justin_guber - @ 20six.co.uk

Spidermongers!

I couldn't resist.
Sunny and I were in Sungei Wang looking for DVD's on the one day they get raided. The week had been full of seven shades of technicolor poo-poo and my hair was numb.

I needed retail therapy.

But the DVD pirates were hiding their wares, leaving no movies to watch for the weekend. Shit. On a whim, Sunny and I popped up to the 6th floor, the 'T-Hop' floor, which is really just a load of shit. We went to check out figurines, only to find out that one store was 'out for lunch' and the other was 'checking stock'.

The only one open was a tiny Harajuku wannabe toy store with all sorts of cheap Kubrick and bulbous figurines with oversized jaws and sneakers.

That's when I saw the Spider.

Stood there beside a black & white Mickey Mouse and one of the Sailor Moon chicks in a rather provocative pose, Spider Jerusalem stood in nothing but his boots and black boxers, arms outstretched and a look of extreme anger and stress on his face.

I didn't dare ask how much it was. I couldn't find it's box, so it must be a display item only. Sunny asked anyway in Chinese. The woman replied. Sunny turned to me and said,

"Ten bucks."

What?

The Chinese woman then pointed at a basket filled with little Spider Jerusalem's in a cheap plastic wrapping. Did they steal them from the factory? Are Chinese and Japanese kids hip to Spider? Is he up there with Hello Kitty as an Asian loveable? I doubt it. And I don't care. I want Spider. I buy Spider.

Warren Ellis would either be loving it or demanding his damn royalties from the woman.

1.4.05 04:26

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21st Century Boy

Heh. I am connected.
For quite a few years my mind has been permanantly stuck in a very old-school train of thought when it came to the wonderful world wide web. I refused to subscribe to all this wi-fi-lan-bluetooth-infrared mumbo jumbo. My phone has no camera. I do not have those weird headsets permenantly stuck in my ear hole. I believed in modems.
Not anymore.
I've just bought a Wi-Fi card so I can take full advantage of the free network access Starbucks offers me, I've bought a gig of webspace and a domain name for both FYI and my own site, AND I've bought an el-cheapo digital camera.
The camera, as you can see on your right, sucks balls, but it needs no installers or drivers so I can plug it into any old bastard of a computer and upload whatever I want. I can now also surf over weekends, update the fucking sites (finally) and start work on my own homepage. Not to say that this blog will dissapear. Far from it. I have faith in my blog. I have faith in 20six. And I still have a lot to learn off of the internet.
For example, I have no idea how to set up a blog on a site I design. I like blogging. Blogging has been good to me, which is why the temporary FYI website is a blog. But when it comes to designing websites, I know only HTML. That's it, that's all, and all this php-flash-java-bollocks is all too much for me. I just don't get it.
And don't even get me started on RSS feeds, XML and trackbacks. I haven't a fucking clue.
But I am now connected. I'm feeling the first surges of the 21st century coursing in my veins, and by God I like it. I can now see how the world is changing. Like Man Method was telling me when he was over about some book he was reading, saying that whilst many believe there is no more evolution as our thoughts, ideals and progress is not going any further upwards than it already has, science is changing. Technology is changing. This is our new evolution, and pretty soon we won't even need a single frickin' cable for it.
We're connected like join-the-dot books without a pencil, invisible lines and bits and bytes that we put our entire lives into: our phonebooks are permanantly lodged into our sim cards shoved up our mobile phones' arses ensuring we're always just a couple of digits away. We e-mail our friends and relatives and keep connected in ways we never imagined, sending strange pornographic images of Miss India 2003.
Paper is DEAD, and I've only just realized how far gone into rigormortis it actually is.
The last time I wrote more than a page with a pen and paper was my final exam in Uni. I can't write with pen and paper anymore. It's too slow. I type faster, almost as fast as my internal monologue, allowing all those fucked up thoughts and ideas to spew out of me like a huge whale-gasm.
I'm on the go. I'm connected. I'm wirelessly-wired.
I'm a 21st century boy.

2.4.05 06:44

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Back In Starbucks

I'm enjoying this whole WiFi thing. I really am.

Right now I'm sitting next to my girlfriend who's also got her laptop open, except she's doing jobby-job work, with floorplans and folders spread out as she tediously checks numbers and figures. She's all serious right now.

Kinda sexy.

Me? I just wish these tables were a bit more ergonomical for the purposes if writing. I have nowhere to rest my arms, and I have a bunch of stuff to upload as well as two or three articles to write for KLue. Comic book reviews. Wrote a review for Astonishing X Men the other day, now I'm gonna have a crack at Hellblazer: Rare Cuts, Avengers Dissasembled and Dogwith Vol.2.

The temperature today is of the fucking-hot variety, and I know pretty soon my balls will be dripping with sweat. It's times like this I wish I was in Angel in some cafe somewhere smoking cigarettes and typing nonsense as the populace passes me by.

Ah, well. Just gonna have to wait till May.

3.4.05 05:56

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Fuckin' FTP

This FTP shit is pissing me off. Couldn't exabytes just use an explorer based uploader or something? Fucking FTP. Upload a track, halfway through it just dies. How am I going to upload my short film? Fuckery abound.

And if you're wondering what the fuss with FTP is all about, it's this: I'm doing up a websie for myself in the event that someone out there might stumble across something and say "My, this child has much creative talent! I shall pay him oodles of money and let him sleep with my nubile daughters!"

One can dream. The actual content is up, with half the links still not active because they're download links or links I forgot to key in. Since you're here, and you're so nice, I'm letting you have a sneak preview: justinguber.com.

Enjoi, bitches.

4.4.05 03:27

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Double 4's.

To the Chinese, the number four is bad, bad, bad luck. They won't take a car with a 4 on the license plate (unless the 4 is controlled by a more powerful, positive number) and there is no 14th floor on most buildings. This may explain why the Fantastic Four always manage to land themselves in a world of shit.

Today is the 4th of April: 4/4/2005.

Double 4's.

Things have been going weird today. Last night I had a dream I was in a job interview, where the interviewer went through my shitty portfolio and said how mediocore it was except for one piece: the stupid clock thing I'm working on which the client has put way too much praise into. In my dream, the stupid clock brings me higher pay, less work hours and more prestige.

I then wake up and arrive at work to discover there is something wrong with the clock. The clock hands are supposed to turn backwards. On the mock-up infront of me, the hands are turning forwards.

Then, just as I'm about to take a seat on my chair, I notice something: a stain. A red stain on the seat of my chair.

If I didn't know any better I'd say it was blood.

A blood stain on my chair. Right where someone's ass or a females nether regions would be. Blood on my chair.

Similar stains were then discovered on the two chairs beside mine. Disturbing blood stains. Menstrual blood stains? Was someone sitting here in a skirt whilst surfing the crimson wave?

I should've known something was up. The cats were fucking quite intensely last night.

To make matters weirder, Spider Jerusalem then suddenly jumped off of my computer onto my keyboard, my computer crashed and my networks all weird.

In my dustbin a scrunched up piece of paper has the words 'WE NEED VIRGINS' in bold Arial font size 48.

4.4.05 08:44

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Talking Cock

Good day, ladies & gentlemen. My name is Khai, and I'm the proud owner of a penis.

Penis. Schlong. Dick. Weiner. Knob. Cock. Wang. One eyed monster. Salami. Third leg. Middle leg. Magic wand. The little general. Mini-me.

Having a penis has many wonderful uses. Besides the obvious act of mating and pleasure seeking, the penis enables us males to urinate outdoors, standing up, wherever it is most convenient.

But with great penis comes great responsibility. When we take full advantage of our blessing of pissing upright, we should be mindful of those around us.

The fuck-tard who decided to piss all around the toilet bowl seat would do well to remember that.

There I was, my copy of Chuck Palahniuk's 'Non-Fiction' in one hand, a pack of Dunhill Lights on my right, in dire need of a dump and right there in front of me the entire toilet seat is covered in golden liquid.

This didn't even look like an accident. This looked like the man too effort in forming a perfect circle of pee.

And there are urinals in the toilet. Urinals specifically for the purposes of peeing, where your aiming surface area is much larger and less inconveniencing when you miss. And yet this fuckeroni decides to pee on the toilet seat.

Was he blind? Was his penis out of control? Did it come to life and decide 'fuck this shit, I'll spew where I goddamn please'.

Bet someone's gonna shit in the urinal next. Bastards.

4.4.05 09:47

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This. Is. Wrong.

4.4.05 09:48

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Are You Male Enough?

Anybody heard of the Mr. Liquid Male of the Year 2005 contest?

No? Didn't get the flyer? Somehow it managed to find it's way onto the desk of one of my female colleagues, and she threw it into the bin. I'll read it to you:

ARE YOU MAN ENOUGH?
MR. LIQUID MALE OF THE YEAR 2005. The nigt when brains, brawns, and talent dictate his appeal. Come and watch the bravest men on this side of the planet compete for the ultimate manhood validation. ARE YOU UP FOR IT?

It's being held at the Liquid bar, it's sponsored by Jonathan Cheng, XeX, William Liew, Alvin Couture, New Urban Male, Kampai, Guinness, Juice, Faces, Axcest, KDS Entertainment, Hair Zone Studio and Face Image Make-Up Academy.

The first heat was held last Friday, and the grand final's on the 6th of May, where some lucky, buff bastard will win RM4000.

The flyer is the colour purple and features a muscular man in a thong diving.

Now, judging by this flyer, what do you suppose a real man is?

1. Since it's sponsored by a bar and alcohol, I guess it's safe to say no Malay's will be entering.

A real man is a non-Malay man.

2.It's also sponsored by 5 local clothing boutiques.

A real man dresses like an Ah Beng.

3. One final note about the sponsors: they also include a hair stylist and make-up academy.

A real man over-stylizes his hair and puts on make-up.

4. He is brave enough to compete for the ultimate manhood validation.

A real man is incredibly insecure.

5. He has brains, brawns (it can be pluralized?) and talent.

A real man has delusions of grandeur.

So let's recap, the true definition of a real man is thus;

A real man is an incredibly insecure non-Malay male dressed like an Ah Beng wearing make-up with delusions of grandeur.

Which kinda sounds like a contestant for American Idol.

Why we even have a contest like this is anybody's guess. As part of a creative team in an advertising agency that handles a lot of below-the-line promotions, I have seen wave after wave of 'idol' copycats as more and more brands jump on the bandwagon to score a consumer or two. Taking your integrity and kicking it out a 22 storey window for a public audience seems to be the defining element of the 21st century.

Simon Cowell is the antichrist.

(N.B. The homosexual undertones of the whole thing are also fairly obvious, but I'm not one to believe that homosexuals aren't real men. Distaste of punanny regardless, gay men are the most highly regarded physical embodiment of the male body. But it also doesn't follow that all real men are homosexuals. A white horse is a horse, but a horse isn't always white.)

4.4.05 13:17

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Aren't I A Clever Bastard.

I offended someone yesterday.

It wasn't intentional. I don't like offending people (unless they had it coming). I hate it when people offend me.

You see, a friend of mine, Paul, constantly sends me increasingly disturbing images over the internet. Last weeks e-mail involved close-ups of the worlds first female-to-male operation, together with doctors sketches. This weeks e-mail involved a drug crazed man in Malay holding a child at knifepoint as a hostage in Manila. The man then stabbed the child repeatedly and the police gunned him down.

So what do I do? As always, I send it out to those who might be equally disturbed by the imagery. Including one of the really cool guys in the office who just happens to come from Manila.

Aren't I a clever bastard.

Needless to say, he replied the e-mail without the usual joking references to how sick I am. If it wasn't such an automatic reaction, I would've thought twice before sending that particular e-mail to the dude, but I did, and I'm a wanker.

I rushed over and apologized the second I got the e-mail. This is one person I didn't want to piss off for the sheer fact that he's a nice guy who's surprisingly down to earth for a creative director. You don't feel like he's one of the big guns, but he is a big gun, and I went and offended the big gun.

Aren't I a clever bastard.

Perhaps my knowledge of what the outside world perceives as acceptable has finally broken away. I've always flown my flag of madness high and mighty, both in the hope of meeting those who are either accepting or similar to my own warped sensibilities as well as to ensure my individuality.

But I rarely cross the line. I enjoy disturbing people, but I don't enjoy offending them.

Aren't I a clever bastard.

5.4.05 03:50

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My Belly's Been Published

Women have an extraordinary knack of picking just the right gift. It's like a sixth sense. No, a skill. It's a super skill. Amongst all their other super skills of being able to withstand the excruciating pains of waxing, plucking and giving birth, they can also pick out a gift like a mah'fucker.

What you see on the right is a story I wrote when I was in Egypt. Bound and printed with a run of just 1, just for me, courtesy of my beloved girlfriend.

It's the most incredible fucking gift I've ever received in my life.

This book almost got published once by a friend of mine, but he was adamant that I wrote something else first, something longer. I didn't write, he didn't publish.

This book also charts one of those major turning points in my life: the time I broke up with a girlfriend of mine, the time I got the belly, the time my stomach aches first popped up.

Reading it, bound and printed, is indescribable. She was annoyed that some of the pages weren't printed properly, either slightly slanted or misprinted, but I loved it. I was reading a book I wrote, I had the only print and it was printed for me.

It's different from reading a manuscript or reading off screen. The hardback cover, the times new roman font pressed onto the paper, reading your name where the author's name should be... wow.

I also just realized how many typos, spelling mistakes and inconsistencies there were in that book too.

But reading it again was a revelation. Some parts reminded me of those same sad feelings I once had, but for the most part I could look back and laugh at a time when life didn't seem worth living.

I've got a book. It contains the history of Egypt, the history of my relationships, and a history of memories.

Kick ass.

5.4.05 04:13

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