Sunday, November 29, 2009

Almanak Masakan Bumi dan Langit: Szechuan Seared Cuisine

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

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

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

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

Akhirnya, makanan sampai.



Aku terbalikkan meja.

Aku: Cis! Penanak Nasi! Keluar kau!

Penanak Nasi: Apa kau nak?

Aku: Szechuan seared cuisine ko ni.

PN: Szechuan seared cuisine?

Aku: Claypot lah!

PN: Cakaplah claypot. Hah! Kenapa?

Aku: Sepatutnya, banyak kerak! Mana keraknya?

PN: Apasal nak kerak?

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

PN: mana kau tau semua ni?

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

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

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

PN: Banyak songel la ko!

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

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

Aku: Ahhhh! Monyet Mencuri Buah Pic!


Dan Penanak Nasi pun mati.

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

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Twits and Twats and Twilight Bites

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

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

Read about that and other stupid loser Twilight things here.

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

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

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

Like, hello?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pimpin' Cheepork

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

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

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

CAPTION: CHEEPORK giving 'em the finger

Here are Cheepork's vital statistics:

Name: Cheepork

Age: 29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Current Position: Managerial.

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

Dislikes: Politics, idiots, breeders, broken promises.

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

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

Has own transport and owns an apartment unit.

Any takers?

After Dark

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday, November 27, 2009

Last Night's Leftovers


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

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

It was a gay question.

Me: What a gay question.

Him: Yeah, I know, right?

Me: Can you be okay with being pathetic?

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

At this point, klaxons blared in my head.

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

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

Me: Okay. What happened?

So he told me, and I listened.

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

Him: Okay, so what should I do?

Me: About what?

Him: About me being depressed.

Me: Can you be okay with being depressed?

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

Me: Why are you depressed?

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

Me: Dude...

Him: Yeah?

Me: That's so fucking gay. JUDGMENT!

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

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

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

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

Him: Go ahead. You're depressed?

Me: Yeah, this is me being depressed.

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

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

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

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

Him: ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Tales from the Drunk Side: Freedom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freedom, baby. Freedom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The results of being obsessed with it are two things:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Ovid in Metamorphoses, as quoted by Neil Gaiman

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

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

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

- Lothair I, as quoted by Neil Gaiman

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

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

Another important aspect is marketing and positioning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homicide is better than homocide.

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

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

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Good Morning, Bitches!

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

What's happening today?

Work. More emails. More phone calls.

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

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

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

Twilight of the Superzeroes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here, let me try:

Child Prostitution? GOOOOOOD. GOOOD!

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

Ellie Yousef Najeem? GOOOOOD. GOOOD!

Nope. Nada.


Not a thing, man.

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, November 23, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They'll take advantage of you."

And they did.

His reaction was, "Oh well."

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

Sun Tzu is right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Person Shooter

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

As if I know the answer.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's one intro from Jeremy Clarkson:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read. Write. Finish what you write.

- Neil Gaiman (chaos be upon him)

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Wankathon Hypersigil: Fortress of Servitude

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

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

Food. Sex. Silence.

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


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

Mengasingkan diri dari dunia kepahlawanan, yo!

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

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

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

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

Localised Pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People point fingers all the time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good things grow from shit

- Joe's Apartment

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

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

The Chinese want to be Japanese or Korean.

The Indians want to be American Blacks.

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

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

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

Dude, I am speaking from experience.

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

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

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

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

A lot of this has to do with race.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Cracker ass cracker!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Am not calling for a boycott.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, November 21, 2009

World's End

The Mayans made a calendar that runs out in 2012.

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

I think the Mayans were just lazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was like:

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


*rushes to oncoming traffic*

*gets hit by the bus*

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

It's a waste of time, man!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world is dead. Long live the world.


Playing With Myself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Billy Idol, yo?

Not by the Hair on My Chinny Chin Chin

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

My uncle's Chinese.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Simply, no.

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

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

"But what about human rights?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris Rock said it best.

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

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

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

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

Buddha the Barbarian

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

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

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

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

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

You think this will offend Buddhists?

The Inverse Relations Between Age and Quantity of Dick-Sucking

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

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

Man, where were you when I was in college?

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

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

That's fucking harsh, okay?

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

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

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

Shit is the great equaliser. Everybody shits.

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

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

Me: My charm and good looks?

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

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

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

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

She: Secondly, you are of the marrying age.

Me: Ah, fuck that shit, man!

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

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

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

I guess Chris Rock was right.

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

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

Intermission: Wankathon Hypersigil

I just came back from the Press Club with a splitting headache.

Oh, woe is me! I'm in pain! Boo fucking hoo! Muahahahaha!

I am gearing myself up for the next step. While I do not live in the future anymore, I must do the preparations today.

This opportunity, I take to thank all my friends, the Academy, my family, God, etc. Those who were there when I needed them most. For those who were not there when I needed you most, fuck you. Without malice nor hatred, I say unto you: FUCK YOU.

I got no time for pretenders and fakers and motherfuckers. I got lots of work to do, man. Zero drama.

Suck my dick.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Masihkah Kau Ingat

Aku terperanjat bila ada orang Malaysia yang tak tau pasal Nurul Huda Abdullah.

Puteri Renang Negara. Puteri Emas Negara, kata Hasbullah Awang.

Hasbullah: Itu dia-h! Puteri Emas Negara, Nurul Huda Abdullah, merangkul satu lagi pingat emas sambil pencabar terdekatnya hanya mampu terkapai-kapai di situ.

Macamlah perenang lain tu tengah mati lemas.

Ini pula, Hasbullah Awang mengulas lumba basikal Le Tour de Langkawi.

Hasbullah: Pok amai-amai, belalang kupu-kupu; keluarnya ramai-ramai, baliknya satu-satu.

Aku terperanjat bila ada orang cakap, Nurul Huda tu orang Singapura. Aku pun dah nyanyuk, gamaknya.

Aku lebih terperanjat kalau ada yang boleh lupa Hasbullah Awang mengulas.

Ataupun Farid Ismeth Emir membaca Dunia Jam 10.


Tiap-tiap hari, IRAQ DISERANG LAGI! Pasal masa tu, Perang Teluk.

Dan beberapa kata-kata hikmatnya.

Farid: Sedaraaaaa...senyumlah, kerana senyuman itu...satu sedekah.

Juga, beberapa pengulas sukan di TV3, pada masa TV3 mendapat siaran Liga Bolasepak Sepanyol.

Pengulas: Nombor 17 memberi bola kepada nombor 10. Dia menendang dan tersasar...dan GOL!

Aku nak tidur pun terperanjat. Nombor 10 (Pablo Aimar) memang power.

Tapi, sebelum gol tu, rasa macam tengok golf.

Hasbullah Awang jugak best.

Hasbullah: Bola tanggung! Aaaa-aaahh! JUMPING SMASH! Keluar pula di bucu gelanggang. Jumping smash yang dilakukan ternyata terlalu berbisa untuk diambil Gunawan dan Budi Santoso. Namun takdir telah menentukan, bulu tangkis jatuh di luar gelanggang. Penjaga garisan nampaknya memberikan mata kepada pasangan Indonesia.

Hasbullah: Mari kita lihat sama ada CHEAH SOON KIT dan soo beng kiang mampu menambah mata yang dimenangi untuk Malaysia oleh pemain badminton marathon negara - Foo. Kok. Keong. Ayuh, mari kita saksikan.

Hasbullah: Marseille ada Bakayoko, dan Chelsea ada Babayaro.

Aku dok nunggu la, apa dia nak cakap pasal Ibrahima Bakayoko dengan Celestine Babayaro, tapi tu je. Dua-dua orang Afrika, dua-dua nama start dengan huruf 'B'.

Ingat dia nak cakap diorang ni biras atau ipar ke apa.

Ada lagi, tapi aku pun dah lupa.

Pengulas TV3: Bodo menjaringkan gol pada minit kelapan belas. Penyerang Bodo, XXX, menanduk bola masuk dari hantaran YYY.

Zainal Abidin Rawop?

Zainal: Piyapong Pue-On memberikan bola kepada Attapol Buspakom!Diaaaaaa mencari Zainal Abidin Hassan!Dollah Salleh berlari ke dalam kotak penalti!Zainal Abidin Hassan diasak pemain Sarawak John Kerbau!Berrrrrpusing-pusing di situ!Bola melambung tinggiiiii, dihantar kepada Dollah Salleeeeh!Dollah Saleh meREMbat! Terkena tiang gol...dan diselamatkan oleh penjaga gol pasukan Sarawak. Satu percubaan yang menarik dan demonstrasi berkesan one-touch football daripada pasukan Pahang.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Wankathon Hypersigil

Am still awake. Was writing a long post about shifts in the human consciousness, in my capacity as the world's leading psycho-historian. With references to Grant Morrisson's The Invisibles comics epic.

That, and wishing only good things on 'bad' people.

Also, secrets of the universe and things with molecular structure and THIS. IS. MY. BOOMSTICK!

And then I thought, nahhh, time to sleep.

Let the enlightened light things up, and let the fuckers burn. I got a full day tomorrow.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Sexual KONONtations

I have worked in the Malaysian entertainment industry - wearing several hats - for close to seven years now. That's not as long as most people in the industry, but I am beginning to realise that being a part of this industry, I would have to steel myself to some questions.

One of the more prominents ones that people keep asking me is:

*drum roll*

Q1. Is he/she gay?

My answer has gone through several permutations over the years, such as, "Isn't it obvious?" to "Why? You wanna fuck him/her?" before I settled for one I think is very appropriate:

A1. I am not having sex with him/her, and I do not intend to, therefore, I do not know.

I mean, seriously, what bearing would the sexuality of a person have on their work or who they interact with?

Is it terribly important if Elton John buttfucks or is buttfucked by anyone? Does that make him a lesser singer? Does it make his songs better? The sperm he swallows is not gonna clear his throat or get him to sing arias. And what the fuck is better?

Take, for example, Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim. His sexuality has been debated on by various people, including his supporters, enemies, minions and backstabbers (hehe).

Honestly, I don't care. I do not trust his policies, therefore I do not support him. What he does with his dick, and where he puts it, is none of my bloody concern.

I remember a time when some people were saying that if Anwar becomes PM, then the country is fucked. Okay. How?

There are many ways to fuck a country up, if you're the PM. Sleeping on the job, for one. Getting an overly-ambitious relative to run things for you. Being a religious zealot who make up your own laws. Being racist. Being greedy.

Being gay has nothing to do with it. What, just cause someone's gay, he's gonna ruin the country? If he buttfucks anyone, or does the reach-around, the KLSE is gonna drop 10 points? Fuck you.

I don't trust Anwar because I'm still waiting for the things he promised way back in 1999 - or 1998, I can't remember. He said that he had boxes upon boxes of evidence proving that several high-ranking BN people indulged in corruption and I'm holding on to his words.

It's been more than 10 years, and I'm still waiting. I'm not calling him a liar, but he sure is a slow motherfucker. Must be really big boxes. Really heavy ones. You need some help, man? I'm free, Fridays.

Now, I know that in Malaysia, most people believe in two things:

1. Politicians are corrupt. ALL of them. Even the Holy Nik Aziz was investigated by the MACC. Even MACC was accused of being corrupt by some people.

2. Politicians are dumb. With quotes like, "Pretty women should not work cause they can all be hos." to "If it rains everyday, whose fault is it? It's God's fault!" and the masterpiece, "Youyouyouyouyou think we're like Pakistan, Vietnam and Myanmar!"

I don't think politicians are dumb. If they're corrupt, and they got away with the money, they're the smart ones! Where's the money? Not with us. No, we the dumb ones. If we're so smart, where are our millions?

The problem is that we value smartness, intelligence, in different scales.

I mean, I can quote Shakespeare, impress the hell out of pretentious liberal atheist chicks. Maybe get them to suck my dick. But quoting Shakespeare is like quoting Zainuddin Maidin - all it needs is memory.

Now, I'm not saying Zainuddin Maidin is stupid, but he ain't no Shakespeare. Ain't nobody's gonna stage a play with his sonnets, man.

I can quote Tupac.

"I rap about how bad it is, so that one day, someone can come and clean it all up."

Lazy motherfucker.

I can quote Chris Rock.

"You know what men need? Food, sex, silence. Feed him, fuck him, shut the fuck up."

I can quote George W Bush.

"Dis iz bananas?"

That don't make me smart.

Anyway, the second question I usually get, working in the entertainment industry is this:

2. Are YOU gay?

Well, to some, this is obvious. I am too dirrrrty to be gay. Toooo fucking dir-tah! If I don't hire a by-the-hour maid, my apartment is gonna look like Parti Ugama Islam (PUS) and JAIS just had sex with Kelantan FC, and a chocolate camel, eating Mickey Ds, smoking and drinking and burning chairs all night long.

I had answers for that question. From a simple, "No", which makes them think I'm gayer than ever, to "Ada jugak sikit-sikit" which freaks them out, if they're men.

I also get, usually when this blog reaches more than 10,000 hits a day, lonely old men who message me and 'want to get to know me better'.

Lonelyoldman15: Hey, what's up, dawg? I have never read thoughts from a young man such as yourself. Tell me...what do you think about...sucking dick?

Me: I'm...sorry?

Lonelyoldman15: As in, 'how would you like to suck my dick'? Huh? That turn you on?

Me: ...

Oh well. I just needed to warm up. Loads to do tonight. See you in a bit.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Religulous: Regular Righteous Rotherfuckers

I once made one of those rare (haha) mistakes. I gave one of my good friends a copy of Religulous - the Bill Maher semi-documentary, full-comedic feature, that makes fun of all Judeo-Christian religions.

The movie makes fun of Christian zealots, bigots and possible terrorists in the States, anti-technology, loophole-searching Jewish orthodoxes (and perhaps Jewish orthodontists as well) and Muslims in Holland who seem to deny a lot of things.

The result? My friend decided to spend four hours talking to me, in an effort to discover my brand of religion.

Friend: What do you believe in?

Me: Huh?

F: What do you believe in?

Me: Erm...comedy?

F: And what would these Comedists wear? What is their book? Who is their prophet? Can you eat pork?

Honestly, my intentions in lending the movie were purely innocent. I wanted to share the laughter Bill Maher had induced, at the expense of really crazy religious people. His movie is about the crazy things religious extremists do. Crazy, as in insanely funny. Yes, Maher is a very loud atheist and he has his agendas, but he is funny.

We even have people in Malaysia making fun of Islam and the Malays. Some of them are funny. Others are not. Not in the sense they hit closer to home, but in the sense that they are both malicious and stupid at the same time. Not to mention how off their comic timing is.

Anyway, The result of that endeavour was that my friend has stopped calling. And whenever I called him, one of the things he wanted to know was whether I eat pork.

I don't. I don't like pork. I don't like mutton as well. Even fish. I like chicken and beef.

What I have learned over the years is that spirituality - be it religion or spiritual enlightenment or realisation - is a very private thing. Sharing your spiritual discoveries is almost the same as barging through the door of your neighbour's house and masturbating all over his furniture. Or fucking your wife in your neighbour's living room, in front of your neighbour.

Most would be aghast, while others watch with rapt admiration and/or curiosity. Especially if you are exhibiting a position your neighbour has never tried or could never make work before.

Perhaps that is why Ustaz Asri got arrested by JAIS.

Anyway, the problem with talking about religion or spirituality is that most people are insecure in their beliefs. People who constantly talk about how things should get done - how to live one's life, for example - are doing either one of two things:

1. Find out more information about the subject matter.

2. Find approval so they can be more sure of what to do.

On both counts, there is no harm. However, the problem is when the shakiness of their beliefs - their insecurities - turn into hostility.

This is why I believe we should never talk about religion. Let's ride this religion thing out.

Funny thing is, the problem is usually never in the religion itself. It is, as always, in people.

Religion - all religions - basically convey the same message. Live an honest life. Do good shit. Don't do bad shit. Don't rape people. Don't be greedy. Relax.


- Black Bolt of the Inhumans.

I have met Muslims who pray, and yet speak bad things about others. Muslims who were convicted - I am not saying they are guilty, for God only knows, and only God knows - of murder, rape, road rage, corruption, blablabla.

I have met as many calm and cool Buddhists as there are greedy, soulless bastards who claim to be Buddhists. A petty, selfish, chaotic, hypocritical Buddhist. Imagine that.

I have met Christians and Hindus who advocate charity as a way of life - no bullshit. And I have met Christians who are extremely judgmental(judge ye not, lest ye be judged, anyone?), fucked his neighbour's wife, stole, committed adultery, biased, bigoted and generally fucked up.

I went to Hindu restaurants that donate all their profits to charity hospitals. And I have met Hindus who try to sabotage everything at every step of the way.

You know the worst thing? The worst thing, the worst people to ever talk about religion are these two types which I have pigeon-holed for our easy consumption:

1. Atheists

2. Liberals

And the lethal combo: atheist liberals, or liberal atheists.

Now, when any of the other religionistas talk about religion in a defensive manner, it is usually, as I said, because they are insecure about their own faiths. When liberal atheists do it, it is purely for that and nothing else - their desire to be SEEN AS right. Doesn't matter if they're right or wrong. Oh, no no no. Just to be SEEN AS right is enough for them.

They constantly demean and put down other religions and followers of other religions because they themselves are very insecure about their lack of faith. If anyone with a relgious faith is betting on something and the pot is heaven, nirvana or whatever, the atheists are betting on nothing, and they're scared as hell!

Atheists are the most insecure fuckers on earth, and they will chant, yell and scream their beliefs from the mountaintops.

Atheists are the loudest group online! And if they ever get a free pass to talk about religion in this country, they'd be the loudest motherfuckers on the planet. Much worse than terr - oops - JAIS or representatives of any religion.

In fact, our own founding fathers saw the dangers of liberal atheists so much they put it in our Rukunegara. The first item on the list of five principles is: KEPERCAYAAN KEPADA TUHAN. Belief in God. If you don't believe in God, get the fuck out of the country. I don't care what God. Invent one. Makcik Bedah Mulut Jubur seems to be a popular choice. Public opinion. Money. America. Political party (PUS! PUS! PUS!). Whatever you do, get God - any God - on the case.

Righteousness does not have a place here. Or anywhere, for that matter. In any religion or non-religion.

If you are right, and in alignment with the truth, then there is no need to defend anything. Because the truth does not need to be defended. Especially not by idiots like you.

What people do is not defend their religion. They are merely defending themselves. The truth is immortal. They are not.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Nirvana Nevermind

I am at Nirwana Maju - my favourite banana leaf rice place - and was sitting down for lunch before my big assignment, when some tattooed angmohs and their Azian friend started pointing at me.

Or rather, pointing at my chicken.

For an instant, I was fucking pissed off.

You want my chicken, bitch? What, they don't have chicken where you come from? Motherfucking cracker ass cracker!

They were pointing and talking for almost a full minute. So much so, that I began to carefully inspect my chicken. Nothing wrong with it.

Then, they left, I finished my meal and went to wash my hands.

I looked in the mirror and perhaps found what they were probably talking about. You see, I let my hair grow, and when that happens, it gives me a headache and turns into this weird-looking afro.

Sure enough, I had a medium 'fro on my head, and a smaller 'fro coming out on top. The effect was that from afar, I probably looked like Buddha.

So there I was, with Buddha hair, sitting at a restaurant called Nirwana, eating a chicken.

I guess that is a tourist attraction, no?

Sent via Blackberry from Maxis (still)

Vaginal Douche II

I found myself today, almost involuntarily explaining magic tricks to the girl next to me.

Girl: How did he do that?

Me: He switched it in the bag.

Girl: How DID he do that?

Me: The man he threw the first ball to is a plant. The paper he is reading does not have any of the things the audience said. He is just reading everything the magician wrote on the mahjong paper.

Girl: How did he do THAT?!

Me: The blades are separate. In fact, the actual blade looks like a fork - two prongs with the middle part missing. That's why the cucumbers on both sides get cut, but the man's head remains intact.

I turned and said, "You know, magic tricks are to be enjoyed, not explained."

Thank God no one asked me how the girl could go missing from the box. It is fairly simple. The hand sticks out, wriggling, means that the girl is hidden in the 'sides' or hinges of the box, which is fairly huge, but painted and designed not to look that way.

Magicians use mechanical devices, electronics, chemicals and plain old tomfoolery. They execute it with skill and lots of practice. Magic, is like wrestling.

I still appreciate their skill, even though I know how a lot of tricks work. In fact, most tricks take a lot of dedication.

Some, though, suck ass.

Levitation? Trickery! Trickery! Trickery! It was edited, the effects done in a studio. Only the reactions are real.

People react because they want to believe. They want to believe there are safe mysteries to ponder upon. Perhaps there are. Perhaps it is mass delusion. Who knows?

Figuring out magic tricks does not require intelligence. It is merely awareness and angle of approach. Righteousness and arrogance will never work.

And here's the clincher: figuring out things does not make you superior. If being or seeming to be superior or better than anyone is your goal, you will never understand things.

Some people do not want to be fooled. They dedicate their lives to not being fooled. They cared so much about not being fooled, they don't realise that they themselves have been fooled.

You might want to take my word for it, or you might not. It does not matter.

I just wanted to say that I felt really regal tonight. I was surrounded by drinks spiked with chives.

By the time I was done, there were some half-empty bottles everywhere. And the crowd dissipated into the night, slowly, like a puff of smoke on high speed camera.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Vaginal Douche

Tonight, I had hot girls lining up to talk to me. I mean this in the literal sense. As in, fact! Logic! (Bak kata arwah AR Tompel.) And I got witnesses to testify.

I am not saying this to prove how virile and studly I am. I mean, the path of utter vaginal destruction I left in my wake in Thailand is proof enough of my horsely attributes. Sorry, equine attributes.

And I did it with an average-sized dick.

So these chicks were lining up to talk to me and shit, right? And all these other people were staring and I was like, "The fuck you looking at, biatch?"

I just discovered that being born with a dick is the best thing that ever happened to me. Cause having a dick is the best thing ever.

The older a man gets, the more girls would want to fuck you! With men, it's like there's an inverse relationship between age and Pussy Tesla. Pussy Tesla being the SI Unit for the magnetic power you have on pussies.

If a man gets to live to 100, he'd be like Magneto, Master of Magnetism. On pussies.


With a woman, it's different. As they get older, their nipples touch their knees and they start smelling like prunes. They start losing their long battle with hormones.

However, as Spider-Man puts it, with great powers, comes great responsibility.

You can't go and fuck any pussy that comes up to you. You have to think of the aftermath.

Ugh...too tired. I'll continue later.

To Be Continued...

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Kelantan Vs the Rest of the World

Chelsea beat Manchester United last night. 1-0, motherfucker! 1-0!

Man U needs some goalscorers. They got rid of Cristiano 'Jacques Cousteau' Ronaldo and Carlos 'the Apache' Tevez and now none of the other players are stuffing balls between posts. Michael 'Judas' Owen is useful, if they get another extra 90 minutes like when they beat Manchester City on minute 333.

But the big news in sports is not Man U losing again. Nope. It's about Kelantan fans burning seats after they lost to Negeri Sembilan. 3-1, motherfucker! 3-1!

Lots of people are calling Kelantan supporters 'barbarians' and 'ultra-violent' and whatever else. Some are saying this is why Malaysian football is going down the drain.


The fact that Kelantan fans cared enough about the Malaysian Cup to burn a few seats at the stadium and throw missiles at NS players is perhaps the only sign that Malaysian football is not dead.

In fact, if ALL Malaysian football fans are as passionate and violent as Kelantan fans, no one would watch Man U losing every week anymore, or even WWE RAW.

Violence + football = ratings. I'm now wondering, after burning a car in Kelantan and some seats in the stadium recently, what else are they gonna burn? And can I request some?

Where do I send a list? Can we have a poll? Hell, I know, let's send a PETITION, with a STRONGLY-WORDED LETTER. Strongly-worded means things like 'CONDEMN' and 'OUTRAGE' and 'THE UNDERSIGNED, MORALLY-HYPOCRITICAL DOUCHEBAGS FROM THE UN'.

Anyway, FAM should capitalise on this shit. Those Kelantan fans are their last hope. Even if it's KL vs Kedah, they should put some Kelantan fans in the stadium. Let them burn shit. It makes for good TV.

Think about it. What was the last Malaysian football goal you have ever seen? I remember one by Piyapong Pue-On, in 1992. But I'll remember those images of burning chairs and shit all my life.

We need to turn up the heat, motherfucker! Burn, baby burn!

Sure, some people might die, but we'll have more exciting TV. With all the memorial and shit, we can tap into pain and suffering and sell Malaysian football like never before. People REALLY die in this shit, or get blind or suffer from third degree burns. Not like professional wrestling. Get put through a table, and all you get is a scratch on the forearm.

And all you other fans out there, you're not fans. Not fans of Malaysian football. Ahmad Kamal Abu Bakar comes from Negeri Sembilan, but he's a Liverpool fan! I don't know if he watched the match they won recently. After NS won, he was all like, "Imma get me some NS song lyrics."

I'm not a Malaysian football fan. I like Jose Mourinho.

From now on, whenever Malaysia needs to play against any team, don't send the Malaysian team. Send the Kelantan FC. Air Asia should fly some fans to Ali Sami Yen (Galatasaray's stadium) or wherever and fucking burn that stadium up.

The Turks will be like, "Man, we just replaced the seats! Won't finish paying for it till 2015! If they lose, they're gonna burn everything up. Let's give them a six-goal head start."

Arsene Wenger better let Kelantan beat Arsenal, or say goodbye to Ashburton Grove. Ferguson as well. Theatre of Dreams? Theatre of Screams, when the Kelantan fans are done with it.

Kelantan fans can go to FA Cup and sing:

"Wem-be-ley! Wem-be-ley! We're Kelantan FC and we're gonna burn down Wem-be-ley!"

Shit, man. Using threats of violence, Kelantan can win the Asian Chapions League. Fuck ACL, why not UEFA Champions League? Sepp Blatter or Michel Platini want to protest? Next morning, they'd be burnt scorch marks in their cars.

With Kelantan fans on our side, Malaysia can get the one trophy we have never won - the European Cup.

C'mon, FAM! I want to dust off my old t-shirt with iron-on names of Malaysian teams I got from Berita Harian when I was eight.

Monday, November 9, 2009

It's Coming...

Well, I feel like Spider Jerusalem.

Need more information!

Mabuk-Mabuk Kepayang: Naya Je Stolich Ni!

Having been a zoo exhibit of sorts at PJ, I went home and was immediately asked to go out.

And so I did.

Trendy people like me go to trendy, cool places like Sky Bar at Traders Hotel. It's trendy enough for me cause it was trendy years ago. Nowadays, it is usually half empty.

I usually like my haunts to be empty or half empty. I don't like packed places. Zouk is my bane. I don't like Zouk because it is too popular, and they have seats that look like they came off bikes.

Sky Bar has a lounge feel to it. And in the middle is a big-ass swimming pool. The whole area is surrounded by water and you get a view of KLCC.

Some drinks could cost you a bit.

I found myself explaining about Islam to a bunch of non-Muslims. Most non-Muslims see Islam as a backwards religion of hatred and violence.

Islam's PR (public relations...but Pakatan Rakyat too) people are really doing a shitty job and I just hate stupid things.

However, seeing as I do not have the qualifications to talk about Islam, I switched to talking about Buddhism. Now, with Buddhism, I have read Osamu Tezuka's comic book series - an epic re-telling of the life of Buddha. So, I guess I am qualified enough to talk about the comic book.

First of all, Buddha was a man - a prince of Kapilavastu. He had a wife and a son. He was questioning about how religion had divided people in his land into classes. He just didn't get it.

So he left his kingdom and lived the life of an ascetic for a while, looking for enlightenment. He later discovered that submitting himself to pain was a stupid thing to do.

His revelations came after discovering that everything is connected and that there is no need for struggle.

After encounters with deers at a deer park who demonstrated the very essence of non-resistance to the present moment, Buddha began to gain a hearty following. Among noted disciples were Tata - his first - a pariah who could commune with animals, Anandha the godson to a demon and Devadatta, the ruthless politician who tried to turn Buddha's teachings into a religion.

See, Buddha was not out to create another brand of God. He was not trying to create a religion. In Buddhism, you do not worship anything or anyone so you could score points and go to heaven. This was, of course, only according to the Buddha comics by Osamu Tezuka. I make no other reference. Not even Wikipedia.

Which is a surprise, as the Buddhists in South East Asia seem to worship Buddha. Or a version of Avalokitesvara - a goddess of mercy.

I found myself later at Lotus, which charges RM10 for tandoori chicken and RM4 for naan. And RM3.20 for drinks.

Oh well. Am not going there again.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Siri Bercakap Dengan Tin: Dialog Agama Tidak Bertauliah

Tadi, aku naik teksi ke bandar.

Semasa dalam teksi, aku berborak dengan brader teksi tu.

Aku: Bang, ada dengar pasal Ustaz Asri kena tangkap?

Brader Teksi: Ada. MP PAS pun ada dengar ceramah dia, kan?

Aku: Err...Dr Lo Lo kan? MP Titiwangsa. Dia PAS ke? Saya ingat PKR.

BT: MP Setiawangsa. Dia PAS.

Aku: Tak, dia Titiwangsa. Tapi PAS, ya? Dia pun ada dengarnya menjenguk syarahan Ustaz Asri ni.

BT: Apa salah ustad tu?

Aku: Diorang cakap, dia takde tauliah nak cakap pasal Islam, walaupun dia bekas mufti. Dia lulusan universiti kat Jordan dalam Bahasa Arab dan Syariah, tapi JAIS cakap, mana ada pengkhususan macam tu. Tuduh dia kelentong. Dia cakap, diorang yang kelentong, siap tunjuk sijil dia lagi, ada cakap pasal syariah.

BT: Teruk ke Ustaz tu?

Aku: Manalah saya tahu, bang. Sembahyang Raya pun saya tak pergi, inikan pulak syarahan agama. Tapi...

BT: Tapi apa?

Aku: Saya ada jugak tengok Ustaz ni kat YouTube. Dia memang ada tak sependapat dengan Majlis fatwa dan beberapa mufti lain. Contohnya, kes nak tukar agama. Dia cakap, kalau dah hati dah masuk agama lain, buat apa nak ditahan dia nak ubah IC dia?

BT: Haaa...bahaya ni.

Aku: Bahaya?

BT: Tak boleh bagi orang tukar agama.

Aku: Ok, tapi kalau dia dah tukar? Lantaklah IC dia nak tukar sekali. Hati dia dah murtad, biar la dia.

BT: Eh, tak boleh. Nanti, kalau murtad, hukuman dia kena bunuh. Ko baca balik Al Quran. Dalam Al Quran cakap kena bunuh.

Aku: Abang baca Al-Quran ke? Ada jumpa ayat mana cakap kena bunuh?

BT: Kau baca balik! Kau baca balik! Ko tengok, generasi ko lah yang porak-perandakan dunia sekarang. Dulu, zaman abang dulu, mana ada perempuan isap rokok kat tempat awam.

Aku: Diorang isap rokok secara tersembunyi je ke? Tapi...abang ada baca Al-Quran?

BT: Generasi ko memang hancur.

Dah makin hangat sikit. Aku malas nak cucuk lagi, nanti kena halau keluar teksi la pulak.

BT: Ustaz Asri tak patut cakap macam tu.

Aku: Abis, nak cakap macamana?

BT: Kita kena pastikan takde siapa yang berani tinggalkan agama Islam. Nanti bila orang bukan Islam tengok, apa pulak dia cakap?

Aku: Kalau dia tengok kita bunuh orang, apa pulak dia cakap?

BT: Kita ni, orang Islam! Blablablabla Yahudi! Bla blabla musuh-musuh Islam! Blablabla kahwin empat! Blablabla PIS!

Aku dah tak dengar apa dah. Blablabla je. Aku rasa, aku dah ganggu sikit mamat ni. Bukan niat aku. Jadi aku diam je lah.

Sekejap lagi nak sampai, aku pun cakap je:

Aku: Tapi, abang, saya rasa kita tak patut cakap pasal Islam.

BT: Apa pasal pulak? Kota negara demokrasi, kebebasan untuk bercakap ada dalam perlembagaan.

Aku: Perlembagaan mat salleh ada la bang. Kita mana ada kebebasan yang dijamin.

BT: Kau bagitau aku apa pasal tak boleh cakap pasal Islam?

Aku: Pasal kita kan tak bertauliah. Kalau mufti pun takleh cakap, kita ni lagilah. Ginilah. Apa kata kita cakap pasal Buddhism? Nak?

Teksi pun sampai. Aku bayar tambang, dan berambus ke dalam dingin angin malam. AKu tengok brader tu pot pet pot pet lagi. Amende tah dia cakap sorang-sorang. Pedulittaik aku?

Friday, November 6, 2009

The Final Frontier

Religion. The final frontier. These are the voyages the Pimp Master G. Its continuing mission: to destroy new worlds and new civilisations. To boldly 'boh' where no one has 'bohed' before.

The above video is that of Ustaz Asri, a former mufti who was arrested by Jabatan Agama Islam Selangor (JAIS) for not being qualified to talk about religion in the state of Selangor.

Not qualified. To talk about religion.

Shit, man. Asri was a mufti - an official cleric, like an Islamic consultant or something.

If a fucking mufti can't talk about Islam in Selangor, then who can? Ronnie Liu?

Judging by the initial response and feedback, a lot of murmurs on the ground points to political fighting and jealousy amongst the clerics and high-ranking Islamic officials in Malaysia, which resulted in a civil war claiming Ustaz Asri as first blood.

I am not a pious Muslim, and some people have even called me a non-Muslim. I don't give a shit. God only knows, and only God knows.

So I haven't been keeping track of the 'Islamic politics' plaguing the land, but this sounds like the Highlander movie to me.

Nadim Islamic Dude: There can be only one!

Asri Islamic Dude: I have prepared them for you! The quickening is before us!

Never in my life did I ever think they would make such a cartoon of this religion. Well, actually that's a lie. They have been making a cartoon of it from Anwar's ABIM days.

Think about it. The first word ever spoken by God in the Koran, in chronological order is READ. Read, in the name of thy God.

And yet, when people nowadays want to read up on their religion, the fucking fun-the-mentalists say, "Oh, you can't read. You can't read, bitches! You need to be QUALIFIED to read and understand the Koran. The Koran is not for YOU. It's for the clerics. QUALIFIED clerics."

And when a QUALIFIED cleric reads it, and reads it aloud, they bust his ass.

Now, I'm not for the reading of the Koran. I believe that reading the Koran will only get us into bloodshed, because of these idiots.

They don't want me to read the Koran, then fine, motherfucker. I'll fucking read comic books. I gotta read something, right? Can't read the Koran cause I'm not qualified. But I'm qualified to read comic books.

First comic book I'm reading tonight? Buddha by Osamu Tezuka.

I understand comic books. SO fuck all this shit. Fuck JAIS. Fuck Asri. Fuck the Wahabis, the Nik Azizis, the Hadi Awangis, the PISis the Hassan Aliiis fuck all of them.

I'm reading comic books. And you can take your qualifications, roll it up real tight, shine it up real nice, turn that sumbitch sideways and stick it up your ass.

Applied Hysterics

I heard that some people (PIS! PIS!) threatened to converge in large groups and demonstrate at a street-dance party or competition in Penang, should the event ever be held.

I heard the same threat made for the 'post-poned' Beyonce concert. And rumour has it that Beyonce's team is asking for a letter from the Prime Minister himself to ensure that there would be no demos against her.

Ah, well. And I thought America was a nation founded on the principles of civil disobedience.

Anyway, fuck America, let's look at the Islams in our country.

The religious whatever also arrested that Asri dude.

So, the score is: Beyonce, NO. Street-dance competition, NO. Asri, NO. Rempit, YES?

I mean, if you want to really combat social ills, why not take on the rempits? No one loves them, except Khairy Jamaluddin.

Religious extremists in this country should perhaps go and threaten to demonstrate at anywhere the rempits would gather (Dataran Merdeka, various other places all across town).

Heavenly Caliph: We shall demonstrate and protest at any place where the rempits congregate and put an end to rempitism!

Hell, man, do that, and I'll done a fucking skullcap and crossbones and start demonstrating all over the place myself.

In fact, why not we demonstrate everywhere something stupid is happening.

Why not PKFZ? Why not any and all petrol stations(for charging RAPE for a full tank)?

Hey, I mean, you managed to scare Beyonce away. Maybe demonstrating is the solution to everything. When you demonstrate, you tell people you are pissed off at something. When people know you - the mighty, heavenly YOU - are pissed off, they would certainly skitter and scamper to fulfill your every whim, no?

First thing's first.

Demonstrate at places where the rempits are gathering. I don't know why these demonstrators are so afraid to take on the rempits by the horns.

Rempits are basically hanging out with bohsias - that's non-muhrim (meaning you can fuck the other person) mingling already. Some abuse drugs. Others, abuse themselves and others.

If the movies Remp-it and Bohsia are anything to go by, these people also indulge in free sex, alcoholism and stupid slang-slinging.

Isn't that against Islam? Like almost everything else?

Fun-the-mentalists vs rempits. I'd pay to see that, man. And with God on their side, my money is on the fun-the-mentalists.

Suck my dick.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009


One of my bosses told me today that he almost went to Kuantan last weekend, cause he heard I was dead.

Which is kind of funny, cause I thought that Indi Nadarajah - one half of Comedy Court - was unwell. I saw one of his shows and thought, "Man, that guy is sick." I really thought he was dying.

That was followed by days of me thinking, "No! Not Indi! No!"

He and Allan - Comedy COurt - are one of my favourite local comic acts.

I interviewed him yesterday and he was fine and dandy. As lucid as ever. Anyway, it was nice to see Indi in a spirited interview.

So Indi as well as myself are very much alive. No need for drama there, man.

I believe that if I continue running my mouth, one day someone will indeed kill me. If that happens, consider that I have succeeded.

I don't know all the buttons to human emotions and whatever else, but I do understand some things - hate and anger.

Hate, paranoia and anger are things I can manipulate easily. That, and arrogance. I have pushed these buttons for so long in my life that it's not a challenge anymore.

I mean, consider the targets. My previous targets. People so involved with themselves, so obsessed with how people see them that they can so easily be pushed.

I don't want my days to be filled with that kind of shit. Pain and suffering. Competition. Oh, LAWD!

So I stopped. For a few days, I couldn't write for shit. And then other things came and that was that.

I didn't die. I'm still alive. For now.

Empathic Mimicry: The Mighty Boron - World's Most Boring Man

I was a zombie the whole day - half-asleep, grumpy and flesh-eating - but when I got into a cab at around 7.44pm, I was suddenly awakened.

Whole vistas were opened to me and I harnessed the powers of:

Me: Heaven's energy!

Me: Earth's energy!

Me: Solar energy! At night!

Rejoicing in my nocturnal awakening, someone called on the phone.

After that, I went to see some of the best comedians in Malaysia.

We talked about how making people laugh is actually empathic mimicry.

Some people asked me how to write in a compelling manner. Some asked about how to be funny.

I tell them, I am neither compelling, nor funny. And I was not being humble.

It is a fact.

To write something that moves people, is to understand what moves them. That's empathy. You need to understand people, and accept them. Only then will you be able to move them.

Most people want this because they consider it a power, an ability. People usually seek to control what they are afraid of. How so, then, for those who are afraid of the dark? Of shadows?

People afraid of the perception of others will try to control the perception of others. Eventually, whether they succeed or not, they will come to resent it and their situation. Resenting your situation is unhappiness. It is a madness we all suffer from.

Anyway, control. It's actually a huge responsibility. What you write affects people on a base level. It will influence what they do with their money, time and whatever else. It is one responsibility I cannot live with.

Writing for any form of popular media simply means that you get to reach out to more people. However, this does not mean you can touch them. Two different things, if you see it.

Comedians, actors, artists - any form of performer doing any kind of expression is meant to communicate extremely complex ideas and feelings. Such as how an ideogram is basically a picture of something while the phonetic alphabet is simply representing sounds that can be put together to mean something.

Direct communication is like phonetic alphabets - it is possible to convey complex ideas and emotions and energy, but more is needed. More planning, more space. Ideograms like the Chinese script or the Japanese kanji basically has the potential for more complex communication.

Anyway, empathy.

There is a DC superhero I respect - the Martian Manhunter. In the Kingdom Come trade paperback, he opened his mind to the world and is forever shattered by its thoughts.

It takes more than a superhero to gain empathy, to prepare one's self to understand humanity.

And yet, if to be compelling is what you want, then this is the kind of standard you need to reach.

My writings sometimes work on a structural, form, idiom and surface level. To be compelling, you need to discover the frequency in which human emotions vibrate and resonate with it. That is much, much deeper.

This requires observation and reading.

It is possible to resonate on an unconscious level, on an accidental level.

It would be like a blind man in a nuclear reactor, pushing buttons randomly. You never know what is going to happen. You can supply enough power to light up an entire city, or you can destroy the population in a radioactive meltdown.

The true masters of their craft can see all the buttons and levers and is able to push and prod and pull according to whatever effect they want to achieve. Human thought and human emotion are their instruments.

Lots of people claim to be able to do this, but the number of people who can, in reality, is very few.

These people are usually calm and non-spiteful, selfless and true.

Why? Read The Authority, another comic book, in the story arc when a rogue Doctor tries to destroy the world. In the end, he couldn't, because he has reached complete empathy with every living thing. SPOILER!

When you are in complete harmony with humanity and with the present moment, you will have no hate nor spite. You do not even wish or covet the power.

You will be in total acceptance. Complete alignment with everything. That's the first step. Then, there is the matter of craft, and that comes with time.

There were, are and there will be people who claim to have reached whatever in their craft or life, or allow other people to think they do. It matters to them.

That is not power. That is desire. True power is when there is no desire.

In actuality, there are no levels for people - only for craft. Even then, it is flawed and subjective. You think Neil Gaiman (chaos be upon him) can't write anything bad? American Gods suck ass.

The comedians agree with me on these points. We talked about the work of Chris Rock and how he said in an interview that "People laugh about the same things the world over."

I gave up on people understanding me or to understand people. My goal is not to be funny or compelling. I tell my stories, and it is up to you to push your own buttons. You may agree, disagree, swear, curse, judge, be affected or not. The responsibility is yours, not mine.

I do not want to be responsible for your life. That's too much. Just too much.

My work only functions on a structural, idiomatic and surface level. Everything else, is your own conjecture.