Archive for May, 2009

Is it elitist of me to hate stupid people with a passion?
Does it make me a ruthless bastard?
I think it might be so.
It’s no fault of their own, I suppose, that they were born with a certain mental capacity.
And at first their stupidity’s dismissed with a laugh or a piteous glance, but after a while, I kind of want to smack them in the face with a glove.

First, there’s the harmless stupid people.
‘lolol ur hair is so pretty!111 i lyk teh smell of nail polish kk’
This type are akin to the sweet, sad patients at the Autistic Home for Kids.
I can pat them on the head and walk away, but I don’t think I’d be able to resist the urge to lock them in a cardboard box if they followed me around and insisted I partake in their bumping-head-on-concrete-wall activities.

Then there’s the stupid people who think they’re Aristotle.
‘I r so smart dat lol i cnt even finis dis sentenz!11’
People who always have that I-think-I’m-being-enlightened-by-a-great-epiphany-but-I’m-actually-contemplating-the-marvel-of-smartie-production look on their faces, and ask you in all philosophical seriousness if you think smarties were made in a river made of chocolate or a lake made of chocolate.
If I don’t grit my teeth and run away now, a kick in this person’s shin will be inevitable.

Finally there’s the most revolting class of stupid people.
The ultimate combo: stupid, oblivious to it, and consequently mentally unhinged.
Grasp of reality is totally flimsy, usually associated with people in isolation because normal people can’t stand them, develop split personalities, and often fall into the category of Retard.
I’m very sympathetic towards them. For the first 5 minutes.

Prime example, I’d have to say, is our neighborhood stalker, Neanderthal Booruwa.
The patient thinks I’m anonymous, when all my friends, including a bunch of bloggers, know who I am.
Then spews an enormous pile of shit, info which is easily accessible if one is jobless enough to google the email address on my profile page.
Threatens to tell my mommy (LOL) and for some reason tells me he knows my uncle. (o_O)

Then pretends that he has accomplished rocket science and that his dream of being recruited by the CIA is finally going to come true.

Mister, I almost sighed in sympathy imagining you crying yourself to sleep now that you know your dream must die, but then I realized your brain’s too deficient to accept reality, and I felt like throwing a bunch of medication pills at you instead.

You wanna bring my family into this?
Put my home address on the net?
Maybe throw in a couple of pictures later?
Talk big to make up for smaller things?
Sit outside my house in the bushes?!

Be my guest, man.
Because, newsflash: I. don’t. care.

Nobody does.

Sigh. First, a desperate plea for attention by pretending to close down your blog, now you’re still running around with the deluded notion that your lame ‘outing’ attempts make any difference.

Now this might come as a shock to you, but…
You’re not an MI6 spy. It’s all in your head.
I know how often you’ve probably made-believe that your amazing typing-stuff-into-Search-Engines skills will get you somewhere, ANYwhere… but well, they won’t.

You remind me of a sad abandoned little boy, yelling in the streets for someone to notice him, but alas, he just ends up getting shooed away with a stick back into the lonely drain he crawled out of.

Thanks for the laugh.
Albeit, we’re laughing at you, not with.

Tag! You’re it!

Posted: May 29, 2009 in Uncategorized

Twiddling my thumbs, I look around. Aunties with straight, bored faces looking back at me. They, too, are twiddling in the same manner.

I proceed to grab the tissue under the wattalapam-dish and fold it into different shapes, first a ship, then a square, then a potato. Which sort of resembles a crushed ball of tissue really.

Yes, I’m at yet another standard Muslim Wedding.

She walks toward my table in her bright red gaagra-choli, her eyes widening with recognition..

Me: HAAAI! *wave*
She: How are you man? Been ages? Remember me no?
Me: Of cooourse I remember yooou! How, how?
She: Not bad so.. studies are hectic-
Me: Oh yeah! You still studying hard?
She: *giggle* Yes yes. So how is mum and dad? And the cats?
Me: They’re wunnerful! How’s your family doing?
She: Just the usual aney. You still sketching stuff?
Me: Yep, still at it. So how do you know the bride?
She: The groom’s my cousin actually!
Me: Oooh small world no!

etc. etc. for the next hour.

She: K then, catch you later OK! *big hug*
Me: K! BAI! *wave*

The aunty in front of me smiles widely as she trots off.
Aunty: You kids remind me of me and my sisters when we were young! Who was she?
Me: Uh..
Aunty: Cousin of yours? School mate?
Me: Actually..
Aunty: Ah?
Me: ..I have no idea.

I propose that everyone starts walking around with name tags on their shirts, to avoid such utterly awkward situations, from which without certain skill you can end up being unfairly labelled as a jerk who forgets people’s names!

Name tags aside, I’ve been tagged by that bloke Wijitha and my homie PseudoRandom to say in 5 words how I feel about recent events in Sri Lanka.
First I’d like to say that Blacker’s tag-5 were just amazing! I wish I had pictures, because they say so much more than a mere 5 words.

1. Relieved – that the mindless bombs-blowing-brains-out is over.
2. Unsure – there are many still saying the psychological war is far from over.
3. Afraid – that they may be right, judging from the fact that the displaced are still suffering.
4. Selfish/Apathetic – I’m not doing much of anything to contribute to anything right now, and am indifferent for the most part.
5. Hopeful – that the country might have a chance at straightening itself out.

I taaag Dee, Azrael, Whacko, GadgetGirl and Sachintha. GOGOGO!

warning: Following post may cause severe lack of appetite and/or regurgitation of meals.
If the picture hasn’t already done that, that is.

I pinch my nose and my eyes roll back in their sockets in disgust, as I look at the dish of cow intestines on the dining table.

Lousy maid prolly hasn’t cleaned it properly!
Because it smells particularly characteristic tonight, if ya get my drift.

Or maybe this cow was one of those bastards who were kinda flexible with the standard grass-diet.
You know, the one strolling casually in the middle of Galle Road, pretending to be oblivious to the traffic it’s causing, occasionally stopping for a quick random-crap-on-roadside meal.

This does not, however, stop other inhabitants of the house from eating this dish of baabath curry, a dish that Asian freaks are known to actually call a delicacy.

I finish my meal and go to my room, and find some of it almost rising back up my throat when the mind wanders back to the cow intestines.

Intestines. The latter part of the digestive system. Where, you know, the digested material gets its.. uh… shitty texture.
Gross when I put it like that no?

I mean, yeah we’re eating cows and birds, which is pretty gross in itself when you think about it, but this awareness can be easily pushed aside.
Chicken and beef curry, after all, look and smell good for the most part, and don’t (literally) smell like shit before you clean and cook them.

But intestines? Long slimy looking tubes, blubbery and lank, once having held and transported matters of digestive expulsion, now sitting on your table.

I can’t eat your intestines, cow.
You’re yummy and all but I watched Discovery Channel and I saw how they ‘clean’ your end-tubes and it’s not pretty.
You’re kinda big which leaves me a lot of you to fry or cook, so spare me your offensive cringe-inducing temporary-cowdung-storage intestines.

Presenting… Mr ChubChubs!

Posted: May 27, 2009 in Uncategorized

So I was minding my own business in the garden, you know, sending brainwaves to the mothership and all that, and who should come skidaddling into my path!

A tiny squirrel!

He looks up at me in that questioning whatchu-lookin-at-biatch kinda way and-

squirrels don’t look at you like that? 😛

-and I’m all, WHATCHU-lookin-at-biatch back at him.
I mean, can’t a girl just chill in her own garden without being judged by a furry forest animal?
Just because there are trees and stuff here doesn’t mean this is your territory, little squirrel.
This grass was made with the sweat and tears of hard working city people. Well, more fertilizer than the sweat and tears, but still.

I could see by this time that he wasn’t even listening to what I was saying.
Because his beady eyes were darting around in that squirrely ADHD-ey manner.
But then again, perhaps he was just pretending, to make me stop talking.

Anyway, long story short, the squirrel and I chilled on the grass in the afternoon sun with a coupla sodas, talked philosophy and all that jazz.
His name is Mr ChubChubs.
Here’s his mini-cover of Vertical Horizon’s Best I Ever Had. Personally I think it pwns Gehan’s version, no offence or anything, G-man.

[ChubChubs audio clips have been removed temporarily]

I know what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking, pfff she’s just recorded her own voice and squirrelized it using modern technology!!111

WELL let me tell you something, bub.
You can’t just go around making flippant allegations like that!
Mr ChubChubs is very insulted by your jumping to baseless conclusions.
WHAT, just because he’s a small fidgety animal, you assume he can’t sing?! That’s madness. Madness and blasphemy.

Also, guys, VOTE NAO:

Issue #1
A. I want more of Mr ChubChubs! And I might even have a SONG REQUEST.
B. Mr ChubChubs hurts my ears. Tell him to STFU or I’ll break his legs.

Issue #2
A. I don’t mind your playlist automatically switching on when I visit your blog. I might even like it.
B. Your playlist hurts my ears. Tell it to STFU or I’ll break your legs.

Thank you and goodnight!


Posted: May 26, 2009 in Uncategorized

Black’s sketches made me want to try my hand on a bit of cartoon sketching as well.

You know what I HATE about drawing people though?
Their fingers and toes. -_-
They almost always end up looking like this:

So I usually hide them behind a basket or a mysterious wad of grass. 😛

I tend to stick to real life portraits but cartoons are way more fun!
Pardon the sloppy shading:

Katara, Aang and Sokka from Avatar The Last Airbender
Kamiya from Samurai X

Misao from Samurai X

Chun Li of Street Fighters


Recca from Flame of Recca

Samurai X

When Rhymes Go Wonky

Posted: May 24, 2009 in Uncategorized

When we were kids, we had our own set of game-rhymes.
Some were just sung with enthusiastic clap-clap’s to keep the beat, and others were used to ‘count’ the players in run-and-catchers and conclude with who the catcher would be.

Now that I think back though, the rhymes made as much sense as.. two blogger birdies unveiling the identity of their friend, padashow, without me even asking. 😉

Possibly because we messed up the actual words?
Or we were just that… random.

So here are the ones I remember well, and my latest very serious attempts at interpreting the obvious secret propaganda behind the seemingly ‘nonsensical’ stanzas.

Down by the banks of the hanky panky
With a fee fi fo fum bank to bank to

With a fee fi fo fum

Who let the little one


Hanky panky? Little one? Kerplunk? Obviously some perverse connotations to this sinister rhyme, those of which I will not even attempt to analyze for fear of what I will discover.

Hamadhuru dhuru dhuru

Theynga thiru thiru thiru
(scrape the coconut, scrape scrape)
Paal puli puli puli
(filter out the milk, filter, filter)
Rotti shudu shudu shudu
(cook the rotti, cook, cook)
Pichchi kudu kudu kudu
(break it and give, give, give)
Taka tika tuka

(LMAO at that attempt at a translation. o_O)

A sly racial slur, clearly.



Big boys!

Racing girls!

Aamina, supersena, big boys, racing girls


Srsly, wtf?

Inky pinky polly
Father had a dolly

Dolly died, father cried

Inky pinky polly

Naturally a disturbing narration in relation to that freaky guy obsessed with collecting Barbie dolls.

10, 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago
Did you see mama playing marbles on the floor


(if yes) Y-E-S, yes.
(if no) N-O, no.

Some sort of interrogation method used by the Russians back during the Cold war.
‘Mama’ is obviously code for THAT SPY YOU WORK FOR, and ‘ playing marbles on the floor’ possibly implies the dastardly spy allegedly dropping bombs on unsuspecting civilians.

In pin safety pin
In pin out

Out goes the safety pin

In pin out