Army Green or Desert Biege Sir?*

Surfing the net like a boss, I was struck by the piercing shell of curiosity. I was struck with the question of how much would it financially cost to drive my very own Main Battle Tank.

Enlightened by this surge of curiosity, I searched for an affordably priced armored tank. Preferably something with air conditioning, comfort, and of course, an affordable price. So I began clicking.

I stumbled across a used Chieftain battle tank. Not only is it, a battle tank, it's a MAIN battle tank. So it's not a girly, sugar candy driven, sorry excuse for a war machine. It's pretty much the brute force of the British army. The darling looked savagely beautiful with it's right angles and machismo looks.

Then I looked at the price. Mind you, I had envisioned this fact finding excersise to be one purely for my personal entertainment. I would assume that an armored tank would match dollar to every kilogram it weighed. Out of a need to prove that my assumptions are always true. I searched for the used tank's price. It costs 270,000 Ringgit.

Not Dollars. Ringgit Malaysia.

WROAH!

Now, it's not to say that 270 k is affordable by any means, but bear in mind that it does cost half the amount of a BMW convertible bought in Malaysia. Yes. A Chieftan Battle Tank is half the price of a BMW in Malaysia.

This does provoke some very interesting ideas. How would it feel like powering your very own battle tank through some of the most jammed areas of Kuala Lumpur? Or perhaps, dealing with all those psycho idiots on the roads. For instance, Kancil owner's who are thoroughly convinced they're driving hippos instead of really tiny cars.

What am I talking about?

I am talking about the possibility of smashing a hole right through the walls of unrighteously cramped parking spaces.

It's about using the sheer weight of the tank to smash stupid double parkers into mangled tin foil.

It's about blasting road bullies off the road and into the South China Sea.

I am talking about the respect an armored tank would afford you. A respect they will have to pay because of the knowledge that you can blow them up with a gigantic cannon. A simple knowledge that you can, and will, end their sniveling, pathetic lives if they dare so much as LOOK in your direction when they meekly move out of the way during a jammed morning rush.

And it comes with an air conditioner.

For your consideration. The affordable Chieftan Battle Tank.

*of course, you'd have to take in the shipping costs, tax, fuel, laws and numerous other elements which will probably cost as much as having your very own air-force.

Pharmacist Rhymes with Narcissist.

My life, is an anthill. And in those anthills, are many ants. Of those ants, many are pharmacists. And pharmacists are awesome people. Most believe that they are the bespectacled bros and sisters behind white clinical tables dispensing drugs and medicines. The nerds.

what you think they look like.

But hold up! What did you just read? What was the line you've just read that announces their about their earth shaking, meteorite smashing, cosmos decimating, cool-beans status!?

They dispense drugs.

WROAH!

Not that it's right, legal or admirable to dispense drugs of the streets; in fact, in some countries, drug possession carries the death sentence. But they do it legally, intelligently and stylishly. Think about Cd's upon Cd's of lyrics from rappers glamorizing the life of a crack dealing, piece wearing, bling enhanced hustler. Now, imagine, all the glamour, none of the violent, disgusting vices of em dealers. What you have, is a pharmacist.

what they really look like.

Being surrounded by them. It leads me to inevitably learn about them.

1) While I'm reading magazines and comics, they're reading the books that are thicker than phone book directories.

2) They're studying all the time. Wouldn't you if you had a word like, pogliotinkiolinkoniosycolisis to memorize?

3) Mind you, it's not everybody who becomes a pharmacist. The average pharmacist is probably some crazy, psycho smart guy who normally got all A's just by licking his textbooks.

4) Need entertainment? Watch a pharmacist stress out before her exams. Never endingly funny.

5) The thing about them, is that they've been trained in the art of never being negative. So even with the entire Australian curriculum crashing around them, they'll still wear a steeled smile while screaming faux vulgarities at their books. Hilarious.

6) They can wear cool T-shirts with phrases like:

Pharmacists, saving the world one panadol at a time.

I know the meaning of the word, Hepaticocholangiocholecystenterostomies. Do you?

U R Dumb. I R Smart.

Hustla. Legally.

Pharmacists read the Pharmasutra.

Pfizer Cartel.

7) They are crazy people. I had a pharmacist charge at me, yell hello in my ear and run off in a peculiar way.

I wish I could say more. But then again, a Pharmacist is sort of like an Oompa Loompa. You know their quirks, and their zany dances, but they still remain a mysterious lot. I'll probably be writing more on them, after an adventure or two of trying to discover their fascinating tendencies. But for now. See ya!

This Blog is My Blog!

This is my blog.

I have just so many thoughts, but I'm terrified of posting them here. What I feel etches a line of text in my mind, and I'm terrified of typing it down on my blog. It's a little like running through some up-town, high-fashion clothing store with only your boxers on. But sometimes, I need a place to write, to know what I think, to make sense of what I think. To know that what I think makes sense through writing it down.

But I can't be bothered to write something in a brown diary, and keep it in a forgotten, messy corner of my room. To be dug up and thrown away by an older Joseph who thinks it's thrash.

Walking through a library once, I needed a distraction terribly. And so I picked up a hard cover book with black and white graphics on it. I can't remember the title at all, but I do remember what the book was about -inspiration. I flipped through the pages and met astounding artists, shared a coffee with great leaders and listened to visionaries.

I came across an artist's quote, something along the lines of, "the community is important for my art, without the community, I wouldn't make art. I couldn't be bothered making art for my own enjoyment." Or something like that. (something along those lines)

The artist strummed a chord that made sense to me. I understood. I wouldn't write something, work on something, only for my entertainment, I'd rather be doing something else.

The things I want to say, the thoughts I want to desperately say, I do not want to say to the dust wafting in the corner of my room. I want to say it to people, someone. But I don't dare. I'm afraid of running around Dolce and Gabbana wearing only my boxers.

Potato Storms Are In The Air.

Wouldn't it be cool if it rained potatoes, turnips, carrots, wheat and cabbage?

All you had to do when it came to hunger was plant some clouds in the middle of a desolate region. You'd have tomatoes, potatoes, carrots and onions falling from the sky.

ABC soup for everybody!

Potato storms predicted with a high of thirty five.