Pfft. A new blog. I thought it was high time I got one, since the old one was getting crowded. (And the fact that I totally can't stand the poser url any longer.) The reference for my title (though if you haven't got it now you probably won't) is from Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man, DEATH. In particular, his conversation with Azreal:
LORD, WE KNOW THERE IS NO GOOD ORDER EXCEPT THAT WHICH WE CREATE...
THERE IS NO HOPE BUT US. THERE IS NO MERCY BUT US. THERE IS NO JUSTICE. THERE IS JUST US.
ALL THINGS THAT ARE, ARE OURS. BUT WE MUST CARE. FOR IF WE DO NOT CARE, WE DO NOT EXIST. IF WE DO NOT EXIST, THEN THERE IS NOTHING BUT BLIND OBLIVION.
AND EVEN OBLIVION MUST END ONE DAY. LORD, WILL YOU GRANT ME JUST A LITTLE TIME? FOR THE PROPER BALANCE OF THINGS. TO RETURN WHAT WAS GIVEN. FOR THE SAKE OF PRISONERS AND THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS.
LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?
That little passage is such a gem, and it really sums up a lot. After all, behind Pratchett's sarcasm-dripping pages, he's really a genius, and this is so immensely pretty.
I'm planning to change the layout, using a picture I found in Deviantart a long, long time ago, but I can't find it, and there're 3000++ pictures to go through, and that's such a bother. But that picture is so jolly and pretty, and I love the way the inky darkness of DEATH's castle/domain/mansion/SOMETHING clashes with the brilliance of the maize that wave about cheerfully alongside it.
But on to other stuff: Sign up sheet for R(A). I haven't completed it. I haven't started on it. I don't intend to post it to the pigeon whole, since Suat says I can just give it during Wednesday, and that's a lot less trouble, all things considered. And I really, really don't want to go to the pigeon hole, since it's outside the staff room.
Funny thing about staff room, after you find out where it is, you seem to be going there on a very frequent basis, which is, in foresight, hindsight and any sight, really, not a good thing. The good thing is, you can only go to the staff room once while not knowing where it is, before promotion to the dangerous territory of the aforementioned.
Speaking of staff, I have this weird feeling that my KI tutor is my chem tutor. I wonder why. Or maybe he is, just that I can't remember. Oh dear.
As for CIP, I want to go somewhere with kids. Even if I can't stand P1s-P3s. I think it's something in the genetics, that little kids under the age of 10 are cursed with chronic stupidity. I think somewhere around that age I drew my teacher as a rat, and yours truly as a cat, and the little cartoon went somewhere around the lines of 'cat caught rat, cat fried rat. Rat tasted good with ketchup'. Most strangely, the teacher was not pleased when she found out. Oops.
We-sharecare is out, which is really a pity, since it was the only time slot that looked appealing. (a.k.a practically no fixed time slot) I
suppose I
could take AWWA Family Service Centre, but really, a family center? With little kids? I'll throw them into the bin and we'll
all end up traumatized.
And Singapore Chidlren's Society has stupid time slots, by the way. Like, really really stupid. I
suppose they could think that all students have no life on Sat and no CCAs on Wed, or at least that they don't eat dinner on Wed, but that's really unhealthy and promotes stomach ulcers and/or anorexia. Tsk.
And don't even talk about SPCA. I'm the kind they warn children against, innocent-looking bystanders smile but in truth would love nothing better than to dump the little mangy things into the sewer. Or anything else that would be filthy enough to cover up the stench of their pee. Like...America.
... Actually, I'm really bad for CIP. You should never get me to promote it. If I had my way, I'll be back in Pasir Ris playing badminton with Bryan and the rest of the little twerps, but they've graduated. Not that it helps
them, mind you, since they're still quite short, but it certainly puts a dampener on going miles and miles to that ulu place to tutor them.
Haiyah. Should I just join reading club. Terrorize the children with my version of fairy tales.
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Once upon a time, in an ancient country whose name we shouldn't really bother with as all the residents are dead by now, there was a beautiful princess. Now, as we all know, princesses in the past all have to be pretty, demure and shy, and should never speak unless they're spoken to, and, apart from that, never open their mouth except to eat, snog their prince, and tell their prince how wonderful they were.
This shows a disturbing social trend of a patriarchal society ruled over by chauvinistic, self-centered and bigoted imbeciles, generally known as males. This is why, when in old age, the king is allowed to turn into a retarded lump of lard while the queen has to be dignified and elegant so as to make up for all that the king lacks. Now, the females are generally expected to have raven-black hair or sunshine-golden hair, rose-red lips and eyes that are either the colour of sapphires, emeralds or the depths of hell, to which I refer to the darker parts, not the fires.
Should we fail to emulate these conditions in modern times, I highly suggest coloured contact lenses, which may highly increase our chances of cataract and other eye diseases due to disuse, but to emulate the female protagonists of the past properly, it is an imperative that we have to have the same mental capacity as them, which is one brain cell to eat, one brain cell to drink, one to shit, and one to get married. However, after one's marriage to a stunningly handsome prince with white, brilliant teeth, a head of golden curls and a remarkly empty head, it is advisable to grow some additional brain cells that form the thing we call 'intelligence', as
someone as to do the job that the said handsome-for-the-time-being king-after-marrying-the-princess cannot do by growing fat and smiling at his citizens.
This over-reliance on appearances, stemming from the ancient male's inability to think with the head above his neck, could very well possibly result in a plague of superficiality, loss of self-confidence and depression, which could lead to anorexia, bulimia and many other possibly-fatal social diseases. Furthermore, the emphasis on blonde/black hair and fair skin colour also brings about the problem of racial discrimination, for we can then see that there was absolutely no regard for redheads and people with darker skin apart from Pochahontas (sp?), which shows that the muslims, indians, africans, egyptians and other races of the world have been very much slighted.
Of course, in this wonderful age known as the modern time when we do attempt to keep sexism from both genders as well-hidden as possible, this problem can be easily solved to a knee to a certain sensitive region of the male anatomy. Should this fail to work, a harder kick delivered soon after would be sufficient. High heels with sharp tips are not mandatory, but would deliver the...
point quite well.
But I digress. Now, the princess lived in what would most likely be a castle, but could also be a cottage in the middle of nowhere. She can be dressed in anything she likes, from fine gowns to rags, but kindly note that should she be wearing rags, it'll take a magical transformation, mostly likely by a fairy godmother, of her rags to a gown before the Prince Charming is attracted to her. The clothes the princess wears when Prince Charming first sees her is extremely important, and should follow the rules as stated below.
1) Gowns should be of a special design that can stand out from the crowd. Of course, since females of the past had nothing more important to do other than dream of their dresses daily when they're not cooking/cleaning/humoring the little parasites more commonly known as children, it is very hard to do so. Some suggestions would involve sparkles, lots of sparkles, a big balloon-shaped skirt that takes up half the ballroom, for size
does matter, and, as a last resort, a tiara. Of course, what is not normally mentioned is that only royalty are supposed to wear crowns of any sort, so should you decide to wear a tiara, kindly take care to ensure that the prince
does fall in love with you, or else the only thing that's going to be falling would be the tiara - with your head along with it.
2) Gowns should be skin-tight and tailor made, preferably with a 5-inch waist and a 40-inch bosom. Of course, this might cause problems such as the squashing of the intestines, liver, stomach and lungs, which would result in an early death of around 40 years old, but by then it would be enough, since the preferred age for marrying is around 18, and by 40 it is perfectly possible to give birth to 22 children, of which the chances are extremely high of having at least one male baby, and to a typical victorian female, that should be comfort enough. The forementioned measurements of the gown are for the prince to feast his eyes on the large breasts and the small waist that makes the breasts look even bigger in comparison, so as to assure the prince that you are perfectly fertile and can bear him 22 children, which is of utmost importance, since he would be most upset if he doesn't have a son. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with the dangers of 22 childbirths, since he's not the one suffering from menstrual cramps, birthing contractions, early morning nausea and a swollen body that results from being pregnant.
3) Gowns should be suitably low cut so as to allow the prince to be able to look down your cleavage during social dances. It is also advisable for young ladies to clasp their hands at their chest in a show of being demure and shy and protective of their bodies, which are very good values to embody, be it now or then. Of course, these values would be infinitely more useful should the ladies take it to wear higher necklines to save themselves the trouble of clasping their hands together like an idiot, since most sensible young ladies have better things to do other than appear demure, but sadly fashion is something that every possible-princess must follow, or else they would never be able to attract the prince with things other than looks. After all, which guy would want a smart, intelligent woman who can communicate with him and make him laugh?
The prince in question must be rich and handsome, and should have a brilliant white horse that he rides on. We must not expect him to be clever, since that's too much to ask for, and really, no use jeopardizing your chances of him risking his life to kill a wicked witch so that he could marry an airhead, the purpose of which he will surely doubt had he two half-cells to rub together. Brains are not really beneficial to this union.
Of course, in the society of fat, rotting lards we call King and more fat, rotting lards we call males, such princes will undoubtedly develop egoism and pride. However, this shall not trouble the princess, as she will soon have 22 kids to hurry after and seriously no time and no wish for conversations.
Back to the story. There must be a villian, and according to tradition, the villian should be evil. She may be ugly or pretty, but that's not very important, for the Princess should be there, and the villian merely to make the Princess look even prettier and to give a barely plausible excuse for the prince and princess to get together. It's a sad day when a female needs to put down someone else to feel better, but then again, in the age of spanish inquisitions and monarchy, the days are quite sad.
The actual events of the story are not as important, but they normally include the prince fighting gallantly with the villian and killing her off so that he can protect his princess, and awaken her with a kiss. This actually shows disturbing trends of violence which may lead to little kids bringing guns to school and shooting their classmates, and the kissing may give ideas of PDA which would lead to pre-marital sex and teenage pregnancy and possible single-parent families, which will lead to dysfunctional families that produce drug-taking alchoholic children.
However, in most fairy tales we stop at the wedding, where everyone shall be satisfied with the big lie that they lived happily ever after, cause the Princess will
not grow fat with having 22 children, because the prince will
not be beheaded because he's an incompetent ruler, and the couple will
not fall apart because an early marriage that results from sexual attraction at an immature age normally doesn't work out.
The end.
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Reading club will kick me out, man.
