Archive for July, 2006

July 31, 2006

it’s there for a reason

Why do people snore when they sleep? Are they there simply to piss people off or is there a reason behind these low frequency annoyances?

It’s there for a reason, people. That’s what I believe. Quite contrary to general public perception, snoring is not a deficiency (if it is a deficiency, then we guys would have filed for disabled status, and you girls will have to fucking walk farther in the carpark). It’s actually a function of our body that occurs subconsciously, like how our body shivers when cold or when we automatically get a stiffy upon seeing a woman naked (a good looking woman, that is).

To understand why snoring occurs, we have to trace back to our origins, back when our forefathers were still dwelling in caves with gigantic spiders and ill treated their spouses with wooden clubs.

During those prehistorical times, they had to hunt animals to survive, and god knows how many animals had to be killed just to fill a stomach or two. That’s why the animals hold grudges against us human. That’s why they always attack us unprovoked sometimes. It’s because of a simple reason – we were their predators and they fucking hate us.

So how does this connect to snoring? Evolution, people. The evolution made us snore… to ward off against animal attacks. You see, we humans are intelligent, yes… and that makes us dangerous and shit. But when we sleep, our intelligence will be a factor no more, and will be as stupid as a rock. A breathing piece of rock. We don’t react to anything. We’re like, at our most vulnerable state of mind (soccer keyword: open goal). That’s when the coyotes, hyenas, and other mean carnivorous motherfuckers want to have a piece of us back – for eating them relatives and cousins.

That’s when our snoring comes into play. When we sleep, we snore. And when the sound reflects through the tubular cave, it will create an eerie echoing effect that would freak those wild animals away – thinking that we’re wide awake and is at full capability to make them into a kebab supper anytime soon. With that, we get to sleep without any interference from any dark forces of the night. An ingenious evolution that keeps our humanity ass safe.

Then comes civilization, when we don’t dwell in caves no more, and we obtain food by swiping plastic cards over air conditioned counters. But just like hundreds of our other obsoleted body parts (bodily hairs, fangs, coccyx, etc), our snoring lives through the changes of time. Although it does not serve much of its original function anymore in modern era (unless if you still dwell in caves of course), it still plays a few minor roles in our lives. Like waking up the baby and agitate that hyena lying next to you.

[poke poke poke]
“Cackle cackle cackle?? Cackle cackle cackle!”
[hyena language translation: “Can you please be quiet?? You’re waking up the baby!”]

Right now, it only serves as a reminder of our forgotten manlihood… where its usefulness is often shrouded by the gripes of the rodless gender. Like, what do they know about evolution science? These people are lost in their own space of ignorance. I weep for you, mankind. You and your damned hairless scrawny calf with varicose veins.

(some females do snore as well, this is a red flag indicator that the female subject could be aggressive in nature. Beware of snoring females, guys. May the force be with you.)

michaelooi  | enlightenments  | Comments Off
July 28, 2006

girl friday

Her first sleeveless top, and she’s getting excited all about it.

People, if you think that girl in the pic is cute, please leave a wolf whistle in the commenting section. Thanks.

(Please peruse this post before you do anything stupid like asking her out for a date. You’ve been warned.)

michaelooi  | 3-of-us  | 32 Comments

bitter memories : the ralph in him

PukeMachine, like I’ve said before, I’ve seen him hurt himself many times when we were kids. Far too many times to be just average. Far too many times to be just stupid. PukeMachine, the epitome of stupidity…

Here are a few more of his preposterous acts :

playing with explosives
Firecrackers were pretty much legal back then. One fine weekend during the school holidays, PukeMachine decided to make a bomb for himself. What he did was – he unrolled those little red firecrackers to salvage its volatile powder, and burned a bunch of it at close range. Now, any normal kid with an average wit wouldn’t have deemed this as a good idea… no matter how fun it’s gonna be. All except for PukeMachine. He thought that it was a fun thing to do… and hurt himself pretty bad from the explosion.

His face was almost completely healed when he returned to school after the holidays, but was still bad enough for most of us to notice that both his eyebrows were cleanly burnt off, and the epidermal layer of his face carbon black, with some random peelings on his temple. When asked about it, he would simply claim that he was accidentally scalded by boiling water, but later, confessed to me (his best friend evarrrr) that his injury was inflicted by a homemade bomb. Everyone found out about it after that. (thanks to me)

the finger trick
PukeMachine came to me one morning, and told me that he discovered something awesome. I was like “yeah? what is it?” and he showed me one of his fingers. It was blistering at the region right above the fingernail. I asked “what happened to your finger?”. He then told me, “Mike, if you repeatedly rub your skin like this, the skin would come off! How awesome is that! Try it man… it’s fun”. He was chafing his own skin off and thought that it was fun.

I didn’t ask why would he do that for, nor did I question the sanity of that act. I just pretended that I was very impressed with his ‘discovery’ and told him I’m gonna chafe all the skin on my finger that night, and I would show him tomorrow. But of course I didn’t. He showed up the next morning with blisters on all his fingers, some even had dried blood still caked on it. I just bluffed him that I couldn’t get my skin off and he dissed me off like I was the dumbest fart on the planet for not partaking that skin chafing fun. Now that I think of it, he kinda reminded me of Ralph Wiggum.

cursed bicycle
PukeMachine was our class goalkeeper. Not that he’s good or anything, but because he was big enough to block a large portion of the goal box. He had a nickname to go with his goal keeping, “slippery fish catcher” – attributed to his clumsiness in catching even a slow rolling ball. But that was not relevant to what I intend to share here (but important to justify why he was chosen for the goalkeeping role).

Anyway, one day, he failed to show up for the class soccer tournament. Cellphones weren’t invented yet back then, and we were made to wait for the goalkeeper that never came. We then had to proceed the game with the reserve goalkeeper. Apparently, PukeMachine met an accident on the way to the game and broke his arm in two. There weren’t any details spared to give us an idea how the hell he managed to break his arm from a bicycle accident. He just said ‘he fell off’.

But I didn’t believe him. You don’t break your arm when you fall off a goddamn bicycle. Unless your bicycle is 3 storeys high or capable of speeding like a fucking motorcycle. He probably rode off a cliff or something, but I’m just speculating. He could have broken his arms from jumping off his apartment unit. For the fun of it.

cursed bicycle 2
I once asked to join in a bicycle trip with PukeMachine and my other classmate, Johnny, into gallivanting around a rural housing area which was known for its intricate network of dirt tracks. Because I wasn’t really familiar with that area, PukeMachine and Johnny would have to guide me around, lest I might get myself lost or something.

And that’s what PukeMachine did, or at least attempted to do – to take advantage of that situation to abandon me and then to live out to tell the tale about my misfortune. So, he rode faster, in hope that I won’t be able to catch up the lead and got myself lost in that maze of dirt tracks. But little did he realize that his bicycle didn’t have much traction on those dirt tracks, and he got himself gliding down at the first corner (just like how that T1000 cyborg glided on that overturned liquid nitrogen truck in Terminator 2), and landed flat right in front of a family relaxing on a bench, all who stared down at him like they’ve just witnessed a UFO landing right in front of their yard.

No he didn’t break his arm this time, just his pride, as Johnny and I laughed squarely at his face and spread the news like wildfire the next day.


Just thought of sharing all these so that you kids will not make the same mistakes like PukeMachine uncle did…

michaelooi  | escapades  | Comments Off
July 27, 2006

problems, who needs themmm????

I’ve been having this observation about babies… you know, the way their life works. The way their clock ticks. The way they go about making things happening. It’s so simple.

All they have to do, is bawl.

Soiled nappies? Just bawl. Someone will tend to them and clean up their shits.

Hungry? Bawl. Somebody will eventually scamper around for something and feed them.

Too hot? Too cold? Bawl again. There will be some poor souls worry about setting their weather straight again.

Don’t like somebody? Bawl some more. They’ll just disappear.

Or just simply bawl for the fun of it. Somebody will eventually figure out what could be wrong and do whatever that is necessary to keep them happy.

As you can see, their world revolves around that one universal act of opening their mouth and let out that nasty inconsiderate scream – and everything will set into their own gears and work towards that little guy’s expectation. How perfect is that. An all rounder solution for every frigging problems they face.

How I wish I could use that. Like when I am really distressed about my mounting credit card debts… or when I peruse that exorbitant timing belt quotation for Lorraine… man I really do feel like crying. But you and I know, that’s a myth. We as an adult, after gaining so much knowledge and secrets about life, will not be given the privilege to use that sacred bawling act. You’ll be a wacko if you do that.

It was as if, some higher being out there designed all these to fuck with us.

Babies who have less problems to worry about in life, gets to have that ‘universal problem solving’ privilege. While we adults who have to worry about bills and shits, get all stuck up and left to putrefy in our own anguish. Somebody tell me what the fuck is wrong with this world?? Why don’t we see kangaroos or rats get depressed about their lives? This is beginning to get into me.

I’m getting really sick about all these responsibilities lately. I came home today from work and told Emily, how I wish I can just lie down on the bed and hibernate (knowing that bawling won’t cut the mustard)… and wake up 10 years later at the same age… Things will be so much different then. If I’m not quite happy about anything still, then I’m gonna hibernate some more. I’ll hibernate through time, a few years in this century, another few in the next, and probably long enough to witness people flying around in the future with some piss powered jet scooter.

But sadly, that’s also a myth. I can’t be sleeping forever. I need food to survive, and I need money to buy food. Which, will be another problem to worry about if I’m planning to hibernate that long, because I won’t have a job for that money to buy food. Bummer.

Maybe I should just bawl, like the time when PukeMachine lost his school uniform, and pray that there will be a shapeshifter that would take pity on me and offer to pay off my homeloan, car loan, credit card debts and Lorraine’s timing belt… I’m willing to exchange a round of kinky sex for that.

(I don’t know what am I trying to say here, I was kinda ‘unstable’ today…)

michaelooi  | ramblings  | Comments Off
July 26, 2006

bonnie binti boner

It’s really a wonder how modern cosmetics and vanity articles could ooze an incredulous amount of confidence amongst women. Because of them, girls would miraculously never have to feel ugly no more. Just smear some magic chemicals on their face, follow some made-up dietary plans and voila! she’s all beautiful. Yeah right.

Such would be the case for Bonnie, one of the infamous harridans at my office. The big bad hypocrite bitch who backstabs and filch everyone’s credit for the good of her own. She’s easily one of the worst dressed person in Company X.

You see, Bonnie is not very well-endowed, but somehow out of her deficient mind, she doesn’t realize that. She thinks she’s hot and pretty. The fact is, she’s already at the brink of reaching her menopausal stage, and has saggy tits that resembled an old dog’s sack of testicles. But still, she dresses up like she has just got her first strand of pubic hair. Miniskirts, tank tops, tight skirts and every scanty clothing items she can find, to flaunt her imaginary curvy assets (the only curvy surface I managed to spot would be her bloated squid-like head, the rest are just dimpled and wavy lards)

She would plod around the office in a fake catwalk gait, with her head held up high, thinking that everyone’s having a wet daydream about her – which is, totally fucking wrong. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. A little survey around the office revealed that many of the guys would rather die (or fuck an exhaust pipe) than to imagine themselves having a piece of this wretched ratfink. (my colleague KS told me that he feels like flinging his mug at her each time she’s in vicinity)

It’s perplexing isn’t it? Why can’t she pick up the negative vibes around her already? Can’t she see the gag reflexes (or the puddles of pukes) she generated along the sidewalk herself? What the fuck is she thinking? That she could hide her age behind those gaudy rags and cheap cosmetics?

It’s goddamn depressing.

People, if the descriptions above somehow reminisce you of yourself, let me break this bad news for you – no, cosmetics and rags won’t cover up your aging. You know what would? Paperbag. Just wear it over your head. If you need to see, cut two holes on them. Or alternately, you can kill yourself. Like I’ve said many times before, corpses don’t age.

Bonnie, I could have grabbed any beast from an animal shelter, run it over with a truck and set it on fire, it’ll still be very much better looking than her. FUckk.

michaelooi  | characters  | Comments Off