Sometimes I wonder why we have Resident Committees in our fucking estates. RCs who complain, bitch and whine when I bang away on my drumset at 2pm in the fucking afternoon, yet encourage residents to sing (out of tune, and out of time too) all the way til 11pm late at night to celebrate the Midfucking Autumn Festival. What’s so special about this day that warrants Singapore Idol wannabes to take to the “stage” and sing songs that make my hair stand on their fucking ends?

甘霖老母趕羚羊, I say, because if you can’t sing, YOU SHOULDN’T.

Noisy lousy vocals + stupid fucking haze + no cigerettes make Alvyn a very pissed off an angsty young man.

But then hor, I realised that I had a pack of half-smoked cigerettes somewhere in my bag. So I searched high and low and I found the hidden treasure.

So now, Alvyn’s a happy man. Not for long though, because stupid whiny kids are running around downstairs playing around on the stage that the fucking RC has yet to tear down.

甘霖老母趕羚羊, I say. 甘霖老母趕羚羊.