Count on me, Singapore

We have no vision for tomorrow,
(We have no eyes, we cannot see)
We have no goal for Singapore,
(We need FT, we need FT)
You and me, we have no part, of the money, cos we're not smart.
We need spurs in our hides, to work day and night.
Can only stop, after we've died.

There is nothing down the road that we can strive for,
We are told that we are daft and ignorant lor.
Our government, full of hot air,
it's a feeling we all share,
we work like animals, for Lee and P A P...
There's no reprieve, there's no reprieve.

Chorus:

Count on me, Singapore. (X 2)
Pay money, give my life till no more.
So our ministers can earn even more.

Together Singapore, Singapore. (X 2)

----

Happy National Day 2010. :)

Music Soothes The Soul

There is nothing like music, without which, the world would be unimaginably unbearable. The innate ability of a tune to make us reach into every emotion we can possibly feel is just so mundanely normal to most of us, it has become almost like a daily staple of nourishment we turn to, at every turn of our souls.

Haven’t we all cried listening to a song, smiled at the sweet memories from an old familiar one or simply fade into the beauty of a tune that surrounds our senses?

We seek the songs that speak our minds, our hearts and our emotions. Yet we can also find comfort and joy in times of despair and find an errant tear falling even when you least expect it.

So incredibly important as well, is the musician who is able to translate that music onto an instrument in a way that just touches you.

I found, through a link from a friend, a kid from Korea. Sungha Jung is just too incredible for words. I can’t imagine how magnificent he would be with his acoustic guitar when he reaches adulthood.

A whole host of videos of him playing can be found on YouTube and if you love music, you won’t regret going through at least a few of these.

Top Shaman of Lala Land Resigns

Holy Chinglee, recognized as one of the most powerful and influential nurses in the healthcare industry, has resigned from her post as chief shaman in the Village Men’s Hospital of Lala Land.

In her tenure as chief shaman, the hospital has been transformed radically into a risk-taking hospital that has gained tremendous strides in controversial steroid use in its treatments for patients. The risks have increased the village hospital’s number of patients seeking treatment, compared to the low-risk approach of previous managements.

The great strides made in healthcare under Holy Chinglee, has been seen in the double to triple growth in muscular size and strength of their patients, since her appointment as shaman. The scrawny patients have become huge powerhouses under the steroid treatments and have been lauded by the village hospital and Lala Land’s elders as a testament to Holy Chinglee’s capabilities and handy talent in making things grow.

Insiders and critics however, have pointed out that along with immense muscular gain, the patients have also begun to loose most of the hair on their heads and gaining a remarkable increase in armpit hair. In recent months, all patients have also discovered an inability to have erections, and the inexplicable loss of one testicle. Many, whose muscular bulks have had raving public exhibitions, have also complained behind closed doors, that they have lost up to a third of their penis size.

In a press statement, the Village Men’s Hospital has denounced steroid manufacturers and vigorously defends its own creed and practice. A hospital spokesman says, “Chinglee has been an inspiration in her time with us. Many men are now able to parade themselves on the dirty beaches of Lala Land in pride, under her care. Despite the small (sic) losses due to external factors for which the hospital cannot responsible, we have advised the men that, they can still achieve and enjoy prostate orgasms through anal probes with help from their lovers or wives.”

Holy Chinglee has also expressed no regrets in her handling of patients and premature release from the hospital.

Speculation is now rife on her next move, and many are wondering if she will continue her radical treatments in private practice, especially on her husband who is the Chief Elder of Lala Land. But anonymous sources have waved off such rumours, saying he does not need such treatments and already enjoys prostate orgasms leisurely.

She has also refused to comment on the possibilities of her induction into the Elder Council, which could see her sitting next to her husband in the treetops of Monkey Hill in Lala Land.

---

Holy Chinglee previously revealed her admiration for Singapore’s Ho Ching (who enjoys much love and support from people who love and support her), and has described the latter as an exceptional role model.
-Unregulated Free Press

Songs of the Morning

I've been woken up earlier than I would have wanted to, much more often than not, lately. Have you ever felt like dwelling longer in slumber and perhaps escape waking up to yet another day you wished you didn't have to see? Ever just wanted to sleep later, after a late night?

Then you might understand how incredibly happy people get, when they are rudely woken up in any circumstances.

Today, it was the sheer stupid inconsideration of a bridal procession. The noise made in a funeral procession has no qualms in silent curses, since the person is already dead anyway. But to drive in a procession of several cars into a carpark closely surrounded by HDB flats, in the wee hours of the morning, with every car honking away is just going to blow the fuses of the happy couple's neighbours, bathing their happy day with wishes they may not expect.

Tradition may call for loud noisy processions as the groom makes his way to the fetch his bride, but when you logically think about it, they have very good reason to do so. Ancient times saw people living faraway in possibly remote quarters, where the noise can aptly inform the bride and her family of the arriving groom and how soon they will be arriving.

These days. We have mobile phones. Need I say more?

This morning was the third I've experienced in such an early cacophony of honking vehicles, resulting in a rude awakening from a weekend slumber. I covered my head with pillows to muffle the noise which seemed to last forever. It isn't fun to wake up to a migraine. But I could feel it coming. I couldn't take it, I went to the window to look at the circus. I could feel the joy welling up inside me, similar to an untimely moment of diarrhea.

Then the noise got louder, this time a series of shouts and cheers from monkeys in suits who had gotten out and stood outside their cars, while the alpha male chimp strutted before them. Considering how happy they were in sharing their ape calls with everyone (no matter if the neighbourhood may actually need some quiet rest), it was only eventual that others may begin to join in the fun as well.

I could hear loud blessings coming from various windows around the carpark. Blessings of "KAO PEH LAH!"... "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"... "DIAM LAH!!" (and one distinct anatomically correct description of the groom's mother) rang through the neighbourhood. It was a hard not to enjoy such raucous singing (some may even call it rapping or hip-hop) to show sincere appreciation to the monkeys' posturings. One can even imagine the background humming from a multitude of silent wishes and messages sent from other neighbours who may be too shy to publicly show their love.

The groom and his groomsmen must've been very touched by the neighbourhood's impromptu acapella performance in appreciation of their early morning wake up calls, as they stood there in silence, soaking in the love and attention of the rudely awakened neighbourhood.

I couldn't help but smile. I had almost wanted send them a congratulatory message by decorating their bridal car's windshield with a flower pot. But I was too lazy.

A Short Detour From Depression

Saw something as I made my way home earlier.

Stupid teenagers. Playing with the elevators. One seemed intent on slowing two others from going up and probably home. So he presses the button, everytime the lift nearly closes. Then he uses his foot. Then his hand. And ultimately, he peeks in. Yes, he didn't look very smart.

Yes, the door closes and does a fast clamp on his face. It opens almost immediately. And he groans as he squats by the door, holding his face. I think he broke his nose.

I wanted to help, I wanted to ask if he needed help. But I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I was laughing too hard.

Sigh.

I think my morbid sense of humour is the only thing keeping me sane now. Or am I? Who cares. I felt alive for a moment. My life is in such a mess. I am absolutely in a mess, its almost laughable. I'm destroying everything I touch, and people I care for are probably among them. Perhaps I should just disappear. Sometimes, packing up that backpack and just walking off into the sunset is just so tempting.

Anyway, his friends pulled him into the elevator and probably brought him home. Yes, they couldn't stop giggling too.

Happy Families

It is now official. May 24 has been named Family Day Out and it will be an annual affair. Parents can now rejoice knowing that they can bring the family out in one massive national campaign once every year, to jostle with other families everywhere in Singapore.

I'm almost certain everone will be so happy to be mingling with the throngs of families, enjoying the sweet sounds of crying babies and incessantly noisy children. Not forgetting the nice slow pace everyone can look forward to as the elderly join in the fray. Sounds fun. The prospects of queuing for toilets in public attractions should prove overwhelmingly attractive for families out to enjoy themselvestoo.

Of course we can also look forward to restaurants and various other businesses to eventually help promote this heart warming day with new promotions at inflated prices, as this new potential public holiday gets popular.

Fathers can now assure their children than they can look forward to a nice day out every year, thus ensuring them of other more mundane activities like nights out with the boys, and working overtime. And children in Singapore can boast of how their parents will take them out next year, after May 24.

Personally, I bring all my children everywhere I go. It helps that they all fit snugly within my testicles. I figure many of them are probably mature enough to have their own children, but I guess they found no reason to leave their comfort zone.

Many Faces of Mas Selamat Kastari

Its probably pointless to talk about the hidden story behind his escape. Especially from a once secret "Alcatraz" of Singapore. A probable underground facility which only certain people with particularly high clearance could have entered. Even the police force was probably not privy to visits, much less "family" of the detainee.

One can imagine that with the search now being headed by the army, having taken over from the "usual guys", one can almost imagine the "physcal breach" which the Deputy Prime Minister refused to elaborate.

Anyway, in the spirit of community service, posters of the man on the run has been put up everywhere. Except, a trained fella like him would probably disguise himself if he were still in Singapore. So here's a public spirited post on the possible ways you might find him. :P

Could he be the security guard you pass by everyday without a second look?

Is he having lunch next to you at Shenton Way? Is he trying to sell you insurance policies against terrorist attacks?

Did he save you from falling onto the MRT tracks? To plant a little bomb in your bag?

Did you just pass him by? A short non-descript woman in tudung would hardly make you take a second look. Or want to even take a first look.

Did you just have tea with him at the zoo?

Did you try to pick him up in a bar? Did you make out? Gawd...

Were you oogling him as he served you coffee?

Have you seen him? You could have.

Mas Selamat Tinggal (and Ah Meng gets post mortem sex change)

It was a scene almost any movie goer knows by heart. Escorted by guards, the prisoner requests for a little visit to the boy's room, and we all know an escape is imminent. This scene has been replayed in myriad forms and scripts, while we groan at the utter stupidity of the guards at hand.

One almost wonders how writers could even think that guards this stupid could exist or be employed as one. Then we see the exact scene replayed in Singapore. Mas Selamat (the country’s most wanted man) takes a leak and dumps his guards into new jobs as warehouse (empty ones) security guards.

It’s just amazing. We groan when we see onscreen, some young silly girl enter a dark building by herself. We groan when the villain (or sometimes hero) asks to free his willie. We all know what’s going to happen. But Mr Wong Kan Seng’s Home Team apparently wasn’t trained for daring toilet escapes.

In fact the almost sternly embarrassingly arrogant faced Wong said in parliament, “This should never have happened. I am sorry that it has.” One can almost detect from his tone of voice, as he raised his tone at the end of the sentence, he was pissed it happened. Not exactly sorry, but pissed. Well, perhaps sorry for what he will do to the day’s duty guards and their abilities to sit properly or defecate. For letting Mas Selamat Kastari say selamat tinggal (“goodbye” for those not familiar with the terrorist’s native tongue) to our inescapably tight security forces. We all know a contrite apology is spoken in lower tones. But obviously the minister for home affairs wasn’t very at home with admission of his ministry’s ineptitude. It was apparent, no matter how tight you squeeze your ass, a turd still can manage to slip out if you lose a moment's focus.

After successful riot police deployments against peaceful gathering of people in similar teeshirts, or elderly people holding placards, I guess they were unable to comprehend the audacity of such a daring escape. I forgot, he is after all a deputy prime minister too. And we all know why a sheriff is a sheriff and why the deputy is the deputy, don’t we?

Why the fuck do toilets in detention centres for terrorists have escape possibilities anyway? Shouldn’t there be no windows or exit alternatives? Anyway, it’s not my place to question the expert and elite guards of my country, is it? We apparently have to wait for some independent inquiry into the escape. I wonder if they’re going to get our “independent” President to do it. It should give him something to do.

Of course our media went out of its way (as always) to ensure we all think or know that it was an apology.

Andre Yeo from The New Paper even decided he should help our esteemed well-fed minister’s grammar and sentence construction.

Andre wrote, “Mas Selamat's escape should not have happened. But it did. And for that, I am sorry.

Those were the words of Deputy Prime Minister and Home Affairs Minister Wong Kan Seng in Parliament yesterday.”

This is what Wong really said. “This should never have happened. I am sorry that it has.”

Read both and tell me they mean the same. If you do think they mean the same, you’re well qualified to be working for the official mediacocks and news publications in Singapore.

Oh and of course the entire government went into damage control overtime. Just look at the massive manhunt island-wide and the massive deployment of forces. Personally, the entire show doesn’t exactly bolster their competence and would probably worsen public perceptions of them if the limping terrorist (whom they tell us, has no money, no food and resources to leave the country) is not captured soon. The fact that he still remains at large is bad enough.

On a side note, since I did mention our media’s knack for correcting our elite leaders’ words, I thought I’d mention the not too recent death of Singapore Zoo’s matron orang utan, Ah Meng. Tagged as an icon, it’s not hard for any Singaporean to know something about her.

But our country’s highest paid political mime, (non)Elected President SR Nathan, made a monkey of himself yet again. Broadcast on TV, we can hear him say, "Ah Meng has been so much of a symbol of the Zoo. A lot of people – locals and foreigners – have enjoyed his company. I'm sure the patrons of the Zoo will miss him a great deal. But that's life."

Amazingly the person in the highest office of Singapore calls the monkey a symbol and well recognised symbol and then goes on to verbally change the gender history of the dead ape.

Of course the captions on TV, repeating his words, corrected the gender. As did every media report after that. Not much accuracy in our reporters or journalists, is there? Then again, I wonder if Mediacock was subtly making a fool out of him, since they could after all get the newscaster to read the lines over Nathan’s interview. Haha… who knows?

They should ambush this fella for more impromptu interviews and get him to make more unscripted comments. He is one amazingly hilariously overpaid fucker, and its only right that we taxpayers get to laugh at his fucking idiocy.

Hey, maybe we can televise Nathan making an effort to hunt down the terrorist. Seriously I doubt he can do much worse that the guards who lost him at the toilet. Except maybe perhaps proclaim Mas Selamat an escaped stingray from the Underwater World in Sentosa. Nathan vs Mas Selamat. The makings of a straight-to-video comedy.

Two Sides of the Gender Coin

Went for a movie after several requests with a female friend I know online. It wasn't really a show I wanted to watch, but she was bored and offered to fetch me home after, so not having anything much to do, I met up with her. Free movie, free ride home, what the hell, and she's quite a nice person to talk to anyway.

Its interesting when I think of how some of them have men clamouring for their attention, yet, being unavailable on my part, they ask me out instead.

I guess its mostly the perception that being unavailable, they will not be harrassed or stalked by unwanted attention. Admittedly not all supposed "unavailable" men are safe, but I'm rather pleased they think I am. I figure it stems from the fact that they're already happy with the man in their life and when the fella's away, they want some company without having to fear for certain advances by male friends?

Or perhaps just a woman who simply wants a male friend to come out, without having to make him come. *LOL*

Perhaps in the faceless and yet oddly over friendly connections online, people open up and chat about stuff they hardly say in real life, even to their closer friends. I know I do, at times.

On the one hand we have women who despise men who constantly only want to enunciate their libido online in the hopes of a real life situation, on the other, the same women get emboldened when they "meet" a guy who isn't. No complaints from me really, considering it is rather entertaining and fun, listening and teasing at times without the obligation to follow up.

Possibly the slight ego boosts resulting from these opposite gender chats make life seem less boring. But its nice to know platonic friends do exist between separate genders.

Warming the Globe

The world came together for 24 hours yesterday to warm the globe.

In response to a message to halt global warming in various ways, singers and all, grouped around in concert venues around the world, to entertain and "send a strong message" to the world. This was done before huge throngs of people around the world gathered together, who then responded to the message by leaving a huge mess of garbage at concert venues.

Even more people around the world, helped contribute to global warming too. Literally. And not in the way organisers would have probably realised. Millions and millions turned on their TVs longer than usual (together with their lights and other electricals) staying awake through the night, helping make electricity usage soar throughout the world. All our helpful Neros fiddling while Rome burned.

Did you play a part and help contribute?

Head Stoned

It hasn't been a good day. Halfway through a meeting with colleagues at Macs, my brains felt like rocks were beginning to form inside what little grey cells I currently have left. Must've been the screaming school kids that suddenly filled up the mall even as we were trying to talk business. Bloody schools should lock them up till dusk, before handing them back to their parents who should lock them up till morning before sending them to school.

Hadn't had a migraine attack for a long time now, and its sudden return felt like James Gomez being fed his minority forms up the ass by "well-loved" minister Wong (who) can't sing. Not particularly nice. (Editor's note: "well-loved" is used loosely here, perhaps similar to the love felt for huge hemorrhoids).

It felt like going through hell just to get home. I immediately popped 2 'panadol extras', and stripped myself as I headed towards the showers which I hoped would help clear my head's sudden decision to inflict some pain into my wonderfully monotonous life. Yup, if you picture me stripping right now, you might personally capture the gagging nausea I felt as I hit the showers.

I must've sat in the bathtub under the shower spray, for quite a long while. Was kind hoping for a cool spray, but of course the wonderful hot sun over Singapore seems to get its jollies by boiling the water tank above my HDB flat every afternoon. After I felt a little better, I towelled off and went to bed hoping to get some sleep. If you can picture me bummed out nude in bed, you might again fairly understand the mind-numbing nausea that still lingered, even as you try to control your own gag reflex.

Went off to pop another couple of 'panadol extras' before I finally managed to reach dreamland, where immense pleasurable possibilities exist. But of course, these possibilities usually hide away the moment they see me nearing dreamland's MRT station. Truly a reflection of reality. Positively cruel to know its there and yet unable to get some.

And now some hours later, I feel no pain. Its like my body has developed soft unfeeling heavy putty which covers me from head to toe.

I was just thinking how incredibly ironic that I could get no head, but I get headaches. Then the optimistic voice whispers in my incredibly stoned mind that things are getting better. The last time, I got laid up with a slipped disc, instead of just plainly getting laid.

Mass Rancid Transit

Damn near fainted today.

Just finished meeting with some people to discuss the sale of their home, and well, things didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. Work sucks, but I guess I can't jolly well stop, since I need the money. Sad thing is I don't necessarily get money for working. Thats the frustration one gets after some time with no pay. I'm practically broke and soon I'll have to consider the lucrative gigolo career. Well, maybe after some intense plastic surgery, but that requires money, so I guess thats another highway to nowhere.

Decided to go home, so into the MRT train I went. Along with me, came hordes of noisy schoolgirls. And one really BIG sweaty guy. By the natural law of probabilities, he squeezes right next to me in the crowd, while I try to avoid molesting the pretty lady on the other side of me. I was wondering how the train got to smell this bad, and of course it turned out to be the big sweaty guy. It couldn't get worse. Then it happened. He raised his arm to support himself on the top rail, blessing me with a continuous whiff of a smell I can never describe.

It seemed like ages for the train to reach the next station, I just wanted to get away. By the time I got off the train to catch the next one, I had a headache that threatened to turn me bald.

Packed trains are just full of people you never knew could piss or set you off in so many new ways. Next time, I'm gonna just take a taxi. Oh wait, I can't. That means spending more money. Damn. I need a drink. Damn, money again. Oh wait, I just remembered the whiskey at home. Yeah. At least some things end on a good note.

*burp*

Incensed

Disclaimer: Some of the words used within this particular blog, like the word "fuck" and its derivatives are actually found in the 'scholarly' dictionary, and used herewith for its emphasis value only. If you find it otherwise after reading the blog, and find them vulgar and lewd, you're probably a lewd and vulgar person, to be able to place more meaning into what I intended. As for the other descriptions, I also learnt them from the same dictionary, so please complain to the publishers, and leave me alone.

I am pissed. And not just really pissed, but fuckin' pissed off right now. So I’m going to say that there shall be quite a disproportionate number of references to some very interesting words that may make some women blush and others, probably turned on.

It’s about an hour past midnight and the dark night is cool and beautiful. Of course something or someone always fucks it up somehow and tonight, I smell something burning. Damn fucking idiots burning their paper shit again, but I figured I’ll just ignore the smell and do whatever I was doing.

Of course, things never get better, do they? Things get a little blurry in my home, oh great. And wow, I’m beginning to cough too, wonderful. Oh yeah, I’m getting a fucking headache. Just beautiful, the night has turned into one smokin’ bitch with a major period.

I take a look out the window and see beautiful fires burning all over the bloody neighbourhood. Smoke rising from them fucking fires, straight up into the homes of other people. Like me. Oh great, look there’s some asshole burning shit right at the stairwell leading to my home. No wonder I’m getting a personal shit load of fucking smoke. It’s at these moments that I understand why guns are illegal.

There we have the government trying to limit the number of places people can smoke, so non-smokers won't get to breathe smoke, and I totally understand that since ciggies do stink. But here fuckers burn so much shit, and its ok. What the fuck?! I almost hope they deeply inhale the fucking smoke they are responsible for and join their fucking relatives soon.

Trying not to be disrespectful, but I always wonder about this thing about burning stuff to dead people. Lets imagine if it were real, I mean who the fuck knows who gets what after the fucking paper crap is burnt and sent to hell? Its not like they write the names of recipients on the shit they burn. Of course another reason could be they're burning shit to some god of pollution.

I remember watching some people who looked, and I guess they only looked intelligent, some time back, burning a paper house, a paper car and two paper women and lots’a other fuck shit. Soon they’ll come up with all sorts’a fucking shit to burn, and stupid fucks are going to burn them anyway. Who’s knows, soon they’ll get to burn a paper dildo for their female ancestors. I just hope they remember to burn some paper batteries for it too.

I hear it was for their grandfather. Then I see them placing some nice roasted chickens on the altar. I thinking, man, if they believe their ol’ grandpappy’s gonna be at the altar, he’s going to one fucking angry ghost.

Just imagine what the poor dead old man’s gonna be saying?

“Fuckers, never burn any fucking teeth for me, how you expect me to eat the fucking chicken? What the fuck am I supposed to do? Lick the fucking chicken?

“Oh yeah, great, burn me a fucking paper Mercedes Benz, yeah, and you forgot to put in the fucking engines. What the fuck, you want me to push the fucking thing around? Where the fuck am I supposed to get fuel for the fucking car anyway? Does it run on ghostly piss? And why the fuck is the car so fucking small?

“And don’t even start me talking about the fucking three storey bungalow. It’s not much bigger than the fucking car. My head won't even fit through the bloody fucking door. And what’s this with the two ugly paper bitches? Can’t they burn paper hoes who look like Fiona Xie?”.

I still have a throbbing headache, and not the kinda throbbing head I really prefer. Fucking assholes. They should have some small deserted island for this shit burning.

Sweet Sounds Of The Morning

Today’s really boring. Not much to do except some laundry.

So as I stand at the window at the kitchen, I hear the familiar (and unbearably irritating) blast of hand-held horns. Along with it came the catchy Hokkien version of the Karung Guni Song (Sell Me Your Junk ditty). Come on, sing along, you know you want to…

“Karung guni, po chua, sah kor….
… pai laylio, dian see keeeeeeeee…….!!”

(horn horn horn horn horn horn horn horn) *fucking airhorns*

(until someone gives you junk, or when you finally feel stupid)

This fella walked around the car park for about 10 minutes, playing with his horn and shouting the same shit over and over, like he was auditioning for Singapore Idol. I think this scene pretty much plays out the same in many other neighborhoods in Singapore. But this area where I live was quite exceptional.

Right after he gets up his van and drives to another part of the neighborhood, a lorry comes in and William Hung gets off and starts singing the same song (and yes, with the same bloody instrument). It’s incredible; I imagine the law against killer litter is really to protect these noisy farts with their noisy horns.

What fascinates me (besides the intense irritation at the bloody noisy ruckus) is that as this one leaves as well, another arrives. What the hell?!

What makes this clown think anyone will wait for him, instead of selling whatever crap they have to the first available “rag & bone” singer. And how much crap do they think people keep anyway, that they have to come daily to ask for more crap.

And so the show goes on, there are a total of 5 Acts. Each played out with different singers and slightly different “give me your shit” songs, and different “rhythmic” horn accompaniment. Each Act took about five to ten minutes to play out. All this time, no one got to buy or sell shit. Soon, the beauty of pristine silence returned.

Of course, tomorrow the same bunch (or maybe not, I don’t really care) of 4 to 5 fellas again taking turns to sing their song. It will begin at about 8.30 to 9am, almost religiously. Imagine trying to sleep off your hangover through this racket, after a party last night. You’d wanna put a racket through their karung guni heads. And I won’t charge for that racket too.

Oh well, its nice and quiet again. Think I’ll go look at my neighbors at the next block now. Hopefully, I can catch one of them walking around naked in the privacy of their homes, and then sue the fool for insulting my modesty.