HMS Resolute

  I fear resolution. I've in fact given it a better name, the HMS Resolute. I fear resolutions so much i've given them the name of a fearsome empire ship of the line. The reason I fear HMS Resolute is that if I do not keep my new year's resolutions, her majesty's ship with its rows of high calibre guns blasts my integrity and projected self-worth into nothingness. Splintering and sinking the dinghy of my soul into Davy Jones putrid locker.

Thing about resolutions is that they are problematically hard to keep.

I love new years resolutions though they may frighten me. On the last day of every new year, I can't help but to wonder about how I would be like on the same day, the same time only a year later. What would I be? An image plays about, formated like the beginning of Sims 3 where I get to choose muscle build, talents and all manner of things that would otherwise take about a decade to develop in real life. However, how marvelous to imagine! It's as if the beginning of Sims 3 is right on that piece of paper, with whatever I want to write on it happening to me next year. Therefore, I write resolutions.

Soon, I have for myself, a mouth wateringly grecian god like build, the ability to play any instrument like Mozart and Hendrix's monster child and the ability to woo even Jessica Alba from John Mayer's grubby hands.

Of course I completely forget that these things take discipline and a whole array of other character traits in order to bring them to pass.

Deceivingly simple these stealthy phrases of moralities are bouncing about in our head. Without another thought they flow from mind to arm to finger. To pen then to paper. There we have it, another resolution, written on a paper, a deceptive phrase promising all kinds of good things. Such as the ability to acquire a mate at a quickened pace, or to be able to become a artisan of such talent. 

But simply such things do not simply happened at the speed of pen, they happen over a period of many months, day in day out of constant patience, practice, study and discipline. I might as well have replaced practice, study and discipline with all manner of more un-luxuriously vulgar language. There they are, the cannons of HMS Resolute, volleying their vulgarities at my noble moralities. It can be tiring. 

 But, the human spirit is made of something a lot tougher than mere skin and bones, it is made of indestructible spirit. After all, your hands can't hit what your eyes can't see. Perhaps, then, my fortress will stand in the face of HMS Resolute and her hated guns. 

Apologies

Daryl: Sigh, I haven't update my blog for so long...

Jo: Me too man...

Jo: Must be the holidays. 

Daryl: Yah larh... too lazy to update during holidays. 

I apologise for not blogging

Because I've been holidaying. 

Been gaming and napping. 

Penang and travelling.

With friends just hanging. 

At church doing some helping.  

And doing glorious nothing. 

Hope you'll forgive me. 

I know you will. 

But I'm back at blogging. 

ing ing ing ing ing. 

Daryl Is SO SO SO SO awesome! He rocks socks !!

okay.makan time,

Fascinating Feminine

Women are all fascinating creatures. So scientifically similar yet so irreconcilably different from the male species. The fact remains true that the way female minds work is so astoundingly different that one might as well try to plant an oil tanker in the genetic divide. Females are perturbingly astounding. 

I tried to figure out a girl once, and I realized, you must be ready to sell your soul in order to please one. Also, one must abandon all sense of self, ripping your ego out of your spine and tearing it into bite sized little pieces to be consumed by the female you're trying to please. Miht as well rip out your spine while I'm at it. Therefore, the experiment begins.

Waking up in the morning, I grabbed a razor blade and started cutting out my spine. After so doing, ranting and raving at myself while listening to a de motivational tape on a loop. After washing up (cause girls like hygiene). I went out to see that lady. She looked at me as though a hungry Appalachian Snow Tiger about to pounce on an Appalachian Snow Rabbit. 

"I don't like spineless men."

"WHAT!" 

Girls. Who can figure them out. 

I never could, so I never really talked to them. Especially since I despise ripping out my spine in the most grotesque way possible, I never did whatever was in the last few paragraphs. However, that was what would probably happen. Had I found pain physically feasible.  

Go AWAY!

Jeremy was here...

jo is emo-ing because ... the girl he was eye-ing is taken -.-

Quotes of Quintilescence (yes I made up that word)

"Get a life!" History lecturer when asked about watching television. 

"hee hee, yeah, south park is funny" History lecturer when being asked about South Park.

"I had a life, I had a girlfriend." History lecturer when asked about his life. 

"After studying I got up and beat up my brothers, they needed it anyways." History lecturer when asked about what to do during study breaks. 

"oh my gosh, *bangs head on whiteboard." History lecturer when told about kids who inhaled their feces for a drug like high. 

"oh please, just make it stop." History lecturer when faced with a macbook's Expose.  

Signs of Exam Stress.

1) Nosebleeds.  I kid you not, I had a nosebleed before my history test. Or maybe because I rubbed my nose too often. 

2)Rubbing your nose too often. 

3) Making odd sounds involuntarily. (Daaa yaaa, Rar rar, Hurk lalalallaa!) 

4) Being addicted to the pain caused by exams. 

5) Foul language. (shmuck, Yaargh, buttocks, backside, nen nen, butt head, butt brain, boob face, virago)

6) Waking up in cold sweat. 

7) Writing letters of apology to parents. 

8) Crying.  

9) Making a spider a pet and naming it Mike. 

10) Killing your pet spider with a vacuum cleaner. 

11) Finding his mom next to your sink. 

12) Killing his mom with a vacuum cleaner. 

13) Falling into the dark side. 

14) Naming yourself Darth Wing. 

15) Crying

16) Hitting on your housemates

17) Getting hit by your housemates

18) Trying to kill yourself with too much indo mee.

19) Singing Barney's "I love you" again and again. 

20) Singing Veggie Tales. 

21) Making deals with God. 

22) Drinking far too much coffee. 

23) Bless your hearts. 

OMG

MISHIE WORE A DRESS.

and looked very nice in it. 

Saya Ber Emo.

Well, I am emoting. Whenever I stumble across some highly emotional blogs, I constantly wonder how on the deepest, darkest night can this person possibly go on with life? Every sad little post is a small miracle telling us the depressed person on the other side of the internet hasn't slit his wrists with his eyeliner.

 Or stabbed himself with his black color pencils.

 Or drowned in his black nail polish.  

Or his tears. 

Then I realized. 

Emo blogs and emo posts only come to existence when normal people are emo. As such, three emo posts in a month could mean the writer could only be emotional three days of the month. What a discovery! With that gauge in mind, measure the amount of times an emo writer blogs, as the result should give you an estimation of how many times he or she feels under the weather. If its merely three to four times a month, you have a particularly joyful creature who gets depressive whenever monday roles around, not a emo shleemo. 

Personally I endure emotional ups and downs religiously and fanatically. If I was a woman, I would be pregnant with an entire college of art students. Due to my blessed personality I would be from one euphoric extreme to the other groveling extreme. From the soaring heights of mount everest to the disemboweling depths of the Sarlacc. All within a single hour. This leaves me absolutely no time to blog about my emoness. 

However, I do emo.

I emo very well in fact. 

I shall now write a poem about my emoness. *ahem*

I hate myself

the passing pall of infant sorrow

I hate myself

oh the woe of dastardly tomorrow

I hate you

go and die now

I hate you

you ugly old cow

I hate the world

for making me cry

I hate the world

oh sigh oh sigh. 

PIZZA DELIVERY IS HERE!! YAY!!! WOO!! 

*Please do forgive me if I've trodden on emo sensibilities. I mean no insult. A blog is your own to express your own opinions. Unless those opinions are rude and vulgar. 

Knees On Floor.

An impending execution is something most would prefer not to go through. Many in fact would find the prospect of having one's neck divided by a cold metal axe a grotesque and fearsome experience.

 Once, a long time ago. More specifically, after the English renaissance during a time of noble pomp and poor squalor; children where hung or beheaded for certain offenses such as stealing handkerchiefs or stealing fruit. As time went by, these considerably inhumane rites were replaced by more humane but no less fearsome procedures and processes. The rough rope of the hangman's noose were replaced by Computer Science and the executioner's axe by Economics. 

Whosoever says they simply enjoy going through the process of an execution are merely putting on shows of bravado. Such acts were often performed by military men who desired to end in the most legendary way possible by smiling at the face of death or laughing before being pulled apart by horses. Indeed, such displays were exceptionally rousing especially for mere mortals such as I. However, they all met with the same an equal fate, the examination/execution. 

So there I was, in front of the examination hall awaiting my exams just three weeks ago. At present time, I've just received my scores. 

Before taking this examination, I knew first and foremost that I was a complete dolt. An intelligent dolt though. At the beginning of the year, I did very well receiving mostly A's and B's. I asked God for help every morning and begged him for mercy every time before a test. I normally placed around the top three to five in my classes. For history, I was the first place overall. Then I got cocky. Now, cockiness doesn't work out very well, especially when God is the recipient  of your cockiness, after all; He has a knack of putting dolts where they belong. 

My marks began a steep and unhappy decline. Its not my fault though, Youtube was as ensnaring as it was bewitching! Moreover to be fair, my housemate often asked me to wash insurmountable amounts of brown dishes sticky with all manner of yellow filth. Never did study much. After all, I was doing well. 

My averages fell. From being normally in the top three in my class, I fell to the average and sometimes below. In my college, an average score is the death warrant, calling for a slow and ugly death. An average was normally a failing mark, equivalent to having your heart dug out by a evil little girl wielding a small pink spoon. 

The biggest blow was when I received my economic mark. 42%

I quietly walked to my room and switched off the lights. I found the darkest spot in my room which was in my closest and just kneeled as low as I could possibly go. I put my face to the carpet and begged God for help and mercy. Especially for forgiveness for being such an arrogant teenager. A two weeks before executions began

So during the weeks nearing examinations, I begged God for his mercy and his help. I asked family and friends to pray for me. As well as his forgiveness for being such a rotting piece of dried breast meat in my house's fridge. I studied hard, asking God for his mercy each morning. 

God is faithful, help me he did. Though my scores may not seem like much, they are tremendous improvements. Today, after receiving my scores, and receiving some attention in the form of,"Wah... you ah joseph," or "not bad not bad." I couldn't help but to realize that it was because of God. I reread my papers and though the scores were passes and B's, they were such improvements couldn't help but to sit at my desk befuddled; realizing God was faithful, though I was not. 

My computer Science score was 65.5 % with the teacher writing "very good" next to the score. This test was incredibly difficult as acknowledged by the examiner and the teachers in charge of the computer department. Most students failed. The average overall was about 30-40 % or around there for that particular exam. 

My history was 78 %. Though I had slid from first place to third, I worship God as this was a good score. 78 % is an A grade. 

My economics was a  63 %. This was an incredible improvement as my last economics examination was only 43 %. 

My English and Australian Cultural Studies score was 76 %. Again, most had failed this exam. This was indeed a terribly difficult exam as most had gotten marks that were far below their earlier scores. My marks actually rose from a mere 50 % for my last test; to 76% which was the top of my class for that particular exam. God is amazing. 

I thank God for my semester 2 exams. I've come to realize over the past few weeks that whatever I achieve, I achieve for God and through God. As God has given me a sound mind to think, a heart to discern and two lungs to breathe, I cannot do anything without him. With my own hands, I cannot lift myself. Try lifting yourself with by pulling on your toes; its an impossible exercise. In God's hands however, I am lifted. Lifted by God's mercy. 

Now for round 2. 

I Heart Fashion

 When I was young, my mother arranged for me to have an examination on fashion, which was not the strongest of my subjects. It all began when my family noticed the unhappy symptoms of fashion retardation, such as matching garish green with giggly pink and not wearing socks with my shoes.  For such eyesore and abrasive matters my parents could still endure. However, the final blow came when they found me sporting pridefully, an uber cool Ultra Man wallet which was the equivalent of committing fashion suicide by hanging myself with dental floss. 

I was ordered to sit for an Fashion Intelligence Determination Exam. Or FIDE for short. 

I studied for the test as hard as I possible so I could retain a place in society among the fashionably sane. I read up on Yves Saint Vuitton; garnishing my mind with the knowledge that YSL was a homosexual male who received much hazing in the French military for being artsy fartsy. Also, I researched a fair bit on the cut of jeans among other things. All of which was as fascinating to me as reading up on military hardware. Though I had indeed done the studying, I poignantly realised that fashion needed a certain amount of genius and flare, which I simply did not posses due to some freak genetic missalignment. 

I sat there in the exam room doubled as a dressing room in MNG Malaysia. Worriedly, I clutched the pencil with my cold and clammy hands and pinched open the leather embossed exam paper. 

I stared blankly at the questions. And tried to answer them of course.  

Q) A pair of skinny jeans would go well with which top? 

a)topless

b)Some odd top which has a frenchie sounding name

c)I dunno

d) T-Shirt. 

 

  A) c

Q) Examine and Discuss the artistic attributes of the Paris/Milan Haute Couture show of 2007 and its achievements. 

A) The Paris/Milan Haute Couture show was stylish and stuff cause it had clothes that were nice.

Q) Compare and contrast the impact of the Calvin Klein Jeans line with its UnderGarment line. 

A) They were from the same company but the undergarments had to go under the jeans and were therefore different in that extent. 

At about question 4 of 50, I proceeded to squirt blood through my eyeballs. Screaming, I tore across MNG's flagship store, chaotically spraying blood all over their white-themed Spring/Summer collection. 

Needless to say, I was yanked out of the examination by a rather stylishly dressed guard and posthumously labeled a complete and utter dunce of fashion. Also, in another category of fashion infamy, was labeled as the Malaysian to ever receive the lowest mark in FIDE. Only second to the fanatic masses who religiously frequent Sungei Wang and its blasphemous worship of sharply contrasting colors and lace. 

As such, Megan Fox flew down from Hollywood to personally award me a medal and a kiss on the cheek. Yay! 

Yum.

Things I love.

Playing my violin to de - stress. (my poor housemates). 

Listening to Paramore's Decode. Outstanding. Love that song. Hayley Williams is hot. 

Goodness, what a voice from a petite frame! I was thinking of a Battleship Artillery Fire from a pistol! 

Doing my laundry. 

Screaming like a little girl. 

Reading Magazines. (Rolling Stones, GQ, Time and Men's Health. And a little Cleo whenever my self respect sinks to dangerous levels)

Walking about my room making mock speeches about topic that interest me. (I feel like I've shown you my underpants)

Hoarding unwashed dishes in my room. 

Cleaning my room once a week. 

Instant Noodles and Fried Dace Fish with Salty black beans! 

Nike Shoes.

I remember when I got my first pair of branded shoes. 

They were Nike Basketball shoes. I remember the look on my dad's face when I asked for them. He looked at my mom with that look and said,"sigh, give him la."

And I got my first pair of Nikes.

I remember being so proud of them. They were sleek and black, with a silver lining from front to back. They had special shoelaces which never untied themselves. I remember developing a habit of looking down at my shoes whenever I walked so I was perpetually looking down at the ground. 

They were on my 15 year old feet and I had no idea how to play basket ball and wasn't an athlete of any sort. But the shoe was made for an athlete, or a sportsman, but there it was. Stuck on my feet. 

I can't remember what I was writing about. 

My Condolences

Hey man... I heard what happened. I remember your dad. He was giving me and Jeremy a lecture about something deep; I don't exactly recall what cause I simply wasn't interested in theistic theories at that age. But I do remember this, I was dang happy when he brought us to dinner at Burger King's. 

He said, what did you guys want to eat? I immediately looked at Jeremy and said, "dude, burger kings."

 You asked your dad if we could eat burger kings. Uncle didn't particularly like Burger Kings and far prefered Chinese food like all chinese father's do; but he still brought us to BK. I fondly remember the free burger I inhaled under 5 minutes. 

Sigh... Its times like these even the most eloquent of men find that they don't know what to say. Its moments like these the best writers can't think of anything to pen. 

I could say, I'm sorry. But its just so shallow. 

I could say, He's with the Lord. But he's not here with you. 

I could say, Be strong. But, if that happened to me, I would be destroyed. 

I could say, Time heals. But it still hasn't healed. 

I could say, I know your pain. But I don't. 

But I will say this. Whatever capacity I have in my heart to feel your pain. I feel it. As much as I can possibly share your suffering, I share it.

Jon, as much as I know what you're going through is unimaginable; indescribable. But, have no doubt, that your friends would willingly share your pain if they could. Were here. God's here. 

When words from humans are useless, God speaks to you.

When comfort from humans offer no solace, God comforts you.  

Take care. 

Discovery.

    One of the most helpful things i've heard this year was this. 

   "you don't like the way your life is, change your life." 

    Simple as that.

   Thing is, there's always the big black dog that keeps you on a leash with a spiked collar. Constantly digging into your flesh. You try to pull it off, another spike digs deeper. 

   Procrastination is that big black blog. I've named it Buttock Face. 

   Thing about it is, whenever, a you say that you're gonna drag it off, its always in future tense. 

  What I mean is, it's always. 

  I'm gonna deal with procrastination. Gonna. 

  I have to deal with procrastination. Have to. 

  I'll deal with procrastination tomorrow. Tomorrow. 

  I'll have to deal with it soon. Soon. 

  I'm going to deal with procrastination now. Going to. 

  Its never," I am dealing with procrastination." 

 I'm dealing with procrastination. 

 

 But I'm sleepy. 

Magnon.

  I read somewhere that liberated women of today are succesful. They are wonderful, incredibly intelligent, vicious, smart and ferocious. They get what they want. And if you're in the way of what they want; you better get out of the way. They (refer to the blog post below). And yet, somehow, they are still women. 

 Remember, I read this somewhere. Being a woman, there's a sweltering need to bathe themselves in the full glory of a man's carnal sweat. The smell of ferocious musk and that satisfyingly sexy stench. Steaming puddles of perspiration welling up in the ridges of his muscles. His hair greasy and black with man oil. The stuff that moves even the sturdiest hearts.  They adore the deep barrely voice of a dirty man's lips. The ocean trembling roar of a man's sneeze. 

Face it ladies. You like Cro Magnon Man. 

Cause Cosmopolitan says so. 

I think that's where I read it from. Or was it GQ? Hmm....  

No Place For Woman!

The kitchen is no place for a woman! 

Feminists are fearsome creatures. In fact, they were always the crack battalion of troops of ancient civilizations. They could run, jump, kill, batter their eyelashes and decimate all who stood in their way. If the legions and cohorts of men armed up to their eyeballs found themselves in a a desperate situation, a desperate call was made to 1-800-Amaz-ons with weap-ons. Don't believe me? Go watch some movies! Cause Hollywood is always right. 

Whenever I think of feminists, I think of a horde of bulging Hildas on steroids and Harleys. Viking-like in their mannerisms and terrifying with their war chants. Upon stumbling upon a male who dared to make a particularly chauvinistic remark or action such as opening a door for a lady; ( 0h woe!) they would immediately rip their off their bras (an evil symbol of male domination) and batter the hapless man on pathetic noggin till he bleeds.

A long time ago, a wise man who made an unwise comment while eating his wife's cooking, once said: hell hath no fury then a woman scorn'd. Indeed. Men think they are so strong, with their muscles and ability to think logically. Bah I say. If men were so strong, and smart, why on earth do they need to ask their moms' or wives' permission to do anything?!

Thus, the kitchen is no place for a woman! Imagine if a woman were to be given knives to handle. Not merely that, pots and pats and all manner of sharpened cutlery. True, they might be tools of culinary trade; however, in the lethal hands of an angered woman. Such metallic articles could well become the instruments of torturous death ! The terror of having your heart suddenly dug out by a blunt spoon by a berserking female would be a debilitating, forcing men all around the world to watch their words. Imagine knives flying about at the speed of sound, slicing noses, ears, and mouths off! Fear and terror, unforgettable,unimaginable unadulterated inundated unanundunanunuted pain and suffering would reign! Boiling water would scorch male flesh!  Eyeballs dragged from their sockets with toothpicks!

No no no... keep women out of kitchens. Men make better chefs anyway. (hee hee)

Rock Ialah Batu (episode 2)

    What's WRONG with Liking Jonas Brothers! They are all sooo cute! I love all of them! Kevin is just such a juicy man! Whenever he smiles, my heart starts melting because I love him. I love, love, love, love all of them. I play the drums because of him. And I want to be just like the Brothers. They are my inspiration!

Some day... I'm going to be on Team Jonas!

  Mummy said I should hang motivational posters all over my room so I can get even more motivated. Never give up on your dreams! And I adore the cuties too! So I got a Jonas Brother's  blanket for my bed and Nick Jonas in my toilet so I can watch him whenever I brush my teeth! He speaks to me and gives me new ways to play my drums. I also got huge Joe Jonas poster on my ceiling so that whenever I go to sleep, I will see Joe's smile. MMmmm.... I normally have sweet dreams.  

I'm gonna be a drummer just like Nick! 

  So I joined this band by my big brother Joe. He say he need drummer. Then I say okay lorr, the drums are in my room. And I got enough space. Joe never come into my room before because he doesn't like a room that doesn't have wildlife reserve growing inside. But nevermind he said. 

  On that day. The whole band came to my room to rock! Me, my bro and Darshan. Then they saw all the Jonas Brothers pictures in my room and they called me a sissy! I TOLD THEM THEY WERE TALENTED MUSICIANS AND THEY COULDN'T HOPE TO BE AS GOOD AS THEM! 

  I hate my stupid brother. He took my drumsticks and started beating me up. He kept on screaming at me to hate Jonas Brothers! He's so stupid. So did that gorilla face Darshan! They made me say I hate Jonas Brothers. But I will never ever betray them! But it hurt so much so I say I didn't like them. 

 I lied.

Jonas Brothers... I will always love you. You make me feel special.  

My bandmates are idiots. Them and their stupid Rock Band. I hope my retard orangutan brother and his bomoh friend reads this. 

by Chun Tak. 

oh man... I can't believe I am doing this. If you're reading this. Seriously go get a life. Who am I to tell you to get a life. I'm writing this. I should go get a life. Check out sexy boy's blog for episode 1. Storyfromthemadhouse 

Parades.

 

 Light was shining with an earthy hue as lines of little Elves in blue blared their trumpets! In their sequined, shimmering red military costumes while skipping and marching in perfect cadence. Twanging treble music jumping out of their trumpets as they twirled in line. A sea of Gnomes followed them, each blasting on a silver trombone. They hobbled along with a clumsy gait, with their red and white stockings in their cobbled shoes. Their beards white, grey and black, their cheeks rosy as they blew. Yellow berrets on each and every gnomish head bobbing gaily as their shoes clopped. Their eyes squinting and their noses wrinkling as brazen sounds leaped from the snouts of their trombones. Their uniforms spectacular with the purple fleur de lis on every button and corner. All this as the parade marched on. 

  

   Giant, friendly trolls carried the percussion along the ancient, european renaissance style street. Stamping on the sides of the procession. They were dressed smartly in Navy blue. Gold trimmings, gold buttons and gold ties and all. Boom, boom, boom, came the sound of the beat as the smiling trolls slammed their drum-logs against the gargantuan base drums. The smaller of them carried snares while marching in between the big trolls. Their drums rattling and tattling as they snapped their sticks across the tightened skin. Their uniforms were bright red, still with trimmings of gold and silver. 

    The horns blared and sounded, as the tuba oomped and loomped as the elephants playing them marched by, behind the lines and lines of the odd colorful sea of creatures! Their trunks providing a steady yet, jaunty rhythm for the music to groove into. The crowds were excited and joyful as they tried to catch the bright blue apples floating down like confetti from the clouds. Then they oohed and ahhed as a squadron of 60 Pixies in six V shaped formations soared above. Each pilot pixie with a single white wand, magically waving tinkling, teasing snow upon the vibrant, colorful crowd below. Children were astounded as the teasing snow burst into more elves and gnomes who quickly joined in the marching parade! 

    The sky was filled with white snowflakes and bright blue apples mixed with clouds of brighter red confetti! I was doing my computer science and I got bored. 

Celebrity Crush #2

JoWONG (15 year old edition ):    Wow. 

Jo ( 18 year old edition):    WOW! 

all images credit to Nobeena cause I took the pics from her blog. 

Adrian

sdong dang doong funghi

Muzac

Muzac is actually "music", but since we live in an age where the letter 'z" means all things cool and adds a certain level of modernity to anything; I decided to add in Z. Muzac is actually music. Music, is something that everyone says they love, even though they might not be particularly good at playing and instrument or yet, have terrible musical taste. Indeed, taste is a matter of opinion, but if you like the taste of poop, please forgive me for failing to visibly hide my cringing (politely of course, we must respect everyone's opinions!).

Ugh. Down with cantopop.(RESPECT THEIR OPINIONS!)


Music is something that most people claim they cannot live without, often screaming with a near fanatic passion that they would drop to the ground and surrender their souls to whatever. Complete nonsense, unless its me saying it. My dad sells records. No record sales, no money, Jo starves and flies to heaven in a blazing chariot of FIRE.


But still, I truly cannot get through certain days without music. I love music. And I would die without music. (hee hee hee) My love for certain kinds of music is fostered by different people. Mostly friends, due to the fact that they more often than not, have a certain understanding of what appeals to me and what doesn't. It helps that my friends generally have an excellent taste in music.

Back in the day when I was a teenager... I used to listen to Rap/ hip hop quite a fair bit. KJ-52 was mah man. Yo shizzy to da fizzy izzy y'all.




Mmm... loved him. There was this song that provided me nonstop entertainment when I was doing homework. It was about how nerds would have their vengeance on the cruel world dominated by the diabolical forces of coolness.


Next it was Fort Minor. The first time I heard this over the radio it so quickly appealed to me! Even more surprising; there was a lack of reference to SEX! Finally! Someone wasn't rapping about something I knew completely nothing about! Lollipops? What on earth are lollipops. I hardly understand why li'l Wayne has so many women in his music video when the only thing he's talking about are lollipops.





Petrifying. Yo mista deejay spin yo black top yo. Boom ch ch Boom kakakaka. ch ch ch...


I know ya'll know what I'm spittin'.
Cause I know what ya'll are thinkin'
Where'd you go was da song you be listenin'
Singing along like you's somethin'.


However, all these were encompassed by the awesomeness of`





Rock, Rap, Nu_metal. Chester Bennington's screaming vocals. Mike Shinoda's rapping. Mr. Hahn's scratching. Wow. When this came out, I realised that my solemn vow made when I was 6 that I would never ever listen to mainstream music and only listen to classical sonatas was going to be broken.


An orchestra of distortion, scratching, vocals and thundering percussion. Song after song, track after track. Just when you thought they couldn't top "Numb", they smashed you in the ear drum with "Session".


I could not get enough of them.They're songs started out like something of an appetizer, with a beat, then they would add layer after layer after layer of concentrated listening pleasure. Not to mention their awards. If there's a separate link on wikipedia for a band's awards, you know its gotta be more than "runner-up for best movie track award"


Also, I borrowed this CD from a friend long enough to have her say... ," so you borrow things and don't return them unless they ask for it lah issit?!"


Ooff.


15 year old self, 18 year old self says its she probably forgot she said that. Learnt a good lesson there, you borrow, better return. Which reminds me, eveyone with their books in my house... SORRY.

Of course, though I still love linkin park and the Rap Hip hop era of my life was a good one. I had begun to make friends with certain muscially atuned individuals, namely 1000010001000 10000010010010 and 100101001100100. (hee hee. Com Sci yo? )


I was introduced to Switchfoot.





Thankyou. This noted a change for me. I found rap and hip hop, incessant and startingly annoying. Its beats simply began to deride nerves. The words flew by so fast I couldn't catch what anyone was saying and worse of all, all rappers ever talked about was their jeans, ice-creams and machines. Wonderful.


Then God made Switchfoot. Alternate Rock became my new muse. My main qualifying factor for a favorite band would be a Cd released having an euphoric listening experience from beginning to end. The Beautfiful Let Down was one of these. From the first intense songs to the calmer songs, everything was so charged with meaning and depth. Once you got past the stage of being cast in rapture and started to think about the lyrics, you can't help but to marvel at some of the things sung in the Lyrics. Thank you Switchfoot.

My Next.






Everything I loved. Meaningful lyrics. Calm euphoric melodies. Soaring choruses. Enthralling solos. Energetic Live shows. Not to mention Chris Martin is actually British. HOw are YOU all DOing? Its MAHvelous that were ALL Here! I See JOseph IN the CROwd, WE Even HAve FANS in maLAYsia! . Accent the capitals while speaking to emulate the British accent.


From the people who brought you anthemic intros in "Clocks" to the now overplayed because its so magical, "Viva La Vida," to my personal favourtie "Lost." One can't help but to wonder in an instant how certain people had their inspiration. Did they see chords and music whenever they walked down a street. Did God whisper in their ears while they slept? Did the sound of their morning tinkle remind them of bells in conjuction with guitars and violins? Nonstop wonder this band. I listen to them while studying.


heh. I need to get back to economics. Its been fun. I'll probably go edit this.

Hi I'm Jo.

I'm Jo. I'm not J.Wong or JoWong. I'm Jo. The cut short convenient name of Joseph. I love my name, I think my outdone themselves in naming me Joseph. It took some time to accept my name and what it represents; still trying to accept it completely. Its difficult, but its my mandate, and my birthright. 

When I was a kid, I was called Yu Wing. I didn't like it very much as it often meant being slobbered by relatives and being asked redundant chinese new year questions. Which i somehow enjoy. 

Then, it was the Jowong/J.Wong phase of my life when I was about 13 to 16. Whenever I looked back on those times I think simply how ridiculous I was. I actually tried to be a rapper! Mc JoWong. That would be my street name, allowing me all fame, friends and respect I so desperately needed at that time in my life. I took it to incredible heights! Trying to rap to the point I annoyed my desperate friends to the point of tears and violence. Being hip and hop meant I actually had to look the part, however the problem was that Mom see, or understand my need to be a ragamuffin with hot air sized jeans slung half way past my buttocks. She did not see, much less understand the need to dish out 200 Rm on a pair of boardshorts. Thinking back, I think she was right not to see. Thankfully, that part of my life came to a close when I challenged MC Cupert (daryl) to a rap match. And was destroyed by him. The judge, MC Fishball (Jeremy Foo) simply declared,"Jo, your lines are so cheesy." Well, that was the end that. Some people may accuse me or simply declare that I was giving up on my dreams, and yet, there are just some people in this world who have many dreams. Many unrealistic ones that would, on more thought, amount to so little other than a rush of glory. I am one of those people. As I matured and got out of my JoWong stage, I learned to cut down unrealistic and childish ambitions that simply sound cool. 

I began to embrace who I was. 

I am Jo. I do not like rap music. It would sound nice if only I had some slight understanding on what the hommies were talking about. However, due to my unparalleled intelligence, the meanings of these words simply escape me. I far prefer alternate rock and rock/pop. I also discovered I enjoy writing. The speed of my posts on this blog don't contradict me. Often when I right, especially to post something on my blog, I have this need have a good post up. That takes time, patience, grammar checks and goodness knows what else. Having said all that, I would gladly spend hours working on a post if I had the time. Its fun to see words fall to place, to paint pictures with words and to use the bewitching nooks and crannies english offers. 

Over time, 17- now, I am still discovering who and what I am. I have discovered so much. I have discovered I am quite simple. Yet, immensely complicated, to the point where I simply have to slow down to think for a while to collect myself to understand what I feel. I have realized I can be quite sappy as well. I bore myself sometimes, yet, I am excited by the prospect of realizing that from this boredom, outlets of entertainment springs up! I am Joseph. Jo for short. I am still discovering who I am. And I hope I'll never stop discovering. 

shla!

I wanna shift to wordpress. Cause... I've got stuff bouncing in my head. Not only that. I feel quite... Sigh... like vomiting rainbows!

I really Liked This.

By Karlyn Leong

You know when someone calls you dear, there's this mushy feely thing inside you, and all you really want to do is just close your eyes and be hugged by that overwhelming maternal protection? Sometimes, you just want be held like a little girl again, and just for once, stop trying so hard to be an adult. Just for once, have someone you can cry on, to let go all your frustrations, anger, insecurity, rage, everything, and letsomeone else have them for a while. Just for once, have your hair stroked, and feel the tight embrace of love surrounding every inch of your soul. Just for once, be told that you're a beautiful, bright young girl and who is doing alright in this wretched world you live in.  Just for once, I just want to be the little girl again, the one with no worries, no troubles, nothing but fun and laughter and joy and happiness.

 Gee... Last time someone called me dear. I was like, "I have a name..."

Probably The Coolest About Me.

About Me

Dr. Mahathir Mohamad
Putrajaya, Malaysia
Prime Minister of Malaysia
1981 - 2003

Sigh..

My hormones are gonna explode out of my head. Its like...

My mind the fun house of my soul, the five-star retreat of my overtired, overbored, over worked and sometimes frustrated being is going to be crippled by a devastating blast of hormones. Magical, erotic colors splattering through my mind, shamelessly, cheekily sceaming inane chutterings of mounded floobagalah. 

Its to the point where these tiny little colours of mutated hormonal drugs have evolved into evolutionary cro magnon monsters ripping out bits and particles of my five star hotel. Which is by the way solar system - esque due to the amount of immaterial material made by muddlings and fuddlings. These irritating quirks of joy, of need, of thirst, hunger and insatiable insatiability are pulling, dragging, ruined bits of my solar system into a homer simpson brain sized box!

Creating a astounding, reality defying space of shimmering shards of shades. Walled in by the bits of sanity provided absolute laminated armours of reality and common sense. This hole. This dark black hole gradually collapsing again and again on itself, due to an infinite gravity squashing colors together. Threathens to BLAST, SHATTER, DESTROY, DESECRATE, SHLAM, BAM, BOOM, JIGGLY WINCHILY SLAMA BA JAMMA DOOBIE DOO BANG BANG WOAH my poor poor skull. 

I do believe my hormones are getting the best of me. I need girlfriend soon or I shall. YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! Ok. I'm fine now. Hee hee. 

Posts Rattling In My Head

Boy's Brigade

Story of Joseph. (Jo and Potiphar's wife. Saucy mou?)

Daryl and Me Jamming. I Be the bread, Daryl be the butter. Cause he's fat. (probably end of the year la this one)

More video posts. (Tee Jo Wee, thou hath inspired me. )

a couple of emo posts. 

What ladies find sexy in men. 

How to potong que in Mcdee's. For the Australians, for goodness sake. Its not Mackers. Its... Mcdee's. Sigh. Beri saya nangis saje. 

Thankthee post to friends, bros and comrades in Malaysia. 

Praise Thee post to selected friends regularly. 

More stuff with substance. 

Bible Stories. 

Yum

I Am Not Jo.

I DO NOT HAVE FUNNY TOES, despite what Joseph says.

I better go off before he finds out what I'm doing! 

He has no idea. Ahaha! Not yet, that is.

RUNNING OFF,

Not Jo.

Heh.

The cell is the structural and functional unit of all known living organisms. It is the smallest unit of an organism that is classified as living, and is often called the building block of life.^[1] Some organisms, such as most bacteria, are unicellular (consist of a single cell). Other organisms, such as humans, are multicellular. (Humans have an estimated 100 trillion or 10¹⁴ cells; a typical cell size is 10 µm; a typical cell mass is 1 nanogram.) The largest known cell is an unfertilized ostrich egg cell.^[2]

In 1835 before the final cell theory was developed, a Czech Jan Evangelista Purkyně observed small "granules" while looking at the plant tissue through a microscope. The cell theory, first developed in 1839 by Matthias Jakob Schleiden and Theodor Schwann, states that all organisms are composed of one or more cells. All cells come from preexisting cells. Vital functions of an organism occur within cells, and all cells contain thehereditary information necessary for regulating cell functions daryl thrashed me at call of duty four and for transmitting information to the next generation of cells.^[3]

Phosphorus (pronounced /ˈfɒsfərəs/) is the chemical element that has the symbol P and atomic number 15. A multivalentnonmetal of the nitrogen group, phosphorus is commonly found in inorganic phosphate rocks. Elemental phosphorus exists in two major forms - white phosphorus and red phosphorus. Although the term "phosphorescence", meaning glow after illumination, derives from phosphorus, glow of phosphorus daryl completely thrashed me in call of duty 4 originates from oxidation of the white (but not red) phosphorus and should be called chemiluminescence.

In 1835 before the final cell theory was developed, a Czech Jan Evangelista Purkyně observed small "granules" while looking at the plant tissue through a microscope. The cell theory, first developed in 1839 by Matthias Jakob Schleiden and Theodor Schwann, states that all organisms are composed of one or more cells. All cells come from preexisting cells. Vital functions of an organism occur within cells, and all cells contain thehereditary information necessary for regulating cell functions and for transmitting information to the next generation of cells.^[3]

My Kid's Labels.

If its a girl...

-CoffeeBean Wong Shue Lynn

-Skittles Wong Xiao Ping

-Vera Wong Lei Ling. 

If its a guy...

-Joseph Wong Yu Wing the Second

Food

I love good food. Taste can be very subjective. To some, the salty sweet sensation of indo mee coursing right down their tongue is nothing short of wonder. To others, indo mee just means a whole bunch of bland noodles mixed with cancer inducing black sauce. Then again, other love the taste of pasta Bolognese and all of its tomatoey goodness. The sauce's richness and flavours built upon satisfying oodles of pasta. Some just think its a bit too sour. 

I love good food. Stuff that appeals to me. Things like, pasta and indo mee. Roti Canai with milo ais. Crystal Cha's goodies, aunty Noreen's lasagna and aunty Kim's apple crumble are simply things that brighten my memories. Here, living by myself in Australia, I simply cannot study without having eaten a hearty lunch and a good dinner. I often cook spaghetti, its the easiest thing on earth to do and the least easy thing to foul up. Just go warm up some sauce from a bottle and I'm done! Otherwise, its lamb, go pop two pieces in the oven, wait for twenty minutes and stuff that I normally pay 10 rm for comes out right away. Good food makes me happy. 

Most of all. Nasi Lemak makes me happy. Sigh.... my pain. 

TeeJowee

There are reason's upon reasons of why two main characters in a film should not somehow be entagled in a plot and fall listlessly in love with each other. He's too dumb, she's too smart, he's too poor, she's too rich, her daddy has a shot gun, his mommy hates the girl. Whatever. Somehow, thanks to the writer's role of god, both character's fall desperately in love through some subway runaround scene. Or a beautiful wedding spoilt by the perfectly timed Romeo's "I OBJECT!" I cringe in absolute horror when such things happen. 

Haha, I lie. A small dopey smile often appears instead of my cringe. At the most effeminate  core of me, there's a preteen girl screaming to be satisfied with the corniest of scenes and the most cliched of lines. When there's a subway chase where the dashing prince in jeans sprints through crowds, his face full of desperation, confusion and lurve. Searching for the face of his lady in a crowd of hundreds before she departs for a location only accessible by that one train in time prompts my heart to race! Then he leaps over a ticketing gate for his love and while she sadly waits on a platform thinking of how he broke her heart. Then suddenly, he careens through a corner and the cheesiest of music plays. The camera zooms in on his relieved face followed by that slightly awkward scene when both lovers stand facing shyly at each other. She realizes how much he misses her, then.... he whispers some soul tearingly annoying line... then... then... then... he looks into her eyes... (oooooh).....  they embrace.... and..... then... then.... taking all the shmucking time in the world.... they....

Kiss.

.

sigh...

A whole bunch of people (where did they come from?) start clapping or perhaps, if the director decides to have some class, zooms out the camera straight into the credits. By this time, my dopey grin has matured into a huge smile. Funny thing is, I don't even know I'm smiling and time again, I had to voluntarily wipe the corny grin of my face. I've even caught a dear friend doing the exact same thing once at a particularly drippy film. ( karl I'm looking at you) I clued on to how ridiculous I look.  

Thing is, I like stuff like that to happen. Romance and happy subway endings somehow found its way from Europe into my blood. Somehow. These things just get better when the stories pile on reasons for the couple to not fall desperately in love with one another!

More reasons for people who are so different not to get together. How on earth does an intellectual carry on with someone whose only interested in yodeling or modeling. How does a fascistly neat person live with a cultivator of floor fungus? How does an idealist live with a surrealist and a socialist with a capitalist! How does a painter live with a doctor and a animal lover with live with someone who is allergic to hippos? Yet, these differences are fermented into something deliciously enchanting! Thought they may serve to annoy, yet similarities tend to make life boring, and love is anything but boring. While similarities are the chords that keep a couple together, its the differences that provide the glorious riffs to a song. 

Things are made far better still when both partners happen to be equally attractive folk. Talented as well. Imagine the children they would have! Ice and cream coming together to birth Hagen Daaz! Such beautiful features married and engraved into a template of flesh, alighting the world applauding such a union! And the talents behold! Musicality married with artistry and song married to lyrics. Intelligence combined with trademarked wit amplified with flamboyance which provide the similarity of both parents! Truly! Their children would be attractively veneered monsters! 

Sigh... dreams are dreams I supposed. Then again, 19 is an age that borders the edge of adulthood. Go make something happen. 

This means you and ____.

Oh pretty please. For my entertainment. You know how I like these corny endings.   

The Boy's Brigade

I normally shy away from this topic as i don't think my writing will do it any justice. 

This made Me Laugh.

Jo Wee's Bday!

Woman. I give you intercontinental hug. 

Stuff I'd like to do with you on your bday. 

-nasi lemak.

-eat  a whole tub of really good ice cream

-watch cool movie

-laugh at something stupid

-sit on the swings in front of my house

-debate on why you should marry daryl

-teach you how to play playstation. 

I'm sleepy. 

Far better post to come up. 

Resume on My Dateability.

I am a 18 year old male. And dang it. I am charmingly shy and very generous with my money, food, and time. 

I have a unique shyness about me. It will make you go aw...."he's sooo cute."

I love making people laugh. And I will cook and clean for you if you wanna be my girl.

I am scientifically minded so I won't care if you scold me cause I know that you're having a bad day. Instead I shall lovingly sweep you in my muscular arms and hold you close to my incredibly chiselled chest. I shall allow you to hear the melodious sound of my heart comforting yours. My breath so scented with pine and grass you'd wonder if you're dating an Ent. 

I know how to play, the piano, trumpet, drums, saxophone, guitar, violin and harmonica. I even do vocals. 

I am a carrier of excellent genetics. My mother was extremely good looking and so was my father. 

I can be your sexyback.

I can give you the moon and the stars whenever you want them. Cause I'm superman. 

My love is like a well. My armpits like a desert. 

My belly is like a hill on which you can build your fortress on. 

My will, resolute, my spirit, strong, my body, dashing. For who am I?

I'm Wong. Joseph Wong. 

How To Be A Guy

How to be a guy is extremely simple. Most males, if not all; enter this world with the necessary parts and tools needed to begin behaving like a guy. Some tools of the trade include far greater biological acoustics then our better counter parts. Some of these include: better trombonic anal acoustics and far more advanced gas dispensing techniques.

Of course, being a proper guys also means one must, for the sake of others, dampen such tools and only use them for private amusement. 

Other than that, I simply cannot think of how else to be a guy. According to a certain friend, it simply is... natural. However, I'll probably think of something else and of course, add them to this blog. 

Quote I live By

YAAAAAAAAARGGHHHH!!!

Wondering why its not some mahatma Ghandi," hit not the brit and the brit will pack up and quit." quote?

Or Winston churchill's,"chill out when the Germs attack cause if they do, we're gonna fight on the beaches, on the breeches and make them nieces." 

Or Theodore Roosevelt's," this is a day that will live in 21 jln hujan lumut tiga."

Or Mahatir Mohammed's,"saya tak mahu buat PM lagi."

Or even Bill Clinton's,"I did not have sexual narrations with that woman,"

Or Matin Luther's," I have a dream that he will sit down with him and makan."

Tss... You know what, nevermind. I don't have a fav quote. 

Sans Vans

Funny how non skaters and surfers wear surf and skate stuff. Wannabes? I dunnoe. 

Vans are cool.

Vans are sweet

Vans are for..

Joseph's Feet!

Hasta La What?

Woo! The end has begun! The war will begin on 2012! I'm going to laugh my head off on that day if the greatest AI computers can come up with is some Boss on a hard game. 

But still.... I watched the movie. Paid 10 dollars for the ticket. After all, it was... the Terminator. I wanted to watch some testosterone laden action. And it wasn't bad. I think it would be something worth a download. Or a rental come to that, but it wasn't a movie that was worth fishing out a hard earned 50Rm for. 

But still, If you want to finish that Terminator or Arnie Shwartzy collection of yours, why not? Go right ahead. 

This movie had little of a story line to be honest. You kinda had this bugging feelings that the humans would live and the ever so cool robots with their indestructible armour plates and intense plasma cannons would somehow get squashed. Even though that itch of a feeling would be there, at times you'd simply get distracted by the amount of explosions going on screen. Not to mention the menacing metallic skulls of the terminators moving in for a kill. 

Story wise.... Nyah. The story line felt like fillers in between the action sequences. But seriously, who watches terminator for the story line? One doesn't ask Arnold or the Terminator to read them a nightime story. Unless they're looking for something laughable. "Van Dae, Da Wolf Said, Hasta La Vesta Babee and Blew Da Place to Hell! Den Da GUd TerMiNator Get Red Ridding Hud to Get DOUN! Den he make Da wolf go BOUM! End Story!"

 The story line felt like pauses in between pieces of action. Terminator's salvation came by using humongous robots and intense action sequences. Mine was when the tin-can-who-thinks-he's human is on the run from killer robots with Connor's dad. Along the way, they meet a truly epic hunk of brainy metal.  Couldn't help me from not thinking about C&C3 Nod's Redeemer, or whatever you call it. And there was this incredible part where ____________________ then he _______the door opened and____ the camera started from the bottom and then____ you realised that_______ and when that scene was playing, the crowd in the cinema just started applauding! 

Not a bad film.