justin_guber - @ 20six.co.uk

There were no turtles in sight on the beach...

...only a naked man who is either indian or a very darkly tanned Malay. As we walked past him on the golden sandy beaches, the naked man sat cross legged under the shade of a coconut tree, fiddling with his naughty bits. We were, to say the least, perturbed.

This was Terrengganu, an East Coast paradise recently freed from the oppresive chains of a fundamentalist government. Unlike the other states, Terrengganu had been in the control of PAS for the past two years, enforcing religion in the form of seperate queues for men and women in supermarkets, hoods for the girls and lights on in the cinemas with single sex seating.

But that was all long gone. Still, you don't see strange naked men walking around the streets of KL that often.

...Actually, now that I think about it, you do. Perhaps strange naked men are a pre-requisite of democracy.

The bus ride down was excruciating: more than 10 hours of VCD's, bad backs and dead buttocks through back roads and unlit passages. In the bus were One Buck Short, Y2k, Triple 6 Poser, Side Circle, Doze and friends representing the FYI contingent of the first gig in Terrengganu in two years.

The gig was being held in, of all places, a golf and country resort. FYI were all shacked up in a huge bungalow (one room could fit 5 double beds) overlooking the beach. Over the balcony, we watched as the naked man washed his balls in the ocean, harrassed an air conditioning unit and drank from the hotel pool next door. Somewhere in the background Ahmad was screaming, "I'M A NIGGER!!!!" very loudly. Why? No fucking clue.

By the time the FYI bands got on stage, thanks to a few of the other bands not listening to the '20 minute's a band' rule, we all had to cut our set considerably. Then the worst happened. Y2k couldn't play. It was a choice between either Y2k or One Buck Short playing, because they had no time for both, and as a label, we needed to push our biggest band. Hence, no Y2k. And if you know the members of Y2k, you can imagine how pissed these members were.

But here's the thing: the crowd was incredible. These people sat through a good fifteen bands to get to the FYI's. Triple 6 Poser were scared that the hardcore/metal/punk/emo crowd wouldn't dig it, but they did. Side Circle tore the roof off the sucker. Doze soothed the savage souls and One Buck Short ripped them apart (some chick even fainted).

This was beyond kick ass. Even though there were no turtles and y2k didn't get to play it was still well worth the trip.

Even though my leg is fucking killing me.

2.9.04 06:54

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So I get a call...

...which happens often in this day and age, but I needed to start the post somehow.

No number came up on my mobile phone, so it's either someone masking their number or an overseas call. If it was an overseas call, it had to be Saj (who else calls me from overseas? None of you other fuckers, that's for sure).

"Hello?"

"Hey, dude," came the voice on the phone. Sounded familiar.

"Who is this?"

"It's me, dude."

"...XXXX?"

XXXX (censored, for reasons you will soon realize). Some of you may have read about him in one of my posts (in the 'Friends And Foes' category). XXXX, the marine boy. XXXX, the man who made me sneeze spaghetti out of my nose.

Apparently, XXXX had been chosen for the SAS and was about to undergo interrogation training.

"They'll starve me out and stick me in a room where they'll interrogate me. If I answer the questions wrongly I'll fail."

Ok, what's this got to do with me?

"They get info on you, dude. They'll find whatever info about you they can muster and use it against you. So yesterday we were all surfing the net, googling out names. I thought, 'nah, there ain't nothing on me', but then..."

Ah. You found my blog, did you?

"You have a blog? Shit! 'Cos this guy who just did the test, he's got a blog, and they used all that info against him..."

Waitaminute. What site did you find with your name on it?

He told me. Oh, shit.

When I was fifteen I discovered the world wide web. My father had just bought a PC and it had one whole gigabyte! Compared to my Amiga at the time (which I still reckon is a kick ass computer) this was some super-powered shit. When I hooked up the modem and discovered e-mails and websites and html, I was instantly addicted. Before you knew it, I was making friends across the atlantic (I wonder where they are now) and making websites. Websites like this.

This (click here if you didn't already notice it was a link) was my very first website, written with the aid of 'beginners guide to HTML", free in some PC magazine. Some of the links don't work, but those that do talk about a documentary of my friends' first gig that I shot and my love for filmmaking and the 'films' I'd done so far. A lot of those films involved XXXX over there and they're very embaressing (which is why I've linked to them. Rather than someone discover it, might as well bring it out in the open and flaunt it to make it seem like it doesn't affect me. Kind of like coming out of the closet. With video proof. Except not).

"Listen to this," said XXXX, "here's a description of one of the films: 'A young teenager falls asleep, thinking of a girl. He dreams...Suddenly, everything is purple and he is in a kitchen, where he drinks a glass of water. As we zoom into the water, we zoom out to reveal running water in a bathroom, the young teenager in the shower and a stuffed toy on the toilet. We suddenly hear grunting noises, followed by a strange white liquid, squirting into shot'. When the fuck did we do that film?!"

Oh shit. I did an experimental film as a young and foolish boy. God help me. What little reputation I had amongst my friends as someone who didn't make artsy-fartsy bullshit is now kicked right out the window like an unwanted child.

I told him I couldn't change that site. I had no idea what my password was or anything. But I told him that I'd censor his name in my blog (hence him being referred to as XXXX, brother of xXx. but if you check out the site I've linked to, you can find his real name).

"By the way," I asked, "when are you coming back down to KL?"

"December, probably. Relatves getting married."

"Dude, could you bring back the skateboard I left at your place and my Vans on your way down?"

"...errr. Heheheh... dude," said XXXX between giggles, "I need to talk to you about that... hehehe..."

"Yes..."

"Oh, damn, is that the time, I gotta go! I'll e-mail you!"

"Motherfucker, what happened to my board?!"

"See ya, dude!"

"Son of a bi..."

"tooooooooooot....."

Fucking bastard. Just for that, I'm not gonna change the previous post about him in the friends and foes section. Or maybe I will, but add the words 'sodomy', 'lactating' and 'badgers' somewhere...

3.9.04 07:10

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The Battle of the Download Continues...

...and if you're wondering which battle I'm referring to, it's Musiccanteen.

Not that I have anything against Musiccanteen. We get cheques from them. We smile. But a couple of weeks ago, as some of you may have gathered, I tried to download some songs. That was the 17th of August. It is now the 6th of September.

So, whilst I was checking my e-mail this morning, I received a message from Barry Goh of Panglobal, informing us of the wonderful publicity Musiccanteen was getting. So I thought I'd e-mail him:

Dear Mr. Goh,

Allow me to first congratulate you and your staff for musiccanteen and your promotion efforts. As an artist currently registered under musiccanteen, I feel very pleased with your marketing strategies thus far.

However, as a consumer, I am less than satisfied. On the 17th of August I tried to download some tracks from your site, including one of my own, to see how the process works. I was given a code and keyed it in. The computer told me 'Code pending approval'.

It is now the 6th of September and I still cannot download my songs. I was told by a friend of mine who works in musiccanteen that there is a problem when it comes to paying SMS via Maxis, but everyone else I've checked with have at least gotten their downloads within 24 hours. Apparently, a nice lady from Panglobal called them up the morning after they attempted to download their songs and told them that they can now downlaod them. I have still not received any phone calls from any nice ladies and the site still says that my code is pending approval.

As a consumer, this 'problem', to say the least, is infuriating. As an artist with my bands' songs on your site, I can't help but worry. Especially when faced with the fact that a large majority of people (at least the ones I know) use Maxis more than any other service provider.

Whilst my macro-concern would be 'when will the whole Maxis issue be settled'?', I do have my minor micro-concern of wishing to simply download the mp3's that I paid for, hopefully within this year. My details are available below.

Apart from this tinniest of hiccups, congratulations on a splendid effort on the site. Do keep it up.

Yours sincerely,
Khairil M. Bahar (Khai)
FYI Entertainment

Think they'll get the message this time?

6.9.04 05:25

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Drunk Colleagues, Nurses, Eau de Cockroach and Ex's...

...just another fun weekend in the world according to Khai.

Friday night was the MC2 award show, the event myself and a few colleagues of mine had been waiting for for awhile, 'cos we entered thte Young Guns awards where we were locked in Saito college with age old macs, a brief, 24 hours and no bed. And we didn't win. Fuck.

After that dissapointment, we went off to another colleague's birthday at La Bodega in Bangsar. Usually I avoid this part of town like the plague, but there was an occasion to be celebrated, and we were there to celebrate. And they had pint glasses.

Actually, the pint glasses weren't the highlight (RM20 for a pint? Fucking leeches). It was the tapas. Whilst I despise overpriced food, I have never in my life enjoyed a plate of mushrooms as much as I did sat in the corner of La Bodega with my co-workers. Even if they did cost RM16 a plate. I should have satiated my hunger at Devi's.

I had no intentions of getting drunk that night, and thankfully, I didn't. Miss Freelance on the other hand was wasted beyond repair and birthday boy himself puked merrily on himself on the way home. Eddy'll probably write about it in his blog at some point today.

After Bodega it was the Pharmacy, what used to be Voyeur, where waitresses in nurse outfits serve shots in test tubes and girls were dancing on the bartop. Now, usually I'd use a nice adjective before the word 'girls' in a sentence such as the last one, but when two of them were so large that greenpeace could be spotted in the horizon wondering whether they should take them back to sea the phrase 'slinky, sexy girls dancing on bartops' doesn't quite cut it. The other one couldn't dance for nuts. And I thought Malay's had rhythm.

Saturday began with Diana, breakfast at Pan Bakery and I think I may be getting addicted to pancakes, sausages n scrambled eggs for breakfast. Then off to a gig in a steak house behind Vistana hotel.

Yes, a steak house. A steak house that stank of cockroaches. And man sweat.

Y2k and One Buck Short were on the list, but it turned out we were playing last, so we spent the day sitting in a mamak commenting on how Siti Sarah looked like Princess Fiona from Shrek and other contemporary issues. Played like shit. Would like to blame the equipment, but it wasn't totally the shit amps fault.

Then sent Diana back and went to Coffee Bean for a salad. Couldn't finish it. Something's wrong with me.

Sunday: german sausages for breakfast followed by many hours recording Y2k's upcoming album. As I was mixing the track down, Saiful was reading one of my X Men comics. I then heard snoring. Saiful was sat exactly as he was, the comic book firmly in his hands holding it before him, and the fucker was dead asleep. Filmed it on the cam and carried on.

Then dinner with Diana and off to the gig at Paul's and who do I meet: Yaya. Damn, it's been awhile. Her sister was there too. They'd come to see their friends band, Oblongata. Yaya was looking as emo as always, but an emo look that was nice, not as extravagant as before (and one that needed much less talcum powder). Hopefully I'll be able to meet up with her and her sister at some point this week for a coffee, find out how things are in the land of Ya.

And that's that. Got a gig tomorrow for both Y2k and Triple6Poser as part of this Sun Musicfest thing. Rehearsing tonight with Y2k after the gig at Paul's. Got work to do but really not in the mood to do it. Would much rather go home and watch all the DVD's I have.

Man, I hate it when I write posts this way. It sounds so... narrative. As opposed to monologue-y. Is that a word? Monologous...? Mongoloid?

6.9.04 05:32

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Well, shit on my balls and lick the remnants...

...I've always wanted to use that.

No sooner did I arrive at work this morning, I was bombarded with 20+ job requisitions, a meeting, had to redo some copy, had to check some other copy, had to write a whole new bunch of copy, do up my timesheets and go to the toilet. Bloody hell.

Thanks to all that, my body began to sweat profusely and since I left my Gillette deodarant at home, I had to use 'Dashing', the poor man's Brut. Thank God I trimmed my armpit hair, but even then, the amount of rushing about I've been doing this morning has managed to break the BO through even that. May buy some more Gillette deo later.

But yes, I trimmed my armpit hair yesterday morning with much trepidation, and found to my immediate delight that it does make a helluva difference. The only thing stopping me from shaving it all off completely is the fear of stuble. Imagine a grown man constantly scratching his armpits and you begin to understand why human DNA differs to that of apes by only 2% (or something along those lines).

So I trimmed my armpit hair. So what? It works. I have no wish to join the ranks of sweaty, smelly Malay men (let's face it, boys, we got that problem bad). I used my mom's scissors for them. I wonder if she noticed? Maybe I'll trim my pubes tonight and try and do bonsai designs. Apparently it makes your johnson look totally bigger.

And tonight, it's gig time. Paul's Place, Uptown. 9pm. Triple 6 Poser, Y2k and two other bands which I can't remember at the moment. Entrance: 1 soft drink. Be there. Or not. Your choice, really. Free world.

I actually have a lot more I want to write but time is not on my side today. I only hope I can finish all my work and make it to Paul's to rehearse before the gig starts.

7.9.04 06:49

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Emogame come to life...

...in the form of whinny fucktoids who despise my record label and everyone under it or associated with it. For some deranged reason.

It's amazing how some people take the most trivial of things way too seriously. Our current political climate throughout the world in response to 9-11 is ample proof of that. But when compared with religion, terrorism, national defence and mad presidents, crank calls in the name of music seem pretty fucking redundant.

See, there's this tiny little teen emo band that has some major malfunction and is hell bent on hating One Buck Short (our only successful band under our label) and the rest of FYI, for reasons unexplained except for the statement, "we don't like you. We don't like what you do."

Strange SMS's. Strange phone calls. Taunts and fighting words associated with the playground. What the fuck is wrong with these kids?!

Sure, there're a lot of people who hate FYI's guts. Fair enough. We're not exactly joining their fan clubs either. But, whilst most of these have been talks behind our back and rants on the net behind phony names, these kids are calling up, telling us who they are, but don't have the cojones to actually come up to any of our faces to start some shit. Fucking kids.

Besides, I thought all these emo-kids were content being clinically depressed and writing in their diary, dressed in black with short hair.

(To be fair, I am currently dressed all in black, my hair is short and thanks to my cap, matted down, and I'm writing in an online diary. I just realized this as i typed the fucking thing. The good Lord doth work in mysterious ways indeed. I was also once diagnosed as clinically depressed, but I'll save that for another time. Besides, I'm happy now.)

Why are these kids even bothering to call and tell people that they simply don't like them? Why are they wasting their fucking credit?! Did mommy not breast feed them enough when they were children? Were they caught masturbating over images of sheep by the housemaid? Were they dropped on the head in the delivery room?

I looked up the band too when I was surfing on the net. Was just about to put a link to it when I realized: I'm an adult (albeit a very childish one). So I won't let all the good readers know who these kids are. Better I talk shit about them but keep their name hidden so that only a select few will know exactly which fuck-tarts I'm talking about rather than spread the word.

There. There's my mature thing done for the day. Time for some see-saw fun.

7.9.04 08:43

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More Musings of the Ex, Trendiness & An Almost Late Nighter...

...result in me, here in the office, at 8am, with nothing to fucking do. But we'll get to that later.

To say yesterday was hectic would be an understatement. Yesterday was so jam packed you could put wheels on it and call it a bas mini.

(For the unitiated in foreign lands, this translates to a 'minibus', which in Malaysia was a small commuter vehicle whose conductors were always adamant that there was 'room for one more', no matter how packed it was. Then again, most people around the globe know about how that's the same in Japanese trains. Should've just said Japanese trains. Now I've wasted a whole paragraph trying to explain a tiny facet of Malaysian life which I've added merely to point out a fact which would've been pointed out just as clearly and without this lengthy explanation if I had used a more universally known example. But I've got time. And space. Hah, I waste your time yet again...)

No sooner did I arrive at work a ton of jobs came a dropping onto my desk and 90% of them were due for the next day at 10am. Which is kind of why I'm here at 8. But more about that in a bit.

The last batch of jobs I did before I left was for an inane cigarette brand intent on marketing itself to pill-popping clubbers by using the words 'funky', 'groovy' and 'cool' a lot. I hadn't worked on this client for awhile, and awaited my briefing, which happened at around 3.30, maybe 4.00, whereupon I was bombarded with so much information my brain decided to take a holiday, somewhere in the rectum region. The best bit? These were the jobs due the next day. My superior asked why I didn't just tell them it can't be done so soon, but I was pretty sure I could do it. In fact, I know I can do it. It's just so mind-numbing. Brands like this come pre-packed with a long list of guidelines and rules from head office as to how it's presented, how it's designed, how it's written, and it leaves little room for actual thought. In effect, it's like being in a smaller box inside of the box you'd usually think out of and think out of that box. The smaller one. Am I making sense?

By 7.15pm, in a mad rush, I managed to finish all the copy, briefed the designer and told her to call if there were any problems. I also asked her (quite specifically) to e-mail me all the designs once done so that I could proof-read it before it was sent to the client. Deep down I was thinking 'maybe I'll pop in later, after the gig, to make sure everything's ok. Then I can come in late the next day with a plausible excuse...'

An on to the gig. Left my Y2k mask and pedals at the TTDI house, rushed there to pick it up and... I can't open the fucker. The padlock, has it been changed? Did some fucker change it?! Of all the fucking times...

...oh. I didn't know you had to be gentle with a padlock.

Grabed my shit, got to the gig, played the Y2k and Triple 6 sets, sat in amazement at the speed of Alberts rubik's cube skills (one minute forty seconds, and half the time he wasn't looking. I have video proof. He also wrote about the gig in his little corner of cyberspace), broke a string during Triple 6's 'Almost Famous, Never Famous' and sweat a lot. A helluva lot. Yaya (my ex, who I invited) was there together with the bassist from Oblongata (whose name I haven't a damn clue) and trying to have a conversation with Yaya was suddenly just like how it was when we first met.

"So what's up?"

"Nothing."

"How've you been?"

"Ok."

"What're you doing these days?"

"Nothing."

"How're your sisters?"

"Ok."

Before anyone asks, when I was going out with her, she eventually quit the one word answer thing and we'd have some decent conversations, fun times and near-death experiences everytime she decided she wanted to pinch my legs whilst I was driving my manual Kelisa. On my clutch leg (to tell the truth, it was an almost accident that got us talking normally with each other. True story.)

After playing the set, seeing her there brought back some odd feelings. Understand this: she was never into my band as much as she was into One Buck Short (especially the drummer, Imran, that pretty-boy-John-Mayer-crooning-cunt) and many other bands, and I guess deep down I've always felt a need to prove that I'm in a band that kicks just as much ass and is just as cool than any of those other bands. It's sad and childish, I know. A lasting remnant from my days of confusion and non-ass-kicky-ness. But seeing her there brought out the urge to do it again.

If anything, she was like a litmus paper too me for whether or not a band could hit the major demographic: teenage kids. And last night, seeing her (and after seeing Oblongata's set on Sunday, which was quite kick ass, I might add) made me realize one thing: no matter what band I play in, it'll never be the type of band that would hit that major demographic, not as long as I have some kind of influence. Y2k may have a chance, but I'm not so sure about Triple 6. Think about it. I'm in a pop-punk band during the time where most of the punk bands I know have turned emo and the rest of them still think Sid's not dead. I'm also in a retro-rock band which seems to appeal to musicians but the only members of public I know who really enjoyed it (apart from one or two friends) live in Terrengganu. Those guys could even spot our influences, which feels pretty damn good, I might add.

But the major demographic? The Klang Valley kids who'll dress the dress, talk the talk and walk the walk? How? The most widely accepted band I played in was Khaimano (which was not the tightest of bands) but in that band I went for the lowest common denominator - dick jokes and piss takes. Sure, some of the songs were actually witty, but it was a very loose band who you could only enjoy if you understood the lyrics, and not many places we played at understood what the fuck we were on about, whilst the other places were often offended.

One night I was talking to Jay about this and he replied,

"You're always going to get that. You write lyrics that require an actual brain to deciphere. But they're good lyrics, you shouldn't dumb down."

(The above is a loose translation of what was actually said, which I actually can't remember, but was along those lines. Come on, when's the last time you heard Jay say "dumb down" or "deciphere"?)

Another thing I noticed at the gig: I don't have many friends.

Actually, let me rephrase: I don't have many friends who are regular citizens.

The majority of the crowd that night was there purely for 'Flip Rotation'. The place was packed with the bands playing that night, and all of Flip Rotation's friends. At the most, I've had two friends come to a gig I've played at one time. And all the rest of my friends are musicians who I've shared the same billing with, so they've seen me play more than enough times.

But the thought was kind of depressing and amusing at the same time: when is the term 'I have no friends' not depressing, I ask you? But it was amusing to know that the majority of my friends were people with same interests, goals and dreams.

Speaking of musician friends, Az, you didn't come last night. As such, no CD for you. I blow raspberry's in your general direction! And I can't make it tonight due to other engagements. Sorry, mate!

So after all the musings and thoughts, after Yaya left with a smile and a wave in the distance, after a call to Diana to see if she's ok and find out she's not (nothing serious, mind), I thought I'd go back to the office to proof read any copy that required proof reading.

"Dude," asked Saiful, " when can I get the flyers for Singapore?"

When do you need them?

"Tomorrow."

Night?

"Day."

Ah.

So, stopped by my house first to finish up the flyer whilst Rahul hung about looking for a cable and reading an article entitled 'Victim of the Cucumber' (I'll post the illustration for that story sometime this week... fucking hilarious) and saved everything to disk when it hit me: I'm fucking knackered. After all the multi-tasking I'd been doing throughout the whole day I began to understand why Microsoft windows crashed so often.

This called for Nescafe. Plenty of it. We made our way to 'Penang Mari' and I asked Saiful whether he'd like to join us there so I could pass him the disk. Thought I'd tank up on caffeine before going to work.

But it was no use. I was too far gone, and so was Saiful, who almost fell asleep in his soup and replied to a question concerning websites and current working environments with "is that the one Dragonred played?"

So I went home and decided to conk out on the bed, hopefully waking up early enough to do all my work tomorrow early in the morning. Horror upon horrors, the caffeine kicked in. So now my body is too fucking tired to move but my brain is working at four times it's regular functionality, repeating lyrics to songs I was listening to in the car and coming up with crazed ideas on how to build a papier mache mask that may or may not look like a hernia with eyes.

Then I woke up, went to work, and discovered that nothing's been e-mailed to me to proof-read. Some fuckers gonna die today.

8.9.04 03:01

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The plot thickens...

...like a thick thing amidst a crown of thick.

So it turns out the flyer I did for the Singapore gig can't be opened by Saiful. He's tried it on four different computers. Hope he doesn't think I'm pulling a Mojam on his ass or anything. Shiite. And the deadlines today to get it into ROTTW. Hmmmm...

As we type, I'm trying to come up with a contingency in the event of unopenableness. He's bringing the disk here and I'll try it on one of the desktops lying around. Should've burnt it on disk, but when it's less than 1.44 megs what's the damn point?

I'm also intensely tired right now and still have a lot of work to do which I'd rather not. I want to go home, catch some sleep, watch the entire box sets of Buffy season 1 & 2 so that I have an excuse to buy season 5 (I've already got 3 & 4, in case you're wondering) and pig out over a pizza.

Actually, today I have been pigging out more than usual. I almost had the same portions as I used to in the food court. I'd like to think that since it was vegetarian, it's ok, but considering I didn't actually put any of the vegetables on my plate, just soy-based-meat-substitutes, I doubt it's helping in the efforts against the belly.

This bloody belly. Kim scared the shit out of me the other day telling me a story about her uncle who had a belly just like mine which turned out to be a tumor and the guy dropped dead. What a hope-filled story.

I want the belly to go. Strangely, I've been quite self-conscious about myself of late. Usually I couldn't give two shakes of an elephants scrotum how I look, as long as I'm comfortable, but no amount of comfortability is going to hide the fact that I look like I'm 4 months pregnant. With twins. A part of me wants to upload the belly just to show you exactly how huge it is. The other part of me is too self-conscious about it.

But yeah. Why am I so self conscious these days? Is it the thought of the upcoming company trip to Langkawi? Whilst every other male will be on the beach in bermuda shorts and sweaty, muscular bodies reenacting the volleyball scene from Top Gun I'll be sat under a shade in a loose fitting hawaiian shirt smoking cigarettes.

Oh, and a pink bandana. Did I tell you about that?

Apparently, all the groups on this trip will be split into teams, color coded. I'm in the pink team. I feel a Reservoir Dogs coming on...

Khai: Hang on, why am I in the pink team?

Fiona: 'Cos you're a faggot!

Eddy: Who cares what color your in?

Khai: Oh, that's ok with you, you're in the black team, you got a cool sounding team. Well, black team member, if it's no difference, why don't we swap teams?

Fiona: Hey! Nobody's swapping teams with nobody! Now look, pink team member. There's only two ways: my way, or the highway. Now what's it gonna be, pink team member?!

Khai: ...I'm not gonna buy you anymore ice-cream.

Fiona: Wah...!!! So mean!!

(In truth, Fiona's quotes in this little scenario are purely fictional. In fact, she was not even there when I found out. But it sounds so much nicer like this.)

So next Friday I'll be somewhere on the shores of Langkawi, running around with an eye patch and pink bandana (both supplied by our most gracious company) terrorizing the natives and looting the tourists of their beads and other overpriced hippy bric-a-brac they picked up on the way to Malaysia.

This is either good, or very, very bad.

8.9.04 09:52

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I Have A Confession to Make...

...I should be working right now.

Actually, that's not the confession I was going to type in, but it's a start. I just got yet another job on my table. Funny how I cleaned it yesterday and it now looks like the result of twenty two drunk co-eds and frat boys in mud: a fucking mess.

(Gettit? They're all fucking, 'cos they're horny, and it's in the mud, so it's a mess, so it's a 'fucking mess', get it? Gettit...? Ah, fuckit.)

But I do have a confession to make. A rather serious one.

I stole milk from the fridge.

Yes, I know. It was a heinous crime, but I couldn't help myself. I'm sick to death of condensed milk, I wanted something as close to coming out of a cows udders as humanely possible without all the sticky, floating fat bits. I wanted to drink a cup of coffee properly, goddammit!

So yes, I stole milk. I then took my sinfully delicious nescafe and watched softcore italian porn on the company DVD player.

...in retrospect, stealing milk ain't that big a deal.

8.9.04 10:35

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Writings on the Net and All That Bollocks...

...are never worth taking seriously, but still.

Some may have noticed the overdose of posts today. Well, today I'm feeling kinda posty, and fuck you if you don't like it. Just posted a bunch of pics and I'll be posting a bunch more since I'm in this cybercafe (came in to e-mail a flyer, wanna get my money's worth).

In between posting the pics I thought I'd surf the net in the general direction of Malaise, the Malaysian Urban Music Database. Surfing around, I discovered this post in the 'I Hate...' forum, courtesty of Ham of 7 Collar T-Shirt (and if it isn't Ham from 7 Collar T-Shirt, I apologize, but it's the only Ham I know (so opened the floor for a 'Babi' joke, but I think I'll pass)).

The post read:

i hate working life. i hate akademi fantasi. i hate khaimano. i hate false promises. i hate doctors. i hate motivational talks. i hate PAS. i hate hot looking single girls. i hate fact that i can't have hot looking single girls. i hate ugly guys who goes out with hot looking women. am i not ugly enough to fill in your requirements? i hate crutches. i hate my left knee. i hate waking up and knowing i am limping my days till i die. i hate furniture for writing please. i hate irman because he made talman look cool. i hate people who says beatles remastered releases sound as good as the original. go fuck yourself dude.

My, such hate in such a tiny man.

This was posted in July this year. Khaimano died a painful death last year and hasn't been heard of since. What's this fuck-hole's grudge about my ex-band?

I've never fucking met this dude. I've seen him in passing. How the fuck did Khaimano piss this guy off so much he's still got a grudge about my old fucking band to this fucking day? Is it the pent up frustration of not being able to get good looking single chicks? Surely a fuck-tart such as him can get laid, goddamn rock star.

I was about to leave as well, and I had to discover this shit. All urges to sleep have slowly faded and this question is just burning in my fucking head: where in the name of fuck does this guy get off?!

I've known about the whole 'Ham hates this, Ham hates that, Ham hates FYI like a Nazi hates a Jew' bullshit, but I've never experienced it: until now. The cunt-roach has pissed me off so bad I can't even write well. I just want to rant for a couple of paragraphs, and badly at that.

But seriously, what is the major malfunction with this cock licking shit tick? What happened to his knee? He limps? So he's a gimpy fuck too?

Jesus H Christ, why the fuck does this guy hate a band that doesn't fucking exist?!?

1. What, it was because the band was looser than a 40 year old porn starlets ass? I'll admit that. Why do you think the band broke up?

2. What, the lyrics were offensive? Not your cup of tea I guess. Fair enough.

3. What, I can't sing and play guitar? See first point.

I really don't know why, but reading that post just now has infuriated me beyond irreversible repair. What the fuck does this dung-ridden-crack-licking-whore-hopping-panty-raiding-cock-smoking-jackoff is this guy playing at?

Constructive criticism. Fine. Destructive criticism. Hurts like hell, but fine. Flat out hate, plain and simple, a good year and a bit after the band disbanded and hasn't been seen or heard from since? What in the name of all things bright and beautiful?

It's the 'rudeness' factor that's getting to me here. That's it. I'm off for a cigarette and write again when I'm a bit calmer. Fucking jackass-dog-mounting-rectal-discharge-eating-son-of-a-loose-bowel-bollocks-features-arse-reaming-pencil-dick. Damn him for his insolence. Now I've gone and wasted another buck fifty on this broke ass day typing crap.

8.9.04 16:59

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