In contribution to a friend who had left Penang a year ago for the island of honey,money and no chewing gums, I would like to give you, my fair readers, an intimate insight into the academic and intellectual workings of Marcel Leng. Here are among his two formost poems: Oh, Hell NUS!!-Marcel Leng Damnation befalls on one side of the fence and bless'd are those on the other, one side works and toils with no defence, while the other side jokes with one another. Work we do and work we get, a single work done begets three in turn, and insurmountable odds we have, and our work ever tempted to be burned. Work pile up while we rest, and work pile up even when we work! Hell as it is, they named it education, and stuff it at NUS as it is. Damn the paper, makes me look like a fool, who can't even add one together to make two. And yes... the moral of this half-baked poem is but one, fuck NUS. Nonsense-Marcel Leng Look back, remember, time goes by, return, never. Work hard, have fun, most importantly, eat lunch. Right hand, left hand, both equal and opposite, just the perfect composite. The sun, the sky, come on, don't be shy! I sit you stand, you sit I stand, this is why, we never see eye to eye. I have to say bye.

I woke up in the wee hours of a still asleep cockeral, due to a heavy load of fresh orange juice sloshing around in my kidneys. If it were to be put in the standard local time, it would be 6.00 a.m. After I had cleared my exquisite load of liquified fresh Vitamin Cs, I went wiggling back into the chambers of my own blankets. Hoping to induce a loud snore which was usually followed by a period of unconciousness, I closed shut instantaneously both my eyelids. However, lady luck wasn't with me. I continued to be awake. What am I going to do? Get out of bed? For Kee Chai's sake, there is nothing to do this early! It was my luck that I remembered that a peculiar looking parabolic dish was stuck on the rooftop. ASTRO, the entity was called, is the main cause the Cable Guy was forced to get a new job. For cable was ol’ school compared to this piece of ceramic cum high polimered plastic jutting out into the far beyond. There I was with a reason to get those sapped limbs moving from my small, tiny quarters to the spacious living room. My desire for the continuing denial of my existence(what else? sleeping,duh) was still begging, a big gush of air was taken in. Soon, it was released in a loud, piercing gurgle of vocals similiar to the shrieks of scramjets.(YAAWWWN! *sniff*). In spite of the apparent inertia of things, I struggled against this motionless body which was willingly chained to the entity of slumber. In a few minutes, I was within the living room. A couch, with pairs of decorative pillows came into my view A loud stud was heard. It was me, retiring my perfectly symetrical biological bumpers (glutinous maximus) on the soft cushions. After my favourite muscles were relaxed, my back slittered to the contours of the chair lazily. My sights then swerved to the right. I was shocked by an emanating brilliance that the world has never seen. Minute eyes were suddenly bulged, haplessly short sighted korneas were abruptly widened, as I focus almost reverantly on that sacred item of unadulterated grace. Spontaneously my right arm began to swing with my elbows staightened, lifting the full weight of that hairy, simian hand towards the direction of the Nobled Treasure. My digits of five were positioned in a way to seize and to snatch. A sense of desperation was felt yet followed. Slowly but surely my monologues were being dominated by the repetition of a single phrase, over and over again: “My Precioussss.” Such was the will of the remote. It was carved and crafted by the ironsmiths of Phillips, tricked into it by the Dark Lord ASTRO. Anyway, with everything set, I switched on The Big Box of Moving Pictures. Despite electrons being splattered (technically it would be ‘collided’ but ‘massacred’ seemed better. Since this blog is a family oriented site, I would have to do with ‘splattered’) on the wide open screen to satisfy my 5 minute attention span, my moral conscience was clear from the haunting images of magnetic and electromagnetic fields torturing, humiliating not to mention accelerating former ionless, randomly moving particles of space ala Abu Graib (Iraq) style. Perhaps it was the Dark Lord of ASTRO that set me straight. The atrocities were paying off. Different vector coordinates involving the Tormentor Anod harassing the ill-fated electrons into sexually and socially (yes, electrons do have a social and love life. You can just find them on Friendster! Or ogling at Playtron bunnies) compromising poses form patches of red, blue and green. It was the bloom of technicolour! The first pictures were arising. Animated motion was detected. At last, a vivid, anatomically humanoid creature with two eyes, two ears, two legs, two hands, a mouth, anose and a body without a head ( or is that a head without a body?) was seen. There, the familiar tunes were sung with a Carribean Pirate’s accent: “Who lives in a pinapple under the sea...” The rest was history. I spent the next 10 hours (excluding bathing, eating etc.) lying motionless on the cool, cozy settee further impairing my already less-than-20/20 vision.The usual slack was around the corner, coercing me to do nothing except laze onto the giant couch with some highly nutritious keropok on one hand and a remote on the other. Nothing else was up on demand, except for writing this blog.

Hi there! Just testing the 'comments' system...whatever that means

Please be noted that this post isn't a conclusion of the previous article. It is just part of another piece of jumbled, incoherent sentences that Goh needs to vent out, publicly. It is hoped that my current readers will not react to these vaguely structuralised, not to mention edited, paragraphs with remorse or retribution, in which this particular author will be the main target of 'eggs with flour' episodes. Here now, I shall begin. For the first time in history, The Guest of Men Is without any Journey No more srtides Beyond familiar ground For today, He stood, steadfast and without shoes On the comfort Of his marbled floor In that sanctuary which is called 'home' Wahahah! Dear Brewmaster here was within his house 24/7! A record! A record in domestic endurance. No lepaking sessions today! This is the first Sunday I've never been out! Oh, its so immaculate! Everything seems unusual, yet casual. The ceiling is so peculiar, yet familiar! Oh, the fan is spinning without due! Never had i felt original wind in its most domestic sense...No more aircons, no more coarse, dirt laden air from congested traffic jams!...whahahah...wahahah Currently reading other people's blogs. Turns out there are dudes out there who are more sick than this current wacko of the Dugong Clan

2nd Birthday Treat: Scooby Doooo... ...Where are youu? Right here in Prangin. In celebration of Lee Syiong’s most celebrated day, me, Viknesk and a couple of Lee Syiong’s coleagues went for an early show. What stuns this author was that the flick was in fact, quite enjoyable. (Paralysing this blogger even more was that Lee Syiong readily sacrifices Ringgits for our glutton at KFC, but that’s another story). It is with regret that I held a grudge against real reel retakes of famous, nolstalgic animations. Cheap makeup and even shoddier quirks involving semi-nude actors and actresses wearing alluminium foils as ‘armour’ or characters supposedly ‘super’ clad in tight, colourful spandex that could make an amphibian’s skin seem coarse had done nothing but wreck this author’s ‘blissful’ childhood memories forever (That is, if you consider watching The Smurfs and Lil’ Miss Pony 5 days per week ‘blissful’. I must be in Eternia during those days!) Among more than ample examples are Viva Rock Vegas and Batman and Robin. (If it were to be my way, I would have Dr Freeze chill the Flinstones and George Cloony into 1 ringgit Popsicles sold in your nearest supermarket) Monsters Unleashed isn’t any Masters of the Universe (watching the latter could cause your korneas to elope). Its surreal,cartoonish flavour does not overtake the live action reality it’s set in. Not only that the various characters are vividly subjected to their very own distinct dillemas, thus fleshing them beyond their 2D counterparts’ stereotypes. (It should be noted that the cause of their very personal problems is an awareness of their own socially construed labels) Take Wilma, for example. Always encumbered by her supposedly nerd-like qualities, Wilma’s hopelessly incapable of being that glamourous, sociable cover girl the world always endow. Even liberating herself from her spectacles through an unforgettable (men would agree) latex suit which shows off her volumptious curves, singing hips, firm angled chests, enticingly demure shoulders, symetrical plump bottom, long slender legs and fair, pearly, slim arms doesn’t help her go far. (All that and she still has an issue with her looks? For Kimochi’s sake, what is wrong with the people behind this sequel?.The director must be gay) It turns out that her crush isn’t allured by her sudden change (He must, must be that gay) and chose to love the inner beauty of Wilma instead. Wilma gets the picture and decides that it is okay to be her normal, geeky self instead. (A great lost to mankind) There were still glitches, of course. With the exception of Wilma’s, the rest of the gang’s deep-seated predicaments weren’t really solved, but were left hanging In spite this,a talking dog and ‘those pesky, meddling kids’, Scooby Doo’s still a nice, decent take. It is with full gratitude to Lee Syiong that we were able to witness the immaculate procession of Wilma’s assets at its full disposal. With sheer delight we were spoilt, pampered, mellowed by the juicy, pulpy exteriors of a ripened virgin Venusian fruit with near exhibitionist tendencies, in which Lee Syiong had a way of attracting. Ronald truly is a babe magnet It is hopeful that instead of a guy who doesn’t know hot from cold, Lee Syiong might score in the next flirt by a totally unexpected chick. (Chelsia?) A final note: Wilma, stay really clear from Viks. Watching you in your best has made his amilase+air meliur dengan meliar. Trust me, it’s even more annoying than Scooby’s panting. 1st Friday Watch in Gurney: 18 ringgit Yes, you heard it right. A double digit deficit caused by an unintentional error. An error rooted in this author’s misunderstanding of time and cost. It was on a bright, sunny day that me and my tormentor Viks decided to have a go in the Gurney cineplex. As it was a bright sunny day, we played a gruelling football match in the morning before we went for a show. It must also be because of the hot gleaming sun that we spent nearly a significant ammount of our pocket money for allegedly quality entertainment. It was 2.00pm in the afternoon. As since our dear Viks was concerned of time and Goh’s apparent mood for something artsy yet economical, we decided to enter the Golden Screens under the tickets of The Cup. After a quick cut at the ticket’s counter, we entered the theartre, slowly creeping in, respectful of a ready crowd who came from far and wide to see this ’98 classic. It was of total suprise, at least to this blogger, that there were only four fans other than us in it. Four is not a crowd, for Thierry Henry’s sake! It wouldn’t even sum as an illegal gathering! How outrageous for a citizen of an authoritarian country! Even though we felt an urge to flee, as our spider senses awere tingling with images of snooze inducing moments, we stood (more like we sat) through thinking that its fate we were here. After all, we payed for it. We took our seats and remain respectfully quiet, low-key. Then, the proverbial curtains (methophorically speaking ) were withdrawn. Slowly, the yellow monochromatic headlights were dimmed from faint to mute. All went silent, only a slight subtle whirl was heard by sensitive ears. It was the sound of the projector, its motors churning, sublimely clanking to rotate the first round of reel. The relative calm was disturbed by a strong booming gush. Rumbles of a raging rush, wobbling richly and resonantly into the room, pass from one end to the other. The woofers were shrieking mad with surround Dolby stereoscopic sounds. Suddenly, the nylon laced screen was filled with a bright, illuminated patch ingrained with only lofty images, slowly but surely growing in size. Our eyes were blurred, vagued, by the enveloping surge of clear white luster.There, the moment of truth was with us, the sense of our paved ringgit was abound. The first scenes were to bare. The anticipation was nude. The restlessness was real. Hearts were pounding. Hands were shaking. Lastly, the portrait was into being and we saw... A truck in an ulu prairie? Wow. What enticement. 9 ringgit for a moving truck in some lalang coated country. Smart move. It is said a book should never be judged by its cover. However, if it were to take account our 5 second attention spans, the former axiom should be false. In every general case, my fair colleagues and me have always have a need for searing sensuous scenes involving anything explosive and anybody erotic. In other words, our tastes involve a requirement for the adjectives ‘Too Fast Too Furious’. (yes, in capital letters, that is how much we need, in AXN terminology, ‘the buzz’) If our urges were to go further, we would be found in the nearest public toilet wrecked, with urine and saliva soaking, saturating our ragged, ravaged attire. On a closer look, our dear readers would have noticed our eyeballs pulsating violently mimicking the movements of independent gas particles (Hukum Brown) Constant, continuing consumption of esctasy pills have caused even the most venomous rat poisons harmless to our immune systems. To be continued...