Write to live, live to write.
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Wednesday, July 30, 2008
So, anyway, what the title says.
Not that I'm grousing about not being able to finish the thing.
Oh, no.
Today, we had three 'tests'.
One. The Dreaded Chinese Letter Writing Test.
Two. The not so dreaded PE Netball inter group competition.
Three. The undreaded Maths Test.
Turns out to be the other way around.
The maths test was bloody difficult...especially the stupid factorisation question. You should've seen my paper [although that would be considered cheating].
The PE netball thing? As we expected, it was not so dreaded. There was a bit of controversy over the last bit but according to the umpire, our team won. GO R.I.P....the undead will never die.
And the Chinese test...well, we were s'posed to write about National Day. What is there to write about National day in chinese? I only wrote two sides worth of gao zhi. Pah.
Then there's the thing about my complete story. The very first time I've completed something that I wrote myself [i.e. without any instructions from the teachers or whatever]. I tend to juggle too many stories then neglect some. But this is just a short story anyway. Take a look.
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Unsung Heroes
His face was grim as he entered the hotel. What was left of it, anyway. After countless days of shelling the hotel had been reduced to half a pile of smoldering rubble. The only relatively safe place was the cellar, and to the wounded men inside even the cellar couldn’t keep the Germans out.
A part of the cellar had been set up as a planning room. This was where he headed for, striding that familiar long stride of his. The wounded men who could still talk lifted their heads as he passed by to stare at their beloved commander. “Mornin’, Major,” some of them said, in an attempt to lighten his apparent black mood. Strangely, the man known as “major” never said anything; not a word of encouragement, not even a motivational nod…most unusual of him.
The door to the planning room burst open and he walked in, scowling. A few men looked up fearfully, in case the Germans had come, but seeing it was just him they relaxed visibly. One even offered a cigarette, saying, “Here, Major, it’s the last one I’ve got.”
The Major gave a noncommittal grunt and ignored the comment, choosing instead to stride to the planning map and slam his fist on the table, making not only the little miniature representations of the armies jump, but a few real men as well. What was going on? They wondered. It wasn’t like the Major at all to be so uncharacteristically quiet and unhappy. It was a far cry from his usual cheerful, encouraging, motivating self. What had gotten to him so much that he was so upset?
The answer came soon enough. “We’re bailing out. Tonight,” he said slowly.
A stunned moment of silence. Then the cries of protest came, as he knew it would.
“No way! What have all those men died for, then?”
“We’ve held on this bloody long, we can’t just evacuate!”
“This is a bloomin’ outrage!”
He held up a hand and the room fell silent almost immediately. He leant forward, his voice lowering to give him a more sinister, menacing effect. The room had gone deathly quiet, the men listening intently.
“That’s not all.” He paused, hesitating. “They want us to cover the retreat.”
The room erupted again, not a single man pleased with the decision.
“That’s bloody unfair, they can’t just leave us like that!”
“What about us, then? Eh? What about us?”
“That’s a bloody suicide mission, that is!”
The Major listened to their ranting, not saying a word himself. He had already said what he had wanted to say at HQ. He had yelled at them until his voice was hoarse. They had been pretty surprised at the sudden loss of his usual, calm composure. Needless to say they hadn’t been very impressed by his string of profanities.
The room had settled down again, with every man staring at him intently. He stared stonily back. Nobody seemed to be able to say a word.
Finally one of his aides, Lieutenant Spencer Marloughsby-Whittington, broke the silence. “Who’ll be going, sir?” he asked quietly. As his aide, the Major was sure that Spencer knew full well who he was going to pick. Clever boy, that Spencer. Always one step ahead of everyone else.
He shrugged. He glanced at the deathly pale faces of the men, men he’d served with for so long, trained with, fought with…and now to die with. The familiar faces stared back at him dolefully. It was a difficult choice, choosing the men whom he was going to die with, as if he was Death itself. Still, the job had to be done, and to sacrifice a few to save many was much better than sacrificing many to save a few.
“Oh, y’know…Spencer, Harry, Ryan, Lewis…” The condemned men’s faces fell as each name was uttered. Deathly pale faces sighed with relief, while others prepared themselves both physically and mentally for the inevitable outcome.
All in all the Major named about 20 odd men, veterans all of them. They had been through so much together, the trainings, the skirmishes, the battles…and now it was all going to waste. But they had to do this; the rookies would have been overwhelmed quickly.
The relieved troopers filed out, leaving the ‘chosen ones’ behind. The Major sighed heavily. He didn’t want any of the familiar faces to die. “You can leave, any of you, if you don’t want to do this,” he said quietly. Something flickered on the men’s faces. What was it, fear? Relief? Then, just as quickly, it was gone. None of the men had left, as he knew they wouldn’t. They were all in this together till the very end.
Grinning – a morose, mirthless smile – he outlined the plan while they listened in complete silence.
“We’ve got to scatter, spread out. Ours won’t be the only unit being ab-“ he bit his lip – abandoned just seemed to harsh. “roped in to help the retreat, so we’ll spread out in our own allocated area. We’ve got to make the Germans believe we’re still here. Got it?”
Everyone paused. The plan seemed plausible enough. There were just two things that worried them, the overwhelming German force and their position; too close to the Jerries and too far from the river to ever get there in time. It seemed like none would make it home.
Spencer answered for everyone. “Let’s do this,” he said.
***
The night was anything but peaceful and tranquil. The moon shone brightly overhead, thankfully not penetrating the unsettling darkness in which boats were readied for the evacuation of Arnhem. The tranquility of the forests – what tranquility was left, anyway – was disrupted by a few, scattered Bren guns, firing defiantly into the Germans. Everything seemed like it had been for the past few days.
At the river, however, it was an entirely different matter. Numerous boats stood waiting for the troops, to bring them to safety to the other side of the river. The orders for the beleaguered, escaping troops were simple – keep on going. Don’t stop for anyone.
The Major watched with grim approval as the men tried to take as many of the walking wounded as they could. They couldn’t risk too many men falling into German hands. As the men filed by they murmured encouragements to those who were to stay behind, knowing full well that they might never see each other again.
“See you around, mate.”
“Good luck, Major…you’ll need it.”
“We’ll see you again on the other side of the river.”
All lies, of course. They were as good as dead now. Still, a little bit of blatant, encouraging lying never hurt anyone.
Silently the men cleared out, leaving the Major and his twenty veterans. The night air was cool and crisp, and all was silent in their corner. The Major checked his watch. It was exactly 2100. The evacuation was underway. The Major smiled grimly, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. Now all they had to do was keep the Germans – both figuratively and literally – in the dark.
The cue was given and numerous guns fired into the gloom, at Arnhem Bridge. The Germans fired blindly back. The bullets were far and wide, seeing as neither could see through the darkness, lit by a few scarce fires from earlier skirmishes.
Apparently the Germans knew something was amiss because they advanced, cautiously at first, but more boldly as they encountered little resistance. The Major’s men glanced around unsettlingly. They knew they were directly in line with Arnhem Bridge, with the Germans. And now it looked like the Germans were headed straight for them.
Someone started to sing softly. The Major didn’t know who, but nevertheless he was grateful. It lessened the tension; helped the men stare death straight in the face, helped them to be brave and not think about what fate they were going to meet. They were British, after all. Heck, scratch that, they were paratroopers, the elite red berets. They wouldn’t – couldn’t – go down without a good fight.
More soldiers took up the song now. The Major thought it sounded a bit like “We’ll Meet Again”. He began to hum along, singing the words that he knew.
“We'll meet againDon't know whereDon't know whenBut I know we'll meet again some sunny dayKeep smilin' throughJust like you always doTill the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away…”
As he did he took one last, long look at every one of them – from the Captains to the Privates. All seemed invaluable to the Major; he couldn’t bear to let them die. But they had chosen to stay, to fight with him, hadn’t they? He had given them a chance to back down but they hadn’t. And for that he was grateful.
Someone yelled, “They’re comin’,” and suddenly the night sky was alive, full of noise from the Bren guns to the grenades to the MG42s. The Major helped as best as he could, firing his pistol, running along the lines, encouraging the men to “keep going, we haven’t lost yet!” A bullet caught him in the arm but he kept going; he couldn’t give up now. The boys at the river, they needed all the time they could get. They needed another Dunkirk. And by George, the Major and his men were going to give it to them.
One by one his men fell as he looked on helplessly. Those who survived continued to put up a fierce line of defense, in hope of keeping the Germans at bay. ‘They couldn’t give up now’ was the general attitude of every man. Not while they’d come this far.
In the end the Major had no choice but to call a retreat. There were too many of them; just too many. They fell back slowly, putting up fierce resistance to allow the boys more time. They couldn’t patch up the wounded; they had no medic. Those who fell were left to the mercy of the Germans.
Soon there were just three men left; the Major, Spencer, and a Lieutenant Lewis Dixon. They had reached the river, with the Germans far behind – three men were much easier to hide then twenty. A glimmer of hope alighted in he Major’s eyes – maybe, just maybe, they would make it out after all. His eyes cast around for something, anything that would take them across the river.
“Goin’ my way, mate?” a friendly English voice cut through the silence. A cheerful looking coxswain sat on the edge of a raft, holding out a hand to the Major. The three hauled themselves into the boat – but not before Lieutenant Dixon got shot as he clambered in. They left him on the shore, the Major in particular feeling bad that there was nothing they could do. His guilty conscience, however, was expelled by the surge of hope he now felt. They were going to make it! E could almost make out the opposing shoreline. Just a few more meters…
He had lifted his hopes too high, too soon. A single burst from a faraway machine gun and suddenly they were floundering in the water, the boat – if it could be called a boat – drifting away, the coxswain gripping his arm tightly, trying not to cry out. It was against the Major’s better judgment, but he couldn’t leave the coxswain to die. Not when he had left so many others behind. He grabbed the coxswain and started to swim, but his arm, the one that had been injured, was stinging. He felt himself slowing down. They would never make it…
But suddenly they found themselves being propelled by an external force – Spencer, using all his strength to keep them afloat. The Major strained his eyes. Nearly there…just a bit more…c’mon Spence, you can do it…
With a final, superhuman effort, Spencer heaved the Major and the coxswain onto the opposite shore. Spencer himself never reached the bank, though. He was cut down just as he pushed the others up onto the wet sand.
The Major stood, staring sadly at Spencer’s body as it sank beneath the water, at the man he once knew and liked, at the man who had saved their lives. But in his heart he felt something else; a sense of accomplishment, a sense of thankfulness.
At least Spencer and the others hadn’t died for nothing, he thought. At least they’d done their part in helping the evacuation, though their names would never be remembered. At least they’d save many more lives. And, by God, at least they had gone out as they had gone in.
Proud.
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I know it may be a bit boring, but please review! I need reviews, so that I can improve my stories. But don't tell me it sounds like a history lesson. I already know that.
~Quote of the Day~
“I want antipersonnel mines, antitank mines, antiparatroops mines. I want mines to sink ships and mines to sink landing craft. I want some minefields designed so that our infantry can cross them, but no enemy tanks. I want mines that detonate when a wire is tripped; mines that explode when a wire is cut; mines that can be remote controlled, and mines that will blow up when a beam of light is interrupted.”
-Our mine-loving friend Rommel, displaying his proud collection. He eventually laid 6 million odd mines on/in Normandy. Think that's a lot? Think again. His original goal had been eleven million.
*THE LONE RANGER'S PICTURE WAS HERE*
Not that I'm grousing about not being able to finish the thing.
Oh, no.
Today, we had three 'tests'.
One. The Dreaded Chinese Letter Writing Test.
Two. The not so dreaded PE Netball inter group competition.
Three. The undreaded Maths Test.
Turns out to be the other way around.
The maths test was bloody difficult...especially the stupid factorisation question. You should've seen my paper [although that would be considered cheating].
The PE netball thing? As we expected, it was not so dreaded. There was a bit of controversy over the last bit but according to the umpire, our team won. GO R.I.P....the undead will never die.
And the Chinese test...well, we were s'posed to write about National Day. What is there to write about National day in chinese? I only wrote two sides worth of gao zhi. Pah.
Then there's the thing about my complete story. The very first time I've completed something that I wrote myself [i.e. without any instructions from the teachers or whatever]. I tend to juggle too many stories then neglect some. But this is just a short story anyway. Take a look.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unsung Heroes
His face was grim as he entered the hotel. What was left of it, anyway. After countless days of shelling the hotel had been reduced to half a pile of smoldering rubble. The only relatively safe place was the cellar, and to the wounded men inside even the cellar couldn’t keep the Germans out.
A part of the cellar had been set up as a planning room. This was where he headed for, striding that familiar long stride of his. The wounded men who could still talk lifted their heads as he passed by to stare at their beloved commander. “Mornin’, Major,” some of them said, in an attempt to lighten his apparent black mood. Strangely, the man known as “major” never said anything; not a word of encouragement, not even a motivational nod…most unusual of him.
The door to the planning room burst open and he walked in, scowling. A few men looked up fearfully, in case the Germans had come, but seeing it was just him they relaxed visibly. One even offered a cigarette, saying, “Here, Major, it’s the last one I’ve got.”
The Major gave a noncommittal grunt and ignored the comment, choosing instead to stride to the planning map and slam his fist on the table, making not only the little miniature representations of the armies jump, but a few real men as well. What was going on? They wondered. It wasn’t like the Major at all to be so uncharacteristically quiet and unhappy. It was a far cry from his usual cheerful, encouraging, motivating self. What had gotten to him so much that he was so upset?
The answer came soon enough. “We’re bailing out. Tonight,” he said slowly.
A stunned moment of silence. Then the cries of protest came, as he knew it would.
“No way! What have all those men died for, then?”
“We’ve held on this bloody long, we can’t just evacuate!”
“This is a bloomin’ outrage!”
He held up a hand and the room fell silent almost immediately. He leant forward, his voice lowering to give him a more sinister, menacing effect. The room had gone deathly quiet, the men listening intently.
“That’s not all.” He paused, hesitating. “They want us to cover the retreat.”
The room erupted again, not a single man pleased with the decision.
“That’s bloody unfair, they can’t just leave us like that!”
“What about us, then? Eh? What about us?”
“That’s a bloody suicide mission, that is!”
The Major listened to their ranting, not saying a word himself. He had already said what he had wanted to say at HQ. He had yelled at them until his voice was hoarse. They had been pretty surprised at the sudden loss of his usual, calm composure. Needless to say they hadn’t been very impressed by his string of profanities.
The room had settled down again, with every man staring at him intently. He stared stonily back. Nobody seemed to be able to say a word.
Finally one of his aides, Lieutenant Spencer Marloughsby-Whittington, broke the silence. “Who’ll be going, sir?” he asked quietly. As his aide, the Major was sure that Spencer knew full well who he was going to pick. Clever boy, that Spencer. Always one step ahead of everyone else.
He shrugged. He glanced at the deathly pale faces of the men, men he’d served with for so long, trained with, fought with…and now to die with. The familiar faces stared back at him dolefully. It was a difficult choice, choosing the men whom he was going to die with, as if he was Death itself. Still, the job had to be done, and to sacrifice a few to save many was much better than sacrificing many to save a few.
“Oh, y’know…Spencer, Harry, Ryan, Lewis…” The condemned men’s faces fell as each name was uttered. Deathly pale faces sighed with relief, while others prepared themselves both physically and mentally for the inevitable outcome.
All in all the Major named about 20 odd men, veterans all of them. They had been through so much together, the trainings, the skirmishes, the battles…and now it was all going to waste. But they had to do this; the rookies would have been overwhelmed quickly.
The relieved troopers filed out, leaving the ‘chosen ones’ behind. The Major sighed heavily. He didn’t want any of the familiar faces to die. “You can leave, any of you, if you don’t want to do this,” he said quietly. Something flickered on the men’s faces. What was it, fear? Relief? Then, just as quickly, it was gone. None of the men had left, as he knew they wouldn’t. They were all in this together till the very end.
Grinning – a morose, mirthless smile – he outlined the plan while they listened in complete silence.
“We’ve got to scatter, spread out. Ours won’t be the only unit being ab-“ he bit his lip – abandoned just seemed to harsh. “roped in to help the retreat, so we’ll spread out in our own allocated area. We’ve got to make the Germans believe we’re still here. Got it?”
Everyone paused. The plan seemed plausible enough. There were just two things that worried them, the overwhelming German force and their position; too close to the Jerries and too far from the river to ever get there in time. It seemed like none would make it home.
Spencer answered for everyone. “Let’s do this,” he said.
***
The night was anything but peaceful and tranquil. The moon shone brightly overhead, thankfully not penetrating the unsettling darkness in which boats were readied for the evacuation of Arnhem. The tranquility of the forests – what tranquility was left, anyway – was disrupted by a few, scattered Bren guns, firing defiantly into the Germans. Everything seemed like it had been for the past few days.
At the river, however, it was an entirely different matter. Numerous boats stood waiting for the troops, to bring them to safety to the other side of the river. The orders for the beleaguered, escaping troops were simple – keep on going. Don’t stop for anyone.
The Major watched with grim approval as the men tried to take as many of the walking wounded as they could. They couldn’t risk too many men falling into German hands. As the men filed by they murmured encouragements to those who were to stay behind, knowing full well that they might never see each other again.
“See you around, mate.”
“Good luck, Major…you’ll need it.”
“We’ll see you again on the other side of the river.”
All lies, of course. They were as good as dead now. Still, a little bit of blatant, encouraging lying never hurt anyone.
Silently the men cleared out, leaving the Major and his twenty veterans. The night air was cool and crisp, and all was silent in their corner. The Major checked his watch. It was exactly 2100. The evacuation was underway. The Major smiled grimly, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. Now all they had to do was keep the Germans – both figuratively and literally – in the dark.
The cue was given and numerous guns fired into the gloom, at Arnhem Bridge. The Germans fired blindly back. The bullets were far and wide, seeing as neither could see through the darkness, lit by a few scarce fires from earlier skirmishes.
Apparently the Germans knew something was amiss because they advanced, cautiously at first, but more boldly as they encountered little resistance. The Major’s men glanced around unsettlingly. They knew they were directly in line with Arnhem Bridge, with the Germans. And now it looked like the Germans were headed straight for them.
Someone started to sing softly. The Major didn’t know who, but nevertheless he was grateful. It lessened the tension; helped the men stare death straight in the face, helped them to be brave and not think about what fate they were going to meet. They were British, after all. Heck, scratch that, they were paratroopers, the elite red berets. They wouldn’t – couldn’t – go down without a good fight.
More soldiers took up the song now. The Major thought it sounded a bit like “We’ll Meet Again”. He began to hum along, singing the words that he knew.
“We'll meet againDon't know whereDon't know whenBut I know we'll meet again some sunny dayKeep smilin' throughJust like you always doTill the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away…”
As he did he took one last, long look at every one of them – from the Captains to the Privates. All seemed invaluable to the Major; he couldn’t bear to let them die. But they had chosen to stay, to fight with him, hadn’t they? He had given them a chance to back down but they hadn’t. And for that he was grateful.
Someone yelled, “They’re comin’,” and suddenly the night sky was alive, full of noise from the Bren guns to the grenades to the MG42s. The Major helped as best as he could, firing his pistol, running along the lines, encouraging the men to “keep going, we haven’t lost yet!” A bullet caught him in the arm but he kept going; he couldn’t give up now. The boys at the river, they needed all the time they could get. They needed another Dunkirk. And by George, the Major and his men were going to give it to them.
One by one his men fell as he looked on helplessly. Those who survived continued to put up a fierce line of defense, in hope of keeping the Germans at bay. ‘They couldn’t give up now’ was the general attitude of every man. Not while they’d come this far.
In the end the Major had no choice but to call a retreat. There were too many of them; just too many. They fell back slowly, putting up fierce resistance to allow the boys more time. They couldn’t patch up the wounded; they had no medic. Those who fell were left to the mercy of the Germans.
Soon there were just three men left; the Major, Spencer, and a Lieutenant Lewis Dixon. They had reached the river, with the Germans far behind – three men were much easier to hide then twenty. A glimmer of hope alighted in he Major’s eyes – maybe, just maybe, they would make it out after all. His eyes cast around for something, anything that would take them across the river.
“Goin’ my way, mate?” a friendly English voice cut through the silence. A cheerful looking coxswain sat on the edge of a raft, holding out a hand to the Major. The three hauled themselves into the boat – but not before Lieutenant Dixon got shot as he clambered in. They left him on the shore, the Major in particular feeling bad that there was nothing they could do. His guilty conscience, however, was expelled by the surge of hope he now felt. They were going to make it! E could almost make out the opposing shoreline. Just a few more meters…
He had lifted his hopes too high, too soon. A single burst from a faraway machine gun and suddenly they were floundering in the water, the boat – if it could be called a boat – drifting away, the coxswain gripping his arm tightly, trying not to cry out. It was against the Major’s better judgment, but he couldn’t leave the coxswain to die. Not when he had left so many others behind. He grabbed the coxswain and started to swim, but his arm, the one that had been injured, was stinging. He felt himself slowing down. They would never make it…
But suddenly they found themselves being propelled by an external force – Spencer, using all his strength to keep them afloat. The Major strained his eyes. Nearly there…just a bit more…c’mon Spence, you can do it…
With a final, superhuman effort, Spencer heaved the Major and the coxswain onto the opposite shore. Spencer himself never reached the bank, though. He was cut down just as he pushed the others up onto the wet sand.
The Major stood, staring sadly at Spencer’s body as it sank beneath the water, at the man he once knew and liked, at the man who had saved their lives. But in his heart he felt something else; a sense of accomplishment, a sense of thankfulness.
At least Spencer and the others hadn’t died for nothing, he thought. At least they’d done their part in helping the evacuation, though their names would never be remembered. At least they’d save many more lives. And, by God, at least they had gone out as they had gone in.
Proud.
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I know it may be a bit boring, but please review! I need reviews, so that I can improve my stories. But don't tell me it sounds like a history lesson. I already know that.
~Quote of the Day~
“I want antipersonnel mines, antitank mines, antiparatroops mines. I want mines to sink ships and mines to sink landing craft. I want some minefields designed so that our infantry can cross them, but no enemy tanks. I want mines that detonate when a wire is tripped; mines that explode when a wire is cut; mines that can be remote controlled, and mines that will blow up when a beam of light is interrupted.”
-Our mine-loving friend Rommel, displaying his proud collection. He eventually laid 6 million odd mines on/in Normandy. Think that's a lot? Think again. His original goal had been eleven million.
*THE LONE RANGER'S PICTURE WAS HERE*
>>Forgotten by04:45
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Sunday, July 27, 2008
One thing I forgot to mention yesterday...
we had a Geography test on Friday during the common test period.
There were three or four pages. First two or so were MCQ, then a Map test, then Structured Questions.
I finished in 8 minutes.
Why? I'll tell ya why. For the Structured Questions it was supposed to be worth 20 marks.
The page we saw only had 4.
So we asked about it. And Lemon [should I call 'im that? He might just chance on my blog. Ah well...he's probably not smart enough to figure out it's him, anyway.] was calling the other people, and I distinctly heard him say,
"They're still printing them."
OR something like that.
But that's besides the point. I mean, can you believe the nerve of these guys? Printing the last page when the exam's already going on?
We had no choice but to wait. In the five to ten minutes I idly labeled every single ocean and sea and continent I knew, even drawing in the rivers and labling them. Besides me, Gen was writing down the reasons why the particular option wasn't the answer for the MCQ.
Just as I was about to draw plates onto my map and label them, the paper arrived. La la la. Lemon took his time handing it out and we started on it eagerly.
I still had time to write a story before the Geog test was out.
Maybe I shouldn't be so casual about my tests. I usually am not, by the way. It's just that ever since I lost my handphone on Geog test day one term ago, I haven't been paying much attention to my Geog tests.
Maybe that's why I got a B4.
Speaking of which, up to next week Sunday I might not have my 'Lone Ranger' picture, since my computer's CPU was sent in to repair the CMOS battery and possibly replace the motherboard.
Why? Apparently, motherboard doesn't like MSN much.
~Quote of the Day~
'The Very idea of losing is hateful to an American.'
-George S. Patton, the only 'bast*rd' capable of saying such things.
we had a Geography test on Friday during the common test period.
There were three or four pages. First two or so were MCQ, then a Map test, then Structured Questions.
I finished in 8 minutes.
Why? I'll tell ya why. For the Structured Questions it was supposed to be worth 20 marks.
The page we saw only had 4.
So we asked about it. And Lemon [should I call 'im that? He might just chance on my blog. Ah well...he's probably not smart enough to figure out it's him, anyway.] was calling the other people, and I distinctly heard him say,
"They're still printing them."
OR something like that.
But that's besides the point. I mean, can you believe the nerve of these guys? Printing the last page when the exam's already going on?
We had no choice but to wait. In the five to ten minutes I idly labeled every single ocean and sea and continent I knew, even drawing in the rivers and labling them. Besides me, Gen was writing down the reasons why the particular option wasn't the answer for the MCQ.
Just as I was about to draw plates onto my map and label them, the paper arrived. La la la. Lemon took his time handing it out and we started on it eagerly.
I still had time to write a story before the Geog test was out.
Maybe I shouldn't be so casual about my tests. I usually am not, by the way. It's just that ever since I lost my handphone on Geog test day one term ago, I haven't been paying much attention to my Geog tests.
Maybe that's why I got a B4.
Speaking of which, up to next week Sunday I might not have my 'Lone Ranger' picture, since my computer's CPU was sent in to repair the CMOS battery and possibly replace the motherboard.
Why? Apparently, motherboard doesn't like MSN much.
~Quote of the Day~
'The Very idea of losing is hateful to an American.'
-George S. Patton, the only 'bast*rd' capable of saying such things.
>>Forgotten by01:34
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Saturday, July 26, 2008
Yesterday we had the N6 Cluster Thingy that celebrates Racial Harmony Day.
Now, what's Racial Harmony got to do with 'Celebrating Youth' or whatever it's got written on our shirts?
Yes, we got special N6 cluster thingy black shirts with funny, paint splattered people in all sorts of grosteque poses painted in front.
But anyway, we're off track. The thing is, the dance was, well, sure, about Racial Harmony, I guess, but the celebration after that?
I don't think so.
So, enough about my complaining. Let's talk about what there was to offer.
After the dance [Which one of the teachers, whose initials are C.P. [NOT COMMAND POST] shouted at us to do properly but only did it half heartedly himself - yes, I was watching] which was a bloody stupid dance, I might add, we ran off to play some games and get our souvenirs. See, there was this idea that for every game we play we get one stamp. Then when we get three stamps, we can go collect our souvenirs, which happens to be a nice water bottle.
So, me and Celine and Fransiska went to the nearest kiosk, archery...and were confronted with a monstrous, intimidating queue. Gaaak. So we moved off to this funny game called...wait, let me search...no, it's not choqueball, nor is it tchoqueball, and it's not tchokball either...ah, here it is. Tchoukball, where the main idea is to bounce the ball off the trampoline and score when the ball hits the ground outside the semicircle [I forgot what it's called]. You can't intercept, you can only try to catch it before it hits the ground after it's hit the trampoline. If I'm making you confused just go check the internet and see what I mean.
]It was pretty boring. I mean, there was this girl on the opposing team who always tried to score. She threw, I caught. I threw, she caught. And so it goes...
So, anyway, their team won. The guy gave is a couple a extra minutes, and we threw and caught and threw and caught and threw and caught...then the game was over. And this other, bored, retarded [in Fransiska's words] looking guy, looked up and said, "What, their game over already?" or something like that.
If I could arrange my facial expression it would have been something like -_-.
Anyway, we grabbed our stamps and rushed on to the next stop - Skipping. Boy, that was bloody comparably easy, I can tell ya that. All we were asked to do were 20 skips - not cross or anything fanciful, just twenty plain ol' skips. Well, me and Celine finished in less than half a minute, maybe a quarter, and waited for Fransiska to finish. Then we got our stamps and went off to inline skating.
I don't know how many times I encouraged them or said "very good!" that day. Turns out neither Fransiska nor Gen nor Pei Yu were good at roller blading and we had to help 'em along. I never knew I had it in me to help people in Roller blading, seeing as I'm so lousy at it myself. But still we managed it, and I guess you could say I thouroughly enjoyed it. Ok, fine, so I didn't 'thouroughly' enjoy it, but heck, it still was fun.
We got our stamps and moved along to Giant Ball. This was sorta like volleyball, although the ball that we played with was about Tharun's height. The first game we played was against girls that we knew, and we lost miserably...I think. Someone slammed the ball into my defensive arm that it smashed it backwards and my arm hurt for the rest of the day.
But the real hilarious moment was when we played against the boys. Their expressions were all smug, we'll-thrash-you-since-you're-weak-crummy-girls. Ha. If they could tell the future they'd be wearing oh-no-let's-run-for-our-lives,-they're-gonna-thrash-us expressions.
'Cause that's what we did. 6-4, to be precise.
They really were bloody idiots to underestimate us. Never underestimate the power of girls. Of course, not all girls are that great, and not all boys are that sucky either. But anyway.
We raced to the circular building to collect our bottles...then we ran back to class [yes, this was hosted in our school]...then we ran up to the roof garden...then we ran down again...then we went home.
What a happy ending.
~Quote of the Day~
If you’re gonna use military force, then you ought to use overwhelming military force…All war is immoral, and if you let that bother you, you’re not a good soldier.
-Curtis Lemay. No, I don't know who he is either.
Now, what's Racial Harmony got to do with 'Celebrating Youth' or whatever it's got written on our shirts?
Yes, we got special N6 cluster thingy black shirts with funny, paint splattered people in all sorts of grosteque poses painted in front.
But anyway, we're off track. The thing is, the dance was, well, sure, about Racial Harmony, I guess, but the celebration after that?
I don't think so.
So, enough about my complaining. Let's talk about what there was to offer.
After the dance [Which one of the teachers, whose initials are C.P. [NOT COMMAND POST] shouted at us to do properly but only did it half heartedly himself - yes, I was watching] which was a bloody stupid dance, I might add, we ran off to play some games and get our souvenirs. See, there was this idea that for every game we play we get one stamp. Then when we get three stamps, we can go collect our souvenirs, which happens to be a nice water bottle.
So, me and Celine and Fransiska went to the nearest kiosk, archery...and were confronted with a monstrous, intimidating queue. Gaaak. So we moved off to this funny game called...wait, let me search...no, it's not choqueball, nor is it tchoqueball, and it's not tchokball either...ah, here it is. Tchoukball, where the main idea is to bounce the ball off the trampoline and score when the ball hits the ground outside the semicircle [I forgot what it's called]. You can't intercept, you can only try to catch it before it hits the ground after it's hit the trampoline. If I'm making you confused just go check the internet and see what I mean.
]It was pretty boring. I mean, there was this girl on the opposing team who always tried to score. She threw, I caught. I threw, she caught. And so it goes...
So, anyway, their team won. The guy gave is a couple a extra minutes, and we threw and caught and threw and caught and threw and caught...then the game was over. And this other, bored, retarded [in Fransiska's words] looking guy, looked up and said, "What, their game over already?" or something like that.
If I could arrange my facial expression it would have been something like -_-.
Anyway, we grabbed our stamps and rushed on to the next stop - Skipping. Boy, that was bloody comparably easy, I can tell ya that. All we were asked to do were 20 skips - not cross or anything fanciful, just twenty plain ol' skips. Well, me and Celine finished in less than half a minute, maybe a quarter, and waited for Fransiska to finish. Then we got our stamps and went off to inline skating.
I don't know how many times I encouraged them or said "very good!" that day. Turns out neither Fransiska nor Gen nor Pei Yu were good at roller blading and we had to help 'em along. I never knew I had it in me to help people in Roller blading, seeing as I'm so lousy at it myself. But still we managed it, and I guess you could say I thouroughly enjoyed it. Ok, fine, so I didn't 'thouroughly' enjoy it, but heck, it still was fun.
We got our stamps and moved along to Giant Ball. This was sorta like volleyball, although the ball that we played with was about Tharun's height. The first game we played was against girls that we knew, and we lost miserably...I think. Someone slammed the ball into my defensive arm that it smashed it backwards and my arm hurt for the rest of the day.
But the real hilarious moment was when we played against the boys. Their expressions were all smug, we'll-thrash-you-since-you're-weak-crummy-girls. Ha. If they could tell the future they'd be wearing oh-no-let's-run-for-our-lives,-they're-gonna-thrash-us expressions.
'Cause that's what we did. 6-4, to be precise.
They really were bloody idiots to underestimate us. Never underestimate the power of girls. Of course, not all girls are that great, and not all boys are that sucky either. But anyway.
We raced to the circular building to collect our bottles...then we ran back to class [yes, this was hosted in our school]...then we ran up to the roof garden...then we ran down again...then we went home.
What a happy ending.
~Quote of the Day~
If you’re gonna use military force, then you ought to use overwhelming military force…All war is immoral, and if you let that bother you, you’re not a good soldier.
-Curtis Lemay. No, I don't know who he is either.
>>Forgotten by02:10
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Monday, July 21, 2008
Yesterday, me and what was left of Skatezone went to watch...
you guessed it. The Dark Knight.
So, anyway. I don't suppose you want to know what the movie was like...
let's just say it was good. And the joker rocked.
*WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD*
I guess you guys who watched the movie with me would want to know what was with all that adress switching thing. Well, Prepare yourself for a long explanation that a person of your intellectual stature should not expect to understand.
The Joker said that Harvey was at 52, 250 Street while Rachel was at X Street [or summat like that]. But he had already analyzed Batman’s character. He knew that Batman, being Superfast, was sure to go after Rachel and save her in time, while the police, being the slow un-batmans they were, would go after Harvey and probably not get there on time. Therefore, the Joker deliberately switched their addresses, so that Batman would rescue Harvey but the police wouldn’t get to Rachel before she got blown up.
That is essentially what happened, and therefore the Joker managed to turn Harvey, using the polices’ inability to have saved Rachel on time, into a villain [Two-Face] and prove that even the seemingly most perfect people could still turn into bad guys.
This idea is further justified by the fact that when Harvey called Gordon to tell him that his family had been captured, he said that they were where Harvey’s family [Rachel] died…52, 250 Street.
Subtle enough for ya? Anyway. This post's just a load of bosh. Oh, and I'm super hyper today. So don't take any notice of me if I continously ramble. Plus my internet's going heywire. Must be the fact that theres something wrong with my IP address. Anyone know how to fix it?
~Quote of the Day~
Old Soldiers never die; they just fade away.
-Douglas McArthur, the pompous, useless yet revered old brat. No offence to all Douglas McArthur fans.
>>Forgotten by01:59
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Wahey!
I finally topped again.
At least, I hope I topped.
The class, anyway.
We got our bio papers back on Tuesday. Or was it Monday? No matter. What matters is that I think I topped the class. When Joy gave me back my paper she was like "not bad, rach! Not bad at all!" And I thought, cool, maybe I've got 17 upon 20 or something!
Not a chance.
I got a friggin, abso-bloody-lutely mind blowing, crazily awesome 19! And a half!
Muhahahahahaha.
The bad news is, we got our ting xies back after that.
Dang.
78/100......I say that's great for a person like me, but of course my parents begged to differ.
I mean, at least I got an A1! and they go "no, that's not good enough. Why so low? I thought you practiced very hard!"
Sheesh.
But at least I've got more good news. I think I topped again [since I beat Esther anyway] for my two book reviews. Each one's upon 5, and for the one I did on The Kite Runner I got 4.5/5...and for the one on Friedrich I got 5/5!
Ha! 9.5/10! I bet I topped with that one. At least I hope I did.
~Quote of the Day~
Two kinds of people are staying on this beach, the dead and those who are gonna die. Now lets get the hell outta here.
-It's not very clear who said this...some say George Taylor, others say Norman Cota. Ah well. It's the quote that matters, right?
I finally topped again.
At least, I hope I topped.
The class, anyway.
We got our bio papers back on Tuesday. Or was it Monday? No matter. What matters is that I think I topped the class. When Joy gave me back my paper she was like "not bad, rach! Not bad at all!" And I thought, cool, maybe I've got 17 upon 20 or something!
Not a chance.
I got a friggin, abso-bloody-lutely mind blowing, crazily awesome 19! And a half!
Muhahahahahaha.
The bad news is, we got our ting xies back after that.
Dang.
78/100......I say that's great for a person like me, but of course my parents begged to differ.
I mean, at least I got an A1! and they go "no, that's not good enough. Why so low? I thought you practiced very hard!"
Sheesh.
But at least I've got more good news. I think I topped again [since I beat Esther anyway] for my two book reviews. Each one's upon 5, and for the one I did on The Kite Runner I got 4.5/5...and for the one on Friedrich I got 5/5!
Ha! 9.5/10! I bet I topped with that one. At least I hope I did.
~Quote of the Day~
Two kinds of people are staying on this beach, the dead and those who are gonna die. Now lets get the hell outta here.
-It's not very clear who said this...some say George Taylor, others say Norman Cota. Ah well. It's the quote that matters, right?
>>Forgotten by02:24
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Friday, July 11, 2008
My mom bought me a whole packet of Gobstoppers yesterday...all for myself. Woohoo! Finally I've got a big packet of sweets that I don't have to share with Jason. Unfortunately Jason has his own as well.
Why is that unfortunate? I've no idea. Let's just say I support favouritism...as long as its inclined to me.
JUST JOKING! Gobstoppers have a lot of sugar in them...I've got Sugar Rush. And I've only eaten what, 8 Gobstoppers over the course of today and yesterday.
My brother, being my brother, already finished his before I even put the eighth one in my mouth.
He's a fanatic for sugar rushes. Everytime he gets jellybeans he'll down half the packet in one day. And the next half the day after that. All before I even finish one fifth of mine.
I'm feelin' very, and when I say very I mean very, angry at my computer now. Make it the internet, actually. Half the sites I try can't be accessed. miniclip.com, arcadepod.com, fanfiction.net, fictionpress.com...the list goes on. I wonder what's wrong.
I hope I don't do anything stupid like kicking the CPU.
Whoops. Too late. Just did.
Anyway. Before I go I'd like you guys to tell me what you think about this poem I came up with quite a while back. So its got the "B" word in it. So what? That's what they called 'em anyway. As LT likes [or rather liked] to say, To hell with it!
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne
The Battle of the Bulge has begun,
Encircled in Bastogne is the 101,
They didn’t complain, they didn’t moan,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
For days and days they were stuck, trapped,
While the thin Allied line of defense snapped.
They didn’t have supplies nor ammo nor a phone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
They didn’t give up, held steadfastly,
Threw back the Germans for the world to see
“NUTS!” said McAulliffe in a proud tone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
The Allied resistance proved useless,
As the Ardennes fell, Germans were ruthless,
But they stopped them cold, though chilled to the bone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
Lieutenant Colonel Jochen Peiper,
Led the Malmedy Massacre,
They may’ve been appalled but they didn’t groan,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
As George Patton and his tanks fought on,
They held on to their stronghold, stiff and strong.
They weren’t shaken nor surrender prone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
Low on ammo, clothes and food,
They didn’t just sit there and brood.
They fought back, the boys, most half grown,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
To help them sustain a bit longer,
A plan was made in case they should falter.
To them bits of supplies were flown,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
26th December, a day no one’d forget,
A day the 101 and Patton met.
They didn’t wanna be rescued, rather be blown,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
The Allies rampaged ‘cross the Rhine,
And won the war, now wasn’t that fine.
But don’t forget those that stood bravely alone,
Thank the Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
SO I know it isn't the greatest and all. But please, please tell me about it. I mean what you think about it.
Gaak. My internet's jamming up on me again. How Blogger still works when everything else doesn't I will never figure out. I hate the internet. When it's working it's dead useful. But when it's not...let's just say it's lucky it was never alive. 'Cause I'd have killed it.
~Quote of the Day~
Yesterday, December 7, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy — the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.
The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. Very many American lives have been lost....
As commander in chief of the Army and Navy I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.
Always we will remember the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it my take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people, in their righteous might, will win through to absolute victory. I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again....
With confidence in our armed forces — with the unbounded determination of our people — we will gain the inevitable triumph — so help us God.
I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.
-This one is obvious. It's obvious that the person who declared it was the President of the United States when Pearl Harbor was attacked. It's FDR. Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Duh.
Why is that unfortunate? I've no idea. Let's just say I support favouritism...as long as its inclined to me.
JUST JOKING! Gobstoppers have a lot of sugar in them...I've got Sugar Rush. And I've only eaten what, 8 Gobstoppers over the course of today and yesterday.
My brother, being my brother, already finished his before I even put the eighth one in my mouth.
He's a fanatic for sugar rushes. Everytime he gets jellybeans he'll down half the packet in one day. And the next half the day after that. All before I even finish one fifth of mine.
I'm feelin' very, and when I say very I mean very, angry at my computer now. Make it the internet, actually. Half the sites I try can't be accessed. miniclip.com, arcadepod.com, fanfiction.net, fictionpress.com...the list goes on. I wonder what's wrong.
I hope I don't do anything stupid like kicking the CPU.
Whoops. Too late. Just did.
Anyway. Before I go I'd like you guys to tell me what you think about this poem I came up with quite a while back. So its got the "B" word in it. So what? That's what they called 'em anyway. As LT likes [or rather liked] to say, To hell with it!
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne
The Battle of the Bulge has begun,
Encircled in Bastogne is the 101,
They didn’t complain, they didn’t moan,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
For days and days they were stuck, trapped,
While the thin Allied line of defense snapped.
They didn’t have supplies nor ammo nor a phone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
They didn’t give up, held steadfastly,
Threw back the Germans for the world to see
“NUTS!” said McAulliffe in a proud tone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
The Allied resistance proved useless,
As the Ardennes fell, Germans were ruthless,
But they stopped them cold, though chilled to the bone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
Lieutenant Colonel Jochen Peiper,
Led the Malmedy Massacre,
They may’ve been appalled but they didn’t groan,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
As George Patton and his tanks fought on,
They held on to their stronghold, stiff and strong.
They weren’t shaken nor surrender prone,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
Low on ammo, clothes and food,
They didn’t just sit there and brood.
They fought back, the boys, most half grown,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
To help them sustain a bit longer,
A plan was made in case they should falter.
To them bits of supplies were flown,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
26th December, a day no one’d forget,
A day the 101 and Patton met.
They didn’t wanna be rescued, rather be blown,
The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
The Allies rampaged ‘cross the Rhine,
And won the war, now wasn’t that fine.
But don’t forget those that stood bravely alone,
Thank the Battered Bastards of Bastogne.
SO I know it isn't the greatest and all. But please, please tell me about it. I mean what you think about it.
Gaak. My internet's jamming up on me again. How Blogger still works when everything else doesn't I will never figure out. I hate the internet. When it's working it's dead useful. But when it's not...let's just say it's lucky it was never alive. 'Cause I'd have killed it.
~Quote of the Day~
Yesterday, December 7, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy — the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.
The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. Very many American lives have been lost....
As commander in chief of the Army and Navy I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.
Always we will remember the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it my take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people, in their righteous might, will win through to absolute victory. I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again....
With confidence in our armed forces — with the unbounded determination of our people — we will gain the inevitable triumph — so help us God.
I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.
-This one is obvious. It's obvious that the person who declared it was the President of the United States when Pearl Harbor was attacked. It's FDR. Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Duh.
>>Forgotten by23:05
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Happy "82nd Airborne landed in Sicily triggering Operation Husky" Day!
Yes, people, today is the..um..65th anniversary of the day that the Allies invaded Italy.
So it was Sicily first, but still, its part of Italy. Right? I wouldn't know. I'm not a fan of Geography.
But, coincedentally, today's also my pal's b'dae. Happy b'day Eme! Many happy returns of the day and whatever else I'm s'posed to say to wish people a happy b'day.
Wow, that actually rhymed.
Anyway, Gene, yeah, St. Nicks turned me a bit vulgar. But I'm not on the Dark Side yet. I don't say the F word yet. And I'm not planning to.
Yes, LT, I wrote it in 15 mins. Give or Take. I'm on a writing spree! I just started another story and I feel like writing a speech. It's the only way to pass the time during our teachers classes. But I can't write during Chinese Lesson, unless she's at the computer all the time or sitting at the back. She's on to me. I'm sure of it.
Happy belated Independence Day, America. Again. Did I already wish 'em that? Sorry, guys, but I'm feeling slightly delirious today. Maybe it's cause I've got one tonne of Maths tuition homework, plus a ting xie tomorrow. And my dad says if I don't get 95 and above he'll slit my wrists. He was joking, of course.
I think.
~Quote of the Day~
“If you want a decision, go to the point of danger.” - James M. Gavin, Mister 504th PIR commander Colonel, assistant division commander later, youngest Brig. Gen since Custer, later promoted to Lt. Gen and put in charge of the 82nd Airborne. Yup, sounds like an overachiever doesn't he. 
Yes, people, today is the..um..65th anniversary of the day that the Allies invaded Italy.
So it was Sicily first, but still, its part of Italy. Right? I wouldn't know. I'm not a fan of Geography.
But, coincedentally, today's also my pal's b'dae. Happy b'day Eme! Many happy returns of the day and whatever else I'm s'posed to say to wish people a happy b'day.
Wow, that actually rhymed.
Anyway, Gene, yeah, St. Nicks turned me a bit vulgar. But I'm not on the Dark Side yet. I don't say the F word yet. And I'm not planning to.
Yes, LT, I wrote it in 15 mins. Give or Take. I'm on a writing spree! I just started another story and I feel like writing a speech. It's the only way to pass the time during our teachers classes. But I can't write during Chinese Lesson, unless she's at the computer all the time or sitting at the back. She's on to me. I'm sure of it.
Happy belated Independence Day, America. Again. Did I already wish 'em that? Sorry, guys, but I'm feeling slightly delirious today. Maybe it's cause I've got one tonne of Maths tuition homework, plus a ting xie tomorrow. And my dad says if I don't get 95 and above he'll slit my wrists. He was joking, of course.
I think.
~Quote of the Day~
“If you want a decision, go to the point of danger.” - James M. Gavin, Mister 504th PIR commander Colonel, assistant division commander later, youngest Brig. Gen since Custer, later promoted to Lt. Gen and put in charge of the 82nd Airborne. Yup, sounds like an overachiever doesn't he.
>>Forgotten by03:01
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Saturday, July 5, 2008
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2538750/1/The_Island
Click on the above link and do me a favor. Read the story, then email me/msn me to tell me what you think about it.
Oh, and if the author's note is strange, don't mind it. My bro edited it a bit.
Just some breaking news.
I really gotta go now.
Bye.
No quote of the day, btw.
I really, really gotta go.
Click on the above link and do me a favor. Read the story, then email me/msn me to tell me what you think about it.
Oh, and if the author's note is strange, don't mind it. My bro edited it a bit.
Just some breaking news.
I really gotta go now.
Bye.
No quote of the day, btw.
I really, really gotta go.
>>Forgotten by06:41
AIRBORNE ALL THE WAY Friday, July 4, 2008
Hi, guys! Sorry I haven't been posting for a long time, but I've recently been addicted to something I'd never thought of before.
Band of Brothers fanfictions.
Amazing, isn't it? Even I didn't think I was the type to read fanfics. But anyway. I've got something else to complain about.
We've got to do a stupid DANCE for the stupid N6 whatchamacallit youth celebrations!
A mixture of chinese, indian and malay. Gaak, I tell you. Its gender biased, the steps get progressively harder and worst of all, today's so called "rehersal" wasn't a rehersal at all, it was a lesson. And the stupid, stuck up, senseless, shitty, selfish "instructor" didn't even know the bloody STEPS!
Geez! How the heck are we s'posed to dance if the goddamn instructor don't know any goddamn thing?!
So we [me, at any rate] went on STRIKE and refused to do any dancing, preferring to stand there and throw insults at the instructor, telling her to stuff her "1000 students make a lot of noise" lecture. I was even thinking about rioting. We were going to go on a small, teeny toilet break...and never come back.
Seriously, they're friggin abso-bloody-lutely CRAZY. and the thing is totally stereotyped. The boys get to do a respectful thing-that-you-do-during-CNY-when-you-put-your-left-fist-in-your-right-palm at the end of the Chinese dance but what do the girls have to do? Some stupid ladylike whatchamacallit thingy where your arms are tilted slightly and your leg is back and you're adopting some graceful position.
Some wanted to tell the instructor to **** off and all sorts of vulgar stuff. Others wanted to stick the middle finger in her face. How do I know?
Elementary, my dear [bloody friggin insolent] instructor.
~Quote of the Day~
The battle for France is over. I expect the battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends our own British life and the long continuity of our institutions and our empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him all Europe may be free…but if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, and all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new dark age.
-By guess who? You betcha! Only Winston Churchill would come up with long winded, yet lovely speeches like these. Oh, and this is my brother's com, so no lone ranger picture.
Band of Brothers fanfictions.
Amazing, isn't it? Even I didn't think I was the type to read fanfics. But anyway. I've got something else to complain about.
We've got to do a stupid DANCE for the stupid N6 whatchamacallit youth celebrations!
A mixture of chinese, indian and malay. Gaak, I tell you. Its gender biased, the steps get progressively harder and worst of all, today's so called "rehersal" wasn't a rehersal at all, it was a lesson. And the stupid, stuck up, senseless, shitty, selfish "instructor" didn't even know the bloody STEPS!
Geez! How the heck are we s'posed to dance if the goddamn instructor don't know any goddamn thing?!
So we [me, at any rate] went on STRIKE and refused to do any dancing, preferring to stand there and throw insults at the instructor, telling her to stuff her "1000 students make a lot of noise" lecture. I was even thinking about rioting. We were going to go on a small, teeny toilet break...and never come back.
Seriously, they're friggin abso-bloody-lutely CRAZY. and the thing is totally stereotyped. The boys get to do a respectful thing-that-you-do-during-CNY-when-you-put-your-left-fist-in-your-right-palm at the end of the Chinese dance but what do the girls have to do? Some stupid ladylike whatchamacallit thingy where your arms are tilted slightly and your leg is back and you're adopting some graceful position.
Some wanted to tell the instructor to **** off and all sorts of vulgar stuff. Others wanted to stick the middle finger in her face. How do I know?
Elementary, my dear [bloody friggin insolent] instructor.
~Quote of the Day~
The battle for France is over. I expect the battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends our own British life and the long continuity of our institutions and our empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him all Europe may be free…but if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, and all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new dark age.
-By guess who? You betcha! Only Winston Churchill would come up with long winded, yet lovely speeches like these. Oh, and this is my brother's com, so no lone ranger picture.
>>Forgotten by03:01
