I, Caveman

Did I tell ya about last Wednesday? Too late... am gonna tell you anyway. I went to Sagar (as in Nagarjuna) with my office friends. (Unceremoniously dumping a certain someone who since she is the kindest, most gracious person in the world, forgives me instantaneously. Dang! forgot to mention sexy, intelligent etc.)

The trip was pretty ho-hum, what with the Hyderabad weather suddenly being hotter than [insert name of your favourite supermodel] in a thong. The dullest part I have to admit was (surprise! surprise!) the museum. After going through a third of the place, I gave up,and sat admiring the best exhibit there... an ancient electric fan belonging to ..uh Raja Nagarjuna of.... Sagar.

I will now use my brilliant mind to conjure up images of the remaining parts of the museum....aah! I see more broken pots, stone buttocks without a head, and stone heads (not the rock concert type) without (surprise! surprise!) buttocks, and pillars with stuff written on them that nobody gives an Iguana's ass about.

And while I type, proof, and edit this post and release it into the blogosphere to rot among billions of others, I wonder "What on earth were these ancient people thinking? Why would they want to waste an evening of their life writing tonnes of crap which no one on earth would wanna read? Did they really think somebody's reading?"