Friday, September 10, 2004


I live for food.

Thats it. Simple as you like.

I love food.

I fucking love food.

The million dollar question, money not withstanding --

1) Would you prefer to dress in your shorts and torn t-shirts, sit on a stool by the roadside, and pay RM2.50 for a Maggi Goreng that fills your stomach


2) Would you prefer to dress up in a suit and a tie, sit on a fucking nice big chair that even J-Lo with her big ass would feel comfortable and pay RM250 for a plate of rabbit's leg that don't even fill a kid's tummy?

Once a while, option 2 sounds brilliant. Its fun, I reckon to dress up all pompous once a while. Sip your soup so politely that even the guy next to you can't hear a thing. Supress your laughter. Say thank you to the waiter for every darn thing.

Sometimes, I reckon, pampering is a necessary motivation to work harder. The more I enjoy that kinda lifestyle, the harder I strive to make sure that I can fucking afford to do that next time.

Bah, what the fuck am I talking about?

Moral of the story : Sleep, like pot, makes you high and happy, but also makes you talk gibberish.

*But who says gibberish don't make sense?

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