my innermost sanctum

toons

chopped off

went for a haircut during lunch and now, my barnet is so short i can:
1. get student concessions to just everything, even sneaking in to the local university libraries
2. pass off as a vulcan

so if you's could excuse me, i go admire my spiffin' new look in the mirror..

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
29 June 2004

MUHAMMAD ALI THE SOCCER PLAYING BOXER
In June 1963, While Muhammad Ali was in London to fight Britain's Henry Cooper he was given a tour of Arsenal"s football ground Highbury Stadium. During the tour Ali said that he would like to play soccer for Arsenal, whereupon he was instantly made team captain and the following day he scored three goals on his debut against Manchester United.

recommended

it's been a long while since i read an immensely decent fiction by a british author. the last being Agatha Christie, circa secondary school days. can't recommend this book enough though, as it's a totally dryly humorous spy novel.

and Ian Rankin closing the foreword with "innit?". kewl, that.

the prez writes!

or rather, ex-president to be exact. ta to Miles Bill Clinton blahs on blogspot.

interesting read, that. and i said it not because i'm a fan of his. rather, an insight into a mind of a former world leader. who, like every other father all over the blue marble, frets about his daughter's choice of a beau.

wuss

busy busy busy. due to last minute programme cancellation's / postponements / wotsit the minute i stepped in to the workplace this morning.

reason: them tennis players at wimbledon couldn't play in the drizzle. whatsoever.

wimps.

toons

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
27 June 2004

LINGUISTIC NICETIES
The Welsh Language has no equivalent for the English word 'sunny'.

w@nker b@nker

if this is true:

oh, and if you want to give that twat some more stick, go to his website. but it's in german i must add.

no matter, yer a cheating low-life bastard, ref. oh, and if anyone dares telling me:
1. it's *only* a game
2. i'm a whingeing "pom"

you'd be so sorry for yer miserable existence. in addition to a very public name and shame of yer goodself, as well as publishing your IP addy on this blog.

geddit?

stick givin'

ta muchly to Miles for this link, the Kaiser for this; and Oli for the following piccies:

oh, and how about this text message direct from england, courtesy of a mate:

mighty disgraceful that, coming from someone who received some posh award at the palace earlier this year or summat.

not again

not sure if it's me or there's something in the air lately - nothing to do with the current haze drifting in from indonesia. those expat regular's at the local are wont to ask me this, reference my support for teams england: why england?

just because i'm sometimes found swearing at the ref sitting on my own watching the ruggers or footy intently. nay, it's because i'm one of 'em asian women, that they can't quite register. that's why.

the next time i'm asked this exact same nonsense, i promise my reply would be: well, them english chappies are the bestest shag's i ever have really.

shock, horror. indeed. i'd get meself in real deep shite, i tell ya. apart from the letters S-L-U-T tattooed/flashing large on me forehead.

tragic, that.

:: ok, calm down fella's ::

toons

dazed

not sure if it's the lack of sleep due to the footy or the cough mixture i just had that's making me woozy.

yep, finally i went to the workplace's doc to cure the coughing's before lunch hour. and to think i'd somehow get a sick leave. darn.

and i *hate* taking medicine to begin with. i mean, all those drugs/chemicals going around yer system. i shudder to even think how they go about killing off all those viruses and bugs inside there.

:: shivers ::

odds

just spoke to a colleague about the odds of england winning tonight's - technically tomorrow morning WIST - as she's one of 'em 99.9% of wee islanders who'd wager on just about anything:

it ends in a draw by full time, england to win on penalty shoot-outs.

anyways, as for my prediction, england 2 portugal 2*. england to come back in the second half from 2 goals down. and both goals to be scored by shrek. sorry, i meant Rooney Mickey Owen. give that laddie a chance, he'll rise to the occasion.

c'mon Rooney Owen.

*disclaimer: no, it wasn't based on what said colleague told me.

one reason why...

i'm much looking forward to get out of the workplace but due to a myriad of reasons, i have not.

off an email sent by one very pissed-off cow-orker. see for yerself what sort of amoeba's/bints/twats/ i have to contend with daily. can't say for sure if it's a wee islander who caused substansive damage to a non-living thing:

-------------------------------------------------------------

Will the person who obvisouly doesn't know how to look after company equipment with respect please stop using the thingy at department blah. In fact you should stop using anything if you're going to cause this much damage all the time.

Because of your most recent abuse, we now have to call the thingy's service people for a second day in a row and this recent damage looks as though we may be without the thingy for some time. The side door has been ripped off it's hinges and jammed into the machine.

This is completely disrespectful of company property, and you have inconvenienced many people by leaving the machine inoperable without advising anyone.

If you are responsible for this, it would be in your best interest at this very moment to come to me and explain what happened so at least the service guy can correctly fix the problem - being his job and all I'm sure he'll do a much better job than you have.

Also if there is a problem that you can't fix, a sticker with the thingy's contact numbers is affixed to the machine for you to call. Your arms aren't painted on, so pick up the phone and advise them of the problem. You will need to quote the serial code also on the sticker.

Please Please Please can all staff start respecting equipment that we all have to use!!!!

cow-orker's name omitted to protect the letter b's identity

lookalikey

as Miles had mentioned about Rooney being Shrek's doppelganger, here's one off the Kaiser's.

c'mon Rooney.

note to self: stay up and watch the match, or you'd bloody regret it..

offensive? this?

lifted off an email from a mate:

-----------------------------------------------------
Dear Employees:

It has been brought to management's attention that some individuals throughout the company are using foul language during normal conversations with their
coworkers. Due to complaints received from some employees who may be easily offended, this type of language will no longer be tolerated.

We do, however, realize the critical importance of being able to accurately express your feelings when communicating with coworkers. Therefore, a list of
"TRY SAYING" new phrases is provided so that proper exchange of ideas and information can continue in an effective manner.

TRY SAYING: I think you could use more training.
INSTEAD OF: You don't know what the fuck you're doing.

TRY SAYING: She's an aggressive go-getter.
INSTEAD OF: She's a ball-busting bitch.

TRY SAYING: Perhaps I can work late.
INSTEAD OF: And when the fuck do you expect me to do this?

TRY SAYING: I'm certain that isn't feasible.
INSTEAD OF: No fucking way.

TRY SAYING: Really?
INSTEAD OF: You've got to be shitting me!

TRY SAYING: Perhaps you should check with...
INSTEAD OF: Tell someone who gives a shit.

TRY SAYING: I wasn't involved in the project.
INSTEAD OF: It's not my fucking problem.

TRY SAYING: That's interesting.
INSTEAD OF: What the fuck?

TRY SAYING: I'm not sure this can be implemented.
INSTEAD OF: This shit won't work.

TRY SAYING: I'll try to schedule that.
INSTEAD OF: Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner?

TRY SAYING: He's not familiar with the issues.
INSTEAD OF: He's got his head up his ass.

TRY SAYING: Excuse me, sir?
INSTEAD OF: Eat shit and die.

TRY SAYING: So you weren't happy with it?
INSTEAD OF: Kiss my ass.

TRY SAYING: I'm a bit overloaded at the moment.
INSTEAD OF: Fuck it, I'm on salary.

TRY SAYING: I don't think you understand.
INSTEAD OF: Shove it up your ass.

TRY SAYING: I love a challenge.
INSTEAD OF: This job sucks.

TRY SAYING: You want me to take care of that?
INSTEAD OF: Who the hell died and made you boss?

TRY SAYING: He's somewhat insensitive.
INSTEAD OF: He's a prick.

b@st@rds

the news about the beheading of the south korean by those bunch of cowards in the guise of towelled goateed camels, who go around telling the blue marble that they commit their crime in the name of their god?

isnt it about time the whole lot of them - including those in saudi arabia, mindanao, palestine, fundamentalist communities in the UK, wherever else they exist - get nuked?

no, actually they all should be rounded up, and then hang, drawn and quartered.

indeed, the silence from the secular muslim communities around the blue marble is so deafening, it makes one wonder if they are actually agreeing to the "executions" in the quiet.

yet when rulings on banning of islamic clothes and wotsit are enforced, you'd see loadsa them - even as far away as indonesia - going loony, making rather *loud* noises about how discriminatory the rulings are, how the west are so disrespectful of islam, blah yadda whinge.

really, they should be all rounded up, and then hang, drawn and quartered.

i'm so effin' sick of and annoyed with these amoebic scum. but i must clarify that i have nothing against islam per se.

toons

open letter

to the workplace's american lawyer:

dear wotsit -

it's flattering to know that you've had been sneaking glances at me for the past couple of years. yes i do notice it, like this morning when i was in the gaffer's room and you turned to look inside while walking by. 'cos you saw me entering there moments ago.

also, like the other day while at the photocopying machine, you looked glassy-eyed, grinning like a bashful schoolboy. and then asking me some question or two which i confessed i didn't hear. apologies, it's not that i'm hard of hearing, i was taken aback by your behaviour.

correction, you were mumbling, that's why :D

i'm sure your aware that i return the compliment intermittently by purposely walking past your room. but that's all i can do. nothing more. although i am equally attracted to you, i have to draw the line given that your married with kids.

the fact that you play rugby on weekends, there's only one word i can utter: phwoar.

anways, a shame innit? oh well.

yours sincerely
the letter b

talented?

every morning - ok, monday to friday - on my way to work on the bus, i have to put up with incessant incomprehensible no-brainer natterings of the hosts of the wee island dedicated news channel's morning show.

both of whom are american-educated filipino's of chinese extraction. one of whom with a thoroughly spanish family name.

don't get me wrong i'm not complaining about their presence. nor about their broad filipino-laced yank accents. rather, i question the need to hire foreigners to front the programme just because. to begin with, they have no presence or charisma to even engage my interest.

i wonder if it's their so-called enchanting ::pass the sickbag:: looks or their being "exotic" - chinks speaking with a combo of filipino and american twangs - that got them on board in the first place?

given certain wee islanders' irrational infatuation with chinks from the western hemisphere, or those educated in the west?

c'mon england

they may vehemently deny any affection towards things english or england, but 98% of wee islanders still support them regardless of fortune. like, some colleagues and cow-orkers alike who walked in to the workplace deliriously chuffed.

and the score was something nobody had expected. i didn't watch the match as it was shown at a ridiculous hour of 02:45 WIST. not to mention the increase in numbers of clueless amoeba's over the yonks, who "discuss" footy as if they are experts.

now, on the radio, 4-4-2's come on england. a nice change at least as they've been playing the farm's altogether now to death.

not that i'm complaining, mind. and i meant 4-4-2's rework of come on eileen also.

:: cor blimey, that was a L-O-N-G time ago, that tune ::

coughed

15% of lifeform's toiling away on this half of the workplace are hacking their brains - or whatever's left - off the whole of today.

including yours truly. the letter b.

it must be the virus-polluted air around here, i tell ya.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
19 June 2004

CHAIR PERSON.
All council officials in meetings must now refer to " The Person Sitting In The Chair " rather than the "Chairperson" as it could be misconstrued that the person actually looked like a chair or that it may be in order to sit on the person.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
20 June 2004

GRASS ISN'T EVER GREENER
Grass is actually a dark brown colour. It only appears green because of bacteria that naturally exist on our retinas.

toons

fashion crime

i wonder who the wag is/was that came up with the idea of polka dots on clothes. women's clothes that is. a real bright idea that.

not only do polka dots make the wearer appear sickly - chicken pox and measles come to mind. but also completely dodgy. it's already bad enough having floral prints on skirts, making the wearer look like a garden. a walking garden that is.

ok, to me at least.

but of course, it's a different matter altogether if a shirt comes with plaids all over :D

come again?

more capers from the taiwan office. overheard this just moments ago:

a couple of birds flew in here for some meeting or summat. and then one of them was struggling to explain in english to an ethnic chinese wee island colleague - who doesn't speak a word of mandarin - on their shared job responsibilities.

i don't even understand a fuckin word she was spouting. really.

and then another colleague - a malay - asked the other one if she needed any help in english, the twit replied in chink instead.

those pair of birds are fit, no doubt about it. but their overtly racist misplaced-superiority attitude spoilt it all.

sore thumb

sticking out that is. was surrounded in a wee corner by kiwi's and their supporters yesterday at the local during the NZ vs England ruggers.

it was agonising i tell ya. the thought of crossing over to the other part of the pub didn't cross my mind. so instead of whingeing to my canuck mate who supports them, i was resolute to prove my colours. by becoming noisier. like, yelling at the telly for example.

but ended up making new friends as i shook hands with them congratulating on their team's win. and then one uttered looking at me, "the english are good losers".

not sure if they meant me also. heh. and then i was asked that perennial question: why england?

of course they'd half expected me to reply it was all due to some english boyfriend or partner or summat. or because of their world cup exploits. meh.

one thing for sure is that i was struck by the maoris' - those present - similarities with the malays in terms of temperament. which of course is no coincidence as they come from the same stock: the malayo-polynesian.

blah interrupted

blahing's may be light or none at all for the rest of the day due to:
1. madness at work as it reaches a new unprecedented level
2. an outing at the local last evening resulted in a yawnfest the whole of today

nevertheless, watch this space. something utterly brilliant may come this way.

larf's

ta to my mate who emailed me this.

---------------------------------------------------------
Subject: FW: IMMEDIATE ATTENTION NEEDED: HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

URGENT ASSISTANCE - FROM USA

IMMEDIATE ATTENTION NEEDED : HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

FROM: GEORGE WALKER BUSH
202.456.1414 / 202.456.1111
FAX: 202.456.2461

Dear Sir / Madam,

I am GEORGE WALKER BUSH, son of the former president of the United States of America George Herbert Walker Bush, and currently serving as President of the United States of America. This letter might surprise you because we have not met neither in person nor by correspondence. I came to know of you in my search for a reliable and reputable person to handle a very confidential business transaction, which involves the transfer of a huge sum of money to an account requiring maximum confidence.

I am writing you in absolute confidence primarily to seek your assistance in acquiring oil funds that are presently trapped in the republic of iraq. My partners and I solicit your assistance in completing a transaction begun by my father, who has long been actively engaged in the extraction of petroleum in the United States of America, and bravely served his country as director of the United States Central Intelligence Agency.

In the decade of the nineteen-eighties, my father, then vice-president of the United States of America, sought to work with the good offices of the President of the Republic of Iraq to regain lost oil revenue sources in the neighboring islamic republic of Iran. This unsuccessful venture was soon followed by a falling-out with his Iraqi partner, who sought to acquire additional oil revenue sources in the neighboring emirate of Kuwait, a wholly-owned U.S.-British subsidiary.

My father re-secured the petroleum assets of Kuwait in 1991 at a cost of sixty-one billion u.s. dollars ($61,000,000,000). Out of that cost, thirty-six billion dollars ($36,000,000,000) were supplied by his partners in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and other persian gulf monarchies, and sixteen billion dollars ($16,000,000,000) by German and Japanese partners. But my father's former Iraqi business partner remained in control of the republic of Iraq and its petroleum reserves.

My family is calling for your urgent assistance in funding the removal of the President of the Republic of Iraq and acquiring the petroleum assets of his country, as compensation for the costs of removing him from power. unfortunately, our partners from 1991 are not willing to shoulder the burden of this new venture, which in its upcoming phase may cost the sum of 100 billion to 200 billion dollars ($100,000,000,000 - $200,000,000,000), both in the initial acquisition and in long-term management.

Without the funds from our 1991 partners, we would not be able to acquire the oil revenue trapped within Iraq. That is why my family and our colleagues are urgently seeking your gracious assistance. Our distinguished colleagues in this business transaction include the sitting vice-president of the United States of America, Richard Cheney, who is an original partner in the Iraq venture and former head of the Halliburton oil company, and Condoleeza Rice, whose professional dedication to the venture was demonstrated in the naming of a Chevron oil tanker after her.

I would beseech you to transfer a sum equaling ten to twenty-five percent (10-25 %) of your yearly income to our account to aid in this important venture. The internal revenue service of the United States of America will function as our trusted intermediary. I propose that you make this transfer before the fifteenth (15th) of the month of April.

I know that a transaction of this magnitude would make anyone apprehensive and worried. But I am assuring you that all will be well at the end of the day. A bold step taken shall not be regretted, I assure you. Please do be informed that this business transaction is 100% legal. If you do not wish to co-operate in this transaction, please contact our intermediary representatives to further discuss the matter.

I pray that you understand our plight. My family and our colleagues will be forever grateful. Please reply in strict confidence to the contact numbers below.

Sincerely with warm regards,

George Walker Bush

Switchboard: 202.456.1414
Comments: 202.456.1111
Fax: 202.456.2461
Email: president@whitehouse.gov

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
18 June 2004

NELSON'S COLUMN
The well known London landmark harbours a secret pigeon-making factory. Overhead birds such as chaffinches, swallows and seagulls are sucked in through Napolean's hat, and rats from the tube lines are collected with a cheese-baited trap in the column's foundations.

Both birds and rats are kept stored in the length of the column, awaiting processing slightly beneath the fountain. The newly created pigeons fly out from Charing Cross tube station, and the spare parts left over by the process are given to naughty children in orphanages as sustenance.

grouch @ work

first it was a mouth ulcer - which does not seem to abate. and now a queasy throat.

another bollocks from them sales twats and client "services" whores, and i will not hesitate to wallop / throttle / chin / vapourise them.

i smell..

fried chicken. and that aroma's unmistakably a Kentucky Fried Chicken takeaway.

i wonder which wee islander is nibblin' on it at this very hour i'm having my tea time.

why i "like" my job even though blah blah

on one of the numerous telly's right now - the entire IRB Sevens 2003/04 tournament highlights.

i sorely need a rugby fix. which will be fulfilled this saturday - a triple whammy.

woooooooooot.

splat

blame it on the madness instigated by NBA and summat at the workplace yesterday, which led me to miss out the following crucial bits, as emphasised:

ta to Miles for pointing out to me what's wrong with Lakers fans anyhoo.

of course there are genuine ones among them. but knowing what wee islanders are like, 99.9% would hop on the bandwagon. same applies to other known sport.

ask them why, and they'd return you a look as if you have antennae on your bonce; together with this gem in typical wee island fashion:
"they all *famous* what. everybody also support them."

left you aghast, ain't it? what's perplexing is such sentences are oft-uttered by supposedly highly-educated plebian's.

and these are the same amoeba's who can't get any of the sportsmen's names correctly.

::cringe::

why i "like" my job even though it's crap

john beresford - he of the dodgy barnet, formerly newcastle united footballer and now an occasional premiership pundit - was at the pantry yakking away on his mobile phone.

i couldn't even ask for his pawprint. there were too many people milling about, that's why.

i didn't know that he's short either.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
16 June 2004

NURSERY RHYME
The nursery rhyme "Old King Cole" originated during the time of Cromwell's Republic and was a satirical text against the Puritans. 'Old King Cole' referred to the strait-laced Cromwell and the 'fiddlers three' were the three forms of God (Father, Son and Holy Ghost) to whom Cromwell repeatedly called for help.

wtf!

LA Lakers lost to Detroit Pistons in the NBA finals. that will shut their gobs up for once, them Lakers "fans".

drat. more madness ensues at the workplace. double drat.

wtf??

more bollocks from the wee isle:

reet. and of all things, he's making his appearance at some concert thingy on my birthday.

i'm too outraged to continue my rant.

wtf?

more bollocks from the Sales "department":

this morning's exchange with department x colleague, who requested for more commercial spots on the wimbledon tennis, revealed that my network sponsors - ie: clients - have yet "confirmed the deal" with them Sales.

reet. no confirmation whatsoever, but clients' demands for prime spots are to be met pronto.

sales twats = scum of the earth. 'nuff said.

quizzed

and another one..

quizzed

nicked off the Chief Idler's. and the result is so effin' accurate, it's scary.

colour me light

what i said about colours affecting one's sense of equilibrium.

i'm feeling rather a tad light in the noggin strangely calm today as we speak. 'cos today's clobber is in the colours of sea-blue and sea-green. and adding to the seascapey theme, a self-made pearls-n-silver bracelet adorns my wrist.

i'm sure the serenity has got nothing to do with the irish chappie of a colleague who was stood so closely to moi in the lift last evening after work.

talk of which, it's interesting to note that he carries a knapsack(!) and that he's a lefty to boot.

and a nice barnet also. hmm...

fact

note to lowliving cow's eyeing the higher rungs of the corporate "ladder":
wearing body hugging boob-popping clobber doesn't guarantee you a promotion.

if i give you's a dirty look that doesn't mean i "envy" you's. nor all blokes dribble at the sight of your scantily-clothed trunks.

rather, it says alot about the level of intelligence - or a severe lack of - you possess. not to mention, your sheer incapability of proving your worth and contribution to the entire human species.

drilled

the annual time-wasting fire drill exercise at the workplace is here again. or rather, the entire office complex which the workplace is part of.

took place this morning at quarter to ten WIST. before i could park myself comfortably inside the cube farm, the fire alarm went off.

and so did my hearing.

too much...

... guinnesses were consumed on the weekend. watching the ruggers, what else. on both days.

heh. a rather extremely productive way of spending whatever free time remaining, eh? which i hardly have these days, free time.

it doesn't help that england were utter crap. 'nuff said. and the scots? there ain't anyone playing the bagpipes in the stands, that's why. and there we were, my mate and i, wearing blue and hollering ourselves silly, "c'mon Jimmy!".

as for the irish, having some shamrocks over may greatly help their chances for the rest of the tour.

oh, and i was told that i said certain words like a south african. don't ask me how that came about. i meant my sounding faintly south african.

guesting

mancunian Simon is on a summer tour, guesting on some of his favouritest sites. and of course, one of them is this lurverly blog.

you's can direct yer comments and praises to Simon over here - but no sarcasm, please. and i strongly recommend a daily visit to the bluetealeaf. so there.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bluetealeaf on tour #3.

It’s very nice of Breanagh to let me use her place, it’s very nice. You can tell it’s been recently decorated.

Euro 2004 has kicked off and the first day was fantastic. Portugal lost, Spain could have bottled it like usual but didn't, and the referees have started in their usual strict hard line manner. Today it gets underway properly for us here in England; our players take on the might of the French and it promises to be a great match.

One of the things about this years championships that has really annoyed me is the proliferation of the Saint George cross, sticking out of cars windows on little poles. It has replaced the Union Jack as the motif of the football hooligan, or the Brit abroad.

You don’t normally see foreign visitors to these shores adorned with a pair of shorts in the style of their national flag. It typifies all that’s wrong with our culture, and I’m sure it goes a long way to making people think of all Brits as football hooligans. The facts are different. The Dutch, the Turks and the South Americans are all worse than England fans when following their country’s team.

I used to feel proud when I saw the George cross; now it makes me shudder.

Anyway, I love tournament football, and luckily this one coincides with me having some time off work. Bring it on !

as enscribed by Simon @ 07:04 AM
----------------------------------------------------------------------

toons

grrr...

my most disliked sport - cricket, golf and tennis - are wreaking havoc yet again. ie: upsetting my sense of equilibrium telly programming schedules on my networks.

and as per the usual, due to a few droplets of rain, some golf tournament in the States was cancelled.

how the hell it's classified as a sport - played by overpaid, lumbering doshladen types - is beyond my logical comprehension.

total madness...

...at the workplace today.

my department - or more specifically, the wee section within the department, which contains four lifeform's - was suddenly swamped with a deluge of last-minute telly commercial requests. for the forthcoming euro 2004 and wimbledon tennis.

no thanks to them sales who claimed that some major sponsor or two reverted back to them only yesterday. and the euro thingy is starting this saturday, which means we have to accomodate them pronto. immediately.

and if we can't acede to their requests due to program scheduling constraints, these twats would kick up a HUGE hue and cry. with raised voices for maximum effect. oh, and not failing to remind us who actually bring in the dosh ::yawn:: for the company.

besides, just received news that the workplace may have run afoul of their contract with wimbledon. in terms of the total adverts duration.

eh? what's disturbing is them wimbledon wotsit only discovered this after all these yonks of broadcasting that completely daft pretentious sport.

on the verge of insanity

twelve more moons of working with 99.9% of intellectually subnormal lowlife's thinly disguised as "cow-orkers" and "managers" will alter my grey cells beyond utter absolute recognition.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
10 June 2004

SHORTEST POEM
The World's shortest poem "Medititation on the Greatness of Utopia" contains the single word "Urgh!". It was being dictated by Arnold Westhammer to his wife when he suffered a stroke and died. His wife decided to publish the poem as "The act of its composition contained a more lyrical exposition of the theme than mere words could convey".

plainly cynical

heard off the bbc about the d-day veteran who lost his way and then monsieur chirac had him flown to paris in his private jet:

journo: this gesture must be his way of thanking you and other veterans
veteran: no, not at all he was trying to impress me. as the chief of the french republic, he made sure he went all out to impress me
journo: ...

i'm not sure if it's the advancing years or having witnessed the horrors of the invasion that led said veteran to become cynical.

i'd like to think it's the former.

nonetheless, i was left humbled after reading other reports that i vowed to stop winding the french up. no matter how tempting the situation is likely to be.

just overheard

that cow-orker who's on a daily regime of slimming pills but still stuffs herself with food around the clock has a terrifically clever sense of humour that i was utterly unaware of.

until moments ago.

witness the following exchange with a colleague, taking place within my earshot:
cow: you didn't create the feature i requested you to do?
colleague: it's already in the system, its under "Man of the Match"
cow, verging on hysteria: HUH?! it's called "Match Winner"! no wonder i can't find it!!
colleague: "Man of the Match" is the same as "Match Winner", wot
cow: IS IT????
colleague: ...

and these are the same exact amoeba's who are allowed to breed. like rats. i meant that cow-orker who's on a daily regime of slimming pills but still stuffs herself with food around the clock.

or maybe there ain't no exact translation in chinese of the words "Man of the Match".

tippin' down

the sky's so dark outside it looks like a storm's unleashing soon.

except there ain't no "storm" whatsoever on the wee isle. ever.

or not that i know of.

toons

eh?

one of the many reason's why i don't get too close to wee islanders:

yesterday on the bus ride home, a colleague let the cat out of the bag that two cow-orker's subject themselves on a daily regime of slimming pills. i remarked that one of them cows isn't exactly horizontally challenged. i dared not go on further as it would be misconstrued as a wind-up.

and then earlier today right before lunch, i overheard one of the said cows discussing about food with her clique. and how she once craved so much for some pseudo sarnies that she had to zip down to one of the outlets, she broadcast rather loudly.

see? i'm surrounded by spastics who can't make up their effin' minds if they want to stay horizontally challenged. or disciplined enough to see through their objective.

today's lesson

Lesson #6: Wee Island Idiosyncracies Part 3

it's confirmed that the wee island national bag is the haversack/backpack/knapsack. not only students of all ages love it, adults of both sexes favour it also.

even the letter b carries one to work.

transmission disrupted

apols for the real lack of clever blah's for the next few days as the letter b is plotting to take over the blue marble singlehandedly cobbling together some business and marketing plans for a sole proprietorship.

hers, that is.

so in the meanwhile, please bear with the silence. which can be quite deafening, i admit.

toons

it's official

that i am a recalcitrant mimic. of accents that is.

as was told by a mate last evening, that her husband's off to India for work, i went up to him putting on my bestest indian accent. complete with appropriate head movements:
"you'll return speaking funny!"

and then it hit me there might be some indian expats in the bar.

how politically-correct, that.

gobsmacked

as part of an ongoing research for a yet-to-be-confirmed business - ahem - of mine, i googled for international social clubs on the wee isle.

and then, i saw this bit on the american association, emphasis mine:

not only that makes them one of the oldest social clubs -viz. german, swiss off the top of me head - over here, the americans have had been around for a long time.

apart from making up the largest number of expats. and the everpresent US forces.

oh, and the methodist church also. started by a group of american missionaries early last century, of which my gran attended one of the schools.

cheeky?

wee chat with a US navy/marine/coast guardie whilst at the local last evening. chatted up enquired said sailor 'cos he was, erm, the cutest i chanced upon ::lame, that::

letter b: you guys are from the ship eh?
sailor: yeah, why?
letter b: i saw some of you's earlier this week
sailor: yeah we are leaving tomorrow
letter b: reet
sailor: many white guys over here huh?
letter b: heh i see many white guys every day
sailor: ...
letter b: well, see you around then, son

disclaimer: it's not that i took offence by his remark about the huge numbers of white lad's. nor was i being utterly sarcy.

odd

spotted this bit off an advert for the annual islandwide "great wee island sale". put up by some shopping mall or two, emphasis mine:

having lived 35.75 years of my life here, i'm NOT aware there are four seasons on this tropical island perching precariously just above the equator.

the sort of pathetic sales tactics some spastics desperately resort to.

or probably a mighty mistranslation from chinese.

poem

blame it on the Euro 2004. another footy poem to torture yer senses. enjoy.

ok to tell you's the truth, my brain isnt working rightly as we speak..it's a friday wot.

IT DID CROSS THE LINE, YOU TWERP

There I was at Wembley
amongst folks of various nations
Awaiting in anticipation
to trod the path taken by
Gazza, Hurst and Sir Stanley

We were then shown a footage
of that much disputed goal
To vote that’s what we were told
I thought it did cross the line
behind me I heard a “Nein”

4-2 that’s the final score
though some were still feeling sore
“No matter we still won the Cup,”
the guide said smugly
That should do them nicely

breanagh mctavish copyrighted © 1996

clock watch

it's the first friday of the month today, and that means it's the monthly canuck association pub night.

woot!

hang on, since i'll be hosting it yet again - the third in a row - that'll be triple woot.

woot³!

let the clock watching begin..

now you's know why...

..my written grammar/phrase construction can be a tad wonky at times?

witness the below extract i chanced upon off a wee island website business thingy, emphasis mine:

precious? not sure if they watched Lord of the Rings too many times.

have stringed?? erm, doesn't "have cobbled together" sound better? ok that's not quite right either.

there's more but i don't wish to put myself in a state of hysterics. my written grammar taking a nosedive is more than enough for me to fret and despair over.

toons

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
3 June 2004

NEXT GEN PHONE MALARKEY
With the widespread adoption of mobile phones which can send pictures, "telemooning" will become a major generator of phone traffic and a significant revenue source for the telephone companies.

doshworthy?

this email from the Telegraph floated into my inbox, emphasis mine:

and i have to fork out a fiver just to play the game? not only that, only UK residents would get all the goodies.

not fair.

no brainer blah

i know, old news this. at least this year's Miss Universe is an aussie. a mighty change - and mighty refreshing - from the usual offerings of extravagantly-feathered "exotic" birds from venezuela, bolivia, paraguay or anywhere else in south america.

now, it got me thinking about organising a "beauty" pageant which only specky's can compete in. i mean, there are women out there who do look beautiful with glasses. ain't there?

but on second thoughts, we have got better things to do than engaging in frivoulous activities backstabbing competing against one another.

hey sailor!

the navy are in town. the US navy that is. and the sight of them in my neighbourhood was rather surreal.

and then the more provincial amongst wee islanders gawped at them like as if the sailors had antennae sprouted from their noggin's. whereas a wanker or two - of the wee island variety of course - turned aggressive at the mere sight of white men.

and of course, young britneyspears-lookalikey's were dribbling absolutely chuffed to see a herd of white chaps around them.

just so typical. first world "country", third world behaviour.

i was walking out of the tube station, heading home, that i first chanced upon a huge crowd of lads buying their train tickets at the dispensing machine thingy. turned to my colleague and remarked, "heh. the navy are in town. or probably the marines."

like i'd said, it was a tad strange seeing them milling about in my neighbourhood's shopping mall. one usually sees them downtown, at dodgy bars, picking up wee island malay slags. or filipino whores. or even at the local quaffing silly.

it was like as if a quarter of the ship were out on their R&R. a throng queued at the cash machine. and some more at burger king's chowing. and more at the taxi rank, obviously wanting to paint the town red. while four of them - in two's -walked towards the opposite direction as i trundled home. apparently checking out the estate if there was any bar within a mile radius.

or whores. ok, so they might be genuinely wanting to see the area.

and then, an article appearing in today's daily rag, announcing that the wee island navy, the US navy and coast guard are having a joint exercise.

reet. so they weren't actually here on the way to or from the gulf?

or were they?

on hold

it's a public holiday today, a buddhist holy day called Vesak Day. the day when buddha attained enlightenment or nirvana. or summat. as it is based on the chinese lunar calendar, this day does not have a fixed date.

and as such, b_mc.t's brain is on holiday also.

unreliably reliable

UNRELIABLE FACT OF THE DAY
From the Brains Trust
1 June 2004

PENTAGON WAS A SEXTAGON
Up until 1996 the Pentagon was a Sextagon, when the offending Dimension was removed on the Presidents request because it made it him think of Procreation ALL the time.

toons

really useless poll

coinciding with linkin park's forthcoming visit to this sunny island, here's a really useless poll which i hope to pass on the result to them. letting them know which is their most popular or most-liked tune.

yeah, as if i would. without further ado, here goes: