Inside

Them bastards do it for a high flying lifestyle.

No kidding.

I had a glimpse of a footballer's life some years back when the company I was working for organised an inter-company football competition. I slotted in as a defensive midfielder, instead of my usual position of defender, which should give my current footy teammates something to chuckle about.

I was part of the Subang Jaya warehouse team since my department was located there. The game was played in Klang and the Subang team was the best supported. I was very impressed and very appreciative that a lot of the warehouse staff turned up. A lot of them were foreign labour, many of them from Nepal and India. They chartered two buses and headed over to Klang.

I wore number 8 for the competition. I had a shirt number! Wooooo! I grew up in a house which had the number 8 so there was some significance.

There were 3 group stage games. We lost the first, drew the second and absolutely had to win the last one. The team we were playing against in the third and crucial game only needed to draw to progress. If we won then we would move on at their expense. First half was difficult and still 0-0. The were just trying to shut us out.... and succeeding. I remember that by then I had drifted out to the right wing cos the proper right winger was always missing. Once, I got the ball and was bumped off it and I went sliding face first in a big ass puddle. It had poured the night before and this was a typical Malaysian football field. I got up spitting water, dirt and grass out of my mouth! It was worse in front of the goals. It was a nowt but a mud sea.

Anyway, in the second half I beat the offside rule by running in diagonally onto a long ball from defense. There was one guy chasing me and nothing else in front of me except the goalkeeper. That's when, in the background, I could hear the crowd start up.

As I charged forward I wasn't thinking about the crowd just that I had to score but I have to admit hearing the roar from the spectators spurred me on. I was closing on the edge of the penalty box and I saw the keeper starting off his line. The guy chasing me had to do something and I launched himself into a tackle. By then I think I was just inside the penalty box. Just before he tackled me though, I pulled the trigger and everything went into slow motion.

Everything went quiet. Very quiet.

I saw the ball leave my foot and then I got hit from behind and I fell backwards. As I was going down I saw the goalkeeper's despairing attempt to save the shot and the last thing I saw before I hit the ground was the ball hitting the back of the net.

Everything erupted.

There couldn't have been more than 200 people there and only about 50-60 were from the warehouse but the noise I remember will stay with me forever. It felt so damn good. Being mobbed by my teammates and I really didn't know how to celebrate the goal. We won 2-0 in the end and we finished the competition in 3rd. The semi, I might add was a close thing, 2-1.

I of course got mobbed after the decisive 3rd group stage game. I got back to the stands and was hoisted up on shoulders and people were cheering and jumping. It was a blast although I was really hoping they wouldn't drop me! They didn't of course. On Monday, some of the accounts staff had no voice left from all the screaming. I heard later that when I scored the company director who was in charge of the warehouse jumped to his feet, yelled a bit and cheered. He then topped it off with a big ass grin at his brother who is the Managing Director of the company. The biggest Malaysian owned retail firm in the country, I might add.

It was brilliant.

Some pro footballers do this week in week out for millions in front of tens of thousands of people. I did for one day's pay and an experience I will always cherish.

I'd have done it for free.

Your hand! No no! Your HAND!

I was reading Mischique's blog and I had another one of them famous flashbacks.

Flashback #26B532

My very first job was with an IT department in its infancy. Early on I was tasked with my colleague to prepare a room for training purposes. This involved setting up PCs connected to a server. Lots of wiring required. I had a colleague with me. Young, female, Chinese-Malay hybrid. A bit skinny but had a nice rack on that frame.

We were working late and the warehouse had shut down. When we were done the guy that was locking up came upstairs to shut up shop and my colleague and I headed for the stairs. I made it, she didn't. She was right behind me and I had my feet on the top stairs of the staircase. That's when the lights went out.

It was like being in a cave. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

She was a bit freaked out cos she knew the stairs were just in front of her but she couldn't see anything. One wrong step and she'd have gone crashing down the stairs and probably taken me with her too. I told her to chill out and to give me her hand which I would put on the banister for her. I reached out, she reached out and somewhere along the way we missed each others' hands while groping about. Grope indeed. I groped around and put my hand square on one of her lovely breasts.

The next few seconds were chaotic.

She screamed. I gasped.

Since I knew where her boob was, I could locate her shoulder, then her arm and eventually her hand. I placed it on the banister for her and thundered down the stairs in the complete darkness.

She came down the stairs at a more sedate pace and nothing more was said, mentioned or hinted.

She did buy me dinner though!

The Latest Alanism

My buddy Joe had a get together at his place last night and it was a reunion of sorts. The core bunch consisted of guys from Ipoh. Past schoolmates and classmates. The Cockroach Brigade was there.

The Cockroach Brigade consists of:
Myself
Chin
Joe
Alex
Kar Loong

Bear in mind, Alex is frightened of cockroaches and shrieks like a little girl in the vicinity of one. We were in form 4 which would make us 16.

Flashback #25968C

Events unfolded like such. I spotted a cockroach in the corridor during a lesson. I sneak out and try to pick it up by the feelers but the feelers keep breaking and the cockroach is really freaking out. I give up and report my failure. Chin then goes out and stops cockroach in its tracks by stepping on it.

*Squish*

I pick up squashed cockroach by the feelers and while Joe distracts Alex, I place remains of cockroach in one of his exercise books. Joe then shifts topic to lesson regarding the subject matter of the exercise book. Alex opens his exercise book.

One shriek later the class teacher watches an energetically flung exercise book flies past her. The remains of the cockroach vacate the book early in the flight and ends up next to Alex's chair.

We are treated to the view of Alex jumping up and down on carcass of cockroach whilst shrieking.

A few minutes later I notice Kar Loong, who had earlier emptied out the contents of his pencil case onto his desk, putting said items back into said pencil case. I engage him in conversation having picked up the largest piece of cockroach that hadn't been ground into the floor. Kar Loong being a polite and well mannered chap maintains eye contact with me while we talk. I throw piece-of-cockroach onto his desk. He's still putting things into his pencil case which he locates with his peripheral vision. With my peripheral vision I'm observing what he's picking up and putting into his pencil case.

Eraser, pen, pen, pencil, ruler, piece-of-cockroach....

His face is a treat as his hand is arrested mid journey to the pencil case. Kar Loong then breaks eye contact with me and has a closer examination of what he has in his hand.

The piece-of-cockroach is dropped plenty quick and he politely but firmly pushes past me. He goes up to Joe and punches Joe in the arm and shoulder.

Naturally Joe takes exception.

Kar Loong: I know it was you!
Joe: What the fuck are you talking about?
Kar Loong: You put the cockroach on my desk for me to pick up!
Joe: Why the hell are we speaking in italics?

Well no. Not really. Not the last sentence. Joe actually didn't say anything like that but rather he fixed a beady accusing eye on me.

Anyway, on to the topic of the subject heading of this post. The latest Alanism. Alan is a schoolmate. He's somewhat eccentric. Sometimes he comes up with absolute gems. We had another one last night.

Me: So, are they still living in squalor?
Alan: Uh, no man, they live in Bangsar.

Classic.

Jackass Got Nuthin' On Me

I've just seen the second Jackass movie. The first one was already pretty weird and the second went to new heights. I can deal with the painful and strange. I'm just not very keen on the disgusting. Leaving aside the stunts which involved feces (human or otherwise) and other bodily wastes, it's pretty much good brainless humour.

Which is why kids in America have been doing really stupid things while one of their dimwitted buddies holds the camcorder.

But this is not a post about that.

This is a flashback.

When I was really young I fell down the stairs. From the top of the stairs to the landing in the middle. By some freak chance I fell just like a stuntman would. The roll was perfect. After crashing and rolling down the first set of stairs I remember standing up and wondering how I managed to roll down the stairs completely unharmed. My mum was sitting on the sofa wide eyed and open mouthed. I think she was really really relieved to see me stand up and walk without fuss. However, as curious as one is at such an age (3 years old I think), I had to see if it could be done again. Before my mum could do anything sensible I promptly threw myself down the next set of stairs. The result was about the same.

I got to the end of the stairs.

The only difference was this time I really hurt myself. I remember howling away while being comforted by my mum. I think mum was more perplexed than anything else really. I also think that's when my sister decided I was the dimwitted one in the family and proceeded to treat me as such until our teenage years.

So yeh.... before Johnny Knoxville and Bam Margera thought about doing shit where you get yourself hurt, well bugrem, I was already doing it.

What does it mean?!?!?

This posting is one of reminiscence. It took place when I was 14, a Form 2 student in St. Michael's Institution in Ipoh. We had a change of class teacher midway through the year and among the subjects she taught was English. In a government school it isn't difficult to be a star student in English given the ridiculously low standard of the subject taught.

Well, our new teacher, Mrs. Samuel was still early in her tenure as a SMI teacher and like most new teachers would have liked to learn that the class she had was a good class and not full of trouble makers. She was having us for English one fine day and I killed two birds with one stone while appearing completely innocent.

We were doing words ending with 'graphy' and already on the board were words like geography and photography. I could have been a smartass and given her 'cinematography' but felt like being quiet that day. Enter Lum Kai Hoong, my classmate, eager beaver to make a good impression on our new teacher. He asked me for a word and I gave him one. He shot his hand into the air and waited expectantly. Mrs Samuel turned a happy (class had been going well) benevolent eye on him and asked him what his word was. He shot to his feet gave her a winning smile and almost shouted out "pornography!!!". Of course being Malaysian, he pronounced it "Porno-Grafee".

That's when Mrs Samuel's smile became fixed.

Once he'd noticed, his smile became rather fixed as well. In the stunned (and also puzzled) silence of the class I had great difficulty smothering what was a quiet chuckle threatening to turn into loud gaffaws.

Still wearing the fixed smile Mrs Samuel turned away and asked if anyone else had a word ending in 'graphy'. Kai Hoong sat slowly down, his face a picture and was silent for about 2 seconds. Naturally he noticed 'his' word wasn't added to the words already written on the blackboard. After the 2 seconds had lasped, he turned on me in complete panic demanding to know what the word meant.

It was 19 years ago.

I still laugh about it every few years or so. I'm sharing it with you now.

The Party's Up North!

Well, he's gone and done it again. Datuk Nik Abdul Nik Mat, the Menteri Besar of Kelantan has come up with another blinder of a good concept. Yeh, that's him of the blaming women for being provocative and thereby asking to be sexually assaulted and raped. He's now decided to squeeze a little harder by declaring that in clubs, there is to be no alcohol, segregation of men and women and no exposure of the aurat (bits that have to be covered under Muslim law). He went of further to state that he doesn't oppose dancing in clubs but it must be between members of the same sex. Cue the Village People!

Believe it or not I used to work for the Mydin Retail company. That's a whole story in itself but I see no reason to bash my former employers online. Truth is, I cut my teeth with them and I have more to be grateful for than the gnashing of (the same) teeth. I was sent to Kota Bharu a number of times with the longest stay a good three weeks. So I do know a little about the place.

I did go to a couple of clubs while I was there. Boozing till 3am and getting to work at 9am is something everyone does once in a while still in the 20s. One place I distinctly remember is because aside from serving alcohol, the hostesses were Malay girls and they definately showed me their bits of aurat. Me being tipsy and away from my then girlfriend for an extended period handed out some lucky girl with a boob rub. What is more interesting is that the place is also given patronage by the local police officers. No doubt also obliging some lucky girl with a boob massage, gratis, of course. I remember the sergeant downing his beer in one cos the captain challenged him to. Of course they weren't in uniform. A guy I was with knew them so we were a merry bunch especially since we knew the place would definately not get raided.

I'll side track for a moment and tell you of a story I have from my visit to KK in 2004. My friends and I went to a touchy-feely bar in some dingy dodgy area. There are two things to be noted about that visit. One is the beer goggles and the other is the finger. There was this girl that got plonked on my lap and all I did was talk to her. The others were wondering why I wasn't at least flirting with her. That's when I realised they had their beer goggles on. Putting it directly, you could have ridden the waves in and my thighs were beginning to ache. After we left the place, Neil stuck his hand under Jay's nose and said, 'Smell my finger!' Well, apparently I was the only one practising quality control.

Anyway, back to Kota Bharu. This should really sum the place up. The movie theatre. The lights aren't switched off during the show. If there're any really really bored people, it's the youth of Kelantan. Which is why they get on their bikes and race around the town while waiting to buka puasa (I was there during the fasting month as well). Is there a saving grace? Why yes, it's called Golok, in Thailand. Half an hour away from Kota Bharu. Everyone in Kota Bharu knows about Golok. Drink, drugs, sex, sex and sex. You can also actually dance with someone from the opposite sex over there. Even if someone who went over just to escape the yoke of the system would suddenly find so much temptation around. It might be just too hard to resist.

There were a lot of Mydin staff in KL that were originally from Kota Bharu. They come in two types. The good religious ones who lead quiet existences and the others that go fucking bananas and cry freedom. They drink and fuck like the bombs are gonna hit tomorrow.

While I was in Kota Bharu with my colleague, we were taken close to the border for a beer by three of Mydin KB's staff. They were young Malay boys just hoping for a good time. In the middle of nowhere amongst the sawah padi we ended up in some hut (all on its own) having a beer (thrills for them) with Thai women. Conversation was limited to what little Hokkien I had. The others hadn't a hope of being understood beyond sign language. Anyway, after a little while, the Thai woman talking to me said I could have her for 30 Ringgit. Well! Firstly, Homey don't play that and secondly, she was (and I have no qualms saying it) fucking ugly. We split after that but when I told the boys what that bit of conversation was about, they were like, wow. Any one of them would have done her. Apparently quality control is becoming something quite exclusive to me.

It ain't all bad I should say. I love the Thai villages outside of KB. Five of us ate a huge meal with a good number of dishes and had beer and stout. It came to less than a hundred Ringgit. Bloody brilliant.

Anyway, what these fundamentalists need is a good dose of reality. Everyone knows why Adam bit the apple. It's the forbidden things that call out to us the loudest. Being religious is not a bad thing. Holding your own peoples' heads below water and telling them it's for their own good, is.

Till The Bombs Drop

Fly FM ran a phone in thingy a little while back where you ring them up and tell them what you'd do if there were no tomorrow. I heard a whole heap of mushy mushy stuff. It's all good and quite nice. Walks on the beaches, tell mum you love her, hold your loved one till the next day. Nice. Floaty. Mushy.

It brought me back to a discussion with friends I had 14 years ago at the mamak. I suddenly remembered it during one of the Fly FM mushes. The question at the time was what to do if THE BOMBS were about to drop. Must realise that in that day and age, the cold war was still going on and the Americans and the Russians had bombs that made 'Fat Boy' and 'Little Man', the bombs which ended WWII, look like firecrackers.

I heard a number of noble and nice things before without much thought, I said that if nuclear war was about to break loose, I'd fuck till THE BOMBS hit. What's there to do? Pretty much nothing. Don't have to worry about pregnancy, HIV or any other STD for that matter, nor angry fathers, brothers, boyfriends. There wouldn't be much left once the fucking Americans and Russians fuck up the world and everyone in it who wasn't even interested in their politics.

It'll be on the radio and TV. For you little generation x-ers, there was no established internet, widespread satelite TV or cell phones. What cell phones there were looked like a brick and was as heavy as one but cost the whole house. So, back to it, once the word got out, I'd put on my shoes, grab the first girl that took my fancy (with the famous words, "Yeh, you'll do!!") and once I've explained the situation to her I don't think it'd be much of a problem.

There was much nodding of heads and muttered approval. "Yeah, till the bombs drop". "Fuck till the bombs hit". It was a deep philosophical discussion that. Well, of course, back then I was still in virgin territory. *Ahem*. There was no fucking way I was going to die a virgin. I was gonna fuck till the bombs drop. Count on it.