Promised ball-cupping pics.
The next day, I had a few friends over for a cocktail party. You know it's a good night when you finish a bottle of rum in under 2 hours.
Man, it's been a while since I broke out that hookah.
Speaking of which, random story (guess I'm not that lazy after all). Me and a few friends were in god forsaken dirthole downtown Denver two summers ago. Of course, the bar we were in had this angry red, near gothic theme going for it, and us former death-goth-metal-heads quite liked the place. We Indians very quickly realize that our accent will never be considered exotic, and that our words will never make the ladies swoon or make their knees go weak. It is of great use when you want to play "make the politically correct whitey laugh at your accent", but not too much good comes out of it otherwise. Try saying "you and me, will paint this town red baby" like Apu does and you'll see what I mean. Yanks - yes, we know you find us funny.
Anyway, even if I did have an outrageously cool accent, I have zero skills to initiate conversation with the fairer sex, much less charm them with my mystical Eastern wisdom. So I generally stick with my friends and pretend I'm too cool to "play the game". Back to the story. After a few drinks, we stepped out for a smoke. I should mention that I pick up the cancer sticks only when I've had one too many, and my sparkling wit and genius spontaneity are at a bare minimum. We started talking to these ladies of shall we say, an older age group. We exchanged notes about smoking preferences and soon I had to explain that I liked my tobacco flavored, smoke cooled and delivered through an ornamental glass contraption, and indeed I wasn't interested in women who provided sexual gratification after a brief financial transaction.
The ladies were fascinated and cooed "that sounds great! where do you live?". While I've had the occasional wink, suggestive nod, subtle elbow, sensational grind, I'd never had the anvil of a super clue dropped on my head. Of course, we had no intention of taking the bony elders home and I was suddenly faced with the task of ending the conversation. My friends, as usual, had run away and I had 3 sets of crow-feet lined, expectation-filled eyes looking at me. Turning my head to the side, I pulled out my best Indian accent and said "uhhh, I don't know I am new to this city, my friends brought me here, and they live somewhere south and I have no idea how to go there". After a minute's delay, that is.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, and we did end up consuming flavored tobacco bubbled through cold vodka, sans the senior citizens.
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7 comments:
No face? Oh noes!
And BTW, that is not how you cup balls.
Ssshhhhh.
Oh, and your hands? Your hands.
I know you like the mention of your hands. So I did. Brownie?
You know I love you.
So. 2 brownies, one for each for hand. Love you too. Now tell me, what do you know about cupping?
Well, you should have asked me the question before you gave me the brownies. My hands are preoccupied.
That's the great thing about being me-- you can tap anyone, no matter how old or bony.
What we need, to change that accent into swoon-worthy, is a Hollywood movie starring a hot Indian guy.
It really just takes one hot guy in the spotlight to make the accent work, and then from then on? Women associate the accent with that guy.
Like Pavlov's dogs.
@ AMDP : Trust you're done with brownies. If not, they're old - throw 'em away. Now lets talk about cupping and you.
@ Perakath : I'm pretty sure all these ladies wanted was the hookah and no tapping favors would be rewarded.
@ Rassles : Great idea. They'd better hurry if they want to help me and my peers. The hot Indian guy will have to be old and balding as it is.
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