Shady Solly

"Yerr, I like your new room sooo much!"

Chun Mun,
whose new room in Premier Residence doesn't rock as much as mine

"I wish I booked this place earlier! Can I stay in your upstairs room?"

Torng Lei,
from whom I 'stole' the room by paying the deposit before she did

"Okay."

Me, the alcohol talking

Looks like I'm finally sober again (after a solid 12 hours sleep). Now, courtesy of Inn Shan, who was kind enough to loan me his magical-picture-snapping-device, I can take you on a virtual tour through my new casa.

In the spirit of cheaply imitating those uppity English home-owners, I have named my place Shady Solly. I'd explain why but I've decided against such a vulgar display of lameness.

But first, let's share a flashback moment of my room in good ol' Nehru;

This is where Bollywood shot most of its Hindi horror flicks.

After living there for a whole year, I've still yet to figure out how to turn on the lights in the corridor. This is all part of MAHE's master plan to save on the power bills - either the switch is camouflaged or the lights were just there for show.

Lesser men have gone insane living here.

Everytime I try to describe Nehru, 'Alcatraz' comes naturally to mind. This place is so dead that Queen Elizabeth II has more party life than it does - except when there's a power outage. Then, every inmate monkey resident would start screaming and wailing mournfully in their rooms. I do not know whether it was done for a spot of childish fun - or because the über geeks living here can't stand to be separated from their lecture notes for even 15 minutes.

MAHE is too cheap to tile the floor properly.

This is just my half of my room. The other half (not depicted in this photograph) belongs to my ex-roommate Inn Shan. After he moved out, his half of the room became the official trash can of the room. That's where I pile all my scrap papers, textbooks, snack-wrappings and dirty laundry - hence, providing the illusion of the supposed neatness of my half here.

'Ome, thweet 'ome.

I wondered long and hard at what the architect originally had in mind when he stacked my place on top of that dingy little room below. An 'Atlas with the World on His Shoulder' theme? Modern architecture? Marijuana?

Yellow means chill.

At the back, you'll find some steps. Looking at that lil' yellow gate, one can't help but think "What's that going to stop from going through? Tortoises?"

More steps.

My front door.

Extra TULAN Top Security

This is the most trusted brand in India when it comes to pad-locks. It comes fully charge with several megawatts of awesome 'Tulan' powerz that would fry any thief who attempts to break in. It's truly a great innovation in home security systems. Get one for yourself today!

My own anteroom! How deliciously posh!

Domicile Edict #1

No shoes shall go beyond this point. Law-breakers will be forced to hear me sing.

As decreed by,
k0k s3n w4i,
Lord Resident of Shady Solly

As soon as you enter.

This is my bedroom/guestroom/entertainment center. By entertainment center, I mean that my laptop and internet access will be located here. I hope you're not looking at the bed when I said that.

Not the entertainment centre.

'La toilette' - even shit-holes sound romantic in French.

Holy Mackerel! Two floors!

This is the main reason I've decided on this place. I mean - how many of my batch-mates have a place that is more than one floor? None! [Error: file evil_overlord_laughter.mp3 not found]

My coolness level have just gone up several thousand points just by living here. I'll be referred to as "that guy who stays in this place with two floors".

My study room.

This is the floor that Torng Lei wanted to rent from me. I'm still considering though. After all, I do need a place to pretend to study

One of the views from my balcony.

Chun Mun was saying, "OMFG, you're so cool to be living in a place with two floors!"

Li Lian was saying, "Where's my puppies?"

Incidentally, this Acharya Kompa'undhya I'm staying in is the center for breeding dogs in Manipal. Last I counted, there were at least 3 b!tches hanging around waiting for the next 'Daddy'. That b!tch clerk from the Chief Warden's office is applying for a position here.

Li Lian stays in a block shared by several other tenants - nothing as [cough] glamorous as mine.

Panoramic view of Acharya Kompa'undhya (yes, from my 1337 balcony).

Here's a bit of trivia about my balcony in case anyone's interested;

• It's as big as my study room.
• It's the highest vantage point in the whole of Acharya Kompa'undhya.
• Monkeys play here regularly.

The Indian sunset over Li Lian's block.

Ah - the proverbial million dollar view (though in this case, I'd chop off a couple decimal points) for only 3500 Rupees monthly. That's about RM280 at the moment according to XE.com.

What d'ya think?



Ps: I'm leaving for Malaysia tomorrow morning. Approximate touch-down time would be morning of March 2. There will be no updates till then.



That guy who stays in this place with two floors,
k0k s3n w4i

B!tch

"Stay in the MAHE Hostels. It's much more convenient than staying elsewhere."

Lt. Col. Sohal, Chief Warden of MAHE Hostels

This post comes as a warning to those dealing with pinheads, incompetents, red-tapes and capitalist pigs (like those white-collared ones working for MAHE*)

*Manipal Academy of Hentai Enthusiasts

One word of warning though; my writing may seem a tad less coherent than usual. I just ingested 50 times the amount of alcohol my body's used to and it's 3.16 am. My booze hymen is all torn and bloody.

Back to my crappy story,

It all started when I tried to get back my deposit for my hostel room;

• It's a money issue, so I headed for the Finance Counter.
  
• A pug-faced lady redirected me to this little office beside the Finance Counter labeled 'Bank'. WTF does that mean anyway? MAHE has its own money bin?
  
• Yet another pug-faced clerk in 'Bank' told me that, in order for me to retrieve MY cash, I must first get three things; a Hostel Room Vacating Form from the Nehru pencil-pushers, a Form from the Mess Hall stating that I owe nothing to them, and the Chief Warden's signature/autograph/calligraphy (it's like a f*cking RPG game where you have to collect 3 treasures to defeat the Boss Demon or some lame sh!t like that)
• So I homed in on Mess first, and got the form from there without a hitch. So far, so good...
• Next treasure; Hostel Room Vacating Form. I sped off to my Hostel (Nehru) and marched up to the desk to ask for it. The two minimum-waged-good-for-naught sitting there told me that I can't get the bloody form without the Chief Warden's permission. Huh?!
  
• Okay. Calm down, k0k - don't need to get all upset. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in...
  
• When I reached the Chief Warden's office, I asked for this 'permission' thing and the clerk there told me; "You vacating your room, no? You must have written permission from your parents faxed here."
• What. The. F*ck. Am. I. On. Candid Camera?
• I calmly (amazing patience, isn't it?) asked the clerk for the fax number and promptly walked all the way back to Nehru again to my room - to e-mail my Dad the letter I want him to copy down, attach his signature and fax it the Chief Warden's office.
  
• My dad managed to do just that even on such a short notice (patience runs in the family, see). He said he'll message me after he faxed the letter.
• After a fair while, my Dad's SMS did came - but only to tell me that the number I gave him is not in service.
• WHAT!?
• I dashed back to the Chief Warden's office and asked the clerk for the number again. This time, she gave me the same one - except for an extra 0 somewhere.
• Odd, isn't that one extra digit more than usual? So I asked her to look at it and confirm whether it's correct or not. She said yes. Fine.
• I called back to Malaysia and Aunt Sadie picked up the phone (my Dad's off to play chauffeur for my Sis). I gave her the new number.
• Tick... Tock... Tick.... Tock
• Error. Number not in service. Again?
• I practically stormed back into the office and was forced to wait a painful, agonizing, fuming, close-to-exploding 15 minutes while she fixed some paperwork for some other student.
• I shoved my phone under her nose with the number she gave me in display. "Are you sure this is the right number?" I snapped. She hardly glanced at it but said yes.
• Yes? Count the digits, b!tch.
• She looked at it again and asked, "Who gave you this number?"
• YOU, B!TCH! YOU DID! YOU F*CKING GAVE ME THE NUMBER TWENTY F*CKING MINUTES AGO AND YOU'RE ASKING ME WHO F*CKING GAVE ME THE F*CKING NUMBER!? F*CK YOU! YOU MUST THINK THAT I'M F*CKING STUPID!
  
• That's not what I said, of course. I'm too civil. I merely insisted that she check it up properly and please, oh f*cking please give me the right number this time.
• At last! After contacting my aunt, the fax was finally on its way. I returned to the Chief Warden's Office for the third time - but the fax isn't there.
• ...
• Where's the f*cking fax?
• B!tch clerk: "There's no fax machine here, you know? Faxes all go to fourth floor of this building."
• I stubbornly stood there for a bit, looking defiant. "So I have to go get it myself from the fourth floor?"
• B!tch: "Yes."
• Frankly, I've never felt more murderous in my life. But I spared the miserable b!tch's life and trooped upstairs. I half expected the elevators to be out of order. Thank Hitler they weren't.
• I returned to the Chief Warden's office for the FOURTH F*CKING TIME after playing fetch. The b!tch took my fax and read it wordlessly, and then made a phone call. After that, she began talking loudly to her colleague sitting beside her.
• So do I go back to Nehru for my Vacating Form now?
• I coughed. She continued chatting.
• I tapped her on her shoulder [ick] and asked.
• She made this f*cked-up expression at me (like the kind people do when observing a cretin or a retarded seven-year-old) and said "Yes. Go," with a dismissive, blatantly rude hand gesture.
• ...
• No killing. Remember the Buddhist precepts. NO KILLING.
• So I filled up the Vacating Form back in Nehru and returned to the Chief Warden's Office for the FIFTH F*CKETTY-FUCK-FUCK-FUCKING TIME! But this time, I finally get to meet the Chief Warden for the very first time in the course of this terrible, nightmarish day.
• The Chief Warden is a tall Punjabi man called Lt. Col. Sohal - but everyone calls him Sohai. He signed my papers without even looking at me. While he was busy scribbling, I was surveying his room. His back faces a glass window which I was sure I can break to enter later that night. I'LL PILE ALL HIS F*CKING PAPERS UNDER HIS BIG, FAT-ASS DESK AND TORCH IT. I'LL FUCKING BURN DOWN THIS NEST OF INCOMPETENT SH!T-F*CKS. F*CKING SOHAI AND HIS ARMY OF SOHAI CLERKS! GO BURN IN HELL THE LOT OF YOU!
• It's a miracle! I finally got all the documents signed and stamped - and I hissed "B!tch" at the b!tch clerk as I passed by her (you should have seen the look on her pig-sh!t excuse for a face). Happily, I practically skipped like a 5-year-old to the 'Bank' to claim MY deposit.
• Alas, I had to sit and wait in the 'Bank' because the pug-faced clerk was away from her desk for some reason or other that I don't really give a f*ck about. Just a little longer won't hurt much.
• 10 minutes later when Pug-Face returns, I handed the papers in and opened my arms wide for MY deposit.
• She said, "Your money will be issued after your one-month holiday."
• Cibai.

Never ever, under any circumstance rent a hostel room from MAHE. No convenience is worth this torture - none, I tell you! If you're ever thinking of coming to MMMC, I've two things to say to you;

1. Get someone you know (a senior, for example) to arrange a tenancy for you in a nice place outside of campus. If you don't know anyone, stay in a hotel for awhile and start hunting.
2. Why the f*ck are you coming here for? Malaysian colleges not good enough for you, is it?

I meant to blog about my new room actually but two humongous posts back-to-back seemed to me like too much k0k crap for any sane reader to bear (assuming, of course, that anyone would bother reading this OMFG Wall-o-Text).

Here's a preview though;

My new home consisted of the two upper floors; right on top of that squashed ground floor room.

It is now 5 am in the morning. More photographs in my next post. Stay tuned.

Peeved and sleep-deprived,
k0k s3n w4i

Chronicled Boredom

"It's not just me - but all the other anatomy lecturers as well think that [Batch 18] is the worst batch ever in the history of MMMC!"

Dr. Seetharama Bhat,

High Priest of the Church of Anatomy,
during one of his emo rants

"...and everyone knows that Batch 18 sucks to the core. If we're not meant to be the champs, why not be number 1, from the back?"

Kit Sze, a student from Batch 18, in her blog

"LOL"

Me

I woke up at 12 pm today after plopping into bed at 10pm the night before. That's 14 hours in total. Guess my debt to Morpheus is all paid for. I had the strangest urge however, to head directly for the library after lunch. Odd, considering that I did not even visit the place once during the exams. I just needed a quiet place to finish reading Agatha Christie's Sleeping Murder without the distractions my laptop and the internet have to offer. I bet the the library would be deserted - and I was right.

To review that book as succinctly as I can, it was a thorough disappointment. There's no way to prove or catch the murderer if he/she did not take the trouble come out of his/her silence and attempt to murder someone else who's death would not help him/her at the least. I am beginning to think that Miss Marple (the novel's detective) is nothing more than some old crone who happens to always be in the right place and time just so she can shamelessly claim that she suspected so-and-so all along and c0ck up some dumb theory why she thought so to impress the other characters. It could just be me but I rather suspect that Dame Agatha was also a tad too generous with red herrings in this particular offering.

The highlight of my day came when I was on my way to do a bit of shopping. A group of American students were tossing the ol' pigskin (the American egg-shaped excuse for a football) around in front of the Chandrashekar Girls' Hostel. One particular spirited toss landed the ball right in front of a speeding silver car. The ball popped up from under the car's bumper and flew 50 feet into the air - tracing a narrow arc and finally landed with a crashing loud thump on the car's trunk.

Two more American kids came out of the car - the driver was a mean-looking tough bloke (though he was kind of short) while his passenger was this hulking, monstrous guy who looked as if he can fling me up a tree with just one arm.

I was chanting, "Fight! Fight!" in my mind at that moment. It's always interesting to see Americans maul each other. From most accounts, these Indian Americans are impossible ass-wipes to live with. I heard lots of tales from the Malaysian kids that stayed in the New AC Hostel - in close proximity to them.

To my utter disappointment, no brawl ensued. Not even a middle finger salute or a 'Go f*ck yourself, asshole!' from any of them. All they did was give the football playing kids dirty looks after searching pretty hard and thoroughly for any sign of a dent on their car. Bah.

Here's a useful info-byte for all the folks studying here in Manipal (if you don't already know);

There's a factory outlet store opened by a company called Primus which carries brands like Adidas, Nike, Levi's, Dockers etc right downstairs of Premier Enclave. I don't know when it was opened (I have the general impression that it had been recent) but I only spotted it today. Incidentally, they are having some sort of discount fest at the moment. Go check it out.

I bought a pair of black pants from there and I am proud to announce that my waistline is only 32 inches at the moment. Two months ago, 34 inches would have been a snug fit. Now even at 32, the pants were kinda roomy. All I did was eat 4 times a day instead of 5 - and stop myself from ordering an extra burger/mashed potato/garlic bread along with every meal I chow down on (yeah yeah, I'm a pig - give it a rest already).

Very soon, I'll be rid of the 'overweight' label. In your face, Body Mass Index!

In case I have any non-med-school readers (fat chance!), here's the BMI formula;

BMI = Weight (kg) / Height² (m²)

Here's what your BMI means;

• Starving African kid: less than 15
• Anorexic model wannabe: less than 17.5
• Underweight and un-pretty: less than 18.5
• Sexy: 18.5 to 24.9
• Still sexy: 25 to 29.9 (people who call this overweight is just jealous)
• Oh-ho-ho-obese: 30 to 39.9
• Whale: more than 40

So what are you?



Still sexy,
k0k s3n w4i

Flunkie Gonnabe

"Thanks to the excellent curriculum of my medical education, I am now absolutely terrified to leap down from any step higher than 3 feet off the ground for fear of my gut herniating into my ball sacs."

Yours truly

The First Year University Exam is officially out the window! - lest I get slapped with a Borderline Viva Voce summon should I marginally fail any subject (if I did, I'm marching down to Satan's office for a soul refund). The worst that can happen is that I flunk something outright and I will have to spend another six month in Med School First Year [shivers]. Such a depressing thought, that - I'll dwell some more on that tonight when the atmosphere is a little bit more suitable for emoping*.

*Copyrighted triple entrende portmanteau. Using it without my permission will result in loss of Karma points.

Truth is, to say that I've been shirking my study duties is the great-grand-daddy of gross understatements (sorry Dad). Let's examine my total swot input;

• One-and-a-Half Day for Anatomy Theory (possibly the only subject that interests me at all)
• One Hour for Anatomy Spotters (my interest died after the Theory Paper)
• Five Hours for Physiology Theory ('cause the lecturers hate me)
• Four Hours for Physiology OSPE and Practical (so I hate them back)
• Seven Hours for Biochemistry Theory (who likes Biochem anyway?)
• Two Hours for Biochemistry OSPE and Practical (you'll have to be exceptionally talented at failing to flunk this)

Take into account also that I only started to swot before each paper after midnight (sometimes as late as 3 am). So I only get an hour or two of sleep time max - or more often, none at all. That's why you might see me replying blog comments at ungodly hours such as 4 or 5 am.

And I was alloted nearly a whole month's time to play slave to the books.

May Hitler have mercy on my soul.

Über Hitler Almighty

Guess I should stop pottering about my blog and get things moving. I'm going to call the landlord of Acara Compound (or Acharya Kompa'undhya; me no spell so good in Indianese) to pay the deposit. If everything goes according to plan, I'll be the proud tenant of an attic-ky new room by dinnertime.

Update: Checked the Viva Voce list and I'm not on it. Uh oh - safe passes or clear fails? The suspense is killing me. Where's my dinner?



Pawned by education,
k0k s3n w4i

Transit Reads

“When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.”

Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus, Dutch humanist and theologian

Warning: This is yet another testament of my incurable obsession with books. Till I do something even remotely interesting like murdering one of my lecturers, this is what you'll have to put up with. If you're looking for an update of what's happening in my "Life", skip all the tripe about novels - there's a short anecdote at the bottom.

Today’s Anatomy Spotters Examination is definitely the most ill-prepared test I’ve ever sat for and frankly, it’s a bloody miracle that I scraped through at all (Sorry Mom, I sold my soul to Satan today just so I can make the passing grade).

Right after the paper, I decided to head somewhere to let off some steam and recuperate – so I visited all three of Manipal’s bookstores. Besides, I’m fresh out of reading materials and that long flight at the end of this month back to Malaysia seems mighty long to me without a good bit of literature in hand. Yeap, I’m one of those no-lifers who accessorise with novels and think that they look rakishly dashing engrossed in a book.

The first two shops were frank disappointments. Apparently, the local Indians’ idea of spiffing good reads is anything along the lines of;

• Salman Rushdie
• Dan Brown conspiracy theory clone babies
• Hawwy Pwotter
• Oodles and oodles of philosophical snobberies

In fact, the closest things that are readily available and appeals to my taste are those antique whodunits by Dame Agatha Christie’s – and thankfully, they came relatively cheaply (about 135 rupees per piece). My hostel room is practically carpeted with the stuff.

I guess the Gods of the Third Time Charm must have been beaming at me today when I found not one - but three particular titles I’ve been hunting for in that last bookshop I visit; B.I. Publications Private Limited. Well, they are not the books I was dying for but beggars don't get to choose. Here are my second-fiddle pretties;

Thanks to George Lucas, prequels are now in vogue.

Though I've read most of Thomas Harris’s gory psycho-fests, I have yet to develop any taste for this sort of entertainment. But I am strangely obsessed with brilliant psychopaths like the Joker, Mr. Ripley and Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal Rising is the latest in the connoisseur-amongst-cannibals saga. Since I’ve not watched the flick, I suppose I better get reading first. [Sigh], it is a cold sort of comfort knowing that Hollywood will never again emulate the greatness of Lecter the way Sir Anthony Hopkins did in Silence of the Lambs.

Agatha Christie was definitely not the shiniest marble in the bag when it comes to innovative book titles.

See what I mean?

Though I boast a rather extensive collection of the Poirot series, my ownership of the Marple series is sorely anemic. I am looking to remedy that with two of my other purchases; Agatha Christie’s A Murder is Announced and Sleeping Murder. The former was a title I’ve been searching for (after several reviews I’ve read hailed it as one of the classics of the genre) while the latter was recommended by a friend of a friend.

That’s all for now, folks. And if you’re not quite bored out of your cranium yet, rest assured that I’ll try harder the next time. I’ll be moving into the Acara Compound on Monday (or more probably, Wednesday, judging from my 1337 procrastinating powerz) from my university’s hostel cell. That’s my own small way of sticking it up the arse of those big capitalist blood-suckers.

I am definitely going to love my new home. It has a very ‘attic-ky’ sort of feel to it. One of my childhood dreams was to one day live in an attic (no, I was not abused). I’ll pen a weblog entry about it later - with pictures if I can make that happen.

Note to ingshan: Bugger you, those Biochem questions you quizzed me with today were way too easy-la. Now I’m all overconfident and won’t study. Die, Tomorrow sure die.

Biochem panic! Scream! Shriek! Fart!

Busy dying,
k0k s3n w4i

I am a Friend of English Magic

“They were gentleman-magicians, which is to say they had never harmed any one by magic – nor ever done any one the slightest good. In fact, to own the truth, not one of these magicians had ever cast the smallest spell, nor by magic caused one leaf to tremble upon a tree, made one mote of dust to alter its course or changed a single hair upon any one’s head. But with this one minor reservation, they enjoyed a reputation as some of the wisest and most magical gentlemen in Yorkshire”

Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (2004)

This cover made me buy it in the first place.

I’ve put off reviewing this book for quite awhile now, having read this brilliant, brilliant work of literature more than a year ago. First off, I believe that it’s only fair to warn you that if you still think Harry Potter is da sh!t the pinnacle of modern fantasy novels, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is most certainly not for you.

To put it as simply as I’m able to, JS&MN is an alternate history fiction set in 19th century England during the Napoleonic Wars. Two rival magicians (initially in a master-and-apprentice relationship) appeared in England and both of them were prophesied to return magic back to the country. It's sort of like The Prestige, only more polite and with real sorcery.

The edition I own is a red-covered paperback (depicted above) and at 800 pages of fine print, it resembled a construction brick more than it does a novel. If I should lob it at a 3-year-old child, it would no doubt kill the kid instantly. I’ve sifted through many reviews of Susanna Clarke’s masterpiece and I found that many of them standing by the opinion that the story could have been told in less than half the pages – a view I neither share nor agree with.

Take for example the quote which I took the liberty to show you above. The style and pacing of her narrative is very much akin to a 70-year-old grandmother taking a leisurely stroll through an expansive English garden – with a voice I can only describe as “quirky” (my vocabulary is by no means up to the task of doing her more justice than this). But to her credit, her pen-work has the tendency to spring surprises onto unsuspecting readers, and to further the garden analogy – she can spring dragons onto the old lady from the flower beds.

The humour of JS&MN is executed in very much the same manner, oft coming unexpectedly at the end of lengthy, droning paragraphs with a single sentence that insistently wrings chuckles out of me.

A large part of the charm of this book comes from Ms. Clarke’s talent to simulate reality – both by the many footnotes which peppered the novel citing references to numerous fictitious scholarly writings and by her accuracy in describing 19th century England (it took her 10 years in total to research for JS&MN). Her ability to tailor realism is so absolutely 1337 that I must say, hers was the first book ever to truly creep me out by just the atmosphere and settings alone.

For some reason, even though it’s not explored deeply at length, the magical system in JS&MN struck me as almost clinically scientific. After Madam Ursula K. LeGuin’s Earthsea series, JS&MN’s magic has to be the coolest and most believable one I’ve ever read about. Any sword-and-sorcery nerd will tell you that plausibility ironically plays a huge role in making fantasy novels palatable.

Currently, JS&MN resides at the top of my list of favourite reads – and I should expect it to stay there for quite a long time to come. I am looking to sell of my old paperback copy for half the price I bought it for (I only read it twice) and invest in a sleek, black hardcover version like this one;

Sexy ebony… Mmm...

Tell me if you’re interested and we might just be able to work something out.

Here are some links for further information;

JS&MN Official Site
JS&MN Wikipedia Article

In case you're wondering; Yeah, I have the Anatomy Spotters exam scheduled for tomorrow. Gosh, I do flirt so with disaster.



Rabid fanboy,
k0k s3n w4i

The Customary Meaningless First Post of Every Blog Ever

"Nobody understands me!"

Adolf Hitler

It was largely a caffeine-induced tangent that led me to the construction of this weblog. I already owned such a medium for expressing my inconsequential thoughts in the humble form of a Friendster blog – in which I catered to an exclusive audience (i.e. acquaintances of yours truly force-fed with crap of my own penmanship). It is by an idea bordering on outright delusions that I should strive out of that tiny hole I squatted in to reach a larger audience “out there” in the World Wide Web [insert fanfare here]/

Of course, it is entirely futile to convince me that such audiences wishing to hear me speak are completely fictitious and are figments of my egomaniacal imaginings.

Also, I offer my apologies for being overtly loquacious, one of the least charming of my failings. Admittedly, I imagined that this mode of speech gives the illusion and erroneous impression that I am marginally intelligent. Don’t be fooled – I’m actually way smarter than that.

With the birth of my spanking new weblog, I deem that it is only appropriate that I draft a list of resolutions, principles and objectives - those lofty ideals we stick on dartboards;

• I solemnly swear to glorify the name of Herr Hitler, the most evil and emo of supervillains the world had ever clapped eyes upon.
• I shall commit countless hours writing lengthy and tedious dissertations on why I am more 1337 than you.
  
• I am going the bore the sh!t out of your colons.
• Resolutions, principles and objectives are for puss!es.

There.

It's nice to have that out of the way. Expect new posts in the month of March, as soon as I kick the University Examinations out into orbit.

Emo Hitler is watching you.

Now available on the internet,
k0k s3n w4i