My life in college. On my first day of college I compared it to a sheet of gleaming black metal, watchful, observant and filled with a tempered chill. Everyone appeared to know atleast someone, except for me that is. The smell of that rotting place made me feel like i was in a zoo, combined with the incessant rotis, puri and dals combined with hair, flair, and the socks in sandals phenomenon that occurs only in college. However, wearing the garland of socialisation and wearing an even bigger smile on my face i strode out into the putrid soup factory and began my life as Misky Velvet.

This seeminly effeminate name is not that of a modelling agency or a pornstar but rather my alter ego that chanced upon idle folk in the hostel corridors and began murdering them in rather horrific and gruesome ways. Misky Velvet is the black widow, she's Charles Manson's daddy and she's the shadow and flame of Shelleyian nightmare. A guy smoking B & H at 2 am brought out this leering jezebel who sits on a sofa made of italian leather. Misky Velvet's very supportive of indigenous industry so she squashed foreign competition by stubbing his cigarrette in his eye, all the while calmly lighting her own indigenously produced Navy Cut and then proceeding to burn the base of his tongue and choke him with it. Blood and spatter ruined her fine dresses but Misky Velvet was always willing to undergo certain sacrifices in the name of art. Misky Velvet continued on her 'roaring rampage of revenge' (she liked Tarantino) until guys in dull brown shirts, dull brown shoes and even duller lives decided to look into the matter. She decided to go back to her room and sit on her italian leather sofa. She's pretty comfortable now, but wont be for long.


Actually college is pretty cool, though i wouldn't mind a shot of Misky Velvet now and then.