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::Quickys::
Name:
luwin wong
Age:
twenteen
Location:
on an island city state
Email:
luwinwong@hotmail.com

RevisitatioN:
month six o five
month five o five
month two o five
month one o five
month twelve o four
month eleventh o four
month tenth o four
month ninth o four
month eighth o four
month eleventh o three

period-full-stop
luwin


Well on this green page i'll say,
a thing of what i think today,
which since i please, i think i may,
type quick or slow or pink or gray.
And although pink might sound right gay,
i will right now your fears allay,
i'm quite alright, for bent i'm nay.
i kinda think, it's quite okay,
i cannot sing, like mike buble,
nor even act poor capulet,
upon the bright, shiny parquet
of good ol' grand broadway.
I haven't been to cold norway,
or timbuktu, or mandalay.
Coz singapore, the place i stay,
has got only one railway,
that leads direct to sia-malay,
where its quite fun to play.
If i ever own a chevrolet,
it just might be a cabriolet,
but that'll have to wait till next payday,
which just might come, if i do pray.
Now i had enough of this wordplay,
i'll end right now, this quarterway.
i hoped u liked this "-ay" buffet,
I bid you all, a nice good day.



Grow old along with me..

Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Radioactivity

.
If you'd ever obeyed the Corrs and Robbie Williams and listened to the radio, you'd find that most callers are of the female gender. And about half of them are malay. Consequently, the educated estimate would be that a good third of all radio callers happen to be malay girls.
Which wouldn't be surprising, had this blog posting been based somewhere in the Malay Peninsular, or Brunei, or the Middle East.
But placed into context, which is that only 13.9% of all Singaporeans are malay, the statistic is curiously peculiar.

Now, i'm not drawing any precocious inferences from the findings,
but the conclusion i will draw, compelled by irresistible inference,
is that all radio callers are cockslaps.
With faux squeaky voices.

Which is why i propose passing a bill to ensure that all recalcitrant radio callers:

1. Wear Badges on their t-shirts bearing the words "i'm a Dunce!" in bold. - In order that i may be able to spot and avoid them from afar and thus not expose myself to the risk of unwittingly inhaling the spastic air they expel. Such is my contempt for them.

2. Not be permitted to Travel - For fear that the 1st World citizenry realise that Singaporeans do not, contrary to popular belief, hail from Mainland China, but are actually sodding Amish.

3. Undergo Forced Sterilization - So as not to contaminate the Gene Pool further any bloody further than it already is.

Another related group of people who are absolute dumbwanks, are the radio DJ themselves.
Whose daily 9-hour confinement in a 8X4 feet room results , i suspect, in progessive thyroid deficiency.
So much so that when a caller - female, invariably - once requested for a song to be played on her behalf in light of her recent breakup, the DJ on the other end, exhibiting the wisdom of mighty King Solomon, went on to dispense Yellowcard's "Only one".

Allow me to offer you a sampling of the oh-so-soothing and pick-yourself-up-motivational lyrics:

Yellowcards - Only One
"Broken this fragile thing now..
And I can't, I can't pick up the pieces..
I feel so broken up (so broken up)..
And I give up (I give up)..
I can't, I can't hold on for too long..
And I can't, I can't get up when you're gone.
And something's breaking up (breaking up)
I feel like giving up (like giving up)..
You are my only, my only one..
My only one.. (x 584)
You are my only, my only one.."

Truly, never have i known of a more public display of euthanasia.

In fact, recent polls have revealed that the average DJ's impression, and they're alll average as far as i can tell, on the subject of "radioactivity", is them fiddling with the console knobs and shuffling the blasted playlist.

Two cents dropped on or about.. 12:11 AM


+ + +

..the best is yet to be.