My brother is such a moron. As I'm typing this, lousy rock music from WWF is blaring from my brother's TV. (yes, he has a tv in his room. No, I don't have a tv in my room. Yes, its unfair. And no, there's nothing I can do about it.)

I've just watched this part where some guy gets pink in the face while trying to rip some other oily, over-muscled and butt-ugly freakshow's mask off. (he has to wear a mask because he's butt-ugly)
The guy ultimately fails, loses balance and falls on his Britney-Spears lookalike girlfriend, who passes out.
The first guy bends over his girlfriend in mock concern (we all know its one big show) while the butt-ugly freakshow in this captain america get-up starts waving his fist at what is supposed to look like a threatening and meanacing manner, but ends up looking like a chicken gone wrong.

All this time, the commentator is saying stuff like: "Oh no! Look behind you!" But the guy, having suddenly gone deaf due to sorrow and shock upon seeing his unconscious girlfriend, doesn't hear the commentator and remains bent over the love of his life (ya, right.)

So, after like ten thousand years and when the crowd starts yelling for the show to go on, he finally turns around, sees the captain america weirdo, the two of them start exchanging fake blows again.

Of course, the ugly captain america guy wins (coz his costume has prints of the american flag) and he carries the unconscious girl backstage.

After this, I've given up trying to figure out what on earth keeps my brother watching this weird programme and started blogging.

A coupla billion years of evolution, and ultimately, its come to this. *sigh.

THE UNCENSORED VERSION
6:40
I realise with a sinking feeling that I've stained my pants. There's no time to clean up or whatever coz the rest of my colleagues are waiting for me outside.

6:45
I walk out of SPH with my ESPRIT bag positioned strategically at my behind so that it hides the stain.

6:45 and a few seconds
I step into a drain. *tsk.

6:50
I see bus number 153 drive past at the bend. The one place where seeing your bus drive past REALLY sucks because you are close enough to think that you can catch it if you run, but you'd have to look like an ABSOLUTE nut because you'd have to run in heels.

6:55
I reach the bus stop, feeling fed up because its a very long wait for 153. Feeling like Miss Clever-know-it-all because I vaguely remember seeing bus numbers 73 and 28 on the bus stop near my place, I confidently declare to Melissa that a lot of buses at that bus stop go to my place.

Melissa tells me that 73 doesn't go to my place.

ok... my ego's slightly deflated, but... hey. I'm sure that 28 DOES go to my place. well... ok. QUITE sure.
So, when it coes, I board it quickly, feeling rather smart.

7:00
I find myself looking nervously at the road and the bus driver-he has VERY long nails, you know, the Phua Chu Kang kind-because I'm not sure that the bus goes to my place.

7:08
I start developing a crick in my neck.
But, so far so good. Its still on the route home.

7:10
Damn! Get off the bus! Get off the bus!

7:12
Shit. I hate climbing overhead bridges.

7:15
Actually, walking home's quite cool la. Check out the nice mix of pink, purple and blue. *contented sigh*

7:16
A bus which I could have taken home zooms past. *concentrate on the beautiful scenery.... concentrate on the scenery....... concentrate....

7:20
Just as I start to feel athletic and healthy due to my brisk walking (despite all the carbon monoxide, nitrogen and whatever pollutants they have these days), the heel of my shoe gets caught in-no, not another drain, but in a crack in the cement.
Throughout my entire walk, there've been very few other pedestrians.
Just so happened that as I started hopping around like some idiot trying some new form of yoga, a group of Bhangra/Bangla (dunno how to spell) workers appear out of nowhere.
My discman starts playing "Guess I was a Fool"
I repress the urge to swear.

7:30
About 8 buses which I could have taken have driven past me. I've walked past about 3-4 bus-stops.
By this time, the only thing which is stronger than my urge to give vent to my frustration by kicking the thing that prevents you from falling into the long kang is my stubborness.
I hear Another Level crooning to the lyrics: "Don't cry, dry your eyes."

7:35
I thank my lucky stars I'm not wearing my red killer heels.

7:35 and a few more seconds
I realise that if I had been wearing my red killer heels, I wouldn't have attempted walking home from that bus-stop.

Tip of the day:
Please. Please. Please be very sure of the buses that go to your house.

"Look! No hands!"

It's bad enough hearing it from a 7-year-old on a bike. But hearing it from your mom just makes all the difference. Especially when she's driving a car.

And you happen to be sitting next to her.

Sigh.

And THEY scold US for being childish.