I was home alone again the other night. Parents were out to meet someone who came over for a visit. Someone my parents have known for a long long time, matter-of-factly, it rivals the time I've been breathing and polluting this Earth. And like many other teenagers I was, of course, more than thrilled to have a night to myself. Though by the time my parents left home, it was too late to have company over. So instead, I lay down on my couch, turned on the laptop and rewarded myself with a few hours of porn.
Some time had passed since my parents left and my body was shouting to me, "GO TO BED, NUMB SKULL!" I tried hard not to cave in to the demands , but the consequence of ignoring them was still fresh in my mind, blacking out in the middle of my hyperventilation lesson. It is not too bad if I just black out, but if I don't wake up in time to shut off the porn before my parents get home, I'm going to be in some deep shit. Rather than taking my chances, I shut myself away from society, scrubbed my teeth and plopped down in a dark corner of my cloth-littered bedroom. And right before I wondered off to a world of the surreal, I thought to myself, "did I lock the door?" and lost my consciousness.
***
After who knows how long I finally regained my consciousness, regaining my consciousness to an empty feeling and a boiling flood of white light. I looked around, seeing nothing but darkness; I let out a scream, and listened for the echo that never came. Interesting, maybe I should get up to explore. Finally then, I discovered that I was strapped, hands and feet and all, to a squeaky old wooden chair.
And then the sound of high heels hitting hardwood flooring became audible. I looked at the direction where the sound came from and I saw a woman, dressed in a red skin tight mini dress, with a row of rather small brass buttons down the middle. The dress was quite a revealing one, covering neither her at least double E sized boobs nor the bottom half of her firm looking buttock and the dress certainly showed off her long slim legs, which has an alluring glow on it. I began to imagine all the awkward positions we are going to be in and the satisfying screams and moans coming from her slender yet succulent body. Emmm.
"You sure got some wuuuuaaaaaaahhhhHHH!"
She had no facial features! No eyes, no mouth, no nose, no ears, no brows, no hair... What the hell is this... thing!?
And she strutted ever closer.
The... thing... began with a series of questions right after she stopped in front of me, and she expected me to answer every one of them. I ignored all of her questions, I was frightened, sweating and screaming and trying ever so hard to get loose from the chair. Trust me, you would too. She scolded at me in anger and shouted something about looking back at the TV screen. Apparently because I was very scared to hear a thing she was saying, she had to grab my head with her claws and twisted it towards the TV.
A dull looking TV set, probably from the 60's, with the last few years of my life being played on the screen. Stunned, was that... thing... following me for my whole life!? And then she started to talk, again asking questions that were not to be ignored. Mean and nasty one, and the questions were being thrown at me one right after another, all of which containing a grain of truth. Injuring me from the inside out.
Tears started to pool in my eyes as I tried to answer her questions, though the only thing that I managed to do was to stutter "I". I felt powerless under her wicked questions, all carefully woven to inflict the greatest emotional damages, and all kinds of emotions started streaming through my mind. I cried, I wailed and I laughed.
All of a sudden I felt tired, very tired. I stopped the nonsense and closed my eyes to get some rest, but the... thing... slapped me.
All the random emotions I was feeling were now being overwhelmed by anger and rage, I felt compelled to do something to her. Compelled to revenge the... thing... for her irrational craziness against me. I clenched my teeth, grabbed the handles and broke them off the chair. I stood up, never feeling so strong before in my life, and she began to scream. I had to admit, it was the most beautiful and relaxing melody I'd ever heard. I kept my eyes closed, partly due to her looks and partly because I knew there was no need to open it. She was paralyzed by fear and I was certain of it. I clutched my right hand into a fist, cracked some joints in the process and readied myself to strike. With a big smug smile, I opened my eyes.
The alarm clock reads 10:00 a.m.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
To Kill A Rat
It all began when my mom breaks the news that banana peelings are mysteriously disappearing from the trashcan in our kitchen.
I use to live in an apartment 6 stories above ground, with three rooms and a bath. There is the master bedroom, my room, and the storage room. Strangely, the size of the so called storage room challenges the size of the master. The temperature in the storage is unusually cold compared to the rest of our apartment, probably due to the fact that there is a gaping hole in the ceiling connecting the storage to the apartment above. I once visited our very friendly neighbor upstairs and the first impression he gave me was "holy shit, what did your mom feed you!?" He is like one of those Sumo wrestlers, dribbling with fat and wears a shirts that is always soaked in his sweat. To compensate for his overly excessive heat buildups underneath all that insulation, he has an apartment of arctic climate. I don't know how he does it, the moment he opened the door I begin to shiver from the cold and my own breaths can clearly be seen. This is not an apartment, it is an industrial grade freezer! He invited me into his subzero climate zone and immediately after I entered, I tripped over a box, stacked on top of another box. Things are littered everywhere, old ones, new ones, broken ones, everything he had once owned. At that moment it had occurred to me that he is a hoarder, which explains where the rat that resided itself in our storage room came from.
Enough of our arctic explorer upstairs, the banana peelings were mysteriously missing, we were all confused. I mean who would break in to just steal banana peelings? To solve the mystery, we all took turns to stay up in the dead of night the following day to see just how banana peelings are running away from their home.
***
4:00 A.M. I'm sitting in a seat facing the trashcan in the kitchen, watching the banana peel we put there the night before. This is really silly, I know, but my parents won't approve of my "putting a tracking device on the peel" idea. They claimed that it was too smart of a gadget for such a dumb task. So now I'm up at four in the morning, staring at a trashcan, imagining all the ways which a banana peel can disappear from it. I guess you must do dumb things to solve dumb problems.
4:30 A.M. The peel is still there, unmoved. Boring. I think I might just close my eyes for a second.
6:00 A.M. I opened my eyes to check on the peel, it was gone. Oops, and since I couldn't put up an amber alert for the peel, I sneak back into my room and lay down to relieve the throbbing pain in my neck.
8:00 A.M. Woke up to my mom yelling at me, and she tasked me with an irresistible job, to find the peel that had slipped away under my supervision. Of course, I didn't actually looked for any peelings, all I did was moved some tables and chairs around the house and pretended that I looked everywhere for it.
***
A few days later, my mom notices ungodly smell of rotten banana peelings in the storage room. Knowing that I wouldn't actually look for the peelings, she armed herself with a pair of tongs and entered the storage room to look for them. Soon she came running out, shrieking and accusing me of letting a mouse into our apartment. To this day, I'm not sure why she had thought that I had let a rat into our apartment.
When my dad returned home from work he was forced to go after the rat, imprisoned in the storage room. It was actually really hard for my dad too, to go after a thing that he dreaded the most. In order for him to enter the room, I had to go with him, carrying a stick and a flash light to help flush out the rat hiding somewhere inside.
At first we weren't able to find this uninvited fussy little thing. I pointed the flashlight everywhere, hit places and shouted threats to the rat. The only thing that moved was the boxes that I hit. Finally after about 20 minutes of nonsense, I saw a triangular looking thing sticking out underneath a table. I knelt down to get a better look at it and it started to run in a circle wildly. It was so sudden that it made me jump, almost out of my own skin.
I chased the rat into a corner and everything after this point goes downhill for the rat. It made an attempt to escape, running up a bamboo stick which leads to another bamboo stick hanging horizontally across the room. I was amazed by the acrobatic ability of the rat, running across a stick smaller than my pinky finger at an incredible speed. For a moment I actually thought that the rat was going to escape, at least temporary, but my dad picked up a tennis racket and he took aim... He smashed the racket into the rat.
SPLAT! Gore and blood everywhere.
No really. My dad actually missed the rat by a hair, but he bent the flexible bamboo stick enough that the rat was shot off of it. The rat flew high into the air, which made me felt like a child in an amusement park. Laughing my guts out and clapping with such enthusiasm that I lost all my strength. After spending some time flying across the room the rat finally hit the ground, dazed by the experience the rat stumbles around. My dad then picked up the thing with the tong my mom left in the room and drop it into a plastic bag, and he threw it out of a 6th story balcony through a window.
The next morning I took a walk like I always do, and I happened to sight a plastic bag in the flowerbed in front of our balcony 6 stories high. I walked up to the flowerbed and studied the bag.
Through a ripped hole, I can see rat droppings inside.
I use to live in an apartment 6 stories above ground, with three rooms and a bath. There is the master bedroom, my room, and the storage room. Strangely, the size of the so called storage room challenges the size of the master. The temperature in the storage is unusually cold compared to the rest of our apartment, probably due to the fact that there is a gaping hole in the ceiling connecting the storage to the apartment above. I once visited our very friendly neighbor upstairs and the first impression he gave me was "holy shit, what did your mom feed you!?" He is like one of those Sumo wrestlers, dribbling with fat and wears a shirts that is always soaked in his sweat. To compensate for his overly excessive heat buildups underneath all that insulation, he has an apartment of arctic climate. I don't know how he does it, the moment he opened the door I begin to shiver from the cold and my own breaths can clearly be seen. This is not an apartment, it is an industrial grade freezer! He invited me into his subzero climate zone and immediately after I entered, I tripped over a box, stacked on top of another box. Things are littered everywhere, old ones, new ones, broken ones, everything he had once owned. At that moment it had occurred to me that he is a hoarder, which explains where the rat that resided itself in our storage room came from.
Enough of our arctic explorer upstairs, the banana peelings were mysteriously missing, we were all confused. I mean who would break in to just steal banana peelings? To solve the mystery, we all took turns to stay up in the dead of night the following day to see just how banana peelings are running away from their home.
***
4:00 A.M. I'm sitting in a seat facing the trashcan in the kitchen, watching the banana peel we put there the night before. This is really silly, I know, but my parents won't approve of my "putting a tracking device on the peel" idea. They claimed that it was too smart of a gadget for such a dumb task. So now I'm up at four in the morning, staring at a trashcan, imagining all the ways which a banana peel can disappear from it. I guess you must do dumb things to solve dumb problems.
4:30 A.M. The peel is still there, unmoved. Boring. I think I might just close my eyes for a second.
6:00 A.M. I opened my eyes to check on the peel, it was gone. Oops, and since I couldn't put up an amber alert for the peel, I sneak back into my room and lay down to relieve the throbbing pain in my neck.
8:00 A.M. Woke up to my mom yelling at me, and she tasked me with an irresistible job, to find the peel that had slipped away under my supervision. Of course, I didn't actually looked for any peelings, all I did was moved some tables and chairs around the house and pretended that I looked everywhere for it.
***
A few days later, my mom notices ungodly smell of rotten banana peelings in the storage room. Knowing that I wouldn't actually look for the peelings, she armed herself with a pair of tongs and entered the storage room to look for them. Soon she came running out, shrieking and accusing me of letting a mouse into our apartment. To this day, I'm not sure why she had thought that I had let a rat into our apartment.
When my dad returned home from work he was forced to go after the rat, imprisoned in the storage room. It was actually really hard for my dad too, to go after a thing that he dreaded the most. In order for him to enter the room, I had to go with him, carrying a stick and a flash light to help flush out the rat hiding somewhere inside.
At first we weren't able to find this uninvited fussy little thing. I pointed the flashlight everywhere, hit places and shouted threats to the rat. The only thing that moved was the boxes that I hit. Finally after about 20 minutes of nonsense, I saw a triangular looking thing sticking out underneath a table. I knelt down to get a better look at it and it started to run in a circle wildly. It was so sudden that it made me jump, almost out of my own skin.
I chased the rat into a corner and everything after this point goes downhill for the rat. It made an attempt to escape, running up a bamboo stick which leads to another bamboo stick hanging horizontally across the room. I was amazed by the acrobatic ability of the rat, running across a stick smaller than my pinky finger at an incredible speed. For a moment I actually thought that the rat was going to escape, at least temporary, but my dad picked up a tennis racket and he took aim... He smashed the racket into the rat.
SPLAT! Gore and blood everywhere.
No really. My dad actually missed the rat by a hair, but he bent the flexible bamboo stick enough that the rat was shot off of it. The rat flew high into the air, which made me felt like a child in an amusement park. Laughing my guts out and clapping with such enthusiasm that I lost all my strength. After spending some time flying across the room the rat finally hit the ground, dazed by the experience the rat stumbles around. My dad then picked up the thing with the tong my mom left in the room and drop it into a plastic bag, and he threw it out of a 6th story balcony through a window.
The next morning I took a walk like I always do, and I happened to sight a plastic bag in the flowerbed in front of our balcony 6 stories high. I walked up to the flowerbed and studied the bag.
Through a ripped hole, I can see rat droppings inside.
Monday, August 15, 2011
It Just so Happens to be 100 Words: The Box
I was once told,
to think outside the box.
And now I sit pondering,
what is this box that I should think outside of,
what if its not a box after all,
what if there is another so called "box" encasing this box,
if so how can you ever think outside the box,
or rather the boxes.
Then the Light-bulb clicks on,
maybe its a sphere,
maybe there exists no box,
what box are you talking about,
why do people think they are stuck in a box.
Oh,
the box I just escape from,
looks pretty cozy from the outside.
to think outside the box.
And now I sit pondering,
what is this box that I should think outside of,
what if its not a box after all,
what if there is another so called "box" encasing this box,
if so how can you ever think outside the box,
or rather the boxes.
Then the Light-bulb clicks on,
maybe its a sphere,
maybe there exists no box,
what box are you talking about,
why do people think they are stuck in a box.
Oh,
the box I just escape from,
looks pretty cozy from the outside.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
The Green Car
"John McNap! You stay behind! I'm calling home for your bad behaviors in classroom today! And throw away that straw, NOW!"
"Yes, Mrs. A" I put on an annoyed look, and I whispered to myself, "hole." She gave me a look and decided to ignore me until the end of class.
I don't see why she made such a commotion, I didn't do much today. I've only got a few spitballs stuck to the back of this ugly Mrs. A-hole. If it weren't for that tattle-telling pig of Mrs. A-hole, I would've made it out okay today. Although A-hole would've been suspicious of the random laughter that erupts every time she turns her attention away from the class.
A-hole should of known better not to put me in a seat right next to the door. And when the bell rung, a huge crowd of people walks by my desk, obscuring her and her pig's view of me. I waited for the right moment, picked up my food and walked right out with everyone else.
I'm known to be rebellious by both my parents and teachers, causing mayhem wherever I am, whenever I wish. Phone calls from teachers are now a part of daily life for my parents, so I wasn't expecting anything when I get home. And today is Friday, one more reason to slip out of her room. Mrs. A-hole should thank me for leaving, she would've had the worst Friday of her life if I stayed behind.
***
After I parted with equally despicable friends of mine, the sky starts to thicken with terrifying looking storm clouds. Not wanting to get soaked, I decided to take a shortcut through the abandoned part of the city to get home.
As I walk down the street, a sense of sadness is creeping into me. This once bustling part of the decaying city is now populated only by the few stray cats and some homeless people. Grass and weeds are growing in the cracks of the pavement, creating bumps and ditches that had almost sprained my right ankle. It's hard to believe that the place where I engaged myself with window shopping is now lay in ruins, with a layer of dust over everything and crumbling buildings everywhere.
Soon I sighted a small red iron bridge, now rusting away with the city. I'm a bit afraid to cross this bridge, it was said that the red color came from the bloods of people who died of terrible accidents here. Only a month after the bridge was opened for traffic, the bridge was decorated by many small wooden crosses and rings of flowers. The city authorities was forced to close it down, and unemployment and unforeseen weather events immediately followed.
I stopped a few yards in front of the bridge, trying to find enough of the recklessness inside me to force myself to walk across. And a violent gust of wind came, almost knocking me over. I'm walking across!
I picked up my foot and started to walk, and right then I heard a loud roaring of a car coming from behind me. Fearing for my life, I turned swiftly to see what it was. A ghostly looking green car, modded apparently, was racing its way towards me. I started to run towards the side streets hoping to avoid this reckless driver.
"Ouch!"
I lay on the ground screaming in vain after stumbling on the cracked pavements.
"I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Ahh!"
I stood up, feeling the pain shearing up my foot, I started for wherever but here. But it was too late. The roaring is now so close that I can feel it vibrating my heart! I look up and the car is a few inches away from me, and I squeeze shut my eyes.
My whole life played out in front of me. All the happy memories, the unhappy memories, the ones I've forgotten, the ones that I wanted to forget are all coming back, like a movie.
And I was knocked to the ground by a strong gust of wind.
I opened my eyes. Confused, I started to feel for my limbs and smacked myself in the face. I got up, panting from the frightening experience, and intoxicating myself in the process by the heavy smell of alcohol. I stumbled across the bridge, ignoring everything I known about the bridge. I just want to go home.
I got home, rung the bell, and no one answered. My parents are always home on Fridays!? I took out the keys from my pocket and opened the door to let myself in. Surprised to find all the furniture rearranged. Weird, some of them I've never seen before.
I walked into the kitchen and treated myself to a can of soda. I start flipping through all the mails on the table, all of which are addressed to a family call the Lains. Why are they here? Who are the Lains? There are no Lain families in our apartment. Weird. I set aside the mails and grabbed the newspaper underneath them and started to read through it.
And down on the corner of the front page, a title grabbed my attention, "1 Year Anniversary of the Teen Killed By A Drunk Driver By the Bridge".
"Interesting, I don't recall any kids got killed."
"Yes, Mrs. A" I put on an annoyed look, and I whispered to myself, "hole." She gave me a look and decided to ignore me until the end of class.
I don't see why she made such a commotion, I didn't do much today. I've only got a few spitballs stuck to the back of this ugly Mrs. A-hole. If it weren't for that tattle-telling pig of Mrs. A-hole, I would've made it out okay today. Although A-hole would've been suspicious of the random laughter that erupts every time she turns her attention away from the class.
A-hole should of known better not to put me in a seat right next to the door. And when the bell rung, a huge crowd of people walks by my desk, obscuring her and her pig's view of me. I waited for the right moment, picked up my food and walked right out with everyone else.
I'm known to be rebellious by both my parents and teachers, causing mayhem wherever I am, whenever I wish. Phone calls from teachers are now a part of daily life for my parents, so I wasn't expecting anything when I get home. And today is Friday, one more reason to slip out of her room. Mrs. A-hole should thank me for leaving, she would've had the worst Friday of her life if I stayed behind.
***
After I parted with equally despicable friends of mine, the sky starts to thicken with terrifying looking storm clouds. Not wanting to get soaked, I decided to take a shortcut through the abandoned part of the city to get home.
As I walk down the street, a sense of sadness is creeping into me. This once bustling part of the decaying city is now populated only by the few stray cats and some homeless people. Grass and weeds are growing in the cracks of the pavement, creating bumps and ditches that had almost sprained my right ankle. It's hard to believe that the place where I engaged myself with window shopping is now lay in ruins, with a layer of dust over everything and crumbling buildings everywhere.
Soon I sighted a small red iron bridge, now rusting away with the city. I'm a bit afraid to cross this bridge, it was said that the red color came from the bloods of people who died of terrible accidents here. Only a month after the bridge was opened for traffic, the bridge was decorated by many small wooden crosses and rings of flowers. The city authorities was forced to close it down, and unemployment and unforeseen weather events immediately followed.
I stopped a few yards in front of the bridge, trying to find enough of the recklessness inside me to force myself to walk across. And a violent gust of wind came, almost knocking me over. I'm walking across!
I picked up my foot and started to walk, and right then I heard a loud roaring of a car coming from behind me. Fearing for my life, I turned swiftly to see what it was. A ghostly looking green car, modded apparently, was racing its way towards me. I started to run towards the side streets hoping to avoid this reckless driver.
"Ouch!"
I lay on the ground screaming in vain after stumbling on the cracked pavements.
"I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Ahh!"
I stood up, feeling the pain shearing up my foot, I started for wherever but here. But it was too late. The roaring is now so close that I can feel it vibrating my heart! I look up and the car is a few inches away from me, and I squeeze shut my eyes.
My whole life played out in front of me. All the happy memories, the unhappy memories, the ones I've forgotten, the ones that I wanted to forget are all coming back, like a movie.
And I was knocked to the ground by a strong gust of wind.
I opened my eyes. Confused, I started to feel for my limbs and smacked myself in the face. I got up, panting from the frightening experience, and intoxicating myself in the process by the heavy smell of alcohol. I stumbled across the bridge, ignoring everything I known about the bridge. I just want to go home.
I got home, rung the bell, and no one answered. My parents are always home on Fridays!? I took out the keys from my pocket and opened the door to let myself in. Surprised to find all the furniture rearranged. Weird, some of them I've never seen before.
I walked into the kitchen and treated myself to a can of soda. I start flipping through all the mails on the table, all of which are addressed to a family call the Lains. Why are they here? Who are the Lains? There are no Lain families in our apartment. Weird. I set aside the mails and grabbed the newspaper underneath them and started to read through it.
And down on the corner of the front page, a title grabbed my attention, "1 Year Anniversary of the Teen Killed By A Drunk Driver By the Bridge".
"Interesting, I don't recall any kids got killed."
Friday, August 12, 2011
People
To be honest with you, I loath people. I see them every day when I go shopping, when I take a stroll in the neighborhood, or when I look outside the window. They've been with me my whole entire life and yet I still don't like to be around them. I've always avoided places with people, fearing that they would judge me. Though I know that they wouldn't, but I couldn't help to think that they would. Partly due to the fact that I don't follow the current trend of anything, making me stand out in the middle of the crowd. I'm the type who hates to be held by the nose and dragged around by other people. I mean, who are you to tell me how I should live my life. Right?(say yes)
Likewise, I held a long conversation with myself in the mirror after waking up. And I decided that I should go to a place where it's full of people. Decided that talking to real people is more interesting than talking to a voice in your head, probably friendlier too. And thus after dinner I headed straight for the ferry which takes tourists to and fro an island, an island that has long established as a great summer vacationing place. And you know, old habits are hard to break. I sat in a seat far away from where people gathered, far away from the choking exhaust of cars, just far away from everything. A plain old seat, alone by itself, rusting away on the very end of the ship.
I gazed out to the horizon and was immediately made motionless. Made motionless by the majestic blue lake, glistening under the setting sun. The dark blue sky, tainted with streaks of orange. And the bright white stars, glowing in midst of confusing patterns and shapes that I have yet to acquire the vision to see. Soon the conversations that I was hearing clearly are slowly becoming a blur, a humming in my ear. I slipped into a hypnotized stage, hypnotized by the impressive yet soothing view.
And all of a sudden the captain blows the horn.
I gasped, swallowing down a mouthful of cold air dampened by the lake. I got up, knowing that we are nearing the destination and was amazed to see how the captain had easily made the already impatient tourists just that much more impatient with a simple blow of the horn.
And when the ship is parked, the tourists immediately scurry off and blurred into what resembles a colorful mush of gummy bears.
"Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp" I find myself walking uncontrollably down the metal stairs towards this mush of gummy bears. Towards this tourist packed island. Towards people.
Likewise, I held a long conversation with myself in the mirror after waking up. And I decided that I should go to a place where it's full of people. Decided that talking to real people is more interesting than talking to a voice in your head, probably friendlier too. And thus after dinner I headed straight for the ferry which takes tourists to and fro an island, an island that has long established as a great summer vacationing place. And you know, old habits are hard to break. I sat in a seat far away from where people gathered, far away from the choking exhaust of cars, just far away from everything. A plain old seat, alone by itself, rusting away on the very end of the ship.
I gazed out to the horizon and was immediately made motionless. Made motionless by the majestic blue lake, glistening under the setting sun. The dark blue sky, tainted with streaks of orange. And the bright white stars, glowing in midst of confusing patterns and shapes that I have yet to acquire the vision to see. Soon the conversations that I was hearing clearly are slowly becoming a blur, a humming in my ear. I slipped into a hypnotized stage, hypnotized by the impressive yet soothing view.
And all of a sudden the captain blows the horn.
I gasped, swallowing down a mouthful of cold air dampened by the lake. I got up, knowing that we are nearing the destination and was amazed to see how the captain had easily made the already impatient tourists just that much more impatient with a simple blow of the horn.
And when the ship is parked, the tourists immediately scurry off and blurred into what resembles a colorful mush of gummy bears.
"Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp" I find myself walking uncontrollably down the metal stairs towards this mush of gummy bears. Towards this tourist packed island. Towards people.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
100 Words: Mr. School
Mr. School has been with me ever since I was three. He is of large build, with many looks and muscles of bricks and stone.
Self-centered, Mr. School demands attention for seven hours a day, five days a week. With a bad temper, Mr. School would snarl and threatens to bite my head off when I forget to feed. Lucky for me the worst he can possibly do is to give me a few cuts and... no bruises.
Oh, other than his bad habit of binge eating, Mr. School also craves for refreshing ice cold ink served in pen casings.
Self-centered, Mr. School demands attention for seven hours a day, five days a week. With a bad temper, Mr. School would snarl and threatens to bite my head off when I forget to feed. Lucky for me the worst he can possibly do is to give me a few cuts and... no bruises.
Oh, other than his bad habit of binge eating, Mr. School also craves for refreshing ice cold ink served in pen casings.
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Frog is, Reading?
Here is another pose.
This is a frog, despite the bunny ears. Why the bunny ears? I bought this on Easter.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Just Like Any Other Day
After an exhausting day at school, John is eager for the final bell to ring. Eager to be "Saved by the Bell" from daily imprisonment and forced learning. Working from 7:20 till the end of the school day, the bell never fails to go off at a regulated interval to indicate the beginning or the end of classes. And today is no different than any other day, the bell went off at 2:11 p.m. Saving John once more.
Today, like any other day, John had everything packed and ready to go. Ready to crowd the already crowed hallway with him and his overfilled backpack. His friends always jokes about how they can feel the gravity from his backpack and feeling themselves being pulled towards it. And like always, he pushes through the crowd in hopes of getting his usual spot on the school bus before someone else does.
Once again, the bus is separated into two part. One consists of kids from the low middle class in the back and one consists of kids from the middle middle class in the front. John's usual seat is the 3rd one behind the driver, located on the left side of the bus. No one on the bus minds where they are seated, but that is how it usually turns out.
Likewise, John is early enough to claim the seat that is unofficially his. After the bus is almost full, Steven stumbles onto the bus and sits next to John relieving John of his biggest fear. John always hated to not have someone to talk to on the home-bound school bus. "I feel like a dumb ass," the way he puts it.
John and Steven don't have much in common except for the way they both think. They have known each other for 4 years now, their friendship developed from the simple "hey what's up" type of friends to a now deeper and more sincere "if you die, I'll try to be sad" type of friends. There are no limits to what they bring up in their conversation, it can be anything from "you are like a triangle" to "flying school buses".
***
After hours of nothing but homework, John feels a little down. And ironically the radio station is playing Mother's Little Helper, out of all songs. Frustrated by the amount of homework, John throws his homework at the wall, disturbing the normally neat room, and lies down on his bed in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. When he does that, it usually means that when the homework is handed back, it will be shredded into fine particles of dust or burned. But something is now flickering in John mind, something that happened on the bus earlier today.
"Is my watch made in China? I bet it is."
"Taiwan."
"How do you know?"
"It said so on the back, let me point it out to you."
"Where? I don't see it."
"There!"
"STOP IT YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Stop trying to spin the stupid compass on my watch!"
"Blah blah blah blah, blah."
"Are you straight?"
"Yea? Well, what kinda"
"Well, if you are, you wouldn't be spinning things around like you are right now."
John got up and start walking out of his room, humming his favorite song.
Today, like any other day, John had everything packed and ready to go. Ready to crowd the already crowed hallway with him and his overfilled backpack. His friends always jokes about how they can feel the gravity from his backpack and feeling themselves being pulled towards it. And like always, he pushes through the crowd in hopes of getting his usual spot on the school bus before someone else does.
Once again, the bus is separated into two part. One consists of kids from the low middle class in the back and one consists of kids from the middle middle class in the front. John's usual seat is the 3rd one behind the driver, located on the left side of the bus. No one on the bus minds where they are seated, but that is how it usually turns out.
Likewise, John is early enough to claim the seat that is unofficially his. After the bus is almost full, Steven stumbles onto the bus and sits next to John relieving John of his biggest fear. John always hated to not have someone to talk to on the home-bound school bus. "I feel like a dumb ass," the way he puts it.
John and Steven don't have much in common except for the way they both think. They have known each other for 4 years now, their friendship developed from the simple "hey what's up" type of friends to a now deeper and more sincere "if you die, I'll try to be sad" type of friends. There are no limits to what they bring up in their conversation, it can be anything from "you are like a triangle" to "flying school buses".
***
After hours of nothing but homework, John feels a little down. And ironically the radio station is playing Mother's Little Helper, out of all songs. Frustrated by the amount of homework, John throws his homework at the wall, disturbing the normally neat room, and lies down on his bed in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. When he does that, it usually means that when the homework is handed back, it will be shredded into fine particles of dust or burned. But something is now flickering in John mind, something that happened on the bus earlier today.
"Is my watch made in China? I bet it is."
"Taiwan."
"How do you know?"
"It said so on the back, let me point it out to you."
"Where? I don't see it."
"There!"
"STOP IT YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Stop trying to spin the stupid compass on my watch!"
"Blah blah blah blah, blah."
"Are you straight?"
"Yea? Well, what kinda"
"Well, if you are, you wouldn't be spinning things around like you are right now."
John got up and start walking out of his room, humming his favorite song.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
That Trip to Canada
We woke up at 4 in the morning that day. It was an unusually hot night and none of us had gotten much sleep. We had some "just add hot water and it will be done in 3 minutes" breakfast and fussed about how to arrange things in the car. After about 40 minutes of that we left home and filled up at an uncomfortably friendly nearby gas station. We were finally off to Kingston, Canada, where my many of my mom's former classmates were said to meet.
We were finally knocking on the doorstep of Toronto after hours of driving through nothing but trees and farmlands. Soon after we entered the city limit, I caught sight of high-rises, the one thing that can clearly slap the word HUMANITY in your face. There they stood, in unity, sparkling under the sunlight(like a Christmas tree? now that I think of it). It gave me an uneasy feeling as we drove pass them, the same feeling that I would get when driving next to a semi. As we were leaving the city limit, a corroded iron bridge spanning the whole width of the highway hung there in midair. It sprinkled rust on whoever drove under it(would that be considered a thank you gift for visiting Toronto?).
Ironically, when we arrived, we were the first one there.
The road that led us towards Kingston was a hideous one. A long stretch of highway in such good condition that no driver can resist the temptation of going over the speed limit(110 kph(60 mph), blah). Throughout the whole way I was nagged constantly by my mother to slow back down to the speed limit. The highway divided the vast landscape populated only by the few lonely farmers and their animals. The farmers were busy harvesting their crops, all of which were golden and bending under their own weight. The animals were allowed to litter themselves around the field and a few cows even mooed as we drove by(a friendly gesture, right?). It was beautiful, though the blinding sunlight prevented us from indulging ourselves in the scenery more.
We were finally knocking on the doorstep of Toronto after hours of driving through nothing but trees and farmlands. Soon after we entered the city limit, I caught sight of high-rises, the one thing that can clearly slap the word HUMANITY in your face. There they stood, in unity, sparkling under the sunlight(like a Christmas tree? now that I think of it). It gave me an uneasy feeling as we drove pass them, the same feeling that I would get when driving next to a semi. As we were leaving the city limit, a corroded iron bridge spanning the whole width of the highway hung there in midair. It sprinkled rust on whoever drove under it(would that be considered a thank you gift for visiting Toronto?).
Ironically, when we arrived, we were the first one there.
Friday, July 29, 2011
My Own Recipe - Preserved Bean Sauce
This recipe requires that you have preserved beans, if you don't you either have to go buy it in an Asian market or ask for some from your Asian friends. Those things lasts for a long time, so unless you want a whole box of preserved beans that is going to sit in your kitchen forever, I say you should just get a few from your Asian friends.
 |
| Yang Jiang(a place in China) Preserved Beans (they come in a cardboard-ish container) |
Disclaimer: I won't be held responsible if you set your house on fire whether by accident or intent and/or whatever you've done.
---------------------------------------------
Ingredients:
1 clove of garlic(more if you like, 2 cloves would constitute a strong garlic flavor for me)
about 10 preserved beans(unless you like your food with an odd flavor, I don't recommend more. Oh also, a question, how do you count beans? You don't say 10 piece of beans...)
Sausage, bacon or ham(as much or as little as you like, any flavor that you wish)
Oil
---------------------------------------------
Steps:
1. Chop the garlic into fine pieces, or you can smear it using the salt and clever method. For those of you who watch those cooking shows, you know what I'm talking about. You can also use a blender, but I think that is just way too much clean afterward.
2. Hold the beans under running water for a few seconds, no need to use a brush here. Then chop the preserved beans into fine pieces. Don't worry if they aren't chopped finely, because they usually smear unless you have a sharp enough knife.
3. Cut sausage into pieces of at least the sizes of your chopped garlic. Spend sometime on this step, chop it as finely as you can to taste specks of saltiness exploding inside your mouth. Feel the sensation.
4. Place all the chopped stuff into a pile and mix it well. You can mix it by chopping into the pile or by hand.
5. Dump enough oil into a pot and throw this weird looking pile of things into it. By enough oil I mean enough to dress your pasta, noodle, or whatever you are trying this with.
6. At this point you can add whatever spices into the oil with those things, just so that it doesn't over power the garlic and preserved beans. After the Preserved Bean and garlic are the star, and you are not making spice infused oil.
7. Turn the stove on to high and sizzle this whole thing until the bits of sausages are golden. Most importantly, keep the mixture moving so that you won't burn it especially if you have it very finely chopped. If you burn it, I guarantee that it wouldn't taste good. Also since the pot is going to get very hot, I recommend you to stir the mixture with a metal spoon. Unless of course if you like to have melted plastic in your food.
8. After the sausages are golden you pour this whole thing on top of whatever or the other way around.
------------------------
After the sausages are golden I pour this sauce(or dressing, not knowing the exact definition for either) over my noodle and mix to coat most of the noodles. You can add sesame oil to the noodle if you like, I did.
This is the kitchen, be creative!
I've only tried this recipe once with noodles, since I just thought of it yesterday, if you find it good with other things, please do tell me.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Some Pointy Pointers
#include <iostream>
using namespace std;
int _tmain(int argc, _TCHAR* argv[])
{
int i = 5;
int *ptr = &i;
int **ptr2 = &ptr;
int ***ptr3 = &ptr2;
cout<<"&i: "<<&i<<endl
<<"&ptr: "<<&ptr<<endl
<<"&ptr2: "<<&ptr2<<endl
<<"&ptr3: "<<&ptr3<<endl<<endl;
cout<<"*ptr3: "<<*ptr3<<endl
<<"**ptr3: "<<**ptr3<<endl
<<"***ptr3: "<<***ptr3<<endl;
printf("\n%d\n",***ptr3);
return 0;
}
=====================Disassembled===========================
int i = 5;
003D35BE mov dword ptr [i],5
;at this point, we are putting the value of 5 into the address of the variable i
int *ptr = &i;
003D35C5 lea eax,[i]
003D35C8 mov dword ptr [ptr],eax
;now we get the address of i, and store it at address ptr
int **ptr2 = &ptr;
003D35CB lea eax,[ptr]
003D35CE mov dword ptr [ptr2],eax
;now we get the address of ptr and store it at address ptr2
int ***ptr3 = &ptr2
003D35D1 lea eax,[ptr2]
003D35D4 mov dword ptr [ptr3],eax
;getting address of ptr2 and storing it at address ptr3
... ;skipping the cout part.
printf("%d\n",***ptr3);
01081739 mov eax,dword ptr [ptr3]
;moving the ptr2's address out of address at ptr3 and store it in eax
;eax is now equal to the address of ptr2
0108173C mov ecx,dword ptr [eax]
;moving the value in the address of ptr2 and storing it in ecx
;ecx is now the address of ptr, read above if you don't remember
0108173E mov edx,dword ptr [ecx]
;moving the address of i into edx, from address of ptr
;edx is now equal to the address of i, omg finally
01081740 mov esi,esp
;doing something
01081742 mov eax,dword ptr [edx]
;we are now getting the value stored in the address of edx
;which is the value of i
;eax = i
01081744 push eax
01081745 push offset string "\n%d\n" (1087800h)
0108174A call dword ptr [__imp__printf (108A404h)]
;printf-ing the string and stuff...
01081750 add esp,8
01081753 cmp esi,esp
01081755 call @ILT+430(__RTC_CheckEsp) (10811B3h)
;doing some more things
=========================================================
Output:
&i: 0044FD74
&ptr: 0044FD68
&ptr2: 0044FD5C
&ptr3: 0044FD50
*ptr3: 0044FD68
**ptr3: 0044FD74
***ptr3: 5
5
Yep, some very very pointy pointers.....
using namespace std;
int _tmain(int argc, _TCHAR* argv[])
{
int i = 5;
int *ptr = &i;
int **ptr2 = &ptr;
int ***ptr3 = &ptr2;
cout<<"&i: "<<&i<<endl
<<"&ptr: "<<&ptr<<endl
<<"&ptr2: "<<&ptr2<<endl
<<"&ptr3: "<<&ptr3<<endl<<endl;
cout<<"*ptr3: "<<*ptr3<<endl
<<"**ptr3: "<<**ptr3<<endl
<<"***ptr3: "<<***ptr3<<endl;
printf("\n%d\n",***ptr3);
return 0;
}
=====================Disassembled===========================
int i = 5;
003D35BE mov dword ptr [i],5
;at this point, we are putting the value of 5 into the address of the variable i
int *ptr = &i;
003D35C5 lea eax,[i]
003D35C8 mov dword ptr [ptr],eax
;now we get the address of i, and store it at address ptr
int **ptr2 = &ptr;
003D35CB lea eax,[ptr]
003D35CE mov dword ptr [ptr2],eax
;now we get the address of ptr and store it at address ptr2
int ***ptr3 = &ptr2
003D35D1 lea eax,[ptr2]
003D35D4 mov dword ptr [ptr3],eax
;getting address of ptr2 and storing it at address ptr3
... ;skipping the cout part.
printf("%d\n",***ptr3);
01081739 mov eax,dword ptr [ptr3]
;moving the ptr2's address out of address at ptr3 and store it in eax
;eax is now equal to the address of ptr2
0108173C mov ecx,dword ptr [eax]
;moving the value in the address of ptr2 and storing it in ecx
;ecx is now the address of ptr, read above if you don't remember
0108173E mov edx,dword ptr [ecx]
;moving the address of i into edx, from address of ptr
;edx is now equal to the address of i, omg finally
01081740 mov esi,esp
;doing something
01081742 mov eax,dword ptr [edx]
;we are now getting the value stored in the address of edx
;which is the value of i
;eax = i
01081744 push eax
01081745 push offset string "\n%d\n" (1087800h)
0108174A call dword ptr [__imp__printf (108A404h)]
;printf-ing the string and stuff...
01081750 add esp,8
01081753 cmp esi,esp
01081755 call @ILT+430(__RTC_CheckEsp) (10811B3h)
;doing some more things
=========================================================
Output:
&i: 0044FD74
&ptr: 0044FD68
&ptr2: 0044FD5C
&ptr3: 0044FD50
*ptr3: 0044FD68
**ptr3: 0044FD74
***ptr3: 5
5
Yep, some very very pointy pointers.....
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Almost Everything About C.O.T.U
Although I know that my blog probably doesn't get much publicity, more like none, but I would still like to tell you more about the game Call of The Underworld.
The game has been under development for probably two years, exact dates aren't important. Although the game in its early stages are bad, but the game has seen a dramatic improvement.
At first the game was suppose to be campaign driven with survival as a side dish, although the exact reason why Goreblood gave up this idea was not clear, but apparently it was the right choice. Oh um, if you have never played C.O.T.U, it is an Overhead Shooter which you must survive waves after waves of ZOMBIES, similar to the Call of Duty Nazi Zombies.
According to Goreblood C.O.T.U was originally inspired by Call of Duty and that you can see a lot of similarities between CoD and C.O.T.U.
Enough with CoD. The original story is about a guy, Calvin(if I remembered correctly), who had fought in the European theater(I think that is it, Goreblood never told where it was) of WW2, who had contacts(or some kind of experiences) with zombies that emerged after a nuke went off during a battle. Of course this is all fictional, unless... Anyway it is now the 50's(or is it the 60's), years after the war had ended. One day Calvin was driving down a road towards a cemetery at night with Sparky, his dog.
That night the moon was full, and when Calvin was close to the cemetery, he drove into something that resembles the shape of a human. He got off to see if the person he has hit was ok he notices loud moaning(zombie moaning that is) coming from the cemetery. Calvin grabs the m1911 from the car he uses for self defense and proceeded into the cemetery to investigate, leaving Sparky in the car.
And that's where the campaign mission begins. I'm certain that most of what I wrote was true for the story, there are probably some elements from my story of the campaign.
The game now revolves around Calvin trying to survive wave after waves of zombies. There is a offline-coop for the standard map, I personally recommend the coop if you are new to the game. In addition to the standard map, Goreblood also has made some extra maps for additional fun. Background sounds are also different for each map, some even comes with musics that make you feel lonely and helpless.
Goreblood is now working on the online-coop for the standard map and you have to look at his blog for updates and stuff.
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