Kena bluff by the Goonfather again

It was around lunch time. I had to work on Star Blog. But I was hungry.

And I wanted to play Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs (Xbox 360 game).

Faced with such intimidating choices, there was naught to do but turn on my Xbox 360.

Playing Xbox 360

The Goonfather heard the TV go on and said, “What are you doing?! I thought you’re supposed to finish up Star Blog first so you can go out with us later!”

“I’m hungry,” I said by way of explanation.

“What do you want to eat?

“Mmmm… I want… Katong Laksa nasi lemak.”

“Okay, let’s go.”


“Of course lah.”

As I was about to turn off my game, he said, “You can play a bit first. I need to go toilet.”

So I played a mission.

Cloudy with a chance of meatballs

Ten minutes later, the Goonfather came out of the toilet and joined in my mission.

(The great thing about CwaCoM is that a second player can jump it at any time to help with the mission. The second player is a monkey so that makes the Goonfather a monkey! Ha ha ha.)

Cloudy with a chance of meatballs

(Quite funny wat!)

After we completed the mission, I got up to change clothes. The Goonfather went to his computer.

A few minutes later, I was ready. But the Goonfather was now working on a phone application he had written for his Omnia 2.

I thought he had completed it earlier because he had proudly shown it to me.

I said, “What are you doing? I thought you’d finished with that program!”

He said, “Er… please take your own sweet time to get ready!”

“But I’m ready!”

“But I’m not!”


From the time he’d said “Let’s go now” until the time we actually left the house, it was a total of 80 minutes.

The Goonfather makes fun of someone

We were on the road when the Goonfather suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, there’s a bumble bee riding a motorbike!”

He slowed his car down a little and the “bumble bee” came into view from behind the car.

It was a man wearing a long-sleeve yellow-and-black-striped pullover with black pants, carrying a bright orange backpack, riding a motorcycle.

I didn’t take a photo of him because I didn’t think it would be nice, so here’s an illustration for you to see what I mean.

Bumble bee gear

The black strips on the sides of the backpack are backpack straps that flapped in the wind.

We chuckled for a bit, and then the Goonfather said, “All he needs to complete his outfit are antennae.”

“He has antennae sticking out his backpack,” I said.

“Those are not antennae. They’re wings.”

“Where got wings in little strips one?!”

“They’re broken wings,” explained the Goonfather, “That’s why he has to ride a motorbike.

I rolled my eyes but I laughed.

The Goonfather asked, “Do you know what happens when his bike runs out of gas?”

“He stops?”

“Nooooo! He will pee in the gas tank.”

He paused for effect, and then continued:

“Because his bike uses BP.”


All together now…


A lesson in retribution

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Orange Boy, because he was wearing an orange t-shirt.

One day, Orange Mum took Orange Boy to Ikea. While she was having a meal at the cafeteria, she allowed Orange Boy to go into the playpen to play with the other kids.

[Ikea playground]

Meanwhile, a boy named Green boy (because he was wearing a green t-shirt) arrived with his mother.

Green Mum gave Green Boy five pieces of Daim chocolate candy and said, “Be a good boy and you can eat this later, okay? I put on this table first.”

[Daim candy]

She put the chocolates on the table surrounding the playpen as Green Boy nodded obediently. She walked off.

Now, Orange Boy was in the playpen pretending to be a space pilot. His eyes lit up when he saw the chocolates on the table. He rushed to the table and grabbed the whole handful of them.

Orange Mum, who was only a little away, saw what happened and scurried to Orange Boy.

“Boy, you cannot take that. It doesn’t belong to you! Put it down.”

Orange Boy put the chocolates back sullenly. But as Orange Mum returned to her seat, he swooped down on them again.

Once again, Orange Mum abandoned her food to dispense parental guidance.

“Boy, I told you already, you cannot take other people’s things! Nah, I give you your own sweet.”

With that, she magically plucked a single Daim chocolate candy from her pocket and gave it to Orange Boy, making him put the others back.

Orange Boy waited for Orange Mum to go back to her seat. Then, again, he grabbed the chocolates that didn’t belong to him.

Orange Mum slapped her forehead and trudged wearily back to Orange Boy.

“Stop that! Nah, I give you another one. Don’t take other people’s things!!”

As Orange Mum walked back to her seat, Orange Boy looked at the two sweets in his hands. He looked at his mother. He looked at the five on the table. He’s excited about his newfound ability to make sweets grow. He grabbed the five pieces again.

Orange Mum sighed loudly, rolled her eyes and continued eating.

At this time, Green Boy, to whom the five stolen pieces of Daim belonged, was oblivious to this daylight thievery, so engrossed was he in being a pirate captain.

Unchallenged finally, Orange Boy happily hugged his ill-gotten gains as he flew around the playpen, pretending to be a jet fighter.

Now, this jet fighter was flying on empty. It ran out of fuel after a few minutes and had to stop. Orange Boy decided to go back to being a space pilot because that was more fun (and less tiring).

But he needed both hands to pilot a spacecraft and the hands in question were at this moment busy holding Daim chocolates. So, Orange Boy thought of a plan. He went to the table and set his sweets down, all seven pieces of them.

With his hands now free, he ran back to his spaceship and took the wheel.

Now, Green Mum must have been watching all this in silence from somewhere. The moment the chocolates were back on the table, she marched up to them, grabbed them all, including the two that belonged to Orange Boy, and called for Green Boy.

“Boy, it’s time to go. Take your sweets, let’s go.”

Ever so obedient, Green Boy came running over, accepted his sweets and followed after his mother.

Orange Boy’s eyes widened in shock. His chocolates were walking away! He looked towards his mother for guidance but Orange Mum pretended not to notice and looked away.

So the thief became the victim and the victim became the thief, and only one boy lived happily ever after.

The End.

The porter who couldn’t count

Here’s an incident that had me in stitches for two minutes.

We were in KL for the weekend. (That’s Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, for my foreign readers. I don’t know if you call it KL, too.)

One evening, while the Goonfather was getting driving directions from a hotel porter, I photographed the trees around us because they were so beautiful, strung with pretty blue lights.

I was just about to take a photo of myself to see what I look like with blue light cast on my face when the Goonfather started to leave.

“Wait!” I said.


“I need to take a photo of myself first,” I said, waving my camera.

The porter jumped in. “You want to take a photograph? I can help you.”

“Er… okay,” I said and made the Goonfather stand beside me to have a tourist photo taken.

The porter must have thought I was mad because I didn’t want to have a photo taken with my back against a nice, touristy background, such as the hotel entrance.

He walked off to frame us against the hotel entrance but I said, “No, can you take the photo from here, instead?”

I pointed to where I wanted him to stand.

The porter was Malay and didn’t speak very good English. So I wasn’t sure if it was the language barrier, or he was just resistant to my radical photography ideas. He refused to stand where I pointed (because that meant my background’s a boring old driveway). He kept shifting to different spots, everywhere but where I wanted. And he couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that I didn’t actually want the tree to be in my picture.

Finally, I decided to quit making a big deal and just let him take the photo.

He raised the camera and counted for us slowly.

“One…… three…… four!”


The Goonfather felt my body quiver ever so slightly as I fought to hold my laughter in. I quickly thanked the porter and retrieved my camera. Then we escaped into the basement carpark where both of us exploded with laughter.

“Oh, man, I was trying not to laugh upstairs but your body kept shaking!!” complained the Goonfather.

“Didn’t!” I protested. “I only smiled!”

After that, we argued whether the miscounting was intentional.

The Goonfather said the porter was simply making a joke to make us laugh.

But he wasn’t absolutely sure.

I argued that the porter didn’t look like he was joking because he didn’t have the smile and twinkle in the eye that usually accompany jokes. He just looked very earnestly friendly.

Besides, what kind of a stupid joke is miscounting?

But he did give the Goonfather directions in largely English (with a bit of Malay), so he should have been able to count to 10 in English.

The truth is still a mystery and we’re back in Singapore now.

But this was the picture the porter took for us.

Well, he’s a nice bloke, really. I don’t mean to make fun of him but it was really funny.

More about my trip in the next update!

Hair caught in zipper

Yup, only Nanny Wen is capable of such.

We were walking to the MRT station together and she was fiddling with the contents in her bag. Because I’m a fast walker and she’s a slow walker, plus she was fiddling, she lagged behind.

Suddenly, I heard her go “Aaaaaaaeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!!!” so I whipped around to look at her.

“Help! Help! My hair is stuck!”

After I narrow-eyed her a little, I walked back to help her out of her predicament. (Nanny Wen does give me quite a lot of practice in the narrow-eye department.)

“Will you stop doing that?!” I demanded. This wasn’t the first time her hair got stuck in her bag’s zipper. She just wouldn’t stop zipping up her bag while it’s slung over her shoulders where her hair is fair game.

She tried to win some sympathy by pouting at me, but it didn’t really work.

I walked on ahead after rescuing her hair because we were kind of late.

“Booo,” she said from behind me, “Call me an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot,” I obliged.

“Arrrrgghhhhhh!!!” she said.

“Hahahahaha!” I replied, thinking that she was pissed because I readily agreed to her assertion.



I turned around and there she had her hair stuck in the zipper again, barely 10 seconds after the first stuckage.


Only Nanny Wen is capable of such, I say again.

“WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT??!!” I repeated.


And then I couldn’t stop laughing because I had by then taken out my camera to snap the evidence of her dodoheadedness.

Poor Nanny Wen. What has she done to deserve a friend like me? =P