Last night I dreamed about my primary school. There was a tour guide taking us (whom I do not recall) around the school compound. One thing I was very sure of was that the tour guide was an ex-school friend from the said school.
We came to the canteen area; looks like uq’s refractory but smaller. She told us it is all-you-can-eat buffet. Sweet, I thought. Walked behind, there was rows and rows of patisserie. There was a sign board, “RM1.50 per piece”. The tour guide tipu-ed me.
I’m somewhere in taipan now as I type, and the very same girl is here. I’ve not seen her in years but I am certain it was her. Unfortunately I’m too chicken-shit to say hi.
Does this mean..
I should buy 4D or Kuda today?
I should get B to buy Ozlotto?
Someone close to me will die?
I have to invite primary school mates to my wedding?
I have to get the Super Best Friends to officiate my wedding?
I have to eat otak otak tonight?
Two nights ago I dreamed about an orange kitten. I was giving it a bath in my old toilet. Previously we had a squat toilet. The poor kitten was terrified but I was adamant about the bath. It squealed and ran about. Then it fell into the toilet bowl. Remember : This is a Squat toilet. I was fucking shaken up because I figured;
a. the kitty will drop all the way down, deep into the pipes b. the kitty drowns c. the kitty dies d. it is my fault for making it commit suicide
I placed my hands deep into the toilet, mind you I did not imagine hand gloves or protect my hand with a layer of membrane. Plucked something out, it was a pencil box. I unzipped it, and the orange kitten was in there, traumatized but alive.
Was out at pyramid yesterday and went to the toilet. Closed the cubicle door and lo and behold!
Decision makers have even thought of printing out signs such as one the above to combat the SQUATS. Looks like these Squats are everywhere.
They look like you and me but behind closed doors, they do horrible, terrible, heinous acts.
Squats are incapable of using the toilet properly because they have genitalia issues. My first theory is that they need the added downward force and gravity to ease their urination/defecating process. (More theories are to come as I visit more toilets and inspect their crimes)
I have dreams of decapitating Squats.
I’ll bash the doors down with my kickass leather heeled boots, a Squat will be screaming and I can see her mofo hairy beaver with saggy lips staring blankly at me. Armed with a loud chainsaw, I’ll hack her legs off the seats and then attack her vagina. I’ll leave her face alone so that I can watch her scream and hear her plead for forgiveness.
Once I’m bored with the chainsaws, I’ll pick up a don’t-you-motherfucking-mess-with-me axe and (after using a special periscope to inspect if there is a Squat), hack the door down (ala style The Shining) and slice the shit of this bitches.
Yes, there will be screaming cunts and pools of blood on the tile floor. But the public will understand that I’m doing this for better toilet usage awareness.
Then I’ll set up a Facebook fan page for recruiting and a Paypal donation account to add more weapons (melee only please) on our repertoire. I will also buy more kick ass outfits like the Matrix but a little bit more on the Kawaii side.
I don’t know if there are male Squats but maybe I should look out for them as part of my duty as a civic-minded citizen.
So now, if you are reading this, look around you. These people sipping expensive coffee looking comfortable sitting on the sofa, maybe Squats and you must be ready to face what you must do.
And if you are a Squat reading this, be afraid. I’ll fucking hunt you down when you least expect.
Fucking internet motherfucking Modzilla froze on me again and I’ve lost my angry-rant post.
I know I should have written them on Notepad/Wordpad/Word but WTF wey. It started out as a small innocent post about my complaints on our toilet etiquette then it proceeded into a fantasy where I can bust into these cubicles and hack the shit out of them.
It totally spoilt my angry passionate rant and now the angst is not here anymore. Sigh.
My mother envisioned a fairytale wedding with champagne colored roses and Taylor Swift songs playing slowly in the background.
I just told her that I’ll never have mine in the church, with a pastor or anything resembling a christian wedding. Over my dead body (if it is the cheaper alternative then I’ll take the jesus theme). Hindu I’ll take.
Ideally, it should be filled with pentagrams, satyrs and goats with horns. I would like a dark red corset dress please, with a bouquet of roses handmade with light metal so that when I throw mine at the back I’ll hurt some lonely spinster. Ok maybe I’ve gone a little bit too far with slashing someone’s face open but you get my vision.
The next time someone opens the door for you, look at the person in the eyes, fuckin SMILE and thank her. Maybe it is the layers of fat that is clinging onto your face which makes it hard for you to smile. I think it’s time for you to fucking lose some weight on that fuck face of yours.
8am: My folks and I arrived at Klinik Kesihatan Kecil Puchong Batu 14. There was XXXX cars parked and everyman and his dogs are queuing up for appointment. My ignorant self was amazed that there were people who knew about this place. PY and I walked into the clinic, counter lady told us to take a number and register. And off we went to get some breakfast. Came back, we still needed to wait for another 30-45 minutes. So we kept talking about shit and PY smartly pointed out that we’ve yet register.
9.30am : The same counter lady told us that we have to take another number to register our details and the numbers we took earlier were for outpatients (I don’t know what that means). Must take another number and wait. WTF.
Admin had some issues with registering me, they look at my IC then look at me and then scratch their pubes.
"Are you a Sabahan?"
"No I’m from Subang"
"What is your race?"
"Lain2. My dad’s japanese, my mom’s chinese"
Mind you while I was at the counter, there was 5 other admin staff looking over my details in the computers like jakuns. Then they called PY and used her id to compare with my id.
Finally got into room 10 for the actual appointment with dentist. She was cool. Looked at me teeth. Friendly. Asked me why my name is weird like that. And prompt. Told me to come back on the 26th for cleaning and they’ll refer me to Hospital Serdang for my wisdom extraction. All that in less than 3 minutes.
10.40am: The whole ordeal ends.
Overall experience: I can’t complain much because the fees was RM1. Everybody was civil. There was once the electricity failed. Go figure hehheh. I hope that doesn’t happen in Serdang.
The rest of the day
Gone to starbucks for free (stale) coffee and free wifi. The baristas knew we weren’t going to spend any $$ there but they still tried to be friendly. I award them an A- for their effort.
On another note, I’ve been having this tune playing in my head for days. Made me mad. I hummed to my mom, she just stared cock at me. I didn’t bother humming to my dad either. PY didn’t know what it was but she added a few lines and with the power of Google, we found that the song was “Hello - Lionel Richie”.
And that sparked the idea of heading to the karaoke. And sang we did, from 12.30 till 7pm. Our highlight was “Total Eclipse of the Heart”. JH came shortly after, sang Diva. It was his expertise. Throat hurts slightly from over-divaing but we look forward to our next session armed a planned song list and few bottles of water.
Gone to starbucks again. Free drink courtesy of MY for my (non) service to her thesis. I wasn’t sure how the decision rule works for F and p-value output or how to generate Anova. Had to wiki. I’m such a disgrace.
On a lighter note,
Pink Honda Civic was sighted on the way to karaoke. It successfully made the yellow Kancil look less worse. Let us look at the bright side, at least the rims and the windows are not metallic pink.
Since I am a citizen of this country, I am entitled to access its health care and I should make most of it while I am still alive. (my parents pay tax ok, must utilize it well)
Despite all of the bad public perception on public healthcare, PY and I are going to Klinik Pergigian Puchong Batu 14 later in the morning for our first appointment. Somehow this venture is also my side crusade in keeping the optimism alive. (got the fire in you? *points at chest*) Must support guojia ok.
Alright the truth is I need to take my wisdoms out. The dentists (one here and another at uni) have forewarned that a major surgery is needed.
Major Surgery = - $$$ = less allocation for other resources i.e. books = :’(
This is how much is going to (approx) cost me if I can book in a surgery.
Pray (to any deities) that my soon-to-be-dentist was a JPA scholar from Oxbridge!
There are plenty to praise and moan about this tanahair of mine. This article is a rant. You’ve been warned.
I was out at Pavillion with RM, because he celebrating a self-declared holiday and wanted to spend his precious leisure time with me. The first thing I do as soon as I reach any mall is to visit to their toilet. One reason is because travelling from A to B in KL takes time so my bladder needs some flushing out and two I have a toilet fetish (I absolutely love finding clean toilets in Malaysia, it is like winning the lotto).
Posh mall, posh corridor, posh hand drier machine, posh basin with an elegant water tap and then this…
The plastic on the toilet seat looks damaged because people have been STANDING on them. The materials that were utilised in the process of making these toilet seats have been tested on bums, not shoes. And so these fucking shoes create tiny tiny crevices onto the plastic and these tiny tiny crevices are now habitat to bum scums, pee particles, poo particles, menstrual particles and __________________.
Why the FUCK would anyone stand on the seats? When did pavilion open? Like a year ago right! Those toilet seats were new! Now they are fucked thanks to you, you and you. I fucking don’t get this. The seats are there for you to fucking place your fucking retarded ASS. What the fuck are you afraid of? Contaminating your bum with other people’s bums scum? Now because of you people I HAVE THE DILEMMA of positioning my pee trajectory in a way that my bum don’t touch any scum and my pee don’t terpancut and ricochet onto my thighs. FUCCCCKKKKK. I damn sakit jiwa when I see things like this.
*deep breath in* *EXHALE*
Being in Bathurst last February was refreshing. I admit it was boring but I have to make do with learning about cars. Since I have a lot of brain cells to spare, might as well learn a thing or two about cars, kan? At least now I know that there are __ many versions of Evo Lancers and how does a Mustang look like. Armed with my new knowledge, I can bravely call out car names on the road without any embarrassment (if there are any guy friends in the car).
That is not an Evo. It is a Proton pretending to be one. I’ve been tricked 3 times since I was back. Btw this is not the same car I’ve seen, I just nicked this of a site. No time to take my phone out because I was busy being disgusted. I don’t know why anyone would want to “exteriorly” modify a lousier car into a better one. I am at loss for words. There are websites & forums encouraging/ helping out young Malaysian males on how to improve faking their locals. Again, I am at loss for words. Maybe I could be wrong. I’ve never been interested in cars so I know I’m no authority when it comes to criticizing cars. But I wouldn’t buy a fake bag and place a Hermes logo onto it. Or buy China made iPhones. That is just blasphemy.
And finally for lilac enthusiasts..
comes with lilac coloured interior seats, lilac coloured brake pads and 2 lilac coloured lingerie sets.
I have been productive this week. I made two things which require effort in the kitchen. I so deserve an award/s.
Masala Chai/Chai tea
meaning tea with spices. I do not recall when I first had this tea but my fondest memories was at an obscure hippy cafe joint in suburbia Canberra. It had the usual wacky interior designs with the usual hippie waiters(I can only assume that they donate their wages to Sea Shepard too), but oh my fucking god they serve the best chai mocha. I don’t remember the name of the place/drinks/cafe but we went there a couple more times during our stay in Canberra. I think that cafe sparked B’s parents’ interest in chai since because I was intrigued too. Lo and behold, Oz also likes chai. And Hari Hari Chai we bought (it was the cheapest based on our $$$/grams evaluation model).
Back to the story. I was at KLCC last sat waiting for a friend to come pick me up (because I have ovarian issues), standing in front of coffee bean like an idiot not knowing what to buy. After 4 hours I decided to order chai latte. It was so good, I was willing to spend credit to call A to commend on the cafe and thank her for working there previously (I have a feeling because she worked there before thus the latte was so good) but she didn’t pick up the phone. Bitch damn potong the moment. To sum the experience all up, my thirst for chai is still insatiable so I went on a mission to Giant to buy ingredients.
Teh Harimao (10 teaspoons)
1 cinnamon stick (broken into pieces for obvious reasons)
half a pack of cardamom pods
1 star anise
1 teaspoon of fenugreek seeds
1 teaspoon of ginger powder
Itu sahaja. I used half of that and put to boil. Added sugar to taste and milk. So 1/2 water and 1/2 milk. Served. Tasted like teh cair cap cinapek. I was pissed but my parents were like ‘mmm very nice/interesting/sweet’ and my dad went on about his lacto-intolerance.
! But! because I am awesome, I refrigerated the left-over tea, took them out and they were perfectfuckinggood ! With my second attempt, I boiled for 20 mins with very little water and lots of sugar and left the ‘cordial’ to cool. Later I added some water into 3 tablespoons of the cordial and walahh room temperature chai tea. Even my lacto-intolerance dad was impressed.
lazy to type the procedure but here’s the ingredients. The sauce wasn’t impressive because I did not use pork/lamb.
I tried writing a book review a couple of days ago.
I failed miserably.
There were lots of things I thought about (right after reading the book) yet I can’t even type a single sentence. In my mind I was “eh this sentence right or not if not damn malu”. Mind you I’ve a very opinionated character, I have sepatah dua kata about everything. So it is sad that I can’t even write a simple book review and how I felt about it. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. For not practising on being articulate in writing.
So I am making a declaration to-try-to-attempt-to-write more. About anything. Preferably on books that I’ve read. I spend so many fucking hours reading these supposed interesting novels and then 6 months down the road I cannot remember them. Babi, then I have to wiki to refresh (i.e. HP5).
After back for a few weeks, I notice got a little bit of optimism lah. Which is healthy. I only read the NEM like 21 pages-only-, then I went to watch my mom’s Korean drama “Hello my Lady”. It is too colorful to be printed (I’ve just recently bought a new black ink for the Ink printer, waffor waste ink). Got colored pictures and nice colored borders. Our country got hope.
When I was having my shower, had a little bubble thought to myself. I do that too when I masturbate/sex/lecture/sleep/eat. I made a connection between watching porn and reading up on Malaysian politics (and the pro-muslim/malay/bn/whoeverthefuckthosecuntsare who respond to articles).
Porn is addictive. Once you watch, you’ll keep watching till you find your niche. But no one with the right mind will watch like 3 hours non-stop. After 3-4 clips (and waiting for ages for images/videos to load by that time you are so sianz you made 2 pb toast and milo also haven’t finish load), you get sick of looking at penises mechanically moving forwards and backwards into orifices. So sick in fact you’ll click on bloomberg to check the S&P.
Same thing with malaysian politics. The first article I’ll read with intensity. Then scroll down to look at comments. Critically analyze why these cunts exist and how we can educate them. Second article, third article, fourth article. By then you’re so ashamed to be a malaysian (but mostly bored with the same tirade) that you google ‘skodeng melayu tudung’ to feel human again.