aah frankly mei i couldn't care less about the template, cos' at present it looks fricking good (then again anything looks rather good compared to the previous layout) and so what if the jpeg doesn't fully cover the banner-- as long as the banner doesn't fix that horribly techno-supercillious gaze on me from that lofty perch of his/its, i'm completely, absolutely, terrifically fine.

so much for a day which i spent in a rather irritable mood.  finished portnoy's complaint, now on to white teeth, cos' i'm retracing my steps right before the gay sex scenes in burrough's naked lunch, and want to leave the best for the last (! nothing like a well-described homoerotic boudoir tussle, if i may be permitted to add).  all good reads though, if one forgives the outrageous interjections.  bugger the fact that i can't find jg ballard's crash in kino or borders, cos' i have too many books to devour now and i can't be bothered to search for another collectible... though in retrospect i really want that book cos' its apparently all about the prurient nature of a car crash.  now how can a mere mortal actually lucidly describe that scene (let alone relate to it), i cannot conceive, but the mere fact that its in existence makes it a must-buy.  now that i think about it i really shouldn't be irritable cos' i burnt lots of cash buying stuff like a gundam model kit and some francis fukuyama book on statesmanship in the 21st century (which would have warranted a WHOOPEEEE! from me on a normal, slightly dejected day), but noooo all i can muster is some half-hearted complaint about the weight of the frigging book and having to carry it all the way from centrepoint to cairnhill plaza carpark.  i can be a jerk when i really want to be, and when i am i ought to be shot, big time.

and whilst i'm being dragged about in the sweltering pulsating welt that is the heart of orchard road mei has the heart to sms me from a sumptious lunch at sheraton.  wooooooohooooooooooo!  the tsunaminous (bah) swash of jealousy crushes me like deadweight loss bludgeoning the clueless and crestfallen consumer, and out come the complaints (again) like those limpid shits floating about the backwash at east coast park.  in that shockwave of pseudo anger, with that mortal kombat finish him deathblow to my sunday morning vitality, like an arabian bird-- like the goose they christen the phoenix-- i am revived!  i rampage at sports connection, buy an extension for my woefully inadequate hydropak, and relish the 50 percent off storewide, even pausing for that splitsecond just to wonder whether a nalgene bottle's worth outweights its poseur value!   oh the (c)overtly nationalistic joy of pre-9th august half-price sales!  the joy of effective income (leeched off parents)!  and what do i do after that?!  i come out of the store displaying the bald, resigned, even revulsively OFFAL distaste of some dick with a chronic case of constipation!  my face as if stuffed to the cheeks with sour prunes!!  which begs the bloody question: whats so bleeding wrong with me today?!

turns out pw is all to blame.  not hard to conceive, is it.

oh i wanted to promote the interfac rock wall competition but now since the fire's doused i'll just say that you all better bloody join or i'll wring the stuffing outa ya.  'nuff said.