.: ShaolinTiger - Kung-Fu Geekery :.

What a man?

Someone who can outgay BryanBoy?

"I EXUBERATE FANTASTICISMS"

Yeah, seriously, check this video out:

Exuberating Fantasticisms!

He's a contestant on "So You Think You Can Dance?"

You can check out his MySpace profile here:

Ian Bernado

Representing the Jews yah...

"BeCWOS I'm the best!"

Keeping that Brookyln accent real.

This is a really really funny story, I guess some of you may have read about it already.

A computer expert has described his astonishment at seeing the BBC's 24-hour news channel interview supposed taxi driver Guy Goma in the mistaken belief it was him.

Guy Kewney - a white, bearded technology expert - was astonished to see himself appear on screen as a black man with an apparent French accent. He was even more shocked to see himself unable to answer basic questions about the legal battle between the Beatles' Apple Corps and Apple Computer over the use of an apple symbol.

Basically it went down like this..

1) Taxi drivers goes to BBC Studio to pick up some expert on technology (Guy Kewney)
2) Taxi driver waits in Lobby
3) Someone calls out Guy Kewney's name, to go into the studio
4) Taxi driver responds with "Hello"
5) BBC staff take Taxi driver into the studio and start interviewing him about digital music live on TV
6) Guy Kewney sits in the lobby watching 'himself' on TV live, wondering when he became Black and developed a French accent.

See the video here:

http://img.dailymail.co.uk/video/cabbie.wmv

His face at the start when she introduces him is PRICELESS, note his answers for the questions are all pretty much the same.

Source: Guardian & Mail on Sunday

I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble shitting.

No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold.

I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know.

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic shit- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.

Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."

Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends, DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!

(From various sources online, although I can sympathise with this, once shaving my ass when I was about 16...itchiness straight from hell, I shall never do it again).

When Bill and Hillary first got married Bill said, "I am putting a box under the bed. You must promise never to look in it." In all their 30 years of marriage, Hillary never looked.

On the afternoon of their 30th anniversary, curiosity got the best of her and she lifted the lid and peeked inside. In the box were 3 empty beer cans and $81,874.25 in cash.

She closed the box and put it back undr the bed. Now that she knew what was in the box, she was doubly curious as to why there even was such a box with such contents. That evening, they were out for a special anniversary dinner.

After dinner, Hillary could no longer contain her curiosity and she confessed, saying, "I am so sorry, Bill. For all these years, I kept my promise and never looked into the box under our bed. However, today the temptation was too much and I gave in. But now I need to know, why do you keep the 3 beer cans in the box?"

Bill thought for a while and said, "I guess after all these years you deserve to know the truth. Whenever I was unfaithful to you, I put an empty beer can in the box under the bed to remind myself not to do it again."

Hillary was shocked, but said, "Hmmm, Jennifer, Paula and Monica. I am very disappointed and sadened by your behavior. However, since you are addicted to sex I guess it does happen and I guess 3 times is not that bad considering your problem."

Bill thanked her for being so understanding. They hugged and made their peace. A little while later Hillary asked Bill, "So why do you have all that money in the box?"

Bill answered: "Well, whenever the box filled up with empty cans, I took them to the recycling center and redeemed them for cash."

No I'm not stealing Pauls job.

Here's the new Honda MPV, I think it looks pretty comfortable with good aircon, but perhaps a little underpowered.

I don't think acceleration would be great.

Cool eh?

This is for all you Asians who say we all look the same

Aussies: Dislike being mistaken for Pommies (Brits) when abroad.
Canadians: Are rather indignant about being mistaken for Americans when abroad.
Yanks: Encourage being mistaken for Canadians when abroad.
Brits: Can't possibly be mistaken for anyone else when abroad.

Aussies: Believe you should look out for your mates.
Brits: Believe that you should look out for those people who belong to your club.
Yanks: Believe that people should look out for & take care of themselves.
Canadians: Believe that that's the government's job.

Aussies: Are extremely patriotic to their beer.
Yanks: Are flag-waving, anthem-singing, and obsessively patriotic to the point of blindness.
Canadians: Can't agree on the words to their anthem, when they can be bothered to sing them.
Brits: Do not sing at all but prefer a large brass band to perform the anthem.

Yanks: Spend most of their lives glued to the idiot box.
Canadians: Don't, but only because they can't get more American channels.
Brits: Pay a tax just so they can watch four channels. (or five, if you're lucky.)
Aussies: Export all their crappy programs, which no-one there watches, to Britain, where everybody loves them.

Yanks: Will jabber on incessantly about football, baseball, and basketball.
Brits: Will jabber on incessantly about cricket, soccer, and rugby.
Canadians: Will jabber on incessantly about hockey, hockey, hockey, hockey, and how they beat the Americans twice, playing baseball.
Aussies: Will jabber on incessantly about how they beat the Poms in every sport they play them in.

Yanks: Spell words differently, but still call it "English".
Brits: Pronounce their words differently, but still call it "English".
Canadians: Spell like the Brits, pronounce like Americans.
Aussies: Add "G'day", "mate" and a heavy accent to everything they say in an attempt to get laid.

Brits: Shop at home and have goods imported because they live on an island.
Aussies: Shop at home and have goods imported because they live on an island.
Yanks: Cross the southern border for cheap shopping, gas, & liquor in a backwards country.
Canadians: Cross the southern border for cheap shopping, gas, & liquor in a backwards country.

Yanks: Drink weak, pissy-tasting beer.
Canadians: Drink strong, pissy-tasting beer.
Brits: Drink warm, beery-tasting piss.
Aussies: Drink anything with alcohol in it.

Yanks: Seem to think that poverty & failure are morally suspect.
Canadians: Seem to believe that wealth and success are morally suspect.
Brits: Seem to believe that wealth, poverty, success and failure are inherited things.
Aussies: Seem to think that none of this matters after several beers.

Well there you go, next time you bump into an Ang Moh you should know where he's from