Laziness: Taking a break before you're tired.

2008-11-18T09:32:00.000-08:00

Original story lulz.

"I shall try my best Madame, but there is no guarantee I can bring him back," The priest touched the lit taper to the incense candles and shook out his sleeves. The widow nodded and smiled bravely. "Thank you Father."

***
The boat creaked softly, as it was wont to do as the Reaper rowed the oar. "What's it like over there?" The middle-aged man sitting in the back of the boat spoke, looking about curiously at the gray expanse of water. Fog hung thick in the air, and the sunlight that glinted off the water was weak. "I hope it's more pleasant than here. Will we reach soon?"
The Reaper pulled on the oar. "We'll arrive shortly, just that you can't see it with all this fog around. It's much nicer than here really; there aren't that many pits of fire. If you didn't do anything particularly bad like murdering someone, or blaspheming, you ought to like it on the other side. But not many people reach it, really." A sigh whistled between the Reaper's teeth.

"Why so? And I thought there was a Boatman; I'd always heard there was one. I even died with a coin in my hand to pay him. And I'd pay you! Except that I seem to have lost the coin somewhere," The tubby man smiled apologetically and ran a hand through his graying hair.

"I appreciate the thought, but I hardly have use for money here. I am the Boatman of Styx, the Reaper, the Gatekeeper, and any number of strange titles you mortals have. As I was saying, not many people reach the other side. Priests keep interfering and trying to resurrect people, and sometimes, I just can't catch them again in time. It's been happening more often lately truth be told, and each time, it feels like steel grinding on cobblestones in your skull, and it makes my task so much more difficult. I cannot tell you how dispiriting it is to turn around and find your boat is empty again and row all the way back."

The portly man grimaced. "If it truly feels like that, you have my sincerest sympathies. On hearing this, I actually hope they do not try and resu-" He stopped and looked down at himself. "I feel odd. This isn't supposed to happen is it? I feel like I did when I was dying..." The Reaper glanced back sharply and locked the oar in its oarlock and grabbed the man's wrist.

"That's it."
***

Beads of sweat appeared on the priest's forehead, and his breathing became laboured. "There is... resistance. His soul is peculiarly hard to recall." The widow nervously rubbed eyes sore from crying. "He's coming." The priest's breath burst out in a gasp, and his shoulders slumped. The man on the bed gurgled, then his eyes shot open and he sucked in a breath.

"I'm... back. Is this what he meant?" The portly man looked around in confusion, blinking a strand of gray hair out of his eye. "What who meant dear?" The widow was smiling through a haze of tears and clasping her husband's hand.

Then the little beads of sweat froze with a small crackle, and the priest fell back, his breath steaming in the frozen air. The wood of the rafters groaned, a deep mournful groan that a dying tree would have made, and the flowers in the pot turned their faces from the room. A hooded figure appeared, paper-thin lips twisting humorlessly beneath an ebony cowl, and bony hands clasped around the damp earth-brown wood of a scythe. The lips parted, and a breath as cold and stale as a mausoleum's air gusted out.

"I've had enough. No more shall I shepherd the souls of the fallen." And with that, the figure vanished, leaving the room boggling in astonishment and terror, light glinting off the frost on their faces. The man on the bed spoke first. "What have we done?"

***

The sun-warmed sand was pleasant to walk on, and the warm ocean waves tickled the Reaper's feet. He tilted his head back, enjoying the rich orange light of the sunset, and breathed deep of the salt-tinged air. Months of living had fleshed out his frame; his lips were full, his hands strong, his shoulders sturdy, and dark eyes glittered mischievously above high cheekbones. The Reaper bent down and picked up a stone, tossing it for a moment in calloused palms, then threw it out towards the sea, watching it skip across the waves. Then he tilted his head to one side, listening for a moment to the cries of a world bursting with people who would not die, and he smiled to himself, and walked on along the beach.

2008-11-09T23:34:00.000-08:00

Scholarly isn't it? Originally I would have changed the blog template to some scholarly/monastic looking thing, but that would remove everything I've added, and I like keeping my record of how many five-year-old children I can beat down, so we're stuck with the black background. No, just because the music is ominous doesn't mean that it's bad. I find it quite sleep-inducing actually. Just look at the old man at the top, he's so relaxed. I feel like sleeping too. In fact I think I shall! I am now free to do whatever I want, with the exception of breaking the law. I have 5 months to kill till polytechnic enrollment, and I don't have any new games. My actions are now devoid of meaning. :( Everything I've done in my 17 years has been geared towards O levels, and now that they're over, I have no idea what to do. As such, I am now watching a cybernetic ninja ghost anime! Perhaps I shall get a part-time job, construction if I can.

2008-11-09T06:38:00.000-08:00

Ah, long has it been since last I posted. *breathes in the musty smell* Shit. I better touch this place up soon. I'll be giving it an insignificant make-over soon enough. Anyway, one curious thing I noted: Why do suicide bombers target their own country?? They generally seem to disapprove of the foreign elements within their country, so to strike against the foreigners, we're going to bomb our own people! How do you like that! Here's what I think of your foreign currency! *boom* Doesn't make sense at all. If I were a subversive element within a country, I wouldn't be bombing its people; I'd be helping them and trying to improve their lives where I can, so that I can gain popular support. Not to say that I am a subversive element, to any authority figures that may happen to read this (Why, I do not know). Also, a small question on ethics: If a robot is indistinguishable from humans to all purposes and intents (feels like one, looks like one, sounds like one, passes the Turing test, acts, walks, and talks like one), should it be given human rights? And if a robot cannot be distinguished from a human apart from the composition of its body (Synthetic), is it ethical to allow marriage to one? Anyone from my exceedingly tiny stable of readers is free to share your opinions on the subject. Also, I appeal to the female readers if any, how do you ladies smell so good? Its a continual mystery to me. When guys take a bath, the nice smell generally evaporates by the time we reach the bus-stop. But girls can smell nice all day! How do you do it?

2008-10-09T04:23:00.000-07:00

And so, after countless months of not paying attention, getting in pretty legendary school trouble (its the class, not just me), and eating canteen food as inedible as boiled steel wool, we finally arrive at the O levels. What's worse, it's right after my birthday, literally. It's got to be the worst present ever.

"Guess what your present is Vern! One whole month of exams!"

Crap.

On the other hand, school's over. I'm frankly quite surprised we made it all the way. Especially after that Maple Story incident (where we played Maple Story in real life; I was a lvl 70 Dragon Knight with a School Table as my shield and a Chair Leg as my sword), and that bit where the Student Management Committee caught one fellow eating in class.

"Why were you munching those chips during your exam?"
"Yah, I munching! Not eating what."

We got banned from class shortly after that.

Anyway, now I know the hollow feeling that a condemned man has in his stomach. ;_;

2008-10-09T04:20:00.000-07:00

Reposted for ease of location. Most people come here for these, those that come here at all. (I for one have no delusions as to the amount of traffic my blog receives)

The blazing orb of the sun hung in the sky, baking me within my clothes and raising the temperature to unholy heights. I fanned myself limply with my hand, resulting in a sluggish movement of superheated air. Just as I was about to give up in despair, I saw a structure in front of me; though I could barely see details through the blinding glare of light around me, I could discern the shape of a hawker centre. I would have sobbed in relief if I had any water to spare for tears, and stumbled towards the blessed shade its awnings offered.
Darkness washed over me, shielding me from the merciless heat of the sun, and I could not choke back a sob of thankfulness. For a moment, I closed my eyes, savoring the luscious shade and the respite offered by the gently-approving hum of the fans. Then I opened my eyes and my heart sank. The floor was grainy with dirt, in the manner that only exceedingly unclean public floors can be. Foul soapy effluent ran in the gutters, a filthy brown beneath the bubbly exterior. Uncollected dishes crowded on the tables, sauce pooling beneath them like abandoned corpses on a battlefield of synthetic plastic. The only thing that was remotely clean here were the seats, which merely meant that they had little bits of food which could be brushed off.
With a sniff of distaste, I wielded my tissue paper to devastating effect among the scraps of food, and I could almost hear their screams as they were swept off the seats to plunge to their death on the dirty floor. This settled, I swept my gaze over the hawker centre, taking in the derelict old men that made up both the customers and the vendors. I wasn’t spoiled for choice, as not many stalls were open to begin with, and one that was open had a vendor who was applying his finger to the inside of his nose with admirable zeal. His stall was discounted immediately. Eventually I purchased a plate of fried rice and a gloriously cold Ice Milo, and sat down to eat.
However, no sooner had I picked up my utensils when I noticed they were oily. I was considerably puzzled, as I had not touched them since they were put on my tray at the side of my plate. Suddenly, it hit me! This negligent specimen of Man had not washed his utensils and had the nerve to give them to me, a paying customer! I stalked up to the vendor. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS FILTHY CROCKERY!" I roared. I could feel the anger pounding through my veins like molten steel, a terrible earth-shaking, sky-shattering rage that threatened to engulf the puny hawker in front of me in a whirling maelstrom of fury. The little man in front of me gibbered ineffectually, and consumed by fury, I punched him in the throat. He fell back with a strangled scream, clutching at his crushed windpipe, and everyone stared in horror. “Anyone else want to give me dirty crockery?” My shout boomed across the centre, but only silence greeted me. Full of righteous anger, I grabbed a pair of chopsticks and rammed them into the chest of the nearest hawker. He gave a choked cry and crumpled, clutching at the twin sticks of death jabbing into his ribs.
The rest of the hawkers must have taken this as some sort of sign, and they scattered, screaming in their arcane dialect. I launched myself from where I stood, landing on a nearby table and scattering bowls and laksa soup in all directions. With a feral growl, I leaped from the table and landed on the back of a running man. He let out a thin wail of terror as I landed on his back, the Avatar of Fury, the Embodiment of the Indignant Customer. I grabbed his head and wrenched it violently, hearing a crack as his skull detached from the spine, and his head wobbled crazily as his body fell. I noted with displeasure that the remaining three hawkers were rapidly leaving my range, so I grabbed a handful of knives from the utensil tray outside the Western Food Stall. The blades were unwashed, so much the better, guaranteeing an infected wound. I hurled three in rapid succession at fleeing backs of the last three vendors. The knives gleamed foully with a dirty light as the afternoon sun caught the metal, and time seemed to slow as the knives spun towards their targets, scattering bits of lettuce and breaded fish as they sliced through the air. The first one buried itself in the flesh of the neck, and the coward went down without a whimper. The second one hit the kidneys of the next man, and he went down with a pained cry. The last one fell low and impaled the last man in the meat of his thigh, and he fell down with a despairing wail.
As I walked up to him, he gibbered and pleaded, trying to drag his crippled weight away from me. I’m sure I must have made a fearsome sight, stained knives clutched in my hands, froth dripping from my grinning mouth, madness shining from my eyes. I granted this whimpering creature in front of me a quick death, and speared his heart with one of the knives I was holding. There were no other hawkers left alive. Slowly, I walked back to the hawker centre and rummaged through the bodies until I found a lighter and a cigarette. Picking up a heavy cleaver from the Duck Rice stall, I used its solid wooden handle and bashed the control valve on the main gas line. There was an ominous hissing as the lethal gas started escaping, and as I walked away, I lit the cigarette with the lighter and tossed it backwards. There was a moment’s silence, then a whooshing boom as the main gas lines ignited, destroying the hawker centre. I never looked back once as I turned away from this place that dared to serve me a dirty spoon.

2008-10-09T04:19:00.000-07:00

Reposted for ease of locating:

Little Red Riding Hood was not really her real name; she was actually called Natalia Serova. But no one had called her that for such a long time that no one remembered. As such, she was named for her rather signature red hood, although oddly enough, it did little riding. The ‘Riding’ in “Little Red Riding Hood” has no discernable origins.
On to the story anyway. Red Riding Hood’s father was never mentioned, and as such we shall declare him legally missing. Her mother held two jobs, to support her daughter and her own mother, and as such had little time for the upbringing of Red Riding Hood. This task was left to their grandmother, until she had a bout of insanity and fled their home, gibbering crazily, and vanished into the woods. After two weeks of searching, county police located her deep in the forest, having constructed a ramshackle cabin for herself. However, no amount of persuading could bring her out of the woods, and so Red Riding Hood was left without proper upbringing, resulting in her hanging out with the wrong crowd and adopting their dressing style, including a red hoodie. However, her grandmother had made a deep impact on her when she was younger, and as a result, Red Riding Hood took it upon herself to visit her dear grandmother one day.
Loading her basket with food, she happily set out, heedless of the fact that her grandmother’s body probably could not tolerate the high-oil content of the food she packed. Following the trail designated by the police so many years ago, Red Riding Hood went on her way. Now in the woods, there lived an extremely cunning wolf. Scientists and animal rights activists would doubtless have been intrigued by a wolf capable of talking and demonstrating human emotions and reasoning, had they known about it. But they did not. So they were not intrigued. Nonetheless, such a wolf existed, and he observed Red Riding Hood’s progress through the woods. Deducing her destination, he decided to run ahead of her and play a prank.
Being able to run on four legs, the wolf reached the grandmother’s cabin ahead of Red Riding Hood. Now as the grandmother had gone bonkers, she could not and had not installed a reasonable security system, and it was with no difficulty that the wolf opened the door, possessing the intelligence to turn the door knob. The old woman stared at the wolf for a moment, and their gazes locked. The wolf could feel the tension in the air as he waited for the old dame to realize he was a threat, and she opened her mouth to scream “Я вижу вас, вас фашистский немец! Для Motherland!” before brandishing an antiquated Mosin-Nagant. The wolf sensed the danger and moved immediately.
Shortly afterwards, the bones were stashed in the wardrobe and the wolf quickly dressed up in the recently-deceased geriatric’s clothes. The buttons presented a minor problem as the wolf had no opposable thumbs on his paws, but eventually he just pulled the dressing robe closed. Hardly had he settled in bed when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called. Where the wolf learned to speak, and how he even had vocal chords that could form those words, we will never know. Regardless, Little Red Riding Hood came in. It had been a long time since she had seen her grandmother, and her memories of her were hazed with time.
“My, what big eyes you have grandma!”
“I read in poor lighting.”
“What big ears you have!”
“You should see my earphones.”
“What big teeth you have grandma!”
“I have an excellent dental plan.”
“Do all women get as hairy as you when they reach your age grandma?”
“You cheeky bugger!” The wolf leapt out of bed, intent on devouring the girl for this slight. Truth be told, the wolf was rather full, and his jaw ached from chewing such tough meat earlier, but he had a reputation to maintain. Little Red Riding Hood fled the cabin screaming, with the wolf hot on her heels.
It just so happened that a lumberjack was thundering by at that moment, on his way home after gathering enough hippies to use as firewood. As Red Riding Hood ran by screaming, he considered eating her, but decided that whatever was chasing her would probably be more filling. So he lashed his raging bull to a nearby tree and dismounted. That may have made no sense to you, but the primary mode of transportation for a lumberjack is by bull. While ordinary bulls eat grass and antibiotics, a lumberjack’s bull feeds on steroids and endangered species. The reason their bulls are fed endangered species is because lumberjacks are proponents of ecological diversity. There are only two major groups in the animal kingdom: endangered species, and non-endangered species. If endangered species were allowed to procreate and re-establish their populations as they please, then they would no longer be endangered, and the only kind of animal we’d have left is the plain old non-endangered kind. So we would lose an entire category of animals, leaving us only one, and having only one category is not diverse by any measure of the imagination.
Having made sure his bull would not run away, the lumberjack hefted the small tree that he used as a javelin and stepped forward. Now a lumberjack is a man who jacks lumber. Chopping down trees is all they think about. If there were no trees to chop down, lumberjacks would cease to exist. And yet, lumberjacks have so much contempt for trees that they are willing to sacrifice their very existence to help win the war against nature. Trees are everywhere. It’s getting to the point of where you can’t even go to a park anymore without seeing a tree. If lumberjacks didn’t cut down trees, the trees would overwhelm us and take over the world. Then where would we raise our families and park our cars? In the forest? Wishful thinking, and it might even work if it weren’t for one small detail: Bears.
Hardly had the lumberjack taken a step forward when the wolf, hot on the heels of Red Riding Hood, careened into him. This massive specimen of Man looked down to see what had hit his knees, and the wolf stared up in awe. “Come now, surely as reasonable creatures we can come to an agreement?” The lumberjack glared stonily and the wolf, then rumbled and rubbed his stomach. The wolf let out a small whimper and tried to escape; big mistake. The lumberjack lifted the wolf into the air with his mind, spun him around, and digested him telekinetically. And the lumberjack wasn’t even hungry. Sobbing with relief, Red Riding Hood clung to the back of the lumberjack’s knee, thanking him profusely. The huge man was puzzled; does she want milk? Does she need to be burped? Did she eat something off the floor that upset her stomach? Undecided as to what to do, the lumberjack lifted her off the floor and gave her several back-breaking pats on the back, before setting her down and telling her to sod off or he’d eat her too. The last thing Red Riding Hood heard as she turned on her way home was the enraged roaring of the bull and the ground-shaking pounding as it galloped away.

2008-09-04T03:07:00.000-07:00

Quite a while back (I've been busy), we had a mock-exam practical test in the chemistry lab, and we had ammonia as one of the compounds. Now we all know ammonia smells like concentrated urine that has been left to fester for several weeks, so inside the lab was this sinus-destroying stench of urine as we were testing for gas. Out of nowhere, the lab filled with the smell of sewage, and everyone started staggering about in dismay.

'T'cher, why the gas test so smelly one?'
"I don't know, its not supposed to be this smelly =/"

Eventually it got so bad this guy ran over to the window and threw it open, and got promptly knocked back by a solid wall of stench. He couldn't have reeled back further if he had been hit by a hadoken from Muhammad Ali. Turns out there was this big honkin' sewage truck parked right below our lab; so inside our lab was this acidic smell of urine, and outside was a soul-darkening stench of crap. It was so bad even the roaches died.

2008-08-06T18:26:00.000-07:00

AHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. I'm in the computer lab enjoy air-con and playing COD4, GOW, and many more. and where is vern? IN CLASSSS AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. (yan ting laughing oso.)

-BY YOU KNOW WHO. D E R Y O H . H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A

2008-05-31T09:33:00.001-07:00

Lying down is the recommended position for sleeping. The torso should be kept parallel to the surface it is lying on, and maintain constant contact. The head should not be elevated more than 45 degrees, and if possible, avoid lying on the limbs of the body to ensure proper circulation. To facilitate proper respiratory functions, do not sleep with a pillow covering the face and/or sleep face-down. If you follow these guidelines for the proper use of a Mattress, we guarantee that your sleeping experience will be an optimal and satisfactory one, and we hope you will wish to repeat the experience.

Yes, I came up with that myself. Someone should print it on beds and mattresses haha. 'Guidelines for the proper use of somnambular facilities'. Also, today, we had captain's ball with respectively, a chicken, a cuttlefish, a cabbage, and a stick of butter. A thoroughly disgusting and tiring game, yet strangely fun. Also, I recommend Sandstorm, by Darude, for anyone who likes trance or a catchy beat. The hour is now 12.34am as of when I looked at the clock. 12.35am. Bah. To the bedmobile. (Remind me to write about bloodsport the next time I sign in.)

2008-05-11T11:48:00.000-07:00

Lately, its been PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME. Actually no, not really. I sit here, writing this at 2.49am, groggy from lack of sleep and high on karaoke. The past three days have been trying: staying awake till 4am each night to make sure your torrents are in order is no joke. But it has been worth it *has all the Lucky Star character albums now*. And then there was Mother's Day, where I was considering getting my mother Grand Theft Auto IV, but then I had an epiphany: I has no three-sixty. So we settled for a chocolate sponge cake with chocolate icing and breaded crumbs (or crumbled bread?), which I fully anticipate to be delicious. Such a cake can be bought at kovan for $18, and not at Prima Deli. Along the walkway facing the old bus bay, shop name is DJ Bakery. Quite a feat considering my sister and I managed to rush out and get it and a blouse, in the space of time that my mother took to go out and come back. We should be a rapid response team, dammit. And I just found out that my Chinese O Levels start in two weeks. Talk about a damper on the 4-day holiday after exams. (On a side note, for some reason, Iron Man really reminds me of the Tin Woodsman from The Wizard of Oz if he was more badass. Maybe if the Wizard of Oz had given the Tin Woodsman an Arc Reactor for a heart he wouldn't have gotten his ass handed to him by flying monkeys.)

2008-04-29T22:08:00.000-07:00

About that case of the Austrian gramps keeping his daughter in his basement for over two decaces, the Austrian government (or was it the tabloid?) decried the citizens, saying they should feel ashamed of themselves for not detecting such a heinous crime among them, in their neighbourhood. Hell man, tad unreasonable demand, don't you think? Its not everyday you see someone locking his daughter up for 24 years and fathering 7 children with her. While its admittedly a crime for which he should have his gonads soaked in boiling water while he's awake, its not like you go around thinking: "Oh, there goes Mr. Fritz, what a lovely man. *smile, wave* He looks just like the type to lock his offspring in his basement for over two decades and rape her repeatedly. See you tomorrow Mr. Fritz!" Just doesn't happen. If I knew someone who can actually conceive the suspicion that anyone would do that, I'd stay the hell away from that person too. And Heaven forbid our society ever reach that level where incarceration, and incestual rape become plausible suspicions.

2008-04-28T20:17:00.000-07:00

You would hardly know this was a guy's blog, to look at it. Of course, girls don't seem to listen to such tasteful music. Its the exams now, and I'm starting to feel the vague stirrings of worry, which is a good sign. Hopefully I'll be GALVANISED~ YEAH!~ to do some work before the O levels and score well, and give my maths teacher cardiac arrest by getting an A1 in maths. And then we had our english paper yesterday. Question 3 was: "Erik began attacking mountains in his early 20s" Explain what the author is emphasising, with special reference to the word in italics. I wrote: "The author is emphasising Erik's arrogance and instability, attacking colossal monuments to the might of Mother Nature, pitting himself against the very forces of creation in fits of insanity." Hope its correct.

As for the dating sim:

Damn I'm good.

2008-04-22T05:17:00.000-07:00

I think if my Chinese teacher knew I was playing dating sims to improve my Chinese, he'd have a fit. But its actually pretty awesome. If no one is going to use textbooks anymore anyway, Chinese class should be devoted to playing dating sims. What's even more impressive is that I understand what's going on, and its all in traditional chinese, which makes it hard as..I don't know. And because I didn't install Applocale yet, the installation's chinese words couldn't appear, so I navigated my way through the installation on the strength of question marks.

"??? ????? ?????? ??? ?????? ???? ???? ???"
"????" "???"

Also, I found this awesome site: http://miatimpano.wordpress.com/2007/08/23/my-environmental-crime/#more-56 here's one of her articles

Who chose Ronald McDonald as the spokes-clown for Clean Up Australia Day? Because, fuck, that was some solid gold marketing. “Okay guys, we need to connect with the Australian public, I’m thinking deranged American burger clown?” Yes! Slay us all with the power of burger clown! Finally, someone who speaks to us! Command me, burger clown! You really make me want to touch garbage. No, wait, the other thing — DRINK YOUR BLOOD.
I would sincerely like to stab Ronald McDonald in the arse, then kill him. Then leave his corpse rotting in whichever government department approved that campaign, as a reminder — do better or die. Considering we now have more marketers than we have shit to market, I don’t think this is unreasonable.
We are bleeding our earth host to death — to death — and our collective heroes are burger clown, his friend Grimace the purple cyst, and now “Nugget the Echidna” (his actual name) star of the “You’re gonna get stung” campaign, in which Nugget runs along the highway, fires garbage at motorists, screams, then performs some kind of private dance. In this case, marketers have combined two winning elements — talking animals and unsolicited violence. They also gave him a name synonymous with turd.
I sincerely hope someone was fired for that, or at the very least beaten. Our earth host decays while tax-payer money bankrolls the animation of Nugget, essentially a dancing arsehole. It is true; we need a hero. Captain Planet? He’s a hero. Gonna take pollution down to zero. Gonna help him put asunder bad guys who like to loot and plunder. You’ll pay for this, Captain Planet! [etc. etc., skip to chant] Looting and polluting is not the way, hear what Captain Planet has to say: THE POWER IS YOOOOUURRS!
Yes, excellent, the power is mine. Thank you, Planet! Please, be more vague. That said, I like this “looting” angle you work. Also “plundering”. My own environmental crime is not dissimilar; I litter. Receipts, mainly, but also ticket stubs, serviettes — sometimes crumbs. In my defense, I do not print anything, I never drive, and to save water I shit in the garden. No, this is a lie. I of course use the bowl.
I litter for the same reason that I do not clean my room or press my socks or fold my pantaloons into little squares — I don’t care. I love piggery. I love to smash glass. I love to kick things that don’t belong to me. I love to fire shit into the air and never find it again. I am an “extreme” demographic, identified by the government as “willfully arrogant”, an “anti-establishment litterer who [is] aware that littering is anti-social, but [has] no desire or capacity to change because of peer pressure and broader social problems”.
Then again, there are ways even an “anti-establishment litterer” such as myself can dispose of garbage, and still kick up one’s “willfully arrogant” heels.
1. Throw your litter at someone else. Scream, “Catch!” It’s their problem now legally.
2. Dump your garbage collection onto plates at restaurants. Waiters are required to remove it by law.
3. Thrust your tissues in other people’s pockets. This can be achieved through the “Look over there!” technique. If they question why your used tissue now dangles from their breast pocket, say, “When god closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.” It will explain nothing, but will allow a moment of confusion in which to run away, screaming.
In the past week, I have tried these measures and found them both amusing to me and irritating to others. Go planet. Truly, the power is mine.

2008-02-05T00:42:00.001-08:00

February 14; its coming. There may or may not be a mass date where seven members of each gender go out to wreak havoc in the CBD, and depending on who's going and whether Der Yoh will be there, I may just ask this quiet, serious girl at my tuition out for that day. We'll have to see how. My ex contacted me several days ago. You'd almost think that it'd be like a fairy tale, where the hero and the heroine get back together after being separated, and they live happily ever after. But:

2008-01-21T19:55:00.000-08:00

It seems I was wrong; this blog will not be as inactive as I said it would be. I still have time to write in it after all. Today, I forgot to bring my textbook for an open-book test, and the teacher was ranting about it like I'd forgotten to bring her baby out of a burning building or something. Her eyes were as bleak and cold as eternal night, and her voices whispered with the promised violence of steel sliding out of a scabbard. With solemn gravity fit for the pronouncement of a criminal's imminent execution, she gravely told me I had to write a letter explaining why I didn't bring my book.
And the reason..? Why, I forgot. That's it. I'm wasting a whole piece of paper just to write that. Still, ours not to question why. One thing to note, anything signed off with 'Der Yoh' is written by him, whereas anything written by me lacks a signature, other than the default one. Enjoy your day, and may you have many tumble-dried towels awaiting you after each bath. You notice that tumble dried clothings and towels are delightfully warm and tend to smell of freshly-baked pastries?

2008-01-14T04:38:00.000-08:00

yes, today sucked. well, for vern and i. yan ting i not sure. must be chioning his dark crusade. ftw?

vern got flu and left sch at 920. he so kind that he come to sch just to pass me thumb drive. hehe ^^. hmm. first 2 lessons maths, nth much. the other 2 was errrrrrrrrrrr.. phy. yes. we pissed pehja off. how wonderful. (i shall act ong jing the next sentence.) H3 S4RKS T0 TH3 c0R3 m4N! wtf? the recess bla bla chem - boring. assembly was the interesting part. there is this 12 year old girl from perth. GOD bless her. 12 yrs old and she sings like 20 yrs old. damn zai. and well. I KINDLY WISH VERN TO GET WELL SOON. (so can go back sch let me kajiao.) GOOD DAY! ^^

-der yoh.

2008-01-11T07:00:00.001-08:00

vern pontang school today.

-Der yoh.

DER YOH IS HERE.

2008-01-10T06:02:00.000-08:00

Yes yes, as you can see, DER YOH has officially stolen this blog. Vern is now dead to internet. I shall steal his book next. Will post next time about shit that happen in school. Goodbye for now.

-DER YOH.

2007-12-28T18:07:00.001-08:00

This blog will be inactive/deleted in year 2008, as O levels are here. Don't bother checking till 2009. Sorry for inconvenience caused.

2007-12-13T00:46:00.000-08:00

This is pretty much the Christmas spirit at home. Wish it was more like the main pic of my blog.

2007-12-06T22:23:00.000-08:00

Twisted Christmas! This is not the humorous one that I intend to post (self-evidently), but still, enjoy:

December 24th had always been his night. Just thinking about it made his spine tingle with excitement, raising goose bumps across his massive chest, sweaty and putrid beneath the enormous red wool coat.

There was once a time when he would smile with happiness as he left a shiny present under the tree for each child, saying a silent prayer for each one before moving on to the next house. There had been so many houses, so many presents, and so many prayers. And they forgot about him so quickly. He stared through the green polarized lenses at the stockings on the mantle, his large sack beside him. He looked closely at the stockings; he liked trying to guess which stocking was theirs before resorting to hist list...naughty and nice, naughty and nice, naughty and nice...

***

All it had taken was one instant, a simple twist of fate. A chimney a couple of inches too tight, a belt buckle caught on a chipped piece of brick. A father drunk on eggnog, lighting a roaring fire as Santa squirmed, trying desperately to get free. Christmas music blared through a stereo that cost enough to feed a third-world village for a month, the volume so loud that no one heard his muffled screams. He spent months afterwards perfecting the springs in his new bladed gloves. They enabled to feel where his fingers and skin could not, providing just the right amount of resistance. It wasn't the same as before the nerve damage, but in a sense, knowing that made it better; it made him angrier. It had been so long that he wasn't even sure whether he was so angry at the memory of being able to feel, or the fact that he knew it was harder and harder for his mind to recreate it every single year.

***

He knew that little Rebecca had been naughty. No, evil was a better word. Impressively evil, as a matter of fact, just the kind of little monster who would make a perfect minion - snatched from her bed like all the other wicked children, sentenced to a life of service at the North Pole, where they would continue to age, but not grow. Stunted by the freezing winds and wretched rations they received, they morphed into hideous trolls - the evil within them manifesting itself in their twisted faces, yellow teeth and eyes, and breath like rotting flesh. The word "elf" wasn't menacing enough. Under the whip of the merciless Mrs. Claus, the elves worked like slaves, torturing the reindeer and designing toys; most recently, the kind of toys that could injure the innocent tots who received them.

As punishment, he used to give coal to the bad boys and girls. He had to show that it mattered how you behaved, how much you loved, and how much joy you spread. And the coal was punishment enough. Now, it was customary to give each potential recruit three chances: a piece of coal in their stocking served as a warning, marking them. A special type of the blackest coal mined from deep within the earth. A coal that brought out the worst in anyone who received it. Once marked, very few children could turn it around and change their evil ways. He thought about all the millions of names he had sorted through in his time, how he made it a point to check each one twice. Rebecca had gotten coal three years in a row; she was the age of pure evil, and it was her time.

***

Delicately, he reached out for her. Two razor-sharp blades pinched the top of her covers. They were so sharp, anyone else would have cut the sheets to ribbons, but he was an artist with the blades. This was his masterpiece - his Sistine Chapel, his Mona Lisa. And it was just as beautiful no matter how many times he painted it. He knew oppurtinities like this only came along once or twice every century. He took the evil ones, both boys and girls. But it was the little girls who were truly rare.

He stared through the green polarized lenses at her peaceful sleeping face. He noticed the little things; that her lower lip quivered in and out so slightly it was almost unnoticeable as she let out each warm little breath. He held his breath and listened to the rhythm of her breathing. He mustn't wake her too soon. He sucked in a deep breath of filtered air and used a bladed hand to pull the mask from his face. Strands of pus and spit-thin lines of viscous blood clung to it as the mask settled against his chest. Half of his face was gone. What remained was a foul gangrenous mess of rotten meat.

Rebecca's little nostrils flared at the acrid smell of his rotting flesh. He knew it was time. He played a little game in his head trying to guess what color her eyes were going to be when they finally shot open. This was his favorite part. The last thing this evil little girl would see, was a sight so terrible it would be unequaled if she lived to a hundred. He wanted her to feel even a small portion of the fear he had felt being burned alive, and being unable to die. Knowing the last thing he would ever smell was the flesh from his own burning face. Knowing the last thing he would ever taste was the remnants of cookies while his tongue boiled within his mouth.

He placed his large sack at his side and pulled the top open wide, the edges of the blades on his gauntlets catching and scratching as they scraped along the edge. The noise caused Rebecca to stir. Too late - her eyes, blue as the sky, shot open wide. Horrified, her lips parted for the inevitable scream. But it was too late. His bag engulfed her quickly, swallowing the noise.

Quick as a wink, he was back to the sleigh and on to the next rooftop.

***

And Bernice, don't show this to your mum haha.

2007-12-05T19:15:00.001-08:00

I made this new friend today :D she's called Shelley, and I met her on the subway, she was playing Sudoku, so I just leaned over and started helping her. And there was one point I gave her 4 number-answers in one go, and she was like "How'd you figure that out?" ANd I put on a deep, solemn, King-Solomon kind of voice and said "I USED MY EXTRAORDINARY ASIAN ABILTEIS" and she gave me an O.o face and said "You serious?" "AS SERIOUS AS NUCLEAR WINTER" and she laughed. And i'm sorry about using so many ands and stuff, oh deah, the sugah content, i think my heart is pumping caramel through my veins. Yes, about that, I visited the Hershey's Factory recently, and bought an unholy amount of chocolate; oh mah lawd, I shouldn't have eaten so much chocolate, now I'm not thinking clearly, and don't worry! THe christmas story is coming along. Yes. Just fine.

2007-11-23T01:53:00.000-08:00

4.53am: Sleep gums my eyes, a thick, indistinct paste that holds my eyelids shut. But there has been a crisis, one of dire proportions. Discounts at stores have hit up to 75% and beyond and we do what we must because we can.
5am: The train rumbles and roars like a raging giant, except without any "Fee Fi Fo Fum"s. The MTA, Metropolitan Transport Authorithy is blessed; there are no thrice-damned bengsters tainting the air with bad music like Beautiful Girl.
5.45am: THIS IS MADNESS. Shoppers swarmed around us, every single one of them dedicated to the goal of entering Macy's, a veritable army of bargian hunters! A titanic battle to enter the shopping complex raged.
6am: They're everywhere! We're surrounded! There's no way we can reach the shopping products! Regroup my brethren, before all is lost!
6.30am: The escalators are so crowded, you'd think we were on a prisoner train to Auschwitz. Except we all have our hair and stylish clothes. The escalators here are antiques, wooden steps and platform spikes long enough to kill a vampire.
7am: Deployment! Spread out into our various departments to complete our objectives.
8am: The Men's Jacket section; the place smells of wealth and Donald Trump: Executive Luxury suits. There was this wonderful salesman who told us that the signs were wrong and that the prices and discounts were listed wrongly. We acted accordingly and brought our purchases to him, and he was humming to himself as he scanned the jackets. "Hmm-mm, I told Management the sign was wrong, what they do? Not my problem. Now what does the sign say? Oh my, the price listed is wrong too. What can I do eh?" Wonderful man.
9am: Plunder and booty! Two Ralph Laurens and 1 Alfani jacket, $750 in total, individually worth $250. Total cost for all three: $236.
11am: A thousand nations of the Macy's Empire, descended upon us! The main aisle was packed with so many people that I think if you fainted, the sheer pressure of the crowd would have kept you upright and moving forward. An epic battle to reach the exit ensued! With much clubbing, pushing, and 'Excuse Me'-ing, I made it behind this battleship of a lady, and she plowed forward inexorably! Lesser people scattered before her like bullets bouncing off armor plate. The crowds were so bad the shopping staff had set up evacuation lines, and trailing behind this unstoppable force of nature, I almost made it to the exit until this GARGANTUAN man came in front of us and stopped the both of us. The atmosphere was tense, as these two massive colossi faced off against each other, but eventually we made it out eventually, stumbling through the revolving doors that were clogged with people. The 6-hour sale attracted people to it like a corpse attracts flies, and more were coming every moment.
12pm: Old Navy Men's Department! A startling amount of women in the wrong department fooo. Bumped into this pretty Asian girl as I was not watching where I was going, and the first thing I said to her was "Hey, you don't look like a man." I win.
2pm: A heavy burden lifted from our shoulders. Our duty was done. We had braved the 8-hour gauntlet of 75% discounts, three stores wide. Our bodies were trembling with exhaustion, but our spirits soared with triumph!

2007-11-22T14:58:00.001-08:00

What?...What is this post? I do not remember posting the one before this...can it be? The voices in my head..I always thought they were not real. Oh crap.

Red Carpet For A Great Man

2007-11-21T22:14:00.000-08:00

My Name Is Xavier.

I am a great man.

2007-11-19T19:01:00.001-08:00

IRAQATTACK: A gripping psychological thriller about an Internet troll. Lol enjoy.

Chapter 1:

Mark sat alone in front of his computer. It was night, he thought, though his room was always dark. The glare of the screen illuminated his gaunt features as it rebooted Windows XP after something called a Catastrophic System Failure. He glanced around his room as he waited for XP to finish loading. By the window was a picture of him at eight years old. He had won a spelling-bee. He had been great at spelling - before the accident. On his desk beside him was a stack of Yu-Gi-Oh cards. He sighed. He had all three Egyptian-God Cards but no one to duel. But enough distraction, he thought to himself as he opened up Firefox. It was customised beyond usefulness. He had whiled away many an hour downloading extensions but at least he knew now what the weather was like in Dubai: hot and sunny - as it had been every day. He navigated his way to Hotmail and entered his password: seventeen random numbers and digits. No emails; there never were. Myspace: nothing. He entertained himself for a while with Second Life, yet he was equally a pariah there as in the real world. He turned to Google. Google was always there for him. It never judged him, not like the others. He searched - for what he didn't know; he just typed whatever words entered his head in a desperate sort of stream-of-consciousness excercise. Eventually he stumbled upon something that caught his eye. "A Wikipedia parody!" he exclaimed. "Surely here I will find bigger nerds than I." He clicked on the hyperlink. It soon became clear to him, however, that this was just another community of which he would never be a part. Their in-jokes and light-hearted repartee made little sense to him. "Is there a Cabal or isn't there?" he shouted furiously. He was rapidly growing tired of their so-called humour. Only one article made sense to him. Out of sheer frustration he clicked the link saying Chatroom. Suddenly, his PC chimed. He had an email! He immediately loaded up Hotmail. His heart raced, his breathing was quick. He clicked Inbox. It wasn't from that girl at school he had been courting. Never mind. He had an email. A Nigerian man had an interesting proposition. He would return to it later. Presently, he returned to the IRC. A rather humourous picture of a purple bear greeted him. Next to it was a box asking him to choose a name. He thought for a moment. What nickname could adequately sum up his personality? He pondered, yet nothing came to him. Finally, out of desperation he typed "IRAQATTACK" and clicked Login. The CGI chugged to life. There was a list of names on the right hand side of the screen. These would be his new friends. They would not desert him like the others did - after the accident. Words appeared on screen - some nonsense about Dan Brown - then it flickered and #uncyclopedia appeared in front of him.
Flammable: OMGWTFBBQ
Bonner: I know
Mhaille: And then I ate the whole sandwich
A conversation was already in progress. He panicked. Would they reject him? Would they ridicule him like the others had? He decided there and then that he would be the new BENSON - only better. "IRAQATTACK!!!!111!" he typed furiously, but in his heart he was screaming "Why does everyone hate me?" IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
IRAQATTACK: IRAQATTACK!!!11!!
Some douchebag called Mhaille kicked him out. He was angry but also strangely excited. He logged in again. He was kicked out again. But he would not give up. He logged in again but this time he was not taken to #uncyclopedia. He was in a strange sort of netherworld known only as #uncyc-overflow. He was alone again, but this was victory. He had succeeded in being a minor irritant on an IRC channel. That night he dreamed of Uncyclopedia. He returned again the next day. And the next. Each night an epic battle of wits and fingers took place between himself and the admins.

Chapter 2:

Mark awoke and stretched out in the confines of his single bed. His mind raced through the events of the previous few weeks and he considered the need for a shower. His life had become a maelstrom of activity, and it took several minutes of singing the special song his psycho-analysist had taught him for him to settle. Just the first few bars of "It's Raining Men" normally calmed him down, he thought to himself.
He pondered the deep philosophical discussion from the night before, and the inner conflict that it had begun.
Mhaille: you are wasting your time
Mhaille: on a daily basis
Olipro: pointlessly
Jack_Phoenix: *cough*epic fail*cough*
Olipro: you're devoting yourself to doing something that will ultimately result in nothing
Mhaille: when you're old and grey and you wish for a few extra weeks of life, you'll be able to look back on this time
Mhaille: and think "what a wanker I was"
ApeOnThursdays: or you could just kill yourself now
There was just time for a quick troll before breakfast. He booted up his PC. "Time to annoy those bastards again," he told his stuffed Pikachu. #uncyclopedia appeared before him once again. Mhaille was there again. "Does this guy ever sleep?" he asked Pikachu. Mhaille typed some disparaging remark and promptly kicked him to overflow.
"Damn you Mhaille!" he shouted. "I'll fly to England one day and murder you!"
"Wait a minute...that gives me an idea!" he exclaimed plot-developingly.
He decided at that moment that he would kill Mhaille. Mhaille who had thwarted his efforts to be a minor nuisance on a backstreet of the information superhighway. Mhaille who had spoken so rudely to him. Could he not see it was a cry for help? He took a protractor from one of his many pencil-cases and began to cut himself furiously. Pain and trolling were his crutches now as well as the actual crutches he wore because he fell down the stairs. These were metaphorical crutches, the most powerful of all crutches: more powerful than Vegnagun!
Over the next few weeks he worked on his plan. He bought plane tickets to England (which, he discovered, was quite near Liverpool - where Mhaille lived) and prepared his murder weapon. It would be a weapon of unequaled power made from Lego Mindstorms - a gun, a robot, a crane, an elephant, it was all of these things and more.
He became ever more reclusive as time went on and his plans neared fruition. His mother was worried about him and sent him to the school psychologist. However, the school psychologist was worse than useless and failed to spot the warning signs - even when he carried out the inkblot test and every answer Mark gave was "Mhaille dead."

A Whole Bunch of Other Boring Character Stuff:

For the next four chapters Mark gets bullied at school, doesn't get the girl and generally descends further into madness. It's boring, frankly, so we'll just skip this bit and get to the big finale.

Chapter 7:

"I'm coming for you Mhaille, mheh mheh mheh," he said to himself. He was sitting on a plane, muttering dementedly to himself. The passengers next to him looked worried but he was no danger to them. There was only one thing on his mind: Mhaille. He was normally a very nervous flier and got airsick. But not today. He hugged his bag close to his chest. In it were his killer robot, a bottle of Powerade and his beloved Pikachu.
"We'll be there soon Pikachu," he whispered softly. "What's that? No I will not pinch that air hostess' butt! That's a man!"
Presently, they landed in Liverpool airport. The air was thick with the scent of Scousers. He walked up to the security desk.
"What's in the bag?" the guard asked.
"Killer robot."
"Can I see your passport?"
Mark handed the man his passport. He eyed it for a second before handing it back to him.
"Enjoy your stay sir," the guard said.
He left the airport and grabbed a taxi. He sat in the back seat, lost in his own psychosis, not listening to the driver's invective against the traffic. About an hour later the taxi stopped outside a small semi-detached house in the suburbs. He paid the taxi driver an extortionate sum and disembarked.
The time had come. He walked up to the doorstep and rang the bell. He waited on the humorous welcome mat. The door opened.
"IRAQATTACK!" he shouted, pushing his way across the threshold. Mhaille was stunned. How had this kid found him?
Mark was inside now and he released the robot. It didn't start.
"Shit! No batteries!" he shouted. "I'll be back in a minute."
He walked briskly to the local shop to buy a pack of AA batteries. He returned to the house. He rang the doorbell again. Mhaille let him in.
"That was quick," Mhaille said. "Wait a second! Why did I let you back in?"
But it was too late. Mark deployed the robot and it set to work killing Mhaille. However, the robot was crap and Mhaille easily kicked it aside. It lay in a corner upside-down whirring comically.
Mark panicked. Seconds later he regained his composure and lunged at Mhaille arms flailing wildly. His reclusive lifestyle had caused his muscles to atrophy somewhat with the consequence that Mhaille easily wrestled him to the ground, tied him up, had his way with him and phoned the police.
Mark was arrested and summarily executed, the death penalty having been reintroduced the previous day.

2007-11-19T16:53:00.000-08:00

Operation Market Garden: Thanksgiving Day, 0000 hours. Deploy at Macy's. Operation length, 6 hours. Full Departmental Sale. You'd better tell me what you want soon Bernice, because discounts can hit up to 75%+.

2007-11-17T17:46:00.000-08:00

DAMNATION CRUSADE! Beautiful. Today was a good day, though it was still bloody cold. It seems America has pasar malams! Although admittedly a lot colder, and they sell cookies and stuff. I got three new t-shirts, and saw this awesome stall where they sold goods crafted from recycled metal. There was this beautiful table that was supported by one of the aliens from the show, Aliens (no pun intended), and there was a utterly sexy Big Daddy (which I would have got for you Xavier! Except that it was $75, which would have devastated my budget for 4 days). But the crowning glory of this day was..BARNES & NOBLE. An entire building of reading material, selling almost every book you could ask for and some you didn't even know the author wrote. Btw xavier, I saw three George Carlin books, want me to get them? Email me for details or someshit.

2007-11-16T10:07:00.001-08:00

2007-11-16T09:38:00.001-08:00

BEIJING, China The FDA today has announced the recall of the popular spread I Can't Believe It's Not Communism after discovery that it has been tainted with significant levels of Communism. "We, the People's Republic of China, sincerely apologize for the high levels of Communism found in our products. In the interest of the relevance of our Communist regime, better quality control is now in place to ensure that Communism will not taint any of our exports, and all the people responsible for this will be severely punished," said the Minister of Information of China, before he yelled "Love live Mao Zedong!" It was suspected he was high on Communism while he gave the speech, despite the fact that this drug has been made illegal and possession of it will engender of the wrath of Mao, who will rise from the dead and sell you badges with his pictures on it, for profit, of course.
"We are appalled that I Can't Believe It's Not Communism actually contains Communism," a spokesman for the company which manufactures the product repeated, "all measures are being taken by the Communist Party of China to ensure that no capitalists operating with the blessings of the Communist Party will contaminate their products with Communism." However, many in the United States question the Communist Party's commitment to eradicating Communism. This is due to a series of previous incidents which Communism has been found to contaminate a wide range of products from cat food to children's toys. Other unrelated quality issues also tarnished China's reputation for consumer safety, such as the fact that its cat food is actually made from cats and its children's toys are actually made from children. However, because the United States represent such a large market for China, it is suspected that China will pay attention to this issue and will at least lie to the American public about the extent of Communism in Chinese products.
I Can't Believe It's Not Communism is a popular product created in China with all the nostalgic taste of good old Communism with none of the dialectical materialism. While Communism was promoted in China during the Cultural Revolution to get China off of its dangerous addiction to opium, it is also a deadly neurotoxin. After being ingested it is immediately converted into roofies by an enzyme in the stomach. It is particularly pernicious to the young, as it passes into the bloodstream and quickly accumulates in the brain where it irreparably destroys neurons. Parents who see in their children with attention deficit disorder, urge to incite class struggle and ranting against "bourgeois society" are recommended to send their children to the doctor's office to get a routine test for Communism.

-Quoted from Uncyclopedia.org lol

2007-11-16T06:26:00.000-08:00

Do not tempt fate. The temperature dropped to three degrees yesterday and now I'm sick. >< On the bright side, there was this street vendor selling Middle Eastern food, and I bought a lamb gyro (odd name; its a sandwich of sorts) from him, AND I ALMOST DIED WHEN I ATE IT. It was that good. That man needs to open a restaurant. He could speak chinese too, although with a very strong accent, and the only reason I could recognise what he was saying was because...I'm not sure actually. *shrug*

2007-11-14T19:22:00.000-08:00

Not much happened today. We went shopping, or more accurately, my sister, cousin and auntie went shopping while I stood around for 4 hours. Fortunately my loyal standing around was rewarded; afterwards we went to the Chinatown district and visited an ice cream shop, where we bought the mother of all ice creams. Chocolate chip, chocolate caramel, and oreo ice cream in a cup, three flavors, double scoops of each. The sheer chocolatey goodness of it would have felled a lesser man, but my legendary constitution prevailed, and I fell upon the ice cream mercilessly, devouring it with the black hunger that resides within me. (I can smell your jealousy all the way over here Bernice! Speaking of which, what can I get you? I'm really not so mean as to get you one of those cheesy 'I <3 NY' things, so tell me, or I WILL be forced to get one of those shirts for you.) The temperature here is still pleasant, I am starting to wonder how necessary a jacket is. Except for the 9 pockets it has.
Now, since we had gone shopping just before this, we had shopping bags. And I needed my hands to hold my ice cream and eat it. So I brandished my Cookie Monster keychain, and clipped the shopping bags to my pants (which didn't fall down, I might add). So there I was, striding down the street eating chocolatey-fatal ice cream with a shopping bag swinging from my manly Cookie Monster keychain, when we passed a pretty Chinese girl. She was staring at me, as much for my rugged good looks as for my keychain, so I repaid her compliment by winking and grinning at her, before returning my full attention back to the delicious ice cream I was eating. I imagine she was quite flattered. ^^

2007-11-13T15:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas...fear not, I shall drum up a nonsense essay on it soon. Am also going to put a techno christmas song, much to the horror of many I fear. Not that it matters; there's a pause button. ^^ Will update more soon.

2007-11-13T15:24:00.000-08:00

Yes! Amazing; I spent 21 hours on a plane. Air travel...amazing thing. They put you in an aluminium tube that weighs more than your house, which launches itself off the ground by exploiting a loophole in air pressure, and propels itself through space by exploding chemicals, and you sit inside, knowing that any one of a hundred human, mechanical, or weather problems could cause you to terminate in a fiery ball of doom, and the only reason you're alive to contemplate this is because the manufacturer built the seams tight enough to hold oxygen inside the plane. But everything's alright, because they gave me a Magnum!...ice cream, with caramel. And I managed to get three of them, so bliss. ^^
And then there was the landing. It had rained before we landed, so when we were on the runway, there were giant puddles everywhere. The engine turbines were lashing up impressive curtains of water, and strangely all I could think of was: "That would make one bad-ass hair dryer". So there we were, four bad-ass hair dryers a-blowing, two on each wing, and thus we rampaged across the airport, cutting great swathes through the massive puddles. I'm sure we must have inflicted heavy losses on the water droplets, but they always seemed to survive. Eventually all the whirly bits on the plane stopped and we got off, and they managed to find fault with my passport AGAIN.
The weather here is 18 degrees I think? My room temperature with air con switched on, so everything's ok. ^^ Barely need a jacket really. I had so many things to write up, I forgot most of them! Will post them as I remember though.

2007-11-11T02:23:00.001-08:00

I'm speechless. Anyway I'm still awake at this hour because I ate pumpkin for dinner, and it was really hot, so it was like eating flaming napalm jelly that stuck on the roof of my mouth and the inside of my cheeks (not the ones on my tushie); wtfbbq pain! So now my mouth has first-degree burns and I cannot sleep. So here I am.

2007-11-10T10:39:00.000-08:00

There is a creation spoken of only in whispers...a culmination of Mankind's effort at the pinnacle of his achievements. Everything done in the course of history up to now has been to bring to us that which is before you. No, not your hands. Not that either. Look up at the screen. There, much better. This wondrous feat of engineering, wrought during the golden age of Man...youtube. Video panel's here. -> That's all I wanted to say.

2007-11-10T10:15:00.001-08:00

She's back! Someone should start a chain letter about her, and how her kawaii desu~ claws will eviscerate your bowel in the most cUtE manner if you do not forward this horrible email to 10 of your friends (which can't really be your friends if you choose to inflict a chain letter on them; much less one that can kill them if it was real. SOME FRIEND YOU ARE IF YOU DO THAT). I hate chain letters with a passion. If they were real I'd have died at least 6 times. And I'd be missing my eyes, tongue, heart, and intestines. And be hanged too. Seriously, forgive me if I'm callous, but I'm really not very bothered if some Kenyan leper has been chained to the backside of a dead elephant for the past 13 years and the only way we can free him is through the 1 cent he gets for every person this email is sent to, or that little english girl who has got prostate cancer and her parents decided to pay for her treatment by raising 1 cent per person spammed with this email instead of using the NHS medical care system. And if she dies, she will come back to eat my eyes out even if I forwarded her email. Gratitude much?
Speaking of which, why do all chain letters threaten to kill you? They ought to say something humorous like "If you don't forward this letter, your underwear will turn carnivorous and then munchie time and you'll really really wish you'd forwarded this letter. So there." I'd totally forward a chain letter if it had a sentence like that.

2007-11-10T09:16:00.000-08:00

Wow, this is the first blog that I've had which hasn't died in the first few days. I must be getting better at this! Can't say the same for the last pet I had though. *shrug* it was tasty though. Can't handle any more pets anyway, what with three dogs. Although admittedly one of them is a Daschund. (Is that how its spelt? Or let's just call it Sausage Dog).

So today we had a food outing, which was good, although the first clue was damn hard to solve. Here it is: "A south Chinese Cantonese staple food which is firm on the outside but soft on the inside. It is served with pickled green chillis. It has soya sauce on top, with sliced strips of meat and green and spring onions." Almost everything was the wrong answer, but it was worth it I suppose. The noodles were great. ^^ Oh crap I gave the answer away.
Then we had to hunt for chicken rice and char siew bao/ da bao (Which I should have ordered; it looked delishus). But I didn't order it. I ordered a char siew bao. Which was good, but only half the size. The fires of jealousy leapt up and consumed my heart as I watched my team mates eating the two da baos. My team mates walked really fast though, and someone of my mass can only trundle, so I trundled along as best as I could, trying to catch up. >< SUFFERING AND PAIN WERE MY CONSTANT COMPANIONS. Along with the thought of Burger King. And grand visions of magnificent Double Whoppers, whose only goal in life was to be eaten.

2007-11-10T08:54:00.001-08:00

This was posted by my cousin lol. I didn't remove it because the kittens are awesome cute.

2007-11-10T08:51:00.000-08:00

Blood for the Blood God dEsU~ lawlz
For those of you who may want the original pictures (either the Chaos Marine or the girl), speak up on the tagboard and I'll respond accordingly. =] Thanks to Yan Ting for helping me do this photoshop job. :)

2007-11-09T09:45:00.001-08:00

Hey, where did my Caramelldansen go? Looks like the template change removed it. And commenting on an earlier post, I skipped that test because I have no intention of doing A maths for O levels and my parents approve, so there. ^^ And no, I'm not really emo; but this is fun lulz.

2007-11-09T09:34:00.001-08:00

Something's wrong! My blog turned emo; see? Even my blog turned against me, everyone hates me in this cruel world, no one understands me, MY SOUL IS A DEEP DARK PIT OF DESPAIR. Going afk to kut rist lawlz.

2007-11-08T05:58:00.000-08:00

Metal Slug 5!! They got walkers now. -> And ninjas. Pure badass. If I played it in real life I'd have spent $45 on it; thank god for Multiple Arcade Machine Emulator, which lets me put in credits for free. :P Had an A maths confirmation test yesterday, to see if we were capable of/intended to continue A maths in sec 4 next year. No idea how the test went though; was playing Halo 3. ^^ I found that the best anti-brute weapon so far is the GRAVITY HAMMER. Its a one-hit-kill weapon, no matter where it strikes (Even the ass cheeks! Although I suppose you would die of shame if someone smited you on your tushie with an energised hammer). Going overseas, but no idea what to pack, so I shall bring an empty suitcase and hope for the best. ^^

2007-11-05T05:53:00.001-08:00

For those of you who like Caramelldansen, here it is! :D For those of you who don't like it, the pause button is right there! :D Recommended stress-relief: Play the music and stare at the picture of the Chaos Marauder. Its so incongruent you'll laugh, if the song doesn't murder you through irritation first. :P

2007-11-02T05:16:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L34Zrtf52XE

Same rules as the earlier youtube video. For those of you who like the song, its Caramelldansen. ^^ Email me at templarofchaos@hotmail.com if you want me to send it to you. I recommend you take the video with a pinch of salt lol.

2007-11-02T03:55:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8gji6hdN-c

Well for those who do not enjoy utter randomness, then don't waste your time. For those who can appreciate that kind of humor though, go ahead. :D If you don't like random stuff and you still watch this and you don't like it...well you're pretty odd to watch something you don't like. =/ No offense lol.

2007-11-02T03:49:00.000-07:00

ROFL check this out. Censored footage from the movie 300. Click on it to see the animation. Its a .gif file.

2007-11-02T03:44:00.001-07:00

He is awesome.

2007-11-02T03:41:00.000-07:00

Hey, this is actually quite fun. Its good practice for talking to oneself. Ask any of my MSN contacts who have gone afk during a conversation with me; they come back to find me rambling to myself about how dusk is falling, and soon I shall be the Sun God and all shall bow down before me. ^^ But I bet people actually come here to read this. I'm right aren't I? I can see you out there! I can feel your eyes upon me, watching me, observing my every movement, DRIVING ME CRAZY. You must be really bored to be coming here. How did you even find my blog anyway?

2007-11-02T03:37:00.000-07:00

Got my visa to the US approved, finally. I think they gave me a 10-year visa to compensate for making me wait for their administrative grinding, when all I wanted was a 1-month visa. I think the Embassy staff might be taking the MRT too much, and they keep seeing that man in a cap pressing a button on his phone and boom, train explodes. Granted, that can happen, but do they honestly think a normal Singaporean civilian can get the knowledge to do that? The staff seem to think that in addition to sending messages, receiving calls, and playing MP3s, my phone can also detonate bombs. Which it can't. It can play songs very well though. And it flips open and shut. That's about it.

2007-11-02T03:29:00.000-07:00

So going to read this to my children next time; yes, I plan to have children lol. Also written by me, although admittedly some parts come from other books like the Alphabet of Manliness, which I incidentally recommend to any guy. A enjoyable, fun-filled ride that carries its reader from start to end. Hurray for generic book reviews. I don't recommend the Alphabet of Manliness for women though, as Section E and O aren't very flattering lol. Anyway, here goes.

Little Red Riding Hood was not really her real name; she was actually called Natalia Serova. But no one had called her that for such a long time that no one remembered. As such, she was named for her rather signature red hood, although oddly enough, it did little riding. The ‘Riding’ in “Little Red Riding Hood” has no discernable origins.
On to the story anyway. Red Riding Hood’s father was never mentioned, and as such we shall declare him legally missing. Her mother held two jobs, to support her daughter and her own mother, and as such had little time for the upbringing of Red Riding Hood. This task was left to their grandmother, until she had a bout of insanity and fled their home, gibbering crazily, and vanished into the woods. After two weeks of searching, county police located her deep in the forest, having constructed a ramshackle cabin for herself. However, no amount of persuading could bring her out of the woods, and so Red Riding Hood was left without proper upbringing, resulting in her hanging out with the wrong crowd and adopting their dressing style, including a red hoodie. However, her grandmother had made a deep impact on her when she was younger, and as a result, Red Riding Hood took it upon herself to visit her dear grandmother one day.
Loading her basket with food, she happily set out, heedless of the fact that her grandmother’s body probably could not tolerate the high-oil content of the food she packed. Following the trail designated by the police so many years ago, Red Riding Hood went on her way. Now in the woods, there lived an extremely cunning wolf. Scientists and animal rights activists would doubtless have been intrigued by a wolf capable of talking and demonstrating human emotions and reasoning, had they known about it. But they did not. So they were not intrigued. Nonetheless, such a wolf existed, and he observed Red Riding Hood’s progress through the woods. Deducing her destination, he decided to run ahead of her and play a prank.
Being able to run on four legs, the wolf reached the grandmother’s cabin ahead of Red Riding Hood. Now as the grandmother had gone bonkers, she could not and had not installed a reasonable security system, and it was with no difficulty that the wolf opened the door, possessing the intelligence to turn the door knob. The old woman stared at the wolf for a moment, and their gazes locked. The wolf could feel the tension in the air as he waited for the old dame to realize he was a threat, and she opened her mouth to scream “Я вижу вас, вас фашистский немец! Для Motherland!” before brandishing an antiquated Mosin-Nagant. The wolf sensed the danger and moved immediately.
Shortly afterwards, the bones were stashed in the wardrobe and the wolf quickly dressed up in the recently-deceased geriatric’s clothes. The buttons presented a minor problem as the wolf had no opposable thumbs on his paws, but eventually he just pulled the dressing robe closed. Hardly had he settled in bed when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called. Where the wolf learned to speak, and how he even had vocal chords that could form those words, we will never know. Regardless, Little Red Riding Hood came in. It had been a long time since she had seen her grandmother, and her memories of her were hazed with time.
“My, what big eyes you have grandma!”
“I read in poor lighting.”
“What big ears you have!”
“You should see my earphones.”
“What big teeth you have grandma!”
“I have an excellent dental plan.”
“Do all women get as hairy as you when they reach your age grandma?”
“You cheeky bugger!” The wolf leapt out of bed, intent on devouring the girl for this slight. Truth be told, the wolf was rather full, and his jaw ached from chewing such tough meat earlier, but he had a reputation to maintain. Little Red Riding Hood fled the cabin screaming, with the wolf hot on her heels.
It just so happened that a lumberjack was thundering by at that moment, on his way home after gathering enough hippies to use as firewood. As Red Riding Hood ran by screaming, he considered eating her, but decided that whatever was chasing her would probably be more filling. So he lashed his raging bull to a nearby tree and dismounted. That may have made no sense to you, but the primary mode of transportation for a lumberjack is by bull. While ordinary bulls eat grass and antibiotics, a lumberjack’s bull feeds on steroids and endangered species. The reason their bulls are fed endangered species is because lumberjacks are proponents of ecological diversity. There are only two major groups in the animal kingdom: endangered species, and non-endangered species. If endangered species were allowed to procreate and re-establish their populations as they please, then they would no longer be endangered, and the only kind of animal we’d have left is the plain old non-endangered kind. So we would lose an entire category of animals, leaving us only one, and having only one category is not diverse by any measure of the imagination.
Having made sure his bull would not run away, the lumberjack hefted the small tree that he used as a javelin and stepped forward. Now a lumberjack is a man who jacks lumber. Chopping down trees is all they think about. If there were no trees to chop down, lumberjacks would cease to exist. And yet, lumberjacks have so much contempt for trees that they are willing to sacrifice their very existence to help win the war against nature. Trees are everywhere. It’s getting to the point of where you can’t even go to a park anymore without seeing a tree. If lumberjacks didn’t cut down trees, the trees would overwhelm us and take over the world. Then where would we raise our families and park our cars? In the forest? Wishful thinking, and it might even work if it weren’t for one small detail: Bears.
Hardly had the lumberjack taken a step forward when the wolf, hot on the heels of Red Riding Hood, careened into him. This massive specimen of Man looked down to see what had hit his knees, and the wolf stared up in awe. “Come now, surely as reasonable creatures we can come to an agreement?” The lumberjack glared stonily and the wolf, then rumbled and rubbed his stomach. The wolf let out a small whimper and tried to escape; big mistake. The lumberjack lifted the wolf into the air with his mind, spun him around, and digested him telekinetically. And the lumberjack wasn’t even hungry. Sobbing with relief, Red Riding Hood clung to the back of the lumberjack’s knee, thanking him profusely. The huge man was puzzled; does she want milk? Does she need to be burped? Did she eat something off the floor that upset her stomach? Undecided as to what to do, the lumberjack lifted her off the floor and gave her several back-breaking pats on the back, before setting her down and telling her to sod off or he’d eat her too. The last thing Red Riding Hood heard as she turned on her way home was the enraged roaring of the bull and the ground-shaking pounding as it galloped away.

2007-10-30T04:11:00.000-07:00

Click on the image for a larger view of this spacious, well-designed pool.

2007-10-30T02:36:00.000-07:00

Had a bad experience recently. Went to a hawker centre and well, what happened is described in the following story. True storee!!

The blazing orb of the sun hung in the sky, baking me within my clothes and raising the temperature to unholy heights. I fanned myself limply with my hand, resulting in a sluggish movement of superheated air. Just as I was about to give up in despair, I saw a structure in front of me; though I could barely see details through the blinding glare of light around me, I could discern the shape of a hawker centre. I would have sobbed in relief if I had any water to spare for tears, and stumbled towards the blessed shade its awnings offered.
Darkness washed over me, shielding me from the merciless heat of the sun, and I could not choke back a sob of thankfulness. For a moment, I closed my eyes, savoring the luscious shade and the respite offered by the gently-approving hum of the fans. Then I opened my eyes and my heart sank. The floor was grainy with dirt, in the manner that only exceedingly unclean public floors can be. Foul soapy effluent ran in the gutters, a filthy brown beneath the bubbly exterior. Uncollected dishes crowded on the tables, sauce pooling beneath them like abandoned corpses on a battlefield of synthetic plastic. The only thing that was remotely clean here were the seats, which merely meant that they had little bits of food which could be brushed off.
With a sniff of distaste, I wielded my tissue paper to devastating effect among the scraps of food, and I could almost hear their screams as they were swept off the seats to plunge to their death on the dirty floor. This settled, I swept my gaze over the hawker centre, taking in the derelict old men that made up both the customers and the vendors. I wasn’t spoiled for choice, as not many stalls were open to begin with, and one that was open had a vendor who was applying his finger to the inside of his nose with admirable zeal. His stall was discounted immediately. Eventually I purchased a plate of fried rice and a gloriously cold Ice Milo, and sat down to eat.
However, no sooner had I picked up my utensils when I noticed they were oily. I was considerably puzzled, as I had not touched them since they were put on my tray at the side of my plate. Suddenly, it hit me! This negligent specimen of Man had not washed his utensils and had the nerve to give them to me, a paying customer! I stalked up to the vendor. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS FILTHY CROCKERY!" I roared. I could feel the anger pounding through my veins like molten steel, a terrible earth-shaking, sky-shattering rage that threatened to engulf the puny hawker in front of me in a whirling maelstrom of fury. The little man in front of me gibbered ineffectually, and consumed by fury, I punched him in the throat. He fell back with a strangled scream, clutching at his crushed windpipe, and everyone stared in horror. “Anyone else want to give me dirty crockery?” My shout boomed across the centre, but only silence greeted me. Full of righteous anger, I grabbed a pair of chopsticks and rammed them into the chest of the nearest hawker. He gave a choked cry and crumpled, clutching at the twin sticks of death jabbing into his ribs.
The rest of the hawkers must have taken this as some sort of sign, and they scattered, screaming in their arcane dialect. I launched myself from where I stood, landing on a nearby table and scattering bowls and laksa soup in all directions. With a feral growl, I leaped from the table and landed on the back of a running man. He let out a thin wail of terror as I landed on his back, the Avatar of Fury, the Embodiment of the Indignant Customer. I grabbed his head and wrenched it violently, hearing a crack as his skull detached from the spine, and his head wobbled crazily as his body fell. I noted with displeasure that the remaining three hawkers were rapidly leaving my range, so I grabbed a handful of knives from the utensil tray outside the Western Food Stall. The blades were unwashed, so much the better, guaranteeing an infected wound. I hurled three in rapid succession at fleeing backs of the last three vendors. The knives gleamed foully with a dirty light as the afternoon sun caught the metal, and time seemed to slow as the knives spun towards their targets, scattering bits of lettuce and breaded fish as they sliced through the air. The first one buried itself in the flesh of the neck, and the coward went down without a whimper. The second one hit the kidneys of the next man, and he went down with a pained cry. The last one fell low and impaled the last man in the meat of his thigh, and he fell down with a despairing wail.
As I walked up to him, he gibbered and pleaded, trying to drag his crippled weight away from me. I’m sure I must have made a fearsome sight, stained knives clutched in my hands, froth dripping from my grinning mouth, madness shining from my eyes. I granted this whimpering creature in front of me a quick death, and speared his heart with one of the knives I was holding. There were no other hawkers left alive. Slowly, I walked back to the hawker centre and rummaged through the bodies until I found a lighter and a cigarette. Picking up a heavy cleaver from the Duck Rice stall, I used its solid wooden handle and bashed the control valve on the main gas line. There was an ominous hissing as the lethal gas started escaping, and as I walked away, I lit the cigarette with the lighter and tossed it backwards. There was a moment’s silence, then a whooshing boom as the main gas lines ignited, destroying the hawker centre. I never looked back once as I turned away from this place that dared to serve me a dirty spoon.

Yeah baybee. I swear this is true, as firmly rooted in the truth as the Invisible Pink Unicorns. You can also find this on www.getberniced.blogspot.com, where it was also written by me. Man, I'm so humble I'm proud of it.