Speech is silver, Bhikku. But silence is Peanut Butter.
-- The Diary, Date Unknown, Year Unknown.
Oscar Wilde, it is said, could charm people's headaches away simply by talking to them. We are not quite old Oscar. For one thing, we aren't Irish. For another, we have stayed well clear of both Reading and jail. But like Oscar, gentle reader, we have always endeavoured to entertain. We hope that in our small way, we have charmed something away from you. At least your girlfriend, if not your headache.
But things run their course, for it is the way of all flesh. Even Brian Charles Lara, that greatest of modern Test batsmen, the Shane Warne of batting, has had to bow to Time. Who, then, are we to outlast the tide? Nay, 'tis time now to part with you.
In short, after much consideration, a few coin tosses and some serious gazing at navels, we have decided to bid adieu to these pages. They will not be updated anymore, unless we have some really dirty dirt to spill about someone.
To most readers, this isn't really goodbye, because they are old friends, i.e., they are old and they are friendly, because they owe us cash. And since we have foolishly given them our e-mail id, we won't be rid of them that easily, sons of bachelors that they are.
But there are, we suspect, a few readers whom we do not personally. To these, we bid tearful adieu. We give them profuse thanks, for they have tolerated us without mercenary motives. If these noble children of the Great Spirit ever come to Dallas, they can count on us for upto three hours of company and entertainment. All they have to do is leave a comment here with their e-mail id and credit card number; and with joyous heart and light purse, with a spring in our step and a song on our lips, we will get in touch with them.
Oh, but let us not stretch out this farewell, and make it mushy. Let us just say goodbye, gentle reader, till life throws us together again. Behave yourself, brush your teeth regularly, and control your lust. You will be alright.
-- The Diary, Date Unknown, Year Unknown.
Oscar Wilde, it is said, could charm people's headaches away simply by talking to them. We are not quite old Oscar. For one thing, we aren't Irish. For another, we have stayed well clear of both Reading and jail. But like Oscar, gentle reader, we have always endeavoured to entertain. We hope that in our small way, we have charmed something away from you. At least your girlfriend, if not your headache.
But things run their course, for it is the way of all flesh. Even Brian Charles Lara, that greatest of modern Test batsmen, the Shane Warne of batting, has had to bow to Time. Who, then, are we to outlast the tide? Nay, 'tis time now to part with you.
In short, after much consideration, a few coin tosses and some serious gazing at navels, we have decided to bid adieu to these pages. They will not be updated anymore, unless we have some really dirty dirt to spill about someone.
To most readers, this isn't really goodbye, because they are old friends, i.e., they are old and they are friendly, because they owe us cash. And since we have foolishly given them our e-mail id, we won't be rid of them that easily, sons of bachelors that they are.
But there are, we suspect, a few readers whom we do not personally. To these, we bid tearful adieu. We give them profuse thanks, for they have tolerated us without mercenary motives. If these noble children of the Great Spirit ever come to Dallas, they can count on us for upto three hours of company and entertainment. All they have to do is leave a comment here with their e-mail id and credit card number; and with joyous heart and light purse, with a spring in our step and a song on our lips, we will get in touch with them.
Oh, but let us not stretch out this farewell, and make it mushy. Let us just say goodbye, gentle reader, till life throws us together again. Behave yourself, brush your teeth regularly, and control your lust. You will be alright.