feeling feverish.

panadol doesn't seem to be doing much for it.
i'm thinking i need something stronger.
the type of drug which'd cause birth defects like lanet's isotretinoin.
if i could give birth, anyway.
maybe for me, it'd just bestow super powers! x-ray vision! incredible strength! ability to make miss singapore contestants say intelligent things!

naturally, the fever chose to materialise this afternoon, when i woke up, on my own time, and not anytime earlier this week. in which case i would've been able to get sick leave or at least siam the fucking daily rehearsals for the CO's change-of-command parade. standing for half an hour at a time in 34 degree heat not able to move, then wash rinse and repeat.
the whole damn day, the whole damn week.

CO cried delivering his farewell speech. it was full of "i failed you...i blame no one but myself"s etc etc.
his wife and preschool son were in attendance - kid, it takes a big man to cry.
and a bigger man to laugh at him.

and he also did the whole "i'd just like to thank a few people" bit and then proceeded to thank at least 21 people ( at least 21 because after that i ran out of appendages to count on and the army has made me well stoopid ). "i apologise if i've missed out anyone so let me also specially thank ... ..." it ain't the fucking oscars, dude!

i felt like running up to him and giving him a buttstroke.

ohshit.
NOT WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE! NOT WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE!

after the parade, went back to bunk, prepared to book out. finished preparing. waited. waited. waited some more. because some idiot didn't return his stiletto scabbard and consequently the armskote couldn't be cleared.

incidentally we did exceptionally well for the saf's performance evaluation this work year and we've got a good chance of retaking the best unit award from armour? guards? whichever unit has its undeserving, only-be-default hands on it. my company's schedule this year is very very tight though so its unlikely we'll be marching in the ndp. good thing, i think. ndp rehearsals are a real bitch.

you know, you really ought to download "da ali g show".
featuring such nut-busting-laugh-until-you-cry bits like ali asking a former US attorney general, "so when is it legal to murder someone" and getting boutros boutros boutros boutros (sic) ghali to rap, complete with hand actions, "i am boutros boutros ghali, put down your guns and listen to bob marley". then there's borat, his kazakhstani reporter persona and bruno, his gay austrian fashion reporter.
you really ought to. typing it out doesn't do it justice.

i had a classmate in primary school, who, up to primary six, insisted on ending his essays - compositions, i mean - with "The End".

yeah.

The End.