Rate The Red Rat Right

One man, one can, infinite energy. Behold the sheer awesomeness of Redbull, and how it kicks adrenaline right into your limbs. Break the bounds of physics and time itself, as you take a gulp down. Chug it like a champion.

Starring :
Haziq Nazli
Imran Matin

A Last Minute Production :
Farehah Azmi (Producer)
Faeez Sabri (DOP, Editor)
Ahmad Ashraf (Director, Storyboard)

Not to mention the Hopeless Faeces, and the awesome, awesome crew members.

Rule your f-in world, Redbull.

Thy Sentinel To Be Slain.

Fine, I am not a pessimist. But we all got to admit that it's hard to deny the very satisfaction of venting out. EVEN IF IT INVOLVES TYPING THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING IN CAPS LOCK !!!! . But I will not continue like that, for it will annoy the crap out of you, and even myself. The term "venting out" itself sounds like the flow of gas, and we all know how good "flow of gas" feels like. Ooo, yeea-hh-heh-hhh. And more often than not, the release will usually bring undesired reactions. But who the heckth care as long as, at the particular period of not giving a damn, you feel like you've just punched George W. Bush in the face.

ANYWAYS,

Do I sound pissy ? , Do I sound like I'm choking someone with one hand, and typing with the other ? . Nehhh. Don't get me wrong, the whole day today was actually pretty productive, thus fun ! . But I gotta bring forth this one thing that happened today that left the blackest hole in my guts. I can't help but to pucker up all my insides every time this situation is recalled.

So here goes nothing,

T-TH-THHHE LAPTOPoo - Goddamn, I can't even begin to finish the sentence,

Again,

The laptop got f-in reformatted.


That was said in the straightest, tightest face I could muster, with a voice bordering on the tone of reading a suicide note.

Fine, wipe the "-_-" off yo' face. I exaggerated a lil' . But really, it's hard to wrap around your skull around the idea of absolute, unrecoverable, loss. The very thought of everything is gone. The pictures, the things I saved which are Error 404's now, the MSN convos, the transferred sms's, the webcam stills, the works, the notes, and everything in between, kapoof*, lost forever in the black, buttcrack of fate. How am I suppose to pull off the exact pose, with the exact face expression, at the exact place, with the exact people, with the exact memory that shrowds around that particular, captured moment ? . Or awkwardly, repeating everything I think I said the 8th time I chatted with so-and-so, expecting so-and-so to reply the exact same thing that so-and-so said in the first place ? . You can't repeat the exact stroke of your first circle, even on the 99999th try. Amirite.


You see, two traits that will never go well with each other even in hell. Being too sentimental, and having a knack for procrastinating things. We all know what a douchebag Procrastination could be. It's the other trait that I'm more worried about. It sucks to be too sentimental, that you can't help it. You can't let go off things that were once working parts of a worthy memory. This little plague of mine, can't be healthy. Just for the record of keeping it all sentimental, I've kept ; A used band-aid, An empty box of J.Co donuts, A small wooden heart, a keychain of Mickey Mouse's glove, a cup of black remains of what was once a rose, a hair clip, a Ben-10 cookie (in the fridge, c'mon), among other things. It comes to no surprise that I can recall the smallest details in the past, but not the biggest bulge of Captain Obvious from 4 minutes ago. Jood golly. This can't be good. I can't just flash the finger to the past, and ride off into the sunset like nothing happened. The past made me. It's in the future that, I want to know how the past builds up like a tower of Uno Stack'O towards how I am now, or later.


Holy bull, this is pathetic. I always go off track and end up sounding like a sobbing slit-me-wrists. Fine, my laptop got formatted. Get, over, it, Giddy-Mc-Clingy. Honestly, today wasn't all that bad. I shouldn't have a speck of reason in the world to be complaining. I landed a Jimmy Carlin's signature, I should be happy. Moooovin' on.


Screw all this useless yappings. I swear something's real good is gonna be posted up soon. And it's in HQ ! . So stay spooned :)

What's The Age Of The Edge Of That Ledge ?

IT'S

BEEN

F-IN'

AGES !


Sorry for the temporary death of my blog. Good Jolly, It feels awkward to get my fingers back in here again. Like returning from a very long trip and not knowing what face to put on when everyone's blasting off party-poppers into your face screaming "WELCOME BAAACK !" . An attempt to make a shocked+happy+"aw gosh, you guys shouldn't have" face will only invite the deadliest awkward silence ever.

Only now, there are no party poppers. Only the dead silence that followed the first moment I came in.

Anyways, if there's anyone reading this (say HI) , I'm sorry for putting my blog to sleep. First, it started as writer blocks, which then with the catalyst of procrastination ( how ironic ) , it then stretched out to be a longggggggggggggg poopy pause of pointlessness. Then came the assignments, which gobbled up all my time and shat out wet piles of mindfucks. I swear, I was on the very edge of sanity. Maybe, I'd go deeper in that sooner or later. But for now, let me warm up this typing tentacles for a while.

BUT NOW THAT I'M FINALLY FREEEEEEEEEE :D , I would, hopefully, update this a little more often and write more than 140 words.


And with this, I leave you guys with a little video me , Faye and Ilyas made for my Copywriting assignment, entitled;

THE MERDEKA MASSACRE,

En-joi





I have a more epic video in line. So stay doomed (y)

Spleen Split By Splinters Spins In The Litter

"I'm not even what the mirror reflects to be.
In my mind, walks and talks the little me,
in a form that you would never see."

- Bob

See, something as spontaneous as that can't come from my own sane awareness.
It must be Bob.
You don't just grow outside of me, your roots must have struck deep inside my skull.

Anyways, last week I was supposed to post something for Go Skate Sundays. But something has put me off my mood, my feelings. We were perfect for each other, for months we've put up with each other's shit. I swore, the times we had together, were the ones I had the most honest fun, ever. But, how long can you hover til' reality would snip the cord. No matter how strong, how thick, I know, WE know, it will eventually wear down. Crackle. Pop. And snap. I broke your heart, you broke mine, we broke up. Rest in splinters, my love ;






Love is to let go.


Holy noodles, the cheese from the last paragraph could've fed the whole world, for a year, and a half.


Anyways, it's not fair to let the spirit of Go Skate Sundays die even if I died a little inside. So, here's Haziq Hom Hom Termenong. Shredding with all awesomeness :








You can see more of Haziq (and his passion for the Dim Mak crew) in ShiftyMag's August issue.




Haziq loves his fans so much, that he wrote and signed all that with his broken right arm

A Sundae On A Sunny Sunday

Of all the days in a week, Sunday is the awesomest for us to get that wood on wheels and just shred Taman Paramount. The weather's nice, the clouds are behaving but most importanly, everyone's there, meaning more pysche-juice to pump us all up. The vibe is just amazing.


Matt, spontaneously named the fateful day, and all Sundays to come,

"Go Skate Sundays" . (y)

Mampus ah poyo.


So, in tribute of Go Skate Sundays, I'll post videos recorded at Taman Paramount, or any where else for that matter up here once in a while. Don't expect a triple kickflip to nose-blunt slide hardflip out or some crazy shit like that, but what the heck, we're having fun.


So, for this week, here's a lil somethin-somethin :





Me bailing my ass a million times. 1 tre flip out of 92380912309 tries.

Beetles Beat Bats With Bottles.

I tried cramming the whole first week of Raya into one post, and it stretched all the way to Mexico and back. I always lose points in the summary part in high-school English tests. And that one particular incident of which I accidentally put a smiley ":)" in a real essay, leaving it to be circled with the most vicious blood-red strokes that could ever be done with a ball-point pen.

Anyways, Raya this year went above the slightly same ol' - same ol' . Not to say the old same ol'- same ol' wasn't fun, but Raya was losing a little of it's shine due to modernization and less duit r-I mean spirit. But this year is a little different, 2009 pretty much picked up the old dusty Ruby of Raya, and polished it back up with a tooth brush to a shiny sparkle. Open houses were aplenty, with more people and more Rendang-smeared smiles. Baju-Melayu's pocket was a little heavier with duit-raya envelopes. And good food to help expand the ever progressing bussiness of Waistline And Co.

A few vital things were missing tho, like not going back to our kampung this year. Not one fire-cracker was lit, even a fire-flower (bunga api, can't recall what the heck it is in english) wasn't waved around in circles in the air. And like how I imagined I'd look like by this time of the year, it didn't match. Real bad. Well, there's always next year. And that's the exact same quote that had been said since 2004.


But there's some other thing that got lit,



My frikkin car.


On Sunday night,

It was a fun night ride, me driving the guys around for a change. We went to this snooker place. The place was dimly-lit, and the sofas were torn. It sure did radiate a vibe of badass-ness. I could've almost imagined a big bald biker dude in a leather vest, holding a pool cue stick in one hand, and a mug of beer on the other sneering at me everytime I want to check out his handlebar moustache from the corner of my eye.

Later, Pithang wanted to test-drive the Beetle. So, he did. Luckily the roads were empty, or we could've been thrown a bunch of middle-fingers synchronized beautifully with car honks. But it's normal, I can't even make the car go past 20 steps away from my house the first time I wanted to try it for a spin. And no, Pithang wasn't the one who lit the car on fire.

We had a late-night supper at Saji after that. We talked, we ate, and we made fun of your pants. The night got late, so we went off.


Just as I drove a mere few inches from the place, suddenly I smell the unmistakable smell of fire-crackers and went ; "Siapa bakar mercun pagi-pagi buta ni ? " .

I spoke too soon.


Seconds after that, blankets of smoke began rising out from the back. Sure, the guys were smoking in my car, but the smoke was too thick to be made from even 10 stressed-out smokers. And my car definitely couldn't fit 10 people. Something was going terribly wrong, said Captain Obvious. We stopped and we ran for cover and screamed
"SHE'S GONNA BLOWWWW !!!11!1!!"


No we didn't. We did what most panicked, clueless teenagers would do.



Be camwhores :




Say smoked cheeeese !


CAK !



Look how worried Aiq is.




When I called my parents, my dad said to lift the seat up and press this red button to launch us into space. We did, but the Oxygen wasn't as nice as Earth's, so we came back. Then, I saw this under the seat :





See that dark part in the Mastika-style red circle ? . That's the part that caught on frikkin smokes and warmed Pithang's ass.


The car didn't literally caught on fire. There was just a LOT of smoke. I was lucky I stopped early, or else if I drove the car a few seconds too long, Sean Kington's be calling 911 alright. This is the second time that this had happened, the first time was when my dad was driving it a long time ago. AND IT REALLY CAUGHT ON FIRE. And I swear to God, some guy who just happened to have a fire extinguisher came rushing in for the rescue. Alhamdulillah. Call it coincidence, or karma or whatever. But I'm sure it's God's way to show that if you do good things, good things will happen to you, and at times, in the most miraculous way ever. And my mom and dad has been doing countless, honest, good things alright. This is not just the only incident, there are loads more to prove this, but maybe I'll tell it in some other post.


Anyways, my dad told me what had caused the *almost* fire. You see, what's under the seats were husks, sabut kelapa. It certainly looked and felt like one. And knowing husks, they aren't so tough when they meet fire, or anything else for that matter. The battery, right here ;



..may had spit a few sparks. And the sparks, in contact with the non-padded husks, must had been the one that set it ablaze. Cause if you look really closely at the battery, the part where wires are connected to it, there are bits of silvery discharge around it. I don't know what that is, but that's the thing that could've almost killed the car, and us.

The solution was to just take one of the rubber mats, and pad the battery so it won't come contact with the bottom of the seats. Nice maneuver MacGuyver !

Trudy Tried To Turn The Turd For The Third Time.

Holy shitting shit, I haven't felt this way for quite a long while now. This familiar feeling has crawled back out from the darkest depths of damnation, to haunt my inner sanity once again. Raging oceans of restlessness are dwelling inside me as I'm typing this. Fingers, they lightly shiver. Sweat, they slowly bead through the forehead. Oxygen, is transferred quick as heck. Life, it got kicked by the testicles by a studded boot.


I was stupid, then ran out of luck, then back to stupid, still with Lady Luck out there getting wasted in Vegas, while I'm here under this ladder of 13 steps with 13 black cats encircling me. When will she come back, that question can only be answered by Lady Luck's godfather, Father Fate.


You know what's worse than not being privileged to stand on the podium ? . It's standing on the 2nd post. Or 3rd. The glimmer of your medal will never ever match that shine beaming out from the gold. But the crowd's watchin, and the confetti's rainin' , so you better keep on smilin' kid.


I don't even know if I'm happier this way, as I never actually got to taste the juice of joy on the other side, which can only be entered by pairs. If that bouncer's not gonna stop looking at me like that, I swear I'm gonna tie his neck with his own tongue. Oh well, the acid river of self-esteem is guarding the way anyhow.


I'm sorry belly butterflies, I guess you guys are all doomed to be stuck in your respective cocoons for a while now. It can take up to a few weeks, months, years or maybe a couple of eternities, just hang in there alright. At least, you won't have the chance of getting pummeled and pulverized by the deathly berserk of that heart-shaped bitch. The cocoons are the bubbles, and you guys are the Bubble Boys.



Captain Obvious came to the rescue and beat the hell out of Abomination Assumption. Thanks CO , here's your tip. A scarred remain of the pulmonary artery, that at one point was sworn to be flowing rainbows and sprinkles in it. Now the veins are all just streaming black bile and slimy spiky bits.




The truth is, I still do. And it's my fault, for doing nothing. Waiting for IT to happen, and NOT making it happen. I don't even know if it's ego blocking the way, or shyness, or the absence of balls, or just plain stupidity, but I feel like shit now. Even shit feels better than I do, all warm and mushy. Ahh, warm and mushyyy. I missed that.


Now knowing what to fix, let me get to that before getting back on this now, forbidden track.


And Phossy Jaw makes your face f-in glow in the dark ! . And that's randomness for you.


The Raya post is on it's way, wait for that and ignore this bullturd :)