tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37062735311240837242024-03-05T15:26:17.100-08:00FLATULENCE ON FIREashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-21825606639944133742011-12-08T00:07:00.000-08:002011-12-08T08:41:13.505-08:00IMAGINE YOUR OWN ADVENCHAH.<div><br /></div><div>Page 1<br /><br /></div><div>You're a half-dragon breed. Yes, it's pretty awesome on one note, but it gets pretty depressing when you spurt out live fire when you have a sneezing fit. You have a split tongue too, which would only backfire the teasing, back to you if you were to stick out your tongue to someone.</div><div><br /></div><div>You have tiny wings to provide you with impermanent flight. Yes, you'd only hover for a certain amount of time, you're still a kid dragon. Horns? Hell-yeah. I think it's one of your most prized possession, your horns are. It's shaped like a crescent and it's tinted in purple hue, while your scales are dark emerald in shade. Epic colour combo? Sure is. You don't have a tail, as retarded as it may seem, you're only a HALF dragon breed, so you have human legs. Don't point you finger at me that your mom fell in love with a full-grown Mountain Dragon which fell upon a curse and became a man after he met with a Shaman. Genes still runs in you. The shaman now charges a ridiculous amount to befell that transformation now, so you're either screwed or blessed.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Page 2.</div><div><br /></div><div>One fine sunny day, your mom is suddenly in the mood to make her famous mushroom stew of which you admitted to be awesome eventho you swiped your plate clean off to your pet chihuahua. The chihuahua died, and you're the one to blame. Mom thought the constant mini seizures was the Grim Reaper to Chewy. Chewy the chihuahua, now that's a mouthful. The burden of killing your own pet is still upon you, but you'd join her grave too if you were to admit it to Mom. So, in order to not make a fuss, and make excuses on not wanting her to make that stew, you agreed on your mom's order to harvest some Hillshire's Mushrooms to make that said stew. But those 'shrooms aren't just available abundantly, the journey itself is pretty perilous and you don't have a clear idea where Mount Hillshire is. But that's okay, you have a friend to guide you, a fairy. A fat one. A small, fat guy fairy who wears a tutu and have a 5 o'clock shadow to boot. Balding too, and his pits stink. But he has his antennas to locate places, so he's vital for you to not get lost on your way to get the mushrooms.His name is Alfredo. Or, you could always borrow your neighbour's Sniffles, which is a Dogoblin, a mix-breed of a dog, and a goblin. It has excellent sense of smell, to help you track your way to get the mushrooms.</div><div><br /></div><div>Scroll down to page 3 if you choose Alfredo to be your guide.</div><div>Ctrl+F your way to page 4 if you want to choose the Dogoblin.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Page 3.</div><div><br /></div><div>So you head off with Alfredo to get the mushrooms before dawn. Dum, di dum, di dum, as you stroll out of town with your fat fairy. His antennas would twitch now and then, to sense the direction to Mount Hillshire. But as you peeked closely, you noticed that one of his antennas are cut. You asked him, "Dude, is it just me, or you're left with one antenna now?". He is silent for a while, closed his eyes and raged out "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO BIT IT OFF REMEMBER?!, YOU WERE DRUNK ON CHERRY ALE, AND YOU THOUGHT THAT MY ANTENNA WAS A RAT'S TAIL!!". It hit you on your scaly forehead. O' yea. It's a shame that you would get tipsy on a kid's drink, but you're a dragon. You can drink a barrel of beer without even a hiccup, but one kiddy box of Cherry Ale, you would knock yourself out senseless. Out of anger and irrationality, Alfredo lost track of his tracking along the way. He needed to concentrate, you see. You regret on asking about his antenna, but you know this isn't the familiar track to the mountains. It's hard to admit that you're lost. You flutter your wings to check what's ahead and all you see is long stretch of a dusty dessert. The plains are filled with octagonal cacti, colours varying from dark red, to light pink. So, what's your deal? To go on ahead just incase it's a shortcut, or turn back and retrace your footsteps from there?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ctrl + F to CACTI PLAINS to go on straight</div><div>Ctrl + F to REVERSE to go back and do over.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Page 4.</div><div><br /></div><div>You're not on good terms with Alfredo anyways since that biking incident, and you can't stand his stench too, so you decided to borrow Uncle Gale's Dogoblin, Sniffles. A leash round' her neck and you're set to go. As mean as Sniffles look, she's a gentle one. She has a set of blunt teeth, and would only eat berries and biscuits. You wrap the leash round your hands firmly, as you guide her to the mountains. You took the last remaining Hillshire's Shrooms' from your mom so that Sniffles would sniff it out and trace the way for you. "Arf, Arf!" barked Sniffles as she picked up the scent. You smiled, as you thought it'd be a breeze. Uncle Gale warned you somethin' about somethin', but you were in a hurry so you didn't pay much attention to him. You just want to get those mushrooms by dawn. As painful as it is to think that you have to stuff the mushrooms down your throat later, as you know it tastes like peas and liver. The most lethal combination of flavours in the history of delicacies. But o' well, whatever that makes Mom happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>You walked and walked, and you've covered quite some distance. Sniffles is panting slightly, she looks hungry. You checked your pockets and you thank the Heavens, there's a packet of cinnamon biscuits you didn't finish earlier. "Here Sniffles, get'cho noms." She munched down in delight and her pace from there on seems more energetic. But you know that's not enough. You promised to stop by and feed her if you see a bush of berries afterwards.</div><div><br /></div><div>As you go on ahead, you thank the Heavens again, there are two bushes bearing berries healthily. But they look unfamiliar, however they look tasty enough for a mutt to munch on. There are two, one is small and slightly spiky but not sharp enough to slit a throat, and is orange in colour. You randomly name it the Spiky Sunset. The other one is deep black and spiral in shape. You call it the Spiral Blackhole. Which one would you feed Sniffles, you indecisive smut?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ctrl + F SPIKY SUNSET or, the SPIRAL BLACKHOLE.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>CACTI PLAINS.</div><div><br /></div><div>O' well, you thought. Maybe this is a new route to the mountains, and it's always refreshing to see new sights. You dragged Alfredo along, and you managed to calm him down by giving him cinnamon biscuits you found wedged in your pocket. You're not naked, just to make it clear to some who's imagining it wrongly. All wardrobe implications are subjective. After the biscuits, Alfredo is now in full gear, and you'd watch your words from now on as you know Aflredo is Mr. Touchy-Me-Not. It's hard to walk by the sands and it's sinking you down. So you dcided to fly over the plains. You flutter your wings as hard you can, and there you are, airborne. But remember, you are only hovering. As your flight gets lower, and you get nearer to one of the cacti, and to your surprise, it bounces you off like a trampoline once you hit it. It's not sharp at all, and it's consistency is like a jelly's. You have an idea, instead of walking heavily through the damp sands, it's better off to bounce off from one cactus to another. Alfredo thought it's a stupid idea, so he just flew along. WHEEEEeee~, as you bounce off from one jello-like plant to the other, to the other, to the other, to the other. "-_-" is smudged on Alfredo's face as you do so. But it's okay, he's missing all the fun. Alfredo is such a sour puss. But you do not dare say it to his face, as he might throw another fit.</div><div><br /></div><div>You're right, it IS a shortcut to the mountains. To your luck, you see a faint outline of Mount Hillshire upfront as you bounce in further. And the fact that Alfredo is silent about your decision to go forwards is that, he knew deep down, that you two are on the right track too. So, hooray.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>CTRL+F = FUCKYEAH</div><div><br /></div><div>REVERSE.</div><div><br /></div><div>You think it's not such a good idea to follow on an unfamiliar route so you decided to go back and do over. But you're already lost in the first place, so even tracking back would only lead you deeper into Lostville. The antennas that Alfredo bears, would be able to track backwards too, but since one it cut, it's not that efficient. He shrugged his shoulders as a sign that he's not too sure too. But nevermind, your dragon guts tells you that it won't be that hard. You go deeper and deeper into your route, til' what seemed like a set of thin threes and bits of bushes, gradually turns into a full-grown forest. It gets darker too, not for the fact that the sky is dawning black, but the canopy of the forest is getting thicker, and thicker. You take a piece of wood, set it on fire with your dragon breath, and a torch is ready to guide you out. But all you see, around you, are trees, and more trees. Light is getting more faint, and more faint as you scuffle you way through. Alfredo is already crying, the pink tutu shall indicate that he's afraid of measly things like, darkness. As you go in deeper, you see a swamp, a musty old swamp, with decaying roots piercing through the surface. But you see light at the end of the swamp, thus an exit. What are you gonna do now? Stay at the same spot, or swim through the swamp to get to the other side?</div><div><br /></div><div>CTRL+F ;</div><div><br /></div><div>STAY</div><div><br /></div><div>or </div><div><br />SWAMP</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>SPIKY SUNSET</div><div><br /></div><div>You decided to feed her the Spiky Sunset. They look much tastier than the dull-coloured Spiral Blackhole anyhoo. "OM NOM NOM". The juice of the berries splattered a bit to your arms, as she chomped down on those berries. And to your horror, it's corrosive on your scales. Your scales bubble up, and fizzle along a very sharp pain. Your eyes bulge up. If this reacts like this on hard scale, imagine how it'd be on poor Sniffl- too late. As you avert back your eyes to Sniffles, she's already on her back, rolling in despair. Her mouth is foaming in red. Blood. And foam, leaks out from the poor mutt's mouth. Her eyes are contrasting to white and her barks are weak. Not too long, until her barks are heard no more. and her eyes - her dead eyes just stares back at you.</div><div><br /></div><div>CONGRATULATIONS.<br /><br />YOU HAVE MURDERED ANOTHER PET, YOU TWISTED PIECE OF SHIT.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Being lost in the middle of nowhere with a dead dog to guide you, and the possibility of being murdered by Uncle Gale if you manage to find your way back ; you are eternally screwed. Uncle Gale knows about how you fed Chewy the mushrooms too. O' whelp.</div><div><br /></div><div>THE END.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>SPIRAL BLACKHOLE</div><div><br /></div><div>You take a healthy bunch of the Spiral Blackhole's with one hand and give it to Sniffles. She seems to like it, as she chomps them down in such glee. You take another helping of the berries, and bend down to feed her some more. But something's not right with how Sniffles is eating those berries. Normally, she'd have a small bites and eat them softly in such good manner. But, she's chomping those berries like she's chowing down a piece of juicy meat vigorously. Maybe the berries are that good you thought. But you're wrong. The thing Uncle Gale tried to warn you is that, do NOT feed her berries that you are CURRENTLY feeding her. Why? It'd awaken her carnivorous side and would switch an innocent mutt, to a ferocious fuck-you-up. The berries are that good because it is DRAGON-MEAT FLAVOURED. WHAT ARE THE ODDS, YOU ARE HALF-DRAGON AFTERALL. Sniffles took a scent of the mushroom earlier, and took a sniff of your smell too. Her eyes turns blood red, and her fangs are now like knives, embedded in between foamy gums. You try to take flight and run from the murderous mutt but o' boy, the berries would turn her super agile too. She chases you, although you're flying. No - you're hovering. It won't be long til' you fall into her longing jaws. You drop feet-first, and that's the first thing Sniffles rip off. You drag yourself away with your arms, unable to walk. But what's good a dragon with a missing leg to propel oneself. I am sorry, but you are now dog chow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Uncle Gale lost an arm thanks to the berries you fed her. And he fed Sniffles ONE measly berry. You gave Sniffles a HANDFUL Thus, you're down to an eyeball. </div><div><br /></div><div>THE END.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>STAY</div><div><br /></div><div>You decided to stay. The swamp looks nasty anyhoo. Maybe if you circle around the swamp, you'd find yourself an exit too. So you do just that, as you track yourself around the swamp, in hope of meeting an exit. Little did you know, the swamp is one of the biggest swamp in whole of Giul (your world). So trying to trace the swamp seem endless, and the sky's turning black too. In mixture on how thick the canopy is, your plain of sight is reduced significantly to a pitch black. U'oh, what now. Your torch is useless, as it'd only highlight two steps ahead of you. The THIRD step ahead is out of your vision, and that's exactly what you are stepping on.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That doesn't sound too welcoming. Congratulations, you have stepped on the tail on a very deadly Gnarlbacker. Your torch highlights two things before you are met with your inevitable doom. VERY, SHARP FANGS, and EIGHT eyes to ensure you that the beast can see you wherever you decide to run to.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>THE END.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>SWAMP.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>INSTANT DEATH</div><div><br /></div><div>The End.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>FUCKYEAH</div><div><br /></div><div>You are now at the foot of Mount Hillshire. It's a sight to admire, with pine trees adorning the side-skirts of the hills, and a waterfall, rushing through branch-like trails. Climbing is an easy chore for a dragon with gripping claws like you, you lucky son of a gun you. So, you climb merrily to the top. The mushrooms aren't on the summit, so you don't have to climb all the way up. Along the way, your eyes are met with a cavern. Do you want to make a pit-stop to the cavern, or waste no time and continue climbing upwards?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Scroll down to CAVERNS or CTRL+F ; UPWARDS.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>CAVERNS.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You decided to enter the caverns, and what a sight to behold, the mushrooms are abundant. You pick them up and put them in your basket. Yes, you were a carrying a basket along. Telling you too early will make you think that this is some gay Red Riding Hood and make you stop reading, but since you're already this far into the ADVENCHAH, it's too late to turn back is it. IS IT.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways, yes the basket. It's filled with the mushrooms your mom asked for. As unrealistic as the chore is, you've made it. THE EN - BUT WAIT, A long tongue suddenly stretches from the dark depth of the cave and wraps itself around you, making your basket to tumble downhill. AH FUCK. Not only that, you've managed to disturb the nest of the great Rapture, a snake the size of a hut. And you're only in the size ratio of a rat. Alfredo? He's outside, he's afraid of the dark. Pink Tutu = scared of gay things. But being gay saved him, you're not gay. You're a proud, manly, dragon. Too bad, to boast about that is too late as the tongue pulls you in. Stomach acid is the death of you my boy.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>THE END.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>UPWARDS</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's almost dawn, better hurry the fuck up.", you thought. As you climb up 1/4 of the mountains, you can already see a flat bedding of grass waiting for you ahead. Ah, the mushrooms should be there, you whisper to yourself. You climb, and climb more upwards, your claws are becoming sore. But, the mushrooms are already almost within reach, so you march on ahead. </div><div>After several more push, you manage to pull over yourself up, to the spot where the mushrooms should be. To your dismay, the plains are empty. It can't be anywhere else, they should be here. The summit would be too cold for the mushrooms to grow there.<br /><br />It's dawn. It's time to go back. You carry along home, with an empty basket. As you reach home, you see one of your neighbours gardening and you decided to drop by and say "Sup."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And he replied "Sup". </div><div><br /></div><div>"What are you tending for?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hillshire mushrooms".</div><div><br /></div><div>"O."</div><div><br /></div><div>As your soul empties your abdomen, and you shrink to a speck knowing all the walking and climbing proved to be a waste. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So, should you ask for some or go on home with an empty basket?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Scroll down for CANIHAVESOME, or CTRL+F = EMPTY BASKET</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>CANIHAVESOME</div><div><br /></div><div>"Can I have some?" .</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sure", smiled your friendly neighbour. "They started growing here since my pet started shitting in the backyard". That is why they taste like a pile of em'. I grow em just to make my yard look nice. But sure you can have some."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You laugh hesitantly at pet-shitting part, and put some in your basket.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You go home, and you give the whole basket to your mom and you're only rewarded with a hug.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of that, be paid with only a hug, yeap.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A hug, and a nasty dinner. And suddenly, the thought of your neighbour's pet taking a dump in his backyard crosses your head, and your eye bulges O_O.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>THE END.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>EMPTY BASKET.</div><div><br /></div><div>You decided to just go home with an empty basket, with reasons I cannot fathom knowing the mushrooms are just right there. But hey, it's your own ADVENCHAH, right?. Anyhoo, you go home with an empty basket, and part ways with Alfredo who wants to sleep like a slob like he is. Nevermind, he's tired. You're tired.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As you enter the house with a basket sighing out dust, your mom shouts</div><div><br /><br />WHERE ARE THE MUSHROOMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><br />A knock to the head, and a <i>benjol </i>later, you are served with a hamburger. A fat, juicy hamburger with a healthy serving of pickles. O' well, this is infinitely better than the mushroom stew anyhoo. So, your mum's angry smug vs. the hamburger,you tell me.</div><div><br /></div><div>THE END.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-36360066360488034592011-07-30T23:49:00.000-07:002011-07-30T23:55:33.863-07:00Kidnapped Napkins Napping A Nap.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShFoyfTPnl2n0MRmFJKCWDNp_dKexMdJD7k-1v9vUdDlSDX5tnb7AlkCXbotpR8SJ46R64Dbfs41p3_I0HFLek_jCt0qcAHXzc9E2rlBGQT1ITGnA1PaRAKT3u2FAOCR3CIEACGLaentP/s1600/1272844555470.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShFoyfTPnl2n0MRmFJKCWDNp_dKexMdJD7k-1v9vUdDlSDX5tnb7AlkCXbotpR8SJ46R64Dbfs41p3_I0HFLek_jCt0qcAHXzc9E2rlBGQT1ITGnA1PaRAKT3u2FAOCR3CIEACGLaentP/s320/1272844555470.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635406357829977986" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">MOVE THE FUCK OUT</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Do not mind the previous few posts, of which I wrote when I was eligible to be strapped in a straightjacket and be shoved in an asylum.<br /><br />I am sane, or maybe partly, who am I, to evaluate oneself. Who is anyone, who'd try to judge oneself with no third-party judge.<br /><br /><br />The victim of flawed self-esteem, I am. This particular post is just to welcome back myself with a working head. No longer, with loose nuts and bolts in the skull.<br /><br /><br />Personally, I think my English is rotting fast. Like food, you'd think of making it to be leftovers for tomorrow, but instead ; you forgot to put the lid on. Or in my case, I forgot to practice writing, and read more.<br /><br /><br />I feel drained lately too. This sucks. I wish to be in a better frame of life soon.<br /><br /><br />Please Lord.</div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-28825394691729201342011-06-27T07:15:00.000-07:002011-06-27T08:50:35.562-07:00SK84LAIF<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6rDE7O5bStcuM7s9lpQFq7nABgCX2aQ2ZDx3YHcL-Bn2fhqZXCLP_ZVgOzH0gQ6qb7ep0KRrOSKovEJ9Mfj9j-RPGgj-Gvn0Fty7pWjSJzbZTen6gXSD1ObBj3o463Fp1GBmo-JxO2Fvb/s1600/4642327407_5c26563a1e.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6rDE7O5bStcuM7s9lpQFq7nABgCX2aQ2ZDx3YHcL-Bn2fhqZXCLP_ZVgOzH0gQ6qb7ep0KRrOSKovEJ9Mfj9j-RPGgj-Gvn0Fty7pWjSJzbZTen6gXSD1ObBj3o463Fp1GBmo-JxO2Fvb/s320/4642327407_5c26563a1e.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622927291308360402" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">IZ GOOS'D FOUR YEW</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Some would skate to not just give a fuck.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DUCK.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Some would skate to destroy things.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">BUT WHAT d00d? THE WHOLE WORLD IS YOUR SKATEPARK.</div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-77422927550442433842011-06-24T03:29:00.003-07:002011-06-24T03:39:47.287-07:00PIZZA PAWNS PRAWNS IN PORN<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKv55f8hBgdb3hk5hbeEU3XePfEiq-t4DPsOIzDWkve84Q4sRHxL0CTFN16voqkKcQiJLQatd0kMA06OFKFYiLrZSMdsMGJx6qS6o_qKsdfivlqyIj4wBHxT5nEhD5I_SkR0ZwAsspIB1/s1600/1275335373164.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKv55f8hBgdb3hk5hbeEU3XePfEiq-t4DPsOIzDWkve84Q4sRHxL0CTFN16voqkKcQiJLQatd0kMA06OFKFYiLrZSMdsMGJx6qS6o_qKsdfivlqyIj4wBHxT5nEhD5I_SkR0ZwAsspIB1/s320/1275335373164.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621733419318567346" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">PIZZA PARTY UP THIS BITCH</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At this point in time, there's NO LONGER a STURDY proportion to the word RANDOM.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">What is random, is what's funny. And what's funny, is when you laugh. AND WITH THAT SENTENCE ALONE ; I HAVE, will, was, were, would forever be TIME-WARPING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am at a state, of KNOWING EVERYTHING, without even doing ANYTHING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thus, GOOGLE (yes, your office is awesome ; you better let me enter it one day or the other).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DERP.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">-</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ANYHOO.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Imagine life to have infinite loopholes, of KNOWING you are particularly good-looking ; IS ENOUGH to let someone KNOW, of SOMETHING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">I am in Malaysia, and I am CAPABLE of engineering a silent nuclear bomb without wanting to even detonate it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">THUS, A BUILDING IS SAVED.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">What is this bullcrap that has been stinkin' up the whole of INDIA.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A REAL MAN, would use that, to let it dry that under the sun, to make a slightly-smelly poop which in turn would turn into clay.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">PEOPLE LIVING UNDER THOSE DOMES ; without having the slightest hint that it's COW POOP that they're living in because it's been in a slushy swirly mix of CEMENT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">SO, WHEN IT'S A NICE HOUSE TO LIVE IN ; along with the swirly swishy mixture of (STOP THINKING) of that, thus that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am NOT God, I WILL NEVER CLAIM THAT I AM.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Because with what I've learned, with WHAT, I HAVE GONE THROUGH ; I'd know by a hunch, the slightest one at that TO KNOW ; the kind that would think death means the complete obliteration of my soul OR, to think someone was/is/were/will think of me in the present, past, future.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I AM HERE, TO KNOW, THAT I HAVE BEEN TO PLACES THAT I LOVE GOING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(not you, sorry)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">BUT, I CAN SENSE ALL ATOMS AND QUARKS OF ALL LIVING THINGS - I know.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Psychic, and SIDE-KICK ; are TWO different words ; and THEY CARRY meanings so vastly different that I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT (or even two) on parties that I don't even need to go. WHILE I WAS THERE ; meanwhile derp is derping derpz.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">HI.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The end.</div></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-13878367501879086562011-06-24T03:29:00.000-07:002011-06-24T03:37:11.863-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKv55f8hBgdb3hk5hbeEU3XePfEiq-t4DPsOIzDWkve84Q4sRHxL0CTFN16voqkKcQiJLQatd0kMA06OFKFYiLrZSMdsMGJx6qS6o_qKsdfivlqyIj4wBHxT5nEhD5I_SkR0ZwAsspIB1/s1600/1275335373164.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKv55f8hBgdb3hk5hbeEU3XePfEiq-t4DPsOIzDWkve84Q4sRHxL0CTFN16voqkKcQiJLQatd0kMA06OFKFYiLrZSMdsMGJx6qS6o_qKsdfivlqyIj4wBHxT5nEhD5I_SkR0ZwAsspIB1/s320/1275335373164.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621733419318567346" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >PIZZA PARTY UP THIS BITCH</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At this point in time, there's NO LONGER a STURDY proportion to the word RANDOM.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">What is random, is what's funny. And what's funny, is when you laugh. AND WITH THAT SENTENCE ALONE ; I HAVE, will, was, were, would forever be TIME-WARPING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am at a state, of KNOWING EVERYTHING, without even doing ANYTHING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thus, GOOGLE (yes, your office is awesome ; you better let me enter it one day or the other).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DERP.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">-</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ANYHOO.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Imagine life to have infinite loopholes, of KNOWING you are particularly good-looking ; IS ENOUGH to let someone KNOW, of SOMETHING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">I am in Malaysia, and I am CAPABLE of engineering a silent nuclear bomb without wanting to even detonate it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">THUS, A BUILDING IS SAVED.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">What is this bullcrap that has been stinkin' up the whole of INDIA.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A REAL MAN, would use that, to let it dry that under the sun, to make a slightly-smelly poop which in turn would turn into clay.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">PEOPLE LIVING UNDER THOSE DOMES ; without having the slightest hint that it's COW POOP that they're living in because it's been in a slushy swirly mix of CEMENT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">SO, WHEN IT'S A NICE HOUSE TO LIVE IN ; along with the swirly swishy mixture of (STOP THINKING) of that, thus that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am NOT God, I WILL NEVER CLAIM THAT I AM.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Because with what I've learned, with WHAT, I HAVE GONE THROUGH ; I'd know by a hunch, the slightest one at that TO KNOW ; the kind that would think death means the complete obliteration of my soul OR, to think someone was/is/were/will think of me in the present, past, future.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I AM HERE, TO KNOW, THAT I HAVE BEEN TO PLACES THAT I LOVE GOING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(not you, sorry)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">BUT, I CAN SENSE ALL ATOMS AND QUARKS OF ALL LIVING THINGS - I know.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Psychic, and SIDE-KICK ; are TWO different words ; and THEY CARRY meanings so vastly different that I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT (or even two) on parties that I don't even need to go. WHILE I WAS THERE ; meanwhile derp is derping derpz.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">HI.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The end.</div></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-79728432732727448492011-06-17T11:34:00.001-07:002011-06-17T11:34:45.803-07:00-I'm in the mood for murder.<div><br /></div><div>THE HAMMURGER<br /><br /><br />Slice buttocks as buns.</div><div><br /></div><div>1/2 BRAIN RELISH</div><div><br /></div><div>DICKS AS PICKLES.</div><div><br /></div><div>FINGERS FOR FRIES.</div><div><br /></div><div>and ketchup.<br /><br /><br /><br />DONE<br />AND</div><div>DERP</div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-51680077857629029952011-06-14T01:57:00.000-07:002011-06-14T02:00:28.991-07:00DERP<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2kcIZBu08cxuc9Tb-qmtQt-OZMZsygIuU2O0TcqCl2zLFy96jo7YgTdzKww26A41b0nvE_lYQGreKgB-2ZT7idCRrb_WtatYwd5e6jwAyGcX2P3DAwsRnB-JvyzIr_L3zfb_9seSxOsv/s1600/5210_1190026744882_1054766992_621465_3528846_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2kcIZBu08cxuc9Tb-qmtQt-OZMZsygIuU2O0TcqCl2zLFy96jo7YgTdzKww26A41b0nvE_lYQGreKgB-2ZT7idCRrb_WtatYwd5e6jwAyGcX2P3DAwsRnB-JvyzIr_L3zfb_9seSxOsv/s320/5210_1190026744882_1054766992_621465_3528846_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617997466851116626" /></a><br /><b>CAPTAIN HOOK ON HIS DECK</b><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" >(what happened to Peter Pan tho?)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I can live on my own,</div><div style="text-align: center;">When all threads have been clearly sown.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I do not care on mediocrity.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This prick, is electricity.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Have a blast of the past.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I am now a stranger, I'm okay with being last.</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">AW.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">SHUT UP.</div></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-57194589177955831582011-06-12T18:27:00.000-07:002011-06-12T18:36:40.863-07:00DEATH DANCES ON DERPIAN'S DRIPS DERPS<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8BCuem9xEhs-zT8b95DwtoYWu7AU774nmqr2_0bJFItxthTaledjJ5i2RkgT1msDPACKrrU4LLGs6Or8TWxzYz3ywyfOfD_yO0W0ejaU093ABmkwYZNR5Y4thpYLi3Fak4EHUyLMkhIB/s1600/cosplay-fail-22.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8BCuem9xEhs-zT8b95DwtoYWu7AU774nmqr2_0bJFItxthTaledjJ5i2RkgT1msDPACKrrU4LLGs6Or8TWxzYz3ywyfOfD_yO0W0ejaU093ABmkwYZNR5Y4thpYLi3Fak4EHUyLMkhIB/s320/cosplay-fail-22.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617511647363700114" /></a></div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" >WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED, DOING THE SPLIT HURTS THE BALLS LIKE NO ONE'S BUSINESS</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Let me on a little story. I AM NOT a KID anymore. THE DISGUSTING things you guys would do TO DETERMINE, who belongs to whom and who's not.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">WOMB.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cigarettes ; or fags as we like to call em' </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They'd only plan to do this and that to KNOW what AM I holding BEHIND bars.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If they want the SECRET so bad. THEY NEED TO KNOW, respect is bought ; not EARNED.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The greatest commandments of war ; THEY DO NOT DIE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Black and white? Grainy videos? Broken I-PHONES? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">YERP ; it's the energy they have been put on hold since the BEGINNING of TIME.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My senses are so keen, I can KILL with just a single strand of a thread.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">PIANOS? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. You fags wants to grow up so fast that ; you don't even know how to operate one without having the VINE WIRES, be snapping to catch you IN a GRAND PIANO</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">HAHAHAH. You LOST me again.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Hide and seek? COUNT TO A MILLION. Then ONLY, I'd be there.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have a secret.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I used to be so broke, til' this "MOM" of mine TRIES to take all from me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I do not show mercy, I do not show remorse.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I NOW, how one looks like and how one would die, by JUST looking at em.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">MARRIED TO THE MUSIC? DUDE. THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Paranoierps, will forever be that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I AM NOT CRAZY, and I AM NOT INSANE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">IN ORDER ; to be sane. You must get IN, the SANE PLAIN. Which ALL of you SINNERS ; woul be teleported to as we speak.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can't handle heat. You can't handle ANYTHING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ingredients of a faggot ;</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DUDES THAT JUST CAN'T SHUT THE FUCK UP.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We've all been bred with blood, to be pure. THUS ; you guys not getting any pussy since FOREVER.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I WON BY JUST TYPING.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">You lost by trying so many times and not just gonna any.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">HERMHERMHERM.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sup.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">I know.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I can't skate now. I have a vision, that if I do ; MY BONES WILL BE BROKEN.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Where they'd use it like chalk, to crush us and existence. Thus that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">THIS IS THE DAY TO STAY INDOORS. BUT, skaters that can LIVE with the heat. THEY SHALL.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So, I ain't going nowhere TIL' I SAY SO.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am at home, sucking a fag and be drink'n wa'r.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">GO!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">- derp</div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-66247941649660573712011-06-10T23:58:00.000-07:002011-06-10T23:59:54.294-07:00Derping derp drilling dibs.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By death, you would not win.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By debt, you'd not get out clean.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By deaf, you'd not hear blasphemy.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By fleeing, you'd not taste victory.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DERP</div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-38396556701061496452011-06-04T14:17:00.000-07:002011-06-05T10:34:29.370-07:00Hunged Happiness Halt Hazim HALT<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkX9LnHZ1ogMs0aVWYNPC56OKmL3Uv-8az7PwJqQOLwd_H_7vwS-_7-d_MbYSK0EIrH323fdk7ACyIfHx0vt0TWUw6pzbTQwSnxYZLy7lhWB7_fpKNgW0eNrtHHWujEniq5w5wzt7DL8T/s1600/1275174350180.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkX9LnHZ1ogMs0aVWYNPC56OKmL3Uv-8az7PwJqQOLwd_H_7vwS-_7-d_MbYSK0EIrH323fdk7ACyIfHx0vt0TWUw6pzbTQwSnxYZLy7lhWB7_fpKNgW0eNrtHHWujEniq5w5wzt7DL8T/s320/1275174350180.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614790175683557698" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >This is in someone's thought</span></i>.<span class="Apple-style-span" > THUS ;</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I am at the point of no remorse. Not entirely that I have given up on emotions, as those are delicate dolls of delicacy (Insert purr'awr'n noises) . Which, would revert myself back to a normal kid who just wants to live his GODDAMNED life, without NO back-prickers [back-packers?] <- FUCK YEAH.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Yerp, I have lived long enough to realize that, I - CAN, live without a phone, or phones. Just as long, I am not removed from all existence (which, at this point in time ; someone would toast on my death).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What's hickkity-hiccup'y funny is that ; you CAN'T kill a person. If you slit, a throat. It'd be alive, no matter WHAT. Even when the crimson river, would flow out of someone's meat-case ; it'd form whatever, in that split-second of somewhat ; serenity. (Necrophiliacs, are different tho). Because at that point in time, the SOUL, would embark on a different level of consciousness. Because, you JUST ; can't die.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Let's look at it this way, you slaughter chickens ; and they become niggers' favourite post-sweat'n munchies. THAT, doesn't MEAN, that chickens would be GONE, from existence.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Cannibalism, is the WORST. They'd, be SO curious on HOW would human flesh tastes like, he/or she would start self-mutilation. Then, they'd realize ; the meat tickles the taste-bud, in a different dimension. THUS, REAL ; cannibals, would only hunt down sinners, and would put extra salt and pepper, and all that.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>GOD, is so MERCIFUL, that ; even the most ruthless act of cannibalism, done by the most merciless of massacre-driven axe-swingin', kitchen knife flingin' chief of particular tribes. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Their sensory organs, would adapt so fast ; that (inversely proportional to the modern society) people would take them as monsters.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And that is when, they smell fear, and humiliation. And the sense of not knowing what to do anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, they eat other meat for the time being, but that indigestible hunch of munching sweet human flesh (of sinners) would still linger around the air.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, they'd smell fear. And with fear, they'd sense that the victim's shivering.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's say, they'd found a girl, getting gang-raped, and be left there all alone. THE CHIEF, would KNOW ; what had happened to her. THUS ; making her the temporary princess of the tribe. Just so, she's protected for the time being.</div><div><br /></div><div>THIS ; would make tribes smarter, with the girl explaining that there's a LOT of GOOD FOOD, at the other side of town.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, that is EXACTLY, when PLANES, and CHOPPERS ; would be super-heroes for a day.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>GET TO THE CHOPPAH</i>" - Said Arnold Shwartzhnaniniegrr (sorry) </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, the girl ; being the princess of the tribe would later benefit so MUCH to the society ; that the tribe (and the army) <- BOY YOU DO NOT WANT TO MESS AROUND WITH THEIR POISONOUS FROG TIPPED ARROWS AND SPEARS</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, they'd derp.</div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-84069056043638880022011-05-18T12:29:00.002-07:002011-05-18T13:33:15.446-07:00Massacre Must Mean Menace<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_MnePqIsQyc7urUTRl6r95geRFHCXdyCwOPAucsoDwHwSC7WM2mPV-61L5vbYgp99EK5AOY2uqT6TiQeYrQhhO3NPZJJ7rRZHEQ_KaTgDhIgppP-COaiibRRCl5a4a2ANLtMWCWofjo0/s1600/1271711590730.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_MnePqIsQyc7urUTRl6r95geRFHCXdyCwOPAucsoDwHwSC7WM2mPV-61L5vbYgp99EK5AOY2uqT6TiQeYrQhhO3NPZJJ7rRZHEQ_KaTgDhIgppP-COaiibRRCl5a4a2ANLtMWCWofjo0/s320/1271711590730.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608144258970732738" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>This guy doesn't get it since whenever he tried.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So, I am back and writing and not giving a shit on not getting invited to parties anymore.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This blog has been dead for the longest time, and you don't even have the tendency to check it from time to time because you're already consumed by greed and greens to even come up with a better point than zero. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And here you are complaining, (Why are you exploiting your sense of grammar to make a legit point) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Music has been around since forever, and it has been trying to tell ONE thing ; it CONNECTS people.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And here you are again, thinking that you know best while you copy-paste lyrics to make your band that should be rooted on a greater basis.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Real artists and musicians should make their records out of inspiration, out of everything else.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At this point in time, your argument is invalid.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Arnold Shwartzmanniiger REALLY thought he WAS, the TERMINATOR.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And now, he's just - Arnold.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I know that, this is a LOT to consume at ONE go, but it has been told by many times ; SIMPLE English makes the best storybooks.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">THICK books, are based on THINNER books made easier for little kids to read.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here you are again, trying to argue my (not that I'm opposing yours, because really ; ALL FEEDBACKS ARE WELCOMED) logic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't you know, we all co-exist on Planet Earth, and Planet Earth alone.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, call me crazy for believing in Mad Hatters riding bunnies with bows and ties and drinking tea and sucking on chocolate sticks.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But, a MOVIE, has got to come from SOMEONE, who OBVIOUSLY went through a LOT to make a legit POINT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">What's the point of arguing when you can't even stare eye to eye, and still tryn'a struggle words out of your breath to AGAIN, argue behind a monitor?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not mad, or pissed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I went through enough, and a LOT, to know the KIND of people that WALKS, Planet Earth.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here you are again, thinking that ; WITHOUT money, all civilization would crumble to dust.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But dude, we are what we are SINCE, birth. I change my mind from time to time, to pick friends, GOOD friends, that's WILLING, to hear rants and shit (but NOT, going against the EXACT opposite of whatever I'm trying to deliver)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All questions, have been answered from time to time. Trying to prove who gets to sit, and not sharing money, and asking me to do shit for your own liking ; is not exactly right. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cigarettes DON'T kill you. WE, don't DIE. If, for the LONGEST time, you TRIED (and will forever more TRY) to bring me down.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You will.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here, have a glass of gossip and more gossip.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And more money to spend on more handbags and more handbags that carries more money and all your beauty products.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not a girl. I, don't like to argue with one. Because with silence, the truth would, inevitably delivers itself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I don't even like debating, but don't point a finger when I sneeze and snicker when you think you've made a valid point.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Because REAL human beings, (but this d00d is just some normal d00d, go get a j0b d00d)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I don't even need to work, I already KNOW what I want to do in life instead of whining about this and that and this and that and would STILL argue a point with me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have been called names that are displeasing, but I'm alright with that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I've been slapped (for reasons I don't even care ANYMORE to fathom) one two many times.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If that's for showing how MANLY you are, sure go ahead.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At this point in time, no conviction would ever go through you and your numbskull.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You have went here and there, to show me this and that, to PRESENT a greater logic that is (was, whatever) original (or normal, or whatever).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't you see? I am not capable of hate, I am only capable of putting down judgment on people thinking they know shit when clearly, they just shit to clear out their intestines.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's not that you're dead, or are you alive. I have just mindfucked you to an optimum level that you don't even know what to say anymore.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So yep, spitt'n buck't. Hunt'n ducks sounds more fun than listening to illogical,<i> la la la la la la la</i> literature.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am just skin and bones, I am capable of things but irrational hate is not it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have been tested for the thousand'th times, and I have given ENOUGH chances to repent.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But it was you, since DAY 1, that TRIED to pull me under.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">FOR WHAT EVER FUCKS MAN.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You are in shame, but you are too proud to even admit so. You are in guilt, but you are too courageous to think that ghosts don't exist. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They do.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">They, do.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All the victims, you have killed and raped and shit, they DON'T die (for the LAST time)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The human body is capable of SO many things. Those fingers, they could cook and all that shit, and you'd only use that to wipe your snot and pick your nose and chew a booger and repeat.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sure, call me an Atheist for not BELIEVING in GOD and NOT supporting RIGHTS.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DUDE, RIGHT OR LEFT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">EXACTLY.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">YOU ARE/WERE JUST TO BLIND TO SEE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN WALKING IN LOOPS AND SHIT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And why am I not surprised that you are still eating your boogers and is smelling your pointer finger that was just out of your ass-crack.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Somehow or rather, you kinda LIKE the smell.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And now you are,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Derp.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's not that I was jealous with anyone, I simply compared. I don't look like this because I CHOSE to, it's a FACE I have been masked upon a sturdy skull and a working set of anatomic structure.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Argue with my logic, you're just hesitating.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We ALL got this far, UPON centuries UPON centuries ; HISTORY, was there to keep us in place. (IS STILL ONGOING, AND WILL EVER BE).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's not that you don't believe in Hell, you went to and fro just to KILL a FRIEND.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry guys, you guys are not dead (obviously).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But, this is me signing off with the biggest stamp of shame stamped on your heads.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I am not surprised, that you will still argue with me, and us.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sure, go on with your lives thinking movies and games didn't actually come from a legit source.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The war was never about who's right or who's wrong ; It's about what's in your head.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You are what you are, and you're too weak to even command an army as of now.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(AND WHO THE FUCK IS THE FUCKING TYPO-POLICE RIGHT HERE)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Signing off,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">DERP</div></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-67180950065585439572011-03-02T03:28:00.000-08:002011-03-06T19:45:10.123-08:00Hate Rates Gate Of Fate<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwchiVAGS8L2lP-IwtICMbS4Lm2tXUyZZ9JtHlZZ5fNddaH9DGP8K3JHuocxw6YwJGRrE277Y0u-WDi00lEMtONxJ9j24KfoQUE4WrIVwtJoqKZWcqXlu_7terwUAY0dSszKgaXXpvWL9/s1600/3920049325_25a5362511_o.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwchiVAGS8L2lP-IwtICMbS4Lm2tXUyZZ9JtHlZZ5fNddaH9DGP8K3JHuocxw6YwJGRrE277Y0u-WDi00lEMtONxJ9j24KfoQUE4WrIVwtJoqKZWcqXlu_7terwUAY0dSszKgaXXpvWL9/s320/3920049325_25a5362511_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581084396447654610" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><@_@><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">*(vvv)*</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">'^^^'</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">(That above ^ , is supposed to look like a teethy monst'uh)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Writing in my blog after what seemed like four millennia and four days, feels like venturing into a secluded crystal cavern that's pillared by mammoths' fossils with Hieroglyphs engraved on them. I feel both weathered, and inspired. Ancient, but smacked with newly found, significance. New discoveries upon aged artifacts. That contradictory feeling I shall spare no time in elaborating. As if there's a definite, a possible way to do so anyhoo'. There isn't.<br /><br /><br />Old posts (even the drafts, yep)/pictures dictating how I've been in the past two decades, although incomplete but at least there's a harsh<i> shmarsh-<span class="Apple-style-span">mellows</span> </i>reminder that the past ain't at all obsolete. I'm as careless as the act of balancing a silver tray of delicate tea cups on a loose unicycle. <div><br /></div><div>I've never been on a unicycle.<div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>If I were to keep constant records of myself and all my everyday-average-albeit-awesome-adventures, with a paper and a Kilometrico pen, I'm sure that I'd lose a large portion of em' to the merciless wrath of the washing machine. Turning my writings on paper scraps, once tugged nicely in pockets of jeans, into fluffy lints. All those years written, would go to waste. As something giddy kittens would chase (<span class="Apple-style-span"><i>hint ; the lint <- rhyme intended</i></span>).</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>"On a side note, receipts, order forms and spare papers (spare-pers, lowl bowlz) you will not think twice in scrunching them up for target practice, are the best kind to unleash inspiration on, somehow. The absence of fear of ruining an expensive art canvas catalyzes the whole sketching process, I guess. J.K Rowling made Harry Potter up on napkins for Severus's sake.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> -</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Not that I'm a Potter fan'boy, just some scrap of an informative bit gathered from a "Did You Know?" trivia on, uh -somewhere."</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><div><br /></div><div>So, here's a "Whoop'ee!" for Blogspot!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> I'd like to think, this is why being a little sentimental (little? pffscheh~) have it's importance. You, consciously, or subconsciously, keep track of your own singular self. No better evaluator, second to The Creator, of your own super self, other than the owner of those eyes reading this. (y)ep. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>To think, I used to write about my birthdays, and how I'd welcome the new year with a red-charactered-carpet before this. But just look at the sad, sad sight of number of posts under the year 2010. That's less than a post per month. That's less than a post per TWO months. It's unheard of to not find the slightest amount of free time as for me, in a month, to actually sit down and let thy' fingers loose.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> It's pure, concentrated Procrastination <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Purée</em></span> right here. Like a glass of bitter herbal health drink. The hard part is just to attempt to swallow it and to tame the gag reflex. A gulp later, you'd be thinking, "Hey, it ain't that bad" . And, you'd feel good, knowing that the good ol' herbal drink, despite tasting bad, is good for you. There is all to it, feeling good is good for you. Good.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So, here's me trying to write again, taking a cyber sip of that said syrup.</div><div><br /></div><div>-Good God, do I really have to muster more metaphors on welcoming myself to write, each time. The last few posts are of the similar topic wei. Bleh. Nevermind about that.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's obvious that I came here without a specific motive. Like an alien that's set on world domination that came with nothing - not even pants. Why don't they ever, wear pants. You have atom-altering laser blasters, but no - pants? . We should trade technology for a day. Just sayin~</div><div><br /></div><div>As determined as that unprepared little naked Martian, I, too, would dominate this intense urge on clicking the hell out of the red "X" at the upper-right corner of this window. I, WILL- finish this post. This will not rot, in the damned dungeon of drafts.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Where am I going with this post even. I'm like a lost survivor on an exiled island, not giving a steaming shit on a still-working compass I found wedged in between a dead castaway's ribcage. A compass would not call me a rescue boat. Makes a better bait, as a compass is shiny. Edible aquatic creatures are attracted to - shiny things.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is getting out of hand. Before I'll be mysteriously led to talking on unicorns having multi-coloured tongues, I better put a plug of pause onto this. </div><div><br /></div><div>If all I wrote doesn't make sense, here's your two <i><b>sense</b></i> back. LOLZ GEDDIT.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kill' next time. Laterz.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> They'd still call me young, but I feel like I've been in this skin forever.</span></i><br /></div></div></div></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-89829101097249140192010-12-04T13:27:00.000-08:002010-12-04T14:07:58.636-08:00Slice The Lice Nicely,<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4I6vVQLI0e2R76EnBqmJjWWiAaxWIw5Gk6T-x8IJAKS9pxnGLWkd4oD0Jiw7hci8Cej3_VfWXDfps9g0pKsKUHw3NdNsUVTsnT8ALukfa7QzkA2on3VqSANWCK8F-nBmd9743UQoBl17d/s1600/zzzz.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 117px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4I6vVQLI0e2R76EnBqmJjWWiAaxWIw5Gk6T-x8IJAKS9pxnGLWkd4oD0Jiw7hci8Cej3_VfWXDfps9g0pKsKUHw3NdNsUVTsnT8ALukfa7QzkA2on3VqSANWCK8F-nBmd9743UQoBl17d/s320/zzzz.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546948999918433010" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">This is before your birthday gift of height(!)</span><br /><br /></div><br /><br />This is too important to ;<br />1) Let the days pile on top of each other to get me into the mood of writing.<br />2) To waddle long round' the waters to wait for the writer's block to lessen down.<br />3) To have the mental block be banished, BUT to be presented with a situation of not having any outlet to pour this into.<br /><br />A lesson I should have learned by now, is that ;<br />CIRCUMSTANCE 1 TO 3 WOULD NEVER COOPERATE.<br /><br />Thus, Imma write this now, and post it as soon as I'm done. With procrastination in my core. This ought to be a hard task, yes, but I will try.<br /><br /><br />Wait, let me munch on some Metaphore Bars to get me started...<br /><br /><br />...K, done.<br /><br /><br />2/12/2010,<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The spell of solitude which have plagued my 20 years of existence, have now finally been lifted. Who would've guessed, a lil' 5 footer (and 1 inch!) possessed such a strength.<br /><br /><br />Again I say,<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you,<br /><br /><-:<),<br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ></span>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-28638398895516801012010-07-26T15:47:00.000-07:002010-07-26T16:53:27.387-07:00A Poked Lip, Pukes Up Prickly Picks.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GoiR7dADVS1DHg2PloHbaIFMB6wMTkfN78bF-c2Dnoysgu_l7ImQe6x4FXjTuqsWMIRAMNQy5H6ClAPE3TusFl9UMBoz7X-PO1lJQKjga5Hg68LFpRG44Ww_eMT-QLnsKxKr__TCPDBf/s1600/1275174070207.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 355px; height: 284px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GoiR7dADVS1DHg2PloHbaIFMB6wMTkfN78bF-c2Dnoysgu_l7ImQe6x4FXjTuqsWMIRAMNQy5H6ClAPE3TusFl9UMBoz7X-PO1lJQKjga5Hg68LFpRG44Ww_eMT-QLnsKxKr__TCPDBf/s320/1275174070207.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498364448919713314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It feels like post-Apocalypse in here. You know, like all that's left is an endless, lonely stretch of dusty plains. Decayed ruins scattered meagerly throughout. Life feels scarce. Crows and vultures swarms the air, their shrieks echoing about the dead, brown sky. Silence is deafening, as the harsh wind whistles isolation in your weak ears. Your eyelids force themselves open, to struggle for sight as dry sand keeps sweeping in.<br /><br /><br />Then, you hear a quick, faint shuffing of the sands. As if there's something that was trying to make a quick escape and hide from you. You swiftly nudge your head to the source of the sound.<br /><br /><br />A brief moment of complete silence then, suddenly, a small, weary figure pops it's head out, slowly from a cracked wall in one corner.<br /><br /><br /><br />And that head shivers by the thought of emergence. It then steal glances here and there to see, if there's actually still prying eyes that it thought had died long ago in the gap of prolonged abandonment.<br /><br />Even if there are a few that's left, it wouldn't know if it shall bring it relief, or add more to the overwhelming paranoia. Would it be welcomed, or would it have it's arse be burned down to smithereens. But "Ahh, what the feck" it thought. It's now or never, and it's been too, too long.<br /><br /><br />So, it musters every last bit of air to pump it's chest forward out of his safety wall, and slowly brings his frail head, up. The shadows concealing his face, gradually gets lit up as his face motions upward. It then tries to speak, but he was too weak to even let out a squeak of a voice.<br /><br />You read it's lips, and you barely make out what it's trying to say :<br /><br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">I was never dead. I was just not alive for a while. Or, I could be a zombie, that you thought you killed in that Undead Apocalypse you've survived. Next time, remember to double tap, bitch.</span>"<br /><br />Then, in a blink of an eye, even before your brain could interpret how lame and unoriginal the sentence was, it jumps right into your face in a one-two motion. A crouch, and a lightning-quick leap...then darkness.<br /><br />Just pitch, black, darkness.<br /><br /><br /><br />Nothingness.<br /><br /><br />You died.<br /><br /><br />You died a bloody, horrible death. Along with the rest of the remaining few.<br /><br /><br /><br />Then, silence.<br /><br /><br />DURR END.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ahh, feels good to mush a mix of massive metaphores yet again. Instead of making pathetic apologies about how I'd start to keep this blog alive, again, and again. I decided to kill two birds with one giant fireball. I made a little story to both, make something out of the whole "coming-back" situation, and to warm these fingers up.<br /><br /><br />So, thankyou for to whoever that's left. I bid a very enthusiastic hand-wave.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >HI!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-73819923377273117952010-03-21T13:13:00.000-07:002010-03-22T04:19:45.378-07:00Tom's Thumb Is Stuttering From Stamping That Stump.<div style="text-align: center;">Holy sweet raping tentacles of Krakken, it's been forever and one night since I was last here.<br /><br />HI GU..<br /><br />:D<br /><br />:|<br /><br /><br />This is awkward.<br /><br />I'M SORR..<br /><br />...yeah<br /><br /><br /><br />Oh whelp, so what do you do when it's too embarrassing to apologize kids ? . Yes, you play the blame game. And for my victim of blame, I'm pointing my finger to the flock of birds, that seem to be able to lift a whole goddamned whale.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.porhomme.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/twitter-maintenance-iran-tehran.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 499px; height: 375px;" src="http://www.porhomme.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/twitter-maintenance-iran-tehran.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Holy Tweet.<br /></span><br /><br />Yeap.Twitter. You know, updating it as soon as it happens-Twitter ? . Yeah, that. But you can only tweet and retweet for so long til' you realize, you can only do so much with 140 characters. You can hardly describe how good your last meal was until you see this "<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">-16</span>" , indicating you have to read back and shorten "hahahaha"s into "lol" , remove all irrelevant smileys and convert links that are too long into "tinyurl/tediousx79". For a guy who has a lil' knack for writing, this is a big deal. In the long run, it removes a large portion of the satisfactory factor in writing full, complete sentences (WITH SMILEYS !) . So guys, here I am, slowly returning to the soil of origin.<br /><br />As inanimate as this little blog of mine is, I actually, honestly, feel guilty for abandoning you for so, so long. Sure you don't have wobbly, puppy eyes to buy my piles of pity, but if I steer my eyes a little bit to the right, I'd see this heart-shattering sight ;<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXggZhVV1QjrFxOgWJsOE1LgEc-JYBsTepbLtWJeC4PCPEO7151xN4Fr0MSdRcu5uPbrX2HvbQ3QRLlX1ZF4ajtSDeHSKaKbenK7HN9-x5qVii8gl7T5OXTrIbtpyB_lRDBLWBYvz1Kgq/s1600-h/untitled.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 144px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXggZhVV1QjrFxOgWJsOE1LgEc-JYBsTepbLtWJeC4PCPEO7151xN4Fr0MSdRcu5uPbrX2HvbQ3QRLlX1ZF4ajtSDeHSKaKbenK7HN9-x5qVii8gl7T5OXTrIbtpyB_lRDBLWBYvz1Kgq/s320/untitled.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451186187524848962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">*sobs*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Won't you look at that. Only one measly entry, ONE, in January. And what month is this ? . Yeap, it's March and it's ending fast. I didn't even feed my poor baby a single post in February. What..have I done. I am a m-monster. Is that your ribcage poking out of your frail little chest ? . How in the world did your eyebags works in revers..HOLY FUCK IT'S YOUR EYE SOCKET. I..<br /><br />Don't you miss my metaphorical, exaggerated nonsense ? :D<br /><br />Don't y-<br /><br />Moving on. If I keep going on this rate, I'm gonna have less than 15 posts by the end of 2010. That's like the weekly rate of any normal blogs. Ain't it ? . I can't keep doing this. I can't keep starving my virtual stomach of thought from blog posts. Writer blocks, be damned.<br /><br />No, not that my life has been an empty abyss. In fact, if I were to update on every single interesting thing that has ever happened between the HUMONGOUS gap from my last update, it would be quite a wholesome read.<br /><br />I tell you what, for my next few posts, I'm gonna do a montage of what has happened, the notably, fairly interesting ones. Be it in January, it's gonna be written in March. Then, from there on. We're gonna do it at a constant pace, where the gap between when it happens to when it was written would be a week max. YES, THAT IS THE CONSTANT RATE IF YOU HAVE BEEN READING.<br /><br />So, I'm done with dusting off this whole, cob-web filled space for now. I have rolled the boulder of pace off the cliff, for now. So please do still tune in :)<br /></span><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-49189625180223392792010-01-04T13:27:00.000-08:002010-01-06T16:43:41.646-08:00Two Thousand Ten Tools, Thorns, And Tins.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2yxCyr9IfbEoVrbvMcpfzVcsjbrryyUKehC7G_F3SMy059blltTG9AZsJaQOVgwUaOserxR6yRmKs_rU9O8Jmn284PV4yiCTlFfOP_eE9700Lhbq-WbSui9keLFDztadVvtuLZW8ADyA/s1600-h/8734_540.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2yxCyr9IfbEoVrbvMcpfzVcsjbrryyUKehC7G_F3SMy059blltTG9AZsJaQOVgwUaOserxR6yRmKs_rU9O8Jmn284PV4yiCTlFfOP_eE9700Lhbq-WbSui9keLFDztadVvtuLZW8ADyA/s320/8734_540.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423789703717436130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Can you believe it ? . Can you believe that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hitler_Has_Only_Got_One_Ball">Hitler only had one testis</a> ? . And even with his singular seed-maker, he did far more devastation than any ol' regular pair of ball bearers could ever unleash. Unbelievableh.<br /><br />I can't believe how frikkin' fast 2009 took a dump, flushed it and disappear forever too.<br /><br />Is it just me, or time is getting faster, day by day, year by year, stomach by stomach ? . Or is it the fact that I wake up on evenings, and sleeping at sunrises made it to appear so ? . There is still 60 seconds in a minute, and 24 hours in a day, but..why ? . Wuh-frikkin-hy ? . I am aware that this is one of the little signs of the forth coming Apocalypse, but how the hands of clocks are rotating, ever so progressively rapid, is just giving my brain a solid atomic wedgie.<br /><br /><br />Lock me your knuckle, if you're like me, having your 2009 to-do list to be ticked less than a survey asking the appeal of hairy warts. Or, knock the fist harder if you're not even sure any of em' was ticked. Sure, you know you did something. But none of them was significant enough to make any difference between the 1st of January 2009, to the second you're reading this. Or, just straight-up give me a bear hug for procrastinating and piling things up so much while thinking "There's always tomorrow" every single time. And poopf, before you know it, a year just went down the gutter.<br /><br /><br />But nothing can ever be as mind-boggling, as hard to wrap my mind around, as "Oh shit - this ain't happening", as the fact that,<br /><br />that,<br /><br />.....<br /><br /><br />that,<br /><br /><br />....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />..I'm turning 20 this year.<br /><br /><br />YES, THE BIG TWO-O . The age where there's no longer a -teen behind your age, but a -ty. TWENT-<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">TY </span></span>! . Which doesn't stand for ;<br /><br />T = Too<br />Y = Young<br /><br />But,<br /><br />T = Tata'<br />Y = Youth.<br /><br /><br />It's the age where when you were little, you thought when you're big, you're gonna have a beautiful wife and kids, a big house with an indoor pool and a zero-gravity room (just because you f-in can), a big car and your dream job of building spaceships and buses for aliens you bump into during one of your space trip. Because you think technology will be that f-in awesome in the future of when you're 20, at the time.<br /><br />But here I am and my anorexic wallet. And not even on the first step of the process of building a family. Hah, the last metaphore was pathetic with a capital everything. And I hope, by some twist of fate, by some glitch in coincidence, that - would at least be attempted.<br /><br />I will - this time around, grab Chance by the nutsack for everytime it passes. And not regreminisce. Regreminisce. Ain't that the coolest word you've ever seen.<br /><br /><br />Pass me today's paper and my morning coffee, ADULTHOOD HERE I COME ! *putting on the fakest face of enthusiasm ever.<br /><br /><br />Ah screw this, I'm reading the comics section and Imma drink a Cola, it's black and has Caffeine too. What's the diff.<br /><br /><br />AGE IS JUST A NUMBE- who am I kidding. If only there's such thing as twenTEEN.<br /><br />Anyways, now is now, and now is won. And that sounded sophisticated and doesn't make sense. I've got to learn to adapt. This year, something HAS got to be done. I mean, come on man, I made past through two decades. I want, by the end of '10, the "What if's" and the "If only's" that has been playing in my brain since forever to step into reality. IT JUST GOTTA. God, please pave the roads leading to em' infront of me.<br /><br /><br />For me, '10 started awesome, and continued being awesome, and later met one of the shittiest twist in my life, ever. In which, I will, or might, elaborate in my next post :) .<br /><br /><br />Happy Twenty-O'-Ten guys :)<br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-74897270568731089962009-12-23T12:21:00.000-08:002009-12-27T15:48:51.294-08:00Blue Heu To Boo Who.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br />For a guy who updates his blog as often as a hobo changes his underwear and suddenly gets bothered enough into reviewing a movie, the movie has got to be something.<br /><br />AND SOMETHING, DEFINITELY IT DOGGAMN WAS.<br /><br /><br />I'm talking about,<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b0/Avatar-Teaser-Poster.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 442px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b0/Avatar-Teaser-Poster.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and if more specifically, in glorious 3D.<br /><br /><br />Little did I expect, the moment I put those funky glasses on, I left earth. I swore the goddamn seat propelled itself out of the cosmos, and into the jaw-melting world of Pandora.<br /><br /><br />I was literally silent and speechless throughout the whole 3 good hours. Even if it's something you should really do in a movie in order to not have popcorn bits (and a possible thick, phlegm) stuck in your hair. But seriously, it has gotta be the tastiest visual candy I have ever t-eye-sted (GET IT ?) .<br /><br />And as some of you might know, I like monsters with the infinite possibilities that applies into it. And basically anything that revolves around it, be it the habitat or how it sounds. I guess, this little loose screw of mine, increased my appreciation towards the movie a hell lot more.<br /><br /><br />Avatar isn't like any other movie. Hell, I don't think it's even a movie as it is more into being the most spectacular jungle-trekking/sight-seeing experience ever. You will, literally reach out your hand to grab that floating seed of Eywa, and feel stupid for just grabbing a fistful of air. YOU WILL.You ain't paying for a ticket to watch a movie, you're paying to get yourself lost in the wilderness of visual ridiculousness.<br /><br /><br />And I mean ridiculous. Ridiculously, f-in real. And how real ? . How about me being so goddamned sure that they are ALL excellently animated, (or in other words, <span style="font-style: italic;">Mat Confirm</span>) only to realize later with much wtf, that there are real, human actors in it. That's right. The movie questioned my view of reality. You just might think, for a brief second of spontaneous thought, that there just might be actual blue dudes living out there somewhere.<br /><br />Oh shit, wait -<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://pics.blameitonthevoices.com/092009/small_blue%20man.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 430px; height: 292px;" src="http://pics.blameitonthevoices.com/092009/small_blue%20man.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.saynotocrack.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/blue-man-group-with-britney.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.saynotocrack.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/blue-man-group-with-britney.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Neh. Papa Smurf in the first picture <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cobject%20width=%22425%22%20height=%22344%22%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22movie%22%20value=%22http://www.youtube.com/v/Sa2OpNTX9Ck&hl=en_US&fs=1&%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22allowFullScreen%22%20value=%22true%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cparam%20name=%22allowscriptaccess%22%20value=%22always%22%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cembed%20src=%22http://www.youtube.com/v/Sa2OpNTX9Ck&hl=en_US&fs=1&%22%20type=%22application/x-shockwave-flash%22%20allowscriptaccess=%22always%22%20allowfullscreen=%22true%22%20width=%22425%22%20height=%22344%22%3E%3C/embed%3E%3C/object%3E">turned blue for rubbing Colloidal Silver on his face</a>. And the second, are just a bunch of guys that are watching you right now from the nearest window.<br /><br /><br />ANYWAYS, go watch it. In 3D. It's worth that little extra 5 +- bucks. Don't hope so much on a brainsquirming storyline.Be in for the CGI epicness. Or even if it's not on that, the dude, James Cameron took 14 years, and spent a total of 400+ million to make this. Show the dude some credit for spending a total length of a childhood, and the amount of money we're not even gonna get in a lifetime to spawn this masterpiece.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-69575207405823189242009-12-23T12:13:00.000-08:002009-12-23T12:20:46.753-08:00Put A Stop On The Top Of That Pot.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUy3zc0bgKEQfYzf93sZ5sfhq-5LwPM1dGz9SR42jIBpYca2licNWtqKklxNEp2L34lU4wNS41mw0mDvek-v82PZkuxyBI338HzGD5RYt3xixNsa0j0X9jq0hMzFMx3Jtr7WE1AI7Zk-q/s1600-h/untitled.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 102px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUy3zc0bgKEQfYzf93sZ5sfhq-5LwPM1dGz9SR42jIBpYca2licNWtqKklxNEp2L34lU4wNS41mw0mDvek-v82PZkuxyBI338HzGD5RYt3xixNsa0j0X9jq0hMzFMx3Jtr7WE1AI7Zk-q/s320/untitled.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418527454423056514" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This might not make any of your last few seconds any more meaningful. But those who knows, knows why I just gotta. I just gotta :)<br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-90139949796750787642009-12-19T23:40:00.000-08:002009-12-21T08:12:40.862-08:00Think, To Blink, Or To Sink In Pink Ink ?<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mchwen.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/20060909_balingwallpaper.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 462px; height: 345px;" src="http://www.mchwen.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/20060909_balingwallpaper.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />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 ;<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Hambuih hangpa semuo ni, awat loq laq sangat ni. Ketegaq nak mampuih nohh" </span><br /><br /><br />Or even a simple,<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Aiyaq ni tawaq hebiaq, macam teloq ghebuih" . </span><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />All of this mechanical mess would not have happened IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE BLOODY MECHANIC BASTARDS. I would<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />In the end, we just have to go to Baling right after my sister gets her PMR result (<span style="font-style: italic;">alang2, all the (y) sis' ! ) . </span>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,<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>but I miss my <span style="font-style: italic;">kampung </span>too much to ditch on this one.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-89622045552351040862009-12-16T13:08:00.000-08:002009-12-16T13:14:08.253-08:00Rate The Red Rat Right<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dtLEA3MTO9c&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dtLEA3MTO9c&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />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.<br /><br />Starring :<br />Haziq Nazli<br />Imran Matin<br /><br />A Last Minute Production :<br />Farehah Azmi (Producer)<br />Faeez Sabri (DOP, Editor)<br />Ahmad Ashraf (Director, Storyboard)<br /><br />Not to mention the Hopeless Faeces, and the awesome, awesome crew members.<br /><br />Rule your f-in world, Redbull.<br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-76820490212742772762009-12-15T13:58:00.000-08:002009-12-15T16:15:55.302-08:00Thy Sentinel To Be Slain.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.onnawebdesign.com/imageupload/Fgallery3-3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 507px; height: 333px;" src="http://www.onnawebdesign.com/imageupload/Fgallery3-3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />ANYWAYS,<br /><br />Do I sound pissy ? , Do I sound like I'm choking someone with one hand, and typing with the other ? . <span style="font-style: italic;">Nehhh</span>. 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.<br /><br />So here goes nothing,<br /><br />T-TH-THHHE LAPTOPoo - Goddamn, I can't even begin to finish the sentence,<br /><br />Again,<br /><br />The laptop got f-in reformatted.<br /><br /><br />That was said in the straightest, tightest face I could muster, with a voice bordering on the tone of reading a suicide note.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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 :)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-18467724209912975312009-12-07T14:18:00.000-08:002009-12-07T14:47:10.173-08:00What's The Age Of The Edge Of That Ledge ?<span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;">IT'S<br /><br />BEEN<br /><br />F-IN'<br /><br />AGES !</span><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />Only now, there are no party poppers. Only the dead silence that followed the first moment I came in.<br /><br />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 ( <span style="font-style: italic;">how ironic ) , </span>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.<br /><br />BUT NOW THAT I'M FINALLY FREEEEEEEEEE :D , I would, hopefully, update this a little more often and write more than 140 words.<br /><br /><br />And with this, I leave you guys with a little video me , Faye and Ilyas made for my Copywriting assignment, entitled;<br /><br />THE MERDEKA MASSACRE,<br /><br />En-joi<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JXmTv7veAxo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JXmTv7veAxo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />I have a more epic video in line. So stay doomed (y)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-91752500944207171532009-11-03T15:43:00.000-08:002009-11-04T12:59:36.542-08:00Spleen Split By Splinters Spins In The Litter<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"<span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not even what the mirror reflects to be.<br />In my mind, walks and talks the little me,<br />in a form that you would never see</span>."<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">- <span style="font-style: italic;">Bob</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">See, something as spontaneous as that can't come from my own sane awareness.<br />It must be Bob.<br />You don't just grow outside of me, your roots must have struck deep inside my skull.<br /></div><br /></div><br />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 ;<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/twitpic/photos/large/38249623.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=0ZRYP5X5F6FSMBCCSE82&Expires=1257293199&Signature=XxlWOSACwNfTh0PA0lCB20udqVk%3D"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 470px; height: 353px;" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/twitpic/photos/large/38249623.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=0ZRYP5X5F6FSMBCCSE82&Expires=1257293199&Signature=XxlWOSACwNfTh0PA0lCB20udqVk%3D" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Love is to let go.<br /><br /><br />Holy noodles, the cheese from the last paragraph could've fed the whole world, for a year, and a half.<br /><br /><br />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 :<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/d028WBFC5_c&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/d028WBFC5_c&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://c3.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/80/l_7cd30516e5fb461a98077f5772e00a96.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 369px; height: 483px;" src="http://c3.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/80/l_7cd30516e5fb461a98077f5772e00a96.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />You can see more of Haziq (and his passion for the Dim Mak crew) in ShiftyMag's August issue.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs223.snc1/7027_182391396479_551661479_4258569_2429944_n.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 354px; height: 472px;" src="http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs223.snc1/7027_182391396479_551661479_4258569_2429944_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Haziq loves his fans so much, that he wrote and signed all that with his broken right arm<br /></span><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-56956743422749978982009-10-19T13:50:00.000-07:002009-10-19T14:03:56.341-07:00A Sundae On A Sunny Sunday<div style="text-align: center;">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.<br /><br /><br />Matt, spontaneously named the fateful day, and all Sundays to come,<br /><br /> "Go Skate Sundays" . (y)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mampus ah poyo.</span><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />So, for this week, here's a lil somethin-somethin :<br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/y-WWOfrbDxg&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/y-WWOfrbDxg&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Me bailing my ass a million times. 1 tre flip out of 92380912309 tries.<br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3706273531124083724.post-91752321650432541542009-10-11T13:21:00.000-07:002009-10-13T13:46:40.223-07:00Beetles Beat Bats With Bottles.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A few vital things were missing tho, like not going back to our <span style="font-style: italic;">kampung </span>this year. Not one fire-cracker was lit, even a fire-flower (<span style="font-style: italic;">bunga api, can't recall what the heck it is in english) </span>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.<br /><br /><br />But there's some other thing that got lit,<br /><br /><br /><br />My frikkin car.<br /><br /><br />On Sunday night,<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />Just as I drove a mere few inches from the place, suddenly I smell the unmistakable smell of fire-crackers and went ; "<span style="font-style: italic;">Siapa bakar mercun pagi-pagi buta ni ? </span>" .<br /><br />I spoke too soon.<br /><br /><br />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<br />"SHE'S GONNA BLOWWWW !!!11!1!!"<br /><br /><br />No we didn't. We did what most panicked, clueless teenagers would do.<br /><br /><br /><br />Be camwhores :<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJpzdsWQdojdTrM40QfgOLygzMjFoG5wRVIZME0ZyXXuvZp8F5B74TuonJk_f5yt4mu0Mx4aE4kMxvttDP3x6Kq6csuW8oAtDJqulGW5Dtx4lyucC8Bg7E_xt-a-WnO3gd04dne76a4IG/s1600-h/DSC09433-2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJpzdsWQdojdTrM40QfgOLygzMjFoG5wRVIZME0ZyXXuvZp8F5B74TuonJk_f5yt4mu0Mx4aE4kMxvttDP3x6Kq6csuW8oAtDJqulGW5Dtx4lyucC8Bg7E_xt-a-WnO3gd04dne76a4IG/s320/DSC09433-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392107907959560114" border="0" /></a><br />Say smoked cheeeese !<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObElm4DTm0T-ZtoFjdAquVZMPYzEP0aCJ9eveIONzqWfxKDGVsTNG8R2ZFjWYbxOBrfk7jUnVmdtgriTeRDUASNVautnYhp6YymdCi295q9ot5kY8UOmtb4DfwysO-2TDjCqOA_u4FNr6/s1600-h/DSC09420.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObElm4DTm0T-ZtoFjdAquVZMPYzEP0aCJ9eveIONzqWfxKDGVsTNG8R2ZFjWYbxOBrfk7jUnVmdtgriTeRDUASNVautnYhp6YymdCi295q9ot5kY8UOmtb4DfwysO-2TDjCqOA_u4FNr6/s320/DSC09420.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391450783416136690" border="0" /></a><br />CAK !<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNSRtdWAWSZSLQOtqDj86K8tgc1C8J-lTjBckA_1EqA-BeZKP_o976-ii4E76vU4vFObkdhtV_9UPsz3bDB8vslt3kZmeDCjOGfZXoGF2bX7EOWL_hMvQu_-Y7ETWG3OloFMQJkcyHnKn/s1600-h/DSC09419.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNSRtdWAWSZSLQOtqDj86K8tgc1C8J-lTjBckA_1EqA-BeZKP_o976-ii4E76vU4vFObkdhtV_9UPsz3bDB8vslt3kZmeDCjOGfZXoGF2bX7EOWL_hMvQu_-Y7ETWG3OloFMQJkcyHnKn/s320/DSC09419.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391450774750972802" border="0" /></a><br />Look how worried Aiq is.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />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 :<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOTqVXBlLr47wwj7OuIfqMR_D3-FZJmXJCAgREFcUQyhi3UrJPuEI99wml3EdoZ4uZW746NB_rv926tYA6_NkJVDAcPc2stsOQzOk-iU3bMHOlqK14oLC1zNc9h4VBo2NS4xPQ1AsNLAL/s1600-h/burnt.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOTqVXBlLr47wwj7OuIfqMR_D3-FZJmXJCAgREFcUQyhi3UrJPuEI99wml3EdoZ4uZW746NB_rv926tYA6_NkJVDAcPc2stsOQzOk-iU3bMHOlqK14oLC1zNc9h4VBo2NS4xPQ1AsNLAL/s320/burnt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391450762385233346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />See that dark part in the Mastika-style red circle ? . That's the part that caught on frikkin smokes and warmed Pithang's ass.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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 ;<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVePCmKDxwzyCosdzm7_dTrLG6cyceVCe9xZL4MWwSIU06ypETpPa7MbYCte9kepA_NMn7spfRAbsS2z_kxadeTf7lBgIyMeR3ouIlRiN1cG7R1YJj5nccQABQt3gk2CXoQJiKVLwamsTf/s1600-h/DSC09425.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVePCmKDxwzyCosdzm7_dTrLG6cyceVCe9xZL4MWwSIU06ypETpPa7MbYCte9kepA_NMn7spfRAbsS2z_kxadeTf7lBgIyMeR3ouIlRiN1cG7R1YJj5nccQABQt3gk2CXoQJiKVLwamsTf/s320/DSC09425.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391450793727524242" border="0" /></a><br /><br />..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.<br /><br />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 !<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>ashrafromlihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08142747058290995116noreply@blogger.com0