Thursday, September 29, 2005

Blog Update Announcement

I will update my blog this Saturday. I promise. So you can stop refreshing my page tomorrow. Yes, all 49 of you. -EDIT- OK I sorta lied, I didn't blog like I said I would. But then again, I moved house, so naturally, you can understand if I am lacking the convenience of time. So bleh. Tomorrow. I promise.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Editorial Freedom? Rubbish!

In trying to hold a coherent thought pattern, I went into mental arrest. First of all, I realized that my hit count went up by a factor of 650% because of a little article I wrote on the fabulously ridiculous Smart forfour. Then I realized that not everyone actually got the gist of what I'm trying to say. I'm still unsure whether this just proves that I'm ultimately a rubbish writer, or that you're all rubbish readers. I'd like to think it's the latter. The absolute funniest thing about it all is that whenever I form an opinion, people generally go into overdrive and force their opinions down my throat like fellatio. While this has been largely done away since most people know what it is that I do now, I still can't help but feel that Malaysians in general simply do not appreciate a radical opinion. Perhaps someone over at DaimlerChrysler will read my article, cry foul, and I'll never be able to obtain another review car from them ever again. Malaysians, especially advertisers have to realize, that despite the way the industry runs or the fact that there is simply no real editorial integrity left anymore in the country, that there are a lot of people who really do want honest opinions. The ability to speak or type does not make one intelligent, and if our thoughts and opinions cannot hold any weight, then what is the point of it all? Of course, what am I saying, because at the end of the day, I'm a hypocrite myself. I also bend when faced with advertising pressure, and I too reserve words when the occasion calls for it. However, I'd like to think that I am not entirely without a backbone; when something is truly bad, I still make the effort to call the reader's notice to it, I do not mince my words in front of distributors, and regardless of what is going on in behind the curtains, there is no excuse for a poor product. FYI, this is a generic rant. Smart, don't take any of this personally, and BMW, I'd be willing to take the 116i at this point. Or at the very least, let me write an e-mail to Bangle, thanking him for the genius that is the E60.

Friday, September 23, 2005

The Smart is rather Stupid

I'd like to tell you all a little story about a bunch of Germans over at DaimlerChrysler. One day, having made a fuckload of cash from selling Mercedes to Datuks and impressionable young millionaires everywhere, they decided to buy up a company which makes Smart cars. Unfortunately, there is nothing smart about it, and apart from having looks like it gives a damn, it's really the most rubbish toy car anyone can ever buy. First off, I have to tell you all about the horrendous transmission. There are manuals, and then there are automatics. Imagine if you will, a clutchless manual. It's essentially a manual, but a little computer handles the clutch balancing for you, so all you have to do it to push a stick and it changes gears for you. Brilliant. Yes, if brilliant means backbone injury and neck spasms. To get a better idea of how it feels like to drive a Smart, you have to imagine driving a manual car with a rugby player sitting behind you. Just when you are about to change gears, the rugby player kick you in the head, and then your brain starts to spill out from your ears. And then it happens over and over again until you reach the sixth and final gear. God forbid should you ever decide to stop on a slope, because this car rolls back the moment the brakes are let go, and it takes a second before the transmission wakes up and transfers power to the wheels. You would've already reversed into the car behind you, by which the dude would've introduced you to his fist, because you're now apparently a dumb ass driver who own a car which looks like a frog. The absolute best part about the transmission is when you're already at cruising speeds. Lets say you're already comfortably at sixth gear. Okay, that won't happen, because you're never comfortable at any speed. Anyway, you slow down to a halt, because you're coming up to a red light. For some unfathomable reason, the gears do not progressively change as you slow down, and the car will jerk and choke to the point where it almost stalls before changing gears. What drunken misguided German over at Smart decided that this is the best fucking way to design a car's transmission? Jesus Christ, you have no idea the number of stares I got while I slowed the car down, because then I'll start jerking like a schizophrenic, and I look like a total and complete fool. I got so intensely fed up with the car, I left it in the car park basement and didn't drive it again until it was time to return it. I have NEVER not taken a review car home. I've even beared with the gigantic Ford Everest, but not the Smart forfour; it's that bad. You're lucky I decided to spare you all the outrageously frustrating details regarding the brakes. BMW, if anyone of you are reading this, I love your cars to death. Give me, a decent tax paying citizen my due rewards and allow me to have a 530d for keeps. Please. Because those other Germans ovbiously have no clue as to what they are doing. Please?

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Return of The Rufie

Rufina, let me just make things clear for you. My cell number is not 1-800-KELVIN. I do not sit around my office all day waiting for you to call me. I actually have things to do. Speaking of things to do, I will have DiGi bar your number from ever calling me again. Today Rufina decided upon the monumental decision of getting a new DVD-ROM drive. She doesn't know how to install it. Naturally. And of all the people she can think of annoying, she had to call me. For God's sake, there's easily 2 million people in the Klang Valley alone. Pick up a Yellow Pages directory and play Eeny-Meenee-Minee-Mo if you have to. Again, she thinks I sit around scratching my ass, waiting for girls to call. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad of a life. I wouldn't dream of boring all of you to tears by recounting every harrowing detail of the conversation, but I will tell you this: I rather chew on the ass of a moose than having to go through another session like this ever again. In fact, I have a headache now. Seriously. For those who are more tech savvy than Rufina, you'd probably know what a jumper on a DVD-ROM drive is. I first asked her to describe it to me. She claimed it was white. She then later rambled on, and for some reason, that same object has become grey. WTF. Even plastic objects wither in your presense? How the fak does the same object you're looking at suddenly change colour? It's not a damn neon light show for Gods' sake. Rufie, the next you call me, it better be for dinner that's on you. See, it's come to that, I'm willing to help the child of Satan over the promise of home cooked food. TF.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

The Messenger Trials

Rufina, you are a spectacular woman. Everything about you screams desire. You are the final word in lust. Your hair is the very definition of fabulous. And I'm lying, of course. Only Daniel has to suffer your company. For everyone else, there's blogging. A few people have asked me why it is that I've made it my personal crusade to expose Rufina for the nutjob that she is. Quite simply really. If she was the last woman on Earth, and yadda yadda you know the rest, I'd rather hump a stone than to seed the world with the spawn of countless spammers. I wasn't kidding when I said that Rufina, Lord of All That Is Annoying, is a thunderous spammer. Witness: 9/14/2005 4:41:34 PM *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* 9/14/2005 4:41:46 PM *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* 9/14/2005 6:40:25 PM *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* At this point I imagine her with her head on the floor, spinning like a mad top, all the while typing on her keyboard. 9/15/2005 8:24:01 PM omggg are you the EDITOR OF T3 MAGAZINE?!?!?!? SIGN MY BREASTS PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I kid you not. She's one saucy spammer. 9/18/2005 6:58:12 PM *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* 9/18/2005 11:10:28 PM *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee* And then, of course: rufie... definitely has fabulous hair! says: *kacau* rufie... definitely has fabulous hair! says: *kacau* rufie... definitely has fabulous hair! says: *poke* rufie... definitely has fabulous hair! says: *prod* rufie... definitely has fabulous hair! says: *pulls kelvins hair* " Kel says: magehai u really are a stupendous msn spammer man So, really, there's no real reason why I should ever be nice to Rufina. I'm sure she has fabulous hair, and I'm willing to bet that she goes for a Brazilian wax every other weekend, but honestly, no man should ever have to suffer the company of this mad, mad woman. If I were to offer you half of the earnings, would anyone help me tie her up and sell her to slavery in Thailand?

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Satan, I'm talking bout your daughter here

I'd like to tell you all today about a certain demon spawn I've come to know recently who goes by the name of Rufina. Rufina, pronounced 'roof-feel-nah', is rumoured to be the Latin word for Jialat, which is an ancient manuscript detailing the legend of the one true spawn of Satan. Rufina lives on today in the form of a female with bizarre hair and an explosive ability to spam on Messenger. She is the bane of my existence. I'd like to say that most of our conversations were pleasant, and we traded intellectual snippets which we both took home to reflect upon and smile. Unfortunately, that did not happen. In case you misread the first paragraph, she is the spawn of Satan. She is the embodiment of all that is annoying and deranged. Her use of Caps Lock is stunningly without warning, her command of English is spectacularly horrid, and she has now began to learn how to use Nudge on Messenger. Her powers of Annoying are only beginning to develop, and I fear that by the time she masters it all, I will have choked on my own spit in a desperate attempt to end my life. For those who wish to know more about this elusive creature, you can email me for a complete synopsis of the Messenger Trials between me and the demon spawn. If you dare, I will furnish you with the ID of this said abomination. *shudder*

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Of Straight Sixes and German Perfection

I just have to blog about this. The BMW 5 is a fantastic machine. I'v never had such an attachment to a review car which engages my every senses to tingle each time I think about it. I've read everything there is to know about the car, and just when I least expected it, I was called up to pick it up for a test drive for the weekend. I am so taken by the stylistic flairs of the new E60, I'm convinced that it is by far the most breathtaking saloon on the planet. Forget the badge snobbery of the BMW label. There is an immense sense of presence to be found in the E60, and the fact that other BMW 5 drivers smile at you when stopped next to them at a traffic light is testament to the pride that can be found in driving one. I can't even begin to describe how much I adore this car. It literally transforms me into a different sort of person. The only time I've felt so alive and in tune with a car is when I was hammering down the accelerator in a Golf GTI, and the E60 is every bit as exciting. Come the end of 2005, I will quite literally go into cardiac arrest when the phenomenal M5 comes to our shores. I should be so lucky to even sit in one.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


-Original post removed- Because it's no longer relevant, and the more I read it, I think it's in rather bad taste. Since there's a lack of words where my article used to be, I might as well entertain you (yes, you, my stupendous 40 odd daily readers) with a little educational snippet. Word of the day: Sigh a. To exhale audibly in a long deep breath, as in weariness or relief. b. To emit a similar sound: willows sighing in the wind. c. To feel longing or grief; yearn: sighing for their lost youth. Regardless, I still think Sia is a funny surname.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Of Infestations and Movement Zones

I am tempted to take a picture of my room and post it up just to showcase the sheer horror of it all. I guess I knew I was never gonna stay there forever, and I was already contemplating on moving hundreds of times before, so I couldn't really care less, and thus my room is a festering hole of refuse and unorganized chaos. If I were to stack up the amount of plastic bags I've accumulated over the months, it'd fill up to the wall, and I have so little room to move about, I actually have designated movement zones. You know, I kick aside whatever's on the floor, and thus I made a free area for my feet to step on. I currently have 4 carefully planned movement zones, which means I can do four quick leaps from my computer to the bathroom. In fact, I've become so efficient with my movements, I can almost find my room's movement zones without the lights on. What about that, huh? Of course, the story isn't truly complete without an infestation story to go along with it. Numerous parts of the room, mainly the door, have been eaten away by rot and whatnot, and because of that, cockroaches have been making frequent visits to my room. Imagine the extent of the horror, okay? I'm sleeping, I wake up in the middle of the night, and there are cockroaches crawling over my head and legs. Yes, I know, my endless pile of trash is definately not helping, but it was gonna happen regardless. Anyhoo, I'm moving to another place, where I look forward to screwing things up yet again. Or not. We'll see. I think room to move around and the lack of rodents will be a nice change. Why am I blogging about this? Coz it's a hot, boring Sunday afternoon, that's why.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Of Boners and Unwilling Women

I normally avoid chain mail quizzes like the plague, but it's still an enormously satisfying way of getting to know more about the person, especially if that person happens to be a hottie you fancy. Anyways, I had the unfortunate luck of bumping into Seline, and naturally, being a girl, she initiated the following infuriating conversation: S: What's your dream girl like? K: Oh we really have to do this? S: Come on, entertain me. And besides, the food isn't here yet. Dammit. K: My dream girl would be one who has the words 'Aren't You Lucky' tatooed just above her vagina. S: You're not serious, are you? K: Either that, or she has the word BMW M5 on her forehead, and she has a 6 speed transmission which I can use to go from here to there. S: I would think you're the complicated type. K: Complicated is when I pee when I say I wanna take a crap. As you can see, the conversation rapidly went downhill from that point on. S: I still think you're complicated, although you don't want to show it. K: Seline, really, I'm not. I'm as simple as they come. Cut me, I bleed. To prove my point, take your top off, and I'll show you an erection. Simple. S: Why are you afraid of showing your real side? K: Jesus Christ, you think I'm making this up? Look, lemme squeeze your tits, and I'll show you a boner that'll sink the Titanic. S: Really? At this point, I have to stress that I'm not making any of this up. Night's looking far more interesting at this point. S: I wonder why is it that men think about sex all the time? K: Because we sometimes get tired between having to fight over which brain gets to say something. So when the dick wins, that's when we have this glazed look over our eyes and sprout a huge tent in our pants. S: I never understood men's fascination over breasts. K: Perhaps you'd like to have a little chat with my penis. Look, we're fascinated by them because we don't have them, and plus, they're obviously erotic zones, so naturally, it turns us on just by thinking about them. S: Have you ever had sex with a girl just by virtue of her boobs? K: Absolutely. To be honest, all of my ex girlfriends has fairly large breasts. They were quite a handful, literally. S: So that's your criteria, big breasts? Personality doesn't count? K: Lemme ask you then, would you date a gorgeous hunk of man if he has a tiny dick? S: I'm not into looks, and I'm certainly not into sex with just any man. K: You're not? Then why are we having this conversation in the first place? S: ... I really ought to go out more and meet more people.