Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Din Beramboi Critical

When I first heard the news, my first instinct was to check the calendar. April 1st is rearing its head, and Abang Din - as we know him - is a real kidder.

AFter a few checks with different sources, it seems that the news is legit. Din Beramboi is now in critical condition.

He was exposed to rat urine, causing what is suspected to be Leptospirosis, with dengue hemorrhagic fever complicating things.

There was a drive to donate blood just a few hours ago, but rumours from Selayang Hospital was a bit inconsistent on whether they had enough blood or not. At first, they didn't have enough, and then donors were allegedly turned away, told that they have enough, and then last I heard, they didn't have enough but donors were believed to have been instructed to donate during office hours. This, even though Abang Din's condition is going through a very important 24-hour phase.

The doctors are reportedly saying that they have administered medication and they have to wait to see how he responds.

I was not that close to Din Beramboi, but he was always nice to everyone. I believe I join a lot of people - friends, colleagues, and fans - who are wishing him well. There's nothing more to do but pray. For those who do.

I really do hope that this is an elaborate joke, but I don't think it is.

The Day the Earth Stood Still

I was running my mouth about some politicians, when some guy on the Internet told me that according to Malaysian law, oral sex is illegal.

At that, my heart broke.

I... I... I just can't write anymore. I can't even see through this haze of tears. I'm... I'm sorry.

I just can't live anymore. Goodbye, cruel world.

Monday, March 29, 2010

The Diary of Boron

I am sleepy. Just took some cough syrup.

What it does is it basically shuts down parts of my brain that gets me to cough. Incidentally, it also causes me to fall asleep.

Hanging on for dear life here, but if I don't slink away to bed right now, I'm going to fall off my chair, naked.

Good night, everyone.


After work, today, I went to see some friends who needed some help with some creative projects.

The bane of all creative projects is budget. With a big enough budget, I can give you Avatar. I can give you Avatar, and each ticket would give you a million dollars in the form of a gold elephant. Wrapped in silver, diamond-encrusted banana leaves. Whatever.

There are no shortage of ideas in Malaysia. We are blessed to be quite creative people.

I have spoken to a lot of people from different backgrounds, doing different things, and they all have these wonderful ideas. Some are conmen, but you can't have a thriving civilisation without your fair share of con artists.

For me, it's simple. I am lazy. So I figure out the best ways to do things with the least amount of energy. If I can figure out a way to eat without moving my mouth, I'd do that.

Now, the problem is that creative people often have no money, because they spent it all on comic books and hookers. At least, this is true for me.

The challenge being in the Malaysian creative industry, I find, is not to be creative, but to be creative within insane budget limitations.

It's a puzzle, and I love solving puzzles.

Tonight's meeting was fruitful. The only thing I need would be people to bounce ideas off.

I am not really doing it for charity. There is a cut in it for me. I'm not that fucking noble. However, money is secondary. I do it mostly for two things - there are people who depend on me, and I need to exercise my brain.

There are families to consider. Individuals as well. I am at a stage where I can open doors for people, and I do that. Because at one point, other people opened doors for me.

Shooting the bull, I can do that any time of any day.

In fact, if I can't apply my brain on something, I get tired and bored. When I get bored, I can do really nasty things. Same applies when I'm dead tired or over-exert myself.

I hope that at least some of these projects see the light of day. And that some families can be fed. I hate families. The notion of marriage makes me sick. But hey, what can you do?

Sunday, March 28, 2010


Sometimes, I am subjected to some racist bullshit. From all sides.

I'd be with some Chinese dudes, right, drinking. We were having fun and all, when one would always pip in some shit about how unfair the NEP is. How Malays get free money from the Government, taking things away from them. And how they can never be rich.

I'd say, yeah, I hate rich people too. Regardless of race.

But they keep on blowing on drinking that hatorade. And whining and whinging.

Me: Wait. Hold up. Have you looked at the list of rich people in Malaysia? My bet is, if we have a top 100, over 80% would be Chinese dudes.

They: Yeah, but they all work hard for it. They are all hard workers.

Me: SO all the Malay rich dudes get it from the Government, while if a Chinese dude gets rich, it's because he works hard? Dude... that's racist.


They: Oh, so Malays need NEP as a crutch because you Malays are weak, right? So fucking weak. And lazy.

Me: ...

They: Say it. You guys are weak, right?

Me: Well... YES. Malays are weak and lazy. SO weak and lazy that we need even MORE money. We need to get three million Malay millionaires by 2012. We need free housing. We need not pay toll. More jobs. Free food. Free cars. Fuck the 15% equity. We need 70%.

That will always shut things up. And there I was, wishing that we had just continued drinking. That the bitter taste in my mouth is just from the drink, and not because I had to deal with some people's insecurities.

The Longest Song Title in History (From Memory)

I'm a Cranky Old Yank, in a CLanky Old Tank, on the Streets of Yokohama, with My Honolulu Mama Doing Those Beat-Os, Beat-Os, Flat on My Lap-Os, Lap-Os - Hirohito Blues!

The Ideas of March

I spent the past two days sleeping, eating and giving advice and consultation to people.

I'm the best at what I do. And apparently, these past few years, what I do is mostly give advice to people. Give people ideas.

Tonight, I was consulted on some court matters and legal proceedings, which is kind of strange, because the only time I was in court, I lost. But I did watch a lot of Boston Legal, The Practice and L.A. Law.

Then, it was time for coffee and some people asked me how to start a business. The conversation got so good, that I'm thinking of helping the guy set it up myself.

The past few years, I have been giving free advice and consultation on TV shows and movies. Yeah, that's right. Free. That's how I got into the business. I didn't want or need the money back then. I was jobless, broke and whatever, but I didn't ask for money. I just gave ideas and advice the best I could.

I was following in the traditions set by people like Zainal Alam Kadir and Yasmin Ahmad. Great minds. If I had a problem I can't solve, I usually went to them. And they gave me insight, advice and information for free.

When giving ideas, it is important to realise that you are not giving it to show how right you are and how wrong other people are. It's not personal. It's not about you. I have met and listened to a lot of people with half a brain who could have had a full mind, if they were not so spiteful and bitchy and downright stupid. Pardon, but your insecurities are showing.

In journalism, we help each other out. Need a number? Call me up. I'll give you my contacts, because at one time, some other people gave me the contacts. The contacts are not mine. I don't own Maxis, Celcom, MCMC and I am not the people who pay the bills.

There are some numbers, though, which upon express wishes from the owners, I withhold. That's because they asked me due to privacy matters. ACtually, whenever I can, I call them first to see if it's okay to give their numbers. That's the least I could do.

I'm not precious about my ideas or information. Though I must say that nowadays, I need to protect them more and more. SImply because at least one company stole my and my partners' ideas. Small matter. What they stole was a cheap imitation of the original.

I'm not gonna stop giving advice and thoughts. People who are more unscrupulous in their dealings with me eventually self-destruct, because if there's one thing you need in this business or even in life, is good mojo. Karma, or whatever the fuck.

Oh yes.

I mean, I was just giving ideas to some people, and one day, they simply gave me money. Cash.

"I don't feel good, talking to you and getting all your ideas, and not paying you for at least your time," they said.

Well, thanks.

I don't give ideas for money. Didn't do it then, and not now. I took the money, of course. I do charge for my creative services, though that instance was special because I didn't, wasn't, and they simply gave me cash.

I find that with ideas, the more you give, the more it grows. There has been many instances when ideas simply pop from my mouth as I was talking.

People come to me and ask, "Hey, Amir, we're having problems doing this show or that story. What do you think?"

And I'd blab on and on and on. Some of it would be gold. Some are whatever.

I also am not doing it for accolade or approval. Or even credit. Though at times, this can be problematic. There was one time I solved some friends' problems about an art installation thingy or whatever. I gave them ideas at a restaurant, and in the middle of the conversation, this insecure dickhead of a friend simply turned and gave the credit to his talentless other friend.

Well. Fuck you. I never gave them another sliver of idea and they are out of my life for good. I am not a glory-hound, but if anyone tries to screw me over, you're dead. And I didn't have to lift a finger. If I did, they'd be truly dead.

Once, in high school, I was writing lots of short stories. A lot. So a friend of mine asked for an idea. I gave him one, and guided the whole story. He wrote it. It was his story.

When it got published, another 'friend' decided to shove it in my face that I was not the only guy who could have ideas and write stories. As if I thought of that at the time.

I never corrected him. Because yes, everyone has ideas, and anyone can write stories. Most importantly, though, was the fact that this other 'friend' was a dick, and if I corrected him, he would learn from his mistakes and be a better person.

I do give things away for free, but I am not that charitable. If you are a dickhead, or simply being a dickhead to me, I just would step aside and allow you to live as an asshole. It's not that hard. And then, I let go.

Anyway, I feel good tonight. I was also giving advice on living a happy life, and I realised my mistake last week.

There was a time when I was spoiling for an epic fight. I let that affect me, and the result was that I got bored. Bored and tired, cause anger and hatred only saps your energy. Best way is not to get angry. Just get even. WIthout emotion. They can't fight empty space, and we are all as vast as the universe.

Oh well. Tomorrow, I got work. See you then. Cheers!

Friday, March 26, 2010


Desire. Desire is always cruel.

Your weaknesses are your desires. Your wants. As long as you want something, that means you do not have it. And if you do not have it, those who can give it to you have power over you.

This is why desire is dangerous. And that to be free, you need to be free of desire.

If, for example, some people ask you to do something you don't want to do. Failure to comply will mean the death of your entire family, before they take off your head.

You are only free if you can accept these 'losses'. And say no, if you don't want to.

Lots of people desire so many things.

Money. Recognition. Approval. The feeling of superiority, because of their boundless insecurities. Being relevant. Being right - this is a bg one. Beeing SEEN as something (smart, capable, cool) because deep down inside, they fear that they are not.

The desire to be with people, because they are uncomfortable with themselves.

The desire to be seen as different from a group (Malay apologists, etc). The desire to be seen as part of a group(Malay supremacists, Chinese Supremacists, Hindraf, etc).

All are poison.

In order for you to be free, you need to let go of all wants and desires. So that if your precious little thing is threatened, you don't mind losing. Losing it, or simply losing.

When there is nothing left in the world which you desire, comes freedom. And with freedom, there is power. Power to destroy.

And woe, woe, woe to the denizens of the earth.

The Fantastic Mr Boron

Haha! I am still awake. After isolating the problem as lethargy, I now know what to do with it.

For the past few hours, I was quite depressed. I was bored, which is never a good sign. My mind was not doing anything. There were no puzzles to solve. I felt like doing really bad things to people all day long. Didn't allow that to get in my way. Everything's done. Everything's fine.

I guess, it's time to step things up a little. On all fronts. With the extra responsibilities, this is indeed beginning to feel like old times.

I need 10-12 hours of sleep, at least. And then, it begins.

Dog Day Afternoon

Man, I'm fucking tired. It wasn't boredom. I was just tired. Didn't realise it when I didn't even have enough energy to watch porn.

Oh well. SOme rest.

I'm not going to see you until much later.


Thursday, March 25, 2010

Fucking Bored

I was extremely busy the whole week, averaging four hours of sleep every night. So Thursday night, which is my Friday night, is a bit anti-climactic.

Am thankful that things went well on all fronts.

I'm just not stimulated at the moment. I think I need to go home and watch some movies. Play some games. And write. Oh yes. There are loads more to write.


I am feeling rather combative today, with no relief in sight. So I'm gonna pick on women.

Dina Zaman wrote an article for an Internet portal saying how society expects women to handle their finances. Hold down a job. Make babies. Be religious, and also the latest - porn stars.

Of course, some idiots will blame men. While it is true that some stupid male fucktards always spoil things for everyone, it must be said that a man's needs from women are very simple.

In the words of Chris Rock:

Feed me, fuck me, shut the fuck up.

Very simple.

Food. Sex. Silence. That's all we need.

This is why Thailand is the solution, the alternative from dating Malaysian whores.

Malaysian whores want all your money. Thai prostitutes want only some of your money.

Dating Malaysian whores cost RM2,000 a month. For RM2,000, you can fuck 10 different girls in Thailand.

Marrying Malaysian whores is lifetime enslavement.

Think about it. Food? Sex? Silence?

Thai food is great food. Sex is in abundance. And if you want silence, just stay in your room.

All this talk about women expected to be this or that is just plain whining.

Just fix me a sandwich, suck my dick, and don't make too much noise. Finished!

This Summer...

I watched the Clash of the Titans movie today, and it is quite good. Not as bad as its trailer/promo made it out to be.

Here was the voice over for the trailer:

This Summer...

Titans. Will. Clash. Clash of the Titans!

I was thinking, wow! So creative! So I made a bunch more:

This Summer...

The second. Man. Of. Iron. Iron Man 2!

This Summer...

Eli. Has. A. Book. Book of Eli!

This Summer...

Breakers. Are. In. The. Day. Daybreakers!

This SUmmer...

Lines. Are. For. Walking! Walk the Line!

This Summer...

Worthless girl. Precious!

This Summer...

Legacy. Of. 2. Nort! Tron 2: Legacy!

This SUmmer...

Fockers. Will. Be. Met. Meet the Fockers!

This Summer...

This. Pie. Is. American. American Pie!

This Summer...

The Wind. Is. Gone. Gone with the Wind!

This Summer...

Kane. Is. A. Citizen! Citizen Kane!

This Summer...

Infamy has a gay brother. Fame!

This Summer...

The Bomb. Which to Love. I learned How. And Stopped Worrying. Love. Is. Strange. Doctor. Dr Strangelove or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb!

Soapbox: I, Swamp Thing

I was born and raised near a swamp. And proud of it.

When we were kids, we used to kill snakes out of boredom. Take that, WWF!

My father was a primary school teacher and my mother is still a housewife. My ambitions, growing up were to be a scientist, a detective, a sniper and finally a financial speculator.

Coming from very humble beginnings, I do not feel insecure at all. In fact, anything I do will be better than growing up near a swamp.

Honestly, with that, comes unbounded, sometimes irrational confidence.

It is funny to me, when someone says anything about 'coming from a good family'. That description usually comes with a UK education, white parents and summer homes at Janda Baik. Oh, and equestrian.

I don't hate rich people. Nor do I feel superior to them. It's just that sometimes, I find them detached from reality.

For one, take a look around you. THIS. IS. MALAYSIA.

It's not Notting Hill. Not East End. Not Paddington Station, or Angel Islington. Or Black Friars.

The people might speak English, and we have enough white people (and Indians) to justify at least three magazines for them, but this is not London.


So when people come up with shit questions like, "Where was the best hot chocolate you ever had? Paddington Station?"


"You should sell this in London."

I grin, and then I tear them apart.

I don't 'put them in their place' as they say they are TRYING to do to me. I just tell them that they have no place here.

Get the fuck out of my face. I don't go to your office to slap your dick out of your mother's mouth, do I? (credit goes to Brian Michael Bendis for this turn of phrasing) So get off my fucking back.

Using my Buddha powers, I have no remorse. I can kill you, and I don't even have to rationalise or justify it to myself. You will just die. I don't care.

So anyway, This. Is. Malaysia. So we do things the Malaysian way.

The phrase, "I don't watch/listen to/buy local stuff" is said as a badge of honour of sorts by some fucktards.

Let me tell you something. If you are a Malaysian, then you ARE a Malaysian product. If you don't buy Malaysian stuff, and finds it contemptuous to do so, then you are telling everyone that they shouldn't buy YOUR bullshit.

I am not saying we should buy Malaysian first or buy British last. That's not my point. That's your choice, and no one should tell you otherwise.

I am just saying that have some fucking pride in yourself. In your product, and in your country. Because we're all in the same boat.

If you're doing marketing, you would understand that you need to first understand what you're selling. Same shit with all of us. Understand what we put forth. It may be good or bad, but simply realise what you're doing. Realise what you are.

Najib is not the face of Malaysia. And, thank God, neither is Anwar. Each one of us, has a face, and when people see or come to Malaysia, they see your face.

Even if you are one of those fucktards who put so much importance in face, then this is it. You are the FACE of your country. Your country, represents YOU.

The Government is not a building or a political party. You are part of it.

So when you do shit, please remember that this is not New York. This is not Barcelona. This is not Cannes - which is pronounced Cahn, by the way, not Canes, not Kennes. And this is surely not London.

Fuck you.

Now suck my dick.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Come One, Come All

I'm bored.

Using my Buddha powers, I no longer care about people dying. It's just a cycle of life and death.

I'm feeling rather sharp at the moment.

So I am giving advance warning. Anyone who wants to get in my face, or stand in my way, will be killed.

I have some work to do, and then I'll be back here.

To Absent Friends...

I couldn't sleep. I was on the bed, and I was thinking of the many things I need to do tomorrow.

So many things.

And then I started thinking of people long gone.

How I miss Yasmin.

She would not open any doors for me. There is no Yasmin shortcut to things. And I wasn't looking for one.

I hung around, sometimes, because of all people, she would listen. And she would understand.

She tried very hard not to judge. She is not infallible. But the effort was there. At least she tried.

I enjoyed her company, and I guess she enjoyed mine just as much as she enjoyed everyone else's.

Even after I left The Malay Mail. Even after I stopped being a journalist working for a newspaper.

There were so many lessons, but she was not my mentor. There were just... stuff.

How she believed that there was a force trying to convince people that being cynical and miserable is cool. I wanted to tell her that it was me. I made cynicism and misery cool in Malaysia. From my perspective, that would be perfectly true.

Yasmin's not the only one I miss. There are others. But I don't have all night.

Maybe I just need some rest.

The Islams

I don't care about heaven or hell. I'm not playing for a prize, and I'm not afraid of penalties. Heaven and hell, that's God's business. Not mine.

In fact, fuck it.

The closest brush I had with the Islams was a few years back, when I had to do a TV programme for an Islamic lifestyle channel.

I had never done any Islamic programming before that.

The ustadz I was dealing with had an HTC smartphone. Pretty current guy. The show was about how to read the Koran properly.

I remember enough tajwid (Koranic grammar) to know my Mad Aslis, Mad Lins, Mad Arif Lisukuns, Idgham Maalghunnah, ikhfak hakiki, izhar halki, Mad Jaiz Munfasils and Mad Wajib Muttasils - the basics.

Other than that, the tarranums and all that shit, I never learned. Not interested.

Making an Islamic show is just like any other production. There were no bolts of lightning, fireballs or angels the size of galaxies.

I was only involved in the beginning, and am relieved that the programme became number one on that channel.

Professionally, I only see things as information. Thoughts, viewpoints, facts. I don't get my personal shit in, unless it's required. That, I save for stories.

I don't believe in tickets to heaven. Heaven or hell is what we make of the world.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to figure out how to simulate orgasms in normal everyday situations.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010


Drunk with sleepiness, I do so proclaim that journalism is the last of the romantic disciplines.

I wrote this before, that upon graduating, I found that I couldn't be a samurai, or a knight-errant, so I became a journalist.

A profession in pursuit of the truth. What can be more romantic than that?

Now, people predict - well, I predict - that newspapers in its current form will be truly out of fashion in 50 to 100 years from now. My nephews would be dead before they see the end of newspapers.

But the profession of journalism will live on. It shall evolve.

I believe that everyone should write. Simply because it would create greater awareness and appreciation for writing. And hopefully, reading. Of course, we do get people who comment on YouTube videos and its variants.

The ones who go, "FUCK YOU RACIALIST!" and "YO MAMA'S A HORE!" and "I SHOULD GET THE AWARD!" and "I AM A PILOT WITH 70 YEARS EXPERIENCE AND THE WTC WAS BOMBED BY SCUD MISSILES SENT BY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and "I LOVE ANWAR"S SWEET BUTT!!!!!!!!!!", not realising how stupid they sound.

Anyway, still a greenhorn in this profession, comparatively speaking, I find it difficult to form any sort of picture about something with just 300-800 words.

I mean, you can spend 40++ years with someone, and not know him or her. What is a mere handful of words, to describe a person or an event? Possible only for those who see others as one-dimensional characters. Events as a picture in a child's colouring book.

This is a banana. That is an orange. This is a vagina.

I believe that only a mosaic of a million different viewpoints and opinions and perspective can even hint at what something is. For that, we need perhaps millions observing and writing truthfully what they see.

We have that now. Today. We have the technology. We can rebuild it. Faster. Stronger. Better. We can create the world's first bionic man.

And for a low price of six million ninety-five! Come on down!

Don Knotts. For some reason, I am thinking of Don Knotts. And the Harlem Globetrotters. And strangely, the word "Zoinks!".

I'm also thinking, if I were to use my writing skills, can I fuck half of KL? Would a movie about isolation and solitude, and the difference between being alone and loneliness and the barriers between human communication - would that outsell a movie about rempits? I doubt it.

Some parts of the arts circle and the entertainment community scream and yell for measures to save them. For someone - anyone - to save them. One question we must ask ourselves - have we done anything worth saving?

My answer is, yes. I have seen the elusive beauty and talent, passion and commitment in the industry. However, it is very rare that it translates into a body of work or a work of art that can be used as a rallying call, a signpost for many things.

My friend Lainie hates the fact that Malaysian movies are prohibited from showing gay people unless they repent at the end. I am against almost all forms of censorship (child pornography and a few other things being the exceptions), but the first thing that came to my mind was - where IS the gay movie celebrating homosexuality that is banned and would serve as a rallying point for gays in Malaysia, which I presume number in the millions. With perhaps billions in disposable income. There is power there. A lot of power.

I want the gays to rise up against censorship and discrimination.

I am a strong supporter of homosexuals, because homosexuality eliminates the competition. With more gay men, straight women will eventually have only one choice - ME.

And if all the girls are lesbians - woohoo! Oops... I think I just came.

Night all!

Global Warming

These past two months have convinced me that global warming is real. That the human race will die of heat-stroke. Skin cancer. Or just get cooked up somewhere.

O joyous thought! O glorious notion!

You will all die!


The Pussy of Happiness

I often wondered, why people do things to themselves.

Like how abused women stay in abusive relationships. How people get married. How people breed. How people pretend to be stupid. How people keep on doing stupid things to themselves, which caused so much pain.

Why some people crave pain.

And then, I realised, that perhaps the pain keeps them happy. That they are happy with pain. I mean, who am I to say that everyone wants what I want - a relatively pain-free experience. No, that would be judgmental.

People live passionless, empty lives, maybe because THAT makes them happy.

I'm serious. I mean, just because I do not desire the things other people desire, they often branded me as a freak. Maybe I am doing the same, no?

Maybe some people just want to be stupid. Because with stupidity, comes release. Freedom from responsibility.

People perhaps compete for stupid things, because stupid things make them happy. Again, who am I to judge?

Oh well, then. MOAR pusseh for meh!

Chee and Ling's Amazing Tea Ceremony

Yesterday, I went to Chee's house to be his heng tai. Which meant that I get to escort him with some other friends, to his wife Ling's house.

He was to have the traditional Chinese tea ceremony that binds their marriage that was already made official with registering it some time ago.

Chee was in a Mercedes. I was in a Kelisa, with Roy.

We convoyed from Damansara Perdana to Puchong, managing to get lost only once.

In the house, Chee was confronted with three tasks. I had spent the night before reading up on riddles and training my mind to answer them, so as to help Chee out should he need my assistance.

So the first obstacle were all the single ladies in Ling's family, asking him to do some things which did not call for my vast intellect at all. One of them was to sing a George Lam song.

I don't know any George Lam songs, only one or two Sam Hui songs. Apparently, neither did Chee! But he managed somehow.

The rest of the tasks were physical, where Chee had to defeat the Ten Tigers of Canton using his No-Shadow Kick (think about it. A kick that has no shadow means that it is faster than light.) and 18 Dragon-killing Palms.

And then, time to pray to the skies. After that, it was the tea ceremony, which was done rather quickly, to capitalise on the auspicious time. I got one ang pow as well, which was cool. I usually get RM17 worth of ang pows every Chinese New Year.

All in all, congratulations to Chee and Ling. May you find happiness.


I guess I am blessed with an abundance of ideas. Actually, everyone is blessed with an abundance of ideas.

There are ideas for everything. Ideas for lots and lots of things. The tea-lady, if you sit down with her, or the security guard, would bombard you with ideas.

That's why, when people ask me for ideas, I usually just give mine away. SOme are good ideas. Others are bad. Actually, ideas in itself are neither good nor bad. They just are.

I once fell in love with an idea. She had a unique voice. One I wanted to capture and put in songs and sonnets and scripts and stories.

ALways dancing, teetering on the very edges of despair. I had hoped, in my feverish dreams, to stay in the bottomless pits and catch her as she fell, keeping her warm from the coldness of the dark.

Alas, when I get near, it was just an illusion. The price of getting what you want, I guess, is getting what once you wanted. Said Neil Gaiman. Chaos be upon him.

Ideas are so fragile, that when you get near them, they break, and the ugly pustules of reality and the smell of rot and decay would fester in your nostrils and haunt your dreams for years to come.

I am a creature of dreams. And yet, I am anchored in reality.

Perhaps one day, I shall meet my idea, and she would not break. And that we would dance away... in the dark.

Fuyooo magic!

Monday, March 22, 2010


You know, everyone could save a lot of their time, if they're honest in their relationships.

Now, I believe that 99.999999999% of relationships will end miserably or be unsatisfactory for everyone involved. I have never met anyone in a relationship who, when asked why they're together, actually say that they like the other person.

"I am with him/her because I love being with him/her."

A simple answer, surely. But beyond the grasp of most people.

"I'm getting older."

"I want kids."

"He has a lot of money."

"She has soft, malleable tits."

"He has a big dick."

Why can't people just be honest?

Imagine this. All your past, present and future partners are in a room with you. There is a table, with chairs and the chairs are on a conveyor belt. You say the truth to each one. And they will tell you the truth as well.

"I want your money. Surely you have money. I only tolerate your dick inside me cause I want you to buy me a dress, a car, a house."

"You are just another notch on my belt. After I get you I will hang your severed head on my wall, above the fireplace."

"In my illogical belief system, I have faith that there is a giant scoreboard in the sky and getting married would score me 1000 points."

"I just want sex."

"Your ugliness makes me look better in comparison."

"I just want to show off to other girls that I am successful because I nabbed myself a man. You? I dunno. Might have been any other fool. This is all about me."

If it was me, here are my truths:

"I don't have money."

"If heaven and hell exist, I don't know where I'll end up. Not my business. I don't play for a prize."

"Rocco Sifreddie has a longer dick than I do."

And, the piece de resistance:

"I never did like you. Only the idea of you."

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Trivial Pursuits

It is raining outside. I am at home, and my bed beckons to me. I heard its calls from the office where, in an effort to stop myself from falling asleep, I bombarded myself with useless information.

For example, the industry that advertises the most is the automotive. Breakfast cereals come in second.

Coming from that, perhaps a car and breakfast magazine would probably make a lot of money.

A Kennedy, after World War 2, decided to infiltrate the Ku Klux Klan. However, the authorities did not want to act on his information, so he turned to the immensely popular Superman radio show.

After the Nazis, the Superman people were looking for a new villain, and the KKK fit the bill.

So after months of revealing information about the Klan on the SUperman radio show, the mystique and mystery surrounding the organisation faded. By 1948, people went to Klan rallies to mock them.

The game Trivial Pursuits sold over 20 million units in the space of a few years. This was both good and bad, as the original cost was US$75 per unit, and it was sold at US$15 to retailers, who sold it for US$30.

Play-Doh was once used as a wallpaper-cleaning tool.

The idea for ankle bracelets worn by prisoners - revealing their current location to law enforcement agencies - had its genesis in a Spider-Man comic book.

Before I realised it, I had already spent around two hours reading, as I wait for some things to be finished.

How I Spent My Weekend, By Amir Hafizi, Age 30

My weekends are Fridays and Saturdays. Cause I'm a Jew.

On Friday, I slept till 4pm, woke up, took a shower and went bowling. It was a bowling event organised by the good folk at FlyFM.

Now, if there is one thing you should know about me, know this - I am absolutely dreadful at bowling. My previous high score was 40 or thereabouts. Therefore, my only intention that night was to have fun, as I know that hitting 100 points is akin to finding the Holy Grail or something.

And so I bowled for two games, and got the scores 51 and 52. After that, the folks from FlyFM took us to dinner, where at the end of it, two people from The Malay Mail won prizes. I also, brought up the rear as some sort of 'Raja Longkang' and also managed a prize. I thank the good people for a grand old time.

Then, it was off to see some friends who picked me up at One Utama and drove me to Rasta. There was Rodek, Dira and their third wheel Cheepork.

We had pseudo-intellectual conversations concerning method acting versus practical aesthetics, as well as hairy balls.

Rodek wanted some feedback on his stage plays. The aspiring playwright is a prodigious talent, but worries too much about reception.

If I could give him any advice it would be that, no matter what you write, or where, people will hate you for it. So just enjoy the ride, my friend.

Then, it was home, just in time for some writing. I also watched almost all the Harry Potter movies, in fast forward, and fell asleep at 5am.

Today, or rather, on Saturday, I cancelled one meeting, and scheduled a Korean BBQ dinner with Cheepork, Rodek and Dira, a meeting with a hot singer at Bangsar, and then off to the movies.

I went to Midvalley at 5pm to get the tickets for a midnight show, only to find that ther were only 17 tickets left to Alice in Wonderland 3D, with 200 people in front of me.

So, I opted for the normal seats.

At 7.30pm, I was already at the Korean BBQ place. Cheepork and I ate our own body weight in teriyaki beef, black pepper chicken, an assortment of other meats, fish balls, fish cakes, some delicious kangkung, washing it all down with a few pints of Shoggoth's Old Peculiar.

Then, as Dorek and Rida, I mean, as Rodek and Dira arrived, I had to make a quick getaway as a hot chick was waiting for me.

Despite the fact that I had my apartment cleaned earlier and was ready for sex, I do not think that I would be putting my dick anywhere tonight. This is strictly business, though I must say, I do enjoy the company of a hot, intelligent singer who writes quite well and wishes to have some feedback on her writing.

Then, just as Cheepork, Rodek and Dira arrived at Devi's Corner, I had to leave for the movie. Took them damn long enough.I was waiting for them for the better part of two hours, though the company was definitely no torture.

So I was in Midvalley, and I watched a movie. Alice In Wonderland. I expected more, but it was all right. Not something I would watch five times, but hey, it's an okay movie.

And now I'm back home, and I will do some writing.

Thanks to all who made this a wonderful weekend. For the most part of my life, I was obsessed with the day I die. About how I would die (a morphine overdose and later burned in my library by torch-wielding villagers who thought of me as some sort of sorcerer).

Until somebody quoted someone who said, or wrote, "The last day of your life is just one day. What about the other 36,500?"

It is not the destination, they said. It is the journey. And it has been a fun ride.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

The People's Cramp

For the most part of my life, I have either hated or hid from people.

The reason being that they are such loud things. Even when they are silent, they are deafening. The amount of information you get from people is mindboggling. It is just insurmountable to go through them all.

It is like having a bit of a thirst, and getting submerged in a lake full of drinking water.

SOmetimes, with one or two, I can focus. But when there is a dozen or a crowd, the sheer visible dynamics is simply overwhelming.


Person A and Person B are talking to me.

So, Person A presumably wants the floor all to himself, so he can impress Person B with something. This is due to the fact that as a child, he or she could hardly impress anyone - clumsy, bumbling and not-so-smart. Prone to cause accidents and the not so occassional faux pas.

Person B wishes to be left alone, so he or she could lament in monologue, how unfair the world is. This is because he or she believes that saying how bad life is will get him or her sympathy and that other people will solve his or her problems.

Now, imagine if this is in a room with 12 people.

Persons A through G have seven different motives, while Persons H to L have five different ones as well.

Now, interconnect everyone with everyone else.

That's 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 and 1 connections. 12 motives. 66 connections. Ever-changing. And this is by taking a simple route. A one-dimensional one. Now place this in a four-dimensional construct. A million different ticks and mannerisms and whatever else. Pour in immeasurable life experience and my brain just died.

There are people who can instinctively surf through these human interaction thingies. For a while, I was jealous of them. For I could not do it. Not very well. I hated crowds as it is impossible for me to grasp everything.

It was not until some years ago when I began to notice something. That I do not have to keep everything in mind.

The late Yasmin Ahmad often said, "We do not have to understand someone to love them."

I am not out to love everyone. I find that quite impossible as well. But taking that view, and applying the task/data management practice of First In, First Out, it all becomes manageable.

True, there is a lot of information, but most of it is crap. Humans are chest-deep in total bullshit. Flailing their arms about while talking, raising their eyebrows and curling the lips and narrowing the eyes. Most of that is bullshit. Most of speech is bullshit.

What are you talking about? Nothing.

You learn to find important, significant bits and focus only on that. It comes naturally to most people, but some, who may have had the same difficulties I did, would struggle at first.

I see lots of rude people, who are rude, spiteful and generally stupid, when there is no need to be rude, spiteful or stupid.

You do that, when you need to. Otherwise, it is just excess.

They just react without being conscious of their actions, and how some small, little thing could have an effect on their lives, in terms of other people's reactions.

Trust me. 99% of all problems in my life stemmed from my reactions to certain things. Being quick to react is not a good virtue, unless you are a highly-trained soldier, surgeon or bomb-squad member.

There is always time. And the time is now.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Tweets from the Drunk Side: Politwitters

I was minding my own business, monitoring Twitter, just in case Anwar posts something like:

Anwar: #Mokhtar! #Mokhtar! #Mokhtar! Mak nak tidur, nyah!

Or LKS to post something like:

LKS: Saya memang lesist. Me no rikey.

When I stumbled upon a 'fight' between LKS and KJ.

The fight was about some inane questions that LKS asked, which he claims KJ has failed to answer, and KJ claims he has answered.

Both declared themselves winners.

I declare them all wieners.

Having stayed past his bed time, at 10pm, LKS went to sleep. A growing boy like him needs all the sleep he can get. ALso, in training for that PM pillow. I mean, seat.

KJ, being the only one of the two awake, declared himself the winner. Again.

Winner of what? Having more coffee?

KJ Tweeted, "As Achilles puts it, 'Is there no one else'?"

Against my better judgment, I replied. And my reply was retweeted by seven other people.

Then, Tony Pua came on. He challenged KJ to a Twitter debate, as LKS had gone to sleep.

KJ responded by saying Tony Pua is way beneath him.

Tony's remarks went something like, "I'm better than UMNO, nyeee. Blah blah blah."

So, this is what your MPs do, people. They spend countless hours fighting with themselves, trying to show who is better, and then when night falls, they go on Twitter and repeat the same thing.

When exactly do they do their work? Are they serving the public interest? No. Are they eradicating poverty? No. Are they feeding the poor? No.

The only thing they feed are their big fat egos.

I hope that Global Warming is real, so that I could watch all politicians die.

That being said, it is 4am. NOW is my bed time.


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Non-verbal Communication

As a straight man, it is my duty not to listen.

When a girl opens her mouth and starts to have an intellectual conversation with me, all I hear is, "Yak yakitty yak yak yak. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah!"

God, Xenu, whoever, gave men two ears, so that our mothers would not kick us in the 'nads to beat us up when we're young.

This is why some gay men look more organised than straight men. The secret to their power is that they listen more.

I tried listening to women, but the influx of information was just too great.

Imagine this. I meet a girl with long hair, right? So, I go up to her or she comes up to me, and in my mind, I think about how she would take a dump with that long hair. Does she curl it around her neck, tie it up in a bun, what?

Then, there's make-up. Make-up is a deluge of information. Layers of concealers under the eyes. Thick foundation. Focus on the lips - gloss, matte, whatever. Fake eyelashes? Real ones?

Is she trying to make her lips look smaller, eyes bigger? Is she trying to construct the entire bridge of her nose with makeup? Does her cleavage have accentuations from blushers and whatever?

Were her armpits plucked, waxed, tweezed or shaved? Or does it resemble a tumbleweed like Monique in Precious?

If humans shave their armpits, there is the possibility of ingrown hair. That happens when skin cells grow above the roots after shaving (shaving strips off a thin layer of skin). With a layer of skin over the follicles, when it grows, there would be a period when it would grow UNDER the skin. So, the armpit, or the face looks greenish.

I also look at women's moustaches. Was it threaded? Shaved? Or dyed? I met a particularly ghastly specimen of female facial hair, dyed blonde. Oh well. To each his own.

Then, there's the clothing. My old history teacher used to have only one type of dress with five different colours. A dress with big buttons down the front. Neon green, Big Bird yellow, neon orange, floral patterns and light blue. She disliked the light blue the least. On Friday, it's ususally whatever was cleaned in time.

Do women wear fuck-me-heels? Sensible pumps? Gladiator sandals? Wedges? Mary-Janes?

Is she wearing a push-up bra? Is there padding? If so, then what kind of padding? Sponge? Silicone? Tissue paper?

Does the bra require wireframe support?

And many, many, many more.

So, with all this information flying my way, you expect me to listen to what you're saying?

"Yak yakitty yak yak yak. Blah blah blah blah. Bla-BLAH!"

To be fair, women also judge men by their appearance and how they carry themselves.

I just don't give a shit, and wear what's clean. Mostly. I cut my hair when I have to. Often at the cheapest places that offer a scalp massage. I find Setiawangsa and Cheras to be good places.

I wear sneakers everywhere, cause if I have to run from zombies, sneakers are a good choice. Plus, I can't squat with proper black shoes. What if I had to take a dump by the roadside? I'm not taking my shoes off. The zombies might get me.

The image that I portray is usually - I don't give a shit.

Cause they don't give a shit in Thailand. All they care about is money. And at the end of the day, most women are looking for money. If you're wearing a RM1 million watch, chances are, she'd fuck you.

Hell, if I can find a pawnshop that would give me 10% of the watch's value, I'd fuck you too.

Sunday, March 14, 2010


A lot of my friends are now into performing arts. They're bankers and engineers by day, and then by nightfall, they go and act in plays, sing or dance.

I just saw the 2009 remake of Fame, which is lame.

Remember it's lame - LAME!

The editing's choppy as hellll

And the movie has no direction at all!

Remember it's lame - LAME!

SO anyway, yes, a lot of my friends are now doing theatre, or acting in movies. I don't know why.

I used to act. Surprise! I was one of a trio of my school's only acting troupe, while I was there.

Here's how it worked out.

The school would have a function on a Sunday. On Friday, the BM teacher would ask us to stage a play on Sunday.

Which meant, we had half a day to write a script, and one full day of rehearsals.

Needless to say, the productions were awful. The most revolting things you could ever see on stage.

Some of the stories include deviant teachings, with me as the devil, and always topical of the event at hand.

For props, we just used whatever we found at the hostel and the any junk from the storeroom.

All the adults had to smile, laugh and generally tell us that we were very talented. No matter how bad it was. So, we did even worse productions.

The kids? Well, they seemed to have enjoyed it. I don't know why. Maybe they were happy it wasn't them on stage. That it had to be these three fools.

We won the 1995 inter-school drama competition, simply because the other schools staged even worse crap.

I remember one where they had Keris Laksamana Bentan, complete with syrup-in-a-plastic-bag explosions, to simulate blood gushing out.

I was backstage, when some of the kids from the other schools were crying because their costumes got wet. With sticky syrup.

All in all, the school theatre scene in Seremban, back in the 90s, was quite horrible. And pathetic.

The only semblance to real productions with a proper budget were the ones done by KaTaK. Yes, Tunku Kurshiah College. Where rich people's daughters go.

They always stage Shakespeare, like how their brass band always play M Nasir. Boooooriiiiing.

Like Stepford Wives boring, without the hotness.

I mean, KTJ had better-looking chicks. In my day.

And that was my one and only experience with fame. Now, I'm blissfully anonymous.

We are many. We are strong. We are anonymous.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Comedy of Errors

I have met many writers, at various stages of their careers. I was trained by writers. I work with them, and I also meet aspiring ones.

One of the things I do is, screen through new writers, pair them up with various projects, organisations and individuals.

I met most of them, during my short stint doing TV. I was helping managing content for a major production company, and was always on the lookout for new writers. I also did it as a favour to some friends looking for writers. Some were amazing. While others, were not quite sure what they wanted, or where they were.

Me: So you want to be a writer?

Writer1: No. I want to be a model.

Me: Oh? What kind of model?

W1: I do catalogues, but I want to do high fashion.

Me: You are... applying to be a writer?

W1: I want to make some money as I approach the major modelling companies.

Well, at least she was honest.

Me: So. You want to be a writer? What kind of writing do you do?

Writer 2: Oh, I just give ideas. I hope that you can turn them into something.

Me: What... kind of ideas?

W2: I have many ideas. I watched a lot of movies and TV, and I think if you follow my ideas, you'll be rich.

Me: How... much experience do you have writing?

W2: I write in my notebook, which I kept since primary school.

Me: Wow that's - that's how many years ago?

W2: I started when I was eight. So, 15 years.

Me: And in 15 years, all of your writing fits in a notebook? I take it, it's a large notebook?

W2: No. It's right here. It fits in my hand!

I know of people whose job it is simply to give ideas. Sit around, give ideas, and other people execute them. And get paid hansomely for it.

These people are usually really, really great writers whose ideas are sound, well-thought of, and in most cases invaluable.

Similarities between people who mainly give ideas for a living is that they have more than 15 years of experience actually working on ideas. They have tried, and failed, and at some point, would succeed more than they have failed.

There is no entry-level job where all you do is sit around and give ideas. I know. I looked for that first. Cause if that's the case, no one would do menial jobs. The tea-lady has lots of ideas. The garbage man has lots of ideas.

The amount of ideas is not a question. Not a concern. It is executing it well - that's a skill almost everyone looks for in a prospective employee or business partner.

Ah, but there are exceptions. If you hang around some politicians, you may be able to get some money for your ideas. I do not know exactly how or for how much, because I have never considered politics to be a viable, sustainable or even ethical area.

When you go out there and get interviews with prospective employers, and I don't care what area it is, here are some things to keep in mind:

1. Individuals and companies find employees or partners to solve one problem or to execute certain tasks. In short, you must come in as a solution to something. If you potentially bring in more problems, then what's the point?

2. You must WANT to be there. There is nothing sadder and more desperate than someone who does not want to be where they are. Trust me. I've been there. I have been at places I did not want to be, and until I made a decision to leave, I was miserable. Look, the world is huge, while it is also very small. You can find a place where you want to be. You don't have to stay anywhere forever.

The Fourth Law of Vagina

I said it before.

Women only want one of or a combination of three things, from a man:

1. Money.

2. Big Dick.

3. Ticket to Heaven.

This is like the undisputable Three Laws of Robotics, only it's pussy.

I have discovered a fourth factor.

Remember those three? Here's number four.

4. Or the image of one of the three. Or the image of a combination of the three.

See, with a lot of women, they want to be seen as something they're not. Hence, the makeup. And push-up bras. And weaves.

Most women, want men with whom they can brag to other women. It's just like those guys with trophy wives. It's exactly the same shit.

So, you can strive and pretend to be rich or walk like you have a mutant cucumber between your legs, or do what a lot of people here do - pretend you're religious. That you're a shoo-in for heaven.

Alternatively, try my approach:

Me: Here's RM10. Now suck my dick.

Clean, efficient, no baggage. No emotion pollution. I should call this Green Fucking.

Monday, March 8, 2010

30 Minutes Over Broadway

It has been four hours since I turned 30.

The world has not ended. Wow.

Most of the first few hours of my 30-yeardom, I spent doing some work. There are things to prepare. Things to do.

My mother sent me a picture of her, with the caption "Happy Birthday".

Well, I don't have a picture of her in my wallet, so might as well have it in my Blackberry.

Which reminds me of the things I am grateful for.

Thank God for idiots, for they make me look good. God creating idiots was probably his/her/its best work. If you call THAT work.

I love my Blackberrys. All of them. Makes my life both a little easier and a little harder.

I love my dick. Thank you for giving me a dick. Only thing I know to do with a vagina is to stuff it with a dick.

I like the fact that I used old computer science skills to try and install an H-game on my computer for the past two hours. And failing miserably. I may need to find tools to run some of the functions independently, to try and crack the scenes. Ah well.

I love the fact that I still have most of the stuff I wrote when I was 19. I read some of them just now, and they're not half bad. Just needs a shine, and we'll see where that leads me in another 10 years.

I love the fact that I spent most of my disposable income on comic books. And that I have been carting them around Klang Valley for over a decade now. I have been in KL for 12 years. Came here in 1998, to UM, cause I didn't want to go to any university that tells me what to wear.

UiTM matriculation students had to wear shirts and pants. And sometimes, ties. Same shit with other unis. Fuck that shit, man. I will not wear a suit and ties or whatever else.

Spent five years with people telling me exactly what to wear, when. So fuck that shit.

You can kill me, but I'll wear whatever I want.

I'm going to sleep soon. Groggy as hell.

It's been a good birthday. SOme people asked me to go out, but I told them no. I want to spend my birthdays alone. The quiet, calm atmosphere is just what I need. People are loud. Even when they're not talking, they're loud.

So many things to read. And you can be wrong a lot of the time. Cause there are lots of people.

Recently, certain events have awakened some spirits of rebellion in me. I am not a rebel. I laugh at rebels, cause they're pretentious fucks who like the IDEA, but hardly do anything about it.


A proper rebellion, like demolition, requires proper planning.

My target is twofold:

1. Society - bla bla blah.


And I hate liberals. And conservatives.

Okay. Really. Sleep. Now.


I play very few games.

Usually, I pick ones I like, and play them for a decade or so.

I have been playing Super Robot Wars Alpha and Alpha Gaiden for as long as I could remember (8 years or so).

Also, Jagged Alliance 2 and Jagged Alliance 2: Unfinished Business. For years. ANd Championship Manager 01/02.

I have their CD images - that's the entire CD thing - in my PC, and I run emulators (I prefer the discontinued Connectix VGS to ePSXe or any other emulator) and play form there.

Their original discs a distant memory. Only their souls live on in my computer, among other things I have accumulated over the past 14 years I have been online.

A few years ago, the Jagged Alliance 2 CD image got corrupted. I lost the last copy of CM01/02 I had with me.

My obsession with Yu-Gi-Oh card games died when I lost the CD.

But that was okay. I still had SRWA and SRWAG.

About a year ago, the CD images got corrupted. SInce then, I haven't been playing games.

For my birthday, I am going to get, this month, those games again. I don't care how. But I am going to play them again.

I am in the mood for killing robots.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Happy Birthday

What day is today?
What day is today?

It's Amir Hafizi's birthday and he's not gay!

Also, happy 30th birthday this year to Ronaldinho, John Terry, Xavi, (let's do a team. I can be manager. You guys be striker, defender, midfielder, respectively. I need a warm coat, stat!).

SHaring my birthday are Freddie Prinze Jr, Camryn Manheim, Aidan Quinn and Anne Bonny, one of only two famous female pirates (Mary Read being the other one. Was going to put them in a comics featuring a pirate all-star, but was rejected). There are others. Many, many more.

Masses: Speech! Speech! Speech!

I guess, it has been a great ride. I have accomplished, within these 30 years, things I thought I could only do in 50 years or more.

I am thankful to God that I am smart. People say ignorance is bliss. Those people are ignorant.

I believe that it is possible to be intelligent and happy at the same time. That happiness, joy, bliss, is a choice. We are not made happy. We decide to be.

I thank all those who helped me along the way. My life is not the work of a single person. You know who you are.

And I curse those who tried to mess with me. I have news for you: You're all fucked. I'm 30 now. I got nothing to lose.

Yay! I survived. In style.

Anybody Can Write

I was very happy at The Malay Mail, several years ago. A friend of mine was looking for a job. He also had a girlfriend. And a car.

Being a child of well-to-do parents, he had loads of comics and games and a Mac. He had money to go see movies, even without a job. When you're 23, in a recovering economy (2003), that's fucking amazing.

He was jobless, so I said, "My boss is looking for writers. In fact, all publications are constantly on the lookout for writers. They can't get enough of (good) writers."

"But can I write?"

"Anybody can write," I said.

So I sneaked him into the office once. But my editor was not there. I flirted with his girlfriend, though, who was excited to be in the office of a proper newspaper. We were both making fun of his lack of drive and confidence.

Confidence is like an extra dick. I think his girlfriend wanted that extra dick.

Disheartened at that small setback, he never came back.

I set up a meeting between him and my editor a couple of months later, but he only reached the guardhouse.

"Why? Why didn't you call me?" I said.

"Well, the security guard said your editor was not in. SO I left my resume at the guardhouse."


It has been some time. I exchange a few words with him every two or three years. DOing very well for himself. Chasing a life-long dream of doing animation, I heard.

I think he got married. Not to his girlfriend then. I hope I wasn't the reason he broke up, though.

Yes. Anybody can write. Really. You just need to want to.

Mass Comm Majors

I was in The Malay mail, just back from three assignments - one at 8am, one at 11am and one at 1pm. My editor was the reincarnation of the guy who held flails during the construction of pyramids in Egypt.

They have his picture on the walls.

They say that's a picture of Osiris, but I know better. Osiris was afraid of this guy.

So anyway, I was back, and there were these mass comm majors from UiTM and they were there to interview 'real journalists'.

And so it began.

Mass Comm Major: So, what does the job of a journalist entail?

Me: Well, it has to do with lots of smoking. Come.

So I took them out, and I smoked as they watched me kill myself in slow-motion. Work would only begin for me after dinner. I usually went back at 1 or 2 am. So the only thing to do till then was to smoke.

Me: Hey, it's 4pm. Let's go down for tea!

And have tea.

MCM: So, you studied mass comm as well?

Me: No. I did computer science.

MCM: What?

Me: Yep. In fact, none of the people you see here took mass comm.

MCM: What?

Me: My editor studied fashion. My colleagues studied fine art, fashion, sound engineering, business, law, and I'm sure that guy over there went to grad school for advanced stalking.

MCM: And that guy over there? That long-haired guy?

Me: Oh, he's our boss. He used to be a goalkeeper.

MCM: ...

Me: Any questions?

I never saw them since.

Strip Pole Redux

When I was a rookie cadet journalist, they sent me on something which I thought was called a 'strip-pole'.

I had gone to Central Market with a chrome pole and had actually collected around RM130 before the photographer told me that it's actually a 'street-poll'.

By the way, my stage name was Alessandro Del Piero.

Love it! Best Fight Scene EVER! I would pay RM60 to watch this movie! (In Gold Class)

Smashed Chikin

For the past two nights, I have had Ayam Penyet for dinner. The translation for the name of this dish was given as 'Smashed Chicken', which to me conveys images of a chicken that got drunk the night before.

CHicken: Oh, man! I had a bottle of vodka, a bottle of Remy Martin and countless jugs of beer. I'm totally fucking smashed!

And then these Indonesians would jump out from behind bushes, catch the bird and defeathred it and deep-fried it.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

The New MCA Campaign Song

To stop people from leaving and suffer the same fate as PKR, MCA has come up with a new song. It will be played non-stop under Datuk Seri Utama Rais Yatim's Wajib Siar ruling.

Here it is:


Old man, there's no need to feel down.
I said, old man, pick yourself off the ground.
I said, old man, you don't have to be a clown
There's no need to be unhappy.

Old man, there's a place you can go.
I said, old man, when you're short on your dough.
You can stay there, and I'm sure you will find
Many ways to have a good time.

It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.
It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys ...

It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.
It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.

You can get yourself cleaned, you can have a good meal,
You can do whatever you feel ...

Old man, are you listening to me?
I said, old man, what do you want to be?
I said, old man, you can make real your dreams.
But you got to know this one thing!

No man does it all by himself.
I said, old man, put your pride on the shelf,
And just go there, and that's whyyyy m.c.a.
I'm sure they can help you today.

It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.
It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys ...

It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.
It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.

You can get yourself cleaned, you can have a good meal,
You can do whatever you feel ...

Old man, I was once in your shoes.
I said, I was down and out with the blues.
I felt no man cared if I were alive.
I felt the whole world was so tight ...

That's when someone came up to me,
And said, old man, take a walk up the street.
There's a good place there and it's whyyy m.c.a.
They can start you back on your way.

It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.
It's fun to stay so that's whyyyyy m-c-a.

They have everything for you men to enjoy,
You can hang out with all the boys ...

Whyyyy MCA and that's just whyyyy MCA.

Old man, Old man, there's no need to feel down.
Old man, old man, get yourself off the ground.

Whyyyyy MCA?
Well, don't you ask me whyyyy MCA

Old man, Old man, there's no need to feel down.
Old man, old man, get yourself off the ground.

Whyyyyy MCA?
Well, don't you ask me whyyyy MCA

Old man, Old man, there's no need to feel down.
Old man, old man, get yourself off the ground.

Whyyyyy MCA?
Well, don't you ask me whyyyy MCA

Old man, old man, are you listening to me?
Old man, old man, what do you wanna be?

Going Out

Am going out with a hot chick at 11.30am. It's all business, though.


Baby Shower

Am looking through photos where women throw baby showers at each other. Eeew.

And they have this thinga bout suggesting baby names. Since I am never going to have children, I think I'll suggest some names for other people's children:

1. Lucifer Morningstar

- No one will mess with him/her at school. No one. Give it some black eyeliner and eye-shadow. And paint the number 666 on his/her/it's body.

2. Wankathon Hypersigil

- because it's cool.

3. iPad

- It's like iMad, but even more of a loser.

4. Ahmad Brengun

- based on the real-life Ahmad Mesingan. Guaranteed heterosexuality.

5. Harimau Kumbang

- literally, Black Leopard.

6. Sang Kancil

- He/SHe will be the laughing stock of everyone till it dies.

7. Pantat Bernanah

- Pus-filled vagina. Hahahahaha!

8. Serangga

- Insect. Kah kah kah!

9. Optimus Prime

- He will never, ever, ask for toys, if you keep buying him Optimus Prime models.

Raiders of the Lost

I slept almost throughout the day and found myself, at night, in a GRO bar with a chrome pole.

I was sitting there, with my friends and fellow Knights of Bukkake Chee and Cheepork - Chee being there with the express permission of his wife - when five people in uniform showed up.

I wanted to get up and leave, my instincts telling me to run.

However, the GRO said it was normal, run-of-the-mill business. And that we should stay. And we stayed.

Five minutes later, the doors were barred by big burly men and a tudunged chick got up on stage and were telling us, in Mandarin, to queue up on both sides of the bar.

Men on one side, girls on the other. I didn't know where the transexuals had to go, but since I didn't see any, it was not an issue.

All our Identity/Identification Cards (IC) were taken, and we were told to wait.

So there we were, waiting to pee into tiny plastic cups, as Chee apologised profusely for bringing us there. He was apologising so much that I was afraid the big MBPJ guy behind us would hear and think we had taken a cocktail of ketamine, heroin and washed it down with E.

Soon, more and more people were released, as MBPJ took the speakers, leaving the establishment with only an amp. I struck up conversations with the people there.

There were two other Malay dudes who were worried when I told them that I saw a photographer, and some journalists milling about earlier.

Guy: So, were they taking pictures with the camera?

Me: (No, they are just practising carrying the camera and hope to build muscle definition ). Yes, they were.

He looked really troubled at this, though from his missing fronth tooth, as well as general dishevelment, I do not believe he is a celebrity.

Guy: Were there reporters?

Me: I am one.

Guy: Yes, but were there reporters here?

Me: Yes... I am one.

Guy: Is this going to come out in the papers?

Me: Not mine. I don't think so. (At least, not during the weekend).

He was really unnecessarily troubled.

By this time, we were perhaps the last few there, and I went up and kicked up some fuss as I wanted to pee for the past 45 minutes, but the toilets were guarded by MBPJ dudes.

So I went up to the Mandarin-speaking chick who kept on rattling "Just five minutes", in Mandarin, for the past hour and a half. What a bad Muslim. For lying.

ANyway, she was merely doing her job. If there were any hanky-panky orgeneral stupidity, it's the powers that be. The people on top of this State Government, and Government.

Anyway, I went on stage, and said:

Me: Hello, I'm sorry, but I haven't had my IC returned to me yet.

Girl Officer: Oh, okay, I'm sorry, what is your name?

Me: Amir.

GO: Wait, ah. What is your full name?

Me: Amir Hafizi Bin Mohamed Sood.

She rattled around, and I wanted to pee so much, I was ready to start a revolution.

Me: Fight the power!

Me: I have two other friends who are also waiting, as well as these gentlemen over here.

They called me up, and I got my plastic cup and was told to pee. Apparently, I was given number 6 (Prisoner Number Six woo hoo!) but their decision to confiscate the sound system meant that when they called me up, only someone with super-hearing could have heard.

So I went and peed, and was told to wait for a few minutes as they dipped some strips of paper into my urine and tried to determine whether I was pregnant or not.

Me: What are you guys testing for? Ketamine?

Guy: We test for everything.

Me: Pregnancy too? May I know the pH level of my urine, and whether or not my red-blood cell count is high in my piss?

Fortunately, he never heard me.

Within 15 minutes, I was at the back, waiting for Chee and Cheepork. I was waiting for either of them to resist arrest so I could jump in and yell "Take Beer!"

Cheepork made an unheroic bee-line for the exit, and I was with him outside when Chee also got out. Our urines were all clean. My only regret was that I did not eat petai beforehand.

So we went bar-hopping. The next bar was similar, but smaller and had an act going - three singers, one guy and two girls who sang to techno.

Who on earth sings to techno?

It was like K-Pop, the SUnway version. With a little bit of Hokkien Pop thrown in. H-Pop, S-Pop, in the fashion of K-Pop.

One girl on the floor had a moustache and was fat.

So we made a beeline for the exit and tried to go to a third bar.

Upon the discovery that the bar, too, was being raided, we decided to call it a night and went our separate ways.

All in all, it was the first time I was in a raid, and was thankful JAIS was not involved. If they did, I would have been forced to become a suicide bomber, at JAIS headquarters.

Me: Lalalalalalalalalalalala! Durga durga!

I do believe that Islam has been bastardised by organisations like JAIS, JAWI and JAKIM and Jar-Jar Binks. I just don't do anything about it, because I don't care anymore. It is no longer my problem.

ANyway, it has been an eventful night. Filled with raids and H-Pop.

Thanks to all who participated. Chee, our host, Cheepork, the designated driver and Timo with his friends. As well as heartfelt congratulations to MBPJ and their officers whom I spoke to. May the money go to the right person.


Friday, March 5, 2010


I had a dream just now.

I was walking, and somebody called out to me. It was one of the greatest jackasses I know.

He asked me to sit down and have coffee with him. He was smiling all the way. The sincere smile, not the fake one used to plaster his mouth.

He was no longer a bitter, broken 50-year-old man. He's moving on, he said, a little sadly.

Suddenly, I realised I was in a dream, so after levitating, I asked the jackass for winning lottery numbers.

He went, "3, 15, 27..."

ANd then I woke up. My phone was ringing. Twice. And then it stopped. I checked the caller ID. It was my sister.

Now, my father is sick at home. Fourth stroke and an array of illnesses. I was really worried.

So I called her number. SHe didn't pick up the phone.

Then, I got an SMS. It was from her.

Here's the SMS:

"Apa beza poem dengan puisi? (Is there a difference between poem and poem/poetry?)"

What a jackass.


I hit the random key of a webcomic (okay, it was xkcd) and last night, it kept giving me strips I have already read. Around 80%.

Then, this morning, it's 80% UNread.

Random my ass.


People go into journalism for various reasons.

Some, wanted to bring down Governments.

Some, do it because they thought it's lucrative. Though I have never met or heard of a rich journalist. The rich ones are not journalists. They're called businessmen.

Some wanted to stand up for truth, beauty, freedom and love. Though that usually lasts a week.

Some, wanted approval and accolade, which will never come, cause no one approves of journalists. Being feared is not the same as being loved.

Some, perhaps wanted freebies. Though you can only use a finite number of mugs.

Me? I wanted to write comic books.

Of Mice and Men

People say we are becoming a dumber society.

I don't think that's completely true.

Kids nowadays learn way more than generations past.

I learned programming in high school. My father didn't learn it at all. He's still pretty much impressed with colour TV. My nephews are designing websites and binding CS packs to keys. At 6.

A study using mice and mazes showed that later generation mice did better and faster at mazes their great-grandparents did. There is such a thing as inherited information - a generational memory.

And that is nothing. Testing of control mice from surrounding areas showed that it is possibly not genetic. That there could be a sharing of information on a non-physical level. Perhaps a metaphysical one.

That, or the younger mice cheated.


I went home at 3am, and put on Castle. Watched around 10 episodes, to see the patterns and try to solve the murders based on script logic.

Castle uses a basic three act structure. There's the cold start opening, first act, where we establish Plot A and Plot B. As well as the murder scene, and introductions. Almost all characters in the episode will be introduced in the first act.

You can glean enough information and suspects in the first act to make a 90% accurate guess as to who the killer is.

Tell-tale signs:

1. A major witness or character given a spoken role, but was only featured briefly. Speaking roles get paid better than extras. They wouldn't just hire an actor and pay him to speak three lines. If anyone spoke between three to seven sentences, and they just wander away from him, THAT'S the murderer.

2. First suspects brought in for interrogation are almost never the killers. If they were, then the episode is a special or will last just 15 minutes. There needs to be at least three suspects questioned, either in custody or at large, as these people need to unearth dirty little secrets they have been hiding.

3. Some clues will be withheld until the last act, during the reveal. So don't count on the evidence. Just the suspects.

You can apply this kind of thinking to any episodic crime show and discover the murderer. Except for Law & Order, which usually follows a more linear approach to investigating, only unearthing the prime suspect at the conclusion of the investigation.

The other shows like The Mentalist, Castle, CSI: Miami, whatever, uses the normal approach.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Secret 2: Once and Future Lesbians

True story.

I imagined Natalie Portman's naked tits.

Bam! There it was.

I imagined Vanessa Hudgen's naked tits.

Whoop! There it is!

Now, I'm imagining Emma Watson and Emma Roberts in a full-frontal lesbian scene, right before and after the DVDA gangbang.

The Secret

The Secret says visualisation will get you anything and everything I want.

I think it works, cause I always visualise naked women, and I have seen many.

I am now visualising fucking. I imagine that my cock is sliding in and out of a clean, bald vagina.

I see nipples dancing an orbital jig around an invisible planet.

I see the coup de grace - the face of a woman in ecstacy.

And then, a bright white light. Ringing in my ears.

Oh God. I can't see the keyboard anymororiroier...

A Plea

If tobacco companies can cure cancer, COHD, asthma, pneumonia, hypertension, prevent strokes completely, and stop my cough, I wouldn't mind buying three packs a day, spending RM1,000 a month on cigarettes for the rest of my life.

If I live till I'm 70, that's 40 years. 480 months. RM480,000. Adjust for inflation, the increasing price of cigarettes and the investment potential of all that money, I believe that it's worth RM3 million from me alone.

So here it is, JTI, BAT and whatever. I am offering you RM3 million to stop all those illnesses.

And collectively, it's billions from everyone all over the world. Even at current number of smokers.

So it does make sense for Big Tobacco to cure cancer.


When I first forayed into the Internet, in those early days, I read Sinfest by Tatsuya Ishida. It became a template for a lot of my articles.

Now, I am also reading Perry Bible Fellowship, Short Cuts (both ended long ago) and xkcd, which I avoided till recently.

When I read comics, I read the tone.

Sinfest is situational.

xkcd is transmorgrifying nerd sensationalism.

The greatest of them all, PBF and Short Cuts(manga), are simply funny. They use the same conventions of situational humour in Sinfest and the beat changes in xkcd, and just executes everything like no one before.

Those two, PBF and Cuts are just sublimely the greatest webcomics - well, Short Cuts is not really a web comic but more a downloaded manga - ever.

Hey, what if I told clueless Malaysian media execs that after Twitter and Facebook, the next great Internet thing would be webcomics?

Get like, 30 million and fund some comics people to do webcomics?


The Abyss

They say, look into the abyss, and the abyss stares back.

That's true.

When you open a door of perception, it also allows many other things in.

Like K-Pop.

I Am a Macha?

Embracing the stereotypes, I am half-lazy, half-assed, half-greedy motherfucker. Yep. The man who fucks mothers. Yours.

Sweet 2

Oh no! I just saw pictures of pomegranates, and it's buah delima. That was not what I had. It was something else. What is the name of that mystery fruit?

CHing Chong CHing CHong AIYAAAAAA!


For Chinese New Year, I went to my uncles and aunts' places. I was served pomegranates - THE GREATEST FRUITS EVER! Better than ciku.


Yes. Better than ciku.

They're sweet, and juicy, and the texture was just so nice. They're so good, I WOULD FUCK A POMEGRANATE AS REWARD FOR BEING SO AWESOME!

At least, I think it was pomegranates. All my uncles and aunties could pronounce of the name, sounded like, "Ching Chong Ching Chong AIYAAAAAA!"

La Resistance

A lot of people believe they are part of a resistance.

Everyone believes, their 'resistance' is the correct one.

They are all wrong.

I am the only true resistance left on this planet. All others are fake, derivative, false, and did I say fake?

The good thing is, I am winning. The last time I got faxes were three months ago. If the next time I get faxes is six months from now, then fax machines will have doubled their irrelevance and ineffectiveness in less than one year.


Rock Me Sexy Jesus

If religion were to come to humans only in the 21st Century, the spiritual figureheads all have to be celebrities.

Their books will be available on Kindle, compiled from blog posts, Twitter shit and Facebook status. And some content, like walking on water, healing the blind, splitting the moon in half, teleporting to Jerusalem, preaching to deer, fighting a giant with 44 heads, will all be uploaded on YouTube.

By 2010, they would have to come up with musicals.

The Pro-Christ

And when I was born, a lone star shone in the sky. Because it was the first haze Kuantan experienced in history, and all the other stars were blocked by lots of tiny smoke particles.

I'm a Pisces, the sign of the fish.

Three super-computers from Nerv came to me, as a baby - Balthasar, Melchior and Casper. They told people I would fight angels. Or that I would watch a cartoon about fighting angels which were not really angels in the traditional Biblical or Koranic sense. Just big ass monsters trying to fuck Lilith.

In nearby villages, a two-headed condom was found. On the Internet, somebody saw the Virgin Mary on a grilled sandwich, the burn patterns coincidentally similar to a woman's face, who could have been Mary, or Divine Brown.

As I grew up, in the swamps, not much was known about me. The story picks up when I'm 30, which is this year.

I will cure the blind. Heal the sick. And sometimes drink with a guy called Lazarus. Lazarus Rokk, formerly from NSTP.

And then, one day, Romulans will come from the sky and kill me. I would be betrayed by Rob Halford. But I forgive him, cause his band is all right.

After that, you're all fucked.

I Was a Teenage Nerd Aspirant

When I was growing up, I was going to be a nerd.

I was not in the A/V club. I wasn't even in the computer club. Fucking Logo. Yeah, we learned Logo.

As soon as there was a hint that being a nerd was cool, I stopped being one, and became really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.

I am not cool. So I stay away from things that make me cool. Like air-conditioning.

Like listening to current music.

Like being different.

Like being unhappy.

Being unhappy is so fucking cool right now. Well, actually it was cool five years ago, when I was doing it. Then I stopped. Cause I made it cool.

Nowadays, I'm just happy and satisfied and just ejaculating all over the place.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

The Dessert of the Real

It is kind of sad when people believe they have to be either sad or ironic or pathetic in order to be funny and/or real.

Oh well.

Modern Hero

A lot of girls believe that men will do anything for their vagina.

Here's a reality check.

That statement is true... if you're JESSICA ALBA.

If you're not Jessica Alba, or Jessica Alba's vagina, get the fuck out of my face.

Mein Kant?

I have learned that posting no reaction makes my life easier. No reactions make my life better. Happier.


No comments!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

What I Want for My Birthday

As usual, I will be having my birthday on International WOmen's Day, cause I am God's gift to women.

ANyway, for this 30th birthday, I want a Dyson Sphere.

Here's the definition of a Dyson Sphere from wikipedia:

A Dyson sphere is a hypothetical megastructure originally described by Freeman Dyson. Such a "sphere" would be a system of orbiting solar power satellites meant to completely encompass a star and capture most or all of its energy output.

Spiritual Superstar

For some reason, quite a few people are asking me about religion.

As a psychopomp, I guess I am the right person to tell them how Islam works, I guess.

Charging at the Red Windmill

My instincts are never wrong. I can be wrong, but my instincts are always right.

I forego its advice and information at my own peril.

Right now, my instincts are telling me to relax and go to sleep. Hmmm. Maybe after a few more posts.

Beware the Ideas of March

Today, I was embroiled in a mystery. Somebody had posted a picture on Facebook, with yours truly and a bunch of other journalists from The (old) Malay Mail, circa 2006.

A lot of us were making a puckering thing with our mouth. Apparently, we were told to say SOMETHING to the pixman.

The mystery is this - what the fuck was that something? I can place the time, as I was wearing my National Pornographic shirt.

But what was it that we said?

What was the word? Or were we just puckering?

Monday, March 1, 2010

The Red Windmill

Rogue: noun, a deceitful and unreliable scoundrel.

Rouge: makeup.

So NO, Terrina! The comics ROGUE who was featured in the X-Men movies starring ANna Paquin is pronounced Roug, not rouzh!


Less racism, more fucking. Feel the love in my scrotum.