Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Chaotic Thoughts

According to a local tabloid, surveys show that 40% of young people lost their virginity before the age of 18. This marks an astonishing 100% increase, from the 20% score found in a similar survey a decade ago. It is heartening to know that our young people, who are often criticized for being apathetic, have answered our regime’s call for greater efforts towards increasing productivity. Surely, the future of our nation is in safe hands.


In Toffeeweb news, President Gaddafi has been spotted in a fish and chips shop at Goodison Road. Everton chairman Bill Kenwright, affectionately known to his Evertonians as ‘Billy Bullshit’, ‘Kenwrong’, and ‘Kenshite’ is said to be in takeover talks with the soon-to-be ousted Libyan president.

President Gaddafi is keen to invest his ill-gotten gains from his 42 years of totalitarian rule of Libya. He also brings to the table his expertise in silencing dissidents - a skill much valued by the increasingly beleaguered club chairman.

A source close to Gaddafi says that this is ‘a match made in heaven’ and ‘a historic landmark in the relationship of two great countries’.


There is this bloke who keeps asking me on Facebook about the effects of stretching and adrenaline rush on physical performance and the prevention of injuries. I don’t get what this joker is trying to do. I have already explained to him what I know, and he still asks me more questions. He should also brush up on his reading comprehension skills; he asked me on what I have already answered. I am losing my patience with him. Maybe I should refer him to Doctor Soo, and not necessarily for the purpose of helping him improve his medical knowledge.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

A Few Thoughts

On Friday an ex-gulag mate went on Facebook Chat and invited me to his wedding. This dreary ceremony will take place on the 15th of May and will feature other ex-gulag mates and friends and relatives of the happy couple. Why are people so eager to tie the knot? My friend is 27 this year and his wife-to-be is probably a bit younger. I feel a bit sorry for him but for his sake I shall take the trouble to attend his rites.


My left ankle was slightly twisted in a tackle yesterday. I really should thank my mates for leaving the defending to me and hanging me out to dry. Unlike the expatriates we have, Shitholer males do not play contact sports the right way. In my esteemed opinion, you have no right to be playing a contact sport when you fear being roughed up, and you have certainly no right to play team-sports when you cannot be arsed enough to support your teammates. The only sports most Shitholers can probably play to some level are in most ways 'elitist' or 'comfortable': golf, pool, and bowling. Pathetic.


A bloke, whose old man used to own the convenience store down my block, recently married a vcspec. Now he is a proud father. Word has it that his old man was desperate for him to carry the family line and seeing that his lowly-educated son might have difficulty getting a sgspec for his wife, decided to take matters into his own hands and arranged for a marriage (read: daughter-selling transaction) with some peasant family in Vietnam. I do not begrudge the bloke - the son, not the father - for getting a wife in this manner. He has his own needs and our local specs can be quite.... choosy. However, this sort of thing leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It is modern-day slavery. The spec has got little choice but to go to a strange country, allow her cunt to be invaded by a bloke whom she has no real feelings for, bear his child, just so that her family can have a bit of dough and existence for them is for a while at least, more tolerable.

Back to this vcspec, she speaks Mandarin, but not English. In this English-speaking shithole, I do not think she can get a decent-paying job - I use the word 'decent' loosely, as our meager wages have been stagnant for a decade, no thanks to our trade union, which is in reality a supermarket - and being lowly-educated (my assumption) certainly does not help her one bit. Their family relies on her husband's pittance of a salary and the savings of the old man, which contributes massively to their maintenance. Had it not been for his old man's sponsorship, the poor bloke might have had to take his pleasure with a lady of virtue every now and then.

Anyway, this spec stays at home all day long to look after her baby. She has no friends here. She does not go out to town. She is merely a child-bearing machine cum maid cum bed partner, compelled to satisfy the needs of her husband and his family at the expense of her own. I feel sorry for the poor girl. I wonder how she really feels. I can never understand why people who claim to have compassion can also claim belief that there is a kind and loving god, a power who rewards the just and punishes the wicked. Where is this deity? Is it dead? If it is not, what has it been doing? Is such an entity worthy of worship? The answer is simple. There is no god, and if there is, we ought to commit deicide.






FA Cup 4th Round

FA Cup 4th round result:

CHELSKI: 1 EVERTON: 1

(0:0 after full time; Everton 4:3 on penalties)


GO TO THE HELLS YOU OBNOXIOUS TWATS FROM LONDON!

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Rants are Back!


Spurs beat AC Milan in the San Siro last night. It just gets better and better for the London club in their maiden season in the Champions League. Pienaar starred in this historical win and he certainly enjoyed it after suffering at uninspiring Everton. Although there is still much to play for in the return leg, Spurs fully deserved their victory. They have demonstrated yet again that when you go out and attack, there is always a chance to win. Please take note, Moyes. 'Arry' face may resemble melted wax, but his team is much more entertaining than your dour, cumbersome, and negative Anichebe-driven joke of a football team.

Moyes out. Holloway in.


Chicken and his wife were watching some local variety show when the lady commented, 'Why are your [country's] artistes so ugly? How come even these people can be artistes?' My friend immediately thought of me, smiled, and replied, 'If only The Philistine were here! He would have agreed wholeheartedly.' With that, they laughed and probably continued to gawk in wonder at the unsightly creatures on the telly.

Such an intelligent woman! Chicken is one lucky bastard.


Fuzz Car messaged me on Facebook Chat: 'SSOF. Why you never picked up my calls?' (For the uninitiated, SSOF stands for sek si or fan, meaning in Cantonese, 'eat shit shit rice'.)

I thought he was a bit rude and I went one better by ignoring the pathetic failure of a man and a disgrace of a xtian, this time on Facebook.


Another reason why I am going for foreign specs. Look at the teachers they have! Our teachers? The whole lot can go fly kite!









Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Last Books of H.G.Wells


The Last Books of H.G. Wells contains H.G Wells’s last two works: ‘The happy turning: a dream of life’ and ‘Mind at the end of its tether’. Although they are only as long as pamphlets, their power to captivate is not diminished in the least. The mood in these two pieces, which is in stark contrast to the other, is simply fascinating.

‘The happy turning: a dream of life’ is cheerful and filled with optimism. Taking a secret path, the protagonist meets Jesus of Nazareth and begins a conversation with him In a matter-of-factly manner, the reputed Son of God narrates an comedy of errors in a ridiculous odyssey that culminated with his crucifixion and subsequent deification.

Delightfully blasphemous, the narration will outrage religious fundamentalists and leave atheists chuckling at its irreverent humour. The best part of the pamphlet, for me, is the ‘A hymn of hate against sycamore’, in which Wells curses at the hated sycamore in Biblical prose. Rarely have I read a rant so funny.

Nihilistic and depressing, ‘Mind at the end of its tether’ is shocking in its incoherence and fatalism. Written in the third person, the pamphlet is more a product of Wells’s denial of his impending demise than it is a serious work of literature. Convinced that mankind is going extinct and that ‘there is no way out or round or through’, Wells argues his view vehemently by bombarding his readers with meaningless rhetoric. He soon realizes his initial arguments make no sense, starts anew and expounds on evolutionary principles and warns of the dangers of ‘gigantism’. Despite his feverish efforts, he fails to convey fully the thrust of his arguments and as a result, the rest of the pamphlet descends into barely disguised desperation.

His natural optimism shines through the bleakness in the end, however. Wells makes a heroic and ultimately futile stand in the last sentence of this work: ‘…that small minority which will succeed in seeing life out to its inevitable end.’ Whether this line reflects his hope for a medical miracle or an acceptance of his terminal condition we will never know. ‘Mind at the end of its tether’ is surely the best eulogy ever penned by an author for himself.

To conclude, The Last Books of H.G. Wells is an emotional roller-coaster. One story elevates you to the Elysian Fields and the other plunges you into deepest Tartarus. Truly wonderful!

Rating: 4/5