Saturday, March 18, 2006

** THE END **

This blog will be discontinued as of today. I will no longer update this blog, and this url is to be considered dead in all respects. My new blog home will be revealed to those who ask. If I don't want to tell you, consider that a rather obvious slap in the face. There are too many people reading my blog, which is detrimental to my blogging freedom. I thank you all for your kind loyalty. Till today I still don't know why it is you read my crap.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Celle, Germany - March 11 2006

I can't get out of this; people demand I post up images, else they just won't shut up. I know, I said I'd never be a photo whore, but you headons wouldn't leave me alone. Celle's a small town roughly 60 miles from Hannover, which is basically located in who-gives-a-shit-ville. There's hardly any activity going on in this small town other than the local ducks and town center, which is rather relaxing after the media whore-fest in CeBIT. It was either this or Berlin, but Berlin's one and a half hours away via speed rail, and realizing that I have a paper-thin ass, I opted for the shorter ride. It's not all that bad, really. The food's awesome, the air's amazingly crisp and no one bothers us. I've seen chocolates which look like postcard houses like these. Not neccesarily good to lick with, especially in winter cold. Because a walk in the park helps me keep in touch with my inner man. And lets me scratch my crotch without anyone seeing. I have no idea what the hell this thing is supposed to be, but if this is where nudists congregate during summer, I'm taking a month off work. In Germany, the people there have the good sense of putting a fence and a gate around their house. I was tempted to pee right at the gate just to see urine condensation, but let's face it, I'm too chicken shit. At this point, my ears felt like they had already come off, my feet are mush, my ankles don't work anymore, and all of my sperm are dead. I wonder what sex would be like on snow. It's a Peugeot covered in snow. Er. Yeah. This wasn't exactly shot in Celle, but come on, its a chocolate fountain! And yes, the chocolate is hot, and if you were to stick your finger into it, be prepared for a two minute long German verbal ownage. Germans are pretty when they curse. Okay, that's it. Yes, I have more, but I'd rather undertake an epidural than to post up more pictures. I know the pictures are small, but what to do, I like.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Fricken Achtung

There are many things you learn from a one week trip to Germany. For one, always pipe up on an inter-continental flight, even when that flight is full of Dutch people and you're the only Asian man in sight. People have the tendency to take their shoes off during long-haul flights, and not everyone wears a clean pair prior to embarking. My particular trip from Singapore to Amsterdam took nothing less than 13 hours, and because of that, I really needed the sleep. In crossing over the Indian continent and skimming past the Russian border, the man next to me farted no less than 50 times, and the idiot lady behind me thought it was funny to continuously kick my seat over and over again. Of course, I could've just said something, making a scene. Of course, considering that it was going to be 13 hours, I really ought to. But I didn't. And so I breathed in another person's gaseous expulsions and woke up several times into the flight because my seat was kicked into. I don't think it's because I don't have the balls to, because anyone who knows me will know that if committed, I will make a living hell out of a person's life. I guess I'm just cosmically patient. That is probably why I tolerated my ex designer's constant tardiness, my ex girlfriend's incessant insecurities, and my ex boss' idiosyncracities. Note the key word: ex. If you have no idea what Germany is like in March, let me tell you. It's cold. Well, actually, that's not entirely true, because it's spring right about now, and Germany should be sunny as Florida. Unfortunately, a misguided storm system blew in over from Berlin, which made things in Hannover (where I was), pretty inhospitable. Germany is probably the only country you'll see brand new Mercedes E-classes being forced into taxi service, and where almost every other car is a Volkswagen. There aren't as many BMWs as you'd think which isn't surprising, mainly because we weren't in Munich, the city BMW built. Even there you won't find that many BMWs. The transportation highlight in Germany is of course, their train system, which sprawls from small towns into congested cities; above, on, and underground. Cars obviously give way to trains on the street, because let's face it; a sedan versus a 4-coach train is just ridiculous. The absolute amazing thing of it all is its ability to be on time. When the station reports that the train is 1 minute away, it really is 1 minute away. All the time. Unless France decides to start another war or the train ran into Santa Claus, trains almost always arrive immaculately on time. I want to have the babies of their transportation minister. Food in Germany is predominantly meat and beer. Beer is cheaper than plain water, which makes me wonder if half the pilots of Berlin Air aren’t high when taking off. You've probably heared of pork knuckles, which is basically the biggest chunk of meat on a piece of bone you'll ever see in your entire life. It's dumb. There's nothing spectacular about it, save for its ridiculously large mass. So really, if you're going to Germany, fuck the pork knuckles, and go for some good old foot-long sausages instead, where it costs cheaper than a glass of water. Yes, meat is cheaper than water in Germany. I'm amazed why China hasn't tried to invade Germany sooner. When it comes to the ladies, they're all pretty. Seriously. Perhaps it's my predisposition towards blondes, but who are we kidding, who doesn't have one? If they're not pretty, they look too much like men with long hair, so either way, it's easy to distinguish a pretty one from one that's not. Despite being in Europe, Germany isn't exactly as open as you'd like to think it is. Sure, no one gives a hoot if a couple openly french kisses in public, but sexuality is so toned down there you'd think there was martial law in effect. Contrast that to Amsterdam, where the porn section for DVDs are located right at the entrance in full view of any passerby. I was going through their massive inventory in Amsterdam Schiphol Airport, and without knowing it, I was browsing through the gay porn section. Hey come on, the cover only had a picture of someone's butt, and the wording was all in Dutch. Then of course, the Dutch man standing next to me gave me a seemingly knowing glance and a smile. Needless to say, I fucked off. Oh, did I also mention how gigantic Schiphol is? If you think KLIA is such a work of art, wait till you give Amsterdam a shot. The airport is so large, it takes 40 minutes to walk from Gate 1 to the last Gate, which is very far into double digits. It is so expansive, it shuttles you to the plane, and upon landing, and it takes up to 15 minutes for the plane to get to its designated parking gate. Oh, this is the best bit of it all. Our KLM pilot, upon landing, missed his taxi exit and ended up going all the way to the end of the runway, having to turn around and go about it again. Fucking hell, less porn, more attention, you apes. Where was I? Oh right, Germany. Well, naturally, I have to talk about why I was in Germany eventually. Many of you will know that I was there for CeBIT, the world's largest trade fair, sorta like our PC Fair, only that it's 200 times bigger. Just to give you an idea of how large CeBIT is, here's a few things to set your brain on fire. CeBIT itself has its own post code. The entire of WCG Europe Championship was held in just ONE of its halls; there are 27 in total, not counting the outdoor exhibition booths. If you were to stand at the entrance of one of the halls, you can't even see the end of it, because the halls are that long. To completely walk from one booth to the last one in just one hall will take at least an hour. Multiply that by 27. If you're there alone, it's humanly impossibly to cover all. Which is why I didn't. Which is why T3 March is going to kick so much ass, because I'm going to cover so much 'WTF IS THAT' news, it's going to melt your brain. Of course, I'm not here to promote T3, I'm here just to tell you what my trip is like so you will all stop asking me over Messenger. If there's one thing I learned about Germany, it's that Malaysians are apes when compared to Europeans. We don't stop for a pedestrian at a zebra crossing, we don't greet each other in the morning on the way to work, we don't give up our seats for the elderly on trains, and we certainly don't give a crap if a stranger needs help on the street. I wish we were more like Germans. Then we'd all be driving Mercedes' as our first cars and Proton would just be some third world company we'd laugh about when we have our sausages in snow.

Friday, January 27, 2006

Memoirs of A Gadget Geisha

I am a dishonest little shit. Before I get into that, and even more compromising than being a compulsive liar, I am also a master of deceit. Actually, I don't quite see the different between the two, but I'd like to think there's a distinction. If you disagree, then kindly assume the position and blow me. On a monthly basis, I get annoyed with the gadgets I review. That is not to say that my reviews are untrue, because if you claim it so, I will kick you in the gonads. Malaysians are without a doubt the biggest crybabies in the known universe. Why else would we laugh when Jeremy Clarkson takes a shit on BMW's hat, but we suddenly get our panties in a knot when Clarkson refers to Malaysians as jungle clearing Mongoloids? I would love to tell you that Sony's misguided ATRAC3 audio format is the worst idea since Jordan playing baseball, that the the entire Alfa board who said yes to Selespeed ought to be mutilated and then shot, or that Chinese MP3 and speaker manufacturers are just a bunch of unimaginative shits who thinks market flooding is the way to go. I just wish someone take a nuke to China and 'accidentally' set it off on the pretext of tripping on one of their 6 million product rip-offs. I would also like to tell you that Logitech needs to fucking learn to make more ambidextrous mice, because listen up fuckers, I buy your mouse, so shut it up your arse with catering to the larger market demand. Of course, I will never be able to get away with any of these comments. It's not even a matter of clientele relations and advertising, but I think journalism in Malaysia require compromise, the sort you indulge in when your girlfriend asks you to go down on her after a blowjob. I know there's no real reason to destroy someone unless they've impregnated your daughter. Still, I pride myself in saying that I actually get away with a lot more than I should, and if you're actually reading between the lines, I actually do cuss out a product or two whenever I feel like it. Which is more than what I can say for a lot of other mags out there. Regardless, I'll still jump ship at the slightest whiff of higher income. In the meantime, kindly avoid Sony MP3 players like the plague. Fucking hell, why do they even call it an MP3 player when it doesnt play MP3s? Dammit, I got all worked up all over again.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

To Dye For

When my colleague told me she was dyeing her hair pink, I wept tears of joy. Not only is it hilarious to see one such person, it's strangely erotic as well. I went through sleepless nights wondering how spectacularly out of place she would look, and when she finally showed up in office, I was crushed. The only thing remotely pink about her hair was a streak on her right side which was coloured red. Even then I failed to realize that I was monumentally conned, and all she did was buy herself one of those clips which had a few strands of red hair. I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that she calls that pink, or the fact that she's willingly clipping someone else's hair onto hers. That's just gross.

In my fits of fury, I got jealous. I too wanted to dye me hair. Fuck the fact that I think all men who dye their hair gold are ah bengs and girls who dye theirs are impressionable ah lians. I needed some jazz. Black is so out. So, today, against all that I've vehemently spewed against, I went on to become a bona fide VCD seller; I dyed my hair for the first time.

It's not so much as having the dyed hair as much as going trough the dyeing process which is interesting. I'm sure you all know this, but I've never done this before, so just shut up and pretend this is interesting. If I thought my colleague's sticking of another person's hair onto hers was gross, this was worse. An ammonia slop is practically painted onto my scalp, and it was only after 15 minutes did I realize that that was the dye itself, along with said piss goo. It was horrid, my entire head smelt like it was dipped into an unflushed public toilet urinary. To make matters worse, I had to wait for the next half an hour for the dye to sink in, and each time I turned my head too fast to one side, I catch its horrid stench. Even now, after three washes, the smell of piss still lingers in my nostrils. Fuck jail man, if this was Malaysia's capital punishment, I'd stay in all my life.

After all that crap, I swear to Gawd, I don't see the freaking colour. Sure, it comes out in the sun, but my office isn't out in the sun. I'm not a construction worker. This is rubbish. I'm not sure if the colour is ever going to come out, but I do know one thing; if you've got a fetish for all things pissy, dye your hair. Black, if you have to. Now if you'll excuse me, I have go to be jeng and socialite my ass off. Not that they can ever tell I dyed my hair, but who cares, I feel browner already.

Sunday, December 25, 2005


Truth is, I have no idea why I am here. This could be fun... I am depressed. It is Christmas Eve. Where the hell am I? In front of the freakin' computer, chatting and grumbling to Kel...(I do feel guilty about it and I apologise) Gyahhh....I haven't been in a good mood for the whole week. I was quite easily irritable. Stressed out to the point that I actually considered taking up smoking again...I've always wondered whether it really helped to ease my mind...can't really remember now. There are instances when a certain someone is incredibly stressed, the first thing he'd do is to reach for his bloody ciggies. So much for promising to cut back on smoking and eventually quit... I am certain that I am not stressed out from work. So why the hell am I feeling so bl00dy pathetic...Ugh! Maybe it's because I have been arguing with that certain s0me0ne every single night for the past few days. I hate it when people cannot solve their own problems, they take it out on you...Ugh...especially when it has absofuckinglutely (will have to thank SATC for this wonderful word...blehh) nothing to do with me... Come to think of it, I should have just taken up my aunt's offer to go back to Muar. Mum sorta expected me to go home since it's a long weekend. What more a Christmas weekend. Not that I actually celebrate Christmas... Staying in the room is SAD. Not havng s0meone to talk to makes it even worse. I feel like crying all of a sudden.I think I really really miss my parents and sisters. Something is definitely wrong with me...Damn...It pisses me off not knowing why I feel this way. I do not usually miss my parents nor my sisters THIS much. And I just saw them like...2 freakin' weeks ago. WTF! Hmm...I am itching to watch movies. Have been trying to book tickets but of course, it's always fully booked. Then again, I didn't really have the time to go watch them at the cinema.I do hope they wouldn't be that packed when the school holidays end. Do I actually have money to go watch at the cinemas?...Gawd...I don't know =( Kel, I have failed you terribly. This is the best I can do...LoL...Yes, I deserve to be spanked...sighie I shall now go back and indulge your oh-so-lovely Sex and the City collection...


Monday, December 12, 2005

The Accident Which Proved That I'm A Dumbass

I can't be expected to retell this same story over and over again to hundred of people, so therefore, I will blog about it. Yes, in all my life, I've never had the displeasure of saying that I've actually been in an accident. Yesterday, that all changed, thanks to a moron named Romdan in a Mazda van. I was slowing down towards the Batu Tiga toll plaza, when I noticed this dude in a van in front of me realizing that he was in the wrong lane. He initially cut into my lane, then pulled back in, so stupid me thinking that he saw me, went on along on my merry way. He then did the obvious, he swerved out just when I was going by him and rammed right into my rear right door. As you can tell, this is just stupid. But what's even more stupid is the conversation which ensued. Me: Are you blind? You cut across three lanes just so you'd hit me? Him: Aiyoh sorry la abang, tak nampak la. At this point I had to start speaking Bahasa Malaysia, which I absolutely detest. Me: You couldn't see? What's this for? *points at side mirrors* Him: Aiyoh sorry man...I'm just sorry. Me: Sorry? Wait, I need my ciggarette. Me: Okay, this is real simple. Even a blind policeman can tell this was your fault. So you either give me 500 bucks now, or I go straight to the police. Him: Aiyoh do need involve the police all la. Me: Gimme your wallet. *Opens his wallet to find 6 Ringgit. Yes, that's right, SIX. He doesn't even have an ATM card* Me: This is all you got? Six bucks?! Him: Aiyoh sorry man I was just bringing my kids for a joyride. Me: This is stupid. How are you going to give me the money? Him: Wait let me call my brother. Me: Does he have the money? Him: I got money wan, I just don't have it now. Me: Yeah sure you do. This is what you're gonna do. Follow me back to the police station. We'll wait for your brother there. If he doesn't show up in one hour, I'm walking in. Him: Aiyoh why la u have to be like this, no need la talk about police all. Me: You hit my car. And tomorrow's a holiday. *I take out his identification card* Me: Romdan bin Junis? Him: Call me Hashim. Me: So what's your name now, Rondam or Hashim? Him: Hashim. Me: Is this even your own I/C? Him: Yes. Me: So why the hell should I call you Hashim? Him: Aiyoh because everyone does la. Me: Trust me, the police will call you Romdan, not Hashim. Remember that. Him: Aiyoh I call my brother first la. Pity me la man, see my kids scared. I am not trying to cheat you wan. I will pay you. And for some stupid, incomprehensible reason, I believed him. I know, i'm a freaking gigantic moron, but I did. I actually believed that poor son of a bitch and said that he can get the money and meet up with me later on in the evening. OMG I still can't believe what a dumbass I was. Really, don't bother asking me, because if I could put a foot up my ass, I would. Naturally, he didn't show. Later on I called his mobile (which I made sure was his by making sure his phone rang in front of me). Me: Hello, Rondam? Girl: Who? Me: Who's this? Girl: Who are you looking for? Me: ... Me: Hashim. Girl: Hashim's not here. Me: Are you his daughter who was in the van earlier? Girl: Hashim's not here. Me: You tell your father or whoever he is that if he doesnt call me back about the money, he better start running, because I'm going to go to your house. Girl: Hashim's not here. GAHHHHHH. So anyway, he never picked up any of my subsequent calls. So naturally, I head on over to the police station to make a report. Here's a kicker, I reported that he was driving without a license, and that he ran out on me, hit-and-run style. Oh the joy. The coppers took pictures of my car, which is the norm, but this is the best part: I was driving around with an expired road tax. OH GOD THE BALLS. So listen, that's my story. Here's the lowdown. I will hunt this fucker's ass down. I have all the required details I need from him. I will bloody well make sure he gets an early visit from Santa this year. Those who want in, let me know. I plan to go in force.