229 - Hiss-laughing

Do you know how Ernie laughs on Sesame Street? It's kind of like that. Seriously, what kind of a laugh is that? It's like you have too much saliva and want to expel it from your mouths, like you have phlegm in your throat you want to get rid of. I can't even let you borrow the newspaper without ruining the material... but then again, why would you laugh at the news? So a joke book, perhaps. Argh.

------------------------------------------

By the way, I've opened a new blog with a good friend of mine named Jessica. We launched uTube & iShare just half an hour ago, and we're proud to present it. Feel free to just click that link to reach it. And follow me on Twitter or Facebook if you haven't already. :)

222 - Running into football posts

If someone were to ask me what was the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life, the following story would be it. If someone were to ask me what was the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do in my entire life, this would be it. That is why it deserves a post here today - it is senseless, it is laughable, and it is totally ridiculata.

When I was in my second year of high school, we had a physical education class in the late afternoon, and as a warm-up exercise, the sports teacher told us to run around the football pitch three times. At that age, I wasn't so competitive yet, so I was always content just running in the middle of the pack. One of my close friends and I decided to maintain our place just behind all the sports and activity enthusiasts.

Jogging just a few steps ahead of us was a girl I was tragically infatuated with at the time. She was Australian-Chinese, brunette, sweet smile, fit body, funny, clever, charming, and beautiful. She was trotting along beside this other guy, an English dude who loved nothing more than football, sweets, and his clarinet. (Seriously, the box that he used to store his clarinet in had a sticker on it saying 'I <3 MY CLARINET'.)

This guy who had the sweet tooth... I forgot what he was saying exactly, but as we were doing our three laps, he was definitely trying to flirt with the girl of my dreams. I remember thinking to myself, as we rounded a corner of the football pitch, about what a twerp he was, and how he was polluting my very schoollife in every conceivable way.

And then, the most miraculous thing happened. He turned his head to ask my gal another question, and had no awareness at all of the football post that was fast approaching. For the tiniest fraction of time fathomable, I had the opportunity to call out his name and warn him about the pole he was about to collide with, but I refused to - the figurative devil stuck his pitchfork into my shoulder angel's heart - this guy was going down.

And in 3...

2...

1...

*CLUNK*

And I Laughed. My. Ass. Off.

His temple had come into contact with the football post, and he had fallen to the ground instantly. I continued laughing as I kept on running, my close friend running beside me was laughing, another friend jogging behind me laughed, and even the girl who was talking to this poor fella didn't stop to bat an eyelid - she continued to do her three laps of the field as she laughed as well.

My friend and I jumped to avoid trodding on him, we caught up with the girl and had a brief chat as we finished our third lap, and left our beloved clarinetist moaning, groaning, grumbling, and rubbing the side of his head, like any guy who had just run into a football post would do. I bet there was a real ringing in his ears at the time, stars spinning over his head. To me, that was pure magic.

There is not one single time when I relive that moment and do not find it funny. The physical comedy does not wear off. If I go to Heaven, I bet God would grant me the option of viewing that scene ten thousand million times.

But let's face it, judging from this story, I'm probably going to Hell.

211 - Saying I have no friends

I'm going to try really hard not to sound boastful or defensive here (because I really hate people who talk about their social life like that).

I don't know if anyone's ever accused you of being a loner or companionless before, but recently, I discovered that someone was going around, spreading the word that I was a complete recluse, alienated from all of society, with zero friends.

I kind of smirked at the screen when my friend was 'reporting' to me this latest piece of gossip.

Sometimes, people are so insecure with themselves, they feel the need to try and put down other people by saying they're unloved, emphasizing how they don't belong, laughing at them for being so eccentric, just to make themselves feel stronger and more powerful, when, in my reality, these people who lurk in the shadows of the community and don't put themselves out there are some of the most loyal, most special and mentally toughest friends a person could have.

I also don't see what anybody would possibly do with that information anyway. Who the Hell gives a damn about whether Michael has or doesn't have any friends anyway?

Is this supposed to make me lonely? Make me feel lonely?

It's funny 'cause I only met this guy recently. He has no idea where I've been or who I've met throughout my life. But I know he reads this blog.

So, I'm going to just tell you, my keen and prattling observer, that after eighteen years in the international community, amongst Hong Kong's population of 6.9mil - chances are, at least one of them is my friend.

Why are you even still talking about stuff like this? Aren't you twenty-one years old?

209 - 'Pink Elephants on Parade' from Dumbo

(I did a guest post today on Marcy's blog, Tales of the Kids, if anyone wants to check that out. It's about ice cream and mothers being weird. Maybe you could relate?)

------------------------------


This segment of Disney's Dumbo always creeps me out. In the film, after accidentally getting drunk, Dumbo (the elephant with gigantic ears), sees pink elephants multiplying, playing their trunks like trumpets, marching, stepping on each other, growing, shrinking, talking, singing(?), morphing into snakes, camels, and different forms of transportation, changing color, figure-skating, floating on water, dancing with electricity, performing salsa, belly-dancing, and generally being weird in every possible way in the strangest sequence Disney's ever put together.

In some ways, I love the scene, sometimes I think it's plain genius. It's so fantastical and everything that is so random works together cohesively in an inexplicable fashion.

But most of the time, I find it really, really, really creepy.

206 - Feeling stuck

Do you ever feel like you're in a situation that you cannot get out of?

It doesn't matter whether the experience feels good or not, it doesn't matter if the people you have around you are agreeable or inharmonious company - it just hurts, and it hurts bad, to stay in the same place, within the same conditions, it just aches, and it chews at your heart slowly, and it lingers in the back of your mind for the entire time, mercilessly, like the universe is laughing at you, mocking you, teasing you, and intentionally throwing more obstacles in your way to obstruct your path in life, like God is laughing at your mistakes and your poor decisions, telling a humorous anecdote at the Table of Heaven, the story of your life right at this moment, all the Cherubim, the Seraphim, the Ophanim,  the Dominions, Strongholds, Powers, and Principalities, the Angels and the Archangels, all snickering at you, and chortling at your miserably mortal mind, throwing their fists on to La Tabella del Cielo, as they howl, Hahaha! Bad move there, Michael!, the rotten revelry that is your life, thriving on the fact that you still, to this day, are struggling like a fish brought out of water, trying to face the world with your pathetic excuse for courage.

Have you ever felt that helpless and inadequate - have you ever felt so unhappy with the cold, hard fact that you will never be able to achieve this, or that you will forever be unable to accomplish that? Have you ever felt the suffocating feeling of walls coming in on you as you try to push them apart? Have you ever felt like the last man standing, fighting against an entire army a hundred times stronger and well-equipped than you and the 5-inch-long dagger you'd much rather use to end your life with instead?

Today, I ask you the following, my readers. Have you ever in your life felt so vulnerable, so incompetent, so powerless, so feeble and forlorn, like you're up a creek without a paddle, so substandard, so sorry, so sad, so remarkably, strikingly stuck?

I hate this feeling I so depressingly describe right now, especially this depressingly so as it is New Year's Eve today. The only way I can face this is to step aside from the source of my distress, and attempt to retrieve the ratiocination that I have so dopily and dreamily displaced. Only by thinking logically, I can engage in active problem-solving - the conundrum is never a conundrum for very long once you get into the right mindset.

What do you think? How do you pull yourself out of the hardening cement? 'Cause I'd like to know.

-----------------------------------------------

That will be all for 2009, my fellow haters. I raise my can of Sprite to 2010 in the hopes that you will raise whatever you're having with the same sentiments, that you, like me, are hoping for good tidings in the new year, academic and professional success, heart-filled times with your closest loved ones, and another chance to live your life individually, properly and happily.

Happy New Year, folks. If you're interested, I've written about my New Year resolution here.

And now, please tell me, do you hate feeling stuck too?

203 - Unceasing grumpiness

Hello bloggers, happy holidays to you all, whether that means you're cozied up to a significant other on the couch watching Christmas specials, or visiting relatives finally after a few long months of school, or even if that means you're working even harder at your jobs, taking advantage of the holiday spirit and the accompanying increase in expenditure. Or crime rates, if you're a cop. Or frequency of car accidents, if you're a doctor.

I, myself, am staying with my aunt and uncle and their five kids in Gravesend. The entire journey took about four hours of lugging around a 30kg suitcase, a tremendous level of perpetual anxiety, and a good many four-letter words whispered under my breath. Blame it on the bad weather, snow shrouding the train tracks, ice adding an indomitable amount of friction to the rails. Blame it on bad luck, the first train I took didn't arrive in time at the station where I was supposed to change over to my second train. And I guess we should also blame it on my bad attentive skills for getting off at the wrong station once or twice.

Ah, well. I'm here now, safe and sound. A little chafed, but still around.

I'll tell you who was chafing - this grumpy old man sitting on the train near me. He was mumbling to himself as I took my time bringing my thirty kilogram baggage on board. I'm sorry I don't go to the gym more often. 

I couldn't get a good listen to what he was saying. He was probably exclaiming his disdain for people who bring large luggage on to the train. Or teenagers who wear eyeliner (...I'm trying something...). Or maybe Asians. Maybe he's an Asian hater. Shame on him.

Then I sat down, waiting for the train to begin moving. And as you naturally do on public transportation, I looked out the window to avoid awkward gazes.

Then I heard him suddenly exclaim, "Oh, just get this train bloody train moving already, will ya?!" so everyone could hear him. That did not work because the conductor was three carriages away. I wonder if the man knew that.

Of course, it took another twelve-ish minutes for the train to start up, and for the whole time he continually murmured to himself, grumbled about the weather, kvetched about the National Rail, and bellyached about the delay.

Just as the train started moving finally, someone a couple of seats behind us had taken out their PlayStation Portable, playing Grand Theft Auto: Chinatown Wars, judging from the music and the foul-mouthed character sound effects. The volume was turned up high, but I didn't care, I don't mind rap music.

After several shakes of the head, glances up at the ceiling (God?) and a slight reddening of the face and a light quivering/vibrating (lol?), the grumpy old man turned his head around and shouted, "COULD YOU KEEP THAT BLOODY NOISE TO YOURSELF, PLEASE?"

The person with the PSP and his friends all had a chuckle, as did I to the cold scenery outside, then the guy with the PSP lowered the volume by the slightest, slightest, most minuscule degree possible that would achieve the change of being 'quieter than before'. Grumpy probably did not appreciate this move but it was very funny to me.

Grumpy kept mumbling to himself, "bloody disrespectful youth these days", "bloody delay", "bloody repetitive train information announcer", "bloody climate", "bloody many stations...", "bloody, bloody 'ell"...

And damn, I really wanted to tell him to keep the bloody noise down himself. He's freakin' annoying himself as well. Does he expect everybody in the world to keep quiet just for him? Does he expect me to give myself a fractured spine just for him? Does he expect the train service to risk busting the wheels just for him? Does he expect Mother Nature to make it snow elsewhere just for him?

It was kind of amusing, a little annoying, undoubtedly entertaining, and a tad bit sad. The guy's face was so scrunched up, the lips and cheeks that formed his frown so pronounced that it looked like he had never smiled in his life. He looked absolutely miserable, he looked like he had never laughed before, like he didn't know how to see the good side of anything. I hope I don't ever turn into someone like that. 

I probably won't, even though I could see where he was coming from, getting annoyed at just about anything and everything.

If you ask me, he should try blogging.

199 - Sore winners

My best friend in Hong Kong was playing games with me online during the weekend, and although I hate sore losers and boastful winners, this special type of person that my best friend was pretending to be angered me the most, and made me want to blog about all three in the first place. I can only describe the kind of annoyance I'm talking about with the words, "sore winning".

My best friend will win, right, and then he'll say how he was lucky that time. And that I'll win next time. And he goes, "there, there, don't worry, man. I just got lucky. I'm going to lose next time, you'll see."

To which, my reaction is TAKE THE DAMN VICTORY AND SHUT UP ALREADY. It's so annoying by itself when you lose, and to rub salt on the wound, the opponent patronizes you, and encourages you. They're not your coach, or your personal trainer, or your best friend at that point - they are the opposition, so just act like it! 

187 - "Sorry, I'm terrible with names."

In our lives, we all hear the same clichéd line at social gatherings whenever we introduce ourselves to someone new. "Please don't hate me if I don't remember your name the next time I see you, I'm terrible with names!"

What is that? That's not a good demonstration of social skill and sensitivity. Is that what you want to introduce yourself as, as Clifford, the guy who's bad with names, or as Christine, a bit of a bonehead with the inability to remember anything? Show a bit of interest in this interaction, mate.

And you know what they say the next time they see you?

"Hi, have I met you before? I'm so sorry, I'm so bad with names. Again, so sorry!"

Excuse me? That's your excuse? Maybe I shouldn't have even bothered with your name. How much more disrespectful and insulting can you be? Why can't you remember a simple name? Are you at all invested in this relationship?

What was that? You're more of a face person? What the Hell is that supposed to mean? You remember my face, but you haven't registered my name? Tell me, what the f**k is the use in memorizing a nameless face?

You say you usually remember people's faces, their voices, what they're wearing, and if they had something really nice on. That's the way to sound like a creepy klepto. Can't imagine what it must be like in the case you find someone sexually attractive. The focus is probably brought even further away from the person's name, and not just on the person's face anymore.

What about you? Why are you bad with names?

You say you get distracted by trying to make a good impression and you get nervous. Jesus, what did I ever do to make you feel you had to make a good impression and nervous? I've barely said anything. Do I look like a royal prince, searching the social scenes of the modern age for prestigious companions? ...No!

And what about you? You say you "instantly dive into analyzing people's personalities and forget to remember the names." I reckon you need professional help, my friend, because I feel violated in a Freudian kind of way. Since that emotion's so rare, that can't be good.

After a couple of months of having to endure this problem time and time again, with working in a place I've never worked in before, with coming to university meeting all these people for the first time, now, whenever I meet someone and they tell me their name, I make sure to instantly respond with, "My name's Mikey, don't worry. I'm very good with names, and I'll be sure to remember yours."

You should see the smiles on their faces.

182 - When you have to censor your blog

Recently, I have been trying to join a blog distributor. What this is is basically a system in which bloggers are paid to blog about certain things, to give their opinion on certain products and services. Clients signing on to the blog distributor will be looking for a certain theme of blog, like 'travel', to advertise their sleeping bags, for example. The blog distributor will notify the blogger, telling him/her to blog about sleeping bags, and the client gets what he wants, and the blogger gets paid a certain amount of money, 75% of what the client pays, and the other 25% goes to the blog distributor.

I put 'Do you hate it too?' under the 'Humor' category, because I'd like to think this blog is funny (or is it just me?). I got to choose a few more categories, so I chose 'Anger Management', 'Entertainment', 'Entertainment for Youth' and 'Stand-Up Comedy'. Amusing, isn't it, how I chose Anger Management?

Anyway, what I was thinking was that clients would be looking for some funny blogs, and so they can check in with me, the creator of 'Do you hate it too?', to see if I can write about one of their pet peeves. It's quite a long shot, I must admit, but I'm willing to try anything to get a bit of financial benefit from my blogging.

Last week, I received an e-mail from the blog distributor, and let me just copy and paste a segment of it here:
In order to have your Blog Certified with Blog Distributor, it must not contain profanity. The following is a list of the profane words we found in your Blog: s--t (6), p--ses (2), f--kin (2), f--king (2), f--k (4), b--ches (2), a-- (2).

I found this hilarious when I first read it - the fact that they actually counted the number of each profane word. Then I realized I would actually have to go back through all my posts, locate these cuss words and modify them so that they still made sense. I've already done it, and I can tell you, there was a lot more profanity than they actually counted. It was quite annoying to do so, and I don't entirely understand why it mustn't contain profanity. In voicing your opinion in a public forum, sometimes bad words are effective tools to create emphasis. Surely, many professional critics out there swear in their reviews sometimes, right?

On second though, perhaps not.

What do you guys think? Would you still be the same bloggers if you had to censor your writing?

152 - When people get 'bright ideas' when a pen runs out of ink

When pens run out of ink, what are you supposed to do?

I hate shaking them, 'cause I've seen pens splutter all over the place like a guy with a terrible lisp. Sort of like cannons loaded to the muzzle with ink, people unintentionally blow an all-consuming blackness everywhere at a single discharge. That's really idiotic, and I hate seeing it happen, and I hated it when it happened to me the first and only time. Of course, the solution is to keep the cap on, then shake it. Sometimes, the ink's simply stuck in the barrel.

And what about licking the tip of the pen?

I was watching one of my classmates do this during an exam, and I couldn't help but smile to myself as I looked at him because... it's just stupid. You're licking the pen. Licking, the pen.

What has this world come to?

After the exam, he had blue ink on his lips and his tongue, and I had to fight hard not to laugh. It's so funny what some people do sometimes without even knowing it. I just think it's such a ridiculously bad habit a lot of people have, and unless something is edible (or sexual), I don't think you should lick anything.

Licking a pen... jeez.

118 - Cruelty toward bears in the domestic setting

Man is the most powerful creature on the planet.

And boy, we're arrogant.

When we think of bears, Winnie the Pooh (or Pooh Bear) comes to mind. As a character intended for children to appreciate, often found in children's books, don't you think it's a bit wrong for him to not be wearing pants, like in this picture for instance, especially when he's sitting there in such a laid-back, innocent manner:



Who comes up with this stuff? How is a stupid, ignorant and overweight bear with no claws or sharp teeth supposed to inspire children and teach them a moral lesson? (The same goes for Eeyore's depressing existence.) How demeaning for the bears in the wild, 'cause they are, in reality, agile, strong and very tactful predators.

Winnie the Pooh is famous for loving honey, and we as an audience often get a long, comfortable look at his bare ass when he manages to get his head stuck in some beehive, or some cave full of honeycombs, because he's that stupid. Like Pooh Bear, real-life wild bears also like honey, and so what do we humans do, us oh-so-self-righteous and powerful humans?


We serve honey out of a bear. We steal the honey from the environment in which the animal that likes it lives, manufacture little plastic containers grotesquely shaped like bears, and squeeze its favorite sweet substance through a tiny hole in its head.

Jeez. That's sick.

And what do you think about a bearskin rug? Because I think it's so unnecessary.

"Hmm, you know, I think the living room looks great, but it's just... missing something."
"...Really? What?"
"Hmmmmmmmmmmmm... The back of a dead bear perhaps? Like laid out in the shape of him? I think that would be awesome."
"Wow, I never thought of that. Do you really think so?"
"Oh, yeah, I highly recommend it."
"Should I keep the head on?"
"Yes, definitely. We want to remember where it came from. It's head is the best pillow when you lie on the rug."

How despicable.

117 - When another person throws a bowling ball down your lane

I have always loved to bowl, and I remember I used to go every week when I was around 8 or 9 with my mom and her boyfriend. Lifting a heavy sphere with just three fingers and throwing it at pins in the hopes of hearing that euphoric sound of a strike (or a turkey) just came natural to me like I had been born to play this sport. (My childhood asthma makes it hard for me to run around too much when playing soccer or basketball. I get shortness of breath really easily.)

I like that bowling alleys are air-conditioned. I don't like that they require you to change your shoes, but I guess the footwear is just for my own safety. I love the feel of a heavy bowling ball: it's smooth, shiny, and the mathematically perfect shape. They can come in any color, too, and as it rolls down an alley (or into a gutter), it creates one of the most beautiful manmade spectacles.

I'd like to say I'm quite good at bowling, but I haven't had any practice for about a year. I remember I used to be good enough to at least get strikes half the time. You'd think my prowess would earn me some respect on the bowling lanes, but no, apparently it's funny to 'steal' each other's turns, to throw multiple bowling balls down the alley simultaneously and challenge the machinery's automaticity, to disrespect the balls, the pins and the game itself, and just fling balls hard into the gutter because it's so damn funny when we sabotage other people's efforts.

It ain't funny to me. I will throw you to the other end of the alley. I know that my getting angry only makes the situation more amusing to the people that don't appreciate the game as much as I do, that it only fuels them with more entertainment. But you know... It's my turn... It's my lane... It's my game... Grr...

106 - Leaving the potty seat on the toilet bowl

I've had seven hours of school, which luckily featured the mundane Othello, mind-boggling mathematical set theory, a very boring hour-long physics class about how a CD works, and major grilling by my chemistry teacher about some missing assignments.

I've had a long day. I don't need to find my three-year-old cousin's potty seat... there when I simple would like to satisfy my urge to pee. I just - want - to take - a piss.

I don't need it.

I don't need it, I tell you. I don't need the horridly happy horses, and the creepily cute cats, and the foul, funny frogs, and the damn distasteful DOGS, welcoming me to my daily urination after school.

Who the Hell left it there?!?!

99 - Floating tea bags

So, I was about to get started with doing my work, but something worth blogging about just had to get in the way. I made myself a cup of jasmine tea, but then I found that the tea bag I had chosen floats. Take a look:


If you're wondering about the cup, I'm very patriotic and England rules.

Why do bad things happen to good people?! I was trying to sip my tea ever-so-innocently, then this damp, saggy thing collides with my upper lip and I'm like, whoa, whoa, whoa, back off, Floatsy.

What are you doing in these shallow parts of town?
This surface ain't big enough for the two of us.
I have a dense metal fork, and I'm not afraid to use it...

Seriously, what tea bag floats? Can my life get any more difficult?

97 - Procrastination

That's it, I've spent a whole week of Chinese New Year holiday doing absolutely nothing and tonight, Sunday night, it is going to kick my fattest body part (i.e., my bumbum).

I have spent the last few hours Facebooking, going on CNN News, watching TV series and movies on my laptop and blogging. I initially put my laptop on my desk for once, instead of next to my pillow, so that I wouldn't lie there slothfully like I have for the past few days. It hasn't gone well because there are just so many things to distract myself with on the computer.

Throughout this whole thing, I've been turning my head and glancing at the books, files and paper piled up on the bed next to me, and every time I take a look at the amount of work I have to do, I have a tiny panic attack, then I sigh. I just did it again, oh, my God, it's dreadful.

So, in an attempt to reduce distractions, I've exited my Gmail Notifier, so that I don't get told that I have people on Facebook to talk to, and blogs to comment on. I'm going to rely on myself to stop watching stuff while I'm working, and I'm turning off my phone, and hiding my iPod and my Nintendo DS. I need to concentrate.

I hate going to school and seeing my friends struggle with all the work they have to do. They ask for extensions from the teachers, and calling it by a fancy-pants name like 'extension' doesn't make it sound any more like responsible action, it doesn't make it sound any more mature. I feel sorry for my teachers, who have to deal with this kind of thing for hundreds of students every year. I feel sorry for all the students who are ruining their lives being late, handing in rushed work and all. I have another point to add to this, but it's too much to talk about now, I'll post about it in the next few days.

Which brings me to my end-point: I will not be visiting your blogs in the next few days, you can expect the daily post on Do you hate it too? But that's it. It's nearly the end of the year, and I have a lot to do, but I'll be here on Wednesday or Thursday night to check back with all you lovely people who write so incredibly well.

Procrastination: Don't you just absolutely hate it when it gnaws at your fat butt?!

96 - Obnoxiously wide people on public transportation

I don't mean to complain about those who are fat, but what I'm implying is when people, either willingly or obliviously, are incredibly wide on public transportation seating.

There's always the big construction worker going home from a long day at work, who spreads his legs as far apart as he can, like he's trying to reach both ends of the bloody train. There's the kindergarten punk kid that won't stop squirming and doing somersaults on his seat. There's the old lady that's coming back from the supermarket, plastic bags filled with fish and veggies galore, laid out all over the floor in front of her and the people she's sitting next to on either side. There's the teenager with the loud rock music and headphones, his restless leg shaking up and down, nudging your leg. There's the guy with a lot of bags, or the big, big jacket, or the suitcase, who just can't help but nudge you, but really, really wants to sit down from carrying around that much weight.

And then there's me, the slight germaphobe, who doesn't really like coming into physical contact with strangers (or their fish). There's the pregnant lady who's clamping her legs together because she's afraid the teenage kid's hard rock music will transpire through the air, through her cervix and cause mental illness to her fetus. There's the aged man, who needs a cane to walk about, and who's just absolutely scared as Hell that the kindergartner might knock him in the face with his arm, or accidentally knee his bad hip. There's the mother, who has confidently placed her three-year-old daughter on her own individual seat next to her for the first time, but quickly regrets it when the guy with the big jacket looks as if he's going to completely flatten her dear little girl. And last, but not least, there's the stoic, modern-age businesswoman that's placing her leather briefcase in between her and the construction worker, because she doesn't want the cement dust on his clothes to rub off on her clean, black, formal dress.

91 - Having to reach into the tissue box for a tissue

Your nose is running, ketchup has accidentally dripped on to your jeans, your baby cousin's mouth is covered in chocolate and you go to the tissue box for a tissue, but somebody, some imbecile that shares your tissue box, removed a tissue for his/her usage, with no tissue sticking out of the box for you to use. You have to set the box down, shove your fingers through the thin plastic cervix of a seal, possibly scrape your hand on the teethed sides of the slot (teethed because of the way the box is designed before you open them for usage), then wiggle your fingers around until you make contact with a tissue, use the tips of any two fingers to clamp on to one tissue, and pull it out with all your might.

Okay, maybe not all your might. But sometimes, you grab more than you need because you dug your fingers too deep into the pile of tissues in the box. Sometimes, you get less than you need because your sharp nails have ripped the damn thing. Whatever the case, the tissue is bound to be creased, and your application of the tissue is less pleasing since it isn't smooth anymore like a normal tissue. The side of your hand is just a teensy weensy bit sore from the side of the slot scratching you and without even realizing it, you've wasted a few seconds of your life dealing with this particular situation.

Do you know how many seconds altogether we have all wasted on this problem?

When you pull out a tissue, make sure there's one that's sticking out for someone else to grab, so you can help them save valuable seconds of their time, and help me make sense of the world. Thank you.

87 - Vulgar mispronunciations

Remember how I wrote a post about mispronunciation a little over a month ago? Well, today, the subject came to my mind again, only this time, it was vulgar. What sparked it was a pun made by my friend, while we were watching the presidential inauguration together on the phone. He said he was so excited that he got a "Presidential Erection', a play on the word 'election', of course. I laughed, it was funny to me.

I mentioned in that other post that there aren't many people that speak properly all the time. I know I don't. Some mispronunciations are awful because they're not only embarrassing slip-ups, but they can be vulgar and offensive. Imagine if Obama said 'erection' instead of 'election' during his campaign. Yikes.

All we can do is try to be careful, especially on formal occasions. But we need to take extra care with these words in particular, because these slips of the tongue contain swear words, can be offensive and/or simply don't make sense at all!

Sentence: Mispronunciation

I can't get enough of the city life in Hong Kong: I can't get enough of the shitty life in Hong Kong.
Please sit down: Please sh*t down.
Our little girl has six dolls: Our little girl has sex dolls.
We got him six toys for Christmas: We got him sex toys for Christmas.
That's a really old folk song: That's a really old f*ck song.
Could you give me a clean fork, please: Could you give me a clean f*ck, please?
Foxhounds : F*ck sounds.
Benedict: Bend a dick.
The student used his cork to seal the test-tube: The student used his cock to seal the test-tube.
Do you have an available slot, say, at 5pm tomorrow: Do you have an available slut, say, at 5pm tomorrow?
I cannot live without her: I cannot live without whore.
You can't: You cunt!
I ordered the third sandwich on the menu: I ordered the turd sandwich on the menu.
Everyone loves a good father: Everyone loves a good farter.
Brush your teeth: Brush your teat.
The professors showed us their theses: The professors showed us their feces.
There's a lot of rust inside the car: There's a lot of lust inside the car.
The entire audience clapped: The entire audience crapped.
There are lumps in my mashed potatoes: There are rumps in my mashed potatoes.
The American people elected Obama: The American people erected Obama.
The elections come and go so ever-so-quickly: The erections come and go ever-so-quickly.
The whole wall is made of bricks: The whole wall is made of pricks.

And my favorite three. They are my favorite because I've actually heard these being said:

I have to perform a piece on stage: I have to perform a piss on stage.

The beaches are really nice and hot in Thailand: The b*tches are really nice and hot in Thailand.

Feel free to take a sheet: Feel free to take a sh*t!

77 - Buttcrack showing

Do girls think it's enticing to reveal their crack? I wouldn't think so because that's where poo comes from. (<--- Words of wisdom, ladies and gentlemen). I see this occurring less now, however, the past is not hard to beat as I remember there used to be a time where I would be sitting at the back of the classroom, only to find, literally, seven girls' asscracks exhibited in the front row. Sometimes, I would think to myself, This is unreal, man.

I've actually had my own asscrack showing accidentally one time. I basically had just changed out of my sports shorts and into my jeans and rather unwisely didn't think my jeans were that low. I hadn't invested in a belt and the weight of my jeans brought my boxer shorts with them as I squatted to get my books out of my locker, and yeah, it was pretty embarrassing to have people laugh at me from behind.

Anyway, so let me tell you a story.

There are two girls in my class and they are twins. For confidentiality's sake, instead of using their real names, we'll call them Torey and Tess. Out of all the girls in my class, Torey and Tess would always be the ones with their buttcracks showing. It happened whenever they squatted to reach for things inside their locker, whenever they sat down on a chair, whenever they just stood there, in fact. They would often be the laughing stock of the other more sophisticated and careful girls, and since I have a keen eye, I often shared a laugh with the other girls whenever we caught sight of Torey and Tess' unmentionable crevices.

So, one day, it's a Tuesday and we've all just finished lunch. We go down to the lockers and everybody grabs their bag and their books and heads off to wait outside the next classroom. I hear the laughing, so I look toward the twins' lockers and sure enough, there was Torey, kneeling at her locker with her asscrack showing ever-so-openly. At that moment, I felt sort of sorry for Torey and her sister always being ridiculed, so I decided to be a good and mature Samaritan and just tell her that perhaps she could do with a little pulling up of the pants every now and then.

Oh, Michael...

I walked up to Torey slowly and knelt down beside her quietly and gently.

She had her head turned away from me so I took a few seconds to gather my thoughts: Torey? There's something I feel you should know...

I was ready to inform her, so I tapped her on the shoulder.

"Torey?"

And you know what she said to me?





"Uh, I'm not Torey... I'm Tess."

75 - Empty tissue roll in the toilet

Today, I came to the realization that since the new year began, I have gone to use the bathroom in our apartment quite a number of times (as most people do). It has occurred to me that I have been the unfortunate one who has to had to change the toilet roll four consecutive times in a row. I have had to go in there four times this year and every time, I have found an empty or near-empty roll there in that slot on my bathroom wall. It makes me wonder if my family are purposefully timing their visits to the bathroom, and regulating the amount of toilet paper they pull out, so that I'm the unwitting victim that has to perform the chore every time I go in there to do #2.

If it happens for a fifth time, I am addressing the issue at the dinner table.