Friday 30 November 2007
The Arcade Fires
This entry was composed in the afternoon of 28th November, 2007.Returned to the soft silky comfort of the bed from a night shift at ten this morning. I was late for bedtime. As soon as I popped myself into slumberland, my cell rang.
'Yeah?'
'You asleep?'
'No. Not really. Yeah?'
'The police called and they want to know what happen when you guys found her. I tried to call *, but uncontactable.'
'It's just like what we have reported. Asystole when we found her. Cold and clammy. No breathing. No pulse. CPR was initiated.'
'The police needs to know that. They were asking and I don't know enough to tell them. Can I get you to call them?'
'Huh? What? Now? Can it wait? I'm going back tonight.'
'They want to know now.'
'I... Okay. Alright. What's their number? I'm going to need the patient's name and NRIC too. What exactly do they want to know that we didn't already reported?'
'They want to know what was it like when you guys found her.'
'Nah. I was in the resus the whole time, but I didn't found her. It was *. I was at X-ray dept, escorting patients. When I came back to ward, I saw * pushing the E-trolley, calling my help. I wouldn't know what had happened before.'
'In that case. Alrighty then. I will call the police and tell them that and see if they still want to speak to you. Keep your handphone open eh?'
'Sure.'
I had begun my shift yesterday, determined to go home on time. The earlier shift was marred with stupidity and ignorance that held me back from home and I was eagerly determined not to repeat the errs again.
I zoomed around the ward as an In-Charge. I had worked for almost a year and they had decided to hook me up with a newbie *. I was ahead of my time, clearing medications, IVs and monitoring. I was determined to go home on time.
At the stoke of the midnight. I received a case of headache from a fall. The girl was nineteen. She was allocated to the corridor bed.
'Why corridor? How about bed 49?' I asked.
'They are saving someone special for us.'
Always a bad news when the Bed Management starts to crack jokes. God knew that it wasn't the doctors that nurses fought the hardest. The bitterest struggles were often dramatized between the Bed Management and the nurses. They like to round up the fifty patients from emergency dept, handpicked the worst case scenarios, the ones that shouldn't be nursed in general ward with inadequate resources, the ones lingering with a breath connecting to a support machine, the ones yellow and black. Often they came into the ward and collapsed almost immediately and had to be send to the Intensive Units. And what's the holly point in that?
The nineteen year old girl was fine though. Talking away jovially despite having to be cramped in the corner of the corridor.
Twenty minutes past midnight, a woman shrieked. I dropped the task of my midnight Nasogastic tube feeding and went to see if anyone need help.
There were blood all over the floor. Did someone fall? That was my instant question. A fall in the ward is the damnedest shit that could happen to a nurse. That was probably an overstatement, cos there are a million and one damnedest things that could always and will happen to a nurse. Bed 35, and old cherry teacher with white hair was doused with her own blood, more was jetting out from her IV site at the wrist. An afternoon shift nurse was holding onto her. The nurse was preparing to go home and attended to the screaming first. She was punched in the socket by Bed 35.
Bed 35 was rational and communicating when I admitted her the day before. Apparently after the surgery, she had lost her marbles. She communicating all right when the four of us tried to restrain her to the bed.
'What! What! Why you hold me like this? (Spit!) Jesus will see you! Jesus will come and kill you!'
And then she kicked me in the nuts.
'Jesus will come and kill you all! Because I am Christian! Jesus will see you and see this and will punish you for these!'
Entered the doctor, she prescribed sedatives and we fought to jab her tossing arm with injection.
She slept like a baby thereafter.
By then the back of my scrubs were stained with botches of her blood.
The rest of the night were pretty okay. Bed 45 kept pressing the call bell, crying loudly in the ward of pain and misery. Bed 56 walked around the ward like a zombie afflicted by a week's old insomnia.
At three, we were alerted to Bed 61. Apparently he had defiled a promise to another nurse on behaving without restrainer. With a free arm and plenty of time, he had worked on tearing off the IV drip from the drip stand and let the saline showered him all over. We worked on cleaning him and changing the bedsheets. He grew angry at the thought of restraining and tried to threw himself off the bed with the good arm.
'Wow.' I was amazed. 'Your limb power is improving.'
When he was transferred to the ward with brain hemorrhage, he was drowsy and couldn't lift a side of his body at all. Now he was progressing to throw himself of the bed with speedy manipulation of his good side. It was always the case when a person is given too much time on their hands, despite being restrained, they'd work their way around in true human spirit. I had seen patient trained their toes to free the reins of their arm restrainers and pried Nasogastric tubes from their noses.
As we tied him, he turned bestial and fought us nails and teeth. I didn't expected any kinder response.
At four thirty, with another staff, we escorted two patients, one bed after another to the X-Ray dept. I had sneaked Philip K Dick's Paycheck beneath the basket under the bed so I could have something to read while waiting. The wait was long at this ungodly hour, I tossed and turned at the plastic chair to a piece of a wall, trying to get some sleep.
At five thirty, I pushed the last of the patient back into the ward and saw people running around. * was pushing the E-Trolley and looked at me with a horrified look on her face.
'What happen? Which bed?' I threw.
'Bed... Bed 63.'
'What? Who, whatever! Just keep moving!' I rushed along with her.
Bed 63? Bed 63? I barely know her. Came in yesterday from a hip contusion. A very elderly lady. But to collapse from a hip contusion? What are the chances?
I traced the line of her neck and felt nothing. She was cold and clammy.
'You called the doctor?' I threw.
* nodded as she worked to connect the ECG strips on Bed 63.
It was a flat line.
'What management? DIL, Do Not Resus?' I tried another shot at finding a pulse.
'Nothing. It's a freaking hip contusion!'
'Okay. Call the family to come down now and get the rest of the staff in here now!' I said. The house officer arrived in the same stupefied shock as we began manual CPR on the frail lady.
We clanked down the bed, tore open the plastic wrappings of the tubes, hooked her up on absolute oxygenation as I hiked myself with one knee on the bed and began the chest compressions.
'Adrenaline!' The house officer yelled.
I tore open the drug kit, yanked open the confinements of the E-trolley and ransacked the glass ampules of the resuscitating medications. 'Adrenaline.' I showed her as I pushed in the saline. I hit her with Adrenaline through her IV line. No response. CPR was restarted.
The neurological medical officer arrived with the rest of my staff. We pushed in more medications to start the heart. I had stopped my compressions as her heartbeats trembled in the cavity of her chest. The heart rate was one ninety.
I was at a moment amazed by the returning of the heartbeat. She was dead when we found her, and yet her heart was pounding now.
'Blood pressure?' The medical officer asked. I snapped back to reality and tried to take the blood pressure. Unreadable. I looked at the chest again, fearing the heartbeats were gone. The chest were rippling. Heart rate - One seventy.
We heard rustling of feet's and weeping sounds. The family had arrived. * was preparing the trachy set as the Registrar arrived. She reviewed the case, had us repeating the resuscitation and spoke to the family.
'Now what?' I whispered to my colleague. Heart rate - One fifty. No detectable blood pressure.
'We wait.' She said as she continued to squeeze oxygen in.
Heart rate floated and sank to ninety seven. The medical officer came in and ordered to stop the resuscitation. We stopped charging the patient with absolute oxygenation and switched to a more comfortable apparatus. The earlier hope upon witnessing her heartbeats swept aside as I realised that it was purely chemically induced. In time, as the chemicals died, so will her heart.
We packed the setting, wore her back her clothes and placed her in a more comfortable position. The E-trolley beeped on her chemical heartbeat. The family was allowed in. The entire mob was crying away at the suddenness of the event.
Thirty minutes, at the break of the morning sun shinning into the hospital windows, her line was flat.
Finally when all documentations were done, I checked the clock on the wall. I was two hours late for home. So much for determination. Will and determination though will slow diseases, but will never stop death. The frailty of the living. I sighed heavily as I scrubbed my hands.
I went home.
'In that case. Alrighty then. I will call the police and tell them that and see if they still want to speak to you. Keep your handphone open eh?'
'Sure.'
I waited in my covers for my cell to ring. It never did and I sank into the sleep of the sandman. I woke up five hours later and saw that the time was three forty-five. Exactly the same time I had woke up the day before. The sense of Dejavu was strong. I couldn't sleep anymore. I sat at the computer and started writing this. At five, HL returned with lunch. We ate to a comedy, laughing away with pieces of meat between our teeth. Seeing that I had half an hour more to start before my shift, we laid in the bed with me holding her from behind. I smelt the shampoo in her hair.
I had closed my eyes and said with much effort.
'Do you know which was the worst part? When we detached the ECG from her body and removed the E-trolley. The grandson had asked anxiously on how could we monitoring the patient if the machine was removed? I told him that her heart had stopped. I almost couldn't bring the words out from my lips.'
Half an hour later. HL was sleeping. I showered, packed my stuff and left for my night shift.
Thursday 29 November 2007
Monday 26 November 2007
Episode 25: Air/Love Is Destructive
raknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknax
raknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknax
raknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknax
raknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknax
raknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknax
raknaxraknaxraknaxraknaxraknax
i'm craz'y.
Episode 26: My Purest Heart For You (Sincerely Yours)/ ONE MORE FINAL: I Need You.
raknax.
'Good evening, Mister Salesman. I need something. I need lobotomy.'
Domo Arigato Roboto. If only time and space are mechanical.
[Flashback] I saw Shinji Ikari sitting on the hedges of a cliff, brimming with the evening mist of sorrow and self pity.
[Flashback] When I was in primary school, there was a stony path in which leads into the school. I used to hurry myself to get in front of the commuting students, thinking that if I could get in front of them, one by one, I will best them in life. I avoided the cracks in the pavement too.
raknax. raknax.
[Flashback] I saw the shadow of the baby bed fell onto me as my father smashed towards me. My arm gave way.
[Flashback] When we were too deep in our kisses in the playground at three am, I asked her of her bra size and she seized my hand into her cotton shirt. I was nineteen.
'What exactly do you need, sire? We only sell regular stuff for regular folks.'
[Flashback] I used to look out of my kitchen window and wondered how will it feel like if I just climb over?
[Flashback] WXJ never felt love for me. But she had pecked my cheek in the bookstore. I was red with shyness.
'I need something.'
[Flashback] I sat uncomfortably in the pub with HL and Chang. There was a mammoth cake with free alcohol served. HL had called a dozen people, and no one came for my birthday. That was this August.
[Flashback] I used to hit my younger brother when we were younger. Just for the kicks.
'But we only sell...'
'LISTEN TO ME! PIGFUCKER! LISTEN CAREFULLY!'
[Flashback] I wriggled in fright and pain as my hallucinations contoured with the effect of my medications and pain. I couldn't sleep. I was terrorized all the time while I was in the hospital for my operation. I couldn't sleep at all.
[Flashback] When the morning came, I requested to shift my bed. I couldn't sleep on that bed! It was damned! But I did not tell them the reason. I just demanded that I need to change my bed.
[Flashback] Am I just doing this alone? I asked meekly. WXJ said, don't be absurd.
[Flashback] Erm... Why have you decided not to visit me in the hospital? I mean, people I barely knew came, but you and I have a decade of history. 'I am having problems with my girlfriend.'
raknax.soraknax.sohowdoyoudo??!! You are a piece O' cunt.
[Flashback] The fling had declared, 'My parents are not at home, they won't be back until midnight.'
Come on Shinji had the whole bestial metal of Unit 01 to hide, I am just a human meat bag.
So I'm not homicidal. The terrorist decided. I'm just suicidal. With that thought, he detonated himself.
[Flashback] Robin.
[Flashback] Alfred.
[Flashback] Boon.
[Flashback] Good luck for your chem prac tomorrow. Rem to stir carefully. - Read Joyce's pager texting to mine.
[Flashback] Joyce wrote in my chinese textbook: 人以人之间因该互相帮忙，世界才会变得更美好!
Two days ago, I dreamt my youngest brother drowned. I couldn't sleep again.
[Flashback] ? to ? - I loved you.
[Flashback] At twenty, I decided to live for five more years where enough is enough. I have thoughts about planning the end. Preferably in Jurong areas. Where the jump is furthest away from my flat. This way I will not scarred the memory of those still living in Chai Chee.
Cobain sang - We can plant a house, we can build a tree. We can have all three!
[Flashback] ? to ?: Do you miss me? I know I do.
[Flashback] The three of us. White uniforms and red ties. We were inseparable.
[Flashback] Jennifer: Are you afraid of dying?
Me: I don't know.
Cobain wrote - It's better to burn out than to fade away.
[Flashback] The Fling: I feel so cheap.
[Flashback] I have many friends.
[Flashback] The Fling: You will never find someone as good as me! She will never know you and pleasure you the way I did!
[Flashback] The Fling: Why? Are you feeling sad? (Chuckles) I'm with my boyfriend now. No time to talk (Chuckles more).
Sera to Ben (1995) when they met: 'For five hundred bucks, you can fuck me in the ass. You can cum on my face. Just keep it out of my hair. I just washed it.'
Ben to Sera (1995) when he died: 'See how hard you make me, angel?'
If only time and space were mechanical.
甘き死よ、来たれ
'I need to forget.'
'...' The salesman/wizard of Oz stared.
'Please. Everything.'
Thursday 22 November 2007
The Soothsayer - Post Mortem
This entry is dedicated to fellows who stayed since 1848, witnessed a time line of wheelchairs, wondered about the irony of a cigarette and sat through a funeral with a pretty redhead and the 'porn people'.Thank you for your patience and consistency.
Had planned to write an afterword halfway into the series. After several editing, I decided to cut short the entry into FAQ formating.
The Origins.
I hadn't plan on writing a long one. Probably a two to three parters about supernatural elements, critically an anti-hero in an already familiar background. My favorite fairy tales were Pied Piper, Mermaid and the Matchstick Girl. The latter struck my core the most because the notion of death in dreams than living like a dog allured me deeply. Seeing that I often turned to fantasies, it's not very hard to understand why.
Before Soothsayer, I was actually comptemplating on a story about a suicide bomber. The terrorist at the brink of his vengeance to the world was desperately trying to fight his blood lust psychosis, had decided that this world needed saving than a wholesale destruction and there were too many beautiful things left to thrive. He had detonated himself in an abandoned beach, figuring that he was beyond salvation.
That notion was reflected as Eilert became the terrible Danish Fire Monster.
Other Influences.
The influences became obvious as the series formed shape. Gaiman's storytelling through multiple characters angle, The Swamp Thing, Lucifer and my life long fascination with fallen angels.
And Evangelion. With all the stories about super-beings and mechas trying to defend the world from apocalypse and destruction, they always succeed in the end, thus ending the episodes as gay as can be, happily ever all. Evangelion opened my eyes with the world actually lost and it ended in blood and smokes. I was awed by its highly interpretable ending of Shinji and Asuka by the sea of red amniotic fluid alone in the entirety of the post apocalyptic world.
I had always tried to incorporate real issues that I'm had been immersed: Sacrifice, Afterlife, Faith, Euthanasia and Fatalism. Euthanasia, one of the topic that I spent weeks researching in school years for a group debate. (I then made Sarah Qwek stumbled upon Vvael's book whilst researching for a debate in Intermission.)
My Stance On Literary Violence.
In Altered, tridents were employed. I loved tridents and written a story medieval war story where lots of tridents tore and pierced the bloody skies. People just don't write enough arms in stories. My weapon of choices would be throwing knives, tridents and revolvers.
North.
In the episode North, though it was never mentioned, Eilert did put down the leprosy patients.
Testament.
Testament was the change. I abandoned the Eilert angle and went for the publicized version of the Danish Fire Monster in the eager eyes of Madeleine Mattiassons. It was a refreshing change. I liked it a lot. I rarely write character's background into the story, only to give away bits through conversation and their course of actions, in Testament, I gave a swift tour of Madeleine's past and I enjoyed writing it so much that I knew I had to write Eilert's too (Monster). There were many background stories I was interested in writing, but never gotten around to it. One of them was Oriaries. It would be fascinating to depict her in her nursing scrubs trying to save London from Cholera.
I began to weave actual historical facts into their time line which I had decided was 1849. Myth had it the matchstick girl had first circulated in 1848 in Denmark. By 1849, I gathered that Eilert should have accomplished a reputation as the local bogeyman.
In Testament, we came to learn that Eilert was just getting well adjusted with his powers and even expanding his ability to burn folks without contact. He was getting too powerful for his own good. This story would go nowhere! He can't be killed, he got tons of power, he could kill people from a distance, his notion of burning people into dreams is simply too romantic to write him off. All there were left was the struggle for his humanity. I had to find out more about the human core in him so I could end this story rightly. Two endings opened up at this moment:
Eilert would perish. But then what's the moral of the story if a kind hearted man should die?
Eilert would thrive. He can't. He would be the King of the world. Here by jabbing real historical facts posed the problem that the whole whole cannot know about his existence, except that he was a myth. With his armor of flames, I couldn't hide Eilert from the world any longer.
I cornered myself with another problem. Madeleine survived till present times. It had wiped out any chance of me plotting apocalypse in the future series, for apparently, Eilert remained nothing more than a legend. He have to go somewhere.
Thus the descent and the suspension.
Testament was the only single person view point writing for Soothsayer. I have decided not to get into my character's head again. It was very exhaustive as I find that minds can be very distracting, emotional and shifting altogether. (I tried to reference this experience in Phantasmagoria.)
Why I Plough On?
I had realised that it would take longer to end the series and no one seemed to be interested enough. I cannot just cancel it, my pride would never allow me to pleasure people that much. I would write on until it is really conclusive and in accordance to the earlier story line. My motivation to complete Soothsayer was pretty much based on defiance and spite.
Then the responses picked up a bit. Though I will still write on regardless of readership, but having people who read it helps in pushing me to write faster.
Aad.
Tribute to Cujo.
Servants.
I was dragging the series. It was then I had decided to blow up the joint and bring forth the war to Hell.
Servants revealed Vvael's mortal name: Uncle Bou. Later which Sarah Qwek came upon Bou Blanc's 'To Hell With Heaven' book, for those who had never read Servants would probably get confused.
Kepharel was a goth boy.
Cigarette.
My favorite episode. I rarely explain in details about the characters or the environment's features, but with Cigarette, I decorated Hell.
Candlelights
I enjoyed writing the rainbow scout so much. He was like that parrot on the shoulder of the pirate.
My favorite character in the entire series was Asmodai.
The time line in both Heaven and Hell was fashioned after Vertigo's Lucifer in which the devil and God went into exile, leaving mankind to their devices.
Genders.
In the original roles for Sarah Qwek and Jane Masaki were male intended. It was then I realised the gender ratio in the series wasn't equally distributed with the storytelling heavily relied on Vvael, Eilert, Suicides and Kepharel. Though the celestinal leaders were Balthial and Oriares, I had to write more female leads into the story.
The location was selectively Australia as I had often heard about racial discrimination tales of the Chinese over there. Sarah Qwek was a Singaporean student, sharing an apartment with Jane Masaki. I got the Japanese name from Amu Masaki, a skillful Japanese pornstar who had now retired. She is my age.
Jeniong had raised quite a few loopholes in this episode which I truly thank her for. I decided to leave the mistakes as they were to present my growth in the series.
Malignancy.
This episode always conjured a variety of emotions within me each time I read it. I like it that the good cop and the bad racist cop had a role reversal in the end, sort of like the movie Crash. And how Sarah was shot instead of Jane.
Exodus.
The plan was to have a two parter describing the fall of both realms and then the finale. Saul was a typical two dimensional hero type. Marianne was named after a bubbly temp clerk in my hospital who went on to medical school this year.
The two options of exit from Heaven at this point was the Ascension Stairs which only the angels could pass, thus mortalized and the Limbo Of Infants.
Conscription.
Conscription was yet another extra addition to the series. I was having a terrible time tying up all the loose ends for Exodus (II). I wrote and rewrote seven times over a span of an entire month's time and it was frustrating. Conscription allowed me to get away from the vehicle of the plot. I wanted to write something senseless and nonchalant to the series. Of all the angels, Degaliel was the exact embodiment.
Exodus (II).
I killed off Kepharel in a Shakespearean way. Enter stage, gave speech, short battle, killed by a mortal stab, exit stage.
Suicides was supposed to seek out Asmodai, but somehow that slipped through my fingers.
Epilogue.
Epilogue was written under thirty minutes. It was the one I kept returning from time to time. It was the only proper ending I ever wrote for anything longer than two pages. It revealed more about the friendship bonded by the angel Vvael, the demon Suicides and the human agent Eilert.
The Nursing Home was named after deciphering's real name.
The football game that Suicides was watching was referring to American Football, not soccer.
Suicides never reigned in Hell thereafter. In his travels among the stars, he unwillingly helped Marianne in defending a siege in the Limbo Of Infants.
Higelot died from a stroke and his daughter inherited the care of Balthial.
Balthial lived to two hundred. A year before her natural death, she had recovered well enough to perform simple chores around the house and had routinely rise to watch the brilliant sunrises every morning.
Abandoning her nursing degree, Sarah Qwek returned to reside in Singapore.
This experience had been valuable. I was somewhat proud that I was able to see it to a proper end.
laters.
raknax.
Friday 16 November 2007
Little House Of Savages
Just got this from yahoo: Santa was warned to say 'ha ha ha' instead of 'ho ho ho' because it may be offensive to women.
ho ho ho!
Work all day and misses every meal possible. At the end of the day as I stood at the edge of the platform, all I could think of were A&W's curly fries, ice cream wafer and root beer float.
Decided not to spend as much time on multiply. Been collecting materials and ideas for a 'book'. Will attempted to write one. A soft core science fiction. Lending from my Soothsayer's experience among multiply users, I would probably just post bits and excerpts from the new story which would be very long and patience needy. If you have read it and agree that I'm heading towards the right direction, let me know.
Jigsaw falling in pieces.
Will still persist in the final two episodes of the MTP travelogues and a review on Densha Otoko.
That is if I have any time at all.
I haven't been drinking at all since my Chaoyangpo trip. Miss it a lot.
Been reading a lot about phosphate. Phosphate is strange purple hue in my head. Ah? Oh, have you guys read anything interesting lately? Let me know, keep this place warm, eh?
Isn't it pretty nice to know that somebody's waiting for me at home at the end of the day?
Ho ho ho!
Homework - Let's all spit at every closed circuit cameras possible, ya'?
Wednesday 7 November 2007
Doraemon's alleged endings.
| Rating: | ★★★ |
| Category: | Other |
Seeing that I was thrilled by a cartoon, Hao and I talked about Doraemon. He told me that he was informed of the three alleged endings probably created by fans.
I went on the web and seek the speculations.
There are three current and often quoted urban legends that started spreading in late 1980s of an ending to the Doraemon series.
The first and the more optimistic ending was made public by Nobuo Sato several years ago. Doraemon's battery power ran out, and Nobita was given a choice between replacing the battery inside a frozen Doraemon, which would cause it to reset and lose all memory, or await a competent robotics technician who would be able to resurrect the cat-robot one day. Nobita swore that very day to work hard in school, graduate with honours, and become that robotics technician. He successfully resurrected Doraemon in the future as a robotics professor, became successful as an AI developer, and thus lived happily ever after, thus relieving his progeny of the financial burdens that caused Doraemon to be sent to his space-time in the first place. A dōjin manga for this ending exists.
The second, more pessimistic ending suggests that Nobita Nobi is suffering from autism and that all the characters (including Doraemon) are simply his delusion. The idea that Nobita was a sick and dying little boy who imagined the entire series on his sickbed to help him ease his pain and depression no doubt angered quite a lot of fans. Many Japanese fans staged a protest outside the headquarters of the publisher of the series after learning about this suggestion. The publisher had to issue a public statement that this is not true. (This ending actually correlates to the ending for the series St. Elsewhere, which ended in 1988.)
The third ending suggests that Nobita fell and hit his head on a rock. He fell into a deep coma, and eventually into a semi-vegetative state. To raise money for an operation to save Nobita, Doraemon sold all the tools and devices in his four-dimensional pocket. However, the operation failed. Doraemon sold all his tools except for one used as a last resort - Dokodemo door 如意门. He used it to enable Nobita to go wherever he wanted, whichever time era he wished to go. In the end, the very place Nobita wanted to go was heaven.
The third ending, when I heard it from Hao, I was utterly depressed. How can the purest story for children ends so painfully? Children shouldn't have to die in stories. Not especially when it had so entwined with my boyhood.
Since Fujiko F. died in 1996 before any decisions were reached, any "endings" of Doraemon are fan fiction. However, it is apparent from many episodes and movies where Nobita travels to the future that in the end he does marry Shizuka, leads a happy life and separates with Doraemon, although Nobita and his friends fondly remember him.
Screw that dude who made cup noddle, I will hail only to 藤子 F. 不二雄.
Monday 5 November 2007
Lonely Inc
| Rating: | ★ |
| Category: | Other |
Me: 'This is my face when I shit in the hospital.'
Bryan: 'Erm. Okay.'
Me: 'Here another. This is me shitting at home.'
Bryan: 'Alright.'
Me: 'This is me shitting in Hong kong airport.'
Bryan: 'Right.'
Me: 'This is at Beijing airport. See the grimace? Must have been pretty hardcore.'
Bryan: 'Are there no pictures other than you shitting in your phone?' He took over the phone and scrolled within.
Bryan (disgusted): 'My god. It's all about you taking dumps.'
Me (shrugged): 'I'm a lonely dude.'
Saturday 3 November 2007
What You Think Is Funny, I Think Is Rude.
| Rating: | ★ |
| Category: | Other |
Yesterday, they had wrapped up a gag involving a pretty crew to get male bystanders to strip in the public for the new season was quite a riot and no doubt surely attract higher ratings with this new batch of writers for the show.
Today they ambushed cameras in an elevator and had planted a suspicious looking garbage in the corner in the elevator. By placing a 'Maintenance' on the other elevator, regular folks would be flushed to enter the bugged up one.
They had managed to lay the smack of surprise, if not some anger to the minorities. But with editing, only the positive reactions made it to the screen.
They waited until an elderly lady named Rosie Zulkbaiyark entered the lift with her walking stick and a huge grocery bag. When the door closed and the lift humming in its ascend, Mdm Rosie was eying the black garbage bag with disgust and curiosity.
There Benji hid, waiting. With the signal to pounce from his earpiece, Benji sprung himself free from the bag like jack in the box, waving his arms around in jubilee.
Mdm Rosie was shocked to the inches of her life went to grab something from her bag. Sometimes people maced Benji, he was half expecting it. Though the other half of him was expecting an inhaler from the old woman which looked like a hundred.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Mdm Rosie had closed her eyes shut in tears and squeezed the trigger of her pistol at Benji. She had shot Benji twice in the face and three more in the chest.
'Oh my god! Oh my god!' Mdm Rosie was heaving in shock while reaching for her inhaler. She did not even dare to open her eyes to see what it was.
End.
This story is my response to telecast gags meant to terror innocent folks out of their wits for infantile humor underlying a subplot for racism.
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