by | § ¶ | trackbackWhy I Hate People Who Hate Cabbies
I'm extremely irritated by those people who say they hate cabbies. Just who the hell do you think you are?If you think cabbies are picky about their passengers, I'm sorry but that's probably because you look like a crook and all cabbies think they should play safe by NOT EARNING YOUR FILTHY MONEY.
If the cabbies do not arrive the minute you call for them, you know what? IT'S TIME TO MOVE! You are probably never in time for school or work because your area must be infested with traffic lights. Then again, don't bother. Everywhere you go, there will always be roadworks and traffic jams for some unknown reasons.
If you think cabbies drive recklessly, did you manage to pass your own driving test without having any points deducted? Have you always drive on the leftmost lane when you are not overtaking? Have you never tailgate cars with P-plate? Cabbies spend an average of at least 8 hours on the road every day. They too hate drivers like YOU who overtake to the leftmost lane 10 metres before a filter, and travel at 60km/h on the rightmost lane.
If you think cabbies who disappear just before midnight and reappear after midnight are immoral, let me tell you IT IS NOT ILLEGAL. Why, do you think you are the only one who can enjoy supper when the clock strikes twelve? And don't tell me you do your shopping before the Great Sale because you strongly believe that buying the same things at a big discount during the Great Sale is immoral. If you think you are just taking the opportunity to save some money during the sale, then why can't cabbies enjoy the benefits of midnight charge to earn the extra money?
You think cabbies are really nosey people and they like to intrude your privacy. Are you somebody who is holding confidential information that can affect the stock market or the world's economy in a split of a second? You think cabbies cannot be your friend because they are old enough to be your dad? Or because they don't have a physique like your dream guy? Or because they do not have a high pay job? Let me tell you, cabbies are very knowledgeable people and they can definitely thrash any one of you graduates in The Weakest Link ANYTIME.
You think it is perfectly alright to scream at the cabbies when they do not have enough change when you hand them a $100 note for your $4 ride. Unless YOU HAVE A REALLY LOW IQ, otherwise I can't see why you can't figure out that cabbies do not have an alternative title called the bank cashier.
You think cabbies should always tune into your favourite radio station. Excuse me, are you paying 2 thousand bucks for the SQ in-flight quality like entertainment service? And who is in control of the vehicle? The driving basic theory guide says that one should drive in an environment he/she deems comfortable. That is to say the person who is in the driver's seat is the one who decide the kind music HE wants to listen to. You mean YOU ARE TOO DUMB to have registered that in the first place?
And you hate cabbies who take their own sweet time on the road when you are really late for your important date, YOU BLOODY DESERVE IT. The amount of time you spent blowing your hair, drawing your brows and choosing which push-up bra to wear are wasted by yourself. And guess what? YOU STILL LOOK LIKE SHIT.
If you hate the people who provide the transportation service, then don't use the service. YOU MORONS, don't ever let me catch you in a cab.
by | § ¶ | trackbackCounting Dead Chickens
While reading a discussion on the humane way of disposing a large flock of dieseased chickens, I came across a post so very 'interesting' (and bordering on the macabre) that I've decided to c&p it in its entirety here.I had an actuary friend whose job occasionally required her to count chickens at a chicken ranch.
"The hell you say."
"Inventory's inventory," she said. "And it must be counted."
They carried out the tally at night. The chickens were herded into a precisely measured pen large enough to give the chickens room to breathe but not enough to roam around. A grid of colored string was stretched over the top of pen, and all around the pen's border loomed great, hooded light fixtures mounted on telescopic stands. On a riser at one end of the enclosure was a camera mounted on a tripod.
After the chickens were safely within the frame the order was given. The strobe lights flared night suddenly day, the camera shutter clicked, and a certain, predictable, number of chickens died of fright. The process was repeated until all of the ranch's chickens were cycled through. Later, the actuaries counted the chickens captured on the photographs, including the recently deceased, which were still standing and apparently alive when the photo was snapped, held upright by the suddenness of death and by the closeness of their friends and neighbors.
"Sonofabitch. But wait. Dead chickens aren't inventory. They're costs."
"We have a figure to estimate the number of chickens we kill by counting them," said the actuary. "We check it against the dead chickens we actually find when the pen is cleared. Our figure is very accurate."
by | § ¶ | trackbackBonus? What bonus?!
The Christmas season is a round the corner. With it, the spirit of merriment and good cheer abound. Amidst the preparation for the festivities however, this time of the year also starts Singaporeans thinking how to spend their year-end bonus.
Let's assume here that the average bonus a Singaporean gets is his/her 1 month's salary. For those of you who haved worked long and hard enough to receive the year end bonus, I bet you must be delightful beyond measure when your packet grows double in size on your usual pay day. But have you given a thought about it? Is this bonus really a bonus?
People are being paid monthly which is equivalent to 4 weeks pay. We have come out with this assumption because there are only 28 in Feburary because everybody thinks they are being underpaid in the other months.
If you are good in Mathematics, you should be able to be see where I'm heading now. You see, the stably employed are being paid for 7 days a week, 4 weeks a month, and 12 months a year. Effectively, these people are being paid for only 48 weeks of salary for the 52 weeks of work!
Hence the 13th month is your own pay, and not the so called benefits. There is in fact no bonus at all.
by | § ¶ | trackbackA cheap excuse for a blog entry
Busy busy November weeks ahead! Two projects deadlines ahead. Another to start. Cover letters to write. Internship applications to complete. Visa lotteries to join. Christmas vacation to plan...to make things worse there's the never ending Simpsons on TV distracting me!by | § ¶ | trackbackSurrending wandie.com
Do note that I'll be surrendering the domain wandie.com from the first week of December onwards. That includes the email ivan@wandie.com and wandie@starhub.net.sg. I do not plan on renewing it (i.e. profit Starhub). However this blog will still exist on ww.educatewandie.com and I am still contactable via the usual means. Lets see if some penis enlargement company will take over the site... you know like... "Need a new B1G W@Nd1E to pleasse your woman? Click Here!"by | § ¶ | trackbackFemale 50 Gorgeous People 2003
I don't care which guy you vote for, but you got to vote for Joelle Leow, female contestant No 10.Click on the link to vote now! http://www.bluincmedia.com/gorgeousppl
by | § ¶ | trackback
Help! I can't stop eating!by | § ¶ | trackbackSurely Kevin Bacon must be among my 192,867 close personal friends (By Caitlin Moran, The Times Thursday 30 October 2003)
A friend's friend read this brilliant article, and it was so good she took pains to reproduce it to share with all of us. This is so hilarious, kinda lengthy but definately worth a read!I have 192,867 people in my personal network of friends, as calculated by Friendster.com. Or, to calibrate those figures another way, I have frittered away nice whole working days since August on another silly website that has not improved my life, my soul or my brain a single ounce but has instead led to hours of fretting that 192,867 close, personal friends are not enough, and to wonder if, technically, the lead singer of Travis would count as a friend because when I interviewed him he tried to kill a bee in front of me, which proved to be an unexpected intimate act.
Friendster is the new internet craze: it now has 1.5million users and is apparently expanding at a rate of 20% per month. It is the online version of 11-year-olds with broken arms getting classmates to sign their plaster. You register with Friendster and get a page of your own, where you lie to impress about your favourite books, TV shows, music, etc.
For instance, I have pretended that Six Feet Under is my favourite TV programme, when in reality I just spend all day watching documentaries of difficult births on Home & Leisure. You then email your friends about your page and encourage them to contribute testimonials explaining how great you are. Your friends then subsequently tend, excited by the obvious and potentially endless time-wasting possibilities, to sign up and get a page of their own, in order to gain reciprocal testimonials of greatness. Before you know it, everyone you have ever met is demanding that you tell the world how wonderful they are.
Poor Jonathan Abrams. I should imagine that when he came up with the idea of Friendster, he envisioned that the testimonials would be along the lines of: “Karen has inspired my two children to stop their part-time drugs muling and get a basketball scholarship. Nothing is too much trouble for a friend.”
As examples of how quickly a noble idea can be ruined with a quick influx of the wrong clientele, however, testimonials from the assorted pages of my acquaintances include: “Greg is a wonderful person to chaperone on a date. Especially when he tells the prospective life partner that you once paid for a male prostitute.” “Paul is the first person I call if I have a problem. Actually, no, he’s the fourth or fifth, BUT he IS the first person I call if someone else has a problem. There’s nothing we like more than laughing at another’s misfortune. Especially if they’re fat or of indeterminate origin.” And “To meet Sarah is to able to sleep with her almost immediately.”
Of course there is nothing new about prompting your friends to tell you how great you are. The Victorians went through an almost identical fad, but their testimonials used to be collected in ornate autograph books. Friendster, in the spirit of progress, does it on a page with pop-up adverts for personalised hooded sweatshirts.
In a similar vein of progress, Friendster offers almost unending networking potential. I can access my friend’s pages, obviously, but also my friend’s friends’ and my friend’s friends’ friends’, and so on unto my personal network of 192,867, all of whom I could theoretically tap for work and/or sex. And while 51 of the 192,867 are Thai prostitutes from the same brothel, all of whom signed up to make “Western friends”, and whom I desire neither work nor sex from, populist statistical lore has it that at least one of the other 192,867 must be Kevin Bacon, whom I do.
Of course the ability to discover if you are connected to someone famous, however remotely, is what leads to Phrase Two of Frienster addiction: staying up late one night typing “David Bowie”, “Stephen Hawking”, and “One of the Rothschilds” into the Search Users facility and hoping that they are practically family. Sadly typing “David Bowie” and discovering that there are ten “David Bowies”, one of whom has two David Bowies as his friends, and has put under the entry for Favourite Book, “No need to read: I’m David Bowie”, is the first stage of being cured of Friendster addiction.
My friend Charlie rang me up hugely excited that he was connected to Donatella Versace, Niel Tennant from the Pet Shop Boys and Grace Jones. “We’re only 11 people away!” he squealed. “Shall I get Neil to DJ at my party?” It was left to me to point out that Grace’s picture was a publicity still from the 1986 film ‘A View To Kill’, Donatella Versace had a testimonial from Zsa Zsa Gabor praising her for “chaining the servants to the railings and hosing down the ugly ones”, and Neil Tennant’s entry for hobbies read “domino dancing, being boring and not going out with West End girls, as I am a gay boy”.
“So the Grace Jones one is probably a fake, then?” he asked, still clinging on to hope.
by | § ¶ | trackbackBeauty and Wellness
In this episode, we shall introduce the type of mask that dries so hard it will crack when you smile. Clay Facial Mask can be used to balance combination skin, normalize oily skin, and rejuvenate dry skin. Other major beneficial effects includes peeling off dead layers of the skin, soothing acne inflammation, and acting as an anti-wrinkle treatment and natural facelift. It is rich in vitamin and minerals that leave your face feeling silky smooth while improving the color and tone of your complexion.