Archive for August, 2006

Love and Hate.

Thursday, August 31st, 2006

I love my home.

But it doesn’t mean I like EVERYTHING about it.

I dislike my room because there are holes on the ceiling caused by the damn musang, half the eletrical sockets don’t work, and the damn bathroom isn’t in a working condition.

I dislike the unkept jungle that is my garden outside the house, with its trees and leafy whatnots growing wildly everywhere as a home to godknowswhat new species of scary mutant animals about the garden.

I dislike the fact that sometimes there are cockroaches and mice running about out of nowhere.

I dislike the fact that we have too much wooden old people cina furniture at home, all of which which needs to be handled with care.

I dislike the fact that we have too much JUNK IN THIS PLACE. Company Annual Reports. Magazines. Textbooks. Papers. Broken electrical appliances. Unused plastic containers. Spoilt shoes. Old clothes. It’s ridiculous!

I dislike the fact that we have this wading pool which turned into a swamp filled with green algae water and it scares me to wonder what lurks beneath the still waters.

I dislike the fact that this house leaks when there’s a heavy rain and floods up the ground floor and that I have to clean it up.

I dislike that there is always so much goddamn black dust everywhere because we live near the zon perindustrian bebas.

I dislike how sometimes for no apperent reason at ALL, my water turns all muddy yellow IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SHOWER.

I love my home.

Yet there are so many things I don’t like about it.

It’s not the best home ever. It’s not perfect.

But I have been living in it for at least half my life. And I still am.

Why?

In spite of all its shortcomings, it’s still home.

And I love it.

Happy Merdeka.

Loose Change | 23 Comments

The Audi A4’s Boot Space, Mostly.

Tuesday, August 29th, 2006

I know about cars as much as most straight heterosexual men know about fashion and makeup.

Unless the heterosexual men is in the media/fashion industry.

Actually, any man who claims to be heterosexual AND is in the media or fashion industry is probably lying.

In fact, I myself know very little about fashion and makeup. So that would make me…..

A complete failure.

Man, I suck at this whole LIVING business.

Anyways.

Last Friday I had the luxury of being invited by THE paultan.org (uh huh, THE guy even straight macho men want to have babies with) to hop along for a test drive on an Audi A4 something something why must they put so many numbers and alphabets on car models sheesh!

When it comes to the subject of cars in general, I’m a complete Reese Witherspoon Legally Blonde bimbo. Paultan.org’s website makes no sense to me and whenever I chance upon anything even remotely related to these 2 words - “review” and “car”, my eyes automatically glaze over and my brain switches on to screensaver mode.

Well, I was really fascinated with Audi’s Boot Space. Here are some pictures to proof how fascinated I was.

THIS IS NOT A REVIEW.

The boot! The boot!

See how MONSTROUSLY sweet the boot it is. See how happy I am IN the boot. If one were to, hypothetically, run a ring of illegal baby trafficking activities, one could kidnap and fit about, oh I would roughly say a hundred babies in this sweet ass from the Mexican border straight into the States comfortably without anybody ever smelling a rat.

Having fun in the boot.

This would be THE model car for Ikea’s motto of – BRING YOUR OWN SHIT BACK SO WE DON’T HAVE TO DO IT FOR YOU DAMNIT. If had brought along a couple of pillows and a flask of long island tea, I would’ve been a cosier and a much happier ranger than EVEN the boys up in Brokeback Mountain.

Like a hamster on a running wheel.

Paultan.org mentioned that this car was sexy. The way he said it, if it wasn’t illegal, I bet he’ll want to be having a threesome with the twin exhaust pipes already.

The sound system was fantastic. The driver could adjust the volume from his steering wheel and the loudspeakers are located in every single car door – which sounded like a surround sound stereo. Pretty damn neat.

All that’s missing now is a drink.

The buttons and electronic bits in the front were really nifty. Everything from the front seat adjusting knobs, to the lights, to the radio, to the hood y’all was automated and required just a touch of a button. It was so technologically advanced that initially Paultan.org even thought that the petrol tank would be controlled with a button, and thereby spending many, many, minutes looking for it.

Many, many, MANY minutes looking for it.

Fed up, I got out of the car and tried to help figure out which of these thousand buttons controlled the petrol tank. Then I walked to the tank, put my hand on the cover, and popped it open. Suckers. There is no such button. It’s manually operated.

The only time I’ll EVER get to be on a driver’s seat of a car. When it’s stationary.

All that being said, get me a car please.

Bye.

Others:
Paul Tan Dot Org- for a REAL review.
Suanie - from another passenger’s perspective.

Self-gratification | 25 Comments

A Tribute To The Times When Songs Were Songs.

Wednesday, August 23rd, 2006

Is it me or are the local hit radio stations just spewing out endless garbage over and over and over again these days?

A hit doesn’t even have to be music anymore.

It doesn’t even need to be sang by a normal sounding human being - ting! ting!. Look Mr Justin Timberlake, I really thought NSync was fun because you guys were the only boyband who could actually DANCE and had decent vocals and when you left your group to pursue you own shit, I STILL thought you had pretty decent vocals and damn catchy moves but WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH SEXY BACK??!?!?! (whish IS rather catchy I have to admit, but makes me feel dirty to enjoy it, somehow)

Can anyone even catch what the new bands are screaming about half the time? What’s with their trying to squeezing 43932743598 BIG words to a beat and all? Not enough airtime? Trying to cut cost of production? Dudes at Panic! At the Disco, I mean what’s up with that? Your lyrics don’t even MAKE sense to the sober mind, is it supposed to be like some sort of an EMO shit where there’s a DEEPER meaning to your lyrics if only I smoked pot? And your titles like

“the only different between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage”

and

“theres a good reason these tables are numbered honey you just havent thought of it yet”

…. are like woah. dudes. deep. very deep.

I mean what the fuck are you idiots TRYING TO BE FUNNY?

And why is EVERY OTHER SONG out of the airwaves and MTV BLACK RAP HIP HOP BIG BOOTY SHAKING HOES SEE MY BLING MY GRILLS SHIT?!?!?! IT IS NOT SHWEEET FO SHIZZLE IN MY NIZZLE YO!

And Rihanna? The tweenage slut who’s emoing over the fact that she’s cheating over her loving boyfriend through her “I constantly sound like a bad case flu or a fork scraping against a plate god please kill me now” nasal voice? How is that for the Greatest Role Model for Tweens EvAr award?

Simple Plan? 20 something year olds crying about why the world doesn’t understand them? GO HUG AN AFRICAN KID WITH AIDS! GET A REAL JOB!

PussyCatDolls? I……You….. They…. Shit, damnit why do you bitches have to be so damn hot I forgot what my point was.. oh wait it’s coming back to me now.. and it has something to do with the fact that THEY ARE A BURLESQUE GROUP WITH ONE “SINGER” AND FIVE OVERPAID BACK UP DANCERS WHICH MEANS THEY SHOULD BE KEPT LOCKED UP IN LAS VEGAS NOT SET LOOSE UPON THE INNOCENT MINDS OF OUR CHILDREN!! Who are our future! Teach them well and let them lead the way! All that jazz! … and I’m quite sure that “allowing them to watch a PCD concert” doesn’t fall under “teach them well”.

PARIS HILTON? WHYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?! OH GODDDDDD WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!?!?!?!?!?

Ok. Disclaimer. I have to admit some of these current shit hits are still quite catchy. The flesh is weak.

*ashamed*

But it’s still shit, you know?

What happened to the days when singers were recognised as singers because they actually had some REAL RAW TALENT?

See the constant EH?WTF? look etched on my face whenever I hear the stuff my sister listen to these days. All noise I tell you. Noise. Produced though recording sounds made by squishing little furry animals with bare hands accompanied by the clashing of stainless steel kitchen utensils in the background that’s what it is.

Actually, to be fair, I bet my mum thought the music I listened to during MY time was noise too.

Maybe I’m getting a little too old for the scene.

Well, because there’s no school like the old school, here’s a little tribute to the old times when music was… music.

So, if you have nothing against oldies and feel like wasting away a little over 3 minutes of your life today by listening to something which may be detrimental to the well-being of your sanity, ears, heart, reproductive organs, intestines and whatnot then by all means do proceed to click the “play” button.

If you don’t swing that way, then this post ends here and I suggest you fuck off this very instant, because really, if you’re a normal self-preserving individual like nature intended you to be with half an ounce of grey matter, it would be a very wise thing to do right about now.

Right. That leaves….. the 3 of you.

So, on with the tribute.

Oh, wait. The person involved in this recording wishes to humbly apologise for the cringing flat notes and to emphasise the fact that she/he is AWARE that she/he has NO TALENT whatsoever in this aspect, but in the name of torturing the masses, she/he does not give a fuck AND would rather remain anonymous for these few obvious reasons. Ok, NOW go press the play button and destroy yourselves.

powered by ODEO

Told you so, psychos.

Rants, Self-gratification | 67 Comments

Handwraps.

Monday, August 21st, 2006

Woot! Got me a pair of handwraps I’ve been meaning to get since forEVAR!!111one.

RM29 bucks a pair At Royal Sporting House. Not really cheap for just 2 rolls of cloth, actually. Everydamnthing is not cheap in this country. Everything from the price of chicken rice to toilet roll has increased exponentially over the years while our pays are maintained at a flatline. Sian.

Anyway.

So cool right? Perfect for the ninja-isque feel.

While we’re at it,

Eat too full nothing to do lah.

More? Oh why the hell not.

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Sometimes I kill myself.

Self-gratification | 43 Comments

Short Story - A Failed Experiment

Tuesday, August 15th, 2006

A strange packet from the You Arse of Aye arrived one day.

A rustling was heard.

Where was it coming from?

It was coming from the packet!

Goodness gracious! There were Gummies in the packet!

They were trapped in that big bad plastic packet!

Undeterred, they were desperately clawing at the plastic walls with their gummy paws and chewing it with their gummy mouth.

Their persistence was rewarded with FREEEDOM!

In jubilation, they celebrated late into the night with gummy dancing and gummy music.

Witnessed by the stars and the moon.

One curious gummy however, strayed and played a little too far from the rest of his pack.

Got itself quite lost it did.

Oh no! What was a gummy to do?

It climbed atop of the highest peak to get a better view.

It explored the inner sanctums of a cave.

But the more it looked, the more lost it got.

Sensing the hopelessness of its situation, it decided to just chill in a well. It was damp. It was cool. It fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to it, nature was forming a sinister plot.

While the gummy fell asleep in the well, the tide came rushing in.

It came in hard and flooded the well.

The poor gummy was forced to swim, if it wanted to survive.

But how long could he keep doggy gummy paddling?

It was about to give up when suddenly…..

….. a voice boomed from far away.

“Let go”

“This water is holy. It is pure. It will cleanse you. It will make you forget”

“You shall be reborn”

Enlightened, it smiled and let go.

And became one with everything.

The End.

Notes:
1. This was a failed experiment to infuse gummy bears with vodka. Can you imagine the possibilities of vodka infused gummies? I would earn MILLIONSSSS! Buy a sports car! Own a harem of virile boys! A holiday villa in Spain! A kennel of award winning pedigree dogs! From past experiences, gummy bears DO soak up water and expand to about 5 times its original size, which is why I thought it would work with vodka too. And in case you’re still wondering if it did or not - it didn’t.
2. I didn’t taste the end product. The concoction did smell like Vodka OJ. But it also smelt like melted plastic. I didn’t have enough balls to want to risk 5 years of my life or growing an extra arm out of my face by tasting it.
3. Several gummy bears HAVE been harmed during the production of this short story. Most of them ended up in a darker, deeper, damper cavity of sorts. But fear not gummy bear lovers, for they didn’t suffer….. much. Yum.
4. Argh. The camera’s condemned to high hell. Macro function is shot. In fact, even the focusing for normal portrait shots is whacked. Flash is wonky too. Time to get a new camera. A handphone. A watch. A car….. and a sugar daddy to pay for ‘em all. Sigh.
4. The Gummy Bears were proudly sponsored by Eyeris! You’re the best! Muaks!

Silly Stunts | 53 Comments