The Snake, the Selfie, and a Slightly Unwanted Kiss
An inspiring tale of death, rebirth, and tongue-throwing
The Real Reason People Think I’m Crazy
Is because they confuse it with courage.
Anyone who’s ever tried to be different or courageous was called crazy.
Newton? Crazy.
Einstein? Crazy.
Gandhi? Crazy.
Trump? Well…
Me? You’ll know soon enough.
The other day, I posted a selfie with a deadly snake. It was at least a meter long.
Don’t worry — the snake was dead before it could be deadly.
No, no, I didn’t kill him. I’m not inhuman.
I just blinded him with the selfie lights.
The snake died of boredom from giving different poses.
How intolerant and impatient reptiles have become these days!
I felt bad when he died. So, I tried to bring him back to life.
I’d invested twenty bucks to catch him for a selfie. I couldn’t just let that go to waste on a dead snake.
So I sprinkled water on his face — like they do in old Bollywood films.
The snake opened his eyes and hissed.
I gasped.
He kept hissing. I got so tired of it, I slapped him.
He put his head down in shame for a minute — then hissed again.
But this time, he also threw his tongue at me.
I know, I know — it’s weird. Who does that, right?
So I hissed and threw my tongue back at him.
The snake looked shocked… before dying again.
I felt sorry. The thought of not getting enough bang for my twenty bucks disturbed me.
The snake had died, come back, and died again. I’d seen this before.
In Bollywood films.
The hero never dies — no matter how many bullets he takes, he always comes back.
And after years of watching such crap, I figured I shouldn’t let all that experience go to waste.
So I pricked him with a stick. He didn’t flinch.
I sprinkled water. Still nothing.
I picked him up by the tail and bathed the dirty guy in the tank.
Ungrateful hisser.
So I wrapped him in my arms and clicked a selfie.
The bastard came back to life in seconds.
But his eyes looked weird in the photo… like they’d popped out.
He turned to look at me. His eyes popped again — revealing the internal wires they were attached to.
It was strange. I haven’t been that close to even a woman in my life.
I just hoped the snake wouldn’t hiss and throw his tongue at me again.
Not because I was afraid of hissing back or tongue-throwing —
But if we did that at the same time… we’d be kissing.
And that would be disappointing.
Not because I don’t like kissing snakes —
But I’d prefer kissing a human first.
Preferably one with better dental hygiene.
I looked back at the snake.
He glanced left and right, like he was reviewing something.
I remembered my twenty-buck investment and opened the selfie camera again.
The snake spat something on my face and ran away.
Stupid snake missed the opportunity of a lifetime —
His third one, technically.
He could’ve been a star.
An influencer.
Meanwhile, I heard the snake just launched a viral reel on Snakebook called “How to Escape a Toxic Influencer.”
2 million views.
He hissed back stronger.
And people call me crazy.
But I call the snake… courageous.
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Laugh. Cringe. Question humanity. Repeat.