Archive for November, 2004

November 24, 2004

the red hag

My colleague Elliot chauffeured us to lunch yesterday and was strolling along a deserted street when I noticed a blip. A bright red colored blip, at the end of the stretch. I wasn’t sure what it was initially, but it sure looked like someone wearing a clown suit.

As we moved closer towards the blip, it became more and more apparent, that it was a… housewife. Wearing a bright fluorescent red flowery pajama dress on a red bicycle. She was stunt cycling with one hand maneuvering the bicycle handle, and the other hand holding a fully fledged red umbrella (shielding the harmful UV rays from the sun, yeah right). I’ve never seen someone who’s so fond of reds before. (a Liverpool fan perhaps ?).

She’s probably in her late 50’s and was with a shoulder length neatly cut straight hair – a cross between He-Man’s hairstyle versus Mia Wallace’s of Pulp Fiction (you get the idea). Her face resembled a typical old hag and she was wearing a pair of very thick glasses.

Barf cycle? She’s worth about 1.5… with 0.5 attributed to her ludicrous garbs. I was about to laugh myself stupid when I started to have this conscience, you know, that I shouldn’t ridicule at people too much. It’s bad karma. So I stopped and told myself that there was nothing wrong with that lady… and I should just get a life.

Fine. Elliot car strolled closer towards that housewife, with me still gazing at her in a stifled manner. I kept having this subconscious voice that tells me that she didn’t actually look silly cycling with an open umbrella and looked so bloody red at the same time. I was suppressing myself real hard already.

It went on well, until suddenly, a mutt leapt out of nowhere and started to give chase to that red hag. As red hag was cycling at a very slow pace, it took no trouble at all for that dog to catch up on her. The dog started to sink it’s snappers onto the red bike’s puny tyres. Zweeeekkk ! I instantly felt the friction as the dog’s head got dragged down by the moving rubber and smacked flat onto the paved road. It then rolled a couple of times before getting up to give chase again.

“HAHAHAHAHHHHHH !!! FUCK !!!!” I yelled in tears, pointing at red hag’s direction.

Red hag panicked and I could see her bicycle started to wobble as if a whole generation of rabbits were humping on simultaneously. She hastened her cycling pace and for the second time, that dog caught up on her. This time, it attempted to bite her fluttering red dress… to which, she tried to maneuver her bike in a winding manner, in hope to confuse the wacky dog. And she fucking did it with ONE HAND!

But her efforts were futile, whatever she was trying to do, as the dog caught up on her again. That was when she used her umbrella to shield the dog off. The dog was of a ‘die hard’ breed and was relentlessly trying to get around the umbrella. As the mutt was faster than the bike, it actually forces red hag to paddle faster when its head pushed against her umbrella. So, the red hag was kinda like going faster by the seconds while she had to deal with that menacing canine from behind.

I was laughing so fucking hard by then, almost at the verge of blacking out.

The whole crazy shit then came to an end, when the dog decided that he had had his fun of the day. (so did I). I bet that could be the last time she would ever wear that flagrant dress in public. (If only she’d known earlier… that not only bulls are attracted to red color…)

Now, I finally learnt the ultimate truth – that dogs are indeed men’s best friend. They help us to chase off weirdos and finks alike, making our world a better place to live. Long live the dogs!

michaelooi  | what I saw  | 32 Comments
November 22, 2004


Emily needs to get some documents stamped this morning and I had to chauffeur her to the income tax office – which was located at one of the busiest streets in Penang. Parking space were meager, so, I decided to just stop by the roadside to wait for her. It was right in front of a motorcycle parking lot.

It was a very busy morning, with droves of motorcyclists passing in and out by my car. Then came an old man on his bike with his pillion….a very young girl in her early 20’s.

Ok, forget about the old man. The young girl, was with a flowy long hair, sleeveless top and a very low cut hipster pants. Very promising from the first look from behind. But when she turned to reveal her front, my fucking god, she’s worth 1.5 barf cycle. The extra 0.5 was the result of her protruding lard belly… with some dark sediments visible inside her belly button (I’m not making this up). So much of them, that it could actually grow a tomato plant inside her belly button [puke puke]

She was also blessed with a set of really rickety and jagged brownish teeth, the type that would leave forensic experts confused if she were to leave a bite mark on a murder victim. A dog would have stayed out of her path.

Alright, you get the picture. I presume that she’s the old man’s daughter. They had a short talk upon descending from the bike and I could then see the old man gesticulating to his daughter to ‘wait here goddamn it.. wait here!’.

The old man then walked into some government building, leaving his ratfink daughter alone. It was then, she let out this really eery cackle, by herself. She was whipping out her mobile phone while doing that. I don’t fucking know what was so funny about mobile phones but, she gave me the creeps that words could never describe.

Then I saw her muttering by herself, and then cackled even more. No, there wasn’t any bluetooth handsfree device nor any earplugs on either side of her ears. Her phone was the oldskool type anyway, one that comes in handy to crush crabs – I don’t think it is able to support any wireless device.

It went on like this for about 5 minutes – you know, muttering to herself, let out sheepish smile, mutter, cackle. As if she was having some really interesting conversation with someone. Who? I don’t frigging know.

The only thought that crossed my mind was, what if the bitch leaps onto my car hood and starts to perform a skanky Guns N Roses headbang? I mean, what should I do if she does that? I can’t just simply beat the shit out of her – she could be mental and bite me!

But then, from what I reckoned, I don’t think she’s really cracked in the head. She’s normal. So, what actually made her behave in such a way?

Imaginary friends? Dead spirits? Are the aliens behind this? This is so weird.

michaelooi  | what I saw  | 29 Comments
November 21, 2004

disclaimer II

I ask for your attention.

If you think my blog sucks or I am lame at cracking stupid jokes, FINE. No big deal. Just go somewhere else. To other blogs.

I mean, if you’re so pissed with me and my blog, why bother coming back here? To post comments and let me make you sound stupid? This is my blog, and I blog any way I like it. I don’t beg for anyone to come here to read my stuffs… and I even have a few disclaimers to warn you… that this blog encompasses contents that are unsuitable for certain type of people. You read with discretion.

If you still insist to visit this blog and get yourself aggravated with it, then it must be YOU, yourself, that asked for it. YOU are the idiot. YOU are the “retarted” fuck. This is akin to forcing yourself to eat a piece of inedible rock.

I have no mercy for idiots and cretins alike. Or anyone who refuses to use their common sense. I will not hesitate to mock, jeer, insult or denigrate anyone who posts “inappropriate stuff” in my commenting system. Inappropriate stuff such as insults (to me, my friends, other readers), or anything that I do not like at all.
Yes I am that uncivilized, or whatever you want to call me.

Come on, this is my blog, it’s really easy for me to just expurgate your post or edit your comments. The worst thing that can ever happen to me, is to temporary disable my commenting system… which I have no problem doing so.

Hereby, I would like to message everyone who antagonizes me out there – just get the fuck out from this blog and disappear. I don’t really care about you and your retardation. If you want to continue reading this blog, fine for me too – just as long as you’ll keep your stinking mouth shut and only blurt whatever appropriate.

You’ve been warned you motherfuckers

michaelooi  | site stuff  | 115 Comments
November 20, 2004


There’s a “retarted” reader who keeps coming back to read my blog despite the fact that he dislikes every single thing I wrote. To honor such a loyal reader, I have dedicated a post specially for him. Thanks for the support, Jefferi. Be strong. You can do it. Go towards the light, don’t look back.. ok ?


Hi, my name is jefferi. I am a very open minded peeple. I like to surf the internet and dance shebang shebang. i go to cybercafe everyday, and i like to see blogs. I think it improof my english but, i dun think peeple notice it. Because when i post komen, peeple say i can’t spell retar.. retarted. and they say i am retarted.

but i am not a retart. i am normal. instead of failing all my 9 subject in school, i only fail 8 of them. i passed my PE lesson. A retart won’t pass PE. wakakakak. my mummy say i am smarter than a dildo. (p/s: mummy says dildo means father, that means, i am smarter than my father, a dildo, wakakakak).

nevermine, i think those people jz want to tease me. i take it as a challegne to improve myself. someone say me a kiddo (p/s: i dunno what is kiddo mean, wakakakak). Maybe kiddo is small children, wich i am not. I havent shit on my pants for many many year already. 5 i think. so, i am a grow up. wakakakaka

that day, i play irc at the cybercafe. i am in this chatroom full of tis farnee peeple. then one of the peeple posted a riddle “There were 2 people on a boat: /hop and /quit. /hop got off, who’s still on the boat?”. of course i not stupid, i typed /quit . don’t know why, sudden;y i got log off from the chatroom. i think the cybercafe computer no good (p/s: i think).

maybe i need to ask dildo to buy me computer at home use again. Cybercafe computer got problem i not happy. I have ask dildo buy me computer before, but he always say mummy work chicken not enough. but if not enough, how come mummy haf money to sit taxi ? no money peeple dun sit taxi. Dildo is lying (p/s: i think).

ok, it getting late. i need to go back home to fuck now (p/s: mumy say fuck is sleep. she teach me a lot of new word). tq to listening to me.


*applause* *standing ovation*

michaelooi  | characters  | 28 Comments
November 18, 2004


That afternoon was scorching hot, and no chilled water could quench my thirst. I was rummaging the refrigerator to look for antidotes. Beers, sodas, anything. But the piece of cold junk metal storage was as bare as Kate Moss’ rack.

Fuck. I’d be dehydrated like a ginseng if I don’t get myself a good rejuvenation soon. That was when I decided to raid the prohibited region of the refrigerator – the housewife region. It was a department full of green vegetables and meat of dead animals – which was normally off limit to the guys. Me (alright, I’m equivalent to many guys).

I continued to forage the maze of cold food, until I spotted something partially obscured at a corner, the golden fruit of heavenly rejuvenation a.k.a orange.

What could be more refreshing and rejuvenating than a chilled big juicy orange ? This was my lucky day.

I hijacked the orange and got myself a small knife. I took a seat at the dining table, and began to peel the orange.

Peel the orange. Yes. I’d love to eat it peeled. Not sliced, not cut or anything. Psychologically I feel, it tastes better when peeled. Nothing beats the feeling of slam dunking wedges of sweet oranges into my mouth and make it explode inside. Hell I’ll eat the seeds as well.

Alright, the orange had some really tough rind. So tough, that it did not actually ‘peeeeeel’. Instead, it came out chunk by chunk, which was kinda frustrating. And the stupid knife wasn’t doing me good either. @#$%^&*(

It went bits by bits. Pieces by pieces. Felt like ages. My palms were literally soaked with the orange rind’s aromatic essence. I wiped it on my white T-shirt, which smeared the reddish yellow streak of color on it, as if the cotton was oxidized like steel.

Then came the annoying soft white peels. The orange’s underwear. I ain’t eating those. They taste bitter. I had to peel them little devils off. My orange had to be perfect. Dry and clean.

I loosen them out like an artist detailing a painting. I left not a single strand of those white peels on it. I had it naked before my eyes and I started to envision myself crunching on its sweet pulps.

Alright, I then took the final task of separating the citrus fruit into wedges. I started out from the north pole, stuck my little finger into the big center hole and carefully attempt to pry them loose. They wouldn’t. I tried separating the orange from the mid section, it was stupid. Tried from the south pole, wouldn’t come loose either. I tried again at the northpole, this time, with a wee bit more force. Squirt. I inadvertently mangled the top part of the orange. My orange was not perfect anymore.

“How am I gonna eat this disfigured orange?” I thought. Goddamn. That was the only one left. I contemplated for a while, looked around me. I didn’t have an option. So I took the whole fruit, and bit it straight from my hands. SCROOOSSSHHHHHHHH, its sweet juice began to pour profusely onto my white T-shirt, partially embossing my pair of guy tits. That bothered me not. I took another bite – SQUIRRRT – it projectiled all over the place. The wall. The sofa. The floor. Every-fucking-where.

I bit, I sucked, and bit it again. Squeezed it some more till the very last drop of essence trickled down my throat. Did that until the whole piece of fruit reduced to a lump of dehydrated pulp. I tried to swallow the thing but, it was impossible. It was too big and would make me barf.

Judging that I had already leeched every single drop of juice from that piece of pulp patty, I walked to the window and spat it out. The piece of saliva soaked barren pulp then landed onto my neighbor’s sleeping dog, startled it and made it aimlessly dash through the open gate onto the busy street.

SCROOOOSSSSSSHHHHHH, I saw the canine’s blood streaked across the hot tarred road. The fucking dog was dead. Could never be happier.

I then took a cold shower and gave myself a good scrub – and spent that peaceful afternoon on a cool soft mattress.


This fictional post was written out of boredom. An expressive post. If it doesn’t make sense to you, never mind.

michaelooi  | imaginations  | 18 Comments