tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57237331415082044902024-03-13T18:31:05.947+08:00this is kiatahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.comBlogger382125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-7796869605945974482012-11-29T01:15:00.002+08:002012-12-01T01:53:22.081+08:00The Honeymoon [Part 4/8]: A Magical Evening for Two<span style="font-size: small;">Paul has to eat something. After hours of crying and
vomiting in his hotel room, he needs to eat regardless if he is up for
it. He left his work phone for charging, grabs a jacket and exits the
room. On his way to the lobby through the caged elevator, he keeps
wondering if he should just fly back to Singapore and see Dini. <i>What's
the point of staying here when you are sick and your heart's not in it
anymore? Tell Jen you have to work. Tell her there's a company crisis.
Get Mark to call you and let her know that it's serious. Without you,
the bank will fall apart. Whatever, do something. You have to go back. </i></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The
lobby is empty, saved for the light jazz music. The receptionist is
gone. Bubblegum blowing, tattoo-baring old gal who wore make-up too
thick for her own good. She is Pablo's ex-flame or landlord or
something. <i>Lost in translation. A nosy rosy as well. Insisting to
check our luggage. Maybe the fat MJ asshole on the plane was right.
Maybe all they want to do is to steal from us. </i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />There is a
bar across the street from the hotel and seeing that most establishments
remain closed due to the influenza scare, he has to eat there. He
wonders if he can get chicken soup from a bar? Sitting in the barkeep's
counter and staring at the menu, it turns out that he can order chicken
soup. But he didn't order any, consumed again by the thoughts of Dini
suffering through a suicide attempt, medical resuscitation and a
miscarriage all for the price of loving him... How could he get comfort
food while his loved ones suffer? He knows that he can't stop fighting
with Jen ever since they gotten married. As much as it sounds dainty
that he have the love of two beautiful women, he is nevertheless tired.
Soul-crushingly drained to play this game any further. He really wants
to be a good person but every corner he turns, he has either been
hurting Jen or breaking Dini's heart. And now, an innocent life was
cost. <br /><br />"Hey." Paul asks the strapping bartender, "What's your name?"<br /><br />"Name? Gianni" The barkeep replies in broken English, "For what?"<br /><br />"Since I'm going to be here the whole night. Let's just might as well get acquainted, Gianni."<br /><br />Paul
orders an assortment of alcoholic beverages. He knows that it will not
bid well for his current condition to drink that much, and he is
counting on it. He needs a good rest. A dreamless sleep where he will no
longer feel his tiredness, his sickness or that spot where his heart
should be. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #3366ff; font-size: small;">******************************************** </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br /><br />At
midnight Paul is still not back yet. He left a note on the hotel's
dressing table that he was grabbing dinner, but this late? When Jen
returned to her room and found that Paul was gone, Pablo and Nico
offered for Jen to stay in their room until Paul is back. The accident
in the afternoon was traumatizing. No one said a word for they simply d<span style="font-size: small;">id</span> not know what to make out of it. Should they be happy that the boy survived the tour bus, or should they be freak out that he <span style="font-size: small;">was</span> alive when he shouldn't be? <br /><br />The
image of the bloody boy crawling his way up from the mess was too much
for Jen to bear. His arm was a skin tear away from completely detaching
from his shoulder. And goodness, so much blood! If she h<span style="font-size: small;">ave</span> to hear another word of 'Mommy' again, she might throw up.<br /><br />Not
wanting to trouble Pablo and Nico any further because she knows that
they are equally as shell-shocked as her, she returns to her room. And
there alone in a strange room in a strange land with an even stranger
day, she waits for her husband.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #3366ff; font-size: small;">******************************************** </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />At
midnight Paul is still in the bar. There are sirens wailing all over
Treviso. Long and short horns of ambulances backing up, helicopters
thundering across the night skies and heavy armory rolling across the
cobbled streets. <br /><br />Besides Paul sipping his fourth Bourbon and
Gianni closing up the place, all that remained are the two backpacking
boys from Australia and an old drunk by the corner. The Australians go
out to the streets to watch the midnight parade of chaos. They come
back, all fired up and request Gianni to work the television to an
English-speaking news channel. As Gianni surfs through the channels,
every channels are either reporting news of soldiers rounding people up,
looting, rioting, buildings in flames, experts in lab coat with grim
faces or advices from the Italian Health Service. Paul gets up from his
seat and joins them when they chance upon BBC. <br /><br />The veteran
anchor Price Gleeson is on. The usually ruddy and megawatt smiling
gentleman tonight has an intense and somber look, fleshing out all his
crows' feet and worry lines on the tired contour of his features. Thick
red captions stream at the bottom with sentences like '...hundreds are
looting pharmacies and hospitals for Aciclovir... '<br /><br />"The World
Health Organization has just classify the new MEV-type 3 influenza
strain a pandemic." Gleeson reports, "This latest strain of the
Mengio-Encephalitis family has estimated to infect over 50 millions
globally. WHO will be working around the clock with communicable
diseases centers from each countries to establish outbreak centers to
identify, quarantine and treat infected individuals. Meanwhile, major
cities such as Britain, Canada, Australia, France, China, Indonesia and
Italy have joined Zurich Health Protection Pact which include plans to
close off borders, airports and docks. More information about the pact
is as follows..."<br /><br />Paul catches the two Australian boys looking
severely at him. They get up and move away from the television with
hands on their noses as if Paul is smelling badly. "You have been sick
the whole night. Have you got MEV3?" The one with a red scarf around his
neck asks. He now ties the scarf around his nose and mouth.<br /><br />Paul shrugs and puts his palm facing out, showing that whatever he is, he means no harm. <br /><br />"Sickos
like you have no business walking around." His friend with a Nike cap
chips in and then he points to Gianni, "You best be careful there! You
have been serving him the whole night."<br /><br />"I serve you drinks too, didn't I?" Gianni asks.<br /><br />"Let's just go." Red Scarf grabs his bags and pulls Nike Cap along. Nike Cap spits on the floor and exits the bar.<br /><br />Gianni mops up the floor, "You should also go. It's late." <br /><br />Paul
looks at his phone and sees that he has 25 missed calls and two
messages from Jen. She has been waiting for him back at the hotel. <br /><br />"After this drink." Paul goes back to his seat and nurses his Bourbon, while Gianni moves to wake up the drunk.<br /><br />Then - Bam! Bam! Bam!<br /><br />Red Scarf and Nike Cap push their way in and almost tearing down the door in process. They look like they have seen a ghost.<br /><br />"There
is a mob outside!" Nike Cap cries, "They... they rush us! They just
come around the corner and start to attack us for no good reason!"<br /><br />Paul
go over, "Are you injured?" The two boys shake their heads. Gianni goes
over to lock the front door. He peeps through the binds to see what is
going on.<br /><br />"Seven, eight of them?" Nike Cap looks at Red Scarf. "It was such a blur, they were running towards us."<br /><br />"Running and screaming." Red Scarf shivers.<br /><br />"I can't see a thing." Gianni says as he tries to make out what's outside <span style="font-size: small;">of the </span>foggy
glass window. Then a hand smack boldly on the window, startling him.
More hands are piling onto the glass window with their fingernails
scratching the panel wildly. Red and yellow goo are smeared across the
panel.<br /><br />"The door! Get the door!" Red Scarf screams as the doorknob starts to turn violently.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span> The people outside starts pounding on the front door. Nike Cap pushes a couch from a corner and blocks the entrance. <br /><br />"Looting."
Gianni says as the television plays a scene of looters storming
pharmacies and supermarkets all over the world. He starts to shout out
in Italian to the looters, probably telling them that there are no
medicine or food here. He goes to the back door where maniacally
scratching pounding perpetuated there as well. "Unbelievable! This is
crazy." Red Scarf moans. Together, they block the back door up with beer
crates. Gianni moves behind the counter to call the police. <br /><br />Red Scarf and Nike Cap move around the bar, opening cupboards and drawers. <br /><br />"Hey!
Hey! What you guys are doing?" Gianni shouts with the phone on his ear.
It has a loud automated message signaling that the police line is busy.<br /><br />"You
have anything tougher than this?" Nike Cap asks as he tests the
durability of the pool cues. Red Scarf holds up two Vodka bottles and
whispers to Nike Cap about something they seen on the net.<br /><br />The
Drunk as the corner of the room gets up and captures the attention of
the room by making disturbing retching noises. His face is bloated with
puke, eyes rolling to the back, fingers crawling for his throat and he
thrusts his chest forward and pukes. Dark foul smelling blood explodes
onto the floor. He does it again more forcefully, squeezing out lines of
blood from his eyes, nose and ears at the same time. It looks like his
head is going blow up from the pressure any moment now. <br /><br />"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Nike Cap asks. <br /><br />The
television is heard playing in the background where Price Gleeson is
now seen on the news with a doctor. Dr Kim makes his presentation on how
to identify a common flu from MEV-3. Thick red captions streams,
'...new symptoms include - internal hemorrhages, personality changes,
excessive vocal tics, accelerated mania, compulsive biting disorders...'<br /><br />Dr
Kim advices, "Do not come into physical contact with infected
individual. While MEV-2 was considered transmittable with air-borne
communication, the mutated RNA genome in MEV-3 is now transmittable
through blood and bodily fluids. Complicated by the psychiatric symptoms
of compulsive biting disorder, MEV-3 is reported to commonly spread
through open wounds..."<br /><br />"We need to do something about him." Nike Cap demands. With Red Scarf, they break pool cues into two, picking the ones with sha<span style="font-size: small;">r<span style="font-size: small;">p<span style="font-size: small;">e<span style="font-size: small;">r </span></span></span>ends</span>. <br /><br />"What <span style="font-size: small;">are yo<span style="font-size: small;">u boys do<span style="font-size: small;">ing</span></span>!</span>"
Gianni smacks the phone back to the holder in frustration of call
waiting and comes out of the counter, "This man here is a friend of
mine."<br /><br />Paul nods and says, "He obviously needs medical attention. If we could get through..."<br /><br />"Save it, sicko." Nike Cap sneers at Paul, "You are just scared that you will be next."<br /><br />Gianni
moves in to try to talk to The Drunk which is about the same moment
that The Drunk lunges at Gianni. Despite his compromised gait and frame,
The Drunk manages to pin the taller Gianni to the floor. Nobody moves
because they don't know what to do. The Drunk stretches his bloody mouth
and goes towards Gianni's jugular, but is stopped midway when Gianni's
hand closes onto The Drunk's throat. They squirming and struggling on
the floor like a pair of jellyfishes out of water. <br /><br />Price Gleeson
then asks Dr Kim on the television, "From what you describe, the
infected victim behaves essentially like someone who has rabies?" "Well,
I wouldn't call it that," Dr Kim smiles, "but it is certainly a
layman's way of recognizing the physical signs and symptoms of MEV-3..."<br /><br />With
his leg arching, Gianni boots The Drunk harshly away. He gets up with
the blunt pool cue and yells something in Italian to The Drunk. It
sounds like a warning. For a minute there, The Drunk cocks his head,
spewing more blood from his mouth and scans around the room quickly as
if this is the first time he realizes that there are others in the room.
He clenches his bloody teeth like an attack hound, choosing quickly.
With his ferocity, there are easier targets but he remains focused on
the biggest man in the room, Gianni and bolts towards him once more.
Gianni chooses to drop the only defense he has - the pool cue and
readies himself like a goalkeeper waiting for the ball. He shuffles
left, right, left, right, without taking his eyes of his drunken friend.
Right on cue, he deflects in time, missing The Drunk's grip of death
and moves out of the kill zone. The Drunk goes smacking into the window.
Fingers, arms and legs thrash in from the window and grab The Drunk.
With a united and mighty pull, they tug The Drunk, shattering the window
and make their way in screaming for blood. <br /><br />When the boys have a
good look at the looters, they look nothing like looters. Everyone of
them have the bloodshot eyes, pale venous complexions washed with dark
blood from noses down. They are all sick. With mouths and teeth
chomping wildly at nothing, releasing a symphony of retching and
growling noises, there are at least a dozen of them.<br /><br />This. Is where everything becomes a blur. <br /><br />Nike
Cap ignites a slapdash Molotov cocktail made from a Vodka bottle and a
rag. He throws the Molotov at the window. However, the Molotov is
already dripping fire before it is released from his hand, douses him
with flames. Still, the ill constructed Molotov finds its way to the
window and explodes a rain of fire burning the Sickos<span style="font-size: small;"> and <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">effectively</span> setting the bar on f<span style="font-size: small;">ire.</span></span></span></span> Nike Cap screams and flaps around as he is now catching fire entirely. <br /><br />The room now reeks of burning flesh. Barbeque in the bar. <br /><br />The back door bashes open, sending crates of beer crashing onto the floor. A dozen of Sickos rush in.<br /><br />Gianni
pushes Red Scarf and Paul into a harrowing staircase by the counter.
Two Sickos attack Nike Cap who is agitating around the room in flames,
his shrieking is turning into muted despair. Red Scarf watches as the
two Sickos engulfs in Nike Cap's blaze and<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>pin his friend to the ground and chew his face. The rest of the backdoor Sickos follow them into the staircase.<br /><br />Gianni
is on top of the stairs fumbling to find the right key to the door.
Someone roars for him to be quick. Gianni find the key, jams it into the
lock, twists the door open to the roof. Someone screams in the dark
passage and the three of them fall. The nearest Sicko has grabbed Red
Scarf by his hair and bites down hard on his shoulder while Red Scarf
grasps onto Paul as he falls. Paul turns to look at Red Scarf and sees
that he has a funny look on his face. Red Scarf scowls and frowns
painfully. As he is doing that, copious blood gashes from his mouth. His
eyes turn blood-shot, pupils dilate and he grabs onto Paul's ankle
tightly, trying to tear the limb off. The Sicko behind Red Scarf lends
another claw forward and reaches maddeningly for Paul. With a jerk,
Gianni drags Paul through the door with an impact that sends Red Scarf
and the Sickos tumbling down the stairs. With his back pushing against
the door, Gianni hollers for Paul to bring him something, anything from a
construction pit at the roof. Paul runs back with a spade and they
stick it under the door knob. The door bangs and pushes from the stairs,
shaking the spade beneath it. <span style="font-size: small;">T</span>hey will break down the door in the next minute or two.<br /><br />Paul
sees that there is some primitive construction going on the roof, some
scaffoldings and tools, perhaps they are trying to add a second level to
the bar, but it looks like it has been stuck in developmental hell for a
long time now. Both of them are pacing around the roof reviewing their
options. The scene outside is a bizarre one. <br /><br />There are tons of
cars on the streets, congesting into a heavy traffic. People are running
everywhere. Some of them regular screaming folks, the rest Sickos.
There are a few helicopters in the night sky. Their headlights looming
in circular motions as if the city is a prison. The nearest one, a few
blocks down the bar is wobbling uncontrollably in the air. It is so
close that they could hear the radio on the chopper squawking
asthmatically while the bird spins around in the air. As the chopper
spirals into the luminous glare of headlights, it appears that there are
people all over the hulk of the helicopter. These daredevils are
pulling and crawling on the chopper like ants on <span style="font-size: small;">a l<span style="font-size: small;">ollipop</span></span>. The chopper flies into a tall church and rockets a loud explosion <span style="font-size: small;">fuming</span>
black smokes and bright flames. Then, a deafening siren throttles and
pounds the entire city. The kind that says 'Danger, danger!' The
choppers are now flying in the same direction, away from Trevsio, not
looking back. <br /><br />Gianni, the big man, now breaking into sweat
grabs one end of a long wooden plank from the construction pit and
beckons Paul to join him on the other end. They move the plank over the
edge of the roof. Flanking the bar is another establishment selling
novelty and souvenirs, leav<span style="font-size: small;">ing</span> a man size gap
between them. They flop the plank across the gap and start climbing on
it. The door bursts open, sending the shovel flying away. Red Scarf is
the first to run towards them, the rest of the Sickos follow closely
behind, gargling and streaking blood and saliva. Gianni balances himself
on the plank, dribbles and walks himself over the gap quickly. Paul on
the other hand is inching on the plank and moves with his hands and
feet. Red Scarf jumps at the plank and tr<span style="font-size: small;">ies <span style="font-size: small;">to<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span>grapple
Paul. Gianni reaches out a hand hoping to catch Paul. Paul closes his
eyes to the height of the buildings, and tunnels desperately towards
Gianni. His heart is <span style="font-size: small;">pumping mightily <span style="font-size: small;">fast for him to concentrate his task. </span></span>He feels everything that the horror has to lend, the<span style="font-size: small;"> thunderous s<span style="font-size: small;">iren<span style="font-size: small;"> in the star<span style="font-size: small;">less night, the thought of falling to h<span style="font-size: small;">is death and </span></span></span></span></span>the hot <span style="font-size: small;">breath</span>
of Red Scarf closing behind him. The half a dozen of Sickos pile behind
Red Scarf at the plank, rocking the balance. Paul takes Gianni's hand
and throws himself over the edge of the plank. With a loud puff, they
push against the plank and shove it away from the wall. The plank falls,
toppling Red Scarf and five Sickos down the building, smacking them
onto the sidewalk.<br /><br />To their disbelief, two of them manage to get
up and walk it off. They then run into the streets, joining the chaos,
with mangled limbs and broken necks. Red Scarf remains motionless, his
head has dived first into the pavement, smattering into bloody pieces. <br /><br />They
see that on the adjacent rooftop are several people still waving at the
possibilities of a chopper rescue. Gianna shouts to get their
attention. Paul's pants start to vibrate, his cell phone is ringing.
Paul brings to his ears and Jen's cries to him under the blaring sirens
to which he could not get a single word in at all. <i>Jen. Oh my god. Jen is still back in the hotel. </i>"Jen! Listen to me! Lock yourself in! Do not let anyone in! Stay in your goddamn room!" <br /><br />"We can't stay here. I have to go. My wife is still back in the hotel room<span style="font-size: small;">!</span>" Paul wails at Gianni. <br /><br />"No! I'm not going down!" Gianni shouts back. He points to the adjacent rooftop, "They're okay. Maybe the army will pick us up."<br /><br />The
folks at the adjacent rooftop start screaming. A few Sickos manage to
break in their rooftop entrance and attack them. One of them determining
not to be violated, jumps from the roof for a clean fall. She ends up
like Red Scarf. The Sickos spot Gianni and Paul. They run back down the
rooftop entrance. <br /><br />"We have to go! We have to go! We're next and
we will die if we stay here!" Paul blabbers, "The hotel is a fucking
fortress. We will last longer in there." <br /><br />They look down the
streets. Hotel Di Nino is just across the street. If they can get down
from the rooftop, hurries across the streets of vehicles and can be in
the hotel under a minute. There are less people on the street now too.
Gianni nods and they kick the rooftop door down. <br /><br />Going down in
the dusky souvenir store, they hear a rasping noise in the dark. They
cover their mouths and move stealthily by the chests of the wall.
Someone is walking around in the store, bumping into corners. That
someone is coughing laboriously to death. They feel their way to the
entrance of the store. The someone lingers towards them, under the
scorching firelight from Gianni's bar, they see that it is an elderly
lady, still in her uniform. Her badge says 'Welcome! My name is Eloisa'.
Underneath her badge<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>a metal key glisters. Elosia
is inching near the door, attracted by the immolating bar. She doesn't
seems to mind that she is bleeding from her facial orifices. Blood are
tickling down her skirt as well. She admires the firelight blankly,
making soft rhythmic noises from her swollen lips. Elosia is singing to
herself. She is barely three feet away from them. <br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">They have to get through her to get the key for the door in order to get out. Seeing that Elos<span style="font-size: small;">ia is oddly distracted<span style="font-size: small;">, </span></span></span>Gianni
reaches out a finger to her breasts and curls it around the key chain.
Outside, the booming siren halts and Elosia as if awaken from a long
dream peers around for signs of prey. Her twist of motion causes
Gianni's finger to get entangled with key chain. Gianni suppresses a
yelp when the metal slices into the flesh of his finger, but it is too
late, Elosia realizes that her preys are right under her noses. She
snarls her filthy mouth at Gianni. Gianni pulls hard at the key,
splicing the top of his index finger instantly, and pushes Elosia out of
the way. He throws the key to Paul and run his shoulder into Elosia's
ribcage, throwing her off. Paul twists open the lock of the entrance and
<span style="font-size: small;">turns to call out to Gianni</span>.<br /><br />Elosia already<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>has her teeth sunk into Gianni's arm, biting off a hefty chunk. <i>No. Not Gianni too<span style="font-size: small;">!</span> Not the strongest, fastest sane man on this planet too! </i>Gianni shoves Elosia off and with a throaty bark, his eyes are no<span style="font-size: small;">w</span> <span style="font-size: small;">st<span style="font-size: small;">reaking blood and <span style="font-size: small;">he manag<span style="font-size: small;">es a <span style="font-size: small;">blank smile while looking through Paul. "Name? <span style="font-size: small;">For what? For what?<span style="font-size: small;">" Gianni repeats like a broken to<span style="font-size: small;">y. He advances </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>towards Paul. <br /><br />Paul slams the door on his face. <i>Sorry! Sorry! I'm really sorry, man!</i>
Paul sees a clearing on the street and bolts towards Hotel Di Nino.
Gianni smashes his way through the door and goes after Paul. <i>Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm fucked!</i> He sees an entire mob of Sickos, dozens and dozens of them coming out from every corners of every locations.<i> They are waiting for me! It's a freaking trap!</i>
He dives headfirst into the hotel lobby, gets up and watches the feral
mob fighting through the lobby entrance to get him. Their howling
attracts the rest of the Sickos from the hotel and more are pouring down
the stairs from level two. Paul is fatally outnumbered and surrounded. <br /><br />He dashes into the caged elevator which is located a<span style="font-size: small;">t the <span style="font-size: small;">cent<span style="font-size: small;">er</span></span></span>
of the lobby and slams the metal door shut. The mob closes in, pressing
their grotesque features onto the pocketed steel of the cage and
squeeze their greedy hands in. <span style="font-size: small;">Their fingers wringing for Paul's flesh.</span><br /><br />It's like a shark cage on dry land.<br /><br />Struggling
to hold the cage doors together, Paul knows that the elevator has to
move for him to save his life. He boots the elevator button to his level
and the floor <span style="font-size: small;">indicator</span> on top lights up. The cage is now bent out of shape and is groaning in metallic agony with the bearing and thrashing weight. <span style="font-size: small;">Still with that dumb smile on his bloody face, </span>Gianni rips manage<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>a corner of the cage <span style="font-size: small;">awry to his hymn of "Name? Name? For <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">w</span>hat?"</span></span> <br /><br />The elevator jerks in a retaliation disgust, speeds upwards<span style="font-size: small;"> and </span>lacerat<span style="font-size: small;">es</span> their<span style="font-size: small;"> wringing</span> arms off in the process. </span><br />
<br />ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-90792499674111953862012-11-29T01:14:00.005+08:002012-12-01T01:54:33.854+08:00The Honeymoon [Part 3/8]: Bed and Breakfast in Treviso<span style="font-size: small;">Paul is in the hotel room alone. He has used the sick
card again to get out of sight-seeing with Jen's new found friends. He
isn't lying because he <span style="font-size: small;">is</span> really ill, with
possibly the latest bug that is going around infecting everybody. So
infectious that it is mandated to install a hand sanitizer at everywhere
you turn, and hand shaking can be fined. But his real intention of
staying behind is to call Dini. <br />
</span>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;">Hotel Di Nino is<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>actually
quite a decent hotel. It has a rustic feel with its stoned walls and
the horticultures, yet a touch of class with porcelain basins and
profound portraits. <span style="font-size: small;">It even has an antique caged elevator</span> in the lobby. <i>Just the way that the pony-tail wearing, ginger grazing hippie Pablo likes them in.</i>
The television is playing news in the background, in Italian. Something
about a widespread strike in Europe by the nurses. Paul calls his boss
for the fortieth time. He coughs, rattles, sneezes and burps while he
waits for the automated voice informing him that his Boss is
unavailable. Something is brewing inside him that wants out. It wells up
to throat as if he is on a bobby boat. He dials again, this time
switching to phone speaker. While the dial tone multiplied swiftly, he
goes to the bathroom sink to retch. Nothing comes out. He looks at the
mirror and sees how much he aged since he was sick. With dark circles
under the eyes and jaundiced cheeks, he looks like a bruised banana. <br /><br />"Hello?" The speaker crackles. Paul hurries out to take the call. <br /><br />"D! What the hell!" He screams. "Where are you? Are you alright?" <br /><br />"Uh." <br /><br />"I tried my best to reach you, but it's so hard to get through from over here." <br /><br />"Uh-huh." <br /><br />Paul keeps quiet for a while. There is this one question he wants to ask. One that bothered him incessantly for the last <span style="font-size: small;">eight</span> hours. The very same that had him frowning and making those forty phone calls. <br /><br />"Where are you?" Dini asks emotionlessly. <br /><br />"Treviso, a little off Venice. It's a side trip." Paul thinks hard to sneak in the Question. <br /><br />"Where is she?" Her bloodless tone went slightly pitchy. <br /><br />"Out.
She went out. D, where on earth are you?" Paul goes for it. "The
voicemail. Are you for real..." A dozen hours ago on the plane while he
was sleeping off a cold on his tiny flight seat, Dini left a voicemail
sobbing that she thought she could handle his marriage, but she couldn't
and she missed him so much that she decided to overdose on sleeping
pills. <br /><br />"Uh-uh. I wasn't trying hard anyway. It's stupid." <br /><br />"What do you mean? What do you mean when you say you are not trying hard..." <br /><br />"I stopped taking them halfway through and called Maggie. They got me here in the hospital and pumped my stomach." <br /><br />Paul feels that the hotel room is spinning like the teacups in the amusement park. <i>It's okay. As long as she's fine now, that is all it matters.</i> <br /><br />Dini sudden<span style="font-size: small;">ly </span>erupts into tears and cries, "But <span style="font-size: small;">our</span> baby is gone!" <br /><br /><br /><span style="color: #3366ff;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #3366ff; font-size: small;">************************************************* </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /><br />Piazza
dei Signori stands at the core of Treviso and is the center of the
island's attention. However it is pretty much deserted, with the
surrounding cafes closed. <br /><br />"This is odd. Is everyone
quarantined or something?" Nico asks as she unfolds the map. They walk
around a bit and see that empty boats are bobbing in the canals and
statues sunbathing quietly in the afternoon. It is so abandoned that it
feels eerie to be there. Like something is about to happen. <br /><br />They
find a pizza shop that is opened and settle themselves at the booth by
the windows. There is no customers in the shop as well. The owner is a
petite Chinese lady wearing a surgical mask, a plastic apron and latex
gloves, as though she will be operating on a mozzarella pizza later. The
owner takes their order and goes into the kitchen to bark out
instructions in Cantonese. <br /><br />When the food arrives, Pablo
offers beer to Jen to which she declines, "I'm pregnant." Pablo and Nico
lean in and learn that Jen found out her pregnancy just hours before. <br /><br />"Congratulations!" They cheer and bump tall glasses of cold beer against her distilled water bottle. <br /><br />"Have you told Paul?" Nico asks. <br /><br />Jen
shakes her head, "Perhaps tonight. Or a better time when we aren't
fighting. God! It shouldn't be so hard!" She exclaims, "Ever since we
got married, we are fighting all the time, over the smallest stuff! I
have to admit, this is not what I have pictured for married life." <br /><br />"Ah."
Pablo smiles, "Falling in love and getting married is two different
things. People often mix that up. It is normal to feel frustrated at the
beginning due to mismatch of expectations but things will eventually
turn around, and they always do. Take Nico and me for example! We
quarrel plenty over stupid stuff but when our first child arrived, we
are able to look beyond our differences." <br /><br />"He is right." Nico concurs, "This new life inside you will make things all better, if not great. I'm so excited for you!" <br /><br />"Bullshit."
The owner who is wiping the counter spits out, "I've got a no-lifer son
who is nothing but a knife in his mother's heart. So don't bet on
that." <br /><br />The shop's door push open, ringing the bell. A lanky
man limps into the shop. His hair is long and unkempt, and he looks
drunk from his gait. "Speak of the devil!" The owner welcomes his son
home. <br /><br />"Mommy?" The son tilts his head and asks with drool
dribbling out. But he tilts overboard and almost falls over. He looks at
the owner and flops his head the other way and repeats, "Mommy? Mommy?
Mommy?" <br /><br />He moves closer to the counter banging tables as he
swaggers. They could smell a stinging stench on him. The owner looks
profusely embarrassed now and calls her husband who is in the kitchen.
Together they try to bring in their sobbing son who is still crying out
for his mommy. <br /><br />Platter, platter, platter- <br /><br />The son
pees in his pants, soaking the khakis black and large amount of dark
urine rain below waist. The urine is so concentrated that it looks like
tea. The pizza shop is now filled with smell of cheese<span style="font-size: small;">, </span>urine and feces, and the endless strings of "Mommy?" <br /><br />"Oh
my." Nico mutters. "Shall we go?" They agree and put their money on the
table. As they exit, the son suddenly shouts and runs past them,
knocking down Jen whom Nico catches. The son sprints outside the shop,
bouncing off sidewalks and onto the road. A tour bus full of passengers
turns in from a corner and runs over him. His parents scream and fly
onto the road. <br /><br />Jen and her friends follow on for a closer
look. The driver of the tour bus gets down and is on the receiving end
by the father, while the pizza lady checks on her son who is lying at
the side with mangled limbs. The deserted street is now crawling with
curious <span style="font-size: small;">passers-by</span> joining in the commotion. <br /><br />"Mommy?" His voice <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">croak<span style="font-size: small;">s</span></span> through the afternoon air</span> loud and clear. <br /><br />The
street falls silent. The father stops tugging the driver and his wife
stops crying. Jen puts her hand to her mouth with eyes wide open like
everyone else on that road. <br /><br />The son, stained with fresh
blood twists his body and props himself up like a baby learning to
stand. "Mommy?" He asks as he pushes himself upright with his better
side and stands <span style="font-size: small;">with</span> his broken arms dangling. As if it was an achievement, he grins <span style="font-size: small;">widely</span>,
revealing his shattered teeth and mouthful of blood, and walks away.
His parents follow closely by, with someone dialing for the ambulance.
<br /><br />For the longest time, Jen keeps her hands to her mouth and her eyes stay widened. <br /><br /><span style="color: #3366ff;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #3366ff; font-size: small;">************************************************* </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /><br />In the darkness of his room, Paul wakes up on the floor of the bed. <i>What time is it now?</i> He feels for his phone and sees that the battery <span style="font-size: small;">has</span> depleted. <i>How long was I on the phone with Dini?</i>
He remembers that they have been talking for hours. Talking about the
loss of the baby they never knew existed, their love for one another and
how they long for each other again.<br /><br />Dini has always been the
prettiest girl in the mortgage department. She was young, athletic and
competitive. Thus, it came as a surprise when Paul found out that she
was having an affair with a middle-age manager in Accounting. During one
celebratory dinner, Paul and Dini really hit it off and started
exchanging a few drinks into the night while the rest left. Dini was the
one who told Paul about her affair and was ventilating her conflict
being in an adultery relationship. Curious, Paul inquired on how did a
married balding middle-age guy g<span style="font-size: small;">o</span>t a catch like Dini. <br /><br />"Come
here. I am going to tell you the secret to a woman's heart." She
whispered with breath smelling an exotic mix of cigarette herb, cherry
and alcohol. Her big eyes flutter<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span> above her drunk cheeks, "It's actually quite simple. You just have to talk very well." <br /><br />"Excuse me?" Paul feeling the kick from his seventh beer. <br /><br />She smile<span style="font-size: small;">d</span>,
"You don't have to look great or even fuck good. Bottom line is, if a
man can say the right thing at the right time and says it really well.
It should work every single time." <br /><br />"That's a pretty big secret. Why are you telling me?" <br /><br />"Because I trust you?" <br /><br />Paul guffaw<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span>, "Okay, let me return the favor by unlocking the universe to a man's heart. It is also very simple. Listen<span style="font-size: small;"> carefully. </span>White top." <br /><br />Dini blink<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span>, "That's <span style="font-size: small;">it</span>?" <br /><br />"White
t-shirt, white singlet, white blouse. As long as it's white. Screw your
Dolce & Gabbana. You don't even have to have a rocking body, just
wear white and it's enough." <br /><br />A few days later, Dini
texted him a picture of her wearing a white tank top and they had been
together ever since. At that time, he was already in a two-year
relationship with Jen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-84002034222987282202012-11-29T01:14:00.001+08:002012-12-01T01:55:30.773+08:00The Honeymoon [Part 2/8]: How to Say Love in Italian<span style="font-size: small;">Paul looks visibly shaken after listening to his
voicemail on the cellphone. His plane though diverted to land in Treviso
due to a medical emergency, remains on the runway for a good 70
minutes. The plane is now locked down for a police investigation.
Passengers are now breaking into groups and generating heated
discussions among themselves. Paul overhears the group behind raving
about how the emergency landing grown to become the airline's plot to
steal from their luggage.<br /><br />At one point, a huge white guy wearing a
Michael Jackson t-shirt stood up and spat, "Don't think we have no idea
what you are trying to pull here! This country is down in the dumps and
now they are desperate enough to do anything! First thing outta the
people that step into this land. I know my rights! Give me my money
back!" When Michael Jackson guy catches Paul looking at him, he sneers,
"That means you as well! Job stealing nut here, there, everywhere." A
police officer moves over to hush him down.
</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Paul sinks back to
his throne of blankets. Jen is still not back. She has gone to find out
when they can be released. He presses the speed dial on his phone for
voicemail and listens to it again. Frowning even deeper, he massages his
headache with a vengeance. <br /><br />To his posterior right, there is a
much milder discussion raised among a pack of teenagers. They had their
cellphones and electronic tablets out to watch noisy videos on Youtube.
"Woah! Shit man. Did you see that?" One boyish voice springs. "There is
no way he could have survived that!" Another girly voice adds, "Turn it
off! This is so gory. How could Youtube not moderate such graphics?" The
boyish voice returns, "Check it out, it's all featured videos. This
shit is happening all around the world, man! Here's another one, my
personal favorite. Trust me, this is THE bomb! See here, they actually
counted how many times this chick came back. Bam! One! Here's two.. and
wait for it... Bam! Fuck you three!" <br /><br />"You don't suppose..." A third meekly voice asks, "That it is really happening?"<br /><br />"What do you mean?" The girly voice returns.<br /><br />"That
what all these videos are trying to tell us. No matter how incredulous
the idea might sound, that it is actually happening right now. Hell,
there was a time where putting a man on the moon or getting AIDS from
monkeys or raining frogs sound unbelievable, and yet it's the truth."
The meekly voice says, " That people all over the world are putting out
these stuff, is to warn us that it is really happening regardless of
what we believe in."<br /><br />The group goes silent for a while. <br /><br />The boyish cracks a nervous smile, "Then bro, we are fucked."<br /><br />Paul wonders what exactly they are watching. <i>Kids
these days, they believe in anything and everything. Some nerd with a
hand phone and a computer could scare the living daylight out of
everybody. Just like bacon - </i><br /><br /><i>Bacon? Why did it jumped
into bacon? This fever is killing me. But having some bacon would be
nice. Maybe a little meat is all I need to get better? I am so hungry
now. </i>Paul raises his hand to catch the attention of a flight
attendant, but she is distracted by the angry pleas of the impatient
passengers. <i>Where the hell is Jen? This is ridiculous. What is taking
her so long? How hard could it be? You talk to the flight people and
they either give you an answer or not, then you come back to your seat.
It is as easy as ABC! She must have been mingling around, talking about
you know what to you know whos… Typical Jen. Always missing the bigger
picture, missing the goal… Stupid, stupid, stupid…</i> <br /><br />He spots
Jen who returns with another couple. She introduces them to Paul, "Pablo
and Nico are from Spain. They are the pyrotechnic consultants for
Keane's concert in Venice on the fifth! That's in our itinerary too!"
Paul manages a weak smile and an even smaller 'hey' that sounded more
like a grunt. Jen asks her new friends to excuse her husband as he was
stricken with the cold right before they left for their honeymoon. <br /><br />"The
MEV type 2 strain that's been going around lately?" Pablo takes an
interest, "Ouch. Antibiotics are not going to work. I have some
Brazilian ginger pieces which will do wonder to that nose of yours. Let
me see if we still keep them in our carry-ons? By the way, since we are
here in Treviso, why don't you guys stay for a couple of days before
entering Venice? Keane will be having a private show in one of the
mansions here tomorrow and you can come with us if you like? I know a
great hotel you can stay as well."<br /><br />"Really? That's so generous of you guys!" Jen pips and looks to Paul for approval. "You know you love Keane as much as I do..."<br /><br />Paul says nothing but stares blankly at them. Jen catches the drift and declines the offer politely. <br /><br />"No worries." Pablo smiles, "But take the ginger, it's good remedy." With that, Pablo and Nico return back to their seats. <br /><br />Jen looks at Paul with her hand on her hip, "What is the meaning of this?"<br /><br />"I
should ask you instead." Paul retorts, "What is this? Where have you
been? I thought you have gone to speak with the flight attendants but
no! You are just chit-chatting..."<br /><br />"I have been talking to the air-stewardess and Pablo and Nico were doing the same thing." Jen protests.<br /><br />Paul
turns his voice into a whisper and hisses, "And you are taking their
offer to a party and a hotel stay? Do you know that Europe is in the
dumps now? They have no money and are desperate enough to do anything!
Do you want to get murdered in your sleep?"<br /><br />"What's the matter
with you? I was just making friends, isn't that what's traveling's all
about?" Jen lowers the tone of her voice, "I haven't had anyone to talk
to in our entire journey because you are too sick to even muster a
decent greeting to another human being and is it too much to ask if I
want someone to talk to, to chit-chat?"<br /><br />Paul realizes how
neglectful he has been towards his new bride, pauses momentarily and
reveals what is really bothering him, "Did you switch off my phone?"<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br /> "I have told you before. Don't. Fucking. Touch. My work phone." <br /><br />Jen feels her bile rising, however she grits her teeth to contain herself. <i>See
the bigger picture. Don't say things that you know you will regret. Do
not sink to his level. It's all over if you do. See the bigger picture.</i>
She snatches Paul's work phone, points it to his face and cries a tear,
"Don't forget where you are now, who you are with and what you are here
to do." Wiping the tear away, she throws back the phone to him and sits
back down. "Asshole." She looks away to wipe more tears from her
reddened cheeks. <br /><br />As if waking up from a dream, Paul sees that he
has gone too far. Men are hypocrites. Often they blame the women for
crying incessantly, but often ignore the fact that they were the ones
who went overboard in the first place. Overwhelmed by guilt, Paul works
hard to pacify Jen. <br /><br />"Don't touch me." Jen shakes him off. It t<span style="font-size: small;">akes</span> Paul a whole hour to get his wife to accept his apologies, approximately the same time that the plane <span style="font-size: small;">is</span> permitted to d<span style="font-size: small;">isem</span>bark her passengers. She relents when Paul gives in to staying in Treviso for the next two days.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-27527203627227429912012-11-16T18:01:00.000+08:002012-12-01T01:55:55.767+08:00The Honeymoon [Part1/8]: Romantic Destinations <span style="font-size: small;">Someone in a couple of rows behind coughs repeatedly and violently. <br /><br />Jen K<span style="font-size: small;">wok</span>
wakes up in her seat, her eyes flutters open softy in tears at a dream
that she could no longer remember why she is crying. But she knows that
it was a good dream and a positive vibe that better things are coming
her way. Why not? After all she is with the man of her dreams, on their
way to Venice, one of the most romantic destinations on the plane<span style="font-size: small;">t</span> for their honeymoon. <br /><br />In
darkness, the man of her dreams is sitting right beside her - Paul Quek
whom ironically is not having the most romantic time of his life. Paul
is wrapped in whatever blankets and sweaters they could find on the
plane<span style="font-size: small;">;</span> positions himself diagonally with his head
hyper-extended, possibly for better airway ventilation, his eyelids
swimming in an overactive REM sleep and complete the image of a bubonic
plague victim with large pieces of tissue paper plugging up his swollen
nostrils to stop the leak.<br /><br /><i>Poor baby....</i> She combs his
hair sympathetically. Her fingers trails down his arm and finds that he
is still clutching on to his work phone. Paul is a workaholic, <span style="font-size: small;">as </span>competition
has always been stiff in the banking industry. Jumping hoops for an
upcoming promotion, he sprung straight to work after their wedding and
had wanted to postpone their honeymoon.<br />
</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><br />"Honey?" She shook him
lightly as he turns and tosses uncomfortably in his seat, still holding
on to his work phone as if his life depends on it. She extracts the
phone from his numbing fingers and digs at her corners of <span style="font-size: small;">the</span> seat for her purse.<br /><br />That
presumably same someone who is a couple of rows behind them coughs
explosively again, this time inviting several grunts protesting in
unison. <br /><br /><i>Goodness, everybody is sick...</i> She tap<span style="font-size: small;">s</span>
her husband's work phone to see the time. It says ten pm which is about
five am in Italy time zone and they have 40 minutes until landing. <br /><br />The twenty missed calls from his boss is unnerving though. <span style="font-size: small;">For years</span> she has <span style="font-size: small;">decided </span>that this man deserves to <span style="font-size: small;">burn in hell</span>. No, seriously. She <span style="font-size: small;">met</span>
his boss once in a company dinner years ago, they were all in their
fancy pants drinking and smoking in the alley and she thought that hey,<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>that was a amicable and friendly boss who bother<span style="font-size: small;">ed to mingle with h<span style="font-size: small;">is staff</span></span>.
It turns out that this asshole boss of her love, is a slave driver who
plots at every waking hours to squeeze any last drops of productivity
from all of his employees. Invading their every single date nights,
precious Bunch hours and even on their wedding day - he called and
called, pulling away Paul from the guests! During the cake-cutting
ceremony, she was actually scanning the ballroom for signs of that human
waste and prepared to throw cake at him if found. <br /><br /><i>Not today.</i></span> <span style="font-size: small;"> She huffs and puffs at her rising rage.<i> Not when we are ten thousand kilometers away and we are still bringing you along? Eat dirt, fat face! </i>She squeezes the power button off and dumps the phone into her purse. She pulls out her own phone and immediately she <span style="font-size: small;">wasn't </span>angry <span style="font-size: small;">no </span>more.<br /><br />A
little calendar memo blinks at the right upper corner of her phone.
When pressed, it shows '10 days'. Ten days ago when she set this
notification alarm, she didn't thought that it will actually come to
this day. She is somewhat disappointed that it didn't happened in Venice
but what the heck, it is still exhilarating. She huffs and puffs now to
ease her pounding heart, and grabs on to Paul's left hand. <i>You can do this! You can do this!</i> Her fingers <span style="font-size: small;">fee<span style="font-size: small;">ls</span></span> her husband's wedding ring. <i>Let's do this. </i><br /><br />She
unbuckles her seat-belt, moves down the dark aisles of snoring
passengers and finds her way to the tiny toilet. Once inside, she locks
the door. She looks at the mirror to ready herself. Fishing out a box
the size of pimple cream package, she takes a moment to read the
instructions.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Glancing back at the mirror, she
smiles nervously at herself. She opens the box, puts the white stick on
the dry sink and pulls down her jeans and underwear. After taking
another moment to figure out how she is going to do this, she sits on
the toilet bowl with one hand clutching the white stick and has it ready
by her vagina. She waits. <br /><br />Sitting down to what seems like eons. Jen notices a shadow has replaced the light beneath the door. Someone is at the door.<i> Great. More pressure.This is what I need.</i> The door cranks a little. <i>What the fig is this person doing? </i><br /><br />The door pushes again.<br /><br />Caught
in an awkward position of trying to pee on a stick, she loses her
patience and yells, "Hey! Someone's in here! Red light indicates that
the doors are secured<span style="font-size: small;">, s<span style="font-size: small;">o w</span></span>ait for your damn turn!" <br /><br />With
this release of emotion and distraction, her pee comes trickling onto
the white stick. Wiping herself and putting back her pants, she waits
for the result. Eying the door gap at the floor, the dim light returns
to form an undisrupted horizon. <br /><br />The intercom comes up with the
pilot's deep voice announcing that the plane is currently experiencing
air turbulences and advises passengers to remain in their seats with
belts buckled. She sits on the toilet lid and hears a sudden outburst of
commotion outside the toilet. <br /><br />A lady voice warns loudly,
attempting to draw attention, "Sir, for the last time! Please return to
your seat as we are experiencing air <span style="font-size: small;">turbulences</span>!"<br /><br />The motion seems to <span style="font-size: small;">quell </span>until Jen hears the same lady shrieks a<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>distance away, "Sir! It is inappropriate to touch me like that! This is your final warning!"<br /><i><br />What is going on out there? Someone had a little too much to drink?</i><br /><br />Then a loud shrilly scream shot the pla<span style="font-size: small;">ne, ner<span style="font-size: small;">vous </span></span>feet and<span style="font-size: small;"> verbal noises </span>are heard jostl<span style="font-size: small;">ing</span> <span style="font-size: small;">towards </span>the scream. <br /><br />Jen
feels like that she ought to take a look outside but when she sees on
the phone that it has been five minutes since she peed, she holds up the
stick for a better look.<br /><br />Two precise blue lines. <br /><br />Two of the most beautiful shapes and colors that she ever witnessed. <br /><br />Jen Kwok is pregnant. <br /><br />It
is then the deep voice of the pilot declares that the plane will land
in the nearest Treviso airport because of a medical emergency.</span><br />
<div>
</div>
ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-46772454746565582992012-09-06T23:25:00.000+08:002012-11-29T01:15:54.705+08:00Keep on writing! <span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://raknax.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/1335"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="//multiply.com/mu/raknax/image/dZjP1HfpIBqc2ErkMbmQYQ/photos/1M/300x300/1335/20120528-154347.jpg?et=aMsU8SjW3lE4aSto0G3zXw&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br>Here's a picture of me and my baby boy on his 1 year old birthday party. He is 15 months old now and we affectionately call him Baby Boat. <br><br>Becoming a father has changed me greatly. I am more emotive and reflect on past events on a regular basis. <br><br>There are two things in my life I have never ever expect from living through this skin and life:<br><br>1. I'm a father of 2 before the age of thirty.... (yeah, Wifey is 3 months pregnant, again)<br><br>2. I can rap....<br><br><br></span><div align="center"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tSQ005FDEeQ" allowfullscreen="" width="853" frameborder="0" height="480"></iframe><br><br><div align="left">Hell if someone had traveled through time and told my 5-years-ago-me that, I would have never believed it!<br><br>Then again, I can't believe that they are folding Multiply. It's sad. My daddy emotional are acting up again. It's getting hard to let go of the beautiful stuff. I will miss the stories here and most of all, you guys... <br><br>Let's drop by here more frequently before December. I will do some backup-ing and write you guys one more tale for the road. Actually I have been plotting to rewrite a horror story for Multiply since the dawn of 2012, but I have been sitting on my fat ass then doing so. <br><br>Now, I have a deadline. Great, I eat pressure for breakfast ya noe'?<br></div><br> <br><br> </div> <div></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-36497062707270222302012-07-28T00:22:00.000+08:002012-12-01T01:45:41.889+08:00Bat taste in my mouth, or Top 10 reasons why TDKR is shit. (Spoiler alert ahead)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" h6="" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">The only thing that was good about Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight Rises, in short TDKR, that it analyzed why its predecessor Dark Knight was the undisputed champion of Batman long list of franchise movies. Hell, this insight also showcase all of the flaws of every superhero gems that fail across the board in their theatric forms. <br /> <br /> Sure, TDKR had a bigger war, stronger enemy, sexier female lead and a menacing batplane, but like any movies without the element of story and acting, had me writing a long and teary farewell note to the 3 freaking hours I had wasted sitting in the dark with yawning strangers. The only person who could act was Michael Caine as Alfred Pennyworth. Anything else that barely resembled any signs of acting was that nuclear bomb in the truck. Christian Bale as usual was as stoic as Tay Ping Hui. Anne Hathaway grinning dumbly from scene to scene. Morgan Freeman was acting Morgan Freeman acting as Morgan Freeman. Joseph Gordon-Levitt was always staring faraway dreamily as if he was shooting some tampon commercial and was perpetually enjoying an unbridled bliss from his crotch. <br /> <br /> F**k this shit. <br /> <br /><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" h6="" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /> Shit number 1: The story was so unevenly paced, predictable and stupid that ruined my schoolboy infatuation with Nolan 10 minutes into the movie. Remember how beautifully scripted Dark Knight was? It's first 8 minutes show told the characters Joker and Batman through the eyes of criminals and cops without them even showing up the screen. It was the best opening ever. Simple, yet melodrama and well-paced.<br /> <br /> Shit number 2: Nolan could use Elmo dolls from Toy'r'us as actors and they will make much more sense. The epic failure of TDKR has sealed Heath Ledger's Joker as the crowned reason why Dark Knight was legend-wait for it-ary!<br /> <br /> Shit number 3: What's up with the Batplane? IT'S THAT MOTHERFATHER PLANE FROM AVATAR!<br /> <br /> Shit number 4: Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Christian Bale.<br /> <br /> Shit number 5: There is no logic or sense in Bane's villainous plot! Why would you come up with an elaborated plan of overthrowing a city with a nuclear bomb which will detonate in... wait for it 5 long month' time, and trapped thousands of policemen underground so that they could break free to fight back and oh so enough time for Batman to recover from a serious back injury in a supposedly 'Hell Prison' furnished with doctor, physiotherapist, ropes and healthy prisoners to cheer him on? An afternoon with Barney the dinosaur makes better sense!<br /> <br /> Shit number 6: Why would Bane wear a mask that could break with a single blow on his face resulting in fatality? Why would you wear your Achilles heel on your face in a brawl? <br /> <br /> Shit number 7: Epic showdown is just a school boys' brawl with really loud music.<br /> <br /> Shit number 8: Here is TDKR formula: T-ta-ta someone sob story, music music, hundreds of cops marching in the street, someone sob story, Avatar plane flying here and there, music and really loud music, hundreds of cops marching in the sewer, music and more recycled music from Dark Knight, hundreds of cops trapped underground, someone punched something, more sob story and hundreds of cops marching in the streets. There you go. 3 hours of my life wasted.<br /> <br /> Shit number 9: Instead of the stylish car chase in Dark Knight (remember the awesome scene with Joker shooting a bazooka and the freaking 16-tonnes truck flipped upright 90 degree and slammed down in Dark Knight? Here Nolan adopted B grade action movie director's wet dream of having Batplane flying aimlessly in the skies with tracking missiles hot on its tail. See Iron Man, Die Hard 4, Transformer and Independent Day, BITCH! <br /> <br /> Shit number 10: Shitty ending. Batman flew a craft of a bomb-like object and sacrificed himself by blowing up in the sea. THAT'S CAPTAIN AMERICA'S ENDING! KNN.<br /><br /> Now excuse me while I go rewatch Dark Knight to get the god-awful taste of TDKR out of my mouth.<br /> </span></span> </span></span><br />
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ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-25371092823869768762012-04-04T16:27:00.000+08:002012-11-29T01:15:54.647+08:00Love the way you lie cover by Nursing Jamz<center><a href='http://raknax.multiply.com/video/item/229/Love-the-way-you-lie-cover-by-Nursing-Jamz'><img src=http://multiply.com/mu/raknax/image/2/photos/upload/600x600/T3v3ZwooCtMAAHfYhg85/cover.jpg?et=f4vzFBuID%2Cn%2BJi3Nj8IOqw&nmid=0 border='0' width='100%'></a></center><br><br><br>Nurses performing Eminem and Rihanna's Love the way you lie. I'm rapping.ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-65614372913818320052012-04-04T15:30:00.000+08:002012-04-04T15:30:52.322+08:00Us covering Love the way you lie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7EXJZudNTDE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-20092199792175868192012-02-20T18:36:00.000+08:002012-02-20T18:36:26.647+08:00Fallot's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="hasCaption">I have a rare heart condition called Tetralogy of Fallot since birth and was considered by doctors to be a miracle baby to survive past infancy. I always enjoyed memes, and thought I'll make this meme to show you my journey so far.</span><br />
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I tried to avoid her. I think it was when she told me this - <br><br>Me: "I have been busy with work lately. This is what is happening, I got a very good appraisal at work just this week."<br>Mother: "Really? Is there money in it?"<br>Me: "What? No, I guess, a few hundred in the bonus. It's not much."<br>Mother: "..."<br>Mother: "Do you know how much does your younger brother earn nowadays? He's earning big bucks."<br>Me: "Oh."<br>Mother: "Don't you want to change your job?"<br>Me: "I like my job."<br>Mother: "Your brother is really earning astronomically."<br>Me: "I get it."<br>Mother: "Alright, alright."<br>Me: "..."<br>Mother: "Say, your brother has a bunch of clothes he don't wear as much now. Do you want them?"<br><br>Sure, I want them to build a parameter around the <span id="sug4">refrigerator</span> box I will be living in with my meagre wage and they will be also handy to collect rainwater for me to drink.<br></span><br> <div></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-74317893507528211752011-12-24T01:49:00.000+08:002012-11-29T01:15:54.714+08:00Set fire to the rain <br><span class="insertedphoto"><img class="alignright" src="http://www.shelfabuse.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/Batman-Dark_knight_strikes_back-200x300.jpg" border="0"></span><br><span id="spckbody"><br>In Frank Miller's grisly version of Batman (graphic novel) - 'The Dark Knight Returns', when the caped crusader had retired; in his fifties, hang up his cowl and sealed away his cave, his soul would not let him. It drew him and cajoled him. <br><br>Particularly in page 25: <br><br>"You are puny. You are small. You are nothing a hollow shell, a rusty trap that cannot hold me. You cannot stop me - not with wine or vows or the weight of age..."<br><br>I think a similar voice is calling out to me. No, no to dress up like a rodent and <span id="sug1">plummeted</span> criminals night after night with my bare <span id="sug2">knuckles</span>. No.<br><br>Something grisly I have helped put away, is returning to - <br><br>I don't know what it wants. For months I grew increasingly restless. I paced around like a old bear in a tiny cage. I loathed the mundane stuff and people and conversations. Food devoured without passion or satisfaction. Days went without really meaning anything. I stared ahead hoping that if I try hard enough, I could see.<br><br>I tried to trace back to its origins. <br><br>I think it started when I thought better to improve my game. Time to nut up and get some serious writing skills, clean up your grammar, plan structure with plot ends, twists and motivations. Edit, edit and edit. Write journals, write to newspaper, write to a bigger audience. Write well. Write clean. Write shit that people read.<br><br>And that's when it started to head south. <br><br>I wrote hard for official letters and journals. My grammar improved and there were files of characters and plots and motives to fill my cupboards. I joined a writing club of budding writers. <br><br>I haven't been able to write the past year. I can't write shit now. Paralysed by anxiety of writing for people, I forget to write for myself. My writings have accustomed to a solid structure that it bored the crap out of me. When I read back my former posts here, even though the grammar and structure had sucked, I wrote lyrically and out of the box. It was thrilling.<br><br>If what I write now is better, then I don't want be better. I don't want to be a stick in the mud and buried deep alongside with <span id="sug3">literary</span> greats. I want to be roaring alive.<br><br><br><br></span> <div></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-38272988434229964632011-11-17T11:25:00.002+08:002011-11-17T11:25:56.646+08:00Comic shot of L4D2 - Tank was late<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwx_Vp1foQiZYthyvWRMRmUuCOj8QfT38xm70QsGLBxS_9mL5j6Yz4eDUKpqfihJNtPAZXEk04sWnc7ziWviG0uCCiW8E0f5R5CNwIT-479sKHlJRYHHY_-Hue1Gqp-WogEAL_tU7yY5y8/s1600/tank+was+late+1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwx_Vp1foQiZYthyvWRMRmUuCOj8QfT38xm70QsGLBxS_9mL5j6Yz4eDUKpqfihJNtPAZXEk04sWnc7ziWviG0uCCiW8E0f5R5CNwIT-479sKHlJRYHHY_-Hue1Gqp-WogEAL_tU7yY5y8/s400/tank+was+late+1.PNG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0ywXNAS5mtsiDbTySVEM4LPsbBKTwGlxnjGb9KFZ1lPBIsteMI9d5YRx6-GSk0f-9w70zSD8CrY-hqIPxSQtCU5HclMklscPAZzJcSxXvg3zE_TftQjAfAl6a6THjKeaxGOufNRgMYqE/s1600/tank+was+late+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0ywXNAS5mtsiDbTySVEM4LPsbBKTwGlxnjGb9KFZ1lPBIsteMI9d5YRx6-GSk0f-9w70zSD8CrY-hqIPxSQtCU5HclMklscPAZzJcSxXvg3zE_TftQjAfAl6a6THjKeaxGOufNRgMYqE/s400/tank+was+late+3.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-49513262930029026382011-08-18T23:34:00.002+08:002011-08-18T23:34:30.220+08:00Drawing of Mr Tan Kin Lian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA3lmvsEjgsMpDjmRKIJgQ7hpgn-j00Nnsjz9MTbUe7iKtOG3CzQ_GF-77T6VhPkcGuq-J1AetYVwklbyutaRUKg-LjUanzi5_HAOCKPnAV-mCVTVL2GghlUcTemaBISC59pnR2EAVIuB/s1600/kinlian.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA3lmvsEjgsMpDjmRKIJgQ7hpgn-j00Nnsjz9MTbUe7iKtOG3CzQ_GF-77T6VhPkcGuq-J1AetYVwklbyutaRUKg-LjUanzi5_HAOCKPnAV-mCVTVL2GghlUcTemaBISC59pnR2EAVIuB/s320/kinlian.PNG" width="264" /></a></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-18903855559497085112011-08-18T23:20:00.000+08:002011-08-18T23:20:11.031+08:00Drawing of Mr Tan Jee Say<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">The real identity of Danny the Democracy Bear</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUuiwNzv2ryW7pN0v8M0MBf_cdO1s0mdhyphenhyphen3KGnCNESdhtup7cc8weULBcwmkOk-LJQwd0GmjBxee1GD5ZFb7ZXcUD77J_s1owBIsaYZhDwQ5vuBRQ10Cwva8zFJ1iY1QyR1AaM4n-vEM5/s1600/jeesay.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUuiwNzv2ryW7pN0v8M0MBf_cdO1s0mdhyphenhyphen3KGnCNESdhtup7cc8weULBcwmkOk-LJQwd0GmjBxee1GD5ZFb7ZXcUD77J_s1owBIsaYZhDwQ5vuBRQ10Cwva8zFJ1iY1QyR1AaM4n-vEM5/s320/jeesay.PNG" width="287" /></a></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-43666268525540212672011-08-18T22:28:00.000+08:002011-08-18T22:28:23.438+08:00Drawing Dr Tan Cheng Bock<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQzGxjJbfONQPf4h01Atc8ZRoR8UNsKcph-c-0fu0lXQGGP-EoXuboHUDtESj6Cn50mGLj-kJhNDad_ocmpEKn9vq9MGprhL7aWraUvRh4n137m-WALGheje0FGL8hw4pWJ1k04gyHrjw/s1600/chengbock.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQzGxjJbfONQPf4h01Atc8ZRoR8UNsKcph-c-0fu0lXQGGP-EoXuboHUDtESj6Cn50mGLj-kJhNDad_ocmpEKn9vq9MGprhL7aWraUvRh4n137m-WALGheje0FGL8hw4pWJ1k04gyHrjw/s320/chengbock.PNG" width="218" /></a></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-3066124200829218682011-08-09T15:11:00.001+08:002011-08-14T00:00:27.621+08:00Drawing Lady Gaga for Modpak<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDeovZEyW_xyp_HNsnaewT8gjmzJZ0ygu864Ffu153xXZlVeXBTwTg7tzLnxI1bmIoMh2vBCFwi37tUArv7ImHq-rqVv9Eu6KI5dD2Cek-2B5G6DZ8t-MWeWSQo4rblphGTtDAGiCJ8RTP/s1600/LGGcoloredwithspeech.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDeovZEyW_xyp_HNsnaewT8gjmzJZ0ygu864Ffu153xXZlVeXBTwTg7tzLnxI1bmIoMh2vBCFwi37tUArv7ImHq-rqVv9Eu6KI5dD2Cek-2B5G6DZ8t-MWeWSQo4rblphGTtDAGiCJ8RTP/s400/LGGcoloredwithspeech.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-48902898308820033902011-07-27T11:18:00.001+08:002011-07-27T11:47:50.808+08:00The human ouroborosI often have to remind myself to dismiss estranged ties and unreciprocated relations; like severed appendage and gangrenous limb. <br />
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Then I realise -<br />
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I was that severed limb. From the very beginning.ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-51825281901718289822011-07-16T12:27:00.000+08:002011-07-16T12:27:52.186+08:001st attempt at caricature<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsIlXbwP7LuHnS8XdGMtx8My46RO8r8OJ5azYMV8rdYkWy5m0S-kT_MsTZZKYPcrwTV0DorpOQPmyrTSmO-o-Yw83Uud5VtFct2rYxvsKRyc3AYycKm4VEhxnhHizBGSyWxg2ASDR3zXLZ/s1600/caricature.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsIlXbwP7LuHnS8XdGMtx8My46RO8r8OJ5azYMV8rdYkWy5m0S-kT_MsTZZKYPcrwTV0DorpOQPmyrTSmO-o-Yw83Uud5VtFct2rYxvsKRyc3AYycKm4VEhxnhHizBGSyWxg2ASDR3zXLZ/s400/caricature.PNG" width="286" /></a></div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-64407742819573459012011-07-13T03:01:00.001+08:002011-07-13T11:06:48.442+08:00Designing a banner for Nursing Pride's contest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">四代同堂</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Baby Boat meets the ancestors of Ang family</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>We bumped into my grandmother's youngest sister, which I call her as my "小老姨". I wondered what should Baby Boat call her nex time when he is able to speak - "老小老姨"?</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">When we were there, I had the chance to flip through old photo albums and looked at pictures of us growing up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">As I flipped through the photos, I've made a<strong><span style="font-size: large;"> horrific discovery about our childhood!</span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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Zooming in, David and I were wearing couple-like clothes. Matching white singlets with stripped shorts. That was a coincidence, right?<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">AND <strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE WORST</span></strong><br />
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</div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-42335461714030406532011-07-10T14:55:00.001+08:002011-07-10T20:35:22.850+08:00Drawing assistant nurse Sara from scratchThis is not a tutorial on how to draw, but a presentation on a character from scratch. AN Sara first appeared in my comic strip for TTSH nursing newsletter 'Nursing Pride' (Jan 2011 issue).<br />
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</div>ahkiathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05555960564875693659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5723733141508204490.post-75459337961609845302011-07-06T01:40:00.002+08:002011-07-06T10:34:52.863+08:00Great expectations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBAqPbyRTzHGM7-VZEfOYrybMSkTveWmqIhDHQUgusFrM7Xoe3_v45R8UiC3FngP9yns4XgB1yiYdXTlcqTC7Cw55krloDPFdD5nqlec-lCHlUO-i3q1Ht8luKlFfkg5wVdAlgEBvRp_T/s1600/6+expressions+of+baby+boat+40.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBAqPbyRTzHGM7-VZEfOYrybMSkTveWmqIhDHQUgusFrM7Xoe3_v45R8UiC3FngP9yns4XgB1yiYdXTlcqTC7Cw55krloDPFdD5nqlec-lCHlUO-i3q1Ht8luKlFfkg5wVdAlgEBvRp_T/s1600/6+expressions+of+baby+boat+40.PNG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gonna show his GF next time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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