Kel's Konfused Konscience

THE END

2006-03-18T23:55:00.000+08:00

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.

Celle, Germany - March 11 2006

2006-03-17T02:05:00.000+08:00

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.

Fricken Achtung

2006-03-15T11:12:00.000+08:00

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.

Memoirs of A Gadget Geisha

2006-01-27T00:03:00.000+08:00

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.

To Dye For

2006-01-03T20:48:00.000+08:00

Feeling pissed on

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.

...Discontented...

2005-12-25T05:40:00.000+08:00

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...

The Accident Which Proved That I'm A Dumbass

2005-12-12T02:10:00.000+08:00

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.

Very Gay Days

2005-12-11T01:05:00.000+08:00

I read whiterabbit's blog regarding her weird habits with much amusement, so much so, the people who are living in the house behind mine actually pulled their curtains aside just to see where the hysterical snorting is coming from. Since I am phenomenally gifted at being weird/annoying, I might as well come up with a list myself. 1. I like to lift up my feet and curl them up in incomprehensible knots when I'm alone in my room. It looks so hideously impossible, you'd swear I was demonically possessed. 2. I ask people for their opinions, when really, I don't care, because I go ahead with what I originally intended to do in the first place. This is why my father probably never forgave me for ditching E & E Engineering halfway during college. Not that I was any good at Math to begin with. 3. I am hugely absent-minded, that if my designer wasn't such a dear and pointed out certain things to me, I'd be that man who didn't change certain page numberings in T3. 4. I smoke more than what my body demands. I'm not quite sure why I am over-supplying my lungs with tar, but I think it's because of the fact that I can't stand boredom and smoke just to occupy myself with something. 5. I keep a large collection of things I don't actually need, from un-used ciggarette boxes to key chains. I think I have an unopened condom packet somewhere that's 6 years past its expiration date. That's right, condoms have expiration dates. 6. I loop a new song over and over again to the point my boss will tell me to turn it off, because I've absolutely killed it. This goes back to point No. 5 really, because then I never listen to it ever again. 7. I am a huge proponent of love, but I am so convinced that love will find me and not the other way around, I may just end up turning gay. This may mean good news for RainbowGayDave, because if I ever was gay, he'd probably be the one I'd go to. OMG did I just type that? Ah fuck it. I have countless more, but I'm sure my readers couldn't care less, and I frankly can't be bothered to type anymore. And no Rufie, I will not succumb and photo whore or blog about every little thing that happens in my life. I will not apologize for saying this, for the majority of blogs now are just popularity contests, and I'll be damn if I ever join in the race to prove who's nuts are bigger or if I'm cute enough to make it to bloggerswithnothingbettertodo.com. So guess what I did last night then? Don't give a rat's ass? I thought so. If you actually went on to see if there's actually a site called bloggerswithnothingbettertodo.com, kindly go ahead and shove a taser up your nose.

Too much exposure to ah bengs and ah liens can contribute to migraines

2005-12-03T15:05:00.000+08:00

Hi all. Kelvin's been bugging me for a few weeks now to blog. And to cut a long story short, I promised him a LONG blog. I hear that blogging is supposed to be like writing in a private journal, except… it’s not exactly private. Since I don’t really have much to bitch about my daily adventures with mosquitoes Kelvin-style, this is the best I can do for now… so without further ado, here we go: A few weeks ago, I decided to go for a Jay Chou autograph session in 1U. Because I’m such a nice person, I shall now tell you all about what you missed: 3 pm: Arrived in 1 U all nicely dressed up with my brand new 3 inch gorgeous white high heels to boot. Gawked at the incredibly longggg line. Queued up with another friend like good ol' law-abiding citizens. While in line, the organizers start playing songs from Jay's new album. And naturally, everyone there just had to start screaming. I braced myself for a LONG evening ahead. 3.30 pm: Striked up a conversation with some people lining up behind and ahead of me. One particular girl of interest, which I shall name "Jay Chou nut-case fan" or JCNCF for short was trying to get people to join her Jay Chou fan club and had Jay's name literally tattooed all over her. After repeatedly turning her down, I started getting a little thirsty so I left the line to grab a nice cup of caramel frappucino. Mmmmm. 3.50 pm: Came back to find that the line had nearly tripled in length. After much snaking through the crowd with numerous "excuse me"s and "my friend is in front"s (not to mention rude stares from strangers), I finally managed to get back to my original spot in the queue. I noticed, with interest, that there had been a few new 'additions' (by additions i mean people who linger around in an attempt to cut our line) gathering around my spot in the queue. I (naively) thought that they would eventually get the message and queue up like the rest. 4.20 pm: One of the 'additions', which I shall refer to as stupid and smelly Ah lien in horrendous green with pink polka dots skirt, super frizzy hair and....ok ok fine fine, we'll just call her “Ah Lien exhibit A” for short, decided upon the monumental decision of cutting MY line. Irritated, I tapped on her shoulder only to get an annoyed stare from her (the nerve.). I tried my best to explain to her that there was only ONE line, and well, she was NOT in that line. (note: this was all in SIMPLE ENGLISH) And what did Ah Lien exhibit A do? NOTHING. Well, ok to be exact, she stared at me blankly and turned her back against me. Of course, I imagine that if I were a cartoon character, by this time smoke would have started seeping out of my ears and I was about to start breathing fire. I tapped on her shoulder again and asked if she understood simple English. And what was her answer? "No. I no speaking English. " FUCKING HELL. What do they teach in schools these days?? 4.25 pm: JCNCF tapped my back and said out loud "Some people are like that wan. Very stubborn wan...then some more they also enjoy playing stupid." Naturally, I couldn't resist. "Are you sure they are just playing stupid?" Honestly, even if you do not understand simple English, surely you understand basic courtesy? Bloody retarded frizzy hair Ah lien in green polka whatever... *aarrrghhhhhhhhhhhhh* 4.30 pm: Managed to come to an agreement with the people around me (who were queuing up like most DECENT people) to push Ah Lien exhibit A out of the way once the line moved slightly forward. Bear in mind, that all of this was going on whilst retarded Ah Lien was within hearing distance. Oh yes, and I would love to add that my shoes were starting to kill me. 4.45 pm: Everyone started pushing because the line started moving a little. Damn these people la seriously. I mean, what’s the big deal? Do you really think that if you manage to push all the way to the front, Jay Chou is going to get down on one knee and ask for your hand in marriage because he’s just oh-so-amazed at your unruly ways? And so in the midst of all the pushing and loud cursing (fine, I had my share of cursing too.. but people were STEPPING ON MY NEW WHITE SANDALS!!!!*&^%$#@!!!!!) , lo and behold, Ah Lien exhibit A decided to cut WAY ahead of us. Of course I would love to tell you all that I waved my index finger in front of that bitch's face and gave her a little “NO. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN” action. Sadly this was not to happen. *sob*. 4.55 pm: I helplessly watched the damn Ah Lien sprint to the front as I struggled to get a place in the line. If only you had any idea just how much I was wishing that she would trip and…. (err, I shall leave this all for later. First impressions are important. I AM A NICE GIRL. Most of the times anyway) 5.15 pm: Mother Nature decided to smear my mascara with some rain. Great. Just great. First, everyone ruins my brand new white sandals. Then, green polka dotted monster gets to cut the line. And to top it off, I will now be meeting Jay Chou with some scary shit eyes. T.T 5.30 pm: (To be continued) I would love to continue about my eventful night but then I would not have anything else to write about the next time Kelvin asks me to blog again =D Also, I think I’ve bored you all enough. So that's it for now! *wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

I've got your nuclear weapons right here buddy

2005-12-02T22:09:00.000+08:00

I'm increasingly under the impression that my friend is in fact a terrorist. He always seem to pretend to be busy when I'm trying to find out what he's up to, and when he does chat, all he talks about is how upset he is with the world. You know a man is a closet terrorist when he tells you one day over MSN one day that explosives can be made from simple household items. Of course, what's even more worrying is that he's convinced that extremist Islam fundamentalists do have a point, and that in order to make a statement, you'd have to go out with a bang. This is coming from a man who can't remember what he ate four hours earlier, and the only sex he has ever had was with his right hand. This is also the same man who recommended The Super Terrorist Brothers to me, and thought that the man who made fun of these genuises of extremitism ought to be shot. I told him that he needs a shot of Xanax, but then he just got pissed off. Okay, that's it, my rubbish post for today. The thought of this nice young man harboring thoughts of terrorism just depresses me.

A Short Story on A Mini pwnage

2005-11-16T02:22:00.000+08:00

There are these mutant mosquitoes in my room, I swear. These fuckers just refuse to die. I took a can of Shieldtox, closed the windows, and sprayed for a good 10 seconds before adjourning downstairs for a smoke. 10 minutes later, I went back to my room and saw the fucker still flying around. WTF. First, mutant blogs, now mutant blood suckers. So as I sit here breathing in Shieldtox, I can't resist but to take another look at Singaporean blogs again, because they are frankly, rather entertaining. Hold up, did I say Singaporean blogs are interesting? I need to bring your attention to something I've stumbled onto recently, which is none other than the mental diarrhoe that is the Minishorts flame war. Why people call it a flame war annoys me to to end, because a war isn't a war until a country's leader is assasinated or if you happen to live in a country which starts with the word 'I' and ends with 'raq'. Anyways, after taking a 'holy-crap' long time in reading all of the flames going to and fro Claire and Co., I came to the realization that I, among hundreds of others, were conned like Himalayan mules. Yes, stupid me went along into thinking that this shit was real, and like all others, suffered a brain seizure when we realized that none of this crap was real. She and 3 others pulled off what I can only summarize as the greatest Hindi blogging drama I've read yet. We really do fucking kick ass, which is more than what I can say for the people down South. Well, maybe not me, I certainly don't kick ass, seeing as how I am the unwitting fool in this grand trickery of a flame war. Dammit, I said it again. I recently got an e-mail from someone attempting to get me to review their spanking new Karaoke machine. That was still midly humorous up to the point when he introduced the name of the machine. Get ready for it, it's called the: Kanaohyeah. If that isn't even remotely hilarious to you, kindly walk off the end of a short pier. I don't need a person with humour-deficiencies going tru my blog.

Bloggites isn't a proper word, dammit

2005-11-15T20:59:00.001+08:00

I'm so completely in awe over the current obsessive explosion of female bloggers, particularly that of from Singapore. A quick browse through http://www.hottestblogger.com is enough to make a man's testicles wither. Is Singapore so boring that the most recent fad is to maintain a blog with copious amount of irrelevant pictures? The recent blogging flame wars are also completely irrelevant, if not only to serve as a humorous after thought on a lazy afternoon. Wendy, despite your best efforts, always manage to be your own worst enemy and fail to see the thin line that divides tact and journalism. I mention you, and only you, because you are quite literally an Asian blogging phenomenon, and you've failed to capitalize on your audience reach. Of course, that's just what I think, and seeing as I don't know much of anything anyway, you'd best ignore this anyway. I have also come to the realization that the Singaporean female gene pool is exceedingly small, because all the bloggers I've read about in the past hour or so look practically alike. Apparently, having background music in which you can't turn off is in nowadays, and if you want to be even remotely cool, you have to feature pictures of high heel shoes and use a pink background. I have actually compiled a list, but i'm too lazy to post it up, mainly because I think I'm loosing the plot of my entry, and I think this is a boring entry to begin with. As such, I'm not even arsed to end this entry decently. An Audi A4 quattro awaits my masochistic loving.

Have A Nice 'Fuck You' Day

2005-11-07T21:49:00.000+08:00

You stupid little shit. I am very aware that you need to have the things sent out. I am also aware that the post office deadline is close. How bout you sit the fuck down whilst I run things by you in what is possibly another long string of frustrations I always seem to run into when dealing with you. First off, I'm doing you a favour. What kind of sorry ass weak shit excuse is it for me to send the mags instead of having one of the girls, or any other person for that matter, to send it? Just coz they're girls? Somebody call the motherfucking feminist brigade, I think we got ourselves a winner here. I'll just park my car in Klang next time round then, how about that? Just because I'm generally nice and the fact that I drive doesn't give you the right to be rude, you inconsiderate little shit. Lets get this straight, I owe you nothing. The only reason I seem to bend is because I don't to see you reduce yourself into your miserable puddle of self pity, and so I do what any nice person would and oblige in your half-hearted requests. And who the fuck picks up half your calls anyway whenever you're off picking your nose feces or getting an epidural in the toilet? Thanks to your display of character and lack of respect, I will no longer pretend to be nice to you. Ever. I may not be your boss, but bite again, and I'll motherfucking pull your head off. It and whatever little stuffings of gray matter it contains. Fucking idiot, you can't even distinguish the difference between L and R.

Vita Terminus

2005-10-27T01:58:00.000+08:00

Death is a very strange thing. You get to experience a whole lot of lunacy, largely in part of the people who gather at the wake. I just found out I have another cousin I never knew existed till today, and my job apparently is cause for great celebration, despite the fact that the head of the family has passed on. There were more instances of lunacy as well. Handphones rang off during the wake, a small circle of people chattered away whilst prayers were said, and a group of church ladies insisted on singing off-key, despite my best efforts to tell them. The journey to the cemetery was interesting, to say the least. The enormous coffin, which took all of the strength of seven men to hoist up, was put onto the back of a timber lorry, and I almost said out loud "You gotta be fucking kidding me right?" when we were told to get on the back as well. So there I was, along with the dozen or so of us, holding on to dear life as the driver took us to the final resting place of my grandad. Oh, and the red cloth hanged along the side of the lorry kept flapping into my cousin's face in the wind, which I found to be largely humorous. The cemetery is as Resident Evil as can be possible imagined, with discarded tombstones lying everywhere and dead trees littered along the way. Naturally, my uncles pooled together, becuase there is simply no way my grandad is to be buried in some mangy plot in the cemetery, so the lorry had to trek like five minutes into the place and up to the top of THE hill. Naturally. I've always underestimated the power of persuasion. Or at least, me being influenced by prevailing emotions. I got off the truck with curious gloom, but as we approached the tombstone, I knew the finality of the situation was something I was not prepared for. As my grandad's tombstone slab was being sealed, I took time off from cameraman duty and looked at the faces of the sons and daughters my grandad raised. In seeing their anguish and grief, I felt bereaved as well. In seeing their tears, I too felt their loss. In realizing that even in death, unity endures; I too shed a tear. My grief was not for the man who was laid to rest, but for hunbling experience that was laid before me, as I reflected upon five loyal sons and three loving daughters whom gave their time and love unquestioningly. Few minutes ago, when my dad called me to check whether I've arrived safely in KL, I knew that despite my grandad's passing, nothing has changed. I am thankful to have been a part of this humbling experience, and when I die, I should be so lucky to experience the same love this family has for the father whom raised them all.

...

2005-10-25T00:10:00.000+08:00

My grandfather passed away at four in the morning yesterday. I'll be flying back today. You'll forgive me if there's been a severe lack of updates.

Departure Gate K

2005-10-09T21:41:00.000+08:00

This coming Friday, I will embark for Sarawak, where the dozen or so faithful to our grandfather will visit him for what is possibly the last time. He is nearing the end of his time, and as a sign of filial piety, we've all set aside time to visit him as an unofficial sending off of sorts. I never really knew my grandfather. Sure, I see him every year, but the fact that I adamantly refuse to pick up the Foochow dialect means that there is hardly an ounce of communication going on between us. I remember when he would pick me up when I was younger and rub his semi-shaven stubble of a chin on my cheeks, annoying the living crap out of me. He would always be the one to bust my chops, and me being myself, I would always find ways to tick him off further. I think I was a borderline masochist at that point in my life, doing things which I clearly know will get me into trouble, and staying there in order to be caught red-handed. I've heared stories about how my grandad disciplined his sons, which invariably involved a large bucket of water and the forceful choking of an unlucky son into the body of water in an attempt to choke the life out of the said victim. Mind you, this is a man who's weathered the Japanese occupation, and whenever he rides into town on his bike, the local townsfolk acknowledge his presense. That was then. Now, he's a broken shell of a man. My mother described him as being so thin and frail, it looked like he could snap his bones in two just by standing up. I'm not a big fan of death. I've never been to any funerals simply because no-one I cared about has died. I still wonder if religion is my ultimate vice, and when the day comes when I know I will die soon, I will wonder if God is truly amongst us, and if there really is such a thing as heaven. I'd like to think my grandad is going to heaven, but truth is, I just want to know if I ought to believe in something, anything. At least, just to make the passing of my grandad easier. If my grandad doesn't live until Chinese New Year next year, then this will be the second grandparent I've lost this year. I know my grandmother loves my grandad dearly. If he goes, so will she. Such is the bond of a lifetime of companionship.

One Beating Heart

2005-10-04T01:20:00.000+08:00

If she only knew her very presense quickens my heartbeat. If she only knew how much I adore her. If only I had the strength to tell her. I wonder how it would be if she finally found out one day. I wonder if she already knew but decided not to act upon it. I wonder.

Flea, Sia

2005-10-02T23:32:00.000+08:00

I have come to the conclusion that I either possess irresistable online charm, or I am just a magnet for all things absurd. I am now in possession a vampiric female fan, whom I fear may be slightly delusional, and perhaps desperate. Allow me to run the sequence of events for you. Day 1: Her: Hi Me: ? Her: I found you on friendster blablabla wonder if we can be friends Me: Um, sure? Day 2: Her: Hi Me: Ah right, you. Her: You want my picture? Me: Excuse me? Day 2 (later on): Her: You want my number? Me: Err.... Her: *gives me her number anyway* Me: Thanks? We have traded no more than 5 minutes worth of meaningful conversation, and I've already obtained her picture as well as her number. If I didn't know better, she is a ready-to-go free fcuk. Oh come on, it's not like I'm advertising her number or anything. I don't think anyone's intelligent enough to figure out her name from the title of this entry, so I'm not entirely an asshole. Unfortunately, I am not desperate enough to pursue this, but anyone who has a PSP and drives a BMW 5 can proceed to contact me in exchange for her number. And people say I don't help out.

Blog Update Announcement

2005-09-29T21:44:00.000+08:00

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.

Editorial Freedom? Rubbish!

2005-09-25T21:47:00.000+08:00

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.

The Smart is rather Stupid

2005-09-23T22:08:00.000+08:00

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?

Return of The Rufie

2005-09-21T17:33:00.000+08:00

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.

The Messenger Trials

2005-09-20T11:01:00.000+08:00

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?

Satan, I'm talking bout your daughter here

2005-09-18T23:48:00.000+08:00

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*

Of Straight Sixes and German Perfection

2005-09-17T15:56:00.000+08:00

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.

Sigh

2005-09-14T09:52:00.000+08:00

-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.

Of Infestations and Movement Zones

2005-09-11T16:00:00.000+08:00

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.

Of Boners and Unwilling Women

2005-09-01T22:22:00.000+08:00

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 man...do 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.

Of Terengganu and A Man Named George

2005-08-20T13:21:00.000+08:00

Some people are just morons. Point in case, during my BMW event in Terengganu, I was paired up with this dude from a Chinese daily for a beach challenge of sorts. We were supposed to go on this cannoe, paddle our way out to sea, swing aroun a buoy, and then return before everyone else. We were flagged off, and my teammate still wasn't on the beach. Annoyingly, I found him still wandering around in the beach hut clueless as to what's going on. Even worse still, he hasn't even put on his life jacket, and we left a few good seconds late. Since that lumbering wuss refused to sit in front, I took the lead. You've got to have brains of lead to be as profoundly stupid as that guy, because he simply had no modicum of common sense at all. Look you motherfucker, I'm in front, so obviously you follow my paddle strokes. As you can expect, I paddled one way and he paddled the other, so we were literally going nowhere. Well, actually, we were heading out into the open sea, which terrifed the fuck outta me. Even as I frantically tried to paddle to the right side of the cannoe to get us nearer to the buoy, he paddled the exact opposite direction. WTF MAN. He then had the nerve to voice his frustrations at me, as if our lack of progress is of my fault, and then get this, he directed me to paddle left to steer the cannoe to the left. I literally dropped my jaw and stopped paddling for a while, because I couldn't believe I was in the company of something that stupid. OI YOU STUPID FUCK, IF YOU PADDLE ON THE LEFT, WE'D STEER TO THE RIGHT. I took a glance around and noticed everyone else is already standing on the beach waiting for us to return, and I just wanted to drown right there and then and end my misery. In my frustration, I told him to paddle to the right, and for a time, things seemed good. Then he did it again, and paddled the other way. By this time, the cannoe was horizontal to the waves, and I saw this particularly large wave coming right for us. TIU LOH. This is it, my death in the hands of an incapable fuck. We tipped over, fell out of the cannoe, and I wondered if angels served Martinis in heaven. It was then my feet touched the sand below and I realized the water was only hip-deep. Fuck man, I was planning for a dramatic near-death sea rescue to happen, which I could conveniently blame on my partner. We returned to the beach to much of the riducule of the rest of the journalists, and I tried to explain what happened to to avail. MAHAI it's not like BMW build boats right. His name is George, btw. And George, I've seen you drive, and you drive like a motherfucking girl. That man is behind the wheel of a 200 horsepower monster and he hasn't the balls to overtake a lorry doing 40km/h. I'd like to see you go off a cliff one day, you sorry sack of shit.

Ack, Cough, Wheeze

2005-08-12T09:35:00.000+08:00

Okay, I know it's been a while, but with I've been feeling rather shitty as of late. Each day I wake up to a morning of dull brown skies (which is coincidentally nice and cool), I wheeze like bad air conditioning, and I'll be away for a week on the road. I can't wait to get out of Klang Valley, and I'm desperately wondering if I'll get the chance to see what's left of the ridiculous Sky Kingdom as I'll be heading to Terengganu next week. I'll update once I feel better.

Of Petty Thieves and Death by Conviction

2005-07-23T20:44:00.000+08:00

Don't you hate it when someone comes when you're not around and takes something from your table without asking beforehand, and then returns it to a position that's just slightly different from what you remembered? That's annoying. Imagine me going: "Oh I'm sorry, I seem to have deposited some semen in your vagina. Hope you don't mind" I am also desperately trying to figure out why kamikaze pilots wore helmets? I mean, wtf? That's also like getting a swab of alcohol prior to getting a lethal injection. Excuse me, he's getting a lethal injection, by which I assume is intended to kill the person, and he's getting swabbed? For what, any last minute infections? Also, for all the multi-tasking abilities women proclaim that they possess, how is it that they are so phenomenally rubbish at driving? I was at Kim Gary last night, and I saw this lady in a sort of van or another reverse right into the car behind her. For no apparent reason. She wasn't backing up for a parking space, so I guess in the midst of mentally juggling what to prepare for dinner and figuring out how the flux capacitor in a time travelling DeLorean works, she decided it would be cool to reverse her MPV towards the wrong direction of traffic. Wait, I'm not done ranting. Some lady read my magazine, and sure enough, she picked up a few grammatical errors I have made. In doing so, I have apparently derailed her from understanding what the article is all about. Lady, is a mother-fucking mis-placed S going to confuse you in any way? Do you audit for Simon Cowell? How is an extra S going to make your reading experience so unbearable to the point where your brain ceases to function? Oh, I'm sorry, guessing from your feedback, I suppose it never worked in the first place. I guess you just rolled off the production line without turning your engine on. The day you command a magazine, let me know, because as of this point, your opinions are as hollow as the space in your head.

Of Horses and Divine Intervention

2005-07-22T23:48:00.002+08:00

I'd like to think that I'm not a shallow fucktwat, and that how a person looks like on his/her blog is hardly a representation of that blogger's character. Seriously, who the fuck am I kidding, really? Let me ask you this then, if you were to be in the midst of plowing through this rather good read, and you eventually scroll down to a picture of a face which can only be described as an act of God on a cosmically bad day, you'd still think this person is anywhere as interesting as you first imagined him/her to be? I wouldn't. Okay, fine, that's not entirely true, but to those of you who's crying foul right now and sticking your middle finger up to your monitor this very moment, I apologize, for you are just another horseface. If you have the face of a horse, you have to realize that it's pre-destined, and you just have to deal with it. It's like a story, really. One day, God/Shiva/Buddha/whichever omnipotent being you subscribe to, whilst sitting on His magestic throne, was overseeing the production of all of His kind. "Ah, this child shall bear the gift of art" "Ah, this one shall be gifted with athletism" And then He reaches you. "Wah lao, this one ar? Skip you la, I'll just make the next one a genius or something" So you see, you don't fuck around with divine intervention. If you're a horse face, suck it up. I know the feeling, because I have the face of a horse too, which would explain the pathetic hit counts I'm getting on my blog. Thankfully, I have friends who are not horsefaces (or horsefeces, if you'd like), foremost of all, Joyce. Coincidentally, my friend also reads Joyce's blog, and now firmly believes that all Joyces are drunkard hippies who have a questionable fetish for small plastic ponies. So you see, even though you may not have the face of a horse, there's really no getting away from horses in the first place. Or in this case, ponies. Neeeeiiiigh.

Of DalNet and Cybersex

2005-07-17T20:15:00.000+08:00

I was so smitten by this dude's article on distortedprism, I had to do it myself. When you're bored, you cybersex. Case in point: KinkyKel: Baby, I been havin a tough night so treat me nice aight? BritneySpears14: Aight. KinkyKel: Slip out of those pants baby, yeah. BritneySpears14: I slip out of my pants, just for you, KinkyKel. KinkyKel: Oh yeah, aight. Aight, I put on my robe and wizard hat. BritneySpears14: Oh, I like to play dress up. KinkyKel: Me too baby. BritneySpears14: I kiss you softly on your chest. KinkyKel: I cast Lvl 3 Eroticism. You turn into a real beautiful woman. BritneySpears14: Hey... KinkyKel: I meditate to regain my mana, before casting Lvl 8 Penis of the Infinite. BritneySpears14: Funny I still don't see it. KinkyKel: I spend my mana reserves to cast Mighty of the Beyondness. BritneySpears14: You are the worst cyber partner ever. This is ridiculous. KinkyKel: Don't f**k with me biznitch, I'm the mightiest sorcerer of the lands. KinkyKel: I steal yo soul and cast Lightning Lvl 1,000,000 Your body explodes into a fine bloody mist, because you are only a Lvl 2 Druid. BritneySpears14: Don't ever message me again you piece. KinkyKel: Robots are trying to drill my brain but my lightning shield inflicts DOA attack, leaving the robots as flaming piles of metal. KinkyKel: King Arthur congratulates me for destroying Dr. Robotnik's evil army of Robot Socialist Republics. The cold war ends. Reagan steals my accomplishments and makes like it was cause of him. KinkyKel: You still there baby? I think it's getting hard now. KinkyKel: Baby? I then tried it on a dude named Krish, but he didn't find it nearly as entertaining, and all I got were LOL after LOL. Frigid loser.

The One Where I Have No Idea What Title It Is I Should Use

2005-07-16T20:36:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, my rear wiper went up again. Happy to have you back as a friend :) Oh, in case you didn't realize what happened, yes, I was contemplating on assigning you to my list of bitchy people I'll never speak to ever again. But that's ancient history. Anyhoo, busy week, so I'll blog whenever I can. Or not. Okay la, probably in a few days, when I actually do something and have something to blog about other than the fact that I work on weekends and I am secretly obsessing about becoming a porn star.

Protong Sama Dia

2005-07-07T14:57:00.000+08:00

The recent debacle revolving around Proton is somewhat of a joke. The fledging 20-year-old company has been spoon-fed under the protective bosom of the goverment for so long, it's gone two decades without a spine. Harping on continual technology progression and innovation is meaningless when it is coupled with repeated usage of old vehicle molds and stiffling import taxes on all other cars, and don't even get me started on APs. To highlight a few few releases, reflect upon the R3, will ya? The RM70K you're imparting is basically going towards a Satria GTI with little more than insignificant facelifts and better seats. An even more chuckle-inducing reply would be that of Proton's response as to why the Savvy does not come shipped with ABS and air bags as standard eq. Loosely quoted, they remarked "We've increased the body strength of the Savvy so much so that air bags and ABS isn't as important. We work from ground up, so body strength takes precedence." Great, so in the event of a crash, the car will survive, not you. I would really like to get into the spirit of things and show a little patriotism for a change, but if I were to just reflect upon things as a simpleton, it all boils down to import taxes to me. When you take out hundred thousand Ringgit cars for review each month like I do, it becomes apparent how much we're all taken for a ride. A Volkswagen Golf GTI would normally cost as much as a Civic Type-R, but a visit to the local distri would have you forking out RM221K. Sure, there's trillions of other factors I've conveniently failed to mention which account for the price differential, but when it boils down to the consumer, I couldn't care less. I guess it all boils down to dissapointment. I'm dissapointed at the fact that my paycheck only allows me to get a Proton car. I'm dissapointed that Proton still produces rubbish cars after two decades of government protection. Most of all, I'm dissapointed that I am hopelessly unable to afford a Golf GTI, a smashingly spectacular car. I'd even settle for an Impreza TS at this point, to be honest.

Thundercats, HO!

2005-07-05T17:48:00.000+08:00

This morning, I saw what is possibly the most disturbing single event I've seen this year alone. This dude who's probably in his teens was playing around with this pariah ass cat near my car. While I was in my car waiting for my engine to warm up, that kid started to get amorous with the cat. Hang on, lemme say that properly. He fondled that pussy. He started by rubbing the cat's legs all over, and just as the cat is about to make a run for it, he grabs the poor feline and proceeds to molest it near its private parts. By that time I had already taken out my ciggarette for a little puff, if only just to enjoy the show. He continued dispensing pussy love, until about 4 minutes later, where he did something that almost had me swallow my Dunhill. He lifted the cat up and smelled its balls/pussy. I almost died in my seat. How that kid could pull off shit like that in clear view of people is beyond me. I was so surprised I accidentally nudged my accelerator, but even that didn't deter Boy Wonder there from sniffing the poor feline's unmentionables. I was so mind-fucked, I now don't remember which floor I parked my car on, and I am amazed I made it out of my house at all after that. Goddammit la, I love cats, but I now have to live with this mental scare of a deranged kid in Subang who gets his kicks from sniffing cat privates.

Spar with your boss if you're insane

2005-07-01T18:04:00.000+08:00

What's sadder than playing games all day? Being beaten by your boss in office, that's what. Perhaps I should make the significance of this event clear. It wasn't a game of backgammon and we simply shook hands and walked off. All civility is thrown out the window when we are challenged to a game of Warcraft. It's not even about pride, it's symbolic, the pinnacle of what men strive in order to achieve their goals. OK, in other words, I was not about to get my ass beaten down by my boss. When it comes to games like Warcraft, my boss displays a level of grace that can only be described as horrific. Don't get me wrong, he's certainly brilliant, and he's one of the few people I can actually call a friend, but when he asks for a versus game, it's all war. Rape and pillage doesn't even begin to describe the intense desire I have to win. Least of all, I simply cannot let him win, because if he does, he'll gloat all about it all day long until I jump off a building. So. Ugh, thinking about it is enough to give anyone itchy crotch for a year, and even that is better than loosing. Not only does he want to have a versus match, he strung up the help of an equally *censored* colleague to play as his partner. Fine, I got Dave to play with me in a 2 vs 2 match. Oh, not enough you know, they insisted on having two Computer AIs to join their team in evening out the teams. Great, tie me up to a bedpost and tilt lit candles over my bare ass, why don't you. Oh farker, we put on a smashingly good fight, I tell you. It was legendary. Epic, even. We did so well, we lost. Well, what did you expect, it was 4 vs 2. Not even Michael Jordan could've pulled this off. Yes, I know he doesn't play Warcraft, but I like tall black men who can jump, alright? As I attempt to end this rant, I am already loosing much of the steam I had when I started writing it. In the end, the hollow victory enjoyed by my boss is nothing more than a reminder that perseverence is the path to eventual victory, and that it was a pretty stupid game to begin with. Oh, and lest I forget, my boss writes my paycheck too. So in conclusion, I am a worthless piece of turd and I will devote my entire life to serving you, O masterful boss-of-mine. You may have cheated in this trivial game, but I am a sack of shit anyway. Really, boss, if you're reading this, this is a joke. You know, funny? As in, do not sign that dismissal letter? ...

Ice Water? How Bout Fcuk You?

2005-06-25T21:27:00.000+08:00

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

Touching My Tra La La

2005-06-23T11:46:00.000+08:00

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?

Masturbation Really Fucks Up Your Eyesight

2005-06-21T22:04:00.000+08:00

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.

Of Bad Eyes and Titanium Frames

2005-06-19T16:16:00.000+08:00

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?

Of Politicians & Evil Thoughts

2005-06-08T19:36:00.000+08:00

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.

Morning Glory

2005-06-07T09:16:00.000+08:00

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?

Lessons Learned On A Friday Night

2005-06-04T17:08:00.000+08:00

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.

Of Penises and The Love Of It

2005-06-01T15:34:00.000+08:00

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.

Of TSD and A Certain Drunk Fairy

2005-05-29T00:17:00.000+08:00

Many people have snided at the fact that I appear to be consumed with the utmost of bitchiness when I write in my blog, but I appear to be sunshine and daisies in person. What, would you prefer it the other way around? On another note, I've resigned to that fact that the majority of the local blogging world will know me simply as KelvinTSD, thanks in large to JoyceTheFairy. While I adore her to bits, I will now walk in clubs in paranoid terror, wondering when the next person would come up behind me and say "Holy shit, you're KelvinTSD!" In fact, that's already sorta happened. Joyce wanted me to meet AdamPeterPan and RainbowGayDave, and barely a few seconds upon me sitting down, Dave had to go: "Hey, you're KelvinTSD, the one who took Joyce out in that GTI" Imagine my silent, stunned horror. Now I sit here, in front of an absolute stranger, having forced to quickly vomit out words explaining as to why my name has the words TSD appended to it. I thank God that Dave turned out to be interesting and a pleasant company to the night's conversation, because if I have to go through another moment where I have to explain myself, I will get myself on the next flight to Bangkok and buy myself a shotgun for which to shoot myself with. Interestingly enough though, AdamPeterPan does the most hilarious impersonations; you simply have to be there to listen to his Scottish cussing. So Joyce, I know your website has a trillion times more traffic than mine, and you probably don't even read my blog anyway, but damn you for making my life such a living nightmare. If you simply have any love for me at all, you will give me a new, more macho name. Or at the very least, flash me your tits.

MSN isn't exactly a good thing, you know

2005-05-21T17:37:00.000+08:00

There's this girl that I know who insists on striking up conversations with me at the most inconvenient time, and asks just about the most inane questions ever. I know it's boring and hardly worth reading, but you just have to check out the shit I deal with everyday with her. [Her] Why aren't you with a girl right now? [Me] Because I'm not out there looking for them. [Her] You know, you're like 26. Pretty soon you'll have to marry someone. [Me] I don't know what you're trying to imply, but I don't want to marry you. [Her] When was the last time you had sex? [Me] Longer than Clinton's time as President. [Her] Seriously, don't you need to...um, service yourself? [Me] Sure, I go for regular tuning of my love tube every 20,000 km or so. [Her] Do you still miss your ex? [Me] I'm pretty damn sure she misses me a whole lot more than I miss her. Actually, could you go ask her for me, since you're so curious? [Her] So why don't you ask her out? [Me] You know it's possible to drive and steer your steering wheel with your legs if you put your mind to it? [Her] I suppose. Why? [Me] That doesn't make it a fucking good idea, does it? Ex-es aren't too, either. [Her] So, what are you thinking right now? [Me] I'm contemplating of sending Lucasfilm a hate mail. [Her] OOh, you've watched it already? How was it? [Me] Oh, it was fucking awesome! That's why i'm sending them a hate mail, for making such an awesome flick! Duh alert? [Her] You're mean. [Me] Now you see why we must never get married? I simply cannot allow myself to seed you and spawn dumbfuck children. [Her] ...

To Blog, Or Not To Blog?

2005-04-25T18:15:00.000+08:00

I know I have lots of stories to tell, but I never share them on my blog. It's jsut that I'm not sure whether anyone even reads my stuff anymore, since I don't give a rat's ass bout it anyway. So, as a test, I'll see just how many people will respond and post a comment regarding this. I still think stories told in person beats the crap outta telling it in words.

I Am A Jiggling Mass of Goo

2005-03-24T23:45:00.000+08:00

Today, instead of telling you how intensely interesting my day has been or where I've been the last couple of weeks, I think I'll just tell you about a woman. I seriously don't know if I'm attracted to her. But I do know that she occupies the entirety of my mind. There'd be moments during a day where I would lapse from writing, and her face commands my attention, so much so that doing my work has been an immensely difficult thing to do lately. Maybe I do like her. Or maybe I want her to like me. Regardless, I'm not quite sure why it is that I like her. Maybe it's because I see her everyday, or the fact that I like the way she looks at me, and how I can look back at her without being conscious about how stupid I am at times. When I am in her presence, I feel that I can do great things; when I sit beside her, I feel the gentle beating of mighty wings. And yet, despite all that, I do not have the balls to go after her. I simply am a jiggling mass of goo, and I see no reason why she would even hear of it before chewing me up and spitting me out to rot in a monsoon drain. I have nothing she wants, and yet, she has everything I want. For now. OMGWTHIBETEHPATHETIC. And so, I decide to do nothing, eventhough she occupies my most recent dreams at night, and how I think I am going crazy over pretending that she's nothing more than just someone I know. Probably for the best anyway, I'm insane enough as it is thinking this would ever work. I usually give good advise, and if someone I knew were in this situation, I'd tattoo the word Dumbass on his forehead and ask him to move on. I guess we're all just victims of our own emotions. I need to go out more. She cannot occupy every single minute of my waking moment. She just cannot. I think I like her more already. Loosing my mind has never been such sweet surrender.

Regina, Post Mortem

2005-03-11T18:05:00.000+08:00

I'd like to say that when a relationship ends, it sorta slaps you in the face and forces a person to mentally vomit out thoughts of regret and redemption. Ho hum, can't say the same for me. This is by far my shortest relationship ever, and although I am still eating the dust when compared to my friend's one day relationship, who the fuck wants to be in a one day relationship anyway? Are you shooting an episode of 24? Truth is, I am comfortable with my routine, so much so I have become exceedingly efficient at creating new things to do as to make sure I do not ever lapse into a moment of loneliness. I've done the whole long-term and short-term relationships, so I really can't be fucked to go through the entire dating repertoire, just for the sake for dating. I'm not 18 anymore, and I don't go to sleep thinking about sticking my dick into any sweet thing wearing a short skirt. Well, not that often anymore anyway. So when I began a relationship a few months ago, I honestly wanted it to work. Funny really, since it was she who wanted the whole thing to happen, and it is she who ironically pulled away. And now with my previous old flame being single again, I'm just afraid this rollercoaster is just going to start all over again. But there isn't one relationship I regret ever indulging, and although it was ultimately doomed anyway, I could always picture us having the time of our lives, making great memories which we'll remember even after we're not together anymore. I still do.

Decline of Macho Me

2005-01-28T18:46:00.000+08:00

I miss you so much it hurts. Sunday's too long of a wait. Come back sooner.

Of hopes, kisses and life thereafter

2005-01-27T10:20:00.000+08:00

I'm taking a blogging sabbatical, as I've now entered a new phase of my life where words here give little meaning to context, and where my experiences are best shared with that one person I'm with right now. This is a highly experimentative stage for the both of us, but the physical chemistry is so great it's sinful. Can sexual chemistry precede emotional attachments, or is that merely precedence to something that much greater? Give me month or two, and I'll get back to you.

Fukanathan! Santa sent me an e-mail!

2004-12-23T18:14:00.000+08:00

Love Letter from Santa, originally uploaded by kel_the_blogger.

Wah lao, a letter from Santa. I didn't know the fat tub of lard actually had time to reply to a kanina like me. But I'm wondering if he got the right Kelvin, because I don't fucking like dolls. But when asked what message I'd like to impart with our favorite gift connoisseur, this is what I had to say:

"How bout you suck my nuts?"

I'm waiting for his reply. Santa, I know you're reading this, I'm waiting for my Platinum Edition Barbie with Commando Outfits.

Kanina!

2004-12-23T13:00:00.000+08:00

Christ, if I have to answer one more question as to why I have seemingly forsaken my blog, I'll strangulate myself. Honestly, what do you expect to read here? I don't have adventures in Africa, neither do I participate in peace-keeping operations in Mogadishu, and I most certainly do not go around KL trying to impregnate women. Just how interesting are blogs anyway? I went to this girl's blog, and she wrote a 2000 word entry. WTF. 2000 words. How can any of you bitches slut on about how difficult it is to come up with a 200 word presentation when you can yak on online? Nutcases. I have decided that I am much more happening in real life, and as such, I find blogging to be irrelevant, up until I reach a crisis of sorts that cannot be described with mere words, and require me to blog about it. Honestly, if I were to write here that I have testicular cancer and not only have I already cut off one of my balls, it is now spreading to my butt as well, would you really care? Someone come up and tell me that they'd cut off their own ball for me, then I'll blog. Every minute if you wanted me to. But yes, I know, who really reads me stuff anyway. Heh.

Me and My Gravity Gun

2004-11-26T11:51:00.000+08:00

Half-Life 2. That's is the only reason I need for not blogging for so long. If you don't understand, then you never will, because this game is so high on my holy-shit scale, it's almost messianic. This game is consuming me, I've blown off 2 dates, 5 movie invitations, and countless yamchar sessions. You ppl just don't get it, it's Half-Life 2!

Johor Bahru, Part Two

2004-11-09T11:15:00.000+08:00

And no, there is no freakin difference between Bahru and Bharu, and if you wanna quote some Google search on me, eat me. Forget the fact that KL girls don't really talk to you in clubs if you're not buying the drinks, or the fact that they come in packs, and hardly ever make the initiative to talk to strangers. In JB, everyone's fair game, and I swear, any man from KL will love it here. Girls willingly open up to you and chat you up. It doesn't matter if you're wearing short pants or are the ugliest man alive, chicks will entertain you for some strange reason. Me and my colleagues, including my boss, decided to have a taste of a night out in JB. Fuk me. A few girls we met told us of this totally bitchin place called Stephanie, which is by far the most happening disco in all of JB. Honestly, who in their right mind names their club 'Stephanie'? Regardless, we hopped over to the place, and yes, we were swamped by chicks. In all honesty, the music was pretty kickass, with plenty of Tiesto to keep me interested. The problem started 15 minutes later. While the music was still blaring, I noticed one girl climbed onto the podium where the DJ was spinning. Other than the fact that she was pretty hot, she apparently was looking for something on the stage, flipping over stuff and generally looking lost. I just assumed that this is JB's idea of podium dancers, when a guy promptly joined her on stage. Great, now there's two idiots on the stage, doing absolutely nothing but standing still on the edge of the podium and staring blankly into the crowd. Then the worst possible thing happened: these two fuckers each picked up a guitar. OMFG. I didn't think something like this was possible. 10 minutes later, the music died, and the lights came on. The idiots started playing. A live band. WTF. In a trance club. And it's a Mandarin love song, for Christ sake. Safe to say, we didn't stay for them to finish the second song. Next day, I decided to hit this supposedly raunchy R & B joint, with the equally edgy name of New York Club. I'm gonna cut the story short here, since there isn't really anything worth talking about NY Club, apart from our friend's host who thought it was humorous to fling around a wooden penis at people's faces and repeatedly shoving the object into his crotch, and of course, meeting with the Tengku Mahkota, the son of the Sultan of Johor. If I'm only allowed one word to describe the Tengku Mahkota, it would be 'large'. Yes, he's one big motherfuker. Later on, my boss decided to take us on a joyride around JB, and subsequently, the Tengku Mahkota's house. I'm sure most of you know the stretch of Jln Bukit Bintang. Now, keep that distance in mind. We started at the end of the road, and we saw the walls of the TM's house. We drove on for the next minute or so, and the wall never ended. Believe me when I tell you, that is one hell of a big house, or land area anyway. We reached the end of the road itself, and finally, the wall ended with it. Holy shit. He could practically open Taylor's College in his own damn backyard. For the most part, JB was a pleasant experience, other than the hideously deformed art of clubbing there, and I even got the number of a 16 year old girl, whom we promptly became close. I told you girls there were friendly.

My Grandma, Dearly Departed

2004-11-05T09:51:00.000+08:00

On the 3rd of November, two days ago, my grandmother passed away from a sudden heart attack; her first and last. Surprising, really, coming from such a strong role model, from a mother who birthed 13 children, and nurtured them all through the Japanese occupation and economic crisis alike. I still find it amazing till today that a woman with no higher education priviledge and tight monetary security find the time and energy to foster those 9 women and 4 men at a time when working on the family farm was a far more precious virtue than clubbing on a Friday night, or sharing your dinner with your younger brother was worth more than just any report card grade. She instilled such levels of fair-play amongst all 14 of them, most of the simply gave up on the notion of gaining her favoratism. Her strength will live on and inspire me long after she departs this Earth, and I hope she finds peace in the next chapter of her existence. I know my mom wishes so too. - November 9th Edit- * I made numerous, somewhat deliberate numerical errors with regards to the date mentioned, if the sharper ones will note that 9 + 4 does not add up to 14. Good to see none of you choose to take this time to bash me, you potentially insensitive pricks.

Johor Bahru, Part One

2004-11-02T14:58:00.000+08:00

Johor Bahru is a weird town. I spent the greater deal of last week there for an event, and holy shit, I never knew clubbing there could get any more weird. I will recount all the details soon, once I collect my thoughts and figure out what exactly I want you to know :)

Flights of Fancy

2004-10-26T14:13:00.000+08:00

Come on, man, let's be honest, SIA meant to have the ad say 'You're a great way to fuck'. Come fucking on, is that the best you Singaporeans can come up with? Fiscal budgetting killing your ad budget for this year? And do you know where I read this ad? TIMES, November 2004. OMFG. You'd think they'd have more class than that. Thousands of readers around the world are sitting somewhere and the first page they turn to is to a cheap attempt at marketting SIA girls into prostitution. They might as well dress them up in thongs and put a price tag caption under every girl in the ad. And what the fuck is up with that dirty old man doing, pretending to leer off into the night sky? Come on la, I know what you're trying to do with that right arm of yours. And you girls thought SIA was the only way to go. See you in Hustler next month.

I Believe I Can Zap

2004-10-20T13:08:00.000+08:00

I have lots of stories to tell, but so little time to do so. So today, I shall tell you a little story about how fucked up static electricity is. As most of you know, I review hardware for a living. Problem is, our entire office is carpeted, and I end up getting zapped without fail each damn day. Sometimes, when I reach out to get a graphics card or power supply, I see this spark of electricity jump off my fingers right before touching the item. Holy shit. Apparently, just shuffling your feet around on carpet for a little over a few seconds charges your body with tens of thousands worth of Volts. Fuk Spiderman or Clark Kent then, anybody with a decent amount of spare time and a pair of really crappy rubber shoes can easily be turned into Static Man. Why bother be faster than a speeding bullet or shoot webs from your wrist when you can just as easily render a villian helpless just be touching the dude and zapping the fuck outta him? Of course, the problem with all of this is that static electricity lacks current to initiate cell damage. I mean, you do know that it's current that kills, not voltage, right? So, why not carry a portable current generator to aid you in ridding evil one zap at a time. Of course, the other problem is that since you're also a conductor, you'll probably zap yourself along with it. I think I'll just be content being Super Writer for now.

You Be Da Fucked Up

2004-10-18T11:17:00.000+08:00

Just read this, will ya : http://www.sixthseal.com/001151.html So, really, WTF. What's even more disturbing, the generous amount of replies seemingly in support of this inane act of blog expression. WTF. So if you're feeling suicidal, depressed, downright stupid, or you're just a whackjob, spam his website and boost up his hit counter, because you're obviously as cerebally-challenged as well. There's enough reasons in this world to die for, and going to sixthseal.com might just qualify as one of the top 5. Feel free to flame me, because in my blog, you lose. Go for it.

Love Lost and Friendship Divine

2004-10-14T13:06:00.000+08:00

This is a story of a dear friend and I, and how the both of us share this remarkable bond, and of how the turmoil of the emotional baggage I sustain over the years have shaped me into the person I am. We met under the most unassuming circumstances. My first encounter with her was nothing more than a brief glance which quickly ended in me walking away. I can't exactly pinpoint just how or when we got close, or when we even started talking to each other, but I suppose if things are meant to happen, they will. As the years went by, our friendship quickly turned gold, and it was inevitable that we ended up being best friends. It soon came to the point where friends began to ask the classic question: 'Are you going out with him/her?' You see, I'm a writer, and I tend to wrap words up in so much ambiguous meanings, they often become taken out of context, and become generic replies which suits my purpose. "We're best friends. How can there be any thing other than that? I have too much respect for her than to throw it all away and risk trying to go for a relationship with her" The best liers are those who say it with a straight face. Heck, even that ridiculous sentence fooled her. It did for everyone. No one knows how my heart quickens when she calls my cell, or how my heart dies a little each time she find a new person in her life, only to find months later that it wasn't mean to be. Sometimes the yearning hurts so much I feel existence itself fade away to nothingness, and I'm left with the hollow, empty feeling of asbolute silence as I sit in my room, thinking how life spins its web around me. I decided to take a stand. Aching hearts and unresolved issues don't make interesting testaments for carving on my tombstone, so I put it all in an imaginary jar, and just when the jar is filling up to the brim, I imagine throwing it into the sea, forever drowning my grievances againt fate. A year later, today, I'm still holding on to that jar. She and I are still best friends, and I decide that this is the best for all. I know that boyfriends come and go, but best friends are forever, and that is enough for me. I will no longer claim that I still secretly pine for her, but I still do love her with all my heart, in whatever form that may be. The fact that I know she does too helps the nights feel less colder. Here's hoping that I will never have to write something like this ever again.

Suspend Me

2004-10-12T17:11:00.000+08:00

Suspend Me
Originally uploaded by kel_the_blogger.

I have a newfound fascination with bridges. Today I attended a press conference in One Utama, and as I pranced around the place, I came across the suspension bridge in the new wing.

Marvelling at the mechanical intricacies of the structure, I began to wonder if the science of bridge construction is a seperate discipline of engineering? I mean, it's subjective to compare and contrast whether constructing a building is any more complicated than building a bridge, but I would like to think that bridge construction is a more specialized discipline.

There are so many building designs to reference from, and engineers today have had a century of headstart to pick a stand-out design of choice. While bridge design is equally saturated and dates back to the hundreds of years, it is still a very niche talent. Which goes back to my original question: are engineers by default also equipped with the knowledge to build bridges? I think not.

I love bridges.

Of Death and Resurrection

2004-10-11T16:19:00.000+08:00

Last week, a friend of mine passed away, but not really. You see, here's what happened. [Debbie] Eh you heard ar? [Me] No. [Debbie] No, seriously, have you heard anything? [Me] I'm hearing your voice right now. What la? [Debbie] Faizal was murdered. Wow. Btw, in case you didn't know, Faizal is the cousin of the most hip and happening dude I know. Unfortunately, Faizal is nowhere near as cool, as always end up being the subject of endless ridicule by literally everyone. The single most persistent rumor circulating his existence is the myth that he shaves his pubes. Not only does he go clean shaven, he uses that same shaver and proceeds to trim his chin and face. He was henceforth known as Flattop, and if you don't get why, stop coming to my blog, you retard. So basically, when I heared that he was murdered, I sorta flipped. OK, it was more like a mini-flip. I mean, who the fcuk would want to kill that man anyway? Sure, he's a shaven haven geek, but that hardly means that anyone would want him killed. I called his cousin on his cell, but he refused to tell me what happened. Holy crap, it's not funny anymore. He insisted on coming over to talk. Fuck me. I was still sitting on my chair when he reached my place. Dammit that was fast. He came in, and this is the sorry ass story which I regretedly found out: Faizal's wallet got pickpocketted a few week's prior to this. Apparently, the robber somehow met to his demise when someone else murdered him, which proceeded to burn his body. When the police found the body, Faizal's wallet was found amongst the charred remains. And where is that retarded fool in the midst of all of this? He was getting some international hokey pokey with his girlfriend across the border. Figures. Can you even imagine how it was at Faizal's residence when the police came knocking down the door early in the morning? [Mom] Apa nih? [Polis] Anak engkau Faizal bin Cukur yea? [Mom] Yeala. Apa hal? [Polis] Anak you dah mati. Kondem. Hangus. Paham? [Mom] Ya allah... In fact, his death was even posted in all its glory in the Utusan Melayu paper. So, despite all he's endured, he just might be the collest one of us all; he's cheated death, and not only has he died, he came back from the dead to tell us about it.