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.
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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.
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