Greetings earthlings, I bring thee great tidings!
On the night of the fifth day of what we humans deem as a week, my humanly maternal parent has graciously offered to bring me to see none other than MOZART'S DIE ZAUBERFLOTE.
(more commonly known as The Magic Flute)
Needless to say, a great joy did leap forth from within my heart, but even as I surfed (figuratively) online, I was filled with utter chagrin to realise that what my mother had supposed was a real performance was a total SHAM. In short, it was merely a screening.
Disbelieving, I scrutinised the postcard again, hoping to prove myself wrong. But instead, I proved meself RIGHT! On the deceivingly cunning piece of cardboard were the words
"Exclusive Debut in High-Definition Digital!"
It was a sad night indeed when I enlightened my mother about it. Apparently she had invited Pastor Marilyn and Uncle Chjn Pheow too. All the innocent parties.
So I bid all the earthlings adieu, for I have brought thee grevious news of tragedy.
On a lighter note however, today was comendation award ceremony!
Nothing to be excited about, since THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY of us were receiving an award. hahaa.
I lost count of how many people told me to tidy my hair before the ceremony, both teachers and students alike.. all their warnings went in one ear, was transmitted by my receptor neurone to my relay neurone, and then to the motor neurone, and finally the motor end plates, which unfortunately malfunctioned on me, leaving my hair still looking like a nest which mother robin forgot to hire a deisgner for.
What really had me uptight was fortunately not walking on stage with a few hundred people staring at me, or shaking the famous athelete's hand, but it was my mother meeting BERNICE's mother.
Of all the people my mother could have been past classmates with, the one she chose HAD to have Bernice as a child.
And without a doubt, dear Bernice proceeded to bounce around like a six-year-old child with an over-reactive thyroid gland, and horror of HORRORS, dragged my poor prospective sister-in-law, Ellie, along, to show both our mothers the WONDERS of short hair. The standard was something like this...
Long - Vera
Medium - Bernice
Short - Ellie
Bernice's mum: Vera, why don't you cut your hair medium like Bernice? Then if you like it can cut like Ellie short!
Me: Uh, you must be joking. *glares at Bernice
And Bernice just bounces some more. sigh.
Timothy Tang
17
Rockdige Secondery
Jan 13th 1992
[[ The Wishlist ]]
I could use a new set of headphones...
More guitars?
Maybe a grand piano...
and the will power to write my books
If only life was a fantasy story...
A weekend away with my extended family perhaps? (You know who you are) (^_^)
Fantasy of Darkness (A book project of mine)
Da creater
[[ Don't talk crap, it's ****ng rude ]]
Greetings earthlings, I bring thee great tidings!
On the night of the fifth day of what we humans deem as a week, my humanly maternal parent has graciously offered to bring me to see none other than MOZART'S DIE ZAUBERFLOTE.
(more commonly known as The Magic Flute)
Needless to say, a great joy did leap forth from within my heart, but even as I surfed (figuratively) online, I was filled with utter chagrin to realise that what my mother had supposed was a real performance was a total SHAM. In short, it was merely a screening.
Disbelieving, I scrutinised the postcard again, hoping to prove myself wrong. But instead, I proved meself RIGHT! On the deceivingly cunning piece of cardboard were the words
"Exclusive Debut in High-Definition Digital!"
It was a sad night indeed when I enlightened my mother about it. Apparently she had invited Pastor Marilyn and Uncle Chjn Pheow too. All the innocent parties.
So I bid all the earthlings adieu, for I have brought thee grevious news of tragedy.
On a lighter note however, today was comendation award ceremony!
Nothing to be excited about, since THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY of us were receiving an award. hahaa.
I lost count of how many people told me to tidy my hair before the ceremony, both teachers and students alike.. all their warnings went in one ear, was transmitted by my receptor neurone to my relay neurone, and then to the motor neurone, and finally the motor end plates, which unfortunately malfunctioned on me, leaving my hair still looking like a nest which mother robin forgot to hire a deisgner for.
What really had me uptight was fortunately not walking on stage with a few hundred people staring at me, or shaking the famous athelete's hand, but it was my mother meeting BERNICE's mother.
Of all the people my mother could have been past classmates with, the one she chose HAD to have Bernice as a child.
And without a doubt, dear Bernice proceeded to bounce around like a six-year-old child with an over-reactive thyroid gland, and horror of HORRORS, dragged my poor prospective sister-in-law, Ellie, along, to show both our mothers the WONDERS of short hair. The standard was something like this...
Long - Vera
Medium - Bernice
Short - Ellie
Bernice's mum: Vera, why don't you cut your hair medium like Bernice? Then if you like it can cut like Ellie short!
Me: Uh, you must be joking. *glares at Bernice
And Bernice just bounces some more. sigh.