Birthdays are happy events. Especially if you are twins.
Happy birthday Becky and Seekarlui!
May all your dreams and wishes come true this year.
I will miss you. Die Rechnung, bitte.
You made me laugh.
You made me smile.
You kept me up late at night, struggling for ideas.
You made me take pictures of wierd things.
You made me reveal things I’d rather keep secret.
You made me do strange things in office.
I will miss you.
It’s been a great ride.
Auf wiedersehen. Goodbye Die Rechnung, bitte.
You know, life is a real mystery sometimes. Take this weblog for instance.
The template sucks. It changes all the time.
The author can’t write for shit. Reading his writing can be likened to walking barefoot over broken glass – grating and painful.
The author also has nothing interesting to tell. He leads a dull and uneventful life. To get around this, he types suggestive post titles to lure innocent, unsuspecting pr0n surfers. As to date, Man Boobies generates the most hits.
The author sucks.
This weblog su… er… is not very nice.
I just can’t understand how this weblog managed to garner 40,243 hits.
Forty thousand hits. Where did all these people come from?
So okay, our season is over. We sucked. Badly. The remaining four games don’t mean much, nothing to look forward to, except for Owen’s return to the first team.
16 million pounds. 100,000 pounds per week since Sept 2005 (that’s 84 weeks since then). A whopping total of 24.4 million pounds. 11 games played. About 2.2 million pounds per game.
So expensive oh.
Errr… So, will Owen be playing Chelski or not? I hope they don’t rush him, I’d much rather see him rested till he’s regained his full fitness before throwing him into the lion’s den.
Clever picture choice though. He’s playing. Yay! No, he’s not. Ahh! I’m confused.
Playing against Essien and a desperate Chelski team may not be a very good idea, so soon after recovering from a serious injury. And I’d much rather see Chelski win the league than Manure, divine help or no divine help.
You want the three points? Here take it, but you must win the league, okie? Cheers.
Hands off our Owen, you Manure. Shoo shoo! Beat it.
Some uncle with unwashed jeans tagged me, so I am supposed to come up with an old wives’ tale.
I can’t think of one. *walks off and parks butt in front of the telly*
(110 minutes later)
Face damn black.
Stupid MU. Now we’re going to get that stupid 4 – 1, 4 – 1, 4 – 1 shit all week long. Stupid Watford, can’t even defend properly. Niamah.
Erm. Where was I?
Oh yeah. Old wives’ tales.
If you see your boss wearing green pants on a Monday morning, poke him in the ribs five times, burp out loud and you will have
… good luck for one week.
… and an angry and bewildered boss.
– – – – –
I stumbled across this post. Just don’t ask me what I was searching for, okie? Apparently, there are people out there (besides Singaporeans) who still don’t know what condoms are used for.
Seekarlui, a massively hungover Sean, AirAsia Girl and I went to Sepang to watch the 2007 Petronas Malaysian Grand Prix last Sunday.
The race was great fun, but there was a twinge of disappointment as well, as the event highlighted how inadequate Malaysians are at organising world class sporting events.
In terms of the tourism industry, we are lagging far behind our ASEAN neighbours.