Saturday, June 25, 2005

Ice Water? How Bout Fcuk You?

Let's see if you can figure this conversation out. [Me] Ice kosong. [Him] No ice kosong. [Me] Excuse me? [Him] No more ice kosong. [Me] Is that a joke? [Him] You want tap water? [Me] *uncontrolled look of disbelief* You're asking me if I wish to drink tap water?? [Him] Yes, we no more ice kosong. If you want, you get mineral water. I then took a look at the teh oh ice my friend just had, and my friend went: [Friend] Then what did you mix this drink with? Toilet water? [Him] Err... Okay, he didn't actually say toilet water, but he damn well should've. The level of insolense and the degree to which they'd do to make a quick buck is shameless. I never liked the people running the joint in the first place, and it makes it worse as hundreds of people go there anyway, despite the rude and absent-minded service. If anything, here's a little poetic justice: SPICY KITCHEN HARTAMAS: SUCK ON MY SALTY HAIRY NUTS YOU FUCKNUTS

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Touching My Tra La La

When times are bad and you feel like taking exit left at life, take a look at this guy's face, because let's face it, it's just ridiculous. I'd personally like to meet this Kenny Sia dude, because for someone who spends a great deal of his life in a city in which I can only describe as horrifically boring, he's got plenty of interesting things to say. I suppose I betrayed my own faith by posting up pictures on my blog, something which I normally don't do, but come on, who's going to come to a blog that's as interesting as a piece of toast? Short of fabricating my life as that of a double agent for the Russian mafia and not blush when women ask me if I have a gun in my pants or I'm just happy to see them, I can actually take out a 9mm pistol for which to shoot stuff with. It's great to be able to see humor where everyone else thinks is monotonous, but I think the only real true humor left in the world are in the heads of Jeremy Clarkson and Triumph The Insult Comic Dog. I am constantly gripped in fear whenever I write a review for a car I just returned, simply because Malaysian just can't take a good joke. I once described the Proton Savvy as the result of a hangover between Geeks R Us members, which they proceeded to dip their hands into the puke bucket and pull out whatever design ideas they could come up with. Saying things like that would inevitably get me hurt, so it became 'great refinement over previous models'. While some are invariably more open to criticism and can see the humor in all of it, there's one rule that is paramount above all else: Old Chinese businessmen will NEVER get your jokes, even if you put it forth in Hokkien. Wait, wasn't I talking about Kenny Sia?

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Masturbation Really Fucks Up Your Eyesight

Well, I actually wouldn't know, but if that turns out to be true, Jesus Christ, you need to get laid. I am now the reluctant bearer of the oddly paired 50-225 spectacles, and I now genuinely know what a goldfish feels like looking out from inside its bowl. My depth perception is completely thrown off, and there were numerous occasions where I almost walked right into a street light. When I asked the optometrist about this, she had this to say "That's because your eyes have been lying to you all this while" WTF. Lemme get this right, God created humans with eyes that have false depth perceptions, and the reason why we're all not walking right into walls and tearing down traffic lights when driving is because we've simply adapted? Gimme a break. She then floored me with the best advise ever "Only take them off if your vision gets blurry again" Cue rope. Again, are you kidding me, lady? Why should my vision screw up when I'm wearing the specs? My 400 bucks for this supposedly ultra high-tech lens are just so you can continue your subscription to Deranged Monthly? I just about had enough, and proceeded to drive with my new optical enhancements. The entire experience was trippy, as everything looks further away, yet strangely, sharper as well. While I cope with my new field of vision, I renew my faith that noone will point fingers at me and choke on their own saliva from laughing at me. I know, this is an aweful big fuss for something as simple as getting spectacles, but at least I can now see what I'm typing, and I no can no longer belie my horrific grammer with the excuse that my life is a random series of unfortunate typos. But seriously, if you're thinking of wanking off later on today, think of what you're doing to your eyes. Looking like Clark Kent is NEVER cool, even in an alternate universe.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Of Bad Eyes and Titanium Frames

I have disturbing news. My right eye has developed astigmatism to the degree of 225, which basically means that if I close my left eye, everything becomes a blur. Nothing is focused, and while I can certainly make out objects, I won't be able to read from road signs to the newspaper on my lap. That's bad news for me, as I've always prided myself at the fact that I never need optical assistance, and now that masturbation has gotten the better of me, I actually went to an optometrist last night to get my specs done. I swear, how you people decide on what's cool and what's not, I have no idea, because every damn pair looks the same. And why the fuck is it called a pair is beyond me, as the only pair in a specacle are the lens, which is just stupid. Since this is my first time getting spectacles, and seeing as how I'm still relatively in denial, I apologize big time to all the people I've unrelentlessly made fun of back then. I most certainly do not think people who wear specs are geeks, and that they should be weeded out by genetic screening. I know now that no one or nothing is perfect, least of all my goddamn right eye, but I'd opt for a glass eye and a pirate patch any day if given the chance. Debbie, you know I think you look sexy with your glasses on, right? Right?

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Of Politicians & Evil Thoughts

I am a bad, bad man. Earlier this evening, while attending this amazingly hyped-up new Proton car launch, I sit in agonizing boredom while waiting for Tun Mahathir to arrive in his almost-clockwork fashionably late entrance, and in doing so, I chatted up this fairly friendly lady sitting next to me. I actually found her to be nice company, until I glanced at her legs and found out it was hairier than mine. Dear God woman, freaking shave that fucking forest you're cultivating there. Then Mahathir arrived (as opposed to Mahathir came), and it was rather surreal to see him up so close. I mean, the man was literally at arm's reach. When he began his Olympian speech, I realized that I constantly zoned out at times, and thought I was watching him speak out of a telly box. Then HairyLegsLady would accidently nudge her legs onto mine, zoning me back in. It got to the point where I started to imagine the heights of popularity I could reach if I rolled up the press release paper in my hand, and threw it squarely at Mahathir's forehead. Imagine the I-think-I-just-crapped-my-pants look on my parent's faces when they see me getting arrested on live national TV. And then I drive off in the new Proton car just before they can launch it. I'm a bad, bad man. If the government screens Malaysian blogs, I'm a fucking dead man.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Morning Glory

Joyce commented that my recent post was bordering on some perasan case, so I took it off. So instead, I'll humor you with more gay innuendoes. Enjoy. [Him] kel. if you ever decide tht you want to try penis. even once. you give me a call yeah [Me] um...i'll give it a thought. But more than likely, thats never gonna happen, so pls dont hold your breath. Rope, where the fuck's that rope?

Saturday, June 04, 2005

Lessons Learned On A Friday Night

A few things I learned last night: Never assume you're charming when you ask for a marble cheese cake in Dome and asks the waitress just how hard the marble is. Immediately look away when the waitress you've just tried to chat up starts whispering to her other colleagues and throws looks of disgust at you. Cover line by throwing on a macho pose by quickly whipping out a ciggarette and pretend to be engaged in a stimulating, engrossing conversation. Never try to act even more macho and assist a hot girl up a flight of non-functioning escalators only to find the exit blocked off. And never, ever, try to see what goes on in the club of Melia Hotel. 50 fat Chinese men writhing around to the sounds of mambo and Linkin Park is more torture than any person deserves to go through. Ugh.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Of Penises and The Love Of It

Today I found out another friend of mine was gay. Okay, the word 'gay' is sorta offensive, so I've resorting to calling him 'inclined towards penises'. Like all my other homosexual friends who have come out of the closet, this dude decides to give me an aneurism by a series of seemingly harmless questions: [Him] Let's hold hands. [Me] WHAT? [Him] No, seriously, I feel cold. [Me] Stick your hands in your crotch then, goddammit. [Him] That's only for warranted occasions *smiles* [Me] Warranted? ROFL, who the fuck uses the word warranted in a normal conversation? and WTF dude, cut it out. [Him] I dream constantly of men sloshing around me, licking my body all over while singing songs bout me. [Me] Are you trying to tell me something here? [Him] I want you to be one of those men. [Me] I think we should stop hanging out. Altogether. [Him] So, what's this bout this Dave guy you mentioned last week? [Me] Hold that thought. I need to find myself a shotgun. [Him] Whatever for? [Me] To shoot myself with. Christ, you're gay and you only decide to tell me now? And you wanted to go to Bintan with me?! OOOIIIII!!!!! [Him] Tee hee hee Dave, I will pass him your number, just so he'd get off my back and stop staring at my crotch when I drive. I'm hardly homophobic, but this is getting out of hand. Dave, honestly, Santa's got a present for you.