November 30, 2004
where's all the wool hair gone?
that english lawyer with a welsh family name whom i used to fancy until he took a shine to the supremely idiotic gaffer's 23-year-old slapper-faced mistress:
he has just shorn his barnet. so short that it rendered him unrecognisable.
and a totally different style altogether, that. probably trying hard to not let his youth slip away from him.
heaven is...
... reading a good book whilst quaffing the guinness.
erm, yes, headin' down to the local afterwards. let the clock watching begin.
murder on the studiofloor
heard the remake just now. the whole bunch of 'em sounded like one massive herd of schoolkids warbling their way during a school assembly. an utterly appalling, slipshod and shoddy effort; like as if they were promised some reward if they came along to do their bit.
and these are supposed "popstars" who supposedly have been selling records, eh? methinks that sir wotsit has completely lost the plot.
November 29, 2004
the boy wonder
chanced upon this whilst browsing through:
alternative cure
i know this article is a tad late. but what is surely good news to anyone who simply abhors chemicals going round inside their system to cure any malady, boffins discovered:
...An ingredient in chocolate may actually be a more effective cough medicine than traditional remedies...
called theobromine. that is if yer choccy-mad.
how to be useful
a collective of british boffin's have come up with a list of 100 fabtastic ideas for us all to:
1. make ourselves useful for the future of the human race
2. experience something totally out of this world
before we pass on.
"You've only got one life, so make the most of it," they say. "Swim in a bioluminescent lake, boil an egg with a mobile phone, or have a new species named after you." With a little practice - carefully explained - you may also be able to achieve multiple orgasm, or, for £35,000, clone your pet cat.
indeed, living life to the full we must. top of my list:
1. learn to speak Choctaw
2. inhale helium and then warble
3. have a new species named after moi
erm, that's a tad too many. but i ain't gonna donate my carcass for research as i can't bear seeing it mutiliated.
no matter, i had better come up with more of my own so at least i'd die one utterly chuffed lifeform.
you know it's crimbo...
... when the workplace put up a chrimbo "tree" with fairy lights twinkling in full technicolor glory.
competing with spotlights as to which give out the best illuminating effects.
November 27, 2004
bundles of joy
just received news that a pair of good mates, whom i have known for many many many ::ad infinitum:: moons emailed news of their latest additions: female bairns. born a few month's apart.
both chap's happened to be called the same name, and it so happened that i acquainted 'em both around the same time on an online footy list. one's a manc whom i found myself attracted to, and the other a kiwi who has lived in oz for moons.
i hope to meet up with 'em and their families soon. in fact we have had talked about the three of us watching a game at old trafford.
keepin' me fingers and toes crossed.
rakin' up the past
for goodness sake, that conniving attentionwhoring bimbo had been long gone but 'em media spastics are still mighty obsessed with her.
do i really care if her lover was, in her exact words, bumped off? she chose to marry into the royal family and whatever resulting crap she got, she had to deal with it.
instead turning herself into a victim of circumstances. and then projecting herself as an angel to the blue marble's poor sods. amongst other things.
anyhooo, see the bit about her hiring a coach to train her in public speaking? to instill some self-confidence? it says alot about what type of person she was.
November 26, 2004
you know it's crimbo...
... when it pours day and night for the past week or so.
and it's so "chilly" that wee islanders even buy winter clothes by the dozens.
eh wot?
?
with all the talk about 'em disgraceful spaniards and my coming across a shocking bit on racism in english football as recently as twenty years ago, which is worse dear reader?
a. monkey noises
b. throwing banana's onto the pitch
i know this sounds sick but i split my sides upon reading #b.
i must clarify that i don't condone any form of racist or xenophobic acts towards anyone who looks or even sounds differently from the next specimen. what makes one think that it is more superior?
though i can't help it but find every opportunity to wind up anyone who has zero self-esteem. unfortunately, they are usually female and to a lesser degree, of different colour. or happened to exhibit behaviour and mentality of a lowest common denominator trash.
scouse united
just imagine, the sight of scouser's nicking the hubcab's of the other's car outside their shared ground.
this will make my possible revisit to liverpool much easier also, without having to go to opposite ends of the city to see the stadiums. i missed goodison park the other day due to gross underestimation of travelling time between grounds.
who knows, i may even get to see both teams playing each other the next time round.
former glory
one of the two known royal palaces - known as istana in malay - left on the wee isle is now transformed into a museum of sorts.
i'd definitely visit it soon, hopefully to uncover some interesting nuggets on the site. like if it was the venue where the sultan back then signed away his rights and the sale of this islet to the brits.
quizzed
| You Are a Snarky Blogger! |
 You've got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of. And that's why they read your posts as often as they can! |
quizzed
nicked off the kaiser.
| You Are From the Moon |
 You can vibe with the steady rhythms of the Moon. You're in touch with your emotions and intuition. You possess a great, unmatched imagination - and an infinite memory. Ultra-sensitive, you feel at home anywhere (or with anyone). A total healer, you light the way in the dark for many. |
fibbed n skived the letter b way
the letter b skived from work today. by fibbin' to the gaffer that she's on medical leave. via a fib to the doctor that she had this rather massive throbbin' headache.
tsk tsk.
erm, did i just utter "throbbin'"?
good god.
November 25, 2004
bring 'em on
it's moments like the autumn test's that i rue cancelling the cable telly subscription.
i just watched a repeat of the england vs s. africa on the telly, and i must say that i was gobsmacked with the current team's form. the way they played and controlled the game were a gobwatering sight to behold. oh, and they played the boks at their own game also.
what's more amazing is that a number of 'em were capped the second time, and some their first.
who says that we can't play without a certain jonny wilkinson, eh? so bring on the wallabies, mate.
a complain!
some feckless amoeba - or amoebae - took issue with the "common sense" bit of my email that it had to complain to the head gaffer yesterday.
apparently i insulted its "intelligence" - snigger - i surmised from the "discussion" with her together with the supremely idiotic gaffer.
so the usual rounds of:
- "how could you?"
- "you could always approach your supremely idiotic gaffer or me"
- "you are taking matters into your own paws"
- "you shouldn't whinge after all it is your job to accept such crap"
and other balderdash were blahed which i listened to with complete nonchalance.
i accept that i was being an utter git. but to observe and respect a somewhat dodgy hierarchy is an outright joke.
you know it's crimbo...
... when those awful cringeworthy crimbo remakes assault our aural senses.
those radio stations take delight in playing 'em to death, don't they?
November 23, 2004
you know it's crimbo...
... when a well-known cafe advertised on the rags in full technicolor glory about, amongst several offering's, their deliciously lookin' raspberry cheese crimbo logs.
not sure though if said log's do taste as delicious as they look.
twats r us
blood rushed to me head moments ago:
1. yesterday's email from commercial traffic manager instructing programming to delete some of my subsidiary network's programmes from the system due to unsold airtime
2. which a sales manager replied to said email to confirm there wasn't any sale to those programmes
3. and then programming took the necessary action
4. just a couple of hours ago, the order entry folk instructed programming to reinstall said deleted programmes 'cos there are commercial bookings after all
5. programming were definitely pissed off
6. and so was the letter b who didn't hesitate to fire off a sarcy email to everyone on the list. without any salutation whatsoever:
Would be grateful if someone could enlighten me what is actually going on here? Firstly, these programs were deleted from the system which ensued in November 24 REVISED DAY-OF-AIR for 5 separate departments. And now I understand that I have to re-format and re-generate another 5 copies of November 24 REVISED DAY-OF-AIR #2.
I'm not complaining, but if anyone with enough common sense would.
7. no, i have yet to hear from any of 'em amoeba's.
managers ought to be neutered/spayed/castrated or their offspring would inflict more harm on the human race.
November 22, 2004
surprised, not
scene: was at this shop on the saturday that sells lovely and reasonably-priced pashmina shawls. i've had bought one with a dark fuchsia shade last weekend, and was wanting to lay me grubby mitts on another one.
so i picked a blinker-blindin' lime-green that led to the shopkeeper exclaiming, "only caucasian ladies love this colour, asians detest it." he took one in boringly drab sage to show me, but not before shooting a "this bird's a tad odd" look.
i nearly fobbed me gob with "'em asians are hopelessly clueless and inept", but instead snorted rather loudly.
'cos i don't want to get into a meaningless scuffle with anyone who questions my orientation.
you know it's crimbo...
... when shops all over the place tempt you to part yer hard-earned dosh on all those crimbo trimming's, fake crimbo trees and other assorted crimbo wotsits.
even malay-muslim shopkeepers got into the act without getting ticked off from their highest religious authority.
amazing, innit?
November 19, 2004
searched
some visitor came a-lookin' to this fine website for: alsatian iq
planet of the dog's, anyone?
spiffin' new clothes
whilst scanning through this article about the APEC wotsit in chile, i nearly spluttered upon reading this particular bit; emphasis mine:
... In the past, they have had their Kodak moment in transparent Filipino shirts, shimmering Chinese silk jackets, American stetsons and Indonesian batiks...
and i thought only the emperor's new clothes were transparent?
separated at birth
this is my new heroine. as a colleague thought her barnet and glasses sorta resembled mine.
bless.
you know it's crimbo...
... when it suddenly dawned on you that you ought to post crimbo cards to your mates. soonest possible.
or the postie would get so fed up with the massive deluge of cards, he'd not deliver 'em. whatsoever.
November 18, 2004
mighty disgrace
i didn't watch the match as i had already cancelled the sports network cable subscription. but reading the bit where the spaniards made monkey noises/ hurled racist taunts at england's black players, words escaped me.
now i'd wait and see what those continental twits at FIFA would do to reprimand spain. they never fail to threaten english hooligans who dare lay a finger on their smarmy albeit fragile native's do they?
as for the coach who cited england's poor colonial record in africa, least they don't leave legacies like mestizic vainpot's who have nothing better to do than plotting to win the miss universe crown.
or having to work abroad as domestic maids. whilst leaving behind their good-for-nothing men frittering away the formers' hard-earned dosh.
good lordy
nicked off the football365 forum:
uniquely wee island
there's this mighty irritating tourism campaign going on around 'ere - and possibly the entire cosmoverse - that promotes the wee isle as, erm, unique.
haw, haw. HAW.
certainly not its "multicultural" make up where there are only the ethnic chinks, the native malays, the ethnic indians and the 1% "others". nor the careful juxtiposition of modern monstrosities and historical buildings that some totally misguided tourists raved about.
it's the first world-third world combo that is evidently effin' obvious that makes this islet unique. ie: first world infrastructure, first world taxes, first world cost of living.
which the latter is set to rise.
with third world chavs, third world bog conditions, third world stupidity; and third world cringeworthy mentality possessed by so-called highly-educated feckless bints. who not only see white blokes as dosh-laden trophy husbands, but as *the* ticket to rise above their lowest of the lowly stations.
and there are many more who are set to keep up with the joneses. or the mei-ling's.
despite their protestations and claims to the contrary, these bint's are no different from the average third world thai, filipina, vietnamese and indonesian white blokey [regardless geriatrics or those barely out of their nappies]-hunting part-time whore. which incidentally, the wee isle hosts to massive numbers.
and their numbers are set to rise. shudder.
and the most outrageous bit is not only the abovenamed slapper's show outright jealousy and competition - that is written so clearly on their ugly mugs - towards wee island birds, they also categorically deny their foreigner status.
see how unique the wee isle is?
you know it's crimbo...
... when visions of mulled wine loom large.
on second thoughts, i'd rather get trolleyed on guinness. which i have yet to.
touch wood.
November 17, 2004
evolutionary english
nicked off football365, see emphasis:
...It's funny how because Man United get a penalty nowadays, it's seen as controversial. Admittedly we have had our fair share of luck in the past but when looking at this penalty, there really is nothing controversial about it. In the first instance Andy O'Brien made a mess of defending what should have been an easy clearance. He slipped and went down far too easily when there was minimal contact with Rooney. Given was unable to get hold of the ball and brang down Scholes in the process.
A clear-cut penalty and anyone who believes that is controversial should look up the rule book.
Martin West, Man Utd fan
brilliant. now i can construct a sentence that goes:
"i have brung along a brolly just in case i got catched in the rain."
please note that the above sentence is copyrighted to the letter b. that means, permission is to be sought in writing if any of you's wanna use or reproduce it.
ta very muchly.
Nessie the Great Big Monster
by a Gordon Nicol. nicked off this site. enjoy.
Once upon a time, long long ago
When Scotland was all covered with ice and snow.
There lived a big dinosaur way out in the sea.
And she came to be known...... as the monster Nessie.
Then somehow, she got trapped in the loch called Loch Ness
But, just how she got there, we can only guess.
The very first person to see her was back in 565AD,
Saint Columba wrote about seeing a serpent in his ancient diary.
He looked out into the loch one day and what do you think he did see?
A monster with humps rising up and down. Count them one, two three.
But she was very shy, so she mostly stayed beneath the lake
Only coming up every so often, when she needed to have a break.
And that's when the trouble started. People got very scared.
To see a monster rising from the loch, they just weren't prepared.
Wee Angus McDonald was out walking with his mum
On the shores of Loch Ness, and he was acting kind of glum.
He had been told of a monster and he wanted to see it,
But so far there, was nothing .......except seagulls going "Kee ye. Kee ye."
Just when he was about ready to quit and go home.
There was a big splash and a churning of water with foam.
Angus McDonald tugged at his mother's sleeve,
Beceause he could see something in the loch that he just didnae believe.
It was huge. It was ugly. It had a long bumpy tail.
My gosh, my goodness it was bigger than a whale.
Both mother and wee laddie, stood rooted to the spot.
They didn't dare to move an inch, in case Nessie would eat the lot.
Nessie's eyes looked and saw them. She knew they were afraid.
So she gave out a mighty roar and mither and son....... they prayed.
But then the great big monster had a great big change of heart.
She decided to leave them alone and with a friendly roar, she did depart.
She slipped below the surface and headed down deep below.
And when she might come up again nobody will know
So children if you're near Loch Ness, keep both of your eyes open wide
For, if your very patient, you might catch a glimpse of Nessie coming in on the tide.
you know it's crimbo..
...when marks & spencer stocked up fancy choccy collections, mini gingerbreadmen, and a box of turkish delights in rose and lemon flavours.
yummy yum yum.
refreshin'
i don't think me ears are playing tricks on me. off the radio, reading the news is a bloke with a slight 'strine.
a welcome change indeed.
November 16, 2004
spot the letter b!
over 'ere. under the "See If We Spotted You at Muddy Murphys and Ballymoons!" page.
it's quite easy to spot me, amongst all the numerous bird's there.
picture this
scene: the weekly meeting this morning, chaired by the head gaffer [female]. today incidentally happened to be her birthday also. and unsurprisingly, the supremely idiotic gaffer bought a birthday cake for her.
the rest of us sang the obligatory happy b-day tune the minute the head gaffer parked herself. and then she proceeded to portion the cake equally - after blowing the candle, blah - which was duly distributed.
as the meeting was about to commence, 15 of us put aside our slices. except a pair of bint's who stuffed their mug's immediately. one of whom was the supremely idiotic gaffer's 23-year-old slapper-faced mistress.
i can't really blame the other, given that she's mighty horizontally-challenged. she has gotta feed herself on the hour, innit?
apols
for the silence, luv's. no real excuses except:
1. it was a public holiday yesterday in view of sunday's hari raya aidilfitri- over here, if a public holiday falls on the sunday, minionic slaves needn't work on the next day
2. and as such went out shopping with the mum
3. total chaos the minute i stepped in to the workplace this morning
oh, a word of friendly advice: do not ever work with the broadcasting industry. it's polluted with egoistic stoned fickle-minded self-absorbed gits who aren't really clever. really.
November 14, 2004
remembrance sunday
here's a heartwarming tale of a friendship forged between old enemies who fought in the great war.
as subscription's required, i reproduce the article below. purloined without permission. be warned though, it's one long read.
'With a handshake we said more about peace than anything else ever could'
Harry Patch vowed that he would never return to the battlefields but when the First World War veteran met an old enemy in Ypres, the two formed an unlikely bond. Olga Craig reports
This morning, as royalty, dignitaries and ex-service men gather at war memorials across the country to pay tribute to the British soldiers who died in the two world wars and all the conflicts since, Harry Patch will sit alone, reading and re-reading a treasured letter.
At 106, Harry's eyesight is not what it once was: the letter, though brief, is written in stilted English and its looping script is difficult for Harry to read. The words, however, he has committed to memory.
Three weeks ago, Harry, who fought at Passchendaele in 1917 and is one of only 20 surviving British First World War veterans, made the long journey to the western Belgian town of Ypres to meet Charles Kuentz, 107, Germany's only living Great War survivor. It was a poignant and emotion-filled moment for both men when, amid the green fields that now mark the site of the third battle of Ypres, one of the bloodiest battles, they hesitantly shook hands: two former foes forging a new friendship, 87 years after they fought on opposite sides.
After the meeting, Harry, who lives in a nursing home in Wells, Somerset, received a letter from Mr Kuentz, which, he believes, sums up the pact of friendship, borne of shared memories, that now exists between them. "Shaking your hand was an honour," wrote Mr Kuentz, "and with that handshake we said more about peace than anything else ever could. On Sunday, I shall think of you, old comrade."
It is because of that letter that today, Remembrance Sunday, when the nation commemorates the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918 when the guns on the Western Front fell silent and the First World War ended, Harry wants to be alone, reliving the moment that he and Mr Kuentz sealed their truce. "There was a time when to have shaken the hand of the enemy would have been treason, but now all Charles and I want to see is peace," he says. "We have both long been pacifists; we both think that war is simply authorised murder. And we have so much more in common than I could ever have thought," he says. "I have had 87 years to think about the war and all that happened. It was time to offer the hand of friendship."
Though Harry needs a walking frame to get about, his mind is active and his memory acute. His meeting with Mr Kuentz has meant much to him. "After we had talked, we both sat in silence, looking at the landscape. Both of us remembering the stench, the noise, the gas, the mud crusted with blood, the cries of fallen comrades. I don't think it is possible to truly explain the bond that is forged between a soldier in the trenches and his fellow soldiers. There you all are, no matter what your life in civvy street, covered in lice, desperately hungry, eking out the small treats - the ounce of tobacco, the biscuit. You relied on him and he on you, never really thinking that it was just the same for the enemy. But it was, it was every bit as bad. Me and Charles, we were both fighting because we were told to. Neither of us wants any other young man to go through what we did again - but still we send our lads to war. In Iraq, our young men are still being killed, told to kill."
As Harry walked across the wasteland in Ypres - known to the British soldiers as Wipers - to meet his German counterpart, the memories came thick and fast. "I remember, clear as a bell, going over the top. A German soldier came running towards me, bayonet fixed. I fired and hit him in the shoulder and still he kept coming, his bayonet pointing at my chest.
"The whole scene played itself out in slow motion as I walked towards Charles. I could see that young soldier, wounded but still stumbling towards me. That day, all those years ago, I had just seconds to decide. Should I obey my oath to King and country or follow the law of Moses: Thou shalt not kill. I was an expert marksman, so I shot him in the ankle and then in the knee. The war was over for him then, and I like to think that he went home to rejoin his family."
As the pair met, the greetings were faltering. Mr Kuentz, who now lives in Alsace-Lorraine, speaks no English, and Harry speaks no other language. "We had a translator but, before long, just a word was enough to convey what we both felt."
Like Herr Kuentz, Harry was a conscript, an apprentice plumber called up at 18. "From the time I landed in Belgium, a fortnight before my 19th birthday in June 1917, until I was wounded on October 23 that year, I never had a bath, never had a change of clothes.
"None of us was older than 21. We knew nothing of war. We alternated between four days and three nights in the trenches and then four days behind the lines to rest. You slept when you could. All the time you itched - we were covered in lice.
"It was camaraderie that kept us going. We shared everything. The only things to drink were weak tea or water. As for food, all I remember are Crosse & Blackwell's plum and apple jam, bully beef and dog biscuits. The biscuits were so hard that we threw them away.
"I remember watching two starving dogs fighting over a biscuit. I can remember thinking: 'Those two animals are fighting over food to save their lives. But what the hell are we, two supposedly civilised nations, fighting over?' "
Shortly before he was wounded, Harry stumbled across a scene that has haunted him ever since. "The fighting had been fierce all day and the light was beginning to fade. I half fell down a ridge, straight into a corporal - from my own regiment - who been ripped from his shoulder to his waist by shrapnel. A bullet wound is clean, but shrapnel tears you to pieces. There was nothing I could do but sit with him. I sat holding his hand for the last 60 seconds of his life.
"He said only one word, I shall never forget it. The only thing he said was, 'mother'. His face is as clear to me today as it was that day. Some mother, somewhere, received the awful news. I wish I had taken his tags, so that I could have written to her."
Harry was wounded at Pilkem Ridge, the site of his meeting with Mr Kuentz. A shell hit his dug-out, killing three of his comrades. "Nothing of them was found," he says. "Not a shred." Harry was hit by shrapnel, a two-inch piece embedded itself in his groin. He lapsed into unconsciousness and woke up in a field hospital. The doctor had no anaesthetic. "A couple of men held me down and the medic cut the shrapnel out with a kitchen knife."
After he returned home, Harry, along with thousands of veterans, tried to put the war behind him. he never watches war films and, for years, he never spoke of his experiences. He rarely talked to his two children - now both dead - or his late wife, of his memories of the Great War.
He swore that he would never return to the scene of battle. Then, two years ago, he was asked to go to Belgium for the 75th anniversary of the opening of the Menin Gate memorial, dedicated to the fallen whose bodies were never recovered.
"Do you know," he says, his care-worn face breaking into a smile, "that was the first time in my life I got a passport. The first time I went to Belgium, a rifle was all I needed. It was a sobering moment, reading all those names. But the sad thing was that so few of us knew each others' surname - we used first names and nicknames. I couldn't find my old mates. But I see their faces in my dreams."
This morning, Harry will attend a church service in Wells. He has turned down several invitations - among them the chance to take part in the Remembrance Service at the Cenotaph in London - on doctor's orders.
"I will remember quietly. My memories and those that Charles Kuentz has told me. And I will read my letter again."
to be crammed into blah
'ere's another one. now, i have to find the time, and also ensure there's enough space inside the noggin to enjoy these two fine books.
review 'ere.
November 12, 2004
November 11, 2004
amoeba's ahoy!
this headline off an official wee island website got me sniggering/giggling/chortling:
'Amoebas' help civil servants spawn ideas
curiosity got the better of me so i had to click on the link then:
The civil service is encouraging mini-revolutions within its ranks to get its officers to think afresh on a range of issues important to Singapore's future. Small groups of younger civil servants volunteer to brainstorm ideas on issues which interest them and come up with suggestions for change. Already, they have sped up change in areas ranging from car taxes to a charter spelling out the role of Temasek Holdings and providing more funding for pre-school education. The ministry-based teams are called amoebas because of their short lifespans. They have 90 days to get together, discuss, submit a report and disband.
that's something new innit, thinking amoeba's.
is there some evolution of some sort quietly taking place over 'ere on the wee isle that i'm not aware of?
good vs evil
today marks the hindu festival of lights, deepavali. and it ain't called diwali over 'ere.
happy hols, everyone.
when will it end, Bush?
piccie nicked off the age:
caption: A Falluja man cradles his four-year-old son recovering from a head wound after he was hit by shrapnel.
more or less
he's dead. finally.
now, enters his meddlesome missus who's now wanting control and the final say in just everything.
lest we forget
i still can't work it out why the Legitimate Gangster's stopped all school bairns from commemorating rememberance day twenty odd years ago.
more popularly known as "poppy day" whilst in primary school, each of us was given a plastic poppy to pin onto our pinafores. and then the headmistress would explain the significance of the day during assembly.
it is a mighty disgrace that said Gangster's chose to ignore those who died defending the wee isle, at the hands of 'em bastard jap's during the second world war. to me, it's not only soldiers who should be remembered. but also those brave civilians who were tortured; blindfolded and then slaughtered by the firing squad once they had finished digging trenches that were to become their graves.
their crime? being of european or of chinese ancestry, or that they worked for the british. i lost two relatives to those fucking japs. and my granny had a narrow escape when said fucking japs knocked on every door, to take away and then rape and kill every single ethnic chink lass.
and that's also probable how a paternal aunt went missing.
oh and this horrific act by said fucking japs on ethnic chinese babies: throwing 'em up into the air and then speared 'em with their bayonet's. amazingly, the malays and indians were mostly spared.
that's why i go berserk at the mere sight of a jap 'ere on the wee isle.
regardless, said Gangster's just have to make sure wee islander's don't possess any lingering colonial hang up's do they?
November 10, 2004
hate
what with the ongoing madness around the blue marble, the following words describe 'em best. nicked off depeche mode's "people are people" though not in it's entirety:
People are people
So why should it be
You and I should get along so awfully
...
So we’re different colours
And we’re different creeds
And different people
Have different needs
It’s obvious you hate me
Though I’ve done nothing wrong
I’ve never even met you
So what could I have done
I can’t understand
What makes a man
Hate another man
Help me understand
...
Now you’re punching
And you’re kicking
And you’re shouting at me
And I’m relying on your common decency
So far it hasn’t surfaced
But I’m sure it exists
It just takes a while to travel
From your head to your fist
...
history repeating
excerpt from the point of departure:
a war without victory
the people of england have been led in mesopotamia into a trap from which it will be hard to escape with dignity and honour. they have been tricked into it by a steady withholding of information. the baghdad communiques are belated, insincere, incomplete. things have been far worse than we have been told, our administration more bloody and inefficient than the public knows... there has been a deplorable contrast between our profession and our practice.
T E Lawrence, letter to the sunday times, 1920
'nuff said.
November 09, 2004
w000t
pencil this on yer calender/diary/pda/wotsit: 19 May 2005
if it is slated for a simultaneous bluemarblewide release that is. oh and the trailer was kewl.
stop thief!
life is so utterly predictable and oh-so-safe on the wee isle, that upon hearing an armed robbery that just took place, the letter b quickly surfed into the daily rag's website.
saw the death penalty bit? it's death by hanging. thus, no sympathy to that sad git.
* if yer required to register, let me know. i'll cut and paste the article*
yawned off
time seems to pass so S-L-O-W-L-Y as we speak that i can see cobwebs forming.
i can hardly keep me blinker's open. and the lack of oxygen doesn't help either as i've been yawnin' me bonce off.
for the past hour or so.
of frog's and gerry's
as i was digesting some info about the number of western foreign direct investments on the wee isle, i was gobsmacked to discover that there're 4,000 german national's residing 'ere.
that may explain why there seemed to be an increasing number of hybrid bairn's with gerry-sounding name. a frightening thought that, remotely chink-lookin' faintly gerry-accented chavling's running amok.
and their numbers is set to rise.
oddly enough, the frog-wee island business council was the only one to omit their numbers. too many of 'em around that they gave up counting?
infected
whilst clitter clattering away at our keyboards, the workplace's database server conked out without any warning. resulting in some of us "kicked out" of session.
and then by chance i overheard a cow-orker parroting what the techie told him on the blower that it was probable a virus, or summat that's attacking said server. i'm not surprised if the system was infected. given the assorted germs that've been circulating around in the air over here.
just imagine what sort of rumour i could start.
November 08, 2004
mind yer bizness, you...
sample the following snippet with one of the local's server last friday:
server, looking at the letter b's barnet with mock horror: letter b! your hair is getting shorter by the day! blah..
the letter b who rudely interrupted said server mid-sentence: with all the hair covering my brain, i just can't think properly, la
really, is it any of their business even if i decided to go bald?
go north, son
i was tickled rightly reading the news that lots of 'em *yanks are contemplating uprooting to settle in the great white north. given the recent re-elections results.
after all the stick and intrusions they have had received from their neighbours down south since time immemoriable, the *canucks are really a big-hearted bunch of folk. welcoming 'em with open arms:
"Open your heart, and your home. Marry an American," AFP news agency quotes www.marryanamerican.ca as saying.
"Legions of Canadians have already pledged to sacrifice their singlehood to save their southern neighbours from four more years of cowboy conservatism."
sweet, innit?
the very first thing 'em emigrating yanks oughtta do is give up the NHL franchise and return it to the rightful owners declare their utmost and undying loyalty towards HM the Queen.
* just to differentiate the north american's, that's why i called US folk yank's. no offence meant. honest.
spot the diff
IP addy: 69.193.88.30
name listed on a past twaddle on this fine website: Stephanie Jones
comment left: I'm new to this site, just browsing around
IP addy: 69.193.88.30
name listed on another past twaddle on this fine website: MingHo Lee
comment left: salutation
what the effin' fuck are you up to, you handicapped spamming twat?
btw, MingHo Lee - is that supposed to be korean or chink? nay, asian-american of murky ethnicity i reckon.
November 05, 2004
November 04, 2004
no diff, wot
whomever got elected to the white house doesn't make any massive difference to the wee isle. as long as there's some form of american presence, 'em native's would do anything to make 'em chuffed.
and i mean anything.
moanworthy
it's been one hectic week after another over here at the workplace that some of me scattered braincells have gone permanently missing.
woeful.
there seems to be no let up of the madness, this time round it's the public holidays next week - deepavali and hari raya puasa/aidilfitri. hence my department have to work way ahead of schedule.
and here i am despairing over my neglect on the marketing aspects of my business that i nearly wanting to quit the day job.
arrggggghhh.
anyhoo, there may be no blahing tomorrow as:
1. the first half of the day will be spent at the national eye centre, accompanying me mum for a second checkup on the cataracts
2. the next half will be spent wasting whatever's remaining of my braincells at the workplace
3. and then the evening will be spent replenishing the brain reservoir - wooot! - more specifically, yers truly hosting the canuck association's monthly refuelling session
so, apologies for the real lack of clever posting's lately, luv's. but no matter, keep yer blinker's peeled. i may come up with something utterly brilliant.
as per the usual.
November 03, 2004
November 02, 2004
lost and found
another blogger who came round to his senses by returning to the blogosphere:
lawn greengrass from stratford-upon-avon.
take it away, lawn.
red alert
the wee isle is on a state of high alert. but the Legitimate Gangsters ain't gonna tell 'em native's that something's brewing right under their noses. yet.
with the US presidential elections taking place tomorrow, methinks it is too much of a coincidence that armed policemen are making their presence more visible in places where massive herds of expats hangout. amongst other places.
also, who are they kidding with when it's common knowledge gurkha's are deployed to guard certain highly sensitive areas. not bullet-proof vested "special operations" ::chortle:: copper's.
ta to the Idling Chief for the link.
yet another frenzy
things will grind to a halt in the U S of A later today. and also anywhere else where there's a massive american presence. like over 'ere on the wee isle.
extract off an email from a department i work closely with, pertaining to scheduling changes, see emphasis:
..In order to include a special edition of ESPN Sportscenter featuring interview with US President Bush and Sen. John Kerry on ESPN Asia at 1930hkt tonight (2 Nov 04). Please note the following URGENT changes to the schedule...
drat.
of birds and horses
being the first tuesday of november, it's the melbourne cup day today. whereby 'em bird's parade their finest clobber, complete with hats and feathers.
oddly enough, even the kiwi's whip themselves up into a frenzy over this tourney.
without fail.
spam twat
IP addy: 80.58.33.46
fakey addy: azaddinxxx@work.com
i don't need any distressed bond or somesuch. geddit?
November 01, 2004
the confused b
continuing the subject on ireland:
on the weekend whilst at the local watching the footy, i spied an elderly lady clutching an M&S shopping bag whilst her husband was placing their orders. i asked her whereabouts in england she's from but it turned out she's northern irish.
and then she asked me if i'm irish.
i'm absolutely confused.
just desserts
that bird basher, stanley wotsit, has gotten himself walloped - or so he alleged - by six *rugby* players whilst in ireland:
.. He claims that the incident was sparked by an exchange of words in celebrity haunt Lillie's Bordello in Grafton Street in which he alleged the girlfriend of a Bath player called him a "w*****"
...
"They kicked me all over the street. I went to the ground at one point, but I managed to get up again. There were five or six of them, all just bashing me."..
reet. and he could still moan to the copper's after the walloping. by six *rugby* players.
and he wasn't even sure if there were five or six of 'em.
#$&@!!
over here at the workplace, everyone's encouraged to recycle printouts, except for daily inter-departmental reports. due to ameoba's in the past who were either utter illiterates or did it on purpose, yers truly marked three trays of paper as:
1. letter-size semi-used (ie: used on one side)
2. letter-size fresh (ie: not used)
3. A4 semi-used
still, there is the occasional twerp who put a few pieces on the wrong tray but understandably such occured during busiest moments of the day.
this morning, some supremely idiotic cunt chucked her email printout on the "letter-size fresh". blood rushed to me head, borrowed someone's pen and then i wrote the following on said printout:
"which absolute TWAT idiot put this A4 in the letter-size tray??"
and then taped it on the front of the printer so that whomever walked past could see it. it was left there for a good couple of hours or so until someone took it down.
i don't give an effin' fuck if said cunt's mighty offended.
