Monday, October 28, 2019

STICKY: Federal Territory for Amir Hafizi!

Please click on the widget on the upper right side of this blog and help me pay off my PTPTN loans. And possibly get me a ride.

I have joined the Blog4FT competition. It's a blogging competition where people write about the Federal Territories - KL, Putrajaya and Labuan.

I entered because last night, I was looking down and saw only my dick, with throbbing veins and flexing its muscle. So I decided to enter in the media category (so most of you bloggers need not worry. I'm not competing with you).

First prize is a Kia Optima Novus (for the media category).

If I win, I'm going to sell it off and pay my PTPTN debt in one shot. I will wear a baju Melayu to the PTPTN office and have the major television event recorded. I will then post it on YouTube as an example on how to handle payment to PTPTN, in style.

Whatever money that is left will be used for two things - to get myself another, cheaper, used car, as well as to fund my trips to Thailand.

This is the only way I can write another installment of National Pornographic Special and Discovery Travel and Fucking.

Tet tet tet teeee tet! Tet tet tet teeeee tet! Tet tet tet teee tet tet tet tet teng! Dong dong!

So vote for me, bitches! Your votes count for 30% of the points. You can also click here:



This is a sticky post and will stay up here until the contest ends in January next year.

Monday, May 27, 2019

STICKY: Tulis Surat Kepada PTPTN

NOTA: INI ADALAH ARTIKEL 'STICKY' YANG TIDAK AKAN DITURUNKAN SEHINGGA BAYARAN PINJAMAN AKU KEPADA PTPTN DILANGSAIKAN (OLEH AKU SENDIRI) ATAU SEHINGGA PTPTN MENUKAR CARA MEREKA MENDAPATKAN KEMBALI PINJAMAN YANG TIDAK BERBAYAR.

NOTE: THIS IS A 'STICKY' POST, AND WILL NOT BE TAKEN DOWN UNTIL I COMPLETED PAYBACK TO PTPTN OR UNTIL SUCH TIME WHEN PTPTN CHANGES ITS METHODS IN RECOVERING UNPAID LOANS.

Sebelum aku berhenti bercakap pasal PTPTN dalam usaha aku memberi tumpuan kepada urusniaga menjual bontot demi membayar 12% faedah pinjaman PTPTN, ini aku kepilkan alamat-alamat berkenaan.

Aku bercadang untuk menulis surat kepada mereka untuk memberitahu perihal masalah PTPTN. Senang je. Surat rasmi. Ko bayangkan, kalau satu juta surat, hard copy, sampai kat diorang ni. Soft copy, dia delete je. Hard copy, dia kena failkan.

Mintak tolong mak bapak dan adik-adik ko tulis sekali.

Kalau korang semua ada pengalaman buruk dengan PTPTN, sila hantar kepada diorang. Jangan hantar pada aku.

Perlu diingat: AKU TAKKAN MERAYU UNTUK KURANGKAN FAEDAH yang dikenakan pada aku. Atau nak mintak duit free. Kalau ko nak mintak duit free, ko boleh buat kempen ko sendiri. Ini semua bukan tujuan aku.

Aku memang berhutang, dan aku harus bayar. Wajib. Pasal bila aku tuntut apa yang orang lain patut bayar pada aku pun, aku nak diorang bayar.

Tujuan utama aku cuma untuk memberitahu masalah yang dihadapi peminjam PTPTN apabila ingin membayar balik.

Kalau dah cakap, ”Kami takkan terima apa-apa pelan pembayaran.” dan ”Kami akan mengheret ke mahkamah dan mengecaj kadar faedah 12%” serta ”Terpulang pada PTPTN untuk menerima pembayaran daripada kamu”, aku rasa macam berurusan dengan Ah Long je.

Fokus aku pada:

1. Layanan khidmat pelanggan PTPTN daripada semua bahagian yang aku hubungi.
2. Masalah dengan saman dan protokol perundangan.
3. Cara pembayaran kepada PTPTN.
4. Pengenaan kadar faedah sejak beberapa tahun lepas dan BUKAN pada tarikh pengeluaran keputusan penghakiman.

Lepas aku hantar, aku letak kat sini. Korang nak copy, go ahead.



Datuk Seri Najib Tun Abdul Razak
Perdana Menteri Malaysia
d/a
Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister
Office of the Prime Minister of Malaysia
Main Block, Perdana Putra Building
Federal Government Administrative Centre
62502 PUTRAJAYA
MALAYSIA


Y.B. DATO' SERI MOHAMED KHALED BIN NORDIN
Menteri Pengajian Tinggi
PEJABAT MENTERI
ARAS 7 BLOK E3 PARCEL E
PUSAT PENTADBIRAN KERAJAAN PERSEKUTUAN
62505 W.P.(PUTRAJAYA)
minister@mohe.gov.my
TEL: 03-88835010
FAKS : 0388891952



En. Yunus Abdul Ghani
Ketua Pegawai Eksekutif Perbadanan Tabung Pengajian Tinggi Negara (PTPTN)
Wisma Chase Perdana,
Off Jalan Semantan,
Damansara Heights,
50490 Kuala Lumpur.

Oh ya. Simpan semua dokumen yang kau terima, terutamanya daripada firma guaman.

Dapatkan khidmat nasihat peguam. Juga ada Unit Bantuan Guaman untuk mereka yang miskin atau tak kenal lawyer atau bukan lawyer di semua bandar utama.

Lepas dapatkan khidmat nasihat mereka, sila hantar aduan berkenaan firma guaman berkenaan kepada Bar Council:

Salina Lim Abdullah
Malaysian Bar Council Executive Officer

Address:
No. 13, 15 & 17, Leboh Pasar Besar
Kuala Lumpur
Malaysia
50050

Telephone: +603-20313003 (Ext.189)
Fax: +603-20316640

Juga, Ahli Lembaga Pengurusan PTPTN:


Y.B Dato’ Dr. Mohamad Shahrum bin Osman
Pengerusi
Ahli Parlimen Lipis


Y.Bhg. Datuk Idrus bin Harun
Peguam Cara Negara
Jabatan Peguam Negara


Encik Nik Hassan Shah bin Nik Ab. Rahman
Timbalan Setiausaha Bahagian
Bahagian Kawalan dan Pemantauan
Kementerian Kewangan Malaysia


Y.Bhg. Datuk Dr. Zulkefli bin A. Hassan
Ketua Setiausaha
Kementerian Pengajian Tinggi Malaysia


Y.Bhg. Tan Sri Dr. Zulkurnain bin Haji Awang
Ketua Setiausaha
Kementerian Pelajaran Malaysia


Encik Che Omar bin A. Rahaman
Timbalan Ketua Pengarah (Pematuhan)
Lembaga Hasil Dalam Negeri


Y.B. Datuk Halimah binti Mohamed Sadique
Ahli Parlimen Tenggara


Cik Mariany binti Mohammad Yit (Mariany & Co.)
Ahli Yang Dilantik Oleh Y.B. Menteri

Aku dapat daripada:

http://www.ptptn.gov.my/web/english/corporate/management

Kalau salah, gambar, sila rujuk di laman web berkenaan.

Diorang semua ko boleh hantar kat pejabat diorang sendiri atau kau hantar je kat alamat PTPTN:

Wisma Chase Perdana,
Off Jalan Semantan,
Damansara Heights,
50490 Kuala Lumpur.

Kalau kempen aku yang pertama ni tak berjaya, aku akan carikan alamat pejabat diorang dan juga alamat rumah, kalau sampai ke tahap tu.

Perlu diingat, tak perlu maki diorang macam orang gila. Kita ni, orang Malaysia, orang berhemah. Cuma, berikan penjelasan berkenaan masalah yang ko hadapi.

Lagipun, kita ni penghutang yang hina.

Aku sibuk sekarang, jadi aku takkan tulis sampai first week of June. Pastu aku akan hantar. Kalau korang nak tulis dulu, korang tulis lah. Aku akan buat templat kalau korang nak, pasal aku penulis – ini memang kerja aku.

Korang print, tukar nama dan IC, pastu hantar. Hard copy, tau. Soft copy boleh delete je.

Aku jugak akan dapatkan khidmat nasihat dari peguam yang aku kenal untuk pastikan aku tak langgar undang-undang.

Kalau aku dapat respon yang wajar dikongsi, aku akan letakkan di sini. Kat website aku.

Sambil tu, aku akan berusaha keras untuk membayar kembali pinjaman PTPTN. Perlu diingat, kita di pihak penghutang. Hak kita sama macam hak anjing kurap je. Tapi aku takkan membiarkan pengalaman buruk aku berurusan dengan PTPTN hilang begitu sahaja.

Daripada ko undi pembangkang, baik ko hantar surat kepada semua orang ni.

Ingat. Takde sapa yang akan tolong kita melainkan diri sendiri.

Dan jangan lupa untuk menyimpan semua surat yang ko hantar/terima. Pastu hantar kat aku imej scan nya.

Saya Yang Menjalankan Tugas,

Setan Kuning

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Almanak Masakan Bumi dan Langit: Szechuan Seared Cuisine

Aku mati kutu nak makan kat mana malam tadi, jadi aku naik cab, pergi ke restoran Cina kat Bangsar. Restoran yang ada serve babi dan katak.

Aku bukan nak cari babi atau katak. Aku cari Szechuan seared cuisine, atau nama timangannya, claypot.

Aku masuk, dan order teh Cina, kemudian, claypot chicken rice.

Adalah dalam 15 minit aku tunggu. Ini petanda baik, pasal szechuan cuisine yang sebenar, mesti masak nasi dalam claypot - jadi mesti lah lebih lama daripada biasa.

Akhirnya, makanan sampai.

Hasilnya?

Hampeh.

Aku terbalikkan meja.

Aku: Cis! Penanak Nasi! Keluar kau!

Penanak Nasi: Apa kau nak?

Aku: Szechuan seared cuisine ko ni.

PN: Szechuan seared cuisine?

Aku: Claypot lah!

PN: Cakaplah claypot. Hah! Kenapa?

Aku: Sepatutnya, banyak kerak! Mana keraknya?

PN: Apasal nak kerak?

Aku: Pasal kalau masak nasi dalam claypot, mestilah ada kerak. Ini, kau bubuh nasi je kan, dalam claypot? Baik aku order nasi campur, pukimak!

PN: mana kau tau semua ni?

Aku: Aku tengok COoking Master Boy. Lagipun, dahlah takde kerak, aku kena mintak pulak bawang putih, lada dan ikan masin!

PN: Apasal nak tambah lada, bawang putih dengan ikan masin?

Aku: Pasal Szechuan cuisine wajib rasa pedas, masin dan berbau kuat. Yang ni rasa macam nasi taruk kicap je!

PN: Banyak songel la ko!

Aku: Masak katak, reti. Masak claypot, hancur! Mari kita bertarung! Siapa yang kalah, jarus mengasingkan diri dari dunia kepahlawanan!

PN: Tapi...aku cuma tukang masak kat sini. Apa kaitan masakan dengan pertandingan seni bela diri?

Aku: Ahhhh! Monyet Mencuri Buah Pic!

PN: OWWWWRRRGGGHHH!!!

Dan Penanak Nasi pun mati.

Itulah akibatnya kalau masak claypot rice tak betul. Aku akan datang ke restoran ko, dan curi buah pic ko.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Twits and Twats and Twilight Bites

I have been observing the obsession with the Twilight Series by its fans and haters, as well the numerous reports of escalating violence between the two camps.

Where up till a few days ago, these reports of violence were just stories on online forums (especially Twilight Sucks) it finally made the news. One of the more interesting ones was about a 45-year-old man biting the neck of a 17-year-old girl outside of a movie theatre showing New Moon, as reported by a Michigan NBC affiliate.

Read about that and other stupid loser Twilight things here.

It's all crazy, man. When a Twilight fan noticed that I was not jumping up and down about the movie after having seen it, they were all like, "Twilight is not for MEN!"

And when the latest movie New Moon got a measly 29% rating at RottenTomatoes(RT), they were all like, "We don't care about what 65-year-old men think of the movie!" without realising that RT takes an aggregate of reviews from 65-year-olds as well as 15-year-olds.

And the Antis were like, "I don't get how people can get so obsessed over a book?"

Like, hello?

The Bible is a book. The Koran is a book. So are the Torah, the Talmud, and Watchmen and V for Vendetta.

I neither hate nor like The Twilight Series. I do, however, maintain a fascination with the fans' obsession. Sorry, ROB-session. It is in parallel with Trek fandom, and Jedi worship. As well as Scientology.

When the V for Vendetta movie came out, I was fucking pissed off myself. It was like the Wachowski Sisters tried to do a movie based on the Koran, and getting everything WRONG! I was wringing my hands and pulling my hair in the movie theatre.

There is no difference between Twi-Hards (Twi-Very-Hard) and comics geeks and fanboys and Trekkies. Maybe the geeks have a few decades head start, and the (mainly) girl-oriented Twi-Hards don't have the kind of experience with obsession that geeks have.

For example, they do not understand that the only thing they need to do to get the Antis to shut the fuck up is to ignore them. The Antis do crave attention, and we have been fighting Antis for decades now. Ignorant fools, they are, these haters.

Nothing in pop culture - not Twilight, not Glee, not Sandman, not Rage - defines your identity. It is not part of you. Treating it as such only gives people a target.

I believe that if this continues, there will be a Twilight-related death in the near future. Families will be broken, and fights will ensue. Why? Because people are needy, and they need to be right.

As for me? I wonder how long the fad will stay fresh, before some other shiny celebrity takes everyone's attention away. Hopefully, soon. Before someone dies needlessly.

Pimpin' Cheepork

Okay, I'll level with you. One of my best friends, Cheepork, is lonely.

Since I get pussy thrown at me every day, and Cheepork is my main supplier of TV series, I think I'll do him a favour.

Anyone wants to hook up with Cheepork can do so by going to his website.



CAPTION: CHEEPORK giving 'em the finger

Here are Cheepork's vital statistics:

Name: Cheepork

Age: 29

Build: Short, but with knowledge of Silat Cekak Hanafi.

Skin Colour: What's race got to do with it?

Education: SDAR (1993-1997), MMU (1998-2003)

Preferences: Short, skinny, cute girls. Or something that looks like short, skinny, cute girls. Communication skills a must. Bust size not important. Shaved, shaken and stirred.

Staying Power: one hour foreplay, up to four hours pure fucking.

Dick: Girthy, long and black, according to 'paid consultants' (hos).

Language Proficiency(out of 10): Malay: 8, English: 7, Thai: 3

Computer Skills: Microsoft Office: Proficient, File Transfer Protocol and Peer-to-peer: Expert, Lightwave 3D: Beginner, Adobe Photoshop, InDesign, etc.

Positions: Doggy, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, 69, Yoga Fire, Yoga Teleport, Seven Positions of Buddha

Current Position: Managerial.

Likes: Intellectual discussions, interfaith discussions, movies, being cool. Thailand.

Dislikes: Politics, idiots, breeders, broken promises.

Potential Advantages: Cheepork has a job, and has lots of porn. Meaning if you are with him, you'll never go hungry. He'll whip up something for you. Loyal. Reliable. Martial arts skills. Long black.

Potential Disadvantages: Tendency to mope around for whatever. Needy. Lots of porn. Martial arts skills. A dick in a glass case(in case of emergency, break open glass).

Has own transport and owns an apartment unit.

Any takers?

After Dark

I read with interest the Malaysian Opposition's fight to get the MACC to stop questioning after office hours.

I think this is bullshit because, personally, if I ever get questioned by MACC, I want it to be after office hours. I have too much to do and am too busy to attend during office hours.

People who want MACC to question them only during office hours actually do not want to work. They are lazy and want to get out of work by blaming the MACC.

I also would like to suggest that MACC move its base of operations to Mandarin Oriental or Cititel Hotel, so that after questioning, suspects and witnesses can find acomodation easily. And perhaps a spa.

They should also hand out coupons or vouchers for food, rooms and massage.

To this end, MACC should be put under the Tourism Ministry. Maybe all suspects and witnesses can also opt to go for a guided tour. Watch fireflies or go whitewater rafting or something.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Last Night's Leftovers

NOTE: WROTE THIS LAST NIGHT. FORGOT TO PUBLISH IT

I spent most of the day worrying about a lot of things. Mostly about my family. I almost missed the fact that tomorrow is Aidiladha. There are some stuff I am doing tomorrow which will piss off a few people, perhaps, but it needs to be done.

After work, I went home and called up a friend. He picked me up and we soon found ourselves in a Chinese restaurant, where he said, "Do you think I am pathetic?"

It was a gay question.

Me: What a gay question.

Him: Yeah, I know, right?

Me: Can you be okay with being pathetic?

Him: No! I am not okay with being pathetic!

At this point, klaxons blared in my head.

Me: Look, dude. As a principle, I do not tell people how to live their lives. Too much responsibility, and makes me judgmental. And it never works. Believe me, I tried to be a hero on numerous occassions. What I discovered was that some people want to be whatever they want to be, and I do not have the ability nor the right to change that.

Him: I don't care. I'm depressed.

Me: Okay. What happened?

So he told me, and I listened.

Him: And then, people keep on cancelling on me.

Him: Okay, so what should I do?

Me: About what?

Him: About me being depressed.

Me: Can you be okay with being depressed?

Him: No, I'm not okay with being depressed!

Me: Why are you depressed?

Him: Because I want people to show me that they love me.

Me: Dude...

Him: Yeah?

Me: That's so fucking gay. JUDGMENT!

Him: Just tell me what to do. I want peace. Om shanti shanti shanti. It means Peace, peace, peace.

Me: I don't know what you should do with your life. I'm not you. I don't have the wisdom of the ages. Do I look like Jesus to you? Buddha, maybe, when I let my hair grow long. Go read a book. Fuck a girl or something. Or a guy. I don't give a shit. I got loads of gay friends. One more wouldn't hurt.

Him: Seriously. I'm depressed. I'm pathetic.

Me: Join the club, man. I'm depressed. I'm pathetic. This is me being depressed. Can I put this on my blog?

Him: Go ahead. You're depressed?

Me: Yeah, this is me being depressed.

Him: Okay, but what do I need to do? I don't care if you're gonna be judgmental. Or mental. Just tell me.

Me: Okay...you are depressed because...you want people to show you that, that - this is so fucking gay! So, anyway, you want people to stop cancelling on you?

Him: Yeah. When they called me and said they want to cancel on me, I just said, "Okay." But what I really wanted to do was to tell them to stop cancelling on me and never do this again. And if they want to cancel on me, they should at least tell me earlier.

Me: Okay, can you do that, without any emotion?

Him: ...

Me: Can you say, "Okay, we cancel this, but can you not do this again, without giving me early notice?" Without any of the hysterics and emotion?

Him: ...Ye...yeah. But I want to do it with emotion. Ha ha.

Me: Then, perhaps you do not simply want them to stop doing it, but maybe because you want them to feel something - something you've felt. You crave drama. If you believe in peace so much, you wouldn't even bother. Om shanti shanti shanti?

Right then, I knew I had done a cardinal sin. Broke one of my own rules. I should not, and should NEVER tell people how to live their lives. It's not for me to decide. It is not my place, it is not my right.

Fortunately, this was an old, old friend. And the way he was is that he took it, understood it, perhaps.

Hardest thing ever is to accept people as they are. I said it before. Different people make so many different choices and think so differently. It is perhaps the thing that makes everyone interesting. Wanting people to see it your way is a waste of time. Being righteous is a waste of time. Just think and do and be whatever and however you want to be, and let the world sort it out.

At least that's what I say. I may do things differently, anyway. One thing, though, my days as a hero is over. I can't 'save' everyone and before that makes me crazy, I might as well live my life as I do.

And I'm stillw aiting for phone calls and SMSes from Sarawak, as well as harrassing people during Aidiladha. I don't think things will get done until at least tomorrow or Monday.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Tales from the Drunk Side: Freedom

I just came back from the launch of The Malay Mail. It is the best launch I have ever seen. The main ingredient is honesty. No posturing. No image bullshit. No wanting to be in the in crowd. No wannabes. We all just were.

Kudos to the organisers. They did a great job and everything went seamless. The entertainment was so good, a band walked up to me after the scheduled activities were over and offered to play for free.

I ran to and fro, looking for the organisers of the event. Sorry, dudes. The equipment belonged to the CEO band, and they were packing it up. Maybe next time, yeah? Email me and maybe we can set up something.

A lot of celebrities and friends came. I was touched when they actually cared about the paper. Shit, some even remembered some stuff I wrote about them. Some, good, others, bad. Oh well. Some people hate my work. It's no big deal.

For example, I believe Jessica Alba is a shitty actor. A talentless hack. But I'd fuck her.

That they even know The Malay Mail is a newspaper. You wouldn't believe the number of people I called, years ago, and thought The Malay Mail was probably some kuih or something. Or direct-selling.

Well. They would notice and know about it now. The big news is The Malay Mail (it's going to get the THE back, yay!) is going free. 100,000 copies, I heard. That's 100,000 copies IN YOUR FACE!

Freedom, baby. Freedom.

The person I wanted to meet most was my old editor - Zainal Alam Kadir - who was emceeing for the night. He taught me so much. I mean, this is one man who has empathic mimicry. The only one I know personally.

When he writes (Alam's column goes out every Thursday, starting in tomorrow's first free edition of The Malay Mail), you better read it. That kind of talent comes once in a millenium.

For years, I observed his management style. How he handles people. The most poignant thing I've gleaned from him is that people want to be treated as people. That doesn't mean being nice or nasty. Not necessarily. Just, well, be human. And LISTEN!

Everyone has problems. Everyone has dreams and aspirations. Likes and dislikes. You may agree or disagree with them. Hell, I disagreed with Alam countless times. If I count the days when I went back home, mumbling and talking to myself, my lips quivering and my mind locked in a righteous outrage - OUTRAGE! - at the stuff we disagreed on, I'd be well on my way to a hundred. I think.

The late Yasmin Ahmad told me, once, "You do not need to understand people to love them."

Amd that's true. I'm not gay or anything, though. And Yasmin sure was corny.

I sat down and talked to a lot of people about The Malay Mail. Thanks to all who came. Nice to see old and new faces.

Mostly, I was cracking jokes with Alam. He was perhaps one of the few who could understand the position I am in.

We talked about idiots, about old memories. Strange that in retrospect, every memory is a good memory.

We talked about people. It is very easy to judge people, to want to dominate and control them. To push their buttons. But that takes just too much energy. What a waste.

I believe in anarchy. The true form of anarchy is voluntary order. Everything falling into place like clockwork. You need to build the machinery, the system, but in the end, everything should run with or without you.

When I first started out as a journalist, I was told by someone wayy, wayy senior that in order for you to be a good worker, you need to make it so that everything depends on you. That without you, everything crumbles.

This is a fascimile. Something false. Constructed. Unnatural. And extremely, extremely insecure.

The results of being obsessed with it are two things:

1. You live your life as an insecure spiteful paranoid without any confidence whatsoever in your value or self-worth.

2. You can't go to Thailand and fuck prostitutes. In other words, your work consumes you.

That last one is important, because journalism, working for newspapers, is addictive. It's like a drug. Withdrawal symptoms may include writing movies, books, TV series and lots and lots of porn.

I noticed that the great ones, The Old Ones, they rarely if ever, talk about the business outside of the office. So tonight, it was all celebration after celebration.

Which was good, cause for the past three or four years, journalism was rarely celebrated.

We were accused of many things. Some, probably true. Others, probably not.

I do it, because it is the last of the romantic disciplines. No one can be a proper samurai nowadays. No one can be a musketeer. No one can be a proper privateer and roam the seas for treasure.

The very idea that journalists seek the truth - idea only - is romantic. Naive, innocent, beautiful and doomed.

Of course, I can't tell people I like journalism - in whatever form. People who enjoy things should never tell the pain-worshippers that they are not in pain.

Pain-worshippers are those who believe that pain is necessary for everything. Not really? I mean, not for everything, surely.

So yeah, man. I was in fucking agony. Oh, agony agony agony. Now leave me alone to enjoy my life in peace.

I was talking with Alam about this. About image, living in the present moment, bla bla bla. We also talked about closet homosexuals and people dying in vehicles.

Funny thing about image. I am in the school of thought that form follows function. In other words, the substance is all important, and the look as well as packaging is just an afterthought. Oh, how my eyes are open now.

Omnia mutantur, nihil inherit. Everything changes, nothing is truly lost.

- Ovid in Metamorphoses, as quoted by Neil Gaiman

Well, the content is the heart and soul of the matter. The form, is the execution.

I think about that because The Malay Mail's look will also change, starting tomorrow. The design and layout is changed. And the content must also change to suit the form.

Omnia mutantur nos et mutamur in illis - All things change, and we change with them.

- Lothair I, as quoted by Neil Gaiman

See, if journalists are merely cooks, getting the information/ingredient from the world out there and serving it in edible portions for easy consumption, then the design is the manner in which said dish is being presented. Presentation, man.

With the right presentation, you can sell a lump of charred meat for RM96. I had those steaks before. You can sell tap water for RM2.

Another important aspect is marketing and positioning.

Look at it this way. McDonald's serve what, one billion burgers everyday? Presentation? Zilch. Content? Crap. However, it is the most available meal one can get. I can pick up the phone now and get a McValue meal. In 15 minutes, I can order McDonald's Breakfast.

Journalism is also about teamwork. It takes a lot of people to fill in pages. Everyone performs a function, and no function is too great or too small.

So anyway, I was hanging with my teacher, my mentor and my friend. We talked about living lives free of hate, spite, anger, pettiness and pain.

Which is dangerous, cause a lot of journalism is about hate, anger, and righteous outrage. Without it, there would not be a need for newspapers. If the world was a Teletubbies episode, there wouldn't be newspapers. Teletubbies don't read newspapers.

I've never seen Tinky-Winky with The Daily Mail or The Guardian open, on a couch, after beating up Poo.

The trick is, I guess, to never let that get to you. To never let a need to dictate your life. Cause all suffering is, is desire. A desire for something else. A resistance to the present moment. A resistance to people.

Only when you are free of desire can you have the potential to be happy.

Oh, but I'm not happy. Oh, I'm in agony. Oh, agony, agony, agony, agony!

Oh well. The launch was last night. Tomorrow is a new day. I will sleep and wake up to a new tomorrow.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Intermission!!!

Insert keys! Dynatherms connected! Infracells up! Megathrusters are GO!

It has been a crazy three weeks. In fact, it has been a crazy five months - barely.

I had very different expectations as to the role I would be playing these past few months. Oh well. We can only plan. I can't be bothered.

I don't give a fuck what other people are doing. Have loads on my plate. After a few months ago finding myself uncharacteristically free, I piled stuff on myself.

Am now working at The Malay Mail. Also doing some creative projects here and there.

Of major concern is my father's health, as well as the rest of the family. I am the youngest, the last son of Pimpton, but I find myself more and more charged with responsibility for the family.

Fuck any kind of work I have ever done before. I mean, I've done TV series, movies, books and comics and newspaper, but the family remains the biggest challenge.

I have held a video camera in one hand, a battery pack for the lighting on my left hip and an audio pack on my right, holding a microphone and thrusting it to people's face at a five-star event, sweating like a pig - all the while being sabotaged by some lazy motherfuckers. However, that does not compare to explaining modern medicine to old people.

This is officially the hardest thing I have ever done as yet - accepting the fact that my parents are humans. And that they are fallible. Also, accepting mortality and the way humans are, were and will always be.

I wanted things to be different, but hey, I also want a Ferrari. Well, no actually. I don't like Ferraris. I like the Volkswagen Touareg.

I've done some stuff, I guess. Not as much as others, but just enough for me. Some easy, some really difficult.

Which is nothing compared to preserving quality of life by forcefully enforcing the diminishment of quality of life. And it is equally hard to see family history repeating itself.

I guess this is what most people go through. Everyone has parents. Sucks to be you, orphans! Some people lost their parents already. I'm lucky to still have both of mine. My father also made miraculous recoveries from four strokes and countless heart attacks.

The fact that he is still alive has befuddled men of science. Goes to show that you only go when you go. When God allows you to go. I believe that my father can pull through anything by sheer willpower alone. The old man's a freak.

Who knows. I might die tomorrow. I might end up getting buried by my parents, which is so not cool. I want my corpse to be shot into space.

Everyone's got shit they need to handle, man. I'm blessed to have good friends and extremely good luck. Helped me a lot.

When the shit went down, and some people tried some weird shit because they are slaves to their own egos, I got friends whom I promised shit who said I didn't have to do shit and that they'd want me for this or that ONLY. Fucking classy motherfuckers, I tell you. And I thought they'd be motherfuckers, geddit?

I am also lucky enough to be able to be happy most of the time. I used to be very, very angry. Anger's never gone. Part of my ego. I deal with it everyday. No point in being angry. Kill, not hate. Did you know that you can kill, without emotion?

Homicide is better than homocide.

The past few weeks, I've been compiling shit. Am going through them now. By Thursday, I think I may be ready for next week's rush.

Oh well. It is how it is. Maybe I need to rest before the big crunch tomorrow. Sleep.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Good Morning, Bitches!

Iiiiit's 7.13 in the A-M and it's Goooood Morning BITCHES!

What's happening today?

Work. More emails. More phone calls.

My keyboards are losing its letters. Maybe time for a new one?

One person close to me is getting sick. I will arrange for some things. It requires a clear mind and some planning.

First thing's first, though. Sleep. I got a couple of hours before I start.

Twilight of the Superzeroes

There are more Jedis in the UK than there are Jews. There are also rumours of a First Church of Trek and even a Vulcan Temple.

In a world where Kirk Cameron (Show me that smile! Oh, show me that smile! Don't waste another - minute on your crying! Growing Pains, yo!) has become a preacher, pop culture has the potential of going into the religion business.

I once suggested, in my youth, that one day people will define themselves not by race, religion or creed, but rather in what kind of music they listen to. Or movies they watch.

The Twilight Saga has given birth to a zealot-like horde of screaming female fans. They also attacked anyone who would 'insult' their book or their story. In the States, a group of teenage girls beat up a guy cause he said Twilight sucks.

Well, Twilight SUCKS. It does. However, it does command respect because it is able to sell characterisation and plot that damn wooden and wonky, to millions and millions of fans.

Biggest opening weekend with New Moon, and it will only get bigger with Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.

Twilight works in the same way religion works. Everything about it is good, and you can't say otherwise, or you get attacked.

Nevermind the fact that something does not become good or bad simply by having people say it is good or bad.

Here, let me try:

Child Prostitution? GOOOOOOD. GOOOD!

Does that make child prostitution good? I don't think so.

Ellie Yousef Najeem? GOOOOOD. GOOOD!

Nope. Nada.

JAIS? GOOOOOD. GOOOD!

Not a thing, man.

This cult-like hostile devotion is present in most religions, political parties and even in some companies.

Apple zealotry is fucked up. The worship of Steve Jobs is so gay. Apple has been making gay products since the '80s, and that is neither bad nor good.

Zealot fans seek to define themselves from others by devotion. It is a symptom of identity crisis.

Devotion is part of religion. It has no place in a movie, song, TV series or comic books.

Oh well. Makes for interesting stories, so am not complaining.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Scenes of the Father: Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls

My father is a retired teacher. He was a teacher for over 30 years. Having had several opportunities to get promoted into the Education Department, he declined at each stage.

The reason? I don't know, but I can speculate.

I remember that during school holidays, he would bring his shoulder-mounted grass cutter to school, as well as his array of tools to keep the school clean.

The schools had gardeners, but he didn't feel right unless he had a hand in doing it himself.

It was the same story every time. The Malays in my village were hardly proactive. So it took him and his righteous outrage to get things done. He opened the fucking village. Went to the MB and asked for land, way back in the '70s.

He had one of only two cars on the village back then, and his Opel Kadett became the ambulance, the hearse and general taxi. It was a thankless job. When you are doing better than other people - not because you are better or better paid, but because you have your shit together - they generally believe they are entitled to your time, your energy and your car.

It's the currency of pain. Who has more pain, holds more power.

"They'll use you," I told him.

"They'll take advantage of you."

And they did.

His reaction was, "Oh well."

He has lived to see those who wronged him in many ways suffer.

Sun Tzu is right.

"Sit on the river banks long enough, and you will see the bodies of your enemies floating by."

Thing is, backstabbers will usually backstab each other. Haters will ultimately hate themselves. And people who fancy they can manipulate things and people will one day be manipulated.

I have seen this. I bear witness that evil and spite will only beget more evil and spite.

Play the game, and the game will play you. Stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back.

These days, my father takes care of his land. All one acre of it. Alone.

Me? Oh, I'm sitting down. I'm chillin'. I don't even notice the bodies floating by.

First Person Shooter

Somebody asked me today, "What does it take to write a good first person piece?"

As if I know the answer.

However, people who trained me to write told me to never do first person.

"I, I, I, I, I, memememememe. This is not your newspaper. This story is not about you."

And

"If everyone has a column, who are going to write the stories?"

Writing in the first person is the trickiest style. You need to tell the story from your eyes, your perspective, but need to address the reader and give details of the story - the subject matter at hand.

It goes into the realm of personal connection, and that is always hard to pin down.

Lots of people THINK they can do it, but that's bullshit. I read so many crap columns, man. I read so many crappy blogs.

The problem is, as always, hubris. Arrogance. The ego.

You think your opinions matter. Fine. Why? How? How do you justify the time people take to read what you think? Why should they care?

Dealing with readers is another problem. Everyone has an ego, and if you are being fake or condescending, it takes two seconds for them to sniff that out.

You think you can be compelling and push people's buttons? Without empathic mimicry, you'll still be pushing buttons, but you won't know what buttons you pushed. A blind man in front of a doomsday device. A monkey in front of a typewriter.

However, don't take my words for it. I am unable to say for sure what works. I know that Jeremy Clarkson is one of the best columnist ever. I know that I enjoy reading Stephen King's written introductions than most of his stories.

I know I look forward to Zainal Alam Kadir's columns every Tuesday in Malay Mail.

Here's one intro from Jeremy Clarkson:

I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend at the Spanish countrysides with my family, so the last thing I expected to do was to apply for passports for my two horses and my donkey.



I can't remember, but I think he was talking about some bullshit EU regulations. Now, Clarkson is a motoring journalist, so his column was probably about how the EU regulations affected car imports and exports. He started it about his horses and donkey needing passports to show how stupid it is.

I don't intend to ever write in the first person, professionally, so that's why I have a blog. All my first person, personal bullshit is here. SO I can focus solely on the subject matter when writing.

The style that has worked for me is a conversational semi-omniscient shit. I learned that in fiction writing, and found that it can be applied almost anywhere. It's like having the reader as a small midget or a fairy/bug on your shoulder. You take him/her places and you talk to her/him/it.

Sometimes, I get crazy, and I read people's minds while I write shit. That usually ends in me deleting everything.

Self-awareness is strength, but being self-conscious is the ultimate destruction of self.

You need to engage people on some level, because people in general only read viewpoints that agree with them. That makes them feel good. Or something that makes them perversely righteous about how wrong it is.

Something that is middling and dry is a yawn fest. Like this article.

So, back to the question: "What does it take to write a good first person piece?"

I don't have the answers. I don't think anyone does, either.

The only way is to read. Read, in the name of thy God.

Read. Write. Finish what you write.

- Neil Gaiman (chaos be upon him)

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Wankathon Hypersigil: Fortress of Servitude

Work starts at three today, ending after midnight, so I am having pizza at home.

Now, if only there's a mute girl sucking my dick as I eat the pizza, and if suddenly the rest of the world was wiped out the week before by a nuclear bombardment.

Food. Sex. Silence.

The endless chitter-chatter. Jibbering and jaberwocky. He says, she says BULLSHIT!

Static.

Give me RM2 million, and I will go to live by the beach in Kuantan. I'll buy a third-hand horse and ride to the sunset everyday.

Mengasingkan diri dari dunia kepahlawanan, yo!

I've always thought that people are loud. They talk loud, yeah, especially in some restaurants. But even not saying anything, people are noisy. Judgments. Setting up defenses. The ego thinking of superiority. Non-verbal communication.

Used to drive me crazy, until I learned to control it somewhat.

See, unhappiness is resistance. You resist the present moment and you resist people, wishing they could change or for the world to change. This will drive you crazy. I see a lot of crazy people. A LOT.

You can't change circumstances, and you can't change people. Stop wishing for that to happen. Only when you accept that, can you change anything.

Localised Pain

Whenever possible, I eat at local eateries or local franchises. I watch local movies at the cinema - moreso now since I'm writing local movies - and purchase local CDs. I watch local TV shows on TV, hoping that their ratings would go up. I watch international TV shows on my computer.

I fall asleep most of the time, though, or cringe so much that I go to the toilet. SOmetimes, I mute the TV set and just allow it to tune in to any local TV station, while I sleep or masturbate to porn. Kidding. Hahaha.

Ratings don't work that way, though. Ratings are done using a sample. I am not that sample. I can't be that sample. I'm biased.

I am biased, because I believe that local industries, such as the entertainment industry, is all we have. No matter how much you hate Siti or Akademi Fantasia, they are all we have.

I look at it from an economic point of view. It's all about the money!

Buying Beyonce's CDs and whatnot means we are giving money to Beyonce. Beyonce gets taxed by the US Government, not the Malaysian Government. So in essence, we are giving money to the US, so they could fund the Israelis buying bullets and tanks to kill Palestinians.

Some of Beyonce's money do get taxed by some agencies in Malaysia. MACP and PRISM collect fees for composers and performers, and since we are so insignificant, international artistes give that money to MACP and PRISM, to develop the local entertainment industry.

Which is a battle already lost, if you ask me.

The local music industry has decreased by 80% or some shit like that over the past 10 years. That's a few hundred million right there.

People always need entertainment, so where did that money go? Ringtones, CDs, MP3s. ALmost always, by international artistes. International recording companies. We Malaysians have given our money to them.

I don't want to start about piracy. I am now able to afford original, copyrighted content, but over 10 million Malaysians make less than 3,000 a month, so I'm not going there.

The movie industry is booming in Malaysia. Not really, but we are making more and more movies - some of them are quite interesting, done by bold, Aryan-Supremacy people like me.

But no. The biggest movie ever to hit Malaysia, up till this year, was Transformers. That one raked what, 17, 19, 20 million?

Years and years and years ago, it was Police Story III at 10 million. Never at any point in recent history (recent meaning the past three decades) has any Malaysian movie ever been the top grossing one. Fuck top grossing. We're not even top 5. Not even top 10. In our own backyard.

People point fingers all the time.

The fans say that the creative people are not creative at all.

The creative people say the fans don't support them. They also say the media do not support them.

The PUS people say that it's all against religion.

They all have a point. They are all right. This is all true. Even PUS.

A lot of the content we produce are crap. Sometimes, even intentionally so. I spoke to many creative people who say, "But if we do smart things, who's gonna buy it?" and "Malaysians like stupid things!"

Most creative people are not treated properly in this country. They get paid peanuts to do Herculean tasks of creativity and determination. Most went and sold burgers or got a job in the civil service. I knew top-grade animators who went and flipped burgers cause there's no money in being creative in Malaysia. There's a lot of money to be made being vicious and greedy, but not when it comes to creativity.

Here's the thing, man. Good crap only comes out of bad crap. 99.99% of Hollywood movies are crap. Only 0.01 are worth 10 bucks. Same goes for international music. Most are crap.

Taking the long-term view, you got to let the shit slide. You need to allow and support the bad crap through, so that one day, we will be ready to do good crap. Otherwise, we never get anywhere.

Good things grow from shit

- Joe's Apartment

The fans, well, the fans are Malaysians. Malaysians have always been suffering from identity crisis. Nothing new, man.

The poor Malays want to be Arabs. The middle-class Malays want to be Englishmen, American or Canadian. The rich ones want to be 'orang kampung'.

The Chinese want to be Japanese or Korean.

The Indians want to be American Blacks.

Many people use the entertainment they enjoy as some sort of marker for who they are. Another label for their image.

"I like Pulp Fiction. Pulp Fiction is my favourite movie!"

Innocent? Perhaps. But also, maybe, "I am sooooo fucking artistic! I only like movies that are like, sooooo indie and meaningful, and and and and cool. Therefore, I am cool."

Dude, I am speaking from experience.

I spent a number of years purchasing only Wong Kar Wai and Takashi Miike movies. Why? Because I'm cool.

Took me a number of years to realise that I am not cool, and have never been cool, and will never be cool.

Malaysians are self-loathing bastards. The colonial mentality was that everything white, is all right. We have skin-whitening creams. For what? So we could look like vampires?

White people like tanned hos. SO all you hos out there better soak up that UV like you're Superman trying to shake off a Kryptonite bullet.

A lot of this has to do with race.

We perceive that being white is all that fucking great. Not the white people's fault. Our fault.

I have some white friends, and they go through the same shit we do. Especially after I rib them to death.

"Easy for you la, Jordan Macvay! You're white! Chicks want to hump your white ass!"

Jordan: But...I'm married. With a kid!

Me: Easy for you la! The White Rights assure you of a RM50,000 a month job! For lending your whiteness to things!

Jordan: What? I don't make RM50,000 a month.

Me: Cracker ass cracker!

I get that as a Malay, so it's nice to be able to do that to a white dude.

So when it comes to representing our image through entertainment, we want to be white. It is perhaps the clearest form of self-hatred through a colonialist mentality that is still prevalent today.

We want to erase our Kampung Baruness, our Jinjangness, our Brickfieldness, SO MUCH, that we HATE local entertainment and go for things other than that. Doesn't matter which country, as long as it's anywhere but here.

How do you explain the popularity of Indonesian bands versus local ones?

The best way is through self-awareness, when you do not need to be seen or regarded as anything. When your image no longer matters. Put any label on you, and you are still the same asshole. And you're cool with it. You don't need to prove that you're anything. You don't even have to prove you as yourself. Because yourself is an illusion. There is no you. There is no "I". Gnothi Seauton - know yourself, but deny thyself.

And that, my friends, is the real secret to being cool.

Now, I'm not saying that we should all discard our Dres and Jay-Zs and Glee and House and Boston Legal and Fight Clubs and Sandmans, V for Vendettas, yadda yadda yadda.

A creative industry that only draws from itself, that is only exposed to itself - hell, a people that is only focused inwards - is a mentally and artistically incestuous industry or society.

And saying that Malaysians should only buy Malaysian products means that Nizar won't get his Toyota Camry. And I won't get my fucking Pajero. Or a new PC.

Am not saying that. Am just saying that perhaps when you go to the CD store or the movies, buy a local CD and go see a local movie. I know it sucks. I made some of them. And I am biased. When my movies are out, I want them to do well. I want moar MONEY! MOAR! WWWARRRGGHHHHH!!!! BLUARRRGGHH!!!

And when you get out of the CD store or cinema or wherever, go to a local franchise or local food shop. Like Nasi Lemak Antarabangsa, Old Town White Coffee. Buy stuff from local designers.

I know that sometimes, the food sucks, or the people they hired to serve can't speak Malay, English, Chinese, Indian or Japanese - believe me, I tried. But hey, we need to start nurturing our own businesses.

Am not calling for a boycott.

A boycott is stupid. It also endangers local businesses that is tied in to international ones.

I am gunning for more purchases made to local businesses. Local businesses, big or small, are the economic lifeline of the country. It is the blood that circulates within the system. Without it, we may lose not just our economic independence, but our sovereignity as well. And subsequently, our freedom.

IMF tried that shit with us in 1998. We said FUCK YOU. To say fuck you requires a solid base on which to stand on. If we continue to erode that base, then we will lose our right to say fuck you, or even to say anything, for that matter.

If you are in a position of power at a media company, please ensure that at least 70% of your content is local.

International stuff usually don't need a lot of promotion or hype. They sell themselves. It's the little guys that need the most help.

I'll do my best to hold up my end of things. I hope that you do as well.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

World's End

The Mayans made a calendar that runs out in 2012.

Some people say this is because the Mayans predicted the end of the world by that time. Others say that this only means that the Mayans are predicting a Golden Age of mankind - a shift in the thought processes of humanity as a whole.

I think the Mayans were just lazy.

However, in my capacity as the world's leading psycho-historian who's about to turn 30 and experiencing some form of mid-life crisis, that this is indeed true.

Across the board, I am hearing less victim stories, stories of self-inflicted pain and suffering and tales of woe.

As in, "woe is meeee!!! Memememememe!"

Stories of how, "I could have done this or that, if this thing happened first. I could be haappy, if only this happened."

All that bullshit I was wallowing in, a few years back, are now going extinct.

Now, that's because humans and people all around me are finally growing up and entering a new realm of consciousness, or it's because everytime somebody started telling me their victim stories, I to run away, putting my hands on my ears and yelling "lalalalalalalalala!"

It was like:

Bitch: I, me, I, myself, that which is ME, saw this person, and I, me, myself that is I, FELT. SO. BAD. I, me, that which is myself, spirals into an endless spiral of depression and I, myself -

Me: LALALALALLALALALALALLALALA!!!

*rushes to oncoming traffic*

*gets hit by the bus*

Don't get me, I, myself which is me, wrong. Err...I mean, don't get me wrong. I listen to my friends' problems. But if anyone is wallowing in self-inflicted self-pity, spite, angst, righteous outrage or self-sabotage, I just tune out and think of titties.

It's a waste of time, man!

I mean, all this shit comes from the ego. The ego which is the 'needy little me'. I need this, I need that. 'I need to FEEL PAIN! OH!' Go to a blues lounge, motherfucker. STick a tampon in it.

Everybody's got problems. We all can respect that. Taking things personally and emotionally is just a plain waste of time. All emotions are a waste of time.

For example, I want to kill Communists. I don't hate Communists, nor am I angry at Communists. I don't know or care whether they are right or wrong. I just want to kill them off. Totally emotionless.

I want to kill me some Goddamn Commies. I don't need to. I want to.

What's also out of style is the "I'm better than you" attitude. This eternal competition humans have been having is out the door, my God!

For a while, it carried the human race. But water that floats a ship can also sink it, said some Chinese philosopher.

In reality, all our actions - ALL of it - reflect on us as a species. Communication has broken down barriers we thought could never be broken down. It's teamwork, motherfucker. And if you are not a team player, then you better hope you're good enough to live your life on your own. It's not that difficult. With RM2 million, you can have a house by the beach and live till whenever.

The world as we know it, is coming to an end. Shifts in the human consciousness are happening, and it's as old as tectonic plates moving under our feet. A new world order is upon us. This is what the Romans must have felt when Christianity busted their ass.

As the world's leading psycho-historian, I can say that the buzzwords and ctach-phrases for the next five years at least are:

Ego, fuck, big floppy donkey dick, bite my shiny metal ass, awareness, pain-body, empathy, child pornography and CAPTAIN! PLANET!

The world is dead. Long live the world.

LALALALALALALALLALALALALALALA!!!

Playing With Myself

On the floor of Tokyo
Or down in London town to go, go
With the record selection
With the mirror reflection
I'm playing with myself

When there's no-one else in sight
In the crowded lonely night
Well I wait so long
For my love vibration
And I'm playing with myself

Oh dancing with myself
Oh dancing with myself
Well there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove
I'll be playing with myself

If I looked all over the world
And there's every type of girl
But your empty bras
Seem to pass me by
Leave me playing with myself

So let's sink another drink
'Cause it'll give me time to think
If I had the chance
I'd ask the world to dance
And I'll be playing with myself

Oh playing with myself
Oh playing with myself
Well there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove
I'll be playing with myself

If I looked all over the world
And there's every type of girl
But your empty bras
Seem to pass me by
Leave me playing with myself

So let's sink another drink
'Cause it'll give me time to think
If I had the chance
I'd ask the world to dance
And I'll be playing with myself

Oh playing with myself
Oh playing with myself
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance

[Scat]

Playing with myself
Playing with myself
Playing with myself
Playing with myself

If I looked all over the world
And there's every type of girl
But your empty bras
Seem to pass me by
Leave me playing with myself

So let's sink another drink
'Cause it'll give me time to think
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance
And I'll be playing with myself

Oh playing with myself
Oh playing with myself
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance
If I had the chance
I'd ask the whore to dance

Billy Idol, yo?

Not by the Hair on My Chinny Chin Chin

My uncle, who died recently, was part of the police force after World War II. He joined and he went and killed fucking Communists.

My uncle's Chinese.

Truth is, Communists killed members of my family from both sides - the Malays and the Chinese. And Communist members are not just Chinese. There were lots of Malays as well.

Therefore, I am not being racist here, when I say, I'd kill motherfucking Communists any day, every day. I knew some ex-Commies, as well as some ex-Kempeitai. They're all dead now.

No emotion. No hatred. No anger. But no fucking way are the Communists ever going to get a foothold here. Over my dead body.

I don't care about their politics. Other people play politics too. They don't take up arms and go into the jungle and fucking kill people for their politics.

I don't see Anwar Ibrahim going into the jungle.

Anwar: It would ruin my complexion! I need my my SK-II! And my nails will get dirty!

I don't see Khir Toyo going into the jungle.

Khir Toyo: Honey, I need to pack, where are my botox syringes? My face is gonna melt in there!

As soon as Chin Peng gets off that plane, he's gonna make a bee-line to the nearest jungle and start killing people.

No. Simply, no.

Chin Peng wants to die here, in Malaysia. He should have done that a loooong time ago, when he had the chance.

The problem with allowing him back would be to create a rallying icon for a new wave of Neo-Communism to gather followers, and all the cool kids are going to go. I'm not cool, and never been cool, so fuck you.

"But what about human rights?"

Fuck human rights. What about them dead people? Where are their rights?

The Communists went into my father's home when he was a child, and fucking kidnapped one of my uncles, took him into the jungle, and shot him. With a rifle. In the face.

Why? Cause he didn't want to join the Communists.

What, if I don't give way to Communists' rights, you're gonna shoot me? Fuck you, bitch!

"But he was an important figure in history...nyeeee!"

Yeah, and so was Hitler, Attila the Hun, Vlad the Impaler, Pol Pot.

Pol Pot killed a million people. Lived in a small hut, in the jungle. Killed a million people. What the fuck?

And you know why some got killed? Cause they were wearing glasses. Pol Pot was afraid, that if Burma or Kampuchea or whatever the hell ever got telephone booths, those million bespectacled guys are gonna go in and wear their Superman costume.

Chin Peng will make a small hut in the jungle, and people will start dying.

"Oh, my God! It's a Chin Peng hut! I'm dead, motherfucker! I'm dead!"

Chris Rock said it best.

"No one is liberal or conservative. There are things I'm liberal about, and there are things I'm conservative about."

Prostitution? I'm liberal. Communists and child porn? I'll be in a white hood and burning shit up.

I don't care if it's right or wrong. Buddhism advocates that there is no right or wrong, and I agree, somewhat.

For me, it's not right or wrong. You kill my family, you mess with them, I fucking kill you. I will fuck you up.

Buddha the Barbarian

I am thinking of doing a story called Buddha the Barbarian, but am afraid of offending any fundamentalist Buddhists.

It's about how a guy called Buddha, from Sumeria. A meteor made of the mystical element Star-Metal fell to his village. The evil wizard Rathamon wants that metal - as it is the only thing that can reveal his and his minions' true nature as V aliens - and turns Buddha's family into living stone.

Buddha crafts the Star-Metal into a sword and begins a quest to defeat Rathamon in order to lift the curse.

He recruits others who also have Star-Metal weapons, such as Sexy Chick Wearing a Corset, Aryan-Indian Wizard, Viking Dude and Sidekick Black Guy. Oh, and his horse, with Star-Metal horse-shoes.

Buddha also refines his Non-Violent Sword Technique as well as the One-Swing Non-Violent Kill. He duels with Sasaki Kojiro on an island, for no apparent reason, and writes a book called The Book of Five Rings.

You think this will offend Buddhists?

The Inverse Relations Between Age and Quantity of Dick-Sucking

As I grow older, more and more chicks want to suck my dick. Especially Malay chicks.

I was surprised at this, really. I mean, some gay old men, I can understand...but chicks?

Man, where were you when I was in college?

After landing a job, I went and hung with hos. Whores. Prostitutes. That's why I don't really buy chicks who try to work in the pain and suffering angle with me.

Sure, your pussy bleeds every month. Get a tampon, you freak. Try having periods, kids, and then separated from your kids by your malicious ex-boyfriend and when you call those kids of yours, the only thing you ever hear them say is, "Mommy, mommy" before the asshole slams down the phone.

That's fucking harsh, okay?

No matter how much pain you're in, it's nothing compared to Rwandans who got their hands cut off. African women who got their pussies sewn up. Genital mutiliation - that's painful.

Child slavery in some African countries - that's harsh. Your co-worker smelling like falafel? Fuck you. What the fuck is this shit?

I also went to hang with hos so that I could train myself. See sex, good, drama-less, odourless sex, is only worth 50 bucks. When you realise that, fucking Megan Fox is not that big a deal. Plus, no matter how good looking a woman or man is, her/his shit still smells as bad as mine.

Shit is the great equaliser. Everybody shits.

So anyway, I get pussy thrown at me everyday. Naturally, I asked one of my 'friends' about it.

She: It's very simple. You have two things they find irresistible.

Me: My charm and good looks?

She: Not even close. See, you have a job.

Me: Means, I have money? They think I have money? Man, I'm fucking broke!

She: No. It just means you have a job. From a woman's perspective, a lot of men are douchebags with no jobs who ask money from them.

Me: Wow...you're saying I don't have to work and just get some bitch to pay for my shit? Shiiiitttt...

She: Secondly, you are of the marrying age.

Me: Ah, fuck that shit, man!

She: You're against marriage, I get it.

Me: No, it's just that it's never been on the top of my list. Sometimes, when I ask people, why they get married, you know what the number one answer is? 80% of respondents said, "So that I can have someone to eat with."

What the fuck? Someone to eat with? Pay me money, I'll eat with you.

I guess Chris Rock was right.

Chris Rock: Relationships are simple. It's all about eating and fucking. You eeaaaattt, you fuck. You eeaaaattt, you fuck. You eeaaaattt, you fuck. Somewhere between this eating and fucking, the man would go, "Wanna go watch a movie?"

Chris Rock: If you don't like eating or fucking with somebody, then that relationship is doomed. And marriage is definitely not for you. Cause marriage is more eating, less fucking.