oh yeah. 

i've moved! (somewhat)

i've started biggerbadder.blogspot.com as a site complementary to this one. i will put the majority of my essays/writings on that site, and consider bringing it over to this site and merging the two in the near future. check there for more frequent updates!

welcome to the blue room! 

my new book shelves 

my bed 

bedside 

bedside globes (time/date/temp) 

watson! 

blues and beige! (1) 

curtain! (2) 

completed paintjob! (3) 

second paint layer, protrusions, blue (1) 

second paint layer, protrusions, blue (2) 

second paint layer, protrusions, blue (3) 

painted ceiling (2) - light blue 

painted ceiling - i know, it's very light blue 

stripped walls (2) 

stripped walls 

extreme makeover.

on thursday, inspiration struck me like a brick out of the blue, blue sky. my brother's moved out to his own place, i thought, and his room is right there for the taking. nobody's going to stop me this time. whilst still buoyed by such thoughts, i knew i had to take action immediately. i rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of coke and a glass, and then spent the rest of the afternoon watching dvds on my computer.

that's why i went to ikea on friday. my friend (the same guy from the last time! honest! no! we're not gay!) accompanied me because, like many of my other friends, he had nothing better to do anyway. ikea provided some nice ideas. joined hand-in-hand with my inspiration and hopefully, someone else's perspiration, it was a winning team in the making. i had a plan to modify my brother's room to turn it into something my mother would never accept - a room with a consistent, coherent theme.

so began my foray into the dark, dangerous world of interior decorating. all those bright hues and pastel colours - one can never be too safe in such places. the lighting, simple shelving, ornaments, seating and paint cost a total of 350 dollars. saturday night, i began work in the room, tearing down my brother's old decorations and preparing the walls for painting. i'm taking pictures of my project and i'll post them up here.

regular updates to my blog will continue once i'm done with this project. stuff like my story (at wit's end) will have to wait. apologies.

for who?

i was in town today, waiting on a friend (a guy! honest!) outside a jewellery shop. i was dressed well enough for the salesgirl to approach me and ask if i was interested in taking a look at some fine diamond rings that were on sale. seeing as how i had three minutes to pass before my friend's bus arrived, i decided to play along.

oh yes, please, i replied.

what kind of jewellery are you looking for, sir? she inquired, flashing a grin.

i pondered for a moment, smiled and replied, as politely as possible, i'm looking for a nice bracelet for my bitch.

reaching deep into her bag of professional courtesy, the salesgirl (with the lovely name claire) proceeded to completely ignore the latter half of my request. a nice bracelet, sir? she echoed. yes, we have those; this way please.

she led me further into the shop and just as we reached the display set, she turned around and sought to clarify my original request. is this for your girlfriend or maybe your wife, sir?

i corrected her. once again, as politely as possible.

for my bitch.

oh, she let slip. she turned away, half-turned back to me, hesitated and then walked around the display set, where she probably felt safer.

she remained silent for an awkward amount of time, so i made the first move. so what do you recommend for her?

she smiled, nervously. well i think these few pieces here may interest you. do you have any particular style in mind?

not really, she takes whatever i give her, so anything that looks good to me will do.

i couldn't tell if it was disgust or surprise that registered on her face.

she excused herself and walked over to a man whom i suspected to be the store manager. she talked to him briefly and then he came over and stood before me.

sir, sorry for the inconvenience, he started, but may i help you with your request? what is it that you would like?

a bracelet, i replied. he turned his head towards the salesgirl and gave her a puzzled look.

i leaned forward. for my bitch.

he turned back, startled. for who? he exclaimed.

my three minutes was up.

louder. for my bitch.

a pause. i smiled at the expression on his face.

my dog.

and the oscar for most gratuitious nudity goes to...

reviews for movies that have mature content in the form of celebrity (as opposed to random/anonymous or b-grade) nudity are tricky. i believe that roger and his friend ebert and all those other male newspaper/tabloid/magazine critics give excellent ratings for these movies because a) the actress looks great without any clothes on, and b) hopefully, she will take it all off again in her next flick, no matter how gratuitious the scene may be (ie. halle berry, but hey, i bet she got her oscar for that scene alone).

reinventing the wheel... again.

a step forward for mankind. the americans have discovered the potential wonders of football leagues. pity though that the observation belongs to a humorous american as opposed to one of the humourless sports organisations. three points for a win. hah. we were there first.

at wit's end.

one.

along this countryside, the rolling hills become endless plains, which in turn become patchy grasslands, which give way to tired farmlands, which lead into dusty tracks, which eventually burst into a sprinkling of houses that lay beside a wide river, to which there is neither a beginning nor an end. this is wit's end, so named because its founder could find no way to establish a settlement on the far side of the river.

if mount olympus was home to the gods, then wit's end would undoubtedly be the equivalent of its time, sans the mountain, the gods and for that matter, any true semblance. it did, however have one hero: danilav divagar. danilav was the subject of much of the town's folklore, though much time was spent by the elders arguing over the correct pronunciation of his name. dani-lov or dani-larv? di-var-gar or di-vey-gar? only he himself knew. some argued that even danilav did not know the true pronunciation of his given name.

who speaks their own name? nobody does, those elders reason. surely then, he would not know how to pronounce it either?

the children care not. they gather around every fourth day to listen to stories of his bravery, ingenuity and undying loyalty to his people. of all these stories, however, the one that they wish to listen to more than any other is the one that does not, and quite simply, cannot, glorify any of these admirable traits. it is the sad, chilling tale of danilav divagar's demise.

as it goes, towards the end of his illustrious career as a town hero, danilav was said to be haunted by the phantom of his past. wherever he went, he would see something dark and sinister in the corner of his eye. when he turned, it would vanish. this continued for several years, and danilav, as his sanity slowly ebbed away, devised numerous gadgets and tricks to apprehend this malevolent phantom. he tried tying a thick band around his head and attaching pieces of looking glass to it. even a flick of his eyes could not match its speed. another invention saw the construction of a complex vault of lights and glass that would, theoretically, confuse the spirit that hid in the shadows. little did danilov know, that this strange creature resided solely in the cavities of his mind, where forgotten memories had left tiny cracks. he aged quickly with his mind deflected from the inconspicuous matter of time.

danilov did not fail, though. on his seventieth birthday, the tired, wizened danilov divagar, a good thirty years older than he was when he began his quest to catch this ghost, managed at last, to turn quickly enough to come face to face with it and immediately, he fell to the ground and died. the expression on his face cannot be described. one must see it to understand it, but possibly it is suffice to say that the two young embalmers who were put to work on his body are now happily employed as gardeners.

coloured lions beware.

welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to this week's exciting episode of 'who wants to hump a coloured lion and then jump into the singapore river?' now first up we have here our defending champion himself, mr damien 'j for juvenile delinquency' gomez, who returns on the back of a sensational five hump-and-jumps. give it up for mr gomez!


absolutely stunning.

now mr gomez, i hope you're ready... what's on your mind right now as you embark upon an unprecedented sixth straight show?

i have a big dick. (see footnote)

thank you for sharing.

cheers.

last time we ask - how about we take a look at the prizes up for grabs today? over to you, ron.

hello everyone! today's contestant stands a chance to encounter some truly spectacular coloured lions! admire these delightful creatures while you can!









all the best, mr gomez. back to you, regis.

thank you, ron. on to the questions, mr gomez!

---

damien actually asked me to include that line somewhere in this article.

our friends.

why do guys like to say they're going to 'meet a friend' when they're going to meet a girl? contextually:

A: so what're you doing later, man? wanna join us?
B: uh. ah.. can't. i'm meeting a friend.
A: a friend?
B: yeah.
A: for?
B: a movie.
A: what's her name?
B: huh? i didn't say i'm meeting a girl.
A: but you are, right?
B: uh yeah, but...

this backs my theory that guys treat their girl friends like the central intelligence agency treats its covert agents. the moment they get caught, they disavow all knowledge of any connection. they secretly pine for dates with girls, and yet, they're never proud of it. it's like guys are thinking, "what, me? out with a girl? aw nawww..."

these are guys i'm talking about, mind you, not men. men would be proud to announce their flavour of the week to anyone, anytime. guys are average. if they're lucky, they're above average, though with their souls tucked snugly into the devil's coat pocket. possibly guys are afraid that even a passing mention of a girl will incite ravenous hormone-induced carnage whereby the assailant will actually invite himself for the aforementioned date. or worse, he'll just tag along without telling you. and then he'll steal your friend. and in the end, you'll be sitting alone in the theatre contemplating every sense of the word loneliness.

maybe that's what makes guys use friend instead of girl. the hope that calling her a friend will somehow make her seem less attractive and interesting to other guys.