In the panache of routine, daily might I add; we tend to leave the very frills of normality out, or exchange them for such ghastly unappreciated twists of reactions toward the value of both immaterial and material. How would one possibly put an absolute worth, figuratively speaking to value?

In such frivolous attempts to do so, I sense strongly that again forgoing roots we once held acutely close to us are discarded to swine. That is value. Value added, value undermined. Why am I focusing much on farms, livestock and the very poignant respect that underlies us all is a mystery, but prevalent. Significantly so, value is a tool used, manipulated and exploited in feeding swine, or depriving swine from their very “bread and butter”. See, in this case again..does buttering up come into context again? Spreading butter on bread is also an underlying perception as to how we relate ourselves to.

Pigs are the utmost taboo form of nutrition to a nation, yet a necessity essence to a republic. Why do we derive needed nutrition from pork, overlooking the many forms it presents itself? Ribs- roasted, Knuckles-skewered, Char-siew and siew yuk in our most familiar vernacular. Unlike its meat, swine often poses threat to infamous diseases yet we still provide their meals only to indulge in them as our meals thereafter.

Dirty swine. Delicíoso pork. It’s rather an immaculate perception to place on, nor a value to “stamp” on, but what the hell. It’s either they give us a hell of a feast or they send us a step closer to hell. I’d opt for the former. At least I know precariously when I decide to indulge in ribs, ahhh the satisfaction, the delight. Exquisite. I have increased intelligence, and yet I am wary and apt to avoid complications of disease. If so, I know the neighbourhood practitioner is a drive away. It’s a definite value of dirty swine.

Damnit..waiter, where’s my pork?

The year has come and gone, 2007, wah... so fast ar? bugger. where you go?

Then the government said that emergency lanes are not to be used for emergencies. Maybe then they should propose an emergency emergency lane for real emergencies and another for... err... fake ones...

Starbucks had a great offer of 2008 diaries, 17 drink stickers and one food sticker and there you have, a typically starbucks brown paper book. We collected 10 of those so you do the math.

Then to start it off, some butt old minister gets caught in a sex tape.... *wave hands* and goes OOoooo... Way to go Mr. Saggy Baggy! oh and she's just a friend eh? HAHAHA

PLUS

we got the best seats in the house at the Apartment on NYE. Everyone was looking at the fireworks, we were just looking for the air conditioning... And, bloody hell, the curve is like an upmarket Cheras Leisure Mall. The fucktards went Yummm Sengggg IN APARTMENT.. HAHA donno if I wanna laugh or cry ler. But then again, I'm chinese too so... *sigh*

Yes the merry green men have emerged and vanished, vindicated by the sounds of party poppers and (the latest craze) spray foam, poked in the eye by a ball point pen and had their hearts crossed, whatever that means.

Have a great 2008! I can hear the August fireworks already ;)

There once was a farm, on a mountain’s foot it lay unbeknownst of its village surroundings. With such unpronounced glamour it once stood, indeed amidst the dreary air of staleness and stench from an old spring that had lost its lustre, no different from the farm itself.

One would hardly dare point a finger at the farmer, for his lack in amiably keeping farm. If you know what I mean. Ol’ Mckeroo spent time pondering and missing his dearly departed wife, gazing blankly at her antique China porcelain displayed boldly on the mantelpiece above the fire in his den. Such as, I am digressing here therefore I shall get back to my story of Ol’ Mckeroo and his dishevel of a farm and its fellow residents.

Ol’ Mckeroo’s favour rested solely on his feline, Cat and rooster, Cockerel. Cat was found straying north of Ol’ Mckeroo’s farm, when he found her. His pity with such graciousness reached out to her, and that’s how Cat came to belong to the Mckeroo Farm. Cockerel on the other hand had always been flying from village farm to another; having had no reason nor did affirmation which farm it preferred best. Til Cat befriended Cockerel and persuaded it to stay, with Cat’s power of persuasion (and curiosity) she had learnt along the way from the many villages she had put up with. With similar interests and backgrounds to share from around the village-kind, Cat and Cockerel soon became the best of acquaintances and playmates. They lived happily, until…one day curiosity killed the Cat.

Cockerel was dispirited and mooned about the house with hopes of seeking consolation from Mckeroo. Mckeroo subdued Cockerel with gentle strokes, words of comfort and fed it top grain.

Cockerel, being a cock wandered about the farm with its pompous yet tarnished air; and went back to its old habit of never staying put at one farm. It sought greater heights, albeit the fact that there was only so far it could flap its wings. Cockerel knew of its impairment but was determined for the rest of the farm animals never to lose their devotion towards it; especially in the eyes of Farmer Mckeroo. As it flapped and flapped from village farms to suburban farms, it was always discontented with what it saw. It thought the best of itself, for innate it was…for a cock to be cocky. Alas, perching on the manifold of fences visited, Cockerel was shot dead by 2 farmers whose dividing fence between both farmers’ lands Cockerel perched on.

Mckeroo died soon after from the shattering loneliness and loss of his 2 favourite animals. He felt incompetent, as even his Horse could not be led to water. After years of leading and bringing the Horse to water, Mckeroo realized he could not make Horse drink. Much indecisiveness revolved around Horse drinking water; sometimes not. It was difficult as Horse never gave a straight face for an answer. Only Mares had that power over Horse. Such disillusion fragmented the air in Mckeroo Farm. After Mckeroo’s death, the remaining inhabitants in Mckeroo Farm grew famished and perished. This included Horse as its stubbornness and refusal to drink water when guided…did this time lead Horse to kick the bucket.

it is that time of year again, when people flail arms in the air, bumping each other at shopping malls and brashly braving the crowd... like that miscreant from home alone, singing in voices only a mother could love and rushing for the last piece of turkey. yes, it is that time of year again...

Christmas.. let's foolishly proclaim the happiness under twinkling of stars; and might I add they were aplenty. Christmas trees, Christmas luncheons, Christmas, bah. I ain't no Grinch, though it's an absolute flinch to sigh "AHHHHH, HEHHHHHH". Oh I do smell the ol' new season, 'twas I say... it's time to jump at the opportune to play host and christmassy snowy flaky turkey.

this year no different but it holds no bars nor bars no holds except for what the normal weather man (or shall we say person, *ehem*) says it should be; a season to be celebrated with friends and family, rather sheepishly for burrowing into frosty topsoil where the snowman sits comfortably until spring when it melts leaving twigs, coloured pebbles and of course a carrot brings frowns on the brows of the merry green men.

yes, what say you that problems that ever exist never exist during this period, nor with the flood of unusual... wait... I think bizarre be (or peculiar a better vernacular of choice) sms about the festive season abound... incoming!!! Ho ho ho... but the origin OR ... get this... reason be behind it, remains mystery we all celebrate and cover ourselves in joy and laughter and the occasional bowl of rather bland broth (well, bland if you should so compare it to the broth of the north) and yup...

it is the season to rhyme. to put away all fears, show everyone we are doing "Ayy Oww Kay", present a smiley face and naturally celebrate!

This season WE wish you all a very merry Christmas, and a Happier New Year. I've made my wish a long time ago, it came true, and then some! so wrap your pressie with care, think not of the price! because it's easier for the king's & queen's men & horses to do the running than it is for Humpty Dumpty to break his fall on a hot day with an oiled pavement.

Cheers!