Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Where're the racial jokes?

We had a Malaysian cultural dinner today. To say the least, it was awkward. Especially the part where half of us had no idea how to sing 'Sejahtera Malaysia'.
Some Malaysians even gave the expression of 'Tush, why am I singing this? So embarassing. So low class.'
At one point of the night, we had Singaporeans singing some random Malay song because they are our friendly southern neighbour. They even proposed a Yum Seng Toast.
What. The. Fuck.
No offence to the kindness, but am I the only person who thinks there's something out of place here?
It's like Koreans singing Japanese songs on the Japanese national day. I mean, it's friendly, but really, out of place.
And, aren't we as Malaysians should propose a toast since it's OUR national day? We have 77 Malaysians in the whole college and you're telling me we can't find anyone to organise a toast but to rely on other people? Not even a friggin' toast?
From a foreigner's perspective, all I've learned about Malaysia is that we can sing our national anthem. Poorly.
And next we are having Australian cultural dinner just because we've had Singaporean and Malaysian night.
What is this, a race? To see who's more patriotic while actually the whole college just want good food?
And for the past days the wind has been crazy. It's like God ate too much sweet potatoes and now he's farting the shit out of the world.
Complain. Mumble. Gibberish.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Why your card look so old?

Holy fuckin' crap, it's true.
The black card, it exists.
I saw my brother's fiancee's sister's husband paying the Yumcha bill with it yesterday afternoon.
What do you mean what is a black card? It's the American Express Centurion Card.
Launched in late 1999, Centurion is given out by invitation only to customers who spend at least $150,000 a year on other AmEx cards and meet other requirements. The chosen cardholders pay an annual fee of $2,500.
And you have no spending limit. Rumours have that you can buy a Learjet on the spot. Ok, maybe a Porsche.
You get access into any airport lounge, free compliment first class tickets. Members can even receive upgrades at hotels like the Mandarin Oriental, Four Seasons, Banyan Tree and Hyatt.
With a flash of the card, and DKNY, Cerrutti, Celine and Valentino will arrange for private after hours shopping sessions.
In short, the card is all about status. Pure and Simple.
So I guess the question is, can I floss my teeth with the black card? I can even imagine some place that would accuse the card of being fake. Tee hee.

What's this in my ass?

The Italian National Night.
Despite the fact that I managed to sing in a woman's dress and impersonate Chairman Mao for the third time, it went for too long.
The night was a painful drag.
My table couldn't even get main course. I mean what the fuck? How can you not prepare enough food when the number of attendence's already been confirmed? How?!
Boo to Eurest. And capitalism.
I conducted Jia Hui's choir aka the final event. That was totally last minute because our pianist had to leave so she had to play the piano. I'm still feeling guilty for screwing up and taking her credits. To make matter worse she's given me a thank you note and a small Toblerone. Better check for poison and contamination. I mean thanks Jia Hui.
Had a drinking party after that. The highlight was seeing Satomi got KO'ed after two sips. Yes, TWO sips.
And I got drunk after everyone left again. If you've received any naughty emails or viruses, that's probably me.
Hope I didn't offend too many people.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

No, it's not a watch.


Tiger confused.

Irony (i-ro-ny). n.
an implied discrepancy between what is said and what is meant.
There're three kinds irony:
1. verbal irony: an author says one thing and means something else. For instance, I have an awful haircut. Yet you come up to me and say: I like your hair, it looks nice. That's a verbal irony.
2. dramatic irony: when an audience perceives something that a character in the literature does not know. Example, in the play Othello, the audience knows that Iago is fucking up Othello's life. Yet Othello has no idea and refer to Iago as 'Honest Iago'.
3. irony of situation: discrepency between the expected result and actual result. It's like rain~ on your wedding day. It's a free ride~ that you've already paid. It's a good advice~ that you just didn't take. You get the idea.

You may or may not remember me winning some ICAC photography and sketching competition.
Guess what, I got the prizes two days ago.
For coming 3rd in photography, I get a disposable camera. With flash mind you, it's the sharpest kodak disposable camera ever. (Look! I just made a verbal irony)
This is the best part, for coming 1st in the sketching competition. I get a Complete Drawing Course book.
It's quite amusing really. The mentality behind ICAC. I tried explaning 'sarcasm' to tiger but he's still having trouble digesting the multiple definitions of irony.

It's a dreadful Saturday morning.
Spent 2 hours trying to solve some Sudoku puzzles. Failed completely. Managed to solve a 'moderate' one, but none of the 'tough' of 'diabolical' ones.
Confidence? Lost. Self Esteem? Not a trace. I'll take it out on tiger. He's gonna get a huge beating. Here kitty kitty kitty...

Cold sweatin'

While I was taking a nap this evening, I had a memory relapse. You know, how sometimes you get into a half sleeping state and strange memories come back to you?
No? Well I remembered about a conversation I had with my friend, X, in Sydney during winter break.
It's more like a statement I made:

女人说的话, 放在心上就好, 千万别放在心里。
Take notice of what a woman says, but don't ever take it seriously.


No, I'm not being sexist or anything. It's true! Women make promises as much as the water running down Niagra falls.
And most of the time, they don't mean it.
Statements like 'oh sure I'll contact you', or 'that's great we should do that sometime', or ' I'll definitely see you soon.'
They say it out of courtesy and never remember a thing.
So it hurts sometimes, when you actually cling on to these promises or statements. Just to realise they don't mean it.
And here's the catch: Sometimes, they DO remember. And if you're caught not remembering what they say, it's game over.
'You never care about me!' 'You never pay attention to me!' 'I'm not important to you!' ' You're just like any other guy!'
Get what I mean?
So my advice is: Remember as much as you can, but NEVER take what they say seriously. Memorise what they say if you can, but don't EVER believe in them. Ever.
It's kinda like remembering their birthdays, but not their age. Buy her a cake, but don't count the candles.

Note: This post applies to men who don't own a Ferrari, diamond company, tobacco farm, or a 12-inch penis. If you do, trust me, you can get away with not paying attention. Heck, women will even listen to you voluntarily.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Breaststroke of the East

I don't use my hotmail account anymore. The junk mails piss me off. I used to be popular I guess, receiving invitations for this and that. Nowadays it's all penis enlargement advertisements. That's why I stopped using it. It's depressing.
Anyhow, yesterday out of the blue I decided to revisit my shrine of abandoned emails. To my surprise, amongst the sea of Herbal Viagra ads, I saw this forwarded mail by Parky.
And it seriously made my day.
It's been a while since I laughed this painfully.
It's a blog address of a Leibanese guy. Just that he decided to show the translation of Star Wars 3 from Chinese to English. Get it? It's an English translation from Chinese from English, get it? Ok ok, first they translated the movie into Chinese. After that, they translated it back to English. Get it? Get it?
It should be the same you say?

NooooOOOoOoOOoOoOOOOo.
You'll just have to explore the humour of linguistics.
Again, so thankful I'm Chinese.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

After party = Massive orgy


I think that guy didn't floss his teeth.

Ok. I should stop this. For the past three posts my blog has been nothing but sexual. I mean, it sells, but I'm sure my life is more than this. I hope, I think.
So yesterday night I went to the Melbourne Symphony. The MSO was playing Shostakovich. Not that I know a lot about these composers anyway. Anyhow, he's quite modern. Died in 1975 and the Symphony No.11 is of the Russian Revolution of 1905, which took up a whole hour.
Before that they played some of his suites from movies, a flea song which included a baritone, and a Jazz Suite.
Which, even the conducter confessed sounded nothing like Jazz.

I liked it much better than the last symphony I've seen. Because this time there's a xylophone, and a gong. THE GONG!
Yea, I felt sorry for the gongman. He played like ten minutes out of the whole revolution suite. Pity.
What scares me though, is that most of the audience are old people. When I look back it's like a sea of silver/bald heads.
Remember the movie Village of the Damned? Yea, something like that. Just that instead of kids, you get old men. And women.
Nevertheless it was one of the best Monday nights I've had. Feel sorry for the people who didn't get to go. Kawaiso~

Monday, August 22, 2005

Open day + Boredom =


We've got free sausages too!

Yes, it's open day for Unimelb and the rest of the hostels.
We had lots of volunteers giving tours around IH.
When I say 'volunteers' I mean we actually get paid for it. I'm sure that's the main reason why people want to do it anyway.
And I got to inhale lots of Helium gas. I sounded so sexy I'm sure I could pick up Donald and Mickey and Pluto.
Alas, there wasn't many people that came.
Racist people, I tell you. They think they're too good for IH. They want a white supremacy college, well they can go to hell.
Then again, maybe it was because I was out front scaring the people. No, no, I refuse to believe that.
Deedley doodley doo. Nothing much happened. Except that I'm down on a flu. I feel as if there's a rabbit running around at the back of my nose. Wait, make that five rabbits.
Plus a washing machine.
Oh wait, something did happen. I won the intercollegiate sketching and photography competition. Came first for the sketching and third for the photos. Hip Hip Hurrah?
It's a fluke I say. Especially for the sketching as I did it just for fun. No effort whatsoever. The judges must've thought it was special just because I used pen to sketch instead of pencil.
The photo on the other hand, took me more effort and time. Yet I only came third. I guess it's better than nothing.
At least I didn't get any 'Special Mention' award. (For the people who got that award, no disrespect. I'm just poking fun at Parky.)
Oh, during the weekend I got dragged to the social dance club thingy in Union House by SHEANEE~! and JOANNA~!
They say I should thank them because they've given me a social life. Well, thank you. And you can't dance for shit. Both of you.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Rear entrance

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Comes in different sizes and ages.

I'm sorry but I just couldn't help it.
This is the poster for Harry Potter: The Half Blood Prince in Borders. It's been there for quite some time now.
I just think it looks more like an advertisement for blow up dolls than a poster for a book.
They share the same function: After you finish it, you just shove it under your bed or lend it to your mates.
The book is really ho-hum.
Nothing actually happens. There's not even an ending. I think the author J.R.R. Tolkien is just leaving everything to the end.
Hope the last book's not as thick as the World Atlas.
I think the story went bad after the 5th book. Everything's the same. Same character, same location. I think people are just reading for the sake of not losing out to their friends.
Read it if you must, yet it's not a fantastic read. If you haven't read the book, here's a great summary:

Snape is the half blood prince.
Harry picked up Ron's sister.
Dumbledore is dead.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Trick or treat!

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If you were really good in a past life, you come back as something better.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Heaven is made up by survivors

Finally watched Crying Out Love, In The Centre of The World. Trust me, the title sounds cooler in Japanese.
I probably wouldn't have finished it if I were to watch it alone. A movie that celebrates true love, memories and death would be too painful (or sceptical) for me to watch.
It's one of those movies that makes you regret life. If you're old, you'd wished to have a high school life like that, which is impossible; if you're a pre high school teenager, you'd wished to have a high school life like that, which is highly unrealistic.
A feel good movie that makes you want to go out and fall in love with anyone on the streets, which again, is extremely silly, dangerous, illogical and STD contagious.
Normal people don't get into relationships like that. We don't have a script to sound romantic. We have no slow melodramatic music to accompany our confessions.
We get truck horns, traffic light beeps, foot steps, birds, and a giggle or slap in the face. That's reality.
I guess the point is, we have to live on hope.
Having said that, Masami Nagasawa was HOT in the movie as Aki Hirose. Her voice was crucial. People'd stop just to listen her sigh. Such sadness and engagement.
If the same lines were to be read by the voice of Doraemon, the movie would be a comedy that turns you off.
If my future girl friend's not decent looking, at least give me someone with a voice that will make my heart stop and melt.
In a non dodgy way, of course.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Watson, someone stole our tent

I'm sorry that I'm out of the General Knowledge world for some time. But what the FUCK is this???
We've discovered a tenth planet in the Solar System?
A TENTH PLANET?
After all this years of advance NASA launching and exploring and screwing up, we didn't realise an extra planet in our own backyard? Our very own Solar System?
After billions and gazillions of money going to Mars and shit, you're telling me we never actually fully explored the System?
Ok, I might be a bit shallow on this Astrological shit, but, tell me: If we can't even discover a tenth planet in the System, what proof is there to say that aliens don't exist?
After all this years, they only discovered ten planets? The Solar System might have 93598727 planets for all we know.
Why are the Americans still budgeting gazillion dollars for NASA when astromony, which seems to us now, is all by chance?
Why are we exploring space, when we can use the money for poverty, salvation, ecology, and alcohol?
I understand in the cold old days, the Russians and Americans were competing. Hence, the urge to send Armstrong moonwalking like a cow being milked while running.
But now who are we competing against? Planet Vergon-6? Amazon Planet? Omicron-8? They're not even real for fuck's sake!
I take this as a joke. I mean, it's probably the most significant discovery since the Paris Hilton sex tape.
But none better than the other.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Wait, am I suppose to be in there?

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.....oh shit....

Heya, Im Harvard. Pffff HAHAHHAHAHAHAAHH!!!!!!! Heheheheheheheheh (I'm really NOT!!!!) HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA
Pffffffff. haahah!!!!! Teeeeheeheeeheee!!!!! 'Tush never tell me, for I think it most.....oh shit...."
Blog Over. Ciao Baby. It was fun.
Moo. Shut up.
I'Ve GoNE CrAZyyYyyYYyYY!!

By the way, the play went well.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

What is that green stuff?

Today while waiting for dinner at Guild Theatre, I got really hungry. I dashed down to the food court of Unimelb Union House.
Most of the shops were closed, except for that which sells samosa and naan. You know which one I'm talking about.
There wasn't much food left anyway. Lots of samosas, some cold looking curry with rice and a chicken roll.
So my reasoning was, if there's only one chicken roll left, it must be good compared to the others. It must've been more demanded.
Therefore I bought the chicken roll.
As soon as I turned around, the Chinese sales girl, who assumed that I'm a banana, yelled to her boss:
老板,卖掉了!终于卖掉了!(Translation: Boss! I sold the chicken roll! I finally sold the chicken roll!)
I stopped and thought: Shit.
I ate the damn thing anyway. So, if I were to be food poisoned or paralysed tomorrow. Help me please, anyone?

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

What do you mean my son is gay?

Breaking up is a test.
A test of character, personality, will power, tolerance, violence, civility, patience and morality. Especially when you're the victim.
Of course, you'd say in a mutual break up there are no victims. I say bullfuckingshit. There's ALWAYS a victim.
It's simple. The person who gets drunk, miserable, and sympathy after the break up is a victim. The one who gained happiness after that, is obviously not. Note that I am speaking in the discourse of a relationship, not a matter of right or wrong.
Where was I? Oh yes, a test of humanity.
It's a test, because, you've got so much about your ex in your hands. Eg. their secrets, weakness, soft spots, histories, what they hate, what they actually think about their best friends, what they actually think about their parents and religion etc.
While on the technical side, you've got their thumb prints, hair, email address, IP address, actual address, their parents' address and telephone number, voice recording of what they actually said, and a couple of C4 explosives.
So much mischief, so little time.
It's been a while now, how bitter guys post their ex's nude pictures/movies on the internet after they got cheated.
That's tough, the girls get humiliated and scarred for life. And they never get to see the light of the day.
That's just plain stupid.
I say, you humiliate them AFTER they gain success.
AFTER they have a secure life. Therefore, they have more to lose, the stake is higher. The damage is increasingly severe.

What's the point of making their life miserable now when they are so insignificant anyway? I say patience is the key.
Again, everything is a test. It takes so much to control yourself.
I can think of all these, but I can't carry them out, yet. That's because I've got morality in my way.

But, it's always good to have hopes and dreams. For when the time is right, the ripe fruit of success would be juicy.
At the same time, I'd think twice to hurt my future girlfriend. Women just don't have any sense of control when they are mad, or out shopping on a winter sale, or on a diet.
Do you see this Satomi? Moe?

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Poster for Malaysian Tourism Board.

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The new iPoh. The Chicken Ho Fun just got better. PenanG + Malacca.

Speaking about Freudian Slip, I remember this trip to Ipoh with my family. It was gazillion years ago.
My father always go to this Chinese Traditional Acupuncture place. And we'd spent hours sitting there or wandering around.
So, once my brother and I were reading newspapers in the waiting room while our dad got hypnotized into a poccupine.
Of course, when I say reading newspapers I meant eavesdropping the conversation between the nurses/receptionists.
It went something like:

Nurse: Aay, you suka* listen whose music ah?
Recep: Bulidney Spares** not bad la.
Nurse: What about that Koorishteena Agooeyleera*** ah? Her music chun boh****? Body hot hot eh...

Ah. Malaysians...

*suka = Malay. Means 'like, admire etc.'
** Britney Spears
*** Christina Aguilera
**** chun boh = Hokkien. 'Good or not?'

Monday, August 08, 2005

My finger itself has 9g of saturated fat

Last Friday, I walked Moe to Safeway. She wanted to buy some health food. You know, to lose weight.
At one stage, I remember we were actually arguing and comparing the fat and protein content between the 'vanilla' yogurt and the 'strawberry' yogurt, deciding which one to buy.
At that moment, it strucked me that I'm officially, a faggot. I actually read the nutrional facts and believed in them. Standing in the money consuming supermarket, I actually believed that my life is affected by that small amount of carbohydrate and fat.
I know, I've been running for the past three weeks. Even Sarah calls me 'Mr. Fitness'. I can hear God laughing.
Worst still, I can feel 'inner Harvard' detesting me.
So today, I technically ate a whole box of pizza and drank nothing but Coke for dinner. Now I feel better.
Maybe I need to run again tomorrow. Doh!

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Empathy

Below is a writing piece from my Copywriting class. We're given a character to write a 250 word monologue. So mine's a 29 year old woman who's an ex-professional cyclist. She's a health freak and currently working for the Somalian refugees. So here goes:

Last Saturday night, I finally learned the Somali National Anthem by heart. Osman, the same kid who heard me curse after learning Lance’s Tour de France victory corrected my pronunciation. He’s still bugging me for the meaning of ‘fuck’, which I tend to ignore. The more I avoid the conversation, the more he realized it was something he’s forbidden to know at his age.
His mischievous smile reminds me of Jerome, that cocky ex team mate of mine. I’m sure he’s at some bar cursing the hell out of the USPS team as well. I miss that guy.
I finally got used to the praying. I still remember the shock when I first heard all three hundred of them chanting and praying at five in the morning. It woke me up and became my alarm clock for jogging since then. It's part of my life now.
Vanessa is still complaining about the food. Sometimes I just want to strangle her on the spot. We’re here to help, not to be pampered. Besides, I think the food is well balanced. Maybe I do get to reduce my body fat after all.
The children are having an art project today. They are just having a great time with other children, in regardless of their skin color, totally unaware that they’re a part of this ‘social reform’ project. Sometimes I think this program affects me more than the children.
I stopped hating God for taking away my left hand. In fact, it’s refreshing to realize that I’m stronger than two years ago. And I like it when Osman strokes my remaining arm. Maybe I should teach him ‘Waltzing Matilda’ after dinner.

I'm white, and fucking proud of it.

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It was a Wednesday. I just replaced the batteries on my camera before I took the tram home.
Beyond IH, I saw Sally and Parky walking along Royal Parade.
I got off the tram, and took only this one candid photo.
And I get this surreal lighting formed by the dark clouds and piercing sun. Seems like it's digitally enhanced but it's not.
Best photo I've taken in my life so far.
Fucking proud of it, too.

Edit. Flip Horizontal. Lighten.


Tit bunny and pimple dragon?

Yes. Right before I decided to kill myself, I remembered that I have an online assignment to complete.
It's for my online subject. It's called Digital Imaging for Photoshop. Whatever that means, I took it so I can have less contact hours and don't have to go campus often.
Yet I came to realised that it's quite an interesting subject. I get to create these interesting images just from Photoshop tools.
Oh well. That kept me entertained for like, one hour? After that I felt bored and depressed again.
But the first picture reminds me of boobs. And there's six of them. I've got issues man. I'm creating bitch tits subconciously.
Wish me good mental health.

Friday, August 05, 2005

.

It is one in the morning.
I'm wearing this white shirt and black tie, sitting in front of the computer. Fuzzy head, swollen eyes. And my tongue tastes funny.
Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's been a while since I match my black tie with white shirt. Maybe it's the nap I took in Satomi's room. Maybe it's the speech that the guest speaker gave during dinner. It's suppose to raise awareness to life. But I thought: if 30,000 children die everyday, what difference does it make for me to stay alive, when life is barely statistcs?
Yes, for the first time, I really feel like killing myself. As in, seriously killing myself. Not the 'I wonder who will come to my funeral?' type, but more like 'would I have enough strength to stab through my own ribs?' kind.
I was staring at my scalpel blade for 30 minutes.
Called some friends, but they really shouldn't care. I tried chatting and talking trash on msn. I'm writing this down now not to draw sympathy, but to stop my mind from thinking of it.
I'm really afraid. I've never been so afraid all my life.
Because death seems tolerable and acceptable.
I know this will be another false attempt. But somehow at this wretched morning, I think I understand why people do it.
Because when you have nothing to look forward to in life but life. That's when hope stalls and becomes parallel to your footsteps.
And that's exactly what's happening to me now.
Tick follows Tock follows Tick. I hope tomorrow comes.

Monday, August 01, 2005

Triads with breasts


'Where the fuck is our sweet and sour pork?'

I'm kind of anticipating this movie. Make no mistakes. The cast looks solid and promising. Even the title is gripping.
Yet I still have to ask this question:
WHY ANOTHER FUCKING GANGSTER MOVIE? WHY?
Is that all there's left for HK movie industry? Are there no decent screenwriters at all? Why do they keep making triads movie one after another? Is there no other stories to tell the public viewers?
Yea, you're saying 'oh how ingenious, they refer to Leonardo Da Vinci's Last Supper for their theatrical poster.'
Piss off. The Soprano's did that ages ago. And I don't think they're even the first to do the long table thing.
They couldn't even come up with their own ideas for a. movie. poster. What makes me sad, is that there will be people around thinking this is the film makers' idea.
'Wah damn cool the poster! How they can relate gangsters to Last Supper? HK people super geng!'
No, I'm not cynical. I've been around long enough to encounter this sort of people on a frequent basis.
And why is there Buddhist statues on the background? Isn't The Last Supper all about Jason Christ?
Maybe they did that intentionally. I'm sure it will offend some Christians along the way. If so, I say keep up the good work.
At least they raised some controvesy. Instead of using the same idea over and over again just because it looked 'cool'.
I feel sad. HK cinema is left with stories that are either borrowed from Japanese Manga, or from previous successes.
Sort of like how Hollywood keep pushing the 'superhero' stories around. By the time they finish a round of superheroes, they'd start again. Like Batman, and Superman.
I miss not watching photocopy movies.

Gently down the stream


Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that you were so sure it was real?

Ah, yes. That was my head. And Satomi's ass.
I was in an awkward position as she didn't notice the proximity of our cheeks. Parky, Steph and Riyo just stood there and laughed.
Steph even took the pictures. Thank you.
Things couldn't get any worse, except for that moment then, Satomi started to dance and shake her booty.
How many times, I dare ask you, do you get the chance of having an ass shaking in your face, point blank?
And I didn't even need to pay.
Everything aside, it was truly the best out of the four cruises I've had. I actually was having fun instead of wondering why couldn't I have fun. And I didn't even drink.
But we get the usual stuff. The normal key players tonguing each other's throats, trying to prove themselves worthy of the term 'sluts', 'whores', and 'man'.
You get the betrayal of partners(yawn) that exclaimed: So what? It's only a kiss! it's not that we fucked or something!
Sadly, I saw some people that felt left out and couldn't have as much fun as they hoped for. They'll grow out of it.
And who can forget the spewing people? The people, who got so drunk that they had to bury their faces in the public trash cans?
Yet the most pathetic of all people, are the ones who did something different just because they were drunk.
Like making out. Or taking advantage of drunk girls. You know, things that they normally wouldn't do.
If anything happens, they blame it on the alcohol. How convenient. Cowards. Losers with empty Spring Pockets.
Meh, that's how the world works anyway. Everyone's so eager to have sex. There's two types of people in the world: The ones who try to have sex; and the nerds who study hard so they can be successful and get better sex in the future.
We are just balancing between the two extremes.
The funny thing is that I got drunk AFTER the cruise. Alone. In my apartment. With 1/3 of a bottle of Absolut Kurant.
It's interesting how you can get drunk, but still able to tell what you had for dinner when you throw up.
Hmm. Olives, capsicums, hams: Pizza Supreme. Buddha tears flavoured green tea vomit? Yes please.

Should I paige you while I jerk off?

What. the. FUCKING FUCKED UP CRAP! is wrong with the mail notification of Friendster blog updates?
Everyday my hotmail account's been bombarded with notifications of people updating their 'important' blogs.
What do you want, a cookie? Join the club. Take a number. Have a seat. Then look around you and see that the rest of the world are updating their blogs too. You are NOT special.
No shit? Yea, grow up and shut the fuck up.
Annoys the shit out of me. Everytime they update their blogs I have to get notified. As if it's my obligation to read them all.
Cheap tricks, I say. I want peace, I say. Your blogs suck, I say. Friendster blogs layout is like a saw through my tongue, I say.
Is there anyway I can prevent the notifications from coming in? Any kind souls out there? Please? Show a path of light?