Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Monday, April 18, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
...why I don't like going to Dunia Fantasi (literally, "Fantasy World"). I believe the place was built under the notion that everybody shares the same "fantasy" as Nero. You wait in lines for hours under the bright sun, just to go through a two-minute session, which ends up throwing out your lunch. This complex drives its visitors to imagine everything going down in flames.
(Via Boing Boing.)
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
...they should've displayed Gum Blondes. These brainchildren of Jason Kronewald look like this one.
And were made entirely from chewed gums. Which gives an entire new meaning to the phrase "the kind of art you can chew."
THE COCKROACHES WERE HAVIN' A PARTY IN MY HOUSE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT
I once read an article that stated that we shouldn't be wary of cockroaches making appearances around the house. "[Which] signifies that you have such a clean house, the cockroaches have difficulties in finding food, [so] they need to get out in the open," said the so-called expert.
Let's assume, for the sake of having no argument, that he's right. His statement still doesn't explain why the cockroaches in my house are getting out in the open and and hanging out on my soap. I'm not kidding. They just crawl into my bathroom, get on top a new bar of soap, and stay there.
I can only think of two possibilities:
- These are reformed cockroaches, which realize that "Hey, we're not picking up any chick this way. So why don't we try washing up, paint our bodies black and white, then tuck the antennaes so they look like ties."
- Soaps contain elements that are either bad for their health or just smell bad. And that's why a bar of soap is the perfect party tools for cockroaches. I bet one of them is saying to another right now, "Got a drag?" "No, but I know a perfect bathroom that got one." "Great, let's round the boys!"
Monday, April 04, 2005
So I met an old friend of mine. He noticed my newly-gained lovehandles and commented--as you've probably guessed--, "I see married life agrees with you."
I don't understand how developing extra fat signifies a happy marriage. But many people do.
I bet somewhere, a bodybuilder's wife is currently addressing her husband. "Dear," she sighed. "You know, we've been happily married for some time, now."
"Yeah, so?" responded the husband, watching his reflection flexing his abs.
"Why don't you start acting like other happy couples?" she demanded. "Forget the diet, get yourself a fat belly, and lose the muscle!"
Friday, April 01, 2005
Two days ago, a woman greeted me, "Man! Hey, wassup?"
I was shocked. Not because she jumped at me or anything. Not because she was beautiful. But because she was beautiful and I didn't remember her. No, I didn't just forget her name, I didn't even recognize her. Even as we spoke, and she displayed a great knowledge about me, I couldn't help thinking, "Who is this woman who seems to know me well?"
After some heated discussions about, intentionally, nonpersonal subjects ("I believe Ketoprak should be named our national food"), we parted. I got her name, yet I still couldn't remember her.
It bugs me when I forget about a beautiful/ugly person. There are three kinds of faces: ugly, average, and striking (handsome or beautiful). The first and the last are easy to remember. But you can forget an average-looking person easily. Put that in mind the next time someone from your past forgets about you. You shouldn't get offended. Take it as a way of her saying, "You're not ugly."
Anyway, at the time, it made me doubt myself. "Am I that old?" "Or maybe she was an ugly-duckling turning into a swan?" "Oh, I get it! This is a prank and I'm on TV."
This disturbed me so much that I talked about it with my partner. "...because she was beautiful!" I exclaimed.
And she suddenly shifted her position.
This was the moment I could hear alarm ringing in my head. Wrong move, buddy. Little people inside my mind ran away in terrors, while the Captain shouted, "Prepare for impact!"
But she only sat there and heard me finish talking. And nothing happened. I couldn't believe my luck. I'm married to a woman who's actually okay with that. Mars-Venus crapus. She even gave me a surprise present this morning. A little package wrapped in dashing red paper. She must've slid it in my bag after breakfast. How nice of her! I'm planning to open it after I finish typing this. I can hear some kind of ticking from inside, though. Sounds like a clock. Or mayb