For those sad sods who missed the entertainment:

This is the blog post about peacocks.

I love peas. They're small and round and cute. And they're green. Of course it'd be nicer if they were purple but then they would be no different from grapes. Oh but there are green grapes. But peas are smaller. That's why their cute. Peas are small.

Peas are small balls.

Cocks are male hens. HAHA. MALE HENS. HENS ARE FEMALE COCKS.

COWS ARE FEMALE BULLS AND BULLS ARE MALE COWS.

GIRLS ARE FEMALE GUYS AND GUYS ARE MALE GIRLS.

I love english. Its so nice and contradictory.

Cocks can mean chickens or cocks can mean cocks.

Since peas are small balls. Peacocks would be small ball cocks. Ooh.

And peacocks are birds.

I love peacocks.

PeaCoCks. PeaCoCks Play Chinese Chess.

Peacocks lay eggs. That's why they are full of egg-o.

That's why 'peacocks' is a nice term. 'Peacocks' is an all-encompassing term.

Peacocks are nice.

Go google peacocks. The second link you get is...'Find Your Nearest Peacock Store'.

Aren't peacocks nice? Peacocks are nice.

Peacocks are proud, snotty, pretty and...the above.

And peacocks are prettier than peahens.

That didn't relate at all.

Haha.

Nothing relates.

I'm spamming in sentences.

It's like having an MSN convo with myself.

I think sometimes peacocks become gay because the peahens are so ugly.

So they go PeaCoCking together.

Woot.

Oh. The first 4 letters of 'Peacock' plus an 'e' gives 'peace'.

That's disturbing.

Peacocks love peace.

Thats why they have signs saying 'Please be silent when PeaCoCking'

Oh my goodness.

I have turned into a sick creature.

I have turned into a sick peacock.

I must go drown in Byzantium and let the fires of purgatory consume me.

I will arise now and go.

SEA. South East Asia.

PEA. Painfully Eternally Assholic.

Is there such a word as 'Assholic'?

No.

It's alcoholic, dumdum.

Oh, I'm talking to myself.

Schizo-ing.

Hi Harry, Yes Harry, Tell Harry.

What's wrong with the world, mama! Okay I tell you what's wrong. Ball. IMBALLS. That was her blog post, by the way. And she says I self own. Tch.

Anyway, I went with esther fuginn mao to zach's church yesterday. To make food. Okay I can just imagine bel dashing off to check the news to see if there was any fire outbreaks. I DIDN'T OKAY. (Granted, I was like keeping myself far far away from the flames, but then when I'm in the kitchen, entrophy levels sink and anything can happen. Like the time I burnt my shirt. -.-)

But then before that we had to peel and wash and chop and dye chestnuts. Cue trouble. And lots of self-own moments. (som)

SOM #1 - Mao tries to chop the ends off the chestnut. And only succeeds in chopping off the whiskers. Smirks.

SOM #2 - Zach cutting the chestnuts with the blunt end of his knife. Like, chop chop chop eh why isn't it cutting? OH. Oops.

SOM #3 - which is really more FOM, since fuginn with a knife = trouble.

SOM #4 - Chopping up chestnuts = lichen getting frustrated and dicing them. Er. Oops.

SOM #5 - Where lichen trying to stir in dye = stir out chestnuts onto table.

SOM #6 - Where fuginn owns by stirring with a knife and flicking flour-covered chestnuts into water.

And a Kiampa moment - where Zach goes around putting flour on ppl's hair.

And, as lickie will comment, my english is going. Ahwells. But so fun. Afterwards the stuff tasted quite good, surprisingly if you saw the way we were handling it. The best was the fried bananas though. Yayyy.

Then afterwards we went for dinner, where there was:

SOM #7 - Cause the table had this circular disk on it, and in the middle of that was the table number, so it's natural to think that the disk can spin right! Then I was like push push push eh why won't it spin OH. -.- I rock.

And in case you were wondering why there were no Esther SOMs, that's cause esther doesn't self-own. The self-ownage is left to zach, mao, fuginn, and sadly, me.

And we met Zach's sister, who is like a non-qianbian version of Zach. Me and esther decided that the difference was that zach = lame, while leisel = funny. And she was telling us about founder's day, which I still want to watch and I hope the avpa ppl filmed it down. Or any of the teachers. And she's like the first person I've seen who managed to get the meaning of pcc out of zach in a day. Considering the gazillion years we took to get LF out of him, and that wasn't even sick...

Oh, and major ownage moment - Fuginn is now known as Gimin. Yes. GIMIN. (Zach says it's cause his handwriting was unreadable.) But still. Gimin. Let's play the Hi Gimin game.

Hi Gimin, Yes Harry, Tell Ballball. SNIGGERS.


Oh, and before we went to his church we went to queensway to buy stuff, and after that we stopped at macs to get ice cream and esther a burger cause the poor girl hadn't eaten yet, and it was raining. So we were discussing whether to run across, or to share my umbrella, which is a very sad and pathetic umbrella for two people. I had just taken a huge bite out of my ice-cream when I took the umbrella out, when I realized how sad it was, and by a strange series of unfortunate events, I ended up spewing ice cream out of my mouth and having to ask for a tissue because it was unsightly. Sigh.

Then in the end we just walked to the bus-stop (through the rain), where we accosted buses to ask them if they went to the queenstown mrt, and one almost made off with only zach inside. Amused look.

After we reached queenstown, we were walking towards the mrt and wondering where mao was, when he appeared.

Us (meaning esther fuginn zach and me): *walking forward*
Mao: *walks toward us, reaches us and turns around to walk with us*
Zach: *walks forward in front of us, whips out handphone and calls mao* Wait I see where the cat is*
Mao + fuginn: *look at Zach weirdly.*
*Mao's phone rings*
Zach: Where are you ah!
Mao: behind you. -.-

LOLX. More soms.

Revising theory now. Sigh. Composers have weird names. Why can't they just be called like Baroque Bach, Classical Mozart, Romantic Chopin and Contemporary Britten? Haiyah. There's like a guy called Willibald? I mean, Willibald? That's a sad kid man. And his surname is Gluck. Willibald Gluck.

Christoph Willibald Gluck.

But then again, which retard calls his son Wolfgang Amadeus anyway? Or Dietrich. Er well. Buxtehude did die rich, so I suppose it worked...