Ha," snorted the previously injured toe. "Alpha male my foot! Amit's a pussycat, a thin-brained, weak-hearted, flabby loser. And you know what, I can take the pain. The only reason I make these noises is because Monsieur Wimp wants attention."
"Yeah," said the blood-squirting toe. "What's a little blood or a probable bone-break to me? All this noise is for Amit. He wants attention. He's a blogger."
"Oh come come," said the toe in the middle. "He's not that kind of blogger. He blogs about, well, things other than himself."
"In the end," said previously injured toe, "they all blog about their toes. There's nothing else, really."
"There's mixies," pointed out blood-squirting toe. "But you can't blog about mixies. Who'd be interested?"
And now the little toe at the corner squeaked up. "What about pixies?" it asked. "Can someone please tell me a story about pixies? I'm lonely down here."
The blood-squirting toe looked at him. And squirted blood.
