I was outfield and monkeys were wreaking havoc. They were extremely numerous and daring, stealing our trash bag, the CSM's bread and a few packets of combat rations. That same day, some of the bread I'd brought along to eat got filched by many people for - of all things - bait for fish. Gah. Later in the day, Guohan unlocked the hidden potential of the SAF jack knife - I never knew it had a pair of tweezers inside. Further inspection revealed a toothpick as well.

The SAF likes to drone on and on about security, but I think that one big security threat of its own creation is its obsession with looking for contraband (so it can deter people from bringing in luxury items and punish those who do, thereby making them miserable) at the expense of searching for eal threats to security (eg plastic explosives). Contraband poses a negligible threat to security - for example CD-RWs are no use without CD-RW drives, and ditto for floppy discs. Hell, going by this logic, pen and paper should be illegal too, and we should all be subjected to mind wipes on booking out to erase classified information from our minds.

Instead of just ordering less food from the cookhouse, my CSM has devised an elaborate scheme to ensure that we all eat our food. We are all getting a meal card with our particulars which we will drop in a box at the cookhouse before each meal. The COS will tick our names off a list and the CSM will check the cards after each meal. She will then return the cards to our Platoon Sergeants, who will in turn return the cards to us before the next meal. Wonderful.

Due to my punishing all-week exercise routine, the delirious, semi-conscious states I enter during company runs seem to be coming on earlier. I wonder what level I'll degenerate to next.


I brought the Victoria's Secret catalogue (so risque, it's more explicit than all the local Men's Magazines) to camp since it was going to be thrown away. I put it at the reading materials area one night before I went outfield, intending to see if it'd disappear in a day. The next day, I found that the other medics had already spirited it away for their own viewing, presumably not wishing the patients to become more sick after seeing the catalogue.

Sometimes I really can't stand the bunk. Walking in most mornings, its oppressive air hits me like a hammer. It's so hot, humid and smelly, I wonder how anyone can sleep there. It's bad enough when I sleep on the table, so I don't understand how some people can sleep far away from the fans, cover themselves with blankets and leave the windows shut, and not die of heatstroke. Maybe they're masochists.

I've realised that to prolong the longevity of my uniforms, I can take several measures. Nowadays, I try to stay in the medical centre for as much of the time as possible, and when I walk out of it, I walk slowly and alone (others like to walk extremely quickly some reason). The results have been quite pleasing.

Some people brought in durians from outfield and gave me and Melvin one. They were small, but otherwise weren't bad actually.

Ban Xiong and I bought 2 pillows at Lot One for $12.85. Yeh. I've labelled mine and squirrelled it away. If it gets stolen regardless, may the black little heart of anyone who dares steal it be doomed to eternal hellfire!

A friend of mine got charged for sleeping and fined $100. Gee.

I've been trying to brainstorm new titles for our favourite Local Third Sergeant, so he can rival Duli Yang. So far, I've come up with: Our Poor Suffering Local Third Sergeant, soon to be a Poor Suffering Substantive Third Sergeant, the Self-Proclaimed "Master Of Office", the All-Knowing Holey Man, Top Bio Student in NJC In His Year, the Lord of the Chair, He-Who-Cackles-Evily-To-Himself, the Gatherer of Unspecified Friends - Tan Ban Xiong.

Melvin got a fly in his laksa at the cookhouse. So much for safe food.

Gee. Even the good ole SMM is on Friendster. Eek.


My parents have a penchant for watching gratingly bad chinese TV shows at night. Usually whenever I pop in, I get disgusted after a while and walk out. This probably explains why we don't talk much at night.

The forum letters where every line is a question, and which end off asking a relevant authority to clarify its stand or give more information on the relevant matter are damn irritating. Actually I think all those letters are sent in by the same person.

I wonder if I'm still capable of writing anything longer than a paragraph and still have it remain cogent and lucid, given my recent propensity for short, disconnected writings. A bottom up approach to writing may mean more bases are covered, but the end result will inevitably be more incoherent and disorganised. But then how else is it possible to chronicle stray thoughts and scattered vignettes with no apparent link between them?


Quotes:

[On the definition of subversion] A forcible indoctrination to induce someone to give up basic political, social or religious beliefs, attitudes and to accept contrasting regimented ideas - sounds like the army.

Even those at night prowling, don't go one corner and sleep or just follow the dog and walk. (For those prowling at night)

[On a presentation] When it's time to clap, please help them to clap.

[Someone on a phone query: So how did you deal with the matter?] [Me: I made her giggle and put down.]

Monica Bellucci is a porn star lah... She's got more class, cos she's French (Italian)

[On a film name] 'Apartment Comma L Apostrephe'. French is such a cool language.

[Me: Hello, Medical Centre] I'm calling from the Ops Room. [Me: Which Ops Room are you from?] 42 Ops Room. [Me: Oh ok, what are you calling regarding?] Err. I'll call you back later.

If Shostakovich is playing Piano Concerto then I will go. (they are playing Shostakovich's)

[On an SCGS girl on the street] I take leave, can wear slippers out. Chee Bai, wear slippers with uniform. [Someone: Wah lan eh, SCGS] All the big boob girls are from here. [Someone: All the lesbians]

[On rich people] Wah fuck he got 4 cars. 2 of them are BMs... No curtains. Have sex never put curtains.

Next time when I make it big... limouisine, hundreds of bodyguards. [Someone: I'm gonna employ my own militia. All carry MP5.]

Who should I send for the 50 kilometer run?... Gabriel! It'll take you three days to finish walking it.

[To me] Please do not put your breasts on the table in front of me when I'm eating.

[Me: My friend's letter just got published in the Straits Times. There are so many issues nowadays - I don't know whether it's about oral sex or LKY.] Maybe it's thanking a taxi driver.

[On trying the reflex test on my elbow, then knee and failing due to his incompetence] You have no reflexes.