Need to Survive

I have avoided the drop! It has been a long and bitter season, but I pushed on with every ounce of mental fortitude and physical determination. I deserve to be applauded for what I have achieved.

* * * * * *

I have been sick for the past two days. My fever has just broken the day before. My throat is sore, my vision is blurry and more sensitive to light than usual, and I just discovered one of my teeth at the back is chipped and the rotted black in the centre.

Conclusion: If I do not get the Hells out of this Shithole soon, my dear friends, you can expect to attend my funeral in the near future.

Well done, FIFA!

No goal! Sepp Blatter and his fellow village idiots refuse to implement video technology.

World Cup

Five reasons why this World Cup is the worst ever.


Idiotic referees

Australia were robbed in 2006, and four years down the road, the officials still have their sights on them. Tim Cahill was unjustly sent off against Germany, and against Ghana, the ball struck Harry Kewell’s arm and he was ordered to go.

Brazil’s Fabiano handled the ball twice a la Thierry Henry and fired in against Ivory Coast. The Chileans, Brazilians, Portuguese have been employing systematic fouling and most fouls were not punished with a card.

The USA was robbed of a legitimate goal against Slovenia and when they scored against Algeria, it didn’t count.

More idiotic judgments from the men in black to follow!



Crazy ball

It means ‘joy’ in some primitive tongue, but the Jubulani is anything but that. Across long distance its flight is erratic and suddenly picks up speed. An absolute nightmare for goalkeepers, it has received much criticism from Messi and the other players. A ‘supermarket’ ball like this should not been allowed in any backyard, let alone the greatest stage in world football.


Uninterested players

In keeping with their cultural tendencies, the French went on strike for the umpteenth time. The French team can talk about how much they hate their coach Raymond Domenech but regardless of their grievances, they certainly have no right to capitulate in such an abject manner. It makes you wonder why these players, who are behaving like petulant brats, and cannot beat the likes of South Africa, Mexico, and Uruguay, are still being paid millions to kick a ball around for 90 minutes. They should be lynched.

The Italians came to defend their crown, but ended up, in the immortal words of Gattuso, ‘playing like billy goats.’

Please don’t insult goats. A goat can at least be interested enough to attack, unlike these overpaid spaghetti lovers, who cannot hit a barn door from five yards.

Save for Ghana, who are still flying the flag, all the African teams have been eliminated in the group stages. One would expect that the African teams, who have many players plying their trade in lucrative European leagues, to do a little better. Sadly, like their French and Italian counterparts, they could not be bothered.

What more can one say about the English, who are so bored in their hotel rooms that their ennui is following them to the pitch? Listless, unimaginative, boring, and dreary, and it’s obvious they just want a holiday in the Caribbean’s..


Dour defensive play

At the time of writing, 103 goals have been scored in 49 matches. This translates to an average of 2.1 goals per game. It is the lowest scoring WC ever, which is not surprising when you consider the defensive play adopted by many teams. You know that the WC stinks when even the Brazilians are playing like Italians. Defend, defend, defend, let’s try to sneak a goal from a set piece or mistake…



Theme Song? What theme song?!

Football tournaments are also known for their fantastic theme songs, tunes to which anyone from three to eighty can hum to.

Euro ’96: Lightning Seeds’ Three Lions; Euro 2004: Nelly Furtado’s Forca

France ’98: Ricky Martin’s The Cup of Life, Korea/Japan 2002: Anastacia’s Boom (okay I admit it sucks); Germany ’06: Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie

South Africa 2010: Shakira’s Wada Wada. Why Shakira again?! Couldn’t they find anyone else?! Sloppy! Anyway, few people even know there is a theme song for this WC...

Football Friendly

AS23’s friendly against the Belgian and Luxemburg Association (BLAS) ended in a 4:1 defeat.

It was the team’s second defeat against the expatriate side, the first having concluded in a 6:4 reversal.

The team indicated their intentions when they bought in new players. It took a while for the teams to get settled in the scorching weather. Against the run of play, AS23 took the lead. The striker chased down a long clearance from his defense and smashed the ball past the hapless BLAS custodian.

BLAS soon levelled matters with a well crafted goal. A long ball from deep was cushioned by their left winger into an unmarked BLAS striker, who scored with an emphatic header.

The play was scrappy but it was evident the expatriate side were winning the aerial challenges. They pressured the AS23 goal, but were let themselves down with their profligate finishing.

A defence-splitting pass from centre midfield found the AS23 right winger, whose pinpoint cross found his lurking striker. But he took one touch too many and the BLAS back line was able to clear.

The near miss woke BLAS from their complacency. AS23’s offside trap was breached and the BLAS striker finished with aplomb.

AS23 attempted to assert themselves but they foiled their attacking play with misplaced passes.

Miscommunication at the back for AS23 saw their keeper and centreback collide as they went for the same ball. The latter had to be stretched off for treatment.

With AS23 trailing at half-time, they opted for a more attacking formation. The move nearly paid off soon after the restart, as the team forced a series of corners and carved out several opportunities.

By then the expatriates were tiring and AS23 had more forays into their half. Their left winger did well to skip past the lumbering BLAS right back but his cross was cut out.

Then the AS23 striker blasted an effort straight at the keeper.

Having committed men forward in search of an equalizer, AS23 were leaving gaps at the back. The BLAS forward capitalized on a moment’s indecision from the AS23’s back line and duly made it 3:1.

It was the team’s goalkeeper to get in on the end, clearing his goal kick into a BLAS striker. 4:1 the score, but hardly a true reflection of the balance of play.

To their credit, AS23 continued to attack but it was not to be their day, as the Belgian side ran out 4:1 winners.

A Moral Lesson

My gulag mates put this up in the pantry.

Philosophical Observations

Allow me to expound the undefiled wisdom of philistines. Take heed and learn.

Section A: One Night in GL

My friend and I were treated to the astonishing sight of a ‘relations manager’ (pimp) haranguing a family. I don’t understand Hokkien but according to my friend’s translation, the relations manager was livid over some photographs the family took and their daft comments about the sleaze in the red-light district. So what did these idiots expect to see in a whore district?! If I were him, I would be pissed off too. When you make your living from a shadowy economy, you don’t really want some moralistic fool snapping photographs of your operations and then sending them to the authorities. Last year I gave XH a tour of the area. Despite my warnings, he was daft enough to openly take out his camera for a shot at the central business district there and immediately the relations manager glared at us and started to walk towards us. We had to keep the camera in a hurry. If the businessmen there were so protective of their district at a time when there was no merchandise on sale (the place was heavily raided by the fuzz at the time), imagine their feelings when they are actually running a business and some interloper threatens to curtail their operations. It was just as well for the stupid family that they were holed up in their car, and that there were some fuzz nearby. If they had enacted their stupidity in some other country they would probably have had their car windows smashed – or worse. Judging by the moralistic hypocrisy I dare say with a certain degree of confidence these twits are probably xtians.

While the manager was abusing the cretins in front of the Darlene Hotel, his business partner was complaining to a few uniformed fuzz behind the building. Unwilling to hang around in this volatile environment, the merchandise skunked off to a quieter place. There were uniformed fuzz around in the Holy Land that night. The World Cup screenings at the coffee shops had united diverse peoples effectively. You could see smelly blackamoors of various nationalities rubbing shoulders with locals and people from other Asian countries as they thronged in front of the TV screen. Violence is surely inevitable at some point. Losers will take out their frustrations the wrong way and the winners will relieve the tension with the strumpets. Allowing more prostitution in the area serves public interest, and the presence of the fuzz in various districts deters would-be aggressors.

Section B: Coffee near the CN Flat.

My friend observed that Shitholer females like to apply thick makeup to their faces before they even step out of the house. He asserted that they lack self-confidence, which is quite true, considering that many are quite fudgy. Citing from experience, he pointed out that many of the Chinese broads apply little or no makeup at all. “When your skin is creamy smooth, you don’t need to do yourself up like a ghost,” he argued. I totally agree with his assessment. When you apply a thick layer of some noxious chemical substance to your face, your face cannot breathe. Do it for five years straight and it’s inevitable that your skin will look old and wrinkled even before you turn thirty. Indeed, this is probably why cosmetics are always a good sell – to cover up the damage done by cosmetics!

We also lampooned the idiots who write for those blasted fashion magazines. Women who read their trashy columns will surely think that the ‘ideal woman’ is thin and non-curvaceous as a lamp post, and will seek to achieve this ridiculous image by’ starving’ themselves by eating only potato chips and paying a small fortune on some ‘beauty’ courses, losing two pounds in a week and then gaining it back by drinking water. Compared to their Shitholer counterparts, not many Chinese women go to such extreme means of beauty care, and they are on average, still aesthetically superior! It is time for our highly educated local women to put their educated brains to good use and improve their looks the right way.

Section C: Personal Reflections

After living for five years together, being man and wife in every aspect except for the solemnization of marriage, Bloke A finds solace in the ladies of the night who work the rounds in swill holes. He makes an important distinction in the company he keeps and pays for. Some ladies are for ‘boob squeezing’. For those who aren’t, they provide a listening ear for his troubles and worries. Despite his intercourses with these ladies, Bloke A claims he loves his wife, even though their attempts at procreation have always met with failure. I wonder what troubles are so special that he cannot confide in the one he professes to love. One suspects his troubles may run along the lines of ‘wife being a dead fish in bed’, and ‘…asking for more LV bags and cosmetics’. It’s funny how whores are trusted as much as bankers are. On second thoughts, it makes sense. Both screw you, but at least whores give you a good time while doing it.

Still Morally Empty

My friend and I went to the Holy Land on Saturday night and were impressed with its expansion. Across the road from the India district now lies a festering hotbed of desperation, populated by unwashed masses who are easily the scum of Asia. The denizens stank up its alleys, and groups of blackamoors thronged the dank narrow passage, ogling at the merchandise that were selling for $20 – 30 apiece. We had to literally hold our breath as we gave the goods a cursory inspection. There is truly no benevolent and caring god; moral strictures do not exist in that diseased area of venomous vice and shattered dreams. Yet there is a kind of liberation in despondency and surrender, a resignation that binds together an ostracized brotherhood, a refreshing honesty that goes beyond manufactured morality and hypocritical facades. One cannot help admiring the sheer entrepreneurship that allowed shrewd business people to see the potential in abject misery, and to fill this broken niche with equally broken fulfillment.

...................................................

Chicken called me at work. He said that it was a bitch working with Police Car on the same machine. The rest of the people were goldbricking in the crew room, leaving the structure trade to prepare for the commencement of the rectification. Poor Chicken had to get the technical publications and tools himself while Police Car was telling another colleague how virtuous that Thai slut of his was. Apparently she rejected a suitor who drove a ‘big Mercedes’. The person to whom he was crapping naturally admonished him for being naïve, as is the wont these days.

Hoping to patch things up, Chicken told the ‘carrot’ that I miss hearing from him. The carrot remained silent. I told my friend that it was really stupid falling out with your mates over some Thai gold-digger, considering he did not even get to have sex with her. He agreed Police Car is a loser. I am not the only person who lectured him regarding this sordid affair, but somehow I seem to be the one he is most pissed off at. Maybe he is sore that once again, this avowed atheist is right. And every time I get it right, it is like a hammer blow struck against his piddling faith. If he still does not come to his senses, I may expound Satanism to him. It should wake him up…but then, maybe not.

A Blasted Mind

I just suffered through my only paper of the season. I remember picking up my pen, frantically scribbling away, and getting interrupted THRICE by the invigilator announcing that we ought to take note of certain questions in the paper. I was very frustrated by these needless interruptions to my already desperate and jumbled thought process. Surely they could have checked the papers for mistakes BEFORE the examinations?

I wrote what I could remember and there was a bit of the mental collapse in which you suddenly cannot remember key facts. No choice but to trudge on and write. It was a load of bollocks I produced but may it be sufficient to save me from relegation. One part was in Gehenna - two essay questions that required you to conjure things outside the textbook. I looked to my left and right. It seemed that people were equally stunned or were struggling to put words to paper. (The Rack was not around. Truly a tragedy.)



I met an ex-colleague (gulag inmate) outside the school library. He is struggling with some horrendous finance module. He told me that the capstone course we will be taking next season is going to be a bitch. They changed the class schedule and examination format this season. Now we have to attend classes on both weekdays and weekends. According to him, they split the examination questions into small chunks and nobody actually managed to finish the paper, and we are talking about a three hour torture. Furthermore, we have to do plenty of research, prepare our own notes and cart them into the examination hall. This is truly suicide-inducing news indeed. Next season, I will have five assignments, two quizzes, three examinations, loads of research, and very little time. Seriously, when XH hears about this, he will surely be compelled to kneel before me, worship me, and offer sacrifices. For the 1,000,000,000 time I regret not taking up Arts. The trials and tribulations of a philistine indeed.

Old Mates

This week I met my old mates from the military for late night slop. While in the car we naturally shot the shit and Fatty was grumbling about how crap the military is, and Heehee, as usual, was a bit slow on the uptake but contributed some wisdom to our conversation.

I launched into a tirade about how overrated Shitholer women are, punctuating my arguments with observations from personal experience and that of others. In particular, I highlighted the sad fact that in the boudoir, our women generally behave like dead fish. This struck a chord with Fatty, and he was moved to say, “At first I thought it was the fisherman’s fault, but after trying several kinds of fish, I realized that it was not the fisherman, but the fish.”

It was nice to know that Fatty and Heehee had grown in stature since the last time I saw them. Fatty is leaving the military in two months’ time and has adopted a heck-care attitude in his hairstyle. I also saw in his eyes a growing frustration that could only have come from understanding what life is truly all about. As for Heehee, he is slowly shedding his squeaking clean image and embarking on a path of libertinage.

We soon reached our destination, a restaurant situated at the back streets of Bugis which sell bean curd and other soy products. We have patronized this slop house before and we saw the usual groups of foreigners. While eating our bean curd, we ogled the scenery and talked about our existence. We may be around thirty but we sounded much older, considering the nature of our topics necessitated the shredding of any residual idealistic notions. We talked about Heehee’s whoring, how existence is getting impossible in this shithole and in general the grumbling and cussing that are requisite to such conversations.

There were a bunch of young foreigners of indeterminate nationality seated at a nearby table. Wherever they hailed from they were on average physically superior to Shitholers, although half of them were hardly more aesthetically pleasing. I sneaked peeks at one of them from time to time. She had a fine rack and as they finished their slop and walked away, I was interrupted briefly from our interlocution by her well-endowed midfield. My mates laughed and I knew at that moment, that I was in fine company.

Continuing where we left off, we discussed further about the merits of women from various nationality. We came to the conclusion that it would be logically feasible, sexually necessary, and morally responsible to take the “international” route when it comes to women. We also talked about how shitty existence in this shithole is and again, I could not restrain myself from blasting our regime and arguing for the moral necessity of being a responsible parent by not becoming one. Fatty told me that I am still as negative as ever but it takes an ostrich to bury its head in the sand and pretend that all is well and unlike my cuntrymen and women I definitely am no ostrich. The infuriating thing is that when you tell the truth, people don’t want to hear it and say you are ‘negative’ or ‘cynical’. When you pretend nothing is wrong and the whole damn world is rosy, you are the worst liar because not only do you lie to everybody you also lie to yourself. If you cherry-pick and filter out the bad things and focus only on the good things, you are no bigger than a man who is addicted to the bottle. What is wrong with saying that something bad is really bad? It’s intellectually upright and a breath of fresh air. When you tell the ugly truth and complains about it, people can’t take it. They dread confronting their deepest fears and resentments. They do not want their hopes to be extinguished. How sad.

A cultured man myself, I inquired as to where he found his contact. Heehee advised me to check out the forums in www.laksaboy.com. He told me that a potential client may peruse the pictures at his leisure, and if he is satisfied with the specification and pricing of the products, he can make arrangements to complete the transaction, usually in a hotel room. These escorts are mostly Tom Yam ($100), although if you are willing to pay more ($160 upwards), you can take your pick from the Kim Chis and Natashas. Should you be one of those crazy buggers who are willing to pay for Shitholers, the prices range from 70 to 260 bucks. I am appalled that these brazen hussies would dare to overprice themselves. Surely, most of them are not even worth $40.

By the time we finished our slop, it was midnight and we decided it was time to retire. We decided to meet up again another day. On the way back we saw two damaged cars. Apparently the driver of the car at the back had thought he was Lewis Hamilton and banged his conveyance into the back of the car in front. . Nobody died however. I took down the car plate numbers for my investment. I am not sure if I won, but maybe if I won and in sufficient amount, I’ll allocate a fair portion of it to my ‘relieve stress’ fund.



A day after we had slop, I talked to Heehee on MSN. I asked him about his new-found hobby and the topic inevitably diverted to his girlfriend. Hearing him speak of FLs with such enthusiasm, I asked him about his girlfriend if he is happy with her. He said that he has to be careful with all the late nights because being one ‘smart lady’, she is suspicious of his late-night outings with his friends. I was appalled and told my friend in no uncertain terms what I thought of her controlling ways. Surely she goes out with her girlfriends?! Heehee replied that she very rarely goes out at night, except when she is with him. He added that when I see him come online I should be discrete. She shares his MSN account and I should exercise caution. Even more disgusted, I tried my damn best to persuade him to break off this relationship but he failed to see the errors of his ways. And it emerged that they have been together and still haven’t even been intimate with each other.

I had never heard of such a dysfunctional relationship. Although he believes that she has all the qualities he looks for in a wife, I am not convinced of the wisdom of continuing this relationship. For one thing, they aren’t getting it on in the bedroom, and she insists on remaining “untouched” before marriage. This kind of ridiculous and prudish attitude, while common among xtians, is quite unusual in a non-xtian, particularly in today’s wanton culture. Also, the fact that his ex-girlfriend broke off with him for no apparent reason demonstrates how unreliable Shitholer women are in love. You will get more loyalty and commitment from a lap dog than you would an average Shitholer woman. Stupid as they are, dogs usually don’t go AWOL on you when you need them and you never have any doubt regarding their commitment, slobbering and smelly their drool may be. Shitholer women, on the other hand, are fickle, liable to go emo on you without the slightest provocation and are perpetually undecided on everything.

Heehee told me that he has invested thousands of dollars and a great deal of time and effort on her over the past three years, and he will get back nothing if he gives her up now. I explained to him the concept of escalation of commitment and how it is an impediment to good decision-making. He replied he would take the risk. In reality, there is hardly a risk when you know either outcome cannot be considered beneficial. Even if they get married, I am sure he will continue to employ the excellent services of FLs, since by his own admission, he is ‘addicted’. Why not admit that he is a libertine by nature and follow his inclinations? Besides, the amount she has spent on him is less than one-eighth of what he has splashed on her. I am not implying anything, but my friend has a car and is willing to allocate resources on her. Rich ‘carrot head’ he may not be, but a carrot head nonetheless. I have no idea what how ‘wifey’ she can be, but if being wifey means to make comments when he goes out with his mates at night, then maybe she is wifey indeed. And despite what he says about making a dead fish a live one, I do not put much store in his ability to resurrect the dead, especially considering after three years together they still haven’t seen much of each other’s inner beauty.

Being the good friend that I am, I shall continue my efforts in getting him to regain his bachelorhood. I trust my care and concern for his welfare will enable him to see the light.

Two More Down

Word is that two of my friends are getting married at the end of the year. This is a double tragedy. After coughing out tens of thousands of dollars for a banquet of slop their next task will be to spend the next twenty to thirty years paying for a pigeon hole.

I trust that they will be responsible parents by choosing not to procreate. Why bring children into a world where they will be serfs to a cartel of uncaring rich and elitist scum? Why should a young man waste two years playing soldier for shite wages while his foreign counterparts go to university and gain experience by starting work two years earlier? I have a mind to miss at least one of the weddings. I am skint and not sufficiently masochistic to pay good money to bear witness to the commencement of these moral disasters.

No Balls to Grab

The final day of the Premiership was an insipid affair. With the championship still officially undecided, Wigan decided to roll over and let Chelski in for eight. This effectively ended ManUre’s title hopes, allowed Chelski to set a new record for the most number of goals scored in a season since the inception of the Premiership, and gifted Didier ‘It’s a fucking disgrace!’ Drogba the Golden Boot award. Stoke City did their darnest best to surrender at Old Trafford, but an modicum of professional spirit seeped though their holiday mood and they only conceded four. A measure of sympathy ought to be given to Wayne Rooney. To miss out on a deserved Golden Boot and the championship after a personally superlative season in which he virtually carried his team on his Neanderthal-like shoulders must have been heartrending.

Elsewhere, the RedShite epitomized their dismal season with an inept goalless draw against the already relegated Tigers. It was what they deserved, although had Hull taken their gilt-edged chance in the first half, the floating circus that is the RedShite would have appeared even more rudderless. Bankrupted by their Americans owners (who else but the Americans>), the Shite are now deep in the red and may have to sell their star striker and their ugly bastard of a captain to wealthier scavengers. Their fat Spanish waiter of a manager may leave for the Old Lady, and as an Evertonian, I would be gutted to see that incompetent, clueless, unsightly and idiotic popinjay go. (Who else can be trusted to screw up the Shite like this fathead?) However, if the fat Spanish waiter decides to dish out the sort of fare in Italy – no pun intended – the Americans should do the right thing and replace him with proven managers. Graeme Sourness, Paul Ince, and Iain Dowie readily come to mind.

Over at Goodison, Everton stretched their unbeaten run to a dozen games with an uninspiring 1:0 win over Pompey courtesy of a Bily belter in the dying seconds. The visitors had a perfectly good goal chalked off and better luck to them when they take on the crass and vulgar mob of Chelski in the FA Cup next Saturday. For the Blues (the REAL Blues), the pre-season is nothing to look forward to. A trip down Down Under for ‘commercial’ purposes, and then nothing to spend on new players. The Chairman should do the right thing and sell the club to any non-American who has tonnes of money. At the very least, sack the club’s marketing and corporate finance team. Something is seriously wrong when a club with so much history and plays decent football cannot find a single investor while small fry clubs like the Black Cats, the Barcode Army and even the Bummies have their own suger daddy. I hardly hear anything from Everton on the sales and marketing front. It may be the ‘People’s Club’, but the people in charge of sales and marketing certainly aren’t people as far as intelligence is concerned. They should employ me instead.

Nothing worthwhile to report in the other matches. Just a bunch of overpaid players running around for ninety odd minutes and then packing off to the World Cup or some luxurious holidays. The season is over. Existence grows even more meaningless, at least until August.

Pictures

Inspiring.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.