Tuesday, December 05, 2006

The Adventures of Anj and Tammy - 3

Chapter three

“Tell me I’m dreaming.”

“You’re dreaming.”

Tammy turned to face me, aggravated. “Gee, thanks!” she said sarcastically.

“You asked.” I said, shrugging. “Now, are you ready to listen to my theory?”


“Okay. So, we both know that the evil genius, Dr. Phlemulus Alikakka lives in a secret laboratory under a bush in Peru, right?”


“And do we know what his uncle does for a living?”

“He’s a….plumber?”



“And what is his favourite animal?”


“Take your time.”


“Very good. And what are Hamsters?”


“Besides that.”






“They’re rodents!”

Comprehension dawned on my companion’s features. “Ooooh!” she said.

“Indeed! And what do we know about rodents?”

“The plague!”
she gasped, and clasped her hands over her mouth in horror.


“So what you’re saying is that Dr. Phlemulus is planning to release little hamsters infected with the plague into the plumbing of this city and unleash a wave of terror to turn its populace into mindless flesh-eating zombies?!”









“Look here, ladies,” interrupted our boss, who’d been observing our diatribe for the past fifteen minutes, “either get some work done, or get out. Labour’s expendable, you know.”

“CAPITALIST!” I screamed.



“Anj!” wailed Tammy, embarrassed.










With a final cry, I threw myself out of Tammy’s cubicle and ran down the stairs, raving like a lunatic.

Sighing, my boss gave Tammy a cheque for a hundred dollars. “Here,” he said. “Get yourself some sleeping tablets. And while you’re at it, get Anj some professional help.”

“I think she’s beyond that, sir.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Indeed, sir. Goodbye.”


NOTICE : It's come to my attention that people are taking offence at the title of my blog. Therefore I'm open to suggestions. Seriously, this is getting annoying. Grow up, will you? I'm not a satanist!

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Saturday, October 14, 2006

The adventures of Anj and Tammy 2

Chapter Two


a continuation, while taking a break from practicing eeeeeeeevil bmat questions which should be banned as an instrument of long term torture and causative factor of profound psychological damage.

ahem....excuse me, this is the first thing creative ish tht ive written for about ...er.mmm/...you can guess how long...so edit as u wish as long as u dont kill me off by fire, water or surgical maggots gone wrong.( im writing as me, btw, as in...from iinside tammys mind)

ahem. (again)

"No Marmite."



Those foul words of doom seemed to resonate inside my skull and i felt as though i was drowning in a sea of Marmite-less-ness trauma. Waves of pain engulfed my toes and my head began to throb, as Anjs voice seemed to recede into the background. A red and magenta haze surrounded the office and everything turned blurry.

(Cue for Puddle of Mud background music)


From the depths of my shock induced loss of consciousness-as-such, i felt a slap accross my face. Thwacked out of this state of Marmitelessnessfreakedoutedness, I opened my eyes wide.There was Anj, raising her hand to slap me again.So, i poked her.

Now those of us who know/love/loathe/pluck the eyebrows of (take your pick) anj, know that, when poked, she emits a new sqeak/squeal evrytime. This was Squeak Of Outrage No. 78643, Version F.

Facing each other, and realising the Gravity of the Situation at Hand, we put aside a small difference in communicative style. For, what is a poke/slap/potato kokis amongst friends? Nothing. (well,maybe not the potato kokis.)

Slowly, we exhaled.






woman, ur turning a darker shade of purple


"The time," I muttered, "has come for us to make a plan".


Yes, we have to resort to organisation. Psych urself up...or, down, as it were.So, (speech marks irritate me, sorry anj,)

T: We have no marmite. What are the implications of this besides not being able to make marmite sandwiches?

A: "Not make marmite sandwiches"???? How can you SAY it so calmly????Dont you realise, freakling, we are doomed doomed DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED!!!!!!!!

(Anj begins to wail) (I begin to wail) ...female sympathy pains.

T: enough of this wailing men, theres something worse than not being able to make marmite sandwiches.

A: Worse??? What do you mean WORSE???? there is nothing worse!!! NOTHING I TELL YOU, NOTHING!!!!!!!!

(anj looks at the water cooler for inspiration.) (American Water looks back and sighs.)

T: Oh yes there is, you know what i mean.

Evil music and white fluffy cat belonging to Evil Genius wanders in.






T: yes.

(guys who are getting a sense of deja vu...deal with it...tis a girly thing and wont change anytime this side of the next millennium)

A: Well. Well...I think i know how to deal with that.

T: (Now its my turn to gasp) You do??? What? HOW?

......Please wait till episode3 for the absolute genius and general smart-ness of Anj to be revealed.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

The Adventures of Anj and Tammy

Chapter One

It was a dreary October afternoon when I stumbled into that office, drenched in sweat. I remember the dull hum of ceiling fans, circulating the same rancid air and not really being of very much use to anyone. I remember the sound of my heart, beating fast and loud, drowning out all coherent thought. I remember the look on her face, twisted with worry. She opened her mouth to speak, but I heard nothing. I’m not exactly sure as to whether she said anything at all; but that day – that day – everything was different.

“Anjalie?” I finally heard her say. “Anj, what’s wrong?”

Still unable to respond, I flopped onto her desk, paying no heed to the paperclips that dug into my flesh. I may have bled, but who knows?

“Anj,” she repeated. “Anj, talk to me. What happened?”

I sat there for what seemed to be an eternity, staring blankly into the depths of her eyes, gaping like a fish out of water. My life had turned to clay. Everything was stagnant. It was almost as if time had stopped. I could no longer hear the ticking of her broken clock, the one that looked like Mickey Mouse but was actually Bruce Springsteen. The clacking of fingers on keyboards seemed to have ceased, and I could see no evidence of life on the street below. I could feel little rivers of perspiration running down my back and pooling in my underwear.


I finally found the strength to speak.




With that worried expression still etched onto her features, she dashed towards the filter and returned with a plastic cup filled with icy-cold H2O. At that point I paused to appreciate the nature of the cup. Closing my eyes, I observed that it had an exceptionally positive natural energy, very much unlike that of my boss. Running my fingers over the rim, I noticed that this positive energy was being nulled by the presence of an uncharacteristic chip – that is to say, a stumbling block in that little cup’s walk of life. Its weathered exterior, once displaying a bold motif of Tweety Bird, was now-

“Anj, you’re drooling.”

Aah, my saviour. She was always doing this; rescuing me from the forces of ignorance.

“Tammy,” I cried, clasping her hand.





“WHAT?! Ew, Anj! What did you just wipe on me-?”

“TAMMY!” I screamed. I was getting desperate. If Tammy didn’t pay attention to the fact that I was crying hysteria into her bosom, then no one would. Granted, she was the only one who tolerated my melodramatic outbursts.

“Uhm…are those eggshells in your hair?”

“Never you mind the eggshells,” I said, and, gazing determinedly at her skeptical expression, pulled a couple of slimy pieces from my head. “We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

“A crisis?”

I nodded.

A pregnant pause followed in which we heard nothing but Thareef giggling excitedly as he raced past our cubicle towards the ladies toilets with his camera in his hands.

She slapped her forehead. “Oh, God. What have you done this time?”

“I was innocent!” I cried, and beat my breast.

This defensive mechanism failed to work, however, and Tammy threw the Tweety Bird cup at my head. It missed and hit the accountant, a pink velvet hippo named Rupert. In this way the object lost a lot of its positive energy, and having gained much of Tammy’s negative, became a destructive force, one that was particularly harmful towards pink velvet-

“I KNEW it! I knew something would happen. Why, Anj, WHY!? It hasn’t even been a week since that last escapade of yours!”

“Look, it’s like I keep telling you – I never aimed that giant wad of putty at the Spanish Ambassador, okay?”

“Yes, but while that’s true, you can’t overlook the fact that you were actually aiming at the Orphanage!

“HEY! They were getting on my nerves!”

“Just because little Billy didn’t lend you his crayons!?”

“They need to learn how to share, al’ite?!”

“He’s six years old, Anj!”

“So?! When I was six I lived in a cardboard box with sixteen other little siblings. We had only one crayon between us all, and we still managed to share!”

“That’s bullshit. You have two sisters.”

“Yes, well, a little putty never hurt anyone.”

Explosive putty?!”

“Whatever,” I said, and returned to the topic at hand. “Like I said, we’re in the midst of a crisis.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to help you this time.”

“But you must!” I exclaimed. “The fate of the world as we know it rests upon your weary shoulders!”

Tammy ignored me and continued to ramble to herself. “How was I to know that she was trying to demolish the orphanage? Why does this sort of thing happen to me? Why am I cursed with a friend like her? Did I remember to hang the washing out to dry? When did I-”

I grabbed her hand again and gave her what I hoped was a pained expression. She snorted. Chortling inside, I knew she had given in.

“Alright, you’ve got me,” she said. “What’s the big emergency this time?”

“You might want to sit down – this may come as a bit of a shock.”

“I gathered as much from your emotional display,” she replied, amused.

Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten. Then I let her have it.

“There’s no more Marmite™.”

Her scream resounded like a tidal wave crashing against the shore.

To be continued...

Friday, September 15, 2006


Happy Birthday to the littlest sibling, Poochie! Of course you won't be able to read this (at least not now, seeing as you're only three), but in due course, when you're thirty, balding (Thathi's defective genes'll probably get you, knowing our family's luck) and well endowed in the midrif area, we can both take a trip down memory lane.

It terrifies me a little, how fast time flies. Moments are fleeting, intangible things in our world. Like the day I first saw you. I thought: 'damn, are all babies that ugly at birth?!' and then had to reprimand and remind myself that you were my sibling, and that I had to be nice. Of course I never bothered to think like that when THE Sibling was born, but I was only five then.

Will you remember when I first held you, and worried that I'd let you fall?

Will you remember when F, A and I made all those special trips to Thathi's place, just to watch you sleep?

Will you remember that pillow I sewed for you on your first birthday, that was really uncomfortable and unbelievably ugly?

Will you remember when Sibling made you cry, and then squealed and poked you some more because she said your lower lip did that weird pouty thing that made you look so damn cute?

Will you remember that day you found a slug and called it 'Poochie'?

Will you remember running to Thathi every time G, Sibling or I did something you didn't like, and then complained that we were 'troubling you'?

Will you remember that time Haalmassa and I fell asleep and you couldn't stand the thought of being alone so you jumped on our backs and pretended like you weren't trying to wake us?

Will you remember pointing at L's dog's crap and screaming: "PUDDING!" ?

Will you ever remember the atrocities you commited regarding a certain kitty by the ungainly name of 'Chicken'?

Will you remember that you cried everytime we left, even though we promised to come back?

I hope so. Because moments like these mean everything.

Here's to the littlest Poochie.

Happy Birthday :)

Saturday, August 12, 2006


Completed at work. Yes, i know- I'm a very efficient and productive person. Thing is though, why bother working when there're other people to do it for you?

Saturday, July 22, 2006


This little obsession was all Anya's fault. I swear. It has nothing to do with me! Okay, fine. Maybe it does have something to do with me. But just a little. I drew these about two years back, so forgive the somewhat...stunted style.

Vash, from Trigun. Honestly, everyone should read that manga. It's something something something; a mix between the wild west and star wars. It's one of those psychologically screwed up comics, with a healthy dash of blood and gore. Thoroughly enjoyable.

This was initially supposed to be a character sketch of Cain. The manga, by Kaori Yuki (the same woman who did Angel Sanctuary, for those of you who care), is as messed up as anyone could imagine. As you may tell, i tend to enjoy psychologically screwed, thriller-type...stuff.

A character sketch for a comic i was supposed to develop with a friend. Nothing came of it, though. Such a shame...

Friday, July 14, 2006


Tis a pig! I think...

Mother Nature, perhaps? God knows...

I will not take any credit for this pic...it's actually Himansu's. He hasn't put it on his blog, though, so i thought i would...and yes, i know it looks nothing like me! Oh well.

Joblessness abounds at 12am :)

Thursday, June 08, 2006

In our darkest hours


I discovered my f4 almanac within the depths of an ancient cardboard box last night and couldn't help feeling incredibly old. I mean, this was three years ago. I hadn't even taken my OLs, and now...I'll be leaving behind the monotony of school life forever. Kinda depressing, actually. Anyway. I thought i'd share some extremely random things (no wonder we're considered the 'reject class'!!) with the rest of the world. Bear in mind that they are, as i have already mentioned, extremely random. Revel in our randomness! MWahahahhaaaa...

Tammy's hand!! 100%BS :P
Try figure out what it says. I can't, and I have the original!
And people tell me I think too much...

Rasha's logic. Don't even ask.


The amazing (mis)adventures of Stickman™ continue!!

After his last tiresome adventure, Stickman™ decides to venture towards greener pastures by educating himself in the art of nasal decoration. His faithful pet, Stick-bat™, roosts peacefully from the brim of his hat in a desperate attempt to keep away from the light. For, as Stick-bat™ discovered, little illumination can irritate one whose eyes are closed. Stickman™, who is still pining after Stickgirl™, somersaults gracelessly over a stampede of wild Uranium Stickchickens™ (famed for laying platinum eggs) and lands SPLAT in a mud puddle. Stickman™ bursts in to tears. Feeling sympathetic, a chicken makes its way towards him and…craps on his toe. Stickman™ squeals with disgust and Stick-bat™ is woken from his dream about flying maggots. Sniffling in surprised drowsiness, Stick-bat™, unaware of his surroundings, lets go of Stickman™’s hat and plummets earthwards, landing headfirst in a pile of chicken deposits. Slightly miffed, Stick-bat™ gazes Stickman™ with an expression of puzzled devotion. Stickman™, on the other hand, is not puzzled. On the contrary he is pretty pissed off. He yells. He screams. He wrings the neck of the offending stickchicken and is brained by a blizzard of 2lb platinum eggs.

Dripping gray matter and cerebrospinal fluid, Stickman™ staggers off
and collapses on a nearby…
pile of manure. He shakes his sticky little fist at the sky and curses the heavens, daring the deities to make his life even more miserable than it already is. That’s when Stickgirl™ saunters by, her BATA™ flip flops a-flipping and a-flopping on the pavement. She sees Stickman™ sitting in a pile of manure and utters a loud and degrading “GROSS!!” before clamping her nose shut. Stickman™ colours and is just about to explain when a large ORANGE CRATE™ (filled with oranges) falls from the sky and flattens him. Manure flies in all directions, and a generous portion lands on Stickgirl™’s new dress. She wails in anguish, and with one last pitiful moan, turns on her heel and flees, only to be intercepted by…

…StickBulldog™, who, lathering at the mouth (he swallowed a can of shaving cream), lunged for Stickgirl™’s slender throat. Stickgirl™ let out a supersonic wail and sprinted for the nearest tree. StickBulldog™ galloped after her, baying as he went. Stickgirl™ reached the nearest tree. Alas! It was a 20ft coconut tree!

“Daymn!” yelled Stickgirl™, stamping her BATA™ slippered feet. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Stickman™ appeared. Bespattered in the excreta of various species, Stickman™ lunged at StickBulldog™. StickBulldog™ paused in mid-bark. He took one sniff at the aura surrounding Stickman™, turned tail and ran like heck across the street. Stickgirl™ turned to face stickman.

“Is that a new cologne?” she asks, ‘cuz it stinks like shit!”

Stickman coughs to hide his unease and mumbles something about heavenly punishments. Stickgirl™ finds herself in an awkward situation. Just because it’s polite to kiss the stick-chap who saved your life, it doesn’t mean it’s very pleasant. Anyway, like an answer to her prayers, an ORANGE CRATE™ falls from the sky and flattens him. AGAIN! Stickgirl™ this as an opportunity to flee, and races as far as possible from her putrid-smelling admirer. Just then, when Stickman™ wonders if things can’t get any worse a thunderstorm breaks out and its starts to rain…

The rain falls down on Stickman™, washing away excess orange pulp. Suddenly Stickman™ realizes that the rain is washing away all the colours in Sticktown. Stickriver is awash with a multitude of hues and three stickpeople bathing in it come out indigo, blue and cyclamen. Stickman™, on the other hand, is preserved from the redistribution of pigments and remains his original colour. Peeping out from the depths of the ORANGE CRATE™, Stickman™ gets a splash on magenta on his nose. Stickgirl™ is now nowhere to be seen. Registering this obvious fact, Stickman™ pauses. Then he bursts into tears. Stick-bat™ squeaks sympathetically. Sitting down on the ORANGE CRATE™, Stickman™ ponders his next move.
Just then, Johnny Depp saunters by, and who, being a super-hunky superstar has also been spared of the overall redistribution of pigments (Stickman™ is spared only because he is the tragic hero of this tale). Anyway, chance has it that Stickgirl™, just returning from the public showers and also preserved of re-colouration, spots Johnny Depp from 150miles away. She squeals and runs after him, and upon interception is asked for her hand in marriage. She, being a devoted fan of the character, accepts. Unfortunately this whole scenario takes place in front of Stickman™, who, upon the exit of the happy couple, rips off his big toe and chucks it into the river. He curses God before proceeding to the nearest cliff. Yes, suicide is clearly the best option.

Stickman™ stares down the crevice, hot, salty tears pouring down his sticky little cheeks. He takes a deep breath in preparation to jump and curses heaven one last time before…a large ORANGE CRATE™ falls on his head. Stickman™, who had not really the guts to commit sera puku, screams as he is shoved off the cliff. He plummets a squajibillion feet before he is blinded by a sudden flash of light….

And Angelina Jolie appears. Lara Croft (aka – Anj Jolie) causes Stickman™ to levitate three feet above a rocky precipice (cross Lara croft with Harry Potter and see what you get). Stickman™ dangles unconscious, so close but so far from his doom. But then Lara Croft gets hit in the face by a southward bearing wind, carrying Stickman™’s unique perfume of eau de orange et shit (the thing is, no matter how bad a guy looks and how crap his personality is, a bad smell is definite grounds for dumping him). Angelina Jolie does just that. Stickman™ hurtles towards his doom at terminal velocity. Luckily today is, as has been said, not your average day in sticktown. It is the day of the annual stickmattress carnival, where stickmattresses of every shape, size and density converge down in stick-gorge for their annual celebration of the unique nature of their species. Fortunately where Stickman™ is about to fall to his death is the site of the164th weight competition, where the heaviest, softest but fluffiest mattresses gather to judge their own greatness. Yeah, but then they all see Stickman™ hurtling downwards and move out of the way as they dislike blocking the path of continuity.
The background music becomes sad and sorrowful as Stickman™’s mangled corpse is squished by the heavy mattress of the year. The ORANGE CRATE™ descends, slowly, but with a sad air of fatefulness, and drops for one last time (in this episode at least), landing upon Stickman™’s shattered cranium.



The logic of a 14-year old...

1. The sudden death of the Tellitubbies has not been solved due to the fact that most people hate Tellitubbies.

2.J'adore les jellybabies

3.'Chemistry' is just another way of teaching kids chemical warfare.

4.Coffee drinking makes you legally high.

5.HaNdWrItInG Analysis is AlL BALONEY

6. You are made of endorphins. When you grow they get erased.

7.As you get older your sense of gravity opposition weakens. You sag.


I...can't think of anything else to say....

Thursday, May 18, 2006


Yes, i know i shold be studying, but i can't resist a doodle now and again. God knows what the heck it is... Vine lady? The unincredible bush? Boob tree? We can only assume so much...

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


Aah, Vijay. Who could forget this brown-nosing assistant librarian? With his good looks and boyish charm, he's always the centre of attention. This attention may be mostly negative, but that is of no concern to us.

Himmy and i really went to town with this :D
True, my almanac's rating has suddenly shot up to "R", but one cannot deny that if you squint really really really hard, this could actually look like Vijay! Pardon the fact that this caricature is 'anatomically correct' (is it though?)

We really need to find something more constructive to do with our free time...

The God of Carrots! I must say, DW looks smashing!
(DW, Tammy and I)

Sketch of a model from a random magazine. Speaking of mags, doesn't it piss you off that all of them consist of 95% ads, 3% editor's notes, and an additional 2% of articles addressing issues that nobody cares about!?
Yes, i know that this woman looks disfigured. So sue me.

Aah, my baby. Our piece for the art exhibtion- a 6ft box. All sorts of paint - acrylic, watercolours, wallpaint - on plywood. We discovered too late that the wood absorbed most of the paint, making the scenes seem dull. Sighs. Damn our cheap-ass school to hell. Himansu and i really did a lot better than i anticipated. GO, TEAM!
(Special thanks to everyone else who helped, too!! Rarararara ; Zainab; Lakmini...etc)

Mucked around with Himmy's 'Transformation of the Parasite'. Sorta looks like it's on fire...


A Levels began on the 15th of May...i'm going insane. So far i've messed up History unit3, and Bio W1. Joy!
Also, I am moulting.

Was really flattered when Charlotte pointed out that someone (Dilsiri, right?) liked my art enough to put it up on his blog. God, i love you. You are the cream in my cream bun, the mango on my mango tree, the issa on my isso vade, the -

Ookk....and here i am descending into mental freakoutedness. I'd better sign off before it spreads.

Until next time,

Thursday, April 27, 2006

I did this in response to the start of a new school term sometime last year.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Singing mushrooms!

True to my Form 4 almanac, circa 2003.


There was a pink velvet hippopotamus called Rupert. One day he was sitting on a log and thinking about life. He sneezed violently and a wad of fairy dust flew out of his nose. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of Singing Mushrooms™ . They sang and danced around the log in red and yellow polka dotted skirts. They sang:

"Rupert Boyle, Rupert Boyle, he freed us from the dreaded mosquito coil, Rupert Boyle..."

Rupert was amazed, and even a litte jealous. He had never in his life been the proud owner of a red and yellow polka dotted skirt. His rage consumed his being, and he, opening his mouth wide, ingested them entirely, destroying an entire civilisation of mushroom thingeys.

Suddenly his stomach began to rumble, the seams of his velvet skin broke under the pressure and...the Singing Mushrooms™ erupted out of his stomach.
The Singing Mushrooms™ saw nothing but hatred, and, taking out tiny little weapons of mass destruction, blew the pink, velvet hippopotamus up into smithereens. Bits of blood and flesh flew around the clearing, staining the little mushroom's skirts bright blue. His polystyrene innards cascaded out. They reacted with ions surrounding the mushrooms and depolymerised to form poly 1,2 diethene. A sweet scent erupted from Rupert's bloodied carcass. The Singing Mushrooms™ narrowed their eyes. The fragrant fragrance that transpired into their surroundings, reminding them of Mushroomland™ in the springtime, could only mean one thing. This was the work of an ester!

"Come out!" called mushroom#1.

"Not on your life, buster!" bawled chief mushroom#2. "Poly 1,2 diethene is a deadly toxin! I don't want to die, but...ARRRGH!"

M2 was dead (so was M1). The other mushrooms cowered into the voluminous-ness of their skirts. Tears poured from their tiny liddle eyes. Their leaders were denatured. They were a stateless, leaderless species. What was to become of them?

"What is to become of us?" they wailed.

Then, from the violet tinged clouds came the answer to the questionability of their fate....

"YOU WILL DERIVE THE KINETIC THEORY OF MATTER!" boomed a loud voice from the sky.

"We will what?" asked mushroom#3, whilst the rest of them quivered in fear.


"WOW," gasped mushroom#4. "A talking cloud!"

Just then it started to rain. It came down in buckets, flooding the clearing to such an extent that Bangladesh looked dry in comparison. The Singing Mushrooms™ panicked, for, if exposed to excessive amounts of H2O, they would turn into varying different species of plants and animals, ranging from polpala to uranium stickchickens™ . They had not, however, forgotten about the violet tinged cloud, trailing its cool misty fingers through the forests ferny floor.

"Aah," said mushroom#27, an expert on biochemistry. "It appears that our purple saviour is slowly (but surely) respiring anaerobically to depolymerise to form varying compounds of which the main components present are H2O and sodium stearate!"

And surely enough, little soap bubble formed in midair, bursting to release a gentle fragrance that would have put Givenchy™ out of business.

"FOOLS!!" thundered the voice.

The little mushrooms (now differing species of plants and animals) jumped; those with poor balance landed on their heads and died. Then, as the fog thinned, the Singing Mushrooms™ spied the graceful, majestic figure of....

(To be continued)