Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Comic Relief #34
So, Lars and the Real Girl is actually brilliant. I say "actually" like I didn't expect it, but that's false. The trailers already looked great. To anyone who watches the movie and doesn't like it, GTFO.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tribute
A good friend of mine recently told me (again) how lucky I was to have someone like her.
Another good friend of mine once told me that she was the good-looking one in the relationship.
Someone once patted me on the back after learning that I've stuck with her for more than half a decade, and I never felt prouder.
I remember the feeling of my gut sinking when she sank to the turf that dark day.
I can remember the adolescent excitement I used to have when mIRC told me that ^JeRSeY^ was online.
I still have ticket stubs, faded beyond recognition. Some of those movies we didn't even "watch"...
I still feel the sweat of anxiousness of a first date whenever I come by to pick her up.
Her voice still lingers on in my head, echoing like there is nothing else in there.
The towel I walked so far to get, the striped one, is still an important part of our life, even if I have no idea where it is now.
When I was lying in that hospital bed, feeling like roadkill, she came in and made me feel better with some "traditional medicine".
Purple thin ones at the viewing mall.
The CD I made her, she broke in front of my face, breaking my heart. She's done it so many times, but has always made up for it.
The only girl I've ever cried for.
The only girl I've ever truly smiled for.
I love her.
Another good friend of mine once told me that she was the good-looking one in the relationship.
Someone once patted me on the back after learning that I've stuck with her for more than half a decade, and I never felt prouder.
I remember the feeling of my gut sinking when she sank to the turf that dark day.
I can remember the adolescent excitement I used to have when mIRC told me that ^JeRSeY^ was online.
I still have ticket stubs, faded beyond recognition. Some of those movies we didn't even "watch"...
I still feel the sweat of anxiousness of a first date whenever I come by to pick her up.
Her voice still lingers on in my head, echoing like there is nothing else in there.
The towel I walked so far to get, the striped one, is still an important part of our life, even if I have no idea where it is now.
When I was lying in that hospital bed, feeling like roadkill, she came in and made me feel better with some "traditional medicine".
Purple thin ones at the viewing mall.
The CD I made her, she broke in front of my face, breaking my heart. She's done it so many times, but has always made up for it.
The only girl I've ever cried for.
The only girl I've ever truly smiled for.
I love her.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Crash
Everything that has a beginning has an end.
Seems that everything has crashed just a little in recent times. Blue screens, dead Macs, lonely ties, flashless cameras, unscored penalties, yellowed text-books and clown smiles are but a few of the things spiralling around the people around me right now, even as I try to hold on to some semblance of sanity in this wild world.
Unfortunately, many of us never get to test the afore-mentioned quote; many things don't even have beginnings. More often than not, though, many of us simply fail to believe that the beginnings could or should happen at all, living simply with a pang of regret and doubt swirling in their being until something trivial distracts them for a time. A frayed knot, hanging by a door-jamb? I'm afraid not.
Others do make the proactive attempt to initiate something. Chasing a dream is almost always noble, though sometimes the magic of a dream is in the journey, and not the destination. Other times you might need to realise that some dreams need more than one mind, heart or body to be truly fulfilled, and that the distinction between dream and reality can be so hazy yet tangible at the same time.
There are few things less awkward, if not painful, than waiting for a response. Hoping for one, and knowing deep down that there is every chance you'll be disappointed. It's one thing to put up a brave face and smile at the cameras, but every photo has its negative, and behind every shot there lies a story waiting to be told. A picture paints a thousand words, but often they remain unspoken in more ways than one.
To some, the single-minded pursuit of apparent perfection is a virtue, to others, a fault. A scholar can be branded a heretic, a diligent student can be labelled a geek. But we all know that textbooks don't hold all the answers. If life is but a huge math problem, the formula to solve it has not been proven yet; we are all but random variables in its twists and turns. You don't study for life, in any way you look at it.
Then there are the times where things are so plain to see for just about everybody else except those invovled in the act. It's like watching a film with unrestricted narration; you see the bomb, you know the bomb is there, but the hero can't detect it because of an inconvenient shadow. What will happen, as the hero and heroine remain oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in their own world of happy thoughts and sparkling lights?
Sometimes relief comes in the things we take for granted. It is said you don't know what you have till it's gone, and I do believe it's very true. Sometimes all it takes is a brief absence, the threat of separation, for someone to cherish another even more dearly, clutched to their heart the thing that seems to fill their world with meaning and light, music and laughter.
Of course, at times things go awry and the only person to blame is staring right back at you in that blue screen. Maybe things could have been sorted out before, maybe the memories could have been saved. Perhaps it isn't truly your fault, perhaps your innocence is hardly feigned. But crashes always happen, and while they rarely reign in the end of all things, they can be a pain, in more ways than one.
Seems that everything has crashed just a little in recent times. Blue screens, dead Macs, lonely ties, flashless cameras, unscored penalties, yellowed text-books and clown smiles are but a few of the things spiralling around the people around me right now, even as I try to hold on to some semblance of sanity in this wild world.
Unfortunately, many of us never get to test the afore-mentioned quote; many things don't even have beginnings. More often than not, though, many of us simply fail to believe that the beginnings could or should happen at all, living simply with a pang of regret and doubt swirling in their being until something trivial distracts them for a time. A frayed knot, hanging by a door-jamb? I'm afraid not.
Others do make the proactive attempt to initiate something. Chasing a dream is almost always noble, though sometimes the magic of a dream is in the journey, and not the destination. Other times you might need to realise that some dreams need more than one mind, heart or body to be truly fulfilled, and that the distinction between dream and reality can be so hazy yet tangible at the same time.
There are few things less awkward, if not painful, than waiting for a response. Hoping for one, and knowing deep down that there is every chance you'll be disappointed. It's one thing to put up a brave face and smile at the cameras, but every photo has its negative, and behind every shot there lies a story waiting to be told. A picture paints a thousand words, but often they remain unspoken in more ways than one.
To some, the single-minded pursuit of apparent perfection is a virtue, to others, a fault. A scholar can be branded a heretic, a diligent student can be labelled a geek. But we all know that textbooks don't hold all the answers. If life is but a huge math problem, the formula to solve it has not been proven yet; we are all but random variables in its twists and turns. You don't study for life, in any way you look at it.
Then there are the times where things are so plain to see for just about everybody else except those invovled in the act. It's like watching a film with unrestricted narration; you see the bomb, you know the bomb is there, but the hero can't detect it because of an inconvenient shadow. What will happen, as the hero and heroine remain oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in their own world of happy thoughts and sparkling lights?
Sometimes relief comes in the things we take for granted. It is said you don't know what you have till it's gone, and I do believe it's very true. Sometimes all it takes is a brief absence, the threat of separation, for someone to cherish another even more dearly, clutched to their heart the thing that seems to fill their world with meaning and light, music and laughter.
Of course, at times things go awry and the only person to blame is staring right back at you in that blue screen. Maybe things could have been sorted out before, maybe the memories could have been saved. Perhaps it isn't truly your fault, perhaps your innocence is hardly feigned. But crashes always happen, and while they rarely reign in the end of all things, they can be a pain, in more ways than one.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Comic Relief #25
The only person I know who can (supposedly) consistently shower faster than most people in Tekong.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Questionable Contacts
At time of writing, I sit here wringing my hands and wondering if the dull ache in my leg will ever pack up and leave. Swallowing gingerly because it seems the back of my throat has transformed into something resembling a flaming cactus. Bending over (sideways) as my back has always been a tad problematic. And I risk a glance at the nearby bathroom. Just in case I need it. Again.
I receive a notification on MSN, in the midst of reassuring someone that yes, it is indeed a cute song and that I will listen to it, and listening to someone else who happens to be attracting a host of potential suitors without apparently trying. Hot stuff, that. Campus babe and all.
Another one.
I click OK and check thelittle box to add yet another disembodied soul to my growing MSN list, wondering who in the blue hell it is. It's bad enough that I receive phantom text messages from people asking me out to a mutual friend's; now I've had 4 people in 3 days add me to their lists, and I don't know who the hell they are.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly antisocial (most of the time) but I just like to know who exactly these people are. I've never been a fan of the "random chat" function of the classic ICQ (remember that?) and I've sure as hell never gone up to a random person on IRC and asl-ed him/her.
So whoever you are who's been adding me to MSN, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, rude, offensive, crude or crazy, but tell me who you are.
And if someone to the rest of you, don't get any weird ideas. If I get flooded with messages going "HI NAZ MY NAME IS SALLY REMEMBER ME" or "HELLO NAZ THIS IS JAG FROM SCHOOL JUST SO YOU KNOW SEE YOU TOMORROW LOL HALO 3 IS AWESOME BYE", I will personally, uh, well, let your imagination run wild.
I receive a notification on MSN, in the midst of reassuring someone that yes, it is indeed a cute song and that I will listen to it, and listening to someone else who happens to be attracting a host of potential suitors without apparently trying. Hot stuff, that. Campus babe and all.
Another one.
I click OK and check thelittle box to add yet another disembodied soul to my growing MSN list, wondering who in the blue hell it is. It's bad enough that I receive phantom text messages from people asking me out to a mutual friend's; now I've had 4 people in 3 days add me to their lists, and I don't know who the hell they are.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly antisocial (most of the time) but I just like to know who exactly these people are. I've never been a fan of the "random chat" function of the classic ICQ (remember that?) and I've sure as hell never gone up to a random person on IRC and asl-ed him/her.
So whoever you are who's been adding me to MSN, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, rude, offensive, crude or crazy, but tell me who you are.
And if someone to the rest of you, don't get any weird ideas. If I get flooded with messages going "HI NAZ MY NAME IS SALLY REMEMBER ME" or "HELLO NAZ THIS IS JAG FROM SCHOOL JUST SO YOU KNOW SEE YOU TOMORROW LOL HALO 3 IS AWESOME BYE", I will personally, uh, well, let your imagination run wild.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Meh
Blogger is being a bitch, so no Comic Relief today.
Happy birthday Shaun.
And to the two girls I know who have recently separated (not from each other), I hope you feel better soon.
Happy birthday Shaun.
And to the two girls I know who have recently separated (not from each other), I hope you feel better soon.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
A Long Weekend
Not looking forward to the next few days. Limping about, visiting relatives, which means that everyone will be sitting around and waiting for everyone else to leave. Perhaps some of the younger kids will find some mindless game to amuse themselves before I am met with their drivel.
It's going to be a long weekend.
So much for celebrations.
It's going to be a long weekend.
So much for celebrations.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Done
Walking away
From a chapter of my past
Thinking about
The real smile I had last
Watching the ring
As it fell upon the stone
Tracing the tear
As I failed to cast my own
Visions behind
Eyelids closed so tight
Memories hide
All the wrongs and all the rights
A pain in the leg
Both a metaphor and there
An pain in the heart
Or an aching everywhere
Cartoons and the like
Never seemed to bring you joy
A slap by the road
From a girl who loved a boy
But change always comes
Even mountains die in time
Irony circles
And even lovefools speak in rhyme
A lifetime we've had
But a lifetime spans ahead
Our laughter and love
Became dissent and only hate
If Cupid is watching
He can have back his arrow
Maybe he erred
He can check again tomorrow
But dreams always fade
When you lie awake at dawn
Reality bites
Losses bring us time to mourn
The Sun always sets
Even when the day is great
But days always end
Time does not a couple make
No happy endings
They were all so very wrong
No teal and velvet
No mushy wedding song
No more chances
Apologies so empty
No more goodbyes
Or wallowing in self-pity
So here it stops
Every road has its ending
No turning back
I'm done with just pretending
A breath so deep
It feels my heart would burst
But now I know
That would be but just a first
No Comic Relief today.
From a chapter of my past
Thinking about
The real smile I had last
Watching the ring
As it fell upon the stone
Tracing the tear
As I failed to cast my own
Visions behind
Eyelids closed so tight
Memories hide
All the wrongs and all the rights
A pain in the leg
Both a metaphor and there
An pain in the heart
Or an aching everywhere
Cartoons and the like
Never seemed to bring you joy
A slap by the road
From a girl who loved a boy
But change always comes
Even mountains die in time
Irony circles
And even lovefools speak in rhyme
A lifetime we've had
But a lifetime spans ahead
Our laughter and love
Became dissent and only hate
If Cupid is watching
He can have back his arrow
Maybe he erred
He can check again tomorrow
But dreams always fade
When you lie awake at dawn
Reality bites
Losses bring us time to mourn
The Sun always sets
Even when the day is great
But days always end
Time does not a couple make
No happy endings
They were all so very wrong
No teal and velvet
No mushy wedding song
No more chances
Apologies so empty
No more goodbyes
Or wallowing in self-pity
So here it stops
Every road has its ending
No turning back
I'm done with just pretending
A breath so deep
It feels my heart would burst
But now I know
That would be but just a first
No Comic Relief today.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Corner of the Eye
"And this is why I hate people."
Yesterday saw me in the rare mood of nearly flinging a textbook at someone's face. It was already in my hand, I was weighing my options, so to speak. In the end, I decided that being suspended from school or charged with assault might not be worth the temporary pleasure of tracking the trajectory of a paperback missle en route to the source of my annoyance.
It's not rare that I feel annoyed. I was annoyed alot yesterday. I woke up annoyed, fighting back a tide of phlegm while trying to to aggravate my bad leg, fumbling for my Nokia as the theme from Sin City (Cells, by The Servant) plucked me from my slumber.
But I should rephrase my earlier statement.
Not the "source of my annoyance", but more along the lines of "the reason murder exists" or simply anal bitch.
The story so far...
Group project. Three guys and a girl. Girl doesn't show up for scheduled meeting to discuss presentation.
Fair enough.
Guys make do with assignment, come up with an outline for an essay.
At this point, think about what an outline for your own essay might entail.
I don't usually handle criticism very well. It's a fault of mine, I admit. Really. But what really irks me is when someone is critical of something that really isn't wrong at all.
If I had asked you what your favourite colour was and proceeded to ridicule you for answering "Blue" just because my favourite colour is silver, would you think I was in any way, shape or form justified? Or sane?
There we were, showing the "teacher" what we had come up with for an outline. And we were told we were wrong.
Firstly, she said, we had the numbering off.
Forgive me for being stoopid, but I didn't know that personal outlines required numbers with decimal places, following an apparently globalised system and code.
Taking a break from the strenuous task sitting on a table at the back of the class, she reached for the breakfast that was graciously provided by the school administration. Not two feet from my face.
"Can I have one?"
"Sure Ma'am, just don't eat in front of Naz."
Smirk.
"Oh, I'm sure it's fine, it will test his self-discipline."
And she tore open the plastic wrapping and ravaged the bun.
Wait a minute. Last time I checked, we here in clean green Singapore understood racial and religious issues and concerns. I don't spike food with beef when Hindus are going to dig in, and I don't expect that anyone goes around ripping the turbans off the heads of our Sikh friends.
So why in the blue hell is there a fucking teacher who claims to be a former lawyer fucking eating and smiling at the only Muslim in her class when she God Damn knows he is fucking fasting?
Self-discipline, yes. It takes alot of control and willpower not to grab her by her scrawy shoulders and deposit her out the window.
After glancing through the rest of the document while at the same time keeping an eye on the ceiling, she told us we needed to indicate every single point and sub-topic that we might want to touch upon in our essay.
Intro: History & Definition - Recent changes, etc
Later became
1. Intro
1.1 History
1.1.1 Recent changes
1.2 Definition
1.2.1 What
1.2.2 Who
1.2.3 Why
Out single page outline was starting to resemble the actual essay when one of us prudently pointed out that outlines shouldn't be more than a page in length.
"Oh, yes. Yours is too long. It has too many details."
Fuck you, you anal cross-eyed bitch.
"But Ma'am our outline before was only one page. You told us to expand it and include all these details."
"Yes, but it's too long now, too detailed."
"But what we did at first was a single page outline with everything we needed."
"I didn't see it."
And the unspoken retort of "Of course you didn't see it, you cross eyed mutant. You couldn't see an elephant if it farted in your face."
At this point I found the book in my hand, and the other two were already exasperated beyond compare.
If you've watched 300, you'd have remembered when Leonidas dropped his shield and helmet near the end, but gripped his spear and looked down at it, thinking of hurling the weapon to cause grievious bodily harm to Xerxes.
She is definitely not Xerxes, and I don't have the abs to be Leonidas, but it was slow-mo nonetheless.
But the moment passed, and I am still enrolled in school, though my urge to murder, maim and mutilate has never felt so right.
Yesterday saw me in the rare mood of nearly flinging a textbook at someone's face. It was already in my hand, I was weighing my options, so to speak. In the end, I decided that being suspended from school or charged with assault might not be worth the temporary pleasure of tracking the trajectory of a paperback missle en route to the source of my annoyance.
It's not rare that I feel annoyed. I was annoyed alot yesterday. I woke up annoyed, fighting back a tide of phlegm while trying to to aggravate my bad leg, fumbling for my Nokia as the theme from Sin City (Cells, by The Servant) plucked me from my slumber.
But I should rephrase my earlier statement.
Not the "source of my annoyance", but more along the lines of "the reason murder exists" or simply anal bitch.
The story so far...
Group project. Three guys and a girl. Girl doesn't show up for scheduled meeting to discuss presentation.
Fair enough.
Guys make do with assignment, come up with an outline for an essay.
At this point, think about what an outline for your own essay might entail.
I don't usually handle criticism very well. It's a fault of mine, I admit. Really. But what really irks me is when someone is critical of something that really isn't wrong at all.
If I had asked you what your favourite colour was and proceeded to ridicule you for answering "Blue" just because my favourite colour is silver, would you think I was in any way, shape or form justified? Or sane?
There we were, showing the "teacher" what we had come up with for an outline. And we were told we were wrong.
Firstly, she said, we had the numbering off.
Forgive me for being stoopid, but I didn't know that personal outlines required numbers with decimal places, following an apparently globalised system and code.
Taking a break from the strenuous task sitting on a table at the back of the class, she reached for the breakfast that was graciously provided by the school administration. Not two feet from my face.
"Can I have one?"
"Sure Ma'am, just don't eat in front of Naz."
Smirk.
"Oh, I'm sure it's fine, it will test his self-discipline."
And she tore open the plastic wrapping and ravaged the bun.
Wait a minute. Last time I checked, we here in clean green Singapore understood racial and religious issues and concerns. I don't spike food with beef when Hindus are going to dig in, and I don't expect that anyone goes around ripping the turbans off the heads of our Sikh friends.
So why in the blue hell is there a fucking teacher who claims to be a former lawyer fucking eating and smiling at the only Muslim in her class when she God Damn knows he is fucking fasting?
Self-discipline, yes. It takes alot of control and willpower not to grab her by her scrawy shoulders and deposit her out the window.
After glancing through the rest of the document while at the same time keeping an eye on the ceiling, she told us we needed to indicate every single point and sub-topic that we might want to touch upon in our essay.
Intro: History & Definition - Recent changes, etc
Later became
1. Intro
1.1 History
1.1.1 Recent changes
1.2 Definition
1.2.1 What
1.2.2 Who
1.2.3 Why
Out single page outline was starting to resemble the actual essay when one of us prudently pointed out that outlines shouldn't be more than a page in length.
"Oh, yes. Yours is too long. It has too many details."
Fuck you, you anal cross-eyed bitch.
"But Ma'am our outline before was only one page. You told us to expand it and include all these details."
"Yes, but it's too long now, too detailed."
"But what we did at first was a single page outline with everything we needed."
"I didn't see it."
And the unspoken retort of "Of course you didn't see it, you cross eyed mutant. You couldn't see an elephant if it farted in your face."
At this point I found the book in my hand, and the other two were already exasperated beyond compare.
If you've watched 300, you'd have remembered when Leonidas dropped his shield and helmet near the end, but gripped his spear and looked down at it, thinking of hurling the weapon to cause grievious bodily harm to Xerxes.
She is definitely not Xerxes, and I don't have the abs to be Leonidas, but it was slow-mo nonetheless.
But the moment passed, and I am still enrolled in school, though my urge to murder, maim and mutilate has never felt so right.
Monday, October 01, 2007
A Blight For Sore Guys
With the somewhat recent popularity of Facebook and previously Friendster, ICQ and mIRC, the internet has allowed us the opotunity to meet and mingle without actually having to meet and mingle. Hold up, this isn't your average essay/article on the pros and cons of the web; it's merely an above average critique of the con-men who act all spiderish on it.
Hello hottie...
Nice figure!
We should hang out and chill sometime soon.
Hey, can I get to know you?
There is something deeply disturbing about an individual who continually sends suggestive messages such as these to girls over the internet. Of course, I've failed to mention that this same dude is supposedly happily married (proudly displaying a picture of him and his wife on his profile page) while attempting to "get to know" these younger girls.
They're way out of his league anyway.
Firstly, all guys are in some way frisky. Gatal. Friendly. I admit (have been accused of) it. Others around me have been as well.
But at least we have the decency to not address complete strangers with the poser attitude of being an ultra cool pimp daddy.
That being said, there is one rather large example that I know of. I have actually taken a look at his friendster profile (or can get to it quickly) and he fits the bill perfectly. He must have married a completely illiterate and oblivious girl, for it seems she puts up with his crap like a dog with a master with a penchant for swift kicks to the ribs.
To you nice girls reading this (and the not-so-nice who I still call nice simply for being here), let me tell you how a guy's brain works.
He wakes up in the morning, replaying the highlights of a dream that contains either sex, violence, sports, or a combination of the three. He then takes a shower, still groggy, wondering about the girls he is going to meet that day and how to best impress them. Upon contact with the girls, he turns on the charm, to varying effects.
Most guys will be rewarded with smiles and girlish titters, laughter and the occasional friendly punch on the shoulder.
Other, more dashing ones like myself would fare slightly better.
There are also those who would view courtship like the way frogs and other amphibians and lower life-forms do.
If you try hard enough, with enough people, long enough, you're bound to score.
So while it's always nice to be friendly and responsive, actually replying to someone who says...
Hey there, you look hot!
...with a "friendly thank you" is actually the equivalent of a OHMAHGAWDIWANJOO to these sort of guys.
Trust me on this.
Now that we're all clear on that issue, I'll go back to my focal point, Big Daddy Drool. Here we have a prime example of the kind of guy you do not reply to on MSN, Friendster, Facebook or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, if he was the sole male survivor and the future of the human race depended on the dispersal of his seed among ther emaining women, I hope those ladies turn girl-on-girl really quick and enjoy what little time they have.
I have a strong urge to take a screenshot of the messages he sends to people I know, send it to his wife who is also conveniently registered on the service. Oh, the joys of the internet.
Hello hottie...
Nice figure!
We should hang out and chill sometime soon.
Hey, can I get to know you?
There is something deeply disturbing about an individual who continually sends suggestive messages such as these to girls over the internet. Of course, I've failed to mention that this same dude is supposedly happily married (proudly displaying a picture of him and his wife on his profile page) while attempting to "get to know" these younger girls.
They're way out of his league anyway.
Firstly, all guys are in some way frisky. Gatal. Friendly. I admit (have been accused of) it. Others around me have been as well.
But at least we have the decency to not address complete strangers with the poser attitude of being an ultra cool pimp daddy.
That being said, there is one rather large example that I know of. I have actually taken a look at his friendster profile (or can get to it quickly) and he fits the bill perfectly. He must have married a completely illiterate and oblivious girl, for it seems she puts up with his crap like a dog with a master with a penchant for swift kicks to the ribs.
To you nice girls reading this (and the not-so-nice who I still call nice simply for being here), let me tell you how a guy's brain works.
He wakes up in the morning, replaying the highlights of a dream that contains either sex, violence, sports, or a combination of the three. He then takes a shower, still groggy, wondering about the girls he is going to meet that day and how to best impress them. Upon contact with the girls, he turns on the charm, to varying effects.
Most guys will be rewarded with smiles and girlish titters, laughter and the occasional friendly punch on the shoulder.
Other, more dashing ones like myself would fare slightly better.
There are also those who would view courtship like the way frogs and other amphibians and lower life-forms do.
If you try hard enough, with enough people, long enough, you're bound to score.
So while it's always nice to be friendly and responsive, actually replying to someone who says...
Hey there, you look hot!
...with a "friendly thank you" is actually the equivalent of a OHMAHGAWDIWANJOO to these sort of guys.
Trust me on this.
Now that we're all clear on that issue, I'll go back to my focal point, Big Daddy Drool. Here we have a prime example of the kind of guy you do not reply to on MSN, Friendster, Facebook or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, if he was the sole male survivor and the future of the human race depended on the dispersal of his seed among ther emaining women, I hope those ladies turn girl-on-girl really quick and enjoy what little time they have.
I have a strong urge to take a screenshot of the messages he sends to people I know, send it to his wife who is also conveniently registered on the service. Oh, the joys of the internet.
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