Cantankerous Cacophony

I’m your man, Mr. Mephistopheles if god makes any more children. And, I’ve decided to sell me to your harem to get poked with pitchforks by red men with horns and goat-legs than being with bevy of cantankerous cacophonies.

Now, if you’re through with the mumble-jumble; do spill out the beans before I die from unnerving boringasmic. Damn! O.K., with clear thought and throat I proclaim that ‘world could be a nice place to live with adults only if those infants yet to pubertize leave us graciously.’ C’mon you lingbie…else I blow off.

Dear Blog, you won’t understand the point because there’s ain’t a childroid blog to torment thee. What rod? Childroid – the ones who can cause hemroidal pain on your background. Huh! Oh, you don’t believe… (huh, you!)

Fine, hear this: while returning from the most unorgansmic tour from one of the private parts of Southern India which offer nothing apart of teariness; I battled my way to occupy one of the window seats in a snail-like train. Thankfully, the train left the station timely and run amidst the green-filled landscape bringing relief to my sloshed and nicotine-sanitized mind. Droopy eyelids gets heavy as the mild track song sings me a lullaby. The busy compartment filled with strange and unknown Travelers Bum of all shapes, sizes and gender engaged in their selves while I got sleepy and fell sloshed.

An hour might have passed…the train cascaded over the sunshine track through numerous stations while I was sloshed when a screech woke me unwarranted. J-E-S-U-S! No Mephistopheles. Swarmed with gang of childroids – on floor, on the seat, on the passage, blocking the exit door; the compartment looks like a dungeon. (Moron, stop behaving a gay.) HELL-O!

I’d have been less hyper, if the train wouldn’t have delayed for more than two hours to reach the destination that otherwise take five hours. This must be ‘a divine injustice’ coz’ as the train start delaying the horror multiplies. The rest of the journey was a tortuous tour through hell. Screeching children, jumping children, crying children, annoying children – bevy of childroids popping up from everywhere and add to nuisance.

Twitched eyebrows, lips, eye-bags; I try to twitch every possible muscle to express the annoyance but nothing crease out the woe. My 8-hour long nicotine free mind now gets perky and looks for a gunny bag to stuff the bevy of childroids and beat them merciless. I wonder why people are not born adult. Is childhood necessary? F***