My friends are a bunch of sissy boys.

I am - to put it in a nice way - pissed off.

Why?
Because the faggots I decided to befriend once upon a time finally came out of their macho shell and decided to behave like the bent-over loose-bowel indecisive faggots that they are.

I can't, for the life of me, imagine why I got such faggot friends. Perhaps I was too popular in a past life and God wanted to teach me humility(and frustration and patience), or perhaps I have a personality that somehow attracts fucked-up faggots like the fucked-up fuckers that fucking profess to be my fucking friends.

WHAT?
Once upon a time(two months ago at most), I had the bright idea to bring all our friends together for a mad-ass holiday getaway to Phuket, Thailand. The main objective was to get my group of close (hah, yeah RIGHT!) friends together for a jaunt to a BEAUTIFUL tropical island to dive, eat, drink and make the acquaintances of a large number of attractive young ladies with loose bikini strings and morals.

I had the romantic, sentimental image of a bunch of good friends getting drunk, gorging on the wonderful Thai food, diving and gaping in awe at the stuff we would see underwater and babbling like idiots about the experience afterwards. After we arrived back on shore, we would make friends with a whole bunch of friendly foreign girls and proceed to have as much crazy wild uninhibited hedonistic fun as possible(in general, not just with the girls)..

As a rational, normal-thinking human being that has friends(or think you do, like me), tell me: Is that a bad idea for a good friend to have? I mean, if I were your friend, and I suggested we gather the rest of our friends and have a good time in Thailand, would you go,"Damn it Khai Tzer. I hate you. You want me to have fun? What kind of friend are you? Fuck off man, I really don't like people trying to get me to enjoy myself. And btw, I don't really want to see the rest of my good friends that I haven't seen in ages. You can tell them to shove it up their arse! I mean, maybe if you begged me or licked my balls or something, I might just think about it, no no, not agree, just think about it...."

It sounds crazy doesn't it? I swear to you there are no hidden catches I'm not telling you about. I have no ulterior motive(what ulterior motive can there be?!?!) other than to get them together and enjoy ourselves absolutely in Phuket. I thought out the entire thing to perfection:

1. The plan was to go in March 2006(enough time for them to apply for leave and clean up whatever's in their inbox)
2. We were going to book AirAsia very early(the prices were, are still are dirt cheap)
3. We were going to have the time of our lives(How could we not? I mean, it's Phuket!)

And yet, AND YET, my 'friends' managed to give me the sort of attitude like I detailed above. At first, I put it down to the usual chinese reflex of not automatically agreeing to anything, though it was a bit of an insult to do that to a supposed good friend. No matter, I brushed it off, sure it was just me being sensitive about feeling like I had to beg them to get them to have fun. But as one after another started acting like pussies, sissies, faggots, pondans, and motherfucking useless idiots with no use other than to be fertiliser for the earth when they finally die, I decided I'd had enough attitude from them, and I'm going to tell them fuck off, you can suck your own dick. I don't have the time for this.

At first the faggots were all enthusiastic as shit.

"WAH!! Phuket ah? GOOD GOOD! Damn long never go holiday liau! When are we going?"
"Seriously ah? And we have cheap tickets still? No need to think liau lah!"

etc. etc. You get the idea. And then...


..........their inherent pussiness started to come out. A few fellers started to talk with high-pitched faggot voices, their anuses loose from being fucked by men, and gave me the excuse that they didn't have a diving license. Note that all the involved parties agreed that scuba diving was god's gift to humans, and that we started discussing taking the license a full TWO years ago; Meanwhile, actual, concrete plans to get the license were in place at least one year ago. None of them had financial problems with regards to this. None of them were deprived of free time as they once enjoyed 3 week holidays at a stretch. In short, there were no acceptable reasons for not getting the license then.

NO MATTER. Being the ever-accomodating person that I am, I didn't even bring this up! I actually gave them options and would have gone out of my way to ask for them about getting the license. What did the pussies do? They behaved like below. I absolutely cannot believe it:

"But I also don't know where to get the license!" Says A
"Anywhere also can get lah. Don't worry." I reply. I was thinking, Dude, relax, it's just a dive license. We're not asking you to procure heroin. I got my license by asking around myself. It's not like the divemasters were hungry for business and begged me.
"You ask for me lah!" says A, with the sort of tone that sounded like,"What the fuck?! You didn't ask about it for me, and you have the balls to come and ask me to get the license? You didn't do your homework and you expect me to go diving?!?"

I swallowed it down and told him kindly,"okay okay I'll ask for you." I didn't even curse him mentally. I just took it and scolded myself for being too sensitive. Now that I think about it, is it my fucking business to ask about it for you? If you really wanted a dive license that bad, wouldn't you be the one asking me for contacts, how much it costs, where, is the instructor good, and all that sort of grilling? Nada, not a word, just the unspoken assumption that I was an asshole for not asking about it for him.

It didn't end like that. B, otherwise known as faggot number two, and I had this conversation many many many times:
".... But I'm stuck in Penang. How am I going to get a license?" Said in a plaintive tidak-apa tone that irritated me a bit. This was the first person I spoke to about seriously getting a license together ages ago.
"Why don't you join A, he said he'll be going in January to Tioman to get his license," I said.
"When is he going? Is it confirmed?"

What am I, his secretary?!?!?

"I think it's quite confirmed. Why don't you call him and ask when is he going."
"Eh why don't you tell him when you see him. Ask him when is he going."

*WHAT AM I? HIS SECRETARY?!?!

"Sure. sure. I'll tell him. But you call him too aight?"

I had this conversation with him, in one form or another, with this syntax or the other, on the phone, on IM , email, and all other possible form of communication short of telegraphs and smoke signals, many many many times.

When I saw A, I had this conversation with him. This conversation was also repeated many many many times.

"Hey dude. So how about the Phuket trip? Confirmed about the diving?" I have to give him credit that he was very cool about when we were going. I told him the date, he told me should be ok and he would confirm with me, and he did almost immediately. I respect him for his decisiveness doing that.
"I think January should be free lah. I will ask C about joining me for getting the dive license. Don't want him to blame me for not asking him."

I laughed at this, and told him that he was a fucking politician(he is, and I tell him that all the time), and that he was more worried about his friends blaming him than about them getting their license in time, like I was.

"So when do you want to go?" I asked.
"You asked for me already or not?" He would reply in that unctous 'little boy, you haven't done your homework so don't come and talk to me about it' tone. He wasn't bothered with it, like proactively asking me whether I had asked about it for him. He always used it as the standard defensive answer whenever I asked him when he was going to get the license. Should I give a damn about him losing out, not seeing the greatness of the ocean? No, but I did, and told him that B asked me to ask him when he was taking it.

"You ask for me first lah!! How I know?" He would invariably reply. "You ask B to call me lah."

WHAT AM I? HIS GODDAMNED FUCKING SECRETARY?!?!?!?

"Okay okay."

It was almost surreal the same conversation I would have with A and B concurrently. Each asking me to pass messages to the other like they never contacted each other, although they were from the same town, and both owned a modern appliance called the mobile phone. What's more, they each had the other's numbers!! Amazing! And I would have the same conversations repeatedly with each of them, each saying that the other didn't call him. And this was all over the issue of selecting a date, can you believe it?

I was the one urging both of them to go. I was the one who would call my diving contact. I was the one who had to ask each of them when they would be free. I would be the one to urge one to confirm with the other the date. Do I have to do this? Please read the last few paragraphs of this post to learn how I feel.

Let's talk about C, otherwise known as faggot #3. This one takes the cake. He was the champion procrastinator, champion excuse giver, and champion 'fong fei kei'(beg out, abandon) at the last possible moment. The best part was he wouldn't give you a straight out NO. He would never say No, I'm not interested, or even a more diplomatic I don't think I can make it. He would say,"I'll let you know later." and then he'd never let you know. That was his way of turning you down. We learnt about "I'll let you know know later." after a few confusing conversations ended like this. I didn't even bother asking him to join us beyond the one and only cursory invitation, because the result, as I expected, was that he steered the conversation into something else and never ended up telling me whether he was even interested or not. The one thing I managed to pin him down on(miraculously) was WHEN would he finally take his diving license. Now listen to this, it's hilarious.

"My mom won't let me."C, who is 24, says with a straight face, and the amazing thing is, it's not the first time he gave this excuse!
"What? Are you still in kindergarten?" I actually told him this to his face the last time I asked about it, manners be fucked.
"She says that this year is a bad year for me to go. She's been reading my fortune/seeing omen/ whatever that his mom does( I'm never really sure)".
"Dude, you gave me this exact same reason since the first time we were supposed to get the license together."

Now can you just imagine how loyal I am to my friends? If you know me from university, I am an absolutely evil person, and will pick on someone's faults and laugh and make fun of him until his soul is broken. People who know me from uni are always extra-wary when I am around. One friend labelled me "extreme fun, but too provocative."My sister knows this, but she still can't get used to it. She made the mistake of complaining to me that her friends laughed at her for looking like Chicken Little with a tiny body and a big head and the specs, expecting me to commiserate and sympathise. What did I do? I was driving when she told me this, and I immediately launched into the Numa numa song and waved my arms spastically like Chicken Little in the theatrical trailer....... I am EVIL. But imagine my loyalty and sensitivity when a grown 24 year old MAN tells me, in all seriousness, that his mom won't let him do something, and I not only refrain from laughing until the walls come down, but actually just brush it aside, preferring to take issue with him using the excuse too often instead.


"I know I know," he says kind of sheepishly. "I'll talk to her."

And thus the actual point of the conversation, which was to determine whether he wanted to join us on a fantastic trip to Phuket, was magically diverted into the realm of the occult and mother-son issues that Freud would have a wet dream over.

I stick to my conviction of not inviting him again.

D was a pussy sucker. I mean that not only literally, but figuratively. He would die for pussy. As the cantonese say,"waii haii sei." or "die for cunt". Once he had a girl in his targets, he was relentless in his pursuit and the convincing of his willingness to suckerifice for her. That's how he wooed his women, but it's not the issue here though, the issue is that he currently had another target that he wanted to prove he would die for, and thus friends were a temporary irritation. They only became assets on a lonely night when the girl was otherwise occupied and he was faced with the prospect of having dinner alone. I didn't even think about asking him.

E was the only solid yes. He took his dive license with me, agreed to the March date, and was only waiting for the rest to confirm so that we could go diving.

This story isn't finished. The last time I brought up the topic with B, the fucker actually asked me if we were going diving, as if we never had this conversation before, and said,"but i don't know how to dive. Why don't we go to Bangkok instead? Hehe." I neglected to tell you that he and I were the first people to discuss actually doing this trip.

Needless to say, I was less than pleased, and gave him a string of colourful expressions in English and his native HockChew, questioning the morals of his mother and her mistake in giving birth to a uselss piece of despicable flesh like him. And then we had the same conversation all over again.

Then 2 nights ago, (s)he told me,"You guys go ahead lah. blah blah blah pussy talk blah blah....."
What a pussy.

F, Faggot sissy-boy #4 gave the excuse of having a lot of work during that time(what the fuck, you know you're going to have so much work that you can't plan 5 months in advance to rearrange the work for a total of 4 workdays?) I spent a lot of time and managed to convince him to come along. It's not a surprise that he and B both work at the same company, it seems to hire only pussy sissy boys.

Now here's the deal. I want to go on a holiday. I love my friends and want them to come on holiday with me, so that we can actually have a good time together. That's my selfish motivation. Forgive me for wanting to share something great with my good friends. Do I deserve being made a sucker of by the people that I call my friends, having to cajole, convince and almost beg them to join me on what would probably be a really fun time together? Am I really that desperate?

Hell no. HELL NO. The 'bangkok' statement almost pushed me over the edge, and B actually bailing on us was the last straw. I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm not going to ask anyone, I'm not going to do shit. And by the way, if you don't get it yet, we're not fucking going to Phuket anymore.

I'm going to plan a holiday by myself, I'm going to a great place, meet great people and have a whale of a time, and I'll send them all postcards addressed to "dear faggot boy#1/2/3/4......", and laugh at them for living like stupid slaves and wasting their youth while I was out seeing the world, and then I'll wait for the first poor faggot boy who's stupid enough to tell me in a plaintive girlish hurt tone,"You're not right loh! Go to Argentina/Chile never ask/bring me!!" Boy I can't wait. He'll get an earful of beautiful words so rich, creative, and multilingual that when I'm finished he'll be Leonardo da Vinci.

As Eric Cartman of South Park would say in a whiny irritating voice,"Screw you guys, I'm going home."

Cockroaches... YUCK!

Fucking cockroaches. I hate them. I absolutely, totally detest cockroaches. If you know me, you'll know that there's nothing else that I would describe with the word 'hate'. Contempt, derision, at most dislike. But cockroaches fill me with this loathing and disgust so absolute and final that I cannot imagine something else that can define the word 'hate'. There's nothing else like the pure fury and urge to kill that fills my body whenever I catch a glimpse of this horrible animal.

I also have a phobia of them. In other words, I'm scared shitless of this disgusting brown insect. My heart goes pounding and the adrenaline starts pumping everytime I catch a glimpse of a cockroach scurrying across the floor or a wall towards the nearest dark corner, feelers waving left and right like two disgusting filthy hairs. I actually feel the onset of nausea and an unnatural urge to run whenever I see one. It's ludicrous the amount of terror this little thing creates in me. And I mean it: Pure, abject terror. To put it into context, this is from a person that loves roller coasters and extreme sports. I'm not afraid of most insects(unless they're dangerous), and I'd readily pick one up if I'm sure it doesn't sting or bite. I've picked up giant foot-long millipedes and let them walk on my forearm, I've played with tame pythons and grass snakes, I've caught ferocious-looking(but docile) rhinoceros beetles to scare girls and young cousins, I'm not afraid of snakes as long as they're safe, I'm not afraid of monkeys, strange dogs, birds, rodents, frogs. I actually have an affection for spiders, even if they're the size of my palm and hairy.

But a cockroach... Oh, there would be nothing as physically terrifying to me as a cockroach that was allowed to touch my skin. But it's nothing compared to the hate I have for it. As much as it fills me with uncontrollable fear and nauseating disgust, it pales in comparison to the fury and hatred it generates whenever I catch one at the corner of my eye. There has not been one cockroach that I have seen(in my living spaces) that has been allowed to continue living. Every one that I see generates an unwilling disgust in me, then my body sprints towards the nearest newspaper, rolls it up and smacks again and again at the offending cockroach until I'm sure it's dead. To understand the extent of my phobia, I don't even like to be holding the newspaper when it's touching the cockroach, like when I'm picking it up to throw away, or when I smash down on it. I once smashed one so hard that it's juices burst out the rear of it's abdomen and spattered the wall. I almost vomited. But it gave me immense satisfaction to know that it was, in fact, dead.

My disgust for cockroaches come from the knowledge that they're absolutely filthy things that carry disease. I know that it's a disproportionately large amount of fear and hate to carry, and I can't explain it. After all, rats are dirty, but I have no compunction touching a lab rat, for instance, if you guarantee that it's clean. But give me a lab-reared, sterile, spotlessly clean cockroach and I would still have that same horror and disgust and urge to grab something to kill it. I can't not equate cockroaches with unbearable filth, rot and disease.

What made me write this post? A huge specimen was crawling on my table just now and happened to crawl under a plastic bag just as I noticed it. Without even thinking, my hand smashed down on the plastic bag hard, making the thing spurt juices and roll over, twitching. I felt such immense satisfaction that I killed it, so immense that it blanketed my fear of the thing.

As I wiped the thing into the plastic bag and cleaned my table, I saw that it wasn't dead yet and was beginning to crawl out of the plastic bag(not surprising, they're amazingly resilient, and even after chopping off the head, it only dies because of starvation), so I laid the plastic bag on the marble floor, took a 500g metal weight and smacked down hard with a 'chang!' sound on the bag as it met the hard floor. I felt like a fantasy hero slaying an orc: Spent and resigned to killing the fucking creatures, but sick of the duty nevertheless. I will rid myself of this disproportionate phobia one day, so that I can finally say with a clear conscience and mind that I fear nothing and I hate nothing.

Show-Off eats Humble Pie - 2nd Episode

Someone, I'm not saying who, tried to show off his new hops by dunking a basketball. Stupid dumb cunt that he is, he courageously rised above the rim, slammed the ball as hard as he could and hung on the rim for a moment..... only for the rim to reject his dunk and his fingers slip, and he dropped back to the ground in a crouch. Nevertheless, it was an impressive show of force to the playground regulars who started saying stuff like "oh shit, I'm not going to guard him." and "motherfucker did you see him jump?"

So he swaggered off to the side, basking in the questionable glory of basketball amateurs as he took in the mutterings and awed whispers. What they didn't know was that he was already fucking embarrassed to see his dunk rejected, not to mention the fact that his thumb was injured, numb and bleeding from grabbing the rim at an awkward angle.

*I JUST TOOK OFF THE PLASTER YESTERDAY AND IT STILL STINGS. :)

Oh well, at least I had a great session, winning every pickup game and even forcing their two best players to double-team me. I RULE!

At the 'Fitness Club'

*cough cough fitness club WUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH*

I'm sorry, I just think the spin doctors have done it once again. The worst part is the general Malaysian population- with the exception of a few cynical, highly intelligent people(e.g. El Nino) and a few cynical, stupid, loud-mouthed dumbasses who criticise everything whether its good or not - buy the bullshit. Regular people actually use the terms 'fitness club' and 'fitness centre' in general conversation, like proper commercial idiots. 'Fitness Club' my ass. Turn around and bend over, fools, so that I can insert my insemination device into yours. Idiots. WUAHAHHAHAHAHA. But I digress.

Most people know of the sex bunnies and the stud muffins crawling the gyms. Here are the sub-types of the creatures I've noticed:

1. Gym Shark.
The salespeople/managers of the club. Usually female, they're unbelievably ugly, persist in wearing inappropriately revealing clothing, and have a permanent "My, what large teeth you have" smile on their face, like Bruce from Finding Nemo. You pity the wide-eyed newbies who come in, vulnerable and defenceless and ask about "what packages you have?" and cringe in resigned horror as they're ushered, by that horrible money-faced look, unknowingly, into the clutches of reluctant organised physical exertion and a monthly cut in finances. The money-face is so blatant that I feel like slapping them whenever they're bored and deign to walk around, surveying the territory, and uttering a pompous, overbearingly fake 'how are you' like mafia overlords, expecting the gym denizens to answer "I'm fine" with a submissive smile. I told the gym shark at my gym today that I felt like shit because I had gallbladder disease, and I didn't know what was the rash on my inner thigh, maybe she would know.... and watched the fugly bitch scurry for cover like a marine invading Normandy on D-day.


2. Cock-tease.
The antidote to the sex bunny. I suppose I could tolerate the sex bunny, since she actually shows an interest in me and gyrates hornily on the stairclimber for my amusement. Which red-blooded male doesn't like watching tight bodies gyrate, right? Her one fatal flaw is that she probably looks hungrily around like that at every fit guy. I'd like to believe that she's falling madly in love with me, but in her eyes, I'm probably replaceable with any other reasonably fit-looking laddie. In comparison, the cock-tease plays it like a typical ok-looking girl, having to resort to devious tactics to attract attention, as opposed to the really pretty ladies, most of which are really nice people(to me at least). The cocktease doesn't look too good, but she's not bad-looking either. If there were no other women in the gym, I'd probably try to catch a glimpse of her in between sets.

She attracts attention by wearing really loud, and maybe revealing clothing(if her body isn't really nice) and likes to use the machine with the most men nearby, usually with wrong technique and a uselessly light weight, pretending to ignore all the men around her while checking them out sneakily. In reality, the men don't even notice her, because Ms. Sex Bunny is gyrating her tuffy tail on the stairclimber. And then, when she gets fed up because she's not getting any attention, she will choose one 'mou ku'(innocent) guy and blatantly stare at him. If he ignores her, she'll continue staring. If he gives her a friendly smile, like to every other gym patron, she'll give him a huffy sneer like he was eyeing her non-existent cleavage, and proceed to ignore him. I'd like to be able to choose one of this stupid women and track her life with cameras until she gets married to see what kind of sucker is hooked by her mediocrity and how she managed it.


3. Aunties!!!
Don't you love them? Cheerful, gossippy, middle-aged women with loud voices and over-permed hair. The best ones are those who don't even bother with the pretence of getting fit, and treat the gym like the social club that it is. They'll reserve places for each other in the group classes, and chatter and gossip when the class is over, over a steaming cup of instant coffee or tea at the lounge area. I suspect that more than half have sexual fantasies involving their young male instructors.


4. Desperados.
Usually newbies, middled-aged/elderly, overweight and terribly out of shape. Dressed in formless, drab-coloured loose clothing in an attempt to hide the extra weight and shape. They have a panicky, distressed look on their face like they're facing an executioner whenever they come face-to-face with the machine area. I think they have this feeling that if they don't work out right away they'll keel over and die of a heart attack anytime. So in a bewildered state of panic, they rush to the nearest machine, pause uncertainly, look around like a meerkat out of its hole, and try to push the buttons and levers to see whether the machine can be sat on and hurry hurry oh how am I supposed to use this thing hey wait there are instructions!

THEGRIPSSHOULDBESHOULDERHEIGHTUSETHEYELLOWHANDLESTOADJUS....oh fuck i don't have time to read this don't care just hantam only ohfuckohfuckohfuck I need to work out RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!!

Then they proceed to use the machine with poor form, too heavy/light weights and rush from machine to machine without any system or order, desperate to use every machine so that they can get fit. Poor things.

5. Muscle Uncles.
Don't laugh! They exist. Some are ex-bodybuilders with pumped up but saggy chests, others decided late to take care of their bodies and just progressed to its natural conclusion, the pumped-up fat look(since they've managed to build muscle but can't for the life of them manage to reduce their bodyfat percentage, giving them very little muscle definition). They only wear singlets since t-shirts will cover their(to them) amazingly beautiful bodies.

There's a 40+/50-year old muscle uncle in my gym who walks around in his singlet with his elbows out to the side looking like a gorilla(it's due to improper form and/or not using the full range of motion while pumping iron) with a big(but not cut) body, with his head turning from side-to-side all the time, admiring himself in the mirror, unbearably proud of having a big body and checking to see who's checking him out.

I bet he worked hard for it, but uncle, you're not going to look like that when you're 60. You're going to have your saggy tits, and even now you don't have a fit body. You can't stretch for nuts and you've got no definition, so there's no need to feel so proud. I've got a way better, stronger, fitter, more flexible body, and I don't feel the need to wear singlets and squeeze my biceps every two seconds. Trust me uncle, they're attached and won't run off to elope with someone else's calf muscles. If I really wanted to bulk up, I'd down protein powder and in two months, you wouldn't have a chance against my delt caps! But then I'd be big and useless on the basketball court, and eventually I'd have saggy titties like you too.

This is So Wrong - Part I

I was at the gym today, doing twisting crunches on a Swiss Ball, when I overheard two apparently 'macho' dudes. I was concentrating on the burning pain of the fifteenth rep, when I suddenly overheard the word "relationship". As I twisted to the right for the 16th, I saw the resident musclehead - a chinese guy I had seen at the gym with a massive, toned upper body and an impossibly small waist and legs (damned fit in other words) - discussing his 'relationships' with, get this........ another guy. My mind went click and it felt like I was in the twilight zone. Here were two apparently hetero-looking males(but you never know since the gay ones actually are more macho) discussing touchy-feely with one another, and the musclehead actually used the word 'relationship'!

Grimacing with pain from my first set, I sat on the ball and faced away from them, pretending not to hear, but catching the musclehead go on and on about "my relationship this, my relationship that, my last relationship lasted 3 months, I have no time for relationships now...." I started to get this really icky feeling on my skin, like I had been raped by a man and needed a shower. It was tres horrible.

The word is like an extra-long four-letter word to me. I definitely didn't need to hear it used in every sentence. I mean, I barely ever use the word, even with girlfriends. Come to think of it, if I ever use the word, it means I really like the girl enough to discuss my previous romances with her(OF COURSE it's only when she gets that "ooh-I-like-him-so-much-I-have-to-know-his-carnal-history" phase that girls have. I'm not dumb enough to bring up the topic of ex-girlfriends for fun). But these guys were discussing it like it was the happiest thing in the world to do, and with another guy, no less!

maaaah-hai....

Mental vibrator

I saw a book by Danielle Steele at the bookshop today. The title was "IMPOSSIBLE".

I thought of the all the rich, tall, dark, handsome italians/doctors/architects/artists that have thrusting manhoods and fall in love with heaving bosoms and breathless moans and thought to myself,"Aren't all your books?"

"Hi. I'm a moron. I'm from Paloh."

Here's what a typical person from Paloh is like: damn sampat, has a distinct lack of social propriety, talks in hokkien-accented mandarin at the top of his voice, likes to blow water (exaggerate his abilities) and gabs nonsense all the time. A typical Paloh conversation goes like below(and I am repeating almost verbatim. This really happened).

"Wah, the lenglui come already," one idle old uncle overheard shouting to another at the top of his voice, even though the other idle uncle is just next to him.

*The "lenglui" is almost as pretty as the rear end of a syphilitic hippopotamus.

"Hallo uncle." butt-ugly 'lenglui' calls out in hokkien accented mandarin.
"WAH... The lenglui just talked to you!" Another idle uncle standing next to them shouts out.
"Wah. I should be so happy!"Dumbass uncle #1 replies, bellowing like a donkey.
"She talked to me!"
"Yes. She talked to you!"
"yes! She talked to him!"..................

*continues ad infinitum, until I was so in awe of them after listening to their witty, intellectual repartee that I departed to play basketball at the other end of the court. I swear I could feel my brain cells dying. In case you're from Paloh, what I'm trying to say is that people from the place are backward, rude, stupid, and are irresistible gossips and busybodies.

In case of famine/nuclear holocaust

Honestly! Who buys apples by the crateload? My father, that's who. If the communists decide to invade, or aliens come ala War of the Worlds, we've got nothing to worry about. In addition to this, we also buy WHOLE salmon, bucketloads of fresh produce, and tons of fish, shrimp, meat, and dairy products. No wonder we need two refrigerators and a deep freezer. In case that isn't enough, we also have enough canned food to last an Ethiopian village for an entire year.

fettucine with sauteed garoupa medallions, reduced bouillabaisse and long beans.

my... what big teeth you have.

.....The better to eat you with.. wuahahhahahaha.

I managed to get my hands on a spotted grouper(sek pan) that was so fresh there was still slime on the skin. Imagine my happiness! I considered grilling the bugger with garlic and thyme, then there was the idea of making soupe de poisson(fish soup), but I forgot to buy clams or prawns or squid. So pasta it was! First time I'm experimenting with fish and pasta. And it works.

The best part is that it's low fat, low GI, and lots of protein. Perfect! Of course there's the 'heavenly' version which includes butter and more olive oil. Message me if you want to know how to cook this. Yum yum!

*The first picture was taken while I was cleaning the fish. It's really interesting how the jaw unhinges and opens to this huge size. You won't think it's possible looking at it with the mouth closed.

Bullying the Bully

I promised you I'd irritate the little bugger like he irritates me. I was bored so I decided to pretend I wanted to eat his leg, like a hungry dog. Here are the happy results:

Tagliatelle with tomatoes, chicken and shrimp bisque
That's Bob the Builder, my cousin and the world's choosiest eater, who would rather die than eat something that's 'healthy' for him. I had to babysit him the other day since aunty had an emergency.

Too lazy to go out and tapau, I decided to whip up some pasta for lunch. Bob gobbled the huge plate and asked for seconds. Maybe I'm not the only one who likes my cooking after all. hehe.

Wow, you're amazing.

People who Deserve My Awed Respect and (sometimes) adulation
Bill Watterson
- creator of Calvin and Hobbes.
Trey Parker and Matt Stone
- creators of South Park.
Chuck Palahniuk
- author of Fight Club, who managed to describe bipolar isorder/schizophrenia in such living detail.
Robert Jordan and J.R.R. Tolkien
-for their amazing ability to create such detailed alternate universes and tell stories.
Mariah Carey
- for her discipline and ability to work so hard. Oh, and her amazing voice too.
Paris Hilton
- who enjoys her money and her life without giving a fuck what the envious people think. I'll bet she'll be a really interesting friend to have.
Eminem
- for his sheer talent and guts in becoming the best rapper in the world.
Gwen Stefani
- For her style and her irresistably hip music.
Ray Charles, Alicia Keys, Diana Krall, Maxwell, Innuendo
Because your music moves and startles me with its beauty and sheer lyricism. Innuendo will sing for me on my wedding day.

People who have earned a grudging bit of my attention
J.K. Rowling, for becoming a billionaire just writing books about screwed-up children. NOT for her literary ability, mind.
Destiny's child -Skanky feminist whores with an unfair ability to create such beautiful music.

People who have earned my contempt and derision
Australians - superficial, calculative, uncouth, loud wankahs with a distinct lack of sophistication. And Australian women are grotesquely fat and ugly and rude and stupid..... wait, I'm being redundant.
Rupert Murdoch, idiot Australian(now American) media mogul who thinks everyone else is an idiot like him. Wait. I'm being redundant again.... This must be a uniquely Malaysian affectation.
Diana, Princess of Wales and Royal Whore.
Puff Daddy(and the rest of the 'blingbling' clique). Dude, you look stupid. Understatement is cool; not decking yourself out like a faggot pansy. Only a highschooler wants to live like you, walking around with an entourage and shades at night *snigger*. No wonder people sniff at the nouveau riche. I'm not wealthy by a far cry and even I wanna laugh at you.

The Philosophy of toilet-washing

Dude... I washed a toilet today, mannnn....

It was like, so fucking disgusting and shit? and you know, it, like, totally grossed me out? Duuuude.......... I can't do this. It's totally not cool...

Enough of the surfer dude. Honestly, washing a toilet is a humbling affair. An honest-to-goodness test of your humility. Oh you're too good to wash a toilet. Your dad's the mega-corporation director, what the fuck are you doing washing toilets, you ask. You can hire a billion maids(if the phillipines and Indonesia had so many people) to wash your toilet can't you?

Anyway. I was like that. For me, toilet washing ranked right up there with making out with Sailor-moon (this horrible monstrous Quasimodo of a girl in my university who liked to blind innocent young boys by dressing her disgustingly fat body in Japanese anime schoolgirl uniforms) and eating nato(fermented Japanese soybeans) as one of the things I least wanted to do. But today, I decided that my bathroom was too filthy to ignore anymore.

I'm temporarily living with my aunt, and I like my living spaces to be squeaky clean..... that is, if it's not me that has to tidy up. I managed to harass my lazy-ass, good-for-nothing, spoilt-brat of a roommate to participate marginally in our weekly cleaning operations when I was studying in Melaka and shared a room with him. The spoilt little boy had an even bigger aversion to manual labour than I did, and would prefer to live in a pigsty than touch a broom. Fortunately for me, he didn't really like my harassing and insulting him whenever I got a mad urge to clean the place (the room wasn't really big, maybe 4 by 5 meters, so it was actually quite easy) and would do all the 'sidekick' work(change dirty mop water etc. etc.) when we cleaned. He's still rubbish at actual cleaning, I tell you.

Anyway, I've had people clean up after me ever since I was born. And now, I realise *surprise surprise* that my aunty doesn't really care about cleanliness or tidiness. As far as I go to keep my own bathroom clean, she pours her dirty mop water into my bathroom instead of the back drain, causing all the tiles to acquire a layer of scum. My devil of a cousin does me no favours by refusing to flush after using the toilet, even after I ask him to.

"Flush already or not?"
"Flush already!" *cheeky little pukimak grin on his face*

I know better after so long, so I grab him as he tries to run, pull him to the toilet bowl and ask him what's that little pukimak turd doing floating around in my toilet bowl.

"okay lah okay lah."

So I let him go, expecting him to flush his own fucking turd, and the fucker bolts before I can grab him again! Bloody little motherfucker. In the next post you will read about me catching him doing that and smacking him or pinching him so hard he screams. And then I'm going to push him into a little corner of my room and keep poking him in the ribs with my finger and stepping on his toes, mentally torturing him until I'm satisfied. And then I'm going to smack him one more time, pull him to the toilet bowl and make him say sorry to the toilet bowl for not flushing, before smacking him again, and only then letting him go. Recalcitrant little turd.

But I digress, the point is that my expectations for a certain standard of hygiene and cleanliness is way above that of my aunty and her family. Being quite a tolerant little fucker myself, that's saying something. I will not tell her this of course, since I'm the one staying at her place and causing her whatever inconvenience that I can't avoid. I'm choosing to stay at her place, and beyond asking if I can help to clean, it would be plain fucking rude to tell her to keep her house clean.

I came back home from Johor a few days ago to discover fucking creeper plant stalks and leaves all around the bathroom! Along with it was a blue pail and a small plastic container filled with water and sand. I threw out the vines and took out the pails, but there were some rotten leaves that fell off that formed another stained layer on top of the scum already there. I tried to ignore it for a few days, but today I couldn't take it anymore and decided to clean the fucking bathroom.

So I flooded the whole disgusting place, took out the huge brown brush, a bottle of Jif, and got on my hands and knees to scrub it out. You have to understand how momentous this occasion was in my life, given my afore-mentioned dislike for cleaning toilets. All the while I was thinking god, this is so fucking humiliating, I'm cleaning a toilet, fuck this is really shameful, dammit, why can't I have an aunty that's anal about hygiene and would keep the whole house spick and span, oh gooooood, this is so fucking humiliating..... even though, get this, I was all alone at the time.

Now that I think about it, there's nothing so humiliating about cleaning your own toilet, it's just the logical extension of keeping your living space clean. But at that moment, for a person who really hates the idea, and would do almost anything to avoid it, it was.

It's a great way to keep you humble: Try telling someone with a smug face that you just cleaned a toilet. Hard isn't it? It also puts into perspective what mothers all over Malaysia are expected to do (except in the household that I live in *sigh*) without any appreciation. People say guys get the hard work bringing home the daily bread, and "all the girls have to do is clean house and cook." Oh no no no. Despite my wanting to believe this drivel and perhaps even passively propagating it, I realise sheepishly that I would much rather go out and make money rather than stay home and clean house(and the toilet). After all, if you bring home the daily bread, you have the power and the wife has no other choice than to listen to you, thus you think you're superior and that she's really so thankful that you care to share some of your money with her. But the actual truth is you'd rather do anything else then get on your hands and knees and scrub the wet dirty floor of a room that you shit and bathe in.

Now all I'm looking forward to is the day I can afford my own house AND most crucially, maid(s) to keep the place sparkling shiny clean and tidy for me. Another motivation to achieve great things fast: One less time I have to clean my own toilet. I only hope that I don't come home anytime soon to find dead plants and another dirty layer of scum water on my really squeaky bathroom floor........

Lose weight now! Results guaranteed!

Ways to lose weight fast:
1. Tobacco Therapy. Start smoking. Your appetite goes down and you lose weight as a result. A pleasant side-effect of smoking is that you get an improved social life (at no extra charge!!). Plus you'll lose even more weight after they remove your lungs. Those buggers must weigh at least a few pounds each. And the stress of a quadruple heart-bypass will cause you to use up the last of your fat reserves. You'd damn better be at least as fat as Rosie Phua before undergoing Tobacco Therapy, or you'll end up looking like an Ethiopian child when they're done with you.

2. Insta-diaorrhea. No pills. No injections. All-natural weight loss method. Visit tropical Africa, Madagascar, or India and drink water directly from the tap! It's that easy. No funny 'slimming wraps' or fancy massages. Just drink water! Simple isn't it? If one sip doesn't work, follow the next tour to an overcrowded slum/refugee camp and find the rustiest tap. Drink freely from it! If you have the chance, pay someone 20 rupees and ask him to get you a bucket of muddy, filthy well water, preferably one that is nearest to their latrine so that the effluent will seep into the groundwater, embuing it with the wonderful, desirable property of harbouring various debilitating viruses. Imagine how much weight you would lose within a few days if you have dysentery or typhoid! Wonderful isn't it? If you're visiting Congo, you might even get the rare chance of contracting haemorrhagic fever! This is the Marie France of all viruses, you not only shit out all your water, solids and fat from your system, you fucking bleed it off too! Have you heard of the apparently mythical tale of the guy who lost 40 pounds in one week? It was a true story and... you guessed it, Ebola. His shit exploded out of his ass in one bloody watery mess, giving him an instant drop on the weighing scale if he had the strength to stand on one. Imagine your motivation after you can see your weight literally drop off the weighing scale!!! Amazing. Highly recommended.

3. High-protein diet (for girls and gay dudes only) - Have you heard of the Atkins diet? The zone diet? Well here comes the all-new top-secret super-duper scientist-researched miracle... The SEMEN DIET!! Meticulously researched by the great Dr. Sin of the Kaiser Wilhelm Weight Loss Institute for Lazy Dumb Cunts, who was so selfless in his search for an effective diet that he even gave himself up as a guinea pig for the test subjects. He devised a fool-proof, simple diet plan that not only makes you slim and shapely, but makes you orgasmically happy in the process.

All you have to do is eat semen. Semen and only semen. Isn't it wonderful? After all, all you women want to lose weight only to attract the attention of men(if you had half a brain, you'd worry more about your overall health and wellbeing than how much you weigh), and this way, you get to lose weight fast(high protein, no carbs) AND give blowjobs, which you love doing anyway! Don't you love it already? If you need extra vitamins and nutrients, ask your man(or men, I'm not judgemental) to eat asparagus, garlic, and onions to give his jism that extra zing(I mean zinc)! And its an all you can eat diet! You can blow as many men as you want and still not get fat. Isn't that your perfect diet? I'll go so far as to say it's the perfect lifestyle for you dumb cunt whores. For the woman who's equally slutty but doesn't want the world to know, she can excuse her affinity for fellating many men by saying that she needs her proteins. Perfect!

*This post dedicated to all you stupid, insecure feminists who complain about male chauvinism, attempt to control your men by playing manipulative games, yet want desperately to lose more weight so that you can find a better man to control and dominate. In other words, almost every prissy Chinese girl with a boyfriend.

Racist Joke

Read this in an interview The Star did with Yasmin Ahmad, the acclaimed director of Gubra and someone ranking very high up on my "respected" list.

How many Malays does it take to change a lightbulb?
Answer: zero. Dah gelap biar gelap la.....

Definition: Optimism

Once upon a time, there was this 40-year old Singaporean Malay dude who was a really kind fellow -This is a true story btw, read it in The Star a few weeks ago - who goes out of his way to help his neighbour, a 79-year old Chinese lady with her groceries and stuff everyday. So this goes on for a while and he eventually falls in love with her, she with him, and they decide to get married.

Before you can say "aiyer...", the news-starved Malaysian (and probably the Singaporean) newspapers descend upon the lucky couple once they get news of this unusual marriage. It's undoubtedly true love (the other alternative is brain disease, and I prefer the first one since I'm a romantic person *snicker snicker*) since neither are filthy rich, especially good looking, or possess any obvious attributes that would make people say,"Oh he/she is marrying her/him for his/her ______ (insert noun)".

Now, according to the paper, this dude says that they get on like bees and honey, and that "the physical part of our marriage is very active." Whoah mama!.... I mean gran.... I mean great-grandmama!! You can't be serious! At 79?!? Apparently she concurs that there are no problems in the bedroom with a toothy little grin. Now in the photo, he's in shorts and slippers strolling along cool as can be, while the little wrinkled old lady (with a tudung now that she's a Muslim) looks like she's limping after him, out of breath and unable to catch up. Now I'm finding it really hard trying to imagine them actually doing it, let alone being "very active". But particularly, I'm wondering how the fuck does he get turned on. I understand the attraction of older women, being a fan myself, but when people talk about that, they're assuming you're 25 and the woman is 35, 40 tops. And pulsating hot. Like Madonna or Carina Lau. They're not talking about wrinkled, saggy milkbags and a shapeless, ailment-ridden body. Jesus! But I digress, and in the paragraph below you will find the definition of "optimism".

I'm feeling incredulous enough that a marriage like this could happen, let alone one with an active sex life, when this guy comes out with his coup de grace, "I hope to start a family with her soon."

WAH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Your Secret Embarrassing Behaviour Revealed! (Part 1)

That's right. The secret things you do that would span the emotional range of shame from "slightly sheepish" to "horribly mortified" if discovered. You know who and what I'm talking about, you sock-sniffing motherfucker.

Everyone knows the thrill of having that shameful habit, even if it is unhygienic/socially unacceptable/visually horrifying/may cause emotional scarring in young children. You know it's weird and disgusting, yet you inexplicably gain pleasure from doing it, and justify the deviant dose of dopamine by blatantly ignoring its source and its effect on your conscience and subconscious. Some take it to the extreme of pretending to deride and heckle those who have questionable behaviour while enjoying it in secret. Notice I use the word YOU, because as everyone but the most ignorant neophytes know, I have exquisite social and personal habits, and am therefore exempt from the above discussion. Here's what YOU are secretly doing:

1. Reading Dear Thelma and Big Bro for your weekly fix of 'emo'.
Stop snickering. I'm talking about you. Yes, you self-righteous little boy/girl, YOU. There's nothing fundamentally wrong with reading the agony aunt column, but everyone tries to avoid letting everyone else know that they're doing it. It's like sex, actually.

Anyway, everyone surreptitiously eyes the blatant "Raped by Cousin!", "Am I a lesbian?" and "Used by Older Woman" headlines on the back page of the Sunday pullout whenever the Sunday paper arrives and the various sections are divvied up among the family. Whoever can resist it the least will grab that section, getting a knowing eye from his/her siblings, while staring back defiantly with a "What? Can't you see the main story about the Jakun? I'm an anthropologist!" look in his eyes. He then proceeds to a corner of the couch and surreptitiously(I'll be using this word a lot in this post) scans the back page for the juiciest stories.

If they took away the advice part(which no one reads anyway), it would be nothing more than a public forum for erotic stories, featuring alphabets instead of people ("I think I'm in love with A, but B has a bigger penis, while C likes to cuddle.") and published in a national newspaper, no less. They should employ me to give advice, instead of forcing me to research this topic by asking reluctant strangers about the aforesaid behaviour(I have perfect behaviour, remember?). My advice to the women 'sufferers' would be, "You're a slut. Stop sleeping with A, B, C and the entire Penang football team. Of course they're cold and distant when you want to talk about your feelings. *scoff scoff* Dumb cunt whore. Hope you get syphillis and die." and my advice to the men would be,"Faggot pussy. Can't get it up just because your wife shouted at you? Are you the bitch? Are you the bitch? Huh? Huh? *all the while bitch-slapping him while he hangs his sorry head* You should slap your woman around. Keep 'em keen. Alternatively, slit your wrist with a rusty razor. Hope you die painfully from blood poisoning. We don't want your faggot genes messing up our gene pool".

2. Violently digging your nose in traffic jams and at red lights.
Hello? Heh-low-oooow.... Are you blind? Stupid, maybe? Or does your brain go into 'retarded' mode whenever there's no movement of your vehicle? FYI, the double-glazed, tempered glass that so effectively shuts out sound is still glass, Einstein. You know glass? Made from silicon, feels solid, and most crucially, is TRANSPARENT? If it's not tinted, it's clear. If it's not silvered, it's clear. If you're driving a regular car, it is CLEAR. People can see you.

Why do you have to dig your nose in the car? It's a horrible equal opportunity filthy habit. It doesn't discriminate between the rich or poor , young or old, beautiful or ugly, educated or otherwise. Every possible demographic does it, from the harassed-looking office lady in the kancil, to the young indian lorry driver, to the little chinese girl staring back at you from the car in front, index finger stuck decisively up her nose. Everyone knows that you shouldn't dig your nose in public. Now tell me, is being stuck in a jam with vehicles within touching distance not considered public? You'd think so wouldn't you?

But nooooooooo... The moment traffic slows to a standstill, fingers automatically leave the windowsill(male, right handed automatic-transmission drivers), gearstick(manual-transmission drivers), or mobile phone (young driver who wants to stay connected) and venture upwards in a blind orgy of gratuitous digging. Some dig in controlled movements, efficiently finding the offending deposits with their fingertips and flicking them onto the floorboards, repeating until traffic starts moving. Others violently penetrate in and proceed to korek with such unabashed gusto that they would be charged with rape if it was someone else's nasal orifice.

Once, when I was driving around in Kluang, I stopped at a traffic light beside a beautiful monster of a Mitsubishi Storm, polished to a sheen, riding on jacked-up suspension and outfitted with oversize tyres and tons of chrome. I whistled in appreciation when it stopped beside my car....... and went "WOW" when I turned up and saw the driver: a stunning, long-haired creature of such beauty that I literally caught my breath. She was even hotter because she was driving that beautiful Storm, you guys know what I mean. And then....

and then she started to dig her nose, stuffing a slim, feminine finger up her left nostril and started violating the hole in obvious pleasure. I jerked my head back so violently in disgust that I almost got whiplash, shouting a full-blown "CIIIBAII!!......" into the dashboard without even thinking. It was like getting into bed with Faye Wong and finding out that she has a penis.

3. Sniffing your dirty socks/underwear after you remove them.
'nuff said. You disgusting people know who you are.

4. Secretly dating/sleeping with/*gasp*making love to an ugly person.
The first two are bad enough, but it can be explained away by blaming alcohol or any other hallucinatory substance. Maybe you really don't care about appearances, maybe she gives really great head, maybe he's so funny you overlook his French looks(Quasimodo was French), whatever - You've got justification, and can sleep soundly at night.

There's an episode of Sex and the City in which Carrie worries about being Mr. Big's secret girlfriend, "the one that you date or sleep with but don't want anyone to know about", and bring to out-of-the-way Chinese restaurants that no one patronises. Her prudish friend Charlotte had a secret boyfriend, an ugly Jew painter that dressed up like a real vintage Maccabi in New York. I actually cringed when I saw the character.

But realising that you've fallen in love with a physically undesirable person( not because of any special attributes) entirely because of the chemistry between the two of you....... Oh, oh. It will cause you to rent your clothes and tear your hair out in desperation and madness. You grapple with your principles(trust me, I once broke my 'perfection rule' and dated a girl who was only a '9'), worry about your free-falling standards, all the while confronted with the cruel, hypocritical hard-wiring in your conscience from your parents and teachers(as if they didn't want the good-looking ones) that you "shouldn't judge a book by its cover". When you're partially(because she's too fat you can't go in all the way in) slamming into her weirdly assymetrical vagina, or when he's on top of you and you've got your legs around his thick waist screaming I love you while looking down on the balding head on his short 4-foot tall body, that's when you realise that you are - in the truest sense of the word - FUCKED.

Think it can't get any worse? Imagine your friends finding out...

5. Smelling your finger after it has gone where no finger has gone before.
.................usually up a mysterious bodily orifice. I don't want to discuss this. There's a Carl Hiassen book I read, describing in great detail from a kid's point of view what happens when he visits a hated family friend and their son has a habit of digging his backside and sniffing his finger. "His finger crept slowly but surely towards the waistband of his jeans..."

6. Happily scratching/fondling your groin/crotch when you think no one is looking.
Not cool, duuuuu....uude. Seriously not cool. I have a good friend who does this while talking to people. It disturbed me when he first did it in front of me, but I'm immune to it by now(shows you just how adaptable humans are, but I digress). Still, I cringe inwardly whenever there's someone else present while he uses the nearest convenient pillow(usually a tiny throw pillow if we're sitting near a couch) to shield his crotch, pretending that he just wants a pillow to keep him warm, while he gratifyingly scratches away like nobody's business.

I honestly believe that he's got a persistent ringworm infection and doesn't do it on purpose to derive sexual pleasure, seeing as he's not choosy of who's around when he scratches and can carry on a normal conversation while he's doing it. If you've got ringworm or some infection there, I feel you dude. I seriously do. But you cannot do that bro. You cannot cover it up with a tiny pillow and force yourself to believe that no one notices your awkwardly positioned elbow, the up-and-down movement of your hand and your splayed legs.

Sometimes I imagine I'm in one of Franz Kafka's absurdist plays whenever I see my friend positioned thus, powerfully scratching away, with his left hand pressing the pillow against his nether regions and discussing actual serious stuff with other people present, while everyone pretends they can't see the (scratching) pink elephant in the room, and continue to do their thing like normal, then escaping out of the room the first instant they can, but NO RUSHING ALLOWED, god forbid anyone suspect that they're running out because my friend looks like he's masturbating in public.

In other examples, there ARE weirdos who attempt to masturbate secretly in public. Check out the porn store clerk blog in my "The Khai Tzer Award" link. She writes about catching people attempting to 'free willy' in the store after getting aroused by all the graphic porn title covers.


7. Sniffing and secretly enjoying the smell of your own fart.
Fucking bastards! This is probably the most disgusting action in the whole universe. Ptooi! I know you. Ohhhh I know you alright. You secretly take a couple of small, fast sniffles whenever a dodgy smell hits the room, hoping no one notices(but not really caring) as you secretly savour the acrid, pungent, sulphuric aroma you produced that is causing everyone else to gag. Some try to protest their innocence, but the look of surprise and guilt in their eyes turn them in. I make it a point to personally beat the shit out of them. Disgusting little prick-turd. Wanna smell your own fart? Why don't you take it to the logical conclusion and eat your own shit too? Why are all of you laughing as you're reading this? How come you know what I'm talking about? You're as guilty as the rest of them, aren't you?

The Intoxicating Smell of Breeze

Today it struck me again, with a force so powerful that I literally felt my chest compress and start aching. I was sitting on my bed, devouring Wilbur Smith's "Warlock" in a greedy read-fest of page flipping, with the comforting sounds of my family (auntie, uncle and Bob the Builder, my devil of a cousin) outside reading and chatting.

All of a sudden I felt this pounding feeling in my chest and the incredibly familiar, intoxicating smell of Breeze rose unbidden within my nostrils. The world greyed out and the good memories started crashing down with ferocious realism: How tiny, soft and loving she once was, how I learnt the true meaning of the word 'intimate', how I could smell her Breeze-laundered clothing forever, how perfectly connected we once were, and finally, achingly, how her tiny body fit perfectly in mine when we slept under the covers of a thick blanket. Those were the only times that I ever felt perfectly at peace in my entire life. She was my soulmate. Probably still is.

It was good. It was the experience of a lovetime(god what a Freudian slip! That really was what I typed). Sure it ended acrimoniously, but I've cleared the uglier things up recently and decided to at least be civil. I've kept my distance all the same, even though she wants to be friends. That could be all she really wants, but why take the risk?

Under the pretense of being the tough son of a bitch ladykiller that my friends think I am, my official stand is that I'm a man. I'll never go back and be made a fool of by the same person twice, but the truth is it hurt so badly the first time it happened there was an actual physical ache in my chest (I suppose that's where the term heartache comes from). It hurt so bad that I was paralysed for a few weeks, unable to think or function straight, drowning in that foul morass while going through the motions in everything I did, and I'm deathly concerned at what would happen if I really did go back. Imagine the fragility of the emotions involved and what would happen if it failed yet again.

What if she wants to be friends under the pretense of trying to get back with me? Imagine my confusion then. Despite the many beautiful girls that have crossed my life, she's still the only girl I've ever really loved. In hindsight, I realise that she and me fit perfectly. Family aside, she was the only one who appreciated the subtle jokes I told, understood me more than even I did, and even her tiny body fit amazingly with mine. I once told her that I'd love her forever, and the craziest thing is that I still do. That realisation and my firm decision never to look back managed to co-exist peacefully after I realised they weren't mutually exclusive.

I want her back. The old her. The one that I first laid my eyes on. The kindest girl in the world, the one who didn't bother hiding her crush on me, the one that impressed me with her wit and ability to crack really intelligent jokes and laugh without restraint until her belly hurt, the one whose waist I encircled and knew for THAT moment, that life was amazingly, wonderfully glorious...

*sigh* What an empty dream.

The Khai Tzer Award

I'm starting a tribute to great writing. Anyone, anywhere who writes a sentence, paragraph, entire essay, or very very rarely, an entire book of exceptional prose will be highlighted and celebrated. Here's the first, from a very very funny blog by a porn store clerk.

*****
since it's all, you know, cartoons, and some of it is charming fare like My Neighbor Totoro. But a lot of it is incredibly hardcore stuff - way worse than we'll allow in the real-people porn downstairs. My position on porn is that I'm fine with whatever floats your boat, as long as everyone involved is a consenting adult. Manga throws both of those rules out the window. Sure, all the boxes claim that all the characters are at least 18, but a lot of them are clearly drawn to look about 12. And there's a lot of raping. Not just run-of-the-mill raping, either - we're talking about triple-penetration rape by demons.

*****

Show-off eats Humble Pie

Friends, here is a friendly tip: If you are fit, healthy and in shape, do not, I repeat DO NOT under any circumstances show off and tell anyone that you never get sick.
If you do, you are guaranteed to fall ill within the month. I distinctly remember this happening to me 3 times in the past, the ONLY 3 times in the past 7 years I've fallen sick to a bug, and ONLY after I proudly told people that with my healthy lifestyle I never fall sick. The last time this happened was about 4 years ago.

Then one day my friend called me with this nasal twang in her voice "cobblainig aboud havig flu". Over dinner and while I was teasing her mercilessly aboud her vunny way ov talking, I superciliously announced that I NEVER got sick.

2 weeks later I had a minor bout of fever(nothing to worry about, still can function normally) but NOW I'm sneezing like a motherfucker. Seriously, I have never sneezed this much in my life. I've never had asthma(touch wood) and don't sneeze even when it's cold. Now I look at a fluorescent light and my nose decides it wants to explode repeatedly like a phlegm-filled double-barrelled blunderbuss(those old style shotguns that look like trumpets).

I get the message God. Please spare me your cosmic joke.