Archive for July, 2010

Worst driver ever.

July 23, 2010

Disclaimer: Ten doesn’t actually drive yet, so the title of this post is based solely on my dream-events, and in no way ridicules her driving in real life. Because as of now, there are no skills to make fun of. Ten, don’t take offense.

I was minding my own business in the garden, watering the plants and enjoying the hot summer breeze, when my mom’s car suddenly slammed through the wall. And who was behind the wheel, jamming along to some music? Yeah. Of course. Ten.

“Dude! Are you fucking crazy?! 1.) What are you doing with Ma’s car? 2.) Why did you slam through the wall? and 3.) WHY DOESN’T THIS BOTHER YOU?!”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, okay? It’s just a car. Just a material possession. It’s nothing to lose sleep over.”

“Okay well I get that, I guess, but can you at least park properly and find a way to fix the wall so we don’t get a gang of hoodlums in here tonight?”

“Yeah I suppose I could do that.”

So she drove the rest of the car through the hole in the wall, and parked it on the open paved area next to the garden. Just as soon as she turned off the engine, my mom pulled up in front of the house. She glanced at the gaping hole, shook her head, and continued her phone conversation in the comfort of the air conditioned car. When she hung up, she grabbed her handbag, switched off the engine, and left the car.

“Are you people crazy? Who did this to the wall? Now we will get Black Paw attacking us in the night!”

Ten gave her whole materialism speech, acting completely nonchalant the entire time. When she finished, she went inside to get something, and my mom just sighed and followed her into the house. Meanwhile, I was awestruck.

Soon, they both exited the house again, and my mom told me she was going to the carwash with her two-week-old Porsche Cayenne S. She asked if I could stay home and wash the Ford, the one that just crashed through the wall. I agreed and watched her walk to her expensive new vehicle through the gap in the wall.

“MA! WAIT! CAN I COME?! I WANNA GO THROUGH THE CARWASH IN THIS CAR, OKAY?! I’M COMING WITH YOU, JUST WAIT!” screamed Ten and she hurriedly put on her shoes. Then, she grabbed the keys off the lawn, jumped in the Ford, and before I had time to react, she threw the car in reverse and squealed out of the driveway. My mom was surprised (in a bad way) and started freaking out at Ten to stop driving. But Ten continued reversing a lot faster than necessary out of the driveway. At the bottom, she hooked the steering wheel to the left, and reversed a bit down the street. Then she got out of the car, triumphant at her victory.

I saw it happen before it happened, but there was nothing I could do. Ten had put the gear in D instead of P. As she and my mom were busy yelling at each other, the Ford slowly inched its way down the road. About ten meters from our house, the road has a dip in it, and upon reaching this slope, the car sped up from about 10 kph to 30 kph and then SLAM! The Cayenne got smashed and I woke up.

The Fun Police

July 18, 2010

Tell a story with dialogue. Your characters: two cops in Alaska.

“License and registration, please.”

“But officer, I–”

“Hey. Didn’t you hear my partner? He said… ‘License and registration. Please.'” The two cops stood on either side of the vehicle.

The boy laughed nervously. “Look, officers, I uh, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong here.”

“Just give us your license and registration, son.”

The boy was as bewildered as a deer who jumped in front of a snow plow. He looked between the two policemen and searched desperately for a glint of humour in their eyes, as if expecting them to burst into laughter, clap him on the back, and reassure him that they’re just pulling his leg. But there was no such glint. They were serious. Unsure of how to react, he carefully reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his library card and a recent receipt from Target. He handed both to the friendlier-looking cop, who inspected the documents thoroughly.

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”

“What? Uh, no. Not at all.”

“You’re telling us you have no idea how fast you were going. None whatsoever?” the second officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say I was going maybe 25? 30? But it’s not like there’s a speed lim–”

“25?! 30?!” The first officer cut him off. “Are you high or something? We clocked you going forty-three!

The boy was in disbelief. Were these guys serious? So he was going 43 mph, big deal. There was absolutely no traffic, and no speed limit as far as he was concerned.

“Listen. Here’s what we’re going to do,” the first officer said, passing the documents over to his partner. “We’re going to take you down to the station and sort this mess out over some hot chocolate. You like marshmallows?”

“I’m sorry officers, but what ‘mess’ are you referring to? I wasn’t speeding! I’m just a kid, having some fun! Give me a break!”

The two cops exchanged a single, silent nod of agreement. The second one threw the documents at the boy and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. “If we catch you being reckless again,” he growled in a low voice, “there won’t even be a conversation. Just a one-way ride to jail, you understand? Consider this a friendly fucking warning.” He released his grip, spat on the ground, and did the I’m-watching-you signal by pointing two fingers at his eyes and then back at the boy. The two policemen then returned to their car and drove off.

The boy put his library card and Target receipt back into his pocket, shaking his head in confusion. He then kicked off and, being sure to mind his speed and his steering, he slowly sled down the hill.

Meanwhile, back in the patrol car, Tyler and Ethan were in hysterics. “Aw man, Tyler, that one never gets old! Did you see the look on his face?! He was about to shit his pants when we said we’d take him to jail!”

“Yeah,” chuckled Tyler, “the sledder pull-over is a classic. Gets me every time. Hey, you wanna go down to the lake and ‘arrest’ the ice-fishers for defacement of public property?”

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Snoop Catt

July 11, 2010

Ten found this today and I just had to post it. It’s a little something I once wrote about Bart. Profound, compelling, and rich.

The shortest dream in the history of mankind

July 11, 2010

The fridge was empty.

So I looked in the freezer.

Found a kielbasa.

I don’t like this game.

July 10, 2010

Okay so I’ve been waiting for that Plinky sonofabitch to give me a prompt that I feel like responding to, but alas. Plinky has failed me by asking boring things like “What’s the most confusing part of life?” “What book could you read over and over?” “How much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” Just kidding about that last one. (Everyone knows the answer is three cords.)

Anywho, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands by telling you a wonderfully gruesome tale, combining the criminal genius of the Saw saga with the war-like emotion of District 9 and the unnecessary amount of killing of any Holocaust movie. This is a true story. That took place in my brain. While I was sleeping.

Once upon a time, in an abandoned warehouse in the slums of a metropolitan city, there were five people fighting for life. Two of them were bound to each other, sitting back-to-back in uncomfortable school chairs. Their names are forgotten unimportant. One of them was in the loft, with a bag over her head and explosives around her feet. Another one was strapped to a gurney, immobile, in a tank that was slowly filling up with water. And the last one, the heroine of the story (if such a character exists), just woke up in a pit full of worms.

Our heroine let out a blood-curdling scream as she struggled to get out of that pit. But she couldn’t find any edges to pull herself out. And come to think of it, the walls of the pit stretched endlessly upward. She was literally in a bottomless pit. With worms. She sank down into the gooey mess, clutching her forehead in agony, the tears streaming down her face. How the fuck was she going to get out of here? That’s when she noticed it: a tiny message written on the wall opposite her in what appeared to be blood, but was probably just a red pen. You can’t always move up in life. Sometimes you have to bring yourself down to their level. Oh, the beautiful metaphoric imagery that only a psycho serial killer can think up. She looked around. The worms had stopped moving. She started pacing. The worms started moving again. She stopped pacing. The worms stopped moving. Wait, what? She knelt down in the wormy goo, and took up a handful of the limp creatures. She picked one out, sniffed it a few times, and popped it in her mouth. “Gummy worms!” she exclaimed. Our heroine loves gummy worms. Then she remembered the message on the wall and figured that she had to eat her way to the bottom of the pit in order to escape. Which is exactly what she did.

The two guys were sitting in what appeared to be a history classroom. Blindfolded, gagged, with their hands behind their backs and their ankles tied to the legs of the chairs, they were in a pretty helpless situation. What they didn’t know was that the heroine of our tale was about to kick the door down to rescue them, but in-so-doing, she would also ignite the petrol that was poured all over the floor of the room. Oops.

Quickly, she darted through the flames and to the screaming bodies. She desperately tried to untie them, but the guy who made the knots must’ve been a sailing enthusiast or something, because they were elaborate and strong. So instead, she grabbed the chairs, and started dragging them to the door. She stopped suddenly, because she saw another message on the wall. One is a serial rapist, the other a pediatric surgeon. But the rapist has a family who loves him and the surgeon is all alone in this world. You can only save one, so who’s it going to be? Unsure of how to proceed, she then noticed that each of the guys had a “Hello my name is…” sticker on their shirts. “Hello my name is… rapist.” and “Hello┬ámy name is… surgeon.” She decided that the killer probably reversed the two, because killers are typically sneaky like that, and decided to save the rapist, leaving the surgeon to burn alive. Once safely in the hallway, she untied the victim, who immediately took her into his arms and started crying. “Oh my God, thank you so much. I have a wife and child who love me. I have a hospital of children who need me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you saved that other guy instead.” She smiled inwardly, proud of herself for having watched enough scary movies to know when to switch shit up. “Don’t worry doctor,” she said in a cheesy, scene-transitioning voice, “I’m sure he got what he deserved.”

Somewhere in the loft of the warehouse, the girl with the bag over her head was kicking and screaming. So hard, in fact, that she tripped some sort of wire and heard that unmistakeable sound of a pin being released from a chamber and thus starting a ticker to count down from 05:00. She didn’t know how much time she had (because that bag was really dark), but she assumed that once the ticking stopped, the bombs would detonate, and she would be blown into a million pieces.

At this point of the story, I woke up. I went downstairs to get some water, stopped by the toilet for a quick pee, and went back to sleep.

Suddenly everyone was running. All the nurses, the Egyptian tailor, those two guys (the rapist and the surgeon), everyone. They made it to the end of the hall and found an emergency exit door, which I quickly slammed open. Outside, we found ourselves in a grassy area with benches and trees and sort of resembled a park or the outside of a university dorm complex. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, a little boy was playing frisbee with his dog, a butterfly landed on a dandelion – everything was oddly perfect.

“Hey has anyone seen my sister?” I asked. I was doing a head count and noticed that everyone was there except Ten. Weird. I could’ve sworn I saved her from the explosive-ridden loft several hours ago. But as I looked around, everything became quick and flash-backy, like the end of a Quentin Tarantino film, when everything comes together and makes sense. The warehouse, the two guys, the chick with lung cancer, the loft, the bomb, the chairs, the scene where I was in the worm pit, the history classroom, the gurney, everything was beginning to make sense. The killer wanted me to save them. He wanted me to bring everyone out into the open. He wanted me to believe I saved Ten when in fact I hadn’t. Or had I? Was this a trap? Or is this right and the trap is back in the building behind the door? Was she alive? Was she dead? Was she in on it? Am I the killer? Am I dead?!

The camera then slowly panned across my face, showing the confusion from all angles. Flashback scenes were intermittently thrown in and the theme music that ties everything together leapt into a crescendo. And then I woke up.

Disclaimer: 1.) You must keep in mind that due to the burst of reality mid-way through the dream, I couldn’t pick up exactly from where I left off. Hence, discrepancies amongst the cast and scenes. 2.) I myself don’t understand the ending, so don’t ask me what it means or what happened. 3.) The first part of the dream took place in third-person, and I didn’t realise I was the heroine until the second part of the dream, which was in first-person. 4.) I wish I was in a pit of gummy worms in real life. 5.) I fully understand that Saw is not a Tarantino film, but I felt that clip was appropriate.

One Decade Later

July 6, 2010

Ten years from now, I’m going to be in my early thirties. That’s depressing. What do I hope my life will be like?

Well first of all, let’s talk about my personal hopes. I hope I don’t look old. Yet somehow, with all the smoking and sun exposure, it’s very likely I’ll look like keeper of the crypt. I hope my hair is still full and luscious, my skin still taught and vibrant, and my teeth still in tact. I also hope I maintain a normal weight. Basically, I hope to look like Katie Holmes, in the sense that she’s fit, she looks healthy, and if you had to guess her age, you’d be like “Ehhh, late twenties, early thirties?” which is exactly what I’m going for. Minus the whole being married to a Scientologist dwarf thing.

Next up are my professional hopes. Hopefully in ten years from now I’ll either have my own marketing firm, or I’ll at least be at the top of an already existing one. I want to have a big office on the 20th floor or higher, with two walls entirely made out of glass and displaying a gorgeous view of the metropolitan city below. I hope to be a reputable individual, who’s good at what she does, and I want to enjoy my career. I hope to be able to travel a lot (for business consultancies and whatnot), and I hope to grow, even if I’m already at the top. I mean, the last thing I’d want is to have a stagnant, dead-end job that I hate. So hopefully that doesn’t happen.

As far as families are concerned, I know it’s the norm to hope for a happy marriage with a handsome husband and beautiful children, but do I really want that? Let’s wait a while and see what happens, I’m not going to write anything on paper. Babies. *shudder*

I hope my sister is the successful doctor that she always wanted to be and develops the cure for cancer. I hope my mom is retired by then and living in an institute for crazy old people. Just kidding! But I do hope she’s retired and just goes on a trip around the world or something. I hope Amadeus is two meters long and breathes fire (although it’s quite difficult to train an iguana). I hope they invent a way to make long-distance traveling easier and/or faster because I’m sick of the airline industry. I hope all drugs are legalised. I hope every day the sky is filled with rainbows. I hope all cashiers are glittering unicorns who poop the correct change directly into your wallet. I hope… ah wait. I’m getting out of hand.

So basically, if I land that perfect job in a few years and I quit smoking, this ten year plan seems pretty feasible. Mainly because it’s superficial and vain, but hey, I’m just answering the question.

Breakfast Juice

July 5, 2010

So I finally succumbed to my nagging Software Updates and just clicked everything and let my laptop do the rest. Turns out, I got a newer version of iPhoto and iMovie, so I decided to put the two together and create a short and pointless little stop-motion video. But because I’m poor and didn’t feel like paying for the video upgrade for this blog, I decided instead to create a free YouTube account, upload the video there, and then embed it here. Poor folk are clever, eh?

IMPORTANT SUGGESTION (especially to people like Ma, who are kind of computer illiterate): Press the play button. Then press the pause button. Wait for the bar to turn red (i.e. completely loaded). Then press play again and enjoy.


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