Sunday, April 30
It doesn't matter what i do to distinguish myself or how i dress, i am always referred to as 'the Asian guy'.
While Caucasians can get away with 'the bloke with the horn-rimmed glasses' or 'the tall one with a large nose', adrock2xander's always 'the Asian guy'.
I'd much prefer you to judge me for who i am and remember me for what i can do, not my racial extract.
Being Asian is a curse; i'll always be playing second fiddle to my Mongoloid appearance.
I'm sick of being looked at as 'yellow' and thought of as linguistic others or a cultural outsider. It saddens me that being bilingual, well-travelled and a better speaker/writer plays no part in a society that's still strangely myopic, monolithic and shallow.Oh just you wait and see. This 'Asian guy' will explode and be the best Asian in his own right. Nobody can take it from him.
Btw, it's East Asian. What are you talking about when you say Asian? It stretches from the cold Bering Sea of Russia's East to the oil fields of Middle East. Get your racial profiling right.
Fuck Asian. Fuck dim-witted Caucasians. Fuck everyone.
Saturday, April 29
I've won the role of one of three hosts in Channel 31's brand new tv program, T3h W00t.
As the name of the show suggests, it's a program that covers video games and console/PC games-related news.
It was almost 9 years ago when i discovered my passion for media. I've always believed, deep down within me, that i have a face and voice for television and radio. Throw in a fondness for writing and you've the complete Asian media man. Haha.
I had few chances to perform and write in Singapore. With it's meritocracy society, you had to be either a) really rich, b) a degree holder, c) son of a minister or d) all of the above to succeed in life. I knew i had to leave.
Arriving in Melbourne last year, i resolved to attack Melbourne's media with a three-prong assault.
Firstly, a radio stint was essential. It gave me an avenue for South East Melbourne listeners a chance to get accustomed to my brand of humour and accent. Let's face it, Melburnians drive a hard bargain and know a good personality when they hear one. Thank my lucky stars that i'm still on air now. I really am blessed.
Secondly, a platform for writing was necessary. Something to fall back on perhaps. I still can't quite decide what i want to do. I'm quite adeptable. My current position in the Melbourne Town Council has given me a dramatic headstart. More than what i've asked for. If someone had told me i'll be on radio and meeting important dignitaries in Melbourne 18 months ago, i'd have thought they're batty.
My final assault - on television - also proved to be a masterstroke. I think i'm really lucky and blessed. An International Student doing so well after 16 months in a foreign country. What more can i ask for?
My plan is coming to fruition. All three media disciplines are covered. I'm touching base and within ear shot of a potential golden harvest. I've no idea where my life is taking me, but make no mistake about it, i'm absolutely enjoying every minute of it.
Details for the T3h W00t show are still hazy. I'll be talking to the producer this week. 2005 was a slow ferry ride. 2006 looks to be a Formula One race. Let's see where 2006 takes me. You, my readers, will be hitching my ride no?
Day Three without a refridgerator at home.
I'm am seriously questioning my dietary and nutritional needs right now.
For the past three days, i have eaten nothing but:
1) Frozen meat pies (Four N Twenty pies thanks!)
2) Frozen sausage rolls
3) Frozen pasties
4) Tim Tams
6) Breakfast cereal sans milk
7) Takeaway fast food ala Golden Arches (read: McDonald's and the likes)
There's a common theme here. All of them require little or no maintenance and are easily prepared. Just pop them into the microwave or oven and voila - fast food.
I don't think i've eaten any decent vegetables for awhile now. Just last night i found myself having difficulties defecating. Constipation does take the mickey out of your ass. A distinct lack of fibre seems to be the least of my problems though.
I'm lacking in energy; lethargy is the word. In fact, i'm so weak, i can't even muster enough energy to hit the gym. And this is coming from a bloke who hits the gym twice a week. Too little disposable energy, too much fat content.
I'm praying so hard that Myer ring me up on Monday morning. They didn't promise an early delivery, but "They try". Well that's optimism. I like optimism. When your stomach's disgesting dodgy food, optimism shines like a beacon of light.
I shudder when i walk along the streets. You don't notice how prevalent fast food is until you're eating it day in and day out. They're everywhere! Shove a fucking burger at me and i'll most likely smack you in the head with a large trout.
News of the broken fridge has spread like wildfire. My neighbours have been so kind to offer their esky (Australian slang for ice box). I could do with that. But that means buying several large packets of ice. And given how much i've been spending on food these few days, extra expenses can be done without.
I'm resigned to eating more takeaway tonight. Guess what i just had for lunch? Call in now at 1900-adrock2xander misses his fridge.
One Big Mac meal for the first 10 callers with the right answer.
Thursday, April 27
Day One without a refridgerator at home
I headed out early this morning to hunt for an appropriate fridge.
Curiously enough, Myer had a massive one day sale that started at 8am. I wasn't in a rush to get there before it opened. If there's one thing Melburnians aren't used to, it's early morning shopping. Malls here open at 10am and close early - guess Melburnians like staying home. They'll probably pass out in Asia. No sane Asian mall would close at 6pm; it's so bloody competitive and there's always money to be made.
But i digress. I chuckled to myself upon entering Myer at 9am. Not only was my rationale right, Myer was quiet and completely deserted. I could have done cartwheels in there.
The electrical section sits on level 4. It didn't take me long to find a suitable cooler box. When you're a student and finances are limited, it isn't hard to spot a 3-digit priced fridge.
The fridge's cheap, and large enough to accomodate a large mountain goat. The catch was, the fridge wouldn't arrive till Wednesday.
That's 5 days without a proper cooling system.
This, btw is what's left of my fridge.
Remnants of margarine, bread, milk, Tim-Tams, mayonnaise, jam, chilli. Stuff that can actually survive several days without turning bad. Even a large plate of sausage rolls that we really didn't want to eat, but had to. Stuff sitting on the dining table with no where else to go. Such a sorry sight.
So guess what i had for dinner tonight? Freezer leftovers that didn't smell bad baked in the oven. Them bloody sausage rolls, some pies and several chicken schnitzels. Oh how my tummy growls for genuine food.
Takeaway and crappy food for 5 days. Gee i'm loving it already.
Wednesday, April 26
I came home this evening with a bagful of groceries to find a lifeless refridgerator.
The ice cubes have completely melted, the ice cream had turned to mush, the frozen peas and corn were defrosted, the chocolate milk was smelling weird and the condiments weren't ice cold. I had to throw the raw chicken and beef out, and depending on how quick a new fridge arrives tomorrow evening, i may even have to throw out the frozen fish fingers and sausage rolls.
Hell even the cold face packs that i conveniently store in the freezer is chilling (pardon the pun) at room temperature. How am i to pamper my face now?
Good money spent on fresh produce is wasted. Not only do i have no where to place the groceries, i've to fork out more money for a new fridge. A quick check on prices across Melbourne doesn't bode well for my wallet.
If it wasn't an expensive week as it is, Telly bit through our apartment fly-trap, leaving a trail of destruction in the balconey and an expensive replacement beckons.
I really wana hit something now.
Wednesday, April 19
It's official. Mr Cruise is loco. He's a gay, vodka-loving cannibal.
Not only is he still in denial about his sexuality, his artificially inseminated sperm has produced a baby girl with a dodgy Hebrew name.
Suri? Is that the female version of Yuri? Is Scientology really a Russian coverup for another nuclear bomb operation?Of course, to further prove that he is indeed the father and straight, Mr Cruise intends to cannibalise on the baby's placenta.
The poor girl. She'll grow up tall and awkward with a closet fondness for pussy.
I'm seriously questioning the rationale behind the week long Easter break (13th to 19th) for RMIT students.
Given that Good Friday and Easter Monday are both public (14th and 17th) holidays, it was essentially an extended 4 days weekend. "All fine and dandy there," i say.
So if the university staff have the privelege of a legitimate long weekend, can someone explain to me why the campus, sans library, was completely shut down on Tuesday (18th)?
Heaps of students use the long break to catch up on their work. I'm no different - it has been a welcome break from the early morning shuttling to uni and i'm several weeks behind in homework - so no complaints there.
There's a limit to how much students can do from home. Not all students come from well-to-do families. Not all students have access to the Internet or a proper printer. I personally know of a few students who have no Internet connection at home. Some, God save their soul, are still on dial-up.
I speak for all RMIT students out there, but as a Student Representative, i speak especially for the Communications students of Building 6.
The PCs and Macs in level 4 are some of the best public computer labs we students have access to. The computers are fast, responsive and save for the occasional hiccup, are generally top notch. Even PC-savvy and fussy me look forward to using the computers.
Imagine, to my dismay, that when i've travelled 30 minutes from *insert suburb here* to print out a particular piece of work that needed to be shown to project mates in the afternoon, only to find the campus closed. On a Tuesday (read: Not a public holiday).
How about a Science student who travelled from bloody Belgrave, which is a 90 minutes travel from outer space, to mix chemicals and blow up the science laboratory, to find the campus closed?
Or a business student wishing to access the Business archives that're locked away in the Business classrooms?
Students take time off their busy schedules to accomodate uni workload. Many students work casual hours, either to pay off loans, rents or general expenses. A week off in mid-semester is an opportune moment to work extra hours for more cash. How would you feel if you took an afternoon 5-hours shift off (that's a $80 shift for a 19-year-old), travelled an hour to campus only to find the 'Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200' sign posted on every door?
Yes, the library is open. But when was the last time you took a casual stroll through the library? The new refurbishments are pretty to look at, but is it really practical? And the most important thing - the computers - are you kidding me?
When the entire campus is shut down, students rely on the library for resources. Particularly access to computers. Have you tried using one the Stone Age computers? I personally own a 1.3Ghz, 384RAM, 20GB laptop with access to Wi-Fi in my tiny apartment. It's ancient by today's standards; yet my laptop makes the library computers look like white elephants.
I implore you to seriously look into this matter. It may be a week long mid-semester break, but students do return to campus. Shutting down the computer laboratories in particular is self-defeatist to all of us. The lecturers wonder why students can't or aren't able to produce work given the holiday was a week long; the students wonder why the lecturers aren't clued in on the situation on campus.
Let's all hold hands and work this out. It's a better day tomorrow.
2nd Year Student Representative for Bachelor in Communications (Professional Communications)
Apparently, the market researchers in Krispy Kreme haven't been doing their bloody homework. How is it possible that the world's best tasting donuts are losing profits?
Krispy Kreme isn't even open in Melbourne yet! I have, on several occasions, made angry accusations at the fast food chain's myopic expansion over the last 12 months.
How is it possible that a massive demographic of Melbourne, with a population of over 3.6 million Krispy Kreme noobs, has never ever heard of Krispy Kreme? And opening an outlet in bloody Narre Warren isn't helping either.
Where the hell is Narre Warren anyway? Why is Krispy Kreme announcing its launch in Melbourne in a ghetto like Narre Warren? Those people can't even afford donuts. They need more things like schools and abortion clinics.
Is it so difficult to open one in the bloody inner city? I'm not driving bloody 45 minutes to the south-east suburb for Krispy Kreme.
Nope, i refuse to.
Tuesday, April 18
When i'm not distracted by the social ills of daily life, you'll find me tuning in to Melbourne radio Gold FM. I love the classic hits. You know you're really old when they're playing Britney Spears' 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' on Gold FM. Oh the constant reminders of my sagging skin *laments*. Try as i might, but popular fodder with massive airplay just doesn't catch your attention no more.
However, i seriously question the intelligence of the listeners. I got up early today, fed Telly and sat in front of my laptop with a bowl of breakfast cereal, when i heard this call-in game conversation on radio:
Host: "What is the capital of Thailand?"
Listener (after a long pause): "Phuket."
Stupid Aussie redneck. To think he actually won $60.
Wednesday, April 12
"My son's name is Miles. Unless we're in Canada, then he's Kilometers." - Jeff Jena
I'm changing my birth name.
Well, not entirely. All i'll be doing is adding my Christian name and second name so it'll be easier to get around and do general stuff in Melbourne.
In the Western world, where the first name comes before the family name (a throw back to how the Western world gives individualism more credit to family values), i've run into a lot of difficulties trying to get official documentation or just simple banking stuff done.
In the Eastern Asia society of Mongoloiod descent - that includes Singapore, China, Vietnam and Korea and the likes - family names come before our names. This is a manifestation of the importance of familial collective over individualism.
Many citizens of more Westernised East Asian countries such as Singapore and Hong Kong tend to give themselves an Anglicised name when they're in a Western society. Not only are East Asian names incredibly difficult to pronounce, they present an everyday conundrum that i run into so very often.
You see, East Asian names, unlike our Western counterparts, are broken up into 3 syllables. An example:
In the Western society, individuals have 2 given names, but most tend to do away with their middle name. An example:
The trouble with East Asian names, is that the Western folks do not know that East Asian names are spoken in FULL. That is, First and Second name. I'm sure many East Asians would have experienced it, having their names called out by Western counterparts, always with the First or Second name omitted, and almost always pronounced wrongly. Or in worst case scenario, completely unable to pronounce it.
My East Asian name is Ng Kheng Hong. That is, 'Ng' is my surname and 'Kheng Hong' is my full given name. John is my Christian name given at baptism at age 3. I reckon Ng Kheng Hong is just a bullseye target for bad pronunciations and misplaced words. Caucasians generally make 3 mistakes with my name (or all East Asian names with 3 syllables):
1) They assume 'Hong' is my surname. My East Asian name now becomes Hong Ng Kheng.
2) When i specify that my surname is 'Ng', they call me out as 'Mr Ng Kheng' - omitting the 'Hong' thinking that it's my middle name. My name is now 'Kheng'.
3) Most embarrassingly, and somewhat amusingly, Caucasians are simply not able to pronounce my surname 'Ng'. Yes i'd have to admit it's a tough cookie to chew on. I mean, my forefathers must love their consonants. In just 15 months, i've lost count the number of times my name has been called 'John N-G'. Yes, they spell out the word. N. G. God.
Getting official documentations or just getting around can be a real nuisance at times. My English is on par or better than most Caucasians, yet sometimes i feel like i'm an Asian migrant with an untrained ear for English. I feel hampered by my surname and East Asian name. An everyday situation becomes a spelling bee competition when i've to introduce myself as 'John Ng. That's N-G'. Yes, i'm resorting to the Caucasian way of doing things. How inferior lol.
What's worse, is getting asked how my name is pronounced. Christ. I didn't think 'Kheng Hong' would be that hard a name to pronounce. It's short and to the point. I don't get how the woman, who is Greek, can't pronounce my name when her name is longer than a 1-foot sub. Tanya Konstandakopoulos. Whatever. Good thing her middle name isn't mentioned, if any. Pass the peas please.
A name change is just a hop, skip and jump away. I havn't looked into it, but i don't suppose it'll be too much of a hassle.
Afterall, can you imagine my Bachelor of Communication with the name 'Ng Kheng Hong' on it? To compound matters, the Chancellor of RMIT introducing me as 'N-G Kheng Hong' when i'm up there receiving my degree?
I don't think so!
...to all my friends and uni mates who voted for me to represent them in the second year. I must say, it has been a rather hair-raising few days of voting and publicity. Let's just hope our fervent campaigning didn't detract from the fact that it was not a popularity contest.
If this indeed, was a popularity contest, I have no doubt in my mind who the winner will be *winks*. Let's face it. Year 2005 was all about me. I am the sexiest. But this, is a Student Representative election. All of you voted with your hearts and hopefully, brains.
I'm glad that all of you are non-alcoholics. If free beer can't buy votes, then it takes only a sexy man like me to defeat that evil. That btw, was a masterstroke Ariel. If you ever do chance upon this blog, i've got to hand it to you. I actually thought of that, but didn't think free beer would be appropriate on a mass mailing list. There are some underaged folks out there. Then again...
Of course, i wish to thank all those who voted for me again. You know who you are. I know who you are. You came up to me and congratulated me. And the silent voters who've been my staunch allies in 2005. 2006 will not be the same. You'll have your everyday, garden variety superhero fighting and weeding out the evils from our program. Amazingly you bunch are the ones i don't hang out with so much. Now i know who my friends are lol.
I'll like to send out my love too, to all you dingbats who did not vote for me. It doesn't matter what the reason is. I know all of you love me. But apparently my position as the Student Representative wasn't important enough to you. You obviously do not hold me in high esteem. I am dis-heartened by your pitiful efforts. And to think i hang out with y'all all the time. Boo.
Tuesday, April 11
The third post was styled upon my life-long desire to have first dibs on a regular column in a magazine. A disappropriately large amount of my youth was spent, when not getting into trouble, reading magazines and publications. I've always imagined being at the helm of a funky magazine, writing heaps of rubbish and returning home to a nice paycheck.
It doesn't look like that dream will materialise, but i took it upon myself to consult the Catalyst editors what they thought about my idea. They absolutely loved it (just about everything goes with them - they're cool like that:O).
Ladies and Gentlemen, i present to you, my first entry in my very own space in Catalyst. Check it out in the April edition on 17 April.Fuck i'm proud lol.
“I am absolutely ill-qualified to give fashion advice. An unfortunate by-product of horny hippie parents, I remember the tightly rolled shorts in the 70s, witnessed the big cauliflower hairdos in the 80s, and laughed at grunge rockers wannabes in the 90s. Fast forward to 2006. Melburnians are terrible dressers. This is why.”
By John ‘adrock2xander’ Ng
Wristbands. Why in jumping jellybeans are kids wearing them these days? Which ugly and possibly overweight hip-hop mogul is responsible for this overrated piece of excess cotton?
I remember wristbands really well. They were, like, really hot in the 90s. Apparently, not only were the wristbands fashionably cool in the tennis courts, they make guest appearances on teenagers’ wrists. Big Mac on the right and a Coke on the left? Cmon who’re you kidding? Wristbands are t3h c00l.
Everyone who was someone sported (pardon the pun) wristbands. In some instances, the hardcore wristband aficionados wore sweatbands on their foreheads. (no seriously) In fact, I used to wear them too. Nike and Adidas. And on some days when I’m still putting them out to dry, I bring my little Puma out to play. It was so cool. So cool, that everyone who wore them, perspired beneath the fabric. Oh the irony.
Somehow, after a couple of years of appearing in just about every fashion magazine, wristbands died a sudden death that nobody really missed. I couldn’t explain it. Neither could Tom Ford of Gucci or Calvin Klein of Calvin Klein.
When Kriss Kross popularised the ‘BJS’ (Backwards Jeans Syndrome), I had to beg my mom to shell out $50 for a pair of oversized jeans that was 5 sizes too big. I had skinny legs back then, and I looked like a bad case of elephantiasis with them jeans on. Actually, I hated the jeans. Peeing was a chore – the zip sits on your arse. But I wore them. Like a religion. I can imagine the number of boys who ducked into the cubicle with their bladder bursting, reaching out for their zippers before them only to realise it’s lying between their crusty butt cheeks.
Times may have changed, but kids are still kids. They don’t know how good they’ve got it these days. Instead of oversized jeans that cost $50, they pay $50 for a bunch of tacked-on wristbands made from sweatshops factories *cue Nike slogan here* and proudly wear them like a diamond ring. Walking around the streets with their mates, looking exactly the same. So much for wanting to look ‘different’.
What exactly is the rationale for the sudden rise of the wristband anyway? Is there some undocumented case of widespread Carpal Tunnel Syndrome affecting teenagers state-wide? Or did some aspiring emo band, plucked from relative obscurity in the mountains of Tibet make it the de rigueur in everyday fashion? I certainly am most puzzled. Perhaps it’s my age. After all, it wasn’t until last year when I got wind of the term ‘emo’.
And what exactly does a wristband say in our politically-charged environment anyway? Don’t’ kid yourself. Why pay $5 for a Boost Juice and imagine you’re putting healthy stuff in you when you can ‘look’ healthy all the time with just a wristband? I suggest throwing in a sweat towel and a tennis racket over your shoulders to complete the look. Lleyton Hewitt can kiss my ass. Who needs him when we’ve thousands of tennis clones running around Melbourne?
And while you’re busy shouting ‘Come on!’ to yourself, remember to put your severe case of halitosis in check. Surely you don’t mean to beat your opponent through brute stench?
There’s only one thing worse than a sports wristband that’s gone multi-platinum. That’s a charity rubber wristband.
But that, is another story.
As promised in the last post, this is the final version sent out to the editors. And yes, i really did have sex with him.
"Sex with David Beckham
In early 2004 I had a one night stand with David Beckham. This journal entry was made in the morning of June 7 2004, in the aftermath of the David Beckham sex scandal.
I’ve held this to my chest for too long. I’m fearful of the repercussions. Fear of arbitration, the rejection, the ostracisation, the seclusion. I would rather be thrown into the gas chamber or herded into a leper camp. The fear is too much to bear. I hope the world knows where I’m coming from. For every man worth his salt, in times like these, no doubt would they succumb to delights like these.
I've slept with David Beckham.
Like Rebecca Loos and Victoria Beckham, I’m tall, dark and slim. Together with my girlfriends I’d met David in a place called the Buddha Bar. I'd a bad run-in with my neighbour's cat 2 hours before. She couldn’t stop mewing and it distracted my watering of my fake plastic plant. I was feeling crappy, so I got my girlfriends together and decided to hit the clubs for a night of wild abandonment.
Who's to know David was present at this opportune time? There he stood in the V.I.P area, all manly, golden-bronzed and finely textured like well-crafted hand-made Chinese noodles. He was sipping on his Martini and had a couple of 'distinguished' gentlemen with him. They must have been fellow footballers of Real Madrid Football Club as they're seated in the most expensive area. Bulldogs of bodyguards all decked up in sunnies and mini-microphones mill around them. Even George Bush isn’t that well protected.
Thank god my friend Maria knew one of David's friends. After a brief sojourn to the bathroom, my girlfriends were ushered into the V.I.P area after some very raunchy frisking of my body. No parts of my body was left 'unfrisked', not that I was complaining.
I Rather Make Love To A Sheep
David turned out just the way I’d thought. Rude, cocky, loud and unashamedly proud of his old bastardised football club Manchester United. I’ve got to tell you, if he weren’t so good looking and rich I would have been looking elsewhere. Besides, I’ve heard rumours of David being a legend in bed - I was anxious to debunk that myth.
Seducing David wasn’t difficult. Cuddling up close to David was a no-brainer. The real challenge was trying to hold my breath every few seconds from the venomous vile fumes of his breath. I had to constantly look away from him, at his less endowed friends no less, for some respite and fresh air.
So after some mucking around, the entire entourage headed back to the hotel. David was getting the screw over from his mates to pick some of us out to spend the night with. I stood there pouting my swollen lips and flaunted my assets and before I knew it David was under the sheets with me. Thank god I had some breath mints in my bag. My olfactory senses were working overtime from David’s halitosis.
For all his vigorous sucking, stroking and pounding, David just couldn’t get me interested and aroused enough. I remember telling myself, "What an absolute bummer.”
But not before I woke up in the morning to find a fat cheque of US$10,000 on the bedside with a note that said: "Tanks fo de sax. U wer veri good." GOD! Not only can he not make love, he can’t spell. If he weren’t a footballer, he’d have been a bricklayer. Or something.
The Sanctity of Marriage
On a more serious note, this is my 2 cent's worth on those women who claim to have slept with David. For starters, Rebecca Loos is a cross-eyed retard who can’t swallow a load as well as she can’t drum up replies to ‘Knock-Knock-Who's-There?’ jokes. This vicious, calculating little tramp is just another in a long line of media-savvy prostitutes attempting to besiege the rich and famous for their own private little gains.
Of course, little Miss "Loos Lips" has no respect for the sanctity of marriage or any kind of appreciation for the consequences her ridiculous behaviour may have on her victims. Point to note - has she ever taken a look at herself? In the mirrors to start off at the least? God she's DOG UGLY. So is Sarah Marbeck and every other sorry-ass buffoon i wouldn’t shed a tear for.
I couldn’t give two hoots about David Beckham or any other celebrity for that matter, but I cannot stand to see parasites using the media as a tool to whip up a campaign of scandal and lies just for a few minutes of fame.
I’ve no doubt they're both calculating, vindictive and back-stabbing bitches who would grossly exaggerate any dealings they had with Beckham in order to substantiate their claims. Women like these must be lobotimized immediately. At all costs.
I strongly encourage anyone in a similar situation to use all legal avenues available to stop shameless attention-seeking whores (sounds a lot like me haha) and trouble-making hoes who persist in making malicious accusations from interfering with a person’s private lives. This shows how far society has degenerated. I mean, can anyone take these women seriously? Even if their preposterous allegations contain any element of truth, one or both of them still had an affair with a married man. Just a tad immoral is it not? Assuming the worst, is "Big Bad" Becks entirely responsible anyway? Surely these women are adults and are therefore entirely responsible for their own actions. If any of it is true, perhaps they would’ve been more inclined to keep their mouths shut.
John ‘adrock2xander’ Ng is a Leeds United fan and absolutely abhors David Beckham and Manchester United. He’s rooting for the Czech Republic and Australia in the World Cup and reckons England will crash out in the first round."
I've become a rather active member of RMIT Student Union's Catalyst magazine, contributing not 1, not 2 but 3 articles for the April issue. I've been wanting to get involved with Catalyst in the First year, but when you're new to a country and are still acclimatising to the surroundings, writing for a magazine takes a back seat.
Apparently my repertoire of skills doesn't involve just writing. I'm somehow found an uncanny ability to plagiarize...my own articles. LOL.
Looking at my blog several weeks ago, i realised i have heaps and heaps of substantial and rather good material i could submit to Catalyst. Afterall you don't blog for 2.5 years and have nothing to show no? I knew they'd come in useful somehow lol.
I've submitted my very controversial 'I Hate Fat People' post as the first article. The timing is apt, as April's theme is comedy, in conjunction with the Melbourne's Comedy Festival. Given that 90% of my blog entries are written in jest (offending 90% of the readers - says a lot about the world's maturity), i reckon my entire blog could be published on Catalyst lol.
The second article is a more condensed, less vulgar and grammatically correct version of another controversial post made in 2004. Titled 'Sex with David Beckham', you can find the original post here.
Looking at that post, i counted too many spelling and grammar mistakes that'd put a child to a pedestal. You can find the new version in the next post.
Monday, April 10
Once again, Singapore has made the international news for the wrong reasons. If Singapore was on the embarrassment meter, it'd be on the bottom of the list, lying in a cesspool of insipidness and tepidness.
All she has to do now is reintroduce the sale of proper chewing gum and teach her citizens proper English to complete the humiliation.
Die Singapore, die.
Friday, April 7
Playboy is due to hit Indonesian shelves tomorrow. It's a sign of times when corrupt Indonesia's selling a best-selling magazine before Singapore, which is streets ahead of development.
Thing is, Playboy Indonesia would have no nude women.
Explain to me again why anyone would buy it?
What really goes on in Matt's head? Being surrounded by the best of Building 6's beauties must be a hectic job. How does he keep them all satisfied? Behind that surfer boy look must hide a secret or two. adrock2xander tries to decipher.
Last night was an absolute fiasco. I can't believe she tried to spike my drink. I thought all was going well. I really liked her. She isn't like most of the Building 6's girls. Mature, compose, intelligent and a non-spiker. That's what i like.
The alarm didn't work this morning. I hate to be a real jerk, but when i'm pressed for time nothing gets me off more than morning breath. It's a hot shower, a quick breakfast of onions and sour cream chips and off i go to uni.
That's what i don't get about the girls here. My breath absolutely reeks. Yet they still clamour for my attention. What do they see in me anyway? Perhaps their olfactory senses aren't working? Or is halitosis such a sexy thing?
I hate doing catch-up work in the computer lab. I'd rather be back home watching re-runs of Neighbours. Or Home and Away. I love cheesy soap that runs on for decades. It's 'Must See TV'.
Which reminds me. I've to make an appointment with Dr Julia. The steel implants in my tongue have to be replaced again. Nobody knows that the secret to my cunninlingus success are really the steel implants.
I hate having to rely on them. I really just am a boy next door, standing here in the doorway, looking for a girl to love him. What if they see through my facade? Will they still mob me in Building 6?
Of coz, you're always right Mr Anonymous.
You always are as you refuse to be represented.
So it's ok for Chris Rock to make fun of his black people but it's wrong for adrock2xander to mock his Asian people. You, my friend, are the uninspired one.
I may mock Asians, offend everyone and make fun of just about everything, but at least i've got the guts to reveal who i am. I have nothing to fear. Look where it's getting me? I'm overseas, having white pussy and cocks, having wonderful friends who actually speak English, and would not question my un-Asian behavior and mannerisms.
You my friend, are an insipid and tepid excuse of a childhood trauma who can't find your preferred genitalia even if you paid for it. I feel so sorry for you.
I really do enjoy getting all this publicity. More hits to my blog, and my stock rises. Keep posting anonymously.
I win again. I am the sexiest. Now go away, stop wasting my public space and go masturbate through a toilet roll.
adrock2xander 1 anonymous posters 0
gg no re k thx bai
Thursday, April 6
Friends and strangers alike always give me a surprised look whenever i take my 'wallet' out.
Looking suitably impressed, the look is then followed by a pleasant smile and inevitably, a question.
You see, my 'wallet' is really a business card holder.
Explain to me guys, what really is the point of wielding a leather wallet, crammed full of receipts that you'll never look at again, cards that you'd never use and paper that you'd never dispose of?
I've seen men and their leather wallets. What they call a 'wallet' really is a dumping ground for 8-month old condom, couple of $5 notes, some loose change, a tram ticket perhaps, and a whole load of crap.
Chuck all of that into a leather wallet, and you get a Double Whopper with Cheese.
Apparently, blokes think it's really cool to have a Double Whopper with Cheese sticking out from one side of their ass. Perhaps they should get a meal along with it.
Blokes like their money. And their ass. So they like putting their money close to their ass. It's ok when it's just a couple of dollar bills. But when you shove a 2-inch behemoth into that back pocket of yours, not only do women not want to check your ass out, you look like you've got a case of inflammed ass.
Perhaps the metrosexuals and women need to remind them men that sitting on a thick wallet is very uncomfortable. Try it for yourselves! Take an old Yellow Pages and carefully position it on your seat. Now attempt to land one ass cheek onto a corner of the Yellow Pages. Remember, you aren't allowed to remove the Yellow Pages!
Perhaps blokes find it sexy to walk around with a Hungry Jacks meal on their ass. To them it's like wearing a tee shirt that says 'I have an 8-inch penis'. A giant arrow on my head. Flashing at me with neon lights ala brothels. Women naturally veer away from places like these; they'll avoid these blokes too.
I remember, back in my teens, i used to think it was really cool to have a collection of 3-month old receipts and mouldy cards sitting in some tiny nook of my wallet. I'd walk around with an inflammed ass, thinking nothing of it. Come to think of it, i know now why i only got laid at 19.
Perhaps it really is time for blokes around to world to consider their appearances as a buff body and nice smile can only get you so far. Most women notice beautiful men at first, but i doubt they'll want to have anything to do with a Double Whopper with Cheese. Take a hint guys, if you want to romance or impress a woman, only fine cuisine will do. No fast food.
The hugely successful Scary Movie franchise is back to scare us to fits of laughter again. How many more Scary Movies can Hollywood muster anyway? Surely there hasn't been any horror movies they've not spoofed yet?
On another note, it appears the Terminator is making an appearance on Australian shores. I can only say, with the track record of the scriptwriters, Terminator 4 will terminate its own run in the cinemas and be taken off the cinema listings faster than you can say 'hasta la vista, baby.'
Wednesday, April 5
I hate this apartment.
In spite of the 'tech-worthiness' of my humble abode, all the Wi-Fi and PC/Mac knowledge that the residents who sleep under this roof share and the wonderful interior decor, it simply doesn't have a fucking calculator and a large, easy-to-read calender.
I hate this apartment.
Sunday, April 2
Autumn has truly arrived in Melbourne.
5 weeks into the season, and the weather (finally!) starts dipping to the low 10s. An overnight downpour over the weekend had just about everyone snuggled up at home and warming up to the heater. I found myself layering sweaters and blankets over myself after 5 months of walking around the house topless.
On the way to work, I took this shot of La Trobe Street at 9am, 1 April 2006. It's cold, dreary and wet. How exciting! No more hot summer heat! Welcome to Melbourne, Mr Autumn.
I am in danger of being completely overwhelmed by my university workload.
You see, i've been working day-in, day-out since Day 1 of the Commonwealth Games with nary a break. A 4 day hiatus between the Closing Ceremony and the Formula One Grand Prix Qualifying sessions hardly made up for what was 2 weeks of missed tutorials, late lectures, missing attendances and extensions of reading submissions. Egads! I believe this is a one-off, as the Commonwealth Games come every 60-odd years.
I'm absolutely relieved that the Grand Prix will come to conclusion this evening. It also means curtains for what has generally been an incredibly hectic 3.5 weeks. I am so far behind everyone it's probably best to repeat my semester!
If you run into me on campus, ask me about anything BUT uni work. I have absolutely no idea what's going on right now.
Saturday, April 1
So we get a good shot of Maria Sharapova doing her stretches, visible panty line, hot ass and all.
I'm singing to the tune of Bryan Adams' "(I Wanna Be) Your Underwear".
Oh yes, Maria Sharapova's underwear.
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