Undercompensating......

You know what they say about people driving big cars because they're compensating for small willies?

Well, I don't mean to brag, but I drive a Kancil.......

:)) AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

The Rise of Anti-Socialism

By and far, I'm glad to be staying in KL. There's so much to do, so many people to meet, so many opportunities, all the hot Ipoh girls I know have already moved here, etc. etc.

Anyway, life is supposed to be good and fun and everyone's happy and contented (Porsche crashes and snatch thefts excepted).

However, there's one thing that annoys me just a tad: the assholes who are supposed to be your neighbours. Come on, man. Did you go to school, or what? Didn't your teacher teach you to be polite? Or maybe your parents are barbarians, is that it? Kurang ajar, betul........

Not all of them, mind you. The guy in the next apartment is friendly. I mean, I don't know his name, but we greet each other in the morning, or when we're in the lift. You can be mindful of your privacy, but that doesn't stop us from being polite. Is a 'hi' or a 'Good morning' that hard to learn?

The bunch of cunts in the apartment on my other side, however.....

Just now, when the lift opened and I saw two of the fugly warts inside, I controlled my gag reflex and asked, "Going up?" politely. They glanced at me like I carried airborne venereal disease, didn't reply, and just stood there like two retarded little gargoyles, not even bothering to make space in a lift that could definitely fit more than the 3 of us. Machauhai. You think your lift ah? As I entered the lift, I satisfied myself with the thought that the two warts would probably die, old and unhappy and unloved, in a pile of their own detritus and smelling of old aunty underwear. I didn't even bother to say goodnight to the assholes when I reached my apartment.

There are a whole bunch of them, maybe 6 or more, sharing the apartment next door. They always come back from work dressed in some ugly diaorrhea-coloured yellow jacket, and every single last one of them is as antisocial as the other. If you say hi to them, they stare at you, aghast that you're being polite, as if it were a contagious disease and they would explode into piles of ugly little diaorrhea-coloured flesh if they reciprocated.

Assholes.

The other group stays in the apartment opposite mine. Bunch of students. Herd of students, more like. One of them (who has a fat ass) thinks that she's God's gift to men, judging from the pat-poh look she gave me when we bumped into each other in the corridor. And if there's one thing I despise more than lansi girls, it's ugly lansi girls. She GRIMACED at me in some awful attempt to smile when I gave her a friendly grin. I could hear her mind going "ewww", and I sighed deep inside, disappointed once again at the prevalent "anti-socialism". The same girl once RECOILED when I was getting out of the lift as she was getting in. By then I couldn't give a rat's ass about assholes like her. I just about resisted flipping the finger as I exited.

One fine day, the wind's going to change direction and her face is going to be stuck in that awful grimace forever....... I hope :)

Life. In 8 simple steps

from here

So sad, yet so true for so many of us.

"Negarakuku"?

So if any of you haven't seen the "negarakuku" video yet.... BWAHAHAHHAHAHAHA. It's the funniest shit I've heard in such a long while.... at least, since the "Muar People's Mandarin" video BWAHAHAHAHAH.

You don't know what I'm talking about? Ok ok, go search for 'negarakuku' on Youtube and watch it first, then come back. But only do so if you know Chinese, and some Hokkien.

Done? Don't you think the "negarakuku" song is so catchy you can't help but be infected by it? I typed the phrase in Google and got more than 90 thousand search results, so I'm not surprised if the young(and overwhelmingly Chinese, in my opinion) fans of Ming Zhi are already busy learning the lyrics to the song.

I'm honestly not surprised by the amount of fervour and the semi-indignant passion this song has stirred up among the disenfranchised Chinese youngsters who have listened to it. I've got friends rushing around desperately spreading 3gpp versions of the file on bluetooth like they were paid by the Muar Dude. One of them asked me "EH EH!! HEARD THE NEGARAKUKU SONG OREDI OR NOT?!?!?!" while grabbing my arm, as if he were informing me that it was now raining pink pussies and lubricant.

I couldn't help laughing at his intense, gangster "negara kooo koooooooOOoooo" at the beginning of the song, and the way he bares his feelings, as a regular guy who feels he's being oppressed. Certainly, the backhanded, ignorant racism will raise hackles, but one can't help but feel that it's merely verbal retaliation, like an injured animal lashing out at it's tormentor. The brutally honest approximation of corruption and inefficiencies that we've all had to deal with are so fucking funny though. When he went on about eating kuih and sleeping guards, I laughed so hard that my neighbours sicced the pigs on me(I went all "boleh settle" on them and of course boleh settle lah, Malaysia what..... and if you believe that really happened then sucking on my meat wand will make you really beautiful, serious).

Latest grinds from the rumour mill report that the goverment are going to throw him in prison for sedition or stirring up the old racial/religious firepot blah blah blah, but Bernama, our venerable news agency, begs to differ, saying that the government can't take action because of some technicality.

But all I'm thinking is.... You fugly Muar Dude, you are going to get SO MUCH PUSSY........

Dear bookstores, fuck you.

If it wasn't so stupid that you want to bash your head against the wall, the recent Harry Potter fiasco could even be considered funny.

For you hermits who still happily read this blog(Thank you!), 2 hypermarket chains have been selling the latest Harry Potter book at RM69.90, when the big bookstores have been pricing it at RM109.90. Naturally they've been a big hit with the fans of the Harry Potter series, causing the books to fly off the shelves (pun unintended) since the launching.

In a move that shouldn't catch any Keynesian economists or anti-trust regulators by surprise, a few major booksellers have ganged up to launch a media blitz of epic proportions, refusing to sell the books "in protest", and whining to the press about "indiscriminate price discounts", etc etc.

There were also unspoken threats hinting of consumer associations and the domestic trade and consumer affairs ministry.

So in case you didn't read the title....

Dear major bookshops,
Fuck you.

Stop whining like dickless pussies. This isn't communist Russia. There's fuck-all you can do if someone decides to sell the book at whatever price they want to. Wanna protest? Who do you think cares? Your customers? the hypermarkets? The publishers?

Nobody has said anything in the scrubbed-clean, censored-edited-spoon-fed-to-Malaysians daily propaganda newspapers, but I think that the two hypermarts (and correct me here if you do marketing for either of the two) - after mining consumer data using their loyalty cards - figured that young adults and parents who would buy the hardcover book are probably the same people who spend a lot of money when they shop for groceries, and decided, in a fast-moving stroke of marketing genius, to use the hugely popular book as a loss-leader to increase sales in their other products. You know, the "hey since I'm here why don't I just buy my groceries here" tactic. I don't know how much is the profit margin on the book, but I'm betting that they aren't losing any money on the RM70 sales price, and if they are, it's probably negligible, in the form of logistics costs.

I think it's bloody genius, honestly. I wouln't have made the connection. And now the big bookstores - as in the cases of most entrenched monopolies - are crying foul, aghast at the possibility that something as egalitarian and basic as a hypermart actually dares to peddle elite wares such as printed literature. So far, I'm immensely glad that the consumer affairs ministry has lauded the move as great for consumers, as they should.

No doubt their management has met with representatives of the government in an attempt to coerce retailers to stay away from selling books. This is a capitalist country, my friends, at least when it comes to retail products(Sarawak gangsters controlling egg prices notwithstanding), and whether you like it or not, books are not an essential good like rice or sugar, and that makes them fair game for everyone, not just booksellers.

Just goes to show what happens when they remain entrenched and stagnant, don't they?

And just in case you still didn't get it....

Dear bookstores,
Fuck you.

Movie Review: Transformers

Ooooooooops...... Wrong transformer. "MY BAD... (said in digitized robot voice)....." What I meant was this:



................... I'm sorry :) I mean I'm sorry for all you poor, slavering American fan-boys, because I've just watched the Transformers movie(on IMAX, no less), and you still have to wait at least 4 days, and that means we poor 3rd world citizens understand the "my bad" insider joke I made above, while you burger-scarfing wire-tapping fuckers can just kiss Optimus Prime's shiny metal ass.

Pardon my enthusiasm, but I've just watched what I'd consider a really awesome movie. Please note that I'm part of the Transformers generation, and consider my expectations and biases as a fanboy when taking this review into consideration.

I'd go so far as to say that it's the best movie I've watched in 2007. 2 1/2 hours of amazingly authentic visual and sound effects collaborating to recreate every inner child's deepest robot dream on the silver screen. The physics are so believable you'll drop into a trance from the first "transform" scene in the beginning of the movie, and never emerge until the grand finale, still entranced by the clanking, mechanical REALNESS of the Transformers. The last time I was so in awe at the movie theatre was when I watched "Independence Day".

The story is faithful to the original, the humour is funny, and the battle scenes will shock you and take your breath away. And for those who criticised the complex new "Transforms", let's just say that you'll never get tired of watching them transform in the movie, into beautiful-detailed sculptures of functional metal. It's a sight that will make every little boy (and 20- to 30-year old male) spasm with ecstatic rapture everytime it happens. It's almost better..... no, it IS better than sex, especially when they do it in transition, jumping up and magically(with great clanking noises and metal stress sounds) sprouting metal limbs and appendages while in vehicle mode, or when they jump into the air and fly off in the blink of an eye, already a fighter jet with afterburners glowing and making the air shimmer with heat.

*collapses in paroxysms of pure bliss*

Watching the movie, you see the characters of the individual Transformers shine through. They're generally faithful with the personalities, and have even improved the more boring ones. For those of us who followed the original series, you'll love instead of hate the new Bumblebee. The writers cleverly prevented him from talking, and consequently, from irritating us with that eager-beaver psyche. Instead, they've imbued him with humour, courage and a warrior ethic, easily making him the most lovable robot in the film.

But I talk too much. I'm going to watch the film again soon, if for nothing else than to hear the groaning, straining, creaking, whirring, sliding, clanking metal when even the puniest of them transform. They even have a good enough sense of humour to insert half of the original "chu chu chi chi CHIT" transforming sound into one of the scenes with Bumblebee. It just warms the heart, I tell you.

And when one of the autobots came riding in to save the day...... it almost brought a tear to my eye. Serious.

So, 9 out of 10.

9? Only 9, you ask? When I've been waxing so lyrical that both Shakespeare and Tupac are turning in their graves, worried about their linguistic immortality?

Yes. Only 9, because Optimus Prime has fucking LIPS. That's just wrong man. That's so fucking wrong. He looks emasculated - like some Sensitive New Age Gaybot - to Megatron's Evil Tyrant, complete with the thorny, take-no-prisoners, snarling visage.

Secondly, no Dinobots and Constructicons. So only 9.

If you're not a fanboy, go watch it, you'll have real fun. If you ARE a fanboy, you'll love it anyway, but don't puke in nausea when you see the lips.

"Malaysia Boleh!" or how to check if you're a jaded, cynical Malaysian!

Kenapa Malaysia Boleh?

Sometimes you're driving, and then suddenly you find yourself parked by the side of the road, sighing and pulling out your wallet.....

"Encik, boleh settle ka?"

"BOLEHHH!!!! Mau macamana settle?"

Stop giggling, you fuckers. You know exactly what I'm talking about hehe :)) And for all of you that don't, study hard and stop visiting bad websites like this! You're not old enough to be a cynical Malaysian!

Cheers!

Drunk and Co-ordinated

Who the hell plays basketball at midnight until 2AM in the morning everyday? The mad fuckers at Puchong, that's who.

Who gets fed-up of the waning challenge at USJ20 and decides to join the Midnight Basketball Borg? Slim Baby, that's who.

Who resisted the Basketball Borg the best he could but gave up in the end and got addicted as well? Me.

Who got totally smashed at a friend's birthday party on a Friday night......... but still rushed off to Puchong at 12.30 to catch the last few pickup games until 2 in the morning?

...............................*paiseh*..............................

It was surreal, playing basketball while drunk... Kinda like watching a first-person video of someone running and jumping. My feet were moving but I couldn't get any feedback at all.

Just do it, indeed. If it doesn't work, you get swatted to the floor by the giant center. Doesn't hurt a whit since you're already drunk as nails. You get up smiling and continue to play. Reverse layups even work, because they're already tired and your muscle memory tells your legs how to move. All instinct, no analysis. I can't keep count of the number of non-standard crap passes I made.

And now, at 3 in the morning...... let's go yumcha.

Crazy.

Malaytalian Morons

Please forgive me if you notice that I frequently harbour malicious derision, frustration and abject pity for every dumb soul that owns a Mykad. As a Malaysian myself, that's what makes it all the more painful and irritating.

You're all morons - Indefatigable , stubbornly under-achieving, close-minded, sycophantic, foreign-worshipping Morons.

Take for example the huge number of morons who support Italy in the World Cup. "Oh Totti blahblahblah", "Azurri rule!""Viva La Italia!" It reminds me of the black woman who applied to join the Ku Klux Klan...FYI you fools, along with Spain, Italy is the most racist country in the world. You may think that everything Italian is exotic, but it's a country that's corrupt, economically weak, and racist beyond compare.

I'll forgive you for not making noise about the abject state of Malaysian football everytime there's a big international tournament, but the sheer fanaticism of Malay-talian football fans is beyond compare. You're not Italian, you idiots, you're Malaysian. You're brown-skinned(and slitty-eyed, for all you nitpickers who are going to shout "Corsica!" and "Sicily"). That means you'd be discriminated against if you go to Italy. Fascism is ingrained in their culture and their attitudes. Is there a black player in the squad? Has there ever been? I rest my case.

You're all apathetic, uninterested, self-serving bastards. How many among you don't litter out your car window? How many of you are considerate enough to use your turn signals on the road? All the small signs lead to a bigger malady, that of cultural starvation. I'm Malaysian, but what stands me in good stead when I'm overseas isn't the confidence that my country could kick your country's ass(like the Americans), or the fact that I'm born a patriot, serving my country as it has served me(Japan, Israel)......... it's my own personality and knowledge that does it, and it's not reflective of my nation at all.

In fact, if I were to represent my country's typical citizen, I would probably be an insecure, ignorant, uneducated(despite going to university) racist moron who speaks horrendous English and idolizes the White Man while selfishly blaming others for his lot in life. Oh oh, and I would also be proud that I'm "too busy to read", and I'll be the stingiest guy of the lot because my currency is so small and I use all my salary to pay off my car loan for a "national car" that is famous for malfunctioning electric windows.

FYI, you smug-looking Italy and England lovers, white isn't superior, and even if it was, loving the white man doesn't make you white. Sohai.

The Idiots Guide to Choosing a Girlfriend

*Note, this is not an article on how to FIND a girlfriend, merely how to CHOOSE one.
**Also, this article assumes that you are interested in a serious girlfriend, with all its attendant pros and cons. In light of these, the choosing process outlined is intended to deliver you minimum headache and maximum fun in the long run.

To all the long-suffering men of this world, I share this with you in the spirit of brotherhood, in the hopes that we may all have full and loving relationships instead of angst and heartbreak, that we can be proud of our women, and that our women will be proud of us. Here then, is how you choose a proper girlfriend:

• Step 1. Make sure she's not crazy.
  
• I'm not fucking joking dude. This is the be-all and end-all of relationship tips. Your girlfriend can have a lame personality, bad breath etc etc...... but she MUST NOT be crazy. I'm not talking about Oprah-liking-crazy........ but CRAZY-crazy like having violent tendencies, or paranoia so acute she calls you 10 times a day to ask "where are you?" or threatening to kill herself....that kind of crazy. It doesn't matter how sizzling-hot she is(and trust me, there ARE crazy hot girls), if you value your balls, your sanity, and don't like being stalked or having someone put Siamese love-spells on you, KEEP AWAY.
  

• Step 2. Don't choose a gold-digger.......
  
• I know it sounds like basic knowledge, but most guys(including me) usually don't think with the big head when they first meet a hot woman, especially if she gives them attention. The gold-digger will ask you what you do, how much you earn, how long until you make partner/general manager etc etc. and hints that she "loves receiving presents". Whore - definition: someone who provides sexual services for payment in cash or in kind(i.e. handbags, holidays to Bali etc).

• Step 3. ........or a jealous woman
• A jealous woman is an insecure woman, and she will cause you emotional trauma. It's also a side-effect that jealous women are usually not the prettiest ones. On the other hand, a good girlfriend is someone smart enough to choose a good man, and confident enough with her own attractiveness that she doesn't need to be jealous. And for you(or me at least), smart, confident, and attractive are verrrrrrrrry nice traits to have in a girlfriend. *note: this same woman, while not the jealous type, may illogically want you to demonstrate that you're a teeny-weeny bit possessive over her, in order to be reassured that you love her. So the next time she's talking with some good-looking guy, just ask her "Who's that guy?" She'll be secretly delighted.
  

• Also, be observant, you might realise that the Gold-digger and the Jealous Woman are very often the same person. The selfish "me-first" urge in these women manifests itself in these two distinct but related personality traits: hunting for a "good catch", and then ferociously guarding their "prize" from the clutches of other women. And you don't want to feel like a wild boar or a salmon fish, do you?

• Step 4, Ask yourself,"if I'm in deep trouble, what would she do?"
• I'm talking deeEEEEEEEEEEEEEP trouble, like if you were kidnapped, or if you crashed your car and she's unhurt but you're unconscious and bleeding badly. WHAT WOULD SHE DO? Basically you want a girl who can take care of things, not someone who will sit there and cry while you bleed to death in the accident. I could list out the values needed in such a girl -streetwise, resourceful, calm-headed, brave, loyal etc etc - but these values won't affect you much until you really really need them. And understand this: The one time you will really NEED your girlfriend is when you're in deep shit, even if just for emotional support. If she's the sort that ups and runs the moment she learns you're bankrupt, then you might wanna look elsewhere. However, if you smile after answering yourself this question, congratulations.

• I know that it's hard to resist the sweet-looking damsels in distress and the urge to protect and "cherish"(*vomit*) them - especially for all you macho lunkheads and you, Manager Chow- but if you have to, why not choose someone who defers to you mostly, but whom you know has your back when the going gets tough? Think Anwar Ibrahim's wife and you've got the idea.
  

• Step 5, choose someone who will make a good mother for your children.
• Assuming it goes that far(which is possible in a serious relationship), don't fuck it up! Hehe. Seriously though, the traits that would make a good mother are the traits you want in a girlfriend too. You want beautiful children? Then she can't be the bad-looking parent can she? Especially since you've dominated that position, you ugly fucker(yes, Erlend, I'm talking to you LOL); A good mother can cook (yes girls, the old adage about going through a man's stomach are largely true); A good mother is educated so that she can educate her children, and so on and so forth. Ah think about it yourselves. I'm lazy to elaborate. If you're so stupid you can't imagine, then I hope you don't breed.

• Step 6, choose a happy girl
• Simply because a happy girl probably doesn't have issues that need fixing(jealousy, abandonment, insecurity, physical abuse, the list goes on.......). Either that, or she just escaped from the nuthouse(please see step 1 in this case)

• For some reason, most people can't stand a happy person. Have you noticed how people go,"What the hell are you smiling about?" when you're having a good day? Well, I don't know about you, but I like being happy. Basically, a happy girl makes you happy, and who doesn't want to be happy?

• Step 7, can she be your friend?
• Every serious relationship should begin on a steaming-hot, sizzling, passionate, amazing-sex, knee-weakening-kisses note. Why? Cause it's fun lah! Abuthen? Of course, you can run your relationship in this mode forever.....if you can sustain it forever. I'm of the opinion that it's impossible because humans naturally take things for granted. Other than being your lover, your girlfriend has to be one of your best friends, because after the initial passion has worn off, you should be left with friendship and a very comfortable intimacy. If you can't be friends, then she can't be your girlfriend.
  

• Lastly, separate your "deal-breakers" from your "fixables"
  
• There are some things that are absolutely unacceptable in a woman("deal-breaker"), while others, though undesirable, can be tolerated provided that there's an overriding positive trait to balance it("fixable"). For instance, a woman who's kind enough to volunteer at the local SPCA would push the fact that she idolizes Oprah into insignificance; Contrarily, a woman who smokes crack cocaine is a definite no-no, even if she looks like a supermodel.
  

• This is largely up to the preference of the individual. Some people might be utterly revulsed by a simple thing such as a woman having untrimmed armpit hair, while others might be able to tolerate a potential deal-breaker such as a woman who drinks heavily or digs her nose in public. So separate your "fixables" from your "hell-no!-No-fucking-way!!!" so that the next time there's a dilemma(supermodel genius who snores like fucking thunder), you'll know what to do.

Other than that, everything else is a personal choice. Looks, brains, personality, sense of humour, personality, level of education...... all that is up to you. Some guys might not bother about looks, or prefer a quiet girl rather than a party-animal, or really dig intelligent women(like me). That's a personal choice.

So follow the steps before you follow your heart, and you might save a helluva lot of heart- and headache down the road. Have fun!

*Fondles Leia* muahaahahahahaha.....

6 weird things about me

Good friend Ah Lau has tagged me. So I (apparently) have to tell you embarrassing things about me...... (or else what? The Meme Police are going to arrest me? Ah well it's all in good fun), so here goes:

1. My nose is bent prominently to the left. The official excuse is that I ate ball biscuit(吃波饼)while playing basketball.

2. Hair on my body grows in weird places, like only the top of my thighs and the outside of my calves.

3. I can't breathe if someone has a strong air freshener in the car. My respiratory system simply refuses to work at the first whiff of ambi-pur and I'm left gasping like a fish until I wind down the window for outside air.

4. I have no phobia of snakes(so long as they're not poisonous) or rats or even large insects like beetles or monster butterflies, but I harbour an inordinate amount of loathing for cockroaches(kachatophobia). Filthy filthy bastards.

5. My first memories start around the age of 1 and I can still remember details, verifiable by my mother.

6. I can swallow liquids with my mouth open. (TA-DAAAA!!! Finally something interesting huh!)

I tag Elaine and April Groupie.

*updated* "and I'm like...... and she's like......."

......and you're like a fool, that's what you're like.

Whatever happened to English? How did a pronoun followed by "like" replace "he/she said"?

It's annoying at best; And for people who are sticklers for speaking proper English, it's as soothing to the ears as grating your nails on a chalkboard. It's even worse for multi-lingual Malaysians, who pick up new languages and nuances in dialect easily. The assimilation into the Borg happens, and before you know it, you're talking like Jessica and Paris.

How in the world did American teenage bimbo talk become an accepted way of communication? I know great writers and great articulators of words who spout "i'm like she's like........" the moment they're with their friends! Somehow it became cool to talk that way, even when you know many words with more than 5 syllables. It's usually an indicator of youth(and teenage sluttiness), but my good friend and neighbour from the show(who's admittedly young at heart) talks like that, and he just turned 30.... so there goes my theory.

God bless America. Without you, how would we find the inspiration to talk stupid?

Goldilocks and the 3 bears, or "How to catch a movie for only RM3.33"

One fine day, there were 3 tall guys, all at least 6 ft. in height. They were like the 3 bears in the Goldilocks story - you know, Large, Medium, and Small- One weighed close to 100 kgs(The large one, we'll call him "Slim Baby"), one was 72 kgs (medium, let's call him "Medium"), and the last was a piffling 60 kgs despite being the tallest among the three (let's call him "skinny auditor boy").

So the three bears decided to catch a long anticipated movie that just opened that day, one inspired by a Frank Miller graphic novel about Spartans and some bullying Persians. As was with all plans that came to fruition with Slim Baby(the large one) and Medium around, it was a spur of the moment decision, made after basketball, like this:

"Eh wanna watch XXX movie ah?"
"Ok ok."
"Eh you leh? Wanna watch XXX movie ah?"
"Ok ok."
"Ok later I go buy ticket."

Turns out that the movie about some fucking Spartans was so bloody popular that we... I mean the 3 bears....... went to their regular empty cinema where it was practically assured that we could just waltz in and buy a movie ticket.... only to see the sign "sold out for *Spartan movie*"

Fuck.

So the 3 bears marched their ass down to another movie theatre, fairly confident that tickets were available since the next showtime was at midnight and it was a weeknight. To their disappointment and disbelief, the only seats available were on the second row.

So as bears do, they decided to forage for food before returning half an hour before midnight in the hope that they could buy the unclaimed reserved tickets. Slim Baby and Medium were constantly trying to make each other fat, with Medium being much more succesful than the 100kg Slim Baby. Conversation went like this:

SlimBaby: Wanna eat what? (Come let's go eat you bastard. I don't believe I won't make you fat)
Medium: Anything lah (Bastard. Trying to make me fat while you slim down? You don't know I'm on a secret diet)
SlimBaby: (in a sly I-dare-you-to tone) KFC lah!
Medium: Come lah! You think I scared ah? I'll match however many pieces you eat? So we order bucket lah ok? You eat 5 I eat 4.
SlimBaby: Tiiuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..... now what time already? KFC!?!??!?!
Medium: Scared ah? You are the one that say one!!!
Slim Baby: Come lah!
Medium: Come lah!

All the while Skinny Auditor Bear was just shaking his head and laughing in amusement at the psychological games the other two were playing just to get each other fat.

(Oh, and they really went to get KFC at 11pm at night. Burp. Medium actually tapau-ed KFC next door to the mamak and ordered a mi goreng and an oily omelette just to irritate the overweight Slim Baby)

After a BMI- and cholesterol-boosting supper at the mamak, they marched back to the cinema, where Slim Baby and Skinny Auditor Boy proceeded to harass the management of the theatre to release the unclaimed tickets early (it was more than half an hour before the movie started). After alternately charming, teasing, cajoling, and harassing the ticket seller, who was so flustered he called his manager, the 2 bears managed to get a WONDERFUL spot while the crowds that were waiting for the half-hour mark gave them all dirty looks.

And this is what happened next: Slim Baby went to the toilet inside the cinema. And in order to do that, the ushers would hold your ticket while you used the loo, to make sure you came back out. When he came out, however, the ushers gave him back another 2 extra tickets in addition to the 3 that he had bought, so he now had 5.

Not comprehending what was really happening, he just said "huh?" and walked back to the other 2 bears with an uncomprehending, confused look on his face.

"Ei see see. They give me another 2 tickets woh."
"What two tickets?"
"For the same movie lah!"
"hah? So we got 5 tickets? Same showtime ah?"
"yaya same cinema everything."

So what do you do if you got 2 extra tickets? Sell it right? So Medium took it back to the box office and told the ticket guy that Slim Baby had harassed earlier to sell the tickets for him.

When Medium walked back to Slim Baby and Skinny Auditor Boy, he saw the two of them leaning against the wall, staring intently at the ushers at the entrance to the theatres, who were deep in argument with a guy who was turning beet in the face, gesturing animatedly and by the looks of it, very angrily while the ushers avoided eye contact while giving nervous smiles and I-don't-know shrugs.

"Oh diu loh diu loh.... Got ppl asking back for the ticket already sure," Slim Baby muttered under his breath while sweating profusely. Skinny Auditor Boy was still laughing. Just then, the guy's lady friend joined him(probably from the loo too) and proceeded to harangue the ushers together. The couple had really really black faces and the guy looked like he was ready to slap someone.

"Oh diu loh diu loh diu loh diu loh......" Slim baby chanted repeatedly under his breath.
"Aiyah I go take back the ticket lah." Medium said.

So Medium went back to the box office to take back the tickets so he could return them to the couple, but before he could say anything, the ticket guy put 2 RM10 notes into his hand..... the tickets had been sold. Diu loh!

Medium walked back to the other two bears with a tragicomic expression on his face, and the worried Slim Baby asked,"So how?"

In reply, Medium opened Slim Baby's palm and slapped 2 red paper notes into his hand.

"HUH?!?!?!?!? Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuuuuuuuuuuuu loh!!!!! Sell already ah?!?!" Slim Baby shouted as a panicked expression appeared and the veins on his head started to swell. Medium and Skinny Auditor Boy burst out into laughter. People around the 3 bears were starting to give them weird looks.

Meanwhile the couple were close to hysterics. The 2 tickets were excellent seats, in the last row of the cinema in a corner, where they could make out to their hearts' content without disturbance. The guy was baring his teeth at the usher, while the woman was close to tears. It wouldn't have been hard to guess that he bought the ticket days in advance to get such good seats, waiting patiently day by day until the movie opened. For all we know she was a new target that he was operating on.

Tough luck Johnny boy. Medium and Skinny were in stitches, alternately laughing at poor Slim Baby( and his prickly conscience and watching him think aloud how to avoid the usher later since the 3 bears were all tall, and he was also "not slim", making him doubly recognisable when we went in), and then at the tragic couple who were almost jumping up and down now in abject frustration. We could only imagine the threats of lawsuits that were being hurled at the ushers.

Slim Baby was sweating bullets now. Literally. Skinny helped him sweat more.

Skinny: Eh you want my cap ah? In case they stop you and ask for their tickets back."
SlimBaby: Noneed noneed. Aiyoh........ sien ah!! Why like that wan!!!!"
Skinny + Medium: *burst out into uncontrolled laughter*

In the end, the 3 bears managed to avoid the usher by squeezing past with the crowd, but as they walked through to the cinema, a bitter aftertaste prompted Medium to say,"Damn that was fucked up. He probably bought those tickets a long time ago man. Fuck. Destroy his evening wei. Dirty money man. I don't wanna have anything to do with it."

The evil slim baby replied laconically, since he had already avoided the feared confrontation with the usher,"Haiya go back home pok yeh(fuck) lah. Early evening loh...."

Damn..... Slim Baby, you better give that 20 bucks to some orphanage. I'm just waiting for karma to strike.

Phew.... but still a little disappointed

Farty

I'm so fucking flatulent tonight that I probably contributed to global warming. I'm so flatulent that Shell tried to gain the rights to my "natural gas" fields. I'm so flatulent that my ass-cheeks are now permanently blown apart. I'm so flatulent that when I sit down, my friends think I'm a yogi because I float on a cushion of stinky acrid garlic-tinged air every few seconds. I'm so flatulent tonight that I could probably use the shorts I'm wearing tonight in place of chloroform to kidnap people. I'm so flatulent that the makan-place I visited tonight probably lost all it's customers. I'm so flatulent that the doors of my apartment are bulging outwards. I'm so flatulent that my blanket is now brown-coloured, I'm so flatulent that flies have gathered around me and then died in the thousands from the stench. I'm so flatulent that my neighbours are probably coughing in their sleep, dreaming of garlic. I'm so flatulent that they should hire me to fill balloons.

Mahai. What the fuck is happening to me?!?!?!

Espresso? Cappucino? Affogato? No Problemo....

Oooh.... It's thick and long and black!

yay!! Our very own, very cool-looking....... espresso machine!! Woohoo! For those of you who don't know me personally, my family lives in an oil palm plantation.

Notice how the last sentence conjures up images of impoverishment, hard labour, lack of access to basic healthcare, agriculture and its attendant connotations, 3rd-world country, filth, no running water etc. etc?

Au contraire!

Despite what you might imagine, we have all the basic accoutrements of a modern 21st-century family. There's electricity, cleeeeaaaaaannnn piped water(as opposed to Kuala Lumpur, which should really be renamed Air Lumpur), and the kitchen has 2 fridges, an industrial-sized deep freezer, a top-of-the-range fruit juicer(can masuk whole apples wan!!!), hi-fi (yes in the kitchen), electric non-stick griddle, sandwich maker, dish dryer, a monster-sized microwave, electric water boiler, blenders, mixers, toaster oven..... and finally, a sleek, chic, fantastic espresso machine!!

Here are another two cock-looking pictures for your delectation:




















I won't show you a picture of this wonderful machine in it's entirety, but trust me, it's fucking cool. After admiring it's sleek lines over and over and over, I managed to divert some energy from my eyes to my limbs and make some awesome coffee.

At the risk of sounding like an asshole, here's a secret that I'm going to tell you: NO LOCAL COFFEE can even dream of touching espresso in terms of quality. NONE. The secret is pressure, heat, and the quality of the coffee beans. Your local coffee dude could never do that with a muslin filter, inferior robusta beans, and condensed milk.

Another secret: I make better espresso than your local Starbucks. No small statement, considering the fact that the baristas at Starbucks do this for a living, while all I do is fuck around and pretend that I'm an expert in coffea arabica and bandy about sexy-sounding Italian words. Hehe:)..................... NOT! Actually it's because I have all the time in the world to make sure everything's perfect, while they have to shout "2 venti mo...kuh LAH-TEHHHH"in some weird sing-song accent and crash about making coffee and steaming milk for a million people at once. Mostly it's because I have good coffee beans, and a very very good machine. How do I know I make better coffee? Because I went to Starbucks with my dad, and my dad later went with my mom, and we all agreed that the coffee we made at home was much more flavorful and aromatic.

In the beginning my mom jammed up the poor machine with a too-finely-ground Ugandan coffee that a friend gave her, and we had to clean it out properly before using the espresso blend that my dad and I got. Long before this I was geeking out big time on the forums and message boards, finding out all about espresso: The beans, coffee geography, the ideal temperature and pressure for different blends, roasting, grinding, storing, tamping, cleaning, extracting, plus the meanings of all the lansi-sounding Italian words: espresso, affogato, cappucino, latte, doppio, americano, ristretto, crema, niama........ so I had something of a headstart when it was time to "pull my first shot". To my absolute bloody surprise, the first double shot I pulled turned out to be so rich in crema(the froth on top that denotes "solid", "bagus punya" espresso) that my dad and I were grinning from ear-to-ear. It was so good that I downed it straight like my dad did, without diluting it with any milk or water, amazed and finally understanding what the essence of coffee was. Before this, every experience with espresso was a confused rebellion by my taste-buds at the attack of concentrated bitterness.

After that I spent every chance I could to make coffee for my folks. "Pa, want coffee?" "Mummy want coffee?" and went through with the elaborate rituals that were at times even more pleasurable and tactile than the actual drinking. Heating up the machine, running the beautiful steel cups with hot water, opening the aluminium bag to whiff the intense coffee aroma, measuring out a perfect dose of coffee beans, tamping it into an organised pancake, feeling the thud as I locked the heavy portable filter solidly into its gasket, and only then turning the knob to hear the pump buzz in a low frequency hum, tense with expectation as the first few drops of chocolate gold dripped into the cups, slowly increasing into a thick, syrupy stream of concentrated coffee essence that flowed for exactly 20 seconds before I switched it off.

It was so technical! So fucking fun! Anyway see the pictures below as I make affogato(coffee with ice cream)

---------->

A double scoop of coffee into the filter........................... becomes a gorgeous cup of crema-topped espresso

(above)

Meanwhile...........

------>

The giant ice cream tub is broken out and a single scoop of rich vanilla is plopped into a giant mug
(above)

pour coffee into giant mug and..........

........Affogato!!!

The 10 Best Smells in the World!!

1. Pine. Otherwise known as the Ikea smell. The smell of Scandinavia. That strong, heady wood smell reminds me of snow and peace and warmth and adventure and good friends and coziness.
2. Burnt rubber (Caused by "enthusiastic" driving). Nothing sums up the elation of slipping/sliding through the Paloh-Yong Peng road or hitting apex after apex at the track than the smell of burnt rubber and motor oil when you stop at the gas station afterwards, accompanied by the ticking sound of your radiator cooling down.
3. New clothes. You wanna keep that smell forever, until you have....
4. Fresh laundry! The hot, just-in-from-the-sun smell of Breeze, Fab, Dynamo....
5. New leather furniture. Leather couch, leather car seats, it doesn't matter. It just reeks opulence if it's new. Only applies to furniture though, in case you wanna go sniffing shoes or jackets (or my vomit-inducing, sweaty boxing gloves).
6. Stir-fried prawns. That smell of umami forces you to drool against your will.
7. Mummy's stewed pork ribs. Slurrrrrrrrrrp. Gulp.....
8. Freshly ground Coffee. You know that Starbucks smell? Imagine stuffing your head into a bag containing freshly ground coffee, taking a huge whiff, and getting that smell a hundred times over. It's so fragrant, so aromatic, so heady that every cell in your brain feels like its bursting to form a cloud of pure coffee mist. I wonder why drug addicts don't sniff coffee... (oh they do actually, they're called coffee addicts)
9. That sweet citrus mist that appears when you open a mandarin orange.
10. Freshly mown grass. My sense of love and security and family comes from that familiar childhood scent.


That's my list. What's yours? :)

Are you a food bully?

Yes you are. Most of us are. The signs are especially prevalent if:

1. You're from Kepong/Ipoh/Penang. All places with incredibly good food.
2. You call yourself a 食家 chinese: shi2 jia1, meaning gourmet or epicure.
3. You teach home science(Ekonomi Rumah Tangga) in secondary school, which involves a lot of food science and cooking, making you a naturally good cook.
4. You are a control freak.

Have you ever felt like tearing your hair out when you see your children happily stuffing their pieholes with Big Macs, but turn up their noses at the burger you made with fresh ground chuck, polenta, real cheddar, romaine lettuce, capers, and freshly baked rye bread?

Do you know that almost uncontrollable urge to scream when your boyfriend drowns your beautifully made filet mignon/braised cod fillet in tomato ketchup? What about that time when you brought your girlfriend to the Lemon Garden Cafe at Shangri-La for high tea, where you suddenly caught sight of her gagging and making a disgusted face when you slurped down the gorgeous, fresh, ice-cold Foveaux Strait Oysters, telling you that she'd rather die than eat raw shellfish?

I think I'm a food bully, albeit a mellow one who doesn't push too hard when someone I know commits a culinary faux pas. I couldn't understand my sister when she decided out of the blue to stop eating pork: that tender, heavenly pink meat that gives you cholesterol even as it delights your tastebuds. I was having dinner with my groupie at Pho Hoa, The Curve yesterday. FYI, Pho Hoa is a place that serves Vietnamese beef noodles in a broth that's flavourful beyond description. It didn't bother me that April is a carnivore(I'm not joking, I actually think she might cry or assault you if you tried to make her put something green in her mouth), I just thought that it was quirky and kinda funny, especially when she told stories about her ex- boyfriend's mother making blended veggie soup and wheatgrass WUAHAHHAAHHAHA. Anyway, when April made her choice of having "meatballs and steak" with her noodles, I succeeded in not shooting my brains out in frustration, but failed miserably in gently trying to steer her towards the more adventurous choices of flank, brisket and tripe. Luckily my social instincts kicked in when she said with a cheeky expression that she would just try mine. I let it drop at that, instead of giving her a flying kick across the table, then clambering on top while she was dazed and punching her pretty face, all the while repeating "Meatball........ *punch*...... is...*punch*..... *PANT PANT*........ NOT MEAT...*roundhouse punch*... now order the brisket dammit!!!!!"

It's a protracted dilemma that makes you feel both guilty (at being such a control freak, cause it's none of your god-damned business) and angry(What the fuck? Putting ice in the wine?!??! ARRRRRGHHHH!!!!). Intellectually, you know it's just a matter of taste, but emotionally, you feel that food is one of the great hedonistic pleasures in life, ostensibly interchangeable with sex, as has been documented in so much literature and the hentai practice of eating sushi off a naked girl.

It feels like sacrilege when you see someone throwing out all the siham(cockles) in char kuay teow, or when someone drowns their shark's fin soup with vinegar until it's all black-coloured, or when the Japanese eat EVERYTHING - including steak and fish-and-chips - with rice. When I visited Takamatsu - the Udon capital of Japan - as a teenager, everyone I ate with told me that it was rude when I didn't slurp my noodles (Something about not enjoying the food or disrespecting the table). They would mime slurping the udon when I ate, with raised eyebrows and rapid-fire Japanese. The language was alien, but the tone was not: Hey boy! Suck your udon and make noise or else! So of course I had enormous fun slurping loudly like a garrulous vacuum-powered monster while getting approving smiles and nods, where all I would have received at home was a backhanded slap for such atrocious table manners. Or my personal favourite, when someone eats a dish of crab not by fiddling and coaxing out the succulent white flesh, but by putting the entire body into their mouth and chewing confusedly for a while, then spitting out the entire uneaten mangled mess of shell and flesh into a wasted pile onto the red chinese-shop tablecloth.

Sometimes, you even get fucked-up food bullies. They're something like the "religious scholars" of the corrupted backwater 3rd-world country located between Singapore and Thailand, implacably arrogant and self righteous when they label people jahil(ignorant) and biadab(uncouth) when they're the ones unenlightened. For example, meet the Singaporean who sneers at you because you don't mix tomato sauce with your konlow mee. LOL. Or how about the moron who says that espresso - that perfectly calibrated shot of coffee essence made mostly with the superior Arabica bean - is "nonsense", refusing even to try it, insisting instead that "NOTHING, AND I MEAN NOTHING, BOY...." will ever compare to the local (robusta) coffee he sips at the Hainanese coffeeshop around the corner. Jahil, indeed.

My brother Erlend is a contender for Champion Food Bully. When he visited me, char koay teow, fishball noodles, radish cake(loh bak kou), all the Malay kuihs, roti canai, curry mee, prawn mee - practically all the food that we were proud of - was dismissed summarily with the verdict,"It's all filler! It doesn't make me full! Noodles noodles noodles! It's all 'empty'! Give me some proper food! I'm a viking! I need meat!" He eventually came around to enjoying bak kut teh and some, if not all, our national dishes where he almost made me cry before. Of course, we could put it down to his having superior Scandinavian tastebuds (being the angmoh-loving morons that we are), but his was a country that had as national foods: rice porridge(hot tasteless lumpy curds served with butter, sugar and cinnamon *faint*), lamb and cabbage stew, potato dumplings, and giant fishballs. Plus, they eat roast meat with JAM. I kid you not.


*Please don't post any disparaging comments about the vikings. I happen to know an incredibly hot, drop-dead super-gorgeous Norwegian girl who reads this blog(and probably shouldn't *wink wink*) and whom I'm trying to convince to visit. Also, my brother has been working out a lot, and he might choose to take out his frustration on me for your comments :D

So the next time you feel the urge to tell your brother to lay off the soya sauce, or tell your dad that his porridge doesn't need an entire handful of preserved veggies, or sneer at your friend who eats banana leaf rice with cutlery instead of his hands, or laugh at the feller who hates runny egg yolks..... Pause, take a deep breath, and remember that in Japan, you get scolded for not slurping your noodles like a turbo-powered vacuum cleaner, neh?

Balm for My Bored Pirate Soul

What's with the dearth of good programming over the New Year season? What the fuck is all that about? For some unfathomable reason (whoever knows please explain), great TV shows have this break over the holiday period, anywhere from Oct/Nov/Dec to January.

And it includes ALL my favourite shows: Prison Break, Nip/Tuck, Top Gear, Fifth Gear, Entourage, Smallville, South Park, Weeds (motherfucker! I AM a TV addict, albeit one without a TV *wink wink*)......

...... until I discovered this gem: Heroes.

If you want details, it's about people with powers. But their lives are all complex and human, and the human dramas take precedence over their superpowers, which are shown only rarely, and are breathtakingly believable, unlike the OTHER superhero-themed TV series, which is going from implausible to downright hilarious in its undisciplined depictions of Clark Kent huffing and puffing away storm clouds and story arcs which have me screaming"DEUS EX MACHINA" everytime they switch the semi-incestous relationship between Clark, Lex and Lana on and off.

Heroes is aired in comic book style too, with a few mini story-arcs linked together to form an overarching plot. It's a very realistic story, and because of the tight writing, it's comparable to Prison Break in it's tension and realism.

So if you've run out of good shows to watch, find one of your geeky friends who download bucketfuls of TV series and ask them to get it for you. Watch the pilot episode and decide for yourself. I bet that you'll kick yourself later, because it's only until episode 11, and you have to wait till the next week for the following episode.

BTW, watch out for Hiro Nakamura. He's my favourite character. He's incorrigibly irritating in the beginning, but becomes more and more adorable as the episodes go by... maybe he reminds me of how nice it was to be an all-out nerd.