Sunday, January 22, 2012
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Old Rooster
A farmer went out one day and bought a brand new stud rooster for his hen house. The young rooster walked over to the old rooster and said "Ok, old fellow, time to retire."
The old rooster said, "You can't handle all these chickens....look at what it did to me!"
The young rooster replied, "Now, don't give me a hassle about this. Time for the old to step aside and the young to take over, so take a hike."
The old rooster says, "Aw, c'mon.....just let me have the two old hens over in the corner. I won't bother you."
The young rooster said, "Scram! Beat it! You're washed up! I'm taking over!"
So, the old rooster thought for a moment and then said to the young rooster, "I'll tell you what, young fellow, I'll have a race with you around the farmhouse. Whoever wins the race gets domain of the chicken house."
The young rooster said, "You know I'm going to beat you, old man, just to be fair, I'm even going to give you a head start." They lined up in back of the farm house, got a chicken to cluck "Go!" and the old rooster took off running.
A short while later the young rooster took off after him. They went round the front of the farm house and the young rooster was only about a few paces behind the old rooster and gaining fast.
The farmer, sitting on the porch, looked up, saw what was going on, grabed his shotgun and promptly shot the young rooster. "Dammit! he said, "That was the third gay rooster I bought this week!"
Moral of the story: Don't play-play with old roosters.
The old rooster said, "You can't handle all these chickens....look at what it did to me!"
The young rooster replied, "Now, don't give me a hassle about this. Time for the old to step aside and the young to take over, so take a hike."
The old rooster says, "Aw, c'mon.....just let me have the two old hens over in the corner. I won't bother you."
The young rooster said, "Scram! Beat it! You're washed up! I'm taking over!"
So, the old rooster thought for a moment and then said to the young rooster, "I'll tell you what, young fellow, I'll have a race with you around the farmhouse. Whoever wins the race gets domain of the chicken house."
The young rooster said, "You know I'm going to beat you, old man, just to be fair, I'm even going to give you a head start." They lined up in back of the farm house, got a chicken to cluck "Go!" and the old rooster took off running.
A short while later the young rooster took off after him. They went round the front of the farm house and the young rooster was only about a few paces behind the old rooster and gaining fast.
The farmer, sitting on the porch, looked up, saw what was going on, grabed his shotgun and promptly shot the young rooster. "Dammit! he said, "That was the third gay rooster I bought this week!"
Moral of the story: Don't play-play with old roosters.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
To All those Born in 1940's, 50's , 60's & early '70s...
NOTE: This message (with lots of modifications) has been around as far back as my blogging mind can remember....
---------------------------------------------------------------
First,
we survived with mothers who had no maids. They
cooked/ cleaned while taking care of us at the same
time.
They took aspirin,
candy floss, fizzy drinks, shaved ice with syrups and
diabetes was rare. Salt added to Pepsi or Coke was
remedy for
fever.
We had
no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or
cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no
helmets.
As
children, we would ride with our parents on bicycles/
motorcycles for 2 or 3. Richer ones in cars
with no seat belts or air
bags.
Riding
in the back of a private taxi was a special
treat.
We
drank water from the tap and NOT from a
bottle.
We would spend
hours on the fields under bright sunlight flying our
kites, without worrying about the UV rays which never
seemed to affect
us.
We went to
the jungle to catch spiders without worries of Aedes
mosquitoes.
With
mere 5 pebbles (stones) would be a endless game. With
a ball (tennis ball best) we boys would run like crazy
for hours.
We
caught guppies in drains / canals and when it rained,
we swam
there.
We
shared one soft drink with four friends, from one
bottle and NO ONE actually worried about being
unhygienic.
We ate
salty, very sweet & oily food, candies, bread and
real butter and drank very sweet soft sweet coffee/
tea, ice kacang, but we weren't overweight
because.......
WE
WERE OFTEN OUT
PLAYING!!
We
would leave home in the morning and play all day, till
street lights came
on.
No one
was able to reach us all day.WE DID NOT HAVE
HANDPHONE S TO BUG US. And we were
O.K. AND
WE WERE SAFE.
We
would spend hours repairing our old bicycles and
wooden scooters out of scraps and then ride down the
hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After
running into the bushes a few times, we learned to
solve the
problem.
We did
no t have Playstations, X-boxes, Nintendo's, multiple
channels on cable TV, DVD movies, no surround sound,
no phones, no personal computers, no Internet. WE HAD
FRIENDS and we went outside and found
them!
We
fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and
we still continued the
stunts.
We never had
birthdays parties till we were
21
We
rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and just
yelled for
them!
The
idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law
was unheard of. They actually sided with the
law!
Yet this generation
has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem
solvers and inventors
ever!
The
past 40 years have been an explosion of innovation and
new ideas.
We had
freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we
learned ..
HOW TO DEAL WITH
IT ALL!
And
YOU are one of
them!
CONGRATULATIONS!
You
might want to share this with others who have had the
luck to grow up as kids, before the government
'regulated' our lives for our own
good.
And
while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they
will know how brave their parents
were.
P/S:
-The big font used is
because of Long-sightedness or hyperopia at
our age.
BY THE WATERS OF THE TEMBELING
I discovered this cutting in one of my old books... and I became lost in it...
A Poem by Cecil Rajendra
Published in the Sunday Star, July 5, 1981
* for Ong Soo Keat
Part I
By the waters of the Tembeling
where samba deer
and seladang undisturbed
roam where the buffalo
tapir and the wild boar play...
By the waters of the Tembeling
where drongo
and hornbill criss-cross skies
where bamboo
genuflect to kiss the river...
By the waters of the Tembeling
my mind roamed
across our gauche and grace-
less cities-
their emissaries of greed
and destruction;
a flotilla of timber lorries.
And by the waters
of the Tembeling
I sat down and wept.
Part II
No piranha menace
the waters
of the Tembeling
but sharks
with buzz-saw teeth
are everywhere...
As the mist lifted off
Bukit Teresek
I saw a once virgin
jungle in dishabille:
torn, ravished, bruised
Used by gangs
of loggers, she lay in
tatters, while
lascivious one-eyed
helicopters circled
overhead and ogled.
From her lacerated
side I watched
a stream of laterite
trickle to bloody
the waters of Tembeling
As the mist lifted off
Bukit Teresek
I heard the witches'
whine
of chain-saw cutter
Clack
and cackle of bulldozer
cracked
the song of bulbul
and cricket.
I saw juggernauts in
every corner
set about dismantling
our forest.
A cirrus of diesel
hovered like a vulture
waiting to take over
this land and its people.
No piranha menace
the waters
of the Tembeling
but sharks
with buzz-saw teeth
are everywhere...
A Poem by Cecil Rajendra
Published in the Sunday Star, July 5, 1981
* for Ong Soo Keat
By the waters of the Tembeling
where samba deer
and seladang undisturbed
roam where the buffalo
tapir and the wild boar play...
By the waters of the Tembeling
where drongo
and hornbill criss-cross skies
where bamboo
genuflect to kiss the river...
By the waters of the Tembeling
my mind roamed
across our gauche and grace-
less cities-
their emissaries of greed
and destruction;
a flotilla of timber lorries.
And by the waters
of the Tembeling
I sat down and wept.
Part II
No piranha menace
the waters
of the Tembeling
but sharks
with buzz-saw teeth
are everywhere...
As the mist lifted off
Bukit Teresek
I saw a once virgin
jungle in dishabille:
torn, ravished, bruised
Used by gangs
of loggers, she lay in
tatters, while
lascivious one-eyed
helicopters circled
overhead and ogled.
From her lacerated
side I watched
a stream of laterite
trickle to bloody
the waters of Tembeling
As the mist lifted off
Bukit Teresek
I heard the witches'
whine
of chain-saw cutter
Clack
and cackle of bulldozer
cracked
the song of bulbul
and cricket.
I saw juggernauts in
every corner
set about dismantling
our forest.
A cirrus of diesel
hovered like a vulture
waiting to take over
this land and its people.
No piranha menace
the waters
of the Tembeling
but sharks
with buzz-saw teeth
are everywhere...
Whither My Dreams?
I broke some chains
from around my heart
hoping
to find my dreams intact
but there's nothing in it
only broken pieces
which don't match
nor fit together
to form an image
this emptiness
gets more hollow
each time I listen to it
but
I can hear no echoes
I can't see any reflections
the hunger pangs
are harder to bear
than those of an empty belly
and lord, it's dark in there
from around my heart
hoping
to find my dreams intact
but there's nothing in it
only broken pieces
which don't match
nor fit together
to form an image
this emptiness
gets more hollow
each time I listen to it
but
I can hear no echoes
I can't see any reflections
the hunger pangs
are harder to bear
than those of an empty belly
and lord, it's dark in there
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Old Tea Pot
While washing up the coffee pot this morning an old story came to mind.
On a five-foot-way of good old Penang's Heritage enclave, some 'uncles' were having a leisurely tea session when who should walk by but an 'angmoh' tourist toting a back pack. He was looking high and low taking in every little detail of the quaint scenery.
As he got close to where the old uncles were seated, he paused and stared at an old and brown-stained tea pot sitting on a tray, from which one of the uncles occasionally poured tea for his friends. He was so strangely attracted by the tea pot that he inquired on the spot as to whether the owner was willing to sell it.
Surprise gave way to greed as the old guy contemplated making some good money out of this strange angmoh who seemed deranged enough to want to buy an old and well-used teapot, one which he can get from any crockery shop in town for a pittance.
He said he was willing to part with this 'heirloom' for $200.
The tourist haggled for a lesser amount. They finally settled at a price of $150. The old man said for him to come back in an hour's time so that he and his friends can finish their tea session. The tourist said OK, paid him a deposit for the pot and went his way promising to be back later to collect his purchase.
When he came back later he was shown a sparkling clean tea pot. The old man had given the gem a good scrubbing and polishing job and felt mighty proud of it too. The shiny thing almost looked new. But to his surprise and dismay, the 'angmoh' refused to accept it as the pot he had paid the deposit for.
'No, no no...' he said. 'That's not the teapot I wanted. The one I wanted was a real antique and brown in color with tea-stains all over. I don't want one that is cleaned and polished! It's of no value to me. Now give me the one I wanted or give me back my deposit!'
The old guy reluctantly returned his deposit.
Hence, I'm told, to this day those old uncle tea drinkers don't polish their teapots. They just throw out the used tea leaves and rinse them out.
On a five-foot-way of good old Penang's Heritage enclave, some 'uncles' were having a leisurely tea session when who should walk by but an 'angmoh' tourist toting a back pack. He was looking high and low taking in every little detail of the quaint scenery.
As he got close to where the old uncles were seated, he paused and stared at an old and brown-stained tea pot sitting on a tray, from which one of the uncles occasionally poured tea for his friends. He was so strangely attracted by the tea pot that he inquired on the spot as to whether the owner was willing to sell it.
Surprise gave way to greed as the old guy contemplated making some good money out of this strange angmoh who seemed deranged enough to want to buy an old and well-used teapot, one which he can get from any crockery shop in town for a pittance.
He said he was willing to part with this 'heirloom' for $200.
The tourist haggled for a lesser amount. They finally settled at a price of $150. The old man said for him to come back in an hour's time so that he and his friends can finish their tea session. The tourist said OK, paid him a deposit for the pot and went his way promising to be back later to collect his purchase.
When he came back later he was shown a sparkling clean tea pot. The old man had given the gem a good scrubbing and polishing job and felt mighty proud of it too. The shiny thing almost looked new. But to his surprise and dismay, the 'angmoh' refused to accept it as the pot he had paid the deposit for.
'No, no no...' he said. 'That's not the teapot I wanted. The one I wanted was a real antique and brown in color with tea-stains all over. I don't want one that is cleaned and polished! It's of no value to me. Now give me the one I wanted or give me back my deposit!'
The old guy reluctantly returned his deposit.
This Old Mango Tree
will not just lay down
nor whither off
and die
without trying to live
yet another season
another burst of new leaves
fresh blooms
slowly turning into fruits
still providing oxygen
and still offer
what limited shade
it could give
for some random cars
to park beside
it still stands
steadfastly
strong
and steady
never willing
to give up...
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