Ah right. For once I'm posting a picture of myself. That's right. MYSELF.

Upon close examination, you'll realise that I'm actually in the grey singlet with those four dreadful letters behind. Yeah. Those four. A-R-M-Y.

It's pretty amazing, really. The way how every single piece of this magnificent singlet is brilliantly and uniquely crafted to carry out its function. That is to cover whatever that's to be covered. And no. Definitely not those pits.

(Ah yes. Vera and Gorilla would get this. The singlets cover the essence of the be-dang-dangs nicely. Nothing more than those delightful... Things.)

I look a little different? Perhaps. In my honest opinion, its the fugly specs. Those freakin' specs costs me a hundred bucks (It's not really my fault that my degrees over 700 and my astigs over 200. I'm kinda made that way.) Did I mention about the spectacles band!? YES. Those black caterpillar-like straps stuck to the back of the brain. (And man, I did poke fun a hell lot at those kids with these straps. Fugly. Losers. All kinds of mean names you can possibly think of. Yeah. I know. Karma. I'm one of them now. And watch it, don't you even DARE laugh. Karma, my friend.)

I have no idea why everyone has to look the same inside. I mean, revealing singlets, cleanly yet awkwardly shaven brains, socks the colour of spinach and the stench of mothballs (That's if you're lucky. It's more likely to be sweat and unwashed shirts, I think.) I wouldn't be amused if all the parents mistake someone else as their kid. Its like, grab one and go. That's really funny. I would be rolling on the ground laughing if I weren't one of those kids. Fine. Laugh all you want if youre not one of those fools like me.

What can I say? Be grateful. Us guys are protecting you people from... Erm. All forms of threats! (I think.) Like what I've told Siok, each time you flip a tv channel, or slide into that hot tub of yours, or cuddle up in bed with a book, or simply gaze at the stars, remember. REMEMBER. Us. The real men out there, are fighting our guts out for you! (Even if some of us aren't really willing, it is important to note their efforts nonetheless.) And fret not, my friends, I assure you. We WILL be thinking of you guys in front of your plasma tv, jacuzzi, in your bed and wherever you are gazing at stars while we're in our shirts (emitting some form of odd stench, of course.) or in our unwashed undies. Or with our poor soles covered with nothing but blisters, well hidden in those black black boots. Or alone in the jungle swearing our guts out. We will think of you guys.

See. How much we're doing for you, my countrymen. And here you are (especially you girls!) are giggling at the thought of us being shaven naked. Shaven of all our dignity and pride. Most importantly, our vanity and need for shampoo. (Man, what am I gonna do with my nettle grass shampoo...) Ok. Fine. It's funny. Go ahead. Giggle. Darn. I can't possibly stop that can I? Haha. Funny lar. All clones. And UGLY clones. F-U-G-L-Y.

Wish me farewell, wish me luck. Ha.

It's ok. I shall embrace the erm. Experience. See, some people will never go through all this... Exciting stuff. Haha.

And what am I doing here. At 2am. I can't sleep. I'm nocturnal. It's kinda cool knowing that in a couple of days time, I'll perhaps be polishing my boots or trying to get those odd phones to sms at this time of the day. Or even more likely to be struggling to head towards... Lalaland (Guess who says lalaland. HA.) since it's lights out.

Fascinating. All the abbrevations. I have a long way to go. I mean, for example, PTP. Oh man, are we supposed to know what that is just by staring at those alphabets? The only thing I know of, that's close enough, is like PSP. HAHA.

Oh. Let me sidetrack a little. I've encountered some pretty odd road names these days. It's like those names you read when you just wake from a nap on a vehicle and you go, what the hell?! Am I dreaming?!

Say, for example, Little Road. Jalan Pisang (I think this means banana road or something.) and Kallang Pudding Road. And no, I did not make any of these up. They DO exist. Holy. Kallang Pudding's the worst. I passed by that on my way home today and yeah, =| -> precisely how I looked.

That's all for now. And Anansi Boys' a really good read. Warped (in the usual Gaiman way), but good nonetheless.

Now I shall embark on the journey to Lalaland. Night.