Dear Flying Spaghetti Monster,
I have a confession to make. Over the years, I have logged an untold number of person-hours LOL-ing, ROFL-ing, ROFLOL-ing, taking mobile cam shots and showing to friends and ROFL-ing together at unintentionally funny spellings in Indian restaurant menus. And since we are talking about food, I thought it might be appropriate to invoke thy holy noodly presence and share my thoughts with you.
I used to think that I was part of a small clique of above-average spellers who found vicious joy in laughing at spelling gaffes, but when I see whole blogs dedicated to them, newspaper sections (with photographs no less), I feel my mirth dissolving like sugar cubes into already over-sweet tea.
So I have made a list, and I would like all well-to-do, middle-class, urban, lucky-enough-to-have-gone-to-a-school, rich, college-educated, white-collar, blog-writing, net-surfing, mall-hopping, multiplex-ing, over-consuming, car-driving, polluting folks of India (like me) to ROFL, LOL, ROFLOL for one last time, and then, stop finding this so funny.
I realize that humour is either intentional, or the outcome of embarrassing pomposity exhibited by the high and mighty, and not a result of a struggling man who left his village to run a “Chaines” joint out of a ramshackle van struggling to communicate what he’s trying to sell in an illogical, unphonetic language he has never been taught in his life.
Thank you for your patient hearing, Oh Noodly one. I will do Abhishekam with Arabiatta sauce as penance for my shameless elitism over the years.