In the beginning, it was just me. I would sit huddled under my blanket with nothing but the light from my new Moto G striking my face in a thousand shades of Diwali. I was reading my teacher’s blog. Who the hell does she think she is? She writes like a 4 year old who has just learnt to draw. She knows nothing about writing. Her commas appear like pile after pile of turd coming out of constipation.I don’t understand how she is qualified to teach. She must have faked her degree. How can someone with that kind of English teach me?

A fortnight later when she had written enough, I decided to have a drinking game. I called a couple of my soup boys home and we all read her blog together and laughed. Every time we read something that was stupid or she had made a grammatical error, we took a shot of rum. That’s what she calls her blog btw, rumlolarum it seems. Once upon a time, when my penis wasn’t shriveled by the size of my head, I would sit like this with my school friends and watch porn. I can’t do that anymore because the doctors say that there is no semen left in my body anymore so if I shag now, it may confuse the fluids in my body and the residual semen may come out of my mouth. Doctors are so stupid. They also can’t even write properly.

I called the soup boys home last night and we all read her latest post. It was about how much she is enjoying teaching. Balls. I’m sure she can’t even spell teaching. When I become a teacher, I will make sure all my students love me. I will grow a beard and teach them poetry. Since I know how to write better than all my teachers, I can show my students how not to write. I can show them this woman’s blog. When I told this to my soup boys, they all appreciated my rocket sharp intellect and my mighty balls. Sometimes I think that I should become an intellectual man. But the only problem is, I think I am already an intellectual man. God, the world is so stupid. There aren’t enough things I want to be.

Today we are having the biggest soup boy party. My gang and I are going to display her dabba article on my big screen. We are all going to drink to rumlolarum and celebrate her stupidity. God. That website is so stupid. Why would they want to publish her article? Even that website doesn’t know how to write. Do I have to teach everybody how to write?

Today my friend asked me why I can’t just go to her and tell her on her face how stupid she is and how unreadable her writing is. I hadn’t thought of this. I think I get really angry when I see her — so angry that I become hulk that’s why I don’t want to tell her. But I will try to tell her tomorrow. You see, nobody knows this but centuries ago, the Greek Gods had cursed me. Because I am brave and an intellectual and I do real work and I am good looking and my grammar is perfect; the Gods had decided that I am in charge of other people’s writing and their blogs and their lives also.

So it is practically a violation — an assault on my person to read her writing. I must save the blogosphere. It’s okay if I can’t jerk off and have no semen, it’s okay if my soup boys are all bored with the same old drinking and laughing game on her blog, it’s okay if a hundred people hate her, it’s okay if nobody likes to read her — wait, it’s 80 years later, why the fuck is she still writing?

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