Now that Joakim got booted out of Singapore Idol, there really isn't anyone to bitch about on the show, which makes it not worth watching anymore, since people watch the show almost so they could find something to bitch about to other people, since bitching is the ultimate form of making one feel better about himself. Not that it was really worth watching in the first place.
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I got onto a cab yesterday, told the uncle where I wanted to go, and off we went. And by "off we went", I actually meant "blast off".
If I didn't know I was in a taxi, I could've sworn the driver was auditioning for the next Initial D/Fast and Furious/ Herbie Fully Loaded movie. Okay, maybe not the last one. If the windows were open my hair wouldn't be on my head anymore. I looked at a petrol station, and by the time I realised I was looking at a petrol station it was some 30 kilometers behind us. You get the idea. I glanced over and the speedometer, and it said..... zero? Hello, how many ways are there to break a speedometer? One possibility is that it exceeded the limit and went to zero, which at the time, actually felt like the truth.
For a while, I actually contemplated opening the door and jumping out of the cab, but then the friction from the tyres might make me disintegrate into a pile of white powder, thereby starting an anthrax scare in our very own Singapore. Well, until they find the eyeballs anyway. Either that, or the remaining forward momentum would carry me into, say, Uzbekistan.
Without a means of escape, I decided to just doze off and hope that I make it there on time. In one piece would be nice too, though I'd expect to wake up in front of the pearly gates of heaven(if one exists anyway), or at least a bus stop to my next life as a tasmanian devil.
My heart cried in joy yesterday as I reached there in one piece.
Oh well, at least it was somewhat cheaper than the average taxi ride, though I suspect that was Queen Latifah masquerading as a driver.
---
I got onto a cab yesterday, told the uncle where I wanted to go, and off we went. And by "off we went", I actually meant "blast off".
If I didn't know I was in a taxi, I could've sworn the driver was auditioning for the next Initial D/Fast and Furious/ Herbie Fully Loaded movie. Okay, maybe not the last one. If the windows were open my hair wouldn't be on my head anymore. I looked at a petrol station, and by the time I realised I was looking at a petrol station it was some 30 kilometers behind us. You get the idea. I glanced over and the speedometer, and it said..... zero? Hello, how many ways are there to break a speedometer? One possibility is that it exceeded the limit and went to zero, which at the time, actually felt like the truth.
For a while, I actually contemplated opening the door and jumping out of the cab, but then the friction from the tyres might make me disintegrate into a pile of white powder, thereby starting an anthrax scare in our very own Singapore. Well, until they find the eyeballs anyway. Either that, or the remaining forward momentum would carry me into, say, Uzbekistan.
Without a means of escape, I decided to just doze off and hope that I make it there on time. In one piece would be nice too, though I'd expect to wake up in front of the pearly gates of heaven(if one exists anyway), or at least a bus stop to my next life as a tasmanian devil.
My heart cried in joy yesterday as I reached there in one piece.
Oh well, at least it was somewhat cheaper than the average taxi ride, though I suspect that was Queen Latifah masquerading as a driver.
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