The Placebo Effect (1)

 

The plan came from the idea that was called The Lotayo's Hold and it was a very simple idea.

There were a few suggestions to how the idea got its name from but nobody could afford to guess anymore these days, not when the dead were eating this planet alive. Nobody call each other by names anymore, they now called each other by the places they came from or the ones they were going. That notion alone suggested the depravity of the situation. Nobody knew how it began or when, but the day when CNN broadcast their reporters being eaten live in a refugee camp in Magadan, Russia on April's Fool day, it became the day that God played the biggest joke on mankind.

Lotayo's Hold was really named after a Mr. Lotayo who was a former businessman in Qingdao, Taiwan. He was rebranding classic melodies before April's Fool day 2011 and two weeks after that day, Lotayo was left to fend for himself in a junkyard behind his record company and ate rodents for survival.

The Lotayo's Hold was discovered when three reanimated found a way to get out from the recording studio where there were no more people to eat and surrounded Lotayo when he was having the first bowel movement since April's Fool's day. In the midst of knocking around one another, throwing his feces at the zombies and stumbling over garbage, Lotayo found himself then staring at the undead who were staring at the ground together. The three reanimated just stood there the whole afternoon staring at the same spot in front of them. When the day broke, Lotayo returned and realized that they mesmerizing by a looping tune that was playing from the defected disc-man.

The song was Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven.

Two weeks later, Lotayo found his way to the local CDC and presented his findings on how to subdue the undead. The government then granted him twenty million dollars, a group of paramilitary and two weeks to perfect The Lotayo's Hold.

The idea was a simple one. Despite the lack of blood circulation and respiration, zombies' brains were still firing electrical impulses. Some music was found to be able to influence it or in science's terms, enabling a disturbance to their electrical impulses not unlike an epilepsy. Lotayo's report found that music with zingy repetitions like a triple loop of one chorus to three verses then a bridge or an instrumental solo worked best. Most zombies were found to be affected by rapid percussion as well.

Zombie's genre was rock after all.

Eleven weeks later, Brian Molko was summoned to the American CDC and why Brian had asked why, he was shown three clips.

The first one showed a sealed room with twenty zombies and Stairway of Heaven was played. Four undead went over to the radio and stood trembling there while the rest ignored them.

The second one showed a sealed room with twenty zombies and Radiohead's Paranoid Android was played. Seven undead surrounded the radio while the rest went on their ways.

The third one showed a sealed room with twenty zombies and Placebo's Special K was played . All twenty of them surrounded the radio, some were swaying along and one had even tapped its feet to the rhythm.

The plan that came from an idea named after a Qingdao businessman was a simple one. Summon all the undead to an island with Placebo's music and nuke the island.

That's ridiculous. Molko said.

He was then shown another three clips.

The first clip showed a harbor broadcasting Placebo's Meds and dozen and dozen of zombies swam towards the harbor. The tally showed that seventy one undead attended that broadcast.

The second clip showed a hologram on top of the Eiffel Tower broadcasting Placebo's 2009 Nurburg, Germany's concert. The tally showed eleven thousand undead had scaled the tower.

The third clip showed a live tribute band playing Placebo's Every You And Every Me in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The tally showed two billion undead attended the concert.

This is ridiculous. Molko said.

The plan was a simple one. Placebo is to hold a concert two days later the shore of an island in the north, with their songs broadcast live another seven islands southeast, west and mid-west of the globe, a total of fifty thousand nuclear bombs would be detonated on them.

The plan was called The Placebo Effect.

 

Movie Review on Grown Ups (2010)

 

I wanted to title this entry "Grow up, Adam Sandler", but recoiled as it struck me that by not growing up was what make people love Adam Sandler.

We are trying to pick a movie for date night Wednesday. It's either Grown Ups or Going The Distance. Drew Barrymore versus Adam Sandler. Who can forget them in The Wedding Singer (1998)?

'So how?' I've asked my date, 'You gets to pick.'

'Kay.' Huiling replied, 'What is what?'

'One hand you have Barrymore which you seen and like her for her klutziness in Music and Lyrics (2007), 50 First Dates (2004) (again Sandler and Barrymore) and well, all her movies, she 's a sotong. This film is about two couples who met in a bar, liked what they seen and hooked up. The chick then gets to leave town and they opted for a long distance relationship. By which it is a good reflection on both theirs and the real couples' stuggle to love each other through phone sex, mails and text messages. It's a love story which can summarise and define true romance at the end of our date and allows us to go aww... on the way home.'

'On the other hand, Grown Ups is popularly funny, hopefully with David Spade and Chris Rock because you know that with Kevin James and Rob Schneider, it's all about drat physical comedy. Falling over stuff, bumping their heads, getting hit in the crotch, sleeping with grannies, stepping on shit, falling into shit, falling onto shit or getting wasted. But looking at the amount of stars in the show and the movie length of 100 minutes plus plus, they wil cram in as much face time that it can only come out as a show about friendship, family and Rob Schneider eating shit.'

'Well?' I asked.

'The funny one.' She gave.

The movie was just I anticipated. Almost.

Kevin James fell over everything. It was Spade that fell and ate shit, not Schneider, but Schneider gets to sleep with a granny. It is a film about lots of in-your-face forgetable physical comedy and an staggering screentime for Salma Hayek's boobies. She gets two stars for the movie for that.

Stars Rating:  

 

 

Happy Birthday to Me. Thanks For Asking.

by Ah Kiat on Thursday, August 19, 2010 at 9:24am

 'The Big Bang Theory' is about four genius geeks and celebrates social awkwardness and the ultimate nerdage. At twenty seven and held Masters and PHDs; they worshiped Star Trek and invented Klingon Boogle, they swore their weekends on Wii Bowling Nite, Halo Nite and War Of Warcraft Nite, they debated furiously on superheroes and supervillians and they had gotten rejections from every single ladies they met.

Their story speaks to me.

I'm twenty seven. Though I did nothing paramount like driving a Mars Rover 65 million miles away, discovering a planetary body and named it 'Planet Bollywood' or solved subatomic particle equations and string theory and dark matter. I'm still a geek in so many ways.

Top of the head I can fight you to the death on why Superman is wussy, deconstruction the science and magic of Marvel and DC and how The Matrix is the most important movie in Nineties. I'm a huge fan of Doremon in which I can prove it with my double library of all it's running series and long stories collections. The most expensive and useless stuff I bought was Vertigo tarot cards. (I don't even believe in tarot reading, yet the pack is so bloody cool to miss) I've squandered at least four of my best years in LAN gaming (and they were the best years). My secret dream house accessory is to build a bat signal at my balcony, my secret to-do-list is to learn hadoken and my secret identity when I'm drunk is 'I am the Batman!'

As meek is conventionally inheriting the world or in other words, the market is increasingly targeting nerds as a dynamic spender with results from Comic-Con, Superhero Films and gadgets, it is their social awkwardness that very much still appeal to me.

I'm squarish, loop sided, myopic and look like something you would sweep out at spring cleaning. It's so much worse in secondary school. Raging hormones and unmanageable curly hair is not a good mix. Girls became a large part of my life and the saddest part was they don't even bother to look at me. I remembered telling my first crush I like her and her first instinctive response to girlfriends was 'eew'. Things go pretty much downhill from there. Girls orbit around me so that they can know my better looking friends or they will tell me in the end that 'Oh, but I see you only as a brother'...

But like all lucky nerds, I have some fond memories of 'The Goddess', 'The Fling' and 'The Sun'. Then again, that's tale for another time perhaps.

The bone of this entry in reference to the future is not about girls (I'm married), or how much I could mind-wrestle you with comic book details and trivial, it's about embracing geek personality whole-heartedly. Because no matter how much you shake down a geek, lecture him about severity of reality and dress him up as a jock wannabe or even married him, you cannot take the geekiness out of him. The ultimate geekiness is about losing interest in reality, friendship and embrace solitude with a bitter but self-assuredness.

You can condemn me about my deprivation of the matter and I'm simply returning to my roots. This birthday onwards I resolve to stop pretending to be the person I am not, or want to go to places I don't belong, or submit to the lifestyles I should be having. Most importantly, I will not longer take a interest in what you like, in who breaks your heart, in what lame excuse when you blow me off or bother to conceal the fact that your taste in music, movies and books are so shitty that you might as well wear a toilet as a hat.

The Draft 1

'Ington.'

A boy, no more than ten looked up from his robot he was holding. He looked no different from the children in the hospital's playroom. Quiet and reserved. There were hardly playing in the small room of dollhouses, plastic trucks and jigsaws. They were the children of their malignant parents.

'Are you Ington Khiang?' A thin man in navy army uniform approached Ington at eye level. Ington couldn't stop noticing the Tree emblem on the serviceman's sleeve, even as Ington nodded, he wanted to reach out and touch the Tree.

'How old are you?' The serviceman asked. His voice was tender with kindness.

It's a Lantern Tree. Ington decided. His mother had always informed him about the need for Lantern trees in this world. According to her, lantern trees were different things to different people. But they were essentially the anchors of the world.

'Are you alright, boy?' The voice concerned.

Ington decided that his own Lantern tree would like a lot like the one on the sleeve of the serviceman. Not the part about "Kingdom First" which was bold in golden threads under the Tree, but the shape that embodied it. The Tree was shaped like a fish. A diving fish head-down, with flaming tails in every directions upwards.

'Do you know your mother is sick?' The serviceman asked, looking closer at Ington, hoping to jolt a response from the boy.

Lantern Trees are the anchors of the world. Their roots held the ocean floors together.

'Your mother, Ington.' The serviceman collected himself and gave, 'Your mother is very sick and will not hold out soon. Do you understand what I'm saying, Ington? Your mother is passing on soon.'

They looked at each other for a while.

The branches of the Lantern Trees held rainbows of dreams. The leaves rustled as the world breathe. Chest to chest, shoulders to shoulders.

'Ington?'

Ington closed his eyes and could no longer identify the questioner. He thought he heard his mother in the light of the canopies. He had asked his mother once, on why were the trees different things to everyone.

Because there are no such things as Lantern Trees. Ington in the eye of his mind, remembered his mother's grin as she said, 'At least, not yet.'

'Ington?'

Ington opened his eyes and stood up from his chair. He held his robot to his chest and asked, 'Where is Mummy?'

The Serviceman bought Ington into another room adjacent to the playroom. A different room from the usual rooms Ington's dying mother was in. This room was filled with equipments and people. The people were formal, tired and have stopped whispering to each other when Ington  entered the room.

Ington found his mother in the bed, eyes staring blankly into the ceiling. He had never seen a corpse before and it frightened him a bit. Mostly because the person on the bed did not look like his mother at all. Colors were drained off from her skin and she looked like an unfinished wax doll. Ington heard the formal people switching off the monitor which was giving a high pitched zinc noise.

'Ington, do you want to say something to her?' The Serviceman brought Ington nearer to the bed. The formal people around his mother appeared having problem closing her eyelids. Her eyelids kept flopping open to the ceiling.

'At least, not yet.' Ington remembered his mother telling him. He placed his robot on his mother and stared blankly on the floor until they bought him away from his mother.

 

raknax.multiply.com

'Is there room?' I asked, eyes darting from my feet back to his pebble sized rings on his knuckles then past the lobe of his left ear ring. I counted four topaz rings, one ivory ear ring and the multiple dews forming on the dust of my boots.

'Members only.' The bouncer snorted and waved me away.

''No. You don't. Are you new. No. You are not new. I..I know, I mean I knew you, Terry, James, no, You are fuck, I can't, I don't.' I heard myself breathe. Rapid and empty breaths. I clutched the book across my chest tightly, clawing them with my nails.

'Shit. You are him.' The bouncer recognised, 'Whatever happened to you? You look like shit.'

'Is there room?' I pushed again.

'I don't know.' The bouncer suddenly unsure of what to do, he swung his wall of torso around for assistance. 'Man, it's been too long. You know how it is. People left and they don't come back.'

I looked at him, stared at his aviator shades and saw my thin eyes webbed with redness, clots and desperation staring at him.

'I just take a seat. I will not be of trouble.' my lips quivered. 'Please.'

'The bouncer looked back at the back of the bar, lighted up, shook his head to himself and went off a bit to smoke in the drizzle.

I let myself in the dark cave of the bar, finding my way with memory of the place. I found a dry spot by a wall of glowing table and sat down.

'Did you come to find me?' A hostess in her apron fished out a 2B pencil from her hair and approached my table. I gripped the spine of my book tighter. 'No?' She puckered her moist lips, 'What a shame. What's your order, boy? Same old?'

I stared down the shit-eating tablecloth and said nothing.

'Let me surprise you then.' She suggested, then turned around, 'Oh. I forgot. You hate surprises. But then again, you hate everything.' She smiled.

'It's not true.' I gritted my teeth. But she didn't hear me.

I put my dog-eared book on my lap and stared at it for a long time. I waited for my heart to catch up.

And I waited for the skies to break. Be it night or day, just break so I can see. I can see the stars or the sun or some light to tell me that I can. I can what? I shut my eyes. My eyelashes scratching my my cheekbones.

So I can write.

The book fell off my lap and onto the black floor. Flipping away 400 pages of whiteness. Nothing was written.

The hostess with a name that I could not remember fetched the book for me and laid a beer across my table. 'There you go.'

'I love you.' I glanced at her timidly.

'No.' She stood with the hip angled and a hand on it. 'You don't.'

'I looked back down and drown my beer.

'I hate you.' I said.

'I can live with it.' She walked off. 'Let me get you some more.'

'I can live with it.' I repeated and opened my book. I felt better. I clicked on my pen and stabbed the page with it's tip.

I'm waiting for my friends, two of them.  I hope they show up soon.

 

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These

Was supposed to wake up to work on my assignment @ 7am. Rushing for dateline. I had set three alarms for this and wished heavily that my body will realised that it is important to wake up that early.

You see, my body knows how to count time. My body will NEVER gets up early unless it's for work. No matter how I psyche myself to trick my body into thinking there's work in the morning, my body never buys it. Ten alarm clocks won't do either. That's my body telling me to bugger off.

I can't finish that assignment, I can't. I thought I could use my 2 off days to crash through the 2,000 word essay. I can't.

Because I discover no matter how I adore writing and train myself to write, I could never write more than 300 words a day. I don't know why. It's as if there is a gantry in my head and it shuts off after the 300 word mark. That's my mind telling me to bugger off.

It's not that when you are older, you don't get these limitations, you just realise that they are there all the while. With age, you simply concede because you have see enough not to fight with your body.

There is another limitation to what I can do.

I can never stop that dream. It happens around half a year and it really comes around. It's sweet and frightening as well. I would wake up, blank-eyed the morning sun for a while, the birds are always singing somewhere. I always wake up in a beautiful day and never a rainy one. A rainy one will give you more reasons to roll back to sleep, but no. I have to skip that beautiful day, skip those alarm clocks, skip that 300 word mark of assignment, close my eyes and try to fight back to continue that dream. That's no such thing as jumping back into dreams. That's my subconscious telling me to bugger off.

I cannot tell you what these dreams are made off. I'm socially handicapped. It tells me to bugger off and don't even think about blabbering here. I can't.  I can only tell it to Bryan when it comes every half a year.

I will tell Bryan over supper that I had that dream, again. And we wait for that moment to pass. No, it's not trying to tell me something, even if it does, I can't and won't do anything about it.

My destiny won't allow me to. It will tell me to bugger off.

 

L4D2: Left 4 Dead 2 - The Passing - Official promo

This is the official promo video from VALVe.
(c) VALVe.
vuduProductions had no part in the creation of this video.

left 4 dead 2 Intro

Left4Dead Intro Clip

Left 4 Dead Intro Movie

L4D2 - The Passing (Tech Review)

* This entry does not cater to general public, by which I meant folks who don't know what L4D2 is. If you are still not sure where you stand, just ask yourself this - do I know how to change my nickname in the game? Of course this is not to deter laymen to read this entry entirely, just a kind reminder that the lingo might be unfamiliar and weird.

* For fans, spoliers ahead.

We have waited 4 months for The Passing to come out. Remember the days where rumors fly on whether it could be 8 persons co-op (in our dreams!) or can Midnight Riders be NPC or even playable characters, since there are 4 of them and they wield guitars?

Truth is finally out. L4D2 four leads, Nick, Ellis, Coach and Rochelle after escaping the mall at Dead Center in their trusty Jimmy Gibbs Jr stock car, their journey to the amusement park came to a halt in portside nighttown where they will meet Francis, Zoey and Louis, characters from L4D. Bill has sacrificed himself to allow Francis and gang to ascend a link bridge where they are trying to patch up an injured Louis.

Poor Bill. I'm pretty upset actually. We all are. I have never had a playable character kill off in a game before. Sure NPC die all the time, but knowing that someone you choose to stick with for months will not be around anymore, instead rotting away with the thousands of zombie you slaughtered, is unnerving. Despite the alarms screaming for us to fill the generators with 16 cans of gasoline and zombies rushing from all directions, the 4 of us gathered around Bill to have a last look before David (my bro) snatched away Bill's M16.

In the short 2 hour span, David and I completed the campaign twice - Normal and Advanced mode. We managed to see all of the Easter eggs and improvements of this DLC. We saw the bride witch and zombified waiters (which David thought it was a riot). Killing the bride witch, we thought of looking for the groom next, but it was massively messy.

Golf club was awesome. Swift, light and inflicts mass damages. It's like using Katana or Machete, with a metallic click sound. I wonder if the meele is a tribute to Tiger Woods' wife?

M60, or known to Counterstrike as Para is disappointing. With around 150 rounds, it will be barely emptied after a tussle with a Tank. Though I heard it will be best powered with incendiary ammo.

Suitcases of hand guns, crates of pills and Molotovs though a riot of laughs became meaningless after a while. Complete with items from Fallen Survivors, there is an overwhelming supply of items in the game.

The best part of the campaign was that of the three maps and one finale, it incorporated the essence of L4D2.

- X2 Tank Rush from Swamp Fever's Plantation House
- Dash gameplay from Parish's Bridge
- Storm from Hardrain
- Scavenger Hunt of gasoline from Dead Center's Atrium

Gameplay was disrupted by lags on several occasions and hopefully would be resolved soon.

Oh ya, I saw Midnight Rider's tour bus sped right through from the fence by the giant drain. Woot!

Overall I would give four stars out of five and hope to get more people to complete this campaign in Advanced mode. Any takers?

L4D2 - The Passing (For General Public)

* This entry is targeted for general public.


I have never been much of a fanboy in my life. A geek maybe, but only a closet one. I have never queue for nights for launch of iphones, Halo or Star Wars movies. I am the technological barbarian and a very lazy nerd.

But the past twenty four hours, I have partaken in a fanatic nerd-rage that is both exciting and embarrassing for folks my age.

Upon knowing the launch of the much anticipated 'The Passing' campaign for Left4Dead2, we camped out Sembawang Chambers LAN shop just to play the game.

24 hours post the update of The Passing around the globe, by now there must be gazillion reviews and blogs on the game. The reason I still want to squeeze in my two cents' worth is to remind myself in the future that I have never and will never be a Mr. Stepford. Despite marriage and work, I still have time for myself to engage in otherwise misunderstood frathood.

L4D2 is a first person shooter, cooperative game that can be played with both LAN and Internet domains. It is the sequel to Left4Dead which four survivors in a post-apocalyptic world have to fend themselves from zombies and special infected. It is a very violent game that depicts decapitations, disembowelment and genocide using chainsaws, M16, frying pans and sardonic dialogues. Blood fly and innards splashing all over the place that will shock parents into coma just like what Contra did in the Eighties.

Why don't I join regular people my age over beer in soccer pubs, or mahjong and other mature vices? I simply don't. I like to set people on fire over red bulls and pocky chocolate sticks and melee an endless surge of zombies while updating my Facebook. I like to curse, swear in joy, spin and throw my mouse in rage and laugh rabidly with my friends and brothers in front of glowing computer screens and seas of pubescent adolescents.

You just have to accept that the entire generation of Counterstrike gamers has now grown up and still decide to stick to their guns. The quick and easy access of modern Internet and media violence desensitization are just pushing the lot of us in numbers.

I am thrilled that The Passing was not disappointing and exceeded our expectations, which made the long wait worthwhile. I am looking forward to shorten the launch-and-play time of the next DLC (downloadable content) campaign of L4D that will explore the sacrifice of the playable character Bill and preparing for Blizzard's Diablo 3. Yes, I will be taking a week of sabbatical absence from work and housework for that.

How To Stop Gripping Your Callbell and Start Holding Your Spoon Correctly

I'm on a weekly course, mostly on thursdays and will last till Oct.

It's a neurorehabilitation course.

At these courses, I get to meet folks from TTSH rehab side, the Ang Mo Kio Hospital. Nurses, doctors, physios, occupationals, case coordinators, social workers, STs and psychiatrists alike. All offering a rehab perceptive.

It's a different one, for starter - they like to call us the 'Main Side'.

'How is it like at the main side?'
'Do you encounter such things in main side?'
'Nurses from main side, what do you think?'

And we all work for the same bosses.

The reason that I write this note is that through these courses of endless role-playing, discussions and simulations, I've realized that TTSH rehab is a very good place to work in, especially as a nurse.

For starter - I have never seen any follow up speech after self introduction by any presenters is to thank the nurses rabidly. It also appears that thanking nurses is mandatory for every of their closing statements.

I've almost forget how nice it is for nursing to be appreciated and acknowledged by fellow colleagues.

Nurses at Rehab have a major role to play in patient's rehabilitation journey. Rehab nursing is team focused where nursing input is tremendously vital. With the mindset that patients' probable final destination after Rehab will be their homes, Rehab team has stop cuddling their patients and push them to fend for themselves so that they can survive themselves when they are discharged. Nurses urge and push patients to feed themselves, shower themselves, use their walking frames appropriately and be responsible for their own well being because a world post stroke or spinal injury is a terrible world to be in and the Rehab team has to whip them into shape.

Interacting with Rehab nurses, they shown a very vibrant enthusiasm and optimism towards their work culture and their colleagues. The Rehab team; therapists and nurses alike KNOW all of their patients! Just give them a bed number and they start to have their mini case conference right during the course presentation, leaving the folks from the 'Main Side' bewildered.

Which they will always be kind to ask, 'How about the Main Side then?'

Two weeks into the course, I've learn to stop explaining to my patients that Rehab is a place for exercises. That's that. I now know how to point at their call bells and reply, 'We are here to give you that, but in Rehab it's their turn to wean you off from that.'

The Imaginarium of A Singaporean Death

Johnny Depp had said that line 'Nothing is permanent, not even death' in The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

This is often true.

This evening, I returned back to my Bedok house with HL, and was surprised that I am still receiving mails at that address. I was even surprised when that mail came from Great Eastern Co. They've update me about my Dependants' Protection Scheme.

Liang: 'Your CPF has insured you and everybody with this scheme. $46,000. The final payout you'll ever need. Your final expense.'

Kiat: '?'

Liang: 'Your family can only claim this 46k when you are dead. It's your CPF money, to ensure you have enough money for your funeral.'

HL: 'That much of money?'

Liang: 'Haven't you watch the 9pm show?'

Kiat: 'Yaya. Fancy that, a Taoist wake will cost over 10k while a 3 day Buddhist wake complete with chanting monks will set you back 5-6k!'

Liang: 'That's not all. What about the remains? Chinese are not allowed for burial. All have to burn. The casket, the service all need lots of money.'

Kiat: 'Remember that I told you about the story where the guy is too fat to have a normal coffin, they need to custom make for him and for that you can't cremate. The pyre is standard size. Then you have to purchase a plot for burial.'

Liang: 'That's rental. From the government! Few years down the road they will find you and dig you up.'

There.

Nothing is permanent, not even death.

Dark Carnival

I want to ride in a bumper car.

A flashy beetle that’s red and blue and green and gold and bubblegum pink all over.

Colors that belch, disgust, spit and sprint at once.

I want to be the fucking crash dummy.

And walk away from death.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Rant

More kids poured in. One more hour. The band probably will be late anyway. I was so bored. Standing bored. Rock gig is a funny thing. You pay hundreds of dollars, you have to queue hours, fight your way to the front and stand throughout the whole show. It’s pure sadism compared to going the Indoor Stadium.

Then a good old-fashioned conversation opened up. Not before me, but behind me.

Him: ‘Hi, you’re here alone?’ (Nice. This is gonna be interesting.)

Her: ‘Ya, you too?’

Him: ‘Yaya, My friends are not into Placebo.’ (So are my friends.)

Her: ‘Mine too. I always have to come alone for these gigs.’ (Alone? Awesome!)

Him: ‘Ah. So what else did you went?’

Her: ‘Paramore? (And some more shitty bands I cannot remember.)

Him: ‘I was there at Paramore’s too. It was awesome! So was Lifehouse!’ (Shitheads. Gay. Shitheads.)

Her: ‘Yaya, The sounds were amazing! I heard Stereophonics would be here. I can’t wait to go!’ (Dakota… Think that’s the only song I cared.)

Him: ‘Ah. I’m not into them…’

Her: ‘How about AC/DC? Or Led Zeppelin?’

Him: ‘Heard about them, but never really download their songs before.’ (Fraggot maggot.)

Her: ‘You should try Stairway to Heaven.’ (Or Immigrant Song, Black Dog, When The Levee Breaks…)

Him: ‘…’ (You and your Lifehouse cha-cha. Buried your head a hole and hide. A chick’s musical taste is better than yours.)

Her: ‘…’

Him’…’

Him: ‘So what songs do you think they’ll play tonight?’ (Nice rebound though.)

Her: ‘Hopefully all of their new album’s.’ (They should play all their old songs, cause I didn’t catch the new album.)

Him: ‘I hope they play Bright Lights.’ (Bright Lights?)

Her: ‘Yaya! I adore Bright Lights! I listen to it every night!’ (Must check out Bright Lights.)

Him: ‘I hope Battle For The Sun will be on too.’ (This conversation is getting annoying.)

Her: ‘I want them to play Infrared Red, you like their old songs?’ (This conversation is not getting annoying anymore. Discuss more on their older songs, cause they are the only ones I know.)

Him: ‘Actually I have only listened to their Battle For The Sun album.’ (GET OUTTA HERE!)

Her: ‘I like their ‘Meds’ album. It is the greatest.’ (I worship her. I really do.)

Him: ‘Do you like Every You And Every Me?’ (I am surprised you know that.)

Her: ‘Nope.’

Me and him went totally silent. This is bad. Who is she? What is she doing here not knowing what is that song? This is so wrong.

That could only be one reason.

Him: ‘This is odd but how old are you?’

Her: ‘I’m sixteen.’ (BURN! FLASH ALERT! JAILBAIT! JAILBAIT!) ‘And you?’

Him: ‘I’m twenty one…’

I pretended to look for friends I don’t have and turned around.

Gawd. She looked like nineteen and he looked like twelve.

Speak about plastic reality.