Some say I'm a complete asshole. I disagree.
I'm completely capable to be 110%.
paenite, amigo
Back from Wuhan and Chalet
|
Incase you aren't updated. I'm back from wuhan.. Okay it's been like a week.
More recently back from chalet. One discern able pattern that becomes more and more dominant over each stayover would be that we rely more and more on substance abuse or rather, vice, for sustenance. In this chalet, we call it alcohol.
Day 1
It begins with me running errands like sending the spite shirt to print, then celebrating my bro's 21st with the family.
I reach at about 10 plus to find them already restless. All it takes is some wise-guy to come up with the bright idea of abusing liquor before our night of inebriation would begin. Now if you by now, are still pondering who lacks restraint to ensure that we dont leave the chalet with more people then when we originally came in, then you need to start a new diet. Stop drinking detergent for breakfast. Enter alfred.
Perhaps its his background of No.4, or his inner inhibition to sign-on, whichever is stronger, alfred feels the need to lower the senses and release his inner Mr.Hyde and hunt his prey. Although it particularly ridiculous, it infact isnt. Beneath the alcoholic charade lies a viciously voracious vendetta for vengeance, a votive of vox populi to vanquish the vermin and its vice. (Enough V) He lays low, and simmers the mood, like a hunter to his prey. A little of the bait is used as sacrifice, but such an expense for the greater becomings is superfluous.
Anticipation unfolds as his prudence finally pays off. Unsuspectingly, it enters, obvious to the requiem of intent and scent of death. alfred moves quickly, becoming one with the night. Like the song of the siren, he coaxes and persuades. The plan is perfect, power almost infinite, as it enters the circle of death. He orchestrates the false pretence seamlessly, the pieces fall into place and it enters the dreamworld of intoxicated fantasy. Dazzling is his skill, flawless is his scheme closing on the borders of being enigmatic.
Much like good meat that dosent get served alone, alfred knows when to engage comrades. Second to none in deceit, nat begins his trickery. Not that it was really extravagant, but that some were really too inebriated to realise the sham behind the game. It drinks, shot after shot, diluting the blood and hazing the mind.
It wasn't long before the deed was done. So deep the stab, so critical the hit, wolverine wouldn't have stood a chance. Recovery here was beyond redemption. It was now at the mercy of the sane. Laughter streaks the sky, shattering the silence of the melancholic darkness. Pity flowed like liquid out of me when I realised the night had only just begun.
It staggers, deadlocked in combat with the greatest enemy of all, itself. The force is too great, as the seeds sown began to manifest their malice. Finally, it collapsed, succumbing to the gods above.
What ensues becomes a violation of the Geneva convention and of course much less constitutes acceptance of mankind. I shall redeem my sins in hope for salvation by observing the secrey of silence.
If you want to see the award winning, National Geographic documentary, only alfred has exclusive rights. I will say no further.
This post is penned at 2am with Hotel California as ambient, maybe it is perhaps so that the colours flow and give life to the post. This, even I do not know.
Understand me,
that it really isnt there,
Hate me,
for you have none of the lefts,
Know me,
I feel sin in every tear,
Forgive me,
for what I'm about to do.
EDIT: The CHEL-edit : This is what happens when people have too much time...
In case you aren't updated, I'm back from Wuhan.. Okay, it's been like a week.
More recently back from chalet. One discernable pattern that becomes more and more dominant at each stayover is that we rely more and more on substance abuse or rather, vice for sustenance. In this chalet, we call it alcohol.
Day 1
It begins with me running errands like sending the spite shirt to print and then celebrating my bro's 21st with the family.
I reach at about 10 plus to find them already restless. All it takes is one wise guy to come up with the bright idea of abusing liquor before our night of inebriation begins. If you, by now, are still pondering who lacks restraint enough to ensure that we don’t leave the chalet with more people then when we originally came in, then you need to start a new diet – stop drinking detergent for breakfast. Enter Alfred.
Perhaps it’s his background of No.4 or his inner inhibition to sign-on, whichever is stronger, Alfred feels the need to shed his inhibitions and release his inner Mr.Hyde to commence the hunt. Although it seems particularly ridiculous, it really isn’t. Beneath the alcoholic charade lies a viciously voracious vendetta for vengeance, a votive of vox populi to vanquish the vermin and its vice. (Enough V.) He lies low, allowing the mood to simmer, a hunter stalking his prey. A little of the bait is sacrificed, but in the face of the greater good, it is easily overlooked.
Anticipation builds as his prudence finally pays off. Unsuspecting, his prey enters the fold, utterly oblivious to the requiem of intent and scent of imminent death. Alfred moves quickly, becoming one with the night; like the song of the siren, he coaxes and persuades. The plan is perfect: infinitely dazzling in its power, as the prey enters the circle of death. He orchestrates the false pretense seamlessly and the pieces fall into place. In a show of flawless skill and scheme bordering on the impossible, he traps his victim in the dreamscape of intoxicated fantasy.
Much like good meat that dosen’t get served alone, Alfred knows when to engage comrades. Second to none in the art of deceit, Nat begins his trickery. Not that it was really extravagant, but that some were really too inebriated to realise the sham behind the game. It drinks shot after shot, poisoning the blood and fogging the mind.
It wasn't long before the deed was done. So a wound so deep and fatal, Wolverine wouldn't have stood a chance. Recovery here was beyond reach. It was now at the mercy of the sane. Laughter streaks the sky, a comet shattering the silence of melancholic darkness. Pity flowed like liquid out of me when I realised the night had only just begun.
It staggers, deadlocked in combat with the greatest enemy of all: itself. The force is too great, as the seeds sown germinate to blossom their malice. Finally, it collapses, succumbing to the gods above.
What ensues is a violation of the Geneva Convention and, of course, much more than that which is within acceptance of mankind. I shall redeem my sins in hope of salvation by observing the secrecy of silence.
If you want to see the award-winning National Geographic documentary, only Alfred has exclusive rights. I will say no more.
This post was penned at 2am with Hotel California as ambient, perhaps it is that to which the credit due for the colours that flow and give life to the post. This, even I do not know.
Understand me,
that it really isnt there,
Hate me,
for you have none of the lefts,
Know me,
I feel sin in every tear,
Forgive me,
for what I'm about to do.
A note from the sub-ed: Your post is hilarious – dramatic to almost a fault. So ridiculous it becomes a brilliant use of sarcasm. I have no idea if you meant it that way. But gosh, I was trying not to laugh out loud on the bus. It made me queasy. (Or it could just be the cheap coffee.) Hahahahahaha. I had too much fun subbing this.
A note from me: YOU ARE ANNOYING. LEAVE MY BLOG ALONE. ALL THOSE WHO DIDNT GET UR FA2's SUBBED BY CHEL THIS IS THE REASON WHY. STONE HER !
More recently back from chalet. One discern able pattern that becomes more and more dominant over each stayover would be that we rely more and more on substance abuse or rather, vice, for sustenance. In this chalet, we call it alcohol.
Day 1
It begins with me running errands like sending the spite shirt to print, then celebrating my bro's 21st with the family.
I reach at about 10 plus to find them already restless. All it takes is some wise-guy to come up with the bright idea of abusing liquor before our night of inebriation would begin. Now if you by now, are still pondering who lacks restraint to ensure that we dont leave the chalet with more people then when we originally came in, then you need to start a new diet. Stop drinking detergent for breakfast. Enter alfred.
Perhaps its his background of No.4, or his inner inhibition to sign-on, whichever is stronger, alfred feels the need to lower the senses and release his inner Mr.Hyde and hunt his prey. Although it particularly ridiculous, it infact isnt. Beneath the alcoholic charade lies a viciously voracious vendetta for vengeance, a votive of vox populi to vanquish the vermin and its vice. (Enough V) He lays low, and simmers the mood, like a hunter to his prey. A little of the bait is used as sacrifice, but such an expense for the greater becomings is superfluous.
Anticipation unfolds as his prudence finally pays off. Unsuspectingly, it enters, obvious to the requiem of intent and scent of death. alfred moves quickly, becoming one with the night. Like the song of the siren, he coaxes and persuades. The plan is perfect, power almost infinite, as it enters the circle of death. He orchestrates the false pretence seamlessly, the pieces fall into place and it enters the dreamworld of intoxicated fantasy. Dazzling is his skill, flawless is his scheme closing on the borders of being enigmatic.
Much like good meat that dosent get served alone, alfred knows when to engage comrades. Second to none in deceit, nat begins his trickery. Not that it was really extravagant, but that some were really too inebriated to realise the sham behind the game. It drinks, shot after shot, diluting the blood and hazing the mind.
It wasn't long before the deed was done. So deep the stab, so critical the hit, wolverine wouldn't have stood a chance. Recovery here was beyond redemption. It was now at the mercy of the sane. Laughter streaks the sky, shattering the silence of the melancholic darkness. Pity flowed like liquid out of me when I realised the night had only just begun.
It staggers, deadlocked in combat with the greatest enemy of all, itself. The force is too great, as the seeds sown began to manifest their malice. Finally, it collapsed, succumbing to the gods above.
What ensues becomes a violation of the Geneva convention and of course much less constitutes acceptance of mankind. I shall redeem my sins in hope for salvation by observing the secrey of silence.
If you want to see the award winning, National Geographic documentary, only alfred has exclusive rights. I will say no further.
This post is penned at 2am with Hotel California as ambient, maybe it is perhaps so that the colours flow and give life to the post. This, even I do not know.
Understand me,
that it really isnt there,
Hate me,
for you have none of the lefts,
Know me,
I feel sin in every tear,
Forgive me,
for what I'm about to do.
EDIT: The CHEL-edit : This is what happens when people have too much time...
In case you aren't updated, I'm back from Wuhan.. Okay, it's been like a week.
More recently back from chalet. One discernable pattern that becomes more and more dominant at each stayover is that we rely more and more on substance abuse or rather, vice for sustenance. In this chalet, we call it alcohol.
Day 1
It begins with me running errands like sending the spite shirt to print and then celebrating my bro's 21st with the family.
I reach at about 10 plus to find them already restless. All it takes is one wise guy to come up with the bright idea of abusing liquor before our night of inebriation begins. If you, by now, are still pondering who lacks restraint enough to ensure that we don’t leave the chalet with more people then when we originally came in, then you need to start a new diet – stop drinking detergent for breakfast. Enter Alfred.
Perhaps it’s his background of No.4 or his inner inhibition to sign-on, whichever is stronger, Alfred feels the need to shed his inhibitions and release his inner Mr.Hyde to commence the hunt. Although it seems particularly ridiculous, it really isn’t. Beneath the alcoholic charade lies a viciously voracious vendetta for vengeance, a votive of vox populi to vanquish the vermin and its vice. (Enough V.) He lies low, allowing the mood to simmer, a hunter stalking his prey. A little of the bait is sacrificed, but in the face of the greater good, it is easily overlooked.
Anticipation builds as his prudence finally pays off. Unsuspecting, his prey enters the fold, utterly oblivious to the requiem of intent and scent of imminent death. Alfred moves quickly, becoming one with the night; like the song of the siren, he coaxes and persuades. The plan is perfect: infinitely dazzling in its power, as the prey enters the circle of death. He orchestrates the false pretense seamlessly and the pieces fall into place. In a show of flawless skill and scheme bordering on the impossible, he traps his victim in the dreamscape of intoxicated fantasy.
Much like good meat that dosen’t get served alone, Alfred knows when to engage comrades. Second to none in the art of deceit, Nat begins his trickery. Not that it was really extravagant, but that some were really too inebriated to realise the sham behind the game. It drinks shot after shot, poisoning the blood and fogging the mind.
It wasn't long before the deed was done. So a wound so deep and fatal, Wolverine wouldn't have stood a chance. Recovery here was beyond reach. It was now at the mercy of the sane. Laughter streaks the sky, a comet shattering the silence of melancholic darkness. Pity flowed like liquid out of me when I realised the night had only just begun.
It staggers, deadlocked in combat with the greatest enemy of all: itself. The force is too great, as the seeds sown germinate to blossom their malice. Finally, it collapses, succumbing to the gods above.
What ensues is a violation of the Geneva Convention and, of course, much more than that which is within acceptance of mankind. I shall redeem my sins in hope of salvation by observing the secrecy of silence.
If you want to see the award-winning National Geographic documentary, only Alfred has exclusive rights. I will say no more.
This post was penned at 2am with Hotel California as ambient, perhaps it is that to which the credit due for the colours that flow and give life to the post. This, even I do not know.
Understand me,
that it really isnt there,
Hate me,
for you have none of the lefts,
Know me,
I feel sin in every tear,
Forgive me,
for what I'm about to do.
A note from the sub-ed: Your post is hilarious – dramatic to almost a fault. So ridiculous it becomes a brilliant use of sarcasm. I have no idea if you meant it that way. But gosh, I was trying not to laugh out loud on the bus. It made me queasy. (Or it could just be the cheap coffee.) Hahahahahaha. I had too much fun subbing this.
A note from me: YOU ARE ANNOYING. LEAVE MY BLOG ALONE. ALL THOSE WHO DIDNT GET UR FA2's SUBBED BY CHEL THIS IS THE REASON WHY. STONE HER !
3 Gorges - Wuhan
|
29 Sept
Back from 3 gorges cruise trip. Its some cruise trip that lasts for 3 days.
First I want to recall on how heaven bites you square in the ass.
Incase I haven't mentioned, there are 20 of us in this trip, 14 girls and 7 guys. Like gangsters, animals and social gatherings, it is only natural to form "cliques", or rather small groups we mingle in. 7 guys naturally split into 2-2-2-1.
It so happens this 4-star cruise that we are boarding dosent have a 3 bed room. So while one girl has to bunk with the lecturer, one lucky guy gets to bunk with a chinaman, simply because there's no animal that cannot be eaten in china, and no such things as homosexuals and cross-sex bunking.
Unfortunately, for those of you eager readers, I do not belong in the odd number group.
I was just sitting there quietly, doing NOTHING at all, playing POKEMON in class, (bulbasaur btw), when the lecturer decided it was time to draw lots to see who gets to bunk with the china guy.
Suddenly I got this very wise ole meat idea, to do reverse lot drawing, meaning instead of using the first drawn lot to determine the lucky guy, it would now be last. This is extremely logical as it builds suspense. THEN!? WHAT HAPPENS?!
GOD DECIDES TO COME BITE ME IN THE ASS FOR NOT GOING CHURCH, EVEN IN CHINA.
First he lets the lecturer draw the 1 person lot, (recall: 2-2-2-1 breakdown). THEN, he slowly draws one by one, finally closing in on my social circle (jerms, justin). THEN WAD DOES HE DO NEXT? HE LETS ME KENA.
Lets analyze: what are the chances?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ 7 slots.
By putting the "supposedly to fit into the bunk with china guy slot" its (1/7)
Avoiding the rest of the seats: 0.5^5 = 3.13%
CHANCES? (0.5^5) x (1 / 7) = 0.446%
By giving bright ideas, I effectively displace into his position, making an ass out of me.
Its one of those times when you think he wants you to suffer for not listening to "the words". Just like the many times where taxis just dont seem to arrive, some smart-ass christian decides to start praying and the next thing an empty cab shows up. I just bwg.
So we board the cruise, 4 star as it claims, boasting a mahjong room and a KTV. As usual disappointment awaits.. I shall not further my misery.
Back to my roommate... I enter and see him sitting on the bed.
He didnt really have the old-people smell or a face that makes you want to break a chair with.. so I thought it was OK.
Then he goes to bathe and comes out with only his underwear to sleep and I know this was divine punishment for refusing invitation to church.
I escape the room as quickly as I can, for this is the only way I can ensure I do not spend the rest of my life in a China prison.
Luckily (at least for me), some shuffling seemed to be in progress, and many thanks to justin for volunteering to take my spot. SERIOUSLY. 讲真的。
Rest of the trip ensued boredom. No post.
Next, I will attempt to analyze why shit always happens when I have a full bladder.
To reach the harbor of the boat usually we have long long bus rides, like 5 hour kind. While there are toilet breaks, they only occur every 1-2 hours. Naturally, being *experienced* in this kind of China travels, I have learnt to plan my bladder cycle well.
4 hours into the trip TOWARDS the habour to board the ship, we alighted for a toilet break, meaning there was only 1 hour of journey.. a normal bladder can hold 1 hour.
So I drank the whole bottle of 冰红茶.
What happens next? A motorcycle carrying 3 people decides to play bumper cars with our 30 seater bus. Luckily they chickened out last minute and swerved to the side, falling off the bike.
Shouting, quarrels and cat fights ensued while they play the blame game. Nothing much gets done here, except they stall our journey by 40 minutes while my bladder fills up. I finally know how to do Chandru's rain dance.
On the journey back, the same thing happens as my filling bladder magically alters astral waves, making the bus hit some guy while it was reversing to get water.
This time however, no cat-fights but fist fights as the driver starts exchanging blows with the guy who got knocked down (henceforth refered to as gwgkd)
Apparently this was a live demonstration of what our politics lecturer was talking about, the "weak people" of china. These people refuse to work, pursuing their hollywood dreams as they re-enact a car hitting scene. Their laws of physics impeccable, as they always manage to fall down and get hurt, their bodies similar to that of wolverine: with progressive healing properties. No sooner do they claim their arm injured do you see him throwing balboa shots at our driver.
Their scripts seem to be orchestrated with a crew of "passer-bys" stopping to "inject justice". Justice in china obviously has one wing, and its priced at 10 yuan going to the highest bidder. In the charade, they manage to pull the driver off the bus while the gwgkd takes on the role of the incredible hulk, doing stewpid things like trying to crash the bus into a wall. Nevertheless we survive after coaxing from the tour guide. The key was taken out and the boxing match continued off-bus.
If I was not doing the rain dance with an exploding bladder, I would certainly have enjoyed our first-class window seats, complete with drinks and chips. This is yet another divine intervention towards my pursuit of happiness.
Oh.................
Back from 3 gorges cruise trip. Its some cruise trip that lasts for 3 days.
First I want to recall on how heaven bites you square in the ass.
Incase I haven't mentioned, there are 20 of us in this trip, 14 girls and 7 guys. Like gangsters, animals and social gatherings, it is only natural to form "cliques", or rather small groups we mingle in. 7 guys naturally split into 2-2-2-1.
It so happens this 4-star cruise that we are boarding dosent have a 3 bed room. So while one girl has to bunk with the lecturer, one lucky guy gets to bunk with a chinaman, simply because there's no animal that cannot be eaten in china, and no such things as homosexuals and cross-sex bunking.
Unfortunately, for those of you eager readers, I do not belong in the odd number group.
I was just sitting there quietly, doing NOTHING at all, playing POKEMON in class, (bulbasaur btw), when the lecturer decided it was time to draw lots to see who gets to bunk with the china guy.
Suddenly I got this very wise ole meat idea, to do reverse lot drawing, meaning instead of using the first drawn lot to determine the lucky guy, it would now be last. This is extremely logical as it builds suspense. THEN!? WHAT HAPPENS?!
GOD DECIDES TO COME BITE ME IN THE ASS FOR NOT GOING CHURCH, EVEN IN CHINA.
First he lets the lecturer draw the 1 person lot, (recall: 2-2-2-1 breakdown). THEN, he slowly draws one by one, finally closing in on my social circle (jerms, justin). THEN WAD DOES HE DO NEXT? HE LETS ME KENA.
Lets analyze: what are the chances?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ 7 slots.
By putting the "supposedly to fit into the bunk with china guy slot" its (1/7)
Avoiding the rest of the seats: 0.5^5 = 3.13%
CHANCES? (0.5^5) x (1 / 7) = 0.446%
By giving bright ideas, I effectively displace into his position, making an ass out of me.
Its one of those times when you think he wants you to suffer for not listening to "the words". Just like the many times where taxis just dont seem to arrive, some smart-ass christian decides to start praying and the next thing an empty cab shows up. I just bwg.
So we board the cruise, 4 star as it claims, boasting a mahjong room and a KTV. As usual disappointment awaits.. I shall not further my misery.
Back to my roommate... I enter and see him sitting on the bed.
He didnt really have the old-people smell or a face that makes you want to break a chair with.. so I thought it was OK.
Then he goes to bathe and comes out with only his underwear to sleep and I know this was divine punishment for refusing invitation to church.
I escape the room as quickly as I can, for this is the only way I can ensure I do not spend the rest of my life in a China prison.
Luckily (at least for me), some shuffling seemed to be in progress, and many thanks to justin for volunteering to take my spot. SERIOUSLY. 讲真的。
Rest of the trip ensued boredom. No post.
Next, I will attempt to analyze why shit always happens when I have a full bladder.
To reach the harbor of the boat usually we have long long bus rides, like 5 hour kind. While there are toilet breaks, they only occur every 1-2 hours. Naturally, being *experienced* in this kind of China travels, I have learnt to plan my bladder cycle well.
4 hours into the trip TOWARDS the habour to board the ship, we alighted for a toilet break, meaning there was only 1 hour of journey.. a normal bladder can hold 1 hour.
So I drank the whole bottle of 冰红茶.
What happens next? A motorcycle carrying 3 people decides to play bumper cars with our 30 seater bus. Luckily they chickened out last minute and swerved to the side, falling off the bike.
Shouting, quarrels and cat fights ensued while they play the blame game. Nothing much gets done here, except they stall our journey by 40 minutes while my bladder fills up. I finally know how to do Chandru's rain dance.
On the journey back, the same thing happens as my filling bladder magically alters astral waves, making the bus hit some guy while it was reversing to get water.
This time however, no cat-fights but fist fights as the driver starts exchanging blows with the guy who got knocked down (henceforth refered to as gwgkd)
Apparently this was a live demonstration of what our politics lecturer was talking about, the "weak people" of china. These people refuse to work, pursuing their hollywood dreams as they re-enact a car hitting scene. Their laws of physics impeccable, as they always manage to fall down and get hurt, their bodies similar to that of wolverine: with progressive healing properties. No sooner do they claim their arm injured do you see him throwing balboa shots at our driver.
Their scripts seem to be orchestrated with a crew of "passer-bys" stopping to "inject justice". Justice in china obviously has one wing, and its priced at 10 yuan going to the highest bidder. In the charade, they manage to pull the driver off the bus while the gwgkd takes on the role of the incredible hulk, doing stewpid things like trying to crash the bus into a wall. Nevertheless we survive after coaxing from the tour guide. The key was taken out and the boxing match continued off-bus.
If I was not doing the rain dance with an exploding bladder, I would certainly have enjoyed our first-class window seats, complete with drinks and chips. This is yet another divine intervention towards my pursuit of happiness.
Oh.................