Name's Saleema. Don't Call Me The EZ Pass.

My name is Saleema," she said. "You may call me Saleema. Don't call me aunty."



[these are secret notes about the future of the story]
* PP: Masood gets called into the Center. Unsure of why, he eventually meets Saleema, one of the principals of the Institute, who asks him what he is doing just hanging around, whether he's just there to simply observe their members, or whether he's there to help.

Masood is a little startled, as he's never seen himself as a care giver. "Look, the reason I became a software developer is because I'm an extremely lazy person!"

Masood also wonders why they asked him to speak to Saleema, postulating aloud that they specifically chose another Indian to try and persuade him to join up through some expectation of racial fealty.

At this, Saleema cries "Why do you have to be so paranoid, bah!" while shaking her hand in front of his face in a way that makes Masood shrink back a moment, because it reminds him of his mother's scoldings.

[this is the end of the secret notes]



.Episode Two

"This whole thing basically revolves around one concept," said Masood as they went through the tunnel together and he found that she had to pick herself up.

"What kind of concept are you talking about?" said Saleema. "I am simply picking myself up, since I would not want to be crawling. Remember. You are now INSIDE the Institute!"

He pretended that she did not remember, and approached her from a new circling pattern. "I am slowly circling in," he even reported to the Towers.

There was a ceremonious laughter all over the room as he carefully tried to land. "Don't worry," said a new voice. "I was a girl playing videogames one time too!"

He turned back and saw that it wasn't just him. It was her too! "Somehow this makes be a better writer!" he laughed, and then he leapt.

In the opening of the scene we see how the troubled man was sent away from the Kindness And Care Institute, having not been in the correct place. We will explore together why it may be that such conditions may occur and whether or they PASS.

unrequieted

only orange yoshis shall win!
my threat to her,
as she leaps above to my dream

galaxy.

At This Point I Am Not Afraid of Death

"I see. Well that is a conversation closer."

They just went about their own business after that. Ordering more coffee or tea from the counter or asking if there were any more muffins.

"There's no more muffins," she said, coming over and slapping her handbag on the table dejectedly. It was a frilly thing, but in black. Black frills, if there could be such a design.

He arose. "Well, I can't stand for this," he said loudly.

She failed to see the humor, so he sat back again and perused the continual menu. It claimed it was a continental menu, but he knew it was just a continual one.

"It's just going to be more and more prattling on, isn't it?" she said, as he examined the features claimed by the Eggs Benedict. They had passed by a Thai restaurant on their way into the diner, and he began to wonder if their chef (the diner's) could pull of an Eggs Benedict Explosion. Being so close to a Thai restaurant, how could a chef not absorb at least a few good recipes?

Basically it was an Eggs Benedict, except the egg was infused with a drop or two of Sriracha sauce before preparation. The explosion was the calm taste of the yolk swirling around the mouth, and then the kick of hot sauce that followed along down the throat.

She stared angrily at him, and they then teleported to another diner, which had muffins. He picked one up to assure her they were real. "Blueberry," he said, taking one from the plate and munching into it. "Very yummy!" He then picked his espresso up by the handle and drank the whole thing. "Very good with coffee!" He raised an eyebrow at her, to let her know this was legit.

She laughed in his face. "You don't know anything about muffins, do you?" she said.

Everything had gone to disarray. Nothing was as he knew about them. He stood up in the middle of the diner and cried, "This isn't how I expect to be addressed regarding breakfast!"

.

She finished her muffins quietly, making him stand the way he was.

Then, silverware aside, she asked him, "This is what you call a dinner date, is it? You malfunctioning in the middle of the best part?"

He raised another eyebrow at down at her from his standing position. "Middle of the best part?"

"Yeah. You just stand up and fucking embarrass me in front of the whole restaurant. Look at that dumb bitch, she got the fucked up date."

He sat down immediately and pushed his body, dress shirt and all, against her. Well, against the dining table that separated him from her. "Madame, please accept my deepest apologies," he said, and she saw a bead of sweat travel down his face.

.

"It's okay," she said, "as I said, at this point I'm not even afraid of death."

"Oh?" he remarked. He wondered about the status of his order of the Eggs Benedict Explosion, and whether it may have not been taken very seriously by the waitstaff. "I wonder where's my eggs?" he shrugged at her.

Their diner suddenly expanded, hosting up to 500 people "LITTLE DATING FUCK, DO NOT TAKE ME FOR SOME CONJURER OF CHEAP TRICKS!" Then the diner shrank again, capable of hosting a mere 50-55 people, including babies. "I'M NOWT HERE TO ROB YOU!"

He waited for her to relax, come back down to earth again. He avoided the other patrons' stares. After all, this was none of their business.

Nothing happened for 5 minutes. At that point, he decided he should probably lift his head up and address her. "Alright, alright," he said. "Alright, I hear you," and lifted his head.

She was still there, smiling at him her ethereal beauty, waiting for his speech. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then looked back at her.

And she had disappeared.

She had vanished. Gone. No longer in the diner.

He ran around, asking desperately, "Sir, sir. My girl, have you seen her? Is she--is she maybe in there?" pointing at the women's restrooms. He ran out onto the street. North and South, amazing architecture and full city of New York. East and the magical shifts of cars driving by playing West End Girls by the Pet Shop Boys. But there was no girl toward the West End.

He'd lost her! Then, the gravy settled into his stomach and he checked in his pockets. The ring! The ring was gone too! She'd taken his fucking ring.

19 minutes ago

19 minutes ago (over IM). What follows is a conversation between me, and another human. Usually I add some merry little names, but this time I'm going to try and be stark and realistic, so you will see a conversation between @me and an @other. Notice that nowhere in the conversation is anyone making a cup of tea for the other person. Come on. I think, in the future, these conversations will always begin with a cup of tea, however virtual the cup or tea is.

---
@me: Dirk Gently show is great.
I love the story about the random intelligence that appears in the body of the young woman.

@other: did u make sure you saw the first episode?

where the guy travels through time?

@me: holistically, yes.

@other: they took the two best British Comedians & the best Writer of all time and created a TV show.

Fuck i miss it

@me: i wasn't aware of the accolades. but fuck, it was a bally well beginning.
How many more seasons do you expect?

@other: 0

i wish i wish i wish

there was another season

it's canceled

@me: WHAT

@other: i fucking hate the british for it

i read an article saying that it was an expensive show

and although it had like 3 million viewers, they would rather play reruns of ameri an shit TV

for more hours or something ... bullshit

bascially cost to do 1 of those shows is like equal to like 4 re run samerican shows

@me: what is ameri
oh
lol. ok

yeah, the brits like to let the shows be longer in length, and try to say there is more substance.
personally, i feel that it's so that everyone can have enough holidays.
two or three episodes are enough
may four, if the weather is alright. (an error occurs here on my part: should be 'maybe four', not 'may four')

Doctor Who tries to follow a more transatlantic model

@other: yeah, honestly if you make 4 really awesome fucking episodes i'm happy

but, u gotta give me more shows is all

@me: Yeah, I think they shouldn't just cancel like that.
It's like
"Here's a new monkey we discovered!"

@other: having to wait 2 years for Sherlock was god damn murder

@me: "Now there is no longer that monkey anymore. It may as well never have existed."
At least if we could holistically join the lives of all the actors, it would be ok. But I don't think they have done the technology for that yet.

@other: lol

u should write a dirk gently novel

@me: Like right now I would love to hang out with Danerys and cry with her about the dragons she is repressing.

@other: u would be right for it

u have the crazy mind

@me: Crazy, huh?
Anyway, enough about me. How does it feel to be pop pops?

@other: good and tired as hell

Poor Little American Parents

---
tobi was a chinese spy sent to the united states in order to alleviate the local's misunderstandings about china, and chinese domestic affairs. 
---

They know that if a child (a child?) a child traipses on over unto their fertile ground, this will be the end for their own child (a child) a child. 


(What is this child-a-child?)


Child is pretty okay, and knows how to say 'barn'. That's good enough for most of uz, and we don't need no more pollution in the form of children coming in. Cos that means we would have to recalculate the whole farms we have, back around, and make sure everyone is covered.
Ha ha ha. And that, my friends. That's just not 'realistic'.

"Riiiiiight," said Tobi, a Chinese Spy sent to spy on the United States most intimate affairs. "How about we switch off these 'placards' you guys have come up with (yes, just switch off) and we simply glide to a world where a lot of you guys can't even have babies!"
"Tobi, this is an exaggerated fact, I am virile, I assure you," said a Poor Disenfranchised American Parent. "Don't you start knocking on my virility, because I will come at you like a moose!"
"Will you shoot me to shit?" asked Tobi. "In China we have billions of people that we can import. Why are you so concerned?"
"Yeah I'll shoot to fucking ribbons motherfucker," said a Poor American Parent who apparently could afford a machine gun (but was finding it tough to care for spawn), "I'll tear you!"
Tobi died.

The Motivational Nature of Speeches

---
tobi was a chinese spy sent to the united states in order to alleviate the local's misunderstandings about china, and chinese domestic affairs. 
--- 

"So you see that only I can save Shangri-La's babies from despair and ruin," closed Midge T. Liberty. He had closed very well, and, as a true member of the society, bowed, and then walked down into the dirty masses.

He happened to sit next on a pedestal next to Tobi. What a surprise! "Hey...Tobi, right," said Midget, as though casual, but his conversation was cut short.

"Do you know about teep?"

"I've heard that his name is teep," said Midge T. "Didn't you get shot to shit, or something, just trying to save it?"

"It?" said Tobi.

Midge T. nodded. "In English, pronouns can often be allocated to designate, say, something of negligible value. You will be wise to hear of this, please take it close to your heart."

And with that, Midge T.'s time was over, and he got up and walked away.

There was a certain wind that blew over Shangri-La as Midge T. finally retired to his bedroom. Tobi felt this now, and he forgot the question that had been a goblin his mind.

The Entrance Into The Kindness and Care Institute For Extremely Gifted Souls

This is a part two of an ongoing story, not just some random cursing drama. Please see the following link for part one, The Kindness and Care Institute For Extremely Gifted Souls

---
It was like he was walking into some kind of deep tunnel, with only the hint of light toward the end indicating the whole curve of the tube. And he could hear this crazy squeaking sound bouncing, resonating all over the place.

You see, Masood was a perfectionist with audio. He was what he would call an 'audiophile'. He would call himself that. Then someone on the Internet Audiophile Maturity Achievement Notary for Accredited Sound Supervisors (IAMANASS, to be abbreviated) forums had disagreed with him. That had been a long and sordid battle, full of both the most commonplace gags such as getting each other banned from the forums, and then escalating to hiring chefs on online food delivery services to make food and have them delivered (purely through tools for the blind but not deaf, of course) to each other's houses at such inopportune moment as the befuddled delivery guy may slip over the mysterious bubbles and accidentally poke the wrong person's eardrum with a chopstick. In both debaters' minds there had been this image of a ridiculous man just sinking quietly into his bathtub, strings of red diffusing quietly into the water, and no hint of the drowning (because the eardrum was messed up). "If me eardrum was working I would have known I was drowning, just by the sound". The two would have probably been even more hilarious if packaged over to the ISS for immediate evac.

Then Masood realized that this squeaky, rubber-sole on stone-floor soul-crushing sound was actually coming from his sneakers, as he was walking. "Dammit," he cursed unto the echoing dammits, and carefully scooped the two shoes off his silky socked feet. He looked around, but, because it was a long, never-ending tunnel, they hadn't provided any racks or anything to put the shoes on. So he just put them down and continued walking into the dark foreboding tunnel, this time quietly. He had attained stealth, even to his trained ear. He knew exactly how far back the shoes were, in case he would ever need to turn and run back.

Now, as he walked, he began to keep seeing Pullperry, in some kind of strange loop, except this time it wasn't him who was trying to calm the child down. It was Pullperry calming him down, and his voice was gentle. "What happened, Masood?" said Pullperry, who Masood now felt may have arms as long and deep as his eyes could see into the tunnel. "You were so relaxed outside, so ready to simply breathe the day's tumults away. You were so cool before, now you're so angry."

"Is that what you think, Pullperry?" screamed Masood into the darkness. "Is that what you think I was prepared to do? Just forget about all my failures of today?"

"Ah yes," said Pullperry, "FAIL FAIL FAIL, your unit tests. Of course."

"Yes, and you are making fun of me in the darkness?" screamed Masood into the unknown. He screamed very loudly, because, well, it was the unknown, so who cared? No questions about audio fidelity here. "I knew you were trying to ruin me from the moment I came to sit and relax on the bench," screamed Masood at Pullperry. "With your stupid turning around like some nonsencical thing. And wanting to take my phone away from me!"

There was a child's laughter and the sound of Masood's personal ringtone dissipitating down into the a curve of the tunnel.

"You bastard, Pullperry!" he screamed. "You fucking devil of a bitch's spawn. You're not even a son of a bitch, you bastard. You're the illegitimate outcome of the bitch's shrimp. You're a fucking son a offa shrimp, Pullperry," yelled Masood. It was over. There was no more. He had given everything, and just when he was ready to take a break, this son of a shrimp had just spun over and fucked him.

"Ahem," said a somewhat older voice than Pullperry's, and Masood opened his eyes. And it was a older woman's voice too. He found himself suddenly no longer in the tunnel, but in some kind of musty laundry room with poor yellow lighting.

"Pullperry is just a poor child, dear Masood, please try and contain yourself," she said. She was wearing a blue khameez, and black churidars. "And please take off your shoes before you enter the Institute.

My name is Saleema," she said. "You may call me Saleema. Don't call me aunty."