Muff's Fuzzy Logic : Making Sense Of Nonsense

Old Is Gold

2012-12-22T22:18:00.004-08:00

To all you old fogeys in your 30s out there, when you flip through your old photo albums, have you ever wondered how you ever survived your childhood, teenage years, college and 20s?

If you’re lucky enough, some of the horrible ensemble you wore back in those days are making a comeback just about now and you’ll be thinking to yourself “Hah! Been there done that. You young ‘uns are lucky that back in my day we thought of that first”

But 99% of the time, your “rad”ensemble rarely made the comeback list and you sigh a prayer of relief that social media was not invented at that time. Because what dwells in those dusty photo albums should never, ever see the light of day, ever.

As Malaysia is always uniquely defining themselves at every corner of every fashion revolution that comes to our shores, here are some significant fashion faux pas that we never want to ever be reminded of, again :

1. Fluorescent shorts. Whether you’re at the beach, playing tennis, or queuing up at the nasi lemak stall. You were green, orange, yellow. And so was everybody else.

2. Shoulder pads. Your girlfriend dances to Rick Astley and shoulder pops from side to side. You get turned on because she looks like a hot female commander from the Death Star

3. Hypercolor T-shirts. Changes color via thermal fibre technology. And everyone knows your man boobs sweat something fierce. You end up looking like someone spilled Clorox over you.

4. The Chicano look. Buttoned all the way up to the collar in a checked shirt, wandering around Lot 10 and Sungei Wang. You were a gangbanger on the mean streets of Kuala Lumpur. But still had to take the pink bas mini home.

5. The GQ look. Baggy, print shirts. Slacks in horrible shades of brown, purple and maroon. Buckled belts. Shiny leather shoes. Middle parting hair. Just describing it makes me cringe.

6. Mom Jeans. It’s hard to imagine that back in the day, our babes used to rock mommy jeans, where the waist was actually at the waist. And, the t shirts were tucked in.

7. Denim dungarees. Bad enough there were mom jeans around, on special occasions, our fair maidens were also new jack swinging to denim dungarees.

8. Snowcaps. To complete our ghetto ensemble. But in this weather, complete with rambut bau hapak and soaked with your peluh and dandruff. Nice.

9. Boy London caps. Why, oh why, did we have to have a steel plat embedded on our caps, on our heads. And who the hell was Boy London???

10. Windbreakers. Mind you, it was hard getting cool Nike or Reeboks in Malaysia. So we had to settle for Forest, Antioni or Schwarzenbach. But we still felt like Tupac. Straight out of Compton. Which in KL speak was actually Salem Power Station in Lot 10.

So will these ever make a comeback? I highly doubt it. But if they do, at least it justifies our age group finally getting to show off and acknowledge our past with pride. But so far, the fashion cycle has crept up to recycle as far as the 60s and 70s fashion trends with skinny jeans and slim cuts. Hopefully by the time we’re in our 50s the cycle will finally reach the dreaded 80s and 90s. And by that time, the bragging rights will rightfully be ours, my friends.

And when that time comes, I hope it will never be a combination of fluorescent mommy jeans. God save us all.

Eat-rotica

2012-12-22T22:15:00.004-08:00

Malaysians love our food. So much so that we declare international warfare on rights to the Chilli Crab as well as Penang Laksa’s rightful throne on the top 10 list.

We love food so much that we compile them from lands far away, Malaysianise them and serve them 24 hours a day. Whether it’s roti canai, dim sum or nasi padang, Malaysians have made it accessible to everyone at any time of day. ‘Cause that’s how we roll, homie.

It helps that we’re a melting pot of cultures oozing with flavors. There’s always a reason, and there’s always enough time set aside to makan.

But lately food has started to annoy me. Not food per se, but food channels. Suddenly everyone’s a connoisseur. Simple pot luck events now turn into Iron Chef Battle Stadium where people around you start scrutinising how Jamie or Nigella would’ve done a better job than Auntie Sally on that lasagne dish she just brought.

And has anyone actually noticed that the License To Grill guy only has white friends?

Food channels are a conundrum in itself, confusing me to choose between eating more healthily with leaner cuisines, or whack that steak recipe from Tyler’s Ultimate. One day I’m out buying fresh organic vegetables and the next day I’m loading four cheese mix onto my home made enchilada.

And don’t even get me started on amateur foodography. But perhaps there really are some of us out there who really gives a toss about what his friends and family are having for dinner on Monday night.

Once upon a time ago, food was as good as the love and commitment put into it. A dash of pretentiousness and a sprinkle of superficiality was not required to make it any more tastier than it originally was. Maybe that’s why Nasi Lemak Antarabangsa never made it as a swanky franchise.

But you gotta love how Malaysians are also doing the opposite on things though. The art of Malaysianising are making foreign foods gerai-worthy. Like how your local burger bakar tastes much better than Old Timer at Chilli’s, or how Melawati Kebabs can run circles on Hadramawt. And who can ever dispute the burger daging special cheese when it comes to Malaysianising the West at its best.

It never amazes me on how we manage to take something and enable it to fit snugly into our uniquely ironic Malaysian culture, and we have never stopped doing it from generations before, and hopefully for generations to come.

But in the meantime, please steer clear of the dismal performances of our amateur chefs on Masterchef Malaysia in my opinion. Aunty Sally will be very offended. Because they got nothin’ on her secret mee kari recipe. ‘nuff said.

Kopirights and Kopikats

2012-10-12T07:06:00.003-07:00

Coffee used to be such an uncomplicated affair. Growing up, coffee was the grown-up’s drink. Hard and grunting in the office when black, sweet and inviting when served to guests with sweet, sweet, sweetened condensed milk.

How many of you have fond memories as a kid of being served coffee as a novice, by only being allowed to sip on it from a small saucer? Coffee cups and coffee mugs were only for those grown up and mature enough to handle a proper drink.

How many of us also remember trying out the tried and tested method of burning the midnight oil when studying for your SPMs by crunching in spoonfuls of Nescafe straight from the container to stay alert and awake for that final cram? I sure do. It was cheaper, safer and much more legal than syabu. And it works, too.

But coffee has changed now. He’s no longer a purposeful chap. He’s lost his way somewhat. An identity in crisis and crying for help. I don’t know him anymore. I still see him around, nearly everywhere I go, but he seems like a distant stranger. Blending in, going both ways, upside and downwards. He’s everywhere, but nowhere. Somewhere in between but lost at both ends.

Coffee has become chic lit, Chanel sunglasses pushed up on hair with blonde highlights. Coffee has become deep muses, buried under netbooks and cigarettes. Coffee has become cold at heart, spun around high speed blenders and Eurocentric. An African blended wolf in Italian clothing.

Who the hell are you and when did you get here?

Yet this stranger in our midst sits right at home. Nudging himself in between our subcultures and pretentiousness. And he fits pretty well too.

Little do we realise that there lies a richer, deeper history of himself within our souls. From the days of our grandfather’s grandfather. When times were either tough or joyous, we used to call it our own. A time when there was no grande or venti. When equal portions were for everyone. When even two words from different worlds collide and created a whole new universe. Malays and Hokkiens united in Kopi-tiam. Our heritage, shared commonly and proudly as far as the regions of Malaysia, Singapore and the Riau Island could see.

The places you’ve belonged to have been copyrighted and trademarked, 53 different ways. The most exotic ways to gain pleasure from you includes being excrementally produced by a monkey-squirrel hybrid from the jungles of Bali. You’ve been manipulated and fallen into the retro-chic faux pas. You are kampong-avant-garde, privately-owned and literally in Bali, full of shit.

I despise you but need you. You’re the candy man in a sickeningly lethargic urban jungle.

Here’s a toast to our Kekasih Gelapku, the humble yet currently misguided frienemie, Mr. Kopi. Though we feel disgusted at the sight of your slutty ice blended attire last night, we’ll still come knocking for more first thing in the morning…

2012-07-02T09:49:00.001-07:00

The Secret Affair I've Been Having With Bad Music

The rockin’ soundtrack of my life never really comes with a rockin’music video. This is because underneath this seemingly manly exterior, lies a Pop Diva.

And I know there are a lot more like me out there. We walk amongst you. Undetected. A side kept so secretly away from anybody and everybody, that even our parents don’t know. Nor our girlfriends. Or wives. And in many cases as well, not even our (gasp) buddies.

But we exist, people like me. Leading a despicable double life. Unfaithful not only to the people who know us, but more dastardly, to ourselves.

Yet there’s twinkle in my eye everytime I ended up having a go at it. It’s a drug like nothing else can fulfil. A rush of euphoria everytime I get a fix.

But it’s time to confess. Come out of hiding. To stand up and not be afraid of being judged, or ridiculed. To live free of guilt and expose my torrid secret affair with music:

1. Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation always made me feel like dancing. And the track Black Cat made me feel like a dangerous man.

2. I used to think Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch was really badass.

3. I could never resist singing along to Eternal Flame.

4. I practiced how to say miggedymiggedymigeddymiggedymack really fast.

5. I learnt how to play Now And Forever on the guitar, and sang to myself, imagining I was singing to my crush. For many, many nights.

6. I harmonize to S Club 7 and N*Sync in the car

7. I had a Ronan Keating CD in my car for 2 years. And I sang to them. Mimicking his voice. Complete with slight Irish accent.

8. I sing duet songs in the car, and sing the female parts as well. In falsetto.

9. I never really liked Katy Perry’s songs. But I like Katy Perry’s music videos. I like Katy Perry in Katy Perry’s music videos.

10. Anuar Zain songs makes me want to love and respect women.

I’m sure we all have our deep dark relationship with music. Whether it’s the way they make you feel inside or the way they move you on the outside.

But as Bob Marley puts it, “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain”

Even if it means clenching your fists like Brian Litrell when you’re belting out the bridge of “All I Have To Give”during that traffic standstill on the KESAS. Let the music move you. Have those sweet, secret affair moments.

After all, Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch knows that it’s such a good vibration. It’s such a sweeeeeeet sensation-o-o-on.

Badass.

2012-05-28T10:02:00.002-07:00

The State Of Our Nation's Creativity

Creativity comes from a conflict of ideas.

- - Donatella Versace

Aside from the fact that some of us may be astounded by such a profound quote coming from the heavily -botoxed lips of Ms. Donatella, it does sort of have an ironic ring to it when you think about it especially considering Malaysia’s current state of affairs.

I would rather not expunge my thoughts on how creatively impinging our country’s socio-political environment is, especially when any conflict of ideas is either shunned upon or beaten to a pulp with a baton. But there’s this nagging feeling inside of me that Donna may be right after all, despite her taste in designing men’s clothes. But what are the proofs of this? In hindsight, some of the most creative ideas really were born out of conflict.

Tiger Beer capitalised on the never ending conflict of warring tribes of BPL supporters in KL by organising one of the most continuously successful and beer-filled annual campaigns in Malaysia by harnessing conflict into drunken camaraderie, and a chance to ogle at scantily-clad beeristas (I came up with that one myself, teeheehee).

One of the most creative forms of music, rock and roll, was derived from racial and religious conflicts in the ‘50s, where this form of music was once even called the Devil’s music. And today, rock and roll has given birth to some of the most creative minds in music. Heck, even conflicts within rock and roll has spawned splinter groups from heavy metal, white rock, death metal, speed metal, emo rock, grunge etc.

Peter Parker was conflicted by Uncle Ben’s death and decided to be Spider-Man. A web-slinging, web-shooting vigilante. Who would’ve thunk it?

Opposing political parties in Selangor were conflicted and now we get free water. A creative move to win the hearts and minds of voters.

Are we having western or Asian for dinner tonight? And voila, Domino’s offers you a Spicy Sambal pizza.

Think the product is shite? Out comes the best ad campaigns for the world to be satiated.

So how creative are we as a nation you may ask? With all the conflicts that we’ve been seeing, hearing and shouting about, I would say by right we should be a really cracking creative bunch by now.

Maybe we are, but we probably settled somewhere in between public butt exercises and making the tarik in space.

2012-05-28T10:00:00.004-07:00

Labor Day 2012

The Evolution of Work

Since the beginning of time, mankind has been cursed to never be able to walk on God’s green earth without the burden of work. Even theological history dictates that our very being in this realm was merely a form of punishment with a life sentence that reads : Lifetime imprisonment, with no parol until….Armageddon. Evicted from a potential life of bliss in heaven, to serve time until time immemorial.

And so it began with our first batch of ancestors who had little else to do but figure out a way to eat, sleep, procreate and survive. Market demand was quite basic, and supply was abundant. And there began the set up of the first 2 departmental positions known to man. Hunters and gatherers. The Job description was simple, focused on specialised. Of course this was also the beginning of the term “being pigeon-holed” as there was not much room for interdepartmental secondments. Unless of course a decline in hunter personnel due to the basic occupational hazard of being eaten alive by a Velociraptor.

Fast forward to the dawn of enlightenment in ancient Mesopotamia and by this era, choosing your profession was next to impossible, as ancient Mesopotamian or Sumerian Kings dumping you into lame positions like ‘giant rock puller’ or ‘sacrificial lamb’ and sometimes, if you’re lucky, the princess’ eunuch. The concept of a decline letter was unheard of, since the head of affairs usually hold the trump card of being proclaimed God On Earth For All Eternity.

During the Middle Ages, we started taking the work-life balance to an extreme level whereby your lifestyle (or religion for that matter) literally dictated on whether you land a good job, or whether your whole village gets burned down to the ground. Word also has it, that it was during this time that predicated the origin of the term “it’s my head on the chopping block”. Somewhere in Spain, the first Domestic Inquiry concept was introduced with outstanding results, known today as the Spanish Inquisition.

And so we trudged along through the Great Depression, a couple of World Wars, the rise of agrarian communities and the dawn of commercialism. At every step of the way with less physical burden on the common individual, leaving more to gain and much more to lose. The 70’s provided a brief moment of communal freedom of spirit and soul, but alas, only for a brief moment.

Today, as we look back at the concept of man’s relationship with the universe, we can’t and should not help but wonder if it all’s starting to make sense. The idea of savouring the fruits of our labour seems to be hugely disconnected and most times, we don’t even have the time to savour the fruit, since we’re so caught up labouring away for God knows what at the end of the day.

So what’s Labour Day to you then, my friends? If you start treating it like an annual conjugal visit within your life sentence, then you surely have gotten it all wrong, and perhaps, lost the plot. As for me, I’d take it with a pinch of salt and spend the day working on my ultimate master plan of how to stop working and start living, period.

And while I’m at it, avoid going to KLCC or any malls for that matter.

2012-05-28T09:59:00.002-07:00

Earth Day 2012

Happy Birthday, Mom!

While Malaysia struggles with its NEPs, NKRAs, GTPs and ETPs, China’s 5-year plan which was launched in 2011, included the KPI of controlling the weather to artificially increase rain and precipitation in China by 10% by the year 2015.

Where do we draw the line, you may think. Is it wise to tamper with the old lady? Harnessing nature’s energy was relatively OK for Mother Nature, since it’d be just like dating the nerdy kid to get your project paper submission done on time. Things like taming wild, hormonal river tides to create electricity for us, capturing solar energy to generate virtually limitless power. Yes, we certainly got that far and it was A-OK, tree-hugger certified wholesome goodness for mankind.

But what if you start screwing around with the whole system then ey? Are we worthy of nudging her over to ride shotgun while we take the stick in the driver’s seat for a while? Sure, we’ve already been screwing with the system ages ago what with plastic bags, cigarette butts, oil spills etc. But those were sort of like running around the house with a football and knocking over a vase or something. This however, the desire to control the weather, or North Korea’s nefarious plan to pull the moon out of its orbit, or even cloning. Now that’s more like an armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon.

If Mother Nature was really a woman, we jolly well wooed her, married her and ended up pimping her for the whole neighbourhood to have a go.

But maybe that’s why we’re going through such crazy PMS-like rage in the past few decades. Hurricanes, tsunamis, volcanoes and not to mention weird stories like a pack of monkeys attacking a minister in India until he falls to his death from his balcony. Weird right? I know. She. Is. Pissed.

Since hell hath no fury such as a woman scorned, I’d be steering clear and way from her PMS induced rampage for now and the future. I could feel like she’s watching as I decide where to flick my ciggie butt to, or where I was going to put that empty can of coke, either in the dumpster or a recycling bin. Because nowadays, it’s like Mother Nature repays you back in cash, just like a pack of monkeys coming out of nowhere and literally backing you into a corner to your death.

Other interesting wraths by the old lady also includes:

· In 1783 an Icelandic eruption threw up enough dust to temporarily block out the sun over Europe. Like one of her no-touchy-feely-until-you-know-what-you-did, mister episodes.

· About 20 to 30 volcanoes erupt each year, mostly under the sea. Like stealthy, didn’t-know-it-until-its-too-late PMS.

· American Roy Sullivan has been struck by lightning a record seven times. And just like foolish Roy, we still come back for more.

· About 30% of Christmas Island is now owned by Yellow Crazy Ants, known to take up to 3 square meters of ant hill turf per day. They got there accidentally when some of the decided to hitchhike on a truck to the island. Like when she assumes total domination after getting a copy of “our” keys to the apartment.

So as we celebrate Earth Day this month, let us not only reflect on saving cute dolphins, or planting a tree with your neighborhood celebrity minister in front of the press. Let’s celebrate the true meaning of Mother Nature’s maternal instincts, and womanly fury.

2012-05-28T09:53:00.001-07:00

Yet Another Day That's All About Her

Leo Tolstoy once quoted. “When I have one foot in the grave, I will tell the whole truth about women. I shall tell it, jump into my coffin, pull the lid over me and say, 'Do what you like now”

Truth is, men know exactly how they feel and think about women. The difference is, we know when to keep our mouths shut. Probably that’s why good ol’ Leo decided that his last hurrah would be a long list of advice for the betterment of his remaining brotherhood, with a really good exit plan for the whistleblowing.

So it’s International Women’s Day on March 8^th. A day when all of men-hood will stop and shout to the heavens, passive aggressively of course, “Wait! Do I have to get her a gift for this one too?” One may wonder whether it’ll ever be enough. From Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Anniversaries, Engagement parties, Baby Showers – there is always another occasion and reason to stop, look, listen and appreciate your woman for what she is, who she is, and all the sacrifices that she has done for you.

But hold your horses, ladies. The history of International Women’s Day started back in the early 1900’s, when angry undergarment workers went on strike for poor working conditions and low wages. They were fighting for equality in fair treatment and wages just like other men were.

Women have come a long way from burning bras. Nowadays, they’re either secretly and gleefully buying RM500 frillies from Victoria’s Secret online, or finding any excuse not to wear one. It’s a different ballgame for both boys and girls out there now. We walk a fine line between male dominance and female equality in these troubled, confusing times.

Julianna Mendelsohn from Chicago wrote to Esquire online that “Sometimes we want to be treated like a princess, and sometimes we want to be treated like a sex object. It’s up to you to know when, ‘cause I sure won’t be the one to tell you.”

Just like those times when they won’t tell you what’s wrong (Nothing).

Just like those times when they don’t really want to know how they look like in those jeans (Or they don’t really want to know what you really think of how they look like in those jeans)

Or like those times that they won’t tell you what today is and what you should have remembered today is.

There are a lot of things that remains unspoken yet universally expected to be understood. It’s a tug of war between men and women that we just so lovingly and willingly participate in, and fall for time and again. For women it’s like finishing a checklist successfully and being pleased with herself. For men, it’s like frolicking in a picturesque field, filled with fire ants and rabid prairie dogs. Such is the magnetic pull of a woman.

She is woman, hear her roar. And on the 8^th or March, they roar in unison. To be heard silently, just as she has when she keeps to her side of the bed and mumbles “Nothing” when you asked her what’s wrong.

So hats off to Tolstoy for sharing whatever he could have before he cowardly jumped in and nailed himself safely from a woman’s scorn. Smart man, that one. And after this article, I may need to think of setting up a new email account and a new identity while I’m at it.

Happy Women’s Day ladies!

Kickin' It Old School On V-Day

2012-02-09T03:33:00.000-08:00

Since 2012 is the ominous year of the ancient Mayan prediction of the end of the world, then by all means this last Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be the standard conventional, pansy-ass, poofter of an event we men succumb to every year.

Maybe this year, my brothers, we should revisit the true meaning, history and origin of this blasphemous event, and go back to our roots of this obvious conspiracy against men-kind.

When contacted (via time machine), Claudius II (Roman Emperor, 270 AD) has this to say, “Back in our time, I did what I had to do and decreed that all young, able bodied men shouldn’t get married. Why? ‘Cause I knew better! And yeah, I also needed committed fighting machines to send to war who didn’t have to worry about writing love letters every night or call their bloody wives all the time! But did anybody listen? NooOOOo. Then that bloody Bishop Valentine had to go and performed secret weddings behind my back. 2 Ceasers later, the Roman Army was reduced to sagging masses of abused husbands and that was the fall of the Empire as we know it.”

Another (anonymous) respondent (circa Middle Ages) wrote in to say, “Back in our time, single men and women drew names from boxes to see who we get to hook up with. Not only did we have to wear their names on our sleeves for 2 weeks, we also got to get our groove on and not be frowned upon! Back then, it was the start of what you people now call swinging! Groovy baby yeaaaaaaaa!”

Digging a bit further, Kilgoran The Hunter (circa Ancient Rome) sent an email to explain how it all actually started, “Flowers and candy and candle-lit dinners? Maaaan have you guys got it bad! If you guys really have to know, this whole thing was called Lupercalia back in my day. It was a day when we feasted on mountains of food and alcohol, get freaky on the dancefloor in front of our huge bonfire, and fornicated with anything with a skirt on (or sexy wolf-pelt, which was the in thing then). All in the name of honouring our Pagan gods. So…yeah. Sorry, chaps”

So how did it ever get to where we are right now, brothers? When did it turn into pink cards and chocolates in boxes and set dinners at TGIF? Are there feminist conspiracies abound? Do Hallmark and Memory Lane actually control the social order of our planet for the past 100 years? Were they also responsible for Anniversaries too?

Somehow, everything that used to be manly about this day has been hidden, distorted, ignored, wiped out of our history books (or not shown on Discovery, or downloaded as an app, since most of us may not know what a book is nowadays). So much so that nearly all men-kind have never heard about the truth, the real truth and nothing but the truth.

That Casanova bought himself chocolates to make him virile so he could do as many chicks in a night. Nowadays we buy goddamned RM250 Patchi chocolates just to try and get laid.

That in medieval times, girls were fed bizzare foods on St. Valentine’s day so that they get so baked out of their brains in order to dream about future husbands in their sleep, and ultimately wake up the next day attacking the first person with a schlong to satisfy their urges.

If something did happen along the way, it sure wasn’t in our favour chaps. So I leave it to your imagination on how you’d want to approach what may very well be, your last Valentine’s Day this 2012. Who knows, your woman might like your new barbarian-like approach when you whisk her onto your shoulder and kick it old-school, Lupercalian-stylee with nothing more than a good stack of ribs and a six pack of San Miguel.

But just in case, send her flowers in the morning from blooming.com.my anyway. Cause you never know, those damn Mayans could be wrong…

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Objects in the rear view mirror...

2011-12-31T10:07:00.001-08:00

…may appear closer than they are. Sort of an apt saying to kick off the new year. Looking back, we had one helluva year in 2011 didn’t we? While the past was touted more as the year of the “leaks” (Assange, BP, Chef Riz’s resume) 2011 was more a tale of change, and those awkward moments when most of us would go “Hooray!” at first, “Ermmm” in the middle and unfortunately “Uh-oh…” towards the end.

Ousted Mubarak? Awesome. In it’s place is a shaky government, not knowing really what to do as they’ve been sitting around listening to the old geezer for the past 3 decades.

Found Gaddafi in a ditch? Rejoice! Now the 3^rd largest oil reserves are up for grabs for the next big thug to pillage.

Kim Jong Il died? Gom Bae (cheers)! Now we have his son in his place with a more illin’ haircut and probably a bigger bloodthirst for pulling the moon out of its orbit and hide it in North Korea.

Osama? Let’s not go there, shall we.

Truth is, 2011 was a year that had us sitting on the edge of our seats, jumping up to celebrate on occasion with short bursts and squeals of victory, and then watched in horror as the enemies scored an equaliser into the net every time in response.

Closer to home, KL city saw the promising start of an integrated, connected sky walk system being constructed, linking major shopping malls to…err, major shopping malls. Perhaps this is a precursor to what we can expect to happen during the next rainy season as we watched in horror when Kajang was half submerged in floodwater. Even Jalan Tun Razak wasn’t spared of flooding, but at least for the first time, there was an actual, physical reason that caused a traffic jam on Tun Razak.

We won the Tiger Cup, but we lost to Singapore for the World Cup qualifiers.

We launched a new Proton, and it looks like a Mitsubishi again.

The future always looked so promising back in 2011. But when we finally get there in the present, we end up checking our receipt to see if we’re actually paying for what we ordered before.

So let’s try to approach 2012 a bit more cautiously, I say. Avoid spasming into premature ejaculation the minute we think we’re gonna get laid.

That one night stand you were working towards might end up in a long term psychotic relationship.

Happy New Year!

2012 ReSOULutions

2011-12-11T09:09:00.000-08:00

2011 was like a bad girlfriend for me. One that didn’t put out much or wouldn’t swallow, but still had me run around doing errands and forced me to get in touch with my inner feelings. Like a lesbianic transvestite, it propelled me to continuously roger myself for 12 months on end.

Therefore, 2012 will be touted as the year yours truly will do some soul searching. And with every other new year that comes along, a proper resolution is again needed, as a checklist of awesomeness to keep me in check. Because though you may not have noticed, I am an advocate of not just content with awesome, when I can awe-all.

So as I leave 2011 in the rear view mirror, here’s looking at the list of 30 important things I intend to achieve for daunting year ahead….

1. Develop spidey-sense

2. Stop ordering Pure Vanilla at Coffee Bean

3. Try not to look like an angry gopher while cycling uphill

4. Add Julian Assange in my FB friends list

5. Guess the name of Samsung Galaxy S II’s replacement model (Galaxy S IV? Galaxy S XII?)

6. Become a YouTube singing sensation

7. Catch a snatch thief

8. Invest in a new BB….without buying a fancy cover for it

9. Stop checking under hotel beds for dead corpses

10. Get a Licence to Grill

11. Master the art of jiggling my pectoral muscles

12. Buy a samurai sword umbrella

13. Memorise a Pitbull rap song

14. Sing in my own voice when karaoke-ing

15. Learn a more macho way of shooing a rabid dog from chasing me while cycling (in 2011 the benchmark was a frantic, gasping “Hoish! Hoish!”, scissor-kicking while trying to pedal with one leg)

16. Learn how to dive head first into a swimming pool….gracefully.

17. Stop verbally threatening my belly before doing sit ups at the gym (You gon’ dieeee mafakah!)

18. Accept the fact that the perfect porn movie does not exist on BitTorrent

19. Delete Foursquare app from phone

20. Stop secretly watching Keeping up with the Kardashians

21. Read a book when NOT taking a dump

22. Realise that shaving pubes does not make me look like a porn star

23. Learn to flip food in a frying pan

24. Stop saying “Dunhill Lights 20 satu!” when buying ciggies

25. Finish all levels of “The Biggest Loser” on my XBOX 360

26. Learn to bowl like a man and spin that ball, b!tch

27. Pop my knuckles without wincing in pain

28. Stop inspecting freshly cut toenails and wondering how the corners turned green

29. Learn to love taugeh

And last but not least…

30. Stop writing nonsense to try and make sense of nonsense.

So here’s to a hectic wedding schedule for the 20^th of December 2012, as come 2013, there’ll be no more nonsense of “that cool wedding date” for people to antagonise their families and friends with. Now that, is something I’m definitely looking forward to for 2013!

Stay safe, stay whimsical and stay true to yourself, mafakahs. See you on the other side!

The Cycling Diary of The Blue Boroi : Entry 3. Day 17.

2011-11-13T22:26:00.000-08:00

Upped my game to an average of 30 clicks on a triple-loop round Melawati with a final BDSM session with K2 (K-Klub Hill, not in Nepal). Cadence getting more consistent, and I now manage to do my uphill burn pedals without grimacing like an angry gopher.

Still deciding when I'd want to try off-roading, as that will determine whether I get suckered into spending on that Cannondale full carbon roadie and fill my wallet with pretend money for the next six months.

Currently feel : Like A G6, like a G6...tat-tadat-tadat

But I still look like : The Hindenberg

The Cycling Diary of The Blue Boroi : Entry 2. Day 12.

2011-11-02T07:38:00.000-07:00

Chased by 2 dogs on 2 separate sections of my route. My staff must've been right, I've been acting like a bitch lately. Either I was smelling like one, or those were gay dogs in heat. Either way, in those 2 instances, of which we never actually rehearse how we'd actually react to, the best I could muster was shouting "Hoish! Hoish! Hoish!" while frantically scissor kicking with one leg while the other was trying to pedal full rotations.

I feel like : Teen Wolf

But I still look like : Pumba

End of Day 12.

The Cycling Diary of The Blue Boroi : Entry 1. Day 10.

2011-10-30T21:32:00.000-07:00

I've been cycling nearly every day for the past 10 days now. Since I noticed most fitness geeks keep a log of every freakin' thing they do, I thought what the hey, it might be of some motivation for me to keep on going.

I'm gonna keep it concise and short, relevant and insightful. Maybe some day it may spawn some other weakling such as myself to also take control of their lives and health. As the parking ticket machine in Wangsa Walk Mall always says..."Change Is Possible!"

So here goes....

Day 10 of cycling

Thigh and calf muscles don't hurt as much. Either I'm getting stronger, or the pain inflicted on my balls from my awesome professional bike seat has numbed my whole nervous system.

I feel like : Hugh Heffner

But I still look like : Paul Giamatti

End of Day 10.

The Road Less Traveled

2011-10-30T21:08:00.000-07:00

I’ve just started cycling again. My shiny blue & white Polygon, complete with blue gloves and helmet, blue digital chronograph watch and fake Oakleys from Batu Ferringghi (blue as well) makes me look like a smurf when I roll out on my lazy Saturday morning.

Every day as I pass by my parked shiny blue bike in my front porch, it felt like it was calling out to me. “Ride me, you Viking” it would whisper. It was like an elegant wench, always in a ready and bent position. It was also my Excalibur, a weapon of mass destruction. And by mass I’m referring to the mid-section, specifically.

I even created an alter-ego of myself. The Blue Boroi. A mythical cycling God that can only be seen by the lucky few on alternate Saturdays of the month (best I can do for now). The Blue Boroi rolls out of its cave, awakened by its weeks of slumber, motivated by the nasi lemak stall by the bus stop that always ‘habis stok’ by 830am.

Geriatric joggers tremble in fear. Stray cats in danger of spitting pebbles. Wild dogs stunned into submission. A whizzing mass of blue and white may seem pretty unnerving to the neighbourhood folks of Taman Melawati.

Whilst I was childishly playing trigger finger on my gears last weekend, pretending I was Luke, on the last run deep in the steel canals of the Death Star, with R2 in the back. I chanced upon a pack of multi-colored spandex wearing, co-ed middle aged tribe of cyclists. No, not middle aged. Close to retirement. They looked amazingly bright and flashy, yet mind bending when you try to imagine all the folds of old people skin trying desperately to breathe through the scientifically designed cycle suits. They moved in unison, silent and focused. I on the other hand, was a lone and solitary bulbous blob that winces at even the slightest undulating incline on the road.

Yet they were composed. Looked fit. And oblivious that their chaotic color coding frightens little children and squirrels.

I decided to pace my attention back on my burn session, veered in the opposite direction and continued my self-torture.

After about 16 kilometres of pain (verified by Endomondo on my HTC Desire S) and crushed ball sacks, I glided to the local kedai runcit for a bottle of Tangy Tangerine 100 Plus (because I truly believe I outdid myself) I sat next to the Reverse Osmosis water dispensing machine, flanked by the kelapa parut machine, on the steps of the kedai. Time for a fag (which coincidentally is also a pack of blue Lights).

Suddenly they appeared. Like a scattered pack of Skittles, they descended upon exactly where I was, and decided to park, hang out and grab some drinks. I paid no attention to their chatter, or the fact that I had sweaty, wrinkly legs in ball-hugging spandex around me. In various shades of crazy.

Then I also noticed that at the mamak stall opposite, there were other packs of two-wheelers, equally gay in colors and shiny materials, but different age groups and demographics. There were the husbands and wives club (which I suspect is actually a swinger group by night), the yuppie brigades (since I saw their Touaregs and CRVs nearby with roof and rear rails attached. And they also called each other Bro a lot) and also the hardcore, lean machines that were obviously serious cyclists. They were all in packs, and I was all alone.

Was this a cultural phenomenon that I’ve missed out on, having just initiated into a world of cycling without knowing the do’s and dont’s of the two-wheelers’ code? Will I be a social pariah in the world of cycling, alone and amateurish? Should I step up and say hello to one of the groups and make friends? Find strength in numbers? Modify my wife’s old swim suits and fashion myself a belly hugging jersey?

And then, as I was still deep in thought, 2 little boys walked past and into the store. As they came out, they were giggling something about ‘Telur’ and ‘Geli’.

And I felt good about myself again.

And so I dedicate my unwavering insistence to ride solo for the rest of my days, in normal man sport shorts and plain ‘ol rugby jersey, to a dear friend named Robert Frost, who wrote :

Two roads diverged in a wood and I –

I took the one less travelled by.

And that has made all the difference.

Thank you Rob. Thank you.

Now, time for that ice pack. Someone down there needs some TLC.

Crux

2011-10-06T09:09:00.001-07:00

Self realisation can be an awful thing. I stood in front of the mirror one day and took a good, long look at myself. I realised there and then that though I’ve tried every conceivable hairstyle known to Esquire magazine, the problem actually lies on my f*ckin thick, triple-chinned neck, and portly belly.

Am I merely shifting blame to another sad excuse to why I’m not as good looking as Colin Farell? Maybe, but call it what you want, it’s one of those self realisation moments that hits you and hits you hard, and forces you to accept it one way or another.

To my wife’s annoyance, this has led me to one of my man-pondering moments this whole week. There was much more to discover. I felt like putting on a single white glove and shrieking out Man In The Mirror fiercely in front of her dressing table just to keep me in the zone.

Looking through the looking glass, a world of paralleled yet opposed dimensions started opening up to my consciousness. I viciously jotted everything that popped into my head, like when Sam Witwicky started getting bizarre visions from the Allspark that was trying to communicate with him, projecting bizzare symbols only know to the Ancients of Cybertron. Or more like a blind man trying to fill out a deposit slip at Maybank.

Did I save on that 20% discount, or did I lose by spending that 80% unnecessarily?

Did all the pants makers in this world sneakily manufactured size 34 and labelled them 36?

Have all my clients banded together and adjusted their clocks 15 minutes faster?

Did they purposely make all karaoke minus one versions 2 keys higher than my kontrol macho voice?

Did the earth’s rotation slow down to stretch every second by 15 times whenever I’m in bed, leading to my mere 33% achievement rate according to a global survey?

Did I really do what I did or did the whole club hallucinate me taking off my clothes on the table at Chinois?

I took a good long look at my list. And it wasn’t a pretty sight. Summing up the answers to those questions led me to the self realisation that I was gullible, fat, always late, a bad singer, bad in bed and a lightweight at the bar.

Have I always thought that I was pleasingly analytical, with an OK bod, more or less punctual, with the voice of an angel, the stamina of Ron Jeremy and the drinking capacity of 6 vikings?

Apparently I have, and perhaps, just like all of us do, never really looked at the real crux of why our girlfriends, wives, bosses, clients, strangers at the bar - nag, bitch, complain, gossip about us whether we like it or not.

So here’s to you, MJ, cause from now on, I’m gonna turn up the collar on my favourite winter coat, and let the wind blow my mind. Cause no message, could’ve been any clearer, if I wanna make the world a better place, I’ll take a look at myself and make that change.

Shamone!

Don't Forget To Remember

2011-09-15T16:58:00.001-07:00

Guess what people, I don’t know if you know it yet, but we’ll be celebrating ‘Malaysia Day’ this 16^th of September. What’s it all about, you ask? It’s about commemorating the establishment of the Federation of Malaysia which consisted of Malaya, North Borneo, Sarawak and Singapore back in 1963. But get this, we only started celebrating this in 2010.

It’s like someone woke up 47 years later and said “Hey you know what, that was actually an important day, Dude. Hey Sabah & Sarawak, sorry we didn’t throw a welcoming party back then and treated you just as a major natural resource all these years with no regards to your indigenous tribes and holding back on a lot of citizenship issues. And hey Singapore, you’re not invited to this par-tay any more coz you left, suckaaa!”

Aside from that, there’s really nothing much to look forward to this month. Raya has passed for the Malays and we’ve had enough of rendangs and ketupats and lemangs. We would’ve been too traumatised by that last 18 hour traffic jam crawl from Butterworth to Gombak to do anything else. The Indians have to wait until the end of next month to get their groove on for Deepavali. It’s business as usual. And boy, do Malaysians hate business as usual.

Technically in Malaysia we’re celebrating something every month. Work is what happens in between bursts of desperate escapisms. We constantly need to get away, go somewhere, make the most of what little time that we have, or have been given.

It doesn’t matter if that upcoming 3 day weekend was to celebrate a day of remembrance for fallen heroes. As long as Hard Rock Hotel doesn’t charge school holiday rates, you should be fine with whatever.

It doesn’t matter if that mid week break was to pay homage to the King’s birthday, to you it would mean finally going head on, on a ladies’ night and not having to worry about a hangover the next day.

Have we lost the sense of meaning, or the ability to appreciate something for what it is, rather than what it allows us to do. Sort of like immortalising the bong rather than the chronic itself. Like keeping trophies of empty exotic beer bottles when you’ve pissed out the good stuff on the floor next to the urinal instead of in it. Like watching Vanessa Hudgens going ape shit on a 50 calibre wearing tight spandex and ghetto hair, in fishnets and ripping bullets through a chasing dragon. Okay, that last bit was out of topic, but Thank God For Sucker Punch.

Case in point Malaysia, it doesn’t take too much to stop for a moment and listen to the sounds of the past. Trust me you’ll feel a lot more wholesome and patriotic while you lounge about near the pool bar on your next mini break.

In the meantime, I feel like a reminiscing some scenes from Sucker Punch myself….

Augmented August

2011-07-30T22:21:00.000-07:00

It is August. Three quarters of the way into 2011, fast approaching 2012. Super ark-like submarines are near completion somewhere in Africa, and John Cusack will soon be thankful that his ex-wife hooked up with someone that knows how to fly a plane.

But more excitingly, in true Malaysian fashion, were headed to yet another double whammy of a celebration this year with Raya and Merdeka set for a collision course with each other come this 31^st. But what’s even cooler is that both celebrations mark the significance of the same message.

Freedom.

For Hari Raya, it’s a day of celebrating triumph of the soul after 30 days of fasting from food, drinks and sin. (All the 3 elements that makes up a bloke’s DNA, of course. So that’s why us Muslim boys whine like bitches for 30 days, OK)

For Merdeka, well, obviously it’s about celebrating the country’s independence. What? You mean you didn’t know? Hell yeah, we’ve been independent and free to lead our way of life for the past 54 years. What? Doesn’t feel like it? Then put that yellow PicBadge on your FB profile pic, Sir. And join the war of the primary colors of yellow, blue and red (you probably know which is which). It’s like watching sports day at your local SRK I tell ya.

But no thanks, Sir, thank you very much, not for me. At least not for this month. Screw y’all and all your grand agendas, both of you! This month I’ll be reflecting on Me. Moi. Gua. Aku. To quietly meditate internally and find out who I really am, and who I really ought to be. To free my soul, instead of my superego. To tell everyone else that if they’re cooler than me, that means I’m hotter than them. To realise that I shouldn’t harbour any more intentions to kill Justin Bieber, or any superficially hot persons in this world. I would kill the hottest person in the world if I could, but suicide is illegal in this country.

The explosion of celebration of freedom will be internal for me this time. Like a woman’s orgasm. On the outside I will portray self control. Instead of jumping around waving flags, I’ll say a silent prayer for the fallen ones. Then probably do something meaningful like get my CRV tyres rotated.

But damn, it’s Raya season so I guess the workshops will be packed with people desperately trying to get back to where they think they came from.

Well I don’t know about you guys, with the way shit’s going down all around us today, I’d probably be mapping out a route to Africa right about now, and join my good ol’ buddy Mr. Cusack before we hit the new year.

Because instead of being so fixated about where we came from, to the point of national insanity every year, let’s try a little to focus on where we want to be in the future ey? Who knows, it could be the key to solving a lot of shit in this country.

To all my Muslim friends, salam Ramadhan! Fast, don’t be Furious, haha.

Reduce? Reuse? Recycle?

2011-06-17T22:12:00.000-07:00

There’s an article in a recent Newsweek magazine which highlighted the amusing fact that now, since the handful of Middle Eastern coutries have come together to oust their dictatorial regimes, the CIA have lost valuable allies in their counter-counter-intelligence efforts in these hot zones.

Apparently, syphilis-ridden despots have been playing a crucial role in assisting the CIA in going after the badder bad guys. These include pulling people off the streets and straight into torture cells, assassinations off the radar and the seasonal run-of-the-mill car bombs.

Apparently, the trade-off for a clean government for the good of the people comes with the sacrifice of losing control of lurking terrors, safe in the constitution of renewed democracy and the sanctity of human rights. Yes, even suicide bombers can exercise their rights if they need to.

I wonder what the trade-off would be for us to have a cleaner, Singapore-like, by the book government. We keep demanding for it, sneering at Buletin Utama every time a minister is seen declaring some new policy. Scoffing is so second nature to us Malaysians that it’d be practically unMalaysian like to watch the news without giving a ranting comment about something. Even if your audience was limited to your mother in law, Indonesian maid and 2-year old daughter.

With all the brouhaha about BERSIH gaining a strong sarcastic momentum, let us not deny the fact that as clean as we want the government to be, these are the top 10 things in my list that we openly could not live without:

Neighbourhood pirated DVD guy.
Unlicensed, yet oh so good Ramly burger stalls
Roti man
Illegal nightclub valets
Kakak jual air outside your kid’s school
Highway durian sellers
Newspaper guys next to the bus stop on Sunday morning
LowYat AP underwater phone guy
Ops Sikap discounts
Fengtau Nightclub toilet Mentos and asam selling Uncle

So how squeaky do we really want to clean ourselves up, eh? As we sift through the rubbish, probably there some items worthy of being recycled before somebody really comes to take out the trash.

April

2011-05-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

I was born on the 28th of April. April is a good month for me. And my adventures in April 2011 were no lesser than feschizzle. And I know I shouldn't start a sentence with the word 'And'. And I'm sorry, Cikgu Zuhuriah.

My wife bought me a Yamaha sound system. It looks awesome in my living room. I think the manual also says it can play sounds. But I like the beautiful silent types.

My family bought me a shiny blue bike. I had the privilege to choose it at the bike store. "You want a road bike?" asked my cyclemaster of a brother. "Nope" I said. "A racing bike?". "Nope" I repeated. I chose my shiny blue bike based on its awesomeness. It spoke to me, hanging up on that wall. I will make you look awesome. "Ride me, you viking" said the wench of a bike. Just like my very own personal Merlin, the pimply sales boy heeded my bidding and brought me my Excalibur. I rode it 2 days later. Wind in my face, spitting loose pebbles at the cats I whizzed past. I felt alive. I felt the freedom of the open road. But my balls hurt the next day.

I secretly sold my HTC Legend at a humiliating second hand price. I bought the HTC Desire S, although it hasn't launched officially in KL yet. The Chinese man at the booth was like a Shaman with magical powers. He sold me great power, that does not necessarily come with great responsibility. My magical phone has awesome powers now, such as throwing a variety of birds at wooden boxes, glass blocks, monkeys and evil frogs. And when my heart desires, I can summon free music from a mysterious source. It also comes with voice navigation, by someone that sounds like an expat's wife trying to negotiate in a pasar malam (Turn left at Jelen Toon Rezuck). Now I lead a secret double life. Posing as a Blackberry by day. And awesome bird catapult specialist, in toilet cubicles.

I bought a book written by an ex-Prime Minister. I try to read a chapter every night. I learn new things from this book. You can justify what a badass you were by writing a book about your bad ass-ness in future. Even the people that hated you will eventually buy your book to find out just how bad-ass you were. And later realise that you are SO bad ass, that you managed to rip them off of a hundred bucks without even getting your nearly 90 year old ass off of the couch. I hope my ass is as bad as that when I'm his age. I will laugh at everyone from the comfort of my kickass mansion, eating smoked salmon. Which I will call "gravad lax" just like Ikea does. Coz Im a bad ass that way.

Speaking of being a bad ass, this April was also the first month I lost my temper with a staff member. I ended the phone conversation by throwing my office phone all over my desk. Then I went to Wangsa Walk Mall and bought me some awesome looking, orange colored laptop speakers. I then rushed back to my office, switched on my Itunes and played songs by Korn out loud. I spent 79 bucks just to ensure that my other staff outside my room knew I was angry, instead of thinking I dropped my phone on the floor.

I also started on 2 freelance jobs back in the ad industry. One of them required me to present the campaign deck since I was a suit. I even wore a suit to the presentation to make sure they did not mistake me for anything other than a suit. Back at the lobby, passer-byes looked strangely at the odd man in the suit, in the hot sun along Lebuh Ampang, taking slow drags from his cigarette, imagining when Stirling Cooper was going to make him partner. Or fantasizing going back to an office filled with Joan Holloways, and celebratory single malt shots. My arm pits were damp under the suit. But Don Draper never gave a f*ck about his arm pits.

My wife also bought me an early anniversary present. It was a Puma watch that can read my heart rate by communicating wirelessly to a thingamajiggy that's strapped to my chest. Excited, I decided to try it at the gym that same night. I strapped the magic awesome chest strap around my upper torso under my gym t shirt. Upon reaching the gym, it was closed at 10pm when I thought it opened until midnight. Grumbling, I had to walk straight to the parking ticket machine. It was raining. I looked like I was wearing a bra from behind.

Now the month of May is upon me. Anniversary, wife's birthday and Mother's Day rolled into one. Luckily, I saved up enough money to buy the wife extraordinary gifts. My daughter is starting to role play and make up her own lyrics (and Middle Earth language). She's sleeping in between us tonight, with pig tails intact. The wife has dozed off after getting her fix of Unifi-downloaded god-knows-which-season-of-which-series.

It was a good April, thanks to them. And to my brother and sisters, mom and dad. April comes and goes, and hopefully the next ones will be just as satisfying. But hopefully, a bit easier on the balls.

The One's For The 30 Somethings...

2011-03-09T08:59:00.001-08:00

Feeling a bit nostalgic today. Not in a sappy way. The kind that makes you want to feel silly about yourself. Usually memories are encapsulated in images in our heads. But words can stir up a rush of emotions and nostalgia just as powerfully. So tonight I’m racking my brain for all you 30 somethings out there. Sit back, and immerse yourselves in 99 words that acts as a mini time machine. Then tell me how it made you feel. This one’s for the 30 somethings!

1. 5 zigen

2. Jun Saito / Cardin House

3. Bawah 20

4. Tali pinggang buckle

5. Gila siaaaallllll

6. Starlet Turbo

7. Body Shop Dewberry perfume

8. Fahrenheit

9. Salem Power Station

10. Pogo party

11. Airwalk

12. Ollie and kickflip

13. California Pro

14. Centurions : Powweerrrr Extreeeemmmeee

15. My little pony, my little pony, tadadat tadadat tat tat taa…

16. Pop Ice!

17. Kum-Kum

18. Ding Dang / Toooo-raaaa!

19. Heathcliffe, heathcliffe no one should…terrorise the neighbourhood

20. But Lagen

21. Doc Mart

22. Chicago Bears / Tatanka

23. Mix Grill Bangsar

24. Boom Boom Room

25. Finnegan’s

26. Barbarran’s

27. Chinois

28. Backroom!

29. Echo’s

30. Forum

31. Picadd(ily)!

32. Dunhill 7 satu, ane.

33. Le Run

34. Aliph Hi Cut Riders, Pallas Jazz

35. Boot bola Fung Keong

36. Kasut takraw Carefree

37. Cross Colors

38. Anything Fluorescent

39. Boy London

40. GQ, brown/purple slacks, silky soft shirts, rambut belah tengah

41. Sundal Bolong

42. Mr. Os

43. Proton Knight

44. Honda Mayat

45. Kawasaki Kips

46. Yamaha SS100

47. K&N Air filter

48. Super Drager

49. Airwolf, Blue Thunder, Street Hawk!

50. Grandy’s

51. Sate Ria!

52. Kuwahara

53. Guns n Roses : Patience

54. Kuntum

55. Subbetteo

56. Double Dragon

57. Abuuugggen

58. Sagat! Sagat! Sagat!

59. Daytonnnnnnaaaaaaa (rolling start!) – Last corner, drop gear 4 to 2, then 1, back to 2,3 and 4.

60. Time Crisis

61. Gitar Kapok

62. #mamak #kampung #salleh’splace

63. Hypercolor t-shirts

64. Menulis beribu-ribu perkataaannn…kilometricooooo

65. Apit-G

66. KH (Kemahiran Hidup) and ERT (Ekonomi Rumahtangga)

67. Pijas (Pendidikan Jasmani) ????

68. Gua ada kaum / Dia ada kaum siootttt

69. Vitagen order form

70. Chicanos vs Skinhead Vs rappers vs skaters vs GQ vs …..

71. Kami rappers yo, yo,yo

72. Fionaaaaaaaa

73. Bergema takbir di pagi raya. Menyambut syawal. Bulan mulia

74. Allawannadosummazoomzoomzoom anna pom pom

75. Orait stop. Korekburit and listen

76. Sambolita sente moya heeyy jumbo jumbo. Somebody teteknya goyang. Heyyy jambu jambu

77. Lan-tak lan botak lan makan taik katak (??!??!)

78. Polis and thief, want to jaga. Polis mati pencuri ja-ga (??!??!)

79. Lat tali lat lai li tamplom

80. Sep sep sep. Pom Pom Pom.

81. Aaaa-was (parap pap) aaaa-was (parap pap) awaaaas gerak langkah mu oo-oohh

82. Black Widow jamming studio

83. Nissan AD Resort

84. Ricky the dragon steamboat / Tito Santana / The British Bulldogs

85. Missing In Action

86. Rick astley music video running up a wall and doing a backflip (nevergonnagive nevergonnagive, give you up)

87. It all keeps adding up, I think im cracking uupp, am I just paranoid, owhowhouhou!

88. Die. By my hand. I creep across the land, killing first born may-y-yaannnnnn

89. Bee Dees Club catalogues

90. TV Pendidikan

91. Babyrina

92. Piyapong Piu On

93. BMW – Bas Mini Wilayah

94. Yaohan The Mall

95. CBN open day

96. Dia dah clash la / aku baru clash dengan dia

97. Micro genuis

98. Contra

And last but not least….

Demi negaraaa….yang terrrrcinta…kucurahkan, bakti penuh setiaaaaaa

Sigh….brings tears to my eyes…

Life's Hidden Lessons

2011-03-06T09:59:00.000-08:00

They say life teaches you along the way in the most unsuspecting ways in our daily lives. You just gotta stop, take notice and acknowledge it along the way. But are we taking in the right lessons from the right situations? As menly men as we men are, do we also get lost in translation when life itself is trying to tell us something and we go “uh-huh…uh-huh, that’s great honey.”. Then when challenged to explain what it is we were just presented with…we spin a story so way off that she just submits and goes away.

I believe I’ve had the privilege of noticing life’s little lessons along the way. Whether they’re right or wrong, or whether the message got totally misconstrued by yours truly, and my guardian angel goes “Ok, that’s it, I’m requesting for a transfer. Good luck, you retard.” – It’s totally up to me. MY experiences, and therefore I GET TO INTERPRET IT IN ANY WAY I’D LIKE TO.

For example, on a badly planned trip to a beach resort on the East Coast last month, I noted that things that are built beautifully to capture and enjoy the sun, becomes one of the shittiest piece of architecture in the rain. See? Genius.

It doesn’t matter how far, how fast, or how hard you jog, bike, run on Sunday mornings. If the direction is headed towards a nasi lemak stall for tapau-ing, you might as well stay in bed and find out exactly where that scrotum itch was coming from last night.

No matter how accurate virtual City Golf at BSC is, you can never invent a mobile table with La Bodega snacks and booze to attach to your golf buggy to take to a real golf course. Hence your crappy scores in real life.

You can never make Maggi Goreng at home that’s as good as any mamak stalls out there.

No matter how many brands of kicap you buy and try, none can match the way the one at your local kopitiam make the half boiled eggs taste so good.

Vampires have replaced the Jews running the movie industry. And they’re conditioning mankind for a global takeover with an ongoing ‘vampires are sexy’ campaign.

There are only 2 ways to dispose of a cigarette butt the manly way : flicking to a challenging target and nailing it spot on, or stubbing it out with a few hard rubs into an ashtray while gruffly ending your conversation with a punchline. Any other methods are for fags smoking fags.

Beware of men who keeps whining the’yre size is not big enough. Means they’ve been checking out other men’s schlongs since they sound like they had a lot to compare with. Possibly yours, too.

It doesn’t matter if you play in the woods half naked with other men. If you can change into a big ass werewolf while jumping in mid air, no one will question you.

So you see guys, it’s not always a matter of perspective. But it is always a matter of OUR perspective. Carpe diem and seize the day they say. The question is, are you going to seize whatever they say you should be seizing, or should we all spice it up a bit and navigate our way through life with our own custom set of google-goggles? Either way, there’s a lesson to be picked up at every corner. But it depends on what you’re willing to learn.

And here comes the end of the first quarter of 2011 already. Have a good March chaps.

Be My Valentine

2011-01-26T10:04:00.000-08:00

Love is in the air! Seems like a small consolation after finding out how small that bonus figure looked like in your January payslip. But who cares right? All you need is love, tad-tadadat-taaaa…love, love is all you need….

Wrong.

I remember what it was like on Valentine’s Day when I was an SAE back in my advertising days (Single And Eligible, not Senior Account Executive). 12 years later I bet my bottom dollar that time, technology and even the Suzuki Cup have done very little to change what the average Joe goes through during V-day.

If you’re single, it’s time to get yourselves a willing Valentine’s Day date. How? Simple. Just be funny, strong, gentle, respectful, career oriented, chivalrous, smart, witty, boy next door, chiseled, muscular, chubby and get an eight-pack set of abs. Done deal, no sweat - Unless you hit a minimum of 6 of those criterias, just go out with your (pri)mates, order 2 graveyard shifts and hope that one of your drunk dials will score you a free pass to some unfortunate colleague/highschool mate/uni mate/ mate’s ex gf’s rumpus room.

If you’re dating someone, start by logging on to your Maybank2u.com account and weep inconsolably for 5 minutes. After which, start Googling on “creative ways to surprise her on Valentine’s Day” (read: “V-Day ideas for the credit-challenged twat”) . But in all honesty, your girlfriends will tell you it’s not about the money. It’s the thought that counts. Like surprising her. With a blindfold. And a plane ride to a secret location. Which hopefully (she bemuses) is a secluded hilltop villa with spa packages in tow. Or a marriage proposal from the heart. The same heart that was wise enough to reason with yourself that if she was really worth it, you’d get her that 3 carat piss-in-your-pants yellow diamond to show her just how much you know that money is no object, and that it’s the thought that counts - Her thoughts, as long as you subliminally obey.

If you’re married, start your V-Day planning by throwing away your Sport Rims catalogue, Stuff magazine’s “2011 gadgets to look out for “ issue and delete HTC.com from your Google Chrome bookmark. Then choose any of the 4 B’s – Bling, Bag, Blooming.com.my or Bali. Failure to do so will result in you getting your own dose of 4B’s – Blue balls, Baby Duty, Berleter and Bo-Layan.

Though there are many theories on where and how Valentine’s Day originated from, here’s one very likely version that men-kind are probably beginning to believe…

“ Valentine's Day was manufactured in order to displace the pagan holiday Feast of Lupercalia, an honor to the Goddess Juno - the Goddess of women and marriage. During the festival, women would write billets (love letters) and leave them for men to draw – lottery style”.

Happy Valentine’s Day and good luck! (And God help us all).

The Guy’s Guide to New Age Xmas Glossary Terms for Festive Hook-ups

2010-11-24T07:45:00.000-08:00

Christmas is in the air! How can we tell with no white xmas to even dream off in this god awful hot & damp weather, though? In Malaysia it’s easy enough. Just walk by any major departmental store to get updated on what festive season is happening soon. Whether Hari Raya, Deepavali, CNY or Christmas, it’ll be there,displayed on a huge banner right before the word “SALE”.

But let’s be honest for a minute. Festive season was never really a fair trade for the boys. I mean, what do we blokes get out of it? (aside from the themed parties at the eve of each one). TV channels get bombarded with everything from circus freaks to sappy epic chick flicks. We always end up having to buy something for someone. And compound that with being stuck on the highway for hours just to get our asses back to mom and pops to get an earful about how we should get married before our sperm count depletes to zero or we turn blind from doing the one handed dragon boat race in the loo.

So single boys, for this Christmas, no matter what race or religion you are, rejoice! Turn that frown upside down and spend this years’ our way. Your way. Naughty or nice, here’s an updated glossary of Christmas terms to dig into while you’re already lighting up that cigarette to list down your game plan in turning that Ho-Ho-Ho into Hoh-Hoh-Hoes!

1. Single Bells

Family reunions? More like a wake up call to sad, furtive and over enthusiastic single women out there looking for some TLC. Select deserving candidates from your little black book, buy ANY present and get your Santa costume ready for some appreciative role play “thank you for thinking about me” session

2. Santa’s Clause(s)

Boyfriends beware of invitations to ‘dine with the family’. Your future romps may depend on stamps of approval from Ane, Che-che, Mummy or Appa.

3. Boxing Day

The morning after that big party you had at Jimmy’s and woke up next to Dottie, the (much) larger cousin of the girl you were hitting on before that last egg nog. Where you literally had to box your way out of the bedroom to find an escape route.

4. Christmas Carol

Title betrothed to the one who got nailed at the office party.

5. Getting A Christmas Three

Title betrothed to the dude that scored TWO Christmas Carols at the office party. At the same time. On the same copier.

6. Nativity

Romping with the local natives. Getting acquainted with your parent’s neighbors’ “My, she’s practically a young lady now!” daughter at the family reunion back in Ipoh.

7. Santa’s Workshop and your North Pole

Getting your North Pole into Santa’s Workshop will require credit card, advanced candle light dinner reservations and something glittery.

8. Ebeneezer Screwed

Finding out too late that your ghosts of girlfriend past was right, your ghost of girlfriend present sucks and the ghosts of girlfriends of the future are nowhere to be found.

9. The 3 Wise Men

Trying to score a Christmas romp? Always rely on the Three Wise Men : Habib, Heineken and Hilton (Okay, Heineken wasn’t a man)

10. Silent Night, Hoe-ly Night

What happens when your Christmas leave wasn’t approved, all your hot female friends are out of town, and you had to fork out an extra RM150 for a happy ending.

Tickboxes

2010-10-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

I think Ludicrous literally encapsulated the one and only request men ever had in fulfilling their dreams : A Lady On The Streets, And A Freak In The Bed. Simple right? Of course. We’re guys. We like to keep it simple.

But what about what the ladies want? In any given women’s magazine, the list of criterias are rarely lesser than 5 points. Caring, funny, adventurous, stable, great smile, g

ood teeth, clean nails, short hair, long hair, bad boy, good career, abs, car etc. There’s something about women and ticking boxes.

I wonder if us guys ever had our tickbox moments. As simple as we want things to be (read : first paragraph) – I still believe unknowingly, we had our tickbox moments. But those moments were for specific situations, specific locations and specific agendas only. Not life-defining moments. But important ones none the less. Here are some examples:

FIRST DATE

1. Boobies

a. Same as Facebook picture

b. Slightly smaller (may be compensated by cicrumference of derriere)

2. Breath

a. Kissable (good)

b. Last night's Tequila (even better)

3. Walking

a. Sways hips sexily (good)

b. Causes whiplash to passers by (keep)

4. Attire

a. Low neckline (score on 2nd date)

b. Turtleneck (save money - requires Vodka for 2nd date)

IN THE CLUB

1. Boobies

a. Real Cleavage

b. Padded

2. Drink

a. Vodka-Ribena (6/10)

b. Cocktails (4/10 = Expensive cock-tease)

c. Beer (8/10 = Cheap date, but may lead to excessive burping during romp)

d. Whisky Coke (9/10)

e. Tequila Shots (10/10)

3. Dance

a. Dances like a stripper when drunk (10/10)

b. Dances like a stripper when sober (1000/10)

4. Entourage

a. Hot friends (send bottle over)

b. Surrounded by fugitives from Jabatan Imigresen Malaysia (buy only her, a drink)

5. Accommodation

a. Own apartment (score!)

b. Shares with hot housemates, also in club (send 5 bottles over, and re-enact moves from last 3some video by memory)

So is there a CLEO magazine in all of us? Hard to tell, but one thing’s for sure, no matter how much ticking in we do, boys and girls, or for whatever reasons they may be (future husband, flava of the month, something for the weekend) – our list of demands will never be satisfied as we go tickbox our way through life. Embrace what you have for the whole, which is greater than the sum of its parts. Even though that part DOES look bigger in her Facebook picture J