The Inanity that is Life

Football World Cup Poetry Corner

2010-06-25T13:56:00.005+10:00

An Ode to the Departed...

O sayonara Cannavaro
Oui, oui... fly flee Thierry

Domenech, a domineering wreck
Poor Lippi, 'e none too happy

Buffon too, can only rue on two
Quagli's opportunities

A sulker, sent back is Anelka
Paris free? "Non, non, Ribéry!"

Home Le Bleus! A comic tragic blur
So it be, la wee Azzurri

Stats of the Day: Only Two Types

2010-02-05T17:59:00.001+11:00

Stat of the Day:

There are only two types of people in the world:

There is you;
And there is the 5,999,999,999 plebs that is stealing all your oxygen.

Ray Comfort is a Hack (Guest RE-Posted AGAIN)

2010-02-03T09:50:00.000+11:00

Good day and welcome to today's special edition of Ray-a-Day, written by me, Gordon, master and commander of this defunct blog. Much thanks and hugs should go to the wonderful Ziztur and Flimsy for hosting this book review party. Please grab a comfy seat, a stiff drink and try not to spill anything on their upholstery.

Today's "angry skeptic" is somewhat peeved at Ray Comfort over something:

I just wanted to let you know that you're an @$#!! You start out talking to people by questioning them on their bad behaviors, then you tell them they're gonna burn in hell. After scaring them with this method you turn around and start running your mouth about Jesus and how he died for them and how you don't want to see them go to hell, which then makes them sad. You think you're getting results when you do this? You think you're changing lives? Maybe for those couple of seconds when you twist people's emotions around and warp their mind into believing they are terrible people and they will die and go to hell. You talk to them like you're the @!#$& higher power! And you have the nerve to talk about self righteousness? You're a joke, take a good look in the mirror before you go out judging others. Who knows, that may be you burning in hell's eternal flames, and your little %$@!# buddy too...

Allow me to begin by confessing, I have no idea what this person is referring to when he/she is slagging off Comfort. My only exposure to Comfort prior to reading Ziztur's review of his book, is a clip of Comfort performing this comedy routine:

Seriously, to this day I still believe this was a silly attempt at Poe-rady, and I harbour half a hope that Ray and Kirk would pop up one day and say, Python-esque: "Sorry, ladies and gents, that was all for a lark. Wasn't it tip top stuff, eh?". That's the thing about Poe's Law, there's always a non-zero percentage chance that this would happen in the future.

But thanks to this book review assignment, I am forced to dig up Comfort's other works, better known as "The Way of the Master" ministry. A sample of what they... em... "do", is in videos like the ones below:

After witnessing these few videos I am even more convinced Comfort is a parody and, as the "angry skeptic" have pointed out, a joke. How anyone can attempt such a blatantly transparent three card trick in this age is certainly laughable. (Thunderf00t offers a simple refutation of this clumsy ploy, from 02:30-07:20, or what I like to call "The Heathen's Gambit")

Yet Comfort and his crew of evangelists seem to win many fans amongst their quarter, so for the moment I shall grant him the benefit of doubt and treat him as a serious preacher and not as some sly street-corner snake-oil salesman.

Comfort's reply to the "angry skeptic" is as thus:

It's true that I do ask people about their bad behavior, and I do tell them what the Bible says about hell. But how could I not? If I am fully persuaded that someone is in terrible danger, I have to at least warn them.
...
There is one thought that skeptics don't seem to take into account. What if hell does exist? What if the Bible is right? What if God is holy and just and will punish murderers and rapists in a terrible place called hell? What if every single person will get what's coming to them? If what we say is the gospel truth, then what we are saying is justified and most necessary.

Ahhh, the familiar yet severely vulture-pecked carcass that is Pascal.

Ever since I was a little kid, I often wondered what is the deal with the theological preoccupation with this Hellfire thing, and why is it at all frightening? Sure, eternity is a long time ;-) , but being roasted continuously... hmmm... on a pain scale of one to ten register no more than a mere six. And it doesn't score much on the imagination scale neither.

If I was to be scared of hell, it would a hell where 10,000 volts are jolted through every one of my appendages, whilst I am languishing in a sea of Sulphuric Acid, at the same time crushed on all sides by a tonne of radioactive fissionable Plutonium-239, where they easily achieve critical mass to cause a nuclear chain reaction around my material body... as well as within my immaterial soul... for all of eternity. Now that is a ten out of ten kinda hell!!

Now for argument sake, I am "fully persuaded" that:

The almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster exists, and he presides over this Electric, Acidic, Nuclear Hell^TM.

The noodly FSM considers anyone sporting any facial hair to be a abominable sinner.

The merciful FSM will send all such sinners straight into this special Hell^TM.

I am duty bound to warn Ray Comfort that his afterlife is in peril and he must repent to FSM, to shave off his moustache and do the chicken dance after downing 14 shots of vodka. If he doesn't, a grim radioactive annihilation awaits him.

So should Comfort follow the bidding of the lord FSM? I certainly hope not.

For fear not, young Ray Comfort, this Hell^TM have as much evidence for its existence as your standard garden-variety fiery hell. And if any fundamentalist FSM worshippers try to convert you with such a shallow sales pitch as "What if Hell^TM does exist? What if the FSM is holy and just and will punish the beardy and the moustachy in a terrible place called Hell^TM?", you are well within your rights to laugh vigourly at their faces, like any rationally thinking folks will do for you.

Ray continues by insisting he is able to critically examine himself when it comes to his own sins:

... I am as bad, if not worse than most of the people to whom I speak. I have broken all of the Ten Commandments, in spirit if not in letter. I have committed a multitude of sins, and that's why I need a Savior. Being a Christian means that all that sin is forgiven.

Sorry, come again?

Being a Christian means that all that sin is forgiven.

I just want this statement to sink in a little bit here.

Which brings us back to this point, there is something truly appalling about this whole enterprise which can arbitrarily set the definition of a sickness, a sin, and then arbitrarily prescribe a cure only they can administer. But for Comfort to parade around his contemptuous banner of "I am saved, but you will burn (if you don't do as I say)", is compounding the bile that rises in my throat.

Only now can I truly appreciate what this "angry skeptic" is railing against, the comedy act that is Ray Comfort is beyond a joke. A hypocrisy dressed up as a self-righteous pretension. You sure can lead an atheist to evidence, but so far all I can witness from Comfort is an argument of "neener-neener-neener, God likes me better than you".

And this makes his "Banana ergo Deus" argument positively cerebral.

Semi-interesting Trivia About the 2010 FIFA World Cup Qualifiers

2009-11-19T17:58:00.004+11:00

Another set of the Football World Cup qualifying matches are over. To celebrate, here is a list of semi-interesting things I found out about the history of the qualification (from Wikipedia of course). Be prepared to be inundated by mundanity:

A total of 204 countries attempted to battle their way to the World Cup, only 31 teams succeeded. South Africa, being the host, qualified directly.
There are no debutants in this edition of the Football World Cup Finals, meaning all qualified countries have reached the pinnacle of football at least once. As far as I know this is a first, every World Cup Finals in the past have hosted at least one debutant.
The six teams with the least experience in Cup Finals (i.e. two appearances only) are: North Korea (last appeared in 1966), Honduras & New Zealand (1982), Greece (1994), Slovenia (2002) and Ivory Coast (2006) .
Technically, this should be Serbia (of former Yugoslavia) and Slovakia (of former Czechoslovakia) first Finals appearance. But they were represented in the past by various former names.
The African continent have four debutants (out of five tickets) in 2006, the previous Finals. This time around, all of the their qualifiers should be seasoned campaigners. In my humble opinion, South Africa and Algeria would struggle, though Ivory Coast, Cameroon, Ghana and Nigeria are good chance of going through to the knockout rounds.
North Korea and South Korea will appear in next year Finals together, the first time this has happened. Hopefully they won't meet in a quarter finals, and one side being beaten contentiously, thus sparking a nuclear war in the Korean peninsula.
Since 1958, USSR have qualified for every Finals, except for 1974 and 1978. After the dissolution of the USSR, former soviet states Russia have qualified in 1994 and 2002, with Ukraine achieving it in 2006.
In 2010 however, neither Russia, Ukraine nor any other former soviet states will join the big football party, a first since 1998.
The former state of Yugoslavia will be represented in 2010 by two independent states : Serbia and Slovenia.
Their cousin Bosnia-Herzegovina came close to qualifying but could not overcome Portugal at the last hurdle. With Croatia coming a narrow third in their group, imagine what they could have achieved together if they didn't split up their former country in the first place. Wishful thinking I know.
Interestingly, all of the former champions: Brazil (5 times champ), Italy (4), Germany (3), Uruguay & Argentina (twice each) and England & France (once each) have all qualified for 2010 edition of the World Cup. All of them easily top their respective qualifying groups, except for France, Uruguay and Argentina.
Argentina struggled late with their qualifying matches, only to qualify in the last gasp by beating Uruguay in the South America's final home-and-away league game. The Argentine ended on fourth of their group, the last automatic qualifying spots.
Uruguay ended up fifth and need to playoff against the Central America's Costa Rica to get through. Similar to what they have to do in their 2002 and 2006 campaigns.
France struggled early and managed to sneak in by beating Rep. of Ireland in the last dying minutes of their playoff game.
Brazil have never failed to qualify for the FIFA World Cup Finals... Joga Bonito Brasil!

Obey the Laws!!!!!

2009-10-28T14:22:00.002+11:00

Obey the Internet Laws!!!!! Or face the consequences from the Irony police.

Sometimes the World is an Alright Place

2009-09-08T10:24:00.003+10:00

An Afghan journalist/student, Sayed Perwiz Kambakhsh, jailed and sentence to death for the crime of "Blasphemy", after he downloaded documents about women rights and Islam, have been pardoned.

He should not have been charged from the beginning, but this is a story to demonstrate that sometimes, just sometimes, a wrong can be righted (through international lobby group and foreign government pressures).

Jesus vs. Tai Chi... Let the battle begin!!

2009-05-07T16:26:00.002+10:00

I just love these religion vs. religion stories:

A group of senior Tai Chi practitioners are kicked out of a church property because their eastern "philosophies were incompatible with the Bible's teachings."

No seriously.

And this quote by the church leader Rev. Morse show the level of miscomprehension on his part about meditation and Christian's beliefs:

"It's about a type of meditation, and what they call search for enlightenment, where you go into things like yoga do (yoga do) or, like in the martial arts, meditations where you just emptied your mind and let it go wherever it wanted to.
"Well that stands in opposition to Christianity, which says we are to be in control of our faculties."

In control of our faculties? Where in the Bible does it say that?? (Commandment XI: Thou shall possess control of all thou faculties??)

And what ever else he may object to, meditations is the practice of controlling your mental faculties. But I digress.

Quote of the Day: Does Science Make Belief in God Obsolete?

2009-05-04T17:02:00.004+10:00

The John Templeton Foundation ask a number of prominent thinkers: Does science make belief in God obsolete?

The best answer is undoubtedly provided by this man: Prof. Pervez Amirali Hoodbhoy of Quaid-e-Azam University in Islamabad. Witty and dry in style, his answer is quoted in full below:

Does science make belief in God obsolete? Not necessarily.
But you must find a science-friendly, science-compatible God. First, try the pantheon of available Creators. Inspect thoroughly. If none fits the bill, invent one.
The God of your choice must be a stickler for divine principles. Science does not take kindly to a deity who, if piqued or euphoric, sets aside seismological or cosmological principles and causes the moon to shiver, the earth to split asunder, or the universe to suddenly reverse its expansion. This God must, among other things, be stoically indifferent to supplications for changing local meteorological conditions, the task having already been assigned to the discipline of fluid dynamics. Therefore, indigenous peoples, even if they dance with great energy around totem poles, shall not cause even a drop of rain to fall on parched soil. Your rule-abiding and science-respecting God equally well dispenses with tearful Christians singing the Book of Job, pious Hindus feverishly reciting the havan yajna, or earnest Muslims performing the salat-i-istisqa as they face the Holy Ka'aba. The equations of fluid flow, not the number of earnest supplicants or quality of their prayers, determine weather outcomes. This is slightly unfortunate because one could imagine joining the faithful of all religions in a huge simultaneous global prayer that wipes away the pernicious effects of anthropogenic global climate change.
Your chosen God cannot entertain private petitions for good health and longevity, prevent an air crash, or send woe upon demand to the enemy. Mindful of microbiology and physiology, She cannot cure leprosy by dipping the afflicted in rivers or have humans remain in unscathed condition after being devoured by a huge fish. Faster-than-light travel is also out of the question, even for prophets and special messengers. Instead, She must run the world lawfully and unto the letter, closely following the Book of Nature.
A scientific Creator should certainly know an awful lot of science. To differentiate between the countless universes offered by superstring theory is a headache. Fine-tuning chemistry to generate complex proteins, and then initiating a cascade of mutations that turn microbe to man, is also no trivial matter. But bear in mind that there are definite limits to divine knowledge: God can know only the knowable. Omniscience and science do not go well with each other.
The difficulty with omniscience - even with regard to a particle as humble as the electron-has been recognized as an issue since the 1920s. Subatomic particles show a vexing, subtle elusiveness that defeats even the most sophisticated effort to measure certain of their properties. Unpredictability is intrinsic to quantum mechanics, the branch of physics which all particles are empirically seen to obey. This discovery so disturbed Albert Einstein that he rejected quantum mechanics, pronouncing that God could not "play dice with the universe." But it turned out that Einstein's objections were flawed - uncertainty is deeply fundamental. Thus, any science-abiding deity we choose may be incompletely informed on at least some aspects of nature.
Is one being excessively audacious, perhaps impertinent, in setting down terms of reference for a Divine entity? Not really. Humans have always chosen their objects of worship. Smarter humans go for smarter Gods. Anthropomorphic representations - such as a God with octopus arms - are a bit out of fashion today but were enormously popular just a few centuries ago. As well, some people might object to binding God and human to the same rules of logic, or perhaps even sharing the same space-time manifold. But if we drop this essential demand then little shall remain. Reason and evidence would lose meaning and be replaced by tradition, authority, and revelation. It would then be wrong for us to have 2 + 2 = 5, but okay for God. Centuries of human progress would come to naught.
Let's face it: the day of the Sky God is long gone. In the Age of Science, religion has been downsized, and the medieval God of classical religions has lost repute and territory. Today people pay lip service to trusting that God but they still swallow antibiotics when sick. Muslim-run airlines start a plane journey with prayers but ask passengers to buckle-up anyway, and most suspect that people who appear to rise miraculously from the dead were probably not quite dead to begin with. These days if you hear a voice telling you to sacrifice your only son, you would probably report it to the authorities instead of taking the poor lad up a mountain. The old trust is disappearing.
Nevertheless, there remains the tantalizing prospect of a divine power somewhere "out there" who runs a mysterious, but scrupulously miracle-free, universe. In this universe, God may choose to act in ingenious ways that seem miraculous. Yet these "miracles" need not violate physical laws. Extraordinary, but legitimate, interventions in the physical world permit quantum tunneling through cosmic worm holes or certain symmetries to snap spontaneously. It would be perfectly fair for a science-savvy God to use nonlinear dynamics so that tiny fluctuations quickly build up to earthshaking results - the famous "butterfly effect" of deterministic chaos theory.
Nietzsche and the theothanatologists were plain wrong - God is neither dead nor about to die. Even as the divine habitat shrinks before the aggressive encroachment of science, the quantum foam of space-time creates spare universes aplenty, offering space both for a science-friendly God as well as for self-described "deeply religious non-believers" like Einstein. Many eminent practitioners of science have successfully persuaded themselves that there is no logical contradiction between faith and belief by finding a suitable God, or by clothing a traditional God appropriately. Unsure of why they happen to exist, humans are likely to scour the heavens forever in search of meaning.
- Prof. Pervez Amirali Hoodbhoy, Physicist
Essay for The John Templeton Foundation, 2008

Irony is made of these...

2009-04-02T10:58:00.002+11:00

Catholism Faith Healing vs. Reiki Spiritual Healing...

Both seems impossible yet millions swear by it. So which one is more effective? The vatican believe they have the trump card, but somehow I would lean towards Reiki, because their claims are far less incredible.

How Effective is Acupuncture?

2008-11-19T10:54:00.001+11:00

Not very effective, apparently.

Robo-Rat II

2008-08-25T11:25:00.003+10:00

Another cybernetical organism. Sourced from: http://www.physorg.com/news137852322.html

Richard Dawkins on Religion and "Memetics"

2008-08-22T19:09:00.003+10:00

Q&A with Richard Dawkins @ UC Berkeley

Quote of the Day: Belief in "Belief-in-God"

2008-08-19T15:51:00.006+10:00

It is seldom remarked (though often observed in private, I daresay) that many, many people who profess belief in God do not really act the way people who believed in God would act; they act the way people would act who believed in believing in God. That is, they manifestly think that believing in God is—would be—a good thing, a state of mind to be encouraged, by example if possible, so they defend belief-in-God with whatever rhetorical and political tools they can muster. They ask for God's help, but do not risk anything on receiving it, for instance. They thank God for their blessings, but, following the principle that God helps those who help themselves, they proceed with the major decisions of their lives as if they were going it alone.
Those few individuals who clearly do act as if they believed in God, really believed in God, are in striking contrast: the Christian Scientists who opt for divine intervention over medical attention, for instance, or those who give all their goods to one church or another in expectation of the Apocalypse, or those who eagerly seek martyrdom.
Not wanting the contrast to be so stark, the believers in belief-in-God respond with the doctrine that it is a sin (or at least a doctrinal error) to count on God's existence to have any particular effect. This has the nice effect of making the behavior of a believer in belief-in-God and the behavior of a believer in God so similar as to be all but indistinguishable.
Once nothing follows from a belief in God that doesn't equally follow from the presumably weaker creed that it would be good if I believed in God—a doctrine that is readily available to the atheist, after all—religion has been so laundered of content that it is quite possibly consistent with science. Peter de Vries, a genuine believer in God and probably the funniest writer on religion ever, has his hyper-liberal Reverend Mackerel (in his book The Mackerel Plaza) preach the following line: "It is the final proof of God's omnipotence that he need not exist in order to save us."
The Reverend Mackerel's God can co-exist peacefully with science. So can Santa Claus, who need not exist in order to make our yuletide season more jolly.

- Prof. Daniel Dennett, Philosopher of Science,

Interview for Science & Spirit, 2007

Robo-Rat

2008-08-18T13:49:00.002+10:00

A Robot, but entirely controlled by soft mushy patch of biological matter.

Introducing: Robo-Rat.

Big Buns!!

2008-08-09T22:49:00.000+10:00

True Story...

2008-08-01T18:18:00.005+10:00

Reposted from Scott Adams' Blog:

"I have a funny story for you about the security people at (company name deleted). I was leaving on a Friday afternoon with my laptop in hand (not in the case) and was stopped by security and told that I cannot take the laptop with me and that it had to be inside a bag.

I asked why and they said that there had been a lot of computer thefts. They asked where the bag was. I told them that it was attached to my bicycle which I had to leave at another building because they (security) won't let me take it (the bike) in with me. After a momentary standoff, they said I could fill out a form to take the laptop with me and I said that I would.

They then said that I could not fill it out - my manager had to. I told them that my manager doesn't work in the building, nor does anyone in my management chain. This posed a problem for the crack security team. At last, they formulated a brilliant solution to the problem. They told me that if I had grocery bag in my office I could put the laptop in it and everything would be okay . Of course, I don't have grocery bags in my office. Who would? I did have a windbreaker, however. So I went up to my office, wrapped up the laptop in my windbreaker, and went back down.

I don't see how this prevents theft because now it really looks like I am stealing the laptop. Satisfied that they had performed in the line of duty, the crack security team
let me go on my way."

Quote of the Day: Birth and Death

2008-05-28T18:56:00.003+10:00

"I do not fear death, in view of the fact that I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it."

Mark Twain

Crows and Intelligence

2008-05-19T18:33:00.008+10:00

The below video have filled me with equal measure of awe, amusement, amazement and fear. I swear I will never insult the intelligence of crows ever again.

http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/261

For more about Betty the "hook-making" Crow, see this article:

http://theweeklyreport.com/Newsletters/Aug12.pdf; or

http://users.ox.ac.uk/~kgroup/tools/introduction.shtml

Quote of the Day

2008-05-09T17:50:00.002+10:00

"Most people have the will to win, few have the will to prepare to win."

- Bobby Knight, Former coach of the
Texas Tech College basketball team

By a Single Thread

2008-02-20T18:55:00.004+11:00

Hanging on by a single thread at West Head,
comtemplating life and all it's unsavouriness.

Life is short. Far too short. Go do something crazy. Quit your stinking pile of dog poo of a job. Eat something you have never eaten before. Suck the juice out of life. Hang off a cliff. Feel alive.

What ever you do, do not sit at your office blogging inane crap in an inane blog. :-)

Go!!!

Quote of the Day: Jobs that Sucks the Life Out of You

2008-02-19T15:44:00.004+11:00

"My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell."

- Lester Burnham, "American Beauty", 1999

Oh for Joy!!!

2008-01-23T17:43:00.000+11:00

Dilbert is now in a Widget!!! You can check it out on my side bar. Woohoo!

Religion: Why it Should Affect Your Vote

2008-01-10T16:58:00.000+11:00

Why should you vote for a Christian when you are a Muslim, a Buddhist or a Jew? And why should you vote for a Catholic when you are a Protestant, or a Baptist, or even a Mormon?

I think Scott Adams have pose a good question and provide a great answer to this conundrum. Go and read it in his blog about:

Religion and Politics

I am now an "Atheist"!!

2007-11-14T09:37:00.000+11:00

As I said at the outset I'm reluctant to use the word 'atheist' to describe my own unshakable disbelief and that's not because I'm ashamed, afraid or even embarrassed, but simply because it seems so self evidently true to me that there is no God that giving that conviction a special title, somehow dignifies what it denies. After all, we don't have a special word for people who don't believe in ghosts or witches.

- Jonathan Miller, Director & Author,
"A Brief History of Disbelief", 2007

God dammit!! In a feeble attempt to boost my readership levels (from the current zero readers who read this blog, to something even resembling half a reader), I have signed up to Mojoey's Atheist Blogroll and the OUT Campaign Blogroll, both of which is a conglomeration of blogs written by atheists, secularist, brights, agnostics, skeptics, non-theists, humanists, anti-theists and so on.

In the process, I guess I am now "outing" myself as an "atheist", whatever that means.

So what is an atheist anyway? How do we begin to define a group of people who lack the imaginative powers to believe in any form of supernatural agents, playing checkers using our arses as the pieces.

I can't really begin to fathom the idea of atheism, because it is much too broad and varying of a term. Similarly, theistic beliefs are very hard to nail down as well, since no two Christians (or two Muslims, two Jews, two Buddhists, two FSM-ists) of the same denomination would ever believe in exactly the same bucket of religious ideas.

So it is pretty meaningless to say that I am an atheist, not because I am not an atheist, but the labeling of myself as one is pretty pointless to say the least. It doesn't say that anything about me as a person at all.

Still anything and everything to pander for some readership, eh? ;-)

PS. Please have a look at the some of the other blogs on Mojoey's Atheist Blogroll, some of them are quite good.

Quote of the Day: The Right to Free Speech

2007-11-08T21:19:00.003+11:00

Why we must protect everyone's right to free speech, especially those whose opinions we disagree with:

'How do I know that I know this, except that I have always been taught this and never heard anything else?'
It is always worth establishing First Principle...
'How can I prove the Earth is round? Am I sure about the Theory of Evolution? I know it is supposed to be true, here's someone who say there's no such thing, it's all Intelligent Design. How sure am I of my own views?'
Don't take refuge in the false security of consensus and the feeling that whatever you think, you're bound to be okay because you're in the safely moral majority.

- Christopher Hitchens, Writer & Journalist,
Debate at Hart House, University of Toronto, 2007

Monkey God Attack!!

2007-10-24T18:14:00.001+10:00

Today is plagiarism day. Yay! So please read Scott Adams post about:

Monkey God on the Attack!!

Too funny not to re-post....

Quote of the Day: Probability and Fame

2007-10-16T17:12:00.000+10:00

It's all about luck. The problem with famous people in general is that they actually think they're geniuses. You get famous and you think, 'Yes, of course I should be famous and I've earned it all'. You haven't, you got lucky.
I got lucky, I was in a TV show that got a Thursday night-time slot at 10pm and it was a massive hit, and as a result I get to do movies I want to do.
- George Clooney, Actor, smh.com.au, 2007

How Men Should Commit to Women

2007-10-15T18:06:00.000+10:00

Rather than blogging about why men cannot spend the rest of his days with one women, here is something a little less depressing about men-women relationship:

How to Keep your Woman

Quote of the Day: Probability and Religion

2007-10-11T16:20:00.000+10:00

All religions were forged as defences against this virus, chance. Once you have dreamt up a god or a goddess, you can abase yourself, offer up burnt offerings, put your knees to the ground or your bottom to the air, all in the hope that by fawnings and repeated praise you may ward off ill fortune, or gain an imaginary better world.

- Brian Aldiss, Science Fiction Novelist,
"Fiction or Prediction?", 2007

Why Men Can't Commit - Part IV

2007-10-09T20:28:00.000+10:00

Boo-Yah!! Sam de Brito cuts to the chase again with this little beauty about the cost of courtship of women:

Some a mixed drink, some a Maserati

Make sure you read to the bottom, the analogies there are hilarious, and it points out once again why men, generally, can not (or would not) commit to women.

An Interesting Weekend...

2007-10-08T19:16:00.000+10:00

Just a short post to update you on the interesting weekend I had...

Saturday Evening: It was my mum's birthday and we went to a nice Thai restaurant to have a birthday dinner. We had a very fulfilling dinner and I was extremely bloated, which was further exacerbated by the Tiramisu cake we had for dessert. The meal ended at approximately 8pm.

Saturday Night: Watched the Wallabies fumbled their way out of the RWC against a fairly ordinary Pommie side. Went to bed very upset about the world of Rugby.

Sunday 7am: Woke up early to catch the All Blacks stubbornly coughed up the chance to win their Quarter Final to the French. That's fantastic, the two teams I do care about in this world cup have bungled their way out of the tournament. I have managed to wake up even more upset about the world of Rugby.

Sunday 8am: I decided I should work my way through the grief of the losses by starting to build my IKEA wardrobe, which had been sitting there in the corner, waiting to be constructed for nearly a week.

Sunday Morning: Work, work, work... Hammer, hammer, hammer... Lift up, put down... Screw in, screw out...

Sunday Afternoon: Work, work, work... Hammer, hammer, hammer... Lift up, put down... Screw in, screw out...

Sunday 3pm: Finally finished the construction of the wardrobe... Am wondering where the time had went?? Decided I must now load all of my clothes into it to see if they fit.

Sunday Late Afternoon: Work, work, work... Sorting clothes, folding them, sorting some more, folding them all... And squeezing it all in the infernal wardrobe.

Sunday 7pm: Excellent!! The whole wardrobe business is sorted... YAY!!... Grabbed a shower and prepared to catch the next RWC Quarter Final: South Africa vs. Fiji.

Frosted glass door looks very sexy...

Crammed clothes is not so sexy...

Sunday Night: The Fijian side did stunningly well but the Springbok were too strong, too dominant. Time for bed.

Monday Early Morning: Woke up early to catch the end of the Argentina vs. Scotland Quarter Final. The Scots threw the kitchen sink at them but really they weren't good enough. The Pumas are through to meet the Springboks for a Southern Hemisphere Semi Final.

Monday Morning: Rode my bike to the gym as with every other morning. Had a quick swim and a steam and readied myself to go to work.

Monday 9am: Had breakfast at work consisting of a bowl of Weetbix and fruit salad.

---

For those of you that are still reading this blog, you are probably scratching your head thinking: "What is so damn interesting about this guy's weekend??? This blog is as boring as pink bat poo!!"

To me, it is interesting because between the dinner I had with mum on Saturday and the breakfast I had this morning, I have neglected to eat anything else the entire time. No food passed my lips and only a bottle of water was there to keep me going. I didn't consciously choose to fast myself but the stupid wardrobe took precedence above all other matter.

It just fascinate me how a human minds can focus on something to the detriment of all other peripheral things. How it can ignore certain things for a certain amount of time, as if it is by magic they disappear.

Today I had three full meals and am amply nourished, I guess I have to be, since I am in preparation for next weekends building of the IKEA book shelves to begin :-)

Fat Beget Fat

2007-08-08T20:03:00.000+10:00

OK, for once, this post is NOT about religion... Woohooo!! ***Cue Trumpet, Fanfare, Confetti***

I just want to draw your attention to the latest scientific study by biological geeks in UK, that show that obese people tend to procreate with other obese people which leads to more obese people in the world:

http://uk.reuters.com/article/topNews/idUKL0766980720070808

To which I can only respond with a nonchalant: "No shit, Sherlock!"

Seriously, when was the last time you see a really fat person hooking up with a slim fit hot young thing, huh? (excluding situations where the fat lard have money flowing out of his/her ears to satisfy the whims of the slim trophy partner).

The result of the study is hardly surprising, but what compels me write this blog entry is this rather shocking thought:

Humankind is transcending the confines
of the Laws of Natural Selection
(AKA Survival of the Fittest)

That's right, just because you are stupid, ugly and fat, it does not preclude you from passing your dumb, fatty genes onwards to your offspring. No problem. Nothing a little cosmetic nose surgery, liposuction, laser eye surgery, breast augmentation, genetic engineering can't fix, eh?

Because of human ingenuity, environmental changes does not put any pressure upon our gene pool towards any one direction. If it gets too cold, we don't pick short fat people as our champions, we just harvest more fur from more furry critters. If it gets too hot, we don't get freaky with some tall skinny guy, we just invent air conditioners.

Our species may be the only one on Earth which could break free from the demands of Natural Selection. Our generation the last of which to succumb to the scythe of the Reaper.

And because Hitler and the Nazis, we know that the philosophy of eugenics is inherently wrong and against our better human nature. But if we can understand that it is wrong to selectively breed certain human traits, we should also acknowledge that human technology will eventually cause the diversity of our gene pool to produce people that is not entirely in harmony with mother nature.

Do we need to do anything about all the obese kids that are out there? I don't think so, I believe that in the future, drugs and nano-machines will be able solve all the ailments of our fat brethren. And with the looming human induced ice-age coming, we will need all the fat people we can get to carry our seeds to the next generation.

Welcome to the future, children.

Bible Study

2007-07-18T21:39:00.000+10:00

The Book of Genesis explained:

"I Like Big BOOTS n' I Cannot Lie..."

2007-07-17T20:03:00.000+10:00

"I like big BUTTS n' I cannot lie
All you other brothers can't deny..."

Sir Mix-a-Lot, 1992

I am under the impression that Sir Mix-a-Lot has got it all wrong with his Hip Hop track "Baby Got Back", where he pays tribute to the women's rear end as a living work of art.

While a woman's lower ASSets are indeed desirable, for me there is nothing more sexier than a girl decked out in a pair leather BOOTS.

For the girl in question could be skinny, plump, tall, short, brown, white or of purple hue. It does not matter whether she dons ankle high, knee high or thigh high boots. And it matters not the heel size, lacing, strapping nor the individual styling... It is all deliciously HAWT to me.

Given the worlds ugliest woman or the world most beautiful model, if you pop some boots on her pins, she will be twice as good looking immediately to my eyes.

It is something that is slowly groomed into my psyche, my conditioning. Like Krytonite to my supermanlihood, I just cannot help but fall for the boots...

More of the Same...

2007-06-22T20:41:00.000+10:00

Here is some more religious bashing stuff, brought to you by George Carlin:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uBAPbOWLxc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CitfTtMIx8

Found these at RichardDawkins.Net...

Really Really Horny

2007-06-20T17:54:00.000+10:00

This is just too funny to ignore:

Man Masturbate Unabated...
After Being Stabbed with Kitchen Knife!!

I am not sure this is a clever marketing campaign by the Colombian drug cartel or the bloke was just having an extremely bad case of Blue Balls...

Things I am Doing When I Should be Doing Other Better Things

2007-06-18T19:40:00.000+10:00

Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, my excuse is that I have been busying myself with reading. Yes, reading...?!?

What am I reading? Recently I am (for some reason) intrigued by religion, namely the organised kind. You know the faith healing, money grubbing, hate promoting, sin pushing kind.

And by coincident I bump into these two resources that has truly captured my imagination:

The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins - Scientist, Philosopher and Intellectual
A Piece of Blue Sky: Scientology, Dianetics & L. Ron Hubbard Exposed by Jon Atack - former Scientologist and archivist

The fact that I am reading both books in unison is indeed a strange and somewhat enriching experience. But this doesn't leave me much spare time to blog.

I will report on my findings of these readings soon. Stay tuned...

Unwanted Erection or Excellent PR?

2007-06-06T19:14:00.000+10:00

OK, first read this article from Forbes (A business mag no less?!?) about:

Man Sues Over Long-Lasting Erection

So the story goes, that this dude drank this magical energy drink and he is now packing heat 24/7... Right?!?...

Now I am no marketing genius, but I am guessing that if I want to sell a generic product, any generic product, *very fast* I would probably want to claim that said product can help you:

make your kids love you,
make your neighbours envy you,
lose weight,
gain muscle,
grow you more hair,
lose you more hair,
reduce wrinkles,
fight aging,
lift your butt,
tone your abs,
give you bigger cleavage,
give you a longer lasting erection,
give you ten mind-altering orgasms,
in a row,
over a five hours period,
and for a limited time only, it comes with this *FREE* Snoopy collectible doll...
HURRY!!! Don't miss out or your kids will hate YOU!!

Seriously, this product will sell like hot crack in prison.

If however, you can only claim any one of the above bullshit, the "longer lasting erection" one will do quite well as a marketing ploy. Case in point: Viagra + Oysters = Resonating Crescendo Hype...

So if I am marketing this herbal drinks "Boost Plus" and some bloke comes along saying: "Hey, I want to sue your company for giving me a never ending erection", I'll be saying: "Sir, please wait while we increase our factory manufacturing output, because I am sure as hell we won't be able to meet the flooding demands... By the way would you like us to pay your legal fees while we are at it?"

The Search for the Next Pussy... Part II

2007-05-30T19:02:00.000+10:00

Following from my last post about the search for the next Pussy Cat Doll (or PCD as they like to objectified as), it seems a new group of sexy mamas have burst out of nowhere to claim the spot of the most likely to succeed the PCD as the next PCDs... (does that even make sense??)

This new musical group is curvaceous, bubbly and very flamboyant, and boy can they dance... Allow me to present:

The Tubbies-Cat-Dolls

Epilogue: What is Wrong With Me?

2007-05-29T18:55:00.000+10:00

In the Stanley Kubrick's war classic "Full Metal Jacket", Gunnery Sergeant Hartman once kindly asked one his nice young trooper:

"What is your major malfunction, numbnuts?!?"

I have since often wondered "Yeah! What is my major malfunction?". Why is it that I cannot lead a normal functional life (namely in the facet of relationships)? Why are pretty women repelled by me? Why is it that I cannot converse fluently with women that I am attracted to? Why is it that I cannot raise their eyebrows, make them skip a heartbeat, sweep them off their feet?

I have written a series of blog entries that delve into the possible malfunctioning part of my attractiveness with regards to my hair, physique and face.

But truth be told, I know the major malfunction exist far more deeper than just the superficial stuff... You know, sometimes we all have the urge to conduct a conversation with our favourite imaginary friend, and my conversation with him will flow basically like: this...

And *THAT* is the problem with me. I don't give myself half a chance... with any women... at all... I shoot myself down before I even launch the good ship "Let's Be Friends".

I also think it might have something to do with my first failed venture with the young pretty Caucasian girl... but that shit is in the past. I gotta pick myself up, dust myself off and kick on. I gotta keep hacking at it, keep meeting those beautiful girls until I find one that is remotely attracted to my quirky humour and weird-arse personality.

However, I am not delusional: I know I am NOT that unattractive, BUT I know there is a damn-near-zero-percent-chance that Claudia and I will get freaky-wit-it anytime soon (unless I start learning a bucket load of magic tricks like that ugly bastard David Copperfield).

It is just a matter of knowing what my limits are and being friendly to all the people I meet along the way.

All I wish is that the rejections become easier to swallow...

Love is a Many-Splendored Thing

2007-05-14T19:35:00.000+10:00

What is "Le Amour"? This thing we call "Love"? Please allow Chris Rock to educate you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6OaRcsfnY4

**Warning: Contains very coarse language and milk-shooting-outta-your-nostrils jokes. Please do not drink milk while viewing.

Everybody Loves Farfour

2007-05-13T12:40:00.000+10:00

Finally, after years of exhaustive search, authorities have been able to locate the illegitimate love-child of Adolf Hitler and Mickey Mouse. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you "Farfour", everybodies' favourite hate-spouting gun-toting rodent:

It seems that Farfour is trying to gain media attention by presenting a children program called "The Pioneers of Tommorow" shown on the Palestinian (Hamas) state-owned TV channel "Al-Aqsa".

"The Pioneers of Tommorow" is your usual "Wiggles" type of entertainment show, you know, stuff like singing, dancing, shooting, murdering and genocide-mongering:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s70KlZwb9RE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lv3dvYhFk_Y

Of course, there are some subtle differences between "The Wiggles" and Farfour, due to cultural (and dare I say, religious) gaps in the ideals of the programs.

Instead of songs like "Hot Potatoes, Hot Potatoes" and "Go to Sleep Jeff", Farfour will be singing catchy tunes like "Hot Grenades, Hot Grenades" and "Die!! You Filthy Zionist Swine".
Instead of "Captain FeatherSword" and "Dorothy the Dinosaur", there are other fun characters like "Captain FeatherSabre (Not a Disney Ripoff)" and "Abdulla the Incompetent Martyr".
And instead of having nap time, they have "let's strap this stick of C4 on your chest and then have a really really long nap time".

I can't wait til the big mouse starts his touring schedule. Remember kids, watch out for Farfour in a busy marketplace near you. Your life will truly depend on it.

Q: Do You Think My Mug is Sexxxy, Baby?!?

2007-05-11T20:04:00.000+10:00

A: Definitely NOT, you ugly freak!

I have sat upon this written blog entry for weeks, and I didn't want to publish it due to my swollen ego. But I must be truthful to myself or, at the very least, truthful to you, my dear readers... So...

It has finally come down to this! I have now concluded that my (lack of) hair and my chubby physique are not entirely responsible for my ugliness quality.

The last area I would like to examine about myself is of course: My face...

Over the course my short life, I am presented with ample opportunities to study my own face in mirrors, window reflections, bus stop shelters, puddles of rain on the sidewalk, etc... And with a certain ape-like curiosity, I have objectively assess the good and bad attributes of my face. Now I would like to share with you these gleaming truths about my mug:

I possess a striking set of cheek bones, well structured and well balanced relative to my face... Certainly I could be construed as having a beautiful bone structure.
The jawline is very strong and square, very gritty and chiseled.
The forehead above is expansive and distinctive, and the chin below is sharp and character-filled, framing my long face quite nicely.
The nose is big, round and slightly crooked, not sharp at all. But it is quite tall and therefore kinda passable as "not bad".
And sure, the eyes are hidden behind large folds of eyelids, giving me "chinky" eyes. But certain people finds it attractive. I certainly find Lucy very luscious indeed.
And of course I discovered that "...I'm so vain, I probably think this blog is about me... I'm so waaainn... I probably think this blog is about meeee, don't I, don't I?"

Seriously, I know I am ugly but not nearly as ugly as I like to imagine myself to be. Like most other vain person in the world, given the proper lighting and ample makeup, viewed from a good angle, wearing the right clothing, apply a good dosage of air-brushing... I can definitely be confused as being a half-decent looking man:

Half-decent... no?

BUT... there is something that is definitely not right about my face... Something that would cause women all over the globe to shun me as a completely unattractive man... Something I was not aware of until its existence was cruelly revealed to me a year ago by an Orthodontist... Something that has since prompted my sister to refer to me as "the man who have missed the last step of evolution"...

That's right: I have BIG ARSE TEETH!!

Like a fair proportion of other Asians descendants, I display symptoms of Maxillary Prognathism or commonly referred to as an overbite. My siblings has it. My dad has it. His siblings has it. It runs in the family...

So what this really mean is: I have massively huge teeth that poke out of my gob like mushrooms springing out of a pile of steaming cow turd.

Cow turd... no?

My bite line protrudes so prodigiously far from my face, I can truly say that my bite is worst than my bark... :-3

Strangely, this gaunt of mine doesn't make me look like a dog. Rather it gives me a strange duck-bill like face:

Duck-bill... no?

Suffice to say, I am not good looking... Even worst, I am shallow and I am not good looking, which compounds my self-loathing... Hmm...

But at least now I can be satisfied in proclaiming to the world... Aye, I am one ugly bastard... I can accept that women do not find me attractive at all... and I do not have to die wondering why most gay men score more chicks than I do.

Maybe I should turn gay instead... :-D

THE END

** This should be the last depressing blog entry I write that derides myself as an ugly pudding. I will try picking on other people for a change next time... I promise... Stay tuned!

Diamonds are Nobody's Best Friend

2007-05-02T19:11:00.000+10:00

Diamonds: beside from enslaving children, funding civil wars, helping global terrorism and being used as the tool for defrauding millions of lovestruck couples, it seems diamonds have found a new way to antagonise mankind.

You see, diamonds can now tear you a new arsehole!... Literally!

The Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Tokyo have the brilliant idea to concoct up a new cocktail called the "Diamond-tini":

...a cocktail with a hint of lime and chilled Belvedere vodka over a 1.06-carat stone, is topping the Ritz-Carlton beverage menu at a cool 1.8 million yen (US$15,000).
That price includes drink preparations table side, a serenade of "Diamonds are Forever" as a cut stone slides to the martini glass bottom, and later a ring mounting by a local jeweller.

I know you ain't supposed to nibble on the damn rock like it is a stuffed olive. But imagine what if your special someone purchase this drink as an engagement present for you. In your excitement at this flagrant show of wealth (and wastefulness), forgotten about the stupid stone at the bottom of the glass and down the whole bloody drink straight.

So imagine the pain and suffering the next six hours will bring, as the sharp edged stone is travelling pass your stomach and dredging through to the small and big intestine. The jewel will be slicing and dicing up all the soft squishy tissues wall of your digestive system, poisoning your blood with fecal matter, before arriving at your rectum to tear you a new arsehole.

Happy Engagement, Baby!!

...

Remember kids, when in comes to diamonds, JUST SAY NO!!

I've got the Flu...

2007-04-30T18:39:00.000+10:00

by Gordon "Sick Ol' Bastard" Wong

***Sung along to any 50's style blues riff.

Da-na-da-na-Naaa...
Da-na-da-na-Naaa...

Woke up inda mornin'
Can't get outta bed
I'm a coughin' n' splurtin'
Rotten melon for a head

Can somebody help me
Put my damn ~pants~ on?
Can't-do-it-by-my-self-I-gotta... SIIIING this song

I've got the flu-oo... I've got the blues...
I've got the flu-oo-oo... My face is blue...
I've got the "so sick I can't dress meself in the mornin" kinda flu

Drag myself to the doc
She wrote me for some meds
Pharmacist dun giv a fock
If I'm on my death bed

Took them an hour
To fish for me pills
If-I've-some-goddam-sense-I-oughta... Geddem killed

I've got the flu-oo... I can't stand still...
I've got the flu-oo-oo... Gotta go the kill...
I've got the "lack of antibiotics induced homicidal" kinda flu

Came home a chokin'
Brain drenchin' in pain
Like my laundry is soakin'
Outside in the rain

The dog gone poopy
All 'ver the damn place
There's-shit-up-n-down-every-where-I... Turn n' face

I've got the flu-oo... What am I to do...
I've got the flu-oo-oo... With all these poo...
I've got the "too sick to contemplate about doing any shit about the shit" kinda flu

...
I've got the flu-oo... I've got the flu...
I've got the flu-oo... I've got the flu...
...

Anzac Day

2007-04-25T05:33:00.000+10:00

Lest We Forget.

Extra Extra Long Weekend

2007-04-23T19:09:00.000+10:00

I have a headache... I have a headache and a flu... I have a headache and a flu and had a very eventful weekend to go with it... I don't think I can write proper sentences at teh moment but allow me to recount the weekend for your perverse reading pleasure:

Wednesday 18th April, Evening: As part of the Anime Exhibition at the NSW Art Gallery, they are showing the Studio Ghibli's movie of "The Cat Returns". Went with my friends Kaz and Zoe. Very cute fable-type tale with slick animation, along with a ridiculous premise of a story but highly entertaining.

I remember not wearing a jumper or jacket in the cold theatre and I felt a bit chilled to my core. I thought nothing of it really... Just the chills, you know.

Wednesday 18th April, Night: I had a Korean dinner with Kaz to discuss the Virginia Tech shooting by that American-Korean whack job. Quite an appropriate Korean dinner conversation really... NOT... :-)

Thursday 19th April, Morning: Wake up. New dawn, new day. All is beautiful. Wear a full suit to work knowing I will have a job interview later in the afternoon.

Thursday 19th April, Afternoon: Something is terribly wrong. My throat is dry and coarse. Head swells like a psychotic balloon. Nose runs like Maurice Greene on a Leer Jet. Something is terribly wrong.

Thursday 19th April, Evening: Head to the job interview, suit, shirt, tie, Congo drums beating in my head... Ramble on about stock indicators and DB schema and long term strength and C# and nonsensical crap like that... After the interview, went home and try to sleep it off.

Friday 20th April, Morning: Wake up, the sky had fallen through the ceiling on my head. Life is not rosy. Went back to my sorry slumber.

Friday 20th April, Afternoon: Wake up again, call in sick at work. Life positively sucked the marrow out of my bones.

Friday 20th April, Evening: Receives a call from the interviewers from Thursday to say I have won the interview process and they are offering me a role in their prodigious fund management company. "Excellent, thank you!" I said, while globs of snot is streaming down my face.

Friday 20th April, Night: Watch the ANZAC Test between Australia vs. New Zealand. Australia gallops home with a score of 30-6.

None of the flu tablet I am chowing down have any effect, my headache is progressively eating away at my brain (what's left of it). Decide to have an early night.

Saturday 21st April, 1am in the freakin morning: Wake up, find it hard to draw breath, cannot sleep, cannot live really...

Decide to turn on the radio to follow the Cricket World Cup match between Australia vs. New Zealand, hoping against all hope that might put me to sleep. Australia wallops 348 runs for 6 wickets. New Zealand succumbed to be all out for 133.

Saturday 21st April, 5am in the bleedin morning: Finally falls asleep. A great day to be an Aussie. A bad day to be a New Zealander. An unbelievably shitty day to be me.

Saturday 21st April, 9am in the morning: Woke up for the fourth or fifth time for the morning. Officially declare myself to be a zombie, roaming around randomly as an undead, scouring for brains to feast upon.

Saturday 21st April, 11am in the morning: Trot to the doctor with tail firmly tucked between my legs. Antibiotics is in the order for the day.

Saturday 21st April, 1pm in the afternoon: Finally received my medication from the pharmacy after an hour wait. Thanks heaps, "Roy Young Chemist". I'll be sure to mention that in the police report after I finish devouring all your staff's brain, if they have any.

Took my meds, try to sleep, try to gain some rest, try to lose my zombie tendency.

Saturday 21st April, Evening: Drag my sorry arse out. Suited up once more to go the Basement jazz club.

My friend Zoey's surprise birthday party, cannot miss that... Jazz virtuoso James Morrison is playing, cannot miss that... The club's a-la-carte meals are woeful beyond description, I just wish I could have missed that.

I believe the steaks are still moo-ing and grazing on the side-salad when they arrived at our table. Yummmmy!

Saturday 21st April, 10pm at Night: Mr. Morrison finally decided to show up, only half an hour late. How convenient. BUT...

The show was absolutely rocking (or jazzing if you prefer)!!!

Lead singer Emma Pask possesses a raspy, soulful voice. Her vocals are well polished but it didn't quite agree with me entirely. Still, her improv are super coooool to the max. The Saxaphonist/Flutist was f**king sublime, a true craftsman of his art.

Of course, the maestro that is James Morrison out-shone all others. An engaging and sharp wit. A high note that is larger than life. He stole his own show if that was at all possible...

I may be dying from my flu but at least I was in jazz heaven before I draw my last breath.

(For some photos from the evening, please visit Carra's web Album)

Sunday 22nd April, 4am in the morning: Finally arrive home in one piece and go straight to bed, after chatting to Gnaphos online for two hours first... that didn't help my health situation one bit.

Sunday 22nd April, later in the morning: Wake up to die or to do my laundry, little difference really. When I hang out my clothes to dry, it starts to rain... Heavily...

Somebody up there loves me...

Sunday 22nd April, Afternoon: Must rest, less stress... Tonight I have a date. Well 20 of them exactly. Twenty speed dates to test my will to live. Must... Survive... Tonight...

Sunday 22nd April, Evening: Suited up for one last time for this Extra Extra Long Weekend. Arrived at the Oscar bar at Pyrmont for the speed dates. Sweating profusely in my nice Senator suit jacket with a nice fever to go along with it. Verrry sexxxy...

Headache suddenly comes back with a vengeance. Frantically meeting and greeting all the lovely ladies, while shadowing any signs that I am on Death's door. Thanks to Kaz for the Panadol, but they did little to ease my ride down River Styx.

Every two minutes, a little bells rings and all the guys must get up and move to the next girl:

"Hi Sarah."... DING!
"What do you do in your spare time, Jia-Shen?"... DING!
"Which uni did you attend, Vicki?"... DING!
"Nice blouse, Lisa, you look lovely in them."... DING!
"You are a very attractive lady, Laura."... DING!
"Cute little doggy, Sharon."... DING!
"What a beautiful name, Lillian."... DING!
"What's your favourite movie, Jackie?"... DING! DING! DING!!!

On and on it goes. I feel like a roll of out of use-by-date sushi, flying around and around on life's eternal/infernal sushi train. A least I look good in my sweaty jacket...

A special thanks goes to Wyatt and his team, Eddie and Carmen, for their relentless effort in organising this event. It was an incredibly fun event, I just wish I could enjoy it to its full extent... But you guys are awesome.

Sunday 22nd April, Night: Driving home alone in the pouring rain. In my hazy feverish state, started to hallucinate Dr. Karl in my passenger seat, warning me about the "dangers of micro sleep". Thanks Dr. Karl, I love you too, mate.

Monday 23rd April: I'm still alive!! Partially... There's a lesson to be learnt from this weekend. I'm not sure what it is but you be sure to tell if you know what it all that means.

I am going to bed...

The Search for the Next Pussy...

2007-04-17T18:06:00.000+10:00

I am not a guy that indulge in too much Reality TV. As a genre, it is not a particularly clever one. However with some of the longer running concepts I do find rather intriguing.

The ones where I do spend some time watching are some of the "Survivor" series where the application of game theory comes to life. "The Amazing Race" can be quite fun if you invest the time in it. Also the first series of "The Apprentice" was very educational and instructional. Subsequent series however tend not to live up to the billing of the original idea. The concept stagnate and falls fowl with me and the general rating public.

Recently, I have started to reengage with another reality TV series: The Search for the Next Doll. I'll be the first to admit it, I watch the show purely for its titillation value, as well as the bitch fight, the constant tantrums and all the tacky squealing faux "empowering" bullshit.

For those that are not familiar with the concept of the show, you can read about it here:

"Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for The Next Doll," is a behind-the-scenes look at the process of selecting a beautiful and talented singer/dancer who has what it takes to join one of the world's most successful performing and recording acts. Out of the thousands of gifted hopefuls who audition, only one young woman will make it through the challenges and undergo a total transformation to win her place in the spotlight as the newest member of the Pussycat Dolls..."

So basically it is about the auditioning of a new singer/dancer for a "musical" group call the Pussycat Dolls. Well, "what on Earth is the Pussycat Dolls" you might ask?

For those that are not familiar with the concept of the Pussycat Dolls, imagine an evil genius looking fellow in a evil looking lab coat, hunching over a bunch of test tubes, beakers and scary experiment looking thingies in his evil looking laboratory... when suddenly he breaks into a evil sounding maniacal guffaw: "Bwaahahahahaha..." as the chill of his voice echoes through his bone-chillingly and dimly lit lab he cried out...

"I did it... I did it... I have invented the perfect weapon of mass destruction. It will enslave all men to do its bidding and enslave all women to follow its destructive evil ways. Mwuuhahahahah...

"And I shall name this evil creation... The Pussycat Dolls!!"

And to sample a small dosage of the destructive powers of these Pussycat Dolls just examine this! or this?! May heaven have mercy on our souls...

Meeeeeeow...

Sure the vocal skills (of the PCD and of the prospective dolls) are mostly rubbish, they wear clothes that would prompt a hooker to slap them silly and they cake on more make-up than Liberace, but that is utterly beside the point. The point is that they can gyrate their impossibly thin money-maker in pure harmonious synchronicity... And they will use it against all humanity, because they bloody well can...

All I can hope for now is that this show will run for one season... I don't think I can handle too much of this PCD stuff.

Happy Easter

2007-04-12T19:12:00.000+10:00

To my dear readers:

Sorry for the lack of activities lately... just been busy with what I shall call my (limited) social life... as well as following the Cricket World Cup late into the night... and frankly I have been lazing my damn arse off... :-)

How was everybody's Easter break? I had a pretty big one: picnic/BBQ to attend on Good Friday, two separate birthday bash on Easter Sunday. But undoubtedly the highlight of the long weekend was the Paintball event on Easter Saturday!

A good buddy of mine organised a paintball outing at "The Paintball Place" at Kulnurra and I was over the moon. You see, I love paintballing. I believe heaven is a place where people runs around shooting at other people with pellets full of paint, that would certainly appeal more to me than streets lined with gold bricks or 72 ravishing virgins, etc. ;-)

Yes, I love paintballing like Goldmember looooves painting balls!

Yesshh! Yesshh! I loooove painting ze ball... Yesshh!

I had huge fun playing in the drenching rain, collected a few bruises and delivered a few in kind. I do have a purple tennis ball sized bruise on my left thigh and a throbbing headache on my right temple (that stills stings today)... But none of that matters because our team won the event 4-2... Go the Black Team... Woooot!

I can visibly see that my game has improved somewhat from previous trips to paintball fields. I don't play as crazy or as reckless anymore, and reading some online articles about tactical training had help with my all round skills.

At the end of the day, I was so fired up, I was screaming instructions to my team mates that were previously merely strangers to me. Pleading for my team to move forward to keep up the pressure on the immobile opposition. I was running amok, barking out orders, collecting and piloting the flags almost every game, strafing the field like a demon, weaving in and around barricades... I feel so alive!

- - -

However, the best moment of the entire day happened at the very beginning, before we had even fired a paintball in anger. We all suited up in our camo fatigue and don the protective mask in the morning, ready to be lectured to about the paintball marker (gun). The guy in charge went through his explanation about the marker in detail and asked for a volunteer to demo the marker's range and firepower.

One of the referee shouted out "Gordon, step forward!..."

I did so with no hesitation, walked about 20m away from the marker and stood there quietly. The guy with the marker shouted: "Are you wearing a box?". I nod my head to indicate "Affirmative."

He then aimed at my nether region, and fired one shot... he missed... I didn't flinch. He fired a second shot... he missed... I didn't flinch. He attempted a third shot... and hit my left pelvic bone, I didn't flinch for two seconds before grunting out a guttural primal scream: "Arrrghhhwwww!!!!"... Then I proceeded to walk back toward my team mates.

The referee pulled me aside, smiled and said to me "You've played before, haven't you?".

I looked at him, "Yep", I replied.

"It gets in your blood, doesn't it?"

I smiled and exclaimed, "Yep!"

He knew just by looking at me, he knew... he knew I am there to play ball.

BRING IT ON!! Wooooooo!

Q: Do You Think My Booty is Sexxxy, Sugar?!?

2007-03-27T19:14:00.000+10:00

A: No, not really...

So where was I up to? Oh yeah, that's right...

Let's establish what we have learnt about me so far:

1. Through empirical evidences, we are able to establish that I am unable to attract any women's attention or affection. Simple.

2. Through careful observations, we can rule out that my (lack of) hair makes me any less appealing to the lasses. For example, Justin Timberlake may have a closely clipped mane but according to all sources, he is bringing the SexyBack...... um... whatever that is...

So lemmesee now? How shall I further scrutinise and berate myself? Hmm... Let's continue with my badly moulded jelly body, shall we?

I am a man who has been in and out of gyms and dojos for most of my adult life, and I do work hard at building my strength and stamina up to an acceptable standard. Yet I am nowhere close to bringing the SexyBack to anywhere anytime soon... (can someone please explain to me what the f**k is a SexyBack?!?)

Don't get me wrong, I am not a grotesquely shaped lard tub, but I am not exactly cut either. Like most men, I slide somewhere haphazardly in between Mr. Wahlberg and Mr. Bean:

Now that is a vomit-inducing thought if there ever is one... x-s

So what is it about my body that is so lacking in HAWT-ness? Let me count the ways:

I have arms that resembles wet spaghetti... You might ask me, I work out in a gym, right? I should have arms that looks like sausage skins stuff full of boulders, right? Wrong!!

No matter how much I train, my forearm remains spindly, biceps stringy and my triceps are non-existent. For a guy of my frame, they are quite pathetic really.
-
Seriously, I have a set of the perkiest man-boobs ever... Whenever I go to the beach with various friends, they often plead with me to leave my shirt on, I think because they think the sight of my puffy-glands might cause whales beaching or something.

They are, I must admit, very embarrassing.

(On a side note, if I ever convert to Islam, I reckon my religious name should be Maanboobs el Tittiz... or something like that...)
-
I am lucky to be gifted with naturally well built quads and calves... but they are attached to the flabbiest arse-cheeks on this side of the cosmos. I mean, they are like jello on a warm summer day.

No pair of pants or jeans can properly fit around it. No amount of jogging or cycling can whip it into shape. Every time I walk around a corner, I must check my blind spot to make sure I don't swipe someone off the road. They are massive! HUGE!

Having said all that, does my body actually causes girls to be not attracted to me? Hmm...

I believe the answer is "no, not really".

Quite rightly, my boobs are rather unsightly at the beach, but safely tucked under a shirt they are less hazardous to the general public. And sure my arms looks like sticks and my arse like rotting melons, but I do think my general frame is a relatively lean and healthy one.

My body is an ongoing project, it is not at all perfect (and it never will be) but I am making good progress sculpting it. Compared to most blokes, I am in good shape.

Which doesn't answer my original question, "Why aren't I attractive?"...

to be continued...

Happy 75th Birthday to the Sydney Harbour Bridge

2007-03-20T18:48:00.000+11:00

Last Sunday, the Sydney Harbour Bridge celebrated its 75th birthday. We, the humble citizens of Sydney, were allowed to travel across the entire bridge on foot, in order to commemorate this landmark's landmark achievement. What a thrill!

So to help add to the celebratory atmosphere, a group of my friends planned to do exactly that. We made our way across the giant coat hanger and took plenty of photographs along the trip. It was sheer exhilaration. Below are just a sample of my photos:

The Sydney Harbour Bridge cuts an
impressive skeletal figure above the water.

The monochrome rainbow serpent
stretches across the evening sky...

Dusk settles gently over the Harbour Bridge.

The single most memorable event of the evening was the Aboriginal cleansing ceremony that took place while we were there. The entire bridge was set alight with spots of eucalyptus fires, while an Aboriginal elder strolled purposefully over the harbour to the guttural strains of tribal choruses.

Unfortunately, the Aboriginal elder leading the parade nearly char-coaled himself whilst carrying a smoke-filled ceremony gum-bark-tray. The bark in his hands suddenly caught fire and everyone stopped walking and start taking photos of his eyebrows being singed. Luckily he place down the flaming bark in time to let the fire die down a little (helped by a security guard stamping on the ceremonious bark), then the poor elder picked it back up and the show went on unabated.

Nevertheless, it was still a very special spiritual ceremony and I enjoyed the entire experience thoroughly.

So a big Happy Birthday to the Harbour Bridge, you beautiful clump of metal.

World's Most Funniest Man

2007-03-15T17:24:00.001+11:00

And now for something completely different (and less depressing than discussions on why I am the World's least sexiest man)...

Scott Adams (of Dilbert's fame) is dead set: The. World's. Most. Funniest. Man. Period.

Read his blog on his chance encounter with the World's Most Annoying Man to see why.

(We shall resume my self-loathing-filled dissection of my anatomy in my next blog entry... Stay tuned!)

Q: Do You Think My Hair is Sexxxy, Honey?!?

2007-03-13T19:09:00.000+11:00

A: Probably not...

Following on from my realisation of how unattractive women find me in general, I am now in deep contemplation on the exact *why* of my unattractiveness. The specific factors that leads me to being the ugly bastard that I am.

To commence, the first factor I shall examine is my lack of hair.

Those of you know me personally knows that, yes, I clipper my hair regularly to keep it extremely short, all the time. Some of you may be confuse as to why I would commit such a non-socially conforming act to look even more stupider.

Firstly, I view it from the angle that hair in itself is not a necessity to looking HAWT. Take the example of Becks, Colin, Mr. Pitt and Freddy (pictured below), these are four of the world's most sexiest men, and when they carry a chrome dome, women will continue to swoon at their feet. Some may find this even more sexy, in a primal caveman kind of way...


Beckham	Farrell	Pitt	Ljundberg

Thus, proving conclusively that a hairstyle is merely the ribbon on top of the prezzie, with or without the flowing locks, it will not majorly impact the HAWT-ness of the man itself.

Secondly, if I do grow out my hair, they will come out as thick wiry strands of wilderness. They go-a-this-a-way, they go-a-that-a-way, they shoot out in all kind of silly direction. It is damn near impossible to put a pair of scissors thorough them, let alone style them into any form or fashion. So I thought I would just sever the lot of them, every last strand shall be lop off for the glory of the scalp. And I have been doing this for over five years now.

As you can see from the before and after photos below, I definitely look better without the hair...

Beaten to within an inch of his life with an ugly stick:
Gordon with Hair (circa 2002)

Just moderately ugly: Gordon without Hair (circa 2006)

What do you think, which one is uglier?

Q: Do You Think I'm Sexxxy, Baby?!? Huh? Do Ya?

2007-03-09T17:56:00.000+11:00

A: An absolute and emphatic... NO!

Last weekend, I have awoken to a dawning truth about myself, that I will now share with this blog: That I, Gordon Wong, despite all my best effort, am a completely UNATTRACTIVE man.

Shock! Aghast! Horror!

Yes, it may come as bit of a surprise to you, my dear readers, that a strapping young lad like me, at the peak of his game, possesses exactly the same amount of HAWT-ness as what the Sahara Desert have of icebergs. It is a sad fact, yet utterly undeniable.

"How...", I hear you ask, "can a man of your fine features and warm personality be completely unattractive to members of the opposite sex? How can you even fathom such thoughts, Gordon?"... Hmm, I often wonder about that myself...

Then last weekend the veil of delusion was cruelly yanked away from my eyes, and I will present to you those two crucial pieces of evidence as testament to my complete lack of HAWT-ness.

If you will indulge me, your Honour, then allow me to present:

- - -

Exhibit A

Last Friday night, young Gordon was sharing a quiet drink with three single (and rather attractive) female associates, at a local tavern after a nice dinner with them. The table consists of just the four of them, enjoying each other's cosy company. When suddenly out of the blue, as a break from other lines of conversation, one of the girls pipped up and asked her female friend: "So, do you see any HAWT guys around here?".

They took the opportunity to survey the room, giggled and start lamenting about the lack of quality stallions in the stable.

Gordon is just sitting two feet away, at the same table, in plain sight and obviously within earshot... :'-(

This event occurred on the Friday night, which follows onto...

Exhibit B

Last Saturday night, at the conclusion of the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade, some of the friends Gordon attended with decided to retire off home while the rest of them have an urge for a midnight snack at the local McDonald's. It just so happens that young Gordon, though some good luck, have found himself in the company of three single (and attractive) female friends once more.

While feasting on the various delights of Maccas, the conversation naturally converged onto the parade and the frills of it all. One of the girls commented to another: "Hey, you know what? That guy that was standing next to you, don't you think that guy was so HAWT?!?"

The other two girls' faces lit up and they concurred with her immediately, "Yeah, that guys was definitely HAWT!!". Then they added "AND his BOYFRIEND was pretty damn HAWT too."

That's right, young Gordon was sitting two feet away, in plain sight, 100% heterosexual and completely unable to raise the pulse of the girls like the gay men earlier... :'-(

- - -

I rest my case, your Honour.

OK, OK, so it should be no major secret that I am devoid of any sex appeal (the photo is Exhibit C), yet I am very curious as to what, exactly, about me that women find so unattractive? Hmm...

This is an entirely serious question.

I am pondering about this puzzle in a precise academic fashion, studying the problem and itemising all the factors that attribute to my complete lack of HAWT-ness. And I shall present to you the findings in subsequent blog entries.

Stay tuned my friends... This is to be continued...

What's My Name Again?

2007-03-08T19:02:00.000+11:00

As some of you may have noticed, controversial Sydney's boxer and former rugby league star Anthony "The Man" Mundine have reclaimed his WBA Super Middleweight World Championship belt. A big congratulation is in order for the Man.

In the title bout that is coined as:

The King vs. The Man

... Mundine took on Melbourne's gritty fighter Sammy "The King" Soliman, a former kickboxer with rapid fire hands and a healthy stamina. Alas, the Man commanded nine head punishing rounds to eventually KO the King, assigning Soliman his first stoppage loss.

Of course, the Man's last high profile bout was up against Perth's hard man, Danny "The Green Machine". In one of Australia's most anticipated fight, dubbed as:

Man vs. Machine

... the Man once again dominated the grudge match by going twelve rounds to win on unanimous points decision against the Machine.

Proving clearly the Man is... the man.

Which brings me (in a roundabout way) to the point of this blog entry: What's My Name?

I mean, if I was a Pro Fighter, and that's a pretty-big-damn IF, set amongst the fraternity of Iron Mike, Cinderella Man and The Greatest, what would be my fighting moniker?

Let's be clear about this, I am in no shape to be fighting a ballerina at the moment. You can see from these videos: Part I, Part II, Part III and Part IV, that I am slow on my feet, I lack any form or technique and I am hopeless on my left flank. But let's say hypothetically, that I am a professional circuit fighter, what name would be worthy of this worthless thug? And how would you promote this clumsy fighter?

Hmm... Let's start with the obvious ones:

Names based on my name

Gordon "Wonky" Wong - "Don't hit him too hard or he'll collapse down like a sack of rotting potatoes."
Gordon "The Wong Man" - "Please don't hurt him, he is only here by an accident of nature."
"Flash" Gordon Wong - "Umm, make sure he tie up his boxer shorts properly or you'll get a nasty surprise."
Gordon "The Warden" Wong - "He'll lock you up in a headlock, Bi-atch!"
"The Gorgon" Wong - "Dammmn, he is one ugly mother."

Names based on my previous nicknames

Gordon "The Gorilla" Wong - "He's big, he's slow, he's a vegetarian, he's gonna go extinct..."
Gordon "The Duck" Wong - "A mouth so big he'll swallow your boxing glove whole!"
Gordon "The Grasshopper" Wong - "Umm, they just call him the grasshopper, OK??"
Gordon "The Baboon" Wong - "The man with the BIG red arse."

Will the real "Flash" Gordon please stand up,
please stand up, please stand up?

So which name one do you like? Can you think of any other good names?

Happy Mardi Gras

2007-03-05T16:56:00.001+11:00

Over the weekend, for the first time since moving to Sydney, I lined up with some friends and thousands of my fellow sydneyites to witness the glamorous and glittering parade of our Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.

So how did it go, you might ask?

To be perfectly honest, I was left very underwhelmed by the entire experience. It was basically a three and a half hour session of standing neck-deep in a torrent of people watching semi-bored and half-tired people shuffling by, to the general curiosity of the crowd.

After the initial excitement, titillation and shock value wore off, the procession was... exactly that, a procession. And in this modern Australian society where homosexuality and other associated community is widely accepted, there isn't much that can shock or titillate us anymore.

Less than an hour in, I was glancing at my watch, thinking: "This is good so far. I wonder how many more floats there are left to go?".

Two hours in, the floats just won't stop floating by, they kept going and going like the bloody energiser bunny, albeit a lot more bigger... and pinker.

By the third hour, I was nodding off to sleep on my feet, not especially advisable, considering I was surrounded by a gaggle of very loud and happily gay men, sipping copious amount of bubbly.

By the end of it all, a friend of mine have lost all feeling in her left leg from standing too rigid all night (go visit her blog for some excellent photos of the parade).

Having said that, there are some excellent moments in the Mardi Gras itself (and some utterly bewildering ones as well), which I will recount below:

Highlight of the Parade: The belle of the ball, the apple of our eyes and patron saint of all that is feathered and sequined - Kylie Minogue's Impossible Princesses was by far the most entertaining and fun inspiring troupe of all.

Lowlight of the Parade: The menage-a-trois between the Australian Labor Party, the Democrats and the Greens. It is fantastic that all of these opposing political parties are supporting the Mardi Gras by sponsoring a float each, yet I fail to see how any electorate can differentiate the political statement and bland policies of these left wing liberal groups?

Most Creative Float: The Silhouette Trojan Horse (pictured below) that is populated by some amorous Greeks, playing hide and seek!!

Most Ridiculously Stupid Float: It is not technically a float really... just a ute, loaded with two speakers and an amp. Driving along with 20 or so nondescript "dancers" trolling behind. WTF?!?

Most Impressive Costume: This gentleman in a very extravagant black widow meets Priscilla meets Copacabana number.

Most Un-Humorous Costume: Opposition leader "Kool Kev" Rudd portrayed as giant cucumber... "Hahaha, kool as a cucumber, getit? Huh, huh, getit?"... No, I don't get it, it just look like a damn silly giant green dild0.

Most "Look at moi, look at moi, I am a pretty ballerina" Costume: This dizzying bloke dressed as a demented disco ball, spinning around and round and round and round and... all by himself, 10 metres from any other performers?!?

- - -

However, the most wild and woolly part of the evening was not happening anywhere near the parade. It happened when I was on my way home after the long exhaustive evening.

Stuck in the bowels of Town Hall train station, waiting for the late running train to arrive in this humidity of Sydney's collective sweat, I was woken up from my boredom by the high-pitched screams of:

"Get him away from the edge! Get him away from the EDGE!!"

I turned around in my sleepy stupor to see a young man in his 20s, standing about three feet away from the platform's edge. He was clearly not of a sober state, shifting his elusive balance from his left side to his right and back to his left. His shirt sleeve soaked in a deep crimson fluid...

A suicide attempt I assumed... so I approached him warily from behind and stood quietly between him and the edge, just a few feet away from him, face-to-face... His right forehead was cut right open, blood streaming down his entire face, soaking his shirt and dripping large amount of it on the platform.

Two other bystanders were doing what I was doing, just trying to squeeze between him and the train tracks, trying to engage him in conversation, asking him to back away from the edge. The Station Master arrived and radioed for backup.

But the gentle rumbling of the rail suggested that the train was closing in on the station and the bloke was still wobbling around on his toes, and none of us three supposed "heroes" want to tempt fate by wrangling a blood soaked man to the ground just a step away from the edge of a certain doom.

Luckily the train slowed down next to the platform without any incident, the Transit Officers arrive en-masse to babysit this bloodied bloke. I step on the train, with the station master shouting out to me: "Thanks mate!"

"No worries!", I shouted back, all in a (Mardi Gras) day's work... ;-)

"If you're stoopit 'n you know it, clap your hands..."

2007-02-27T19:47:00.000+11:00

Dear readers, sorry I haven't post for a while. My excuse is that I have been spending my spare time reading a research thesis paper I have downloaded off the web... I know, I know, I am such a cool dude and I am the life of the party wherever I go.

(To be perfectly honest with you, I simply ran out of things to yammer on about :-)

You see, from my surfing a few weeks back, I stumbled across this psychology study entitled:

Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments

Authored by Justin Kruger and David Dunning of Cornell U, it is a fairly old paper, published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology during 1999.

The research's preposition is that if a person is hopelessly incompetent in a domain of his life, there is simply no way for that person to recognise his own putrid incompetence in that domain. The authors concluded that:

The incompetent will tend to overestimate their ability in the given domain.
Given a finished result, the incompetent will be unable to judge what is good work and what is complete rubbish.
The incompetent will not be able see that he is an idiot, despite all social evidence to the contrary.

Scary... In fact, I could be that idiot, believing that I am the next Shakespeare, running around naked, writing this completely aimless and inane blog, which is basically the sum of all the pus that is my existence. AND I wouldn't have a clue about how crappy this blog is.

hmmm...

I suppose this study also means that:

Given an idiot, when he meets another idiot, they would not be able to tell if each other are completely idiots. They could possibly mistaken each other as geniuses.
When this idiot meets a genius, without any skills or base of reference, will believe that the genius is complete nutter.

So what does this mean? I want you, my dear genius readers, to appraise my blog and how stupid it is, or indeed how stupid I am for spewning such a steaming pile of turd. Spare me no blushes...

Promiscuity: Why Men Can't Commit - Part III

2007-02-20T19:10:00.000+11:00

Disclaimer: The following link and the opinions contain therin are those of Sam de Brito and does not necessary reflect the opinions that I hold... Even though they are pretty damn close! Please do not leave nasty comments on my blog to point out that I am a fat chauvinist pig (I already know that I am), leave it on his blog instead.

Another politically incorrect, thought provoking discussion with a healthy dollop of truth mixed in:

Promiscuity: Why Slutting Around is Good for the Human Species

Enjoy!

"You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to..."

2007-02-15T18:36:00.000+11:00

As you may have read from one of my previous blog entry, two sets of parents in Lexington, Massachusetts are suing a kindergarten for spreading, what they decided to call, "gay propaganda" using children books. You can get all the details from this news article.

The parent's lawyer have stated that his clients do not wish to dictate the curriculum of the education board, they merely want to yank their children out of the classroom anytime and every time when "homosexuality or gay marriage is being discussed" while in the care of the school. The lawyer further quoted:

"What they fear is that their children are being brainwashed."

Hmm. This pose a very intriguing question to me: How do you separate what is Learning and what is "Brain Washing"?

This is an utterly serious question.

On the day we are born, we all begin as blank canvases. And through the many life lessons we encounter, we will paint and repaint every part of our cognitive map. We will be continuously learn and relearn every part of our understanding of our world, of our ideas and of our assumptions.

So isn't the entire human experience just one massive brain washing session?

I understand that those parents in the US are disapproving of the school's attempt to open the minds of these young impressionable children to a world that their parent frown upon. But is there a possibility that this is just a matter of education of young minds? Could the parents be preventing the children from learning about reality?

Also, every time the dad storm into the kindergarten, huffing and puffing, fire and brimstone, dragging his kids out of the classroom by the arm before the teacher can begin to discuss about homosexuality, could this be brain washing?

I guess it just depends on the perspective of the speaker when using the word education and brain washing.

"I am right, therefore I am teaching the kids the right things. They are wrong, therefore they are a bunch of brain-washing tree-hugging hippies."

Well, my perspective is simply that we are all brain-washers and we are all being brain-washed at the same time. It is all one big sud party, yeah... and I am just going to hang mine out to dry right now.

Happy Saint Valentine Day

2007-02-14T19:04:00.000+11:00

As I rode upon the commuter train early this Valentine Day, I happened to spy a delicately beautiful creature a few feet to my left.

A very attractive girl of Asian descent, with long flowing ebony locks, she was quite a breath taking vision. She was adorned with a fitted jet black dress that goes down to her knees, where her cream stockings takes over to lead all the way down to her black ballad slippers with the tiniest heals on them.

She was dressed very professionally, ready for a day at work, clutching a laptop backpack, displaying only a very modest collection of jewellery and complementing her face with a very cute cherry red square-framed glasses.

I think I might have stared at her for quite a few minutes. She turn to face me once and we locked gaze for a few brief seconds. Her blushing cheeks made my heart want to clamour out of my mouth and jump off the speeding train...

In my mind, I am frantically calculating a whole host of permutation in how to approach this gorgeous young lady, how oh how to invite her to a quiet dinner or maybe a night cap at a local tavern? The train carriage is utterly packed to the hilt. I cannot easily idle over and ask her for her name and number without everyone on this side of the train finding out about it... hmm...

I know!! I will see which station she is alighting at, casually follow her a few blocks, accidentally bump into her when I see that she a little more alone on the footpath. Then I shall confess to her my fascination with her and implore her to meet me once more to explore this fascination.

GREAT PLAN, Gordon!!

So as the train pulled up at the station of her destination, she readied herself to exit the door, I steeled myself for the pursuit. The train stopped. The door slid open. She alighted. I watched and hesitated. Then I followed her... with my eyes as she walked out of the station and out of my sight. I sighed, exhaled and continued my merry way through this St Valentine Day.

- - -

I arrived at work, plonked my arse in my chair and declared to my colleagues: "Hey, I saved a woman from being stalked today."

Their puzzled response was: "How?"

"I stopped following her." **boom-tish**

(Most of this story is true, I'll let you guess which parts are BS and which is real. The part that is plagiarised come from my mate Nick. Thanks buddy ;-)

Reality is Bad, Mmm-kay...

2007-02-12T19:10:00.000+11:00

A few days ago, two sets of parents in Massachusetts (David and Tonia Parker, Joseph and Robin Wirthlin) sued a kindergarten for issuing fairy tale books to their kids that depicted reality.

**Cue dramatic music** The Shock!... The Horror!...

You can read the article here: "Parents are dead set angry about reality in fairy tales"

The lawyer representing the parents cited the reason for the lawsuit was that the children books are "a form of propaganda that goes against the parents' religious beliefs". The parents are simply "fearing their children are being brainwashed" by the unscrupulous fairy tale.

I can only assume they would much prefer their children to read beautiful stories with good morals such as grand theft and first degree murder. Or better still, they may urge their offspring to delve into traditional fairy tales that depict terrorism and mass genocide.

Wholesome stuff, you know, not all that new-age fang-dangle hog-wash.

(Okay, okay, I'll stop with the religion bashing for the next few posts.)

Stupid and Inane?

2007-02-08T18:51:00.000+11:00

A very entertaining and enlightening read about religion, namely "Christ-inanity":

So Many Morons, So Little Time

The Case for the Accused

2007-02-07T17:59:00.000+11:00

Dear God,

This is Reverend Ted Haggard speaking, your humble servant and popular televangelist personality. You may have seen me in a few TV sermon special such as "The Light of Love: Shining Where the Sun don't Shine" and "The Fall of Sodom: Choir Boys Swimsuit Reenactment Special".

I am praying to You to proclaim my eternal love for Your holiness, my savior... Yo my main man, Dawg... also I want to state for the record that I am in no way a homosexual. No-sir-ree. I am "completely heterosexual". Yes-sir-ree.

You see, all that business with that man-whore, that shit is in the past... ancient history. God, just because I was paying him big bucks for the pleasure of smacking his sweet round rump for three years, that don't make me no pillow biter. No way man, I was just "acting-out situations" and cosplay and stuff. It wasn't a "constant thing" at all. It's more like an in-and-out kinda thing.

Besides, it was just the one dude. I mean if I walloped the entire Denver Bronco offensive line then, yeah, that would be pretty gay. But it was just the one male prostitute, You can't accuse me of being no homo, right?

To top it off, I was suffering from a bad case of "sexual immorality" at the time... you know, for the last three years. All I need was to attend "three weeks of intensive counselling", took a couple aspirin and hey presto, I feel all better already. I haven't even thought about tapping any big sweaty blokes for, like... 48 hours, totally... I swear... Honest to You!

Oh my Lord, I am all cured and shit! Praise Your name! It's a Mee-Ra-Kle!

(Boy, I need) Amen...

(Did I say that out loud??)

Why Men Can't Commit - Part II

2007-02-06T17:41:00.000+11:00

I'm sorry I haven't posted for a while. Not feeling too well.

Contracted a bad throat infection last week and I am slowly but surely losing my voice. Sometimes I would try to speak and nothing would come out. Sometimes I might sound like a poor man's imitation of Barry White. Other times I would be imitating an out of breath Mickey Mouse.

In the mean time, you can read Sam de Brito's essay on why marriage is such an archaic construct, and hence why men can't seem to commit to one woman anymore.

What a Mind Trip!

2007-02-01T20:13:00.000+11:00

The reason why I love reading Scott Adam's blog is that he always find some way to make me:

laugh loudly;
think deeply;
question reality as we know it.

These blog entries is of the latter categories, where he attempts to define intelligence and what entity actually possess it:

Please engage an open mind and enjoy his wacko theories.

What Happened to Picking Fruits?

2007-01-30T19:02:00.000+11:00

There were days when backpackers coming to Australia, would be looking to make a bit of extra cash by doing some odd jobs: washing dishes, washing windscreens, picking fruits and the like.

However, some bright spark decided:

"Nup, bugger that!! Since I am here, I'm gonna make me some serious moolah. None of that back-breaking menial shitty jobs, I am gonna be an illegal hooker instead!"

I guess in terms of odd jobs, none would be odder than prostitution of oneself.

I wish these backpacker luck. Hopefully they won't run into those dodgy private investigators.

...In Love and War

2007-01-25T18:18:00.000+11:00

Welcome back to our weekly reality soap drama, "...In Love and War". Let's pick up from last week's titillating episode:

Dearest Dubya,

I ask you, why send only 20,000 of your wriggling weaklings right up my gulf, why not send 50 or 100 thousand? Aren't you aware that my Iraq is hot for your troops' bodies?

Al-Qaeda's 2nd in Command
Amman al-Zawahri

...

Howdy Wahri,

You know I wanna send my Surge right up your Persian Gulf. Baby, I do. I wanna go in there with some Shock and Awe. But Nancy told me that it might be a bad idea. So I am all like "um, yeah, whatever". What you reckon I should do?

President of the United States
George W. Bush

...

Dearest Dubya,

You should send your entire load of army to be annihilated at the hands of my mujahideen. You know I want to free the world from your big massive evil.

Your Sheik in the Sheets.

P.S. Do you like my new turban? I bought it on sale the other day at Walmart.

...

Howdy Wahri,

Yeah, great idea, my big momma-Amman. Because you know very well that I can easily sack my whole load on your Desert Storm and keep shooting some more.

Your Pardner.

P.S. Love your new turban, buddy.

...

Dearest Dubya,

Bring it on, honey, I can take this all the way up the Kabul. You know I am able to bury ten armies like yours, with Allah's help and power.

Iraq you all night long, baby.

...

Howdy Wahri,

Same time, same place? Don't forget the crude oil, babe.

Can't wait...

...

Um Mr. President,

How come you don't return my calls no more? I terribly miss our free trade negotiations. You know you are still my one and only Commander-in-Chief.

Your mini me (Prime Minister of Australia),
John Howard

P.S. Call Me...

Vegetarianism and IQ

2007-01-24T17:48:00.000+11:00

I am not feeling funny today, so I will just post something non-funny and irrelevant about Vegetarianism, a journal paper published in the British Medical Journal:

IQ in childhood and vegetarianism in adulthood: 1970 British cohort study

Too long to read? Try reading a short report about the research in Medical News Today.

Why Men Can't Commit

2007-01-23T20:04:00.000+11:00

Hypothetical Cavemen Days

A typical early male homo sapien will scour the land and meet maybe a dozen or two potential female mates.

He picks two or three that his instincts say will provide the best genetic material to provide good quality heir, he clubs her over the head and proceed to spread his seeds. He cannot pick too many females or his herd may starve from the lack of resources to hunt food.

All of this will have to take place in quick time, because at 16 years of age, a young caveman probably have a further fifteen years of seed production before his seeds run dry or being ingested by a big-toothed-big-cat (no, not Fat Cat).

Hypothetical Modern Days

A typical modern male will scour the Internet and find thousands of potential mates.

Due to society and religious conditioning, he is only allowed to choose one potential female to procreate with.

Due to media's perpetuation of the 'Love & Romance' myth, he must spend a few months wooing just one at a time, taking her out to dinner and parties and weekend getaways, all the while expending his resources to do so.

Before too long he find this potential mate is a psychotic/neurotic/controlling/dependent nut-job. He must spend a further few months trying to wash his hands of the relationship and reset his life to a point where he is ready to find another mate.

In the back of his mind, he is thinking: "It's OK, Rupert Murdoch is a father at 70-odd, I've got plenty of time... I just gotta be patient, take my time and choose CAREFULLY".

Reality is, he is not Rupert Murdoch and he is unlikely to find anyone that he feels is the pinnacle woman, who is worthy of carrying his heir, i.e. "The One™".

He will die, a single lonely man, from ingesting too much bovine burgers and alcoholic beverages.

THE END

Inspired by Sam de Brito.

This is Outrageous!!

2007-01-22T17:42:00.000+11:00

The council of Ku-ring-gai Council in Sydney have been fighting a lengthy and continuous battle to shut down illegal brothels in their beautiful leafy shire. Recently they have announced that they are scoring some important victories against these shonky pimps. Kudos to you Ku-ring-gai...

However, I am extremely distress to discover that they took some unorthodox measures to convict these dodgy operators. Namely, they hired private investigators to have sex with illegal prostitutes to build their case against them... (I suppose these investigators are now experts at investigating privates).

As reported in the Sydney Morning Herald:

"Sydney councils are paying private detectives to have sex with prostitutes in a bid to stamp out illegal brothels...
"Ku-ring-gai Council has spent $7,000 in the last month but mayor Nick Ebbeck said it was a necessary expense...
"At a cost of $3,500 per case, the detectives provide an affidavit, a detailed account of the transaction and sometime video footage..."

So let's get this straight, the job descriptions for the detectives are as thus:

You are an adult male, doesn't matter how butt-ugly you are;
You must have sex with hookers;
You must video tape the actual events;
You must write up sordid accounts of the "transaction";
For each prostitute you boink, you will be reimbursed three and a half thousand Australian tax-payer dollars for your effort. The government will thank you for it because it is a necessary expense.

This shit is absolutely outrageous!!! I will have to find my high school career adviser and kick his arse!!!

How About Self-Immolation?

2007-01-19T19:31:00.000+11:00

Two days ago, there was a huge kerfuffle in the UK over a group of Big Brother UK's contestants racially vilifying one of the other contestant in the BBUK house. The target of these abuse was directed at a Bollywood actress named Shilpa Shetty (a tasty dish who allegedly can't cook):

The details of the verbal salvo was chronicled here.

I won't comment on the nature of this argument because everyone have their opinion on this stupid show and the unfortunate incidents, so I wouldn't be saying anything that hasn't been said before.

What I would like to comment about is the ensuing fallout from this BBUK show. The Prime Minister of UK, Tony Blair, is dragged into apologising about something he have no clue about. The country's unwitting diplomats to India have to condemn something they haven't seen before and have zero control over. Silliest of all was this protest in India:

"In India, Shetty's treatment was front page news, prompting about 25 people, most of them men, to march down a street in the eastern Indian city of Patna chanting "Down with Big Brother." The protesters burnt an effigy representing the program's producers before being dispersed by police."

I wonder what would possess a man, or 25 of them for that matter, to think:

"Damn! I am angry about this. I am pissed off about this. I am absolutely filthy about this... this injustice... this malice. You know what I am gonna do? Do you, Huh?
"I'm gonna dig out my fifth grade paper mache kit, craft me a man-size doll of the producers (who lives halfway across the world, whom I never met before and dunno what their faces looks like), lug the bloody thing to a public place and... and... and... set it on FIRE...
"That's right baby, I am gonna call up Apu... and maybe his cousin Jepal... and we gonna be toasting some producer's arse tonight... Feel the heat you racialist producers, YEAH!"

So 25 of these silly sausages congregate on the streets of Patna (in a city of 1.2 Million other people who, I assume, are largely amused by this spectacle). Then they do some angry sounding chanting, like a bunch of rabid pom-pom-wielding cheerleaders and roast some cheap-arsed blow-up doll.

Fantastic... a country that has gone from the great master of peaceful protest to a bunch of sadistic girls torturing their dollies. If they want to protest with fire in the future, perhaps they could consider Thích Quang Đuc's method. A damn sight more emotive I reckon.

Jepal: "What are we doing here again?"
Apu: "Dunno, he just told me to bring some kerosene,
I was hoping for a BBQ really..."

Marginal Propensity of Intelligibility

2007-01-18T17:25:00.000+11:00

Disclaimer: The following thesis is mercilessly plagiarised from Tim McKinnon (a friend of mine), haphazardly edited and reproduced here without his knowledge or permission. The study is shoddy at best, the mathematics are all guesswork, the references are non-existent and the contents are dangerously funny. Any inaccuracies are his fault.

Marginal Propensity of Intelligibility

There is a cross over point where lubricating your social skills with alcohol begins to diminish in correlation with extended consumption. This is called the Marginal Propensity of Intelligibility (MPC).

The Marginal Propensity to operate intelligibly refers to the increase/decrease in intelligible behaviour (Y) that occurs with an increase in alcohol consumption. For example, if a person buys one extra beer, and the marginal propensity to behave intelligibly is 0.65, then of that beer, the person will drink one beer and intelligibility will increase a further 0.35.

Mathematically, the marginal propensity to operate intelligibly (MPC) function is expressed as the derivative of the consumption (C) function with respect to intelligibility (Y).

In other words, the marginal propensity to behave intelligibly is measured as the ratio of the change in consumption to the change in intelligibility, thus giving us a figure between 0 and 1. The MPC can be more than one if the drinker is particularly knowledgeable about a subject over and above the average in the group.

However, with each drink consumed, say after the first five, will return less value in terms of enhancing intelligibility. After 24 hours of continuous alcohol consumption, it is no longer an incrementally diminishing positive margin, but a rapidly increasing negative margin.

With the increased alcohol saturation in a Rum & Coke, say, I think the increase of MPC would be more rapid to the maximum value, and a corresponding fall off would be like a cliff. This is called “Free Falling Negative Marginal Propensity of Intelligibility” or “Total Loss of Reason”.

"Your lousy kung-fu is no match for my lousy kung-fu!!!"

2007-01-17T19:17:00.000+11:00

You see, here I was thinking all that violence and rioting on the first day of the Australian Open, was the direct results of too many wankers mixed in with too much alcohol and testosterone... but boy, was I wrong.

Just take a look at the newspaper's clippings of these fighting arseholes and realised that this is not your usual racially motivated riot but a highly organised Balkan-based martial arts tournament. It takes a little to understand their style and nuance but I am here to shed a light on their kwazy kung-fu style. Czech it out:

At the beginning of tournament, many can spot Master "One-Arm-Wally" Jeckoffsevich doing his vocal warm-up. Do not be fooled by Master Jeckoffsevich harmless appearence, his "One-Arm-Wally" style is feared and laughed at throughout the Balkans.

=~=~=~=~=

Of course, here is Master Flipoffsevich demonstrating his "Thousand Finger Punch" style. When facing this style of kung-fu, under no circumstance should you ever turn around and bend over to expose your buttocks to the master, or you shall suffer the "Thousand Finger" consequence.

=~=~=~=~=

As the tournament kick off, you can see Master Numnutzevic displaying his "Kwazy Eyes One Way, Kwazy Fist The Other" style. VERY difficult to face this punch. In fact, so difficult to face it, after thousands of hours of practice, Master Numnutzevic has yet to land a punch in the general vicinity of a face.

=~=~=~=~=

And here is Master Numnutzevic wowing the crowd with his unique "My Nuts To Your Foot" style. It is a ancient style passed on from his direct Balkan ancestor: Great Master Blacballzevic. A dangerously brave maneuver that could only end in tears for everybody involved.

=~=~=~=~=

The action hots up with Master Hottgasevic facing off with the mysterious wanderer known only as Master "I-am-Superman-I-am". As you can see Master Hottgasevic is serving up his "Lard Arse Flatulence" style, well known for its ability to defeating roomful of men in one foul swoop. Fearsome stuff!

=~=~=~=~=

Now you can see Master Hottgasevic projecting his "Lard Arse Flatulence" style onto Master Ayeshatmipantzevic. But of course, Master Ayeshatmipantzevic is more than capable in defending himself with his legendary "Chickee-dee-Chickee-dee" style. The entertainment never cease.

=~=~=~=~=

And here is it... WOW, what a treat it is to witness the mastery of this powerful but not well known style: the "Drunken Arsehole Fist" style. Little is understood of its powers but that is not all that surprising.

=~=~=~=~=

I cannot wait for next years Australian Open for more marvelous kwazy kung-fu style. What a treat!

Caucasian Girls

2007-01-16T18:14:00.000+11:00

Today I will do my part for the environment and recycle a comment I wrote in Sam de Brito's blog, "All Men are Liars*", and use it for this blog entry. The below text is an edited version of what I wrote before:

...

I am a Chinese male but have been an Australian for most of my life.

I have often openly expressed to my (mostly Asian) friends that I prefer the feature and attitude of oriental women. What I don't openly admit to is that I am also very attracted to Caucasian women.

But due to my (perhaps sub-conscious) understanding or delusion that Caucasian women are inherently not attracted to Asian men, I do not commit the social faux pas of chasing after Aussie girls.

...

Allow me relate a tale of my youth. When I immigrated to Darwin nearly 20 years ago, I fell in love with the Aussie lifestyle here.

The beauty of the English language in poetry and songs. The diversity of culture and people of this free country. The greenery and open spaces on this wide open land...

And the cute Caucasian girls at school...

The fine olive skin of the Mediterranean girls. The blonde locks of these exquisite goddesses. The large sapphire blue and jade green irises they possess.

And freckles... WOW-wee, what heavenly delights... :-)

(To be perfectly balanced, I must say I find Caucasian's larger bust size very pleasing to my pubescent eyes as well :-)

...

There is one girl at school which I find absolutely irresistible... Wow, how do I put this... think of a very young Nicole Kidman with wavy strawberry blonde hair and just a splash of freckles on her button nose and the cutest of cheeks.

How I adored and worshipped her...

She was into drama, so instinctively I signed up for the drama club. She was vice-captain of the softball team, heck, I'll try-out for the team (never mind that I had the athletic ability of a mouldy tree stump). She played touch-footy, I'll ditto that... Martial Arts, ditto again...

Everything she did, I try to do, poorly I might add... (except for drama which I excelled)... but I guess it was beginning to be obvious that I was stalking her!

On top of my near constant presence, I had confessed to my school friends that I have amorous feelings for this curious flaxen-haired creature. And naturally the rumours of this chubby Chinese bloke hankering for a fair Caucasian girl found it's way to her ears.

...

Unfortunately, when the opportunity arise one day, she pulled me aside and told me under no uncertain term I was to go anywhere near her again. Apparently, I was screwing things up for her. I was cramping her style.

I was devastated.

...

Truthfully, women are women. Caucasian, Asian or otherwise. They are beautiful in their many qualities.

But to this day, I cannot fully reconciled my repressed fear of European women and their (supposed) distaste of the Asian males. I just cannot look at an Aussie girl any way other than a beautiful mythical unicorn, magical yet completely out of reach.

Reinforced by Hollywood stereotyping of Inter-Asian-Caucasian relationship (examine the Hollywood movies of stars like Jackie Chan, Jet Li and Chow-Yun Fat, how often do they score with the Caucasian leading ladies?)

There is still a lot of baggage for me to unload...

I Think I'm in Love...

2007-01-15T18:32:00.000+11:00

Mon Cheri, how I treasure thee, let me count the ways... I adore your psychotic-bug-eyed-moon-like face... and cherish your flailing arm as you swat at those pesky imaginary insects drawn to your song... and that voice... wow-wee what a voice!?!

Let us be together, always, so that we may create more beautiful music for the betterment of all humanity:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95dJonNLu6U

"Can I have a packet of Understanding(R) and some fries with that?"

2007-01-11T18:46:00.000+11:00

I am sure most of us in Australia have seen the ads for the Insurance company Australian Pensioners Insurance Agency or APIA, where their major selling point is that they don't just do insurance but they also flog off "Understanding(R)" as well.

Um, OK... so would you reckon I could pop into their office and order up a big serving of that world famous Understanding(R)? or do you think I 'd have get that as a side dish along with one of their policy papers?

I wonder what is the secret 11 herb-and-spices that they put into this mythical Understanding(R)? Is that the reason they had it registered it as their trademark? Maybe if it is not registered then other insurance vendors can offer up the same dollop of meaningless marketing crap...

Ahhh, marketing departments, you just gotta love them...

Fabulous Fashion WHAT?!?

2007-01-10T17:19:00.000+11:00

While reading the news today, I stumbled across this: the annual fashion list-of-shame by some unknown "fashion critic" (What the feck does these people actually do??)

Mr. Blackwell, in his undoubted wisdom, named Britney Spears and Paris Hilton as 2006 worst dress women of the planet. I am sure there are a few homeless women on the streets of America that would disagree with Mr. Blackwell's assessment, but what would they know? He is Mr. Fecking Blackwell afterall...

Anyway, I have no problem with some bloke stating whether he fancies or loathes some filly's choice of wrapping paper. If he finds his jolly doing that, kudos to him. But I do have issues with his other list of women who he regard as "fabulous fashion independents":

"He urged the women... to emulate "fabulous fashion independents" like Kate Winslet, Angelina Jolie, Helen Mirren, Barbra Streisand and Beyonce Knowles."
THE WHAT!?! Fabulous Fashion WHAT?!? Independents??? WHAT?
If other women emulate these independents, then are they now independents or just part of the massive materalistic herd? Do they start dressing up like circus clowns to stay independents? Or just go naked?
Children, the lessons for today are thus:
Fashion is bullsh!t.
Mr Blackwell shovels it very well.
Class dismiss...

Japanese Girls

2007-01-08T18:22:00.000+11:00

I have had a long fascination with Japanese girls and their soft feminine features and mannerism.

I must admit I do not know many Japanese females, so I am generalizing here, yet I find their behaviours and inane giggling very appealing. This is despite the fact that most a lot of the Japanese females I do know are not that, aesthetically pleasing.

...

Last Saturday, I was kindly invited by a friend, to join him and his group of Japanese friends for a Karaoke session. Most of his Japanese friends are females (bless his socks :-) and I spent close to five hours serenading this gaggle of giggling girls with a number of my big belting ballads. (Amongst the many songs I sang, some of them are Elvis' classic "(I Can't Help) Falling in Love with You" and Utada Hikaru's poetic "First Love"... )

The girls seemed to lap up my modest abilities and was forthcoming with quite a fair few compliments. During the middle of a song I was crooning, one of the girls asked, ever so politely, if she could come across and sit down next to me, for the sole purpose of sitting next to me(!?!)

I was very flattered, naturally... :-)

Introspectively, it is so ~VERY~ nice to feel the appreciation of these girls. I wasn't attract to a single one of them but to hear them pay me kind gentle words about my singing is indeed something very special.

I am gonna have to ask my friend to invite me to more of these outings ;-)

Am I Lazy or do I Lack the (Free) Will?

2007-01-05T18:42:00.000+11:00

Lazy today, can't be bother doing a proper post... so I will post a link to an interesting article about Free Will, or the lack of it, which I found from Scott Adams' blog.

Enjoy.

Oink Oink...

2007-01-04T18:51:00.000+11:00

Most of my friends and associates thinks that I am a pig, and I have to agree with them.

Nope, not because I am particularly overweight man (that is a matter of opinion really).

Nor am I a sleazy chauvinist (that is kinda subjective as well).

Nor am I a lazy-dumb-ass-mud-swilling bum... um... OK, maybe I am a little bit of a lazy-dumb-ass-mud-swilling bum, but that is not why other people associate me as a porkious swine.

I eat... yes, I eat a lot. My meal portion is double what a normal person generally consume.

I eat like food is going out of fashion.

I eat like my lazy arse life is depending on it (a-la "Gluttony" in Se7en).

I eat like World War III is starting tomorrow and I am going have to face mortal combat with a horde of Sudanese kids for the world's last broccoli.

I eat like... I guess you get my drift.

While I do my best to rid the world of the dangers of potatoes and carrots over-population, I do marvel at two people I have met in the past who really exceeds any of my feeding prowess.

Daphne, a slim six-foot-something-tall woman I met when I was in college, is amazingly beautiful and amazingly consumptious. She can eat and eat like I never could.

Daz, a guy I used to work with, who is a muscular long distance cyclist that can bench-press over 70kg, is another person who astonish me with his ability to scoff things down his pipes.

These two people are not fat at all, far from it. They are just freaks of nature much like I am. And I revere them for it.

I will end my blog entry here and head off to dinner. Boy, I am famished.

Pretentious Constipation

2007-01-03T20:43:00.000+11:00

I hate my new profile photo on Friendster:

I look like I am either:

a pretentious prat; or
a constipated baboon; or
a pretentiously constipated arsehole.

Take your pick...

I promise to come up with a better photo soon.

Good Start to the Year...

2007-01-02T17:39:00.000+11:00

Welcome back to my inane blog and I wish you all a happy, peaceful new year...

To kick off 2007, please allow me to be self-indulgent here and begin my first blog entry of the year by talking about ME... and my experience of New Year Eve just two nights ago :-)

Like a million other Sydney-siders, I made the pilgrimage down to the Sydney Harbour to catch a glimpse of the world famous firework display. I was kindly invited to go with a friend and a group of her friends, most of whom I didn't know very well.

We journeyed to the swanky suburb of Kirribilli at around 10:30pm and park ourselves on a tiny public jetty (right next to the Prime Minister's residence) and waited for over an hour for the sparks to fly.

My estimate would be at least 250 patient party people on this itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny jetty, counting down the remaining seconds of the year. I was rather sadden by the fact that the jetty didn't broke off from its mooring and slither screaming into the water... that would have been rather fun to be a part of :-D

While the ensuing fireworks was absolutely magnificent, I must say the highlight of the night for me was to stand there on this narrow jetty's walkway (no wider than two metres), and was asked by my friend to guard her close friend who is (by my standard) quite a fetching female.

So... for the last hour of 2006, I was nuzzling up to this young lady, with my arms around her, body nudging snugly against hers... doing everything I can to shield her against all the loud drunk pushy over-weight sweaty half-naked blokes that was getting on and off the jetty for no apparent reason.

I must say, it must have felt like a decade since I was this intimate with a woman. To taste the aroma of their hair, caress their soft forearm and feel their warmth against my torso. Sure, I hardly know the girl and there were hundreds of people on the jetty, most of them have rubbed up against me at some point during the night. Nevertheless, it was very comforting to end the year on such a chivalrous note.

You can call me sad or laugh at my prudishness, but I see it as a good ending to a year and I hope that 2007 will bring more of the same...

If you have any good experiences with NYE please leave a comment to share with us...

And...

Many cheers to you and to a brilliant 2007!

Happy Xmas and a Merry New Year...

2006-12-22T21:33:00.000+11:00

...now I dance for you... as an elf!!! (thanks Danny for the link, love it mate)

See you in the new year.

My Mutant (Kinda) Superpower

2006-12-21T18:06:00.000+11:00

Many moons ago, I realised I was different to a lot of my peers. It seems that hyper-flexibility or double-jointedness is not all that common and I possess a degree of it in a number of my joints.

Namely, my elbows can be bent backward, as well as rotate around as it is bent backward... this always prove as a cool party trick, somehow everyone is completely freaked out by this act of contortion, whereas I always thought of this as a normal attribute for everyone.

My knee joints can also be bent forward, although the degree of this freakishness is far less than my elbows. Also, my fingers can be hyper-extended as well:

While this is all good and well, all of my sisters display some form of this genetic trait as well. So I don't believe I am a super-freak, just your standard garden-variety freak I guess...

That was, until a few days ago...

While in the office my colleagues were giving me crap about how physically large my mouth was and theorised that perhaps I could probably fit my entire fist in it. To which, I responded by doing EXACTLY that. I turned around to face them, said "allow me to demonstrate..." and squeeze my right clenched fist into my extensive gob!

I felt like I was Bruce Willis in "Unbreakable", when it first dawned upon himself that his ability was far beyond anything he imagined.

I would post a photo of this incredible act of stupidity/inanity, except it would only serve to scare the kiddies and frightened the cattles. So I must refrain.

However, having stumbled upon this new found ability, I feel I have a social responsibility to form my own team of kinda-super mutant crime fighting team, a-la Professor X and the X-Men.

So to all you blog readers out there, if you have any freakish physical abilities, please submit your skills for consideration and I will contact you shortly for an interview... and before you know it, the scums of the Earth will have to contend with fearsome powers of the "Not-so-super-X-Men"... Watch out world!

Miss USA Gettin' Freeeeeky...

2006-12-19T17:36:00.000+11:00

I am gonna be lazy today (like any other day I suppose) and post a link to another blog post by master blogger and cerebral comic man, Scott Adams:

Miss USA the Party Animal

Enjoy!

Can-Can

2006-12-18T18:56:00.000+11:00

Actual Conversation at Work

* While discussing about how to best decorate our office for the Christmas season:

Colleague 1 opined: Wouldn't it be cool if could also black-out the windows in our office so that we could sit here in our underwear to work?

Colleague 2 added: ...But wouldn't it be weird if other people walked in here and see three blokes sitting in their underwear...

Me: Nah, not really... It would be weird if people walked in here and see three blokes in their underwear doing the can-can...

Colleague 2: ...or playing twister...

Colleague 1: Yeah, that would be weird...

Virginity: I would fight for that...

2006-12-14T19:11:00.000+11:00

People have often used the war in Iraq to drag out that adage: "Fighting for Peace is like F**king for Virginity"

And I do think that peace is a worthy ideal to aim for, here in Australia, in Iraq and everywhere on the globe.

But since I am ineligible to join the Australian Defense Forces (due to my weakling frame), I think I should really make it my goal to f**k for virginity instead.

Virginity is, according to those who uses the above idiom, an equally worthy ideal as well. And I am ready and able to give my country everything I have.

Sure, I understand there will be lengthy exhausting training regime; late nights effort; early mornings sessions; plus the endless grunt work day in day out... But I am serious about protecting the virtues of virginity.

The only question remains: Where do I sign up?

Personal Grooming

2006-12-13T19:29:00.000+11:00

We don't like to but we all do it... personal grooming.

Yes, the process of cutting, trimming, plucking, tweezing, waxing, brushing, cleansing, scrubing, polishing, shaving, massaging, as well as applying assorted creams, lotions, farming produce and miscellaneous chemical substances on various parts of our body... all in a futile effort to become a "better" homo sapien... some how.

Yes, I am talking to you, men AND women of the world, worshipper of eternal beauty...

Why?? Why do we carry out such strange rituals? Do we do it to better to attract members of the opposite sex? Really?? Or is it purely something we learnt and practiced and drummed into us... by society, gossip magazines and the Fab Five?

Who dictate these rules and standards anyhow? It just doesn't makes much sense at all...

Anyway, I better wrap up this rant, or I am going to be late for my toe hair waxing session at my local beautician... see ya all next time.

Song That Make You go "Hmmmmm"...

2006-12-12T19:07:00.000+11:00

Have you ever heard of Neil Sedaka's classic tune "Calendar Girl"? The chorus of the song pretty much goes as thus:

I love, I love, I love my calender girl
Yeah, sweet calender girl
I love, I love, I love my calender girl
Each and every day of the year...
etc. etc.

Pop quiz: What do you think Mr. Sedaka was doing when he wrote this song?

Stroking the salami; or
Spanking the monkey; or
Whacking off.

Hmmmmm... Would that explain the uppity beat of the song? (no pun intended)

Day Zero...

2006-12-11T18:57:00.000+11:00

Dear World,

I am migrating my blog from Friendster and this is my first post here. I hope you would enjoy my inane chattering:

Dear World,

Today is my 28th birthday and I am posting this Blog entry. If that is not ridiculously inane I dunno what is.

Keep you eye out on this same inane channel, same inane hour for some more inane chattering.

Chill, G