Hot Sasquatch

It was early in the morning, and certain parts of my brain were still stuck in twilight zone, neither here nor there. I had dark rings around my eyes due to the lack of sleep, studying for an exam coming up in two week’s time.

I am already a decrepit old man, and yet, I have to suffer the indignity and anxiety of taking exams. Pffffttt!

Anyway, I digress. *where did that come from*

As I stepped into the office elevator, I beheld a really, really cute girl. Let’s just call her Hot Chick, shall we? She had a nice, friendly face framed by long ebony hair with big curls. She had eyes that sparkled and danced with laughter.

Hot Chick wore a beautifully cut jacket matched with an A-Line pleated skirt. Her crisp white blouse completed the ensemble. I remember thinking – this girl is very well groomed.

I would like to state my conviction here that roving eyes are bad. Bad bad bad! You’ll know why soon enough.

My eyes suddenly noticed black patches on Hot Chick’s nylon stockings. I did a double, nay, triple take.

Then it dawned on me. Oh my God… The girl’s got massive amounts of leg fuzz!!! And what’s more, they put mine to shame. And apparently, it’s gotten really hot and stuffy in there, so some of the hairs poked their heads out through Sasquatch Chick’s stockings looking for fresh air.

I swear on my hamster’s life that they were leg hair. Two inches long some more. Euuwww…

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Say no to violence against women.

Take Back The Tech

For more blogs on this: See Suanie, Fire Angel or Lainie.

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Ciggies Save Lives

Chosim was telling us a story yesterday during one of our regular mamak sessions. He sat on his chair, old-Chinese-storytelling-uncle-style.

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Chosim: Last weekend, I was deep frying keropoks.

C. Lengus: Wah, you can cook?

Chosim: Of course lah. Don’t interrupt me… I was deep frying keropoks my Ah Ling’s mum brought back from the East Coast.

Me: What kind of keropok?

Chosim: You know, the long thick cigar type. I think it’s made of fish meat.

Me: Ah… The fishy type.

Chosim: Anyway, I was standing there looking at the thing wondering how long I should let it fry, when suddenly, the keropok EXPLOSIONS!

Awed silence.

Chosim: I mean, it just exploded. There was cooking oil everywhere. Scared the shit out of me.

C. Lengus: Wahh… Got kena you or not?

Me: Yah. How big was the patch of oil?

Chosim: The whole stove was covered with it. Luckily…

C. Lengus and me: What? What???

Chosim: I was standing quite far from the stove at the time. Smoking my ciggie. I tell you, smoking that ciggie saved my life man.

C. Lengus and me: -_-   -_-

 

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Read about Chosim’s ball biscuit story here.
Plus, read about C. Lengus’ chatou story here.

Statues and Pigeon Poop

Life is weird sometimes. You are seated in your car, waiting at the traffic lights, and you turn your head to admire the statue of some famous person who died hundreds of years ago doing something noble for mankind.

Your attention shifts, grabbed by the bright sunlight doing a mesmerising dance on your windscreen. You are fascinated with the myriad of colours and the sunlight’s sparkling diamond-like beauty, but it hurts your eyes – so you squint.

You drive pass some trees. You feel the cool, green shade soothe your skin. The dancing sunlight disappears as abruptly as it appeared.

Life is short. Whole lifetimes fly by in the blink of an eye. You are born. You work like a grunt your whole life to feed and sustain yourself (and your obsessions) until the day you kick the bucket. Doesn’t this sound a bit pointless?

There are people who say, “We are all put here on earth for a purpose. That is, to help others less fortunate than us.”

There are some who could care less. All they could think about are their own miserable little selfish lives.

The way I think of it is this: Even if there is no higher purpose to our existence on earth, we should choose to live a life that is dignified, one that will be remembered by the people we leave behind, one that touches other lives and inspires them to do likewise.

I don’t want statues built in my likeness to commemorate my life. Pigeons poop on statues. Some poor cleaner has to clean the poop, and he will hate me for it.

I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.

Embodiment of Eveel

Two nights ago, I stumbled across a place that is, in itself, the total embodiment of pure evil. The putrid stench of rotting carcasses overwhelmed my senses as I stood gazing at the dark, brooding doorway leading to depths so dark and forbidding that even the devil himself fears to traverse alone.

My goosebumps prickled as I crept slowly towards this effigy of rottenness, my heart frozen with fear.

This godforsaken place is ruled by a ruthless dictator. His monstrous countenance strikes fear into every mortal who dares enter his domain. His crimson red hair is covered by the blood of billions of martyrs sacrificed to feed his insatiable thirst for processed avian and bovine meat. His pale, ghostly white face radiates a sickness, amplified by his smile of pure malice.

The dictator dons an ensemble consisting a yellow tunic, red and white striped socks matched with unearthly, scarlet shoes. His diabolical purpose? To hypnotise his prey as they lay their eyes on him. Young children are most vulnerable to these psychological attacks.

Earth is doomed. Mankind is doomed. We are all in a world of shit.

Because… 

 

I went to McDonald’s two nights ago.

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You Know…

  • You have been watching too many James Bond movies on Astro when you (without realising it) order food by saying, “Rice, Duck Rice.”

  • You have eaten too much when even loosening the buckle and unzipping all the way down doesn’t ease the discomfort.

  • You are pretty much fucked when you have real serious diarrhoea and you’re stuck in a traffic jam, driving a car with manual transmission. Going uphill.

  • You are truly Malaysian if you genuinely believe that the remains of your McDonald’s meal (food wrappers, paper cups, unfinished food) will magically disappear from the table as you leave the restaurant. Or that the stupid clown will clean it up for you.

  • You are still a child at heart when you set the Gaban theme song as your ringtone. Your boss looks at you funny when your phone rings during a meeting, and all you can do is to senyum terhegeh-hegeh.

  • You are a little lonely when you decide to take your mouse out for a stroll.

 

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Bah! It’s Monday

I woke up at 8.15 am today. Damn. I am late for work. It’s a Monday morning, and just thinking about that huge pile of work lurking in office, waiting for me like an unwanted girlfriend, brings bitter tears to my eyes.

You can work on it. Struggle with it. Cry a bit. But at the end of the day, it makes you feel all hollow inside.

Pfffbbbrrrt.

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Shebby’s Letter

Dear losers,

It has come to my attention that I am increasingly becoming the butt of jokes among football fans in Malaysia.

During one of my regular internet sheep porn research sessions, I stumbled across a Malaysian Footie Blog named Hantublablabla. The blog is filled with uncircumcised philistines and unwashed peasants. And they had the cheek to call me their favourite pundek. I don’t really know what a pundek is (I asked John but he won’t tell me), but I am pretty certain it’s a tropical fruit. So I am carefully observing these fuckers. Their blog template sucks ass too. Gives me a major headache.

Then, there is this fella named Sicko. He mocked my ability to make correct and accurate predictions. You hubcap-stealing scouser, I have been right. Once. From my 3,141,592,653,589 predictions.

Worst of all, there is this chick named Lily who claims that she knows me. She also says that I am not cute and yack non-stop. She also lies about me being penniless. Mahai. I am paid RM20,000 a month by ESPN, okay? I am so rich, I can buy er… MyTeam, I think.

Okay, if you’ll execute me, I gotta go. Paul Masefield is waiting for me in the sauna. And he’s naked. Mmm.

(Up) Yours,
Shebby Singh, the footballer formerly known as Serbegeth.

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p/s: They say I look like a some German dude with a rocking moustache during WWII. I am so very is the handsome!