anti stab

To stab or not to stab, the knife's the question.

And just when you thought it was safe to assume all knives would make good stabbers,
front or back, somebody comes up with an Anti-stab knife.

Designed such that the top side is blunt, and the front can only catch on clothing, with the sharpest part of the knife able to cut skin a little bit, the knife is purportedly anti-stab.

I suppose some guy would invent a anti-fatal gun, or some anti anti anti anti stab knife.

Weird world, we live in, Yoda says.

http://www.coolest-gadgets.com/20090616/antistab-knife/>

Whose Line Is It Anyway Bloopers 3

Whose Line Is It Anyway Bloopers 2

Whose Line Is It Anyway Bloopers 1

Wow.

What a remarkable voice. One by one all these good singers come out eh. There was Colbie and now her, and perhaps many more to come.

Voice of steel, indeed.

Deacon joke.

A deacon is in the hospital and his good friend, a preacher, goes to visit him.

The preacher notices all the medical equipment attached to the deacon. He kneels by the bed.

The deacon motions to a pad and pen on the nightstand. The preacher hands his friend the pad and pen, and the deacon begins to write. Suddenly, the deacon dies.

At his funeral, the preacher delivers the service. He says, "I was with him when he died, and as a matter of fact, I have his last thought in my coat pocket here."

The preacher pulls out the paper and reads, "Please, get up. You're kneeling on my oxygen hose."

Slogans nobody would use

Slogans nobody would use.


No kid like Nokia.
Can off like Canon.
Tune it like iTunes.
Send me some Zen.
Age with HP.
Fill me with Philips.
Absolut Epson.
Knight with Nike.
Liar liar, fox on fire.
Soul me Sony.
Pear up with an apple.

mangosteen shirt

If mangosteen juice cannot be washed off
how come nobody tried using that to design
shirts
or bags
or walls.

No worries about it being washed off
or color run
right?

er ner gee.

My stomach still gently grimaces
at the taste of a cocktail
then a mocktail
then half an hour rest before
two cans of milo.

At least it didn't erupt.
That which I'm grateful.
Though now it sets me thinking.

Can cows compartmentalize their stomachs
for maximum efficiency?
Like, decide which foods or drinks go to which
stomachs.
And if it could be done, is it by classification
or by a first come first served basis?

Perhaps Cows could drink a lot then.
A stomach for beer, another for wine.
One for carbonated drinks, another for others.

Or perhaps the different types of grass go to
a specific stomach.
Wheat grass, tall grass, short grass, long grass.

What?!
Don't limit your mind to facts.
But let it unleash on its unbounding
unending
unceasing
un un un
un neh na neh na neh na
eh eh eh.
eh ner gee.

Parody of Wonder Girls

Nobody

cycle of life.

I see the kids in slippers, and some barefooted,
some as young as seven riding motorbikes
with no helmets and with a pillion
and I wonder,
how does one improve life?

On and on we talk about improving the life of others
and so we give to charity
to the best of our ability.
But how sure are we that we want to improve their lives?

How do we know when their standard of living have risen to ours?
By the burgers and the fries,
or the corruption and the lies?
Do we really want to give them electricity and
a light bulb for every home?

There are people
whose lives are simple and carefree
and filled with back breaking work
but one thing is for sure
day in day out
they follow the rising and setting of the sun.
Do we want to break that cycle?
If there's light, then we work.
Some follow that principle of life.
If by giving the gift of light,
aren't we breaking their cycle?
And simply making them live to our cycle
and follow our way of living?

Thailand.

To look up and see the wide expanse of sky
Glittering stars, under the watchful moonlight.
And you wonder, when that day comes,
when one third of the stars will shine no more,
and one third of the moon will be as blood,
the Fear that will prevail
with the onset of the darkness plague.

Under the sweltering heat, in sweat-drenched fatigues,
and one wonders, what in blazing hell am I doing here?
But one walks on, to fulfill a minimum of 60km.
Though one definitely exceeds the minimal.

The sound of squitch accompanies me
step by step
the dripping of camo paint mixed with sweat
drop by drop.

Music that soothes and thumps through the forest
Beats that permeates through the mud-streaked boots,
and the thick cotton veil on the feet
- a popular sand fly feast -
and rises to calm the heart
that yearns for home.

The cows carefreely shake their tails from side to side
like a swinging pendulum
as the dogs bark harshly
but run as we advance.
All bark and no bite.
Or perhaps they have a certain fear of the walking green.

Barbed wire that cows squeeze through
upon our arrival
and eager smiles
for rations or food of any kind.

Communal bathing, sweltering heat
and lots of cow shit.
Makes one weary and wise.
As one dreams of the cool mist
of packs of dry ice.