IMAGINE YOUR OWN ADVENCHAH.

Page 1

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.

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.

Page 2.

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.

Scroll down to page 3 if you choose Alfredo to be your guide.

Ctrl+F your way to page 4 if you want to choose the Dogoblin.

Page 3.

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?

Ctrl + F to CACTI PLAINS to go on straight

Ctrl + F to REVERSE to go back and do over.

Page 4.

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.

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.

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?

Ctrl + F SPIKY SUNSET or, the SPIRAL BLACKHOLE.

CACTI PLAINS.

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.

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.

CTRL+F = FUCKYEAH

REVERSE.

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?

CTRL+F ;

STAY

or

SWAMP

SPIKY SUNSET

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.

CONGRATULATIONS.

YOU HAVE MURDERED ANOTHER PET, YOU TWISTED PIECE OF SHIT.

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.

THE END.

SPIRAL BLACKHOLE

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.

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.

THE END.

STAY

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.

ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

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.

THE END.

SWAMP.

INSTANT DEATH

The End.

FUCKYEAH

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?

Scroll down to CAVERNS or CTRL+F ; UPWARDS.

CAVERNS.

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.

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.

THE END.

UPWARDS

"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.

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.

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."

And he replied "Sup".

"What are you tending for?"

"Hillshire mushrooms".

"O."

As your soul empties your abdomen, and you shrink to a speck knowing all the walking and climbing proved to be a waste.

So, should you ask for some or go on home with an empty basket?

Scroll down for CANIHAVESOME, or CTRL+F = EMPTY BASKET

CANIHAVESOME

"Can I have some?" .

"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."

You laugh hesitantly at pet-shitting part, and put some in your basket.

You go home, and you give the whole basket to your mom and you're only rewarded with a hug.

All of that, be paid with only a hug, yeap.

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.

THE END.

EMPTY BASKET.

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.

As you enter the house with a basket sighing out dust, your mom shouts

WHERE ARE THE MUSHROOMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


A knock to the head, and a benjol 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.

THE END.

Kidnapped Napkins Napping A Nap.

MOVE THE FUCK OUT



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.

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.


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.


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.


I feel drained lately too. This sucks. I wish to be in a better frame of life soon.


Please Lord.

SK84LAIF

IZ GOOS'D FOUR YEW

Some would skate to not just give a fuck.

DUCK.

Some would skate to destroy things.

BUT WHAT d00d? THE WHOLE WORLD IS YOUR SKATEPARK.

PIZZA PAWNS PRAWNS IN PORN

PIZZA PARTY UP THIS BITCH

At this point in time, there's NO LONGER a STURDY proportion to the word RANDOM.

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.

I am at a state, of KNOWING EVERYTHING, without even doing ANYTHING.

Thus, GOOGLE (yes, your office is awesome ; you better let me enter it one day or the other).

DERP.

-

ANYHOO.

Imagine life to have infinite loopholes, of KNOWING you are particularly good-looking ; IS ENOUGH to let someone KNOW, of SOMETHING.

I am in Malaysia, and I am CAPABLE of engineering a silent nuclear bomb without wanting to even detonate it.

THUS, A BUILDING IS SAVED.

What is this bullcrap that has been stinkin' up the whole of INDIA.

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.

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.

SO, WHEN IT'S A NICE HOUSE TO LIVE IN ; along with the swirly swishy mixture of (STOP THINKING) of that, thus that.

I am NOT God, I WILL NEVER CLAIM THAT I AM.

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.

I AM HERE, TO KNOW, THAT I HAVE BEEN TO PLACES THAT I LOVE GOING.

(not you, sorry)

BUT, I CAN SENSE ALL ATOMS AND QUARKS OF ALL LIVING THINGS - I know.

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.

HI.

The end.

PIZZA PARTY UP THIS BITCH

At this point in time, there's NO LONGER a STURDY proportion to the word RANDOM.

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.

I am at a state, of KNOWING EVERYTHING, without even doing ANYTHING.

Thus, GOOGLE (yes, your office is awesome ; you better let me enter it one day or the other).

DERP.

-

ANYHOO.

Imagine life to have infinite loopholes, of KNOWING you are particularly good-looking ; IS ENOUGH to let someone KNOW, of SOMETHING.

I am in Malaysia, and I am CAPABLE of engineering a silent nuclear bomb without wanting to even detonate it.

THUS, A BUILDING IS SAVED.

What is this bullcrap that has been stinkin' up the whole of INDIA.

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.

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.

SO, WHEN IT'S A NICE HOUSE TO LIVE IN ; along with the swirly swishy mixture of (STOP THINKING) of that, thus that.

I am NOT God, I WILL NEVER CLAIM THAT I AM.

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.

I AM HERE, TO KNOW, THAT I HAVE BEEN TO PLACES THAT I LOVE GOING.

(not you, sorry)

BUT, I CAN SENSE ALL ATOMS AND QUARKS OF ALL LIVING THINGS - I know.

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.

HI.

The end.

-

I'm in the mood for murder.

THE HAMMURGER


Slice buttocks as buns.

1/2 BRAIN RELISH

DICKS AS PICKLES.

FINGERS FOR FRIES.

and ketchup.



DONE
AND

DERP

DERP

CAPTAIN HOOK ON HIS DECK
(what happened to Peter Pan tho?)

I can live on my own,

When all threads have been clearly sown.

I do not care on mediocrity.

This prick, is electricity.

Have a blast of the past.

I am now a stranger, I'm okay with being last.

AW.

SHUT UP.

DEATH DANCES ON DERPIAN'S DRIPS DERPS

WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED, DOING THE SPLIT HURTS THE BALLS LIKE NO ONE'S BUSINESS

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.

WOMB.

Cigarettes ; or fags as we like to call em'

They'd only plan to do this and that to KNOW what AM I holding BEHIND bars.

If they want the SECRET so bad. THEY NEED TO KNOW, respect is bought ; not EARNED.

The greatest commandments of war ; THEY DO NOT DIE.

Black and white? Grainy videos? Broken I-PHONES?

YERP ; it's the energy they have been put on hold since the BEGINNING of TIME.

My senses are so keen, I can KILL with just a single strand of a thread.

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

HAHAHAH. You LOST me again.

Hide and seek? COUNT TO A MILLION. Then ONLY, I'd be there.

I have a secret.

I used to be so broke, til' this "MOM" of mine TRIES to take all from me.

I do not show mercy, I do not show remorse.

I NOW, how one looks like and how one would die, by JUST looking at em.

MARRIED TO THE MUSIC? DUDE. THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT.

Paranoierps, will forever be that.

I AM NOT CRAZY, and I AM NOT INSANE.

IN ORDER ; to be sane. You must get IN, the SANE PLAIN. Which ALL of you SINNERS ; woul be teleported to as we speak.

You can't handle heat. You can't handle ANYTHING.

Ingredients of a faggot ;

DUDES THAT JUST CAN'T SHUT THE FUCK UP.

We've all been bred with blood, to be pure. THUS ; you guys not getting any pussy since FOREVER.

I WON BY JUST TYPING.

You lost by trying so many times and not just gonna any.

HERMHERMHERM.

Sup.

I know.

I can't skate now. I have a vision, that if I do ; MY BONES WILL BE BROKEN.

Where they'd use it like chalk, to crush us and existence. Thus that.

THIS IS THE DAY TO STAY INDOORS. BUT, skaters that can LIVE with the heat. THEY SHALL.

So, I ain't going nowhere TIL' I SAY SO.

I am at home, sucking a fag and be drink'n wa'r.

GO!

- derp

Derping derp drilling dibs.

By death, you would not win.

By debt, you'd not get out clean.

By deaf, you'd not hear blasphemy.

By fleeing, you'd not taste victory.

DERP

Hunged Happiness Halt Hazim HALT

This is in someone's thought. THUS ;

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

Their sensory organs, would adapt so fast ; that (inversely proportional to the modern society) people would take them as monsters.

And that is when, they smell fear, and humiliation. And the sense of not knowing what to do anymore.

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.

Thus, they'd smell fear. And with fear, they'd sense that the victim's shivering.

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.

THIS ; would make tribes smarter, with the girl explaining that there's a LOT of GOOD FOOD, at the other side of town.

And, that is EXACTLY, when PLANES, and CHOPPERS ; would be super-heroes for a day.

"GET TO THE CHOPPAH" - Said Arnold Shwartzhnaniniegrr (sorry)

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

Thus, they'd derp.

Massacre Must Mean Menace

This guy doesn't get it since whenever he tried.

So, I am back and writing and not giving a shit on not getting invited to parties anymore.

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.

And here you are complaining, (Why are you exploiting your sense of grammar to make a legit point)

Music has been around since forever, and it has been trying to tell ONE thing ; it CONNECTS people.

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.

Real artists and musicians should make their records out of inspiration, out of everything else.

At this point in time, your argument is invalid.

Arnold Shwartzmanniiger REALLY thought he WAS, the TERMINATOR.

And now, he's just - Arnold.

Exactly.

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.

THICK books, are based on THINNER books made easier for little kids to read.

Here you are again, trying to argue my (not that I'm opposing yours, because really ; ALL FEEDBACKS ARE WELCOMED) logic.

Exactly.

Don't you know, we all co-exist on Planet Earth, and Planet Earth alone.

Yes, call me crazy for believing in Mad Hatters riding bunnies with bows and ties and drinking tea and sucking on chocolate sticks.

But, a MOVIE, has got to come from SOMEONE, who OBVIOUSLY went through a LOT to make a legit POINT.

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?

Exactly.

I am not mad, or pissed.

I went through enough, and a LOT, to know the KIND of people that WALKS, Planet Earth.

Here you are again, thinking that ; WITHOUT money, all civilization would crumble to dust.

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)

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.

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.

You will.

Here, have a glass of gossip and more gossip.

And more money to spend on more handbags and more handbags that carries more money and all your beauty products.

I am not a girl. I, don't like to argue with one. Because with silence, the truth would, inevitably delivers itself.

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.

Because REAL human beings, (but this d00d is just some normal d00d, go get a j0b d00d)

Exactly.

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.

I have been called names that are displeasing, but I'm alright with that.

I've been slapped (for reasons I don't even care ANYMORE to fathom) one two many times.

If that's for showing how MANLY you are, sure go ahead.

At this point in time, no conviction would ever go through you and your numbskull.

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).

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.

Exactly.

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.

So yep, spitt'n buck't. Hunt'n ducks sounds more fun than listening to illogical, la la la la la la la literature.

I am just skin and bones, I am capable of things but irrational hate is not it.

I have been tested for the thousand'th times, and I have given ENOUGH chances to repent.

But it was you, since DAY 1, that TRIED to pull me under.

FOR WHAT EVER FUCKS MAN.

Exactly.

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.

They do.

They, do.

All the victims, you have killed and raped and shit, they DON'T die (for the LAST time)

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.

Sure, call me an Atheist for not BELIEVING in GOD and NOT supporting RIGHTS.

DUDE, RIGHT OR LEFT.

EXACTLY.

YOU ARE/WERE JUST TO BLIND TO SEE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN WALKING IN LOOPS AND SHIT.

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.

Somehow or rather, you kinda LIKE the smell.

And now you are,

Exactly.

Derp.

Exactly.

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.

Argue with my logic, you're just hesitating.

We ALL got this far, UPON centuries UPON centuries ; HISTORY, was there to keep us in place. (IS STILL ONGOING, AND WILL EVER BE).

It's not that you don't believe in Hell, you went to and fro just to KILL a FRIEND.

Exactly.

I'm sorry guys, you guys are not dead (obviously).

But, this is me signing off with the biggest stamp of shame stamped on your heads.

And I am not surprised, that you will still argue with me, and us.

Sure, go on with your lives thinking movies and games didn't actually come from a legit source.

The war was never about who's right or who's wrong ; It's about what's in your head.

You are what you are, and you're too weak to even command an army as of now.

Exactly.

(AND WHO THE FUCK IS THE FUCKING TYPO-POLICE RIGHT HERE)

Signing off,

DERP

Hate Rates Gate Of Fate

<@_@>

*(vvv)*

'^^^'

(That above ^ , is supposed to look like a teethy monst'uh)

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.


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 shmarsh-mellows 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.

I've never been on a unicycle.

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 (hint ; the lint <- rhyme intended).

"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.

-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."

So, here's a "Whoop'ee!" for Blogspot!

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.

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.

It's pure, concentrated Procrastination Purée 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.

So, here's me trying to write again, taking a cyber sip of that said syrup.

-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.

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~

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.

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.

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.

If all I wrote doesn't make sense, here's your two sense back. LOLZ GEDDIT.

Kill' next time. Laterz.

They'd still call me young, but I feel like I've been in this skin forever.

Slice The Lice Nicely,

This is before your birthday gift of height(!)

This is too important to ;
1) Let the days pile on top of each other to get me into the mood of writing.
2) To waddle long round' the waters to wait for the writer's block to lessen down.
3) To have the mental block be banished, BUT to be presented with a situation of not having any outlet to pour this into.

A lesson I should have learned by now, is that ;
CIRCUMSTANCE 1 TO 3 WOULD NEVER COOPERATE.

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.


Wait, let me munch on some Metaphore Bars to get me started...


...K, done.


2/12/2010,




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.


Again I say,



Thank you,

<-:<),

A Poked Lip, Pukes Up Prickly Picks.

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.


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.


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.



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.

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.


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.

You read it's lips, and you barely make out what it's trying to say :


"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."

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.

Just pitch, black, darkness.



Nothingness.


You died.


You died a bloody, horrible death. Along with the rest of the remaining few.



Then, silence.


DURR END.









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.


So, thankyou for to whoever that's left. I bid a very enthusiastic hand-wave.


HI!

Tom's Thumb Is Stuttering From Stamping That Stump.

Holy sweet raping tentacles of Krakken, it's been forever and one night since I was last here.

HI GU..

:D

:|


This is awkward.

I'M SORR..

...yeah



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.



Holy Tweet.


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 "-16" , 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.

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 ;


*sobs*



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..

Don't you miss my metaphorical, exaggerated nonsense ? :D

Don't y-

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.

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.

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.

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 :)

Two Thousand Ten Tools, Thorns, And Tins.

Can you believe it ? . Can you believe that Hitler only had one testis ? . And even with his singular seed-maker, he did far more devastation than any ol' regular pair of ball bearers could ever unleash. Unbelievableh.

I can't believe how frikkin' fast 2009 took a dump, flushed it and disappear forever too.

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.


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.


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,

that,

.....


that,


....











..I'm turning 20 this year.


YES, THE BIG TWO-O . The age where there's no longer a -teen behind your age, but a -ty. TWENT-TY ! . Which doesn't stand for ;

T = Too
Y = Young

But,

T = Tata'
Y = Youth.


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.

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.

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.


Pass me today's paper and my morning coffee, ADULTHOOD HERE I COME ! *putting on the fakest face of enthusiasm ever.


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.


AGE IS JUST A NUMBE- who am I kidding. If only there's such thing as twenTEEN.

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.


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 :) .


Happy Twenty-O'-Ten guys :)

Blue Heu To Boo Who.

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.

AND SOMETHING, DEFINITELY IT DOGGAMN WAS.


I'm talking about,




and if more specifically, in glorious 3D.


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.


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 ?) .

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.


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.


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, Mat Confirm) 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.

Oh shit, wait -










Neh. Papa Smurf in the first picture turned blue for rubbing Colloidal Silver on his face. And the second, are just a bunch of guys that are watching you right now from the nearest window.


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.

Put A Stop On The Top Of That Pot.

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 :)

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

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

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


Or even a simple,

"Aiyaq ni tawaq hebiaq, macam teloq ghebuih" .

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


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


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

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

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

Rate The Red Rat Right

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

Starring :
Haziq Nazli
Imran Matin

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

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

Rule your f-in world, Redbull.