Monkey talks as monkey does.

I type. You listen. Or read. Or whatwhohowever they do it on your planet.

I could sell you, you ,you or you for a chocolate cake. Oh, and you too! I'm that shameless. And last time, this poor thing was celebrating her birthday in the college canteen. I did not know her at all. I called her over and dug my hands into her cake. I'm a painful senior like that. And then no, after eating the cake, I felt queasy in the tummy. Like bad queasy. I must have bitched about her for atleast a month after the incident.

I daydream way way waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much :]

I talk. I love talking to people. Selective people alone. And then, when I'm talking, like when I'm telling them about a very interesting incident, I lose interest midway myself. And then I call for a sudden conclusion. Say something like 'I don't know what happened later.' And then continue sipping on my drink or licking at my plate. People sure do find it odd, it's on their faces, but they'r too scared to question Cowness.

I can't stand people whose life and Earth revolves around sitcoms and music. Nuff said.

And, *gulp*, I can't help but give people the 'Manhattan Onceover' :/ Though mine is a more local version, it makes you mean nevertheless.

And the biggest problem of them all: I watch all the television serials with the mother. And then I expect people to follow my lead. Because it really is cool like that.

"These days you don't find things like us, man." - Cowness (to favorite friend from same to same planet.)