You Can Never Catch Me, Even If You Try.

Warning: High sarcasm content. But you already knew that.

Catch Us If You Can, also known as Young Boy Flees From The Authorities, is an amazing book. It truly is, one of the best books I have ever read. These are some of the things I liked, no loved, about the book.


Firstly, the concept of the story. The story begins with a 12-year old boy named Rory looking after his "Granda", which seems to be a  misspelling of the word "Grandpa". It seems to be a masterful effort to make the novel more realistic by putting in a main character who is referred to by everyone in this endearing fashion. Seriously. Everyone calls him Granda, even the newscasters. After all, its not as if there is a written record of his actual name that they can use. Besides, Granda always sounds much more awesome than say, Joe. Anyway, back to the story. It seems that this Granda is a badgering old coot, unable to so much as put on his own slippers without falling into Narnia. As such, it is predictable that Rory ends up being the one looking after Granda. Thus, hilarity ensues, involving a chip pan, apples, and a fire. As a result, Granda is hospitalized and Rory is put in a children's home. They even transfer Granda to an old folks' home, ad no one bothers to tell Rory. So, when Rory finds out, what does he do?


Obviously, the answer to the problem is running away. Rory sneaks into the old folks' home undetected and spirits Granda away. It's not as if they have security guards, do they? Those old people can't even run, why would security be needed? And yet Granda does run, fleeing into the forest. Rory, who by a stroke of luck has a friend who owns a caravan, takes Granda to said caravan where they live on tinned rations that have inexplicably been left in the caravan for at least six months. Because you never know when you’re going to go caravanning. Due to a leak of information, Rory and Granda find themselves cornered by the police who claim that they “only want to help”. Obviously they’re both going to correctional facilities. The police trip over their own feet in enthusiasm to catch these hardened criminals, and Rory is helped along the way by a group of travellers with nothing better to do than to help a grandfather and his grandson.  They are even brought to a little glen where they have a party, just like in the good old days. Except that everyone has a handphone. Some party, eh? Anyway, soon the police get wind of them and they're on the road again. 


This time, they flee by means of a train. Because no one looks at other people on trains. They are soon, predictably enough, spotted and flee. More hilarity ensues in which an old man hot-wires a car and assaults a youth. Soon, the car runs out of petrol but luckily, the nearest petrol station is a deserted one. In the middle of nowhere. Which is great for business. Unsurprisingly, they are caught yet again, but the person who catches them, who is creatively named Rab, decides to help them. Oh, not by taking them to the authorities where a freezing Granda will receive medical attention, but he decides to help them get to Liverpool where Rory's father happens to live. It does seem a little strange though, that a police force who cannot track down an old man and his young grandson can track down a man who has disappeared from Rory's life for 12 years and whose only record lists him as Granda's son with nobody knowing where he has relocated to. I wonder how they found him. Google, maybe?


So Rab sets up a chain of people consisting of his girlfriend and his girlfriend's sister to take Rory and Granda to Liverpool. Did I mention that this chain took only a few hours to set up? Soon, Rory and Granda are on the road again, singing Frank Sinatra songs and talking about the French Resistance. Because they can. Meeting with the next part of the chain, Granda finds out that they are going to Liverpool to meet his son and rages obstinately because he does not agree with this part of the plan. The next day, Granda becomes very ill but Rory still refuses to go to a doctor because that would defeat the purpose of running away. Well, I suppose that Granda dying also defeats the purpose of running away, but the thing is, Granda cannot die because God Mode is always on in kids' novels.


Concerned, Norma, whose house Rory and Granda happen to be holing up in, calls the police. Rory panics and decides to flee based on word from a young girl who calls him to tell that the police are coming. He runs with Granda into a forest where the sickly Granda finally gives out and dies. It seems as though Rory's plan is doomed to fail. But wait! Rory finally goes to the police and Granda is saved! But is it too late? 


Obviously, Granda does not die. He recovers well and meets Rory's dad and his new family. A happy ending arrives, and we arrive at the conclusion of the story. Rory and Granda leave Scotland forever and settle down in Liverpool. They enjoy the relative luxury of Britain's social service, which was strangely absent in Scotland. In other words, they live happily ever after. 


Or do they?


The End.


What a great book, full of suspense and surprises. It even makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. I think. Oh well.

D.A.I.S.O. (plus, pics and prizes!)

Remember what I wrote yesterday? Well, that was yesterday. Maybe this might sound a little odd, but then again, the sun is out. Today, I bring to you, pictures, pictures, some words, and more pictures. Here we go!

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the nation's Capital to go for a prize presentation. Read all about it here:
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2012/05/monkey-excrement-monkey-excrement.html

Enough of that, what I'm posting here is basically what I did on the trip. Well, actually, no. Did I win? No. I just placed in the top 20, which is pretty good by my horribly low standards. So, did I get anything? Yep. I got lots of things. First though, I would like to apologize for the bad pictures. I'm not a good photographer. This guy is:
https://www.facebook.com/winsernlim
(P.S. Dude, free bump!)

Ooh. I wonder what's in the bag? Let's open it and see, shall we?

First up, a runners-up certificate! That's nice.

Apparently, I'll be amazed if I study in Ireland. Amazed in cursive handwriting, no less.

 Added to that, a beautiful pair of notebooks with pens attached. 

For purposes unknown, I'll be making a pen count. So far, Pens: (2)

Yet another pen, this one in a nice case. Yum. Pen count: (3)

I wonder what's in here? Chocolate? I'd like some chocolate.

Ooh. Mysterious box. Very very mysterious. 

Wait, Parker? COULD IT BE? No way!

Oh. It's just a pair of Parker pens. I was honestly hoping for Parker chocolates. Before anyone cries bull, 

http://www.parkers-cakes.com/

I NEVER LIE.

 Pen count: (5)

Another pen, this one made of recycled materials. Cool, and it saves the Earth. 

How the pen accomplishes that is anyone's guess , though. Pen count: (6)

A badly taken picture of a pendrive which contains information about Irish universities. 

Any takers for this information? Leave a comment. Pen count: (7) 

Wait, no. Pendrives aren't pens. Pen count: (6)

YET ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS ITEM. 

THIS LOOKS LIKE CHOCOLATE, DOESN'T IT?

Oh. It's a sports encyclopaedia. It looks cool, though. Wait, what's that on the cover?

Oh. It's our first Prime Minister kicking a ball, and no doubt having a ball. 

But wait, LOOK AT THAT!

Her head looks Photoshopped on for some reason.

Last but not least, a fancy bookmark. This gift was truly the best for me. 

Why? Because IT'S A BOOKMARK. 

And now, for the obligatory group shot.

TADAAH!

Before I left for home, I made a quick stop to the Pavilion KL. Nice place, very classy, but the one thing that shocked me was the presence of a certain shop. Amidst the glitz and glam of the upmarket shopping, there was the most epic store to ever be erected on the face of the planet. Without further ado, I present to you:

DA DA DA DUMMMMMMM!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4IRMYuE1hI

(Keep that playing through the rest of the post. Don't laugh at the first face you see in the video.)

Walking down the aisles, I was confronted by all manner of epicness, but some more epic than others. For those of you not in the know, refer to this:

http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2012/03/second-post-in-three-days.html

Well, here we go.

Smoking time! Puff a smoking, but be careful to be over!

Just so you know, these are ashtrays.

Soy sauce candy, anyone? Full of salty goodness!

THEY'RE EVERYWHERE.

One whole punch. Guaranteed to hit your enemies anywhere,

in the face, in the stomach, in the groin, ANYWHERE!

The colours are blinding me. Oh wait, what colours?

How honest. Wait, these aren't square! 

WHY YOU LIE? WHY YOU LIE TO MY FACE?

Apparently, no one knows how to play "Move A Ball"

Oh wait, I get it now. Move "A" Ball.

Daiso. I reiterate, best store ever. Do drop by if you have the time. They are guaranteed to either make you laugh or cry, depending on what kind of murderous psychopath you are. Well, that's all for today. Long post, I know, but hey, you guys didn't really read much. And everyone knows, reading is bad for eyesight. Now, to get me some glasses for show...

PEN COUNT: (6)

A block of cheese.

Hello again, readers. You know, it's kinda funny that I greet all of you in every post when none of you actually respond to me. Oh well. So, originally I planned to write a long post on what I did in the capital when I went down about two weeks ago. But then again, I figured that you guys don't really want to know about that. So I abandoned my blog for a little while before deciding to come back today to give all of you post #31. Yes, it is the 31st post. Even I'm shocked. This is the first time anything I've ever done has gotten so far. Oh well. Anyways, here it is. I figured some of you might enjoy if I made a (triumphant?) return to the Turtle Theory series. Or maybe not. I think it would be best if we abandoned the series. I suppose it will now forever reside in the pile of stuff I could never follow through with, which happens to be a huge pile. Anyways, shall we begin?

If wishes were horses, I'd need a stable. If wishes were horsepower, on the other hand, I'd have a Ferrari. All these wishes and wants, floating around in my head. Will I ever fulfill these wishes? Why am I even bothering you people about my wishes? Who cares? Life is better enjoyed not knowing and not caring, just like a seal. Aren't seals just the most uncaring creatures alive? They can see a family member get eaten and return to the scene of the murder the next day like nothing happened. Wait, does that make policemen seals? I doubt it. 

Oh, you caught me rambling there. Honestly, I don't feel in the mood to entertain you people, but the show must go on. What shall I write here today? Maybe I won't write anything. Maybe I'll just keep tapping away at the keyboard aimlessly, leading you people on. Or maybe I could write something fantastic. Something amazing. Something that will knock your socks off. But then again, why should I? Why do I even blog in the first place? Now that I think of it, it just seems arrogant and stuck-up of me. Look at me, I write stuff! Is that even a good thing? I lead you readers here and you read things that I have written. In fact, most everything I've ever written was rubbish. 

Maybe I should just quit while I'm not too far behind. Is there even a point? Do people even read these posts? Or am I just throwing out these words as pretty little flowers on the wall, as a background to your life? Why do I even bother? Do I care? Not really. Do you care? I doubt it. So, where's the actual blog post mentioned earlier? Not here, apparently. Maybe all you're reading is a tug of war between me and my subconscious self. Maybe. Or maybe it's just doom, gloom, and writer's block of cheese. I mean writer's block. I'm hungry. Goodbye.

Monkey Excrement, Monkey Excrement

So, yeah. I finally decide to venture into the realm of COMPETITIVE WRITING. About a month ago, I took part in a writing competition. I'm not sure anyone was even aware of this. And yeah, I might have won. Well , I am invited to a Tea Ceremony with 19 others on the shortlist.  I held off posting this because... um... I'm bad like that? Well, now here it is. The story. Hope you enjoy it, guys. And fingers crossed that I win when I go down to KL on Tuesday!

Details on the competition here: http://thestar.com.my/dublin/


The Sunday morning dawned drab and grey, rather anticlimactic, really. Moody grey clouds chased each other across an equally grey sky. Leaning against a red brick wall, Adam took a deep breath. The air smelled of pollutants and the smells of a city waking up for the day. In the sky, the sun struggled to get its orange rays to penetrate the wall of cloud. Adam considered lighting up a cigarette to lighten his mood but decided against it for once. All was still. All was calm. All was boring. No one was about yet. He rested his head against the wall and brooded. For once, he thought, I’d like to have something interesting happen to me. Something that will get me noticed. Something exciting and awesome. 

Adam’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of car tyres squealing from down the road. A blue station wagon was careering towards him. Adam casually but purposefully took a step to the side, all the time keeping his eyes on the car. The car swerved and jinked down the road, finally pulling up to a stop right next to a convenience store. A heavily bearded man got out slowly and ducked into the store. Adam watched with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Once more, all was quiet. Suddenly, three loud reports shattered the silence and a glass window. Adam felt his heart rate rise, was this going to be it? Was this the exciting event that would change his life forever? He heard another loud report, this time mixed with the sound of a cry of pain.


Five minutes earlier,


Crowley was a cashier in a convenience store. The job did not pay much, but then again it was not a very taxing job. Right now, Crowley was reading a magazine from the rack right next to him. His horn-rimmed glasses were on the tip of his nose and his brow was wrinkled in concentration. Sub-consciously, he raised a hand to sweep a lock of curly ginger hair away from his eyes while imagining himself sitting in a luxury sports car burning rubber down a highway with the top down. He paid no attention to the burly man who staggered into the shop. Although it was a little early for the hung over people to come in for their daily fix, strange people had strange habits. He bopped his head to non-existent music, hoping the man wouldn’t disturb him. 

All of a sudden, the magazine was ripped away and Crowley found himself staring into the barrel of a pistol. He swallowed nervously and blinked slowly. The man shouted, “Give me all the money!” and fired three shots in random directions just to get his point across. The sound of the shots still ringing in his ears, Crowley stumbled over to the cash register, pulled out the cash drawer, and dumped the contents on the table in front of the man, who promptly started scooping it into a small sack. Sensing his chance, Crowley reached over and tried to smash the man’s face into the counter but he was too slow, his reflexes dulled by too many hours of mindless work. The man took two smart steps back and pulled his trigger in surprise as Crowley grabbed the nearest item available, a stand of lollipops, and hurled it at him. The bullet slammed into Crowley’s chest, sending him slumping to the floor while he moaned in pain. As all grew dark, his last thought was, How will I clean up this mess now?


A minute later,


Jack was feeling the blood pump through his veins strongly. For the first time in a long time, he felt alive. His fingers tingled with the memory of the gun that was clenched tightly in them a minute ago. His nose was dripping blood, broken from the impact with the plastic stand that the cashier had thrown at him. His sack jingled with empty beer bottles and the rich sound of coins. The gun was not with him anymore, it was currently residing at the bottom of a trash can, covered by anything and everything that he could grab from the front counter of the store. As he slid into the front seat of the stolen car, Jack felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. It actually worked, he thought to himself. Why didn’t I think of doing this earlier? As he sat in the car, he was suddenly aware of a green sedan turning down the road, coming towards him. Panic took hold of him and refused to let go. He realized that if they saw him, the people in the sedan would put two and two together. 


Slamming the door shut, he tried to stick the keys in the ignition but in his current inebriated state, it was all he could do to keep the keys from slipping to the floor. Meanwhile, the green sedan was coming ever closer. As it drew level with his car, Jack instinctively crouched to obscure his face. Thankfully, the sedan passed by without missing a beat, barely slowing down as it passed the station wagon. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. As the car coughed into life, he noticed a man standing against a wall on the opposite side of the road. The man’s face was ashen, his eyes telling. There was no doubt that he had seen everything. The panic, which had been dissipating just a few moments ago, flooded back into Jack as the colour drained from his face. Shifting the car from park to drive, he floored the accelerator just as the man started to cross the street. The only thought coursing through his mind was, Please let me get out of here in one piece!

Adam watched the station wagon bearing down on him as he crossed the street with mild interest. With the station wagon mere feet away from him and the driver seemingly unable to stop, Adam‘s mind flashed back to what he had just seen, his brain replaying the entire scene for him, albeit oddly enough in the third person. As the car slammed into him like a stampeding rhinoceros, Adam felt, rather than heard the bones in his right leg shattering under the impact as he adopted a pose less suited towards a man who is going to make a police report but more suited towards a man who will shortly become a chalk line drawing. As the rest of his body was dragged underneath the car to end his life, he thought to himself, Well, this was exciting!

Wow.

Second post in three days. Woohoo! (Waits for applause) This is amazing!

Levity over, let's get down to the big cheese. So, I just returned home from an extremely profitable trip to the mall. Not going to say which, that's just free advertising. If you want any advertising space, you guys will just have to pay me. Anyways, I had a disappointing lunch at a certain Hong Kong - themed restaurant. Again, not going to say the name. But more on that later. (Actually, no.) The purpose of this post is also to enlighten the masses of this shop, this one shop that is completely EPIC. No shop has ever filled me with such wonder and amazement. Oh yes, this will also be the first post EVER with PICTURES. Yep, you got that right. PICTURES. Without further ado, I present to you:

Ignore the women in the picture, they were just in the way.

So, Daiso. A Japanese - themed convenience store. It literally has everything under the sun for the flat price of RM 5 EACH for EVERYTHING. Every product sold costs RM 5 (€1.26 for Europeans, £1.05 for Brits, and US$1.64 for Americans)

Hard to believe, but THIS 3g Tea Measure...

...and THIS bouquet of flowers...

COST THE SAME PRICE.

Shocking eh? After wondering about the store for about 10 minutes, I started noticing some oddities . For example, on a bunch of sponges, I noticed that there was a recurring theme in their mascots.

If you look carefully, one of the little cubes
is sleeping while another is EATING. And, they all look
pretty angry about something. Probably tax rates.

This guy is a king. And a happy one at that. Yet, he comes from a
totally different brand from the one above. Competition much?

As I moved on through the store, a number of other things caught my eye.

This cream, apparently, turns you into a
pleasantly surprised robber.

What if I wanted to drink RED wine? For those of you
who can't see, it says "White Wine Glass"

See any difference in the two? Neither do I.

Somehow, this is a cake.
And a home made one at that.

Stainless steel soap. Nothing more needs to be said.

Note that the eye is only on the packaging,
meaning that when you remove the sponge it
becomes a sea urchin instead of a hedgehog.
Wait, how is it even a hedgehog in the first place?

THIS IS A HEDGEHOG.

Kitchen timer chicken? Or kitchen timer lemon?

Last picture. The sign says it all.

Daiso. Store of many wonders. Yep, shameless plug for them here. But only because they have some pretty cool stuff. Now if only they sold food...

Of Switch-ups and Other Trivialities.

So, once again we return. I apologize for the rather lengthy hiatus, for I have been busy. Oh well. All is not lost. Shall we begin? I think we should.

So, what shall I be writing about today? Should it be a classic port-a-john post? I don’t remember having done one of those in a long time. Shall it be a dark story with a humorous ending? I don’t think so. Let’s just write and see where this goes.

Think back, to when you guys were kids. To a carefree time, a time of pleasures and joy.  In a lush meadow, full of lush greenery and beautiful flowers. The sound of small children playing, it pleases the ears, as long as you don’t know what they’re saying. Have that image in your mind? Hang on to it for a quick second. Now, it’s time for the switch-up. A thousand cows fall from the sky, bellowing out cries of alarm at being tossed out of God’s hands like a fat kid dropping ice-cream on the sidewalk. The first cows splat on the ground with a horrible sound and an even more horrible smell. In their fear, the rest of the cows release enough methane gas to block out sunlight for a moment. Children running everywhere, tripping over themselves and disembowelled cow bellies.  Confused cows falling from the skies. Crippled cows stampeding everything in their path. The meadow smells of blood and gore. Within seconds, the meadow runs red blood with blood. A hundred children moan in pain, drowned out only by the sound of five hundred cows dying.

Let us move away from that horrible scene in your mind right now.  You sick person, I bet your mind automatically added in horrible visual and sound effects. So sick.  Whatever. Let’s move on. Imagine yourself lying on a pristine beach. The sand is pearly white, soft to the touch. The sea laps invitingly ten feet from your spot. It is azure and sparkling,  nary a high roller in sight for miles. The sun is bright and yellow, yet not unbearably hot. You take in a deep breath. This is the life. Once again, the switch up. A huge hole appears in the ground next to you. A million, no a billion small crabs crawl out of the hole at the nearest rock looking object. You. A thousand spiny legs crawl over you, a thousand pincers nibble into your soft flesh, drawing blood. Your skin is slowly peeled off, exposing the raw flesh underneath. That’s not it. A thousand fishes rise up from the sea, arcing in graceful trajectories to land on your body. Salt water enters every crevice of your body, stinging you painfully everywhere there is exposed flesh. You struggle to get up, but nothing works. The fish start puking into your mouth, your nostrils, your navel. Horrible yellow liquid comes out of the fishes every orifice, smelling offensive. It is thick and tarry. You try to scream but no sound comes out as your mouth is already full of the yellow liquid.

Still haven’t pressed that ‘X’ yet? Very well. I can see that you are a resilient character. Let us move on. You are lying in your bed. It is raining outside. Thunder and lightning are out and about. You are safe and warm in your bed, under the covers. Your laptop or mobile device rests on your lap. Headphones obscure your hearing. What are you listening to? Well, anything you want to. Pick a favourite song or tune. Put it on. Then continue reading. All good? Okay. You’re feeling at peace with the world. The world feels at peace with you. You read on, waiting for the punch line. So far, so good. Where’s the switch up ? Maybe I’m doing all this to put you on your guard against falling cows and puking fish. Maybe I’m just messing with your mind. Or maybe there is something but I’m just not showing you. Ok then. Time for the obligatory switch-up. You’ve all been waiting for this. Here we go.

The Problem

I'm not in the mood for formalities of greetings so please forgive me for jumping straight to the point.

Courtesy is dead, or so they say. So are good manners. And don't let me get started on chivalry and politeness. Yet, people have forgotten one important component of our human values. The art of listening. In the age of the iPhone and other such gadgets, people are becoming less and less in tune with things happening right in front of their faces. The little strip of white wire running down your shirt that symbolized your coolness in having a portable music player, a bubble, of sorts, in which you lived in your own head. That man pounding the asphalt? He has one too. That spaced-out woman in the supermarket bobbing her head to an unseen tune? She has one too. Portable music might provide a fun source of unseen and personal entertainment to some, but to others it is only a source of agony. 


What does this have to do with listening, do you say? Well, everything. This age should be called the age of distractions. Its impossible for one to have even a glimmer of hope in having an actual conversation once the phones and tablets and laptops show up at the table. People lock themselves out of the loop, occasionally nodding their head to some unheard point. And that leaves us few who enjoy actual conversation, as they say, on the beach. We patter along smoothly in our statements until we hit a dead end, a virtual wall of silence in which speaking is an invitation for one to be ignored. 


People might argue that they DO in fact hear what you are saying, but there is a whole lot of difference between hearing and listening. In fact, the death of listening has gone so far as to the fact that just when you needed a listening ear, someone to pour out your hopes and worries, you can't find anyone. Sure, they'll listen to you, but will they actually absorb what's being said? In this, the age of the internet, the age of trolls and memes, pouring your deepest worries out to someone will most likely get you a "Why are you telling me this?" Accompanied by a raised eyebrow. No one wants to hear that as a response. 


Sometimes, its just better to shut up and listen, not just with your ears, but with your heart and your mind. Store everything you've heard in your mind, and file it away for another day. Do not offer false "help" or "joy" by telling them its going to be alright, but rather keep quiet and give them your undivided attention. Remove those ear buds from your ears for a moment, pull your eyes away from the screen of your phone, leave your hands free and loose at your sides, and just listen. Who knows? You might just brighten up someone's day instead of just your own. Just listen.