Saturday, December 19, 2009

Think, To Blink, Or To Sink In Pink Ink ?

You know what should I be seeing if my turn my head to the right at the moment ? . The mighty bumps of Gunung Baling, with fog hangin' round the summit. Instead, if I nudge my head to the right, I'll get my face blown with a stand-fan. Not that it isn't nice, but the point is, I should be in Baling, my kampung, right now. With the sweetest smell of the cekodok pisang's getting fried downstairs, filling the air. With the thickest Utara slangs being muttered so casually in the background, while us, town-tongues, would bust a taste bud trying to pronounce this sentence ;

"Hambuih hangpa semuo ni, awat loq laq sangat ni. Ketegaq nak mampuih nohh"

Or even a simple,

"Aiyaq ni tawaq hebiaq, macam teloq ghebuih" .

We were so close in reliving all that, but right after the Sungai Buloh toll, my dad's ride suddenly went all swervy like a sidewinder. A sidewinder's cool. But a sidewinding jeep that's on a highway of speeding lorries (Goddamn, they were fast, one even tried slicing to the next lane) is NOT. Not to mention the shaky steering wheel too. So, we decided to play safe and make a big U-turn, back to our house. Not obliged to shout "WE'RE BACK" in a correct vibe , we just crashed on the couches and mourn on the loss of a should've been a perfectly, well-timed getaway.

All of this mechanical mess would not have happened IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE BLOODY MECHANIC BASTARDS. I would not just assume and point fingers at the nearest guy in an oil-stained yellow jumpsuit. But who wouldn't done the same, if their dad paid 2000 f-in bucks, and have the car to be worse after it's sent for service, instead of the other way around ? . One problem, to the next. From an allignment problem, to a leaking gearbox. To a complicated-sounding mat kereta term, to another complicated-sounding mat kereta term. They were just doing shitjobs, ON PURPOSE, just so that they could milk out money from my dad's trust. I wish I'm wrong about this. But I've heard of so many similar cases to think otherwise. I hope each and everyone of the conmen would have bloody diarhea and have genital warts on their faces. And then explode.

So, my dad decided to send his jeep to his trusty mechanic, Liew, or Liu, or Leeyu, or Loyd. He's done all the years worth of upgrade to the jeep and my dad seemed super-happy with it, so we are pretty sure in trusting his trench-filled trousers.

In the end, we just have to go to Baling right after my sister gets her PMR result (alang2, all the (y) sis' ! ) . Let's just hope there won't be any other complications, or else, I'm gonna strangle someone on Omegle verbally. Although sadly, I'm gonna miss out on Tot's Mansion's Bachelor Party, but I miss my kampung too much to ditch on this one.

Again, do not send your ride to random mechanics. They'll charge you for shit they haven't even done, or the shit they have done. Either way, you'll feel like shoving a jackhammer up their oily arseholes.