You know, the day is arriving where we all would know the fruits of our last two years.

I just want to take this moment to say to everyone; "We laugh together, we cry together, but you die alone."

The number √2 is irrational.

Proof
Suppose, to the contrary, that √2 is a rational number, say, √2 = a/b, where a and b are both integers with gcd*(a,b) = 1. Squaring, we get a = 2b, so that b|a**. If b > 1, then the Fundamental Theorem of Arithmetic guarantees the existence of a prime p such that p|b. It follows that p|a and therefore p|a; hence, gcd(a,b) ≥ p. We therefore arrive at a contradiction, unless b = 1. But if this is the case, then a = 2. Our supposition that √2 is a rational number is untenable, and so √2 must be irrational.

* - gcd means greatest common divisor
** - a|b means that b = ka for some k which is an integer.

This post is related to my older post dated October 16, 2002.

It just so happens that on that particular day, I was complaining about being really old. And now that I'm 20, I feel even more like crap. I should not make posts like that ever again.

A long time ago I wrote something like,

Two people a friendship make,
All friends do give and take,
Now let me do my part,
I take my leave and give up.


It meant something else back then, and now when I think about everything, where I am, how I'm doing and where I'm going. Kinda useless. I said something to a friend back then a long time ago, and that distance is the ultimate crucible for a friendship.

So yeah, some survive some fail. Those who fail crumble to dust. Time to clean out the trash.

But I wonder, what the hell did I do wrong? Or what is it I didn't do?

Word of the day: schadenfreude

Schadenfreude meaning pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others.

I was driving back home and it was rather late in the evening. Then suddenly my headlights shone upon a guy who was walking two of his dogs. Okay, I shall not waste words describing the guy, but basically he had two of the nicest dogs I had ever seen. Short, fuzzy-looking with sorta long hair, like an English collie, but short, yes, short like a daschund, okay, maybe not that short, but they had stubby legs, which were like way out of proportion to their bodies. Well yeah, they look like they can't run. Anyway, the dogs were also rather plump and chubby, like they were really well-fed. I can say a bit overfed, since they both look like they can't run a mile and all that.

And that's when I remarked to myself. "Hey! Cute dogs!"

That's when it struck me, that if short, fat, fuzzy dogs are cute, why aren't short, fat, fuzzy guys cute?

Okay, I was thinking about last words. You know how cool it is that some people just go in the coolest ways e.g. Arnold Schwarzenegger would go,

"I'll be back."

Then there would be Julius Caesar going,

"Et Tu Brute?"


So I would think what would I be saying during my last few seconds on this planet. Knowing that there is a long queue of people who would like a piece of me, I wonder whether I would be saying anything like,

"Et Tu? What took you so long?"
"You could have used a bigger knife."

But yeah, I'm sure I would not die in the hands of the enemy. I'd probably go in a stroke of stupidity. I'll probably choke on a piece of cheese or something.

" "
"Ricin? I thought you said raisins!"
"Nah, its perfectly safe to eat! Look!

But then, yeah, I live to eat, and not eat to live, therefore its hard to imagine myself going in the demise of food. So yeah, it'll more likely be something I did. Something really stupid.

"Look ma! No hands!"
"You really wanna bet a hundred that I won't jump?"
"Niagra falls in a bucket? I could do that with one hand tied behind my back."
"The gun isn't loaded."
"I can take on the five of you with my bare hands!"
"Your momma's so ugly she..."

Of course, there are times when I think I would face the end of it all, and I guess the likeliest way I'm gonna go down is with this phrase.

"Yes dear, those pants make you look fat."

Today I had the enjoyable experience of satellite television. "Enjoyable" is one mild understatement.

My parents had this satellite dish installed at our summer chalet located remotely approximately 13 miles from town and nestled among some 40 feet tall durian trees situated high up on a hill. It was raining, but thankfully the dense clouds did not stop 300 channels of pure channel-surfing! Woohoo! I'm in heaven!

300 channels! 300 channels!

Actually more than 300 channels, I recall MTV is on channel 343. So yeah, this is so a good thing right? C'mon, let me describe the scenery to you.

Sitting on the cool wooden chair with armrests, I laid back and kicked off my shoes and placed my feet on the foot stool. It was raining, and from the top of the hill, I could see dense clouds not more than a mile away. Nothing matter, it was a slight drizzle and the televison set was just fine. Visibility was a poor mile away and it looked like I was in the middle of some ghostly scene from Silent Hill 2. But it doesn't matter, I'm in a high up secluded spot, safe from civilisation with nothing more than a satellite televison and a remote control.

Then my mom got the remote control. Nothing prepared me for the horror that would ensure. She switched on some program from China showing a competition for people singing the Chinese opera. I spent the rest of the afternoon writhing in agony at the high pitched wails, screeches and sounds from hell!

For those who have not experienced the Chinese opera, you don't know how that is a blessing to you. Imagine the wail of a banshee. Now imagine that wail amplified through a cat, and it stretches on and on and on and on, and that's what they call entertainment. And when the actor pauses for a breath, and you pause to catch your breath, just when you are about to breathe a sigh of relief, you choke upon that intake of air as the screams continue. And you can't differentiate whether the screams are those from the television or from your own mouth.

300 channels, and this is what I get.

I can't believe its 3am in the morning and I am feeling rage.

Anger. Blinding I guess.
Sharp. Cutting, bleeding.
And there was this hot inferno building up in my head, it actually hurt.
A stone heart, a callous hand.
Suspect, inspect.
The end. End.
What else is there but the bitter metallic aftertaste?

This spotted in a shop: On a display of "I love you only" Valentine cards: "Now available in multi-packs."

Disclaimer: The following incident did not happen although you might be inclined to believe that I am that sort of person.

Driving at 120 km/h, I happily overtook a few cars in a breeze. Sure, driving fast was fun, but nothing beats driving fast down this stretch of road in this secluded area. It was perfect. Secluded means no cops and no other drivers to get in the way. It was the perfect stretch of road you would ever seen. 1.4 kilometers long, straight, at the end of it, the road bends slightly to the left before leading to a large empty area. 1.4 kilometers of nothing but fast driving, steady cruising, and accelerator to the floor, and then its all a matter of how fast you dare go, how fast you can go. Its a road of limits. Human and machine limits. It was the perfect road.

Just me. Just me and my machina at the end of the road.

Sort of like in the movies, I revved my engine. Then without a warning, my machina leaped forward like a charging beast and zoomed down the road. I watched as the speedometer rose, 40, 60, 90.... when the needle was shaking at 140, I was euphoric. Suddenly, at the 1 kilometer mark, a small brown and white cat decided to cross the road.

Time stopped as I pondered my options. Drive on, roadkill, blood on wheels or I swerved, at 140km/h, it would be a twisted wreck. Simple choice.

I held on to the steering. The shuddering bump barely made my machina stopped, but I eased the brakes slowly. Then I turned a one-eighty. I pulled up my car next to the mangled fur and flesh. I got out and stood over the remains. Then with a swift turn and a good kick, the matted fur and minced flesh flew in many multiple pieces into the hedges yonder.

"Score one roadkill!"

Yo son of Daedalus, you gotta help me explain this one.

I am watching that famous show American Idol and I am appalled. Appalled is a very mild word to use here. Horrified, disgusted, revolted, the adjectives keep rolling on. Okay, well its not exactly American Idol but rather I am watching American Idol Rejects.

This one is about all the rejects from Houston, and yeah, I just want to say that the episode showed an ugly side. A very ugly side of people, Americans yeah. Well not intentionally to diss Americans, but after all this is American Idol and most of the "singers" (term used loosely) are Americans, so yeah, I am using this without prejudice, although I probably come a bit anti-American and anti-Bush.

Here's the clincher: How come they cannot take a hint that they really suck?

Man, c'mon it is utterly sickening to see some of the people insist that they can sing although all three judges passed their judgement. Take a hint! All these talk about Simon being the evil one, Simon being the harsh critic, Simon being an asshole, well you gotta see how desperate some of these people are. Some of them kept singing even though the judges don't want to hear any more. Some of them think they can make it. Some of them are utterly ridiculous.

There was this girl who made a bet with Simon that she'll actually go out and sing to people and find 10 people who liked her singing.

I quoteth again someone who said, "I actually felt embarassed watching her sing"

And she still insisted she was a good singer.

The saddest thing about the entire thing, and the saddest thing for those judges was that they have to listen to people massacre and disgrace songs that have been like the greatest hits, songs that have been revered, remembered and honoured, sung to such an extent that its demeaning. You don't ever want to hear your favourite song ruined this way. Please. Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again.

But back to the original thing. People can't sing insist they can. Why? Can't they take rejection? C'mon its a fact. Live with it, if you are gonna make it, then make it on your own. But if an expert says you can't sing, maybe you should take a hint! This ain't no Hollywood movie, where the little guy gets dissed by small time producers only to make it straight to the big time. This ain't no Presley story about a guy who was told that they can't sing, only to become the King of Pop. Seriously, asking myself this one question, would I ever have a CD produced by this person playing in my car? Hell, no.

Serious, man, these people can't make it, these people will never make it. They are making a mockery of everything.

I guess I know where people get these ideas that they are the greatest from. They hear it from friends who tell them they have a great voice. They hear it from relatives who think they can make it big time. When a friend asks you, "How'd I sound?" there's no way in perdition that a friend would want to say, "I think you suck big time, and if you ever open your mouth again, I'm either putting a bullet in my head or down your throat."

No friend would be that honest. Except me.

Except from a conversation that should have happened

Her: Have you heard from Alvin?

Him: Nope, should I?

Her: He's leaving.

Him: Really? Good riddance to bad rubbish and a good kick in the hindside for that.

Her: Why must you act like that? What do you have against him?

Him: Oh, I don't know, maybe because he is an arrogant pissant psychopath?

Her: Why must you talk about him like that?

Him: Because he is that's why.

Her: But he's actually a nice guy. He always helps me.

Him: Well if he was such a nice guy, then explain why does nine of ten guys hate his guts and the tenth is just too nice to say it? He's only nice to girls.

Her: You just don't like him.

Him: Of course I don't just like him. I just absolutely detest him.

Her: What has he ever done to you?

Him: Shall I make a list? Let's see, there's his tantrums, there's his arrogance swagger, there's his actions which always screams out "I'm much better than you and that's a fact", there's his look which he always gives people, there's his smirk when you have a dose of bad luck, there's his bitchy attitude which just makes you want to rip his face off, there's...

Her: Stop it! You're just jealous of him.

Him: Hah! Sure, jealous of him. I'm jealous of his inferiority complex, I'm jealous of his maddening ego, I'm jealous of his asshole behavior. Sure, I'm so jealous...

Her: Stop! Its you with the problem. I hate you.

Him: Okay. Fine by me. I just hope you see him for what he is.

Her: At least I now see you for what you are.

Him: Really? Are you sure?

Feeling really really tired right about now.

"My old bones hurt..."

The problem being that its only 4:45pm in the afternoon. Maybe I've been stricken by some sort of sleep disorder, where my biological clock is running chaotically and that my body does not respond to the rising sun or the dark night, but rather on my whims and fancies. Then I would eat regardless of meal times, and I would sleep regardless of night or day. And I would slowly sink into a pit of slow insanity where the carrion beetles gnaw at my mind, rend at my flesh and slowly I wither and rot into a slimy pit of body fluids and wastes.

Okay, maybe not. I'm just bloody tired. Probably coz I slept at 3 last night and woke up at 7. Okay, enough griping. Night.

Today, I shall talk about my driver's license.

Yes, this post is done purposely to show off to some of my peers *hint* *hint* that I can drive and they can't.

I was just cruising at a steady 100km/h (61mph) down some really remote road and yeah, it was a really cool thing especially with my shades on. Never mind the fact it was a Pajero, never mind the fact I didn't have some cool chick sitting next to me. I guess its one of those moments when I'm really focused and immersed in the moment. Nothing else, but the road and me driving down in a machine of pure power. No time to see the scenery around me, no time to watch the sky, no time to smell the air, no time to feel the wind in my hair, just pure raging speed.

And in that one brief moment, it seems like the world has melted away, and beyond me laid this endless road. There is no destination in mind. The turns in the road are just instinctive, the second exit on the roundabout. The first left turn at the end. Follow the road. Doesn't matter, it all doesn't matter, I'm just driving down as fast as I can. Okay, maybe not as fast as I can, but rather as fast as I dare.

Yeah, it was good. Kinda like that song, "On the highway to hell..." and stop by for some snacks on the way.

Anyway, it sorta reminded me that I was running away from something. Sometimes when you're helpless and weak, and all you could do is run away. Well it felt very much like that. Driving away very fast from a life and reality that I would like to leave behind. This time, its all different from running away. I've got a wicked grin on my face, and all problems turn to roadkill.

The timer ticks away. The countdown has long started, and the day awaited (and feared) approaches. It comes like death, slow, omnious, but inevitable.

I wake up at night, wondering what's going to happen next. How can my life be dictated by such a day? How can my thoughts be always on this day? Cold sweat. Shuddering. Never before have I been so uncertain about myself, my life and my future. Man this so utterly sucks.

I've always sort of prepared for the worst. No, who am I kidding? I'm not prepared for anything!

In the end, I don't know what, who I might end up as. Taxi driver, busker, bartender. Yeah, whatever happens, whatever happens. No, its one thing to put your faith and trust in the Unseen Hand, but I want to shape my own destiny. I decide. I so damn bloody hell decide! I had enough of someone else making decisions for me!

Oh wait, damn, I just remembered. Some decisions have to be made first. But not by me.

You're The Jackal!


Which Thirteen Ghosts Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


Hmm.... cool!

Don't ever say goodbye...
Its too cruel,
With a tone of finality,
As though we'll never meet again.

Don't ever say see you later...
Should it not come true,
Rings like a broken promise,
For there may never be a later.

Don't ever leave without a word...
It makes one feel uncherished,
Maybe not worth a time,
Or a thougth or a care.

I'll always be with you...
Cause I'll always miss you,
And I'll think of you,
And just because.

Uh oh. Bad news. Do you feel it coming? Do you feel it coming? Its in the air, its on the radio waves, and its just about everywhere I look. Everywhere but my dark, dank corner.

You know, when you see it, its that day when everyone comes out and celebrates love and romance and their soul mates. Interestingly enough, why the heck am I doing this post 14 days earlier? Its because I'm starting to see signs of it everywhere. Look around you, the newspapers say, "Buy a dozen roses for your love one because you can't afford to look cheapskate!" and the television says, "A Valentine's Day Premiere for you and your love one to enjoy snuggled together!" and the promotions on the shops go, "Buy this pair of gifts for you and your love one so that we can rip you off even more with cheapskate products!"

Forgive my cynism. But if you still don't get what day I'm talking about, please drop me an e-mail. I would so like to be your friend. So can I borrow a million dollars?

But that's so besides the point. The point here is that, you can smell the love in the air, and its agonisingly sickening. Must be my old fogeyness acting up, or maybe it has more to do with the fact that Valentines Day happily ignores us all single people out there. It would be nice to actually go out and not see any girl who is absolutely drop dead gorgeous hanging onto the arm of any guy who is so much like a jerk that you could just hate him by looking at him. And Valentines Day doesn't just celebrate romance and our love ones, but it also happily reminds us that we're single.

Nothing puts you off more about being single, than the salesgirl saying, "Would you like to buy one for your girlfriend?"

Dammit. Why not you be my girlfriend?