It’s almost two on a cold Thursday morning. It is pouring outside my window, and I really should be enjoying myself at Phuture sleeping. But no, here I am, reaching across cyberspace to you, my wonderful readers, with Stereophonics in the background, doing a cover of Prince’s ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’.

You know there must be someone I am thinking of, if not I wouldn’t be here at this hour blogging about nothing in particular now, would I? No, it isn’t Miss Y or Sheena or Tattoo Girl; by the way, there will be no updates on the Big Three this week, as I simply has nothing to blog about them (except for Tattoo Girl’s amazing eyes, which I have already told you about earlier on). Anyway, something just donned upon me just now as I was listening to Kelly Jones’ vocals- I , Tan GuangHui, have not loved a girl unconditionally ever since I left SY, and frankly, I doubt I would be able to do so even if I try. See, here I am on my blog, always talking about big ideals on love, going the distance, jumping in with both feet, giving more than you take and sh*t like that, but deep down, I know I am afraid. Afraid to let myself fall in love? Or afraid to let myself get disappointed? I don’t know, but what’s the difference anyway?

Contrary to popular beliefs, I was hurt by SY. Alright, I admit, at that point in time, I was behaving like Edison Chen and thinking with my dick, and BY was there to cushion the breakup and ‘steady the dick ship’. But now, as I get older and I look back, I realise that it is actually not that easy to meet a girl who can love you unconditionally for who you are. But that said, SY and I were never going to work out anyway. Our differences ranged from our personalities and favourite pastimes to our family backgrounds and ideals in life. There were just too many variables, too many ‘known unknowns’ and certain ‘unknown unknowns’ (to quote the legendary Donald Rumsfeld).

But the fact remains, we loved each other deeply, yet we knew, well at least I did, that ultimately, things were never going to work out for us. Five years ago, one cold rainy November night, I sat myself down and asked where our relationship was going to take us. I did not have an answer. Five minutes ago, I asked myself the same question again, and still, I do not have an answer. I simply cannot see a future for us- the ‘happily ever after’ for our little fairy-tale just does not exist. Perhaps that is the reason which prompted me to be unfaithful to her and my subsequent impulsive relationship with BY. Looking back, maybe I just wanted to give myself a reason to leave SY. The fact is I loved SY too much to just give up on us so abruptly, and I found the perfect reason to do so only when BY came along. And no, I am not blaming BY- it always takes two hands to clap. I mean, she can tempt me, but first, I must let myself be open to temptation. And yes, I did.

So, do I have any regrets? Certainly not- I am not one for regrets. But I do feel guilty, guilty about the way we ended things, the way I treated her at the end of the relationship. She deserves to hate me, but from the bottom of my heart, I do wish her well, and I honestly hope that she will be able to find her own ‘happily ever after’. Well, that’s about it for now. I really should sleep now. I seriously do not want to dream of SY- I much rather dream of those amazing eyes or the fierce white-tigress look Sheena has been giving lately.

Buenas noches, my dear readers, and may your love find you when you close your eyes tonight.

Saw Les in school today. Greeted him with a ‘Stephen Ireland’. He was too distraught to give me a reply. I exchanged high fives with XP.

*(If the Gooners keep screwing it up every weekend, this is going to be a weekly entry. That is until Liverpool take over from them in late December and early January.)

I just got back from school, and now I need to go over to K-Fad’s for you-know-what. Anyway, I just want to share with you what I just saw in school just now.

Tattoo Girl’s eyes are like the fathomless black of interstellar space that radiate an alluring glow. I totally lost myself staring into them.

F*ck, I’m late.

Let us try something different for a bit and focus on some current affairs. Wait, before I start on anything, let me just make clear certain terms. Well, I am not implying you people are thick or anything, but frankly, I hear the dumbest sh*t in class straight from undergraduates’ mouth. And no, I am not referring to my friends who are with me during lectures- we have no time to discuss current affairs as we are all too occupied with ogling at girls trying to understand the intricate concepts and complex formulae.

Anyway, the other day in school, I overheard this guy trying to impress his girl with some small talk on the Lehman Brothers crisis. Good try, but the boy committed two fatal errors; nevertheless, the Paris Hilton seated next to him had no bloody idea either. Well, number one, he kept pronouncing Lehman as ‘Leh-men’, and he is not alone (I have lost count of the number of times I have heard people pronouncing it this way). For f*ck’s sake, it is ‘LEE-MEN’ brothers, you dumb motherf*ckers. And number two, Lehman Brothers is like so yesterday. The in thing these days is Citigroup, haven’t you heard? And please, for the last time, it is Citigroup, not Citibank. I know, technically speaking, they both generally mean the same thing, but how would you like it if I call you Liverpool fans burglars or thieves or divers?

As you all should by now, Citigroup is cutting more than 50,000 jobs worldwide. I mean, it was like f*cking immense to me, but I look around me, and I see my people more concerned about getting a new car, or the Christmas sale, or whether Arsenal is going to get relegated. So, let me put things in perspective. You guys thought AIG was huge and it was ‘too big to fail’? Let me see. AIG has slightly more than 100,000 employees worldwide and 1 trillion US dollars in assets; Citigroup has about 300,000 employees and more than 2 trillion dollars in assets. I can already sense another 700 billion dollar bailout looming, and you still think it is not going to affect you? The whole world is seriously going to sh*t (like Arsenal SC), I tell you. Those who said the world has decoupled and the Asian markets can weather this sh*t storm, you can stick whatever you said up your ass. I don’t know about you, but I am currently pondering whether to drive a cab or play for Arsenal in the Coca Cola Championship when I graduate.

Or better still, I can become a pirate, just like my idol Captain Jack Sparrow. If you don’t already know, the Gulf of Aden is now the new playground for the likes of the Black Pearl and the Flying Dutchmen. A VLCC (Very Large Crude Carrier) carrying 100 million dollars worth of crude oil was hijacked last week. The ship itself is worth one and a half times its cargo. What the f*ck? 250 million for a day’s work? Robinho’s £150,000 a week doesn’t sound that much now, does it? Somalia here I come.

Now, for some good news, the Detroit Big Three (a term Chelski, Liverpool SC and Manchester United fans should be rather familiar with by now) are on the brink of oblivion, and I simply cannot be happier. I mean, it is not like we have any Corvette or Mustang or Viper on our  streets or something, and that explains my lack of emotional attachment to General Motors, Ford and Chrysler. For years, they have been producing huge, petrol-guzzling inefficient vehicles, and now, they are neck deep in sh*t due to a combination of petrol prices, worldwide recession and workers’ pension. I very much prefer the Japanese Big Three. Like they say, karma is a b*tch.

Anyway, that’s all for now. Got to run- I have a (Tattoo) girl to catch.

Fulham

Hull City

Stoke City

Aston Villa

Man Citeh

Did I miss out anyone, Les?

Alright, so I struggled with my tenses in my last entry, but who doesn’t? I mean, the other day, K-Fad was asking me if the word an only precedes words starting with a, e, i, o and u. I told him yeah, absolutely, and rebuked him for asking me such a dumbass question. Then he asked why is it that it is ‘an honour’ instead of ‘a honour’. I was at a total loss of words. Yeah, an honour, an honest person, all those sh*t uses an. F*ck, it goes to show even great teachers like yours truly over here can make mistake at times. I apologised to K-Fad for my blunder (who was spotting a huge grin on his face by now) before ordering him to do twenty push-ups as punishment for Dennis-Wise-ing his tuition teacher. If there is one thing I picked up from the school, it is that teachers are always right, even when they are wrong.

Anyway, this wonderful song by Secondhand Serenade is dedicated to Sheena. Why do you do this to me? Why do this to me so easily? Well, I am pretty much getting zero love from her these days ever since I blogged about her wardrobe malfunction a couple of weeks back. Sad but true. But why is it that whenever I see her, she always gives me this feeling that she knows about the existence of me blog. Creepy. But still, I am a man of my words, and I stand by what I wrote. You will never find me calling a spade a soil-distributing tool, and that top you wore is anything but classy, my girl. But that does not mean I love you any less either. You know I love you, always.

So, I have been going to JB like once a week for the past month, some with my friends, some alone. Retail therapy mostly, plus some catching up with old classmates. But it is on trips alone where I really learn a lot about our neighbours. Like how easily those Malaysian taxi drivers at the custom exit can identify me as a foreigner. I mean, the other day, I was in a crowd of guys (Malaysian and Singaporean) and I was dressed pretty simply (slippers and pants, nothing fancy that would suggest to those crazy snatch thieves that I have a equally rich crazy dad who thinks he is Warren Buffett). But still, those JB cab drivers only approached me out of like the bunch of half a dozen men exiting the JB custom checkpoint. I mean, f*ck, if long-sighted fifty-year-old uncles can spot me, what chance have I got with those parang-waving snatch thieves on bikes? Maybe the next time I should grow a goatee, put on a sarong and a batik shirt ala the great sodomiser cum politician Anwar.

By the way, I have recently patched things up with Tigress and JT. Good things come in pairs, they say, and how very true. So, all is well with them trannies ladies. It was all a bad case of misunderstanding and breakdown in communication. I would not say I was totally blameless, as these things usually take two hands to clap. And I know myself pretty well- I can be rather heartless to people who I believed to have betrayed my trust. See, that is the problem with me. All the nonsense aside, I can be rather judgemental to those around me (just like ‘lonelyboy’ Dan Humphrey). I always like to give others the benefit of the doubt, but that said, with me, you only got ONE shot at making a first impression (all of you can testify to that). Screw it up and you would not even command a place in my recycle bin. There is a rather fine line between pissing me off and pleasing me, and I do not recommend you toe the line anytime soon.

At times, I really hate myself for being so quick to judge people and everything, and I keep telling myself I should learn to give others a second chance. But somehow, even when I do, I can only forgive, but I can never forget. I always believe in learning lessons from disagreement and confrontations, be it with friends or enemies. If you let me down once, I will make sure it will never ever happen again. That is one thing I have learnt from my relationship with SY, and SY has certainly taught me well.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on……well, it will never happen anyway, so you guys need not worry who the shame is on.

18/11/08 Tuesday

0835 Alarm went off. Great, I was just dreaming about my muse, and now I had the rejuvenating sounds of Boys Like Girls belting out ‘The Great Escape’ ringing from my phone.

0836 Took the sausages and hash browns out of the freezer. Went back to bed- hopefully my muse is still there waiting for me in the bathtub (in my dream).

0851 Gave up on her and the bathtub. Made myself some breakfast.

0912 Bathed. Belted out 說好的幸福呢 at the top of my voice. Thought of Sheena Obama’s new cabinet while scrubbing my balls.

0924 Had breakfast with my dose of caffeine and straits times. Citibank is cutting FIFTY-TWO THOUSAND jobs. I am so going to drive a cab when I graduate.

1008 Brought Fluffy to the park for some rabbit-dick-sightseeing.

1010 Zero rabbit dick sighted. A couple of canine dicks hanging around but that is no consolation to Fluffy.

1017 Still no rabbit dick around. Horny little Fluffy getting restless.

1021 Fluffy unloaded a pile of fertiliser on the plants. Reminded me of my breakfast. F*ck.

1026 Headed home. Another uneventful (and sexless) day in the life of poor Fluffy.

1044 Left for school.

1103 This guy on the bus is staring at me. Why do I always attract the attention from the wrong sex? I know I am wearing pink and everything, but have you ever seen Anwar appear in parliament in pink? Does that make him any less of a sodomising cock-loving faggot?

1110 Crazy motherf*cker is still staring at yours truly. Did I break his leg before while playing soccer? Or was he the one who caught me in bed with his girlfriend? Patricia was it?

1114 Tan GuangHui is actually being stalked by some fag? Unbelievable but true.

1122 Fag alighted at NP. Concluded that he must be someone I kicked while playing soccer, because given his age, his girlfriend must be too young for me (I am no paedophile like Alan and Ben).

1141 Alone in the lecture hall waiting for my friends (who lack the concept of time management) to arrive.

1149 XP arrives. Greeted him with a peck on the cheek.

1158 Finance lecture commenced.

1203 Shrek arrives. Greeted him with a peck on the lips.

1216 Finally located my muse and Indon Chick after some looking around. Beautiful day ahead.

1240 Les arrives (early by his standards). Greeted him with two words- Gael Clichy. He gave me the double middle-finger salute. I wonder- what do Fulham, Hull, Stoke and Aston Villa have in common?

1251 Lecture is boring.

1303 Lecture is f*cking boring.

1328 The break arrived. Discussed Arsenal’s latest defeat with the boys. Les was literally in tears, and I have never been happier.

1347 Boring sh*t resumed.

1424 Tried to use the Hiro Nakamura shut-your-eyes-real-tight trick to move time. Ended up falling asleep.

1500 Woken up by Les’s Joey-Barton-like elbow. I think I broke a rib.

1509 Had lunch with the boys. Alan and his underage girlfriend joined us.

1523 Proceeded to lecture hall for accounting class.

1536 Botak Singh is late again. What’s new?

1538 Spotted Miss Y. No butterflies in the stomach, not even a wing or sh*t left. How the great has fallen.

1557 Having round 163 with the Z monster.

1640 Early break by Botak Singh! You have to love that bald man.

1642 Alpha Male (Alan’s best buddy who is rather smitten by Miss Y as well) directed a sarcastic remark at me. ‘Why do you wear spectacles to school today, GuangHui? To look more guai is it?’ He has no idea who he is f*cking with.

1643 ‘So that I can see your lan jiao bin more clearly, you motherf*cking piece of dickless sh*t’. Miss Y is mine, you CHAO CHEEBYE (inspiration comes from Xiaxue, honour goes to Alpha Male).

1716 Botak Singh is back early. He usually takes forty-five minutes.

1717 Socks (Alan’s friend) gave me this really huge grin on the way in. Was that an invitation?

1728 Still thinking of Socks’ smile. Do not know which conclusion to draw. Very unlike me.

1730 Alan must have been feeding her stories. Confirm.

1751 Saw Alpha Male whispering something in Miss Y’s ear. I broke the pen I was holding.

1752 Miss Y giggled in reply to him. I broke my calculator. I swear to God I am going to f*cking break Alpha Male’s nose together with his INNOCENT glasses one day. You just wait and see.

1826 Class dismissed. Tried to trip Alpha Male on the way out but failed. He will not be so lucky the next time, I promise you.

1832 Moved on to my last lecture of the day. Will be alone without any of the boys, but Tattoo Girl is in the same class!

1841 Had two chocolate muffins, one bar of Hersey’s cookies ‘n’ crème and a can of Red Bull for dinner. I am going to stay awake! For Tattoo Girl I will!

1904 Marketing class starts. Tattoo Girl is late.

1925 Tattoo Girl is still not here. She is usually never this late.

1941 I don’t think she is coming. A part of me died.

1943 I began to weep silently.

2059 Entering my final hour in school. Not even a blowjob from Megan Fox can lift my spirits now.

2101 Really feel like leaving and getting on a cab home.

2102 Whoever says time flies is one lying son of a b*tch.

2203 At long last, the happiest moment of my day has arrived.

2204 Usain-Bolted for the school gate.

2250 Home sweet home.

2252 Collapsed on my bed. Tried to collect my thoughts and all the happenings of the day in preparation for this blog entry.

2257 Bathed. 說好的幸福呢 round 2.

2318 Too f*cking shagged to blog. Watched the latest episode of Californication instead.

2353 Lying on bed. The last thing I remember was……Socks’ smile. OMFG.

Last Sunday, I woke up early for family breakfast- the first time in months. Temporary ceasefire was called upon the Cold War with dad. He took the initiative to ask me out, saying he needed my help with some important sh*t. As a dutiful son, I could only oblige. So, off we went to Tiong Bahru market (of all the places in the Singapore) at f*cking nine in the morning. Frankly, I do not understand the fuss about the food there; my mum is like one of them aunties- long queues equal good food. If that is the case, McDonald’s has a perpetual queue 24/7, does it mean they serve mouth-watering food? I call this generation gap, while my mum insisted it is simply my ‘ignorance of the youth’ (in order words, I do not know sh*t because I am a kid). I was like, whatever. I am f*cking twenty-three, if she was not aware of her son’s age.

So, the deal was, my dad wanted to buy a new car, and he wanted my opinion (honestly, I prefer to be driven then be driving). If you guys do not already know, my dad just sold his antique Benz like three weeks ago, and now he wants to buy a new Japanese car (we visited the showrooms of Honda and Toyota). Well, well, well, the financial market is now shot to sh*t, the whole f*cking world is in recession, Roman f*cking Abramovich lost 12 BILLION POUNDS and guess what? Over in sunny Singapore, MY DAD wants to buy a car. No, not a small economical point A to point B Cherry QQ, but a 2.4 litre 190 horsepower Honda Accord. Crazy motherf*cker. Yes, that was exactly what I mumbled to myself when he pulled up at the Alexandra Road showroom.

I seriously do not understand what the f*ck my dad is thinking, and no, it is not generation gap or ignorance of the youth sh*t. I mean, all right, I give it to him, the petrol prices are falling and his bus business is finally picking up and making some decent money. Well, I do not wish to disclose too much here, in case you ladies mistake me for one of them rich silver-spooned kids and start using needles on the condoms the next time we meet up. But I honestly am only middle-class, and let me tell you that I know of some very competent doctors at certified abortion clinics, so don’t you dare try anything funny, sweetheart. The magic number is still thirty-five, ladies, thirty-five.

Okay, back to my dad. How can he not know that we are already in a recession? And according to his Royal Highness Lee Kuan Yew, things are not going to get any better for the next twelve to eighteen months. I know Warren Buffett’s whole ‘Be fearful when others are greedy and greedy only when others are fearful’ thing, but my dad is not exactly the CEO of Berkshire Hathaway. Oh well, my dad is one stubborn little c*nt, and I can assume now (which is like five days later) the Accord is already ordered and on its way.

Anyway, while on the way home, my mum was telling my dad maybe they should get an MPV (it just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? They must well buy a f*cking Boeing 737) since their son will be getting married soon and they could do with the extra space for some grandkids and everything. Well, the last time I checked, my parents only has one son, and that is ME. Whatever the f*ck gave my mum the idea that I was going to give her grandkids? I have been single for God-knows-how-long and those girls I bring home usually leaves in the morning, never to be seen again. Seriously, this family outing just keeps getting better and better.

It was paramount my mum understood my concept of the number thirty-five (unless Durex ‘extra safe’ do not fulfil what it set out to do), as you know them old people kind of get really paranoid about such things, especially when dumb f*ck neighbours start enquiring ‘Is your son impotent?’ and sh*t like that (I f*cking swear to God whichever neighbour asks my mum that will end up with broken windows and one shoe). Well, after my comprehensive explanation (together with explicit charts and colourful vocabulary), my mum basically freaked out. I mean, it is only twelve years from now and I am sure with today’s healthcare, both her and my dad will have no problem living beyond that. I mean, what is the hurry? My dick is fine and I know it will be fine for the next fifty years. Worse come to worse, I can always do an Angelina Jolie and pluck a ‘Maddox’ or a ‘Zahara’ from Ethiopia or some sh*t, right? Tell you what, I totally hate my mum. I remember when I was eighteen and enjoying my (sex) life, she was always cursing and swearing, saying I should not be f*cking around with someone else’s daughter and hoped that I get STD or some sh*t. Now, five years later, she wants grandchildren. Women……

To complete my totally dysfunctional family, my sister brought his boyfriend over for lunch the other day. He is an accountant, and that says it all. I do not know why, but I felt threatened all of a sudden. Perhaps it is because I have been the alpha male of the household (after my dad) all these years and the unexpected appearance of another male species has suddenly made my throne shaky and everything. Maybe it is because he is an undergraduate like me, or perhaps because he is almost as tall as me.

But then again, I am very sure he does not have a nine-inch dick.

After EIGHT consecutive entries, what did you people honestly expect? Of course, my brain needed a break, and I needed to find a new muse. Surprisingly, she was easier to find than I first thought. But this time round, it is going to be kind of different- she will not be given a name on my blog, and sorry, I will not share details of her with you horny bastards (who masturbate to my blog entries religiously every other night).

Anyway, I have been receiving some lovely feedback from you good people, and a couple of you I did not expect to be reading my blog actually read my blog (I swear Chick-with-dick was Les’s idea!), and some strangers whom I do not know in person in fact like to read my blog. So, hi there! I am free tonight. Call me! (Only applies for pussies; if you have a dick, don’t you dare dial my number, Elton). So, I know, my blog is edgy, honest, sexist, funny and full of sh*t. That is why I was rather surprised to learn that the fairer sex actually likes to read my anti-feminist sh*t. That is a first- all girls I know embraces feminism like Hillary Clinton embraces the presidency.

On my blog, I admit I try to portray a certain image of myself, and I am proud to say that I have pretty much succeeded in brainwashing you little dickheads. From the first question you people ask me (regarding my blog), I will know at once if I have made you believe who I am (or am not). For those c*nts who asked me at what age I started supporting Liverpool SC (Sh*t Club), you can go f*ck yourselves (you are so thick you obviously believe global warming is caused by God hugging Earth closer). See, the other day I was MSN-ing an old friend, and she was suggesting a gathering with our group of friends and all, and I jokingly replied that maybe I could bring my son along. And f*ck, she totally bought it! Seriously, this type of sh*t only happens on me and me alone. I am beginning to seriously think that I do possess the condom-broke/shotgun face. But why do people think of such things when it comes to me? I do not get it. In reality, you know I am an angel. When my friends are with me, they are all in heaven. How many bloody times do you want me to repeat that?

Okay, although my blog is frank and everything, I do not expect you people to accept my point of view (I am not like Arsene Wanker or Les- stubborn emotional Gooners). It is, after all, MY point of view, and I feel that is what makes my blog different from the rest. Trust me, nobody wants to read about where I went last night or the scrumptious dinner I had with my friends or see me cam-whoring at that expensive restaurant in town. That is not blogging- that is showing off, telling the world where you have been and sh*t like that, and telling those who read your blog they suck because they are not having as much fun as you. To me, blogging is more of expressing your point on view on issues, from the Sh*t Club that is Liverpool to the first black president of United States. In between, I insert a couple of paragraphs of my sordid fantasies with girls from my school and Viola! A truly fabulous blog.

Anyway, now my microeconomics lecturer knows my name- he asked for it last Wednesday morning. I was totally caught unprepared, and screwed up the piece of cake question he posed me. F*ck. Big-time. He must be thinking I am a Liverpool fan. F*ck. Anyway, Sheena skipped class, and I call it karma- after complaining of two consecutive Wednesday mornings of see-through top with black brassiere on my blog, God decided to reward me with an empty seat. I should really learn to keep my mouth shut my hands tied the next time and learn to embrace the wonderful scenery God has given me. Oh, black-bra Sheena, please come back…

I bought Alan green-pants (he wore this totally horrible piece of sh*t to school on Tuesday) a calculator for his birthday. It is a Hello Kitty Limited Edition I got from City Square. And yes, it is PINK. Actually, it is for his accounting class, but he can also use it to calculate how many days there are left to his girlfriend’s 16^th birthday in order not to be put behind bars for having sex with a minor. Wait, what? His girlfriend is already nineteen? Oh well, then I should have given the calculator to Ben the man then. F*ck, I realise I am actually surrounded by quite a number of paedophilic friends. And no, I am not like them- I honestly prefer MILF like Sarah Palin, or GILF like Cindy McCain.

Although Miss Y finally showed up for accounting class this week, there are no updates on her. I was too busy checking out my muse. So, you know who is left- Tattoo Girl. Last week, I told you I could not seem to get any feelings going when I am with her, well, nothing much has changed this week. She is so cute, innocent and vulnerable, so much so, she is like a little sister to me. You people know I prefer to be dominated by arrogant and narcissistic b*tches. Perhaps that explains the lack of feelings, but frankly, I have no idea. Maybe it is an age thing- I totally despise paedophiles. Especially those who support Liverpool SC.

But I did manage to get Tattoo Girl to laugh. We were discussing our tutorials and everything, and we were referring to my marketing notes. And people who have sat beside me before in lectures know I love to write totally useless sh*t into my notes to keep myself awake. There was this page on branding, and I copied down (from the lecturer’s PowerPoint slide) “BMW the brand is associated with performance”, and below it, I wrote down “Liverpool SC- International Stevie G Diving Academy of Fine Arts” and “Serangoon Gardens- xenophobic motherf*ckers”. Tattoo Girl totally loved my sense of humour. Tattoo Girl did not see this, but on another page that was on substitute products, after copying down “black board markers & blue board markers”, I wrote down “condoms & abortion clinics” and “toilet paper & Liverpool jerseys”.

You’ll.Never.Wank.Alone.

You know the ‘bikini teacher’ who has been making the headlines lately over her blog and stuff? Well, I got this from her blog. Pretty interesting.

First, identify yourself as right or left-brain person:

1. Hold your hands together, as if you were praying. Look at your hands. If you see

Left thumb is below the right thumb ---> left-brain

Right thumb is below the left thumb ---> right-brain

2. Fold your arms in front of you (as if you are angry)

Right arm above left arm ---> left-brain

Left arm above right arm ---> right-brain

Based on 1+2 (order important), below is the interpretation of your personality:

Right-Left: Considerate, traditional, indirect type

Can instinctly read other's emotion, and respond friendly by natures. Although not very into taking initiatives in moving forward, but this person will always take a step back in supporting others. Stable personality and considerate, give others a being protected feeling. But the weakness is they cannot say no; regardless how unwilling they are, they will take care of others.

Right-Right: Loves challenges type

Straightforward. Once they decided on one thing, will take action right away. Very curious, and love challenges. Dare to face dangers without thinking through (sometimes foolishly). Their weakness is they don’t listen to others, will filter in only what whey want to hear in a conversation, and very subjective. However, because of their straightforward attitude, they tend to be fairly popular.

Left-Left: Dedicated, cold, perfectionist

Very logical in all aspects. The only way to defeat (or win over) him/her is through reasons. Has a lot of prides, and feeling strongly about doing the right thing. If they are your friends, they are very trustworthy. However, if they are your opponents, they will be very tough to deal with. Because they can be very "anal" as a perfectionist, they usually leave a bad impression of being hard to deal with when first met.

Left-Right: Likes to take care of others, leader type

Has a cool and keen observation ability to see through situations, yet still can be considerate in others needs. Because of their cool and calm nature, and strong sense of responsibility, they tend to become head of a group. Popular among people. However, they may not be able to help themselves in meddling because they want to take care of others too much. Very concerned about how others view them, and always on alert.

Before I took the test, I read through it first, and I was thinking I must be a Right-Right. But guess what? I thought wrong.

I am a ……

Sheena obviously does not read my marvellous blog, because she turned up in the same translucent slut top with a black brassiere (I wonder if she reused the bra as well). All right, my dear Sheena, you have got my attention already- you are a household name on my blog, for crying out loud. You do not need to turn up in see-through clothing every Wednesday morning just to headline my blog entry, okay, sweetie?

I hate to say this but Sheena is quite possibly an attention-seeking whore. She was basking in all the glory, you know, sitting in the front row, revealing to the whole world your choice of undergarment colour, flipping your hair here and there every five minutes to expose a little of your silky smooth shoulders, yeah, she sure as hell became every guy’s fantasy for three hours of economics. Shrek was so pleased to see her, his dick got stuck under the table- that must have been one hell of a boner. Me, I faced no such abnormalities- Sheena’s choice of attire is nothing I have not seen before, and like I have said, I will never give attention to people who beg for it. Well, for the three hours, I was busy studying how the utility curve respond to a change in consumer’s income and price of good X. No sh*t.

Miss Y was absent for accounting class- she was suspected of contacting DOS (Donut Overdose Syndrome). Anyway, I just want to say this to you fine ladies- me not blogging about you does not mean you do not hold a place in my heart, and my heart has definitely got room for more than just ‘the big three’, trust me.

Let us sidetrack a little here. People (who do not know me personally) who read my blog would certainly think that I am bad egg and that honestly, cannot be further away from the truth. I mean, I do not go to the church and sh*t, but that does not mean I go round breaking guy’s leg and getting gals pregnant right? Frankly, I am totally innocent, like an angel. Ladies’ Night? What the f*ck is that? Zouk? Is that a town in Zimbabwe? I have no idea what you are talking about. Sex? What’s that? Never heard of it. See, I am an angel. When my friends are in my company, they are in heaven. I just want be your friend. =)

Tattoo Girl- the enigma. We get along just fine, and she is the only one out of ‘the big three’ I am on talking terms with (sad, but true). We are comfortable talking to each other, and she has got a really gorgeous face- she is definitely a mix-blood (no, not Indian mix Malay, you moron). But somehow, she does not give me the feeling, the butterflies in the stomach sh*t, you know what I mean? And I wonder why, because she seems like a totally sweet girl. Who knows, perhaps she is like MayDay’s latest album- I got to spend more time alone with her in order to like her. By the way, on the first listen, MayDay’s ‘Poetry of the Day After’ seemed totally mediocre, but after a couple days, I fell in love with it. I recommend track one (currently playing on me blog), eleven and twelve. Oh, the Hokkien one sounded pretty tight, but for certain parts, I thought I heard them cursing my mum.

Lastly, Barack Hussein Obama II just became the forty-fourth President of the United States- I mean, was there even any doubt about that? Frankly, the only thing that could have swayed the election in the Grand Old Party’s favour was Sarah Palin doing a striptease live on CNN. Well, she did not and we have our first black American President. The last I heard, 50 cent is being interviewed for the role of Head of Homeland Security (due to his extensive knowledge of bullet-proof vests); Tiger Woods is the leading candidate to be the new President’s Chief of Public Relation (due to him being a spokesperson of 798,264 products); and Will Smith is on the short list for the Secretary of Defence position (due to his ‘hero’ persona in Independence Day, Bad Boys, Men in Black, I Am Legend and Hancock).

May God bless America.

It seems like every time I blog about issues other than ‘the big three’ (Miss Y, Sheena, Tattoo Girl), I ruffle some feathers. Well, let me clarify- I am most certainly no sexist, and my last entry was not meant to dish the dirt on some b*tchy ex. You know I have absolutely nothing but eternal affection for SGgirls Singaporean women. I was just trying to say I had some bad luck with women before, but that has totally nothing to do with you beautiful ladies (Ah Lians included) who frequent my blog. If you care to read the beyond the first few paragraphs, which was kind of full of sh*t anyway (meant to amuse my sexist male readers who live by my brand of sh*t-stirring humour), the whole point of my entry was to tell you fine people that I can never survive in a marriage such as Alvin Ng’s. I mean, I can understand Alvin’s pain- he too must have had some real bad luck with Singaporean women, and he is at an age where he needs to settle down, so he turns to the women from China. But, for me, I will never settle for that- I want her to be beside me “on the mountain”, and I just want to say that I will have no trouble finding her in sunny Singapore.

The air is cleared now, so let us get on with things. I saw this guy in school on Monday wearing this McLaren tee. Glory-seeking motherf*cker. He was in front of me on the elevator, and I gladly spat in his greasy hair. I just want to say that Lewis Hamilton may be the champion, but he will never have class like Massa, simply because the arrogant English c*nt does not know how to lose, but Massa, that man lost with class, and he lost like a true champion. For that, I salute him.

Others headlines: Nicholas forgives Edison. I wonder if it is true, or he is just paying the journalist some lip service, but if he really meant it, the man has got class as well. “I have known him for thirteen years, longer than I have known my wife”- seriously, what the f*ck was Nicholas trying to say? That men I know sleeping with my wife and showing her unshaved pussy to the whole world is OKAY? Or is he inviting Edison over for a threesome with Cecilia? Them Hongkies are always filled with crazy ideas, no? Anyway, he ended the interview with a “everyone has a past” line. Sure, too many closets, too many skeletons. But me, my closets have no skeleton. They only contain broken promises, shattered hearts and aborted foetus.

As for my friend who recently fell in love, I can totally feel his joy. I mean, first love is always the deepest, but then again, so is the first cut. Speaking to him yesterday, I could feel he was in complete bliss (must have been the incredible blowjobs). That said, he is currently making progress like he has got no time to waste, I mean, he is literally like a ‘bullet train’ entering a ‘tunnel’- I just pray he wouldn’t join the league of fathers anytime soon. Well, from the bottom of heart, I really want to wish him well, but the skeptic/cynic /Jose Mourinho in me just want to add- the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long. Buena suerte, amigo (my Spanish is definitely picking up).

As for the other friend who has not been having much luck with his Eunice CwD lately, I just want to tell him I am truly sorry for saying the other day that he has more of a shot with my asshole than with CwD’s, erm, reproductive organ. I should have used a more famous example such as Elton John’s asshole. Anyway, no matter what happens, I am always here for him and he will always have a friend to fall back on. And oh, I almost forgot- RORY DELAP!!!

As you all know by now, I have been spending tons of time at McDonald’s studying the sh*t out of my books. I spent so much time there even the cashier knows me, and she knows my favourite drink as well. I have already lost count of the number of times I have sat alone till three in the morning trying to finish my tutorials, and sometimes I wonder what the f*ck got into me which turned me into this nerdy bookworm that I am now, and sometimes I wonder how long will this new GuangHui last.

Anyway, I just want to say that Singaporean kids these days are f*cking crazy. The other day, at two in the morning, I saw this dozen or so kids crowding outside McDonald’s, triple-S-ing (smoking, spitting, starring) at another bunch of kids across the street. All of them were no more than fifteen, and when I left an hour later, they were still at it. I mean, come on, haven’t they ran out of cigarettes or saliva already? These kids will forever be kids, you know- they don’t understand sh*t. Getting into a fight and beating the crap out of someone is not power; power is repackaging high-risk subprime mortgages into securities, selling them on to gullible grandmothers, receiving USD$22,000,000 in bonus, bringing the world’s financial market to its knees and currently enjoying life at his beach house in Florida, all this basically within the law of the United States of America. Respect. That is how powerful Richard motherf*cker Fuld truly is.

Sheena is waiting for me now, so, goodnight everybody, and……

You know you love me.

I was on my way to school today when I heard this song on Class 95. It was the first ever song whose lyrics I memorised, way back when I was in primary five. Back in those days, I did not have no computer or internet access where lyrics were just a mouse click away. I had to painstakingly record the song on a cassette tape, listen to it, scribble down the words, rewind, listen, scribble, rewind, listen, scribble, blah blah blah, you get the idea. It took me one whole night to get the lyrics right. And I remembered I even cried myself to sleep one Friday night when I found out Macarena had displaced Lemon Tree as the number one song on Perfect 10.

That’s like, twelve years ago. And surprise surprise, I could still remember the lyrics! OMFG! So, there I was, silly little me on the bus mouthing the words to the song, oblivious to all around me. A fleeting three minutes of pure bliss.

Sigh, we are only young once.

Every year David Beckham takes a holy journey to watch the Lakers try and make it to the NBA finals. At the same time, every year Victoria Beckham asks how the Lakers game was and David always looks at her confused and asks, “Game?” Then Victoria surfs to The Daily Mail and sees these photos. And then she weeps into her hands. And David sees this sobbing, skeletal figure, sighs, shuts his eyes and thinks of Laker girl #4’s ass. It’s become somewhat of a tradition.

Read more about it from The Blemish and The Daily Mail.

And this and this happened last year?