raison d'etre

(Saturday, January 31, 2009)

guys who had earrings are fucking posers and wuss. big time. and i can say that safely cause they really are.

if you have earrings and i hurt your feelings, i'm not sorry. that makes you an even bigger wuss than you already are.

awwww

8:25 AM

matter.

(Sunday, January 25, 2009)

the hype of chinese new year is not getting to me this year. as a matter of fact, i was more inclined to storm into a seemingly dance of joy if the mac that i wanted was released in january (then mr mac hero has to come down with some fucking class A hormon disorder) than me going into fraction of that delight now.

as the matter of fact, i was so convinced that i needed a chinese new year morale boost, i went to buy lottery, simply knowing that another 20Gs will make me a lesser pissed off cunt that i already am. and also 20Gs could score me approximately 1million gallon of beer, and beer, ladies and gentlemen, makes a man happy. period. no two ways about it. also, in my humble opinion beer makes a person more svelte.

so i armed myself a fuck all look and the exact amount of cash i need to get 20 grants in return (apporoximately i don't know how much because i know fuck all about lottery) and walked into the lottery shop. i stood tall at the entrance along with the piercing fuck-off-y'all-losers-cause-you're-looking-at-the-cunt-that's-going-home-with-your-hard-earned-money-you-better-recognise-muthafucker! look. afterward i took pleasure perusing the place, it stinks of greed and expired cigarettes, the people were a wretched bunch. immediately, victory that belongs to me comes at a price, i just want to do my thing and fuck off.

the biggest problem by far is, i have not made any bets in lottery before. never fucking ever. in general way of putting it, i have a degree in fuck all about placing bets. stinker. alright, no fucking mountain is too hard to climb. assuming that i got my degree by being drunk most of the time, what how fucking hard could this be? all that needs to be done is to write the number on a fucking piece of paper, and give the guy at the counter whatever it takes to get 20Gs and fuck off.

today just re-affirmed how much god hates me. or love fucking with me. the counter designated for the type of bet i want to place is not open. i can put my money on something with a 20million return, which is ridiculous, everyone including god knows i don't know what to fucking do with 20mil, so that's down the fucking drain. NO FUCKING WAY THE BETTING COUNTER FOR 4D IS CLOSED. son of a bitch. motherfucker. while i was having this cunt of a time, i still want my 20Gs bad enough that it was preeminent that i shall do what xerox does best, copy!

copying proved to be preposterous. when i peeped at what the losers that is not going home with 20grants has written down on their receipts, they became overly cautious to what i was doing, returning an almost maniacal form of eye language. in the end i gave up. sooner or later, i was destined to get into trouble as there was more indians there than the first hindraf rally. big bad motherfucking indians whom i always am unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of their affection for larceny. fuck that shit. that ain't gonna happen again with them fuckwits.

i left promptly, unharmed, yet learnt a very important lesson in my life - i have friend that can fucking get the lottery shit done for me and i don't need to fucking go to that shithole myself for it. it's good to keep the tradition going, conventional chinese new year still stands.

8:28 PM

caramel cunt.

(Saturday, January 24, 2009)

it's the time of the year again, we hang red all over the house, we go about asking back for money people owe us, and the most entertaining of all, we hang out with our fuck all relatives, pretending that we remotely have something in common while wishing they would fuck off and die a slow painful tragic death, something like ghetto camp death, you know, something of that sort but nothing too stylish like get eaten by a lion, those kind of death is too beautiful, and should only be reserved to those who has done really good deeds in with sad fucking pathetic life.

while not all of hate our relative, but all of us wish them cunts will just fucking die. WORD!

there are some people i know that would actually could go as far as strapping their dogs (fucking retards, i mean the dogs, not the people i know) with bombs and make their cute furry ass fun into their relative's house and fucking do what bombs and bomb victims in a small room do, render an immaculate painting of destruction and paint the wall the colour of roses.

perhaps it's too late to do so, but i don't hate my goddamn relatives as fucking much as it seems, though anyone with an effort to set a few bad apples on fire, not to kill them immediately with it, but cause enough damage to put them in ward for a few days before 'god love them more than us' will make put a fucking sun my skies.

or we can also punish our fucking relatives to italianies for dinner. the food will surely spark suicide interest.

2:59 PM