40 years of the RSAF

You gotta give it to the gahmen boys. They know the right agencies to place their millions with to come up with one of the best ad campaigns I've seen ever. The military has an advantage over other products when advertising their greatness. This is because when you fall back on ideals and values like courage, patriotism, loyalty and basically an arsenal full of firepower to shoot the hell outa your enemies of the state, you touch something inside the casual viewer. Tug at the heart strings if you will. You conjure up this illusion that that viewer owes a great deal of faith and gratitude to the men and women in uniform and also quite subtly place the viewer in a state of mind where he can imagine himself as the said soldier.

All in a day's work.

Google if you need more. I'm just very impressed. By the artwork, by the ad itself and the minds it took to figure out that give "air" some "force" and it becomes "wind". Brilliant. Actual TV commercial is on YouTube. Shot entirely in Melbourne. It features solid ass CGI and scenery. Each frame of it went through 3 hours of post production. Or so the ad agency reports.

However, for some critique, how come there is no ad specifically for our vocation, where labour is sorely needed. I see WSO(FTR), AOSS, Senior Tech up there. I'm sure a pilot one is forthcoming sooner or later. I mean whether you got enough pilots or not, you still have to come up with a cool ass poster for them. Like, duh? Still, is this major recruitment exercise only for these 3 groups of workers? If so, reality check, kthx.

Submitted for your comments, please.

Your obedient soldier.
Feng of Feng Yun.


For The Harley Man

Proudly sponsored by a Harley enthusiast, the story of inventor meets God.

The inventor of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle, Arthur Davidson , died and went to heaven.
At the gates, St. Peter told Arthur. 'Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world, your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want to in heaven.'
Arthur thought about it for a minute and then said, ' I want to hang out with God.'

St. Peter took Arthur to the Throne Room, and introduced him to God. God recognized Arthur and commented, 'Okay, so you were the one who invented the Harley-Davidson motorcycle? ' Arthur said, 'Yeah, that's me...' God commented: 'Well, what's the big deal in inventing something that's pretty unstable, makes noise and pollution and can't run without a road?'

Arthur was a bit embarrassed, but finally spoke, 'Excuse me, but aren't you the inventor of woman?'
God said, 'Ah, yes.'

'Well,' said Arthur, 'professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your invention !

1. There's too much inconsistency in the front-end suspension
2. It chatters constantly at high speeds
3. Most rear ends are too soft and wobble about too much
4. The intake is placed way too close to the exhaust
5. The maintenance costs are outrageous

'Hmmmmm, you may have some good points there,' replied God, 'hold on.'
God went to his Celestial supercomputer, typed in a few words and waited for the results..
The computer printed out a slip of paper and God read it.

'Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed,' God said to Arthur, 'but according to these numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours'.



Brave Inheritance

Twas at Tanjong Pagar in a musty pub where we were the kings and we were the minions that I realized there were actually unspoken unwritten ethos some of us live by. For me, it was one of those defining moments.

After a round of "Johnny Drama" drowning Chivas shots like he was going through reverse osmosis, the 21 game drew to a silent close [what none of you realized was that I never lost a single round on that game]. You know how it is, random shuffling of the deck but no one is inclined to play cos the next person who gets a shot is gonna hurl it across the room together with the evening's laksa.

I just dealt Sinjon a hand and myself another. Both cards were open. Just for fuck's sake. But the forfeit in this case was not a shot of liquor but rather a very diluted mixed solution. Fair and square.

His cards:

And mine:

Quite fucked up cards to get if you ask me especially if the aim is to play to 21 and not go bust. But however, it was a game where the forfeit didn't matter. I mean no one was really going to LOSE by swigging a mouthful of diluted alcohol+mixer.

So, I ask him: "Want another one?"
He goes: "No."
I say: "Come on..there's only 2 of us"
He still goes: "I'm fine"

So, I draw. And I get a "2". And I win it.

Why would you not take a chance when the stakes are so low? Why would you be cautious when you don't lose a thing? Is there a need to stick by a fail-safe system just because this is the way you operate? I don't answer for my buddy but just a thought that it all stemmed from there.

Only the brave will inherit the world.

The unspoken ethos.

I kinda like it though. Rolls of the tongue well.

Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.
Matthew 5:5

I am so not cut out to be a Christian or any other denomination of that faith.

Bon Soir.


Wall E

I wanna catch Wall E when it opens here. Reason being, it's a damn robot. Animating already living things are like just taking your photograph and cartoonizing it using PhotoShop. Example: Ice Age. But, animate non-living things and you can just go wild. That's cos there are no limits are there. You aren't limited by existing stereotypes like a tiger should be striped orange and black and the wrinkles on an elephant's butt should be angularly concentric around the anus. Example: Toy Story.

Which is why I guess I dig robot cartoons. Futurama and Transformers anyone?

Basically, the Wall-E [Wally] story goes something like this. He (It) is a garbage collecting robot. He falls in love with Eve, a recon robot sent to see if Earth [by now decimated by the tons of rubbish that covers it knee deep] is still sustainable for human live. He finds a living plant, shows it to her, she hibernates. Fella blur la now, like "why you being so cold bitch?". But like all good love stories, he protects her from the elements in the hope that one day she will "fucking wake up her idea".

One day, a space ship comes to get her. Inside there are the last living remnants of mankind. Partying like it's still 1969 and Beyonce and Britney weren't born yet la these mofos. So, Wall-E hitches a ride when they scoop up Eve cos of the true love that endures in that kinda metallic bonding. They don't call it a sea of electrons for nothing.

In the end, the on board computer cock up. So, those people who could return to earth are prevented from doing so due to one of many Windows XP cock ups [expected]. Then got a big time mutiny la. Wall-E macam Achilles of the Trojan war all with some lil metallic minions following suit. If they had a 14 footer lorry kitted with "mee siam" frills and bull's horns on the bonnet they would have.

Regardless, it's a good flick. I like. I gonna watch.

Bye bye.

Right your Wrongs

I'm trying to right my wrongs,
But it's funny how these same wrongs
Helped me come along so long.


Carrying Balls

I met a 50 year old guy recently. Funny thing was he looked just 5 years older than me, making him sweet 16 I suppose. He was the type of guy who could run an entire night by just talking without stopping. And he wasn't one of those you were gonna shove a Corona's bottle down the throat to shut him up either.

[Talking about jobs and occupations]

He: Me? I'm unemployed. Looking for a job la. But for my education I can only carry things. Even be a waiter also sad. Always need to carry the tray and plates and all. Need to carry the customers' balls all. I how la to carry balls? I already got problem carrying my own 2 balls that's why I wear underwear to help me. I how la to carry other fellas' balls all? Tell me.

I only recovered a full ten minutes later. Then I took an extra ten to wipe off the beer that had snorted through my nostrils and dripped onto my own crotch. Thereby reminding me of what had transpired and I went into a ten minute relapse again.

Buenos Noches.


When you're directing a cabbie [no pun intended, you], what do you say to him when you want to indicate a turn at a junction?

Something to the tune of:

"Turn right and go straight"

OR [if you was me. you can't be, but trying is all the rage I hear]

"Turn left uncle and go up all the way to XXXX"

Just wondering why and what the roots were to me constantly linking the direction "left" with "up" and "right" with "down". Not to mention that I've met cabbies who instinctively link it the reverse way. I.e. Right goes with up and Left goes with down.

OK. Right-Side-Up.

A 3rd group of people I've met or noticed rather, in fact link it purely geographically. That is, when they give directions, they already have a bird's eye view of the map of the location in question and then say "up" or "down" according to cardinal directions. That would be North-South to those of youse who still think Cardinal has something to do with the Pope.

A typical conversation with me and a member of the 3rd group on an often traversed trip from Ang Mo Kio to Paya Lebar:

Me: Ok, junction turn right and go down all the way.
Cabbie: Ok, turn right and up all the way.
Me: Huh? Down la.
Cabbie: Paya Lebar is "up" what.

Which is when it hits me that to him, AMK to Paya Lebar is actually an overall North Easterly trip. Whereas, to me, left is up and right is down. This has to go into the X-Files. There might be a sinister military application to these perspectives too. Have a think about it.

Although I don't quite condone this phrase: "Go straight all the way". A lot of lampposts and permanent fixtures would be in your way. Do turn the steering slightly left and right to suit the curvature of the road.

Random dark (dick) humour:



Snippets from the 31st

My bedside is a mess. Ok, I just woke but it will still be a mess when I'm out of the house later at 11 and since I don't sleep on my own bed 4 times a week [no, this is not sexual innuendo dammit], the mess begets a mess.

Before I start, you is may spread the word now. That I truly am back. Spinning words from the loom, rhyming with the old a-a-b-b and basically abusing my keyboard all over again. The mouse is such a lazy tool. And oh, anyone who doesn't know what alt+tab or win key+d do can seriously stop talking to me. You are the cursed children of the technological age. The ones who just consume and never think about where it all comes from.

So, I see this mess of papers. The Straits Times of course, I can't really afford to keep the AWSJ, BT, NYT or any other high level publication of linguistic perfection on subscription. Hell, even keeping my SIM card on subscription is like scaling K2. Again, for ease of convenience, I have placed Wikipedia, dictionary.com and thesaurus.com on the right sidebar. As a matter of fact, running some of my pages through an automated program have actually revealed that I write at a level much much lower than most editions of the Tintin series. And we all know he had a very cute dog. Bet you don't know the name. This also means I am not one who is highly likely to get to the million dollar question in "Are you smarter than a 5th grader". What I could win is "Moment of Truth" because I never lie, just like that.

Some people do political commentary, some do entertainment commentary and some just review what they like to review and then try to make a big joke outa it. I just read the papers and tell you what my warped mind read between the lines. Because it's the least I owe myself after the 81 hours i slave away.

ST, July 31, Page 6


The doctor who examined the piss ant accusing Anwar Bum-war of sodomy was apparently NOT qualified to do so. I would understand why this would be a big problem. I mean, if I was pissing through my anus because my carrot cake uncle figured snot was a good addition to the massive tons of lard he already pours in, I couldn't possibly get a fair assessment from my GP. I should visit a proctologist.

And my proctologist [man skilled in the art of examining your anus and all the way up to the start of your rectum, more useful for the detection of cancer though] would have peered up my nether region and said, "Hmmm.. you do not look like you've been sodomized. I think you have diarrhoea relating to food poisoning. Here are some apples so the worms come out to feed. Have 2 a day and call me when you're close to death."

My proctologist would have used a proctoscope to possibly do an anoscopy in the case of the famous-by-posterior Saiful Azlan. And he would have peered and sniffed and poked his KY-ed finger in and decided: 'P/R (Per rectal examination): No active bleeding, no ulcer or pus seen, no injury shown, no tear seen.' Which is exactly what the attending doctor, Dr Mohamed Osman did.

So, now you know. What you see and what you can sign off for or endorse are not one and the same. The next time you need to check on a sodomy [if you end up being the Chief of Police or Home Minister one day], be sure also to see if the interior sphincter is broken or badly abused. A sure sign of forced sodomy.

ST, July 31, Page H3


On this piece of splendid journalism [ok, I was clearly at a loss of what to do when the commercials came on in the middle of Dirty Sexy Money], only 1 key paragraph really jumped at me. Although, somehow reading the piece again indicated that actually it probably was placed there as a last resort cos the flow didn't seem to gel.

He (Low) also said he was disappointed with the way the Government had moved to tear down nine blocks of flats in Hougang. He stressed he was not against development but was dismayed the residents would be moving to different parts of the island.
Are you even reading what I'm seeing here? Regardless that it is taken out of context? A blatant removal of a dissident population is what it is. Moved to regions where the supportive majority overpowers their vote and voice and may (not) over time subtly influence their sub conscience to root for the incumbents.

So, we [speaking in the first person here] tried and tried to move the vote. To conquer the land where political rallies are held more in Teochew and Hokkien than in English or any other national language. We couldn't. So now we just shift them out. Simple ain't it. I wonder which Harvard born and bred magna cum laude graduate thought this one up. He thoroughly deserves his Performance Bonus. Hoo-Hah!

Is it also a wonder that these 9 blocks ensconce a wet market place that is the focal point for all WP walkabouts, like minded residents and basic communal 'gotong royong' spirit?

ST, July 31, Page H8-9


This one was one of those razzmatazz notices you simply flip fast through unless it really concerns your physical well being. Most of the time the notices we flip off are those announcing apologies, shareholders' issues and basic government bureaucratic processess.

Well it would be something really non significant if it wasn't the start of the Chinese 7th Month that week. The hungry ghouls, the getai [yeah baby!], the auctions, the ashes, the big burn ups, the non participants with their marshmallows on satay sticks at the big bonfires. You know the deal.

So here you go, 2000 odd graves being exhumed, some to be properly incinerated and ashes kept in urns [if anyone claims them after this advertisement] and the unclaimed ones will be kept by LTA for 3 years till they are washed out at sea [how kind]. My fear was this: Weren't we all raised since young, from the Boogie Man under your beds [for those whose parents went to Harvard] and "Karang Guni gonna catch you!"[for those whose parents went to a government primary school learning English and Malay and apparently anti-rag-and-bone-men] and of course the bigoted "Bang-Kar-Li gonna take you go!" [for those whose parents could only muster 3 syllables]; that NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND DISTURBS A GRAVE! NOT DURING THE 7TH MONTH ESPECIALLY!

Am I the only one who watched all those old school chinese ghost flicks, where the dude who disturbs the grave of a spirit who ALREADY is pre disposed to roaming the plains, dies a horrible death? And now, we're releasing 2000 over spirits to go out, feast, drink, gamble, partake in some old school opera and then come back to find they got no place to rest their head? Disaster in the making. I'd be mighty pissed if I came home after a drunken soirée and my mum had donated my bed to a nomadic cousin.

I'm just hoping all those incense and hell money I have slaved over the fire for year by year is gonna help out when someone [the 'thing' was once a person] walks up to me and goes "Boo". I think I shall say "Tweese!" and see what comes out of it all. Whoever said ghosts didn't have a sense of humour?



Someone Knows

What if you're made to answer for another's incompetency?

You say: "There are only two possible explanations: either no one told me, or no one knows"

Classes struggle, some classes triumph, others are eliminated. Such is history; such is the history of civilization for thousands of years. - Chairman Mao

Time and Space

It pisses me off really when I tell people where I work and I get "Wah, good good. Iron rice bowl. You should stay there all the way. I wish I worked there". Well seriously, do you even believe your own bullshit?

This is not the 1980s no more. I should know better don't you think, I was born during the 80s. Back then, policemen wore shorts. Not because, there was lack of finance to sew the rest of their pants on but because they didn't really have to worry about hairless legs, upskirt(pants) camera potshots, Aedes and Chikungunya and all other factors that ensure men generally DO wear their pants long. This is unless you are from an all boys' school and wearing your short shorts like berms is in fact the encouraged practice all the way to the day you graduate.

I've been doing alternate day duties for the past 2 months and this is gonna last till the end of this month. I've put off a long deserved 1 week of leave [the take 5 days and get 9 days off in typical 'me' fashion] because of someone else's lack of competency.

A typical weekday shift runs from 1 pm to 8 am [19 hours] the next morning where I get to leave on my needed day off. Getting to leave and pushing off on inertia to actually leave are 2 different things. I'm lucky if I actually feel like leaving before 11. The abundance of "homework" [why I quit school for] has all to do with my inertia. [on a tangent: hameniiiiiiiii inertia in a day?] A weekend shift runs from 8 am to 8 am [24 hours].

So, if I do the 1,3,5,7 routine. I work 19 x 3 + 24 = 81 hours that week.
the 2,4,6 routine lands me 19 x 2 + 24 = 62 hours. Sounds 20 hours less but the shitty part about doing a Saturday duty is that essentially your Friday nights and Sat nights are fucked. And when you get home on a Sunday, all there is to do is sleep in and wait for the entire cycle to kick in come Monday.

I vaguely remember that the entire civil service was gearing towards a "more family time", "no more Saturdays" work week. In fact, I found the particular directive in paper recently. So clear. In bold text and Times New Roman font no less. 45 hour work week spread over 5 working days.

Now I may not have aced my integration or calculus for that matter, but I'd think simple logic and mental sums would indicate that I shouldn't be undergoing this shit for the same fuck all pay. Add to that, the manipulation of this same system into these simple words, "1 day work, 1 day off". Ah, sounds like such a thrill to be in this shift doesn't it? At the end of the day, this is what people use to either brush it under the carpet, convince themselves or convince their pathetic social life that all is good cos I'm "1 day work, 1 day off".

I'm a simple guy with simple pleasures. Pay me more or I'm fucking off. And I seriously couldn't give an emotional fuck about the tatters that will remain once 1 able bodied soul leaves the fray. Simply put, I am not paid to think of all this. More professionally, this consideration and the decision that follows is not within my pay grade, please refer to my superior officer.




That which hurts you makes me stronger.
That which does not destroy me makes me stronger.


Chief Marine Scientist Expounds

I have to humbly apologize to the millions and millions of... well of germs, bacterium and virii who actually do keep tab on this page [big up to you dudes who actually survive on the algae caked screen of my laptop].

I must admit, I've been a bad father. There has been no love from me. I just upped and left like it was my god given right to. But then I always have something(one) to blame. Nothing's my fault. Ever. Really. Don't believe ask me.

I've been very preoccupied with this strange phenomenon they call work. It's not like I haven't been afflicted by this particular disease before. I've rode this bandwagon since 13. But never have I put in 81 solid hours and more [inadvertent overtime due to pure inertia] at an organization which professes a 42 or 45 hour work week massing over just 5 days. The common fool will exclaim "shiok what! 1 day work. 1 day off!". Yes, it is actually, if I actually left for home in time. There seem to be a lot of other distractions these days. The homework if you will.

This homework syndrome is so prevalent in this nation. Have you ever grown an ant nest for a science project or just saw an ant nest and decided not to smash it cos it was cool to see them scurry for safety [very un-Zen and un-Buddhist of me]? People actually grow ant nests in glass tanks so you can see how the ants cut cool tunnels and storage chambers for the food they beg off tables at their local S-11. Every few days, ant colony keepers [their choice of pet smacks of parental abuse and a troubled childhood] will shake the box its in to make the tunnels cave in. This is to prevent the ants from escaping as they are constantly rebuilding something or the other. Hark! Is this like how, LTA, PUB, M1, Starhub and Singapore Power dig the same stretch of road one after the other. I dig, I repair. You dig, you repair. And "this is the song that never ends".

I poured a jug of water on an ant nest once. Sand turns to mud. Tunnels become torrents of sludge. The ants are simply smothered. For a scientific perspective on why the ants below the surface can't escape, see: Pressure, Bernoulli's Principle, Viscosity, Animal Genocide.

This homework I alluded to earlier is simply this: Asphyxiation. See, you can be trained in a specialization. You can be damn fucking great at it. And the only thing you ever wish for is to go in day after day to do exactly what you're fucking good at. Your specialty. And then the homework piles up in bureaucratic tandem. How quaint. That people actually think there's a real need to write down what you need to do and then go do it and go write down some stuff summore on how you could have done it better and then send this stuff to another dude who writes his stuff and consolidates it and sends it to one dude who apparently has to approve all this [of course he too writes more stuff].

Some dudes actually love homework [cos they suck in their real jobs listed on their employment contracts]. I think it's cos gagging on a 7 inch boner is just the way they like it. These people can be stereotyped as 25 yr olds who plaster their entire workspace wall with teddy bear wallpaper.

Then again, I'm just bitching. You know me. I bitch a lot. Even if I love you, I'd bitch about you. It keeps me sane. Release. Emancipation. You don't hold on to shit much after you bitch. It dissipates. Dissolves into the atmosphere where it rises and one day clumps together and becomes space trash that's gonna crash the next expedition to Mars. I burn tobacco up in the kilos every day. I hope it increases my carbon footprint. My folks always hoped I'd make a big mark on this place before I get jailed for a major white collar crime.

Apart from sending out many many mass e-mails [some of my smarter colleagues have learnt how to use "rules" to divert all my mail to their spam folder] regarding the status updates of the existing Fish Tank Club [FTC] projects, I am proud to announce that the vehicle I utilize to heal me psychologically has evolved into the pride of the nation. 17 rainbow tetras, 1 albino cory, 5 discus, 1 Sri Lankan guppy, assorted planted greeny stuffs and the dreams, aspirations and souls of the dearly departed 14 guppies we managed to kill in over a few hours on a cold July night.

All photos HERE.

Your Chief Marine Scientist


Pregnant Pause

I was lying there just musing, when she went "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Have you ever heard this line? It drives people nuts. You don't know what to expect. The mind races. Faster than a speeding bullet, punching through walls like Colossus [make that Sabretooth if you are inherently belligerent and rude], flaying common sense like the Sikh guy who canes bare asses in Changi.

What the hell was I waiting for? I could think of a million things. Of course, I could, it's what I do every day. A 1 and 7 zeros. Spinneroonie. Yet, apologies to Def Leppard but since I prefer to be "2 steps in front", it all got shortlisted to just a few probable outcomes.

1. I feel what we're doing is wrong. [I agree, that's whats so right about it]

2. I can't do this. I still love him. [hmmm, if I put him on my Christmas card list would it make this any better?]

3. Forgive me Father for I have sinned - cue: kneeling on the kitchen floor and hands clasped together. [Spare me the Adam/Eve lecture, though I personally thought Eve's Let Me Blow Your Mind was quite addictive. Really!]

I think I think too much.

Cos then she came back...

With hot water in her mouth.

Bali Buddha

It's the 7th month. Don't do hungry ghosts. Do inspirational Buddhas instead. Fine craftmanship hailing from Bali.

Touch, feel, rotate, smell then cash and carry. Hosted at showroom in Ubi.

A sample few:

Full range at walk in showroom. Again, ma name puts you on the privilege pricing list.

Click HERE for the usual re-route.