A few days before I went to Thailand, a girl asked me a question.
“Are they stupid?” she asked.
And by ‘they’ she meant the Thai girls. The Thai bar girls. The prostitutes. The hookers. The farm girls from Issan and Ayutthya and whatever, jiggling their booty for money.
“No,” I said. Indignant as hell. Offended. “They’re people. And people are smart and people are stupid. Plus, they could con a white man out of his pay.”
“Who did YOU con?” I asked, inside my head. “Some poor Malay boy? A farmer’s son? Just cause some people are better at this prostitution thing doesn’t mean that they’re stupid.”
So I do what I know best. I started interviewing the bar girls. Again. Not for them to prove to me or to the world that they’re not stupid. But I believe that I owe it to them. That at the very least.
I believe that I owe it to them to talk to them and find out their stories. And they were fantastic stories. And beautiful minds. In beautiful bodies.
The first girl I talked to, her name was Mae. She was from Ayutthya. Her parents were farmers somewhere in Thailand. Were. They then became cooks. At a restaurant they do not own.
Me: Do they make better money as cooks than as farmers?
Mae: Yes. That’s why…I don’t know how to say…I know if I can tell you…properly…it will make sense. You will understand. I think if Thailand can make better farming like in France or in Germany, in Europe.
Me: Or in Canada or the States…
Mae: Yes. Then farmer will get more money. No more poor.
I think I understand. See, if farming in Thailand is a viable source of income, a proper one, one that could get Thai farmers better pay, then there would be no need for girls like Mae to take of her clothes in the seedy bars of Pattaya.
She wouldn’t have to make the choice of sleeping with whoever has enough cash to blow. She would have just been content being a farmer’s daughter, a farmer herself or a farmer’s wife.
And it is quite hard to understand at first. At least to me. Thailand has so many good things. Their rice is addictive. I have been eating rice and Thai natural produce every time I go to Thailand, and it has been many trips. I never ever, eat western food there, except for breakfast, because I just love Thai food, especially that ubiquituous Thai resource – rice.
The rice grown in Thailand is the kind that smells good and has the perfect texture. I can just eat their fried rice every day, for every meal, for the rest of my natural life, and I would be content. It tastes so bloody fucking good.
And steps are being taken to improve the Thai agricultural sector. To make it fairer. I talked to Ann, a massage girl in Bangkok, about this.
Me: Thai King very good.
Ann: Yes. Thai King do a lot of projects that will make money for people.
Me: Like what?
Ann: Like agriculture.
Me: Ah.
And there are obstacles.
Ann: But problem is marketing.
Me: Really?
Ann: Problem is big supermarkets. People who buy rice and fruit.
Me: You mean the middlemen and departmental stores?
Ann: You know rambutan?
Me: I know rambutan.
Ann: We sell rambutan, 5 baht. Then go to supermarket, they sell 50 baht. They packing-packing and they do brand, and sell more expensive. Farmer no make money. Supermarket make money.
The girls know the deal. They see the problem. They understand. There is a lot of money to be made from the Thai agricultural sector, especially with 9 billion mouths to feed by 2010 and the increasing price of food and oil as well as the eternal land shortage. But fairer distribution is needed. A new system should be in place.
They understand that to have a better choice than just taking off their g-strings for 20 baht tips, they don’t need just money. They need to tackle the source of the problem, and not just treat the delightful symptoms. They need to take care of their farming. They need to take care of their country.
Me: Why don’t you just find a rich farang (foreigner/white man) and take all his money?
Ning aka An American Crime (Bangkok): I don’t want to find just rich farang and marry, and get money. I have five brother sister. I don’t know if farang want to take care them. And I don’t love ALL farang. Have money don’t mean have big heart. Some are good, some are bad.
Which is more than I can say for some girls here who only think of themselves. And how better off they are from other girls.
The Thai girls I talked to all have some amazing insights to share. And they are real people. They have dreams.
Mae: What you do in Malaysia?
Me: I’m a writer. I write.
Mae: Books?
Me: That too. I wrote for a newspaper. Now TV and movies. Films.
Mae: I wanted to be writer.
Me: Really?
Mae: Yes. When I in school, I was always top of class.
Me: What were your favourite subjects? English?
Mae: Hahaha. Little bit. I like Thai language. I get A. Hahaha.
Me: Well, many newspapers in Bangkok and Pattaya. Maybe you go try.
Mae: But have no university, you see?
Me: Most of my bosses don’t go to university. You go train yourself.
It’s not that simple. And it IS that simple.
Ann likes Lord of the Rings, but mostly prefers Thai movies.
Me: I saw Nang Nak.
Ann: Nang Nak very good, ne? I think lot of Thai story can be made movie, ne?
Me: Yes, of course. I also saw Ong Bak and Tom Yum Koong and Beautiful Boxer. Beautiful Boxer one of the best movies I saw last year. But on TV. Should have won Oscar, when it came out.
Ann: I from Issan. Tony Jaa also from Issan. Movie Ong Bak in Issan language. Not Thai. Not Bangkok. Bangkok people not understand. You like Beautiful Boxer? Ladyboy?
Me: No, I don’t like ladyboy. I like real lady.
Ann: But ladyboy so very beautiful. Our ladyboy ___ became Miss Universe ladyboy.
Me: Yyyyyyyeah…what you do before massage?
Ann: I work sell cosmetics.
Me: What brand?
Ann: Shiseido.
Me: Is that Japanese or Korean?
Ann: Japanese. Oh, Japanese and Korean don’t be friend with each other. They don’t like each other.
Me: I can imagine. What do you think of Malaysian girls?
Ann: Malaysian girls can be very beautiful, ne? They have big eyes. Very beautiful. But they don’t take care their clothing. Their fashion. Their make-up. Some have dark skin, like me…
Me: You don’t have dark skin.
Ann: I do. Same Malaysian girls. But they wear farang make-up. Face is white. Body is dark.
Me: Like a monkey?
Ann: Hahahaha. But they very beautiful. Can be. Have to wear beautiful clothes, not just t-shirt and jeans. And no cheap night market dress.
Hear that? Judge ye not, lest ye be judged. Yesus Kristus, yo!
Me: So, you Christian, Buddhist of Muslim?
An American Crime: I’m a Bood.
Me: Buddhist?
AAC: Yes. That. I am Bood in my heart. But…(blabberblabberblabber)
Me: Ah, are you saying that you’re not really practicing Buddhism, but is really a Buddhist at heart?
AAC: Yes. Buddha tell us that everyone same inside. No need to fight for anything. End of everything, everyone die and be part of life.
True. True.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Rules of Fuck Club
THEME SONG:
Te-te-te-teeeee-teng
Te-te-te-te-te-te-te-teh-TENG
Doong doong!
This is your life, good to the last drop (and really, it IS!). This is your life, and you're fucking one woman at a time (if you want to. There are many alternatives).
Anyway, I just got back from the Bangkok-Pattaya trip and am too tired to record everything as well as list out all the lessons learned tonight.
So just for starters, I am putting together a list of basic and simple rules for traveling in Thailand. Based on Fight Club's rules, for those idiots who never saw the movie. Idiot.
The First Rule of Fuck Club is: You DO NOT fall in love with anyone.
- While it is easy to fall in love with a girl in Thailand, especially the bar girls and go go girls and masseuses, masseese, mastodon, whatever, just DON'T.
- Thais are very very good people, very polite people - most of them anyway - and the Thai girls have an amazing demeanour. But always, always remember that for girls who work in such places as a go go are doing it for a living. They're working there.
- Do not complicate their lives by being an asshole. I mean, by being an asshole who doesn't know your role in the whole scheme of things. Always know where the asshole boundaries are.
The Second Rule of Fuck Club is: You DO NOT fall in love with anyone.
- Seriously. This is for your own as well as for the bargirls' protection. You would not believe the kind of bullshit I hear spewing forth from the mouths of idiots who think that ALL these girls are up for a long-term relationship. And could be manipulated to be jealous in a non-monetary, purely-emotional sense.
- Case in point - Cheepork. Cheepork broke the first and second rule when he fell in love with Ann. Fuck you dude. The idiot even proposed to the girl, and uttered profestations of eternal devotion to she who could have been the best go go girl in Phuket.
- Fortunately, Ann saved everyone involved when she left her life of vice in Phuket to probably start a life of vice somewhere else. Status: still missing. And Cheepork still pines for his one true love. Good luck, dude.
Third Rule - NEVER ring the bell. Unless you can REALLY afford it.
(Ringing the bell at a bar in Thailand usually means you're buying everyone a drink. This could cost anything between RM100 - RM1000 or THB1000-THB10,000)
- This applies to everything else as well. If you can't afford something, or if you're not sure you want to tip or pay that kind of money for something you have no knowledge about, don't.
- Nothing spoils a trip more when you realize that you can't get a massage on the last day of your trip because you spent all your cash the night before by ringing a bell and buying everyone a drink.
- Case in point: Cheepork. Cheepork used to complain about not having enough money cause he always buys the girls drinks. He rang the bell a few times as well. Now, with the law in place, he has loads of cash to spare.
Fourth Rule: Chill
- Going to Thailand is like a spiritual journey, a pilgrimage. So learn to let go of everything and embrace the culture, the lifestyle, or a go go girl or two.
- Case in Point: Me. I was so worried about work back home that it nearly spoiled my trip. Plus the fact that everything was rushed in Bangkok, and time seems to travel faster in the Thai capital almost made me lose it and attack an innocent elephant at Soi Cowboy. It was only when I started talking to some of the girls - Mae the Thai economist and another whom I shall call 'An American Crime' - that I let go of everything and started embracing whatever I could get my hands on. Except for guys, of course.
Fifth Rule: DO NOT travel in packs.
- I know this is what you Malaysians like to do. Travel in packs. Hell, a lot of people like to do it too. Why? Well, maybe cause when humans were monkeys, they liked to stay together just in case a saber-tooth tiger starts raping someone in the ass.
- Well, don't. You will enjoy the trip better if you travel alone or have one companion only. Three is a crowd. You don't know when some idiot is going to say, "Hey, I want to watch ladyboy show!" and you're too nice to tell him to fuck off and die.
Sixth Rule: DO NOT eat at Planet Hollywood or Hard Rock Cafe in Thailand. Or McDonalds. Or Starbucks. Or any major chains.
- Not because their food is bad - it's great. It's just this - you travel hundreds, maybe thousands of miles to another country and then you go to a restaurant that you already have in your country. How stupid is that?
- I mean, it's a franchise thing, so they usually serve exactly the same-tasting shit. You think a Big Mac in Jakarta is going to taste different than a Big Mac in, say, Antartica? Fuck no!
- Cheepork and I would often go to the most rat-infested, cockroach strewn stalls in Bangkok. Cause it's gritty. Cause it's real. Cause we hardcore, bitch! We also go to cafes and shit, but always, always make it a point to eat what the locals are eating. Especially what the go go girls are eating, cause I also want perfect skin, voluminous hair, a pussy that doesn't smell and perky nipples. Unless it's pork. Pork sucks. Pork is the stupidest thing in the world, along with fax machines. I HATE fax machines. I HATE pork.
Seventh Rule: You are a whorist, so no fucking tourist activity, foo!
- This means no going to tourist attractions like temples and shit. No boat markets, no weekend markets, no taking pictures with a fucking stupid elephant. I FUCKING HATE ELEPHANTS. No cam-whoring, unless you're a whore. No sight-seeing.
- Whorism or Sexploring is an art unto itself, and takes years of mastery. Do not contaminate your way of the Samurai with the ways of the fucking tourists. Know your role.
- Case in point: Cheepork. He went and took all sorts of pictures. Invested a lot of time in it, too. But get this: his camera can take up to 2000 high-res pics, and maybe more if he were to trnasfer everything into CDs at the many camera shops in Thailand. You know how many pix he took? just a bit over 100. Why? Cause when life is happening around you, you don't take pictures, yo go and live, motherfucker.
- Been there, done that, fool. I could never get what I enjoy most in Thailand on camera cause I want to store it in my head, for me, not in a server for the whole world to see.
- Always leave picture-taking-during-holidays to the Japanese. If you want proof of your trip so you can brag to your friends and family that you've been to places, simply slit your wrists and die. Who gives a shit?
And the Eight and final rule: If this is your first night at FUCK CLUB, you HAVE to fuck.
THEME SONG:
Te-te-te-teeeee-teng
Te-te-te-te-te-te-te-teh-TENG
Doong doong!
Te-te-te-teeeee-teng
Te-te-te-te-te-te-te-teh-TENG
Doong doong!
This is your life, good to the last drop (and really, it IS!). This is your life, and you're fucking one woman at a time (if you want to. There are many alternatives).
Anyway, I just got back from the Bangkok-Pattaya trip and am too tired to record everything as well as list out all the lessons learned tonight.
So just for starters, I am putting together a list of basic and simple rules for traveling in Thailand. Based on Fight Club's rules, for those idiots who never saw the movie. Idiot.
The First Rule of Fuck Club is: You DO NOT fall in love with anyone.
- While it is easy to fall in love with a girl in Thailand, especially the bar girls and go go girls and masseuses, masseese, mastodon, whatever, just DON'T.
- Thais are very very good people, very polite people - most of them anyway - and the Thai girls have an amazing demeanour. But always, always remember that for girls who work in such places as a go go are doing it for a living. They're working there.
- Do not complicate their lives by being an asshole. I mean, by being an asshole who doesn't know your role in the whole scheme of things. Always know where the asshole boundaries are.
The Second Rule of Fuck Club is: You DO NOT fall in love with anyone.
- Seriously. This is for your own as well as for the bargirls' protection. You would not believe the kind of bullshit I hear spewing forth from the mouths of idiots who think that ALL these girls are up for a long-term relationship. And could be manipulated to be jealous in a non-monetary, purely-emotional sense.
- Case in point - Cheepork. Cheepork broke the first and second rule when he fell in love with Ann. Fuck you dude. The idiot even proposed to the girl, and uttered profestations of eternal devotion to she who could have been the best go go girl in Phuket.
- Fortunately, Ann saved everyone involved when she left her life of vice in Phuket to probably start a life of vice somewhere else. Status: still missing. And Cheepork still pines for his one true love. Good luck, dude.
Third Rule - NEVER ring the bell. Unless you can REALLY afford it.
(Ringing the bell at a bar in Thailand usually means you're buying everyone a drink. This could cost anything between RM100 - RM1000 or THB1000-THB10,000)
- This applies to everything else as well. If you can't afford something, or if you're not sure you want to tip or pay that kind of money for something you have no knowledge about, don't.
- Nothing spoils a trip more when you realize that you can't get a massage on the last day of your trip because you spent all your cash the night before by ringing a bell and buying everyone a drink.
- Case in point: Cheepork. Cheepork used to complain about not having enough money cause he always buys the girls drinks. He rang the bell a few times as well. Now, with the law in place, he has loads of cash to spare.
Fourth Rule: Chill
- Going to Thailand is like a spiritual journey, a pilgrimage. So learn to let go of everything and embrace the culture, the lifestyle, or a go go girl or two.
- Case in Point: Me. I was so worried about work back home that it nearly spoiled my trip. Plus the fact that everything was rushed in Bangkok, and time seems to travel faster in the Thai capital almost made me lose it and attack an innocent elephant at Soi Cowboy. It was only when I started talking to some of the girls - Mae the Thai economist and another whom I shall call 'An American Crime' - that I let go of everything and started embracing whatever I could get my hands on. Except for guys, of course.
Fifth Rule: DO NOT travel in packs.
- I know this is what you Malaysians like to do. Travel in packs. Hell, a lot of people like to do it too. Why? Well, maybe cause when humans were monkeys, they liked to stay together just in case a saber-tooth tiger starts raping someone in the ass.
- Well, don't. You will enjoy the trip better if you travel alone or have one companion only. Three is a crowd. You don't know when some idiot is going to say, "Hey, I want to watch ladyboy show!" and you're too nice to tell him to fuck off and die.
Sixth Rule: DO NOT eat at Planet Hollywood or Hard Rock Cafe in Thailand. Or McDonalds. Or Starbucks. Or any major chains.
- Not because their food is bad - it's great. It's just this - you travel hundreds, maybe thousands of miles to another country and then you go to a restaurant that you already have in your country. How stupid is that?
- I mean, it's a franchise thing, so they usually serve exactly the same-tasting shit. You think a Big Mac in Jakarta is going to taste different than a Big Mac in, say, Antartica? Fuck no!
- Cheepork and I would often go to the most rat-infested, cockroach strewn stalls in Bangkok. Cause it's gritty. Cause it's real. Cause we hardcore, bitch! We also go to cafes and shit, but always, always make it a point to eat what the locals are eating. Especially what the go go girls are eating, cause I also want perfect skin, voluminous hair, a pussy that doesn't smell and perky nipples. Unless it's pork. Pork sucks. Pork is the stupidest thing in the world, along with fax machines. I HATE fax machines. I HATE pork.
Seventh Rule: You are a whorist, so no fucking tourist activity, foo!
- This means no going to tourist attractions like temples and shit. No boat markets, no weekend markets, no taking pictures with a fucking stupid elephant. I FUCKING HATE ELEPHANTS. No cam-whoring, unless you're a whore. No sight-seeing.
- Whorism or Sexploring is an art unto itself, and takes years of mastery. Do not contaminate your way of the Samurai with the ways of the fucking tourists. Know your role.
- Case in point: Cheepork. He went and took all sorts of pictures. Invested a lot of time in it, too. But get this: his camera can take up to 2000 high-res pics, and maybe more if he were to trnasfer everything into CDs at the many camera shops in Thailand. You know how many pix he took? just a bit over 100. Why? Cause when life is happening around you, you don't take pictures, yo go and live, motherfucker.
- Been there, done that, fool. I could never get what I enjoy most in Thailand on camera cause I want to store it in my head, for me, not in a server for the whole world to see.
- Always leave picture-taking-during-holidays to the Japanese. If you want proof of your trip so you can brag to your friends and family that you've been to places, simply slit your wrists and die. Who gives a shit?
And the Eight and final rule: If this is your first night at FUCK CLUB, you HAVE to fuck.
THEME SONG:
Te-te-te-teeeee-teng
Te-te-te-te-te-te-te-teh-TENG
Doong doong!
Last Warning
To those who took my shit without crediting me to my own work, and to those who still haven't paid me what you owe me (this means YOU, Milx).
I give you 24 hours to remove any stolen property or to give me back my money.
Otherwise, I'm going to make you look so much like a fool, your mother is going to masturbate with a cucumber.
Scratch that. I give you 24 minutes before your mother starts trying to get off.
I give you 24 hours to remove any stolen property or to give me back my money.
Otherwise, I'm going to make you look so much like a fool, your mother is going to masturbate with a cucumber.
Scratch that. I give you 24 minutes before your mother starts trying to get off.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
national Pornographic Sexplorer: LIVE from Bangkok
I am now in Bangkok and as usual, the trip has been a blast.
In the past few days, I have talked to two girls (one go go and one massage) on how to improve the circumstances of farmers and the general agricultural industry of Thailand.
I almost got thrown into Thai prison. I rediscovered the Seven Positions of Buddha. I was also warned by massage girls to stay away from certain places in Bangkok because there might or will be demonstrations soon.
There's also the new discoveries: Go Go Marketplace and the BEST A GO GO IN ALL OF THAILAND. As well as a new catchphrase Cheepork and I have been using - Kaze no Yoooooooooooooooooooo ni Hayaku!
These are possible titles of the Bangkok-Pattaya Trip in the upcoming weeks:
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Kaze no Yo ni Hayaku
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Future of Thai Agriculture
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Green Chocobo
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Seven Positions of Buddha
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Cheepork the Fucking Tourist
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Secrets of Pattaya Revealed
National Pornographic Sexplorer: To Bang Sue and Back - the Search for the Ultimate Massage Parlour Within Walking Distance to the LRT
National Pornographic Sexplorer: CAUGHT! I am a Criminal
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Marketplace of the Gods
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Picking Up Japanese Men
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Those Things They Sell in Thai 7-Elevens
For now, I am going back to my room to watch somebody who looks and sounds like Sir Ian McKellen play Heidi's grandfather. My room has 56 channels. Free.
I will have a communications blackout for a few days. If anything big goes down in Bangkok, I might just stay here and submit reports to whatever news agency/newspaper that wants it.
For now, I am safe.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to listen to Ian McKellen.
Cheers.
Kaze no yoooooooooooooooo ni HAYAKU!
(and tonight, Soi Cowboy)
In the past few days, I have talked to two girls (one go go and one massage) on how to improve the circumstances of farmers and the general agricultural industry of Thailand.
I almost got thrown into Thai prison. I rediscovered the Seven Positions of Buddha. I was also warned by massage girls to stay away from certain places in Bangkok because there might or will be demonstrations soon.
There's also the new discoveries: Go Go Marketplace and the BEST A GO GO IN ALL OF THAILAND. As well as a new catchphrase Cheepork and I have been using - Kaze no Yoooooooooooooooooooo ni Hayaku!
These are possible titles of the Bangkok-Pattaya Trip in the upcoming weeks:
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Kaze no Yo ni Hayaku
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Future of Thai Agriculture
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Green Chocobo
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Seven Positions of Buddha
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Cheepork the Fucking Tourist
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Secrets of Pattaya Revealed
National Pornographic Sexplorer: To Bang Sue and Back - the Search for the Ultimate Massage Parlour Within Walking Distance to the LRT
National Pornographic Sexplorer: CAUGHT! I am a Criminal
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Marketplace of the Gods
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Picking Up Japanese Men
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Those Things They Sell in Thai 7-Elevens
For now, I am going back to my room to watch somebody who looks and sounds like Sir Ian McKellen play Heidi's grandfather. My room has 56 channels. Free.
I will have a communications blackout for a few days. If anything big goes down in Bangkok, I might just stay here and submit reports to whatever news agency/newspaper that wants it.
For now, I am safe.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to listen to Ian McKellen.
Cheers.
Kaze no yoooooooooooooooo ni HAYAKU!
(and tonight, Soi Cowboy)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Voice of God
My brother called me the other day, saying that he found some African black money scammers.
Yup. The ones that claim they can turn a pile of black paper using a 'certain chemical' into US dollars.
He finally got a hold of them, not because he believes in scams, but because he is curious as to how these conmen work. It's a hobby. Safer than heroin addiction.
So he got the name of the 'certain chemical' and wanted to run the damn thing through me.
Me: So what is it? What do they use?
Brother: Tetragrammaton. I've been looking all over the net for the chemical and couldn't find any reference to the thing.
Me: That's because Tetragrammaton is the Voice of God. According to Judaism. So the chemical they're using is actually the Voice of God. Holy Shit! That could be more valuable than the bloody fucking US dollars. Screw foreign currency, you have the Voice of God there!
B: Yup.
Me: Give me some Voice of God, broseph.
B: Comin' right up, homes.
I can't believe people fell for this shit. Goes to show, that when greed clouds your brains, you will have the IQ of a bonobo with Down Syndrome.
Yup. The ones that claim they can turn a pile of black paper using a 'certain chemical' into US dollars.
He finally got a hold of them, not because he believes in scams, but because he is curious as to how these conmen work. It's a hobby. Safer than heroin addiction.
So he got the name of the 'certain chemical' and wanted to run the damn thing through me.
Me: So what is it? What do they use?
Brother: Tetragrammaton. I've been looking all over the net for the chemical and couldn't find any reference to the thing.
Me: That's because Tetragrammaton is the Voice of God. According to Judaism. So the chemical they're using is actually the Voice of God. Holy Shit! That could be more valuable than the bloody fucking US dollars. Screw foreign currency, you have the Voice of God there!
B: Yup.
Me: Give me some Voice of God, broseph.
B: Comin' right up, homes.
I can't believe people fell for this shit. Goes to show, that when greed clouds your brains, you will have the IQ of a bonobo with Down Syndrome.
The Man from U*N*C*L*E
For those of you who didn't know, Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak is my uncle. Technically. Tun Razak and my grandfather were cousins. So that makes Najib my uncle, twice removed or something.
If Najib and AUNT Rosmah ever gets into power, I am going to be the next motherfucker of the cuntry.
First, I will put my friend Cheepox as the boss of major media companies. Page 3 all the way, homes!
Then, I am going to sell sand to Singapore. Hell, why stop there? Why not just sell states which are a threat to me, to SIngapore.
And instead of selling Pantai Medical, which has the Fomema concession - the only organisation in Malaysia with the authority to decide who can come here and work and who can't, based on the medical certificates they hand out, why not just hand over the Malaysian immigration to the Singaporeans? I mean, why pretend? What the fuck for?
Then, I am going to blow up Penang bridge and construct a monorail there, as part of PHWOAR - Penang Hos Want Oily Amir Rectum. I won't be handling the shit. I'll just manufacture trains which they HAVE to use for the monorail project.
Then, I'll ground all the buses and cabs, and manufacture my own buses and cabs, that the transportation industry HAVE to use.
Then I'm going to hold a concert for the benefit of whoever is in need at the moment and grab 70% of the profits. Who are going to ask the questions, when Ted Turner Cheepork is my bitch?
Then, just to screw around with Malaysiakini which have by then snooped around me, I will get another online news portal up and compete directly with it. Ruining Malaysiakini's arrogant shit.
Then I'll raise oil prices. Just for the hell of it. And compare the price with Singapore, which has no oil but has Pulau Batu Putih as well as F-22 Raptors. Sucks to be you, Singapore.
And then I'm going to brandish a keris, while wearing a too-tight Barisan shirt that shows my nipples. Sex-appeal, yo!
I will harness the power of the poor, misunderstood Mat Rempits and lose an election all by myself.
Boo fucking hoo.
I am the future. The Man of Tomorrow. Take a long good look, Malaysia. Take a long good look.
If Najib and AUNT Rosmah ever gets into power, I am going to be the next motherfucker of the cuntry.
First, I will put my friend Cheepox as the boss of major media companies. Page 3 all the way, homes!
Then, I am going to sell sand to Singapore. Hell, why stop there? Why not just sell states which are a threat to me, to SIngapore.
And instead of selling Pantai Medical, which has the Fomema concession - the only organisation in Malaysia with the authority to decide who can come here and work and who can't, based on the medical certificates they hand out, why not just hand over the Malaysian immigration to the Singaporeans? I mean, why pretend? What the fuck for?
Then, I am going to blow up Penang bridge and construct a monorail there, as part of PHWOAR - Penang Hos Want Oily Amir Rectum. I won't be handling the shit. I'll just manufacture trains which they HAVE to use for the monorail project.
Then, I'll ground all the buses and cabs, and manufacture my own buses and cabs, that the transportation industry HAVE to use.
Then I'm going to hold a concert for the benefit of whoever is in need at the moment and grab 70% of the profits. Who are going to ask the questions, when Ted Turner Cheepork is my bitch?
Then, just to screw around with Malaysiakini which have by then snooped around me, I will get another online news portal up and compete directly with it. Ruining Malaysiakini's arrogant shit.
Then I'll raise oil prices. Just for the hell of it. And compare the price with Singapore, which has no oil but has Pulau Batu Putih as well as F-22 Raptors. Sucks to be you, Singapore.
And then I'm going to brandish a keris, while wearing a too-tight Barisan shirt that shows my nipples. Sex-appeal, yo!
I will harness the power of the poor, misunderstood Mat Rempits and lose an election all by myself.
Boo fucking hoo.
I am the future. The Man of Tomorrow. Take a long good look, Malaysia. Take a long good look.
National Pornographic Sexplorer: At The Mountains of Madness
It is a few hours before I touch down on Thai soil. And already, I could feel the madness I have been carrying around for the past several months begin to fall away from me.
I can feel the power. I can sense the source energy. I can taste the vibrations of the earth. I am close to Hell.
Right now, I am tying up some loose ends at work. Got a few quick proposals to do. I can already see myself coming back from this Bangkok-Pattaya trip and being so motherfucking energized and ready to do more.
I can no longer feel the negativity from idiots, or even hear the voice of the monkeys. All the bad things people have done to me, real or imagined, will not matter anymore. Soon, the only thing that matters would be my dick.
At last, my dick is complete again.
I will again be the alpha and the omega. The king of kings. Underwear-Model-Samurai-Man. Man of Tomorrow. The Malay Male. Count Clitoris. The best and the greatest. I will again be Amir Hafizi. 8 Years Old. And proud of it.
I can feel the power. I can sense the source energy. I can taste the vibrations of the earth. I am close to Hell.
Right now, I am tying up some loose ends at work. Got a few quick proposals to do. I can already see myself coming back from this Bangkok-Pattaya trip and being so motherfucking energized and ready to do more.
I can no longer feel the negativity from idiots, or even hear the voice of the monkeys. All the bad things people have done to me, real or imagined, will not matter anymore. Soon, the only thing that matters would be my dick.
At last, my dick is complete again.
I will again be the alpha and the omega. The king of kings. Underwear-Model-Samurai-Man. Man of Tomorrow. The Malay Male. Count Clitoris. The best and the greatest. I will again be Amir Hafizi. 8 Years Old. And proud of it.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
National Pornographic Sexplorer: The Pimp Signal
It's the Pimp signal, let's go!
Atomic batteries full power! Turbines full speed!
As I lay me down to fuck, pray the Lord my soul to pluck.
If I die, while sleeping with four girls, pray the Lord my soul to twirl.
I pity those who believe that life is all about sex. It's more than that. There are things that are far more powerful than sex. Anal-sex, for instance. And threesomes.
Atomic batteries full power! Turbines full speed!
As I lay me down to fuck, pray the Lord my soul to pluck.
If I die, while sleeping with four girls, pray the Lord my soul to twirl.
I pity those who believe that life is all about sex. It's more than that. There are things that are far more powerful than sex. Anal-sex, for instance. And threesomes.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Tales from the Drunk Side: Noir
I walked into the Press Club with her words ringing in my head.
The Witch: Why did you come here to see me?
That was a few hours ago. Before I met Glen and Jack.
Me: I want you to ask questions I can't.
TW: Why? Why can't you?
Me: Because I can no longer remain impartial. Logical. I'm involved too deep. I am biased.
TW: Gee. You think?
Me: I am about to do something great and terrible...
And I told her all the options that lay before me. And she said this and that. And my face changed. And then I got up and she got up, and she left and I left as well.
Then I'm here. Surrounded by old people. But I think I'll be going first. To Hell. Hell Club. In Pattaya.
Lucifer Disco. Where lithe little demons dance and prance around. Where I can be a kid again. Forever. Thailand is the one place in the world where I show my true face. And they accept you, without judgment. As long as you pay your tabs.
Earlier, I sent a letter to Dr M. Felt like it. Though it could just be academic. Word on the street is that the APs for alternative fuel cars have already been distributed. Pretty soon, we will see electric cars and hydrogen fuel-cell cars on Malaysian roads. If they followed my plans, it could also solve the Independent Power Producers problem as well. Currently, the Government is spending over 26 billion ringgits on subsidies for them. Or so they say.
With hydrogen fuel-cell, every single vehicle-owner is an IPP. Maybe you can get a piece of the pie. RM26 billion divided by 26 million Malaysians is a thousand bucks a piece. Per year.
I used to think, in my youth, that politics and policies do not affect me, as long as I stay out of politics. It took a costly lesson in 2006 to show me that politics and policies affect everyone. And people who feel safe and would feel no risk of looking bad by avoiding the stupid politics of the cuntry and continue to look cool by letting idiots run rampant all over the cuntry will ultimately pay the price.
And how they are paying the price now. Stupid. Go forth and look cool. Go on and try to look good. End of the day, you're the fucking buffoon.
"I don't vote. Hihi."
"I don't care who sets the price for my next meal. Hihi."
What a bunch of retards.
These days, while waiting for Pattaya, I am trying to find something or someone worth saving in this godforsaken cuntry.
My parents are dying. The people I see are backstabbing monkeys. I see no hope. This is why I need to go to Pattaya. I need to see that there is hope for the human race. Otherwise, I might jkust decide to start killing people. For fun.
I found one - myself, but I am too busy fighting with my inner-adult to actually give a fuck about anything else. I don't want to grow up. I always want to be eight years old. And be honest about everything.
But that's not the way the world works. If I start playing their games, going about their rules, I will destroy this world and kill everyone in it. Thank God I am not that mature yet. Thank God I haven't grown up to be one of them.
The Witch: Why did you come here to see me?
That was a few hours ago. Before I met Glen and Jack.
Me: I want you to ask questions I can't.
TW: Why? Why can't you?
Me: Because I can no longer remain impartial. Logical. I'm involved too deep. I am biased.
TW: Gee. You think?
Me: I am about to do something great and terrible...
And I told her all the options that lay before me. And she said this and that. And my face changed. And then I got up and she got up, and she left and I left as well.
Then I'm here. Surrounded by old people. But I think I'll be going first. To Hell. Hell Club. In Pattaya.
Lucifer Disco. Where lithe little demons dance and prance around. Where I can be a kid again. Forever. Thailand is the one place in the world where I show my true face. And they accept you, without judgment. As long as you pay your tabs.
Earlier, I sent a letter to Dr M. Felt like it. Though it could just be academic. Word on the street is that the APs for alternative fuel cars have already been distributed. Pretty soon, we will see electric cars and hydrogen fuel-cell cars on Malaysian roads. If they followed my plans, it could also solve the Independent Power Producers problem as well. Currently, the Government is spending over 26 billion ringgits on subsidies for them. Or so they say.
With hydrogen fuel-cell, every single vehicle-owner is an IPP. Maybe you can get a piece of the pie. RM26 billion divided by 26 million Malaysians is a thousand bucks a piece. Per year.
I used to think, in my youth, that politics and policies do not affect me, as long as I stay out of politics. It took a costly lesson in 2006 to show me that politics and policies affect everyone. And people who feel safe and would feel no risk of looking bad by avoiding the stupid politics of the cuntry and continue to look cool by letting idiots run rampant all over the cuntry will ultimately pay the price.
And how they are paying the price now. Stupid. Go forth and look cool. Go on and try to look good. End of the day, you're the fucking buffoon.
"I don't vote. Hihi."
"I don't care who sets the price for my next meal. Hihi."
What a bunch of retards.
These days, while waiting for Pattaya, I am trying to find something or someone worth saving in this godforsaken cuntry.
My parents are dying. The people I see are backstabbing monkeys. I see no hope. This is why I need to go to Pattaya. I need to see that there is hope for the human race. Otherwise, I might jkust decide to start killing people. For fun.
I found one - myself, but I am too busy fighting with my inner-adult to actually give a fuck about anything else. I don't want to grow up. I always want to be eight years old. And be honest about everything.
But that's not the way the world works. If I start playing their games, going about their rules, I will destroy this world and kill everyone in it. Thank God I am not that mature yet. Thank God I haven't grown up to be one of them.
The Village Madman
I have regressed to being the village madman.
There was a woman in my village years ago who would write letters to Dr M. She would start using normal ABCs and then switch to jawi and then back to rumi.
She would then send it to my father, the headman, so that he would send it to Dr M. I remember laughing till my sides split while reading her letters.
They were the funniest things I ever read in my life. The contents never made any sense and was all the product of a sick mind. She would write stuff about ASB, Vision 2020, CHOGM, Commonwealth Games, ASEAN and whatever words she can find in the newspaper. She even had bush-jacket and whatever else thrown in.
But I never could remember exactly what she wrote, just that she was expecting Dr M to send her money so she can buy more tobacco.
One day, she died. For a lifetime, I forgot about her.
Today, during lunchtime, I felt an urge, a compulsion, to write to the good doctor. I just couldn't take it anymore. I don't care what people say about me. Hell, it could be karma. I mean, I did laugh at the madwoman.
So I wrote to him, during lunchtime, and sent it to one of his aides. Now, I am no longer responsible for the destruction of the world. The ball is in his court.
There was a woman in my village years ago who would write letters to Dr M. She would start using normal ABCs and then switch to jawi and then back to rumi.
She would then send it to my father, the headman, so that he would send it to Dr M. I remember laughing till my sides split while reading her letters.
They were the funniest things I ever read in my life. The contents never made any sense and was all the product of a sick mind. She would write stuff about ASB, Vision 2020, CHOGM, Commonwealth Games, ASEAN and whatever words she can find in the newspaper. She even had bush-jacket and whatever else thrown in.
But I never could remember exactly what she wrote, just that she was expecting Dr M to send her money so she can buy more tobacco.
One day, she died. For a lifetime, I forgot about her.
Today, during lunchtime, I felt an urge, a compulsion, to write to the good doctor. I just couldn't take it anymore. I don't care what people say about me. Hell, it could be karma. I mean, I did laugh at the madwoman.
So I wrote to him, during lunchtime, and sent it to one of his aides. Now, I am no longer responsible for the destruction of the world. The ball is in his court.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Tales from the Drunk Side: Underwear-Model-Samurai
In a year's time, I will be an Underwear-Model-Samurai.
After buffing up my body, I am going to learn jujitsu - Samurai hand-to-hand martial arts. And then, I am going to dress up like a bat. And patrol the rooftops of Bangsar Village. Possibly starting with Starbucks and on some nights - Sakae Sushi. Cause I'm a samurai and shit.
See, the romanticised notion of Samurai who would die before dishonour and loyal to their daimyos are actually a fabrication, an illusion. A lie.
It was concocted during the non-warring era of the Tokugawa rule.
See, the Samurais were the soldiers and warriors, employed during war. When there are no battles, they still enjoy payments and fucking the odd farmer's daughter or two, occupying a special place in society.
However, they realize that this will all change if the people realize that they have no use for them, especially in a time of peace.
So these samurais, they're usually very literate and learned, because a good education is important to being a samurai. They could read and write.
So these samurais started writing about themselves, giving themselves a code of honour, Bushido. Books like Three Rings or was it Five Rings detailed this code.
In the past, there are records of samurai running away and retreating after they found out that they could not win a battle.
"We stormed Edo stronghold for three weeks, and lost 300 men," wrote one ancient samurai. "You sem people gonna die? Shittt doggg! We're gettin' the hell outta here. See you later, broseph!"
But in the books, the samurais would fight to the death and commit seppuku if they ever lose.
This is the romanticised notion of the samurai. The way. The kata.
And all samurai following the peaceful period in Japan's history follows this romanticised version.
And it is THIS version that I embody. Carving for myself my own code of honour - the Code of Bukkake.
As with any religion, based on a lie.
After buffing up my body, I am going to learn jujitsu - Samurai hand-to-hand martial arts. And then, I am going to dress up like a bat. And patrol the rooftops of Bangsar Village. Possibly starting with Starbucks and on some nights - Sakae Sushi. Cause I'm a samurai and shit.
See, the romanticised notion of Samurai who would die before dishonour and loyal to their daimyos are actually a fabrication, an illusion. A lie.
It was concocted during the non-warring era of the Tokugawa rule.
See, the Samurais were the soldiers and warriors, employed during war. When there are no battles, they still enjoy payments and fucking the odd farmer's daughter or two, occupying a special place in society.
However, they realize that this will all change if the people realize that they have no use for them, especially in a time of peace.
So these samurais, they're usually very literate and learned, because a good education is important to being a samurai. They could read and write.
So these samurais started writing about themselves, giving themselves a code of honour, Bushido. Books like Three Rings or was it Five Rings detailed this code.
In the past, there are records of samurai running away and retreating after they found out that they could not win a battle.
"We stormed Edo stronghold for three weeks, and lost 300 men," wrote one ancient samurai. "You sem people gonna die? Shittt doggg! We're gettin' the hell outta here. See you later, broseph!"
But in the books, the samurais would fight to the death and commit seppuku if they ever lose.
This is the romanticised notion of the samurai. The way. The kata.
And all samurai following the peaceful period in Japan's history follows this romanticised version.
And it is THIS version that I embody. Carving for myself my own code of honour - the Code of Bukkake.
As with any religion, based on a lie.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Tales from the Drunk Side: Twilight of the Superhero
I grew up to be eight years old, and truth is, I never went past that.
Things that happened to me, things that made me what I am up till I was eight, stayed with me forever.
As a 28-year-old 8-year-old, and a pompous, megalomaniac one at that, I have always believed that the world rests on my shoulders. That everything is up to me. Everything.
To forward the race of the Malays? Me. Racial segregation and intolerance and finally people killing each other because of what they eat? My fault.
I have always believed that by being alive, I am responsible for everything. That the burden falls on me to make things better. This is called a superhero complex. And I live with it every single day.
I wake up each morning, and I start to think about how things could be so much better if people stopped living in denial, if people stopped lying and tried to manipulate each other so much. If there was no spite and no backstabbing.
If we could go to work in flying cars powered by air. If people just dropped the religious fighting bullshit and just calm the fuck down.
My intentions have always been good, but intent and outcome are rarely coincident. Neil Gaiman wrote that.
I was 17 when I finally realized that I cannot save the world. Not because I really can't, cause I can, but because the world does not want to be saved. And for me to think that anyone wants saving is extremely arrogant, even for me.
Wandering through the pyramids of Nyalarhotep and the tomb of Shub Nigurrath, I realized that the world is on a suicidal course to destruction.
Realizing my powers of observation, I decided to be a dark mirror to society and the world. Because everything is a joke. And I need you to see that joke. Desperately. Before we come to the punchline. The final, ultimate irony.
So I became one. A mirror. A joke. That took on nightmare turns.
I became a demon, simply because I was hoping that angels would come out from the woodwork, swoop down from the skies and smite me with their flaming swords.
Then I realized that there are no angels. There is no heaven. And the only hell that exists is the one we create right here on earth.
All I found were other demons, wearing human and sometimes angelic masks. Sometimes without even them realizing that they have a mask on.
But even a demon wearing angel-skin will set fire to temples and mosques if they walk inside.
I come again to the realization that the burden of responsibility falls on my shoulders and to similar shoulders of people like me. And I don't have long before that becomes even heavier.
See, right now, Generation X is killing the Baby Boomers. After Generation X takes over completely, there will be a brief respite before the Children of the 80s, my generation, takes over before the era of Generation Y starts.
So my generation has the unique opportunity of swinging the world on an axis towards the direction we would like to take it before our younger, more tech-savvy brothers and sisters take it from us.
We're like a snowflake that can determine the shape and direction of an avalanche.
All that is and will be, are up to us, as it was to others before us. Up to me.
But...I do not want that responsibility. It's too much. For an 8-year-old like me. I mean, I am blessed with many things other people do not have. The kind of opportunity and doors which are open to me, the skill sets, are all things that my predecessors could only dream of.
I take advantage of their glory, and their mistakes. And one day they will give me the keys to the family car.
Fuck, man. I'd rather be in a cab. Or a hearse.
I do not want to be responsible for this world. And yet by being born, I am automatically responsible for it. I do not want to be responsible for other people's happiness, and I am not. No. I am not. But it doesn't feel that way.
That's why I wish I am a machine. Like my father, who does not have any emotions of guilt or any other shit to bog him down. I wish I could be a machine.
In fact, the only thing I want in life is to be able to afford a lifestyle that allows me to read and write. And fuck. Till I die. And that's it. Not to save the world. Not anymore.
Man.
I hate this shit.
Oh well. Whatever.
My name is Amir. I am a superhero.
Things that happened to me, things that made me what I am up till I was eight, stayed with me forever.
As a 28-year-old 8-year-old, and a pompous, megalomaniac one at that, I have always believed that the world rests on my shoulders. That everything is up to me. Everything.
To forward the race of the Malays? Me. Racial segregation and intolerance and finally people killing each other because of what they eat? My fault.
I have always believed that by being alive, I am responsible for everything. That the burden falls on me to make things better. This is called a superhero complex. And I live with it every single day.
I wake up each morning, and I start to think about how things could be so much better if people stopped living in denial, if people stopped lying and tried to manipulate each other so much. If there was no spite and no backstabbing.
If we could go to work in flying cars powered by air. If people just dropped the religious fighting bullshit and just calm the fuck down.
My intentions have always been good, but intent and outcome are rarely coincident. Neil Gaiman wrote that.
I was 17 when I finally realized that I cannot save the world. Not because I really can't, cause I can, but because the world does not want to be saved. And for me to think that anyone wants saving is extremely arrogant, even for me.
Wandering through the pyramids of Nyalarhotep and the tomb of Shub Nigurrath, I realized that the world is on a suicidal course to destruction.
Realizing my powers of observation, I decided to be a dark mirror to society and the world. Because everything is a joke. And I need you to see that joke. Desperately. Before we come to the punchline. The final, ultimate irony.
So I became one. A mirror. A joke. That took on nightmare turns.
I became a demon, simply because I was hoping that angels would come out from the woodwork, swoop down from the skies and smite me with their flaming swords.
Then I realized that there are no angels. There is no heaven. And the only hell that exists is the one we create right here on earth.
All I found were other demons, wearing human and sometimes angelic masks. Sometimes without even them realizing that they have a mask on.
But even a demon wearing angel-skin will set fire to temples and mosques if they walk inside.
I come again to the realization that the burden of responsibility falls on my shoulders and to similar shoulders of people like me. And I don't have long before that becomes even heavier.
See, right now, Generation X is killing the Baby Boomers. After Generation X takes over completely, there will be a brief respite before the Children of the 80s, my generation, takes over before the era of Generation Y starts.
So my generation has the unique opportunity of swinging the world on an axis towards the direction we would like to take it before our younger, more tech-savvy brothers and sisters take it from us.
We're like a snowflake that can determine the shape and direction of an avalanche.
All that is and will be, are up to us, as it was to others before us. Up to me.
But...I do not want that responsibility. It's too much. For an 8-year-old like me. I mean, I am blessed with many things other people do not have. The kind of opportunity and doors which are open to me, the skill sets, are all things that my predecessors could only dream of.
I take advantage of their glory, and their mistakes. And one day they will give me the keys to the family car.
Fuck, man. I'd rather be in a cab. Or a hearse.
I do not want to be responsible for this world. And yet by being born, I am automatically responsible for it. I do not want to be responsible for other people's happiness, and I am not. No. I am not. But it doesn't feel that way.
That's why I wish I am a machine. Like my father, who does not have any emotions of guilt or any other shit to bog him down. I wish I could be a machine.
In fact, the only thing I want in life is to be able to afford a lifestyle that allows me to read and write. And fuck. Till I die. And that's it. Not to save the world. Not anymore.
Man.
I hate this shit.
Oh well. Whatever.
My name is Amir. I am a superhero.
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Welcome to the Jungle
If you're wondering what my dreams look like, some of the scenes can be found in this video.
National Pornographic Sexplorer: Oh Won't You Please Take Me Home
I was sitting a home, last night, homesick for Thailand as hell, when suddenly I saw the Bukkake Signal.
Me: It's the Bukkake Signal! Let's Go!
So I went to a bust of Maria Ozawa and flipped a switch. A chrome pole went out from my wardrobe and I slid down into the Pimp Cave.
I went into the Pimp Mobile in full Pimp Gear. The Earl of Cunt - Cheepox, was already there.
Cheepox: Atomic batteries full power...turbines full speed...
Me: Roger. Ready to move out.
Using the full speed of the PimpMobile, we safely went to a stall near my apartment complex.
Me: So. What's the plan?
Cheepox: 4 days, three nights of unadulterated, pure Thailand. Did my research. We MUST go to Living Dolls Showcase. And Living Dolls 1 in Pattaya. And one night in Bangkok - Angel Massage.
Me: I did some research too, and will be emailing you the relevant maps. For obvious reasons, we MUST check out Hell Club and Lucifer Disco.
C: Why, Count Clitoris?
Me: Easy, Earl of Cunt. I need to stick to my theme of wanton eternal damnation and religion-busting. Man, if only there was a club called Metatron.
C: What's that?
Me: The Voice of God.
C: We really doing this, right? After three years, we're finally hitting the original Sin City?
Me: Yes! What about your girlfriend?
C: She knows I'm going and what I'm going to do and she's okay with it.
Me: Sweet baby Jesus 'El Savioooooooorrrrrrrrrr' CHRIST!
Thinking about Pattaya these past few days have kept me going. The past few months, I've been exposed to lethal doses of STUPIDINITE, and I need this trip to find my center and replenish my empty tank.
I've been emo-ing like a menstruating bitch these past few weeks cause all that bliss from Thailand ran out a long time ago. And I was faced with STUPIDINITE all this while. Now is time for me to reabsorb Pimp Masta's light.
In brightest day, in blackest night,
No nipple shall escape my sight
Let those who worship stupidity's might,
Beware my power...Pimp Masta's light!
In Pattaya, there are around 20,000 registered sex workers in the low season (estimate) and between the two of us, we get 10,000 each. Hope that would be enough.
This video is not bad in showing the true cross-section of girls you can find in Pattaya or Phuket (it was shot in Pattaya), though some of the girls here are not girls. I can sense them using my highly developed gay-dar. A lot are mingers, cause Western tastes are not the same as Asian tastes.
Oh won't you please take me home!
Me: It's the Bukkake Signal! Let's Go!
So I went to a bust of Maria Ozawa and flipped a switch. A chrome pole went out from my wardrobe and I slid down into the Pimp Cave.
I went into the Pimp Mobile in full Pimp Gear. The Earl of Cunt - Cheepox, was already there.
Cheepox: Atomic batteries full power...turbines full speed...
Me: Roger. Ready to move out.
Using the full speed of the PimpMobile, we safely went to a stall near my apartment complex.
Me: So. What's the plan?
Cheepox: 4 days, three nights of unadulterated, pure Thailand. Did my research. We MUST go to Living Dolls Showcase. And Living Dolls 1 in Pattaya. And one night in Bangkok - Angel Massage.
Me: I did some research too, and will be emailing you the relevant maps. For obvious reasons, we MUST check out Hell Club and Lucifer Disco.
C: Why, Count Clitoris?
Me: Easy, Earl of Cunt. I need to stick to my theme of wanton eternal damnation and religion-busting. Man, if only there was a club called Metatron.
C: What's that?
Me: The Voice of God.
C: We really doing this, right? After three years, we're finally hitting the original Sin City?
Me: Yes! What about your girlfriend?
C: She knows I'm going and what I'm going to do and she's okay with it.
Me: Sweet baby Jesus 'El Savioooooooorrrrrrrrrr' CHRIST!
Thinking about Pattaya these past few days have kept me going. The past few months, I've been exposed to lethal doses of STUPIDINITE, and I need this trip to find my center and replenish my empty tank.
I've been emo-ing like a menstruating bitch these past few weeks cause all that bliss from Thailand ran out a long time ago. And I was faced with STUPIDINITE all this while. Now is time for me to reabsorb Pimp Masta's light.
In brightest day, in blackest night,
No nipple shall escape my sight
Let those who worship stupidity's might,
Beware my power...Pimp Masta's light!
In Pattaya, there are around 20,000 registered sex workers in the low season (estimate) and between the two of us, we get 10,000 each. Hope that would be enough.
This video is not bad in showing the true cross-section of girls you can find in Pattaya or Phuket (it was shot in Pattaya), though some of the girls here are not girls. I can sense them using my highly developed gay-dar. A lot are mingers, cause Western tastes are not the same as Asian tastes.
Oh won't you please take me home!
Call Me Ben. Benjamin Linus
I pray to the ancient spirits.
Ancient Spirits of EEEEEEEEEEEEEEVIL!
Transform this decaying form to MUM-RAAAAAAAAAAAAA! The EVER-LIVIIIIIIIIIIIING!
There is no turning back now.
Ancient Spirits of EEEEEEEEEEEEEEVIL!
Transform this decaying form to MUM-RAAAAAAAAAAAAA! The EVER-LIVIIIIIIIIIIIING!
There is no turning back now.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
I am Such a Fucking Genius
I told you so.
The future is now. Today.
I told you motherfuckers that fossil fuel is history. Petroleum is history. Petroleum is a fossil.
Market forces will drive the adoption of hydrogen fuel-cells or any other infinitely renewable sources of energy. Like nuclear or some shit.
Here's the thing. Petrol prices just went up 78 cents just now. On my way to the Press Club, I saw hundreds, maybe thousands of cars lining up for that final cheap tank-full of gas.
And that's only today. In the future, we will see petrol prices like that in Indonesia, with the daily, maybe even hourly price displayed outside a gas station. Imagine one day waking up and having to pay RM50 for a litre.
Hahahaha. Suckers.
The smart question to ask would be, with savings exceeding RM45 billion with the abolishment of the subsidy, what the fuck would the Government do with the money? Buy more private jets? How about a yacht? A mansion in Perth? Hell, why not throw in a Nasi Kandar restaurant or two. It's RM45 billion. Maybe more. Who gives a shit?
Do we still have to sell Johor to Singapore with this new saving? How about selling it to the States, if Anwar ever gets into power?
With RM45 billion, will we finally have enough to pay doctors competitive wages? Or are we just going to try to guilt them into coming back to Malaysia? Oh yeah, manipulation always work better than money. NOT. Hahahaha. What about other professionals?
Will the powers that be finally have the RM400 million I asked for in order to stab Rocky in the back and scratch his car? I know his password and I can access his email and his blog under the pretext of putting up a poster when BAM! I put some pictures of my dick there, opening Rocky up for felony charges involving distribution of pornography.
Then I'll give him 10% of my earnings, when he gets out of jail, and we're all square. I win. Rocky wins. You lose RM400 million. But hey, there're still RM44.6 billion to go, right?
How about this: Spend 15 billion to bring in hydrogen fuel-cell cars to this country. We even have FLYING CARS. Yeah. CARS THAT FUCKING FLY. Why not have that car?
Just pay Ole Gunnar Solksjaer and his Norweigan friends some money for the hydrogen fuel-cell technology they've had since the 1920s. And then pay some French hippies to design the bloody motherfcuking thing. And poof!I just solved the Malaysian energy crisis.
Since you may hate Proton, this new car manufacturer can be called Quark, Neutrino or Gluon. Quantum physics, yo!
With hydrogen fuel-cell cars, you can fucking generate enough electricity to power your homes. And then sell the excess to a grid managed by TNB. That way, instead of getting a bill from TNB, you get a cheque from them.
Meanwhile, TNB can cut losses managing inefficient power plants and divulge into this new technology to send information through power lines. Replacing TM's stupid Streamyx. Probably opening up a new possibility in IPTV.
Man, I am such a fucking genius.
I mean, rather than giving your son and son-in-law the fucking RM45 billion, give me the fucking money and I know what to do with it. For the country. For the future. For all mankind.
But alas, I have a vision that we are going to have a Disneyland Nasi kandar somewhere in the future, maybe at Gold Coast this time, just a stone's throw away from an Anglican Girl's School. Or maybe Prebysterian, or Epascopalian.
The future is now. Today.
I told you motherfuckers that fossil fuel is history. Petroleum is history. Petroleum is a fossil.
Market forces will drive the adoption of hydrogen fuel-cells or any other infinitely renewable sources of energy. Like nuclear or some shit.
Here's the thing. Petrol prices just went up 78 cents just now. On my way to the Press Club, I saw hundreds, maybe thousands of cars lining up for that final cheap tank-full of gas.
And that's only today. In the future, we will see petrol prices like that in Indonesia, with the daily, maybe even hourly price displayed outside a gas station. Imagine one day waking up and having to pay RM50 for a litre.
Hahahaha. Suckers.
The smart question to ask would be, with savings exceeding RM45 billion with the abolishment of the subsidy, what the fuck would the Government do with the money? Buy more private jets? How about a yacht? A mansion in Perth? Hell, why not throw in a Nasi Kandar restaurant or two. It's RM45 billion. Maybe more. Who gives a shit?
Do we still have to sell Johor to Singapore with this new saving? How about selling it to the States, if Anwar ever gets into power?
With RM45 billion, will we finally have enough to pay doctors competitive wages? Or are we just going to try to guilt them into coming back to Malaysia? Oh yeah, manipulation always work better than money. NOT. Hahahaha. What about other professionals?
Will the powers that be finally have the RM400 million I asked for in order to stab Rocky in the back and scratch his car? I know his password and I can access his email and his blog under the pretext of putting up a poster when BAM! I put some pictures of my dick there, opening Rocky up for felony charges involving distribution of pornography.
Then I'll give him 10% of my earnings, when he gets out of jail, and we're all square. I win. Rocky wins. You lose RM400 million. But hey, there're still RM44.6 billion to go, right?
How about this: Spend 15 billion to bring in hydrogen fuel-cell cars to this country. We even have FLYING CARS. Yeah. CARS THAT FUCKING FLY. Why not have that car?
Just pay Ole Gunnar Solksjaer and his Norweigan friends some money for the hydrogen fuel-cell technology they've had since the 1920s. And then pay some French hippies to design the bloody motherfcuking thing. And poof!I just solved the Malaysian energy crisis.
Since you may hate Proton, this new car manufacturer can be called Quark, Neutrino or Gluon. Quantum physics, yo!
With hydrogen fuel-cell cars, you can fucking generate enough electricity to power your homes. And then sell the excess to a grid managed by TNB. That way, instead of getting a bill from TNB, you get a cheque from them.
Meanwhile, TNB can cut losses managing inefficient power plants and divulge into this new technology to send information through power lines. Replacing TM's stupid Streamyx. Probably opening up a new possibility in IPTV.
Man, I am such a fucking genius.
I mean, rather than giving your son and son-in-law the fucking RM45 billion, give me the fucking money and I know what to do with it. For the country. For the future. For all mankind.
But alas, I have a vision that we are going to have a Disneyland Nasi kandar somewhere in the future, maybe at Gold Coast this time, just a stone's throw away from an Anglican Girl's School. Or maybe Prebysterian, or Epascopalian.
Zen Mastery (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Not Give a Fuck)
These past two weeks have been good.
I have been imagining everyone as walking pieces of meat or pieces of shit with air holes in them, making sounds that other meat might consider as speech.
Sartre said, "Hell is other people." So when there are no other people, just walking, talking pieces of meat, there is no hell.
Look at it this way. If you're a misanthrope like me and hate people, then you must stop thinking about them. If you love people, then you have to let them go.
So with my revisited motto - I DO NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK - I have re-learned how not to care.
Meat can die for all I care. Who gives a shit?
Now, I'm focusing on my Great Works. Only that. I have become a machine. A robot. Robotic. RoboCop.
I got this great revelation while sitting under the Tree of Sefirot - the Tree of Life, according to Jewish traditions.
Only I exist in my universe. Other people are just there because I believe they're there. They can all just fuck off and die.
And now, for the Daily Porn.
I have been imagining everyone as walking pieces of meat or pieces of shit with air holes in them, making sounds that other meat might consider as speech.
Sartre said, "Hell is other people." So when there are no other people, just walking, talking pieces of meat, there is no hell.
Look at it this way. If you're a misanthrope like me and hate people, then you must stop thinking about them. If you love people, then you have to let them go.
So with my revisited motto - I DO NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK - I have re-learned how not to care.
Meat can die for all I care. Who gives a shit?
Now, I'm focusing on my Great Works. Only that. I have become a machine. A robot. Robotic. RoboCop.
I got this great revelation while sitting under the Tree of Sefirot - the Tree of Life, according to Jewish traditions.
Only I exist in my universe. Other people are just there because I believe they're there. They can all just fuck off and die.
And now, for the Daily Porn.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Through the Looking Glass Darkly
Tonight, I made a big, BIG mistake.
It all started when I went to Sunder's house to have dinner.
His mother sent him and his brothers some home-cooked dishes.
Sunder: Peranakan dishes!
Me: Yeah, yeah.
See, Sunder's a half-breed, like me. He's half Chinese and half Indian. Though he's actually mostly Indian.
Anyway, I helped him unpack stuff his mother sent him, and it was all good in the beginning.
Me: Sambal Udang!
Sunder: Peranakan-style!
Me: Crab Curry!
Sunder: Peranakan-style!
Then, I saw something which wasn't right. It was as if I had just stepped into a Twilight Zone edition of Sesame Street.
Me: What the fuck is this?
I was holding up and inspecting a jar of semi-transparent liquid.
Sunder: That's Rassam.
Me: Rassam? BUT RASSAM IS NOT PERANAKAN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
But that wasn't MY big mistake. That was Sunder's, who grew up not knowing that Rassam is NOT a Peranakan dish.
NO. MY big mistake was when I took BOTH the Crab Curry AND Shrimp Sambal together.
As soon as the two dishes, mixed with rice, entered my mouth, it was like having Ghee Hin and Hai San together at the same wedding. It was like having Kalimullah and Rocky at the Press Club at the same time. It was like KJ and everyone else, anywhere.
I could feel the crab fighting with the shrimps. The sweet taste of the prawns battled the slightly tangy salty aftertaste of the crab. The chilli in the sambal fought unharmoniously with the curry.
It was like having a seafood brawl inside my mouth. They fought for the palate.
THAT, my friends, was my BIG MISTAKE OF THE NIGHT.
It all started when I went to Sunder's house to have dinner.
His mother sent him and his brothers some home-cooked dishes.
Sunder: Peranakan dishes!
Me: Yeah, yeah.
See, Sunder's a half-breed, like me. He's half Chinese and half Indian. Though he's actually mostly Indian.
Anyway, I helped him unpack stuff his mother sent him, and it was all good in the beginning.
Me: Sambal Udang!
Sunder: Peranakan-style!
Me: Crab Curry!
Sunder: Peranakan-style!
Then, I saw something which wasn't right. It was as if I had just stepped into a Twilight Zone edition of Sesame Street.
Me: What the fuck is this?
I was holding up and inspecting a jar of semi-transparent liquid.
Sunder: That's Rassam.
Me: Rassam? BUT RASSAM IS NOT PERANAKAN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
But that wasn't MY big mistake. That was Sunder's, who grew up not knowing that Rassam is NOT a Peranakan dish.
NO. MY big mistake was when I took BOTH the Crab Curry AND Shrimp Sambal together.
As soon as the two dishes, mixed with rice, entered my mouth, it was like having Ghee Hin and Hai San together at the same wedding. It was like having Kalimullah and Rocky at the Press Club at the same time. It was like KJ and everyone else, anywhere.
I could feel the crab fighting with the shrimps. The sweet taste of the prawns battled the slightly tangy salty aftertaste of the crab. The chilli in the sambal fought unharmoniously with the curry.
It was like having a seafood brawl inside my mouth. They fought for the palate.
THAT, my friends, was my BIG MISTAKE OF THE NIGHT.
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