the scythe has swung yet again.
(Wednesday, August 31, 2005)This great evil - where's it come from?
How'd it steal into the world?
What seed, what root did it grow from?
Who's doing this?
Who's killing us, robbing us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of what we might have known?
Does our ruin benefit the earth, aid the grass to grow and the sun to shine?
Is this darkness in you, too?
Have you passed through this night?
Death swung his scythe at Juliet this morning.
her demise caught me way off guard and i didn't know what to do. tied down by a myriad of confusion, i went out for a walk about 4 in the morning to get the cloud off my mind. it did little help to dilute the pain in my chest. in fact, it hurls more agony rather contentment in the end.
in the end, i resort to explosion in the sky, melancholic tones punturing through the frozen morning silent mist.
it can't be undone now. i can only mourn for as long as i can.
black is nice.
()i had dinner with a few women at least 10 years older than me. they left cause one had to go home, one had to look after her son, one didn't wanna go home but the place is closing down even though she owns it, and the other had to work. pathetic. random stangers you pick up in restaurants are very entertaining.
we didn't really drink but miraculously i managed to get myself fuck wasted at 9/10/11, bahhhhh, i can't remember. teoh, as usual became the vigilante and rescued me. it was a little too late cause i already sober up by then.
at 12, we were trying to figure out a nice place with aircond so we don't get our asses near to mamak. finally, we went to a fucking quiet place in eastin hotel. unfortunately, Rush, a club nearby is THE HANGOUT place (or so they say) for the hippiest chinese in town. the fucking most hippiest chinese in town has no taste whatsoever in fashion and colours. it was so colourful, john and i was fucking blinded by a entourage of colour, he almost slammed onto them. he wanted to and i wanted to but our sense of logic got the best of us instead. they were fugly.
black people rock. word.
the national day issue.
(Monday, August 29, 2005)the national day is 2 days away. merdeka. i don't understand why you can't say independence day instead of merdeka. not one person i met can justify that. actually, it's more like independance cause everyone's gonna be in a dance club, drinking and partying. if the prime minister was a few years younger, he'd give it a fuck all and went clubbing too.
as a result of the contemporary culture, made believe to be a shameful cul de sac religion by the elders, my beloved country has double up an intense propaganda to make us love our country more by making us sing the national anthem. in public areas. national anthem champaign. we're cool and all but singing the national anthem while you're way off the hook isn't the way to pay respect to your country. in my opinion, the pathetic attempt to draw public attention failed drastically.
***
then again, public holidays on wednesday or anything at the middle of the week is an acrimony rather than a blessing. wednesday is the most fucking productive day of the week, monday and tuesday is just a fucking warm up and the rest of the days you're working is just cooling down period for the weekend. if you have wednesday off, you might as well take the whole fucking week.
there's no proper way to reconcile back to your work cause you know by mid-week, you'll be singing along with 50 cents' in the club while sipping JD at the corner of a bar, desperately trying to take someone home and hump yourself silly. come to think of it, there's a chance that you'll be sipping whiskey bandung while listening to your favorite homies singing the national anthem in a god-forsaken dodgy mamak while desperately trying to hump a stray k9.
***
this year's national day celebration?
already i've stocked the house with a few dozens toilet papers. fucking dye the toilet papers red, blue, yellow and white just for the sake of that whole patriotism and nationalism as a fucking camouflouge. then i'm gonna channel all my sense of art (also known as belligerence towards the country) by hooking up colourful decoratives on the tree, just like christmas but a little impromptu and taaa daa, you get a fucking tree with the national flag's colour. you need some riot to spice up your life...anyone interested, call me...
more junk for the obese schizoid
(Saturday, August 27, 2005)i'm so bored, for the past hour, i setup a toe wiggle competition between my left and right foot. obviously the leftie won. righties are buncha wankers. proves that more than 80% of the worldwide population are wankers. but we do know that don't we? now i'm a bane to all righties, by noon, a group of special-ops (righties) will jump out of a sliding door van with a pantyhose on the faces attempt to masquerade their pathetic provocating appearance and kidnap me so they can torture the shit out of the poor soul and and slowly hack away my organs while i'm watching them in order to regain retribution.
however, the post is not about the details regarding the aforementioned battle between the toes, no. the method is too knotty to be explained. there's no way to go through it briefly. the whole process will make relativity theory sounds like ABC.
this is the 300th post by the way. and still nobody reads this shit. tomorrow i have to grovel my friends re-visit my site so that i'll probably get meself 45,000 hits on a day. i would prefer to resort to bribing or blackmailing. the way of the thug is nontheless more effective subterfudge.
the 300th post special. the avant garde moments of the film industry (or rather the films that i have watched)
Carigula and Kids: the whole movie is a moment
Cruel Intentions: sarah michelle french selma blair and while their part, there was this thread of sliver in between their lips. that's fucking disgusting.
Along Came Polly: ben stiller gets a face wash from a fat sweaty man's tummy which he way playing basketball with. the fat bloke just slide his sweaty tits and tummy on ben's face.
There's Something About Mary: ben stiller's penis got stuck in between his zipper and then the whole fucking country came over to show some concern.
Black Hawk Down: this soldier's thumb got shot off while he tried to pick up his gun which slipped.
Terminator 2: Arnold saying "Hastalavista, baybeh" before he blows the other dude up.
The Godfather: When Marlon Brando says "i'll make him and offer he couldn't refuse" to this film producer (Jack Woltz) that refuses to cast his god son (Johnny Fontane) in his new movie. then the next thing Jack Woltz know, he woke up with his most precious horse's bleeding head on his bed. instant classic.
Van Wilder: Guy drinking a whole cup of dog cum.
Trainspotting: instead of their private sextape Gail and Tommy ended up with Greatest Football Moments because Renton took and replaced it with the footie video. definately a moment there.
Pulp Fiction: John Travolta accidentally blew up guy's head and painted the rear windshield with his brains. then they had to clean it up. hahahahaha
Sin City: Bruce Willis shot the child kidnapper on the dick.
Matrix: Neo answering a phone call that came from a courier package. the phone looks so good, till today.
Titanic: guy hitting the fan of the ship of the before falling into the sea. i had to go through 3 hours of misery for that quarter second scene.
Underworld: Kate Beckinsale cornered by werewolves and she stunningly blew a raunchy hole on the concrete floor to escape. if that ain't great, i don't know what is...
Starwars: "Luke, i am your father..."
Japanese Porn: the girls.
decorate yourself with taglines
(Thursday, August 25, 2005)during the most unbelievable long rain it seems everything upside down can be re-furnished.
fuck-ups is on vacation and the grumpy grandma is quiet. actually my grandma left and i didn't know till a few days after.
the drops of rain re-decorates everything anew again.
some dog came into my house for shelter from the rain, so sorry i had to push the bugger out. i don't want some dumbo k9 to go barking and chasing my cat tomorrow. it smells bad, now i have to take another round of bath. dogs smells funny.
dignity armageddon
(Monday, August 22, 2005)some irresponsible rotten idiot (i presume) had accidentally smashed my car number plate. one piece of it is gone. the lad has to be a genius because my bumper looks fine. the result of the 15 minute preliminary endeavor to look for any form of scratches was negative. nothing. the parameters of the bumper looks pretty fucking fine so far. either he's so good, he only manages to smash onto my number plate or he's a bloke with a shitload of luck or maybe i ran onto something, which is highly unlikely cause i don't feel a thing. it was still there this morning when i went off to work.
on the other hand, i am feeling partly disinteragrated now. hell yeah, i'm half ill for about a week already. borderline sickness, i call it. not severe enough to put you out for days but docile enough to interfere with the daily routine.
the mathematical equation for lousy weak-ass sick fucks:
fucked up knee + headache + sore eyes + drowsy + nauseous + occasion barfing = a little sick.
other than the fucked up knee, i've got all the symptoms for pregnancy. isn't that grotesquely assuring? i'm pretty fucking sure i'm not pregnant but i think that amazing doctor near my place will think otherwise. what, you think you can't get pregnant now? stop being a stereotypical ass. in our previous encounter, he thinks that i was a girl, i shit you not.
Vic came over to fetch some rubbish after work and i smelled like a girl cause that dumb ass myn wee sprayed me with dior ladies' perfume at klcc today. never in my life i intend to smell like a peach, ever. even if nicole kidman and natalie imbruglia both wants to hump me silly if i smell like that. no fucking way. so i asked vic to meet me at the basketball park so i don't smell like i was in a playmate mosh pit.
dammit that Vic actually brought her running shoes along so we can jog a couple of laps. so we ran for 2 laps until my stomach felt like a razor ran through it and i started throwing up. bet it wasn't the bouncy D-cup set of tits. so Vic was rubbing her hands along my spine to help me puke the fucking intestines and lunch and breakfast out and the first remark she made was with impudence sying, why the fuck in the world you smell like a pussy? instead of the cliche are you fucking ok, dude? she just sat there laughing while looking at me pathetically choke on my puke.
they rock ass.
(Saturday, August 20, 2005)2000.
G gave me the cd. more like i took it and i never want to give it back. pirated cd actually. poor thing was left on my table for months making friends with roaches and dust. that yellow song is overplayed by the stupid radio stations and it annoys the fuck out of me. look at the stars, look how they shine for you...the moron that lives next to me in the dorm plays the song (in this case, his raw attempted version of it) with his banged up guitar. it was unholy, or whatever fit the description, to me he should be shot like a pig. no wonder his girlfriend dumped him shortly after. i'm suprised it took longer than expected. sadistic loser.
after whole Yellow hype died, and due to lack of companionship at 4 in the morning to accomodate my optimal working period, plus deficiency in cash flow to get perpetually drunk, which led to a fucking gargantuan pressure avalanche landing on me at that moment, it was down to coldplay or pornography. nonetheless, i chose coldplay since the porn i watched the night before and naked fat old lady doesn't even turn my dog on. or rather that sadistic loser bloke.
Parachute is eloquently the best late night/early morning companion you'll ever get. i've been working late with them for more than 4 years now i think. and to say that i just bought the original album yesterday is blasphemy. people like me should be crucified. or tortured.
she robbed me.
(Friday, August 19, 2005)[update]
North Port, Klang
more pictures in my photoblog.
[/update]
***
Read this shit if you have an iPod or iPod mini.
check out what's written in red and don't get caught with your pants on your knees.
fuck all. i lost a bet. tsk.
***
anyway, for some twisted reason, Jenny thought my brithday was yesterday. the poor thing sent a messaeg and it goes a little something like someone remember today is someone's birthday. so someone wanna wish that someone happy birthday and may all that someone's dreams come true. happy hatching day, someone. wow. guess i went a little overboard on the birthday date thing. it was 4 months late but yeah, she did remember after all.
and ted, the other part of my favorite couple, called last week to check whether i could make it to a private party in Zouk, Singapore next week. free flow, mind you. dush dush dush dush. bloody hell, all these silly invitation comes right after i told him i'm catching a breath from the sea of alcohol for as long as i can.
truth is, giving yourself a particular period is silly cause all these good shit comes right after you announce your retirement, dude there's this friend of mine is having a private bachelor party with strippers or dude, my uncle's dog got this huge wine cellar and he's outta town for the weekend or ma' homeboy's got this swimming pool filled with whiskey and some playmates are going over for a photoshoot. everyone's got something going on after you told them you quit. what the fuck? anyway, ted drinks like a whale, and won't be fucked till about the final drop, so if ted wants to go drinking, you follow. THE FUCKING PROBLEM IS MY PASSPORT EXPIRED/died/cannot use/fucked, nooooooooooooo! imagine, you can just put your head on the tap and ask the bartender to turn on the tap. Gulp, Gulp, Gulp. i know it's a sign from Up-there that i need to work harder than usual to get some good drink this time 'round.
download
(Tuesday, August 16, 2005)
Damn Dirty Apes' Charlie Live Video
got this a few years back. dda at their best, i'd say. everything went downhills after that.
(Monday, August 15, 2005)
if yoda, einstein, newton, ford, wright bros, plato is in a room with larry flynt looks like a cactus in a sea of ducks, i certainly feel no lesser in that awkward avalanche larry flynt felt. they shoved me in a room for 8 hours with muthafucking with a bunch of sensational brainy engineers, you know the one that you normally mock in high school? brainstormin session they call it, to fucking chart out a new system for themselves. i'd call it a repeat of kurt kobain's rape me over and over again.
the problem is, they do give a fuck all about everything. i mean every fucking single thing. every fucking thing is done to cater for the welfare of everybody.
everything is taken into consideration. the toilet paper's pattern has to be politically correct so it doesn't allow any racism misfit, there's a hand moisturizer next to the tap which the odor fragrance is taken into consideration, the floor's tiles has to match the colour of the ceiling, fabric of their uniform is designed to handle the local heat wave, how much coffee bean goes into the machine and so on. everything i fucking said, it is fucking true, i muthafucking shit you not. oh, their toilet looks better than ones in any local bar.
the rainy sunday.
(Sunday, August 14, 2005)bleep! bleep!
it's raining!
the sms came and faster than that cartoon road runner thing, i dragged my lazy ass to peep at the window. it wasn't raining, yet. the lightning and thunder started. soon. i waited for 2 minutes, and eventually i gave a fuck all, and went back to sleep. (of course i replied the message but i can't remember what i fucking wrote, J)
it started raining after i fell asleep. how pathetic.
midnight gray.
(Saturday, August 13, 2005)
i hope you'll like it. because my creativity only goes so far. still hooked to the book so i won't be going out much for anything.
except for nicole kidman. period.
not even one
(Friday, August 12, 2005)everyone, and every lover whos lovers gone,
it's a soothing delight, and it's smoothing my life...
due to some loatheful vermin of such annoyance that makes it completely impossible to reconcile in peaceful sleep, i'm painfully awake at the hours where owls come out for their rat buffet if they still perform such violent routine, if ever.
cooperating me with grotesque emotion like rage, anger and agony is downright wrong. i'm merely pissed. however, if i have the grandeur of a some firearms, i strongly vouch that it would be an adversity to not blow off my room completely, save the computer and the liquors which i hold so dearly. but i didnt. so braving through the immense displeasure wasn't a choice, it was a must, unless of course, i could travel a mere few steps to get the insect repellent, which i doubtfully refuse. it isn't entirely their fault.
more appropriately, it wasn't just that.
the parallel stunt which has been messing with my head, or should i say sleep, is that an attraction has formed in my veins. a love. a chemistry. a bond so strong, no glue in the world would ever match up to, no force in modern world could break it apart. subconsciously knowing the time, i'll wake up at the most obscene hours to get a dosage, a few glimpse would do just fine.
ladies and gentlemen, i am officially hooked to a book like no other. hustler is not a book, mind you, it's a porn magazine. the brits has got medieval sense of humour, a default talent the rest of the world lacks. unfortunate circumstances such as the language interpretation, time and others disallow me to continue our romance at full-scale so i could get on with my so-called-interesting-life as soon as possible.
as of now, i'll sleep at 8.30 so that i have all the privacy and peace to finish through at 3 in the morning to 7. accuse me of being an anti-social if you don't know already.
the end.
where ma alkie' at!
(Wednesday, August 10, 2005)[update]
listening to: incubus's make yourself.
the best thing that's ever happened so far is the haze.
everyone's bitching about it. don't know how to appriciate it. people. they never learn. my cat love the haze too, i can tell.
let me explain why i love the haze so far.
i'm home. no one wants to come out. absolutely everything and anyone that i know is staying in for the week. at least, after 6 months, i finally get some peace and quiet time to finish up my movies, my books, my notes and everything.
and the traffic is excellent. it only took me 4 minutes to get to klang from PJ this afternoon. i'm pretty fucking certain that the coppers were all conviniently indoors so i could speed up a little in the highway. even if they were out, the visibility is so limited, this time around the automated speed trap is busted too , i doubt they can see anything at all. everytime i go on the highway, i can't resist the temptation to go at least 170km/h. come on, how often can you drive with maximum speed without any worries for speed trap and everything? call that twisted logic, but i can't have a summon that says i was going 200km/h on the road, dad's gonna have queries later on...
the end.
[/update]
i promised whoever's reading the rubbish i litter here that i'll show them some of my bottles the last time i publish a photo of my room. this time around, i map it properly so everyone can see it. if you want the bigger photo, tell me.
there ain't many of them actually. we all know i'm a retired alcoholic.
so here goes.
the room map.
no.1
no2.
those are actually the close up shots. there still some of them lying behind the computer which i forgot till last night. but it's all good, i found them now.
a life less ordinary
(Tuesday, August 09, 2005)oh, finally trainspotting the book and animal farm came today.
trainspotting - the ultimate fiction drug book.
animal farm - the ultimate explanition why muthafucking communism won't work. (duh, you work but you dont' get paid, how is it gonna work is exactly not how they explain them)
the last time i got a mail that's not a bill or a desperate attempt to extract money for so-called-charity or some other attempt to hoax me into a religion because if i don't, i'll be barbeque human flambe ala mexicana in eternal inferno of hell or die a fucking painful death i.e. raped by t-rex with that small ass arm or a heart attack while trying to hump a blonde european triplet, was like probably about 10 years back. they don't send you thank you notes anymore.
the delivery guy was in his best uniform today because it's muthafucking monday, all ironed and smelling better than any ordinary sewer in the town. i'm pretty fucking sure he properly aligned himself so that the lighting from the sun optimise his pretty face and the best side of his face is highlighted. the right side that is. after the angle and what not is perfectly propotioned, he put on his million dollar jovial-as-fucking-hell smile and press the door bell.
Ding muthafucka Dong.
little did he know that mom was having a
so he left a note asking me to kindly call him back with a big 'SORRY' written on top of it. blast, i'm outta reading materials again.
and that's why i'm going out for see Jack Daniel, my best friend tonight. he's an awesome bloke, you should meet him.
yeah i forgot, maybe i'll see Jim (Beam) and Johnny (Walker) too.
any given sunday.
(Sunday, August 07, 2005)upon parking the car into my yard last night, dad peeked at me from his room like any other CIA agents, trying to see what bin laden is going to do, recording every movement so ever strictly, justifiying each action with proper calculation. and it was only 9.45 pm, and he's peeking at me already? what the fuck, dad. then he came rushing out of his room when i segregated the living room and the lawn.
oh fuck, i fucked up on something again. think. what the fuck did i do this time? those porn dvds in my room in not mine dad. it's some other dude who made me keep it there because his dad is a pompous impotent bitch who thinks lesbians are witches. we're cool right dad? or did i fuck up by AWOL-ing on dinner time? YOU guys were busy ok, not me. oh yeah, and the playboy magazine, it's andrew's. and the computer needs to be on all the time to support my download. and i don't know why the phone bill is 500 bucks.
it was said that the illusion of time slips away faster than when you're in an emergency, placing one in no gandeur to hold the precious ticking seconds of the clock. dad just pop right in front of me. i was stunned and speechless and doomed (depending on what i did or didn't do this time around).
after all the tormenting misery that last for mostly about 5 minutes, he asked me to go for breakfast with him in the morning. BAK KUT TEH. or porridge. 7 in the morning cause mom wants to go out to see her homies for some makan and gossip and some unformal discussions about my bro's BIG wedding. or maybe to compare who's kitchen has more tools for all we know.
WHAT THE FUCK, DAD! you could have just called me on the fucking phone right? what if you scare the big fuck outta your son at 2 in the morning, and he went cuckoo like that einstein guy with funny hair that wouldn't be so fun anymore right? you don't need to put in my such disconcerting arcimony!
so i slept earlier than most chickens and birds as they need to get up at 5 in the morning to sing their lung out for fucks to endeavour to wake up in the morning for some critical amount of bak kut teh. i woke up at eaxtly 7am at the dot. they're FUCKING MISSING. my dad fucking stood me up. mom's not around too. as to where they fucking went or how or what time, i have no fucking idea but due to the adversity in that bleeding bak kut teh dossage, i'm not about to CSI them. fuck all, i'm going to finish my movie.
i didn't sleep through my morning did i?
unwelcoming chirps.
(Thursday, August 04, 2005)the morning Deejay in the local radio station, Hitz are wankers. actually, almost all of them deejays in that station are fucking wankers. all of them suffers from this accent confusion syndrome. they can't speak american accent english, but they're trying hard talk with accent because it seems that it's cool (ohhh, fucking look at me, i can speak REAL english!). so they come out with this muthafucking hybrid undefined KILLER accent that sounds a little north brazilian mix with some middle eastern english. accent? - up your fucking ass, wuss.
this other limp dick dumb muthafuck impotent loser in the morning show thinks it's cool to laugh on national radio. he's got this pathetic laughter/chuckle that kills the fucking morning sickness outta your grumpy ass right a-fucking-way. the follow-up after that includes, raise in blood pressure due, heavy mental stress, and disturbing uncontrolable anger. point is, he can suck the livelihood out of the purple dinasour (barney) in less than 2 minutes. - moronic-not-so-funny laughter? - up your ass too.
and the things that was meant to be jokes. it's not funny. NOT FUCKING FUNNY. call me a morbid fuckhead but watching the highlight cricket tournament could be funnier. while others effortless cracks laughter throughout the nation, these 2 particular deejay nontheless make the whole nation want to fucking crack their skulls with their illegal alloy baseball bad. watching their heads being smashed like melons is funny as hell. the supposedly jokes - up your ass where they belong
will someone please kick them on the nuts and tell them they suck already? bad morning shows are a sort of perversion to the country.
conclusion: their jokes, laughter and accent belongs up their ass, the default for rubbish like no other.
Dental Appointment
(Wednesday, August 03, 2005)
I went to Penang with Gabrielle Monday. monday because i met gabriel on monday.
Nikky took gabrielle and me to the seaside at night after my work is done. like they say, all work and no play makes Tom a peeper. we were there exploiting the quiet sea breeze and the solitary till my eyes gave up on me. the only proper outdoor place to hangout in Malaysia is the seaside apparently.
other places are always hot and noise. Mamaks are HOT and NOISY. hot places makes people smells fouls and irritatingly noisy.
picture perfect.
(Tuesday, August 02, 2005)
leaving this place to Penang in 5 minute's time.
should be a long short trip due to suffocating back-to-back appointments.
toohbrush - check
phone - check
iPod - check
camera - check
shirts - check
UNDERWEAR - triple check
oh yes, there was this once i was all the way in ipoh before i found out i forgot my bloody underwears. it was a little too late to do anything by the time i found out. then there was this once i forgot my shirts. and i can never remember the towel. packing for trips is such as fucking hassle.
p/s - can you see the liqour bottles on the far end of my room? and the other far end of the room?
p/ss - ignore my amazing bright coloured dolphin bedsheet. mom insisted dolphin looks better than He-Man. mom's NEVER wrong.
