Monday, August 31, 2009

Messiah Complex

Hi, my name is Amir, and I will be your messiah for today.

Uncle Najib said we should break the walls down.

Well, there are two ways to do this. One is to actually break down walls. Another way is to disregard the existence of walls.

The walls that Uncle Najib talks about are psychological barriers.

Some asshole poet once said, "If you prick us, do we not bleed?"

Malaysians have more in common than we think. For one, we're mammals. Which means that our females have tits. We grab them and massage them and suck on them - all of us. We all suck.

Malaysians breathe air. Some of us, smoke, but that's just air with thousands of chemicals and monocarbons and dust.

Most Malaysians walk on two legs, while some, like Karpal Singh, sometimes has wheels.

Karpal: Come to me, my X-Men!

Malaysians eat through their mouths and shit through our ass. Some, eat ass. Some put strange things in their asses. However, generally, the ass is used for one vital function - to shit and be shat on in return for a night of scatology.

Malaysians are vertebrates. All Malaysians masturbate. All Malaysians have seen porn in one way or another.

See? We have more in common than we do differences.

As your messiah, I command you to fuck each other now! It is our only hope - by having sex, we won't have time to search for a cow's head or build anything people don't want.

Fill your time-table with sex, and you will feel better. I have been sent by God to teach you that sex is the way. Sex will save us all!

Ahhh! Messiah! AHHHHHH!!!

Community Titty

I spent the historic moment of the country's 52nd birthday, at Genting Sempah, having a late supper and avoiding the jams.

Ah, the things I do for the country.

I am part of the tail end of Generation X. In fact, some Gen-Xers put us in the Children of the 80s bracket or 'The Lost Generation'.

Frankly, I don't give a shit. It's just another label, and I used to fucking hate labels.

I am writing this, because I feel the need to say a few words. Not much to say. I'm not old enough to sit around and tell my friends and fiends, "You know, ah, this country has been good to us."

And I sure as hell am not going to be one of the 'liberals' and say, "This country fucked me in the ass!"

Na-ah! I am neither proud, not ashamed of the country. I neither love, nor hate it. I can't lie and drape the flag around me and start going out at night, fighting crime. I also can't sit around, whine and wail as if I was the victim of anything that happened to me.

Things happened to me, because I want them to happen to me. I am fully responsible for myself. Nothing to do with the country. I can go and live in the States and STILL bitch and moan all day, everyday, like a woman on a constant period. Fucking bleed to death already, bitch!

People who bitch and moan and wail all day, everyday, I LABEL as ANIMALS. Animals are sad creatures, better off as food than anything else. And they're never, ever in control of themselves. It's always somebody else's fault. Somebody else who wronged them. ALways, always, always. Boo fucking hoo.

And people who are happy and smile all the time creep me out. The fuck are you smiling about? Did you just get a blowjob? If you didn't, fuck you.

Me? I was born to rub people the wrong way. I am gifted with a nervous energy field about me. I agitate people. Sometimes, that's good, sometimes that's bad. That's just the way it goes. That's how the world flows.

People who think this country sucks, well, no one's forcing you to stay. You can stop being anywhere, anytime. Just go somewhere else.

And no one's forcing you to take it. Well, there might be, but here's the great big secret of the universe - you don't have to.

Just remember - knowing is half the battle.

In today's economic situation, people in other countries - the natives or the dominant group - will protect their interests first. Their people will come first. I know it sucks, but hey, man, that's how they roll.

I got friends coming back, after they couldn't land a job elsewhere. After they found out the food is crappy, or after they've experienced some real racism bullshit.

Now, I've always believed that home, happiness, health and wealth, is not in a place, or even with a group of people. It sure does help, but it's not there. You know where it is? It's inside your ass.

I believe that where ever I sit my ass down, that there's where I belong. It's not easy, and it's not that hard, either. It's just is.

This country might be a bit fucked in the head, but so is any other place. A homicide is committed every what, 3 minutes?, in Baltimore. There is starvation in China. Everyone's dying everywhere.

And we do have some cool people in Malaysia. Am proud of them, but won't use them as some sort of surrogate success people. What other people do, be it our ancestors, friends, enemies, sons, daughters, fathers and mothers - those are other people. They are not us.

Anyway, I was just gone for a few days, and some people in Shah Alam decided to put a cow's head somewhere and started spitting on it and stepping on the thing.

I think that's stupid and insensitive to Hindus, but I can't begrudge them their freedom of expression. Furthermore, they're from different political parties, which is in a way, showing that hate - a common hate - unites people.

It's a tricky thing, this freedom shit. I mean, I want to have it, so I can offend other people, but I do not want other people to have it, lest they offend me.

That being said, I heard that 52 police reports have been lodged concerning the incident, and the cow's head people deserve whatever's coming to them, within the confines of the law.

That's the prerogative of the law-enforcers. If it's okay, it's okay; if it's not, it's not. What can we do? Many things, really, but most of us are too lazy to do it.

And so, wrapping up, in conclusion, and since I don't have anything to say, Happy Birthday, Malaysia. I neither hate nor love you, so I'm just going to say, "Hello."

Friday, August 28, 2009

Fear and Pain

I see a lot of people, in pain. For most of them, they choose to be in pain. They get haunted by things that happened or things they did in the past. Or they live in dread of tomorrow.

Some, are in pain for what others did. Or they live in regret of what they have done. Past, future, but never present.

One interesting thing, though, people are never afraid of the moment. The present. Even if you saw a ghost, you're probably afraid of the ghost, but not afraid of the moment you're in. Even then, you're afraid of the gost cause probably of two things:

a. That the ghost will harm you in any way - the future


b. shit you've known to be true ain't true no more. Shit. What ELSE could be wrong? - the past

You might be crying, but you're not sad of the moment you're in.

Most pain, comes not from actual pain. It is the thought of pain, or the memory of pain.

As the Man of Tomorrow, I was scared shitless of the future. I left college with a computer science degree, but decided to gamble everything on being a writer. Man, I saw myself sucking dick for the next meal. I was fucking terrified, man!

And then, there were shit I did. I was sometimes too scared of facing certain things - like checking my SPM results. Just in case I gave the wrong answers.

I lived in regret of some shit I did in the past, wondering if I could have done it better. Wishing that I did something other than what I did.

And then I got a chorus of all these stupid yahoos, who are all addicted to pain, jumping up and around me.

There was nowhere to run, motherfucker. Except. The present. The moment.

I am dreading making one particular trip to Kuantan. Scared shitless. But right now, in this moment in time, I got nothing to worry about. I got tons of work to do. And I will do it. But not right now. Right now, I'm just chillin'.

I cringe at any and all mistakes I did. Having a good enough memory is a blessing and a curse. BUT. Right now, I am not doing any mistakes. I'm just chillin'

I run away from a lot of shit, and I have found, in my years as a fleemason, that the best place to run away from all the bad things in life, is the present moment. This instance.

Gives me focus. Gives me power. Gives me control. And my powers, when focused, are very useful to me.

I read up a lot on fighter pilots, in my youth. Used to dream of piloting an F-14B Tomcat - my favourite fighter plane. And the hardest one to fly properly.

And these people, they live between half-seconds. Half heartbeats. Cause in one second, a plane that is supersonic, breaching Mach 1 - the speed of sound - would have traveled 340.3 meters.

One, two, three, and you're over a kilometer away.

You don't have time to look behind. And yet, in our brief lives, we still look back, constantly.

They don't have time to look back at the ground they just covered. They don't have time to think of crashing to a wall of rock in front of them. All they do, is figuring out what to do in-between heartbeats.

That's why Chuck Yeager, one of the greatest pilots ever, made popular the 'cool-in-the-saddle' way of talking amongst pilots. They might have multiple bogeys closing in on them, and all their missiles are armed. A few of them might have grazed the fucking Sabre they were piloting. But - loose your cool - and it's wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.

I'm no fucking pilot. I still lose my cool. I lose my saddle. I fall off constantly. The only question for me would be, do I have the balls to get back on it again? That, can only come, from experience. I'll be ready for it, when it comes. For now, I'm just chillin', man.

Ain't nothin' gonna hold me down now.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Prosa Untuk Plebeian

Aku tengah tunggu filem start. Ada sedikit masalah komunikasi dan aku ingatkan hari ini adalah prebiu khas satu filem tuh. Rupa-rupanya, semalam daa. Hari ni start tayang.

AKu tak kisah, pasal aku bukan freeloader. Jadi, aku beli tiket sendiri.

Pastu beli kopi daripada awek Starbucks kat Tropicana Mall. Minah ni memang taste aku. Kecik dan kurus. Pastu, suara ada macam loceng-loceng kecil, dengan slang sedikit American. Sedikit je, tak sampai tahap menyampah atau nak muntah.

Rasanya, dia celup dua kali. Lantaklah. Aku tak cukup duit, dan tak cukup kredit syurga nak tackle. Modal air liur ada la. Air liur beli air liur. Kah kah kah. Gelak aku dalam kesempitan.

Aku pun duduk, lantas mencuri tajuk pojok Roy.

Aik, sorang lagi. Ramai gila perempuan taste aku kat Tropicana Mall ni. Eh. Waitseminit. Sekali jantan daa... Aku ingat jantan. Jap eh?

*Lari kejap*

*Perhatikan cara jalan, cara tangan bergerak, pastu tetek takde langsung.*


Memang jantan dowh.

Pukimak betul. Kacau la.

Okay, okay. Sorang lagi. Kali ni betul punya.

Fuyooo! Cemolot!

Aku baru lepas massage ni. Massage betul. Takde main nak lancap lepas 30 minit. Dia picit tengkorak aku sampai nak pecah. Lipat badan aku macam lipat baju. Gila gagah perkasa perempuan siam ni.

Sekarang aku dah rasa okay sikit. Minggu ni, memang bukan minggu aku. Bapak aku sakit. Aku pulak sibuk, tak boleh nak balik. Esok aku akan pergi buat assignment, pergi ke Kuantan. Tiga hari. Bolehlah curi-curi masa jenguk orang tua aku.

Sambil tu, kejar deadline.

Aku mengimpikan masa yang aku boleh menyumbang hasil kerja aku, on the go. Perkakasan idaman aku ialah skrin dan papan kekunci hologram. Wifi seluruh Malaysia.

Manipulasi imejan pakai pengesan pergerakan.

Semua teknologi ni dah ada. Cuma tunggu masa untuk masuk pasaran. Untuk dibuat dengan banyak, sekaligus mengambil kira ekonomi pukal.

Kau boleh tengok teknologi yang aku nak pakai dalam anime Ghost in the Shell. Main capai kat udara, resize pakai jari je. Pastu tolak bila nak send.

Kalau satu hari nanti, boleh letak cip protein dalam kepala aku pun, aku sanggup. Gunakan otak sebagai harddrive.

Mata sebagai kamera. Kamera konek pun boleh install.

Masa tu, habihlah selebriti kena hack puki dan pantatnya. Kamera tetek! Muahahaha!

Kalau satu hari nanti, aku boleh main cabut kepala aku dan letak kat badan lain pun, memang best.

Alamak. Tinggal 7 minit je lagi, wayang nak start. Masa untuk bergerak!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

National Prawnographic Spesel: Sahur! Sahur!

Tet tet tee tet! Tet tet te tet tee te tet tet TET dong-dong!

Masyarakat Melayu Islam di Malaysia suka makan sahur. Kecuali aku. Pasal aku ngantuk. Tak boleh tidur pasal kepala aku penuh logo National Geographic dan Discovery Channel.

Baru lepas tulis artikel, dan banyak benda aku tak letak, pasal nak pendek dan padatkan artikel.

Jadi, aku pun beribadah sahur.

Makhluk di Malaysia suka makan sahur lebihan berbuka malam tadi. Tidak seperti aku, yang keluar dan membeli makanan bungkus.

Keluar dari habitat semulajadi memang berbahaya, kerana pemangsa seperti penyamun dan hantu tetek memang suka berkeliaran, terutamanya pada waktu malam. Beruntung untuk aku, hantu semua kena rantai bulan puasa ini.

Aku memilih burger udang. Pasal pantas, lazat dan murah. Sebiji burger udang boleh memberikan tenaga untuk separuh hari. Jadi aku beli tiga.

Esok mesti lunyai ni. Mujur aku dah habiskan artikel tadi. Kalau tak, merasa lah langgar deadline artikel buat pertama kali dalam...erm...




Ya, aku hebat.

Semua perempuan suka isap konek aku. Aku berbincang tadi dengan seorang minah ni.

Aku: Aku takde duit, jadi satu-satunya cara untuk membiak adalah dengan meyakinkan mereka yang aku ni Islamik habis.

Minah: Ha?

Aku: Berkata benar hanya menjebakkan aku dalam kekacauan dan kemelut drama swasta. Apa kata kalau aku mula menipu? Aku dah baca banyak kitab keagamaan. Takdelah banyak sangat, tapi cukup untuk berpura-pura berpengetahuan tinggi pasal agama. Kalau aku pakai jubah dan serban, gila power siut. Aku boleh con semua orang yang isap konek aku boleh pergi syurga.

Minah: What?

Aku: Mmm...on second thought. Tak berkat kucing yang aku makan. Takpelah, aku akan fikirkannya hari esok, kerana esok masih ada.

Tet tet tee tet! Tet tet te tet tee te tet tet TET dong-dong!

Masukan Melayu Murahan: Karma Kamal Abu Bakar

Ada minah ni tanya aku pasal sama ada aku percaya karma atau tidak.

"Sebagai konsep, ya. Sebagai agama? Tidak."

Bila aku tengok balik benda yang aku dah buat, yang baik, yang buruk, yang lucah, tidak boleh tidak aku dapat simpulkan yang aku seorang yang amat bernasib baik.

Aku ada mata yang manja, ada tangan yang berbakat - walaupun takleh main gitar - ada kaki yang seksi, ada konek yang kuat, jubur yang harum.

Setiap perkara buruk yang pernah terjadi, akhirnya ada hikmahnya. Aku terlepas peluang nak ke luar negeri, luar negeri kena landa taufan ekonomi.

Naluri aku sememangnya dekat kepada kebinatangan, pasal dapat meramalkan tsunami yang bakal melanda mana-mana. Dan mana-mana tempat atau projek yang aku kerja, akan jadi bagus.

Bukan pasal aku talisman macam Roy Keane. Macam Alessandro del Piero. Walaupun Alessandro del Piero adalah nama aku ketika menari bogel dengan tiang krom.

Pasal benda unik yang aku bawa - hati yang suci. Chewah!

AKulah Semangat Alaf ke-21, macam Jenny Quantum dalam komik The Authority. Akulah conscience, atau kesedaran untuk dunia. Kata ego aku.

Biar apa pun orang cakap, niat aku tetap ikhlas. Dan aku takdenye nak menempel ambik hak orang lain. Walaupun kekufuran aku setebal kek lapis Sarawak, tapi aku takde nak menganiaya orang lain.

Bukan pasal nak mengejar syurga, pasal aku rasa kebanyakan kawan-kawan aku masuk neraka. Hahaha.

Karma. Aku percaya yang kalau aku buat baik, baik balasnya. Kalau aku buat jahat, kejap je.

Orang buat jahat kat aku? Pedulittaik aku nak jaga tepi kain orang-orang bodoh camtu? Esok dah pergi mampus dah. Kita hidup ni tak lama. Kalau ikut perspektif ahli astronomi yang cool gila pastu selalu high, betul-betul tak signifikan langsung.

Memang le. Dia teropong bintang. Juta-juta tahun punya kira. Apalah sangat 60 tahun? Apalah sangat 29 tahun?

Esok ko dah mati dah. Ikut cakap bapak aku, "Orang jahat, lama-lama dia mati."

Kah kah kah.

Orang buat baik kat aku? Aku takkan lupa. Pasal aku tau betapa susahnya nak buat baik.

Aku bukan orang baik. Aku orang lucah. Konek aku jugak yang penting. Pasal itu aku pergi Siam, untuk menuntut ilmu Rahib-Jalang Shabda-Oud.

Kalau dibiarkan, aku bakal seperti sesetengah lelaki lain yang dikuasai konek. Konek aku dahlah kuat, hensem pulak tu. Kalau dibiarkan, aku sondol je semua. Macam kerbau. Bukan Kerbau Anak Sungkir. Kerbau Anak Sungkir tu coursemate aku. Dia pandai. Jangan pandang tak ada mata. Mamat IT yang hebat.

Bukan Kerbau, ya. kerbau. Ngooooaaahh!

EMpat tahun aku bertapa dengan Rahib-Jalang. Banyak yang aku dapat. ANtaranya, seks hanya bernilai RM50. Kalau kau sanggup tinggalkan semuanya hanya kerana RM50, maka kau ialah 'Melayu murah jua'.

Rahib-Jalang Shabda-Oud juga mengajar spiritualiti. Kerohanian. Syurga dan neraka itu penentuan Tuhan. Bukan hak kau, bukan hak JAWI, bukan hak JLA-IS. Bukan hak orang PIS. Bukan juga hak kacang pis. Bukan hak air kencing.

Syurga dan neraka ditentukan Tuhan. Jadi, apahal aku nak kecoh? Cuma hidup sebaik yang mungkin. Sekadar termampu.

Selagi aku tak jadi penipu, perompak, perogol, pemukul bini, pelampau agama, penyibuk, pembunuh, penulis buku sajak, pencacai tua pengangkut najis, aku tak bimbang apa-apa.

Tengok AKAB - Ahmad Kamal Abu Bakar. Dia relaks je. Entah berapa benda dah kena kat batang hidung dan batang...errr...tanak jadi homo-erotik la pulak. Banyak benda la. Hidup je lagi.

Bapak aku yang dah kena empat kali strok pun lepak je isap rokok empat kotak sehari.

"Orang jahat, lama-lama dia mati."

Bapak aku idup lagi. Untuk sekarang. Dan itu yang perlu aku hadapi masa ini. Orang tua tu, dia bukan ada sesapa lagi dah. Tapi degil macam gila. Nak berdikari. Digagahkan jugak tebang pokok. Bertongkat, pergi tebang pokok. Angkat kayu, bakar sampah. Susun pasu.

Aku rasa, kalau aku tak mati, tua nanti aku jadi macam tu. Aku pun degil macam dia. Kalau ada benda yang tampak mustahil, aku akan pergi jahanamkan kemustahilan tu.

Apa aku boleh rugi? Paling banyak pun, aku gagal. So? Dah berapa kali aku hadapi kegagalan? Bukan kat sekolah la, pasal aku kat sekolah aku skor. Fail add maths masa form four ada la. SPM dapat C4. Pastu aku letupkan Altantuya. Oops! Kantoi! Syyyy!

Aku tengok senior-senior kerja aku. Diorang selalu cakap, "Aku, Amir, dah pissed-offkan ramai gila orang. Idup je lagi?" "Aku, AMir, dah banyak kali gagal dalam benda yang aku buat. Banyak jugak aku berjaya. Last-last? Aku tua. Hahaha."

"Amir, aku, tak pakai gambir Sarawak. Tak best. AKu pakai tanduk rusa."

Erm...aku tak pakai tanduk rusa. AKu natural je.

Anyway, point aku ialah...errmm...buatlah apa-apa pun. Baik, buruk, lucah. Esok, kita mati. Kubur lain-lain, beb.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


Oh how wrong can you be?
Oh to go to a pub was my very first mistake
How was I to know I was far too pretty to see?

Oh Hennessy look at me now
Hennessy you got me somehow
You gave me no warning
Took me by surprise
Hennessy you led me on
You couldn't lose you couldn't fail
You had suspicion on my trail

How how how all my Hennessy
I wasn't man enough to let you hurt my pride
Now I'm only left with my own Hennessy

Oh how strong can you be
With matters of the heart?
Life is much too short
To while away with tears
If only you could see just what you do to me
Oh Hennessy you tripped me up
Hennessy you brought me down
You bring me sorrow you cause me pain
Hennessy when will you let go?
Gotta hold of my possessive mind
Turned me into a drinking kind

How how how all my Hennessy
I wasn't man enough to let you hurt my pride
Now I'm only left with my own Hennessy
But now it matters not if I should live or die
'Cause I'm only left with my own Hennessy

Sleep of the Just

I am still reeling from the effects of self-induced sleep-deprivation. So, am not doing anything tonight other than watch stupid movies and listen to boybands. Like Queen.

Despite the new haircut, my brain still feels like it's been wrapped in a towel. A good 12 hour sleep or a good fucking can refill my energy bars.

I started talking to myself in the office, and quite possibly creeped out a few people, before finding myself waiting for a cab. There was a girl, in a white blouse and tight black stretch pants, waiting for the cab. She wa sthere before me. Since I am a very civilised person, I allowed her hail the first cab.

Unfortunately, no cab came.

I called up one of the taxi services, and they told me they will send a cab in 15 minutes.

So, I asked the girl.

Me: Where are you going?

Girl: Amcorp Mall.

Me: Want to call a cab?

Being a cab-veteran for 11 years in KL, I have accumulated quite a few numbers. So I did. But there were no cabs for her. Probably not until they have finished eating.

Me: You're from the Philippines?

Girl: No. Thailand.

Ahhh! Kinswoman! Apparently she works in the IT industry and have been here for two years.

Me: I love Thailand!

And so we sang and danced for a while, and then I left, with my cab.

That just made my day.

Masturbation: Pop Psychology

To kill an ego involves killing yourself. Because the ego is part of you. Inseperable. Your twin. Not even evil twin, as that will make the ego stronger.

Remember, it feeds on being identified and re-identified as an 'other'. Distancing yourself from the ego will only make it bigger, stronger and closer.

The only way, to manage your own ego, is not to humiliate yourself, as in many Kabbalic teachings, and in Guy Ritchie's Revolver. That's just unnecessary.

The best way, the only way, is to be aware of the ego. Ego benefits from being unconscious. You sleep-walk through life, and therein the ego fills itself up in the space that is vacant.

Be aware. Of yourself and your surroundings. And be aware of the ego - the you that is not you - and its instructions and feelings and desires. That will reduce the ego to nothing, eventually.

Simply being aware of your unconscious state, will not make your life better. Because there is no 'better'. There is only is.

Being aware, will probably not get you that raise or promotion. It will not make your working conditions better. Better, again. It will not get you that dream vagina or dream dick.

It might not even make you happy, for true happiness is very elusive. Very few people have the capacity to attain that. Even people who claim to be happy - especially people who do - they're merely projecting the image of happiness.

Whether that is true or not, is ... well, irrelevant. They already have what they need. What they want. To SHOW that they are a certain way. If people are truly happy, do you really believe they will want anything? Need anything?

A person who is truly happy is hard to find, because they do not advertise their happiness. They would not feel a need to.

And being aware, has nothing to do with being happy.

Being aware is simply being aware. That's just it. It has no practical uses. Not really. It is worth nothing. Absolutely nothing. And therein lies its greatest value.

At the Mountains of Madness: 120 Days of Gomorrah

Today, somebody commented on the image I project. Or rather, images I project.

For a person with an ego as big as mine, one image projection, one persona, is never enough. My ego needs more. Because my ego needs to feel special. Special, just like everyone else.

There is no such thing as a real person. Everyone is just a mashed up jumble of perceptions. Viewpoints and opinions. External, internal. What makes the ego, the ego, is just what people think of it.

Quantum physics, foo! Pop psychology. Psycho-history.

"Just be yourself."

What a stupid suggestion. Yourself, according to whom? Which place? What time? Through what lens? What format?

Okay, then.

I am become Galactus. The Devourer of Worlds. My balls are as big as Jupiter. My asshole is a blackhole turned inside out. My dick, a thousand planets strung together.

The nature of the ego is that it needs to be defined as separate from everything else. The ego needs enemies. And it either needs to vanquish its enemies, or become their victims.

Whatever it is, the ego needs to state a case for the existence of 'the others'.

This, my friends, is the root of all evil. All of it. Racism, bigotry, selfish bullshit, war, hatred, arrogance, being right, making wrong, envy, sabotage. All of it.

All stems from a root need of being different.

Human civilisation was founded on the drive for competition. And for a while, it was good. And yet, the water that floats a ship can also sink it, goes a Chinese proverb.

There are no competitions. Nobody wins. Nobody loses.

I believe that we should all bomb ourselves back to the stone age and start over. Just save the porn. Mankind cannot survive without porn.

I pray for a nuclear war.

Noir Dangdut

I haven't slept for more than 48 hours now. The sleepiness has passed, and is trying to convince me that I can live without sleeping, forever. I can just continue smoking and drink lots and lots of Livita and Red Bull. Just sugar, caffeine and nicotine. And painkillers.

See, I don't need alcohol or drugs to make me high or go crazy. Just not enough sleep, and I'll be rambling on and on. And on.

Ah, well.

To the bedmobile, let's go!

But first, the Daily Porn.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Fleemasons: Golden Showers

Years and years and years and years and years ago (makes it five years, right-right?), I got together some of my closest friends, and I told them, in my capacity of Zenmaster of the Fleemasons.

Me: Verily, this country is fucked! Pak Lah - that's YOUR uncle, T!

T: Boo hoo hoo!

Me: He carries with him the seeds of destruction. Furthermore, we have these politicians running around. And PTPTN. And DAP and MACC and PKR and BABI and Things With Molecular Structure and THIS. IS. MY...dick.

T: Uwaaaaahhh! Uwaaahhhh!

Me: And so, yes. This country is doomed. Doomed, I tell ya! In my capacity as Zenmaster, that it is time for us to flee!

Crowd: To Flee!

And so they packed their bags and sent in requests to the UN and various other places and whatever. And then they left. Leaving me behind. To mind the Fleemasons gift shop.

Me: O, woe is me! They have all left! And now I have to get a Facebook account just to keep in touch.

And then...something happened. A little something called the Global Economic Fucking Crisis on Infinite Earths.

Some of my friends spent months, years, trying to find jobs in Australia, New Zealand, Germany, Dubai, Canada, China...and they failed. Some, were conned. Others, suffered racist treatments they only saw in the first and second acts of Hallmark TV specials.

Little did they know that being in another country actually opens up more doors for racism and hatred than sheltered ol' Malaysia. They - we - forgot, that this is our land, and no one can take that away from us. And in other countries, it is THEIR land. The land belongs to the natives. ALways. And any and all intruders and immigrants will be met with the same derisive subconscious as in District 9.

Me? I decided to stay in Malaysia. My instincts, which have never failed me, sensed imminent danger. An unforeseen one. I had opportunities to work in Germany, Switzerland and somewhere in the Middle East. For some reason, I could not bring myself to get up and leave.

I've always been a lucky bastard. And I have never regretted any decision I made. A genius, yes, but lucky all the same.

It was like dodging a bullet, listening to the horror stories.

An accountant friend who went to Australia just came back two weeks ago. He couldn't find a job there, after trying for six months. And for some reason, he was seen as a Vietnamese. And though his name was something else, they kept calling him Charlie.

Charlie Chan? Victor Charlie? I dunno. All he got from the attempt, the Escape from Malaysia, was halving his savings. Them countries are not cheap.

We very often do not see what we have, until we are miles away from it.
Same reason why a guy in KLCC can't see Malaysia.

I guess, that when the shit hits the fan, the people who get the umbrellas are family, kin and friends. Who the fuck are you, that they would help you?

Oh well. SUnder and Adijin are doing well. But theirs is a skill set that cannot be replaced. They're fucking artists. Without the 'e'. Real fucking artists.

Anyway, my point.

My points is, as Zenmaster of the Fleemasons, I advise all members to FLEE! Flee from the Whole Year Inn and the hole you're in. And go someplace else.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Siri Mari Belajar Hikmat: Hikmat Carutan Pondan Tidak Terbatas

Seni mempertahankan diri atau seni beladiri amat penting pada zaman sekarang. Lebih-lebih lagi dengan berkeliarannya babi-babi, siamang-siamang gagap dan ahli politik yang terlepas dari zoo.

Kita di Malaysia ini, memang terkenal dengan binatang-binatang liar dan semak-samun. Oleh itu, semua rakyat Malaysia harus belajar seni mempertahankan diri dengan mencarut mereka sampai mati.

Antara hikmat carutan peringkat tertinggi ialah Hikmat Carutan Pondan.

Hikmat Carutan Pondan hanya boleh dikuasai oleh seseorang yang...berbudi bahasa. Memang mustahil untuk seorang lelaki gagah perkasa, sasa dan seksi seperti saya untuk mencapai Carutan Pondan Tahap Kesempurnaan. Malah, nak guna perkataan 'pondan' itu jua adalah suatu risiko yang saya, yang hanya suka menjilat pantat, ambil demi pencapaian akademik adik-adik semua.

Nah, mari kita belajar Hikmat Carutan Pondan!

1. Ada aku kisah? Cak cak cak.

Ada aku kisah ialah satu frasa counter penamat. Dipopularkan oleh para artis, etymology 'ada aku kisah, cak cak cak' sebenarnya timbul daripada carutan Bahasa Inggeris 'I don't give a fuck' atau 'I don't give a flying fuck'.

Tujuannya untuk memalukan sasaran apabila sasaran sama ada:

a. memperkatakan sesuatu yang membosankan.

b. Sudah lawan towkay. Kalau orang itu lagi pandai daripada kita, dan kita sudah berasa insecure pasal diri sendiri, katakanlah, wahai Pelawak Yuyu, 'ada aku kisah, cak cak cak'.

c. Sengaja ingin memalukan sasaran.

'Ada aku kisah, cak cak cak' hanya boleh berfungsi apabila sasaran juga mempunyai ego yang sama besar dan tidak suka dipermainkan di khalayak ramai. Serangan ini mengambil kira bahawa kebanyakan manusia memang amat teringin untuk dimuliakan oleh orang lain.

Teknik ini tidak akan berguna jika sasaran memahami kebenaran hakiki kehidupan. Contoh: serangan ini tidak berfungsi ke atas Buddha.

2. Katanya...WALAUPUN.

Serangan ini menitikberatkan timing dan toma'ninah yang lama antara 'Katanya' dan 'WALAUPUN'.

Maksud serangan ini ialah: "Oooo...KONONNYA." yang membawa maksud, "aku tak percaya sepatah haram apa kau katakan, pondan!" yang secara efektifnya menggelar sasaran sebagai penipu.

3. Bughit mak hang

"Bughit mak hang" boleh digunakan sebagai serangan terus atau sebagai pengakhir perbualan.

"Bughit mak hang" mengimplikasikan yang penutur mengatakan bahawa sasaran tak tahu menahu apa yang dia katakan.

4. Kombo Carutan Alam Semesta Songsang: Bertungkus-lumus Sepanjang Hari

Ini perlukan latihan praktikal.


Kalimuliyana: Brandy, mak nak bukak bank la nyah!

Brandy P: Mo-TIF?!

K: Ala, nyah, mak dapat potot anak menantu yang itew.

BP: Yang penting, cantikkah muka kau itew? Bank apa? Bank Air Mani?

Kalimuliyana: Ehhhh, nyah, jangan pandang tak ada mata tau. Mak, dengan budak itu, bila-bila saja akan ku bawa ke Gua Charas di Sg Lembing, Kuantan, Pahang Darul Makmur.

BP: KATANYA...Walaupun...

Tiba-tiba, aku pun masuk sekali.

Aku: Pantat, pukimak mak bapak ko lah! Babi anjing lancau mak kau rogol timun! Datuk ko suka jilat pantat keldai!

K: Eh, apa ni? Masuk tak bagi salam. Ewww...

BP: Ha ah. Gila ke apa. Eeeeyyy...malas aku nak layan.

Aku: Ada aku kisah? Cak cak cak.

K + BP: Ahhhhh!!!

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Mengayat X

Aku tadi di satu majlis di mana Ruhayat X telah meyakinkan aku untuk membuka akaun Facebook.

Dengan sekali harung, seperti pari-pari ganas pembunuh Steve Irwin, dia telah mendapatkan butiran perhubungan dan bijiran kelentit beberapa awek model dan sosialit tanpa selulit.

Kagum dengan kehebatan Ruhayat X dan konek konkritnya, aku pun berazam untuk membuka akaun Facebook.

Ayuh! Kita ke Facebook.

What Girls Want

We all know what women want:

1. Money

2. Big dick


3. Ticket to heaven

But what the fuck do girls want?

Girls, being defined here, as anyone below 25. Even the guys. Below 25? They're girls.

I'll tell you what they want.

They all want to be fucking music video actors.

Yeah, that's right. Same reason why a billion, trillion people want to write poems.

"Oh, I'm a writer."

"What do you write?"


Fuck you. You think you're Blake? You think you're Rimbaud?

I've always shat on poems, cause I think they're lazy work. I can write a thousand poems in a day. Dare me, I double dare you, motherfucker!

I believe that a majority of 'poem-writers' - and I dare not call them fucking poets - write poems cause they think they can achieve so much, with so little.

This explains the millions! No, the BILLIONS, of bad poetry we get, all the time. And sometimes, or perhaps most of the time, it doesn't even rhyme!

Free verse, they say. Free my ass, I said. I just get a shit geyser spray out of my ass whenever somebody breaks into my home and fucking force my eyeballs open as they show me their shit poems and shit.

All the while, Ludwig Van plays in the background.

So anyway, people think music videos and commercials are shortcuts and cheats to making a full feature movie.


What are you, Neill fucking Blomkamp?

It is very hard to make music videos and commercials that work. And they are very different than movies. VERY different. Some can hine their skills doing short work. Others, can't.

In a way that poets can sometimes be great novelists. And vice versa. But not all the time, man.

Short movies are practice runs for longer movies. TV can be practice runs for movies.


1. Some commercials pay better than some movies.

2. They are different art forms.

3. Shooting commercials and music videos are no less harder than movies. The challenges are different. Same thing with poems and longer writing.

I mean, sure, the shoot COULD be shorter. But time is not an accurate indicator of how difficult and complex it is.

Girls, man. Almost all I see nowadays, they want to be in music videos and commercials, because they think it's easy work and pays more money.

It's not easier, foo!

If you think it is, and somehow, you do get in, you're in for a rude shock.

Unless, of course, you want to make forgettable pieces of shit no one cares about and would soon forget as soon as they watch it.

Nothing is easy in this world, bitch. Nothing's hard, either. You just need to understand it.

Even models, have a tough life. I mean, they can only model, for what? Five years? 10 years? And then they're old, and all they do is bang their ass for a billboard shit, selling milk for old people. Insurance for old people. Caskets and baskets and biscuits. ED drugs. Look at Pele.

As with any profession, anyone can model. Anyone can act. But it takes a special something to be truly great. And that special something is hard work and commitment. It takes brains. Don't you ever watch America's Next Top Model? Goddamn it, man.

You want to be with beautiful people? Beautiful people - all of them - will one day be ugly and sick. And then they die. Unless you're a fucking necrophiliac, you won't find even Jessica Alba that appetising after she's bloated and blowflies start coming out of her nostrils.

I mean, look at Sophia Loren. One time most beautiful woman in the world. My God. She looks like my late grandmother. And she should. Cause she's old. If she doesn't, I'll bet she's a vampire.



Given a long enough timeline, everyone's beauty drops to zero. Or rather, universal beauty.

So, end of the day, in conclusion, everything is crap. And we're all gonna die. Have fun.

Mission: Invisible

I'm not gonna sleep tonight. Catching up on some work. Most of it's finished. Just a matter of rearranging them. I was dead tired last night. Came back from Kuantan and then straight to the office. It wasn't work that was wearing me down. I'm just worried about my parents.

I need to think about arrangements for them. Am not going to put them in nursing homes - no fucking way, man - cause I've been to nursing homes in Malaysia. They'll be surrounded by sad cases.

When you're surrounded by wailing and screaming people, it would be hard not to wail and scream with the chorus.

Nope. They will have to be in their places of power. Their own land. Their own home.

I'm doing all I can for them, but I don't think it will be enough.

My father's a stubborn old man. He will do as he pleases, and he is not scared of any type of illness. Not scared of death either. Not a single person in our family is scared of death. Not individually. And we're all very strong individuals.

He just got his eyes bombarded with lasers and the doctor told him to rest for a week, for fear of the damage sunlight can do to his retinas.

Doctor: Optic blast! Optic blast!

Father: Berserker barrage! Berserker barrage!

One week of prescribed rest. Two hours after we got home, he was outside, weeding an acre of land. Under the sun which thankfully had gone behind some clouds.

I guess I just have to be okay with it. And trust that they would know what's best for them. Trust that they're adult enough to know.

I am particularly worried about Hari Raya. The food can kill them. Rendang is bad, bad, bad. Glutinous rice is poison. Tapai is radioactive material. Smorgasboard of kuihs and other sweet things.

I will have to step in and have a hand in the matter. I'll be the bad cop, if need be.

I might be hated, but hell, man, I was never born into this world to be loved. That's not my thing. I've had lots of practice.

I never had that complex. It is enough if you fear me, or ignore me. When I am old, I want to be alone and die in peace. Though as things unfold now, I can see that I might die with fucking submachine guys nailed to my hands.

You'll never take me alive, bitch! Just like Raja Petra. Yeah!

So you see, this puts everything in perspective. No other worries from anywhere can match the things we as a family need to do for our parents.

And one of the reasons why I do it is because my parents never told me that they had me so that they can use me as a fucking insurance policy.

Damn me if ever I were to follow the herd mentality of Malays who take care of their parents because it's fashionable to do so. Fashion, my dick.

And people who say they do things, cause they don't want to regret things later, if the other person dies. That's selfish, in my book. You do it, so YOU don't feel bad. It's all about you, eh? Well, fuck you.

Everyone's entitled to their opinion, right? And everyone has an opinion like they got assholes, right? Well, stick your opinion up your motherfucking assholes, okay? That's why I fucking disabled comments. Shut the fuck up and enjoy my genius, a'ight?

Closest thing was when my father said I should have been a doctor, so I could get him free drugs.

If they did say that they had kids so it would be easier for them when they're old, I would have given them the finger and told them to fuck off and die. They were never a bother to me, though.

In fact, it is one of their big things to be independent and not trouble any of their children.

They've always been independent. My father never had a proper father. He was adopted. He moved a lot, as a child, earning his cot and his keep by tapping rubber and taking care of other people's houses and other people's children.

I think that, perhaps, when he had his first child, he didn't know what the fuck to do.

Oh well.

That's all in the past. And I'm sure a lot of people who have or had parents would know what I'm talking about. Or one day you will.

I am neither proud nor ashamed of my parents. They're parents. They're people. People get old. People get sick. And one day, people die. Everyone dies. Doesn't make it okay, but they do. You know?

One thing, though. My father's right eye has been open for a month now. That's a sign that he is recovering from the stroke.

If I have it my way, no one comes to the house during Raya. The fuck you doing there for? You were never there when he was healthy, and now you want to do what? Pay last respects? Fuck you. My father may yet outlive me. Still smoking four packs a day. I can only manage three.

Oh well. Back to work.

Oh. Fuck you.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Conversations in Red and White: They Walk Amongst Us

So I was in a cab, on my way back to the office from an interview, when the driver pointed at a poster of District 9.

Taxi Driver: They're here!

Me: District 9? Yeah, good movie.

Taxi Driver: No! Not the movie! Aliens!

Me: Wha?

TD: Aliens are here!

Me: Um...that's just a billboard...and it's only a movie.

TD: Aliens came here just before KLIA was completed, and they met Dr M!

Okay. I considered my situation. We were travelling at 60 km an hour. Light traffic. No rain.

If I were to jump out of the car, I would need to do 20 sommersaults, a triple lutz, run up a lamp post, do 30 more spinning full body rotations while doing complete sommersaults, spread my arms and land on a passing car with panache, just to neutralise the inertia.

A feat I was not willing to do without a trenchcoat. Because the trenchcoat makes me look cool.

So, escape being impossible, communication was key to diffuse the situation. Meaning that I need to avoid talking to the taxi driver, lest he continues his alien conspiracy theories.

Naturally, I egged him on.

TD: When Mahathir was president, the aliens came to see him at KLIA, before KLIA was finished.

Me: President?

TD: He couldn't tell the world, because of the Queen, see?

Me: The aliens had a queen?

TD: No, no, our queen lah! Mahathir promised our queen he would not reveal the aliens.

Me: So, how did the alien spaceships look like?

TD: spinning top.

Me: Why does it spin?

TD: To create stability and to fly.

Me: Well, won't the aliens get dizzy, if their spaceship keeps on spinning all the time? I mean, it wouldn't be very convincing if they were to just show up at say, the White House and say, "We are your conquerors now! Blueeerrrrgh!!! I'm sorry. I get saucer-sckness easily and we have been traveling on that spinnin - bwwaaaaaaarrrrgh! Anyone got any ginger tea?"

TD: ...

Me: Well?

TD: All aliens are geniuses.

Me: Genius won't cure motion sickness, you know. Believe me.

And we rode in silence for the rest of the way.

Oh well. I guess that's one way to do it.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

From Coast to Coast

Am back. Am tired. Have loads of work to do. That all can wait, after a few hours of sleep.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

The Miseducation of Amir Hafizi

I spent almost seven hours today, reading wikipedia.

It feeds my ego. I retain an amazing amount of information, though I do not have control over what information I remember.

Come to think of it, that was what I wanted to do, growing up. To gather information. To understand. You know those shitty 'List down three things you want to be when you grow up bullshit?'

I filled in those when I was nine.

I put down:

1. Scientist

- Because of, well, SCIENCE! TESLA!

2. Investigator

- Cause I was hooked on Arthur Conan Doyle. Loathed Agatha Christie. But loved Doyle - the man who believed in fairies.

3. Military guy.

- Cause I'd get to kill people.

Since very young, people have generally pissed me off.

When I was in high school, everyone wanted to be engineers. During the financial crisis, I wanted to be a financial speculator. However, I was told that a career in that direction would require me taking Accounts. I did not take Accounts. I took Economics.

Damn the forces of destiny!

I was in an all-boys boarding school, where almost everyone thought that we would one day rule this country as its politicians and scientists.

The formula was simple. Put the best young minds in the country together, have them grow up with each other, maybe fuck each other in the ass or something, and you create a cabal of sorts.

My school, was number four. Meaning, after MCKK, SAS and STAR chose the top 300 boys, the school had dibs on the 300-400. Based on IQ tests conducted in primary school.

Ah, my dear readers. They never took into acount the forces of chaos and anarchy that could tear your humble narrator and his peer's innocent minds back then.

I mean, we did very well in exams. That was what the boarding schools were for - exams.

What we learned, basically, was how to beat the system. In order for you to break the rules, you have to know what the rules are. You can't hit something properly if it's invisible.

Take BM essay questions, for example.

You have to do factual essays. Any formatted or situational compositions can only garner 60/100, tops. Tops.

Whereas the factual essay can get you at the very least 80/100, if done properly.

And the topic of said essays, will be current events. But there are so many current events, you say? No. There are only 12. It's simple. Anything which is deemed current events are essays that were published in Dewan Siswa magazines for the year. If it's not there, it would not be in the exams.

That's why, for SPM, all of us scored on BM papers. All of us. Only seven got A2. The rest all got A1.

That's how we did it back then. Old school style.

There were also the logistical experts.

If you are resourceful enough, you can make an impression of the exam hall keys using plaster.

Then, theoretically, you can break in at night, taking extra care not to be caught. Best to be done with a group of a few people.

After that, theoretically, you are free to push the desks incrementally closer to each other. Night after night.

AFter that, you assign roles.

There would be kids who excelled at certain subjects, and you pray to the Gods above and the demons below that they are placed in front.

These are the 'Producers'.

45 degrees to his back left and right are 'prime users'. 45 degrees to their back left and right are 'secondary users' and so on and so forth.

All this, hypothetically speaking, of course.

I always think other people are stupid, so I never relied on this. Furthermore, I had my individual plan in place already.

In my school, we were forced to take 10 subjects. Reason? Only the best six will be counted towards your aggregate.

An individual plan would be to focus on six and only six subjects. The rest can all fuck off and die.

Which was what I did.

My chosen subjects were:

BM - a cinch

English - no worries for me. Here's a tip. For English, use French, Spanish or Latin terms and sayings. Cui bono? (Spanish, "who benefits?"), cogito, ergo sum (Descartes, "I think, therefore I am"), tete-a-tete (French, "face to face". Imagine Muten Roshi's face on Bulma's tits) - the more obscure, the better. The logic is simple. If you can scare the person who marks your paper, they will give you a higher score. You terrify them, with things they do not understand. If they do understand, they'll appreciate your genius. You can't lose.

Economics - one of my favourite subjects. There will be one question every year concerning graphs (10-15 points). There is only one graph they teach you in high school Economics - the supply and demand curve, with an equilibrium point. D'oh! And there will be one question about taxes. Know how to do your taxes - simple arithmetic, really, just subtract whatever exemptions from the total earnings and refer to the table - and that's another 10-15 points right there.

Modern Maths - whosoever could not score at the very least an A2 on Modern Maths is an idiot. They should kill themselves right now and remove their filthy genes from the pool. The hardest thing they teach you in Modern Maths is the Pythagoras theorem. KAH SOH TOA. The cosine is the value of the side that is connected to the angle but is not the hypotenus, A, divided by the hypotenus, H. The sine is the value of the side opposite the angle, O, divided by the hypotenus. The tangent is O divided by A. A trapezoid and even a rhombus are two right-angle triangles connected to one square or rectangle. Pi is 3.142 or 22/7. The circumference of a circle is double the Pi times radius, and the area is pi times squared radius. Volume is pi times a cubed radius. And they only have first level differentiation and integration. Venn graph questions are free marks. Apply. It's so simple, even a monkey can answer that one.

Islamic Education - most of the answers are the same. Do good things, be scared of God, don't do bad things. Bla bla bla. Oh. "I want to go to heaven!"

Biology - for some reason, I have always excelled at biology. It makes sense.

I aced them all, except Islamic Education. A measly C3, which I thought I deserved, since I could not, for the life of me, complete the tajwid (Koran grammar) lines cause I didn't know what the fuck the verse was.

Oddly enough, one of my discarded subjects came through. I got A2 in Physics. And I didn't cheat at all. So that was all right, I guess.

C4s in Chemistry and History. Which is funny, in a way.

I got 1A for 1119, and was pretty chuffed at that, cause it was marked by outside observers.

After SPM, I realised that the only thing I needed to do was to find out how the world works, and then fucking break it.

Know all the rules, and then break them.

Remember, knowing is half the battle.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Intermission: Back to Kuantan

After the lingerie launch, I went to La Bodega for a light supper.

Suddenly, a friend jumped out of the shadows.

Friend: What are you doing?

Me: Improving my night vision(see The Beach - ed).

F: Not paté again!

What can I do? Chili's have turned snooty and doesn't want my money. First, they came up with all sorts of rules and regulations. For one, all parties have to be there for you to get a table.

Meaning, if you're hosting a dinner of six or four, you need to all be there before they give you a table. Therefore, it is the last place I want to go to, if I want to meet someone.

And then, the staff just snubbed me and my party. So, what used to be favourite restaurant is now very low on my list. Shame. Loved their big mouth burgers and free-flow of drinks.

So, I have had paté for three days straight now. I don't like foie gras. Just chicken liver paté.

Cheepork doesn't like it cause he said it tastes like cat food.

I live in Bangsar now, but have yet to step foot into Delicious in months. Love their seafood linguine, and they have Pinot Noir.

Shopped a bit at Cold Storage. Am going to Kuantan tomorrow. My father needs to have a procedure done. They're going to shoot him with lasers.

Doctor: Ion CANNON!

Father: Optic blast! Optic blast!

Me: Berserker barrage! Berserker barrage!

Bought some almonds and some herbs. Also enough ingredients to make mushroom and tomato pasta. He can't eat any of the white stuff.

Last time, we did fusilli. Now, it's something else.

Have loads to do, later. For now, am chilling out. Be back with more anarchy in the pookey.

Ling Ger Ree

I am at a lingerie launch.

Bra and panties and camisoles and bustiers and swimwear.

See you after the show.

The Human Instrumentality Project

Somewhere, at some point and at some time in the great war, you will have to choose a side.

Us. Them. Black. White. Yellow. Mellow.

Me? I'm on the side I've always been. My side.

And really, there is only one side.

Fear rules over humans. The Absolute Terror (AT) field as described in Neon Genesis Evangelion. Boundaries that exist between humans. We are such scared animals.

Oh, and much of the world are our boogeyman. Boogey things. Boogie woogie Feng Shui.

Failure. Success. Love. Hate. Rejection. Absence. Want. Despair. Inauspicious numbers and dates and times. Laws. Rules. Boundaries. Terminus - the God of the Boundaries. A God to whom even Jupiter must pay respect to.

It is all one and the same. And it all doesn't mean anything. Humans have not moved too far from seeing patterns in tea leaves and bones with which to see where they are and when they are and where they're heading.

Some, use crystal balls and ingest peyote. Others, hire consultants and marketeers. Grimoires and Gantt charts. Projected fiscal analysis and hexes. Financial flow charts and tarot cards.

Charting the impossible. The unseeable.

It is very hard for us to admit that, after all is said and done, we do not really know what will happen. Most, run away from that. It would be admitting that we do not know what tomorrow brings and that is a scary thought for a lot of people.

Some people dedicate their lives in trying to prove themselves right. I see that for most of them, that path only brings suffering and pain.

Sure, some became our greats. Malcolm X. Mandela. Aung San Suu Kyi. Aum Shrinkyo dude with a fetish for pubic hair and nerve gas. Stalin. Lenin. Pol Pot. Ruben Hurricane Carter. John James Audubon. Clara Barton. George Washington Carver. John Chapman.

The history of mankind is fraught with struggle. I look at it in awe and thought to myself, "Why all the drama? Why so serious?"

Can the same things be achieved without drama? Without pain? Without suffering? Can two or more conflicting realities exist side by side and be done with it?

So that's why, I guess, I put on my blackface makeup. Why I am part of the minstrel show. Gigolo Joe! Jump, Jim Crow! Papa Ghuede is here. Old Voodoo loa, bebeh!

Oh, man. The Messiah Complex.

When we die, I am hedging a bet that we all join the lifestream, as seen in Final Fantasy 7, and then we will all feel silly.

I believe in a God system. We can all explain away the physical existence of everything. What no one can come up with a Darwin theory for, is the evolution of awareness. That thing where you realise, and know, for fucking sure, that you are here, right now, sitting down or standing up, and masturbating.

That you are Citizen X, wearing outfit Y, who went to school Z and fucked A and ate R and is secretly harboring a desire for F. F for fucking.

That self-awareness, is part of a cycle that began somewhere. And my best guess is, it began with God. And since it is a cycle, and a system, its cyclic and systemic nature will eventually one day lead us back to the source.

The giant big Awareness machine. The biggest ego in the universe. And that's our real maker.

When all AT fields are gone, and we all feel like we're fucking each other, and everything is one big giant orgasm. That is perhaps the end of the world.


It could just be a big giant black hole. And we all go to sleep. Talking of sleep...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Little-Known Little Facts About Amir Hafizi

I am the most important person in the Universe. I will lead mankind to higher planes of existence, come December 22, 2012. Therefore, it is good that you know some things about me.

1. Whenever I enter a room, a trumpet blares, somewhere.

2. Sometimes, I eat the sausage in a hot dog independent of everything else. Like a sausage solo, in a hot dog symphony. I also do this with other components of the hot dog. I will finish it with a combination of everything, as it reaches a palatal crescendo.

3. I have written my acceptance speeches for various awards, including the Academy, and the Nobel.

4. I flush, clean my ass, and flush again. Thus ensuring that my ass is ready for licking, and destroying man's most valuable natural resource - clean water.

5. I use TRESemme hair products.

6. I like to wear flip-flops, ragged shorts and t-shirts everywhere, and once wore this ensemble to a weddding. With a helmet.

7. I fucking hate touch-screens.

8. My favourite bottled non-alcoholic drink is Pokka White Chrysanthemum Tea. Two bottles, and I can't sleep at night.

9. I prefer fans to air-conditioners.

10. When asking for an autograph, please approach to within 10 metres of me, place both hands on the small of your back, bow down or curtsy gently, approach in a brisk yet non-threatening pace, state your name, sexual orientation, kiss my ass, get the autograph, and back away. Slowly.

11. The best kind of massage is scalp massage. Sometimes, I go and cut my hair just so the shampoo girl could massage my scalp. I would not go to simply wash my hair, because that would be effeminate, and I'm fucking macho like Marlon Brando.

12. Having spent five years at a boarding school, I know what it will be like if Anwar ever becomes PM of Malaysia. Five years of watching my ass.

13. In all probabilities, I hate you. And yet am civilised enough to mask my disdain with a showcase of uproarious laughter and gleeful mirth at your antics and monkey-speech.

14. I was born 40. And intend to stay that way.

15. I was born and raised near a very large swamp. Which means I can relate to Gambit and likes watching fucking scenes in True Blood.

16. My Tarot card is the Wheel of Fortune.

17. I was born on the day of the dragon, in the month of the tiger, in the year of the Metal Monkey.

18. I like dancers. Though it has been intimated to me, by methods of observation, that dancers do not necessarily make good fuckers.

19. I pay attention to people's voice, and the way they smell.

20. When I read a book, I imagine myself not as the character, but as the author. Trying to steal skills from them, and figuring out what they were thinking and what state of mind they were in.

21. I am not impressed with any form of modern drug culture. Drugs were fashionable in the 60s and 70s. It all went downhill from there.

22. The only reason I don't do drugs however, is because I tend to overdo things. Overdoing drugs is not my idea of a reasonable excess.

23. Though I do have a soft spot for pain-killers.

24. ...and my chosen method of death is via an overdose of morphine. Hey, kids. If you're ever in pain, just ask for morphine. It is THE BEST drug ever.

25. Give me a few hours with a book, source codes and a compiler/assembler, and I can learn almost any computer language. It's all just languages.

26. I am not racist. I am omni-racist. And if you can't take that, you can fuck off and move to Johannesburg.

27. I can discern what is said in Cantonese.

28. Tamil symbols confuse me.

29. My favourite smell is vanilla and fresh, earth-oven-baked, English dinner bread with not too much yeast. Too much yeast makes it smell like semen.

30. I was sick a lot as a child, so am now quite immune to most flus and colds.

31. I have been coughing for five years.

32. I wake up at 7.30am every morning. And then I go back to sleep.

33. I dream psychedelic dreams where Satan is a red-eyed Zami Ismail in pendekar get-up.

34. I was a card-carrying UMNO member. I showed it off to people. Then, one of the people I know stole the card, perhaps as evidence to later lampoon me in public for supporting the organisation that paid for my own membership card and membership fees. Good luck making use of that, friend - mellon.

35. I have little tolerance for rebel-wannabes, for I know what a true rebel is - a rambling mad man who wears plastic products.

36. I know what Che Guevara fought for. Do you?

37. I do not trust DAP's ideologies not because they are Sino-centric. I couldn't care less. I don't trust their ideologies because I simply do not trust them. There.

38. The only real benefit I got from the NEP were two free bags of manure.

39. I have always excelled at school. School is where you learn to beat the system. There is a system. Beat it. Beat it! Beat it! No one wants to beee defeated!

40. You do not know what I want. If you think you know, that is arrogance. Hubris!

41. I am become Galactus. The Devourer of Worlds.

42. You'll never catch me. Alive.

Friday, August 14, 2009


I am here in Starbucks Bangsar. The meeting I am having is not yet finished. Am discussing stuff with a director. I like this one.

Been reading The Invisibles, by Grant Morrison. I like his take on the superhero genre. Not earth-shakingly reconstructing like Alan Moore, not intellectual like Warren Ellis, not literary enough like Neil Gaiman. Not ass-kicking blockbuster wide-screen comics like Mark Millar. Not Tarantino-esque like Brian Michael Bendis. Or perhaps Quentin Tarantino is Bendis-esque.

Grant Morrison, is a true anarchist. He has one of the most powerful beings in the comics series as a transvestite from Brazil - Lord Fanny. He has his author-representative as King Mob. And another part of him as Ragged Robin. And Buddha is a thief from Liverpool.

It's psychedelic and disjointed and very hard to follow. When I use the term 'multiple-layers' in a review, none of those works can actually match Morrison's trippy, near-stream-of-consciousness jaunt into reality, conspiracy and general ass-kicking like Morrison can.

I can only hope that one day, they'll let me out of the cage and allow me to do something like this.

The things I'm heading towards, meanwhile, if it unfolds the way I want to, will be the ultimate anarchist wet-dream. Imagine a world in which everyone plays a game. And that game, is real. Everything you do, affects the real world around you. Not just your desktop wallpaper. I'm talking total control. In the hands of King Mobs and Lord Fannys and Jack Frosts and Ragged Robins and Boys out there.

The Jolly Rogers and Jim Crows and Papa Ghuedes.

We shall see.

For now, coffee.

Ragged Robin

Caste and any sort of division of class, was instituted by insecure people who need to maintain their place in society which they perceive to be advantageous.

These people constantly put other people down for fear that one day they will achieve their 'level'.

Oh, their precious 'level'. I haven't the heart to tell them that their 'level' is worth as much as the hairs on my ass.

That, given a long enough timeline, everyone is manure.

Time is the great ekualiser. Fuck! My 'kew' key is still busted on this Blackberry.

Anyway, yes, with enough time, everything is just shit.

Even this paté I'm having in Bangsar. Tomorrow, it will be shit. Just a smear on my ass crack, which I will carefully wipe and wash away.

Each of us will be eaten by bacteria and bugs. And we will all be bugshit. And bacteria shit.

That loving, caring look from your partner? Bugshit.

The dick or vagina or vagidick or dickina you like to lick and/or suck? Bugshit.

All of it.

All your money and your car(s) and your house(s).

Everything is evolving. Everything is falling apart.

So what do we have, in the end? We have this moment. This slice in time.

We have a lifetime. And that's all we really have, truthfully.

We have time.

Enjoy it while you can.

Lord Fanny

I don't get it.

Why does everyone drink Coke?

I mean, it's a black-coloured drink with too much sugar and artificial colouring. With carbon dioxide pumped in. And even with no sugar, it's full of aspartane, which some claim to have caused alzheimers and mental disorders.

All those claims have yet to be proven, properly. Might be true. Might not be true. But what gives, man?

You all drink Coke. I do too. It's not the best-tasting drink in the world. I drink it, though.

Why do we listen to pop music?

I have always believed that the phenomena of popular culture is a sign that humans are moving, perhaps evolving towards a hive-mind construct.

We buy more or less the same things. We listen and like to be part of a large group that watches the same thing on television. We group together and support more or less the same football teams. In the same league.

I'm a Mac. I'm a Big Mac. I'm a Whopper. Same shit. Different manufacturers.

It all started when eating the same things for centuries meant that the early human tribes don't die from poisoning. Now, with all these choices available to us, we still want to go for the same things.

The same, uniform, Swedish meatballs and the same, mass-produced rubber-wood furniture.

I find the notion of a hive-mind and humans as automatons a fascinating construct. Even have a half-finished short story about a girl who hasn't slept for three years lest the human hive-mind takes over on her dreams lying around in my hard drive.

I wonder. I really do.

We buy the same cars, whether they work or not. Eat the same shit. Watch the same shit. Work in similar cubes. Doing similar things.

And most of us WANT to. They compare their tiny little 'achievements' on those who came before or is coming.

That guy got $XXX in his bank account when he was 30. I have $XX in my bank account, so I need $X within a year or less to be on the same path.

There are many paths, foo! A trillion, billion different existences, and instances, and we choose to have what the other guy is having.

We are all living each other's lives. There is only one life, and one day it will all end.

Oh well.

Ending trippiness. Work, and then sleep.

King Mob

Have you ever seen a rebel?

No, not Che on a t-shirt. Not Che on a wikipedia article. Che is a fashion statement. Nothing more.

A true rebel, well, I saw him, or it, when I was eight years old.

His name, was 'Plastik Man'. No, not Plastic Man the DC comics character. Plastik Man.

He roamed the Kuantan bus stations, wearing only plastic products. He had these plastic shades on, and his shirt were all kinds of transparent plastic bags. His pants as well. He carried with him a large plastic bag with all kinds of plastic things. Ornaments. Knick-knacks. Junk.

If you think about it, this is the ultimate rebel. A real one.

Rambling to himself all day long, he defied the human inventions of speech and conversation. He absented himself from the workforce. He even gave a big fuck you to human clothing and human decency.

That, my friends, is a true rebel. Rebellious to the core. Disobedient in an uncivil manner.

I was eight years old and I knew that if I wanted to be a rebel, in its purest form, I will one day have to don the mantle of the Plastik Man. I would have to be rambling mad.

In the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion, it is postulated that ultimate freedom can be, well, boring. Consider if we had a real choice in the matter. We would be floating in space, as one-dimensional creatures.

Then, a line exists and we suddenly have a perspective of space. We become two-dimensional. Add gravity, and we are soon walking on that line, like a comics strip.

Add depth and we are soon in 3D. Infuse the small simulation with the passage of time, motion, and change - which is basically the only indication we have that time is happening - and we are almost complete in our own world.

Some people, having achieved this state, wants to find ways to escape it. We take psychedelic drugs, imbibe alcoholic drinks or knock our heads on the wall.


Because we have discovered hints that what makes the universe is merely perception. Take away our perception of time and depth and gravity and the line, and we are left in our basic spiritual state.

Perception lies in the brain. A trillion billion complex electro-chemical responses. Communication. Natural binary in Cyrillic.

The Secret says all the world is energy.


All the universe ever is, is information. Data.

And those who can see the strings, the information, and can control it, manipulate it on a whim, are free.

There is no spoon.

We call it magic. And as I have said before, all that magic is, is language.

I see people trying to get free, and all they do is just do whatever other people before them has done. They follow echoes of distant pasts and distant paths.

One psychologist confided in me, amidst glasses of whisky - his - that there are only eight different personalities in the world. And they are recycled time and again. And that one day, he met all eight at a bar in Sao Paulo. Apparently, I was one of them. I was both Harlequin and Pulcinello. Hey, I'm Mr Punch!

In that sense, all you ever meet are eight people. That's depressing. Six - or is it eight now? - billion humans, and only eight people to meet. Only eight people to fuck or to get angry with.

And even that is a Jungian echo. His archetypes.

Everyone follows a kata, the Japanese kata, not a Malay kata.

Patterns. Personas. Recreated and regurgitated because everyone wants to be somebody, inside their heads. Everyone wants to be ideas of the perfect being.

So I get all these women telling me to 'be myself', and if they knew that 'being myself' involved dressing up in plastiks and insulting them cause they all suck, I think they'll stop saying that to me. In fact, I can hazard a guess that some of them will stop talking entirely.

They say they want the truth, but do they?

Everyone wants to be special, just like everyone else. We are not special, and in that, we are special.

Chasing after something means it will be out of grasp. Try and reach for an apple - forbidden or carnal knowledge, who the fuck cares about symbolism nowadays - and you strain against it.

Instead, let the apple come to you. Fold the universe so that the fucking fruit gets in your hands. Different approach, same outcome. Less drama. Trust me. You've trusted worse things in your life. And worse people.

Yes, yes, been reading The Invisibles again. I don't need alcohol to be a rambling, gambling man.

One of these days, they will catch me. And they will put me where they've taken Plastik Man. And we can all talk about conspiracy theories then.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Ta;es from the Drunk Side: La Resistance

People like to bitch and moan.

"I'm in pain!"

"There's nothing I could do!"

"I'm being victimised by X!"

I don't buy all that bullshit. I believe that we all have a choice. Perhaps, in the end, that's what it all boils down to. A choice.

Stop whining and take the bull by the balls, that's what I say.

My agendas are very simple. I want to allow people to take back their power. I want people to stop feeling helpless and sorry for themselves, and start doing shit.

Everyone blames the Government. Which is wise, cause we ARE the Government, foo!

If there's anyone to BLAME, it's you. You choose your own reps. You choose what to highlight, what to fight for. What to show, what not to show. How your environment works is entirely up to you.

So much power. So much potential. Wasted. Squandered.

The fuck did our forefathers fought for? Self-governance. Independence. That's what we have today. And all I see is a bunch of whining, instant-gratification-addicted soulless, racist bastards.

Our existence deforms the world. That's responsibility, man. And you can't escape it. All of us emit an energy field, which infleunces everyone else's energy fields. We ARE the masters of the universe. Our destiny is in our hands.

So much power.


Oh well.

Fear not. Let Uncle Amir set things up for you. I am perhaps the last bastion of self-actualisation. I'll find a way, even if it kills me. Not afraid of anything. What else can the world throw at me? Things I haven't lived through, in my head, a million times over.

I'm a chronic planner, which means that I run countless simulations inside my head countless times a day. Every day.

I have lived and died, inside my head, a billion, trillion times over. You can't scare me with any mumbo-jumbo. If life is an enigma, then I am the fucking Truth. And only fake motherfuckers would be afraid of The Truth.

I am the evil that lurks in the hearts of men. I am that reflection in a clear pool. I am the ancient spirit of evil.

I am the anarchist in a papier-mache mask. I am Ozymandias. I'm your worst nightmare. The one where you turn up in school, naked.

I am Satan.

I am La Resistance.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Racism and Porridge

So I was in the cinema, watching the Press preview of District 9. By the way, you should go see this movie. Timely as hell and hits all the right nerves in Malaysia. I'll save the rest for a review coming out Friday or early next week in The Malay Mail.

It's sci-fi and it's about racism. The best kind of sci-fi, if you ask me.

So I was in the cinema, see? And I was about to enjoy what possibly is THE movie to watch this year, when suddenly an aroma of porridge wafted into the air. Overpowering and appetising.

What the fuck, man?

Apparently, ANOTHER PIG next to me was eating McDonalds' chicken porridge. Oh. Why don't you tapau chicken rice from the Chicken Rice Shop, why don't you?

Fucking porridge in the cinema, KERRRIIIISSSST.

Have the whole chicken, and fucking ram it down your throat. Fucking barbarian. Fucking pig.

Must have just gotten released from prison or something. May a tsetse fly laid eggs in your porridge and may they be immune to acid and may they fucking gestate in your belly and you'll shit larvae. Fucking motherfuckers.

I fucking hate people who:

1. Talk in movies. I fucking paid for the tickets to see the movie, not to hear your fucking running commentary. I don't care how much you know about the movie, cause I always know more. I am omniscient, remember?

2. People who eat like pigs at the movies. Go to a fucking restaurant, you bitch pig motherfucker.

3. People who kick on front seats while watching a movie.

Ugh fucking hell. Pigs and monkeys. That's all we need. Makes me wish the influenza A H1N1 means 50% of the population is dead.

May you get H1N1 and fucking die, motherfucker.

On other news, you guys suck. Fuck off and die. That's what Thomas Malthus said. Malthusian theories suggest that we do not have enough for everyone. Including aliens.

One thing I can't put in the article, though, is how Islam states that ALL earthly possessions belong to God. Not banks, not you, not PTPTN, but it's all God's, see?

So all land belongs to God. We are merely caretakers and shit. But your life, your life belongs to you, and only you.

That's Gaiman right there.

You do what you will of your own life. No one can stand in judgement of it. Not now, or ever. Well, they will judge anyway, but who the fuck cares? Not me. Not you. Just some poorp, pathetic sods who seems to keep score of shit other poeple do.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

The Seven Plagues

Heard that around 40 people have died in Malaysia due to the Influenza A H1N1 thing.


Klaxxons at full blast! Alert generale! Alert generale! Al felixta! Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!

We might have a civil war soon, with uncivilised motherfuckers.

Wait till the locusts come, man. Then all the firstborns will disappear.

It's Armageddon, I tell you! Somebody bomb the plains of Meggido!


Let's get the party started! Yeah!

Man Overboard

I'm a man-on-the-street today.

A man-o-war. No, not the famous horse. Or the jellyfish. The soldier. Espada. But that's Spanish.

No. Pirate. Privateer.

Finished things as fast as possible at the office, and am now out for an interview.

Will be back later, to the office. And then off to another assignment.

I missed this, really. Going out for assignments, getting the story.

Whenever I can, I take my own pictures.

Tonight, there will be a movie, and I will watch it to review the thing.

But right now, I am having paté. La di da!

Monday, August 10, 2009

Anarchy in the Pu-kay

Freedom of speech. A lot of people talk about it, without knowing what the fuck goes with it.

For years, I considered this freedom of speech. It's like money. I want to have it, for my own personal use, but I don't want others to have the same thing. Lest it devalues my own freedom of speech.

Why? Because I want to control magic. Because speech is magic. Words are magic. When we do magic, what do we do? We cast spells, which is a fancy way of saying we spell words. We spell magic.

Wardings are wordings. Curses are just bad words. Grimoire is French for grammar, and no one is fancier than the French.

I have always been fascinated with the importance people put on writings. On things people say, or write. It is a way to define reality. The Scarlet Witch had that power, and look at what she did for House of M.

"I can write," thought a 14-year-old me. "Better than these idiots. And they PAY for writings."

It was the brainstorm of the century.

So anyway, having established that writing is magic, and even simply saying things make them true and real, people seek to control it.

They don't want simply you or me to have it. God forbid we would use it to do things we might want for ourselves.

Freedom of speech is the great equaliser for reality-defining magic. If the people have access to it, then we might have a more equal world. That's why they don't want us to have it. They're afraid we might take what they have.

With freedom of speech, MUST come acceptance of multiple views. Of opposing views. I think that's good. I think that's crap. I think you're crap, I think you're fucking great in the sack.

When Kosmo! ran that article on Yasmin Ahmad, I was not standing with the people who were calling for its blood.

When Hujan stated that they did not like effeminate men, I did not agree with the gays and lesbians and 'people who believed in freedom of speech' to shut down Hujan, forever.

When those people lambasted the Agong on his online guestbook, I thought they were stupid, and perhaps deserved to be punished by the law, but I never begrudged them their right to say whatever, whenever.

And so when Dr Ridhuan Tee decided to write and publish his articles, I can't safely go and condemn his right to express his views without sounding like a hypocrite.

That is, IF I believe in freedom of speech.

Oh, it has to be absolute. No two ways about it. Either for, or against. I can't be a little bit on the side of freedom of speech as much as a girl can't be 'just a little bit pregnant'.

It is problematic, this freedom of speech thing.

Imagine if people were to publish libelious things about me, or say slanderous things? I'd say go ahead and publish them. I won't encroach on their freedom of speech, but I will hold them to their word. I'll probably sue. Not to shut them up, but to get money. I like money.

Publish all you like. And show me the money.

That would be MY freedom.

I am a writer, therefore, I am the sorcerer supreme.

Skirting Around the Race Issue

In the next few weeks, a lot of Malaysians will talk about race. Again. There will be racists from all sides, as there would be cool-headed people.

Me? I'm an underwear model. What the fuck do I know? Well, a few things. I do know that assuming the worst in people should only be done when you're completely drunk or high. Or both.

People are not as evil or as good as you think. They are not as smart or as dumb as you think. Because thinking itself, is a flawed act. That, coming from a chronic mental masturbator. I'm the world's leading expert when it comes to mental masturbations. And perhaps regular masturbations as well.

What I hate most is not racism, though it does come close. Neither is it defensive, egotistical, righteous people. Close, but no prize.

I hate stupidity. And the true marker for stupidity is when you can't at the very least hold two or more possibly conflicting ideas in your head at the same time.

People are multi-faceted beings. At any one time, we can merely glint the light of one facet of their personality or being. It is impossible to know, for sure, a person completely.

You can spend your entire life living with someone, and you most probably will not know him or her completely. It's as close to being impossible as you can get.

My parents have been together for over 40 years. And still, there are barriers in communication.

If you think about it, it's the only thing saving us all from dying of boredom. Variety. Humans have randomness built-in to their system. We're hard-wired as strange things. Anomalies. And anything which is not strange, is not real. Gaiman, yo!

Plato talked of the 'idea horse'. You have an idea of the horse inside your head, but that horse is not real. All real horses are different than the idea horse. Colour, shape, build, smell, the combinations of said attributes. Therefore the idea horse is the perfect incarnation of the horse, and yet it is also an impossible incarnation. It is impossible for the idea horse to exist in this reality.

Lazy people put labels on everyone. Lazy, and stupid. There. That's a label for you as well. Aristotle loved labeling things. And he is my least favourite philosopher.

Yeah, he came up with genus and species and dividing animals into five categories and shit like that. He also labeled women as stupid creatures who should never govern anyone or be given any sort of power.

As a Malay man - lazy, horny, and expecting money to come down from the sky if you're stupid and believe the labels flying around out there - I want women to have more responsibility. Why? Cause I am not greedy when it comes to work. Women should share in the shit we men have to do.

I would love it if the burden of foreplay is also shared by women. This means that the woman is also responsible for sucking my dick before sex. She should also pay for the condoms, lubricants, toys, extra sheets and porn.

In a perfectly-balanced world, women would pick me up at bars and pubs and suck my dick and lick my ass all night long. I hate doing all the work. I'd sooner shake my ass on the fucking pole, motherfucker.

Race? Same thing. We put labels and assumptions on people and groups of people. And people with huge but fragile egos will be offended every time. Their egos need two things:

1. To be defined as different from the rest.

2. To be deemed better than the rest.

If you ask me, it's all bullshit.

We are all the same decaying organic matter as everything else. And there is no 'better'.

I know it's hard for some to grasp, but there is no such thing as better. It's like asking, "Which is better, coffee or tea? Apples or oranges?"

The concept of 'better' is subjective and entirely dependent on perspective. Whose perspective? Yours and mine.

Since it all comes down to independent viewpoints, there are no universally accepted instances of 'better'.

Is RM2 million better than RM1 million? Maybe. Consider if for RM2 million, the tax is 60% and for RM1 million, the tax is only 10%? A lot of variables come into play. Lots of possibilities. Endless.

Truth be told, sometimes I like caramel macchiato, and sometimes I like chrysanthemum tea.

I prefer fucking girls than guys, but that's just me. That's my perspective. Other people, like Cheepork, might have a different view.

To me, it's simple. Only two things:

1. Freedom of speech. No matter what.

2. Interracial-fucking. The solution to everything.

Sunday, August 9, 2009


Neil Gaiman said it. I'm quoting it again.

"The problem with freedom of speech is that you also have to stand by the freedom of speech you do not agree with."

Anyway, I am staying the fuck away from the Dr Ridhuan Tee issue. I have work to do. To da loo!


If you're stupid, you will try to censor the Internet.

China tried...and failed. Lots of people tried. Lots of countries attempted shit. They all failed.

You can do it to some degree. For example, with a few lines of coding, you can turn all 'fucks' into 'ducks' or 'F**ks'.

However, so far there has never been any software that could determine whether a picture contains child pronography or a child's birthday party.

How do you teach a computer to identify, at billions of instances accurately, that this group of pixels is a dick, owned by someone below 18? There are many dicks out there, on the Internet, and no two dicks are the same.

Achieving that would be to solve the Holy Grail of AI. There would be sentient, thinking machines that also has its own moral judgment. It's not impossible, but I believe that at its soonest, that kind of technology is 5,000 years away.

And there has always been ways around it. GutterUncensored is blocked? Go to a website that fetches the contents of a blocked site and view it from there. That's how I read Rocky's Bru when NSTP servers blocked the URL.

I wanted to get my own site blocked by Nasty Pee servers, but they didn't do that to me. Even writing about some ballet dancer called Kalimuliyana didn't do it. In a desperate attempt to get ISA-ed, I even wrote about Pak Lah tossing KJ's salad. Goddamn it, man. I could have been famous-er. And richer.

At its base level, porn can creep in through file transfer things. FTPs, IRC, p2p. And how would you recognise and distinguish porn, when the file has a .txt extension? As is done way back in the 90s, when Geocities banned images with .JPG, .GIF extensions. We just renamed the files as .TXT. It loaded correctly enough.

Currently, the safest way to distribute porn is via IRC channels. You can leech everything there. From pictures to software.

My skills and knowledge in porn, are around 13 years old. Which means I am obsolete. I know PHP, ASP coding, with basics in all manner of programming languages.

Today's kids are way ahead of me. Hard coding, which I sometimes fall back to, are extinct. I see some of the websites these kids do, and it's dynamic all the way. And that's at a basic level.

Today's kids hack into games and change whatever they want. They create mods and change the content of everything. There has never been a game that I couldn't hack into, and I'm a novice compared to today's 12-year-olds.

Censoring the Internet will only result in something akin to the Prohibition Era in the States. We might see our own 14-year-old Al Capones.

What you resist, persists. Everything you suppress, just pops up somewhere else. Maybe somewhere you least want it to. Ever wonder what would happen if Uncle Najib's 1malaysia website gets a splash page with multiple images of Goatse?

Sure, you can imprison a few. ISA a couple of hundred. But you can't catch them all.

If there is anything Malaysians - or humans, for that matter - can agree on, it would be porn. Porn is the lifeblood of the Internet. It is the driving force behind almost all innovations we see today.

Porn paved the way for videotapes. Porn pushed for the popularity of the Internet. Without porn, we would be nothing. Porn is a cornerstone of civilisation.

To combat child pornography, what you need to do is to get people who live on the Net to participate in its eradication. You don't curtail their freedom. You assist them. Have a reward system in place. Arrest as many child pornographers as you can.

Porn doesn't kill people. Listening to idiotic suggestions does.

And one last thing. Censor the Internet, and I'll fucking kill you. CAPTAIN PLANET!

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Intermission: Insane in the Membrane

Am now taking two types of painkillers. It leaves my brain a mess. But I can still write. After some sleep, I'll be all right.

Someone I trust dropped some white fungus dessert thing. The Chinese call it tong sui. It's supposedly better than bird's nest.

The painkillers took most of the pain away, but it also left me nauseous. I couldn't di anything other than sleep. The white fungus gave me a boost and I'm feeling fine again. Asked for anti-nausea pills, but my friend refused to supply me with any as it could tamper with the effects of the antibiotics and painkillers.

Also had a bottle of lemon tea. Sour, savory stuff combats nausea, as all expectant mothers would know.

Oh well. I'll be as right as rain tomorrow. Just need some rest, and let my body take care of itself.

Welcome to the Jungle

The painkillers are working, but I don't think I can get any real work done today. A side effect of the tromadol is a slight high comparable to morphine, without the drowsiness.

Anyway, after lunch, I was waiting for a cab at Jalan Maarof, at the taxi stand near Maybank.

After 20 minutes of waiting, couple of dudes tried to cut queue. I told them off, and they mumbled something and quietly slinked away.

And then, suddenly, a black Honda CRV pulled into the taxi stand. It's license plate bore the number 13. The occupants of said vehicle decided to talk for a while, blocking all incoming taxis for a good 15 minutes.

Then, THE PIG came out of the car and immediately tried to cut queue.

She had the face of a pig and the heart of a black ainu pig. No tits, flat ass, and short and stumpy. She was wearing sunglasses on her pimple-scarred, pockmarked face. She smelled of pig soup.

She was wearing the oversized sunglasses, perhaps in the futile hope that people would not recognize her for what she is - a PIG.

She tried to cut queue. So I said, "I'm sorry. Excuse me, but I was here first."

She ignored me, as she was, is and forever will be a pig. Pigs do not understand human speech, much less reason. A pig is greedy and inconsiderate. Except for Babe, who is a fantastic pig.

She tried to cut queue again. And after failing to reason, or much less talk to her, I decided to block her.

I have been taking cabs for 11 years, and if there's one thing I've learned, is NEVER, EVER, let pigs cut queue.

If they insist on doing away with decency or act in a civilised manner, and to follow the law of the jungle, then that is the law we will have to adhere to as well.

The problem with this, for her, is that she is a pig. And I am a dragon with the brain of a monkey and the soul of Satan. You chose to mess with the wrong animal, you stupid pig.

I blocked her. For every wave, I was in front. She tried to get beyond me, but I was bigger, faster, stronger, more experienced, smarter and much better-looking.

After a while of me dominating play, all the while, trying to reach out to her with human speech, "Excuse me, Miss, but I was here first. Can you please queue up?" she turned to me and said, "What?!"

She was trying to make it as if I was doing something wrong. That we should all accomodate and tolerate pigs in our daily lives. That we should all bow down to the superiority of pigs, and give them all our cabs.

Not this one, you stupid pig.

Perhaps she was also trying to play the female card. Tough titties, you stupid pig. I believe in equal opportunity, so that means equal responsibility. I will not let this go.

"Well, I was here first, so by right, I should get the first cab. Can you please get in line?" I said.

And she stared at me, so I stared back. This was no longer about cabs or cutting queues or any mundane, trivial matter. At that moment, I was the only thing standing between thousands of years of human civilisation, and the pig.

All of human achievement, at every step of the way, all of our glories and scientific discoveries and artistic achievements, and things with molecular structure was besieged by a pig. And I was mankind's last and greatest hope.

St George had his dragon. I had the pig. I was Peter of Holland, holding back the entire ocean of barbaric pig-ism with a finger in the wall.

And she pursed her lips and retreated, haughtily, to a corner.

And then I got a cab. I went into the car, triumphant. A hero. Killer of pigs. Saviour of humanity. I won. I had saved human civilisation, for the moment, from decay.

Let this be a warning to all pigs out there. I am watching you. Big Broseph is watching you. I will never allow pigs to cut queue. If you want to play by the law of the jungle, other people can also do the same. And we also have teeth. Granted, I am suffering from a toothache, but I got painkillers. Welcome to the jungle, pig.


On painkillers again.

Tromadol Hydrochloride, which is the hydrochloric salt version of tromadol.

It's the strongest thing the doctor had.

Am having a 20-dollar porridge and the pain is still spiking.

I think it has something to do with going into a masjid yesterday.

Masjids are no places for the likes of me.

Still painful, so am taking double dose. See you later.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Mastery of Time and Space

Timing. Immaculate timing. Something I have yet to master.

Yet, I have all the patience in the world. Or do I?

Tales from the Drunk Side: Nutty

I, Thanos of the Titans, am saddened by the predicament faced by the folks at The Nut Graph.

I know some of them. Good people. Good intentions.

Let's all help them out a bit.

I am blogging from my obsolete Blackberry, so no links. Go read it at Rocky's Bru.

What I can say is that, as a chronic planner, some or even most things will not go according to plan.

I have been unfortunate not to have any of my plans turn out the way I want.

And I am such a lucky bastard that everything turns out better than I could ever plan. Ever.

So, just chill, man. Help is coming. I hope.