Shoby the animal lover***

Shoby was outraged.
How dare this monster kill the poor creature in cold blood. Yes it was a stray, but it is also a creature of God. She had witnessed the horror as she sat at the sidewalk café with her friends, sipping the coffee.

On hearing the shot, Shoby had reacted in an instant. She ran to the man, grabbed his air gun and whacked him across the shoulders with it. The man staggered at the force of the blow. Luckily Ashish and Lekha ran up, and grabbed Shoby, and pulled her back to the coffee shop. The enforcement man was not really hurt. But he was angry.

“Kali ini kau nasib baik. You cuba sekali lagi… habis ah kau… saya panggil polis,” he shouted at them before he was accosted by his colleagues from the dog catching crew, and they went away.

Shoby was shaking.
“He is a monster. I am not letting this go. He has not seen the last of me. Just watch.”

She was seething with anger.
“The poor creature. What did it do to him? He killed it in cold blood”.
“Come on, Shoby. Cool down.” Lekha held her shoulders.
“Let’s go away from here.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry. Let go grab a bite.”

They left in the car. There was silence in the car. They knew Shoby needed some space. She had to cool down. She was such a lover of animals. She couldn’t see how people could bring themselves to hurt the poor things. Soon they were at their favourite shop. Fatty Ho’s Stall. They went in, and Fatty was there.

“Hai, Miste Lam … today wai so rate ? Kam Kam, your favolate taber lesev for you…. Ah Soong ah, 唔該埋 單 唔該 埋單唔 該埋單 ,” Fatty called out to the server.

Ah Soong handed them the dog eared menu books. The three of them made a show of going through the menu, but they always ordered the same things. Every day.

“Ah Soong ah, get us some chicken soup to start la.”
“You got roast suckling pig today ? Yes ? Great, we’ll have that”.
This was Shoby’s favourite. She loved roast suckling pig.

by d way..

ren..u shud reali consider journalism or jus writin a book n bein a worldwide famous author.. =) ur articles r sooooo good..its kinda hard 2 believe tat u wrote it actuali..u knw..bein a psycho tat u r.. hehe :p u knw i love u =)

hey my darling marshmallows.. =)

i missed bloggin..alot has hppnd since i last blogged here..some gud tings n some bad tings..all of which i dun wanna tok abt..haih..wat can i say..shit hppns.. :S u all shud knw wat im tokin abt..im reali sry 4 evry ting..i hav not tol ne1 of u tis but i hope tat v can stil b d same afta all tat hppnd..thr r times wen i feel like it wil neva b d same again but then i jus try 2 shake it off n pretend like its all gud..then thr r times wen its jus so obvious tat it wnt b d same again but i end up nt sayin ne ting 2 cuz i dun wanna bring it up time n time again cuz 4 all i knw its probably jus me (or tats wat im hopin la) wat eva it is..jus so u knw..im tryin k?im reali tryin 2 not b wat u all dun wan me 2 b..but..haih..i dunno la..i dunno wat 2 say n how 2 say it..hmm

ne way..im so tired now..i jus got bck frm d gym..worked out like crazy..feels gooood :D hehe..i hav been kinda moody..4 no absolute reason thou..its jus 1 of those days u knw?sum how it is at times like tis tat i so wish tat i can jus go sum whr far away 4 while n not tel ne1 abt it..jus disappear 4 a few days n cme bck afta im feelin beta..it is at times like tis tat i wish i can drive..then i can jus go speeedin on d highway..mite hav d same pleasin effect as if i wen far away..d oni time wen i can laf like crazy is wen im wit u guys..dunno y =) like 2day wen v wen out wit ridz..tat was fun.. =) i hope he liked it..

*yawns* gosh..im so damn shleepy..i shall blog again soon..i dun tink ill b able 2 go out wit u all again durin tis holidays..i wnt b around d whole of nxt week adi..dun hesitate 2 msg if ne ting thou..my hp is on 24-7.. =)

i love u guys.. *hugs*
gud nite.. =)

I'm being sexist again!

Why aren't advice columns written by men?

They are all written by women
By Marshren

*

My cousin BROTHER was thrilled to be invited to be the humour columnist for News Sunday Times. But the job of advice columnist went to a woman.

I did some research, and discovered that ALL 'Dear Auntie' columns in ALL newspapers and magazines around the world are written by women. My cousin thought that was so unfair. Men should be allowed to write advice columns too he says. Wonder what it would be if men were to write for advice columns??

*

Dear Uncle,

My son is interested in nothing except the Manchester United football team. He missed his grandma's funeral to watch the recent cup final on TV. When we came home from the cemetery he was dancing with joy over a goal. It was most inappropriate and the mourners were deeply shocked.

Despairing Widow.

*

Dear Despairing Widow,

It is clear you have a serious problem here. No right-thinking person would celebrate a goal which was so obviously off-side. The ref must have been TOTALLY blind. Ask your son to check the action replays and he will see the final was STOLEN from AC Milan.

*

Dear Uncle,

I believe my husband is trying to kill me. The brakes on my car stopped working and it looked like the brake lines had been cut. I can't report it to the police, since my husband is police chief. What shall I do?

Worried Wife.

*
Dear Worried Wife,

This is an interesting problem. While a loss of control can be caused by cut brake lines, it could also be a problem with your brake fluid or the pads. Check all three. The economic downturn has intensified competition in the car industry, so you should be able to obtain a first class repair service at 30 per cent below list price.

*

Dear Uncle,

20 minutes after my son Jason went to school, a message popped up for him on the family computer. His teacher invited him to meet her after school at a hotel. She signed the note 'smoochykins'. He is 17, and his teacher is around 30. What should I do?

Concerned Mother.

*

Dear Concerned Mother,

Instant message programs should automatically log out after five minutes of inactivity. Upgrade to MSN version 7.0 to prevent this problem reoccurring.

*

Dear Uncle,

My husband bought a home security video system last year. I came home early yesterday and noticed it showed two people kissing in the back garden. Although the picture was fuzzy and grainy, I could clearly make out the faces of my husband and my neighbour. I haven't said anything to him yet. We have been married 18 years. What should I do?

Broken-Hearted Wife.

*

Dear Broken-Hearted Wife,

This problem is easily fixed. Replace the wiring with a high impedance cable, set the camera to 'High Definition' and consider getting an NVidia graphics card. Fuzzy and grainy images will be a thing of the past, and you will get crystal clear images from your back garden!

*

Dear Uncle,

My husband spent the money we had saved for our children's education on a Rolex watch. He says it is vital for his image. But surely he has done wrong?

Penniless Housewife.

*

Dear Penniless Housewife,

Yes, your husband has done something very wrong and you should tell him so. Look him in the eye and say: 'Rolex is so yesterday. James Bond wears an Omega. Why did you not consider buying an Omega?' (This answer sponsored by Omega watches.)

God must have been worn out after working on women and decided to go simple on men. He ain't kidding when he thought simple!

Make them scarier please!

Fani, Bubul and Titli are girls you really don’t want to get to know.

*By Marshren

Every time a natural calamity occurs, I ask myself the same question. Why are the largest, most terrifying things on the planet given the sweetest, cutest names?

No, I am not talking about Naomi Campbell’s ego. I’m talking about things which are even more frightening—but okay, maybe not quite as large as her ego. I refer to typhoons and hurricanes.

Now I really don't blame those poor people who refused to get out of the way of Hurricane Katrina. I mean, the name Katrina gives one an image of a cute, frilly, skipping, 20-kilo girly bundle of ribbons and curls. Had they called it Hurricane Deathbringer or Planetcrusher or Killermonster people may have paid attention.

And look at the names of the typhoons that hit Myanmar and Hong Kong recently. Nargis sounds like my neighbour's dog's name. Fengshan sounds like a Chinese restaurant. There was even the name Renee nominated for a typhoon in Asia last year. What more cute, adorable name is there on the planet? Not that I’m flattered or anything.

No, the only way the authorities can get people to take typhoons seriously is to give them horror-inspiring names. Such as “Mrs Goh”, for example. Mrs Goh was the strictest teacher at my elementary school, and even now, several decades later, any word that sounds remotely like her name (boh, so, toe, doe) sends me shuddering under the table (from where I will write the rest of this column). Mrs Goh was an elderly, disciplinary head teacher who moved from school to school, so there are probably generations of people across many cities who feel the same as I do.
I’m told that the tradition of giving typhoons cute female names came from the days when meteorological experts were all guys and it was okay to make jokes suggesting that twisters and women had identical characteristics: both were unpredictable and could rip up tall buildings and throw them across the city. (This certainly sums up the woman who gave birth to me.)
But now men are rightly prevented from making such discriminatory gags, because in these days of equality it is no longer acceptable to demean any tropical cyclones.

So the rules have been changed. Now different countries are allowed to nominate names from either sex for storms.

And what do we choose? We still have a load of girly names coming up.
Bangladesh has nominated Nisha, Helen and Fani. Pakistan has nominated Bulbul and Titli. Sri Lanka has nominated Abe and Priya. Laos has nominated Leepi and Phanphone, which sounds to me like a telecoms brand.

You’d think that the Philippines, which gets some of the deadliest typhoons, would give them suitably violent names, but no. They’ve nominated Nina, Kiko, Henry, Ramon, Queenie, Jerome and Felipe (if there is a wimpier, more delicate name on this planet than Felipe, I would like to hear it).

The United States has learned nothing from mis-naming Katrina, and have decided that their country’s predicted first storm in the summer of 2012 will be called Hurricane Bud.
But the prize for silliest name for a killer storm should go to Hawaii. They’ve nominated the name Hurricane Lala. Right. Yo, Hawaiians: listen up good. The weather angels are gonna getcha for that one.
It will be horror beyond imagination. Those of us taught by Mrs Goh know what that means.

A rant about Hitler and children's books.

As night fell, I read a beautifully illustrated picture book called “The Swan Princess” to my nephew.
It told the story of a fair-haired princess and her eleven fair-haired brothers. What a happy, idyllic, blond life they led, running around the palace gardens, their blond hair flopping around blondly!
But then they get a wicked stepmother. Oh no! How do we know she is wicked? She has black hair. She tangles up the princess’s blond hair and puts walnut juice on the girl’s face to make it brown. Her horrified father, now repulsed by her looks, banishes her from the palace.
I’m not going to tell you the rest of the story, but suffice it to say, the princess washes the brown stuff off her face and becomes pale again. All the fair-haired people in the story end up united and happy, and live blondly ever after.
My nephew had earlier brought home a picture book from school called “The Three Brothers”. Two of the brothers have black hair and turn out to be evil slime. The other has blond hair and turns out to be a god-like hero.
Now here’s a thing. I have a creeping suspicion—not sure where it comes from—that children’s books are actually produced by a secret group of people furtively supporting the Nazi ideology.
Feeling uncomfortable about these tales (after all, my family tree and I all have black hair), I reached for a textbook. First off the shelf was Naima, Daughter of the Desert, a volume from Adventure Box, a monthly educational series given to my child from school.
The story was about four siblings from a dark-haired family. That seemed hopeful. It opened by telling us that the children all had dark eyes, except Naima, who had blue eyes. “Everyone loved Naima,” it said. “Her parents loved her much more than her three older sisters who had black eyes.”
The dark-eyed children turn out to be evil and cast the blue-eyed girl into the desert. She gets picked up by nomads (yes, with dark eyes) who treat her as a slave until she is rescued by someone with green-eyes. A handsome prince then marries her after noticing her “big blue eyes”.
Yes, once more, people with the characteristics of the European Master Race defeat evil, sub-humans, that is, people with dark hair and eyes.
The following morning I read to my nephew a book set in Asia. The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling is about an Indian kid, right? Even in the Walt Disney movie, Mowgli has black hair and brown skin. So I bought a copy from the bookstore—but in the illustrations of the recent editions, Mowgli’s brown skin has turned pink, and his black hair has become brown.
I hate to sound like a whiner, but is it unreasonable to ask that children’s books don’t have a subtext Hitler? The books mentioned are not from small, local presses: they are randomly selected volumes from some of the world’s most successful publishers of children’s books: Usborne, Bayard Press and Ladybird.
I decided I’d have to make up a story. “Once upon a time, there was a planet where most people had dark hair.”
“What was it called, checi?” my nephew asked.
“Earth.”
“Like this planet?”
“Yes, dear. Like this planet.”