I’ve always been wearing this pair of denture on me. Yes, you heard me right, I wear a denture. How come? Long story. I was in a mission of rescuing an old man in an accident. Some misunderstanding took place, and I was suddenly assaulted by a deranged Indian guy with a helmet - which knocked me out cold. The assault has left me with a minor upper lip disfigurement (which had to be fixed with some minor cosmetic surgery) and I lost 2 of my frontal teeth in the process. And that pair of denture now fills that void of my former dental glory…

It’s a sad thing I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s just another unfortunate incident that happens out of my control, pretty much like 9/11… or the London bombing, victimized by some unscrupulous motherfuckers that never seem to be able to rationalize.

Of course, it wasn’t very comfortable to have that piece of plastic chewing mechanism lodged under my hard palate at first… but I eventually got used to it after a while. That set of plastic teeth soon became an extension of myself. I regained back the ability to masticate like any normal person… and in a certain degree, it has even enhanced my cunnilingus skill (alright, I was joking bout the last part you sickos)

For a few years, that thing managed to stay in my mouth without an incident, until one fine day in KL. You see, I was in this pub clubbing with my buddies and was thoroughly enjoying myself. I’m sure you people must have experienced something like this before - a night where you’re feeling uncannily high in the mood for a wild party and then everything seems to fall right into place. The music’s right, the crowd’s happening. Yes, it is THAT night for me.

Everyone was like going apeshit that night, swigging off whiskies like there’s no tomorrow and was dancing skankily like someone having an epileptic fit. In the midst of having that euphoric moment, I suddenly felt an overpowering discomfort brewing from deep within my throat. It was the kungpao frogs I had earlier that night at Jalan Alor…

With one hand clasping my mouth holding back the urge to puke, I quickly scampered to the restroom for the big hurl and was lucky enough to find an empty booth amidst the crowd of blokes in there. But before I could even lock the booth door, the semi-digested frogs resurrected back into this world through a torrent of projectile vomit, which amazingly out of my sheer drunkenness, managed to steer sloshing right into that puddle of water inside the porcelain bowl. It has to be one of the motherfuckest puke I’ve ever experienced, which came out of not only my mouth, but through my nostrils as well. Totally badass.

I puked shitloads for a couple of minutes, heaved a sigh of relief and flushed them chunks of frogs back into the shitty underworld, then walked out from that booth to the water basin to wash myself, hoping to sober up a little from my drunken stupor. Then, as I was schlepping out from the restroom, I suddenly felt a tinge of awkwardness in me. It was as if I’ve lost something but my intoxicated mind couldn’t seem to determine what it was. It took me about a couple minutes to realize what it was - my denture.

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CRAP! That was my initial reaction. I couldn’t even pronounce it properly under that alcoholic breath as I was confronted with that lispy speech impediment without a part of my frontal teeth. Panic sets in and I began my frantic search of my denture. I started with the basin, then around the booth - but it was nowhere to be found. The dreaded thought soon dawned on me - I must have fucking flushed it along with those frogs to their final resting place - a waste tank somewhere.

Stupefied by the entire boner, I left the restroom livid faced, first explaining everything to Emily, then to my friends - to which, they initially reacted with gasps and later with derogating laughs. It wasn’t easy for me, but I soon got over it… and amazingly, I somehow went on partying despite the ‘oral inadequacy’ (my lip shut tight) and lived through the night.

I remembered I had to endure through a couple more days before I get to go to the dentist (due to the National Day & it’s replacement holiday on that weekend) and stayed lip tight until I got myself a new set of denture. The first thing the dentist said upon learning about my misadventure:

“You know what? There was also one guy who came in earlier today with similar problem. He puked and lost his denture as well! Mannn… what’s the problem with you people? HAhahahh!”

It seems like I’m not the only one who lived to remember such a mortifying tale. What the fuck indeed. I have since learned how to puke with my nostrils so as not to repeat the same mistake again. -__-’

Kidding. I still puke hard, but not before removing my pair of denture. (heh, you won’t see it. I always do it inside the booth…)

Now, if you could remember that entry I mentioned about something embarrassing that has happened to me - here. This is what actually happened

There’s this topic being discussed on the radio the other day, pertaining the question on how to properly discipline the youngs. The radio DJs were kinda like opening up the topic to the public, inviting opinions from callers. And the programme went on with a couple of housewives calling in, sharing their opinions and experiences about disciplining their kids… bla bla bla.

Then came the third housewife caller. This one, was a little bit different from the rest. She sounded distraught and her voice’s like Eric’s mom in “The 70’s Show” (like there’s something lodged inside her throat). The moment she came on air, she immediately made her point clear, that it is WRONG to discipline your kids. Yes, you read me right, it is WRONG to DISCIPLINE your kids. She then remarked further, that if a kid ever gets uppity or climbs on top of your head, let him be. Do not upset or scare him. He’s just a kid (that’s a PhD statement). He knows nothing about right vs wrong bla bla bla.

I was like, “what the fucking hell was that???”. Instead of giving that little bastard the benefit of doubt and act like a dead fish, shouldn’t the parents be disciplining (be it physical or verbal) their kids about what’s right and wrong?? Well, I ain’t a parent myself yet, but I was once a kid. If my mom were to give me that kind of privilege to be a devil? I’d probably land my ass in jail right now.

Then it suddenly hit me like an oncoming freight train. Is this the main reason (poor upbringing by screwed up parents) behind the social decadence that’s plaguing our country? No shit. It only takes a couple of squashy individuals to spawn a handful of fucked-up brats, and their progenies to reproduce exponentially. In a few decades’ time, you’ll get enough of these irrational scumbags around to bring the whole civilization down.

And from the way I look at it, the menace has already reached it’s advanced state. Just look around us. Manhole covers getting stolen. Public conveniences getting vandalized. Old people shaven bald for doing nothing. Students suing teacher for teaching them in a language that they do not dig… (list goes on)
You see a lot of these really insane shits pulled by people who learn their lessons too late in life and turn the society into a less desirable place…

It all starts with an over compulsive mind to think that the sting from a flick of a cane might be too much for that little bastard…

A kid is just like a turd of wet clay. Whether they’re gonna turn into a piece of fine china ware, or pieces of cracked low quality pots, it all pretty much depends on how the parents mold them to be.

In the ancient days, most parents mold their kids up with plenty of beatings. When I was a kid, I used to exchange stories with my fellow kid friends about getting our ass creamed by our parents. It’s like, a very common thing. (God knows how many rattan canes I’ve wrecked with my butt). Cruel but, effective.

Some claim that it’s better to just reason with their kids than to discipline them physically, but I doubted that. I feel that pep talks don’t work very well on kids. That’s because they are stupid. You get verbose with them? It’ll just bore them to the bone. They’ll hear you but they won’t listen. So, the most efficient way is to discipline them short and straight to the point -

Just biff them up.

*But sadly, I don’t even know if that works anymore. With technology so advance nowadays, your kid could turn you to the authorities with just a cellphone call, and you’ll likely — now dig this — face a criminal prosecution yourself for trying to beat that little fucker into a better person! The world is becoming a more difficult place to live in…

Maybe threatening to wreck their harddisk would do the trick better…

That dead-fish housewife? She ought to be hung, shot and had her body dumped to reclaim swamps…

I heard from a friend that there were a lot of guys that bought pet dogs for their girlfriends on Valentines Day… in conjunction with the Year of the Dog. For good fortune perhaps.

Well, if that’s the case, then we guys will all be in for a good treat in 2 years time. That is, 2008… The year of the Rat.

I can foretell that we’re gonna save a lot from buying those overpriced flowers and whateverfucks on Valentines Day, birthdays, anniversaries, etc. That’s because we’re getting them ladies some rats - which are abundant and available everywhere. (unlike dogs, which are expensive and equally as filthy).

All we need to do, is just to spelunk around any monsoon drain for a big fat one, pack it in a box (complete with ribbons and shits like that) and give it to your bitch. A considerable small investment for a higher gain.

Nevermind about her getting fits of uncontrollable seizure or hysteria over the sight of that animal… for everything’s worth it when it comes to straightening out your Chi (or whatever) by getting enough exposure with the auspicious zodiac animal. You know what I mean?

It’s all for the good cause towards a better life. LONG LIVE FENGSHUI!!!

*long entry, don’t bitch
My friend Ayamas organized a Valentines Day dinner at one of Penang’s most ‘exclusively’ prominent private club last night - The Penang Swimming Club. You see, this particular ‘exclusive’ club restaurant, has a set of restriction against its patrons, be it their own club members or invitees - No slippers, No shorts, No non-collared T-shirts.

And last night? None of us guys wore collared shirts as we’re not being made aware about such ruling. And that was why we’re being confronted by the host waiter when we stepped into the premise. The captain/manager/whatever wasn’t very happy about it and since he couldn’t really oust all of us T-shirt hippies out of their club, he decreed one of his waiter to get us a few reserved collared shirts to rectify the grave situation.

And in bring the guy a few chintzy, long-sleeved, collared (of course) batik shirts. We’re supposed to put them over what we’re wearing, as such so that we’re ‘compatible’ with them boot-licking elitists’ standards there.

I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea and was very skeptical about putting it on, especially when I figured that the shirt reeked of some ‘Mopiko’ odor (a popular Japanese ointment to relieve insect bites). That ‘Mopiko’ smell is gonna ruin my expensive Ralph Lauren toilette and that’s not my original idea of an enjoyable evening with my friends and wife.

Not wanting to be a sourpuss in front of my companions (at such a place), I tried to put the gaudy batik shirt on nevertheless… but unfortunately (fortunately) it couldn’t fit my relatively WIDE frame (oh yeah bebeh) at all. So I flagged one of the Malay waiter down

“Excuse me, can you get me another shirt? This one’s too small for me”

The waiter replied to me in BeeEm (I forgot what he actually said, but it was more or less like this…)
“Oh sudah habis… tapi you cuma kena taruk macam ni dekat belakang. Saja nak tengok collar”

He proceeded to drape that piece of shirt onto my shoulder, which pretty much bewildered everyone at our table.

“Oh macam itu Godfather ya?”

“Ya.. ya..”

Sadly, the drape-over ‘cape’ sort of made me look like a cross between a Colombian druglord and a Siamese pimp more than anything else… (what Godfather??). That’s why it stayed for only a couple of seconds on my shoulder… before I ditched it to the side of my chair.

Really, I couldn’t get myself to understand these narrow minded bourgeois drones. What’s so wrong about wearing a non-collared T-shirt to a restaurant? What has this got to do with the dining experience that one’s willing to pay for? Is that club trying imply that round neck T-shirts are substandards of collared shirts, and those who wear it shall be deprived of the privilege to dine inside that restaurant?

I wondered what’s the rationale behind this. In a tropical weather like this, it is understandable that most people would prefer to slip into something comfortable and casual to go for a simple dinner. Something like a simple T-shirt or a wifebeater with jeans (bermudas for me). Not something you would wear to meet your father-in-law or for a job interview (and even that, is bound to change over time…)

I reckoned that this was probably enforced to prevent those “lowlife motherfuckers” that earn less than a hundred grands per annum to enter their premise and spoil everyone’s dining experience. But well, if that’s the main concern, perhaps they could have put more effort to improve their services and food quality instead. However superlative that team of ‘high-standard’ people think they are, it’s all right under that porcelain bowl I meditate on every morning.

Full of crap.

I’ve been there, dined with a pair of round neck T-shirt and I’d say the food’s nothing to shout about. There’s nothing exclusive about this bunghole establishment. That captain/manager/whatever is nothing but a despicable cocksucking snob. He’d only sssssmile and ssssserve his COLLARED clientele, but would never go near that table full of T-shirt clad social outcasts.

There’s more - The steak’s stiff and cold. Drinks not being filled when empty. Order’s incorrect. And those ‘high class literates’ even got our bill wrong. 10 standard sets of Valentines dinner that we had? They billed it for 8. Not that it’s a bad thing but, that sort of tell us a lot about these social class chauvinist. Fucking ironic indeed.

I originally intend to bring this up to the management or something like that… but eventually, put off the plan. I was thinking, who am I to complain? I’m just a collarless invitee and a nobody… like I’m gonna get some empathy from a bigger asshole of a smaller subset. Hahh

So, I decided to do it the ‘nobody’s way’… rant it out in my own private little blog, which very few people will even take notice…

Alright, that was my 10th Valentines Day dinner with Emily… it’s kinda special in a way.

I saw something scary yesterday at the hospital. It was a lanky old lady in her late 50s. You see, everything about her was wrong. The hair, the hipster blouse, the tight striped spandex pants, the hair, the fancy sunglasses, the hair… THE HAIR! Her sordid nausea inducing HAIR!

Not the hair down under, bless me, though I could be wrong about that. But it’s that cauliflower hairdo grown on her piece of skeletal scalp. There were 7 or 8 colors on it! Blue, purple, green, some shades of pink and reds (pretty much like the gay theme of my blog), yellow, white. It was so atrocious that one might mistaken her as a genetically engineered walking (fancy) feather duster that escaped from a biohazard lab somewhere to cause social unrest. She’s easily a ‘4 barf cycle’ candidate (if you don’t know what’s a barf cycle, kindly refer to the barf cycle metric entry I’ve posted sometime ago)

So, you can imagine the kind of attention she’s getting. People squirming at the sight of her. Hospital patients getting living shits shocked out of them. Old people at the verge getting a stroke. Only the kids were excited though, as they mistakenly thought she’s some new hybrid clown hired by the hospital authority to cheer them up (that’s because her cauliflower shaped hairstyle looked so very much like that creepy-ass McDonalds mascot clown). GODDAMN!

This is a perfect example of how an object of vanity could be misused in such a way that it’s causing an inversed effect on a person. Instead of enhancing one’s outlook, it’s causing shock and horror to the public, constituting hazard to the weak and propagating bad influence to the young. I mean, it wouldn’t have been that bad if the old lady were to dress up like, well, an old person, right? But why did she go to the extend of modifying her looks to such revolting condition, I don’t fucking know.

What I know is, if my mom were to turn into such vile creature one day, I’m gonna do my fair bit for the good of the society. I’m gonna fucking shave my mom’s head bald like the legendary Mahjong Eleven.