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