I just suffered through my only paper of the season. I remember picking up my pen, frantically scribbling away, and getting interrupted THRICE by the invigilator announcing that we ought to take note of certain questions in the paper. I was very frustrated by these needless interruptions to my already desperate and jumbled thought process. Surely they could have checked the papers for mistakes BEFORE the examinations?
I wrote what I could remember and there was a bit of the mental collapse in which you suddenly cannot remember key facts. No choice but to trudge on and write. It was a load of bollocks I produced but may it be sufficient to save me from relegation. One part was in Gehenna - two essay questions that required you to conjure things outside the textbook. I looked to my left and right. It seemed that people were equally stunned or were struggling to put words to paper. (The Rack was not around. Truly a tragedy.)
I met an ex-colleague (gulag inmate) outside the school library. He is struggling with some horrendous finance module. He told me that the capstone course we will be taking next season is going to be a bitch. They changed the class schedule and examination format this season. Now we have to attend classes on both weekdays and weekends. According to him, they split the examination questions into small chunks and nobody actually managed to finish the paper, and we are talking about a three hour torture. Furthermore, we have to do plenty of research, prepare our own notes and cart them into the examination hall. This is truly suicide-inducing news indeed. Next season, I will have five assignments, two quizzes, three examinations, loads of research, and very little time. Seriously, when XH hears about this, he will surely be compelled to kneel before me, worship me, and offer sacrifices. For the 1,000,000,000 time I regret not taking up Arts. The trials and tribulations of a philistine indeed.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Old Mates
This week I met my old mates from the military for late night slop. While in the car we naturally shot the shit and Fatty was grumbling about how crap the military is, and Heehee, as usual, was a bit slow on the uptake but contributed some wisdom to our conversation.
I launched into a tirade about how overrated Shitholer women are, punctuating my arguments with observations from personal experience and that of others. In particular, I highlighted the sad fact that in the boudoir, our women generally behave like dead fish. This struck a chord with Fatty, and he was moved to say, “At first I thought it was the fisherman’s fault, but after trying several kinds of fish, I realized that it was not the fisherman, but the fish.”
It was nice to know that Fatty and Heehee had grown in stature since the last time I saw them. Fatty is leaving the military in two months’ time and has adopted a heck-care attitude in his hairstyle. I also saw in his eyes a growing frustration that could only have come from understanding what life is truly all about. As for Heehee, he is slowly shedding his squeaking clean image and embarking on a path of libertinage.
We soon reached our destination, a restaurant situated at the back streets of Bugis which sell bean curd and other soy products. We have patronized this slop house before and we saw the usual groups of foreigners. While eating our bean curd, we ogled the scenery and talked about our existence. We may be around thirty but we sounded much older, considering the nature of our topics necessitated the shredding of any residual idealistic notions. We talked about Heehee’s whoring, how existence is getting impossible in this shithole and in general the grumbling and cussing that are requisite to such conversations.
There were a bunch of young foreigners of indeterminate nationality seated at a nearby table. Wherever they hailed from they were on average physically superior to Shitholers, although half of them were hardly more aesthetically pleasing. I sneaked peeks at one of them from time to time. She had a fine rack and as they finished their slop and walked away, I was interrupted briefly from our interlocution by her well-endowed midfield. My mates laughed and I knew at that moment, that I was in fine company.
Continuing where we left off, we discussed further about the merits of women from various nationality. We came to the conclusion that it would be logically feasible, sexually necessary, and morally responsible to take the “international” route when it comes to women. We also talked about how shitty existence in this shithole is and again, I could not restrain myself from blasting our regime and arguing for the moral necessity of being a responsible parent by not becoming one. Fatty told me that I am still as negative as ever but it takes an ostrich to bury its head in the sand and pretend that all is well and unlike my cuntrymen and women I definitely am no ostrich. The infuriating thing is that when you tell the truth, people don’t want to hear it and say you are ‘negative’ or ‘cynical’. When you pretend nothing is wrong and the whole damn world is rosy, you are the worst liar because not only do you lie to everybody you also lie to yourself. If you cherry-pick and filter out the bad things and focus only on the good things, you are no bigger than a man who is addicted to the bottle. What is wrong with saying that something bad is really bad? It’s intellectually upright and a breath of fresh air. When you tell the ugly truth and complains about it, people can’t take it. They dread confronting their deepest fears and resentments. They do not want their hopes to be extinguished. How sad.
A cultured man myself, I inquired as to where he found his contact. Heehee advised me to check out the forums in www.laksaboy.com. He told me that a potential client may peruse the pictures at his leisure, and if he is satisfied with the specification and pricing of the products, he can make arrangements to complete the transaction, usually in a hotel room. These escorts are mostly Tom Yam ($100), although if you are willing to pay more ($160 upwards), you can take your pick from the Kim Chis and Natashas. Should you be one of those crazy buggers who are willing to pay for Shitholers, the prices range from 70 to 260 bucks. I am appalled that these brazen hussies would dare to overprice themselves. Surely, most of them are not even worth $40.
By the time we finished our slop, it was midnight and we decided it was time to retire. We decided to meet up again another day. On the way back we saw two damaged cars. Apparently the driver of the car at the back had thought he was Lewis Hamilton and banged his conveyance into the back of the car in front. . Nobody died however. I took down the car plate numbers for my investment. I am not sure if I won, but maybe if I won and in sufficient amount, I’ll allocate a fair portion of it to my ‘relieve stress’ fund.
A day after we had slop, I talked to Heehee on MSN. I asked him about his new-found hobby and the topic inevitably diverted to his girlfriend. Hearing him speak of FLs with such enthusiasm, I asked him about his girlfriend if he is happy with her. He said that he has to be careful with all the late nights because being one ‘smart lady’, she is suspicious of his late-night outings with his friends. I was appalled and told my friend in no uncertain terms what I thought of her controlling ways. Surely she goes out with her girlfriends?! Heehee replied that she very rarely goes out at night, except when she is with him. He added that when I see him come online I should be discrete. She shares his MSN account and I should exercise caution. Even more disgusted, I tried my damn best to persuade him to break off this relationship but he failed to see the errors of his ways. And it emerged that they have been together and still haven’t even been intimate with each other.
I had never heard of such a dysfunctional relationship. Although he believes that she has all the qualities he looks for in a wife, I am not convinced of the wisdom of continuing this relationship. For one thing, they aren’t getting it on in the bedroom, and she insists on remaining “untouched” before marriage. This kind of ridiculous and prudish attitude, while common among xtians, is quite unusual in a non-xtian, particularly in today’s wanton culture. Also, the fact that his ex-girlfriend broke off with him for no apparent reason demonstrates how unreliable Shitholer women are in love. You will get more loyalty and commitment from a lap dog than you would an average Shitholer woman. Stupid as they are, dogs usually don’t go AWOL on you when you need them and you never have any doubt regarding their commitment, slobbering and smelly their drool may be. Shitholer women, on the other hand, are fickle, liable to go emo on you without the slightest provocation and are perpetually undecided on everything.
Heehee told me that he has invested thousands of dollars and a great deal of time and effort on her over the past three years, and he will get back nothing if he gives her up now. I explained to him the concept of escalation of commitment and how it is an impediment to good decision-making. He replied he would take the risk. In reality, there is hardly a risk when you know either outcome cannot be considered beneficial. Even if they get married, I am sure he will continue to employ the excellent services of FLs, since by his own admission, he is ‘addicted’. Why not admit that he is a libertine by nature and follow his inclinations? Besides, the amount she has spent on him is less than one-eighth of what he has splashed on her. I am not implying anything, but my friend has a car and is willing to allocate resources on her. Rich ‘carrot head’ he may not be, but a carrot head nonetheless. I have no idea what how ‘wifey’ she can be, but if being wifey means to make comments when he goes out with his mates at night, then maybe she is wifey indeed. And despite what he says about making a dead fish a live one, I do not put much store in his ability to resurrect the dead, especially considering after three years together they still haven’t seen much of each other’s inner beauty.
Being the good friend that I am, I shall continue my efforts in getting him to regain his bachelorhood. I trust my care and concern for his welfare will enable him to see the light.
I launched into a tirade about how overrated Shitholer women are, punctuating my arguments with observations from personal experience and that of others. In particular, I highlighted the sad fact that in the boudoir, our women generally behave like dead fish. This struck a chord with Fatty, and he was moved to say, “At first I thought it was the fisherman’s fault, but after trying several kinds of fish, I realized that it was not the fisherman, but the fish.”
It was nice to know that Fatty and Heehee had grown in stature since the last time I saw them. Fatty is leaving the military in two months’ time and has adopted a heck-care attitude in his hairstyle. I also saw in his eyes a growing frustration that could only have come from understanding what life is truly all about. As for Heehee, he is slowly shedding his squeaking clean image and embarking on a path of libertinage.
We soon reached our destination, a restaurant situated at the back streets of Bugis which sell bean curd and other soy products. We have patronized this slop house before and we saw the usual groups of foreigners. While eating our bean curd, we ogled the scenery and talked about our existence. We may be around thirty but we sounded much older, considering the nature of our topics necessitated the shredding of any residual idealistic notions. We talked about Heehee’s whoring, how existence is getting impossible in this shithole and in general the grumbling and cussing that are requisite to such conversations.
There were a bunch of young foreigners of indeterminate nationality seated at a nearby table. Wherever they hailed from they were on average physically superior to Shitholers, although half of them were hardly more aesthetically pleasing. I sneaked peeks at one of them from time to time. She had a fine rack and as they finished their slop and walked away, I was interrupted briefly from our interlocution by her well-endowed midfield. My mates laughed and I knew at that moment, that I was in fine company.
Continuing where we left off, we discussed further about the merits of women from various nationality. We came to the conclusion that it would be logically feasible, sexually necessary, and morally responsible to take the “international” route when it comes to women. We also talked about how shitty existence in this shithole is and again, I could not restrain myself from blasting our regime and arguing for the moral necessity of being a responsible parent by not becoming one. Fatty told me that I am still as negative as ever but it takes an ostrich to bury its head in the sand and pretend that all is well and unlike my cuntrymen and women I definitely am no ostrich. The infuriating thing is that when you tell the truth, people don’t want to hear it and say you are ‘negative’ or ‘cynical’. When you pretend nothing is wrong and the whole damn world is rosy, you are the worst liar because not only do you lie to everybody you also lie to yourself. If you cherry-pick and filter out the bad things and focus only on the good things, you are no bigger than a man who is addicted to the bottle. What is wrong with saying that something bad is really bad? It’s intellectually upright and a breath of fresh air. When you tell the ugly truth and complains about it, people can’t take it. They dread confronting their deepest fears and resentments. They do not want their hopes to be extinguished. How sad.
A cultured man myself, I inquired as to where he found his contact. Heehee advised me to check out the forums in www.laksaboy.com. He told me that a potential client may peruse the pictures at his leisure, and if he is satisfied with the specification and pricing of the products, he can make arrangements to complete the transaction, usually in a hotel room. These escorts are mostly Tom Yam ($100), although if you are willing to pay more ($160 upwards), you can take your pick from the Kim Chis and Natashas. Should you be one of those crazy buggers who are willing to pay for Shitholers, the prices range from 70 to 260 bucks. I am appalled that these brazen hussies would dare to overprice themselves. Surely, most of them are not even worth $40.
By the time we finished our slop, it was midnight and we decided it was time to retire. We decided to meet up again another day. On the way back we saw two damaged cars. Apparently the driver of the car at the back had thought he was Lewis Hamilton and banged his conveyance into the back of the car in front. . Nobody died however. I took down the car plate numbers for my investment. I am not sure if I won, but maybe if I won and in sufficient amount, I’ll allocate a fair portion of it to my ‘relieve stress’ fund.
A day after we had slop, I talked to Heehee on MSN. I asked him about his new-found hobby and the topic inevitably diverted to his girlfriend. Hearing him speak of FLs with such enthusiasm, I asked him about his girlfriend if he is happy with her. He said that he has to be careful with all the late nights because being one ‘smart lady’, she is suspicious of his late-night outings with his friends. I was appalled and told my friend in no uncertain terms what I thought of her controlling ways. Surely she goes out with her girlfriends?! Heehee replied that she very rarely goes out at night, except when she is with him. He added that when I see him come online I should be discrete. She shares his MSN account and I should exercise caution. Even more disgusted, I tried my damn best to persuade him to break off this relationship but he failed to see the errors of his ways. And it emerged that they have been together and still haven’t even been intimate with each other.
I had never heard of such a dysfunctional relationship. Although he believes that she has all the qualities he looks for in a wife, I am not convinced of the wisdom of continuing this relationship. For one thing, they aren’t getting it on in the bedroom, and she insists on remaining “untouched” before marriage. This kind of ridiculous and prudish attitude, while common among xtians, is quite unusual in a non-xtian, particularly in today’s wanton culture. Also, the fact that his ex-girlfriend broke off with him for no apparent reason demonstrates how unreliable Shitholer women are in love. You will get more loyalty and commitment from a lap dog than you would an average Shitholer woman. Stupid as they are, dogs usually don’t go AWOL on you when you need them and you never have any doubt regarding their commitment, slobbering and smelly their drool may be. Shitholer women, on the other hand, are fickle, liable to go emo on you without the slightest provocation and are perpetually undecided on everything.
Heehee told me that he has invested thousands of dollars and a great deal of time and effort on her over the past three years, and he will get back nothing if he gives her up now. I explained to him the concept of escalation of commitment and how it is an impediment to good decision-making. He replied he would take the risk. In reality, there is hardly a risk when you know either outcome cannot be considered beneficial. Even if they get married, I am sure he will continue to employ the excellent services of FLs, since by his own admission, he is ‘addicted’. Why not admit that he is a libertine by nature and follow his inclinations? Besides, the amount she has spent on him is less than one-eighth of what he has splashed on her. I am not implying anything, but my friend has a car and is willing to allocate resources on her. Rich ‘carrot head’ he may not be, but a carrot head nonetheless. I have no idea what how ‘wifey’ she can be, but if being wifey means to make comments when he goes out with his mates at night, then maybe she is wifey indeed. And despite what he says about making a dead fish a live one, I do not put much store in his ability to resurrect the dead, especially considering after three years together they still haven’t seen much of each other’s inner beauty.
Being the good friend that I am, I shall continue my efforts in getting him to regain his bachelorhood. I trust my care and concern for his welfare will enable him to see the light.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Two More Down
Word is that two of my friends are getting married at the end of the year. This is a double tragedy. After coughing out tens of thousands of dollars for a banquet of slop their next task will be to spend the next twenty to thirty years paying for a pigeon hole.
I trust that they will be responsible parents by choosing not to procreate. Why bring children into a world where they will be serfs to a cartel of uncaring rich and elitist scum? Why should a young man waste two years playing soldier for shite wages while his foreign counterparts go to university and gain experience by starting work two years earlier? I have a mind to miss at least one of the weddings. I am skint and not sufficiently masochistic to pay good money to bear witness to the commencement of these moral disasters.
I trust that they will be responsible parents by choosing not to procreate. Why bring children into a world where they will be serfs to a cartel of uncaring rich and elitist scum? Why should a young man waste two years playing soldier for shite wages while his foreign counterparts go to university and gain experience by starting work two years earlier? I have a mind to miss at least one of the weddings. I am skint and not sufficiently masochistic to pay good money to bear witness to the commencement of these moral disasters.
No Balls to Grab
The final day of the Premiership was an insipid affair. With the championship still officially undecided, Wigan decided to roll over and let Chelski in for eight. This effectively ended ManUre’s title hopes, allowed Chelski to set a new record for the most number of goals scored in a season since the inception of the Premiership, and gifted Didier ‘It’s a fucking disgrace!’ Drogba the Golden Boot award. Stoke City did their darnest best to surrender at Old Trafford, but an modicum of professional spirit seeped though their holiday mood and they only conceded four. A measure of sympathy ought to be given to Wayne Rooney. To miss out on a deserved Golden Boot and the championship after a personally superlative season in which he virtually carried his team on his Neanderthal-like shoulders must have been heartrending.
Elsewhere, the RedShite epitomized their dismal season with an inept goalless draw against the already relegated Tigers. It was what they deserved, although had Hull taken their gilt-edged chance in the first half, the floating circus that is the RedShite would have appeared even more rudderless. Bankrupted by their Americans owners (who else but the Americans>), the Shite are now deep in the red and may have to sell their star striker and their ugly bastard of a captain to wealthier scavengers. Their fat Spanish waiter of a manager may leave for the Old Lady, and as an Evertonian, I would be gutted to see that incompetent, clueless, unsightly and idiotic popinjay go. (Who else can be trusted to screw up the Shite like this fathead?) However, if the fat Spanish waiter decides to dish out the sort of fare in Italy – no pun intended – the Americans should do the right thing and replace him with proven managers. Graeme Sourness, Paul Ince, and Iain Dowie readily come to mind.
Over at Goodison, Everton stretched their unbeaten run to a dozen games with an uninspiring 1:0 win over Pompey courtesy of a Bily belter in the dying seconds. The visitors had a perfectly good goal chalked off and better luck to them when they take on the crass and vulgar mob of Chelski in the FA Cup next Saturday. For the Blues (the REAL Blues), the pre-season is nothing to look forward to. A trip down Down Under for ‘commercial’ purposes, and then nothing to spend on new players. The Chairman should do the right thing and sell the club to any non-American who has tonnes of money. At the very least, sack the club’s marketing and corporate finance team. Something is seriously wrong when a club with so much history and plays decent football cannot find a single investor while small fry clubs like the Black Cats, the Barcode Army and even the Bummies have their own suger daddy. I hardly hear anything from Everton on the sales and marketing front. It may be the ‘People’s Club’, but the people in charge of sales and marketing certainly aren’t people as far as intelligence is concerned. They should employ me instead.
Nothing worthwhile to report in the other matches. Just a bunch of overpaid players running around for ninety odd minutes and then packing off to the World Cup or some luxurious holidays. The season is over. Existence grows even more meaningless, at least until August.
Elsewhere, the RedShite epitomized their dismal season with an inept goalless draw against the already relegated Tigers. It was what they deserved, although had Hull taken their gilt-edged chance in the first half, the floating circus that is the RedShite would have appeared even more rudderless. Bankrupted by their Americans owners (who else but the Americans>), the Shite are now deep in the red and may have to sell their star striker and their ugly bastard of a captain to wealthier scavengers. Their fat Spanish waiter of a manager may leave for the Old Lady, and as an Evertonian, I would be gutted to see that incompetent, clueless, unsightly and idiotic popinjay go. (Who else can be trusted to screw up the Shite like this fathead?) However, if the fat Spanish waiter decides to dish out the sort of fare in Italy – no pun intended – the Americans should do the right thing and replace him with proven managers. Graeme Sourness, Paul Ince, and Iain Dowie readily come to mind.
Over at Goodison, Everton stretched their unbeaten run to a dozen games with an uninspiring 1:0 win over Pompey courtesy of a Bily belter in the dying seconds. The visitors had a perfectly good goal chalked off and better luck to them when they take on the crass and vulgar mob of Chelski in the FA Cup next Saturday. For the Blues (the REAL Blues), the pre-season is nothing to look forward to. A trip down Down Under for ‘commercial’ purposes, and then nothing to spend on new players. The Chairman should do the right thing and sell the club to any non-American who has tonnes of money. At the very least, sack the club’s marketing and corporate finance team. Something is seriously wrong when a club with so much history and plays decent football cannot find a single investor while small fry clubs like the Black Cats, the Barcode Army and even the Bummies have their own suger daddy. I hardly hear anything from Everton on the sales and marketing front. It may be the ‘People’s Club’, but the people in charge of sales and marketing certainly aren’t people as far as intelligence is concerned. They should employ me instead.
Nothing worthwhile to report in the other matches. Just a bunch of overpaid players running around for ninety odd minutes and then packing off to the World Cup or some luxurious holidays. The season is over. Existence grows even more meaningless, at least until August.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Footy Game vs. British Club
Our friendly game against British Club ended in defeat.
Half our squad had never played together so it was a surprise when we took the lead. Our striker was afforded plenty of space outside the box and he obliged and planted his shot into the keeper’s left hand corner.
Our lead lasted barely lasted five minutes. Their winger skinned ours on our right flank and the resulting cross was nudged past our keeper from close range. Our aerial inferior was exposed time and time again and the British won most of the balls in the air. They had us on the back foot and added a second. Their third came courtesy of our ball watching and their striker rifled the ball in. They had us on the back foot - we were sixes and seven - and could had extended their lead but for some profligate finishing.
We rolled up our socks after the break and slowly inched our way into the game, Their exhaustion was beginning to tell and the British had difficulty with our renewed energy and pace. They had chances to settle the match but could not make the telling touch. Similarly, our cause was not helped by To our wasteful set pieces and foul throws. Towards the end, our keeper misjudged an in-swinger near the half way line, and we duly finished the game with a 4:1 loss.
On reflection we deserved to lose the game, although our fighting spirit after the break was encouraging. Why did we lose?:
Half of us had played with one another for the first time and needed to gel.
Our lack of aerial prowess. As we were not a tall team (average height: 5’7” to 5’8”), we were bound to suffer in the air.
Our back four held the line too far up when defending. A small pitch demanded we dropped deeper to prevent long balls from arcing over our heads.
A lack of proper communication. Nobody bothered to shut “Man On!” to a teammate who was about to be tackled, or ask for the ball. There were too many shouted instructions which were often contradictory, and the resulting confusion exacerbated our already poor organization.
A lack of speed on the flanks to open up space. Our British opponents were more physical than they were speedy and having pacey wingers would have given us more options.
A solid defensive presence in the centre midfield was much needed to protect our back four and harass our opponents into giving the ball away.
We needed to defend deeper and together as a team.
Wasteful throw-ins and free kicks. We hadn’t a decent cross or shot from set pieces and the fact we had close to ten foul throws was testimonial to our lack of footballing basics. Back to the training ground.
A lack of aggression was prevalent in our team. Yesterday only one team got stuck in and it was not us.
Our inability to pass the ball more than three times before losing possession. In addition, if we had to play hoof ball, we should have pumped the ball to the flanks, instead of lumping it to their centre back, who was gobbling every ball five yards around him.
We needed to be physically fitter and stronger. Too many times we were pushed off the ball or failed to play at a good tempo.
Some players were playing out of position or in a position not suited to their ability and tendencies. We needed to get everyone drilled in one fixed position – or two at the most. Utility players are only a stop-gap measure and hardly win you trophies.
We should have sorted out team tactics before kick-off. Everybody should have been aware of his duties.
After the game, British Club graciously invited us to their club house for a shower, some slop and to watch the Manchester derby. Kumar, Lance and I stayed on and enjoyed the British hospitality while the rest of our squad left for home. Our hosts were really nice to offer us seats at their table and some beer and slop. We would be delighted to play them again. We will be aiming to put one over them the next time.
Half our squad had never played together so it was a surprise when we took the lead. Our striker was afforded plenty of space outside the box and he obliged and planted his shot into the keeper’s left hand corner.
Our lead lasted barely lasted five minutes. Their winger skinned ours on our right flank and the resulting cross was nudged past our keeper from close range. Our aerial inferior was exposed time and time again and the British won most of the balls in the air. They had us on the back foot and added a second. Their third came courtesy of our ball watching and their striker rifled the ball in. They had us on the back foot - we were sixes and seven - and could had extended their lead but for some profligate finishing.
We rolled up our socks after the break and slowly inched our way into the game, Their exhaustion was beginning to tell and the British had difficulty with our renewed energy and pace. They had chances to settle the match but could not make the telling touch. Similarly, our cause was not helped by To our wasteful set pieces and foul throws. Towards the end, our keeper misjudged an in-swinger near the half way line, and we duly finished the game with a 4:1 loss.
On reflection we deserved to lose the game, although our fighting spirit after the break was encouraging. Why did we lose?:
Half of us had played with one another for the first time and needed to gel.
Our lack of aerial prowess. As we were not a tall team (average height: 5’7” to 5’8”), we were bound to suffer in the air.
Our back four held the line too far up when defending. A small pitch demanded we dropped deeper to prevent long balls from arcing over our heads.
A lack of proper communication. Nobody bothered to shut “Man On!” to a teammate who was about to be tackled, or ask for the ball. There were too many shouted instructions which were often contradictory, and the resulting confusion exacerbated our already poor organization.
A lack of speed on the flanks to open up space. Our British opponents were more physical than they were speedy and having pacey wingers would have given us more options.
A solid defensive presence in the centre midfield was much needed to protect our back four and harass our opponents into giving the ball away.
We needed to defend deeper and together as a team.
Wasteful throw-ins and free kicks. We hadn’t a decent cross or shot from set pieces and the fact we had close to ten foul throws was testimonial to our lack of footballing basics. Back to the training ground.
A lack of aggression was prevalent in our team. Yesterday only one team got stuck in and it was not us.
Our inability to pass the ball more than three times before losing possession. In addition, if we had to play hoof ball, we should have pumped the ball to the flanks, instead of lumping it to their centre back, who was gobbling every ball five yards around him.
We needed to be physically fitter and stronger. Too many times we were pushed off the ball or failed to play at a good tempo.
Some players were playing out of position or in a position not suited to their ability and tendencies. We needed to get everyone drilled in one fixed position – or two at the most. Utility players are only a stop-gap measure and hardly win you trophies.
We should have sorted out team tactics before kick-off. Everybody should have been aware of his duties.
After the game, British Club graciously invited us to their club house for a shower, some slop and to watch the Manchester derby. Kumar, Lance and I stayed on and enjoyed the British hospitality while the rest of our squad left for home. Our hosts were really nice to offer us seats at their table and some beer and slop. We would be delighted to play them again. We will be aiming to put one over them the next time.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Arabian Nights
"When the Lady of Beauty heard these words, she smiled and laughed pleasantly. Then she whispered to him, "by Allah, you have quenched a fire that was bothering me, and now, my dark-haired darling, take me to you and press me against your chest." Then she stripped to her outer garment,and she threw open her chemise from the neck downward and showed her womb and the rondure of her hips. When badar al-Din saw this glorious sight, his desires were aroused, and he got up, took off his clothes, wrapped the purse of gold that contained the thousand dinars from the Jew in his bag trousers, and laid them under the edge of the bed. Then he took off his turban, placed it on top of his clothes, and had nothing on except his skullcap and fine shirt of blue silk laced with gold. Thereupon, the Lady of Beauty embraced him, and he took her onto his arms, set her legs around his wrist, and aimed his cannon point-blank at the spots where it would batter down the bulwark of maidenhead and lay it to waste. And he found her a pearl unpierced and a filly unridden by men except himself. So he took her virginity and enjoyd her youth in his virility, and soon he withdrew sword from sheath. Then he returned to the fray right away, and when the battle and the siege were finished, there had been some fifteen assaults, and she conceived through him that very night. Afterward he placed his hand under her head, and she did the same, and they embraced and fell asleep in each other's arms."
Ratings: 4.5 /5
Thursday, April 8, 2010
My Thoughts
XH explained to me the exquisite concept of motorboating. It involves putting your face between a well-endowed hussy’s boobs, sticking your tongue out, and then whipping your head left and right in a vigorous and rapid motion. XH is a great teacher indeed. The Ministry of Education should re-employ him and give him a position in senior management.
The local tabloid ran a story on one of China’s “football babies”. The 27 year old Liu Wenwen idolizes Roberto “The Divine Ponytail” Baggio, complains about Chinese football “having form but no substance”, and most importantly, she is the perfect advertisement for The Beautiful Game. This is a conspiracy. Why can’t we have “football babies” like her? Hell, I don’t think we even have any! We may not get to see the World Cup. We have no football babies. What do we have?! Nothing! This is a shithole!
Most xtians are hypocrites, and this is exemplified by Police Car’s protestations after I wrote “Praise be GL” on his Facebook page. He said that I should be more discrete, as his friends are not fools. I quite disagree with him. The fact that you believe in a preposterous and poorly written horror story by some donkeys 2,000 years ago is already more than sufficient proof that there is something wrong with your head. I don’t think his friends are very smart. Anyway, GL can stand for “Good Lord”, or “Gawd Loves”. It does not have to mean Geylang (a red light district). Police Car freely engages the services of “women of virtue”, and at the same time, participates in church outings and writes some holy claptrap on his FB page to commemorate Easter Sunday. He should admit that he is a libertine and deconvert to atheism.
An ET lands on this planet.
The African goes on all fours and worships it.
The Arab decries it as an infidel and issues a fatwa against it.
The American tries to sell derivatives to it.
The Chinese, who is the smartest, thinks of ways to cook it.
While watching the football I found myself irritated by the idiotic commentary. Whiteys seem to have a problem with Asian names. Sometimes the commentator referred to Park Ji Sung as “Ji Sung Park; other times it was “Park Ji Sung”. To the best of my knowledge, no Asian I know has ever referred Wayne Rooney as “Rooney Wayne”. How could professional commentators get a simple thing like this wrong? Really, if you are going to fuck up your commentary, at least be consistent and fuck it up all the way. No wonder people working for the media are universally disliked.
The local tabloid ran a story on one of China’s “football babies”. The 27 year old Liu Wenwen idolizes Roberto “The Divine Ponytail” Baggio, complains about Chinese football “having form but no substance”, and most importantly, she is the perfect advertisement for The Beautiful Game. This is a conspiracy. Why can’t we have “football babies” like her? Hell, I don’t think we even have any! We may not get to see the World Cup. We have no football babies. What do we have?! Nothing! This is a shithole!
Most xtians are hypocrites, and this is exemplified by Police Car’s protestations after I wrote “Praise be GL” on his Facebook page. He said that I should be more discrete, as his friends are not fools. I quite disagree with him. The fact that you believe in a preposterous and poorly written horror story by some donkeys 2,000 years ago is already more than sufficient proof that there is something wrong with your head. I don’t think his friends are very smart. Anyway, GL can stand for “Good Lord”, or “Gawd Loves”. It does not have to mean Geylang (a red light district). Police Car freely engages the services of “women of virtue”, and at the same time, participates in church outings and writes some holy claptrap on his FB page to commemorate Easter Sunday. He should admit that he is a libertine and deconvert to atheism.
An ET lands on this planet.
The African goes on all fours and worships it.
The Arab decries it as an infidel and issues a fatwa against it.
The American tries to sell derivatives to it.
The Chinese, who is the smartest, thinks of ways to cook it.
While watching the football I found myself irritated by the idiotic commentary. Whiteys seem to have a problem with Asian names. Sometimes the commentator referred to Park Ji Sung as “Ji Sung Park; other times it was “Park Ji Sung”. To the best of my knowledge, no Asian I know has ever referred Wayne Rooney as “Rooney Wayne”. How could professional commentators get a simple thing like this wrong? Really, if you are going to fuck up your commentary, at least be consistent and fuck it up all the way. No wonder people working for the media are universally disliked.
Up to a Certain Degree
If I manage to get my degree, it will be my first and probably my last business degree. There is only so much economics and finance jargon one can take before a mental collapse occurs. I may take up a second degree and it will either be in English or Mass Communications. After all the suffering I have gone through I certainly deserve something easy. The world of business is highly fascinating and unlike in esoteric and totally useless fields like theology and theatre studies, it is wholly based on the reality. The thing is, however, that I have no time to assimilate much of what I have learnt. When you are up to your throat in deadlines, you just want to finish the assignments. The understanding can take a back seat and in most cases it is nowhere to be found.
Furthermore, with so many paper mills offering cheap and easy business degrees, the monetary benefits a business degree used to confer is now hugely diminished. Why would a company hire a Shitholer who went through three tough years at NUS when it can jolly well employ an Ah-Tiong with an 18 month degree from Kaplan? True, the Ah Tiong may not speak English very well, and his knowledge may not be as good (how much can a business student possibly learn in 18 months?), but at least you don’t need to contribute CPF to him (less operating costs), and lose him for up to 40 days a year due to his reservist call-up (additional costs incurred). The market is so saturated with cheap business degrees that wages are depressed and people cannot find a job with a decent pay, despite being highly qualified (I exclude the paper mill degree holders from this consideration).
On an unrelated note, XH had tickets to a press screening but I was not able to make it because I had class. International economics is a very absorbing topic and my lecturer has been doing a pretty good job at teaching us. Unfortunately I was just too exhausted to pick up much and the only thing I managed to achieve was deciding on how to spilt our group assignment. (As usual, I took the essay questions.) On hindsight I should have just gone to the press screening instead. XH told me that he has free movie passes every week. How I envy him. Now, this is the kind of overtime I could learn to love!
This isn’t a day when I wake up and don’t think my business course is not worth it. Don’t get me wrong – I like studying about business. It’s just that besides the reasons aforementioned, the work load is just too heavy. When you have gone through over two years of academic life which is basically ‘rush, rush and rush’, and are having to keep up the pace for another year, you do feel jaded. And when you hear that students in other courses have like, weeks to finish a 1,000 word limit assignment consisting of a press release and a letter, you start to ask yourself whether your exertions are worth it. Both are degrees, but why such a staggering disparity in course requirements? The moon may seem brighter on the other side yes, but it is because it is really brighter. I am the sole survivor in my enrollment batch, at least among the people I know anyway. My fellows have either dropped out or been relegated. The bloke who talked to me during my university interview was not bullshitting when he said the attrition rate was 40%. I don’t know how long I can keep this up, especially considering my reslavery period will cut into my capstone module schedule. I don’t really care about grades anymore. I just want to get it done and over with.
Furthermore, with so many paper mills offering cheap and easy business degrees, the monetary benefits a business degree used to confer is now hugely diminished. Why would a company hire a Shitholer who went through three tough years at NUS when it can jolly well employ an Ah-Tiong with an 18 month degree from Kaplan? True, the Ah Tiong may not speak English very well, and his knowledge may not be as good (how much can a business student possibly learn in 18 months?), but at least you don’t need to contribute CPF to him (less operating costs), and lose him for up to 40 days a year due to his reservist call-up (additional costs incurred). The market is so saturated with cheap business degrees that wages are depressed and people cannot find a job with a decent pay, despite being highly qualified (I exclude the paper mill degree holders from this consideration).
On an unrelated note, XH had tickets to a press screening but I was not able to make it because I had class. International economics is a very absorbing topic and my lecturer has been doing a pretty good job at teaching us. Unfortunately I was just too exhausted to pick up much and the only thing I managed to achieve was deciding on how to spilt our group assignment. (As usual, I took the essay questions.) On hindsight I should have just gone to the press screening instead. XH told me that he has free movie passes every week. How I envy him. Now, this is the kind of overtime I could learn to love!
This isn’t a day when I wake up and don’t think my business course is not worth it. Don’t get me wrong – I like studying about business. It’s just that besides the reasons aforementioned, the work load is just too heavy. When you have gone through over two years of academic life which is basically ‘rush, rush and rush’, and are having to keep up the pace for another year, you do feel jaded. And when you hear that students in other courses have like, weeks to finish a 1,000 word limit assignment consisting of a press release and a letter, you start to ask yourself whether your exertions are worth it. Both are degrees, but why such a staggering disparity in course requirements? The moon may seem brighter on the other side yes, but it is because it is really brighter. I am the sole survivor in my enrollment batch, at least among the people I know anyway. My fellows have either dropped out or been relegated. The bloke who talked to me during my university interview was not bullshitting when he said the attrition rate was 40%. I don’t know how long I can keep this up, especially considering my reslavery period will cut into my capstone module schedule. I don’t really care about grades anymore. I just want to get it done and over with.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
One Late Night
Already exhausted from a long day of work and martial arts practice, I forced myself to tackle my Business online MCQ. My struggle took me three hours. From 10.30pm to 1.30am, I flipped through my course notes, Googled, and resorted to guesswork. My eyes hurt from the glare and I felt Enkish, but I pulled through and my reward was to learn that I survived the quiz. This was surely a sign of my tremendous mental strength. I strongly feel that most of my full-time counterparts in NUS, NTU and SMU cannot hold a candle to me in terms of mental fortitude. If I had the luxury of doing a full-time degree, I would have been challenging for First Class Honours every season.
With barely an hour of rest I woke up and watched the Champions League tie between Barcelona and the Arse. The football Barcelona produced was breathtaking. Their intricate passing and movement off the ball made the Arse look like some obscure South-East Asian club. It was like watching a team of Zidanes. World class, delicious, and irresistible.
Although diminutive in frame, Lionel Messi stood head and shoulders even above even this esteemed group. He was unstoppable on the night, weaving in and out of the hapless Arse defence with such poise he seemed like a mirage in the desert. His four brilliantly taken goals propelled him into history, and as he joined his teammates in celebration after the final whistle, the Nou Camp saluted him as one. And didn’t he deserve it.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The Men Who Stare At Boobs
Looking at Breasts is Healthy (From wholefitness.com)
10 Minutes of Staring at Breasts Daily Prolongs Man's Life by 5 Years.
According to German research published in New England Journal of Medicine, men staring at women's breasts in fact prolong their lives with years.
"Just 10 minutes of looking at the charms of a well-endowed females is equivalent to a 30-minute aerobics work-out," said author Dr. Karen Weatherby, a gerontologist.
The team led by Weatherby was made up of researchers at three hospitals in
Epic boobs. (Image from mancouch.com)
For five years, the breasts oglers presented a lower blood pressure, slower resting pulse rates and decreased risk of coronary artery disease.
"Sexual excitement gets the heart pumping and improves blood circulation. There's no question: Gazing at large breasts makes men healthier. Our study indicates that engaging in this activity a few minutes daily cuts the risk of stroke and heart attack in half." said Weatherby, who even recommends that men aged over 40 should spend at least 10 minutes daily admiring breasts sized "D-cup" or larger.
Well, men, look at breasts, then: Looking at breasts is as healthy as going to the gym for 30 minutes daily and prolonged a man's life by five years.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Good Rant
I found this rant on a forum. It was posted by one " Toothburs", who claimed to have found it on another site. It is a good rant so I am leaving it in its original form. The horrible grammar just lends to its charm...
Why we hate Ah Tiongs and FTs
This is the fact like it or not.
We are proud to be Singaporeans (CHinese, Malays, Indians, Eurasians, minorities).
Singaporean Chinese are not China Chinese we are never the same. Don't ever link us
together.
Yaya you want to play ancestors from China.
Fact
My ancestors came from China for a better life in SIngapore which has nothing. Working hard contributing to the nation, eventually settling down here spreading their roots.
Fact
Our so called FT came to SIngapore which the infrastructure had been developed by the
hardworks of Singaporeans. DO they plan to work hard, contribute and settle down here?
I doubt so.
Many FTs used SIngapore as a stepping board to migrate to US, Europe and Australia. When they first came, they say everything is so nice in Singapore. When they migrate they
complain everything saying their motherland is much better. If so, at the first place why
come here.
Imagine this:
China population is around 1.3 billion (1300,000,000). Today your government decided to
allow 10% of the population which is around 100,00,000new migrants to come work, study and live here.
Suddenly overnight.
-Your public transport is overwhelmed by the new migrants. You cannot get to work on time
which previously able to. Now you need to wake up 30mins-1h earlier to squeeze on the public transport. After work, you need to spend an additional 30mins-1h to reach home.
-your parents,friends, relatives or even you were being retrenched/sacked as he mentioned
that with your current pay you getting, he can get 3 new migrants that ask much lesser pay.
After being retrenched/sacked, you are unable to find another job as new migrants younger,
higly qualified, willing to risk, expect lower pay to compete the same job.
-Your parents had worked so hard providing you a local education until University. The
vacancies available now are further reduced as they are reserved to new migrants on
government scholarships with fully paid lodging and expenses. You are unable to get in
though you have the necessary grades. Now your parents had to worked even harder to sent you to private university or even send you overseas to study, which strecthed them even further. Isn't the university is to look after the welfare of the locals first?
- you go shopping or even visiting your local hawker, the salesperson or owner is a new
migrant he doesn't speak your language and understand what you trying to say. This dampens your mood.
-your neighbourhood is suddenly overwhelmed by these new migrants. They treat your
neighbourhood as if their own. You don't understand what they say, they behave and what they think. It created a disharmony.
Please Ah Tiongs and FTs put yourself in Singaporean shoes. This is what SIngaporeans are
facing now.
We would welcome you if you are sincere to contribute to Singapore.
Remember, you are the guest and we are the host.
You don't change the rules here !
With regrards to the China student need money for surgery, I will not donate.
Yes I am selfish.
But today if my/parents/relatives/friends had fallen ill will you donate to my cause?
I doubt so.
SIngaporeans had to be selfish because there is no one to pity us. Our lives had gone from
bad to worse.
Definetly you would protect your own people first, before others.
A Night of Scenery
On Tuesday night I met Police Car, Chicken, and his wife for steamboat in Bugis. I was late so they had already started on the slop by the time I reached the slophouse. Without further ado, I settled down and attacked the slop.
There was a really good-looking hussy seated at the table next to ours. Initially she set perpendicularly to me but then she changed seats and faced my direction. One look – I took many – confirmed that she is not a Shitholer. From her porcelain white skin and delicate features, it was obviously she was from China. She was very pretty. As she stood up from time to time, I feasted upon her lovely and shapely form. Like any normal bloke, Police Car also admired her, and as I ate I could barely take my eyes off her. Occasionally she glanced in my direction and I felt I could spend an entire night staring into her gentle orbs. She had a jaded, world-weary look which made her even more attractive.
Inspired by this magnificent sight before me, I started to narrate my frustration with the hostile scenery at UniShit and praised this angelic creature to the heavens. As I described in lurid detail my bitter disappointment with the shite I see in class and Shitholer females in general, I became more articulate. My standard of Mandarin was elevated, my tone increased in passion, and my diction became as smooth and unstoppable as the raging and unstoppable as the raging Yellow River – I would have made a fine orator then. My slop mates were of course astonished and entertained by my vehemence. I even said that I should have gone into some arty-farty course instead of this blasted business degree. Both give you crap papers in returns, but at least the former affords you much superior scenery.
Upon hearing how miserable my existence is, Chicken’s wife suggested that I go to work in Shanghai. She said that “entire streets are filled with beauties.” I have never been to China but I trust her judgment in these matters. If the Chinese “ladies of virtue” I see in the Holy Land are indicative of the general population in China, I wouldn’t mind migrating there even. With my degree and English proficiency I’ll sign on as an officer in the People’s Liberation Army and volunteer to be posted to areas blighted by religious separatists. I will round these faith heads up and re-educate them through productive work in labor camps. For the hard cases who refuse education, I shall have them executed publicly. As for Tibet, I will lead an army and raze the monasteries, round up the monks for re-education, and shoot the Dalai Lama. These useless buggers have been living off the fat of the land and the blood of the people and their parasitic behavior can no longer be tolerated.
But my atheism is getting ahead of me and I am digressing. I mean, since the Shithole and China are both totalitarian states, there will be hardly any difference in many things. The best things are the lovely moving scenery and the fact I can bitch about religion without risking some stupid sedition act on my head. Sure, the public transport may be overcrowded, the public toilets non-existent and the food may even be dangerous, but I know for sure I can get extremely fast internet access, watch football for free, and never get to see fucking bastards in white telling the people what to do and rewarding themselves with huge bonuses (the Chinese politburo are corrupt but at least they don’t ejaculate so much moralistic bullshit). Hell, to be honest, after so much railing, I think the moving scenery is still the primary reason why I want to get out of this shithole.
I also asked Chicken’s wife whether it is easy to get dog meat in Shanghai. I expressed my frustration with my neighbours and their stupid cur and told them one of my goals in life is to eat dog meat. She replied that it is quite common in Shanghai. She also said the dog is best eaten roasted, and the soap is not bad as well. In the winter they even eat puppies. I was shocked and asked her if she feels this is too cruel. Not at all, she said. Indeed, we Chinese eat everything. We are truly the gourmets of the world. The French can move aside please.
An hour into my slop fest, the Chinese darling left. I felt as if a piece of my heart had left with her. A sense of despondency came over me momentarily. If only I had such lovelies in my class. I would definitely be highly motivated, but alas, life sucks.
Below our level were two tables of Hong Kongers. The table farther away sat a family, and the wife, despite having a few children, still maintained her shapely form. I was particularly impressed with her creamy white skin, which is even better than the dolly’s. A group of young people sat close to us. A lass looked really pretty; she held herself and the assets Nature had so lavishly bestowed her. She was like a beacon, a lighthouse, in the dark stormy sea – all who see her rejoice.
Deeply moved by these glorious sights and by the snippets of Cantonese reaching our ears, I started to tell my slop mates it would be a pretty good idea to relocate to Hong Kong, since I can speak Cantonese. I went on to say how much I abhor this shithole that works its denizens to death. Chicken’s wife replied that Hong Kong and Shanghai were even more fast-paced than this shithole. That I must see for myself. It’s hard to imagine any other reasonably advanced city being more stressful than Shithole. I replied that I’d would have gladly gone, but for the lack of opportunities. She said that opportunities are created, not given. I was most impressed by her wisdom and nodded in agreement. If I manage to graduate from UniShit, I’ll be sure to include on my employment cover letter my burning desire to migrate.
We left the slophouse at around nine. As the night was still young, we decided to walk around to aid our digestion. On our way to Bugis, my mates were saying that one of my ex-colleague’s wife has got pregnant and now looks utterly ugly. Before she got married she looked like the local singer Rui En. I was ogling the broad standing outside a nearby shop and upon hearing them try to describe her, I instinctively blurted out, ‘Fuck Rui En!” My mates were taken aback by my outburst and Chicken’s wife smiled and gave me that “boys will be boys look”. I think I am really losing patience with the mob here.
We reached Parco Bugis Junction, walked around, and had ice cream. The scenery was not too bad, but it was a pity the shops were closing up for the night. Chicken told us he would be sending his wife back and we said our goodbyes.
After they left, Police Car and I, having decided that the night was still young, walked to the back streets of Bugis. As we walked next to the shop houses, we basked in the exuberance of this wonderful night. Signboards advertised various goods and services, and the star attractions of this silent marketplace promised massages both exotic and erotic. We scrutinized each as we passed, and sometimes we peered into the shop, and unfortunately the merchandize were disappointing in quality. We arrived at a couple too late. Even those providing temporary reprise from the drudgery of daily existence must take a break themselves.
Police Car showed me the establishment where he had a soothing massage prior to the slop fest. As we passed by a stairway leading to an “establishment”, we saw a hussy leaning against the wall and talking on the phone. She looked pretty so Police Car and I waited for her to finish. Sure enough, she accosted us and Police Car asked her the rates. She quoted a price and said, “We normally close at 11pm, but if you are interested I can do it for you.” Seeing that the time was late, I replied that we would be return tomorrow. I guess she got the idea, but for a hussy in her 30s, she was not half bad looking.
We then crossed the road to the shopping centre known in knowledgeable circles for its night-life. A bored looking security guard was evidently trying his best not to sleep. An “Indian shop” near the entrance functioned as a 7-11. All the shops were closed save for the pubs and KTV lounges on the upper floors. Occasionally feminine laughter would shatter the relative quiet, and the traffic consisted of night owls on their personal discrete but no less compelling missions.
Having explored most of the area, we tried the corner where the pubs were. There weren’t any establishments to be found and left with no other forms of entertainment, Police Car and I decided to make our way home. It had been a lovely night indeed. I determine to get out of this Shithole so that my vision will not continue to suffer from the lack of aesthetically pleasing scenery.
There was a really good-looking hussy seated at the table next to ours. Initially she set perpendicularly to me but then she changed seats and faced my direction. One look – I took many – confirmed that she is not a Shitholer. From her porcelain white skin and delicate features, it was obviously she was from China. She was very pretty. As she stood up from time to time, I feasted upon her lovely and shapely form. Like any normal bloke, Police Car also admired her, and as I ate I could barely take my eyes off her. Occasionally she glanced in my direction and I felt I could spend an entire night staring into her gentle orbs. She had a jaded, world-weary look which made her even more attractive.
Inspired by this magnificent sight before me, I started to narrate my frustration with the hostile scenery at UniShit and praised this angelic creature to the heavens. As I described in lurid detail my bitter disappointment with the shite I see in class and Shitholer females in general, I became more articulate. My standard of Mandarin was elevated, my tone increased in passion, and my diction became as smooth and unstoppable as the raging and unstoppable as the raging Yellow River – I would have made a fine orator then. My slop mates were of course astonished and entertained by my vehemence. I even said that I should have gone into some arty-farty course instead of this blasted business degree. Both give you crap papers in returns, but at least the former affords you much superior scenery.
Upon hearing how miserable my existence is, Chicken’s wife suggested that I go to work in Shanghai. She said that “entire streets are filled with beauties.” I have never been to China but I trust her judgment in these matters. If the Chinese “ladies of virtue” I see in the Holy Land are indicative of the general population in China, I wouldn’t mind migrating there even. With my degree and English proficiency I’ll sign on as an officer in the People’s Liberation Army and volunteer to be posted to areas blighted by religious separatists. I will round these faith heads up and re-educate them through productive work in labor camps. For the hard cases who refuse education, I shall have them executed publicly. As for Tibet, I will lead an army and raze the monasteries, round up the monks for re-education, and shoot the Dalai Lama. These useless buggers have been living off the fat of the land and the blood of the people and their parasitic behavior can no longer be tolerated.
But my atheism is getting ahead of me and I am digressing. I mean, since the Shithole and China are both totalitarian states, there will be hardly any difference in many things. The best things are the lovely moving scenery and the fact I can bitch about religion without risking some stupid sedition act on my head. Sure, the public transport may be overcrowded, the public toilets non-existent and the food may even be dangerous, but I know for sure I can get extremely fast internet access, watch football for free, and never get to see fucking bastards in white telling the people what to do and rewarding themselves with huge bonuses (the Chinese politburo are corrupt but at least they don’t ejaculate so much moralistic bullshit). Hell, to be honest, after so much railing, I think the moving scenery is still the primary reason why I want to get out of this shithole.
I also asked Chicken’s wife whether it is easy to get dog meat in Shanghai. I expressed my frustration with my neighbours and their stupid cur and told them one of my goals in life is to eat dog meat. She replied that it is quite common in Shanghai. She also said the dog is best eaten roasted, and the soap is not bad as well. In the winter they even eat puppies. I was shocked and asked her if she feels this is too cruel. Not at all, she said. Indeed, we Chinese eat everything. We are truly the gourmets of the world. The French can move aside please.
An hour into my slop fest, the Chinese darling left. I felt as if a piece of my heart had left with her. A sense of despondency came over me momentarily. If only I had such lovelies in my class. I would definitely be highly motivated, but alas, life sucks.
Below our level were two tables of Hong Kongers. The table farther away sat a family, and the wife, despite having a few children, still maintained her shapely form. I was particularly impressed with her creamy white skin, which is even better than the dolly’s. A group of young people sat close to us. A lass looked really pretty; she held herself and the assets Nature had so lavishly bestowed her. She was like a beacon, a lighthouse, in the dark stormy sea – all who see her rejoice.
Deeply moved by these glorious sights and by the snippets of Cantonese reaching our ears, I started to tell my slop mates it would be a pretty good idea to relocate to Hong Kong, since I can speak Cantonese. I went on to say how much I abhor this shithole that works its denizens to death. Chicken’s wife replied that Hong Kong and Shanghai were even more fast-paced than this shithole. That I must see for myself. It’s hard to imagine any other reasonably advanced city being more stressful than Shithole. I replied that I’d would have gladly gone, but for the lack of opportunities. She said that opportunities are created, not given. I was most impressed by her wisdom and nodded in agreement. If I manage to graduate from UniShit, I’ll be sure to include on my employment cover letter my burning desire to migrate.
We left the slophouse at around nine. As the night was still young, we decided to walk around to aid our digestion. On our way to Bugis, my mates were saying that one of my ex-colleague’s wife has got pregnant and now looks utterly ugly. Before she got married she looked like the local singer Rui En. I was ogling the broad standing outside a nearby shop and upon hearing them try to describe her, I instinctively blurted out, ‘Fuck Rui En!” My mates were taken aback by my outburst and Chicken’s wife smiled and gave me that “boys will be boys look”. I think I am really losing patience with the mob here.
We reached Parco Bugis Junction, walked around, and had ice cream. The scenery was not too bad, but it was a pity the shops were closing up for the night. Chicken told us he would be sending his wife back and we said our goodbyes.
After they left, Police Car and I, having decided that the night was still young, walked to the back streets of Bugis. As we walked next to the shop houses, we basked in the exuberance of this wonderful night. Signboards advertised various goods and services, and the star attractions of this silent marketplace promised massages both exotic and erotic. We scrutinized each as we passed, and sometimes we peered into the shop, and unfortunately the merchandize were disappointing in quality. We arrived at a couple too late. Even those providing temporary reprise from the drudgery of daily existence must take a break themselves.
Police Car showed me the establishment where he had a soothing massage prior to the slop fest. As we passed by a stairway leading to an “establishment”, we saw a hussy leaning against the wall and talking on the phone. She looked pretty so Police Car and I waited for her to finish. Sure enough, she accosted us and Police Car asked her the rates. She quoted a price and said, “We normally close at 11pm, but if you are interested I can do it for you.” Seeing that the time was late, I replied that we would be return tomorrow. I guess she got the idea, but for a hussy in her 30s, she was not half bad looking.
We then crossed the road to the shopping centre known in knowledgeable circles for its night-life. A bored looking security guard was evidently trying his best not to sleep. An “Indian shop” near the entrance functioned as a 7-11. All the shops were closed save for the pubs and KTV lounges on the upper floors. Occasionally feminine laughter would shatter the relative quiet, and the traffic consisted of night owls on their personal discrete but no less compelling missions.
Having explored most of the area, we tried the corner where the pubs were. There weren’t any establishments to be found and left with no other forms of entertainment, Police Car and I decided to make our way home. It had been a lovely night indeed. I determine to get out of this Shithole so that my vision will not continue to suffer from the lack of aesthetically pleasing scenery.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Just Some Talk
My mate informed us that the footy at Sentosa this Saturday is cancelled because our organizer got into an accident. This really sucks. There must be something wrong about the people I played/am playing football with. One ended his miserable existence; another died in a motorcycle accident, one sustained injuries sufficiently serious to keep him out of a two-year work attachment in the US; and another continues to strike the ball with the outside of his foot so much his ankles are permanently weakened. The injured and dead notwithstanding, my former teammates were the worst kind of whoresons to emerge since Vinnie Jones’ The Crazy Gang - but without the physicality to complement a violent team temperament. Red cards, fights, fitness problems, lack of commitment and technical application characterized our play and precipitated our heavy defeat in many a match. The current mobs had less or more of the aforementioned deficiencies; with an added emphasis on in-group collectivism, selfishness, stupidity and aesthetical inferiority (I don’t mean the standard of football here). Maybe I should take up golf.
I have finally bought my shades. I wear them when I have to go outdoors on a sunny day, and at night as well, to protect my eyes from the blinding headlights and lamps. The polarized lenses reduce the glare from reflected light, and I am beginning to prefer seeing through a shade of brown than looking at things with my naked eyes. I would have worn them at the office if nobody minded. I am truly becoming cat-eyed. The night is beautiful, and the darkness is comforting. Ah…the darkness…
While watching Bangkok Dangerous last night, I was struck by how lovely and charming Thai ladies can be, especially if you are a bloke and not a Thai one. Most military personnel who have been to Thailand for military exercises sing the praises of its womenfolk. Some even return to visit their squeezes or carry on long distance relationships via the phone and internet. In the movie, the assassin (played by Nicholas Cage - what an ugly cracker!) had an easy time picking up Charlie Yeung’s Thai character. It may be corny but this happens all the time. If you cannot score with your local lasses, go to the Land of Smiles. I am not implying that the Thai womenfolk are all gold-diggers or sluts but they are really friendly people. A Shitholer bloke who is despised by the generally high-priced, overrated, arrogant, dumb and ugly specimens we call our women will be hot property in Thailand. They love us there. I know blokes who married Thais and to the best of my knowledge, none of them are divorced or contemplating divorce. There are also people who have Thai squeezes and some even go back every few months to see them. Really, Shitholer women do not usually receive such devotion and deservedly so.
In my esteemed opinion, our local lasses should stop reading these shithouse women’s magazines. Hardly an issue goes by without some she-male or ugly wench offering his/her/its idiotic opinions about ‘what men want’ and ‘how to satisfy your man etc’. It’s all bollocks! I mean, what do an effeminate bugger who ejaculates through the back door know what real men want in their women? If you are a gay who is reading this and feels offended, that is your own problem. I am a real man while you are not. If you are a feminist, serve the army first before you demand your bill of unequal rights.
What real men want:
1.
No size zeroes please. We do not enjoy humping miniature goal posts.
2.
Let a bloke be a bloke. If you can go on hours about handbags and the bloody Great Shithole Sale, we reserve the right to go crazy over football, cars, and Jenna Jameson.
3.
Learn to cook. One of the ways to a bloke’s heart is through his stomach.
4.
During sex, please ditch your best dead fish impersonation. Most blokes aren’t necrophiles.
5.
If we are career-focused, we are not spending enough time with you. If we are taking things easy on the career path, we are losers. If we are manly, we are insensitive chauvinistic pigs. If we are sensitive new age guys, we are softies. MAKE UP YOUR BLOODY MIND!
6.
The ability to have PMS does not give a woman the right to go crazy on any male and then expect him to apologize for something that was never his fault. Instead of blaming men, blame Mother Nature. Better still; blame yourself for your lack of control.
7.
It is the right of every man to ogle any hot looking hussy who walks past. His interest in her is perfectly natural and does not make him Tight Woods.
8.
Stop castigating local blokes who go after foreign birds. Look at yourself in the mirror instead. We (the male consumers) have a need; they (foreign birds) satisfy our need; you (local women): refuse to /cannot satisfy our need. Therefore, we choose them instead of you. It is simple economics.
9.
Stop bitching about glass ceilings and gender inequality in professional jobs and pay. They do not exist, at least not in this Shithole. If women earn less, it is often because (i) they are not as driven as men (ii) many women are Arts graduates, and compared to other fields, the Arts don’t usually pay that well. In this Shithole, men need to waste two years serving the army while women get a head start in their careers. Some industries, like construction and engineering, are male-dominated mostly because few women choose to take up qualifications in these areas. In human resources, sales, services and administrative roles, there is a real preference for women, especially good-looking ones. In a nutshell, if women want their cake, they have to get it themselves like their male counterparts have been doing since the dawn of history.
10.
Stop wailing about equality. If women want equality, they should (i) volunteer to serve the army with their men (if Israeli women can do it, I don’t see why our own deserves the right to make excuses); (ii) open the door for your guys – it’s not very heavy; (iii) on the first date, insist on paying. Equality for women should not mean inequality against men.
I have finally bought my shades. I wear them when I have to go outdoors on a sunny day, and at night as well, to protect my eyes from the blinding headlights and lamps. The polarized lenses reduce the glare from reflected light, and I am beginning to prefer seeing through a shade of brown than looking at things with my naked eyes. I would have worn them at the office if nobody minded. I am truly becoming cat-eyed. The night is beautiful, and the darkness is comforting. Ah…the darkness…
While watching Bangkok Dangerous last night, I was struck by how lovely and charming Thai ladies can be, especially if you are a bloke and not a Thai one. Most military personnel who have been to Thailand for military exercises sing the praises of its womenfolk. Some even return to visit their squeezes or carry on long distance relationships via the phone and internet. In the movie, the assassin (played by Nicholas Cage - what an ugly cracker!) had an easy time picking up Charlie Yeung’s Thai character. It may be corny but this happens all the time. If you cannot score with your local lasses, go to the Land of Smiles. I am not implying that the Thai womenfolk are all gold-diggers or sluts but they are really friendly people. A Shitholer bloke who is despised by the generally high-priced, overrated, arrogant, dumb and ugly specimens we call our women will be hot property in Thailand. They love us there. I know blokes who married Thais and to the best of my knowledge, none of them are divorced or contemplating divorce. There are also people who have Thai squeezes and some even go back every few months to see them. Really, Shitholer women do not usually receive such devotion and deservedly so.
In my esteemed opinion, our local lasses should stop reading these shithouse women’s magazines. Hardly an issue goes by without some she-male or ugly wench offering his/her/its idiotic opinions about ‘what men want’ and ‘how to satisfy your man etc’. It’s all bollocks! I mean, what do an effeminate bugger who ejaculates through the back door know what real men want in their women? If you are a gay who is reading this and feels offended, that is your own problem. I am a real man while you are not. If you are a feminist, serve the army first before you demand your bill of unequal rights.
What real men want:
1.
No size zeroes please. We do not enjoy humping miniature goal posts.
2.
Let a bloke be a bloke. If you can go on hours about handbags and the bloody Great Shithole Sale, we reserve the right to go crazy over football, cars, and Jenna Jameson.
3.
Learn to cook. One of the ways to a bloke’s heart is through his stomach.
4.
During sex, please ditch your best dead fish impersonation. Most blokes aren’t necrophiles.
5.
If we are career-focused, we are not spending enough time with you. If we are taking things easy on the career path, we are losers. If we are manly, we are insensitive chauvinistic pigs. If we are sensitive new age guys, we are softies. MAKE UP YOUR BLOODY MIND!
6.
The ability to have PMS does not give a woman the right to go crazy on any male and then expect him to apologize for something that was never his fault. Instead of blaming men, blame Mother Nature. Better still; blame yourself for your lack of control.
7.
It is the right of every man to ogle any hot looking hussy who walks past. His interest in her is perfectly natural and does not make him Tight Woods.
8.
Stop castigating local blokes who go after foreign birds. Look at yourself in the mirror instead. We (the male consumers) have a need; they (foreign birds) satisfy our need; you (local women): refuse to /cannot satisfy our need. Therefore, we choose them instead of you. It is simple economics.
9.
Stop bitching about glass ceilings and gender inequality in professional jobs and pay. They do not exist, at least not in this Shithole. If women earn less, it is often because (i) they are not as driven as men (ii) many women are Arts graduates, and compared to other fields, the Arts don’t usually pay that well. In this Shithole, men need to waste two years serving the army while women get a head start in their careers. Some industries, like construction and engineering, are male-dominated mostly because few women choose to take up qualifications in these areas. In human resources, sales, services and administrative roles, there is a real preference for women, especially good-looking ones. In a nutshell, if women want their cake, they have to get it themselves like their male counterparts have been doing since the dawn of history.
10.
Stop wailing about equality. If women want equality, they should (i) volunteer to serve the army with their men (if Israeli women can do it, I don’t see why our own deserves the right to make excuses); (ii) open the door for your guys – it’s not very heavy; (iii) on the first date, insist on paying. Equality for women should not mean inequality against men.
Monday, March 15, 2010
On the Edge of Collapse
My weekends were toast because I had to finish my %#&@ Business assignment. We only received our marked group project on Friday when we were supposed to have gotten it back by Tuesday. When I checked through it, I found that the comments in it were made on Thursday. I don’t want to imply anything, but we desperately needed our group project for our final assessment and to return it to us 72 hours before the deadline was rather irresponsible innit?
The word limit was ridiculous as well. Since most of us already hit 7,000 to 9,000 words for our first assignment, it didn’t make any sense that our final assignment, which was an expansion on the first, should have a limit of 5,000. Our markers claimed that having a word limit would train us to be more concise in our writing, but this is absolutely bollocks. If I wanted to do summary writing I might as well go back and retake my bleeding ‘O’ levels. I spent an entire afternoon getting 8,700 words down to 5,500 and it was certainly not funny.
UniShit is really a good university to attend if you (i) cannot pass ‘O’ levels English to save your miserable hide; (ii) enjoy taking shit; and/or (iii) just want an easy degree. XH told me that they had over a month to finish an 800 word argumentative essay. 800 words! My Gawd! His English textbook was typical UniShit fare: a fucking disgrace. It did not take XH’s wife much effort to spot a few grammatical mistakes when she flipped through it. Really, has UniShit no shame?! This is a fucking degree course, not kindergarten class! I do not think UniShit has our interests at heart when they impose word limits on our essays. It is more likely they don’t want the people they employ and who are PART-TIMERS like their pathetic students, to read so many words.. It’s very stressful you know. Let’s not stress the poor dears so much. They have their jobs and family lives too. As for the students, they are burning the candle at both ends too but ‘I’m sure they are all working adults and should be more mature” so let’s just fuck care them and let them stew in their fucking juices yea?
I came close to doing myself in last night. I was in front of the computer since morning and after doing the video presentation, I had a wretched time trimming it. To compound my misery, I had to retype the accounting statements and the sight of these bloody numbers made me nauseous. I held my face in my head. I wanted to cry but there were no tears because my eyes were dry from working in front of the computer for one whole fucking day. My head hurt, my brain refused to function, and for the umpteen time I cursed myself for enrolling myself in this fucking torture chamber. There are easier paper mills to attend. I would have graduated if I had gone to one of those. Business degrees can be easily attained in Kaplan, SMA and other places, but no, of all the places in this whole burning shithole I had to go to fucking UniShit. WHY? WHY? WHY?!
The next time I hear full-time Business students from NTU, NUS, or SMU complain about how tough their *miserable* lives are, I am going to snap. I don’t think they even need to do video presentations. They have all the time in the world. They can get plastered on lady’s night, miss classes the next day and still survive the module. In fact, I rather think they can sleep their way through their season and still pass. You get a UniShit student to try such stunts and it is a fair bet that he won’t survive. I don’t understand why people can still drop out of a full-time business degree. When you have been through eighteen levels of Hell at UniShit, most academic business courses are a walk in the park. Although I have never seen a single paper from NUS or NTU, I daresay that if I were a full-time student there I would be challenging for first-class honours. You get an average NUS student to swap places with me and he will most probably die cock-standing.
Anyway, after much struggle, I finally sorted out my written report, Power-point slides and video. At 2am, I sent the shit in and surprisingly UniShit’s IT system held. If it had failed then I would probably not be writing this now. My classmate was still doing and while I admire his mental strength, I still think that he was crazy. There is only so much shit a man can do before the suffers a spiritual and mental collapse. . I was teetering on the edge last night. It could happen again.
The word limit was ridiculous as well. Since most of us already hit 7,000 to 9,000 words for our first assignment, it didn’t make any sense that our final assignment, which was an expansion on the first, should have a limit of 5,000. Our markers claimed that having a word limit would train us to be more concise in our writing, but this is absolutely bollocks. If I wanted to do summary writing I might as well go back and retake my bleeding ‘O’ levels. I spent an entire afternoon getting 8,700 words down to 5,500 and it was certainly not funny.
UniShit is really a good university to attend if you (i) cannot pass ‘O’ levels English to save your miserable hide; (ii) enjoy taking shit; and/or (iii) just want an easy degree. XH told me that they had over a month to finish an 800 word argumentative essay. 800 words! My Gawd! His English textbook was typical UniShit fare: a fucking disgrace. It did not take XH’s wife much effort to spot a few grammatical mistakes when she flipped through it. Really, has UniShit no shame?! This is a fucking degree course, not kindergarten class! I do not think UniShit has our interests at heart when they impose word limits on our essays. It is more likely they don’t want the people they employ and who are PART-TIMERS like their pathetic students, to read so many words.. It’s very stressful you know. Let’s not stress the poor dears so much. They have their jobs and family lives too. As for the students, they are burning the candle at both ends too but ‘I’m sure they are all working adults and should be more mature” so let’s just fuck care them and let them stew in their fucking juices yea?
I came close to doing myself in last night. I was in front of the computer since morning and after doing the video presentation, I had a wretched time trimming it. To compound my misery, I had to retype the accounting statements and the sight of these bloody numbers made me nauseous. I held my face in my head. I wanted to cry but there were no tears because my eyes were dry from working in front of the computer for one whole fucking day. My head hurt, my brain refused to function, and for the umpteen time I cursed myself for enrolling myself in this fucking torture chamber. There are easier paper mills to attend. I would have graduated if I had gone to one of those. Business degrees can be easily attained in Kaplan, SMA and other places, but no, of all the places in this whole burning shithole I had to go to fucking UniShit. WHY? WHY? WHY?!
The next time I hear full-time Business students from NTU, NUS, or SMU complain about how tough their *miserable* lives are, I am going to snap. I don’t think they even need to do video presentations. They have all the time in the world. They can get plastered on lady’s night, miss classes the next day and still survive the module. In fact, I rather think they can sleep their way through their season and still pass. You get a UniShit student to try such stunts and it is a fair bet that he won’t survive. I don’t understand why people can still drop out of a full-time business degree. When you have been through eighteen levels of Hell at UniShit, most academic business courses are a walk in the park. Although I have never seen a single paper from NUS or NTU, I daresay that if I were a full-time student there I would be challenging for first-class honours. You get an average NUS student to swap places with me and he will most probably die cock-standing.
Anyway, after much struggle, I finally sorted out my written report, Power-point slides and video. At 2am, I sent the shit in and surprisingly UniShit’s IT system held. If it had failed then I would probably not be writing this now. My classmate was still doing and while I admire his mental strength, I still think that he was crazy. There is only so much shit a man can do before the suffers a spiritual and mental collapse. . I was teetering on the edge last night. It could happen again.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The American Speaks!
Despite having some very strange views about science and religion, my American lecturer does say some very interesting things. Here’s roughly what he said during last night’s lecture:
If Shitholers do not want to start their own companies, they may one day be working for a Filipino company. They will be working for other people in their own country. It is quite sad isn’t it?
History has shown that dynastic rule never lasts. Succession often does not go smoothly. The oldest man in the world is like how many, 105 years old? All the wealth and power in the world cannot buy you immortality. We will see a change, and I reckon we don’t have to wait for long. How will it affect the stability in this country? We will just have to wait and see.
Shitholer/Asian students are very good at taking tests and passing examinations. They tend to beat Americans. However, they are not good at applying what they have learned to the real world. Don’t get me wrong. There are certain jobs, especially those that require you to take tests in which Asians excel. For other jobs, Americans are just better.
I noticed most of you used outsourcing in your assignment. Don’t get too obsessed with it. Don’t outsource just for the sake of cost-cutting. You are just being lazy. You are outsourcing work, not your responsibilities.
If Shitholers do not want to start their own companies, they may one day be working for a Filipino company. They will be working for other people in their own country. It is quite sad isn’t it?
History has shown that dynastic rule never lasts. Succession often does not go smoothly. The oldest man in the world is like how many, 105 years old? All the wealth and power in the world cannot buy you immortality. We will see a change, and I reckon we don’t have to wait for long. How will it affect the stability in this country? We will just have to wait and see.
Shitholer/Asian students are very good at taking tests and passing examinations. They tend to beat Americans. However, they are not good at applying what they have learned to the real world. Don’t get me wrong. There are certain jobs, especially those that require you to take tests in which Asians excel. For other jobs, Americans are just better.
I noticed most of you used outsourcing in your assignment. Don’t get too obsessed with it. Don’t outsource just for the sake of cost-cutting. You are just being lazy. You are outsourcing work, not your responsibilities.
Trying to be a Tiger
It is the Year of the Tiger and everybody wants to be jolly Tiger Woods. John Terry bedded his teammate’s ride; CAshley Cole had phone sex with some hussy; now local – and not so funny anymore – comedian Jack decides to rediscover his touch by making public his affair with a kiss-and-tell bitch 28 years his junior.
The precise details of their ill-fated, torrid and obscene copulations are currently a matter of national interest. Amid the conjectures of the uninformed and voyeuristic masses, one question stands out: How in the Hells did Jack bring himself to bang such an ugly strumpet?
Indeed, if the tart were to stand at some obscure lorong in the seedy district of Desker, I doubt that she would even be accosted by cheap and smelly blackamoors. According to the tabloids, this unimpressive specimen, horribly resplendent with her flat chest and a maw of a greedy mouth, had been a model. Of which ill-fated agency she belonged to, I know not. Since its standards were so low as to be non-existent, it probably closed down long ago. Then again, many local models are plain Janes who will not warrant a second look from people of impeccable taste. This sad fact only serves to illustrate how hopeless this Shithole and its aesthetically repulsive its denizens are.
While I am in no position to comment on his matrimonial integrity, there are two things that absolutely get my goat. First, after his extraordinary feat of mounting (and being mounted by) this phenomenally shameless bipedal bitch for two years, Jack allows himself to be threatened by this lower animal. A man with back bone would have told the tart that fun time is over and ‘daddy ain’t gonna give you pony rides no more.’ Since she was already being so brazen by confronting him at his home and going public with their affair, why not just fight fire with fire and denounced her for a lousy lay and he had to fake orgasms when he spurted into her loose crevices?
Second: Why in the Hells did he have to bring a charlatan to the reconciliation table? Surely Jack, his wife and this brazen hussy should be able to trash things out on their own (or trash one another). What good was a faith-head good for, save to mutter some irrelevant drivel? It makes one wonder to whom Jack was shedding his crocodile tears. Was he trying to show the world that he was truly repentant and therefore a moral man by asking his deity for forgiveness? Bill Clinton did the same thing when he was embroiled in the Lewinsky scandal. When you have religion, you can get away with anything. You can be a participant in the Nanjing Massacre; the Holocaust; and the My Lai atrocities, but you can easily mitigate your crimes and absolve yourself of all sins by invoking Gawd. It is hypocritical and spineless behavior. If he were truly sorry, he should have apologized to his wife instead of resorting to this charade. A real man does not need balls of steel, Gawd, or the company of a religious parasite to say sorry to someone he has wronged. Conscience is all that is required, and sadly, this JACKASS clearly has none.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Meaningless M onologue
Even in this Shithole there are enclaves which make the smoky realms of Gehenna a pleasant destination for tourists. UniShit is a good example. Its scenery is insipid, and the denizens roaming its nightmarish landscape are unsightly, with mental capabilities reminiscent of the environs where they infest. To get to this Hell, I have to endure nearly an hour of standing on an overcrowded bus. By the time I reach the place, I am too tired to concentrate on whatever the lecturer is saying. My stomach will growl from my missing dinner, and my eyes, already tired from staring at the computer screen at work, will suffer blurriness. My reward for enduring two hours of this self-imposed punishment – I am usually an hour late; a torture session is three hours long – is to join the throng at the bus stand and quietly suffer slow suffocation while waiting to board yet another overcrowded bus. By the time I reach a slop house, dinner has become supper, and even given my hunger I am too exhausted to have much of an appetite.
I am losing weight and at this rate I will surely be as emaciated as a World War II prisoner of war. My reflexes are slowing and my resistance to disease and other debilitating effects is deteriorating. What primarily stop me from emulating Robert Enke’s spectacular feat is the prospect of leaving this shithole and starting a life elsewhere. I think of this possibility every waking moment. It is an obsession that can only be cured when I either achieve my objective or meet my demise. I do not hope. Hope is the same as faith. It is irrational, irresponsible, and a weakness. The implied certainty that comes with expectation is, while superior, pales in comparison to the realization of what was previously an expectation. Hope is intrinsically empty. Like faith, it must be eradicated. When all else fail, there is the comfort only extirpation can bring. Embrace it. Fear it not.
Chicken and I went to the Holy Land nearly a tenday ago. The Chinese merchandise on display had porcelain skin and a brazen attitude commensurate with their high, magnificent breasts. The Thai and Indonesian goods were unworthy of scrutiny. As we strolled, entrepreneurs accosted us. Their goods were inferior and looked distinctly sad-eyed. Clearly their businesses targeted a more unsavory and desperate consumer niche.
The age of globalization has well and truly descended upon this shithole. Gone were the locals; in their place, Vietnamese and Thai men entertained speculators at the cards-and-dice tables. Shitholers are having everything, from their jobs and women, taken by foreigners. Now, they cannot even land a job in the black market and criminal fringes. Too bad XR was not with us. An hour walking around the Holy Land would have been more enriching to him than two decades of insipid schooling ever did. I learned more about entrepreneurship in the Holy Land than at UniShit. Maybe those pedantic, elitist and self-congratulatory prats from Harvard should set up a Business school right in the heart of the Holy Land.
After our Finance class, my mate and I denounced UniShit on our journey to the train station. I started the ball rolling by cussing our shite university. Inspired by the exquisite truth in my vehemence, he added that UniShit has absolutely no quality control over its intake of students. Any imbecile with money could just sign up and contribute his inferior qualities to an already noxious environment. It was obvious from the start that the whoresons just wanted our dough. When the regime announced it was giving a 40% subsidy to native Shitholers studying for a degree at UniShit, it raised prices for its modules and made us pay for what were previous free refreshments the very next season. He further added that the piece of paper is just for show and we do not really learn anything much.
I quite agree with his assessment. Personally, I feel – and this is a feeling that grows stronger with each passing day – that I would have been better off pursuing a degree in English. Last year thousands of Business graduates could not find employment after they finished their studies. I seem to recall a grossly overpaid minister saying that Business students should not be choosy and take up blue-collar jobs. MENSA should have offered him a free IQ test. A friend of mine said that he had to cap his salary demands to two grand, which was really pathetic for a degree holder. On Sunday, a Filipino working in the tourism and hospitality industry was featured in a local tabloid. He claimed to have a degree in his chosen field and is taking home $1,900 a month. This is really obscene. Foreigners are coming here, elevating our working hours almost to slavery and depressing our wages until we are practically paupers. Despite the lies our regime is telling about restricting the number of immigrants in the next five years and investing more on Shitholers, I think by the time I graduate – assuming I manage this incredible feat – I would be imposing a asking salary cap of $1,800. Furthermore, with so many paper mills offering business degrees, the price that piece of paper fetches will depreciate even more. If I had gone for an English degree, I would be able to ask for higher than two grand. Very few Chinese, Bangladesh, Indians and Shitholers will ever take up a degree in English, so there is less competition. The only thing that can upset the status quo is if they import more Filipinos (a likely scenario), or Shitholers suddenly start to take English properly (when pigs fly). Being a copywriter or editor is definitely easier than killing one another in the acrimonious world of business. True, I may not ever be rich, but the same applies to a business graduate. You do not get rich working for people. If you asked me, I would rather look at sentences than examine rows and rows of ledgers. I prefer criticizing people over their writing (just ask the Old Guy), than sucking up and sniffing some self-important executive’s scrawny butt.
Speaking of the Old Guy, I have decided to temporarily stop my peer-review of his book. I have two assignments to clear within the next 7 to 13 days and I cannot afford to expend brainpower on non-profitable endeavors. It has been an exasperating experience. I feel he is being overly defensive about his work. There is hardly anything wrong with his diction, but his style is long-winded and he sometimes wrote out of point. Gabby and I offered our honest opinions, but unfortunately the Old Guy mostly just refuses to change. XH promised to help us but ended up giving some really pathetic excuses. There is still much work to be done. Until we told him, the Old Guy did not even know he could get news online for free. (Maybe this explains why he quotes so often from the Shite Times. He claims he wants to target local readers, but he is simply just being daft and/or lazy.)
As a friend I wish him the best for his work. As an atheist I do not want him to screw up big time and disgrace the rest of us. Our kind has always produced quality books and he better not be the first to balls it up. After I am done with my stupid assignments, maybe I will continue to review his book. Depends really.
I am losing weight and at this rate I will surely be as emaciated as a World War II prisoner of war. My reflexes are slowing and my resistance to disease and other debilitating effects is deteriorating. What primarily stop me from emulating Robert Enke’s spectacular feat is the prospect of leaving this shithole and starting a life elsewhere. I think of this possibility every waking moment. It is an obsession that can only be cured when I either achieve my objective or meet my demise. I do not hope. Hope is the same as faith. It is irrational, irresponsible, and a weakness. The implied certainty that comes with expectation is, while superior, pales in comparison to the realization of what was previously an expectation. Hope is intrinsically empty. Like faith, it must be eradicated. When all else fail, there is the comfort only extirpation can bring. Embrace it. Fear it not.
* * *
Chicken and I went to the Holy Land nearly a tenday ago. The Chinese merchandise on display had porcelain skin and a brazen attitude commensurate with their high, magnificent breasts. The Thai and Indonesian goods were unworthy of scrutiny. As we strolled, entrepreneurs accosted us. Their goods were inferior and looked distinctly sad-eyed. Clearly their businesses targeted a more unsavory and desperate consumer niche.
The age of globalization has well and truly descended upon this shithole. Gone were the locals; in their place, Vietnamese and Thai men entertained speculators at the cards-and-dice tables. Shitholers are having everything, from their jobs and women, taken by foreigners. Now, they cannot even land a job in the black market and criminal fringes. Too bad XR was not with us. An hour walking around the Holy Land would have been more enriching to him than two decades of insipid schooling ever did. I learned more about entrepreneurship in the Holy Land than at UniShit. Maybe those pedantic, elitist and self-congratulatory prats from Harvard should set up a Business school right in the heart of the Holy Land.
* * *
After our Finance class, my mate and I denounced UniShit on our journey to the train station. I started the ball rolling by cussing our shite university. Inspired by the exquisite truth in my vehemence, he added that UniShit has absolutely no quality control over its intake of students. Any imbecile with money could just sign up and contribute his inferior qualities to an already noxious environment. It was obvious from the start that the whoresons just wanted our dough. When the regime announced it was giving a 40% subsidy to native Shitholers studying for a degree at UniShit, it raised prices for its modules and made us pay for what were previous free refreshments the very next season. He further added that the piece of paper is just for show and we do not really learn anything much.
I quite agree with his assessment. Personally, I feel – and this is a feeling that grows stronger with each passing day – that I would have been better off pursuing a degree in English. Last year thousands of Business graduates could not find employment after they finished their studies. I seem to recall a grossly overpaid minister saying that Business students should not be choosy and take up blue-collar jobs. MENSA should have offered him a free IQ test. A friend of mine said that he had to cap his salary demands to two grand, which was really pathetic for a degree holder. On Sunday, a Filipino working in the tourism and hospitality industry was featured in a local tabloid. He claimed to have a degree in his chosen field and is taking home $1,900 a month. This is really obscene. Foreigners are coming here, elevating our working hours almost to slavery and depressing our wages until we are practically paupers. Despite the lies our regime is telling about restricting the number of immigrants in the next five years and investing more on Shitholers, I think by the time I graduate – assuming I manage this incredible feat – I would be imposing a asking salary cap of $1,800. Furthermore, with so many paper mills offering business degrees, the price that piece of paper fetches will depreciate even more. If I had gone for an English degree, I would be able to ask for higher than two grand. Very few Chinese, Bangladesh, Indians and Shitholers will ever take up a degree in English, so there is less competition. The only thing that can upset the status quo is if they import more Filipinos (a likely scenario), or Shitholers suddenly start to take English properly (when pigs fly). Being a copywriter or editor is definitely easier than killing one another in the acrimonious world of business. True, I may not ever be rich, but the same applies to a business graduate. You do not get rich working for people. If you asked me, I would rather look at sentences than examine rows and rows of ledgers. I prefer criticizing people over their writing (just ask the Old Guy), than sucking up and sniffing some self-important executive’s scrawny butt.
* * *
Speaking of the Old Guy, I have decided to temporarily stop my peer-review of his book. I have two assignments to clear within the next 7 to 13 days and I cannot afford to expend brainpower on non-profitable endeavors. It has been an exasperating experience. I feel he is being overly defensive about his work. There is hardly anything wrong with his diction, but his style is long-winded and he sometimes wrote out of point. Gabby and I offered our honest opinions, but unfortunately the Old Guy mostly just refuses to change. XH promised to help us but ended up giving some really pathetic excuses. There is still much work to be done. Until we told him, the Old Guy did not even know he could get news online for free. (Maybe this explains why he quotes so often from the Shite Times. He claims he wants to target local readers, but he is simply just being daft and/or lazy.)
As a friend I wish him the best for his work. As an atheist I do not want him to screw up big time and disgrace the rest of us. Our kind has always produced quality books and he better not be the first to balls it up. After I am done with my stupid assignments, maybe I will continue to review his book. Depends really.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Killed Chelski and ManUre
Last week we knocked Chelski's block off. Yesterday we murdered ManUre. Nil Satis Nisi Optimum!
On an unrelated note, the quality of the following fan article shows how shite our lousy football journalists and columnists really are. If they had any decency, they should do the right thing and QUIT.
From Toffeeweb:
COLUMNIST KEN BUCKLEY
On an unrelated note, the quality of the following fan article shows how shite our lousy football journalists and columnists really are. If they had any decency, they should do the right thing and QUIT.
From Toffeeweb:
COLUMNIST KEN BUCKLEY
From my seat: Man Utd (H)
By Ken Buckley : 20/02/2010
Oh what a day... delirium abounded from all quarters of north Liverpool post match as the mighty Blues (as the match day announcer would have it) flattened the Sky darlings by 3 goals to 1 in a pulsating game that was contested between two teams in good form. AFter 95 mins of football of high standard, the Blues fully deserved the points. No fluke — just better than the Mancunians on the day.
The line-up reflected the players available and the manager did a good job in how he lined them up to meet a hefty challenge. From the off, Utd looked to have settled better and, but for a positive run from Osman, we were on the back-foot. After only 15mins, Baines showed his lack of defensive nous as Valencia passed him with ease and put in a low cross that Distin failed to cut out for Berbatov to fire home via the underside of the bar.
The away fans were in full voice and you did wonder whether we could make a game of it. Well within four minutes we got the answer, Neville pumped one forward that Saha just about got contact and the ball fell to Bilyaletdinov who changed feet and from some 20 yards hit a ferocious shot inside the near post that left the keeper motionless, his celebration was of such low key that you wondered if he really knew he had scored; however, the faithful soon roared their approval and Bily looked happy.
We were now getting to grips with things and our brand of football was on a par with potential Euro and domestic Champions so much so that within minutes from a Baines cross Bilyaletdinov profited from a Saha step-over but lashed his shot wildly over when he should have done better. Donovan was the next guilty man when from a Baines cross the ball hit Brown and he did not react quickly enough to capitalize.
The game continued in great fashion with both teams attacking well and defending well in equal measure with Osman at the hub of all the Blues good work. Rooney was relatively quiet such was the display of Heitinga but he needed careful watching and this proved the case just before the break when he burst forward, rounded Howard but Neville was back in to shepherd his rather heavy touch over the line for a goal kick.
Half-time and it was a pity it came as the Blues were getting the measure of Utd with Osman probing and coaxing and Heitinga in charge of anything threatening at the back. We wondered if the break may allow Utd to regroup and punish the two missed chances of that first half.
The second half started as though the ‘hairdryer’ had been out and Utd pressed and Fletcher exchanging passes with Rooney flashed one wide and despite the excellent work of Osman who was here there and everywhere in attempting to keep us going it was Berbatov who had the next chance but he glanced wide after a good run from Rooney had produced the cross and chance. Then the Blues started to respond to the non-stop work from Osman and both Pienaar and Arteta were again looking like the players we know they are plus some very assured centre-back play from Heitinga and we were outplaying the would be champions so much so that Sir Alex blinked first and made a double substitution after the hour mark when Obertan and Scholes replaced Berbatov and Park.
Little changed and we still enjoyed the upper hand and it was good to watch our midfield outplay theirs when for so many previous matches it has been the reverse. The manager seemed in tune with the fans when he rested Bilyaletdinov who, despite the strike of strikes, was not looking the most likely, and brought on Gosling.
As it turned out, this was to be a masterstroke as he had only been on the field 6 mins when a good piece of play down our left saw Donovan play a pass toward the by-line that Pienaar was onto in a flash leaving whoever was marking him to the mercy of his manager and played a ball low across the box that Saha and his marker seemed to miss but the wide awake Gosling was on hand to slot home and send the whole ground into raptures and silence the foul mouthed chanting of scouse stereotypic ditties from our loveable guests.
Fifteen minutes to go, 2-1 up, how would we handle it? Well, pretty well really. As you might expect, Utd pressed and we did get a little deep but with great reading of situations from Heitinga and the ever willingness of Osman to get the ball and keep it until he saw the safe pass we had just one real scare when the Ref Mr Webb gave a foul against Arteta for very little and booked him in the process and Rooney fired the resultant kick mighty close.
Two minutes to go now and the manager takes off Pienaar to a great ovation and introduces the Utd target (if you believe such things), Jack Rodwell. Another masterstroke as it would turn out. The ever improving Arteta showed composure to get on the ball in the 90th min and feed Rodwell in the centre circle, he looked up and advanced, the Utd defence stayed off him so he drove into the area, two touches and a shot despatched at ground level across the keeper nestled into the corner of the net.
Pandemonium broke out. The players swamped the scorer, the scorer whipped off his shirt and got booked joyfully, fans hugged kissed and cheered. It was all over and all assembled knew it.
In the final minutes added, the faithful regaled the ever emptying away end with chants of ‘who are yer?’ 'Rooney, Rooney, what’s the score?' and others that I won’t sully your ears with. Final whistle and just pure unadulterated joy both on the park and in the stands. Never has ‘It’s a grand old team’ been sung with such gusto three times. Never have the players milked the occasion for so long and never has the majority of the faithful stayed so long.
It was just great being there and for once I was delighted the Sky wizards would have to come up with something off planet to deny that the best team won and their darlings lost.
MotM for me Osman, the best midfield player from either side, very closely followed by Heitinga who was imperious at the back. Arteta looked to be getting better and more confident by the minute. Pienaar and Donovan gave the work rate and balance to aid Osman and Arteta in winning the mid field and that’s no mean feat against Utd.
In fact good displays all round including the goal scoring subs. That leaves Bilyaletdinov, a super strike, some delightful close foot work yet this fan is left bewildered exactly what to make of him, I think I will leave that one to the manager and hope he does a Fellaini.
Scalps against Man City, Chelsea and now Utd plus an almost v Arsenal leaves me thinking the manager's most pressing job is to gain that sort of consistency from his charges across a season. They can do it, they have shown it against the best now the trick is make me happy and show it against the rest.
Donovan is now a fans favourite but we lose him in the middle of March. I just wonder if the USA may think it prudent to leave him in the premiership and be that much sharper for their World Cup bid. Probably fanciful thinking--- but---
Sporting away on Thursday. Mr Moyes please play in the vein of Chelsea and Utd tactics, you beat them and they are two of the favourites for the Euro top crown so Sporting should not be given the respect and hesitancy of the first leg. In fact, if you have to, tell your players its Chelsea or Utd we are playing not Sporting and get them to act accordingly. That should do it!.
UP THE BLUES
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Year of the Cat
It may be the Year of the Tiger and Valentine's Day, but the reactions of our mini-tigers to the festivities are to:
Sleep.
Look bored.
His expression when the flash of my camera got him.
On a final note, Valentine's Day is no excuse for procreating. If you must, use a condom. If you are a Shitholer, do the responsible thing: Do not procreate.
Sleep. 
Look bored.
His expression when the flash of my camera got him.On a final note, Valentine's Day is no excuse for procreating. If you must, use a condom. If you are a Shitholer, do the responsible thing: Do not procreate.
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