Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Weekly Wreck With Wicky Wick Witty.

I'm as paranoid as a claustrophobic guy in a box.

Make that a fat claustrophobic guy in a box, duct taped to inescapable perfection, buried 6 feet under rock-hard cement.

Hey baby, let's get stuffy.

(And check out my mad MS Paint skillz)

This had lead me to over-assume. Situations as equivalent as a gentle baby rash, through my Paranoia-cular ( Again, shit made up ) , will look like a cancerous tumour, that grows on your face, and your crotch.

And boyy, ain't the cancerous tumour itch like a bitch, it'll leave me rolling in raging restlessness like a snail in a salt house.

In my head at least, wriggling like a seizure every time I get the silent treatment would redeem me a straight jacket and a spoon clenched in my mouf' .

Sure, I can put up my nose up high, showing off my nostril hair in all it's glory, saying "I don't give a dangling damn" every time paranoia kicks in the door.

But we all gotta admit that we are all just dynamites, attached to wicks of our insecurities. What differentiates us all, is only the length of those wicks, how easily those wicks are lit and how would it explode.
Suck my wick.

Some wicks are dead-short, and would be triggered the exact moment you accuse him of secretly liking to have his ass tapped, by a dude, and he'll explode like a nuclear pinata. Violent, but funny and full of surprises.

Well some wicks are so long, that even countless attempts of Yo Mama jokes wouldn't even light a spark. Altho secretly it has already been lit, we won't see it explode. Give him a confined space, a pillow ( or a pen and paper if he's the pathe- I mean, poetic kind) and you'd see him go booommm(!), at a devastating rate of a mercun pop-pop.

Trying not to think the thing that makes you go all uneasy, will not help. Of course, when you try to get rid of it, you will still, in a way still think about it. The more the effort, the harder it will go down.

Optimism ? . Pffyeah, sure. What would you do, if all along you thought it was raining rainbows and butterflies, but finally you found out, it's raining pigs and pickle juice ? . Optimism is only the mechanism to help you deny the stench of the poop, but will go haywire if you finally see the poop. Pessimism on the other hand, would already expect something poopy when the smell arises, so even if he did see poop in the end, he wouldn't be surprised.

But when it turns out that it wasn't poop after all but a pot of golden nuggets, an optimist wouldn't be surprised cause he knew all along, that pot of gold doesn't smell like poop. But who wants, to NOT be surprised by the sight of goddigitty gold, am I right ? . Pessimists sure wouldn't want that. Our eyes will bulge bigger when see the glare of the golden ray, and the effect of a surprise, you know the giddy in the tummy effect, would hit us as quadruple as hard, than on those optimists.

Now how about that, a pessimist trying to be optimistic about pessimism ? .

Then again, pessimism is not the way to slaughter the neck of paranoia. Well in fact, it's just throwing more wood into the campfire of said paranoia. Optimism, in the other hand, not to say it wouldn't help, but when it backfires, you know you wouldn't mind to snap a neck or two when the pessimists go "WE TOLD YOU SOOO !" .

So now, what ?

Distraction, yes the sweet dew of distraction. A distraction, which you don't put your conscious effort in.

You don't force yourself to play your Game Boy to against-your-own-will ditch your homework while chanting in your head "I'm distracting myself, I'm distracting myself" don't you ? . You'll get Game Over, Restart ? 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0, as fast as the thought of homework keep piling in your head.

But when it feels natural, you put down your pen and just play your portable gaming system without a single trace of Algebraic Formulae in your head. You have just, in that certain moment of you playing your Game Boy, successfully put all the problems behind you while you indulge in a temporary escape to free your mind.

Same applies to getting paranoid. You put that shit behind your ass, don't think about it (DON'T think to not think about it), and just squeeze yourself out of your narrow shell, and go outside. Inhale in fresh outdoor air, and laugh at the kid who fell off the swing, or help him. Both will be refreshing. Text someone you haven't text-ed for a while with a little extra enthusiasm and smileys. Meet new people, through the internet, or not. Try to learn a new trick on your skateboard, or earn yourself a new muscle sprain. Try that new oddly coloured drink you've been eye-ing at the Bazaar Ramadhan. Read some stuff. Create some stuff. Youtube some stuff.

The list is endless, put a plug on that paranoia plague :)

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Slug Lagging On Sludged Ledges

As of the 17th of August 2009

No, I'm not writing a post to remind you about my birthday yesterday and still welcome in belated birthday wishes ( Although, seriously I do welcome still, belated birthday wishes :D ) .

I'm here, to wish one of the greatest greats that have ever got greeted the greatest greeting, at the Gate of the Greats, a happy birthday.

Untwist those tongues, and let's toast our root beers and give the most blood-curdling birthday shout to the Godfather of Street Skating..



No, not that ironic guy who sucks RED blood, but still is as pale as a freezing albino, something-Cullen,

I mean,


He's even handsomer than you

Wipe that smug of your face, I know you have an awesome-er nickname which you got from OWNING ! . Not owning anything worthy even, like a real expensive pair of limited shoes, you're just "OWNING".

From Globe Opinion

and this..

From Almost Round 3

And now, reminisce about your nickname and think real deeply on how far it will take you in life.

Skateboarding was once only a replica of surfing. Instead of ocean waves, they used to surf curvy concretes. Instead of water tension, they applied wheels. Instead of words like "Gnarly surf man" or "Dude, where's my surfboard wax ?" , there were "How do you even skate with leotards that tight ?" and "I can see your bulge from here" .

"Hey nice handstand ma..Oh, good morning to you too"

Okay I'm sorry, that in the picture is Rodney. Even the man himself was caught guilty for skating with very restricted crotch movements. He was way wayyyy up there in his own league, EVEN with those tight ball-chokers. When he slowly phased to baggy pants, he reigns a million miles above our expectations on what can be done on a wooden board with four wheels.

He's also the Leonardo Da Vinci of skateboarding. He invented most of the basic tricks all skaters apply to this very day, like kickflips, heel flips and tre flips, and even the bottomline basic : The Ollie.

Nope, not Alan Gelfand, he does that off verts, without really popping the board, Rodney popped his shit of the ground, WITHOUT CONCAVES.

And he does not stop there, from basic butter to the most complicated, technical footwork. With his next trick, surpassing logic even higher from his last one. Like a Primo Slide right here :

He actually flipped into that, and moved, fast, and landed back on his two feet, and isn't that a cat ?

For the contents in his bag of tricks ; Click HERE
And remember, the list is just gonna get longer, and longer, and longer, and longer, and longer.....

Trust me, when you think you've seen it all, you're pretty much haven't seen nothing yet with this guy.

A small part from Globe's United By Fate.

He's 42 while doing all of the above inhumane wizardry. And he's going Goofy (a term used for someone skating with his left foot stepping at the back of the board) when he's originally a Regular (same as Goofy's description, only the back foot is right). While we can't even write our names with our other hand without it looking like Hieroglyphs, drawn by baby Pharoahs.

To add insult to the injury, he went from Regular to Goofy in that video, due to the news of him breaking his pelvis.

Now, slam your writing hand with a sledgehammer til it shatters the bone inter-connecting both of your arms, and again try writing your name with your other hand. Now it's gonna look like Hieroglyphs, written by baby Pharoahs, with a pen lodged in their butt-holes.

Sure, he ain't jumping down massive set of stairs, grinding down ridiculously long handrails or jumping off mega ramps. But keep in mind that, he's the one who pulled off the splinter blocking the progress of the cogwheels of skateboarding. The cogwheel, that is spinning ever so rapidly, getting more complex day by day. Without him, we would still be surfing cement, and Caveman-ing over gaps, instead of Kickflipping. The awesomeness of today's modern skating, must've had it's starting line, and Rodney Mullen marked that line by Primo-Sliding over it.

He's the most revolutionary thing that had ever happened to skateboarding. And again, let's toast our rootbeers for that .

Monday, August 17, 2009

Get The Glitter Gattling Gunner Down The Gutter.

The past few days has been quite the turn-over, of what has been a constant squiggle of lameness in my graph of life.

First the World Stage,

I could brag on how awesome it was, but I'm sure you could just punch in " I'm bragging about the awesomeness of World Stage" in the Google searchbar and get extensive comments on how sexy Pixie Lott's accent was amongst other celebritical <- (I totally made this shit up) , traits. I'm here to tell you how insanely awesome it was to drown in a sea of deathly body odours, and to get frikkin roasted in an accumulated aura of body heat. Not to mention the sheer greatness of seeing the sweaty necks of mini Yao Mings, and english people. Did I tell you how trippy it was to have your body lack an alarming amount of oxygen ? . Yeahp, that was some psychedellic shit right there. So let's say you had so much movement in a very constricted space, and you pretty much sweat off the living liquid out of you, you'd think, what better way to rehydrate yourself with a dirt-cheap 5 bucks worth of mineral water ?. That baby worked like a charm. Or you can always go for the option of buying drinks that's quadruply cheaper outside and get your re-entry denied. I don't know which options packs in the most rolls of Regret, but I am sure glad that I downed that sweet sweet 500 cents worth of 250 ml's ( OR LESS ! ) .

Okay sarcasm mode, off. All of that sweaty suffering was all worth it, really.

And again I won't brag on how awesome everything was. I'll just um it all up with this :

Tyson Ritter In Glitter

..and Mike Kennerty, the other AAR's guitarist, had awesome hair.

And I'm not gay, just very observant.

And who needs the after party when you can have the moistest, most scrumptious Char Kuey Teow in all of Sunway ! (kan Fina ?). All slurped down to it's very last juicy strand.

And to have such awesome dish, you must've thought the place is awesome too right ? .

Bet your pants it was ! . The place's name was, nope, not any fairly convincable Malay/Mamak name that ends with Maju, it was..


It's either a very cool Malay guy whose his name might just be Khairul Ros-li that likes to pop up his Polo shirt collar, a Mexican who's loving the wonders of Malaysia and forgot all about burrito, or a very disturbing Mamak wannabe mafia.

And special thanks to Spanky, for the very first verbal birthday wish, and the two glasses of awesome Sirap Bandung, and the ride home :) . You know you're awesome :D

But if you mean, the real first-ever, the numero uno, the wahidun, then that, THAT, have got to go to my oh-so-awesome-beyond-all-cosmos parents and lil' sister :) . How early, you ask ? .

How about the moment I wake up, of 15th August :D . And no, this is not on purpose, or someone used (insert year of August 16th being on Saturday) calendar, my mum knows that I wouldn't be at home, and will be phoneless by the 12am of the 16th.

Love you guys times infinity to the power of infinity, Ma, Pa <3 :) .

Special mention to my all time buddy, Brian for wishing me precisely at the stroke of 16th August's 12 am, and getting me the World Stage tickets, and the presents, and the t-shirts, and the albums, and the top ups, and other countless things that would take me forever to repay. Thanks for everything Brian, when one day Brainsorbet's a success, I'll repay your every deed :) . You're awesome beyond all logical limits of awesomeness.

And also, I would like to sent my thank you, which, if materialized, would be your favourite chocolate, dipped in gold, and sprinkled with grated awesomeness to :-All performers of World Stage, which I made believe that you guys did all that for my advanced birthday bash.

-Those who had wished me verbally, right onto my face.

-Those who had wished me through the phone speakers

-Those who had wished me through the phone screen, with and without smileys.

-Those who had wished me on MSN and Facebook chat.

-Those who had wished me on Facebook itself

-Those who had wished me on Myspace

-Those who had wished me through someone.

-Those who had wished me through their H1n1 repellent masks.

-Those who had wished me, secretly, deep down in their heart, which tried, but does not know my number, or any reachable means.

-Those who would wish, if they did circle 16th of August with a big red marker.

-Those who would just wish happy birthday, everyday, anonymously to all citizens of the world.

And most importantly, His Almighty, for still letting my heart pump the juice of life, for 19 years now. Holy scrap, I'm nineTEEN. Yes, I did bold and capitallized teen on purpose, just for a gentle reminder, that this year, would be the last of my adolescence. I can almost imagine meeting up with a distant relative, that the last time she saw me was me in pajama pants, and would just look at me, tilt her head a little to the right and say ; "They grow up so faast" , then shifts her gaze to my mom slowly, and back to me, and create an awkward silence and creepy smiles. Then give me a few bucks.

Thanks again you guys :)

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Did Dad Dub A Dot On That Dart Dear ?

Have ever, an event so significant, that goes slamming right onto your nose hard, that it doesn't leave you smiling ear to ear, nor make you cry blood, nor make you run outside, stretch your arms up to the sky and scream EUREKA (!) naked, like this guy ?

It does exactly what post head trauma would normally do - stun you numb.

Eyes fixed to a point, but not one thing is in focus. No matter how important everything around you sounds, it's just gonna sound in one, blurry monotone. Sort of like having your head submerged underwater.

That's exactly what happened on Sunday.

My cousin just got married. And at a very tender age of 20 years old, some of you would think this can't be all serious, or worse, if this were to be perceived by filthy numb-skulls. Just to make a point clear, she was engaged a year ago. And no, in the time gap of 9 months (plus another three), her tummy remained as hourglass-y as it was since she was in her early teen years, or heck, since forever. I bet this cleared off some vast assumptions.

We're talking about life-long, dead-serious commitment here, far more realer and heavier than your race to your target weight.

Congratulations Zac & Vaness..I mean Wan & Aleen !

You all should feel very happy for them, although I don't blame some of you for hating her metabolism.

Guy in blue circle : Not single anymore.

Guy in red circle : Ehehehe

Photos courtesy of photographer(s) extraordinaire : Nurul Suhaimi

You'd imagine, such spectacular event of joy and wonder would make me prance around in circles and have confetti bits stuck in my hair while making merry with family members who have confetti stuck in their hair too, or at least smile by the thought of it.

I would, but then,

The Lord took one of my most favourite uncle, Pak Zali by His side, leaving us to wait for our turn in the non-existent que.

It was sudden. I came back home late, just to find my dad rushing to my uncle's house with the news that he fell. That's just it, he fell. Worried, I was, but not expecting the worst, I was too. My cousin told me to come, and with the restlessness of his voice, I would, in a heartbeat. But then, I would leave my mum and my sister alone. And that's not safe. Since like I said, I wasn't expecting the worst, so I just hoped that by tomorrow, Pak Zali would just shake off the dust off his knees and still make his Utara-slang based unintended jokes.


Knocks were heard on my door. And door-knocking at wee hours of the morning, mostly don't bear good news. Like school.

The door creaked open, with my mother standing there. Her words were simple ;

"Pak Zali dah takda"

But the effect was devastating. Those four words hit me hard, did what any physical means can't, passing through skin, and shatter all process of my mind, leaving me to just sit there, stunned, unable to exert a single thought of anything rational. Numb.

Just plain nothingness.

Seeing the still body, laying there for the first time ran a jolt through my body. It shocked, and strangled my eyeducts so tightly, that they couldn't even shed a drop. Was once that uncle who'd go "Abang Shiyaaaaaff " everytime I'm at his front door, and would happily announce my cousin that I'm there, was now silent.
I grabbed the Yassin, and read the verses shakily.

But seeing how calm and easy his face was, it made us somewhat relieved too, reassured us that he was a good man in his past life. He really was. Like my father said, he was a really straight forward guy. Not the kind to be a shrimp behind a rock, everthing he did was sincere. One of them who would overlook emo hairmops, and tiny tshirts and just see you as the good honest kid he knew since the day the kid sucked Optrose from a bottle.

And it's good to know that he passed on very easily, without a struggle too. Alhamdulillah.

It's rather surprising, when my cousin and I, gave him a bath, handled him, wrapped him in white cloth, we were as calm as his facade too. When all the years I thought, I would be so squeamish that I'd be too shivery to even hold a sponge right if it ever come to situations like this. When in truth I should've shaked my knees like jelly with too much water added, but instead, I even tip-toed to get the soap. I don't think the calmness came just like that, I think the reasons are far more spiritual, which I can hardly interpret.

When he was lowered into his dugged dirt bed, my father put his hand on my shoulder and said ;

" Handsome mana, kaya mana, billionaire ke, last-last, masuk situ jugak *referring to the liang lahad*"

Although in the strong heat of the afternoon, I felt chills down to my every nerve endings. Yes, I admit I'm scared of death, but more specifically to death of dying unprepared for Him.

You wanna know what's more spine-tingling ? . My cousin, when he was in the pit piling back up the dirt to bury him, he gave a last look to his late dad, and saw his dad's lips stretched a tiny bit wider, giving his beloved son the final smile. Hanan wasn't scared, he was happy. Sangat-sangat. He told.

Death is always perceived as dark and that jerk in a black hood carrying a plastic scythe. When in fact, if viewed from the right light, would be a lesson, the wisest advice, given without even a single word.

I've learned firsthand that death doesn't come knocking on your door three times and would leave if the door is unanswered. It'll kick down the door, grab you and put in his van whether you like it or not, whether you've put on your pants or you have not. You can't even ask him to stop at gas stations if you need a toilet break.

It's good that we're thought to not take death as permanent absence, but as the changing of phases. Thought not to go into an outburst of bloody tears, but to take it as a reminder, a challenge from The Almighty.

A salute to my best cousin, Bahnan, for being ever so strong. Being the only child, this is harder for you to take than anyone else. But how you held on your head high, not showing even a flinch of weakness displayed perseverance that goes beyond your young age. Sure, you shed a tear or two, but that doesn't strip the amount of strength I see in you, not even a micrometer. Hold on cous' , if ever your grip slipped, you've my muscular (mhhm) biceps to hold on too. Get your 10 A's. For yourself, and for Pak Zali. You're awesome, to every strand of your manly, trimmed (not shaved) moustache :)

Tuesday, August 11, 2009


Oh yes, there's another that I forgot to add in the last post ;

And the name ain't random, nor that I sit around longer round the dinner table than the others for I like nibbling bony phosphorus. But it's in honour of Shake Junt's new video : CHICKENBONENOWISON - Go ahead, click it and brace your self for sheer gigantawsomeness.


My fingers are cold and almost frozen to type which the only remedy is to bite them nails. Although it makes zero sense, but it works, for a while.

My forehead's sweating, and my BO's building up as I progressively become restless by each second. Suffocated, a little because of the aforementioned BO, but the main culprit is the tension that weighs trillions of tonnes, loaded on my head.

Briefly stares at nothingness, in hope that in that swift set of seconds, miracle would dawn on my brain and let me go on a temporary trance of grammatical greatness and wise wittiness.

But nope, I'm left to rot here with nothing. Nothing. Mind's running blank, and time's running out. One explosion of spontaneity, and the fingers magically, in that one instance, would finally just make the fingers howl a "Plzzzz juzz gimme the tixx !!~~ pweeAzEeeeE ???" or anything similar to that glittery example.

I let out a fake sigh of relief, and cross the fingers for a brighter morning.

What has just been written, Junk, happens even before a single alphabet is written on this blank comment box. The last time when this felt so real was when I was left with 5 minutes, on a blank paper that had an imprint of "Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia" , which was supposed to be filled with additional mathematics equations, formulas and sorts.

Kudos for recreating the sweaty sensation which I thought I wouldn't experience ever again. Few scenarios had actually done this, but you guys, with that innocent glimmer of "1. Leave us a comment in this post telling us what you would do for a pair of MTV World Stage "Live In Malaysia" passes. (Funny and creative comments encouraged.)" , you guys couldn't possibly imagine the damage it had done to so many us youths.

Never have a set of words had slaughtered so many brain cells, set it on fire, and feed the fleshy ashes to the virtual vultures since I was behind the table that wrote my angka giliran.

With the summed up torture and demise, I bring you guys forth with this ;

Plzzzz juzz gimme the tixx !!~~ pweeAzEeeeE ???

I think it's the last line that killed the overall chance, tearing it to shreds and be blasted with a C4.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Sore Saurus Soars With Searing Swords

Just for a little segment of FYI, I'd like to tell you that,

When 56 seconds passed the clock hands after they've struck 12.34 pm/am on the 7th of the 8th month, August, 2009 ( or 09' ),

Or simply put, the order of time and space thought us how to count,

12 hour 34 minutes 5 6 seconds, 7th of the 8th month, 09

And like the math teacher you hate, he/she really meant it when he/she said he/she was only gonna show it once.

So, here's a belated HAPPY 123456789 day to all of you :D


I told you how I really wanted the World Stage tickets right ? . And you must've thought that moshing half-heartedly to sounds of blasted car speakers and hawkers shouting "Kuih-kuih !" being the only attempt of me trying to win the tickets, didn't really show how much I yearned for the tickets. But did I tell you, why I wiggled unnecessarily in public in the first place, is because I didn't give up from the contest, that I entered 5 times ?

Bet you sekupang I didn't, so now I will ; There was this contest that Junk held :

1. Leave us a comment in this post telling us what you would do for a pair of MTV World Stage "Live In Malaysia" passes. (Funny and creative comments encouraged.)

I don't know what's so creative about going naked to a 24-hours convenience store and buying himself a Snickers. Maybe the people at Junk pictured him being a fat late-night snacker with a really small pe- Alright I'm just being a sore loser. So big in fact, I wrote one whole essay (which I dont think they even read it) about it ;

*Sorry to writer of winning comment, I like Snickers too.

Right after three losing entries :

Ashraf said

If I win the tickets, I wouldn't buy the plane ticket to wherever AAR is performing next, which I will do If I don't win this. But the thing is, I'm expecting Tyson to speak Bahasa Melayu like "Malaysia Boolay !" . Money can buy me that plane ticket, but Tyson shouting my country's tagline is priceless :(

Ashraf said

You know sometimes in life you just gotta,
Act fast, like finding a toilet when you have diarrhea,
And when you don't, you'll feel like a pile of shit,
Now to top it off, you just need someone's face to hit.

Don't judge me by my first few lines,
I'm not that violent, nor am I insane,
I just like my rhymes, and my metaphors,
Til I don't get that tickets, you won't hear me snore

Ashraf on his 3rd attempt said

Like how they all say, third time's a charm ey guys ?

,,Right, guys ? :D

..Guys ?

...G-g-Ah who am I kidding.

Not wanting to annoy the f-k out them, or to appear suckier then how sucky I already sucked,

I decided to change my nickname to something funny and creative, just like how they encouraged ;

This is that sore-loser theory story, a bit of a long read but just bear with the vaccum of my suckiness.

Anonymoustache said

You know, to every bad thing that happens in life, somehow, someway, you'll pop your forehead-vein out, just to see the silver lining of the dark, gloomy, rain cloud on top of one's head ;

But, there's two, that applies this in their life;

One - An optimist,

Two - A sore loser, who'll find, anything and everything around that tiny ray of hope, and exaggerate the options to be so big, that to himself, his self-made conclusions are gajillion times better than the event or whatever he wishes to be at, alongside cursing the most diabolic things to happen at that particular place he couldn't attend to.

I bring you guys an example, of how an optimist and a sore loser would except his/her defeat of not winning the golden tickets ;

An optimist would go ,

"Oh well, at least my friends would enjoy themselves there, and who knows one of them would be nice enough to get me an autographed, Pixie Lott's t-shirt that will still linger of her perfume, or better yet, her - (Alright, what I might include may become too optimistic, and strip me off this chance altogether, but you get my idea).

Soon, the optimist will NOT go home and find a dark corner of his room to slit his wrist, and write poems with the black blood he bled. Instead, he'll bring his other optimistic friends to a bar, or maybe just a round of teh-tarik just to you know, get the optimistic vibe going.

A sore loser -

Upon finding out his name is not listed as the winner, he would take a brief moment to inhale, and shout the loudest *bleep* to all his heart's content. He'll then curse you Junkies with every foul word he knows, in every language he knows too, like "Babi, bodoh, sial, mahai, cibai ungge tatek kunji ilek" and the likes.

He, will then wait for the World Stage day itself, not realizing there are other ways of getting the tickets in that time gap of waiting, and go somewhere nearby, MOS, perhaps ? when the day arrives. He'll wait outside, restless, but his posture is as cool as his popped-up collar Polo shirt. He'll constantly look up at the sky and say "Hmph, it's gonna rain for sure, you guys have fun bathing in the acid rain while I'll have all the fun INDOORS, and while you guys are at it, be sure to get struck by lightning too,MWAHAHAHA !" .
Not out loud of course, he has to keep it cool to show em' who's boss.

But later that night, after discovering on how empty the MOS's dancefloor turned out to be, and how loud the cheering crowd next door is (with a large portion of them supposed to be at MOS that night, if it weren't for World Stage), he'll still won't admit on how much of a loser he is becoming, and say "Hmph, it'll rain anytime sooooooon now, eheh" sipping slowly on his beer, after he decided he was too cool for the dancefloor.When infact the crowd was too small and he was embarrassed when a girl laughed at him when he busted his moves. On normal, fully packed days, no one would notice him because there would be too many people for him to steal the spotlight. Such an optimist he is.

He would then go off, and would feel bad for the World Stage goers for not having fun as much as him. He would then make-believe that the drenched people that went to World Stage, were not soaked with sweat from rocking the night out, but supposedly from the rain he cursed on them.

The roads are dry though, but not his eyes.

How would they react if they win, you might ask ? . I've been both, I'd show you guys first-hand, if who knows.. ;)

EH HEH heh heh hmm, k-notfunny.

I guess since someone cared so much about sore-losing, he must've been one of the sore losers that thought they could get around the bush and be refreshingly funny just by changing his nickname. I bet Junk didn't find it funny and creative, instead found it as more gasoline to the raging fire of annoyance.

Thought I would give up after excreeting every ounce of funniness and creativity ?

Nope here's another one by the sore, blistering loser :

Anonymoustache said

You know how the comedy movies are piling in and the jokes are getting more and more repetitive ? . Yeah, once a golden classic, is now just a stale slapstick.

But there's still one thing, that to this day, hasn't grow old yet. And that is,

Running full speed, looking back while laughing menacingly and hit a solid metal pole the next second.

It'll get everyone, EVERY time.

So for the ticket Junk, I shall demonstrate just that. You have my word.

Nope, I didn't even manage to tickle their dislocated funny bone even with a classic. You would laugh if you see someone suffering head trauma after a shattering knock to a stripper pole, won't you ?

Thought so,

I even had a fan,

Hqal said

haha i like Anonymoustache's story on that optimistic and sore loser thing..

Alright fine guys, that was me. You caught me red-handed due to the sores of losing. But all I was trying to do was trying to get you fine, handsome, beautiful lads at Jun- Neh, membodek never , EVER, works. Just some deadly explosives to be thrown to the already deadly concoction of gasoline in that fire of annoyance.

There's one involving my bodily flaws tho, so I won't show it publicly due to self-esteem issues or getting responses such as "Ee bapak gedik sial ". So good luck finding it under that pool of pus squeezed out of the sores of them losers. A clue would be, the name starts with a "B" for bodily flaws.

Now this is a handful. Repost "Cataclysmic" on my chatbox if some of you guys actually finished reading from top to bottom. You'll get a free rootbeer.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Wordly Whirl Of Wooly Wool

I am restless, but what's new. The days are closing in, and I am still World Stage ticket-less. Dog-gamnit.

The MTV roadshow at The Curve - Missed,

The X-Pax Pre-Campus thingy at KDU - Missed,

The X-Pax Pre-Campus thiny at Lim Kok Wing tomorrow - As certain as heck, would be missed too.

And nope, I didn't exert zero effort in getting my hands on the golden pass. I did try,

Like today, my sister woke me up from a dream of Juliana Evans saying I was handsome, APA GELAK, DAH CAKAP TU MIMPI KAN ? , and only in my dreams I would overcome the awkward stutter and actually start a conversation with a girl of that league. Anyways, I'd be pissed, but she came with the news of the Fly FM's Myvi Troopers were near the Giant supermarket, and would be handing out the darned World Stage tickets ! . So, I rushed there as quick as heck.

First they held a contest which you need to text them back the exact thing they've said in complete formality. No short forms, and no smileys. Of course, I was phoneless and I hated myself just as much as the Castle incident. Luckily, a guy who was happily eating his wafer cubes, which seemed to rather not have his keypads oily than to win a hundred bucks, handed his phone to me so that I'd have a shot. Thanks wafer-cube dude. But his phone was Sony-Erricson, and I'm a Nokia-ian all my life. So I tried, and kept having my sentence to look like "...stand+a+chance+to+win " . Cursed "Space-is-not-the-zero-key-but-the-#-key". That took a little while to adjust to, killing precious time in the process. So yeap, I lost.

Then came the grand finale. It was ticket winning time. All we had to do was, here goes ;

Mosh to "Sweet Child O' Mine" blasting from the Myvi speakers, at the side of the busy road, with Makcik's and Pakcik's buying kuihs from the nearby stalls, with a crowd no bigger than 15 people.

Don't get me wrong, I like getting lost in a pit of sweaty, aggresive people. But the reason, why is it practiced in a crowd so big, is to not get caught looking like a cockroach got itself stuck in your boxers when doing it alone, or with little crowd.

But for the tickets, I did. I jumped, and moved, and flailed my limbs. Yes, I risked the chance of getting owned by the passing cars or getting busted by my neighbours, that would possibly leak the news to the man that have the key to my World Stage permanent ban ; My dad. But I was desperate, can't you tell ?

My sister, knowing she was just a year below the required valid age to win the ticket, moshed along too. What a sport she was.

But too bad, my hesitancy showed and I lost. All I got was a poster, or more of a frikkin' (possibly) tragic reminder of an awesome event I didn't get a chance to go to, that I would practice my dart aiming skills with.

But I'm not giving up, oh hell no I am not.

To whoever that have any ideas on how to get a ticket this last minute, or has a spare ticket to sell or would give it for fr- >:) , haha joking, I'd buy it, seriously, please please please do inform me. I'd draw a zombified version of the saviour, or whatever mythical creature the savior dreams of being :)

Monday, August 3, 2009

Genie Grins And Grant Ginny An Engine

I don't even know how to look at this shit ; slightly spooky , or coincidentally comical. You be the judge ;

So, what seemed like a normal shisha session at Safa, it appeared the place held one of the coolest f-in Mamak in the history of head-wobblin' , ever.

So I shall name him MC (Nope, not Mat Confirm, but Mamak Cool)

The smoke was getting thinner, and less flavourful, so it only became natural to ask the Mamak, yes the MC, who was writing our bills, to ask for the Shisha Guy for a fresh batch of flaming charcoals. Not only typical Mamak's would just nod their head hesitantly to only ditch us off our request, but this dude, the MC, friggin shouted :


Yes dudes and dudettes,

He friggin' had a codename for the Shisha Guy, and it's a bloody awesome one if I might add.

A little side story :

Faye told me that, Taty got a little servin' of Nasi Goreng Sunshine ; A plate of fried rice, with a smiley face, drawn with chillie sauce, on top of the yolk of the sunny side up egg, served by none other than the raddest Mamak ever, The MC.


What happened the night after, never made so much sense out of the quote of the night ;


Fad had a little craving for some dairies so we decided to have some vanilla ice cream cones at the McD's near my place. With the Volkswagen being older than me, it's normal for it to be jerky, and constantly cough explosive sounds out of the exhaust; I made believe that it IS normal, or else I would panic and steer off into the longkang.

When I parked, and no one died, and everyone settled down ;

It was when Ilyas (who was behind the VW) , told me that, for everytime the old beetle "coughed" , it frikkin blew out FIRE SPARKS.

And behind the tightness of my face saying : "Oh, tu turbo kot" , lies a very scared dude that have tendencies of screwing everything he touches.

Luckily, he made it home alive, with his tummy, 2 vanilla ice cream cones fuller.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Moon Moans On Mount Mumps

My throat was a little soar since yesterday, my humongous loathe on sore throats was a little overshadowed by the fear of catching, the dreaded, suspected-to-be-man-made, H1N1.

Good that the throat today felt just fine when I was swallowing my own spit that was done purposely for a lil' DIY health check.

Although there is still that little bump on my neck, and no, I did not just become a man and my Adam's Apple just grew. The bump is right above my neck-knob of manliness.

I was afraid it was Mumps. Bad enough it tripled my double-chin when I was young and fat, but the real pain in the buttocks was on the fact that since you cannot possibly open your mouth any wider than 4 pieces of paper, you've to friggin SLURP everything in. Suck in the curry with a little extra enthusiasm, you'll just end up with a spontaneous hiccup, and a searing throat, set ablaze by Indian spices. Or in Malay, as we call it, the damned "Tersedak". The real torture is to tolerate that shit, while keeping your face, your tongue, your entire head completely still.

But rest assured, my mum said Mumps would only haunt you once. Then again, there are cases of people catching the chicken pox twice.

Optimism shone on me when the bump doesn't feel as swollen as it used to, and it became less bothering. Thank god for that.

Now here's the new shit that's recently dawned on me ;

I woke up at 5pm, 2 days straight.

Sure, I'm a night owl, a bat, a vampire without an attire, but to wake up, and realize that you've wasted half of your day mining golden eye nuggets, you know something's gotta be done;

And since I'm writing this at almost 7am, you know I'm not doing anything yet.

The absence of my phone partly contributes to this. Usually at around noon, my phone will ring and be asked by Mum, what would I like for lunch. That, inevitably, worked as the wake-up alarm. Or, even if I missed that, friends would call around 2 for a round of drinks. Yes, it's still late, but it's definitely better than waking up a few hours short from a dark night sky.

Dangnangit. Life, be pretty, pretty please.