Hands up those who think Stephen Fung needs some entering

Watched Stephen Fung's directorial debut Enter the Phoenix today. Had high hopes for it. But after 2 hrs of herniated puking, I guess I should have stayed at home to watch porn instead.

God! The Falcon 'Powertool Series' has better direction, AND a plot. Hell! Police and Thief on Channel 5 has better direction. (That Freaky Policewoman witch creeps me out you know :| )

Apparently the only directing skill Stephen Fung knows is (in cantonese of course): "Hmm... maybe here... we can have a close-up... of ME!"

[cut to scene at funeral]

"Hmm... here because there is SO MUCH tension hor... we should have... a close-up of ME!"

[cut to finale fighting scene]

"Oh no the movie's going to end already leh...SO here we better have FIFTEEN close-ups of ME! Some more must have effects one!"

Besides the above unfortunate frivolous celluloid decay, Chen Seong lamented that Daniel Wu could've been Russian for all we care since there was absolutely no hint that he was actually 'happy' except for his furtive glances at the director during the funeral (probably out of confusion over his assinine directing skills).

I say: Daniel Wu, enter the egotistical director already! Pretty please? =P~

Bitching alert! Bitching alert!

Was at Slurp yesternight. DJ Antwone (pronounced: aunt-twuan) was a hottie and might want to consider modelling full-time, well because his DJing wasn't all that good... Ok that's me being kind 'cos he's a cutie - it sucks big time! How well does he suck you ask(hee..hee I made a funny)? It is somewhere between 'might as well have piped-in WKRZ' bad and 'Euro Techno Go! album' bad. I'm sure you get the idea.

And unfortunately, he was about the only guy at Zouk last night who didn't take off his shirt. Instead, Chen Seong and I were treated to naked Muscle Marys and Aunties galore. So much so that we thought we were dancing at Joo Chiat Market. (In fact, I think one of the Aunties actually asked me, "多少钱 har, boy?")

But honestly, I think a party organised by the Joo Chiat Wet Market Consortium would have better music... and prettier Aunties.

The new public campaign - hypocrisy, with governmental vigour!

People Like Us' bid to be listed in the Registrar of Societies as an official society in Singapore has yet again been rejected.

"Be out of the box, creative, entrepreneurial! Go forth and romance, reverse bungee, dance on bar-tops, and casinate*! Singapore must CHANGE! We must become a vibrant cosmopolitan nation or we will be left behind!"

*casinate - to gamble on a largely artificial off-shore island with income pre-requisites. Poor people need not apply and should stick to gaming at Singapore Pools.

Apparently, the government's current stand is that we should be 'out of the box' but preferably remain 'in the closet'.

My stand, on the other hand, is that the new-age 'happy' man has no space in the closet with all that Armani and Gucci in there. So well, brothers and sisters, one word... IKEA.

As in migrate to Sweden not go to Queensway, 'cos sorry, but Singapore has no space for you. Not even on one of its artificial off-shore islands. (That's for the rich Ang Mohs remember?)

You are against public interest.

"What do you mean I can't bring my electric baton into the gym area?!" ZAP!!!

Was at the gym today where I was routinely irritated by my fellow gym rats.

What is it that makes some of them feel that they could 'chop' the bench press forever just because they paid the same measely $2.50 that I paid. And most of the time, they aren't even using it. They mark 'their' bench with a towel and proceed to ogle into the mirror... at themselves.

Contrary to the ancient myth of the 'Oracle of Muscle Mary', Descartes' 'I think therefore I am' is not necessarily appropriate for all applications, particularly body-building. No amount of constant self-rumination will ever increase the size of biceps or justify inflated egoes.

So there I was, glaring at this particular 'chopped' bench, not knowing where the towel's narcissistic owner is. After 5 minutes of moral jusitfication about whether to just throw it away or shove it down the owner's throat when he returns, the owner finally swaggers back complete with the gall to ask, "Oh, you want to use is it?"

To which I politely replied,"No lah, I was just admiring the beautiful floral prints on your towel." and proceeded to zap him with my electric baton multiple times, or at least till the juice went out. (At which point, I was told the electric thingy is not allowed in the gym area. [Note to self: will have to bring my pep-spray then])