The pain that I felt today can no more as amount to the pain which I do not want to feel again tomorrow.

5 more weeks to my Semester 3 finals. That leaves about 15 days of revision once you've subtracted off those days used for slacking, sleeping, and simply put, the days in which I waste my life away.

I assure you people, if there was a man whom you do not wish to marry, that said man would be me. But you wouldn't mind a fling or two with me.

It's a good thing really that I pulled out of elections. I am proud of that one move. IMU doesn't need another potentially useless candidate who has eyes the pearls of the ocean on her hands.

I take a whole hour just to read through my blog links. This sucks. Blogging wasn't meant to take up one hour of my otherwise wasted time. Too many people are blogging! Cut down ppl. You don't have that much to say.

I've been having intermittent localized sharp pain in my chest. Exactly where my apex is. I think I'm dying. I don't really want to die. I'm not a hero. I fear death. Don't tell me that death is the cessation of all emotions.


"Clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ. DO not gratify yourself with sinful nature."
- Romans 13:14



Is there really such a thing as rebound love? WHat if it so happened that you really fell in love a few days after your break up? Must that man/woman be wronged just because he/she fell in love at a seemingly inapposite time? Who keeps track of the time anyway?On that point, does this mean that a man CANNOT love after he has broken up or else he would most definately be accounted for as rebounding? Must every individual conform to society's stereotypical "break-up time"? WHat if his break up time is uniquely shorter that others? What if he is an independently tough man who needs no break up time? And yet we will sneer at him for taking on some 'rebound' love when the only crime he has performed is to have a stronger will than you. Is this where it all leads up to? Laughing at a man's strengths while cuddling your own weaknesses. AM I making any sense?Can someone please clarify this for me?

I shall shut up now.

But first, Saturday Night Fever was good. ALthough I liked Fame better. Maybe I'm a sucker for the good ol' plot.

Ok, I'm off to waste my life away. Good bye.




Bwahahha.



My hair rox.



Damn glad we invented the thrust.



I'm sure Justin wouldn't mind.




And, I feel like posting my favourite story up again like I did a very, very long time ago.


I like monkeys.

I like monkeys. The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I
thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided
not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.


I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name
was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright.
They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they
punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.


I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the
spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.


Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive:
they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn
cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my
room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then
I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for
a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real
bad.


I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.


I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately,
there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change
them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so
it didn't all go bad

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to
extinguish the fire.


Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys
in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The
odor wasn't improving.


I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use
the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.


I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said that the city was
not allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet
one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the
frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My
friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like
them, but I could tell they were lying.


Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.