Hate is just a feeling

Hate is just a feeling, feelings does not exist but Singapore does and I do hate this place from time to time - more like ALL the time. I usually wake up in the morning with a nasty taste of yesterdays hate in my mouth, it is a bitter-sour taste that kind of makes you want to vomit a bit in your delicate mouth. This feeling grows expotentially the minute I tries to get a cab outside my condo ( no fucking cab at rush hours) and it always grows towards infinity when I arrives at work (the bastard driver tries to scam me by taking the longer way).

At work it is usually okay, I sit infront of my screen and pretend that I am happy and that all my co-workers are beautiful, interesting, educated people. I try to stay in my coma as long as I can but around 7pm you will find me in a stinky bus ful of Bangladeshes. And this is when I create imaginary A-bombs in my head and detonates them like it was the frickin Jihad of the century.

But seriously, if I have to tell another taxi driver that he needs to take the AYE instead of the frickin motha-fucka-slow-and-congested PIE I am going to crack his head up with my platform patent heels.