Roadkill, baby. <body>


I.

Cheryl.

Sweetpea.

Shoot, sexaye!



Vain vintage.

July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008

Jaded junkies.

ariel alan bruddy gid khim sarh serene shaun shifu sf tai tini timo




Tuesday, May 16


Polygraph, now!
If I had the choice as to what superpower I'd like to be endowed with, I'd go with Mind-Reading. Unfortunately, I did not have a choice, and all I'm stuck with are these Stunning Good Looks. Oh, ha ha.

But seriously, wouldn't it be nice (albeit potentially warped and shocking) to be able to delve into the sordid and enclosed depths of people's heads? Wouldn't it be nice to know if he even likes you at all? Or wouldn't it just be fun to see what that cute guy who just walked past thought of your new dress.

I realise I think odd thoughts when my mind wanders. Oddities of which include wondering what Jason Mraz is doing at this very moment; stacking up curiosities about the possible traumatic life story of the taxidriver uncle; pondering over pertinent issues like the number of flies I must have accidentally swallowed in this lifetime; and marvelling over tasks I know I'll never be able to accomplish, like building underground MRT stations and writing the screenplay for Lost.

Even so, the other part of my not-so-conscious state of mind is spent wondering about random people's lives. I wonder if that old lady with her numerous NTUC plastic bags was once a ballet dancer. I wonder if that maid carrying a kid has any kids of her own. I wonder about the presumably romantic story behind how that couple met (and what gives them the right to repeatedly treat us to nauseating shows of affection).

I wonder what you wonder about.

That being said, in all dissent and irrelevance, working for 4 days straight on weekends is no mean feat. But it is mean on the feet. Cue groans. Thank you very much.


12:24 AM