And the rich boy said NO!

This is trippy. I'm kind of feeling trippy. I think there are plenty of things I would do to get certain things out of my system, however I am legally bound not to do those things and I also have far too much common sense to be breaking the law.


That, or I'm a cowardly ass. Either way, I'm a safe individual.

Loud Wailing Noise.

PONEY PONEY "Cross The Fader"
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I wish I had the tenacity of certain individuals, to be so dogged in their single minded pursuit of the skirt that it sorta borderlines on creepy. The cool thing about these people that I know is that they don't seem to be affected by any sort of guilt at the constant aggressive-but ineffective-skirt chasing techniques which they employ which almost always ends up with at least one party unhappy.

I on the other hand, am constantly wracked with grief over the asshole that I am and my inability to become a better person.


I also do not agree with kicking and punching my way into somebody's personal space because I may or may not suffer from some sort of attention deficit disorder due to fucked up upbringing and need the attention from a impressionable nubile nymph. That may be due to the fact that I am also too timid and not just solely because I disagree with making other people's business mine.


Oh, I believe in true love and fate and the saying that que sera sera. Whenever the fuck that's going to take place.

The financial consultant

Financial consultants shouldn't be allowed to be pretty. If they weren't I wouldn't be less compelled to stop and entertaining their pitches disguised as a survey and end up listening to an extremely well rehearsed and predictable and tiresome to listen to pitch about how I can save more money if I put my money with them instead of the bank(!). Then, I wouldn't give a false number because I'm the kind of guy who is too shy to reject the request of someone who looks like they've been working extremely hard at am extremely eager to do their job right and would you please help me by signing on to the dotted line so I can a big fat commission (pretty please with great big pretty doe eyes) and you can earn way better interest rates here anyway so it's a win win solution.

They shouldn't be allowed to do shit like that. Because ultimately, because I have absolutely no interest in committing to a long term savings plan and I end up lying about my intentions and giving a false number, because nothing you say can convince me because I've probably heard it all and even if you have a pitch I haven't heard I still won't be interested. Then, when you ask me when you can call and I tell you tomorrow evening and then, you ask me if I'm giving you a false number I tell you no very firmly because I'm already so caught up in my lie I don't want to get caught with my pants down. Then I feel very guilty because I don't like to lie to people. Not as long as it's necessary anyway.


So, financial consultants. LEAVE ME ALONE!


Unless you want to date me, or you'll be faced with the disappointment of making time and practising a speech to call me up only to realise that you've been lied to, again.

Revel!

Today, I marched all the way to Jurong Hill, ran up said hill in slippers, got awful blisters and went mad with glee at the beautiful sight awaiting me upon reaching the summit. 'twas wonderful. Should bring someone up there with me some day.

We Are All Happy Shiny People

You know, as I was traveling back home after another long week in camp in the dinky little public bus, I considered jumping out of the window to see what would happen. The most obvious outcome ranging from mild injury to death, but there was this incredibly strong urge to see what fate had in store for my miserable body had it flew out of a moving bus. How I badly mangled my body would have become, if I would emerge miraculously unscathed.

And there's a lot of feeling of surrendering myself to whatever the fates may bring. I mean, beautiful women bearing gifts of poison are still a sight to behold, right?

Go speed racer!

And I just came back from watching the latest Fast and Furious film, in a heavily modified totally not street legal car cruising at a 120km/h an hour on a 60km/h road.

I nearly shat myself when I came to the realization that the car was running at such speeds after one or two gear changes.

Crazy cool street racing cars are awesome; and my friend promises to let me drive his car after I get my license.





I need to get my car license, FAST!

Oh how you dream!

Oh pretty pixies in warm colours and sexy vixens in cool blue. Whisper me secrets that I will never remember and enchant me better than any medium in this world ever could. Send shivers down my spine and give me hope for happy days. Make me fall in love with your ideals and don't abandon me at the end of the night. Your pretty pictures fill my head now, every conscious moment. It's horrible because I've begun to obsess. Stubborn and single minded, I cannot stop thinking of all that happened that happy night. I see your pretty picture and try to breathe it life, but it is something that I just can't do.

Oh pretty pixie I still see your face, framed in warm colours. I think I'm beginning to obsess and it just isn't right. I could try and bring you into this life but that would not be right. Please stop your mischief before the joke goes stale and I am left with very little care.

Are you serious!?

Okay. I am not as bleak as this blog may suggest.




Also. Clappy nonsensical music gets me going. Oh, and if anyone has been wondering why I have been more distant than normal, normalcy will resume soon. I just need to work out a few things.






Something big's going to happen soon! I can feel it in my bones!

All you need is love!

I'm thinking that I really believe Paul and John when they tell me, with the help of their friends making merry music that all I need is love. It just takes a little tingly semblance of it to spark the imagination aflutter with warm blankets of fuzzy comfort that you can take and wrap yourself in and feel protected from the world and cruel, cruel reality.

Unfortunately sustaining that feeling takes hard work and ooh, I always seem to end up chasing things that I shouldn't be and I'm not helped by the fact that I suck at running. And that I'm a pig headed, stubborn idealist.

Manly Man!

Apparently I'm much more buff and manly looking now, as compared to a year and a half ago. I sure don't feel that I look more manly or shit. The only thing I feel is tired, uninspired and more like a grumpy old coot with too short a fuse.

Also, if I'm more manly and much more improved from before, why the heck the resistance to help propagate my ultimate goal of finding a mate to procreate with?