Well. had a great time with the class of old.

And Wong 2.0 is officially up and running

Don't we all hate the organisation? which is perhaps anything but organised?

I mean, we put in effort to try and put together something that they said is our 'right', our 'entitlement' and then put in a thousand things that are asterisked, double asterisked and triple asterisked and attached to the bottom of the page saying 'terms and conditions apply.'

Damn the organisation.

Well. West Ham United has managed to wrap up their season with a 2-1 win over relegated Middlesbrough. with Scott Parker named Hammer of the Year. And it certainly have been a turbulent and exciting season for us, with the initial financial worries and the whole 'Tevezgate' saga. Coupled with the sacking of Curbishley and the hiring of then unproven 'Franco Zola.

Not going to write too much about west ham yet, not when my head is half asleep, half sick and half bored.

Anyway. managed to catch Star Trek and Angel's and Demons over the wkend. Trek was awesome, and A&D was average at best. So, 'Live Long and Prosper'.

Till next time.

mosquito boy

Tomorrow, once again, mosquitoes will be my best friend, or at least i will be their best friend. I will be food in abundance, i will be a showering of blessings, a shining light in the darkness of simpang. I would be the vengeful god, taking a few sacrifices of lives from them as i give them life and continuity.

Perhaps somewhere in their even vast-er universe (for distance as we know, is relative to size, a single metre to us may seem like a 48km marathon to an ant for all we know), they have a shrine dedicated to worshipping the deities-in-green-who-come-in-a-gust-of-grey-smoke-in-burning-hot-green-vehicles or the green-quadropods-who-takes-a-life-and-gives-a-million.

But i don't feel godly at all. Instead, i feel more like a character from Tim Burton's Melancholy death of oyster boy and other stories. Mosquito boy or something.

There was a boy, Joe,
Who was stung by a mosquito.
He didn't realise at that point,
that it'll change his life so.

His head shrank,
extra arms grew,
and his nose became
the barrel of a tank.
wings sprouted
and eyes compounded
and soon little Joe,
became a mosquito man.

At first he flew up, and
he flew down
and he landed,
on a patch of brown.
he lowered his head,
as his nose touched the ground,
and before he could hear
a single sound,


-SLAP-


Lol. just something i wrote up this lousy night in camp.

till nxt time

mozzies from galaxies.

Its been quite a few weeks since i last typed so here am i again.

Well. Its been a bad few days, or weeks, for that matter, sitting below a explosion of flames of the forest. being scorched by the sun and stung by the unerring brigades of mosquito commandos.

Was reading this book of my officer about life and its existence in worlds beyond ours and was thinking. somewhere perhaps out there, is a giant planets of mosquitoes. And on that planet they have developed some warping technology to send their minions to a million different planets, so that they could get the nourishment they so desperately need. It makes sense you know. How else could you explain the amount of times the mosquitoes sting at us, and the amount of unaccounted blood they take from us, and their unexplained dissappearance every time you whip out the insect repellent, only to reappear once you keep it away.

There you are. A perfect explaination to a otherwise senseless creature designed to torture and destroy humankind.

respect and mothers.

Well. With these words i've officially hit the 400 mark for my number of posts. But that doesn't come into the picture here. Cos its not what i want to talk about. Not that i know now of what i want to talk about.

West Ham lost 3-0 due to a referee who, to put it mildly, trusted the bigger brands of liverpool over west ham. But of course, we have to 'respect' his decision whatever it is.

Which leads me to this word- respect. Some say it have to be commanded, given, and others, say that its earned. Which reminds me of this poster my friend recently put up in the more discreet places of the med ctr, 'The r--k is what you wear, the respect is what you earn.' Which pretty much summarises what i think about respect. But yeah, have never been a fan of this particular 'caste' system. A different couple of lines and curves on my sleeves or my shoulders does not render me subservient to those of yet another pattern. Respect is earned. Not yelled and shouted for. Again i could not write without my masking my words so pardon the language. Yes, we have to have a structure for organisation. We need to sort the people out. And yes its the organisation, don't get me started at the organisation. But yes, I do not think that the way respect is commanded, for failure to do so may just cause more harm than wanted to the individual. And I've lost my point somewhere around that chunk of words. But yeah. Anyway.

Last sunday was mother's day, so let me wish happy mother's day to all mothers. Well, to me, mothers or at least mine, is pretty much like the sun. In Singapore. She'll nag and nag and nag at you like the afternoon heat of the scorching sun. Making you sweat and irritated and not at all happy. She scrutinize your every action like the ever present sun. And She'll know where you have been, with who, when, with covert skills that would put CIA to shame. And you can't block out the sun, just like you can't ever block out the messages, phone calls and shouts your mother would hurl in your way. But yeah, cliched yet truly, they really are always there when you need some rays of sunlight. And she'll provide you with breafast, lunch and dinner, the way the sun gives the sunrise and sunset everyday, if you are willing to just sit down and enjoy them. And like plants, we grow under them. but yet, unlike plants, we tend to grow away from our mothers as we grow, making as much space as we can between her and us. And that's when our mothers yield, and set, like the evening sun. But just when she dissapears into the darkness of the night, when we're all alone and darkened and sad and lonely. And when we miss her the most. You look up. And you see a yellow disc. giving a little light. A little reflection of the warmt and light a mother brings. A little hint, or perhaps hope, a promise, saying 'I'm here'. Telling us to last the darkest nights, brave the coldest storms, so that tomorrow, the sun will be there yet again.

Just a little short something for mothers all around. But yeah. I wouldn't like my mum to read it. haha. Just let it be er.. an unknown tribute to her and what she've done for me.

So. there.

Goodnight and.

Till next time.

Poker.

Well. Its another stay-up-late night, for reasons best not explained. Nothing too bad though.

Just waiting.
For a game.
For a flop, a river, a turn.
calling and folding,
and raising when i should,
or when i shouldn't have.

You know, the more i play poker, the more i find that our lives moves in significant parallels to the game, and more likely than not, I am not the first to make such a comparison. We get cards, 2 of them, some of us gets the Aces, some the dueces, and even worst off, some of us get the 2-7 off-suit. I would like to put myself somewhere along the lines of k-jaks. An average hand. But that probably do not come into the picture here. But yeah. Its one thing to get a good hand, its another to play it well. Some of us give it the huge bet at the start, only for what? to pick up the blinds, to gain small profits and small gains into the unlimited pot of the world. And some of us choose to play them slow, but ultimately, score a huge win over the rest. And some of us get poor hands. That's when we fold, and bide our time, and wait for a better hand. But for some like mine? We call the bets. However hard life's bets may be. call them and we'll take a look at the flop. And if its favourable. We do the All-in.

My mind, as you guys well know, is not functioning to the best of its capabilities for what must be a millon days now. So yeah. Even i don't really understand the blabber i just wrote.

So yeah.

Thks for reading anyway.

Till nxt time.

Its Poker time.

How Deadpool got killed and the death of Oyster boy.

Okay. Contradicting to speculation, I am still very much alive in the biological sense of the word. Intellectually, not very much so. You see, constant usage of facebook to do quizzes and games that are, in a word, stupid, have left me very much braindead. This coupled with a lack of oxygen to the brains due to the need to don N95 masks due to the current doscon level, have left me short on stories and inspiration.

Movies that are overhyped but underperformed did not help either. bloody Wolverine murdered deadpool. Not in the show. but in the plot. I mean Deadpool has gotta be one of the coolest comic characters ever man, and they had to make him into a villian and sew up his mouth. And he didn't speak to the audience at all for the whole show!

And everyone should check Tim Burton's The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy by clicking on the link, the poems/stories are awesome and the artwork is magnificent. haha. If only i can draw and write like that. I love dark humor.

Anyway. This is all i can write about until i find further stories in my head. Its kinda in a mess now after all the work.

Till nxt time