Rantage 53 : A 3-STEP GUIDE (TO THOSE ASSHOLES WHO THINK THEY’RE HOT SHIT) by
You know where the problem is? We got rants. But not enough rage. No drive to actually do something about stuff that we rant about.
Do you feel the same feeling every single time one of your full-grown friends (from both genders) comes out of the john saying “buzz ta dhore naai baal raate abar score korte hobe” or “dost amar shona/matha (in case of females) kaam kortese naa”? We know the feeling. It’s not awkward. It’s not enraging. It’s worrying, like watching Daredevil just to see Ben Affleck getting his shit kicked in every 5 minutes yet you can’t enjoy it. ‘Cause in the end you’ll join him (your friend, not Ben Affleck) and honestly I don’t blame you.
Now let me tell you kids a little about “Baba” (third rate amphetamine rip-off). Originally it was created for the Japanese army back in WWII so that they can rape the Chinese real well and make some use of the buzz because you know; they didn’t really give a fuck. They already had penises so small, that tubeworms laughed at them, so they most probably thought, “Werr fuck me either it’s thish or hara-kiri arso my penish is vewy rarge!”, thus unleashing a curse onto this world. A curse that gives you insomnia, a shriveled dick and retardation for life (Also, the buzz is shit). Kids, they gave us Amphetamine — The thing that made me lose several friends (who lost their chance of having kids ) and I’m pretty sure I knew this guy who committed suicide because his girl chose to blow some other guy (for Yaba). But, more on that later.
The best thing about the better parts of Dhaka (in case you were wondering, it’s anything within Banani-Gulshan-DOHS) four years ago is that, it was full of legit blow. The market wasn’t littered with Burmese garbage that kids smoke nowadays to add rage to their parents’ griefs. The shit was real. Sports enthusiast and legend Aarafat Rehman Cocoa “bhaai” (now in prison fulfilling a lot of holes) introduced some of the finest abuse-worthy substances to the young and conscious folks of our generation. He gave us the pure Columbian white, Bangkok special Y& E, Afghan Kush and a few different types of heroin, fresh from his own lab. Given the fact that I was (and still am) his next-building-neighbor at the Old place, I, along with a bunch of my “friends”, got hooked to every single one of them. It was a dark time, and we could sense it. But we were young, senseless and pretty much didn’t give a fuck. We thought of ourselves as some sort of gangsters, but in reality we were just a bunch of kids taking a hold of a 1.5 square kilometer space; which basically was a deathtrap for the other kids we didn’t like. We used to beat people up for girl issues (surprising, I know), we used to beat kids up for money (that we owed them), we used to beat kids up for being ‘chocolate’, (this, for me, was the fairest reason of them all. And I still stand by it.) We had a fancy gang name and whoever was in Scholastica, can guess by the time they’re reading this far. As I’ve mentioned earlier, it was a dark time. We loved shit music, we loved our (parents’) cars that we used to do “rally” with, and we loved the flamboyant badass vibe we thought we had. But even in living inside such a brewing shitstorm, it helped us. At least it helped me build up a drive to get away from it, to become a better person. This article is about that attempt and the b.s. that comes along.
Now, most of you must be thinking that I’m one of those absolute douches you hate/mock in this site. I assure you lot, I am an asshole of the highest degree, but I’m no longer a douche that I was (though many of my friends believe my doucheyness mutated and now I’m a giant Douchezilla). But, I realized some things back then, the things that still help me a lot, so I decided that I can share those with you lot. Here goes.
STEP 1: Look at your current state, admit that you’re a massive douche.
It is the hardest part of them all. You got your badass (citation needed) friends, you got your fix, your friends are there to back you up, whether you need the fix or need to fix some asshole who called your girlfriend without your permission at night. You seem to have everything. Despite all the shit you cause throughout the whole day, you’re pious as fuck and believe that God is going to forgive you despite you nicking some 6th graders lunch money for the score. You got it all covered. You’re certain about yourself being a hot shit bro from the hoodz. But to be honest, you’re not. If you look closely, your friends are just there so that you can share the money on the blow. Your loyalty among your friends strictly depends on how fast you moved your ass on their last genjam call, but deep inside you know you don’t give two shits about them and your girlfriend is interested in some other guy because, to be honest you’re a joke. When I realized all these jokes are around me after hanging out with them for five straight years; by that time I went through 136 genzams (actual figure), 4 life-threatening scoring missions, two shootouts and a massive gang-rape related genjam at one UVA fair. That night, I faced myself into the mirror (very much like Keanu Reaves from the Matrix) and asked myself “What the fuck am I doing?” That question was not very justified at that moment since I was high, but it was the first kick from me against myself. I took a decision that night and it changed me. Result? Now I’m mocking those douchebags here.
STEP 2: Ask your peers what exactly they’ve planned for their future.
Here’s the interesting part: When you ask your fellow gangzta dong jerky, wearing pants under his crotch, where he sees himself within ten years, he’ll basically flip out. That is one question they fear, get tired of listening and can’t answer. Their parents are sick of repeating it, and they at this point believe that they’re too awesome to answer it. Well news flash, assholes, all of you are going to be unemployed till your early 30’s, you’ll be known as an epic loser to everyone who moved on with their lives, you’re going to die as a virgin as you are now with that tilted Billabong hat of yours. I assure you one thing – no one will love you and the rate of people calling you a wannabe will only increase. You currently are a disgrace to your family, your neighborhood and quite frankly to entire human race. And if you don’t plan to get out of it and get your shit together, my friend, you are fucked. I know you’re too ghetto to care about your grades, but I want you to be reminded of the facts such as your parents paying their last penny to get you into a better college or the fact that, despite all the denials, you’re not really black and your penis is still, laughably small.
STEP 3: Fix your shit and GTFO.
For me, this was the easiest part. All I had to do was to change my cell phone number, pay back every each cent I owed to them, cut the cord forever, then call up my dealers and let them know of my new number. Within three days I was sure that my “friends” didn’t really give a shit about my presence among them. I looked back desperately for my old school friends, but by this time they really despise me and to some extent, fear me. I told them I’m off the douche-circle but they won’t listen, so I didn’t care. I moved on with my life, along with the few friends who also decided to get their shit together. Got back into studies, sports, legit music and video games. No longer do I spend my night fantasizing about how I’m going to bash the next Chocolate pola’s head into a brick. My sole concern was my life and what I was doing with it. And to be very frank, I never felt better. Now I have a douche-vision of mine which helps me filter out those abominations on first site and here’s a secret: The moment you smirk slyly at their douche presences at some shisha lounge, they’ll know what exactly you’re smirking at. They feel a wrench in their gut as you elbow your friend and let him have a laugh on that faggot with straightened emo hair and the same fucking checkered Vans. And that’s something worth trying, kids. Trust me.
May the force be with you. Beyadobpola out.