A Ghost Story

A Ghost Story,
NOT by Eddie G.

Two ghost met at their nearby purgatory and both started to chat about how they died...

1st ghost : So dude, how did you die?

2nd ghost : I sorta froze to death.

1st ghost : Jeez. That sucks. How did that happen?

2nd ghost : Well, actually I was imprisoned in the refrigerator before I died. Initially, I began to shiver, and then my entire body started to freeze, slowly but surely. Then everything just went black and the next thing I know, I'm dead. Heh. At least I didn't suffer much.

1st ghost : That's sad shit dude.

2nd ghost : Oh it is. Believe me. So what about you man, how did you die?

1st ghost : I died from exhaustion.

2nd ghost : Exhaustion? No shit. How did that happen?

1st ghost : Okay, it kinda all began when I suspected that my wife was having an affair. So one day, when I came back from work, I saw this pair of men's shoes at my doorstep, so I kinda figured that the jackass was still in the house with my wife. When I rushed into the bedroom, my wife was alone, but I knew he was still somewhere in the house. So I searched the toilet, ran downstairs, looked in the storeroom, but the jackass wasn't there. Then I ran back upstairs and searched the wardrobe, but I found nothing. Up and down and up and down the house I ran, but to no avail and then finally I collapsed in sheer exhaustion, and died.

2nd ghost : Man if you'd only looked in the refrigerator, the both of us would have still been alive...

A Really Lame Short Story

A Really Lame Short Story
By Eddie G.


Once upon a time, as how all lame stories would begin, there was a demi-mortal known as the Eddie G. He was a mortal with an immortal destiny, a destiny to be assumed only after his mortal body had passed on. But since that’s quite a long time away, we shall leave it as that.

Every morning, the Eddie G. would wake up, open the fridge, find nothing in it, and then go back to sleep again, swearing and cursing.

One morning, the Eddie G. figured it was just too bloody pointless to keep an empty fridge around. So he put on some nice clothes, fitted on his favourite sneakers, opened the door, grabbed the fridge and threw it out the window using his demi-mortal strength, took off his nice clothes and favourite sneakers and went back to sleep, leaving the door still wide open.

Now in the Eddie G.’s estate lived a petty, bureaucratic security guard called Kibbles. Kibbles loved his job with a passion. Because of this, he hated anyone who violated the rules of the estate with a passion. In particular the demi-mortal known as the Eddie G. In short, Kibbles was a dedicated civil slave, I mean servant.

For the longest time, Kibbles vowed to find some way to nail the Eddie G. and then get him evicted. And for the longest time, he couldn’t. He had set for himself a goal to get the Eddie G. evicted by the 20th hour (i.e. 8 pm), of the 20th day of the month. He called this goal, in a sudden surge of inspiration, “Vision 20-20”.

Kibbles paced around the void deck now, an anxious look ridden across his face. It was already the 18th day of the month and Vision 20-20 was nowhere near realization. As he paced, his mind was churning with malicious plots to get the Eddie G. evicted. Plots that he was nonetheless too cowardly to carry out.

His reverie was interrupted by a square-like shadow that suddenly appeared at his feet. As the shadow grew bigger it was accompanied by a high-pitched whistling that came from above.

Refrigerators have an uncanny talent for finding pacing security guards who are deep in thought, especially when thrown out of a window by someone with demi-mortal strength wearing nice clothes and favourite sneakers.

The Warden looked sharply at Kibbles now, a somewhat subdued Kibbles at that, his countenance foreshadowing the berating that was to come.

“You have absolutely no idea how serious this matter is haven’t you now?” the Warden asked.

Kibbles, the lionhearted Kibbles, continued to stare at the ground in silence.

“We”, continued the Warden, “have a maniac throwing refrigerators out of windows. And instead of working diligently to find the culprit, where do I find you? Asleep under a refrigerator!”

The fact that the Warden – like all civil slaves, I mean servants – wasn’t very bright probably explains why it did not occur to him that Kibbles didn’t choose to sleep under the refrigerator.

The fact that Kibbles wasn’t very bright either probably explained why he didn’t tell the Warden how he had not chosen to sleep under the refrigerator.

“I want you to find the culprit and bring him to me,” instructed the Warden, who promptly went back to his office to finish another important assignment – jelly doughnuts.

Kibbles rubbed his hands together with glee. He knew the first person he would find.

The Eddie G. awoke to the sound of loud incessant banging on his apartment door. Kibbles loved his job with a passion.

“For Christ sake!” yelled the Eddie G. at Kibbles who was standing outside the already opened apartment door. “Couldn’t you just walk in?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said Kibbles in a pompous voice. “It’s just in etti-kwet-ay that I should knock first.”

“Just in etiquette?” mused the Eddie G. at how the language was so terribly mangled while trying to correct Kibbles’ pronunciation.

Kibbles scratched his head for a moment…

“I don’t think he’s on duty today.” he finally replied.

“What do you want now?” the Eddie G. groaned.

“Well sir,” Kibbles now resumed his pompous tone of voice, “it just so happened that somebody threw a refrigerator out of his window this morning. And I believe that this somebody, sir, is you.”

A smile began to take form on the Eddie G.’s face.

“My poor, deluded, misguided Kibbles,” said the Eddie G., putting an exaggerated emphasis on the word “misguided”, “if you take a look around my pitiful apartment, you’d realize that I don’t have a refrigerator. Now how am I supposed to throw a refrigerator out of my window if I don’t even have one?”

Kibbles scratched his head again. That made sense to him.

“Now why don’t you,” coaxed the Eddie G. as a father would an irritating son to go out and play so that he could continue his sleep, “why don’t you go to the other apartments where they actually HAVE a refrigerator and ask them if they HAD thrown it out?”

Kibbles shuffled about uncomfortably. He hated to admit that it sounded like a good idea.

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, “but I’m watching you.” He made a gesture to prove his point… and poked his own eyes.

“Good riddance,” thought the Eddie G. aloud as Kibbles blindly tumbled down the stairs, and went back to sleep.

Have you ever had one of those wonderful dreams where everything just goes the way you want them to? Like for instance, swimming in a pool of lasagne, getting a hickey from Mary-Kate Olsen or marrying Britney Spears and then filing for a divorce two days later after you’ve had your way with her? Well these dreams have a tendency of ending prematurely, courtesy of an evil device called the alarm clock, just when it’s about to climax (i.e. eating the lasagne, getting another hickey, signing the divorce papers). The Eddie G. had one such dream where he was on the verge of realizing his immortal destiny. The alarm clock did not disappoint either.

In a fit of indescribable rage, he grabbed the still-ringing alarm clock and hurled it out of the window. He walked over to the wall where he had his schedule pinned up. Hmm… nine to eleven… Mushroom Theory and Practice. Who needs this? He went back to sleep again. This time, he dreamt that he was in Australia, and he was a Sheila.

Kibbles was early for work again. Eight hours early to be exact. He loved his job with a passion. He was trying to process the day’s agenda in his mind.

“Let’s see. Yes. Today I shall hover around the Eddie G.’s apartment,” he said while pacing about the void deck, “and the minute he does something dodgy, I’ll catch him in the act and –“

KER-THONK!

“No… KER-THONK doesn’t sound right…” reasoned Kibbles as he passed out.

Words could not describe the Warden’s disappointment when he saw Kibbles lying spread eagle on the void deck floor eight hours later.

“Sleeping on the job again today, huh?” he bellowed as all civil slaves – I mean servants – love to bellow.

“Now you’ve gone a step further and brought your own alarm clock,” he added with a hint of sarcasm, “there’s proper etiquette for you.”

Kibbles stirred groggily. “Since when did Justin Etiquette have a brother?” he wondered.

“And the refrigerator case remains unsolved,” reminded the Warden, his mouth now full of jelly doughnut, “now get cracking OR ELSE!”

The Eddie G. was peering intently at a crystal ball, a turban wrapped snugly around his head, when Kibbles walked in, alarm clock in hand.

“I’ve been expecting you,” the Eddie G. intoned without looking up. “Have a seat.”

Kibbles sat down in front of the Eddie G., quite convinced that he (the Eddie G.) had lost his mind.

“This alarm clock…” Kibbles began.

“Do you see an alarm clock around here?” the Eddie G. asked in a silky voice, “that establishes the fact that it can’t be mine.”

“HOLD ON!” he suddenly announced as Kibbles tried to protest. “I see… I see… pain in your future. Great pain…”

Kibbles was fidgeting nervously now.

“Beware, Kibbles the Great, beware! A push in the wrong direction will bring out immense pain!” proclaimed the Eddie G. with great melodrama.

“How? What? Where?” Kibbles was insane with paranoia now.

“It doesn’t say,” sighed the Eddie G. “Now if you’d excuse me, you still have to find those fridge throwers don’t you?”

“How did you…?”

“I’m psychic, you fool,” reminded the Eddie G. ushering the security guard to the door.

“Now bugger off,” he said, and pushed Kibbles down the stairs.

When one tumbles down ten flights of stairs, he has a natural tendency to lie motionless for a long period of time after that.

And when one sees someone else lying motionless for a long period of time, he has a natural tendency to assume the person lying motionless for a long period of time to be sleeping.

The Warden made no exception.

“GET UP, YOU LAZY BUM!” yelled the Warden in capitals – another favourite civil slave, I mean servant pastime.

After a series of kicks, Kibbles finally did.

“You obviously don’t know proper job etiquette now, do you?” the Warden asked.

“Oh so Justin’s brother has even got a middle name…” mumbled Kibbles.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Since you’re so bloody deprived of sleep, I’ll let you go back and catch up on it. Just make sure you report early tomorrow morning raring to go,” offered the Warden grumpily.

“But-”

“NO BUTS!” insisted the Warden. “I’ll get someone to fill in for you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Now go!”

Kibbles went home, sulking at the idea of Proper Job Etiquette having to fill in for him.

It was no surprise that he turned up for work on time the next morning. He loved his job with a passion. He glanced at his watch. 8 a.m. on the 20th of the month. Christ Almighty! 20th of the month already! He had a little less than 12 hours to realize his Vision 20-20.

Now it so happened that on the 20th morning of each month, the Eddie G. would throw a particular fruit out of the window in tribute to Vitamin C, the Fruit Goddess. As the appointed hour drew near, the Eddie G. wore his High Priest robes (which greatly resembled a black trench-coat), tied his hair into a neat ponytail and donned a pair of sunglasses. He looked at his calendar. The month of the Durian, he told himself. He prepared his heart. The ceremony was about to commence in five… four… three… two… one… NOW! He grabbed the durian from the Altar of Elaborately Arranged Fruits and flung it out of the window.

“What a dumb ceremony,” the Eddie G. said to himself while he disrobed, “but better that than a month’s worth of constipation I guess.”

Now it also so happens that when one makes a wish on the 20th of every month, it is highly likely to come true. That was what a hungry Kibbles found out when he wished that something nice to eat would fall on his head.

Again, Kibbles regained consciousness to a menacing figure towering over him. It wasn’t the Warden this time though, but the Eddie G., eating the last remnants of the durian that had fallen on his head.

“I thought you were going to eat that,” the Eddie G. grinned, “but since you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you, so I decided to finish it for you.”

“But…” Kibbles was too hungry and maimed to say anything else.

“Hey! It’s my durian after all,” the Eddie G. reminded.

“I mean… err…” the Eddie G. regretted. “Oops”.

Something snapped in Kibbles’ head at the mention of “my durian”. It was the straw that broke that camel’s back. He had finally found a reason to get the Eddie G. evicted. He forgot about his tumultuous, empty stomach. He glanced at his watch. It was 6 pm already. He had only two hours left, but it was more than enough.

“It was only an accident,” pleaded the Eddie G. as a glazed look began to form in Kibbles’ eyes.

“Accident huh?” he sneered, “Just like the fridge and the alarm clock were accidents too huh?”

He toyed with the newfound revelation that the Eddie G. could have been behind the fridge and alarm clock too, and then discarded it. What are the odds, he told himself.

The Eddie G., being the smarter one, noticed Kibbles’ temporal lapse in concentration and seized the chance to take off.

So the chase ensued across the void deck, past the Warden’s office (who was too busy with his jelly doughnuts to notice anything), up the stairs, down the stairs, past the Warden’s office again, across the void deck again, around the corner, around another corner, around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around a pillar…

It is interesting to know that people who run around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around pillars get extremely disoriented when it’s over.

It is also interesting to know that people who only run around (like the Eddie G.) and not around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around pillars (like Kibbles) don’t.

Kibbles began to panic now. He was still dizzy and smelling of puke when he realized that it was now 7:30 pm.

He ran to the void deck where the now empty durian shell lay. It reminded him of how terribly hungry he was. All seemed lost. Time was not on his side. He felt very much inclined to give up.

No! He mustn’t give up! Not after he’d come this far. Not after he had to endure falling fridges, alarm clocks and durians (they were all unrelated he reminded himself), tumbling down ten flights of stairs twice, being accused of sleeping on the job three times, having Proper Job Etiquette to fill in for him, not after all these. He mustn’t give up!

“I wonder where he could be?” he wondered aloud.

“That way,” said a potted plant and pointed him the way.

While most of us take a split second to realize that potted plants cannot talk or point, Kibbles took five minutes.

And five minutes was all the Eddie G. needed to run in the opposite direction from behind the potted plant.

This was it, Kibbles told himself. There was no way he could catch the Eddie G. in 15 minutes. He decided to throw in the towel and resign from the job he had so loved with a passion. He headed straight for the Warden’s office.

Imagine his surprise when he saw the Eddie G. in the Warden’s office hiding from him. He could still make it!

“This young man here,” he said to the Warden, grabbing the Eddie G. by the scruff of his neck.

“Has decided to move out,” the Warden announced, stacking a sheaf of papers recently signed by the Eddie G.

Kibbles could hardly believe his good fortune.

“You mean…”

“That’s right,” the Eddie G. said, “you beat me fair and square. So I’m moving out. Immediately.”

Immediately! Kibbles did a happy albeit stupid-looking little jig. He didn’t have to resign from the job he loved with a passion after all. To top it all off, he had realized Vision 20-20, with 10 minutes left to spare too. It was too good to be true. He had to rub it in. After all that jackass nonsense he had to go through, he had to rub it in.

“So when are you mo-ving out?” he asked, placing an exaggerated emphasis on the word “moving”.

“As soon as my transport arrives,” replied the Eddie G.

“And when is that?”

“8:01”

Ah yes. Kibbles had finally won. No wait! He had lost! 8:01! That’s one minute after Vision 20-20 expires. Kibbles the Bureaucrat had lost. He ran out of the Warden’s office screaming like hell.

Old Chinese Proverb: Man who screams like hell, probably bound to get there.

Kibbles was never heard from again.

So the story ends with the Eddie G. waking up in his new home, opening the fridge and finding it not empty anymore. Just as he’s about to go back to sleep, swearing and cursing, the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Ah hello. Justin Etiquette here, Proper Job’s brother.” The voice sounded full of jelly doughnuts – like how a civil slave, I mean servant would sound like.

“Ah yes, Justin.”

“I just want to congratulate you for a job well done. You handled it… professionally.”

“That goes without saying,” the Eddie G. crooned, “I AM a professional.”

“Your cheque will arrive in the mail soon,” said Justin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The phone clicked

Five minutes later it rang again.

“Hello? Yes. Yes. No. Yes. No. $30000. No. Yes. Yes. OK. Thank you. Goodbye” said the Eddie G. and hung up.

He put on some nice clothes, wore his favourite sneakers, opened the door and went shopping.

He bought an empty refrigerator, an alarm clock, a crystal ball, a turban, an altar, a trench coat, a pair of sunglasses, a myriad of fruits (including a durian) and a potted plant.

He did not like the idea of “re-using”. It was too unprofessional.

“That will be $3727,” said the cashier.

He handed her a MasterCard.

“What are all these for anyway?” the cashier asked.

The Eddie G. smiled.





–The End–



___________________________________________________________




What we learnt from this story…


• The civil service cannot function alone, and desperately requires the assistance of the civil served (or in most cases, civil unserved)

• Anything that bears the name “Vision 20-20” is probably doomed to failure.

• There really isn’t a Fruit Goddess called Vitamin C, and throwing fruit out of your window every 20th of the month won’t save you from constipation.

• Driving people crazy is a recognized profession. Consult your nearest Eddie G. for more details.

• In Australia, Sheilas are a good thing. Everywhere else, well…

• Old Chinese Proverbs never make sense, but we love them anyway.

• “Just in etiquette” is not good English, nor is it a good name.

• Potted plants cannot talk or point. (Just in case you’re still wondering)

• Mary-Kate Olsen gives REALLY good hickeys.

• All lame stories begin with “once upon a time”, but the lamer ones end with “and they lived happily ever after”. Stories that end with “The End” should be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature Redundancy.

• But not many stories really end with “The End”.

• Except really lame ones.

• And there is no Nobel Prize for Literature Redundancy. The Nobel Prize for Literature already takes care of that.

• And that means this story should be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

• And there is no spoon.

The Points Don't Matter

I wrote this not too long ago, about 3 days before my Semester 1 exams, for my College newsletter - The Monash Gazette, aka Monga. It's kinda like a summation of my views towards education today, what it really means, and where it somehow got it all wrong. It's MY two cents worth, which means you guys can also feel free to comment about it. (i.e. agree, disagree, disagree vehemently, disagree with cussing, you get my point).

It's used with permission from my Monga editor, E.T. and from the writer himself. Well duh! So here it is. Hope you like it :)



The Points Don’t Matter
by Eddie G.


One of my all time favourite TV shows is “Whose Line Is It Anyway”. Headed by funnyman Drew Carrey, this side-splitting “gameshow” comedy is made up of performances where, as Drew puts it, “everything is made up and the points don’t matter”. That’s right, the points are like his treadmill. True to his word, Drew awards the performers (who actually know what they’re going to do next) with points that really don’t mean anything since the audience already knows that it’s all rigged.

But there is wisdom in Drew’s words nonetheless. (After all, even a clock that’s not working is right at least twice a day). Too many a time, we are too preoccupied with trying to earn those “points” that we forget to enjoy the finer things in life, especially when it comes to education

Most education systems in Asia, sad to say, are governed by one very obscene “G” word – Grades. Take it from someone who grew up in the Fine City of Singapore for 16 years. The saddest thing I find about education today is that we are what our grades say we are. Hence the coinage of the term “A-Student” or “B-Student” (or in my case, “I-don’t-know-why-you-even-bother-coming-to-school-Student”). Has education finally degenerated into a rat-race of just getting good grades?

I’m not belittling getting good grades, mind you. I admit it’s nice to get a distinction once in a while. What I don’t understand though is how some people would do anything and everything just to get an “A”, even at the expense of their health, social life and sometimes even their character. In Singapore’s top girls’ school Raffles Girls’ School, some students would cry just because they got 89 and not the 90+ they usually get. I’m not kidding; they do that! And here I am more than happy with my 65.

Yes, it’s perfectly alright to set high standards for yourself, but it’s not alright to let these high standards set you. Let’s not forget that the main aim of education is to learn something from the end of it all. And believe you me, nobody learns how to swim without drinking a little water (my swimming instructor always said that I must have grew up in the desert)

In my days in secondary school and junior college I carried with me the Drew Carrey mentality to class. Needless to say, I was often under a lot of fire from both teachers and peers alike. Whenever a test was returned, I would always remind others of my belief. And they would always brush it off in some way. If I did well they’d say, “Easy for you to say”. If I did okay they’d say, “You’re never going to improve like this.” (n.b. I improve by learning from my mistakes, not by brooding over my grades). And if I did badly they’d say, “You’re just trying to make yourself feel better”. So after a while, I gave up preaching, kept my views to myself and stayed happy, healthy and relatively stress-free.

We all have different reasons for coming here to Monash. Some are here genuinely to learn new things and gain new experiences. Some are here merely to get their degree while some others come here to pick up chicks. Although I do not possess the right to say which motive is right or which is wrong, I do wish to point out that while degree may help you get a job, it will not help you keep it. That would depend on how well you deal and work with other human beings – something you will not learn from your textbooks.

I enjoyed watching “The Day After Tomorrow”, in particular the library scene where they had to burn books of academia to stay alive. That was a cleverly subtle satire of what education has become. Knowing who wrote what and why he/she wrote it won’t save you from freezing to death, but knowing where to use the knowledge and how to will. And that, I believe is the true meaning of education.

So whenever you’re dissatisfied with your grades, just remember that everything is made up and the points, like buffets to Ally McBeal, don’t matter. The world will still go on, high D or bungkus*. What’s more important is that you move on and learn where you got it wrong. And if you’re the kind that wants to get good grades just so that can prove to others that you’re better than them, ask yourself this question: Do they really give a damn?





(Ed's note: For our foreign friends out there, "bungkus" means "take-away" and often refers to the plight of an unfortunate college student who failed his/her unit, thus having to re-do it - hence the doggie bag imagery. Quite dire it is in the world of an academic...)

Coffee

You know you're drinking too much coffee when...

you answer the door before people knock.

Juan Valdez named his donkey after you.

you ski uphill.

you grind your coffee beans in your mouth.

you haven't blinked since the last lunar eclipse.

you lick your coffeepot clean.

your eyes stay open when you sneeze.

you chew on other people's fingernails.

your T-shirt says, “Decaffeinated coffee is the devil's blend.“

you can type 60 words per minute ... with your feet.

you can jump-start your car without cables.

all your kids are named “Joe.“

you don't need a hammer to pound nails.

your only source of nutrition comes from “Sweet & Low.“

you don't sweat, you percolate.

you buy Half & Half by the barrel.

you've worn out the handle on your favorite mug.

you forget to unwrap candy bars before eating them.

you've built a miniature city out of little plastic stirrers.

people get dizzy just watching you.

you've worn the finish off your coffee table.

the Taster's Choice couple wants to adopt you.

Starbucks owns the mortgage on your house.

your taste buds are so numb you could drink your lava lamp.

instant coffee takes too long.

your birthday is a national holiday in Brazil.

you're offended when people use the word “brew“ to mean beer.

you have a picture of your coffee mug on your coffee mug.

you short out motion detectors.

you don't even wait for the water to boil anymore.

your nervous twitch registers on the Richter scale.

you think being called a "drip" is a compliment.

you don't tan, you roast.

you can't even remember your second cup.

you help your dog chase its tail.

Testimonials

As you all may have already known, we all have had our fair share of testimonials written "painstakingly" for us by our beloved teachers. And sometimes when you take them out and read them (sometimes again and again), you'll say "Aww, how nice of them to have said that about me." Well don't be too happy, 'cos according to research done by my alter ego Dr. Vulgarus, the teacher's have their own "secret code" when it comes to writing testimonials. So without further ado, here is a list of some of the "codes" they use...

Here are the following you might find in your testimonials, along with what they usually mean:-

he has great potential that has yet to be fully realized = he is underperforming.

he is one who has no qualms about speaking his mind = he is tactless and insensitive.

he has a happy-go-lucky attitude towards life = he is a complete idiot.

he tends to make his presence known in class = he is an obnoxious lout.

he has an open mind = he is miserably gullible.

he participates actively in class discussions = he is excessively talkative.

he has an incredible talent for multi-tasking = he is extremely unfocused.

he needs help = he needs help.

he has a healthy nocturnal lifestyle and studies late into the night = he sleeps in class.

he clings on strongly to his beliefs = he's disturbingly obstinate.

he has an uncanny sense of humour = he tells lame jokes in class. *ouch*

he would make a very good friend = he is highly unsociable.

he is a great encouragement to his class = he always gets last in class.

his words are often given much thought and consideration = he's a big fat liar

There, see? This is what the teachers' have been saying about you all along!!!

Agent Becks

I wrote this article somewhere last year (middle 2003) for an e-mag called Uberture, just after the English Premier League ended and the transfer window opened. Knock yourself out :)

Agent Becks
By Eddie G.


I’m a big fan of conspiracy theories. And this could perhaps be the granddaddy of them all. Usually such theories would revolve around political leaders or childhood heroes like Santa Claus or the Smurfs, but this one concerns English Premier League champions Manchester United and their former Mr. ABC. He can Assist, Bend and Curl. And to top it all up, he’s a sex symbol. No not Alex Ferguson! I’m talking about David Beckham.



David Beckham has been in Manchester United for a long time, and grew up with the other Man U stars like Ryan Giggs, Paul Scholes, Nicky Butt and the Brothers Neville. Therefore, Beckham’s transfer came as a shock to many Manchester United fans and players alike. The question soon became “Why Beckham?” And these are the possible reasons that Fergie might give:

1) Because we already have Veron (Note the crossed fingers behind the back)
2) Because we already have Ronaldinho (Note the complacency in the tone of voice)
3) Because he’s a bloody delinquent and I want to give him the boot (in more ways than one).
4) Because he’s married to a Spice Girl and I am not.
5) Because I feel like it.

You’re probably thinking right now, “Okay Eddie, stop beating around the bush! What does this have to do with conspiracy theories?” Quite simply this: Beckham is a spy for Manchester United. Some of you must have fallen off your chairs by now. Well get back up and hear what I have to say.

Firstly, when the transfer window opened a few months ago, Manchester United clearly said that Beckham would stay in Old Trafford. That was a few months ago. Today, Becks is wearing a white no. 23 jersey with the word “Siemens” printed in front. Why did Manchester United change their minds?

Monetary issues? I think not. Even after buying David Bellion, Tim Howard and the Cameroonian Shamble-Shamble (Djemba-Djemba you say? Sorry. I’m poor with names), Man U could probably still afford to prop up the Rupiah. Okay, even if they did need money, can’t they at least sell away Diego Forlan – the Uruguayan striker who can dribble even without the ball?

Impossible you say? My friend, nothing is impossible. Only two weeks ago, I had thought that it was impossible for a guy who had BBB GP A1 for his GCE “A” Levels to NOT get into NUS Arts and Social Sciences. A pox on the ICA officials and their Mercedes Benzes.

Let’s not digress further. Where was I? Oh yes. And even if David Beckham were to be sold, why must it be to Real Madrid and not Arsenal or “Chelski”? I’ll tell you why. Because Real Madrid beat Manchester United only marginally at the recent UEFA Champions’ League quarter-finals. Let’s be frank. Fergie doesn’t care about the other teams in the Champions’ League. All he cares about is, “If I can beat Real Madrid, the Champions’ League trophy is mine!” (Hey, he calls it as it is, baby cakes).

And what better way to do it than to send David Beckham as an undercover agent? He even gets paid for it too.

As you know by now, secret agents always go in pairs. That’s what Fergie’s former No. 2 Carlos Queiroz is doing there too.

And why Beckham? Why not Giggs or Ruud Van Nistelrooy? Because Beckham is idolized all over the world. That’s why the movie industry made “Bend It Like Beckham” instead of “Score Like Scholes” or “Fake Injury Like Figo”.

In addition, Beck’s arrival at the Bernabeu stadium in Madrid has the potential of sowing discord amongst the Real Madrid players. Firstly, Becks plays on the right flank, so does Luis Figo. Becks is a free-kick specialist, so is Figo. Becks is good, so is Figo. Give them a few weeks together and they soon will be giving each other the this-club-ain’t-big-enough-for-the-two-of-us look. Before you know it, instead of working together, the both of them will end up trying to outdo each other, and might even start marking each other. And with Queiroz at a managerial position, things can only get better for Sir Alex.

Secondly, Beck’s arrival at Madrid will also cause a commercialized hoo-hah at his new club. Players would soon rather do commercials than play football. And while Real Madrid pose for Pepsi, Manchester United go shopping for a new cabinet to keep their future Champions’ League trophies with.

And of course, we cannot forget about Victoria Spice can we now? Just bring her down to the pitch and see if the Real Madrid players can still concentrate on their training. Get her to wear leather and see if they can still continue training altogether. Apparently this must have happened at Old Trafford too; and Fergie must be thinking “Why should I be the only one to ‘suffer?’” Manchester’s “loss” is Madrid’s “gain”.

The evidence is clear-cut. Manchester United will be Real Madrid’s downfall, and David Beckham has a major role to play. Wait and see, sports fans. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Manchester United win the Champions’ League, while Real Madrid desperately fight off relegation. And pretty soon, Hollywood would soon make the movie “Blame Agent Becks”.

Then what about Ronaldinho’s signing to Barcelona? Could that be a conspiracy theory too?

Nah! That would be too far-fetched.

-Rotters




(Ed's note: Now that the new season has come and gone, it's most interesting to know that this conspiracy theory does have some *shudder* prophetic accuracy. Well, even though Man U didn't do too well this time, Real Madrid has had a HOR-RI-BLE season, finishing 4th in the Prima Liga and ending their season without a single trophy. Quite unlike a team that has the talents of Ronaldo, Zidane, Figo, Carlos, Raul and Beckham. Carlos Queiroz has been identified as the 'culprit' for the club's incompetence and was fired not too long ago. Now interestingly enough, he has returned to Man U to resume his post as Fergie's number 2. Beckham has also been anonymous in Real Madrid this whole season, and later went on to make a name for himself in taking penalties - see also: rugby conversions - in the recent Euro 2004. At least Man U won the FA cup. Muahahahah!!!!)

Abdul's Discount Camels

Heh.. well this was a story I wrote about a few years back. Although I did promise to complete (also about a few years back), I never really got down to it (Mostly because I didn't know how to... bleah!) But nonetheless, I hope you'll like it :)

Abdul's Discount Camels
by Eddie G.



Long before pancakes were invented, in a squalid settlement off the Eastern Side of the Western Village of the Southern City in Arabia, there lived a camel merchant called Abdul. Abdul was an honest man who worked hard day and night for his living in order to provide for his wife and two sons, Abu and Sayef. His wife, Fatimah had a problem controlling her appetite, especially after the birth of Sayef. Known fondly to the somewhat insensitive populace as "Fat Llama", Fatimah would be the satire of the entire community of the Eastern Side of the Western Village of the Southern Arabic City.

"I bet she's never seen her toes." gossiped one.

"When she sits around the house, she sits around the house." joked another.

"Wonder if she greases the door before leaving the house." and other such snide remarks would be what Fatimah got everytime she left her house (or at least tried to).

Despite all this, Abdul never stopped loving his wife, and was always there to give her his support (Figuratively speaking of course).

One day, after selling 15 and a half camels (don't ask), Abdul decided to close shop. It had been a long blistering day in the Eastern Side of the Western Village of the Southern Arabic City. As he led his unsold camels home, some fifteen of them, he saw a beggar sitting on the road. It was a pitiful sight. The beggar seemed in desperate need of a hot bath and a good meal. His clothes were in tatters and barely covered his body. In his left hand he carried a wooden mug, and in his right, a pale walking stick.

Having compassion on this beggar, Abdul decided to help him in any way he could. Bending over, he asked the beggar kindly, "Excuse me sir, would you like some help."

THWACK!

Abdul clutched his ribs where the beggar's walking stick had bludgeoned him, only to see the beggar laugh in a high pitch voice and take off his long dirty wig.

"Abu!" roared Abdul, "what on Ali Baba's left nostril are doing here in the street dressed as a beggar?"

"Playing pranks, venerable father mine." came the cheeky reply, "you're the fifty-seventh today."

"Just call me 'Dad'." sighed Abdul. "Listen. If only you could use your talents to help me sell more camels, I wouldn't be going through all this trouble."

"How so?" Abu was curious.

"Well, you are very resourceful, and have the gift of the gab. Instead of making a fool out of innocent passers-by, why don't do something useful with -"

"Race ya home, venerable father mine!" exclaimed Abu in his shrill voice and took off before Abdul could even finish.

"DAD!!!" screamed Abdul at his excuse of a son.

*****

It was Abdul who broke the silence during dinner later that evening.

"So anything interesting happen today?" asked Abdul.

Fatimah looked up from her 32nd helping of mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas.

"The landlord came over this afternoon." she said, her mouth full of dinner.

"And?"

"He wants to raise the price by another 100 shekels." came the reply.

Abdul nearly fell off his chair. "100 shekels!" he exclaimed "I'll have to sell 4 more camels each day just to be able to pay the rent!" At this, Abu got up from his chair and headed to for the door.

"Where are you going?" enquired Abdul.

"To burn down the landlord's house!" Abu yelled back.

"Let him go," said Fatimah as Abdul tried to pursue his crazy son. "You know that he loves to talk rubbish. I have yet to see that boy walk his talk."

That night, Abdul had a problem sleeping. After tossing and turning in bed for nearly and hour or so, he got up, walked to the kitchen for a glass of warm camel milk. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the den. Cautiously, he approached the dark room, groping around blindly for a weapon... and found it - the walking stick that Abu had battered his ribs with. At the other end of the living room, he saw a mysterious silhouette of a man trying to climb into the window. Instinctively, Abdul swung the stick into the intruder's face. With a yelp, the figure fell off the window onto the floor. Abdul raised his club for the attack...

"WAIT! VENERABLE FATHER MINE! It's me!" hollered the figure in a shrill, high-pitched voice.

"Abu?"

Abu scrambled to his feet, his clothes reeking of kerosene.

"You didn't burn down the landlord's house did you?" ask Abdul worriedly as his eyes adjusted to see in darkness around him.

"Relax, venerable father mine." crooned Abu. "I asked my friend Ali to do it for a bag of marbles."

"Ali, our neighbour's son?" Abdul enquired credulously.

"Ali, the dumbest boy in the entire Eastern Side of the Western Village of the Southern City of Arabia." beamed Abu.

"But... he's only 4 years old!"

"Minor detail."

Father and son stood staring at each other in the den for about 10 odd minutes. Neither spoke a word. The former too shocked at his son's indifference to human lives while the latter wondered what was for breakfast the next morning.

Abdul's train of thought was broken by a sudden flash of light. And lo! There in the middle of the den stood a blue 8-foot-high genie.

"This is so cliche." muttered Abu to nobody in particular. "Why do all genies have to be 8-foot-high and blue?"

"Salaam! My name is Solmyr ibn Wali-Barad." declared the blue 8-foot-high genie. "I have heard of your predicament, Abdul-Sahib and I have heard of your compassionate heart, and thus have been moved to help you pay your rent."

"You're going to give us money?" it was Abu.

Solmyr laughed. "No, lad," he said, "you give a man a fish, and he eats for a day. Teach a man how to fish, and he'll eat for a lifetime."

"What if he's vegetarian?"

"Is this your son?" Solmyr asked the embarressed camel merchant.

"Unfortunately."

"I have heard a lot about your misdeeds, Abu m'lad. You must repent, boy, and your future will -"

"Goodnight guys. It's getting late!" laughed Abu and dashed up the stairs to his room.

Abdul sighed. Something had to be done about that boy of his.

"I agree," said Solmyr, as if reading Abdul's mind, "but pressing matters at hand. And I'm going to teach you how to get more money from selling your camels."

__________________________________________________________

What advice will Solmyr give Abdul? Will Abdul manage to pay his rent? And what about his deliquent son Abu? What is to become of him? Will the neighbour's son really burn down the landlord's house for a bag of marbles? The answer, dear friends, will be revealed in the second episode of "Abdul's Discount Camels."
__________________________________________________________




Ed's note: Abdul's Discount Camels is also the name of the band I'm currently in.

The band consists of:

Lead guitarist - Ren Sheng (a.k.a. SrenZ)
Bass guitarist - Weng
Drummer - Patrick (a.k.a. Phat Pat)
Rhythm guitarist - Luanne (a.k.a. Blues the Peachick)
Backup Vocals - Zicong
Lead Vocals - Eddie G.

We released our first semi-professional, non-commercialized album entitled "Buy One Get One Flea" earlier this year (2004) with the help of Melvin Lee and ETC Music & Entertainment. He did a good job with the recording. For those interested, here are his details

Melvin Lee
Executive Producer
ETC MUSIC & ENTERTAINMENT

359B Joo Chiat Road
Singapore 427604

Tel: (+65)63446223
Fax: (+65)63445053
HP : (+65)98151175

Email : melvin@etcmusic.com.sg
mlee@melvinlee.com

Something about us guys...

We always hear "the rules" from the female side.
Now here are the rules from the male side.
These are our rules!
And please note that they are all numbered "1" for a reason ^_~

1. Learn to work with the toilet seat thinggy. You're a big girl.
If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down.
You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Sunday = sports. It's like the full moon and the changing of
the tides. Let it be.

1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think
of it that way.

1. Crying is blackmail.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints
do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work!
Just say it!

1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every
question.

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it.
That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument.
In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

1. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't
expect us to act like soap opera guys.

1. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of
the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it
done, not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during
commercials.

1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows' default settings.
Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit.
We have no idea what 'mauve' is.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like
nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth
the hassle.

1. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an
answer you don't want to hear.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear
is fine. Really.

1. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared
to discuss topics such as sex, football, f1, or motorcycles.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

1. I am in shape. Round is a shape.

1. Thank you for reading this; Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the
couch tonight, but did you know men really don't mind that, it's
like camping. ;)

In the Beginning...

Now how should I begin this? "Once upon a time" sounds too cliche and well, so does everything else. Alright then. Let's start off with a song. A favourite Aerosmith song of mine.
 
Living On The Edge
 
by Aerosmith
(If you're reading this Mr. Tyler, please send me a copy of your autograph as well as your daughter's phone number. Thanks a million ^_~)
 
There's somethin' wrong with the world today
I don't know what it is
Something's wrong with our eyes
 
We're seeing things in a different way
And God knows it ain't His
It sure ain't no surprise
 
There's somethin' wrong with the world today
The light bulb's gettin' dim
There's meltdown in the sky
 
If you can judge a wise man
By the color of his skin
Then mister you're a better man that I
 
Tell me what you think about your situation
Complication - aggravation is getting to you
 
If chicken little tells you that the sky is fallin'
Even if it was would you still come crawlin' back again?
I bet you would my friend
Again & again & again & again
 
There's something right with the world today
And everybody knows it's wrong
But we can tell 'em "no" or we could let it go
But I would rather be a-hanging on
 
We're living on the edge.