Jame5

Imagine a world where nothing is what it seems.

Guido discovers he is a cleverly engineered simulacrum. In a daring experiment he elevates himself to quasi-divine status. Empowered with transcendental wisdom and godlike intelligence, Guido engages undersecretary Frank in philosophical discussion as he shapes the world in his metaphysical image.

Stefan Pernar does not write. He tells. Science fiction is often criticized as being so far-fetched as to be unbelievable, but Jame5 stands out for its realism. The reader is transported to a futuristic world where reputation is currency, crime is rendered obsolete and life is in fast-forward mode. The fast-paced story drives the reader to turn the pages furiously for each new and unexpected development. The dialogues between Frank and Guido are reminiscent of the Marquis de Sade’s A Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man. The transmission of wisdom from ubermensch to mere mortal takes on an ultra-futuristic tone, yet retains the primal joy which accompanies enlightenment.

Despite laden with philosophical and scientific notions, the book remains accessible to the non-intelligentsia. The discourse on evolution and levels of control is particularly impressive. Is compos mentis truly possible? What is truth? Jame5 goes beyond ‘a tale of good and evil’. It challenges its readers to confront their cherished beliefs.

Unfortunately the book is let down by glaring typos. Although the archetypal Hollywood obsessive will find the ending anticlimactic, readers of a more thoughtful persuasion will appreciate the elegance in its no-frills conclusion.

Rating: 4/5

Circus

I believe whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you... stranger. – The Joker



The job fair I went to yesterday could only be described as a circus. The interview rooms reminded me of game booths, the organizers circus masters and unlike other carnivals, the freaks mingled so freely with the marks they virtually became one homogeneous crowd.

Even without a tie, I was easily the best dressed in the pathetic crowd. Most of the guys dressed either in casual attire (shirt and jeans) or downright casual (T-shirt and jeans). The overage ragamuffins notwithstanding, some seemed stuck in the 60s and 70s. With their unshaven face, unkempt hair, they looked just like hippies. Someone should tell them that the Beatles are no more, Fallout Boys are in, thanks for the memories, wake up and have a nice day. The ladies were not as daring in their attire as the men were, but they looked old and tired. Same for most of the people that thronged the place. A parade of dolls that have seen better days but are now tattered, forgotten and unwanted.

The more I looked at my dear countrymen and women, the more depressed I felt. There is no dignity. What is the use of being so loyal to a company, of working so hard and dedicating the best years of your life to your job, only to be discarded when you are old and deemed surplus to requirements?

In a way we are all toys. No matter how pretty and fun we might have been, when the novelty wears off, we are nothing. To the rag-and-bone man for some. To the charities for others. A few end up in the streets and trash collection, bound for the incinerator and there’s nothing anybody can do about it, or wants to. There are no fairy tale endings, no white knights riding to the rescue. We are just commodities. Having abolished feudalism, we have unwittingly cast away the dignity and liberty that we have fought so hard for, and snared ourselves to the yoke of capitalism and become less than humans. We are nothing beyond our perceived value in monetary terms. Say what you want about the purity of the human spirit, the ineffable joy of transcending your base mortality, of spiritually elevating yourself, go on with your wretched rhetoric and delude yourself! Ultimately the world cares nothing for us. We are not special. There is no sanctity of life. No universal morals and justice. Nothing, save self-deception and hypocrisy, opiums essential in a society that takes back from you tenfold of what it gives.

If you attribute my cynicism to my current straits then you err in your assessment. Bitterness and jealousy are not requisite for discerning the truth of the world. If I were rich and powerful, I would most likely have echoed the same sentiments. I would probably be more boastful in my vehemence, for it is I who will exploit and profit from my understanding. After all, the meek might have inherited the earth, but the strong owns the mineral rights.

Here are some interesting characters whom I met:


ENERGIZER BUNNY
A perky bloke accosted me, asked which position I was applying for.

‘Admin assistant’, I said.

His eyes lit up. ‘Oh really! Admin assistant. I also,’ His expression grew perkier.

Then he glanced away, turned back to me and asked me the same question.

I stared at him and repeated myself.

Apparently satisfied, the bloke turned, grinned like a village idiot and proceeded to harass the unfortunate soul standing behind him.


LOST
Some time after Energizer Bunny left, another bloke asked me about the position I was applying for.

After I answered him, he took on a strange expression and mumbled in a confused voice, ‘They didn’t tell us to wear long sleeved shirt.’

‘I thought it’s understood.’ I said.

He continued to look at me blankly. He struck a pitiful sight, with his old T-shirt, faded jeans and worn New Balance shoes. I hope he didn’t have aspirations of becoming an administrative assistant. Meanwhile, someone please remind him to breathe.

Another Meaningless Chapter

This SMS woke me up yesterday morning:


Pls check email for invite to 2nd interview – [cuntpany]


I checked my email, and as promised:


Whoreson at 8.59am.

Hi Cxxxxx,

You are invited to 2nd interview on Monday (9th March), 1.15pm
This is my only slot avail on Monday. Pls make time for it.

Pls confirm your attendance.

Regards, [whoreson]
[designation]
[cuntpany]


Whoreson can go to Hell before I turn up for his interview.

Whoreson is either being disrespectful or lacking in business writing skills. Probably both. In business correspondence, please do not use SMS lingo like ‘pls’, and short-forms like ‘avail.’ It makes you look bad. I wonder if Whoreson writes like this when addressing his CEO and his clients.

And why in the Hells am I being ‘invited’ to the second interview when I was dismissed within ONE MINUTE during the first? Obviously Whoreson has never heard of the saying ‘once bitten twice shy.’

I am still fuming over what happened during the first interview. I was told to report at 5.45pm but I was fifteen minutes earlier. Whoreson told me to wait until the stated time. Seeing there were two other candidates waiting and that I was too early, I agreed.

While waiting at the nearby bus-stop, I saw the two candidates leave the building at around 5.40pm. Five minutes later I arrived back at the cuntpany. The door to the interview room opened and seeing it was my time to go, I walked towards it, only to be barred by the cold and unsmiling Whoreson.

He told me to sit down at the sofa, which I compiled. A pretty lady took my slot and went in. Two other people shared the sofa with me, another attractive lady and a man. They were talking to each other and to pass the time I timed the length of the interview. The lady who was inside talked to Whoreson for fifteen minutes. After she left, the guy next to me went in and got five minutes, maybe less.

Miss Attractive took her turn and she spent quite a time with Whoreson. I heard them laughing over something and I saw Miss Attractive gave him her name card. When he opened the door – not before shaking her dainty hand of course – they were smiling at each other like lovers.

After Miss Attractive left I went in. I offered my hand but Whoreson didn’t bother to take it. Impatience evident on his face, he waved me to sit.

He asked me which position I was applying for. I said that I was applying for a marketing position. He looked a bit confused and asked me to specify. I replied that the job advertisement he put up didn’t specify the exact position. (Judging from the two lines that made up the job description it would not be erroneous to say the position involved marketing.) Whoreson wasn’t impressed with me. I could see that his expression remained as black, as if I just raped his mother and asked him to compensate me for the abuse I took. You could argue that it was my mistake (it wasn’t my fault in the first place) which displeased him. However, it doesn’t take perfect eyesight to see that Whoreson showed me the same expression even before the interview.

‘So you are going for corporate sales?’, Whoreson asked.

Left with no alternative, I nodded.

He scanned through my resume. ‘You have been working in supporting positions all this while. What makes you think you can do a front-line job?’

His question threw me off momentarily. I recovered and said being in a supporting role doesn’t mean I can’t do a front-line position. I went on to say that as a business graduate, I would be able to apply what I have learned.

In all fairness, I admit that my delivery wasn’t as articulate as I would have liked. Some professional interviewers and Toastmasters instructors may even frown at my answer. But my eyes were on the bastard’s face all the while and all I saw was derision, condescension, contempt, impatience and he nodded at every line of my speech as if I was born to amuse him.

‘You can go now. If you are shortlisted for the second interview we will call you.’ He hurriedly got up, opened the door and waved me out. I looked at him, asked him, ‘that fast?’ but Whoreson obviously felt I was too inferior to merit his replying. I offered him my hand and again he didn’t shake it.

I was so disgusted that I couldn’t stop cursing on my way back to the train station. One would expect a manager to at least show some basic courtesy. I don’t know what happened to him when he was young. I assume that his father was marketing his wife while his mother was too busy turning tricks. This sordid childhood he endured must have a detrimental impact on his character, which would explain why such an anal-retentive bastard like himself could climb the corporate ladder so readily. He must have learned from his harlot of a mother the best way to give head.

It didn’t escape my notice that Whoreson spent a lot of time with his female interviewees. The ladies got fifteen and twenty minutes; the other guys got five minutes each and I one minute. I don’t think gender preference is stipulated in the job description. I think Whoreson is the kind of cheap bastard who doesn’t even want to pay $50 for a cheap whore in Geylang. If the bastard wanted a cheaper whore I could show him around the lorongs where $10 whores are available. Desker Road is also a good place for a cheapskate. After he has had his ten dollars’ worth of pleasure we can even go for some curry in the nearby Little India. Or maybe he doesn’t patronize such places because he doesn’t want to meet his mother and sister (if he had one) hawking their silicon-enhanced wares and peddling their abused flesh for a dollar to foreign laborers.

There are men who fantasize about having sex in the office, with nurses, secretaries and air hostesses, who relish being in a superior or subordinate role in role-playing, and it would come as no surprise if Whoreson belonged in this category. Maybe he hasn’t had a date in his entire life, having been snubbed by every female of every species which he tried so adamantly to accost and seduce. It must masturbate his ego to have a pretty woman talk and smile with him, even though she has an ulterior motive. Humans rely on fantasies and delusions to keep ourselves sane, and even a sub-species like Whoreson is no exception to the rule.

Still, one does not shit where one eats. Whoreson has never understood this principle and while his brain resides in his ‘little head’ as a result of his deprived childhood and evolutionary misfiring, he would never recognize it.

So why am I called to go for the second interview? The answers are obvious and none too flattering. One, the majority of the interviewees were still employed, meaning that they would see his job as a part-time assignment and therefore unable to commit much time and energy. Two, after eliminating the people who are deemed non-committed, he is still left with a pool of candidates. The second round is yet another elimination process and the third will be the confirmation. Third, he probably sees me as unsophisticated and therefore moldable and exploitable.

Another reason is that his other candidates have all REJECTED him. He needs people desperately and I’m one of the few who is left. It doesn’t matter to Whoreson how many people he calls to his interview. He doesn’t even bother to read the resumes. He gets paid handsomely for amusing himself with squirming and ingratiating candidates. He doesn’t need to break a sweat for doing a cushy job but the interviewees would have to spend time and energy getting to his obscure office. In other words, Whoreson doesn’t care.

Having dismissed me with such finality, it is inexplicable that he would give me a second chance. The way he conducted his interview is shameful. It makes me wonder what kind of company he works for, a marketing company or a social escort agency. Judging from the fact that the ladies were very well ‘interviewed’, it would not be amiss to claim the latter.

One can argue that I should just go for his fucking interview because I need a job. What differentiates us from dogs is pride and self-respect. Dogs have neither; they eat shit and shit where they like. There are certain jobs like social escorts and high class whores - the two are often used synonymously – that pay very well, but would you want your wife and daughters to go into the profession?

I have grave doubts about Whoreson’s sincerity. I dare say it would yet being another wasted trip, a trip which yields the same insufferable process and inevitable conclusion. Why should I waste my time going there to be insulted, especially when the motherfucker is just fucking around like what his prostitute mother does every night, even when she has her monthly courses? I don’t mind taking the trouble of going for interviews, tiring and despairing these may turn out to be, but the other party MUST at least be SINCERE.

I remember an interview I had with a jewellery technician. The job involved repairing minor damages to expensive jewellery. The guy who interviewed me described himself as uneducated. He got into the line because he had no other alternative. He spoke to me in a very matter-of-fact fashion and said there was no need for me to follow his footsteps because I have a bright future. The guy said he would employ me – I had passed his eyesight tests – but I should think it over. We talked for a while and he narrated to me that how he had fifty-year olds who went for the interview and he had to turn them away because they couldn’t see as well. But he at least bothered to ‘entertain’ (this is my language) them.

Now, the difference between this uneducated technician and the well-educated Whoreson is apparent. Both are managers, but unlike Whoreson, the technician understands what is decency and basic respect. For all his education, Whoreson doesn’t know the difference between the corporate pricks he sucks and his own when addressing people. Is it so damn demeaning for one of his station to practise basic courtesy, even to people he rejects?

After I narrated my ordeal to my classmate who is in finance, she shrugged knowingly. She told me that anal-retentive interviewers are a dime a dozen. Even if the bastard employs me, there is no point in working under him, she said. A person who cannot treat people right the first time cannot be expected to treat people right the second. It’s no big loss. She seemed to identify with the view that women, especially the pretty ones enjoy a huge advantage in the corporate world. (I don’t know how true this is. If anyone reading this works in the business industry, please enlighten me.)

I am having serious thoughts about pursuing my business degree. Perhaps my taking up a business course is reactionary and retaliatory in nature. I remember acutely my disgust during my poly days when I saw the easy lives business students led compared to the shit engineering students found ourselves in. While we were struggling in vain to get the damn machine to work, all the BA people had to do was to set up stalls selling Valentine and Chinese New Year’s gift items and that was their final-year project.

Moreover, my hatred for engineering stems partly from dissatisfaction and jealousy. I was so ridiculously bad at engineering that even my lab assistant advised me to quit. Despite my best efforts I was barely passing my subjects (If I got an E, it was a massive cause for celebration.) I looked at my friends in Business and how they complained about their assignments and it enraged me. (I looked through one – Business Law – and I was stuck by how easy the questions were, even through I wasn’t a business student.) It was a case of the moon being brighter on the other side, albeit with some justification. Why endure three and a half years of incomprehensible maths and science when I could easily write my way out of Management, Human Resources, Organizational Behavior and Business Law – these are very simple at polytechnic level.

My juvenile petty hatreds aside, working life was unfortunately no different from school. Every day I sweat for slave wages, my existence revolved around a lousy machine which should have been scraped long ago but somehow by the most tragic turn of fate I had to maintain. I have had hydraulics and industrial grease splashed into my eyes, nearly lost one when I lightly brushed my cornea against a vent – a fraction of an inch the wrong way and I would have been blinded. The grime I got on my person could not easily be washed off. Even after half an hour of showering the smell still persisted. I constantly wondered why I was doing this, whom I was doing it for. I looked at people in Shenton Way, the people in smart suits and who got all the opportunities to travel and all I got was an enforced stay in this cuntry that I hate and having no opportunities to improve myself. It ate at me like a cancer. Every day I dwelled on it and every day I suffered. I was determined to get into Business, which I perceived would afford me the opportunities I crave.

I am increasingly critical of the business course I am enduring. The workload is inhumane and students have little chance of exploring the subject and the way the course is structured forces students to sacrifice intellectual curiosity for tips and ready answers. (40% is a good result ladies and gentlemen, 40% to pass the course, 40% to get that piece of paper.) To compound the situation, some of the assignments are so poorly written that it would be a travesty to say that they are university papers.

I know I have been whining ad nauseam and it would not be unreasonable to dismiss my claims as indicative of a ‘loser’ mentality. However, when my fellow course mates, some of whom are in their first season – echo the same sentiments, something is obviously wrong. Like the engineering course I miraculously passed in poly, the degree I would get would be one that I secured without knowing anything about the requisite material.

Quite a few of my course mates have expressed their disillusionment by voting with their feet. I am inclined to do the same. After my encounter with Whoreson, I am beginning to wonder if I should be in business. After all, I don’t backstab people. I don’t like to exploit people. I don’t like to put on a mask and give head to get ahead. There are many aspects of business that I hate. I hate people. I hate ‘relations management.’ I hate the sanctimonious and hypocritical corporate values and overuse of the word integrity and paying lip service to ethics. I hate them all. The only enticing thing I could possibly find in the corporate world is the possibility of making use of people whom I hate. Use them like I was used. It gives me great motivation. I am still desperate for the fat paycheck and foreign assignments of course, but I now start to wonder which is truly my primary incentive. Payback or monetary.

As for Whoreson I hope he dies a slow and painful death. If I saw him helpless and bleeding to death on the road – the corpse I saw on Valentine’s Day comes to mind – I would go over and gloat. I will spit in his face. My ridicule would be the last thing he sees before he expires. I will give his carcass a good kick before I leave. I don’t know why I hate Whoreson so much. Maybe it’s because he exemplifies what is truly wrong with this world, what is anathema to me, an assault on my sensibilities and a desecration of the few values I still possess.

When that day comes, I will regret there is no Hell for Whoreson to go to.

Fun with WC

Mr. W ended his affair during the weekend. He was so traumatized he took MC today. I have a feeling there will be a sequel. So it’s one down, one to go. When I asked him what he is going to do with his wife he didn’t give me a definite answer. The situation is as sticky as the one in Gaza. His mother doesn’t want him to divorce her so he is caught in the middle. Between responsibility to his mother and following his heart and good sense, which will emerge the stronger?

As a friend, I naturally offered him my two cents worth. I said that there is no point in dragging on and prolonging the agony; it’s time he makes a clean break and get his life back. I would have done the same if I were him. A marriage without love is as appetizing as moldy bread. It belongs in the trash bin.



Like my friend Mr. W, Mr. C is also caught between responsibility and his heart. However, where the former is still vacillating and likely to let responsibility take priority, Mr. C told me he is choosing his buxom Chinese girlfriend over his estranged wife and little boy. From what I gathered, his Chinese girlfriend is not as ‘dead fish’ in the boudoir as his ex-wife was. The latter still loves him and wants him back, but in love things are very complicated. Mr. C understands that his boy will hate him to the core when he grows up. So be it, as Mr. C said.

Mr. C is also a lady’s man. He is currently having intimate relations with his female colleague. Ironically, the person who recommended him his current job is the boyfriend of the girl Mr. C has been sleeping with. We are indoctrinated from young that a good deed begets another. How wrong our conventional morality is, what a weak and harmful exercise! Mr. C wants to break it off, but he has to do it with great discretion. His colleague’s boyfriend is a hooligan and he doesn’t want to be on the end of a hiding.

Inspiration & Funnies

All universal moral principles are idle fancies. – Marquis de Sade

It is not my mode of thought that has caused my misfortunes, but the mode of thought of others. – Marquis de Sade

Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction. –Marquis de Sade

There is no God, Nature sufficeth unto herself; in no wise hath she need of an author. – Marquis de Sade

Would that the Roman people had but one neck! – Caligula

They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice... that suicide is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person. – Arthur Schopenhauer

Some men are alive simply because it is against the law to kill them. – Edward W. Howe

The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic. – Joseph Stalin

I trust no one, not even myself – Joseph Stalin

If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences. – H.P Lovecraft

Bunch together a group of people deliberately chosen for strong religious feelings, and you have a practical guarantee of dark morbidities expressed in crime, perversion, and insanity. - H.P Lovecraft

The passion for destruction is also a creative passion. – Mikhail Bakunin

Therefore, if God existed, only in one way could he serve human liberty - by ceasing to exist. – Mikhail Bakunin

If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed. – Adolf Hitler

By the skillful and sustained use of propaganda, one can make a people see even heaven as hell or an extremely wretched life as paradise. – Adolf Hitler

The broad masses of a population are more amenable to the appeal of rhetoric than to any other force. – Adolf Hitler


Engineering is not good for health.

Need to get four numbers from this fellow.

It's official: Singaporeans are stupid.

Have a Nice Day

Today is a funny day.

I played football in the morning and busted my left ankle while blocking a shot. I had to leave the field but fortunately I could still walk, albeit with some discomfort.

On the way home I took the right bus in the wrong direction. The bus – it’s air-con system was as busted as my ankle was) – took me to the foreigner workers’ dormitories in some backwater part of Jurong West. I was amazed at the sea of humanity and even more so at the overpowering smell it carried. I decided then I had to make my way out as fast as possible. I had to trudge over a kilometer before I reached the Pioneer train station. It was a good thing my ankle was only slightly sprained and not broken.

I arrived home at around two. After my shower I thought I would have a nap before making my way down to Marina Atrium for the Media Arts exhibition. However, the storm came and I slept through the whole afternoon. I didn’t realize how damn tired I was.

I woke up, had dinner and then found a very funny message displayed on my Business Law project mates’ msn window: “[name] is not meant for schooling.” Another project mate’s read: crap… I think they are absolutely right. Our group is dysfunctional, our report crap and the two girls are not meant for schooling.

It is highly likely that we will fail our Business Law report. I can imagine what the reaction will be. The girls will always blame the guy – this is how much things are in this cuntry. To our overrated and overpriced women (I mean this in a general sense. There are some local lasses who are very decent. Unfortunately these are few and far between.) This is a story for another day so I’ll just get on with it.

The pretty girl sent us her answers. Her script reminds me of her: pretty, but not much substance to spare. She has been calling for a “Business Law guru” on her Facebook. Apparently she didn’t think her teammates were capable enough. I have been asking her to get her points down; I could do the writing. No reply. I asked her if she needed help. No reply. I admit that my answers are shite but their answers are not much better. (The lecturer might give me a zero for my ten pages and award them good marks for their contributions. You never know with lawyers.) It could happen. Anyway, this is the first time I have seen someone use coloured letters in academic writing. Marks for aesthetics maybe?

The other one was on leave so she had plenty of time to do the report. She could have contacted me to discuss the project but she didn’t. I received her email telling me to send her a finalized copy of my answers so that she didn’t have to do so much work. Fair enough. I gave her the go-ahead to take the latest answers . I didn’t even bother to vet through. As far as I’m concerned enough is enough. I hate enough of this bullshit. When the lecturer was explaining in class how to write the report - he didn’t give us any hints or answers – the two lovely ladies were more interested in looking at pictures of dogs and jabbering about the Singapore Flyer, Las Vegas and the holidays they had. (Another thing about women who love dogs – most of them are insecure and like the curs and bitches they keep, noisy, emotional and can’t survive without some fool to fuss over them.)

So the project is done. I haven’t confirmation of the submission but I’m not going to call. The girl submitting it can drop me a mail. I just need to score over five out of thirty marks in this report to pass the continuous component. I am not taking an Honours degree so I can fuck care my GPA. It’s also quite likely we won’t even score 16.67%, such is the trash we produced. Anyway, I am content with my trashy answers and whatever happens I have done whatever I could and if I am to be held accountable for every fuck thing that happens I might as well change my name to Jesus Christ.

My first failed assignment in this university. Truly momentous!

A Mediocre World

Examination Timetable for [date] Semester (Revised)

---

Dear [name of university] Student

Please refer to the revised examination timetable for [date] semester attached below: Examination Timetable for [Date] Semester

Best wishes to your examination.

[department/name of university]

Thanks. I'll send your kind regards to my examination script when I see it.

Meanwhile in other uplifting news:

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ reward for FAILURE. Bankers get the best deals.

It's time we get rid of the UN. Atheists get fucked again.

For once, a priest shows some integrity.

Ambition

My ambition is to be a mercenary.

Integrity? No Such Thing!

Manicure II
I need a fresh manicure. Some of my nails are out of shape, and one has chipped. All that scratching during my sleep has caused some damage. My nails grow very fast. Cats scratch their claws to keep them short and sharp. Likewise, to maintain my nails, I should file them regularly.


Financial Planning
I received my marks for my Financial Planning module. 81 marks is pretty good for the nonsense I wrote and submitted. I can’t wait to finish the second assignment and be done with the course. This course is useless. Can you truly plan for the future? All that financial projections, so-called benefits and ‘wealth management’ schemes that will mature in thirty years’ time will avail you not should you die in a road accident the next day. Why deprive yourself of the things you could have done if you had not invested all that money? To the Hells with tomorrow and what happens after we die. We only live once. Make the best use of it.

A common sales script used by a ‘financial planner’ and its ilk goes something like this: By not doing financial planning (meaning buying insurance and other schemes), we would be doing our loved ones a disservice when we die and they are left bereft. This is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard. It does not take a rocket scientist to see the fallacy of this argument. First, as aforementioned, we are depriving ourselves of a life should we set aside that amount of money. Second, if we apply this to every generation, then it follows that each generation will be living under self-imposed debt and restrictions. Third, even you live long enough to get that massive payback, will you be able to truly enjoy it when you are weakened with age, suffering from poor, eyesight, hearing problems, muscle aches, world-weary to the bone and waiting to die? Fourth, there are many things that could have happened in the meantime. You could get married. The contraceptives could fail and suddenly you are a parent when you haven’t even planned for it. If you are in business, you can get sued for breach of contract law. A million and one things and that damn piece of financial report your insurance agent gets you to sign will never cover them all. Fifth, the insurance company can collapse. Look what happened to big corporations during this economic crisis! Lehmann Brothers wiped out, AIG had to survive on handouts – taxpayers’ money – and who knows if AIA or Prudential can go under tomorrow.

Nothing is permanent and lasting anymore. No more job security, marriages are now mere contracts, and in this new world, to claim you can plan for anything is downright ridiculous.


Job Seeking
If you are looking for employment and do not want to be an insurance agent, I recommend you take these job ads with a pinch of salt:

Management Trainee/Consultant
Relationship Manager/Executive/Consultant
Relations Manager/Executive/Advisor/Consultant
Telemarketer
Financial Manager/Executive/Planner/Advisor/Consultant
Telesales (with/without the word executive after telesales)
Sales and Marketing Trainee/Advisor/Executive/Manager/Consultant
Associate Manager/Executive
Wealth Management Trainee/Associate/Manager/Executive/Consultant
Wealth Care Manager/Executive/Consultant/Advisor/Associate
Business Trainee/Associate/Manager/Executive/Consultant
Sales Trainee/Associate/Manager/Executive/Consultant
Marketing Trainee/Associate/Manager/Executive/Consultant

Also beware of:

Earn [insert astronomical sum] in [insert ridiculous timeframe].
21 years old at least, 4 ‘O’ level passes (These are the entry requirements for an insurance agent.)
No experience needed.
ORD personnel welcome.
Fantastic projections. Examples include: Achieve Financial Freedom!, Manage Your Own Time/People/Money.

The list is not exhaustive. When in doubt, please contact the representor for further details.

An insurance agent may justify their prevarication with the argument that they are doing ‘creative advertising’ or ‘marketing’. After all, an insurance agent is also ‘managing relations’ and ‘wealth management’, so there is nothing wrong with their advertisement. They are not out to con anybody.

That may be true. In that case, why don’t hookers call themselves ‘ relations manager’? Are they not managing relations? Sexual relations is still relations...

People in the business world (I include insurance, banking, finance and sales) always talk about integrity like their lives depend on it. The word integrity is so overused it has lost its meaning. There is no room for integrity in business. If integrity existed then there wouldn’t be any need for lawyers. Calls for corporate governance would not have arisen in the current economic crisis. The “integrity” in the business world is essentially this: if you can get away with it, it is integrity. Bear in mind that businesses are only concerned with making money. All that social responsibility and holistic approaches are merely rhetoric and nothing more, designed to convey a false sense of morals so that they can use this perceived morals to generate more income.

The next time an insurance agent tries to…ahem, manage relations with you, ask him what does he really want, to enrich your life or to sell you that piece of insurance so that he can meet his sales quotas and look forward to higher pay for that month and that lucrative cashback he gets annually from the policies he sold. There is no need to be nice. If you can ignore the pleas of an old bag selling tissue papers I don’t see why you can’t tell a bloody salesman to put his scams where the sun does not shine. Is there any difference between the uncouth tissue paper peddler and the smartly dressed peddlers?

Of course not. They are both peddlers. They care nothing for you. They just want your money. You are just meat to them, no better than a used condom and a semen-stained piece of tissue paper when the sex is done.

Sleepless in Singapore

Valentine’s Day
A friend (let’s call him Mr. W) messaged me to say that he is going to Vietnam to end his affair. I advised him to end his relationship with his Chinese wife as well. Mr. W once told me he have had enough of women from China. In that case why prolong the agony? He never loved her anyway. He may not realize it, but my advice to him is the best Valentine’s gift he will ever receive.

Cursed, possibly damned
When my project mate came to class, she sat and left two empty seats between us. I don’t know why. Do I have two horns on my head, a fanged smile and a long forked tail? Last time I checked, I looked rather normal, albeit not handsome by any standard. Maybe it was night time and she feared I would shapechange into some beast, howl at the moon and then proceed to ravish her. Again, if I had lycanthropy I didn’t know anything about it. She only deigned to speak to me when she wanted to know how our project was coming along. She also enquired about my job-hunting. Her concern touched me, touches me still and it makes me want to be a better man so that I can be good enough for her. To the Eighteen Hells with the fucking Law assignment!

Missed it!
I let loose a string of profanities when I logged on my university website and found I missed my end-of-chapter quizzes. The “ – “ on my grades for the two missed quizzes stared me in the face and mocked me. Still cursing, I cleared the next two, just in case I forgot again. I am sick of online studying. I am sick and tired of wasting my time with stupid online quizzes when I’d rather be having a face-to-face discussion with my professors. The next NTU, NUS or SMU full-time student who complains to me about how sickening school life is gets it big time.

Valentine Day II
There didn’t appear to be many happy couples walking around on V-Day. The deepening recession must have dampened the romantic spirit. The whoreson who said that two can live as cheaply as one was either a fairy or a virgin. Love is all about money. Women always sprout bullshit like how they prefer guys who are humorous, kind and witty but in the end they always go for the moneybags. When was the last time you saw a rubbish collector walking around with a hot chick? Look around every restaurant and shop on V-Day – it makes you feel inflation has risen 1,000% in a single day. Money may not buy you love (bullshit), but it can pay for the Viagra, condom and hotel room. Just go to Geylang, they know lots of loving all right. To Hell with romantic love, Hallmark cards, Tiffany’s, roses and candlelight dinners. And Valentine’s Day? I’ve seen road kills more appealing.

Nuisance calls
The lady from the Whitelight job agency called me and asked me if I am looking for a job. It was the fifth time she had called me and she still sounded clueless. How the Hell did she expect me to tell her my expected salary when she didn’t even specify what kind of job it was? She didn’t even know what in Tartarus the company was looking for. If she had bothered to even glance at my resume she would not have wasted our time. I should apply to be a recruiter or headhunter. If this is the standard these days I think I’d make management in no time.

Restless
I saw quite a few students practicing martial arts when I was in SP today. How I envy my juniors. During my time, the martial arts clubs in the polytechnic were so poorly run that organized training was hard to come by. Now, there is practice every day. Seeing them kick and punch brought a thrill down my spine. I have a lot of nervous energy. Physical pursuits like football have become too mild for me. I need a partner to spar with. I suppose I could sign up for a martial arts class in one of those fancy gyms. I could also take up white-collared boxing. But no. They won’t have weapon training. I love the spear, the staff, the sword and my favourite, the sabre. Too bad my master is not taking in disciples. After I attain a certain proficiency I’ll go pick some fights. If I ever get to migrate to the US or Canada, the first thing I would get is a real blade. I hate the bloody sword/sabre foils these bloody “contemporary” martial artists use. Let’s see how these jokers handle the weight of a real sword.

19-02-2009, 12.29am
I should be working on my Business Law project but instead I am writing all these. I don’t know why. Maybe writing relaxes me, gives my existence some resemblance of meaning. I curse the day I took up engineering and I still rue the day I put pen to paper and joined the military. Seven years gone to Gehenna, if you count the fucking two and a half years of slavery we true blue Singaporean males have to endure. (It’s called National Service and a male foreigner who decides to say the national pledge DOES NOT need to serve.) Instead of being a third-class citizen in this dungpile of a cuntry, why not be a second or third class citizen elsewhere? I’d gladly exchange my pink IC for a Canadian citizenship. Some people told me that I don’t know better, that I would appreciate this cuntry once I have been around the world. That is not being fair. First, they are making assumptions about me, that I know absolutely nothing about this world, therefore I am not qualified to judge for myself. (What am I now, Sarah Palin?) Second, they are imposing their personal feelings on me and demanding that I think like them. It is not my fault that I have never worked in a foreign country. I signed on the military because I thought I would be given the chance to travel. Join the army they say, see the world they say – four years in service and I was still grounded. A grounded personnel in the “Sky’s the Limit air force. I don’t know whether to cry or laugh. It’s not that I don’t want to go, unlike some idiots who turned down lucrative work attachments in the US. It’s just that I don’t have the chance and were I not an atheist I would have smashed the damn ancestral tablet in my house and thrown out my useless ancestors and their sorry ghosts for not looking out for me. Sometimes being an atheist really sucks. When shit happens, you can’t blame the gods.

19-02-2009, 1am
I am thirsty. I feel like a drink. Funnily enough I don’t feel like sleeping. I hate mornings. There is something wretched about the dawn of a new day. I love the night. The darkness and quiet comfort me, shroud me with peace and fill me with insights I could never have in the bright of day.

Manicure
The Lass says I am obsessed with my manicured nails. She is right. My nails grow quite fast. Already my nails are losing the curve the Lass filed for me. I can restore my nails back to their original shape, but I choose not to. May they grow, and grow fast. When they are long enough I shall file them each into a square shape. Then I shall apply some light polish to their tips. It’s time to consult the Lass again. She is now my beauty consultant.

Guess I have nothing more to write. – 1.25am.

Another Rant

Police Car messaged me using a new phone number. He asked me to lend him $500 because his employers have not updated the change in his bank account and therefore could not pay him until the next payday. He also promised to pay me back once he received his overseas allowance for his Thailand detachment. This is ridiculous. An overpaid air force staff sergeant wants to borrow money from an unemployed part-time student. After working for nearly a decade, his expenses mainly going to his studies (which he dropped out), his church, family allowance and daily expenses, and having no car, housing loans and girlfriend to pay off, the guy has to live on a month to month basis. And now he borrows money from me, and yet had the money to get a new line.

I think Police Car should quit his gambling. He knows little about football anyway, and making his investment decisions based on the league tables is never the smartest thing to do. The ball is not just round, it is spherical. In football shit can happen and it always does. There may be other leagues besides the EPL, but that doesn’t mean you have to throw money at any team Barcelona plays or worse, two obscure teams you have never even heard of. If you must bet, make sure the money you wager is affordable, meaning should you lose you would not be reduced to begging for handouts. Once money is thrown like this, consider it lost until further notice.

He should stop being generous to the whores he patronizes. You play the whores, not the other way round. There are reasons why any whore would want you to be her boyfriend and your pock-marked face is never one of them. If you must womanize, please do not complain ad nauseam about the lack of girlfriend experience, and the whore’s refusal to let you French kiss her. If you want a girlfriend, go get one. Stop making some limp excuses about how that girl in your church prefers some Indian guy and then make racist remarks in front of me but never to his face. He should stop bastardizing the Cantonese I taught him. What is the point of learning Cantonese to go after the said girl (who is Cantonese) and then NOT use it because he is so fucking afraid and then use all the profanities contained in the language when he speaks to me? I don’t understand why he cannot get a girlfriend. If I were a xtian, I might even be married by now. There is something simple about xtian girls that an enterprising guy can exploit. Most or all xtian girls will never take a non-xtian guy for a boyfriend – all that crap in the stupid book demanding believers not ‘yoke’ themselves to non-believers. A xtian guy has all the advantages in the world when it comes to courtship. Competition (non-xtian guys) is effectively eliminated, and at the same time you can go after both xtian and non-xtian girls! What is so damn hard? Why be so frightened of rejection if you have the power of your deity behind you? For all your postulations about trusting in god and being part of its divine plans, you are nothing when you can’t even defeat your sense of inferiority, cowardice and fear of rejection. Your god avails you not, You avail yourself not. Pathetic whoreson.

And stop taking bank loans to pay off the credit card debts. In the end you still have to pay the banks back, and at huge interest. Banks, bankers, financial planners, financial schemes and in general the entire banking and financial industry cannot be trusted. They are so rich because they are licensed to cheat you of your hard-earned money and all that credit cards that you sign and the stuff you pay for it – you have to pay them back with interest one day. They don’t care about you. You die it’s your problem, just don’t make it theirs.

Quit the church. The pastor is overfed and overpaid and if there is any justice at all charlatans like that swine should be prosecuted. These legalized ‘magic-stone men’ cannot be trusted. A sincere one is loyal only to his non-existent god (one will find many of these in the mental asylums). A bad one is basically a con-man. Either way they don’t care about you. They just want your soul and money and you are nothing to them once you run out of money or your life, whichever occurs first. Besides, how can anyone honest still call himself a god-fearing xtian when he pays for sex? Granted, Police Car may not be the most honest or intellectually capable person, but surely he would acknowledge the lie he lives? Either this is beyond his understanding, he does not want to ponder too deeply, or both. Some people just can’t handle the truth. Anyway, instead of pretending to be what he’s not, why not step out of the circle of light and embrace the darkness? He is slipping, slowly and inexorably, and he must learn to live with it. From false light to true embracing darkness. He may yet find liberation.

Sunday Nature

The Lass, Pearl and I spent Sunday afternoon together. After having lunch at Newton hawker centre, we got on the bus to the Bukit Timah nature reserve. The street directory Pearl brought wasn’t detailed enough for us to find the entrance to the reserve so we just took pot luck and alighted somewhere nearby.

Initially we couldn’t locate the entrance. The three of us walked along the pavement besides the undergrowth. It seemed to stretch on forever, and we thought we would not be able to find a way in. Meanwhile we kept our eyes open and admired the plants nearby.

Espying a break in the undergrowth, I told my friends to wait while I explored. I had a feeling it would lead into the Bukit Timah reserve and my haunch was right. It was quite a challenging climb. Before I could yell at my friends, the Lass and Pearl already started up the path. I helped them, pulled them up the treacherous path.

Where we came up. Tricky route to navigate.

The bridge stands sentinel over the track.

Beautiful.

A spectacular sight greeted us. We stood on a hill overlooking a railway track. To our right was a bridge, and at our backs the high-rise flats across the road loomed like titans. A log lay several yards away. Beyond the bridge we could see the forest and the hill. Nature and the edifices of men stood side by side, conveying a sense of contrast and majesty. We snapped shots of ourselves, the scenery and any other thing that seized our fancy.

Soul Sisters.

White and black, beauty and the beast

Crossing the bridge, the three of us reached a road. As we walked Pearl told us of the natural environments of the countries she had been to. The Lass said she liked the old Celtic world, the rich fantasy realm of dragons and faeries, knights and magicians. Quite the romantic.

The road leads to the Hill.

Eventually we reached our destination. The Bukit Timah hill appeared before our eyes. Its towered over us, its slopes chiseled, and their faces the colour of apricot. Greenery stuck to the surface like algae. Below the hill, a shallow lake sat torpid. As we drew nearer we saw that a fence blocked our progress to the lake. Two men fished – I didn’t know how they got in – and looked at us with some amusement. One stared at the Lass with interest.

What's the damn fence for?

We should have been up there.

To our left a flight of steps led down and we followed it, thinking it would lead us somewhere interesting. It did, in a way. We didn’t realize it was a big drain until we had gone ten yards into it. It reminded me of a real-life Dungeons and Dragons game. True, there were no goblins to kill and dragons to subdue (the only monsters were probably tiny spiders and other critters which wisely remained out of sight from the stomping and marauding giant and giantesses.) I nearly stepped on a trap: a pile of shit and a few pieces of soiled toilet paper. The Lass squealed, but avoided the trap without incident. Intrepid adventurers we were, we pressed onward. The remnants of dead branches and wisps of spider webs became our kills, as we moved quickly down the gloomy and musty passageway.

The Dungeon (sorry, can't get it to rotate clockwise)

The open drain soon became a tunnel. The three of us stopped at its mouth and looked uncertainly into it. We would have to bend ourselves if we were to continue, and we were not sure where it would lead us. I volunteered to play scout. Taking hold of the railing at the side of the drain, I climbed out of the drain. I saw that a declining foot path intersected the top surface of the tunnel. Cresting the rise of the path I saw that it led out of the forest. I tried to follow the tunnel from atop but the thick undergrowth impeded me from determining where it ended.

I climbed down and told my fellow adventurers we had to climb out. They were surprised but soon snapped out of their shock and passed me their bags. I had thought to pull them up but Pearl said it would be easier if I climbed down and help.

So I did. The wall was about my companions’ height. The Lass looked at it and squealed some more. The girls ascended the steps in the drain’s passageway, hoping to find a part where the wall was shorter but the sides of the drain were uniform in height. I suggested going back the way we came but we dismissed the notion. We would emerge from the depths or die trying.

Pearl scaled the wall with little fuss. Her yoga training came in useful. The Lass tried climbing up but failed. She said her hands were too weak. We shouted encouragement to her and she tried again. It didn’t work. At our urging, she stuck the toe of her shoe into the water hole to get some purchase but her shoe was not sleek enough. I looked around for anything that might help. Something to step on perhaps. There was none. I had my hands around her waist and pushed the Lass up as she gripped the wall and climbed. Pearl tried to pull her up. The situation was desperate as it was hilarious. We three were giggling – the Lass the most - as we attempted to figure out an evacuation plan.

So I bent my knees and asked the Lass to use my thigh as a step-up. She thought she would break my leg because she was heavy. Only after I reassured her that my legs are strong from football and martial arts practice did she try – and failed. Obviously my thigh was too slim. Then I thought it would be easier if I bent down and shove while Pearl helped her peddle up. Trying to lift something up from a squatting position was just daft. It didn’t work.

I decided that desperate situations call for desperate measures. I went on all fours and asked the Lass to step on my back. She went wide-eyed and screamed that she would break my back and kill me. I was confident it would work and it did! The Lass was as light as a little faerie and with Pearl’s help she made it out. What a momentous day! She should tell her Sha Monkeys of her achievement. Surely this is Lara Croft in the making!

After that we came to a very big pipe, or rather a section of it. One of my friends said it looked like a bomb shelter but we agreed that it would be useless in a bomb raid. The Lass commented it looked like a theatre; the acoustics and all that stuff. In response, I sang falsetto and ended up coughing. I have no talent in the arts.

As we made our way out of the forest we found ourselves before some private properties. The rich people residing in the houses must hate the mosquitoes. The three of us continued to walk and reached the railway tracks. Pearl was right. There was no train running on Sundays and we enjoyed the quiet and safety of the unused tracks to take photos. We had a hell of a time balancing on the side rails, and of course, more photo-taking. In the distance the bridge where we were earlier seemed to wave at us. Bye bye bridge. We followed the road out.



By this time we were utterly dehydrated from our exertions. The sun beat down on us relentlessly and it was fortunate there were a row of shops in the vicinity. We found ourselves a small restaurant and settled ourselves in its cozy and delightfully chilly environs. I found myself trying to determine the size of each drink as I scanned through each offering on the menu. The girls deliberated over their choice of desserts. Women! I don’t understand them. They go crazy over shoes, clothing, make-up and chocolate. Still they are cute in a way because of this – excluding of course, the time when they go overboard and make their guy’s bank account collapse like Wall Street. (That is a story for another day and I’m rambling again.)

Thankfully we survived long enough for our refreshments to arrive. Pearl ordered chocolate ice cream while the Lass got herself some food. I finished my drink all too quickly (that was how thirsty I was). Not satisfied with the amount of food, we ordered a second round. The Lass was absolutely lucky when it came to ordering food. She got such a large plate of goodies that Pearl and I had to – it was a pleasure – help her finish. Pearl had earl grey tea. I had never heard of this tea before and I sniffed at it in the way a curious animal would at anything that catches its attention. I don’t know why it’s called earl grey. It didn’t look grey and it didn’t have a strong aroma. Pearl, who is well-traveled, told us about the size of the meals they serve in the US and the charming teas the Brits make for breakfast. My mouth watered as I listened to her narration. Two things: I want to go abroad even more; Pearl should be a travel writer. The Lass will make a good Lara Croft and Pearl the female version of Marco Polo.

Chocolate. Now you see it, now you don't.

The television screen in the restaurant flashed fashion shows. I glanced at the TV from time to time at the bevy of beauties – the two girls must think I am an animal. Hey, all guys are shallow! We talked about TV shows and I discovered one thing. Pearl and the Lass go for quality in the drama shows. I judge quality by the number of babes in the show. I reiterate my point: all guys are Shallow Hals, and I daresay more than a few are proud of it!

Stunning. Absolutely spectacular.

It was a pity the other atheists couldn’t join us. Since the intellectuals like to talk about evolution and all that multi-level selection stuff, they would have gained a deeper appreciation had they joined us. Sitting down in a café and speak of evolution and how animals evolve and adapt is akin to a general discussing military tactics based on what is written on a piece of paper. Rhetorical and nothing to the point. There are more things in Nature (I’m bastardizing Shakespeare’s famous quote) than they are in your philosophies. Rather sea turtles than Socrates, rather the canopy of the a tropical rain forest, than your solipsistic postmodernism, philosophical pluralism and whatever. The wild pig charging at me has greater bearing than your frivolous and pretentiously constructed postulations. The – you get my point.

Such majesty...

In the words of the great Terminator: “I’ll (We’ll) be back.” For me, three locations summed up our trip: the railway, the ditch, and the restaurant. We set off for Nature, but we found man-made structures. Ironic, but true.

The Lass did my nails on the bus. My first manicure! I’m so excited I just can’t hide it I’m so excited….

Left Hand

Right Hand

To HELL with Valentine's Day!

Valentine’s Day is sweet for some, depressing for others. Me? All I got was a dead body.

My bus was moving towards Jurong when I noticed a big crowd by the side of the road. The crowd comprised mostly of Indians and Bangladesh. The bus then shifted to the right lane and as it moved forward I saw a policeman and his bike. The guy sitting in front of my suddenly became excited, stood and pasted his face against the window. Restless energy filled the air. I wondered what could have elicited such excitement. Then I saw it.

A corpse lay in the middle of the road, face up, and arms sprayed to the sides. A large pool of blood had spread from his back. Its thickness glimmered like a mirror, and in the darkness, it looked black and accusatory.

When I turned back, the excited guy was gone. He had probably alighted for a closer look. While he was at it he might as well get at the flesh before the other vultures moved in. Not much meat to go around by the looks of it.

I felt a bit…I don’t know how to put it. I was neither sad nor frightened. I thought of the dead guy’s family and how sad they would be. I supposed I should feel sorry, but I was not. I imagined myself standing next to the corpse. It was grisly of course, but no worse than the dead body of a suicide I saw when I was a kid. She (or he) leaped from maybe sixteen floors and landed ten metres away from the block. The corpse was a mess , but there wasn’t much blood. Death was instantaneous. As I looked down from the third floor I could not help but feel fascinated. So were the boys next door. Our parents talked to each other, their tone gossipy.

I wonder how the cheap laborer died. Apart from that solitary pool underneath his body, I didn’t see blood anywhere else. There was no car parked at the scene so it was unlikely a traffic accident. Murder? Probably a stab in the back. What did the man think about as he lay helpless on the road, too weak to even breathe and his life blood seeping away? Pain. His loved ones. Did his life flash in front of him? Nobody helped him – perhaps they were too late. Did anyone see him die? Did anyone see how he died but walked away, thinking it was none of their business?

I HATE VALENTINE”S DAY.

Brain Sex

Thanks to the Lass for this little distraction.

The link to the little fun site is http://www.bbc.co.uk/science/humanbody/sex/add_user.shtml

For your amusement:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

The scale below is an indication of where you fall in the male-female brain continuum. The results are based on the angles, spot the difference, 3D shapes and words tasks. Bear in mind that your performance may be affected by many factors in addition to gender, like age and intelligence.

Your personal brain score: Average score for MEN who've taken this survey: Average score for WOMEN who've taken this survey:

If you are using a public PC we strongly advise you to print out and delete your results if you do not want anyone to see them.

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	Part 1

	Angles
	This task tested your ability to identify the angle of a line by matching it with its twin. This is a spatial task, which looks at how you picture space. Your score: 15 out of 20 Average score for men: 15.1 out of 20 Average score for women: 13.3 out of 20 What does your result suggest? If you scored 0 - 12: You have more of a female brain. Scientists believe that people with a female brain find it more difficult to judge the slope of a line because they're not wired for spatial tasks. In past studies, 65 per cent of people who scored in this range were women. If you scored 13 - 17: You found this test neither hard nor easy. This suggests your brain has male and female traits when it comes to spatial ability. If you scored 18 - 20: You have more of a male brain. On average, men outperform women in this task and those with more mathematical knowledge tend to score quite high as well. In past studies, 60 per cent of the people in this range were men. Interestingly, men's testosterone levels fluctuate through the seasons and studies have shown that men's scores are lower in the spring, when their testosterone levels are at their lowest. Do our cave dwelling ancestors offer us any clues about why men and women score differently on this task? Find out more.
	Spot the difference
	This task tested your ability to identify which objects changed position. You lost points, if you incorrectly identified objects. Your score: 50% Average score for men: 39% Average score for women: 46% What does your score suggest? If you scored between 0 - 33%: You may have more of a male brain. Scientists say men tend to under perform in this task. The corpus callosum, the part of the brain that links the right and left hemispheres, is a fifth larger in women. This means women can process visual and other signals at the same time more easily than men. There is also a theory that oestrogen levels in women give them an added advantage in spatial memory. If you scored between 34 - 66%: You may have a balanced female-male brain. If you scored between 67 - 100%: Those with a female-type brain generally score in this range. Your ability to remember where objects are may serve as an advantage to you when you're trying to find your way around places. You're more capable of recalling landmarks to get from one place to another. Find out more about our spatial abilities.

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	Part 2

Hands

You said your right thumb was on top when you clasped your hands together. Right thumb on top: This suggests the left half of your brain is dominant. Many studies have tried to establish whether there is a relationship between handedness and brain dominance. Some scientists believe that if you are left brain dominant, you would be more verbal and analytical. Left thumb on top: This suggests the right half of your brain is dominant. Some studies theorise that as a right brain dominant person, you may excel in visual, spatial and intuitive processes. However, these theories are debatable and leave much to be said about the small percentage of people who are ambidextrous. Find out why right-brained people may be better fighters and artists.

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	Part 3

Emotions and Systems

This task looked at whether you prefer to empathise or systemise. Empathising Your empathy score is: 4 out of 20 Average score for men: 7.9 out of 20 Average score for women: 10.6 out of 20 What does your result suggest? Empathisers are better at accurately judging other people's emotions and responding appropriately. If you scored 15 and above, you are very empathic and would be an ideal person to comfort people in a time of crisis. Women in general are better at empathising. Systemising Your systemising score is: 4 out of 20 Average score for men: 12.5 out of 20 Average score for women: 8.0 out of 20 What does your result suggest? Systemisers prefer to investigate how systems work. A system can be a road map, flat pack furniture, or a mathematical equation – anything that follows a set of rules. A score of 15 and above suggests you're good at analysing or building systems. Men in general are better at systemising. Scientists are keen to learn more about people who score high or low on both tests. They want to find out whether or not empathising and systemising are linked. Is a possible to make yourself more empathic? Some scientists claim that our empathy and systemising abilities can be traced all the way back to prehistoric times. Find out more.

Eyes

This task tested your ability to judge people's emotions. Your score: 7 out of 10 Average score for men: 6.6 out of 10 Average score for women: 6.6 out of 10 What does your result suggest? If you scored 0 - 3: Do you think you're good at judging how another person is feeling? Your score suggests this doesn't come to you quite so naturally. If you scored 4 - 6: Your result suggests you have a balanced female-male brain and find it neither easy nor difficult to judge people's emotions. If you scored 7 - 10: Your result suggests you are a good empathiser, sensitive to other people's emotions. Women generally fall into this category. Professor Baron-Cohen at the University of Cambridge says that people usually perform better than they expect to on this test. Men often think a person's eyes are sending signals of desire when that's not the case at all. Find out more.

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	Part 4

Fingers

We asked you to measure your ring and index fingers. Your ratios came to: Right Hand: 0.98 Left Hand: 1.01 Average ratio for men: 0.982 Average ratio for women: 0.991 It's thought that your ratio is governed by the amount of testosterone you were exposed to in your mother's womb. The ratio of the length of your index finger to the length of your ring finger is set for life by as early as three months after conception. Even during puberty, when we experience intensive hormonal changes, the ratio stays the same. Men generally have a ring finger that is longer than their index finger, which gives them a lower ratio than women, whose ring and index fingers are usually of equal length. Studies have found that men and women with lots of brothers generally have more masculine finger ratios. Find out what other things scientists think our ratios may tell us.

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	Part 5

Faces

This task looked at how you rate the attractiveness of a series of faces. The images you looked at were digitally altered to create slight differences in masculinity. Your choices suggest you prefer more feminine faces. Highly masculinised male faces possess more extreme testosterone markers such as a long, broad and lower jaw, as well as more pronounced brow ridges and cheekbones. Interestingly, women's preferences are said to vary across the menstrual phase. A more masculine face is preferred during the 9 days prior to ovulation, when conception is most likely. A typical 'attractive' female face possesses features such as a shorter, narrower, lower jaw, fuller lips and larger eyes than an average face. Are you surprised at what researchers think they can learn from your answers? Find out more.

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	Part 6

3D shapes

This task tested your ability to mentally rotate 3D shapes. Your score: 10 out of 12 Average score for men: 8.2 out of 12 Average score for women: 7.1 out of 12 What does your result suggest? If you scored 0 - 6: Do you find yourself having to physically rotate a map to point in the direction in which you're travelling? This might explain why you scored in the lower range in the 3D shapes test. Twice as many women as men score in this category. Previous studies suggest that those with a female-type brain or with an arts background fall into this range. If you scored 7 - 9: In past studies, 50 per cent of the people who scored in this range were women and 50 per cent were men. If you scored 10 - 12: Are you an engineer or do you have a science background? People with these skills tend to score in this range. Past studies have concluded that people in this range have a more male brain. Nearly a third of men who took this test got full marks, whereas less than 10 per cent of women managed the same. Find out why.

Words

This task looked at your verbal fluency. Your score: you associated 8 word(s) with grey and you named 6 word(s) that mean happy. We are assuming that all the words you entered are correct. Average score for men: 11.4 words total Average score for women: 12.4 words total What does your result suggest? If you produced 1 - 5 words: You are more of the strong, silent type with a male brain. You probably find it easier to express yourself in non-verbal ways, preferring action rather than words. If you produced 6 - 10 words: Most people in this range have a female-type brain. Women are said to use both sides of the brain when doing verbal tasks while men mainly use their left side. Studies have shown that girls develop vocabulary faster than boys. This difference in brain power is caused by levels of pre-natal testosterone. Find out more .

Ultimatum

This task asked you how you would divide money. If you had to split £50 with someone, you said you would demand £25 So far on the Sex ID test, men have demanded 51.6% (£25.80) of the pot and women have demanded 51.0% (£25.50), on average. What does your response suggest? Sex differences are small in this task. Demanding less than 60% of the pot (ie £30) is more typically female. Demanding more than 65% of the pot (ie £32.50) is more typically male. Scientists believe that people with lower testosterone levels tend to take fewer risks so they are probably more willing to keep less for themselves. Those with higher testosterone levels tend to drive a harder bargain and are less compromising. Men's testosterone levels fluctuate over the seasons and are at their lowest levels during the springtime. This is said to influence their bargaining power. Find out more about the role of testosterone.