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Saturday, July 18, 2009 at 11:40 AM

ok i heard from multiple sources that HBP wld be bad. i believed them but my rationale for watching HBP is that it's a must watch for anyone who has a modicum of social life and movie adaptations are never as good as the books anyway and the graphics are cool.

i was still sorely disappointed.

my main gripe: too much (contrived) romance and too little fighting. honestly the final scene where the death eaters invaded the castle and battled the staff and students i felt was the defining moment of the entire book and would have done dumbledore's death some justice.

but NO! the movie didn't even have that scene. instead somehow all the death eaters found their way to dumbledore's office and immediately fled the castle after snape killed him. i did however love bellatrix's moment of deranged pleasure where she blasted the great hall. but that was it. no fighting, no conjuring up of magical wall that only snape could pass, no flight of the broomsticks back into hogwarts (dumbledore apparently cld apparate inside because being him has its privileges).

my second main gripe: the cgi for spellwork was rather budget. everything else was excellent - especially the quidditch. but NO! for spellwork it was like microsoft powerpoint animation. just a flash of white light. for expelliarmus, for avada kedavra (which made dumbledore's death wholly undramatic and forgettable), for stupefy, for petrificus totalus, or oppugno and even for sectumsempra.

for all its flaws, i did like the humour. on slughorn's part. he had this permamently befuddled look on his face that was very mr bean-esque and i loved his bumbling performance when he ripped off aragog's appendage (i don't know which one) when trying to extract venom and his helpless expression when ron was poisoned.

most reviews gave it 2 stars. 1 for quidditch, another for emma watson and i think the half for professor slughorn. but still, if you have any self respect, you can't say "i didn't watch harry potter". it wld be a totally loser thing to do. sigh. what has the world come to now.Justify Full

standing ovation


peer pressure isn't necessarily a good thing
Thursday, July 16, 2009 at 9:36 PM

ok so 2day we HAD to go to paragon for the club21 sale even though i didn't go to school 'coz i was sickish. thus daniel refused to let me in the car unless i wore a mask:

fetching no?

and so after shopping, we met the twins and decided to chill at spins. 'coz dan was tired and blah blah blah. and then out of the blue, kristi mentioned she had to cut her hair. and dan said he wanted to cut his hair too. and i rmb that jacq sim asked me to cut mine too 'coz it's too long for ri's standards and then before we knew it, we were all trooping off to supercuts @ cine.

and while we were all confounded by each other's nonsense, daniel finally decided to go platinum blond while i cut bangs and permed my crown.

choosing the epic colour

perming in progress

and so, thus concludes an utterly random day. harry potter 2mr! i can't wait!!

standing ovation


dani turns 20 (weekend)
Tuesday, July 14, 2009 at 7:43 PM

Sat:


dinner at Billy

since it was raining, we decided to be uncles and booze at maxwell

play:


Sun:

pre drinking at zirca

and then, butter fac!

standing ovation


people are so weird
at 1:33 AM

omg ever since i posted that pokemon porn story, i've been getting hits from very strange keywords:


standing ovation


this is sick
Friday, July 10, 2009 at 9:08 AM

yam showed me this link on FB the other day. and it's damn gross and really one of the worst things a human mind can possibly conceive. i shall reproduce it here but be forewarned!

NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED.
Rain spattered across the sand, causing a deafening roar, like that of a hundred semis crashing into each other in apocalyptic glory. The crack of thunder split the insanity, and wind swept it up into a cacophony of natural horror. All the while David sat glumly, shielding himself from the gale beneath a rather large tree. He was soaked to the bone and miserable. Lost in Kanto, with no map, no pokedex, no food, and no company other than his beloved pokemon. He was sure he'd die of hypothermia or worse.

David sighed, clinging tightly to his umbrella which proved of little worth except for some sort of moral booster. His soaked blond hair clung tightly to his body. With an absent hand he fondled the pokeballs on his lap. He clicked the switch on the front, releasing Gardevoir, to stand beside him.

"Garde..?" she whispered to him soothingly.
"No, I'm fine Gardevoir. I just wanted some to be with," he replied, barely audible to the young pokemon above the ripping winds. A shallow tear formed on the rim of his red eyes but was blotted out the rest of the water that coagulated on everything within sight.

She patted his shoulder. She was so cute, even for a pokemon. Her thin hips swayed, her plant-like hair messed by the storm. No, no, what are you doing, he thought. She's an animal.

But yet she was so much like a human, only smaller, and covered in fauna. Plus there was no one around for miles, and no amount of masturbating could satiate the lust he felt out in the wilderness... if only he could feel the flesh of a woman against his.

He put a loving arm around his Gardevoir, pulling her close and whispered; "Gardevoir, you know that I'm your trainer, right? Your master?"

"Gard," she nodded in agreement. He nodded in return.
"And would you do anything for me?"
"Garde," she nodded again. He moved another hand to her, sliding it over her wasp waist and looking carefully into her eyes. She seemed to begin to understand, a look of fear welled in her eyes. David could feel a lump in his pants swell as he began to force her upon the soaked ground. The sky rumbled with thunder all around them, the tree above them creaked threateningly.

The best thing about a pokemon is that they'll never be able to tell anyone about it
In a flash his pants were off and he was atop her. She squealed and struggled, afraid to fight back because he was, indeed, her trainer. Her mind had a block in it, via years of training, years of believing he'd never harm her, that he was her best friend.

He ran a hand over her leafy posterior. A probing finger slipped in between, finding a hole. He knew little of the Gardevoir anatomy, but knew that any hole would work. He plunged his rock hard cock deep inside of her anus. It was white hot. A wave of pleasure washed over him before the first stroke. Gardevoir screamed in pain, her precious anus being pulled to four times its natural size. With each thrust she screamed louder, but David couldn't hear it. The crevasse formed tightly over his shaft, gripping harder than his fist ever could. Before long he finally came, filling her sphincter with his seed. White mixed with black blood as he pulled out. Blood and feces dribbled out.

The sight of Gardevoir laying there, whimping, smeared with mud, blood, cum, and her own feces unlocked something deep within David's soul. His heart soared at the sight. It felt so good! It was like he finally discovered his place in the world. While his spirit had become free, however, his mind quivered under the weight of his actions, struggling to block these memories from existence, enabling his attack.

His mouth lowered in primal instinct, extending his pink tongue. He lapped up her blood and shit, using pruned fingers to smother himself. It was beautiful. The bitter taste of her poop, and the coppery taste of her blood was like magic to him.

"Gardevvv..." she moaned, hands digging into the dirt. She wept. How could she do this to him? Pain was splitting her because of him. He said he'd never hurt her, though... maybe he wasn't? Maybe this was fine...

He flipped her bleeding, limp body over. His mouth met hers, lashing about inside of her toothed maw. He kissed hard and deep as he carefully fit his shitty dick into her pokevagina. The head slid in easily and she whimpered. With a deft hand he massaged her clitoris. She tried to pull back to cry out but he pushed into her harder. She screamed into his mouth. The vibrations filled him in ecstasy. He violently penetrated her and wave after wave of pleasure engulfed them both. It was beyond the realm of human understanding. Collapsing universes whirled about them, being born and dying in an eternal, idiot firestorm.

As he came again he thrust harder, forcing as much of himself in as he could. His penis crashed into her cervix and she let out a blood curdling scream, clawed hands digging into his flesh.

David didn't like that at all. No, she wasn't allowed to injure him. He drove his bleaching fist into her mouth. There was a crunch and black syrup welled up in her mouth and eyes. She gurgled, and he smiled gleefully. Disengaged from her mangled secret, he crawled up to her face. Lifting her broken head he plunged his dick into her wounded mouth.

Gardevoir could take no more. She gave himself over to him. He was her master. She would please him any way she could and never make another whimper in reply. She suckled on his piece as he pulled it in and out. Cracked lips smothered him, teasing glands and glans. He gripped her arms, squeezing tighter. More pain roared through her and she sucked harder. She gagged, puking a little. The bile stung him, so he drove another fist into her eye.

Through the pain she sucked and finally he came. As he did, his mind cracked a little more. He gripped her head, forcing his cock into the back of her throat. She vomited again, squirting half-digest plant matter all over both of them and he lashed her. Her tiny bones splintered under his blows and he came harder at her destruction.

Weeks later David finally found himself at Cerulean city. Gardevoir wasn't looking very good. She didn't respond to vocal stimuli and couldn't see out of the eye he caved in, but he felt no remorse for it. Even so; he felt glad. She was mentally broken. His attack had transformed her into the perfect sex slave: when he moved his cock near her she would tilt her head, trying to find it, just as a baby searches for a nipple and automatically begins suckling.

She was infected, though. Mold grew upon her anus and wounded eye. Her vagina was yellow with infection, discharging constantly. She wouldn't make it another day.

David rushed to the pokemon center, Gardevoir in his arms. He came up to the reception desk and there was Nurse Joy. Her eyes first when to David's dumb smiling face, but then down to the pokemon in his arms and she gasped.

"What happened?!" she said, stroking Gardevoir's hair with the gentleness of a mother.
"I'm not exactly sure," he muttered coldly, "I found her like this out in the forest," tears formed in Joy's eyes and she scooped the poor pokemon up, taking her over to the rejuvenation chamber for dying pokemon in another room. After flipping the switch the chamber filled with gases, obscuring outside eyes. Joy didn't mind that David had followed her in and closed the door, she was too busy studying a complicated-looking readout now appearing on a computer screen.

She bent over low as she typed slowly, a complete novice with computers it appeared, and as she did her skirt teased her thick ass. Her thigh highs squeezed her legs delightfully. She was a delicious woman, and David would have no problem finding out just how delicious she was.

He slid up next to her. "How does it look, nurse?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Not very good, I'm afraid the rejuvenation chamber won't be enough for--"
"No, not the pokemon. Your cunt."

At this the nurse spun around. A hurt look flashed across her face and she bit her lip. She was exactly sure how to handle this situation. It was true that she was constantly horny. She never had time for anything outside of the hospital. Her cunt tingled at the prospect of being split. She eyed the door. Should she run? Should she have sex with this complete stranger? "He seems dangerous..." she though, but as she did her thighs pressed against themselves, pinching her slowly enlarging clitoris.

David's hands began to unbutton her blouse, revealing a polkadotted bra clasping two melon-sied breasts.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the office," she said with as much courage as she could muster, but didn't stop him. He pushed her up against the computer terminal and mouthed her nipples. She gasped as he bit one, teasing it with his tongue. He sucked on it and she lurched, not noticing her hands slide down to his hips.

He lifted her and placed her upon the desk. Her legs spread and she leaned back, forgetting that she was on the rag, and gave herself to him. He lowered himself to a knee, ripping off her clashing blue underwear and explosing her rosy, dripping hole. He gently tugged on the string sticking out, drawing a blood-soaked tampon out. It fell to the floor and thick chunks began to seep out. She burned for him, for this complete stranger.
His fingers moved into her, rubbing the rough spot just inside the warm tunnel. his red tongue slathered her clit. He sucked on it and hummed. A dizzy, buzzing feeling filled her head and she began bucking, screaming in pleasure. Soon her screams of pleasure became those of pain as he forced three fingers into her tight pussy. She hadn't been with a man in so long..

"No, please.." she gasped as her vagina slowly spread and grew used to the probing digits.

He inserted another finger and she gasped. This time her cunt burned in protest, showing no signs of widening. She squeaked. He forced another finger in and soon he was fisting her, plunging his large, manly hands in as far as they would go, spreading her wider. Filling her.

"Moooree," she growled through clenched teeth, thick streams of saliva going down her cheeks, "FUCK ME HARDER YOU PEACE OF SHIT."

David didn't like this however, and punched her in the gut. She lurched forward and gasped. But then, weighing how much fun he was having with being told what to do, he decided to insert his next fist.

Her tendons popped and squeaked as he forced the other one inside slowly. Her cleft opened wider, and wider still. She screamed in pain and pleasure until her throat bled almost as much as her cunt. Blood streamed down his arms, mixing with her cum until his shirt and the floor were soaked.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the turning of a handle.

In strode the doctor the nurse had called for earlier. Her father.

He stopped, shocked at the situation that unfolded in front of him.
"W-What are you, what are you doing to my little girl?" he murmured.
"Shut the fuck up you old bastard and get the fuck over here, her mouth isn't going to fuck itself!" David shouted, forcing his voice above that of nurse Joy's. She was horrified that her father had walked in on this, horrified at all the blood and what she had been coerced into, but she couldn't stop. Lust raged inside of her, overtaking all other motor functions.

"Fuck me, daddy," she said, grinning a bloody smile. Her pleading eyes met his and before she knew it, her father's wrinkly, liver-spotted dick was in her mouth.

The doctor fucked her from the opposite side of the table. Her young tongue slid over the top of his dick, teasing the helmet. He bucked wildly, shakily. He had not had sex since his wife had died ten years ago, and sometimes had dreams about his daughter. He tried to ignore them, push them to the back of his mind. But he could never help his sick fantasies. Sometimes he'd "accidentally" walk in on her dressing or showering, and would think about it later that night as he choked himself and petted his shriveling member.

David began to grow bored, his maniacal, slowly-splintering mind needed more horror to satiate it. It was a curse, but one he enjoyed.

He drew one hand out of her weeping puss, much to her protest. With the other he gripped her cervix and twisted. Pain cut her and she clenched her teeth and moaned, cleanly chopping her father's dick off as he came. The doctor fell backwards and the nurse sat up straight. Her vision blurred from the pain, but she was just barely able to see what David was doing.

He had drawn a knife out of his pocked and driven it into his urethra. His cock opened wide and he screamed, but kept pushing hard, down into his ballsack. Blood gushed forward and he puked, bile adding to the horrendous pain, but he couldn't stop. Slowly memories of him and Gardevoir flooded back, all the fun they had back home. Memories of his mother and father, how they wanted him to succeed. They wanted him to come home, to spend time with their baby boy. Of his first love, the girl he never got over. Her name was Misty. She wanted to see him again, she had sent him a letter only a month earlier saying she wanted to be with him again, that nothing felt the same without him. What was he doing here?

He couldn't stop his hands, they moved on their own, twisting out Joy's cervix, bit by bit, and slitting his genitals. At last the leathery bag was open. They gripped his testicles and pried them out, forcing them into his mouth.

All three parties bled to death. It was in the news the next day. The Gardevoir recovered, but was forever in a tortured state of slavery.

Misty shook as she read it. She wept and her mind grew jaded and hateful. She was alone in the world now. Nobody she loved. Nothing. Alone.

She drew a pokeball from her belt and opened it. Staryu appeared next to her.
"Staryu," she blushed, and looked at him through teary eyes, "would you do anything for me?"
"Starr," he echoed.
Her cunt burned. She needed it...

fin."

standing ovation


change
Thursday, July 9, 2009 at 9:08 AM

ok as you may have noticed i changed my blog skin. i was getting a little tired of the old one and was starting to dislike the colour scheme. made it hard to read esp for my occasional lengthy discourse.

i like this one! except somehow i think all the apps on the right side bar screwed up the alignment and i can't seem to fix it despite tinkering around with the damn html code.

help!

standing ovation


time to reflect
Tuesday, July 7, 2009 at 10:47 AM

one of my friends on FB posted this essay which was written in 1996 but i think is still relevant. i've copied it from its source for easy reading and added in verses in italicised paranthesis for easy reference.

"This essay was published in the January 1996 issue of Epistole, the official newsletter of the Varsity Christian Fellowship, Singapore.

I do not believe in Evangelism anymore. Evangelism has come to mean too little.

When I shake a concept and it rattles with great noise and ease, I distrust the concept. When a concept rattles inside many people with the same sound, you know it is a lie. Even the story of Jesus has four gospels, not one.

Today, I confess anew to God the needs for character to struggle well against my fellow Christians and for poise to hear the Burden He was always intended each of us to take on alone.

I disbelieve in Evangelism because I know now what it has always meant to those who taught it to me. They told me that Evangelism was to reach out to the lost, to witness, to tell others about Jesus Christ, to live a life that was a light to the world. They told me it was to hand out tracts, to explain Bible verses, to narrate the story of Jesus, to tell others how I became a believer, to bring them to church and rallies. They told me to imagine myself as a lifeguard, as a person who has known the Light outside the cave, as a signpost along the road to destruction, as a seeing person among the blind. All these, they told me, were Evangelism. All of them spoke with the same content.

What they have been too comfortable to learn they do not tell you.

When one is warned of worldly influence for an association with something unfamiliar, when looking different and talking different and behaving different draw well-meaning concern from Christians, when they say they can never share their hearts with non-Christians as if before they knew the Church they had no real friendship, when they tell you they are simply spiritually different whenever they do not understand you, when people you see on Sundays correspond so tightly in manners, taste and lifestyle that a breadth of dispositions may be felt, I know Evangelism has become a dangerous thing.

Evangelism is not about welcome at all. It is not about acceptance. It is not about simplicity of heart. It is not about freedom.

It is about judgement. It is about hegemony. It is about superficial tolerance. It is about conformity. It is about fear.

See two-eyed what is.

I know now what Evangelism has always only been doing best. It has been bringing to Christ those people who have always been relatively easy to bring to Christ. It has been about saving the confused, the hurt, the conservative, the pious, the harmless, the gentle, the decent. It has been about bringing to church people who fit into the church anyway. They do not tell you about the larger established world with deep roots, where people do get on fine without Christ, where people do have fulfilling and even meaningful preoccupations, where people think Christians live insular lives too selfish for broader social dimensions and these people. we are too self-admiring to admit, may have a point.

All these they do not tell you. They proclaim at the gate and believe they have done so on mountains.

They do not tell because they do not really want to know about lifestyles, thoughts, music, literature, pursuits. They do not because they have fashioned their own Christian lifestyles, Christian thoughts, Christian music, Christian literature, Christian pursuits. They have these of their own because they say these are safe alternatives, Christian answers to the secular appeal, our evangelistic fortresses, our lights amid the great darkness. Then I met a Christian, as I have met many others, who told me Christian music has helped create an indispensible environment in which she could truly worship God and I do not know how much of her has clung to mountains and Jerusalems than to spirit and truth, whether she half-spoke really from a deep fear of secular powers. I do not know whether she, like many others, has experienced a cultural force and thought it was a spiritual force and propagated it as a spiritual force.

I know now what Evangelism is. It is a damaging concept employed to draw a vital line between the secular and the Christian (as if such a distinction exists) that one can never imagine a secular Christian without betraying a blush of dissatisfaction, albeit the fact that Jesus was the exemplary secular Christian. It is about spending the rest of our time on earth building the walls of the Kingdom of God when Christ has for a lifetime built bridges, breaking down the very Body of Christ and sending all parts away. It is about attracting souls with our pastimes, our way of life, our standard of life, our exclusiveness and with anything else but Christ who went out to embrace all ways of life and all standards of life. It is about packaging Christ rather than letting Him package us. It is what drove James and John to demand Heaven’s fire to come down on a Samaritan village. It is what impelled Peter to say “Be it far from you, Lord!” when Jesus revealed He must leave their company to fulfill God’s will. It is what incited Pharisees and scribes to ask: “Why do the disciples of John and of the Pharisees fast often and make prayers while yours eat and drink?” Evangelism is about thinking in terms of an inside and an outside. Evangelism is the greatest obstacle to God’s own evangelistic plan.

For years and now I realize, I have been deceived with a Matthew 28:18-20

(18Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them ina]">[a] the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.")

without the earlier 27 chapters delineating the example of Christ, with an Acts 1:8

(8But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.")

without the divine chastisement of an Acts 8:1

(1And Saul was there, giving approval to his death. On that day a great persecution broke out against the church at Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria.),

with a Romans 10:14-17

(14How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? 15And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!"a]">[a] 16But not all the Israelites accepted the good news. For Isaiah says, "Lord, who has believed our message?"b]">[b] 17Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ.)

without a I Corinthians 9:19-23

( 19Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. 20To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. 21To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law. 22To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. 23I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.).

I have been told to preach a Jesus without the meaning of Immanuel, a Word of God that has not privately taught me about “dwelling among men”. Who has given us a stereotype of Jesus who is only enthusiastic about activities in religious houses and not in beer gardens, who is dependent on religious culture, who is believed by the religious, who is a celebrity in the church and a nonessential in the world, whose friendship is uninteresting and trivial to freethinkers, who can never walk around incognito without someone identifying His aura of holiness, who has a decent haircut and a scarless face, wears a Christian T-shirt, carries a Bible somewhere everywhere and is easily distressed by ill-mannered words?

If this is Christ, tell me: Why is it so unlike Him?

The question has not stopped Christians thinking seriously. Many Isaacs sit in our churches and give blessings foolishly by taste and touch without granting much gravity to hearing out the right spirit. Thus, Sunday School teachers have kids falling asleep, walking out of church and believing irreversibly that Christianity is dull because these teachers have failed to make the crucial connections, and this truth, nonetheless, has not stopped the same from commenting, with passing uprightness, that my trimming-much-needed hair makes for bad testimony. Then, there are friends who encourage the speaking of tongues for the aim of edification, but it is a wonder they can neither hear the spirit of Christ stirring in an English differently spoken, differently mannered, nor understand the logic for it, let alone live with it, finding much comfort instead in declaring difference and encircling themselves within an environment of personal worship that cannot be broken into. Then, there are those who listen to my words and, in missing the point and failing to measure it against the heart of the gospels, conclude within themselves that I use too many I’s, as if I should be uncomfortable to be myself after Christ has freed me to discover who I am really made to be.

I know now that the story of Christ has always to be spoken with pain. It is because the Word cuts deep even into the dividing of soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and therefore It is proclaimed only with words that come alive with your life, the unpretentious, unassuming words. Therefore, when I hear the same thing in the same tone with the same jargon, the grand cliché that calls itself Evangelism, I know there is a lie.

You see, I have to stop playing Christian in order to serve Christ. Why do Christians consistently make it difficult for me?"


food for thought yes?

standing ovation