Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Flights of Fancy

SIA are a dirty bunch, I swear

Come on, man, let's be honest, SIA meant to have the ad say 'You're a great way to fuck'. Come fucking on, is that the best you Singaporeans can come up with? Fiscal budgetting killing your ad budget for this year? And do you know where I read this ad? TIMES, November 2004. OMFG. You'd think they'd have more class than that. Thousands of readers around the world are sitting somewhere and the first page they turn to is to a cheap attempt at marketting SIA girls into prostitution. They might as well dress them up in thongs and put a price tag caption under every girl in the ad. And what the fuck is up with that dirty old man doing, pretending to leer off into the night sky? Come on la, I know what you're trying to do with that right arm of yours. And you girls thought SIA was the only way to go. See you in Hustler next month.

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Wednesday, October 20, 2004

I Believe I Can Zap

I have lots of stories to tell, but so little time to do so. So today, I shall tell you a little story about how fucked up static electricity is. As most of you know, I review hardware for a living. Problem is, our entire office is carpeted, and I end up getting zapped without fail each damn day. Sometimes, when I reach out to get a graphics card or power supply, I see this spark of electricity jump off my fingers right before touching the item. Holy shit. Apparently, just shuffling your feet around on carpet for a little over a few seconds charges your body with tens of thousands worth of Volts. Fuk Spiderman or Clark Kent then, anybody with a decent amount of spare time and a pair of really crappy rubber shoes can easily be turned into Static Man. Why bother be faster than a speeding bullet or shoot webs from your wrist when you can just as easily render a villian helpless just be touching the dude and zapping the fuck outta him? Of course, the problem with all of this is that static electricity lacks current to initiate cell damage. I mean, you do know that it's current that kills, not voltage, right? So, why not carry a portable current generator to aid you in ridding evil one zap at a time. Of course, the other problem is that since you're also a conductor, you'll probably zap yourself along with it. I think I'll just be content being Super Writer for now.
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Monday, October 18, 2004

You Be Da Fucked Up

Just read this, will ya : http://www.sixthseal.com/001151.html So, really, WTF. What's even more disturbing, the generous amount of replies seemingly in support of this inane act of blog expression. WTF. So if you're feeling suicidal, depressed, downright stupid, or you're just a whackjob, spam his website and boost up his hit counter, because you're obviously as cerebally-challenged as well. There's enough reasons in this world to die for, and going to sixthseal.com might just qualify as one of the top 5. Feel free to flame me, because in my blog, you lose. Go for it.
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Thursday, October 14, 2004

Love Lost and Friendship Divine

This is a story of a dear friend and I, and how the both of us share this remarkable bond, and of how the turmoil of the emotional baggage I sustain over the years have shaped me into the person I am. We met under the most unassuming circumstances. My first encounter with her was nothing more than a brief glance which quickly ended in me walking away. I can't exactly pinpoint just how or when we got close, or when we even started talking to each other, but I suppose if things are meant to happen, they will. As the years went by, our friendship quickly turned gold, and it was inevitable that we ended up being best friends. It soon came to the point where friends began to ask the classic question: 'Are you going out with him/her?' You see, I'm a writer, and I tend to wrap words up in so much ambiguous meanings, they often become taken out of context, and become generic replies which suits my purpose. "We're best friends. How can there be any thing other than that? I have too much respect for her than to throw it all away and risk trying to go for a relationship with her" The best liers are those who say it with a straight face. Heck, even that ridiculous sentence fooled her. It did for everyone. No one knows how my heart quickens when she calls my cell, or how my heart dies a little each time she find a new person in her life, only to find months later that it wasn't mean to be. Sometimes the yearning hurts so much I feel existence itself fade away to nothingness, and I'm left with the hollow, empty feeling of asbolute silence as I sit in my room, thinking how life spins its web around me. I decided to take a stand. Aching hearts and unresolved issues don't make interesting testaments for carving on my tombstone, so I put it all in an imaginary jar, and just when the jar is filling up to the brim, I imagine throwing it into the sea, forever drowning my grievances againt fate. A year later, today, I'm still holding on to that jar. She and I are still best friends, and I decide that this is the best for all. I know that boyfriends come and go, but best friends are forever, and that is enough for me. I will no longer claim that I still secretly pine for her, but I still do love her with all my heart, in whatever form that may be. The fact that I know she does too helps the nights feel less colder. Here's hoping that I will never have to write something like this ever again.
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Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Suspend Me


Suspend Me
Originally uploaded by kel_the_blogger.

I have a newfound fascination with bridges. Today I attended a press conference in One Utama, and as I pranced around the place, I came across the suspension bridge in the new wing.

Marvelling at the mechanical intricacies of the structure, I began to wonder if the science of bridge construction is a seperate discipline of engineering? I mean, it's subjective to compare and contrast whether constructing a building is any more complicated than building a bridge, but I would like to think that bridge construction is a more specialized discipline.

There are so many building designs to reference from, and engineers today have had a century of headstart to pick a stand-out design of choice. While bridge design is equally saturated and dates back to the hundreds of years, it is still a very niche talent. Which goes back to my original question: are engineers by default also equipped with the knowledge to build bridges? I think not.

I love bridges.

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Monday, October 11, 2004

Of Death and Resurrection

Last week, a friend of mine passed away, but not really. You see, here's what happened. [Debbie] Eh you heard ar? [Me] No. [Debbie] No, seriously, have you heard anything? [Me] I'm hearing your voice right now. What la? [Debbie] Faizal was murdered. Wow. Btw, in case you didn't know, Faizal is the cousin of the most hip and happening dude I know. Unfortunately, Faizal is nowhere near as cool, as always end up being the subject of endless ridicule by literally everyone. The single most persistent rumor circulating his existence is the myth that he shaves his pubes. Not only does he go clean shaven, he uses that same shaver and proceeds to trim his chin and face. He was henceforth known as Flattop, and if you don't get why, stop coming to my blog, you retard. So basically, when I heared that he was murdered, I sorta flipped. OK, it was more like a mini-flip. I mean, who the fcuk would want to kill that man anyway? Sure, he's a shaven haven geek, but that hardly means that anyone would want him killed. I called his cousin on his cell, but he refused to tell me what happened. Holy crap, it's not funny anymore. He insisted on coming over to talk. Fuck me. I was still sitting on my chair when he reached my place. Dammit that was fast. He came in, and this is the sorry ass story which I regretedly found out: Faizal's wallet got pickpocketted a few week's prior to this. Apparently, the robber somehow met to his demise when someone else murdered him, which proceeded to burn his body. When the police found the body, Faizal's wallet was found amongst the charred remains. And where is that retarded fool in the midst of all of this? He was getting some international hokey pokey with his girlfriend across the border. Figures. Can you even imagine how it was at Faizal's residence when the police came knocking down the door early in the morning? [Mom] Apa nih? [Polis] Anak engkau Faizal bin Cukur yea? [Mom] Yeala. Apa hal? [Polis] Anak you dah mati. Kondem. Hangus. Paham? [Mom] Ya allah... In fact, his death was even posted in all its glory in the Utusan Melayu paper. So, despite all he's endured, he just might be the collest one of us all; he's cheated death, and not only has he died, he came back from the dead to tell us about it.
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