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I'm Joel Mo Jiaming. Born in 1986, 22nd July. Speaking about birthdays when I say 'it's alright' or 'anything's fine', don't take my word for it. What I really meant was 'get me ANYTHING nice and expensive, it's FINE if you get broke, I don't really care. Hah. Kidding duh.
Occupation? Defending Singapore from the scum of the universe. I rule the battlefield with my trusty telephone! NO COMMS NO WAR! RAHH
I believe in JESUS, the one true saviour. No witty comment needed here, cuz just mentioning his name is already oh so cool.
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I don't really have anything to showcase now. But don't worry this part HERE is still under construction. I promise i'll work hard and earn myself the right to wear Mabel's cool shirt. (:
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Monday, July 11, 2005

I must have been feeling particularly gutsy. "Pee-ew! You smell like the dump on the tenth day of a record-breaking heat wave."

I admit that it's not something I would say to Attila the Hun during a pre-battle sword-sharpening ceremony. But it was just my buddy Bart, and I was certain the Huns were busy causing trouble elsewhere.

"Pee-ew! You have bad breath," I repeated.

When the telephone rang that evening, the last voice I expected to greet me was that of Bad Breath Bart. "How's it going, Happy Guy? Personally, I'm feeling stupendous," he said. "Want to guess why?"

"You just won a free backstage pass to Beatles reunion concert?"

"Say...that sounds like fun. I would love to see John playing live again," he replied. "But that's not why I feel stupendous."

"OK, I give up. Why do you feel stupendous?"

"Because I just discovered an easy cure to stop bad breath," he declared. "Want to guess what it is?"

"You bought Bad Breath For Dummies and you are implementing every last piece of advice?"

"Say...that sounds like a good idea," Bad Breath Bart said. "But that's not how I'm stopping my bad breath. My plan is even simpler. I covered it up."

"Covered what up?"

"My breath, or course" he replied with unusual cheer.

"Bart, covering up your breath won't work. Since the dawn of time, people have been trying to cover up their breath. When Julius Caesar first invaded Paris and raided the famed Louvre Wine cellar, he declared 'Veni Vidi Vino'. But Mrs. Caesar was onto him – 'Ha! You've been into the vino again!' she screamed. You can't cover up your breath; mint just is not strong enough."

"Exactly!" Bart exclaimed. "Mint is too wussy, so I found something more potent. Want to guess what?"

"You've been rinsing again with that sardine-oil sauerkraut cocktail?"

"Nope."

"You've discovered that turpentine is best taken internally?"

"Nope."

"You downed a bottle of concentrated vanilla extract, mistaking it for beer?"

"Nope."

This guessing game was giving me headaches. "I give up, Bart. What's your secret to stopping bad breath?"

"Raw garlic," he declared.

"Raw garlic?"

Raw garlic. Nobody can sniff out my bad breath anymore, because all they smell is glorious garlic," he beamed.

"Glorious garlic?"

"Of course, there are some disturbing side effects," Bad Breath Bart noted. "For instance, my pet vampire Boris shriveled up last night when I tried to share my good news with him. How's that for appreciation! I decided to talk to my plants instead, but they all wilted. And this afternoon I blew a kiss to my wife, and she slammed the door on my face."

"Ah, how much garlic did you consume?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 50 or 60 heads," Bart replied. "Why?"

I had to stop Bad Breath Bart

"May I offer a more pleasant alternative, Bart? Something that won't put your nose in a cast every time you get the irresistible urge to blow at your wife or inspire the entire farming community to picket outside your door?"

"Sure, Happy Guy. I always value your advice," Bad Breath Bart said. "Remember when you suggested I should use a firmer handshake?"

"Yes, you put Parson Saunders in the hospital for three days."

"And the time when you suggested I lift weights to get in shape?" Bart recalled.

"When I said 'weights' I was not referring to Mrs. Martin."

"And when you said I should call my mother last Mother's Day, did I not call her up that very minute?" Bart demanded.

"Oh, yes. I remember. By the way, did she ever send you that money?"

"So, what do you suggest this time?"

"Try using mouthwash with cetylpyridinium chloride in it. That always works for me."

"Say...that's a mouthful," Bad Breath Bart exclaimed.

"That's the idea."

"Let me write that down," Bart said. "Do you spell that with one 'h' or two?"

I was glad to have finally given Bad Breath Bart a 'mouthful' that would actually help him cure his problem...assuming he could ever get past the spelling barrier. I was excited to answer his call the very next evening.

"Hey, Happy Guy. Thanks for the tip," Bad Breath Bart said. "That centlip... cittap... centrap... That unpronounceable mouthwash ingredient you recommended is wonderful."

"I'm so glad you like it!" I was thrilled that he had finally taken my advice without causing a plague or causing any large structure to implode.

"Yeah. It really tastes great," he continued.

"Tastes great?"

"You bet. And so filling, too."

Suddenly I felt an ominous pang in my gut. "What do you mean by 'filling'?"

"After taking that cetilap... cettemp... certap... that unpronounceable concoction you recommended, I don't feel so hungry anymore," he explained.

"Bart, just what did you mix into that 'concoction'?"

"Oh, the usual – ten scoops of ice cream, a cup of milk, a bag of chocolate chips, half a banana, some corn flakes, a pinch of a wombat's earlobe hair and some leftover grenadine," he replied.

"But how would that stop your bad breath."

"Oops. I also added that ceptip... cetpen... certrip... that unpronounceable ingredient you recommended," he added. "It really tasted yummy."

It was at that moment that my wife entered the room. "Honey, I just made you one of your favorite banana-strawberry milkshakes," she said with a smile.

I looked suspiciously at the glass she placed in my hand. I cringed as I turned it from side to side. I looked all around it.

"Whatever are you searching for," she demanded.

I knew she would not believe me. "Chocolate chips, corn flakes, grenadine and a pinch of a wombat's earlobe hair."

"Don't be silly," she chided. "You know we don't stock corn flakes and more. They give you bad breath."

10:47 PM