incompetance...

I swear. I have never come across such incompetance in my life. How can so many intellectually challenged people exist in such a small space? It's statistically impossible.

First of, the yearbook people are total worthless dipshits. There are a few exceptions, but in general. Ergh. The rest are fine, but it's the fucking design team that pisses me off. What the fucking hell is wrong with them? This isn't the first time and it won't be the last that I'm ranting about them. And why shouldn't I?

The lecturers are really starting to get on my nerves. In general, I used to think quite well of them. Then, things started to break down. First of, ENG4U isn't meant to be taught by someone less organized than the students. Next, when a teacher runs out of time to complete something, she should just scrap it, rather than make people come back to complete it. To cut some slack, she is a fresh graduate and everything. But I never forgive incompetance. Such stupidity is only to be found in organisms without brain stems. And another. You'd think for a program being promoted as one where the lecturers are outgoing and fun and whatnot, you'd think they'd be more receptive to photos. The rather undead look they give me everytime I want a photo done is too frustrating to describe. I should bring holy water.

I'm feeling extreme hatred for many things. Right now, it's a fuel. However, should temperatures rise, it will become an explosive.

Bring on the libel suits and what-have-you. You can't win. It's definitely not slander or libel or whatever, if it's true, no?

Meh.

help...

I'm not myself lately. That much you can tell. At least, from the fluctuating moods to the random annoyances to the easily-pissed-off-ness. Plus, I'm eating a lot less, but somehow am feeling fuller.

Next time, when I join a yearbook, I'm going to make sure that the team that pushes through the final result has skills above the category Motor. Fucking retards can't even come up with a plausible excuse from trying to escape meetings and save their asses. At least Ms Foo is gonna cut their marks and give them a bad report for fucking everything up. Haha. She's so cool.

Boy. I'm getting fat. Everything is becoming jelly-like again. Either that, or the fat is reducing so that it's less packed, meaning more wobbly. Whatever it is, hope it goes soon. Very annoying walking around like an unset jello.

I'm thinking of putting myself back on the market. But before selling a product, we must first see if there's a demand. Is there? Anyone?

Meh.

a property of light...

I was going to write reflection, but it's been used already. So I say property of light, which is more general, but encompasses reflection.

Another examination of my situation does indeed confirm that in my family, I am indeed the fugliest. All the cousins on my mother's side are of above average appearance, while I am either of just average, or lower, appearance. That is mostly my fault, I can say, but it does not mean I am not frustrated. On the other hand, the cousins on my father's side are mostly intellectual giants (okay, fine, relatively) or have this annoying trait of natural dilligence. In comparison, I have nothing from both sides, or if you choose to look at it the other way, I have a bit of both. Which leads me to a half baked potato situation.

Some Mormons rung the doorbell this evening while I was burning away holes in the enemy defence with a particle cannon. They may be quite inspiring, yes, with all their faith and stubborn, er, stubbornness. But they're bloody annoying. They think nothing of interrupting you in the middle of meh to tell you something you'd forget 5 minutes after they leave. Buddy, if I need someone to tell me how to get to heaven, it certainly isn't someone who will disturb me while I'm slicing my way through enemy ranks with a bright pink laser shooting from the sky.

What's with the name Latter Day Saints anyways? Are they always late? In which case, when the Pearly Gates snap shut, they'd be kinda left out, won't they? The whole point is defeatist. And, I don't need a prophet leader. If I'm going to hell, let it be on my own account, not because someone decided that annoying me in the middle of a well planned skirmish was justified because they wanted me to join their cult.

And they talk funny, too.

I just realised that you people get all a-scared of me when I'm pissed. There's a whole lot of "was it me?" "did I piss you off?" "what's going on?"

Basic fact is, someone pissed me, and I became pissed as a result of being pissed. And for once, I allowed a minor lashing. Very small, almost unnoticable. But it was anyways. And that should be taken as a sampling of what I'll do, except with greater magnitude, the next time I am pissed.

Funny thing how there's a don't hit girls policy going around. Okay, to be frank, I don't like hitting girls. I love girls. Without them, the world would be one testosterone pot. That's fine, no? You feminits amuse me.

It's those that insist that girls are equal to guys that ask to be walloped. Understand this: if girls were equal to guys, they'd produce sperm. And be less sqeuamish. The fact is that you are not equal. Hell, we're not even playing the same game. On what basis do you ground equal gender rights?

If you want to be treated equally, fine by me. Also expect to be smacked around equally. And embarassed equally. And humiliated equally. You don't get to choose which nice bits about being a guy and discard the rest, if ever there WAS anything great about being male. Take it all, or shut up.

Feminist bra burners should all be beaten to a pulp. Prove them right. Then they will be begged to be proven wrong.

Don't get me wrong. I love girls. I wouldn't hurt one. Unless they piss me off. Anyone assuming that gender is protection is sadly mistaken. You see, I'm a feminist too.

And I love guys. But you don't see me NOT bashing them up periodically, no?

There are two things you can do when you're depressed. Mope, or lash out at other people. Talking isn't one of them, because if your sense of reasoning was at that level, you'd hardly be down enough to qualify as depressed. And I think I am. If you think all this is a personal attack against yourself, then it is. If you think I'm just hormonal and need to get laid so I can just shut up, then I'm just hormonal and need to get laid so I can just shut up. If you think YOUR underwear is too tight, you'd better change it.

One reason why I haven't yet physically assaulted a female yet is because you girls are just better for cuddling than guys. Another would be that it takes a lot to piss me off to that level and you girls are just too adorable most of the time.

Patronizing? Me? I wish I was that approved of.

Meh.

greenhorn...

Just something hilarious I suppose I should share. You're probably too annoyed with the angry posts lately.

Keith is a constant source of amusement. Today, we were talking about sex and sexuality (aiya, we always talk about that, when I'm not twisting his mind over reality), and I said something about him not gonna be able to get laid with the way he thinks.

Keith: Well, I don't think I'll get laid anytime soon. My parents wouldn't like it.

Me: What the fuck? You're gonna ask your mom if you can fuck that girl first issit?

*imaginary conversation*

Keith: Mom, there's this girl I'm interested in fucking. Would that be alright with you?

Mom: No.

Like, what the fuck.

He's probably that green about sex la.

Then Kailash came into the conversation.

Kai: Hey Keith. I think we need to go get you a video la.

Me: Yeah, show you how to do it la. Hell, give me a pencil and paper right now I give you illustration.

Kai: No need! Just remember! Angkat, tolak, masuk, picit! (with visual illustrations using hands)

What the fuck.

Sex education. Leave it to the professionals.

On another note, I forgotten why I was so pissed, so I will stop being pissed. But if I remember, I will continue being pissed.

Meh.

happy thoughts, eh...

According to the O.C., tis the time of year for happy thoughts. Apparently, my brain didn't get the memo.

Happy. Hardly. I'm still pissed. But I don't remember why. Those long dead people who first said "forgive and forget" have obviously been forgotten, but as to whether they have been forgiven is another matter entirely.

I'm going to have to make it a point to be more violent. It's high time I'm taken seriously. You think I'm joking? Good.

To prove someone wrong, first prove them right.

People hate a smart alec. Fortunately, my name's not Alec.

Meh.

this is just the beginning...

You know who you are. That is only a taste of what I can do.

Do not piss me off again. Next time, I will smack you upside. I don't have qualms about hitting girls. Being physically weaker doesn't make you safe. And morality are for those who are weak and stupid.

Piss me of again, and you will see what happens next.

your face...

...is your fortune. Or so they say.

I'm broke.

Apparently, according to my mom, my grandma cries herself to sleep because her oldest grandson that can pass on the family name (me, that is), is ugly. I suppose it should comfort her by telling her I don't plan to have kids. Or get married, for that reason. Maybe I should tell her I'm gay. That should provoke interesting response.

My mom ain't helping much either. She took a look at this pic:

"Who is this girl?"

What the fuck?

I have a new cousin. I can't remember his name.

Let's hope he can fill in the big shoes that a grandson should. I failed. And if my brother turns out anything like me, he'll fail too.

I'm quite pissed. I hate it when my parents tell me off for anything, especially in public. Sometimes, I wonder if it's me. If I'm the childish one to sorta deserve admonition the way you'd scold a child. And if so, is it my fault? Can you expect me to behave any more adult if you insist on treating me like a child? I suppose not. At any rate, I don't act. I don't pretend. At least, not all the time. But the treatment continues regardless.

I'm so fucked. A look in the mirror confirms that my grandmother probably isn't wrong. A look at my mannerisms also confirms my parents opinion of me. And a quiet sit down alone shows that inside, I'm probably equally fucked up.

Walking in the Curve today, I almost wanted to ask my parents: if I died tomorrow, what would you do with the money you plan to spend on my Uni fees? The more I look at it, the less point I see in continuing this course of existence. I will never accept the life of a desk jockey, and I don't think I could actually do a business of my own. Any money spent on me from this point onwards seems like a pathetic waste.

It turns out that the downpayment for this house was paid just after my dad paid 6k for my first piano. It seems he's still not too happy that I haven't gotten anything tangible out of it. As I know it, he's a man to get the most out of his investment, and frankly, this one is sort of the kind that will keep taking, and has no dividend. And, I'm talking about me.

Went out for dinner with Tjit and Darien. SS2 after 7 in that food court place is teeming with chicks. As in, hot chicks. Plenty of eye candy for Tjit. From his eyes alone, which were basicaly glazed over. Darien was quite used to it, since he comes here almost all the time. Me, I dunno. I just sat there. This chick in a Hotlink staff uniform comes up to sell us phone numbers, I just wave her off.

Darien: What la you, chicks come, chit chat a bit la.

Me: Want to say what? I don't need a new number, but I can certainly do with yours?

Tjit: Yeah! He he he...

Me: *swt*

I make this most weird of statements.

Me: Strange thing is, I'm not attracted to girls who are attracted to me. But I'm attracted to girls who aren't.

Darien: So, you weren't attracted to Evon.

That hit me like a brick. I was. And probably still am. I know for certain I loved her. Any maybe still do. In a way, how she was, and is, special is that there was a mutual attraction. In general, that doesn't happen all the time. For me, it was plain unique. As far as I know, nobody ever loved me that way.

Why do I wax lyrical over the past? It's driving me insane. I know I'm fucked. I know I'm likely to have a nervous breakdown by my next birthday. I know I'll likely have a suicide attempt sometime in this life, and fail miserably at it. And I know that I'm not helping anyone here. Sigh.

People are telling me to just get laid so I can shut up. Maybe just skip that, and shut up. The more I talk, the more I seem to screw things up. Liz says I look so happy in my pics. Maybe, it's the fact that I'm so good at lying about everything, that even my outside is starting to believe it. I'm a most convincing actor. I can even act that I cannot act. And best of all, I never knew I had the talent.

My marks are fucked. Verily so. Anything less than a 90 is not useful for my purposes. And I won't likely have that 90. My marks have fallen so low, I need an oil rig to dig for it. If it isn't, it certainly feels that way.

It never rains but pours. The bottom of the cycle is followed by the downturn of many unrelated things. I normally wouldn't give a fuck about the opinions of others. But it seems, that in the past year, I've changed. And not just once. I think I'm becoming normal. And for that, I fear for my soul. Finally.



Meh.