Time is the runner with the sexy backside

Incredible that it's been almost 3 years since the last post.

Even more incredible is that the blog still gets visitors everyday. I thank you all.

I hope you find the blog entertaining. I find it extremely entertaining myself. Sometimes, I can't believe I'm the same person who wrote those posts, like wow what a genius. I'm kidding.

But it's inevitable that time passes and the world changes.

Time is that runner with the sexy backside. She seems hot and pretty and perfect from the back. So you really want to run faster and see what she looks like from the front.

And she doesn't seem to be running very fast, especially if you're young. But here's the thing: She doesn't stop running. Ever.

If you're young, smart, and fit and start running early (means you plan ahead and make good use of your time), you may actually catch up with her. After huffing and puffing, you finally run one step ahead or even two steps ahead of her. You turn to look at her, and lay your eyes on your deepest fantasy. For one moment, everything is perfect. The world is as it should be. You are the master of the universe.

But Time doesn't stop running. You do. The moment you lose your concentration, you find that she's ahead and you're chasing her sexy backside again. And so you try, again and again. Until you get tired, or you stop to admire the scenery, or stop at Starbucks for a coffee. Or you decide to apply for an HDB, get married and have kids.

All perfectly rational choices. One day, your kids will be chasing sexy backsides too.

The Ho's Guide to Looking Sexy

It always happens like this. A few days before a test, I get stressed out, and I borrow a novel. The novel is such a godsend compared to whatever drivel I have been studying that I forget about studying altogether.

At 8.15am tomorrow, I will take my mid-term paper for Conflicts of Law. On my desk staring at me lovingly is an old worn-out copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I have already read through half of it over yesterday and today. It is a mind-blowing piece of work. 'Mind-blowing', as opposed to 'mind-fucking', which is what my law readings are.

At 8.15am tomorrow, I will take my mid-term paper for Conflicts of Law. I already know the answer. It's forty-two. 

Fevers

I think a fever is what happens when the brain levels up to the next level of consciousness.

The Serious Solution to Singapore's Declining Birth Rate (finally!)

I am sure many people know la, but it has just got to be stated that Singapore has a birthrate problem because those in charge don't think out of the box. They think that Baby Bonus, Social Development Unit, childcare centers blablabla are all innovative ideas that involved 'thinking out of the box'. But they don't, and that's why they don't work. Nowadays, there are so many so-called innovations that people are fed up and don't give a shit about these innovations anymore. So true thinking out of the box, which has always been about being contrarian, has become thinking from inside the box. Confused? If you can think inside the box outside the box, then you have gained enlightenment, my friend.

From inside the box outside the box, the answer to Singapore's birth rate problem is of course to have arranged marriages in Singapore. And not like in the old days when you need your mother your father your grandmother your grandfather or even pay a matchmaker to find someone. Such a waste of resources. The fact that Singapore is an administratively-efficient country should be exploited and the arranged marriage will be balloted.

Everyone will ballot for a spouse. Nowadays, with technology, can just put everybody in an excel sheet and use the random function. I assure you any army corporal in the Ops department of an army battalion would be capable of doing something simple like that.

And of course the ballot is compulsory. Like National Service. On a certain day of each year, there can be held a ballot, say for all the guys aged 25 and girls aged 23. Then every guy is matched with a gal. If there's a shortfall of any sex, we do what we do best - import foreign talent. And voila, at the end of the ballot, everyone has a spouse.Everybody gets a fair chance, so if your spouse happens to have a hairy back and saggy boobs, there ain't no one to blame but luck.

One of the complaints must be that the people don't get a choice as to who they marry. But some people never get a choice anyway. For example, I imagine that under the current system there are people who spend time honing their scientific research skills for the benefit of mankind instead of developing social skills and hence are unattractive. These selfless people can finally get married in a ballot.

And for those who get a choice under the current liberal system, statistics show that they aren't very good at making that choice anyway. Divorce rates don't lie. So in true Singapore fashion, we let the State make the choice, and the State generously delegates that task to the random function of the excel sheet.

The other complaint is that 'but they don't love each other'. And here, we run into the difficult question of 'what is love?' That's a question for the philosophers. Fortunately, there aren't any philosophers in Singapore, so we don't have to answer that question. Singapore is above all, a practical nation. I mean, come on la, I can bet my cock hair there are people who get attached and then married just because they think it's the right time to do so, taking into account on a spreadsheet the biological clock, the career, the life expectancy etc. Doesn't sound much different from a balloted marriage.

Also, we all know that racial, religious harmony etc has always been important in Singapore. Arranged marriages will result in unprecedented social integration, Chinese marry Indian marry Malay. Christians marry atheists. Nobody will dare say Singapore is not a nation of risk-takers anymore. It will be any social engineer's wet dream.

If you still don't buy my idea, think of the lonely hearts who will be lonely no more. Pissed off at the spouse with the hairy back and saggy boobs maybe, but definitely not lonely.

There will of course have to be someone who is in charge of the excel sheet yearly for the ballot. This entity has to have the highest integrity, cos it will be very tempting to cheat and tamper with the results. Talkcocksummit unequivocally volunteers to take on this burden for the good of the nation. 

The Conspiracy Theory

Someone said I should blog here; and given my recent propensity to try everything except my Advanced Audit tutorial (still undone by the way), I have duly started writing out this post.

Yes hello everyone - I'm back after.. two years? Three? I can't even remember which came later; my last login to Neopets or my last post on Talk Cock Summit. Regrettable - but I think I will be logging into my Neopets account soon, as the Altador Cup should be just round the corner. Watch this space as I fill you guys in on my Altador Cup escapades.

Of course, that is assuming I remember my birthday. Not the real one, I don't have much trouble remembering that. I meant my Neopets birthday. Everyone has a real birthday and a Neopets birthday.

So I was supposed to blog about The Conspiracy Theory, but turned out I didn't because I digressed. It's just like me and my Advanced Audit tutorial. Fun fact: I was supposed to start doing it at twelve, but I decided to watch Chelsea fans boo Benitez instead.

Speaking of which, DO YOU KNOW HOW THERAPEUTIC IS THAT?

I never really liked Chelsea, but then again, I never really liked Benitez either. Watching Chelsea fans boo him is like watching my least favourite professor having a heated argument with the fucking annoying asshole in front who always asks stupid questions in order to get his class participation marks.

Right. In case you are wondering, no I am not referring to any particular person. I AM JUST SAYING.

Blogging at this time of night is not really healthy I should say. Then again, neither is doing my Advanced Audit tutorial. Hmm it's now half past two and I think I just won't do it anymore.

Oh wait, was I supposed to talk about The Conspiracy Theory?

I guess I've forgotten all about it. I think it was something about university education system here, but there's nothing about it that you cannot find on NUS Confessions or on Hardwarezone or EDMW (loves Singapore, might I add).

You know, while I've been away from here, social media has evolved to a stage where blogging isn't cool anymore. (Where did you think I went?)

So I guess, that's all for now. I don't have much left to say.

Maybe something interesting that you all want to know (whoever is still reading this blog..) would be that YL and I have set up a hedge fund. We aren't listed yet, but only because we think that the time isn't ripe. The amount we currently have in the fund is hardly enough to buy a cocktail at Pangaea, much less sponsor the whole going-public process.

Which means we need to wait until YL gets his law degree and myself, an accounting degree.

In effect, I guess that's why I am in university. All for this hedge fund.

People might question my motives and ask whether I'm being daft, putting myself through four years of hard work and toil just to get my fund listed without the help of others, when I can simply use the hedge fund to earn money to hire professionals??

This is akin to buying a car because you want air-conditioning.

But I think you all must understand that I am a great fan of Mario Balotelli. Sometimes, the reason may be complex, sometimes not so. And the reason, ladies and gentlemen, of why I have to get my degree for this hedge fund is.............

...........because I can.

Words of wisdom. Now I can sleep in peace.

An ode to the commitment-phobe

They say we live in an uncertain world.
Indeed, who am I to make it more certain?
It makes more sense to thrive in uncertain waters,
than to mollify a tempest all over.

Can I make it for the appointment, you ask,
Yes of course, but it depends,
on whether my mother has cooked,
or if the weather is good.

It's not my fault I am a busy man,
everybody wants a piece of me!
Get in the queue now and take a number,
else don't blame me if you're still waiting next summer.

Sometimes I am late and sometimes I don't turn up,
and it looks like I overslept and couldn't give a damn.
But didn't your mama tell you looks can be deceiving?
They certainly are, because the previous night I was doing hardcore problem-solving.

You think you can avoid me.
But unfortunately,
I am everywhere.
I am especially in those who don't think I am there.

Finally feels like school

Yesterday, at the start of the class, the Prof asked "Who has no problem with this class being pushed back to Thursday?" For the first time in the entire semester, there was 100% class participation as the class stood in solidarity with all hands proudly raised.

And when class was indeed delayed, there was before us a tremendously euphoric scene. Squeals of delight were heard in a law class for the first time. People who had hitherto been strangers rushed to congratulate one another like old friends, and tears of joy flowed like beer at Oktoberfest.

It did not matter that Thursday's class was going to be longer. Thursday's class was Thursday's problem. Heck, even the guy who came to school solely for the cancelled class celebrated like a boss. For all the talk of law students being study machines, at that moment, the shackles were thrown aside, and everyone capably displayed his ability to live in the present.

Finally feels like school.

Chilling my way through lawl skool

They say that education is the path from cocky ignorance to miserable uncertainty. I am glad to report that I am in the midst of miserable uncertainty. I am uncertain whether to read up on Finance(6 weeks' backlog), Property Law (4 weeks' backlog) or Corporate Law (8 weeks' backlog, because there was no mid-term test to get me moving). And the finals are about 2 weeks away. Faced with such humorous circumstances, I decided to blog instead. 10 years down the road, I hope I can  will be proud of this momentous decision.

If law has to be a household appliance, I would say it is the vacuum cleaner. A very good vacuum cleaner. And life is like dirt. But my life is so big it clogs up the vacuum cleaner.

If I can chill through law school, I can chill through anything. 

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.