Cos there are so many fugly and CMI people around..

Feels like Home - Chantal Kreviazuk

Home & Out of action today.. My head's spinning around and the digested in my tummy r surging up my oesophagus.. i feel like .. i bet i could puke with equally respectable magnificence. The culprit's either the weekend, or my latest acquisition, or the weather, or the dust storm my neighbour conjured as he shifted into his swanky new home in a whirlwind of crates & bhanglahs.. Either way, it's everybody's fault but mine =)

THE WEEKEND
Went clubbing.. it's been quite a while since i wenta boogie and i almost felt out of place.. almost. Visited the same ol obsure hole i used to go in JC and seriously, there's been some changes. The bartenders for example, have "no bloody standard" ( i quote OCS SSM). I mean, if i want to be served by ah peks and ah mas, i will go to a chinese pharmacy. Ahpeks should be serving Liangteh, not Long Island iced teas...Dunno y sth so small could elicit such biased reactions from me but i guess i've got a staunch stereotype twards bartenders that they should have an edge. A bad-ass-funky-side to them.. An ahpek wielding vodka bottles is just salah...

House music is seriously damn good.. plus the heavily remixed Top40 tracks.. R 'n' B just eludes me.. Neway.. the crowds have gotten brashier, skankier, and incredibly more brazen such that every night is 01 x bacchanalian orgiastic bang..


It seems that the club's solution to cover this up lies in itz smoke machine.. yeah.. the smoke machine.. lol.. the over zealous lil gadget was producing so much smoke that it felt like Auschwitz 1942 in one of those gas chambers. Visibility was sub zero - i couldn't quite make out my frens who were just right next to me! Somebody said,"You know why there's so much smoke? Cos there are so many fugly and CMI people around.."
Which in all its meanness, lies some undisputable truth..

THE NEW TOY
On the 9th of July 2005, the world came to a standstill as i took a momentous leap towards greater unsociability. i dug into the deep recesses of my distressed pockets & fished out my worn & battered orange OCBC card. As it cleanly cuts through the NETS machine, i punched each digit of my PIN with growing trepidation as i watched technology assert its propensity for frightening speed and efficiency. Inconsistent clicking heralded the emergence of my receipt - the transaction was complete! Within a meer period of 5 minutes, i am suddenly poorer by half a grand, and richer by a Sony PSP.