Where's my Mc Shit sticker?

The thing about boycotting is that my friends now have something either useful or stupid enough to bright their facebook wall.

And it's pretty annoying to find myself unintentionally limited by their do's and dont's.

Dogs.

Prekuel.

I'm writing a book. A monolog-type of book. In malay.

It's about a punk who's missing his glory days. Of how he fucked up his life, his ideology and his dreams. All by knocking up his girlfriend.

There's one big problem, however.

I don't know how to end it.

LRT.

There are time when you wish you were the guy who's sitting right in front of you. In that navy blue skinny jeans, in those washed out denim shirt and in this packed public transport. Whom long messy hair is waving at everytime he turned to check on the view outside.

Shit.

Nah, you just wish you had his hot girlfriend sitting on your fucking lap too, no?

Snake.

I read an article on the net yesterday on the day of birth and snake. It says that those who was born on Sunday is under the snake running away from fire into the water category. Long story cut short, he or she will be having a hard life.

I started my new job earlier this month. The new life. My previous job was easy. So does the life.

I need a hard one. So I quit.

But then only I realised something. Instead of letting myself be the snake who ran away from fire into the water, I opted to be one.

I am fucking genius.

Back.

See. I told you guys that blogging is one hell of a fucking seasonal shit. Now I guess everybody is busy with either instagramming or tweeting. You see how technology is killing our people by inside. The conspiracy?

They doing books now? What??

By the way, don't wait for my next post. It took me how many months to present to you this hell of masterpiece, so to come out with another, that might take me years.

That is to say, if and I say if we can find the right submarine-cum-ship to survive this coming apocalypse.

Till then, see you guys in Capetown.

Football's queen.

"I think this year it is going to be all about football." A friend told me that.

Yes. With the local Super League is still in progress, the European Championship is coming close and then the new season of English Premier League. Up next is the Olympic football ; GB is playing!! and last but not least the AFF Football Championship where our Harimau Malaya will battling their heart out to defend the title.

"Ah local football, is on the rises." I smile.

So I went back home a little early that evening, tuning into Astro Awani and...

Hmmm. This is the part where I will actually call myself a less-patriotic muthafucker.

I took a quick glance at the Nike plastic bag hanging on my wall. Confident enough that I am making the correct decision by letting go of my hundreds buck for this Les Blues kits than this kitty team playing shit on my 29 inches tv screen.

And that muthafucker I am. Forgive me lord.

The bigger you are, the cockier you will become.

The last time that I ride this hell of cable car is when I was a twelve years old comics junkies. That was during a school's trip for those who excelled in their UPSR exam. That was actually fourteen years ago. And although I can't precisely describe my feeling back then but I am pretty much sure that I was enjoying it.

After that it was only a conjugal visit. Either a late night trip to kill a boring weekend or to escape the heat of the sin city.

So at twenty six, when my siblings decided to have some kind of family days out up there in the cold, I decided to give it a go; yes, the cable car.

And one thing I can honestly concluded is that your courage, your happiness and your boldness is slowly killed as you were growing up.

Fucking period.

Sex, dreams and jeans.. X Bookwriting season.

One day, when I decided to publish a book of mine, on the day when the book launching event was taking place, at that time, when every eyes were waiting for my reply and every hearts were beating the shit out of their own pulse, for one simple question, one; "Why the fuck that I finally decided to write a fucking book?"

"I can't stand watching those idiot making a fool of you people." said me.

Twenty six and counting.

Happy birthday to me.

Yes, I am celebrating my twenty six birthday last Friday. So how did I celebrate it? By watching a movie in an almost empty hundred and fourty eight seats cinema.

Alone.

I don't know if you guys already had you eyes on the movie or not but I felt kind of somehow related into it, straight after I had my ass hit the comfy seat. It was few minutes after the movie started when there is this scene in the bar where the two Hoopers were disagreeing on each other's life. Actually it was the elder telling the younger to grow up and be a fucking man.

On his birthday, generally. And on my my birthday, specifically.

No, my brother wouldn't do that. We would rather talks about football matches than to interfere on each other personal life. Seriously. OK, leave it.

You know one thing that I love about Hollywood products is how in every movies they produced, they never failed to present their audience with this inspiring cum motivation concepts. The likes of how a total loser can suddenly become a world saver. The from zero to a hero thingy.

And so, I inspired.

Now, when will the aliens land here? Should I join the fucking navy first?

For that few sex.. seconds.

Street demonstrations was a bit of football, here and then. It's seasonal. Yes, you can shout of how much you were against the price hiking, jeers on the inefficient government that we've inherited for how long?, harshly criticized all the politicians that we currently had, today. Only to find out that we, on the very next evening, were sitting on the same seat as we were yesterday, languishing the sweetness of the teh tarik.

Enjoying the beautiful football played on the fourty inch light-emitting diode television.

And oh, another defeat. Expected as it always are.

The god and the dog.

In a world where two ways communication is very much dependable, I found it stupid when hitting those prick on the social networking site who seem to be living in his or her own world. With less friends to communicate with and surprisingly lots of friends on their back.

Yes, some of them were fucking famous so to listen or to read on others mumbling is a wastes of their precious times. I can't hardly denied that fact. But that fact is actually applied if you were some fucking famous god genius.

Not just another fucking dog, barking at each others, fighting over a tasteless bone for breakfast.

Sex, dream and jeans #8.

I do have another blog. A multi-language blog of which I dedicated it to my superb girlfriend. Where my writings was merely a short story between us two. What we were doing, where we were heading and of everything that is circulating around us. The love.

I suck pretty big in both grammar, be it malay or english. But that wasn't the case, here. My problem is that I tend to start my writing from the back. No, I used to.

I used to write anything I have in mind (the ending) on a piece of paper. And from the ending, up I go until I've come to the introduction part. Then only I edit it. You know, keep of what I feel necessary and let go of what I feel not.

And the norm in my writing was much of like this; start-coffee break-fifa twelve-twittering-take a shower-reply sms and stop. For two hours and start again.

That is how.

So if you guys were kind of lost while reading or going through my post, you don't have to worry. Because believe me, I am facing that similar problem, or may be worst, trying my hard to finish it.

Ah and one more thing.

The fact that I am still hiding behind that guy with a butterfly wing profile picture is no longer relevant when I believe some of you people already got a look at this so super not cool dude on my other part of the social networks.

I should seriously give a thought on retirement.

Table for two.

To be on your back, going every where around the world, doing what you like must be the ultimate dream that every human being should dreamed of. Far from your usual life and to be untied with all the bonding that you previously had. Ah. I really don't prefer commitments. Not before I reached all the spots I've mark in my little black map.

I kept that promise to myself thorough my diploma's day only to be broken when I bumped myself with this immatured girl in my degree's math class.

The solo travelling, the dreams and the promises, I guess it's all beyond my reach now. And regret, I am not.

Down.

For every time that I met a people, I started out by took a glance at their feet. Yup, feet. What were they wearing down below.

That every shoes has it's stories.

How disastrous I am with money.

Previously on FTSNC,

I was planning on maintaining my account balance to this certain amount for every month, starting with my March's salary. To actually success on this matters is never easy. I need to keep my appearance at the nearby fashion shops as minimum as possible.

That is to say that I need to be attentive. I must plan of my cash flow on every breaths I am breathing. I must go for what I need rather for what I've wanted. And so I go with the plan.

I went to the golden triangle, fetched a beautiful watch with a considerable price for my girlfriend, it was her birthday, with my mom's coming. Everything and everything was according to my plan untill...

*********

Now on FTSNC,

I was there again, in the heart of the golden triangle. My March's salary is just a week old. I withdrew the automated-teller-machine card from my wallet, slowly insert it into the slot and carefully key in the six digit combination numbers.

RM300? Good shit.

A punk rock birthday wish.

I work with numbers; date, time and money during my eight hours at the office. For most of the minutes, I am either being sick looking at them numbers or maybe got myself confused by their complexity. But one good reason is that I suddenly became aware of the people around me. You know occasions like, my brother's wedding anniversary, my first time losing my virginity to even my ex's birthday.

Or so, I guess.

Today was another ordinary afternoon under the heat of March and and the cold of my office air conditioner. And I kept on smiling every time that I bumped into that number.

27/3/1951.

Happy birthday, mom. I love you so fucking much!!

Who loves their first time anal, anyway?

I went to another event last saturday and finally catching up with few of my facebook buddies that I barely met.

Sounds interesting but believe me, it's not.

The problem with me is that I usually stuttered when meeting new peoples. I don't know what to say and that habit is kinda took the best out of me for the time being. I was like stucked but trying to act as cool as I possibly can to make sure that they didn't sense my nerveousness.

For most of the time that I think I'm going to cherish the moment, I failed. Miserably.

One of the few reason is because me, I don't actually know how to start a fucking conversation. Yes, you can easily find me woohooing people on facebook and other part of social networking site but in truth I sucked pretty damn much. Especially when it comes to a table full of unfamiliar faces. Even when they are guys.

Gays, I know.

But believe me, once I hit my fucking keys, you'll begged for me to stop talking. Cheers!!

K-men : First Class.

I don't really care about the Lynas project. In fact I don't even know what the fuck Lynas is operating after all. A simple, honest chemical processing? An Aussie rare earths mining company? A foregin company gets to pollute our rivers, our seas and now our water supply and community tourism - all tax free!??

I don't give a damn.

I am from Pahang, the southern part of it. I've been living there for a couple of decade now. My mom and my elder sister was still there, enjoying their life. I've got lots of friend from Kuantan. From schoolmate to university classmate to a hi-hi-bye-bye-mate.

One of them is my diploma's classmate named Mohd Syazwan Karim. He is about five feet seven tall with a muscular body, big arms, a set of workout calves and a dark brown skin. All the characteristic that you would expect from a rugby player, nowadays.

But one thing I don't expect is him turning green the next time I made a joke about his love life. Or him joining the X-men.

To keep the blue-collars flying high.

When government decided to hike up the salary of their servants, I am thinking that it might be another cheap politician craps practiced by them. It happens before, no? Now that we are so close with the next pilihanraya umum.

I previously and honestly thought it was only going to reflect those whom whom payment was insanely low. You know the likes of non-ranks soldier and the nursing peeps whom monthly income was merely a thousand. Or maybe some kindergarten teacher.

Not some fucking dickhead who make thousands per months by just attending meeting and another meeting. And then claimed on almost everything.

I got siblings and friends whose working hours finished as early as 1.30pm everyday. I watched how they start to plan for their future shortly after the bells rang. They need to attend an after-school tuitions to earn some cash. Become a land-car-house broker, an insurances agent, MLM, you name it.

They had to go to the bank to make loans to buy a fucking bike, to own a goddamn car and worse; to get marry.

One of the few reason is because the interests offered by the bank was superbly low and another is that they don't actually entitled for a big bonuses as those from the private sector would have enjoyed. But the main reason must be because they simply can't afford it;

The life.

Having said that, I can't stop but wondering how hard it must be for those who have no government supports on their backs? A fucking three digit per month salary, a two bedrooms PPR flat, three primary kids to feed on everyday, a full time housewife and another unborn in progress.

None of them care, don't they?

Life is wonderful.

Ah, the SPM result is out. No wonder those motivation-fucker can't stop laboring their magical words to the kiddos on their facebook. I'm giving mine too now, here.

Truth is, no biggies kiddos, because right after you graduate from your high school, with whatever result that you've managed - who fucking care of the A's? -, you can actually ended up in a local university considering that you are Malaysian by the certificate. Money shouldn't be a problem since we did have lots of certified ah long in this country.

They'll give you, let say, RM2200 per semester, sound good enough for you to renew your monthly BIS, a return bus fare to KL on every weekend and a pair of sneakers. You'll even got a meal allowance.

What you need to do is come to class, submitted some paper work, get to know some horny chicks, took a couples of 3gp clips for the memory, passed the final exam and graduated.

Then you'll jump into the working environment which is completely different from what you've previously taught in the university. Then only you realized that life's suck, you quit your job, become a government servant, got married and then, died happily.

Off course, some even died early.

And out comes the wolves.

The worst thing being in a working environment is that you will take order from people who are actually stupider than you. A person who achieved his level of authority on a seniority basis. That even if you ask him to do the simplest calculation, he will surely fucked up and die.

Few minutes later, another idiot born.

Time is standing still.

I am not afraid to move on.

I really don't mind a new adventure but to get my ass shifted away from my comfort was the least that I prefer. There's a lot of times when I think myself as another boasted and stupid jerk, pretending that I was happy with all the setup I have around me.

I did and I think I am.

The fact that I am living in this unhappy environment with a smile on my face was pretty amazing. I guess I need time. We all need time, don't we?

That even to fall in love with a woman, requires time. You don't just passes a girl and fall in love. You'll take a few second to stare at her to realize that it's a love at your first sight.

All the gloomy morning, shitty tasks and late night work, I got used to it now.

Bring it on!!

Marimba.

In one whole day, the only time that my handphone would be on the ringtone-mode is when I was having a long night sleep. That is for my girlfriend to wake me up; to make sure that I won't be late to either go to work or out with her for a dinner. But it's usually for the second reason.

No, then it should be on the silent mode, with a vibration and even on the weekends.

I don't enjoy ringtones and to bump with this short music airing from your outdated phone while I was in a fucking conversation or when we shared the same taxi is a fucking disturbing experience. A pain in the ass. Yes, my ass, off course.

Fuck you.

And this is from the bottom of the heart of an IPhone user.

Off being a dickhead.

Beside love, ones level of patriotism is another thing that is considered as subjective.

I didn't really get along with all the nationalities issues played by those ultra-dickhead especially when it comes to football term. I mean to simply claim an individual as not being patriotic just because he didn't stand up during the national anthem was played, left before a match is finished or if they choose to air an abroad football league rather than the local match; is pure bullshit.

Lets say, if you were given two choices, that is to either fuck Maria Ozawa or Najwa Ampang, who would it be?

To whom will you surrender your dick to?

When every love you drops, count.

How subjective can love be is determine by how many time that the individual got laid. First, third, second, ninth or cockth. Yup, the highest level should either be cockth for a girl or cunth for a guy. I mean, this included if you were doing an orgy or you just had a twelve hours creamy night with your partner.

Every drops count.

More and you should go find a fucking psexchiatrist.

Chromeotology.

I remember during my induction with Kudsia Kahar when she said that I and few of my colleagues who shared the room were from the Y generation. I don't quite understand what's the Y generation is all about and neither did she bother to explain.

But she did mention of the 80's generation. The year of our birth, maybe.

I'm not so sure because as far as I concerned, I am from this generation who read a newspaper from its back to the front - stopped half way down - and continued reading it on the next time when we used that piece of paper to bed our lunch. Who barely care what's the tomorrow headlines will be.

Whom language at mamaks should either be about football or of a hot chick passing by.

Sigh.

I think the end is where it's begin.

I went home last weekend and with the pilihanraya is coming, my mom can't stop reminding me to get my ass back home to perform my responsibility. I nodded reluctantly at every time she brought up the issue.

I don't care, to be honest.

I think that until god decided to turn this world upside down, then only people will start doing the good things. A few bucks to the victim, a big cheques to the society and a few pages of company's corporate social responsibility.

If.

Ah. We've gone through that period, don't we?

The fast lane.

There aren't things that money can't buy.

For every single thing circulating in this world, tangible or non-tangible, from the most subjective things such as love and respect to an end invisible products; air and wind is available, as long you got sufficient cash in the pocket. A purchasing power.

And now they are buying heaven.

If I was a rich man with multi million dollars left in my Swiss account and since I was too busy tripling that figure each and every second of my day, that is to say that I didn't actually have enough time to dance with god and to perform all the necessary things required to put me right at where every good guys supposed to end at when their time comes,

can I build you a mosque?

So that you'll pray for my wealthiness in hereafter.

Long live, homo sapiens!

A punk rock revolution.

You guys should know this one big thing about humanity. That we're actually not only been classified by our skin color neither our races, we're also been categorized by our action. What we were doing and what's not.

If you were some fucking punk rocker, watching some stupid free concert organized by your foreign owned company which is getting bigger, day by day, by strangling the life of all the dickheads in the country, while at the same time, your very best friend were enjoying life just across the straits, you were by all means is an asshole.

A revolutionist asshole.

Boobs.

Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Rojak. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Yasmin Ahmad's Films. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Rojak. Teohlogy. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Yasmin Ahmad's Films. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Rojak. Teohlogy. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Operation Nasi Kerabu. Teohlogy. Yasmin Ahmad's Films.

I've started a new habits of reading books. And I do mean books.

A random post part 2.

I've just realized of one fucking fun fact about myself.

Not only that I can easily fall asleep while reading a fucking book, I too, frankly speaking, switched off on a easy basis while writing a long entry for this fucking blog. So if somewhere in the future that you see an unfinished entry being published here, please kindly noted me at 017-94...

TV commercial.

There's a lot of times that I questioning the choices that I've made in my life. It is hard actually to wake up on every morning to live a life that I never wanted. It is even harder to realize that this road that I've took can't even be undo.

Then only I realized that life wasn't that complicated as long as we know the answers to our questions. As long as we know what are we doing and why we were doing it or how are we going to do it?

I love drawing. I used to draw things on a piece of paper. Up until that day when my pen is running out of it's black ink and I ran out of white paper. I switched to this microsoft windows paint and I've decided to use this application ever since.

So why did I switched to microsoft windows paint again? Because there is no such thing as insufficient black ink and no more wasted papers.

And why? The. Fuck. Did. I. Write. This. Like. It. Is. A. Fucking. TV. Commercial. Scripts. You. Tell. Me.

Otaism.

Two weeks ago, I was stranded along the Doraisamy road. In the middle of the night and all by myself. My brother was at our hometown, enjoying his off day. You see, to get a taxi from there was a no problem but with four ringgit left in my pocket, I can't barely hope.

Fortunate for me as I have been in this situation quite a number of time before. I mean to be broke and to feel all alone.

This is such a completed turnaround from where I am few months back, as far as I can remember and as much as I am concerned. I was there before, laughing and whistling at all those pretty faced who were spending their night like it was their last. I was there. And they've done that.

I bet the shit is still the same.

As I passed by the glittering window, I looked down to the image of myself.

Yeah. I think those shit is still is the same. Not a problem. I just need a little bit of faith.

Aunt Mary.

One quick phone call was partially enough to remind me of one thing that I often seem to forget. That there's actually another part of the world from what I've been living for the past few second. The one that shouldn't and will never be replaced no matter how hard I tried.

A wake up and a call.

Plain.

In this 2012th, I plan to write a lil bit than the previous year. And I also think of putting some of my naked pictures apart from all the rumblings. Ah yes, I plan to let you know who the fuck is this i'msosupernotcool guy.

One, two, three.