Christmas

The chance to thank someone for nothing in particular without getting all awkward

The Authoritative Dummies' Guide to Ipoh

There is only one place where there are flights into Ipoh Airport, and fortunately enough for me, that is Singapore. There are only two airlines serving this route. One is Malaysia Airlines, and the other is Firefly. This trip is the first time that I have heard of Firefly, and it is also the first time I have sat on a propeller airplane. This plane did not even need a separate gangway. The plane door opened downwards into steps and those were enough to reach the ground.

The good thing about such a small plane is that I can close my eyes and imagine it is my private jet. Yes, I'm not the very demanding kind, a small cozy private jet will do. Of course, the fact that I just stepped out from the skanky Budget Terminal somewhat spoils that illusion. The Budget Terminal is designed not to look good. If it did, nobody would pay to dock their planes at the other terminals. I find immense similarities between hospital corridors and the corridors of the Budget Terminal. When there are windows, they are small and narrow. The linoleum floor looks sticky and bare. And then there is always the delay. But these are trifling matters, and all is forgotten once i get on the plane.

If you take a plane to Hong Kong from Singapore, for example, the plane seems to go right out into the sea, goes up, all that can be seen are clouds, and then I go to sleep. But on this flight to Malaysia, as the plane makes its way north-west, I can see the entire Singapore on one side. Not half of it if the plane had flown right on top of Singapore, but the entire country from coast to coast as the plane flew along the northern coast of Singapore. A sobering sight that says without words how small Singapore is. Meanwhile, on the other side, Malaysia stretches as far as the eye can see.

Normally, at Singapore airport, when planes land, they brake, and then they slowly taxi around while saying 'please keep your seatbelts on yadayada'. And even when it stops, everyone stands in anticipation with the luggage in hand waiting for them to connect the walkway and open the doors. At Ipoh Airport, the plane just brakes, stops right there, and then it's 'You people get the fuck out'. No need for parking, no need for walkways, nice and simple.

And when you walk out, it's just lepak. No rolling meadows or beautiful landscapes that might imply tedious maintenance, just some messy plants and low-rise buildings that look like they could be there forever. The town probably looked the same 40 years ago, with the same shophouses selling the same things. Getting around without a car is like being physically handicapped. Walking for distances longer than from the parking lot to your destination in Ipoh is like cycling to your destination in Singapore. It's just not designed for it. In many places, there is a lack of pavement.

Like many other places in Malaysia, the food is the standout point. Even to someone like me for whom food is mere sustenance that we shit out at the end of the day (or the start of the next day), the food was good enough to merit a place in my memory. The enormous prawns at a seafood restaurant were awesome, as was the white coffee at the birthplace of OldTown White Coffee. It was way better than the ones at the chain stores.

And there I was being a parasite to society for the few days. It is remarkable how the day flies by just by having three square meals a day.

Hot bods!

Have you seen them?

They're the Raffles Institution Waterpolo.. no, of course not. They are professional A&F models hanging around Orchard Road.

Though I must say, it does remind me of my younger days LOL. If you had attended the "A" Division waterpolo finals in 2007, you'd find that the 13 men who stood back there at the CCAB pool were actually better than this. (I wasn't one of them, disclaimer.)

And they had more flesh to show! Wearing sexy trunks instead of these ugly red long pants.

So all the girls who rushed down to take photos with them - you are misguided. You have had the chance back then. What's more, those waterpolo hunks could have even been your boyfriends, which means 24/7 free show! Compared to these people who only stand around at Orchard Road, and who expect you to go all the way down to take a photo?

Now you're thinking, "damn, I want a waterpolo hunk."

Needless to say, the waterpolo story was all in the past. If you want to email me asking for my network of waterpolo friends, I'm sorry to add that most of them are quite fat now haha.

On a side note, imagine if those who paraded there were females?

Aware would have a field day. They'd call up and write to the papers and give retarded comments about 'objectifying' women and all that claptrap. Hey, shouldn't I be complaining that men are used as marketing tools?

Something to think about, huh? It's a strange world, indeed. But I'm too lazy to complain, so I'm off to sleep.

People don't mind being in prison as long as no one else is free

Lol. Just like how NS hasn't resulted in open revolt because everyone is doing it.

Immortals may live forever, but they sure don't make sense

FREE AT LAST. Until the next semester starts, that is. But the manacles are off for now, and there is no time to waste. The International Shake Leg Movement (ISLM) awaits.

But yes, the movie review. Immortals is the story about the son of a whore who goes on to become a god. Because the story is inherently messy and confusing, allow me to split it into different parts for you.

The movie begins with a riddle. There are four ladies in sexy dresses. Only one of them is a virgin. But they all claim to be virgins (lol right there). The virgin among the four can tell the future. That means if you know who that is, you get a virgin, and a fortune-teller. Two in one, good deal. In this kind of lame movie, the virgin is confirm the most chio one. I know, that doesn't make any sense to me either. ARE THE MEN BLIND?

Then, the narrator says that she'll lose the ability to see the future once she gets laid. In literature, that is called foreshadowing. It means that she's going to get laid soon. And I was right! My literature teacher is going to be so proud. So after she got laid, she couldn't peep into the future anymore. The Virgin Oracle was neither a virgin nor an oracle by that point. In the grand scheme of things, that made her pretty useless. Right until the last part of the movie, where she gave birth to a boy. In summary, all the VO did was get laid and give birth. Better not let AWARE watch this movie.

An interesting side-plot is that of the traitor Lysander. Thinking that he would be rewarded by the villain if he defected, he got a rude surprise when his balls said hello to a sledgehammer. That was nasty. And throughout the movie, the villain(I think his name was Hyperion), offers a masterclass on torture techniques. They range from eye-gouging to boiling, and if you like analysing the gory splitting of body parts, this is the show for you.

The final part of the story is that of the Greek Gods, especially Zeus, who has no notion of the idea that prevention is better than cure. He is plainly a retard and this movie's portrayal is like having the Mythbusters debunk Greek mythology. In the movie, Zeus killed his own son Ares for interfering with human affairs. All Ares wanted to do was to help the Theseus(the protagonist) stop Hyperion from releasing the Titans. In the end, because of Zeus' retardation, the Titans were released, and all the Gods died except Zeus. The Greek Gods are not very god-like.

You may have noticed I haven't talked much about the protagonist Theseus, because he didn't do much. He fought, yes, but that became banal after a while. If all these parts don't seem to link up to a story, yes, that was exactly the feeling I got after watching the movie. Theseus' rise to become a god was not deserved at all. Maybe one day, the boy you see trawling the lorongs of Geylang will be the next prime minister.

WANTED

OH HE TOUCH YOUR TRALALA

The Second Coming

Just as I have decided to come back to write texts, some bookstore out there have decided to stop selling them.

So you're looking at the image, thinking "wow that's pretty". Yea, I gotta admit, it's pretty.. useless. And as of today I happen to be the not-so-proud owner of eight cards. You know how they say "not one.. not two.. BUT THREE yadda yadda?"

Well for my case there is not one, not two, not three.. BUT EIGHT CARDS. What am I going to do with them?

Six years have gone by since my first post - and I have gained a lot more knowledge about the world. For instance, I know that this gift card is a liability on their balance sheet. They owe me the value of all my eight cards.

But what happened? On the dying days of Borders, the company decided to announce that they were NOT going to accept any gift cards, thereby rendering the plastic on my hands useless. I wasn't exactly an emotional wreck, but hey, that was $100 lost.

I once went into Borders thinking of what to use the cards on. At that point the bookshelves were sparse, and they were a month away from administration. Of course I didn't know it at that time - otherwise I would have just bought.. I don't know, something.

Heck, I'd even buy The Dummies' Guide On How Not To Get Scammed By Companies About To Close Down.

Unfortunately, that didn't materialise. I thought, let's wait for a restock. And today I have eight cards that I can't bear to throw away.

Lesson learnt: Money isn't yours until you've spent it. So true.

The story doesn't end here, however. I am still miffed at how Borders could simply refuse to accept these gift cards as payments. The cards might even help them get rid of their books and prevent obsolescence. They were simply being unreasonable.

So in a huff, I openly told all those around me who bothered to listen, that I would sincerely hope that this stupid company closes down. Hope their lousy business winds up.

Oh wait..

The Happiness Equation

There are 29342059802938402938029384 stars in the sky. There are 6974000000 people here on earth. And there are 9 days left to the final examinations. The typical reaction is 'Fuck'. But it is unhealthy to be so negative. God only took 7 days to create the world. With 9 days left, a palpable sense of optimism still hangs in the air. That's right. Don't make allowance for dead chicken before they hatch.

It is at this still-high point, before descending into the depths of the valley of doom, that one wonders about happiness. What does it take to stay on cloud number nine? Why do people fall into the depths of despair? Do we have an equation for this? Indeed, many a philosopher has attempted to rationalise it. Some say that it depends on the happiness of others. Some give a list of 100 factors that influence happiness. Some say it is Biological Set Point + Conditions + Voluntary Activities. The last one merits some explanation. Having the Biological Set Point means that some are more predisposed to be happy than others. Conditions are things that are more constant over time, while voluntary activities are the things that supposedly make us happy because we choose to do them. But this seems wrong. Sometimes, I don't even know why the fuck I'm walking around like I've got the biggest balls in the world. Like a boss. Sometimes, the exact same conditions can generate different moods. When I walk through Bedok, my thoughts have ranged from 'biggest old folks home and asylum in singapore' to 'quaint old town with character'. And sometimes, voluntary activities like plucking up courage to step out of the comfort zone just backfires like a missile gone wrong.

I am relieved when Prof YJ of Lepak101 fame says the academic consensus has long been that HAPPINESS= REALITY / EXPECTATION. This is simple enough to understand. At this time and place, at least, grades are the most relevant example. If I only expect to pass, and the reality is that I get a B-, then it will feel like a stairway to heaven. Happiness has a value of more than 1.

So is that all there is to happiness? About setting expectations low? Yes, but that is the hard part. Can you tell the perennial overachiever that all he should expect is to pass? He may tell you that is exactly what he expects, and he wouldn't be lying (A+ is still passing), but burgeoning ambition and the perfectionist streak must inevitably inflate his subconscious expectation. When he doesn't get his A+, it's still the highway to hell. At this point, managing expectations seems to be the key. We could just alter our subconscious expectations.

But altering our subconscious expectation is like tearing away a part of our soul. Voldemort could do it, but maybe not mere mortals like us. This subconscious expectation is such a part of us it might even be in the DNA. So you might blame your parents. Anyway, in the hierarchy of deep-seated beliefs, this one is so deep that to drag it out would be to turn you inside-out. Have you tried unconverting a Christian? Yes, it's going to be harder than that.

Fortunately, there is a way other than to alter the subconscious expectation. I wouldn't post this here if we didn't have a happy ending. We have talked about the Expectation part of the equation. The magic happens in the other part, which is reality. Admit it, you didn't think we could change reality. But we can. With a magical tool called self-delusion that, if powerful enough, washes away all the pains and sorrows.

So let's say a chick tells you 'You're ugly'. That reality is probably lower than your expectation, which is 'Hey I'm no Brad Pitt, but I'm above average (Note: EVERYBODY thinks they're above average)'. So reality is lower than expectation, which would lead your happiness ratio to be less than 1. Here's where self-delusion kicks in. You just think of a reason why it's not true she thinks you're ugly, and of course then it hits you...she was talking to the dude behind you!

And there you have it, the key to happiness is self-delusion.

Eminem Saving the World, One Life at a Time

Toiling like a slave for half a mod

Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted

It was with great regret that I found myself surfing through http://iwastesomuchtime.com while the pile of work was left untouched at the side. Alas, regret is not the best motivator, as I have experienced. Regret is a self-propagating beast which brings about much sadness without engendering any behavioural improvement, leading to more sadness. And because I was sad, I continued my noble quest to devour and hoard every joke online.

I never cease to amaze myself how I fail to do the things I should be doing.(the right thing is usually studying) Indeed, I was horrified to find out that sometimes, I go out of my way to fail. Study late at night? Nah that's bad for my health. Watching Southpark? Sure, all work and no play makes jack a dull boy. Read stupid online news? Yea of course my mum always told me current affairs are important. In such situations, my powers of self-deception are considerable. I am at the guru level for self-deception. On a sidenote, self-deception is also an important key to the door of happiness.

I have tried improving myself. Like many, I've made promises that 'I will work harder next semester', only to find out that really, every semester is the same. If deductions are made for the time I've been reading random articles online, checking out the SingaporePools odds, enjoying long lunches, having afternoon naps, etc, I've actually been working pretty darn hard. And then the source of the problem dawns on me. Not that I want to shift the blame la, but other people have been working harder. That's it. Other people are the problem. Let's talk about them now.

The library is where honest people go. They admit that they have a problem concentrating on studies, and they head for the quiet refuge of the library, where as in a drug rehabilitation centre, old habits are curtailed in a sterile environment and cold turkey is served.(if the school cafe doesn't yet serve it, it should) The theory goes that the pressure of seeing everyone else study is sufficient to make one do the same. But I want to smoke my weed. Rehab? Nah life is short, you know, got to enjoy it. I am also seduced by the flights of fantasy that take me places when I'm distracted. And taking these flights is how my imagination and creativity develop. I believe it because that is what I want to believe. I delude myself.   

And I am not the only one. iwastesomuchtime.com is a popular website. People who can justify wasting their time are clearly self-delusional. Regardless, my regret and my hunt for online entertainment continues. But the most prescient and comforting quote also came from the said time-wasting website. It is the title of this article. You can't believe how much I wish it's true.

The Miracle of Thought

It is with the greatest reluctance(almost as reluctant as Tony Tan to run in the presidential election) that I add another post here. Because it means pushing my previous post further down into the depths of oblivion that is known as the Talkcocksummit archives. But the urge to write, like Wikileaks, knows no masters. It has resulted in prison time, in infamy and in outright condemnation (like dawn yang, if nobody condemned her, I'm condemning her RIGHT NOW). I am consumed by the said urge, it has swallowed me whole, and the result is that I am sitting in front of the screen not doing anything productive but rather unloading my crappy thoughts onto the public domain for your dissection and analysis.

By dissecting my writings, you analyse my thoughts. Most people would agree that writing is an accurate reflection of thinking, because you have to think what you write. You cannot make a coherent sentence simply by choosing random words from the dictionary. They say a team of monkeys can eventually produce the entire works of Shakespeare. Wait long long. But what exactly is my point about writing and thinking? Find out after the break!

Right, we've had the break, my point is simply that I have been teaching the high art of essay-writing. If she ever comes up with some creature resembling Talkcocksummit, I would be the proudest. But firstly, I gotta teach the writing. And as anyone and everyone who has ever been a tuition teacher will know, asking "Do you understand?" inevitably brings about a "Yes" answer. And next comes the blank stare that shatters all notions of intellectual triumph that one might have had. Therein lies the problem. Writing reflects the maturity of thinking, so the thinking has to be of a good standard. But how do you make a person think a thought?

Although not exactly relevant, the problem is compounded by the standing of people (undergraduates) who teach English or essay writing. We have the moral standing that is right down there with the Viagra peddlers and the Nigerian bankers. I put it down to jealousy. They think all it involves is being there and teaching what is already inside my head. Little do they know of the philosophical implications that I have to grapple with. The whole situation only lays bare how little we know of learning and thinking. Something so integral and yet so mysterious. Like having noodles everyday only to find out eventually that they are the hair of mermaids. Alright time to stop I'm scaring myself.

The Secret to Slimming Down - REVEALED!

The most effective way to slim down, wondrous in its simplicity, stunning in its ingenuity, timeless in its practicality, is to SHIT MORE


This has got to be the most obvious solution ever. What slimming facial, slimming spa, all useless! The Shitmore® treatment is a wholly natural treatment, requiring no toxic medicine, no visits to the clinic, and no massage by lecherous men. It is based on pure irrefutable mathematics and solid science research, namely that the weight of a person must be equal to input minus output.

Take a patented Shitmore laxative twice a day, at breakfast and at dinner, and then watch that fat ass shrink!

How to save money for the next valentine's day

I say the next valentine's day because it's already over. But learning is a lifelong journey and I learnt something today. That people still send anonymous gifts at the university level. Wow. I thought these people were extinct. I thought this only happened in primary school when more people were shy. I thought that desperation would have squashed the shyness into a little ball of irrelevance. But I was wrong. So wrong that you can actually make a business out of it.

You probably think this doesn't concern you. I'm telling you it does. The money from the hordes of anonymously deprived admirers could seriously grease the wheels of your love train. Assumption number one is that the person you're after has at least one anonymous admirer willing to send flowers, gifts, etc. Those sweet lovey-dovey things that ironically cost a bomb. Assumption number two is that you're a bit of an asshole and you don't mind taking credit for what other people do. Which means that you're pretty common. So what do you do after finding out that the special someone has received anonymous gifts? Go ahead and take credit for them, they'll never know. How?

You could walk up with a swagger and say, "hey baby, did you like those heart-shaped marshmallows I sent you?" but that wouldn't make sense if she has any brains. If you're sleazy enough to say that, you wouldn't have given anonymously.

The situation calls indeed for the most subtle diplomacy, worthy of Bismarck himself. You could tell a well-meaning friend, "I really hope she likes the marshmallows", and then it would spread like wildfire. And then you can 隔岸观火.

Work some magic and maybe sparks will fly.

So here's a summary of the deal. For a tiny bit of your soul, you get to save up, get love, and get laid. Schweet!

Design means just for show

Recently, I came across this advertisement at MRT stations.

And it's absolutely hideous! But let's just dissect why this monstrosity irks the senses. First, you have BANGS! on a guy! I would assume that with so much money to spend on the clothes, he could at least afford a haircut more decent than what his mother could do with a bowl.

Then, the many layers of clothing just look weird. C'mon, this is an advert in Singapore, where a mankini is sufficient. Maybe they don't wanna spend money on different on models for the different pieces of clothing, and hence all the clothes on one guy. This is way too cheapskate.

2 black bags of around the same size! What's the purpose of that? If I were a security officer at the MRT, I would make sure I tear apart the bags. What use could there be other than to leave one of them behind as a bomb and to continue to go to work?

Anyway, this guy looks ill at ease with all the stuff on. I think the whole look will be more congruent if he's given a changkoe and some work overalls. And maybe some sheep would be good. Hm I wonder what's the background supposed to be? An airport? Well if he's gonna get run over by a plane and die, I suppose he'd want all his possessions with him. This Picard advertisement sucks without a doubt.

In Shanghai, I had the chance to go to their bookstores, some of which had some great books on web design. So being a cheapskate, I decided to just jot down some webstores used as positive examples in the books, on my handphone. The tragic thing is that most of these webstores no longer exist, which may simply be proof that, having a nice website might not be that important after all!

Translation King

bittersweet = 先苦后甜

And so, having bitter gourd and then drinking coke is bittersweet.

Tuition blues

I like to make parallels between the students I take for tuition and Premiership clubs. This is due to my firm belief that as the students' tutor, I make a direct impact on their academic lives, and can therefore be likened to being the manager of this club.

My first student was like Aston Villa Football Club (when they used to be under Martin O'Neill). Not a bad student, but definitely what you wouldn't be calling good as well. They would chase for a top-half finish, and they certainly don't have relegation (= passing) worries.

I went in at a good time, when he was languishing in the bottom half of the Premiership. Like what O'Neill did at Villa, I moved him from scraping relegation to challenging for As.

Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to do an O'Neill on him (ie walk out on the club). The season ended, and so did my contract. There was no renewal - and like the great Business Law student that I am (my other part-time occupation, apart from football manager), I knew I had no case, so I silently left.

My second student was Wigan Football Club. Relegation threats are constant, and the players just don't have the heart to play football. (He didn't feel like studying.)

Until they realise there are only 3 games left in the league.
(Until he realises there are only 3 weeks left to O levels.)

I was called in to do emergency rescue, and he secured a B4 for his O levels. Not the best of results, but there's only so much you can do with Wigan. He moved on to Poly, and as I only wanted to manage Premiership (secondary school) clubs, I had to bid him goodbye.

After these two stints, my agent decided to go one better and sign me up with Chelsea Football Club. This one was a major disaster. I was like Claudio Ranieri dealing with troublesome Chelsea players with an attitude.

See, Chelsea under Ranieri thought they were good - but evidently not THAT good, since they didn't win jack under him. After a while, Chelsea declared themselves independent of a manager. I was fired.

Today I took on my fourth club, and from the title you know it won't be Arsenal or Manchester United.

Well but I'm tired now, so that will be for another time.

Stay tuned.

How to get rid of bad luck

You know, sometimes the title misleads people into believing that it is descriptive of the content. For instance, did you know that "Spirits Having Flown" by the Bee Gees does not have the word "spirits" in the song at all?

Maybe that's artistic, or maybe that's bullshit.

But I can assure you what I'm going to write next is the latter - so you have been warned.

How to get rid of bad luck.. you can't. You will just have to sit and wait for it to go away. Let me illustrate this with a real-life example: me.

To say I've had a bad week would be funny. It wasn't just bad, it was so bad beyond bad that it had to be bad luck. If your week sucked, some self-reflection might have put the fault with yourself. But if your week REALLY sucked, then you can attribute it to bad luck.

I don't know where to start, but these are the things that happened last week:

I shortlisted 4 stocks and chose to buy one. The other three went up while the one I bought plummeted five cents. Maybe that's my fault.

I was fired by Roman Abramovich aka some smart boy's mother. The smart boy happened to be my student. All right, maybe that was my fault too.

My unit trusts suffered losses. Maybe that's my fault - since I could have chosen not to buy them and let my money accumulate 0.1% interest in the bank. Or was it 0.01%? Can't remember, but you get the drift.

The Euros which I was holding went down as well.

And I have a total of thirty-one new mosquito bites as of last week. This is NOT a joke. So maybe this is also my fault, since I could have slept in FBO (full battle order) and gloves.

And I was half an hour late for lectures because of massive jams that were previously unbeknown to me. Okay so MAYBE that was ALSO my fault because I could have left the house half an hour earlier.

Putting all these situations together, my fault factor is so high that it becomes clear to any ordinary bystander that there must be some other factor involved. No one can be that much at fault. Contrary to popular belief, faults are like mathematics, it can be undefined at times. I'll leave that for another day.

Simply put, it just had to be bad luck. Christians would claim something along the lines that I was being tested - I guess that works as well.

ANYWAY.

Saturday rolled along, and Saturday means Premiership night.

I have a habit of betting on draw matches, as does YL. We have been playing it for a while. I told him that with my abysmal luck, there was no way I was going to win any bets this weekend.

And by extension, since my luck was abysmal, if I wasn't going to bet, the result would turn out exactly to be a draw. (hence making me pissed off that I didn't bet)

YL was going to place the bet. I told him that I would cause him to lose if I did, so I decided to save my money and his.

Later that night, Wigan 1-1 Fulham

Exactly as envisioned.

Moral of the story? If you have bad luck, recognise it and admit you can't do anything about it. It's a bit (actually a lot) like serving National Service really, and they even have a term for it - "suck thumb". Once you've accepted your fate, things become much easier.

Life is a zero sum game. For every loser there is a winner. While you are condemned to being a loser, make sure one of your friends is the one benefitting from it. Although I might sound like I'm trying to claim credit, I believe that I helped YL win his bet this weekend.

Even if I didn't, the idea still remains.

If you know someone is always wrong and makes all the wrong decisions - it automatically follows that going a different path from him would make for a better choice. (assuming two choices)

So even though you can't get rid of bad luck, you can channel good luck elsewhere. Just don't channel it to Singapore Pools, they're the major propagator of bad luck.

Profound question of the day

Why are open-top dustbins round in shape? - yj and I
Is it just so that people can miss by throwing it into the gap between the round dustbin and the corner of the wall? Was the first dustbin designed by aliens?
These are all perfectly important questions that must be answered by mankind. Yet, a cursory search of the exact phrase on Google yields no results. Mankind has been asking all the wrong questions.
So it's up to me to put forth my theory.
Maybe, we've all been conditioned to treat open-top round containers as dustbins. Thus, if you leave a round bucket in the middle of a public area, you're likely to get some idiot spitting into it. But if you put a open-top square container there, it might just be treated as an art installation! Hence, the manufacturers make round dustbins so that the dustbins will not be confused for something else, such that they can fulfill their true destinies as dustbins.
However, why do we treat open-top containers as dustbins in the first place? It is highly possible that it was mentioned somewhere in the Bible. It is also possible that the first dustbin was a gift from a higher being. For purely rational reasons, I prefer the second explanation.
It goes like this. The world was once clean and dust-free. Then, a higher being bequeathed to mankind two things:  Dust and a open-top round dustbin (to hold the dust of course). The higher being must have done this because he was bored. Blogging probably didn't exist then. Well, dust in those days was one big vast mass that was round in shape. The higher being said, "Do not touch this mass of dust. If you touch it, it will disintegrate and drift all over the earth". That also happened to be the moment reverse psychology was invented. To cut a long story short, some asshole decided to touch it, and in so doing became the first terrorist. The dust drifted all over the world, and we have been manufacturing round open-top dustbins to contain the dust ever since.

Quote of the day

"If I don't make myself happy, nobody's going to do it for me" - I think yj mentioned it, but it just popped into my head again.

It's probably true for both those with friends and those without. You can't be a miserable blackhole where happiness goes to die everyday, else your friends will find that you're just not friendly. The nicest of friends will have trouble cheering up someone who just wants to be down. After all, gravity is everywhere.

Q: What would Marilyn Monroe be doing if she were alive today?
A: Scratching at the lid of her coffin.

Another one that just popped up. I think it's from the Fight Club book.

This is so awesome!

Talkcocksummit has more than 100k pageviews! Omg champagne freeflow jizz in my pantsss! Although I have to admit that those last 10k or so pageviews were akin to a fat and saggy marathoner crawling towards the finishing line and the Milo van.


But of course, it's not the pageviews that actually matter. It's that you're still reading this, and that is truly heartwarming. There is absolutely nothing better than this on a cold winter night, and Singapore is rather cold right now, what with rain every single day. I shall carry this fuzzy feeling with me as I embark on my latest intellectual adventures. 

Random Quotes

"Faith is seeing what can't be seen" - from the Christian book that the dude beside me on the train was reading. I kid you not.

Right up there with "What is the colour of the white horse?"

Random quote

"Nothing is fun until you're good at it"