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I think I'm kinda stuck in between being thankful for everything I've got & being dreadfully sick of rest of the things in my life. When I look at everyone around me, I always get into a mental tussle with myself.

Me: Man, I really want what you got. It'll be real nice to have that.
Everyone else: We want whatever the fuck you're having too. Now fuck off.

At the risk of sounding like a pathetic little tool, I'm really beginning to feel that progression has come to a halt. Personally, it drains away any enthusiasm I have for those little things in life that I love doing.

You know how in some movies, you'll get a scene with this fucking guy (its usually a guy) in it. His idea of killing the protagonist is by sneaking up or better yet, breaking into the poor fucker's house & turning on the gas stove; filling up the whole fucking joint so by the time our hero arrives, any spark would trigger (cut to the long shot of a house sitting in the middle of fuck-all) a big explosion (same long shot, same house, different kinds of fuck-all).

For some of us, we kinda live in that scene. You are either the "arsonist", the soon-to-be dead guy, the fire or the house. Right now, I feel like I'm the house. Only problem is, the flame is either late or gone. Nothing happens. Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. Really, ain't that a load of shit.

Ok, fine.

Let's see.
X-Factor is back for 2010. Final 12 is upon us. God, it's a real good guilty pleasure.
United. Away games. Are. Awful.
UFC 121: Lesnar vs Velasquez on Oct 23. The card is stacked as hell. Alot of really interesting fights.
iPhone apps are everywhere. But the fact that somebody came up with Fart Girl is funny as hell.
Honestly, Salt suck. Stone, please don't suck!
I got a second-hand copy of this book for $2. Honest.

Work's a bitch. Just like the rest of us. I enjoy change but I hate the difference.

I miss rainy, stay-home weekends.
(Fuckin' sentimental fag!)
Excuse my language.
Peace.

A Losing Game

Well, this is painful.
Congratulation to Chelsea FC for winning the English League title.
It was a wicked season nonetheless.
As a United supporter, watching Chelsea slot in the goals, one after another, feels like being tasered right in the chest & in that helpless state of neuromuscular incapacitation, have some jerkoff be stomping on your genitalia.
It roughly felt like that. Somewhat.
Fuck it. In the context of the English League this season, the better team won.


Well, this is painful (Part II).
I'm way off on the timing for this section of the post, I know.
But Edgar should not have been awarded the Lightweight title.
As the UFC saying goes "In order to be the champion, you have to beat the champion."
Apart from the last two rounds, Edgar wasn't that big of a deal.
I felt Penn had Round 1, 2 & 3.
So if you take into account UFC 104: Machida vs. Shogun, whereby Machida retained his
Light Heavyweight title despite a shabby performance, Penn got screwed.
God bless the rematch clause.



I've heard this song being covered countless times.
Nothing quite like this.
Heart & fuckin' soul.
For me, music is such a special entity in my life for moments like this.

It's 2.45am. Got a text on my phone. Reading it now.
Priceless moment I'm having here.

Safe2Rant

Ello.
Since it's safe again, may I rant for just abit.
Work seems to last forever. (fuck off, Deny! Don't start!)
I'm just hoping I'll be free for the Rock & Roots Festival.
My Dad will be super psych, for sure.

Fuck me. . . the fight cannot be more one-sided.
Well, at least Clottey knows how to block. Wow.
He sure didn't come to box.
But to be fair, Pacquiao was relentless.
Some of the combos he threw was just breathtaking.
Mayweather, Ze'Chicken Shit, c'mon bruv!
you know that we know that you know you want to.

The closest thing we'll ever get to juicy celeb gossip.
Well, I shouldn't associate Casanova Jack with the word "juicy".
But I've had it. Really.
Everyday its been about this fuckin' geezer.
Sexual escapades lah.
Mistresses lah.
Press conference lah.
Wife fainted lah.

Harassment through SMS lah.
Fine. I get the story. We all fuckin' get it.

I'm banking on a Chelsea win later on.
Reason? Too strong.
(note to self: You are such a simpleton bastard!)

peace.

Dear Ed

Eddie...oh, Eddie...
how heartbreak seems to sing;
in time I'll understand,
for now,
I shall admit defeat.