imnaught

Miles Away

2010-09-17T07:20:00.001+08:00

Joe stepped into his room and peeled off his shirt. It had be a very long week for him. The first two days were spent with his girlfriend who was returning to Europe for 30 months at least. The second two were spent recovering emotionally and fighting fires at work. Today was Friday and finally Joe could take a breath without wondering what else he ought to be doing. A long shower and an hour later, Joe decided to hit his favourite watering hole. If he wasn’t going to get a medal for surviving the week the least he deserved was a long, stiff drink.

Stepping into the all too familiar den of drink, drink and more drink, Joe distinctly realised that he did not feel as energised as he normally was stepping into this place. He was missing Jane. It had been only three days but it had seemed a lot longer than that in his mind. He definitely needed a drink. He walked to the bar but not before everyone working there recognised him and greeted him or shook his hand. Joe was a regular there. Joe was quite the charmer but most importantly, Joe knew how to make service staff feel appreciated. Joe eventually reached the bar and gestured at the bartender. It was a gesture the bartender understood.

An hour into his very large glass, Joe was interrupted by his cell phone. He looked at it and saw that his friends had decided to drop by, confident that Joe would be there. Joe smiled. He felt he could use the company although he was not really sure if he wanted it. Regardless, his friends arrived shortly after and the acceptable social lubricant was applied liberally.

In no time at all, his friends had cheered Joe up and were laughing and taking photographs. Photographs that almost instantly made their way to Facebook. Not that there were anything scandalous about the photographs. It merely showed Joe having a drink with his friends.

7000 miles away, Jane turned on her computer. And she was alerted to new pictures of Joe. She saw him drinking. She saw him with his friends. She saw him betraying her. She picked up her cell phone and called him. Of course Joe didn’t hear the call. It was too noisy. It was just too noisy where he was. Jane called again and again, frantic with the thought that she hadn’t left a week and Joe was having a drink. How could Joe! In a moment of clarity, she realised she could call John. The same John she had known when visiting Joe and the same John that was in the photograph with him. Fortunately for Jane and unfortunately for Joe, John was outside smoking. Which meant that when Jane called, John could actually hear his cell phone. And answer it.

John went in and looked for Joe. John was puzzled that Jane would call him. Joe was also puzzled that Jane would call him. Until Joe looked at his cell phone to see the 13 missed calls from Jane. Abruptly sobered, Joe stepped outside to return Jane’s call. Joe did not know if he should be upset at having missed Jane’s calls or embarrassed that Jane had behaved like a mother and called his friend. The cell phone rang. The call connected. And the show was on.

Jane berated Joe for his insensitivity. For how selfish it was of Joe to be out for drinks so soon after her departure. For how he didn’t seem to care about the relationship. For how none of his friends could take her seriously if Joe wasn’t taking her seriously. For Joe’s missing her calls. Joe was confused. He was sure he had done nothing wrong. It was unfortunate that he missed Jane’s calls but that could have happened even if Jane were in the same country. Jane made it sound like Joe had cheated on her. Joe tried to explain but Jane was in no mood to be reasoned with. She did what she did best – cry – and hung up on Joe. At this stage, Joe was more confused than he was drunk. The mood for the evening had been brutally murdered. Joe walked to the main street and hailed a taxi for home.

Jane threw her cell phone on her bed. She was livid. Joe’s nerve! The entire episode had consumed the better part of two hours. Two hours!

She glanced at the clock in her room and shook her head.

She was late for a party.

It Was Nothing

2010-09-17T05:03:00.003+08:00

Joe had a low opinion of the opposite sex (although he conceded that at times they were an agreeable substitute for masturbation). Having been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had never been short of anything. He was especially used to getting his way and more often than not, his privileged upbringing saw him in control of most situations. Where to eat. When to eat. With whom to eat. What to eat. For example. Relationships for him were nothing but a social necessity to prove his heterosexuality (never mind that he was perpetually in love with himself).

Having just woken up from a three day weekend, he looked about in a daze but managed to recognise his bedroom. It took him a little longer to recognise the warm body next to his. Smiling to himself, Joe stepped out of his bed. (It was that big.) Walking over to the bedside bureau, he lifted the bottle of sparkling water and walked over to the body in his bed. Unceremoniously, he poured it over her face, causing her to jump up startled. She looked at him bemused. He stared at her blankly. And then told her to clear out within the next half an hour.

Joe was left to his own devices the entire day but the intense stimulus of that three day weekend had left him yearning for more. Much more. That’s when he saw Jane. And that’s when he noticed Jane too.

Jane was the butler’s daughter. She was all grown up now and managed Joe’s estate. Well, Jane actually managed Joe’s father’s estate but in Joe’s eyes the old man had long outlived his usefulness and the estate was going to be Joe’s anyway. So Jane managed Joe’s estate. Joe sat and stared at Jane walking across the hallway. He marvelled at how she had developed from a scrawny girl into something like that. His marvel morphed into the realisation that since the estate was his, the estate was an extension of him. Therefore, at least to Joe, Jane was also responsible for managing him. Joe smiled to himself. It seemed the impending weekend would be taking care of itself.

Walking into Jane’s office, Joe sat down before her and told her his plans for the weekend: an all expenses paid sojourn into sin. Jane was unsure how to react. Whilst she was not exactly your goody two shoes girl next door, she was not entirely comfortable with the notion of an office tryst. Studying the situation quickly, she decided that it would be in her best interest to accept Joe’s indecent proposal. They were to leave in two days.

Joe smiled smugly to himself. Another three day weekend. Another Jane at his mercy, his beck and call. Joe’s game. Joe’s rules. Joe could get used to this. As a matter of fact, he was used to treating Janes like his property.

Before long, the two were on a private villa on a sunny beach. The day was spent, expectedly, in decadent behaviour befitting the Romans. Joe couldn’t help thinking that for an estate manager, Jane was very good. Almost too good. He told Jane not to disturb him till the evening and went to bed. Now Jane seemed to have some time on her hands. It was one of those frustrating situations where one had too little time to do anything yet too much to do nothing with. She decided to take a stroll by the seaside.

That was a good choice. Before long, she was chatting with someone she met at the beachside bar. A few cocktails later, they were like silly teenagers, giggling at everything from the colour of the little umbrella in her cocktail to the shape of the spoon at the bar top. At that moment it made sense for them to traipse along the seaside. There would be a lot more to giggle over along the coastline.

Giggles soon made way to kisses which soon made way for adult entertainment in the water under the moonlight. Jane and her new friend were rather into each other. Quite literally. And then Jane realised she needed to walk back to the villa.

Giddied by alcoholic and sexual intoxication, with an unsteady gait, Jane approached the villa. Only to find Joe seething in anger at the front porch. Jane was late. If that was not enough, Joe had witnessed ‘his’ Jane in a dalliance with an unknown. Joe felt violated. Jane was there for his fun, not someone else’s!

Jane heard a hiss:

“What was that?”

Giggling, Jane asked

“What was what?”

Pointing in disbelief at the approximate spot where Jane was moments ago, Joe glared at her. Jane turned around to look at the spot where she had been.

Jane turned back and smiled.

“Nothing. Shall we have dinner?”

Joe’s blank expression prompted Jane to elaborate

“Oh, don’t worry. It was dark, the water was warm and I was drunk. It was nothing.”

Opposite and Equal

2010-03-11T05:54:00.006+08:00

Joe cleared his throat and walked to the large doors in front of him. He held each handle in either hand and looked down. Exhaling slowly and deeply on the handles, he tried not to remember how much he did not want to be there. He made the mistake of dropping his secret girlfriend home early one morning. His girlfriend’s father standing at the doorway put an end to the secret facet of their relationship. Every action has an opposite and equal reaction.

Joe was ‘invited’ to dinner so that his suitability as suitor could be assessed. Joe knew there was no way he would pass the interview. Too many things were stacked against him: tattoos, a litany of juvenile indiscretions, hailing from the lower strata of society, and a mother unknown, amongst other things. Joe was convinced that his girlfriend’s father wanted to humiliate him for having the impudence to date his daughter. Joe was right as rain.

Inhaling deeply, Joe whitened his knuckles against the handles and pushed them open. He looked in. He looked in and saw the sound of silence. He looked in and saw them all talking to him without speaking. He realised the room reeked of fornication and bad consequences. Joe knew that humans are savage by nature no matter how much it is dressed up. Joe might have been there for dinner but there was no doubt in his mind that Joe was the special on the menu.

The cold perspiring mug of beer mirrored Joe’s cold perspiring forehead. He sat down and downed what he hoped was his beer. Momentarily distracted by the rich quality of the brew, he looked up and smiled. Liquid courage was working overtime. Joe was more uncomfortable than afraid. His idea of formal attire was being in a pair of jeans coupled with a polo t-shirt. Shifting about in his shirt and trousers, his not so secret girlfriend’s father smiled smugly to himself. He was going to teach Joe a lesson Joe would remember for the rest of his life.

Taking a sip of his wine, Joe’s nemesis turned to look at Joe. The last of the wine trickling down his throat, Joe’s nemesis prepared to crush him with a knockout blow. He was going to go the direct route of grilling Joe about the secret affair. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to Joe and barked,

‘I understand you’ve been sexually active with my daughter!’

Joe smiled to himself. In part because images of his proclivities flashed before him and in part because he recognised what his nemesis was trying to do. Joe felt he could change many things but he also knew that human nature was not one of the things he could change. But there seemed no harm in trying: Joe looked at his nemesis in mock horror and replied

‘No, of course not! I just lie there.’

Slingshot

2010-01-20T02:38:00.003+08:00

Struggling to egress the taxi, Joe cursed at the fact that his right arm was in a sling. Having recently survived a horrific road traffic accident, he was well aware that Lady Luck had smiled upon him: his car was a total wreck (having flipped over twice) but he escaped with only a minor concussion, a fissured shoulder and a torn muscle. But being human, he still cursed his plight.

Finally out of the taxi, Joe made his way to a jaunt his fraternal twin brother, John, was at. Spotting John with some friends at the far corner of the jaunt, Joe ambled across toward them and sat down. After the cursory introductions to the strangers at the table, Joe patiently answered all questions about the confluence of events leading to his arm being in a sling. Then he ordered a double vodka and got down to numbing his pain. Since the accident, Joe had learnt that taking his codeine painkillers with vodka was extremely efficacious in delivering him from reality. Popping twin tablets into his mouth, Joe consumed the twins and the double in a single gulp. Joe placed the now empty glass on the table and looked around. It was then that he caught Jane looking at him in bemusement.

Jane had spotted him the moment he walked in. The sling didn’t help but neither did Joe’s outlandish attire. But it was the huge soft toy Joe held in his good hand that had caught Jane’s eye. (Joe had just arrived from a pity party his friends had thrown him.) The sight of a tall, mean looking man walking with a cuddly toy fit for a prepubescent schoolgirl was incongruous enough for the blind to take notice. But there was something about his eyes that attracted Jane to him immediately. Joe had large, beautiful eyes that resonated an intensity lost on most of his generation.

Stroking the filter of her cigarette with her thumb, Jane smiled at Joe. Joe smiled back and made a face. He was on enough codeine to be excused for simply being conscious. Jane touched the empty chair between them (Joe had purposefully not sat beside Jane, choosing instead to sit beside his fraternal twin) and asked him to keep her company. Joe smiled, and obliged. It was obvious where this was going to go.

Offering Joe some of her wine, Jane stared intently at Joe. Joe looked at her whilst sipping her wine and couldn’t help thinking that though he had sold his motorcycle years ago; he was up for some riding that night. John stood up abruptly, breaking the Joe-Jane gaze. Looking down at his fraternal twin, he pointed at Janice then raised his chin to the door. Joe smiled. That gesture was code for “I’ll be back in 15 minutes”. It looked like it was riding season. Joe nodded in response and watched John and Janice head out the door after forgetting that moments ago they had announced the need for the washroom.

Alone once again, Joe and Jane re-established their gaze. Moving her hand toward Joe’s lap, Jane touched his knee gently with her fingertips. Joe placed his hand on hers and they moved in for a kiss. Many kisses and two cigarettes later, John and Janice returned. Everyone bottomed out their glasses and parted ways. In pairs.

That Jane and Joe set the roof on fire is an understatement. Promising to meet the next day over drinks, Joe left for home exhausted but exuberant. He was meant to meet Jane in less than ten hours. The next day, Joe and John were out getting an early start on their preferred poison. Jane arrived one and a half bottles later. Without Janice. The three proceeded to adjourn to the next venue after bleeding dry the contents of the remaining bottle.

The next venue was perfect. Euro trance pulsating from the amplified speakers, the trio ordered enough to releave a drought plagued village. Publicly displaying affection to Joe, there was not a doubt in anyone’s mind that Jane and Joe were deeply in lust. John was a little too inebriated to care about anything but his drink and soon enough, he announced the need for the washroom. Joe flipped him the finger and laughed. Jane whispered in Joe’s ear that she too needed to use the washroom. Nibbling on his ear lobe, she paused before exhaling an ‘I love you’ into his ear. She planted an amorous kiss on his lips and staggered in the direction of the washroom.

Joe looked around. The music was good. The drinks were better. And now that he was alone, he realised that the crowd around him offered amazing eye candy. Already high on codeine, the alcohol did not help his psychomotor coordination. Trying to take the sip, Joe thought his lips were upon the glass’ rim but stood corrected when he felt his entire shirt soaking wet. He looked down at his shirt. He laughed. This was fun! He directed the bar maid to clean up the inadvertent flooding of the table and to refill his glass. He walked to the washroom.

Turning gingerly (his shoulder was fissured, remember?) into the alley that led to the washroom, he stood before him and was greeted with a sight to behold: Jane and John were making out like crazed weasels. First their lips were locked. Then she was nibbling at his chin. First on the right; then on the left; then she opened her eyes to reposition her mouth on John’s face. And saw Joe standing not three feet from them. She gasped, tugged at John’s shirt and gasped again. Joe saw John turning toward him; John turned and saw Joe standing there.

Joe smiled. Jane was puzzled at his reaction: she was fully expecting to be slapped (just not too hard or she might have liked it) and she was prepared to fully accept it. Joe took a step forward and Jane rushed to him, struggling to find words that would be suitable enough for such a situation. Joe placed his finger on her lips. Dumbstruck, Jane remained still, like a puppet on a string.

Joe moved his lips:

“No need to explain. Your insurance policy provides for any rider. I enjoyed my ride, now let him.”

Joe moved his legs; he had a shirt to rinse off.

Plea for Understanding

2009-12-07T23:03:00.002+08:00

Dear Readers

I'll be outta action for some time.

Here's why:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10744&id=100000225076529&l=62ee5154da

Sunit

Computer Mediated Communication

2009-11-04T09:36:00.002+08:00

Preface

Older readers might find this entry a little difficult to follow because of the Netspeak employed.

To my foreign readers, my apologies that this piece bears a distinctly local flavour and some of the colloquialisms might be lost on you. You might find http://www.talkingcock.com/html/lexec.php a useful reference in trying to understand Singlish.

Any reader is welcome to email me for clarification on parlance or etymology of phrases and morphology.

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(9:07 PM) -*JOE*-: at home alr?

(9:07 PM) --=JaNe=--: yuppx.. back nt long ago

(9:07 PM) -*JOE*-: eaten?

(9:08 PM) --=JaNe=--: yuppx i eat at mac donald after bowling

(9:08 PM) -*JOE*-: ur fren bbday?

(9:09 PM) --=JaNe=--: nopp... jus randomly me, nina and one more malay gal decide to go relax and bowl lo

(9:10 PM) -*JOE*-: oh ok

(9:10 PM) -*JOE*-: hope juz now dun affect u

(9:11 PM) --=JaNe=--: say no den is fake but well... i will be alright

(9:12 PM) -*JOE*-: is nt tat i want to break with u... its just tt i m behaving my natural self.. and everytime u sae change change.. then nv sae wat u want exactly also.. how would i know

(9:14 PM) --=JaNe=--: if u are normal i wont be asking u what is wrong... jus take this moment, think back.. all the way back to before we tgt or rather when we jus get together... can u see the diff?

(9:16 PM) -*JOE*-: i dun think so probably previosly is nt the me... actually i dun reallly msg b4 or i dun talk for long one.. neither would i organise to go out or wat.. ppl ask then i go de

(9:17 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok tat i understand... maybe tats jus how u are cos u are used to it.. now the problem is i am ur GF not ur frenx

(9:18 PM) --=JaNe=--: for me my frenx i also don really talk much they also will ask me out and i will organise also

(9:19 PM) --=JaNe=--: but if u were to say tat u are jus like tat den it is telling me gf and fren de status is the same? u treat the same way to ur gf as ur frenx?

(9:19 PM) -*JOE*-: u just now previously sae gf and frens status shld be the same

(9:20 PM) -*JOE*-: now u sae like tat

(9:20 PM) --=JaNe=--: nono wrong.. i mean u shld balance out ur time with ur frenx and ur GF

(9:20 PM) --=JaNe=--: family no need say cfm num 1... but u have to balance ur frenx and GF

(9:21 PM) --=JaNe=--: but from wat i observe and wat u say it seems like u see frenx more impt den GF?

(9:21 PM) -*JOE*-: to me i feel so... i m nt a person who will sacriface my frens for my gf de

(9:22 PM) -*JOE*-: i believe fren is impt

(9:22 PM) -*JOE*-: its like i have my own opinion.

(9:22 PM) -*JOE*-: cannot change also

(9:23 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok so to u frenx are mor impt

(9:23 PM) --=JaNe=--: and u will sacrifice ur GF jus to be with frenx?

(9:23 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok den i ask u one question.. if u know u are like tat den why in the first place u asked me to be ur GF?

(9:24 PM) -*JOE*-: but does it necessary mean gf must be treated better than frens

(9:26 PM) --=JaNe=--: in a sense yes... if frenx are treated more impt den gf den meaning ur normal Girl de fren is more impt den gf den whats the point of having a gf?

(9:26 PM) -*JOE*-: as in my male frens

(9:26 PM) -*JOE*-: considered as my brothers

(9:26 PM) -*JOE*-: i m nv close or really close to a gal

(9:26 PM) -*JOE*-: and i will not sacriace any of my time to them

(9:27 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok talk abt guy frenx... if u treat ur brothers more impt den ur gf den can u imagine how ur gf feel? is is equals to nt having a gf right??

(9:28 PM) -*JOE*-: ok whatever u sae, u r right..

(9:28 PM) --=JaNe=--: wat if next time u get married and ur brother is more impt den ur wife? den wat is the marrage for?

(9:28 PM) --=JaNe=--: no not tat watever i am say is right... but u cant always think in ur own way u get wat i mean...

(9:29 PM) --=JaNe=--: i know ur brothers are very impt to u.. jus like how my childhood fren is very impt to me...

(9:29 PM) --=JaNe=--: but does it mean tat i treat her better den my bf?

(9:29 PM) --=JaNe=--: i need to balance

(9:29 PM) --=JaNe=--: u get wat i mean?

(9:30 PM) --=JaNe=--: if u think watever i say don make sense or got wrong u can jus tell me

(9:30 PM) --=JaNe=--: i will jus admit i am wrong

(9:31 PM) -*JOE*-: no no no.. whatever i sae i would be wrong to u

(9:31 PM) -*JOE*-: wat i sae u rebute..i would might as well dun tok

(9:31 PM) -*JOE*-: and often we quarrell... i dunno wats up with u but i m freaking pissed over this alr

(9:32 PM) -*JOE*-: if u want to keep on doing this, i think i cannot tahan alr

(9:32 PM) -*JOE*-: i dunno y u are like tat now.. u seems freakin paranoid

(9:32 PM) --=JaNe=--: GET THIS STRAIGHT!!! who is the one cannot tahan.... u think i wanna rebute watever u say?? it is because watever u say don support u get it????

(9:32 PM) --=JaNe=--: i am nt paranoid

(9:32 PM) --=JaNe=--: u tell me

(9:32 PM) --=JaNe=--: which Bf do not meet up with gf for more den one month?

(9:33 PM) --=JaNe=--: don talk abt meet up... do not text much or talk to her much at all... this one i don blame cos since u say u got lots of commitment and also u not free to always text and it is jus u tat u don text or talk much

(9:34 PM) --=JaNe=--: den in the first place u got so much commitment den why u ask me be ur gf!!! jus ans me!!

(9:34 PM) --=JaNe=--: from the start when u woo me we were great.. evrything was great.. till we get tgt and as time goes by our communication cut down to less den 10 text per day

(9:35 PM) --=JaNe=--: which guy actually jus CHUNK the gf aside and go ahead and enjoy himself leaving the gf worried and nt knowing wat to d

(9:36 PM) --=JaNe=--: it is nt i wanna be paranoid... is cos u seriously treating me worse den a fren.... i seems like a hi bye fren to u now

(9:36 PM) --=JaNe=--: can u for once THINK IN MY SHOE

(9:40 PM) -*JOE*-: frm todae onwards. u just make the sae.. i keep quiet.. u text, i reply.. ok...

(9:42 PM) --=JaNe=--: it is nt abt this

(9:42 PM) --=JaNe=--: if i were to do tat it wont work

(9:42 PM) --=JaNe=--: joe please

(9:45 PM) -*JOE*-: isnt tat ok... u decide wat i shld do.. i need to think in ur shoe.. i work i go find u and i dun spend time with my fren.. probably no need to work..

(9:46 PM) --=JaNe=--: no tat is too selfish... i don mean it tat way... u think i am like tat??? working is definetly need for u

(9:46 PM) --=JaNe=--: i knw u need to pay alot of stuff and plus give ur mom money

(9:46 PM) --=JaNe=--: and i of cos know u need time with ur frenx

(9:47 PM) --=JaNe=--: but have u save a space for me as ur gf?

(9:49 PM) -*JOE*-: if u saying now, its a no. i know

(9:51 PM) --=JaNe=--: wat abt previously

(9:52 PM) -*JOE*-: previously was indeed tiring becoz everytime need to go find u and go home alone.. my frens were neglected as well

(9:53 PM) --=JaNe=--: so why in the first place u take me as ur gf when u know u have so much commitment?

(9:54 PM) -*JOE*-: i dun care so much... i love a person i would not care bout the problems

(9:54 PM) -*JOE*-: but the problems appear and i know i m nt a gd bf

(9:54 PM) -*JOE*-: tats it

(9:55 PM) -*JOE*-: so blame on me... my explanation suck for u

(9:55 PM) -*JOE*-: u think its rubbish

(9:55 PM) -*JOE*-: but i m saying the truth

(9:55 PM) -*JOE*-: dun believe also fine

(9:55 PM) -*JOE*-: and i must also admit tat it change after all the stupid rumours

(9:56 PM) --=JaNe=--: i knew it

(9:56 PM) --=JaNe=--: i knew u will change towards me after the rumour

(9:57 PM) -*JOE*-: also, i dare nt see u..i m afraid tat i would flare up when i talk bout this topic

(9:57 PM) -*JOE*-: so, i choose to remain silent

(9:57 PM) -*JOE*-: and the way i treat my ex now is fked up as well

(9:58 PM) -*JOE*-: my fren tell me..

(9:59 PM) -*JOE*-: u rather choose to believe one person than so many

(9:59 PM) --=JaNe=--: u mean i choose to believe who?

(10:00 PM) -*JOE*-: as in my frens tell me i choose to believe u than one whole grp

(10:01 PM) --=JaNe=--: wa ur fren win le lor

(10:01 PM) --=JaNe=--: i knew it

(10:01 PM) --=JaNe=--: u wont trust me totally

(10:01 PM) --=JaNe=--: no matter wat i am at the losing end wat

(10:01 PM) --=JaNe=--: i stands alone

(10:03 PM) -*JOE*-: but thats nt the main reason.

(10:03 PM) -*JOE*-: if u want to sae y i choose 1st

(10:03 PM) -*JOE*-: i said

(10:03 PM) -*JOE*-: in short, its i nv thought of the consequences.

(10:03 PM) -*JOE*-: i m rather unhappy with quite a number of things.

(10:04 PM) -*JOE*-: u said u had alot of close guys fren, fine

(10:04 PM) -*JOE*-: but the way they tok on FB.. i dunno for real or wat is like tat

(10:04 PM) -*JOE*-: imagine alot of gals do the same thing.

(10:04 PM) -*JOE*-: how would u feel

(10:05 PM) -*JOE*-: and when the rumour start.. u FB everyone like i m nt supporting u.. ok fine

(10:05 PM) -*JOE*-: but its like wuite a no.

(10:05 PM) -*JOE*-: so i rather choose to msg less go out less..

(10:05 PM) -*JOE*-: becoz i semms to be bastard in many eyes

(10:05 PM) -*JOE*-: esp urs at the pt of time

(10:07 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok this i understand and i apologise if u get the wrong idea.. cos seriously maybe is jus u nt used to it cos my frenx are like tat.. but i am at wrong i shld distance myself as well... it is nt at i wanan post at FB is cos there is the only place i can vent.. and i assured u before tat my frens don judge my r/s but i do apologise le and i know it will affect u one way or another... i had nv seen u as a bastard in my eyes.. u are my bf leh... but is jus really hurts me when i get to know tat u do not have the full trust in me.. and trust is the most impt factor in a r/s

(10:08 PM) --=JaNe=--: these issues are my fault i admit

(10:16 PM) -*JOE*-: like i said... in the long run i would still e like tat one.. becoz i told u my stand is clear..

(10:16 PM) -*JOE*-: if u fine with it, it would be gd

(10:16 PM) -*JOE*-: if nt, then i m sorry for causing u in this state

(10:18 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok one question

(10:18 PM) --=JaNe=--: do u still love me

(10:24 PM) -*JOE*-: yes, but not as much as b4

(10:25 PM) -*JOE*-: and i m also thinking... i would onli delay ur time

(10:25 PM) -*JOE*-: it seems like i m nt ur type of guy too

(10:26 PM) --=JaNe=--: to be true if u are nt my type i would have nt say yes to u seriously

(10:29 PM) -*JOE*-: as in ur type of ideal bf who text u everytime, call u, meet u

(10:30 PM) --=JaNe=--: text me everyday is common... call nt necessary... meet once a week is more den enough

(10:30 PM) -*JOE*-: becoz i dun do so.. and if u wish a bf llike tat, i dun want to waste ur time

(10:30 PM) -*JOE*-: the thing is i cannot fulfill

(10:31 PM) --=JaNe=--: yes i get it

(10:31 PM) --=JaNe=--: i know u tried to manage everything

(10:54 PM) --=JaNe=--: so now wat? the decision does nt lie in me ccos i state clearly i tried and made this relationship work and u know i want it to work out... but if u insist tat u are like tat and nt gonna do anything abt it den it is ur decision at the end of the day

(10:55 PM) -*JOE*-: i hope and want the relationship would work

(10:55 PM) -*JOE*-: but its tough for me

(10:58 PM) --=JaNe=--: den?

(10:58 PM) -*JOE*-: i dunno

(10:59 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok... one thing i ask u, u wont change ur mindset and actions right?

(11:01 PM) -*JOE*-: priority would be the same for me.. if go out or wat i know i m in the wrong... so i will try to improve and probably forget the impression of the rumours

(11:03 PM) --=JaNe=--: tat is wat u said to me previously.. it is nt abt forgetting the impression or wat... i know it is over le the rumour thing... to u yes it is over.. and wat i ask from u is nt to ignore but yet nt trusting me whoel heartedly

(11:06 PM) --=JaNe=--: and if u think tat after today u are still gonna jus be rather ignorant and text me for the sake of texting den i also dono wat to say

(11:06 PM) --=JaNe=--: jus ans me truely

(11:06 PM) -*JOE*-: ya, i text for the sake of texting

(11:07 PM) --=JaNe=--: ok if u think u are gonna text me for the sake of texting... wat do u think it proves abt the feeling u have for me?

(11:09 PM) --=JaNe=--: i don wan u to drag this any further

(11:09 PM) --=JaNe=--: i know u have an ans in ur heart

(11:09 PM) --=JaNe=--: it is jus tat u don wanna say it out

(11:09 PM) --=JaNe=--: wat u want? break or nt?

(11:14 PM) --=JaNe=--: now you dun wnat is i want! BREAK!

(11:15 PM) --=JaNe=-- ー has changed his/her status to Busy

Standing Tall

2009-10-23T06:07:00.005+08:00

Joe finally had reason to be relieved. After working at the restaurant for almost 18 months, he had finally gotten the hang of things and more importantly, finally one of the restaurant managers had taken to him; work hours were now much more pleasant.

Joe, standing at 6” 1’ (185cm) tall, towered over the restaurant manager, Jane, who stood at an almost impressive 5” 1’ (155cm); they made quite the odd couple but got along swell because they had similar perspectives on how work ought to be done. Between the two of them, they had the restaurant running like a finely tuned, highly efficient engine. When they were on shift together, that is. (But then again, that was almost always simply because Jane did her best to ensure her roster coincided with Joe’s as much as possible.)

Jane trusted Joe so much that she began to deploy him for more and more duties that were rightfully hers to discharge. Joe realized this but was not unhappy because to his mind, it was a trade off in his favour: he was relieved because he was relieved of more menial duties and now had a wider variety of things to do. Jane was obviously happy that Joe was happy. (No surprises there.)

Rising earlier than usual on a Sunday because he was roused by the shrill tone of his cell phone, Joe grouchily reached for his cell phone and gruffly answered it. It was – no prizes for guessing – Jane at the other end of the line. She needed Joe to turn up for work earlier than scheduled because two other members of staff had not shown. Joe was not keen on working any earlier than he had to but acceded to Jane’s request only because he knew that having been startled from sleep, returning to slumber was going to be difficult. Assuring Jane that he would be at work not half an hour later, Joe hustled to do the necessary before heading to the restaurant.

Surprising Jane with his speediness, Joe walked to the manager’s counter and looked at the list of things needing attention. At the top of the list was stock taking. Stock taking was also at the top of Joe’s list: Joe distinctly disliked taking stock be it taking stock of his life or taking stock of stores. He looked at Jane, raised his eyebrow at her and followed that up with a frown. Expecting nothing less from Joe, Jane gave him the best pitiful puppy dog face she could manage. When that failed to have the desired outcome, Jane offered to log Joe in for an additional two hours of work, on paper. Seeing a good deal, Joe accepted the low level bribe and set to take stock.

A ream of paper in his hand, Joe checked everything from the number of ketchup sachets left to the rolls of toilet tissue needed. Backbreaking as it was, Joe identified every single one of the 156 items and proceeded to replenish supplies on the shelves, in order to prevent staff from going helter skelter in search of supplies during peak operation hours. Emerging from the back of the restaurant a good 90 minutes later, Joe, all hot and bothered for the wrong reasons, handed Jane the ream of paper that was now full of the requisite information.

Thanking him and giving him the next 30 minutes off, Jane leafed through the ream and zoomed in on items that she would be responsible for for the rest of the day. Marking all those of immediate relevance, Jane waited for Joe to have his break before beckoning him to the back of the restaurant. Entering the storeroom, Jane led him to the back and turned to him. Removing her manager’s blazer, she smiled at him and reached for the back of her skirt. Pulling out a pen, she asked Joe to show her some where he had packed some of the items that would be surely in demand that day.

After going through a few items on the list, Jane pointed to the item labeled ‘sliced olives’ and said that she could not find it. Puzzled, Joe insisted that he had already packed it for easy retrieval. Jane asked Joe to show her where he had packed it. Joe turned around and momentarily found it. Raising his hand to the top shelf, he tapped a can of sliced olives and smiled.

“Why did you put it there?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? I just did. It is conveniently within arm’s reach! What’s the problem?”

“Joe! Convenient? I can’t reach it!”

Especially for You

2009-10-20T05:22:00.006+08:00

Joe was special. He was special because he believed he had been chosen. He believed that because he was chosen, he was special. And the rest of his community believed he was special. But only because they thought they were special too. Everyone in their circle was special. Joe was an average looking chap. He was so special and average that it would not have been wrong to label him an especial average Joe.

And then there was Jane. She was not special because she was not part of Joe’s special circle. Joe wanted Jane (to be special). Joe wanted Jane to be special (so that he could be with her). Joe wanted Jane to be special so that he could be with her (and make her see how special he was). Jane was nothing remarkable but that was through no fault of her own; she had not gotten lucky in the gene pool sweepstakes hence had neither intelligence nor beauty as allies. However, she did have genteelness about her that make Joe soft. (Actually, it made Joe very hard, but that is a story better suited to an off peak timeslot.)

Joe wanted to accentuate his special status via Jane. He wanted to have her, to own her, and most importantly, he wanted to display her to his community of specials so that he could be especially special. Joe wanted it all badly enough to plan a course of action that would lead Jane to him: being special, he would not present overtures to Jane.

It was fortunate for Joe that Jane worked in the same office as Jane and it was fortunate for Jane that Joe worked in a different department from hers. Just before the morning break, Joe made his way to the pantry and sat strategically such that Jane would have little choice but to notice him the moment she entered. Filling his coffee cup only halfway, Joe swirled the coffee in his cup to make it look like he had already been at the pantry for a while. He was intending to make an impression on Jane before leaving the pantry quickly, so that she would be sufficiently enraptured by the enigma created by his absence. Joe was special. Indeed.

It was not long before Jane walked in. Joe stretched both his hands above his head and yawned as loudly as he could. The result was a yawn so forceful and loud that Jane was startled. She looked at him a little bemused and shook her head. Joe took this as a sign of acceptance. He went on to tell her how tired he was from all the work that he had been doing lately and because Jane seated herself at the only table in the pantry, Joe took this as an indication that his plan was working.

Jane nodded sympathetically in Joe’s direction. Joe saw her nodding and felt that it was time to phase shift and reel her closer to him. Joe went on to tell her how much he was bogged down with work and personal issues that one day he just knelt down, wept and wailed to the heavens. He was starting to feel better when his aunt noticed him weeping and wailing. She decided to be a good aunt; she knelt down beside Joe and together they wept and wailed at the heavens. Apparently they both felt better after that episode and Joe could not thank his aunt enough. Jane stared blankly at Joe simply because that must have been the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard!

Joe looked at her staring and just knew deep within his soul that he had snagged her. He launched into another story, this time attempting to show his introspective side. Every now and then, he would meet his uncle in the woods to do some soul searching. Initially Jane thought that Joe bonded with his uncle over sole fishing in the woods but quickly realized that Joe and his uncle frequented the woods to hold hands and talk about the future.

Jane was about ready to volunteer Joe a seat in the loony bin when Joe dramatically stood up. He announced that he had work to do and needed to head off. Turning back after two steps, he looked at Jane and asked if she would be keen to have lunch with him that Saturday afternoon. Jane shot him a quizzical look and replied dryly that she would be at the office that afternoon and if Joe actually decided to make it all the way down to the office for her, she wouldn’t mind lunching with him at the pantry. Joe nodded in her direction and walked away triumphant. There was almost a bounce in his step.

In no time at all it was Saturday morning. Joe made his way to his motorcycle and strapped his helmet on. He was on his way to the office to claim his prize. Taking his usual route to work, he was greeted by a sudden downpour. Not having his raincoat on his person, he was soaked to the skin. He decided to turn back at the next possible exit and because he was such an experienced rider, he managed to lose his right shoe whilst maneuvering his motorcycle at the u-turn. Home, wet and shoeless, Joe went up to towel off and change.

Stepping out of his house for the second time that morning, Joe remounted his motorcycle and headed for the office. Retaking his usual route to work, he was greeted by the same downpour, which of course was not sudden anymore. Not having his raincoat on his person, he was soaked to the skin again. He decided to turn back at the next possible exit and because he was such an experienced rider, he managed to lose another right shoe whilst maneuvering his motorcycle at the same u-turn. Home, wet and shoeless, Joe went up to towel off and change.

Joe reflected on the morning and decided that Jane was not for him. The heavens had prevented him, twice no less, from meeting up with Jane that morning. He had to heed the sign.

He was special, afterall.

Take My Breath Away

2009-10-06T06:23:00.001+08:00

It had been a week of unabridged, unadulterated, unexpurgated unlawful unification. Joe was thoroughly spent and Jane radiated from the most radiant of post coital glows. Turning to look at her again, he could not believe his luck; Joe recognized that he was the average frustrated chump who by definition was condemned to lead an existence without the company of women like Jane.

Jane caught his gaze and smiled. She could not account for what had taken over her; Joe was hardly the sort of man she even looked at, must less engaged with so intimately. Jane had surprised herself and then surprised herself even more. But apart from the fact that Joe was not her typical type, he had played above par. She thought she might just let go for once and enjoy herself. (After all, apart from the fact that Joe was not her type and he was prone to moments of fitful anxiety, she had had a relatively good time.)

Deciding to finally roll out of bed, Joe and Jane took turns using the shower; which was odd given events over the past week. Getting ready for what was left of the lazy Sunday ahead of them, Jane slipped into slippers and a sun dress (in that order) and Joe into a tank top and a pair of shorts. They set about hoping to find a suitable place serving breakfast at tea time.

Walking along the many eateries lining the streets, it was clear to them that they were not about to find any restaurant in the vicinity. Jane was all ready to turn back to the hotel and order room service. Joe thought the weather was perfect for a longer stroll with his now not so perfect Jane. He reasoned that the less than perfect Jane was still a few notches higher than what he could otherwise manage on his own. Pulling her gently along, Joe convinced Jane that the walk might do them some good in working up an appetite and further, they had already left the hotel some ways behind.

Reluctantly, Jane let herself be led by the hand in search of the elusive restaurant that would be what they set out looking for in the first place. Joe did his best to engage Jane in conversation so that she would be distracted by the seemingly never ending search for food and find him distraction enough. They did not have too much in common, as one might expect, and after a while they could hear only the sound of their sandals being dragged against the sandy road.

Joe thought hard about how he could alleviate the rapidly deteriorating situation. Looking around for an idea, he spotted a wooden signpost that read ‘RESTORAN UPSTAIR’. He was relieved more than anything else; tugging at Jane’s arm, Joe excitedly pointed at the signpost and the two made their way toward it. On reaching the tacky (and dirty) signboard, Jane frowned: it seemed like a long flight of stairs. Joe was so enthusiastic that he started hopping up the steps before realizing that Jane was not alongside him. Turn down to look at her, he cajoled her into climbing the stairs by promising her that they would not be disappointed and also by offering to carry her bag.

Less than halfway up and Jane was hot, wet and bothered for all the wrong reasons. She was grumpy and certain that she would not make it to the top. Huffing and puffing, the two finally made it up. The view that greeted them was breathtaking. A zephyr blew by them and the ocean below seemed so nearby. Turning to the ‘RESTORAN’, it took their breath away: it was closed. And it looked like it had been in that state for a while now. Joe was lost for words but Jane was not:

“137 steps, Joe, 137! Joooooooooeeeeeeeeee!”

Faux Fawnication

2009-09-01T05:23:00.000+08:00

Publisher’s Foreword

I don’t think writers are sacred, but words are. If you get the right ones in the right order.

For many years our Publishing Boutique used to specialize on world famous classics, but as years went by we found ourselves being drawn to modern witty, provocative, impudent and fresh ideas, enormous amount of which we happened to find in short stories of imanught (well, he also promised to wax hiimself for us and we couldn't help it but publish his stuff). Carefully following and analysing imanught’s creative process we've noticed certain progress (to make a long story short and a deep explanation shallow - he started writing more letters) although some aspects we still find disturbing, for instance twisted dark plots or endings such as boy buys winning lottery ticket and kills himself or girl orders favourite blueberry pie only to choke and die. Being owned by stock-holders from the Great Empire (USSR) we considered (were advised to) applying a traditional method and rewriting problematic parts which do not reflect our perspectives. But eventually a little amount of polonium helped work these things out in an almost magic way and the rest or the publishing process was completed in a heart-warming harmony of an absolute consensus.

Originally planned as a 200 pages book that would include all of imanught's works, readers' comments and illustrations, it went through a diet and shrugged a bit, mostly due to our chief publishers being generally lazy, technically challenged and of course the global recession. Therefore "IMNAUGHT" includes "pages that survived technical problems while publishing and were favoured by publisher".

Enjoy those intelligent and entertaining works that contain elements of social and personal satire or commentary, offer unusual insights into foreign cultures with strong element of humor, and tip a few sacred cows along the way. (This part was shamelessly stolen from some editor's letter on the net, but sounded so wonderfully phrased and generally smart that we decided to include it in this editorial part.)

No intellectual property rights have been reserved in the making of this book. Enjoy and feel free to copy, reprint and pass it around. In case of problems with law - please contact us at pizdetz@kgb.ru

Chief Publisher
Great Empire Region

Argumentation Arsenal

2009-08-11T23:55:00.002+08:00

Too many people argue; not as many do so properly.

It is not difficult to argue cogently; this is a mild prescription for the inept:

Argument Indicators	Premise Indicators	Conclusion Indicators
should	since	therefore
must	because	hence
ought	for	thus
necessarily	as	so
	in as much as	consequently
	for the reason that	it follows that
	firstly	one may infer
		one may conclude

Fallacies

A fallacy is an error of reasoning. If you are familiar with them, you will be able to recognize and refute them.

Fallacies fall into two broad categories:

Fallacies of Relevance

Fallacies of relevance occur when the premises of an argument are irrelevant to the conclusion.

Fallacies of Ambiguity

Fallacies of Ambiguity occur when words with more than one meaning are used in an argument or when the argument is logical but not valid.

Fallacies of Relevance

1. Argumentum ad Bacculum (appeal to force)
Pay back the loan and 20 per cent daily interest by Friday or be sure you have your hospital insurance paid up.

2. Argumentum ad Hominem (abusive)
Don’t believe anything he says; he’s a nerd.

3. Argumentum ad Hominem (circumstantial)
Of course he thinks fraternities are great! He is the president of one.

4. Argumentum ad Ignorantiam (argument from ignorance)
I do not know of the existence of witches. Therefore, they do not exist.

5. Argumentum ad Misericordiam (appeal to pity)
How can we send this poor, defenceless child to prison for killing his parents? Have a heart; the child is now an orphan.

6. Argumentum ad Populum
50000 people can’t be wrong: buy your packet of Herbal Mix today!

7. Argumentum ad Vericundiam (false appeal to authority)
The Sultan of Brunei drinks this coffee every morning. This must be good coffee.

8. Converse Accident (hasty generalisation)
That man choked on a meat ball and died. Meat balls must be banned immediately.

9. Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc (hasty generalisation)
(Many superstitions stem from this.)
A black cat crossed his path last night.
He died last night.
That black cat caused his death.

10. Petitio Principii (begging the question)
Politicians cannot be trusted.
Only an untrustworthy person would run for office; the fact that politicians are untrustworthy is proof of this.
Therefore politicians cannot be trusted.

11. Loaded Question
Have you stopped beating your grandmother?

12. Ignoratio Elenchi (irrelevant conclusion)
To prove the accused guilty of theft, the lawyer argued how heinous a crime theft is.

Fallacies of Ambiguity

1. Equivocation
Her dog has fuzzy ears.
This dog has fuzzy ears.
This is her dog!

2. Composition
Each part of this stereo weighs less than one kilogramme.
This is such a light stereo!

3. Division
MIT is an exceptional engineering school.
He went to MIT.
He must be a great engineer.

Advisory

2009-08-02T23:59:00.000+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

There will be no post between 14 and 26 Aug 09, both dates inclusive.

* Apply the label that fits

He Texts Me, He Texts Me Not

2009-06-10T02:11:00.003+08:00

It was the start of a long day and Joe felt it from the moment the incessant beeping of his alarm jolted him from his deep sleep. After hastily doing the necessary, Joe dragged himself out of his apartment and headed for work. Stepping into his office, the atmosphere was frantic; people were about as though it were a whorehouse at half price.

Struggling through the chaos, Joe made it to the corridor that led him to his office. Stepping inside he heaved a sigh of relief though he was well aware that much work lay ahead of him. Joe made a (long) list of things to be done by dusk and set to work. He was deep in his zone when he was rudely interrupted by his cell phone’s shrill message tone. Muttering under his breath for having forgotten to set it to silent as he did each morning, he retrieved his cell. It was a text message from a number that was not stored in his cell.

‘I’m sure you saw my email. I know those emails are from you. Your action and your words are totally contradictory.
why are you playing with me like this.’

Joe read the text message again, completely bewildered. About the only person who had been receiving regular emails from Joe was Joe’s boss and this certainly was not Joe’s boss’ number. Thinking that perhaps the text message was misdirected, Joe thumbed a reply.

‘You have sent your text to the wrong person.’

Forgetting once again to turn his cell silent, Joe threw it on his desk and continued with his work. Unlike most sorts of work, Joe’s work was actually of consequence and he tended to take his work seriously. It was back to work for Joe.

But not for long.

The piercing tone of another text message disrupted Joe’s train of thoughts yet again. Picking it up, Joe saw that it was from the same unregistered number; he figured that this would be a thank you text.

‘I have not. You know who this is and what i’m referring to.’

“You have not? I know who this is and what you’re referring to?”

Joe seemed to be talking to his cell phone and indeed he was. He was completely thrown by the second text and could feel his blood pressure rising. He decided against calling the number and verbally castrating the sender because Joe was very particular about cutting people down to size: he had perfected it to an art form and would not engage unless he was confident of inflicting the maximum possible damage. He decided to send another text instead.

‘Actually I don’t. Your number is not in my cell.’

Joe hoped the imbecile at the other end would be prompted to check the number future texts were sent to.

And then Joe turned his cell to silent so he could work in peace.

No sooner had Joe laid eyes on the monitor of his laptop that the jarring sound of plastic vibrating on a wooden surface caught his attention. It was his cell phone. Again. Cussing out loud, he picked it up and read the text.

‘Yes joe. My number has not been in your cell for 10 months now but my email add has been with you and you have been writing to me.’

Joe reread the text. Then he read it again. The sender knew him and had his number! Turning his thoughts to the last ten months, Joe recollected that there had been only two people he had sent fairly regular emails to over the last ten months. One was a Serbian living in Thailand and the other was a Belarusian living in, well, Belarus. He had both their numbers in his cell and this stark raving mad character was certainly neither of the two girls he had just thought of.

Then it struck him! This was Jane. He had met her at a house party about a year ago and promptly stopped seeing her because she was quite the nut. (But that is another story.) Joe sighed. He was relieved that now he knew who the sender was and also relieved because seeing as he was not a doctor, he did not need to take nut cases seriously. He smiled and punched out a reply.

‘You. Ok. You have never given me your email addy. And I’ve not emailed you. Off your medication are you?’

Joe sent the text and held onto his cell. If he knew this Jane the Psycho well enough, it would not be a minute before she replied. Joe stared at his cell and wished that he could place a large bet on this. It was ten seconds to a minute when his cell went off. Joe made a mental note of the imaginary money he had just won.

‘This isn’t funny anymore. And this joke maybe that you and your friends could be playing ok. I’ve been getting a lot of emails that has you written all over. This is mean that you’ll call me a nut when i’m the one that’s getting those emails.’

Not funny anymore? Joe was certainly laughing now! The sentence about friends really cracked Joe up because anyone who knew Joe knew that while he was sociable, he preferred being on his own and thought friendship one of the most absurd concepts in the world. Joe also couldn’t help thinking about the ‘emails that has you written all over’. He wondered who would bother sending out an email with nothing but paragraphs composed of the word ‘you’. As for calling Jane a nut, Joe had just upgraded her to Lunatic Class 1.

Looking at the grammatical errors in Jane’s text, Joe decided on sending his last reply, in celebration of Jane’s recent upgrade to Lunatic Class 1.

‘I haven’t sent you emails. I haven’t your email addy. Quite a claim that you see linguistic patterns when you hardly get concord straight. End of conversation.’

Joe went back to work and was not disturbed for the next half hour. That was only because he had turned his cell phone off; there was work to do and winding lunatics for effect was low on his priority list that morning.

Over lunch Joe turned his cell phone back on and was greeted by yet another text.

‘No Joe, this conversation is not over. I know you will never admit it’s you. And bloody hell don’t you dare question my sanity or intellect! Considering the only variety you’re used to is a pretty little doll! You’re with someone good for you, i want to as well. I don’t really read your blog and certainly don’t want any reminders from or of you. You’ve forgotten and i want to too! I don’t like appearing like i’m desperate and emotional, i’m not coming to you and you say you’re not then these emails.’

Joe wondered if Jane didn’t like appearing desperate and emotional because she really was. Then he realized that he was being insensitive; she was not desperate or emotional: she was a lunatic. Joe thought he would show the last text to his seven year old niece and see if she could spot all the errors in it; apparently this was one method employed by her teachers. Joe deleted the entire chain of texts and Jane’s number with it. Joe looked around and thought that he could use a coffee.

Jane had been by her cell phone all morning waiting for Joe’s reply. Having taken weeks to cook up this phony excuse, she was confident that Joe would see the light and return to her. She was busy trying to think up another plan while she was waiting.

And waiting.

Advisory

2009-06-08T21:25:00.001+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

There will be no post between 16 and 22 Jun 09, both dates inclusive.

* Apply the label that fits

Coffee, Sir?

2009-05-25T04:57:00.002+08:00

Walking to the reception area, he flashed his megawatt smile and informed the receptionist that he was there to deliver an address. The receptionist looked at Joe but did not share his enthusiasm. Telling him to hold on, he mechanically stabbed at the digits on the telephone at her desk and informed Jane that her guest speaker had arrived and that she could come down to receive him. Looking blankly at Joe, the receptionist told him to have a seat. Joe smiled at her again, hoping that his smile would work like a superhero’s power but unfortunately, neither was Joe a superhero nor was the receptionist in distress; she was not smiling because she never did smile.

Standing around the reception area, Joe began strumming his fingers against his thigh. Having had close to a litre of coffee over the last 90 minutes, he was strung out on caffeine. There was no way he could stand still, much less sit as the receptionist had suggested. He needed to sit as much as a third world country needed poverty. Standing on the balls of his feet, Joe did as much as he could to dissipate the hyperactive energy caused by his copious coffee consumption. He looked around and realized that he had been waiting only for a minute.

And then there was Jane. Walking down the hallway, Joe couldn’t help but look at her again and realize how unremarkable she was. (She was a plain Jane and Joe hoped that sometime in the future she would be upgraded from unremarkable.) Their eyes met and Jane smiled at Joe. Joe thanked her for receiving him and off they went – not into the sunset – to the auditorium where Joe was meant to deliver his lecture on The Scourge of Stupidity. Since everything was in order at the auditorium, Jane decided to take Joe up to her office and offer him some coffee.

Joe politely declined the offer of coffee and settled for an unfinished biscuit that was on Jane’s table. Jane tried to be the good host and engaged Joe in small talk. The weather. What was on at the movies. Food. And the usual. Seeing Joe’s attention drifting, Jane decided to be bold and asked Joe how he planned to engage the audience at the lecture later.

“Easy, my dear (unremarkable) girl! Humour. I shall use humour to reel them in. Nothing works better than a laugh. I’ll start with a joke and they would be all ready to listen. And then it becomes so much easier.”

Joe went on to bore Jane with details of how humour was a certain psychological state which tends to produce laughter and the nature of complexities that lay in the varying degrees of humour. Before Joe could launch into the logical complexities of humour, Jane was saved by the bell and excused herself so she could answer the telephone.

Joe looked around the office and wondered why nobody better than Jane had come to receive him; he was after all, the invited guest speaker to a fairly high profile event. He made a mental note to include this nugget in his lecture on The Scourge of Stupidity. Jane return as soon as Joe made his mental note and suggested that they make their way to the auditorium as it was already filling up.

En route to the auditorium, Joe felt a desperate need to relieve himself of some of the processed coffee. Stepping out soon enough, the two of them made the final few steps to the auditorium. Joe walked in from the side and felt his pride swell because almost the entire auditorium was filled. Joe stood behind the rostrum and waited. He rehearsed his joke mentally and did it again.

Joe was introduced by the master of ceremony and it was Joe’s time. With the spotlight trained on him, Joe stepped away from the rostrum and onto centre stage. He stood still and opened his mouth to utter his joke. Before he could, the entire auditorium burst into hoots of laughter. Bewildered, Joe looked around. Then he looked down and realized that his zipper had remained undone from his last pit stop and his pink underwear cut a stark contrast to his navy blue trousers.

Jane agreed that Joe did know how to make the audience laugh.

Perfumed Poison (Clarity Version)

2009-05-04T20:30:00.002+08:00

Dear Joe

We met yesterday because you said you wanted 'to talk'. I figured that given the strange way you have been behaving, you would have wanted a 'trial separation', whatever that means. I had brought along a little something for you - a crazily designed journal - because I know you religiously pen your thoughts.

You always seem to have a lot to say and you seem to say a lot too. In any case, I'm penning this because I had meant to give you the journal yesterday. I did not for two reasons primarily, viz.:

1. I was not about to influence your decision, given that you already had thought out (I assume here) what you were going to tell me; and

2. Were you to have been affected by my present and changed your mind, I would have been hard pressed to ever speak to you again.

The reason I am bothering to post it to you now is that I feel that by now, you would be far to stubborn to change your mind, if you have not already given yourself all the reasons in the world to lace memories of me with rancour. I think it also helps that I would not give away something intended for one person to another.

Just in case you were wondering, I had intended this gift for you with two reasons (surprise, surprise) in mind:

1. Bearing in mind you keep a journal, I thought this would serve well as one and at the very least, it would remind you of the little prank I played; and

2. I figured that the irony of penning your deepest, most secret thoughts in a journal so almost facetiously designed would bring you to a smile each time.

You said yesterday, just before I left, that you did not want me to agree with your choice and to put up a fight.

Perhaps you could pen a journal entry on how you'd like me to.

Words are so easy for you, aren't they?

Jane

Perfumed Poison

2009-05-03T19:01:00.003+08:00

Dear Joe

It is funny how sometimes when one gets what they have been wanting or asking, it is not quite what they were looking or hoping for. But, those are the little ironies of life we all are victim to.

In any case, I'm penning this because I had meant to give you a gift on Friday. (Thank goodness for cargo trousers!) I did not for two reasons primarily, viz.:

1. I was not about to influence your decision, given that you already had thought out (I assume here) what you were going to tell me; and

2. Were you to have been affected by my present and changed your mind, I would have been hard pressed to ever speak to you again.

The reason I am bothering to post it to you now is that I feel that by now, you would be far to stubborn to change your mind, if you have not already given yourself all the reasons in the world to lace memories of me with rancour. I think it also helps that I would not give away something intended for one person to another.

Just in case you were wondering, I had intended this gift for you with two reasons (surprise, surprise) in mind:

1. Bearing in mind you keep a journal, I thought this would serve well as one and at the very least, it would remind you of the little prank I played; and

2. I figured that the irony of penning your deepest, most secret thoughts in a journal so almost facetiously designed would bring you to a smile each time.

You said you did not want me to agree with your choice and to put up a fight.

Perhaps you could pen a journal entry on how you'd like me to.

Words are so easy, aren't they?

Jane

Why Grass isn't Always Green

2009-04-30T23:50:00.005+08:00

Language does not always mirror reality, nor is it a necessarily an accurate mapping of some universal ‘mentalese’ or ‘language of thought’ onto an entity in existence. Meaning is a social construct. By means of texts that shape and reshape continually the complex interactions among people and the institutions they establish either with one another or for others to comply with, social fibers based on language are constructed and cemented. It is within texts (spoken or written) that members of a(ny) discourse community negotiate the meaning of that which is articulated. Meaning is unstable; every new contribution to discourse can and often does bring about change. (Note how ‘gay’ has come to mean ‘homosexual’ from its original intended denotation of ‘happy’.) As a number of researchers have argued, language is used not only for information transfer but also for expressing speakers’ subjectivity and perspectives (Finegan 1995; Hopper 1991, 1995; Iwasaki 1993; Ochs and Schieffelin 1989; Stein and Wright, 1995).

It is a fair assumption that real language data provides a researcher with a platform from which reliable linguistic knowledge might be gained. With the corpus-based approach, language data is collected and compiled empirically in the form of a corpus.

Computerization is perhaps the single greatest boon to corpus linguists as presently, large quantities of data can be accessed and processed at speeds never before dreamt possible. Indeed, one of the great merits of the corpus-based approach is that language processing software allows for the target language to be scrutinized, allowing linguists to ‘validate … and improve [on] linguistic observations that have already been made’ (Ooi, 1998).

Meaning is very context dependent, much of meaning would actually be derived from the speaker, the intended audience (e.g. ‘Grass’ would be taken to mean a low green plant which grows naturally over a lot of the Earth's surface by preschoolers but the very same word would be slang for ‘cannabis’ to a street wise addict) and of course, the very words utilized. The relevance of this here is that corpus linguistics allows the researcher to pay heed to not only words in isolation but how they are distributed in various contexts as well as the company particular words tend to keep. The company a word keeps - its collocation or the ‘habitual co-occurrence of words’ (Stubbs 1995) - allows for an accurate portrayal of the relationship between linguistic features and contextual variables. In the case of my academic exercise, these variables are the gender of the advertisers and their culture bias based on geography. Collocations are a very important feature of corpus linguistics because they do not merely indicate groupings which are not only possible in the target language but also probable. Probability is of crucial importance as it allows for generalisations about the target language from the database based on evidence generated by processing software. This also means that linguists may now effectively refute or corroborate conjectures relying on corpus-based evidence.

Best Friends Forever

2009-03-31T01:43:00.001+08:00

Joe was a naughty boy. He was naughty because he had many ideas and could never sit still for more than a moment. Mostly, Joe was a naughty boy because his neighbour’s mother said so.

This neighbour, whose name was Jane, was good friends with Joe. They did everything together: taking the same school bus to school, eating at the tuck shop during recess, playing after school and whiling away the entire weekend. Jane’s mother did not like that Jane spent so much time with Joe because Jane’s mother thought that Joe was naughty. She thought Joe was naughty because she said so.

One afternoon while Joe and Jane were playing, it started to rain heavily. Because rain and children get along very well, the two started playing in the rain. By the time they were done, they were wet, muddied and very happy. Walking hand in hand back to their houses, they were met with Jane’s mother standing in the corridor arms akimbo. Both children stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing the matron of madness standing before them.

Her face beetroot red, she started screaming at the top of her lungs. Jane gripped Joe’s hand more tightly and started crying. Joe stood confused because he could not understand a single word coming out of the mad matron’s mouth. On seeing Jane crying, the mad matron was sure that Joe had caused her Jane to cry. She was sure because she thought she was and because she thought she was, she was. Reaching forward to grab Jane’s arm, the mad mad matron jerked Jane away from Joe and uttered to Joe the only two words he could make sense of: you toad!

Joe thought she said that because most of his body was covered in mud. It only occurred to him later that she had meant it as an insult. Insulted, Joe decided that he would do something about it. He called Jane in the evening and told her his idea for revenge. Jane was so tickled that they had had to stop discussing it for a while. Once Jane had composed herself, she decided to meet Joe later that evening for a little adventure by the canal near their residence.

Sneaking out of their houses that night, Joe and Jane traipsed hand in hand to the canal nearby. On Jane bursting into a girly giggle, Joe knew that they had found what they were looking for. Thanks to Joe’s adroitness, they were walking back to their residence almost as soon as Jane stopped giggling.

Walking right up to the letterboxes in the void deck of their block, Jane located her letterbox; this was easy as it was the one right to the left whose padlock was at her eye level. Winking at Jane, Joe reached over to the slit at the top of the letterbox and shoved in the toad he had caught moments earlier. The echo of the toad’s croak within the letterbox sounded so strange that both Joe and Jane cracked up in fits of laughter. They both wondered what Jane’s mother’s reaction would be the next morning and laughed some more.

Holding hands and skipping to the lift landing, Joe reached over and kissed Jane. Jane looked at Joe and kissed him back.

The blood curdling scream resonating across the housing estate the next morning was unmistakable.

Advisory IV

2009-03-04T20:10:00.001+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

There will be no post between 13 and 20 Mar 09, both dates inclusive.

* Apply the label that fits

Fair is Fair (Alternate Ending)

2009-02-21T12:37:00.002+08:00

As the drone of the lecture went on, Joe was very pleased with himself for having had the foresight to slink himself into seat situated at the back of the auditorium. What pleased Joe even more was that his choice of seat offered him a panoptical view of the audience; this pseudo omniscient position lulled Joe into a false sense of superiority which encouraged him to leer at all the Janes before him before deciding which one would be the target of his nefarious intent.

Seated almost at the feet of the lecturer, Jane was beginning to regret her choice of seat. Having come in unusually early, she had walked into an empty auditorium and slumped into the fist available seat. Sipping her coffee to stay awake after a night out on the town, she had decided against walking up a few steps for a seat farther back. Shifting about in her seat, she realized that she had given in to immediate gratification over long term discomfort; reacting in haste had resulted in her repenting at leisure.

Scanning the audience from his vantage point, he noticed Jane shifting about in her seat. Her longish hair complimented her frame and her choice of attire was above par; it was no wonder her fidgeting caught Joe's attention. Turning to retrieve her cellphone from her bag, her side profile was revealed to ever eager Joe, who found her side profile appealing enough to decide that this Jane would be the one this time.

It was time for coffee and it was time for Joe to embark on his carnally centred con. Easing his way toward the coffee machine (and Jane), he dropped a handful of coins at her feet. Pretending to laugh at himself for his butter fingers, he was joined by Jane as he stooped to retrieve his coins. Thanking her as glibly as he could, Joe also bought her coffee. Half a cup later, they were seated at Joe's panoptical sector and chatting about the lecture.

Before long, their conversation was taking place on paper and the focus of discussion was no longer the lecture. Apparently each was single (hence there for the taking) and enjoyed the beach (and related activities). Joe was terribly pleased with himself, seeing that Jane was like putty in his hands. Jane was pretty happy allowing Joe to do the work because she was used to such attention (pretty that she was) and also because it had to be said that Joe was quite the charmer.

Within a fortnight, the two were inseparable, spending all possible time away from work with each other. Joe’s con was charted for two months, after which he would unceremoniously dump Jane in favour of a new flavour. Joe proposed that they escape to the beaches Thailand for the dirtiest weekend imaginable. Jane readily agreed, knowing that the beach was one place she would truly enjoy herself.

So it was set and the weekend availed itself. The three day weekend went by in a blitz of drunken revelry, carnal connection and general wantonness. On the way to the airport, Joe was smug. He had enjoyed himself tremendously and was considering extending his con to six months on account of Jane’s superlative performance. Snuggling up to Jane in the back seat of the limousine, Joe whispered sweet nothings that were usually reserved for his six month cons. Jane, of course, was tickled and responded by kissing him passionately on the mouth.

On landing, Joe and Jane walked hand in hand from the aircraft to the border control checkpoint. On clearance, Joe headed to the duty free store after having Jane head over to collect their luggage and wait for him. Jane kissed Joe once again and headed to the luggage carousel. Collecting their bags, she headed for the exit. And waited.

She marvelled at how all this stemmed from a few coins falling to the floor. Looking at Joe walking towards her, she could not help feeling lucky; Joe was a wonderful guy!

Standing there as Joe walked toward her and smiled, Jane made up her mind to do everything in her power to make this last.

Fair is Fair

2009-02-20T05:33:00.004+08:00

As the drone of the lecture went on, Joe was very pleased with himself for having had the foresight to slink himself into seat situated at the back of the auditorium. What pleased Joe even more was that his choice of seat offered him a panoptical view of the audience; this pseudo omniscient position lulled Joe into a false sense of superiority which encouraged him to leer at all the Janes before him before deciding which one would be the target of his nefarious intent.

Seated almost at the feet of the lecturer, Jane was beginning to regret her choice of seat. Having come in unusually early, she had walked into an empty auditorium and slumped into the fist available seat. Sipping her coffee to stay awake after a night out on the town, she had decided against walking up a few steps for a seat farther back. Shifting about in her seat, she realized that she had given in to immediate gratification over long term discomfort; reacting in haste had resulted in her repenting at leisure.

Scanning the audience from his vantage point, he noticed Jane shifting about in her seat. Her longish hair complimented her frame and her choice of attire was above par; it was no wonder her fidgeting caught Joe's attention. Turning to retrieve her cellphone from her bag, her side profile was revealed to ever eager Joe, who found her side profile appealing enough to decide that this Jane would be the one this time.

It was time for coffee and it was time for Joe to embark on his carnally centred con. Easing his way toward the coffee machine (and Jane), he dropped a handful of coins at her feet. Pretending to laugh at himself for his butter fingers, he was joined by Jane as he stooped to retrieve his coins. Thanking her as glibly as he could, Joe also bought her coffee. Half a cup later, they were seated at Joe's panoptical sector and chatting about the lecture.

Before long, their conversation was taking place on paper and the focus of discussion was no longer the lecture. Apparently each was single (hence there for the taking) and enjoyed the beach (and related activities). Joe was terribly pleased with himself, seeing that Jane was like putty in his hands. Jane was pretty happy allowing Joe to do the work because she was used to such attention (pretty that she was) and also because it had to be said that Joe was quite the charmer.

Within a fortnight, the two were inseparable, spending all possible time away from work with each other. Joe’s con was charted for two months, after which he would unceremoniously dump Jane in favour of a new flavour. Joe proposed that they escape to the beaches Thailand for the dirtiest weekend imaginable. Jane readily agreed, knowing that the beach was one place she would truly enjoy herself. So it was set and the weekend availed itself.

The three day weekend went by in a blitz of drunken revelry, carnal connection and general wantonness. On the way to the airport, Joe was smug. He had enjoyed himself tremendously and was considering extending his con to six months on account of Jane’s superlative performance. Snuggling up to Jane in the back seat of the limousine, Joe whispered sweet nothings that were usually reserved for his six month cons. Jane, of course, was tickled and responded by kissing him passionately on the mouth.

On landing, Joe and Jane walked hand in hand from the aircraft to the border control checkpoint. On clearance, Joe headed to the duty free store after having Jane head over to collect their luggage and wait for him. Jane kissed Joe once again and headed to the luggage carousel. Collecting her bag, she headed for the exit. Throwing the disposable cellphone she had been using for the last month into a waste receptacle, she hailed a taxi for her favourite club.

She had grown tired of Joe; it was time for someone new.

World Without Strangers

2009-02-13T05:10:00.006+08:00

'John! Howdy dowdy. What is Jane's number?'

'Why?'

'Because I'm meant to get it from you; she told me so last night. So give it to me already, damn it!'

Before John could offer a nasty retort, Jane grabbed his cell…

John and Joe were childhood friends, having grown up in the same neighbourhood. Jane was John's close colleague's sister who was in town on vacation. The four of them met up for drinks on the Saturday of her arrival and the chemistry seemed undeniable between Joe and Jane. Not having a cellphone of her own, she asked Joe to call John for her disposable cellphone number the following day. [Never mind that she could have taken his number first.] Sunday followed soon enough and duty bound by his oath of hedonism, Joe called John.

'John! Howdy dowdy. What is Jane's number?'

'Why?'

'Because I'm meant to get it from you; she told me so last night. So give it to me already, damn it!'

Before John could offer a nasty retort, Jane grabbed his cell and shrieked into it. Offering Joe her new found number, they eagerly made plans for the next day (yet again). He was meant to show her the sights, take her to dinner then drinks and keep his fingers very crossed. Soon as the call ended, Joe's processor was over clocked trying to drum up the perfect date. He had it all down to military precision:

1800 – Leave for Jane's
1830 – Reach Jane's
1915 – Be at riverside for nice romantic walk. To stop by push cart to buy rose en route to winery for a glass of red
2045 – Cross riverside bridge for local fare; Chili crabs with beer
2200 – Adjourn to romantic venue; cross fingers and hope

Come Monday, Joe was at the foot of Jane's apartment block ahead of time and on his trusty metallic steed. He straddled his steed with as much machismo as he could muster and waited on the arrival of his queen bee. And there she was! Strutting toward Joe, she was at first mildly disappointed that he had arrived on a motorcycle; she was far more accustomed to riding in 4 x 4 type vehicles. But because she was still flattered by Joe’s interest in her, she decided to give riding pillion a try.

Like clockwork, they arrived at the riverside for the nice romantic walk. It was a refreshing change for Jane because for once, her date did not seem immediately disposed to carnal cravings. Jane was starting to enjoy herself and by the time they had reached the winery for that glass of red, Joe was struggling to control his carnal cravings; he was starting to look a little cross eyed: this caught Jane’s attention but Joe managed to put it all down to the nervous anxiety of being with a girl like Jane.

By the second glass of red, Jane was starting to think it strange that Joe was not making any substantive overtures; she was beginning to feel a little less desirable now that Joe seemed to have lost his cheekiness she witnessed two nights ago. By the second glass of red Joe was starting to be sure that his fingers were not crossed enough; he thought it perplexing that his pretending to be a wholesome character was not resulting in the desired effect.

Mildly annoyed at the end of cheese and wine, Jane stood and announced that they should head for dinner. Joe jumped up startled and was considering changing his approach. On the way to chili crabs and beer, he started being cheeky by way of remarks and innuendo. Jane was not entirely pleased but decided not to ruin her night out. Her mood took a slight turn for the worse when Joe’s cellphone went off. She did not stop walking. Stopping to answer the call, Joe could not help but notice how much Jane reminded him of an exotic sports car: European, a tight rear, and high maintenance. Quickly ending the call, Joe hurried after Jane, caught up with her and led her to the table. Joe had decided to leave propriety behind without realizing that Jane was hoping he would.

Sitting down at the table was getting awkward so Joe tried to make a come back and lighten the moment by cracking a risqué joke. It seemed to work and by the time the chili crabs arrived, they had had enough beers between them to cause levity. Chili crabs were served in an inordinately large bowl and Joe took the opportunity to serve Jane the first helping.

Gingerly grabbing a large claw with chopsticks, Joe failed to prize it from the rest of the shell. Using his fingers to render it from the shell, he applied too much pressure and served the claw and its attendant sauce onto Jane’s dress, which was now quite obviously ruined. Joe stared at her, his face a combination of shock at the flying claw and horror of knowing he had screwed up, and was most certainly screwed.

Jane stood up. Joe wanted to stand up as well but he immediately realised that he was already standing. Joe did not know what to say. Jane knew exactly what she was going to say.

‘Well? Are you going to keep standing there like an idiot or are you going to take me back so we can get me out of these soiled clothes?’

P.S. I Love You Too

2009-01-24T16:34:00.011+08:00

[Read http://imnaught.blogspot.com/2009/01/ps-i-love-you.html.]

“I meet them and try to talk to them. But not all of them…”

My voice was drowned out by the drone of the light aircraft flying low overhead. The flash of light reflected off one of the Cessna’s window panes caught my attention and I was brought back to when I had had the shiny blade of an axe swung at me. There was a flash of light just like that right before I was gutted like a pig on a spit. Although I was lucky to survive that axe attack, I thought it ironic that that axe incident bore its humble birth with an aircraft, albeit a model.

I must have been five when I was given a model of a jumbo jet. It was white, shiny and new. I was beside myself with joy and spent many a good hour flying. Then my neighbour wanted to fly too. I let him and he crashed unceremoniously. Never mind not new, my model was neither white nor shiny anymore! Fuelled by rage, I picked up the model and proceeded stabbing my neighbour with with it. Many, many times. By the time I was done with him, most of my model had become red.

He ran off to his family but I stood rooted to the ground. (I could not care: the youngest child of five, I was also the one male one. Destined to carry the family name, I grew up believing that there was no other way than mine. Very used to reacting physically when showing displeasure, I thought it natural, just as much as I thought it natural for others to be swung at) Seeing my neighbour all scratched and bloodied was a sight that was alien to me. It made me feel fuzzy all over; I was reveling in the glory of gore. I felt good. Very good. It was a matter of time before I was looking to relive that high and all manner of objects were sacrificed to my end: kittens, younger children and of course, the house help.

Soon enough I had graduated to girlfriends; I knew just the sort of special love they deserved. My latest squeeze (pun not intended) easily qualified as one of the fortunate ones. She was pretty (not pretty enough to be stunning but pretty enough to stir envy in other women and lust in men), and she was married to me. Of course, her marriage to me was influenced by the my seeming to afford her everything from a dedicated chauffeur to a music room in my palatial home (she was fond of the violin) to dinners at places many couldn't afford.

She always wore long flowing tresses because it suited her (she was tall and slender) and also because beneath the surface were scars because she was my opiate. Much of her body was covered in bruises and keloid scars, amongst other embellishments. Many theories abounded as to why she subjected herself to such brutality (and in the process retarding the progress of feminine emancipation) but only two were truly plausible. One of these theories was that she had come to enjoy this abuse. The other was that she knew no better. My opinion was that the latter held true because she had been betrothed to me while we were very young age (young enough for uppity class semi educated folk to cry foul) and saw such treatment as natural.

It amused me to see her crying evolve. First it was whining, whimpering and wailing. Then it progressed to quiet sobs with the occasional tear. Eventually she had graduated to a stoic expression devoid of emotion; this was very often coupled with an unfocussed gaze skyward. Regardless of her progress, I enjoyed showering her with my special brand of love. For some reason, hitting her gave me immeasurable pleasure; I would quite literally experience bouts of delirium whenever I drew (her) blood. She certainly was the one for me.

One night, back from a regular evening of drunken revelry and wanton wandering, I barged into my own house, promptly waking everyone up with my sonorous, off key rendition of a top forty tune. The servants came out to see what I needed but my beloved, devoted wife had not. I was infuriated! How dare she have the gumption to mistreat me in this manner! That wretch was going to pay for such abuse.

I climbed up the short flight of steps and kicked open the door. Standing at the doorway I could see my bed but not her on it. WHERE WAS SHE? I took one step in and there was a flash of light like the one reflected of the Cessna’s window. I moved to avoid the blade but copious amounts of alcohol and excess wantonness had drained me of my ability to respond in a timely manner. The axe gutted me like a pig and I fell unceremoniously to the floor, unable to scream for help. My voice was lost by both my gaping gut and seeing that it was my wife who wielded the axe. I lost consciousness.

Miraculously, I had survived the ordeal. Waking up sometime later, I found myself on my bed. I had no knowledge of getting there but again I saw my wife’s face above me. This time she was carrying a tin on kerosene. Liberally showering me and the bed with kerosene, she threw one of my cigarettes at me, and lit the match that lit me on fire. The whole village was awakened by screams. My wife was screaming at the top of her lungs for help and how I had returned home drunk and set myself on fire trying to light my cigarette.

Standing there and watching my own funeral is surreal. I see them all about the pyre preparing to cremate my charred remains. I move forward to them.

I meet them and try to talk to them. But not all of them can hear me now.

Interview with the Author

2009-01-13T02:03:00.000+08:00

I: Welcome to the Clubhouse and thank you for agreeing to the interview!

Me: thank you. And thank you for letting me invite myself to interview me for my own blog.

I: We do what we can. Alright, so tell us why you write short stories.

Me: Well, the truth is that I doubt I can manage long ones. Additionally, in the July/August 08 issue of Atlantic Monthly, an article entitled Is Google Making us Stupid suggested that the Internet has cost many people these days their ability to sit through longer pieces of prose. Seeing as I could not make it through that terribly long article myself, I thought I’d better keep to short stories.

I: Where do your ideas come from?

Me: Little things, to be honest. I might over hear a sentence. For example, the inspiration for Match made in Heaven was hearing the line we met on a Sunday ride being spoken. I heard that line and the story just made itself up. Or for Same Same But Different, the inspiration was generated by seeing the very same words on a t-shirt in Thailand. Little Miss Difficult was inspired by a date I once had, and on whom I actually used that last line on. So, many things, but nothing at all, inspire my writing.

I: So why are your stories always so sardonic, so dark?

Me: I think you might need to ask the stories that; I am merely the conduit for publication: the stories make themselves up. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say they are that way because the blatant hypocrisy of human nature sickens me – I mean the stories – so to capture it so starkly in print perhaps allows for some shock value and maybe a little snigger on the side.

I: Are any of the stories real?

Me: Well, they are really fiction! Of course, any type of fiction has got to be steeped in reality, the only variable being how much it is steeped in reality. So yes, some elements in my stories are borrowed from the corporeal environment and weaved into the fabric of fiction.

I: Do you have fans?

Me: I have a small but faithful following. Some read my work because they like it, others read it because they don’t and the rest are there because they want to see what next is served on this menu of madness. I thank them all, really. The perspectives they bring are refreshing (and sometimes are fodder for another story).

I: Any weird ones?

Me: Unfortunately, my work is not good enough to earn me the privilege of having a groupie following. But seriously, I have a friend who rings me after every other entry, telling me that I should see a shrink purely because my work is dark. I think she has vested interest in such advice simply because she is a shrink, and an expensive one at that! And then there is one other besotted individual who will on occasion send me text messages insisting that one or more elements of my stories are about her. (I fear another barrage of text messages when you publish this.) A third one grills me every time we meet to determine which elements of the stories are borrowed from reality, so she can access how well she knows me.

I: Why are all of them girls?

Me: Because they are not boys? Or maybe because in most parts of the world with internet connectivity female literacy rates are higher than those of males.

I: Thank you once again for agreeing to this interview. It was a most pleasurable half hour.

Me: You are most welcome. Oh, I believe the pleasure is mine; I really do enjoy spending time with myself.

P.S. I Love You

2009-01-05T03:31:00.000+08:00

My Love

We have been together so long but you have thrown it all away. You now say you do not want me anymore and that there is no spark left in our being together. While I will not force you to change your mind, please read this letter because I want you to know how I feel for you:

From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to be with you. I want to spend every waking moment with you. Every single waking moment. That is why I had suggested moving in together and that is exactly why I did not give you the keys to the apartment. I wanted us to do everything together. Everything. The times when I locked you in our room was only to ensure that you’d be there when I returned from work so that we could have dinner together. And look at the good it did you: you ended up losing all the excess weight you were so unhappy about. I still regret not locking the door last weekend; my worst fears manifested when I returned to an empty home, one devoid of love and the person I care for the most. I did not lock it because you were sound asleep that morning and did not put on the usual display of despair that I was leaving you for work. I thought you might still be asleep on my return. I now know how foolish I was!

Being with you made me want to be a better man. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to procure working women just so I could be better for you. I practiced and practiced; never mind that doing so required me to work overtime just so I had enough money to perfect my craft. But you alone were motivation enough, my darling. You used to sob through every episode of our physical union and you have no idea how happy I was when you finally stopped crying whenever we were one; I knew then as I know now that my time in practice had successfully prepared me for my partaking of what really mattered. I still yearn for you, my love. I shudder at the thought of never feeling you quiver at my touch again.

Showing you tough love was such a painful thing for me. I needed you to be strong for yourself so you could fend off the evils of the world. I know you probably hated me for being hard on you but trust me, my darling, I hated myself more. Disciplining you was very difficult for me but I needed to train you to be strong. I know I was never abusive because I never ever intended to be. Even you will admit that I never struck your face, or neck, or any other critical part of your body (like the solar plexus). It touched me so much that you learned so quickly; before I knew it, you were cleaning up as you should, folding laundry the way it is meant to be folded and eating only when it was time for you to. You have come a long way, baby; I am so proud of us.

Now you have gone away. What about all the money we have saved for us? Remember how you were initially reluctant to pool our resources? Through my love and your being disciplined, you demonstrated your commitment to us when you assigned me guardian of your funds. Bringing those documents back to the bank was such a moment of pride for me. Why have you run away now? What will I do now will all this money? It’s for us, not just me!

Where are you, baby? Come back to me.

I know I love you.

You know you know it too.

I Do

2008-12-09T02:19:00.001+08:00

The office nerds were due to marry each other four weekends from today. Finding nobody else who would give them the time of day, they had been put together by circumstance. All said and done, it was not altogether a bad match: they appeared to understand each other more than those around them; perhaps it is true that necessity is a great motivation.

Joe was your typical nerd: bespectacled, buttoned to the collar and high waisted trousers that were always keenly belted up. Jane was also your typical nerd: bespectacled, twin ponytails, terribly long skirts and ridiculous giggles. This was certainly a match made in Nerdsville, which also meant that it was a sickeningly sweet relationship where each cared overwhelmingly and overtly for the other. This was the sort of relationship often portrayed in fairy tales; the very sort that would made you or me want to just slap either one hard across the face so that they would wake up to the reality of the world around them.

Anyway, their friends from Nerdsville decided that a bachelor’s party was in order for Joe and correspondingly, a hen’s night for Jane. They went about their preparations for the parties whilst Joe and Jane went about planning what was meant to be the perfect wedded life, if there were such a thing.

John, chairman of the bachelor’s party organising committee decided that video games, some booze and strippers were in order. After extensive consultation with the committee, they had come up with the perfect video game (strip poker), beer (a strange mixture of off the shelf beers) and strippers (dressed as the latest protagonists of a popular twin player video game). They were sure it was going to be a blast.

Janet, chairman of the hen’s night organising committee decided that a comfy night in with booze and pornography was in order. After extensive consultation with the committee, they had come up with the perfect theme for a PJ party (naughty is nice), booze (premium shandy) and porn (the entire Urge to Merge series). It was to be a giggly affair not to be forgotten!

The evening started off innocuously enough with some booze and the video games. Being men of integrity, the boys faithfully obeyed the rules of strip poker when playing against the video game. Although they were frustrated by the game’s winning streak, they were determined to have the celluloid figure stripped to her skin by the time the night was over. The night wore on and effects of the booze kicked in. Just as the boys thought that it could not get any better, the strippers walked through the door and headed right for Joe.

Dancing and prancing, they teased Joe in ways his imagination had not thought possible. One of them placed her nose against Joe’s and whispered how lucky she was that it was Joe for whom she was dancing. Joe was elated beyond words because no woman, as least none as attractive as this, had ever looked at him, much less offered this much attention! Pointing to the bedroom, she whispered that Joe should ‘take her home’. Not believing his luck, he brought her home more than once that evening. In the morning when he woke, all he found was a note telling him how much he was the man of the night. Joe knew that he had to locate his dream girl; after all, she had professed her love for him all through the night!

The girls had prepared one of the larger bedrooms for their PJ party. It was seductively dressed in opulent drapes that instantly transported them to the decadent era of the Roman Empire. Tonight was to be their night of vicarious indulgence. The shandy flowed freely and along with every glass, so did their giggles. Soon enough, it was time to turn to the highlight of the evening: the Urge to Merge series. It was Jane’s first experience with pornography and she was blown away by what she saw. Nothing was left to the imagination but it was this that triggered her own imagination. She kept thinking how wonderful it was that she would soon be with Joe and have nobody to stop them. She diligently made mental notes as best as the shandy in her system let her.

With but days left to their union, Joe was growing listless. He had exhausted all avenues trying to locate his dream girl. With each failure, he had begun resenting Jane more. It was soon the day of matrimony and Joe could not have been more miserable. Unable to expunge the experience of that fateful night, Joe begrudgingly suited up for what was now to be the worst day of his life.

With but days left to their union, Jane was growing listless. She was exhausted from anticipation: anticipating the wedding, the reception and of course, the production of her own Urge to Merge series. With each day, she had begun wanting Joe more and more. It was soon the day of matrimony and Jane was besides herself with joy. Unable to contain herself any longer, Jane could not stop giggling as she was helped into her dress for the what was now to be the best day of her life.

As they stood by the altar, a child tugged at his mother’s sleeve and asked,

“Mommy, why is the bride dressed in white?”

Smiling at her child, she brushed his hair and replied

“That’s because it’s the happiest day of her life, honey!”

“Mommy, then why is the groom in black?”

Dreams

2008-12-01T02:11:00.002+08:00

‘Wait. I wish it could be different.’

Jane turned to look at Joe and then at his hand on her arm. She shrugged off his hand and turned to the door. She didn’t want to go but this was a strategy that had availed itself to her in one of her dreams. Being one to follow her dreams, she was steadfast in her decision to apply this strategy; she would walk away and because she was sure Joe was in love with her, she knew deep in her heart that he would pursue her with all his energy. She walked out of the restaurant hoping that he would literally run after her despite knowing fully well that the chase would be metaphorical.

Joe sat in his chair and watched as Jane walked out of the restaurant. He was mildly amused at the fact that Jane had taken a lot of trouble over dinner to explain to him that although he wanted not to be in a relationship, she would consider dating him exclusively should he so desire; all he had to do was ask! A number of times over dinner he had to restrain himself from laughing; the result of his putting on a straight face was that Jane got the impression her dream was the manifestation of the heavens colluding in her favour.

The first time Jane saw Joe was actually the second time that she saw him: she had bumped into him one evening and because she was completely inebriated, she threw herself on the floor instead of apologising to him. As Jane lay on the floor wondering why everyone around her had lost most of their bodies, Joe shook his head and laughed. He helped her to her feet and then into a chair. Not two steps had Joe taken from the chair that he heard a loud thud followed by an even louder shriek of laughter. Turning around, Joe saw that Jane had inadvertently helped herself out of her chair to assault the floor with her face. Joe shook his head again but did not laugh this time. He hauled her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried her home. His home.

The next morning was the second time she saw Joe but of course she thought that it was her first time because before the night before, she was a teetotal virgin and now here she was, in the house of a stranger, suffering from a stranger sensation most people recognise as a hangover. On seeing Joe, she screamed. She shrieked. And she shouted. It took Joe a forceful minute to calm her down by pointing out to her that she was still in her clothes from the night before and that she had spent the balance of her alcohol induced slumber on his couch. A little embarrassed, she was relieved and looked at Joe who was in her mind now the quintessential gentleman.

Joe afforded Jane his sister’s clothes and the use of his bathroom. Before long, Jane was out of his house but not before promising to keep in touch. Soon enough she was going out with Joe to the cinema, for dinner and on the occasional night out. Joe was always respectful and she was convinced that he had had good upbringing; one quite similar to hers (except for the occasional drunken stupors, of course; what her parents did not know she was not quite simply not guilty of). She wanted to be with Joe more and more. She had hinted at this to Joe more than once but he always maintained that he had only just ended a relationship on a particularly sour note.

Jane was growing agitated by the day. If it were anyone who would turn her into a woman, it would be Joe, no less. One fateful evening she had a dream. In her dream, she had walked away from him and he, in a state of utter despair, chased after her and proposed. She awoke with a start. She knew she had only just been dreaming but it was all so lucid to her. She sent Joe a text message to tell him that she wanted to meet him for dinner the next evening. Joe happened to be awake playing video games when her text interrupted his childish indulgence. He also happened to be free the next evening. Ever the gentleman, he graciously accepted her invitation. In all honesty, he enjoyed Jane’s company. Jane was overjoyed at Joe's response! She was also sure that the heavens were colluding in her favour.

Joe was ten minutes early for dinner and sat himself down at the table reserved for them. Jane came in shortly after but not shortly after sitting down she employed the strategy that had availed itself to her in her dream the night before. She took a lot of trouble over dinner to explain to him although he wanted not to be in a relationship, she would consider dating him exclusively should he so desire; all he had to do was ask!

Joe politely turned her offer down. Jane stood up to leave. Joe placed his hand on Jane's arm in an attempt to get her attention.

‘Wait. I wish it could be different.’

Jane turned to look at Joe and then at his hand on her arm. She shrugged off his hand and turned to the door. Joe sat in his chair and watched as Jane walked out of the restaurant. He then called for dessert and took out his Blackberry. He began punching out a text to Jane:

Jane. I enjoy every moment we spend together but I am sure you do not want to get into a relationship with a gay man…

Advisory III

2008-12-01T01:46:00.000+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

There will be no post between 12 and 19 Dec 08, both dates inclusive.

* Apply the label that fits

Fight to the Finish

2008-11-24T03:27:00.005+08:00

“You are the favourite of your family. That does not help me in any way. I am leaving you. And please don’t try to find me, either on your own or via my best friend John.”

Jane stood up and walked away, leaving Joe completely bewildered.

Nothing about Jane had made sense before that evening but now Jane’s remarks completely lacked logical integrity: to begin with, Joe was not in a relationship with Jane so how could she leave him when they weren’t together with in the first place? Joe also struggled to understand the connection between his being the favourite of the family and how it did not help her in any way. Joe did the best he could in such a situation; he just shook his head and ordered himself another drink.

Joe got to thinking how it was that Jane could have reached such a state of delusion, assuming of course, that she was not this far deluded before they had met.

It was at a house party of some sort. Joe’s childhood friend had insisted that he attend that party with her because she had not seen Joe for a while; Joe had been so overwhelmed with recent changes in his life that he had not had a night out in about 18 months. Joe accepted the invitation because he did not have much of a choice in the matter – his childhood friend would have hounded him to death otherwise.

So Joe ended up at the house party and found himself in his element. Chatting with strangers came easily to him and soon, he was getting along with everyone like a house on fire. It was then Joe noticed Jane leaning against the railings in the balcony, away from everyone else. Joe immediately recognised what Jane was up to: Jane was deliberately keeping her distance from him because she had read in one of those female magazines how one should withhold attention so that attention would find one instead. Joe smiled to himself; he almost felt sorry for Jane because nobody at the party seemed to have read the same article; Joe let Jane play her game by herself.

Joe’s childhood friend realised that she had introduced him to everyone at the party but Jane. She led Joe by the arm and made the introduction. They chatted for all of two sentences before they were interrupted by the others present at the party. It was too late for Joe; one of his two sentences, ‘I sometimes wish I were normal’, was a routine self deprecating joke he had perfected. Jane often had that thought about herself and as soon as she heard Joe utter the same, she just knew deep inside her heart that Joe was the one for her. This was a connection through time that just could not be denied.

Immediately Jane asked for Joe’s business card just so she could keep in contact with him. She hung on to every word he said. And every word Joe said, every gesture Joe made resonated within her. Joe was perfect for her. Just perfect! She excused herself from the party to use the washroom. She entered the washroom, locked the door behind her, whipped out her Blackberry and proceeded to email Joe, asking him to let her buy dinner the next weekend.

Joe eventually got round to reading her email and agreed to meet her over dinner a week after the proposed date. (Her email had been redirected to ‘Junk’ and because Joe thought it was, he left it in there; he was too lazy to bother deleting her email when the system would anyway.) For someone who had chosen to ignore him at the party, Joe found her sudden forwardness strange. Joe thought perhaps she was selling insurance or timeshares. He smiled to himself; this was going to be free dinner because he was never going to buy anything from Jane!

Jane arrived an hour early for dinner, equipped to the teeth with family photographs, zodiac charts and her personality test transcripts. She was going to impress upon Joe how she was the one for him because he was the one for her.

Joe was not even able to sit down properly before Jane landed on him her exuberance of having found a soul mate. Joe politely but firmly pointed out that he was not in the least interested in getting involved with anyone. Jane deftly pointed out that she was not just anyone. Joe then less politely but more firmly replied that he was still not interested.

“You are the favourite of your family. That does not help me in any way. I am leaving you. And please don’t try to find me, either on your own or via my best friend John.”

Jane stood up and walked away, leaving Joe completely bewildered.

Joe’s mind wandered to the morning of D(inner) Day; he had tripped while getting out of bed and couldn’t help feeling that it was going to be a day he wished he stayed in bed.

As Jane huffed and puffed her way out of the restaurant, she made up a mind to buy Joe a camera as a farewell gift. She immediately decided that the camera would also contain pictures of her that would surely bring Joe around. She would get that done immediately. There was no way she was giving her soul mate up without a fight.

True Love

2008-10-27T01:47:00.010+08:00

He had had his eye on her for a while now. She was not quite his type of girl but she was close enough to warrant his attention. He could not really identify what it was about her that made her almost his type for she was a plain Jane but he reasoned that he was going with his gut this time. As luck would have it, Jane had noticed Joe noticing her. But as we all know, luck can be quite the female canine at times: she was flattered at being noticed but because she fancied herself an independent woman of the new millennium, she was determined to only react to Joe if and only if he made the first move.

This impasse carried on for a while for while Joe was going with his gut, he lacked the guts to make the first move. Without Joe making the first move, Jane would not react. And because Jane would not react, she didn’t. Since she didn’t react, Joe did not act; so it was, the vicious circle of incapacity, independence and inactivity.

As is necessary for such short stories to move on so the protagonists might ~~mate~~ meet, Jane walked into a bar one Friday evening only to see Joe there. Having just been unceremoniously stood up over dinner, Jane felt the need to redeem her sense of self worth; she thought that it would suit her best to head toward the nearest bar, have a drink and assert her independence by reacting only to those who showed her any interest. To her delight, which she concealed, she saw Joe at the very same bar, by the bar having a vodka. She stopped in the middle of bar and watched him till he looked up and took notice of her.

Joe had had a tough week and he thought he would head out for a drink; vodka usually had a mellowing effect on him and he was pleased that this particular bar - which he had stumbled upon purely by chance – served the sort of vodka that could be consumed with ease on the rocks. (He held in contempt the common triple distilled variety that could only be consumed in severe desperation.) Apart from work, he had Jane on his mind but figured that his vodka would do for tonight. He must have had three shots of vodka before he noticed a familiar figure standing in the middle of the bar. He looked up and to his delight, he saw that it was Jane standing in the middle of the bar! He bit on his tongue to make sure he was not in a dream; the taste of warm blood in his mouth confirmed this and he eagerly stood up to wave at Jane and beckon her over.

At last Jane could react to Joe! Heavens be praised! She preened herself quickly and walked over to him. Joe remained standing and smiled more broadly with each step Jane took. Finally she was before him. Joe looked at her and could not help exclaiming how pretty she looked. Jane felt her sense of self worth replenish with every word of Joe’s comment and promptly rewarded him with a teaser of a kiss.

She sat down and he sat down. They had drink after drink. With each drink, the other seemed more and more attractive. With each drink, Joe became bolder. With each drink Jane became more receptive. With each drink, Joe developed the guts to tell Jane how he felt about her. With each drink, Jane realised how much Joe could be the man for her. With each drink, the bottle was eventually emptied out. She stood up. Then he stood up. Both were disposed to seeing some action though copious amounts of vodka had negated their capacity for any.

They staggered out of the bar and up the steps that led them to the main road. Before they could catch their breath, Jane’s empty stomach protested violently to the amount of vodka it had been forced to process. This vehement protest translated into Jane vomiting a great deal of liquid – quite presumably not vodka anymore – onto the street and onto Joe. Joe was astonished at the amount of vile liquid directed at him but could not react in time because the very same vodka had altered his visual-spatial abilities. So there he stood while vile liquid garlanded the road and his being. He was not upset; his protective instincts had been awakened by Jane’s foul smelling emissions and he was going to care for her and send her safely home or die trying.

They hailed a taxi. Actually, he hailed a taxi but since she was with him, they hailed a taxi. They got in the taxi and Joe directed the driver to Jane’s house before Jane redirected the same driver to a destination for supper. Supper was to be her dinner but in her current state neither was she keen to explicate nor was Joe willing to investigate. The driver, being a hired hand, delivered them to the supper stop.

Jane ate to her fill whilst Joe watched her eat to her fill. She was done eating and by extension, Joe was done watching. Joe dutifully footed the bill for the ever independent Jane and helped her to her feet. They moved barely two steps before Jane showed her utmost appreciation by throwing up all over Joe. Joe took it in his stride; he had made it his life’s mission to see his girl through everything. Flicking off the vomit that he could, he hailed another taxi and saw his Jane to her doorstep.

Jane staggered into her house and then into her room, hating the fact that Joe had seen her this way. Joe locked the gate after her and tossed her keys into the hallway. He shut the door gently and made his way downstairs. Walking thirteen flights down to the lobby, Joe realised that in the process of getting his amore home his cell had disappeared. He was uncharacteristically calm; he had sent the love of his life back. He was happy. He was also confident that his love would contact him the following day; he did not need her number for he would recognise her text message in a heartbeat.

Jane made it to her room just before tearing off her outfit and collapsing onto her bed. She was exhausted albeit acutely aware that she lived to be independent but now Joe knew how dependent she could be and in fact was. She was flummoxed. She thought long and hard or so she thought she thought long and hard:

She whipped out her cell and promptly deleted his existence.

Writer's Block

2008-10-24T18:54:00.002+08:00

It was a dark and stormy night when

Appeal

2008-10-20T07:12:00.001+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

This has been a bad month in terms of work load and creativity.

I need your help in relocating my mojo.

Please suggest what sort of story you'd like to read and I shall do my best to actualise it. [Just offer me something in the vein of boy buys lottery ticket and kills himself or girl orders favourite blueberry pie only to choke and die.]

I shall duly credit any stimulus that results in a short story.

Thank you.

* Apply the label that fits

Party Time

2008-10-06T04:46:00.002+08:00

It was to be Joe’s birthday tomorrow. Already having invited many of his friends, he went ahead and ordered an expensive chocolate cake (extra fudge, of course), and trooped across the road to buy a bottle of rum. He returned to realise that the cake and liquor were not enough so off he went again, to buy another cake and another bottle of rum.

Returning home for a second time in as many hours, Joe felt that he was now prepared to party. He lined the wall with streamers and pinned many colourful balloons to the windows. For a little bit of a laugh, he had even set up a blow up clown in the middle of the living room. Turning his attention to perishables, he cut the spare cake into bite sized portions and laid them out on disposable plates. On each disposable plate he placed a disposable fork. As the finishing touch, he poured double shots of rum into – that’s right – disposable cups and laid them between plates so that when viewed from a distance, it looked like a chocolate fish in a pool of rum. It was indeed a marvellous sight!

Joe had long ago decided on what to wear to his birthday party: a silky white broad collared shirt on dark blue jeans with snow white hemming; he figured it was worth the expense because it was not everyday that he would be another year older. The party was due to start in another 15 minutes but Joe was not hassled; it was unlikely anyone would turn up on time. He had been prepared to see his first visitor at eight, a full hour late.

Joe opened his main door to let the cool breeze in. He sat himself down with a triple shot of rum and a dash of coke. It was his birthday party and he was entitled to start getting light headed early. Two triple shots and 90 minutes later, Joe was still on his couch, waiting for the first guest to arrive.

He poked his head out of the door to check if it were raining but it was not. So he went back to his trusty couch and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Inevitably, time touched tomorrow. Incredibly, Joe was still waiting. He had waited for this day an entire year; he was consoled that a few more hours of waiting would not do him in. And so he kept on waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Eye Spy

2008-10-02T01:17:00.005+08:00

The gurgling of acids in his stomach caused him to rub his belly in an attempt to soothe the discomfort. The gurgling subsided but not out of submission to the belly rub. It had subsided because it was done gurgling.

He stood up and he burped. It was a soft burp, not one of those loud, satisfying ones a can of Coke induces. Adjusting the waistband of his trousers, he wriggled about till he perceived a better fit. And then he sat down, exposing his ankles (which in turn were exposed because his socks had lost their elasticity after one too many battles with the drier).

Prodding at the leftovers on his plate, he waited impatiently for his date to return from the washroom. His inamorata was of the hourly variety and though with his features he could only afford bargain basement ones, he was starting to get annoyed at having to wait; the customer, after all, was always right.

All his plans to chastise his honey for hire evaporated on seeing her return. As she jiggled her way to the table, she couldn’t help but notice how her hire was watching her jiggle. She was not disgusted as years on the job had desensitised her to such distasteful behaviour; she merely snorted and jiggled a little more for effect. She seated her jiggles on the chair and he scribbled his name on the bill. It was time to go and time to collect.

She had featured regularly on his social calendar for some time now. Quite some time now, actually. Well, only for about four years. He had not grown fond of her as much as he had become dependent on her; she had become one of the only means by which he could feel good about himself.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, he attempted to fasten his seat belt. In doing so, he caught the image of his procured partner reflected in the windshield. She was, to his mind, a nonentity, a scourge upon society fit only to be spat upon, a thoroughly sorry specimen of a biped. A surge of disgust swept over him as he realised that she reminded him of someone terribly familiar: himself. Unable to buckle up, he leaned back in his seat, ashen faced. He could not believe nor was he willing to accept that that was what he had become. Ignoring her concerns over his ashy white face, he stepped out for a cigarette, hoping that the recently engraved image in his mind would burn away as a cigarette does with each puff.

Though a regular smoker, the introduction of nicotine into his bloodstream already primed with adrenaline caused his fingers to tremble, his breath to quicken and eventually his body to shudder. Breaking out in cold sweat, he sought momentary relief leaning against his minivan. Stepping back into his vehicle, he offered his queen for the night her dues and told her, in words not fit for print, to dismount. Taken aback by the sudden change in plans, she hesitated albeit momentarily before accepting the fare and leaving. (Though she had grown a mite attached to him over the course of four years, she was under no illusion that her profession was a zero sum game; money now was better than money later.)

Having caught his breath, he looked in the rear view mirror and saw himself for the first time in years. Fuelled by disgust, he displaced the offensive mirror and drove off. By the time he reached his garage, he had smashed both side mirrors and the windshield. None of it helped because by now he was seeing this image in everything he laid his eyes on. Screaming gut wrenching screams, he ran about his garage like a man possessed in an attempt to drive the image into oblivion and yet the image would not disappear.

As though on a hallucinogen known for inducing violent behaviour such as PCP, he hammered through his garage door. All bloodied from the endeavour, he slumped outside his garage, proceeded to gorge out both eyes simultaneously and swallowed them whole, one after the other. Having lost consciousness in a pool of blood, he was found the next day by the paperboy who wished he had called in sick that day.

There was nothing anyone could do. After a spell in an infirmary, he was sent home, to be cared for by a full time nurse. Although she was very generous in dispensing him opiates, he still saw that image in his mind, the same one from many nights ago. It was now made worse by the realisation that he could not even successfully kill himself.

Depressed, disabled and drugged, he could still feel the pain though it did not hurt anymore.

Forget Me Not

2008-09-19T21:45:00.015+08:00

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

He turned, only to see his reflected image in a three inch wide patent leather belt. He looked up and saw a laced lined white satin blouse. Looking further up, he saw the face belonging to the voice. She was quite easily the most attractive face he had seen in forever. Her body wasn’t bad in the least but because he fancied himself not the shallow sort, he did his best not to allow her endless legs, taut torso or perky peaks to affect his decision to allow her the seat next to him.

Instantly, he knew he had to come back with something funny, something witty, something charming just so she would take notice of him.

“Of course! I mean certainly! Are you kidding? Please sit beside me. Why have you not sat beside me before? Gosh, you’re the prettiest girl to have ever asked me!” (So much for sophistication, humour, charm or wit.)

He felt like a complete idiot upon hearing his own verbiage. She looked at him with a smile mostly because she was happy to have gotten the first seat she had asked for. The rest of the smile was because she found this stranger's teenage exuberance towards her very refreshing. She was terribly tired of all the people at the conference who not only took themselves far too seriously for comfort but also tired to impress her with how clever they were. In juxtaposition there was this complete stranger who was so happy just to see her and have her sit beside him. And he had told her within minutes how pretty she was!

“Thank you. I’m Jane and I’m with the event planners for the conference.”

She sat down and crossed her legs. The same pair that now seemed longer than ever. He was completely distracted by the high slit her skirt featured and it took every ounce of willpower to meet her eyes and offer a polite response to her self introduction.

“I’m Joe. I’m just here for the conference. My work is so classified I don’t even know what I do!”

‘She is going to think I’m a complete idiot.’ Joe couldn’t help but lament to himself. The five minutes left before the plenary started now seemed too long to bear. ‘Get lucky? I’ll be lucky if she even bothers to slap me!’ He smiled at her and then shook his head at himself.

‘What a complete idiot!’ Jane observed. The five minutes left before the plenary started now seemed too short to tell him how she was impressed that he was not too serious for his own good. ‘Got lucky. I’ll be lucky if he doesn't get serious on me for the rest of the plenary. She shook her head at him and then smiled to herself.

The plenary was called to order and despite the furious pace at which Joe took notes; Jane couldn’t help but marvel at the quality of his penmanship. (Her own resembled the scratching of tormented rats.) The luxurious black roller ball ink that flowed from the nib of the cartridge onto the page into sensible scripture caught her eye, as well as the snow white pen that Joe adroitly piloted. Stereoscopic vision allowed Joe to notice that Jane had been looking toward him for quite a while now. He paused to look at her. He then noticed her green eyes. That was his favourite colour for eyes. Many people love blue eyes but not Joe. He was not your regular Joe. Green eyes did it for him. He smiled, leaned over and decided he would whisper something impressive in her ear.

“Your eyes are green.”

Jane burst out laughing, much to the chagrin of every delegate in the room. Thankfully, a break was called and her unacceptable behaviour immediately mitigated. She mused over how attractive the pen was and she was terribly impressed at the fact that that pen bore a fancy inscription. Joe could not stop smiling. He looked at her and offered to trade. She was more than happy to trade her dime a dozen ball pen for his immaculately manufactured souvenir piece. He was more than happy to exchange his immaculately manufactured souvenir piece for her dime a dozen ball pen. She smiled. He smiled. Thank goodness the room was empty.

“Thank you. This pen is truly special; I shall keep it for a long time.”

Jane burst out laughing once more. Thank goodness the room was empty. She looked at him and smiled, twinkle in her eye. She couldn’t help thinking that the last time she saw anyone behave like Joe, she was eight. Momentarily she marvelled at how Joe was the only intellectual man she knew who was so unabashed in expressing himself. In a moment of weakness caused by the confluence of admiration and flattery, she leaned toward him and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. Caught off guard, he could only smile and gurgle like the same complete idiot he had been when Jane had requested for a seat.

The plenary reconvened and all the notes Joe was now making were for Jane. Forgetting why she was at the session, Jane reciprocated. Using her new, manufactured souvenir piece, Jane was disappointed that the rats she commanded were still tormented but managed to ask Joe what his plans were for after the conference came to a close. Joe penned seeing the rest of this foreign city in the arms of hot local guide – you. Jane felt herself turn eight as she reached under the table and pinched Joe in a signal of agreement.

For two full days after the conference, Jane took Joe about and showed him her home town and sights he had never seen. They walked at times hand in hand, at others arm in arm and sometimes arms round the waist. Every moment waiting for a taxi or the light to turn saw those lips locking. They were terribly infatuated with each other but to everyone about them, they were madly in love.

Soon as they met, it was time for Joe to leave. They promised to keep in touch, visit and talk soon. Their last kiss lingered. Their fingers unclasped as willingly as a child eats broccoli. Then they had to turn away: Jane back home and Joe to the security threshold at the airport. Their hearts were heavy and each step proved more difficult than the last. Every third step saw them looking back at each other.

Inevitably, Jane stepped out of the airport and Joe into the security threshold. Jane suddenly found each step to her car easier than the last and Joe began wondering what had happened to his pen.

Psst

2008-09-05T23:55:00.001+08:00

Have you ever emitted one of those long, silent killer type gasses that are so hot you are forced to fidget?

Has the malodour of one of those been so putrid that you’ve actually choked on the whiff of your own flatulence?

Have you ever, after gaining the ability to determine if your next vile vapour is truly a silent killer, deliberately gone to someone else’s space just so you could help them gain the experience of gagging on thin air?

Have you ever?

I have.

And it feels good!

Advisory II

2008-09-01T19:16:00.003+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

There will be no post between 06 and 15 Sep 08, both dates inclusive.

* Apply the label that fits

Forever After

2008-08-23T23:43:00.004+08:00

The splendour of the evening fell upon him like a great angry wave against tiny rocks on a breakwater. He breathed as though through a straw, turning away from the crowd to take long, slow and very deep breaths whenever he could. His lounge suit constricted his being and he was sure his necktie was taking pleasure in gently strangulating him.

Everyone about him was happy: the guests; his friends; his sweetheart; her friends; her parents. Even her dog. They were gathered here today to witness the (unlikely) union of two dramatically different individuals. She was of course elated to be marrying the man she never dreamt she would marry (but that is a different story). He had known he would marry her before they had even met.

She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, trained in every aspect of decorum and groomed to be a lady. He was a rough and tumble yahoo, born of humble beginnings, whose only saving graces were his charm, intellect and elocution. She dreamt to be emancipated from the fetters of high society living and he wanted to break free from his perception of poverty. They were made for each other.

Thanks to an equal opportunity system of schooling, they were able to meet at college. She was there because she qualified and could afford the fees and he was there because he qualified and managed to secure all the grants, scholarships and bursaries necessary to ensure educere gratis. There was also no way that they would not have met for she was the prettiest girl about and he was the only one on a motorcycle. Everyone knew them so it was only a matter of time before they knew each other. The attraction for either was as instant as the realization that it could not last.

“Last call for you to run away.” He was brought back to the present on hearing her giggle in his ear. He turned to her. She looked at him, scrunched her nose and smiled. Reaching for her fingers, he drew her close and whispered back that he would only run away if she came with him. (Of course, at this juncture, they sighed and kissed passionately.) Though still uncomfortable, he wasn’t breathing so heavily now. Not one for traditional displays of festivity or celebration, he had given in to the wedding ceremony just so his missus to be could live her dream. To accommodate him, she decided to hold the wedding at a luxurious beach resort instead of within sprawling Roman Catholic architecture.

All too soon (for her at least), it was over. The guests had gone back to their rooms and these two were in the honeymoon suite. She had insisted on going to the bathroom alone because she wanted to put on ‘something special’, just for him. Finally, finally, finally he could set into motion. Placing a flute on either nightstand, he filled them with pink champagne. Then he popped the most potent poisoned pill into her flute. He had finally broken free from his perception of poverty hence there was now no need for her. In any case, she had only just lived her dream; there could be no better time.

In the bathroom, she had heard him setting the champagne and smiled to herself. She had just lived her dream and now could go on with her prim and proper life, though she couldn’t quite see how he fit into the forever after picture. She smiled again; she knew just what to do. She would step out of the bathroom with a towel over her ‘special something’ and push him into it, insisting that he freshen before the invite only viewing of that ‘something special’. Then she would slip into his flute one of the most potent poisoned pills she had recently procured.

“Hey! You’re not seeing anything till you get in there and freshen up. Go on!”

He laughed out loud.

“Only for you. Don’t you dare have any champagne without me! I’ll be right out and we’ll have some together.”

Teacher Tales III

2008-08-05T20:03:00.011+08:00

So there was the perfectly planned plan. The perfectly laid plan. The best laid plan. Oh, you get the idea.

The headmaster (I think these days that’s known as the principal) had spoken to Mr. Moron to inform him that there was to be a foreign dignitary paying the school a visit the week following and would Mr. Moron please be informed that there was a chance that the entourage just might walk by his classroom.

Elated, Mr. Moron set about laying the ground work. Using his inimitable charm, he seduced the office clerks into letting on that the visiting dignitary was the wife of some country’s head of naval forces or something impressive like that. She had been a home economics teacher in her (lost) youth and she had requested to observe a Literature in English lesson. Interesting, thought Mr. Moron, maybe she wants to see how I cook the books!

Smiling smugly to himself because he knew he was going to change the world and now the world would see it, Mr. Moron set to work on preparing the best laid, most perfect lesson plan in the whole wide world that would engage his charges, make them learn more whilst he taught less and most importantly, change the world:

Lesson: Literature in English
Lesson 1 of 2
Level: 5N

Purpose of Lesson
*Offer introductory exposure to the British Raj in India
*Aid students in better understanding the characteristics of the societal structure in British India

Specific Instructional Objectives
By the end of this lesson the students should be able to
*Recognize the basic social class segregations in British India
*Understand the tensions each of these groups faced with one another
*Leave the classroom with a sufficient context within which to make sense of the novel, its content and behaviour of main characters

Strategies
*ICT integration
*Role Play
*Dynamic student participation
*Teacher-students dialogue
*Group work

Pre-Class Assignment
Students to have

*read entire novel (The English Teacher)
*a sketch of main character’s characteristics

Step	Time Frame	Activity	Strategy	Objective
1	2.5min	a. Housekeeping, b. Statement of Intent	T to C	a. Settle class down and prepare students for lesson, b. Provide students with scaffolding with respect to the intended lesson’s direction and content to be covered
2	2.5min	a. Students to be randomly picked and requested for their impression of societal structure in British India	S to T	a. i. Using the element of surprise as an ice breaker, ii. Aid students in gaining a sense of ownership with respect to the lesson via their dynamic participation
3	5min	a. Teacher to go through annotations on the board together with the class whilst aiding the students to make connections / inferences and consider implications	T to C	a. i. Make students aware of significant difference between perception and reality (need to justify answers with evidence), ii. Make students (more) conscious of the purpose of context to allow a more sensitive reading of the novel
4	10min	a. Closure of previous activity, b. Introduction to next activity, c. Teacher to present: Purpose (life during the British Raj), Activity (slide show) & Objective (use of visual stimulus to highlight disparity between British-Indian Elites	T to C	a. Demarcate to students the end of activity and a consequent shift of focus, b. Prepare students for new activity
5	5min	a. Students to work in pairs on the activity assigned by teacher (listing differences observed in slide show)	S to P	a. i. Foster camaraderie amongst students, ii. Highlight importance of group/team work
6	10min	a. Students to role play based on scenarios set by teacher (2 groups; different scenario each); Scenario 1: An Indian taxi driver choosing to stop for a British gentleman instead of an Indian gentleman and his pregnant wife; Scenario 2: An Indian being turned away from an establishment that displays a sign reading ‘Indians and Dogs not allowed’. (This was a common feature of British India)	T to C; S to C	a. i. Foster camaraderie amongst students, ii. Use of role play as platform for critical / inferential questioning so as to provide a clearer understanding of the author’s motivations and thus the context of the novel within which students must frame their understanding / judgement
7	10min	a. Students to present their findings from Steps 5/6 to class (with teacher as guide/facilitator), b. Teacher to link findings to greater contextual significance with respect to novel	S to C	a. i. Aid students in gaining a sense of ownership with respect to the lesson via their dynamic participation, ii. Promoting the notion of sharing information in order to better individual effort, iii. Aiding students in gaining the confidence necessary to present before an audience; b. i. Crystallize motivations of author and therefore traits of main characters in novel, ii. Reinforce concept that every statement made in Literature is meaningful if and only if context and substantiation is offered.
8	5min	a. Closure of previous activity, b. Task Assignment (Students to create photo collage of main characters), c. Lesson close	T to C	a. Demarcate to students the end of activity and a consequent shift of focus, b. Ensure direct student engagement in characterising characters both pictorially and in writing, c. Round up lesson and indicate deadline for task assigned

The day had no sooner arrived that Mr. Moron put on his best attire (he had spent the better part of the night deciding what to wear) and strode into the classroom as though – that’s absolutely right – he was going to change the world. The entourage was not meant to arrive before 1000hr. This would give him enough time to settle the class down and make as though everything was hunky dory.

He dispensed with the routine greeting and immediately assigned roles to everyone – Jim would do this, Jack that and Johnny the other. And Jane was to ask this when he said that and all this.

Okay class let’s give the Yankee Doodles a show they won’t forget!

Maggie, what is your problem?

Cher, the visitor standing there long time already.

What was that, Maggie?

Maggie had the largest crush on Mr. Moron and could not bear to repeat what she felt was the spelling of doom for her beloved Mr. Moron. She merely stood up and meekly pointed at the entourage that had gathered outside the classroom albeit earlier than scheduled.

Mr. Moron Man turned about to see the entourage and the beetroot red face of his headmaster.

Oh, he exclaimed, (this time with a smile that suggested that the world was about to change him) you’re all early!

Advisory

2008-08-04T01:01:00.002+08:00

Dear Fans/Readers/Critics*

Other than this, there is not likely to be another post this month; certainly none between 08 and 22 Aug 08, both dates inclusive.

* Apply the label that fits

Teacher Tales II

2008-07-30T02:01:00.003+08:00

Dear Diary

I am still trying to put the shock of the skateboard incident behind me. But I shouldn't go on about that again. Today I need to tell you how what I thought were clear instructions were actually not so clear. I dont understand this because I followed the teaching handbook to the letter! I even called my pedagogy professor and he agreed with me. I don't think I did anything wrong.

Anyway, I gave my NA class a Literature in English assignment before the holidays. When they handed it in, almost all handed in only half a page of written work. When I checked their work, I realized that they had indeed answered the question and even used the scaffolding I had offered them. The problem was that they had failed to develop on their points; which is strange because isn't that the next logical step?

I spent the next lesson I had with them asking them to explain their work (and themselves). As it turned out, most claimed they did not know they needed to develop their answers because it looked developed enough to them. I then realized I had to scaffold explicitly how development should build.

In trying to explain how and why examples offered must be explained, I had to overcome the students' assertion that examples needn't be explained because "they are explanations in themselves". I then needed to create awareness that whilst examples serve to illustrate, they need to be explicitly linked to the question.

After this, I made them rework their previous (lack of) effort and had them peer edit each other's work so as to help them identify how and if examples had been elaborated on and explicitly linked to the question.

I shall turn them all into aces; I just don't know how yet but I can if I want to and I will if I try.

Sincerely

teach

Teacher Tales I

2008-07-28T19:12:00.002+08:00

Young and fuelled by the vitality of youth, he stood proud, sure of the fact that he would change the world. How he would actuate this change he was not so sure. Lean and tall he stood, this moron of an excuse for an educator. Any type of fool, on looking at him, could figure that he would be had for breakfast, regurgitated by lunch only to be reconsumed over tea.

The first dead giveaway was his megawatt smile. This chap smiled all the time. (He was sure he would change the world.) As if that were not bad enough, he sported perfectly coiffed hair. A lily white tri ply shirt tailored to the cuff coupled with straight cut microfiber trousers flared ever so slightly at the ankle. And custom made shoes. Standing out like a sore thumb alongside his jaded colleagues, he looked the picture of the lamb unaware that it was to be the day’s dinner.

His stride radiated confidence. He was sure he would change the world. (How he would actuate this change he was not so sure.) Onward, he thought to himself. Forge ahead and mould the future of the nation. He would engage his charges; fill them with the desire to engage in lifelong learning. He would teach less and they would learn more. He would employ the THINK cycle, engage the PETALS framework and he would place them in their zone of proximal development. Or he would die trying, damn it!

Sailing into the class he made an utter fool of himself by raising both of his arms and greeting the class as though he were experiencing the surge of euphoria one does upon consumption of any banned narcotic. He would acquaint himself with each and every one of them and he was elated that so many of them were familiar with the concept of a skateboard. He struck a deal and it was set: the next day they would trade skateboarding skills as part of a super fun lesson.

It was one day too long before the next day arrived. Mr. Moron, smiling as broadly as one does when one is sure one will change the world but is unsure how the change would be actuated, skated into class but not before coming to a stop via a Rail Stand. The class gasped in awe. High on his opiate, he greeted his class and asked with whom he would trade tricks. Little John came over and handed him a video game console controller.

He stood stunned. Only then did it dawn on him that half the class the day before was familiar with the skateboard only via video games! Well and truly beaten, he could only redeem himself by springing a surprise spelling test on them. It was spelling for them because he was surprised. The spelling surprise also spelt the start of the end for the man who had just cheated the young ones out of a promised fun lesson.

The one who comes to teach learns the keenest of lessons.

Educated Fool

2008-07-22T21:23:00.000+08:00

She would often declare that she’d only marry for love. She loved the incredulous stares she received whenever she declared it. She thought everyone was gawking at her in awe but everyone was looking at her in utter disbelief of the fact that anyone could muster the courage to utter something that ridiculous.

She was short, stupid and stubborn. That is quite a deadly combination, being stupid and stubborn. That she was short compounded the issue because as a result she had a napoleon complex which everyone had to suffer.

This morning she was in one of her moods again and was, in addition to declaring that she had spent numerous years in school, declaring that she would only marry for love. As luck would have it, the office peon was in attendance and watching in amazement at how a senior officer was behaving like one of the crazed women he was used to seeing around his shanty town. She caught his stare and demanded that he come over.

What were you looking at? What is it? What's the problem?

He could have told her that apart from her ranting he also found her choice of an aqua marine blue brassier under a sheer, tan blouse distasteful.

No madam. No. Nothing madam. Nothing.

What nonsense! Tell me! Why did you marry your wife?

My parents arranged it madam.

Do you love your wife?

Love? Madam I am sorry. What is love?

You don’t know? You uneducated fool! Love is …

And she realised she didn’t know what love was. How could she when the motivating force for dating her current man was her love for his assets? At this moment she only had in her mind images from children’s story books but that surely wouldn’t answer the question! The grammar of her silence brought a smile to the poor peon’s lips. She caught that smile and glared at him.

Why are you smiling, you illiterate swine?

He flung his trusty cloth over his shoulder. He looked at her. He shook his head. He looked at her again.

No amount of learning can cure stupidity.

She looked at him flabbergasted whilst he turned away to tend to his menial duties.

Perhaps she could learn to love that.

Cutting Power Down to Size

2008-07-14T20:03:00.012+08:00

MEMORANDUM OF UNDERTAKING

I, AA BB of class C/D (2005), acknowledge, understand and accept that on 10 March 2005 I was guilty of conduct unbecoming tantamount to defiance in that I had

1a) During a spot check on my said class on the parade square at about 0740hr reacted rudely the Discipline Master, by shouting in his face that he was unfair in his conduct of the said check;

1b) Pursuant to Paragraph 1(a), behaved in a manner disrespectful and defiant in challenging the authority of the Discipline Master when asked to calm down, in full view of my said class during the said check.

I understand that the punishment for defiance is one (1) cut of the cane. In lieu of the said punishment, I undertake the following:

2a) To serve one (1) session of detention each for the offences stated in Paragraphs 1(a) and 1(b);

2b) To not commit such or any act of defiance from this point forward;

2c) To behave in a manner not prejudicial to the good image of Powerful Man's Son Go This School from this point forward.

I further undertake that

3a) Pursuant to Paragraph 2(b), I accept punishment of one (1) cut of the cane should I be found guilty of such or any act of defiance;

3b) Pursuant to Paragraph 2(c), I accept to be categorized as a recalcitrant offender and be punished as such should I be found guilty of behaviour prejudicial to the good image of Powerful Man's Son Go This School.

I wish to state that the same Disciline Master has explained in detail each paragraph of this Memorandum of Undertaking to me. I further state that I have understood and accept the terms and conditions of this Memorandum of Undertaking.

I have not been coerced in any manner to sign this Memorandom of Undertaking and thereby undertake the same of my own accord.

Signed this day, 10 March 2005

AA BB

Powerful Man's Son

Brain Power
Discipline Master

Act Powerful
Principal

Son's Powerful Father
Parent

Birdday Happy You Please

2008-07-11T18:20:00.006+08:00

This is in response to My World Is Mine: Didn't you teach them to read and write?

A birthday card from hell for you, cher:

Dear Prof

Hope you very much to enjoy that birthday it is celebrating besides that day special on birthday this day moreover happy you be for the life of all.

xxx

Yours Student

Systems Thinking

2008-07-10T05:17:00.002+08:00

F asdfaslk hohkn gujsdf gj aiasdfj; ak ;

Asldkfjoriywan oiuyrqa uy [hugkhKHIUH reo ns,mngaiug

Two hours had slipped by in stealth and this gibberish was all that Scampy could manage in that time. Scampy wasn’t even sure if he had typed that or had it been one monkey on one keyboard. Anyway, Scampy was close to his wits’ end. He needed to finish this report and get it out of the way. But how was he to finish the report if he had not yet started? Thinking hard how he might ease himself out of this quandary, Scampy checked the dictionary for the definitions of ‘start’ and ‘finish’, hoping that there might be a way for him to finish his report without starting. No such luck! Apparently, conventional wisdom ruled that something needed to be started before it could be finished.

Bracing himself in his chair, Scampy pushed himself from the table and succeeded in rolling across his study to the bar fridge at the other corner of the room. Adroitly manipulating the lever with his toes, Scampy released it and smirked smugly as the fridge door sprung open. His smirk evaporated when the fridge revealed itself to be bare. Scampy was thoroughly enraged because even his girlfriend had never revealed her bare self to him! He stood up with poise, purpose and kicked the door shut.

Scratching his head and looking about, he was at a loss for what to do. He looked at his table and the laptop seated nonchalantly on it. He walked toward it and gingerly lowered its flap till the laptop clicked to a close. He lifted it up and twirled it about, swung himself around and realised that the laptop was heated from an entire morning of being plugged in.

No wonder Scampy couldn’t get started! The laptop had been too hot. He flung it into the bar fridge before flinging himself on his bed. He was sure he would work better when the laptop had cooled off.

Please Advise

2008-07-06T21:00:00.006+08:00

I hadn’t the slightest intention of being serious. I even did the decent thing by telling her so. She, on the other hand, had no intention of taking me seriously. So there it was, rouge bent on being a gentleman and vixen sure he would be bent before her, but not before long.

She got up, saying she would be back momentarily. Me, the master of sweet talk (of the kind no one believes but loves to hear anyway), told her

For you I whole life also can wait.

The incorrect grammar was employed to convey the sincerity of a little schooled man who drummed up the courage to bare his soul to the sweet young thing. The truth is that I had always been too smart by half. The line worked, by the way. She rolled her eyes dramatically but when she turned to go, I caught the edge of a smile on her mien and the ever so slight bounce in her gait.

When she returned, I told her how happy I was that she had returned to me. I took her minute excuse for a hand and kissed it. Then I grabbed her forearm and bit it gently, something she did not expect at all. Being all prim and proper, she did not know how to react. So I drew her closer to me and licked her left cheek. All of it from jaw line to temple. This time she turned sharply to me and asked

What on earth are you doing? Are you done?

Not really.

I grabbed her face again and proceeded to lick her right cheek as I had done her left. (I’m a Libra you see. It’s always been about balance.) She was truly flabbergasted but hadn’t a clue how to react. No chap had ever treated her this way before and she right as rain had never tolerated anything remotely this annoying. But I was an unprecedented anomaly in her experience and she was, to put it simply, caught off guard.

Shall we order a spot of tea? What do you like? Light or dark?

It was only the third time I had met her so I didn’t know her preferences.

This is the third time you’ve asked me this. I thought I told you the last time we met?

Did you? Oh yes, that’s right! You did. Silly me. So what would you like? Light or dark?

She lowered her jaw to mouth what I was sure would be a profanity but I was saved by the barmaid who recognised me but whose name I didn’t remember.

A pot of Earl Gray, like the last time?

Of course darling. Thanks for remembering.

I stopped smiling at the barmaid when I felt my forearm being pinched. I turned to look at the cross figure seated before me.

How could you not remember what I’ve had the last two visits when it’s been the same thing?

Dunno. I no go school. Anyway got people remember for me what. So no problem!

It’s not the same! It’s just not. It’s different.

No, no. Same same, but different. Is same all.

She looked at me incredulously. Then she stood up.

I going! I mean I'm going!

Are you coming back?

What do you think?

I don’t know. For you I whole life also

But she was already gone.

I’m still at the table.

What do you think?

Joe Good

2008-06-24T00:02:00.004+08:00

Stiffened by the immensely boring meeting, Joe stood up and stretched himself. His fists clenched and his arms behind him, Joe looked every bit like a Del Monte banana. Everyone in the boardroom stared at him; some did so with indignation, others with incredulity and the remainder in awe. Joe didn’t notice the stares. He tip toed and promptly fell backward. At least this was more eventful than the meeting. Peeling himself off the floor, Joe couldn’t help grinning. The thought that the meeting would be ending soon kept his smile going.

Hearing the thermostat snap and then the sudden silence that deafened him, Joe realized he was now all alone in the boardroom. Time for lunch, he thought, time for lunch. Hunching just his left shoulder, he took extraordinarily long strides that resulted in a terribly awkward gait. Joe was in a strange mood that day and he planned to be in the same mood for the rest of what the boss called company time.

Stopping just at the threshold of the boardroom, Joe exhaled as loudly as he could. This caught some of his colleagues by surprise. They looked at him in mock horror and Joe’s response was to promptly flip them the bird. This time the mortification was genuine. He carried on with that exaggerated gait and proceeded to his table.

Joe sat down and placed his feet on the table. It was his table after all. He pulled himself closer to his table and reached for the phone. Dialling the local pizzeria, Joe generously ordered pizza for all 207 employees. With extra toppings. Of course. What is your name, sir? Jefferey. Thank you. He was Joe. Not Jefferey. Neither Jefferey Joe. Nor Joe Jefferey. Jefferey was his boss’ name. Joe decided that he would be Jefferey for a while. He thought it might be fun.

Barging into Jefferey’s office, Joe thanked him for buying lunch. Then Joe laughed. Taking note of Jefferey’s bewilderment, Joe leapt onto his table, squatted upon it and emitted one of those long, loud instances of flatulence. He then leaned over and kissed Jefferey squarely on the lips. Squealing in delight, Joe made a dash for the door.

Thank goodness not everyday is Joe’s last day at work.

Little Miss Difficult

2008-06-19T02:25:00.004+08:00

There was once a girl who enjoyed being difficult. In fact, she enjoyed it so much that she was known as Little Miss Difficult. Why she enjoyed being so difficult is difficult to say.

Being difficult isn’t easy. Little Miss Difficult worked very hard at being difficult. She would memorize difficult words to use in conversation just so it would be difficult to understand her. She would also google difficult theories and memorize those too. That’s right. To use in conversation just so it would be difficult to understand her. But her favourite way of being Little Miss Difficult was to ask ‘why’ to anything that was said.

For example, someone would say, ‘I don’t feel like eating chicken today’. What would Little Miss Difficult do? She would ask ‘why’. Now, that is a difficult question to answer and someone would find themselves in a difficult situation. So usually, that someone would end up eating chicken anyway, even if they didn’t want to.

You might think that because she was so difficult, Little Miss Difficult had no friends. But you would be wrong. Almost everybody was or wanted to be her friend. Almost everybody was or wanted to be her friend because she was pretty. She was so pretty that she could have easily been Little Miss Pretty Difficult.

And so, Little Miss Difficult went on being difficult because almost everyone let her. Some let her be difficult because she was pretty. Others let her be difficult because she would use a difficult word in conversation or better yet, one of those theories she had googled, just to be difficult. The rest let her be difficult because it was really difficult to answer the question ‘why’ all the time. So there it was: she went on being difficult because almost everyone let her.

Soon, Little Miss Difficult found it difficult to keep being difficult because it was not as much fun as before. It was also difficult to find someone who wouldn’t let her be difficult. But the real problem was that it was difficult for Little Miss Difficult not to be difficult! (What would she be called then?) Oh dear, this was difficult indeed!

Then one day, Little Miss Difficult remembered someone who had forgotten her. That someone was called Mister Mista. She sent him a text message and arranged to meet. Soon, it was time for them to meet and they did.

When Mister Mista saw Little Miss Difficult, he liked the dress Little Miss Difficult had worn. He smiled at her and said, ‘Little Miss Difficult, that is a lovely dress! You look pretty in it!’ Little Miss Difficult was happy to hear this but she couldn’t say ‘thank you’ because that would not be being difficult. She had to be difficult, remember?

‘What?’ said Little Miss Difficult. ‘My dress? Are you objectifying me?’ Oh dear, there was one of those difficult words I was telling you about. But Little Miss Difficult wasn’t done. ‘Why are you objectifying me by the way society defines gender roles? It’s just the perspective of the Male Gaze. That’s terrible!’ cried Little Miss Difficult. Goodness, Little Miss Difficult had used one of the difficult theories she had googled, as well as that difficult word! This was going to be difficult for Mister Mista.

Mister Mista looked at Little Miss Difficult and he sighed. This is going to be difficult, thought Mister Mista. So Mister Mista asked Little Miss Difficult, ‘You don’t want to be objectified? What would you like to be then?’ Little Miss Difficult smiled and replied, ‘I want to be the subject!’ Mister Mista looked at Little Miss Difficult, smiled, and said, ‘Alright, you can be the subject. In fact, you are the subject.’

Little Miss Difficult laughed. Being difficult was fun again! More importantly, being difficult was not difficult anymore. Little Miss Difficult looked at Mister Mista and she smiled at him. Mister Mista smiled back at Little Miss Difficult and said, ‘You are the subject. And I shall be your King.’

Little Miss Difficult stopped laughing but did not ask ‘why’ either. Little Miss Difficult found it too difficult to.

Match Made in Heaven

2008-06-14T17:19:00.010+08:00

We met on a Sunday ride. I had to stop for her against all warning my cranium raised. My blood was someplace else at the time, you see. And it really, really wasn’t my fault. Really it wasn’t. I’m old fat and ugly. She was everything I am not. So you see it really wasn’t my fault. I slowed my metallic steed to a halt and looked at her, asking everything with my raised right eyebrow. She giggled girlishly and grinned, asking if I would ride her to the town ahead. (My dear girl, I would ride you to kingdom come, Viagra willing!) Yes of course, it’s only about an hour away. Again she grinned, this time flashing her little square teeth. I could have died right there and I wouldn’t have complained. She jumped on my steed and I made a mental note to jump on her just like that.

I checked that I had that little lifesaver with me, that little blue pill. Heavens be praised! I had enough to make a horse of me. That it might not make me a steed was not too much of a concern because my metallic steed was an extension of me and compensation enough. Depressing the ignition switch, the steed roared to life. Feeling the power between my legs, I zoomed off into the sunset with little miss darling sunshine sweetheart on my back. Oh, the mere thought of that!

We were doing 80kph. I turned to little ms darling sunshine sweetheart and said so how do you like riding at 50mph? I needed to do and say things differently from the rest. I even walked differently. This was necessary to justify my placement in the world. Look at me everyone, I am different. (The truth is that all I achieved in my few years at school was to wear off the soles of a few pairs of shoes. So I had to be different to hide that achievement.) She giggled again, and rubbed my tummy. (Please, not so high.) I LURVE it! The trill of her rhotic accent was music to my years. Riding little ms bourgeois sunshine sweetheart was going to be very trilling.

My perverse plans benefitted from the appearance of a little shack in the horizon. Are you hungry? I rrreally am! Oh this rhoticity had undertaken to drive my senses out of me. Rrreally! Cruising toward the ramshackle little erection in the middle of nowhere, I just could not stop smiling to myself. This little erection was going to help me get one of my own. I pulled up right next to it and felt her dismount my steed. Kicking the stand forward, I let my steed slump a little to the side. This was the inevitable result of riding too hard for too long. I dismounted in as much style as I could and undid my bandana. You have long hairrr! Again that giggle. Again that rrr. I smiled and swung my hair at her. Again she giggled. And then she took my arm. Gosh, girls are easy this part of town. No that’s not it. I recalibrated my thoughts and tried again: Gosh, I’m good!

Why don’t we sit round back, on the grass? It’ll be better than all this furniture. You wouldn’t mind, would you? The half wink which was my trademark had never failed before today and today it maintained its perfect run. You’rrre so cheeky! Surrre, I’m game. (That you certainly are, my dearrr.) Skipping ahead was she, swaggering along was I. She stopped, swung about and slapped her thighs to mark the spot. I had marked the spot when I saw her but chose to keep that nugget of information to myself.

Food was a messy affair. It was everywhere, in the bag it came in, in our mouths, on the grass, on our clothes, on us. I laughed one of my loud, hearty guffaws. She giggled. What? What’s so funny? I shook my head. Nothing, sunshine. No! Tell me! Cocking my head, I gave her a crooked look. I’ll bet you an entire French Fry that I could kiss your lips without our lips touching. She burst out laughing and I found myself fending off flying French Fries. Okay. But only because I rrreally want that entire frrrench frrry. I laughed another one of my loud hearty guffaws. I curled my index finger and she moved closer. We locked lips but not before I prepared the explanation for Zeno’s Paradox in my convoluted little mind.

She tasted like fried chicken but my explorations southward soon distracted me. Soon enough, the kingdom had come and I found myself riding what wouldn’t be ridden anymore. There were now two unpleasant tasks ahead: I had to articulate Zeno’s Paradox and I had to give her the ride to wherever it was she wanted to go. I heard her giggle again. I looked at her and smiled. She stuck her tongue out at me. I leaned forward and returned the gesture, realising that I would now have to explain that paradox twice. She reached out and playfully scratched at my stubble. I placed my thumbs on her jugular. She giggled again. That tickles!

I smiled. One for the road? Her head bobbed with enthusiasm. Alright, my dearrr. One for the rrroad! I increased the pressure on her jugular. She looked at me with mild confusion at first. I giggled and intensified the pressure. She gurgled this time. The trashing about between my legs invigorated me. I couldn’t help thinking how this was how the throes of passion should be. As quickly as my attention span is short, little miss bourgeois giggle gurgle was little ms zzzleeping beauty. Well apart from the bulging eyes and burst veins around her cheeks, I suppose.

I felt a little bad about leaving her like that so I bent over and whispered the concept of the paradox in her ear. She didn’t giggle this time. I then offered her the ride to wherever it is she wanted to go. Never mind not answering me, she didn’t even bother looking at me! I couldn’t help thinking that it was her loss.

What is that they say about giving strangers a lift? Oh yes, that I shouldn’t.

Match Point

2008-06-11T05:08:00.006+08:00

Lighting a match is magical. You take the box in your hands. You run your fingers along the edges. You smile. You flip the box over and do the same thing. Then you flip it back and look at it. And it returns yours with a come hither one. You take your index finger and you slide it open slowly and smoothly. But only halfway because this is your moment and you want to be careful not to spoil it.

You smile again and caress the side of the box with your thumb. With the index finger of your other hand, you gently explore its contents, running your finger over what is inside. You don’t stop smiling; you never do, actually. You stop. You glance at what your finger has felt and you discover perfection in the form of a wooden matchstick. Thumb and index finger unite in appreciation and embrace the chosen one.

Simultaneously, you twirl the match in one hand while the other smoothly and slowly slides the box into shape. The match in your left hand and the box in your right. You put the match to the box and poise for the strike, the fatal strike that serves your need at the expense of its entity. The match doesn’t flinch; its oath of servitude to you is not contingent on its survival in doing so.

You strike the match and watch in awe, that last full measure of devotion.

Holistic Education

2008-06-10T02:25:00.005+08:00

Aut tace aut loquere meliora silencio. Smugly, he looked around his room. All seven undergraduates seated in various postures across it stared back at him blankly. And why shouldn’t they? It was not as though they understood what this verbiage meant. (Even I don’t understand it!)

Only when the words outperform silence. Again, smugly, he looked around his room. The seven stared back but not blankly this time. The stares were an orchestra of indifference and indignation. Why couldn’t he just explain it like other lecturers? Oh, he just had to offer the unknown and elicit responses that just weren’t there. Showing off his knowledge, his mastery, his everything. Professor Prick.

This was his creative writing module and he was trying to creatively express to his students how important it was to only use words that would make a difference, to use words that mattered because silence was preferred to bagatelle. Don’t speak, or write, unless that performative made a difference.

So why didn’t you just say that? I mean, not that the Latin made a difference. Latin is dead, not creative! All seven pairs of eyes trained on she whose artillery shells had been fired for effect. Min. But after that salvo, she was now Mighty Min.

She wasn’t seated in the corner of the room as one might stereotypically expect. She was right by the door. She was there because she had been late for the tutorial. Short and skinny. These were merely the adjectives for what she wore. For her person, accurate adjectives were tall and supple. She was good enough to eat.

He was at a loss for words. This indignant little twat! Just a two years traipsing along college corridors and she thought she knew everything. If only the last two sentences were true. He was at a loss for words because from where he was seated, the nape of her neck made his heart hurry and her perky peaks promised to deliver him a coronary.

Saved by the bell! Alright everyone, tomorrow we shall cover Chapter 5. Don’t forget term papers are due next week. They all filed out of his room, freed at last. (This wasn’t secondary school where the bell triggers a thousand footed stampede.) All except Min. she wasn’t done with him yet. She was going to bring him to his knees, this prick of a professor.

Min closed the door and put her back to it. He looked at her wryly. She slumped against the door and looked up to him, but only because he was taller.

He traced his finger along the hollow of her navel. Taking his finger and squeezing it, she sighed. Oh, Max, I’ve missed you!

Aut tace aut loquere meliora silencio.

Same Same But Different

2008-06-09T03:04:00.009+08:00

He was like one of those M&M’s pebbles: not very much to look at, tough on the outside but soft on the inside. Nobody knew if he would melt in your mouth and not in your hand because nobody dared to try. Given his reputation, it was more likely he would break your mouth if you tried to hold his hand.

Turning his back to his door, he started on his daily pilgrimage to his place of worship, never mind that it was not yet eight in the morning. He was neither depressed nor had a catastrophe befallen him. Here there was no cliché; he had of his own volition opted to make this daily sojourn on foot. It always started the same way:

The same corridor. That same stairwell. The same lift. That same malodour. The same lobby. That same insouciance. It was this same insouciant manner that made him very popular. After all, in a world of postmodern ethos, what was bad now was good.

Facing the gate he had walked all of twenty something minutes for, he was undecided if he should push it or kick it down. But he was a man who thought ahead. He would push the gate open gently because he would need to return the next day, and the one after that, and then for the ones after that. Kicking it down today would be at the pain of terminating his welcome at the only sanctuary in the vicinity. He certainly earned his points for always thinking ahead.

Knowing that he would need to walk back to his apartment after dutifully performing his daily ritual – why spend money on public transport when the same could be better spent on another ale – he kept to his quota of seven pints of pale ale. For some reason, the barmaid was in a good mood. This was of course very strange because it is difficult for anyone to be happy on money a barmaid makes. She also happened to be in a proactive mood; she had had her eye on this chap for a few weeks now. It was all the better for him because she offered to buy him pint number eight. He politely refused, explaining how he had terrible associations with the number eight and also that he needed to walk back in a while and that seven pints of pale ale left him with just enough dignity to that properly.

The barmaid thought for a moment. This was a really weird specimen indeed. Which variety of idiot refuses an offer of a pint of pale ale? (The M&M’s variety, apparently.) But she was in a good mood. Yes she was. She told him she would buy him two pints of pale ale so it would be nine pints in all for him and she would be more than happy to send him back. She was clocking out shortly anyway. And oh, did he have any issues with the number nine? Of course, this question was motivated by the fact that she was not in a mood good enough to buy him three pints of pale ale. What would people think? Thankfully for both of them, there were no issues with the number nine.

She bought. He drank. They walked out and hailed a cab. She sent him to the foot of his apartment block. That morning was different all of a sudden. Nine pints of pale ale. A taxi ride home. And a barmaid on his arm. He was beginning to like this different. She turned to him, kissed him softly on his lips and turned back to the waiting taxi. She promised to see him again soon. Of course she would. Wouldn’t he be back by the bar the next morning? Same as always, but now it would different.

He was at the foot of his apartment block. The barmaid was gone. The different was fading, peeling away like dried up wallpaper, allowing the same to surface. He stepped into the lobby. That same lobby. The same malodour. That same lift. The same stairwell. That same corridor. This sameness! He needed to bring the different back. But all was not the same. The nine pale ales were colluding against him. That certainly was different. He struggled into his apartment and struggled to keep that different feeling alive.

Then it struck him! He would help himself to another pint. In his stupor he bungled about the kitchen looking for that elusive pint. He found it under the sink though he couldn’t understand why he had stashed it there in the first place. This pint was different – he only needed to unscrew the cap and not pry it open. But pale ale by any name is pale ale. Unless its name is Turpentine.

It looks like he is going to have issues with the number nine now.

Maybe the number ten too.

Performing a Lie

2008-06-02T04:19:00.003+08:00

1. Performative

1.1 Performative

adj.

Relating to or being an utterance that peforms an act or creates a state of affairs by the fact of its being uttered under appropriate or conventional.

A performative utterance.

1.2 Also known as a speech act.

1.3 An utterance which does something:

a justice of the peace uttering I now pronounce you husband and wife at a wedding ceremony, thus creating a legal union, or as one uttering I promise, thus performing the act of promising.

(Item 1 and e.g. for Item 1.3 from http://www.answers.com/)

2. Uses

To make
2.1 declarations;
2.2 assertions;
2.3 requests;

3. Unique System of Communication

3.1 generally, what language does is to report goings on (fictional or otherwise) and this in itself carries some form of meaning/is intelligible;

3.2 however, performatives are unique for two separate reasons, viz.
3.2.1 the utterance alone is insufficient (almost devoid of meaning, actually);
3.2.2 the utterance serves not only to describe a state of affairs but to make it happen as well. (it performs an act - Speech Act)

4. Role in Lies

4.1 lies are a type of speech (act);

4.2 it creates its own context and significance using the literal as a platform;

4.3 the lie appears to self representative in that it seems to be meaningful in themselves as they are second-order signs.

5. Uniqueness as Weakness

5.1 meaningful only within specific contexts (felicity conditions);

5.2 not equipped to handle figurative use of language (so what happens to all literature?);

5.3 ungrammatical utterances ('shut up your mouth');

5.4 statements requiring general principals of inference;

5.5 identification of speech act is difficult (e.g. insincere promise);

5.6 intended vs. said;

5.7 non declarative statements;

5.8 non interrogative questions;

5.9 non imperative orders.

6. (Possible) Solutions

6.1 accepting implicit and explicit performatives as perfect substitutes;

6.2 adhering to the Gricean Cooperative Principal;

6.3

6.4

6.5

6.6

6.7

Bat an Eyelid

2008-05-29T02:27:00.008+08:00

A new man had emerged from old clothes. It was the same skin but not the same man. Perhaps it was a case of Capgras Syndrome, perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was some other form of mental illness that Capgras Syndrome is often confused with but really, this sort of confusion was of little consequence to the new man who only moments ago was another, selling his soul for the price of a stale (but not soggy) bag of chips.

It had not been as tumulus as he had imagined, this business of selling his soul. Not that it were any real transaction. It was merely a matter of rendering the conscience unconscious. (Actually he was relegating it to the subconscious but he had only just learnt what unconscious meant and was still valiantly trying his best to use that word wherever possible.) There also had been no clap of thunder or strike of lightning at the point of sale either. Without much fanfare, he was now a new man.

Inhaling the dank air around him, he felt a surge of power, almost like the instant when a man turns werewolf. Now that that power was him, he had to let it out. (Not literally, of course. What he meant was that he now felt compelled to use his new found power.) How he did not know nor did he have a particular care for, really.

He caught sight of a woman with long hair. He grabbed her and violently turned her being about. They were both shocked: he because she was actually a man with long hair and (s)he because of the menacing glower of power in the eyes of a man half his size. That’s right he thought: it is not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog. Grabbing the long haired thing (nomenclature was not quite a priority for him at this point), he grated its face on the ground and spat indignantly at the body that was now in spasms of shock and intense pain.

He felt the power within him surge again. He had tripped totally and needed the power to truly manifest itself. He flicked open a classic old school Dunhill lighter, the tinkle it made whilst opening was no less resonant then the bell that tolls for thee. And he set its hair on fire. And its clothes. And its shoes.

The smell. That smell of crisp burning flesh invigorated him. The stench of singed hair forced a smile on his lips.

The new man felt renewed; with an embellished gait he stepped onto the main street. He with a new found purpose in life.

Blitzkrieg

2008-05-15T05:10:00.001+08:00

Summative Report of Examinations Committee Extraordinary Meeting

Venue

Staff Room

Time

1410 – 1500hr

Present

Head, Examinations Committee
Head, Invigilation
CPE, Secondary 4/5 Examinations
Head, Examination Control Centre
CPE, Secondary 3 Examinations

1. The said meeting was convened, at the instruction of senior administration, to determine if the day’s first paper would have run more smoothly had there been an Examinations Committee Meeting held prior to the start of the 2007 Mid Year Examinations.

2. During the meeting, the Committee ascertained that the first paper had not gotten off to a smooth start due to the following factors:

i. Bad weather: The heavy downpour had delayed a number of the students' arrival at School, and by entension, the Hall.

ii. Collection of papers: The Secondary 3 papers were inadvertently handed to CPE, Secondary 4/5 Examinations. This caused a ten minute delay in delivering the correct set of papers to CPE, Secondary 4/5 Examinations and retrieving the Secondary 3 papers to be distributed in the Hall.

iii. Circumventing CPE authority: in the said ten minute lag, students reporting to the Hall were understandably noisy. Here, instead of waiting for the CPE to arrive and discharge his duties, the students were reprimanded for being ‘noisy’ by a senior member of staff. Further to this, the CPE was not given an opportunity to instruct invigilators on relevant procedures as instructions were already being issued by the same (over) zealous senior member of staff.

iv. National Anthem: The National Anthem was not played on time this morning. This caused some confusion amongst staff and students, hence a delay in starting the first paper of the day.

3. The Committee felt that the events listed in paragraphs 2i – 2iv could not have been prevented by any number of meetings held prior to the commencement of the said Examination.

4. Further to paragraph 3, the Committee noted that all members of the Committee were experienced, having performed in similar capacities previously.

5. In addition to paragraph 4, the Committee noted that no student had missed the examination or sat for a paper not intended for him.

6. The Committee also noted that the second paper of the day was conducted smoothly. At this juncture it is pertinent to highlight that there were no changes to the modus operandi of the Examinations Committee in conducting the second paper. This clearly underscores the efficacy of the systems and structures employed by the said Committee.

7. As extenuating circumstances had been responsible for the morning’s events, the Committee brought the meeting to a close.

Report drafted by:
CPE, Secondary 3 Examinations

Report vetted and approved by:
Head, Examinations Committee

Backronyms

2008-05-12T20:56:00.008+08:00

ROMANCE
Ruin Of Mankind: Another Nefarious Coital Encounter

LOVE
Lusting Over Visceral Engagements

LUST
Lovingly Underscoring Sexual Tension

SEX
Simply Enrapturing Xiphoid / Xyst

Bagatelle

2008-05-12T02:12:00.001+08:00

We support name of organisation’s bid for choice of event.

I’m sorry.

I’m so happy for you.

Name of individual is my friend.

If it were me, I would have done it differently.

Some things don’t need a reason.

What do you think?

If everyone does their part, we could solve problem of choice.

This hurts me more than it does you.

Don’t worry.

Better Left Unsaid

2008-05-03T23:23:00.004+08:00

The aim of my office is to make everyone as miserable as possible.

You’re ugly but I’m desperate.

Place me on a pedestal or else.

I deny your existence in my world. Why do you own the same blouse as I?

I’m behaving holier than thou because I have more inadequacies than you.

That you’re different scares me.

I’m affable only till you need my help. If I can’t help you, I won’t be friendly any more; if I can, I’ll never let you forget it.

I hope someone scratches your expensive new car. Better yet, I hope you crash it enough to damage it badly but be able to step out and survey the carnage.

I’ll agree if that shuts you up.

If there is no urge to merge, there is no need to meet.

Impotence

2008-04-28T21:43:00.002+08:00

My entire being is gutted. Every breath I draw makes me nauseous, each one I let out makes me grimace in guilt for not yet dying. Dying helps me but is not the solution: that is how gravely malformed I stand.

It is the most humiliating stimuli in the world to be in a state of impotence. I do not know if it is worse that I actually recognise this state of impotence. Because now I know I am impotent and there is not a thing I can do about it.

I can’t help me. I can’t help the one I love. God watches and I can’t help that either. I can’t have what I want. I can’t even have what I don’t want. It’s a zero sum game I can’t win, an OODA loop I can’t break, a cognitive edge I’ve fallen over. But I can sit. And I can cry. Those are two things I do do very well; practice has made perfect.

I am impotently impotent and that feels like being screwed without so much as spit for lubricant.

If

2008-04-21T05:14:00.001+08:00

If I were to go away. If I were to disappear. If I were to die.

Would you care? Would you cry? Would you be live but not be alive?

You.

You would mourn your discomfort but not me.

You.

You would cry the ocean because you need to.

You.

You would live and you would be alive.

You. You. You. You.

You.

Losing

2008-04-20T11:37:00.002+08:00

I'd much rather lose to a girl. At least then I could say I've lost to better.

Prof P (yet again)

2008-04-20T03:33:00.004+08:00

The last time we delivered a discourse, we expounded on the three types of people in this world.

Well today we shall deal with another important distinction, viz. the difference between the haves and the have nots.

We are rich, but of course; the have nots could theoratically, we suppose, accrue wealth one way or another. Many of the have nots seem to have thier lack of wealth balanced with agility of mind. We may not acquire this, not at any rate.

We must feel really sorry for them; really we must.

Cuppa

2008-04-19T22:05:00.001+08:00

Coffee is not my cup of tea.

Close Shave

2008-04-18T01:26:00.003+08:00

Relentlessly he stared at me, leaving me little option but to confront him. I have never backed down from a fight and was certainly not about to establish precedent here.

He moved as I did. This was uncanny. I had never come across anyone who thought like I. I thought I should outsmart him by not being me. I decided to step back. I would not ordinarily retreat but this was no ordinary circumstance. I was aghast that he retreated too!

This was proving to be more difficult to understand. I did not like that thought because I only know too well what follows from a lack of understanding. Fear. Serious as cancer and insidious as deceit, fear would debilitate me to my death and I had but moments to react before the anaesthetic of fear proved pervasive.

I did what any rational man would: I stepped away from the mirror.

Give Me Wood

2008-04-18T01:10:00.003+08:00

Long, turgid, robust. I would take the humble wooden pencil over its mechanical counterpart any day.

Wooden pencils grow with you; they take the shape of your hand: each stain on it reflecting the balance between power and control, every bite mark reflecting intense concentration. Sharpening a wooden pencil is thrill in itself. Just watching the shavings dance about the blade before fluttering to their death makes moths to a flame wooden in comparison.

Mechanical ones are well, mechanical. You input the lead and clickety clack, the lead feeds. You could use another’s mechanical pencil without difficulty simply because it has no loyalty. (I was going to liken them to prostitutes but at least with the latter there is hope of gratification!)

The single most influencing factor in favour of a wooden pencil? You could break one in anger and feel much better afterward.

Give me wood anytime.

Professor Preposterous

2008-04-10T06:37:00.004+08:00

Yes, we are elitist. Some of us need to lead the pack you know.

Anyhow, today we shall touch on the differential between haves and have nots: there are three types of people in this world. There are those who can count and then there are those who cannot.

Grandma Funk

2008-04-09T06:00:00.002+08:00

My name is Grandma Funk.

Now I need all you children to put down those homework books. Pick up those cans now. Yeah them beer ones. Uhuh. That’s right. Alright them cans bring ‘em here now. Put them cans over there. Now some lighters, yeah. And homework books. Hmm. Right bring ‘em over.

Where’s my boombox child? Where is the music? You put them cord in the wall now. Yeah go on. And switches. Flick on them, flick on them! Switches! Yes child.

All right youngens: the fastest way to finish homework is to use lighters. Altogether now. One, two, three. Light my fire! Uhuh. Yeah childrens.

Now pick up those cans.

My name is Grandma Funk. I need you all to get on the dance floor.

Relight that fire!

Tragedy of the Commons

2008-04-08T06:41:00.002+08:00

Addressing symptoms, not causes.

Look around.

Black Widow Mental Model

2008-04-07T19:38:00.002+08:00

The tempestuous romance had been anchored by clarity of passion.

He was there, as was she. She had seen him. She had seen him and she had decided: she had decided to want him and she had also decided no one else would do. Not now. Not ever. He was perfect. Too perfect in fact, if there were such a thing. This was one engagement she would relish till the end; this was one engagement she would exact the price for.

Of course, he would pay the price.

With his life.

Why have any less?

Two Cents' Worth

2008-04-06T08:13:00.001+08:00

Haven't that much, guv.

Teaching the Teacher

2008-03-31T07:07:00.001+08:00

07 FEB 05

Dear Anachronic Responsibility-Shrugging Excuse for a Teacher

STUDENT REFERAL

I refer to your referral, on piece of what appears to be scrap paper, dated 04 FEB 05. [Please forgive me for taking three days to reply; I hope your sense of self worth has not diminished as a result.]

I regret to inform you that these students do not qualify for referral to the Disciplinary committee for the following reasons:

1. Referrals have not been made on the specified form. (For purposes of book keeping, this is essential.) [You should know that, given how you love shooting letters off.]

2. The said students have been referred for 'not having art folios' or not having them in 'order'. This is classified as an Instructional Programme related issue and as such should be referred to the respective Instructional Programme head; [Were you asleep during the briefing? Or were you hoping to frighten me into action? Aren’t you old enough to know what works?]

3. The said students have also been referred for needing 'endless corrections and attention'. Such correction and provision of attention falls under the purview of classroom management and consequently is to be dealt with at the teacher-level; [In other words, earn your keep, you sorry excuse for a biped.]

4. Apart from a vague description of 'mischievous', there is no detail upon which action might be taken. [Do I look like a wizard?] Further to this, there is no indication or record of remedial action on part of the teacher. [Looks like the pot is calling the kettle black.]

Should there be a need, I may be contacted at ext 120.

Thank you. [For having taken my time owing to your lackadaisical disposition.]

Yours sincerely,

XXX
Discipline Master [Apparently now for teachers too!]

cc
Principal [How do you like your game on you?]
HOD (Pupil Development) [Let’s see if your friend can help you.]

Nouveau Riche

2008-03-31T06:34:00.001+08:00

A: My my, I've the most outrageous headache.

B: Oh you poor poor thing, nothing a femtocurie of polychlorinated biphenyl won't cure!

[A tiny dose of a highly toxic chemical would cure most things, including life.]

Lost in Translation

2008-03-27T07:23:00.001+08:00

Thought	Speech Act
Oversized purple maggot	Barney
(Profanity of choice here) smart arse; there goes my promotion	You’re right
You (profanity of choice here), only because you’re my boss	Yes sir
You sleep with everyone	Slut
You sleep with everyone but me	Bitch
Since you sleep with everyone, shag me in a bit	You have the most beautiful eyes
Incessantly annoying presence	Dad, Mom; I love you guys
Gosh, I’m hot!	[None because person is inebriated and looking in the mirror]

Rhetorical Question of the Year

2008-03-27T06:19:00.002+08:00

Blistering barnacles Barney, that’s a monster! What do we do now?

My Achievements This Week

2008-03-26T06:50:00.006+08:00

n
o
t
h
i
n
g

Aging Gracefully

2008-03-26T06:37:00.001+08:00

Sophia Loren
Sean Connery

Fatty & Skinny

2008-03-24T04:46:00.000+08:00

fatty and skinny went to bed

fatty rolled over

and skinny was dead

A Wordsmith's Ad

2008-03-23T02:10:00.002+08:00

Is your babe a 60 year old man?
Or your man an ass?

It is not uncommon nowadays for men and women to seek partners of their choice over the Internet. The Internet allows for the free expression of an individual’s inner identity, while at the same time allowing for the projection of a public or indeed multiple public identities (or ‘skins’).

Unlike the traditional mode of face-to-face interaction in which only one ‘skin’ can be maintained or the print media in which a personal ad can be financially costly and so necessarily needs to be limiting, the Internet allows individuals to put on various ‘skins’ and use language more freely.

Despite this public masking using language, it is paradoxically language that reveals an individual’s identity along certain parameters, of which the most important appear to be gender, geography and sexuality.

It would therefore be interesting to investigate how such parameters affect linguistic choices, and how they might give a collective profile of different groups of virtual communities. Because these personal ads on the Internet exist in electronic form, they can be systematically collected and analysed with the help of linguistic software.

Let me help you help yourself!

Call 1800 - SCAN MY DATE now!

Two Tea Read

2008-03-23T01:53:00.009+08:00

I am two tea read.

I am

f
a
l
l
i
n
g

asleep.

ZZZ ZZZ ZZZ

Profile of a Serial Killer

2008-03-19T06:43:00.004+08:00

An even tempered individual, Serial Killer handled the stresses of life well.

An enthusiastic, committed and focussed young lady, Serial Killer never failed to put her all into any task which she undertook or was assigned, nor did she allow disruption to her various routines.

Perhaps what is most laudable about this young lady is that she would never be discouraged by setbacks or initial failures. Fuelled by optimism and a positive attitude, Serial Killer would try and try again till she achieved success.

Caring and helpful, Serial Killer was always ready to embrace the needy and on many an occasion took them into her home.

Serial Killer was the perfect girl next door.

Total Recall

2008-03-17T07:21:00.009+08:00

Peering over the pile of skin on his plate he felt a gaze upon him. Looking up beyond the horizon of the very messy plate he laid eyes on a sight that had not presented itself for fifteen years. The connection was instant; the restraint unprecedented. She looked at him, recognising him instantly, and looked again. He caught her on the double take, recognising her instantly. He did not look again because he did not stop looking.

Wider than broadband and quicker than thought, the connection brought back graphic memories of a youthful past better left behind, given present company. The joy of reliving the past was violently gutted by the stark realization that neither one was able to acknowledge the other. The resultant carnage saw two souls at separate tables, using any and every excuse to steal glances at what would now forever remain a sordid history.

The stirring in his loins forced him to stare at the miserable gains of rice left amid skin on his plate. That was not the skin he stirred for. The stirring in hers necessitated repeated shifts in posture to the point where she sought to take a few steps in an attempt to be distracted from the distraction. It might have been too that she needed to move away from her table before her face betrayed her.

Perhaps she had had enough (food). She stood to leave but fidgeted once more.

Goodness only knew if the next reconnection would be in another fifteen years. Each had surely forgotten the other existed. Now neither would not forget. How severe the punishment.

He hated seeing her leave but he loved watching her go.

Ali Baba

2008-03-12T07:09:00.004+08:00

I enjoy good movies. Many people don’t because many good movies often are serious or God forbid, require thought on the viewer’s end. Some examples of what I consider good movies are (alphabetically)

# American Gangster (Ridley Scott; 2007)
# Ben Hur (William Wyler; 1959)
# Black (Sanjay Leela Bhansali; 2005)
# Casino (Martin Scorsese; 1995)
# Heat (Michael Mann; 1995)
# La vita è bella (Roberto Benigni: 1997)
# Quizshow (Robert Redford; 1994)
# The French Connection (William Friedkin; 1971)
# The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola; 1972)
# The Unforgiven (Clinton Eastwood, Jr; 1992)
# To Kill A Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan; 1962)

But the movies that are always worth my while are what I like to call ‘Ali Baba’ movies. These are the sort of movies that bring the Arabian Nights to life. I find movies of this genre absolutely fantastic simply because since any and everything is possible in such a context, it is impossible not to be thoroughly entertained.

Even those which are poorly made offer more utility than a poorly made ‘real’ movie. Long live Ali Baba and the forty reels!

Post Prandial Stupor

2008-03-11T14:54:00.002+08:00

I’ve just had lunch. Everything is going out of fo cus. Thereis a strange sensation down my back and my head is too heay to support my neck. The keyboard is moving closer to my fac

I Wish

2008-03-10T21:40:00.004+08:00

I could feel hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat started to tingle as one's flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes... .

I wish that that were my writing. If only I could write like that. Too bad for me the entire paragraph is from Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Damn it!

In Brightest Day

2008-03-10T21:19:00.005+08:00

Birthdays. Valentine’s Day. Teachers’ Day. Green Day (not the band). New Year’s Day. Women’s Day. AIDS Day. Father’s Day. Mother’s Day. Children’s Day. Youth Day. Red Nose Day. Wedding Day. Dying Day. Dog's Day.

I could not feel less for anything of the sort. When there is a need to artificially officiate something, that something really has outlived its efficacy. Either live it or lay by the wayside till the last breath is drawn.

I would not care for ‘I Don’t Give a Rat's Arse Day’ either.

A Letter to an Incompetent Vice Principal

2008-03-09T16:13:00.007+08:00

Dear Vice Principal

1 This letter is with respect to your comments on the file check forms for my 4N(A) and 4E CH(LE) classes.

2 4N(A) Class

2.1 In the ‘Content page’ and “Organization’ section, the remark is ‘[s]ome pupils do not have all assignments’.

Students who do not have all their assignments as per the content page were made to indicate their respective reasons in pencil next to the affected entry. As such, I am unable to understand why this comment was entered as it seems to suggest a lack of transparency and integrity on my part during the file checking exercise.

2.2 In the ‘Number of assignments’ section, the remark is ‘could be more ‘solid’’.

I seek your guidance in helping me understand what you intend by this comment.

2.3 In the General Remarks’ section,

2.3.1 ‘[s]ome pupils work rather sketchy.’

Those who submit sketchy work have their unacceptable entries stamped ‘REJECTED’, in bold red ink on the top right hand corner of the cover page, and they must submit the corrected piece of work.

2.3.2 ‘Will these work (sic) be substantive to prepare them for exams?’

Yes the work will more than sufficiently prepare them for the examination because all the work assigned is firstly, carefully planned and secondly, places them in their zone of proximal development.

2.3.3 ‘[M]ore essay type w/s’

I must beg to differ at this point because ‘[m]ore essay type’ worksheets do not the answer the call of today’s examinations anymore; it merely serves to encourage rote learning. The work assigned is varied in nature and serves to tackle the various aspects of literary studies.

2.3.4 ‘Pupils’ work have to be dated. – they need to learn good habit. (sic)'

I believe only a handful are guilty of this gross misdeed and shall be severely dealt with.

3 4E Class

3.1 In the ‘Content page’ and “Organization’ section, the remark is ‘a no of pupils do not have what were listed on the content page’ and ‘(can be more in some files)’

As per Paragraph 2.1, students were made to indicate, in pencil, which entries were missing and why.

3.2 In the General Remarks’ section,

3.2.1 ‘The pupils may not have done all the work assigned – pls tighten on discipline’

All work assigned to the class and collected is recorded on a class list. Late submissions are highlighted in pink and no student fails to hand up work. This class list is appended to my record book and submitted to your good office weekly for endorsement. At this juncture, I seek your advice on how after collecting, marking and returning scripts it might be ensured that students do not lose their work.

3.2.2 ‘Good class pupils need more practices for exam question.’

All questions assigned to the class have the examination in mind and are tailored to suit this need. Further to this, exam skills are stressed upon in every lesson.

4 I wish to thank you for your counsel thus far.

Teacher

Sex

2008-03-09T15:47:00.001+08:00

One of my friends was recounting her attitude toward sex.

She put it like this:

sex is sin
sin is forgiven
so poke it in

Interesting.

I’m not religiously inclined so I don't agree with the first li(n)e.

My view: sex is about gratification, not morality.

(Suck on that.)

Dream Remote

2008-03-07T13:41:00.005+08:00

Time and Tide

2008-03-06T11:12:00.002+08:00

Neon worms wriggled across the table.

The mighty fist came down hard upon them. Neon worms still wriggled across the table. The mighty fist came down hard upon them. Again. The neon worms writhed on the table, spilling their neon innards. The neon innards inundated the table, rendering it neoned instantly.

The mighty fist came down hard on the neon innards and was instantly neonised. The neonised fingers on that fateful fist stiffened in shock and then curled in disbelief. The neonised fingers on that fateful fist writhed on the palm they were attached to. The neonised fingers. They dropped off. One by one they dropped. Off.

Neon fingers wriggled across the table.

Extinction Level Event

2008-03-02T09:59:00.000+08:00

I woke up today and decided that I needed to go on an adventure. You know, I been through a lot lately and I really need a break and all that humbuggery. So I sprung out of bed with the boundless albeit momentary energy of a headless chicken. I was on a mission and I had to prepare!

All the clamouring about my room and the garage roused my brother, who could (and would) normally sleep through artillery fire. I suppose the recent state of heightened security in the country had rendered him more sensitive than usual. He poked his head through the door and politely enquired what the hell was going on. Before I could respond to his call, he decided to respond to a call of his own. Nature’s assumably, but we all know what is said about assumptions.

I look about me and I find just the carrier I need for my things: a bottomless bag. Perfect! Now for the rest of the items: a solar powered torchlight, fireproof matches and a pedal powered motorcycle. I need to travel light.

I’m on a road to nowhere. Now where is that map?

Leave

2008-02-27T13:03:00.002+08:00

Why is it called being on leave when they don't leave one alone?

It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over

2008-02-25T18:32:00.001+08:00

It ain’t over till it’s over.

How remarkable that it does not feel at all like a cliché when it holds true. How remarkable that it makes one feel silly all at once. How remarkable that it makes one immediately postulate all the ifs.

How remarkable indeed.

Gender Roles

2008-02-24T22:43:00.008+08:00

The Sunday Times ran an article today on how the modern Singaporean woman seems to want men they date to among other things, carry their handbags, foot the bill and open doors for them. Many of these women want to be treated like princesses whilst having the gumption to demand equal treatment.

What I found more interesting was that the majority of Singaporean men of today seem to pander to this.

My stand is quite simple: my girl is either my partner or my property. I'll buy dinner if and only if i feel like it and she had better be able to carry her own handbag.

Same Difference, Military or Otherwise

2008-02-22T09:06:00.012+08:00

The ability to nurture trust is one of the most important qualities of a Joint Commander. Discuss.

For the purpose of this paper, ‘the ability to nurture’ will be taken to mean ‘the quality or skill which fosters’, ‘trust’ will be taken to mean ‘belief and confidence based on clarity, transparency and equity’, ‘one of the most important qualities’ would be taken to mean ‘critical characteristic’ and ‘Joint Commander’ will be taken to mean ‘commissioned officer in charge of forces from congruent[1] or incongruent services. Based on the above, the said ability is indeed one of the most important qualities of a Joint Commander (henceforth ‘JC’). The first component of this paper, shall attempt to elucidate:

The concept of a joint command in warfare is hardly a novel idea: The Persian Wars (500 - 448 BC)[2] were the first to feature large-scale naval operations: not just sophisticated fleet engagements with dozens of triremes on each side, but combined land - sea operations. Navies were almost always used as auxiliaries to land forces, often essential to bringing them supplies. The principal difference between ancient and modern warfare would be the relationship between soldiers and their JC.

In ancient times, kings often served as JC. It would be a fair statement that kings were generally feared by their subjects, who in turn followed every order without question. With the advancement of time and technology, warfare has been continuously reinvented; increased sophistication has sculpted the modern soldier who is often touted as a thinking one. The thinking soldier demands clarity, transparency and equity in order to be convinced of their objectives. The situation is further compounded by modern battles such as the two World Wars and Operations Desert Storm I/II where many nations and their respective services are embroiled in battle as allies. Modern conflicts have taken an increasingly asymmetric twist: consider the now infamous 9/11 attacks or the Bali Bombings. In tackling the demands of modern conflicts/warfare, (willing) joint forces are an essential and inevitable configuration.

Albert Einstein put it succinctly when he opined that every kind of peaceful cooperation among men is primarily based on mutual trust and only secondarily on institutions[3]. The need for trust thus increases manifold in large scale, international coalitions; the need for trust between soldier and leader, or for this purpose, between services and their JC is critical. As JC, the ability to nurture trust hence becomes one of the most important qualities he could have. Perhaps what underscores how important this ability is would be the nature of combat – themed computer games. Consider Joint Task Force or Command & Conquer, both wildly popular games. In these games, there is a premium on the relationship between the JC (in this case the player) and his joint forces, where the level of trust between the two is directly proportional to the success rate of missions. Given that many of the vehicles and weapons featured in these games are licensed from their real-world manufacturers, it seems reasonable to extrapolate that trust as a key element in the game mirrors real world dynamics.

Admiral E.P. Giambastiani, at the AFCEA West “Born Joint?” Conference, asserted that

the key to harnessing the full power of jointness begins at the operational level of command and control. It is at that level-the level of the combatant commander and joint task force commander-where the real work for seamlessly integrating service capabilities into a coherently joint and combined force takes place.[4]

The very concept of ‘[seamless] integration’ presupposes the coming together of the various services. The success of such integration is critically pivotal on various servicemen from various services cooperating efficaciously at the operational level. The fact that the various services have their own histories (thus identities too) gives rise to understandable an indisputable pride. Given that any form of teamwork requires some degree of compromise, the immediate issue would be the extent to which the various services are willing to compromise on an entire gamut of issues ranging from degree of involvement in a mission to the sequence of naming servicemen[5] during award ceremonies. Ironing out such issues requires the forces to defer to their JC. The JC is then put in a fairly precarious situation as his one (misguided) act could have potentially devastating ramifications on troop morale and ultimately, winning wars. The key to achieving such a delicate balance lies in the trust the JC is able to nurture amongst his subordinates because they all need ‘a clear understanding of the commander's intent and a persistent situational awareness of the operational environment’[6] before they are able to work effectively together. Such clarity of intent cascaded from the JC goes a long way in nurturing trust in his subordinate commanders. This again emphasizes that the ability to nurture trust is one of the most important qualities of a JC.

Hitherto the paper has focussed a great deal on how the ability to nurture trust is one of the most important factors. It would be criminal at this stage not to highlight the other important qualities a JC ought to have. The second component of this paper briefly explores the said other important qualities:

Whilst the author of this paper asserts that the ability to nurture trust is critical, it alone is insufficient. Such ability must be enabled concomitantly with an awareness of the changing paradigm of military warfare, sensitivity to the pulse of the battlefield and dynamism in administering immediate action because today, the JC is responsible for the vision of future joint warfare and solutions to the challenges that future adversaries present. Joint command includes several subordinate concepts that address areas such as major combat operations, peace enforcement operations, strategic deterrence and synergizing the various services.

As mentioned briefly in the first component, the paradigm of military engagement has shifted so dramatically that the permutations of possible combat scenarios now seem infinite. Currently any battle worthy force must be equipped to counter asymmetric threats via deploying asymmetric tactics. A JC who fails to realise this would be seriously endangering the servicemen relying on him for command because effectively dealing with asymmetric threats requires an entirely different skill set as opposed to engaging in conventional warfare. A prime example of this would be Operation Desert Storm II[7] where ‘over 100 operational detachment teams were closely wedded to conventional forces’[8], and in many cases merged the combined capabilities of both ground and air forces. It is clear; by the relative success of the Operation that conventional engagement would not have been quite so successful.

A sensitivity of the pulse of the battlefield is essential because in today’s day and age of instant electronic connectivity, a second’s delay could be catastrophic. Today, every level of command throughout the joint forces (including coalition partners) is electronically linked to the JC decision making process. This requires the JC to be acutely sensitive to slightest of nuances on the battlefield such that any and very opportunity is seized or potential disasters nipped in the bud. Given further that a JC has both lateral and vertical forces at his disposal, the said sensitivity certainly counts as an important feature of a good JC.

Very often, feedback is treated more as a post mortem of an event rather than a dynamic cycle of diagnosis – realignment – deployment – diagnosis. A JC should be able to gain real time insights and observations that can be used to help in adaptive planning. This is critical in any war as the mobility of any force during wartime affords them an edge in engagement. The quintessential example of this is the German Panther Brigades that won vast territories very quickly due to their extreme mobility.

Insofar as the ability to nurture trust is concerned, it is not only the purview of the presiding JC. The onus is also on the various services to be lethal striking forces both independently and in conjunction with another service or a foreign counterpart. The third component of this paper will concentrate on how the various services could take ownership of such cooperation and synergy.

For years, unfortunate service rivalries have dogged the military causing highly inefficient systems of operation. Apart of the obvious irony that services meant to protect the same country were in conflict with one another, thousands of dollars of taxpayer liabilities were exhausted on the duplication of efforts. Anecdotal evidence from World War II quite readily exemplifies this: In the summer of 1942 at the newly established Army Commando Training Centre on the south shore of Cape Cod, American soldiers were supposed to be learning the amphibious techniques of shore to shore landings. Because landing craft were scarce in those days, the one or two dozen needed had to be obtained from four different commands - the Coast Guard, the Navy, the Marines and the Army Engineers but due to inter-service rivalry, each command seemed reluctant to part with any of its hoarded craft. Coordination of the boat activities was a continuous nightmare and for three days all training was disrupted.[9] Three days during a war is three days too many. One shudders to think of what might be the consequences of such glitches in today’s era of fast paced asymmetric combat.

The Department of Defense is perhaps a tragic manifestation of such rivalry[10], seeing as Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), established in 1947 and consisting of the four-star leaders of the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, and a chairman and vice chairman meet three times a week in the Pentagon "tank" where they coordinate the nation's military forces. Each of the four services is in also cross-organized into seven "unified" operational commands that have regional responsibilities and are controlled by a Commander in Chief. And each service also has a civilian secretary, who is responsible for the maintenance of readiness and for waging budget battles in Congress. Inter-service rivalry is one recurring problem within the JCS, but the most serious incident was a conflict between the JCS and civilian leaders. It occurred in August 1967, when the Joint Chiefs threatened to resign over civilian handling of the war in Vietnam. Sixteen years later, with the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut, it was clear that the JCS still hadn't achieved their goal of holding civilians accountable for the use of troops abroad.[11]

During the war in Mozambique[12], there was considerable animosity between the older generation army of the war for independence, and the younger, more educated Air Force who felt that they were not effectively utilised. This resulted in inter service rivalries in Africa that led to one service gaining political and financial favour at the expense of the others, or becoming a factor in the creation of praetorian guards and the undertaking of coups d'état; political instability as a result of inter service rivalry is surely too much of a cost!

Building a 21st century military will require more than new weapons. It will also require a renewed spirit of innovation in our officer corps. We cannot transform our military using old weapons and old plans. Nor can we do it with an old bureaucratic mind set that frustrates the creativity and entrepreneurship that a 21st century military will need.[13] Odd as it might seem, such innovation was evident during the Second World War. Hitler was both the political and military leader of Germany. He often blurred the strategic, operational, and even tactical levels of command, usually becoming involved in all aspects of a military campaign. He forced unity to coordinate the Army, Kriegsmarine and Luftwaffe, providing them strategic and operational direction. The German military was not a well-oiled joint system, and Hitler’s involvement was usually necessary to overcome service rivalries. Similarly, a JC who is able to nurture trust is key. By extension, commanders of the various services must have a common understanding and speak the same language in order to foster synergy. More importantly, these commanders must see the value of such bi/tripartite relationships.

It is necessary for the services to pay as much attention to integrating current assets as to replacing or acquiring new assets in conjunction with other services. There is a need to focus on what they are going to fight with and how they plan to cooperate with one another. Rivalries between the services can affect the service itself; part of the problem is insecurity and a lack of trust. Trust can only be nurtured over time and the commanders and JC are responsible for its insemination and development.

Thus far, this paper has shown that the JC has to be one who nurtures trust. The paper has also suggested that there are other characteristics that a JC should ideally possess. Further, the paper has hypothesized that the services themselves need to take ownership of nurturing trust and making it a pervasive feature of their respective services.

In conclusion, the ability to nurture trust is one of the most important qualities of a JC. It must, however, be noted that though critical, it is not the only important quality. Perhaps most important of all, the JC must have subordinates who are capable and disposed to creating a climate of trust. Without trust one cannot lead. There has never been a good unit where the leaders were not trusted. It is just that simple.

[1] For the purposes of this paper, congruent service refers to forces from the same service whilst incongruent platform refers to forces from different services; these services could be from within one country or without.
[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_warfare
[3] http://en.thinkexist.com/quotation/every_kind_of_peaceful_cooperation_among_men_is/155918.html
[4] http://www.jfcom.mil/newslink/storyarchive/2004/sp021004.htm
[5] This term is used generally and maps onto both servicemen and servicewomen.
[6] http://www.jfcom.mil/newslink/storyarchive/2004/sp021004.htm
[7] Also known as Operation Iraqi Freedom
[8] http://www.jfcom.mil/newslink/storyarchive/2004/sp021004.htm
[9] http://graffagnino.com/doctorslounge/colwilliamhschaefer.htm
[10] Although in all fairness the JCS has come a long way, it is still a case in point for the crippling effects of service rivalries on the military.
[11] http://www.namebase.org/books41.html
[12] http://www.iss.co.za/pubs/ASR/5No1/Young.html
[13] President George W. Bush, Graduation Address, U.S. Naval Academy, May 25, 2001

Movement

2008-02-21T21:32:00.003+08:00

I am seething with rage but I am not ebullient. I am tired beyond belief but I have not been sleeping. I am I am reeling with relief but I am not relaxed. I am intoxicated but I have not been drinking.

It is most queer how one sees things when the world whizzes by at such frantic a pace. It is also most queer how one does not see things when the world whizzes by at such frantic a pace. The minute shifts in my equilibrium have left me not so much dazed as it has knocked the wind out of me. (I think it has managed to knock some stuffing out too, to be honest.)

I seem to have gone through all four seasons in less time that it has taken you to read thus far. And the problem lies in the fact that I can’t seem to keep up! Imagine putting on an overcoat only to have summer arrive before the last button is fastened. Or donning a flashy pair of surf shorts only to have the pool freeze over whilst you’ve leapt off the spring board. Very confusing stimuli. Very, very confusing stimuli. Or perhaps it is the case something is wrong with my receptors. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. If only Doris (Mary Ann von Kappelhoff) Day were here. Oddly enough, if she were here, I could call it D Day!

How does one find one's bearings in such severe weather? Perchance instincts. Perhaps training. Maybe luck. Or a dash of hope. In reality, the answer is destiny. When one can not see where one is going, the direction one’s feet take are guided by a force other than one’s own. It would be preposterously pompous of me to imagine I am any different. My discomfort is accentuated only because my discomfort is mine and mine alone. Naturally, my cross is also the biggest to bear.

Take me as you will, and leave me where you do. The measure of the man I am stems from the steps of my own volition.

"why no post"

2008-02-21T18:19:00.009+08:00

I was asked, in the most appalling manner, why there had been no posts over the last two days.

BECAUSE I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE IT!

Any more questions?

")

Id Stands Tall

2008-02-19T12:38:00.001+08:00

Barely concealing his disgust having me seated across from him, his rancour for my existence emanated from his very being as he desperately struggled with maintaining a civil conversation.

Sorry sod; I pity the swine. I played him and then I played him good. I made him believe I was broken beyond repair and he was so pleased that he almost wet himself. He needed to feel high and mighty and to be honest at this instant I need him to feel thus just so I can walk away unscathed.

By the time he realises he was played for a fool, it would be too late. Then he can kick himself or better yet, have someone kick him. The plan is such that he will realise only when it is too late: by which time I would be in a position comfortable enough to flip him the bird. And what an item mine is, beautifully constructed too. He might just begin questioning his adequacy.

Such is the vulnerability of the id, if only because id (pardon the pun) is so terribly predictable.

I am down.

I am not out.

You repugnant manifestation of the living.

Backronym

2008-02-18T07:17:00.006+08:00

Such
Utter
Nonsense
Is
Terrible!

")