Freshly-popped Corn!

FTW.

2006-08-12T22:45:00.000+08:00

I'd like to say a really huge thank you to the people who tried to get me back onto my blogging feet.

You people really made my day.

At the end of it all, I know, that for everyone who doesn't like what they read on my blog, I'll have even more people who do. Thanks for helping me realise that.

Watching and reflecting on One Piece also helped a lot. For those who don't know what One Piece is, let's just say that it's a really stupid cartoon and has no apparent moral benefits whatsoever. Makes you wonder what kind of idiot would reflect on it, doesn't it? Well, for starters, the one typing out this entry. Smile. :)

It's the bull-headedness of the main character that really woke me up. Do what you want. Why bother caring about what other people think? Somewhere out there will be someone who will try to take you down. There'll always be someone like that. You just have grin, bear it, and probably bust their nuts along the way.

Oh, and you'll only keep getting better at it along the way.

So once again, thanks, to good friends, good cartoons and good riddance to badd rubbish. Seize the Day? Try Fuck the World.

D. O. B.

2006-07-16T09:20:00.000+08:00

24th July.

1969 - The Apollo 11 splashes down safely in the Pacific Ocean.

1927 - The Kellogg-Briand Pact goes into effect.

1943 - Operation Gomorrah commences, British and Canadian forces bombed Hamuburg at night,
and American forces took the city during the day.

2005 - Lance Armstrong wins his seventh and final Tour de France title.

A whole bunch of other stuff happened on my birthday. Stuff that's not so important to me. Stuff that no one would probably have heard of.

I just came from Justin's blog. I'll miss the guy a whole lot for his quirky sense of humour, his quiet understanding of everything around him, his Hard-Gaying, his focus when it comes to acting, his smile, and the twinkle in his eyes that accompanies it. He had this to say.

wells July nvr felt so fulfillin b4...even as it draws nearer...i guess its all abt makin the most out of everythin life can throw at u and say...thank you God...for the ppl...for the lessons...the failures...everything...

July never felt so fulfilling before. I can't think of anything more true than that. I loved the intensive 2-week rehearsal schedule. I loved the breaks that I spent with Zoe. I loved the time during which I had a firm purpose for everything that I did. So I may be a hopeless romantic for loving all those things, but who cares?

I've never felt this sense of achievement, of pride, of fulfillment before in my life. I feel like I've already got the best birthday presents that I could have ever wanted. Being part of something. Being a part of StAJeWorks, being a part in my relationship with Zoe, and finally feeling like a part in my class again.

Being a part of Life. Of something greater, something larger, yet, at the same time, intangible, impossible to grasp. All of you had a part in making it easier to reach, easier to hold, easier to keep locked away in my memories until I need to be reminded of what it is like to be... Loved.

I'm listening to the song playing on Justin's blog as well. Immigrants. I don't need to actually listen to the song to hear it anymore. Perhaps it's the countless times I've heard it during rehearsals. Or perhaps it's the meaning the song carries for me, for all of us in StAJeWorks. I'd like to think it's the second reason.

It is a melting pot of cultures. Blending in Hindi/Tamil influences with meaningful English lyrics. I've always wondered why this song was chosen for the ending theme of X Country. Was it merely for the fact that it blended in with the theme of Xin Jie's character immigrating to escape from her past? Or was it because it symbolised what StAJeWorks was?

People. From all walks of life, all religions, all cultures, blending together to make beautiful music.

Friday Night. The song played for its last time on the stage. The last time. A song that meant so much to all of us. A song that could have been meant for us. A song that might as well have been made for us. A song with mixed cultural influences, mainstream and traditional tinges. A song that would have painted a rainbow if it were in colour. A marriage of two families from different races if it were people.

That song played for the last time on Friday. Is it an end to all that we've worked so hard for? Or, as the cliche goes, the beginning of so many things to come?

Will you take me there
To a distant place where I've never been before?
I could leave this world.
I could follow you like oceans to the shore.
You could take me there.
Make the rivers of my mind flow to my dreams.

We're riding on our dreams, down the rivers that lead to the ocean of our friendships, oceans that have no shores, for they go on forever.

Thank you, StAJeWorks 2006. For everything.

P. S. My birthday marked the end of the fifth year of reign of Constantine the Great, so I might just use that for my baptismal name.

It's been a while...

2006-07-15T16:40:00.000+08:00

And so many things have happened.

My mum and grandma still aren't talking, Zoe's mum found out about the two of us being together, I've flopped so many of my papers and yesterday marked the end of 6 (3 for me) months of hard work.

I don't know where to start.

I'm going through so many feelings all at once, I'm starting to feel quite immune to them already. Anger, hatred, fear, cowardice, joy, melancholy, mostly just fear. Fear of what Zoe is going through at home, fear of losing my grandma, fear of missing my StAJeWorks seniors too much, fear of not being able to make it for my promos, fear of not being good enough for anyone or anything.

I wonder what I'd say if I could sit down and have a good talk with myself.

Do I deserve Zoe?

Do I have what it takes to give a better life?

Can I do well enough to get into NUS?

Will I be able to find a job to support everyone?

Can I bring my mum and grandma back together?

Will I be a good enough boyfriend?

Can I be a good enough student?

Am I a good enough son?

Will I have a future to work towards?

Will I even have a future?

At some point after typing out my third question, I sort of came to a conclusion that I should be writing my blog entry. I should be studying. Basically, everything your parents tell you about studying is true. You'll have a bright future if you study hard enough, you'll be able to support a family, you'll make them happy. Stuff like that. Most of the time, we never listen to that kind of junk, but it's true.

But there are so many things I have to get out of my system before I can end this entry.

I shall start by saying thank you. To everyone I know. You may not actually read it, and I don't think I'll actually get the chance to thank you in person, but thanks anyway. And to the people who I don't know personally but visit this blog anyway, thanks. For taking the time to read.

I want to thank all the J2s in StAJeWorks. Xin Jie, Justin, Namz, Fish, Bindi, Yi Long, Farah, Shannon, Kai, Dil, Wai, Chin Thin, Xavier, Jeremy, Yips and Akshaya. If I had some way to fit all your names into the same position, I would. I love all of you all the same, so don't think that just because your name is behind someone else's, that I love you any less.

All 16 of you have given me so many beautiful memories together, memories I never want to forget. Memories that will stay with me for as long as I live. You have taught me so many values, humility, dedication, focus, determination and discipline. While I haven't exactly grasped all of them yet, I know I will eventually, but only because you guys started me off on this subject of life.

I know now what it is like to give your all to something, to not let down in any aspect whatsoever. In a way, I feel like I'm a better person already for having known all of you, much less working side by side with you people for the play. I hope that it'll make a better student, a better son, a better friend, a better StAJer, and a better boyfriend to Zoe. I hope that I am able to give the same 100% in all other aspects of my life.

To hear the same applause we did last night.

To me, that applause was meant for all of you. For teaching me, and all the rest of the J1s, how to be better people. Not for the production, not for how well you might have projected your voice, not for how the stable the set was, not for how controlled your actions were. For being the best seniors that anyone of us could have ever asked for. For being the best friends that anyone could have dreamt of.

So, thank you. All of you. I.. No, we will all miss you.

FACK.

2006-07-06T15:39:00.000+08:00

This is an angry rant post. Because I'm fucking sick with the way things are turning out for me.

Yesterday night, my grandma got thrown out of the house. Over what? Shares. Fucking stupid shares. I screamed a lot. My parents got worried and stuff. Why the heck would I want to kill myself, damn it? Oh right, you only think that way because I can't fucking tell you that I'm dating my soulmate. Yeah, there's no fucking chance at all of me taking a shot at ending my life.

NO.

FUCKING.

CHANCE.

Yeah. So don't fucking worry. I hate all of this. I fucking hate everything that's going on. Except for Zoe. And StAJeWorks. These two things are probably the only fucking things that actually could amount to something. Everything else is just a fucking waste of time.

Not forgetting my Cat High friends. And my primary school ones.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I'm all alone in AJ's library, typing out this fucking post as the words come to mind. I don't even know what I'm typing anymore. I'm merely letting all the fucking anger out. It's a holiday too. Did I mention that? Yeah, there's practically no one in the whole damn school except for a librarian, a bunch of cleaners, and a security guard.

Where's Zoe? Hmmm?

Let's not talk about that now. I feel like a fucking bag of cum for doing what I did today. Did I deserve it? I don't know. Did you really want to? Or was it the constant and relentless pestering? I'll take option number two for a thousand please.

And it's not what you guys might fucking think it was.

Everything's falling out of its place. My finances, my studies, my life.

But I don't care anymore.

I just don't fucking care anymore.

Please don't highlight the empty spaces.

2006-07-05T12:47:00.001+08:00

Please don't highlight the empty space you'll see below shortly. Yeah, so much for a disclaimer. Just don't do it if you're female, easily offended by vulgarities, or a wuss. I warned you.

Don't say I didn't.

Because I did.

So don't say I didn't.

Okay?

Thank you.

I think.

*******

Join C.H.E.E.B.Y.E.!!!

The Catholic High Exceptional and Elite Boys and Youths Ensemble!!!

All guys are welcomed to join even if you're not from the school mentioned in the club's name. I just needed something to fill up the two spaces.

How did this organisation get started?

Well, I was on the bus one day, headed for dinner at Junction 8, when I chanced upon a secret female gathering known as AMA. What does this actually stand for? Nobody except it's members know. And I wasn't one of them! So, in response to this, I came up with my own club. What was at first just a lewd joke, actually amounted to something!

C.H.E.E.B.Y.E. is an call-to-arms for all guys who have at some point in their lives, felt left out by girls and their cliques. C.H.E.E.B.Y.E. is somewhat of a more organised boiling pot of raw, male talents. All of us guys have limited strengths. But put all those strengths together, these being really strong strengths even on an individual basis, will only give us STRONGER strengths!

So, fellow guys out there, answer this call and stand up against the female invasion of cliques!

Pre-requisites.

Well, you'd have to be a guy.

You'd probably still have to have your dong attached between your legs or all we'd do at meetings is laugh at you.

You can't be a sissified, sissy, sissypants. We'd laugh at you too. Then you and the dickless one can go fornicate in Lala Land.

I think that's about it. Oh yeah, and you'll to abide by a Statute of Secrecy and if any word of this leaks out to anyone, well, we'll be laughing at you.

*******

Yeah. I did all that in the school library. I think it's cool having to look over your shoulder every five minutes to check if anyone is looking at the words on your screen.

And I still love Zoe. Loads. As in a lot. So don't get funny ideas about loads.

Life is good. When you share it with someone.

Couples and Coalitions.

2006-07-02T13:27:00.000+08:00

Yeah. Joshua is going to have a field day over this post. But who cares? It's too tiring to think of what other people think and think of Zoe at the same time.

Yes, I've been thinking a lot.

And Zoe's my girlfriend.

I've decided to blog about it after some more thinking, because sooner or later, everyone's going to find out. So what if we're going to get teased and all that la di da, we don't really care anymore. At least I know I don't. Seeing as how I brought her down to Cat High to meet the guys yesterday.

Homecoming was a blast. Even though I didn't do much there. I didn't even get a chance to go into the dance studio/haunted house thing. Kris said he tore his shirt in there or something. And some guy said it wasn't scary at all. Ummm, yeah kid, you paid 5 bucks to get into a non-scary haunted house, now THAT's scary.

Saw loads of people. Let me see if I can remember all of them. Ivan, Mervyn, Nicol, Ryan, Matthew, Guo Hui, Jun Yong, Patrick, Billy, Yi Heng, Alford, Alvin, Zhi Jue, Sng Tiak, Chong Boon, Jonathan, Toon Hwee, Andrew, Kris, Terrence, Mark, Darren, Yong Wen, Yang Yang, Wen Qi, and a couple of my dance juniors whose names I'm struggling to remember.

Saw a couple of teachers too, Mr Heng (thanks for saying Zoe's pretty), Mr Tan, Mrs Tham, Mdm Endang, Ms Thian, Mr Goh and Mr Goh. Yeah. I wish I got to see Mr Yong though. The best form teacher in the world. Yup. That one.

I heard from Patrick that he rejected Tay Ping Hui four times and burned him twice. Which is kinda cool. Because he kicked celebrity butt. Mervyn and Nicol were super-nice to Zoe. A whole lot better than the rest of the guys. Ryan and Zhi Jue were distant, so was Terrence, Ivan initiated conversation with her, but her also nearly hit her with a basketball. Yeah. Mervyn brought his female friend, Cynthia, who was quite hot, on account that she wore a black bra yesterday, erm, she was nice to Zoe too. And she's a really good visual arts person. Yeah, Zoe's heels were killing her so we just went down to J8 for a late lunch.

So that's about it for yesterday. You can go to Nicol's blog for more pictures on the day.

Alright. Let's talk about her then.

Zoe is the most incredible person on earth. Haha. Yeah, I'm blinded by love. And it's a good feeling, because even though you can't really see, you know that the person whose hand you're holding will steer you in the right direction. Unless she's blind too. Which is kind of what's happening here.

She's amazing, she's wonderful, she's everything that I could have ever dreamt up and everything else that I couldn't. I keep telling her the same things over and over again because I'm out of words to describe how I feel about her when I think of her. It's like every other word I've learnt in the past 17 years died and all that's left are the stupid root words that I keep using. I can only hope that she isn't bored of hearing all those things.

She's never asked me for much. She's content with just sitting down somewhere and talking. She's happy with just sitting in a train while it loops. All she's ever asked for was to be with me. Nothing more. I'm the stupid one who keeps dragging her into movie theatres. Why do I do that? I love to hear her voice and see her smile more than anything, so why do I bring her somewhere so dark that I can only see the light reflecting off her eyes? And you can't really talk in a movie theatre.

Damn, I'm stupid.

We're on a budget here and I'm still trying to pay for things that I can't afford. I haven't bought her anything tangible yet. Heck, I haven't even bought her anything intangible. I need to pay her phone bill first. Then I can start with the gift-giving. Not that I can think of anything to give her. Everything I want to buy for her has a 4-figure price tag, so I don't think it'll be happening anytime soon.

I love every sms that she sends to me. I love everytime she turns her to look at me, only to find me staring back at her. I love each and every one of her smiles. I love the sound of her laughter. I love the feeling of her head on my shoulder. I love how she feels in my arms. I love how soft her hair feels. I love her.

When she told me that she was in a bad mood yesterday, I just felt so useless and stupid. In a way, it kinda ruined the entire day for me. She didn't tell me why until later. And I'm sorry for making to come along. I'm sorry because I made you feel like some new toy which I wanted to show off to my friends. I just want you to know that I only did that because I wanted them to see how happy I was.

And they saw that.

I just hope that I'll get to see you tomorrow. I think I need to. Badly. You've become more of a bodily function than a want. I can go without breathing for a minute, but I can't go without you for that long.

So I'll just end by telling everyone that I love Zoe Lim Wanxuan. And I'm not going to let anything come between us.

Crapheads.

2006-06-22T08:43:00.000+08:00

Hey.

None of you saw anything.

You did not see me when you were headed to the interchange with your girlfriend.

You did not see me point my middle finger and mouth the words "chee bye" to you.

You did not see me on the train.

P.S. I'm really sorry I had to snub you off like that. Didn't mean to, man. We'll catch up another time.

Damn. What kind of freak accident was happen? Why did so many of my friends have sudden urges to go down to J8 yesterday.

What.

The.

Hell.

Bah, go on, you can tell the whole world about it. I don't really care anymore. Gossip technically isn't gossip when it's the truth. So if you go around telling the truth, you're not gossiping. You're telling the truth. You're being a good person and doing others a service by telling them the truth.

Now isn't that nice?

Watched Scary Movie 4 yesterday. Yes, I wasn't watching it alone. And I wasn't really watching it either.

Wait.

No, you guys are gonna have a field day over this.

Yes, yes, I watched the movie. I remember everything bit of it, so haha. From the start with Shaq, then to the part with the blind girl takes off her dress and shits in the town hall (she looked DAMN hot in that corset, the blind girl, you shits), to the climatic part with Brenda wants to have a crossbow pointed at her butt, then when all the triPods caught some sexually transmitted disease from Brenda, and finally when Tom Ryan whacks the Oprah-wannabe with a chair.

See, proof I watched it.

Overall, it was a good show. I'd say a 8.5/10. I really enjoyed it. The movie, I mean.

Damn.

Crapheads.

Pigs can fly, and cows can jump higher than Superman.

2006-06-21T08:29:00.000+08:00

I never thought I'd ever feel this way about anything.

Not even cheese. *gasps*

Cheese.

The stuff you find between your toes! How could anyone not love cheese?

Right, fine. You've made me the happiest person alive, and probably will continue to do until Kalmageddon, the Arockalypse or the Rockening of the Monsetrican Dream. I've been doing too much Lordi so yeah.

I'm not supposed to blog about you. Riiight.

I won't then.

I can't go for CHMA, which wouldn't be that great at all unless The Vinyl Summer were actually playing. I think Paul Twohill might be there (he might even be hosting), but from what I hear, he's probably going to get booed down by the current sec 4 batch.

I think most (not all, okay wait, almost all, still not all, almost) sec 4 students in Cat High are jealous of talent, success, fame, blahblahblah... You get the picture. I mean, be proud of the guy. He's Cat High Alumni. He can sing. He's got hair that most of you little shits want.

What do I know? I'd probably earn an honorable mention on your blogs if I continued. Too bad I don't read them. And if you want to talk about fighting... Hah. I've seen kindergarten kids doing Gransazers fight better than you. Back then, there was no fighting, none of the bullshit that you people do, at least. It's all love.

Right, I can't go for CHMA because StAJeWorks is going to be doing our SYF piece again and Hwa Chong Institution's Drama Centre from the 12th to the 14th. I think we'll be performing alongside TJC so it'll be cool.

I'm going to study later.

Well, study you actually.

Oh Man.

2006-06-18T09:12:00.000+08:00

I love that phrase.

Oh man.

How about Oh Woman? Oh Paedophile? Oh Power-hungry Megalomaniac? Oh Zordon, mighty leader of the Power Rangers?

Nah, oh man takes the cake.

I've been using it a lot. Like A LOT. Even more than I've used Savvy. And Cap'n Jack Sparrow says Savvy!

I guess some people have more magnetic personalities than silly old Jack Sparrow.

Hmmm, isn't that technically impossible?

Oh man, what am I saying here again.

See! See! There! I used it again!

I had a good week. It was filled with ups-and-downs. Ins-and-outs. Lefts-and-rights. Diagonal lefts-and-diagonal rights. Things took a turn for the better yesterday night though, depending on which way is actually the better turn and whether it's actually possible to turn down.

Turn down. HEY. I didn't get turned down.

Turn down the stupid sublimal psychic messages in my head, I say.

I think I'm a very lucky person. Guy. Very lucky guy.

Very poor guy as well.

Chomp Chomp is NOT for you if you're going there alone for the first time, or with someone who's actually BEEN THERE BEFORE but conveniently "forgot" to tell you about the sizes of Sugarcane (Juice?) cups.

They're $3 a glass. If you can call something that large a glass. More like THE ENTIRE WATER RATION SUPPLY FOR THE STATE OF BANGALORE.

And Squash isn't one of the most exciting sports in the world if you're on the losing end. But we call safely say that our loss was caused by the presence of one person in particular. :)

I need to go wait for someone.

To wake up.

Today's Father's Day.

Cheers.

Oh man's Savvy.

Oats make Cookies look Old.

2006-06-12T09:24:00.000+08:00

StAJe stay over.

Yay.

I hate this.

If we can't stayover, I'm still not going home.

Say we leave at 3 am. Which I highly doubt. Since it's exactly the same as staying over. And I have until 6 pm the next day before I have to go home. 18 - 3 = 15 hours. Is it possible to stay 15 hours out of a house?

Wait add in today's time as well.

Okay. I'm leaving at 12 pm. Today. How do I minus/plus/divide/multiply the total time spent out of home again? Gimme a second...

Oh, I see. It's roughly... 30 hours.

Can you spend 30 hours out of home? It's home, not a house. That's debatable, since I rarely feel at home in my house. I feel more at home at Ryan's house. Because it's big, has a fully-stocked fridge, nice parents, a maid, and my best friend. Hmmm. I wonder if they'll take me in.

That might have a serious impact on my social life.

A good one.

Since Ryan's parents are forever trying to get him out of the house to socialise with people his own age or something.

Ryan needs to get out of the house more often.

I need to get out more often.

I also give you problems.

I hate to give people problems, especially people I care about.

But I still do.

Typing like that makes me feel stupid because it makes my readers, supposing that I actually have readers, feel stupid.

I think you're worth every bit of it.

Every last bit.

I just hope that you'll come to feel that way too.

30 hours. I'll be spending 30 hours with you.

Now I'm the one with the headache.

Snuffalufagus Snorts Smack.

2006-06-09T13:27:00.000+08:00

I have absolutely no idea how to start this post.

Erm.

Yeah.

Hmmm.

Okay.

Right.

Well, it's been a pretty good week for me, I guess.

The highlight of my week was when you gave me rave reviews for the rubbish that I wrote for you.

I still think it's rubbish even though you liked it. Maybe it's because they keep me up all night.

I find myself sitting on the sofa in complete darkness at 2 in the morning a whole lot more often now. I don't know the reason why, but it's strangely comforting. I think about absolutely nothing when I'm sitting there.

Nothing.

Just like what this post is about.

Nothing.

Just had to fill it up with some malarkey.

Then again, this week hasn't been that good a week either. My phone's under-used now I guess. I wish you would reply, but that would mean that your phone bill would run up to a pretty substantial amount.

Pretty. Haha. Just like you.

Pfffft. What am I saying again... Alright enough of that, you probably got your fill of that rubbish from the rubbish I wrote for you.

StAJe Stayover.

I wish I had a fucking camera again. Can someone lend me one? Nicol? Mervyn? The Hobo living next to the drain next to the multi-storey carpark next to my house?

What hobo?

Someone lend me a camera. Or something. Maybe a sketchpad. And professional painter. Who does murals and toilet seats. I love decorative toilet seats.

I'm looking forward to staying over at Helmi's. Wonder what it's like (to fire a rifle). I heard it's PRETTY close to where my new house is going to be. I wonder if Helmi would like to know that. Maybe I'd drop in on him every now and then to say hi.

Just hi.

And pester him to make me some of his sambal chicken wings. Which, according to a certain intellectual, are really good.

I've got pre-stayover anxiety. I have no idea what you can possibly spend close to 24 hours doing. Eating, yes, that's one. But I bet the food won't last till 3 am. Sleep? Nah, it's supposed to be this "party" thing. Yes. A "party". What we will do during this "party" is not clear to me yet. I'll ask the Magic 8 Ball later.

Or we could "party", whatever that means. I still haven't figured that bit out.

Making out is totally off. I'm not with the guys. Not that I've actually made out... Wait. I have. But you probably should do a double-take and read that last line again. It's not exactly the prettiest of sights to have flash before your eyes.

Hmmm.

I don't know. Let's get through the cookie baking rubbish first.

Trash from the Trail-mix.

2006-06-06T08:03:00.000+08:00

I've got a lot to rant about.

Bah, the part that used to be here doesn't mean shit anymore.

Alright, enough of that. I don't know if I still have enough juice left in me to write you your poems. I'll try.

This song pretty much sums up how I feel about you.

Iris
Goo Goo Dolls

And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
and sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am

That's all I'm going to say, and it's probably a lot more than what you're allowing me to.

I'm missing you a whole lot more right now.

Refer to post.

2006-06-03T23:37:00.000+08:00

I AM SO FUCKING HAPPY.

Because of what you said.

VOTE FOR PAUL TWOHILL

2006-06-01T18:14:00.000+08:00

Vote for Paul Twohill.

P2H.

One day, Twohill will run for presidency. And our beloved ex-P, Mr. *** *** ****, who calls Paul Twohills, will have to pay his respects to him.

And Paul, won't you sing for me again?

I love the cookie.

I love other stuff too. *hint hint wink wink spasm spasm orgasm*

Alright, maybe I should have done that.

Text 5 to 43657 (IDOLS)
or Call 1900 112 1905 to vote for Twohill.

The Malleus Maleficarum.

2006-05-25T18:37:00.000+08:00

The Witches' Hammer.

According to Sir Leigh Teabing, noted Grail historian, cripple, kung fu Opus Dei fighter, The Teacher, and really stupid old man for planning everything and not succeeding, it is the most blood soaked book in the world. A book that contains every possible method for the persecution of free-thinking women. Stoning (no, Wai, not that kind of stoning), drowning, burning at the stake, and so on.

Those are just the more popular ones.

I wish I had a copy of the book. No, not to use the methods so clearly described in the book, that would be illegal. Just hitting the person on the head with the book would be satisfying enough.

Homer is rating Fear. Think The Da Vinci Code. Think the answer to whom I'm referring to.

I think what I really don't understand, is myself. Like why the hell do I bother to find out so much about you? Or anyone else for that matter. Why do I need to know? Is it because I've always known everything I needed to back in secondary school? Why can't I just be content with whatever rubbish I have locked up in my head about people, all those pre-conceived notions on whether this person is nice and stuff, on whether or not I should "friend" you? Why do I keep telling people to think and be simple, when I can't even do that for myself?

Then again, why is it just you?

I want to ask myself that question. But I'm scared of the answer. I don't want it to be anything to scary. It's sort of like having the Boogey Man under your bed and you don't really want to see if he's really there or not. Probably frozen still by the eratic breaths, the snorts and the grunts and the occasional cackle. You don't want to open your eyes and check if he's there, because you already know that he might be.

Go away, Mr. Boogey Man, or I'll start chanting stuff.

I guess I'm feeling rather emotional now. I don't like it much. I'm only emotional because I'm having a REAL migraine now. Or rather, it's a migraine AND a headache. So you have the migraine pushing in, and the headache pushing out. So, yeah. It hurts. I feel like crap now. And when I feel like crap, I feel emotional.

I'm learning how to keep secrets. But I don't have any of them to keep. Maybe I really shouldn't. Maybe the next time I'll only get to keep another secret when I leave this place, when I find new friends who don't know me at all, when I find some place to start anew. I hope that won't be the case. I learnt my lesson already.

It's hurting now. A lot, I'm just going to go lie down for a bit. Maybe, just maybe, the Boogey Man will grab me, and I'll never get up again.

Fire. Fire. Everyone's a Liar.

2006-05-22T22:18:00.000+08:00

You liars.

Hiding your emotions all that time, pretending not to know. That's not acting. That's lying. You all know the difference.

It really killed the moment. It was such a silent "We got Gold!" moment. I swear. If a pin dropped, shattered into a million tiny pieces, evolved into tiny little green men, invented fire, the wheel and machine guns and started shooting each other, we'd all be able to hear it even if we were wearing earplugs. Yup, that's how quiet it was. Figure it out.

Ash, Zoe and I went for dinner. It was a quiet affair. But not as quiet as the aftermath of the announcement (we got Gold, damn it). Nothing can be as quiet as that moment. Except, um, the Big Bang? Because theoratically, it *never* happened, because no one was around to hear it? So it was quiet. And also because we didn't start with a bang, it was more of a "Let there be Light" thing.

Dinner. I owe Ash ten bucks again. I always owe her money when we go to KFC. KFC must stand for Something Something Cursed. Come up with the K and F yourselves. Yeah, F yourselves.

So we ate, and we talked. About scandals. Not sandals, though I think footwear is a really good topic to start conversations with since I spend most of my time looking down. We talked aboutAsh's scandals (not sandals), and how many she has, how many she will have, how many no one else but her can have and how not to have any.

Which is impossible. Because EVERYONE LOVES ASH.

Why?

Because Ash is A SHAMELESS ATTENTION SEEKER.

Why?

Because SHE SAID SO HERSELF.

Why am I typing in caps? I dunch noe worxz.

Right, okay. Enough about her. Nope, no, wait. The whole evening practically revolved around Ash. The pompous little twit. No, no, not you Ash. I'm referring to the talking bear who lives in the Hundred Acres Wood.

So after Fang Qing pang sehed us, we went window shopping. For dresses, handbags and sparklers. We ended up buying the sparklers. Walking to the playground "across" the road. Meeting Shannon there. Trying to light sparklers in the rain for about 1o minutes. Going to the bus stop to do it. Creating a whole lot of smoke. Attracting a lot of attention, causing a car to slow down to see which hooligans were the cause of it all and only noticing three people because I was concealed behind a tree.

See, Ash's fault. If only she'd bought the fake snow instead, she and Zoe wouldn't have to be the only ones facing any punishment tomorrow if any got good looks at two small girls and one giant. Then again, fake snow in the rain is just plain stupid.

I've got plans for tomorrow, and I need to get ready.

Truths from the Treadmill.

2006-05-21T09:35:00.000+08:00

I think of the best things when I'm on the treadmill.

Maybe it's the sheer exhaustion, the sweat dripping from my brow, the annoying sound of the rubber track scrapping against the sides of the treadmill or the beeping sound that signals the end of a minute. I don't know. Good things happen when I'm on the treadmill.

One good thing is that I'm losing weight. Isn't that a good thing? I'm way too fat for my own good. I wonder if it's got anything to do with my low self-esteem. Did you know that I have low self-esteem? Yes, I do. Apparently, my unwillingness to look people in the face is a sign of low self-esteem. Looking at my feet when I'm walking is another sign. And so is hunching.

I guess I've got low self-esteem then.

I've labelled it as a fat problem though. I don't like being fat. Being fat is bad. It makes PE teachers pick on you. Erm, wait, no. Actually it doesn't. That's just something that happened last year. Bad memories, ugh. The funny thing is, I'm not the least bit interested in losing weight. Someone buy me slimming pills.

That's not what I came up with on the treadmill though. I know I'm fat. I've always known that I've got a weight problem. What I did come up with was a list of reasons why I love my StAJe seniors. Yep, this one's for you guys.

P.S. It's in no order of merit.
P.P.S. Just how the names came to me on the treadmill.
P.P.P.S. No, it doesn't mean that anyone of you mean more to me such that my subconscious self sorts you out in terms of how much I like you. Stop shrinking me.

Bindi - Because you're the very first person that I ever spoke to in the ER.

Kai - Because you're from Catholic High.

Fish - Because you take 86.

Wai - Because you're grumpy.

Shannon - For the special Brokeback Mountain-esque moment we shared.

Yips - For thinking I'm cute when she told me I couldn't eat the snacks.

Nams - For punching me.

Xavier - For all the balls that I failed to set up for you.

Harry - Because I think you're cool.

Jeremy - Because you almost stripped in the toilet and I almost saw you.

Yi Long - For calling me "Boy".

Chin Thin - For being Mongolian.

Farah - For all the times that I didn't wave back to you.

Dil - Because I helped you take off your overall.

Xin Jie - For being an intellectual.

Justin - For being a nice guy.

Akshaya - For letting us butcher your name.

Yup, that's everyone. Randomly random randomness. I love you guys. I hate my treadmill.

Stale Bonding.

2006-05-19T15:46:00.000+08:00

StAJe Bonding + Male Bonding = Stale Bonding?

Nope. I doubt it.

Stale bonding is just bonding that's stale. Like not moving, has a wierd smell to it, and is glowing green in colour. Like stale bread. Only that it's bonding, and not bread. Bread tastes a lot better with spreads. We only have Akskaya, Aksbutter, Akspeanutbutter and Aksmargerine.

Right. Bonding's not hard. And this is coming from someone who's more or less estranged from his class. Even then, it still isn't hard. You can't exactly classify the different levels of bonding. Just like how you can't classify the different sizes of penises according to racial group. It's not exactly tangible, but you know it's there? And some times, when it's a really good bond, you breathe it in through your nose, and you die. And I'm not referring to the penises here.

You shouldn't think of how much you should bond before it's enough. If you do that, then you're never going to be bonded enough. You'd always be wondering when it's considered bonded. And what you consider bonded, or what our seniors might consider bonded, may not apply to us. We all have different levels of bonding. And if you keep thinking about when we're going to be bonded, then we never will.

But let's look at it this way. How bonded are our seniors? Do we want to be as bonded as them? Or do you want to go a step further and start sleeping with each other? Or something. Lalalalalalalala. I guess they're bonded because of all the shit that they went through last year, are we going through any shit? I don't exactly know what shit, because no one ever tells me anything? And I have to find out for myself? And when I do, I tell everyone else so that they don't have to go through the process of having to find out too? Yeah.

I don't think we're going through any shit though.

What shit is there anyways? As far as I see it, we're all one big happy family that doesn't have any problems as well. Erm, except for the fact that two of our family members are dating each other. But, heck, it's not a real family. Let's list out all the J1s then: Ash, Zoe, Ding Feng, Fang Qing, Shu Qin, Angela, Piyush, Raktim, Ena and me. No problems there. We're all getting along pretty well with each other. Perhaps a little too well.

Maybe we need a J1 exco to inject some tension. Yeah. Internal power struggle. Like, um, I don't know. I don't watch enough films with internal power struggles. I can tell you about eternal power struggles though, i.e. good versus evil, spiderman versus vemon, that kind of thing, but it's not really relevant.

Even then, I don't really see the chance of a power struggle happening. It's like a pink elephant with rock candy for intestines. Don't see many of those around, do you? If you do, could you let me know? I like rock candy.

Alright. I really don't see any problems arising in our little family. So I guess we're bonded, to some extent.

How much further you want to take it, just let us know? We'll probably be fine with it. We'll have that public production next year for sure. And then we'll have those late nights discussing logistics over dinner, spending all our available breaks obsessing over the script, and then we'll be bonded. We'll also have our Inter-house Drama Competition, which we'll have to put in tons of effort for.

The way I see it.

It's all cool.

And to poor little (yes, very much so, in fact) Ash, I'm sorry for all the teasing. But it's the only that ever seems to make you laugh. Which is a whole lot better than the whole eye-rolling deal. Let me know when you want to let me in on something else that's bound to you make you laugh so I can stop disturbing poor old Shannon.

Whee.

Of codes, certificates and c -- why don't you reply often enough?

2006-05-18T17:53:00.000+08:00

I think you'll get around to reading this sometime, so yes, I am referring to your lack of sms replies.

I watched the much-talked about Da Vinci Code today. And frankly, I don't know what all the talk was about. Maybe it was the stupid article in the Today newspaper that spoilt the whole movie. It was probably the reason why I ended up looking for flaws in the movie rather than enjoying it.

But wait!

There's more!

As soon as I sat down with my popcorn, I started getting wierd vibes. Why is my seat two seats away from the aisle? Is someone going to sit next to me? Wait, why does that old fellow keep looking at my popcorn? Oh great, more people are coming in to sit with me.

Whoa, these people were the bombs. I swear that they swear like swear toads. N iSh LyK dEy OnI nOe 1 WeRd lOrZ. Cheebye. Cheebye this, cheebye that, cheebye here, cheebye there. Everything was a cheebye. There were a grand total one three cheebyes sitting to my right and one old fart who kept staring at my popcorn on my left.

Let's put that on hold first, shall we? Right. This Japanese lady comes along then, and parks herself between the old guy and I. And it just so happened that her friend was sitting at the OTHER END OF THE ROW. So they were like giggling in their silly little Japanese way.

Then her friend starts asking everyone to move one seat to the left.

Oh yes, Joe Augustine was also in the theatre. Seated in my row. I know because he nearly stepped on my Crumpler.

Yes, so I'm forc -- obliged to shift one seat the left because the Japanese lady asked me ever so nicely. Yeah, the advertisements started playing.

Then, cheebye No. 1 gets a call. No handphones with stupid ringtones in the cinema lah, cheebye No. 1. He goes out, answers his call, and comes back like it's the end of the world for him. He starts saying stuff like "Die lah", "Cannot lah, cannot lah", "Wah lao" and... "Cheebye". After listening in to their conversation (I can't help but hear ah beng speak, it's like I'm fine-tuned to it or something), turns out the cheebye No. 1 has some issues with his probation officer or something. Meaning that he's not supposed to be at the movie.

Yeah, so the other two cheebyes start telling him what to say, like how something cropped up at home and stuff. And then they start listing down police stations where you can get locked up in. And then the show starts. And it's pitch black. And cheebye No.1's handphone screen is so bright that everyone in a 2-seat radius turns around to see what shit was happening.

So, start of the movie. I'm not in my seat, drinks and popcorn are almost gone, someone's handphone light is really annoying.

Oh, I had a full bladder as well. 149 minutes to go.

The show passed by relatively fast enough. It was boring, I kept shifting in my seat, and I felt like peeing real bad. Before I go on though, I'd like to say a big thank you to the cheebyes for not even saying a word during the whole duration of the movie. They didn't even laugh actually, so I'm guessing they just couldn't understand what was going on. Still, thank you, cheebyes.

It's good to see that the movie stuck closely to the novel. Very closely, in fact. The only probably was the cast. I think Tom Hanks didn't make such a great Robert Langdon. Sure, he's a great actor and all, but I'm pretty sure that the Robert Langdon everyone envisioned didn't have that prominent a widow's peak. For those who do not know what a widow's peak is, here's a picture.

Yeahh. Someone else drew that on. Not me. I wouldn't have bothered.

Tom Hanks. He just wasn't Robert Langdon-y enough. And I really agree with the article when they said that he was like a zombie in the movie. He was a zombie. In the sense that his reactions came a tad too slow in every frame. And he looked like a real fuddy duddy.

That's all I'm really going to say about the movie. My blogging mood's gone now.

Which is okay, seeing as how all I have left to say is that I waited too long at the polyclinic. And that I'll blog about the whole SYF thing some other time. Maybe when I get my camera, and I force everyone to re-enact the tension of that day.

P. S. (no, not Princess Sophie) My crap's still red.

Tuesdays. On Sunday.

2006-05-14T21:16:00.000+08:00

This shall be my first real post.

Please disregard every post before this because I didn’t mean anything I’ve said on this blog, except anything related to StAJeWORKS, in which case, I did mean everything I’ve said because you guys are simply the best bunch of friends I could have ever made in AJC.

Every other post before this has been used, to full advantage, to get me to whatever position I may choose to be in. I am fully aware of how my words may affect certain people, and I am also aware of who reads the rubbish I type. I know I’m no idiot. And so do so many of you. Yet, I’m not that smart either, though that realization only just hit me on Friday.

I finished Tuesdays with Morrie on Friday. I wish I’d finished it on a Tuesday, maybe it would have made more sense that way, but heck, I finished the book on Friday and that’s that, no point in thinking about trivial bullshit like that yeah? That book touched me in so many ways that if I wanted to count them, I’d have to use everything I’ve learnt all the way up to Mathematical Induction (kudos to our lecturer who made Maths so much more interesting than it really is) just to give you a rough estimate.

In this post, I shall talk about the little phrases and sentences that have touched me. So if you’re not into anything that may have made ME cry, you’d better hit the backspace button on your keyboard now.

I think that there’s some law stating that I can’t show more than 10% of any printed material to the public or something. Does it apply to weblogs? I don’t know. And I doubt the author of the book, Mitch Albom, is going to mind anyways. But, in the event that he does, I’d like to say sorry beforehand.

All right, I’ll be your coach. And you can be my player. You can play all the lovely parts of life that I’m too old for now.

- Morrie Schwartz

This sentence really caught my attention because of the way Morrie Schwartz (God bless his soul) makes Mitch Albom feel. I think something like that would make anyone feel important and wanted, and it’s words like these that spur people on to do great things. It made a good opening to the book because of the way readers feel about Morrie. Sure, before this line were many more accolades and praises heaped on to the professor, but what this line does is that it makes Morrie seem more “personal” in the sense that the nickname “Coach” was one that Mitch gave to him.

Have you found someone to share your heart with?

Are you giving to your community?

Are you at peace with yourself?

Are you trying to be as human as you can be?

- Morrie Schwartz

I liked these questions because of the answers that I tried to provide. They made me feel so inadequate and stupid, and that was when I really opened up to the book. No, I haven’t found anyone to share my heart with. No, I’m not giving to my community. No, I’m not at peace with myself. No, I don’t even know what being human is like to begin with. But how exactly do I go about achieving these goals? How do I find someone to share my heart with? How do I give to my community? How do I find peace with myself? How do I be human? I still do not know. Any hints?

Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn’t. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted.

- Morrie Schwartz

I thought this statement was rather profound. And gross. Because of something my primary school form teacher and friend once said about shitting in your pants. We each do so many things each day that we know we shouldn’t be. Cutting classes, eating junk food, laughing at other people, the list goes on. But why? Why do we still do something even when we know that it hurts either yourself or others, or that it has no benefits for anyone? This except served as a reminder to me of all the wrong things that I might have done, or still am, and made me question myself, why?

So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when they’re busy doing things that they think are important. This is because they’re chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.

- Morrie Schwartz

This one’s pretty self-explanatory. It give me a lot to think about. Again. Like how exactly do I go around loving others? I love my friends. I tell them that pretty often. But what response do I get? Singaporean society has led to the degeneration of “love” today. When a friend tells you that he or she loves you, what do you think? “Oh shit, this person has a crush on me?” I suffer from the same illness so I can’t say I’m an expert on it, but how can we change this? If we can’t, then how do you love others? How do you devote yourself to the community then? Volunteer work? Hah! I can think of a million rebuttals my mum would give to that. I think she’s toned down a lot though so I guess I could do volunteer work if I find one that interests me. But how many other parents would allow their kids to go out and do volunteer work? It’s waste of time, and you could be better off studying right? And how I know that you’re doing volunteer work and not having sex with some one in a handicapped toilet? Yeah. Sounds like what most of them would say. Then, if you find that you can’t even fill up the first two guidelines, what more about finding purpose and meaning? Hmmm?

“The truth is, Mitch,” he said, “Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”

- Morrie Schwartz

How true. And yet, this philosophy (?) is so hard for people to grasp. Everyone have fears about dying. Anyone who doesn’t, well, unless you have legitimate reasons for that, or a really strong belief in a pleasant afterlife/reincarnation, should be checked into the nearest mental institute with available sick beds. I think that the fear of death is something no one can accept. Sure, you might come to terms with dying, but there’ll always be that fear of it. You think to yourself, how are you going to die? In your sleep? Falling down a flight of stairs? Or like my personal favourite, getting crushed by a double-decker bus that turned too fast at a corner and toppled over, thus landing on you and killing everyone who might have been on the bus as well. And you also wonder about the things and people you’re going to leave behind. What about them? What about the bills? Who’s going to put food the table? It takes a really great person to think about all these questions because if you think you’re going to die, you probably wouldn’t be thinking about the other people around you. How then, do you learn how to die? Do I have the answer? I don’t think so.

“Well, the truth is, if you really listen to that bird on your shoulder, if you accept the fact that you can die at any time ----- then you might not be as ambitious as you are.”

- Morrie Schwartz

Something I’ve accepted a long while ago. Just not in the sense that Morrie did. I mean, yeah, I say I live life as if I’m going to die the very next day. So I try to enjoy myself as much as I can. But that’s not the way to go, is it? Instead of thinking about me, I should start telling the others around me how much they mean to me, stuff like that, yeah? I haven’t been doing that. That’s the whole point of the sentence I think. It’s to tell you that you shouldn’t just be focusing on the material wealth that you can garner if you work 24/7. Doesn’t work too well like that, does it? You’ve got to start looking at the other aspects of life, like your friends, your family and all that. I’ve got to prioritize a lot of things now.

Love each other or perish.

- W. H. Auden

Duuuuuuuuuh…

But by throwing yourself into these emotions, by allowing yourself to dive in, all the way, over your head even, you experience them fully and completely. You know what pain is. You know what love is. You know what grief is. And only then can you say, “All right. I have experienced that emotion. I recognize that emotion. Now I need to detach from that emotion for a moment.”

- Morrie Schwartz

This is cool. Because I can never seem to detach myself from anything. Some might say that’s a good thing, but no, I don’t think it is. I think it’s destructive when you put too much energy into anything. I think it’s like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) or something. Maybe I’m suffering from it. I tend to overdo my emotions. Those who know, well, agree with that statement. I hold on to a lot of emotions. I keep everything bottled up inside until I can’t take it no more and let it all out on one poor soul such that I scare the shit out of that person. That’s not good. It’s a sure-fire way to lose all your friends. I need to learn how to tell people what I feel about stuff at that point in time, and not wait till whatever I want to say has reached its expiration date before saying it. I have to let things trickle out one by one, instead of letting them all gush out at once. Another learning point.

How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don’t let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry. Or how we feel a surge of love for a partner but we don’t say anything because we’re frozen with the fear of what those words might do to the relationship.

- Morrie Schwartz

How true. I realized that I couldn’t cry at all before reading Tuesdays with Morrie. I’ve tried to cry. I’ve tried to get all teary-eyed and stuff, but it never works. The only time I tear is after a really long yawn, a good kick to the balls, or swallowing hot Takoyaki balls. Yup. I think I can be proud to say that when I first read Tuesdays with Morrie, and reached the inevitable end, I cried. Yes, some of you may scoff, and laugh, and tease me about it, but I’m telling you this, crying isn’t something to cry about. Just because someone can cry (and really mean it) doesn’t mean that the person is weak. On the contrary, it means that the person is strong enough to let those emotions out without any fear of being laughed at for having done so. Why should anyone have to be ashamed of what they feel? Love. An extremely touchy topic that I don’t want to touch. Let’s just say that I’m going to be a tad more expressive about how much I love my friends now. And if you happen to be reading this, no, it doesn’t refer to you. And as mean as it might sound, I’m officially over you.

All right, it’s just fear, I don’t have to let it control me. I see it for what it is.

- Morrie Schwartz

This is something I’d like to work on. Fear plays a huge part in creating the rubbish in my life. Once again, this linked to the whole idea of detaching myself from my emotions.

How can I be envious of where you are ---- when I’ve been there myself?

- Morrie Schwartz

This one came up when Morrie and Mitch were discussing the topic of age, but I feel that it can be applied to so many other areas in life. Envy, while not exactly the same as fear, is caused by it. Yes, people, envy is a product of fear. Fear that others have better things than you and, as such, have more fun than you. This one’s another big boo boo in my life. I find myself envying a lot of other people, but for what reasons? Materialistic wants aside, what else could I envy about the people around me? So how can I be envious of where they are? When I’ve been there myself? Yeah.

Only an open heart will allow you to float equally between everyone.

- Morrie Schwartz

While I don’t understand this statement in its entirety, I see it as being accepting of others and of you. If you can open up your heart to others, and accept them, regardless of race, language, religion or monthly income, then you’ll have friends all across the board. To do this, however, you first need to learn how to accept yourself for what you are. If you don’t, and you try to accept others, a lot of complications are going to arise. Say, for example, you try to accept someone really rich, if you can’t accept yourself for what you are, you’re only going to end up envying the person for what he or she has and what you don’t. Refer to previous point. Acceptance works both ways. Whoa. Profound.

A Teacher to the Last.

- Morrie Schwartz

The words Morrie wanted on his tombstone. This is here to honour his memory.

When Morrie was with you, he was really with you. He looked you straight in the eye, and he listened as if you were the only person in the world.

- Mitch Albom

“I believe in being fully present,” Morrie said. “That means you should be with the person you’re with. When I’m talking to you now, Mitch, I try to keep focused on what is going on between us. I am not thinking about something we said last week. I am not thinking of what’s coming up this Friday. I am not thinking about doing another Koppel show, or about what medications I’m taking.”

“I am talking to you. I am thinking about you.”

- Morrie Schwartz

This is one habit that I want to cultivate. Now, when I talk to people, I’m not sure I’m thinking of anything at all. My mind’s a blank most of the time. If I’m not yawning, I’m not thinking, or not thinking hard enough. I yawn when I think because when I do bother to think, I stop breathing, in fact, I stop most of my bodily functions. That’s not good in a conversation, both yawning and stopping bodily functions. Focus is one thing I’m struggling to keep but I hope that by detaching myself from all the distractions around me, that I will somehow be able to step out of the unfocused realm and into the Light? Wait, I’ll rephrase that another time. So yeah, conversations. I need to work on them. I feel boring most of the time, maybe I am, maybe I need to read more or surf more porn or kill someone so that I’ll have something to bring to the discussion table. I have problems initiating conversations I think, don’t know when to start one? Yeah, something like that. I make for a great listener though, just don’t expect much input. Or wait, hold that thought, I’ll work on it.

Ted, this disease is knocking at my spirit. But it will more get my spirit. It will get my body. It will not get my spirit.

- Morrie Schwartz

It was one of the more inspirational things that he happened to say. Inspirational things come to him like flies to a lamp after a thunderstorm.

“You think so?” Morrie rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “I’m bargaining with Him up there now. I’m asking Him, “Do I get to be one of the angels?”

- Morrie Schwartz

This was the bloody sentence that made my cry my eyes out. Before this, I was just tearing (as if that wasn’t bad enough), then the guy has to go on a say something that played with my heartstrings the way JerryC played his stupid Canon Rock piece. It’s just so, so sad.

After all these months, lying there, unable to move a leg or a foot ---- how could he find perfection in such an average day?

Then I realized this was the whole point.

- Morrie Schwartz

Simplicity? Like pure white iPods? Close. It’s more like that finding perfection in a flower or grain of sand or snot or something. When you’re down to nothing, you realize that the only things that really matter in life, are the simple ones. Morrie, who was only inches away from his demise, saw this. But ask yourselves, do you want to wait till the day of your death before realizing this? No. I most certainly don’t. And I’m glad I read this book.

The second wave says, “No, you don’t understand. You’re not a wave, you’re part of the ocean.”

- Morrie Schwartz

Another cool line I just had to add. This is just a “no man is an island” phrase in terms of water. Sooner or later we’ll all have to arrive at the consensus that we’re all just part of something bigger than us. If you’re religious, then maybe you’re just one part of your god’s/gods’ plans. If you’re not, then you’re still part of a community, part of a group of friends and so on. Waves crash into rocks and get destroyed, but the ocean is forever. Just like how individuals are weak, but as a group, you’re [insert word of choice indicting how great being in a group is here].

And now, the dramatic conclusion to Tuesdays with Morrie:

Finally, on the fourth of November, when those he loved had left the room just for a moment ---- to grab coffee in the kitchen, the first time none of them were with him since the coma began ---- Morrie stopped breathing.

And he was gone.

I believe he died this way on purpose. I believe he wanted no chilling moment, no one to witness his last breath and be haunted by it, the way he had been haunted by his mother’s death-notice telegram and his father’s corpse in the city morgue.

Even in death, Professor Morrie Schwartz was still the man they had known him to be, holding on to his very last breathe until he was sure that no one would be traumatized by it.

A great man.

A very great man.

I cried the first time I read the book. But not for the second time. And this worries me. Why didn’t I cry? Was I immune to the story just because I’d read it before? Or was it because my societal programming had kicked in again? I’m scared that I won’t be able to cry again. I’m scared that I won’t be able to feel what I did again. I’m scared.

I hope that the only reason why I didn’t cry was because I rushed through the entire book in an attempt to complete it in one sitting. Or that I was too busy trying to take down all the sentences that might have meant something to me. I hope that I get the chance to cry again.

As for StAJe, my promise to you, is that I won’t bother trying anything anymore. I’ll do it. It’s different from trying. I’ll do it, and I’ll do it with conviction. I hope that I’ll be able to honour this promise because, well because I love you guys!

I like to end off with one more excerpt that I didn’t include above because it’d be much better at the end.

Have you ever really had a teacher? One who saw you as a raw but precious thing, a jewel that, with wisdom, could be polished to a proud shine? If you are lucky enough to find your way to such teachers, you will always find your way back. Sometimes it’s only in your head. Sometimes it is right alongside their beds.

I did it.

2006-05-05T18:30:00.000+08:00

Hey Mervyn, this one's for you.

5 things you were doing in secondary school

* having breakfast with friends.
* having reccess with friends, skipping TAF at the same time.
* having lunch with friends.
* trying to mug. with friends.
* bowing to teachers. NOT with friends.

5 fave songs

* "jingle jangle" by hot hot heat
* "matchbox" by the kooks
* "dream on" by aerosmith
* "i bet you look good on the dance floor" by arctic monkeys
* "running battle" by kasabian

5 things you would do if you were a millionaire

* buy stuff for my friends.
* treat people to breakfast, lunch, dinner and all the breaks in between.
* buy a load of blank MCs
* buy lots of pretty stuff
* spend on the kids. i'm not saying which ones.

5 bad habits

* spending too much money
* throwing stuff (yes, including people) around
* being devious and crafty, as well as canniving
* procrastinating
* StAJeWORKS

5 things i like doing

* making fun of other people with friends
* buying new and PRETTY stuff
* eating
* writing
* treating people to stuff

5 things you will never wear or buy

* edible lingerie
* mervyn's eyelashes
* nicol's foreskin
* dexter's IJ tie
* shirts made out of lego blocks

5 favorite things

* my Fux Deluxe
* my iPod
* schemes
* food
* dodo birds

5 people you want to do this

* The Old Man who came rolling home
* My Fair Lady
* Mary, who had a little lamb
* The Little Boy who lives down the lane
* Jack be Nimble, Jack be Quick, Jack played with his candlestick

Here is a story about a bear. A spooky pooky. Stuffed full of cotton and pure evil. Read the story. And be scared. I started seeing things at the corners of my eyes after I read it.

I'm out of stuff to say.

2006-04-28T23:04:00.000+08:00

If I did have anything to say, I would have done the bloody quiz.

Daryl Chan

General of the Army of Narnia

'What will your business card say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Say. What is that smell?

2006-04-18T21:44:00.000+08:00

To Meow High,

Look, Meow High, I don't know what you're up to. Or why you keep doing stuff like that. Do you crave for attention? Do you? Do you cut your wrists just to see if it bleeds? Just to see if you're like the rest of us? Who actually feel something? Or what? Did you just want to see if the blood in your veins was still flowing and not frozen cold?

What's the deal with you?

Unlike you, the rest of us actually have lives to lead. We have our joys, we have our sorrows, we feel. I'm tired. I really am. You claim to be from 4-7. You claim to have known Vincent Chee. You claim to be so much more than you actually are. I'm sick and tired of my life. I really hate it. I remember back when I was just in Primary 1, when I went about the house, writing "I hate my life" on the walls. You know, Meow High, I actually find that true now.

Back then, it was just a case of immature thinking. Now. I really hate it. You're taking away the only outlet that I have left. I have friends, Meow High. I have friends. People who care about me, people who actually love me from the bottom of their hearts, people who also happen to visit this blog. Please. Please don't spoil everything for them. How do you think I feel right now, knowing that at some point in my Secondary 4 year, the best year of my life, that I was actually close to someone like you?

How did you think I feel right now?

I have so many problems. So many. More than you could ever have. I hate myself for what I am. I hate myself for everything that has happened. I hate myself for not ending my life sooner and dragging myself deeper down into the abyss I call my life. I only have so few things worth living for. This blog is one of them. Do you want to take that away from me too?

Do you want to wake up one day, and open the newspapers, and see my picture in the obituaries section? Do you want to wake up one day, knowing that YOU might have been the cause of MY death? Do you want to wake up one day, carrying the burden of knowing that you took away something so sacred, something so precious to me, that without it, I couldn't live?

When that day comes, Meow High, I hope you remember that you were once part of 4-7. The best class I'll ever have.

Reversi.

2006-04-16T21:15:00.000+08:00

The Catholic High School Symphony Band concert was fucking good.

Not because they played really well and stuff (I'm sure they did, just that I wasn't that to hear whatever they were playing because I was busy stuffing my face with free food), but because I got to see all my old friends and my old teachers. I didn't get to see my Secondary 4 form teacher, Mr. Bobby Yong Kwang Hei, if not, my day would have been complete.

I shall now thank all the guys (and girl) whom I spent the day with. Nicol, Terrence, Li Chien, Mervyn, Cristian, Yi Heng, Ryan, Alvin, Zhi Jue, Fann Ming, Clarice, Mark and Ambrose, thanks for being there. Yesterday was the best day I've had since the start of the year and without all of you, it wouldn't have been. So thank you.

I'd also like to say a big hello to all the other people whom I met with yesterday but ended up sitting in some quiet corner of the VCH in mock appreciation of the Band's efforts. People like Sng Tiak, Kah Hwee, JLam, Jonathan Chua, David, Melvin... The list goes on.

Here's basically what happened yesterday.

Met the guys at Subway for a simple dinner. Discussed school, handphones, sweaty CTs, muggers, Boon Teck and Dragon Ball. Then we had to rush down to VCH to collect tickets. Here's the thing about taxis outside Raffles Mall. They're fucking stupid. Do you have to have some kind of effed up system of order or something? Aren't you supposed to be happy that ou're actually earning someone's cash? So what if it's a 5-minute drive from Raffles Mall to the concert hall? You're earning more. Boo.

So we got there. Called Mr. Heng. And realised that we didn't have enough cash to get our 10 tickets. We muddled around, went to the toilet, where Mervyn rubbed himself against a mirror, went out, and got even more flustered. I was screaming my head off when Mark punched me. I punched him back. And continued screaming.

I wanted my tickets. Badly.

Nicol and Li Chien loaned me $50 each to claim the tickets first, so thanks guys. Then the rest came and paid them back and yada yada yada.

Right, so we got front row seats. As in the fucking first row of seats. Made a giant fool of myself by displaying the Singaporean mentality when it comes to seats. Chop them. With bags. People. And whatever you can get your hands on. At that time, it was Fann Ming and Clarice, and you can't seperate Fann Ming and Clarice. So I started screaming again.

After some more screaming, before finally calming down and getting into my seat, which was just a teeny bit off centre, the concert started. Then I found out that Zhi Jue got in without a ticket. And Ryan's ticket was uncollected. Bummer.

So. The thing started. We cheered. Which isn't the right thing to do in a high class setting like the VCH. Yeah. So the conductor comes on stage. And EVERYONE's quiet. Ryan does the unthinkable and shouts, "Yang Hoon sexy ah!". Alright. What happened next was really quite cool. I slapped Ryan's thigh. Zhi Jue elbowed Ryan. David smacked him from behind. And the whole front row basically leaned forward to stare at him. Cool eh? Synchronised scolding.

Yeah. So they started playing their medley of songs and stuff. And we'll just skip to the intermission. So we're muddling around. Hugged Jason. Went out. Saw little kiddies and Clarice started exclaiming "So CUTE!!!!" Saw Mark, who brought us up to the Green Room, which wasn't the least bit green, for "refreshments". It wasn't exactly refreshments, per say, more like dinner + supper. Yep. That's how much we ate.

So. Break's over. And we're still eating. Since we weren't there, idiots took our seats. But that was fine with us. We were hungry. We finished the sushi, the hotdogs, the dumplings, the pizza bread (which was horrible), and the little puffs that were filled with creamy goodness. Sorry, Mr Heng. We didn't know the little kiddies had to eat too.

Ryan and I had takeaway too.

Takeaway as in we took some of the food back with us. Ryan wrapped the packets in his VJC PE T-shirt. So much for school pride. And stuffed it in his bag. His $150 Crumpler bag.

Alright. Enough said about the whole food saga. We went down to the stalls. Had no where to sit. So we just stood at the back and annoyed the hell out of everyone. I mimed out Josh Groban's You Raise Me Up. Some guy told us to behave ourselves. I ran up to the front to sing the school song, which Fei Yang arranged. Cool beans, Gong Boy.

Alrighty. I have to get moving. Now. Out of the concert hall. Ryan scared Zhi Jue. Fann Ming, Clarice and I laughed our hearts out. Cracked lewd jokes while leaving the VCH, causing Clarice to scream in indignation, chased Zhi Jue and Alvin around for making fun of me. Chased Zhi Jue around a statue thing for 10 minutes? I think.

Yeah. I jumped. From the fucking statue. Which was roughly the distance from the 2nd floor to the 1st floor. Give or take. Haha. Yayness. Clarice screamed. Again.

We got lost trying to find Lau Pa Sat. We didn't, in the end. So we all just gave up and went home. I, however, went to Ryan's house to stay over for the night. We alighted at Kovan MRT, wasted time AND money on stupid Japanese imported food that was either too small a portion, or tasted like sun-dried scrotums. Got to Ryan's house. Went up to his room. And saw a load of cool stuff on his bed. Damn it. It must have cost at least $300. His mum just decided to buy him a spanking-new Crumpler bag. The Complete Seed. Grargh. It came at the right time though. The chicken wings dirtied his Seedy Three.

Ah well. When you're rich, you're rich.

We crapped most of the night away. Until I went to lie down on his bed and couldn't get up. I told the dickhead to do his PI. And he didn't. All he wrote was...

"I'll make a good husband."

Dickhead.

So I woke up at 5 a.m. And did it for him. 498 words. So now he owes me. Again.

I left his house at 7.30. Went to Compass Point for breakfast. Withdrew $50, so now I only have $30 left in my bank. Shit. I almost forgot to take the $50 note that came out. Phew. Went to Burger King to get an Enormous Omelette Burger and saw this woman with Enormous Tits. They were massive. Like giant watermelons. Notice how it's "giant" watermelons and not just watermelons. She was the only one who had a queue at her counter. No prizes for guessing why.

Right. So I went home. Slept all day. Wrote 2 poems about the annoying weather that we had. And now I'm going to bed. Again.

I'll post the 2 poems tomorrow.

I owe myself more sleep.

I had the coolest title ever. But I forgot what it was.

2006-04-15T13:05:00.000+08:00

I had a dream.

It was a bloody good one, seeing as how it was the first one in 4 months? I don't know. I don't seem to dream an awful lot. Or maybe I do. But can't remember them. I can't remember a lot of things. Like what you said in our MSN conversation before I hit escape.

I don't know.

I dreamt about making a horror movie. And man, did I make a horror movie. I think it was the only thing that really spooked me out. At this point, the Literature student/pseudo-psychologist in me wants to go deeper and analyse this whole epsiode. He's saying that the only reason why I might have been frightened by this dream is because the antagonist, which refers to the crazy serial-killer in my dream, does things that I would have done, making everything seem much more realistic and the fear that I'm experiencing is not related to the graphic nature of my dream, rather, it is the fear that I might one day perform these sick perverted acts myself.

I say. Go pull your ponytails.

I've gotta admit, it was a good horror flick. Here's a summary of what actually happens. This couple adopts a girl yeah? This girl ain't no normal one either, she's twisted, perverted, estranged and stuff like that. All in one cute little package. Of course, her foster parents don't know that. She has a father, and a huge inheritance, which is why the couple adopts her. No, not because she has a father, but because she's filthy rich.

What? She has a father?

Yeah, but he was jailed for the rape and torture of his wife, so someone has to take care of the sick- errr... sweet little child. That's where our young couple comes in. So they shift into this HUGE mansion that's currently under the girl's name and her father isn't all that pleased with this. Of course, no one know that it's her dad yet. The movie opened with a flashback and then in real time, it shows a news paper article of a madman breaking out from prison. Yeah, this part's a teensy bit dodgy, so I'll work on it when I get the time.

P.S. If this gets made into a big time Hollywood blockbuster, you'll know who's idea it was.

Alright. So there's this scene in the movie, where the little walks about of a room, looking normal (if you can call her normal) and nonchalant and stuff, and her foster parents ask her what she saw in there.

Girl : Heads.
Mother : Heads?
Girl : Transparent heads.
Father : What do you mean?
Girl : Go see for yourselves.

Yeah. So they go into the room. And what do they see? Heads. Dozens of them. With wires running through the centre of these heads, suspending them at different levels in the room, like some sick artistic masterpiece. Right. These heads have like super distorted looks of horror and pain and whatnot on them. And about the transparency, the skin is stretched so much that it actually becomes so think that it becomes translucent. So they're not exactly transparent. Then again, you can't blame a little girl for inaccurate use of language, can you?

I need to work on it some more. And I'll probably post another time tonight. After the CHSSB Concert. I'm looking forward to seeing my old friends again. I'm staying over at someone's house. So yeah.

I'm supposed to help him with his PI.

Herman is Her Man.

2006-04-14T19:28:00.000+08:00

Who's Herman?

See if I fucking care.

Life hasn't been fun for me between the time I wrote Zodiac Child and now. Life pretty sucked balls. I've been through an emotional roller-coaster, physical torture, plus, my kness hurt. I pretty much wouldn't be writing this if I could, but I kinda told someone I'd update my blog two days ago.

I wish I knew how to talk to girls.

I'm watching Agent Cody Banks now. Not entirely againsy my will. I feel like him now. Minus the cool gadgetry, the martial arts skills, the looks, the deep blue eyes that remind one of azure pools of pristine calmness - sorry. Yeah. I'm pretty much him without the whole "coolness" factor. Oh. Plus the nice locale with the pretty girls, driver's ed and stuff. He's apparently stumped by girls too. For now that is. In roughly, an hour-and-a-half's time, he'll be making out with Hilary Duff. Yeah, so happy ending for him.

What do I get? A big, fat "Life SUCKS" sticker.

There's so much that I want to say. I really don't know where to start. And I actually said that. Not to use it as some quantitative measure of how much I actually have to blog about, but because I'm currently not in the right state of mind to be expressing anything and I'm too bloody confused by everything that seems to be going on in my life.

Let's start at the start of my emotional roller-coaster. It started off well. Too well. I thought you were nice. Too nice. Now I know. You're nice to everyone. Except me. Well. Well. I keep repeating words. Why? Well. I run out of them everytime I remember what happened. It's not good to repeat words. Too many times. Well. Yeah. I better get this over and done with. Yeah. Like I said, you wouldn't have wanted me to tell you what I did if you knew what I was going to say. You and your reasoning. I still wonder why I ended up saying what I did. In that way. I'm stronger than that.

And way more romantic.

I wish I could take everything back. But I can't. And I know that. I wish we didn't have to go through that fucked-up stage of awkwardness and silence. I wish I was so fucking stupid that I went to tell certain people about how I felt about you. I wish I wasn't so bloody rash.

I wish I had never sat next to you on the very first day.

I know I'm brash, I talk too loudly, I'm insensitive, I'm at a lose my words sometimes, I irk you from time to time, I irk everyone else from time to time, I'm prone to violent tendencies, I have wierd ideals, laugh at people who do foolish things, blush too easily, do stupid things myself and tend to run away from everything that goes against me.

And I don't know how to talk to your kind.

I don't know what to say, how to act, how to pamper, how to praise, how to insult, how to care, how to do anything to impress, how to do anything.

All I know is how to be myself.

And if none of you can find it in the cold unfeeling wastelands you glorify by calling your "heart" to accept that, then fuck off. I seriously don't need your negativity. You play hide and go fuck yourself for all I care. Because I don't. Care. Do tie one end of a rope to the ceiling fan and the other to your genitals. Go on. Do it. Just do it. Do it. Do it.

Damn.

So much for my emotional roller-coaster. Whatever. I don't care anymore. I shall now talk about StAJeWORKs. The one thing I do care about at AJC. The people there, you're more or less the only reason why I'm still in AJC. If not, I would have just dropped myself out of the whole bloody JC system and into some Poly. To anyone one from StAJe who happens to see this, I love you to bits. I want to hug you until your insides get squeezed out from your tear ducts. Yeah. I love you people.

Thanks for being there. For being there at rehearsals. For being there at rehearsals being yourselves. For being there at rehearsals being your unnerving and freakish selves. Thank you. You people are what I go to school for now. To spend just 10-odd hours with you people every week is all that I look forward to when I go to school.

Pathetic eh?

Well. I don't know. Can someone please tell me what else is there to live for?

Family? Sure.

Friends? Old ones, yes.

StAJeWORKs? Definately.

Alright. I'm open to suggestions.

Zodiac Child.

2006-03-26T14:32:00.000+08:00

Child of the Stars
sleep tight in the skies.
Protected from mortals,
protected from lies.

Sleep in the day,
my precious Zodiac Child.
Sleep while the world
is desecrated and defiled.

Wrap your blanket
around your frame.
Shield yourself from deceit,
hatred and shame.

Huddle with the Sun,
he will keep you warm.
As the world keeps on rotting,
it is but the norm.

When the time comes
for the Sun to go to Sleep,
fret not my Child,
he does not sink to waters steep.

He only waits to rise,
another place, another time.
Watching, only watching,
the mortal pantomime.

Cast your blanket,
over nations and lands,
over houses and homes,
over cities and sands.

Let your light shine through
the holes of your quilt,
like diamonds and gems,
across the skies were spilt.

Hush, Little One.
Now the world lies dead,
across the lands,
are little ones too, asleep in bed.

Let dastardly deeds and sins,
all come to naught,
here in the night,
when Sleep should be Sought.

Worry not for those,
that lurk in the night.
For when the day comes,
their crimes shall come to light.

Keep watch over the world,
over the still and the quiet.
Drink in the silence of the night,
drink up and fill your diet.

More dreams, more dreams,
for those who Dream.
The Sun will be up soon,
his place he shall redeem.

Rush now, Child,
fly across the skies.
Fill the people's heads,
with pleasant little lies.

Now the Sun has risen,
shut your eyes and rest,
draw your blanket
and huddle close,
tomorrow brings another test,
for you,
My Zodiac Child.

-Daryl. Sunday, March 26, 2006.

Damn, I'm bored.

Of Vampyres and Werewolves.

2006-03-25T14:40:00.000+08:00

One bitten by bat,
the other by hound.
In the dark of the night,
the first of two were found.

Two brothers, no more,
though they once were,
they clash and they fight,
they leer and the jeer.

Fang and tooth,
on nail and claw,
they scratch and they slash,
they bit and they gnaw.

Two brothers, no more,
though true in ages past,
now locked in battle to see,
which of them laughs last.

Connvert to their causes,
mortals, both friend and foe,
cursing them with their own fate,
to share their weal and woe.

Two brothers, no more,
as Old Man Time plods by.
Two brothers fight forever
as neither one can die.

Though the marks may appear,
the pain is long forgotten.
With the curse of darkest night,
was immortality begotten.

Two brothers, no more,
so much they yearn to be
entangled in the mortal coil,
like brothers, you and me.

The marks appear on the flesh,
the scars are left beneath.
The scars left on their hearts,
they're not by fangs or teeth.
Enslaved to do battle,
enslaved to the night.
Forever to do battle,
forever left to fight
in a war they never wanted,
a war they did not start.
A war they did not know about
until it tore two brothers apart.

So go in to the night
and always bear in mind.
That scars left on sibling's hearts,
are the only ones you'll find.

-Daryl, March 25th.

This one's my Underworld: Revoluntion-inspired piece. Did it during an Econs lecture. Thanks for the thumbs up, Victoria.

Damn. I wish I had a camera.

2006-03-25T14:08:00.000+08:00

I really really really really want a camera.

Then I can take pictures of all the fun people in my class and share them with the morons that visit my blog. Good morons. Yeah.

It'll have to wait at least a couple of months. Until I shift. Or move. Or whatever you want to call me living in another house that legally belongs to my parents. I'll have my own room then. With my computer in MY room. Not my parent's.

Yes, people. Daryl/Momo/Ruffles leads a very sad life. He has more curfews than Xin Yu's character in the SYF script. At least she has her wings wired to websites and cute soft toys that sing of faraway lands. I don't. My wings get turned off at roughly 10 pm.

Luckily that's when I stone. Around the house. Until 1 am. Or 2. Or 3. Depending. Sometimes, when I'm in bed, and I look like I'm sleeping. I'm not. I'm just stoning in bed. With my eyes closed.

Nope. It's not sleeping.

I like stoning around the house. Helps me forget about all the homework I've not done, the tests that tomorrow, the SYF competition that's in 7 weeks, and sex. Thinking about sex is never productive. Which is why I didn't do so well back in Catholic High.

And no, I was thinking about other guys. It's just okay to think about sex in an all-male school. Because we're all guys. And all we want is sex. Sex sex sex, sex on toast, sex on pasta, sex on sex. Yes. And it's okay if you suddenly start moaning in class, or scream out someone's name accidentally.

We'll all understand.

It's not the same in AJC.

It's a lot harder. Why? For obvious reasons. Daryl/Momo/Ruffles isn't going to say.

I'm going to write a really long poem. Really really really long. Like Samuel Taylor Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

He's a great poet. He rhymes a lot. I love him.

I've nothing left to say. Hope you enjoyed your week.

I have the best CCA in the world.

2006-03-22T20:36:00.000+08:00

I have the best CCA in the world.

StAJeWORKS is the best CCA in the world.

I love my CCA.

Quit your council, your debate, your basketball, your tennis, your guitar, your band and whatever. Join StAJeWORKS. It's the best CCA in the world.

Don't worry. There's no sublimal text messages here.

Sure. Take my word.

I don't lie.

Often.

I'm hell tired. I got stepped on, lied down on, piled on, sat on, and got my butt kicked by a girl.

But it was bloody fun.

There's just so much fun there. Fun, fun, fun. I love StAJeWORKS. Reminds me so much of my modern dance days. I love the modern dance guys. Damn, I'm gay.

Which is good, seeing as how there's a sharp pain in my left sperm duct.

Getting piled on really hurts.

School's great. The lessons are fun. I have cool classmates.

I'm probably going to make really cool friends.

This is not going to be a long post.

I have a Mini Maggi waiting for me.

And I need to check on my genitals.

TTT. The Tired Triad.

2006-03-21T18:18:00.000+08:00

The Tired Triad.

We're like the KKK, only that we're too bloody tired to do shit. Everyone is a member of the The Tired Triad at AJC. You know why?

PROJECT WORK LECTURES ARE FUCKING BORING.

Sums it up yeah?

Today was a really long day for me. Did the MBTI thingy. For those who have no clue as to what the MBTI is, don't ask me. Apparently, some genius crackport decided that it was time to further divide people in more categories. As if Race, Lanaguage and Religion weren't enough.

I'm ENFJ.

Which means puts me into the categories of the extraverted, the intuitive, the feeling and the judging.

And here's why the test is just a load of hypothetical bullshit.

I'm just not that much of an outgoing person. Sure, I'm loud and pretty fun to hang around. But I need my time to just kick back, relax and be alone. And that's not what the E people do. Apparently, they live off other people's enthusiasm.

I'm a stalker, which they put in some other category. I can't remember because my brain shut down towards the end of the bloody thing.

And I'm not judging either. I can't be bothered to label people. They do that pretty well themselves.

This is going to be a really short post. I'm tired.

There are divas in my class.

Damn.

Here's a poem I wrote during the first PW lecture of the day. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Boring.

Boring, boring,
Project Work is boring.
Students talking
and students snoring.

Everyone is plodding
off to sleep,
and into their heads,
does the teacher's words seep.
Of words and words.
Of limits and files.
Trying to rouse them
with her charm and her wiles.

They're non-existant.
Her personality, that is.
Snuffing out students' brains
with a satisfying fizz.

Datelines and penalties,
she goes on to say.
That everything has to be done
by the 4th of May.
Handouts and handouts,
swarming our desks.
While the teacher's voice
still buzzes like pests.
People try to listen,
but to no avail.
It's a hopeless subject,
and we're all going to fail.

Why then do we study?
To what aim and for what sake?
The bell just rang.
Oh yay. For break.

-Daryl, 21st May, 8.47 am.

another uneventful day. oh yay.

2006-03-19T20:00:00.000+08:00

See. I'm a rhyming genius boy.

Alright. Maybe not.

In this post, I shall:

1. Flame Meow High.
2. Talk about how boring today has been.
3. Flame Meow High.
4. Talk about how apprehensive I am about going to school tomorrow.
5. Flame Meow High.
6. Tell everyone to go for the CHS Band Concert on the 15th April.
7. Flame Meow High.
8. Flame Meow High.

Sure is a lot to cover. So let's get started.

Fuck you, Meow High. Fuck you. And before I forget, fuck you. If you're going to post something so incredibly stupid that it makes George W. Bush (bless his soul) seem like Albert Einstein, at least use a name that we all can recognise you by? That way, we'll know whose house to TP, who to wedgie, who to give wet willies to, who make fun of, whose future car's tires to let the air out of, and (insert deity's name here) willing, who's sister to ravage.

Note that I said ravage. Not rape. That's two different things. No penetration has to be involved in ravaging someone. La di da.

Yes. Come clean. Let the truth heal your god forsaken, blackened, shrivelled-up soul. Bask in the rays of all that is good and honest by coming forth with your namesake. Your parent's gave you a name for a reason. Use it. Wear it high and proud as you would your idiocy.

If you happen to be anyone from 4-7, let it be known that in the true spirit of that great class, that no amount of insults shall ever bear strain on the friendships that we might have forged in that 2 years. Let it be known, that there shall always be a quiet understanding between all those lucky enough to have set foot in our class, that no student of 4-7, graduating class of 2005, shall ever have to walk alone because he will always be remember in the hearts of his classmates. Let it be known, that if you are ever in need of a sanctuary, or a shoulder to cry on, or a listening ear, that you will always find one in your friends from 4-7.

Let it be known, that I will kill you when I get my hands on you.

Well then, let's not go into details. What I'm going to do to you can be classified under 17 different criminal acts, several of which might be considered as crimes against humanity.

I hope you (can) read this.

Today's been really boring. Nothing interesting has happened today. I wish something did. Spent the day moping around the house. Mope mope mope. Couldn't really breathe through my nose today. Damn mucus is clogging up my nostrils. It's blocking my windpipe too. I hope I don't die in my sleep.

I have a long day at school to look forward to.

And I'm not to pleased about it. So death-by-not-being-able-to-breathe-through-my-nose seems quite appealling.

Girl, girls, girls. They're what Mervyn likes, what Kenny can relate to, what Ryan is shy of, and what I fear. Girls scare me. Them and all their girlyness. The ones with no girlyness scare me even more. Roughly 3.342463573 times more.

Damn. How am I going to face so many of them?

Go for the CHS Band Concert on 15th Febuary. Tickets are priced at $10 and $15 for stall seats and circle seats respectively. Everyone should get tickets!

Blah blah blah. My head can't take any more abuse. I need to go lie upside down before anymore mucus drips out on to my keyboard.

the shortest post i'll ever make

2006-03-18T20:38:00.000+08:00

I really have nothing to say today.

Aside from how spiffy this skin is!

Yup. Refer to title.

Hope you had a nice day today.

Ooh. Posting for the Second time in one day.

2006-03-17T19:03:00.000+08:00

Second post.

I rarely go out, so it's a pretty big deal to me when I do. Even though it's just to the shopping centre 5 minutes away from my house. I refuse to call it a shopping mall because that's just too westernified. And Compass Point is the epitome of Azn Pride.

Still, a few things happened today that might be considered as "blog-worthy". Of course, everything and anything is "blog-worthy". From the length of your genitalia, the size of your butt or the number of things you can put in your mouth at the same time. Lucky for you, this post contains nothing of that sort. At least, nothing that I can remember at the moment.

Met my primary school mates today. It was great seeing all of them again. Yes, I still remember their names quite well. No, I'm not telling you who they are. I'm talking to myself again. Anywhos, it was fun to see all of them again. Nothing much seems to have changed, which is either good or bad, depending on which side of my brain is working. At this point in time, it's good. Makes it easier to remember their names.

Stood around for close to half an hour, waiting for tardy people, namely me. And my teacher. Who wanted the whole thing in the first place. Bought 2 Haribos. For those who are unfamiliar with that term, Haribos are rolls of gummy sweets that are considered a staple food group (yes, it's a food group all by itself) for any decent Catholic High "gentlemen". Gave one roll to my friends. They passed it around. Ate a few. Passed it back. And we went down to KFC.

We sat at KFC for some time. Without buying anything and taking up 3 tables. Everyone took out their handphones, started exchanging wierd DoTA noises and sick pics of little kiddies getting their willies spanked. Talk about paedophilia. Stuffed the other stick of Haribo into my mouth. The whole stick. Got a few laughs. I can put plenty into my mouth. Shut up.

Everyone moved over to Pizza Hut after that. I guess it's alright for KFC seeing as how they're supposed to be partners and all. Got one of the innermost seats at the table, trapped between the wall, a friend, and more friends. I wondered what would happen if I had to take a crap. Thank god my bowels were malfunctioning. Ordered some group set thing, charged it to the teacher and pigged out. In a girlie way. Which is equivalent to not eating at all in my dictionary. Bought a Baked Rice thingy, which didn't turn out to be such a smart choice after all. Then again, it was charged to my teacher. So it was free. And we all know that free is good.

Sat there and chatted about the government. You always talk about the government. Stop. It's not safe. They might drag you away one day and we may never get to see you ever again. Didn't you know that the governments are planning to use dust as a spying tool? Yeah. Stop.

Everyone left by 2. Except me, because I had to go have my haircut.

Went to Starbucks. And spent $12 there. On a Venti Rhumba Frappacino. And a Chicken and Broccoli Ramekin. With chips. I guess I only bought that because the people before me bought something to eat too. Can't lose out, I'm Singaporean. It was either the Ramekin or an Ugly Chicken Puff. Yeah. Ramekin sounds quite cool. And Russian. Honestly, Starbucks should just stick to making coffee. When the egg in it tastes sour and the chicken tastes like bacon, you know something's not right. Screw the Ramekin.

Sat at Starbucks and stared out the window for a bit. Damn. I must have looked really stupid sitting there all alone. Damn, I'm a loner. Lone ranger. Power ranger. Dino Thunder. Thundercats. I'm not making sense again.

Then I went to get my haircut. Malay barber. Seriously, there's absolutely nothing wrong with them. Yes, I got a high slope. I wanted to get something like Ryan Seacrest's. But the barber didn't know who that was. And then he told me all about how Asian hair was different from Caucasian hair. And then he crapped about how Ryan Seacrest wanted to pay him $10,000 to cut his hair, which he refused because he wanted to cut Asian hair for $10. I almost felt like tipping him.

Went to look at jackets. The really cool Adidas kind that people wear into 'O' Level Examination Halls to keep warm, cool, warm, whatever. I like jackets. For some reason, they make me look like a body build instead of a fat boy. So, yeah.

Went to look at cameras after that. I set my eye on the Olympus one. It's a 7.1 megapixel camera with some all weather casing or something. It's sleek, it's slim and it's powerful. Here's what it looks like. It's quite reasonable at $649. Still, I'm not sure about it because an uncle of mine already has one and it'd be rather erm, copycat-ish, if I bought it too.

There was also this woman who was dress in pink. Who looked horrible. Who saw me 3 times. When I was eating 3 different things. I won't talk about her. It's depressing to talk about people who look worse than me.

Let's end it of a song. Which I wrote. For fun.

Just Shut Your Face

you left me high and dry
i didn't know what to do
you said that you were fly
and that i wanted you.
well, you were dead wrong
i guess you never knew,
i was only stringing you
along like a fool.

i don't what to say
to make you stay away
just stay away from me
cos all i want to see
is your back.

just turn yourself around
and keep your feet on the ground
no one wants you here
no one wants to hear a sound
from you.
so just shut your face.

you made me feel so good
which made you feel so great
now you want me back
i guess that's all too late
your world is spinning round
and all that's in your head
is what you could have done
and what you could have said.

i don't what to say
to make you stay away
just stay away from me
cos all i want to see
is your back.

just turn yourself around
and keep your feet on the ground
no one wants you here
no one wants to hear a sound
from you.
so just shut your face.

all the time i was screaming
and all the while i was bleeding
tears of red and black
tears of black and blue
colours running through my mind
i don't know what to do.

just turn yourself around
and keep your feet on the ground
no one wants you here
no one wants to hear a sound
from you.
so just shut your face.

just turn yourself around
and keep your feet on the ground
no one wants you here
no one wants to hear a sound
from you.
so just shut your face.
just shut your face.
just shut your face.

- Daryl a.k.a. Momo.

Let's talk about Kung Fu Fighting.

2006-03-17T08:24:00.000+08:00

Let's talk about Kung Fu Fighting.

Well, not entirely. Just that small little aspect that seems to apply to my pathetic shithole of a life.

I think every guy will pass through that phase where Martial Arts becomes the coolest damn thing on the face of the Earth. For those who are actually more attuned to Visual Arts during this said time, screw off, faggot. For me, that period of time lasted several years and even now, I'm finding more and more things in Martial Arts that relates to me.

Firstly, I don't take Martial Arts. Most of the classes that are within walking distance of my house are for little kiddies. When fighting against little kiddies, I don't have to do anything. Most little kiddies are usually found outside a 5-metre radius of me.

My face does most of the work.

On the rare occasion that a little kiddie does try to brutally attack me, I'd just trip, fall, and pray I landed on him. Then of course, he'd sit there crying for his mother and I'd be denying that I meant to hurt him and that it was all just an unfortunate accident.

Hasn't happened yet. My face really keeps them at bay.

Secondly, I don't have the time to think about Martial Arts anymore. I remember that at some point in my life, I thought all Martial Artists could stop bullets with their bare hands, engorged chest muscles or penises (not true). As long as there are guns around, Martial Artists will just have to settle for second place.

Why can't we just bring back the good old days of sword-fighting and courtesans?

Anyhows, I'm finding less and less time to do stuff now that I have school to go to. Not that that's a bad thing. I warrant you, school can actually be quite fun if you make it so. You make friends in school, you skip lectures in school, you get videos of people having sex in school and so on. Less time, yup. Boo to the 24-hour-a-day rule.

Let's get to the main part of my entry. Here I will talk about my other celebrity crush.

Bruce Lee.

The single most powerful Martial Artist ever. I love this guy. I seriously think he can stop bullets with his body parts. I mean, he's beaten Chuck Norris before. How many people can actually best Chuck Norris in a fight?

Bruce Lee was famous for his unique fighting style and even more so for his movies. The man knew what audiences wanted to see, moves like high kicks to the head and all that fancy shebang were the norm in his movies. These were things that you wouldn't find in his Martial Arts skill tree. He prized practicality over showmanship. Every move had a purpose and he didn't do anything just to look nice.

His own brand of Martial Arts, Jeet Kune Do, was famous for it's "No Form" adage. Jeet Kune Do was the form of no form, meaning that in different situations, a Jeet Kune Do practioner would come up with an entirely new set of moves to counter anything that the opponent threw his way. That was what he taught his students.

I recently came across a video clip of Bruce Lee explaining the theory of Jeet Kune Do. It just an animation and not a very good one at that too. In it, he likens his art to water. He said that if you put water in a cup, the water takes the shape of the cup, if you put it in a bottle, it took the shape of the bottle.

In simpler terms, you'd just have to adapt to the situation you're in.

I thought about how much this applied to me. I'm a lot like water, or the principle of Jeet Kune Do. When I talk to people, I find out what they like most, and talk about that. Different people have differents likes and dislikes and I play on what I know about them. I've spoken to a good many people whom I've never met before, such as strangers on the MRT or the bus. Of course, this tends to freak them out completely initially. But by the time they alight at their stop, I think I would have more or less reached an understanding with them.

I'm a Chameleon. I change.

I don't really make an impression on those people though. At most, they just go home and tell their family members about some wierd guy whom they've had a conversation with on their way home. That's it. And if we happen to meet again, which for a country as small as this one, is still quite rare, it's mostly just a nod or a casual greeting.

My friends. Well, that's an entirely different matter. How many people will remember me for what I am? To some friends, I talk about rock bands and stuff. To others, I talk about sex. To the nerdy ones, I blab about how much I hate studying. How many of those are actually going to remember me for the same thing then?

I know I promised to pick up from where I left off yesterday, but I found this a more pressing matter to address. I have no idea why I'm so afraid of losing my friends when we're probably going to remember what each of us did, what we looked like, what we said, what we wanted to do but never got the chance to... That kind of stuff.

I guess I must be a teeny bit apprehensive about making new friends.

Time for another one.

2006-03-16T07:25:00.000+08:00

I hate this skin. I can't get the entry title to work in here. Screwy.

Boy, do I have a lot of to blog about. First of all, I think apologies are in order for the handful (yes, it really is a handful) of people who actually visit my humble blog. There's been a shortage of intellectual posts as of late, so sorry.

I think the reason why I'm so tired nowadays is because I haven't been to school in ages. My body is having trouble adjusting to the fact that it's no longer at home, seated in front of my stupid computer, doing absolutely nothing except opening MSN conversations to annoy the shit out of people.

That's probably why I'm annoying the shit out of everyone at school too.

Annoyers are generally not accepted into mainstream society. Annoyers are a fighting style for certain Pokemon, a way to play a DoTA hero, and me. I am the ultimate in annoying. If you ever manage to reach my level, let me know so I can push you off my pedestal.

You're in for a long drop, my friend.

I think, I am so bloody annoying that I'm actually cool. Of course, you may choose to view this as an attempt to bring out the best in a seemingly hopeless situation. To that I say, "Boo." My friends say I'm cool (thank you, Mervyn). But that may be because they're my friends, and they know what I might do to them if they said anything otherwise.

That aside, for someone who takes up as much space as me, who has demon cabbages sprouting from the side of his head, who has nothing good to say to anyone but his friends, who has problems looking people in the eyes, who has trouble makings girls laugh because all of his jokes are catered to guys, who won't look like anything pleasant until he chooses to lose all his weight, I think I'm actually doing pretty well.

Until people start to hate me, form mobs, get pitchforks and torches and chase my all over Singapore, I'll continue thinking I'm cool.

Another thing that's cool. StAJeWorks.

What's that you may ask? It's the coolest CCA the world has ever had the chance to give rise to. Basically, it's a Drama Club. But what they stand for, what they mean, what they are, is so much more. I'm not just saying they're cool because I'm in the CCA (though that counts as one of the reasons), but the people who are in StAJe are possibly the tightest bunch of actors in the world.

They're the epitome of cool, and the dedication they show to their craft is roughly ten times more than what I devoted to my team of 6 Lvl 255 Mewtwos. They're serious in their acting, completely focused in every single facial expression that happens on stage. They know how to have fun and when to have it. They're more connected with each other than any other CCA will ever be. I say this without a shred of humility, it's basically just shameless publicity.

I've only known them for two days.

Enough talk about my CCA. Let's talk about something that's not so cool.

My class. 35/06. Which only has 4 guys in it. Including me.

PE is going to be the most fun lesson. Ever. Because you'll only see 3 guys doing their warmups and one guy struggling to keep up.

Damn. I'm out of blog juice. I'll be back later with another post once my head cools down.

Sorry for the Wait.

2006-03-14T21:09:00.000+08:00

Sorry for the Wait.

I need time to calm down. So this post is going to short. And stupid. AJC rocks. StAJeWorks rocks. And I have to sleep.

So here's the seven things thing Mervyn wanted me to do.

Seven things that scare me:
1. me
2. myself
3. and i
4. daryl
5. chan
6. zhiming
7. losing my friends.

Seven random songs at the moment:
1. Mardy Bum - Artic Monkeys
2. Middle of Nowhere - Hot Hot Heat
3. Goodbye Goodbye - Hot Hot Heat
4. Remember the Name - Fort Minor
5. Heard 'Em Say - Kanye West
6. Wisemen - James Blunt
7. Free Loop - Daniel Powter

Seven things i love the most:
1. me
2. my ipod too.
3. momotaro. the peach boy.
4. peaches.
5. the whole StAJeWorks group
6. knowing more things than you than you think i know about you.
7. knowing more things about you than you think i know about you.

Seven random facts about me:
1. i like to be called momo.
2. don't ignore me. i'll burn your toes.
3. i think jamie oliver is god.
4. no. i'm not gay.
5. i think colonel sanders invited gravity.
6. i think escalators are the backs of giants cats.
7. boo.

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1. take over the world.
2. sign up all my friends for spam.
3. act properly.
4. know who tags me.
5. take over the world.
6. boo.
7. predict when i die.

Seven things I say the most:
1. eh.
2. ello.
3. hey.
4. oi.
5. hello.
6. hi.
7. i'm momo.

Seven celebrity crushes:
1. jamie oliver.
2. jamie oliver.
3. jamie oliver.
4. jamie oliver.
5. johnny depp.
6. jamie oliver.
7. ash ketchum.

Seven people i want to do this:
1. no
2. one.
3. it's
4. a
5. waste
6. of
7. time.

Tomorrow. I procrastinate.

Get High or Die.

2006-03-09T20:35:00.000+08:00

Yay. I had a blast.

AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun!

Come on. Say it with me.

AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun! AJC is fun!

AJC stands for Anderson Junior College. Not A Jolly Chicken.

It's fun. For all those people who still want to appeal out of AJC.

FUCK YOU.

That's the AJC spirit (or maybe not). I think I caught it when I was cheering today. I'm louder than groups for 3 to 7. Yay for me. I've kept my voice with a steady stream of water chestnut and sugarcane. And Ricola sweets. And Clorets. And chicken nuggets.

People should do what I do and cheer. But even if you did try, you wouldn't be as loud as me. Because you've probably already lost your voice saying, "I'm so tired" or "I'm so sleepy" or "This is so boring" or just plain "Sian arh".

It's the last day of orientation tomorrow. It's actually quite sad. I still haven't figured out all the names of my orientation group members yet. I've got most of them now. It's just a matter of trying to match the face to the name. I'll do that tomorrow.

The past few days are now counted as one of the few times that I've actually enjoyed myself in school. That means you, my 3/4-7 rebellies. Screaming your lungs out can actually give you a high. It's a natural one, so it's safe. It's not harmful to you in anyway whatsoever. Your head starts to swirl after a couple of minutes though. All the blood gets pumped up to your head and it can't flow back because your bloody mouth is open. When you do close your mouth, provided you don't starting seeing white spots before blacking out, you feel all strange and funny when the blood rushes back down to all the other parts of your body.

Sometimes, it goes all the way down into an erection.

My orientation group. I've been carrying the flag for the past few days. So I'm pretty certain I know what it is by now. It's called Vayu. Who's an Indian god of wind. So it's in tandem with my Element, Viento. Which means "wind" in one dead language or another. I'm not going to talk about the people in my group. Talking about people tends to get me beaten up. Or something. Especially with girls. I can't stand an angry girl. They cry after a while.

Oh no.

Where was I? Oh yes. My orientation group. We're really close. Seriously. We're so close that we've completely eliminated the need for names. It's some kind of mutual understanding. The kind the twins have. Only ours in on a larger scale, like twenty-ish instead of two. We don't even have to point at anything to get the job done. That's how connected we are.

Other than that. The only abnormality is me. So, moving along.

What else? Oh yes. I'd like to apologise for shorter posts, the lack of a layout for want of a better one, and the now defunct tag-board. I'm getting increasingly tired (No prizes for guessing why). And I seem to have lesser things to blog about. All my time seems to have disappeared too.

Oh well. AJC is fun.

There's going to be a new background in a bit. I have to work on the coding which the original designer screwed up on.

Until then. AJC is fun!

Awwww. Man.

2006-03-07T20:08:00.000+08:00

I want to change my blog skin. But I can't find one that will receive too much criticism from my friends.

ALL my friends.

Daryl has plenty of friends. Which is a good thing. That makes it hard to keep track of them. Most of my friends have only met me once. Twice. Maybe for a year. Or three. I love all my friends.

Too bad they come from so many different backgrounds. I have hard rockers, emo punks, studious bookworms, anti-religion bad-asses, sporty atheletes and much, much more. It's hard to find one skin that's going to satisfy them all. Unless I go back to basics. Then I'd be copying this blog (which is a really nice blog, that being the reason why I'm not stealing all his ideas, making them mine and eating stockings).

I hope to find a nice skin one day. Maybe before I get reduced to dust, devils, ashes and Linkin Park fans. Until then, you'll just have to stick with this boring old blue one which I made by myself. Me.

Well then. School. Orientation. Flag. Eye candy. Eye pain. Hand spoil.

I could go on forever. I'm quite good at making lists of things that are closely inter-connected yet make less sense than a purple Godzilla rampaging Townsville. Let's talk about today.

Orientation was fun today. Semi-fun. But still fun. We shall not talk about yesterday. Because yesterday was a bad day. It was a first day. All first days are bad. They should be bad. And it was a Monday. We all know what comes before Monday.

So it was a double-disaster-date-with-the-devil-here-comes-the-hinderburg kind of day. The bad kind. So we shall not talk about it.

Still, I'm struggling to stay awake and type this post out at the same time. To all those who blog just before they sleep, you'll know what I mean. It's the time when your bed starts making suggestive noises and you feel hot under the collar. Then it starts to squirm, moan and gasp. If you're not at the foot of your block by now, you'd probably be on your bed, squirming with it. That's what I'm struggling with.

I have the new chewy Mentos thingies to keep me going though. They're just short sugar bursts that last a little longer than an old man's penis without Viagra. I'm at great risk of getting diabetes or erectile dysfunction or something. I'm confused, tired, blur and not making any sense.

Apparently, being blur is considered to be cute. Or maybe it's just me. Daryl is cute. Like a over-stuffed stuffed toy stuffed with too much stuffing. And he's blur almost all the time. My brain doesn't work all the time. It dies every 17 minutes. Then a new one grows.

Orientation. We were more familiar with one another today. Everyone knows my name. It is a good name. And I am easy to remember. I cannot construct proper sentences anymore. Poof, my brain is CoCo Crunch.

Crap. I is stupid now. At least I can spell properly.

Dis iz gunna b a short post.

Sorwie.

School's starting. I'm farting.

2006-03-05T20:10:00.000+08:00

School's starting. Big whoop.

I'm actually looking forward to it. Everyone else seems to be rather down though. Bah, just get over it already. So what if you didn't get into the JC of your choice? So what if all your friends are leaving? So what if you're stuck in the same old JC that you were in for the first 2 months? So what if everyone in that JC hates your guts?

Remember people, starting afresh is the new pink.

So you may say, "Oh, Daryl, that's easy for you to say because you've been sitting at home, doing nothing, and having the time of the life. You haven't been going to school, making bonds with people, 'connecting' with them, going all over Singapore (and Sentosa) doing wierd shit that you're now officially entitled to do being a JC student."

Yes, people. I haven't. So stop whining.

So what if the faces you've grown to love are going away? They'll be back someday. It's reward enough to have the memories of all the fun times that you've had. Going to Sentosa, dinners at Parkway, going to Sentosa, dinners at Plaza Singapura, going to Sentosa, dinners at Junction 8. All those happy times.

When you look back on all those experience, you'll probably start giggling unexpectedly. It's going to sound like, "Sentosa, hehe, two pairs of disposable underwear, hehe, dinner at PS, hehe, stole a 'wet floor' sign, hehe, my penis was grabbed, hehe." Something like that. If you won't forgot those times, chances are, the people you shared them with aren't going to either.

Captain Holly Short of the LEPrecon unit once told Artemis Fowl that decency was like a spark. Everytime he felt like doing something bad, he could find that spark, and blow on it. Then he'd feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Same thing applies for friendships. The memories of the times spent with friends are the sparks. Everytime you need cheering up, look for them. They'll warm you up. And here's another thought.

"Flames wouldn't be eternal if they consumed anything."

-Some female demon from "Angel" whose name I can't recall.

Great, isn't it? Now the sparks that get fanned into flames aren't ever going to get extinguished because they don't have anything to burn up. Technically. And if they were going to combust, they would target your "memories" or your "heartstrings" or any other bullshit bodypart you have that's related to some knockoff script from a soapy soap opera. They go for your lungs, for oxygen, and I really doubt that you wouldn't notice something like that happening.

And after all of that, I'm still giving you something you can poke fun at.

Me.

Why? Why would anyone want to make fun of such a sweet, kind and gentle soul like Daryl? Well, because you're pissed, you're sad, and you're wallowing in the muck that is your self-pity. For any other reason, Daryl might probably beat you to a pulp, then mix you in with the muck that is the other guy's self-pity.

Think about it. What exactly have I done in the past 2 months? Did I make any new friends? No. Was I at risk at losing my old ones? Constantly. And have I lost weight? Yes.

The fact of the matter is that I haven't exactly been around much. I haven't been experiencing all the fun things you people have done. Instead, I've been moping around at home, wondering about whether or not you're going to come online later, whether or not you might actually reply to my SMS.

All this while, I've been worrying about losing my old friends. My good friends. Friends that I wouldn't exchange for a free ticket of out NS and plenty of hot-bodied women to satisfy my libido.

Maybe that's what drives me to try so hard to keep all of you. I don't ever want to lose any of you. Ever. As much as I might have made fun of you, laughed at you, knocked you around, taken pictures of your drool all of the place, or just grinning like an idiot and taking all the insults you throw at me, I really really care about you guys. Really.

I don't want any of you to look back on things and wonder if you'd ever get the chance to kill Daryl. I want all of you to go out into society, become morally-upright people with a sense of humour and kick ass.

I want all of you to remember all of us.

So before you go off to the JCs that you were posted to, just open an MSN conversation with an old classmate and say, "Hey, how have you been doing?"

Phew.

2006-03-03T20:43:00.000+08:00

This is another "What a Day" post.

What a day.

JAE (Joint Admission Exercise) results came out today. Stayed at home while everyone else was out consoling friends/celebrating. What made it a "What a Day" day?

This. EVERYONE SHOULD JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY.

If I say don't put VJC as your first choice. DON'T.

If I say don't chase the bloody Magina past his tower. DON'T.

If I say you're a miserable excuse for a human and should just slit your wrists, bleed for an hour, drink pipe cleaner, then throw yourself off a building. Delete my messages first. Then do the tasks listed above.

I have reasons for everything damned thing that I say. Even if it's just "sdgsdfggsdgszhsdnsgargh". That means that I'm annoyed. And that you should probably just shut up. Before I set your ears on fire.

Today was a day of mixed feelings for me. Really mixed. Like a salad that's been tossed by every chef since the middle ages.

Yes. I am happy I got into Anderson Junior College. Both my parents were Andersonians with School Colours award thingies. I feel that it's a good school. Oh, and my friends are there. People mug there. Oh, and my friends are there. They mug their time away. Oh, and my friends are there. It's like an excuse to stop living. Oh, and my friends are there. And then they go to Sentosa. Here's a really good question for you:

Why do you keep going to motherfucking Sentosa?

What the fuck is there to see there? Fucking people in beach wear fucking in public? Handphone sex videos? Flaming robot chickens rampaging? Tell me, I want to know. Seriously. What is it with JC students and Sentosa? Does going to JC instantly create certain hormones in you that make you want to go to a man-made beach to show off whatever physique that you might possibly have? Does it? If that's the case, then eff off JCs. The only time I'm going to take off my shirt when I get turned into a super-enlarged version of the Hulk with radioactive snot. That or sex.

No. I don't want to go to Sentosa THAT FUCKING OFTEN.

Moving on. Dinners. Dinners and JC people. What about that. Why the shit do you spend every night eating dinner with your JC classmates? Don't you know that we're supposed to build strong relationships with our family members? Whatever. Do we even get that much money?

I feel that all dinners should be eaten in front of the telly, alone, when it's raining. Meaning that it should rain every night. I'll get around to working on that in a couple of years. Until then, go eating your fucking dinners with your fucking JC people spending your fucking money on fucking food that fucking isn't worth it.

Hooray. I got that off my chest.

Let's talk about the unhappier things then.

Just when I'm going into AJC, everyone's getting out. Why? Does the system hate me or something? Don't hate me because I'm better than you (sorry Mervyn). Damn it. I really want you guys to stay in AJC. And I want you to come to AJC too, Ryan. Not that you'll ever read this blog without me prodding you with a mace. In the head. You guys are basically the ONLY reason why I'm going to AJC in the first place. Without all of you, life wouldn't be the same.

It'd be different.

Man, I really don't know anymore. If all of you are going out, why should I have to stay? What's there that's worth staying for in AJC? The really smart way the smoke is sucked out from the stall vendor's cubicles and re-directed into the centre of the canteen? The nose hairs I found in my tuna puff? The spiffy ring that I found on a canteen table? Help me out here.

Fuck. Alright? Fuck. Just fuck the whole day into fuck.

P.S. Before you tag me/leave a comment/start an MSN conversation, I didn't mean anything I typed. I'm really happy. Happy Daryl's are not very good things to be around.

The Almighty Alrighty

2006-03-01T18:21:00.000+08:00

The Almighty Alrighty.

That's the title of this here post. It's so alliterated and whatnot. What's alliteration? I don't know. Never really bothered to listen to sermons on literary devices in class. And guess what?

I got an A1 in Literature.

All you need is passion. A truckload of it. You need a truckload of crap to fill in all that passion too. And while you're at it, get a truckload of bacon curls too. It'll expand your tummy so that you'll look like a mummy! I love mommies. Moo. Moo. Milk. Milf. Hunter. Anyhows, since I'm starting to rhyme for no apparently reason, here's a poem.

It crawled from the Toilet
*
Ooh, yucks, what is that stench?
It smells like dead soldiers in a trench!
What could it be? And why does it stink?
It smells like my crap, is there a link?

Oh gosh, look at the mess it made on the floor,
and look, it's even on the toilet door.
Is that where the beast emerged?
After lying under layers of sewage submerged?

I'm doomed, it seems to be after me,
yet a trail of muck is all I see,
Why is it always one step ahead?
And who's going to clean up the mess it's made?

Wait, what's that? I hear a noise,
I think that it's hiding among my toys.
I can see the trail ending over there,
all the way up to a purple teddy bear.

It crawled from that toilet, I'm pretty sure,
It's what I've come to dread and fear.
That one day my food will revolt.
It's coming, oh no, out the door I bolt.
It's running on knuckles, pork knuckles in fact,
They still seem to be rather intact,
It's arms are flailing, they're chicken wings!
It's got eyes made of onion rings!
Oh great, they blinked, now I'm going to hurl,
I'm probably screaming like a little girl.
My legs can't take it, it's over, I'm done,
Wait, it looks like it's having fun!

Oh the dread, the anguish and pain,
The suspense is just driving me insane!
That's it, I'll just stand and fight,
Out of the crap, I took my first bite.

Shy Samurai Guy, 1st March 2006.

There, a poem. Let's get down the business at hand then. Blogging.

Here's a summary of what I did today. I went to Anderson Junior College, which I'm almost certain I'll get into. Then I went home. Waited ages of my bus to come. Got onto a rare double-decker, it was empty. Some really annoying girls boarded the bus. They blared some sick Mando-pop shit from a handphone. I had to turn Franz Ferdinand on my iPod too the max to block it out. They starting talking about houses, pianos, organs, bungalows, basements, training wheels and bicycles. I got off (thankfully), walked to a minimart, bought snacks, went home and now I'm typing this.

Okay, the details.

What I did at AJC. I ate in their canteen, which is supposed to have really lousy food. My advice? Eat at NYP. No, not because Tammy's there. Because the food at AJC is rather sub-standard. As Jamie Oliver said in his School Dinners programme, "I wouldn't even feed this shit to my dog. Oh, I might feed it to my dog, but not to our kids." Yes, that applies to AJC's food.

Special mention goes to the Western Food stall. Really interesting. If you make the aunty feel prettier than she is, which isn't all that hard, you get a larger piece of chicken. More spaghetti too. And a free hot dog if you try really hard.

Sat through a Chemistry lecture. Boy, was that a waste of my time. Firstly, I'm not taking ANY science-related subjects in JC. History, Economics, Literature and Maths. Or HELM. Which is plenty cooler than your PCME. Yeah. I'll probably go for KI too. But I didn't add it in to my subject acronym thing because it kinda screws the cool factor up.

Chemistry. It was really easy to understand. Not because the lecturer was good or anything. It was easy to understand because it was an entirely new experience for me. It was "novel". It's like a kid who gets a brand new toy. He goes crazy over it at first, but as time moves on, it gets chucked into the same category as Pokemon cards. So yeah, it was easy.

JC life seems easy too.

Sat through a Chinese lesson too. It was fun. The Chinese teacher was really cool about letting 2 crashers join in. They were watching this really predictable movie set during the time of Chairman Mao. All about a family living in China during Communism's rise. It was quite sad and stuff, but it was so predicable. Like you don't know something bad's going to happen when you make your kid do something when your kid's too sleepy to do anything.

So yes, JC life seems easy.

The bus. Oh the bus. Damn you girls who can't stop telling the whole world that you can play music on your handphone by blaring it at the back of the bus. Oh wow. A handphone that can play music out loud. What? The radio? Some third-grade recording you made by placing your phone close to the TV?

iPODS OWN YOU.

They're four trillion times nicer, have better sound quality, and they DON'T BLOODY ANNOY THE FUCK OUT OF EVERYTHING WITH EARS. Get some earphones please. And some singing lessons. DON'T FUCKING SING ON THE BUS IF YOU'RE FUCKING TONE-DEAF, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT.

Save that for Singapore Idol, or Project Superstar, or So You Think You Can Sing on the Bus? That way, everyone can have a good laugh when you puke your lungs out singing on TV. That'll probably make the audience puke their lungs out too. If it doesn't make the show producers and judges puke their lungs out first. Meaning that there probably won't be a show. Okay, so that eliminates the health risks.

Don't sing on the bus. Ever.

Don't tell everyone about how you learnt to cycle either. And there's absolutely NO point in talking about how you moved into your rich uncle's house when they went overseas. A basement with a piano, and organ and toys is NOT called a "Children's Department". That's what you call the second floor of Metro at Compass Point, which you probably frequent EVERY SINGLE DAY OF YOUR LIFE.

It gets boring after that. So yeah. Enjoy.

Uahfueago.

2006-02-28T18:09:00.000+08:00

Uahfueago.

It's a word that I came up with with the help of a good friend. You know who you are. He's better than you.

It's an exclamatory word. Like "argh", or "grrr" or "fuck u, u knnbccb". Just that it stands for all those words. As well as every other word created. Here's a sample sentence:

"Uahfueago uahfueago uahfueago uahfueago uahfueago uahfueago."

Basically that meant, "The crocodile hunter is a giant hoax." Which is true, by the way. I probably shouldn't tell you about it. He might send his team of crack crocodile storm troopers to attack. The last guy to told me about it died in a freak car accident. Witnesses say that a group of crocodiles slithered onto the lane the guy was travelling in and when he swerved to avoid them, his car crashed into a tree.

So, yeah, no croc hunter conspiracies for you.

Back to uahfueago. It's my word. So eff off.

On a lighter note, let's talk about cats. Who doesn't like cats? I have a personal inclination towards black cats, who have long since been regarded as bearers of bad luck. What's cuter than something razor-sharp claws, pointy teeth and lightning-quick reflexes? A dog? Why? Because they guard houses?

Is that all? Then move over canines! Presenting... The Watch Cat!

Weighing in at a whopping 33 pounds, this cat is ready to take on strangers foolish enough to step into your home! Only a strict diet of chicken and pork will yield such a fine specimen who is ever vigiliant and steadfast in defending your home from intruders.

Note: We are not certain if the watch cat can catch rats.

Moving on, I now bring you a shocking expose on porn. Porn on cellphones is more enjoyable than porn on computers! The results of Google's research have shown that 20% of all Google searches via cellphones are related to adult material, whereas only 8.5% of all PC searches are for adult content. One would assume that cellphones with their small screens aren’t ideal for this purpose, but the Googlers’ explanation for this is “people regard their phones as intensely personal devices”.

What’s interesting is that only 5% of queries from PDAs are adult-oriented. PDAs don’t seem to have much privacy issues.

Some monks use PDAs too. For scripture reading, fortune-telling and other religious what-nots.

Lastly, news on everyone's favourite footballer, David Beckham. Apparently, the football star is having trouble with his 6-year-old son's math homework. He had to call on his wife, a former SPICE GIRL, to help him with it. Here's what he had to say:

"Their homework is so hard these days. It's totally done differently to what I was teached when I was at school, and you know I was like 'Oh my God, I can't do this'."

Wow. What a show of David Beckham's grammatical prowess too. To think he actually offered to read a book to make up for his ineptness at maths.

Hey David, the two syllable word for "dumb" is "stupid".

Linking fuck.

2006-02-27T14:36:00.000+08:00

Yes people, the title of this entry is "Linking Fucks". Why? Because no one is linking me. Now, this may sound like a desperate plea from an attention-seeking individual who's trying too hard to jump onto at the bandwagon that is the blogging craze.

It's not.

First of all, I have a suspicion that that statement was grammatically incorrect. And secondly, I'm not this guy. So no, I'm not an attention-seeking bastard. I just crave a little recognition. Who doesn't? Who doesn't want to be praised, to be the talking point of countless adolescents during boring Chinese lectures, to earn enough money off sponsers to buy a camera and a spangly-new laptop?

Oh wait. I just want to blog. It's fun. It keeps me from exploding with wierd things that I would normally say to you on MSN and in the process, annoy the shit out of the poor soul that I'm talking to. It keeps me from randomly blurting out obscenities at people I see on the train or the bus because I can come home, blog about them in a more eloquent fashion without them actually knowing who I might be.

Blogging helps me improve my English, which is a woefully inadequate reason, seeing as how my English doesn't need anymore improving. I recently did a GP essay for a friend in Victoria Junior College, one on gender equality. Here's what the teacher had to say:

"The examples are good, showing that the student does read. Though it lacks in further elaboration of the examples given, it has the potential to score well."

Score: 13/20

Oh god. I left the explanation bit to my friend to do, and since he decided to forgo it because I already met the minimum word requirement, it's entirely his fault. Given the fact that I've not set foot in a single JC lecture theatre for the past 2 months, I think it's pretty safe to say that my English is probably going to "pwnz j00".

Yet, getting back to the bit on recognition, who doesn't want to be noticed? I mean, so what if I blog merely for the sake of keeping my brain matter in the state that it's currently in? I still want someone to come along and say, "Hey, you're funny. Please let me have your children." Now, who wouldn't want that to happen?

I know someone who shares the same desire to recognised as me.

Tammy. The cheerleader from Nanyang Poly that instantly shot to fame after she lost her phone. For those who don't read the Straits Times, the New Paper, the Lianhe Zao Bao, the Lianhe Wan Bao, and all the other wierd tabloids that I can't remember, Tammy Sia took a video, using her handphone, of her and her boyfriend having sex.

Before I go on, I'd like to know what handphone she was using. If it was any phone with a Symbian OS, I have this to say. Go to hell you bloody dumb fuck, at least download FileVault if you're going to keep your sex videos on your handphone. That way, if the unlikely event that you do lose your phone, no one would fucking see your naked ass bobbing up and down on your boyfriend's boner.

If it was any other phone, I feel really sorry for your loss.

Before anyone starts asking, no, I don't have her video. Even if I did, it'd probably be in .3gp format, which mostly people can't see on their computers. You have to transfer it to your phone and open the file there.

And yes, she does have a hot body. Because she's a cheerleader. And it's a requirement.

Tammy clearly displays a need to be noticed by people, maybe she didn't actually lose her phone, but purposely misplaced it so that some horny schoolmate of hers might find it, plaster it all over the web, and turn her into an instant star.

I can't do that. I don't have much of a figure. My 1-megapixel camera phone isn't that good at taking videos, most of them turn out like animated gifs. I won't have anyone to do it with until I get enough recognition. And they probably won't use my name. It's going to be my partner's name up in lights. Unless he's a guy. Then I'd be in the obituaries after a long period of denying that the incident ever took place.

Tammy, oh Tammy. Can I come find you once I get into my JC? It's within walking distance from your school. If you don't get expelled first that is...

Let's be famous together!

Here's a fun gadget for all of you who might want to be aspiring Tammys.
Presenting, the iBuzz! The world's first music controlled vibrator! Just place it against any sensitve genitalia and select a song! Jam to Green Day's American Idiot or go slow with any song from Michael Buble! For hardcore action, try Eminem!

Batteries not inculded. This site is not responsible for any physical and bodily harm that may arise due to complications with the product.

I think I'm at the end of my rambling streak. So, yeah. Link me.

Sometimes I forget to breathe.

2006-02-26T21:09:00.000+08:00

There's an emo title here that you can't see.

Sometimes, when I'm really really bored, I forget to breathe. Or sometimes, when I'm too excited, I forget to breathe as well. This usually results in me yawning several times on end, which is never a good thing, seeing as how I get lockjaw from opening my mouth too big. Have you ever had lockjaw before? It's when your jaw locks itself in an awkward position, with your mouth agape, and you can't close your mouth without make this really horrible "crack" sound. That, my dear readers, is the sound of your jaw bone snapping in half.

Just kidding.

In serious cases though, that does happen. Normally, it occurs in Tetanus victims, which are mostly found in third-world countries. Pity them. Pity their jaws.

My lockjaw isn't that serious. Not yet, I presume. It's not exactly the most enjoyable experience in the world. If I could have an orgasm for everytime I've had a lockjaw incident, I'd be a very satisfied little boy.

Sadly, I don't.

Which is why I should never again watch people play Risk in the AJC Canteen. Risk and Chinese Chess. At the same time. Yawn. Yawn. Yawn. Crack. Honestly, how does one person expect to sit through one game of Risk with out yawning? It has to be the world's most boring game. Even Tic Tac Toe is more appealling to me. Please let me in your secret. I want to know. I also want your jaw.

Let's talk about something more fun. Like ghosts. Ghosts are THE most fun things in the world. I wonder if ghosts have sex? Do you? I'd like to know that too.

Anyhows, ghosts are fun because they're the key ingredient to horror flicks. Most horror films only make me laugh. If you ever go to horror movie and hear someone laughing his head off, it's probably me. Or someone who just received Tammy's sex video on his handphone.

It's most likely me, because Tammy's video is now for sale. Seriously, most "scary" movies are like "Scary Movie". They're chock full of predictable scenes.

Example:
A gothic mansion atop a hill. Doors that open by themselves before you even get the chance to knock on them using that rusty door-knocking thing that looks vaguely like a man's penis. You go in. The wind suddenly picks up, chilling you to the bone. If you're female, this is probably the time they do a close-up shot of you. When your nipples are erected due to the supposed cold. Then the door closes. You're scared. You're panicking. You hear footsteps, echoing throughout the creepy old house you should never have set foot in. They get closer, and closer, and closer. Something throws a huge shadow across the floor. You go to check it out. Walking down a long and dark corridor, you sense someone is looking at you, appraising you, peeling away layers of bravado. The footsteps stop. Something rushes out from the darkness of the corridor.

Boo.

See, isn't that SO expected of a horror flick? As my Secondary 4 Form Teacher put it, all American horror films involve a house. It's more or less the same with the Japanese and Korean ones. Just replace the house with a toilet/school/wood/somewhere with a mirror. And your ghost is the standard long-haired, white dress teenage girl who died due to some complications during an abortion or something of the like. Oh, and your female protagonist are about 4x hotter than anyone in an American one.

Ghosts. Bah. The only horror flicks that make me feel a shred of fear are those produced by the Discovery Channel. Most of them are house related, yet the way that they put the story across to you makes it all the more scarier. Perhaps it's the association of Discovery and the truth. It's like everything you see on Discovery is true, so what makes the ghosts any less real?

They must be real. Oh no.

It's those shows that make you feel small and insignificant at 1 in the morning. You feel like someone's there all the time, watching you, scrutinising your every move, taunting you... You don't dare to look into mirrors, fearful of what you might see in them... You start seeing curtains move when the windows are closed and there's no breeze at all.

Crawl into bed. Now.

Pan In a Bag.

2006-02-25T19:00:00.000+08:00

Oh. Wow. What a day.

Here's a fun thing for all of you to do. Walk all around Orchard Road with a frying pan in your bag. The Tefal Thermospot one.

I did.

And frankly, I'd be seriously pissed if it wasn't for the fact that Jamie Oliver endorses the brand. It's a good frying pan, I sure of that, but did you really have to make me carry it all around Orchard? Sure, you're my mum, and you'd probably make my life hell for not bringing it home for you, but why? It's not so much the embarrassment of others finding out that I had a pan in my bag, it's just the thought of it. With each step I took, all I kept thinking of was, "Oh. Great. A pan in my bag. Thanks a lot." It's not something very good to think about. You tend to step on people's toes when you start habouring thoughts like that.

Especially those connected to twits.

And trust me, those toes are going to leave you in a world of pain. That is, if you're not me. Would I get beaten up by 7 twits along Orchard Road? Nope. Most definately not.

Reason 1: It is Orchard Road. And no one fights on Orchard Road. It's just a bit stupid to do that. If 7 twits picked on 1 poor, innocent, fat kid like myself on the busiest street in Singapore, chances are, someone's bound to help. Of course, if no one helps, then you can go complain about in the Straits Times forums. Or submit the story to The New Paper and get a new handphone. Then again, being twits, they might not be all that smart...

Reason 2: I'm a fat kid. It's not that good to pick on a fat kid once he reaches a certain age. By that age, he/she would have probably realised that he/she might actually be able to beat the crap out of someone. Or fall on them. I think a good-sized kid can take on 4 twits by himself. I could probably take twice that number. I'm a very violent fat kid. VERY violent. I like to go for the eyes. And the little bone between your nostrils that also happens to have its sharp end located really close to your brain.

Reason 3: I have a frying pan in my bag. Swing it like a club, or leave it in your bag and use it like a flail. Your call.

Of course. Most twits have gang. Which scare me. Because they drink chicken's blood. That says a lot about their state of mind. What kind of crazed sicko would drink a chicken's blood? Before you do anything like that, ask yourself, would Michael Jackson do that? If you said yes, then would you still like to do that? Didn't think so.

(Unless drinking chicken's blood gives you the ability to do that Moonwalk. In which case, cheers.)

Thankfully, I didn't step on any toes. I did see a Harajuku girl. Of course, it's the Singaporean brand of Harajuku girls. She was with 2 relatively normal looking girls. Which is good. Excellent use of contrast. Makes people with pans in their bags look at you. Kudos to you, Harajuku-wannabe.

What is Harajuku? Click here to find out more. In all fairness to the Japanese, she wasn't a really good Harajuku girl. I mean, what kind of Harajuku girl puts on clothings that actually go well together?

I think that for this poor Harajuku-wannabe, her mum probably put all her other clothes in the washing machine and all she was left with was black. Which goes very well with white facepaint. Which she didn't have on. Which probably means that she was out shopping with her two friends for more white facepaint. And she also probably tore the fishnet stockings. So that was probably on her shopping list too.

That being said, she didn't really look like a Harajuku girl. More like Harakuku or something, some local brand.

Another thing. Shopping. For shoes. With my mum.

It's a really sad thing to do.

It gave me plenty of time to think though. About a MILF Hunter in Singapore. I don't think all that many virile, young men in Singapore go for older women, so yes, there's defintely huge potential in this market. Where else to start with, than at Tang's Shoe Department.

Before you scoff, I'd like to say that many attractive women shop there, the ones of an older variety. Nevertheless, beauty is beauty. Even if gravity's done a number on it. Now see here, potential MILF Hunter(s), the shoe department is where few men dare to tread. If you do happen to see men there, wait a while and observe them. If they are checking out women, then you have competition. If they're checking out stilettos, rock on.

Honestly, woe be to the man who steps into the Shoe Department. Unless you have a clear goal that you hope to achieve, then get out of there now. If not it's, na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.

Still, it's amazing to find so many attractive women packed together in one place at noon. With almost no men around. Which, I might add, is a really good time to cop a feel.

Yes, you know what I mean.

Shoes. Oh yes. I went shoe shopping too. At an Adidas concept store. I have to get a new pair of shoes for school. The meagre 11 points I scored gave me a $2,500 voucher. Courtesy of my mum. So, I'm getting the A3 Gigaride. It's not 3. It's a cube thingy. $199.60. It doesn't really go well with my uniform, but hey, for 200 bucks, it has to be good for something.

I guess I ought to end my post here. I don't have any pictures to show anyone. Don't own a camera. Which I'll probably get by mid year. With astonishingly good grades.

My Fifth First Post.

2006-02-24T11:11:00.000+08:00

Yes. I lied.

I wonder how much this actually says about my personality? How many people change blogs like handphones? Wait... I guess that doesn't really apply to me. What I'm trying to say is that -

Wait. Never mind. I forgot.

For those who have met Dum and Dee, they've gone on a very long journey. It's one of those trips that you go on to "find" yourself. In their case, they went to find their other half. Or halves. It's basically only one person, so it's a grammar question. He's called Bob by the way. Bob is one heck of a nasty person. He loves torturing birds, frogs and cute woodland animals, not that he finds many of them in the hellhole he's stuck in. Anyhows, back to Dum and Dee. You'd think that they would have found Bob by now.

And they have.

But now they're stuck in the same hellhole with Bob, who can't remember where he left the note his great, big, horned, pitchfork-wielding best friend left him. Apparently it was a memo on how to get out.

Which means that all 3 of them are stuck in an undesirably hot place with no landlines and connections to this plane. I think it's pretty safe to say that the people there, who've been doomed to wander forever while reliving their most painful memories 42 times a day and never having known Paradise, aren't about to invent the Internet anytime soon.

Until then, you're stuck with me. Who occasionally gets psychic feedback from Dum and Dee. I can't be bothered to switch to the same frequency as Bob. He tends to spam my head with legions of nasty imps.

So, back to me. I'm going to school soon (Ooooh). I hope I get into- I'm not telling you. I'm just going to school soon, which is never a good thing. You get to make new friends though! Oh yippee! Friends! Yay! Woohoo! Friends! w00t!

Oh snap.

Friends. I have problems making them. Takes too long to assimilate into a clique. Clique. How to make the fancy "e" with the dot thing on it? Anyways. Yeah. I love having people to talk to. It broadens my scope on the world. Friends are the fodder for my psychological cannons. Drop me a line, let me psycho-analyze you.

It's FREE!

Wow. This looks like a pretty long post. I still have plenty to talk about though. Like Samurais. Yes, the cool Japanese-Seppuku-committing-Katana-wielding kings of the Eastern battlefields. What happened to them? And what happened to traditional values held by the Japanese? Why do you fuckheads keep making animes about those morals when they don't exist anymore? It only gives a guy delusions of grandeur of the Japanese way of life.

Which sucks.

It sucks being female in Japan. You get tied up. Raped. Murdered. Especially if you're just a little kiddie girl. It puts a gigantic bull's eye on your privates for murdering rapists with bondage fetishes (MRWBF). So what if you Japanese schoolchildren get robot security guards? These rapists are going to use their Pokeballs to capture them then screaming "GO ROBOT SECURITY GUARD!" before throwing it really hard at your head. That effectively knocks you out. For quite a while.

A long while. Long enough for him to tie you up, ravage you, then slit your throats [killing methods vary with different MRWBFs]. When you wake up, you'd probably be in the great big sky where REAL Pokemon roam.

What else? Hmmm... Oh. Yes. Saying "fuck" is now illegal.

This nice young man got fined £80 for saying "fuck". Now, I'm sure we all use it from time to fucking time. Fuck, you'd fucking probably having some fucking friends who fucking use the fucking word more then you could fucking care.

Grieve for this young man.

On a lighter note, ugly people are more likely to become criminals! Yes, it's sad. But undeniably true. All this says is that you have to feel pretty on the inside more often. Which I just said to comfort myself.

A face a mother would find hard to love. Which means I'm probably typing with my eyes closed at the moment.

Also, scientists have discovered that sex with a partner is 400% better than doing it by yourself! After orgasm from sexual intercourse, the increase in blood prolactin levels is 400 per cent higher in both sexes compared with after orgasm from masturbation.

And before you get any ideas about grabbing the closest girl to you and screwing her silly, elevated levels of prolactin lead to to erectile dysfunction.

Bummer.

I'm ending this post here. I'm continuing tomorrow. I hope. Remind me peeps.

Peeps. Haha. How about Homies? Haha. Homie. Homie Simpson. Haha.