Hand written notes.
Yer gonna get a cap in yo ass for eatin' the wrong burrito! And I thought burrito was an affectionate name, in Spanish, for a donkey.
Dwyer apparently is a passive man. Or Sean's much bigger than Dwyer. If this had happened to me I'd have cracked Sean on the bonce and then some. And I wouldn't have waited either.
You draw your own conclusions....
I've been in contact with someone in Germany for work related stuff over a fortnight or so, corresponding through email. I had thought that der Germans I had been schpeaking with schpoken der gud Engerlander. I think in the end what it was is that the person I had been emailing either had a translator or BCC'ed the email to schomeone who don't schpoken the Engerlander. Probably the boss.
I got this in the email:
"Ich bin vom 16.07. bis 06.08. nicht im Hause. Ihre mails werden in meiner Abwesenheit an Frau Barbara Brust weitergeleitet, Tel. 0049(961) xx xxxx.
Mit freundlichen Grüßen"
For fun and laughter I put it through Babelfish's translator. I got this:
"I am from 16.07. to 06.08. not in the house. Their mails are passed on in my absence at Mrs. Barbara Chest, Tel. 0049(961) xx xxxx.
Yours sincerely,"
Babelfish is so renowned for amusing translations that it's already an internet meme. It's kinda like listening to a Mexican dude fresh across the border without a passport who's trying to convince a cop that his passport está en el país and he can't produce it anyway because el perro lo comió. As funny and as famous as Yoda Speak.
I know for a fact that the proper translation of the german bits of my email is this:
"I'm out of the office from 16 July to 6 August. Your mails will be passed on to my collegue Barbara Brust, Tel. 0049 961 xx xxxx.
Kind regards,"
I wonder what it would be to go through like being called Salmah Buahdada, Monique Seins, Britney Boobs or Jessica Tits. Because that's what tits are in der deutsch. Brüste. I'll put it in bold it as well. Brüste. Why? Cos I absolutely love the upper ventral region of a female human being's upper torso. I should write back double schnell and tell them I'd like to get acquainted with Mrs. Barbara's deutschlander brüsties. Why should just my emails have all the fun?
Making fun of der Germans is so English. Well, not really. If I'd been English I'd be taking the piss out of zee french as well. What it is, is a little yellow man taking the piss out of the whities. Maybe that's why we're yellow. We've been pissed on by the white dudes since the French have had prostitutes. And that mon amis, is a loooong ass time.
On a separate note, I think I've been reading too many books from the Dune series by Frank Herbert. In a meeting I asked for confirmation that in Europe, they actually shut down offices and factories to go off on summer holidays. Kinda like summer school break. Hello? What I'm trying to tell you people is that ve need to Achtung Baby! I know about der summer holidays. Ve don't have any more fucking time to get things done especially if we're relying on people over in Europe to move things along as well. Ve need to fucking schnell! schnell!! schnell!!! Of course no one got it. Everyone Sing! Aaaaalllll is caaaaaaalm!!!! Aaaaalllll is briiiiiightttt!!!! I must be the only Dune reader in the room. Look for hidden meanings and messages people! It can't get any clearer than a hidden message!
But nooooo.... Everyone's going la la laa.... la la laa.... we're going to fuck up and when we fuck up, we're all going to blame YOU! HAHAHAHA!!!! Which is why I wasn't given neither employment papers nor a contract. So they don't have to fire me. They can just tell me to pack up my stupid little laptop and my stupid little Tigger coffee cup and fuck off.
Well, not really. I'm just slagging off anyone and everyone because I can, that's all. A little artistic license.
Europeans must really like their summer holidays. You won't find any factories shutting down over here in Asia for any season. Well, maybe the monsoon season, if it rains hard enough to flood the factories. Anyway, whatever. If we shut down for holidays over here, the Americanos wouldn't get their Nikes would they?
Damn. All I needed was a good night sleep. More bounce per ounce! Hoo hoo hoo hooooo!
Shock news! Bob the Builder is a closet Nazi! A disgruntled employee has leaked the cover of an unreleased Bob the Builder book! Unreleased apparently under the advice of Bob's lawyers and publicists!
I remarked to a friend that I'd seen once in a while, not often, female bloggers trying on clothes in a store's changing room.
What? Startled him I did. I hope he didn't mention it on the air (the guy's a radio DJ).
It's like this. Girl tries on various clothes in a store changing room. Takes pictures with digital cam or cell phone camera. Next is to post the pictures on their respective blogs with a light hearted appeal for someone to sponsor the various articles of clothing. Thankfully (or unfortunately), no one's appealed for underwear as yet.
To be honest, what it is, as I see it.... is that the bloggers I've seen do this aren't seriously asking anyone to buy the clothes for them. And I'm not sure how they would react if anyone seriously offered to buy things for them. It's just a blog thing. I'm pretty sure the Japanese enjo kosai culture isn't prevalent here. What is it? Compensated dating is what it translates to.
As for me, I'm a slut. If you're young, female and remotely attractive, I will gladly sleep with you for a new pair of footy socks. Oh, plain black or white only please.
Because my shin guards are silver and black, I get called Robocop or Terminator at footy. I don't think it's a compliment though!
They're implying I'm too cheap to buy new socks. They're probably right!
I was given birthday presents from my sister early. Makes sense since she was around Monday and she lives and works in Singapore.
It came in a Fila bag. I've been having a quiet chuckle at what's written on the side of the bag.
Our design speaks Italian
We are emotional
We are intensely passionate
We are feminine in view point but masculine in action
We are one company
One brand
One team
With one clear mission in mind
They could have saved a lot of ink and just put:
We are Metrosexual
Instead of blabbering on and on like that. Sounds like English slogans made by Ah Beng manufacturers. It was quite popular in the era of the carrot cut pants. In the 90s that is. Thank goodness it went the way of shoulder pads. I miss leg warmers though!
Well.
I have no idea what happened.
Apparently when you view this blog with MS Internet Explorer, it turns out to be gray. With the white lettering, of course it then becomes unintelligible. If you'd been viewing with Mozilla Firefox, you'd have seen it as I had intended it to be.
So. I've had to change the template again. All the hours I put in yesterday working on the template is for Sweet FA.
Oh for Aunt Fanny in a bucket.
What's with Bill Gates? Why can my blog be seen in full glory using Mozilla but is a complete lump of mud with IE?
Whatever it is. Bill Gates is an alien. You know how I know? Watch Independence Day with Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum.
You remember that bit where Jeff Goldblum uploads a virus into the alien mothership servers? For that to have worked, he'd have to have to have his laptop able to communicate with the network on the alien mothership just to have a connection.
Connected? Yes. Here's how:
Start -> Connect To -> Show all connections -> Wireless Network Connection -> Refresh Network List -> Gates Mothership
He didn't even secure his wireless network. I suppose he figured anything close enough to piggyback the wireless network of a heavily armed mothership would be friendly or suicidal.
Most importantly, he would have to have a virus that would actually affect the alien mothership's operating system on its server(s).
Conclusion:
1. Alien mothership's wireless network runs 802.11g
2. Alien mothership runs on MS Windows.
Okay. I was kidding about the wireless network. If I remember right Jeff Goldblum used a cable to hook things up.
Then again, the alien fighter he was in would have to have sockets that accept RJ45 plugs....
Good gravy, somebody stop Bill Gates before it's too late!!!!
By now you must have realised I'm like the black sheep uncle in the family that all the other adults try to ignore and keep their children away from.
Anyway.
I'll be the first to admit that this new bedsheet set is not me at all.
But.
I bought it anyway.
Because.
At this point in time it looks like the only way I'm going to get pussies on my bed.
Sigh.
It's been nice having my mum around the past few days. We got to hang out and I took my mum to the good eating around my house. The main purpose of my mum's visit was to sew my curtains and help me move the little things over from the old house to the new one.
Somehow I just know. Even if nothings been said or hinted at, I just know she came across my porn, condoms and tube of KY Jelly ('stick of butter' is just an expression!) sometime while clearing stuff and putting stuff away.
If I have to look for a silver lining, my heterosexuality would be confirmed by the porn, my safety and health consciousness by the rubber sonkies but I just can't think of anything good to say about the KY. To my folks, and people of that generation, a little off-roading is unheard of and darn near unimaginable. Maybe I should try butter. It's messier but it's a household object that can never raise any suspicion.
Yeah. You'd be smacking your forehead as well about now.
All together now!
*Smack!*
Well, speaking of slogans on tees and jackets, this one is my ultimate favourite. It's a motorcycle t-shirt for guys (and butch lesbians I suppose). On the back in BIG letters are the words:
"IF YOU CAN READ THIS, THE BITCH FELL OFF".
Legendary.
You must have seen the picture on your email inbox by now.
I read in The Star today about a man in Hong Kong who is 107 and credits his longevity to celibacy. This guy hasn't had a shag in 70 years. He still smokes though. Wonderful news to smokers everywhere. Tobacco won't kill you just as long as you give up happy happy fun time.
It's quite a statement. Live forever! Just give up sex.
Novel idea it may be but I don't think I'll try it. If I gave up sex I don't think I'd live very long anyway.
I'd kill myself first.
Also in the same paper, a Kiwi fashion designer in trouble for making a baby tee for young girls with the legend "Future Porn Star" on the front. Young being little. Like little kiddie little. For a start it's funny. It'd be funny if I see a picture of a girl wearing this t-shirt in one of those mass sending emails that corporate companies hate their employees getting. It's like the picture of the little boy football fan caught flipping the bird on camera at a football game. I got that picture more than once and I still thought it was funny. Thank-god-that's-not-my-kid funny.
Future porn star. It's funny. It is. I'd buy it for my son. Only if I didn't have to explain what it meant though! Only an idiot dumbfuck of a parent buys a tee that says Future Porn Star for their daughter. That's like telling the world you suck as a mom or dad and that you've already spent her college fund on drugs and alcohol.
Argh. My hands are full of blisters. They're soft.
I've been swearing away at the people who thought it was a good idea to dump building materials in the garden of the new house. Probably the developers' people when the house was built. So far I've had to dig up and remove stones, bricks, floor marble, tiles and concrete. Damnit. I've got multiple blisters to show for it. Yeh. Soft hands.
I'm determined to get the garden done. It was weed heaven when I bought the place. Right now it's bare soil with hint of weed. The obvious thing is to get someone to level out the land and plant the grass but I have to do it myself.
Quite simply, it's my house.
I need to make something mine alone. There was a lot of stuff done to the house that I could have done. A lot of the electrical work, some of the plumbing but all of the fittings. Sure, I can paint but it isn't realistic for one guy to paint the whole house, in and out, all by himself.
The garden is mine. It's going to be tiring, painful and frustrating but I'm going to love it. It's just like a tattoo. It hurts but it's the end result that counts.
I showed a friend the blisters. Conversation follows.
"Dammit look at my hands man!"
"Like that you're not holding a golf club. You can't. You can't even hold your dick."
"That's okay. I'll find someone to hold it for me."
Some things you do yourself.
Some things you don't mind other people doing for you.
HAHA!!
Observations of a Swedish school teacher teaching in KL. Plus a few I added.
How to make your car more Malaysian.
1. Place non slip mats on the dashboard. Size doesn't matter.
2. Hang a CD from your rear view mirror.
3. If not a CD, hang your cell phone's hands free kit on the rear view mirror. You don't use the damn thing anyway.
4. Double (or triple) the size of your exhaust pipe.
5. If you are Malay, raise the height of the rear suspension while lowering the front. As an option, widen your tyres till they stick well out of the wheel arches. Regardless, don't forget the 'classy' decorative tissue box and pile the back windscreen with cushions till you can't see out the rear view mirror.
6. If you're Chinese, stick plastic figures of Snow White's seven dwarfs on your dashboard. Don't forget the fluffy cute decorative tissue box and the Hello Kitty doll. The CD hanging from the rear view mirror had better be an Andy Lau or Aaron Kwok CD or else. Oh yes, and the badly spelled plastic sign with the suction cup. Obscure your rear view window with soft toys.
7. If you're Indian, paint the car purple or yellow. Make sure the paint job is cheap and not very well done.
8. If you're a white or foreign expat. Don't worry. We know which ones are your cars because it looks no different than the day you bought it. Except it's dirtier now.
9. If you are from Ipoh, make sure you have 'A' license plates regardless of which state you live in now.
10. If you are from Kedah, place your state emblem on your rear license plate or rear windscreen.
11. Don't forget the decorative dents and scratches on your car. To do this right, park your car in any shopping mall parking lot preferably between 2 other cars. The occupants of these cars will ensure dents on your car with their doors and they will occasionally add scratches as well from their shopping trolley.
12. Somewhere and sometime during your ownership of your car, some bastard on a motorcycle will fuck up your car one way or another. It's fate. Whether you hit him or he hits you doesn't really matter. You can be sure it's going to be his fault.
Friendster. It was a good idea. Initially. Mostly now it's just an online popularity contest and a geek's superego. I posted the text below in August last year in my original blog which was on, um.... friendster.
"The idea of friendster is to link people for a variety of purposes, for friendships, relationships, business and what have you. The phenomenon of Friendster Sluts and Hos has basically ruined it. They're the ones with a few hundred or more than a thousand friends. Jeezuz. I don't even have that many acquaintances.
I actually wrote on my profile page that I do know the people on my friends list one way or another and that I am not interested in the numbers game. I still occasionally get friend requests with no introduction or greeting. Obviously, these people didn't even bother to read my profile first. It's not a problem. I now accept their requests and then delete them immediately. They'll receive confirmation that I have added them and I promise you they won't even know they were deleted straight away. They think they've boosted their numbers while I maintain my own list untarnished and untainted."
Well. Nothing's really changed since though it has slowed down. They do all have the same language though.
"Hi! Pleased meet you. Mind to be friends?"
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.
Q: Why did the pervert cross the road?
A: Because he couldn't get his knob out of the chicken.
And eventually, the chicken died there from old age.
Thank you.
I watched again on Animal Planet the '10 Deadliest Sharks' yesterday night. The first time I saw the program a couple of years ago I was pretty pleased with myself for being able to name the top 3 most dangerous sharks correctly. I do know the Bull Shark is a heck of a lot more dangerous than the legendary White Pointer (Great White Shark). The Tiger Shark was third on the list by the way.
Since young I have been fascinated by sharks. They interest me but they also scare the bejeezuz out of me. Which is a rather strange phobia considering I hardly ever put myself in a position where I am in any danger of having my ass chewed on. I did use to swim at beaches in Australia where there were either sharks sighted or an actual shark/human encounter. But you can bet I was never far out at any given time. At this one beach a white pointer bit a two man canoe in half. It crunched the bit of the canoe that is behind the front person's bum and in front of the rear person's feet. How lucky those two blokes in the canoe were needn't be considered. Extremely lucky I would say. They of course ended up in the water and I'm very sure made for shore at a speed that even Ian Thorpe couldn't match. The guy who was at the back no doubt screaming at the other guy, "Just swim ya bastard!!!!" The guy who was in front screaming back, "What the fuck happened mate?"
I was taken to see Jaws 2 at the cinema by my parents when I was about 5 or 6. It left severe psychological scars on me. Yeah mum, if you're reading this, now you know! For a while I was frightened of the bathtub as well. Steven Spielberg has a lot to answer for. At least Peter Benchley did a rethink and set about shark conservation and awareness. For years I thought you could never be safe in the water with a great white without the shark cage. For years I thought sharks (especially the great white) were vicious indiscriminate eating machines. They'd attack (and eat) anything in the water with them. The actuality is is that you're safer in the water with a great white shark than you are in the jungle with a tiger. Of course I wouldn't recommend either situation to anybody.
What it is in reality is my fear of the unknown. In the water especially in deep water, you have no idea what is below you. In water I am out of my element. There is no way water is any persons' natural environment. I have a fear of drowning as well.
But I love the sea. It fascinates me. I love the beach. I went nearly everyday in summer while I was in Perth. It also scares me silly. I'm a person who requires familiarity. Slung into a strange unfamiliar environment and I need adjustment time.
So.
Treading water and my feet can't touch the bottom. No idea what's under me. It's a million to one but what if I just happened to be really really unlucky that one time? Fuck that. I don't want to chance it. I'm a pussy.
Yeah. I said it.
I'm a pussy. I live, breathe and eat pussy.
The whirlwind that is Paris Hilton just keeps gaining momentum. Even I must admit that her second single of her album is very easy on the ears and quite catchy. Ever since her little home video made its big appearance to the general public she's suddenly the new golden girl. The horror of it. She's promiscuous (allegedly), extravagant (apparently) and not the sharpest tool in the shed (believably). Not exactly the best role model for kids and teens.
Imagine your daughter saying she wants to be just like Paris Hilton. If you hadn't keeled over with a heart attack, smack her around the head a bit and lock her in her room. The last thing anyone wants is a promiscuous, extravagant and low IQ girl for a daughter. You don't worry about sons. Your sons will just want to fuck her and spend her money (unless they're gay then we're talking about Ricky Martin). That's fine. Unless you want him to be perceived like Kevin Federline is. How Britney must be regretting the wild backstage parties after a show. Going slightly off topic, one day she'll get to dig up old photos and show the kids exactly where the came from (if you don't already know about her gone-commando-upskirt-shaven-punani pictures, where have you been?).
Anyway, back to Paris. She's done some movies, some modelling, her TV show and her music career is already a resounding success. We're buying in to the phenomenon that is Paris Hilton. And Paris wannabes? Get real. To be Paris Hilton you have to first (other than being female) be born not just with a silver spoon but the entire bloody cutlery set as well. Strike one. You have to be as attractive as she is. Strike two. And you have to have her clever manager, marketing people and publicists. Strike Three. No one is going to be like Paris Hilton. The closest most girls get to Paris is by being promiscuous, extravagant and silly.
The big question is, is Paris really as dumb, stupid, silly as she makes out to be? All in all, in this day and age, she could be quite the astute and intelligent business woman. In this day and age (rampant sex, materialism, bling) she could be marketing herself perfectly for what the general public want. Also, after seeing the 'official' One Night in Paris video, whether you like her or not, you have to admit that she's the victim and the guy in the video is nothing but an opportunistic scumbag. Whatever it is, it launched Parisdom. These days, it's what people want. Remember Britney Spears insisting that she was a virgin? Why is she going public that it wasn't true now? After she and Justin Timberlake split up she was insisting she was still a virgin. How times change. Once desirable women were virgins. These days with the general message being that sex and casual sex is okay, Paris Hilton (definately not a virgin) is IT. And yeah, Justin did bang Britney. Straight from the horse's mouth. Was he paid off to shut his mouth? Was he insulted? Did he understand it was just business? Did he think it was good for her image but not for his? Fuck it. Old news. Who cares?
These days we buy images. People who buy Paris Hilton's CD aren't buying it for the music. They just want to own a piece of her.
I looked at my statcounter statistics for this blog. Specifically the keyword analysis. I'm amused and exasperated all at the same time.
Here's why:
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.
