Tomorrow is the Fourth of July and in America they celebrate this day as their independence day. It’s the same thing as our Malaysian 31st August Merdeka except that they are actually celebrating the day Will Smith saved their ass from aliens. Those Americans are damn lucky because all those aliens used Apple computers and Will Smith managed to upload some kinky virus to their laptops.

Let’s not talk about America, it’s Friday again people! I am going to celebrate by drinking tons of Heineken, hollering at every school girls that walk by and eating as much Burger King as I possibly can. Maybe I’ll take a walk in the zoo and look at some lion’s ass. No, I’m serious bout the lion ( not the ass ), when I was a kid I always wanted a lion as a pet. I don’t know why, probably because I’m a Leo.

But instead I ended up getting different pets, which never came close to equaling the vision of greatness I had when I saw myself riding a lion to school every day. Imagine how cool it would be riding a lion to school. Those chicks are gonna dig me for sure. I started out with fish. Fighting fish. I bought one male fighting fish and since he was lonely I decided to buy a female fighting fish and put them in the same aquarium. Shits happened.

When the fighting fish went to heaven, I got a turtle. They just fuxing sit there. I remember staring at them everyday when I finally realized that they hadn’t moved in a week. I think they don’t have the energy to move because I forgot to feed them.

After that I got a caterpillar from my cousin because, rumor had it, caterpillar turns into beautiful butterfly. My caterpillar turned into dead caterpillar in two days.

Now I’m thinking to get a puppy.

And maybe a lion.

You go to a bar with 3 of your friends. One jug of beer costs RM70, you call it cheap, and after paying RM700 you called it getting real drunk. For some unknown reason, one of your friend is hooking up with a smoking hot chick. You are not sure if she’s hot because beers block out physical judgement such as fatness, pretty face, boobs and etc. Your asshole friend doesn’t bother to introduce hot chick and her friends to your group. Your asshole friend exchanges numbers with her.

The following week, you go to the bar with your 3 friends again. Hot chick and her friends are there too. They come to your table and you got to know all of them. Your friend claims hot chick is his girlfriend. You talk with hot chick and she thinks you are cool. You crack joke, you make her laugh, she likes you and dances with you. Later on she tells you that she likes you, regrettably, you are better looking than your friend and she’s loving you. But you, being a good friend, decide not to do anything since hot chick is your friend’s girlfriend. Needless to say, you leave the bar without female accompaniment.

The next day, another friend ( who is also in the group and is talking with one of hot chick’s friend ) calls you for drink. He tells you that hot chick is into you. He also tells you that hot chick wants your number but your asshole friend refuses to give her your number. Now, you have a situation, it’s either:

1) Hot chick is fuxing around with your group of friends and this will lead to internal conflict.

2) Hot chick doesn’t dig your asshole friend but somehow your asshole friend thinks hot chick is digging him.

What will you do?

I keep checking back here to see if there’s a new post, and then I remember I’m the one who writes this horseshit.

Nice. Not again. Sorry for the slow updates.

Anyway, I used to play a lot of chess.

Ever since I was small, my brother taught and trained me. I remember my brother used to show off his trophies that he won from some chess tournaments and he always told me how exciting it was. I knew after seeing the chess pieces, the chess board, all the chick’s phone number he got from the tournament and the chess clock for the first time, that chess was something I could really get into. So I did.

By the way, I lied bout the phone number.

I remember I started representing my school when I was in standard 4. I was awesome. No one was paying attention to me until I started to kick everyone’s ass. I represented my primary school chess team for 3 consecutive years playing both Team ( 1st Board ) and Individual event and NEVER lost a single game in any tournament. I was invincible and became everyone’s worse nitemare.

At the tender age of 10, I already started to enroll in all the local chess tournaments. Most of these tournaments are 2 days event on every weekends. I used to go there with Donz and the rest of my chess buddies. We wake up early in the morning, take bus to the event and play through the tough two days event. The first time I played in tournament I felt awkward and exciting. I can’t even explain the adrenaline that pumps through my body. My heart was beating fast, I was sweating and wondering if I could win. I really can’t put the experience into words. After the handshake, it’s time to go to work. I settled down and honestly, I did great. I don’t remember those games vividly but I remember losing one or two, winning the next few rounds and barely losing anymore after that. I did this every Saturday and Sunday for 8 fuxing years, imagine the amount of trophies I have at home.

Fast Forward to High School, I was entering all the huge tournaments and everyone knew my name. My move wasn’t to be fuxed with. I represented Klang, Selangor and Malaysia in the World Junior Championship but later I was removed from the Malaysian squad due to insufficient fund. That was by far, my biggest dissapointment. Later on I was trained by the Malaysian International Master. I could play more than 10 games simultaneously and I could play Chess Mind ( playing chess by visualiazing the chess pieces and remembering the moves ) up to about 15-20 moves.

My most memorable experience would be playing with one of the World Champion contender from Russia, Vassily Ivancuk ( he was ranked no.3 in the world ) and meeting Former World Champion and other Russian Grandmasters. The other one would be winning the team event as joint champion with one of the Malaysia strongest team, we were known as “Chess Killers”. Pretty lame name but we were kids and kids are supposed to be lame.

Now who wants to play chess with me? Loser buys the beer. Checkmate!

Don’t you get the feeling that if Michael Jackson had somehow been able to come out of his terrible upbringing without being so troubled, everything would be a little bit better? Michael Jackson is like our childhood icon, our idol. I know he was weird, I couldn’t figure out if he was black or white but his music and performance rox. Just look at how he grabbed his balls.

You may hate him but this dude is really something. When I was younger, I tried to moonwalk everyday. That shit is hard, harder than singing She Bangs like William Hung. I wanted to learn moonwalk so I could moonwalk in circles around the cops until he got so dizzy and passed out when he caught me for DUI. And when he would’ve woken up, he’d have forgotten about the whole thing. That’s the power of moonwalk people.

This place is getting depressing, come on stop crying it’s Friday people. Let us all grab some beers, do some moonwalk and sing Beat It.

I really need to stop using the word “porn” and “fux” in my blog posts. Some of the searches that bring people to my blog are just wrong. There’s some real freaks out there but the other day I saw something that intrigued me. The search term that brought them to my site was “protective cup”. Ermmm…excuse me, what does protective cup has to do with my blog? There was also keywords like “dont do a thing till you hear from me karaoke”, “how to not be afraid of cockroaches” and “how to live in peace and happinese family”. I searched around Google and it looks like there may be alot of evidence out there to support this theory, which makes me happy and sad at the same time.

I mean come on, this blog is supposed to be funny and it’s all about Super Heroes rite? Like Batman. And in fact, I just talked to Batman and he locked himself in his room and is crying. I tried to talk to him but he just kept screaming, “WTF! No one search for Batman?!” and playing Nirvana Territorial Pissing song really loud.

Batman is sensitive.

And while we’re on the subject of searches and keywords, I wonder who are those crackheads that did a search on “Ass Anal”. I know we live in a world filled of porn now, threesomes have become much more acceptable and I fuxing appreciate the visit but I don’t want my site popping up as a relevant link when they are searching this great internet thingy for porn – ass and anal to be particular.

They could be sixteen years old, they should be watching cartoons.

I think I should be more careful with my words and this is something that I should safeguard in earnest. My reputation will either build or diminish and this will directly impact my ability to date some hot chicks, bring in PlayBoy sponsorship and attract amateur pornstar. With that in mind, I hope no more visits from “Ass” and “Anal” anymore and I’ll try my best not to write anything related to “Ass” and “Anal”. I’ll try.

Maybe not.

I used to have a very very long hair. Don’t believe? Below you see an unclear pictures of what appears to be a handsome male with black and sexy long hair. Keep in mind that these pictures were taken when I was in college and sometimes I like to pull faces just for kicks. So, I mean, it’s not like I’d show up on a date like this. I would totally comb my hair. The rest looks great. I think we can all agree on that.

yah that was me, with the white dot on the face

Take a look at these 2 pictures for a minute or two and tell me the hair on the back of your neck doesn’t stand on end, that your pets don’t start to freak out a little bit, that your bowels and bladder don’t loosen and now you’ve ruined your favorite computer chair.

Girls, I know how you feel. I know everything bout long hair, I kept it for almost 4 years. It might not look TOO long but unfortunately these are the only 2 long hair photos I managed to discover and let me tell you, it’s super long – my hair measured all the way down to my ass. I’m not joking. It was that LONG.

Keeping long hair is a pain in the ass to deal with. First of all, washing it takes ages. I always like to separate my hair into two halves like pigtails. How cute. The only thing I hate when washing it is getting your hair stucked. This always happens with long hairs, you know, you take a wrong turn while washing it, and all of the sudden your hair is hanging out with each other and telling stories about their day and pulling out their keyboard to show you a new song they wrote about their ex-girlfriend. It really sux.

When I got out of the shower, I would comb my hair and let it dry naturally which takes about, approximately, 2 hours and 43 minutes. Talking bout dudes with long hair, now that I have short hair, you know what I hate the most about dudes with long hair? The worst part about men with long hair is that they walk around swishing it side to side, especially when the wind blows, you know like those ada-gaya Chinese Heroes with long hair. Or Cheng E Kin in Young And Dangerous. Yah those type.

I miss my long hair, really, I miss playing with it, I miss headbanging with it.

It’s Friday! Time to stuff our faces with alcohol we can’t afford and our crotches with people we just met. Let’s get back to the important stuff.

Like sex and beers.

So anyway, someday, I want to have kids. No I’m not married yet and girls, feel free to write to me. It’s not that I’m desperate for kids or getting married, I’m supposed to be talking about this kind of stuff instead of how Superman doesn’t really need to wear that red undie, he probably just thinks it looks cool.

I love to have my own kids, preferrably with dicks.  I want a couple little Marcuses running around the street so that everyone forgets about me and when I die they say, “Well,  Marcus, he was a complete asshole.  But his boys are fine, they are the best. Why, the other day I saw one of them kena detained from school and his dad never minded it though, because his dad thought detention was basically a meeting of all the cool kids”.

I don’t know if I can be a good dad but I’m pretty sure my kids are gonna be cool. When little Sean ( Don’t you steal that name! I’ll kill you! ) plays in his first football game, because he’s a star athlete of course, and some of the parents ask me how did I train my kids, I don’t think there’s anyway I could not laugh in their faces before telling them, “You know it’s in the damn gene, your poor kids looked like they had the cultural I.Q. of someone who just staggered out of a sheep orgy.” Or maybe when little Sean performs his first guitar solo, all the girls will get wet and start asking me for his number and I’ll get little emotional and tell them why Rafael is the best ninja turtle.

Small girls dig Ninja Turtles.

Being a parent is not easy, you gotta teach them manners. Before kids can talk, they are already learning by your actions. The more you set the example of being polite and appreciative, the more likely your children will follow suit. But as far as me relating to other parents, good parents I mean, that’s where things will probably go not-so-good. This is because I don’t think I’ll be very good at all the political things that come with having kids in school. At the parent and teacher meeting, I’ll probably be more concerned if there’s free beer. High comedy, I’m telling you.

I’m getting old and have maybe few good years left in me. After that I am retiring and heading off to the nursing home where I am going to fuxing dominate some old grandpas in Dota. Yes, my time on this planet is almost over. It’s been a good run. Had some ups and downs. Touched a boob once in the 90’s (it was huge!) and have seen every episode of Heroes.

Have a good weekend people, I gotta buy some pampers for my future kids.

I don’t know bout you people but I like karaoke. It’s really fun. I have the ability to sing, well not like Adam Lambert but I think I am pretty close. If you’ve ever been in a karaoke and you hear a clear, strong voice penetrating the nite with one of Bon Jovi’s greatest hits, dude, that would be me. You’ll think to yourself, “Wow Bon Jovi must be drunk”. Ever listen to Bon Jovi’s tunes that are supposed to be Bon Jovi’s tunes but for some reason don’t? It sounds fuxing horrible. Without the crash-bang-boom to disguise everyone else’s musical ineptitude, watching me sing is like an extended, sober version of karaoke in Jaya Jusco’s parking lot.

Now if you are new to karaoke and you wanna outshine everyone in the room, listen closely – this shit is more important than your SPM.

1) Make sure you know the song that you want to sing. You don’t wanna sing Mariah Carey “I Can’t Live….” and ended up singing “Ken Lee”.

2) If you are thinking to introduce yourself with William Hung “She Bangs” then the FIRST thing you should do is grab a piece of paper and a pen, and walk into the bathroom right now. Make sure the light is on. Then write “SOHAI” on the paper. Next, hold the piece of paper in front of the mirror and look at yourself in the mirror. Just fuxing stare at the mirror for 2 minutes and 32 seconds. Now that you have a clear picture of what a SOHAI looks like, carefully take your right hand and bitch slap yourself.

3) In the case that, after tips number 2, you still think you wanna do William Hung “She Bangs” then repeat the same steps as mentioned in tips number 2. Repeat until the SOHAI-ness has been slapped out of you.

4) If you can’t sing well then don’t choose those high pitch songs from singers like Bon Jovi. Trust me, this is for your own good. Leave it to the pro and instead choose something easier like Vanilla Ice “Ice Ice Baby”. And again, trust me – girls dig this song. If they don’t, then you might wanna consider Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender”.

5) When you are singing fast songs, DO NOT SIT AND SING. Karaoke is supposed to be fun and it brings people together rite? Get the crowd involved and say something like “Everybody says HoOOOOO” or “Put your hands up in the air!!!!!!!!!!”. If you get no reaction from the crowd, you probably wanna smell your armpit till you faint.

6) If you are singing a slow love song, I know you are drunk but please stop drinking for 42 seconds. It adds more dramatic effect. And if you are drunk and you think MC Hammer “You Can’t Touch This” is a love song, remember tips 2 I gave to the William Hung dude, where I told him to bring a pen and paper into the bathroom? I think you need to call him, maybe the two of you can go into the bathroom together.

Now where’s my mic?

My parents couldn’t decide on a name so they introduced me as “baby” for the first few days of my life. I sometimes have flashbacks when I’m at the bar and all the ladies are coming up and saying, “Hey Baby”. I always want to ask them how they know that story but I’m too busy making out with all of them. At the same time.

That might be a lie.

But I did kiss a girl once. You know high school years are great.

My first kiss happened on a full moon ( stop howling asshole ) outside her house. I was in high school and it seemed like everyone else in my school had taken things to the next level.  Except me. I got to know this girl and eventually she became my girlfriend. Real girlfriend I mean, not those when we were in primary school “Oi you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” that kinda games. This is the real thing where we pledge our love to the sky blue, mark it in indelible ink and sign a contract in blood that we will be together forever.

Yah rite.

We went out for a couple of months but not even a single kiss, only holding hands. Every time I thought about making the first move, I chickened out. And then there was one time, we were dating and it got late so I told her it would be better if I walk her home. It sounded like a good plan. She agreed.

Can I continue this post next week? Okok damnit, stop throwing those shoes!

As we were walking home, I couldn’t figure out the “kissing plan” and instead I was bouncing around like a hyperactive monkey.

I think it has something to do with my hormones.

So we kept walking and I kept bouncing, I was stalling for time but time was running out. We reached her house. It was then I stopped bouncing. This is the moment of truth. I held her hand and as I tried to move forward, her dad came out and called her to come in the house.

Damm kau potong stim.

As soon as her dad turned his back on us, I held her hand again and this time I looked rite into her eyes. It was now or never. I grabbed her with my arms and I kissed her rite on the lips. She tried to elude me ( she was afraid her dad would see it ) until I finally tackled her, pinning her small body down until she relented. I think it lasted around 10 seconds. And by the way if you are curious, let me assure you it has nothing to do with tongue, just a kiss on the lips. That’s it.

After the infantile kiss rape was over, I got back up and kept bouncing around. As I was walking back home, I was elated, adrenalin was pumping, I was happy, I lost my virginity, I mean my first kiss. Everytime I thought bout the kiss, my mind was twisting and mingling with my own. Yes the spell was broken.

Since then, I’ve never kissed anyone.

Ok I was lying, I kissed a few others.

Okok, many others.

When you’ve been blogging for a certain period of time you hit the No More Ideas wall. It’s kind of like when you go on date number five with someone you really like and realize that you burned through all of your good stories on dates one through four and that you better distract her with your dick before she realizes that deep down you’re painfully boring. If, like me, thankfully, I am only on date three and I still have a lot of drunk personal tragedy to share.

Long long time ago, I took this girl on a date once. Lets call her…well lets not call her anything. To make this long story short, I took her to a really nice restaurant for dinner. You know the usual date, dinner, drinks, movies, walk around the park. A super romantic nite complete with great conversation. To make this story really really really short, I drove her home, walk her to her door and ermm…I wanted to confess to her that I actually like her.

The guy at the back there, yah you, stfu and stop laughing! I know you are damnit!

So anyway, this is what I can recall:

Her : It’s really fun tonite, thanks for everything.

Me  : Yah it was fun, I had a good time too. And errmm…..you know, we’ve been going out for quite some time and errmm…look, I wanna tell you something.

Her : It’s getting late now, why don’t you tell me some other time?

Me  : No, it’s important and I’ll make it a quick one. I just wanna tell you that I like you. Do you think maybe we could…

Her : I wanted to tell you something too. I like you and you are cool but I just wanna be friends.

Me  : Only friends? Then why are you going out with me? After all these dates, after all those hands holding, friends?

Her : I don’t know but I only wanna be friends.

I seriously wanted to run home and play dead. And the next day I would call all the newspapers and make sure they write about me in all the dead columns. I mean, WTF. Honestly, how hard is it to say NO? There is no way she could do it without hurting my feelings, but I would really apperciate it if she could just be nice and tell me bout it. Just don’t string me along and waste my time.

I can fell the love already. It feels just like a tazer to the left testicle.

It appears that this is my 500th post here (warm applause and standing ovation everyone! Yah and fuxing ready those tomatoes! ) and seeing as I have 500 posts under my belt, I thought I’d take this opportunity to give an amazing drunken speech and shoutout. And oh yah, thanks for reading. Without you this blog wouldn’t have made it.

Now stop looking at that stain on my pants. It’s just water, I swear.

Having said that, it’s been one hell of a ride. I started this crappy blog almost four years ago and in that time, I think I’ve presented you guys with a fair representation of what exactly it’s like to be the asshole me. Day in, day out, come rain or come shine, I’ve been here sharing my crappy experience and craps on you pleasant smelling people. I had no idea the people it would bring to me, the laughs I’d have, and the things I’d learn. I’ve made connections with total strangers who have shared their lives with me, and shared my life in turn. I had so much fun sharing my warped sense of humor and twisted mind with you all.

Seriously, writing this blog has changed me as a person. It was better than therapy, cheaper too. I want to thank all the people that helped me through my shittiest time, I can’t thank those people enough and I will never forget them. I would also like to thank everyone who ever linked to me, commented or visited. Thank you! You’re all screwed in the head and need some major psyche evaluations but thank you anyway.

I guess that’s about it, I can’t type anymore. I am sitting in a reverent pose, head bowed to all of you.

I’m not a big believer in dreams but as ridiculous as it may sounds I do think dreams mean something. Maybe it’s the Chinese in me. I’ve always wanted to dream of The Planet of Large Breasted Stewardesses with an Easy Going Attitude but no, not this time.

Last nite, I dreamt of a girl, she’s pretty cute and she was cooking in a very unorthodox weird way. I saw her laying some rice on a table full of ice, not those cube ice but those “cendol” ice. And then she puts another layer of egg on top of the rice and wrap it up like Nasi Pattaya. She told me I gotta balance all the ingredients by stepping on it and then it happened. She got up from her seat and karate kick the rice and eggs.

I’m not sure if she’s high on steroid.

Moment later, her final masterpiece was done. It was like an ice statue with eggs and rice in it. Needless to say, I was stunned. But the people there were enjoying it and even one Angmoh asked her for the recipe but she rejected him. She couldn’t speak English by the way and I was the translator. She walked towards me and said “This is your destiny”. And before she left, she gave me the recipe.

So the next day ( which is today ), I actually tried to eat a bowl of rice with eggs and ice and it was horrible.

So what now? Am I supposed to be a chef or something?

After all, sometimes dreams are greatly influenced by the 6 big bottles of Carlsberg I had before I went to bed.

When I was in high school, I briefly entertained the idea of becoming a rock star. I fueled this idea by forming a band named Damage INC which practiced four hundred and fifty times and then broke up.  I think it had something to do with the fact that because I had no musical talent whatsoever I was the singer and I was absolutely terrible.

I really admire my tenacity. But I’m getting old. When you are 30 and if you haven’t made it as a rock star by now, I’d say it’s time to get a job.

I think we did pretty OK, we had few gigs, some chicks came to us with flowers, we were in Asia Bagus and we wrote few own tracks. Even now though, as I am getting older, I still wish I had somehow become a rock star, if for no other reason than it is decidedly cooler than being a blogger. Anything a rock star does has always and will always be met with applause, while it can be quite the opposite with being a blogger.  Especially one like me, who has never written a single damn cool post other than craps.

To be a rockstar is not easy, there are few important criterias:

1. You need to be an asshole, which means you have to thrash the hotel room. Punch the chair, piss on the bed and pay the huge bill. Girls dig bad ass remember.

2. You need to have at least 24 tattoos, doesn’t matter if it’s snake or dragon just fuxing tatt it. The more the better, to show that you are part of the establishment and you really rock.

3. You have to be on pretty good terms with Satan to truly be a rock star, I’m not saying you have to know the guy personally or anything, but he has to be like your childhood friends who would suggest playing hide-n-seek, then promptly stand behind a stop sign when it was their turn to hide. They’re great at starting something up, but the follow through leaves you disappointed and confused.

4. You gotta have your own eye make up ( for very manly reasons ) and you could probably get a black van to go on tour with, as long as you promise to gas it up and clean out the vomit bags and condoms before returning it.

5. Most importantly, you gotta have your own identity, your own style. You don’t want people to copy you. Many times my friends and I visited the local karaoke place and I would say this is a once in a while thing, but most nights end up with someone singing “Living on a Prayer” by someone that is most definitely not Bon Jovi and most definitely is drunk. If it was a drunk Bon Jovi singing his own song at karaoke I would probably scream out “Hey Jon!!” and we would be facebook friends. And I would “poke” him.

Are you guys ready to rock? Now, who wants a ticket to the Damage INC reunion gig?

Donz on the left ( bassist ), Boon at the back ( drums ) and me sitting on the right.

What do you mean by you don’t like it? No, it’s not a shame! Didn’t you hear? We’re all supposed to be “Malaysia Boleh”, apa pun boleh. It’s not about what anyone likes, it’s about sacrificing our comfort, our prosperity, and our way of life to benefit our country. The country demands sacrifice!

Now, start listening to your Leaders. They know what choices you should make. They say you “Boleh” and it means Boleh. Boleh is Boleh. Tak boleh is Tak Boleh. Just fuxing obey.

(The Leaders are exempt and may “Boleh” or “Tak Boleh” as they wish.)

( Pictures Source: Gvishnu.com )

KUALA TERENGGANU: The roof of the just completed RM300mil Stadium Sultan Mizan Zainal Abidin collapsed early Tuesday.

The stadium was completed in the nick of time for the state to host the Malaysia Games in June last year.

( Source: The Star )

1.  I’m too busy solving a goddamn mystery.

2. I’m sitting on my couch doing a lot of nothing and I can’t stop smelling my armpits. And let me tell you – they smell terrible.

3.  My dog ate it. I don’t have a dog.

4. I accidentally watch porn on iTunes and all my MSN contacts see it.

5. I got sick of hearing myself talking.