steak...

Forgive the photography. Handphone cameras aren't exactly ideal for this purpose.

San Francisco Steakhouse. Classy setting, very American bistro. It's a dim, almost cave-like ambience, kinda like a hacienda.

Oxtail soup was good. Thick, creamy, and a generous portion of meat. The soup part was a bit too low on volume, though.


Lime juice. Very sour, as expected. Nothing extroadinary.


This is a whole fish. The bones are all there, but apparently it's sweet. No idea what it's called though.


Lamb shank. As in, whole hip of lamb. In a stew. Not too bad, but I prefer my lamb roasted or grilled.


Highlight, and most expesive, dish: Magyu beef cut.

120g costs a whopping 88 bucks. Whether it's worth it or not, I can't say. But I can say this: It's freaking good.

The meat is still red inside, so it's really soft and tender and fleshy.

Juices are flowing, and the sauce leaves a lasting impression on you. Kind of how your first sex should be like.

Also available: Live American lobster. Nobody had it, mostly because someone decided she didn't like seafood. At least you know it's fresh enough that it's staring at you.


Live music. These guys were good. Twas a shame there were so few people in the house. A good repertoire, and I think they're from Sri Hartamas, or somewhere.


Only real complaint is that the maitre' d was a bit blunt. Maybe she's out of practice.

Verdict: 4 out of 5. Worth a try, if you've got the cash lying around. Pricey, but you get a few unusual things on the menu. If you want to stick to more conventional fair, I suggest you stick to Victoria Station, or the Ship.

Next time, I bring the D70.

Meh.

ruminating...

I think it actually means something to do with cows, but I forget, so, meh.

The last time I felt this drained was when I had that surgery and they had to basically wash out my blood. That was a weird time.

Had the most delectable piece of cow for dinner. Like, good. The Japanese may be short and kinky, but they sure know how to make good beef. Magyu beef, which are basically Japanese cows grown in Australia. Yeah, okay fine. Whatever. At any rate, it was good. San Francisco Steakhouse. The place in the Summit is kinda fucked, cuz it's quite empty, but the food is good, service prompt. Maybe because it's empty. Anyways, blur pics soon to come. Forgot to bring camera. Like, camera phones seriously have to NOT be VGA phones.

I'm going to make it a point to wake up insanely early and go for walks. Then come back, lift weights a bit, then maybe run around some. The point is to work the body to exhaustion. Time to break it down into tiny bits, then reconstruct it. Especially the brain. It's beginning to malfunction lately, as you can see with my most recent posts.

Drastic situation I'm in. I'm no longer top in anything. My chem's fucked. English even more fucked. And I'm short of 1 to be top of geometry. And those of you tearing out your nipples in outrage at my seemingly ungratefulness of my position can go right ahead. Once you've tasted ambrosia, you don't go back to downing air tebu. So, make sure you have the number of a good plastic surgeon to reattach your detached mammary glands.

I've lost touch with myself. And other people. And I don't miss it one bit. It's hard to, when it doesn't quite miss you either. Time to move on, eh? I'm getting quite emo lately. No idea why. Maybe it's the emo component of me finally coming out? Quite strange, can fell all sorts of pangs for stuff I don't normally even think about. And songs can make me stop dead in my tracks because they remind me of things, even though I've never heard the song before. One particular one is Utada Hikaru's Final Distance.

As of yet, there are no applications for that smooching post. Oh well. it is not crucial, and I do not have the time to finance such a position, so, I suppose it's a good thing. There are more important biological voids to fill, such as my renewed compulsion for eating all the time. This is proving expensive, since my choice of nourishment has attained somewhat loftier positions ever since I started eating less, but higher up the scale. Must starve into insanity. That usually rebalances the checkbooks. Of course, the more obvious option would be to eat cheap, but obvious is boring, isn't it?

Emo kid, maybe that's what I've been unconciously all this while. Lucid thinking seems to be the predominant trait and can somehow override more pressing emotional concerns. Crying is hard still, but I'm letting loose the twistedly insane cheerful streak so often that I think I may have gotten someone to somehow change his sexual orientation. Coolness.

I read this story of this boy who had long silver hair, one cybernetic eye, and apparently full of life. He had this quirky trait of being so inanely cheerful that everyone had no choice but to live to his level of enthusiasm. He had this problem, similar to epilepsy, that could only be controlled through the ingesting of some addictive, mentally eroding drug. And of course, another guy falls for him and something something. Of course, this is a lemony bit of fiction, but it was a good one with a real interesting story. You can read it here. The weird part is seeing my name in the story. Repeatedly.

Such an emo character I am. And then again, not. The manner in which I can instantly regain composure is so unsettling to me that sometimes I question my own intentions. The sad part is not being able to answer for sure. I pray somehow that out there, someone can finally fix me up to perfection, or deconstruct me so completely, that fixing would never be an issue.

Ah, emo kid am I.

Meh.

fucked both ends...

There's no doubt about it. The yearbook has been run by incompetants all along. Design team is absolutely retarded if they expect these designs to be passable for a yearbook. Mr Meagher is right. It doesn't say very much about us if we don't even have the organizational skills to get something as simple as a yearbook out. And even though I don't think much of people in general, I certainly am out to increase the value of my shares.

To be associated with such idiots is mind boggling. How on earth such retardedness has been allowed to fester for so long is beyond me. The people in charge of such a mess should be drawn and quartered and fed to rabid platypi.

Okay, fine. Not ALL the designs suck so badly. Some are, perhaps, usable. In a vague sense. But all in all, the use of clipart in a Word document does not constitute yearbook material. Throw in wordart, and you're screaming bloody murder. If you do not possess the slightest nuance of the use of Photoshop, or any similar designing tool, do not presume to place yourself on the design team. Had this been an established publication, maybe you could have had on job training. But the very fact that you've been too rock-like in your motions and very much the same in your brains, is reason enough to have you crushed for road gravel.

The book will come out. That much is sure. I will see to it that it DOES NOT SUCK. At least, if it does, it won't create a space-time vortex that the current mostrosity does. It is not excusable to be this retarded. Ever.

I think it's pretty stupid to take on a double edged sword, especially since I don't like pointy things. But swordfighting is fun, and when you have the cutting edge to unhedge careers and reputations, the lure to play with sharp point objects increases. Just hope I don't poke my eyes out.

Meh

gullible...

That's what you people are, if you believed that particular smooching thing from the last post. Can you imagine any guy wanting to kiss me? Hey, if there are, I'd be happy to go along with it. So what if that's gay? You discrimnating against fags? Well, you can just take your bigotist homophobic anus padding somewhere else. Me, on the other hand, am quite willing to get a good smooch from just about anyone.

Want to apply? You gotta match a few things:

~Be of reasonable appearance. I'm not gonna kiss anything that broke a mirror lately.

~Don't have bad breath. Garlic and onions are fine. I like spicy. But morning breath and severe halitosis should be treated with a double shot of 200 proof (read 100%) alcohol and lit with a blowtorch.

~Must have chocolates on hand. Smarties don't count.

~Must not be out for a relationship. I just want to see what kind of kisser you are. Anything further than that is unwarranted and will be rewarded by instant molecular decomposition. Of course, if you want to buy me dinner, that will be most welcome.

I think there was once I mentioned in a most nonchalant manner to a particular someone that I had a footlong cock. The interesting thing was that for the next few days, I found that many people were staring at my crotch in school. If I recall correctly, there was an attempt to put hands there to confirm the fact.

Gullible bastards. If I had a footlong cock, I'd be wearing shorts to school everday. Mwahaha.

Seems that the new in-thing to do is write like Maddox. And no, he does not have the best page in the universe. And yes, I'm too lazy to hyperlink. He just happens to have a particularly vapid readership of depressed wankers, suicidal bimbos, homocidal maniacs and Malaysian politicians. Maybe I have to change my ranting style to something distinctly me, namely writing out whole dialogues. Too bad I don't have the attention span to pay attention to most of your pointless shenanigans.

The Irish are weird. Who else would eat potatoes and wear green all the time?

Apparently, I'm not that funny. But I don't really care. If I was funny, I'd laugh at myself. And that would be stupid.

Yearbook arrangements are getting fucked. I am extremely annoyed at all this. Honestly, is it too hard to find competant designers these days? Ah, no. That's not the only problem. Now it seems that I may somehow be pointed a finger at. Fucktards. I don't owe any of you anything. Least of all since I'm probably one of the few who actually got their jobs done, and probably the only likely to be able to help you out of this bind. And in all honesty, I am pretty much looking forward to the potential carnage that WILL happen sooner or later. Last man standing is a bitch. And anyone who believes that it's all gonna happen nicely is a gullible bitch.

SPM for you spammers. Having fun? I'm sure you are. Since it's only a few more days before the living hell of pointless anticipation ends. You'll all go off on your joyful randomness and stuff. Then the results will come out, thereby refreshing the stale browser of panicked reality. The tizzying frenzy is music to my ears. Killjoy, that's what I am. Brutal fact. Not that you can ever escape it, at least not the way you're trying to. Only a fool would believe he could.

People hating each other is annoying when I'm caught in between. And then there's also multiple cases to face all at once. And misunderstanding is particularly exasperating when you're supposed to be the one at fault, and I take no blame for anything. If it IS my fault, then boohoo for you, because you should have realised earlier that I owe you nothing, least of all an explanation. When I get nothing out of it, you can count on it that I don't really give a fuck what happens to your precious cargo. You want me to care, then give me something to gain out of it. Charity begins at home. They never said where it would end.

I'm not a very prejudiced person. I have only ONE prejudice, and that would be against stupid people. It's just plain coincidence that almost everyone is stupid. So, boohoo, too bad, I'm prejudiced against you. Those of you who debate by saying stupidity is relative, well, guess what? You're stupid.

Always court Disaster. Her sister Adventure might decide your flirty advances are enticing. Who knows, you might even bed her. The problem is when Disaster decides she wants a piece of the action too. Then, you're fucked. Literally.

Meh.

reflection...

Normally, you'd need a mirror or some sufficiently shiny and reflective surface to reflect upon, but I don't really like my reflection. Yes, I look in the mirror a lot, but it's only to see if the fucked-upness has faded. Unsurprisingly, it hasn't.

Normally, I'd write about how come this is so, but I presume you've heard enough. Besides, since you're doing it purely for your own amusement, you might as well come ask me in the face, and I'll give you a full account of it. Rather, I'm going to tell you how fucked up the people AROUND me are. Yeah. That means you! And if you're offended, then like, maybe you should go take a shotgun and blast your brains out, because I'd do that, except it'd inconvenience me.

First, there's these two people that I sorta met online. I don't like naming because it's tiring, so I won't say it's Darien and Liz and I won't say that they're probably arguing over something totally irrelevant and I also won't mention that it's almost hilarious if it wasn't so annoyingly, erm, annoying, for a reason I cannot explain. Nope. I won't tell you that. Rather, I'll say that it probably will prove amusing how it turns out and that I'll sit back and watch the fireworks except that fireworks are dangerous and probably illegal too but that doesn't really matter because most of us are probably criminals anyway. So, make sure you're not wanted for any major crime like murder, rape, or wearing pink undies on the outside.

I think I probably made an interesting embarassment of myself in 4U today. People were rambling on and on about something irrelevant that I cannot recall, but I DID remember that I was extremely hyper, bouncing around, talking very quickly, almost like rambling but somehow what I said makes sense, and I'm getting the feeling that this Keith guy sorta worships me but that's getting way ahead of myself. No, I think it's my breath that made them so, erm, attentive. *sniff* Smells like garlic. Excellent.

This dude, not sure how to spell his name since I don't think we pronounce it right anyways, erm, Saraunan, or summat like that. Meh. Anyway, he has an interesting suicide attempt history. He's quite ditzy, maybe even more so than Kian, though that's hard to imagine. I presume it's probably all those attempts that sorta fried those already overheated neurons. I have the vague feeling that it's all an act, but somehow, it's a bit too convincing. At any rate, the scar in the shape of an E and the numerous slash marks on his arms, and not to mention the absolutely baked appearance of his sorta persuades me to think he might be telling the truth. And to think all I ever tried was to stand in front of a moving bus. Meh.

Fuck this keyboard...

People who designed the yearbook the first time round, I think, should be submitted to 5835236 hours of inane talk by some inane talking feller. Fuck. They're so unable to do a straight design, it's so frustrating. To be kind, I just say that I wouldn't pay 50 bucks for a book like that. Still kind, I'd say it's a waste of colour pages. To be relatively nice, I'd say that they should really try looking at the pages while designing them. To be polite, I'd say their tastes, assuming that they WERE looking at the screen while working, are in question. To be honest, I'd say they should be hung by piano strings and meathooks, be tortured with 5112436224125 hours of Malaysian political speeches, drawn and quartered, have their eyeballs gouged out, and their twitching corpses flung over a collapsing cliff into a pool of iron spikes and flaming liquified reindeer shit. And that still wouldn't have done justice to how they squashed my photos.

Thank God for someone who is on too long a holiday and is too religious to wank. Thanks, Ooi Keong, lolz.

Geometry is fun. I can't really complain about the people. Sure, half the class are noobs, meaning 5, and the other half are dorks. Me, I'm just visiting long term watching the noobs and dorks dish it out, cuz I'm a hot stud looking for a good fuck *says the oblvious nerd who dresses in dorky clothes with noobish hair*. At any rate, I get to gloat cuz I'm the best at geometry ever! Tralalalalala. Note: If I ever did that in front of your face, your ancestors would turn in their graves so fast that if you wound copper coils around them and replaced their tombstone with a magnet, the electricity they would generate would overload the national grid. Note about the Note: If you didn't get it, you're stupid.

Damn you Prax. You gave a good rating for my blog. Now people are gonna expect some genius writing here and find only some scribblings of some ugly fat guy that poses in stupid kawaii poses because he's an ignorant camwhore. For YOUR information, that deserves a godly rating. Meh.

This sounds ranty. It's not. You only think it's ranty because you're a degenerate and couldn't understand it anyways. Ranty is more like: OMFG I'm gonna die because that stupid fucking bitch stole my nail file!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111oneoneoneoneone That's ranty. Now, this. This is deep introspective observation coupled with a witty tongue lashing topped with a generous creme de spite. Or something. I can't be bothered to look up weird sounding French vocabulary. In the words of a Professor Henry Higgins: The French don't care what they say as long as they pronounce it properly.

I sound like Maddox. But I am not. Because Maddox has small balls, and mine are not. Of course, Kenny Sia has coconuts, but hell, I'll not be forced to go pants shopping again so soon.

I want to call Evon to ask her something, but it will sound stupid over the phone and I'll forget what I'm saying. And the weird thing is that Perlis has a better internet connection than SEA Park does. Anyways, E, if you see this, like try to get me online. It's too random to ask face to face or over the phone.

How much gayer can I get? Very. I've been smooching Bryant in the cafeteria the whole morning while helping him with his project. Well, I suppose it's not technically, since smooching requires some sort of physical contact. But apparently Keith gets freaked out by this (and strangely he's taken to playing along. Gross...) it was well worth the rather weird feeling that comes with making out with a guy.

If you believed anything up there, you're stupid. If you don't, you're also stupid. Mwahahaha.

Meh.

some art...

I discovered I could do real cool art today. Take a look and tell me what you think they are!





Obviously, you can cheat. But then again, you'd gotta be a real wuss, or have taken too much time off wanking to do that.

Meh.

curry in my coffee...

SOMEONE finally claimed his coffee today. Finally.

Waking up at 10 in the morning is pretty invigorating. Especially if you've been up the whole morning observing a pretty interesting exchange between a 15 year old emo-kid, a sesat 15 year old friend of the emo-kid, some hot chick and her sadistically twisted boyfriend (both out to score some karma by twisting the fucked up brains of 15 year olds).


Anyways, made my quick way to KTM Subang. Strange thing today. I got trains as soon as I arrived at each station all the way. The fucked up part is that the trains moved especially slow. Seems like some anal retentive manager decided to save on electricity. Probably siphoning it off for his/her/its sadistic anal-electro-sex fetish games.

Reached there, found the O.C. standing behind me (I really gotta try looking behind sometimes), and went for lunch. This was supposed to be a review of sorts, but I don't have the attention span to try the variety of food, so I'll just show what we had today.


O.C. had nasi lemak. Very original. But I suppose if people would quuee qeeu queueu (shit, my England si liao) line up 40 person thick, it must be very good. By his account, it was. For one, I have never seen anyone so focused on egg yolk, gross-maggoty-sea-crustacean floss, shreds of denatured bird breast and pickled green stuff before.



Nasi Bojari for me. This stuff is good. Normally it comes with some tamarind seasoned maggot-ish sea crustacean, but I find their grub-like countenance positively nauseating. So I got some denatured protein torn off the chest of some avian (probably had flu), soaked in a burning sauce reminescent of vomit.

Nah. Really, it was good. Especially the dessicated flesh of cattle broiled in coconut and spices and the disembodied leg of probably the same flu-infected avian. Not that you could tell, lolz.

They had cute little strawberries in the water jug. Might explain why lunch was so expensive.


Verdict: Bolehlah.

And so the prize was awarded. Here's proof:


That's code for two Blackforests, Regular.



Ah, Arabica blend, moraschino cherries and chocolate espresso beans. Blended in ice with a whipped cream topping. Orgasmic.

Suddenly, Eva Thong decided to show up and pose until so chio.


Sugar + me = sugarhigh. Sugarhigh person + Eva Thong = Serious camwhoring session. Not really, but we need something to blame, lolz.

Ignore the dweeb in the shades.


Super kawaii! Haha...


Ewww. Gross...


My shades, weh...


Like, meh.


Posing plak...



Think what until so hard?


I THINK this was supposed to be seductive. Somehow.


Moved across to DeliFrance to continue.

Caught on film. Eva stole my sandwich.


They make a weird couple (*wipes image from mind with sand-jet abraisor*).


Definite sign of too much sugar. Ergh...


Got on the train.


People were abnormally normal on this particular one. Weirdness.


Feeling pretty ignored right now. No idea why.

Got this pain in my mouth after getting home. Ergh. Wisdom teeth coming out. Hmm, not seeming to get any wiser. What a misnomer.

Just to see how sad it is being me, here's photographic proof that I even visit my blog from Taylor's.


Ooi Keong just called me lala. Like, what the fuck? Wearing a black singlet that lala meh? Gay, maybe. But definitely not lala. Hell, if I'm any shellfish, I'd only settle for bao yue, okay? The rest of you are see ham.

Got a problem? Talk to the fingers, cuz the hand finds you stupid too.


Meh.