AIDS Retort

Girl: Shall I make you happy?

Boy: Are you clean?

Girl: Don't worry I am.

Boy: Aint you afraid? What if I've got AIDS?

Girl: You worry too much. Why worry about something that kills you in 10 to 15 years when there're soo many things that could kill you today.

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Park too Long

And here's why we have parking aunties, coupon cheater bugs and reserved red slot season parking.


Heroes and Zeroes

I'm never for doing match reports on recently concluded footy games. Maybe this is because I seldom bother to invest an hour and a half, plus minus interval time on a football game no more. When there's no money riding on the game, there's no kick in watching it. I've become a woman looking at football now wondering what the hell all those blokes are paid multi million dollar salaries for chasing a little ball [now in multicolours, no more just B n W].

So, anyhow, since I'm a born again, watch the game for the essence of the sport and its related sportsmanship person, I realize now that things are a tad different when the Benjamins don't come into play [pun intended]. See, when normally with my usual of a minimum of 500 buckeroos riding on a game, even when a player gets fouled or engages in gross unsportsmanlike behaviour, I kinda just brush it off. My theory then was this is what they're paid so highly for. Do whatever it takes, to get the desired result. After all, you're so well compensated for it.

These days however, since win or lose I don't lose, every single vile and uncouth action on that vast green field is greeted with incensed rage. Is this the passion of the beautiful game I have failed to indulge in all these years?

Manchester United and Chelsea drew 1-1 last night. It wasn't a blockbuster, wasn't a thriller. But it was quite obvious that Man U was to Chelsea how Blackburn Rovers are to Man U. In fact, comparing Man U's conduct to Rovers would be underestimating their lack of sportsmanship. I think Wimbledon in the Vinnie Jones era is a much apt comparison.

Here to me were the main wankers of last night's game:

Motherfucker Vidic. What the fuck were you trying to prove? You're the reason why footballers prefer studs on others' faces rather than sit down to an ice cold beer toasting their opponents' bravado.

Ronaldo the Prick. Play acting is so passe. Ashley Cole should have bitch slapped you silly and threw you into the Chelsea stands where your own "Theatre of Dreams" would have transpired. Fuckin loser. After doing it on the international stage, and getting much flak for it, what makes you think you can pull off the same shiet in the "all eyes on me" EPL?

Smart call for a substitution though. The stage was set for a mass brawl making injury time REALLY injury time.

Mazy runs and dribbles aside. Fucking his best friend's wife aside. There's no way you can hate Giggs. Especially when Scholes and Rooney decide to have a "subdued" afternoon.

Now, I gotta be fair and diss across the board. Since now I'm a fan of footy and not a "I jus plonked half my life savings on Chelski". Shevchenko, you got to go. That rhymed by the way. Would translate to a nice jingle in the stands at Stamford Bridge. Nowhere as deadly as he was in Milan, I think his Chelsea jersey will be a collector's item since he's bound to leave cos he just cannot hack it here.

All talk and no substance. Made his name in the Bundesliga. Decided to have a bust up with Klinsmann while playing for his nation. But, cannot make it on English soil. And when you know you're a useless fella and just aint contributing to the Chelsea salvo a la Drogba, just tell the coach you want out. Don't waste people's time. And of all things, just cos your contributions are not in the form of ball bulging the back of the net, don't be a super dickhead and start every quarrel afresh in the field when the main participants have already walked off after a few harsh words to each other.


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The Departed

This is way overdue but a recent discussion about this movie with sheepman made me wanna put this up now instead of letting it die a slow death in my "drafts". A remake of Infernal Affairs 1, Hollywood style. Well, Hollywood, you fucked it up. Big time! Even the likes of Scorsese couldn't save this.

What I was meant to use to watch this flick:

Thank you MTV. But, these Mon-Wed only terms and conditions were a right pain in the arse. Especially when it's highly rare I even leave my house on non-drinking days. So, BitTorrent to the rescue it is. And I finally caught this anomaly of a movie on the circuit. Verdict? IT sucked.

Why did The Departed Suck?

1. Irish versus the Police - Where in the world do you equate Irish hoods as having the same modus operandi and style as the HK triads?

2. Casting - Jack Nicholson is the wrong man for the job. The right man would have been Al Pacino or equivalent. Matt Damon cannot make it. Leo is too pretty to be wannabe gangster, emotionless prick. Martin Sheen is too old to pull off this role. His death was meant to induce poignancy but the scene was so muted it was a fucked up climax to it all. The actor who oughta have played Sheen's role should have been a middle aged bloke with much of his life left to live. If you recall, in Infernal Affairs, Sheen's counterpart had only just got his first child, a daughter.

3. Music - Music makes movies sometimes. A good sountrack is all it takes to carry a piss poor film sometimes and The Departed totally missed the point on it. HK movies are so darn dependant on music backing up important plot scenes. Hollywood unfortunately is probably just watching the bottomline and royalties to music artistes.

End of the day, don't attempt a remake even if you have big name signings if you aren't up to it.

Frank Costello: When I was your age they used to say you could become cops or criminals. What I'm saying to you is this... When your facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?

Billy Costigan: [to Frank Costello] You accuse me once, I put up with it. You accuse me twice... I quit. You pressure me to fear for my life and I will put a bullet in your head as if you were anybody else. Okay?

Ellerby: [on Sullivan getting married] Marriage is an important part of getting ahead. It lets people know you're not a homo. A married guy seems more stable. People see the ring, they think "at least somebody can stand the son of a bitch." Ladies see the ring, they know immediately that you must have some cash, and your cock must work.

For an actually intellectual deeper than skin-deep review, I defer to AVB's take on it.

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Mad World

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places Worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going no where

Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
its a very very mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen

Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson
Look right through me

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
its a very very mad world


Year End Bonus

When you're broke, you start calculating how much the next pay packet is worth. If you don't have an employer who's gonna issue the packet then you're pretty much fucked.

Channelnewsasia says: Civil Servants to get 2.2 months year end bonus

Now, the calculation.

That gives me 4 months out of the year I've worked. Multiplied by 2.2. Multiplied by my base salary. Minus 5% fine cos I've been a bad bad boy.

Works out to just under 3K nett [after all the mandatory deductions, the one to SINDA I fume about the most] for the month of December. Ho ho ho. It's gonna be a merry little Chrissy.



What I go to school for

From the annals of the diaries written in the dungeons where the whole "height issues - tiramisu" saga began.

At least this amounted to more than me bringing RT to school, introducing her as a sister and not getting believed by all the manjen chicks and mat boys.

Quarreling about smoking in non-smoking zones with one security guard, 2 professors and lovingly chided by the cleaning auntie who only speaks Teochew [and swears in all dialects] later, I am still at the same spot this morning fagging and waiting for the bus.

Some people never learn. Fine the bastards. On a totally random afternote, my house coffeeshop has gone crazy and has been rid of all its ciggie supply for the past 3 days. Either the owner is extremely pissed off about something or they are changing their suppliers. In any case, it is irritating.


Oprah Gabra

I've never been a fan of this woman. In fact, I barely saw the point of housewives and ladies with nothing on in the afternoons who religiously tuned in to catch what new social issue the big black lady was gonna bring up that day. To me, Oprah was just a woman who didn't get laid enough, for all the money she makes with Harpo, her company, a simple reversal of her name.

I've seen, druggies, ex-rapists, child abusers, abused children getting their 15 mins of fame on the show. Tears galore always. I've also seen parents getting told off for not checking the iminent demise of their errant children. It all seemed a little too condescending for me. Yes, RT worse than my own God-like condescension.

But this morning, I was floored. See, Oprah does this "Wildest Dreams Come True" segment from time to time where they select a deserving person who has their life in a rut or has an unfulfilled wild-ass dream and make them come true, most of the time at over the top levels.

The episode I caught today was about this Afro-American woman who was working her ass out at the local Starbucks, begging for more overtime [don't we all] so she could make ends meet. She had never had a day off since don't know, the beginning of time is my rough guess. Why is she having it so bad? She is a single mum. Has 3 children of her own, and get this, has also taken in her brother's 6 children! Apparently, their own parents couldn't take care of their children due to their addiction to heroin and to stop them from having to live in foster homes, she took all 6 of them in. That's 1 single mother with 1 job making lattes for a living AND concurrently raising 9 children in a 3 bedroom apartment.

Just looking at her plight got me emo. My mum thought the curry that came with the prata was laced with too much chilli.

So, Oprah waltzes in and firstly, gives the entire family a 20 minute shopping spree at Toys R Us. In 20 minutes, all 10 people managed to snatch close to $15,000 worth of toys, clothes and other merchandise off the shelves.

Next, she gets one of the corporate sponsors to provide full furnishings for her home. New living room furniture, new cutting edge kitchen and individual beds for each of the children. Currently, everyone shared beds including the mum.

This is followed by loaning her America's most wanted decorator, that handsome metro guy on her show regularly to do up her home.

But, then, how the fuck do you squeeze all these stuff they've got, and new furniture into a tiny 3 room apartment? Well, problem solved. Oprah got them a new house! It was a 1920s classic brick bungalow big enough for all ten of them.

By this time, I was getting too emo for a 24 year old man. No, I was not sitting there thinking, damn, why don't these things happen to me. Instead, I was silently applauding that this fine lady who handled soo much shit for soo many years finally got a good break. And that it comes free is of no concern to me. Everyone needs to get out of their rut sooner or later. Some attribute it to divine intervention, for some its the intervention of friends and some just put it to pure luck.

Now how did Oprah get wind of this woman's plight anyway? She really didn't seem the sort that'd go around sitting in singles bars lamenting her fortunes to anyone who'd bother to listen over a gin and juice. Her co-workers at Starbucks infact rallied together and wrote in repeatedly to highlight this woman's efforts and sacrifices hoping that Oprah can pull off something they couldn't.

Which led me to the thought of caring for a non-blood related person. A colleague, a classmate, a guy you see on the bus to work. This level of thought on wanting to better a life of another is simply, divine. Would this same concept work in Singapore? Would you actually take the effort to go write in to some rich bloke hoping that one of your fellow colleagues is lifted out of the rut of poverty? Or are we the selfish bastards many of us know we are, who would rather pester a friend to write in highlighting our OWN misfortunes, promising them a cut of the benefits if and when they do arrive?

No matter. New found respect. For some Americans and for the fat lady Oprah. Check out the rest of the Wildest Dreams bus's travels, HERE and search for the story of the lady called Bernadette. She is the one mentioned above.


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User IDs

Today we talk about trust issues. Basically, a fine NUS undergraduate [mi darlin RT] decides to spend a little quality studying time in that god forsaken land of NTU and needs to tag onto the wireless network. Now, you cannot utilize free WiFi unless you possess a userid and password ascertaining you are entitled to utilize it as a member of the school. So, diligent NUS undergrad decides to step around the authentication process by asking someone else to provide theirs to her.

She smsed 4 blokes on this matter. And this is how the replies went:

NUS Girl: Hey, can you lend me your ntu userid and password?

Bloke 1: Sorry, outside people are not allowed to use the NTU network. :)

Bloke 2: I think you have to bring your laptop to the office to get it configured to use the network first.

Me: [calls back] This is my ID, this is my password. Ok bye.

And the grand winner of them all, was Arch. He simply takes the cake for nonchalance. The epitome of it.

Arch: Who is this?

[Barely 5 seconds later]
Arch: It doesn't matter who this is. My ID is ***** and my password is *****

Do you see the great divide like I do? I think it stems from knowing that some userids and passwords are never to be leaked [Internet Banking, personal e-mail] and some are just so useless it doesn't matter if a hacker in Finland gets wind of it because there's nothing much he can do with it other than tag free wireless, register subjects for you and check pointless school e-mail. Possibly the root of it all is the more time you spend in a pasty marshland, the more you sit and hope that a wayward artillery shell would just blast the concrete buildings to bits. That fundamentally, it has nothing to do with Ingterneck Security.

Still, Arch, you the man la brudder. Big up!



1st Year

In all the drama over the past 2 weeks or so, it has conveniently evaded me that this blog is as of today, 1 yr and 11 days old. I am not gonna reminisce, just a point of information if you will. I tried my best to go read through the archives, but I got bored. I can imagine how I bore you cunts sometimes.

In other news, my brother is now an official dance group groupie. That he is a groupie of the all-female groups is definitely the lesser evil. I admit, it must have been such a foolish thought to hope and pray that this bloke at least would tread the straight path and not be exposed to the myriad of sub cultures our great race has to offer. Alas, I can only hope he has the brains to utilize my assistance when need be and not go at trouble alone if and when it does arrive.

In other other news, an interesting MSN convo of yesterday:

Brother: What are you giving me for my birthday? [it's on the 22nd btw]
Me: Nothing.
Brother: Oh, ok thanks.
Me: Welcome.
Brother: Haiz.

Yes, communication has resorted to this when in actuality a rock I flick from here can hit him square in the face with a tolerable error of +/- 0.02 mm. The bane of technology.

A recurring thought of the past few days: I'm allowed to embarass myself, but are YOU allowed to embarass me?

Have a think about that one.


Blood Stallion

Catching the story of Kublai Khan and later his son, Genghis Khan on this serial on Channel U, I realize I don't watch enough Chinese flicks these days. Yes, I went on my Infernal Affairs 1-3 marathon the other night followed by The Departed. But, it isn't close to my childhood when "Ti Pa Poh Tao" was the channel of choice after my afternoon session school.

Anyhow, television educates. Today I learnt about this breed of a horse known as a blood stallion. Apparently, normal animals sweat sweat, a blood stallion sweats blood. Extremely rare. 2 wars in ancient history have been fought over blood-sweat horses. Read more about it, HERE.

I am intrigued. I want one. Not for its rarity, but for the sake of making the figurative "blood-stained hands" a reality.

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Lie Cheat Steal

So, first RT decides to do a whole "Don't keep a cheat in your life" post, HERE. Then, she follows it up with a modernity doesn't mean promiscuity "Fuck you Ho" post, HERE.

Elsewhere, within the blogosphere, SuperNova wants to know if you coincidentally happen to meet a friend who is attractive and digs you too, do you leave your chick for this new one, HERE.

And, new friend decides to do some anti-lying, cheating bastards rant, HERE.

I really thought I'd be inspired to write some whole jing jang bullshit about why you should be faithful and not cheat and if you see the need to cheat, why not just break up first, kinda post. But to hell with it.

My mantra has always been "Wanna do? Do it big". This next lady has ma RESTECP. Which is precisely I don't see myself in this whole frivolous, cheating adrenaline rush. Lazy la. Where got time to book billboard all?


Crisis Management



Steady. Steady. Deep breath.




Ok, fuck it.



People are beginning to steal my friends. Not happy. Net you give Praba back to me! Then again, it's just Karma in action.

Quoting another female "Don't know la, one day she is my best friend the next day, she's Shanker's best friend."

Oh well. Congratulations to all who are embarking on a new career path. Hope it goes well. Don't get sacked. Call me on payday.

Also, over about a crate of Tigers I have discovered new meaning to the word "impose". Twas very enlightening and been a long long time since intellect and beer have mixed for me. Thanks for that mate.

Happy Birthday Sash. Since, you oughta NOT have flown the coop, we'll raise a glass to you tonight. Make that a nice ice cold pint of Hoegaarden thank you very much.



The Haircut

Today, I went for my once in a lifetime haircut. See, I would love to keep neat short cropped hair all the time but being the lazy bastard I am, it kinda gets impossible after a while. So, what usually occurs is me going in with lots of aspirations, hating my haircut the minute i walk out the door, having a shower and pondering all other possibilities and finally using wax or gel to make it work. But all these product-laced efforts only last two weeks, after which it always gets too long to style properly. Well, I could style it, just the laziness kicks in again.

Thus, it will eventually grow to the length I used to sport in Sec 4. Long at the back, curled up by long orange comb then, mum's hair brush now. Centre parting like how a true blue Yindian should start his foray into the hairstyling world. Memories of the cockroach feelers, flying in the wind during PE during JC times do ring a bell. I've never been into crazy hairstyles. Shavings here and highways there. Spiked up in weird places and "look at my pubes" uber-modern styles.

I like my hair salon. It's one of those franchised ones situated in a neighbourhood enclave. I go there only for this one Malaysian lady who has since found a living in Singapore. The very first time I popped in, we got into this conversation about how she used to help out in the RC [coincidentally situated under my block] and how politicking is so common there. She told me she felt left out, that most of the times, the educated elite preferred to discuss things within themselves and just use the blue collar volunteers for only the dirty work and hard labour. Also, there was some issue about the way finances are accounted for within that office, but since this kinda accusation could find me in a costlier - than - Hermes suit, I'd prefer not to tell the tale here.

We bonded because we shared the same hate for the RC chairman, both past and current. I hated the old bloke cos he used to tell my dad I was smoking under the block when he wasn't really gonna get paid for his CID work. The new bloke just pisses me off because he's into the whole "There is a no football sign here so I have the right to confiscate your rubber butterfly balls" mode. Who the fuck are you man? The police? What gives you the right to snatch away a 2 dollar rubber ball that was probably bought by 4 little primary school kiddos pitching in their saved 50 cents each from their allowance. And why don't you have the balls to go confiscate the sporting accessories of middle aged men who kick around a football in the same amphitheatre on the weekends. You big bully you!

She hated the former cos she didn't like the way his dogs snapped at her. She didn't like the current one because she felt he was a money grubbing condescending bastard. I agreed with her on both counts because when someone has many sharp objects quite near your grey matter, it's best not to disagree or invite a healthy discussion.

The second time I went in, a newbie apprentice was tasked to do my hair. I was very alarmed that she had let him do it, but she took great care to step in every 5 minutes to repair his mistakes and in the end, it was a good hair cut. So, I was still at peace.

Today is the third time I'm in and some other bitch steps up to the plate. This was very interesting because she apparently thought that the only way to communicate when an Indian was in the salon was to speak in Mandarin. After being politely reminded by my fav stylist that I understand every single word she said, she switched to Hokkien. Another heavy sigh from my stylist to indicate that I'd know what she said too. In desperation she resorted to sign language. I mean come on doofus! IT's a place full of fuckin mirrors! Whatever, wherever you sign, I can still see it within a 20 degree left-right firing range.

What really got to me was that she refused to do the back of my hair the way I wanted it. A V-Cut. Her reasoning was that, it was pointless because my hair and my skin were almost alike in colour and thus no one can see that the cut was V in shape anyway. I was like, what the fuck bitch! I pay my money, I deserve to get what I ask for, ugly looking or not. At least if it turns out ugly, you can do the "I told you so" and smirk right. Fuckin NNB.

I realized I began ranting without any focus. So, yeah, moral of the story is. When your OWN stylist is busy, always have the patience to wait for her to be free. Don't kay kiang and just go for the next alternative. Anyhow, I'm still at the "I hate my new haircut" phase. Still sitting at my laptop, still contemplating on whether to go with wax or gel, still thinking if I should just cry myself to sleep in utter depression.

Ah, fuck it, I'm going for a beer.




I was down the whole goddamn weekend with this pain in the arse tonsil issue. If you thought that middle thing all phallus shaped is the tonsil, you would be wrong. It instead signifies the two cavities either side of it, thus making it the plural tonsils.

And no, when I tell you that I have a problem with my tonsils, don't ask me if I'd need an operation. That's an appendix dickhead. Don't attempt biology if the closest you got to science was identifying a dumbcane plant in your primary school garden and then later taking a bite out of it to see if the theory was true. I wish you'd remained dumb. But yes, certain complications of tonsilitis would require an operation. This is in the event that both cavities swell till they totally block the entrance to your oesophagus and your trachea. Damn, love coming up with biology lingo. Apparently, the first man in history ever to die of a tonsil related disease was George Washington himself. I say George Bush, needs his tonsils checked.

Done with explaining my predicament. Can't eat. Can't talk without wincing. Can't smoke without getting fucked up by my mum. Can't drink although alcohol mostly solves my throat related ailments all the time. It's medicinal you know.

I finally see the doctor after the whole Singaporean "Panadol cures all" remedy phase and the American "Robitussin cures all" remedy phase. Buay tahan after 2 days. The image through my mind was that bloke who had his throat dissected on the cigarette packs. So, the doctor prescribed antibiotics, extra strong painkillers and a bunch of other useless stuff to me since I simply said I had them cos my mum needed those pills. Ah, the way Yindian families are so frugal. Now, I take my antibiotics but my eye swells. I take my painkillers but it lasts only for like half an hour when the fever decides to head back.

A brief break from all this pain came from a sachet and a half of LemSip at 5 am in the morning with me still shivering from the effects of "i'm running a 39 fever but i'm still feeling cold" syndrome. Thank you. Twas the sweetest thing in a long long time. I is lausings many many.

More coincidentally, this is exactly my pre-exam routine for the past 6 sems at least. Falling ill with a mysterious disease that can't be solved with 2 panadols, a hot coffee and a flaming stick of tobacco. It's as if it's such a joy to place more walls in front of already underachieving me. I mean, falling sick wouldn't be half as bad if my lecturer "accidentally" e-mailed the questions to me. Oh well, 7 days to go before my first one.

Saw this on someone's MSN nick recently: "I know I can cheat and get an A, but I have morals and I am not gonna stoop so low". All I thought was, what a dumb little fuck! This whole paradigm shift about morals and integrity and what really is minor and what is major is so lost on me. I've decided all youse who are 21 and under go collect my "Am I Sane Enough?" questionnaire and return it fully furnished. The alternative is the ubiquitous "Block, Delete".




Delirious yet painful. Content yet anxious. Confident yet wary. Story of the day.

Apparently, the gahmen has decided NOT to outlaw oral and anal sex between consenting heterosexual couples no more. Wow, now how long did it take them to get this done? And yes, definitely getting a mind-blowing [pun intended] oral sexcapade was never in the cards for all the 100 odd Members of Parliament. I mean what is a mouth for? To eat, to spit and to gargle with. What is an arse for? Always exito never entrio.

Still, the gay community is yet again thrust forward into the limelight. By gay, you know they are only going after the men on this one, just waiting for one of them to pull a George Michael on them at the MRT station washrooms. How do you outlaw lesbians then? Their version of sex is still sex to them. Possibly a motorized utensil rather than a throbbing flesh and blood dick. But, of course, that's not really enough to charge them with unnatural and carnal intercourse. I like this word. Carnal. What it means to say is that getting a blowjob is "relating to physical bodily contact". Quite the contrary when you compare it with carnage, which is what happens after my Sub Zero pulls a Fatality Move on your Scorpio.

This is going nowhere actually. The law must change. We have gotta accept that men who are attracted to other men and women who are attracted to other women is not so exceptional that it warrants ostracization.

Ostracization too is rife within the HIV infected community. They get soo many exemptions that it is kinda lookin fashionable to be infected with inccurabilities. And yes, for all youse sexually active blokes out there. Do yourself a favour. Go get a HIV Test done. Action for Aids runs anonymous tests for just 20 buckeroos down at Kelantan Lane. Get to their website, here. It's really not worth it, either getting infected, or passing it on or worse still not realizing till your infant ends up being born with it. Retardation drugs are presently still in laboratory testing stages but a full cure should take at least a good thirty years more. But anyhow, you should be dead by then.

Another bright, what would the world do without engineers e-mail from my professor. Yeah, like lawyers aren't scum enough.


Drunkard Memorial

There has been a lot of talk about Praba being the proverbial lost sheep seeking his unknown shepherd. Story is this. We drank. He went missing. We was quite pissed he was missing. He later was found at home. He claims he was sent home by another mystery drunk in a cab. Couldn't be either of us, couldn't have been a perfect stranger. Only the Lord knows.

The Culprit: Ugra Chandi

The BFG smirks after another successful "Drag that down or I'll give you a smothering bear hug".

The Victim: Praba

"Chandi, you mofo. Watch your back. I'm like Solksjaer. The smiling assassin."

The Memorial for a missing Prisoner of War [POW]:
Tea Candle on half pint of Hoegaarden

Instead of dwelling on the symbolism of it all, we promptly finished the beer after the wax burned out. Beer unlike food should NOT be wasted. Think about all beer-less poverty in the rest of the world.

After the pictures, you oughta check out the aftermath both on his and RT's pages, HERE.




Well, in light of the previous post. The debonairs of AVB just decided to run out and grab a pic of One Tree Hill. Let it be known that the 5 bucks will be donated to purchase half of the next AVB fag pack.

Talking about debonairs, check this one out. Pure YINDIAN porn.

Aint God ironic though.
Drink - Horny - All clothes off.
Drink - Horny - Can't get it up.

Question? How should these be ranked, in terms of ascending order?

1. Hugging
2. Kissing
3. Petting
4. Hand Jobs
5. Blow Jobs
6. Sex
7. Anal

See, I was always under the impression that 5 comes before 6. But in recent times, this whole "but using ur mouth is much more personal so it ranks later" counter argument seems to be plaguing my already pint-sized brain. Any helps?

Finally, spotted on Yahoo! Singapore:

So, when you are done attacking your stalker with your dual core processor, at least you have the body bag to properly dispose of the evidence.


One Tree Hill

Location. Location. Location.

A: So, where do you live?
B: Serangoon.
A: Like the Road?
B: No... like the North.

A: So, where do you live?
B: Sixth Avenue. And you?
A: I'm putting up at the Tenth Avenue.
B: Is that close to me?
A: I doubt so, it's in Ang Mo Kio.

Pre has long lamented that no one believes she used to stay in One Tree Hill. Before, you assume she's just being delirious or you haven't really ventured beyond the Orchard MRT bit of Orchard Boulevard, let me set you straight. There IS a One Tree Hill in Singapore. 5 bucks for anyone who goes out there and takes a picture of the signboard for me.

Houses at One Tree Hill could cost anywhere between $500 000 to from $6 000 000. For example, a freehold HDB resale apartment at One Tree Hill costs $1 150 000. Strangely, the private properties located at Orchard Centrepoint (nearby One Tree Hill) cost much cheaper, from anywhere between $500 000 to $2 500 000.


Snake Love

Bet you wouldn't have seen these before. Even if you have, bet you didn't know that in ancient Indian folklore, it is extremely bad luck to witness two snakes getting down with the dirty dirty.

Apparently, if any one of the snakes spot you, they will come at you with all the vengeance in the world and won't rest till you die. Even if one of them is accidentally stoned or eaten by the redemption eagle, the other won't forget the slight.

So, try not to have a meet and greet with these two anytime soon.


Late Addition: Chandi with his video input.



Rag Tag.
Drink. Smoke. Feed.
Apron String.
Lost Lighter.



Flip Mode

Pour my life into a paper cup
The ashtray's full and I'm spillin' my guts
She wants to know am I still a slut
I've got to take it on the other side

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