The Floating Turd

Win a copy of the book...

2008-11-27T15:14:00.001+08:00

...here.

Launch Updates

2008-11-27T01:47:00.005+08:00

The programme tomorrow goes something like this:

8pm: Buffet dinner with – wait for it – FREE orange cordial. Or something. Those facebook invite thingies are notoriously unreliable, so I don’t know how many people are actually coming. Do come early if you want the free food and Orange Cordial! or something.

8.45: I will give a speech that may or may not change your life depending on how drunk you are at the time.

9.00: FISH plays. Watch out for that Tragedi Secawan Kopi song – I can’t get it out of my head.

9.45: My band plays 5 original songs, one of which I still haven’t written until now. I plan to write it tonight so there’s a good chance it may suck.

10.30: Majlis bersurai but WAIT!!

10.31: House band Sweet Escape plays three sets till late.

In between there’ll be lucky draws and quiz-type-things where you can win a copy of the book and T-shirts. And if you can’t make it early, do come anytime. Bojangles opens till very late, so we’ll probably be there till about, I don’t know, 4 or 5am?

Other tour (tour sial!) updates:

Interview on Capital FM at noon Friday
Sharon Bakar's Readings on Saturday the 29th.

Other reviews/blog posts:

Lily
Leen Ash Burn
Pugly

What else-what else?
Nothing I guess. I'm sick as hell and going to sleep.
See you at the launch!
Now flush off.

Map to Bojangles:

The First Review of Devil's Place

2008-11-19T18:43:00.002+08:00

Amir Muhammad reviewed it for the Malay Mail here.
I went out this afternoon to the news stand behind TMC, bought a copy of the paper, and thought I'd walk over to Starbucks at Bangsar Village before reading it.
I made it as far as the traffic light, couldn't take it anymore, and started reading. Through the corner of my eye, I saw others crossing the road and, assuming the light was green, followed suit.
A car honked and the driver enthusiastically enquired whether I was Bodoh ke Apa.
But I didn't mind. Not one bit.

RSVP

2008-11-15T17:21:00.003+08:00

I'm going nuts juggling work and the book launch.
Need to know how many of you can make it on the 28th so I know how much damn food to order.
If you're on Facebook, please give your yes/no/maybes there.
If not, you can just leave a comment below. You can remain anonymous if you're shy-shy. I just need the numbers. And to make things easier for you, I'll even provide a set of responses that you can copy-paste if you want:

1) Yes! I will attend your book launch! I've been your fan, like, forever! Please accept my underwear as a token of my fanaticism!

2) Yes! I will attend! I was going to give birth on that day, but what the hell, the baby can wait another day.

3) God told me to build an ark and take two of every animal on it because He's going flood the world again on the 28th but I told him "Fuck it. I have a book launch to go to."

My Book Launch

2008-11-08T02:26:00.003+08:00

Warning: Don't try the above stunt at home. And if you do, I recommend tomato sauce. Of course, I know that unless you're an absolute wuss, you probably don't have tomato sauce at home. But it's worth making a trip to the shop to get some. Trust me on this, okay?

Anyway, this is it then. I hope you'll be able to make it Nov 28. I really do. Especially if you've been a regular reader. Because you guys know my writing better than anyone. And because it's about damn time you paid me for my writing.

Here's the synopsis of the book (I think Pazuzu would've been proud):

Ning Somprasong gave up working the streets of Thailand for the more tolerable hotel rooms of Kuala Lumpur. She thinks that if she can send enough money back home, her daughter can avoid making the same choices she had to make.

Terry Fernandez is a struggling musician who’s marrying up. And in the process trading in the life he loves for a world he can’t understand. When he finds his friends dead in his room at The Grand on the night of his bachelor party, he naturally thinks the Minister of Education is trying to kill him.

Chua Chee Ming has been spouting crazy conspiracy theories to anyone who suffers the misfortune of getting into his cab. He thinks the CIA and the Government are trying to kill him because of his theories on human cloning.

Julio Chavez of the CIA hated his posting in Malaysia, until a dead terrorist was found in a hotel room at The Grand. He thinks the Chinese Communist Party is involved somehow.

Suleiman Salleh is back in Malaysia after hiding out in Indonesia for several years. The Most Wanted Man in South-East Asia is on a very important mission but he thinks he’s being stalked by a homosexual.

Fellatio Lim Boon Fatt is a pimp who has lost one of his girls. He thinks the name Fellatio means the Greek God of Power and Wish-dom.

Along with a jaded ex-bouncer, a sleazy cop and an old man who’s looking for his cat, these people find themselves in the middle of The War on Terror, where nothing is what they think it is…

Oh ya. I'll be giving out a few free copies during the launch to readers of The Floating Turd and PUNDAK who can correctly answer questions based on everything I've written so far in these blogs. So adik-adik kenalah baca balik and hafal everything, okay?

If you're on facebook, you can be my fan (as if you weren't already. I see you getting ready to throw your underwear at me!) here. Event page is here. Feel free to invite your friends and ask them to feel free to invite their friends and ask them to ask their friends to feel free to invite their friends. But ask their friends' friends not to invite their friends, because, you know, we don't want just anyone walking in and buying my book, do we?

The Malayan Times is a fictional newspaper featured in the book.

The Hideout is a fictional bar from the book. You can check out some of my music there which I'll be playing at the launch.

FISH's music is here.

What else-what else?

Oh ya.

Apology:

I hereby apologise in advance to the following people who might be offended by the contents of the book:

God. Jesus Christ. Muslims. Christians. The CIA. Malays. Chinese. Indians. Latinos. Yoda. Princess Leia. Darth Vader. Chewbacca. Jack and Rose from The Titanic. Cab-hotline operators. Gloria Gaynor. Jemaah Islamiyah. Al-Qaeda. Africans. Midgets. Australians. The Irish. Irish-bar patrons. Old people. Reporters. Thai prostitutes. The police. Malaysian politicians. RTM. Malayalees. Rappers. Ruud van Nistlerooy. Jews. George W Bush. State Religious Departments. Arabs. Cats. Homosexuals. Gandhi. Sesame Street. Chow Kit drug-addicts. Chairman Mao. Communists. Greenpeace. Princess Diana. Chinese karaoke singers.

See you at the launch.

Flushed Away but...

2008-11-05T02:40:00.004+08:00

I have a confession to make. And it's a difficult one. I fear many of you might feel disappointed with me. Angry. Betrayed even.
I mean some of you have been with me since way back when I was voted Blogger of the Year. You were there when I travelled through time, when I cheated Death, when I discovered that I was the descendant of Jesus. And you were with me in my campaign to be Prime Minister.
I know-I know. You've all been there for me. Which is why it's really hard for me to say this.
I've been rehearsing this speech for weeks. Typing in front of a mirror. "How do I say it?" I ask my reflection. "What will they say?" "What will I say to what they have to say?" "Is that a double chin?" "Fuck! That is a double chin!"
There are no answers. There is no right way to say this. Except to just say it.
So here it goes:

My name is not really Pazuzu.

Say something.

Anything.

No wait. Wait! I can explain Come on Give me a chance. After all we've been through. That's all I'm asking. Okay-okay.

Thanks.

Okay.

So. It's like this:
When I first started blogging, as I was about to key in my real name, the African wind demon Pazuzu entered my body and made me say curse-words and gave me a really bad complexion but then a priest tried to shoo the demon away but then he fell down some stairs and then the TV started calling my name and...no wait. Wait-wait-wait. Shit. This wasn't how I rehearsed it. The priest fell down the stairs and...errr...anyway, a whole bunch of stuff happened and that's how we find ourselves here!

So there you go. See? There was a perfectly good explanation. Everything back to normal, except...

Pazuzu's gone now. Flushed away. But The Floating Turd remains.
On monday, I will blog about some exciting stuff that's happening in my life. And I will do so, for the first time, under my real name. I don't think anything will change though. Sure, I won't be able to turn my head all the way round and float to the ceiling and stuff. But other than that, everything else's pretty much the same.

But I know that I will miss Pazuzu.

And for no good reason I can think of, I hope you will too.

The Exorcism of Pazuzu...

2008-10-31T00:45:00.002+08:00

...has begun.

Box Set: Lingam, The Musical (Complete Episodes 1-5!)

2008-10-22T09:17:00.004+08:00

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

The management of thefloatingturd.blogspot.com hereby vow never to do anything like this ever again. Thank you.

Debate: What You Use To Catch DeFish

2008-02-26T02:33:00.005+08:00

Topic: Pee around the toilet bowl is caused by, not men, but women who, in their struggle for equality, try to pee standing up.

Discuss.

Save The Chinese!

2008-02-11T15:07:00.012+08:00

I have been accused by A Babe of Very Little Brain of being a peanut who has forgotten its err...peanut shell ever since I was famously featured in The Star (Note to Babe: Has Jasmine ever been featured in The Star? Huh? Has he? HAS HE?).

So I would like to clarify once and for all that I, Pazuzu, have not let fame go to my hea...what do you mean you didn't know I was featured in The Star?

You don't read The Star?

What the fuck kind of MCA member are you?

Never mind. For the benefit of all you morons out there who don't read The Paper That Only Prints Really Really Really Important News So You Have More Time To Read The Ads, I have reproduced the article here:

Click to enlarge

Hah!

You read that?

Huh?

Did you?

Kiss my Trademark Adobe Flash Stickman! KISS IT! (Note To Babe: Does Jasmine have a Trademark Adobe Flash Stickman? Huh? Does he? DOES HE?)

Anyway, now that I'm really famous and have a Trademark and all, I have decided, as all famous people do at some point (usually when they get on Oprah), to "play my part" as a "responsible citizen" and "give something back to society" and "have my picture taken with retarded/sick/old/orphaned people" so I can "look good" and "people will like me" and won't mind in the least when I "use quotation-marks unnnecccesssarily" and refuse to check the actual spelling for "unnnecccasssarily".

And as you all already know, the most underprivileged community in Malaysia, despite what HINDRAF and UMNO will have you believe, is The Chinese Community.
Sure, they may have a natural aptitude for business and making money and becoming rich and all, but the one sector where they lag behind all the other races is in the "Not Giving Myself a Comical-Sounding Name Sector".

Not that other races are much better.

Indians have a tendency to put way too many syllables in their names. I suspect that it's because Indians will always be competitive and try to outdo each other ("Your son's name is Mangolingam? My son's name is Thirumangolingam! Hah! ")
Malays have a tendency to give themselves Government Names like Nuriah. If you ever met someone named Nuriah, your immediate instinct would be to address that person as Puan Nuriah, even if this particular Nuriah happens to be a newborn baby.

The thing is, with Indians and Malays, these unfortunate names are given to them by their parents, probably as a permanent practical joke.

But most Chinese people, as you all know, choose their own bloody names!
Once they reach a certain age, they will suddenly show up in school with a new name-tag and announce to everybody that they no longer wish to be called Wong Wee Lim. "Call me Ricky," they would happily say, and go about their business as though nothing unusual just happened.

Then, sometime around the 80s I think, Chinese people appeared to have simply run out of names. All the Rickys, Jackies, Vickys and Nickys were taken. So, out of desperation, they started using non-names as names. Suddenly, you found yourself being introduced to a Milk Choy or a Prudential Tan or a Coppertone Ooi. My mother once had a student named - I swear I am not making this up - Filofax.

People, this has to stop.

We cannot simply hunch over our beers and pretend that this isn't happening. I believe we have to Do Something. Which is why me and fellow-famous-person Bono have started the "Donate A Name and Save A Chinese Person" worldwide campaign:

(from left) Bono, Me and Chinese Person

And you can play your part too.
All you have to do give an example of a wacky Chinese name and a suitable replacement-name in the comment box below and you could help a Pantomime Chin become a Bob Chin.

To promote this campaign, Bono and I are giving away free T-shirts to all those who donate a name:

I realise some of you don't drink or smoke and probably have no use for the above T-shirt. But that's like saying you won't wear a "Save The Whales" T-shirt because you're not actually a whale. Come on people. Do your bit for your fellow man.

Donate a name in the following format in the comment box:

Wacky Chinese Name: ___________
Suggested Name: _______________
E-mail: __________

and I'll e-mail you a voucher which you can print and redeem for 1 free t-shirt at Bojangles Pub in Desa Sri Hartamas (the road behind Fitness First) while stocks last (if you don't want to display your e-mail in the comment box, you can e-mail me your e-mail and I'll e-mail the voucher to your e-mail. e-mail. e-mail. e-maiStopIt! )

Guys, if all of us do this, then maybe, just maybe, I can get enough Chinese votes to win my election campaign and become your next Prime Minister. Speaking of which:

PUNDAK is back.

You can become a PUNDAK candidate for the General Election. Go here and pick your constituency now!

The Floating Turd Movie

2007-12-03T00:15:00.000+08:00

Ever since I released the amateur video of myself talking to someone who may of may not have been Chief Justice Fairuz a few weeks ago, I have received tons of movie offers from well-known directors and porn producers.

Sadly, most of the roles that are on the table are only there because of my, as one famous director puts it - "leading-man good looks".

Listen here and listen good, you superficial Hollywood movie moguls:

I may be good-looking but I'm not just some hunky piece of meat, okay? I have genuine talent, dammit! Also, I will NOT do nudity unless it's for "artistic purposes", okay?

So while waiting for a big-budget script that is worthy of my talents and/or nude body, I have headlined a small independent film made by a well-known director based on a story by a famous writer.

And the movie is about...Me!

Yes. It is the story of my life. It is the story of my struggle against oppresion and people who seek to keep me down. Best of all, it is a story that does not contain the line "Aku tak nak jadi cicak! Aku nak jadi normal!". So you know it's going to be a good movie.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you The Floating Turd Movie:

The Drunken Indian Defense

2007-10-03T03:29:00.001+08:00

Okay. So you've seen the video. The one that, if you listen to members of the Legal-Community, should bring the Judiciary down to its knees, forcing many judges to turn-in their black housecoats and comical wigs in shame.

Of course, you could argue that it is in fact more shameful to actually want to wear the black housecoat and comical wig to work everyday, but you would be - as you often are - wrong.
You see, in the Upside-Down World of the Law, where Black is sometimes White, Right if often Wrong and Guilty is always refered to in legal terms as Not Guilty, this otherwise-ridiculous attire is a symbol of Honour and Justice and stop laughing, dammit!
I'm being serious here!

Fine.
Read it yourself.

It clearly states in Article 20.2/:( of The Constitution of Malaysia that:

"The Wearer of The Black Housecoat and Wig shall, at all times, discharge his duties with Honour and serve the needs of Justice, insofar as insofar, even if He (or if no Hes are available, She) is laughed at by people wearing normal attire."

There.

So, in light of the revelations in the Lingam Video, The Legal Community is up-in-arms over something or other that besmirches the integrity of the Black Housecoat and Comical Wig.
I like saying besmirches.
Besmirches besmirches besmirches.

Members of the Legal Community are so convinced that this video is whatever, that 2000 lawyers, mistakenly believing that the Prime Minister can read, actually marched to Putrajaya the other day to present a memo to him demanding that Action Be Taken and that Prima Facie Verily Deo Ipsum Loqouituresque!

Imagine that! 2000 lawyers to deliver one memo! Boy, I'd hate to be the sorry schmuck who's going to foot that legal bill. Bloody thieving lawyers.

Meanwhile, The Government, in a response that can only be described as nincompoopy, has appointed a Special Three-Man Panel to ascertain what any pimply-faced Playstation-humping teenager can tell you within minutes:

Whether the tape is authentic or whether it is actually a Pixar-Animation production with the part of VK Lingam played by a guy in a blue-suit, probably the same guy who played Gollum so convincingly in The Lord of The Rings Trilogy.

But let us, you and I, not be morons for a moment and assume that the tape is indeed authentic. Come on. Let's. It's safe. Really.
There are people, usually balding manager-types, who will tell you that it's wrong to assume. They will tell you that when you ASSUME, "you make an ass out of u and me".
Then they will look at you expectantly, like they want you to applaud their superior intellect or something.
These people are idiots and you should point out to them you cannot really make an ass out of u and me. You can make an emu out of u and me. You can make meu, mue, uem, ume or even an eum. But you cannot, no matter how hard you try, make an ass out of u and me.
So the correct phrase should, in fact, be "U, me and an ass can make Assume" which sounds really stupid if said out loud by anyone who isn't Arnold Schwarzenegger.

So, having ascertained that both u and me cannot be made asses, we'll just go right ahead and assume that the tape is authentic. Okay?

Right.

My question to you now is this:

So bloody what?

Look at the video again. Look at the foreground. See that bottle there? Well, let's just say that it's not a bottle of Chili Sauce.

Hah!

Get it?

Chili Sauce?

Because his name is Lingam, you see. And there's a brand of Chili Sauce called fuck it never mind. You're a humourless lot, you are.

Anyway, if my years' of watching CSI have taught me anything, it is that the bottles in question are, in alphabetical order:

1) Dewars (probably White Label, subject to DNA results)
2) Red Wine
3) Sprite (probably to be used as a mixer for the Dewars)

So now let me ask you this:

Which Indian man do you know, having consumed copious amounts of alcohol, has NOT, at some point in his life, called someone up and promised him the Chief Justiceship of Malaysia?

This could've happened to anybody, dammit! And I should know.
This video of me that you're about to see was secretly filmed by some bastard whom I can't remember while I was happily drinking at some place that I can't remember:

Now does this mean that I'm guilty of anything?
Of course not!

Because according to unreliable sources who were also drinking at the time, this conversation was recorded while I was calling a cab to take me home. And I have a vague memory of listening to hold-music (I think it was The Yellow Rose of Texas) throughout the time I was talking.

So all I'm saying is that we should give Lingam the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, he could've been talking to his mother. Or attempting, in his inebriated state, to order a pizza.

Disclaimer:
I'm not suggesting that Lingam was drunk while he made the call. It is entirely up to you to figure that out for yourself. You can mathematically calculate the drunkeness of an Indian using the following formula - 3.14(circumference of hand waving) X voice decible level + number of times the word correct is used.
The higher the number, the more drunk he is.

And if Lingam was, in fact, drunk at the time, then even if he was talking to the judge, he can simply use The Drunken Indian Defense to fight his case.

The Drunken Indian Defense, of course, has been used for years to absolve Indians of any wrongdoing whatsoever by allowing them to quickly plead "I was drunk" when caught. It has successfully been used in many cases where Indians have uttered such damning words as:

"Of course I can sing on stage!"

"I'll pay you back next week"

or, worst of all:

"I, take you to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part."

Note:
The Drunken Indian Defense, as the name suggests, may only be used by Indians. Chinese people can't use it because they usually pass out after two drinks. And Malays can't use it because, as everybody knows, they...ahem...don't drink.

So, in conclusion, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we can deduce, using The Drunken Indian Defense, that Lingam is Guilty, which as you already know, according to The Law, actually means Not Guilty.
And with that, the defence rests its case.

Now let's u and me go make an emu.

The Return of The Floating Turd. Seriously.

2007-08-20T01:37:00.000+08:00

I guess I should start by explaining my absence:

I've been working on, well, things.

Serious things.

You see, I've come to realise that, in this great country of ours, there are a great many people who are suffering. People who, if the current situation persists, will not be able to afford the basic needs that we take for granted everyday.
And they have no Datins or Miss Universes to take up their cause.

I'm not sure if I can change things. Certainly not on my own.

But I can try.

I figure if more people know about the problem, then more people will be inclined to contribute to The Cause.

So there will be no making fun of politicians in this post.
No travelling through time.
No Weekend Fun.
No uneccessary linking to Lily Liverbird.
No claims to be the descendant of Jesus.
No conversations with God.
No calling up the Selangor State Government to ask if anyone there is having sex.

This entire entry is merely a plea for your attention.
Because with your help, I believe we can, as corny as it sounds, make a change.

So please go here to see what I'm talking about.
And if you can, lend us your support.
Thank you.

Pazuzu In Da House, Yo!

2007-05-22T15:46:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer:
This is not a racist post. Being Indian, it is my God-given right to speak, behave and comment on issues that pertain to black people. Ya' dig?

What is up, my fellow Negroes? Have you managed to persuade any bitches and HOs to perform oral sex on you lately? If so, I am pleased for you! Let us engage in an unnecessarily-elaborate handshake ritual immediately!

Okay. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I would like to ask my fellow brethren (especially my Indian brethren) a question. And that question is:

What the fuck?

I mean, don't you have enough problems as it is, you have to pretend that your ancestors were brought here as slaves, and because of that you have to spell your name with numbers and talk in rhymes to generic beats?

Let me say here that I'm not against black music. It's rap I don't get. I can't relate to it.
Black people used to SING about stuff that people could relate to. There was a time when, you'd have a black guy with only a slide-guitar, and he'd be wailing on and on about how he "done drank hisself a bottle of bourbon" because some "Devil-woman done stole his soul".

Now that's something we can all relate to.

But now, we have a bunch of Indian guys in some reality-talent show rapping about how difficult life is "in the hood" and it's all because of "Da Police" or something.

What the hell? What "hood"? Bangsar? Taman Tun? Where?

If you're Indian and you absolutely must rap, can't you rap about something that affects your community?
I mean, Denzel Washington has already won his Oscar, but Acappan hasn't won Best Actor for Whatever Acting Awards Thingy They Have Here, as far as I know. And that is an outrage!
Here's a sample of what would make a good Indian rap:

I climbed to the top of Everest
Then I died, but they won't let me have a Rest
In Peace, Yo!

And that's just off the top of my head.
Idiots.

And don't get me started on you Women. Because I'm going to start anyway:

Some moron MPs make a joke in parliament and you're all pretending to be outraged and shit, but when a black guy raps about leaving his bitches and HOs after they've performed an act that is unmentionable here because it is a family-friendly blog that would never use such words as blowjob, you're all bumping and grinding and humping the dance-floor like you're Beyonce or something.

If the MPs had said it in rap format, would that have made it ok?

Jasin: Batu Gajah leaks every month!
Featuring Beyonce: Uh huh! Uh huh!

Kinabatangan: Batu Gajah leaks every month, yo!
Featuring Beyonce: Fo' Shizzel My Nizzel!

Hah! I could just see all you women throwing your hands in the air and waving them like you just don't care as you read that.

I have many more examples of how you lot have about as much credibility as Vanilla Ice, but unfortunately I'm leaving now to drink myself a bottle of bourbon because some Devil-woman done changed the locks on my door.

Yo.

Soalan Bonus:

What's the deal with 50 Cent? Why does he pronounce his name Fi'ty Cent? Does he have a speech impediment? How come he can pronounce the first F but not the second?

Discuss.

Discussion Question:

2007-05-17T16:05:00.000+08:00

If gay people are so oppressed, how come they're always so damn happy?
You don't see the rest of us skipping about the office all the time, do you?

Huraikan.

Disclaimer:
I'm not against gay people, I'm just against exceedingly happy people. Okay? Sheeesh.

OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod!!!

2007-05-07T21:02:00.000+08:00

Guess what? Guess what? Guess what???

Well?

What the hell?

Are you going to guess or not?

Fine. Whatever.
Annnyyyway....guess what? No wait. We just went through that.
So I suppose I should just come out and tell you the good news:

Ahem...I, Pazuzu, have just....OhGosh...I don't know what to say....I mean, this comes as a total surprise...I mean...you see it happen to other people and you think "could it happen to me?"...and then you think "can you use quotation marks for thoughts?"...and then you think maybe I should use italics...and then you think "Fuck it. I'll use both just in case"...

So anyway, as I was saying (I'm saying this out loud as I'm writing, okay? So don't get all technical with me), I, Pazuzu, have just won...

A Thinking Blogger Award!!!

And...

I, Pazuzu, have just won...

A Thinking Blogger Award!!!

No. I'm not drunk and repeating myself.
You see, I have actually won two Thinking Blogger Awards! One for this blog and one for my other blog and one for the little blog who lives down the lane! Which would actually mean that I have won three Thinking Blogger Awards except that that last bit was actually just a really humourous lyrical reference to the song Baa Baa Black Sheep and fuck it, never mind.

Two is enough.
Because, as far as I can tell, no one else, in the history of the world, has ever won TWO Thinking Blogger Awards. I verified this by Googling "Has anybody besides me, Pazuzu, won TWO Thinking Blogger Awards, in, like, the history of the world or anything?" and Google replied that:

Your search - "Has anybody besides me, Pazuzu, won TWO Thinking Blogger Awards, in, like, the history of the world or anything?" - did not match any documents.

If you don't believe me, you can damn well Google it yourself.
And, if Google says I'm the only one, then it must be true.
So, years from now, when some history teacher asks who was the only person to ever win TWO Thinking Blogger Awards and some dumbass kid answers "Gandhi" or something equally moronic, the teacher can whack him or ask him to ketuk-ketampi or administer whatever punishment they deem fit in the future for stupid kids who don't know their history.

Anyway, you might want to know that I received the award for this blog from a mysterious fellow named Mr Incognito who has a blog called Almost Anonymous who presented this award to me while wearing pantyhose over his head:

Photo courtesy of Jeff Ooi

Mr. Incognito then instructed me, at gunpoint, to name five blogs that make me think, before running off in a suspicious manner to a nearby 7-eleven. He did not say what the blogs should make me think of, but since this is a family-friendly blog which does not use dirty words like pipet, buret and penunu, I will resist nominating sex-related blogs like LilyLiverbird's.

So, here are the five blogs that make me think about non-sex-related things:

1) Aisehman - Political blogger who writes about politics in a very non-biased, non-sexual way although he does sometimes use dirty words so you shouldn't read it if you're a prude and can't stomach words like "Khairy".

2) The Road Less Travelled - Politics with humour, which, come to think of it, is not much different from what we get everyday in parliament. But. Oh well.

3) GemmaRose's - This blog boggles my mind. It makes me think "Wasn't there a blog here a few weeks ago?"

4) Potshots - It makes me think "Isn't this the same post I read last month?". I usually read it again anyway.

5) Lim Kit Siang - I never actually read his blog but, as is my right as a Rakyat, I keep tagging him with these ridiculous things to see if he'll respond. He never does. Typical politician.

There are some rules or shit that you poor tagged sods have to follow. They're really boring so I've put them in small print:

Note to tagged bloggers:
Congratulations, you won a Thinking Blogger Award!
Should you choose to participate, please make sure you pass this list of rules to the blogs you are tagging.
I thought it would be appropriate to include them with the meme.
The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

Remember to tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all - blogs that really get you thinking!

Oh, and since this is a Thinking Blog, I thought this post should end with something for you to think about. Something like those pictures psychologists show people and then they ask them "So, what does this picture make you think about?".

So I've closed my eyes and just scribbled this random shape from my subconcious which makes me think about gravity and it's effect on the public transportation industry vis-a-vis the financial analysis of the Darfur situation which might be, according to sources who decline to be named, a paradigm shift:

Now think, dammit! Think!

Weekend Fun: Get Lost

2007-04-26T00:28:00.000+08:00

For Weekend Fun this week, I suggest you take Monday off and get the hell out of here.
I am.

And in my absence, I am putting A Babe of Very Little Brain in charge of keeping the comment box going, an area in which she has vast experience.

Note to GemmaRose: No insulting me in the comment box till I get back. Not fair if I can't reply.

This is The Floating Turd, Flushing off.
Till next week.

I'm a Creep, I'm a Weirdo, He's a...

2007-04-16T23:04:00.000+08:00

Warning:
I thought this'd be funny but it ended up being creepy. I mean, really really creepy. Do not read while eating. In fact, do not read at all. Okay fine. You asked for it. Here we go:

: Push, honey! Push!! Breathe!! Breathe!!!

: I am pushing, dammit!

: You're doing fine, sweetheart!! Fine!!

: Don't you tell me I'm doing fine! You're not the one who has to...aaarrrggg...

: Almost there, munchkin!! Almost there!!! I can see the head!!!

:...hhhaaaaaarrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhh....

: Just...a...bit...mo...

:...arrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhgggghhhhhh!!!!!!

: Mr and Mrs Vellu-Jackson, it's a bo...I mean..gir...err...well, it's healthy:

Told you so. Sometimes, I hate the places where my mind takes me. Urrrggghh. Oh, and if you don't watch American Idol and have no clue who the guy above is, whatever.

The Long-Awaited Return of Weekend Fun: New Old Wives' Tales

2007-04-11T18:32:00.000+08:00

Okay-okay, I know. I've neglected Weekend Fun for sometime now. The thing is, I've been busy with work and saving the country and wait where're you going?
Come back, dammit!
Don't you walk away from me, young man/woman!
That's it. Sit your ass back down.
There. Hah!
Who's your Appa?
WHO'S YOUR APPA?

Who?

That's right, dammit.
And your Appa says you'll have some Weekend Fun this weekend even if you're utterly miserable doing it.
Understand?
Good.

So:

This week's episode of Weekend Fun is about a topic that has the added bonus of being not only ageist, but sexist as well. It's about:

Old Wives' Tales!

Historians often argue, sometimes violently, about the origins of many Old Wives' Tales. That is why, if you see a bunch of historians enthusiastically having a debate at your local pub, it's best not to get involved. They're a crazy bunch, those historians, and they'll think nothing of boring you to death with the story of how J.W.W. Birch, having spied a local man pleasuring himself, decided to name a town after the man's act, but, like clueless white people often do, mispronounced the Malay word for the aforementioned act.

The reason historians are at loggerheads about the origins of Old Wives' Tales is because many of them (the tales, also the historians) don't make much sense.
Take, for example, this popular Old Wives' Tale:

If you put your elbows on the table during dinner, old people will yell at you

If you dissect (using a pipet, buret and penunu) this Tale, and examine, using a microscope, the Tale's trachea, bronchus, bronchiole dan dubur, you will find that it makes no sense whatsoever. Because unless your elbows are up on the table and your arms are pointing upwards, and your fists are clenched with the exception of your middle finger, there is absolutely no reason why this should be considered rude. And hence, there is no reason for the aforementioned old person to yell at you.

So how then did this and other nonsensical Old Wives' Tales start?

The most plausible theory is that the Old Wives, bored of knitting and emptying the chamberpot while waiting for their Old Husbands to come back from the Old Pub (they would sometimes wait for months), simply made them up!

And the reason why there are no New Old Wives' Tales is because women these days are too busy with their "careers" because they're now "equal to men" except during Valentine's Day when the Man damn well better do something otherwise he is is Big Trouble. So, like The Tourism Minister said, it's only the unemployed women who have the time to make shit up. Which is why this tradition has been grossly neglected.

So that brings us nicely to what you can do this weekend for your Weekend Fun! You can:

Start a New Old Wives Tale!!

And in this age of 'gender-equality' where even men can be Wives, anyone can participate! I'll start the ball rolling with my own New Old Wives' Tale:

If you pat a dwarf twice on the head, it will bring you good luck

If you see a dwarf walking down the street, pat him on the head twice (it should be an even number, so if you accidently pat him thrice, you should pat him again). The dwarf will think you're merely being friendly and you will, I don't know, win the lottery or become the Prime Minister's son-in-law or something.

See?
That wasn't so hard! Try it yourself!
In fact I'm going to force you to try it by tagging you. I tag The Former Liverbird, Leen Ashburn, Anttyk, Sicko, Lim Kit Siang, and, because he still hasn't updated, Daryl Chan.

Update: And the only person who actually wants to be tagged - Babe.

Hah!

Who's your Appa?

WHO's YOUR APPA?

Damn straight.

Get Your FREE Virtual UniTee-Shirts Now!!

2007-04-06T00:13:00.000+08:00

Although it wasn't reported in the mainstream press (as usual), I'm sure you all know by now that I, Pazuzu, am going to be your next Prime Minister once my party - PUNDAK - wins the next General Election.

So to celebrate the launch of PUNDAK, I am generously giving away FREE Virtual UniTee-Shirts now at PUNDAK's official site!

Do your part for your country and whatever!

Vote PUNDAK!!

Heroes: Save The Cheerleader, Save Malaysia!

2007-04-04T16:52:00.000+08:00

Khairy: I must use The Power of The Father-in-Law to kill the Cheerleader!!

Samy: I will headbutt the Cheerleader with my Ridiculous Helmet Hair!!

Hishamuddin: I will kill the Cheerleader by waving my Magic Keris!!

Mahathir: I will arrest the Cheerleader under the ISA and then pretend I had nothing to do with it!

Pak Lah: Zzzzzzzz....huh? ....zzzzzzzzz....Cheerleader? ...zzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Lim Kit Siang: I will save the Cheerleader only if she's Chinese!

PAS: We will ban the cheerleader from wearing that short skirt and doing those sexy moves!!

Anwar: Mahathir is evil!! Mahathir is...what Cheerleader?

Khir Toyo: I will tell my goons to call up the Cheerleader and ask her if she's having sex!!

Cheerleader: HaHaHa!! Too late, evil villains! Behold my Magic Cheer of Justice for All:

Gimme a P!

Gimme a U!

Gimme an N!

Gimme a D!

Gimme an A!

Gimme a K!

Put it all together and what do you get?

The Price of Fame: Sex, Money, Girth

2007-04-01T21:53:00.000+08:00

I've been busy this past month. I mean, really really busy. In fact, I've been so busy that

Commercial Break

Rani: Amma, will boys ever like me?

Amma: Not unless you use Fair & Lovely Fairness Cream.

10 years later...

Rani: Thanks to Fair & Lovely Fairness Cream, I now have a husband!

Husband: Rani! Get me a beer, dammit! PUNDAKKKK!!!!

Rani: PUNDAK?

Husband: Yes! PUNDAK!

Rani: What's PUNDAK?

James Earl Jones: PUNDAK is coming soon. Watch this space. We now return you to regular programming.

Damn commercials.
Anyway, as I was saying, I've been so busy that I've not even had time to reply to most of my e-mails.
You see, since I started blogging many people have been e-mailing me with various offers and propositions and stuff. Everybody wants a piece of me. But, you know what? Fame isn't all it's cracked up to be.
So, in order to show you, my loyal readers and the papparazzo, what I, as a famous person, have to go through, I have decided, by using many commas in this sentence, to publish some of my fan-mail here. Enjoy:

___________________________________________

From: Sylvia
To: the.hideout@Hotmail.com

Hi there! I am Ukrainian housewife who are lonely and horny! I would like to meet you! I am sure we can have a good time for relationship/marriage.

Reply:

Dear Sylvia,
I am touched by your offer for relationship/marriage and I really would like to meet you to discuss how we can work together to overcome your loneliness and horniness.
However, I'm afraid The Ukraine is too far away from where I am (Kuala Lumpur), and there really is no guarantee that you will still still be horny when I get there, is there?
As such, I am proposing that we meet halfway. Is Kathmandu okay?
Please let me know.

Cheers,
Pazuzu.

PS. You also stated that you are a housewife. What does your husband think of all this?

____________________________________________

From : [GainsOf2Inches]
Sent : Wednesday, March 28, 2007 6:35 AM
To : the.hideout@hotmail.com
Subject : -=SatisfactionGuaranteed=-

AddGirth andLength -- MillionsOfOthers alreadyHave!

Reply:

What the hell? How dare you?! Who the hell do you think you are? Has someone been spreading rumours about my girth and length? Listen you fuckers, I don't care if millions of others already have, okay? I'm perfectly happy with my girth and length. Okay? I've never had any complaints. Well, except that one time when...but...it was cold dammit! And I had too much to drink, okay? Listen. I'll have you know that women from as far away as The Fucking Ukraine want me, ok? For relationship/marriage! So obviously, there have only been good reviews about my girth and length in the grapevine. I think.
Bastards.

Fuck you,
Pazuzu.

____________________________________________

From The Desk Of Mr.Aziz Moustafa
The Head Of File Department,
Bank of Africa (BOA)
Ouagadougou Burkina-Faso West Africa.
Phone: 00226-7616 94 13.
PLANE CRASH WEB SITE... http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/859479.stm.

("REMITTANCE OF $22.5 MILLION U.S.A DOLLARS CONFIDENTIAL IS THE CASE")
Compliments Of The Season 2007,
Forgive my indignation if this message comes to you as a surprise and may offend your personality for contacting you without your prior consent and writing through this channel.I got your contact from the proffesional data base found in the banking internet tourist search.When i was searching for a foreign reliable partner.I assured of your capability and reliability to champion this businees opportunity.
After series of prayers/fasting.i was divinely directed to contact you among other names found in our banking internet data base tourist search.I believe that God has a way of helping who is in need.
I am (Mr.Aziz Moustafa),the Head of file Department in BANK OF AFRICA (BOA).
In my department we discovered an abandoned sum of $ 22.5 million U.S.A dollars ( Twenty two million five hundred thousand dollars) . In an account that belongs to one of our foreign customer who died along with his entire family on ( Monday, 31 July, 2000, 13:22 GMT 14:22 UK) in a plane crash. Since we got information about his death, we have been expecting his next of kin to come over and claim his money because we cannot release it unless somebody applies for it as next of kin or relati on to the deceased as indica ted in our banking guidelines, but unfortunately we learnt that all his supposed next of kin or relation died alongside with him at the plane crash leaving nobody behind for the claim. It is therefore upon this discovery that I and one official in my department now decided to make this businness proposal to you and release the money to you as the next of kin or relation to the deceased for safety and subsequent disbursement since nobody is coming for it and we don’t want this money to go into the bank treasury as unclaimed bill.
The Banking law and guideline here stipulates that if such money remained unclamed after five years, the money will be transfered into the Bank treasury as unclaimed fund. The request of foreigner as next of kin in this business is occasioned by the fact that the customer was a foreigner, and a Burkinabe cannot stand as next of kin to a foreigner. We agree that 30 % of this money will be for you as foreign partner, in respect to the provision of a foreign account, 10 % will be set aside for expenses incured during the business and 60 % would be for me and my woman colleague. There after i will visit your country for disbursement according to the percentages indicated.
Therefore to enable the immediate trnansfer of this fund to you as arranged, you must apply first to the bank as relations or next of kin of the deceased indicating your bank name, your bank account number, your private telephone and fax number for easy and effective communication and location where the money will be remitted.Upon receipt of your reply, I will send to you by fax or email the text of the application I will not fail to bring to your notice that this transaction is hitch free and that you should not entertain any atom of fear as all required arrangements have been made for the transfer.
You should contact me ( 00226-7616 94 13) immediately as soon as you receive this letter. Trusting to hear from you immediately.

Your’s faithfully,
Mr.Aziz Moustafa
FROM (BOA) OUAGADOUGOU BURKINA-FASO. GOD BLESSINGS,PROTECTIONS AND GUIDIANCE TO YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY.

Reply:

Dear Mr. Aziz Moustafa,
When I first read your letter, I thought "Holy Shit!! 22.5 Million US Dollars!!". To be perfectly honest, I really could use the money.
But what I find hard to believe is that God has put you in contact with me. You may not know this - God used to be my Secretary, but I had to let him go after I discovered that I was the descendant of Jesus Christ. Err..well, it's all a bit complicated, really.
But, since I am a completely non-judgemental kinda guy, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, and meet you to discuss this matter further. I will be meeting a lady friend of mine soon in Kathmandu, Nepal. I believe this is also halfway between Kuala Lumpur and Burkina-Faso. I hope you can arrange to meet me there with your woman friend and maybe, if you're into this kind of thing, we can swap friends for a day.
My lady friend is lonely and horny and I do think she will be up for it.
Do let me know soon.

Cheers,
Pazuzu.

There. Back to work now.
Sigh.

____________________________________________

Breaking News: He's After Me!!

Khir: IWK main polluter

SEWAGE management company Indah Water Konsortium Sdn Bhd (IWK) has been accused of being the main source of river pollution in Selangor, Mingguan Malaysia front-paged.
Selangor Mentri Besar Datuk Seri Dr Mohd Khir Toyo said the state government decided to expose IWK because the company failed to provide quality service, as several rivers in the state were polluted with ammonia and waste.
He said the other river polluters were the construction sector, factories and industries.
“We want the ministry to review the privatisation of IWK, which I think has failed.

Source: The Star

Chronology of Events:

1) University does study which finds that kids are having sex

2) Khir Toyo, unhappy with findings, says "No way!" and instructs his goons to call up kids and ask them if it's true that they're having sex.

3) Kids, when contacted by State Government Officials and asked if they're having sex, say "Errr...No". Duh.

4) The Floating Turd, vigilante hero of the people and shit, calls up Khir Toyo's office to ask them if Khir Toyo is having sex. They are unable to confirm.

5) In what is clearly an act of revenge, Khir Toyo slams IWK, an innocent party, for allowing "floating turds to go free" and instructs his goons to call up IWK and ask if IWK is having sex.

6) In an act of heroic defiance, The Floating Turd arranges to have sex with a horny Ukranian housewife in Kathmandu.

Your move, Toyo!

I'm Not Weird, Everyone Else Is

2007-03-15T21:11:00.000+08:00

I suspect that Lily Liverbird is "doing the deed" with YAB Datuk Seri Khir Toyo. I also suspect that because of this, she is nervous about what my investigations into his sex life might uncover. Which is why she's evilly tried to distract me by tagging me.

But she won't succeed. Do you hear me, Lily Liverbird? SHOULD I SPEAK IN CAPITAL LETTERS? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? YOU WON'T SUCCEED IN THWARTING MY INVESTIGATIONS INTO YAB DATUK SERI KHIR TOYO'S SEX LIFE!

Okay. Now that she gets the picture, I guess I have to respond to the tag. Here it is:

6 Weird Things About The Floating Turd

2) I have Fear of Changing Rooms (Quadreflectophobia)

Actually, in this case, I'm not weird. Changing rooms are weird. The ones in apparel stores, I mean.
Or are they called Fitting Rooms?
Whatever.
You see, when you change clothes at home, it's relatively simple. Take something off, put something on.
But when you're in a Changing Room, suddenly everything's so damn confusing. You're in there with, like, four pairs of pants or whatever. And then you're taking one off and putting another on and then taking it off and putting it on. And you have to keep track of what you've taken off and what you've put on.
And then there are four mirrors all around you. So now instead of one person with four pairs of pants in there, it looks like there are four Yous with 16 pairs of pants.
I mean, seriously, what the fuck?
There have been times when I've been so traumatised by the all the confusion that I have realised, just as I'm about to unlock the door and leave the room, that I'm still in my underwear.
Really.
And one day, it will happen. I'm sure of it.
I'll just walk out in my underwear, holding a pair of jeans or something and say to the salesgirl "Do you have 1 size bigger?" (Yes. I realise I'm opening up an opportunity for you to make a joke about my penis-size here. Knock yourself out).
I really will.
It's only a matter of time.

5) Yes-yes. I don't drive.

But once again, it's not really me who's weird.
Here's a typical conversation between me and a person who drives:

Driver: I was caught in the fucking jam!

Me: Uh huh.

Driver: Again!

Me: Yes.

Driver: And the fucking price of fucking petrol has gone up!

Me: Yes.

Driver: And can you believe the cost of parking? And tolls? Bloody Samy Vellu!

Me: Uh huh.

Driver: And then this morning this bastard cut me off and he had the fucking nerve to show me the finger. I tell you, these fucking KL drivers, man! Seriously! You know what I'm saying?

Me: No.

Driver: Huh?

Me: I don't drive.

Driver: You're weird.

I'm weird? What the hell?
Here's what it's like with me. I get into a cab. I let my mind work on important things such as figuring out scientific definitions for obscure fears. I get out of the cab. Stress-free.
And I'm the one who's weird?

Having said that, I don't really not drive by choice. I probably would if I could.
The problem is, my mind prefers to be anywhere but the actual geographical location that my body is in.
So if I was driving, my mind should be thinking:

That's a red light. I suppose I should stop.

But in fact, my mind will be thinking something like:

If I win an Oscar, how should my acceptance speech be? Should it be short and sweet? Funny? What if nobody laughs? What if I fuck-up on the delivery? Who should I thank? Will people be offended if I don't thank them? Why is this so difficult? Fuck it. I just won't thank anybody. Was that a red light, just now? And why is there blood splattered across my windscreen? But surely I have to thank my mother? And my sister? But if I thank them, then I'll have to thank...

So it's probably best that I don't drive. For everyone's sake.
Sigh.
That's me. Always thinking of other people.

True fact (as opposed to an untrue fact):
I don't know a damn thing about cars either. I once got into the back seat of a Wira through the front door, thinking it was a Satria.

3) I hate phones and other forms of technology

The telephone, as you all know, was invented by Isaac Newton after an apple fell on his head and he wanted to call up the apple-tree guy and yell at him but then realised he had nothing to call him up with.
Since then, the phone has become the most misused piece of technology in the history of everything.
I mean, I'm not totally against phones.
Sometimes, they can be useful.
Such as those times when you absolutely have to call up the Selangor State Government to find out if YAB Datuk Seri Khir Toyo is having sex.
Or, if you're desperate for some cash, you can call up McDonalds and have them deliver a McChicken Meal and McNuggets to the home of the CEO of KFC. Then you can wait outside the CEO's house and take a picture (with your phone!) of the transaction and threaten to release the picture on the internet if he doesn't give you a million bucks or something.
But phones were not meant for conversations!
Conversations were meant to be had in pubs. Preferably fuelled by copious amounts of beer.
I am always suspicious of people who like to have long conversations on the phone. Why do they not want the person on the other end to see their face? I think there's a good chance that these people are liars.

True fact:
I only learned to sms last year. Or maybe the year before. I still hate it.

True fact again:
I also hated the internet until I started blogging. Years ago, when I was staying in Pantai Dalam, my e-mail address was something@pd.jaring or something. I thought the pd stood for Pantai Dalam. Lily Liverbird, who is evil, loves to remind me of this.

6) I don't eat seafood or vegetables

I don't eat seafood because I don't trust things that can breathe underwater. Think about it. If you travelled to a planet where you couldn't breathe without an oxygen tank and you encountered an alien being, would your first instinct be to eat it?

I don't eat vegetables because I am against the senseless murder of innocent plants. Human beings breathe oxygen. Animals use up oxygen. Plants produce oxygen. So, logically, which one should we kill? Animals or plants?

Exactly.

I also don't eat seafood or vegetables because they taste yucky.

4) I oppose Knowledge and advocate Nonsense

Knowledge is the Enemy of Thought. Because the more you know, the less you try to figure out. The less you try to figure out, the less you know. So, the more you know, the less you know.
You know?

No?
Good.

Because if you know what I'm talking about, then you don't know what I'm talking about. Or do you?

Whatever.

I don't care if you think I'm talking nonsense.
Nonsense is underrated.
Your judgement is clouded by logic and reason.
Mine isn't.

1) I hate Order

I hate lists. I hate step-by-step instructions. I hate manuals. I hate Aturcara-Majlis. I hate planners and filofaxes - there's something robotic and arrogant about knowing where you'll be next Tuesday at 3.25.

I especially hate forms.
With their tiny little boxes where you have to fill in your little alphabets and then you realise with mounting dread that there isn't going to be enough boxes to fill in your whole address and now what are you going to do?
So you start trying to put two alphabets in each box and then you get to the end and then you realise that shit! There's a separate box for your poskod and negeri and shit and arrrrgggghhhhh!!!!

Just give me an empty sheet of paper.
And a pen.
And the world, for me, is as it should be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So there you go. I have to tag other people now, right?
Okay.
I tag Daryl Chan who is a psychotic genius and the weirdest person I know but who hasn't posted an entry for ages because, I suspect, he thinks people will steal his thoughts.

Update: Excuuuse Me, DATUK Toyos R' Not Us

2007-03-13T18:37:00.000+08:00

Unless you're Leen Ash Burn and you've managed to somehow knock your head (heh heh), you will remember that in my last post, I said that:

"Since YAB Datuk Seri Khir Toyo thinks it's okay to invade people's privacy and ask them if they're having sex, it would be perfectly okay for us to call YAB Datuk Seri Khir Toyo and ask him if he's having sex (full story here)."

I hope that as responsible citizens of Malaysia - Negara Kita Yang Merdeka, you did as you were told. I mean, I even gave you the contact information, dammit. What the hell else do you want?

Anyway, to prove to you that I'm a practice-what-you-preach kinda guy, I tried to get in touch with YAB Datuk Seri Khir Toyo:

Please click here for audio before you read on (If the Play button doesn't work, click Download. I'm still trying to figure out this audio thing).

Okay-okay. I know what you're thinking:
Someone actually answered the phone! In a government department! And they actually transferred me to someone who wasn't out for tea!
I'm as shocked as you are.

But, overall, I'm disappointed. I didn't get to speak to YAB Datuk Seri Khir Toyo. And even though the person I spoke to seemed really nice, she didn't have the information I wanted. Typical government. They might as well be out for tea.

And there are a few things that I'm disturbed about:

Firstly, the phrase "soalan ini bercorak peribadi". Does this mean that we can't call people up and ask them if they're having sex? How come the government can but we can't? What if I join the government? Can I call people then?
So many questions. I think parliament should have some emergency parliamentary-thingy and sort this out once and for all, dammit.

CAN WE or CAN WE NOT call people up and ask them if they're having sex?

That's all I want to know.

Secondly, was that a threat? The whole "panggilan ini kami rakam" and telling me what my own phone number is? I mean, maybe it wasn't a threat. Maybe it was just an innocent statement. But if it is, why tell me what my own phone number is? Don't they think I know my own phone number?

Better to be cautious and take it as a threat. You all remember what to do with my body if I die, right? Okay. Phew. Just checking.

Annnyywayy, as I was sayingShitWhatWasThat??!!!

Oh. Sorry. Just a damn cat and some dramatic violin music in the background. Nothing to worry about. There's absolutely no one creeping up behind me at this very moment an gvofer vfgvkdcvhegfigerhg hefvriheg hefhvgwjhfwvbjfhv

oeuaryo

heuywe

d

.

Toyos R' Not Us

2007-03-07T15:46:00.000+08:00

My favourite jingle of all time:

I don't wanna grow up
I'm a Toys R' Us kid
They got a million toys at Toys R' Us
That I can play with

From cars and trains to video games
And the prices are hard to beat (Gee Whizzzz!!)
I don't wanna grow up
Coz baby if I did

I wouldn't be a Toys R' Us kid
More games, More toys, Oh Boy!
I'll always be a Toys R' Us kid!

I am away. Without internet access (except from the cybercafe where I'm writing this). I'm visiting my Neverland for awhile. Where time is in the belly of a big-ass crocodile.

I need a break from Stupidity.
He's everywhere.
I saw him last in the form of the Selangor MB (Read what the idiot's done here).

Khir Toyo wants to know if young people are having sex.
Okay. Fair enough.
If Khir Toyo thinks it's all right for "his people" to call people up and ask if they're having sex, I think it's only fair that we reserve the right to call up "his people" and ask them if Khir Toyo is having sex.

Here is the contact information:

Pejabat Setiausaha Kerajaan Negeri Selangor,
Bangunan Sultan Salahuddin Abdul Aziz Shah,
40503 Shah Alam,Selangor Darul Ehsan.
No. Telefon Am SUK: (6)03-55447000
E-mel : webmaster@selangor.gov.my

I'm sure the friendly state government officials will be glad to answer the following questions:

1) Is Khir Toyo having sex?
2) With whom?
3) Did he ever have pre-marital sex?
4) Why not?
5) Come on. Surely he could've found someone to have sex with him?
6) You'll give me a hint?
7) Baaa?
8) What the hell does Baaa mean?
9) Shit. Really?

Please let me know the results to your findings when I get back from my Neverland.
Okay. I'm off. Second star to the right and straight on till morning.

This is The Floating Turd.
Flushing off.
For awhile.
See'ya.

Porn on the 31st of August

2007-02-28T21:55:00.000+08:00

You know what the problem with this country is?

No. That's not it.

Nope. Not it either.

No No No.

N...

Okay. So there are many problems with this country. It was a rhetorical question, dammit.

The problem with this country is this:

There's not enough locally-produced porn.

I mean, sure. There's stolen private videos and hidden cam stuff and all that.
But the quality is bad. The acting is bad. And worst of all: There's no script. No plot.
There's nothing for potential sexual criminals to get off on. Which is why sexual crimes are on the rise. Or maybe they're not on the rise. I didn't actually bother to check. But I'm assuming they are because I'm irresponsible and proud of it.

So, in line with the Government's efforts to stop sex crimes by using ridiculous methods, I, Pazuzu, am hereby publishing, without any expectation of payment, Malaysia's very first porn script, which has been approved by both The Information Ministry and Dewan Bahasa:

Gerak Hasnah: The Movie

Doktor: Hmmm...kenapa dengan awak ni, Hasnah?

Hasnah: Saya sakit dada, doktor.

Doktor: Baiklah. Mari saya periksa.

Pokok: Mmmmm...

Gamelan music comes on.

Hasnah: Mmmmm...Doktor.

Doktor: Mmmm...Hasn...Eh? Apa ni?

Hasnah: Inilah tali-pinggang chastiti saya, yang diluluskan oleh SIRIM dan Istana Negara. Sila tunggu sebentar sementara saya mencari kunci untuk membukanya.

Doktor: Baiklah.

Nurse: Mmmm...can I join in?

Doktor: Oh tidak. Malangnya, wajah Pan-Asian anda tidak sesuai dipaparkan di kaca televisyen negara kita Malaysia yang merdeka! Berambus!

Nurse: Ya, Doctor.

Pokok: Mmmmm...

Doktor: Hasnah, kenapa lama sangat ni?

Hasnah: Kunci saya sudah hilang, Doktor.

Accappan: Ada orang hilang kunji, kaa? Saya ada jumpa ini kunji di luar.

Hasnah: Accappan! Apa awak buat di sini?

Accappan: Penulis skrip telah memasukkan watak saya untuk menunjukkan bahawa negara kita Malaysia yang merdeka adalah terdiri daripada rakyat yang berbilang kaum! Sekarang, saya mesti pergi dulu.

Doktor: Baiklah.

Hasnah: Doktor! Dengan menggunakan kunci yang dijumpai oleh Accappan ini, saya telah berjaya membuka tali-pinggang chastiti saya!

Doktor: Mmmmm....

Hasnah: Mmmmm...

Pokok: Hentikan adegan lucah ini dengan segera!

Hasnah: Eh? Pokok ajaib!

Pokok: Saya bukan pokok ajaib! Saya sebenarnya Menteri Besar Terengganu dan Pengerusi Kelab Mat Skodeng Malaysia yang Merdeka! Selama ini, saya menyorok di belakang pokok ini sambil merakam kegiatan lucah awak berdua! HaHaHaHa!

Hasnah: Doktor, pada pendapat saya, kami berdua perlu insaf.

Doktor: Baiklah.

TAMAT

Okay. So maybe it's not such a good idea to produce a locally-made porn movie after all.
Stupid me.
I think I'll go work for the government.

-------------------------------------------------------

Please disregard the previous post. Sometimes Stupidity has the power to inspire.

The War Against Stupidity

2007-02-27T21:46:00.000+08:00

Stupidity wears a tie. And a coat. Even though this is Malaysia and we mengalami iklim khatulistiwa, which means the most appropriate attire for work should be slippers and shorts (shirt optional).

Stupidity sits at the head of the table. He pretends to frown thoughtfully after listening to what I have to say. Then he tells me I'm wrong. He is unable to tell me why.

Stupidity has a bookshelf. There are many books, all neatly arranged, all unread, all self-help books, on it. There is a book on his table - Seven Habits of Successful People, I think it is. It is dog-eared on Chapter 2. It has been for months now. I guess finishing what you started isn't one of the 7 habits.

Stupidity has a Problem. Proudly, he announces to me that he also has The Solution. The Problem can be metaphorically described as "Global Warming". Stupidity's Solution can be metaphorically described as "to wear a really large hat".

Stupidity has a Successful Sense of Humour. Which means that his jokes and one-liners consist of incomprehensible remarks about golf, cars and second-wives. Example:

Me: We have two-concepts to present.

Stupidity: You have two concepts? I have two wives! HaHaHaHa! Geddit?

Me: No.

I have no sense of humour.
Not today.
It's in exile.
It fears the mess that Stupidity has left in much of my brain.
I can't write. I can't laugh. I can barely think.

I need the antidote to Stupidity.

I need Langkawi.

A Poem About Love

2007-02-22T12:56:00.000+08:00

I Lhove You.

Rheally,

No. Rheally.

But...

But...

No. But...

No,

I'm nhot dhrunk.

What dh'you mhean I'm schlurring?

I'm nhot schlurring!

Bhut I only had tchree bheers.

Errr...

Jugs.

But I'm schtill schober.

But...

I Lhove You.

Fhine.

Whatevher.

Followed by: A Poem About Sex

Shorry.

Tchis Dhoesn't ushually...

happhen.

Bhut I only had tchree bheers.

Shorry.

Fhine.

Whathever.

War! Hurgh! What is it Good For? Why, it's good for some Weekend Fun, of course!

2007-02-12T21:16:00.000+08:00

Welcome to another edition of Weekend Fun!

If, for some reason, you aren't stoned or drunk while reading my blog, then you will remember that in my last Weekend Fun entry, I had generously showed you how you can become famous and rich by Invading The Subconcious of Malaysians via TV News Shows.

I am pleased to announce that I have taken my own advice and, due to my famousity*, am now the star of an on-going advertising campaign along with footballers Michael Owen, Steven Gerrard, Robert Pires, Ryan Giggs, Maya Karin (Cristiano Ronaldo with make-up) and Some Chinese Guy.

The thing is, I didn't even have to stake out a news-crew to get famous. As Blogger of the Year, I was invited, yes- INVITED, to a press-conference by former Prime Minister Tun Dr Doom...errr...I mean, Mahathir:

Folks, this is how you become famous.

Anyway, while I was there, I was mesmerised by Toon's (no offense, Anttyk) views on War and whatever.
You see, Toon has actually set up a War-Crimes Tribunal to try Bush, Blair and "that pocket bush from the bushlands of Australia (HaHa! Good one, Toon! You should host the next Oscars! Really!)"

The setting-up of this Tribunal is made even more remarkable by the fact that Toon is now, as he calls himself, a Commoner and Citizen of Malaysia.

After listening to him, I was inspired. I mean, a War-Crimes Tribunal! If that's not a good way to have some Weekend Fun, then I don't know what is! Or at least I won't know until next week.

So anyway, here's how you, a useless Commoner, can set up your own War-Crimes Tribunal:

First you have to induce senility.
You must do this so that, as a War-Crimes Tribunalist, you yourself are beyond reproach.
You can induce senility by drinking large quantities of Balalaika Vodka, which is distilled locally using Paraquat and possibly Dettol.

For example, if, in your crazy youth, you happened to remove a Lord President or two, one bottle of Balalaika will make you completely forget this.

Or if, on your 21st Birthday Party, you got really drunk and threw-up and hired a stripper and arrested a few-hundred people under the ISA, three Balalaikas should do the trick.

Okay.
Now that you're drunk, senile and think you're Mother Teresa but only not as ugly, you're ready to start your own War-Crimes Tribunal!
You may invite Toon to join in the fun, along with a few Friends, as the following example shows:

Chandler: Hear ye! Hear ye! The Tribunal is now in session! The honourable Toon Dr. M presiding!

Dr. M: Order in the court!

Chandler: Toon, who should we charge with a War-Crime?

Dr. M: Order in the court!

Rachel: But you said that already!

Dr. M: Said what?

Rachel: Order in the court.

Dr. M: Hey! You can't say that! I'm supposed to say that!

Rachel: I know. I'm saying that you already said it. Twice. Don't you remember?

Dr. M: I remember nothing! You have nothing on me! Nothing! Bailiff! Remove Rachel from this court and arrest her under the ISA!

Ross: But you can't do that! You're no longer the PM!

Dr. M: Remove Ross as well. And put him in a cell with Rachel!

Ross: Wooohooo!

Dr. M: Okay-okay. Quickly. Who should we charge with a War-Crime?

Joey: Let's charge Santa Clause!

Dr. M: Why?

Joey: Why not? It's not like he'll actually be sentenced or anything, right?

Dr. M: Good point. Okay.

Chandler: Santa Clause! You are hereby charged in absentia with War-Crimes!

Dr. M: All in favour of a guilty verdict say setuju!

Joey/Phoebe: Setuju!

Dr. M: All against say tak setuju!

Monica: Tak setuju.

Dr. M: Santa Clause, you are hereby convicted of War-Crimes. From now on, you will forever be known in history books as Santa Clause-Killer of Children. Border in the Port!

Chandler: Don't you mean Order in The Court?

Dr. M: Whatever

So there.
Thanks to the always-inspirational Toon Dr. M and me, you have yet another fun-filled activity to fill your weekends with fun with. Or something.

With your very own War-Crimes Tribunal, you can now charge just about anybody with a War-Crime! All in the name of whatever!

This has been another episode of Weekend-Fun.

My name is Pazuzu. And I am Fun-ky.

Now Flush-Off.

---------------------------------------------------------

*Because I'm now rich and famous, I can make up words as and when I please. If you don't like like it, you can chuggadeebu.

More Revised National Anthems

2007-02-12T20:02:00.000+08:00

Singapore

Buddy you're a boy make a big noise
Playin in the street gonna be a big man some day
You got Wrigley's gum
You lousy bum
Spittin your gum all over the place

We will we will fuck you!
By order of Lee Kuan Yew!

Buddy you're a young man hard man
Shoutin in the street gonna take on the world some day
Got a fag on your lip
Now here's a tip
You better not blow that smoke in our face

Coz we will we will fuck you
By order of Lee Kuan Yew!

Note:
It is recomended that The Government make Brian May a Singaporean citizen in order for him to play the solo here. This would be especially useful during the Singaporean National Day Parade.

Kyrgyzstan

We are Kyrgyzstan, hear us growl!
Please Pat Sajak, can we buy a vowel?
Uzbekistan has u, e, i and a in their name,
We have only a, Oh! What a shame!

If we had an i, we could be called Kyrgyzstani,
No wait! On second thought, that sounds a bit funny,
If we had a u, we could be called Kyrgyzstanu,
Remember Mork from Mork and Mindy said Nanu Nanu.

Australia

If you think Australia's strange,
you would be quite right,
We like to eat this substance,
That we call Vegemite

And if you think that's not so bad,
Then just maybe,
You would change your mind,
When a dingo eats your baby.

All together now:

A dinggooo eats your babeeeeee!!!!!

Previous revised national anthems here

To be continued...

A Weekend of Silence

2007-02-12T12:31:00.000+08:00

Just so you know, Weekend Fun was cancelled because we at The Floating Turd were observing a period of mourning due to the passing of two of the world's most beloved figures - Anna Nicole Smith.

We'll be back.

They Took Away My Home, and Replaced it with House

2007-02-07T18:15:00.000+08:00

I am hungover and grumpy today.
I am grumpy because the hangovers get worse every year even with fewer beers consumed the night before.

Last night, I accompanied a friend for a deejay-job interview in some club called something-that-I-can't-remember.

And the bar manager was telling him that he should be able to play some "Chill House Music, some Acid House, some farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse. Our fugitive's name is Doctor Richard Kimble."
No wait.
That was Tommy Lee Jones.

Anyway, he said something to that effect, and I was thinking "What the hell?"
What is house music anyway?
When did this stupid genre of music creep up on us?
What the hell happened to music played by musicians?
Like in the 80s, when songs had lyrics that meant something, dammit.

Songs like this one by Toto Coelo:

I eat cannibal
Feed on animal
Your love is so edible to me
I eat cannibals

I eat cannibal
It's incredible
You bring out the animal in me
I eat cannibals

What can you do
You're in a stew
Hot hot cook it up
I'm never gonna stop

Fancy a bite
My appetite
Yum yum gee it's fun
Banging on a different drum

And I eat cannibal
Feed on animal
Your love is so edible to me
I eat cannibals

Got a hunger for your love
(Hot pot cook it up, I'm never gonna stop)
It's all I'm thinkin' of
(Yum yum gee it's fun, I'm banging on a drum)
Give the world a bone
(Roastin vitamin, forget the dietin')
I got steak at home
(I eat cannibals)

See? Now that's a song, dammit.
I want the 80s back.
I want to live again in a world where crimes are solved by a talking car and "if you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire... The A-Team."

Nowadays, crimes are solved by CSI.
And if you miss that, there's CSI: Miami.
And if you still haven't got enough, there's CSI: New York.
Seriously, do we need this many CSIs? It's only a matter of time before they franchise out the damn series and we'll get CSI: Perlis, featuring Yusof Haslam in the lead role delivering Dewan Bahasa-approved lines:

Yusof Haslam: Sarjan! Sila lukis garisan putih mengelilingi mayat tersebut dan hantarkan DNA-nya ke makmal di Kangar! Kami mesti memberkas pembunuh ini demi keselamatan rakyat Malaysia, negara kita yang merdeka!

Sarjan: Baik, Tuan!

Not only do I want the 80s back, I want to be my 80s-self again, baggy pants and all.

I want to rush home after school to watch MASK and Muttley. And the Hillbilly Bears (Paw! Paw! That darn racoon done stole our dinner agin!). And later, Manimal. And Automan. And Remington Steele.

I want to turn on the radio and scream "Wo-oh! We're halfway there! Wo-oh! Livin' On A Prayer!" and play air guitar and punch my fist in the air for no good reason.

I want to listen to "Love Songs and Dedications" on Singapore Radio to hear if anyone I know from school has a crappy song dedicated to him, so that I can make fun of him tomorrow (In the pre-Astro days, Johoreans were years ahead of the rest of the country because of Singapore TV and Radio. Nowadays, Johoreans are mainly just wet.)

I want to hang out with my friends in the back of the Maju Bus on my way back from school, peering out the window at Convent Girls who are sitting in an...ahem..."unladylike" manner on the benches facing the main road. (Actually, this is a completely unnecessary paragraph dedicated to Leen Ash Burn and Ylanda. Heh heh.)

I want to hang out at the Post Office Bus Stop (affectionately known as PO) and the ais-kacang shop near PO (what the hell was the name of the shop? I can't believe I can't remember).

I want to take Maths tuition from Annamalai on Friday Nights at the Bukit Chagar flats, and then, along with my tuition-mates, make crank-calls from the public-phone downstairs.

Crank-Call Flashback

We used to call up our school prefects at night and tell them that a bunch of us were coming to their house RIGHT NOW in cabs to whack them up.
Then we'd call about 15 cabs and send it to their house.
Ah, the simple joys of juvenile humour.

I want to be a kid who dreams of being a published writer, not an unpublished writer who dreams of being a kid.

Stupid 2007.
Stupid House Music.
Stupid CSI.
Stupid hangover.

I need a drink.

-------------------------------------------------------

Discussion Question:

Last night, I also went to Hard Rock Cafe. The last time I went there was probably 5, 6 years ago. The price of a jug of beer there is now 73 Ringgit. My question to you is:
What the fuck?

Weekend Fun: Fame, Fortune and Free Speech

2007-02-02T13:49:00.000+08:00

Okay-okay.
I know it's late.

I know I promised you, my Adoring Fans, a Weekend Fun entry every Thursday or Friday so that you won't go bonkers and kill yourself or something.
To those of you who have already killed yourselves, I sincerely apologise - it won't happen again unless it happens again.

For the rest of you, this late episode of Weekend Fun is extra-special.
Because I'm going to show you how to have fun while becoming famous and, consequently, rich.

As you already know, being a Malaysian, you are an insignificant little speck of something with no rights whatsoever.
Even in the BlogoBujur, there is no avenue for you to be heard without being sued.
In my last post, I showed you how you can overcome this becoming a Masked Vigilante Graffiti Guy.
However, while this is a fun way to be heard, it won't make you famous and/or rich.

So this week's Weekend Fun is dedicated to my readers who want to "have their cake and eat it too."
Here's what you do. You should become a:

Protest-Gatecrasher

As you know, the streets these days are often filled with protesters holding up manila-cards with messages of whatever.
This is a really fun way to spend a day while at the same time annoying the hell out of everyone except the people the messages are intended for:

Malaysia is fast becoming advanced in the area of Creative Protesting.

But we still lag behind countries like the UK. This guy who scaled the walls of Buckingham Palace in a Batman suit should have been Time Magazine's Person of the Year. Stupid Time Magazine.

Before you gatecrash a protest, you must decide on two important things:

1) What protest to gatecrash
2) What your message will be

What protest to gatecrash

You must choose your protest very carefully.
Choosing the wrong protest to gatecrash could end up with you being in hospital or worse - dead.
Here are a few helpful hints:

Never gatecrash a protest where the protesters are predominantly Indian. They are never a happy bunch (see above) and will think nothing of bludgeoning you to death with a bottle (empty) of Guinness Stout.

If you want your message to stand out from the crowd, a Chinese protest is always ideal. As you can see, nobody understands what the hell they're protesting about. This will make your banner/manila-card more "eye-catching".

The Malay Woman* Protest is always the best and easiest to gatecrash. They don't look the least bit interested in what they're protesting about and thus won't mind at all if you decide to "tumpang glamor".

So now that you've selected a protest to gatecrash, you must decide on:

What Your Message Will Be

When choosing a message, you must make sure your message is completely irrelevant to whatever the actual protest is about.
This way, passers-by will notice your message because it will be the "odd one out".

The protesters might get irritated that you're using the publicity generated by them to further your own personal cause.
Kindly point out to them that you have as much right to be there as they do and they can't do jack-shit to you.

You might also want to decorate your sign with colourful Christmas-lights to make your sign even more stand-outish, as this example shows:

Your message could be socially-driven. And it could be used to highlight a politically-incorrect phrase which is offensive to minorities:

Or, if you are a victim of vicious rumours, your message could be a personal rebuttal of those rumours:

Or, if the protest is shown on TV and you need to get in touch with someone who has switched off his handphone, something like this will do:

In fact, your sign can say just about anything, provided it has nothing to do with what the protesters are protesting.

This way, you could become Noticed, paving the way for you to become famous and sign lucrative sponsorship deals with advertisers who are starved for local celebrities to endorse their products.

Another way for you to become famous without actually doing anything useful is to become Paris Hilton.
Since this is technically impossible for most of us, I have another suggestion:

Invade The Malaysian Subconcious

To do this, first, you have to stake out the TV3 building.
When you see a news-van pulling out of the building, tail it until they reach their destination.
When they have set-up for their news story, you should stand in the background and wave to the camera, like this:

If the news-people complain, kindly point out to them that you have as much right to be there as they do and they can't do jack-shit to you.

The following week, do the same thing with other news-channels like NTV7, 8TV, Al-Jazeera and Astro. You may skip RTM, which nobody watches anyway.

If you do this for a few months, your face will become embedded in the collective subconcious of all Malaysians.
Wherever you go, people won't know who you are, but they will believe that you're famous because they have "seen you somewhere before".

If you happen to be spotted by an advertiser, he/she will immediately think you're famous without knowing why, and offer you a lucrative sponsorship deal because they are starved for local celebrities who haven't been caught for khalwat yet.

So there you have it.
This week's installment of Weekend Fun, Fame, Fortune and Free-Speech.
That's four "Fs" for you. In one post!
Here's another one. For free:

Flush-off.

---------------------------------------------------------

* I realise I'm generalising about Malay Women here. I'm sure not all Malay Women will be so accepting if you gatecrash their protest. For example, if you happen to see Lily Liverbird at a protest, you should forget about gatecrashing and run away. Seriously. Don't let her size fool you. She will hurt you. Bad.

Calling All Heroes: Spray It, Don't Say It

2007-01-28T21:41:00.000+08:00

Okay. So the Prime Minister has woken up, said something about Bloggers not being above the law, and gone back to sleep.

And Boogers United are all going ga-ga, saying that his statement is sub-judice (which is latin for prima-facie (which is Aramaic for Verily) ).

At the risk of jeapordising my popularity (10 hits on Saturday, 16 on Sunday! Wooohoooo!), I have to say that I agree with the Prime Minister.
No one is above the law.
Not even Steven Seagal, who acted in the Oscar-nominated movie, Above The Law. Or was that Van-Damme? Maybe it was Dolph Lundgren.

Whatever.

The point is, The BlogoSfera was never the Rhombus of Free-Speech that Boogers United made it out to be in the first place.
No such place exists.

So, in order to take back this country from litigious tyrants, we at An Arsenal of Bloggers are taking this fight out of the BlogoBujur and onto the streets.
Because if this War is to be won, then we must win it outside the Kuboid of the law.

Yes.
We must become more than just bleary-eyed men sitting in front of a computer at 2am.
We must become:
Masked Vigilantes of Free-Speech.

Now I know what you Boogers United people are saying. Because you've been saying it loud and clear since this whole fiasco began:
You're saying that wearing a mask is cowardly. That being anonymous is wussy and that Real Men use their Real Names and that that yaddayaddayadda...

In fact, Booggers United have been sending angry letters to everyone from Keluang-man to Cicak-Man, asking them to "come out". I have evidence of this in my possession, which I am plagiarising here:

___________________________________________

Bloggers United,
The Blogosphere,
Blogologoloola,
Blogisthan.
29 JANUARY 2007

----------------------------------------------------------

The A&W Bear,
A&W Restaurant,
Near Waikiki,
Petaling Jaya

Dear Bear,

RE: Come out, come out, whoever you are

With regards to the above matter, it has come to our attention that you are, in fact, a bear who is wearing a bear costume.

We at Bloggers United find this to be a cowardly act, and urge you to immediately reveal your real self, like other courageous bears who have thus far been fighting for the cause in their actual God-given fur.

Take for example Yogi Bear, who for years has been courageously stealing pickenick baskets.
Did Yogi Bear need a Bear Costume?
Even though he knew he could get in trouble with The Ranger, Yogi never once hid under the cover of Anonymity.

As such, we urge you to emulate Yogi and other such bears, and join us in whatever.

Your Sincerely,

Bloggers United

________________________________________

I don't know about you, but when I read that letter, I was pissed-off.
What gives Boogers United the right?

Bloggers aren't the first people to discover an avenue for Free Speech under an oppressive government.
No Sirreee.

That honour belongs to a group of people who for years have been writing in the privacy of toilet stalls.
Who have, somehow, found the courage to throw their rubbish directly under the "Dilarang Membuang Sampah Merata-Rata" signs.
Who, under the cloak of darkness, have found the time to spray paint Maniam loves Loga on the road behind Giant in Kelana Jaya.

Yes.
The true flame-bearers of Free Speech:
The Graffiti Guys.

And unlike Bloggers United, they never did it for fame and glory. Till this day, no one knows who these anonymous heroes are.

So my friends, if, like me, you want to write lewd and filthy things about people in power, I urge you to take to the streets with a can of spray-paint tonight.

"But Pazuzu," you're asking me. "What if people see me?"
Well, I thought you'd never ask.

You see, I have the perfect disguise:

As you can see, looking like this, people will immediately recognise who you are.

But by merely putting on a ski-mask, everyone will think that you're a grass-cutter and ignore you.

And by simply modifying the grass-cutting machine like this, no one will suspect that, instead of cutting grass, you're actually out on a night of courageous Free Speeching.

Note: You might want to start off on simpler messages, like this.

* Disclaimer: Please note that when I say grass, I am talking about rumput and not Najis Dadah. Do you understand? Jauhilah Diri Dari Najis Dadah! Or else you will turn into a tengkorak like in those cool government posters from the 80s.

If you're an amateur Graffiti Guy, and you don't know what to write, feel free to plagiarise and mix&match from these selection of words which I have helpfully compartmentalised in this graph:

There.
Thanks to me, you once again have a purpose in life.

But remember:
With Great Power comes Great Responsibility.
Up up and away!
I am Aquaman and everybody hates me!
To the Batmobile!

This is Pazuzu, wishing all anonymous, masked heroes a night of Happy Free-Speeching.

Weekend Fun: What Weekend Fun?

2007-01-26T14:43:00.000+08:00

No Weekend Fun this week.
I'm swamped with bloody work.
And if I can't have fun this weekend, neither can you.
It's only fair, right?
Now Flush Off and be miserable like me.

Pazuzu: The First Indian Prime Minister of Malaysia Since Mahathir (Allegedly)

2007-01-23T21:01:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer:
In the interest of not being sued, every full-stop that appears in this post, and all posts before it represents the word Allegedly.
So in the case of the sentence you just read, it should be read as follows: In the interest of not being sued, every full stop that appears in this post, and all posts before it represents the word Allegedly allegedly.
In the case of the sentence you just read after the sentence you just read...(allegedly allegedly allegedly), it should be read as, fuck it. You get the picture.
So if you're reading this post out loud, as most people do, and you fail to say Allegedly in place of the full-stops, don't blame me if you get sued or arrested or killed.........................

Okay. On with the post.

In the laterestest Bloggers United Update, the movement, which is fast gaining popularity, did something so bold, so revolutionary that yadayadayadayadayouknowwhat?
We at An Arsenal of Bloggers are sick and tired of all this whinging and whining about Free Speech and Human Rights and whatever and shit.
Blogging about it won't do a damn thing. Are you listening to me, Bloggers United? Should I fling a pizza at you to get your attention?

Talk is cheap.

At An Arsenal of Bloggers, we are committed to Action. We intend to do something about the State of the Country.
So I, Pazuzu, President of An Arsenal of Bloggers, am hereby announcing my candidacy for the Dictatorship of Malaysia.
It's time this country was run by someone with balls. And since, due to a genetic deformity, I have three, I'm as good a candidate as any.

As Dictator of Malaysia, I will immediately introduce steps to eliminate whatever it is that everybody is complaining about. We'll start with:

Step 1: Electoral Reform

Apparently, the present election system is so screwed up that you can only be the Next Prime Minister of Malaysia by marrying the current Prime Minister's daughter. While in theory, this is an excellent idea, the problem lies in its implementation.
There are people (probably communists) who think this system is unfair and not at all "transparent".

Here is how I will tackle the problem:

As Dictator, it will be be my constitutional right to have a concubine consisting of female TV3 newsreaders. These newsreaders will provide me with many daughters.

When I am ready to step down, I will cry at my party's General Assembly, and then, after the slightest bit of persuasion, reconsider my decision and step down a year later.

During this year, all TV Networks will carry a reality show called For Love or Power.

This show will feature a daughter of my choice who will be matched with 10 potential suitors.

Each week, you, Joe and Jiminy Public, will get to choose, via sms, which contestant gets eliminated. That's democracy at work right there.

The contestant who you think Loves my daughter the most should be eliminated first.

The last remaining contestant, the one who will go on to become my son-in-law, will be the contestant who really wants to marry her for Power.

And he will be Heir-to-the-Dictatorship.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking "How is this different from what is happening now?"

Well, the difference is, You, Joe and Jujube Public, get to vote on who becomes my son-in-law. Stupid.
Sheesh.

Surely you agree that this is a much better system than the one we have now. Right?

Exactly. So that's settled then.

Which brings us to:

Step 2: Errrrr...Hold On.

I have just received some very exciting news. Apparently, there is a Sale! going on in Johor Bahru. Everything must go! 90% off! Karaoke Bars are offering happy hours all night long! Prostitutes are going for 20...No, 15...No, 10 Ringgit an hour!

Okay. Now wait for it...

Wait for it...

Waaaaaiiiiiittttt...

There.
Phew.

Now that I've gotten rid of all my Singaporean readers, I can proceed to tell you about:

Step 2: The Invasion of Singapore

Our media, as you already know, has been infiltrated by Agents from Singapore. This is very bad for some reason.
Because of this, Bloggers United, in a move that can only be described as "wussy", has decided to boycott said media.
As Dictator, I intend to nip the problem in the bud. Because as you know, buds are where problems should be nipped.
And the bud, in this case, is Singapore.

So naturally, we need to nip Singapore and take back what is rightfully ours, which is...well...Singapore.
But this won't be easy.
Our Army will be powerless against the might of The Singaporean Armed Forces.
This is because Singaporeans are trained during National Service to fight for their country.
Malaysians, on the other hand, are trained during National Service to sing patriotic songs, which, unless you sing really badly, is useless in the heat of the battle.

So we need a really good military strategy if we are to defeat the Enemy and win the war.
Thankfully, having watched the movie Troy, I am a really good military strategist.

Here is my plan:

Top-Secret: The Trojan Balloon Parade

Singaporeans love parades. Evidence of this is The Singapore National Day Parade, an event that causes Singaporeans to become so overcome with patriotism that they immediately head across the causeway to get the hell away from Singapore.

Taking advantage of this love for parades, Malaysia (as a conciliatory gesture) will hold a Million Malaysian March across the causeway. We will all carry conciliatory balloons.

But what the Singaporeans will not know is that the balloons will be blown by Malaysian smokers, who will fill the balloons with second-hand-smoke.
You see, over the years, Singaporeans have evolved into organisms that will drop dead immediately after a whiff of cigarette smoke.

So, as a participant of the Million Malaysian March , when you arrive across the causeway, smile and give your conciliatory balloon to a Singaporean, like this:

Then take out a pin and pop the balloon.
The subsequent release of second-hand-smoke will immediately kill him/her as the following diagram shows:

After we've conquered Singapore, as a mark of our sovereignty, we will blow up the causeway and build half-a-bridge to nowhere.

To officiate its opening, we will invite all Mat Rempits to race across the bridge without telling them that it isn't really a complete bridge.

So you see, in one fell swoop, and without knowing what the hell a fell swoop* is, I would have restored our sovereignty and gotten rid of all the Mat Rempit as well.

No-No. No need to thank me. I'm just doing my job as your elected Dictator.
You may, however, show your appreciation by singing the following patriotic song:

Everybody:

Once a upon a time,
This country was a zoo,
Then he came along,
The Great Pazuzu!

Just the men:

Before, we sold our country,
Like a bloody whore,
But with Pazuzu,
We conquered Singapore!

Just the women:

Oh how we all
want to marry him,
If only he didn't write,
Under a pseudonym.

Just The NST:

We promise that
we won't sue
An Arsenal of Bloggers
And their leader Pazuzu!

All together Now:

Naa Na Na,
NaNaNaNa,
NaNaNaNa,
Pazuzuuuuu.....

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

According to my research which I am plagiarising here, the phrase "one fell swoop" has Shakespearean origins:

Shakespeare either coined the phrase, or gave it circulation, in Macbeth, 1605:
MACDUFF: [on hearing that his family and servants have all been killed]

All my pretty ones?
Did you say all?
O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?

Okaaayyy...that explains a lot.
As Dictator of Malaysia, I will ban bloody Shakespeare.

Bloggers Against Bloggers United

2007-01-20T01:39:00.000+08:00

As you may or may not know, I am pissed-off with this current movement called Boogers...I mean...Bloggers United.

Not only is Bloggers United a stupid and weak name, their members think nothing of diving in the penalty blog while real Bloggers are on a 49-post unbeaten run.

Also, they're starting up some legal-defense-fund for some unknown bloggers who are being sued, but they did nothing - NOTHING, I tell you - while I, Malaysia's Blogger of the Year, was being being sued by Citibank for unpaid credit-card bills.

They just stood by and watched while my fundamental right to Free Money was being eroded by a giant, bullying corporation.

As such, I'm starting my own kick-ass, attack-driven movement called An Arsenal of Bloggers. Unlike Bloggers United, our movement-off-the-ball will not only defeat whoever, but we'll do it in style, dammit.

Here is our logo:

Feel free to plagiarise it and paste it on your blog, as I have on mine.

If we all do this, then maybe, just maybe, as Bloggers we can be Invincible once again.

I would like to say more, but alas, I am out of bad metaphors.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Update: 2-1! Hah! Take that, Bloggers United!

Weekend Fun: Did ENO I'm Being Sued Too?

2007-01-17T20:39:00.000+08:00

Apparently the Malaysian Blogging Community (MBC) is up in arms over some bloggers who are being sued. Or something.
MBC is so pissed off over this development that all their members are putting up this logo on their blogs:

I refuse to put the above logo on my blog! I am pissed-off with the MBC.
Firstly, I am offended by the term Bloggers United. What a stupid name. Surely, a better, more attack-minded name would be An Arsenal of Bloggers.
Secondly, while they're all BlaBla-ing away about supporting those bloggers, nobody seems to give a shit about me!

Yes.
I too, am being sued, dammit.

But where's my Reformasi?

Where's the fucking tabung for my defence?
How come nobody's taking to the streets and setting parking meters on fire on my behalf?
Where's my face-on-a-t-shirt?

You know what, MBC? Forget it.
I'll fight my fight Alone.
I don't need you, MBC!
And my logos are better than your logos! Hah!

Anyway, as I said, I am being sued. I received this letter yesterday:

________________________________________________

Lingam, Singam, Singam,
Token-Bumi-Guy, Lingam & Associates
Advocates and Solicitors
Long Bar,
Selangor Club,
Kuala Lumpur.
Tel: Enganged

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr Pazuzu,
Weekend Fun,
The Floating Turd,
Blogspot.Com

RE: We're going to sue you and nobody cares, not even the MBC

With regards to the above matter, and by using the word verily very much, we verily would like to inform your goodself that your goodself is being sued by our goodselves on behalf of our Client, Absolut Vodka.

It has, verily, come to our utmost attention that your goodself has recommended that my Client's product be used in a sick, but we must admit, humourous game called Uday, Qusay, BOOM!

Verily, this is verily unacceptable to our Client.

Please verily pay our goodselves a verily verily big load of moolah verily soon. Alternatively, you may verily offer our Client verily free advertising space on your blog, which is verily verily funny.

Row row row your boat, gently down the stream.
Verily verily verily verily, life is but a dream.
(The above sentence is a play on the word "merrily". It was used to show you that we in the legal profession can be humourous too.)

Verily.

Yours Verily,

Linga..no wait...I mean, Singam.

Advocate/Solicitor

______________________________________________

I have decided, at the risk of being called a wussy, not to fight the charges. Because, frankly, I don't trust the Malaysian Judicial System. I mean, seriously, would you put your fate in the hands of Malaysian Judges, who don't even have the good judgement to not wear a dress and a comical wig to work everyday?

Not me.
No way.
So lets get this over and done with, okay?
Here's the free ad:

So there.
It has been done.
I hope that, after this, no other company will sue me for using their Brand Name inappropriately.
On that note, let's get on with this week's fun installment of Weekend Fun!

Fun With ENO!

Fun With ENO is a fun yet uneducational way for you and the kids to spend the weekend.
To start playing, you will need:

1) A bottle of ENO
2) Some sugar
3) Some empty bottles
4) Some water
5) A place that has many ants

Each player is given one empty bottle.
To play, first pour some ENO into the bottles, followed by a thinner layer of sugar.
Then wait until a Swat team of ants invades the bottles, lured in by the sugar:

Stop when exactly 100 ants are in the bottle, and stomp on the remaining ants. Make sure you don't get caught by a naked RSPCA member.
Then, quickly fill the bottles with water.
When you do this, the fizz from the ENO will cause most of the ants to pop out of the bottle, like this:

The player with the most ants out of the bottle at the end of the round wins!

To make the game more interesting, each ant may represent 1 Ringgit, like a casino chip.

You may take your winning ants to Genting and ask the friendly casino personnel to redeem them for cash. Make sure you wear a suit or a batik shirt, so that they won't think you're some kind of wacko.

So there you have it! This week's edition of...no wait. There's more!

More Fun With ENO!

Using the Memory-Loss Method of Socialising, made popular by Mahathir and Soros, get yourself invited to the home of someone you hate.

Bring along a bottle of ENO.

When your host is not looking, sneak into the kitchen and replace his Coffeemate with the ENO.

Then, at the end of the evening, when he asks you if you would like some coffee, say:

"No thank you. But you carry on."

Then just sit back and enjoy your Weekend Fun!

So there you have it. This has been another edition of Weekend Fun. I will continue to bring you more fun things to do next week, even if I have to risk being sued.
Because, aw shucks, that's just the kinda guy I am.
Till then, I remain your Ultimate Funtasy, Pazuzu.

Now Flush Off and enjoy the weekend, you crazy wanker, you!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The idea for using ENO to pop ants originally came from my friend Daryl, who shared the idea with me one day while I was setting fire to a cockroach-dipped-in-Ronsonol on a Nescafe tin (don't ask).
I thought I should mention this before the MBC accuses me of Plagiarism, a crime which the MBC believes is punishable by Death.

The Da Vinci Code: You Can't Flush The Truth Away

2007-01-16T19:56:00.000+08:00

Women, the only gender in the world that is unable to distinguish fact from fiction, are always quick to invoke The Da Vinci Code in Mars VS Venus-type arguments.

The Da Vinci Code, which was written by Dan Brown based on secret messages in the drawings of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, states that Jesus Christ was married and had kids and that Women Are Superior for some reason.
Or maybe it states that some religious wackos will run around France killing each other over some paintings.
Whatever.

If people want to think that The Holy Grail refers to Jesus' daughter based on a work of fiction, that's fine with me.
It's just a book, dammit.

But then, the other day, on my daily visit to Engrish.com, I stumbled upon this:

On a children's toy!
What is this world coming to?
Is nothing sacred anymore?
People, this is where I draw the line:

_________________________________________________

First, the Da Vinci Code says that the descendant of Jesus is a girl.
Then, clearly taking his cue from the book, this toy manufacturer has the gall to suggest that Jesus is a girl!

Being a devout Catholic who has passed by St Francis Xavier Church many times on my way to Ol' Skool Pub and Bistro, I was outraged! So outraged that, in order to disprove Dan Brown's findings, I myself have been painstakingly researching the works of Leonardo Da Vinci.

I started with this famous kitchen decoration, The Last Supper:

At first, staring at the painting as a whole, it just looked like a bunch of guys arguing about who gets to sit next to Jesus, like children fighting for the front seat.
So I asked myself:
What does Da Vinci want me to see?
What is the hidden meaning behind the painting?
Can anybody hear me talking to myself?
Will they think I'm weird?

Then it hit me. And I hit it back. Because nobody hits me and gets away with it, dammit.
I decided to break up the painting into different segments.
And this is what I deduced:

This is clearly a woman, who has discovered something so distressing that she has fainted.

These bunch of guys are clearly pointing an accusatory finger at someone, deflecting the blame away from themselves.

This guy is obviously holding his hands up as if to say "It wasn't me!"

And it was only then when I realised the Inescapable Truth.
What could distress a woman so much that she would faint?
What would make grown men turn on each other, refusing to admit whodunnit?

And the answer, obviously, is:

A Floating Turd!

So, through his painting, Da Vinci was trying to say that the descendant of Christ is a floating turd. And since I am The Floating Turd, the descendant of Christ is...ME!!!

Being The Descendant of Christ, I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking that this is all circumstantial evidence.
There's not enough proof.
So I dug deeper:

Supposedly, during The Last Supper, Jesus asked everyone present to drink some wine, which, symbolically, was the Blood of Christ. And The Holy Grail was the cup that held the Blood of Christ.
So how come, in the painting, there are no cups? No wine?
It's as though the people in the painting are taking great pains to convey the message:

Drink? Not Us!

Drink Not Us. Drink Not Us. Drink Not Us.

Surely it's an anagram! It must be!
So I tried rearranging the alphabets. And guess what it says?

Drink Not Us = Turd No Sink!

A non-sinking turd!
A...Floating Turd!
Again, everything points to ME!

Still think it's a coincidence? Then consider this other anagram:

Jesus Christ, Descendant.

Rearrange it, and what do you get?

Turd Ascends, Injects Shes!

Turd Ascends = once again, A Floating Turd!
Injects Shes = obviously, since we can rule out a dildo, A Man!
A Man who is A Floating Turd = ME!!!!

I am the Holy Grail!
I hold the Blood of Christ!
I...am the Descendant of Jesus Christ!

I'm not sure how I feel about this.
On one hand, I've always suspected as much.
On the other hand, my life is in danger.

There are people who would kill to keep this information from you.
People like Dan Brown, who is a member of Opus Dei, a Catholic sect determined to keep the truth hidden.
In fact, he's already tried to kill me once, to ensure that this entry would never have been posted.
Just the other day, I was staggering down the street, when I was approached by Dan Brown:

Dan Brown: Macha, I am from Opus, Dei!

Me: Why are you speaking with an Indian accent, la dei?

Dan Brown: My name is an anagram! It actually means Brown Dan. As in Brown Danaraj! And I'm here to kill you with this parang, la dei!

Me: Dei, don't kill me, la dei!....Shit!...Look behind you! It's Harry Belafonte!

Dan Brown: I'm not falling for the old look-behind-you-it's-Harry-Belafonte Trick! You think I'm stupid ah, dei?

Harry Belanfonte: Deeeeeiiiiiiii-O, me say Dei, me say Dei, me say Dei, me say Dei, me say De-e-ei-O!

Dan Brown: Wow! It really is Harry Belafonte, la dei! I'm so distracted!

While Dan Brown was distracted, I kung-fu-kicked him and Harry Belafonte pinned him down.

Me: You bastard! You tried to kill me!

Dan Brown: And I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you and that pesky Harry Belafonte!

Harry: Pazuzu! Always two there are. A Master and an Apprentice.

Dan Brown: I'll never tell you who my Master is!

Just then, a poison dart was sumpited into his neck. With his last dying breath, he managed to blurt out:

"A few horny rip! A...few.....horny..........rip..."

I looked at Harry. Harry looked at me.

Harry: A few horny rip?

Me: I think he was trying to tell us who his Master is. But the bastard can't get enough of his bloody anagrams. I know one thing. His Master must be a woman who still wants us to believe that the descendant of Christ is female.

Harry: A few horny rip. An anagram. Hmmmmm. Okay, we rearrange the letters and we get...A fire why poor? Friar we phony? I can't seem to crack the code.

Me: I have a feeling the clues to unscrambling the anagram are in here and here.

Harry: I'm sorry, Pazuzu. You must continue on this adventure alone. Sad to say I'm on my way. Won't be back for many a-day.

Me: Goodbye, Harry Belafonte!

Harry: Goodbye....and Pazuzu?

Me: Yes?

Harry: Be careful.

Me: I will, Harry Belanfonte...

I will...

----------------------------------------------------------------------

In light of this Revelation, I have asked God to resign as my Secretary. Since He's now my relative (according to some beliefs) I don't want to be accused of cronyism and/or nepotism.

I'm not like Some People.

I'm currently looking for someone to replace Him.

Weekend Fun: Uday, Qusay, BOOM!

2007-01-10T16:23:00.000+08:00

Ever since I started blogging, random people have accosted me on the street, looking like highly-strung drug addicts, and begged me to do something about my lack of entries during the weekend.

"Do something about your lack of entries during the weekend!" they would scream. "Our weekends are miserable without you! Last weekend I sat by the computer, hitting Refresh every 3 minutes to see if you've posted anything and I forgot to feed my baby, who died."

I don't want any dead-baby-blood on my hands.
But at the same time, on principle, I only blog during office hours. That way, I can theoretically blog while getting paid, which enables me to keep this site free for You, My Dearest Reader/Apostle.

So now, I have come up with a solution on how you can keep yourselves occupied during the weekends and yet leave me the hell alone.

Weekend Fun is a new feature in The Floating Turd.
Every Thursday or Friday, I will come up with something for you to do during the weekend. Something fun. Hence the name Weekend Fun!

This weekend's fun activity, inspired by the ever-humourous Iraq War, is:

Uday, Qusay, BOOM! (Beginners' Level)

Uday, Qusay, BOOM! is a game that can be played with 3 or more individuals. In fact, the more the merrier.
To play, you will need:

1) One bottle of Absolut Vodka
2) A shot glass

To start playing, have your friends sit in a circle.
One person will 'start the ball rolling' by shouting out the name "Uday!"
The person next to him will then shout "Qusay!"
The next person will then revert to Uday followed by Qusay again for the person after him.

When this sequence of Uday, Qusay, Uday, Qusay is completed, the next person reverses the cycle by starting with Qusay followed by Uday and so on.

If somebody screws up the sequence, everybody in the circle should shout "BOOM!" really loudly and insist that the screwer-upper bottoms-ups a shot of Absolut Vodka.

Example with 5 friends:

Friend 1: Uday!

Friend 2: Qusay!

Friend 3: Uday!

Friend 4: Qusay!

Friend 5 now has to change the sequence.

Friend 5: Qusay!

Friend 1: Uday!

Friend 2: Qusay!

Friend 3: Uday!

Friend 4: Qusay!

Everybody: BOOOOM!!!!

As you can see, Friend 4 (Ross) should have changed the sequence by shouting "Uday!". Since he didn't, his punishment* will be to down a shot of Absolut Vodka. This is a fun game for the whole family and I urge you to start playing today!

Uday, Qusay, BOOM! (Advanced Level)

The Advanced Level of Uday, Qusay, BOOM! is pretty much the same as the Beginners' Level. The only difference is one additional element:

Each participant will be provided with two cardboard cutouts of the faces of Uday and Qusay Hussein.
As they shout out the name, they should quickly place the corresponding cutout over their face.
If someone shouts Uday but places a Qusay Cutout over his face, everybody should shout "BOOM!" and force him to down a shot.

So there you have it! The very first installment of Weekend Fun!
Till next weekend, I remain your Funmaster General, Pazuzu.

Have a great weekend.
Now, Flush Off and leave me alone.

* For people who don't drink, the punishment should be to do "Nude Squats". You never know when a packet of drugs will fall out of their private orifices, which can potentially provide even more fun for you and the family!

The XXXVJ Annual Floating Turd Awards

2007-01-09T20:44:00.000+08:00

Welcome to The XXXVJ Annual Floating Turd Awards, which looks back on the previous year and creeps into the houses of the winners to use their toilets and leave a very stubborn award in their bowl.

This show should've been held in December but was postponed due to heightened terrorist activity that forced the organisers, at Molotov-cocktail point, to drink excessive amounts of beer, thus rendering the organisers incapable of tyhbdfhvoagfqytef.

As you can see, arriving now at the red carpet, are many Datuks, Tan Sris, Tuns, Penyimpan Cap Mohor Besar DiRajas and Guardians of The Moat, along with their wives and second wives, who have been generously donated to them by main sponsors - TV3.

Here's a VIP now! Datuk Seri Samy Vellu, you're looking "mighty spiffy" tonight. Who designed your hair?

Samy: Lim Kok Wing.

Yes. Thank you, Datuk. And here's old-favourite Tun Dr Mahathir. Tun, how do feel right now, walking down this red carpet?

Dr. M: I feel marginalised. I specifically asked the organisers for a bridge instead of a red carpet. Even half a bridge would've been okay. But these incompetent bastards are selling our sovereignty! I'm being censo-

Yes-yes. Thank you, Tun.

Well, the moment you've all been waiting for is here! Lets cross over now to PWTC, where, due to a catfight backsid..I mean backstage between Azwan Ali and Aznil Nawawi, your stand-in soft-wristed host will be AC Mizal.

AC Mizal: AC di mana?

Crowd: AC di sini!!!

AC/DC: HaHaHa! What a funny Malay pun on our name! Is he wearing more make-up than us? Bastard!

AC Mizal: And now, to present the first award for the night, Malaysia's darling homewrecker - Siti NurspeakadaEnglish!

Siti: Good Friday, Tuan-tuan dan Puan-Puan! Warning! Teleprompter Error! Please ensure Teleprompter is plugged in properly!

Err, okay. Thank you, Siti. Due to technical difficulties, all hosts and presenters have been asked to remain backstage where they will be plied with glasses of Coca-Cola with straws in them. Ahem. If you know what I mean.

Okay, then.
The first award of the night is:
Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy

The Nominees are:
1) Hishamuddin Hussein for UMNO General Asembly Part XXV: The Keris Strikes Back!
2) The Incest Pantun Guy for UMNO General Assembly Part XXV: The Keris Strikes Back!
3) Dr Mahathir for Memento 2: I Don't Remember Fucking Up The Country.
4) Pak Lah for Sleeping While the Enemy Accuses Me of Fucking Up The Country.
5) Khairy Jamalluddin for The Puppet Master.

And the winner is: The Incest Pantun Guy!
We have no idea who he is, but he delivered a pantun that goes something like this:

Tepuk amai-amai
Belalang Kupu-kupu,
Something something something
Datuk rogol Cucu!

And everybody in the hall, who comprised the people who run this country, burst out in laughter. There is a rumour that even Pak Lah woke up for awhile, pretended to laugh as though he was listening, and fell back to sleep.
It is the opinion of the organisers that, if you can get people to laugh about Incestuous Rape, and do it in a manner that rhymes, you deserve a floating turd in your bowl.
Congratulations, Incest Pantun Guy!

The organisers regret to inform you that the organisers are bored of this entry, which the organisers think really sucks.

The organisers are already working on a new entry where the organisers will prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the organisers are, in fact, descendants of Jesus.

Watch this space.

In the mean time, please feel free to add categories, nominees, and winners of your choice in the comment box. Or not.
Whatever.

The organisers are flushing off now.

Thank you.

Death and Taxis

2007-01-04T18:59:00.000+08:00

I almost died last night.
I met mano-e-mano (which literally means mano-o-mano) with The Grim Reaper.
Only it was not The Grim Reaper we have all come to know and love.

No thanks to Hollywood and their "creative licence" and shit, we were led to believe that The Grim Reaper was a guy with a Cloak and Sabit who spoke in a booming, echoey voice.
Because of this, all my life, I've been avoiding people who fit this description.

But now I feel sorry for the poor Cloak and Sabit guys, who have had to endure people avoiding them for no good reason whatsoever.
They're probably just some guys from DBKL whose job it is to sabit all the lalang.
And who have to wear a cloak due to DBKL budget cuts that have forced them to abandon the stylish-yet-functional green flourescent vests.
And who've consumed too many Fisherman's Friends.
So the next time you see a guy with a Cloak and Sabit who speaks in a booming, echoey voice, please give him a hug and some money.
Those DBKL lalang-sabitters are grossly underpaid.

Anyway, it was after work when it occured. I was standing by the road. I hailed a cab. The cab stopped, I got in and...

And there he was.
Death.
The Grim Reaper.
He looked me straight in the eye, and in a voice that was neither booming nor echoey, said:

"இணைப்புகள் - தமிழ் தேடல் எந்திரம், பகுதிபிரிக்கப்பட்ட நூற்றுக்கணக்கான"

Oh no, I thought. I had been in this perilous situation before.

"I don't speak Tamil," I said.

"Are you Indian?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And you don't speak Tamil?"

"Yes."

"நூற்றுக்கணக்கான!!!#$$%^#@@!!!"

"Whatever."

"Why don't you speak Tamil?" he asked, clearly agitated.

"Because most people in this country, including Indians, can speak English or Malay. I'm fluent in both languages. So I can communicate effectively with most people in this country. I don't need to learn an entire language just so I can order a Thosai without getting scolded for being a traitor to my kind."

"What if you visit India?"

"What if I visit The Democratic Republic of Congo? Do I need to learn how to speak Democratic-Republic-of-Congoian? Should I quit my job and devote my entire existence to studying languages, including morse-code and that clickety-click language that they spoke in The Gods Must Be Crazy?"

"But Tamil is our culture. We must preserve our culture!"

"Can you dance the bharatanatyam?"

"Errrr...."

"But it's our culture! We must preserve our culture. Now dance, dammit! Dance!"

That shut him up. And that was the problem.
I don't know if it was his intention to terrorize me or whether he just wanted to get me out of his cab pronto, but he started driving like a lunatic. At breakneck speed. Past red lights.

I knew then that I was going to die in one of two ways:

1) Death by Lunatic Indian

As you already know, Indians have no qualms about killing other Indians because of their perceived lack of Indian-ness.
Historians have recently unearthed concrete proof that Gandhi was in fact killed because he was played by Ben Kingsley, who is not Indian.
Had he been played by Rajinikanth, he most certainly would have survived.
Not only that, he would have ditched all that passive-resistance nonsense and killed the entire Brtisih Army in one elaborately-choreographed move and proceeded to perform a geographically-impossible dance within a span of 3 minutes in 5 different continents.
So if they can kill Gandhi, India's Father of Independence, surely this guy wouldn't think twice about killing me, Malaysia's Blogger of the Year.
I had heard the voice of Death. And I couldn't understand a word.
He spoke Tamil.

2) Death by Crumpled Cab

I could almost see it:
The crumpled red-and-white tin lay in a ditch by the road. My lifeless body lay strewn nearby, providing the inspiration for the chalk-outline-guy's latest masterpiece.
My brains lay splattered about, like Nestum from a digestively-challenged baby.
My last act in life was to create a massive traffic jam on the other side of the road.
Years later, a Chinaman would recall:
"I saw his brains splattered everywhere. So I bought 10 Big, 10 Small. First Prize, man!"
That would be all my life would amount to. Inspiration for some random Chinaman to gamble on numbers.

But I didn't die.
The Grim Reaper allowed me to pay him off with RM5 above the meter charge. It was a good deal, considering the alternative.
So fuck you, random Chinaman! Go get your 4 digits off someone else's dismembered body! Hah!

Anyway, the whole incident has left me pensive.
I keep thinking about my death.
What will happen to me after I die? I wonder.
If you think that I'm being unnecessarily morbid, then you don't know what it's like being an Indian in Malaysia.
When we're alive, nobody gives a toss about us.
Suddenly, when we die, everybody wants to claim the rights to our bodies. The courts get involved. Parliament gets involved. People talk about it in parties and warungs.

Indians are like Artists. We're only worth something after we're dead.

I don't want Anybody fighting over my Body when I'm dead. Everybody should just leave my body alone. Is Anybody listening? Leave my Body alone! Somebody better tell Everybody that they can't just take Anybody's Body!

Everything I've written so far has been Ado. So without any further Ado, I hereby leave You, my dear Loyal Reader, with directions on what to do with my body after I'm dead.

Please follow these directions to a "t". When you reach a "t", make a right and go straight until you come to a "w". Fifty paces away, you'll find a spot marked "x". Beneath this spot lies my dead body.

Using a Ginsu Knife, kindly cut my body up into manageable-sized parts. Place the various parts in boxes. Then tape the boxes with masking tape. I'm not really fussy about the colour of the masking tape, but if you have time, and if it's not too much trouble, blue would be nice.

I would like specific Body Parts to be delivered to various bodies (no pun intended) as indicated below.

My Hands

My Hands are to be delivered to a Hollywood Studio of Your Choice.
It is to be used as either the Main or Supporting Actor in a horror film featuring an evil hand that has been transplanted on to a transplatee, who then unwittingly beheads horny teenagers and leaves their heads in cupboards, to be discovered later by other horny teenagers who will scream loudly before they themselves have their heads chopped off.
If my hand wins an Oscar for it's performance, kindly have either Al Pacino or Dustin Hoffman accept the award on my behalf.

My Heart

My heart should be delivered to the girl on the cover of a Playboy magazine that my friend gave me when I was thirteen. I think her name is Miss April. She wore nothing but a pair of pink roller-skates. Please deliver my heart to her, along with the following note:

This belongs to you. It always has.

My Ears

My ears should be delivered to The Hallmark Sappy Greeting Card Company. It is to be inserted into a Greeting Card that should be designed as follows:

My Brain

My brain should be delivered to The White House.
It should be used to replace the brain of President George "WW3" Bush.
I realise that with my brain being dead and all, it is completely useless. So clearly, this is an improvement over the President's current brain, which was an illegal campaign donation from Paris Hilton.

My Nose

My nose should be bleached and delivered to Michael Jackson.

My Penis

My penis should be delivered to the concerned people who frequently send me E-mails urging me to "Enlarge Your Penis Now For Only $9.99!"
Along with my penis, please enclose a cheque for $9999.00 and ask them to enlarge my penis to 1000 times its current size.
Then tell them to stick it in a personal orifice of their choice.

My Toes

My toes should be delivered to a certain Lunatic Cab Driver. But before that, kindly kidnap one of his Loved Ones. After that, deliver the dismembered toes to him, along with the following message, which should be written using magazine-cutout alphabets:

If you ever want to see (Insert Loved One's name here) again, wear a hat, sunglasses and a trenchcoat and put RM1,000,005 (he still owes me five bucks) in a dustbin in (insert your location of choice here).

When you collect the money, please buy something nice for yourself. I insist.
The rest of the money should be delivered to:

Dewan Bandaraya Kuala Lumpur,
(Bahagian Sabit-Lalang),
Wilayah Persekutuan,
Kuala Lumpur,
MALAYSIA.

Along with the money, please include the following note:

I'm so sorry I always avoided you guys. I thought you were Death. Please accept this money as a token of my remorse.

The Rest of My Body

The rest of my body should be delivered to the characters from the movie Alive, to use as they see fit.

Nandri.

Kepada Pazuzu, Dari Perdana Menteri

2007-01-03T19:49:00.000+08:00

Saudara Pazuzu,

Semoga Saudara berada dalam keadaan sihat walafiat dan tidak "hangover".
Saya di sini berada dalam keadaan mengantuk.

Saudara, terlebih dahulu, saya ingin mengucapkan Puluhan terima kasih (disebabkan Saudara berketurunan India, kerajaan tidak mampu mengucapkan Ribuan terima kasih) kepada Saudara kerana mengambil masa untuk mengemukakan cadangan Saudara untuk mengira Ekuiti secara Saintifik.

Saya juga ingin mengucapkan setinggi-tinggi tahniah kepada Saudara di atas gelaran Blogger of the Year yang dianugerahkan kepada Saudara oleh TAVWMAWID.

Sebenarnya, saya sendiri merupakan Peminat Setia belog Saudara sejak pos pertama Saudara.

Saya juga menyokong penuh usaha Saudara untuk menangani gejala sosial seperti belog Lily Liverbird, yang menggalakkan wanita-wanita Malaysia mengabaikan nilai-nilai murni sehingga ada yang tidak mahu meniduri Wakil Rakyat mereka.

Saudara,
Sukacita saya maklumkan di sini bahawa saya telahpun mengarahkan Kementerian Sains, Matematik, Geografi dan Pendidikan Jasmani (KSMGPJ) untuk menjalankan ekperimen ekuiti dengan menggunakan Penapis Ekuiti Lebuhraya-Persekutuan Pazuzu.

Saya baru sahaja menerima laporan mereka dan mereka mencatatkan keputusan yang sama seperti yang dicatatkan oleh saudara dan Saintis-saintis terkemuka dunia.

Namun begitu, Kabinet (ataupun dalam bahasa kebangsaan - Gerobok) saya berpendapat bahawa rakyat Malaysia belum cukup matang untuk menerima Bukti Saintifik untuk mengira Ekuiti.

Menurut kajian yang dilakukan oleh Jabatan Kajian dan Survey Kebangsaan (JKSK), rakyat Malaysia lebih berminat terhadap bidang Peraduan daripada bidang Sains.

Ini jelas terbukti oleh fenomena Akedemi Fantasia, di mana berjuta-juta rakyat Malaysia mengundi untuk membolehkan artis kesayangan mereka bergambar separuh bogel di kolam renang dalam majalah URTV.

Oleh yang demikian, Gerobok telah mengambil keputusan untuk menolak semua Kaedah Mengira Ekuiti dan memberi semua Ekuiti Negara kepada seorang rakyat Malaysia bertuah yang bakal memenangi Peraduan Mewarna Ekuiti!

Untuk mempromosikan Peraduan ini, saya sendiri telah merekabentuk logo dengan menggunakan komputer:

Peraduan Mewarna ini terbuka kepada semua rakyat Malaysia yang beragama Umno dan bermastautin di Damansara Heights.

Untuk menyertai Peraduan ini, anda hanya perlu mewarnakan gambar berikut secara kreatif dengan menggunakan Magic Colour Schwan Stabilo:

Gambar anda mestilah menggunakan warna-warna dan unsur-unsur Nasionalisme. Di sini, saya sertakan beberapa contoh gambar yang dianggap Kreatif dan yang Tidak Kreatif.

Kreatif

Tidak Kreatif

Gambar yang dianggap paling kreatif akan memenangi Ekuiti Negara. Hadiah-hadiah saguhati seperti Modenas Jaguh dan Tiket Percutian ke Pulau Jerejak juga menanti anda. Keputusan pengadil adalah muktamad.

Saudara,
Dengan adanya Peraduan ini, saya yakin tidak akan berulang Peristiwa 13 Mei yang, seperti diketahui ramai, berlaku apabila Kaum Cina dan Kaum Melayu bergaduh untuk hak mengorat 13 anak dara bernama Mei.

Akhir kata, saya ingin memohon maaf kepada Saudara Pazuzu kerana tidak dapat meninggalkan sekotak Absolut Vodka di bawah pokok Krismas Saudara pada malam Krismas.
Ini disebabkan semua stok Absolut Vodka Negara telah dihabiskan di Perhimpunan Agung MIC yang lalu.

Sekian Terima Kasih,

Saya Yang Menurut Perintah Suami Anak Saya,

Perdana

Surat Terbuka kepada Perdana Menteri

2006-12-22T13:52:00.000+08:00

Saudara Perdana,

Semoga Saudara berada dalam keadaan sihat walafiat.
Saya di sini berada dalam keadaan “agak mabuk sikit tapi belum muntah-muntah lagi.”

Saudara Perdana, tujuan saya menulis Surat-Tak-Rasmi-Seperti-Yang-Saya-Belajar-Di-Sekolah-Dahulu ini ialah untuk membantu Saudara Perdana dalam masa yang tidak menentu ini.

Seperti Saudara, saya turut dukacita dengan sikap rakyat Malaysia yang sangat tamak sekali sehingga ada yang tidak mahu membayar tol kita yang termurah di dunia.

Saya juga bersimpati dengan Saudara dalam usaha Saudara menangani isu Ekuiti.
Seperti yang Saudara ketahui, Laporan terbaru yang dikeluarkan oleh Kementerian Pantun, Puisi, Sajak dan Teka-Teki (KPPSTT) menyatakan bahawa:

Kalau panjang namanya Jambatan,
Kalau pendek namanya Titi,
Dari Utara hingga ke Selatan
Semua orang hendakkan Ekuiti.

Saya setuju seratus-peratus dengan Saudara yang keadaan sebegini mungkin mencetuskan huru-hara hari-hari di Negara kita Malaysia yang selama ini menjadi kebanggaan Planet Bumi.

Oleh yang demikian, saya telah mengambil keputusan untuk mengkaji semula laporan Ekuiti yang dikeluarkan oleh ASLI dan juga laporan Kerajaan.

Setelah meneliti kedua-dua laporan tersebut, saya, selaku Blogger of the Year, berpendapat bahawa kedua-dua laporan itu adalah betul tetapi kurang tepat.

Punca kekurangtepatan laporan-laporan itu ialah Kaedah Mengira Ekuiti yang digunakan, iaitu Kaedah Ekonomi.

Seperti yang diketahui ramai, tidak terdapat seorang pun di Negara ini yang boleh dikatakan betul-betul pakar dalam bidang ekonomi.

Ini berpunca daripada Subjek Perdagangan dan Ekonomi yang diajar di sekolah dahulu yang membosankan sehingga pelajar-pelajar terpaksa cabut kelas dan menghisap rokok di tandas.

Satu lagi masalah ialah Kaedah Ekonomi sebenarnya tidak berasakan fakta, tetapi berasaskan Teori seperti Teori Teorem dan Teori Graf-Graf Yang Naik-Turun.

Justeru itu, saya di sini ingin mencadangkan kepada Saudara Perdana agar Ekuiti Kaum Negara dikira dengan menggunakan Kaedah Saintifik.

Mungkin ada di antara rakyat Malaysia yang bersikap negatif yang akan berkata bahawa tidak ada Kaedah Saintifik yang boleh digunakan untuk mengira Ekuiti.

Izinkan saya mengambil peluang ini untuk memperkenalkan Ciptaan Terbaru Saya, iaitu:

Penapis Ekuiti Lebuhraya-Persekutuan Pazuzu

atau lebih dikenali di kalangan ahli-ahli Sains terkemuka dengan gelaran ‘glamornya’:

PELPP

Untuk memulakan Eksperimen Ekuiti, Saudara hanya memerlukan se-buah Makmal Sains, Se-hasta Tikus Putih dan Se-das Selinder Lebuhraya-Persekutuan, seperti yang ditunjukkan di gambarajah berikut:

Saya memohon maaf kepada saudara kerana gambarajah tersebut dilabelkan dengan menggunakan Bahasa Penjajah. Saya terpaksa menggunakan Bahasa tersebut untuk mendapat pengikhtirafan Komuniti Antarabangsa, yang masih enggan menerima keAgungan Bahasa Kebangsaan.

Eksperimen Ekuiti boleh diteruskan dengan mengikuti langkah-langkah berikut.

1) Berikan bebola Melayu, bebola Cina, bebola India dan bebola Umnoputera kepada Tikus Putih.

2) Dengan menggunakan Bahasa Tarzan, suruh Tikus Putih memasukkan bebola tersebut ke dalam Selinder Lebuhraya Persekutuan.

3) Rekodkan dari lubang manakah bebola tersebut keluar.

Setelah menjalani Eksperimen ini, Saudara akan mencapai kesimpulan yang sama seperti yang dicatatkan oleh saya dan ramai lagi ahli Saintis yang terkemuka.

Keputusan Eksperimen adalah seperti yang ditunjukan di gambarajah berikut:

Dengan adanya bukti yang kukuh ini, saya berharap Saudara akan mengambil tindakan sewajarnya untuk memastikan Ekuiti Tahun 2007 adalah lebih okay lagi.

Saudara Perdana, saya tidak meminta apa jua ganjaran untuk ciptaan saya ini. Apa yang saya lakukan saya lakukan Demi Negara.

Tetapi kalau Saudara mahu, Saudara boleh masuk ke kondo saya melalui Pintu Gelongsor (Sliding Door) balkoni saya pada Malam Krismas dan meninggalkan Sekotak Ekuiti ataupun Sekotak Absolut Vodka ataupun kedua-duanya sekali di bawah Pokok Krismas saya.

Tetapi, pada pagi Krismas, jika saya tidak menjumpai kotak tersebut, saya berjanji tidak akan kecil hati.

Akhir kata, saya ingin mengambil kesempatan ini untuk mengucapkan Selamat Tahun Baru kepada Saudara Perdana sekeluarga.

Sekian Terima Kasih.

Saya yang menurut perintah,

Pazuzu

----------------------------------------------------------------

The Floating Turd is flushing off, but will be back after the New Year.

Here's wishing all of you a Merry Christmas, Selamat Hari Raya Haji and a Happy New Year.

May you all get a bunch of Equity next Year.

FLUSSSHHHHHH...

I Want My MAMEE!!!!

2006-12-20T20:30:00.000+08:00

Maybe it's true what they say: That the holiday season makes you depressed.

Or maybe it's not true what they say.

Who the hell are They anyway?

And why are they always saying shit?

Anyway, something happened to me today. Something that Got Me Thinking 'Bout Stuff.

I went down to a convenience store near my office at lunchtime to get a Coke, right?

Irrelevant but funny detail:
The name of the shop is JusMart. And their tagline is: You Are Just Smart!
Really!

Anyway, I was in the shop when suddenly, I saw it.
It's yellow packet stood out like an Indian with Equity. On the packet, the familiar blue furry-monster pointed upwards to the red letters on a white band. The letters simply spelled:

MAMEE

I don't know about you, but I have fond memories of MAMEE.
When I was a kid, we'd purchase a packet of the stuff for maybe 20sen. Then we'd open the packet, and inside was a white sachet which contained a substance that might've been either salt, ajinomoto or cocaine.
We'd empty the sachet into the packet, crunch the packet up, shake it vigourously, then...well, as Norm from Cheers used to say - you'd have a party in your mouth.

So I saw this packet in JusMart, and believing that I Was Just Smart, I purchased what I thought was not just MAMEE, but a Trip Down Memory Lane.

I took the packet back to the office, excitedly tore it open, only to discover that...

The fucking cocaine sachet wasn't there!

They had replaced it with a sachet containing some unidentifiable gunky brown nonsense.
It tasted bloody awful. I was outraged.
Outraged, I tell you!

"How the fuck could they do this to me!" I screamed at my colleague.

"Huh?" he said.

"They fucked with my Memories!"

"You have mammaries? Who fucked with them?"

"The people at MAMEE!"

"MAMEE?"

"Yes, goddammit! Why are you making me repeat myself? Are you listening to me at all? They replaced the cocaine with brown gunky! Brown fucking gunky, I tell you!"

He didn't get what I was talking about, the fucking twit. People are so stupid nowdays. He just didn't understand.
It's not just about the MAMEE, I wanted to tell him.
It's Chickadees as well.

Remember Chickadees?

Back in the day, every shop you went to, there were Twisties and Chickadees, side by side. Like Ebony and Ivory. Batman and Robin. Lucy and Ricky.
Then suddenly, they became Mahathir and Anwar.
Twisties survived. Chickadees was sent to Sungai Buloh on dubious sex charges.

But then, lately, Chickadees seems to be making a comeback.

I saw a packet (they still have Saya Charlie Chickadees on the packet) a couple of months ago in - guess where? - JusMart. I'm thinking of suggesting to them a change in tagline.
We Fuck Up Your Memories seems appropriate.

The Chickadees taste was nothing like how I remembered it.

I thought that it was just a one-off thing, but now this whole MAMEE episode has me Demoralised, Depressed and Something else that begins with De- in order to keep this sentence "punchy".

This whole fiasco has convinced me that:

Life, like MAMEE and Chickadees, is best enjoyed in hindsight.

But then I thought: Wait a minute!

Then I waited a minute. When a minute was over, I thought:

I have a Time-Machine, dammit! I can just go back to my school days and buy all the MAMEE and Chickadees I want. And they'll taste like they used to taste! And while I'm there, I'll tell Anwar to "stop all this Bahasa Baku nonsense. It won't work. And you have other things to worry about."

So I got on my slide, waited for the sunlight to hit the mirror, Pushed Really Hard, and...

The sign on the old building said SRK Temenggong Abdul Rahman (1) (STAR 1) in faded letters that looked like they were cut out from polystyrene boards.
Outside the gates, I could barely make out Uncle's Truck, with its assortment of assams, drinks, and junk food packets.
The truck was somewhat obscured by a dense cloud of red dust, that emanated from a group of kids playing pepsi-cola 123, a game played on a suitably slippery tanah merah surface.
A Chinese boy shouted "Pepsi Cola 123!", then charged towards an Indian boy, sliding on the surface before kicking the Indian boy on the leg, a move that meant that the Indian boy was now "Out".
The Indian boy walked off dejectedly. He looked familiar.

I walked to Uncle's Truck, momentarily forgetting where, or rather when, I was.

"Uncle," I said, "Remember me?"

"Lu siapa? Apa lu Mau?" he said.

I sighed, a little embarrased, but also a little dissapointed that my Memory, once more, had let me down. Was he always this rude? I wondered.

"MAMEE lima-puluh, Chickadees lima-puluh," I said.

He looked at me strangely, but, like any Chinese-Malaysian according to Lee Kuan Yew, was compliant. He gave me the packets but continued to eye me as I walked away. I suspect he thought I was a paedophile.

I walked towards my Time-Machine slide, but a little boy's voice stopped me.

"Uncle!" the boy said.

I turned around to see the pathetic-looking Indian boy calling out to me. He was skinny as hell and had bruises and blood on his legs - clearly from losing all those Pepsi-Cola 123 matches.
He was, I realised with a mixture of pity and amazement, Me.

"Uncle," 12-year-old me repeated.

"Yes?" I said.

"Can I have a MAMEE?" he said.

Was I like this? I tried to recall.

"Didn't your parents tell you never to take things from strangers?" I said.

He shook his head. No.
Liar, I thought.

"Well, you shouldn't take things from people you're not familiar with."

"You look familiar," he said.

Touche.
I gave him a MAMEE. I looked at the sun. Still time.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I asked, knowing he'd heard this question many times from Uncles and Aunties.

"A veterinarian," was the familiar reply.

Liar, I thought. You hate cats. How're you going to be a vet?

"Don't you want to be a rock guitarist like Richie Sambora?"

Got you now, you lying little shit.

He looked at me, surprised. His attention no longer on the MAMEE.

"What's your favourite book?" I asked and mouthed the answer along with him.

"Peter Pan," he said.

"You really want to write storybooks, don't you?"

He shrugged, a gesture which was supposed to convey Whatever. Liar. I knew it conveyed Yes.

I smiled.

"I've written a book," I said.

"What's it about?"

"It's about a prostitu...errr...never mind."

"Can I read it?"

"No. You're too young. And besides, it's not published yet."

"How come?"

Man, what an irritant.

"Never mind," I said. I looked towards the sun. Time.

"I've got to go. You can have the MAMEE and Chickadees."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

I didn't need it anymore.
I was no longer Demoralised, Depressed and De-something.

"Oh, one more thing. If you see Anwar Ibrahim, tell him to stop all this Bahasa Baku nonsense. It won't work. And he has other things to worry about."

"Who's Anwar Ibrahim?"

"Never mind."

The 12-year old boy watched as the strange man, now without the MAMEE and Chickadees, who somehow seemed to know stuff about him, mounted a slide, pushed really hard and...

I am sitting in my office dictating this post to God. It's now 12.02 and He's complaining that He has prayers to answer. You just can't get good help nowdays.

Theoretically, I'm supposed to be working on an ad campaign for A Government Client.

Here's irony for you:
When I left school, I applied for a Government scholarship to study Advertising. They sent me back a letter saying my grades weren't good enough for advertising. (Do you need good grades to succeed in Advertising? Nonsense. All you need is the ability to lie. As you can see above, I had this ability since I was 12.) So the Government said I'm not good enough for Advertising, yet here I am anyway, getting paid quite good money for producing ads for the very Government that said I wasn't good enough to produce ads in the first place. Assholes.

I have to get out of here. I really do.

I have to be a published writer. Or Richie Sambora. Atau kedua-duanya sekali. But it's looking more likely that I'll take the writer route.

I have two rejection letters so far from publishers in Singapore who say that "we can't publish your book because the Malaysian Government doesn't have a sense of humour about these things."

But I have to get published, dammit. Somehow.

So here it goes. My New Years' Resolution:

1) Pay off debts (again)
2) Quit Job (again)
3) GET BOOK PUBLISHED!!!

Somehow.

Someway.

I have to.

I owe it to a 12-year-old boy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note to my MAMEE, err...I mean Mummy:
Ma,
Remember the time when you were supposed to pick me up from school but I wasn't there? And then you waited and waited and finally you left and went to Aunty M's house and almost panicked and cried because you thought I was kidnapped or dead or something?
Remember, when I finally got to Aunty M's house, I told you I saw some suspicious people near the school and panicked and started walking home instead of waiting at the bus-stop?
Well, the truth is, I was hiding in my class, eating 50 MAMEE and 50 Chickadees.
It wasn't my fault.
My Future Self gave it to me, so if you want to scold anyone, scold him.

Wait a minute, I am my future self.
Shit.

Errr...God?
I know I've said some mean things about You in this site and You want your revenge, okay?
I'm sorry, okay?
I need you to delete this last bit.
Don't hit the Publish button yet, okay?
Okay?
God?
No!
Don't hit Publi

Hey God! One Sugar, Two Creamers!

2006-12-18T20:04:00.000+08:00

WARNING!
This post may be offensive to people who adhere to the following principles:

1) Kepercayaan kepada Tuhan
2) Kesetiaan kepada Raja dan Negara
3) Keluhuran Perlembagaan
4) Something that I can't remember at this time
5) Kesopanan dan Kesusilaan

If you are one of these people, please stop reading immediately. Also, please explain what the fuck does "keluhuran" mean.
Thank you.

WARNING PART 2: The Return of the Warning!

This post may also be offensive to Professor Stephen Hawking.

If you know Professor Hawking, please convey my apologies to him, buy him a beer and send me the bill. Then, as he takes a gulp from his mug, tell him that he shouldn't be Drinking and Driving.

Be sure to slap him repeatedly and forcefully on the back so as to convey the message that you are only being humourous, and in no way are you the kind of inconsiderate asshole who would park in a handicapped spot.
Thank You.

PS. If you are Professor Stephen Hawking, I would like to point out several mistakes that you made with regards to the space-time continuum in your otherwise excellent book, A Brief History of Time. I would gladly discuss these mistakes with you over a beer.
Thank You.

Phew!

Now that that's over and done with, let's get on with the post:

Since I started this blog, many CEOs, heads-of-state and dictators have asked me how I managed to get God as my Secretary (or to use the politically-correct term - Girl Friday).

Well, it all has to do with Physics.

You see, when I was in Form 4, I stumbled upon this intriguing scenario in my Buku Teks Fizik:

Khairy mempunyai 100 biji Guli, yang diberikan kepadanya secara percuma oleh ECM Pisces setelah dia mengahwini anak Perdana Menteri.

Ong mempunyai 200 biji Guli, tetapi menurut Lee Kuan Yew, dia sepatutnya mempunyai 13,453 Guli.

Samy mempunyai 1 Guli, tetapi dia melontarkan gulinya ke arah kepala Subra, yang menyebabkan Subra cedera parah.

Jika Khairy, Ong dan Samy menggulingkan guli mereka di Lebuhraya Utara-Selatan dari Johor Bahru, guli siapakah akan sampai ke Sungei Besi dahulu?

Jawapan:
Guli Samy. Kerana guli Khairy dan Ong terpaksa berhenti untuk membayar tol yang dikuasai oleh Samy.

Fascinating, isn't it?

From that moment on I was hooked on Physics! I couldn't get enough of it! Wherever I travelled, I made sure to visit gypsies, who are, as you know, really good Physics!

But no aspect of Physics thrilled me more than the Aspect of Time-Travel.

According to Professor Stephen Hawking in his brilliant book, A Brief History of Time, it is indeed possible to travel through time if one was to "drive a DeLorean at 88mph, provided the DeLorean was powered by plutonium stolen by Libyan terrorists."

I wanted to test this theory out, but I hit a Snag. A very big Snag. Actually, I'm not sure if I hit a Snag or not, since I have no idea what a Snag looks like. If I did hit a Snag, I sincerely apologise to the Snag and the Snag's loved ones.

Anyway, I had obtained a DeLorean and stolen some plutonium from Omar Shariff, who may or may not be a Libyan terrorist, but I figured this was a Minor Detail.

The problem is, I overlooked one Major Detail:

I can't drive.

So it was back to the drawing-board for me. And after Putting My Mind To It, and researching many books on Scientific Mumbo-Jumbo, I am pleased to announce that I have invented:

The Time-Machine for People Who Can't Drive!

My Time Machine relies on the basic Time-Travel Principle that in order to travel through time, you must outrun the speed of light.

Taking this into account, I invented a Time-Machine using a playground slide with a mirror mounted at the top, as the following diagram shows.

Please note that this diagram is accurate right down to the colour used for the skin, unlike many Rascist Time-Machine Diagrams drawn by White People:

The Time-Machine works as follows:

1) At some point, the rays from the sun will hit the mirror and reflect downwards selari with the direction of the slide.

2) When this happens, you have to push yourself Really Hard and make sure you reach the bottom of the slide before the sun-ray does, as the following diagram demonstrates:

So there you have it. My gift to Mankind. And Womankind. And trans-gendered kinds.

Time-Travel.

Now, I know many of you have been asked this question before:

If you can travel back to any point in time, which point would that be?

And because many of you are stupid, unlike me and Stephen Hawking, you'll answer "The 60s!" or something equally moronic.

You want to know where I travelled to? Huh?

Well, I set the dial on the Time-Machine (I'll tell you how to build the dial in an up-coming post) for 7 days after Creation!

And there, the following conversation took place:

Eve: Hey Adam...like, what's that hanging between your legs?

Adam: I don't know.

Special Effects: WAAAZZZZOOOOMMMM!!!!!

Me: Hello, Eve.

Adam: Who the fuck are you?

Me: I am GOD!!!

Adam: Praise be to You.

Eve: What's that behind you?

Me: That's a playground slide.

Adam: What's a playgro...

Me: SILENCE!!! You know that thing between your legs, Adam? It's really fun to insert it into the mouth of that saber-tooth tiger.

Adam: Okay. Arrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Saber-tooth tiger: Burp

Me: Now, Eve...where were we?

God: HOLD ON! HE'S NOT GOD! I'M GOD!

Me: NO! I'M GOD!

God: HEY! ONLY I'M ALLOWED TO SPEAK IN CAPITAL LETTERS!

Me: TOUGH!

Eve: I'm, like, so confused. Who's the real God?

Me: Who're you gonna believe, me or a Talking Burning Bush?

Eve: I guess that makes sense. I mean, come on! A burning bush?

God/Burning Bush: A bit much?

Me: Definitely.

God: Shit.

Me: Try not to be such a drama queen, next time.

God: But you're taking credit for MY WORK, I dammit! I worked on this shit for 6 whole days!

Me: What can I say? Life's not fair.

God: Bastard. So if you're God, what am I supposed to be?

Me: You can be my Secretary.

God: I believe the politically-correct term is Personal Assistant.

Me: Then how come they don't call Secretaries' Day Personal Assistant's Day?

God: You've got a point there. So where are you taking me for Secretaries' Day?

Me: I hear Siti's performing at The Hilton.

God: I hate Siti.

Me: I'll let you Smite her.

God: Yayyyyy!! You're the best boss ever!

Me: I know. Go get me some coffee.

God: Okay!

Eve: What about me?

Me: I've other plans for you...come here...mmmmmmm

Eve: Oh God...yessss

And so you see, because of my Intervention in History, everybody's happy now.

Except Adam.

And maybe Professor Stephen Hawking.

Too bad.

If they complain, I'll just tell them my Secretary works in mysterious ways.

101 Uses for Cats: Cat-as-Trophy

2006-12-15T13:41:00.000+08:00

I fucking hate cats.

Note to The RSPCA:
Before the lot of you start taking to the streets in the nude and holding up signs that say "I'd rather go naked than visit www.thefloatingturd.blogspot.com", i urge you to diet. Nobody wants to see you in the buff. Really.
Also, I urge you to read the reason why I hate cats. I'm sure, if you have an open mind, you'll see that my argument makes perfect sense.

I hate cats because they are Reincarnated Nazis.

Think about it.

The bloody things strut about as if they're a Superior Race, like the reason everything else exists is To Serve Them.

Also, when you're eating your Nasi Lemak at the warung, the bloody things will stare at you as though you owe them money or something.
And if you don't give them a piece of your Ayam Rendang, they'll think nothing of jumping up on the table and taking it from you. Without asking for permission.

Even rats have the courtesy to wait until after you've finished eating before stealing your food, dammit.

For more information on why rats are better than cats, i urge you to watch the excellent documentary "Itchy and Scratchy".
Also, you can check out "Tom and Jerry", but I recommend you watch earlier episodes, when the characters couldn't talk. The newer, soulless version has given the cat and mouse voices, to cater to children nowadays, who are too stupid to use their imaginations.

Note to Self:
Future post topic: Has the Road-Runner run away for good?

Anyway, as I was saying,

Shit. What was I saying?

Oh yes.

I fucking hate cats.

They serve no discernible purpose in The Great Scheme of Things.

But, as Someone Who Is Very Concerned About The Way The World Is Turning Out, I intend to change that.

As such, I hereby suggest 101 Uses For Cats. I will reveal these uses one at a time, so as to keep you, my dear Loyal Reader who Clearly Has Nothing Better to Do, on tenterhooks.

I like saying tenterhooks. Tenterhooks tenterhooks tenterhooks. What the fuck are tenterhooks anyway?

Note to Self:
Look up tenterhooks

So;

As promised, the first proposed Use for Cats is:

Catball: The Cat-as-Trophy!

Catball is played like Football, or as the Americans like to call it, Huh?.

It will be played with 11 Men on each side. (Why only Men, you might ask. Well, because Women stopped reading this post after the first sentence and have left their desks to go and hug a tree somewhere.)

But instead of a ball, the game will be played with...are you on tenterhooks yet?...A CAT, as the following diagram demonstrates:

(image by Michaelangelo, courtesy of The Louvre, Paris)

The objective of the game is for players to chase the cat until it runs into the opponents' goal. The other team (Bolton) has to Defend by blocking the run of the cat.

The team that manages to chase the cat into the opponents' goal the most times wins, as the following diagram shows:

(image by Leonardo, courtesy of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles)

Note to The RSPCA:
I am not a Cruel Bastard. The players will NOT be allowed to kick the cat. Players who do so will receive a Yellow Card. Players who kick the cat Really Hard will receive a Red Card. Okay? Now put your clothes back on.

At the end of the season, the team with the most points will win the prestigious Cat-as-Trophy, so named because I can't think of a better pun.

So there you have it.

Use Number 1 for Cats. Only 100 to go! Bet you're waiting on tenterhooks for Use Number 2 - Cat-a-Tonic!

Right?

Right???

Oh well...

Note to RSPCA:
You wanna piece of me? YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME??? I'm right here! Bring it on! I'll shove a tenterhook up your naked ass!

Where Men Go While Women Wait to Come

2006-12-11T20:33:00.000+08:00

If you're one of the millions of people worldwide who have read this blog (the zeroes can't display properly on the SiteMeter below), then you would have noticed that I have something of a dispute going on with a certain Lily Liverbird.

This dispute stems from the fact that I am always right and she is always wrong.

And as A Man (I'm talking about the dictionary definition of A Man, which is "a person who refuses to acknowledge the existence of Laundry Detergent", not the current definition which seems to be "a person who is a poncy little fart"), I reserve the right to write long sentences in parentheses.

Also, as A Man, I am offended by her constant ridiculing of my gender's ability to perform in the sack.

So I have bravely taken it upon myself to write here today in defence of:

The 3-Minute Man

You see, because of some serious miscalculations on the part of my secretary (or God, as many of you know Him), men will achieve an orgasm in under 3 minutes.

Women, on the other hand, will achieve an orgasm (according to Dr. M) in the year 2020. If all goes well and the Current Administration doesn't fuck things up.

This is in no way the fault of Men. In fact, the blame for this imbalance can be placed squarely on the ample bosom of Female Inefficiency.

That's right. Men achieve orgasm faster for the simple reason that we have other things to do, dammit!
Important things!
Things That Will Change The World!
History is filled with examples of how men have changed the world by coming fast. And since I can't, offhand, think of what those examples are, I will cite the most famous one:

Mrs Einstein arched her back as Einstein thrust his throbbing manhood into her.

"Oh Yes," said Einstein.

"Oh Yes," said Mrs Einstein.

"Oh Yes Yes Yes" said Einstein.

"Oh Yes" said Mrs Einstein.

"Oh YesYesYesOhGodYesYesYes" said Einstein.

"Oh Yes" said Mrs Einstein.

"Oh YesYesYesYesYesYes OhGodOhGodOhGod" said Einstein.

"What?" said God.

"Oh Yes" said Mrs Einstein.

"Oh YesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYes" said Einstein.

"Oh Yes" said Mrs Einstein.

"Oh YesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYeeeeeeessssssssssss
Ahhhhhhhhhh!" said Einstein.

"Huh?" said Mrs Einstein.

So you see, from the above passage (taken from the book Einstein: Beyond the Hair, written by Ashley Cole) we can make two very important deductions. That:

1) Einstein has come

2) Mrs. Einstein hasn't

What the moron Ashley Cole doesn't reveal in his book are the thoughts that went through both Einstein's and Mrs Einstein's heads directly after this incident.
Through extensive research, I am now able to reveal these thoughts to you.
I have also helpfully highlighted Mrs Einstein's thoughts in pink and Einstein's in blue, a system that has been used for years to help men and women figure out which toothbrush belongs to whom.

That's it? That's it?

E=?

What an insensitive bastard!

E=m something, hmmmmm.....

I put up with all his shit...do his fucking laundry...

E=mC X a(opp+u know me)?

...and this is how he treats me?

E=mC + XXL?

Fucking bastard! First thing tomorrow, I'm gonna post a comment on liverbirdforever.blogspot.com

E=mC2!!!!! Eureka!!!!!

So there you have it.

Irrefutable Evidence.

While Mrs Einstein was whining away about her lack of pleasure, Einstein had efficiently come and gone on to discover E=mC2, which is, as you know, the secret formula for Coca-Cola.

The importance of this discovery cannot be over-emphasised (have you ever heard anyone order a JD-Pepsi?).

So, my fellow Men, I urge you now to Stand Up, Fart, and Head To Your Neighbourhood Bar.

There, you will find Other Men.

Slap one of them on the back forcefully and say:

"Last night I had sex and I came in 52 seconds!"

Then Buy A Round and Raise A Glass and say:

"Here's to Male Efficiency!"

They will agree with whatever you say because you have Bought A Round and they hope that you will Buy Another.

If we all do this, together, who knows what we can achieve?

A cure for cancer?

Peace on Earth?

A shaver that has not one, not two, but THREE blades for a smoother shave?

A way to move the 2 up when you type E=mC2 in Blogger?

The possibilities are like women's complaints.

Endless.

Revised National Anthems

2006-12-08T16:40:00.000+08:00

Malaysia

Malaysia, Malaysia,
The Government will trace 'ya,
If they don't like what you say,
They will use the ISA,
And a few years' stay in prison will face 'ya!

Malaysia, Malaysia,
The Government will erase 'ya,
Everything is fine
if you toe the line
If not, then Hishamuddin will keris 'ya!

The United States of America

Everyone is free
In the USA
from Alaska
to Guantanamo Bay!

A land where anyone
can become The President,
The guy we have now,
got the job by accident!

We don't give a fuck
about other lands,
we play football
with our hands!

Coz we know
no matter what hap-pens
We have
nucular
NUCULAR
nucular
NUCULAR
nuuucuuulllaaarrr...
WEAPONS!!!

The Republic of Macedonia

O! The Republic of Macedonia,
Buy our women a drink, and they might just bone 'ya
Then take down their number, and say "I'll telephone 'ya!"
Then get the fuck out of Macedonia!!!!

To be continued...

Men Invented The Glass Floor, Women Think It's A Ceiling

2006-12-05T21:54:00.000+08:00

No thanks to bloggers like Lily Liverbird and her Cult of People Who Tell Me I Suck (CoPWTMIS), Men are now being blamed for every single thing that plagues the world.

One of these things is The Glass Ceiling, which is, as you know, a ceiling that prevents women from climbing up to The Next Level and rearranging all the furniture.

Lily and CoPWTMIS will have you believe that Men invented this ceiling because they're afraid that women will Take Over The World, effectively reducing the role of men to drinking beer and burping.

Well, as Blogger of the Year, I am here to tell you that I have stumbled upon a Revelation!

A revelation that will Shock You!

Were it not for the fact that I have already revealed it in The Title!

Yes. According to Reliable Sources, the Glass Ceiling was originally designed by men as a floor.
Men invented this for the same reason they invented Shoe Polish and That Little Round Pencil-Sharpener With The Mirror On It:

They want to see what kind of knickers women are wearing.

Soalan Bonus For Men:
When you were in school, and your teacher who wore a short skirt sat down, what Method, besides "dropping the pencil", did you use to see her knickers? Discuss.

As such, it is actually in the best interests of Men that Women are above The Glass Ceiling.

So what exactly is keeping women from rising to The Next Level, you might ask. Or you might not ask. I don't really care. I'm going to tell you anyway. It's:

Other Women!

I'm sure this revelation would have Shocked You were it not for the fact that I have already revealed it in the post at the bottom of this page!

Ask yourself:

How many times have you heard women say "I hate working for women bosses"?

And how many times have you witnessed the following scenario where two women meet:

Woman 1: Hieeeeeeee!!!!
Woman2: Oh! Hieeeeeeee!!!
Woman 1: Muah Muah
Woman 2: Muah Muah
Woman 1: I just loooove what you're wearing!!!!
Woman 2: Oh? This thing? I just threw it on lah!
Woman 1: Well it looks absolutely gorgeous!
Woman 2: Oh! hee hee heee...errr...hey, there's my date...I guess I better go now...take care
Woman 1: Okay! Byeeeeeee!
Woman 2: Byeeeeeee!

Then Woman 1 turns around and looks at you with the following expression:

Woman 1: What a fucking bitch! Did you SEE what she was wearing?!!
You: Huh?
Woman 1: I can't stand that bitch!
You: Huh?
Woman 1: Fucking slut!
You: Our Father in Heaven, Holy be Your Name....

So you see, it is, in fact, Women who keep themselves from rising above The Glass Ceiling. Because All Women Hate Each Other!
And they have the nerve to suggest that the world would be a better place if it was run by them!
I shudder at the thought. And you should shudder too. I like saying shudder. Shudder shudder shudder. Why should we shudder, you ask?
Consider the following shuddering glimpse into an alternate reality:

The world is experiencing an acute shortage of Vanilla-scented candles. Some countries in Africa only have Sandalwood incense-sticks. And even that is running low on supply.
The Leaders of The World have gathered in The United Nations to address this issue:

MALAYSIA: Did you SEE what Thailand is wearing?
INDONESIA: I can't stand that bitch!
MALAYSIA: What a slut!
THAILAND: Hieeeeeee!!!!!
MALAYSIA/INDONESIA: Hieeeeee!!!
THAILAND: Muah Muah
MALAYSIA/INDONESIA: Muah Muah
SINGAPORE: Hieeeeeee!!!!
MALAYSIA: Go away.
SINGAPORE: Ohmygod! Is someone, like, smoking in here? Eeeeuuuwwww!
MALAYSIA: Just ignore her.
INDONESIA: Heyyouguys....have you heard the latest?
THAILAND: What?
INDONESIA: Oh...I can't say
MALAYSIA: Come on lah-come on lah
INDONESIA: But I promised I wouldn't...
MALAYSIA: AlaComeOnLah!!!!
INDONESIA: Okay...but you didn't hear it from me...
THAILAND: Okay
SINGAPORE: I really think, like, someone's smoking in here.
MALAYSIA: Shut the fuck up! Okay, Indonesia...continue.
INDONESIA: Okay...Israel and America...you know...
THAILAND: No way!
INDONESIA: Way!
MALAYSIA: No waaayy!
INDONESIA: Way waayyy!
THAILAND: They're fucking?
SINGAPORE: Hey! You said the F word!
MALAYSIA: I knew it! Bloody Lesbos!
SINGAPORE: Hey!!! Who stuck chewing gum in my hair? Get it out! Get it out! Get it ooooouuuuuttttttttt!!!!!!!!
AMERICA: What's all this commotion!
THAILAND: Someone put chewing gum in Singapore's hair.
AMERICA: Okay! Who put chewing gum in Singapore's hair?
MALAYSIA: giggle giggle giggle
AMERICA: If nobody admits it, you're all going to be punished!
MALAYSIA: giggle giggle giggle
ISRAEL: whisper whisper whisper
AMERICA: What's that?
ISRAEL: whisper whisper whiper
AMERICA: Yes, dear
ISRAEL: whisper whisper whisper
AMERICA: Yes, munchkin...
ISRAEL: whisper whisper whisper
AMERICA: Ahem...well, it has come to my attention that Iraq has been thinking about the possibility of maybe sometime in the future acquiring the means to possess chewing-gum related ingredients!
IRAQ: Huh?
AMERICA: Hand over your chewing-gum related ingredients! Now!
IRAQ: Please not to be bothering me while I am shoving this dildo-like apparatus up the asshole of Kuwait!
KUWAIT: Aaaahhhh!!!!
AMERICA: If you do not comply, we will launch a nucular dildo up your ass!!!
IRAQ: Fuck you, Israel's Bitch!
AMERICA: This is WAR!!!!!
BRITAIN: Whatever you say!
MALAYSIA: giggle giggle giggle

So as you can see, women will NOT make the world a better place if they were in charge.
And I for one am willing to sacrifice not seeing their knickers in order to ensure that they remain firmly below The Glass Ceiling.
It's a small price to pay to ensure that the world remains safely in the hands of Men.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a beer.
Burrrpppp.

Why Men Write Poetry Gooder Than Women

2006-12-04T19:35:00.000+08:00

Amazing!
Just two posts and I've already been voted Blogger of the Year by The Association of Voices Who Magically Appear When I'm Drunk (TAVWMAWID)!
Gosh, this is such an honour!
I'd like to thank Randy, Jermaine, Tito and...errr...the other one.
But most of all I'd like to thank Almighty God, who types out these words as I dictate them to Him, and sometimes brings me coffee.

Anyway, as Blogger of the Year, I feel it is my duty to ditch my humility and Tell Other People How To Write Goodly.
And by Other People, i am talking specifically about Women.

You see, it is a well-known fact that Women talk nonsense.

This is clearly documented in the Gospel according to John and Paul, which states that:

Desmond has a barrow in the market place
Molly is the singer in a band
Desmond says to Molly "girl I like your face"
And Molly says this as she takes him by the hand:

Obladi oblada, life goes on yahhh
La la la la life goes on

See?
But just because they talk nonsense, doesn't mean they have to write nonsense.
And nowhere is the Nonsensical Woman-Writer Epidemic (NWWE) more prevalent than in Blogland.
Time and time again, you come across posts written by women that are not only utter rubbish, they are also wrong, grammatologically-speaking.
These women string together randomly-chosen words and try to make them sound like poetry, but they often end up sounding like Japanese t-shirts.
RAISE YOUR HANDS, all of you out there who have come across posts like this:

Oh!

The pain!

Oh!

Why? Why? Why?

Why is what?

Who is where?

I am You.

You are The Shoelaces.

That tie together the shoes.

That keep me grounded.

But...

Alas!

I have stepped on...

Chewing gum.

And it is...

Icky.

Penitence! Transcendence!
Sing a song of...
sixpence!

For all is lost,

And I am...

Dead.

Are your hands raised? Yes? Well, put them down, stupid. I can't bloody well see you, can I?

The point is, you'll never see men droning on and on like that. Men write better poetry because they just say what they mean.
The world's best documented poem, in fact, can be found scribbled behind a door in the MEN's room at a Mamak restaurant in Taman Daya, Johor Bahru.
It goes like this:

Anak kucing
tangkap tikus,
Aku kencing,
Engkau jirus

You see? You see?
This poem works because it adheres to the Three Basic Rules of Poetry:

1) It rhymes
2) It's simple
3) It offends people who possess Nilai-nilai Murni

Here's another example of Great Poetry, which is written by me, but to this day strangely remains ignored by the Arty-Farty Pulitzer Association (AFPA):

I strangled a cat
until it was dead,
Maybe for lunch,
I'll eat it with bread,

some pickles and onions,
some mayo and cheese,
But I'll skin the cat first,
'Coz fur makes me sneeze

I realise many of you women will find this post offensive and sexist. I urge you write angry responses immediately.
I'm looking forward to reading your comments as I'm thinking of starting a Japanese t-shirt company.
Thank You.

Okay, God. Stop typing now and get me some coffee. No don't type THAT, dammit! No-no-no...oh, just forget it!
Idiot.

Astronatas

2006-12-01T15:57:00.000+08:00

When you read the Letters section in websites such as Malaysiakini, you can't help but feel that Malaysians are the most unpatriotic people in The Galaxy.

Clearly, these myopic idiots can't see why it's important for The First Malaysian in Space to conduct experiments on Batik Printing and Teh Tarik.

Allow me to enlighten you unscientific morons:

The Importance of Batik Printing

When senators from all over The Galaxy meet at an Upacara Rasmi to debate the impending Attack of the Clones, and Malaysia decides to send Hishamuddin as its representative, surely he should be smartly attired in Batik.
Surely you realise that representatives from other planets will laugh at him if he was seen waving his keris dressed as Queen Amidala, while delivering the following important pantun:

Kalau nak belajar jadi Jedi,
Belajarlah dari Encik Yoda,
Cina semua boleh tutup kedai,
India semua boleh po'dah

So you see, Batik Printing is a very important component of the National Space Progamme.
It's a matter of National Pride, dammit!

The Importance of Teh Tarik

It is a celeverly kept secret that Mamaks actually own this country. But no one knows about it. We're all ignorantly walking around in a Maggi-goreng induced stupor. We don't know about this because the sneaky buggers wont declare their Equity. Consider the following figures:

Malay Equity: 18.6% - 225% depending on who's releasing the figures
Chinese Equity: 99.99%
Indian Equity: 1.3% in toll change
Dan lain-lain Equity: They're dan lain-lains. Who cares?

So where are the figures for Mamak Equity? Told you they were sneaky buggers. They won't declare it because they don't want to arouse our suspicion!
Okay, so the Mamaks have colonised Malaysia.
Next, they'll colonise Earth.
Then what?
To Tarriiiikkkk where no man has Tarriiikkked before!
Sneaky buggers.

So now do you understand the importance of The Malaysian Space Programme? You ignorant bunch of losers?
No?
It's the Malay Space Progamme, you say?
Hmmmmmmm...
Well, you do have a point there, I guess.

So:

In order to make the Malaysian Space Programme more Malaysian, I would like to suggest that subsequent Astronauts sent into space be non-bumis:

Malaysian Space Programme 2

Send TWO Indians to space to train under a Jedi master, so that they can master the Jedi Arts, learn to use a lightsaber, and then fight...each other.

The Indians should be supplied with many bottles of Seven Seas whisky/tape-head cleaner in order for them to also find out the trajectory of puke in space.

Malaysian Space Programme 3

Send a Chinese into space in a rocket loaded to the brim with toilet-paper and tell him/her to "use it to wipe Uranus".

Malaysian Space Programme 4

Send a Dan Lain-Lain into space and forget to bring him/her back.

Malaysian Space Programme 5

Send an Orang-asli into space with instructions to "sumpit a lethal poison dart into a black hole, with the hopes that it will travel back in time and come back and hit whoever it was that suggested sending a Malaysian into space in the first place."

Questions That Just Won't Flush Away...

2006-11-30T22:25:00.000+08:00

Why is the Body Part that I'm most proud of also the least reliable one?
Soalan Bonus:
Why is this Body Part designed in such a way that makes it so vulnerable to attack from the Corners of Desks, Flying Hockey Balls, etc?

Does the G-spot really exist? Or is it a myth created by women (and here I'm thinking specifically of Oprah Winfrey) to make men feel inadequate?
Soalan Bonus:
Lorekkan kawasan G-spot dalam gambarajah berikut:

Am I really as funny as I think I am after 15 beers?

Why do women do everything in their power to destroy the careers of other women, and then blame The Glass Ceiling on men?

Why are there five wh- questions and then there's How? Wouldn't it have been simpler to just name it Whow?

Why do cats exist?
Soalan Bonus:
How come cats always irritate you under the table in Malay warungs but never in Chinese restaurants? Is it because in Chinese restaurants, the cats are on the table?

Do they teach Science in English now because scientific terms in Malay sound like dirty words (pipet, buret, penunu) ?

Are cab drivers the best philosophers in this country?
True cab driver question:
"Apasal bila air kena kat benda elektrik, benda tu terbakar, padahal elektrik tu datang dari air kat empangan?"

You know those tabungs they have in McDonald's?
Why do they make the slots so small?
When they give me my change, should I spend the next few minutes putting coins in one by one, thereby annoying the hell out of the people behind me?
If I don't, will I be able to live with the shame of allowing a crippled orphan to starve just because a few people behind me were too impatient wait for their Quarter Pounders?
Who needs this kind of pressure, dammit?
Soalan Bonus:
What the fuck is the difference between a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a Double Cheeseburger?

How come no one will publish my book? Is it really that bad? Will it help if I put the word Dalil in the title?

Why is Oprah a role model for women? You don't see men running around wanting to be Dr Phil...
Soalan Bonus:
If Oprah is so smart, how come her studio audience looks suspiciously like the audience in the Home Shopping Network, as the following example undeniably demonstrates:

OPRAH: In todays show, we'll examine why men have no feelings....
STUDIO AUDIENCE: WooooooYaaayyyyyyaieeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

HOME SHOPPING NETWORK GUY:...as you can see, the Ginsu knife can cut through your car door...
STUDIO AUDIENCE: WooooooYaaayyyyyyaieeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

Where is Arsenal's Next Dennis Bergkamp?

Where is Arsenal's Next Patrick Vieira?

We lost to Fulham???? Fulham???????

Now Everyone Can Fly? Why? Shouldn't some people just take the bus? Or better yet, stay the fuck at home?

When bad people die, do they go to Puduraya?

Who came up with the word Konek? What self-respecting man, no matter how small his weiner is, would look down and say "Akan ku namakan benda ni Konek?"
Soalan Bonus:
Was it, in fact, a woman who named it? Was it...Oprah Winfrey?????

What nonsense did I learn in school?
Soalan Bonus:
Why couldn't Pythagoras keep his fucking Teorem to himself?
Soalan Bonus 2:
Since leaving school, has anybody ever written a letter containing the phrase "semoga Saudara berada dalam keadaan sihat walafiat"?

Does Panadol Actifast really work faster? If so, why do they still sell Panadol? Does anyboy ever say "I have a headache, but I want it to last a bit longer than it has to."?

How come every single driver complains about 'driving in fucking KL', yet they think it's strange that I don't drive?

Don't the blind accordion players on the kaki lima get sick of playing Lambada over and over again? Do they know how bad they sound? Are they deaf as well?
Soalan Bonus:
In the Paralympic Games, are the referees really blind?
Soalan Bonus 2:
Why are there so many blind people asking for money in Bangsar? Is it because they can't see that the other blind people are there as well?
Soalan Bonus 3:
If I give money to retards, is it still a sin to make fun of them?

Is it disturbing that I thought Daphne in Scooby Doo was hot, considering she was, in fact, a cartoon?
Soalan Bonus:
Wouldn't it be funny if, at the end of Scooby Doo, when they unmask the villain, it turns out to be.....Oprah Winfrey!!!!

This post is inspired by (but nowhere near as funny as) the writing of my candidate for Sasterawan Negara, Lily Liverbird. She's been bugging me to start a blog for the longest time, and I've been bugging her to write a book.
I've started a blog, Lily.
Now write a book, you bloody Penunu!