Türñing Triçk

Easter Sunday saw the return to the event called the Sydney Royal Easter Show for myself after a long absence. Such a long time in fact that I could use...

A long time ago...
in a galaxy far, far away....

Possibly sometime in the early 90s was the last time I visited. Back when the Easter Show was still held at Moore Park (and according to research the first show at Homebush was 1998). So it has been more than 10 years since I've been bombarded with showbags filled with close-to-expiry candy and chips. And yes, I was only a lad back then and I definitely recall walking out with about 4 or 5 showbags, 2Day FM one because it comes not in a crappy plastic bag but a usable shoulder bag, and usually a Coca-Cola one too since that also comes in a backpack. Very handy for the young me since for some unknown reason I used to carry a lot of crap around with me.

The Show was always filled with crappy carnie games. The types where you had to chuck a ball at some cans. The classic throw your coin onto a giant slippery table and see if you can land your coin on a tiny little target to win a prize. A poorly constructed soft toy your reward for spending 10 minutes and lots of money on retarded games... as a child I didn't spend too much time looking at the real attractions of the Show. Too commercially brainwashed by television and media, my focus was showbags. The animals and agricultural elements were of little interest to me, especially considering the fact that I had horrible allergies to flowers and strangely enough to farm yard critters. Whether these were actual allergies is a complete mystery but I'm happy to say I no longer suffer hay fever from such things.

The crux of the matter is what's different in the 10 plus years since my last visit? Hell I could rant on about my memories of the place, then yap on about all the stuff I saw on Sunday, actually it is about what I saw but not what I saw. The reason I blog is to vent and rant and bitch about the shit that pisses me off about this tiny little thing called existence.

The single biggest fault was the attendees. The actual people going to the Show, and I use the word "people" very loosely, is the Word of the day.

So many stereotypes portrayed it was more than the crappy marketing team for Benetton could handle. You got FOBs all doing their FOBby things like sleeping in strange positions in strange places, The Squat, the Loudness, the Ignorance (which actually isn't limited to the FOB nation), the inconsideratence (I KNOW it's not a word).

Ugly ass Asian chicks with their boyfriends posing with the defacto V. Taking self pics with their mobile phones in the most crowded of places. Making out. Groping. Save it for later you hormone infested meatbags.

FOBs also tend to be the pushier of people when it comes to crowds. And they stink. A Lot. And they insist on whipping out a giant umbrella to protect them from the Sun while said umbrella is positioned only millimetres from your eyeball and therefore not only an eye hazard but blocks your view. Oh and you gotta love how the parents will command the kid to dart around your legs to get to the front. Which again is a factor that is not FOB exclusive. Trash do that too.

Then you got all the trashy people of Australia bundled up. 9 out of 10 would be deemed deros. I know the Show is now situated out West, but damn it's like all the doped up trash in the entire city turned up. You got the fat ass ugly mums with their wifebeater & trackies & mullet husbands, towing their little 3 year old who also spots a mullet. Ain't exactly the family portrait the Government shows as the "Australian" family... sad really considering that is the typical Australia family. No doubt about it, we're being overrun by trailer trash.

Which is exactly what these people are. White trailer trash. Redneck too. They are the exact same as their more famous American counterparts except these ones have derro Aussie slurs. Right down to their love for crappy fashion. The wifebeater, or crappy t-shirts, which strangely enough are the cheapo $5 printed t-shirts from Paddys. Usually infringing on some copyright such as wrestling superstars. Personally I have not quarrels about t-shirts with wrestlers on them (a few of the legit ones are actually very nicely designed) but these cheap $5 ones just makes you look cheap. Add to that your shorts and trackies and you have a winning combination in the trend of Derro.
I dare say even the carnies are somewhat better dressed. At least their ponytails are somewhat better than a mullet.

And the common denominator. Fat ass people. Not only do we have a both of trailer trash they've also inherited the American fat gene. I am now a believer. A Believe'ah! The media is true for once, we are turning into an obese nation. Really should have brought my clicker with me, there were fat people as far as the eye could see... well as far as your eye could see beyond the mountains of blubber. Every other person can be classified as morbidly obese. Unsurprisingly enough it appears the organisers were anticipating this, for there was a food trailer every 50 metres (I now stand corrected it's every 10 metres) selling food of all sorts. Good thinking except that the truly morbidly obese might have trouble walking 50 (now 10) metres. And due to a slight disruption to my blogging process by the name of Youtube and Vivek Mahbubani and his very funny video.... anyway... The Woolworths dome was not invaded by fat people dispite the very nice smelling and possibly tasting pies there were on sale there. Why? My guess is the presence of fruits at the displays. Though the Honey stand and Coon Cheese toasts should have the fat people rolling their lards in... must have been a secret group of ninjas beating back the fatness from entering... Ah I can only wish....

Props to the disabled and elderly. The motorised scooters were great at clearing walking paths through the jungle of trash.

Props to the people that worked on it. The displays are excellent and the pigeons and chickens and horses and all sort of non-humans were very cool.

And mothers please OIL your pram!! You hear that loud screech following you around? No, it's not a paparazzi crew it's the damn wheels on your baby stroller!! Lube that shit up.

And the midget couple at the cat show added to the mix of strange sightings. Then their daughter popped into view and she's a midget too!!!

What a day.

It's 3:42 AM as I write this... 2 hours ago I lay in my bed trying to return to the bliss of sleep. And just like everything else in life at the moment, it ain't going according to plan.

Such a simple task.

Lie down. Covers up. Close your eyes. Sleep.

A simple routine that has happened at least 9793 times in my life.

Something will slip in if you do not sleep. This routine is broken by the deafening Silence.

I fear the stillness of night.

The Silence talks to me.... No... the Silence answers me.

As I lie there I ask myself questions. Questions with answers that I'm too weak to accept. Here the Silence sets It free. Chains are broken. The Realist. The Silence provides a channel for the Realist to answer my questions.

Emotions. Passions. Each drop fuels It. Every answer brutally truthful.

Stupid. Liar. Weak. Pathetic. Arrogant. Bastard. Child. Slow. Cruel. Hate. Love. Who cares? Who could it be? Certainly not you. It will never be you. Nothing. Used. Abused. A joke. Not ever. It will set you free. One less worry in life, it's what you wanted; to numb the pain. You don't compare because you are no better than the rest of them. You were blinded. Envy. Jealousy. Listen. Listen carefully and obey and shit won't happen. If you had listened like you were supposed to I wouldn't be here. Not like you could ever get rid of me. Open your eyes and look around. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. They've left you behind. Far behind. Loser. Oh yes. Loser. You've lost the moment. You won't get it back. You should have worked harder. Oh Wait. You didn't work at all. Why you will be stuck in crappy entry level jobs at your age. Why did you quit your job? Are you so certain you quit for one reason. One utterly stupid reason. Her? It's not a sacrifice. It proves nothing. Look at how it's turned out now? You were given an opportunity for the chance of a real career. Did you take it? No. Admit it. Go on say it. You were irrational. You've repeated the same mistake. She's not a reason. You don't even have the guts to ask. Hence you are a failure. Show them nothing. And they will have nothing to prey upon. Sit up. At least look like you're interested. Smile. Laugh. Boredom. Empty. Not this again. Watch. I've said it once and I'll say it again. You're doing it wrong. Open your damn eyes will you? Weigh up the options. You're not young anymore. So act your damn age. Take your life back and squeeze each and every single one of them. Prove it. If you can. But I doubt it. F. F. F. Quite familiar to failing now ain't you? 7 years of practice sure makes perfect. And hey, it's now not only academic! Wow. Really proving to the world you can fail at just about anything you do. Run. Hide. No one will care enough to find you. Point and laugh they all do. Tell your little stories. "Entertain". Laughing at you. Each and every single time. Because they are infallible. HA HA HA. Thanks for the ride. That's all it'll ever be. You wish. Not if you were the last guy on planet motherfucking earth. Hell not even if you're the last being in the known universe and all parallel dimensions.

Telling it the way it is. That's why you will listen to me. LISTEN.

Christmas time again and as part of the supposed "safety" reasons, double demerit points for offenses such as speeding will apply from today all the way until after the New Year... So basically every single driver will now be focusing their attention, not on driving and the conditions on the road, but the constant look out for marked cop cars, and any suspiciously decked out cars as potential unmarked coppers. Oh and when they're not looking for cops, they'll be too busy staring at their speedo.
And let's not forget the fuckers that'll use Cruise Control as a way of maintaining their speeds... the dumbest idea EVER unless your car has Intelligent Cruise Control equipped. During a time when no one pays attention, there's bound to be lots of random braking as suspicious vehicles drive by etc, so having your cruise control on will only fuck shit up. Sure you might brake on time, but traffic is a wave; while you may stop, the reaction time for the guy behind you is less and he might not stop, and so on, until it chains it way down to the last car.

Now, since a speeding fine will net you 3 points, on double points, that 6 points... And I already have 6 points knocked off, a speeding fine now will effectively end my legal right to drive my schmoo cow and redirect me to the land of public transport. As a result I'm super duper careful not to speed over the next two weeks...

Tonight though, some asshole chink decided that me driving at 60 km/h behind him was a challenge to what little there is to his "manhood"...

Driving leisurely at 60km/h down a stretch of road that declines a fair bit, normally everyone zips down at 100km/h +, thus you'll need to use brakes to maintain the 60 speed limit.

In front of me is a Honda Integra DC5 driven by some chink Rice Boy. Car's got a loud cannon sticking out of it's horrible bodykit complete with a Type-R style wing.
I take no notice of this shit box, and casually drive behind it at 60km/h... as we approach the decline I apply brakes to maintain my speed, and I'm not surprised to see Rice Boy doing the same afterall its double demerit.

Near the bottom of the decline, Rice Boy taps his brakes enough, for the brake light to flicker a bit... naturally I slow down more, leaving a wider gap between us, thinking that dude is a bit of a crap driver. Rice Boy was still not happy, and on the uphill climb, he sticks his puny thing Asian arm out of the window and gives me what seems like a cross between a wave and an open fist.
Now I'm thinking, "Oh, he must have car problems and wants to wave me on to overtake."
Merge onto the right hand lane, I resume my speed of 60.

Rice Boy makes Bad Move Number 1.

He merges into my lane behind me.

Flicks on his high beams.

Then tailgates me.

What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Trying. To. Do. Here?

Being the nice caring person that I am during Double Demerit Times, I maintain my legal speed and calmly ignore my road rage and ignore the Rice Boy With Issues. After about 500 metres, he's still on my ass being a pin prick. My Road Rage level increasing. Calm decreasing. Curiosity Increases.
That's when he decides I've had enough of his High Beam and he cuts back into the left lane in an attempt to undertake me.

Bad Move Number 2.

The moment he's in the left lane. I put my foot down. Not fully enough to activate the Kick Down click (downshifts to 3rd gear), but far enough for DSG's D mode to shift down to 5th gear.

Rice Boy With Issues now realises his DC5 with a cannon can't get past the bigger 4 door sedan. No matter how loud that cannon is, it ain't propelling it fast as it sounds.

Shamed Rice Boy With Issues backs off from Schmoo Cow and retreats to a fair distance behind.

Victory for Schmoo Cow.

Shamed Rice Boy With Issues should be aware of the following before deciding to annoy me.

1. Me following you, was not a challenge, I'm merely doing the right thing and going at the legal limit.
2. I didn't have my High Beams on. I don't have Xenons (though I really should have waited 5 months for my car and got one equipped with Xenons). My headlights are normal halogen, Philips Crystal Vision bulbs, which are rated at 4300K, and although a very white light, it actually outputs less lumens than a good yellow bulb.
3. The High Beam attack you tried on me failed miserably because
   1. You decided to tailgate me. The Jetta's rear vision sucks and your beams didn't even clear Schmoo Cow's big fat ass
   2. Schmoo Cow is equipped with an Auto Dimming Rear View Mirror. Even if you were far enough behind me, all I'd get is a nice dark shade of green on my mirror.
4. That fat cannon you have? Doesn't really add enough power to your shit box. 5 BHP if you're lucky.
5. That little 2.0 FSI badge and the dual exhaust tips you've been staring at on Schmoo Cow ain't decorative. It means underneath it's harmless exterior lies the 2.0L Turbo FSI from a Golf GTI. 147KW and 280NM of torque. Not insanely powerful but enough to shit on stock Integra.
6. The DSG is capable of changing a pre-selected gear in 8 milliseconds. An Ferrari Enzo SMT takes a sluggish 150 milliseconds.
7. You should know better than on the move, even if your Integra is lighter than Schmoo Cow, you lack the Torque to undertake me. If you had a Type S or Type R you'd still be lacking about 80NM of torque. But nope, you had a standard Integra with an engine that produces ~118KW and only 195NM of torque. Can you say RAPE?

Stupid People should know that not everyone is out to race them. And if they're going to piss someone off, at least do your homework before hand.

Another day to visit the good old eye hospital... and as it has been of late, the Powers That Be are hell bent on making my past few weeks shit. No. Wait. Shit doesn't even begin to cover the immense size of this turd infused week.

We all know of the whole eye business, and today for my checkup which for the record is supposed to be at 11am. But guess what? Mum steals my car leaving me stuck with no transportation. No means to get to the city. Damn woman doesn't come back till 10:45. GRRRRR

Thanks mum! You're the Greatest!

Leaving me with 15 minutes to get my ass to the city. On a normal day this would have been possible, but my poor poor schmoo cow of a Jetta busted a tyre on Thursday. All because I was stupid enough to crunch hard and fast off a kerb... thus had to call roadside assistance, told they'll be there within the hour. Decide to fuck that and DIY it. On a HOT summer day, the pavement scorching hot, melts the little rubber strip that give the car jack that extra bit of traction, thus car drops down, car jack scatches door!! GRRRR. And like i thought, the damn roadside gets here the moment I finish putting the spare on. And of course no tyre place stocks my type of tyre on hand, and so I won't get a replacement till late Monday arvo. GRRRRR

Anyway back to today, I'm at the hospital around 11:15 because being a Saturday all the dumb fucks are on the road making life miserable for everyone else as they hog every lane insisting on staying at 50km/h...
Thus by the time I'm in the reception, my doctor walks by, proceeds to lecture me about getting here on time, then runs off to "theatre". Leaving me stuck to wait for the all the fucked up people in the waiting room for at least 2 hours, so the nurses say.

2 hours quickly became 4 hours.

FOUR LONG HOURS sitting in the waiting room. Not even the brilliance of Tucker Max and Jeremy Clarkson could keep me from being absolutely PISSED OFF.

The constant chatter between people in waiting is just down right infuriating. Crackers yapping their pie-holes away about this and that. NON STOP. The constant stream of audible crap flying through the air. The crackers and their stupid annoying accents and the islander looking types grinding away in their own little Island language. Annoying.

I did bring the iDied and the in-Ear Sennheiser CX300 earphones with me, so I could have blocked out a majority of the noise.... but Nooooo..... Because I'm waiting for the announcement of my name to see the doctors, I can't be totally oblivious to my surroundings.

And here lies one of the most pissy thing about waiting. Especially when it involves you waiting for your name to be called. The inability to block off noise. Sleep. Zone Out. Leave the area.
Do any of these and you'd know you'll miss hearing your name called. Wanna go piss? Better not because the moment you leave, is the moment you're be called and you not being there means you get bumped back to the end of the line.

4 friggin hours.

Hospital policy of seeing patients based on priority means no number board ticket type system. Thus YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN IT WILL BE YOUR TURN.

That's what shits me the most.

I hate waiting. The only other time I've waited that long was missing my flight from Queensland. That was manageable because I simply set the alarm on my phone and slept through the 7 hours.

Oh and that fat bitch at reception PISSES ME OFF THE MOST. She's...

a) White.
b) Fat. I'm talking whale H1 sized oozing out of the seat type.
c) She smells BAD. I walk in and it smells like someone had just shit their pants. Then fat bitch gets up and out of her office to hand a file to someone, and it's that moment I realise the stench is coming from her. And at the same time amazed that the tiny little seat she was on can actually support her holy fatness.
d) SLOW. Takes her a solid 4 minutes to make update some patient's record, then a LONG time bashing on the computer, probably ordering another triple decked cheese pizza, THEN she gets up hand some nurse a file, THEN FINALLY about 10 minutes of me standing there does she starts my registration.
e) Reminds of fat bitch from HR of DC where i "worked". I swear that post is coming! It won't be vapourware.

Bitch. Hope you burn in hell. And with that much fat on you, the fires of hell shall burn an eternity.

GGGGRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

Yes I am not a happy camper of late. Everything, everyone shits me. Brooding so much I think I managed to kill a party with my utter can't be fuckedness!!! Brood!!! GRRRRR!!! In hindsight, I should have chilled out and let out the crazy nut I was back when I was 18.... GRRRRRR

Maybe some calming music tomorrow at Night in Fantasia will mellow me out....

Makes me wonder if there is a limit to one's daily waiting ability? Does one start the day with a set amount of patience? It'll be like a taxi fare system.

 "Alright today no matter what it is, I'm only going to suffer through waiting mode for 60 minutes.
After that it's Level 1 of Piss Off.
And moving up additional Levels of Pissed Off for every 3 minutes of additional waiting.
From Level 3 onwards, Pissed Off levels will increase exponentially until I start verbally abusing anything in sight."

The joys of waiting. True boredom of waiting can only be experienced if one has no others to talk to. Hell even some random hot chick will do. But therein lies the trick to it all. One must find the sweet spot of being bored enough to seek out random chit chat and the sheer boredom that makes one totally unsporting and generally a bastard attitude. A sweet spot that seems harder to find lately.

oh... in case i haven't said it enough times.... GRRRRRRR.

Wednesday, my eye was starting to feel a bit strange, felt like something trapped under my eyelids, constantly picking at my eyeball...
Come Thursday morning and apart from the constant stream of tears, my right eye was blood red and swollen... Swollen to the point where my tiny Asian eyes got even smaller. A quick visit to the GP and I was sent home with a mild antibiotic eye drop, which proved useless and by the end of the day I had to goto the Sydney Eye Hospital...

Fortunately when I arrived, there was basically no other patients around, and so i was able to see the eye doctors fairly quickly.

Eye Doc. places me in that funky contraption called a slit lamp:

Here the doctor tells me to "Look at my ear" and while i'm doing that he shines a bloody bright light onto my eye for examination... Looking at his ear becomes increasingly difficult as the light blinds the one good eye, thus I end up seeing nothing but a white light and thus guess as to the approximate location of his ear....

After a few minutes he tells me I have an ulcer on my cornea... Then he does what every patient hates and that's pick up the phone and calls another doctor down for a second opinion... which in itself is a good thing, but what shits me is the amount of medical jargon that gets thrown around... and you can do nothing but sit there and wonder if any of those means you'll go blind for the rest of your life...

10 minutes later the 2nd doctor comes down, apparently she's a cornea expert. Here she suggest we scrape some of my eye off to cultivate the bacteria and see what exactly it is that's fucking up my eye. More doctor talk between the two and I get the feeling that I might have to be hospitalised...

thankfully it didn't come down to that. Instead I have drops to put in every hour, then another 3 times a day, then an ointment for when I sleep...

Another visit today reveals that the condition hasn't worsened, and so it's more eye drops until tomorrow when the results of the cultivation might actually be in...

Note.. that Sydney hospital clerks are horrible. They lost my god damn file. Yep. LOST it. I was only there less than 10 hours ago and the clerks managed to lose my file... Great.... hopefully that won't happen when it's revisiting time again tomorrow.

The worst part of this is? Coming home and logging onto Wikipedia and punching in Corneal Ulcer reveals that if it gets bad I might need a Cornea Transplant....

But worse still is the fact that I have let down a very close, very important person in my life during the most critical time... There's nothing I can say, no apology, no reasons to offer that would make up for it. I won't tell you "I'll never let you down again" because that's a lie, we both know it. Nor would I ask forgiveness when it's not your fault.

It's no secret that I love cars. Hot cars. Fast and Hot Cars. Not some piece of crap like a Toyota Supra. I'm talking about exotics. European Exotics and some American Muscle.

Now then I drive around a few bit. Going to places. Visiting here and there. And more often than not I'm instructed to make random turn offs...

One time it was the Aston Martin DB9 Volante coming up from said random turnoff.
Then there's another DB9 coupe out of the blue in Yagoona...
A red C5 Corvette parked on Sussex Street... hot damn...
The first Ferrari 599 in Manly. And again whilst driving out to the city stuck in traffic on the Harbour Bridge.
And numerous F430s, 360s, stacks of DB9s, and hot ass Mustangs, the eyebrows of the Maserati coupe, the pricey W12 engine note from Bentley Continental GT, the sleek low profile and roar of the supercharged Lotus Elise and Exiges, the Aston Martin-esque Jaguar XK... and I know I'm forgetting something...

Today is one of those days where one gets their cherry popped, the current Fifth Gear Car of the Year... the Audi R8.

"Driving most supercars is like trying to man-handle a cow up a back staircase. But this is like smearing honey into Keira Knightley" - Jeremy Clarkson, Top Gear, October 14th 2007.

Yes the R8 has landed in Sydney and today a silver one was parked on Oxford Street near Paddington.
Hot...

Then what do you? Less than 1 minute from the R8 down a side street is the Aston Martin V8 Vantage Roadster

"The V8 convertible had to look not just good but so bone-quiveringly brilliant that men and women would fall to their knees and whimper whenever they saw even a small part of it. And I’m delighted to say, it does." - Jeremy Clarkson, Times Online

The cutest drop top baby Aston ever produced. Even this year's Motorshow didn't have Aston Martin representing.

On a day like this you can only say 3 simple words... "Thank you Lain!"

UPDATE

A TVR Sagris hiding under the cover of darkness and rain... and 5 minutes later a red Lotus Exige!

After a fairly crap attempt at job hunting since graduating, I finally landed a job. A shit job apparently. Service Desk Analyst.... which means me sitting on my ass for 7.5 hours a day dealing with crappy clients bitching about some shit that ain't working for them and then me trying to find the solution.... Not that great a job. And the fact that the company I'll be working for is regarded as the McDonalds of the IT Industry in Australia....

So tis the night before my 1st day and I figured it'll be good to read up on my rights as an employee. The Office of Industrial Relations has very kindly put up a website: Young People at Work: Got The Job which is a list of things one should know before heading in there.
Listing important information such as annual and sick leave entitlements, unfair dismissals etc... then I hit the page on Discrimination at Work... and noticed the line blurb on Race discrimination. And like a flash of Veyron I realised I must prepare myself for racial discrimination.

How?

By Wiki'n racial slurs. That's how.

I need to be able to defend my ethnicity when called upon! What if some cracker decides to insult me? Or a Wog? Lord forbid a Chink and hell what if someone on the other line thinks i'm some pissed off outsourced curry muncher? How would I tell my habi workmate that he's imported shitbox isn't "fully sick"? especially after I point out my Jerry VW... Makes me wonder if we got any cholos at work?? Most likely I'll be dealing with FOBs...

Less than 12 hours to go....

After a long absence it's time for a crappy movie review

Rush Hour 2 is the prefect example of why some sequels should never be made.

Rush Hour 3 is why trilogies shouldn't be made, and the reason why people go home and cut themselves.

The odd couple theme is an all too common movie device and the first Rush Hour was somewhat good because it brings together two uniquely different races that are a minority when compared with the greater White American (and in general) the entire cracker audience. So making a buddy movie with a nigga and a chink was sure to have hilarious results. Thus the first Rush Hour was a comedic success. Who could ever forget the first encounter between Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan when Tucker shouts slowly and loudly:

"DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. THE. WORDS. THAT. ARE. COMING. OUT. OF . MY. MOUTH.??"

Unfortunately having been through two previous movies, the tongue-in-cheek racial jokes are running low and so with little laughing going on during the movie, one starts to pickup on the meaningless plot...

Sure, I knew before going into the cinema that this would be one shitty film so I had very low expectations and so I was surprised to find one good bit. The Out takes during the credits. Watch the film only because without it, the outtakes won't be as funny.

Apparently Chris Tucker wanted $20 Million dollars before he would do Rush Hour 2. So one can assume that he held out for at least that amount for this new film, in fact reported to be $25 million. And god damn does it show.
The opening scene sees a rather larger than normal traffic cop dancing as he directs the chaos of LA traffic. As the cameras zoom down to him, you see a black man that looks vaguely like Chris Tucker. Only he was a lot fatter.
    
It's a timeline of how Chris Tucker got fat using his $20 Million. No wonder he hasn't done any major films during the time off the series. Mooching off that cash and chowing down a few too many hot dogs.

Aside from Chris Tucker getting fat, there was one other problem, the ugly ugly Asian chicks in the movie. I mean all the white chicks are damn fine, especially Noémie Lenoir

God damn Miss French Supermodel!!

Now compare that with the Asian assassin played by Youki Kudoh (who gets killed in a sickening Cog-Of-Death)

She just looks UGLY. At least she not as ugly as bloody Devon Aoki. Argh!!

Another one just to balance out that ugly that just popped in my head.


Oh damn... now I've lost my train of thought....

There was one extremely funny bit in the film, the scene where Tucker meets the Master of Martial Arts academy who goes by the name of Yu... lots of "Who are you?" funny as hell but not worth the price of admission.  Youtube it or something ;)

Rush Hour 3. Just like the real thing, the first time it you get stuck in traffic you write it off as a freak accident. The second time you deal with it. The third time you just get bored and fall asleep.