Shattered

Because All Things Eventually Come to an End

2008-03-27T18:04:00.001+08:00

Bye bye

And thanks for all the fish :)

Horibilis, Ikan Bilis, I Really Couldn't Care About a Title For This One

2008-03-13T23:08:00.003+08:00

It seems almost inappropriate that when one finds himself pondering at the meaning of one's recent spate of difficulties that one should suddenly find himself wondering if he should have MacDonald's for dinner.

Good lord, what has my life come to?

Random Things That Irritate the Hell Out of Me

2008-02-20T11:50:00.000+08:00

The one thing I really hate about kids today is how they try to talk with American West Coast accents. And when I say try, I mean fail miserably at to the point of causing their poor parents eternal shame and driving them to point of insanity. The worst thing is, these kids don't even sound remotely anything like an American. I've been alive for some twenty-odd years and have met more than my fair share of Americans from the California area and they don't sound anything close to the aural abuse these kids crap out their mouths whenever they speak.

Sure it can be argued that I haven't been or stayed in America so how would I know right? But then again, neither have 99% of these kids.

Personally, I can pull off a pretty mean Aussie accent. But just because I can, I don't. Why? Because my Aussie accent sounds nothing like a real Aussie accent and causes ears to bleed whenever I pull it off. And so I only pull it off around people I don't like because I'm mean and that's what I do.

So there I was in a bus surrounded by a cacophony of university students all trying to speak in either pseudo gay accents or badly articulated American accents all at the same. The noise must have really pissed off the bus driver because he was driving really fast.

There was this one batch of friends who were blabbering away very loudly. One girl the group exlaimed to her friends, "OMG OMG OMG! XXX is so irritating she keeps repeating herself irritating irritating irritating lor!" (Yes, she said it all in one breath.)

Initially, I thought she was trying to prove a point by repeating herself needlessly in lousy sounding American accent but when she went, "I will try try try lor try try my best try OMG" some 10 minutes later when queried by her friend about an assignment, I decided that there is no hope left in the world.

People are so ironical.

The Curiousness of Train Tracks and Other Mysteries Surrounding Thus

2008-01-16T23:22:00.000+08:00

Dear whosoever that may chance upon this,

In that ever so odd way that the world changes from season to season, I have found that I've changed in my diligence in maintaining this blog. From a once was daily ritual to that now of a monthly. It is to no small surprise that I currently find that I have barely 3 people visiting this squalid journal anymore.

But enough about blogs/online journals/logs/whatnots because there is a certain curiousness to train tracks that plagues me. Or rather, more of the platforms than the rails themselves. They say that city live changes the small town boy. That prolonged exposure to civilization hollows out the fragile's soul. I suppose that I am no exception to that rule as 5 years in the big city has vastly myopized (there is no such word in the dictionary but if you were to take myopic and make it into a verb, you would get myopized) my view of the world as a whole. To say the very least, I find myself becoming ever so cynical as the days pass.

But there are still wonder in the big city that make me wonder. Like the curiousness of train tracks or rather the platforms at train stations. It's curious how the tracks call out to those who wait by them for their coaches to carry them to their destinies.

To the frail fragile things of yesterday gone and today forgotten, the tracks call for them to step out into their loving embrace with the promise of lifting them out of their very shackles of misery and pain with one last act of sacrifice. A vicious ritual of self mutilation with the swiftest surest promise of end by the very instrument that transports tens and thousands of people daily to the wherevers beckon and calls in appealing thougts.

To the strong, they dare them to stand at the very edges to test their nerves. The steely stay while the less than steely back off when the trains pull in. More oft than none, the steely nerves are broken not by the swift whooshing of wind made by a passing train but rather that of the fear of a slap on the wrist by the station wardens and a hefty fine.

To the cautious who have stayed alive thus this long by being, so to speak, cautious, the tracks and the dangers they hold have no appeal to them for it is neither their wish nor want to tempt the cold grasp of death (which ironically will find them sooner or later).

But for me, the tracks hold a different very different appeal. I am still at large a small town by in heart and there are still some wonders in this world that call out to me. I like to go places. And what better way to go somewhere than by train.

And by that, the rails will take me.

There Is No More Hope Left In This World

2007-12-18T23:50:00.000+08:00

While on the bus home the other day, I saw a 7 year old kid playing Grand Theft Auto 3 on his PSP. I don't know why but I felt instantly worried. Wasn't so much worried because he was running over pedestrians like an enraged madman, hauling off drivers from their cars, and machine gunning whores up on Sunset Blvd.

Was more worried because at one point of the game, he kept spawning out a tank, getting into it, and driving off cliffs.

Something about that was just.so.wrong.

Just don't ask me what.

Beowulf is as Sexy as My Armpit

2007-11-26T12:53:00.000+08:00

I always wondered if people purposely leave a single strip of toilet tissue dangling from its role as some lame justification of not changing the spent roll for a new one. I've always found this really annoying.

Of course that has nothing to do with my post title whatsoever. I went to watch Beowulf over the weekend and as a guy, I thought it was a great movie. All except for the digitally rendered breasts of various wenches that appeared on screen. Forgive me for being rude but I've always believed that showing women's tatas on screen is as necessary as telling a man on his death bed dying of cancer that he's going to die soon.

The only people who would be drawn to watch a movie with bare hooters in it are hormonally charged 13 year olds who are too young to legally watch those movies in cinemas anyway. Besides the baring of breasts being unnecessary, it also kills the reasons to watch the movie somewhat. For example, I really used to like Meg Ryan and would kind of randomly pick up Meg Ryan movies to watch. And then In The Cut happened. And now I hate Meg Ryan. If you have no idea what I mean, go pick up a copy of In The Cut that hasn't been through the Malaysian censorship board.

And so as I'm watching Beowulf, I'm wondering to myself, why don't they just show his damned penis instead of going through all the trouble of hiding it? And then it hit me. Animating penises isn't as easy as animating tatas. It's like this: if majority of the animators were male, they'd insist on making the schlong really really long. If majority of the animators were female, well, let's say all us Asian men would be really proud of our packages. So in order to avoid the political complexities of showing a digital dick on screen, it was probably easier to hide Beowulf's package behind aptly placed obstacles.

Either that or the man is androgynous.

Oh, one more thing. I really think it's annoying how a lot of film critics were trumping Beowulf as a triumph of motion capture technology. It isn't. Shrek is. Here's why: Shrek had a donkey for Pete's sake. How the bloody hell do you beat that?

'Nuff said.

Oh For [removed] Sake. Spit Somewhere Else Dammit

2007-11-15T00:46:00.000+08:00

I've always believed that there's a place and a time for everything. And the bus is definitely not the place to spit out all your lovely mouth juices at. I swear that if God gave me a handgun and the license to kill, I'd go on a rampage in an instant.

So I'm on the bus to work as usual and in front of me is this 50 something crusty old Chinese guy. I swear that all crusty old Chinese men are the same. There's the old Chinese men and the crusty ones. They're a bit hard to tell apart but if you look closely, the crusty ones are the ones whose wrinkles actually form the letters P-R-I-C-K.

They're the ones who spit are you feet in public. The ones who cough in your face. The ones who blatantly stare at attractive young female things while engaging in mental masturbatory delusions of the said female things. And the ones who have the cheek to tell you that you're rude despite them doing all that.

Right, back to where I left off. I'm on the bus sitting behind this crusty when he starts hacking away in a dry cough. Note that it's dry. Means that there's no phlegm and at the very worst, all he'll produce from that is an excess of saliva. Which he does coincidentally.

But instead of swallowing it down, he looks down and lets it go on the bus' floor. He must've heard me take a real deep breath because he turned around and glared me in the face. When he was done with that, he turned back forward and, to no one's surprise, let loose another one.

I swear, I could've screamed.

Musings From an Accidentaly Bastard in Yuppieland

2007-10-31T19:25:00.000+08:00

My forays into Yuppieland are never good. I like to believe that there's a place on this little blue ball that's increasingly becoming bluer thanks to bastards like China, India, and the U.S. of A., for everyone. And one of those place is for yuppies or people I like to know as God's chosen few, and another place for everyone else which I like to know as people-just-like-me.

It never feels good getting sent into the heart of Yuppieland. It kind of feels like James Bond being sent to infiltrate some really evil organization that we never understood why except that I'm not as cool/suave/sexy James Bond. I like to think I'm more than he but lets not fool ourselves. In short, I feel really, really, really out of place venturing into Yuppieland. Imagine yourself in a sea of shirts and ties and you're the only one decked out in a polo shirt, faded blue jeans, and sports shoes plus a bag that looks like something your mother gave you for Christmas 10 Christmases ago.

It's easy to feel special in that setting with the word special holding every negative connotation possible.

So today's foray into Yuppieland found me doing what a do best: being a complete bastard or in the loving words of my ex girlfriend, a dickhead. Decked out in my trademark worn out black shirt, faded blue jeans, and shoes that have seen better day, I headed off to the nearest train station to my abode. No, strike that. Hovel. Already my walk to the train station was one filled with sights of yuppies. At one traffic light, a middle-aged-well-dressed yuppie looked me over with an incredulous expression on her face. I'm not sure if she was more surprised at seeing my kind awake so early in the morning or more amazed at the size of the bags (yes, you read it right. It's a plural) I was carrying.

For record's sake, I was carrying three laptops this morning. My bag was wider than me many times over thanks to all the cables and laptops I had in them.

Back to the story, I tried to give her my best morning face smile as possible. Of course if you've ever met me personally, you know that no matter what expression I do, my face is perpetually stuck on the 'I HATE YOU! DIE YOU STUPID [removed]!' look. I don't quite think she was amused. But forget that and flashback forward 10 minutes in time and I'm standing at the train platform waiting for my train.

Now, the biggest problem about waking up together with the rest of the yuppies in this island is that you're bound to be taking the train at the same time as all those aforementioned yuppies. And the problem with taking the train at the same time as all those yuppies is that well... Things get more intimate than one would really like. Ok, I'm a guy so maybe it's not as bad for me as it is for the thousands of females who are reliant on trains to get to work except that whenever I take a train down to Yuppieland, I will inevitably find myself pressed up against really huge rancid smelling men.

The next problem is, well, I was carrying three laptops. Which means it's really hard for me to get on the train to begin with. And such was the case. I had to wait two trains before I could board any. And when I did manage to get on a train, I didn't make any friends. Having to have to somehow squeeze myself in between two yuppies, I accidentally swung my bag hard into the shin of a female yuppie. I think she winced in pain. She definitely didn't look to happy. I wanted to say sorry but my mouth was so dry that I was sure my breathe would've stunk to the high heavens that I was sure that saying sorry would only make matter worse.

Instead, I just put on my best sheepish look. Of course whatever look I put on always looks like a 'I HATE YOU! DIE YOU STUPID [removed]!' look. Two stops later and a few yuppies got off the train and there was a little bit more elbow room on the train, for thirty seconds at least. Between those thirty seconds, a mid-twenties yuppie who was standing a few persons away from me decided to stand somewhere else. I didn't understand why but she decided to stand somewhere near where I was standing which also happened to be the most crowded spot on the train. When she got to where I was, she looked at me and for some reason or another crossed an arm across her chest in a guarding position.

I looked her in the face, then her chest, and then her face again utterly confused as she just stood there and looked at me. I tried recalling when was the last time I ventured into Yuppieland and if I ever did, did I accidentally molest anybody but failed to recall any incident. I tried to give her my best "I'm not like that" face but you get the idea how that turned out.

Of course all that was momentary distractions as a sudden flood of people snapped us both out of our accusatory stupor and back into the reality of where we were. I try really hard not to come into any body contact with anyone when on public transportation because it's just really not nice to. At least I don't feel particularly good about it. But sometimes, it is inevitable that one would find his or herself pressed up against somebody else.

Especially when that someone else presses up against you first. And so I found myself in an awkward position of being pushed up against the guy standing behind of me and being pushed against by two young female yuppies standing in front of me which in turn were being pushed up against by other female yuppies (repeat until yuppie line reaches the train door). Because of the awkward direction I was facing, like it or not, people don't stand in trains in straight lines, the right portion of my body that the young yuppie lady to my right was pressing up against was my arm. And because we were roughly the same height, part of my arm found itself being enveloped by the fleshy mounds of her derriere.

I could've blissfully pleaded ignorance and left my arm there to lavish in its fortunate position since young yuppie lady to my right was blissfully unawares as to what she was pushing up against but because I am a nice guy with a somewhat sound ethically conscious mind, I decided very, very quickly that my arm should be removed immediately. And so I lifted my arm out of there. In the process, my action caused young yuppie lady to realize that there was an arm there and to that, she turned and looked at me with a nasty look.

I wanted to try to give her my best "I'm innocent" look but I didn't bother. We both know where that would've gone. Instead, I just sighed and resigned to the fact that I was a fish out of water there and just tried to endure the rest of the ride.

And that was my adventure or misadventure into Yuppieland today. And to that, I bid you all adieu while I go cut off my arm.

Updates

2007-10-29T22:02:00.001+08:00

This blogger or once was a blogger (somewhat) has been so thoroughly busy of late that he has been unable to regularly update his blog even if regularly meant once a year or every time Santa Claus hauls fat ass down a chimney. I have, quite frankly and sadly, lost a lot of that drive that once drove me to write here. That drive was mainly defined by the insane amount of free time I used to have.

That privilege is no longer with me though I vow to continue to try to blog every now and then. If you are still reading this blog as sad as it has become, please do drop me a note to remind me what you liked about this site-o-cockery.

And to all the people whose blogs I've stopped reading, I'm terribly sorry. I still love your blogs just that my brain can't take anymore reading besides the trashy material I bring into the toilet with me (read: Business Times, Newsweek, and so forth).

Now, before this post gets to emo, I owe two people memes.

First would be Yvy who tagged me for some screenshot of desktop meme. Here's what my desktop looks like now:

Yes. That really is what my desktop looks like. You can tell I haven't done much with WindowsXP since getting it from Uncle Bill.

And now, I've been tagged so many times for this that I'm just going to do this again (and we shall all thank Germs for that).

The 6 Weird Things About Me meme
1. I have a read underwear and I'm damn proud of it. One day I'm going to don it outside my normal everyday attire and run around town screaming "I'm Superman" at the top of my lungs.

2. I have only 2 weird things about me. But just because my brain is so damned tired that I can't think of anything more.

Anyhoos, goodnight people.

By the way, if anyone is reading this, visit my photo album. It's the only thing left of mine that's still getting updated.

Overheard In Singapore...

2007-10-12T14:43:00.002+08:00

... now with red text to denote how a cynic would interpret each sentence.

Overheard at a train station.

Girl A: Wow hey, I haven't seen you for a long time!
Translates to: It's been awhile. Glad to know your life has been keeping you too busy to meet up with your friends and other close one's in your life. When was the last time you called your mother? (Note: An aptly added 'Bitch' after the last question would've served well in accentuating the implied sarcasm of the sentences but was removed for purity's sake)

Girl B: Yeah hey, are you on a diet?!
Translates to: You're fat.

Girl A: Yeah! How did you know?
Translates to: Doesn't translate to anything. Girl A is clearly an idiot.

Girl B: Well, you look great.
Translates to: For now but back then, you looked bad.

Running Mainland Chinese Man With Brain The Size Of Pea Boarding Bus

2007-10-04T19:14:00.000+08:00

I sincerely believe that all people are born considerate. It's a naive belief but I really do sincerely belief that by nature, every human being on this little ever expanding in blue color thanks to global warming thanks to big corporations who indiscriminately rape our environment and radical fundamentalist Christian protest groups who find it necessary to use non-recycled paper to print out their placards with displays of condescending beliefs from condoms being evil to Jesus not being born a Jew, is very much born courteous. I believe that it takes a lot out of people to be total pricks to the point of causing another individual much inconvenience.

And so, when I got bumped off the steps of the bus I was boarding by a Mainland Chinese crusty looking guy who ran towards the bus arms flailing and all in a wild attempt to catch the bus, the first word to pop in my head was: asshole.

The worst part was, the guy didn't even bother apologizing and just went on laughing to himself and his chums who were smart enough to be waiting at the busstop early (that particular bus follows a schedule thats displayed at the busstop). I was so pissed off that I glared at the guy and had to repeatedly tell myself not to pick the guy up (who was remarkably smaller than I am) and throw him off the bus.

All that while, being the somewhat-but-not-totally-good Christian boy that I am, I kept asking myself "What Would Jesus Do?" I came to the conclusion that Jesus would forgive the guy and if the guy didn't repent after many chances to do so, cast him straight into the fiery pits of Hell.

Sweet huh?

Guess what, a few days ago, I saw Mainland Chinese crusty looking guy running after the same bus at the same time and nearly barreled into a bunch of people boarding the bus.

He should be glad I'm not Jesus. Because if I were...

Nuff said.

Things I've Learnt From My One Week on Facebook

2007-09-24T23:25:00.000+08:00

Yes, I'm finally on Facebook. Add me if you can find me. Hint, use my name and look for the picture of White Ninja.

Facebook is fun. I learnt that I can still be a complete arsecavity even when on the online world. Roughly 50% of my life is now dedicated to poking people on facebook. Poking is so addictive that I even went to this group called "Lets stop poking and just have sex" or some jazz like that and started poking all the male members although I personally think they don't appreciate it with me being male and all plus me having a White Ninja avatar that has the words "My rectum hurts" on it.

But who the hell cares. Poking is awesome.

Another thing I learnt from Facebook is that I am still awesome. I'm not a Pirate, Vampire, and a Werewolf all at the same time. I refuse to be a Zombie because that's too scarily close to my actual life.

But if I had to name the most awesome thing I learnt from my time on Facebook is exactly how little friends I have. And that makes me sad. So now go sign up for Facebook and add me! Dammit!

When 1 Feels Like More Than a Bloody Number

2007-09-20T00:17:00.000+08:00

A horrible realization has just dawned on me. I was at a wedding rehearsal a few hours ago and realized that most of my friends here in Singapore are either getting married or dating / in the process of courtship with the rare exception of individuals like myself. I remember naively coming into this year thinking that I'm finally not the odd one out in the group(s) I hang out with, with them starting to speak more English to me and being a cacophony of singles and all. Now that's all starting to change with more and more of them getting attached.

I don't think I've ever felt more single in my life than I do now. I swear I nearly have to remind myself that I'm "single and lovin' it" every-single-bleeding-day just so that I won't forget that being single is not a handicap but is a status just as good as that of being attached.

I can imagine all the consoling words I'd get if I were ever to speak my mind on this. One of them would be the dreaded "you're still young". Of course that only serves to make me feel even more shittier because hey, I'll never be as old as the people offering those 'consoling' words.

And so at the rehearsal, a mate of mine asked me, "So, when is your turn man?"

I gave him the optimistic number of 10 years time. I really wanted to say the more realistic number of 40 years and only to a mail order bride. And then he asked in a somewhat rhetorical fashion if there was any interests. I think it's not a matter of whether or not I have any interest for anyone. I do to be honest. It's just that it's not mutual.

There's this person I'm interested in who we shall refer to as The Girl because to refer to this mystery person as The Guy might give my parents a heart-attack and I wouldn't want that to happen, but that's just a crush shrouded in the fog of wistful thinking. But at the end of the day, when all the crushes are faded and all my wishful thinking was wrong, I'm jaded and I hate it.

I guess what I'm trying to say in this diarrhea-ic diatribe is, to sum it up in two words is:

***k it.

So Apparently, I'm Satan

2007-09-07T12:12:00.000+08:00

I've heard it many times in many different incarnations, apparently, I'm somehow related to the son-of-darkness or am the son-of-darkness. I know it's a risky proposition saying this but, if I were somehow connected to the evil-one-whose-name-I-shall-not-mention, my life would be a lot simpler. Yes, I'd have to worry about things like turning people on the path of sin but no, like really, that's hardly any effort at all. The world is doing an awefully good job shatting itself up all by itself.

Yesterday on the bus, I was delightfully entertained and when I say delightfully entertained, I say that with no small amount of sarcasm but a whole bucket full of, by two snotty rich kids regaling each other with tales of a whoreanus common friend who's knocking up guys in their schools and how their 2000 dollar a month school is a small little sh!t hole compared to other thousand dollar schools us lowly commoners would never afford. That plus how a 40 buck haircut for a guy is not expensive but reasonable. I get my hair cut for 10 bucks and my hair looks a hell lot better than that kid's hair.

I am thoroughly convinced now that I really, really, really need a new MP3 player to replace my busted up one. And please do not suggest an iPod. An iPod wouldn't survive a month in my hands. I drop things more often than Paris Hilton gets high on alcohol and that's a lot of times.

Anyhoos, enough of this bullcockery. What I've really been trying to say since I started typing this post is that I, the great and mighty lowly schmuck of a devil's advocate, have reached my six hundredth and sixty-sixth post.

For the benefit of those who didn't digest that, that's 666 blogposts over this many painful years of writing. Whee.

Now that that's out and done away with, you'll need to excuse me. I need to usher in the apocalypse. Yes, I'm going to take a dump. So woe be to the world.

Toodleloos.

They Say That Jesus Loves You

2007-09-04T17:30:00.000+08:00

Dearest neighbours or neighbors depending on which side of the Atlantic's English you prefer,

I try my best to be a good neighbour. I am in most cases, a patient, understanding, and in certain cases, a humble man. I don't believe in making outrages or inane demands and to be honest, I rarely make any demands at all. I subscribe to the philosophy of not making a pest of myself and to be as considerate as possible to those who stay around me. In fact, if there were a "Best Neighbour In the Universe" award, I believe that it would be rightfully mine.

And so when I headed over to your place last Saturday night to ask that you turn down the volume of your television set, you really have to appreciate just how far your gawdawful sense of neighbourly civility has stretched me mentally.

But before I go into that, please allow me to elaborate exactly how patient I've been with you lot thus far. I have, over the previous weeks, put up with your constant late night TV watching at volumes that would put most cinemas to shame, constant shouting to other members of our family and friends down the corridor, banging of objects on your floor for God only knows whatever reason for, and even your little kid screaming out Christian songs at hours where the sun has not even begun to rise. And that bit really irks me because I would've thought that your son's Sunday school teacher would've taught him some neighbourly considerateness and quite frankly, if I were your son's Sunday school teacher, I would've taught him that Jesus loves him but I'm less inclined to feel the same way towards him.

But I digress as much as I've started my sentences with 'but' and 'and'. Basically, what I'm trying to tell you is that it really takes a lot of effort on my behalf to not go over with a scowl on my already generously fierce face that makes babies cry in the middle of the night to ask you to turn down your racket. I really appreciate that you did turn down your considerable noise.

BUT SPEAKING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS IS HARDLY AN IMPROVEMENT DAMMIT!

I'm sorry. I got emotional there but it really is hard not to when you guys pull this off night after night after night without a hint. Therefore, this is my ultimatum to you: I will, as I have previously, ask you lot nicely to be either:
a) considerate and to lower your noise once past 12 midnight
b) law abiding and to lower your noise at 11pm as stated by the law of the land

...or I shall have to call the cops on you.

It's either that or I playing Michael Bolton hits right outside your windows at ungodly hours of the night. You decide.

With much love,
mk

Negaraku, Tanah Tumpahnya Teh Tarik Ku

2007-08-30T11:35:00.000+08:00

Every time I hear a young girl say she wants to grow up and become just like Paris Hilton or Lyndsay Lohan, I shudder to imagine exactly how screwed up their future will be. I mean, who seriously wants to grow up following the footsteps of an ex-convict-drug addict-pornstar-repeat DUI offender celebrity? But yet, I suppose young girls, just like hormonally charged young men, see only the outward beauty of celebrities like Paris Hilton and not all the cock sucking pantiless drunken romps and imagine themselves growing up as pretty as them.

When I look at Malaysia today, I imagine it being just like those young girls fifty years ago who gazed at powerfully attractive nations just like the US of A and imagined itself growing up looking just like those nations. Fifty years later and it's not hard to see which traits of those "beautiful" nations Malaysia has inherited. Corruption, crime, and embarrassing national affairs like the one involving C4 explosives and a Mongolian are on the rise. Our politicians pull out excuses that make as little sense as a 10 month old baby's blabbering out of their arses. And to make matters worse, our opposition parties are little more than nagging mothers who take pride in pointing out our ruling parties inefficiencies and have little in the way of a viable governance plan that would make them serious contenders to the seat of government.

But despite all my complaints, I still love Malaysia with a passion. The Petronas Twin Towers reminds me of what a proud nation can achieve when it puts its heart into its endeavors: twin erections. And while the number 1 car maker in Malaysia, Proton, is turning out to be quite a national shame, the Perodua cars (Kancil, Kelisa) are some of the more fun family cars I've ever driven.

Of course as a Malaysian staying "overseas", I'm constantly reminded by my Singaporean friends of Malaysia's most successful export: Ramli Burger. Every time I see a Ramli Burger stand, I feel like singing Negaraku out loud.

In spite of all its inequities and deficiencies, Malaysia is still my home and still the country where my heart is. And with that, I wish all my fellow Malaysians a Selamat Hari Merdeka and happy 5oth Birthday in advance Malaysia.

Footnote:
Title roughly translates to: My country, the land where I spilled my teh tarik and is a play on the first line of Malaysia's national anthem: Negaraku, tanah tumpahnya darahku (My country, the land where I spilled my blood in literal translation)

Relationships Stink

2007-08-27T23:45:00.000+08:00

The question was asked: What do I look for in a future partner?

The answer that ran through my head was: My taste in women is so inexplicably bad that the only women I ever seem to fall for seem to be those who either are emotionally unsettled or would never fall for me and that the only suitable partners for me are those who I have absolutely no interest in. In which case, my entire love life is doomed anyway.

And the answer that came out of my mouth: I have no idea.

Bah!

2007-08-24T17:40:00.000+08:00

My laptop has a virus and so I won't be posting anything anal today.

Instead, I'm going to wish Miss Goodshithappens a happy graduation, congratulations, and all that hoo-hah even though I already wished her all that on MSN in the wee hours of the morning today and then I shall link her blog here so you lot can click on that link or if you're lazy, this link, just so you guys will get redirected to her blog and forget the fact that I don't really have a post here today and instead get distracted by her last three posts which were very nice reads.

Congratulations Ser. If for some unlikely reason we ever bump into each other, congratulatory drinks on me. But only if they're below 8 bucks because I'm a cheap bastard.

Wanted

2007-08-20T20:45:00.000+08:00

Wanted:

- Lots of Codeine
- A bottle of vodka
- 3 cans of beer
- 1 bottle of stout
- A bottle of pain killers
- And a noose

Or

- A hug

I'm having the lousiest of months. I so need a moment of reprieve.

His Spit Would Have You Cowering in Fear and Have You Dubbing Yourself Sissy Spit

2007-08-17T14:30:00.000+08:00

One of the fun things about being constrained to taking only public transportation when one needs to get somewhere is that it gives one a chance to observe the behavior of other denizens of a country's proud public transportation system. One of the really bitchy things about being constrained to taking public transportation when one needs to get somewhere is that it gives one a chance to observe the behavior of other denizens of a country's proud public transportation system.

Find the difference in the above two sentences. If you can't spot it, you need glasses. If you're already wearing glasses and still can't spot the difference, then try scratching your armpits and count the amount of times you miss it. If it numbers 1 miss, you need help. Seriously.

Anyhooswhateverpeoplesaytograbonesattentioninarhetoricalsense, I was waiting for my bus to work today when this guy joined me in my wait. Now I hate to admit it but, I profile people. If a person is above 50, male, crusty looking, and Chinese, then I try to keep my distance from that guy on or off the bus. Chances are, he has some idiosyncrasies that he's bound to display within the next five minutes of you being in the same bus stop, bus, train, or train station as him.

I hate to brag but to which I shall anyway because I like bragging, I'm seldom wrong on this. I admit there's been a good number of times when crusty old male Chinese men are better behaved than their smartly dressed young male Chinese counterparts which surprisingly, have a 4 in 10 chance of annoying me in a bus largely because of their handphones which they often neglect to pick up until the ringtone is about 90% done and, of course, their awesomely large buttocks and bullocks that force them to invade in on valuable seat space.

But enough about that and into today we go.

Today, as I was waiting for my no wait a minute, we've already been here. Okay, so there was this old crusty looking Chinese male with me at the bus stop who reeked of alcohol. In the span ten minutes we were there, the guy let out something like one spit per thirty seconds and it was amazing. It was like this guy's mission in life was to let out evenly timed spits.

And they weren't ordinary sissy spits. They were spits that Rambo himself would've been proud off. I swear the amount of force the guy was using was so incredibly strong that a rifle would've been put to shame. At one point, crusty was standing right in front of me when he let go one of his spit right in front of my feet.

I kid you not when I say this but, I saw his spit hit the ground even before I saw it leave his lips. I think crusty just singlehandedly proved Einstein's theory of relativity true with his spit.

But anyway, the one thing this goes to prove in my mind is, I really have to start taking my buses at more sane hours. The yuppie crowd is after all less eccentrics and far more easier on the eyes.

On a side note, someone has reduced the size of my desk in the office. I am not happy.

I Put Lost to Shame

2007-08-13T22:41:00.000+08:00

My name is Merv Kwok and I am legendarily bad with directions. Not only am I lengendarily bad with directions, I'm legendarily bad at giving directions. Today, two Indian tourist asked me how to get to a popular shopping center in Singapore.

Blur as I was, I pointed them in a direction that was totally opposite direction of where they wanted to go. It's a good thing there was this crusty old Chinese man who overheard the Indians asking me for directions and intervened. The only dumb thing was, he did it in Mandarin which I translated to the tourist and spoke to crusty in Mandarin. The Indians, looked at the both of us dubiously. At that, crusty started speaking in English and assured them that where he was pointing them to was the right direction.

The only problem was, he was going, "Neh, you see that biege building? Neh, neh, that one. Go there lah." The Indians had a slightly offended look on their faces. No prizes for guessing why.

After we all parted ways, I wondered to myself, how the hell did I manage to speak in Mandarin?

Flash back forward to an hour ago. I took the wrong bus home. I hopped on a bus that I thought stopped near my home but apparently, does not. I was sitting in the bus for a good full 40 minutes before I realized I was on the wrong bus. Turns out, the bus that goes to my place is numbered 132.

I was on bus 131.

I used to joke that the only reason why God keeps me alive on Earth is as entertainment for a largely humorless world. I'm really starting to believe this as I get older. You all had better be laughing or else I'd be really pissed off.

Now if you'd excuse me, I need to get lost. In a non-literal sense of course.

Why Babel the Movie Sucks

2007-08-08T13:14:00.000+08:00

Before I begin my rant, here's a little background on the movie title for those who are unfamiliar with Christian lore and traditions. Babel, which is the movie title to all the wisecracks who haven't figured that out, is a reference to the story of the Tower of Babel found in the Bible.

In that story, a group of people decide to smack together this really kickass tower called the Tower of Babel. God, unhappy about this, decides to lay the smack down on them by blessing them with different languages. Legend has it that the Greeks came out with the nicer sounding language, the Indians got the fastest sounding one, and the Chinese got screwed over with over 10 different dialects of Chinese.

The legacy of that single historical incident is that we now have kawaii 'wannabe' annoying Chinese teenage girls running around our streets signing off emails to their boyfriends with "sarang-haeyo, aishiteru, i luv u 4eva muacks" bullcrap.

Why Babel Sucked
1. All the dialogue in the movie was completely unnecessary. Like the death mute girl in the movie, you could've watched the whole thing completely silent and the movie will STILL make sense.

2. The annoying Moroccan kid in the movie dies as annoyingly as his character behaved throughout the movie. The kid was so annoying that at the end of the movie, I loaded up a computer game, imagined all the bad guys as the kid, and shot them all to digital hell with god mode on. No, I didn't care that I was cheating. That's how annoyed I was.

3. Cate Blenchatt didn't die. In fact, she somehow managed to take a bullet into her left shoulder which exited through her back that miraculously missed her lungs and artery and survive the entire day. In Black Hawk Down, the guy died from taking a bullet to his upper thigh.

iKlutz

2007-08-06T23:31:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I dropped something on my bedroom floor. I bent down to pick that something up and accidentally slammed my forehead hard onto the edge of my desk. I now have a bruise the size of Russia slightly off center of my forehead.

Damn thing hurt so bad that I had a nice sustained headache throughout the day.

Three hours ago, I accidentally whacked the back of my head onto the edge of a window grill.

The very fact that I'm still alive and still can type this is proof enough that there is a god and that natural selection is a farce.

Although to be perfectly honest, I'm really wishing right now that the latter would flex its muscles right now and just wipe me off the face of this planet.

I hate Mondays.

Today, an Old Lady Stole My Cab

2007-08-01T14:53:00.000+08:00

Today, a little old lady jumped me for a cab I hailed. I've had old people who pushed me out of the way from behind to get seats in trains, lines in queues, and even Burger King coupons. But this one really bites the dust. To have a cab stop and a little old lady dart out from some little lane and occupy the cab I was preparing to board with my 2 seriously heavy bags and 4 plastic bags worth of junk left me speechless an frankly, quite blur [insert explicit word of choice].

Why do things like this seem to happen to me on a near daily basis? I swear I must have the word 'loser' written on my forehead or some crap like that. The things that happen to me would make Peter Parker go home to his grandmother and cry. If he's supposed to epitomize the very notion of what it is to be a loser, then he really sucks crock at it. Losers don't have super cool mutant powers and good looking girlfriends.

No.

Instead, they get their cabs stolen by little old ladies. That and landlords who hint on raising their room rental by a whole hundred bucks even before they've stayed an hour in it and have a whole year left to their contract.

Someone should make a movie of my life. I bet it'd be real funny to watch. Just maybe, I'll write a book one day about all this.

Things I Never Told You About My Bus Journeys

2007-07-31T12:00:00.000+08:00

In another day's time, I'll be moving to a home a lot more closer to my office. This means that I'll probably have a lot less bus stories to tell. However, I do forsee a lot of housemate stories to come. But anyway, since I'm saying goodbye to an era of ultra long bus rides of 2 hours a day (Lets admit it. A lot of you who still read this are here for my bus stories), I shall find it fitting to bequeeth unto you lot the other side of my bus journeys I never told you guys about.

- There was once I lost my footing in the bus (I'm not used to slinging a laptop to my side) and accidentally slapped a girl at the back of her head in an effort to regain my balance.

- There was this one time I was seated opposite this girl who was in theory, dressed in rather dull colors but whose skirt was so short that no matter how she tried to sit, a bright electric colored underthing could be plainly seen by all.

I accept that these things happen and are all part of bad wardrobe choices and so like all normal men, I looked away to one side. What I wasn't prepared for was the sight of five crusty old chinese men sitting next to me grinning away.

- A cute uni student once sat next to me in my bus next to work. The bus was mostly empty when she got on. I deduce that she probably lost her contacts and thought the seat was empty but when she found out it wasn't, she was to embarrassed to move.

- I accidentally molested an Indian man while getting off the bus. What followed was an awkward moment where the both of us just stared at each other. He probably thought I was gay. Poor guy must've been scared crapless.

- A big assed ang moh once misjudged the size of his posterior and ended up wiping his butt along my entire right arm while fitting himself into the seat. I don't know why but, I felt so dirty during the rest of that trip.

- I was guilty once of accidentally passing out poisonous gas. I was sitted next to an old man. I looked at him and so did everyone else. I am so going to hell for that.