Archive for 2005

October 21, 2005

bonjela

Tell me… people, if you happen to encounter a work colleague who has a really bad case of body odor… so severe that it’s affecting your health… what would you do ? Confront him/her directly ? Or are you gonna rhetorically hint him/her about it ? (this is not the first time I’ve asked this question…)

Well, Emily and her workplace cronies have this lady colleague (let’s call her Bonjela for convenience’ sake) in their department who reeks of a dog poo (serious !), all the fucking time. Nobody knows where does that odor come from … but their best guess is her hair. She probably doesn’t wash her hair as frequent as she should have… which somehow causes her scalp to decompose or something.

Here’s an idea how bad it is — there’s once, Emily suddenly caught an abnormally strong smell from Bonjela’s direction … and asked her bluntly if she had stepped on a dog poo. When she denied, Emily kinda looked around for that imaginary dog poo until she finally realized that it was Bonjela’s BO. She’s like… a walking toilet.

To make the situation even worse, Bonjela is also known to be an extreme sourpuss with the IQ level of a used tampon. She would get upset over the smallest of matter and everyone is afraid to confront her about her shitty stench. Doing that might probably get you some heavy object landing on your head. (this Bonjela bitch is like … HUUGGE. Her tits alone could choke Godzilla purple.)

She gagged the whole office so bad … that someone actually came up to the departmental senior accountant (who is Bonjela’s boss) to complain about the poo smelling adversity she has caused. That was when the rest of the staff actually badgered the senior accountant to confront Bonjela about it … you know, as a boss who’s very concerned over the well being of the workplace.

Guess what ? The lady boss herself got freaked out ! She said that she’s damn afraid that Bonjela might have cooties leaping from her head and the last thing she want is some shit smelling cooties infesting her own body affecting her family life. And that sorta put everyone in the office into some kind of fucked up situation … just because of one person with a bad case of body odor.

Well, what can I say, if I were to be working in the same office, I think I might be facing the same problem as well – not knowing what to do. You see, I can be a very smart guy… but when it comes to confronting people about their bad things, I’m always a sucker. Instead of making a person feel guilty and improve, I’ll probably make the person feel like shit and start going postal or even commit suicide.

But if the bitch continues to be such a pain, I think the unfortunate team there might have to consider using violence instead. Just like how you would do to a rampaging wild elephant that goes around stomping on people. Example of what they can do – sneak behind her (Bonjela), stun her with a cattle prod or something. Once that bitch blacks out, pour plenty of kerosene (or bleach acid) to neutralize odor. Drag unconscious bitch out of building. Put a letter of termination (explain everything) and her 6 months advanced paycheck on her chest. Change locks and access codes. Call lawyer.

A bit harsh but hey… it gets the job done. Unless you people have better suggestions. But until then, let’s all pray for the well being of the suffering victims inside Emily’s office.

michaelooi  | characters  | 29 Comments
October 20, 2005

michelle

There’s this super fucked up guy in my workplace sent me a mail today. In the mail, I was asked to look into an error inside an electronic form, purportedly submitted by myself.

That’s strange – I thought… as I do not recall if I’ve submitted any electronic form in the recent months. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have left a mistake shallow enough to let that twerp discover it (aisehman).

And so, I took the trouble to access the form from the link he provided … and immediately figured out what the problem was.

The form, was actually submitted by another employee who goes by the name “Michelle”… who also shares the same last name as myself.

Yes, the fucked up guy made a terrible boner. He somehow mistaken “Michelle” … as the meanest guy engineer ever known in his workplace … who goes by the name – Michael (fuck, that’s me)

I initially thought of walking over to that fucker’s desk to ask him, do I fucking look, in any way, feminine to him ? Or rather, get him to point out which part of me that somehow made him think I’m “Michelle”…

Probably to further illustrate my message, I would whip out my dick to break his monitor screen to let him know – the difference between Michelle and Michael … would be a rock hard dick and a broken monitor screen away. But then, I figured that I might probably get stitches for doing that (broken monitor screen can be dangerous bebeh…)

So, I decided to send an email instead. Safer way to get the point across. Here’s what I replied him (in big bolded red font):

A colleague told me that I could face disciplinary action for using big bolded texts in my mail… as some people might feel offended over it.

Well, what do I care… I’m just a fucking engineer, not a whore. Pleasing people is not my job. Besides, I should be the one to feel offended, and he should count his blessings already that he still can see something off his monitor.

michaelooi  | work shit  | 21 Comments
October 18, 2005

RUI

I’m sure many of you people have heard of DUI. That’s “Dive Under It” – which literally means, you shove your head under some skirt to eat somebody’s clam. o_O

Kidding.

That’s “Driving Under Influence” (of alcohol, not of your PMS or whatsoever shit). It’s dangerous, you know, when you’re driving inebriated … as you might mistaken a bunch of housewives as a bevy of pigeons, which somehow at that particular state of mind, makes you think it is amusing to plow your junk into them. That’s when something unfortunate happens.

But in Malaysia, we have another hybrid of “under influences” that’s almost as deadly as DUI itself – RUI. That’s “Riding Under Influence”. You know instead of a car ? The drunkard would ride on a motorcycle.

The difference between DUI and RUI
DUI = The drunk gets charged in court after smoking them innocent people.
RUI = Everyone fucking dies including the spongebob who rides the bike.

So, it’s kinda like a kamikaze situation here when there’s some fucktard trying to ride a bike after getting zonked real bad. It’s not like a rare sight either – ask yourself, how many times have you seen some old Indian bozo riding his bike in a zigzag manner on a perfectly straight road ? Countless of times (well, at least in Penang…). And these people, sometimes may end up dunked inside a drain, clogging the drainage system which in turn, allowing mosquitoes to breed and fucking get us all shitload of dengues. (that’s a wild idea but you get the point).

I myself had an encounter with these dangerous RUI motherfuckers before when I was a teenager. Here’s the story to give you people an idea about the danger of Riding Under Influence… :

It occurred on the wee hours on Christmas day and I was heading back to a party location after refueling my bike. Halfway through the journey, I was brushed by this fast motorcycle with a screaming pillion rider on it. “Merry Christmas Wooooo!” he yelled. There was a contact… and almost made me lost control of my bike into a nasty ditch. But I was good, I managed to regain control of the bike and stayed put. Of course, my subsequent reflex was to cuss out loud after balancing my wobbling bike back on its course (don’t ask, that seemed to be the most practical thing to do at that particular moment).

“I HOPE YOU FUCKERS RIDE INTO A TRUCK TONIGHT #$%^&*() !!!”

You know what ? They did ride into something. Not a truck though, but a car driven by some chick exiting an apartment at a high speed curve. I didn’t learn about that until I was negotiating that curve myself – saw both the rider and pillion lying on the middle of the road like dead rats.

I was stunned, you know, realizing that something I had just cursed a few seconds earlier came true before my eyes. Part of me was feeling real ecstatic about it, but another part of me was feeling like I’ve just done something terrible. Soon, the compunction took over me and I stopped my bike to lend some help.

The first guy was the pillion rider (yes, that noisy Santa Claus). It was a Malay bloke and he was totally unconscious. I checked his pulse, he’s not dead. There was a strong smell of alcohol about him (ironic isn’t it? I thought they’re forbidden to consume…). I then moved that dickhead and flung him off like a ragdoll onto the side of the apartment guardhouse. (he was too “sleepy” to even complain…).

I then ran to the rider and tried to move him – but that guy let out a soft groan and said “Sakit …Sakit…” while holding his leg. I checked on his leg and found that it was broken like a matchstick right at the middle of his shin. I ignored him and tried to move him again. This time, he let out a louder groan “Sakit… sakit”. Like his partner, he smelt of alcohol as well. That was when I snapped

“HOI !! APSAL TADI RACING MACAM ORANG GILA MIA TIME TARAK SAKIT ??? PUKIMAK CHEEBYE LU ORANG!!!”

I moved him nevertheless, totally disregarding his complain about his broken leg. Like his partner, I flung him off to land hard on the cement floor at the guardhouse. He went quite content after that and I looked across the road – only to see that stunned lady standing beside her semi wrecked Toyota. She didn’t do anything but stood there like morgue pillar. I then issued an order to the guard (with an attitude) to call for an ambulance and I bailed off the place with a story to tell.

Some of my friends said (after I relived the story to them) that I could have crippled the rider’s leg for moving him around like that. But think about it, if it wasn’t me moving them off the road, they could have got themselves ran over by any oncoming vehicle at that high speed curve. (that time was about 3 – 4 am, but there could be garbage trucks moving around at that hour). The only thing that I regretted that night, was that I didn’t take the opportunity to bitch slap both of them motherfuckers (or at least piss on them). Blame it on my inexperience, I was too shaken to do anything cool (still teenager maa…).

So there you have it. A real life encounter with a couple of RUI fools. Always remember, do not ride (or drive) when you’re drunk. Push your bike home if necessary… or just crash at a nearby toilet.

michaelooi  | traffic shit  | 18 Comments
October 16, 2005

tele-assholes

It was just a few minutes away before my turn to present my slides in a meeting, and my cellphone vibrated. I frantically checked out the call – “Private Number” – it said.

Thinking that it might be some important call made by one of my suppliers, I made a quick exit from the meeting room and answered the phone

[whispering] “Yeah… who’s this?”

*had to whisper because I was standing next to somebody’s desk.

“Good morning Mr. Ooi. This is Muthusamy calling from Citibank. I am here to promote bla bla bla. Are you convenient to talk ?”

Tele-fucking-marketers. Who doesn’t hate them… I usually won’t even let one complete the first sentence, but this Muthusamy guy fired his words in such a rapid pace that I almost thought he actually called from a radio station…

[whispering] “I’m not convenient to talk”

“I just need 5 minutes to explain to you about our super awesome once in a lifetime offer bla bla bla …”

[whispering] “Look Muthu, I’m in the middle of a meeting right now. I’m hanging up…”

“Oh I’m very sorry Mr. Ooi. But when will it be convenient for me to call you back ?”

[whispering] “Can you call me back like, next year or something ?”

A brief moment of silence followed. I think he got dumbfucked and was trying to decipher what I had just said.

“Errmmm… Mr. Ooi, perhaps I’ll call you tomorrow at 4 pm, would that be ok for you ?”

[whispering] “I’ll decide if I’m free enough to talk to you by then.” and I hung up on him. The whole episode lasted less than 20 secs and I went back to my meeting. He never called the next day.

To me, telemarketers are the human version of those email and commenting spams that misuse the communication technology to annoy people. They’re like fucking parasites of the human civilization.

If one day my kid were to date a telemarketer or be a telemarketer himself/herself, I’m gonna fucking kill him/her with my own bare hands. Mark my words.

michaelooi  | happenings  | 31 Comments
October 15, 2005

the visit

I entered the ward that I was looking for, saw him perched on his bed looking at a box full of medicine. I went up to him and said a “hey”. He looked at me as if I’m a stranger and squared it off with a smile.

“You are?” he asked. Yep, he forgot who I am, again.

“I am your daughter [my mom]’s son, Michael”

“You’re [michael’s mom]’s son ? Oohhh… my bad memory. Sorry about that” he said with a sheepish smile. I told him that it was ok, you know, like… I can’t be expecting a 90 year old guy to remember every single one of his 20 over grandchildren’s name, right? It’s not his obligation anyway… Then I went ahead to ask him some stupid ass questions that supposedly be able to allay my own guilt for being such a motherfucking ignorant jerk…

“How are you feeling grandpa?” (like, who could be feeling great inside a fucking hospital ward ?? *smacks own head)

“Not so good, the nurses here aren’t really that good…”

Hell, I know what his definition of “good” is. The old man hasn’t lost his touch when it comes to handling the opposite attraction, I’d be fretting at ugly nurses too when I get old. But that isn’t the thing that bothered the old man (and me, and us). It is something else…

You see, he has been very ill. The tough old dude discovered that he had been coughing some dark rotten blood off his mouth, and said that something was dead in him that bled off this mess. If you were to put it in some way of describing it, it’s like he was menstruating off his mouth. He tried to complain to his own children, but they would dismiss him off as feigning a possum to gain sympathy and attention … as he always did.

But this time, it was for real. After being ignored, he went to the doctor himself and they found some ominous looking dark spots inside his lungs. After a few rounds of body checkup later, the doctor told everyone a very bad news – the old man has terminal stage lung cancer. There is nothing that anybody can possibly do to save him… as he is already too old to go through those treatment shits. So, his children conspired to make him believe that he just had a minor lung infection and put him into this geriatric care ward to nurse off his final days – which is where I stood that day, in front of him.

“It’s damn boring in here… have to look at the walls day and night. I think I won’t make it long… I lived too old. It’s not fun living this old when you have all these illnesses and pain in your joints”

It was an ugly truth that both of us mutually knew, and I didn’t even attempt to pacify the old man with another lie. I just gave him a smile.

But everyone knew it could have been better than this. Grandpa has always been such a pain guy to handle and has had shitload of conflicts with his children. Nobody wants to live with him and he has been living alone ever since my grandma passed away. If only he was a bit nicer to his children, he would not have to be in this sorry state right now. He could have lived off his final days with ANY one of his 8 children … and die off a happy and accomplished man.

Well, sadly, things don’t usually happen the way they should. Life is always a bitch everyone has to put up with. The circumstances in the past had paved for what is happening today and who am I to rant what the old man think is right for himself?

Whatever, I did the best I can that particular moment – we shared a few blank talks about some inane stuffs, gave him some attention to his old day stories (which I must have heard a few hundred times) and lent him the company he needed to forget about boredom. That’s the least I could do…

michaelooi  | personal  | Comments Off