My dreary existence expands in scope and develops a whole new intensity. These days I have been pondering the meaning of existence, and found the exercise to be meaningless. The fact that classes had ended for this season does not improve my mood greatly. In fact, the prospect of failing all my examinations has a cold and sobering effect. I can expect my agony at my flophouse university to be prolonged and more expensive. I conclude that the best thing for me to go for it and see where my efforts take me. It sounds like a football team who are playing against vastly superior opponents and expecting the worst, but when you are skint, tired, uninspired and back to the wall, going for it is the only option. Either that, or it is go to the ground, spread your legs like a whole and asked to be raped…gently.
I have been testing out the upgraded version of my company’s computer system for the past week. I must say it has been an excruciating as it has been fascinating. In view of the many problems, excruciating seems the right – and only – word. It is also the only word my overworked brain can think of right now so yes, excruciating it is.
Although the new version is supposedly to be slightly more advanced than the previous one, it looks like a whole new different beast altogether. For starters, a substantial portion of the original interface seems to have been changed. The options that were so intuitive (comparatively speaking) have been replaced in a variety of ways. Either they are now in a different position, or have different or newer functions. Compare MS Word 2003 to the crap 2007 version and you have an idea of what I mean.
At least MS 2007 works. The new program is riddled with bugs. We are finding new bugs and program errors ‘for fun’ and we are not even halfway through this infernal program. It does not help matters that the company that designed this integrated business system has such mediocre support. Their technical support staff does not even know how to run their own program, and the material in the CD they provided is useful only if you have a year to sort through the thousands of pages’ worth of instructions. Engineers and technical people tend to be poor writers. These buggers can never be concise if their paltry existences depend on them keeping it short and sweet. To compound our misery, we are not even informed of the exact features the new version has. It has been all trial and error and it is virtually impossible not to miss out anything.
There are only three of us, my boss, my senior, and I. We are like the Special Forces. Besides our daily tasks of providing support to our users from SIX different countries (in particular those inept jokers from India), we have to (i) liaise with our foreign colleagues (ii) help the other IT team in their inquiries (iii) provide training to our other colleagues on how the damn thing works, its unreliability notwithstanding (iv) assist our dear colleague in Malaysia in resolving technical issues she should have been able to solve with her 20 years of experience, (v) test out and troubleshoot the program, and (iv) communicate with our two programmers on what we want.
So little time (20 days to get the damn thing up and running) and such paltry resources. It is little wonder I have been losing what is left of my strength and sanity. Before long I may lose more money because I have no time to study for my bleeding examinations and I would have to spend money repeating the shit that I flunk. Every day has been like nine to nine, and I am not even a permanent staff to begin with. By the time I reach home I would be so damn exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Long hours of staring at the computer screen have affected my eyesight. My perfect/almost perfect vision is going to the Hells. Hitting the books with the sort of inferior lightning my house has only exacerbates my agony. At this point of writing, I have finished the cursory round of studying for my Political Economy of ASEAN. I was to commence on Human Resources tonight but I only left the office close to ten. There is no way I am going to burn the midnight oil for a fourth consecutive night without risking collapse. Still, I still harbor ambitions – or desperation – of finishing the foregoing mentioned subject by Sunday. Two subjects in one week, and then it’s the Finance modules – which I expect to fail. Life could hardly be more fun.
Speaking of fun, I did mention about my trials and tribulations being fascinating as well. Here are the reasons. My company is a most unusual company. For an American company you would have expected that its employees would have had more work/life balance. Hell no! If it had not been for the highly informal organizational culture, one would be forgiven if he had thought it a Chinese firm. It is not unusual for people to stay a bit longer after office hours, and hardly rare if they stay considerably longer. My boss was still working in the office at 2am a few months ago. When we left tonight, a few colleagues were still hard at work. In fact, the only people who get to have a life are the expatriates in corporate management. I remember one bloke telling us about his Mandarin lessons and how he hoped to impress his pretty instructor. How sweet. I wish I had the time to take up a foreign language after work, and possibly take the opportunity to take my bootylicious instructor to bed for some engaging pillow talk. I got nothing against the bloke. He seems like a nice chap. It is just that things are, to quote from Buddha, thus.
Having said that, I wish that some of those in management would have some brains. On an ordinary day our integrated business system is already riddled with bugs and quite few users are experiencing difficulties with the damn thing. To expect us to make the new version work within such a short span of time, with such scant resources, is absolutely ludicrous. And let us not forget that we are implementing our online store. We were supposed to get it up for people to order items, but we are a month overdue and even now, despite the combined efforts of the Australians the Americans, us, and possibly the Taliban, it is still NOT FUNCTIONAL.
I don’t understand why in the Hells must the management rush us like this. What is the point of having an unreliable system and a dodgy internet site just to meet some unreasonable deadline some managerial Peter Pan had set? When shit happens, as it surely will, the company will definitely lose more money. First, given the fact that only THREE of us are supporting the IT for SIX countries, it would be IMPOSSIBLE to prevent a reduction in efficiency should just ONE person from EACH country encounters a technical problem at the same time. What are the rest going to do when they cannot print documents, when the customers want something done and they cannot log in or access some function, when the system hangs and they are left stranded?
Second, when you cannot even get your internal processes in order, how are you going to handle the competition and your prospective customers? When your competitors are swiftly implementing their business strategies and you are still bogged down by internal deficiencies, it stands to reason that they are going to get a head start. When your customers want to order items online and the site just cannot work, do you think they will stay with you long enough to develop customer loyalty? The failure of the business to generate revenue, coupled with its propensity to work its employees to death, will surely contribute to loss of customer confidence and employee motivation, resulting in high turnover, attrition rates and resources wasted. Indeed, for all the eloquent rhetoric of our CEO, the fact remains that only a whole new outlook in corporate strategies and effective human capital utilization will pull the company out of its mire. For this I offer a simple solution: PUT ME IN CHARGE.
Fuck. I just wrote a short essay on Human Resource Management. Talk about not having the time and energy to study. Writing is not only therapeutic, it is educational as well. I will be writing more after my examinations. Cry me a river.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
My Birthday
18 days after my birthday, my group of infidels came together to celebrate it. 18 = 6 + 6 + 6. 666. The Omen.
We met at the Newton train station. Pearl was the earliest. She whiled away the time at a nearby mall. That is standard operating procedure for females. Either you are ‘fashionably’ late, or you are ‘shoppingly’ early. The Lass wore a flowery dress which was quite eye-catching. She does have the ‘Shinegal’ look.
You have the Warner Bros, and then you have the Liang Brothers. As usual, XH was suffering from one of his chronic bouts of stomach upsets and was putting his impressive abdominal muscles to the task of gastric relief. XR and his BIG BAG, the latter for which I was particularly grateful (I needed to stash my Political Economy textbook somewhere) also turned up.
Xinyao brought a friend along. Her name is Weiling and she proclaimed herself an agnostic. Being of similar built and attire, they shared a sisterly resemblance. Still, I must say XY is the prettier of the two. Atheism has a beautifying effect. Anyway, WL seemed like the articulate type. Neither standoffish nor a shrinking violet, she asked us about our little atheist ragtag band. XH did most of the talking. An infidel in the making? I would not bet against it.
After everybody was there, we made our way to Newton Circus. Along the way, we talked among ourselves, to work up an appetite and to catch up with one another. We soon reached the Promised Land, settled down at a table, and were immediately accosted by very zealous food sellers eager to squeeze every buck out of us. We ordered a few dishes that were suitably delicious and artery-clogging, and resumed our pattering while waiting for the food to arrive.
The slop came and we dug into it with gusto. Fried vegetables, prawns, egg omelets, meat and sugar cane drinks were the order of the day. In between mouthfuls we talked among ourselves. The Lass did not eat the dishes we ordered, preferring to order separately. She does not take sea food. She does not know what she is missing.
XH explained to WL the difference between an atheist and an agnostic. Infidelism does not take a holiday. I could imagine my bro giving her tuition on the subject. WL and I talked briefly about football writing. I told her of my contempt for the substandard mob who writes football columns for the New Paper and she agreed that the paper was basically trash. I was quite impressed. She is a smart girl and once she becomes a true infidel she will be smarter yet.
XR and the Lass talked the least. Not to say that they didn’t talk much but compared to us chatterboxes they were like nuns in a whorehouse. XR ought to loosen up a bit. He was sitting next to a few women, and being a HOT-BLOODED MALE, he should have made more conversation.
The Lass stared into space at random intervals. She has such an endearing habit. Too bad sexy Goh was not around for her to stare into his eyes – or elsewhere. Anyway, she presented me with a sketch of me, which I proudly showed to the rest of the gang. I am touched! Now, this is high art indeed, fit for putting up in government offices. (By the way, I laminated it.)
The President, by the Lass.
I had a wonderful time teasing XY. One of these days I will overstep the line and end up being hacked to pieces by an enraged woman. Pearl said that I should learn to play mahjong. She said she would be willing to teach me, provided I put in ‘investment’. She better be careful what she wished for. I might just win back my school fees from my master. Either that or it is just me and my undies.
XH and XY then got into a ‘confrontation’ about English. English! XH was daring her (jokingly of course), to test his English. It must have been some in-joke when they were still in the same gulag teaching little monsters. I wish I was there. I could have made a pretty good slave-driver, I mean, um…discipline master.
There were still some prawns left by the time we were done and XY cleared ‘em with such vigor. It was refreshing to see a woman eat like she did not give a damn about her weight. I am almost ashamed of myself. My vision of gaining an additional 20kg will come to nothing, like our goal of qualifying for the 2010 World Cup, unless I – pardon the pun – pull my weight up.
As the night was still young, we decided to chill out somewhere else. We went to Orchard Road and found a Hong Kong restaurant.
Pearl, XH and I had great fun speaking and abusing one another using Cantonese, much to the bemusement of the Lass, who could not understand what we idiots were giggling about. We should organize a trip to Hong Kong one of these days. It will be fun enjoying the scenery, the places of interest, and murdering the Hong-Kongers’ language in front of them. The Lass would enjoy the shopping malls there.
XY and WL ordered one gigantic ice kacang. It was the biggest ice kacang I had ever seen and it was as majestic as Mount Everest. I didn’t know they sell icy desserts in a Hong Kong restaurant. XH, who was sitting next to the two sisters, did the gentlemanly thing and helped them polish off that chunk. I wager it did help him polish his conversation as well.
We ‘jio-ed’ XY for a hike in December. It was more like a dare, and I think we got her to accept it. Time to get the air tickets! I look forward to experiencing nature and making my toilet in the wilderness.
Imagine my surprise when my birthday cake came. It was not a cake – it was actually bread topped with an overly generous helping of peanut ooze. I nearly fainted when they said it was all mine. ALL MINE. I attacked it with determination, but the massive size of the thing, coupled with the scrumptious dinner I ate earlier, left me defeated. I came, I saw, and I surrendered to the OOZE. Still, I had a lot of fun eating it. The Ooze was dripping happily and I was amusing the Lass, who sat across from me with my slovenly table manners. They should have taped it down and sent it to Animal Planet.
The OOZE.
Prior to eating the Ooze was the customary birthday song and wish. Pearl and XH tried to give me a Cantonese rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, but our Cantonese, like my ultimately unfinished cake, required polishing. In the end, XH went Pavarotti and I made my birthday wish. I asked for an additional 10kg on top of the 20kg I wished for on my actual birthday. 30kg in all! That is half my weight. It is unlikely that I will hit the happy figure of 90kg of course, but they say in life, you should aim high so that even if you fail, you will still land somewhere near the target. I will be quite happy with 80kg.
Me and the OOZE.
Where's the OOZE?
We even took a group photograph. The poor waitress had difficulty with XH’s camera phone and had to ‘NG’ twice. Maybe she was awed by my immaculate presence.
Infidels!
It was around ten when we left the restaurant. We thought we would do some window-shopping but apparently XY and WL had their own plans. (Who could fathom the mysteries of the female mind?) We tried to ‘psycho’ them into joining us but they were obviously very much into each other. (It must be some kind of Female Conspiracy.)
So the Liang Bros, Pearl, the Lass and I walked around Ion Orchard. It is a mutha of a shopping mall, the shopping mall of all shopping malls. While Vivo City is probably larger than Ion Orchard, at least it feels like a shopping mall. Ion Orchard, on the other hand, is like a dungeon. Where a dungeon reeks of mold and decay, it overwhelms your consciousness with its suffocating materialism, shameless capitalism and vulgar marketing, the very air itself seemingly compelling you to shop, shop, and shop until you bankrupt yourself. And it is so easy to get lost in that place.
While walking around, the Lass suddenly squealed twice. I thought I had accidentally elbowed her but she said sparks flew from my arm to hers when I brushed against her. She got Pearl and I to touch elbows with her. She said one of us would get sick. I always knew I had an ELECTRIFYING personality but this really takes the OOZE. Two days later I was down with food poisoning. A coincidence? I now resolve to listen more to women.
The five of us got out of Ion Orchard and looked up the less than starry heavens (this is Singapore after all). I read somewhere that a star represents hopes and dreams. It is quite obvious we haven’t any in this cuntry. It was a bit disappointing because it was still around the Mid-Autumn Festival and we expected to see a full moon. No moon but the haze and the monstrous screens showing commercials.
Even without the night scenery, I had a wonderful time. Thanks to my friends for making this happen. Next stop: The Lass’s birthday bash at Zouk on Halloween night.
We met at the Newton train station. Pearl was the earliest. She whiled away the time at a nearby mall. That is standard operating procedure for females. Either you are ‘fashionably’ late, or you are ‘shoppingly’ early. The Lass wore a flowery dress which was quite eye-catching. She does have the ‘Shinegal’ look.
You have the Warner Bros, and then you have the Liang Brothers. As usual, XH was suffering from one of his chronic bouts of stomach upsets and was putting his impressive abdominal muscles to the task of gastric relief. XR and his BIG BAG, the latter for which I was particularly grateful (I needed to stash my Political Economy textbook somewhere) also turned up.
Xinyao brought a friend along. Her name is Weiling and she proclaimed herself an agnostic. Being of similar built and attire, they shared a sisterly resemblance. Still, I must say XY is the prettier of the two. Atheism has a beautifying effect. Anyway, WL seemed like the articulate type. Neither standoffish nor a shrinking violet, she asked us about our little atheist ragtag band. XH did most of the talking. An infidel in the making? I would not bet against it.
After everybody was there, we made our way to Newton Circus. Along the way, we talked among ourselves, to work up an appetite and to catch up with one another. We soon reached the Promised Land, settled down at a table, and were immediately accosted by very zealous food sellers eager to squeeze every buck out of us. We ordered a few dishes that were suitably delicious and artery-clogging, and resumed our pattering while waiting for the food to arrive.
The slop came and we dug into it with gusto. Fried vegetables, prawns, egg omelets, meat and sugar cane drinks were the order of the day. In between mouthfuls we talked among ourselves. The Lass did not eat the dishes we ordered, preferring to order separately. She does not take sea food. She does not know what she is missing.
XH explained to WL the difference between an atheist and an agnostic. Infidelism does not take a holiday. I could imagine my bro giving her tuition on the subject. WL and I talked briefly about football writing. I told her of my contempt for the substandard mob who writes football columns for the New Paper and she agreed that the paper was basically trash. I was quite impressed. She is a smart girl and once she becomes a true infidel she will be smarter yet.
XR and the Lass talked the least. Not to say that they didn’t talk much but compared to us chatterboxes they were like nuns in a whorehouse. XR ought to loosen up a bit. He was sitting next to a few women, and being a HOT-BLOODED MALE, he should have made more conversation.
The Lass stared into space at random intervals. She has such an endearing habit. Too bad sexy Goh was not around for her to stare into his eyes – or elsewhere. Anyway, she presented me with a sketch of me, which I proudly showed to the rest of the gang. I am touched! Now, this is high art indeed, fit for putting up in government offices. (By the way, I laminated it.)
The President, by the Lass.I had a wonderful time teasing XY. One of these days I will overstep the line and end up being hacked to pieces by an enraged woman. Pearl said that I should learn to play mahjong. She said she would be willing to teach me, provided I put in ‘investment’. She better be careful what she wished for. I might just win back my school fees from my master. Either that or it is just me and my undies.
XH and XY then got into a ‘confrontation’ about English. English! XH was daring her (jokingly of course), to test his English. It must have been some in-joke when they were still in the same gulag teaching little monsters. I wish I was there. I could have made a pretty good slave-driver, I mean, um…discipline master.
There were still some prawns left by the time we were done and XY cleared ‘em with such vigor. It was refreshing to see a woman eat like she did not give a damn about her weight. I am almost ashamed of myself. My vision of gaining an additional 20kg will come to nothing, like our goal of qualifying for the 2010 World Cup, unless I – pardon the pun – pull my weight up.
As the night was still young, we decided to chill out somewhere else. We went to Orchard Road and found a Hong Kong restaurant.
Pearl, XH and I had great fun speaking and abusing one another using Cantonese, much to the bemusement of the Lass, who could not understand what we idiots were giggling about. We should organize a trip to Hong Kong one of these days. It will be fun enjoying the scenery, the places of interest, and murdering the Hong-Kongers’ language in front of them. The Lass would enjoy the shopping malls there.
XY and WL ordered one gigantic ice kacang. It was the biggest ice kacang I had ever seen and it was as majestic as Mount Everest. I didn’t know they sell icy desserts in a Hong Kong restaurant. XH, who was sitting next to the two sisters, did the gentlemanly thing and helped them polish off that chunk. I wager it did help him polish his conversation as well.
We ‘jio-ed’ XY for a hike in December. It was more like a dare, and I think we got her to accept it. Time to get the air tickets! I look forward to experiencing nature and making my toilet in the wilderness.
Imagine my surprise when my birthday cake came. It was not a cake – it was actually bread topped with an overly generous helping of peanut ooze. I nearly fainted when they said it was all mine. ALL MINE. I attacked it with determination, but the massive size of the thing, coupled with the scrumptious dinner I ate earlier, left me defeated. I came, I saw, and I surrendered to the OOZE. Still, I had a lot of fun eating it. The Ooze was dripping happily and I was amusing the Lass, who sat across from me with my slovenly table manners. They should have taped it down and sent it to Animal Planet.
The OOZE.Prior to eating the Ooze was the customary birthday song and wish. Pearl and XH tried to give me a Cantonese rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, but our Cantonese, like my ultimately unfinished cake, required polishing. In the end, XH went Pavarotti and I made my birthday wish. I asked for an additional 10kg on top of the 20kg I wished for on my actual birthday. 30kg in all! That is half my weight. It is unlikely that I will hit the happy figure of 90kg of course, but they say in life, you should aim high so that even if you fail, you will still land somewhere near the target. I will be quite happy with 80kg.
Me and the OOZE.
Where's the OOZE?We even took a group photograph. The poor waitress had difficulty with XH’s camera phone and had to ‘NG’ twice. Maybe she was awed by my immaculate presence.
Infidels!It was around ten when we left the restaurant. We thought we would do some window-shopping but apparently XY and WL had their own plans. (Who could fathom the mysteries of the female mind?) We tried to ‘psycho’ them into joining us but they were obviously very much into each other. (It must be some kind of Female Conspiracy.)
So the Liang Bros, Pearl, the Lass and I walked around Ion Orchard. It is a mutha of a shopping mall, the shopping mall of all shopping malls. While Vivo City is probably larger than Ion Orchard, at least it feels like a shopping mall. Ion Orchard, on the other hand, is like a dungeon. Where a dungeon reeks of mold and decay, it overwhelms your consciousness with its suffocating materialism, shameless capitalism and vulgar marketing, the very air itself seemingly compelling you to shop, shop, and shop until you bankrupt yourself. And it is so easy to get lost in that place.
While walking around, the Lass suddenly squealed twice. I thought I had accidentally elbowed her but she said sparks flew from my arm to hers when I brushed against her. She got Pearl and I to touch elbows with her. She said one of us would get sick. I always knew I had an ELECTRIFYING personality but this really takes the OOZE. Two days later I was down with food poisoning. A coincidence? I now resolve to listen more to women.
The five of us got out of Ion Orchard and looked up the less than starry heavens (this is Singapore after all). I read somewhere that a star represents hopes and dreams. It is quite obvious we haven’t any in this cuntry. It was a bit disappointing because it was still around the Mid-Autumn Festival and we expected to see a full moon. No moon but the haze and the monstrous screens showing commercials.
Even without the night scenery, I had a wonderful time. Thanks to my friends for making this happen. Next stop: The Lass’s birthday bash at Zouk on Halloween night.
Friday, October 16, 2009
A Long Rant
I finally finished my paper for Political Economy of ASEAN. At roughly 4,500 words, the diction was rambling and at times choppy. The referencing was messy, and the content haphazardly thumped up. It was, in short, a fucking disgrace of an assignment. I endured a torrid time doing it and the best I could wish for is a borderline pass. I wish I had the opportunity to take Film Art instead of this thinly-veiled attempt at propaganda.
The people who designed this course ought to be made to take an IQ test. The module is called ‘Political Economy of ASEAN’. When I flip through the notes what do I see? The amount of material on Singapore was probably enough to cover half the notes. Read these and you will read about how capable our regime is in turning Singapore into an economic power, the various measures they use to alleviate the economic crises, about how great the tripartite system is at resolving issues betwjavascript:void(0)een the unions, the management and the regime, and the justification for lowering wages and incorporating a variable pay component into our already stagnant wages. What the fuck?! I signed up the course to learn about the POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ASEAN. If I wanted to learn about the POLITICAL ECONOMY OF SINGAPORE, I would have gotten a SOCIAL STUDIES textbook from a Popular bookstore. Five dollars for a brain-wash is still a lot cheaper than paying $500 for this module and BEING CHEATED AND BRAIN-WASHED. It is like a rapist forcing himself on a woman and then making her pay for the ‘service’ rendered. Obscene, diabolical, shameful, and a fucking disgrace!
I am not too impressed with the textbook either. According to the textbook, Goh is still our Prime Minister and Megawati is still the President of Indonesia. This is YEAR 2009. The textbook, which was printed in 2004 or 2006, is clearly outdated and to give it to us is absolutely reprehensible. It is like going to a restaurant and getting served LEFTOVERS. UniShit clearly enjoys treating its students like beggars.
The author Lim Y.C ought to take a professional writing course. I expect a doctorate holder to produce better quality writing than the choppy diction that characterizes his sloppy piece of work. I admit I am being arrogant, but I think my writing skills are better. And that comes from a guy who has only a worthless diploma! Mr. Lim may be an expert in his field, but he would have done better with a team of professional editors and ghost writers.
After suffering food poisoning and having to rush my Finance report during my convalescence, I was left with six days including the submission date to finish a 4,000 – 5,000 word report that I had not even started my research on. It would still have been manageable for a full-time student, but I had to work and the poisoning stole much of my strength. I only started on Saturday afternoon because I was so bloody drained I slept until lunch.
I had to force myself to focus; such was the fatigue that plagued me. I spent the entire afternoon doing research online. I Googled, tried my university’s online resources, which offered little (why am I not surprised?) and then dragged my sorry ass to the nearby library. I tried writing at night, but really, I still did not have much to work with. Oh sure, you can jolly well find some information on economic crises but many came from informal sources and I could not jolly well quote from these could I?
I did manage to find something on the Falling Demand Crisis of ’85. It was from a book published in the 1980s and I was glad the library staff kept it after all these years. I returned home and started to write after dinner and bath. There was not really much to write about, even with the data in the course materials, the pages I had photostated from the Library and another excellent article I found online. And I still had to do research on East Asia countries and analyze their growth rates. Obviously you just cannot go to Wikipedia and copy everything there. You cannot really comment academically on the economic situation in a country unless you have a reasonable understanding of their government (regime for some), the people (or workforce), the GDP, export and import partners, trade agreements (if any), natural resources, the relationship between their domestic, regional and international engines, the infrastructure and how investment is utilized, social-economic factors and other areas. While the textbook and notes were useful to some extent, they were Singapore-centic and touched only briefly on ASEAN countries. Plenty of material about crops, rubber and oil in ASEAN countries but little I could use in my assignment. Not much help there about China and Japan as well. I decided to delay the writing and finish all my research first.
While surfing the Net using like seven browsers and twenty odd tabs, I saw Gabby online and knowing he studied Economics in university, asked him about the economic crises in 1985-1986 and 1997 to 2003. The replies I got were nothing short of idiotic. First he said that our regime CAUSED the 1985-1986 crisis, and then, when asked about whether he knew anything about the aforementioned recessions, he said no. It was in the middle of the night; I was freaking tired and desperate for material; the last thing I wanted was this kind of bullshit. I wonder if all FASS students are like this. I don’t know if he was trying to be funny. If he wasn’t, maybe the next time I see him I should ask where he bought his Economics degree. Why should I suffer three bloody years in a flophouse university when I could just order a degree online? I dare say it would be a lot cheaper too.
The Book Guy came online and I tried my luck. J-school students do learn some history after all. He recommended several ways of doing research, most of which I had already tried. He knew a bit about the economic crises I was basing my report on but what he knew I knew even more. When he suggested helping me with my research, I declined. First, I did not want him to waste his time on my fucking assignment, and second, there was not much time left. I appreciated his offer though.
The fact that I had asked my friends clearly showed my level of desperation. Not that they were incompetent, but when you are firing blanks and hitting walls every time you turn, anything else seems like a good idea.
On Sunday I continued with my torture. I was doing research and typing out my report like my life depended on it. A perfectly good Sunday reduced to cinders…I should have been napping. I managed to finish most of the bullshit on the economic crises and wrote a few paragraphs on what EGOIN, Triple C Theory and S-Curve are. And of course, research. Sunday was just…work and trying to keep myself from doing anything…foolish.
On Monday I met XH at our university after our work. He took one look at my report and was like, wtf? He thought that it was impossible and coming from a teacher, although bringing me a tiny measure of satisfaction, brought me no further relief because I had still to finish the fucking thing and my overburdened mind was working overtime to assimilate all the information I could find about East Asia countries and trying to link them into something coherent while paraphrasing frantically to avoid being hauled up for plagiarism.
XH told me that his most of his classmates were either fucktards or arrogant whoresons. At least he had a couple of good-looking classmates to ogle. Fuck, even his lecturer is decent-looking and his Head of Programme looks good enough to have an affair with. What do I have? ZERO. NOTHING. ZILCH. HOSTILE SCENERY. Nothing to take the edge off, to occupy my hebetudinous mind with while I try to make sense of what the lecturer is saying. And I am in a fucking Business course. XH said his lecturer was quite disappointed with the lack of response from her class. Only XH bothered /was capable of answering her questions. The rest of the mobs either talked like Ris Low (the fucktards) or refused to answer and acted cool instead (the arrogant whoresons). We are talking about FILM ART! What in the Hells is so difficult about commenting on movies?! Arts students tend to be known for being ‘emo’ bastards and that sorry lot are no different. Hell, I can be ‘emo’ too. Am I not being strident, militant, extreme, raging and EMO as we speak?! Fuck. I should have been in his class. There are actually Business students in his class and why in the Hells did they not give me the option? This is a travesty! I am going to complain when I do the course assessment.
After slop with my friend, I returned home and worked until 3am. The next day I went to work and my colleagues said I looked like a zombie. They were absolutely right of course. When I got home I was left with a few paragraphs to do and tons of referencing to finish. The former I settled soon enough; the former nearly caused me to do myself in. I was looking at about 40+ citations to settle and even after removing some which were from my course materials I still had around 24. To add to my agony, the links I downloaded them from and my printed notes were all over the place, and I had an excruciating time piecing them to the correct passages. It might have been all right, but I was tired from work, I had no break after a hastily eaten dinner, the glare from the lighting hurt my eyes, and I had a few hours before the 12am timing. I kept getting the sequence wrong and had to redo the damn thing several times. Having used endnotes (Chicago style) for the first time, it was a test of my vision to see the little [xx] at the end of each sentence/paragraph. The first time they allowed us to use endnotes and I cocked it up. APA referencing might have been more familiar to me, but if I had used that I would still have puked my guts out in frustration. The fucking problem with the APA style is that it offers no in-text citation format for online sources. You can try www.apa.org I could not find it – maybe you will have better luck. These bloody English Language/Scholastic academics or whatever you call their ilk ought to make up their mind about language usage. First, these grammarians cannot agree with one another about grammar, and then these eggheads came up with so many rules and versions for academic referencing that you wonder if they might have been better off being lawyers. And all they know is to wail about the falling standards in English. Maybe they should look at themselves first before criticizing everybody else. If these nimrods cannot even convey their ideas effectively, then why should anyone waste their time deciphering their lingo?
Anyway, I was close to doing myself in when I finally sort of finished the accused thing. My referencing was shite – it looked like some article from Wikipedia and I think a couple of the numbering did not tie with the correct references. As XH told me the night before, ‘just fuck it lah!’ And I did. I submitted it five minutes before full time. I expected the bloody Blackboard to fail but miraculously it worked. I nearly took out my Bible and praised the Lord. Then I remembered if there were a good Gawd I would not have to go through this shit and I started to blaspheme. I cannot ask for much for this assignment. I would be quite happy with 40 marks.
After Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Bastards, Royston Tan should emulate him and make SORRY BASTARDS. No prizes for guessing who would be starring in it. SEE? I KNOW FILM ART!
The people who designed this course ought to be made to take an IQ test. The module is called ‘Political Economy of ASEAN’. When I flip through the notes what do I see? The amount of material on Singapore was probably enough to cover half the notes. Read these and you will read about how capable our regime is in turning Singapore into an economic power, the various measures they use to alleviate the economic crises, about how great the tripartite system is at resolving issues betwjavascript:void(0)een the unions, the management and the regime, and the justification for lowering wages and incorporating a variable pay component into our already stagnant wages. What the fuck?! I signed up the course to learn about the POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ASEAN. If I wanted to learn about the POLITICAL ECONOMY OF SINGAPORE, I would have gotten a SOCIAL STUDIES textbook from a Popular bookstore. Five dollars for a brain-wash is still a lot cheaper than paying $500 for this module and BEING CHEATED AND BRAIN-WASHED. It is like a rapist forcing himself on a woman and then making her pay for the ‘service’ rendered. Obscene, diabolical, shameful, and a fucking disgrace!
I am not too impressed with the textbook either. According to the textbook, Goh is still our Prime Minister and Megawati is still the President of Indonesia. This is YEAR 2009. The textbook, which was printed in 2004 or 2006, is clearly outdated and to give it to us is absolutely reprehensible. It is like going to a restaurant and getting served LEFTOVERS. UniShit clearly enjoys treating its students like beggars.
The author Lim Y.C ought to take a professional writing course. I expect a doctorate holder to produce better quality writing than the choppy diction that characterizes his sloppy piece of work. I admit I am being arrogant, but I think my writing skills are better. And that comes from a guy who has only a worthless diploma! Mr. Lim may be an expert in his field, but he would have done better with a team of professional editors and ghost writers.
After suffering food poisoning and having to rush my Finance report during my convalescence, I was left with six days including the submission date to finish a 4,000 – 5,000 word report that I had not even started my research on. It would still have been manageable for a full-time student, but I had to work and the poisoning stole much of my strength. I only started on Saturday afternoon because I was so bloody drained I slept until lunch.
I had to force myself to focus; such was the fatigue that plagued me. I spent the entire afternoon doing research online. I Googled, tried my university’s online resources, which offered little (why am I not surprised?) and then dragged my sorry ass to the nearby library. I tried writing at night, but really, I still did not have much to work with. Oh sure, you can jolly well find some information on economic crises but many came from informal sources and I could not jolly well quote from these could I?
I did manage to find something on the Falling Demand Crisis of ’85. It was from a book published in the 1980s and I was glad the library staff kept it after all these years. I returned home and started to write after dinner and bath. There was not really much to write about, even with the data in the course materials, the pages I had photostated from the Library and another excellent article I found online. And I still had to do research on East Asia countries and analyze their growth rates. Obviously you just cannot go to Wikipedia and copy everything there. You cannot really comment academically on the economic situation in a country unless you have a reasonable understanding of their government (regime for some), the people (or workforce), the GDP, export and import partners, trade agreements (if any), natural resources, the relationship between their domestic, regional and international engines, the infrastructure and how investment is utilized, social-economic factors and other areas. While the textbook and notes were useful to some extent, they were Singapore-centic and touched only briefly on ASEAN countries. Plenty of material about crops, rubber and oil in ASEAN countries but little I could use in my assignment. Not much help there about China and Japan as well. I decided to delay the writing and finish all my research first.
While surfing the Net using like seven browsers and twenty odd tabs, I saw Gabby online and knowing he studied Economics in university, asked him about the economic crises in 1985-1986 and 1997 to 2003. The replies I got were nothing short of idiotic. First he said that our regime CAUSED the 1985-1986 crisis, and then, when asked about whether he knew anything about the aforementioned recessions, he said no. It was in the middle of the night; I was freaking tired and desperate for material; the last thing I wanted was this kind of bullshit. I wonder if all FASS students are like this. I don’t know if he was trying to be funny. If he wasn’t, maybe the next time I see him I should ask where he bought his Economics degree. Why should I suffer three bloody years in a flophouse university when I could just order a degree online? I dare say it would be a lot cheaper too.
The Book Guy came online and I tried my luck. J-school students do learn some history after all. He recommended several ways of doing research, most of which I had already tried. He knew a bit about the economic crises I was basing my report on but what he knew I knew even more. When he suggested helping me with my research, I declined. First, I did not want him to waste his time on my fucking assignment, and second, there was not much time left. I appreciated his offer though.
The fact that I had asked my friends clearly showed my level of desperation. Not that they were incompetent, but when you are firing blanks and hitting walls every time you turn, anything else seems like a good idea.
On Sunday I continued with my torture. I was doing research and typing out my report like my life depended on it. A perfectly good Sunday reduced to cinders…I should have been napping. I managed to finish most of the bullshit on the economic crises and wrote a few paragraphs on what EGOIN, Triple C Theory and S-Curve are. And of course, research. Sunday was just…work and trying to keep myself from doing anything…foolish.
On Monday I met XH at our university after our work. He took one look at my report and was like, wtf? He thought that it was impossible and coming from a teacher, although bringing me a tiny measure of satisfaction, brought me no further relief because I had still to finish the fucking thing and my overburdened mind was working overtime to assimilate all the information I could find about East Asia countries and trying to link them into something coherent while paraphrasing frantically to avoid being hauled up for plagiarism.
XH told me that his most of his classmates were either fucktards or arrogant whoresons. At least he had a couple of good-looking classmates to ogle. Fuck, even his lecturer is decent-looking and his Head of Programme looks good enough to have an affair with. What do I have? ZERO. NOTHING. ZILCH. HOSTILE SCENERY. Nothing to take the edge off, to occupy my hebetudinous mind with while I try to make sense of what the lecturer is saying. And I am in a fucking Business course. XH said his lecturer was quite disappointed with the lack of response from her class. Only XH bothered /was capable of answering her questions. The rest of the mobs either talked like Ris Low (the fucktards) or refused to answer and acted cool instead (the arrogant whoresons). We are talking about FILM ART! What in the Hells is so difficult about commenting on movies?! Arts students tend to be known for being ‘emo’ bastards and that sorry lot are no different. Hell, I can be ‘emo’ too. Am I not being strident, militant, extreme, raging and EMO as we speak?! Fuck. I should have been in his class. There are actually Business students in his class and why in the Hells did they not give me the option? This is a travesty! I am going to complain when I do the course assessment.
After slop with my friend, I returned home and worked until 3am. The next day I went to work and my colleagues said I looked like a zombie. They were absolutely right of course. When I got home I was left with a few paragraphs to do and tons of referencing to finish. The former I settled soon enough; the former nearly caused me to do myself in. I was looking at about 40+ citations to settle and even after removing some which were from my course materials I still had around 24. To add to my agony, the links I downloaded them from and my printed notes were all over the place, and I had an excruciating time piecing them to the correct passages. It might have been all right, but I was tired from work, I had no break after a hastily eaten dinner, the glare from the lighting hurt my eyes, and I had a few hours before the 12am timing. I kept getting the sequence wrong and had to redo the damn thing several times. Having used endnotes (Chicago style) for the first time, it was a test of my vision to see the little [xx] at the end of each sentence/paragraph. The first time they allowed us to use endnotes and I cocked it up. APA referencing might have been more familiar to me, but if I had used that I would still have puked my guts out in frustration. The fucking problem with the APA style is that it offers no in-text citation format for online sources. You can try www.apa.org I could not find it – maybe you will have better luck. These bloody English Language/Scholastic academics or whatever you call their ilk ought to make up their mind about language usage. First, these grammarians cannot agree with one another about grammar, and then these eggheads came up with so many rules and versions for academic referencing that you wonder if they might have been better off being lawyers. And all they know is to wail about the falling standards in English. Maybe they should look at themselves first before criticizing everybody else. If these nimrods cannot even convey their ideas effectively, then why should anyone waste their time deciphering their lingo?
Anyway, I was close to doing myself in when I finally sort of finished the accused thing. My referencing was shite – it looked like some article from Wikipedia and I think a couple of the numbering did not tie with the correct references. As XH told me the night before, ‘just fuck it lah!’ And I did. I submitted it five minutes before full time. I expected the bloody Blackboard to fail but miraculously it worked. I nearly took out my Bible and praised the Lord. Then I remembered if there were a good Gawd I would not have to go through this shit and I started to blaspheme. I cannot ask for much for this assignment. I would be quite happy with 40 marks.
After Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Bastards, Royston Tan should emulate him and make SORRY BASTARDS. No prizes for guessing who would be starring in it. SEE? I KNOW FILM ART!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Food Poisoning.
My first food poisoning in over 10,000 days of existence. Fancy.
I suddenly felt feverish on the way back. The pain was so bad I had to got off the train and take a cab. I thought of withdrawing money from the ATM in the station but each time I queued I had to stagger off to one side because I was feeling faint. Then I realized that you can now pay via NETS for your cab ride, and I went straight to the cabs waiting at the nearby taxi stand.
The journey home was sheer torture. The traffic was so bad that the cab was basically crawling along. I was cold, exhausted, feverish and struggling to breathe, and every start and stop drove sharp shards of pain into my body. I cursed the bloody regime bitterly. All the increases in ERP and traffic charges and what have these done to alleviate the traffic conditions? Nothing! The stinking money-raking skunks.
I reached home after what seemed like an eternity and headed off to my bed immediately. If it was possible, I was more feverish than before. I swore the sheets I wrapped my shaking body around to keep warm were burning and in spite of the cold I felt, I did not shiver. A sense of emptiness enveloped me, enfolded me in its blackness, filled with despair and a sense of resignation I thought I would die. I could not breathe and every moment was a whacking agony.
Two hours or so later I was literally dragged out of my bed by a combination of nagging and man-handling by my folks. Upon seeing my condition they wanted me to see a doctor. I was in pain and too weak to walk and I did not want to exacerbate my my agony walking to some quack. There was a big uproar, akin to what any cat-owner will experience every time he takes his cat to the bath.
After shambling 800m, we were aghast to be turned away at the clinic. The two whores manning the clinic told us that we were 'too late' and we missed the timing. This was ridiculous because we had asked them to wait and surely, as responsible medical staff (even though they were just counter staff), they should give allowance to a stricken man who could barely walk). I got the feeling that even if I were to die right on their doorstep they would have shut the door. Some much for the Hippocratic oath. They should rename it the Hypocrite oath.
Incensed at being REFUSED MEDICAL AID, I ranted at the two harlots, telling them I would do a 'free advertisement' on the internet for their clinic. They didn't seem much impressed and maybe they would be when - and if - I got the chance to blast this out loud on some popular site.
We stopped a cab and got the driver to drive around the Jurong West area to see if there was any 24 hour clinic around. As chance would have it, there was one open. It was fortunate because I didn't want to go to the fucking hospital and wait five fucking hours sitting on a chair in A&E just to get a fucking bed.
The doctor examined me and told me I was suffering from food poisoning. I was also running a 39 degree celsius fever. He was quite articulate, unlike other doctors, he took his time with his patients, and advised me what to do. He offered me a drink filled with some salt solution and said that I should take this every half an hour and if my condition didn't improve, I should go to the hospital.
Despite my suffering I still shot the shit a bit with the good doctor. I told him about my misfortune with the clinic earlier and he was obviously torn between his affiliation with the members of his trade and common dignity. I do not blame him. Unlike his diabolical peer who could have left me dead outside his clinic, he had not been less than exemplary in treating me.
The journey back home was another ordeal. My stomach lurched with the movements of the cab I was on, and I barely made it up the stairs to my house, even with my father's assistance.
I hit the bed the first thing I got back. My mother forced five tablets and that yucky solution down my throat as I pleaded to be allowed to sink into oblivion. After my second cup of salt solution I retched a few times before I vomited out what looked like a thick clear liquid mixed with brown streaks. I was to vomit four times before my stomach decided that the stock was cleared. I was still alternately hot and cold, and I wheezed like I was gasping my last. Such agonies I have rarely experienced. I thought I would expire.
I slept until five yesterday, shifting in and out of consciousness. My mother woke me up a few times to drink that horrible mixture. My stomach heaved interminably but thankfully nothing came out.
I felt capable of doing some work so I switched on the computer. Unfortunately, I still failed to make any headway on my Finance project. I ended up talking to the Lass, which was more meaningful - not to mention more fun - than my Finance modules would ever be. Also, my friend went online and asked me to correct his English assignment. He wanted it to be perfect but I thought if I did more than what I did I might as well put my name on his paper.
This morning I was rudely roused from my sleep by the noises caused by my neighbour's renovation. Of all the days my dear neighbour had to pick today to renovate his fucking toilets. What were they installing in there anyway? Durai brand golden taps? This noise hazard was so bad that any hope of me getting any needed rest was dashed.
I decided to work on my Fixed Income Securities assignment but the noise was really unbearable. Seeing there was absolutely no way I could concentrate, I went down to the void deck to get some peace and quiet. There I spent close to two hours tackling my question. I could barely restrain myself from tearing that accused 600 page textbook apart. These Finance and Banking guys should take a course in effective writing skills. Nothing wrong with their English, but their long-winded and obfuscating style reminded me of some philosophy dissertation written by some long-dead philosopher nobody gives a damn about.
After conjuring up answers that I am not sure are correct, I returned home to type the damn thing. That should have concluded my misery, but no! While compiling the report, I was struck by just how many grammatical mistakes there were in the report. Some sentences didn't even make sense! I don't know if my project mate had copied it wholesale from the investment sites he visited, but I was pretty close to despair as I edited the worst of the balderdash. (I hope he won't feel similarly when he edits my part.)
Anyway, I got the job done and emailed them saying that if they do not respond before midnight, I will submit the damn thing. I cannot believe I actually finished this. Last year the same shit happened to me. I was doing my Project Management while having a high fever, and this time I was whacked by a bout of food poisoning. This is truly a sign of my remarkable mental strength
and superb physical recovery. Despite working under such excruciating conditions, I am still able to produce miracles. I should be applauded for my efforts.
DAMN! My stomach is hurting again! - 10.39pm
If the pain worsens, this will be my last entry. - 10.43pm.
I suddenly felt feverish on the way back. The pain was so bad I had to got off the train and take a cab. I thought of withdrawing money from the ATM in the station but each time I queued I had to stagger off to one side because I was feeling faint. Then I realized that you can now pay via NETS for your cab ride, and I went straight to the cabs waiting at the nearby taxi stand.
The journey home was sheer torture. The traffic was so bad that the cab was basically crawling along. I was cold, exhausted, feverish and struggling to breathe, and every start and stop drove sharp shards of pain into my body. I cursed the bloody regime bitterly. All the increases in ERP and traffic charges and what have these done to alleviate the traffic conditions? Nothing! The stinking money-raking skunks.
I reached home after what seemed like an eternity and headed off to my bed immediately. If it was possible, I was more feverish than before. I swore the sheets I wrapped my shaking body around to keep warm were burning and in spite of the cold I felt, I did not shiver. A sense of emptiness enveloped me, enfolded me in its blackness, filled with despair and a sense of resignation I thought I would die. I could not breathe and every moment was a whacking agony.
Two hours or so later I was literally dragged out of my bed by a combination of nagging and man-handling by my folks. Upon seeing my condition they wanted me to see a doctor. I was in pain and too weak to walk and I did not want to exacerbate my my agony walking to some quack. There was a big uproar, akin to what any cat-owner will experience every time he takes his cat to the bath.
After shambling 800m, we were aghast to be turned away at the clinic. The two whores manning the clinic told us that we were 'too late' and we missed the timing. This was ridiculous because we had asked them to wait and surely, as responsible medical staff (even though they were just counter staff), they should give allowance to a stricken man who could barely walk). I got the feeling that even if I were to die right on their doorstep they would have shut the door. Some much for the Hippocratic oath. They should rename it the Hypocrite oath.
Incensed at being REFUSED MEDICAL AID, I ranted at the two harlots, telling them I would do a 'free advertisement' on the internet for their clinic. They didn't seem much impressed and maybe they would be when - and if - I got the chance to blast this out loud on some popular site.
We stopped a cab and got the driver to drive around the Jurong West area to see if there was any 24 hour clinic around. As chance would have it, there was one open. It was fortunate because I didn't want to go to the fucking hospital and wait five fucking hours sitting on a chair in A&E just to get a fucking bed.
The doctor examined me and told me I was suffering from food poisoning. I was also running a 39 degree celsius fever. He was quite articulate, unlike other doctors, he took his time with his patients, and advised me what to do. He offered me a drink filled with some salt solution and said that I should take this every half an hour and if my condition didn't improve, I should go to the hospital.
Despite my suffering I still shot the shit a bit with the good doctor. I told him about my misfortune with the clinic earlier and he was obviously torn between his affiliation with the members of his trade and common dignity. I do not blame him. Unlike his diabolical peer who could have left me dead outside his clinic, he had not been less than exemplary in treating me.
The journey back home was another ordeal. My stomach lurched with the movements of the cab I was on, and I barely made it up the stairs to my house, even with my father's assistance.
I hit the bed the first thing I got back. My mother forced five tablets and that yucky solution down my throat as I pleaded to be allowed to sink into oblivion. After my second cup of salt solution I retched a few times before I vomited out what looked like a thick clear liquid mixed with brown streaks. I was to vomit four times before my stomach decided that the stock was cleared. I was still alternately hot and cold, and I wheezed like I was gasping my last. Such agonies I have rarely experienced. I thought I would expire.
I slept until five yesterday, shifting in and out of consciousness. My mother woke me up a few times to drink that horrible mixture. My stomach heaved interminably but thankfully nothing came out.
I felt capable of doing some work so I switched on the computer. Unfortunately, I still failed to make any headway on my Finance project. I ended up talking to the Lass, which was more meaningful - not to mention more fun - than my Finance modules would ever be. Also, my friend went online and asked me to correct his English assignment. He wanted it to be perfect but I thought if I did more than what I did I might as well put my name on his paper.
This morning I was rudely roused from my sleep by the noises caused by my neighbour's renovation. Of all the days my dear neighbour had to pick today to renovate his fucking toilets. What were they installing in there anyway? Durai brand golden taps? This noise hazard was so bad that any hope of me getting any needed rest was dashed.
I decided to work on my Fixed Income Securities assignment but the noise was really unbearable. Seeing there was absolutely no way I could concentrate, I went down to the void deck to get some peace and quiet. There I spent close to two hours tackling my question. I could barely restrain myself from tearing that accused 600 page textbook apart. These Finance and Banking guys should take a course in effective writing skills. Nothing wrong with their English, but their long-winded and obfuscating style reminded me of some philosophy dissertation written by some long-dead philosopher nobody gives a damn about.
After conjuring up answers that I am not sure are correct, I returned home to type the damn thing. That should have concluded my misery, but no! While compiling the report, I was struck by just how many grammatical mistakes there were in the report. Some sentences didn't even make sense! I don't know if my project mate had copied it wholesale from the investment sites he visited, but I was pretty close to despair as I edited the worst of the balderdash. (I hope he won't feel similarly when he edits my part.)
Anyway, I got the job done and emailed them saying that if they do not respond before midnight, I will submit the damn thing. I cannot believe I actually finished this. Last year the same shit happened to me. I was doing my Project Management while having a high fever, and this time I was whacked by a bout of food poisoning. This is truly a sign of my remarkable mental strength
and superb physical recovery. Despite working under such excruciating conditions, I am still able to produce miracles. I should be applauded for my efforts.
DAMN! My stomach is hurting again! - 10.39pm
If the pain worsens, this will be my last entry. - 10.43pm.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Another Day in Paradise
'And that xiao lian turn a Heaven into Hell!' - Shakespeare (Hokkien version).
Here's to Ris Low, OLE!
I experienced my first earthquake – or rather tremor – in my existence yesterday. I was in the office when I suddenly felt my vision shift. At first I thought I was going to have one of those unexplained collapses which seem to plague young fit people, but then I realized from the commotion in the office that my demise was not going to occur at that particular moment.
Everybody was getting excited and in a short while the office was mostly vacated. My colleague, my boss and I discussed a bit about earthquakes and how this shithole has the occasional tremor. It was no big deal really. Much as I dislike this shithole, I must admit that the buildings here have firm structural integrity, unlike those flophouses in China. There was really no need to worry about. The building was not going to collapse. Furthermore, if we were feeling nervous over such a tiny tremor, what of those sorry bastards who were caught in the earthquake? Whatever. I was quite exited. My first earthquake! Yippy!
***
Having decided that my mental health takes precedence over attending classes at UniShit, I gave my Political Economy (Brainwashing) of ASEAN (for Singaporeans) lecture a miss. I asked Chicken and Police Car out and there was only one place three free spirits would go and that was GL.
Despite the fact that there was plenty of people dying in our neighboring country, we could not really be bothered – an attitude shared by the unwashed masses that thronged the best district of Singapore. Once again, this demonstrates that we can never truly feel compassion for people whom we do not know. We may know that they are suffering; on an intellectual level we know we should feel some pity for them, but until we meet with the same grisly fate ourselves, we just cannot give a shit. Moralists and those…humanists will deny the truth of course, but they, like all others, are just hypocrites beneath their moralistic facade. A lie, a delusion, and a travesty.
Anyway, Chicken arrived late because he had to have dinner with his Chinese squeeze. While waiting for him to get his hen-pecked ass over Police Car and I shot the shit. We both agreed that marriage is pointless when you end up like you are in an open prison. He told me about his Indian friend who earns a slave wage of $800 as a pet-shop assistant. As if this sad bastard is not sad enough, he has to give all his money to his wife, who then gives him back an allowance of $5 a day. He is a disgrace to all males. I thought my hen-pecked friends were bad. This sad sack has got to be the champion. He is the Special One.
Chicken arrived 40 minutes into our shit-shooting session and we shot more shit over dinner. After we finished our slop, I took them to the carpark where I wandered to while I was waiting for them. There were around 5-8 Chinese strumpets hanging around, shooting horny bastards sly looks and at times accosting them. They were the quality of the $60 price range and charged $50 an hour. I applaud their entrepreneurship. Seeing how wretched our economy is, they have lowered prices to stimulate more business. Unlike those overfed whoresons in Africa and Wall Street, they do not ask for handouts and/or bailouts. While the quality of their service might be questionable, one must applaud them for displaying integrity and dignity in the midst of this difficult time. These are what I call Foreign TALENT.
Police Car, Chicken and I checked out the fish tanks after we were done with our inspection of the carpark. The regime-approved establishments were enjoying brisk business but we still managed to find a few goods to ogle. There was a new establishment across the street from the fish tanks. They peddled high quality merchandise, who were dressed in evening dresses. Not the cheap Thai merchandise you can get for $50. The establishment looked quite pricey, and probably was. At any rate, competition will only benefit the consumers and I say the banks should be generous in providing credit to deserving entrepreneurs like these.
While wandering around the back lanes, we were accosted by this disreputable-looking fellow who told us to ‘just take a look with no obligations’. We followed him and he took us to a gate, behind of which appeared two Thai working class girls. The place was dark and relatively secluded; the fuzz would not think of patrolling there. I was not impressed with the aesthetic quality of the goods but Police Car was excited. Without further ado he picked out the one in black and proceeded to have his wicked way with her.
Chicken and I then walked to the CBD area to wait for him to conclude his business transaction. There was sadly no goods on display in the area and I fear that they will not emerge any time soon. After half an hour, Police Car returned, complaining that the hussy didn’t allow him to lick her rack and the room where they went to was squalid. You get what you pay for, mate.
After that we had a drink at a nearby coffeeshop. They had the telly on and it was showing a re-run of ‘The Return of the Condor Heroes’, starring Christopher ‘F1 Racer’ Lee and Fann ‘Flat’ Wong. While I agree that they deserved each other, I hope that they will not think of procreating. Our bad gene pool does not need more…variety.
***
I nearby threw my Fixed Income Security textbook and notes down the rubbish chute. This is a fucking disgrace. Try as I did I could not understand what the fuck shit the maths were all about. I am still stuck in my assignment and the thought of either suicide or dropping out is gaining a louder voice in my head with every passing minute. In my feverish state I searched through he UniShit website and found the Film Art module XH was telling me about. The kind of module you just have to smoke your way through and with a few decent looking broads. I still don’t understand why in the Hells I was not offered this course. True, it is an Arts course, but there are Business students in his class! By right I should be allowed to take it too. Fuck Finance. Fuck maths. Fuck this course. If I ever strike it rich in the lottery, I will quit this flophouse university and its flophouse business course straight away (after writing a nice letter to the Dean to tell him how mediocre his administration is, of course). This I told my colleagues and anybody who knows me knows I like to keep my promises.
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