Muff's Fuzzy Logic : Making Sense Of Nonsense

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

I came, I saw, I conquered.

2010-09-24T08:48:00.000-07:00

I don’t eat my food. I devour it. I destroyed a perfectly arranged lasagna at Alexis 2 days ago. Prior to that, I obliterated a row of lemangs. Just tonight I raped and pillaged a cluster of broiled beef ribs, mac & cheese and mashed potatoes.

Probably it was just me shaking off the fasting month vibe. The month of Eid is shaping up to be a vicious vendetta against our all too frail souls.

If the month of Ramadhan was when Muslims crushd their worldly indulgences, the month of Eid is when Malaysians gather and show the world around them what indulgence really looks like.

If during the fasting month we observe the gratitude of the abundance of food we are blessed with, in the month of Eid we celebrate that triumph by staging what could rival a world food programme warehouse in the guise of our “open house”

And hence my past weekends have been a series of plundering and destruction. My fork and spoons were my weapons, sometimes cold steel, sometimes flimsy white plastic. Plates and bowls end up being a bloody battleground, most times with horrible remnants of what looked like a massacre of biblical proportions.

Like a despot general, I build and annihilate. Like crafting the perfect bomb with megatons of explosive power, so was my focus in crafting the perfect ABC (much to the annoyance of young freelance catering waiters) before destroying it in an avalanche of slush and slurpiness.
In the heat of the season’s tantric homage to food, even a quiet dinner for two turned out to be the French inquisition for my Gambretta (with add-on topping of anchovies!) pizza. Three quarters of the way into the ordeal, I could swear it was begging me for penance. Before I doused a final splash of fiery Tabasco liquid on it and tore it limb from limb.

For the sake of our cholesterol and sugar levels, I pray this month goes by as quickly as it arrived. Not because I’ve lost the meaning of Eid. But because I fear we’re all starting to interpret things in our own quirky, misguided way, as usual. Being Malaysian, we tend to romanticize the wrong things. And then get overboard doing it.

Like that politician that had a mild coronary at a “kambing and durian” makan event. I mean, come on?! Kambing AND Durian????

Happy open housing folks….at least they now launched the new “Halia” flavoured Eno!

If it's called "Fast"ing, why do we slow down?

2010-08-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine posted this question on Facebook in the first week of the Fasting month. Being a newly-converted Muslim, this, in my opinion was a very astute, and arguably fascinating observation.

No eating and no drinking from sun up to sundown. That’s the easy part. Fasting is also supposed to be fasting of the soul. Hence no bitching, hissing or squealing of any kind, and yes guys, no stiffy in the office.

Arguably, any hot blooded male can tell you that when you’re not intentionally looking, that’s when the scenery around you just gets gosh darned better. Everything starts getting tighter, sheerer, curvier. Damn*t, how does one distract himself?

Maybe some surfing time over lunch, just to avoid the receptionist’s tight new kebaya. But your fingers automatically type Katherine Bell, that chick you remembered from your JAG days, and you hit Safe Search Off. Nope, batal puasa.

Okay, Plan B. Some casual catching up on friends in Facebook. When you suddenly find yourself scouring through an old classmate’s “Bali Trip 2009!” album. Abort…abort!

Gotta get the edge off but you can’t smoke.

Gotta tell someone but you’ll only wind up talking about what you ‘could have seen’ and end up debating on the circumference of Kim Karadhsian’s derriere.

Finally, it’s 430pm and you’ve pretty much gone close enough o the edge without letting your eyes and mouse clicking fingers pay the deposit for your reservation in purgatory. Gotta get outta the office. Maybe look for some grub for Buka Puasa at the pasar on the way home.

And if you’ve been to a pretty good pasar Ramadhan, you’ll probably think that’s where the inspiration for R. Kelly’s “bump and grind” came from. Grab a couple of kuehs and you zip right outta there, head down, grasping to whatever inch you have left of your purity.

So guys, fasting doesn’t necessarily mean slowing down what makes us tick. C’mon, you’re no hypocrite. But in true zen-like fashion, you can treat this month as your personal training period to appreciate, hold it in, and move along. And be that kinda guy. A little pervy, but still that kinda guy.

Have a good soul diet and a happy Hari Raya to all our Muslim friends!

Merdeka!

2010-07-27T00:41:00.000-07:00

Let’s relate ourselves to history guys. Our country’s history. In so many ways, a blokes passage in life has been chartered in the course of Malaysia’s past, and doomed to repeat itself.

It all started with Parameswara claiming our northern states and setting up his empire. Exotic, raw and intriguing to the locals, as so we were after donning on our dark green school pants for the first time, and realizing that y-front scuba brand underwear that Mama bought from Mun Loong is not a good cover-up for what you and friends now call “stim”. We wanted to pitch tents and start conquering unchartered lands.

Then the Portuguese came to Melaka and brought with them funny words in funny music like jingling nona. Awkward as that time may be, reminiscent of our awkward nights in Boom Boom Room, Spinning or Base 2 (Yow Chuan) – trying to look 18 wearing Cross Colors oversized t shirts. All I wanna do summa zoom zoom zoom anda pom pommm….was just as weird as the culture brought into our shores by those clock tower building, funny name giving (Stadthuys???) traders down South in Melaka. But dance we did, and funny slangs we spoke, and got our share of A Famosa’s.

Then the English came to teach us some decorum. Whipping the savages that we are into shape. Much like a steady girlfriend at Uni. Maturity and stability. Pre-med credentials outweigh your earlier skills of drinking Pelican pre-mixed vodka while doing the Macarena at Modesto’s. We were taught to ingest continental breakfasts instead of the usual touch and go buffet lines. That is until….

The Japanese landed! Just like the time when we realized there are more women outside of campus for the first time. In kamikaze like fashion, we were thrown off balance in the corporate world. Hot female bosses enslaved us in tight MNG work attires. Being a whipping boy in the office further enhanced our inferiority complexes, which are duly released in the form of binge drinking and sleeping with anything that doesn’t resemble a pad with wings or panty liner.

Communism swiftly ensues, and completely drags us back to the dark ages of doing things for the “common good” – which translates into living together and her training you to be of “good husband material”. And not long before…

The English comes again in the form of “the understanding one that was right under our noses the whole time” – Mutual benefits and a few ribbing and courtships and negotiations later, formed a marriage of cooperation that seemingly sets us free in knowing that the future looks so promising and that you once again, are a fulfilled, and liberated man with everything he could ask for…

Which brings us to today, just finding out that we’re still secretly the house b^tch who only THINKS he wears the pants in the house….but she’s the one that chooses which ones were allowed to wear.

Happy Independence, chaps!

Belated 2010 Resolutions

2010-01-14T08:41:00.000-08:00

Hi 2010. Sorry it took so long to submit my KPIs for this year. Hardly noticed you already arrived, since 2009 was still bumming around, ranting about his ROIs.

I thought I'd be a bit smart this year by setting multiple resolutions and rate myself based on percentages at the end of the year. This way, I can console myself with an alphabetical rating evaluation system.

So here goes.

For 2010, I will:

1. Stop procrastinating by 2nd quarter of the year.

2. Learn how to crunk

3. Minimise asking stupid questions like "Are you asleep?" by 5%

4. Research on why African American women like to dance while trying to check out their own ass simultaneously

5. Grow some balls and smoke with the windows open while driving along Karak Highway after 11pm

6. Not sing along to Taylor Swift songs

7. Stop trying to search for famous porn stars on Facebook and try to add them as a friend

8. Not succumb to Kent when they don't sell Dunhill Lights

9. Try to remember jokes

10. Not type words like "huhuhu" or "kuikuikui" or "ahaks" on any social networking site status, comments or photo description

11. Only order lauk for "3 orang" even if there are "5 orang" at the table

12. Stop wondering why some older women have a paunch right below their belly button area

13. Shake MeMeLaLa's milk bottle thoroughly so that ALL the powder is diluted. Even if I'm half asleep at 4am

14. Stop watching horror movies on DVD in hotel rooms when I can't sleep

15. Try to save up for : A Slurpee machine, and a McFlurry machine

16. Try to find a lamp, rub it, have a genie come out, and wish for pants with magic pockets that will always have a lighter in them

17. Stop asking myself how those ugly dudes scored those cute chicks

18. Trim. And keep them trimmed.

19. Stop wishing Claire Danes never grew thinner, and forever remained at that balcony with wings attached to her back

20. Stop singing back up to S Club 7's Never Had A Wish Come True e.g. "I never had the words to say (never haaaddd the words to say)"

21. Not flex my biceps while brushing my teeth

22. Not be too lazy to sabun my ankles and feet while bathing

23. Stop playing solitaire while taking a dump

24. Find new carik makan songs to sing to when out with clients for Karaoke.

25. Learn the names of Malay female celebrities

26. Find out how to actually pronounce the word "cajole"

27. Learn how to write using the pen that 'twists out' without twisting it back in while writing

28. Stop being suckered into opening motivational slides in powepoint slide show format forwarded by well intentioned friends, colleagues and families, hoping it was a cover-up attachment for some juicy celeb porn

29. Download ICQ and open 2 accounts and message myself so that I can listen to that familar "uh-oh" sound again.

30. Find and kill the evil troll that keeps making holes in my socks

31. Eat the timuns in all my nasi lemaks

There. I think those are pretty realistic goals for the year.

Good luck with yours, peeps.

Hang Tuah Fails SPM From Excessive Clubbing Nights Out

2009-09-15T23:37:00.000-07:00

The Day Of Conundrums

2009-09-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

I stared at a mannequin with temperature aversed nipples today and thought that the world was just like a store full of mannequins. Full of superficial tits.

I went to Memory Lane today and noticed that there were 13 "Goodbye!" cards. But there was not a single "Welcome!" greeting card and thought that people won't really like you until they know you're gonna leave soon.

I went to a store today and saw a Malaysian brand trying to sound like an Italian brand selling Malaysian songket and songkoks for Hari Raya. To Malaysians who want to feel like they're wearing Italian inspired songket and songkoks, no doubt. I bought one and cursed at myself in the toilet while shaving just now.

I saw an TV commercial showing a dad looking guilty at the dinner table, when his 5 year old girl said to him "Waaahhh banyaknye makanan ayah!". And a tagline came out along the lines of "Elakkan Rasuah". And the end shot was the father reaching out and continuing to eat. And the ad was sponsored by the government.

I had to slam on the brakes today when a Subaru Impreza decked out in full Rally kit and decals emergency braked in front of me upon reaching a bump in the road.

I went to Times Bookstore today and was annoyed that there were only FHMs, CLIVEs, and NEWMAN magazines with scantily clad women on the covers when I was looking for AUGUST MAN September issue to see if they're finally putting more scantily clad babes in their content.

I wanted to buy a baju raya that is corporate yet looks rebellious, from good designer brands that are going for cheap, that doesn't look Ah Beng. I think the fashion industry is purposely avoiding my segment in their focus groups.

I walked past British India today and noticed their prices and wondered if a bunch of Malaysian designers decided to create a brand that reminds Malaysians the feeling of being screwed in the ass off of our money by the Colonists.

I wish there was a book that summarises the stories of all the other books that I've bought but never read.

Technically a cock doesn't come with balls. Only testicles near their backbones. Ironically our leaders are cocks with no balls, while the people who make up the backbone of the country are closest to all the piss work.

Caution : Calculative Risk Ahead

2009-07-23T00:50:00.000-07:00

A lot of my friends are getting married this year. Either they're 3 years late or I was 3 years early. There's nothing worse than to turn up at a buddy's wedding with a baby in tow. There'll always be 2 camps of friends at a wedding. One that snickers at the groom on his impending doom, and another that welcomes him with open arms. You know what they say, the more the merrier. But in most cases, these wishes by baby-toting husbands are more like cheese tied to a string leading into a box trap. Obviously with a baby as an accessory, you fall into the latter category.

But as a consolation, friends' weddings also serve as a time for people like me to find a desperate purpose. To put the experiences I went through to good use, and impart my newly found wisdom to the walking dead.

Marriage, my soon-to-be domesticated compadres, will ultimately amount to a game of numbers. A series of binaries that will distinguish your right to the bed or sofa, a night at Laundry or doing the laundry. It's about calculated risks, and how to manage them.

Sure, you may get all caught up in matrimonial afterglow - you sit down together, holding each other's hands, gazing into each other's eyes and list down a checklist of magical and wonderful things that you will do for each other, with unicorn rides into the sunset, baking carrot cakes together while you cuddle your unborn child within her glowing and growing belly.

You'll be the best husband ever! And she did a great job in moulding you since the engagement. She'll be the best wife in the world, and she can't wait to fill in the role of your very own Martha Stewart.

But what makes a good husband? By doing more than what a boyfriend does?

And what makes a good wife? By doing less than what a single, available woman would?

Wrong.

It's completely the other way round. At least to you, it is.

Husbands will ultimately justify their efforts into the marriage by what they're doing LESS than what they used to, not more. For example:

1. Less going out with the blokes

2. Less time on the PSP

3. Less drinking sessions

4. Less karaokeing sessions

5. Driving with less speed

6. Spending less on himself

7. Going out with the blokes but spending LESS time than usually before and coming back early

Wives, on the other hand, will compare that with what they're doing MORE of:

1. More time in the kitchen

2. More time sorting out the laundry

3. More time cleaning the house

4. More planning (equals less spontaneity)

5. More heart to heart discussions

6. More health conscious

7. More time at home.

And these are the numbers you'll automatically pull out when the honeymoon's over, and you're being questioned on your contribution to this matrimonial relationship.

And when you men start thinking of of what you're depriving yourself of, also think of what's added on her plate.

Then maybe, just maybe...you'll both see that Hubby needs to spend more time with his friends. And Wifey needs a break from the dishes.

So you can still come home at 3am, drunk driving while playing the PSP. And do the dishes.

Either way, you still lose, you jackass.

Mano a Mano

2009-05-07T20:23:00.000-07:00

There's this theory that time and space can be bent. And, if bent at a 180 degree angle, you get to see yourself, just in a parallel plane. If you adjust the angles, you can manipulate time and space to see the past, and possibly, the future. This can be verified by Denzel Washington, as evident in his misadventures in Deja Vu - if any of you wish to know further about this opening remark more than giving a toss to read where this is all actually leading to.

So, say you had this uncanny ability to manipulate time and space albeit the nerdy costume and gay superhero name. What would it be like? With a twist of your left and right hands, you somehow work the angles and voila, you're standing face to face with the previous you, and the future you.

Previous Me would be the one that freaks out the most, first.

Current Me would then turn to Previous Me and hug him ever so tightly, screaming phrases like "I miss you!" and "Take me back with you!" or bawling out " Don't ever leave me again!".

Then Previous Me starts kicking me in the ass, screaming out "What did you do to me?!?" or "How could you!?!!".

But suddenly, Previous Me will notice a few things that he missed out on all the commotion.

Parked in the garage is a magnificent steel stallion, idly sleeping in turbine slumber, with bared nostrils and 4 nose rings oozing out of its own charisma of dur technik, that has been versprunged.

And at the front door a beautiful lady with adoring eyes and a sunshine of comfort and heart.

And in her arms, happiness, joy and beauty bundled in a tiny human being's body.

Previous me starts to think "Dude, this is not so bad after all".

And Current Me picks himself up from the floor and brushes him off. "Yeah, you know what? You're right. This is way better than what you got going on over there...kinda" (points to 43 degree angle of warped time and space of 2002, where some Kampung Baru mongoloids were dancing on the podium in Bar Ibiza, dancing to Beyonce).

And both of them will turn to Future Me. "Let's see what you have on your side, old man".

"I can't show you." he says.

"But I'll tell you all about it over a few brewskies, gents."

And we'll talk and talk all night till the wee hours of the early morning.

Contented and pleased with ourselves, we all adjourn.

Previous Me goes away to find a chick with an apartment to crash at.

Future Me goes back to his house just in time to catch his son crawling back from his night out.

And Current Me goes back to change fresh diapers and kissing his sleeping wife goodnight, and thanking God for what he had, he wouldn't have had it any other way. And for what he has, to hold them tightly and never let go. And for all that's destined to come his way, to be true to who he was, that made him who he is, and will lead him to who he will be.