Is it me, or is it possible to sweat from your arse?
All exposed parts of m body feel cool, with the exception of my plump derriere and, to be fair, my back. I swear hair is good insulation material -- it acts like some thick, luscious fur coat that I don't need on a hot summer night.
Speaking of hot asses, I just imagined a little scenario in my head while trying to memorise the content on page 120 of the elective geography textbook:
A little girl sit heavily on the wet sand, near the stumbling waves as it attempts to crawl up land. She squirms about for a bit, before finally jumping up, leaving two little-girl-sized footprints on the sand. She inspects her artwork, and then dances off.
"Mummy! Look what I made -- butt shaped imprints! They look like cauliflowers! Or peaches!"
Oh wait...cauliflowers don't look like butts. They look like brains.
Now, class, here is a Social Studies question:How similar are the above two pictures, aside from the obvious (e.g. colour, type of material, origin)?
Okay, fine. It does take a rather active imagination and a poet's lunacy to see it, but it's there! I swear, despite knowing how much of a patient in psychiatric facilities I sound like. You see, next I am going to tell you how I see little spectres floating around out heads. Crane your neck slightly to your left, there's one bobbing gleefully there.
*smiles serenely*
Sometimes even I doubt my own sanity.
Yesss, having the urge to kill people with bad pronunciation is indeed abnormal and downright irrational. After viewing poor Ris Low's video, I think she's not that bad.
Really.
Because I've heard worse.
Like that time on Friday when I encountered an uncle selling duck rice. I had ordered roasted duck noodle, and he was trying to tell me, but whatever it was, it sounded like Yiddish. Perhaps it was aggravated by my dismal hearing, so I just repeated my order. This exchange went on for about five times, much to the amusement of other customers.
To make matters worse, I was in my uniform. Nope, not worried about the fact that I am not supposed to eat meat on Fridays due to religious reasons, because I hate being forced into it and it taking away much of my options, but that's another story for tomorrow.
Anyway, he said something to the effect of pasta finis. I thought it was some spanish buzzword, and I lazily repeated my order while contemplating the probability of him just being plain insane.
Apparently he was trying to tell me, in rather broken, terrible-pronounced English, that it 'had finished'.
What had finished? Who's finished? Who died?
They had sold their last plate.
Oh.
I was too tired and grouchy to correct self-righteous ah peks under my breath, so I just acquiesced with whatever he said. How hard is it to pronounce the 'sh' of 'finish'? Never mind the grammar, at least pronounce it right. Oh wait, I forgot -- since this is Singapore, we have the msot convenient excuse of ducking under out national 'culture', Singlish. Therefore we have a right to mispronounce Standard English and make it into some unintelligible, unevolved-human speech.
I don't care about age or how young or old these people are. I just hate people with bad pronunciation. Your age is not an excuse for bad pronunciation, you can always learn. True, I wasn't very clear in my enunciation of consonants when I was younger, but I learnt. My fluency in the English language (for my level as a student) is not exactly intristic; I did not start speaking in the womb.
It just pisses me off when people come up with all sorts of ridiculous excuses not to speak properly. Proper language is there for a reason : to make yourself understood. I can't tell what the hell you are trying to say with that bad mish-mash of pidgin English and something undesirable.
I'm a realist and a soft-artist. So fuck you and your ideals, as well as your compassion and sympathies. No time for sympathies and to coddle young ones. Just keep pressing on, keep running, keep pushing others out of the way until you are the first. Life is only as cruel as we make it out to be.
I sound like a bitter, cynical, estranged wife.
My funny's gone down the drain when I started memorising the first strains of CASH (Corrasion, Attrition, Solution, Hydraulic action) and meanders.
Maybe it won't come back. I don't care. I will sit here and self-destruct, and be a boring, bitter old fart in general.
I am greatly saddened by the indisputable fact that I am no longer funny.
