Wednesday, April 30, 2008

The Man of Tomorrow

So 10 years down the road, I walk up to the bar and, even though my blood is already six parts Dry Vermouth and one part gin, ordered a pint of Shoggoth’s Old Peculiar.

Then the bitches came through the door like there was a park nearby and a walker lost hold of their leashes and they all came in to get a drink.

I watched them through the reflection in the Guiness metal plate behind the bartender.

Bitch number one, a witch, started playing pool. Her face was covered in bruises. All of their faces, in fact.

Bitch number two had to use a cane to walk. Bitch number three wore big sunglasses to hide the purple imprint of a knuckle at the bottom of her left eye. Bitch number four looked helpless and out of place, as always, and she brought kids with her. Seven of them. To a bar.

Then they opened their traps and started yapping.

Bitches: We are all bitches, and we all rejected you 10 years ago. And your curse fell upon us. And we all got what we deserved. Boo fucking hoo.

Me: Boo fucking hoo.

An acknowledgement it was, or an amen.

Bitch one started her solo, while still playing pool.

Bitch 1: My ex-husband ran away with all my money. But not before beating me senseless with a golf club. Then he raped me with a washing machine.

Then bitch number two started to chime in.

Bitch 2: I wanted to save the world, remember? Well, the world gave me THIS.

And she held out her lame leg.

Bitch 2: My boyfriend ran over it. With a fucking BMW he got from old mumsy. Six times he drove over it, and then backed up again.

Bitch 3: What about me? I got beat up for 10 years and he pierced my clit with a tyre iron.

Bitch 4: Through all my attempted manipulations, my faggot husband left me for a guy and left me with seven kids to feed. As well as AIDS and cancer.

I had enough.

I went out, took off my clothes, and showed them what I really am. What I have become.

Me: Behold! Underwear-Model-Man!

And the bitches all sighed and moaned. And started masturbating.

Bitches: Oh! If only we sucked your dick 10 years ago! Please! Please! Fuck us in the ass!


And then I flew to outer space and destroyed the universe. And went on my way to nothingness. For I am Underwear-Model-Man, the Man of Tomorrow!

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Semusim di Syurga: Percubaan Untuk Menjadi Yahudi 1

Melayu = bosan.

Melayu = penikam belakang.

Sebenarnya, semua orang pun. Adik-adik, jangan percaya pada sesiapa pun sebab semuanya mahu manipulate, mengawal dan punya cita-cita sendiri.

Kalau kena tikam, bukan salah orang lain. Salah kau. Pasal ko deal dengan monyet.

Oleh itu, aku telah berhenti berusaha jadi Melayu sebab memang dapat F9. Mulai hari ini, aku akan mula jadi Yahudi pulak.

Ajaran pertama: Nasyid Yahudi.

Shabat Shalom!
Shabat Shalom!
Shabat Shalom!
Shabat Shalom!

Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy!

Shabat Shalom!
Shabat Shalom!
Shabat Shalom!
Shabat Shalom!

Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy! Oy!

Mazel Tov, Cocksuckers!

Permainan tradisional Yahudi:

1. Dreidel (gasing)

2. Pedajal Palestin

3. Manage Chelsea

Hobi Yahudi:

1. Buat Filem

2. Pedajal Palestin

Monday, April 28, 2008

For I Am Your God Now

Absolve, Domine, animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omno vinculo delictorum et gratia tua illis succurente mereantur evadere judicium ultionis

Spirit of Vengeance

Lots of people told me not to go down this path.

But it is time. I can no longer hold myself from becoming my true aspect. I will have my REVENGE!

Even if it takes me the rest of my life. Even if I have to let go and destroy everything. Even if I have to defy Gods and monsters. Even if I have to use any and all dirty tricks in the book.

I will become the Spirit of Vengeance. And all who have wronged me shall pay the price.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Take a wild fucking guess.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Desperate Housewives (of Representatives)

Hishamudin Hussein apologized fo exposing his keris to the world.


He should have done that months, maybe years ago. Now that the apology came after BN got whipped at the elections, it seems kind of...desperate.

I mean, what the fuck, man? It's just a fucking dagger-class weapon with +12 poison damage and fastest attack speed.

Just stand up and wave that keris aound. I mean, no one made any noise or apologies when a giant golden statue of Murugesan was erected at Batu Caves. Personally, I prefer his brother Ganesh, cause Ganesh is smart.

And not a peep when Jeff Ooi waved his LG Chocolate around. I mean, that LG Chocolate is a fucking weapon of mass boredom. I see it, and I see Jeff Ooi's face. Singing.

What the fuck, man?

And the keris is such an ineffective weapon, Malays actually switched to parangs and spears hundreds of years ago as the weapon of choice.

I inherited a battle spear from my great grandfather. I never had a keris, but I have a spear. It's much more practical as it can kill the enemy at a distance, and being a javelin-class weapon, I can chuck it as far as it can go.

The keris is simply a symbol of a bygone age when star-metal or any sort of metal, was hard to find.

Wave your keris. Who gives a shit. By all means apologize to the idiots who don't even know what the fuck it stands for.

Next UMNO general Assembly, who want to borrow my spear? I can wave my spear around in the halls. And you can touch it for RM400. Maybe give it a little kiss.

Semusim di Syurga: Manipulasi Mentat

Sepanjang hidup aku, ada-ada saja orang yang cuba untuk memanipulasi hidup aku. Ini bukan paranoia. Ini betul-betul punya.

Masa aku kecik, kakak aku dengan mak aku paling suka manipulate aku. Sampai satu tahap bila aku dah besar, dioang ingat diorang masih boleh manipulate aku suruh buat apa-apa. Bila aku confront, semuanya jahanam. Semua penipuan dijahanamkan dan muka penipu sebenar terdedah.

Hari ini, kalau ada sesiapa yang cuba manipulate aku, untuk apa-apa sebab atau justifikasi (aku dah dengar semua - "Untuk kebaikan kau jugak", "aku nak tolong" "bukan untuk aku, untuk KAU!" atau apa-apa jelah) aku akan blah cam tu je.

Aku lebih rela memusnahkan hidup aku dari memberi kawalan ke atasnya pada orang lain.

Pasal aku tak suka. Kalau nak suruh aku buat, atau nak mintak apa-apa, cakap je terang-terang.

Tak payah la nak menggesel kat aku, main tarik-tarik tag aku. Pastu harap aku paham.

Cakap je, "Amir, I nak isap konek you." Susah?

Semusim di Syurga: Makhluk Tuhan Yang Naik Teksi

Aku takde internet. Maxis Broadband yang si Klubbkidd kasi kat aku pinjam dah habis tempoh hayatnya. Sebab si Klubbkidd tak bayar.

Aku offer nak bayarkan. Dia cakap, "Takpelah, dude, biar aku bayarkan. Takdehal punya."

Tapi lepas tu dia tak bayar pulak. Aku tak komplen. Internet free.

Aku biar je. Nak rasa hidup orang susah. Marhaen-marhaen Melayumalas yang hanya mampu menjengok wikipedia dari kafe-kafe siber milik kafir-kafir siber.

Sekarang ni aku kat kafe siber, tengah hantar proposal. Nak ke sini pun kena naik teksi. Pasal aku ialah Makhluk Tuhan Yang Naik Teksi.

Aku kereta pun takde. Moto aku dah hantar balik kampung.

Apa yang aku pelik pasal cybercafe ni ialah butang-butang keyboard dia pelik. Huruf F aku kena tekan dua kali baru keluar. Aku ikir - ha tengok tu! aku nak taip FIKIR - mungkin sebab banyak orang mencarut.

Pengunjung Cybercafe (menaip): Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!

PC(M): FU! FU! FU! FU! FU! FU! FU! FU! FU!

Last-last, button F dia jahanam.

Takpun, diorang ni memang bodoh, asyik fail exam je.

PC(M)1: Berapa result SPM you? CUba taip. BM?

PC(M)2: F

PC(M)1: English?

PC(M)2: F

PC(M)1: Pendidikan Islam?

PC(M)2: F

PC(M)1: Matematik Moden?

PC(M)2: F

PC(M)1: Matematik Tambahan?

PC(M)2: Aku bodoh, mana ambik Add Maths!?

PC(M)1: Sorry. Sejarah?

PC(M)2: F

PC(M)1: Ekonomi asas?

PC(M)2: F

Dan begitulah seterusnya.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Convenience Guy

I have gone for more than 24 hours without sleep.

Right now, my brain feels like it is wrapped with a warm towel.

My paranoia is itching. I am already thinking that all this work people keep piling on to me, all the cries for help, all the tears, all the drama, fires, crises and whatever else is a chaotic conspiracy to make sure I don't finish my work.

What would you do when it's just you against the whole world? You kick their asses, that's what.

I got to handle a live show at 9.30pm tonight, and then stay for a meeting for next week's content. After that, I need to rush to another meeting at 11pm. After that is over, I have to get back home and finish three proposals and two movies.

Tomorrow, I have to wake up at 8am to let the maid in. Then there's an 11am appointment with the dentist. Then off to work again. I'll only be free after 1am tomorrow.

But SUnday is also full. I can wake up at 12 noon, but I have to do lots of things before my appointment at 7pm and at 9pm.

I can handle all this shit. You know why? Because I am a MACHINE! Man and Machine! Power EXTREME! Machine Man! X-51! Aaron Stack!

Semusim di Syurga: Aku Nak Jadi Robot

Aku nak jadi robot.

Aku macam dah menyampah jadi manusia ni. Aku nak jadi mesin.

Malangnya, dalam kerja aku sekarang, aku wajib menjadi manusia. Kadang-kadang. Aku kena hidup bersama manusia lain. Kena jaga hati. Kena bagi muka. Tak boleh bagi pelempang. Nanti kang ramai la pulak melempang sesuka hati. Silap-silap dengan aku-aku sekali kena lempang.

Tak boleh nak cakap, "Pukimak kau busuk sial, macam bau anjing mampus." Tak boleh nak cakap, "Ko ingat aku tak tau ke ko buat apa dengan pukimak tu?" Memang tak boleh nak pakai ayat ni: "Burit mak hang!"

Atau ayat-ayat ini:

"Aku pedulik hapa anak ko mampos?"

"Ko ingat aku kisah ko bodoh piang lepas tu nak cover pakai lawak terencat?"

"Pantat mak kau!"

"Anak ko mampos ke, menari kat tiang ke, ada kacau bulu bontot aku?"

"Luas dan isipadu pantat mak kau boleh dikira pakai Teorem Pythagoras dan formula pai jay kuasa dua."

"Musnah ke dunia khayalan porno aku kalau kau pergi mampus?"

"Apa, kalau ko salah, aku takleh melancap la ye?"

"Ko nak bernafas? Macamlah penting sangat. Pantat mak kau."

"Woi! Ko drama macam Mis Tres Hermanas ni pun, aku dah lama tutup telinga. Pakai konek aku. Dua-dua belah telinga. Pada masa yang sama. Konek yang sama."

"Ko nak jadi pelacur? Sejuuuuuk pantat mak kau mengandung."

"Ko nak mengumpat? Sama la bau mulut ko tu dengan bau pantat mak kau."

"Pukimak mak kau warna ungu, pasal bapak ko rabun, ada katarak. Dia ingatkan ikan masin kena bawak lari dek kucing."

Bosan seh. Aku nak jadi robot. Robot Tora pun jadilah. Aibo pun takpe. Janji robot. Robot tak mencarut. Robot cuma bunuh orang je.

Who the Fuck is Jack McKinney?

Before there was Neil Gaiman, and before there was Alan Moore, I was a fan of Jack McKinney.

He is not a real person, yet he wrote more than 20 books. He is also not a fictional character. Jack McKinney is a composite identity of two authors who wrote the novelisation of Robotech.

Yeah, that's right. Robotech, a cartoon which is also a composite of three different animes - Super Dimension Fortress Macross, Super Dimension Cavalry Southern Cross and Genesis Climber Mospeada. They were brought to North America by Harmony Gold, as envisioned by the late Carl Macek.

These are separate animes with separate storylines. The only thing that connects them together before Harmony Gold went to work at it is the fact that Haruhiko 'HAL' Mikimoto designed all the characters.

And the first character he drew? Lynn Minmei.

ANyway, Jack McKinney, or the two authors, managed to create a mythology as well as a multi-layered tapestry to the novelisation of Robotech. In fact, I enjoy reading the book more, even though I have watched the thing at least three times (I got the DVD set).

I borrowed Battlehymn, the third book in the series, from my school library and didn't return it for eight months.

I read and reread the whole thing and memorized the quotes and the nice, clever little excerpts they put at the beginning of each chapter.

These excerpts are from autobiographies of the characters, news reports, stuff like that. It adds to the mythology of the whole thing.

They got stuff like:

1. Notes on the Run - Basically an autobiography of Rand (Red in Genesis Climber Mospeada).

2. When Evil Had Its Day - A Biography of TR Edwards.

3. Apocrypha, the Book of James - fake post-apocalyptic bible. Let's see if I still remember the verse:

And lo, I saw a winged giant walking among the clouds in the distant skies. Haloed within a globe of radiant glory, his body set to gleaming silver in the sun. Though his hands are raised in supplication, his spirit burned with all the fury of the holy fires. And I say unto you that this is the temple of mankind, risen and returned to do battle with the forces of evil.

And that's from memory, foo!

4. Upwardly Mobile - a bio of Jack Baker.

5. Lots of other stuff.

It's crazy.

McKinney's style has always been rationalizing and justifying the actions done by the characters and the happenings in the series. I thoroughly enjoyed his explanations. EVerything made more sense in the books than in the cartoon series.

Of course, in the anime, you get to see a naked Marlene, and possibly a naked Rook as well. And Lynn Minmei fan service.


The character I would like to fuck most, though, is Lisa Hayes (Misa Hayase). Yeah, I'd like to fuck her and get her spade-shaped hair-space on her forehead in disarray.

She's a strong older woman, with flaws. FLAWS! Flaws I can exploit! A low self-esteem. A fear of intimacy. FLAWS!

I'll fuck her in the ass and she'll think about it for a year! Rationalizing, justifying.

Next would be Miriya Parino of the Quadrono. Or Miriya Sterling, nee Parino, or simply Miriya Jinias.

Yeah, all that green hair, and that icy demeanour just turns me on. And she's a fucking giant! The biggest boobs ever!


After that, Rook. Then, Claudia Grant. Then, the bridge bunnies - Kim, Vanessa and Sammie.

Then, Dana Sterling.

Anyway, Jack McKinney. Good writer. Even if he didn't exist.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Semusim di Syurga: Ateis Muzik


Masa aku di sekolah menengah, aku jumpa ramai budak-budak yang mengikut fahaman muzik yang berbeza.

Ada punk la, grunge la, rock kapak la. Sambil tiup lampu masa form one pun kena ikut rentak ke hapa kejadahnya la. Bebudak form one disuruh menari lagu Feminin la.

Cikgu-cikgu kitorang ajar bahasa pakai lagu. Atau lirik dalam lagu. Suzanne Vega, Phil Collins, Wings, Jamal Abdillah, M Nasir.

Balik ke asrama, sesetengahnya bukak Butterfingers. Pergi gig, lepas tu poyo kerek dengan orang. Maklumlah. Cool dan popular.

Ada yang pakai but, lepas tu taruk tali kasut putih. Konon gila babi kejam bunuh yahudi la, kalau pakai but dengan tali kasut putih.

Aku cuma cakap satu je kat diorang - "Aku rasa satu hari nanti, orang akan ganti agama dengan muzik."

Bayangkan. Amerika Syarikat yang rata-ratanya mendengar boyband diserang oleh Taliban yang dengar lagu death metal.

Israel, peminat Sex Pistols berperang dengan orang Palestin yang suka henjut-henjut kat lagu Black Eyed Peas.


Dalam dunia yang semakin didefinisikan oleh citarasa mereka pada muzik, aku pun berfikir, "Apa citarasa muzik aku?"

Satu-satunya kaset yang aku beli semasa zaman remaja aku ialah Saturday Morning Cartoon Time yang menemukan lagu-lagu tema kartun dengan pemuzik handalan zaman itu. Seperti Sublime yang memainkan Hong Kong Phooey, The Ramones dengan versi lagu SPider-Man mereka.

Frente! dengan Open Up Your Heart and Let the Sun Shine In, nyanyian Pebbles, anak Fred Flinstone.

Juliana Hatfield dan sorang lagi minah menyanyikan Josie and the Pussycats, Dave Matthews Band dengan Scooby Dooby Doo.

Selepas masuk UM, aku akan habiskan banyak masa download lagu di Unitele Melaka dan kemudiannya MMU Cyberjaya. Tempat Internet free dan laju, yang biasa aku 'lawat' kononnya untuk berjumpa kawan-kawan lama.

Aku terjumpa Tenacious D, kemudiannya Trey Parker dan Matt Stone dengan lagu parodi mereka dari filem Cannibals the Musical dan Orgazmo serta Baseketball. Ya, BasEketball.

Dan penemuan paling hebat abad ini - Yoko Kanno. Yoko Kanno ialah komposer muzik latar dan lagu tema untuk anime paling hebat dalam dunia. Dia buat Cowboy Bebop punya soundtrack. AKu mendapat pendidikan muzik aku dengan menonton dan mendengar Cowboy Bebop. Dia lanyak jazz, blues, heavy metal, samba, swing, techno, Morroccan, semua masuk satu kartun. Sekali dengar Macam Ricky Lee Jones, dua kali dengar macam setan. Gila! Genius!

Aku sudah mula mencipta citarasa muzik aku sendiri. AKu makin sedar yang ada jenis-jenis lagu yang aku suka dan tak suka.

Malang bagi aku, kalau aku wujud dalam dunia yang menggantikan agama dengan muzik, aku seolah tiada agama, pasal aku tiada genre. Aku adalah ateis muzik.

Muzik yang aku dengar hanyalah runut bunyi dari kartun, siri TV dan filem. Aku kurang suka mendengar muzik yang lain. Lagu Jem and the Holograms pun aku hafal.

Bagi aku, muzik sebegini membawa makna yang lebih, pasal ada jalan cerita yang jelas.

Kemudian, aku mula minat muzikal. Dah kena tuduh gay la pulak.

Kesimpulannya, aku nak start buat kerja dah ni. Ni nak warm-up dulu je. Dah. Pergi mampus.

Amir Hafizi The Musical Reprise

There was a writer and his dream...

and it is beautifuuuuullll...

(coming soon to an ass near you)

Semusim di Syurga: Rambut Baru Aku Lagi (Atau Betapa Hensemnya Aku)

Hari ni lagi la.

Ada Senior Manager panggil aku. Muka serius. Aku ingat nak cakap pasal pemecatan ke, sistem baru ke, atau apa-apa la yang senior manager selalu cakap.

Senior Manager: Amir! Sini kejap?

Aku: Ya? Apahal, kita kena pecat minah tu!

SM: Tak, You cut your hair?

Aku: (garu kepala dengan lembut supaya tak rosakkan sirip Ultraman) Ha'ah.

Lepas tu dia toleh kiri kanan, nak tengok camana boleh ada sirip Ultraman.

Gila lah.

Kecantikan adalah hak milik aku!

Semusim di Syurga: Rambut Baru Aku (Atau Betapa Ceteknya Manusia)

Aku tunggu bebudak intern hari tu di Bangsar. Nak belanja diorang sebab diorang blah dari department aku.

AKu datang awal, jadi aku pergi gunting rambut.

Lepas aku gunting rambut, semua orang melayan aku dengan baik. Macam sial! Sebelum ni, masa rambut aku biasa je, serabai, tengok aku pun macam nak ludah.

Sekarang, lepas letak wax, ada sirip Ultraman kat tengah, manusia marhaen ni semua sembah aku macam Tuhan la pulak. Gila!

Dua hari lepas siap ada sorang minah flirt dengan aku lagi. Dulu tak flirt pun? Tak isap pun konek aku?

Manusia memang cetek.

Cis, kalau aku tau la senang gila nak dapatkan hisapan konek, dah lama aku gunting rambut, dah lama aku beli wax sepuluh tin, lepas tu sapu kat bontot.

Kalau berguna untuk rambut, apa pulak bontot?

My Academy Awards Acceptance Speech

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


It’s an old Queen song. And it’s also something that has almost always encapsulated my nonexistent heart.

I mean I am, after all, a Malay. In whatever form. And jealousy is part of our culture.

I have always been gripped with jealousy. I see rich people. Really, I see rich people. I hate rich people because I want to be rich.

Another thing is that I see people who are better than me and I am jealous.

I have only met two women who are better than me at something I like. I have met only one man who has a more complete package (not referring to dicks) than me. And I am jealous of them. Jealous of them all.

My first instinct would be to destroy them. I am, after all, Destruction. I am Fenris the wolf. The wolf beneath the tree. I am Baal, the Lord of Destruction. Yadda-yadda-yadda.

However, in those troubling times, I go back to American History X. The black dude asked Edward Norton, “Has anything you done made your life better?”

Jealousy will still exist. Envy will not go away. But what I do with it is more important than how I feel.

My jealousy will drive me to the brink, to the edge of the cliff and it is at the rim of this discworld where I shall prevail.

I will do better, greater things, or I will die. Well, I will die anyway, so I have nothing lose.

I am envious of rich people, so I will become richer. I hate people who are better than me, so I will be better than them. Or die trying.

I got nothing to lose.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Suicide Note

Aku nak makan nasi kandar.

Aku tak kira. Aku nak makan nasi kandar. Aku lapar. AKu mengantuk. Otak aku memerlukan kalori, dan aku dah lama tak bagi otak aku kalori. Aku kasi semua kat triceps aku untuk 'diuruskan'.

Dah. Masa untuk aku makan nasi kandar, sebelum kembali berjuang dalam persada seni negara. Majulah butuh untuk negara.

Challenge of the Gobots

I am a chronic planner. I always plan for things. After identifying the information path that flows in certain places, I am all set to use the path for my gains.

And we all know that information is ultimate power.

Anyway, the thing with my plans is that they never seem to go according to how I envision them to. They always turn out better. I mean, I never planned for the job I have right now. I would have been happy to just rot away as a journalist until I have a combover not two years ago.

Now, I am in a position some people could even dream of. I work with some really great people. And I also get to do movies on my weekends.

And still, I have even better plans for the future.

Well, I don't know how the universe can make my plans turn out better than I can see inside my head.

I mean, if this plan works, I'll be holding the Academy Award in seven years' time. My own Oscar.

I challenge the universe to give me better things than this. To give me a better life. Because I doubt it can be better than what I can see inside my head.

Top that, biatch!

I am the real Amadeus. Loved by God. Feared by idiots. I am the best there is, the best there was and the best there ever will be.

And I get to fuck Thais.

Man, oh man. I really am THAT. DAMN. GOOD!

Thursday, April 17, 2008


Today, I was saved by a woman.

So I told her, "You may ask for one boon. One boon only."

And she was like, "Boon tu apa?"

And I replied, "Cis. Tak Sandman langsung."

Siri Mari Belajar Bahasa Pondan: Infleksi

Hai adik-adik! Abang Terung Mahawangsa datang lagi dengan Siri Mari Belajar Bahasa Pondan edisi sekolah petang!

Sebelum itu, Abang Terung nak nyatakan sekali lagi yang Abang Terung bukanlah pondan, mahupun gay.

Abang Terung suka jolok puki perempuan sahaja.

Apapun, hari ini, Abang Terung ingin mengajar bagaimana menggunakan infleksi untuk menge-nyah-kan perkataan-perkataan biasa.

1. Katanya...WALAUPUN.

Frasa ini dipopularkan oleh seorang yang tampak keras sekali imbas, tetapi mempunyai lautan 'adik-adik' yang mendalam. Hikmat Mulut Longkang yang dipelajarinya mampu menandingi Mak Ayam Pondan dengan pengalaman pengurusan 18 tahun.

Begini caranya:

Mula-mula, basuh pinggan. Lepas tu, kenalpasti sasaran.

Sasaran dah dapat? Tunggu sehingga sasaran mengeluarkan kenyataan.

Kemudian, katakanlah, wahai Pelawak Yuyu, "Ka-Ta-NYA..."

Selepas itu, sila mengorak tiga langkah ke hadapan, dengan pandangan ke arah lain.

Kemudian, pandang kembali ke arah sasaran.

Sudahi dengan, "Wah-LAU-PUN."

Kegunaan: Mengata yang seseorang itu hanya berpura-pura dan tidak ikhlas dengan kenyataan hanjingnya.

2. Aaaaa-dik-adik!

Ini adalah tuduhan melulu kepada mereka yang bergelar "aaaa-dik-adik" atau dalam erti kata Thai, kathoey.

3. Ruuupa-Ruuuupanya!

Sebelum mengumumkan gossip terhangat minggu, mulakan dengan Bismillah.

Kemudian, katakanlah, wahai Haman, "Ruuuupa-Ruuupanya." Dan teruskan gosip anda.

Begini cara menggunakannya:

Kalimuliyana: Brendy! Nyah tau tak, pasal si TOOOOOOT yang suka kejar perempuan tu?

Brendy: Tak ade maknenye! Mak tau dia tu memang 'buaian'. Ikon!

K: Dia cakap kat mak, "I suka perempuan yang muka innocent, tapi rakus."

B: Katanya. Walaupun.

K: Ei, tunggulah. Mak nak cerita ni. Mak pergi jumpa aweks dia ari tu. Ruuupa-ruuupanya! Lesbian, NYAAAAAHH!

B: Eleh. Dah tau dah. Mak tunggu masa je, dia terpikat dengan mak. Lepas tu Mak nak kata, NO WAY! Sor-RRY! Tak sukalah, almari.

K: Ka-Te-nye... (berjalan tiga langkah ke hadapan, kemudian memalingkan muka semula ke arah Brendy). Wah-Lau-Pun.


Kembaaaaang Cipap Aku Mendengarnya

Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi! Babi!

Kenapa Babi?

Kita tunggu jawapannya selepas ini...

Scenes of the Father: Duplicity and Deceit

Last time I went back, my aunt (technically, she's my cousin, but not blood-related cause my father was adopted and shit) said to me, "The last time I went back, your father started talking about you guys (my siblings) and he started crying his ass off."

That comment put a smile to my lips. Cause I know that my father does not cry. He never did, and he never will.

My aunt was lying because she is a woman, and ALL women lie. Some lay.

Anyway, women, especially Malay women, have this thing about keeping the illusion of family together. Even though 85% of ALL families are fucked up, according to some TV psychologists. And if it's on TV, it MUST be true.

My father is not the best father in the world. Sometimes, he sucked at it. I mean, he was not a molester or anything, but he was and is no angel. He didn't walk off a Hallmark card or one of its sappy movies.

Ever since he was born, he had to make do with living with other people. He was adopted a few weeks after birth. Then, to study, he had to go and live with strangers till he got a job in his early 20s.

He stayed in Mentakab, studied at an English boarding school, where he studied the Gospel of St Luke, which I stole from his library and read in secret and found out that as far as forbidden books go, it was boring.

He stayed with lots of strangers, eating their food and sleeping on their extra bed, or mattress.

It must have been a hard life. I stayed with people before and it was some of the most horrible experiences of my life. Up to a point that I had to listen to Whitney Houston. He had to do it for more than 20 years.

And so, when he started teaching us shit, my father was quite a tough taskmaster.

I was 4, and I had learned to count and read simple words. He had a heart attack and was lying in bed. My mother, The Great Manipulator, ushered me into the bedroom and asked me to show my father what I had learned.

I started counting and stopped at 19.

"And what comes after 19?" He asked.

And I was like, "Shit would I know."

Later, in primary school, I'd go home, top of my class, with my report card - straight As and all, and I'd show it to him.

One year, I remember, I got an average of 98.7%.

His comment?

"You could do better than this. You only got 95% on this subject."

In my head, I was like, "What the fuck, man? What's better than number one? Number Zero? What's better than 98.7%?"

And that was AFTER I argued with my teachers on the validity and accuracy of their tests, earning me a few extra marks here and there. Yeah. I cheated.

In high school, I simply gave up. I rebeled and focused on proving people wrong.

"You will not ace your exams if you do not study!" They said.

"You will not amount to anything if you do not spend at least 8 hours a day studying!"

Fuck that. Fuck all of that. Lies. GNR.

So anyway, yeah, my father does not cry. He got his third stroke and he's still smoking three packs of Gudang Garam a day. He buys cigarettes by the carton. And he handles hazardous materials every single day. Moving lannate around, some illegal pesticides over here, there, and whatnot.

He's one tough motherfucker. And a real one, at that.

There was a time when I hated him, and hated to be him. A regular phase in anyone's life, I assume.

He was almost an emotional cripple. He never went for any sappy shit or held his children or anything. He was pure intellect, with his Atlas, and red Pilot pens.

So I went the other way. He wrote in really neat cursive handwriting. I made sure that my handwriting consists of as many font styles as I could muster.

His language was like, fucking ancient palace style or something.

I remember his letters.

"Ke hadapan anakandaku Amir," he would write.

"Diharap anakanada selamat di sana. Ayahanda sekeluarga di sini sihat-sihat belaka."

I was like, "what the fuck, man?" Am I like, fucking royalty or something?

So I wrote like I was a maniac. And sent it to him.

My decision to be a writer was in defiance to his wishes. He wanted me to be a doctor. Maybe after seeing my handwriting.

He scoffed and ridiculed my decisions. He didn't think I could tough it up. Surviving in big bad KL while trying vainly to land a job as a writer.

What he DIDN'T count on, was for me to be as hard-headed as he is.

He was supposed to be some government official or something, cause his uncle was the MB of Pahang, but he decided to become a teacher.

So anyway, after a few years, I realized that I was becoming him. Damn. That's cliched. But it's true.

If there is anything I wish I could have inherited from my father, it would be the lack of emotions. I do not want to feel anything. I do not want to have a heart. I have no time for feelings.

I have to do my work. My Great Work. I need to do it. And emotions have nothing to do with them.

So here I go. I'm off to the office. I got some work to do. At 2.39am. Cause I'm fucking great and all.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

January in April

Today, I was wallowing in self-pity and checking out my well-developed triceps in Bangsar.

I have such grotesquely beautiful triceps, such strong ones, that I think if I ever hit somebody with my triceps, the guy would explode.

Biceps are for gays. Triceps are better. Cause it's like, three and shit.

So anyway, I put them away when January Low walked past. Didn't want to kill hot chicks and innocent bystanders.

I was like, "January Low."

And she, knowing that I knew her name and possibly had a Death Note stashed somewhere on my ass, stopped and turned to me.

Me: I heard from your friends at Lim Kok Wing that you're anal.

Me: I was like, "ANAL?!"

January: Those are not my friends.

A cold wind blew from the North Pole and dumped Halls on my ass. She can be that cold.

But she's hot, so who gives a shit?

I always have a soft spot for dancers. Actually, a hard one. Even though, from experience, they're not really that good in bed. I would like to, one day, fuck a dancer till she bleeds on the dance floor. While playing that stupid song.

I'd be like, "DANCE! For MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" Like, Phantom of the Ampitheatre or some shit.

I narrowed my eyes, and these green schematics popped up around January.


Name: January Low

Job: Rich Kid, Dancer

Specialty: Bharata Natyam, Odissi

Weakness: Can't do Butoh for shit. That's a dance, fool! One of 'em technical classical precision and timing dancers, is January. Or so I heard.

Scale of HOT-HOT-HOT-HOTAS (Hands on Throttle and Stick): 9 out of 10, with 10 being Natalie Portman and 0 being yo mama.

Status: Has goofy boyfriend hanging over her. Dick size unknown.

Education: Lim Kok Wing, Ramli Ibrahim.

Anyway, we shot the breeze.

Me: So what you doin' now?

January: I'm this and that and whatever shit.

Me: Fucking rich kid.

January: I am NOT rich.

Me: Fucking rich kid.

The boyfriend was friendly enough to invite me to join their little thing at This Club. I said I'd drop by, if I was so inclined. Had to take care of something first.

So about an hour later, after I took care of business, I went to That Club. I saw that their group was like, 1.76 billion people or something. And I hate people.

So I left and took a cab home.

But, MAN. January Low. I mean, she already got a boyfriend and as a rule, I never fuck anyone I've interviewed, which in most cases is a relief.

But, DAMN. If there was one person I would like to have sex with and then die, it would be someone who looks and moves like January Low.

Kamala The Ugandan Giant


Aku dah suruh dah.

Aku dah cakap.

Taknak dengar.

Internet pinjaman sementara dari member aku Joe Lee, a.k.a Jolie, a.k.a Klubbkidd, a.k.a Iva Labia, a.k.a peserta Akademi Ratu Jambo (bersama hos anda Ratu Ayam Pencen), telah meninggal dunia pagi tadi.

Bukan Joe yang meninggal dunia, tapi akaun Maxis Broadband dia. Dengan ini, berkuburlah capaian atau akses aku ke Internet selama beberapa minggu. Ni pun mengharap kunjungan Medd untuk dapat berInternet.


Sapa suruh tak jadikan aku jutawan?

Pukimak punya manusia. Haram jadah punya masyarakat. Korporate keparat. Juburjuis kayap. Proletariat hanjing.

Monday, April 14, 2008


I have decided to defend Islam. Why? Cause it's the religion which needs the most defending nowadays, and all-a-you flag-burning extremists don't know what you're doing.

Islam needs better PR and MY PR is better than anything they have right now. At least in Malaysia. I saw some really funky, good preachers internationally. But in Malaysia, it's all about sending people to hell and not eating pork, and how pigs are bad and shit.

Who the fuck gives a shit about pigs?

I mean, come on. PIGS? What the fuck, man?

The best defence is offence. And I am a genius at offence.

So I met a man who claims to be Buddhist the other day.

Buddhist-wanna-be: So, Islam bad, Buddha good.

Me: Ah, a Buddhist.

BWB: Yeah, I fuckin' kill the Islams, man!

Me: Wait a minute. Didn't Buddha preach about tolerance and one with the universe and shit like that?

BWB: Oh. Uh. I dunno. I am Buddhist. Tremble before my Buddhism.

Me: Just when you think it's safe to be a Buddhist - POP QUIZ, MOTHERFUCKER!

BWB: Oh, shit.

Me: Okay. Who was Buddha's first disciple?

BWB: Ummm...Kuan Ying?

Me: EKKK! Tatta! Tatta was the first disciple, foo!

Me: Second question. Who was Buddha before he was Buddha (The Enlightened One)? When he was Siddharta.

BWB: Ummm..aaaahh.

Me: Clue - He was a prince. Of which part of India?

BWB: Buddha from India. THAT I know. Ummm...Mumbai?

Me: Ekkkk! Kapilavastu! He was from Kapilavastu, foo!

Me: Now, did Buddha have a son?

BWB: Ahah! Buddha never got married cause it's a sin to -

Me: Says who?

BWB: Well, the monks don't get married.

Me: Buddha had a wife AND son, foo! What was the original name of Kuan Yin, before being Kuan Yin?

BWB: Ummm...Lee Kuan Yin?

Me: EKKK!!! Avalokitesvara - the Goddess of Mercy, foo!

BWB: Damn! How'd you know all this stuff?

Me: I read the comic books. And newspapers. Why are you against the Islams, man? Shouldn't you go after China?

BWB: What for?

Me: Cause they attack Tibet and shit.

BWB: What's Tibet?

Me: *BARF* You know...the place where the Dalai Lama is and shit.

BWB: I think llamas are not cute.

Me: No. The Dalai Lama. Not llama.

BWB: Whossat?

Me: Forget it. So, you wanna destroy the Islams?


BWB: Well, most of my friends are Christians. So I know more about Christianity.

Me: Okay. So you do know that a new Pope is installed, right?

BWB: Yeah. Everybody knows that.

Me: His name is Jean-Claude Van Damme.

BWB: Yeah, I knew that!

Sufiah Yusuf Nekkid Pictures

God damn it, man. What the fuck?

I flipped through The Star today at a restaurant during dinner, and what do I see? A big picture of Sufiah Yusuf's brown ass plastered over a few pages dedicated to prodigies.

As the world's leading expert on prodigies and geniuses, I must say this: leave her alone.

She wants to be a ho, so let her be a ho. If she tapped out and said, "I don't have a choice cause my boyfriend/husband forced me into sucking dick." Then by all means, round up some Islamioc extremists, storm her flat (Cause this is the UK, yo!) and fucking get her back to a scientific calculator or something.

I find there are two, no, three issues to this case:

1. Geniuses want to be hos
2. People think whoring is bad
3. People suck

Okay, let's start with number one.

1. Geniuses want to be hos

You know why somebody as smart as Sufiah want to be a ho? Cause geniuses, we know the deal. All each and every one of us ever do in life is becoming prostitutes to so many different people and parties.

We bend over for that paycheque at the end of the month. Maybe a pat on the back or two.

I mean, all of us had to be paid to do our jobs because, in other circumstances, we'd rather not do it. Otherwise, why do we even take leave, foo?

The only people who are not whoring themselves are those who do their work anyway, and they happen to get paid for it. Like Neil Gaiman. He loves most parts of his job, or so it seems, and he'd write thopse damn books anywa. But he just happens to get paid for them. Paid a lot.

Anyone not in the same frame of mind are hookers. All of us. Even celebrities whore themselves out for public opinion, for public consumption. That Paris Hilton bitch knew this, that's why she came out with that sex tape - TO SERVE MAN.

Sufiah, in my opinion, just wants to get the bullshit out of the way. Boil life down to its empirical essence - prostitution. She is, after all, a math genius. Don't be raining on her parade, foo!

And she said, "I'm being treated like a princess."

Blame Disney, motherfucker!

The Princess industry is a multi-billion dollar cash cow, milking it from cows who dance to the tune of Peabo Bryson and Celine Dion slagging off Beauty and the Beast for 100,000 American dollars a pop. Complete with a Cinderella pumpkin-carriage ride.

And who has to pay for it? The man, that's who. Otherwise he a bad nigga. Like Eddie Griffin said, "Whatever happened to falling in love with a nigga with a bus pass, just cause you love the nigga?"

Now it's all, "You got to treat me like a princess and lick my clitoris and shit."

Bitch! That was a damn cartoon, you stupid cunt!

And then they get married to people who could promise them a pumpkin carriage, Celine Dion CDs or heaven.

Motherfucker! You're all going to hell, motherfucker! Ain't no heaven for you. The gates to heaven closed a few hundred years ago. Ever wonder why Muhammad SAW cried on his death bed? Why his last words were "Ummati, ummati..." (My people, my people...)

Cause he saw the future. He saw me, or people like me, and he saw YOU. Yeah, he saw your ass, motherfucker.

Whisky-drinkin', masturbatin', butt-fuckin', ho-pimpin', slut-fuckin', pumpkin-carriage worshippin', suicide-bombin', opposition-votin' motherfuckers!

All a you! Motherfucker!

Little boy, you're goin' ta hell! - DVDA

Which brings us to the second issue:

2. People think whoring is baddd

Fuck you. Oh, if she charges for sex, she a bad bitch. If she asked her boyfriend/husband for an S-Class before giving head, she a smart GF/wife? Fuck you, you fucking hypoclit!

So if people were whoring around, we should 'save' them? If the parents decide to slap on RM100,000 dowry on their daughter's cunt, that's keeping high standards?

Fuck that, man. Sure, SOME hos are forced. But you take a survey and ask 100 hos, what would they prefer to do - be a ho or man a McDonald's counter?

Guess what their answers would be?

Ho: Well, if manning the cash register gets me RM20,000 a month, sure, why not.

The popular hookers in Phuket alone make RM10-20K a month. I know a few who do. They got Civic coupes with fucking DVD players in 'em. Two houses, one in Phuket and one in Chiang Mai.

Hell, when I heard that, I was even thinking of becoming a ho myself. I mean, I'm a genius too.

Not even GMs of some companies can even dream of RM20k a month, motherfucker!

What you expect her to do? Give up RM20K a month and work for 30 years to become a chain manager of McDs'? To get back where she started? Wait. To NEVER get back where she started?

And most hos don't think what they're doing is wrong. Otherwise, they wouldn't be doin' it.

Sure, give 'em a choice. But that's ALL. A CHOICE. Not some condescending bullshit judgemental SWAT team forced-entry into her house. You fucking nitwits.

Ho: Oh, save me from this life of RM480,000 -a year lifestyle. And the best sex of my life. Please save me.

And finally:

3. People suck


Sunday, April 13, 2008


This is the seventh day.

Every time I hit a snag in life, every time I encounter a weakness, I go to a place to recollect and refocus. Usually, it's Phuket. Most of the time, though, what's even more important, is to retreat into myself.

Close all doors and windows. Sit in the darkness. See myself in the mirror and watch what kind of monster I've become.

Then, it's time for some mindfuck. There is no one else. There is no universe. All those people. Not there. Never there. Never was.

What exists is only me.

There are no women who will try to control you or whore themselves out for money, control, power, admiration, approval.

No men who will try to fuck you in the ass.

No one to backstab you. Ridicule you. Fight with you.

No animals. No plants.

Their words. Their actions. All mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

If I let any of that, even a single little bit, to affect me, in any way, I am surrendering myself, control over myself, to other people. And control over me is the most valuable tool I have.

There is no desire. Just let go. There are no emotions. There is no time. No space. Just me.

And I have the advantage of myself.

People who put so much effort and faith into image, will one day grow old and ugly. People who covet money will find out how finite it is.

People who put so much into belonging and being part of a group will find out that everyone in the group is out for themselves. That they will backstab you first chance they get. Abuse you. Blame you. Justify their mistakes by pointing their fingers at you.

I need to find my center in a maelstorm of bullshit. I need to let go of everything.

There is no lust. No porn. No words. Just me. And my craft. I need, I will get better at it. Until I am perfect. I will have no children, so the only way I can evolve is through me.

No distractions. No words or thoughts or emotions from others. They are worthless. Meaningless. The only words that count are mine.

And so I am alone. In the dark. And now I need to go to sleep. A nap.

This is, after all, the seventh day.


I am a vampire
I am a vampire
I am a vampire
I am a vampire
I am a vampire vampire vampire vampire vampire vampire vampire vampire vampire vampire.

Komedi Muzikal Mungkar dan Nangkir (Reprise)

Sesat: Mr Punch*! Mr Punch? Mr Punch? Mr PunCHHH-OOOF!

Panjang Putih: Sweet Chin Music!

* berasal dari Comedia d'ell arte (betul ke aku letak apostrophe tu?), watak Punchinello (mencintai Pulcinella, dipermainkan Harlequin) yang diadaptasi ke sensibiliti orang Anglo-Saxon yang sukakan keganasan dalam persembahan patung mereka.

Komedi Muzikal Mungkar dan Nangkir

Aku bayangkan dua orang pakai sut Hugo Boss putih - seorang tinggi, seorang rendah - pergi ke seorang yang sesat.

Pendek Putih: Siapa Tuhan kamu?

Sesat: N-Neil Gaiman.

Panjang Putih: Kepala hotak kau! Pedigree!

Dan si Panjang Putih pun mem-pedigree-kan si sesat itu.

Panjang Putih: Siapa Tuhan kamu? Petunjuk - Bukan Neil Gaiman.

Sesat: Erm...Alan Moore?

Pendek Putih: Kurang hajar!

Sesat: Alex Ross? Bill Willingham? Mike Carey? Osamu Tezu-KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Pendek Putih melaksanakan gerakan RKO pada si Sesat.

Sesat: Kentaro Miura? Eiichi Oda? Alex Jodorowsky? Moebius? Chuck Palahniuk?

Panjang Putih: Semua salah! Chokeslam! The Last Ride! Tombstone Piledriver! Clothesline from Hell!

Pendek Putih: Eh?

Panjang Putih: Eh? Hmmm. Ha-ah. Ye tak ye.

Masukkan lagu. Pasal ini muzikal.


Instructions on Back

When I'm going full steam ahead, please don't stand behind me and try to pull my plug off the wall socket.

I'm like an EVangelion. Powerful, but needs to be connected to an outlet. And don't try to backstab me. My back is full of knives and spears and whatever else already. Your machete won't fit.

I'm a pattern-recognizer. I see patterns. My own. Other people's. Some say I am paranoid. Manic-depressive. Or both. Well, it's not paranoia if it's true. And don't try denial.

And I AM manic-depresive. Big fucking deal. So what?

I am a creature of Despair. I believe that hope is poison. I believe that not caring is the key to intellectual freedom.

I am a world killer. I go to public toilets and dump a whole roll of tissue into the wastebasket. Killing the world, one tree at a time. I waste soap in RM2 toilets.

I leave the water running. Take that, global water reserves!

I would club a baby seal for five bucks. I would kill an elephant for 50 cents more. (Not including transportation, accomodation and tool fees.)

I smoke so that you will get cancer. I fart to contribute to more green house gas emissions. One day, my fart will set the whole world on fire.

I love prostitutes because they are perfect representations of what we're all doing - prostituting ourselves for money, power, control, recognition, attention and sex.

Prostitutes are just what we all are, boiled down to an empirical essence. Cut the bullshit and lose the office wear, slap on some clear heels, and we're all hos. Ready to bend over for whatever.

Please do not add drama. I come complete with my own drama. Inside my head.

Please do not try to control or manipulate. My mother tried, with baddddd consequences.

Am capable of murder. Suicide bombing a specialty. Will kill women and children indiscriminately. Believes in total equality.

Perempuan Masuk Syurga Yang Selayaknya Masuk Syurga (Hanya Bila Tiba Masanya)

Ada Orang Melayu yang Perasan Pandai (Pukimak) tanya aku, "Takkan takde Perempuan Masuk Syurga yang patut masuk syurga? Ko judge orang sesuka hati ko je. Orang tak judge ko pun."

Aku: Habis, yang ko buat sekarang ni bukan judge aku, ke Pukimak? Pukimak mak bapak ko. Bapak ko rogol bontot anjing.

Pukimak: Terima kasih.

Kemudian Pukimak pun senyum, ingat dia dah menang percutian percuma ke Pulau Tioman selama dua hari satu malam kot.

Pukimak: Takkan takde Perempuan Masuk Syurga yang masuk syurga? Jawab! Jawab!

Untuk Melayu macam Pukimak, perkataan jawab yang disertai tanda seru adalah satu jeritan kemenangan.

Aku malas nak terangkan kepada dia ketakpercayaan aku kepada benda-benda yang absolute. Macam Absolut Vodka. Aku tak suka. Arak. Haram. Tak best. Berdosa. Tak best.

Aku: Takde.

Aku tipu. Sekiranya Tuhan datang kepada aku dan mintak rekomen beberapa orang Perempuan Masuk Syurga untuk masuk syurga, aku ada senarai, sebenarnya.

Selain dari calon-calon biasa akibat nepotisme dan kronisme, aku juga kenal beberapa orang PMS yang layak masuk syurga, pada hemat aku.

1. Fatimah Abu Bakar

Ya, guru Bahasa Inggeris Akademi Fantasia tu.

Antara banyak-banyak perempuan bertudung, oops, maksud aku, PMS, dia sorang je yang nampak betul-betul tak kisah yang aku adalah Syaitan.

Dan selalunya, dia meluangkan masa untuk bercakap dengan aku, seolah-olah aku ni penting. Fatimah Abu Bakar benar-benar faham maksud menghormati orang lain sebagai manusia.

Ada satu kali, aku kena stay kat office baru aku sampai pukul 7 pagi. Aku terjumpa dia dekat tempat letak kereta, pukul 11 malam. Nak balik dah. Dia ada keluarga. Budak-budak yang perlukan bantuan kerja sekolah dan nak makan nasi malam-malam buta. Tapi dia sanggup luangkan masa setengah jam untuk bercakap dengan Syaitan. Dengan aku.

Aku dengan dia bercakap pasal Zainal Alam Kadir - mamat yang ajar aku Hikmat Kewartawanan Pembunuh Dewa - dan pasal filem yang aku nak buat dalam masa 7 tahun ni untuk menang Academy Awards.

Aku dengar cerita ramai orang pasal dia ni. Ada baik, ada gila. Dia pun manusia. Bukan malaikat. Tapi aku rasa dia baik.

Aku sebenarnya berhutang dengan dia satu artikel. Masa aku kat The Malay Mail dulu, aku sepatutnya tulis dua artikel pasal anak dia. Satu keluar suratkhabar, satu lagi tak, pasal aku dah hantyar surat letak jawatan sebelum aku hantar artikel kedua. Sampai hari ni takde.

Satu hari nanti, aku akan bayar balik apa yang aku hutang. Aku akan tulis satu artikel pasal dia atau anak dia. Pasal aku tak suka berhutang.

2. Fauziah Nawi

Sebab ini tema AF, aku pun nominate la Fauziah Nawi.

Aku tak kenal Fauziah Nawi ni sangat, mana tahu dia Syaitan macam aku. Tapi dia memang seorang yang aku lihat sentiasa penuh dengan kesayuan.

Dia buat Opera Ayu Cendana, satu lamunan melankolik mengenai nasib seorang anak seni. Klise dan sappy, tetapi aku berasa kasihan setiap kali aku menonton persembahannya.

Malah, riwayat Opera Ayu Cendana pun mirip dengan pandangan Fauziah Nawi pada takdir seorang artis.

Opera Ayu Cendana pertama kali dipersembahkan di hadapan Sultan. Penuh panggung setiap kali. Kemudian, semakin lama, semakin sikit orang yang meonontonnya, sampailah satu hari, aku menonton Opera Ayu Cendana di Panggung Bandaraya dengan hanya 11 orang yang lain. 6 daripadanya bekas pelakon Opera Ayu Cendana. 5 adalah kawan mereka (sorang takde awek. Loser!). Dan aku, jurnalis yang membuat liputan.

Bila Fauziah Nawi bercakap mengenai dunia seni, aku dapat rasakan pathos dan keserahan pada takdir gelap seorang seniman. Seniman agung macam aku. Satu hari nanti, hanya 11 orang akan datang ke pengkebumian aku. Itupun kalau aku tak sempat bakar mayat aku sendiri pasal taknak dimakan cacing.

Oleh sebab kesedihan yang dibawanya, aku nominate Fauziah Nawi sebagai PMS yang selayaknya masuk Syurga, hanya bila tiba masanya.

3. Habsah Hassan

Aku pernah jumpa dua kali sahaja. Namun, setiap kali aku jumpa, aku dapat rasakan seorang PMS yang berpengalaman dan berfikiran rasional.

Biasanya, PMS tak pernah rasional. Benda paling aku hargai dalam otak seorang perempuan ialah apabila dia boleh berfikir secara teratur. Tak kisah baik atau jahat. Yang ngengada atau cuba nak manipulate, pergi mampus.

Dan aku juga mendapat tahu, Habsah Hassan bukanlah sentiasanya PMS.

Tiga contoh ini, kalau masuk syurga, aku fikir takkan mentertawakan aku yang berada di bawah sana, dalam Neraka.

Mereka takkan berkata, sambil menari can-can, "Yey-yey! Aku masuk syurga! Yey-yey! Pantat mak kau! Ko setan! Yey-yey!"

Sebab kalau ada PMS yang buat macam tu, aku akan keluar dari Neraka, masuk Syurga, ambik si celaka yang kurang hajar sangat tu, dan tarik dia masuk Neraka sama dengan aku.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Tales from the Drunk Side: Metal Moliere

EDIT: SOme people said they thought I was writing about them. This is a generic post on general situations. And so, I edit:

And they never said, “Who-what ARE you?”

And so I never told them, “I am the Wolf Beneath the Tree. I am Fenris. I am Destruction.”

Them: You-you’re an apostate!

Me: Well, if you like. I prefer to consider myself as one who rejects Malaysian religious hypocrisy. What kind of God would imprison – nevermind. Who the fuck gives a shit anyway?

Them: We're going to Heaven.

Me: Ah, heaven, a concept for the simpletons to grasp so that they would do good. Do good, and God will reward you. Do bad, and you get hell. Real post-poned Pavlovian shit. So you are not doing good because you want to. You do things because you FEAR hell. Or the concept of hell. Not from the goodness of your heart. Hypocrite.

Them: I will dangle sex, money and powerr over you if you repent and be stupid, like me.

Me: I would rather bear the pain of truth than live in the bliss of denial. Better to rule in hell than to be sheep and serve in heaven. You know, Nit-Shit and all.

And then Some More NEVER busted the door and DID NOT start talking to the Them.

Some More: Hah! I shall only speak to her while ignoring you, denying you of attention and approval. Thus creating a group, an instance which you would love to be part of, but can’t, unless you repent and follow the example of ME. A sinner who will go to hell but pretends as if God will send me to Heaven.

Me: Ah. And WHY will I want to part of this shit?

SM: Because EVERYONE wants what I want – to belong somewhere. To be part of a group. To be cool.

Me: I don’t want that. And I find your attempt at manipulating me insulting to my intelligence. I didn’t even let my parents manipulate me or take credit for what I am. Why the fuck should you succeed?

SM: Because I am better than you. I am a victim. I love pain. I am better than you.

Me: But it is I who see the truth. It is I who was BORN with the gift. You lived all your life in denial.

SM: NO! I am right! I am NUMBER ONE! I cannot be NUMBER TWO! I cannot be WRONG! You will succumb to my manipulations. I will win. And I shall prove to myself that I am such a fucking victim.

Me: You don’t make any fucking sense at all. And your insecurities and how you treat people makes me want to puke. You condescending piece of shit.

Then I went to the Press Club. Where Jaka Denial smashed me behind the skull with a sledgehammer.

I would rather be called an apostate than bow down to the edicts of man disguised as words of God. What proof you have that God told you to imprison people and torture them for what they believe in?

What God would tell a people to separate a mother and child just cause she doesn’t believe in him/she/it? Is God that desperate for attention? Is God really that cruel? Evil?

What God would deny the nature of its creations? Create one thing and set the rules in opposition? Al Pacino, yo!

What God would write a book and not properly sign its name on it? Tell people to believe nonsensical rhymes and tell them to be hypocrites?

O, God, if you want me to be Satan, if you want me to be your Lucifer, then here I am. Give me my wings and give me my horns. Change my DNA so it would be made of fire instead of proteins.

Make me a heartless Tin Man. Make me a Metal Moliere, so I would mock your creation. Do not grant me human compassion, guilt or any of that shit. Make me evil. For once, define the lines of black and white. Truth and lies. And not make it a matter of perception.

Also sprach Zarathustra!

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Open the Gates

Now is the time for the sprint in the marathon.

Insert - KEYS! Activate interlocks! Infracells up! Dynatherms connected! Megathrusters are GO! Go Voltron Force!

Ramrod will now take navigational control. Acknowledge, April. Navigational control, On. Ramrod Challenge Phase, One. Head 'em up, Move 'em out. Powerstrike, and ready to ride.

Combine OK! Combine OK! Let's COMBINE!

Raideeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennn!!! Rai-Rai-Rai-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennn!!! Ummmmm. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! Rai-DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNN!

Let's Getta-IN! Switch Getta Dragon, Switch, ON!

Ancient Spirits of EEEEEVIL! Transform this decaying form into AMIR HAFIZI - THE EVARRRR LIVIIIIIIIIIIINGGG!

Give me the muscle! The MIGHT! Of MONSTAR!!!

A whim, a thought, and more is sought. Awake my mind, thy will be wrought!


Let nothing stand in my way.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Emo Shit: The Wrath of Cunt

Iiiiii don't wanna grow up! I'm an Ann Summers Kid...

The emotion for today is...anger!

I don't know why, but ever since I got to work in the morning, I became extremely irritable.

No, I didn't shout at anyone or slapped them or castrated them, spayed them or anything, but throughout the entire day, all I could feel (and this is without a heart, mind you) was anger.

Pure, white, incandescent anger. For no reason.

I struggled to contain my anger within me, lest I explode and injure innocent bystanders.

I was so angry, so full of wrath, that after work, I went and bought myself a knife. It's a stupid everyday Italian-made utility knife. Ten bucks. Three-years warranty.

Then I went and bought some tomatoes. Cameronian. And some lettuce. Cheese. A loaf of wholemeal bread.

Then I took a cab, went home, sliced the tomatoes with a knife, opened a can of tuna, washed the lettuce and fixed myself two tuna-lettuce-tomato-cheese sandwiches. A combination I had doubts to, but I must say is quite nice. It works.

Man, I don't want to grow up. I wished that when I was born, I immediately turned 40. To prepare for death. I wish that I could have experience, without experience.

If I could rate myself today, I'd give a passing mark of 82. I didn't let the anger interfere with my work, but I also did not use it to motivate me further anyway. And some people - the sensitives - could sense my anger. They stayed away. Or didn't get in my way.

I don't know. I don't know why I was angry today, for a full entire day. I was really, really, angry. The thing about growing up is learning to contain and control your stupid fucking emotions.

I hate growing up. I'd rather be dead than to grow up. But for the past couple of years, I grew up a lot. I had to. Giant, behemoth-sized responsibilities were heaped on me. Some of them my own, others well, because SOME people decided not to be responsible for their shit and their lives and SOMEBODY had to take care of it. I am no longer responsible only for myself, but also other people. It's not an easy job.

But I'll be damned if I let any of this emo shit get to me. I am the best. The greatest. I am the king of kings. The genius (who would also like to be a whore).

But first, the daily porn...

Iiiiii don't wanna grow up! I'm an Ann Summers Kid...

Tales from the Drunk Side: Pinot Noir Aftermath

Tonight, I met a friend who will be migrating next month.

Weird. I was the one who wanted to migrate but he is the first to go. See, I got me two interview with the UN a few weeks back.

I said no to the second interview, cause my father had his third stroke. I don't expect him to understand what I let go in order to be here. I mean, Malay parents always expect sacrifice from their children. Like they're entitled to it or some shit.

Well, I never asked to be born, and my life is my own. I am doing this simply because I decided to. Not because I want to be Malay or some shit.

See, the thing I hate most with Malays is the sense of community, this need to belong with a bunch of people. With a history or whatever shit. It's not just the Malays, but almost every race anyway.

I have no faith in people, but I believe in the individual. Alone, the individual is smart, interesting, simple and elegant. Together with other people, they're stupid. Like a herd of cows. Fucking cattle.

I mean, if there was a fire, ONE person in a building can get out safely, but 4,000 will trample each other to death.

People are stupid. Individuals are smart.

All my life, I have never wanted to be part of something that will follow me even when I am shitting.

I'm all for teamwork, but this need, this insecurity to have to belong with some shitty race is fucking stupid.

I hate traditions. Why do people do it? Because some assholes did it in the past? Fuck you, you fucking sons of bitches.

I work with other people, but I walk alone. I'm not a fucking Liverpool fan.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Malaysia's Next Top Model

I have found my dream vocation. I am going to be an underwear model.

Not just ANY underwear model, I'm gonna do only ONE ad a year - for Victoria's Secret's Victor's Secret Lingerie for Men. The straight ones. No homo ads for me.

Yeah. Cause I'm worth it.

Me: Check out these pecs, baby, uh-uh.

Bitch: Oh My God! It's that guy from Conan the Librarian Victoria's Secret's Victor's Secret Lingerie for Men ad campaign. Conan the Librarian - the perfect melding of brains and brawn! *Faints*.

Slut: He's beautiful! And he's not gay! *Dies*.

Cunt: Me love you long time! For free! No! I PAY YOU! *Explodes*.

I'd be like Marky Mark, but sexier. Tyson Beckford can (figuratively) kiss my ass.

Then they'd invite me to become a judge on America's Next Top Model All Stars.

Tyra Banks: Next, we have noted nude photographer Mr Amir Hafizi. He is also the greatest that was, the greatest that is, and the greatest that ever will be.

Twiggy: And now, ten hours of worship for this modelling God. Followed by a pious orgy.

Me: You're not invited, Diva Runway Coach Miss J Alexander. Go fuck Jay Manuel. And that Nigel Barker closet homer-sexual dude. And Jade. I fucking hate Jade.

Miss J Alexander: Awwww.

Jay Manuel: THIS time, I be the woman.

The Demon Writer of Bukit Jalil

There was a writer and his dream
And she was beautifoooool...

Using Racial Stereotypes as a Solution to the Racial Stereotype Problem

I am going to win the Academy Awards in seven years time, but you guys haven't started building my statue yet.

Honestly, I don't know what the fuss is all about. You know, racism this, racism that.

Fuck all that shit. We have enough diversified skills between all of us to take the world by the balls, and all we do is sit and bitch and try to take each others money.

All I hear now is NEP this, and NEP that.

I mean, come ON, motherfuckers. Get with the programme. Why don't you use your stereotype and fucking gain advantage from them?

The Chinese, to push them into a box, are great financial people and organisers. The best managers for inanimate objects I know are Chinese.

Meanwhile, the most creative people I know are Malays. You need to be lazy to be motivated to come up with the most energy-saving solutions. And Malays are lazy. So what? You got a problem with that, you soulless son of a bitch? We're the most creative people on the planet. And the most easily adaptable to any situation.

Consider this: Malays who have never been to the States or the UK can talk in slang and sound authetic. Or they could just watch Smallville, or go there for a weekend holiday and come back as if they were born there. Other races don't sound authentic. Best they could do is sound like they're second-generation immigrants.

I'm not saying absolutes, just in general.

As for the Indians? Well, they're gonna get US$4 Trillion and British citizenship, so they got no problems. The Brits take care of their own.

Anyway, my point is, rather than whack each other on the head with racial stereotypes, why don't use that as an advantage to take over the world?

I mean, some racists call the Chinese greedy. No, they're not greedy. They're financially educated. They're driven.

Some people call Malays lazy. No they're not. They're creative. They know what's important in life - enough rest.

You combine them together, and you get a mini me - a people who are creative and know how to market their talent.

What we need is like, a film studio and have all the races working together like in some Petronas commercial.

The Chinese manage the finances and general management, the Malays handle the creative content shit, and the Indians can ensure no hanky-panky. A check and balance thing.

Together, the Malaysian race can win the Academy Awards, the Golden Globes, several Emmys, etc. I mean, instead of getting a DUtch company like Endemol become the biggest content providers in the world, why not we take over instead? I mean, what does Holland has that we don't? Aside from Arjen Robben, that is. And Rafael van der Vaart. And Heineken.

I see this happening in a lot of companies in Malaysia, but I hardly see it in the top brass. The philosophy is still not in place. There're too much distrust.

STupid Barisan.

Why not include the Indians in the NEP? Minus the mini-Gods in their second-hand Mercedes of course. Instant MIC revival. Hell, why not the poor Chinese as well. Why? Cause there are no poor Chinese. But you can claim that the Chinese are not neglected since their poor are also under NEP. Instant MCA revival.

THEN abolish the NEP with a social security thing in its place.

Stupid opposition.

Why not be SEEN as the bigger men and women and extend an olive branch to the motherfuckers? Elections are over. Get over it. Start working.

Why can't we work together at the highest Government level? I think it's stupid.

I'll consider a non-Malay PM, as long as it's not Jeff Ooi. Get that kid with the hot sister up there. Wassisname. Nat Tan. I'd vote for him. Then get it on with his sister. Instant KJ.

How about an Indian PM? Samy Vellu? No way, Jose Antonio Reyes! Reshmonu? Mmmm. Naaaaaaahhh. Oh, wait, British citizens can't become Malaysian Prime Ministers.

We should be able to do this on ALL levels and kick some ass. Hell, I'm kicking ass right now. Wanna join me?

I am Such a Genius

Why do I have to do everything myself?

You stupid fucking politicians. Not even a month after the March 8 elections, and you guys still suck.

I mean, where are the giant robots and naked chicks and shit? What's with all this politicking? Oh. Sorry. I forgot. You're politicians.

Okay, fine.

Anyway, INSTEAD of fighting among yourselves and vying for positions, why can't our politicians fight the future?

I mean, no one talks about hydrogen fuel-cell cars and I just don't get it.

In today's modern technology, we have cars that run on air. Fucking air, foo!

As well as flying cars. Yup. We have them. Today. Now.

So imagine flying cars that run on air. AIR! Or hydrogen fuel-cell. Using Li-Ion, of course. That's Lithium Ion, foo!

The advantage of using hydrogen fuel-cell cars is that after a few miles, you can plug it into your house. Not to recharge, but to power up your house. Excess electricity can then be sold to TNB. So instead of getting a bill from TNB every month, YOU send THEM a bill.

Hydrogen fuel-cell is THAT efficient. Given our penchant for setting records, why aren't we the first country to completely use hydrogen fuel-cell cars on the roads? Or at least hydrogen fuel-cell cabs. Or Hydrogen fuel-cell airport cabs?

Talking about cabs, a lot of cabs switched to LNG already. Why aren't all cars NGVs? Why aren't we letting ALL petrol stations to put up LNG refuelling pumps? If Petronas wants a monopoly, let them. But make sure that every Petronas petrol station has an LNG pump.

And then, there's this.

A friend of mine told me recently that his friend, a woman, was beaten up by her husband. Big fucking deal, right? I mean, divorce is the best medicine for the disease we all call marriage.

So this woman, right, she lodged a police report. You know what happened? The police laughed in her face.

I suggest that all abused women start poisoning their husbands. I mean, if the police won't do anything except laugh their heads off, and our politicians are too busy fighting for part posts, just go and poison the fuckers.

Best yet, get him hooked on drugs. Then it would be easy to just OD the motherfucker. A clean murder. Blame it on the stupid junkie.

Man, I was having a hard-on with all the new line-ups and shit. I was waiting for the new Parliament and new state governments to descend from their Halls of Justice and kick some ass, Justice League style.

I expected them to come down from the mountains and bring Ten Commandments from God. I expected a parting of the Selat Teberau.

I expected them to fulfill their campaign promises, should they win, and they did.

Anyway, fuck the manifestos. we all know it was ahalf-hearted attempt anyway. Oil prices have not gone down, you fucking LIARS! Prices of nothing has gone down, unless they're listed on Carrefour's whatever promotions shit.

I expected Gods to walk the earth. I expected superheroes.

Instead, these politicians are just that - politicians. Just open your eyes and ears for any big spending by any of the political parties. A new this or a new that. A few million dollar purchases here and there, a few Monica Lewinsky scandals and the mighty righteous motherfuckers who claim to be on the side of the true and just will be revealed as just another bunch of opportunistic liars.

Man, I am such a genius. You guys should make me a senator. I'll make sure this country is so fucking good. And then my sex-tape will come out. But not before I create an off-shore account with USD400 million in it.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

National Pornographic Sexplorer

Dust the Phuket signal! And shine it up the night sky.

I am going to Phuket this June. These will be two extremely busy months, April and May.

After that, I am going to get some leave and Phuket, here I come. I also have to go and see my parents. Their health is failing and shit. But first, Phuket.

Aw, man. I miss Motherland.

The plan was to go to Bangkok, but I'm taking some friends this time and I am the designated tourist guide. I figure they've done all the regular family entertainment touristy shit before and are looking to me to guide them through the red light reverie.

Though I do want to try out the shooting range this time. Heard they have AK-47s or some shit. I need to refresh my terrorist training. Just in case, you know.

By that time, I'll also look more like Conan the Librarian. Ngeh ngeh ngeh. That's another project I am currently executing to the letter.

The Demon Writer of Bukit Jalil 2

There was a writer and his dream
and it was beautiful...
A foolish writer and his dream.
It was his reason and his scream...
and it was beautiful, and it was curvaceous.
And he was...hornyyyyy...

There were other men who saw
That it was beautiful...
Politicians, Malays, Gays and vultures of the law
Who, with a gesture of their claws
Removed the writer from the cunt!
And there was nothing but to punt!
And it would fall!
So soft!
So young!
So lost and oh so beautiful!

Then I became a serial killer. I killed everyone.

A Real Malaysian Hero

So the Astro guy came to my house a few weeks ago to have it set up.

When he left, I also went down to have dinner at the clubhouse of my apartment compound.

There were these Nigerian kids - students, mostly, loitering around.

So one of them asked me for a light and said, "So youy have Astro now?"

Me: Yeah. Why? You want the number of the guy who set it up?

Nigerian: No, I just want to say that here, in Malaysia, there is only ONE Astro. In Nigeria, we have six. One not good. Six is good. Nigeria better.

Me: Yeah? Well, you're a student, right? How many Nigerian students are here in Malaysia?

Nigerian: Quite a lot. At my college alone, we have -

Me: Oh, that's a lot. Pray, tell me then, how many Malaysian students are in Nigeria?

He then left to smoke somewhere else.

Ooh! Face! You just got pwned, motherfucker! I r0x0rz j0r b0x0rz!

War on Drumsticks

It's no longer fun to make fun of UMNO or any Barisan politician. Their time has passed. They took all they could and are now fucked.

Even the Opposition are facing problems in their parties. Like, Lim Kit Siang, foo! Haha. Geddit? Foo?! Political insider joke.

Anyway, Rocky just had to write, 'fuck you, Lim Kit Siang', and the old man just shut the fuck up.
There are no more stupid statements made by politicians. I was flipping through the Sunday newspapers today and I couldn't find anything good on the comics section (Nation, Local news, blablabla) or the front page.

Therefore, I will now shift my focus and declare a Crimson Jihad on drumsticks.

It all started yesterday when my dentist botched an attempt to fill a cavity I have and hit a nerve. I never had a problem with that cavity, until he botched the job and I am now taking painkillers.

So I did what I always do when I get a toothache - I went for lunch.

The nearest was a McDonald's restaurant. I went in and ordered the fried chicken. They gave me two thighs. I hate thighs. I love Thais, but I hate thighs.

So I said:

Me: I don't want this. I would like to exchange it for -

Cashier: We are out of drumsticks.

Me: What?

C: Drumstick no more aready!

Me: I do not like drumsticks. I HATE drumsticks with the intensity of a thousand suns. The world will rue the day when I get served a drumstick. I will reverse the Big Bang if you ever try to serve me a drumstick. No! No DRUMSTICKS!

C: Wings?

Me: Okay.

The thing is, what the fuck is it with the drumsticks? They're the stupidest part of a chicken, except for its anus and neck.

And to ASSUME that I, me, the Demon Writer of Bukit Jalil, will actually WANT a drumstick, to prefer it over any and all other parts of a chicken? Outrageous!

People who like drumsticks are stupid. People who would pay an extra 30 cents for a stupid drumstick when you can have boobs for the original price are not worth living.

I wouldn't even serve drumsticks to dying, starving Africans, back in the 80s. Now they're all playing for Chelsea.

African: Slowly...dying.

Me: Sorry, bitch. Those dumb Yanks only air-dropped Kentucky Fried Drumsticks. Assholes! You don't want to eat these.

African: Ahhhh! My stomach digesting itself. I need...nutrition. Give me...the drumstick.

Me: NO! I'm burying it now, so you won't eat this piece of shit.

African: *Dig* *dig* *dig* ...I found it...fooood.

Me: Stop eating that!

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

Me: Damn it. Now I got sand in my Desert Eagle. On the flip side, HEY FELLAS! We finally got meat!

Back in the late 90s, some Hongkies tried to genetically engineer chickens with four legs to cope with the demand for drumsticks.

I will genetically engineer chicken with wheels for legs to erode supply of this heinous, barbaric chicken part.

And then I will pilot a military plane and destroy the largest chicken farms in the world.


If I see you eating a drumstick, I will shove it up your ass. Beware the danger of drumsticks.

NEXT: Amir Hafizi - the Demon Writer of Bukit Jalil

Samurai Spirit

I have always been an admirer of Japanese culture. Especially Samurais. I find their single-mindedness when it comes to getting things done is something that speaks to my mystiocal proverbial, figurative, ephemereal heart. If I ever had one.

I'm talking, of course, the type of Samuria made popular by pop culture, not the real thing. I am not really sure how the real this is, by the stereotype is good enough for me.

A Samurai is driven by honor. At one point in my life, I had no honor, and that period in my life taught me how important it is to live by a code of honor.

At work, the most important thing you have is not your position, job title, perience, paycheque or even your skills. It is your integrity. You work you entire life to put forth a kata, an image, a brand, a representation of yourself in which your words mean gold. This is integrity. This is honor.

Sadly, for some people, it is merely an image. As long as they can fool people, trick them, lie to them, pretend they're something else, they believe that they've won.


A lot of people live in denial. That DAP is not racist. That Anwar is okay. That they're right. That they're better than me. That I won't go after the money they owe me. That I want a piece of their ass.

A Samurai does not give a fuck about all these concerns. A Samurai will have focus.

Like now, the whole world, the universe is falling away from me. There is only darkness, and then there is me.

There is my work. My great work. And I need to finish it. There can be only one result. That I finish it. And it will be fucking fantastic.

I don't care if I do not go to sleep. I do not care if my lungs start bleeding. I do not care if a nine-tailed demon fox were to jump in from the window and bite my arms off.

I do not care what the price is. I do not care who has to pay it. I need to fucking finish this. And I need to do it now.

This is my integrity. This is my honor.

But first, the daily porn.

Semusim di Syurga: Percubaan Menjadi Melayu 2

Ada beberapa orang yang berkata bahawa penulisan Bahasa Malaysia aku tak sehebat penulisan Bahasa Inggeris aku.

Aku rasa, betul juga.

Bukti 1:

Aku tak pernah 'ayat' awek Melayu. Awek New Zealand pernah, awek Ostolia pernah, Awek Thailand ramai, awek Indonesia pun ada. Awek Cina. Awek Kadazan. Awek Melayu tak pernah.

Apasal? Pasal aku, dalam kehidupan sebenar, tak reti sangat nak menipu. Dan bercakap 'I-You'.

Aku: I dara lagi.

Perempuan Masuk Syurga: Dara? I nak isap konek you!

Aku: I tak reti buat dosa. Hihi.

PMS: I nak jilat jubur you!

Aku: I baik, tau?

PMS: Kembaaaang cipap I mendengarnya. I nak you masukkan zakar you dalam dubur I. Biar bunyi cip-cap, cip-cap kedengaran, dan biarkan kote you terbenam dalam dubur I sampai ke pagi.

Aku tak boleh! Bukan tak boleh memasukkan zakar ke dalam dubur, tapi membina ayat-ayat yang mampu membuatkan aku memasukkan zakar ke dalam dubur perempuan Melayu.

Tapi, demi kerja aku yang semakin lama membabitkan semakin banyak penggunaan Bahasa Malaysia, aku telah memutuskan untuk mengeraskan diri, er, maksud aku mengeraskan niat dan terus berlatih Bahasa Malaysia sampai aku menjadi manusia paling hebat dalam penulisan Bahasa Malaysia dan Bahasa Inggeris.

Sayugiya, sekonyong-konyongnya, bermulalah bulan ini dan bulan berikutnya sebagai bulan-bulan Bahasa Malaysia bagi aku.

Walaupun mega mendung berarak seperti beberapa lakh lasykar jin kayangan menunggang kuda saga, aku akan tetap berdiri, maksud aku, duduk di sini dan memapankan penggunaan Bahasa Malaysia aku.

Aku akan menulis beberapa ayat yang akan aku gunakan untuk memikat dubur, eh, hati awek-awek Melayu. Kalau berjaya, maksudnya aku sudah lulus. Kalau aku mula bosan, maksudnya aku sudah lulus juga.

1. Gatal ke? Boleh I raba-raba?

2. You nak berjimak dengan I?

3. I nak susu badan?

4. You nak jilat jubur I tak?

5. Konek I best, perasa jagung.

6. Kalau I rogol mulut you, you repot polis tak?

7. You tau tak, dosa-dosa kecil semua terlerai lepas you kemam batu I.

8. You pernah rasa masuk timun dalam faraj? Sejuuuuk!

9. Bulu ari-ari you dah cukur belum? Nak I trimkan?

10. Dubur you ni boleh masuk Maggi perisa TomYam lagi lima bungkus ni.

11. Bila you hisap konek I, boleh tak you nyanyi pitching tinggi sikit? Kasi getar. I boleh sumbat bateri dalam dubur you.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Tomorrow Never Dies

So last Wednesday, I told my boss:

Me: Hey, nigga, I gots me an appointment with a dentist today. So Imma make like a tree and get the fuck outta here. Don’t call me, foo!

Boss: Shittt-dogg! Go forth, me son. And don’t come back without super pearly whitey-tighteys.

So I took a cab and went to my old hood - Bangsar. Went to the dental clinic, only to be greeted by the receptionist.

Me: I am the two o'clock appointment?

Receptionist: Oh, the dentist took a half day. He has a toothache.

Me: What? I had this appointment a month ago!

R: Can you come tomorrow?

Me: No, I can't come tomorrow. I'm working. 9-5. 10-6. Whatever. I can't come on Thursday. Can I come on Saturday?

R: Yeah, okay, here's a spot. 10.30am. Is that okay?

Me: Yeah, okay. Damn, I set this appointment up last MONTH. Couldn't you at least called me last week or yesterday and say that the fucking dentist has a toothache?

R: We tried, this morning. But we couldn't get you. Would you like to come tomorrow?

Me: No, I can't come tomorrow. I'm working. Remember? And I need an MC cause my boss will flip when he finds out I don't have an MC.

R: It was a new girl who called you. And we can't give you an MC, cause the dentist is not here. Can you come tomorrow?

Me: No! I can't come tomorrow! I have a job! I do not exist simply to become a patient. I am a three-dimensional character! I have a life aside from being a patient to your dentist. I cannot come tomorrow. Today, I had to get a day-off, planned it since last week.

R: Okay...can you come tomorrow?

Me: NO! I! CAN'T! COME! TOMORROW! What part of that don't you understand? You want me to speak like William Shatner? I. CANNOT. COME. TOMORROW. BECAUSE. I. HAVE. A. JOB. AND. A. REAL. LIFE.

R: Hmmmm. Can you come tomorrow?

Me: ...

R: ...

Me: ...

R: ... Because tomorrow, the doctor will be in.

Me: Look, why don't you call me tomorrow.

Then I left, and found a dental clinic across the road and was told that the cost for repairing my teeth would be over a thousand bucks. And I have to go every week for a month.

"Don't worry," he said, "You can always pay me installments."

Yeah. Crap.

Curing AIDS

I just saw America's Next Top Model Cycle Who cares?

And according to America's Next Top Model, 40 million people are affected by AIDS in Africa. 25 million will die, are dying or are already dead. And that's just Africa. What about Singapore? Man.

Anyway, I don't know why AIDS is such a big deal to cure. I mean, the only thing you have to do is kill the original guy who got AIDS. Yeah, the guy who fucked the monkey that gave him AIDS. Or the stewardess who got raped by a monkey.

Take a wooden stake, and drive it through his heart. Done. Poof. Bam! No more AIDS. Everbody cured. Or, expose him to sunlight.

What the AIDS council and GLAAD need to do is round up some Gaywalkers and send them to find this guy, the original AIDS guy. During the day cause he only wakes up at night.

Get to his coffin, open it, and put a wooden stake through his heart. Hugh Jackman can help, and Sarah Michelle Gellar as well, and Kate Beckinsale and Wesley Snipes.

Done. Problem solved. I am such a genius. I don't know how you people can survive without me.

Le Poete Maudit

They won't understand. You won't understand. No one will.

Those thoughts dominatrixed my head when I wrote Puni Puni Poonani around a year ago. The subtle (yet obvious) references to Puni Puni Poemy, an anime as well as Ali G's frequent use of the word 'poonani' (n. slang. vagina. cunt. pussy. KJ).

Neither would they get me writing Datuk Seri S Samy Vellu as Pretty Soldier Samy V as a parody to Pretty Soldier Sammy and Sailor V animes.

And it's pronounced Ah-KNEE-may, foo! Not ah-neem, not ah-neim. Bunch of fucking idiots. Retards.

And Conan the Librarian was a REAL comic...strip. But a comic book nonetheless.

And the line 'I will play you like guitar and you will sing like cucaracha' is from Sinfest, made by the greatest stripper er comic strip artist ever: Tatsuya Ishida. It means, 'I will play you like guitar and you will sing like a cockroach'.

Rimbaud and Rambo are homonyms, as well as homosexuals, foo! See? Yeah, yeah, in German is da, da. Sweet mother of Zodd.

Knights of Bukkake is from Knights of Bushido, foo! Scourge of the Swastika? Anything? What the fuck did they teach you in school?

All the intricate, layered tapestry to my writings. All the meta. All the references. Who could ever understand such genius?

Ah. I am wasted among humans. Woe is me. Boo fucking hoo.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Berukera Dari Planet Zargus

And now! Presenting!

The music that has been playing in my head all day today:

Four Seasons (Vivaldi yeah-yeah)

Spring I Allegro!

RRRRrret tet te teretet!
Teretet tet tet tereteeeee
Teretet teretet te-teeee.

RRRRrret tet te teretet - te!
teretet teretet tereteee
Teretet teretet te-teeee.

(Repeat sampai mati)

Semusim di Syurga: Rimbaud vs Rambo

Semusim di Syurga ialah tribute untuk Semusim di Neraka.

Penulisan Bahasa Malaysia pertama yang mencelikkan mata aku bahawa Bahasa Malaysia juga boleh cool dan popular. Sebelum tu, bila aku dengar Bahasa Malaysia, aku ingat filem Yusof Haslam.

Tapi, kalau Mikon/Ahmad Kamal Abu Bakar, penulis Semusim di Neraka sukakan Rimbaud, aku nak sukakan Rambo pulak.

Rimbaud: Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.

Rambo: Ooh. Uuh. Uh-uh-uh. Ngwarrrrrrnkkkkenooooooo! Uhhhhhhhh. Oh.

Rimbaud: Once, I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

Rambo: Uhuhuhu. NgwaaaaarrrK! Oh. Uh. Snort. Mumble. Grumble.

Rimbaud: I! I who fashioned myself a sorcerer or an angel, who dispensed with all morality, I have come back to earth.

Rambo: Uh-uh-uh aaa-aaa-aaaAAAKKK!

Rambo! The missing link between man and ape! Rambo yang dahagakan darah dan otak bersepai! Rambo yang baginya, peluru merupakan ubat. Rambo yang mempertahankan Mujahidin di Afghanistan, walalupun gay pasal sukakan budak lelaki Afghan.

Rambo! Yang beromen dengan perempuan Thai. Eh, Vietnam.

Kalau Rambo lawan Rimbaud, mesti Rambo menang, pasal Rambo Green Beret. Rimbaud setakat Enfant terrible je. Kena sepak sekali, mampus.

Semusim di Syurga: Proses Memelayukan Diri

Aku dalam proses memelayukan diri. Jadi aku letak lagu Samsons – Bukan Diriku dalam queue winamp 19 kali. Sambil tu jiwang tak tentu pasal kat awek yang tak jawab bila aku tanya dia suka aku ke tak.

Ya, adik-adik! Kalau nak jadi Melayu, kena jiwang sambil dengar lagu band Indonesia pasal orang kat Indonesia cool dan popular, berjaya jadi Kristian walaupun Melayu, walaupun yang sampai kat sini kita layan macam sampah. Sampai pergi KLCC pun TV3 cap sebagai gejala sosial. Hapakejadahnya gejala sosial setakat lepak kat taman? Minum kopi mahal? Kalau orang Malaysia buat, tak apa. Tapi kalau orang Pakistan yang lelakinya saling berpegangan tangan buat?

Aku ingat nak beli spek itam, pastu tengok tetek perempuan yang lalu depan aku. Maka lengkaplah proses memelayukan aku kot?

Hari tu masa aku balik kampung untuk mengundi pada Pilihanraya Umum ke-12, makcik aku tanya aku soalan klise: ”Bila nak kahwin?”

Aku: Lepas kaya.

Makcik: Mir, Amir nak kaya sebab apa?

Aku: Nak pergi Phuket sebulan. Bangkok setahun.

Makcik: Apa dia?

Aku: Takde pape. Nak bebas. Nak beli kebebasan, supaya tak jadi hamba abdi lagi. Nak jadi orang merdeheka yang senang untuk menderhaka.

Makcik: Ish ish ish. Bila nak kahwin?

Aku: Kahwin perlukan duit. Saya taknak kahwin, lepas tu hutang sampai 50,000, 100,000, kerja 15 tahun nak bayar hutang bodoh tu je. Nak bagi orang makan.

Aku: Lepas tu, kalau ada anak, nak mampus? Kalau nak masukkan anak tu dalam universiti tempatan, dalam masa 20 tahun lagi, mahal. Tengok ye, sekarang ni pun kos dalam 30-40 ribu. Tu pun dengan subsidi tu. Kalau kerajaan masa tu dah pakai meritokrasi penuh, dan memandangkan keputusan pilihanraya sekarang, memang akan jadi camtulah, mau nak RM100,000 untuk ijazah yang lame macam sastera or falsampah.

Aku: Tu baru IPTA. IPTS? Kalau budak tu ngengada nak belajar kat Ostolia yang lame? Pasal nak dating dengan mat salleh? Nak pakai tattoo? Nipple-ring? Clit-piercing? Mau tak mahal bil hospital lepas benda tu kena jangkitan?

Makcik: La khawala wala khuwata illa billah! Masa makcik dulu, nak beranak, ada je dapat rezeki mana-mana, Mir.

Aku: Tu namanya tak bertanggungjawab. Beranak merata, lepas tu tak reti jaga. Bodoh. Macam kucing. Monyet. Ungka. Cenekah (spesis monyet yang bermuka putih dan berbadan hitam – boleh dijumpai semasa kenduri kahwin, biasanya betina dan duduk atas pelamin). Siamang Gagap. Kulop Tunggal.

Makcik: Yenna!

Kilat dan petir sabung menyabung (dalam kepala hotak makcik aku la). Pasal aku dah melanggar tertib orang Melayu – tak boleh sangkal hak nak beranak tepi jalan macam anjing. Jubur takde plag. Takde penyumbat.

Aku biasa gaduh dengan perempuan Melayu, terutamanya PMS – Perempuan Masuk Syurga.

Aku ahli neraka, memang tak ngam dengan perempuan-perempuan yang nak masuk syurga. Syurga bukan cita-cita aku. Syurga hal Tuhan, bukan hal aku. Hal aku ialah sewa rumah, bil telefon, bil Astro, bil air, bil api. Hal aku ialah pakai kondom sebelum beromen. Keselamatan dahulu sebelum jolok jubur.

Tuhan takkan pakaikan kondom pada kaum yang tak pakai kondom sendiri. Tuhan takkan bayar bil telefon kaum yang tak bayar bil sendiri.

Apa, kau ingat kau undi PIS-M(PAS), Tuhan pergi bank-in kat Maxis pakai Maybank2u? Ko gila?

Aku bukan malaikat. Bukan wali. Bukan nabi yang boleh berdoa, lepas tu Tuhan kasi tambah manna dari langit. Aku bukan Rasul yang boleh belah laut. Aku takleh tukar tongkat jadi ular. Takleh bawak turun bulan lepas tu masukkan dalam lengan baju kiri, keluar pecah dua kat lengan belah kanan.

Aku orang biasa. Yang kacak. Dan seksi. Yang nakkan duit. Yang nakkan pantat untuk ditutuh. Yang rindukan ngelusan berahi perempuan di sebelah aku. Yang sukakan bibir perempuan membelai bibir aku sambil lidah aku main batu seremban dengan lidah dia. Aku ada nafsu. And proud of it.

Aku menyampah kalau ada perempuan yang dah kahwin, atau worse, kahwin dan ada anak, dan kemudian fikir dioranglah manusia paling best dalam dunia. Pasal cipap dah kena robek dengan budak 3 kilo.

Lepas tu asyik cakap macam-macam kat lelaki macam aku. Lelaki jujur yang tak berselindung di balik ’cahaya keimanan’. Aku tak pernah menidakkan dosa yang aku buat. Dah buat, buatlah. Apa nak cover-cover. Tuhan yang tentukan masuk syurga atau neraka, bukan jiran sebelah.

Itu ko kata best? Burit mak kau lah.

Kesimpulannya, aku rasa aku selama-lamanya takkan diterima sebagai Melayu tulen. Tak kira banyak mana aku dengar lagu Samsons. Tak kira banyak mana aku jiwang karat dengan perempuan Melayu yang lebih suka tidur dengan laki orang dari tidur dengan aku, ahli neraka. Pasal diorang masuk syurga. Walaupun sehelai rambut terdedah pada yang bukan muhrim, 50,000 tahun dibakar api neraka. Apa, ko ingat aku tak belajar agama? Ko ingat aku tak boleh judge ko lepas ko judge aku macam sial? Apa tak judge? Everybody judges, foo! Whether kau live in denial atau tak. Itu je.

Sah. Memang aku bukan Melayu. Tak dapat baja free.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Righteousness (Or a Sermon in Thunder)

I don't need people to tell me that I'm right. I KNOW I'm right.

There. That's it. Good night. And may you fucking die in your sleep.


This is something I rarely tell people.

Years ago, as part of my training, I went to all these charity homes. As a volunteer. For three months, I went to old folks' homes, orphanages, houses for kids with HIV, juvenile delinquency centers, homes for children with special needs. The works.

Actually, I didn't have to go to ALL the houses, but it was hard for me to find a place where I could actually do something.

First stop was something I thought would be least dirty - an old folks' home in Petaling Jaya.

I went there, sauntered in and asked the woman handling it, "So what do you need me to do - clean the drains, mop the floors, what?"

She said, "Well, I just want you to talk to them."

The old folks hardly get any visitors. They only talk among themselves, and most of them have lost their minds.

I sat down with a former sub-editor of NST. Indian guy. Can't remember his name. Don't want to remember his name. He was 72.

The man sat on his rocking chair, like Jackie Shroff, and he was mumbling gibberish. I was waiting for some sequence of numbers, so that I can play Magnum 4-D or the Jackpot, but all that came out was Benito Mussolini this and Tun Razak that and Mokhtar Dahari whatever. Halting speech, slurred pronunciation. All in perfect grammar, though.

"Alzheimer's," said the woman. Earlier, years ago, she had left her job at a bank and opened the old folks' home. She took the money from their pensions, and rationed their meals.

For a house filled with 40 people, you'd need RM8,000 for their food a month. That's not counting the wages of the nurses and cleaning staff. That one I remembered. I remember numbers. And food.

One Chinese guy kept telling me about his children and how they're going to pick him up next week. I went the week after, and he was still there. But he still kept photos of them. Black and white and sepia-toned stupid photos of small kids. They must be 50 by now.

One old Chinese lady was the headmistress of a school, and the other residents spoke of her with great pride, because they see being the headmistress as an honourable profession. They spoke favourably of her, as she screamed while the nurses sponge-bathed her and tried to pry her arthritic hands from the wooden chairs.

When I last left the place, she was still screaming quitely, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' like in one of those Gary Larson cartoons.

I went to orphanages, looking for hope. I painted the walls, washed the windows, set-up the networking for their computer room we begged IBM to give.

Most of the kids were Indians. I don't know why. I don't want to know.

I gave a kid a book. Orlando, by Virginia Woolf. Penguin Classics. Six bucks. He hugged my leg, not knowing that years later, the book will set him down the path of destruction as a drag queen.

One girl wanted to be a doctor or a nurse. I told her that selling pharmaceuticals can get her more money and shorter hours. I gave her a book I won when I was 15, when I entered a stupid interschool writing competition. Biofacts. It had cool pictures of red blood cells and juvenile salamanders. There was another book I won at the competition, The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahamme - a book he wrote for his son, before he died of fucking suicide. Grahamme drank himself to death or something. I don't know. Whatever. I didn't give that book away. I didn't care that much.

Most of these kids will grow up to join Hindraf. I don't have to worry about them because they're gonna get US$4 Trillion.

The worst, though, were the special needs kids. Imagine a boy, aged eight, blind and deaf and paralysed, abandoned by the parents since birth.

He can't talk. He can't walk. He can't see. The only thing anyone could do for him was to feed him, wash his shit and hold his hand as he waits for death. No one would kill him and end his suffering.

I mean, the kid couldn't talk, couldn't hear, couldn't walk, couldn't jack off to porn, couldn't board a plane and go to Phuket. What else is he gonna do? Crap out the Four Seasons? Write My Life? This ain't Helen Keller, foo! Helen Keller was not paralysed. This ain't no Disney movie.

What was so frustrating was that I couldn't do anything for the kid. I wish I could have killed him. Pushed down his favourite pillow or something down his throat. I can't teach him, I can't give him books. He's not even good looking, so that I can hawk him around for some faggots to fuck. He just lies there, waiting for his breathing to stop. Fucking A.

I was supposed to go for three months, but just after two weeks, it was becoming quite a chore. I hate talking to senile old people. I hate cleaning windows and debugging Windows. I hate washing the crap of some people.

And yet, now, years later, sometimes I think that is the only thing I do. Wipe the crap off someone's bum. Clean up the mess they made.

Nowadays, when I think I have too much responsibility, I look back to those days with the old folks, with the orphans, with the kids with special needs, and I am glad I am not the sucker who have to take care of them. I am thankful that I do not have that responsibility.

Aren't we lucky that we all are not responsible for wiping the drool and later the shit of an eight-year-old who can't see, hear or move on his own? That we're not responsible for telling an orphan that she will NEVER, EVER become a doctor, cause she's stupid and poor, that the world is not nice. That even geniuses become whores, albeit for a very good rate of GBP130 an hour. And there are people waiting, itching, outside the gates to tell you how much better they are than you? People who backstab. Liars. People like Milx who will borrow RM11,700 from you and never return them?

People who sabotage you for the sake of sabotage, in the name of sabotage. People who will break your trust.

People who want to look good, even though they're ugly both inside and out. Man, that's the worst.

Fuck, man. We're all so goddamn lucky we don't have to deal with that shit. So goddamn lucky we don't have THAT responsibility.

End of the three months, I walked away. I never looked back. I don't want to know.