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Sunday, April 29, 2007

vivid imagination

ACT FOUR

Scene Eight


An old man is sitting on a rocking chair. He rests his glasses on top of his balding head as he is peering through the narrow slits in his eye to read the magazine. The light from the setting sun filters through the window shutters, creating a serene environment. The peaceful sound of animals mating on the National Geographic Channel in the background is suddenly pierced by a loud scream..

Kid: Gong Gong! Gong Gong!

Old man: (looks up) Hmmm?

Kid: Gong gong! There's a cat outside on the road! A car ran over it...I think it's dead...but shouldn't be right? Cats have nine lives mah...

Old man: Don't be silly. They don't have nine lives. Don't ever let your teacher teach you nonsense, okay?

Kid: (frowns)

Old man: Okaylah, gong gong will tell you a story now. You want to hear a story or not?

Kid: Okay..

Old man: Last time when I was young that time, I went out poh poh. That time I was working in a kampung and she was working in the big city. But one day, she had to come to the kampung for business, and then I took her out to a kopitiam for breakfast.

Kid: What's a kopitiam?

Old man: It's a coffeeshop. Nowadays no more already. People go there drink coffee and eat roti bakar.

Kid: And?

Old man: Nolah, that's it. People just sit down there and talk.

Kid: Eeeyer, so boring one.

Old man: But last time that's what people did. And besides, there is nothing else to do in the kampung. But the kopitiam was quite far from my kampung, so we had to drive a long way to get there. And then on the way, we saw a big black thing by the side of the road in front of us.

Kid: What was it?

Old man: When we got closer, we saw that it was a dead tapir!

Kid: Gong gong, what's a tapir?

Old man: Haiyah, potong steam only la you. Tapir, now extinct already. Even when gong gong was young, usually we could see a tapir in zoos only. Like a buffalo's size. Big and then it is black and white in colour. So anyway, we saw a dead tapir by the roadside with its head mutilated already. Like as if it got mowed down by lorry.

Kid: Wow!

Old man: Yeah, cool huh? And even funnier still, on the way back home, poh poh's boss called her and asked her to go back to work.

Kid: And then?

Old man: And so I was rushing to go back....and my car's tyre punctured!

Kid: Hehehe! Yah yah, that day ayah's car tyre puncture and then mummy stand by the side holding umbrella while he was changing tyre. After that ayah make fun of her!

Old man: Hehehe, you know ah boy, somethings will never change!

Kid: Gong gong, tell some more stories!

Old man: Next day lah. Now time for you to go maghrib already.

(Kid runs off...)

End Scene

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Monday, April 23, 2007

betrayal

He knew something was amiss.

The anxious chatter behind him grew louder and bolder. They didn't feel the need to hide their sinister plans anymore. It was as if they didn't care if he knew. It was as if they wanted him to know.

He carried on according to plan. Everything was clockwork, as usual. He knew there was no escaping. He knew that his time had come. All he could do was hope that he would show a little dignity - salvage a little pride, right at the end of it all. He felt his breathing get heavier and heart pump faster. He could only imagine that theirs was the same. He felt saddened, not for the fact that there was nothing he could do to change his fate, but for the fact that there was nothing he could do to change the similar fate that his loyal friend would have to endure. The sweat lining his eyebrows were not from the heat, nor as you would imagine - from the fear, but from the anticipation of the inevitable.

The unmistakable sound of daggers being unscheathed behind him brought an almost eerie smile to him face. It was almost as if he was proud to have put one up over them - he knew it was coming. They had failed to catch him by surprise. As if it mattered to them.

One by one, the icy cold daggers pierced his toga, and then his back. Perfectly choreographed, the first one was brutal, the second one cruel, but after that, it was almost poetic. He didn't feel a thing after the fourth blow and all he wanted to do was to turn around and look his assailants in the eye. He was dying, yet all he could think of was to face his murderers and give them one last smile before he gave out.

He turned and another dagger pierced his heart. Not a dagger of steel, but one of emotional pain. His intended smile faded as he looked into the eyes of his chief executioner. A look of anguish, mixed in a cocktail of hate and sadness flooded his disbelieving face. He had been totally blindsided. He was beaten and beaten soundly.

And with his last breath, he whispered dissapointingly, "Et tu, Brutus?"

Nothing Brutus said mattered. Caeser was dead.

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Wednesday, April 18, 2007

play writing

Ordinarily, I would jump straight to the point and start babbling what I started thinking. But today, I am annoyed with the ignorance of many many people with regards to current affairs in the news. So, I shall tell the morons among you that this (angry) Korean kid went around shooting people in his uni. Very bad thing, indeed.

Details now emerge that this bloke was a scary character who studied English Literature and wrote plays of a graphic nature for his assignments. Hindsight is a nice thing to have, and so people are left to wonder what they could have done to prevent this unfortunate incident from happening. Only if, eh? Only if they had picked up on the meanings of his plays. I read both the plays that were posted online and I must say....a 10 year old kid could have done a better job. But I guess writing a good play wasn't his objective. I guess he had loads of steam to vent and writing those plays did the trick.

And as for me, well, I have been called many things by people reading my blog. My favourite, and most recently by a new friend who read my blog. Apparently she refers to me as 'The Angry Blogger' when talking to her pals. Now how awesome is that?

But I figured, I like writing and I haven't done it enough recently. So, on the way home from work (granted that there isn't any traffic jam in Hicksville) I thought of a short scene which pretty much sums up my feelings recently. How you choose to interprete those feelings are totally up to you though...




ACT TWO

Scene One

Two friends are having a chat by the water cooler. The office phone is ringing in the background. One of the characters, Vincent is pretending to drink from a mug. He is bored with Tom.

Tom: You know, she calls herself Penthesilea.

Vincent: Uh-huh...

Tom: It's like.......what the hell is a Penthesilea?

Vincent: You're a knob, you know.

Tom: What?

Vincent: Penthesilea was this great Amazaon warrior chick. She fought in the Trojan War and was supposedly in love with Archilles. Or Archilles was in love with her, I can't rememberlah.

Tom: Where do you read this shit la?

Vincent: This was according to Quintus who took over where Homer left off.

Tom: [bursts out laughing] Holy shit! You heard this from Homer?!? [continues laughing hysterically]

Vincent: Er...yeah.

Tom: [mocking laugh] And I thought you were a smart dude! You get information like that from a cartoon! Homer! [laughs like a hyena high on crack]

Vincent: [visibly anoyed] YOUR MUM LA! Not Homer Simpson la you fucktard!


Vincent ends the conversation by punching Tom in the face and ends up re-arranging Tom's facial bone structure. Camera zooms in on Tom's face. Maggots are crawling out. Camera zooms out and catches Vincent looking visibly pleased at his job of ridding the world of another idiot.


End of Scene One

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Saturday, April 14, 2007

an assorment

You know you are getting old when..
  • you make plans to go drinking with some buddies on a Friday night, and then it gets canceled because they are all too tired from work
  • you then make plans with other people to catch up at the mamak stall, only for them to announce at 11pm that they want to get home because they too are tired from work
  • you get home at 11.30pm and realise that you need sleep as well because its been a long, long day at work



Fifty years into the future, the sun is dying. Man's last hope lies with a heroic group of eight astronauts and scientists aboard the spaceship Icarus II charged with delivering a stellar fission bomb into the heart of the sun. Their predecessors on the Icarus I mysteriously failed in their mission never to be heard from again...until now. When contact with earth is cut and Icarus I is discovered languishing in space, things begin to unravel. As the crew members find themselves pushed to the breaking point, the question becomes: will they succeed in saving mankind or succumb to the light? - (source)

I know I paid to watch Mr Bean, but I am curious to know - just exactly what kind of tosser would actually pay to watch rubbish like that?



I remember a time when people told me that I should bitch less. These people said that it would lead to my apparent downfall. Or some similarly utter nonsense which I cannot full recall. I never believed it - I believed bitching was good, but you have to control who you bitch to. But lately, I learnt one very important lesson.

EVERYBODY BITCHES.

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Monday, April 09, 2007

idiots influencing idiots

Okay, so turns out that I had to be on the road again longer than expected. But all is well, for now I am really, really back to sitting my ass in one place for quite some time. I hope. Anyway, being away, I was again kept out of the loop by some apparently important matters.

Like how our ministers FINALLY caught wind of Jeremy Clarkson's opinion on the Perodua Kelisa. Although the headline of 'quality car' is very misleading, let us be sure on one thing.

Jeremy Clarkson is an idiot.

But what is more amusing is that people actually take him seriously. Truthfully, I don't really give a hoot about cars. I know I want a fast car, and an expensive one that looks awesome. Who doesn't? I know how an internal combustion engine works and anything basic that a mechanical engineer should know about cars. That is all I care to give a shit about. But I know a lot of people who think that just because they are men, it is automatically written into their DNA that they need to be interested in cars. Unfortunately, most of them know JACK SHITE but feel the need to prove their masculinity by acting interested. And verey unfortunately these morons refer to Jeremy Clarkson as the Holy Saviour and Top Gear as their Bible.

"How do you know that the Rover is a shitty car?"
"Because Jeremy Clarkson said so.."
"Awesome, matee........"

Idiot.

This reminded me of some bloke I met a few moons ago who had NEVER EVER watched a movie in the cinema before. But before you uppity urbanites start mocking this 'Jakun', you should perhaps know that there really isn't a branch of Golden Screen Cinemas in every kampung in Malaysia, hence it might be understandable that loads of people never had the chance to watch a movie in the dark room.

But therein lies the problem. See, because some other morons went around telling these people that bad things - naughty things happen in these large rooms where men and women are allowed to sit so closely to one another and that immoral things start happening when the light goes out. And in order to distance himself from things like that, this bloke bought pirated DVDs from the local AhBengs.

I am sure that his God would not have been pleased that his misguided and unchecked information would then lead to him breaking the law in purchasing those DVDs. Of course, back then, my sarcasm was kept in check because things like that could result in more idiots getting angry with me.

However, more recently, when I asked this other holy bloke to go clubbing, he replied that his priest said that such an activity was forbidden as many social vices happen in clubs. And so, this bloke doesn't drink or smoke, not because he feels that it is bad for his health, but because some old bloke in robes told him that he could not enter the promised land if he ever did things like that. He didn't go to clubs not because he didn't like the loud music, but because he was sure that estacy pills would be forced down his throat by Russian prostitutes high on Vodka Martinis.

"Have you ever been to a club before, then?"
"No, but I was told that improper stuff goes on in clubs"
"But if you have never seen someone pissed drunk, how do you tell the difference between drinking Shandy and Absinthe? Or if you have never seen what goes on on the dance floor, how do you decide what is proper when you have not seen the improper?!"

My advice?

Don't be an idiot. If you are going to have an opinion, don't follow blindly.

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Tuesday, April 03, 2007

the stupid things

Sometimes in life, you know you are about to do a stupid thing. Everything you know, everything you learnt tells you that that decision you are going to make is dumb. Yet, you just want to do it. Possibly for sentimental reasons. Possibly for the sheer curiousity. You figure it won't hurt you to do it, so you just do it anyway. Or you figure it might hurt, but just a little. And so you are willing to get your finger pricked...just to see how it would feel like to touch a bug-zapper.

Today, I did such a thing.

I paid 9 bucks to watch Mr Bean's Holiday.

In a way, I wasn't dissapointed with the outcome because I went into the cinema knowing that I was going to get screwed over. I knew it wasn't going to work out well. But I wanted to watch it anyway. I loved Mr Bean as a kid. I worshipped the TV series. I videotaped every single episode that aired on tv and watched each and everyone no less than 10 times. Yes, those are sentimental reasons, but perhaps those silly sentiments were enough to convince me that I don't mind paying 9 bucks to watch silly jokes repeat themselves over and over again.

I walked out of the cinema feeling absolutely...liberated.

And then I thought...perhaps in life, once in a while, and only once in a blue moon, it would be okay for us all to watch Mr Bean.

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