tOOtHpICk

2011-04-01T07:23:00.001+08:00

http://hotelcrystalpark.com/molo.php

there's also that thing about Tron.

2010-12-18T02:09:00.002+08:00

there's just this thing about honesty that goes like i'd be fucking with myself if the movie is in contention for epical. if daft punk were not there, it'd probably will rake ok.

the old Tron was to simply put, better with all the flaws and lacks.

but daft punk is damn fucking good. just the ost lacks length in track to build drama.

Derazz.

2010-12-18T01:50:00.002+08:00

last written here about a month ago. so much for trying to write again. meh.

so this is going to be one of those year where a lot of things come to an end. Anna is ending her saga here and going to return to assume the role of the prodigal daughter, Zoe is rebooting her life again in Singapore, Dre is getting back on track, good for him, Rachel will be looking into accelerated adulthood, and the rest of us, though, not lavishly revolutionary, are changing, for the better or worse. i guess for all these while, it's best to say things never stay the same for an extended period.

'another day, just believe...'

Romance.

2010-11-22T00:21:00.002+08:00

there was a point i do things own my own. then there was the sid's season. after that there's no time anymore. there are time to read about investments. time to plan for what i am going to do at work tomorrow. time to spend with rocky. time for hunt for acoustic music. time to read.

it's just now me chasing for the next rush.

being an adult is just about losing part of oneself more and more. the small parts that makes me, me, slowly gets shreadded unknowingly. painlessly.

just i want it back.

real bad.

i want it all back.

Totally.

2010-11-03T21:05:00.003+08:00

it must have been a long long time since i last wrote anything cause when i went to blogger.com, i saw a cobweb icon. google won't let me log in despite i know that i had a blog. fuck you, google was on chorus in my head. in the age of technology, the problem is, you can fucking cuss your hearts out and the laptop is just gonna stay a laptop. it doesn't overheat cause you hurt their feeling, google don't lose any sleep from your outburst. though relatively insane, despite all the logic we were brought up with, we have to fucking do it anyway just for kick.

the thing about technology is, it's awfully good. i am in love with them cause i don't generally like people. they are from penang, they talk too much, they have herpes and all kinds of weird shit them fuckers bring to the table that makes you not wanna know anybody. human should come with specification like computers and they should never ever ever lie about it or they just, you know, mysteriously die or get sued. in life, if you know enough lawyers, you fancy the former, believe me.

there i was in one of my favorite pubs of all time, feeling sickly with Rachel cause she just graduated and wanted burger of some kind. the kind of burger that the damn writers in how i met your mother made a special tribute episode to. so this waiter came with my beer and it looked cloudy as london. the fact that i was in and english club doesn't quite justify the cloudiness in their beer. the damn beer went passed 1 bar manager, 1 bartender, 1 waitress onto my table and nobody cared enough to wonder why the beer is so ballistic that it looks impossibly cloudy. they were all just asshole humans.

so we come out with a term that human makes mistaken, the kind of script to get us out of sticky situations. some cunt uses it more often cause he's got allowance for mistake. my ass. we made computers, they hardly make any mistakes. Like a clockwork, they'd call it and we made that too for god's sake. we don't make mistake. we either lose focus or we just don't care enough.

so this morning, after spending approximately 10 attempts on login, and hell lot of cussing so foul, it makes malaysia river smells like eden (not the fucking restaurant, mind you), i changed my login id. and the gatekeeper magically let me in. good part it, my laptop wasn't mad at me. she took it like a warrior.

Testing the blog with iPod

2010-11-03T20:43:00.001+08:00

This is odd, for some weird reason it doesn't spell correct. Oh fuck a duck.

Anyway, I am in the Zone. can't stop writing. Ok this is it. Fuck it. Getting my laptop. Jeez...

liewxxx.

2010-11-03T12:20:00.002+08:00

i love it.

i feel dandy.

what does dandy means.

anyway, in the course of my year, i have to say that i have not much time to blog anymore. of my collective thought are not being profaned in, say a pub in Damansara Heights every saturday afternoon, rather?

no. it's not the same. writing makes me feel at ease. the little quarrel i have within myself gets solved. the eccentricity gets littered profoundly. if my thoughts have a mother, she would be quite proud of the way i handled this.

talking about writing i have recently dwelled into the world of twitter. i call twitter say what you want, in as few words as possible. make reading blog like reading a book. the thing is, we are slowly poisoning ourselves. no such thing as a beautifully written sentence or play or words, just 'i am currently having lunch in xxx location'. we all have our lunch and dinner, we need not speak about it. if the lunch sucks, it's just a meal. if service is bad, there's certainly more than 160 characters to describe them. funny we voluntarily imprison our own mind and encourage shorter thoughts.

the way we are killing ourselves, we don't need no big waves or huge rock from the sky to hit us. from the way it's going, we are doing it ourselves. pretty damn good job too.

but i love the part where i get police roadblock updates.

Weeds.

2010-11-03T12:15:00.001+08:00

my friend just posted some link in facebook on how different kind of weed you know makes you a different person.

ON FACEBOOK, where everyone can see it.

i so qualify for lamebookdotcom now.

The Serial Dater.

2009-09-12T10:17:00.002+08:00

Balls.

my best friend's ex just tagged a photo of a receipt he found in my favorite bar yesterday in the table. aside from who the fuck looks at random receipt in a bar instead of shooting up alcohol, the fact that the city is littered with ex(s) affirmed an unholy decay in the city that i live in. not being cool is the new cool. it's puny, the fucking city, yet i have always get around uninspiring backdoor places (not gay club pun, please) which is reluctant to most. the invisible boundary which separated me from them so far is recklessly breached. does that make me one of them now?

the thought that i would bump into anyone is beyond comprehension. the city is personal. that's why i love staying in the city, there's always something new going on and i am and has always been far separated from the hip roller coasters of it. i go to the mall on weekdays to avoid the traffic. i watch movies in the morning cause i want to sleep at night. i hate places with too many people because people that are not my friends are just generally too tiring to deal with. but the city has room for eccentrics like me. a simple truth is, the city is a big fucking place and it caters to everyone without prejudice. and people that is not on the same mind train will usually not run onto each other.

my claustrophobia came has became a reality. the city is becoming smaller and smaller each minute.

Noise

2009-09-12T06:12:00.002+08:00

it is perfect.

i do not recall a time that it has been so quiet for the longest time. there so no sound of kids crying, water pump, washing, cars, alarm, nothing...nothing bears a noise now. this moment needs to be treasured, for in another while, hell breaks loose again. i love the simple lack of intrusion of sound in the morning.

a little bit of rain would seal the deal. but the would mean the rain would crash into the roof and give me what i do not need, noise.

burger is not better than mango.

2009-08-25T21:29:00.002+08:00

fuck.

last published in February. then my fucking life collapse. but who the fuck cares anyway?

xxx

the last time i picked up a sport, it was football. i fucked up my back.

then i involuntarily picked up car surfing, i fucked up my knee.

then after that it was fucking basketball, i can't fucking remember how many times i sprained my fingers, my ankle, my knee and back.

now i'm trying out jogging so that i can do marathon by next year.

i am so fucking gonna die while running.

it's the morning again.

2009-02-10T16:46:00.002+08:00

there's not way that i can explain how much i hate asian literature. every single book i've read written by anyone asian, i can never fucking finish it. or if i did, it probably took somewhere around 6 months to a year to digest. and it made me felt hungover, bad aftertaste and nauseating. personally, i think it's too fucking asian. mellow and depressing. one dimensional. lack of depth. whatever.

in my very lack of exposure point of view, for the life of me, i've not met anyone that got buggered at a young age or a child that gets sold to a brothel masqueraded as a social lounge then falls deeply in love with a man that she claims she didn't have sex with. she's got dignity, that one. then there's this drug addict with history of drug abuse, and she tells her story with such shame and disgust. we, asians live a fucking tragic live, and there's no two ways about it.

if asians are what the fiction says we are then we're just a bunch of weppy queers that couldn't get over our chillhood plight. it seems like Billy Holiday's baneful existance can't even hold a candle to any ordinary asian's life. To us, Christ's crucification is merely as painful as getting an ear pierced. asian's woe hurts a million times more than any living thing has every experience. we are, the sole master of torment.

ironically, our romance with pain single-handedly drowns the rest of the numerous but sensational emotions anybody normal would have. hence we fail to live an existance that does not relate to agony. we're one dimensional and broken yet we could not understand or find relieve in it.

surprisingly, last week while poaching for materials to read last week, i came across a book, the cover was a sketch of a gingerly stick man with a slab of blood smacked right on where the penis (all stick men are male, mind you) should be at accordingly to the right human anatomy. i can too, be a victim of marketing if it's competent enough, and the cover stuck out from the shelf like an erect dick in a women that loves other women convention. as soon after i dug the book out from the shelf, i couldn't get my eyes off it. with the eloquence of guy ritchie story telling, localised humour which is can be funny too and none of the (asian) melancholy weighing it down. the author, Brian Gomez did pretty good i must say.

bullshit.

2009-02-04T16:21:00.002+08:00

the sun is too hot!
he's not rough enough when we're having anal sex
the waitress look like shit
our minister is too anal (if you know what i mean!)

yank yank yank.

we complain about every fucking thing there. so far, men (actually, mainly women) has always found thing to complain about. people who tends to complain are the equivalent the asshole birds who sings outside my room too early in the morning. they make a lot of noise to keep themselves happy but annoy the fuck outta every soul out there that is not them.

once there was this person in my neighbour hood that said my dog was barking too loud. i shut the damn dog up, you know give it a couple of whip and kicking. i bet he wanted to complain that i was hurting my dog too, but instead, he complained that my neighbour's dog is smells too funky for his liking. then about his neighbour's plants, then about my car parked outside my house. in the fucking end, we concluded that he is a complainer (or you can call him a neurotic moron asswipe too).

nothing can satisfy a complainer. if you take a dump, he insist that you wipe your ass instead of washing them like the good old Al Gore's the enviroment way. you submit to him, and in return, he wants you to fold the toilet paper in milimeter precision. it makes you throw up a little in your mouth, but you fucking do it too. before you fucking know it, he got a list of a 100 asswipe must-dos. what a fucking jerk! i don't know about everybody else, but morons like this, in my very humble and peaceful opinion, make one wants to fucking swing a 9-iron into his butt ugly face and tear the jaw out. ouch.

the complainer does deserve the baneful fate.

i fucking love rain, but everytime it rains, i still can find something to complain about...like now i can't go out for my jog.

change is for the good.

2009-02-01T23:36:00.002+08:00

maybe.

who knows.

talking to some old friends who aren't just about photography and more work does lift the weight off my shoulder, a little bit. in fact, it was refreshing, it was liberating. just like the good old days where my friends were fun to be around with. the good ones either left the country or became a fucking grandmother. growing up too soon and too much, apparently. for the most of it, i was stuck with meanless callow conversation that had too much rubbish in it, or it was just empty, feels more like the music a person will listen to while driving home after a long overnight party.

the usually unseen few made the rare appearance for the lunar new year. the long caveats didn't matter, it was warm and familiar. then we blaze into a verbal tango, everything from raunchy details of our insignificant lives to indecorous theories to the secret of our being and our very limit is the time we could spare for each other.

ironic enough, to have few to spat such nuisance with, is in reality proved astonishingly more difficult than algebra equations. at times, i felt like precious time was robbed of me, trying to make new acquaintances with anyone. pretending to care or compromising yet another surprise in the forthcoming person that i will meet sounds like a drag of nails through a rough blackboard. that damn path looks dim to me still...

for what's it's worth, dismal time i spent meeting my good friends were something words can't depict. it was better than good, more than anything i could have asked for. i love every single one of their surfacing.

raison d'etre

2009-01-31T08:25:00.002+08:00

guys who had earrings are fucking posers and wuss. big time. and i can say that safely cause they really are.

if you have earrings and i hurt your feelings, i'm not sorry. that makes you an even bigger wuss than you already are.

awwww

matter.

2009-01-25T20:28:00.002+08:00

the hype of chinese new year is not getting to me this year. as a matter of fact, i was more inclined to storm into a seemingly dance of joy if the mac that i wanted was released in january (then mr mac hero has to come down with some fucking class A hormon disorder) than me going into fraction of that delight now.

as the matter of fact, i was so convinced that i needed a chinese new year morale boost, i went to buy lottery, simply knowing that another 20Gs will make me a lesser pissed off cunt that i already am. and also 20Gs could score me approximately 1million gallon of beer, and beer, ladies and gentlemen, makes a man happy. period. no two ways about it. also, in my humble opinion beer makes a person more svelte.

so i armed myself a fuck all look and the exact amount of cash i need to get 20 grants in return (apporoximately i don't know how much because i know fuck all about lottery) and walked into the lottery shop. i stood tall at the entrance along with the piercing fuck-off-y'all-losers-cause-you're-looking-at-the-cunt-that's-going-home-with-your-hard-earned-money-you-better-recognise-muthafucker! look. afterward i took pleasure perusing the place, it stinks of greed and expired cigarettes, the people were a wretched bunch. immediately, victory that belongs to me comes at a price, i just want to do my thing and fuck off.

the biggest problem by far is, i have not made any bets in lottery before. never fucking ever. in general way of putting it, i have a degree in fuck all about placing bets. stinker. alright, no fucking mountain is too hard to climb. assuming that i got my degree by being drunk most of the time, what how fucking hard could this be? all that needs to be done is to write the number on a fucking piece of paper, and give the guy at the counter whatever it takes to get 20Gs and fuck off.

today just re-affirmed how much god hates me. or love fucking with me. the counter designated for the type of bet i want to place is not open. i can put my money on something with a 20million return, which is ridiculous, everyone including god knows i don't know what to fucking do with 20mil, so that's down the fucking drain. NO FUCKING WAY THE BETTING COUNTER FOR 4D IS CLOSED. son of a bitch. motherfucker. while i was having this cunt of a time, i still want my 20Gs bad enough that it was preeminent that i shall do what xerox does best, copy!

copying proved to be preposterous. when i peeped at what the losers that is not going home with 20grants has written down on their receipts, they became overly cautious to what i was doing, returning an almost maniacal form of eye language. in the end i gave up. sooner or later, i was destined to get into trouble as there was more indians there than the first hindraf rally. big bad motherfucking indians whom i always am unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of their affection for larceny. fuck that shit. that ain't gonna happen again with them fuckwits.

i left promptly, unharmed, yet learnt a very important lesson in my life - i have friend that can fucking get the lottery shit done for me and i don't need to fucking go to that shithole myself for it. it's good to keep the tradition going, conventional chinese new year still stands.

caramel cunt.

2009-01-24T14:59:00.004+08:00

it's the time of the year again, we hang red all over the house, we go about asking back for money people owe us, and the most entertaining of all, we hang out with our fuck all relatives, pretending that we remotely have something in common while wishing they would fuck off and die a slow painful tragic death, something like ghetto camp death, you know, something of that sort but nothing too stylish like get eaten by a lion, those kind of death is too beautiful, and should only be reserved to those who has done really good deeds in with sad fucking pathetic life.

while not all of hate our relative, but all of us wish them cunts will just fucking die. WORD!

there are some people i know that would actually could go as far as strapping their dogs (fucking retards, i mean the dogs, not the people i know) with bombs and make their cute furry ass fun into their relative's house and fucking do what bombs and bomb victims in a small room do, render an immaculate painting of destruction and paint the wall the colour of roses.

perhaps it's too late to do so, but i don't hate my goddamn relatives as fucking much as it seems, though anyone with an effort to set a few bad apples on fire, not to kill them immediately with it, but cause enough damage to put them in ward for a few days before 'god love them more than us' will make put a fucking sun my skies.

or we can also punish our fucking relatives to italianies for dinner. the food will surely spark suicide interest.

Another attempt

2009-01-19T23:13:00.001+08:00

Trying to blog from my phone again

Red and Black

2009-01-04T09:27:00.001+08:00

I smell like weekend sins when I pried my eyes open today. The stench
is impossible to get used to, even when I have had it almost every
weekend.

Nothing that can't me wiped away with a cold morning shower though.

Yes life is that mundane

bending over.

2008-11-15T01:49:00.001+08:00

the bends, where art thou when i need you the most?

2008-11-12T10:15:00.002+08:00

i'm not dead. just not alive.

Forbidden Love

2008-11-02T23:58:00.001+08:00

There is definately something very very special about it.

Liew

The O

2008-08-21T19:45:00.003+08:00

call me old school but i think the olympics has the grandeur of the world that we sorely miss. man going against another man (or woman going against another woman, if you have to so goddamn sexist) through sheer physical strength, but at the end of the day, there's no losers, just overwhelming sense of dignity and pride. with exception for maybe that damn badminton player from my country which i despise. that muthafucking crybaby. and perhaps also the underage chinese gymnastic team.

blah blah blah...but on the grander scale of things, there determination and hard work from the athletes were a gentle reminder that the men (or woman) of the olympics is triumphed by the code of the old world, fashionable amount of respect and dignity. coupled with the mandatory physical and mental strength, it is the recipe for what all men should be of.

except that we not like that...or perhaps we were never so.

Grand Larceny.

2008-08-10T20:10:00.002+08:00

a lesser life.

it had been a fairly uninteresting year. that's an underrated way of putting it. actually, i had a devastating epoch, the very fundamental of my life was brutally discomposed. fucking bitterness of the whole episode still lingers disconcertingly, i dread to think about the what happened. day after day, i tilt my head backwards, close my eyes in serenity and i wonder, perhaps the consequences are favourable. it never got any better. my faith for my many believes are broken, and naturally, or rather unnaturally, anger next on the line, like a drawn bow, mechanically anticipating a target for the release. this is not healthy.

things will only get worse before it gets better

like every other disaster, calamity untie itself slowly, setting pace for the perfect blow. i pray everything, the fall in the pit reaches the inevitable end so i can move the fuck on already.

:Nothing

2008-07-21T23:26:00.001+08:00

Maybe next time.
Maybe the last time...

Maybe there was never really time.

Float.

2008-06-11T21:37:00.000+08:00

'The feet could not touch the ground, the effort of the grasping hand, try as one may, unanswered.'

There is no glory, only diminishing normalcy.

2008-05-31T22:12:00.000+08:00

It is the winter of a bad period. Thankfully it will be only a memory
in a few more hours.

Defensive

2008-05-12T08:31:00.000+08:00

For the life of me, I don't understand why reason for a Chinese to be
hostile. Fucked up...

damn dirty bastards.

2008-05-07T21:35:00.003+08:00

they say the past makes you the man you are today. you're absolutely correct, if you're a women, the past doesn't mean ape shit.

yet, strangely when you chose not to relive, or better yet, remember a few malicious moments of your colourful life, the past just have a way of delivering an entropy to render the painful scenario indelible. retrospectively, the damn individuals acting as accomplice to hurtfully bring back the baneful time came with a notion of reverence such as information of births and more feared, conjugality.

i do hate weddings. not because i have anything against them. i do have something against them, small issues, though. if it floats your boat to marry the person that you want to spend an eternity with, by all means, do it! i am sincerely happy for that. the duration of my happiness is usually short-lived when an self righteous marriage loving idiot mar my mere existence by chanting lines, sharper than any spear ever made like 'when is it your turn to get married?'. oh fuck off you lowlife, i don't wanna. what you gonna do, drag to me Vegas and marry me to an eligible transvestite?

when i thought i have eloquently generate a constant void of presence both physically and spiritually (stringently had been absent of such circumstances) but like a scar, the past has always been there, it didn't even need catching up. fault lies within myself for forgetting it's there. once in a while the scar itches, a gentle reminder of it's grotesque presence. it is highly debatable whether my ever lack of presence method is working.

i would truly like to be left alone, if anyone understands at all...

balls

2008-05-07T21:12:00.003+08:00

ultimately, i was planning to solicit whatever to think that iron man was a nasty piece of american doctrine. i was gonna indicate that downey jr has probably brought acting to a new level as tony stark fluidly adapting to the charisma of a rebellious billionaire, but only for the first 10 minutes of the show. then that poor sod got tangled with terrorists and like everything that has anything to do with the terrorism, it's never pretty. then i ought to call him a fag.

and i'm gonna say his suit have space for his balls to breath, mind you. where the fuck are tony stark's balls of steel?

but i'm not gonna say that, because i happen to love the first 10 minutes of the show very much. i have erased all the traumatic fuckass shit that happened in the cinema after that.

A Short Long Night

2008-04-30T23:12:00.000+08:00

Perhaps the most uneventful night of my life foe the past 6 months.
Chill music permeates the vacumn mercilessly.

Peace was never felt at such degree. I really need a slower pace.
Playing catch is for doughnut eating policemen.

not me.

2008-04-17T12:56:00.002+08:00

in retrospective, it was an important call. the secret service has just found out where The Terrorist is at they had to fucking inform me. Even when i was driving. as luck would have it, some cop saw me with a phone on my face because 'i really had to answer the call'.

the rest is the case of you-do-what-you-need-to-do

Guide

2008-04-02T18:53:00.000+08:00

The cardinal rule is you do not consume alcohol when the reason arise
has absolutely nothing to do with fun. As far as I am concerned rules
are rules. Rules are freaking made not to be broken.

It was but a good guideline perhaps if I hadn't made the rule at 19
fucking years old. While I was drunk. Trying to impress chicks. Trying
to be fucking Aristotle and Freud. Absolutely desperated to get laid.

Then again life then was simple. I go classes and I pass my
examinations. Everything else falls through with few snags.

They taste absolutely foul, them whiskies. But I don't retaliate the
damn fact that they did indeed get rid of my splitting headache since
yesterday.

Pathetic

2008-03-23T00:21:00.001+08:00

A sorry attempt to blog from a mobile device in which resulted in this
impertinent lump giberish.

While I'm at it, I might as well go on the record and say 'lOve thy
freakin penguins'

p/s - I am suffering from acute alcohol detoxication and therefore I
cannot be held responsible for this apeshit

Irish Dreams.

2008-03-16T15:30:00.005+08:00

dozens of couldn't contain the love for the irish beer so they went to the celebration. the organiser tailored the beer price to be reasonable so everyone could be drunk and merry. every blink of a flash is trailed by a polaroid of smiles cause by various agenda. the mascot was freely rampaging through ocean of the drunks, if not for strictly spreading propaganda of amusement, but yet melancholic conservation of humiliation and hatred in the very soul of the mascot.

the night brought back sweet juvenile memories. a familiar face. now i truly understand what they meant by you can forget your past but your past will not forget you. so true.

minute

2008-02-24T21:28:00.001+08:00

for a minute, just for a minute, i wish everything is not so complicated...

tick, tick, tick and it strikes 60.

hold tight, there we go again.

No WAYYYYYY!!!

2008-02-19T15:19:00.003+08:00

Dear Explosions in the Sky,

Fucking practice till your fingers melts.

it had better fucking be good.
or
anything within the range of perfect to mind blowing is mildly acceptable. A better performance is widely encouraged.

anything less, well let's just say Hrasky is gonna be hit by a mysterious flying bottle of beer.

Warmest Regards,
Liew

Move.

2008-02-11T23:25:00.000+08:00

there are many repertoire of shopaholics. in a very recent interview i watched on the graphic box, a billionaire heiress that has more bags than the amount of wildlife africa can supply, subtly hinted that she doesn't quite like to shop. talk about prowess of being humble. what i never really understand is why in the world would anyone with the most silent jiggle in their half empty pocket would shamelessly pride themselves as shopaholics.

i am not the shopaholic.

despite the fact that i went to the fucking mall after the birds has gone sleep for explosion in the sky gig's ticket only to end up with a movie i never will watch and a book that i never knew why i got but boy, it felt terribly good to lug it out from the shop.

i am not a shopaholic.

i am, however, have always coincidently found things that i scarcely need everytime i am at the mall.

Sides.

2008-02-11T23:18:00.000+08:00

I would like to go on the record that neither Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama knows what the fuck they need to do to make the world a better place.

A fucking squirrel could probably fucking make better policy (or pretend to talk about making policy) better than any of them. The US of A is gonna be as lively as nanking during WWII. It's either gonna be a strap-on or a coloured penis.

Hmmmm...tough one here.

extinction.

2007-11-19T14:59:00.000+08:00

well, it's been quite a while since i went out drinking like a fish on a weekend. almost too long.

reason behind that was i actually had too much to drink already as it is, it doesn't justify the weekend toxicity anymore. and also the disconcerting hangovers i've been getting recently for barely touching the alcohol. oh yeah, i've been contemplating going to church as well.

that being said, rachel went home, mom and dad and my brother his wife and their kid amazingly had to go for a wedding in the brute land in the east coast of Malaysia. watching saving private ryan of course was initially the best laid plan to spend a nice quiet weekend but i got bored after 20 minutes at home watching some trash celebrity channel.

so i denied myself the faux representation of a quiet weekend i told myself by watching muthafucking steven spielberg's boys getting shot by nazis while chewing an atrocious amount of juicy fried chicken could be better, though highly rated in violence and entertainment value, but morose as i am, it is pretty low on the substantial side on how a good weekend if defined.

since zoe is going for a long term commitment, she's on the lame list, so it's perfectly alright not to call her until she get some sense into her head, therefore i made dinner arrangements with nicole. more accurately, i exploited her bona fide to have dinner with me even when she was out with her friends. after the course of dinner, i lead myself to believe i need a drink before i head back enthusiastically and endure war porn for a couple of hours.

(suprisingly!) one drink lead to a train tequila shots and vodka cocktail. i blame it solely on the euphoric music. and the sexy beyonce dancer wannabe (no music no dance, ya?). for the quarter century i lived thought i've seen everything but seeing someone dances so explicitly is more entertaining than solitary midnight sight of ugly dirty soldiers on dvd at home.

kiera (if you saw her dance, you'll give her a name too!) is doing what our friendly african american call as shaking her bootie, an elaborated innocuous rhythmic synchronization of motion with the music. she basically marveled the floor with the chorus of bending and bold moves. the moment was short lived by an exchange of DJ who spins a technically rich but sounds like fuck chain of r&b tunes from my grandfather's time. shortly after, even the faithful kiera retired from the floor, if not driven away by the inconsistency of the mixes.

all of a sudden, the fun was gone and the memories of bad parties crept in motionlessly yet eloquently drain the good times away. choice was obvious, leave the place before whatever part of stale fun was robbed as well. for a split second, i had an epiphany to throw the DJ into a casket with along with irrelevant tunes of yesteryear that stung our ear drums and slow set it on fire so he will roast to death. what is that if not an appropriate menace for an infidel.

thursday

2007-10-06T08:11:00.000+08:00

we felt like our existence is solitary.

at the exact moment, we felt like kings of the world.

dental defecation.

2007-10-02T09:57:00.000+08:00

when i woke up this morning, i felt something soft and bouncy in my mouth. in a morning semi conscious mind layer with the fatigue from the traveling, i tried to list the things that i ate yesterday and nothing came close to soft and bouncy and tender.

so out of sheer reaction, i shoved my thumb and my forefinger into the mouth and pick it out. i didn't have my mind with me still so i let it stayed on my fingers a little longer than it should. so finally when i gathered more physical strength, opened my eyes and i saw a piece of red tissue on my hand the size of a viagra pill (not that i know how big it really is, but my general assumption is the tissue was the size of some pill and viagra is well known enough to use as a sample).

while maintaining integrity as much as possible, i rushed to the washroom and looked into my mouth, there was bloody everywhere. to me, there was two possibility how it happened
a) i gave cunnilingus to some who has period.
b) my mouth is having it's period.

i had to opt with the latter just because i don't quite remember having an upclose & personal relation with the female genitalia before i slept. therefore, the influx of bloody in the mouth must be a message from the big guy above that i've been obscene vocabularies too much lately.

the talk about period in my mouth is bollocks. we all know men don't get period. in retrospect, i went to the dentist yesterday. instead of an uptight chinese man i got as my dentist, it was replaced by a friendly looking indian lady with big bosom.

i should be damned into an eternal bathroom of buggering psycho and soap on the floor if i checked out my dentist's tits upon entering a pain inflicting room. thing is, when i roped to the chair, the dentist leaned forward to check out my teeth and her breast was all over my face. i mean all over it. despite having a rack of tits on my face, the pain was not short of overwhelming, if not on tallest order of the pain hierarchy. she was pushing forward as i was pushing away from her. damn those huge tits.

when the dentist was done, she gave me some painkillers and told me my gum is gonna swell a little the next day.

hell, i didn't except to have a period in my mouth the next day, dammit.

Starbucks: Yuppies/Groupies

2007-09-28T15:53:00.000+08:00

the sweet aroma of coffee on a sleepy friday afternoon seems cleverly attractive, if not heavenly. to some, it would be the greatest pleasure of all time. filled with an ambience of chill out jazz, there's only a dosage of sex here that could make things better.

anyway, here i am, on a fucking friday afternoon in a local starbucks, drenched in an absolute ambiance of the most hyped drink ever since alcohol, can't help to feel that the place is surrounded by a bunch of yuppies.

i mean, why not. there's a juvenile couple on the corner end to my right was playing daddy yankee video from you tube, wrecking through the still jazz silence, to my left a man is downloading movies to watch. the lad at the counter is sucking a lollipop at the most indescribable pompous manner, it's getting on my nerves. he's what many would call a yahoo. i blame the couple because they are young and stupid and untactful by blasting disconcerting rap music in a public area. why would anyone want to do that? the laptop speakers sounds awful and the rap is something stale from a couple of years back. the man doesn't have internet connection at home that he has to watch movies in starbucks? and there's nothing nastier to see a thug wannabe suck on a lollipop.

zoe, my best friend, goes to starbucks to do her after hours works with her fancy laptop as well. personally, it feels so wrong. something are meant to happen in the privacy of one's own room or house and now, we bring it out to the public through the local coffee shop. in fact, maybe it's so cosy, we mistaken it as one of our private space. the rational of it is, perhaps the coffee shop is too comfortable, we striped all our private defenses before we walk in, wrongfully assuming it wants us to get too comfortable.

since they want us to let loose, we do it. but some do it looser than others, for instance that jack off couple that thinks that it's ok to show their love for rap music to everyone that don't quite welcome it as much as they do. at the end of the day, we should have the conscience for other's privacy in exchange for the freedom feel at home here.

i must admit, it does feel like home here. after all, i have managed do profane my thoughts out which i've not been able to do for many months already, even at home. but i'm not about to come in my boxer, lift my shirt right before my chest and cut my toenails here.

fucking hell: where's the fucking paper?

2007-09-03T15:10:00.001+08:00

getting a copy of the morning english paper is absolutely impossible. i bet you, it's so fucking difficult, killing a dragon and screwing the sexy hot blonde heroin twins needs less effort. i fucking went to the fucking store and the guy pointed at the chinese paper with a puzzled face.

"lu tarak baca cina ka?"

if only i could fight like the legendary ali, i'd fucking kick him on the nuts. twice. or more. so without a waste of time, i discharge the overwhelming need to inflict injury to the puzzled looking indian man and went to the more trusty 7-Eleven to cure my morning withdrawal.

decent looking chap acknowledges me by saying wishing me a good morning. the initial impression is that he looks intelligent and will be able to give me my fucking morning paper. after closer inspection and some degree of rummaging through the fucking shelves, there was nothing! i politely asked him for the morning paper and the previously intelligent looking gentleman is now looking very incompetent. with an unwilling smile, he informed me that it's not in yet.

in my head, i have all the intention to nail him to the wall and shove a shoe into his mouth. damn those fucking convenient store to hell!

if i ever have my own country, whoever that doesn't have morning paper in the store by at least 4 hours before the usual business hour, the policemen should put two bullets into their skulls to ensure no repeat incidents, ever. their suppliers will get the fucking cane until newspaper comes out from their ass, their wives and daughters...well, they'll get what they deserve.

that ought to teach them a lesson.

Genetics.

2007-06-28T11:50:00.000+08:00

it takes bloody eternity to log into bloggerdotcom and by the time i reach the posting page, i'd probably be fossilise into some energy source in the future.

in other words, i've made effort to update the blog but by the time i manage to log in, all the thoughts in my head turns into a big vacumn. curse you, blogger.

***

as many might have noticed, a newly addition to my home has forced me to 'mind my fucking language'. according to the rascal's gradmother, the beloved woman that carried me in her womb for quite a few months, which subsequently brought me to life, the members of the family, especially me, to mind the profanities that comes out from my mouth. apparently, my niece is going to start talking soon and if her first word happens to be anything within a buffer of muthafucker to slut, i would have to come out with a written apology to the entire family. my ancestors probably would be rolling about in their graves if they heard that. that joy of being a traditional chinese, you still need to answer to generally...erm...everyone in the family.

i was also inconviniently told that all kids have the prospect of repeating the new word they've learnt over and over and over again the span of what they might consider as a day. could turn out to be a month, they have not acknowledge the principalities of time yet. which means that my niece could go like fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck and more if she doesn't learn anything new. therefore, i am so screwed!

so, please, pardon the poverty in the range of profanities because i need to start practising.

***

on the other hand, while walking for breakfast today, i've noticed that there is an array of short dogs near to my office. and i'm not saying that because my dad owns a fucking great dane, the tallest dog in the world. and i'm not using this as an excuse to boast that my dad owns a fucking great dane. the point is, the dogs that exist near to my office are really really short!

probably 7 out of 10 dogs i saw this morning were vertically proportioned to their horizontal size. and it makes them look fucking ugly cause the big body doesn't really go well with short legs. it didn't matter if they have short coat, long coat, brown, blue, black, green, whatever fuck. how in the world did that bloody happen?

so after a very mind provoking break, i come out with a theory; being short is the trendy thing for dogs nowadays. short dogs are cool and taller dogs are just, well, tall and big and strong and looks really nice, but they're not cool. they don't get invites to parties and therefore, a social outcast. the new millenium has become platform for losers celebrate their existance. the society has developed a taste for individuals with, erm, shortcomings.

or here's a really short dog with a libido to fuck a village of bitches straying about. if i was Der Führer, i'd torture that son of a bitch then fucking gas him for spawning a entourage of physically imbecile maggots in the street.

decency.

2007-06-05T22:33:00.000+08:00

i moved into a new office. although it's still in the midle of nowhere, i feel marginally closer to the white collar community.

it's only the first day and things are going...not as well as i thought it might be.

tomorrow...is gonna be the day that i'm gonna excuse myself from the vile chorus of a mundane office life.
tomorrow...a bunch of strangers is gonna step into the office, abusing me with such impertinence of mild but necessary importance.
tomorrow...is wednesday. i bloody hope the schools is going to bloody re-open soon. them vermins everyfuckingwhere is hard to ignore.

it was only a kiss

2007-05-18T21:02:00.000+08:00

love sucks.

that's right, i got it right the first time. love is the beginning of all the misery that existed in the history of human kind. say one fucking day you were so fucking bored you had an urge to climb a fucking holy mountain to seek advise from the distinctive o-holy-one-that-sits-on-the-mountain-doing-not-all-day-long-waiting-for-idiot-to-question-the-secret-of-life, he'll probably tell you that:
a) you're a fucking nutcase for climbing all the way to the mountain when you can fucking email him.
b) hahahaha, you're a dumbass, really. (from this moment on, your ear will be clogged only by the waves of laughter for a good 5 minute)
c) love sucks!

truly, the initial encounter with love is one of the most amazing things that could touch a person's life. there's the occasional butteflies, and in some isolated cases, some floating sensation. theoritically, there is absolutely nothing bad about falling in love. that, only applies at the beginning.

the consequences, however, are severe, it gets as ugly as a gay ogre orgy or worst. within a blink of a eye, the rainbow becomes a ring of fire, the beauty becomes the beast, well the rest i'd rather let your imagination run wild. the conclusion is, love will always find their way to your ass.

not matter how bad things goes, one will always never let it up so easily. they would want to go through all the unnecessary adversaries just to experience the light swept of love's tender again, as ungenerous as it might get. even when things go ugly ugly again, the first soft touch always holds more weight than the latter.

i have to stop drinking these fucking black beers to get rid of them fucking hangovers. damn.

Expectation.

2007-05-07T19:59:00.000+08:00

i am fairly disappointed at beyonce and shakira's new song. more accurately, i'm disappointed with their video most of all. what i expected to be the sluttiest music video, a little soft porn like, didn't turn up to my expectation.

firstly, the video looks way too exotic for me to find it sexy. yes, yes, i do strongly believe that there's some fetish for such genre of engrossment but for me, i might as well watch someone else's grandma give a lap dance. actually, that doesn't really work for me either but you get the idea.

when they announce that shakira the weirdo and beyonce the princess of massive thigh were gonna a song together, they managed to convince me that it's gonna automatically be on familiar grounds of sexiness. chicks with a lot of skin (mainly cleavage) doing their thang', if you know what i mean. hell, having them look like twin morons prancing about the screen doesn't fucking turn anyone on, it's as good as having a scarecrow. fuck that exotic dance shit. didn't they ban that shit last few centuries ago or soemthing?

if i were to have it my way, i'm gonna have some girl-girl kissing action going on at the beginning of the video, anything less would be catatonic. well, with an opening scene on a video like that, there's no fucking way it's not gonna score viewers. after that they can have a 1/2 hour track talking about their butthair and us blokes will still be fascinated. oh, and all fucking means, get rid of that idiotic song, it's sad, pathetic and it makes my tummy upset everytime i hear it on radio. did i mention they lyrics are shitty? even if the lyrics are of shakespeare quality, it still sounds like fart.

the lesson learnt from this whole beyonce-shakira collaboration is
- eccentric artist (shakira) should have stick with themselves and not obtrusively blend around anyone at all. they can have muthafucking tom cruise if they like. i seriously think tom-jump-around-chair-in-oprah-sick-little-shit-cruise have some vocal talents. if they are horny, the broom would help them with their heat.
- chicks that's just over a relationship (beyonce) should not be allowed into making any form of records 6 (six) months after. then go for an interview with the music board or something that regulates the industry. if they proved to be meticulously snagful or bitter, they need to be buried alive.

there's an american idol coming out everyone year, one or two missing stars won't make no difference to world.

god dammit, is it that hard to know what people wanna watch on tele?

Pause

2007-05-02T19:46:00.000+08:00

there's nothing more soothing than a lazy afternoon with books and music.

well, evidently, there is, but let's not go there.

The Weekend.

2007-04-04T09:56:00.001+08:00

Music wise, weekends are NOT a time for fm/am radio. everyone knows how it is with radio that everyday they tell yo what fucking day it is while subconciously alarming listeners by counting down number days to the weekend because THEY FUCKING THINK WEEKENDS ARE FUCKING FUN.

"today is monday so tomorrow is tuesday and weekends are just a few days away" or "you know what, thursday are the too chill and enjoy because tomorrow you will party hard". those sort of bollocks. at times, it makes one wonder how the fuck did they manage to pull the stunt week-by-week and it goes sort of unnoticed.

muthafuckers.

so at the weekends, instead of chilling out watching porn series on the tele, if you were to listen to the radio, they'll rant about how many days it is before the week starts cause they can't fucking wait to start ranting about next weekend again. what the hell? i digress the network radio's policy on giving hope on the arrival on weekends just to take it all away by constantly remind everyone that after the weekend, it is the working days again.

therefore, weekends are only for muthafucking chillout music and jazz and porn and whatever fuck i have in my playlist (hell, i'd even listen to constant reply of cat meowing or birds chirping )

finally, i concur that these radio people are really bad at mathematics because they can only count till 7, then back to one. well, they are radio deejays, not rocket scientists for one.

lady luck is a perilous annihilating whore.

2007-03-30T10:56:00.000+08:00

the cancerous unrest was to be overlooked. the cancerous unrest mutated unwarmingly into a catatonic. luck? it has absolutely nothing to do with luck. intangible faculty of dogmatic ignorance cultivated the entire adversity. what done cannot be undone, the intense momentum is maniacal. for once, i could but only admire the rigidness of such mishap, engineered to such a unique tone of perfection. the monstrous tempo denied many possibilty of correctional encounter.

i'm not complaning, though, i'm just in the midst of calculating the cost of the adversity and perhaps somehow, by chance, a evasive solution to the perfect storm.

see what.

2007-03-15T00:44:00.000+08:00

Laurent Garnier is the shit, people. well time for bed. tomorrow's a long fucking day.

2007-03-07T13:17:00.000+08:00

my brains feels cloudy. as if it was a sponge that was soaked into a pond of soya. in other words it feels more or less like 'tau fu far'. the joy of sleeping late talking about breast size and it's provocation. not that i have any breast, mind you.

man, i wish there's an energy booster pack to mount onto my head in days liek this.

ABC-D

2007-03-07T00:36:00.000+08:00

i prefer a D to C or a B or A. life has reach a new grade of boredom at 1am. muthafuck.

those damned hours.

2007-03-07T00:26:00.000+08:00

for no reason, i'm feeling restless.

i have concrete reasons to believe it's got something to do with chinese new year withdrawal.

mail

2007-03-05T10:13:00.000+08:00

alright, i was typing a mail.

then i zoned out for a while with my fingers intuitively danced around the keyboard. this is what i saw after that:

Dear Sir/Madam,

Offer for a Trainee Position

With reference to your application for traineeship with our firm, we would like to make an offer to hire your black ass, punk muthafucker. So with immediate effect, you better fucking get your ass here and

before i know it, i'm back to reality again.

another year gone by.

2007-02-18T00:28:00.000+08:00

i'm having sugar high from the food i ate.

the echo of firecrackers are still clogging the air unrelentlessly for such event in the past that was meant to keep a ranging human eating monster away from the civilisation. the breeze stinks of the odor from the rampaging explosions in the sky. i was standing outside for the last half hour looking for signs that was the reason of the whole red manifesto that's spreading across town faster than the speed of light. more accurately, i was simply seeking for serenity among the chorus of the explosions. the explosions charted the beginning of another year loop among the chinese, my 24th lunar new year.

the larger the sum of my age gets, the lesser the celebration of chinese new year becomes. year by year, my chinese new year becomes more and more diluted. probably, the less work is to be done at home, the less keen i am for the whole chinese new year celebration.

truth is, the larger the sum of my age gets as well, the more i appreciate the lunar new year. this year, my excuse to love it even more than ever could have be related to a probable solution to my personal financial woe which tainted my life so profusely for the whole period of last year. every year offers an unmeticulous start to another hopeful beginning. now i could understand the cliche fundamental of the whole chinese new year manifesto because i could look forward for some fresh starts and new additions to my destituted so called life.

whoever that thinks chinese new year is all about red packets are a bunch of fucking superficial materialistic wankers.

ish.

2007-02-13T21:11:00.000+08:00

imsofuckingsleepyicantreallythinkstraightanymore.

shut it.

2007-02-05T15:15:00.000+08:00

fucking blogger dot com is being a fucking pain in the ass. took me fucking 15 minutes just to fucking log in to post. now why the fuck does muthafucking blogger, the biggest blogging community on the internet want to fucking do that?

the bore factor.

2007-02-02T13:08:00.000+08:00

i'm slowly going through a 1000 page forum that analyses physical form of various women from celebrity to webcam flashers.

man, am i bored or what.

1967

2006-12-27T22:08:00.000+08:00

as far as i'm concerned, i've not publish any photos here for more than 1/2 a year.

these photos are taken as a tribute to an infamous kl landmark that's about to be demolished pretty soon. the Pekeliling Flats has been here longer than most people have been and the once standing high and mighty building will be undone.

the cow fly high

2006-12-25T11:10:00.000+08:00

dammit.

yeah. it's christmas morning, and i said fuck more than anybody's sexual fantasies with paris hilton. oh yeah, i'm so going to hell.

POTATO SALAD.

there! i have to say that. fucking word was stuck in my head since i inconviniently revived myself from the deep slumber that knocked me out for some decent hours without the influence of alcohol. so that mean that i've been a nice boy this year cause the fat bugger up north actually did grant me my ONE (1) wish, which is i want a decent sleep. guess i owe him a thank you note, which I WILL WRITE LATER.

there's some thoughts i need to purge because i've got some time to burn before crash some x'mas open houses.

don't anyone, ANYONE at all wonder what will happen if you sort of like include additional *flavours* in santa's cookie and milk? man, i would like to see how a high-as-a-kite santa riding about with his raindeers and all those presents for poor little kids. i mean, admit it, that must awfully fun.

x.

2006-12-25T08:23:00.000+08:00

i slept through the christmas countdown. the eyes' vision started blurring while i was religiously reading this new book about a killer bear. they soft toy kind of bear. yeah, tell me about it, my intention was to break the cliche, killer teddy is unorthodox nontheless also a decent way to hynotize me to a deep slumber.

it's christmas, i'm gonna listen to some chris rhea, bring in some turkey for massacre and call it a day. man, i love these holiday seasons.

(1000 miles)

2006-12-20T08:00:00.000+08:00

"i supposed that loud banging trance mind-numbing music couldn't heal the wound as well..."

Strike.

2006-12-04T12:32:00.000+08:00

The guv'ment wants us bloggers to register because some of us are apparently not publishing very productive posts about the country.

The guv'ment love to think that we're writing things that is sensitive enough to touch on the issues which could make them very vulnerable for attacks. So the guv'ment wants to punish those that points out on their mistakes.

The guv'ment also owns the fucking media. The guv'ment can come out with any avalance of nonsense but we will still think it's right because the guv'ment says so because they fucking own the media. If the media says new finding claims that God lives in North Pole, we have to buy it because the media is a very powerful agent of propaganda. By the way, God *does* live in North Pole, okay.

The guv'ment thinks we're a bunch of dumb groupie media worshipping wankers. Well, maybe some of us are.

The guv'ment is corrupt. zero corruption my balls.

The guv'ment means nothing without the people. The PEOPLE is the guv'ment. But we don't know that do we, at least the Guv'ment hopes we don't.

2006-11-23T10:18:00.000+08:00

right, so fafat tagged me. i have to do this. actually i have no idea why i'm doing this...

Layer ONE : On the Outside
Name : Liew
Birth Date : unknown.
Current Status : staying-in with pamela anderson having hot wild kinky sex everynight. sorry, guys, i don't mean to hurt your petite feelings.
Eye color : Brownish - i think.
Hair Color: black, like my skin.
Righty or Lefty : Lefty. the smart type. all righties are fucking idiots. that's right, ALL RIGHTIES ARE FUCKING IDIOTS. sue me.
Zodiac Sign : the moutain goat. go figure.

Layer TWO : On the inside
Your Heritage: black. icelandic.
Your Fears : that people will love me more than i want them to. which always happens.
Your Weaknesses : krytonite. that big green crystal.
Your Perfect Pizza : margarita, only if they know how to make it the right way. 99% malaysians make disturbingly awful pizza. fucking wankers.

Layer THREE : Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
Your thoughts first waking up : why the fuck am i up again?
Your Bedtime : i need to sleep i need to sleep i need to fucking sleep
Your most missed memory : staying up until morning for breakfast. then go back to sleep.

Layer FOUR : Your Pick
Pepsi or Coke : Coke, no contest. michael jackson did an ad for pepsi, look what happened to him. and britney spears too. it's cursed.
McDonald's or Burger King : Burger King. McDonald's make pussy burger, too small for my liking.
Single or group dates: Orgy, fuck the dates yo'...
Adidas or Nike: Neither, Puma's the brand. jonathan davis wears puma. he the shit.
Lipton tea or Nestea: Neither. why there so many pussy whipped questions, dammit. fucking hell.
Chocolate or vanilla: Both
Cappuccino or coffee: Coffee. Black, like me.

Layer FIVE : Do you
Smoke : for some fucked up reason, i couldn't pick up the habit. damn.
Curse : fucking hell. no, not really.

Layer SIX : In the Past Month
Drank alcohol: yes, please.
Gone to the mall: yes
Been on stage: no
Eaten sushi: yes. (i hate japanese food actually.)
Dyed your hair: nope.

Layer SEVEN: Have You Ever?
Played a stripping game: yes. why, does it bother you? does having pamela anderson around you makes you nervous?
Changed who you were to fit in: it's impossible to say no. like that time, i was hanging out with some chinese boys and them wus going all cantonese and all and i hate to like speak in fucking canto to get with them yellow boys, ya' dig?

Layer EIGHT
Age you're hoping to be married : now this is why the world makes shallow people. getting married? tsk. fuck off and die.

Layer NINE: In a Girl/Guy.
Best eye colour: Green/Blue/Grey
Best hair colour: as blonde as pamela anderson can get. if you can make it blonder, i'll love you even more.
Short or long hair: longish but a little short.

Layer TEN: What Were You Doing.
1 minute ago : doing this stupid thing. duh! are you a fucking nut?
1 hour ago : cooking for the entire family
4.5 hours ago : sleeping
1 month ago : had a drive through with some homies.
1 year ago : exchange couple of live round with the coppers.

Layer ELEVEN : Finish The Sentence
I love: having an orgy with pamela anderson, kate beckinsale and nicole kidman.
I feel: like eating bananas. a lot a lot of bananas
I hate: to juggle chainsaws in a mono-cycle while eating curry noodle. and the new james bond and everyone that loves that fugly looking monster.
I hide: some glock in my car case i need to do a drive through.
I miss: drinking kristal with a bunch of playmates.
I need: to drink 2 litres a water a day to stay healty and cool.

Layer TWELVE : Tag 5 people
1. pamela anderson
2. kate beckinsale
3. nicole kidman
4. hugh marston hefner
5. 2pac, my nigga', word.

missing person.

2006-11-18T20:50:00.000+08:00

there was a recent survey on radio - who's the next big action hero of our era? the answer sort of boiled back to vin diesel and this other dude whose name i don't bother to remember. to me, there isn't anyone suitable to be an action hero anymore. daniel craig can have 20,ooo orgasms fucking horses while waiting but he will not ever make to the action hero hall of fame. that fucking wanker.

now...i'm not out to diss daniel craig. he's just an ugly fuck with a face far less emotional than a fucking plank. there's a sort of hollywood culture going about which i don't really fancy having around, not the hot chicks, but the kind of effort they make to ignite and justify an establish character's background. add some feel and emotional into it so that they don't look crude.

take James Bond. the vodka martini shaken not stirred british hero cum playa' which we all know. he a pimp, he's basically a tank to his foes. now why the fuck in the natural celestial logic do we need to know where the fuck he came from? everytime someone wonders where Bond came from, his answer is either to kill a bad guy, roll some communist with a tank or fuck some chick and the very thought disappears. if the thought revoked again, he's probably chewing on a terrorist's guts, which then it's so fucking cool you forget about yet again. someone with character doesn't need a past. statistically, almost every movie franchise that try explaining all that history shit after a successful chapter just rocked into an endless pit of the damned.

so a no brainer movie would garner more attention (plus dough) comparing to a mind twisting one. so what defines a good movie hero? here's a few suggestions that i humbly believe would help:
1) how must they look like?
if it's a chap, he's got to be not ugly. hell he can have a pencil dick for all i care, but NOT UGLY. so daniel craig is out. in the case where it's a women, she's got to look great next even white taking a dump, sexy outfit but nothing too radical like cat-woman, which was top of the table ugly too. both must not fall in love nor fucking have emotions. who the wants wants to care how superman got his first laid or his annoying pathetic monotonous love with lois lane.
2) what will happen to them if they don't fall in love?
fuck all. they're here to save the world, clean the street and all that jack, not fuck out women.
3) what about sex?
oh, that, easy, every of those action hero movies must come with an orgy scene. batman & spiderman tag team sex with all girls from a college or a state. catwoman and wonderwoman orgy with James Bond for all i care. sex scenes make or break a movie. take some jeena jameson porn for example.
4) any other?
if possible, bad habits help. junkie spiderman, chain-smoking batman, alcoholic Bond. it'll definately make them more shady and interesting.

that would do. i think my brains are dying on me.

Vodka Martini.

2006-11-17T14:42:00.000+08:00

the British is a great establishment. if someone asks me what's so nice about the brits, it'll sound a little something like the jaguars, the infamous Queen, the even more famous once princess, union jack which you can use to style everything from roof to underwear, david beckham, victoria spice, football, the uncanny sense of humour just to name a few.

it bears so much style and eloquence, you can't help but to fancy them unless you're a fucking yankees, which you are not, i believe. the best British franchise in a movie is, but of course, Bond, JamesfuckingBond, the double oh-7 bigtime spy himself whom loyalty is only to Her Royal Highness, and looks so fucking elegant, he'll turn a nun into a sex-addict whore if he glared at her longer than a second.

the movie franchise matured from tacky gadgets into establishing the finest man on the entire cosmic, a suit-wearing, seductive tough guy. i love watching JamesfuckingBond. From the best looking grandpops alive, sean connery now they're casting daniel craig as Jamesfuckingdoubleoh7? now that is just fucked. i watched the movie last night and daniel craig is the complete anti-thesis of double-oh-seven. for one he looks like a plank. sorry, i correct myself, a plank is better looking than him.

there was this scene where he tried to look sexy to bed a chick and muthafucking hell, i broke into laughig looking at his funny face. how the fuckin' frying hell can someone look so fucking ugly be a symbol of jolly british men? so i spent 2 and a half hours watching an ugly man seducing women which fighting some villians. that was just fucking awful. the irony is, this movie actually proves that ugly tough guys can hook up with sexy chicks too if they know how to use their gun fluently (no pun intended). that's not right. ugly men are bad-asses. they rape goats in spare minutes of their lives while cutting kid's flesh to feed them back to the goats.

for the first ever time, the villian which is pretty ugly looks way better than an agent.

again, is it me or the new james bond looks like a plank?

bark

2006-11-16T13:34:00.000+08:00

have i ever mentioned that my sister in law gave birth to a healthy 3pointsomething pound little girl last sunday?

ok, let me get this clear, if you're giving me one of those 'awwwwww...that's nice!' expression, it's about time you fuck off. oh yes, run along...apparently we do not share a same vision on kids, before you get your whole neighbour to write me a forceful petition on why the hell is a kiddy good.

anyway, back to senseless round of self-worshipping ramblings, now a baby actually infiltrated my guardian walls. well, after i was stripped defenseless, i concluded that;
1) babies really make a lot of noise
2) babies make a lot a lot a lot of noise
3) they cry at 3 in the morning regardless of life threatening gestures from Osama Bin Laden.
4) all babies do all day long is eat and sleep and cry occasionly just for the attention.

for some crazy reasons, all the animals in the family is extremely curious about the arrival of the little one. falling far away from expectation, they don't share the atrocious enmity that i have for the kiddo. ben the great dane pops his head occasionly through the window to crave his curiousity hunger, vanessa the veteran kitty doesn't know whether to ignore her or to have a tete-a-tete with her and mr jingles the crazy humongous fluffy bad-ass kitten gets a little edgy at first but not it's as interesting watching bunch of wankers play intelligent cricket on the tele. even the cock next door came over to pay a visit. but of course we ate him.

i have to give it jin chi (kiddo's name) for leisuring them animals.

now, how should i start?

2006-11-13T15:04:00.000+08:00

i'm sort of hooked to orwell's 1984. it's one of the best fiction i've read for a long long time. queen of the damned and the vampire lestat made me felt like i should blast my fucking brains out because of the depressing content. not, depressing just do not do the book any justice. it's more on mellow, mediocre. too many of those gives you an unbearable desire to kill something, mostly yourself.

will write when i have something on in my life.

entire

2006-10-16T22:35:00.000+08:00

i've had a...erm, eventful day. i don't think i could house so much in one day.

it all starts when i was sitting down in a mamak at 7fuckingam in cyberjaya browsing through the morning paper. newspaper to me is more or less only important for 2 things, sports and the comic strip, preferably they murder all the other strips to give way to dilbert. i strongly feel anyone that's got nothing to do with dilbert should be 'taken care of' collectively. if you ask me, i'd blame the eyes for swaying into the microscopic horoscope column right next to calvin and hobbes. Aries: you'll be anything but bored. reason: some star cheated on another start and a particular star got super pissed off. yup, i said what the fuck too.

instead of staying a little longer for the world news to see what an evil communist dictator mr. north korea president is, i ambled to my busted car, disarm the annoying alarm, hopped into the car and ceremoniously slip the key in and turned it to ignite the car.

kek-kek-kek-kekkkkk-kekkkkkkk!!!

fuck all, it won't start. i repeated my motion, only this time holding the key longer in the ignition position.

kek-kek-kek-kekkkkk-kekkkkkkkkkkk-cough-cough-stopitmuthafucker!

it came to me at a suprise that my car 1) cussed at me 2) didn't caught fire or cough out a cloud of smoke 3) didn't start. the kekking sound actually stopped after i repeated the action for 93 times. it felt like i was thrown into amazon with my armani suit and vintage adidas kicks. no broken car could throw me an endeavour too much i couldn't handle, aight, so i called everyone around the 5km perimeter and every other fucking person is late for work on monday morning. that's an actual office cliche for you. (eccentric feisty bunch excluded but i don't think i deserve any help from them.)

but i still managed to haul a fucking car. with my ego will at a marginable height, i'd pack myself a new battery for my car and a dark brute-looking pakistani (comes with compliment of the battery). even with an arsenal so potent, iraqi would fleet upon a glaze, i was dumbass enough to 1) not have a size-13 wrench 2) have a brute-looking pakistani that knows jack shit about cars and batteries but unusually competent in political science for fuck all reasons.

now, i have had to take a big blow on the ego side while listening to brute-looking pakistani preach me about local political agenda and soon afterwards, he hauled a fucking wrench as big as a fucking t-rex to unscrew a nut as big as a peanut! that was how i really know the shit has hit the fan but i was trying real hard not to laugh. luckily, two very very helpful man with a car full of wrenches in various size came into my rescue; insulted big wrench repeatly and change my battery for me while pakistani charles manson and i pretended to look numerously interested in whatever the fucking surgery they're performing on my car.

voila, they got my car into one piece and it worked eloquently if not better than ever. i think i could have done fuck all if it wasn't for those two very helpful gentlemen. the odd thing is, i never favoured malaysians as the type that would offer a helping hand for charity purposes yet there are still some saints planted all over us.

i'd like to wish them a million thank you again actually.

run.

2006-10-13T16:20:00.000+08:00

muthafucker, everytime i try to blog, something happennes.

the OST

2006-09-25T23:22:00.000+08:00

finally, i found a way to extract some tunes i heard from movies by searching via wikipedia instead of trying to remember the lyric word by word.

i've never felt more superior.

finally, i'm home.

2006-09-21T22:37:00.000+08:00

got myself all swelled up for a fucking walk at the mall tonight so i could get myself something, whatever. be it books, records, porn, sandals, boardshorts, gadgets, whatever. it's like an itch in on wound, you know it's gonna scar permanently, but to scratch it with utmost force seems like the epitome of the whole fucking situation.

the world loves dramatic ending. with a punch.

back to my room, i was all prepared to leave the fucking house, to fucking retreat into an neglectful cosmic, pleanty of room of absent crowd and attention and fuck all, the spur of mood just fucking bouyed away like talibans in afganistan. probably faster, i don't know.

the world adores a supersonic revolution.

so it was complete jack off because i didn't really want to go out anymore but i already changed and bathed coherently for the apparent exile. instead i anchor my butt on the couch doing some reading queen of the damned which i have been doing for almost 4 months, while watching television. the programs wasn't invitationally interesting nor funny. charlie sheen was in a sitcom that was too cliche and a local reality show with G's friend in it was as good as watching well-oiled wrestlers trying to lick their elbow, ridiculously nominal.

the world should fucking try to outlive that reality tv show phase. and CSI too. those fucking geeks.

the shift wasn't prolong and now i'm here, listening to dave mattews which i have not done for eons, rhetorically blogging without a foul or acrimonious issue to compel but still writing for the sake of sordid retrospective humour. yeah, as if things are unceremonial yet again.

the world needs a day off from calamity.

how was your day.

2006-09-21T12:03:00.000+08:00

notice that i never put a question mark on the title? it's not a question, i asked, but i don't really intend to know the answer.

i attended a photography course yesterday. photography using a fucking phone camera by Nokia. maybe to most of the ignorant people around, it's a fucking 1 day course but i think it was more like a brainwash session. they attached some devices around your eyes so you can't close them, then they show you some really gay porn genital close-up so that it'll give you nightmare, well, it was more or less equivalant. and if you're gay, i'm sorry, i can't cater for everyone that lives.

here's what you get, chunk a bunch of camera freaks into a room and brief them on the history of camera phones, the grandeur of shooting with phones instead of slr and the fun of waxing your nipple. though we know it was all painful and a mile a way from the truth, we endured the baneful hours, just because these nokia bastards were sincerely teaching us on the implementation of photography a fucking phone, AND, there's an AND, they were supposed to ditch out A FREE PHONE. it was the latest model, not that i give a fuck about the phone cause i wanted to sell it off more the monetary purposes.

given all the fucking rantings and the lack of cam-ho' photos in the beginning of the post, i'm sure even a monkey could have guess that i won jackshit. YES, infuckingdeed i won jackshit. curse the nokia marketing team! incidently, that was what we were doing to the phone due their imcompetence.

ultimately, they fed us well. so well that i felt like a japanese wagyu, nice fat and drunk so that i will not retaliate if they ever want to slaughter me, besides, i taste fantastic. being conned there is one thing but the quality of the meal servings are avant garde. i wonder if i could use the word avant garde.

where's my 1979?

2006-09-12T22:07:00.000+08:00

you know, when you listen to corgan's most tangible piece, 1979, over and over again for a few hours straight, you'll wonder whatever the fuck happened to your 79'. did you just missed the 79' or it was so good, you felt jack shit when it happened and it was over before you could actually enjoy the orgasm. well, that's too bad, innit, some people have sex without orgasm. who fucking cares.

the point is, i think most people are talking shit when they fucking preach about tomorrow never come and all that jack but all they fucking do all day is sit and whine about how fucking unfair the world is, because their ass hair is shorter than other's. fuckers keep indicating that if we don't fucking enjoy our life now, you might just fucking go to heaven and it's all about being nice, there's no fucking piece of action there no more. oh gosh, doesn't that give you a significant degree of concern? correct me if i'm wrong, but if you lived gracefully, death's not a boundary, maybe it's the end, but at least it's a good end.

man, i've not blog for so fucking long, i can't even write anymore. sheesh, maybe i should consider going for english classes again.

12.00am

2006-09-10T00:05:00.000+08:00

he asked, 'what now?'

and he didn't have the answer for it, for the firs time.

(p/s he should stay in school longer, innit?)

the neighbourhood

2006-09-06T09:46:00.000+08:00

kimak-street.

kimakkimak's house is way too good for everyone else.
Jon's house looks like it's on fire.
!07's (Loi, get it?) house is just over the fucking top. like seriously.
Claire's house is 3d and she did a half ass job painting it.
me's house has got a dog or a tree on it. i don't know. you tell me.
jen's house is not square. sort of round. the roof is round too. apparently she said it's scary. (well, everyneighbourhood has to have one of them haunted ones)
Fafat's house is...nice. wtf.
lynn told me her house is big but it's about the same size as any other houses.
Jess's house is like Jon's but it not on fire.

what is it all about?

back.

2006-09-01T22:51:00.000+08:00

finally, after 9 fucking long months, the house finally has connection to the fucking internet again. no thanks to telekom malaysia berhad.

however, words do not do justice to the way i feel now. ironically, i've out of words to say.

now, if you excuse me, i need to download 8 month's supply of porn.

Adiós

fuckin' A

2006-09-01T19:12:00.000+08:00

apparently, i got internet connection at home.

you can lick my fucking ass, telecom.

period.

the absolutely new life

2006-08-29T12:37:00.000+08:00

see, new layout.

less ordinary?

2006-08-29T09:26:00.000+08:00

i woke up today and i never felt healthier in whole fucking month. primilary because i've only had 1 corn, 3 small servings of malay cakes, and a small portion of dinner that does not include a clinical amount of meat.

my office connection is finally back and i'm back to my usual blogging ways. home connection is due end of this month (august) cause the phone line is up. so all that jack shit about me no connection at home ranting is expired.

the images in the site was down for no reason. truly not because some muthafucker hacked into my account. andrew called and told me it was hacked and the first thing that went to my mind was "who the fuck in the world wants to discredit themselves by hacking my blog?", truth to be told, the host for my images apparently fucked something up and after couple of emails, it's back on again.

it's all good now, i can fucking assure that.

i fucking told ya'

2006-08-01T21:24:00.000+08:00

i think i have recently been violated morally. it was actually last weekend when i met up with this pompous bloke that thinks he's superior and it comes in handy to insult everyone around him as well (mainly me, actually, come to think of it, only me).

it all started when i had a couple rounds of beer and i behaved sort of oddly. i assure you, anyone that knows me in person knows that i'm usually drunk, whether i had a few drinks of not, but it didn't cause he just met me. it's not really important whether the alcohol really permeated into my brain because ever since i started behaving really odd, he took the advantage to say i'm drunk with a few added on gestures that would make me turn green, stuck my hand into his foul defecate mouth to remove his bloody tongue if i'm hulk, how unfortune since i tried and could turn into anything. well, any sober or drunk would say that he's not drunk so denying it wouldn't compliment much of anything, as situation is something i would say like trying to hit the sky with a throw of stone.

as the process got a little swell, the only thing i very much said was 'the world needs an anti-hero!'. i'm so proud of myself, i didn't even know what it has to do with the moment and why i said what i said. probably because he's a cambridge law student and he knows the bible verses excellently and i know jack about everything and i graduated from redolant local university of the undead so i thought i could the kind of anti-hero at the particular moment. after giving it a few more thoughts, it's just another random thing that blurted out of my mouth. however, come to think of it, which one would you worship more, a heroic heart surgeon that's a drunk with a shady past (police thinks he murdered his neighbour for going too loud during with fucking anally) come player or a top scoring medical student that's presently a hospital caretaker. the former has a pleasently thick element of morbidness while the latter is just plain boring. looking at baked beans for an hour could not be worse than talking to him on the subject of colon hygiene.

hollywood terms, character like captain jack sparrow sells better than man-wearing-red-underwear-outside. the presence of notorious i-don't-give-no-fuck attitude could not help but capture attention of the majority. maybe it's a culture of this new millennium. the season where hopeless losers lock more fame than those vasely successful individuals with a kitchen up their ass. if bill gates drinks beers, owns a pornography magazine and charts himself on a WWE deathmatch with the rock wearing tight black leather, he would be deemed iconic.

back to my case where the drunk engineer with an arguably sense of logic versus the depressed yet pompous cambridge lawyer-to-be, who is more overwhelmingly vile? ohh...that seems cut-throat tough even with a cosmic character calculator. the fucking pompous moron geek was reciting qoutes and stories and whatnot from the bible and how i might need to use it against another man in time to come but i couldn't give any bollocks about it.

after a long what it seems to be an eternity of bragging about how fucking great he is with the world's best seller, i politely invited him to stretch our tête-à-tête on repertoire of the apocalyse and revelation on the bible. that butt-fucking son of a bitch ignored me and kept on singing his way through his previous gaudy talk. insisting i want to know about doomsday, he discreetly told me he doesn't know jack about it.

at that moment, i could hear the sound of the bell, 'DING, DING, DING', the end of the scoring session, the sole winner has been cast. an arm lifted high, swaying and hustling through the tiny molecules of air, and the is but of course my know-it-all-plus-bollocks counterpart.

oh come fucking on, he's got the credit for being badass. how bad else can he get by attacking another drunk decent man verbally and preaching on a subject he brags to be substantially reliable on but on the other hand has no idea about just to gather attention. he the MAN, with balls size of a t-fucking-rex.

may he rest in peace.

2006-07-12T14:34:00.000+08:00

i received a the harsh truth about everything will die, sooner or later, yesterday

the power interruption at my place sent my computer straight to hell. (in my humble opinion, dead things just die. there's not heaven or hell. but hell sounds good in that sentence) if there was a highway that doesn't collect toll fare to hell, i'm pretty sure my computer is done and over with the highway. unless otherwise, maybe it's still on it's way.

that fucking blue coloured (oh yeah, the colour's not exactly sexy) workstation with enormous amount of porn and music just died. there's 50 titles of kinky porn inside. everything that goes from innocent japanese chicks to sexy latina to farm sex (man + chicken) is vanished. it also means my end to graphical sex arrangement, well, i could, maybe, possibly pay a couple to have sex in front of me...drop me a call couples, i pay well, i am rich.

now, imagine marco materazzi's face when zidane buttheaded him. i look exactly like that now. the mixed signals of my brain affirmed that i will have to mourn this new-found bane profusely. at a fucking moment like this, i wish i own an alternative hobby. fuck that horse shit.

i guess the particular porno that i would miss most would be the one with paris hilton in it. i have this theory, everytime paris does something great like get her own reality show or make her own album, i'd re-watch her home video. again, and again. isn't it completely cool when celebrity goes has one or two missing homevideos for our humble perusal?

enough about porn.

dorky game

2006-07-11T15:11:00.000+08:00

the BIG GAME was two days ago. the italians won. the french are sore losers. the FIFA governing body is a fucking pussy. the refree is blind on an elephant scale. the english player were pompous and useless. the portugals played like thugs. the japanese might as well play wearing women's panties, those pansies. the argentines were good and ze germans were just ze germans.

the title is i can't fucking sleep well

2006-06-30T14:07:00.000+08:00

just because i have been dynamic and i do not update my blog anymore does
not mean that i'm dead.

and i'm not one of those weird little shit that calls a hiatus every once in
a while for the sake of their attention gratification. sort of like one of
those 'HIATUS - need to have more sex. blogging kills my desire for sex'. it
doesn't fucking work that way. blogging by itself is a self-sufficient
indulgence. it doesn't need extra 3rd party attention or anything else to
justify my love for it. nontheless, it's a fucking free country. so you're
entitled to do whatever the fuck you like. so i'm also entitled to call you
a cunt if i like.

i'm not extra vulgar today. neither have i rediscover the joy of cussing.
incidentally, i suspect the amount of alcohol that flows through my veins is
doing their job pretty well. according to a very close friend/ex-drinking
buddy, i talk black (which is completely normaly) and i cuss at an atrocious
rate when i'm happily high/drunk. due to various legitimate reasons (such as
i love to drink very much), i knocked down a couple of downers when i was
travelling last week.

there is absolutely no way of rejoicing what sort of stuff that i've had
till last sunday. so much of my drinking melanoma resurfaced because i had
trouble with sleep. the sort that i could sleep without problem but wakes up
3 hours later, with a mixed feeling of rage, exhaustion and confusion.
having a few crates of beer at my mercy last sunday, i sort of knocked down
two cans in a row at warp speed. anyone with the slightest clue on the
semantics of beer know it makes people sky high fast. i slept but i woke up
at 430 in the morning. fell asleep again, the up again at 450.

being tired on a monday is the last thing proletariat would need. unwilling
to accept the harsh fact that i'm having sleeping disorder (and zoe her
salary the same day), zoe and i took another venture to boathouse and drunk
the fuck outta ourselves. in our very very fucking sad case, drink the fuck
out of ourselves meaning about a bottle of wine due to global inflation
inferno and our very small salary cap. i zoned out as soon after i touched
my doorknob but i fucking got up at 5fucking30 in the morning. it was not
funny, ok.

on wednesday i looked wrecked. looking at a garbage bin combine with the
foul smell for an hour would be less disconcerting than a milisecond of
glance at me. if there's one thing i could always fall back on, it's
alcohol. never has time favour me so much, G and Daniel came from wherever
they should come back from and we went out for a long chat (long chat to
masquerade our oblivious love for alcohol). yet again, some wines and beers.
yet again, i woke up at 5. if i had a gun, i'll go to the nearest mamak and
run amok. then eat some roti canai so i'd be so fucking tired i could sleep
like a baby.

yesterday, i slept approximately at 10. i woke up at 8. i feel like a happy
muthafucker. and it was simply done without the conjugal of any form of
alcohol. maybe the vast amount of nangka i ate helped. last note: put your
money on argentina for tonight's match.

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pretty please.

2006-06-15T12:29:00.001+08:00

thank you,
Liew

p/s - i'll put in some extra in the hot chocolate if you can deliver by end of this month. oh, and if brazil doesn't win the world cup, it's totally fine with me. better if you can chuck in an italy win with the poster. thank you very muchos.

pretty please.

2006-06-15T12:29:00.000+08:00

Dear Santa,

it's not christmas yes and my birthday is over, i know.

i hardly ask for anything.

actually, i never ask for anything (well, other than a drink of course...)

but i really want this. check your list, you know that i've been a good boy. good-er than any other buys.

thank you,
Liew

p/s - i'll put in some extra in the hot chocolate if you can deliver by end of this month. oh, and if brazil doesn't win the world cup, it's totally fine with me. better if you can chuck in an italy win with the poster. thank you very muchos.

delicious apocalypse

2006-06-09T14:22:00.000+08:00

smashing pumpkin's today is the best way to depict my mood now. today is a
beautiful day. see, i can easily apply the term when the circumstances
assemble the glory of the moment.

you don't need to be reminded today is the beginning of the world cup. the
premier football tournament which only happens to countries plays brilliant
football and converting it at the same time. (note: my neighbour's dog plays
a swing of a footbal but the bitch doesn't have a clue about conversion).
never in malaysia though. it's international stage football but malaysia,
timor-leste and another bunch countries that major football arena includes
playing barefoot. we suck. we know we suck, but we can't help it.

anyway, if you don't get the world cup bug, you probably think it's a vile
caveat. the world cup is everything.

it's not actually the game nor the betting. it's not due to a chance where
the footballer's wife might go topless after the husband converted a goal.
it's bigger than that. everyone talks about it. the only time where the
world stop at the same time to appreciate a moment is during a world cup
opening match.

incidentally, have you see your any of your old fart neighbours endure in an
endeavour to stay awake at 3fuckingpukimakAM if it's cricket world cup
finals? do you know how bad it could be for his heart? he'll probably walk
his grumpy ass to your house to, breaks in, smash your tele with his 9 iron
(that's got this whack sticker written 'Baddddd MUTHAFUCKER!!!' on it) in
order to reconstruct peace in the neighbourhood if you were even watching
it. don't you expect old people to be nonchalant.

as we all know, al-Qaeda's top man, al-Zarqawi was murdered in an air-strike
yesterday. would a fish go to the surface of the water to hang-out and pick
up hot female fishes? no he won't. he went to the surface to catch a breath.
in other words, he to get some addendum for his world cup fever. cable tv
perhaps. darn those fucking yankees. them fucking yankees only got him cause
they're don't watch soccer. FOOTBALL, dammit, FOOTBALL yer fucken' slimy
cunthead. them fucken' americans don't dig football.

so, if a man as important and as powerful as Mr. Abu Musab al-Zarqawi has a
wee bit football fever, then it's time to realise how very important world
cup is to the society. and the americans. given the choice of their
president, i think any of their fucking suggestions should be taken into
deliberate consideration.

last but not least, if you're not a football fan, you've got no friends this
month.

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one plus one is two. two plus two is many

2006-06-07T12:58:00.000+08:00

i think i might have to live longer than i want to.

ultimately, dying at a young age has it's perks. for one, you'll still look
youthful by the time death swings the scythe at you. that's not exactly my
point but why die of old age and alzeimer's and a pain on everybody's ass
and everyone just so wish you could speed up your judgement day when death
can make you look more spectacular than ever. kurt kobain passed away
gracefully. hell, his album sales went up more than a double-fold after his
memorable expression-art he merely painted on the walls with his brains. and
i don't even want to mention marilyn monroe. and bruce fucking lee.

not a beautiful death compared to those who manage to gravitise themselves
on sick bed before taking the long rest. i do not take death as vitrolic as
it might seem. c'mon c'mon, if you're religious, you'll have a place
reserved in heaven specially for you with a cocktail on a white table, white
name tag with your perfectly name written in black on it. drink it up, give
St. Peters the password (i seriously doubt it's 'Open Sesame') and before
you know it, you have a halo on your head looking at Gandhi and Kennedy
playing chess while arguing about politics, which might have mattered aeons
ago. the insipid life that you own is no longer applicable. you're happy,
and it's pretty clean up there too, i heard.

if you're a true satanist. well, IF YOU ARE A TRUE SATANIST, whatever the
fuck happened to worldwide domination yesterday, you fuck?? Go to hell! (not
intended to be a pun)

in any case you are like me, an aetheist. you just fuck off after you die.
no prolong life-after effects. no ressuruction and no secret-of-life.

so, anyway, mom ballads around the health food products and everything that
goes with it. sincerely, i think some university should offer her a
university degree for it. it's not bad at all, you see, just that investment
in healthcare will contribute to a wealthy advancement in mortality. so i
have a higher chance of living a longer natural life. Malaysia. the country
of congested rain forrest and natural life IS a factor of lacking pollution
and industry discrimination. another plus point to an uncanny life.

then i neither smoke, drink (like a fish) or abuse drugs. plus one.

neither do i hang out in the mamak that food is perilous with bacterias and
inhale sufficient amount of severe 2nd hand smoke. plus one.

unintendingly exercising regularly evokes a primacy touch of health
reliability. whatthefuck!plus one.

silly me of depising junk food because it's just not a habit. sorry. sorry.
plus one.

likewise, it doesn't take a bloke with tangent brain developement like
einstein to understand one plus many ones is many. to build that sort of
intelligence in a rat would be easier than feigning a false call to the
local pizza delivery chap.

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the pink brothel

2006-06-01T15:15:00.000+08:00

i'm bored. B-O-R-E-D. for all i know, the possibility of an unknown comet
could be going a zillion miles per hour, smashing the earth into an infinite
of tiny scraps of shit is higher than me uncharacteristically caged in the
boredom zone.

it's not me fault actually. the feeling sort got heavier in the anxious end
rather than bored. i'm waiting for a mail from singapore which is very very
important to me and it hasn't come yet. my whole life (at least at this very
moment, it does!) depends on the content of the mail.

and the fucking clock is not doing it's job very well indeed. perhaps it
took a few catnaps in between minutes, that really justify the slug in terms
of time around here. call me a person with a bad sense of humour but i do
not understand the rotten jokes that time pull on us all the time. i'm at
the verge at shooting myself for what it feels like 3 hours but it really
only has been 20 minutes.

few more torturous hours, and i'll temporarily unbolted from this horrific
spell of routine and continuity that plagued me. this is the part where i
use all the imagination i have to relocate myself in large field with
endless green grass. with a few trees that bears fruit of liqour instead of
the occasion a-p-p-l-e. during the sunset, shadows of vixens parading in
skins replaced the green backdrop.

damn, i need to fucking get a shower before i lose my head

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center of the earth is hot.

2006-05-18T17:00:00.000+08:00

first of all, i've developed a hate and phobia towards ringing phones,
especially my own. bad news always have a way of hooking up with your trendy
life through the fucking phone. if my friend had accidentally crashed into a
one night stand with some rigid fat lady, they'd fucking drop me a call. if
my friend fucked his girlfriend until she ejaculates, they won't even bother
to occupy my stale life with such fragrant entertainment. yes, ignore that
bloke. just call him to tell him you fucked up your life.

couple of hours ago, the mailman came and drop me some of my summons. yes,
MY summonS. exactly ten of it. all for speeding. way to go, Liew. don't be
assumptious and label me a rotten fucking street racer. that's more than an
insult. those sort of accusation will drive a man into grave faster than
cancer.

i do not do street race, you know the one with a larger than pineapple
diameter muffler, more skirting than a fucking aeroplane, if the colour of
car the were to be equivelant to a person, it'll be a whore at the las vegas
boulevard. but so to happen, i dread the minutes a person waste while
travelling and i press the accelarator slightly harder than anybody else.

surely there has to be some justification for people like me right? the
government isn't punishing the left handers for cultural misfit into the
society. then why is the government (or rather the police force) take on
full scale effort to demolish us, the people who born with an actual genetic
disability to honour the speeding limit?

i think i'll just drive slower. like hog the road and let others in the
world suffer for being a pain in the ass on the road. cause traffic jam.
delay the perhaps unnecessary time spend on a journey. like some moron who
goes 30km/h in the fast lane of a highway.

the traffic jam is not cause by the lacksture of our unplanned traffic
routes, mostly, but by a brand of jerks that suspend themselves handsomely
on the road while others try to squeeze into punctuality.

all cars lesser than 2.5 litre should never ever be driven into a highway.
it's a liablity. pests in a jewelled palace.

my last word, if you see a car trying to hustle very eloquently in the
traffic, PLEASE FUCK OFF. you might not know when you need someone else to
fuck off for you.

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neeenoooneeenooo

2006-05-16T13:40:00.000+08:00

unfortunately, the fucking pc had a virus infection. totally knock my shit off. one minute it was nice and proper, then next minute, let's just say it's the equivalant to jenna jameson in mr. universe event. the innocent pc morphed into some sort of fucker that goes spamming everyone and everything that came into it's way. i can't handle that kind of pressure. but it's fixed.

the weekend, however, was nothing of such like my computer. it was bright and sunny and there were more than a dozen of things waiting to net me into their seductive grounds of slavery. andrew pimped me into paintball on sunday. interesting little shit, this paintball shit. it's basically a bunch of people going ballastic after given a catatonic force in hand. a certain degree of dictatorship and lunacy would come in handy with a weapon for optimum use.

incidently, the amateurs will act as a non-destructive fleet of live target of the rotten muthafucking veterans to validate their crucial periodic investment. i on the other hand, love the fuck out of the game. it's so fun, it's like what rachel described as setting little rats/hamster/anything in that family free after you set fire on them.

it's not sadistic, it's just harmless morbid fun. now, spca won't really give me an award for saying that...

let's roll

2006-05-03T17:52:00.000+08:00

if you listen to mogwai in lumut, it's fucking fantastic.

if you listen to nelly/snoop dogg in lumut, you're fucking crazy. it's not dope and it's not cool.

don't ask why, i don't really know. it sounds appropriate to make that statement.

i was in lumut for some working shit (which is totally dope cause working is super fucking fun, not, not at all actually), and ben happens to be there so i dragged kimberly along with me. the reason why i asked kim along cause i thought her and ben would be totally alright. oh, gosh, i was bloody wrong. i was so wrong, listening to bush's sermon about the weapons of mass destruction sounds vastly more tolerable.

ben and kimberly are like cats and dogs. marilyn monroe and jackie kennedy. dictator and freedom. the moment they were in contact, a new brand of misfit comes into action. they were practically the ultra-opposite of each other. there was this whole teasing and counter-teasing and calling names and whatnot. how the fucking hell did they cope with each other so nicely in buffalo? in a wicked eccentric way, they were actually enjoying the torment they feed each other so eloquently. some people are fucked up. ben and kimberly could never be so accurate in depicting that statement.

since kimberly got her own room and all that sibling rivalry jack shit, i had the disconcerting merit of sleeping with the infamous 'sleeping gropper'. basically, i totally understand. ben is a pervert. he likes to fondle people but he can't cherish his notorious habit so boldly. it wouldn't make sense if people doesn't return the favour. so ben waits until everyone's asleep before he fulfills his crave.

i strictly warned ben about the consequences of going brokeback on me while he was sleeping before i went to bed. a gazillion times. let's just say ben actually understood me perfectly but HE HAD TO RUB ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. ewww, i concentrated so much energy on my feet, if i kicked ben, his spine with fly out along with and it wouldn't justify if it isn't a fucking murder. so i simply told him off, and he understood perfectly. how weird. he's not really sleeping, actually, that pimp.

doesn't take an einstein to figure out who's the naughty bastard, does it?

say no to violence.

2006-04-28T13:27:00.000+08:00

when i came home last night, i saw fei lee, my sister in law, which is pregnant (yes yes, you're probably prancing about your own space like a fucking toad or kangaroo on a frying pan because i'm about to be an uncle. don't worry, i still hate kids as much. please, get a grip of yourself), reading a neil gaiman book. MY NEIL GAIMAN's CORALINE (it's spelled coraline, not caroline) to be specific. i gave her a what the fuck look.

"Yo, what are you reading?"
"A book?"
"Neil Gaiman? You can't fucking read Neil Gaiman!!!"
"Why?"

i was like thinking, "dude, why the hell must you ask why?"

i don't fucking know why. i do not even know why einstein has fucking weird hair or why indonesians have funny accents. i'm sure as hell not the oracle as much as i am this big retangular super computer where you go to whenever you need to fucking know the secret of life. i have for you, the secret of life is, eat more greens, for fuck's sake.

anyway, so, it's just totally wrong for my brother's unborn child to read these kind of shit. not that i'm implementing neil gaiman's work is shit. just that it's not right. like it's not right to take your poo and drink beer at the same time or it's not right to overdose your girlfriend with laxatives or use Imperial March ringtone for your dad. there's no specific justification for what's right or what's not, but somethings are wrong and you can't really depict it in words solemnly.

don't get me wrong, i hate kids rottenly with passion but i have a thing for pregnant women. i think have this weird idea in my head that pregnant women is in their the most beautiful state in their entire life. just for that divine 9 months of pregnancy. bringing life into the world could perhaps be defined as the ultimate act nobility. (which, then the life turns out to be some loud yelling pain in the ass which coherently murder you slowly but painfully with their unpropotioned sense or logic and beyond par annoyance.)

all that i was trying to indicate is, pregnant people deserve the grandeur of not having any sort of obscene distress in their life. for example, pregnant people should not watch a clockwork orange, instead, national geographic channel. like watching leopards and tigers and elephants. oh fuck all, it's got a impressive number of vulgar scenes too. i think they should just read children's book and listen to mozart then.

look at it this way, it's for the bigger picture...aye?

what you gonna do?

2006-04-27T11:01:00.000+08:00

superb. i can post from my phone. whatever rubbish i see or thought is entitled for instant recording. fuck yeah.

yoh...WHY!

2006-04-22T13:17:00.000+08:00

the blogger.com has banned me from accessing their website. yesterday i sat in the office for 4 hours trying to log into the site but it proved more difficult than having threesome with kate beckinsale and pamela anderson. kate is brunette, pamela is blone. all that jazz, you get the point.

due to incomprehensible internet access, there's basically nothing to do at home. i go out. i go to see friend, i go and take photos of my friends, i go and eat with my friends, most of the time it's just about the friends and nothing else. they are to be the most flexible faculty of companionship you'll ever get, in other words, they mostly (yes, mostly) got your ass covered.

say, you're being robbed at a bank, all that's going in your head is you're hoping for your 'coloured' friend to come with their posse and whack the fucking juice of out that cunt. not because you hate the motherfucking cunt, because, you are entitled to do so with a certain reliable connection here and there. someone knows that someone that knows someone. come to think of it, the nerdy friends of mine should be able to make blogger have the fucking login shit figured out.

other than engaging with hustling and treatening civilians, i've found love. love at first sight. it felt as though it was raining roses and snowing diamonds from the dusting sky when i saw her. caressing her makes me weak and helpless. far more helpless than a snowman waiting for the sun to painfully liquefy the shape of himself. i blushed beamingly when she came out from her cover to introduce herself. no bullshit, no bullshit. ok, it's the sigma 10-20mm lens. fucking wide angle. wider than jenna jameson's cunt or elton john's asshole. if only i have was spared with a few extra cents, i'll bring my one love home. but i don't.

probably i should get some macha's to get it for me. i'm sure they'd love to.

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the four-four.

2006-04-05T16:26:00.000+08:00

quite out of the ordinary yak yak yak which i normally do with style and eloquence around the blog, i've got some very very important annoucement. i choose my words carefully and i never repeat myself, so pay attention and listen, dammit.

so what is the bloody significance of the number 4 and the number 4 again? or specifically, what does that really mean other than the replica of the abovementioned number? it's quite a bit of a mind nibbling bastard. i guess nobody could really figure this out unless, well, unless you've been secretly hiding in the dark edges near my house with a binocular at the wee hours of the day, stalking my proud ass. which is normally what everyone is doing. if you're not doing that yet, you're probably not cool. the ones usually that get bashed up in the toilet for just being brainy. or stupid. i mean both. and unusually gets credited by the headmaster or government for being a pain in the ass.

ok, now i feel like a dry leave swirling away from the gargatuan tree. i never get to the point. i just go round and round it. anyways, perhaps that you might be enlightened already for stalking me ingeniusly, fourth of april was, my birthday anniversary. my 18 and 1/2 birthday. the very day a few years back that i hustled out from my mother's womb, tackling all over and shouting for attention (or rather, a shot of whiskey, the doctor didn't understand bollocks, though)

on the contrary of cliche birthdays like getting wasted ungracefully with various cocktails, i like the day to apprehend on the social elusive and quiet sort of ambience. rather, i'd prefer to nab john off his work and go for dinner. which is sort of like our yearly affair, i call him, he's available but could never really ever know what it's all about, until i tell him before we call it a night. pretty interesting though, he could just forget about my birthday every year. and i adore him for it.

due to evolving circumstances, i was not to benefit from john this year. so i picked someone else to drop the SPECIAL person a suprise birthday announcement. sort of like just dropping the bomb and hope of an out of cliche. it's fun. i only get to do it once a year. it's fun to take advantage of the whole situation, make fun and provoke harmless individuals (i.e, the friends). all for the notion of being a sadistic fuck. i mean, why should anyone get played on their own, birthday...right?

p/s - yes i AM REALLY SURE it's MY birthday. i double-checked

ding dong ting.

2006-04-03T13:15:00.000+08:00

don't fuck with me.

indeed.

i've got some rotten fever a little here. blocked nose over there. migrain right on top to secure a stay at home. off work. a perfect excuse to skip the nonsense thingamajig in the office. whatever it is, or might be, they can fuck off, go to the nearest bar and settle their deals. i don't fucking care. but here i am at the office, trying to get my bearing inclined (at least proportionally), with the real world. my brain currently suffering from hangover malfunction. everything that i needed to know last week comes back to bloat my brain non-chalantly. superb.

but whining wouldn't go the world any good. it makes one sadistic, impertinent and utmost boring to be with. whiny whores are the supreme winning label of i-is-useless. still we love them as passionately. what a bummer.

because of the creation of my laggy thoughts, i will pay tribute to the academy awards now to celebrate the success of movies (both bad or good) that has never-endingly proposed inspiration and showers us with enchantment we dare not dream about and to simply educate us of life, of honour, of dreams and of miracles. they are like the shining stars that lingers in our dark sky. in the words that settles for less confusion, i'll talk about movies, period. not exactly those in the award winning chapel like gay cowboys, or 'you-jump-i-jump-i-mean-do-i-really-need-to-dammit?'. too many has unintendingly yet kindly gestured for them. take a deep breath, for today is about movies that make you (i mean me actually) horny as hell. simply the type that makes you want to call your spouse home for a little ficky fick or just go to the toilet and do a little something something.

requiem for a dream. think drugs. think young jeniffer connelly, very young. actually, in my very humble opinion it was the ending scene that made the movie. where connelly had to go for a girl-girl show in front of a myriad men; all due to the lack in her medication prescription.

carigula. oh for fuck's sake, this is a ambigious hardcore porn movie made by penthouse with a notion to explain roman emperor, carigula's deep affection for malicious pain and torment. there's probably 20,000 naked women to circulate the completion of the movie. and a few men too. here and there. if you pay enough attention.

wild things. denise richards? the goodie two-shoes in starship troopers evolved into a nymph out of the blue. this was the movie that inspired 3-some sex, you know.

closer. what's the big deal about natalie portman giving clive owen a lap dance? she didn't take anything off. but all blokes love it still. probably the most skin you can get from natalie portman ever. unless tomorrow all her houses burns down simultaneously and all her bank account evaporated. i doubt that would ever ever happen.

eyes wide shut. this movie instantly made itself a hit after the trailer was release. when there's brief nudity in the trailer, there's isn't really much chance that this movie will go wrong. and it didn't. nahhh-ahhh. not at all. God bless stanley kubrick. he made the movie a whole lot better than it should be.

american pie. this classic piece is just IT. but it really don't make people horny. just funny as hell.

i guess that's about it, and no, i have not watch basic instinct. and i do know that sharon stone is the shit too. what's the big deal, it's ONLY sharon stone.

Apply Here!

2006-03-21T16:11:00.000+08:00

General Assistant/Labour/Chauffer Needed!!!

To whom it may/may not concern,

The admin of Liewxxx is looking for a general helper to assist his periodic physical disabilities due to severe left palm and finger injury.

Scopes of work include:
1. Handling all jobs that requires arm movement; driving, writing, typing, blogging, bathing basketball, etc.
2. Handling a heavy digital camera on various occasion and location. Includes mobilisation of camera as well.
3. Looking cunningly smart/hot/amazing/stunning at all conditions.

Minimum requirement:
1. All gender and race. Female preferred. Indians need not apply.
2. Cheerful personality and able to work long hours.
3. Able to understand simple chinese/english instructions. (such as please drive me home, please fetch the file, please type this document for me.)
4. Driving license.

Additional requirement:
1. Applicants should also be able to cope with severe emotion distress caused by constant brutal verbal assult.

Willing to pay handsomely if applicant is of satisfactory repertoire.