So, as I spent yesterday afternoon at the friendly local AMK library breaking one of the greatest rules of idiom-ism – namely, judging books by their covers – I couldn’t help but come to two conclusions.
One, is that whoever came up with that idiom obviously did not have the pleasure of perusing many books. Conspiracy theory, sordid romance, and witty tongue-in-cheek feminist novels can all be judged by their covers. Trust me.
And two, Agatha Christie is still the queen (of mystery). And since I have virtually read all of her books save for an obscure few, I shall have to resign myself to a life of second-rate mystery until I manage, if ever, to stumble upon something as good again. Suggestions, anyone?
On the topic of mystery, I can’t get by without due mention of Mas Selamat and the slew of theories as to his escape and whereabouts – some of which would probably lead to my own arrest if mentioned here. That being said, the worst thing that has come out of this incident so far is the March 2nd issue of The New Paper where they photoshopped (badly, may I add) his face into various permutations, not least of which included him looking like he really wants to be James Bond. They’re cheesier than Pizza Hut’s Stuffed-Crust Pizza. And my joke. Combined.
And on the topic of jokes, Man U lost to Portsmouth in a match where ridiculous refereeing was compounded with an unbelievable number of almost-goals. My heart mourns for the passing of the Treble. Boohoooooooooooo.