DID YOU, OR DID YOU NOT, ORDER THE CODE RED CHICKEN VINDALOO????
You can't handle the dots! Son, we live in a world that has dots. And those dots have to be worn by men with turbans. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Tomic? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Dheerj and you curse the curry he ate. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Dheerj's death, while tragic, probably saved curry. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves curry...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at traditional Indian weddings, you want me on those dots. You need me on those dots.
We use words like Pakora, Tikka, Kebob...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending the dots. You use 'em as a dinner order. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very dots I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide them! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up some curry and stand next to a toilet. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you know about dots!
Not at this time of year.
You're right, it sucks during the whole year.