The Frozen Throne

Why Do I Even Bother...

Sun, 25 May 2008 05:01:09 GMT

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." - Clark Gable (Gone with the Wind, 1939)

OK, my time here is short, so I'll make it brief.

I've kinda neglected this blog for about... I don't know... an ETERNITY, so to speak. Frankly, I don't know how to put it nicely, since I've had so much free time during these past few months I don't even have the foggiest idea of whatever I should do with it. I've been hooked up (read OBSESSED) with updating my deviantART profile that I'd almost forgotten about both my Friendster and YouTube accounts. Minor stuff like work (officially retired since May 2008), scholarship applications, gaming, and other miscellany got in the way, but are mostly harmless.

I've found out several things:

I've got quite acceptable grades in SPM (9As out of 11 subjects, 6A1s, A1 in O-levels). Yay me!
Some people require a bit of a push before they're ready to fly. (In numerous occassions, I might add.)
I never want to clean up another kid who'd shitted his pants and made himself a mockery in front of his classmates (as demonstrated on one fatelful Saturday at work). YUCK!!!
Your chances at getting into college are better than some other people even though you suck worse than them academically.
DragonForce RULES!!!!!!
God apparently likes to mess around with people's lives ocassionally. (No offence, My Good Lord. Amen.)
College life can actually be a lot beter/worse than it seems (depending on who you see/do it).
Some people still owe me money! ARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I think I'd better stop here. I've got only a couple more hours left before I've to get back to college (it's not really that far, a pleasant 40-minute drive, give or take). Better start packing then...

Confusedly Demented,

FROSTMOURNE

More Complaints to God...

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 15:07:12 GMT

"Know ye not that the unrighteous shall inherit the kingdom of God?..." - The Unrighteous Bible of 1653

Dear God...

Why I'm writing this at this moment I have not absolutely the faintest idea whatsover. Currently, behind me, a bunch of people are sitting behind me playing poker (or whatever forsaken card game they call it) while a few other are enjoying a Mr. Bean movie under air-conditioning after a hearty barbecued feast. Well me, I don't know... Maybe all this is some sort of quiet before the storm - tommorrow I'll be taking the annual pilgrimage from North to South along with my next of kin. After last year's haphazard vacation trip, I'd resign any invitation to make that journey. Only You know why in Your name You'd force me to sally forth unto that route once more. It's like going from one seperate dimension to another one, the latter being a much satrical and wayward parody of the former.

Things have been - how shall I put it? - eventful, to say the least. Apart from the unexpectedly surprising more-than-my-usual-I-can-handle-it-limit handful of social events happening in my typically uneventful life (including two seperate dinners and a miscellany of other stuff happening), everything is as normal as it should be. As the card game behind me finally draws to a close, and the players prepare to take their leave, I'd like to wonder: why did You have to make time run so quickly (all in accordance to Einstein's Theory of Relativity)? Why can't You - of ALL THINGS - for just once, make time just seem to slow down and let everything move as slowly as the temporal flow?

But who am I - a mere mortal - to argue with You? I don't really deserve to voice such a selfish opinion, especially when the ineivitable is fast approaching. You need not mention it, oh great Lord, I'm prepared as to resign myself to my fate when it presents itself to me at the moment it chooses to reveal itself to me. Come what may, Thy Servant is prepared... Partially, at least...

And while we're on the subject, I'd like to draw to Your attention a certain cousin of mine. I understand he's a bit of a pain in the royal butt, and I don't condone it - he's quite the instigator when it comes to rallying my younger relatives against me, and he's a capable fighter. A hot-blooded fellow, with all the makings of a potential hoodlum in him. His ears fall deaf when advice and wisdom comes to him, his judgement clouded. I understand that I myself am a particularly excellent target for mockery because of my stature, but that doesn't mean that he can pick on me whenever he desires. I humbly beseech upon Thee to please open his eyes, and pray that he sees his sins before it's too late for him to turn back. Please. I beg of You.

May You have mercy upon me, whereever and whenever I may be.

Amen.

Thy Confused and Still-Wandering Servant,

Frostmourne

Make Your Time

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 05:58:22 GMT

"We've got a cheap lawyer an' we're not afraid to use him!" - Nac Mac Feegle saying (Terry Pratchett's Discworld universe)

Ye gawds, issit really that time of year again? The time when people wear socks on their heads instead of their feet and blue cheese turns into cheap salad dressing for desperate homecoming queens in a fashion crisis? The time when wombats take up arms (and possibly legs) against the human race oppressing them and the sky rains burning dogs (thank Sheogorath for that, seriously)?

Meh, the ways of the world in its current pathetic, increasing depressing and worringily sorryful state obviously needs a bit of mending by the citizens of the free (or partially free/not free, depending on your opinion) nations of the planet. And by that, I mean A LOT.

But enough of worldly matters too complex to understand and facts simply too hard to digest by the mind's homunculi working 24/7 oiling the brain's nooks and crannies. Here's a little low-down on what happened the past few days, and a glimpse into my (awkwardly bleak) future...

The Beginning of the End (and Vice Versa)

Things have boiled down a bit since the beginning of the year, the end of the school year was in sight then. We were obliviously blind to its coming, busily chattering away on rather unsightly juvenile matters as it slowly crept closer with each passing day. We passed memos to each other wishing the other party well (or unwell in some cases), photos flew everywhere like migrating birds (don't ask), and in the end... Well... you know...

And what happened next was...... I don't know...... A melting pot of emotions all thrown into the mix and came out looking like three quarters creme brulee, one fifth lobster thermidor, 31% whole-stuffed camel and the rest God-knows-what. SPM came and went, we went to places, I got a job as a part-time clerk, and got two new dogs (the last one ran away, which is basically history repeating itself, since the first one we had also ran away...... and got turned into roadkill). Apparently Santa forgotten all about me this year, but I obviously deserved it - I was a bit of an asshole this year. But then again, who needs presents to be happy?

Awaiting Deliverance...

As the last hours of 2007 slowly tick away, it became obvious to me that I should've started saying my prayers some time earlier this year. My hopes of a straight A1 record have no doubt been dashed away, but then again, you never know. The only thing predictable about life is that it's unpredictable to the end - you may see one thing coming at you at first, but a fleeting moment later, it happens not. It's this kind of unknowing (if that's even a word) that keeps you guessing, I guess. Still, I can only hope God can hear me and pray that He shows me a modicum of pity, for the sake of my future.

But what of the future? I've no solid plans, to say the least. As I keep saying to myself and everyone around me:

"I go wherever the wind takes me."

Happy New Year to all, and to all...... Well, let's just hope all your resolutions come to pass, for better or worse.

Lord bless Us, Every One,

Frostmourne

Complaints to God

Sat, 30 Jun 2007 10:11:21 GMT

"In crossing a heath, suppose I... found a watch upon the ground... The inference, we think, is inevitable; that the watch must have had a maker." - William Paley's Natural Theology

Dear God...

I was wondering, why the heck am I here? By which I mean, why the f**k have You dumped here on THIS Earth instead of some other Earth with some alternate timeline where Alexander the Great dies at age 99 and Nero set fire to his bloodied ass instead of to Rome (accompanied by flaming minstrels playing fiddles) during an outdoor barbecue. Where China was still an empire full of eunuchs and corruption and World War 2 ended with the Soviets bombing the heck out of the good ol' U.S. of A.

But this is mere wishful thinking considering my fruitful imagination hasn't changed a bit since I've turned sixteen (and ten days). Such age should've brought about maturity in a young man of my stature, but considering the fact that Youth is a bastard who likes to linger in a person and is so stubborn you have to get a dozen Chinooks to move it out of the way, I'm still pretty much still the way I am before as I'm now. Call it madness, if You must, but the sincere fact is that You are my Creator, after all; but if there's anything You can do to make me a tad bit normal to fit in better amongst my peers, that would be very, VERY helpful.

If I can make a statement here, why is the world in generally so damn f**ked up right now? If You haven't really noticed, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have apparently snuck in unnoticed by Your All-Seeing Eyes and are now revelling and lavishing in the chaos that is present in about 99.99% of the globe. I think You must've misplaced that little agenda somewhere in Your memo, seeing that You're always such a busy person running the world. Might I suggest You start by have terrorists kidnap Da Presidant of Da Unitad Statez off Amerika and then have said terrorists kill Bush on international television and then send those videos straight to YouTube to be made available for viewing later on. Then have Islamic militants overrun the White House and declare Osama bin Laden (wherever he is right now) Supreme Overlord of the Universe. (O.o!!!) Like I said, all this is but wishful thinking. And I blame YOU (actually the Devils down in Hell) for twisting and playing with my mind like so it more or less resembles the proverbial primordial soup of old (mid-Jurassic currently).

It comes as no surprise that You have fated me to take this road as to allow me to ascend to my Manhood. But the trivialities that face me beginning 19th of June up till now have - IMHO - as I believe to be plagues mistakenly sent by You when they should've been blessings. Albeit one minor saving grace (the so-called Sport Prefects sent me off to the Quarter-Marathon of the annual Penang Bridge Run instead of the Half they intended me for, and I got a medal for it), everything went off horribly wrong (if You could, kindly change the mind of the barmy old codgers at the ABRSM in London or somewhere and change the marks on my Grade 7 Practical test, thanks ;p). Heck, I've got excellent reason to believe that even Jesus (or Moses, for that matter) doesn't even have a clue as to what You're doing up there (playing Halo 3, I suppose?).

Whatever is the case, I'm only human after all. And compared to You, I'm only a tiny flea in the midst of billions of others. Or ants. Or bees. Or hornets. Or tiny spiders. (I'm referring to this because I was quite distracted by all the activity going on in the flowerbeds of near the school steps where the brass band was practicing involving all invetebrates mentioned above except the fleas) Anyhow, I've got to get going... Got stuff to do, people to mock, and tests to fail... Or something of the sort.

Thy Unyielding Believer in Thy Utmost Holy Faith,

Frostmourne

Scrumptious New Resolutions

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 11:05:11 GMT

"Hell, it's about time." - Tychus Findlay (StarCraft II)

For those of you who are still wandering around in some Nydus Canal (for non-SCers, it's a sort of a worm-like tube the bug-like Zerg use to transport their minions of DHOOOOM!!!! around the battlefield) admiring and/or poking it's innards (you bastards), the boys at Blizzard have already started working on the sequel to their space fantasy RTS which promises to be a thousand times more worth playing than the original (except in South Korea, the nerds). I'm already started to wonder how many fans have already stocked up on Gatorade and Hot Pockets already waiting for the moment the game comes out...

So anyways, the second half of the year began without much pomp and ceremony, preferably the way I wanted it to be. Nothing much has happened really except the installation of a THIRD desktop in the living room with a 1400*800 Dell LCD monitor which was my Dad's Father's Day gift (hell, we're running out of space here). It's a shocker, but hey, I'm typing on the damn thing right now. My school grades were mediocre to say the least, but given my performance in the Grade 7 practical, I'd say I'd need 12 years before I can finally consider myself ready to join the humble ranks of the citizen workforce.

But these are but minor details. My life is still going to go on as usual, and please tell nobody that anything special will happen on Wednesday. I prefer to keep things under wraps. You may ask if you will, but I won't be telling.

I'm having a sore throat (true, taking medications as we speak) and elephants in my stomach (or was it just that I was hungry?) just thinking about the 20th...

Jesus, save me.

Starved Past To Death,

Frostmourne

When Ludos Take Over the East....

Sun, 03 Jun 2007 09:58:37 GMT

“Hujan emas di negara orang, hujan emas di negara sendiri, lebih baik di negara sendiri.” (“It rains gold in another’s country, but it rains hail in one’s own – it’s better to be in one’s motherland.”) – Malay proverb

Erk. I don’t even f**king get what that damn proverb was trying to put forth (mind you, I’ve been memorizing that thing for FIVE WHOLE YEARS and still don’t even get the damn point). So anyhow, I’ve spent the last few weeks mulching away in darkness, hoping that the mid-terms would go away (blown in the wind, scattered as ashes of a dream that never came to light, so to speak) and somehow got whisked away on some whimsical bus ride on Friday night (which is ironically the last day of the test) all the way to the Malaysian East Coast (hence the awkwardly named title, nitwits).

Unfortunately, given the appropriate length of the time gap between last Friday and the time right now, I believe that any traces – not even the most miniscule bit – of memories regarading that particular excursion would’ve probably vanished into thin air by this time today. But, given – if my cerebral functions serve me correctly – that people born under the sign of Gemini (6/20/91, shocked?) do generally have a keen sense of memory, I just might be able to recall certain parts of the journey. (Globetrotters might as well pay heed here: THIS MIGHT JUST SERVE AS A GUIDE – IF ANYTHING – FOR YOU TO TELL YOU WHERE TO GO AND WHEN TO GO.)

PRELUDE – The night before… (25/5/07)

… So it just happened that the most absurd turn of events just had to happen in my already decrepit life on Earth. Why, you ask? Blame God. You can’t really defy Heaven and live to tell the tale now, can you? That would’ve been a direct violation of everything the Good Lord has stood for about… I don’t know… is it? XD

The school buses (what? Haven’t you heard? Buses are multi-taskable here in Malaysia, seriously) were apparently rigged with C4s (kidding, like the drivers were even terrorists anyway, though that Indian guy whom had once drove the lot of us JSHS students to school did look like a Tamil Tiger covert operative) and things that went bump in the night kept us awake (one or two speed traps, some stray heifer perhaps). Some hours into the dreary darkness later I found myself walking towards the loo at some god-forsaken pit-stop and then walking back to the buses, only to find out I got on the wrong bus. But that was a mistake easily corrected…

And that was not even close to hell as to what happened next…

DAY ONE (26/5/07) – Kuala Terengganu, Terengganu…

China Street (唐人街)

Can you even be BORED of coming to the same place over and over again? I know I do. Apparently the tour budget had been scrawled over with crappy writing (using – if I’m not mistaken – a fine point Parker red biro) and marked all over hand- and pawprints so that everyone thought we were dining in Chinese coffeeshops (hey, wouldn’t it kill you to eat the same boring cuisine over and over again?) instead of TGI Friday’s (speaking of which, I don’t seem to see any of those around). At least this place has some saving points, namely a shrine and a sort of well that FRANKLY DOESN’T EVEN LOOK LIKE ONE AT ALL (no wonder they call that thing “老爹井” – Grandpa Well, hah!)

And there was one other thing as well that made this place memorable is that we got to see Malaysia infamous law enforcement at work – we all know cops like bribes and donuts, and apparently this particular fuzz stumbled upon some truck driver and got into some scrap for breaking da rulez and got fined for it (though I think the actual value was obviously less than the wad of cash the bloke handed out to our law-enforcing crimefighter). Ah, the glory of Malaysia law enforcement. Thank god there wasn’t a Dunkin’s Donuts nearby otherwise there would’ve been another story to tell.

Some Mosque on Some Lake

Yeah, I kinda made the name up because frankly I don’t really seem to get the name of the place. Quite boring really – all I got to do was take some pictures of freshwater fish (I LIKE FISH) and browse around for stuff to snap photos of. And not to mention all the people getting double-scoop ice creams, gluttonous bastards the lot of them.

Noor Arfa Batik Boutique and Factory

This is a bit of a misnomer, because it’s not just about the batik, but there was also some awkward petting zoo of sorts (which include a pool of fish and terrapins, some fluffy cute bunny rabbits, a peacock, pigeons, doves and a bunch of chickens), stuff made out of molten glass, and… zombies.

Why zombies? Well, there are two reasons: (1) people who like fashion are like zombies, and from what I’ve managed to deduce from the hordes (metaphorically speaking) of buyers there were in the store, I’d say the numbers would make dear old George Romero happy enough to rise from the dead. (2) I like the living dead. I like seeing them being told off by the business end of a double-barreled shotgun, and sometimes, I like to feel what it’s like to become ONE. And because I was bored of watch desperate housewives mull their bloody selves over hand-printed women’s clothing. So I just rolled my eyes and made the worst Resident Evil pose ever. And now I’m having a craving for brains. Mmmmm, BRAINSSSSSSSSSSS….

This is also the place where I made one of the best vacation videos ever: a couple of boys karate-fighting each other to the death. I just loved the look my Dad gave my darling little brother when he peeked into the camera (or was just the magic of words and speechcraft?). And I got a nice T-shirt for a souvenir, yay me!

Hotel Kenangan

The name says “Hotel of Memories”, and they even call it the “Hotel of Malay Teachers”. Bah, the only memories you’ll get here are the ones people tend to avoid, like sour cheese and rotten condoms. You’ll never find a cheaper motel in Terengganu (unless you count Alaska, the Kuril Islands and London, then you might have at least 300 of them): the bathtub’s dirty as hell, the accommodations mediocre at best, the TV looked like something from out of the ‘30s, there’s no electric kettle either! An accidental twist of bathroom tap spurted out what looked like blood, and leading me to believe this god-forsaken place was HAUNTED (well, it’s already halfway there, just need a few homeless poltergeists and some vandals to blow up the lighting systems). AND THE STUDENTS GET BETTER ROOMS THAN US. SERIOUSLY.

In conclusion: DON’T TRY STAYING HERE, EVEN FOR ONE NIGHT. This place is as close to being in a hospital ward as anything else (in fact, a hospital ward would be a slightly BETTER alternative than a room here, go pass yourself off as a cancer patient and check yourself in to the closest G.H. you can find the next time some bloke volunteers you to come here).

Terengganu State Museum

They say it’s billed as the largest museum in Malaysia, and they were right! They say you can’t finish walking through the whole complex in barely 2 hours, and they were right! And they say that… oh, never mind.

You’ll be amazed by the sheer scale of this building. It’s built ON STILTS (pffffh, architects) and has like a hundred carps swimming in the moat (or at least I think it is) plus one large, wholly unexpected water monitor. They’ve got a pair of ships (Jack Sparrow fans don’t get excited, they’re not galleon – only yachts), a biplane, an armored vehicle, a whole bunch of boring stuff and a strict no-photo policy (who doesn’t?). There was this holy stone with a whole bunch of Islamic text written on it and was once used as a staircase for some bloody mosque until a certain trader noticed it and it landed where it was now, along dead kings’ ransom and stuff. And clothes. And things associated with Malay culture. And brass making. And weapons. Bar one flintlock musket. That would’ve made things nicer.

And why not throw in a decapitated head or two for good measure? A museum’s a museum after all. Too bad we didn’t really get to see all the exhibits in time. But who the f**k cares anyhow? Museum runs are damn boring anyways; anything 3-year old can tell you that!

Some Pier-side Bazaar

Shopping. Doesn’t that word excite you? Yeah, me neither. But because nearly all of the teachers on this particular trip (minus one male) are all (desperate) housewives with intention of burning all their hard earned cash, we just had to tag along. Such places on Earth are the worst places anyone would expect to get a deal on pirated merchandise and coconut-shell ladles: garbage is a bit rampant around these parts because no one in Malaysia seems to care about the immediate environment nowadays (photographic evidence would’ve been possible if I hadn’t fumbled around with the camera batteries instead of just switching from normal lens view to LCD view), and just about everything fishy just simply REEKS. I don’t wish to disclose any further detail on this horrid place other than a few keychains and stupid wooden pencils to sate our greed (some students I tailed hooked a whole bag of teddies, the loonies). Yeah, so I guess that means we’re bastards. Nice.

Pantai Batu Buruk

Yeah, beaches are fun, but only during the day. But that’s a common misconception – try doing these things to spice things up a little during the wee hours of the day near the sea:

1. Look for seashells by the shore (with some illumination, of course).

2. Play party games – tag would be a nice suggestion, along some other things (you know what I’m talking about…)

3. Bury people’s shoes under the sand and pretend it’s a burial mound (carve R.I.P. and throw in some wildflowers for effect, hehehe…)

4. Trash talk. It helps kill some time, but does nothing else except that.

5. Go wild, get naked and do the Charleston in front of everyone else in sight. PARTY!!!!!!!

Oh, I forgot to mention that there was an A&W’s outlet near this particular beach. We should’ve snacked here instead of that bastard Chinese restaurant we went for dinner at! Fiddlesticks!

DAY TWO (27/5/07) – Kota Bahru, Kelantan…

That morning…

Ergh. There was nothing to comment about. Except about the breakfast buffet which was absolutely rubbish (people sitting on desk-chairs, eating nasi lemak and currypuffs and drinking milk tea or coffee in a draft conference room on the top floor). And I didn’t even get to buy the morning paper before we left! F**k our newspaper delivery system!!!

The entrée…

The first thing anyone would notice about Kelantan upon entering it is that people here are extremely overzealous. I don’t wholly blame them – the ruling party of the state is the Parti Islam SeMalaysia (the Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party, the PAS) after all, a bunch of doddering fervently-religious groupies who seek to unite Malaysia under the teaching of the (Great Dead) Prophet and insist upon everybody (Malay) to true to God lest they invoke the fury and “let loosed His Terrible Swift Sword” (thanks, Julia Howe). Islam rules here in this place – never shove a porkchop into someone’s mouth unless you want the Religious Police to haul you into jail. The Chinese are few and far between in the countryside, but their numbers swell in the more urbanized areas of the state. And throughout my journeys here, there doesn’t seem to be a single Indian in sight anywhere…

There seems to be a rule about everything around here, like men and women aren’t supposed to sit with each other in cinemas and stuff like that. And there’s this kind of taxi service that only caters for women only. It’s that kind of sexual segregation and religious authority and limits the freedom of the individual, like a modern Inquisition, minus the witch-burning and thumbscrews. But at least people still have some freedom here, but how much? I’d like to wonder what this great nation would be like if it were ever a theocratic government – Christ knows what’d happen then.

And I’m thinking of screwing that idiot Basit online for mocking my ass in class…

A couple of Buddhist monasteries (Wat Photivihan and Wat Machimaram)

I couldn’t really remember those names – I had to use Google and a bunch of cobbled up details (the most striking one of which I had to look for Wat Photivihan’s name was that giant statue of the Buddha in his sleep) to fit the pieces together. But even after then, it still looked more like a badly-sewn patchwork quilt than a seamless jigsaw puzzle (I’m still yearning for one after I’d finished a 500 or so piece Mickey Mouse one a few years back). Both were in Tumpat, but once you went into them, you’d feel like they were both worlds apart: Photivihan was a bit dusty, but makes up for it with its main attraction (the aforementioned sleeping Buddha), the other few Buddhist (and oddly, a Taoist shrine) statues and variety of fauna taking up residence in the temple grounds (a peacock and peahen, a wishing pool full of fish, some stray dogs with cute puppies. I just adore those little suckers, don’t you? Oh, and a turtle which I never got to see but someone graciously took a picture of it.)

Machimaram, likewise, had a giant Buddha SITTING on top of the temple itself. Sculptures of arhats and reverends dot the place and a couple of rabid mongrels too (one with apparent heterochromia – or was it just some infection? – and another with a skin condition that kind of reminds you of something that just came out of the dump). The inside’s just bristling with oil paintings depicting the Buddha’s life and death, Heaven and Hell, and one particular curiosity that oddly deviate itself from all the other ones I’ve seen so far. This one apparently illustrates an aborigine coming out of a rainforest full of animals, a rubber tapper standing between said forest and a city with a satellite hovering above it at night, a businessman, a royal, and an open grave with some poor bloke’s corpse in it. It kind of had sort of an effect on me, had me thinking deeply about life and death, development and modernization, stuff in between, LIFE. I just don’t know back then – I was in a loss for words just staring at that thing. Makes you question about the Universe if you ever had a chance to really look at it.

As always, fervently Buddhist as we people usually are, we pray. And we pray hard. I’m a bit puzzled at the fact that such places of worship even exist in an inherently Muslim state, but what the hell, we pray. And we will until Armageddon comes to wipe us clean from the face of the Earth.

Pasar Siti Khadijah

Housewives’ shopping haven, you’d call it – Biggest marketplace in Kota Bahru, let alone Kelantan itself. No shit, this place is packed with traders and purveyors of goods and petty trinkets of all sorts, and signs of the times (and a slight hint of drug abuse) can be seen here, all in its full glory. Try peddling cheap jewelry here as a Malay woman and you might just get premiums. No, seriously! About ¾ of the merchants I saw here were females, and they sell hard. ROCK HARD. You’d be lucky enough to get a discount for a counterfeit vinyl Ferrari here (if you ever find one…).

Most of the peeps from the tour seem to have one thing on their mind: keropok, Malaysia’s world famous fish/prawn crackers. Nobody who’s ever lived in Malaysia is a loony if s/he hasn’t even tasted the fried snack on a street corner stall somewhere or another (and frankly there are A LOT of them around). Also on the agenda is lekor, made from fish paste and twisted into thin cylinders ready to be deep-fried and served. I’d reckon this comes second to those crackers – I was into keropoks earlier than lekors anyway. Anybody can fetch a bargain selling these items, but that doesn’t mean congkak boards (of a traditional game involving marbles or knucklebones or something of similar persuasion) or straw mats don’t rake you in some greens.

One thing’s for certain though, it definitely beat the bazaar in Kuala Terengganu. But I still find environmental hygiene a problem and no walk-in latrines in the loo. What? Haven’t you people heard of the “instant-noodle syndrome” these days? Come on, people!

Pantai Cahaya Bulan

Another f**king beach, this time with a LOT of ROCKS on it and a seabed that steeps each step you take. This was actually the first place we came to after lunch at a hawker centre (that has pirated DVDs as its main attraction instead of the foodies), but frankly no one likes a sunburn in the afternoon sand, so we skipped it and went for the other few attractions listed above after a cut-short visit to some batik lodge that has no customers since the American Civil War. The same old things we did at sundown, but to be sincere, this place was quite near the South China Sea, and no man dares to go to sea without a boat lest they want to drown in its arms. Nevertheless, it was all cool, though I have to confess that my brother and I did get told off for wading in the shallows a bit too longer. Gah, I SO hate saltwater and doting parents… Bastards one and all…

The Crystal Lodge

Now this is much better! A quaint little three-star hotel smack dab in the middle of town, the Lodge sports er… meager accommodations for the traveling blogger, though most others fared better. Man, why is it always that we always get ourselves screwed up looking for rooms? Nah, who the f**k cares – at least the TV programs (including the Thai ones) are better than the last one, plus freebies! A block away is a KFC outlet (which frankly, wasn’t really what the tour guides/teachers had in mind) which is adjacent to what looked like a FIVE-STAR HOTEL (shit!), and bit further is a shanty little dining place where we got served a face full of cramp and champ (no, we weren’t served Chardonnay or even Bloody Mary for that matter, just plain old tea, though I reckoned they’d put meager amounts of rice wine in our chicken curry). Afterwards, meh, who cares…

Lack of space in our little room also meant lacking of sleeping space, but that problem was quickly taken care of by transferring one of ours to another bigger room (I’d like to wonder what that little boy in Room 304 – Jason, a rather happy-go-lucky chap and close friends with my brother since the first night – did to my sister when she got there… Ha-ha…)

DAY THREE (28/5/07) – Golok and the Road Home...

Breakfast is served…

This was a bit of a conundrum: every students’ room apparently received coupons for a buffet breakfast (and not the sloppy kind of buffet as seen in Day One) on the top floor, while the teachers wanted to go out and get something nice and filling in some coffeeshop down the road. Naturally, after two days of doing nothing but feed off hawker food, it hit me – I HAD TO GET UP THERE. So what did I do? Beg. At least I still walked away with some dignity and 10 bucks for the coupon money, not to mention walking straight into food heaven and walking out of there stouter than I was before (as if the flab on my spare tire wasn’t really that much already).

Let’s see, as I recall, there were:

a.) fried chicken bits, Malay “kampong” style

b.) cocktail wieners

c.) scrambled eggs

d.) the proverbial nasi lemak(as per usual)

e.) anchovy sambal and cucumber slices

f.) fried koay teow

g.) red and yellow watermelon slices

h.) almond and chiffon cakes

i.) bread, butter, peanut butter, jam, and a couple of toasters

j.) grape and orange juice

k.) coffee and tea

Guess that’s about all of them. Of course, for those of you who STILL CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF THIS, try this sneaky tactic my mom tried (she got back from some spot and got up here because of some unknown reason): get some tissue paper and fold the desired food in it and stuff it somewhere safe. And walk out innocently. And then munch on whatever loot you got your grubby hands on. FREEBIES!!!!!!!

Some marketplace in Golok

This was the last stop on our three day misadventure, and once again, the theme is - *sigh* - shopping. The focus is more on foodstuffs than anything, but I did get another bloody tee and a nice collection of pics of a mothering cat and her litter (I so adore little kitties!). Oh, and other stuff too. Lunch was a bit of a problem though, as you can see below…

The Journey West

The trouble began at 12.30pm or so, when the students on our bus complained about lunch and everybody went down for a snacker. We lot on the bus ate what we’ve managed to salvage (from the buffet and the remaining bits from home), and got left behind by the other bus by a good 40 MINUTES, if I was correct. The actual journey was uneventful, though beautiful scenery of the wonderful Malaysian countryside and a student poker session did help kill boredom. Dinner was a surprisingly welcome Indian fare of roti canai and assorted things (mine was fried rice, and thank God for that too!) in Gerik, Perak. That said, we got home by 2050 hours (it was shorter than I’d originally thought it would be), and life returned to normal again…

… Well, not quite, but hey, it could’ve gotten A LOT WORSE now, eh?

… EH?

My life is a rotting pit of diaspora and spent bottles of contraceptives… And it sucks.

I so f**king hate my goddamn bastard shitty bastard life.

Unyielding Warrant of Unsung Washers,

FROSTMOURNE

The Point(less)

Sat, 12 May 2007 15:41:12 GMT

"I like Hello Kitty Island Adventure better than this dump." - Butters Stotch (South Park - Make Love, Not Warcraft)

Last I checked, Sanrio didn't EVEN MAKE A BLOODY HELLO KITTY ISLAND ADVENTURE. Heck, I'd love to see those Japanese goody-two-shoes take their overly-cute, too-naive-to-wield-a-pistol anthropomorphic feline into Azeroth's wilderness and stick her there for ONE WHOLE MINUTE and see if she'll survive (frankly, I think that Kitty won't be able to stand up to a beastly 7-foot Orc warrior and come out alive and purring, and I don't even want to know what it'll be like if some level 64 Tauren came stomping along on a Black War Kodo at some point and she held out a bouquet of flowers and said "Do you like them?" XD).

Gah, to hell with these delusional fantasies (though the prospect of having your mother bring you a portable latrine while you're having a stomachache in the basement playing WoW does quite intrigue - and no doubt disgusted - me. Hmm, maybe I should try that one day...). Come Sunday night, an aspirin overdose would've been the perfect way to get me out of this horrid mess I'm in: the blasted fact that every school in this accursed state is required to follow a stringent, uniformed test set down by the State Educational Department (or Social Extermination Despots, for that matter), elimating the need for the schools to turn their own homemade mid-year ~~monstrosities~~ tests (shame, but hell, it would've been better off with going on head to head with a Fel Chihuahua of DHOOOOOM!!!!!!) against us (and by us, I mean the middle-school student population of Penang, Malaysia in general, as so to speak). Also, the nitties in Parliament apparently decided to abolish the long-and-obviously-getting-old UPSR and PMR tests for the kiddie-leaders and the middle-class-of-the-middle-school and have the schools decide on what to do with those in question under some new guideline for school-made exams (hell, at least my kids won't have to suf... oh... SHIT).

And I'm NOT EVEN THROUGH WITH THE FULL LIST OF COMPLAINTS I WANT TO MAKE TO THE WORLD.

But, time is never the one to have a good bargain with, so I'll save the insane rambling for the next post.

But then again, at least I've still time for ONE LAST RANT:

OMFG WTGF SCHOOL TEST UBERPWN NOOBER @$$ FUXXORZ ROFLOL ZINGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just Keeping it Real (accuracy NOT ASSURED),

Frostmourne

Luddites Not Included

Sat, 05 May 2007 09:19:20 GMT

"When he dies, shall others live; when others die, shall he live." - Anonymous

Frankly, I'm one of those people - I may be fully functional inside out physically (well, if you leave out certain parts such as an operated salivary gland and my current chubby physique), but spiritually, I'm already dead. Its a real-life Dementor's Kiss, I tell you, minus the face-sucking-under-hood part. People call it "depression", I call it "elation".

Wondering why I'm this blue? No, it's not that I've lost my best shot at getting into the National Public Speaking Finals (they were all girls! I was nervous!), and its not because that the mid-years are zeroing in, and its DEFINITELY not that 5-hour wait for some bloody registration for some bloody marathon on some bloody bridge... NO. I've been in this condition since... I sincerely don't know when, but in case you haven't noticed, I apparently like being some melancholic, hyperactive, foul-mouthed sap that keeps getting the daylights kicked out of his keister. Not that I despise getting my ass kicked around like some overpriced soccer ball (no, seriously, I'm just saving that anger so I can slowly channel the Dark Side of DA FORCE into slowly Force-choking the life out of everybody else and bring a lightning storm down on their weeny heads and then laughing like a deranged maniac over their prime-roasted corpses), but the sort of personality disorder that takes joy in twisting a decent person's soul into some demonic creation of the Devil apparently can't decide whether to change me into an imp or Neopets' sandworm-esque Snowager (c'mon, it's not that hard now, is it?).

Well, there WAS a ringing sensation in my left ear that appears to be a little tip from the Man on High to stop these delusions of insanity and zap myself back into reality. But IMHO, the Big Man himself hasn't really been taking his amnesia pills lately (no offense, o Lord Almighty) - my personality warp was of course written and weaved firmly into the tapestry of time, and surely you CAN'T unravel one strand of fabric without the whole thing being ripped to shreds now, can you? None can undo the past, and time just keeps slippin' (into da future, where else?) past your fingers till that last bit of sand falls down into the lower bulb of the hourglass.

If Einstein DID really come up with a time machine, I'd be happy to be the first idiot to test it out - at least I can live with my conscience knowing I righted all the wrongs in my past... (but what of the present and the future?)

Nah, I'm me. And who better to tell me that than myself.

I hate myself.

Moroned on Mars,

Frostmourne

Of Loonies, Bastards and the Fallen

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 11:52:02 GMT

"Relax, I'd rather not piss this thing off." - Master Chief (Halo 2 "Gravemind" Level)

Yeah, sure, you do that Chief. I'm sure you're about the only one that doesn't want to piss just about anything off... Again, I've fubbed off and off and off, and its not just because of that Monty Phyton Lumberjack Song neither. But then again, maybe watching that insane RK House rambling that nearly killed off 90% my neurones did play a pivotal role in this, as well a hundred thousand other stuff that almost did wipe out my sanity (which, I doubt, is still there).

So, long story short, I was pwned, respawned, pwned, respawned... wash, rinse and repeat. It just makes you wonder how much has humanity managed to dwindle to some pathetic, unnervingly disastrously overtly insanely f***ing state of disrepair that might just make some of the world's finest wonder whether or not we should've stayed as monkeys in trees than evolving into the current state we are today. But then again, if we DID stayed as primates, then how would YOU tell Brian Reynolds to make some of the best RTSs around? (but then again, we wouldn't have to suffer from Microsoft's Mac OS X-ripoff Windows Vista and the recent retirement of the more-faithful-than loyal Windows XP)...

More than week (12 days to be exact) have passed since Cho Seung-Hui's bloodied VT romp (yes, THAT romp). I myself was quite taken aback when I heard the news - 9 years after Columbine and the bloodiest high school massacre with a total body count of 33 people (including Cho, who headshot himself with a pistol before the cops moved in on him) had to take place. Heck, this makes even the Iraqi suicide runs and the Tamil Tigers dropping bombs over the Sri Lanka look pathetic, considering the 23-year old "Chinese" (as incorrectly described by a certain imcompetently ignorant American news agency) South-Korean immigrated US-citizen was the mastermind of all the bloodshed. As for the videos he sent to the NBC, I can but fathom the deranged thoughts going through his mind - it makes even my delusions of humanity seem like but some irrelevant microscopic organism thriving in his "godly" essence. Hell, I bet even the al-Qaeda are singing his praises in their holes in the Middle East right about now, thinking him a matyr of violence and bringer of "justice" of the wronged and the downtrodden.

One can but only pray that the voices of the slain in Heaven can be silenced and at peace after the commotion of all this. But even so, how can the vices of violence and human instincts be stopped there? A profane act of force would not quell what history has proven again and again over the years, no matter how much blood has been shed or how many stakes have been planted in the earth in memory of the dead and the deceased. Even if all the world sends a bouquet of flowers for every person perished, how would you stop someone else from blowing up a kindergarten in South Africa or setting up mines in some bloody schoolyard in Argentina?

I'd like to admit that I've my own morbid fantasies of carving macabre sculptures dripping with blood out of those who'd wronged me and tormented my soul (you know who you are) with a mere butter knife (and a very sharp one at that), but at least there's always dear old Aunt Sanity keeping my brain from sending impulses to my wrists to in some frenzied bid to get my rabid paws off that implement of hell and keep grinding it till you could hear the breaking of a strand of hair. It keeps me from going beyond my usual level of insanity (ironic, is it not, mon ami?) and fueling my vein with excess adreanaline till that vainglorious day comes when angels with flaming swords descend from Elysium to smite the Unworthy in God's Name. And let it be known that Armaggeddon has come for thee, feeble Mortal! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(...)

*ahem*

There, you see. What I'd just said. Another demented ranting.

Well, as so long the world around me doesn't break into tiny fragments of dust and dirt and ash, meh, I'll be around. And Lord, if you're listening: please, help the world.

... Then help me out.

Peace out.

His Terribly-Incompetent Swift-as-a-Tortoise Parker Ball-Point,

Frostmourne

P.S.: If any of you terrorists are reading this right now, please, don't drop your bombs on this house - Malaysia's an Islamic country after all, and I'm just some Chinese bloke who just happens to be living in it.

Human Error Involved

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 13:39:10 GMT

"If you want to break the habit, you've got to BREAK THE DOOR DOWN FIRST." - Self-acquired philosophy

If you really must know, the reason I'm writing this is because of this absolutely soulless yet fruitful idea the 236 days left (and counting) to the dreaded SPM (Sanction of Porn Masturbation) papers are directly the equivalent of 1000 lightyears and I've ample (not) time to continue living my life of grandeur in some obscure part of Pixieland no one cares to know about. At the moment, my life has taken a generous turn down Drury Lane as dozens of angry bakers graciously pour sacks of flour and baking soda riddled with anthrax/pneumonia/AIDS/SARS/avian flu/who cares what comes next on my empty head, the potent cocktail resulting in mild fever and a bloody throbbing headache I cannot shake off even today (it only occured yesterday roughly at some absurdly humid part of the day, 11am or noon if my memory serves me right).

The casualities of war haven't been too bad - as per usual, Physics was the idiotic blighter that got himself riddled with 56 bullet wounds out of 100 vital parts (you do the math from now on), but it was of course MY FAULT for the most part. You can't blame me - I suck at this subject as Tiger Woods sucks at bowling (no offence meant, Tiger). Of course, if I HADN'T gone for that stupid Elocution (better ELECTROCUTION) competition, I would've been incessantly trying to convince myself to commit seppuku as my honor dictates (due to me ALSO SUCKING at Additional Maths, but oddly enough, about 80% of the class ridiculously managed to land headshots on THAT particular paper while I was away trying not to get pwned by my opponents). Messrs English and Moral E. also disappeared under mysterious (read THE SAME AS THE REASON WHY I DIDN'T SAT FOR ADD MATHS) circumstances, but on the whole, not quite that bad (though I've just been informed my total average was still 3 MEASLY POINTS behind that quite-as-homicidal-and-twice-as-insane-son-of-a-bitch-"Alexi"*-Looi-Qi-Wei).

"We can't. People in the lifeboat (Earth) are armed." - Peter Affare (The Winnowing by Isaac Asimov)

Well, that was OK. I mean, anything would beat performing solo in front of about a hundred people. No seriouly! I wonder how REAL pianists do the EXACT SAME THING in front of thousands of adoring fans? How did Beethoven or Mozart did that? I'd like to wonder. Obviously, I haven't really developed my skills to THAT sort of extent, but well, one can dream, can he not? That concert held last Saturday at the Summit BM Plaza was a fluke - I could've sworn I'd spotted a few (in other words, MANY) screwups (not to mention a sneak-peek at the gorier-than-the-original God of War II) resulting from either technical problems with the equipment on stage or from the performers themselves. I for one can't say that my performance was the best, but it did sound slightly (by some miniscule margin) better than the rest of the lot. Not to mention my notoriously laughable role as the manager of the Opera House to the (extremely heavily edited) HKL-Perfect Music Centre (I might add the address later... perhaps ) version of Gaston Leroux's acclaimed Le Fantôme de l’Opéra (to quote its original, de jure French name), which I refuse to speak about lest you, the reader, would happily oblige in donating 200£ worth of money for me to buy a good 10 packets of condoms (yes, I've obliged to tell you from this point onwards, yours truly has his mind corrupted by innate sexual thoughts and removing, albeit with a good sharp slap to the mouth, the ban on the f-word).

I did forget to tell in the last log on the alleged "murder" attempt on me. It seems that a fellow classmate of mine, Abdul Basit bin Salim (I dare you to write to him: basit_10@hotmail.com) likes to pwn me (along with another bastard, Loh Tat Eu - n4pster228@hotmail.com) whenever he can get his hands on me. This guy likes it so much that he and I engaged in a bloodily nice little conversation you can view here:

{Unfortunately due to memory constraints, I can only upload the whole thing in another log, sorry to disappoint you y’all.}

Such edifice I can suffer; but for the 7 Great Sins that drives humanity, I've no form of protection. On a happier note, if you've haven't watched Bleach's Orihime Inoue perform "Loituma Girl" yet, go here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0K3TAMImxl8. It's about as I can get to the original. So, until next time, pray and cling to hope (that my innards remain intact and that my penis doesn't fall when I try to procure girls' email addresses to add to my collection in my Windows Live Contacts).

Cursing My Frozen Silicone-Substitute Implants In the Bubble,

Frostmourne

*: This guy is as close you can get to the ULTIMATE GOD-BOTHERER IN EXISTENCE. The name "Alexi" was coined after bloody Alexi Stukov (his character in a dialogue for ourselves called Alexi Sexanlov - mind the pun - while mine's called Boris Peniski). If you want to get ten minutes' worth of your money insulting him being a freak, drop him a line here: looi_qi_wei@hotmail.com.

Aria of Dissonance

Sun, 11 Mar 2007 14:55:15 GMT

"Stupidity is the root of all evil." - Self-found philosophy

Yes, I'm back (albeit after an EXCEPTIONALLY LONG ABSENCE). The poor SOB who got horrifically pwned by Light Yagami (yes, he's officially dead in the comics, but some of us still like to believe he still walks among us) was in fact some random person who was spawned out of my deranged primordial soup of a mind (which is currently going through the Triassic period as we speak).

First, a question: if all men were mice and all mice were men, what would you think would happen? Well, for starters, people would be hunted to the brink of extinction by their once-feline-pets and the world's cheese supply would probably vanish in the span of two weeks. Or the human population would soar to great heights in a matter of months and protuding teeth would be common amongst global societies. Or things would pretty much be the same except for some slight adjustments within a short period of time.

You'll have to understand that I'm speaking rhetorically here. I'm not starting my own hellfire brand of preaching, just voicing my thoughts out, just like any other free person in this world. Of course, at least I'm more SENSIBLE unlike SOME OTHER PEOPLE who make foolish efforts on trying to bolster their standings worldwide. Heck, I pity those idiots - the failed "murder" attempt on me (more on that later), Windows Vista being touted as a sham by bloggers, Shinzo Abe on the verge of being toppled off his political rocker after his Health Minister failed to look over some issue on women's rights... and many other bloody things that are apparently of little or no concern to politicos and idiots alike.

Chinese New Year? Don't make me start talking about it. I've found that sort of excitement has somehow dimmed down after all those years being held captive in a gulag somewhere in the middle of frozen Siberia (not). I've had my ass kicked around since I was born, and it's going to stay that way until I gain my TRUE independence right after March 2008 (or right after getting my grubby little Smeagol hands on a PRECIOUSSSSSLY BIG F**KING GUN). School's never been this damn tough, and cheese never tasted like wine (though purportedly people HAVE been eating the two together). The only sweet victory I've tasted so far (yes, it's been THAT long since you've kindly asked) is a measly little win on the Interschool Public Speaking Competition for Clustter M6, Bukit Mertajam, Seberang Perai (formerly known as Province Wellelsey), Penang, Malaysia, South East Asia, Asia, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way, Universe (YES, IT'S THAT LONG) and the prize? TWO STUPID BOOKS AND A CERT THAT HASN'T ARRIVED AT MY DOORSTEP YET (along with countless issues of PC Gamer Malaysia that are long overdue, curse you Mr. Whoever-You-Are-Now Editor!).

I've got this nagging feeling that I wasn't meant to recieve this honour (let alone showing my dick hair to a couple of hormone-overdosed cousins back in the old country). It doesn't feel right - the Convent School of Bukit Mertajam have always been the queens of the English language in M6. Normally they would've picked someone who'd take a more drastic approach to this situation (read FRAG DA WORLD WITH A BFG, OMFG, ROFLOL WTF DA GIJOE DID MY UNDERWEAR ON SATURDAY NIGHT); but this year they'd decided to land this fate to some wench who apparently has a mild case of stage fright. As for the representee from my mom's school, she got involved in debate and had little (aka NO) time to prepare at all. If they'd picked THE OTHER GUY instead, they've stood a chance of winning this thang, thus saving my ass from being blown up by somebody else in early- or mid-April.

The government should reconsider its current revision plan for the education scheme in our country. They should try being like Finland, or at the very least the United States of America (I feel a wave of discontent growing amongst the people of the world). I'm already weary of my life as a secondary school student. It's time to move on. I know it's only March, but for all I know a hundred years can pass like a few seconds (if you ever have the time to observe it). I know I'm fat, moronic, sarcastic and so forth; but some things just can't change. I AM ME, after all. And it's not like I change that.

BUT I CAN CHANGE MY WORLD.

Now if I can just borrow that shiny new Redeemer the Master Chief bought yesterday at Talos Plaza...

Eternally Entombed,

Frostmourne

P.S.: I've gotta say, piano lessons on fingering speed and typing speed DO have a connection to between them once you know where to look. So if you wanna type fast, try playing a really fast piece (for musicians, prestissimo) and see if you could beat your best time doing so. Then go to this page: http://www.typingtest.com and take a test to see if the above method works out.

P.P.S:I forgot, the procedure above would only mean something if you could type both quickly and accurately. Good luck with that!

No Point Whatsoever

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 12:11:45 GMT

"What kind of a sick joke is this?" - Solid Snake holding a guitar (Metal Gear Fiesta 2)

Ahem. Before I start this thing, I'd like to share with you a little something from our dear friend Johnnie Cochran from South Park called the "Chewbacca Defense". Perhaps some of you may have heard of it, but please，do enjoy:

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

Cochran: Ladies and gentlemen of the supposed jury, Chef's attorney would certainly want you to believe that his client wrote "Stinky Britches" ten years ago. And that makes a good case. Hell, I almost felt pity myself! But ladies and gentlemen of the supposed jury, I have one final thing I want you to consider: this is Chewbacca. Chewbacca is a Wookiee from the planet Kashyyyk, but Chewbacca lives on the planet Endor. Now, think about that, that does not make sense!
Gerald Broflovski: Damnit!
Chef: What?
Gerald: He's using the "Chewbacca Defense"!
Cochran: Why would a Wookiee — an eight foot tall Wookiee — want to live on Endor, with a bunch of two foot tall Ewoks? That does not make sense! But more importantly, you have to ask yourself: what does that have to do with this case? Nothing! Ladies and gentlemen, it has nothing to do with this case! It does not make sense! Look at me! I'm a lawyer defending a major record company, and I'm talkin' about Chewbacca! Does that make sense? Ladies and gentlemen, I am not making any sense! None of this makes sense! And so you have to remember, when you're in that jury room deliberatin' and conjugatin' the Emancipation Proclamation... does it make sense? No! Ladies and gentlemen of this supposed jury, it does not make sense! , it does not make sense! If Chewbacca lives on Endor, YOU MUST ACQUIT!!! The defense rests.

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

You see? You see! EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD NEVER MAKES ANY SENSE! I DON'T EVER MAKE ANY SENSE! Heck, half the things I ever did in my goddamn life DOESN'T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL!!! Heck, every time I try to do something, the resultant shit DOESN'T EVERY SEEM TO MAKE ANY! FRICKING! GOD-FORSAKEN! SENNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSE!!!

... 0.0'''''''''

Sorry. Emotional breakdown. Just go on without me. I need to catch my breath. Alright... Go on...

*THE WRITER DIED SEVERAL MINUTES LATER AFTER SUFFERING A SERIOUS CASE OF CARDIAC ARREST, BEING RAN OVER BY A MONSTER TRUCK, IMPALED ON A FLAG POLE BEARING SEVERAL 7.42mm ROUNDS EMBEDDED IN HIS CEREBELLUM AND MAULED BY VARIOUS FURRY WOODLAND CREATURES INCLUDING TWO SKUNKS, FOUR SQUIRRELS, A PACK OF WOLVES, A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS AND A GRIZZLY BEAR. MANY SUSPECT THIS TO BE THE WORK OF THE IMFAMOUS SERIAL KILLER "KIRA", BUT NO CONCRETE EVIDENCE HAS BEEN FOUND SO FAR*

'ere We Go, 'ere We Go...

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 12:42:15 GMT

"Da red wunz go fasta!!!" - Typical Ork Speed Freek Philosophy

...

......

.........................

...................................................

.................................................................................................................................................................................?

*BANG! BANG!* *cawing*

AWAY WITH YOU, SHOO! SHOO! GET YOUR BUTTS AWAY FROM HERE!!!!!!!!!!

...Huh, sorry. Didn't know you were there. *sigh* This shotgun needs a bit of exercise once in a while. If these keeps up, I'm gonna have to invest in Patriot Missiles just to keep to crows off of my vegetable patch. If you're wondering why I've been so quizzically quiet these past few days, I can only tell you I've been busy. EXTREMELY BUSY. Just can't stop moving my feet around, there's just never a bloody blinking moment you can just sit down and rest your feet and sip a nice refreshing cup of tea.

I've never remember school being so hectic. It's the beginning of the year for Pete's sake! And here I am, wandering around like some blind rat in a labyrinth full of cats and traps still trying to pull my battered self of a bulging mass of oil out of the mud that was last year's disastrous excuse for the year-end holidays (I forgot, that whole thing I put together those days still hasn't gone up yet, might as well finish it in the next few days, maybe). First of all, an early 7.30am start means I have to get up at 5-something at dawn with the bus at 6.10am. After school, there's a whole lot of things to keep my mind (which I'm sure would have collapsed by now under the intense strain put on me for the past 15 years) preoccupied until well past the afternoon. At night, homework, then off to bed at 10pm, an hour earlier than usual. To make matters worse, the original 12.00pm deadline on Saturday activities has been pushed a further 30 minutes (no thanks to that bloody excuse for a PHD* Head of Co-Curriculum teacher) with breaks in between (which is, surprisingly, a minor good thing), and the SPM this year has been allocated a week earlier than usual - on the 5th day of the dreaded month of November of the cursed year of 2007AD.

Well, at the very least the homework load is quite marginal, but I expect that to pick up as the year progresses. My work as Overseer of Hygiene persists (5 years running... at least I'd be free from this burden after the year is done). I've adopted a baby kangaroo and posted nude pictures of Halle Berry all over the Inter..*choke, splutter, gargle*

*WE INTERRUPT YOUR CURRENT PROGRAM FOR THIS SPECIAL BULLETIN - THERE HAVE REPORTS OF RAINSTORMS OF COWS, CHICKENS AND OTHER RELATED FARM ANIMALS ALL OVER THE COUNTY. IF SO, IT IS ADVISED THAT YOU START PANICKING THIS VERY INSTANT!!!!!! THAT IS ALL. WE WILL NOW RESUME YOUR CURRENT PROGRAM. THANK YOU.*

"THE END"

Childhood's End

Sun, 07 Jan 2007 08:38:46 GMT

"I started to frag... which started the whole world killing...

Oh, if I could've seen... that the bomb was on me..."

OK, enough of that bullshit and poppycock. Sit down, little ones and I shall tell ye a story:

"Once a upon a time, there was this boy. He loved to write. He loved it so much that even the toilet paper in his house was scrawled all over with pen ink that his parents had to walk ten miles to the nearest diner just to unload their cargo (in other words, to take a pee). He apparently had a profound interest in poetry. One day, someone walked into his house and told him to write something absurdly melancholic or else he would have his penis sliced off with a ten-foot machete and his testes made into windchimes (albiet EXTREMELY BLOODY ONES). Threatened by this insanely psychotic intruder with a lusty penchant for slicing off adolescent male genitalia, he began to write..."

*choking and spluttering in the background, someone yelling "MOTHERF***ING HELL! JESUS SAVE MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!", cows bleeding to death*

*10 minutes later...*

Alright, alright enough with the delays (I've gotta get rid of that habit) already. I'll come out with your money as soon as I finish this (stinking loan sharks). I somehow had a hunch last Tuesday to write something regarding my final rite of ascension to Manhood (alright, I'm going overboard here, someone save me). I was feeling rather under the weather that day, so I cooked up a little something something and decided "What the heck? This might actually work." What's more, this was done in about less than 15 minutes. AND IN AN AFTERNOON. I thought it might be appropriate seeing its raining outside, so here it goes (bring a tissue or two, and/or some rotten tomatoes too):

Childhood’s End

How many years shall I count to the now?

How many days do I have left to folly in?

How many hours do remain for my lonely self?

How many seconds are they a-ticking away?

I care not for these petty matters, for I already know;

That Childhood has ended, and Life has now begun.

My memories are all I have to remind me of my joy,

Of a time that I once had, and never will anymore.

The Seasons in the Sun, I wish I had experienced;

But alas, it was always Summer, never Spring nor Fall.

Winter heralded rain and drizzle, not snow or neither sleet;

How I wish to see a snowflake fall but alas there never was.

I was innocent and naïve, nary a care in the World;

I frolicked and leapt – a newborn lamb in a pasture green with grass.

But then the flock came and said to me, “It’s time to leave.”

I abandoned my Childhood days behind and moved on to someplace new.

I regret leaving this place behind, this magical fantasy;

How I’d wished I could come back awhile and relive those glorious days.

But sadly no, I can’t do so my mind beckons to move;

Away from my younger years and go on with my dreary life.

Too fast it came, I believe, my days of adulthood;

I haven’t yet done half the things present in my Life.

My heart yearns for my toddler days, my merry years of yore;

But my mind beckons me to go on, for Childhood’s End has come.

Frostmourne,

Tuesday the 2^nd, January 2007, 1.28pm

Adolescence's End

Sat, 30 Dec 2006 05:30:00 GMT

"Fly, you fools!" - Gandalf the Grey's last words (Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Rings)

And so it ends... This year. Of the many things lost in these last few months, I shed the most tears for the one precious thing that is now a mere ink blot in the parchment of the past - my teen years. My days of frolicking, enjoy life as it is, are over. Too soon, I believe. I thought Time was a slow runner in a never-ending marathon; but I was wrong, it moves faster than I had anticipated. So fast that now I that can only hope to make this as my New Year resolution - that for a moment, Time stops. And let me enjoy all that there is in this world before I pass on to the next.

I'm well aware that I teenager of my age should not be speaking in such words, but such is the philosophy of life, as I come to understand. I speak not for just myself, but for every other being present on this planet. I may act like an immature fool at times; but here, I seemingly have grown beyond my age, well into the distant future. I myself believe I am an imbecile, a slave, a pariah, but many have gone through that part of life before me, and many more will. I bear the burden of the eldest child, and 'tis the burden I shall bear until I finally depart from this corporeal form.

I mourn for the passing of this year, I mourn for the passing of my last days as a free individual, I mourn for the passing of the many lives lost in the calamities that befall this world, I mourn for the culling of innocent flora and fauna in the name of development.

I mourn for everything. But what good will it do? There is no end to the violence that grips this world in its vice, and the suffering that many a poor man burdened with will no doubt be there until he finally succumbs to his fate. We live in a world full of strife, and in turn we too shall bear the price of our own actions.

And because of this, I mourn. And I shall continue to do so until my tears of despair and regret finally dry.

Deus Vult, and Amen.

Omnia Vincit Deus,

Frostmourne