Chapter 1: Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Twilight Zone

"Why no blog?"

"Why MIA?"

"Why no update?"

Why, why, why.

And then the buddy from Singapore threw an ominous one, "You! You got to pay tax."

Apparently, Singapore has decided to tax bloggers. Does that mean blogging is officially recognised as a profession? Can bloggers put down 

Blogger 2005 - present
- Write shit
- Get taxed

in their resumes and get honoured for their prior learning and experience?

Most likely not. This is the kind of thing that makes HR folks turn up their noses, akin to what reaction listing "Prostitute" among the chronical order will induce. At least prostitutes do not pay tax.

So in order not to get taxed, the solution, of course, is to stop blogging. 


Else, who is going to pay tax for me? Not you of course. You read shit, get taxed nothing. Easy life. So I have in fact, turned from writing shit to reading shit by stalking Life is that easy.

I have been doing it the hard way for the past 4 years. I came to know about this blog when my intelligence unit informed me that Yoda Tan has defected to the darwin blog. That means I have lost 20% of my readers overnight. By Singaporean logic, that is a case to celebrate, since I will be paying less tax. That is why Singapore good, Australia bad.


In reality, limpeh is paying no tax. First, this blog makes nothing, unless I put up a "Buy Nix a coffee" function where you can donate unwanted coins to me. You can be sure I will be drinking coffee while blogging instead of paying the Singapore government tax. What tax? I am so pissed poor that they should be relieve I am not asking them for welfare. Oops, like the joke you cannot seem to find here, welfare does not exist there.

So I replied Tucky, "Me ain't paying no tax. *beep* (fuck) the PAP."

None of the above crap was the reason why I have been MIA. The reason is really simple. I have moved to one of those Twilight Zones in Perth. I used to joke that the Brook of the North was a fucking Twilight Zone (and it is). However, that is a Twilight Zone with merchants. Here, I have nothing here but grapes. And redneck drunks jumping on silos of grapes in hope to crush them well enough to eventually ferment them into wine. When I called my wife, it went straight into her voice mail. It was those situation where you suspect if that carried on long enough, you'll forget you were actually married and had two kids somewhere.

Believe me, without access to the Internet, I actually tried blogging by writing stuff on the sand outside. I reckon that was "non-taxable". Fortunately for you, the writings were gone with the wind the following days. So you do not have to go through the anguish of reading my thoughts during my labouring days for the past month.

Unfortunately, you may have to for the next.