Archive for August, 2009

Jerk? was fun, where almost all the bloggers I know made it.
Pool at Queens and Star Trek after was more fun.

At pool, I potted a ball in, despite my utter noobyness. And the team I was on won.
COINCIDENCE? I think not, my friends. 😀

I like Spok better than Kirk, contrary to most of the female species ga-ga-ing over Chris Pine.

Expecting St Fallen to look all emoboy as according to his infamous repertoire, I was shocked to say the least to find a yayhappygopherboy instead.

The movie kicked ass, special-effects-wise and AWEsome-fight-scenes-wise, but srsly, the ending was too happy for my taste.
Someone important should have died.
At the very least, the girl.

Also, I kept wondering (out loud, mind) why the men-with-tattoo-faces from the future, with superior technology, used bare-hand-strangulation/sword/batton-stick-things – to attack Kirk and his homies, like total noobs.
If sadism was what they wanted, they could have just implanted brain-eating bugs into their brains, or electrocuted them to death with stun-rays.

And what the hell is Winona Ryder doing in some obscure Star Trek old lady role. o_O
I didn’t know she was that washed up.

Overall, many important matters were discussed, such as Usher’s scary animal fur costume, Papareboy‘s homophobia, his hat, hijinx beating boys up for fun, and manboobs.
In that particular order.
Not really.

Hish inquired why my posts are now more coo-coo than usual.
To which the response was a mysteriously freakish cackle.
Fried rice was eaten.
Papareboy’s mum was insulted.
And epic quotes were concocted. i.e. (in relation to coming out of the closet) “Papareboy is so far into the closet that he’s adventuring in Narnia.” -courtesy of Ding.
BAHAHAH! so yeah. sucks if you missed it.

What you get for asking.

Posted: August 27, 2009 in Uncategorized

hey. what’s that on your face?

dude you won’t believe it. I fell asleep the other day right? and I was totally fast asleep when suddenly I felt like.. this weird furry thing was on my face. so I opened my eyes and there was this huge-ass spider sitting next to my nose and moving its back legs all weird like! the doctor said it sounds like the characteristic behaviour of a mother spider trying to lay its eggs on safe ground but I interrupted it halfway so this thing here on my chin is probably-


no. it’s a pimple.

“I have something very important to tell you,” said Mulder, looking Scully right in the eye.
X-Files rerun.
Pivotal moment.

“MULDER, NO, LOOK BEHIND YOU!” screams Scully with that look.
Mulder spins around. His eyes widen. “OH M-”

LALALALLAA. Children frolicking in the meadows.
Voiceover guy: Anchor Plus milk, nutritious and wholes-

Wtf. -_-

Why do they do that?
Repetitively throw in shit advertisements (did I mention repetitively?) SUPER-abruptly in the middle of movies or shows or matches or cartoons, just to piss viewers off.

At least if the adverts were actually shorter or remotely tolerable.
Is it even legal for that kottu-me ad to be that friggin long?
Hello, 5 minutes commercial time, people, GTFO.

And what about Teleseen Marketing.
I know you, acne/teeth-whitener lady. You’re that actress from that bygone soap opera.
How did you get demoted to selling shit products. Could it be that it has anything to do with the fact that I can practically see your eyeballs moving back and forth over the teleprompter.

And what about you bastards on the treadmills and the whatchamacallits.
You guys are in shape. But just stop it ok?
Nobody is going to get on your stupid machine and end up with those omgwut 6 packs or super-toned legs in a matter of months moneybackguaranteed.
So shut it.

Also, Fair & Lovely. There’s Fair & Handsome, and Fair & Teens now, for guys and teenagers. I ask you, what the douche is the difference?
Moreover, is it just me or is the entire get-whiter-or-you’ll-never-get-laid propaganda just insanely blatant racism?

What are they really trying to achieve with the freaky deaky repetitive commercials?
I mean, about thrice in half hour is OK, but sometimes it’s like every five minutes.
And then, you find you know all the words to all the adverts and the stupid commercial song gets stuck in your head till you die.

If commercials were a person, I’d stab him.
And that’s me in a good mood.
This awesome CollegeHumour clip is the inside of my head during the horrific ad binges.

Oh, and Mr ChubChubs is a big Freddie M fan. So after one too many Red Bulls, the little critter went a little nuts so to speak:

[ChubChubs audio clips have been removed temporarily]

The Procrastinator’s Mantra

Posted: August 23, 2009 in Uncategorized

Work, I have work to do.
So much work.
I’ll do it tomorrow, I promise.
I know I said that yesterday and the day before that.
But I mean it this time.
How could I do it today anyway?
I have other things to do.
Such as…
Cleaning… my bookshelf.
Yes, it needs to be re-arranged.
And I have to go buy that thing today.
Also, I’ve got to call that one about this issue.
And it’s raining outside.
How can anyone expect me to work in this weather.
Tomorrow’s a nice day to do it.

The weather man said it’ll be sunny after all.
Surely that’s a good enough reason to put it off to tomorrow.
Even though my deadline was last weekend.

What You Didn’t Know

Posted: August 21, 2009 in Uncategorized

I’ve been hiding something from you guys.
A dirty little secret.
Well, minus the dirty bit but still.

After all those years of being scoffed at, whenever I’d use my name and the word KITCHEN in the same sentence, or talk about a butter-cake I made when I was 10 (a great achievement. really.) or about my supreme coffee-making talent…

I put my foot down and said, NO STFU.

Not really.

But I’ve been trying out this cooking jazz a bit with a neighbor of mine who’s a pro.
Ya know, just to see what happens.

And hey, if I ended up burning down the kitchen (like all those cooking jokes made at me have implied. wenches.), it would still make an awesome story to narrate over some murukku some other day.

And be baffled.


chicken pie


I have to say it is sort of fun.
Would be a pain in the arse to do every day, but once in a while, it’s like a little creative activity, where you craftily mix and mash and carve.

chocolatebutt swans

Not to mention the fact that you can eat it all once you’re done.

fish pastries


Any advice you cooking experts out there would throw for free in the direction of an enthusiastic noob?

Boo Boo the cat / assistant chef.
no I did not cook him.

Life Inside a Cubicle

Posted: August 20, 2009 in Uncategorized

Most of us have them, or may end up in one at some point.
Ugly plain walls. Not much room. Asinine boss.
Overworked. Underpaid.
Every day is exactly the same.

How does that black hole of a system suck millions of us in with such ease?
Back when I once found myself splat in the middle of such a dastardly cubicle, I scribbled something down while looking out the window.


Within these confines, what freedom is there? I am a prisoner. Not one inside a cell with steel bars and cold floors, but one inside a prison of my own making.

Nothing but black tin roofs and sooty walls cover the miles and miles that stretch before me.
Grey smoke rises from a chimney a few concrete buildings away, a taunting phantom against the cheery blue sky, a paradox. What is this road to self imprisonment? We read and study and work, all to come here and toil our lives away, give our blood and sweat to this dull black-and-white matrix.

Smart suits, high heels, clamoring up and down the pavements, talking, yelling into mobile phones, rushing into cubicles, out of meeting halls, around and around, again and again, every morning, till every evening, a mad cycle.

To what end?
Money? Happiness? Fear of indolence?

The tiles in the ceiling loom above me in all their glorious monotone, sickeningly symmetrical, intolerant.
There is no colour and the laughter is mirthless and dry.
The rustle of paper, the beeps and clicks of the keyboards and phone pads, the clacking of heels on important marble floors, constantly moving.

But where to?

A lone crow perched upon a roof nearby looks out upon my city and caws. The sound is melancholy and flat, as though it too despised the greyscale system that stood obnoxiously before us like a great bully.

And envy knotted in my heart as I watched it raise its wings and fly away.

NIN says it best, I think.
Here’s one of my FAY-HAY-vorites by the fellas, a must-listen:

One McJoke Burger Please?

Posted: August 19, 2009 in Uncategorized

Walked into McDonalds yesterday, been ages since I sat inside a fast food restaurant.
Things can’t have changed too dramatically since the last time no?
click on the links in the post for a more visual understanding.

Aahh beloved burgers, it has been a while has it not? I said, before walking to the counter recalling the good old days.

When they used to paint kids’ faces and hands, and I used my wiley charms on the paintman to borrow a paintbrush (i.e. stole it when he wasn’t looking) to paint a toddler’s lower-face region entirely purple.
When I made a KFC golden chicken order at the waiter just to see his face scrunch up into a pre-sob.
When I flew down that kiddie’s slide and crashed into a flabbergasted nine year old.

Fond childhood memories. :’)
Ohwait, that was last year.

So I say to the counterlady, hey give me a chicken burger. Simple enough right?
‘Chicken burger?’ she says, utterly perplexed by such a demand. ‘There are many variants of chicken burger blahblahblah I want to bore people at the counter to death blahblahblah.’

After I give her the huh-look, she says, ‘small burger or big burger?’ while sniggering inwardly.
110 bucks is less than 200 bucks, therefore I say 110 buck burger.
So economical, we struggling paupers are.

So I take my burger back to my table and open it.
Two buns. A single slice of meat. Sauce. Onions.
Onions? ONIONS?!
I raise the so-called ‘burger’ and examine it, flip it around a bit, poke it, wondering if perhaps the lettuce and cheese and mayyonaise are in hiding.
No such luck.

Is this some kind of sick joke? IS IT?
If I wanted to eat a bunnis with chicken in it, I would go to the friggin chicken bunnis man, McDonalds.
Laughing at the absurdity of such a sight as a lettuce-less mayyonaise-less sesameseed-less ‘burger’, I go back to the counter and ask them if it is a joke.
Am I being punk’d, doucheba- uh I mean counterlady?

Well not really. But I suppressed the urge to do this and did this instead.
‘Well I asked you and you did order an ordinary small chicken burger, you should have said so if you wanted our McSpice somethinsomethin nanana I’m so annoying!’
So I gave her the frightening smiling-outside-but-inside-I-want-to-stab-you look and said, can I get a REAL burger then please?

Then she gave me a smile that was like..
and I finally got a normal burger, having had to pay for both it and the shitexcuseforaburger.