Sunday, April 18, 2010

Footy Game vs. British Club

Our friendly game against British Club ended in defeat.

Half our squad had never played together so it was a surprise when we took the lead. Our striker was afforded plenty of space outside the box and he obliged and planted his shot into the keeper’s left hand corner.

Our lead lasted barely lasted five minutes. Their winger skinned ours on our right flank and the resulting cross was nudged past our keeper from close range. Our aerial inferior was exposed time and time again and the British won most of the balls in the air. They had us on the back foot and added a second. Their third came courtesy of our ball watching and their striker rifled the ball in. They had us on the back foot - we were sixes and seven - and could had extended their lead but for some profligate finishing.

We rolled up our socks after the break and slowly inched our way into the game, Their exhaustion was beginning to tell and the British had difficulty with our renewed energy and pace. They had chances to settle the match but could not make the telling touch. Similarly, our cause was not helped by To our wasteful set pieces and foul throws. Towards the end, our keeper misjudged an in-swinger near the half way line, and we duly finished the game with a 4:1 loss.


On reflection we deserved to lose the game, although our fighting spirit after the break was encouraging. Why did we lose?:

Half of us had played with one another for the first time and needed to gel.

Our lack of aerial prowess. As we were not a tall team (average height: 5’7” to 5’8”), we were bound to suffer in the air.

Our back four held the line too far up when defending. A small pitch demanded we dropped deeper to prevent long balls from arcing over our heads.

A lack of proper communication. Nobody bothered to shut “Man On!” to a teammate who was about to be tackled, or ask for the ball. There were too many shouted instructions which were often contradictory, and the resulting confusion exacerbated our already poor organization.

A lack of speed on the flanks to open up space. Our British opponents were more physical than they were speedy and having pacey wingers would have given us more options.

A solid defensive presence in the centre midfield was much needed to protect our back four and harass our opponents into giving the ball away.
We needed to defend deeper and together as a team.

Wasteful throw-ins and free kicks. We hadn’t a decent cross or shot from set pieces and the fact we had close to ten foul throws was testimonial to our lack of footballing basics. Back to the training ground.

A lack of aggression was prevalent in our team. Yesterday only one team got stuck in and it was not us.

Our inability to pass the ball more than three times before losing possession. In addition, if we had to play hoof ball, we should have pumped the ball to the flanks, instead of lumping it to their centre back, who was gobbling every ball five yards around him.

We needed to be physically fitter and stronger. Too many times we were pushed off the ball or failed to play at a good tempo.

Some players were playing out of position or in a position not suited to their ability and tendencies. We needed to get everyone drilled in one fixed position – or two at the most. Utility players are only a stop-gap measure and hardly win you trophies.

We should have sorted out team tactics before kick-off. Everybody should have been aware of his duties.


After the game, British Club graciously invited us to their club house for a shower, some slop and to watch the Manchester derby. Kumar, Lance and I stayed on and enjoyed the British hospitality while the rest of our squad left for home. Our hosts were really nice to offer us seats at their table and some beer and slop. We would be delighted to play them again. We will be aiming to put one over them the next time.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Arabian Nights


"When the Lady of Beauty heard these words, she smiled and laughed pleasantly. Then she whispered to him, "by Allah, you have quenched a fire that was bothering me, and now, my dark-haired darling, take me to you and press me against your chest." Then she stripped to her outer garment,and she threw open her chemise from the neck downward and showed her womb and the rondure of her hips. When badar al-Din saw this glorious sight, his desires were aroused, and he got up, took off his clothes, wrapped the purse of gold that contained the thousand dinars from the Jew in his bag trousers, and laid them under the edge of the bed. Then he took off his turban, placed it on top of his clothes, and had nothing on except his skullcap and fine shirt of blue silk laced with gold. Thereupon, the Lady of Beauty embraced him, and he took her onto his arms, set her legs around his wrist, and aimed his cannon point-blank at the spots where it would batter down the bulwark of maidenhead and lay it to waste. And he found her a pearl unpierced and a filly unridden by men except himself. So he took her virginity and enjoyd her youth in his virility, and soon he withdrew sword from sheath. Then he returned to the fray right away, and when the battle and the siege were finished, there had been some fifteen assaults, and she conceived through him that very night. Afterward he placed his hand under her head, and she did the same, and they embraced and fell asleep in each other's arms."





Ratings: 4.5 /5

Thursday, April 8, 2010

My Thoughts

XH explained to me the exquisite concept of motorboating. It involves putting your face between a well-endowed hussy’s boobs, sticking your tongue out, and then whipping your head left and right in a vigorous and rapid motion. XH is a great teacher indeed. The Ministry of Education should re-employ him and give him a position in senior management.


The local tabloid ran a story on one of China’s “football babies”. The 27 year old Liu Wenwen idolizes Roberto “The Divine Ponytail” Baggio, complains about Chinese football “having form but no substance”, and most importantly, she is the perfect advertisement for The Beautiful Game. This is a conspiracy. Why can’t we have “football babies” like her? Hell, I don’t think we even have any! We may not get to see the World Cup. We have no football babies. What do we have?! Nothing! This is a shithole!


Most xtians are hypocrites, and this is exemplified by Police Car’s protestations after I wrote “Praise be GL” on his Facebook page. He said that I should be more discrete, as his friends are not fools. I quite disagree with him. The fact that you believe in a preposterous and poorly written horror story by some donkeys 2,000 years ago is already more than sufficient proof that there is something wrong with your head. I don’t think his friends are very smart. Anyway, GL can stand for “Good Lord”, or “Gawd Loves”. It does not have to mean Geylang (a red light district). Police Car freely engages the services of “women of virtue”, and at the same time, participates in church outings and writes some holy claptrap on his FB page to commemorate Easter Sunday. He should admit that he is a libertine and deconvert to atheism.


An ET lands on this planet.
The African goes on all fours and worships it.
The Arab decries it as an infidel and issues a fatwa against it.
The American tries to sell derivatives to it.
The Chinese, who is the smartest, thinks of ways to cook it.


While watching the football I found myself irritated by the idiotic commentary. Whiteys seem to have a problem with Asian names. Sometimes the commentator referred to Park Ji Sung as “Ji Sung Park; other times it was “Park Ji Sung”. To the best of my knowledge, no Asian I know has ever referred Wayne Rooney as “Rooney Wayne”. How could professional commentators get a simple thing like this wrong? Really, if you are going to fuck up your commentary, at least be consistent and fuck it up all the way. No wonder people working for the media are universally disliked.

Up to a Certain Degree

If I manage to get my degree, it will be my first and probably my last business degree. There is only so much economics and finance jargon one can take before a mental collapse occurs. I may take up a second degree and it will either be in English or Mass Communications. After all the suffering I have gone through I certainly deserve something easy. The world of business is highly fascinating and unlike in esoteric and totally useless fields like theology and theatre studies, it is wholly based on the reality. The thing is, however, that I have no time to assimilate much of what I have learnt. When you are up to your throat in deadlines, you just want to finish the assignments. The understanding can take a back seat and in most cases it is nowhere to be found.

Furthermore, with so many paper mills offering cheap and easy business degrees, the monetary benefits a business degree used to confer is now hugely diminished. Why would a company hire a Shitholer who went through three tough years at NUS when it can jolly well employ an Ah-Tiong with an 18 month degree from Kaplan? True, the Ah Tiong may not speak English very well, and his knowledge may not be as good (how much can a business student possibly learn in 18 months?), but at least you don’t need to contribute CPF to him (less operating costs), and lose him for up to 40 days a year due to his reservist call-up (additional costs incurred). The market is so saturated with cheap business degrees that wages are depressed and people cannot find a job with a decent pay, despite being highly qualified (I exclude the paper mill degree holders from this consideration).

On an unrelated note, XH had tickets to a press screening but I was not able to make it because I had class. International economics is a very absorbing topic and my lecturer has been doing a pretty good job at teaching us. Unfortunately I was just too exhausted to pick up much and the only thing I managed to achieve was deciding on how to spilt our group assignment. (As usual, I took the essay questions.) On hindsight I should have just gone to the press screening instead. XH told me that he has free movie passes every week. How I envy him. Now, this is the kind of overtime I could learn to love!

This isn’t a day when I wake up and don’t think my business course is not worth it. Don’t get me wrong – I like studying about business. It’s just that besides the reasons aforementioned, the work load is just too heavy. When you have gone through over two years of academic life which is basically ‘rush, rush and rush’, and are having to keep up the pace for another year, you do feel jaded. And when you hear that students in other courses have like, weeks to finish a 1,000 word limit assignment consisting of a press release and a letter, you start to ask yourself whether your exertions are worth it. Both are degrees, but why such a staggering disparity in course requirements? The moon may seem brighter on the other side yes, but it is because it is really brighter. I am the sole survivor in my enrollment batch, at least among the people I know anyway. My fellows have either dropped out or been relegated. The bloke who talked to me during my university interview was not bullshitting when he said the attrition rate was 40%. I don’t know how long I can keep this up, especially considering my reslavery period will cut into my capstone module schedule. I don’t really care about grades anymore. I just want to get it done and over with.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

One Late Night

Already exhausted from a long day of work and martial arts practice, I forced myself to tackle my Business online MCQ. My struggle took me three hours. From 10.30pm to 1.30am, I flipped through my course notes, Googled, and resorted to guesswork. My eyes hurt from the glare and I felt Enkish, but I pulled through and my reward was to learn that I survived the quiz. This was surely a sign of my tremendous mental strength. I strongly feel that most of my full-time counterparts in NUS, NTU and SMU cannot hold a candle to me in terms of mental fortitude. If I had the luxury of doing a full-time degree, I would have been challenging for First Class Honours every season.


With barely an hour of rest I woke up and watched the Champions League tie between Barcelona and the Arse. The football Barcelona produced was breathtaking. Their intricate passing and movement off the ball made the Arse look like some obscure South-East Asian club. It was like watching a team of Zidanes. World class, delicious, and irresistible.


Although diminutive in frame, Lionel Messi stood head and shoulders even above even this esteemed group. He was unstoppable on the night, weaving in and out of the hapless Arse defence with such poise he seemed like a mirage in the desert. His four brilliantly taken goals propelled him into history, and as he joined his teammates in celebration after the final whistle, the Nou Camp saluted him as one. And didn’t he deserve it.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

The Men Who Stare At Boobs


Looking at Breasts is Healthy (From wholefitness.com)


10 Minutes of Staring at Breasts Daily Prolongs Man's Life by 5 Years.


According to German research published in New England Journal of Medicine, men staring at women's breasts in fact prolong their lives with years.

"Just 10 minutes of looking at the charms of a well-endowed females is equivalent to a 30-minute aerobics work-out," said author Dr. Karen Weatherby, a gerontologist.

The team led by Weatherby was made up of researchers at three hospitals in Frankfurt, Germany, and found this results after monitoring for 5 years the health of 200 male subjects, half of whom were asked to look at busty females daily, while the other half had to abstain from doing so.

Epic boobs. (Image from mancouch.com)

For five years, the breasts oglers presented a lower blood pressure, slower resting pulse rates and decreased risk of coronary artery disease.

"Sexual excitement gets the heart pumping and improves blood circulation. There's no question: Gazing at large breasts makes men healthier. Our study indicates that engaging in this activity a few minutes daily cuts the risk of stroke and heart attack in half." said Weatherby, who even recommends that men aged over 40 should spend at least 10 minutes daily admiring breasts sized "D-cup" or larger.

Well, men, look at breasts, then: Looking at breasts is as healthy as going to the gym for 30 minutes daily and prolonged a man's life by five years.




Saturday, April 3, 2010

Good Rant

I found this rant on a forum. It was posted by one " Toothburs", who claimed to have found it on another site. It is a good rant so I am leaving it in its original form. The horrible grammar just lends to its charm...

Why we hate Ah Tiongs and FTs


This is the fact like it or not.

We are proud to be Singaporeans (CHinese, Malays, Indians, Eurasians, minorities).
Singaporean Chinese are not China Chinese we are never the same. Don't ever link us
together.



Yaya you want to play ancestors from China.

Fact
My ancestors came from China for a better life in SIngapore which has nothing. Working hard contributing to the nation, eventually settling down here spreading their roots.

Fact
Our so called FT came to SIngapore which the infrastructure had been developed by the
hardworks of Singaporeans. DO they plan to work hard, contribute and settle down here?
I doubt so.

Many FTs used SIngapore as a stepping board to migrate to US, Europe and Australia. When they first came, they say everything is so nice in Singapore. When they migrate they
complain everything saying their motherland is much better. If so, at the first place why
come here.

Imagine this:
China population is around 1.3 billion (1300,000,000). Today your government decided to
allow 10% of the population which is around 100,00,000new migrants to come work, study and live here.


Suddenly overnight.
-Your public transport is overwhelmed by the new migrants. You cannot get to work on time
which previously able to. Now you need to wake up 30mins-1h earlier to squeeze on the public transport. After work, you need to spend an additional 30mins-1h to reach home.

-your parents,friends, relatives or even you were being retrenched/sacked as he mentioned
that with your current pay you getting, he can get 3 new migrants that ask much lesser pay.
After being retrenched/sacked, you are unable to find another job as new migrants younger,
higly qualified, willing to risk, expect lower pay to compete the same job.

-Your parents had worked so hard providing you a local education until University. The
vacancies available now are further reduced as they are reserved to new migrants on
government scholarships with fully paid lodging and expenses. You are unable to get in
though you have the necessary grades. Now your parents had to worked even harder to sent you to private university or even send you overseas to study, which strecthed them even further. Isn't the university is to look after the welfare of the locals first?

- you go shopping or even visiting your local hawker, the salesperson or owner is a new
migrant he doesn't speak your language and understand what you trying to say. This dampens your mood.

-your neighbourhood is suddenly overwhelmed by these new migrants. They treat your
neighbourhood as if their own. You don't understand what they say, they behave and what they think. It created a disharmony.

Please Ah Tiongs and FTs put yourself in Singaporean shoes. This is what SIngaporeans are
facing now.

We would welcome you if you are sincere to contribute to Singapore.
Remember, you are the guest and we are the host.
You don't change the rules here !


With regrards to the China student need money for surgery, I will not donate.
Yes I am selfish.

But today if my/parents/relatives/friends had fallen ill will you donate to my cause?
I doubt so.

SIngaporeans had to be selfish because there is no one to pity us. Our lives had gone from
bad to worse.

Definetly you would protect your own people first, before others.

A Night of Scenery

On Tuesday night I met Police Car, Chicken, and his wife for steamboat in Bugis. I was late so they had already started on the slop by the time I reached the slophouse. Without further ado, I settled down and attacked the slop.

There was a really good-looking hussy seated at the table next to ours. Initially she set perpendicularly to me but then she changed seats and faced my direction. One look – I took many – confirmed that she is not a Shitholer. From her porcelain white skin and delicate features, it was obviously she was from China. She was very pretty. As she stood up from time to time, I feasted upon her lovely and shapely form. Like any normal bloke, Police Car also admired her, and as I ate I could barely take my eyes off her. Occasionally she glanced in my direction and I felt I could spend an entire night staring into her gentle orbs. She had a jaded, world-weary look which made her even more attractive.

Inspired by this magnificent sight before me, I started to narrate my frustration with the hostile scenery at UniShit and praised this angelic creature to the heavens. As I described in lurid detail my bitter disappointment with the shite I see in class and Shitholer females in general, I became more articulate. My standard of Mandarin was elevated, my tone increased in passion, and my diction became as smooth and unstoppable as the raging and unstoppable as the raging Yellow River – I would have made a fine orator then. My slop mates were of course astonished and entertained by my vehemence. I even said that I should have gone into some arty-farty course instead of this blasted business degree. Both give you crap papers in returns, but at least the former affords you much superior scenery.

Upon hearing how miserable my existence is, Chicken’s wife suggested that I go to work in Shanghai. She said that “entire streets are filled with beauties.” I have never been to China but I trust her judgment in these matters. If the Chinese “ladies of virtue” I see in the Holy Land are indicative of the general population in China, I wouldn’t mind migrating there even. With my degree and English proficiency I’ll sign on as an officer in the People’s Liberation Army and volunteer to be posted to areas blighted by religious separatists. I will round these faith heads up and re-educate them through productive work in labor camps. For the hard cases who refuse education, I shall have them executed publicly. As for Tibet, I will lead an army and raze the monasteries, round up the monks for re-education, and shoot the Dalai Lama. These useless buggers have been living off the fat of the land and the blood of the people and their parasitic behavior can no longer be tolerated.

But my atheism is getting ahead of me and I am digressing. I mean, since the Shithole and China are both totalitarian states, there will be hardly any difference in many things. The best things are the lovely moving scenery and the fact I can bitch about religion without risking some stupid sedition act on my head. Sure, the public transport may be overcrowded, the public toilets non-existent and the food may even be dangerous, but I know for sure I can get extremely fast internet access, watch football for free, and never get to see fucking bastards in white telling the people what to do and rewarding themselves with huge bonuses (the Chinese politburo are corrupt but at least they don’t ejaculate so much moralistic bullshit). Hell, to be honest, after so much railing, I think the moving scenery is still the primary reason why I want to get out of this shithole.

I also asked Chicken’s wife whether it is easy to get dog meat in Shanghai. I expressed my frustration with my neighbours and their stupid cur and told them one of my goals in life is to eat dog meat. She replied that it is quite common in Shanghai. She also said the dog is best eaten roasted, and the soap is not bad as well. In the winter they even eat puppies. I was shocked and asked her if she feels this is too cruel. Not at all, she said. Indeed, we Chinese eat everything. We are truly the gourmets of the world. The French can move aside please.

An hour into my slop fest, the Chinese darling left. I felt as if a piece of my heart had left with her. A sense of despondency came over me momentarily. If only I had such lovelies in my class. I would definitely be highly motivated, but alas, life sucks.

Below our level were two tables of Hong Kongers. The table farther away sat a family, and the wife, despite having a few children, still maintained her shapely form. I was particularly impressed with her creamy white skin, which is even better than the dolly’s. A group of young people sat close to us. A lass looked really pretty; she held herself and the assets Nature had so lavishly bestowed her. She was like a beacon, a lighthouse, in the dark stormy sea – all who see her rejoice.

Deeply moved by these glorious sights and by the snippets of Cantonese reaching our ears, I started to tell my slop mates it would be a pretty good idea to relocate to Hong Kong, since I can speak Cantonese. I went on to say how much I abhor this shithole that works its denizens to death. Chicken’s wife replied that Hong Kong and Shanghai were even more fast-paced than this shithole. That I must see for myself. It’s hard to imagine any other reasonably advanced city being more stressful than Shithole. I replied that I’d would have gladly gone, but for the lack of opportunities. She said that opportunities are created, not given. I was most impressed by her wisdom and nodded in agreement. If I manage to graduate from UniShit, I’ll be sure to include on my employment cover letter my burning desire to migrate.

We left the slophouse at around nine. As the night was still young, we decided to walk around to aid our digestion. On our way to Bugis, my mates were saying that one of my ex-colleague’s wife has got pregnant and now looks utterly ugly. Before she got married she looked like the local singer Rui En. I was ogling the broad standing outside a nearby shop and upon hearing them try to describe her, I instinctively blurted out, ‘Fuck Rui En!” My mates were taken aback by my outburst and Chicken’s wife smiled and gave me that “boys will be boys look”. I think I am really losing patience with the mob here.

We reached Parco Bugis Junction, walked around, and had ice cream. The scenery was not too bad, but it was a pity the shops were closing up for the night. Chicken told us he would be sending his wife back and we said our goodbyes.

After they left, Police Car and I, having decided that the night was still young, walked to the back streets of Bugis. As we walked next to the shop houses, we basked in the exuberance of this wonderful night. Signboards advertised various goods and services, and the star attractions of this silent marketplace promised massages both exotic and erotic. We scrutinized each as we passed, and sometimes we peered into the shop, and unfortunately the merchandize were disappointing in quality. We arrived at a couple too late. Even those providing temporary reprise from the drudgery of daily existence must take a break themselves.

Police Car showed me the establishment where he had a soothing massage prior to the slop fest. As we passed by a stairway leading to an “establishment”, we saw a hussy leaning against the wall and talking on the phone. She looked pretty so Police Car and I waited for her to finish. Sure enough, she accosted us and Police Car asked her the rates. She quoted a price and said, “We normally close at 11pm, but if you are interested I can do it for you.” Seeing that the time was late, I replied that we would be return tomorrow. I guess she got the idea, but for a hussy in her 30s, she was not half bad looking.

We then crossed the road to the shopping centre known in knowledgeable circles for its night-life. A bored looking security guard was evidently trying his best not to sleep. An “Indian shop” near the entrance functioned as a 7-11. All the shops were closed save for the pubs and KTV lounges on the upper floors. Occasionally feminine laughter would shatter the relative quiet, and the traffic consisted of night owls on their personal discrete but no less compelling missions.

Having explored most of the area, we tried the corner where the pubs were. There weren’t any establishments to be found and left with no other forms of entertainment, Police Car and I decided to make our way home. It had been a lovely night indeed. I determine to get out of this Shithole so that my vision will not continue to suffer from the lack of aesthetically pleasing scenery.