The games men play.

No, i'm not talking about mind games. In fact, I mostly lose in those.

But i'm home, and went for a drive with HorseyBoy.

We drove around, talked about women for a moment, then talked about cars for many moments. We bought some channya-munnya. I don't know what they're called in English, or any other language. But they're small, dark red, slightly sour berries. THey're all skin and seed, with a little bit of gloppy goo inside that tastes nice.

So you have to eat 10 before it tastes of anything.

So we were driving down in his Baleno (well, his dad's, but it's a great car) on the hinghway. This highway cuts through the city, so we're just driving home, nowhere special.
We're eating the channya-munnyas, and have the seeds collected in our mouths. I say, ``heh heh ... dude lets see if you can hit that cyclist!''
Horsey: ``No man, that's mean.''Me : ``Ok, hit the motorcyclist.''Horsey : Spit*miss* spit*miss. ``Er, i'll hit the cyclists. They're easier targets. We never hit anyway.''
I'm on the passenger side, so i hit oncoming cars. 1 point for a maruti 800, 5 for a lancer and 10 for a merc. I score 25 when I manage to get one straight into the cabin of an Ashok Leyland.
Horsey gets just one cyclist. Its a small seed, so it doesn't hurt him, but he just turns back to look. Don't know why, but we laugh like hyenas when this happens, and horsey almost drives into the back of a corvette. Ok, not corvette, but old 800. (you know the original japanese engine ones? Lower than the new ones? Yummy to drive? the first jap cars in India?)
Then we get bold, slow down, spit out at people, and zip away, hella lights leading.

The key to spitting well, is that the force must come from the bottom of your gut, not your mouth. {Place seed between pursed lips, breathe deep, expand stomach, wth a sharp contract of the diaphragm, expell air. Don't forget to aim.
Later, we sat down and talked. its funny, i've known this guy for 22 of my 24 years. We talk about everything. But whenever we come to women, the conversation is always the same.
Him : "So gangsta, whast up with that babe?" THe `babe' in question would be one i've been in love with for the past 2 years or so. And he dosn't say `gangsta' in normal conversaition in real life.Me : We broke up man.Him : No way! WHy? Me : Ahh. Him : oh you know who's hot? That babe that used to be in your college. Me : screw her. Are you still getting it on with RomeGirl? Dude you have a girlfriend. Him : hah hah. You made out with her when you had one. Me : You wanna play NFS2? I'll get the PS2.Him: Yeh, or we could go to the go-kart track.

The point is, we never ever really talk about women. We don't need to, I guess. Men usually don't, well, the men i know.

Except one guy that came up to me and said, ``if you ever want to talk, i'm here''. What guy says that?

Anyway, new years is coming up. Yay. Drunken women.