A Meaningless Chapter

My dreary existence expands in scope and develops a whole new intensity. These days I have been pondering the meaning of existence, and found the exercise to be meaningless. The fact that classes had ended for this season does not improve my mood greatly. In fact, the prospect of failing all my examinations has a cold and sobering effect. I can expect my agony at my flophouse university to be prolonged and more expensive. I conclude that the best thing for me to go for it and see where my efforts take me. It sounds like a football team who are playing against vastly superior opponents and expecting the worst, but when you are skint, tired, uninspired and back to the wall, going for it is the only option. Either that, or it is go to the ground, spread your legs like a whole and asked to be raped…gently.

I have been testing out the upgraded version of my company’s computer system for the past week. I must say it has been an excruciating as it has been fascinating. In view of the many problems, excruciating seems the right – and only – word. It is also the only word my overworked brain can think of right now so yes, excruciating it is.

Although the new version is supposedly to be slightly more advanced than the previous one, it looks like a whole new different beast altogether. For starters, a substantial portion of the original interface seems to have been changed. The options that were so intuitive (comparatively speaking) have been replaced in a variety of ways. Either they are now in a different position, or have different or newer functions. Compare MS Word 2003 to the crap 2007 version and you have an idea of what I mean.

At least MS 2007 works. The new program is riddled with bugs. We are finding new bugs and program errors ‘for fun’ and we are not even halfway through this infernal program. It does not help matters that the company that designed this integrated business system has such mediocre support. Their technical support staff does not even know how to run their own program, and the material in the CD they provided is useful only if you have a year to sort through the thousands of pages’ worth of instructions. Engineers and technical people tend to be poor writers. These buggers can never be concise if their paltry existences depend on them keeping it short and sweet. To compound our misery, we are not even informed of the exact features the new version has. It has been all trial and error and it is virtually impossible not to miss out anything.

There are only three of us, my boss, my senior, and I. We are like the Special Forces. Besides our daily tasks of providing support to our users from SIX different countries (in particular those inept jokers from India), we have to (i) liaise with our foreign colleagues (ii) help the other IT team in their inquiries (iii) provide training to our other colleagues on how the damn thing works, its unreliability notwithstanding (iv) assist our dear colleague in Malaysia in resolving technical issues she should have been able to solve with her 20 years of experience, (v) test out and troubleshoot the program, and (iv) communicate with our two programmers on what we want.

So little time (20 days to get the damn thing up and running) and such paltry resources. It is little wonder I have been losing what is left of my strength and sanity. Before long I may lose more money because I have no time to study for my bleeding examinations and I would have to spend money repeating the shit that I flunk. Every day has been like nine to nine, and I am not even a permanent staff to begin with. By the time I reach home I would be so damn exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Long hours of staring at the computer screen have affected my eyesight. My perfect/almost perfect vision is going to the Hells. Hitting the books with the sort of inferior lightning my house has only exacerbates my agony. At this point of writing, I have finished the cursory round of studying for my Political Economy of ASEAN. I was to commence on Human Resources tonight but I only left the office close to ten. There is no way I am going to burn the midnight oil for a fourth consecutive night without risking collapse. Still, I still harbor ambitions – or desperation – of finishing the foregoing mentioned subject by Sunday. Two subjects in one week, and then it’s the Finance modules – which I expect to fail. Life could hardly be more fun.

Speaking of fun, I did mention about my trials and tribulations being fascinating as well. Here are the reasons. My company is a most unusual company. For an American company you would have expected that its employees would have had more work/life balance. Hell no! If it had not been for the highly informal organizational culture, one would be forgiven if he had thought it a Chinese firm. It is not unusual for people to stay a bit longer after office hours, and hardly rare if they stay considerably longer. My boss was still working in the office at 2am a few months ago. When we left tonight, a few colleagues were still hard at work. In fact, the only people who get to have a life are the expatriates in corporate management. I remember one bloke telling us about his Mandarin lessons and how he hoped to impress his pretty instructor. How sweet. I wish I had the time to take up a foreign language after work, and possibly take the opportunity to take my bootylicious instructor to bed for some engaging pillow talk. I got nothing against the bloke. He seems like a nice chap. It is just that things are, to quote from Buddha, thus.

Having said that, I wish that some of those in management would have some brains. On an ordinary day our integrated business system is already riddled with bugs and quite few users are experiencing difficulties with the damn thing. To expect us to make the new version work within such a short span of time, with such scant resources, is absolutely ludicrous. And let us not forget that we are implementing our online store. We were supposed to get it up for people to order items, but we are a month overdue and even now, despite the combined efforts of the Australians the Americans, us, and possibly the Taliban, it is still NOT FUNCTIONAL.

I don’t understand why in the Hells must the management rush us like this. What is the point of having an unreliable system and a dodgy internet site just to meet some unreasonable deadline some managerial Peter Pan had set? When shit happens, as it surely will, the company will definitely lose more money. First, given the fact that only THREE of us are supporting the IT for SIX countries, it would be IMPOSSIBLE to prevent a reduction in efficiency should just ONE person from EACH country encounters a technical problem at the same time. What are the rest going to do when they cannot print documents, when the customers want something done and they cannot log in or access some function, when the system hangs and they are left stranded?

Second, when you cannot even get your internal processes in order, how are you going to handle the competition and your prospective customers? When your competitors are swiftly implementing their business strategies and you are still bogged down by internal deficiencies, it stands to reason that they are going to get a head start. When your customers want to order items online and the site just cannot work, do you think they will stay with you long enough to develop customer loyalty? The failure of the business to generate revenue, coupled with its propensity to work its employees to death, will surely contribute to loss of customer confidence and employee motivation, resulting in high turnover, attrition rates and resources wasted. Indeed, for all the eloquent rhetoric of our CEO, the fact remains that only a whole new outlook in corporate strategies and effective human capital utilization will pull the company out of its mire. For this I offer a simple solution: PUT ME IN CHARGE.

Fuck. I just wrote a short essay on Human Resource Management. Talk about not having the time and energy to study. Writing is not only therapeutic, it is educational as well. I will be writing more after my examinations. Cry me a river.

REALLY small

This thing is smaller than I thought.

My Birthday

18 days after my birthday, my group of infidels came together to celebrate it. 18 = 6 + 6 + 6. 666. The Omen.

We met at the Newton train station. Pearl was the earliest. She whiled away the time at a nearby mall. That is standard operating procedure for females. Either you are ‘fashionably’ late, or you are ‘shoppingly’ early. The Lass wore a flowery dress which was quite eye-catching. She does have the ‘Shinegal’ look.

You have the Warner Bros, and then you have the Liang Brothers. As usual, XH was suffering from one of his chronic bouts of stomach upsets and was putting his impressive abdominal muscles to the task of gastric relief. XR and his BIG BAG, the latter for which I was particularly grateful (I needed to stash my Political Economy textbook somewhere) also turned up.

Xinyao brought a friend along. Her name is Weiling and she proclaimed herself an agnostic. Being of similar built and attire, they shared a sisterly resemblance. Still, I must say XY is the prettier of the two. Atheism has a beautifying effect. Anyway, WL seemed like the articulate type. Neither standoffish nor a shrinking violet, she asked us about our little atheist ragtag band. XH did most of the talking. An infidel in the making? I would not bet against it.

After everybody was there, we made our way to Newton Circus. Along the way, we talked among ourselves, to work up an appetite and to catch up with one another. We soon reached the Promised Land, settled down at a table, and were immediately accosted by very zealous food sellers eager to squeeze every buck out of us. We ordered a few dishes that were suitably delicious and artery-clogging, and resumed our pattering while waiting for the food to arrive.

The slop came and we dug into it with gusto. Fried vegetables, prawns, egg omelets, meat and sugar cane drinks were the order of the day. In between mouthfuls we talked among ourselves. The Lass did not eat the dishes we ordered, preferring to order separately. She does not take sea food. She does not know what she is missing.

XH explained to WL the difference between an atheist and an agnostic. Infidelism does not take a holiday. I could imagine my bro giving her tuition on the subject. WL and I talked briefly about football writing. I told her of my contempt for the substandard mob who writes football columns for the New Paper and she agreed that the paper was basically trash. I was quite impressed. She is a smart girl and once she becomes a true infidel she will be smarter yet.

XR and the Lass talked the least. Not to say that they didn’t talk much but compared to us chatterboxes they were like nuns in a whorehouse. XR ought to loosen up a bit. He was sitting next to a few women, and being a HOT-BLOODED MALE, he should have made more conversation.

The Lass stared into space at random intervals. She has such an endearing habit. Too bad sexy Goh was not around for her to stare into his eyes – or elsewhere. Anyway, she presented me with a sketch of me, which I proudly showed to the rest of the gang. I am touched! Now, this is high art indeed, fit for putting up in government offices. (By the way, I laminated it.)

The President, by the Lass.

I had a wonderful time teasing XY. One of these days I will overstep the line and end up being hacked to pieces by an enraged woman. Pearl said that I should learn to play mahjong. She said she would be willing to teach me, provided I put in ‘investment’. She better be careful what she wished for. I might just win back my school fees from my master. Either that or it is just me and my undies.

XH and XY then got into a ‘confrontation’ about English. English! XH was daring her (jokingly of course), to test his English. It must have been some in-joke when they were still in the same gulag teaching little monsters. I wish I was there. I could have made a pretty good slave-driver, I mean, um…discipline master.

There were still some prawns left by the time we were done and XY cleared ‘em with such vigor. It was refreshing to see a woman eat like she did not give a damn about her weight. I am almost ashamed of myself. My vision of gaining an additional 20kg will come to nothing, like our goal of qualifying for the 2010 World Cup, unless I – pardon the pun – pull my weight up.

As the night was still young, we decided to chill out somewhere else. We went to Orchard Road and found a Hong Kong restaurant.

Pearl, XH and I had great fun speaking and abusing one another using Cantonese, much to the bemusement of the Lass, who could not understand what we idiots were giggling about. We should organize a trip to Hong Kong one of these days. It will be fun enjoying the scenery, the places of interest, and murdering the Hong-Kongers’ language in front of them. The Lass would enjoy the shopping malls there.

XY and WL ordered one gigantic ice kacang. It was the biggest ice kacang I had ever seen and it was as majestic as Mount Everest. I didn’t know they sell icy desserts in a Hong Kong restaurant. XH, who was sitting next to the two sisters, did the gentlemanly thing and helped them polish off that chunk. I wager it did help him polish his conversation as well.

We ‘jio-ed’ XY for a hike in December. It was more like a dare, and I think we got her to accept it. Time to get the air tickets! I look forward to experiencing nature and making my toilet in the wilderness.

Imagine my surprise when my birthday cake came. It was not a cake – it was actually bread topped with an overly generous helping of peanut ooze. I nearly fainted when they said it was all mine. ALL MINE. I attacked it with determination, but the massive size of the thing, coupled with the scrumptious dinner I ate earlier, left me defeated. I came, I saw, and I surrendered to the OOZE. Still, I had a lot of fun eating it. The Ooze was dripping happily and I was amusing the Lass, who sat across from me with my slovenly table manners. They should have taped it down and sent it to Animal Planet.

The OOZE.

Prior to eating the Ooze was the customary birthday song and wish. Pearl and XH tried to give me a Cantonese rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, but our Cantonese, like my ultimately unfinished cake, required polishing. In the end, XH went Pavarotti and I made my birthday wish. I asked for an additional 10kg on top of the 20kg I wished for on my actual birthday. 30kg in all! That is half my weight. It is unlikely that I will hit the happy figure of 90kg of course, but they say in life, you should aim high so that even if you fail, you will still land somewhere near the target. I will be quite happy with 80kg.

Me and the OOZE.

Where's the OOZE?

We even took a group photograph. The poor waitress had difficulty with XH’s camera phone and had to ‘NG’ twice. Maybe she was awed by my immaculate presence.

Infidels!

It was around ten when we left the restaurant. We thought we would do some window-shopping but apparently XY and WL had their own plans. (Who could fathom the mysteries of the female mind?) We tried to ‘psycho’ them into joining us but they were obviously very much into each other. (It must be some kind of Female Conspiracy.)

So the Liang Bros, Pearl, the Lass and I walked around Ion Orchard. It is a mutha of a shopping mall, the shopping mall of all shopping malls. While Vivo City is probably larger than Ion Orchard, at least it feels like a shopping mall. Ion Orchard, on the other hand, is like a dungeon. Where a dungeon reeks of mold and decay, it overwhelms your consciousness with its suffocating materialism, shameless capitalism and vulgar marketing, the very air itself seemingly compelling you to shop, shop, and shop until you bankrupt yourself. And it is so easy to get lost in that place.

While walking around, the Lass suddenly squealed twice. I thought I had accidentally elbowed her but she said sparks flew from my arm to hers when I brushed against her. She got Pearl and I to touch elbows with her. She said one of us would get sick. I always knew I had an ELECTRIFYING personality but this really takes the OOZE. Two days later I was down with food poisoning. A coincidence? I now resolve to listen more to women.

The five of us got out of Ion Orchard and looked up the less than starry heavens (this is Singapore after all). I read somewhere that a star represents hopes and dreams. It is quite obvious we haven’t any in this cuntry. It was a bit disappointing because it was still around the Mid-Autumn Festival and we expected to see a full moon. No moon but the haze and the monstrous screens showing commercials.

Even without the night scenery, I had a wonderful time. Thanks to my friends for making this happen. Next stop: The Lass’s birthday bash at Zouk on Halloween night.

A Long Rant

I finally finished my paper for Political Economy of ASEAN. At roughly 4,500 words, the diction was rambling and at times choppy. The referencing was messy, and the content haphazardly thumped up. It was, in short, a fucking disgrace of an assignment. I endured a torrid time doing it and the best I could wish for is a borderline pass. I wish I had the opportunity to take Film Art instead of this thinly-veiled attempt at propaganda.

The people who designed this course ought to be made to take an IQ test. The module is called ‘Political Economy of ASEAN’. When I flip through the notes what do I see? The amount of material on Singapore was probably enough to cover half the notes. Read these and you will read about how capable our regime is in turning Singapore into an economic power, the various measures they use to alleviate the economic crises, about how great the tripartite system is at resolving issues betwjavascript:void(0)een the unions, the management and the regime, and the justification for lowering wages and incorporating a variable pay component into our already stagnant wages. What the fuck?! I signed up the course to learn about the POLITICAL ECONOMY OF ASEAN. If I wanted to learn about the POLITICAL ECONOMY OF SINGAPORE, I would have gotten a SOCIAL STUDIES textbook from a Popular bookstore. Five dollars for a brain-wash is still a lot cheaper than paying $500 for this module and BEING CHEATED AND BRAIN-WASHED. It is like a rapist forcing himself on a woman and then making her pay for the ‘service’ rendered. Obscene, diabolical, shameful, and a fucking disgrace!

I am not too impressed with the textbook either. According to the textbook, Goh is still our Prime Minister and Megawati is still the President of Indonesia. This is YEAR 2009. The textbook, which was printed in 2004 or 2006, is clearly outdated and to give it to us is absolutely reprehensible. It is like going to a restaurant and getting served LEFTOVERS. UniShit clearly enjoys treating its students like beggars.

The author Lim Y.C ought to take a professional writing course. I expect a doctorate holder to produce better quality writing than the choppy diction that characterizes his sloppy piece of work. I admit I am being arrogant, but I think my writing skills are better. And that comes from a guy who has only a worthless diploma! Mr. Lim may be an expert in his field, but he would have done better with a team of professional editors and ghost writers.

After suffering food poisoning and having to rush my Finance report during my convalescence, I was left with six days including the submission date to finish a 4,000 – 5,000 word report that I had not even started my research on. It would still have been manageable for a full-time student, but I had to work and the poisoning stole much of my strength. I only started on Saturday afternoon because I was so bloody drained I slept until lunch.

I had to force myself to focus; such was the fatigue that plagued me. I spent the entire afternoon doing research online. I Googled, tried my university’s online resources, which offered little (why am I not surprised?) and then dragged my sorry ass to the nearby library. I tried writing at night, but really, I still did not have much to work with. Oh sure, you can jolly well find some information on economic crises but many came from informal sources and I could not jolly well quote from these could I?

I did manage to find something on the Falling Demand Crisis of ’85. It was from a book published in the 1980s and I was glad the library staff kept it after all these years. I returned home and started to write after dinner and bath. There was not really much to write about, even with the data in the course materials, the pages I had photostated from the Library and another excellent article I found online. And I still had to do research on East Asia countries and analyze their growth rates. Obviously you just cannot go to Wikipedia and copy everything there. You cannot really comment academically on the economic situation in a country unless you have a reasonable understanding of their government (regime for some), the people (or workforce), the GDP, export and import partners, trade agreements (if any), natural resources, the relationship between their domestic, regional and international engines, the infrastructure and how investment is utilized, social-economic factors and other areas. While the textbook and notes were useful to some extent, they were Singapore-centic and touched only briefly on ASEAN countries. Plenty of material about crops, rubber and oil in ASEAN countries but little I could use in my assignment. Not much help there about China and Japan as well. I decided to delay the writing and finish all my research first.

While surfing the Net using like seven browsers and twenty odd tabs, I saw Gabby online and knowing he studied Economics in university, asked him about the economic crises in 1985-1986 and 1997 to 2003. The replies I got were nothing short of idiotic. First he said that our regime CAUSED the 1985-1986 crisis, and then, when asked about whether he knew anything about the aforementioned recessions, he said no. It was in the middle of the night; I was freaking tired and desperate for material; the last thing I wanted was this kind of bullshit. I wonder if all FASS students are like this. I don’t know if he was trying to be funny. If he wasn’t, maybe the next time I see him I should ask where he bought his Economics degree. Why should I suffer three bloody years in a flophouse university when I could just order a degree online? I dare say it would be a lot cheaper too.

The Book Guy came online and I tried my luck. J-school students do learn some history after all. He recommended several ways of doing research, most of which I had already tried. He knew a bit about the economic crises I was basing my report on but what he knew I knew even more. When he suggested helping me with my research, I declined. First, I did not want him to waste his time on my fucking assignment, and second, there was not much time left. I appreciated his offer though.

The fact that I had asked my friends clearly showed my level of desperation. Not that they were incompetent, but when you are firing blanks and hitting walls every time you turn, anything else seems like a good idea.

On Sunday I continued with my torture. I was doing research and typing out my report like my life depended on it. A perfectly good Sunday reduced to cinders…I should have been napping. I managed to finish most of the bullshit on the economic crises and wrote a few paragraphs on what EGOIN, Triple C Theory and S-Curve are. And of course, research. Sunday was just…work and trying to keep myself from doing anything…foolish.

On Monday I met XH at our university after our work. He took one look at my report and was like, wtf? He thought that it was impossible and coming from a teacher, although bringing me a tiny measure of satisfaction, brought me no further relief because I had still to finish the fucking thing and my overburdened mind was working overtime to assimilate all the information I could find about East Asia countries and trying to link them into something coherent while paraphrasing frantically to avoid being hauled up for plagiarism.

XH told me that his most of his classmates were either fucktards or arrogant whoresons. At least he had a couple of good-looking classmates to ogle. Fuck, even his lecturer is decent-looking and his Head of Programme looks good enough to have an affair with. What do I have? ZERO. NOTHING. ZILCH. HOSTILE SCENERY. Nothing to take the edge off, to occupy my hebetudinous mind with while I try to make sense of what the lecturer is saying. And I am in a fucking Business course. XH said his lecturer was quite disappointed with the lack of response from her class. Only XH bothered /was capable of answering her questions. The rest of the mobs either talked like Ris Low (the fucktards) or refused to answer and acted cool instead (the arrogant whoresons). We are talking about FILM ART! What in the Hells is so difficult about commenting on movies?! Arts students tend to be known for being ‘emo’ bastards and that sorry lot are no different. Hell, I can be ‘emo’ too. Am I not being strident, militant, extreme, raging and EMO as we speak?! Fuck. I should have been in his class. There are actually Business students in his class and why in the Hells did they not give me the option? This is a travesty! I am going to complain when I do the course assessment.

After slop with my friend, I returned home and worked until 3am. The next day I went to work and my colleagues said I looked like a zombie. They were absolutely right of course. When I got home I was left with a few paragraphs to do and tons of referencing to finish. The former I settled soon enough; the former nearly caused me to do myself in. I was looking at about 40+ citations to settle and even after removing some which were from my course materials I still had around 24. To add to my agony, the links I downloaded them from and my printed notes were all over the place, and I had an excruciating time piecing them to the correct passages. It might have been all right, but I was tired from work, I had no break after a hastily eaten dinner, the glare from the lighting hurt my eyes, and I had a few hours before the 12am timing. I kept getting the sequence wrong and had to redo the damn thing several times. Having used endnotes (Chicago style) for the first time, it was a test of my vision to see the little [xx] at the end of each sentence/paragraph. The first time they allowed us to use endnotes and I cocked it up. APA referencing might have been more familiar to me, but if I had used that I would still have puked my guts out in frustration. The fucking problem with the APA style is that it offers no in-text citation format for online sources. You can try www.apa.org I could not find it – maybe you will have better luck. These bloody English Language/Scholastic academics or whatever you call their ilk ought to make up their mind about language usage. First, these grammarians cannot agree with one another about grammar, and then these eggheads came up with so many rules and versions for academic referencing that you wonder if they might have been better off being lawyers. And all they know is to wail about the falling standards in English. Maybe they should look at themselves first before criticizing everybody else. If these nimrods cannot even convey their ideas effectively, then why should anyone waste their time deciphering their lingo?

Anyway, I was close to doing myself in when I finally sort of finished the accused thing. My referencing was shite – it looked like some article from Wikipedia and I think a couple of the numbering did not tie with the correct references. As XH told me the night before, ‘just fuck it lah!’ And I did. I submitted it five minutes before full time. I expected the bloody Blackboard to fail but miraculously it worked. I nearly took out my Bible and praised the Lord. Then I remembered if there were a good Gawd I would not have to go through this shit and I started to blaspheme. I cannot ask for much for this assignment. I would be quite happy with 40 marks.

After Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Bastards, Royston Tan should emulate him and make SORRY BASTARDS. No prizes for guessing who would be starring in it. SEE? I KNOW FILM ART!

Food Poisoning.

My first food poisoning in over 10,000 days of existence. Fancy.

I suddenly felt feverish on the way back. The pain was so bad I had to got off the train and take a cab. I thought of withdrawing money from the ATM in the station but each time I queued I had to stagger off to one side because I was feeling faint. Then I realized that you can now pay via NETS for your cab ride, and I went straight to the cabs waiting at the nearby taxi stand.

The journey home was sheer torture. The traffic was so bad that the cab was basically crawling along. I was cold, exhausted, feverish and struggling to breathe, and every start and stop drove sharp shards of pain into my body. I cursed the bloody regime bitterly. All the increases in ERP and traffic charges and what have these done to alleviate the traffic conditions? Nothing! The stinking money-raking skunks.

I reached home after what seemed like an eternity and headed off to my bed immediately. If it was possible, I was more feverish than before. I swore the sheets I wrapped my shaking body around to keep warm were burning and in spite of the cold I felt, I did not shiver. A sense of emptiness enveloped me, enfolded me in its blackness, filled with despair and a sense of resignation I thought I would die. I could not breathe and every moment was a whacking agony.

Two hours or so later I was literally dragged out of my bed by a combination of nagging and man-handling by my folks. Upon seeing my condition they wanted me to see a doctor. I was in pain and too weak to walk and I did not want to exacerbate my my agony walking to some quack. There was a big uproar, akin to what any cat-owner will experience every time he takes his cat to the bath.

After shambling 800m, we were aghast to be turned away at the clinic. The two whores manning the clinic told us that we were 'too late' and we missed the timing. This was ridiculous because we had asked them to wait and surely, as responsible medical staff (even though they were just counter staff), they should give allowance to a stricken man who could barely walk). I got the feeling that even if I were to die right on their doorstep they would have shut the door. Some much for the Hippocratic oath. They should rename it the Hypocrite oath.

Incensed at being REFUSED MEDICAL AID, I ranted at the two harlots, telling them I would do a 'free advertisement' on the internet for their clinic. They didn't seem much impressed and maybe they would be when - and if - I got the chance to blast this out loud on some popular site.

We stopped a cab and got the driver to drive around the Jurong West area to see if there was any 24 hour clinic around. As chance would have it, there was one open. It was fortunate because I didn't want to go to the fucking hospital and wait five fucking hours sitting on a chair in A&E just to get a fucking bed.

The doctor examined me and told me I was suffering from food poisoning. I was also running a 39 degree celsius fever. He was quite articulate, unlike other doctors, he took his time with his patients, and advised me what to do. He offered me a drink filled with some salt solution and said that I should take this every half an hour and if my condition didn't improve, I should go to the hospital.

Despite my suffering I still shot the shit a bit with the good doctor. I told him about my misfortune with the clinic earlier and he was obviously torn between his affiliation with the members of his trade and common dignity. I do not blame him. Unlike his diabolical peer who could have left me dead outside his clinic, he had not been less than exemplary in treating me.

The journey back home was another ordeal. My stomach lurched with the movements of the cab I was on, and I barely made it up the stairs to my house, even with my father's assistance.

I hit the bed the first thing I got back. My mother forced five tablets and that yucky solution down my throat as I pleaded to be allowed to sink into oblivion. After my second cup of salt solution I retched a few times before I vomited out what looked like a thick clear liquid mixed with brown streaks. I was to vomit four times before my stomach decided that the stock was cleared. I was still alternately hot and cold, and I wheezed like I was gasping my last. Such agonies I have rarely experienced. I thought I would expire.

I slept until five yesterday, shifting in and out of consciousness. My mother woke me up a few times to drink that horrible mixture. My stomach heaved interminably but thankfully nothing came out.

I felt capable of doing some work so I switched on the computer. Unfortunately, I still failed to make any headway on my Finance project. I ended up talking to the Lass, which was more meaningful - not to mention more fun - than my Finance modules would ever be. Also, my friend went online and asked me to correct his English assignment. He wanted it to be perfect but I thought if I did more than what I did I might as well put my name on his paper.

This morning I was rudely roused from my sleep by the noises caused by my neighbour's renovation. Of all the days my dear neighbour had to pick today to renovate his fucking toilets. What were they installing in there anyway? Durai brand golden taps? This noise hazard was so bad that any hope of me getting any needed rest was dashed.

I decided to work on my Fixed Income Securities assignment but the noise was really unbearable. Seeing there was absolutely no way I could concentrate, I went down to the void deck to get some peace and quiet. There I spent close to two hours tackling my question. I could barely restrain myself from tearing that accused 600 page textbook apart. These Finance and Banking guys should take a course in effective writing skills. Nothing wrong with their English, but their long-winded and obfuscating style reminded me of some philosophy dissertation written by some long-dead philosopher nobody gives a damn about.

After conjuring up answers that I am not sure are correct, I returned home to type the damn thing. That should have concluded my misery, but no! While compiling the report, I was struck by just how many grammatical mistakes there were in the report. Some sentences didn't even make sense! I don't know if my project mate had copied it wholesale from the investment sites he visited, but I was pretty close to despair as I edited the worst of the balderdash. (I hope he won't feel similarly when he edits my part.)

Anyway, I got the job done and emailed them saying that if they do not respond before midnight, I will submit the damn thing. I cannot believe I actually finished this. Last year the same shit happened to me. I was doing my Project Management while having a high fever, and this time I was whacked by a bout of food poisoning. This is truly a sign of my remarkable mental strength
and superb physical recovery. Despite working under such excruciating conditions, I am still able to produce miracles. I should be applauded for my efforts.



DAMN! My stomach is hurting again! - 10.39pm

If the pain worsens, this will be my last entry. - 10.43pm.

Adidas Traxion

Guaranteed to stop them in their tracks.

Another Day in Paradise

'And that xiao lian turn a Heaven into Hell!' - Shakespeare (Hokkien version).

Here's to Ris Low, OLE!


I experienced my first earthquake – or rather tremor – in my existence yesterday. I was in the office when I suddenly felt my vision shift. At first I thought I was going to have one of those unexplained collapses which seem to plague young fit people, but then I realized from the commotion in the office that my demise was not going to occur at that particular moment.

Everybody was getting excited and in a short while the office was mostly vacated. My colleague, my boss and I discussed a bit about earthquakes and how this shithole has the occasional tremor. It was no big deal really. Much as I dislike this shithole, I must admit that the buildings here have firm structural integrity, unlike those flophouses in China. There was really no need to worry about. The building was not going to collapse. Furthermore, if we were feeling nervous over such a tiny tremor, what of those sorry bastards who were caught in the earthquake? Whatever. I was quite exited. My first earthquake! Yippy!

***

Having decided that my mental health takes precedence over attending classes at UniShit, I gave my Political Economy (Brainwashing) of ASEAN (for Singaporeans) lecture a miss. I asked Chicken and Police Car out and there was only one place three free spirits would go and that was GL.

Despite the fact that there was plenty of people dying in our neighboring country, we could not really be bothered – an attitude shared by the unwashed masses that thronged the best district of Singapore. Once again, this demonstrates that we can never truly feel compassion for people whom we do not know. We may know that they are suffering; on an intellectual level we know we should feel some pity for them, but until we meet with the same grisly fate ourselves, we just cannot give a shit. Moralists and those…humanists will deny the truth of course, but they, like all others, are just hypocrites beneath their moralistic facade. A lie, a delusion, and a travesty.

Anyway, Chicken arrived late because he had to have dinner with his Chinese squeeze. While waiting for him to get his hen-pecked ass over Police Car and I shot the shit. We both agreed that marriage is pointless when you end up like you are in an open prison. He told me about his Indian friend who earns a slave wage of $800 as a pet-shop assistant. As if this sad bastard is not sad enough, he has to give all his money to his wife, who then gives him back an allowance of $5 a day. He is a disgrace to all males. I thought my hen-pecked friends were bad. This sad sack has got to be the champion. He is the Special One.

Chicken arrived 40 minutes into our shit-shooting session and we shot more shit over dinner. After we finished our slop, I took them to the carpark where I wandered to while I was waiting for them. There were around 5-8 Chinese strumpets hanging around, shooting horny bastards sly looks and at times accosting them. They were the quality of the $60 price range and charged $50 an hour. I applaud their entrepreneurship. Seeing how wretched our economy is, they have lowered prices to stimulate more business. Unlike those overfed whoresons in Africa and Wall Street, they do not ask for handouts and/or bailouts. While the quality of their service might be questionable, one must applaud them for displaying integrity and dignity in the midst of this difficult time. These are what I call Foreign TALENT.

Police Car, Chicken and I checked out the fish tanks after we were done with our inspection of the carpark. The regime-approved establishments were enjoying brisk business but we still managed to find a few goods to ogle. There was a new establishment across the street from the fish tanks. They peddled high quality merchandise, who were dressed in evening dresses. Not the cheap Thai merchandise you can get for $50. The establishment looked quite pricey, and probably was. At any rate, competition will only benefit the consumers and I say the banks should be generous in providing credit to deserving entrepreneurs like these.

While wandering around the back lanes, we were accosted by this disreputable-looking fellow who told us to ‘just take a look with no obligations’. We followed him and he took us to a gate, behind of which appeared two Thai working class girls. The place was dark and relatively secluded; the fuzz would not think of patrolling there. I was not impressed with the aesthetic quality of the goods but Police Car was excited. Without further ado he picked out the one in black and proceeded to have his wicked way with her.

Chicken and I then walked to the CBD area to wait for him to conclude his business transaction. There was sadly no goods on display in the area and I fear that they will not emerge any time soon. After half an hour, Police Car returned, complaining that the hussy didn’t allow him to lick her rack and the room where they went to was squalid. You get what you pay for, mate.

After that we had a drink at a nearby coffeeshop. They had the telly on and it was showing a re-run of ‘The Return of the Condor Heroes’, starring Christopher ‘F1 Racer’ Lee and Fann ‘Flat’ Wong. While I agree that they deserved each other, I hope that they will not think of procreating. Our bad gene pool does not need more…variety.

***

I nearby threw my Fixed Income Security textbook and notes down the rubbish chute. This is a fucking disgrace. Try as I did I could not understand what the fuck shit the maths were all about. I am still stuck in my assignment and the thought of either suicide or dropping out is gaining a louder voice in my head with every passing minute. In my feverish state I searched through he UniShit website and found the Film Art module XH was telling me about. The kind of module you just have to smoke your way through and with a few decent looking broads. I still don’t understand why in the Hells I was not offered this course. True, it is an Arts course, but there are Business students in his class! By right I should be allowed to take it too. Fuck Finance. Fuck maths. Fuck this course. If I ever strike it rich in the lottery, I will quit this flophouse university and its flophouse business course straight away (after writing a nice letter to the Dean to tell him how mediocre his administration is, of course). This I told my colleagues and anybody who knows me knows I like to keep my promises.

I am the Champion!

I am now typing this in Unishit's library, having secured an important and money-raking result some 50 minutes earlier. After sacrificing my priceless beauty sleep and energy, my reward was a Gold and money. I even took the trouble of giving them a perfect score. Fair pay for fair work, that is what I always say. I think they should just give me the money every year. Another 354 days before my next physical fitness test and payout.


My next goal is to get a decent hairstylist. With my thick, unruly mop and my tendency to slouch, I look like a beggar. My female colleagues have been trying to get me to make myself pretty (note: pretty as in not David 'Squeaky' Beckham pretty). They said I should not waste my height and big eyes (meow!). I think they are right. When it comes to aesthetics, always refer to a woman or a gay. With the money I got earlier, I should be able to get myself at least a half-decent hairstylist. Ideally this will be a she, not just a she, but also a pretty she. But this is the Shithole, and as the Depeche Mode song goes, dream on.


Wonderboy is getting married next Friday. Another bachelor bites the dust. Initially I thought I would not attend his wedding, but between that and sitting through Fixed income Securities class, there is only one choice. My concern for my mental health aside, I feel that as a friend, I have a duty to be with him in this most difficult of times. For the past year Wonderboy has been burning his weekends and jeopardizing his health just to prepare for this overpriced circus. He needs all the support a man could get.


No weekend blog post is complete without football. The fixtures list suggests that no upsets will be on the cards. More importantly, Everton must beat Pompey, who are rooted to the bottom of the table. Only all-out attack will do. The Shittizens are playing the Hammers on Monday. May that vulgar mob from Manchester get hammered.

Football Talk.

The Shittizens take on the Manure in the Manchester derby tonight. After cleaning out the Arse last week, the nouveau riche Baby Blues will be out to justify the 200 million pounds their Middle-Eastern terrorist sponsors have invested in them.

With that 'clown from Togo' Adebayor suspended, the vulgar and culturally bereft side of Manchester will struggle at Old Trafford. Save for Ferdinand, who is doubtful for the clash, the Manure are at full strength.

Shitty, on the other hand, has become the club everyone loves to hate, and they will expect a hostile reception from Old Trafford faithful. The Shitty are like a top heavy hussy: all boobs and nothing else. She is better lying down getting fucked than standing up trying to play a bigger goat than what she already is.

So a momentous day awaits. The wheels will finally come off the wagon for this small club with a small mentality. Rooney and Owen to get on the scoresheet, Bellamy to get sent off, and justice to be done.


For a team of our history and quality, to be mired in the relegation zone is an absolute disgrace. But we have the perfect opportunity to kickstart our season when violent Blackburn come visiting tonight.

We were totally negative at Fulham last week and paid the price. The midweek trashing of AEK Athens in Europe demonstrates we can be a potent attacking force if we want to. Being the home team, we should attack the visitors. Nothing less than a comprehensive victory against Blackburn will suffice. Nil Satis Nisi Optimum.

Some Drivel.

Some people just like to bear a grudge. Two of the blokes I had that heated argument with a fortnight ago didn’t seem very happy with me still. Their attempts at sarcasm were pathetic. During the football game when we were actually in the same team, they said to each other that I ‘would never pass the ball to them.’ That was absolutely rich. Assuming that other people are scum like you just because they happen to disagree with you is really stupid. When I was tracking back and defending like Hell for them they never said a single word. Some people really need to grow up. Football is a TEAM game. Badmouthing your teammate during the course of a game for things he never did is really, really bad form. I would have appreciated it if they told it to my face that I was wrong about politics and they wanted to put me in my place using some solid arguments. I am used to getting stick from people anyway; it wouldn’t have rattled me overly. Apparently some people just didn’t have the bottle for a direct confrontation, even though they were the majority.

About the kickabout, it was a bit like war. Due to the number of teams some wise man decided to put in place a seven minute system. No goals mean both teams were out. People started screaming and shouting at their own teammates. Some people were not happy but in most cases it was just handbags at a dozen paces. I thought that they should just save their breath for the game. If the whole team ditched the useless ego issues and worked for one another, surely it would have a greater chance of winning. There are times you have to shout at people, but when they react with the type of arrogant bellicosity usually reserved for professional players whose egos are as big as their weekly paycheck, then something is seriously wrong. Either you are giving ‘em stick for no reason or they think they are so great they are beyond criticism. In that case I think that some people should just quit football and any other type of team sports. Take up golf, or better still, yoga. Even if you cannot find your inner calm, chances are you will get to meet some broads who may help you soothe that inner beast.

******

I just found that I got a 57 for my Equity Securities assignment. That translates to around 23% of the overall marks; plus the pathetic 5% I got for the online MCQ, it means I have a 28% for the continuous assessment component of the course.

This may be the worst result I have since my misguided enrollment in this university but I am not complaining. I am delighted that I scrapped through. This result leaves me with the simple task of securing at least 40 marks for the examination. This is by no means an easy task, considering the module is mostly about maths and I am shite at maths. If by some miracle I survive, it would be the first time I get a C. Then again, rather a C than an F. I don’t give a rat’s ass if they give me Ds for all my modules. As long as I avoid relegation, my GPA can go to the Hells for all I care. Very negative I know, but when you are like Hull City you don’t try and be too smart and think you are the league champions.

Young, Educated and IDIOTIC

A fortnight ago I had a big row over politics with the guys I played football with. After our kickabout, we started to shoot the shit but ended up shooting one another. It was a case of me vs them. They thought that our country is so great and our regime could do no wrong, but obviously I felt very differently and I didn’t shy from expressing my views. Despite being outnumbered I didn’t back down. I decided that they should be treated to a drawn-out battle.

It was like talking to that popinjay Dennis Oh all over again, but much worse. Dennis Oh was at least educated and articulate in expressing his stupidity. The morons I pitted my wits – and patience – against were obviously functional retards. Our argument was more like a shouting match than anything else.

It will be pointless to stretch my patience further by describing our exchange in its entirety. I shall just be brief and highlight the arguments they made.


“Singapore is a republic country. Republic means no democracy.”

Strange. I thought a republic is a country without a monarchy.


“You think at a higher level. The rest of us just do not want to think.”

Classic. See no evil hear no evil.


“This has nothing to do with Political Science. A republic never has freedom of speech.” (His reply upon being told he should go take up Politics 101 after he thrice failed to understand my simple explanation of the meaning of ‘republic’.

Another classic: “I don’t want to hear I don’t want to hearrrrrr”……*cups hands over ears and starts bawling*.)


“The government has every right not to help its people.”

If the government is not obliged to serve its people, what do we need a government for?


“ALL the foreigners in our country are talented.”

Quite a few are peddling their talents and bodies in Geylang as we speak, and they are not even marginally good-looking or service-oriented.


“I know where the government job centre is (after asking me where it is). I walked past there before so I KNOW what is going on INSIDE.”

The guy has X-ray vision.


“Those (referring to the middle-age jobseekers) who have lost their jobs and busy hunting for work so that they can feed their families DESERVE it. They should not have gotten married in the first place unless they know they are well-off and earning big bucks.”

Social Darwinism at its very best. I look forward to seeing the same thing happen to the wise man 20 years down the road.



“Singapore has a great education system.”

Don’t tell everybody mate. When so many of us cannot even speak and write English competently even after ten years of compulsory English based education, when young educated people don’t even have an idea who Kim Jung Il is, you don’t want to shout out to the world the excellence of our education system.”


“We don’t need a minimum wage system. Even with very low wages, we can still survive.”

This guy should join the Survival Series.


Ministers need to be paid astronomical amounts of salaries and bonuses so that they can continue to do a good job and maintain their integrity.

The more money you earn = the more capable and moral you are. Move aside Obama, Madoff for President!


“There is NO NEED for a government to be ACCOUNTABLE to its people.”

*Speechless*


(Being unable to understand what our National Pledge is all about, despite reciting it for over 20 years.)

You have people who go to MENSA, and then you have special people who go to DENSA.


“A company should take in the most people at the lowest wages possible, because it is optimum to do so”

Let’s revive slavery. Free labour = optimum earnings for the company. Socially reprehensible but so long as the company benefits, who cares?


(Comparing Singapore to third-world countries and then declare that Singapore is a great country because it is clearly better than these countries.)

Pakistan is only nearly as bad as Afghanistan, therefore Pakistan is a great country.


“You ONLY know how to complain. You NEVER do anything to improve yourself.”

Incredible. The guy KNOWS EXACTLY what I am doing at any given moment.


“You sound very fed up about government policies, THEREFORE you are ANTI-GOVERNMENT.”

Yet another classic - I have very strong opinions AGAINST marriage, THEREFORE I am AGAINST people who are married.



Thinking about it still makes me feel frustrated. I am frustrated not because people have the temerity to disagree with me. If you have perfectly logical reasons why I am wrong, please state them. Resorting to personal attacks, making baseless assumptions, using fallacious arguments, and then treating propaganda as gospel truth do not add value to what you are asserting. I am totally disgusted that a bunch of young educated people could have such limited ability for critical thinking and basic reasoning skills.

It has been said time and again that our youths are our future, our hope for change. The people who said and are saying this seem now merely idealists whose sole mechanism for coping with life is hope. In truth, hope is the same as faith. Both believe in things that are not backed by evidence, an assertion that things will somehow turn out right. Irrational, complacent, useless and impossibly stupid.

Contrary to popular belief, the young are not necessarily rebels and iconoclasts, and the old are not always conformists and stick-in-the-mud. Young people often believe what they read without ever feeling the need to question its veracity. If it is from the textbook it MUST be true. If the government says so, it MUST be true. When the teachers say so, it MUST be true. When the media says so, it MUST be true. If MILEY CYRUS SAYS SO, DAMN! IT MUST BE TRUE!

The next generation is not our future. It is merely an extension of the present. Nothing will ever change in a culture that strives on conformity and blind obedience. Our future is in the dung pits. To the Hells with the next generation.

Leave the Dead (and the Living) in Peace

My martial arts practice was cancelled again, no thanks to the people burning their offerings at our ground. It is infuriating that the living has to make way for the dead (or in this case, the undead).

The Seventh Month nonsense has been going on for too long. There should be a law against religion and superstition imposing themselves on the living. I don’t understand what is the big deal about the dead, that we have to remember them just on the basis of their being dead. While it is understandable that we want to remember our loved ones, there is no reason for us to make this remembrance a public nuisance. I wish people would burn their Hell money and whatever in the containers the town councils have thoughtfully provided.

Making your offerings in a clumsily rendered chalk circle does not guarantee that ONLY the deceased you are making offerings to will receive them. It is possible that any wandering spirits will take the opportunity to rob. If you want to play safe, you should burn the Hell money in your OWN house. With the ancestral tablet and the idols of gods around, I don’t think any unwanted spirits will dare to mess around. But no. People still insist on doing it in public places, as if being ‘outside’ conveys some kind of spiritual attunement that facilitates the delivery of your gifts to your deceased folks. Or dare I say that maybe the pious do not want to dirty their homes? Oh how sacrilegious of me to even suggest that!

Many people who ‘celebrate’ the Seventh Month believe in both Buddhism and Chinese folklore, an indictment of their lack of understanding about their own beliefs and their shocking illogicality. Buddhists commonly believe that a soul moves on to another life after its physical demise, and this process will take but at most 49 days. Pagan Taoism/Chinese folklore believe that the spirit may linger on for much longer, particularly when it has to undergo punishment in the Hells for its transgression in its mortal life.

Chinese folklore claims that the spirit can be alleviated of much of its suffering in the infernal realms by ‘sending’ it material wealth. This wealth can be put to good use, like bribing the infernal bureaucracy, and to some extent, allows the spirit to ‘live it up’ should the value of the offerings is substantial enough. Hell money is typically in units of millions, billions and trillions – presumably to offset the hellish inflation rates they have in Hades. Paper cars, jets, even Victoria Secret’s lingerie (the paper cut-out versions of course) are readily available for folks who want to make their happily departed enjoy the life available only to Hollywood stars and Wall Street bankers.

Contrast that to Buddhism, which does not encourage the attachment to materialism. If the spirits are to have a better rebirth, one should undertake virtuous deeds in their name and dedicate the merits to them and all sentient beings. Attachment to impermanent things will only cause pain and to cling on such is to deprive oneself of emancipation.

Furthermore, it is useless to make offerings to just any spirits, irrespective of the time they were dead. Surely one’s ancestors would have been reincarnated long ago! How in the Hells will they be able to receive your burnt offerings? FedEx maybe?!

There can be no reconciliation between the two diametrically different views. Either you believe one or the other. There are no two ways about it, just like there is no such thing as a ‘Christian Hindu’. Chinese folklore has had its day in the sun. It is time to ditch it. It is useless, spiritually bereft, a waste of time, money and energy, ridiculous (I admit it has its entertainment value), and for the whole of Chinese history, has never contributed to the living standards of the Chinese people. The same can be said for all religions, although I must say that Buddhism, minus the metaphysical mumble-jumbo, does have some very intelligent and morally responsible things to offer. I think if the Chinese who insist on believing the two were to just pick Buddhism, it might actually be more beneficial, at least where public cleanliness is concerned.

I have a better solution: be an atheist. The benefits are manifold. You don’t need to literally burn your money away on overpriced counterfeit notes and paper-folds. You need not dirty public places, cause the road sweepers endless grief and pollute the air. Even for a pacifist faith like Buddhism, there is the chance that adherents will turn evangelical and start to harass people. At least when an atheist turns ‘militant’ (nowadays any atheist who expresses his views vehemently is militant, on a par with Islamic militants), we generally don’t force atheism down people’s throats or indulge in all night chanting sessions and other noise-emitting/trash-producing/stinking activities. Best of all, atheists do not have to obey any divine sanctioned doctrines. Our morals – or lack thereof – are our own.

I cannot wait for the Ghost Month to end. My martial arts practice takes precedence over any haunt, revenant, poltergeist, spirit or ghost.

Finally!

Everton have finally signed an experienced player. A Russian international with a nice left peg and some 20 caps for his country. The news is that we are going to get an Argentine international on loan. We may be selling Lescott to that Al Queda from Manchester, but it is no big loss because we still have a decent defence. It is our attack that is shite.

It is all too obvious that after that horror show at Burnley, drastic changes are in order. We cannot just base our game purely on a solid defence and rely on our opponents to make mistakes. They will get smart to our plan sooner or later and at Burnley we got found out. It is time to attack. We must be the most defensive team in the division. Hell, we finished fifth last season. If worse teams than us dare to attack I don't see why we have to play tortoise.

And yes, the Shite lost to Villa this morning. Three games played, one win, and two losses. Keep it up you bloodshitting bastards. Let's see you do a Newcastle.

It's Sigma in two days' time. We have a healthy 4:0 lead from the first leg, and should go through. The more important game is the one against Wigan. After their capitulation to ManUre they are going to want to prove a point. Both sides are just as bad as each other. We got murdered 6:1 by the Arse at home and they suffered a 5:0 reversal, also at home. Both have lost to newly promoted sides. This has the feeling of a relegation 'six-pointer'. To happen this early in the season, well, the league has gone crazy and we are going through that sticky patch again.

Whatever the result, Moyes, please get the boys to attack. We are at home, Wigan are shite and if we attack them right from the start there is no reason why we cannot get a positive result. Get that beggary-looking Jo to play right wing. Osman is not fast enough to be a winger. Peanuts can play on the left. King Louis plays target man, with Fell and Joey alternating positions behind him. Rodwell can clean up things in front of the back four.

Get Neville to play right, Baines left, and in centre, Yobo and Neville, with the former as sweeper. Howard continues in goal. Play direct attacking football. Wigan will crumble.

At the end of all these, one thing which I am mightily relieved. Senderos is not our player!

To Err is Human, to Complain, Divine

I have not been in the best condition for the past few days. I am suffering from a cough that threatens to worsen. My eyes are tired and my body is lethargic. My bloodied knee continue to seep blood and pus, making every re-bandaging a tedious and painful exercise. I have not weighed myself, but I know surely, from looking myself in the mirror, that I have lost a pound or two.

I curse this physical frame. I hate it for being weak. For all my efforts at bulking up and strength-training, it remains unresponsive. I should have been stronger, faster and sturdier but I seem to be getting weaker. It will not be long before I end up being one of those sad sacks who can never pass their annual physical fitness test, or the jokers who claim to be weekend warriors but look in danger of expiration ten minutes into a football game.

I curse my intellectual faculties. My learning curve should have been sharper, my memory more reliable, and my reasoning powers crisper. I am not happy. I feel that I am barely above the dullards that make up most of the general population. The more I read the more aware I am of my intellectual incapability. The difficulty in focusing, and the concentration lapses that seem to be increasing in frequency are worrying. I fear that I may be senile before I turn 35, and drooling away while mumbling 'gaga...' before 40. I have never known anybody who is 'gracefully senile', not in the way some who 'age gracefully' are. Former atheist philosopher Anthony Flew is a prime example. The Old Dog Thief who recently changed our National Pledge to 'National Aspiration' is another. There are men who have gone - to borrow from the Lass - wonky and died soon after. Then there are those who linger on like restless and vindictive spirits out for revenge, bringing pain to themselves and the people around them. Death is a mercy, and sadly it comes too soon for some, and too late for others.

Why am I writing this now? I have no idea. It is one of those days when you decide that you just have to ramble meaningless things that are meaningless to everybody else and equally as meaningless (well, almost) as they are to yourself. Some wit once said that writing sets you free. I presume he is now dead - and free.

Freedom is a strange word in these parts. Uttered frequently but never taken seriously, it has degenerated from a pedantic ideal to lip service, and now it is associated with anarchy and fear. What form will its degradation take next? Can it sink even lower? Give it a spade and let it dig, I say. It is but a mere word and nothing more. Just empty rhetoric and a 'mere puff'. How can anyone enjoy freedom when tyranny is in power? How can there be freedom when people do not even recognize they live under the thrall of oppression? How can people recognize freedom when they do not even bother to think beyond what the state propaganda machinery infests their brains with, or worse, fear to think for themselves because as we know, thinking too much does nobody good?

The Seventh Month is upon us. The streets are littered with scattered Hell notes, ashes, and remains of joss sticks and offerings. The air is arid, its smell the stink of Gehenna mingled with the smokiness of Hades. The perfume houses ought to bottle it up. It will be a great hit in Milan and Paris. Heavenly scenes are so passe. Hellish is in; they can name this perfume Hell, by Coco, or better still Stink, by Shithole. A fitting tribute to a land that sits in the middle of the Hells, haunted by the disembodied shades of Freedom, as it begins its inexorable descend into more abyssal realms.

What greeted me during lunch was hostile scenery. We are truly an inferior species. I choose the word 'inferior' over 'infernal' so as not to draw comparisons with the lower planar beings in mythology. I do not wish to insult them, even though I am an atheist and to me, they are nothing more than figments of some wild imagination. With these lower planar creatures you know what you are going to get. The horrible ones are suitably horrible looking (although still resplendent with horns, tail and bat wings). The beautiful ones (the sucubi and incubi) are simply stunning.

On a scale we would be somewhat in the middle, although in some cases the balance would be skewed towards the grotesque. I think we are an ugly people in general. Let's just leave noxious habits like booking seats with tissue papers and spewing Singlish like it's some legitimate language aside, and focus on the physical aesthetics. On a scale of 10, maybe I will give us a 3.5 or 4, the kind of score that hovers between outright failure, a provisional pass and a bare pass.

Many of us either appear malnourished or overfed. Many of the females look like they are permanently stuck in puberty. The thin ones are often short, reed skinny, flat, in some cases, have rough complexion. The fat ones have a propensity to dress themselves like they are some roast piglet about to be served as part of a wedding feast. The males are no better. Lacking in height and manly musculature, many carry beer bellies, thin shoulders and/or bad complexion. Our gene pool is undoubtedly bad. Considering our easy accessibility to food and healthcare, our bad physical attributes cannot be excused. It is all too easy to blame it on our humid weather. Why are Malaysian girls better looking than our local girls then? We live in the similar climates, eat basically the same oily food and why are the results so different? I think for males we are taller than our friends across the border but that is not an issue I care to concern myself with because I am not gay.

It is extremely demoralizing to wake up in the morning, board the overcrowded and suffocating train and find yourself encased (it feels more like entombed) along with specimens who are not only aesthetically unimpressive, but bereft of soul and spirit. There is no spark in their eyes, no energy in their movements. They could have been walking corpses, save for the barely inaudible sound of their breathing (wheezing). I could have been one of them. I am hardly impressive-looking myself, although at least nobody would ever mistake me for Frodo. The devil is in the details, and the details are in my eyes. Nobody will ever mistake my spiteful glare for the resigned look in the eyes of the doe-eyed sheep.

I am spiteful because I am stuck here. Stuck in this place where meritocracy is merely mediocracy, nepotism and cronyism repackaged, where efficiency is mistaken for effectiveness, where dreams are shattered and hopes trampled underfoot by an unyielding and spiritually repulsive mercantile culture.

My national aspiration is to live in a place where I have elbow space wherever I walk. A place that does not send people to court for the slightest of infringements. A place where people are truly diverse, not merely in the sense of skin colour, but in viewpoints and characteristics, and that the celebration or condemnation of this quality is not enforced by draconian laws and social engineering, but by the will of those who choose to live thus. A place where liberty is a necessity, not a privilege, where freedom of speech and expression is inviolate and the people allowed to pursue their dreams and live as they will. Most importantly, I desire a place where I can break free of this mediocrity, and raise to my potential, to self-actualize, to become. Never mind if this comes at a cost. The higher crime rate, the racism and the status of being a non-citizen (or a second-class one) cannot compare to the zombifying existence in this Hell. Some people live their lives, some earn their living, others just hope to die quickly and hope to be reborn in a better place. What chance of the first in this wretched place?

Share the Pain

I took home more than a 3:1 defeat in my football match this afternoon.

Not happy that I had robbed him of the ball, that whoreson of my opponent - with his accomplice in tow - chased me 20 metres horizontally across midfield. I was looking for a teammate to pass the ball to, but the entire flank was empty. My shock caused me to reduce my pace slightly, giving the two bugbears on my heels the chance to clatter into me.

I was sending flying into the sandy pitch, its abrasive surface unforgiving. If I had not rolled with the fall my kneecap could have been scrapped raw to the bone. As it happened, I escaped with a chafed knee and a few red lines on the back of my left forearm.

Guess what, not even a yellow card for the perpetrators. I should have stayed down, groaned like I am being drawn and quartered, and rolled about for effect instead of getting straight up.



Look at the blood, the furrows (don't they look like tract marks?), and the globules. Four hours and it was still bleeding.


It is now bandaged and no longer leaking. When I take it off for my shower tomorrow, it better not start.

What Have I Done to Deserve This?!

The long weekend has been an extended nightmare. The only thing good that came out of it was that I was able to get some real sleep. And of course, let’s not forget that pulsating Charity Shield game between Manure and Chelski.

My neighbour from a few doors away is singing like his life depends on it. I don’t know how the family living next door to him can possibly put up with his death throes. They must either be dead or deaf.

Now, there is a very real difference between singing the karaoke and hollering like you are witnessing your mother, sisters and daughters being raped. If I were in a more charitable mood I would have compared his tuneless dirge to the squealing of terrified pigs at the abattoir, but no luck for this pest. For once I actually find our national anthem bearable. That takes some doing. The shrieking bastard should sign up for Singapore Idol. He would bring the house down.

My neighbour next door is just barely better. The problem with the family is that they can be hopelessly inconsiderate, although they have some mitigating factor on their side, like stupidity. I have no right complaining about people inviting more people for housewarming than what their tiny flat could have accommodated, but the least they could do is to make sure the animals they bring home do not smoke, eat and then litter in the corridor. Squatting on a neighbour’s doorstep like some hobo is really unnecessary. Surely an animal does not need to mark its territory when they are just passing through an area.

I hate dogs and personally I think dog lovers are generally stupid. It is therefore unfortunate that my neighbours two doors away has to keep a yapping mutt. We have notified the fuzz and the town council about the incessant row this obnoxious creature has been making but obviously no action has been taken because they still own the bloody thing.

At times I feel sorry that we are not allowed to own firearms in Singapore. With such people, there is a procedure when it comes to talking reason. First, you talk nicely. When it doesn’t work, you persuade them with a baseball bat. When that fails, a good spray with an AK 47 would to make them wake up their ideas, assuming they do wake up after that.


The football on Saturday was rather stupid. I was the only one in my team having a go. There was the haze, but even that was no excuse for not running. All I heard was pathetic wailing about how “I am tired”, and “how I cannot run”. This is pathetic. I have played football with guys 10 to 20 years my senior and for the most part they didn’t moan like some strumpet turning a trick. And here we are, talking about guys mostly in their early to mid-twenties.

It’s really pathetic. The younger generation is getting weaker. Some are even weak in the head. I nearly lost it when Ed told me that he COULD NOT mark their striker because he was too fast and skillful. I say, what crap is this?! He also had this irritating reluctance to use his left foot. I felt really disgusted as I kept seeing him jerk himself around so that the ball could be on his right foot all the time. It’s fucking ugly. Guess what his excuse was?

I CAN’T USE MY LEFT FOOT! Oh joy.

During rest time one guy said that we were not up to the other team. I replied that like them, we also have five in the squad and ten legs (even with Ed “I can’t use my left foot” around), so what’s the difference? They sort of shut up but I didn’t really get their ear when I talked after that. I am so expert at bruising crystal hard egos.

I think maybe I should switch sports. Take up Mixed Martial Arts fights. I generally don’t have a problem doing team sports, even if my teammates are less skillful or physically inferior. What gets my goat are the defeatists who keep wailing about how we are not good enough, how fucking tired they are, and how good the other team is, yabba yap yap. (If our opponents are that good, they would be professionals and not amateurs like us.) Besides being yellow bastards, they are stupid as well.

I saw a Muay Thai match at Singapore Polytechnic last month. It was an affair between SP and NUS. It was a sorry spectacle and a fucking disgrace. The two fighters – if you can call these clowns that – were basically “pillow fighting” each other, so weak their punches and kicks were. Maybe this is a sign for me to take up tournament fighting. If my opponents are like that I will surely win many matches. Unlike in football where I get let down by wailing slackers, there is no chance of that happening in martial arts fights. If I lose, I only get bloodied, without having the added torture of listening to crap from my crappy teammates. If I win, the credit is all mine. ALL MINE.


Earlier in the day I went to the nearby library to do research on my Human Resource Management (HRM 201) case study. It turned out to be a waste of time. I could not find suitable material there. I thought of going to my university library but a phone call confirmed that it is closed for the holidays.

I tried to do my research on the Net but the material was too specified for me to find anything useful. The problem with business research is that too often these fucking ivory-tower academics coin their own terms and then you cannot get them in other publications and sources. It is frustrating. I am looking at two group projects and two MCQs within the next week or so, and I have neither the clue nor the resources to complete my tasks.

Of course, the HRM 201 fiasco could have been averted had my university being more competent. It’s been three weeks since the season started and we haven’t got our textbook. As a “convenience” to us, the university have taken upon themselves to photocopy chapters from the textbook and distribute them to us. Instead of giving them to us a few chapters at a time, why not just give us the whole damn thing? Stop treating us like we are beggars asking for a handout, you shameless bastards! After all, the university DON’T EVEN KNOW when the supplier will come good and deliver the fucking textbooks! SO STOP THIS BULLSHIT! YOU WANT MONEY?! I am sure we can pay for a reproduced copy of the ENTIRE textbook.

WE CAN PAY! YOU HEAR THAT, YOU GREEDY MONEY GRABBING WHORESONS?! WE CAN PAY!

More Writhing

I am following the Blues’ fortunes (or should I say, misfortunes) on Twitter. Lescott has verbally requested a transfer to the Shitteeh. The gaffer should extort the Middle-east bastards for 30 to 40 million. With that kind of money we should be able to get a couple of creative players to complement our hardworking ethos.

With Jo damaging his ankle and Fellaini struggling for full fitness after a virus, the Blues are left dangerously thin. Peanuts won’t sign a new contract. Arteta, Yakubu and Jags are out with injuries. This is easily half the first time squad unavailable for the opening day clash with the Arse.

Senderos may become an Everton player soon. Cry me a river.


Coropo left for the States this morning. I have only this to say. The States being the land of opportunities, I have no doubt whatsoever that he will find it easier to score there, despite the fact that US women are better looking than the vermin we have here. As a guy, I wish him all the best, and hope that if he is ever unable to “rise to the occasion”, he should tell the girl that he is from Vietnam or some similar shithole. We are pathetic enough as it is. Please refrain from doing further advertising. Horseface Sun is quite enough.

Thank you.


According to a recent survey, the Chinese trust whores more than they do politicians. I am not surprised at all. They both screw you, but at least the whore gives you a good time.

The most “trustworthy” groups include religious workers, farmers, whores and farmers. The scum include politicians, teachers, real estate businessmen and scientists.

No wonder our regime cracks down on the flesh trade. Obviously they fear people of integrity, having none themselves.


P asked me to lend him $500, promising to return it to me this Friday. He said that C wanted to approach their major about his money woes. Unfortunately he is overseas so no help there.

His SMSes stopped after I suggested that he borrow money from his church mates. He has the nerve to ask money from a friend who is skint, but shies from asking his fellow xtians for help. I don’t understand this. Maybe it’s because we non-xtians are going to burn in Hell after we die, so even if he doesn’t return us money in this life he can also escape this obligation in the afterlife.


I have been drinking Coke everyday for the past month or so. I wonder if it’s possible to die from caffeine overdose. I could just see the headlines in the Shite Times: MAN DIES FROM DRINKING COKE. HEALTH MINISTER DECLARES BAN ON COCA COLA. Something to boast about to the folks in Hades (yeah I know there’s no Hell).

Still, I shall continue to drink Coke. Life is too short to go un-caffeinated.


Recently I keep getting reminded of Freddy Shepherd, who was the chairman for the Barcode Army. He once complained in a Spanish brothel that Geordie women were as ugly as dogs.

Dear Freddy, come to my country. I’ll show you what a dog looks like.

Writhe

The Blues look to sign Senderos from the Arse. We just fucked ourselves royally. That lump of Swiss cheese is going to make holes in our defence. His purchase will represent a step backwards.

While we are at it, why not buy Titus Bramble from Wigan? Partner them together. I have no doubt this defensive partnership will win us the first trophy in 15 years – the Division One championship. We may have to wait a season, and face the likes of Newcastle and Leeds United, but good things are worth waiting for, right?

Since we are penniless anyway, we should also sell Jags along with Lescott to the Citizens in a “1 + 1” deal. Give us 30 million for Lescott, and we will throw in Jags for 15 million. While stocks last! Rob those Middle-east terrorists blind I say!


Some riffraff wearing NUSSU T-shirts had been asking for handouts. I saw a couple near my place in the morning and I saw separate groups in Orchard in the evening. I would not have given these mobs my boogie. It is sad to see university students acting like beggars and failing to look the part.


The more I look at my Equity Securities notes the more suicidal I feel. I don’t understand a single fuck about the subject. No wonder we are having a financial crisis. With all that obfuscating mathematical formulas and equations, it must be really easy to hoodwink investors into thinking they are going to make a killing.

To think I signed up for a business course because I hate maths. Oh the irony.

Paper Mills, Anyone?

From the BBC

Universities 'fail on standards'

By Sean Coughlan BBC News education reporter

MPs say degree standards must be made more consistent

Universities in England are failing to safeguard degree standards, according to a damning report from MPs.

The current system for ensuring quality is "out of date" and should be replaced," the Commons universities select committee concluded.

"Inconsistency in standards is rife," said committee chairman, Phil Willis.

Universities UK attacked the report as "ill-thought through" and rejected the accusation that university leaders were "defensive and complacent".

The hard-hitting report calls for urgent action to improve how universities safeguard the quality of degrees.

It describes as "absurd and disreputable" the claim that the growing demand for courses, including from overseas students, is proof that university standards are being maintained.

'Unacceptable'

The cross-party committee attacks university leaders for failing to "give a straightforward answer to the simple question of whether first class honours degrees achieved at different universities indicate the same or different intellectual standards".

REPORT RECOMMENDATIONS Consistent degree standards required across all universities Independent standards watchdog needed Accreditation checks every 10 years Better protection for whistleblowers National bursary system More support for mature and part-time students Oxford or Oxford Brookes: MPs compare degrees

And the MPs question why universities have failed to explain the rapid increase in the number of top grade degrees being awarded.

To protect the "integrity" of degrees, the committee calls for a radical overhaul of the current watchdog, the Quality Assurance Agency, replacing it with an independent body charged with maintaining academic standards.

The report casts doubt on the reliability of self-regulation by universities and calls for tighter rules for external examiners and a way of comparing standards in different institutions.

"We are extremely concerned that inconsistency in standards is rife and there is a reluctance to address this issue," said Mr Willis, chair of the Commons Innovation, Universities, Science and Skills Committee.

The report says it is "unacceptable" for higher education to receive £15bn in taxpayers' funding "but be unable to answer a straightforward question about the relative standards of the degrees of the students".

As an example, the report says that there was no clear answer to MPs' attempts to find the answer to whether an upper second history degree from Oxford University and Oxford Brookes were equivalent .

Bursaries

Where whistleblowers have revealed worries about degree standards, the committee says they must be given better protection.

Phil Willis says universities must be accountable for £15bn funding

MPs also recommend a national system of bursaries to support students, removing differences in the amounts offered by individual institutions.

This proposal for a national bursary has been supported by the National Union of Students and the Million+ group of new universities.

NUS president, Wes Streeting, also welcomed the questions raised about value for money from degree courses.

"Tuition fees in England were trebled in 2006, but students have not seen a demonstrable improvement in the quality of their experience.

"We find it astonishing that universities continue to demand ever higher fees without showing how they make a difference to the people who pay them," said Mr Streeting.

But university leaders have rejected the criticism levelled at the higher education sector.

'Outburst'

"We are rather dismayed and surprised by this outburst," said Wendy Piatt of the Russell Group of leading universities.

"Universities are not schools. An essential feature of a university is its academic freedom and autonomy, with the responsibility to award degrees and uphold standards," she said.

Diana Warwick, head of Universities UK, said: "We reject the suggestion that the way to improve the system that protects standards is to create some super-quango or Ofsted-style Quality and Standards Agency. This seems to us a sledgehammer to crack a nut."

But Paul Wellings, chair of the research-intensive 1994 Group of universities, emphasised the need for maintaining quality across a diverse higher education sector.

The QAA watchdog, which the MPs want to replace, warns that "care needs to be taken that we do not put at risk the benefits of a diverse and flexible higher education system".

The report has also been challenged by Lord Mandelson, Secretary of State for Business, Innovation and Skills.

"I don't recognise the committee's description of our higher education sector, which is in fact world class and second only to the USA as a top destination for overseas students," said Lord Mandelson.

The Conservatives' university spokesman, David Willetts, said the report was a "refreshingly frank assessment of where things stand".