Depression

It is known among my few acquaintances that I’m a reader of books, preferring many times to sit in with a cup of tea and a good book over going out any time. It’s possible  that I’m just lazy but that is another matter that’s not up for discussion.

Anyway, from the many books that I have read/skimmed through or thoroughly chewed up, spat out and swallowed, I have come to the conclusion that the greatest virtues that humankind (was about to write ‘Man’ in place of humankind, but the feminist will spear me) can cultivate are patience and tolerance. Once you cultivate patience, tolerance may follow.

There are two types of patience, patience in times of great duress and patience in the grinding minutiae of everyday life that often wears people down until they become an unpleasant fountain of discontent. They maybe the grumpy old men you see walking down the street, the haughty ladies who looks at people with disdain, the frustrated teenager who’s always upset.

Tolerance is a virtue that we often misunderstood. I personally define it as ‘accepting that one moment of a person’s shortcomings/traits does not necessarily mean they are that way’. For example, when someone cuts in front of you when you’re walking. Some people may think it rude, but maybe the person is in a rush.

But I believe that tolerance, like everything else in life, has to be practiced in moderation. It would not be right for us, to quote a newspaper article, to tolerate the actions of a serial rapist, an unreformed burglar, an unrepentant arsonist.

Personally though, I’d say the worst ever tolerance is being shown to stupidity. People getting drunk and assaulting people, sometimes fatally, because they happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Of blindly following teachings that glorify death, of doing things without a specific purpose. Of believing that they cannot be wrong, that it is always other people’s fault that things are the way they are.

Tolerance has now become the byword for tiptoeing around the ills of society.  People are getting drunk and being extremely loud and generally irritating? Not their fault, they are good people it’s just the alcohol talking. Someone died due to sniffing solvents? It’s the retailers fault for allowing people to buy those horrendous things that many people use without killing themselves no way is my kid at fault for sniffing it in the first place!

Wow…. really. It’s quite mindblowing to live in a country where all they talk about is their rights, and being proud of their stupidity.

Perhaps it’s a downside of being tolerant. I think I’m quite a tolerant person, if someone holds a different view than mine, and if their argument is sound, I will respect it. I don’t try to force my views on others, though sometimes I admit I get carried away.

It would be a far better world if everyone in the world is tolerant, that is for sure, but being tolerant to every little thing is a bad idea. But then again, in this imperfect world, it is too much of a bother to change some things.

Maybe that’s why I refused to take offense when some little idiots find it funny to make faces at me during work instead of rearranging his face so it will be permanent. Maybe that’s why instead of filing a formal complaint to the manager  of the McDonald’s where I waited for 10 minutes in front of a counter and no one tried to serve me I just pocketed my money and walked out without a word.

Or maybe, I just stopped caring about everything that the world throw at me altogether.

Apathy, as much as I loathe it, can sometimes be a very effective band-aid to your whittling sanity.

Right, the 2nd year of University officially started last Monday on the 26th of February.

For the first week of classes or so, everything went well, I was able to find the classes where the lectures were held, think I will be interested in the unit etc. Not to mention there was a good break in the weather, with the temperatures ranging from 13-31 for a few days so it was nice for a chance.

Everything went right for the first week other than being almost late for a couple of lectures since I have become complacent after 3 months of working and slacking.

So when it all started, I was thinking, ‘Time to step back into the Real World’. That is not to say I spent the last 3 months going on a trip to Wonderland with the help of a Magic Mushroom. I did went to Wonderland. A land where I was forced to contort my face into the grimace they call a smile and speak in overly-faux friendly tones while all I can think about was slitting their throats.

Oh well, I digress.

2 incidents mark my lack of preparation this year, but before I tell my story, I’d like to clarify certain things.

In Curtin University, your class is defined by codes such as: 201:326.
The numbers basically mean Building 201, Level 3, Room number 26.

Since I was able to tackle the 1st year of Uni without any troubles. I felt I should be able to do fine for the 2nd year and rely on memory power to find my way around the campus.

Well, let’s just say that weeks of Unhealthy Doses of Resident Evil 4, where a map is only a triangle button away in the joystick and death is , has eroded my memories.

In hindsight though, I should have taken better precautions after the 1st incident.

The 1st incident involved a lecture that took place in 204:125. Since I started out late, my memories were further scrambled. Add a severe lack of parking facilities in Curtin during certain hours and you get one panicky guy.

Simply put, I mistook building 204(Engineering) as building 201 (Architecture). if it was just a simple case of mistaken location, it would not be a huge problem. The problem is, the architecture building is a shining example of ‘how-not-to-build-a-building’-type of building. I swear I could’ve designed the building better if I was 3 years old and drawing with crayons. The design is that stupid.

A few examples should suffice. When you take certain staircases, it may get you to the top floor but the walkways are not connected to other parts of the building on the same level. In short, it’s like climbing a ladder to a watchtower. All it leads is to a room, which ostensibly is a toilet.

To worsen matters, the level of the building’s entry point starts at level 2. So I ran around going down staircases that lead to nowhere and when I found room 25 in the 1st floor, it happened to be a supply closet. Oops.

Incident 2.

Similar circumstance, different building.

I have a workshop in 501:430 at 8 in the morning.

I thought I better get a head start, so I woke up at 0605 hours. Everything went well, I woke up and checked email, the news, etc. Problem is, when I get on the internet, I lose track of time. Thus I was running a bit late when I got to Uni at about 0755 hours.

From what I remembered, building 501 was the library, which as events have proved, to be totally wrong.

Unlike the architecture building though, the library was straightforward enough, But a wrong building is a wrong building.

Hiking up all the way to the 4th floor, I calmly looked for room 430 and found it… to be the female toilet. Oh. My. Fuc…..

Needless to say, I was 5 minutes late for the workshop after I consulted a map and ran out of there like a bat out of hell.

Boys and girls, the message today is, be prepared for your uni classes and ensure that you consult a map unless you’re damn sure of the location of said building.

Thank you for bearing with me.

Disclaimer: A work of fiction. Not real. Characters are mine. Inspired by Buck Tick’s Album 13 kai Wa Gekkou. This is a dark piece of work. If you don’t like, do read it and cry.

The scream ripped out of his throat as the intense pain consumed his eyes. The pain was dwarfed however, by a scream of rage followed by a hammer blow on his right temple.

"Shut up !Yo-u damned Brat! Shu-t yo’ Goddamned mout’!!" A slurred, angry voice screamed at him as two more heavy blows landed on his face. The first one splitting his lips while the second blow crunched at his nose, drawing blood.

Johan obligingly complied, curling into a fetal position as the man stalked away from him. he choked back his sobs, so as not to draw his tormentor back to him. What was he doing here anyway with this man?

‘A father should not be physically abusing his child without rhyme or reason!’ Johan bitterly thought as as he gently dabbed away at the blood gushing out of his nose with the knuckles of his fist, reaching for a box of tissue that lay beside his cot.

‘But then again. Alcohol changes a man more effectively than God.’ Johan winced as the sting from his split lip made itself known.

Johan frowned as he wiped the blood away with the pristine white paper. For a moment, he felt he was… out of sync. Usually if his father beat him up, he would cry himself to sleep, not mutter such comments.

Slowly, he looked around the room that he was in. He was inside a very dirty, messy  room full of books, loose papers and writing utensils. An ancient typewriter with a half-written page clipped on it lay on an old desk littered with empty bottles of liquor and ink ribbons.

Johan shakily stood out of his cot, and looked into a cracked mirror that hung from a dresser. A  thin, young boy with messy blonde hair and listless green eyes stared back at him, his face beaten to a pulp, his nose crooked and bleeding. Yet, it felt right although for a split second Johan expected something else.

The room that he was in was dim, the source of light being a solitary candle standing on a compartment above the typewriter. The unwelcoming sound of heavy snoring made Johan wrinkle his nose in distaste, he hated such noise.

As he observed the room he was in again, his attention was drawn back to the half-written page on the typewriter. Brows furrowing in curiosity, Johan climbed onto the seat of a rickety wooden chair and stood on it to reach the piece of paper. Making himself comfortable, he began to read, a lump of dread forming in his gut.

‘Dearest Heart, I still cannot find the answer as to why you have left us so quickly. Were the happy memories that we shared nothing more than a deceitful illusion? All that I have left of you is the faint scent of your skin, the sight of your smile, the tinkle of your laughter. I long to hold you again in my arms, dearest heart.

Our son grows and grows every day, and every time I look into his eyes, I see you smiling at me. I killed you, dearest Heart. I wanted a child so much, that I ignored that you were too weak to endure childbirth. It felt like yesterday when I, this pitiful, struggling writer met you by chance… and now you’re gone…

Frail, fragile heart, I can’t bear to live on without you. I tried to forget you within the embrace of inebriation, but in the end I forgot myself… and took it out on our innocent child. Forgive me, dearest Heart, but I can no longer live without you… may Heaven forgive me…. May Johan, sweet child of ours, forgive me…’

Johan’s hands shook as he let the letter slip between his fingers, letting it settle on his lap. Was his father trying to kill himself? What did he plan to do?

"Dint’ I tell ye’ NOT TO SNOOP AROUND THE TYPEWRITER!" An enraged bellow shook Johan out of the chair. Whirling around, he spotted his father, glaring at him his white wife-beater clinging to his body like a second skin. The smell of alcohol from him was overpowering, his drink must have spilled as he fell asleep Johan deduced fearfully as he clutched at the letter in his hands.

Seeing that Johan was unresponsive the man lunged at him, ready to beat him to a pulp. However, Johan felt no fear, as if he was observing the events from outside his body, he knew that he would not be beaten tonight. Sure enough, just as his father was two feet away from him, he stepped on a an empty bottle of beer and slipped, hurtling his body over Johan and crashing heavily onto the desk breaking it from the impact due to his weight, knocking away more loose sheafs of paper, empty bottles, the typewriter. And the solitary candle that was the source of light.

As soon as it fell on top of Johan’s father, the fire ignited the spilled alcohol and the fire leapt from his clothes onto his hair. And through it all, his father did not utter a single scream other than a despairing sigh and shifting onto his back as the papers around him caught fire.

The sickly sweet smell of burning flesh assaulted Johan as his father burnt to death before his eyes. Numbly, Johan stood up and ran out of the room, the letter clutched in his hand like an anchor.

*********************************************************************************************************************
The investigation was swiftly concluded. Johan’s father died in a tragic accident, burnt to death while he was in extreme intoxication. His young son had escaped with only a burn on his right arm, it would scar but he would live. He would be sent to live with his paternal grandmother.

Disclaimer: A work of fiction. This means that all that is written here is not real. Inspired by Buck-Tick’s Album 13 Kai Wa Gekkou. I wrote this because I was bored. No the title has nothing to do with my mindset. Read it and you will see.

‘Silence… can actually be deafening.’ Johan idly mused, while his  eyes focussed itself into the darkness he was blended into. From the numbing cold that had settled on his back, Johan deduced that he was lying on his back, though for the life of him he could not remember why he was there.

The stillness was unbearably stifling to Johan, reminding him of a forgotten time when he had been forced to wear a full-face mask that was far too small for him. He felt his throat tighten at the memory and gasped for breath. But the air felt thin in his lungs, the sound of his breathing was muted as if his ears were blocked from

He slowly raised his right arm to his face until the tips of his fingers tickled his temples and cheeks. Yet, all that he saw was the endless void of the dark. The touch on his face could have been another person for all that he knew.

"What am I doing here?" He spoke out loud, a raspy, cracked voice that he understood, and recognised, to be his echoing mutely in the still room.

He tried sitting up, but found that he had no strength to do so, crashing back heavily to the cold floor that he had been lying on. Heaving breaths shook his body, the effort from attempting to sit up had drained his strength.

‘What happened to me?’ Johan thought as he frantically tried to remember what he had been doing the days previous. But all that he could remember was the consuming darkness that he was swallowed him.

Johan tried to sit up a couple more times, giving up after more failed attempts. Giving up, he laid back on the cold floor, gathering his thoughts, seizing at any stray thought that made its way through his mind.

It was a frustrating exercise, every time that Johan managed to follow a stray thought, it would lead him back into the dark void that surrounded him. His mind simply refused to focus. It was like trying to scratch that spot in your back that was unreachable, unnervingly annoying and frustrating.

But Johan could not stop since he was powerless to do anything else. and the need to find out more was more than agonising. Time passed as he slowly struggled to remember, but in the voiceless shroud that surrounded him, time was of no consequence. It could have been mere seconds or countless hours before he grasped a name.

"Isabelle…" He whispered, surprised at the loving tone he said the name with, not to mention the spindle of pain that blossomed in his heart. Who was Isabelle?

Johan clawed at his
chest as he struggled to dig through his mind for a sliver of memory. And with a startling clarity, it crashed at him with the force of an Avalanche.

Isabelle the Dancer. Isabelle the Friend. Isabelle the Woman. Isabelle the Betrayer.

"Why am I here? Who is Isabelle?" Johan rasped loudly, trying to break through the silence that surrounded him. "Who is Johan?"

Just as the question was asked, bright lights abruptly lit up the room, breaking the darkness that engulfed the dark sanctuary. Johan cried in pain as he quickly covered his sensitive eyes with his hands.

"Kikikikiki! Wake up Johan-eeee! Kikikikiki!" A thin, shrill voice whistled from beyond the blinding lights. As Johan slowly gathered his senses, he was aware of a continuous, rhythmic thuds that he thought was his beating heart though now that he was more aware, it sounded more like a wooden clog on a stone floor.

"Who… who are you? What am I doing here?" Johan whispered hoarsely, raising an arm to ward off the light from shining directly to his face.

"Kikikikikiki! Who am I he asks! He himself he do not know! Kikikikiki!" The voice whistled again sharply before two more dull thuds that somehow resembled a clap dimmed the light considerably.

With the glare of the lights gone, Johan was able to see the place he was in. It was a cylindrical cell made of smooth grey stone. He tried to glance up, to see if there was possibly a way for him to escape when a shadow passed over his face.

"Kikikikiki! Johan-eee wants to know who Johan is! Kikikikiki! Show it to him I shall!Kikikikikiki!" The shadow, its features slightly obscured by the lights, chuckled at him before two wooden prongs jabbed onto Johan’s eyes.

And all that Johan could do was scream as the pain and the darkness returned….

One of the things that always manage to amaze me is the fact that I never seem to think things through when presented with events that have a significant effect in my life. From moving to Singapore to moving to Australia to starting University, I just took things in stride without much of a thought. I always regarded these events as something that has to be done, so I got on with it.

Thus, when people ask me how did I feel about the city that I am in etc, I cannot answer to them straight. Because frankly, I don’t know what to say. I will probably reply that I have no complaints about my current situation. I have sufficient funds for my daily needs, a good means of transport and a more-than-decent living arrangement.

I noticed a couple of things though when I start to do things for a significant amount of time. I always need to relearn things after I stop doing it, like the way we ride a bike again after not touching it for several months. Unsteady, unsure but moving.

Same thing can be applied with living arrangements. My dad will be staying in Perth with me for a significant amount of time. With this change in arrangement comes another question for me, how did I live with Dad last time? Unfortunately, I had been living without parents for a significant period of time, and thus I found this particular skill to be rusty at best. ^_^;

A few questions need to be addressed. Do I follow and obey them mindlessly, as expected to be done when I was younger, or do I accommodate them according to my timetables? What will we be having for dinner? Who will do what, Etc. These things may seem mundane, and it is trivial, but the secret of having a tolerable relationship between parents and children lay in balancing the answers to these questions.

It is indeed a fascinating experience to suddenly have a person to live with after you have lived a long time by yourself or even to  have people bossing you around when you are virtually  old enough to take care of yourself. True, it will be very annoying when they try to boss you around especially when you regard them as encroaching on *your* territory but what the hell, you live behind one door. If you can’t even trust and tolerate them, how can you face the world?

Still, I am a fairly tolerant person nowadays. I can shrug off most things that people throw at me. Though the monkey may have its effect on me… oh well…

Enough ranting for now… I will have to pick up my dad at 6.30 the day after and now it’s 10.30… may as well sleep. Good night people, and good luck with dealing with your parents.

I have to say I quite despise the way that Social Science subjects are structured, although it paradoxically happens to be the trait that I happen to like the most.

Essays, take-home exams and seen exams.

The subjects that I happen to study in Uni at the moment falls into these three categories when assesment time comes knocking. It is all fine and dandy, but the deadlines happens to overlap viciously. Having 3 essays on completely different subjects due on the space of a week sucks.

I happen to get through on the back of many cups of oolong tea and coffee as well as hot showers to keep myself awake through the early hours. I definitely do not recommend this course of action as in the early hours your attention tends to stray…

And if you are working on a computer and a broadband connection, it strays further into the realm of webcomics and reading of miscellaneuous wikipedia articles you will not even think of… Trust me, I know…. After all, I spend 4 hours, from 2 am to 6 am, intending to finish the essay and only ended up writing 50 words…. ^_^;

Writing an essay as part of your assesment leads to another problem. Well, two of them actually, last-minute writing and going away without learning anything from the subject!

I am sure you will encounter one of this problems when you write an essay. You borrow a mountain of books, read through the subject, write the essay, plunk it into the assignment box and forget everything that you have written completely. Yup, it happens….

As it was, I take solace in the fact that my current discipline of study has more to do with training the way that you think than forcing formulaes and rules down your throat.

Anyway, Wikipedia is evil. Good luck with your exams everyone! ^_^v

Alas, the law in Australia has proven to be far worse than I have imagined to me in my earlier blog.

Yes, you read the title right, you can get away with murder in Australia.

I am far too mad/blown to hell to make any comments, all I will suggest is for you to read this and this.

It is a sad state of affairs, things that should be done are being swept under the rug, things that do not to be done are given too much attention, so as to deflect attention from the important matters.
Who gives a damn if some drunk crashed his car and started an anti-semitic rant? Who cares if some manic person jumped up and down a couch saying he is in love?

The media that’s the one who cares…

Signed,
A bitter old man.

I have always though that most of the things that I manage to cook up in my brain is original in its own way. And for a long time I have found this personal belief to be true.

I am an avid reader of books, if there was a book that has somehow caputred my imagination, I sure as hell will finish it as soon as I can, even at the cost of a few hours of sleep.

There was an author of the thriller genre caleld James Patterson. I was acquainted with his books when the title ‘Along Came a Spider’ caught my eye. I finished the book that evening. In general, I found his works to be lucid and very entertaining. When I read, I try to guess the plot twists and possible perpetrators. So far, it has been 50-50 between me guessing the plot accurately.

Anyway, I digress, the Meeting of Minds occurred in the 3rd Book that I had, "Cat and Mouse‘. In this book I find myself able to read the plot very accurately. I wondered why, then it hit me. The plot twists and plot points were something that I had planned for my writings. It may seem incredulous, but I have no idea who James Patterson was when I came up with the idea. Thus, I have to retire that idea without it being ever written. : /

Without trying to give too much of a spoiler:

His Book involves: A maverick at solving murder cases, a semi-schizoprenic character, a random killing spree, and a code based on the murder victims.

My ideas involved: A very sharp, obsessive-compulsive  detective with a good record of solving murder cases, a random killing spree and a code based on the street names where the victim was killed. 

How close can our ideas get?

I have the distinct feeling that I should Sue the author for plagiarism, but I don’t think it will work very well… ^_^:

Anyway, talk to you all later. See ya!

Edit: Editted the spelling errors, was in a bit of a rush when I wrote this post, thus I did not proofread it before postin. v_v’

I am currently doing the Social Science Course in Curtin University. The units that I picked for the 2nd semester was 1st year Politics which covers Political Ideologies, The History of British Imperialism, Sociology  and, in a suicidal bout of folly, I had decided to take a 2nd year Politics unit, which was International Relations in Europe. ^_^’

So it all comes down to:

Politics 112: Political Ideologies & International Relations.

If you happen to like Political Ideologies (d’oh!), you will like this Unit. It covers the reasons for the rise of Ideologies in Europe after the Guillotining of Louis XVI by the French.

Sociology 112: Sociology in Australia

This is a very enlightening subject if you are interested in looking at statistics. I know THAT sounds wrong on many levels XD, but it is true, Sociology teaches you to analyse data and draw conclusions on social changes just from numbers.

For example, we were looking at a graph which details the poverty rates in Australia. Despite the rise of the GDP (Gross Domestic Product) and some Profit Margin that economists love to squeal about (and I am not one of them), the rates of Poverty are in fact, increasing.

Where does the wealth go? The corporation owners, that’s what!

History 112: British Imperialism.

I loathe to say this, but my 2 lecturers certainly knows how to make a very interesting subject and the driving force of the modern world into watching the grass grow, the paint dry and sand dunes shift. Very boring…: /

Politics 225: International Relations in Europe…

Or as Domingo Chavez of ‘Rainbow Six’ by Tom Clancy put it, ‘how Countries screw each other’. Despite the incredulity of the statement, I have to say this statement is very fitting especially since the lecturer happened to talk about the Suez Crisis of 1956.

The details can be found here:

What is so funny about the Suez Crisis people asks? The Lecturer, a very good one, put it this way. France and Britain were spent powers after World War II, they wanted to reassert their status as Great Powers by picking on Egypt. When they attacked Egypt, the United States told them "Nope. Pull out." Details can be found here

After this humiliation, the French regarded the US as an obstacle to their ambitions. The British, on the other hand, realised that  they can establish a closer ’special relationship’ with the US.

I summed the whole Crisis in these eloquent words: During the Suez Crisis, the Americans screwed over both the French and the British. The Britons liked it and decided to pursue the ’special relationship’ with the US, the French didn’t.

Who said that Politics was boring…

Anyway. Talk to you guys later.

A very Scary Possibility

Note: This is a parody of the law system in Australia, which I personally regard as a bad joke. Many people may disagree with my statement, but I believe the law in Australia emphasises in protecting the perpetrator (ie. the one who commits the crime) instead of say… the victim!

The particular incident that led me to create this parody was this incident, an armed burglary that took place in 2005. In an earlier article in www.news.com.au, there was this glaring line that made me laugh. ‘He (the Police Officer In Charge) said that it was unlikely that charges would be laid against the male occupant of the house (who happened to skewer the burglar with his own sword).

Well, can anyone tell me what is wrong with that picture? Well, I thought it was a bad joke. Imagine this if you will, you are startled awake by a jarring noise from an unfamiliar noise in your home. I assume we will be rather annoyed. Add that to the fact that you see a stranger holding a samurai sword at your bedroom door.

Well, needless to say it will all be an instinctive struggle….

Oh well, I digress. I will now state that the prevalent attitude in Australia is that the Law is made to be laughed at. It is either not harsh enough (to act as a deterrent) or downright needless.

Here we have the stereotypical John, a brash, outspoken young man  who happens to be our sacrifici… err unfortunate character in our case. He lives in a quiet suburb somewhere in Australia. One particular night, he was jarred awake by a sudden ‘bang’ in his house. He went into the living room and found a burglar, who had a loaded handgun, a baseball bat, a butcher knife and a toothbrush just to make sure his attempt would succeed.

Needless to say, John was able to foil the bruglary by grabbing the baseball bat and when he saw the burglar point the gun at him, proceed to bash the living hell out of him. After tying the unconscious burglar John called the police, believing that it was a straight-out case of self-defence.

Tis’ unfortunate that he happens to be in this, series of unfortunate events…

Fast Forward 3 Weeks later:

John scratched the back of his neck as he sat uncomfortably in the Prosecution side. It took the burglar 3 days to regain his consciousness, and he proceeded to cry out at the injustice of being beaten to a pulp in the course of his ‘livelihood’.

Outrage coursed through the press and today John appeared, opposite the burglar, to act as a witness to lawfully charge the burglar with attempted… burglary…

"I would like to call John to the Witness Stand your honour." A slimy-looking man who called himself the ‘Defence Lawyer’ asked of the Judge, who nodded towards John. John complied readily, knowing that it was routine from the tv shows about lawyers he loved to watch.

"I ask you Mr John." The Defence Lawyer began, red eyes boring into John’s startled ones. "Did your or did you not, assault my Client, the defendant, Sir Burglar."

John blinked, then tried to recall if it was indeed his house which was broken into. He grasped the pocket of his suit, finding the bill for repairing his front door. Yep, it was his house. Confidently, he looked up . "Excuse me your honour, but I do not belie-"

"Objection! He is not answering the Question." The Defence Lawyer hissed as he faced the judge in absolute arrogance. Well as much arrogance as a slimy-looking… slime can muster anyway…

"Sustained. Mr John, do answer the question." The Judge ordered as he observed his manicure intently.

"Yes. I did attack him…" John admitted through gritted teeth. The statement was greeted with hushed whispers and accusatory fingers. "… in self-defense!" He emphasised forcefully, unfortunately for him, he was ignored.

"Your Honour, I believe that it would be to the best interest of the Community that we throw this raving, self-defending, lunatic into jail!" The Defence Lawyer declared to the courtroom.

What the hell… John thought. What the hell is wrong here?

"Despite the fact that it had been proven that my client is a wanted burglar with charges of repeated burglary attempts and armed robberies, I believe we should rid society of the bigger menace. Mr John!" He finished with an accusatory finger at Joh, who by then looked like he was on the verge of having a stroke.

Gasps of horror can be heard from around the courtroom, then the courtroom descended into uneasy silence. An uneasy silence that was broken by the heated discussions between the juries, the audience and the rats who was playing hide and seek in the jury box.

"Order!" The Judge declared as he banged the gavel repeatedly to restore.. order… back to the kangaroo courtroom.

"Wait a minute!" John stood up to protest.

"Sit down Mr John!" The judge shouted to John, who complied unwillingly.

"I believe he should be charged with assault and pay indemnity so my client can benefit from this incident and pay me your Honour!" The Defence Lawyer continued smugly.

The judge nodded, a satisfied smile in his face. It’s always nice when justice gets meted out. Then he turned towards the Prosection lawyer ie, John’s lawyer, who had not spoken a word yet.

"I believe that will be fair, after all we can’t risk the wellbeing of society by letting my client back onto the streets." He nodded grimly.

"Ok, I’ve had enough of this sh!t.." John whispered to himself as he stood up.

"Sit down Mr John!" The judge ordered.

"No, you shut the @#$% up! I’ve had enough of this $%^+! You!" He pointed a finger at the slimy Defence Lawyer.

"@#$% you!I am the victim you @#$ing idiot!" Then he turned to his own lawyer.

"You are supposed to be my lawyer you dolt! @#$% you!" Then he turned towards the judge who looked like he was on the verge of bursting a coronary from the language John was using.

"@#$ you!" The Judge.

"@#$% you!" The Jury

"@#$% you!" The Media

"You!" John pointed to an unsuspecting, generic clerk. "I don’t know who the heck you are, but I bet you’re an @$$%^&* too, so @#$% you!" He shouted at the clerk then turned towards the judge.

"I am done with my statement your Honour, Thank you!" He sneered sarcastically at the judge, who was by then a raging mass of fury. Inside, John was thinking I am so going to jail…

The End!