grrrrr’bage

It stands there doing nothing. Nothing at all. Couldn’t even tell if its siting or standing but it definitely serves a purpose. As clean and white as teeth in a toothpaste ad and yet seemingly impenetrable.
   Japanese comics have been a favorite in almost any non-asian country like malaysia. The same goes here with me too. The amazing attention to detail and engrossing story lines make japanese writers seem like the human dolphins. Pretenders. The intensity by which the stories are told, are so intense, so much so that i’m using the "so" word so [expletive]ing many times.
    When i was a young blood carrying bag of skin, another out of the world thing that caught my vivid imaginations-apart from manga- was the photo studio. It was merely a place for printing high quality images of snapshots of people (and stuffs), and remains a  testament to why  not everyone can become a model. Despite all this, a trip to any local photo studio gave me the perception that i was somehow going to some glamorous movie studio- maybe Universal or Warner or any other shit that makes clamor seem glamorous.
As i my phase changed from girlish kid to mature adult, i started to dislike taking photos. I was not photogenic, and neither my face nor the camera could get into an agreement for a good timely shot.
As god would have it, i despised a good many things in life. But nothing gave me the chills like sitting on the bright blue cushioned stool during photo shoots in photo studios.
   It was awkward, and i never had a good understanding with the photo taker. Either I leaned too much there or here, or smiled a little too much or was being to mundane or was looking at the other cameras, or couldn’t stand the bright flashes. Whatever it was, i really-genuinely felt that all of this somehow had something to do with that blue stool. Not the color or the cushion (deffinitely no), it was the sitting position. The smell of burning silver halide from the film rolls, plus that annoying smell of brown glue, all added up to give the awkwardly sitting me a deja-vu sort of feeling.
It was a feeling that brought me back to a time years (light years) ago, and also manages to remind me of yesterday, or last saturday, and the midnight of thursday(oh yeah).

    The minute i lay my buttocks on those luscious blue high rise comforters, i’m immediately dragged into another dimension. Everything seems white, and one gets the notion that he/she is in some sort of Matrix like white background-computer graphic imagery ( [expletive]ing movies ). A quick glance overhead reveals why premature judgments are as good as the Malaysian judiciary. The cream coloured asbestos coated ceiling, way above means that i’m trapped inside some kind of chamber. The circular walls, with a glossy finish gives me an impression like i’m about to go through some sort of interrogation session.

   I don’t know if the white surrounding is the cause of it or if the lights are too strong, but my vision seems somehow blurred, and a tingling sensation starts in the inner corners of my eye lid the minute i start blinking excessively.

    The eye "thingy" reminds of the time when i was made to stand under the sun without moving for a few hours while listening to the day-care speech my principle  gives during school sports days. The intensity of the heat and the humidity we lucky Malaysians have makes my breathing deeper and more shallow, and in turn causes me to lose whatever concentration i had on the ceremony.

    Breathing getting shallow. A [expletive]ing funny idea that is. Thats when i realised. Breath!  Air! Where? I wasn’t breathing !! Where was the [expletive]ing air. My palms where wrinkled. Shit ! I’m in some sort of liquid. Probably water. But it tasted a little sour, not salty sour, but more of a pickle like mild sour with a very obscene after taste.

Am i in some kind of Alice in Wonderbread thing. I sure didn’t feel like i was, but everything was turning stranger and stranger. The lights went off. It didn’t go off like  boom-gone. It was more off; like a fading-out thing. Everything got dimmer and dimmer, and suddenly, all the gloss and white wasn’t anywhere to be seen. There was this gleaming moon-like sparkle;no, no, more like a star-only a little bit larger, then the ones  you see in the night sky.

  The light that seeped in from above in that darkness formed a curved W. It had no meaning whatsoever, until.Until i saw the mothership. Holy shit, it was large. In the middle of it was a an opening. It was circular, but closed, with lines that seemed to spread out of the opening. There were this wire like tentacles, micro-tentacles standing stagnant and weak-looking from some of the lines.

   The light then started to fade slightly, and all of sudden, reality struck me hard and dry.  Everything made sense now. This wasn’t some sort of alien abduction story. It wasn’t even a mother[expletive]ing ship. It was what that paralyzed-wheel-chair driving, nurse [expletive]ing scientist had always yapped about. It was a black hole. The cosmic marvel.In front of my very eyes. It explained the dimming light. They were being sucked by the overwhelming gravity it held, the lines, were actually cracks signaling its age, maybe that of the universe. Two blobs stood in an inter-connecting way around the hole. Probably some sort of material reaction to the gravity pull.

  There was a sudden thunderous sound. it was deafening and sounded worser than a Harris Jeyraj song. It was more obscene than any curse word. Suddenly i was engulfed in the evilness of the sub-galactic creation. The smell was more than what mamak stall cookings had prepared me for. I was going to collapse. I was sure about that.

   I thought i was prepared for the worse when the smell died. Then the unexpected happened. An already confusing fiction-like read, turned even more insane. The black hole was going through its last stage; i suppose. It started to shrink, with the cracks that signaled its age, growing(multiplying). Unable to withstand its own wrongdoings (sucking everything), it was starting to crash under its own strain of maddening gravitational pull.

The sight of it, was unbearable. I had seen worser things in Vijaykanth’s Narasimma, but this was making the word "worser" seem like red riding hood catching her granny inside the big bad wolf in a very very naughty way (very).

    The hole (suction hole) then stopped. It had reached its limit, i think. No. It returned  to its normal position. It didn’t just return, it started to come at me. not at lightning speed. It was slow-moving a millimetre at every blink i made. It then gloated, and suddenly seem to be holding something that was about to come out. Something terrible. What the [expletive] was this? Was it really a black hole, or some kind of mother ship?

   The black hole+mother ship, then popped. The crack lines appeared to have lessen and disappeared. It had grown younger. Then its protege came popping out. The intense brain-draining smell that it let out earlier came back, only a little more stronger, and a little more haunting. It wasn’t just the smell that i had to face. Its child was  coming out, and it was going to drop it. I saw its head coming out, and it was faceless. Then, as the "thing" slowly crept out, the mother ship started to shrink. It seemed unable to hold the thing at its opening that long. The sudden shrinking of the opening of the mother hole ship gave out a cutting sound, and i swear i could hear that thing scream in pain, as its mother gave up on it. It started falling. Holy crap.It was falling on me. The light started to grow brighter again.

   I think i managed to have withstand all of it, as the growing brightness of the light seemed to signal the mother ship’s struggle to gain control. It was losing this battle, and it was succumbing to the pressure it built. The light was good in more than one way. It helped me get a millisecond of a glimpse on the mothership’s child, just before it lands beside me in its fall from grace moment. Then. Then

Then everything turned into a Jerry Springer show when the light shed some light on the "thing". It was brown, it was like a torpedo. A not so perfect torpedo. It had bulges and bumps in certain areas, and had some dark spots along with a few lighter coloured browns, and some other colours that belonged in its genre. Yellow too, i think so. The cylindrical frame of the thing contained a few cracks, despite its moist body, and a curving crack at its tip gave it a smiling face. Smiling probably because it knew that i knew what it was. Thinking that this indian [expletive]er finally found out how he got duped into sitting and staring at it without even understanding what it was.

The smell was too strong by now. It was part of me. A sign that it was too late. As the thing hits the surface and gives out its trademark splash sound, i would realise why it was me and why the white chamber was here and why It stands there doing nothing. Nothing at all. Couldn’t even tell if its sitting or standing but it definitely serves a purpose. As clean and white as teeth in a toothpaste ad and yet seemingly impenetrable.

There really was nothing one could do in a situation like this. the smell, was very familiar, and interesting. It was a stench that signaled something you don’t want to talk about. Something thats been happening from the day you were born to even yesterday. It was green the first time, but started turning brown once i started consuming meat. The smell came with it. Its distinctive torpedo shaped body signaled good health, and asteroid like droppings signaled a lack of liquid, while a splurge of chocolaty tsunami meant a bad choice of food.

Splash!!
the camera dude calls me again, i finally hear him. And he tells me to stop day-dreaming like some [expletive]ing shit and start posing.

pOyO

I am sorry that my taxes support the occupation of Palestine which I do not support, but yet my money does!

I’m sorry I don’t know how to evoke change. 

I’m sorry for the luxury I have and the self-pity ingrained in me by my culture. 

I’m sorry that I have a family that settled on a land that is not theirs.

I’m sorry that I don’t help.

I’m sorry for what my government does and that I can’t stop it. I’m sorry I don’t try to.

I’m sorry for the deaths, despair, and loss that have been done in my name, to protect me.

Who will protect Americans from themselves? No one!

I’m
sorry because I do not feel innocent, I feel guilty as an American for
my democracy which fails but is being shoved down others’ throats. 

I’m sorry that an apology, no matter how much I truly mean it, is not enough.

Kristina from USA

  Anda Boleh Jual Apa-Apa Saja dgn Iklan Online. Sungguh Mudah!
hehe

I feel privileged to thank god, for having granted me with the ability to sometimes sit down and be silent- As noisy as a mute. Despite all this, i  find myself constantly failing to be able to do the same to my mind, as it somehow has a parliament of its own-being able to create and abolish (break [expletive]er, break !!) them all in the drop of pee.
  Love as the topic so likely to make all those puberty waiting boys with more sprouts in their nose than their chest (you thought otherwise?), go EWWW, has always been a platform for most தமிழ் movie directors. But then, should it always be looked at as a way of re-telling the age old story of romeo [expletive]ing julio. Because you see my people. The world is so spellbound with love, that things that should move as frictionless as water going down butt cracks during sunny days; don’t when the thought of love envelopes (In this case,) my neighbor.i myself  find it hard not to go through my daily routine when love needs to be told.  Why-I haven’t  used  the term spellbound since my faggot-habbited routine watching Sabrina The Teenage Bitch series days.
   When i was young, i used to love the 007 movies. James Bond’s suave unimaginatively unbelievable knack to escape from any given situation was both comforting (If you aint routing for the villain) and dreamy (in a man’s way). It made us boys have a way of wowing future babes. But then again, I was always perplexed by one of hollywood’s most compelling mysteries.  Why wasn’t Mcguyver who could use a penknife or his undies equally well in a sure-death situation not given a code the same as 007, or why the [expletive] didn’t the bastard ever make it to the theaters?
   pretty strong mystery, even for a boy who wets his bed and still manages to pee when he is in the bathroom. I was equally "doopey" about this fact until one day. One god-damn day, god suddenly decided to answer the question of why Bond managed something Mac could only dream of. it was when i watched the hit 007 movie- The World Aint Big Enough. Pierce Brosnan, showed something previous Bonds failed to show. As he rode his struddle on a bitch doctor, he bite and gnawed and crushed the helpless bitch showing no mercy and perhaps even spelling his own name with his tounge. That there, my friends was your answer to all of nature’s unanswered shits. While Bond (james) proved what a bitch eater and a love-making king he could be, ol’man Maggo Macgyver could only carry his rotting unwashed stinking mullet and [expletive] a swiss army knife even if Jessica Biel offered to bail him out.
   It got me to understand (once and for all) the strength of love. Even hollywood preferred a Tuxedo wearing Martini and girl shaking hero who knows when to use his company’s gun, and when to use his own, compared to a mullet carrying gay blond with Angus as a first name.    

Love is [expletive]ed. Its unanimous in one way and extremely volatile in another. People have differing views on it, and so do i. I think of love as a four letter alternative to another four letter word. Tsk.

Willie SHAKEspeare felt that the best way to portray the intensity of love was to kill both his’ lead characters in an extremely anti-climax way and call love the most beautiful thing humans share. People should’ve known better to not trust a dude with a surname that tells you to shake your spear.

Over here in INDIA, Sanjay Leela Banshali thought that love should be portrayed by making a former miss world [expletive] a stocky body building male-blond with a weird walking style, then get married off to the ugliest bollywood actor around, then force that bastard of a husband to go search for the bastard who [expletive]ed her in an around the world song and dance trip, then as she hugs her [expletive]er, she realizes that her ugly hubby would have a better stick, so she goes to her hubby for a new experience in fornication.

Whatever shit it is,love has spread too [expletive]ing far to stop.. Believe me, its too large to really get those jackasses to understand the shallowness of valentines and chocolates. At this point i give up. Its okay to have relationships, as long as its not a [expletive]ing faggot male-on-male bondage style fruity loopy relationship. Lesbians are fine (Too fine), But you bastards with wasted cock better watch out. The Faggot slayer is on a rampage and before you know it, FEB the 15th is goinna be DIE FAGGOTS DAY…

Make $300/day from home! Spend 30min with a simple 123 step system, strip,spread, dip

    Commendable climb to the top, this season;so far for Manchester united. Progress seems steady, yet every single of those 90 minutes during their games seem like chilled waTer trickling down the spine of their fans on a cold night, when you know there is more than the cold to endure. Speaking about endurance, it makes me wonder why the [expletive] am I pulling myself into a post on football here. Isn’t it enough that the entire world {disregarding the fact that U.S.A is a part of the world} talk about it. While we all know that we can’t play as good as them (if you could, you wouldn’t be spending your [expletive]ing time reading this shit), we do feel that-we all seem to know how they’re supposed to play. And why am i dragging myself deeper into a possible footie debate? I couldn’t possibly answer that either, so [expletive] that topic, and just relax.
While i threw that piece into waste, i would like to share something more interesting than the english premier league. Malaysian football is on the rise. Don’t believe me? Go watch it. Don’t have the time to do so? Then shut your [expletive]ing mouth.

How many hair cuts does it take to reach your favorite barber? The French gave us something more than fashion when the world was very much an over-sized south-east asia, still finding out what peace meant. The French word journal brought us journalism. Thats what i believe. What you believe, i believe would make a better read in a column designated for your mind scape. appeasement? 

Negativity stems from ego, and nothing less because if there is more-where it came from, then its time I took up psychiatry. Negative criticism on the other hand… Well, I don’t really know how or what way to… Umm. Okay. Its just uncalled for, because-admit it- we just can’t take negative criticism with a smile unless your Britney Spears and you have Sam Lufti holding your baby by the balcony while your answering the press on child molestation charges.

When or how did criticism start? Was it fueled by the world’s second newspaper [you know-something like the news'corp that came after the world's 1st]? Does it deserve its due? Well, i guess so-i mean, i’m on the verge of going on a critical rampage(whatever it means,shall remain to be what it means with grammatical err being void). I’m not aRundathi Roy but hey, who needs to be?

I read the newspaper today. Oh yes i did. I’m a dude, and i’m not the reading kind of a dude, so like most male, i turned to the sports section first on. Reading the scores and the results, very much determines my mood for the day(I tend to forgo  breakfast if i don’t get the result i want. For those of you who read the News Straits Time, it’ll seem impossible not to know about a certain dude with a certain attitude-aptly called The HATCHET Man. Boom. Booyaka, Watanabe, yaw yaw.

I first came across this gentleman/babe when i was taking a light stroll through the weekly EPL Plus section-a highlight of Saturday’s newspaper. It was an article about some the abilities of Chritiano Ronaldo, and how the bastard really isn’t as good as the world would like to think and how he seldom rises to the bigger occasions and could only master smaller british teams. The nerves. At this point i’ll admit to having given him a little credit for being bold, but what i saw in todays paper outweighs everything.  Now, if everything he said was to be believed, then i believe (what he believes) that David Beckham should actually-professionally retire from the International team, and that his extremely unimpressive performance against France was a testimony to him only searching for public appeal and more money.

The Micheal Bay twist comes when i flip the page over to the next section to find that Fabio Cappelo (dude who is managing the English team) termed Beck’s performance as  overwhelming and  what he expected of. 
So what is the point trying to be made here?
Was this Hatchet guy/man actually trying to produce something-even-an inch productive?
Is Fabio Cappelo, or even David Beckham for that matter going to listen to him. The Italian Cappelo could understand English the same way dolphins think they’re smart.
It only effected average Joes like you, the guy next door, the fat ugly aunty who cycles by your house in the mornings, that guy/girl you have a crush on, the girl/guy who’s going to snatch that guy/girl whom you had a crush on, and others who would have taken a glimpse of the article. (Not me though, hah-i ain’t average)
Whats going to happen now is that every Tom Dick & Har… no,no, make that every Ahmad, Ah Neng and Arumugam is going to pull out a Shebby Singh in a cheap mamak stall with only a 1 ringgit 70 cents chilled Milo topping the agenda.

I’ve seen David Beckham play and if I need to take away the life of another 9 year old kid just to prove his abilities, i wouldn’t mind doing it-any bit. But then again, i’ve promised myself not to pull myself into another footie debate so [expletive] it, i have to change the topic.

When you differentiate faith and religion, you get humans, so said Isaac Newton, But when you combine faith and human Newton’s face turns red faster than his arse

AS A MATTER OF FACT; I do Own this Blog.

you dig?

The Witty worm is a computer worm that attacks the firewall and other computer security products written by a particular company, Internet Security Systems (ISS). ahhhhhhh. The Simpsons. Good ol’ American parody. The essence of comedy, that is more witty than funny and; actually, more funny than you, me or even him.

So how could one actually live without them? As a matter of fact against simple fiction, don’t bother asking such succulent questions.People do live without knowing about the existence of an animated half-hour show, that isn’t your average cartoon. I enjoy THE Simpsons, because i don’t have boundaries. I don’t really find the idea of avoiding a cartoon in the name of being called childish any more thoughtful than cutting open a monkey’s cranium and sucking its brains with a teasing straw.

Nickelodeon used to be one of my all-time favorite channel, simply because those dudes knew how to make me laugh. Even if i was to bored to laugh at some of their stuffs, i was still amused at the way they did shows. Nowadays, i see mostly crap on the tv, so I’ve discontinued my contract with nick. But you get my point, don’t you?

I love to laugh. I just love laughing out loud. OH. no no no.. LOL. Now thats the correct term for laughing-the e-way right.

Here. Have a LOL. One more? OK. LOL. lol again. lOl. wow!! I’m having fun with this, and since most of you bastards love to LOL here and there, why not have a Goliath’s worth of LOLs !!

OK. period now, shall we? Whats going on here? Whatever happened to simple; neat creativity? Why is there such a lack in passive-expanding-thinking ? Why am I constantly staring at captions,replies,posts,bulletins,and shout-outs that end with a lol,lolx,lolz or any other incarnations you bamboozles think of?Am i asking too much? How many LOLs does an average net-socialite use in his/her messages and captions? I couldn’t possibly count, and i doubt 1,2,3 is your kind of bag, but i definitely think that a stupid amount of LOLs are released daily.

People. Please. For god’s sake.As if staring at your wide-eyed-balloon cheeked,pressed lips-so called cute looks, aren’t irritating enough, you [expletive]ers are posting seriously-dumb captions of "trying to be cute LOLxxx ".Its freaking me out. I’m still trying to recover from the creepiness of excessive mascara and blair witch projects.

BO Bo, time to take your bath, bo bo. Come……

This post is a direct re-production of Sam Brueghel’s A POOL of MASCARA.

Menurut kata i. Sometimes, i wonder why i wonder so much. Its like i tend to think to much when doing something, or take a blu-ray worth of time deciding on stuffs. But let me get to something here, so that it seems like i’m writing something worthwhile.

There is this sudden feeling for me to start writing a new post after a long time, merely because i miss typing. Its been quite a while since my nail slept with my keys. Its weird. No. REallY. Don’t give that stupid look you twerp. Yeah, you. What? You think I’m talking about someone else? No, i aint aiming this at someone else, i don’t know who might be reading what i just wrote, but whoever you are, i just called you a sucked-up twerp.
Okay, i needed a break or something, so i decided to type this whole shit up. Keep this between me and you,-this post seriously contains nothing, and its just a way of enveloping you with a blank feeling of pure dumbness, having known that you took the time to actually read it.
Is there anything wrong lately? Let me think. Its been 2 months, or maybe just 1 and a half, or maybe 2 and a half, or maybe , i just don’t give a damn how many months it is; but I’ve been going through this strange feeling. I feel like I’m floating, in a world of strangers, while I’m being surrounded by familiar people. I’m not sure if i’m going through a normal process. And for the last time , its not love, u stupid romantics-get a life. I’ve been just observing or perhaps, gazing or -lets just say- staring, at a lot of abnormalities.
Its insanely disturbing. I’ve tried reporting this case to my colleagues and  teachers(yes .i have teachers. no. they’re not qualified to teach others). Part of the reason why its disturbing, is that its hard to explain. I’m being possessed with thoughts of global warming ; getting closer as i watch the eyes of my female peers. They’re a "something". Its not a word, nor is it what my mom taught me. I don’t really know. A lack of sleep, i suppose. Or perhaps a signal of belonging to a certain tribe ‘ala  LORD OF THE FLIES style. I wake up late at night, feeling soaked [in sweat], but i wasn’t having a nightmare ( Jessica Alba aint a nightmare). I was terrified of that vilified eye. That look.Like a black dagger  slicing a  few circles  on my  chest  in the pattern of a dart-board and then like a professional dart-king striking one into my buttocks.
They’re cruel, and magical-not in a david copperfield way, but more in a david blaine way. U get what I’m trying to say? I’m saying lines. I pods. NO shit !! i-lines. Its a "something".. I don’t know the word. I just don’t know. THey make me frightened to bed, and i sleep when i’m on the bed, but i can’t. The black fury that i see, made me go to bed, but the darkness i find by closing my eyes reminds me of that black circle and awakens me.

Its sort of an awakening in reality too. You realize that they’re trying to make a statement through those eye-sun-visors. Its like; move aside people, sweet lissy is dead, and here is the bad batch.[pun]. I don’t know if its a trend, because trends are supposed to look nice, right? This seems more sloppy than trendy.
The applying of [that black dye] is actually attractive -in a way- but splashing it insanely , makes it seem scary. Imagine looking at someone who has lost sleep for a few days, with eye-bags,lazy-eye,and dark circles- only to find out that its actually a decorative accessory.

I still don’t know what to say about this. I’m still recovering from too many shocking revelations, and i have a stinking feeling that curiosity is my godword, the same way dolphins will do anything to fool you into believing that they are smart.

My cousin sister recently told me freaky news. Whats a freak news? Its sort of like a shocking news, but more like the type you never ever really imagine facing. A shocking new is like "Dude, Diana passed away". Its shocking in a way like- you know that babe will die some day, but you’re surprised that she died today, so its kinda shocking.

But a freaky news is more like "Elton John married his gay partner this afternoon". Now that , i say is freaking news. Its complicated. No disrespect to gays, but first we try to get past that near-death shock of actually learning that Elton John is gay.[I thought gay guys are good looking. Hmm], then u have to re-digest the new-found info regarding an all sex marriage.

So there is this new stuff regarding Sidney Sheldon. Some famous writer, i suppose whom girls love to brag about. Okay, enough with that. What i’m trying to say is i recently learned that she is a guy !! What? Do you know how freaked i was? I finally found out what and how goose-bumps look like?? I’ve been having nightmares again, mommy!! She is a guy. No wait. He is a guy. How did she-emm, he, turn out to be a guy? I don’t really know much about him, but he apparently has a name that sounds like that of a girl’s. Is it one of those corny things writers like to do? They playfully put girly names so as to attract more male actors, who’ll read their stories while imagining how she would look like, only to learn that the she is a he, and the goose-bumps, and nightmares, and boom.

Some researchers have even posited that the series may not have been
the work of a single murderer, but of an unknown number of killers
acting independently. - Marion Palmer [biop]

umphh. I just couldn’t take it.  Couldn’t drop it either. 20 feet away, in front of me, was a burger stall. The burger dude was frying away. o yes he was. I could smell the burning meat soaked in boiling butter, and that oh so hot chilly sauce. My tummy was cursing at me. (get that burger u expletive-driven nut head !!) I could hear them loud and clear. But i just walked off. why? Why didn’t i go get the burger? I wasn’t ignorant, nor am a sadist. Burger to me is like honey to… umm.. to peop.. arr… people.. who like honey. I adore burgers. I worship burgers. I thank god for burgers, and i eat them without mercy. But i wasn’t in the mood for any today, and why was that ? You may ask and I will tell you why. Even if i bought the burger, i definitely couldn’t eat it. I wouldn’t be able to bite even the slightest of chunks the little bugger could offer me, nor would i be able to consumingly chew on the midget i took.

Well, it was all because of a little wound in my lower lips. I - kind-of- bit my lips, accidentally (obviously) .  But wait a sec.  How self scrutinizingly clumsy of me to be able to bite my own lips. I’m not a boxer or some wrestler, or something to be able to bite my own lips. It hurts, and it bleeds, and worse of all, u wouldn’t be able to eat your favorite food even when its right in front of you.
So, how the hell did i injure my lips. Well, got to admit it once in a while, right? I was eating lunch 1 fine afternoon, and i had to rush through my food. I’m a notoriously slow eater, so i had to speed up my swallowing. Everyone seemed to have a problem with my slow eating, despite me having all the time in the world. I like to eat slow. Its irritating, but its worth every bit. I have a super speed brain, but I’m not gifted with super fast tongue and receptors. Its the only way i get to enjoy the richness in the food,and all the other aesthetics that come with it.

We tend to disregard the process of using our own natural mechanisms a lot. As a matter of fact, most of us prefer to swallow our eggs than chew them, and enjoy it with a sadistic grin, while admiring the beauty of life which gifted us with a helpless squat-sized bird who could only watch and throw out gallons of curse in a style so weird in delivery and short in terms of the time-in-between-loop-repeats; so much so that it sounds as if she is choking and chuckling while we take her egg; which she earned through a priceless process of growing up-flirting-you naughty you-pushing-and incubating; and hard boil it.

Why the hurry? All that preparation, salt, sugar, oil, dishes, sauces, soy, tomatoes , pepper, herbs, spices, and all just for a 2 minute gulp-and-leave ? Might as well crack the egg on the side of ur table, and pour the god-damn pre-chick into your mouth. It is faster right?

You have to be one flimsy ol’ bastard to say that you’ve never done it.
Look at you. I bet your proud of yourself right now, aren’t you.?

So who designed this ideology? Painstakingly sit in front of a television set, (i know most of you guys hate t.v, right?) and watch queers teach you how to boil a buffalo. Then re-use what you learned to a 60% perfection and give it to your tubby child to jam it down his stomach without a single effort.

I like mushrooms. I like the smell. It smells like boiled snails, and i wouldn’t blame you if you thought you saw a snail snugged in your fresh steamed rice, cause those little bastards (the black colored ones) do seem like that. I don’t care about what the rest of you think, but I thoroughly show my utmost respect to the man or women or (hehe) who never gave up in ensuring that an ugly, weird looking allegedly poisonous  plant could actually be consumed  by you, me, and even them (hehe) when boiled and cooked and cleansed in the right way.

And so on. My respects and complete attention also to the very person who looked at a chicken, or in some regions, an ostrich, and decided to place their hands below its rear and eat whatever that came out of its rear. Thank god. Something hard, oval, embossedly-light-brown, and filled with white and yellow liquid came out. Try imagining if it was the animal’s lunch that spewed out? We’d be having hard boiled crap for breakfast, shit banjo as substitutes to burgers, and scrambled diarrhea for dinner. Cakes would smell like toilets, and swallowing food sounds like flushing.

What about cows? Some genius decides to pull those dangling suckles hanging down its abdomen, and voila ! You just found dairy. He has to be thankful for it being a cow, and not a bull. Had it been a bull, the consequences would  have definitely been both humiliating and suicidal.

So, back to the mushrooms. I love them. We all love them. You’ve never tried them? Shame on you. Come on.

Ok. I’ll tell you something. Try making a dish of mixed vegetables. You boil your ingredients-being- beans,carrots,green peas(damn), and maybe some of that flowery veggies, or a couple of potatoes. And so, you have them cooked, add some salt, some pepper, chilly, onions (hopefully), and some soy sauce. You’ll start to realize an appetizing smell holding your nose into captivity. Then, just bull shit all that nice work by chucking a bowl full of tap water soaked black mushrooms, or the dark brown types. Stir it, and turn the flame down. There goes that spicy-veggie-lovey dovey- pepper driven- aroma into the drain. Take a spoon full of the vegg u just cooked and take a good look at it. Looks all mushy and and typically veggie right ? Taste it. God-damned it even tastes mushy. There is a somewhat creamy feeling when you chew them, and the after taste is even badder. Feels like you just swallowed a slug. A pregnant one.

So as I’m saying. Mushrooms are bad for you. Not just you. Me too. Stop over pricing them-heck- don’t even sell those things. They aren’t good.

Wait a minute. Hold on for while. What did you say? So, you think we should eat mushrooms because they are good for us and we should not bother about the shitty taste, because the nutritional values of the food, largely outweighs its annoying smell and test?

If its nutritious values matter so much , then use some kind of bio-technical method and extract its nutrients, and inject them into me. I prefer it that way. Asking me to chew and taste, and swallow something that doesn’t taste nice (i have the rights to say something tastes bad because that is what my tongue does) is an offense to me. Its like degrading the very existence of my tounges, and taste buds, its ignorant of our gifts, ignorant of  nature’s balance for  harmony.

i used to be toy. What? A toy. U know. A toy. U say What? I say toy. Why? toy. I said toy; did’nt I? Toy. I used to be a toy.

sing along wit me. shut up. her me now. Hw do most of us listen 2 songs? take a look at urself, (no.nt in da mirror) look inside. are u a music addict? or r u jz,simply,frankly a [expletive]in "join da club" wannabe who only listens-considers gud music and song as a song dat gains multiple air time on a radio,gets remixed too many times,n used as da title for a various artist album such as hitz of da year and so and so and so. most of u gotta agree to hav done it rite, so eat dirt punkz, i’m bout 2 unwind… i dun like it. i’ll b frank aight.

Y? dun u bastards, knw how 2 sit down, shut up, free ur mind n listen , jz listen quietly 2 a song from 0.00 till "track is over sucka" period ?! who instilled u dudes as grand master of song critic, so much so as u bastards get da rites 2 say "alla, lagu tak sedap lar, tukar tukar" or "dei !! what song lar this? nt nice. change lar" even bfor da intro jingles die out n da singer starts singin? i ,mean , dats like jz da 1st couple of seconds into a new song !! [expletive] !!!

music is kinda like cross country n faceless rite? isn gud music supposed 2 make a gud song? i knw, i knw, very corny words, funny lyrics, synonyms, rhymes, n all those shakespear shit, bt hei ,we cn all read n write 2 a [expletive]ing level, bt u’ll need a master composer 2 make corny dialogs into a number 1 single.
bt wait a minute. hw? it seems like an impossible task, since some dudes, go like "o my god!! dun play dat song lar, i cudn take it!! my head gonna xplode lar !!!" even b4 da song gets away, n watz freaky is dat da [expletive]er has nvr listened 2 da song properly b4. so hw do u know dat its nt good? no patience.

hw do u listen 2 a song? do i have 2 teach? am i running sad_rap day care ? ok listen up. find a good headphone, no, nt da ear plug type, bt da ear enveloping type coz u need bass . if ur nt into headphones[which is pretty weird] get a good sound system, sumthin like a 2.1 is gud enough. then, play da song frm ur music source. rule no.1 ,keep quite. relax. breath deeply. keep ur hands in ur pocket [guys cn go buzy]. listen till the song ends, meaning, u shouldn b able 2 hear anythin anymore. 1ce done. go take a crap, eat, or  do sumthin else.  then listen 2 da song again. da first try was 2 get u used 2 da tune, musical arrangement, style n all those complicating musicy shit. the  2nd listenin  gets u familiarized wit da song. its only then, dat ur s’pposed 2 judge da song. it takes time, it takes patience, n i guess, it jz takes talent 2 b able 2 appreciate n differentiate gud songs . 4 those of u who cant, sorry 2 say, bt u guys can go have an ice cream. ur done.

i recently came across a dude who said dat he doesn’t like songs dat are 2 melodious. ?? what?? ?? i’m confused. u dun like songs dat r 2 melodious? ok. lets take da melody out. dat leaves wit? words. a lecture. an artist reading a poem loudly. is dat a song? u dun like melody. well, i’m sorry, bt simply said, u dunno wat is a song. i played n arabic song. there is a language barrier. i admit dat. bt what makes da song so useless in such a way dat it cud giv sum listeners headache, b4 the 1st 4 seconds of da song?
u guys, seriously need a re-vamp. re make ur ear, or ur rear; i dunno. bt patience is da key. if u listen half way into a song simply bcoz u were buzy talking away while da song waz playin, then u dun hav da rights 2 say dat da song isn nice n u wanna another song. listen 2 ur ears n nt 2 other ears arite. dun have 2 fall down in respect 2 a song dat suckz, simply bcoz its da current "it" song aight.

yeah. i cud see da red-faced guilty looks already. keep it comin.
keep it real

boredom suckzzzz. gotta admit it 1ce in a while rite.  so here me now. tuesday was as borin as an arsenal-chelsea match, so me, me bro, n me franz, dJ jeg n Mix Master Spade decided 2 go 2 sum medan selera place n jz hang out, pop a couple of drinks n all. they had cute waiters, so itz kinda worth the drive there, although it was preety crappy n ‘ as i said, boredom creepz in. so v drink, n stare at free space b4 straining out every single blu note [1 ringgit 2 ma homies bakk in malaysia] and argue bout which bastard havin 2 pay n who gets 2 call da waiter n shit like dat. so, 1ce we’re done itz off 2 da wheelz, jz loiterin around driving thru frenly neighbourhoods and blastin khalbali !! on the sub standard audio jamz. up until like 12.45, it was typical shity moment 4 da 4 of uz. cudn figure out wat 2 do, da bhangra songs were irritating, n we didn hav any spray canz, 2 beautify newly built telekom communications boards.
so then came da moment of brilliance. vocal maestro musang p gashy, showed us da lite. seeing a trash can placed outside a hse somewhere along padang tyembak, our adrenaline was startin 2 pump blood [bloody n\blood] it was drivin me nutz !! wat da {expletive} was wrong wit dis ppl ?!! where was their civic mindedness? every1 knows dat when u place a big black plastic trash bin outside ur home without any protective metal casing dat holds it, there will some stray dogs/ cats/ bears or any [expletive]ed up psycho pathic animal, [ or in this case 4 psychopathic homo sapz] who mite turn it upside down , or open da cover and dig 4 food, or maybe even shift it 2 another location !!!
so u c.. dJ grrr’bage n crew was inna da mood 4 a garbage parade. it was simply our way of instilling civic n moral conciseness  into the minds of hse wifes n over weight hubbies who place their trash cans overly stretched outside their sweet homes without a protective metal cage , thus leaving them exposed 2 da dangers of intoxication on other residence; who r jz akin 4 a gud nite’s rest ! so u c again, we’re nt vandalizing anythin, o no we’re nt sir, we’re jz punishing those who fail 2 obey da rules of proper garbage disposal. as simple as dat.

s0 here goes. da moment of truth. the nex statement dat u r about 2 read in a blog dat nvr existed, was written by no one n posted by sumthin dat nvr exists. it is a statement of sumthin that nvr happened and nor should it b ever talked about, bcoz, it nvr happened. u hay ??

so we saw da [expletive]ing trash bin sittin quietly, mindin its own business, playin wit its own flies, doin nothin important outside da hse near da stretch of padang tyembak. nothing doing rite ? wrong !! vocal mastar musang slowly turns off da head lights, n creeps da grr mobile closer 2 da trash can, dJ jeg winds down, n bends outside jz enough 2 giv da homies a lesson in learnin, tip da shit over n , wind up, n drive off. bt it was 4 starters. jz da type of shit 4 lollipop suckerz n kidz.

i wz hungry, n i cud betcha 4 ringgit dat me homies were 2. so we drive on. n nder da name of lawsuits n lawbreakers, we see another bastard having left his trash bin 2 close 2 da road. nw i’ll tell u again, n i can tell time and time again n again ( [expletive] ! ) i was [expletive]ing pissed man !! wat da [expletive] do u think- goin all aroun n jz puttin ur rubbish n shit wherever u wan like itz ur granma’s land.

so we inch closer 2 da culprit. i wind my window down , and turn 2 ma left. and there it was. standin 3 feet high, black, wet, stinkin, hoodless, cylinder like fat piece of rubbish bin bastard of a [expletive]in trash bin !!

lean over n grab a hold of da lil [expletive]er, giv ma co-driver (which so happens 2 b me bro) da finger n we drive. i cud tell u da thing stinks. n dun u dare say dat i’m juz hyperbolically over reacting 2 rotten dinner, coz i was holding it so damn cloze 2 my nose wit da window down, n da car movin, n da wind helpin da [expletive]ing smell get into ma nostrils. i’ll tell u a lil secret. hse number 34, tmn jaya, padang tembak = dudes been eating left over curry fish for a week. dun ask hw i know. i juz know. k.

so we went on drivin, wit a stinkin shitty trash bin hangin from da window, figurin watta do wit da black [expletive]er v caught off-guard. n dat was when v came thru dis cute hse, jz 1 1/2 blocks away from da offendin hse. didn hav any trash binz outside itz home. seemingly, all 4 of uz cud understand da pain it goes thru. hw wud u feel, if u cudn dispose ur rubbish hah ??!!! think bout it !! so i giv them a lil present . we drop of da black bastard we caught at da hse behind. and drive on.

nw.. i;ll tell y’all sumtin horny. wat we did, we did coz u guyz n galz (no pun intended) dun dare do it, n i’ll tel u another, we be doin it till we feel a change inna da system dat created da reasons 4 us to do it, n u cn b goin on n on bout wat we do n tell all u otha franz bout we doin it, bt all i want u 2 remeber iz dat it never happened . k/

i’ll bet u 2 horses n a errrr… cow, dat it wasn da end of shit. o no it aint. 1 housin area done, we move on. there is more. civilization happened did it dawg, so we cn find culprits n wrong doers every where. y even u cud b caught 1 day. so dun make da mistake of thinkin dat ur safe. son. i’m dJ garbage. i’m nt alone. ur nt gonna b alone for long. wan sum company? i gotta black stinkin, 3 feet, fat fren wantin 2 say hi. so , if u believe in karma n knw ur limits, u’ve been warned bout turnin ur lites off when its nite. its nt over. we’re nt retaliating, we’re nt giving orderrs, we aren’t rebels,dis aint rang de basanthi,n we aren’t tryin 2 make dis a better place. we’re jz punishing.

apologies if u been done

don’t call us animals (watch da lenguage [expletive]er. who u callin an animal?])
we prefer 2 b addressed as psychopaths, in da same group as hannibal lecter n mark anthony.

if there is a problem we solve, if we dun, v resolve in 1

till then………….

keep it real