Tune: London bridge is falling down-
Silicone tits are hanging out
Hanging out, Hanging Out,
Silicone Tits are hanging Out,
Of my F*cking Bytches
Ah, those days when I would get away screaming *Misbegotten Freakingchoos* at all and sundry on a sultry summer afternoon while lazing away at Allen's Park near my beloved Xavier's. Oh I miss you so... I miss being a responsible member of the English Academy pinching the odd fifty bucks off Professor Biswas, I miss P.Lal's Saturday classes of incredible fun (because he used to give us books if we got his answers right), I miss Bertie's brand of super-charming Twelfth Night classes. I miss the canteen, I miss the library, I miss the classrooms, I miss Father Eton, because he was so nice.
And I miss Sir. I miss you. I miss Araby. I miss The Fly. I miss Paradise Lost. I miss Cricket Scores.
I miss my innocence when I believed that I was a cynical beeyach, overly confident on oversized feet. When I look back now, I know I can never go back to what I was once upon a time. Dear readers, who are at this point wondering what the f--- am I doing drowning in nostalgia, I suggest you take a hike because I would continue in this vein for a few more posts. Just to get all this off my bosom, impressive as it is.