Tuesday, August 31, 2004
patriotism my bleaming ass
I still remember those days when I was a kid. There was no "Keranamu Malaysia" slogan thingy. Our flag didn't have a name. Nobody I knew stuck those mini flags on their car or motorbike. Students never made stuffs like "Malaysia's Longest Flag" or "Country's Flag made of Aluminium Cans". Not that I knew off about anyway.
Suddenly, over the past 6 years, things have changed. The government started to worry that youngsters weren't patriotic enough. They composed a few songs that sounded good so that kids would like it and want to sing it. They created an image of a Malaysia that could be learned by kids -- a perfect Malaysia where everybody is happy and patriotic.
But what is the point of celebrating Merdeka? To appreciate our independence, yes? To appreciate what our leaders of the past did for us in the past, yes? Or maybe for the older generation like my father who was born during the Japanese Occupation. Maybe for people who were there in that stadium that day in 1957. Maybe for people who fought in the wars, or people who were there when the communists terrorised people. Maybe again for people who experienced May 13th. I can understand the joy of those people who have seen Malaysia progress so far since then. But what about the youth -- like me, or like small kids?
I ain't seen no racial fights. I don't know what a building looks like after it was bombed. I don't know anybody who got his head chopped off. Neither has anybody of my generation. So why the happiness? Well, it was supposedly to appreciate all those stuffs which were experienced by the older generations, yes?
Be honest. How many of you knows the full Merdeka story? How many of you knows what exactly happened? It was taught in school alright. But who payed attention during those classes? Besides Tunku Abdul Rahman, does anybody know who else was in the expedition to London to discuss independence?
So if you can't answer those stuffs, then how is it that you appreciate Merdeka?
I heard a lot of bloody bastards bursting fireworks last night. First at 12am. Probably from those street party celebrations. Then again at 1am.
Patriotism my bleaming arse. First, learn to be considerate by not setting off fireworks when half the fucking country is already in bed. Then after that you can learn a few things. After that, then patriotism follows.
We have shown that we have the ability to organise major sporting events, but we can't organise a simple queue in front of a bus or LRT.
We have shown that we have the knowledge to build the then tallest building in the world, but we don't seem to have the knowledge to leave the house EARLY to be PUNCTUAL for an appointment.
We can teach our kids to get straight A's in exams, but we can't seem to teach them not to piss in drains by the roadside.
We have "caring" hearts and are willing to donate money to a sick kid who appeared in the papers, but we tend to "fall asleep" on the bus or LRT when an old man comes around and has no place to sit.
We have been actively involved in motor racing, with Sauber, Lotus, Alex Yoong and all that shits, but when was the last time you drove on a road and not been stressed by some motherfucker cutting queues or beating red lights.
Maybe after all that, then we can learn patriotism.
Don't get me wrong. I love my country. But I also love to hate things about it. I love it because its home. And great food. But that's it. Just read today's papers. Kids these days talk about loving Malaysia for being peaceful and all those stuffs. Our politicians talk about racial tolerence. Petronas advertisements always picture one Malay boy, one Chinese boy, and one Indian boy.
Just go to any public school during their break time. I'll be fucked if you find multi-racial groups. Some, maybe yes. But rare. Mostly, they sit in their gangs, segregated by the colour of their skin. Think about it. In school, how many of your tea-break gangs or lunch gangs consisted of an equal split number of students from each race?
That's why its called racial TOLERANCE. Its just TOLERANCE. Maybe, after we fix that problem with the kids, then we can profess to be something that we are currently not. Maybe then, I can understand the full meaning of patriotism. Maybe then, we don't need constant brainwashing in the media about loving our country. Maybe then, it would come naturally.
Monday, August 30, 2004
For the first time in god-knows how many weeks, I haven't heard the German national anthem.
And the Italian national anthem.
Cool. Screw Shoemaker. Long live Kimi.
*If you don't know Shoemaker or Kimi, well.....go...go...go suck your thumb.
*I am being very polite today.
Today, I was told that I am an MCP.
Wow cool. But I couldn't decide whether it would be cooler to be a Money Churning Printer or a Mechanical Cybernatic Pimp. Its hard choosing between money and sex.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
I turned on the TV this morning to watch the Olympics. I must pressed the wrong button on the Astro remote control cause the screen was showing a bunch of housewives crying their eyes out. Probably at some kinda funeral to mourn the death of a goldfish or something.
Then, I realised something really wrong. Those housewives were wearing red. Now, I thought, who the hell wears red to a funeral? In the background, a lot of people were shouting and waving red banners. But they seemed to be jumping up and down -- sort of in jubilation. Weird, I thought. Maybe bad assed motherfucker died so people were celebrating.
Then, the camera shot changed angle, and I saw a fishing net hung upon two poles. Whats a fishing net doing in a funeral? Finally it hit me. I was on the right channel. Those housewives were apparently Chinese volleyball players. They had me fooled there. The captain really looked like my old Chinese Ah-Soh (maid). The others were screaming and crying uncontrollably. It seems, those housewives had just won the gold meddle in volleyball.
Which brought me thinking. Why the fuck are they crying as if their cat, dog, turtle, goat and cow had died on the same day? Those screams didn't sound like screams of fright, didn't sound like screams of sex. They actually sounded like somebody whose tits were being poked by elephant's tusks.
Ok, ok. Try to be a bit more sensitive here Vincent. Those buggers are happy. They just came back from being 2 sets down to win 3-2. Its their first gold meddle. They have every right to be happy. But still, don't need to cry so much?
Then it got me thinking to the other day's women basketball finals. That was something I cannot forget. Those yankees won the game and the gold. There was this woman, the veteran of the squad, who was in the team which won the Olympics 8 years ago in Atlanta, and 4 years ago in Sydney. So that would have been her 3rd gold meddle. Plus, the US had won it easily 2 minutes before the end of the game (In basketball, 2 minutes is a fucking long time).
So why was that skanky cow crying? It was nothing new to her. Maybe for her teammates, but she has been there and done that. What the hell? Must have been crying for fun to show the TV cameras that she is a healthy normal human being who can produce tears.
Damn. Thats just stupid.
Friday, August 27, 2004
work yer ass off kiddo
For the past few days, Dexter has been doing nothing but running around the office and making paper planes. Of course, a lot of time had been spent talking to me, cause I am cool, see. Cause I made him a perfect paper plane. When his dad (company's big boss) came in yesterday, he happily told his dad, "Daddy daddy, Vincent kor kor is my good friend. I like him very much. He make me paper plane and paper boat." Cool.
Today, his mum decided to keep him quiet and brought some work for him to do. Smart kid he is, but incredibly lazy. For a 6 year old kid, he is actually quite poor in spelling and reading. And with all kids, if they are bad at something, they don't like it. The kid nearly cried today. Haha.
Which reminded me. I used to be a damn hardworking small kid. I never had any tuition or any shits like that which kids these days are subjected to. But my mum and my sister kept pushing me to work hard in kindergarten and school. Especially cause I was underaged when I went into Standard 1. Everyday after school, my mum would sit next to me and make sure that I finished my homework.
This was always rewarded with TV and sweets and stuffs like that. My sister even made cards for learning aids. This was long before all these new and modern learning techniques had been developed. A trait since I was young was that I hated being wrong. I remember when we did something wrong for schoolwork, we had to do corrections. Had to write out the whole bloody sentence 3 times, or 5 times or even 10 times, depending on how sadistic the teacher was.
And I hated all that crap. Sometimes cried and refused to do it. Then my mum would smack my arse with a damn long rotan or featherduster. That was a pretty good motivational tool I thought.
But all those hardwork payed off. I never had to study for exams and I later discovered by looking at my old report cards that I used to finish among the top in my class. Then, as I grew older, and my mum stopped looking at my work, I got lazy. Haha. I also discovered the joy of copying people's homework. I would go to school early and just borrow some random classmate's book. That was so much easier. I did stuffs that I liked, or when I felt like it. Scum, yes? But can anybody admit that they had NEVER EVER copied other people's homework? But I had to stop copying people's work when I got to university. It was a small matter of plaglarism.
Also, in the past, I used to study for ages before exams. It was a big matter it seemed. Till I finished my PMR and figured out that fucking school exams were a waste of time. So, I only studied for stuffs I needed. I always wanted to be an engineer, so I worked my guts out (not exactly my guts, but well, more effort than the other subjects) to do well in Add Maths and Physics. Didn't really give much of a shit about the rest of the stuffs.
I think thats the way. Why push your kids to read at such an early age? As long as they learn sooner or later, let it be. Its not going to make much of a difference in the future whether your kid learned to read when he was 3 or when he was 7 years old.
I should open a kindergarten next time, don't you think?
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Everybody seems to be talking about Merdeka. Fly the flags and all that shits. Someone please fucking tell me how patriotism is shown by flying a flag on my car? In actual sense, its a fucking disrespect to the flag. Flags belong on flag poles, should not be exposed to rain, and should not touch the ground. So, the dumb fuck liar of a politician who asked you to fly a flag on your car, should be shot, hung and castrated.
Speaking of which, the independance of this country and other any other country for that matter is due to a few people -- the leaders that is, the leaders of this country who fought for independance, and the subsequent leaders who maintained sovereignty (don't bitch if spelling is wrong, I don't own a dicktionary). Not just the leader (top guy), but a group of leaders.
Which leads me to a popular debate topic, shits that we learn in management school under Organisational Behaviour.
Are leaders born or made?
Popular theories by some experts and popular believe is that leaders are made, moulded by their upbringing when they were young, and cemented into place through experience.
I say, bullcrap. While it takes some making, leaders are born. For instance, when you were a kid, there was surely a playgroup you belonged to. In your neighbourhood, in your kindergarten, and in your school. Think. There was always this one kid who took charge. There was always this one kid who decided where to go, which girl they should throw stones at, which cat to kick. That itself is already a leader. With an instinct straight from an early age, with no tutoring, surely that is a born leader?
As an ex-scout troopleader and still damn bloody active in my old troop, I have seen leaders have come and go. Some were trained by me personally. Personally, I have never had a senior to train me. Cause my seniors sucked. They had a fight or some shits like that with their seniors and the whole batch of them quit. Myself as a raw unexposed dude was forced to take charge of a whole bloody troop. It might have been circumstances in which I taught myself basic leadership qualities, I dunno.
My logic had always been -- I taught myself all those stuffs and I got along fine. Camps I organised had gone without problems (albeit the first one). How is it that others, who had others to teach them could not perform as well?
I certainly do not believe that leadership is something that can be taught. Theories can be learned, but application in itself is something inborn. It is an instinct that cannot be learned in any classroom in any university in the world. If it can truly be learned, why then is it that there are successful managers as well as failures?
*Of course, leadership is much simpler when you have big boobs and a nice cleavage, and everybody listens to you*
*I don't have big boobs or a nice cleavage*
bimbo, part 296
I really lost count on how many times I have blogged about these bimbos. The last one, the fatty was nicely slammed, and rightly so. Still, she did a great service to me by diverting a lot of horny guys from google to my site.
There's a new one now. Nice name. Not as posh wannabe as the last one. There's an article about her in today's Star Section Two. You can read it here. Although, I advice you not to waste your time. Better off using that time to go do stuffs like charity work, you know, teaching kids stuffs like how to many paper planes, what a clitoris is....stuffs like that. You get the idea.
Reading that article, she didn't seem too much of a bimbo to me. EXCEPT for this :
The sneaky part of me ventured to ask the big question: is Gloria Ting single? There was a customary pause before she grinned bashfully and nodded. Well, there you go, guys.
Ah, cool. Cause wanting a dude to pamper you 24/7 ain't high maintenance at all. Nope, not just a wee bit. Leng lui ar...why you wanna go shoot yourself in the foot for?
“My ideal guy? He doesn’t have to be good-looking,” she volunteered.
Seriously, looks do not matter? She convinced me by saying: “I have gone out with some really ‘all-right-looking’ guys before and, trust me, it doesn’t really matter.
“Hopefully, my guy will be understanding and is perfectly compatible with me, somewhat of a best friend. Oh yes, and he has to be able to pamper me 24/7,” Ting declared with aplomb (that’s “24 hours a day, seven days a week”). She, however, disagreed passionately when I suggested that she may be pretty high-maintenance.
“No, I am not high maintenance at all!” she exclaimed with humorous incredulity.
**Er....actually, not very leng lui
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Since the school holidays have started on Monday, my colleague has been bringing her 6 year old kid to the office. Today, he took a liking to me, maybe cause I was the smartest ass who could make a proper paper plane for him. Big mistake. He kept bugging my ass after that.
This kid, lets call him Dexter, is actually quite a smart little twit. First, he drew me a few pictures of dinosaurs and monkeys and some other shits. Didn't know what most of the drawings were. Although, I must say, even at 9 years old, I couldn't draw those things as well as Dexter did.
He was sitting on my desk the whole day, and like most 6 year old kids, he talks a lot. Fucking lot. He told me he had tuition on Thursday (yeps, 6 year old kid having tuition -- an outrage!). Besides that, I also had my music playing on my comp. At one instance, Eminem's Real Slim Shady started playing in the speakers. Rapping along to it, I continued doing my work.
Vincent : ....and thats the message we deliver to little kids....and expect them not to know what a woman's clitoris is...
Dexter : Vincent kor kor, what is clitoris?
Vincent : Oh, clitoris? You dunno? They never teach you in school meh? Here, let me show you.
**Yes, yes I know my art skills suck. Don't bitch ok.**
**Yes, yes I know that that isn't exactly the clitoris, but I couldn't think of a better way of drawing it. Don't bitch ok.**
Dexter : Oh...ok. I go show mummy.
Vincent : Go on then.
Few minutes later.....
Vincent : Show mummy already?
Dexter : Yes. She said she wants to talk to you afterwards.
Vincent : Ok.
Dexter : You know, I like pets. I went to pet shop and saw BIG BIG crocodile. Also SMALL SMALL rat.
Vincent : You saw crocodile ar? Haha. Really ar? Why you didn't buy?
Dexter : I don't like crocodile. I like dog. I want big big girl dog.
Vincent : Girl dog??? Oh, you mean a bitch? Why you want a bitch for? Why no guy dog?
Dexter : Because, girl dog can have other small dogs. So after the girl dog die, can have another small dog, and then after that one die, can have sommore. Cause girl dogs can make small dogs.
Vincent : Haha. Really ar? Who told you?
Dexter : Yes, my teacher told me.
Vincent : Your teacher is a big fat liar. You need one guy dog and one female dog. You know what a bird bird is?
Dexter : Yes! I also got!
Vincent : Yeah, the guy dog must put his bird bird into the girl dog's clitoris. And then only can make small dog.
Dexter : Huh? How?
Vincent : Aiyah. I busy la. Go ask your mum.
Dexter : Muuummmmmmmmyyyy...!!!
I felt so proud after that. I taught a 6 year old kid 3 new things today - how to make a paper plane, a simple biology lesson, and the birds and the bees.
*Relax...What do you think I am?
*I did have the brains to remove all the Eminem and 50 Cent songs from my playlist when he sat next to me.
*I just drew the picture 5 minutes ago.
*And he did tell me about the girl dog, but I didn't teach him about the birds and bloody bees
Monday, August 23, 2004
*sensitive post, so if you are one of those cow who are a waste of Earth's oxygen, well fuck off*
Been watching too much of the Olympics. When I was watching the women's artistic gymnastics, an interesting question popped into my mind. Well, not exaclty popped, its cause my body is special, all the body parts can seem to talk to my brain and I can hear everything they are saying. How? Thats a different question.
The question in question here is, "Would you want to fuck a gymnast?"
Then that leads to another question, "Which species are you? Do you prefer English breakfast or English Tea?" If you like English breakfast, that means you probably like sausages and eggs while you might find milk jugs a bit more to your taste if you like English tea.
Back to the original question. Firstly, examining the easy stuffs first. Women, should want to fuck male gymnasts. Although I am not too sure, it fits all perfect description. Male gymnasts are fucking fit. How the bloody hell do they support their whole body weight with their arms outstretched? Watch the Rings event and you'll find out what I am talking about. I reckon, their muscles (like mine) are nicely balanced. Just the right amount and also not too much so they don't look like a freak. Plus they are bound to have perfect stamina. Again, another plus point. Can't think of a downside. Though that's probably because I am not a women, they can find fault with almost anything, see.
But the fun part starts now. Would a guy like to screw around with a female gymnast. At first thought, cool. Why not? Andreaa Raducan was quite chune. Svetlana Khorkina was a Playboy centrefold. Plus they wear all those body hugging attires which makes them look even more sexy. Think also about flexibility. They can perform splits with just a blink of an eye. How fucking convenient is that? Especially for dudes with short dicks. Besides, you could also try almost any move in the Karma Sutra then eh?
Then again, it got me thinking. Their body clenching suits which made them look sexy also pointed out one very obvious fact. Most of them don't really have mountanious boobs. Cause otherwise they won't be able to jump around and fly around so easy. Some of them, you can only see practically a small ant hill. And thats a big potong steam for a night recreation partner.
Some of them have pretty faces, while others don't. That happens. Don't bitch. Cover the base and fire the base. The issue is whether they are fuckable or not. Nobody asked whether they would be good for a snog in front of your friends.
And the same issue with the muscles. Have you ever imagined how much fucking muscles they have? I've never seen it, although the legs I have had the unfortunate experience looking at them. Why? Cause for such small petite girls, the muscles on their feet are almost as big as mine. And that's damn scary. Anybody watched James Bond's Goldeneye? Theres a bad chick villian in that movie. She's fucking hot, and a lot of people have sex with her. Problem is, she kills them after sex -- with her legs.
How? She gets them to eat her snatch, and then clenches their neck in her thigh, and while she is having fun, she twists her thighs a bit and breaks their neck. Sounds easy right? Yeah, that's cause I was bullcrapping. In fact, she killed those buggers by crushing their waists in between her thighs. They can't breathe -- and die. Same thing. Those female gymnast probably have muscles big enough to suffocate a pregnant buffalo, don't bloody mess with them, and especially do not make the mistake of moaning some other chick's name. Not to mention that muscles on women are damn potong steam as well.
Shit I still can't decide. Small boobs vs great flexibility. Small stomach and a nice ass versus big bulging muscles? Pros just seem too great, but the cons are equally as strong. Someone help!
Friday, August 20, 2004
My grandma was different. Not the average type of old lady you see on the streets. She didn't know how to tell me children's stories, and although she could very well read, she never did read to me when I was a kid.
In fact, on the rare occasion that I bugged her for a story, she would try to tell me stories of Sleeping Beauty and crap like that, but often mixed up Sleeping Beauty for Snow White and the 7
Perverts Dwarves. In her stories, Sleeping Beauty had a stepmother who had a mirror. Stuffs like that. Although, it wasn't due to her mixing it up on purpose, it was due to her having a bad memory of stuffs.
Which was why, when she developed Alzheimer's Disease, nobody understood it. Back then, even many doctors didn't hear about it. We used to get irritated when she repeatedly asked the date and the day. Also, she could never remember whether she took her medicine and would constantly berate everybody around for not giving her her medicine.
It was a time when nobody knew what the problem was. The only excuse was, " Let it be. She's old. Old people are like that." Even when playing her favourite mahjong game, she would curse non-stop when she lost. Again, nobody knew what the fuck Alzheimer's Disease was.
Until it was too late. She had a fall and the doctors had to operate her to put in a titanium socket in her knee. After she came out of the operation, probably due to the GA, she was never the same. She forgot a lot of things, and the worse was she forgot how to walk. It detiorirated from there. From being perfectly healthy, to having a walking frame, and then to a wheelchair, and then finally bedridden. After a while, she lost her speech. Which meant that she was doing nothing all day besides sleep and eat. So I am not at all sad that she's ended her suffering.
My point is, Alzheimer's Disease is damn bloody common. So don't ride off your old people saying, "They are old. Its like that." My friend a few years ago was poking fun at his grandma. He came back from school and saw that his grandma had hug all the clothes on a fucking high pole on the roof of the house. When he asked her why she did that, she said it was so that the clothes would be closer to the sun and would dry faster. Fuck, thats a funny story for people hearing it, but thats a sign of AD.
My best memory of my grandma was her teaching me "gambling". It is actually something I am damn proud of. Like I said, she never taught me any nursery rhymes or shit like that. She actually taught me useful stuffs. I learned how to play blackjack, gin rummy and mahjong when I was 5 years old. Yeah, FIVE years old. When my mum scolded her for that, she claimed she was teaching me maths.
Damn I would say those were damn good lessons. Cause out of those, a legacy till this day, I am quite fucking good and maths. And more importantly, I usually make the most money on the mahjong table every Chinese New Year.
*mahjong = a type of gambling game played with tiles, popular among the Chinese.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
This blogging business has been slow over the last few days. I went to Redang ( a damn bloody nice island off the coast of Terengganu) on Tuesday. I was supposed to come back on Thursday.
However, on Tuesday itself, after a session of snorkelling and swimming with the fishes, I got a call from KL. My paternal grandmother had passed away and I needed to drag my ass back to KL.
I am quite relieved she's gone now. Its been 10 years since she had Alzheimer's disease, 5 years since she's been bedridden, and 3 years since she's lost her speech. And over the last one year, she has been in and out of the hospital as frequently as the ambulance. No more suffering now. She has had her life. I myself feel happy that I spent enough time with her when I was a kid, and over the last few years as well. So, I am actually glad that the suffering is over. Not a single drop of tear yet. But then again, that might be due to the fact that my heart is kinda icy.
Besides, I always believe that if you love a person, show it when they are alive or ill, not when they are lying in the coffin or 6 feet under.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
camp stories - chapter 4 : my 3rd eye
Me, I have a third eye. Its situated at the back of my neck. Which means I can see things. No, not those kinda things. Not those paranormal stuffs although I have had an encounter with a ghost and a skeleton.
Otherwise, no, I see stuffs. Stuffs like the paranormal interaction between 2 horny sex deprived juvenilles. Non comprehende? Ok, I see stuffs like the magnetism of testosterone and estrogen. If you still don't understand, you seriously have issues man. Ok, one last try. I can tell when some horny muthafucker is attracted to a skanky cow. Even though neither of them told anybody about their secret sex-in-the-barn episode. Its just a sixth sense you know. Some people can see ghosts, some people can smell a dog's fart from miles away. Me, I can tell you which cock is interested in which pussy. Just by looking. Its like I have ESP
Most of my bestest friends can testify to my unique talent. Its a gut instinct that is actually quite fucking useful you know. You can use it to blackmail people for free lunch. Or free sex. Which ever you prefer.
Back to the story. In the camp, there were 20 people. 10 people per group. One old group. One young group. Me, always the youngest everywhere I go, would obviously be in the young group. In my group, there were 3 girls.
1) Goldfish - Malay girl. Typical type. Group 2 camper. Company probably forced her to go for it to learn leadership stuffs. Really should have no business staying in the jungle. Actually, should really have no business staying on planet Earth. A waste of precious oxygen. A contributor to global warming. A face that only her mother will love. Although she does have a nice pair of milk jugs.
2) Ahlian - The name says it all. Ahlian. Group 2.5 camper. On one hand, its good cause she wants to do all the stuffs. And doesn't complain much except for
20 foot long anacondas 1 inch long leeches. But on the other hand, her Ahlian type frame really doesn't put her in a suitable physical condition for some of the activities.
3) Moon - Another Malay girl. But looks Chinese. Arguably the chunnest chick camp. Started off as a Group 2 camper, but progressed magnificently to the Group 3 stage. Hardly ever complained about any shits throughout the camp. Just got on with stuffs herself. Also, it helps that she said that I was one smart child proDG. Full of wisdom and knowledge it seems. Which made her even more fucking sexy.
Also in my group was a Malay guy I was quite close to. Lets call him MightyMouse. MightyMouse was a good friend and a fellow perfect camper. Experienced dude who taught me lots of shit.
On day 8 of the camp, I saw Ahlian whispering to MightyMouse about something. She seemed to keep giggling about some stuffs like a cheshire cat having her period. MightyMouse looked stunned and suddenly his ears turned fucking red. And then, he whispered some shits back to her and she nodded and showed him a thumbs up. Being a guy which minds my own business most of the time, I let it be.
The next day, all fucking hell broke loose. All the other guys were nudging MightyMouse and making fun of him. Again, I didn't give a shit and let it be. By night, it was getting unbearable. Could Ahlian have said that she fancied MightyMouse? Fuck no chance in hell. Consulting my sixth sense, I finally came to a conclusion that MightyMouse had the hots for Moon and Ahlian wanted to blackmail him.
Speaking to MightyMouse, he confirmed it. He said that Ahlian had spotted his juvenille infatuation and confronted him about it. He admitted that his dick stood at attention everytime Moon was around -- since day 3. Ahlian said she noticed it since that very day. Ahlian claimed that she too has 6th sense.
I was feeling really pissed off. Why? The jungle screwed up my senses. My natural instinct was supposed to harnessed in the jungle -- my spiritual home. But I was the last dude to figure it out. Damn. Maybe ESPN works better in the city.
Moral of the story : Women can never seem to shut the fuck up. After MightyMouse confirmed it with her, everybody knew of the story. Cause Ahlian really didn't know how to keep quiet and kept hinting stuffs. I think even Moon figured it out too. Which gave a big spoiler to MightyMouse's intention to go see her after the camp. Women's mouth = bloody dangerous.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
camp stories - chapter 3 : domestication
Well, it was a kinda leadership developement camp kinda thing. So there were loads of working adults. Some old men in their 40s and 50s as well. There is a trend I noticed even from when I was in uni.
As is the norm in the olden days, the guys go out to work, and the women stay home to clean, wash and cook. As a result, the males can't cook for shits and really can't survive on their own. That is why, last time, all the males get married to a younger woman. So that most probably they die first. Cause if their wife dies first, they are fucked. They have nobody to look after them.
At this camp, I saw first hand proof of that. Being a 10 day camp, no idiot is going to bring 20 pairs of underwears and shirts. So, we are forced to wash our own clothing. Or at least attempt to wash it. Those old buggers are really clueless on how to do it. Probably at home, their wives gave them a short lesson before they went for the camp. They brought all the necessary stuffs. Plastic brush, washboard, soap. But not the relevant skills. I was fucking laughing to myself watching these old buggers figure out the best way to hold the brush and position the washboard.
And even hanging wet clothes was quite fucking hilarious. Common sense tells you that you should try to get rid of as much water from the t-shirt as you can before you hang it to dry so that it dries faster. What the fuck is the point of hanging a dripping wet t-shirt to dry? Wring the fucking thing first!!
Don't even get me started on their cooking skills. Abso-fucking-lutely un-fucking-believable. Some of them don't even know how to use a can opener.
In stark contrast, another group which has the same characteristics as the old men -- young women. Times change guys. Nowadays, its the other way around. For the young people, the guys are more domesticated than the girls. They can cook better, they can iron clothes better, they can clean better, and they can fucking cook better! Oh, I mentioned the cooking thing already.
But fuck, what has happened to the world? No shits, these days, its fucking hard to find a girl who can cook. And I have even met girls who don't even know how to whip a fucking egg.
Friday, August 13, 2004
camp stories - chapter 2 : chicks
Chicks are essential for every camper. Nowadays, there are a shit loads of different types of chicks in the market. Chune chicks and ugly chicks galore, but none more important than the practicality of the chick which you want.
I got my first chick when I was 12 years old. My mum gave it to me as a present. But she was superstitious about giving chicks for birthdays. Most housewives are anyway. So she gave it to me shortly after that.
Her name was Swiss Army. Probably the most well known chick in the world. But then again, 12 year old kids really dunno much about chicks. She was useful, came with a tweezer, 2 blades, a metal saw,a wood saw, a file,
Cockscrews are used to open wine bottles, which are definately not found in the jungle. So, as many gadjets she had, the only 2 I used were the blades and the can opener (which is incidentally biased against left handed people like me).
This was my first foldable chick. Like a gymnast you know. This type of chick is probably the most practical type of chick. You pinch the hole at the blade with your thumb and your index finger and swing it to flick out the blade. Once the blade is out, it has a safety catch so that it doesn't accidentally fold back and injure yourself. Most virgins are not familiar with this, so when most people play with my chicks, they can't seem to complete the cycle.
However, Smith and Wesson really do not know how to make chicks. They make guns and they should probably stick to that. The blade on this chick got blunt very fast and isn't as sharp as it looks.
My third girlfriend - my favourite. A real gymnast. A Spyderco. Probably the best chick maker in the world. Has a unique safety lock, and is still as sharp as she was when I first used her. Although not as hot looking as my second girlfriend, this one is a real handy chick.
My newest girlfriend. Might soon become my favourite. As sharp as a samurai sword. She is like a mini parang. Kinda like the type of chick that Rambo shags as well. Comes with a cool dress so that she is not left naked. Another Spyderco, but I might soon rename her as BloodLover. Cause I ACCIDENTALLY pricked the neighbour's cat while testing the blade.
Don't worry. I am not a serial killer.
camp stories - chapter 1 : women
I have known this fact all along. But it suddenly occured to me, the striking resemblence between football and camping. Like my football theory and its effect on women, camping in the jungle has the same implications.
There are 100 women in a room :
70 women won't go near a jungle. No matter how much you persuade them to leave behind the city, they just won't fucking do it. Its like trying to get a wild boar to stand still.
25 women go camping for fucks. Cause someone told them its a nice thing. Cause someone told them its good for their health, so that they can lose weight and everything. And most importantly, cause there are a lot of topless guys around displaying their well tanned and muscular body.
5 women who actually love camping, damn they are hard to find. This is the anomily. Unlike football where this group of women are mostly good for a couple of round of beer, Group 3 of camping women are actually one of the most perfect types of women around.
Let's ignore Group 1, cause discussing them really isn't much fun.
Group 2. These skanky cunts are really the bane of every camper's life. Most probably followed their boyfriends along. Or most of the time cause some itchy dick guy invited them along. That itchy dick guy is usually a guy who has never been camping with girls before and therefore thinks that it would be fun to have a couple of chicks around to flirt with. Usually ItchDick learns from his mistake when the rest of the guys squeeze a tube of toothpaste on his dick and balls when he is sleeping.
So why is Group 2 a bane? A menace? That's cause some girls really aren't made for the jungle. Whne going camping, women should remember not to bring fucking make up. The bloody monkey on the tree really ain't gonna give a fuck whether you look like Tracy Chapman or Anna Kournikova. Also, they should fucking learn that mud, like rain water is not acidic.
Leeches and mosquitoes are fucking small creatures and shouldn't be treated like a 20 foot long anaconda. Therefore, no need to scream and attempt to burst my eardrums. Which reminds me of a saying we had in school in the scout troop. If there is a big fat leech and I get to choose who it bites, I rather it bite me on my ass than it bitting the damn skanky bitch travelling with us. Thats cause I can easily pull out the slimy creature. The puncture wound on my ass will heal eventually. But it bites that cunt, my eardrums will shatter, and that will NOT heal.
But most importantly, some women should really learn that when you go camping, you are meant to be independant. That means, they should not fucking expect guys to carry their water bottle for them let alone their fucking bag. Also, when climbing a steep slope or a high ridge, it won't hurt to lift their fucking legs higher. If they can do it when having sex, I don't see why they can't do it when climbing a mountain. If a big fat wild boar can climb it, why can't those fucking sugarladies do the same?
However, Group 3 women campers are the best and the sexiest chicks in the world. Here's why:
1) They carry their own bags. Independence. Thats a fucking good thing.
2) They are most likely very fit. Thats a fucking good thing.
3) They don't use makeup. You can see how they really look like without disguise. Thats a fucking good thing.
4) They can cook. Thats a fucking good thing.
5) Unlike most other women, they don't complain much. Now, thats a real fucking good thing.
You get the point. Oh, and most importantly, you can read a person's entire character just by jungle tracking with a person for 8 hours. How? When everybody is tired and half dead, there is no hiding or pretending, all your true colours will come out.
See kids, the benefits of camping.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Its been a great 10 days of camping. Of leeches and sandflies, of mud and sea water, of cuts and bruises, of broken fingernails and shattered morale, of success and joy, of bullshit and monkeyshit.
But I have been cut off the outside world.
I did not know of the buggers who had sex in the Kancil.
I did not know the football score over the weekend.
I did not know who won the Asian Cup.
I did not know that our neighbours have changed PM and invented a fucking stupid post -- What the fuck is a "Minister Mentor"??
Most importantly, I totally forgot how to type on a keyboard. No shits. I could speed type before this. Years of chatting on ICQ have given my fingers the dexterity and the speed required. Suddenly I forgot all that. My fingers are stiff. My index finger fucking hurts, and I am quite damn dead tired.
I' ve gots lots of shit to share, so stay tuned tomorrow.
Monday, August 02, 2004
No matter how much I profess to love the city, Internet, and all that shit, I love the jungle.
I am going camping, and will be away for 10 days. So, till then, I am afraid you will have to find other sources of entertainment. Haha.
Oh, and I have a new girlfriend which should prove useful for my camp. Wonder how many monkeys I can chop before the blade gets blunt. I'll show you pictures of my 3 other girlfriends when I get back from camp.
Sunday, August 01, 2004
After one month of watching them from a distance.
After one month of plucking up the courage.
After one month of watching in anguish as they zoomed past happily.
After one month of strategic planning.
I finally did it today. I finally found my balls which had hidden in my guts. I finally stood up for my rights.
The rights to walk in a shopping centre without irritating small fucks zooming past me with shoes that have wheels at the bottom.
A group of them, little rascals zoomed past me with those Heelys. I ACCIDENTALLY dropped a plastic bag beside me. The fat kid behind couldn't stop to aviod the bag. He tried to jump over it. I reckoned he watched too much X-Games on TV.
He jumped over the bag, and landed on his heels. Obviously, the shoe won't stop moving, he skidded through the polished marble floor, and came to a halt by colliding with his fellow wheeled kids. The all fell like a stack of dominos until they hit the tall skinny dude with a ponytail who was leading the pack.
Ponytail kid lost his balance and fell down the stairs, breaking a few teeth in the process. His face was bloody and everything. Blood was gushing from his already broken nose. His parents, seeing the problem, rushed to him, smacked him until he stopped crying and said, "See that's why we told you not to buy a pair of stupid wheel shoes that cost RM550. Tai leh sei!"
The other kids, seeing the aftermath of destruction, took off all their shoes with wheels, and threw them into the dustbin, swearing not to wear stupid accessories anymore.
At the corner of their eyes, if they had looked, they would have seen me grinning happily to myself. Just as I was about the saviour the moment, I heard the dog barking. "What the fuck?" I thought. How the fuck did a dog get into the shopping centre?
Then, it hit me. Like a brick hitting me on the head. Like the marble floor hitting the kid in the teeth. I was lying in my bed. Fuck. It was just a fucking stupid dream I had last night.