OMG I SWEAR I HAVE THE MOST BORINGEST BLOG EVER.

I think I forgot how to blog.

Maybe I go back to basics and join all the fish in the sea by typing:

“Today I went to work it was very crowded but afterwards i had nothing to do so I taught a colleague some Good English and now she knows lots of words that’s really nice, polite, and gives me chills.”

Or maybe

“After work I went to para and there was this boy who was waving his arms about he looked really really funny and really had no sense of style nor rhythm which is super ironic in a sense because he choose “FREESTYLE” so fuck, the game’s not free, and neither is the style. arm waver look so gay.”

But also, this morning, my mother went for an interview with Motorola.

She’s getting a job. I’m so happy.

After I told her about me planning to quit, she’s trying to find a job to support this low income family, in which I am part of. I feel a bit selfish for working for myself and eating all these damn expensive, yet delicious food all over Singapore. Lol. I sound like some kind of Makansutra King, but I assure you, I don’t pop by coffee shops and talk to ah peks. Yes. Well.

Student Internship is coming, and seriously my mind is a blank slate of confusion. I don’t know where to start, how to do about doing it. The companies, they really want someone as screw-able as me? (I don’t mean that in an anal sense.) But I don’t have confidence in my “design” skills, I’m just too lazy and easily distracted. You know why? Because I’ve always been lazy and easily distracted since the day I was born.

I grew up mousey and shy and gaygay. I have no idea how “dancing” came about, but it just did. Mother caught me dancing sometimes. Oh how embarrassing. She and me always catch each other doing things like singing and dancing. [She doesn't dance though, I can't imagine my mom dancing with her huge ... ] OMG MY MOTHER HAS HUGE. But that’s not the point. And don’t even try to finish my already finished sentence, I rather like my words to dangle off and spun into a blank slate of confusion.

I heck care about blog views anymore. If people want to read the dead rotting log that is Voxyboys, then feel free. The log is almost as dead as a guinea pig, and rotting like the compost in my brain. I don’t know what’s going on right now, but I need to find myself fast. If I’m too slow, like the snail that I saw on my way back home near the Yishun Swimming Complex, then I would be screamed upon by young childs.

Because I’d probably grow up to be homeless, unemployed, poor, divorced (ok, let’s say I went into marriage around 4 times) with one rebel child who pierces his everything (!!!) and goes to Sembawang Music Center outlets to steal Metallica CDs. Because he hasn’t heard of Limewire. Because he doesn’t have a laptop. Because he doesn’t have a proper education.

I’d probably have all my teeth dropped out and be wearing those cute little thingamajiggies — dentures. My uncles wear them (but not direct blood, thank God) so I wonder, if I reach middle age, would I be as unfortunate as to befall poor dental hygiene and be forced - thanks to my high vanity and image consciousness - to look good ….?

The future scares me.

I’m thinking way too much, and you’re probably going to discourage me from doing so, but the future is the only place in my sad little life that I look forward too. Because I’m living such a damn good life now. God knows what might happen to me. I am scared for the future that it might become bleak and psychopath-ish and I wind up being somebody’s callboy. Whatever a callboy is supposed to be.

I am a mournful peasant. I haven’t touched Adobe Illustrator ever since Prepress. Prepress. How many weeks! Can you possibly count! I doubt I remember how to vector myself anymore.

Sorry about the obsession over myself. I think I have such a high ego that everything in my world revolved around me and how gooooood I smell. Today I smelled really bad. Because I danced like mad today.

I have got to stop spending money on that overpriced arcade machine known as Para Para. Fuck I’m already damn veteran and can cheat the arrows like no one’s business. So what’s keeping me? What’s preventing me from wanting what I want most! But, what DO I want most? I only want what I can’t have, I only need what I don’t want, and that’s quoted from a damned t.A.T.u song no one has heard of besides myself, because I am such a huge fan of trashy Europop. And yes, I love the Numa Numa song (Dragostea Din Tei) till this very day. I memorised the weird Roman-ish language and I can sing it from heart.

I hated the period of time when the song got popular all of a sudden thanks to “Chicken Little,” using that song to promotise (L-M-A-O promotise!) … ok fine, I mean promote, the movie. Then there’s this annoying Chinese cartoon singer “bu pa bu pa” whatever the hell she’s mumbling about cockroaches and whatnot and the likes…. hah. I hate the insipidness of music: people listen and throw it away like disposable income that comes in the form of notes, treble clefs, beats and pauses; ta-titi-ta and whatever you wish to describe it.

And I’m deliberately making this post very long so you people can really dive into the pool of my mind. But be careful of the sharks! Bring your snorkels, some masking tape, and a boyfriend, and we’ll have some fun in my wet dreams eh.

I don’t have wet dreams at all because I masturbate regularly.

And I don’t get why I can’t be so damn OPEN with sexuality.

Is it a big deal if I’m so OPEN about it? Is it a PROBLEM? Is it a sin? A crime? I’m not committing adultery over here, people. When I say I masturbate regularly… what makes you think that Limjian, Ferooze or Xvan don’t! If they don’t masturbate, they’ll get wet dreams (I’m creating a very strong mental picture for you, aren’t I?) and I, for one, hate the stickiness in the morning. I want to wake up fresh and semenfree. Which is usually the case. My pituitary gland (or whatever dumb gland that controls the part around the rectum) is pretty solid. Steady pom pee pee.

I wonder how many times I masturbated in my life so far.

I never bothered to keep track.

But theoretically, let’s just say 365 days a year. I jerk every 2.5 days… that makes 146 jack offs per year.

I started at 14 years old, and now I’m 18 (give or take a month or so) … that’s 5 years… 146 x 5 = 730 times!

730 times of masturbation I’ve done so far! Theoretically of course. I mentioned theoretically, right? Could be much more. And if you want to count solo masturbation, you minus a (discreet amount) and woohoo!

But no one REALLY bothers to count how many times they jerk off. Because they’ll get lost in the activity. The moaning. The groaning. The huffing. The puffing. I would know. You would know. We both would know. Because we’ve done it before. All of us. And if you haven’t done so, you are obviously lying to yourself.

I can’t lie to myself. I’m a guilt-filled man. If I litter, I’d feel tremendous amount of guilt, and I stuff the litter into my pockets, bag or somewhere on me.

I remember in Secondary 1, I was chewing gum, but I was afraid I would get caught by that Felix the Cat guy, (SO DISGUSTING I THINK HE’S A GAY IN RETROSPECT!) so I put the gum beneath my shorts. Omg regret of the week! The gum hardened and it took like AGES AND AGES to get the sticky Malaysian-smuggled gumgum from my grey secondary school shorts.

I think I look cute in uniform.

So does Aaron.

Wow Aaron is so hot. I think I’m still not over him, regardless of how much I don’t say anything. When he’s in his NCC uniform, oh my goodness. Ladies and I just want to collapse on the floor and lick the footprints that he left in the snow while he was touring with his band in the Soviet Union.

It’s funny how I can almost taste people’s future on the tongue tip of my exclusively juxtapositioned third eye/crystal ball/tea cup reading. Just because Aaron plays guitar… hah. Omg.

How he was able to give me a feeling that no other human being on Earth has given me before. It’s weird. Still is, to this day.

Hmm. I would want one last request from Aaron, if he’s reading this, but he’s probably not because as you all know by now, my blog is a dead rotting log; relevantly called Voxyboys. I request for him to invite me to his wedding. So I know that he picked a fair lady (not in the least racist way I use ‘fair’, I’m just hypermedieval, stfu) and hahahaha. I want to play with his children.

Whereas mine will pierce his [[!!everywhere!!]] and steal CDs from Sembawang Music Center. Sianz.