Welcome to Meaningful Words- Home of any and everything nonsensical!

Take. that. annoying. Pirates. 3. trailer. off.

Or at least MUTE THE FREAKING VOLUME.

His patience runs dangerously thin,
What with the trillion cars in between;
Where he is and where he ought to be,
The washroom in his university.

Yes he is late,
For class, which he utterly hates;
But more importantly, the main mission,
To clear three days’ worth of constipation.

He taps the steering wheel, anxious,
And regrets not eating more oranges;
The time bomb is ticking- no time to lose!
He must reach before all hell breaks lose.

The pressure mounts; he breaks cold sweat,
He gives his stomach one or two pats;
Praying at the same time for divine intervention,
Hoping for some miracle solution.

He peers ahead, contemplating his fate,
Is there a way, or is it checkmate?
Frantically, he starts searching the compartments,
Where’s that bag with the shampoo from Watson’s?

The ordeal, having commenced for quite some time,
Has taken its toll on the muscles behind;
His ‘Spartans’ are starting to lose the war,
The ‘Persians’ are fighting with zealous fervour.

In accounting terms, his ‘assets’ are very ‘liquid’,
They convert to ‘cash’ at a very high speed;
To be literal, they ARE indeed liquid,
There goes the new leather seat.

Like Michael Scoffield and his troop of schemers,
Some ‘inmates’ find their way past the security cameras;
They exit the compound embracing their freedom,
Free to pollute the air with sinful emanation.

Pretty soon, one thing leads to another,
News of the inmates’ escape spread like wild fire;
For a moment, all was still; all was quiet,
The next moment, chaotic screams of a violent riot.

As he begins to choke on his own refuse,
He finds the circumstance viable for an excuse;
To make a U-turn at the next junction,
And drive to the nearest petrol station.

By the time everything was OK,
He has missed his only class today;
The ordeal was too much; he decides to return
After (of course) buying an orange or ten.

…that guy is NOT me.

The demise (forthcoming) of the Final Fantasy series.

The Golden Era: FFVIII

• Cool, memorable characters
• Great storyline
• Actually useful GF’s
• Good protagonist dialogue (or lack thereof)

The Collapse: FFIX

• Monkey-like, utterly unadorable protagonist
• Short, pseudo-kiddy Barbie-pixels characters
• Ugly, unattractive heroine
• What was the story about again?
• Lame weapon names eg "Butterfly"

Resurfacing: FFX

• OK protagonist (obviously the fashion sense has plummeted)
• Good supporting cast (excl. Rikku)
• One of the best heroine-female-extraordinaire in series
• GF/Aeon STILL the battle backbone
• Great storyline
• Interesting sidequests

The Dip: FFX-2

• Sadistic game turned best heroine-female-extraordinaire in series into a bag of dog waste
• Rikku not eradicated along with FFX; returns with shrill haunting voice
• Third tomboy sidekick not as Paineful as (s)he seemed, bad hairstyle
• Utterly ridiculous battle system: Barbie and Ken clothe-swapping galore
• Ugly, uninteresting, draggy clothe-swapping galore animations
• Couldn’t get past the first hour of the game

Untimely destruction: FFXII

• Developers ran out of ideas; protagonist was under aged, slept in the sewers, was nil in terms of hairstyle and fashion sense, had knack for retarded dialogue; to sum it all up - "douche bag" (first hopes for romance dashed)
• First supporting character Penelo: even worse fashion sense, useless, errand-girl
• Story’s super-hot female extraordinaire much older than Mr Protagonist (read: no romance)
• Story’s super-hot female extraordinaire too hot for Mr Protagonist (read: no romance)
• Story’s protagonist yet to reach puberty (read: no romance)
• Story’s protagonist hadn’t taken a bath for years (read: no romance)
• Story’s protagonist ran errands for a dumb Star Wars monster (read: no romance)
• Story’s protagonist was able to immitate Tidus the Character Who Is Twenty Thousand Times Cooler’s fashion sense (read: no romance),
• but failed to mimic the personality of Tidus the Character Who Is Twenty Thousand Times Cooler (read: no romance)
• Tidus cooler ONLY relatively to protagonist. Even so, protagonist an astonishingly horrendous twenty thousand times worse than Tidus (read: no romance)
• Story’s protagonist more interested in stealing things (read: no romance)
• Story’s protagonist more interested in playing catch, hide-and-seek with Penelo the Errand Girl Without Any Fashion Sense (read: no romance)
• GF/Summonings a big joke
• Weather system more chore than charm
• Monotonous character growth meant Big Barbaric Basch could be Little Suzy the Healer and Penelo the Kid could be Xena/Hagar/Conan the Princess Warrior High On Steroids
• Ludicrous sidequest: Boss with 50 million HP
• Irritating, ugly, dumb protagonist
• Irritating, ugly, dumb protagonist
• Irritating, ugly, dumb protagonist
• Irritating, ugly, dumb protagonist
• Irritating, ugly, dumb protagonist
• Irritating, ugly, dumb protagonist

Ugh…

It’s incredible what lessons life has to offer. As I traverse through the many streets in my journey to Life’s End, I have many a time come to often stark and unimaginable truths of life, all of which would embed themselves in the facets of my memory. Just three months off in the city of eternal traffic jams, and I’ve learned so much about the ‘real’ world, albeit often through the hard way, like how the Monash chicken rice can be in the running for the worst-tasting substance in the solar system.

I have also found out that guitars are expensive. Throw in an amplifier, a couple of effect peds, stompboxes, cables, batteries and whatnot, I’d be well on my way to d Grazeland to join d moo-moos in munchin d grass.

Contrary to popular belief, the worst drivers do not hail from big cities like KL. The bulk of the pack comes from smaller towns like Ipoh, etc. Of course there are the occasional exceptions, for example teh ah peks in heavily modified rolling objects, more particularly the exhaust system with cute flashy lights and even cuter ‘wings’ and other strange protrusions/attachments/vinyls from/to/on the larger part of what appears to be a car. All of which will rest twisted and broken in a pile of mangled steel pretty soon after due to inability of said species to control the gas pedal (read: all or nothing).

So I sit here, one hand typing, the other holding the 3 gigavolt Vengeance-Mosquito-Zapping Eliminator Series A575 with the latest No-SquitoTech system Flower Power Premium version 6 variant C release 4.5 beta 0.2c service pack 4b mosquito’s nemesis bat Bruce, and I’m thinking, why did God create mosquitoes? I guess the same question applies to us; are we here just to survive until the incidental meteorite comes and pancakes everything on earth? Or until a big ass volcano spews forth enough lava to empty the inner earth and gravity sucks down the surface and we all become hamburgers. Pass me the barbeque sauce please. So Maslow the Dude said that the highest level in this ‘hierarchised’ needs is self-actualisation which really means discovering your life’s purpose. What if I work hard and reach there to discover my purpose is to mow the lawn. Scary right…

A few weeks ago, my house almost got robbed,

By this stinking, lazy and slimy slob;

Too lazy to work, he took this alternative,

To take what’s not his- to be a thief.

                                                                                                                     

So there he was, at the porch,

When no one was at home, that of course;

Thinking no one could see him, he started to force,

Pulled the damn grills off with the strength of a horse.

                                                                                                                     

Now he didn’t know that the neighbours had noticed,

Of the suspicious acts of this apprentice thief;

He thought he was small and no one would notice,

But fact is, he’s twice the size of a jungle beast.

                                                                                                                     

So as the neighbours called the police,

He suspected that something was amiss;

Fat that he was he galloped like a horse,

To his alikapcai and went on his course.

                                                                                                                     

So I reached at around five-thirty,

Humming happily to track twenty;

My world stopped dead in its tracks,

When I saw my front door in a wreck.

                                                                                                                     

After picking my jaw from the ground,

I regained composure and looked around;

Tried the wooden door- was still locked,

Took a while to notice there was no doorknob.

                                                                                                                     

So I ran to the back, expecting the worst,

At the prospect of losing everything, I started to curse;

I was pretty much a jumble of emotions,

My house had been invaded my a Martian.

                                                                                                                  

When I saw that my backdoor was locked,

I got confused, and ran back around the block;

Saw my neighbour, and looking at her face,

I knew at once that everything was okay.

                                                                                                                  

She saw the demon in the form of a human,

For a few days, nosing around;

And that afternoon parked outside my compound,

And at my door, he started to pound.

                                                                                                                  

He succeeded in opening my door,

Also got my neighbours to open their doors;

They were curious- What was the commotion?

They thought my house was under renovation.

                                                                                                                  

Now renovators had something in common,

And taking off motorcycle helms is pretty common;

But this guy had the helm on his head locked,

And his tool was a very big rock.

                                                                                                                  

From which primitive firm did this man hail?

Resorting to rocks rather than hammers and nails?

With such barbaric and primitive methods enforced,

Tearing the grills off with utter brute force!

                                                                                                                  

My neighbours are smart, the thief isn’t,

Guess he’s a burglar due to this reason;

His habitat is really the chambers in the prison,

Why is he here committing vandalism?

                                                                                                                  

A lot of stress he caused, he really did,

Sleepless nights and fear thanks to this deed;

And all the mess caused by the renovation,

To turn my house into a high-class prison.

                                                                                                                  

All these happened in the midst of assignments,

Adding unnecessary levels of stress and tension;

No thanks to the balding economics lecturer,

Who regarded a break-in as something minor.

                                                                                                                  

Told him I did the state of my abode,

Two days of extension was all I had hoped;

I thought with all his years of tenure,

His brains would be more than utter manure.

                                                                                                                  

As one would expect, he dismissed my dilemma,

Wait till it happens to him- call it bad karma;

Entering an empty house- save for a chair,

He’ll quickly lose his remaining hair.

                                                                                                                  

Welcome to the world, said my friend,

Where no one cares, for yourselves you shall fend;

I didn’t like the taste, this real world on a dish,

I guess that’s why everyone’s so selfish.

                                                                                                                  

Lucky for me I have a circle of friends,

And family who is as important as my hand;

Without them I’d be handicapped,

I’d lose my refuge (and places to crap).

The chair is patient, the chair is kind,

She exists with one reason in mind;

To endure the two warm buns (or people’s bottoms),

Life’s a wheel, but her’s doesn’t spin - she’s stuck down bottom.

                                                                                                                   

She exists for you to sit on,

Not to kick or toss around and be spat upon;

Or worse still, as a weapon in the WWE,

What insult for her to touch the heads of those fatties.

                                                                                                                   

Chairs are not meant for you to stack against the door,

To prevent your teacher from entering the hall;

Nor are they to be thrown at the other party,

When a political meeting goes awry.

                                                                                                                   

You might think it’s funny, but really it’s dumb,

To stick your bacteria-infested bubble gum;

On the bench for the next unsuspecting chum,

To sit on and get it stuck on his bum.

                                                                                                                   

While you sit behind and laugh your ass off,

With your like-minded band of dorks;

Be reminded that you just earned two hell points,

One from the chair, one the chum to whom you point.

                                                                                                                   

It sure sucks to be a chair,

People sit, stand, and fart on you, unaware

That you silently, on your four legs,

Endure the stench and the stink of foul eggs.

                                                                                                                  

While you’re at it, ask yourself,

What did the chair do to deserve this kind of hell;

It’s bad enough that you are overweight,

Reduce the beans and cabbage for gosh sakes!

                                                                                                                   

How would you like it if someone pointed his anus,

At you and with one big grunt release enough flatus;

To fill about twenty-three party balloons,

And rub his stomach, declaring that "It was good!" ?

                                                                                                                   

Not to mention the smell of your shit-filled intestines,

By-product of last-night’s dinner with your friend Celestine;

If you want to pollute my nose with your methane,

Don’t whine when I bombard your ears with words profane.

                                                                                                                   

Talking about dinner, I remember something,

That chairs in coffee shops are subject to the worst hating;

Where smelly, retired fishermen with athlete’s foot,

Would place their feet on them, sometimes exposing their manhood.

                                                                                                                   

With oily fingers, rotten language, and a lot to say,

They sip their coffee while they sit the whole day;

Boasting to their colleagues, competing for ego,

About the trout they caught two years ago.

                                                                                                                  

While they cut each other off, refusing to lose

One of them would start to dig his nose;

He’d pull out a mess of sticky dust and hair,

And proceed to stick it under the chair.

                                                                                                                  

When they finally adjourn and settle the bill,

With the toothpicks in their mouths still;

The grumpy waitress would go into a frenzy,

And splash leftovers on the chairs without pity.

                                                                                                                  

No one cares,

For the chairs;

It’s not fair,

But who cares?

Life’s never fair;

So there.

I spent yesterday thinking a way,

To finish this assignment in half a day;

Somewhere in between my mind slipped away,

And now I’m stuck here the entire day.

                                                                                                                  

My thoughts are empty, my eyes feel heavy,

My nemesis is sucking my blood without pity;

How foolish! He rejected the truce,

And died by the hand of my friend Bruce.

                                                                                                                  

Don’t get me wrong, my brain didn’t fuse,

My bug shocker isn’t named Bruce;

But my poetic skills, or lack thereof,

Forces me sometimes, to use words that are off.

                                                                                                                  

I hate many things in this darned life,

With my ISP at the top of the hive;

Substandard services at exorbitant prices,

And a host of gloomy staff to offer their services.

                                                                                                                  

TMNut, TMNet, when will you learn,

That everyone wants you to burn in an urn;

88 bucks is no child’s play,

If this is your best, please go away.

                                                                                                                  

Double digits you put as your price,

While elsewhere it’s double the speed at half the price;

What’s with the 88’s and 66’s?

The slow connection is making me sick.

                                                                                                                  

Different packages, different speeds,

1 Mbps, that what you need?

1Mb, 2Mb; looks the same to me,

It’s just slow speeds at a different fee.

                                                                                                                  

Frequent disconnects come with the package,

And somehow, someway, customer service’s eternally engaged;

And good luck to us all whenever it rains,

The connection is doomed to the drains.

                                                                                                                  

Substandard modems from substandard suppliers,

Substandard cables and modem adapters;

Sometimes I wonder why it’s Streamyx,

I think a better name would be Substandyx.

                                                                                                                  

Don’t even wish for live video streaming,

The ‘x’ after Streamyx means no streaming;

Forget Youtube, forget Quicktime,

‘Coz in the end, it’s a waste of time.

                                                                                                                  

"To prevent piracy!" is what they say,

To limit our bandwidth to the point of dismay;

To keep people off copyrighted files,

When in their homes, the DVD’s pile.

                                                                                                                  

Shucks, crap- it’s one-thirty,

It’s hot and humid and I feel dirty;

Guess it’s time for a muddy shower,

… Don’t get me started on Indah Water.

Here I am in front of the com,

In the wee hours of ten past four;

Doing nonsense, things redundant,

When my progress is zero for my assignment.

                                                                                                                  

Sighed I have, ten times ten times,

If that sounded confusing, that makes a hundred times;

While the world sleeps, I try to concentrate,

But alas! There’s a bug that irritates.

                                                                                                                  

It sleeps in the day, just like me,

It wakes up at night, all hungry and grumpy;

Longing for food, he finds in me aplenty,

It lands on me, and sucks heartily.

                                                                                                                  

Now I don’t mind for all that matters,

That drop of blood to be food on its platter;

What pisses me off is its ungratefulness,

It leaves with me unbearable itchiness.

                                                                                                                  

So while it rests, bloated with pleasure,

Here I am, with high blood pressure;

Fuming and cursing, finally I surrender,

Looking for a bug which is so much smaller.

                                                                                                                  

Mosquitoes everywhere, you guys beware,

Fly faster, spin more and tread with care;

For none of you I shall spare,

With this little investment in a handyware.

                                                                                                                  

A bug-shocker, I will call the former,

Or ‘Vengeance Bat’, does that sound better?

Whatever the name, its goal remains,

To zap you into charred remains.

                                                                                                                  

Two AA Duracells is sufficient,

To pave your way to oblivion;

Beware! Your day of reckoning is near,

You will perish! Be filled with fear!

                                                                                                                  

Now I realized something on my part,

That I wrote too much about you little farts;

Why do we battle and kill each other,

Can’t you change your diet to something tastier?

                                                                                                                  

I take this initiative to offer a truce,

Accept it and I forget the past bruise;

I truly hope that we are no longer foes,

This is the deal; here it goes:

                                                                                                                  

Wash your damned mouths before you feast,

If you didn’t know, it has bacteria and yeast;

(Maybe not yeast, I just wanted it to rhyme);

But the bacteria, they get me scratching in no time.

                                                                                                                  

I won’t die even if ten of you feasted on me,

But YOU will die when the itch irritates me;

Why make it so hard? We can live in peace,

There’s water in the bathroom, so go ahead please.

                                                                                                                  

While you wash up, try sipping the water,

You’ll find that it actually tastes better;

If you’d like I can add some seasoning,

But help yourself, the detergent’s under the sink.

                                                                                                                  

I guess I should end this string of thoughts,

Before someone finds me a retard of some sort;

See, that’s the problem with everybody,

They judge you before they know you fully.

                                                                                                                  

You see, don’t take the mosquito literally,

It’s a mere metaphor by yours truly;

I speak of people… parasitic people,

On which their foreheads, I hope, will grow a nipple.

                                                                                                                  

So be anything but a parasite,

You might just get a poem on someone’s site;

Dedicated to you and your selfishness,

Which makes others, with you, have no business.

 

Went for Nacho Libre today. Saw one of the comercials regarding a credit card before the show began… UOB Vox if I’m not mistaken. So there’s this cool-looking dude with a big wacky grin on his face, with the card in his hand. He’d pass by a shop, spot a suit that he likes, and ‘draw’ it with deliberate hand gestures, and exit the shop wearing it. He’d do the same for a nice sports car. Later he would arrive at a night club in that suit and the sports car, have fun, and put the card in front of the camera (gosh, he was holding it all the time), then someone would narrate: "UOB Vox - Get what you want."

So what was he trying to say? That if you want to be as cool as him you’ll need that card? Well I definitely don’t want to be him at the end of the month. Geez, these advertisements… so innocently misleading. Smart. Let’s see the wise guy draw up some cash to pay for his credit card bills.

And McD’s, you can stop singing about how healthy your food is. Both you and me know what little benefit they have is greatly outweighed by a host of other unwanted stuff. If you really did want us to live longer, that’s only because you want us to consume more of your burgers and french fries, so stop saying you care for us.

And KFC, your genetically-modified chickens… ah, nevermind….