Finally, with one up-B move from the green plumber, I was sent skyrocketing, coming back down to slam into the camera and then fall down and disappear. We each took turns pummeling each other, but since I had a higher damage, I was sent flying farther and farther with each hit. With Robin and Luigi both with one stock remaining, the stakes were on. It’s something I’ve had to tolerate for years. There have been times when he slipped out of his shoes, and almost instantly the putrid smell of his feet filled the room. The thought of having to smell those feet up close made me gag. Inside those shoes were a filthy pair of socks and his smelly bare feet. Those old shoes he’s been wearing for over a year now. I was quick to leap ahead, hit him with my sword, and send him flying off of the map.Īs Luigi began to respawn above the ground, I took that moment to take a small breath. I charged up my special attack and shot the beam of lightning towards him, sending Luigi flying into the air. I was in a familiar spot, with him being at two stocks and me only having one. He was a lot better at evading attacks and countering. My plan didn’t work out like I had hoped. I realized I couldn’t delay the match any longer so I began mashing the buttons, attempting to destroy Luigi. I was so terrified of losing that I escaped his every attack and jumped out of the way, but never even landed a single hit myself. For every twenty of his wins, I must have won twice. Why would I even suggest something like that? Trevor was a lot better at these games than I was. “You just gave me more of a reason to beat your ass.” Suddenly I was regretting opening my big mouth. “Eww, gross,” Trevor said, clicking start and going to select a stage. “How about.the loser has to smell the winner’s feet!” “Like what?” I asked, and the two of us sat for a moment in though. The loser has to do something super embarrassing.” I chose Robin, another character that I played a lot of, and he chose Luigi of all characters. “That’s what you always say!” Trevor laughed as we were sent back to the character select screen. My final stock had been taken away, while Trevor still had two. “Darn,” I grumbled between shaky breaths. I didn’t do a good job evading all of his attacks, and finally one Falcon punch sent me flying off of the stage and into oblivion. The character I always played the most out of, Samus, was getting the crap beaten out of her by Trevor’s main, Captain Falcon. for the Wii-U, an awesome Nintendo fighting game that was sort of a tradition to play. The two of us sat comfortably on his bed. The cool air of his room felt amazing after being in that 98 degree heat. Trevor and I had recently come back from tossing the football outside, so our hair was matted to our foreheads and our shirts were stained with sweat.
It was around 3:30 in the afternoon, the time of the day where the sun seemed to burn the brightest in the sky. The two of us have known each other since I was seven and he was six, and we have been inseparable ever since. Trevor, my eighteen year old best buddy, is one of those friends. Having not gone to college yet, I was able to spend a lot of my time going to friends’ houses. My name’s Blake, and I’m a nineteen year old high school graduate. The sun beat down as hard as it could, so me and my best friend hung out inside his nice air conditioned bedroom. The film that had a lot of potential, but what’s missing is the ‘woh wali baat’.It was a really hot summer day. Rahul’s performance warms up at the start, but his expressions soon get repetitive, and Tara can’t juice the plot that runs dry. The story lacks stamina, and the background music drags the plot. The problem is the storytelling that’s languid and uninventive for a subject so explorative. It’s about the psyche and dilemma of a writer torn apart between art and erotica. Even the typography of the title symbolizes a male organ, but the film is far from pornographic. Jaiswal’s premise is different and daring he bares the hypocrisies of a society that shames, silences and devours sex – all in the same breath (ahh!). But what happens when the covers are pulled off his identity and he’s exposed as the man who sells sexual fantasies for a living? His lurid stories (‘Baniye Ka Lollipop’, ‘Sheela Ka Yowan’) discreetly called ‘woh-wali kitaab’ becomes a best-seller. Realizing that sex sells like hot samosas and lust ‘whets’ hungry minds over literature, the struggling Premchand in him begins churning out porn-packed in-paperbacks, under the pseudonym of ‘Mastram’. He finds support only in his sanskari wife (Tara), and even after desperate attempts, all publishers reject his literary work because his kahanis have the matter but lack the ‘meat’. Rajaram (Rahul), a M.A in Hindi, quits his bank job in Manali to pursue his dream of being a novelist.
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