Why the Sourness?

I am a firm believer of the idea that the taste of your drink sets the mood for the night. There is a sense of karmic balance that plays its role behind the bar counter while your drink is being created. There is a corollary to this concept , that your mood is reflected by what you drink. So its quite likely that the fruitier your concoction the peppier you are, the more acrid your poison the shittier you are. Having begun on that note, Let me first express my gratitude to this wonderful year of 2008 who has been as generous as your ex's current flame. This year has been somewhat like her boyfriend you meet before hitting the bar thinking that you guys can be congenial after all and after all those Bagpiper shots you realize that she picked a loser and you're still better off than him. I personally hate these fuckers who feign concern when your passing out on her doorstep after ensuring that her brand new Fabindia doormat is well introduced to torrents of Sour pussy ,Old Monk chasers & chicken lollipops you devoured at the bar a couple of hours ago. Staring at 'Sweetums' from the cold floor with the door mat for company, You long to reach close enough to sock him in the eggs & when you realize he is too far away, You roll over and light up a smoke. Right there in that moment there is a feeling of belonging, a sense of orientation. You begin to realize where you are and what is it that your doing. The alcohol starts wearing off, lady clarity lovingly asks you a question. The motive to your existence lies in your ability to answer the fact that whether you would be on the floor or anywhere else in the world? Me? I would rather be there than anywhere else in the world. Where else would I be happier? There is nothing more dearer to me than my miseries and demons. They have been bestowed upon us by society. They have moulded us into the fine individuals we are today. We were made by the fine experiences served piping hot by time and society. So what if we got burnt in a greedy attempt to satiate our curious hunger. Bullocks if this year has been as shitty as that prick. Remember what the doormat and the cold floor whispered to you that night. He is just a rebound factor for her, her attempt to prove to you that there are better pricks than you. Only you know better. This year, him and all the other annoying shitfucks are just like the sour pussy you had at the bar, only to meet so tragic an end. The delicious irony is that he pitifully gazes at you, where as the only pity he should have is for himself. She is gonna chew him up and throw him to the side because he will never be you. Time can never be consistent with life. Time is always a variable. Life is in search of the honest you, your true self. And that honest you is lying on that floor right now. With the sour aftertaste of pussy.

Cast in this episode:-
She-is life, whom you shall always love inspite of her obvious contempt of you.
He/sweetums-is time who shall mutely look on inspite of being the cause to all your discomfort
You are....You

Post Script.:- next time you wish to delve into metaphysical levels of meditation to attain enlightenment, Do go for a fruiter drink. Dont let life catch you in a bad taste.