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?