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Friday, December 31, 2004

wisdom

Something true I heard today :


Q :Do you believe in love at first sight?
A : Aah, even better. I believe in lust at first sight.

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Thursday, December 30, 2004

enough is enough

Ok. All of you, shut up. Shut the fuck up. I've had enough of this shit already.

Over the last few days, the newspapers have been flooded with stories about the tsunami. Everybody's been talking about it. Even the foreign papers are busy interviewing people and publishing everybody's stories.

Is it just me, or is anybody else sick of all this?

Its been 4 fucking days now. Get on with your life. Its bad enough that the papers have to publish pictures of people crying and stuffs like that, but the one thing that I can't stand is the stories by survivors. Those stories are all the same. Take your pick from any one of these :

1) I was on the beach with my family. I saw a big fucking white wall in the distance. I ran, grabbing my son with me. I got to a safe distance. It was so scary. People were screaming.

2) We were supposed to go diving. At the last minute, we decided to cancel our plans and have sex in bed all morning. Thank God for that, otherwise we might be dead now.

3) I was standing in my hotel room when I saw the wave come crashing down on the beach. People were running everywhere. I wanted to help, but I was helpless.

Shut the fuck up morons. Nothing happenned to you. NOTHING. I don't give a fuck about your story if you escaped with all your limbs intact and your family members by your side. Enough is enough. Enough with morons asking why there weren't any warning systems. Cause tsunamis don't fucking happen here. That's why there's no fucking warning system in place. Isn't it as simple as that? Would you take a pregnancy test if you didn't have sex recently?

Also, I'll pound the next fucker who asks me to spare a prayer for the victims and all. Look, if you are the kinda dude into praying, thats all very good. Isn't a prayer something sincere? If you are praying all day long, then keep it to yourself. I don't fucking need to know. And here's another thought, some of you fuckers only start praying when a tragedy occurs. Hey wake up! Why don't you go pray for world peace, cure for AIDS, eradication of poverty, saving the environment and all those other stuffs?

Know who else I'll pound? The next fucker who asks me to donate money. Donation, like prayer is a sincere act. I'll donate because I want to, not because some fuckers keep pestering me. Those donation things by big companies with huge fucking mock cheques in the newspapers, those are nothing more than advertisements about their companies. Here's a fucking irony. You're donating for a sad cause, yet your smile is so huge, I can fit my ass in your mouth. Have a look at this beautiful picture :



Quite fucking funny that we are giving a million bucks to dead people, ain't it?


And what's this with cancelling new year celebrations? Look, I am not the type who goes out for new year. I spend new year's eve at home watching tv. To me, there's nothing special to celebrate about another year. But surely whether people want to celebrate new year is up to them? If people feel sad then they can stay at home as well. But why force people not to celebrate?

When people die through no fault of their own, its damn sad. But I think we have to sit back and look at ourselves. Learn when to shut up, and move on. The key point here being the "shut up" part.

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sex and the city

A lot of girls I know love this show.

Which explains the disease that most girls I know have.

I actually heard a lot of hype about this show. Since a shit load of people watch it and I saw previews on it on TV, I figured I watch a few episodes. I even had the the initial impression that it was funny.

So, upon seeing the DVD of Season 1 and 2 lying on the shelf of a friend's stash, I borrowed it to see what the hype was about. So far, every episode I have watched dwells on a certain 'problem' with relationships. It typically exemplifies the fact that men are from Siberia and women are from Timbuktu. Every episode gives an insight into women and their above said disease.

People always say, you should control what kids watch on TV cause it might influence what they do in life. For that reason, violent shows are censored and sometimes banned here. In more liberal countries, those shows are given a high age rating and shown late at night. However, nobody ever figured out that a lot of seriously screwed up women will watch Sex and the City and follow the seriously periody lives of those 4 women. Which then spells trouble for enemy number one - humans with dicks.

In short, this show sucks.

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Wednesday, December 29, 2004

happy new year

I have been messaging a lot of people as of late, wishing them a very happy new year. Some people I messaged by SMS, others on MSN Messenger. As you might have already figured out, my name is Vincent, and I am quite an asshole. So, as you might imagine, I don't 'wish' people a happy new year like an ordinary person.

My message that I have been wishing everybody these couple of days :

Hey! Wishing you a Happy New Year and a wonderful 2005. I know its a bit early, but I know so many cool and happening people, I figured I should start with the sad losers first.

How would you react? A lot of people replied back with a "FUCK OFF", and that's good. Those are the guys who can take a joke. However, a lot of people didn't wish me back. Pissed offed with me, I reckon. Fuck them if they can't take a joke.

So yeah, wishing all you guys a Happy New Year in advance.



Don't forget to do your bid for democracy. Just a few more days. Voting ends 31st December. I am pretty much drifting around 3rd or 4th place. So, go vote here. If you don't know what all this voting stuffs is about, read this first.

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Tuesday, December 28, 2004

pain & happy, part 2

When I got back from the hospital, I couldn't even climb the stairs to go upstairs to sleep. Ended up sleeping on the couch in the hall. Which isn't really bad besides getting my whole leg eaten by mosquitoes. Leg still bandaged, I had a nice sleep.

In the morning, as was planned the week before, we were all supposed to go renew our ICs (Identification Cards - all Malaysians over 12 must carry one) My dad, brother, sister and brother-in-law were all on leave and this was the perfect opportunity to get it done. I was not about to postpone it again, since I would be going back to the UK damn soon. So, with a bandaged foot and a pair of mould infested crutches, I went to the IC office.

Now, the thing with the IC office is that its quite simply.......fucked up. We got there at 7.30am, a good half hour before it opens. The queue by then had already stretched from the doors of the office on the first floor, all the way down the stairs, through a corridor, and out onto the car park. I reckon the first dude in the queue must have been there at 6am.

My parents, being senior citizens, along with my disabled brother could go up straight to the office to get "special numbers" which meant less queueing. My sister and my brother-in-law were definately not going to get special numbers. Me? I wasn't too sure. On one hand, I was handicapped. I couldn't fucking walk, and I was standing on one foot. Any idea how fun it is to do that? But on the other hand, I wasn't a "born" handicapped, as some bastard would later tell me.

So, not too sure whether I was entitled to a special number, my parents and my brother went up to the office, while the three of us queued downstairs. When the office opened, my mum asked whether I could get a special number while explaining the situation. The lady at the counter was about to give her a number for me, but there was this Taliban motherfucker (must be the woman's boss) who hissed in Malay : He's not handicapped. He has to take an ordinary number. "But he can't walk," my mum insisted. "Tell him to come back another day."

Mum called me to tell me that I had to continue queueing downstairs. Slowly but surely, the queue made its way out of the car park. When we reached the stairs, I took the lift up to wait for my sister at the landing. There was another Malay lady there queueing up as well. She asked me why I was lining up and told me that I could get a special number. When I told her about the Taliban fucker, she looked pissed offed and started complaining loudly about how those guys were discriminating handicaps.

Another woman nearer to the counter overheard and she called me over. She let me line up in front of her and try to get a special number. When I got to the counter, the lady who wanted to give my mum the number earlier took a look at me and hurriedly gave me the special number before her fucking boss came back.

For the record, my number was 73. My sister and my brother-in-law got number 640-something. While my parents, my brother and myself finished at 9.30am, my sister and her husband went out to do some chores and only finished at 3.30pm. If my foot wasn't in a bandage, I would have had to kill myself out of boredom.

Hmmmm.......for my flight back to the UK, if I am still in my bandage and on crutches, maybe they will upgrade me to a first class seat for free. Just maybe.




This was written a couple of days ago. I am now off the crutches, but still limping everywhere. I still can't drive, and its a bitch walking up and down the stairs.

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Monday, December 27, 2004

santa claus

*if you are a little kid who believes in the fat guy with the red suit, please leave this site immediately*

Ok, this is the season for santa, that big fat man with the reindeers and everything. In a chat with Andy the other day, he told me of how he used to believe in Santa. Supposedly, he said, he was stupid and naive back then (not much has changed since then). The blow came to him like a nailgun shot to his lungs. He got a present one Christmas and found a price tag on it.

I explained that all those stuffs you hear about elves making the presents in the North Pole is damn stupid. Cause elves are small creatures with funny long ears and long toes. It would be ridiculous for them to stay in somewhere so cold cause their ears will freeze up. Have you ever seen a snow cap which can cover such long ears? No, right?

So anyways, those elves that work for Santa aren't exactly elves, but are actually small little children in China forced into child labour. I mean, this presents thingy for Santa is a big business. Do you expect him to finish making the presents all by himself? So, he gotta subcontract some of the work. To little kids in this case. The irony, right? Kids making presents which they are going to get themselves.

I then told him that Santa does really exist. He does give out a lot of stuffs to kids. Well, not all kids la. Just kids who get caught up in the hype. Like if a 5 year old kid somewhere in Afghanistan who has never heard of the fat man before, then of course he won't get a present. So, contrary to popular myth, Santa doesn't really have to deliver presents to ALL the children. That lightens his workload but he's still facing a problem. Cause there are still a shit load of children who still needs those presents.

So, again, he subcontracts the job to a group of people who call themselves parents. He gets parents of the kids to buy those gifts, decide whether or not the kids are good or not, wrap the presents and personally give the presents to the kids. Some of you might be thinking, hey, I am a parent, but Santa has never spoken to me about giving my kids any presents. Well, Santa works in mysterious ways, you see.

This way is called Hyped Propoganda. Without the existance of Santa, or the story that Santa gives away presents, nobody would have any motivation to give out any presents. Kids won't be expecting anything during Christmas. That is why, proof that Santa really does exist is evident in the many presents that we receive during Christmas.

And, like all big major contractors, Santa is quite a fucker. He subcontracts work to other people to buy and give away the gifts on his behalf. He gets the credit from the little kids. But he never pays back his subcontractors. Screw the fat man.

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Friday, December 24, 2004

wow

Honestly, I didn't really take Blog Awards seriously. Why? There are too many blog categories around, and nobody can fully categorise them. There are news blogs, what-I-did-today blogs, clean humour blogs, sick humour blogs, advice blogs, stuffs like that.

Its like fruits, there are so many types of fruits, you can't compare whether an apple is nicer than an orange. The only fair comparison is between Fijian Apple and Australian Apple. Kapish?

Anyways, just now, my friend messaged me to congratulate me. What for, I asked. For this :

Asia Blog Awards 2004

I got nominated! Fuck, I don't fucking believe it.

Its under Best Malaysian Blog (obviously), though you might not recognise it, cause my website's name is "...not a weBLOG". I reckon the beginning part got censored. Haha. Besides that, my address wrong, there are two "http" tags in the front.

But still, not complaining. Please click on the above link to vote. You can also vote here.You can submit one vote everyday. Why are you still reading this shit for? Go, go vote now!

Oh, thank you, whoever nominated me. You made me take Blog Awards seriously now. Muahaha.

* there are actually many much better blogs out there, but since they are not nominated, you can vote for me instead*

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Thursday, December 23, 2004

pain & happy, part 1

I am quite lazy to type, but this is a long story, and you have to hear about it. So, I am writting it in a lame diary form.


Wednesday, 22/12/04

6pm : Phone rings

Joe : Oi. You wanna go play futsal?
Vincent : Can, when?
Joe : Later, 11 to 1?
Vincent : Tomorrow you mean?
Joe : No, no later. 11pm till 1am.
Vincent : What the fuck? You all crazy ar?
Joe : Just come la. Its cheaper. Me and Arasa come and pick you afterwards.

10pm : Arasa picks me up. I haven't seen the guy in a long time. He has long hair. In the car, he tells a stupid story about a guy who looks like a doughnut.

11pm : We walk on to the pitch and start kicking the ball around. Vincent realises, since its his first time playing there that their synthetic carpet grass is not like the usual astroturf grass that he plays on. He scuffs a few shots because of his kicking style.

11.20pm : Game starts.

11.22pm : Two minutes into the game, Vincent the great defender picks up a loose ball from the opposing team's striker, dribbles the ball out of the defence. The damn carpet grass has too much grip with my shoes. I fall, but instead of skidding as I would with ordinary grass, the soles of my foot stay stuck to the ground while the rest of me falls. My right ankle crumbles like a foal learning to walk.

11.23pm : I sit out the rest of the game. It sucks watching people have fun. My ankle swells to the size of the hemisphere of a tennis ball. I know I am fuck. Just praying that I didn't tear my ligaments.

11.30pm : I try to be smart. From watching tv, I know that putting ice can reduce swelling. Actually, numerous previous sports injuries had already taught me that. I figure that I'll go home and sleep on it. Unfortunately, I am in no fucking condition to drive, and even if I wanted to, I didn't have a car. I didn't want to be a bitch asking those guys to send me home when there wasn't anything wrong with me.

1am : I have been sitting still all the while. I stand up and realise that I am fucked. I can't fucking walk. I can't even stand. The guys eventually send me home.

1.30am : My mum is not too pleased that I want to go to bed. She demands that I go to the hospital to get an X-Ray. I say, I have had shit load of these injuries before. I know when its torn, and when its just pulled. Admittedly, its on of the worst I have had, but I know its not that bad.

2am : Reach the hospital. I learn that shows like ER and Chicago Hope are bullshit. The emergency room is dead in the middle of the night. The nurses are half asleep. The security guard is walking around like he is high on Ice. God knows where all the Medical Officers (MOs) are. My mum has to go grab a wheelchair from the nurses and wheel it to me in the car, cause the nurses are constipated and don't seem to be able to move very fast.

2.10am : Nurse takes my BP and my pulse. Apparently, its procedure. But can someone explain to me why they need my BP when clearly the problem is with my fucking foot?

2.15am : It takes them five fucking minutes to for them to wheel me into the examination room to go see the MO. MO expressed her extreme shock to hear that I was playing football at 11pm. Hey, what time I play football is not your problem! Have a look at my damn leg!

2.16am : MO finally tells me something I had known all night. "I don't think your bone is broken. I think you might have either torn or pulled your ligament. I am going to send you to take an X-Ray."

2.18am : Nurses give my mum a piece of paper and ask her to pay for my X-Ray before they actually perform the X-Ray on me. Apparently, money is more important than finding out why my ankle looks like a pufflefish. The cashier is busy sleeping, and my mum has to ring the bell 3 times before she wakes up. Outside, I am sitting on my wheelchair, and I am bored. I start wheeling myself all over the place, racing with imaginary people. I am a natural, and I master the wheelchair very fast. I could even do a fast U-turn.

2.19am : The two nurses seem amused by me. They don't sleep, but instead watch me amuse myself with the wheelchair. Joe calls me on my handphone to check up on how I am.

2.20am : My mum has come back from my cashier. Now that they have my money, they allow me to do the X-Ray. So, on of the nurses wheels me to the X-ray room. She should have tied the wheelchair to a snail and let the snail pull me, cause I doubt that the speed would have been very different.

2.21am : At the radiology department, the nurse spends another few minutes trying to find the technician to take the X-Ray. The techie is sleeping too. While waiting for the techie to come out, I think of Joe's phonecall. I remember he told me a story of how one of his friends had an accident and went to the hospital. There was nothing wrong with him when he went in, but he left the hospital with a broken arm. Apparently, the guy was like myself, bored and playing with the wheelchair. The dude tried to do a wheelie on the wheelchair, and it toppled over, giving him a broken arm.

2.30am : I am wheeled back to see the MO, and she has the results of the X-Ray. For the second time, she tells me shits that I already know. "Your bone is not broken." No shits, Sherlock! "You also don't need to put your foot in a cast. I'll get the nurse to wrap your foot in a bandage, and I'll give you an injection for the pain." I wonder whether they taught her simple initiative in med school. Before giving people injections, ask whether the guy needs it. I actually have a damn high tolerance of pain, and I don't need unnecessary injections. After all, I am going home to bed. I tell her to keep her syringe to herself.

2.40am : Off goes my mum to pay for my medicine and consultation fees. She has to wake the fucking cashier again. I get bored and decide to try doing a wheelie with the wheelchair. The hospital floor is too slippery and there is not enough grip between the wheel and the floor. It doesn't work out. Instead, an old woman who just walked in decides to have a chat with me. The security guard then sees me racing up and down in a wheelchair and asks me, "Are you a patient?" What the fuck did he think I was? I told you he was high on Ice.

2.45am : My mum comes back to the waiting lounge after collecting my medicine. We wait for the nurse to prepare the examination room so that she can bandage my foot.

2.50am : My mum gets impatient as they don't seem to be doing anything, but keep us waiting. She asks them how long till the room is ready. The damn nurse replies that she didn't know that my foot was supposed to be bandaged. I suppose she thought I was waiting there for fun. She grabs a bandage and wraps up my foot. I could have done it better.

2.55am : We finally get the fuck out of there. I get home, open the bandage, and wrap it back neater and better. I still couldn't walk. My mum brings out a pair of old crutches that she had in the storeroom. I sleep in the hall and mosquitoes eat me the whole night long.


*To be continued........the benefits of being handicapped*

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Wednesday, December 22, 2004

ditched bride

On the front page of today's Star :



Ditched Bride to Sue Footballer


In short, that woman wants to sue some guy for ditching her and cancelling the wedding at the last minute cause it caused her a lot of embarassment.

Ok, sad story.

Actually, what struck me was the full blown picture on the papers. I dunno about you, but she didn't look very sad. And does the curve on her lips seem to be in the shape of a supressed smile?

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Monday, December 20, 2004

a healthy habit

A family friend who heard that my dad sometimes gets muscle aches after playing golf gave him a hand held massager which apparently helps. Supposedly the guy tried it before. I took one look at the thing and laughed. My dad thought I was crazy.

Here's why :




The lines on the cover reads : "Eliminates fatigue & Dissipate muscle ache"

I think they forgot one more important function : "Keeps women happy"

Here's what it looks like after the plastic case is removed :





All you need to do is rotate the purple part a bit and the whole stick starts vibrating furiously. The more you twist it, the harder it rotates.

Who says you can't legally buy a vibrator in Malaysia? It may not be a Rampant Rabbit, but I think it still does the trick.

Actually, those manufacturers weren't lying. It technically is massaging, and I read somewhere that masturbating is healthy cause it makes people happy and improve blood circulation. Also, it does eliminate fatigue. How? After making themselves happy, people tend to fall asleep hence eliminating fatigue.

Smart bastards those guys.

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Friday, December 17, 2004

cultural clash

I was reading my very good friend's blog about an argument she had with her Korean friend, and how the girl got embarassed by such a minor afair. Or, minor in her perception. Actually, there are a lot of stuffs where something is right in one culture might seem totally inappropriate elsewhere.

Its not only limited to those stuffs. For example, different practices which people take for granted might vary with different cultures. Here's a story from school.

During PE (physical education) sessions, we were allowed to play any sport we liked. The most popular being football of course. Everybody plays football. Malays, Chinese, Indians. Everybody who has a dick plays football. Some people with dicks chose to play cricket too, dunno why.

Once in Form 1, while kids were all hitting puberty, while playing, somebody rammed the ball straight at another guy's 'below the belt' area. Not a very pleasant experience I would imagine. Anyway, as the poor bastard was lying down holding his member in all agony, the following conversation took place at another part of the field.

Ahmad : *shouts at the injured dude* OI! Ok tak? Telur ada pecah kah? (Oi, You alright? Are the eggs broken?)

Muthu : Entah dia, nanti kena balik cuba. (Dunno him, he gotta go home later and try)

Ahmad : *walks over to the injured dude* Eh, nanti balik guna sabun cuba, tengok masih boleh pakai tak. (Eh, when you go home afterwards, use soap and test to see whether it still works)

Ah Chong : *puzzled* Eh, Bala, why need to use soap? What's that Ahmad talking about?

Muthu : Dunnolah. Must be some other method.

Ah Chong : Oi Ahmad! Korang toceng guna sabun buat apa? (Oi Ahmad ! Why do you need soap for when you wank?)

Ahmad : Memang toceng guna sabun mah. (Of course you need soap to wank)

Muthu : Huh? Payah ar? Tak payah la..you orang buat apa ni? (Huh? Need soap? I don't think so. What do you do?)

Ahmad : Oi bangang! Engkau toceng tak guna sabun, cem mana nak buat? (Oi idiot! How the hell do you wank without using soap?)

Ah Chong : Tak tau la kau. Tak payah sabun la, you balik try nanti. (I dunno what you do. You don't need it, go home and try later)

And I think the conversation just ended there.

*As with all those politically correct advertisements you see on TV, Ahmad, Ah Chong and Muthu are not actual people, but are a representation of the 3 races of little kids*

It was only much later that I realised why Ahmad needed soap to wank. And if you can't figure out why Ahmad needed the soap but Ah Chong and Muthu didn't, well, I ain't going to explain it to you. Maybe you should be looking at pages like this instead.

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Thursday, December 16, 2004

victory for adults

As you know, its the school holidays now. Because of that, kids have nothing to do at home. Especially the little ones who are too young to go out by themselves. So, they follow their housewives mum out grocery shopping.

Now, as you all already know, the single most irritating thing I find with small kids these days are their fucking shoes.

Never mind all that, I was pushing the trolley laden with beer and coke out of the aisle. It was quite fucking heavy and the wheels were a bit spoilt. Coming out from the aisle, there was a kid about 7 years old zooming down the main aisle with his rollershoes.

It was like a car accident. He couldn't stop in time and crashed straight into my trolley. Here's the thing. The trolley is heavy, inertia makes it hard to control. So, after he crashed into it, it turned one full turn and smack him again as he was lying on the ground. Needless to say, he started crying as I apologised (I feel like a hypocrite apologising when I don't mean it). His mother looked at me like as though I killed her precious little boy.

I wheeled my trolley away and continued shopping. Let's hope he gets rid of his shoes when he got home.

*I tried to stop*
*Really*

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Tuesday, December 14, 2004

4Cs

Singaporean women require 5C's - we've all heard about those ridiculous demands and laughed at it. Every other woman has this other even WORSE requirement of only 4C's. Nobody laughs at this though.

So when is four worse than five? Its when those C's are Cut, Colour, Clarity and Carat. If you are a guy and you don't know what those stuffs are, you're quite fucked actually. However, if you are girl and you don't know what the fuck I was talking about, please STOP reading immediately and give me your phone number. I want to know you.

I went jewellery shopping yesterday and learned loads of useful stuffs.

You know those small pieces of carbon called diamonds? Bad things, those. How come a single piece of stone costs so much? I don't know. Theres all sorts of funny names for their classification as well. Like the colour of a diamond is graded alphabetically from D-Z, D being the best colour. Don't know why not A though. Diamond clarity has some questionable names too. Best clarity is coded F (flawless, very rare). The more common ones but still high quality ones are VVS1 and VVS2 (very very slightly included - whatever the fuck that means)

Ok, these fucking jewellery shops are scammers too. You see a diamond ring on the display and look at the price tag - RM30 000. You stop and count the number of zeros before you walk away thinking what a cool piece of jewellery it is and wishing you could buy one. Actually, the price shown is marked up way over the selling price. For diamonds at least. Don't know shit about the gold stuffs. The woman in a yellow clown suit said that she could reduce the price by 40%, but after more frequent bargaining she ups the discount to 45%.

Now, theres a big difference between all sorts of diamond rings. There are some which easily tricks people. You see a big ring and its scattered all around with diamonds. Next you see a small ring with just ONE diamond in the middle. Actually, that one, can be more than 2 times the price of the big one. Thats cause that one diamond is bigger and hence more valuable than the rest of the insignificant little bacterias trying to pass themselves off as diamonds.

So yeah, the woman in the yellow clown suit was saying that for the ring with the small diamonds, there is not certificate for it. The only certificate of authencity is from the jewellery shop. However, those with the single diamonds have a certificate from the diamond cutters that they came from. Which I figured out, that certificate has just as much value as the stone itself. Which I also figured out, it would be easier to get those guys in China to make print a fake cert and polish a piece of glass to call it a diamond.

Think about it. How many people on the street know the worth of a piece of stone? That means, you can buy a really expensive piece of 2 Carat, D colour, F clarity stone and give it to your girlfriend, and she won't even know how much its worth - hence not getting your deserved reward in bed later on. Or, if you look at it from the other point of view, you could also give her a piece of glass and she might over-reward you later on.

Assume that there's a family heirloom passed down over generations. I don't think there were certificate of authenticy in those days. Or say there was but your great great grandmother lost it when she came to Malaysia from China some 100 years ago. For generations, your ancestors pass it down, and its treasured by everybody. They guard it with their fucking lives. One day, the family goes bankrupt trying to pay for the medical bill of the old lady suffering from Lupinostitis. They finally decide to sell the diamond, when the jewellerer tells them that its nothing but a piece of glass.

The point is, if nobody tells you, most people would have no fucking idea about the value of the jewellery they are wearing. Hence, most people are wasting it.

Vincent's Theory of Common Logic is that people shouldn't use something if they don't know its value. Hence, people shouldn't wear jewellery if they don't know how to appreciate its value. When that happens, the minority who do know the value of stuffs are mocked by the uninformed majority. The majority then gets fed up and stops wearing jewellery. Sooner or later, nobody bothers about a hard piece of stone anymore. Men no longer have to satisfy the lust of women by buying them expensive stuffs. MANkind is happy once again. Good triumphs over evil. The dark force is forced back to the pits of darkness.

Vincent becomes the King of Men.

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Monday, December 13, 2004

bad salesman

I was sitting in front of my computer thinking of something to blog about. I didn't want to blog about my flight back cause theres nothing much to tell. I sat with a bunch of my friends who were sleeping pretty much throughout the flight, so theres no fun story there. So far, nothing interesting has happened since I landed in Bolehland.

As I was saying, I was sitting here thinking about what to blog about when something rang into mind. As in literally rang. My doorbell. As I was walking out to answer it, my big black Chewbakka bitch was barking furiously, trying to ask whoever it was to fuck off.

At the gate was a door to door salesman. He was dressed elegantly with a tie and a white shirt and black pants. Very presentable. Although I question the logic of walking around in the hot sun wearing one of those nooses around your neck. Next to him was a chick dressed in house clothes. Probably his girlfriend or something like that. Very Ahlian looking. She was no taller than his shoulder and was carrying a bottle of water and wearing a pair of minishorts which barely covered her ass cheeks.

The salesman guy proceeded to explain :

Salesman : Hello Mister. We are here to tell you about discount cards.

(Ok, I hate it when people call me MISTER, but I play along)

Vincent : What discount cards?

Salesman : When you buy electronic goods from Kedai Runcit Pak Mamat, you can get a discount.

(Ok, there is no Kedai Runcit Pak Mamat, but it was some crap shop)

Vincent : Oh, I don't want no cards.

Salesman : *Looks damn bloody shocked* You don't want a discount?!?!? Everybody likes discounts when they buy stuffs. Everybody wanted to hear about the cards when I told them.

(Now I am pissed cause the guy lied to me.)

Vincent : Nope. I like buying things for more money. I don't like sales. I like to pay the shop more money.

Salesman : You're weird.

Vincent : Yes I am. Now please don't disturb me. I need to go blog.

Salesman : Blog? What's that?

*Chick whispers something to him*

Salesman : Ok Mister. Thank you. Bye bye. If you change your mind about discount cards, please call me.


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Friday, December 10, 2004

balik kampung

I will be back in Bolehland in approximately 30 hours time. Any of my fan club wants to buy me drinks or make out (if you are a chick), I'll be free then.

I can't wait to see what other moronic things have happened to my beloved home. Last time I was back, kids had wheels on their shoes and the Ministry of Health's idea of a good 'No Smoking' advertisement was to put a picture of a chick covering her mouth.

One thing for sure : Hitz.fm's Governator in the mornings is fucking irritating. Hope the guy who does his voice wakes up one day and is driven to insanity as he realises what a moron he has been.

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ballet

Vincent watched The Nutcracker yesterday. Yes, Vincent watches ballet.

Faster all you bitches, laugh your balls out. Yeah, that's it. Come on, ask me : 'Hey, you, "machoman", you watch ballet?'

Yes, I do. And I like it too. One of my old favourite movies is called Centre Stage, about a bunch of student ballet dancers.

But I am not in much mood to drag a long story on why you should like a bunch of scary muscular people dressed in tights. Neither am I going to do a boring review of St. Petersburg Ballet Company's version of Nutcracker which most people won't give a shit about(I thought it sucked real bad).

Instead, I am going to tell give you parenting tips. Wow, thats so much more interesting, yes?

Now, I went for the matinee show, cause its cheaper for me and its during a more convenient time. As the name suggest, there were a fucking lot of kids around. You might have figured out where I am going with this. Kids can't fucking sit still. When I was a kid, I couldn't even sit still for 5 minutes. So, to think that you could get your kid to sit still for 2.5 hours is fucking kidding yourself.

Next to me was a family with two young girls, no more than 5 years old. 10 minutes into the performance, they started climbing on their chairs and talking to each other. I don't really blame them. I blame their moronic parents. Look, an adult who doesn't appreciate ballet or stuffs like that will also get aggitat. So, if you know your kid has no fucking interest in such stuffs, then don't bring them to watch it. Save your money. Buy them an ice-cream, or a PS2.

I know what these parents are trying to do. They bring their kids to watch shows like that in hope that their kids get some interest in stuffs like that. Its all for showing off you see.

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Wednesday, December 08, 2004

my beef

Last week there was an event in the university organised by a few organisations like People & Planet and Amnesty International. It was called One World Week. Its basically a campaign trying to expose the ignorant Western world to other cultures and let people know what else is going on around the world.

What's wrong with that? Nothing. Its a good thing to teach idiots new things. There was a photo exhibition organised by People & Planet in conjunction with World Aids Week and a exhibition booths showcasing other cultures. You get the idea. I was walking around the photo exhibition when I bumped into some weird booth with postcards pasted around.

I saw that that booth was manned by Amnesty International, so I decided to get the fuck away from there.

Why? I hate them.
Why? I'll tell you later.

Before I could get out of there, a chick manning the booth approached me. Blonde, tall, long legs. Nicee. Too bad she's involved in such crap. Anyways, she tries talking to me :

Blondie : Hi....would you like to write a postcard to a victim of human rights abuse in under-developed countries?

Vincent : *stares at her long and hard*

Blondie : We were very lucky to grow in a normal live, but many unfortunate people, some kids are forced into child labour.

Vincent : *stares at all the other postcards*

Blondie : So, would you like to sign a postcard?

Vincent : No. *and walks away*



Q : So Vincent, what's your beef with Amnesty International?
A : Amnesty International is an organisation started by whitemen to fight and condemn human rights abuse around the world.

Q : Precisely, whats wrong with that?
A : They are hypocrites. Whitemen with their industrial development are the chief pollutors of the environment. They have a rich 500 year old history of conquering lands, and making slaves out of natives whose lands they intruded. They too, in their Industrial Revolutions resorted to child labour to get the job done. Now that they are rich and developed, they have the balls to tell the poor people what's right and what's not?

Q : Come on, loads of people are hypocrites. Its not the organisation's fault of what their governments did in the past and might currently be doing. And you know that, so tell me now, why do you really hate them?
A : Ok, they pissed me off with that issue with Thailand's War on Drugs. Basically, Thailand has a fucked up problem with drugs in their society. When they declared a war on drugs, the police went around shooting anybody so much as suspected to be drug dealers. Needless to say, just shooting people on the spot is not a very good idea, and results in a shit load of innocent people dying. Amnesty International then raised a big hoo-hah about this 'abuse of human rights' by not giving suspects a fair trial. They even went as far as trying to get the UN to impose sanctions on Thailand (which never worked out).

Now, there are two arguments to the story, and to be honest, I still can't decide whether its right to shoot people in the spot. Either way, Amnesty still looks like a dick to me.

First one, the more logical approach says that you can't go around shooting people you SUSPECT. Its not fair and if you are an idiot who got framed, then you are fucked. So, you might argue that that War on Drugs is a wrong approach, unjustified and immoral.

But hey, does that sound familiar? Oh yes, Vincent, that sounds very much like a certain War on Terror. Where people are suspected and shot. Innocent civilians died too. Of course, in that case, those innocent civilians are known by another name 'Collaterals'. I know that Amnesty International are indeed doing something for the POWs, but if similar treatments should be meted out, then those scammers should call for UN sanctions on the US and Britian. Which of course is a fucking ridiculous thing to suggest. So it basically means that you can try to get people to put sanctions on Thailand cause they are a small country. Hypocrites.

The other more radical approach makes sense too. Everybody agrees that in a war, collaterals are unavoidable. You try to minimise the loss of innocent lives, but it is impossible to totally avoid it if you do indeed declare a war. Whether it is right or wrong, that's not the issue. What I am saying is that its unavoidable.

Now, you have to look from the point of view on the Thai government. Drugs in Thailand are a scrouge. I know a bunch of Thai dudes in my class who happily admit that they have tried some kinda drugs before. Its like negotiating with terrorist - you can't. By the time you are done with one group, ten more groups spring up elsewhere. Its like that with drugs in Thailand. By the time you rehabilitate 1 drug addict, 10 more drug addicts srping up. So, you declare a war, and the point I made earlier, in a war, collaterals are unavoidable.

If you take this stand point, Amnesty still looks like a dick, because they take no effort into understanding the severity of the situation and the necessary actions that were taken.

Q : But surely its commendable for them to condemn stuffs like child labour?
A : That depends. Condemning child labour in rich developed countries are a correct thing to do. But condemning child labour in poor countries or poor communities is just fucking ignorant. In those communities, child labour is essential for their economy. Either the children help their parents work, or the whole family starves. As simple as that. Sure, it would be nice to have the kids go to school, and to play with other kids. But its not as simple as that, and ignorant people have to understand that before fighting for something.



The sad thing is that most people who get involved in that scam organisation (like the blonde chick) think that they are helping poor sods who are victims of human rights abuse. They actually don't know what the fuck they are fighting for.

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Tuesday, December 07, 2004

skin colour blind

Alright, I don't know what the actual term is, but there is a condition I heard of before. Its where people can't recognise people of different races from them. To be honest, I've got real problems recognising black guys. No, not Indians. I mean those African dudes.

To me, they all look the same. All big sized, hair short are stubby, high cheekbones. Hell, they even sound the same to me. Stuffs like that. Meaning that if I witness a murder commited by an African guy, there would be a possibility that I pick out the wrong guy from a police line up.

Today, I occured one such case with a whiteman. There's a meal system in my hostel. For lunch and dinner, there's a box in which there are everybody's meal cards which has their name and photo. Basically, you look for your card, then go into the serving area and give your card to the waiter and then he gives you your food. They collect all the cards and place them into the box again for the next meal. No need meal cards for breakfast.

However, sometimes people have classes which overlap lunch times, in which case you can get a packed lunch (sandwiches, biscuits, etc...) which you need to collect in the morning during breakfast time. And for that, you use your lunchtime meal card, and they seperate your card so that it doesn't go into the box for lunch, and so you can't get a proper lunch for that day once you collected your packed lunch.

I usually never wake up for breakfast cause I have late classes everyday. Today, I woke up around 12pm and went for lunch. I couldn't find my meal card on the table, so I went to the waiter serving food and told the dude that my meal card wasn't there. That guy was new and didn't know who I was. I mean, all the other waiters know me cause I like chatting with them. Anyway, this new guy, who looked a bit gay I thought, he looked at me funny and started to pick a fight.

GayWaiter : Of course your meal card is not there. You took a packed lunch this morning. You can't have hot lunch now.

Vincent : No mate, I just woke up. I didn't come down for breakfast.

GayWaiter : Yes, you did. I remember you.

Vincent : Wot? You've gotta be joking. (I tend to be very polite to the waiters, I like most of them)

GayWaiter : Don't lie, I saw you this morning. You were sitting just there.

*Ok, now the fucker was starting to piss me off. I do bullshit about a lot of stuffs, but I don't lie. I was about to scold the fuck out of him, but another waiter guy came along and told the gay guy to give me the food cause he knows me*

Since its my policy NEVER to fight with waiters cause you'll never know what kinda shits they can put in your food, I walked away with my food. But nevertheless, this proved the above theory. There are only a handful of Asian guys in my hostel. Out of this bunch, only 3 of us wear spectacles. One guy is as white as steam chicken and doesn't look anything like me. The other guy has the same skin colour as me, but he doesn't look anywhere as cool as me. So I don't really know which guy the fucker confused me for.

Possible solutions to the mystery :

1) The gay fucker knows I am homophobic. He doesn't like me.
2) Some other fucker stole my card and used it in the morning.
3) I was sleepwalking, had breakfast without myself knowing, and took packed lunch and ate it in my sleep as well.

That boring story has no ending actually.

*Its 4.30am and I am in the computer lab doing work for my group project meeting in 5 hours time. In the computer lab are 3 other dudes. Two of them look Chinese, and the other guy looks Thai. Only Asians are crazy enough to do work at this kinda ungodly hour. Its actually my fault. I should have done work earlier, but I just came back from clubbing. And instead of doing work, I am blogging.*

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Monday, December 06, 2004

jealous or not?

I have nothing to blog about today, so here's a screenshot of my download activities yesterday :




How fucking fast is that?

By the way, I blurred out the filenames of the stuffs that I am downloading cause I don't want people knowing what kinda porn I watch. How would I know what kinda sick people are lurking out there wanting to know what kinda porn other people likes?

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Sunday, December 05, 2004

thai names

I have a shit load of Thai friends. Loads. However, out of the whole lot, I only know 2 of their full names. Thats because Thai people have bloody long and tongue twisting names. The solution for that - their parents give them a nickname when they are young, and that nickname stays with them forever. Their friends call them that, and they call themselves that. In fact, they seldom ever use their real names unless for administrative purposes, like buying a gun or something like that.

Thai nicknames are cool. Here are some actual nicknames of some of my Thai friends :

Toon
Pipe
Fluke
Joke
X........(yes, thats it. Just the letter X)
Bon
Champ

Now, before I proceed, I would like to stress again that these nicknames are not like the nicknames that a lot of us had in schools. They are not a mockery, like Froggie, or Steam Chicken or Fat Fuck, not stuffs that their friends use to make fun of them. These are actual nicknames that they voluntarily ask people to call them.

And because most Thais don't understand English anyway, they probably had no idea what their names mean in English. To them, its a name that sounds nice and is something easy that their friends can call them.

And even if they did understand what their names are, some of their nicknames, its just not possible to make fun of. How do you mock a guy called Champ? Or better still, what do you say to a Pipe? Nicknames as I know it are names that relate somebody to something. You call somebody a Goat maybe because he has a prominent goatee. Or you call somebody a Sotong because he is blur. But where did a name like Pipe come from?

These names are damn creative. There's a difference between creative and stupid. Calling yourself Condom or Hulk is just stupid. But I think if you were to call yourself Table, you'll get along fine.

Like Chinese people here :

Dude 1 : Hi, my name is John. What's your name?
Dude 2 : My name is Jin Hock Tan....but you can call me Jin for short.
Dude 1 : Ok, nice to meet you Jin.......

But Thai guys are cooler :

Dude 1 : Hi, my name is John. What's your name?
Dude 2 : My name is Pawasdeekrit Srihanlaskeet..
Dude 1 : Err....pawas..dee........
Dude 2 : Oh, just call me Table.
Dude 1 : Table....what table?
Dude 2 : Table...like the one you use to write stuff on, that kinda table. Thats my nickname.

You know who else should learn from the Thais and adopt nicknames?
The Greeks. That's who. Their names are wayyy too long as well.

And you know who else should learn about cool names from the Thais?
Hongkees. That's who. They should learn that giving themselves names like Hilda, Fish and Gigi are FUCKING RIDICULOUS.

Friday, December 03, 2004

fish taking the bait

Since I was young, my mum would constantly drum one proverb into my head. Well, actually, there were many proverbs, but this one is the only relevant one to my story now. She says, "If a fish doesn't open his mouth, he won't get caught and if a mute doesn't talk, nobody will know he is mute."

In other words, if you don't know what the fuck you are talking about, its best to shut your hole (the one below your nose). A lot of people are stupid, I have already established that, but I won't know whether you are stupid or not, unless you prove that fact to me. In the last 2 days, I have encountered many such occurances.






I have a few optional subjects I can take as a final year student. This one is called 'Combustion, Engines and Power Plants'. As the name cleverly suggests, we learn about those stuffs. Today, there was a field trip to a power plant. Its not a compulsory part of the subject, the lecturer organised it and you could go if you wanted. Or you could have stayed home to sleep.

As you would have figured, I went on the trip even though I prefer sleeping. So here's the thing, field trips like these are not like the field trips you had as a primary school trip. Its not a trip to the zoo where your teacher explains each animal to you and explains to you where each animal comes from.

Industrial site visits are different. You are expected to know what each component is used for. Afterall, that is what they taught you in class. Questions are encouraged, yes. But not stupid questions. You don't study a subject about power plants for one whole semester, only to go to the power plant and ask the Plant Engineer what the gas turbine is used for. Its like going to a swimming pool and asking the lifeguard what the water is used for.

There was not just one idiot who went on the trip. There were a whole bunch of morons who asked a lot of stupid questions. If you are a bad student (like me) who doesn't usually revise their stuffs until 1 week before the exam, that's ok. But when you voluntarily sign up for a trip, then at least do some prior homework. And if you are still lazy to do your homework, then just keep your fucking mouth shut and nod in agreement to everything that the Plant Engineer tells you.





Just now, I was with a friend when a British guy came up to us. From the way the British guy talked to my friend, I think they knew each other.

British guy : Hey, you alright?
DumbAss : Yeah fine.
British guy : Do you want to buy some raffle tickets?
DumbAss : Raffle tickets? But....but...I haven't used a gun before....
British Guy : No mate....I mean RAFFLE tickets.
DumbAss : Yeah, I haven't even seen a gun up close before.
British guy + Vincent : ...........(too dumbfucked to say anything).......

Apparently, the dumbass thought that raffle was something like a rifle. Don't know why he would think that. Just because two words sound almost similar, doesn't mean that they have the same meaning. Like, a blood sucking TICK has got no similarities to a blood rich DICK.

Its actually a simple rule. If you haven't heard of a word before, then have some balls to say that you don't know what the word means. Thats much better than pretending you know what means and then making a complete arse of yourself.




Finally, something from my very extremely good friend's blog :






For me, I started reading the newspapers when I was 10 years old. However, I know a shocking number of university students who still don't read the newspapers, not even the comics. But its not that people tell me, 'Hey, I don't read the newspapers.' Actually, most people prove that they don't read the newspapers like I have shown in the example above.

They try to say something that sounds smart, something that tries to give people the impression that they are very knowledgable, but at the end, it blows up in their face. A lot of people hear a small piece of information or news from their neighbour's son, and try to take that piece of extra knowledge they know to make themselves sound smart.

Yes, the US dollar is not doing very well. Information well sourced from Chua Ah Kow. However, dumbass, the US dollar dropping or raising has got no difference to Malaysian students studying there, cause the ringgit is pegged at RM3.80 to the Dollar. I don't need to say more.




I am surrounded by....idiots....morons....blondes. I need a break....I need to go on a holiday to a deserted island where there are no human beings. Just me and myself.

Moral of the stories : Think before you open your mouth. If your brain doesn't have sufficient power to do the thinking, then don't open your mouth in the first place.

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Wednesday, December 01, 2004

last minute worker

People who know me well know that I am a bit sick in the head. Well, actually, anybody who reads this blog would have probably figured that out. But what I actually mean is that I am sadistic. I like causing trouble for myself, and then solving all those problems myself, and then look myself in the mirror and tell myself that I am great.

Anyways, it is a really great habit of mine to throw all my assignments in the corner and only get down to it at the very last minute. For example, a case study given 4 weeks ago was kept at the bottom of my file and only looked at yesterday. Its due on Friday. Another assignment due on Friday was given way back in the first week of October. I started it 3 days ago.

Why Vincent, why? You are not a very good student. One pompous classmate of mine expressed an exasperated disbelieve last week when I told him that I hadn't even looked at the assignment yet. He asked me why I hadn't started yet. I told him that I am a lazy fuck. He then asked whether I was busy with other stuffs. I told him that I am busy sleeping everyday. The dude then proceeded to advice me that 'this is not the way a 1st class student works'. I looked at him, and laughed in his face while admiring his dumbfucked expression.

So, what's my problem? I believe that I work best under stress. I like to cram everything to the last minute. Inspiration comes when under pressure. Its a talent that not many people have. Usually, under stress, people crack, people go nuts. Me, I savour the challenge and raise to the occasion. I can't do work knowing that I have so much time left till the deadline. I prefer to take that time doing other more important stuffs like sleeping and playing.

I have lost count of the times when I have actually camped over night in the computer lab, furiously typing a report or doing some technical drawings. I start working at night, and plan my work for the night so thwat I usually finish around 6am. Hand in my work in the courseworks pigeonhole, and then go back and sleep a very nice sleep. End result - not much different from my classmates who do their work in advance. Sometimes I do better than them, sometimes a little worse. But generally somewhere around the class average.

Then you ask, Vincent, you always talk about perfection. How come now you are settling for average marks? Well, sometimes compromises have to be made. This way, I get to enjoy the best of both worlds. I get to enjoy student life. When I graduate, I can look back and think, 'At least I wasn't a geek doing work everyday.' I have a talent of being a fast learner, and hence I can afford to cram my work till the end. So why not make use of that talent?

*This method is not a very good idea for most people. 98% of the people who try this end up getting really crappy marks and go crazy at the end of the day. Don't try this at home.

*If you wish to ignore my advice and try it, then may I suggest ONE can of Red Bull and some digestive biscuits to keep you company throughout the night.