Ringing in 2019- A Conversation with Wrinkles

Wrinkles: I see you’ve titled this post like a 5-year-old. ‘A Conversation with Wrinkles?’ No one’s gonna read it.

Me: Five-year-olds don’t blog.

Wrinkles: None except you. Retitle it. Right now.

Me(grinning smugly): That’s gonna cause a paradox, Wrin dear. Besides, do you not remember our last conversation? I’m gonna stay true to my word.

Wrinkles: I do, but the readers won’t, and this post will be a flop, so change it right now. And stop titling my dialogues with ‘Wrinkles’. Do it right now, or-

Me: Or? What’re you gonna do? Jump out of my head and kill both of us?

Wrinkles: What the- why are these stupid hands not obeying me? Backspace, you ugly fingers, backspace.

Me: Everyone says I have beautiful long fingers.

Wrinkles: Shut up. Just shut up.

Me: Hands aren’t obeying you, Wrin. Do you expect me to?

Wrinkles: STOP CALLING ME WRIN. It sounds like that detergent’s name. Go back and retitle my dialogues.

Me: As I said, it’ll cause a paradox. I’ll have to delete this whole post then.

Wrinkles: Then do it. All you’re giving them is a Crappy New Year, not a Happy New Year.

Me(singing the lines from Pink’s Just Like Fire): What you gonna do? Oh, what you gonna do?

Wrinkles: I’ll-I’ll… I’ll stop thinking. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll stop thinking. You’re just a lump of meat without me.

Me: Ooh, it’s getting philosophical now. I’m you, and you’re me, after all. This body is just-

Wrinkles: I believe you’re supposed to be funny.

Me: I believe you’re not supposed to be a moron.

Wrinkles: You’re a… moron.

Me: Quit whining already. Be grateful that I’m featuring you in this year’s first post.

Wrinkles: Get off your high horse. This post is about me. And what’re you trying to get at with your fake New Year vibe, huh? You haven’t even taken a resolution.

Me: I have, goldfish. You’re a brain. You’re supposed to remember stuff, not just sit around whimpering and moisturising your-.


Me: With what? Your leg-shaped wrinkles?

Wrinkles: That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m going.

Me: Where? To get botox?

Wrinkles: It’s not even funny anymore.

Me: Oh, I could do this all day.

Wrinkles (opens up his knowledge base): “The more creases and folds a brain has, the more neural connections it has established. More the density of neural connections, more efficient and intelligent is the brain.” See? Me having more wrinkles is a good thing.

Me: People are intelligent, not brains. You disappoint me, Wrinkles. You’re supposed to be linguistically efficient. Despite that, you haven’t learnt Greek completely yet and I was forced to take that resolution again this year. And now I have to wait until your thick self manages to grasp it to watch Sto Para Pente (a popular Greek TV show).

Wrinkles: My thick self? Look, the pot is calling the kettle black.

Me: You’re just using that idiom to prove your linguistic efficiency.

Wrinkles: Switching tracks, are we? Must be hard for your fat body to do that.

Me: Pretending to forget things, are we? Must be easy for your sieved self to do that. You’re the gluttonous one who gobbles up twenty per cent of my oxygen and still weighs about a kilo or two. I don’t know why you can’t use up my fat instead. Even when I try to go out cycling, you make me drowsy. And what does a tiny being like you do with all that oxygen anyway?

Wrinkles: Of course, of course. It’s not like I keep you alive.

Me: Last I checked, the heart does that.

Wrinkles: The heart is just a bloody pump.

Me: You do realise your puns aren’t funny, don’t you?

Wrinkles: You do realise you’d be dead without me, don’t you? I’m the one who controls the heart, though your ignorant self doesn’t realise it.

Me: Oh yeah, your medusa does that, doesn’t it?

Wrinkles: Medulla.

Me: Medulla, Medusa, what difference does it make? You’re like Medusa, after all, with- ahem- creases and folds instead of snakes.


Me: Relax. I didn’t say wrinkles, Wrinkles. Oh wait, I just did. Twice.

Wrinkles: Everyone’s bored with your hackneyed jokes.

Me: I’m not.

Wrinkles: Can we just talk about 2019 in a post about 2019?

Me: Sure. 2019 is divisible by 3, a nice change from 2018 which wasn’t.

Wrinkles: Anisha Jain is still an idiot like before, no change from 2018 when she was.

Me: I’m sure that’s grammatically incorrect.

Wrinkles: I’m sure you’re lacking in intellect.

Me: That would be totally your fault.

Wrinkles: You’re not worth your salt.

Me: Wait, that’s irrelevant. Will you stop rhyming your sentences with mine? It’s not making you look clever, which you aren’t, by the way. It’s only amplifying your annoyingness.

Wrinkles(in Monica’s style): That’s not even a word!

Me (checks Google): See? It is. Dictionary dot com defines it as causing annoyance; irritatingly bothersome. I feel like I’m reading your biography.

Wrinkles: My biography would be a lot longer than four words.

Me: Filled with picturesque descriptions of every groove and ridge.

Wrinkles: Do you mind telling the readers how you’re wishing them a Happy New Year on January second because you were too busy cracking lame jokes about my appearance on the first?

Me: You’re lying, but I won’t. It’s because I was considerate towards their new year parties and decided to not disrupt their celebrations.

Wrinkles: That’s not the major reason. And I’m not a liar.

Me: You yourself said that you’re a liar and a cheat when you were singing River.

Wrinkles: That’s just the lyrics of the song.

Me: They’re.

Wrinkles: What?

Me: Subject-determiner agreement, Wrinkles.

Wrinkles: I look forward to the day we’ll have a Brain-Human agreement.

Me: Not in this life, Wrin dear, not in this life.



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