The Tragedy of the Siberian Tiger

There was a Siberian tiger who developed an unfortunate case of odor of the feet. It was not known how he came to contract odor of the feet, but the doctor said he should keep his feet dry, which was to his tough luck having to live in, well, snowy Siberia and to be slogging around in at least ankle-deep snow pretty much most of the time.

It grew so bad that it threatened his very livelihood. Potential prey would smell him approaching and run far away before he even got close enough to think of approaching them. He only knew that they got away when he came across the taunts they wrote in the snow (e.g. "To S. T.: your feet fucking stinks") with their pee, which also stank, but not as much as his feet did.

They were deers, mostly.

He tried to turn vegetarian and discovered an allergy to soy protein, resulting in a case of severe rash he’d rather not talk about.

He would have died of starvation, if not having first killed himself, from the stress and depression, by banging his head repeatedly against a tree until the skull broke and cut his brain, resulting in intracranial haemorrhage, which actually wouldn't have killed him if he had received prompt medical attention, which of course, he didn't receive.

Of a Lion and a Siren (Part II)

This went on for some time and the air was filled with sentiments of love and sadness that permeated the animal kingdom. After being taken aback by their beloved son's weird fetish for a fish, and getting over it, the royal lion family tried to source for solutions to bring the lovers together. Through some recommendations, they got to know a powerful witch, also known as Ponyo from the cliff, who came from the land of the rising sun.

Ponyo was touched by the love story between the Simba the lion prince and Ariel the giant arapaima fish, and it reminded her of when she was young and foolish in love. She asked the couple to choose whether she should turn Simba into an arapaima - an offer to which Ariel and the royal family strongly objected, or to turn Ariel into a lioness - an offer to which Simba strongly objected and Ariel quietly objected. They loved each other in their present forms, and while their love and beauty was beyond skin deep, it was also hard to deny how their appearances were an integral part of who they were and loved.

Ponyo teasingly offered to give Simba a tail and Arial, feet. The couple rejected this idea arguing that this would only unite them with both being freaks of nature as they would still be unable to consummate their love, which was really the crux of the issue.

Eventually, Ponyo, the benevolent, allowed them to have the magic to be lions one day and arapaimas the next, whatever was their choices. She warned them, however, that they should never make experimental love when one was a lion and the other a fish, no matter how kinky they might feel, and made them promise her with their favourite swear words. They shrugged and agreed quickly; at that point, they were not yet able to imagine why they would ever want to do that, since they were precisely begging for the ability to transform themselves to become a matching couple.

Thus, they lived happily ever after... until they gave birth to a son, who was a merlion, and who also had bad problems with his bowel movements and motion sickness and had to swim around but would vomit for hours on end when he came to land.

Simba and Ariel tried to approach Ponyo for help, instead they were reprimanded by Ponyo sternly, "I warned you! And you promised that you would not have done that! No, I shall not reverse it, you both should know better to love him for who he is." Simba tried to turn on his charm, but Ponyo slammed the door in his aged majestic face, almost trapping his drooping whiskers.

It was ironic that while the baby was still in his mother's womb, his parents had already announced that he was to be named him "Sireneo" - a combination of the word "Leo" that represented his paternal heritage and "Siren" that represented his mother. They felt doubly guilty that their son's name was mawkishly apt.

Sireneo was sensible and didn't blame his parents for his freakish looks, poor health, and complicated name that he had to almost always repeat twice whenever he was asked for it. He was okay with being a merlion really. He had a few good friends from school and work (he was the second son and not in line to inherit the throne) and generally lived meaningfully - going about his businesses and doing the things he wanted to do despite his poor health condition.

A few arapaimas and lionesses had crushes on him, but he expressed that he would rather be alone. His parents would secretly hope that he would one day fall in love so true that the love would too, move Ponyo to grant him the magic of transformation, but he never fell in love. When asked by them, he would shrug and reply, "some beings are like that" or "not everyone is like you two, always going on about love, blah, blah". Truthfully, he did not see the big deal about relationships, and was sick of being told of his parents' love stories; he usually thought to remain as a bachelor except for the rare occasions when he wondered if he just hadn't met the right person yet.

(sneak.)

Of a Lion and a Siren (Part I)

Once a upon a time, in a land ruled by lions and lionesses, there was a prince. His parents wanted to give him a simple name, as they believed that a common name would help make their child easier to raise - like a commoner's child, so he was named Simba.

Simba had a spoilt childhood, with mothers who spoilt him, and a chauvinistic father, who believed in giving him a Confucian upbringing. He was rather stout and cumbersome as a cub, but grew up with a strong manly chest (did a lot of push ups in his teen) and a proud brownish-golden mane. Simba was so handsome that the flies, that typically hung around lion's snouts to feed on the leftovers from their mouths not wiped clean after every meal, did not dare to go near his unclean snout, for fear of being poisoned by his majestic, royal beauty.

One warm evening, Simba decided to take a stroll by a river he seldom visited. It was then when he heard an attractive song of a low seductive growling that he had never before heard of. Like that of a siren, the song drew Simba to followed it to the source - at a river bend, there was a group of giant arapaima fish - all almost as long as himself or longer still - surrounding a female arapaima, who glowed with a pearly, green-and-reddish gleam in the moonlight, who was singing the seductive song. The group of arapaimas were so enchanted with the performance that they did not notice Simba's approach.

Simba had heard of other lions speaking of the giant arapaimas living in the river, but had seldom seen them for himself, let alone to witness such a large gathering of these giant fishes. Seeing the way, their gigantic bodies float near the surface with the ebbing water calmed Simba, and the scene accompanied the soothing song of the female arapaima well. The more he listened to the song, the more he was convinced that it was the most beautiful music in his father's kingdom.

Simba crouched down and remained silent, not wanting to disrupt the performance; only when the song was complete, he let out a gentle roar of appreciation for the mystical arapaima's song.

Startled, the gathered arapaimas submerged and scattered quickly, except for the singer, however, who was scared stiff and simply remained where she was.

Simba got up and apologise for disrupting the party; at the same time, when his eyes met o those of the singing arapaima, he realised he was glad to have the time alone.

"Lord Simba," the arapaima said humbly, paying her respects.

"Good evening, fish. I was intending to introduce myself, but I suppose you already know who I am," said Simba with a smile, turning on his charm.

"That is but of course, you are our Lord. Your parents' picture hangs in our classrooms and school hall where we recite the national pledge in school every Monday," said the arapaima in a flurry before stopping with embarrassment by her seeming incoherence. "I mean... and you look like your father."

"Relax. Don't worry. I'm not uptight like him. Please introduce yourself?" urged Simba. He approached the water.

"I am Ariel, Daughter of Arapaima III of the Eastern River," she said as she swam backwards away from him.

"Show me your face, come closer to the bank."

"Are you intending to eat me, Sire?" Ariel said, apprehensively.

Simba laughed at her innocence before reassuring her that he was not, and he did not like to eat bony fish.

Ariel hesitated and realised that she should not defy the will of the prince. She propelled herself towards him, and swam at a shallower part of the river, where her shimmering scales caught more of the moonlight, and revealed a tiny lunar rainbow on almost every scale.

This was the moment when Simba fell in love with Ariel.

"I like your song, Ariel. Would you sing for me every night?" Not wishing to be rejected, he added, "I command it?"

"If you so wish, my lord, it would be my pleasure. But wouldn't you be bored with the same song? I would be bored singing it every night. How about I teach the song to your royal performers and perhaps they could sing it to you in the comforts of your palace."

"Excuse me," blushed Simba, "I meant, I like your singing, Ariel. You could sing any song you wish."

This made Ariel blushed too.

Simba returned to the river bend every night to the river to listen to Ariel sing. Sometimes she sang lively songs that were typically sang to araipaman children to teach them some lessons about being araipama; sometimes she sang slow songs, telling the stories to the ancestors. Simba listened with relish as the songs taught Simba much about Ariel's life.

He learned the different colours on her scales that changed with the phase of the moon. By looking at the scales, he learnt to tell which day of the month it was. Sometimes, he was so enchanted by Ariel that he would approach the river, and stand in the river, so much as being knee deep in the water. Whenever he wet his mane, he would rather regret it as he would have to comb his hair back, and that would worry him about looking like an ah-beng.

Over time, Ariel too began to take a liking to Simba and saw past his attempts to act cool and was moved by his pathetic and sincere attempts to impress her by bringing her rare game meat - like lamb chops and hot dogs. She was more practical, knowing that they would never be able to be together. Slowly, she began to sing love songs about star-crossed lovers or unrequited relationships. Simba, delighted to know that his love was finally being reciprocated by Ariel, yet at the same time, he was sad that she would keep reminding him of how they would not be together.

Pigeon

There was a pigeon who preferred walking over flying. It was not that he was a bad flyer. He merely preferred walking.

"Eh, there's food over there!" His friends would say and point to a kopitiam across the road where food was possibly shrewn on the ground.

"Ah, you guys go ahead, I'll meet you there," the pigeon would say back and began to walk in the said direction, as his friends flew off towards wherever.

That was what happened one day, when the pigeon was crossing the road, to catch up with his friends... Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot... when a car drove by and ran him over.

Untitled

Sometimes, when I drink too much coffee, I can listen to my thoughts as they start bickering with themselves and my to-do lists in my head, to be specific they are around the pre-frontal cortex area... I can find a nice place about two-thought-steps (if thoughts could take steps) back from behind my eye-brows and nestle between two gyri (i.e. between a fold of the brain), as if to sit on a bean-bag, and start wondering why my thoughts bother to replay themselves with things I can't really be bothered with; until, I start wondering about the name of the part of my brain I would be sitting at, and realise I cannot recall the brain's anatomy I pretended to study at school, then the space between the imagined distinct consciousnesses will gradually fade, and it will be noisy all over my head, and I will get lost again.

The Auntie who sold fish cakes and other-fish-related-processed-food-products

There was a woman, in her early forties, who sold fish cakes and other-fish-related-processed-foodstuff at a snack store that she owned. She was gradually turning into a fish. Well, sort of.

It was not as if she grew scales or fins or gills, but her lower lip became larger and protruded, as did her eye balls. Her jawline and cheeks sagged, and her nose grew flatter and the distancebetween the nose and mouth, grew wider. In the emoticon sense, her expression grew to be more like this -
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- which, if one would stretch his imagination in the right direction, is an expression that would really make any woman look more like a fish, let alone a woman who was sort of gradually turning into one.

The last time she had sex, which was the first time after a long time since the previous time, with her husband, with whom she married for a reason she could no longer remember and who was 15 years older than her, something even more strange happened - her belly began to swelled up over the next few weeks days. A few months later, before she could concluded that she was pregnant, she gave birth, on the toilet bowl, to about four-dozen fish balls. After getting over the shock, she collected the fishballs, and rinsed it clean, and deep fried them, and put them on satay sticks, three-by-threes, and took stock, and deep fried them again just to be sure they were thoroughly cooked, and brought them to the store for sale - as the special item of the day.

Since the incident, she did not want to have sex anymore, and her sexual frustration made her sulk even more, which in turn, made her look like a fish lagi even more than ever.

Seven tau-gay legs

There was a spider, that had seven legs, that were not proper spider legs - black and hairy. Instead, they were made of tau-gay, or green bean sprouts. She had lost her eighth leg in a fight.

Despite her handicap, the spider was with a lively spirit who enjoyed the occasional practical joke. Once, she was in a store, that was somewhat like Singapore's version of the Metropolitan Museum of Art store, pretending to be brooch. When she was caught, she laughed mischievously in such an infectious way that nobody could then fault her for trying.

She would have danced a little if she could have, but she could not, for her legs were soft and flimsy. She had accidentally stepped into somebody's warm bath water, and her tau-gay legs got scalded and became somewhat flimsy ever after. This was to her greatest regret, as she had loved dancing.

If she felt bad for herself, she would think of her friend, a spider who has cabbage leaves for his legs. Imagine, all eight legs! Cabbage leaves! All too big to fit on a little spider! And all slightly curved! He never walked a single step from birth. If he needed to get anywhere, he would roll his way there. Like a tumbleweed! Except he bruised more easily! Let alone dance!

Tau-gay legs are really not too bad! Or so the spider with tau-gay legs would remind herself comfortingly. She would sing or hum her favourite song to herself. It was ABBA's Dancing Queen. If she let anyone hear her, they could feel sorry for her and go on and on about how dancing was not a big deal. This would then make everything more difficult to bear.

Jazz and Recorders

I am writing this from Starbucks at Liang Court. They are playing jazz on the speakers.

I always thought that hard-core jazz was difficult to understand. By "hard-core jazz", I mean the music created with a piano, drums or bass perhaps, and a saxaphone or trumpet or both; I mean the jazz without Ella Fitzgerald or the boys from Ipanema or anybody singing in general; I mean the music without songs.

I vaguely wish that instead of making me learn how to play "three blind mice" on the bloody plastic recorder, my music teachers from school taught me how to appreciate jazz, or baroque, for that matter. Then again, it is only because they did, that I can take it for granted that I once knew, and have since forgotten, how to play the recorder.

I must remember this the next time I hear the neighbours' kid practising the recorder - that dreaded-elongated-whistle-of-a-thing. And I should be glad that there will always be some neighbours' kid practising the recorder. (Hey, I was "that kid" before.) And that maybe they are just trying very hard to teach me how to appreciate jazz.

Farting Freely - A big plus point of Teleworking

I've read many articles about the pros and cons of teleworking. Mostly, these articles discuss how working from home saves commuting time, but threatens the family life. I think they leave out the most important point that makes working from home worthwhile - teleworking allows one to fart freely.

When one is at the office, one cannot fart freely, for fear of being laughed at, discriminated against, or nicknamed the 'fart boy/girl'. Although this causes not so much distress (as it's been a bane since young - when we had to go to school - except that we do not seem to have so much gas when we were younger), it is still a luxury for one to be able to fart freely, as loud as whatever, when one works from home. It is especially great, when you let out a loud fart, and then you realise it's a smelly one, and that it's one of those farts that make your stomach feel instantaneously lighter. Every time I fart one of those farts, I think to myself, wow, this is what makes teleworking worthwhile.

I tend to think that this mostly affects people who work in air-conditioned-high-rise-offices more than any other type of work. This is because we have the tendency to pretend that we're very serious and clean and picture perfect, and therefore, feel the most fart-conscious at work. As we have to be in the office for most part of our waking hours, farting freely is a luxury. Maybe if we all change our attitude on farts, it would make us less uptight.

The doctors and nurses have to be serious and clean and perfect, but they're educated in the biological working of the bodies, and so, are obliged to accept that farting is natural and not a big deal. I also suspect that it would be difficult to disapprove every fart as their patients won't really care and would fart anyhow, and disapproving every fart would make them unnecessarily busier. Thus, farting freely is not a big deal.

It's gotta do with the air-conditioning, I think, as not all hospitals are air-conditioned. Also, I suspect people working in the service-line at air-conditioned departmental stores will also feel the pressure to fart carefully, but they can't really work from home anyway, so well, let's not rub in it.

To digress a bit, I suspect rice-farmers, of all professions, will be the most cool about farting, because they're always bending down, and it is quite impossible to stifle or muffle farts in that butt-sticking-in-the-air position.

I wonder if people are motivated to climb the corporate ladder so that they can get their private rooms (and not share offices with others at work) so that they can fart whenever. And that explains why those "high up" are not so keen on teleworking, because being in their private rooms, they would no longer deem the freedom to fart as luxurious. Maybe when I find my way there and get a room to myself, and I get to fart big farts freely, I would think to myself, wow, this is what makes being a "Director" worthwhile.

In the meantime, I shall be satisfied with maintaining that farting freely is a big plus point of teleworking, or shall I say, it's a big Pro(ooT!) of teleworking.

If your family is also disapproving on your loud farts, then this 'pro of working from home' doesn't apply for you. Sorry then, that it sucks to be you.

The above arguments should also apply to the freedom to dig one's nose.

Days of Thunder

A couple of days ago, I bought a copy of Days of Thunder on VCD for only 1 dollar. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman starred in that movie. I watched it a few times when I was a kid - from tv-re-runs.

When I first saw the VCD and the screaming yellow gaudy price label, I thought to myself, wow, as lowly as VCDs are regarded nowadays with the threat of high-def DVDs and blue-ray DVDs that they say are not really DVDs... 1 dollar is really too cheap to sell such a classic movie's VCD, right? Surely it was worth a little bit more. Maybe 2 or 3 dollars more perhaps?

After all, the one bad thing about VCDs are just that one has to get up in the middle of a movie to change from Disk 1 to Disk 2. Sure, sure, they say that the DVD visual and audio quality is way better, but really, how much quality does one need? Like how many languages are you going to read the subtitles in? Anyway, I'd rather save some dollars from this expenditure and spend it on increasing the thread-count of my pillow case.

I decided to buy the vcd. I thought that it might be nice to re-run it on my laptop on a casual evening and fall asleep watching the pretty faces fall in love. I remember reading from a magazine article about how when Tom Cruise first met Nicole Kidman on the set of Days of Thunder, he was so smitten that he got his people to call up her people, and they dated, and fell in love, and got married, and attended many Hollywood gala-events together. It's a really great fairytale on-screen-couple becomes off-screen-couple kinda story.

Nevermind that her hair was all frizzy and he's actually shorter than her. Nevermind that they're both broken up, leaving us with that weird-but-not-weird-in-an-interesting-way-movie, Eyes Wide Shut, and are probably off sleeping with other people now. I figured that I could allow them to remain, in my impression, as in my childhood, and as in "Far and Away" (another movie starring them as a couple), in love and happily married to each other. It takes a little bit of denial, but it doesn't really hurt anybody and nobody cares, so I just indulged me.

When my computer couldn't read the VCD initially, I was understandably a little disappointed, even though it was just a dollar investment's - I had hyped myself up.

Yet (after re-starting my computer and successfully played the VCD), it was not as disappointing, as when I was watching the show mid-way into the Disk 2 when the disk suddenly jumped - from just when they were flirting to the part they were lying in bed together. My immediate thoughts were:

ALAMAK. No wonder (this VCDs) were sold for 1 dollar only. Nowadays still got censor out the sex scene one meh?

There weren't even the rolling around in bed. It just fast forwarded to the after-sex talk.

Precisely in realising that the censor standards were more stringent then than now, this incident then really drove home the point that the time now is different from before. The time has changed and so have I, for I am not just contented with romantic fairy-tales, and I am not accepting of abrupt censorship anymore. I am now an adult, and I want to watch unrealistically-beautiful people, whom I would never meet in real life, having hot passionate sex.

And I suppose this is part of growing up.