Wednesday, June 30, 2004
new age "men"
Front page of today's Star Two:
The accompanying news article here and here.
Exerpts from the two articles:
Azalina also commended SMK Seafield’s all-boy team, Vulcanz, calling them “new age men” and said that they were very brave to perform at an event that most would consider an all-girl event.
SMK Seafield’s Vulcanz all-boy team staved off fierce competition to take home the Best Newcomer award that came with a cash prize of RM500 and a RM200 hamper from Clean & Clear.
Best Newcomer, Vulcanz Team B (all-boy) from SMK Seafield, Subang Jaya
Squad captain Lim Chee Wei, 18
"We wanted to promote the unpopular group of cheerleaders. We did it and made it to become Best Newcomer and we are very proud and happy. I think guys can cheer as long as they do not cheer with poms.
We were just hoping our performance would touch people and that they could see what we really wanted to show to the world, that in anything, you cannot separate genders and that both sexes can do anything so do not be sexist."
Everybody please tell me they fucking laughed when they first saw it. I have nothing against guy cheerleaders. In fact, I think that guy cheerleaders are smart bastards. In a normal cheerleading team, here's why:
1) The guys are in charge of the stunts, they throw and catch the girls -- hence lots of physical contact.
2) They get to hang around girls.
3) Cheerleaders are fit and in good physical condition. Plus, after a routine, they get sweaty and everything -- guys dig that.
4) They get to hang around girls.
5) You get to be around the chicks when they are at the highest of highs and lowest of lows.
6) And we all know about female dynamics. When sad or happy, they like to hug people for some fucking reason.
7) They get to hang around girls.
8) Those guys are damn horny.
So, guys in a co-ed team, I fully understand. But an all guy team? That's just gay. I have a theory. I think those guys were ordinary horny guys who wanted to join the girl's team. You know, get to know girls and for the above reasons. Probably one of those girls were not too happy. Or maybe their teacher advisor wasn't too happy with that idea of close proximity between the guys and girls. So, they were asked to start their own team. They were then torn in a dilemma. Should they sell their soul? Or should they allow their devious plot to get exposed? The logic : they could still train together with the girls and get advice from the girls. Also, they could show their 'sensitive' side and chicks dig that too. But somehow, and somewhere in the process, they confused their 'sensitive' side for their
bapok gay ahqua feminine side.
In Joey Tribbianni's words:
"Its like a woman wanting to be a...a...a penis model!!"
random holy stuffs
**Theres a damn disclaimer at the bottom of the page. Read it first**
For me, there are two types of people. Holy people and unholy people. There is no such thing as being in-between.
Me, I am a scum and proudly so. I drink, I gamble, I lie, I curse and swear. And I make no pretentions to that. Oh, and porn too. Porn, its a beautiful thing. Every guy watches it, and those who don't are liars. Most girls are not dying to see it, but are curious to the bone, those who aren't are uninformed and will have problems in the future.
But everytime I tell a dirty joke, and when people laugh, they end up saying, "You are a dirty bugger cause you have lots of dirty jokes." Not true, the only reason I have lots of dirty jokes is down to good memory for these stuffs. Being a dirty bugger -- well, you laughed didn't you? Means you understand it. Means you are just as dirty as me, no?
Also, this world is full of irony. I am not at all a religious person. I am governed by my own rules and my own morals. This for some reason makes some people unhappy -- because everybody must follow a certain God, or so it seems. Preachers. I am talking about those scum of human beings who try to convert me to their faith.
However, those people, on the Saturday night are out with me drinking till they get pissed drunk, swear more than me and wake up the next morning to ask God to forgive them for their sins. The next week, the same thing happens. Also, there are people who think that all traffic rules are absolved because they are visiting a place of worship. This means that they can triple-park their cars and block the road. It is still committing an offence and just because you want to go and pray, that is not a justification. So why bother to pray and do good things while breaking rules in the process?
If you want to do something, do it right, and follow all the rules. Don't do it half and half. That's just not right.
Oh, and by the way, I would really like to congratulate the old people who started youth fellowship in places of worship. What was meant to be a bleeding good idea to get youngsters to go and pray, turned out to be a free dating filter service for a lot of people -- well, most of the people I know anyway.
They have activities like bands, camps and stuffs like that. Good. Its keeps kids of the streets by allowing them to do productive stuffs. Looking for a girlfriend who can cook? Join the fellowship, go for their camps and pick out the best cook. Want to date the lead singer in a band? Sure, join the fellowship and get to know him. And this is something with Chinese guys. Always looking for chick with long hair, can play piano and can sing. Where to find? Fellowship choir! Oh, besides that, it really filters out the scums from the good people. Cause scum like me will never go for things like that. So, most of the guys there are good people. And holy people.
Then there's the parent factor. You will never have to worry about your parents objecting to a relationship with people of a different religion. Also, when meeting your girlfriend's parents for the first time.
GF's Dad : Scum! Where did you meet my daughter? She is not a piece of trash that you can pick up from the street you know.
You : Yes, uncle I know. I met her in fellowship camp. She was sitting next to me when we were praying to God.
GF's Dad : Wah, you are such a religious boy ar? Good good. Welcome to my house.
You see, if something is done, there's always a fucking reason behind it. For those of you who joined a religious youth fellowship to pray and to get to know more young people who are equally dedicated to God as you are, good on you, my apologies for offending you and your fellowship, and may God Bless You. For the rest of you scum, stop lying and join the scum club.
Monday, June 28, 2004
death wish - thamby's account
I felt depressed. My goldfish just died two weeks ago. He was like a faithful servant to me. Everyday after coming home from my work as a newspaper boy, when my feet are hurting and my bones aching, I always sit in my wooden bamboo chair and look as Bubba swam around peacefully in his tank.
When Bubba died, my life was filled with sorrow. My wife of 15 years, Tangachee, became pissed off with my attitude. She felt that my mourning was a display of love and attachment to the Bubba was more than her. She became jealous and walked out on me taking our little 2 year old daughter, Mani -- the sirih of my eye, and our only source of entertainment -- our black and white TV.
Just now, after dinner I had just finished smoking my last Gudang Garam cigarette. With Tangachee gone, my source of income had depreciated. You see, she worked as a servant for a rich Malay family who treated her well and gave her a lot of money. She would usually give me that money so that I could buy beer every night. Tonight, without any beer or fags, I really didn't know what to do.
I put on my favourite black POMA t-shirt which I bought from an Ah Beng in the pasar malam. He sold it to me for only RM20, considering the fact that if I bought it in Sunway Pyramid, it would have cost me RM150. Ah Beng said that it was so cheap because when they printed the shirt, the machine jammed and closed the opening at the U and thus it became POMA. Otherwise, Ah Beng assured me it was 100% original. At first, I didn't trust him cause he had red hair. Then I realised that this was the same Ah Beng who had earlier sold me a funky kind of light which flashed when I put it near anybody with a handphone, only that his hair was yellow back then, like the colour of the sun.
I also donned a black baseball cap and my black work pants. I hopped onto my old motorbike which belonged to my dad until he passed away some 15 years ago, around the same time I met Tangachee. As I kick started the engine, I noticed that the motorbike lights had fused as well. Never mind, I thought, the streetlights were bright enough. I then went to Tangachee's parent's house to look for her and beg for forgiveness. Well, I had to. I had already ran out of cigarrettes and I haven't had a Guiness Stout in 2 weeks.
After much persuasion and apology, promising to worship the floor she walked on, she agreed to return with our daughter. Little does she know that I will beat her soundly when she gets home. Bitch. Anyway, on the way back to our flat, I passed the row of houses in which Tangachee worked for. The street lights were fused, but it didn't matter much to me because I wanted to get home as soon as possible. It didn't matter that both Tangachee and Mani were also wearing black. It didn't bother me that my motorbike was made to fit 2 people and not 3. Mani was small. Tangachee could hold her on her lap and sandwich her between herself and me.
As I was flying down the lane like Evil Kenival, I noticed a shiny brown car heading towards me. It was then I realised that I was riding in the wrong lane, but it didn't matter since it was a small road. My cat eyes told me that there was a young cool dude driving that car. Hah. Not as cool as me though. I had a POMA shirt. He was wearing PUMA. Mine is unique. I figured, because of his age, he would hav to give me the right of the way. Young kids these days, I tell you have no manners at all. He just kept driving into my direction.
I didn't want to show him that I was a chicken. I continued my path. I was pretty sure he saw me even though I was fully dressed in black, had dark complexion, and didn't have lights on my bike. About 10 feet away from me, the young arrogant boy finally jammed his tyres. Guess he didn't have the balls to run into me. Why he gave me a loud horn, I have no idea. Maybe he was showing his appreciation for my daredevil stunt. As I rode my motorbike past him, he gave me a cold stare which I replied with a smile showing him my flawlessly white teeth.
I sped off in the same direction I was heading, trying to look for more victims I could bully into jamming their brakes to make way for me.
death wish - vincent's account
I just got my permanent driving license today. After 2 years of driving around in that ridiculous big red 'P' sticker (**), it was good to drive as a normal driver. If there is anybody worse than Penang drivers, its KL drivers. Motherfuckers will not hessitate to tail your backside for fun. Those same fuckers will travel at 40kmph only to accelerate suddenly when you try to overtake them.
However, this was different. I went to buy some groceries from my mum after dinner. On my way back home, in the dark lane in which my house sits on, I encounter a dumb fuck with a death wish. You see, my housing area is governed by a dumb fuck of a politician. That street lamp had been fused ever since I was a small kid and it had NEVER been changed in more than 10 years. Every election time, he says that he will get down to it, but along with repairing the roofless bus stop, the bloody lier never does.
Now, this dumb fuck I met, was an Indian guy as dark as the night. If he didn't already have a mirror to tell him that, his wife and young daughter could have told him that. In addition, the bloody thamby was wearing a black t-shirt and a black helmet. Of course, I didn't find out about this till much later. Oh, and he had a small matter of riding his motorbike which didn't have any lights on. But that was only a small matter I reckon.
As I was driving down my lane, I obviously could not see the fucker. I am not an old man, there is nothing wrong with my eyes. Its just the simple law of science. If you put a dark object in a background where light is absent, you are not going to see shits. So the stupid thamby, who could obviously see the lights from my car, made no effort to avoid me or move out of my way.
Some 10 feet away, the Gods were looking down upon him for the moon suddenly got brighter and I saw an outline of a shadow. Immediately I jammed on my brakes. Like a baby turtle emrging from its shell, I saw the dumb fuck for the first time. As he rode past me, I gave him a cold, long hard stare. The bastard's response? A smile to show me his fucking white teeth.
I don't give a fuck if people want to commit suicide.
Its none of my business if they want to use a gun, a rope, or gravity.
But I draw the line when they want to involve me.
You see, the bloody fucker probably didn't understand Newton's 3rd Law of motion. Every force applied has an equal and oposite reaction. That means if the git rammed his bike into my car with a force of 1000N, my car will apply exactly the same force back at him. And when riding a bike, it is not a very good idea getting that amount of force affecting you. It means, that you, your young wife and your two year old kid will get thrown in the air. It also means that I won't have another peaceful night of sleep ever for the rest of my life. But apparently, the asshole thought it was something to smile about.
** Note for my foreign readers - 'P' licence is a probationary licence that we have to use for 2 years after passing our driving test, under which we are under probation and that licence can be suspended if we are involved in an accident**
land of ah bengs
On Saturday, one of the first few things I did after reaching KL was to accompany my brother to the passport office in Subang to collect his passport.
There, I saw a fucking lot of Ah Bengs. You know, those with colourful handphones. They are always either overdressed or underdressed. Like wearing their pyjamas in public. Or colouring their hair with streaks of blonde. And wearing their trademark black waist pouch which they use to put money, handphone, girlfriend's picture, and spaceship keys. Also, they were speaking in the typical Chinaman Ah Beng tone which I absolutely cannot understand.
I dunno whether its just that Ah Bengs are rich (because of the pirated VCD business) and frequently travel around, hence the need for lots of passports, or that I haven't seen a proper Ah Beng in such a long time that I confuse every average Chinese Joe for an Ah Beng.
I am confused. Maybe in the next few days, more exposure to Ah Bengs will help me differentiate the real deals from the wannabes.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
jabba the bitch
I hate flying.
Actually, I think I would enjoy it better if I was flying first class. But regardless, lets just assume that I hate flying. Theres not much room to spread my hands. Theres not enough space to stretch my legs. Its fucking boring too.
But the joy and the thought of home overcomes all. There seems to be a different spirit, a totally overwhelming emotion when about to reach home after being away for so long. In my two previous trips back, I happened to be sitting next to some English dudes going for holiday in Malaysia. Nice blokes really, and I took real pleasure into telling them about our beautiful land.
This time however, was a totally different story. Firstly, I was not too pleased by the dude in the check-in counter. I requested an aisle seat, to which he said alright. After collecting my boarding pass, I forgot to check it, and to my bloody horror, the dude put me in a horrible seat. Those of you not familiar with a Boeing 747, the seats are placed in a 3-4-3 formation. (Haha. Football season mah) That means that there are 3 seats followed by an aisle, then 4 seats in a row seperated by the final 3 seats of row by the aisle. I was given the seat number 33F which meant that I was in the middle section of seats with 2 people on my left and one on my right.
When I got on the plane, I was left flabbergasted by my companions for the flight. On my left sat two thin Malay girls in tudung (headscarf). Not much to complain about them though. However, on my right, sat a lump of blob. She was also a Malay girl and also wearing a tudung. Now, this pile of human fats was actually scary and reminded me of Jabba the Hutt. Looking at this female Jabba, her spare tyres (yes, TYRES...plural) were spilling out of the sides of her Baju Melayu (Malay dress). Even though covered by the tudung, I would have bet my life that she had more than one chin.
Ok, so what if Jabba is fat, you ask? What has it got to do with me? Well, fucking a lot if you consider the size of the seats in economy class and she was next to me. Not suprisingly, her massive shish kebabs that she calls arms were spilling over to my side. Not only was she taking up the entire handrest, she was actually taking up a bit of my space. Being the nice guy that I am, I didn't want to hurt Jabba's feelings by telling her that she was fat (although the mirror probably told her that already). And so, I let it be, and I leaned to the left of my seat a bit.
This was when the problem started. The girl on my left thought that I was a horny bastard and wanted to lean on her shoulders. She then leaned to her left a bit to avoid me, thus creating a dominos effect first started by Jabba. Well, sod both of them. I didn't have much sleep the previous night and so I took a little nap.
Another reason why I can't fucking stand long journeys is cause I can't sleep on planes. Car, train, bus, bicycle -- not a problem. But not an aeroplane. I dunno why. I woke up after only half an hour because my nose senses were tingling. To my asthonishment, Jabba was applying Minyak Cap Kapak (medicated oil) on her bloody temples. Now, those of you who are not familiar with Minyak Cap Kapak -- good for you. Its fucking smelly in my opinion. Its something that you either love or hate. And I fucking hate it.
Fine. I bite my teeth. And decide to take a piss. Obviously it would make more sense to ask her to stand up instead of the other two. She willingly obliged, smiled and let me pass. Again, the same thing when I had to get back to my seat. So I thought, ok, maybe Jabba is pretty nice anyway. I forgave her for her lumps of carnivor desert and the smelly oil. For the meantime anyway.
Now, this fat fuck, she is fucking lazy I reckon. Thats probably how she got so fat. 12 hour flight and she only woke up to eat and drink. Also, she has a very noticable problem with both her bladders and her bowels. In those 12 hours, she only went to the toilet ONCE and when she did, she was away for 20 minutes. I dunno where all the water she drank went. At first, I figured that maybe the water she drank was all absorbed by the fats in her body. However, upon second thought, that was not possible as I learned in school that water and oil do not mix. So, still puzzled to where all that water went.
I have a small bladder, and it doesn't help that I can't sleep. So I drank a shit load of Pepsi. What goes in, must come out. The second time I wanted to go, she was fast asleep. After saying "excuse me" for more than 5 times, I gave up and decided to prod her arm with my index finger. However, the pressure exerted by my finger forced the fats apart and my finger was drowning in all that recycled oil. At the same time, the two girls on my left decided to take a piss at the same time too. So I went out from that side. However, when I wanted to get back to my seat, those two had already taken their seat, and I had to wake up Jabba.
Again, after whispering into her ears, she still won't fucking wake up. Again, I had to poke her. This time, she stirred. She looked at me with a pissed off face sort of thinking,"Why you wake me up?" "Cause fatty, you are sitting in the aisle seat and you need to let people in and out," I thought. However, being the polite chap that I am, I said softly," Excuse me please, I need to get in."
Jabba : "Err...masuk sajala." [Err...just go in]
Vincent : "Huh? How?"
Jabba : (pointing to the small space of around 1 foot wide between her feet and the seat in front of her)
Vincent : (thinking, how the fuck am I going to fit into that small space? Does she think that shes thin?)
Jabba : Masuk la! [Just go in]
I had to squeeze in to my seat from that narrow space. My asscheeks rubbed against her knees. I suspect she did that on purpose to get the kicks out of it or something. After being forced to suck in my stomach, I finally managed to squeeze in.
After that, I was not too pleased to go to the toilet cause I didn't want to talk to the stupid fat cow anymore. 9 hours into the flight, I needed to piss again. Up to that point, Jabba had yet to go to the toilet. I figured, she had to go sooner or later. So I risked spoiling my bladder to wait for her to go take a shit and vacate her seat. Half an hour later, she finally went to the toilet, and did not return for more than 20 minutes. I reckon that was one seriously bad case of constipation. Probably because of immobility, which made her shit solidify into a solid hard rock.
However, I don't think that her asshole would have hurt very much cause of all the fats which, when pressed and compressed could be squeezed into liquid oil, which could have been used for lubrication.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Its so close.
I can smell the nasi lemak in my nostrils.
I can taste the bak kut teh on my lips.
I can see the charcoals of the satay grill.
In exactly 24 hours time, I will be touching down on Malaysian soil.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Life as a student involves a shit load of packing. Packing is a bitch. Imagine having to shift house 3 times a year. Only thing that we don't exactly shift house. We put our stuffs in boxes just for the KICK of it. And then after the holidays, unpack everything again, put the posters back on the wall, tack all the cables to the walls, and arrange all the fat ugly cotton animals on the window sill. Actually, thats the case for students staying in university halls.
For the rest of us staying in houses, its a much better situation. We only need to pack up our stuff once a year when we shift house after that. But then, as opposed to staying in halls, students in houses have even more shit to deal with. And that makes packing an even bigger bitch.
The trick behind all that is actually very simple. Use both big and small boxes. Big boxes are reserved exclusively for things like pillows and clothings -- light stuff. Small boxes are used for books and notes. That way, the boxes are fully utilised and the weight is managable. Unfortunately, many people do not use their heads when packing their stuffs. For a lot of people, its better to have as few boxes as possible. They resort to using mother of huge boxes, like boxes which people put fridges in.
Most of the time, those retards, and unfortunately most of the time girls, are not able to lift the boxes and then ask help from their male friends. The reason I say it is girls is cause the guys will never ask help -- they need to maintain their macho image even if it means breaking their backbones. Their friends who are obliged to help then get backaches by lifting stones.
I once saw a China-man carry a mother of a huge suitcase onto a bus. Buses here have a special compartment in the front so that people can put their bags. Anyways, the dumb fuck dragged his bag onto the bus and left his bag in the middle of the corridor. The bus driver then asked him to put the bag on the compartment. He replied that he couldn't lift it cause it was too heavy. The bus driver then decided to help him. Now, the bus driver was a big black dude more than 6 feet tall. Think Ving Rhymes. He underestimated the weight of the bag. First he tried to lift it with one hand. It barely budged 2 inches off the ground. Then using both hands, he finally managed to get the bag on to the compartment. I could literally see his big muscular hands shaking after that. I ain't got a fucking clue how the stupid China-man even got the bag from his house to the bus stop.
The point is, why the fuck do people like to pack a bag which they can't carry themselves? Many a time in the bus station or the train station, you see a thin chick trying to drag her bag up the stairs. Most of the time, you get kind souls who help her carry the bag. But then again, the level of kindness shown is usually directly proportional to the size of her boobs.
Moral of the story : If you can't carry a bag or box that you packed, its not because you are weak, its cause you are stupid enough to pack it so heavy.
adventures from prague - amusing roadsigns
This has been bugging me ever since I saw it. Even more than the armoured dick guard. All over Prague, the streets were littered with this sign at the most of the junctions. And it pisses me off when I can't figure out something.
What the fuck does that mean? No playing football on the streets? Fair enough. But surely you don't need a signboard to tell you that. All you need is a brain.
Then it confused me even more when I saw this:
Now, as you can see, this signboard was placed at the junction where there was a tramline passing through. This time, the sign doesn't have the red line running across it. Does this mean that people can play football there? Does not help that there is a big Nike football at the top of the building.
What more, it is actually a picture of an adult playing football with a small kid and shows a picture of a car approaching at the junction about to crash straight into them. Is this an encouragement for accidents? Does the small kid symbolise anything? Fuck I dunno. Anybody with any wise ideas??
These damn communists sure are a bunch of confusing, not to mention horny people.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
When I was a kid of about 7 years old, I started to take a liking into the beautiful game of football. I kicked a ball for the first time at that age, although it wasn't really a ball, it was a flattened aluminium can.
I first went to a stadium to watch a proper game two years later. My best friend, Joe invited me along since his father was taking him. I still remember that game. Selangor vs Sabah in Shah Alam stadium. I learned the proper ettiquttes of watching a game in a stadium. It was then that I was first exposed to the real passion of the beautiful game.
I understood the passion and learned a lot of holy words from fellow supporters. Within those 90 minutes, football fans of the same team were united under one colour -- the colour of the team. The colour of your skin and your social status were not important. I saw construction workers in their safety boots scream and curse as loud as rich businessmen who drove Mercedes to the stadium.
After a while, I could even sing the official song of Selangor (Merah Kuning Lambang Kebanggaan). I knew all the players names at the back of my hand -- not only the first team, but the reserves as well. Selangor won the Malaysia Cup (the highest prize in Malaysian football) 3 consecutive times from 1995-1997. With the emergence of Astro, coupled with the bribery scandal which rocked the core of Malaysian football (more than a quater of ALL the league players were implicated) I switched attention to English football.
I thought I was passionate about the game. I was wrong. I did not learn the real meaning of passion until I came to the UK. If there's anybody who loves their football more than Brazilians, its the English. Anybody in England, regardless whether you are a fan or not, should make an effort to catch an England international game in the pub. I know a lot of friends who have TVs in their houses and prefer to watch it there. Well, they have no idea how much they are missing.
I just came back from England vs Croatia. My ears are still ringing. For starters, we went to the pub TWO hours before kick-off. All the seats were already taken. At least we managed to find a good spot to stand. Over the next hour, hoardes of people after work started coming into the pub. Around 6.45pm -- thats 1 hour before the kick-off, the capacity of the pub was breached. 200 people crammed into a small area, everybody standing side by side. Those who underestimated the importance of coming early were barred entry at the door. There was just simply no space to squeeze any more people in.
The atmosphere at the pub was second to none. Before the game starts, when the national anthem is sung, you get goose bumps listening to the whole pub sing along in unison. If hearing 200 drunk people around you sing God Save the Queen, albeit out of tone, doesn't give you a sense of belonging, then surely nothing can.
From the first whistle, people were singing and banging on the tables. Coupled by the fact that Croatia scored first, and even though England were losing, nobody stopped singing and cheering. I have been to enough England games to know their songs, and there is no better way to soak up the atmosphere than to sing along to Rule Brittania. Chants of Ing-Ger-Land are still vibrating through my head and my throat is sore from the screaming the name of Rooo-ney. Pop concerts are NOTHING compared to this.
Everytime a goal is scored, you are bound to see beer flying in the air. Why? Cause a lot of fat blokes, who are standing with a pint of lager in their hand get excited and start flinging their hands around, thus throwing all that good alcohol in the air. Nobody complains when the beer lands on their head -- everybody is too busy cheering. Doesn't matter if you are a stranger. Doesn't matter if you are a foreigner. As long as you don the England colours and support their team, you are one of them. You join strangers in a group hug. Random people shake your hands. Jubilant fans give you a high five. All united under one flag, one banner.
When we left the pub, the floor was as wet as a fish market. This was due to all the beer which was spilled and thrown in the air during the game. The bar staff were not unhappy at the mess they had to clean up, they were busying singing as well. Even after leaving the pub, everybody poured onto the streets and kept singing wholeheartedly.
I have seen a lot of games in my life. I have seen jubilant Selangor fans stand on their seats and stomp, causing a mini-earthquake within Shah Alam stadium. I have seen a dude fling his half eaten Ramli burger from the second tier of the stadium to the bottom tier cause he was unhappy with the referree. I have joined in countless number of Mexican waves. But nothing, and I mean nothing can compare to the atmosphere I experienced today. If there was anybody in that crowd who went in uneducated about the passion of the game, I can safely say that everybody left that pub with love of the game pouring out of their hearts.
Sunday, June 20, 2004
adventures from prague - armoured dick guard
In my two most recent trips, first to London and then to Prague, I have seen a lot of armours. No, not the sissy armoured skirts which were used by the Romans. I am talking about those full body armours used by cavalries. However, I noticed something very odd about some of the armours.
This picture was taken in the Tower of London. I don't have any pictures of this from Prague because we were not allowed to take pictures in the museum. As you can see, I have taken the liberty of circling the mysterious detail of the armour.
At first,when I saw this in London, I didn't give much thought about it because, upon further inspection, there was sort of a cap and latch where the dick guard could be opened. So I figured, this was so that the guy could open the cap, yank out his dick and
wank pee without much trouble.
However, the armour I saw in Prague did not have such a cap and latch mechanism. This meant that the guy wearing the armour would not use it to pee. Now, before you all shout and say that it is a dick-guard to protect the guy's dick, here's something to think about :
1) Its way too big.
2) Its way too high up.
3) Knights wear a chain mail (flexible iron shirt) under the armour anyways, so his dick would be under the chain mail in the first place.
4) Assuming there is no chain mail, that dick guard would only protect his dick if he had an erection in the middle of the battle -- something not very likely when faced with equally ugly men aiming to kill you.
5) Its actually not the dick which people want to protect, its the balls.
6) These kind of armours are worn by cavalry and knights -- people on horses. Their dicks and balls are not at all exposed to dangerous situations.
Besides the above, also in the museum in Prague, I saw an exhibit of a funeral dress. The strange thing about it, it was made from velvet and had exactly the same bulge coming out of the pants. This made me fucking confused. Assuming all my above 6 points were wrong and it was indeed used for protection -- that myth would now be dispelled as a dead guy would not need protection, and certainly not with a velvet dress.
The best explaination I could think off -- its for showing off. Make your enemy think you have a giant dick. Hopefully, they get scared of you and run away. As for the funeral dress, the guys wife would probably stuff the velvet dress with rocks, so that people would envy her husband for having such a big sausage.
Still very much confused though....
This is it. Post number 100.
It seems not too long ago when I used to critisize blogs. I blame Google for it. You see, I heard about this latest craze of blogging and decided to check it out. Google searched a few, and the end results were dissapointing. It seemed like the only things bloggers did was to talk about what they did in their life. Its ok if you are reading an article by a friend, but if a stranger wrote along those lines and you do not know anything about the person, that would make it a fucking boring piece of literature.
I was then recommended Belle de Jour which supposedly won UK blog of the year. Again I was not convinced. I wasn't quite bothered about reading about the exploits of a London prostitute. And I figured, if that blog was the best British blog, then hell, I ain't going to like any others. This was a fact I later learned -- blog awards are most of the time not very accurate. Many a blog I have seen deserve a mention but were not even in the top 10 of a few blog awards due to lack of publicity.
Then found MichaelOoi who wrote with an unique sytle of cursing and taking the piss. I loved it because it was something which was very "me". And so I figured, since I had always loved writting and I have always been cursing and have a habit of taking the piss, why not combine it into one and do it at the same place.
So, this blog was born in the middle of my Easter holidays -- a time when I had a 3rd year project to worry about and an exam to revise for. It became an obssession. My characteristic mindset (which I am not ashamed of) was to show people what I could do. The theme would undoubtedly be me. Personal, but not so much. What you read is what you get, but I am never going to indulge strangers about the most personal of my inner thoughts. Many a blog I have read have talked about a guy they were chasing, a girl they shagged last night, and a break-up they suffered. That, I reckon is exposing too much to the outside world -- people who have no right to know.
100 posts and more than 5000 hits later, I have had my fair of rave reviews, sincere or otherwise (I thank Nedstats for helping me with spotting the kiss ass people -- why kiss my ass, I haven't got a clue). I have also come under a considerable amount of critisism and controversy, upon which I thrive upon. I learned that there are a lot of stupid people out there -- people who do not like what you write but nevertheless feel it necessary to torture themselves into reading your entire archive and visit your site everyday. Do what I do. When I see a blog I do not like, I just close the darn window.
And since getting into blogging, I found a few that I really like, my daily reads -- with a taste of a Malaysian flavour. Of course, MichealOoi, with his vocabulary and a scary talent for creative insulting. There's Drliew, KancilKiller, Viewtru who are capable of humour using very little holy language. Metalrage writes another good blog with a kind of sick humour which has to be taken in good fun. Then there's Minishorts which I really love the writting style and language -- written in a way which I have always tried to do in school but was never successful. Maomaobaby is a typical girl's blog, but I have taken this into liking because most of her opinions and sentiments echo that of mine, so I can relate to a lot of the things that she writes.
As I said earlier, some blogs are nothing more than an expression of one's self. Blogs which mutilate my cursor into a million stars, blogs which have a yellow background with small white fonts which require a magnifying glass to read contribute to the increasing thickness of my spectacles, blogs with an overused amount of Flash and blinking stars and blogs with music playing in the background drowning out my own MP3. I used to hate those. But then, I realised something that I had known all along, that blogs are actually weBLOGs, and are an expression of one's self. Just as I use holy language to express myself, some people think it suitable to use small light fonts against a gawdy background to express themselves. Fair play to them then.
But nevertheless, mine is still a BitchingLOG. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
adventures from prague - the retarded pigeon
Kay went into the post office to buy stamps for a postcard. Inverse and Lai were outside chatting. Me, as the professional navigator was looking at the map deciding which the shortest route to our next destination would be.
(Note: As the only guy, I appointed myself the official map reader, because if I gave the task to any of the girls, I would get tired walking round and round in circles)
Outside the Post Office is a postbox. Now, Czech postboxes are damn small. Don't know why. It is about 2 feet tall and 2 feet long with a depth of about a foot. Basically, it is an enlarged version of postboxes in houses. Now this postbox was hung on the wall about 3 feet off the ground.
Near where the girls were standing were a few pigeons. A big fat Czech dude stormed out of the postoffice, and I reckon this scared the shit out of the pigeons.Literally, cause one of the pigeons managed to find time to take a shit on the ground before taking flight The other pigeons followed suit. Except for this sohai pigeon. It was happily standing under the the postbox, lazing around in the shade. When he saw his friends fly away, he decided to join the bird party.
Only problem is that the dumb fuck forgot that he was standing under the postbox. His built in radar must have malfunctioned because he took flight and smacked his bird brains into the bottom of the postbox, giving out a sharp yelp of pain. Still in the air and trying to maintain balance, this dumb bird then flapped his wings a litle more trying to take off. Unfortunately, he probably got a mini concussion and was then forced to land just a couple of feet away from me.
Being a tourist, ever ready with a camera in hand, I decided to make the stupid pigeon famous. Here is a picture of the most low-life of dumb birds:
Upon further inspection, notice that the sohai's feet are well, missing a number of things. One the left foot, one of his toes is missing. On the other foot, all the toes are missing.
I then deduced that smacking his head on the postbox wasn't exactly an isolated incident. I reckon that this pigeon is really a dumb retarded pigeon. Either that or he is fucking clumsy. It is prety obvious that he lost those toes in other mishaps.
There are a few I can think of:
1) He was trying to screw around with a female pigeon. Being clumsy, he kept shoving his mini pigeon dick into the wrong hole. This made Mrs. Pigeon very angry and she bit off his toes to feed their children.
2) He was perching on an electric cable. As we all know, it is ok if birds perch on one cable. But if they somehow touch two cables at the same time, they become fried chicken. I suspect, this retarded pigeon might have been perching on one cable, developed vertigo, slipped and touched two cables at the same time, thus frying his toes off.
3) However, the most probable explanation -- this is the same sohai bird that got knocked by MichaelOoi's car a few weeks ago. His story here (25th May)
Conclusion: Birds are stupid. Just look at the size ratio of their head to their body and you will understand why.
Friday, June 18, 2004
just for the record
It seems I am macho man. Over the last few days........
Vincent : Kate Beckinsale is damn chune la.
Friend#1 : Hmph! Why all you guys like her ar? Even my boyfriend loves her. He will probably dump me to go out with her.
Vincent : Errrr.....I would do that too. Haha.
Friend#1 : Fuck you. When did you start liking her? Pearl Habour?
Vincent : Nope. Serendipity. Cool show.
Friend#1 : WTF?? Serendipity? OMFG! Vincent Lau the macho guy likes Serendipity??
Vincent : ......
Friend#2 : I missed City of Angel on TV just now. Damn!
Vincent : Oh? It was on TV? City of Angels is a cool show.
Friend#3 : Did I hear it right? Vincent likes City of Angels??
Vincent : Err....yeah. Cool what.
Friend#3 : Oh. Lagak macho but actually like chick flicks eh? Haha.
Vincent : ......
So yes. Just for the record. I like Serendipity. Partly cause of Katie. I also like City of Angels. Thats partly cause of Meg Ryan too. In addition, I like You've Got Mail too.
But I can't stand A Walk to Remember. That's one hell of a fucked up show with crap actors and a crap storyline coupled with a fucking bad script.
So yeah...thats just for the record.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Back from Prague. But not quite home yet, I am continuing my holidays. Haha.
Anyways, in the shower just now, when I was using my LUX soap to wash my face a soap bubble managed to creep into my closed eyes and stung the fuck out of my receptors. That caused me to generate a random thought which was fuelled by my stinging but observant eyes.
If a guy cries that he misses his mother, father, brother, sister, cat, dog and cow at home, he is called a sissy pussy.
If a girl cries that she misses her mother, father, brother, sister, cat, dog and cow at home, she is called a pampered kid.
If the same guy cries that he misses his girlfriend who is studying in another town, he is a sensitive gentleman.
If the same girl cries that she misses her boyfriend who she won't see for another few weeks, then she is a faithful partner.
Fuck. Come to think about it, I have never heard anybody complaining about missing their mum or dad but I have seen a lot of people complain about how much they miss sweetpeas.
Conclusion : Young people have issues and misplaced priorities. Movies dictate that people should miss their lovers who are far away but never potraying a guy longing for home, and people like to copy that sentiment. Maybe some of those people can humour me. Just a thought, eh?
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
greetings from prague
Prague is cool. I am here with three of my friends.
Somethings I noticed in Prague:
1. The keyboards here are fucking weird. Probably to accomodate their language. BUT there are up to 4 symbols on one key, and I cant figure out how to press the aprostophe, the brackets and a few other keys. Also, the Z and the Y are in reverse order as conventional keyboards. Just to to humour everybody, this is what appears when I press 1-0 == + ě š č ř ž ý á í é
2. Czechs are fucking horny people. On the first night arriving here, we watched porn on tv. After the porn ended, we changed the channel and found more porn. We watched that too. So far, in the two days here, we have encountered 2 sex shops and a sex museum. The problem is, going with three girls, they werent too keen on the museum. Although I cant understand why. They seemed pretty happy watching porn.
3. The shop keepers and workers in general are fucking grouches. Quoting my friend, they all look like their mums died the previous day. They speak in monosyllabic language and are not very happy to say more. In the museum, we encountered a weird huge thing and asked the woman by the side what it was. Now, this woman, her only job is to sit down in the corner and make sure people dont take photos of the exhibits. If I were her, I would be happy that someone wants to talk to me. But instead, the bloody communist whore hissed back, "Hiiissssstoric STOVE!!" and then looked away. Machauhai.
4. The one bloody good thing about the country is that the food is FUCKING fantastic. Especially for carnivors like me. Seems Czechs are the largest consumers of meat in Europe. All their pork dishes are from heaven. It reminds me of the things that Chinese do with their pork. Besides, the food is freaking cheap! The beer is excellent too. Their most famous is called Budweiser, which is totally not related to the more well-known American Budweiser that we are familiar with. The difference, this one is much much better. And cheaper too. You can get 500ml of beer for only 20CSK which works out to about RM3.
More funny shits about my trip next day.
Among which include :
- 4 year old kids having sex in the airport
- Crazy taxi driver
- Retarded pigeon
- Armoured dick-guard
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Results out. No failures. No resits. I go on to the next year. Thats enough.
From Manchester to London and now to Prague.
Will be in Prague for the next few days. Hehe. As with the London trip, will probably try to blog as life without the internet, really isn't much of a life worth living.
Oh yeah heres another picture, cause apparently, the one I put earlier wasn't too nice. I liked it though. This one is better I hope. Haha.
harry pothead & cute chicks
I just watched Happy Potter and some prisoner guy.
What do I think?
- I just paid 4 pounds to watch a bunch of irritating kids running around
- Those are a bunch of bad actors
- The writer of the book is the richest woman in the UK
- Peole say the book is good, I haven't read it, but the movie -- not so much
- That movie is way too patched up and in bits and pieces
- Hermoine - not bad!!
According to Kay and Kim, because of the last statement about Hermoine being a cute chick, I have issues because apparently shes just a kid. Why?
Cause I like the Olsen Twins as well. Their image of the Olsens are kids running around in that show called Full House. But I never watched that stupid show. My image of the Olsen twins -- chune chicks who are my age and are billionaires.
Lets play a game. Anybody know who she is and anybody care to venture a guess how old she is?
**If you do know who she is, don't spoil it for everybody so quickly ok? And you can also comment on whether she's chune as well. Oh yeah, shes 6' 2" tall by the way.
Friday, June 11, 2004
I love the cold weather here. I have always professed my undying love for winter. Its like walking around in an air-cond room. The irony is that in Malaysia, a lot of people pay huge sums of money to fully air-condition their house, but when here, with a natural air-conditioning, the same people then complain about the cold.
When I get back to Malaysia for holidays, I always say I only miss 2 things about the UK. That is the weather and the super fast internet connection (but thats another story). I love the cold. In winter, I walk around wearing at the most, 2 layers of clothes, an ordinary t-shirt and a jacket. People say I am crazy. Other people say that I am trying to be macho.
But you see, the cold is better. If you are feeling cold, all you do is wear more layers. But if you feel warm, are you going to strip naked and walk around? And even so, stripping is not going to make it any cooler, because the police will arrest you and throw you in jail, and without any clothes and a bare ass especially for a guy, things in the jail are only going to get hotter, but again, thats another story.
That was winter. 3 months of people telling me how much the cold weather sucks. How much they love the warmth of the sun. How I am a psycho for wearing t-shirt and shorts. Now, its summer. It hit a high of 30 degrees Celcuis just the other day. Not as bad as in Malaysia, true. But theres also no air-conditioning here. No fans. The houses are designed to keep the heat in, not to get rid of it. Suddenly, everybody agrees with me. The heat is like burning in hell -- a fucking torture, especially with double glazed windows essentially turning your house into a greenhouse.
I've been saying it for ages. Nobody believed me. Suddenly, I summer, I am right. But next winter, I will be called crazy again. Irony eh?
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
in the face
Hehehe. Just the other day :
Vincent : Swearing is good. It should be encouraged.
Jane : Yeah! A lot of people don't like swearing....why ar?
Vincent : Yaler. Like your boyfriend....got problem wan..even you swear more than him.
Jane : Hmph!
Vincent : Its true. He has issues. In the 2 years I've known him, ain't heard him curse before. Never shit, damn, fuck....all don't have.
Jane : He does swear la. Occasionally la.
Vincent : Hmm....like..."Oh Jane, FUCK ME FUCK ME?" No wonder I never hear la.
Jane : Fuck you la machauhai pukimak tiu nya seng!!! [If you don't understand, never mind, its all holy language anyway]
Vincent : Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahah
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
bimbo, part 2
Mahai. This blog takes no prisoners. Shows no mercy. Everything is slaughtered like a lamb.
Quite some time back, I blogged about our very Miss Malaysia. I called her a bimbo, based on what she said after she won. Thanks to that article, a lot of people stumbled upon my site, some of them, I reckon were her friends, who furiously defended her. Fair enough, maybe she isn't much of a bimbo. Maybe I judged her wrongly based on a few words she said when she was happy after winning the contest.
The recently held Miss Universe contest brought more fans of hers to my site. I was discussing this plight of itchy men with Inv3rs3, and she showed me something:
First thing I did was to check out the pictures, so that she might be forgiven for being a bimbo if she was really that hot. But shes not. First reaction -- shes fat!! Got a big waistline! Its a beauty contest ok. She is quite pretty in the face. But...but..shes fat!
Ok, fair enough, maybe people thinks she has inner beauty. Next, I proceeded to watch the video. My next reaction -- shes NOT a Malaysian!! She doesn't sound Malaysian and certainly dunno much shits about Malaysia. Besides, she makes all these funny weird facial expressions which look sarcastic.
Exerpts from the video:
1) What is the latest fad in your country? -- Hehe. The latest fad would be blogging online actually. And erm, signing up with more than one gym. (heres where she raises one eyebrow and lowers the other one...like the Rock...and then she nods her head)...Weirdly enough.
[Weirdly enough alright! Yeah, blogging is something new. But surely its only concentrated in the city. Latest fad would without a doubt our mamak culture, you know, sitting by the roadside drinking a cup of tea. And signing up for more than one gym?!?! WTF?? Who does that? Maybe stupid people like her, who in spite of having so many gyms still remains fat.]
2) What is the biggest tourist attraction in your country? -- The twin towers (shes still making these weird sarcastic facial expressions. Can't get over it) Hehe. You know, where they shot Entrapment with Catherine Zeta Jones and Sean Connery. And also I would say the beaches along the East coast and Borneo as well.
[So, the Twin Towers is famous because of Entrapment? And not because it was up until recently the tallest building in the world???]
3) What is the biggest misconception about your country? -- That we can't speak English. (Raises her eyebrows again! and giggles) And erm, some people think that, erm, Malaysians still live in trees apparently. But no, we are very very modern country, you know....and its...wha..er..what a lot of people don't expect is that so many people of different races - Malay, Chinese, Indian, Punjabi and people like me, Eurasian all live together with total tolerance with respect to one another.
[While it is true that a lot of Westerners think that Malaysians can't speak English, it is also true that most people in the outskirts of town and in the smaller states really can't! So its not that big a misconception! And who the fuck thinks that we live on trees?!?]
4) Tell everyone something in your native language -- Apa khabar semua di Malaysia yang tonton ini. Terima kasih kerana..err..uhm...click sama saya di atas site ini dan kepada semua yang tidak dari Malaysia, cubala datang ke Malaysia dan anda akan experience, you know, sesuatu yang amat istimewa. What I said was a big a hello, how are you all doing to those who are in Malaysia, thanks for clicking on me and watching this, and for those of you who aren't Malaysian, you guys should really drop by because you would experience something totally spectacular.
[Thats very very bad command of BM isn't it? If you know you are going to be an ambassador of Malaysia, don't you think you should brush up on your BM first? Rather than mixing it with English, and totally stumbling all the time?]
I do not regret anything I said earlier. I was right. My first judgement...its right most of the time.
P/S : Shes much better than the Singaporean one though! That one is another major bimbo! But check out the Korean chick...shes finger licking good..
Monday, June 07, 2004
trip to the zoo
Last Saturday, I went to London Zoo. It was a nice day. I went to the zoo at 10am. But it had not opened yet, so I had to wait. I went alone because my mummy and daddy were not around to take me.
In the zoo, I saw many animals. There were monkeys, giraffe, snakes, lions, tigers and many more. The monkeys like to jump around in their cage. The snakes are lazy. They sit in their box and don't move much. I also saw a giraffe with a very long neck. It was eating leaves from the top of the tree. Lions roar a lot too. There was also a big red cow, but didn't hear him say "Moo Moo"
Around lunch time, I ate fish n chips while watching a bird show. The zoo person was showing people how eagles and owls and catch food. Luckily the eagle didn't see my fish and chips otherwise I would have to punch him for stealing my food. I also saw a show about the clever animals like the parrot.
I had a nice time, but was very tired from walking all around the place. It was a nice trip. i wish to go there again next time.
There is a problem with going to tourist attractions like the zoo -- there are just too many fucking kids. Actually, most tourist attractions have lots of kids there. Kids ranging from 3 year old menaces to 16 year old hormone unbalanced juveniles.
The other day, I had the problem with the 16 year old cows. Nearly burst my ear drums. Today, and in fact, throughout the whole trip, I encountered a lot of small kids doing stupid things:
1) Talking and screaming when the tour guide is talking. Its fucking irritating when the chune "whore" is trying to explain how Jack the Ripper killed her friends. And the damn 4 year old kid starts running around shouting disturbing everybody.
2) Kids are stupid. They know they are short, but they don't know how to look out for adults. If my eyes were not sharp and I was not alert enough, I would have walked straight into the small kids and kicked them. Also, when I was in the zoo, this dumb ass kid no taller than my knee was running to see the monkeys, and he ran into me from the back. Like running into a concrete pillar (cuz my lower leg is filled with muscles as hard as rock), the sohai kid immediately bounces of and falls to the ground crying. I say sorry although its not my fault. The stupid bitch of a mother looks at me like as though I shot her son.
In the above two cases, the parents did nothing to scold their children for being so bleeding stupid and irritating. Its like encouraging them to continue being stupid you know.
But, I also observed and overheard parents scolding the kids:
Little girl : *takes pictures of a lot of animals in the zoo*
Mother : Thats enough. You have been taking a lot of pictures already. You are not going to take anymore.
Little girl : *takes pictures of the frog in the reptile house* (yes I know frogs are not reptiles, but they were kept in the reptile house)
Mother : I said thats enough! Don't spoil our trip by making me angry!
Little girl : *sheepishly hands the camera over to her father*
Little girl : *kicks brother when walking up the stairs*
Mother : Ashley! Stop right there! (Fuck, I even remembered the name, but thats cause I like that name)
Little boy : *Grins*
Mother : Ashley! I said stop there! Stop walking!
Little girl : What?
Mother : Why did you kick your brother?
Little girl : He kicked me first!
Mother : No he didn't! I saw it. He accidentally stepped on your shoe. Say sorry to him!
Little girl : NO!
Mother : Don't make me angry
Little girl : *looks constipated. Wants to cry*
Vincent : *couldn't be fucked what happened next and walks away*
Stupid parents. Scold the kids for fighting with their brothers and for taking lots of pictures. But don't know how to scold the kids when the proper time arises.
Moral of the story : Kids are stupid. Their parents are stupider.
Sunday, June 06, 2004
feeling better now
I didn't post yesterday because I was not feeling alright.
Why not alright? Because I was temporarily half deaf.
Why half deaf? Because a bunch of horny sex deprived lunatic juvenile German and Dutch whores screamed into both my ears non-stop for around 2 hours.
I visited the London Dungeons. Its basically like a ghost house with scary exhibitions about the scary shits in the history of London. Here, when I mean scary shits, I don't mean the scary shits like my encounter with the ghost and the skeleton. I mean stuff like Jack the Ripper and torture chambers.
As we all know, every good "ghost house" would employ a few people to dress up in costumes, paint their face with tomato ketchup, and walk around trying to scare people. Now, scaring people requires either one of two things or both. First, you to take them by suprise. Like when you walk on the street one day with your mistress and from around the corner pops up your wife. You get shocked and scream.
Another way is to make them think they are going to get injured or die. Like when some crazy bitch accuses you of sleeping with her sister, and then she points a gun at your dick. You piss in your pants thinking that that would be the last duty your cock will perform and then you scream.
But I don't understand how scary it can be in a simulated "ghost house". Firstly, you already know that there are going to be people dressed up in ghost costumes just around the corner or behind the door waiting to jump at you when you pass. So, every corner you turn, you would expect something behind it. That eliminates the element of surprise.
However, there might be somethings that are really creative, like something dropping from the ceiling or popping from the ground. But, you very well know that it is not a real ghost house and hence no real ghost which can harm or injure you.
So why the fuck do you scream your fucking guts out?
Here's why. You see, I went back to my hotel room and since I couldn't watch much TV. I sat down and thought about the stuffs I noticed.
1) The guys didn't scream.
2) They laughed.
3) 9/10 teenage girls scream.
4) One case, the girl was walking behind me, and a bitch in front started screaming. I couldn't see what it was about, but the moron behind me had X-Ray vision and could see through walls, and started screaming too, even though it was clear that she saw nothing.
5) In one of the rides, I heard the girl in front of me keeping mumbling, "OMG..Help me, help me"
1) Those bloody teenage girls are attention seekers. By screaming, everybody turns and looks at them. They get to show people how ugly they are.
2) They have an inferiority complex. They think that by screaming, they can show the guys in their group that they are perfect girls -- emotional and very easily scared of things. Its true in real life, but as I said before, these exhibitions are nothing to be afraid of. And if you are really afraid, then don't go.
3) The girl asking God to help her in her time of "grave adversity" is missing a lot of screws.
Stuff I learned:
1) When entering a "Ghost House", never go in with a batch of crazy school girls.
2) Patience is the virtue, let them go in first, join the next batch.
3) In these kinda places, you need your eyes mainly, so stuff some chewing gum or something into your ears, so you don't get deaf.
Don't mess with crazy women. They can make you deaf.
P/S: London tube stations are fucking dirty.
Everytime I wipe my face the tissue turns black.
Everytime I blow my nose, the mucus is black.
Everytime I open my mouth, my tongue is still pink (thats normal la, did you expect it to be black? stupid ar?)
Friday, June 04, 2004
This blog is sort of a rojak blog, you know, everything in everywhere and all over the place. Thats cause I am sitting in a damn cybercafe which is a big Internet cafe chain, but the keyboards are a bit fucked up. Just as hard and stiff like a *ahem* joystick you know. Stupid place.
Anyways, I have lots of mails to read and lots of nightclubs to check out. But updates from London:
1) Thank you to my friend Eurydice who was nice enough to take me around London today. She came down to see her friend, who was not very free today, so I walked around town with her. Very nice companion, only that she can't cross the damn road for fucks. She nearly killed me
three five times. She reaches the junction, and walks across without looking out for cars. Once, I observed, she walked across the road without hesitation, and once in the middle of the road only did she turn her head to look at a van which was heading stright for her. Even then, she still waltzed happily across the road.
*Eurydice, I know you are reading this, I will teach you how to cross the road when we get back from London ok? Thank you for being my tour guide though*
2) Had lunch in a Malaysian kopitiam (coffeeshop) in Chinatown. Its then we realised that some Malaysians, even after being here for a while still do have a distinct Malaysian accent. We figured that we can tell whether a person is Malaysian or not, just by listening to a person talk. There was this bunch of people sitting on the table across us. They were not speaking in Manglish (Malaysian English), as it was perfect grammar. But the words they used sounded VERY Malaysian. Like saying, "I've been there adee." (already) Can't provide you with more examples cause its been a fucking long day, and my brain is tired and I have bad memory.
3) Eurydice and I took a cruise down River Thames. On board the boat, I was observing the beautiful surrounding and the enjoying the cool breeze blowing into my one layer T-shirt, making my nipples hard. Eurydice suddenly spoke in Malay to me, asking me to check out the two guys sitting in front of us. She reckoned they were a couple. I was thinking, how the hell would she know? Then upon further inspection, I noticed that they were literally sitting next to each other, like the way you would sit next to the stranger on the bus during peak time. They were leaning against each other and in perfect harmony. I even overheard them speak, and observed a distinct American accent coupled with the stereotype gay tone. Luckily we didn't see them kiss or hug or anything like that. Also, Eurydice mentioned to me that one of them was the "woman" and the other was the "man". I reckoned it was the other way around. We are still at a dilemma over that.
4) As I mentioned earlier, we thought that we could sniff a Malaysian a mile away, first judging by the way they look and dress, and next by the way they speak. Eurydice and I were at the coach station waiting to pick up her friend. I spotted a tourist counter and decided to buy tickets for Madame Tussad's so that I can jump the queue when I get there. The guy at the counter was on the phone talking to someone and told the person on the phone that he would call back. We also noticed he was eating some kind of curry chicken with rice. I asked the relevant questions and then gave him my debit card to pay for the ticket. As he was processing the debit card, he picked up the phone:
CounterGuy : Makcik. Hello. Makcik tau tak recipe untuk nasi ayam. Taruh apa ar?
(Hello auntie. Do you know the recipe for chicken rice? What do you put?)
Eurydice : *looks at me* ??????????
Vincent : *looks at Eurydice* ?????????????????????
CounterGuy : *still processing the transcation* Oohh...Tu la. Patutla saya punya rasa tak sama.
(Oh, that's why mine doesn't taste the same)
Eurydice : *Takes a brocheure and covers her face while trying not to laugh out loud*
Vincent : *Grins like a 10 year old who discovers the educational joy of the Internet*
CounterGuy : *still on the phone. Presses the mouthpiece* Ok. Here's your ticket. Thank you.
Vincent : Terima Kasih.
CounterGuy : *shocked look. Smilling* Terima Kasih.
***No shits. He did talk about nasi ayam. He did not look Malaysian and certainly did not sound Malaysian. Wrong theory then.
Greetings for London everybody!
Thursday, June 03, 2004
After one whole year of *ahem* studying, I need a break.
I'll be going down to London in the morning, and ALONE too. Not to meet up with friends, but to go sightseeing which I haven't really done. Usually, when I go down to London, I meet up with friends and they take me places like Chinatown to eat and Soho to go see stripshows (ermm...). This time, I am determined to go touristy stuffs - I repeat again, ALONE.
Sad? No. Time alone is good for health. It keeps you mentally sound. Besides, I get to do cool stuffs which not many people appreciate. Stuffs like going to the Planetarium, the damn zoo (I haven't been to a bloody zoo since I was in Form 1) and the Science Centre (dunno whether they have a Science Centre actually..hehe).
No blogs for a few days?
Maybe. But I can't really live without the Net, will probably find a cybercafe somewhere and will blog when I can.
big fat kids
I went to Manchester on Tuesday to catch the footie game between England and Japan. Nothing too exciting, except for the fact that my friends were damn scared that they would be mistaken for Japanese fans sitting in the England section, so they actually spent 25 quid each buying England jerseys to wear to the game.
But they do look Japanese anyway especially this one dude who is extremely fair. Good move.
Anyways, the three dudes who went to watch the game with me, lets call them SpecGuy, JapGuy and BridgeGuy. We were more than 2 hours early for the game after walking around the city. We landed up in this place, like a warehouse, where they bought the jerseys (they could have saved a lot more money and painted their face white with a red cross, as I advised, but they didn't listen to me). Next door to the sports warehouse was Toys'R'Us.
Vincent : Hey. Let's go Toys'R'Us. Long time never been to toy shop la.
SpecGuy : Wah. Really ar?
JapGuy : Yeah. We are macho. We can't be seen in a toy shop.
BridgeGuy : Lets go stadium and chill.
Vincent : Game won't start for another hour! Let's go. You won't regret.
MachoMen : Ok la. But 10 minutes only ok.
JapGuy : Wah. Nice man this LOTR figurine.
BridgeGuy : Yeah. This Frodo sword, if more realistic, I will buy.
Vincent : Hehehehehehe...(Grins evily to self)
SpecGuy : What you donkeys looking at LOTR for? Faggots la you all. Stupid figurines also you all attracted.
In another aisle...
SpecGuy : WAAAHHHH........NINJA TURTLES! Wah shit. Long time no see man.
Vincent : I thought you said figurines are for faggots?
SpecGuy : This one different la. I like Ninja Turtles last time la. I got Leonardo, Michealangelo and Raphael.
JapGuy : Eh? No Donatello wan? He is my favourite.
BridgeGuy : No la. Leonardo cooler. Although when I small, I support the bad guys. I like Shredder better.
Vincent : Hehehehehehe...(Grins evily to self)
In another aisle...
SpecGuy : Yuck. Power Rangers suck.
JapGuy : Eh, the original Pink Ranger damn fucking chune la. Forgot her name though.
BridgeGuy : WTF man..
JapGuy : She chune what, no meh?
BridgeGuy : Yes la. That's why I said WTF. Cannot remember her name meh? Amy Jo Johnson!
Vincent : Hehehehehehe...(Grins evily to self)
In another aisle...
SpecGuy : Wah. Look at this Gollum mask. Cool shits man.
JapGuy : Yeah, look damn real. Eh try it on. (and put one on himself)
BridgeGuy : Hehe. Eh take picture wei.
(which we did, all of us with Gollum/Smeagol masks)
Vincent : Hehehehehehe...(Grins evily to self)
In another aisle...
SpecGuy : Cool! Remote control cars!
JapGuy : Wah, fucking expensive man. But damn cool. This MiniCooper scale version 100 pounds!
BridgeGuy : Hehehe..look can test the controller. Whats this button for? *Press* *Press*
Car : Beeep Beep!
JapGuy : Wah fuck. Control car can horn also ar? Can shoo away all the other smaller control cars in the playground man.
SpecGuy : Hey look. Also got headlights, and sound of gear changing. Cools shits. I will buy when I rich next time.
Vincent : Hehehehehehe...(Grins evily to self)..Checks watch, its been 40 minutes since we walked into the Toys"R"Us.
Moral of the story : ALL GUYS love toys. Big toys or small toys are irrelevant. Find me a guy who doesn't like toys, and I would have found you a big fat liar.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
I actually have a lot of things to blog about. I just came home from watching England vs Japan, and I am half dead. However, this has been bugging me for a long time, and I received something in my e-mail which I had to get off my shoulders before I tuck into bed.
Its this stuff about Astro. As most people might already know, Astro wants to increase their subscription fee. Of course, as consumers, we want the price to stay as low as possible. No matter how any company justifies their price hike, we want it to remain the same, if not lower. So, a lot of people get pissed off. We write letters to newspapers. We write hate mails to Astro. And we complain about it online in forums, devising 1853 ways that Astro can improve their service before increasing the price.
My family has had Astro in our house since 1997, one of the first few batches of people to get "dream tv". And yes, I feel ripped off that all the years of loyalty has not payed off. Of course those people who complained has warranted reasons. You can't watch the damn thing in the rain (Although that really isn't Astro's fault). There are quite a lot of advertisements (Although Sky TV here has tons of advertisements as well on certain channels - but nobody complains). They keep repeating shows it seems (Again, Sky TV does that too).
So yes, we are cheesed off.
Put yourself in Astro's shoes. If you have an open market knowing damn well that you hold the monopoly, and knowing damn well that people can't live on free TV (cuz the programs suck), then why don't you charge as much as you possibly can?
There are programs we can't live without - like football for me. Like golf for my dad. For kids, free TV doens't provide a 24 hour cartoon channel. And as much as people complain about the repeated movies, free TV, unlike HBO doesn't go uninterrupted without advertisements (last I checked) and sure as hell don't have shows as good as HBO Saturday (or is it Sunday) night premiers. So if you fully well know that you can get away with stealing the money of your customers without breaking any laws, then why not?
Its a no-brainer really. If you have no competitors, you squeeze the blood out of everybody and make as much money as you can, until a competitor comes along, then only do you start improving your services and dropping your prices.
So stop bitching about people who are smart asses when doing business. Its just business.
P/S: Just figured something out. If you are the type who complains about repeated programs, think about this:
24 hours a day, assuming one movie is 2 hours long. Therefore, if HBO does not repeat the programs, there would be 12 new movies everyday. 360 new movies every month. See where I am getting at? Ok, now allow them to repeat the movies, a maximum of 6 times. That still means, there are 60 new movies a month. Thats just on ONE channel. We have 3 movie channels, no? Can you think of 180 A-grade movies to show - a month. Think then of 2160 new movies to show every year. Possible? Yes, but they would have to show home-made movies, and movies dating back to 1952. Therefore, in order to keep showing A-grade Hollywood movies, they have to show it more than 10 times a month, and maybe for a few months. So, think about it before complaining ok.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Being in a foreign land, we students, prudent and economical in every sense usually try to find the best deal. The cheapest stuff. Doesn't help when the Malaysian ringgit is weak against the Pound Sterling. There are limits to that though.
A common practice among most Asian students is the exploitation of customer service policies here. From my observation, the worse and most shrewd people are the Chinese, Hongkees, Malaysians and Thais.
For me personally, the worst and most common phenomena is the way a lot of people prostitute the return policy offered by stores. Most stores have a return policy which says that the customer has the right to return a certain item within a few days of purchase, no questions asked. Basically everything is covered in this policy, from televisions to tuxedos. Probably the only thing not covered is underwear and lingerie.
A common practice by some girls is to by a gown two days before a ball and return it on the day after the ball. Despicable to the core. Sometimes, I pray and hope that somebody spills some mushroom sauce on the gown, or the waiter trips and spills a whole tray of roast chicken on that 200 pound gown. Let her cry on the spot.
Then I have also heard of my friends in the US who are kinda down right fuckers. They buy a bloody wide screen TV, and use it for 3 months (cause thats the duration of the return policy for the TV) and after that, they return it to the shop saying they are not happy with it. They get their money back, and go to another shop and do the same thing. For 2 years, they had all the best and latest TVs in the market, but never had to pay a single cent for it. Big time fuckers.
Also is the case of insurance fraud. Phone companies here like to give you free insurance for a few months when you first sign up with them . Trust the damn cows to report a lost phone 2 months later and claim a new phone. This is a common practice which I despise as it shows how low we Asians can swoop down to just to get free stuff. Throwing away all sense of pride and dignity, just for a fucking 100 pound phone is quite a fucked up thing to do.
In fact, most of the phone companies already expect us to claim a lost phone after a few months. When I first came here and signed a phone contract, the salesman said to me before I left the shop," Mate, if you lose your phone, come give me a ring before you call the insurance company. I will teach you what to say to make the claim." I could have smacked the fucker right there and then for assuming that I would "lose" my phone. But I don't blame him. He would have after all seen that most Asians are damn careless buggers, quite in the habit of "losing" their phones just after a couple of months.
Although I have pressed many people on this issue before, none giving me reasonable excuses, this article is fueled by a conversation with my friend last night. He was arguing that it was not wrong to cheat the insurance company. After all, they are rich buggers. He was like Robin Hood he claimed. Steal from the rich to give to the poor. Only thing is that he wasn't giving anything to the poor. He was fucking keeping it for himself! He then claimed that there was different times and different situations which warranted cheating. In this case, he is making full use of a loophole in the system which allows and 'encourages' him to do it. He says that the phone companies know that people are doing it, but they still offer the insurance policy anyway. That, to him is perceived as an encouragement to exploit the system.
Moral of the story : Ballocks. Its times like this where I am ashamed of where I come from, because I know that there are countless numbers of such assholes like that at home.