The house phone rang. I answered it. It was Beancurd - my sister - the most fucking stupid creature in the universe.

Me : “What do you want?”

Beancurd : “Where’s mom?”

Me : “Sleeping”

Beancurd : “How bout Regine?”

Me : “Why? you want her to answer the phone? Is that what you want?? Are you fucking out of your mind?? She doesn’t even know how to speak yet!”

Beancurd : “No, no, I was trying to ask what she’s doing…”

Me : “She’s sleeping. Like what babies always do.”

Beancurd : “Alright..”

I hung up on her.

I don’t understand why she’s so fucking concerned about my daughter. Why she’s so fucking interested in getting intimate with my family. She has her own daughter and family, but she doesn’t give a fuck about them. She scolds her all the fucking time. And she doesn’t show a wee bit of love to her own family. But she always want to get closer to mine. And act like a bitch like she’s so smart like that. She’s not smart. She’s fucking stupid. The most fucking stupid creature in the universe.

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her. I told my mom that her brain’s probably damaged or something when she was born. But my mom always take that as a joke, whilst I’m serious on every word of it. She could just fucking die I don’t care… I just do not want her to be around. I don’t want to see her fucking face.

It doesn’t feel very good to have the most fucking stupid creature in the universe as your sister. Sometimes I wish I was born an orphan instead, so that I do not have to contend with all these shits. If I was born an orphan, I probably would have gotten a better life. Not like this.

If you’re fat and ugly, please… be more considerate. Don’t wear a super short miniskirt, or expose any part of your body at all. No, none of those skimpy clothes are gonna change the general public perception about your sorry state of rock bottom charm. Given a choice, we’d rather turn our eyes to see somebody getting run over by a train, than to set our vision on your unforgiving lardy piece of bloated cunt. Sorry.

This is an autoreply email to inform you that the person that you’re trying to reach, Michael Ooi, is currently out of office (from 31st August till 3rd September). During this period, he will have no access to email, snailmail, telephone or whatsoever primitive communications available to mankind.

If you have something urgent that needed immediate attention, you may refer to his supervisor [boss's email address] for further assistance.

Have a nice day.
Michael Ooi’s email management robot.

*****

Of course ler, the robot lied. If you’ve known me long enough, then you should know that I can always be reached at my cellphone. A key thing that one should always remember in his/her corporate worklife - NEVER. EVER. TRUST. A. FUCKING. ROBOT.

And your boss.

The lab phone rang, I answered it. The same dolt called. Again, to look for Mojo Jojo.

dolt: “Hello may I speak to Mojo Jojo please?”

Me: “I’m sorry, he isn’t around.”

dolt: “He gone out for lunch?”

Me: “Probably taking a crap somewhere, I wouldn’t know. He could be anywhere.”

dolt: “Ahakssss hakksss ok ok. Who’s this?”

Me: “I am Michael”.

That dolt’s also a shapeshift, and she has the intellect of a computer mouse.

For most of you people who works in an office, I’m sure you know what a ‘cubicle’ is. For those of you who don’t, well, it’s basically a personalized floor space an office worker works in, often segregated from other fellow office workers by some non-permanent partitions and shits like that. It’s like, a smaller private office space inside the office.

In an ideal working environment, each and every office workers should have their own cubicle. But sadly, in this competitive & developing world, such is not the case anymore. Sometime ago, in the course for a cost saving initiative, somebody decided that a cube should be shared by a few heads… and that was when our nightmares begin.

The word ‘privacy’ immediately vanished from our work life. Not to say that we needed a private space to jack-off or do sick stuffs with our eating utensils, but I’m talking about the uncomfortable feeling of having someone to sneak behind your back when you’re trying to do something productive… you know… like surfing a blog? Yeah. Sharing a cube with someone else is fucking painful.

But what are we to do about it, since we are all dependent on the same hand that feeds us. So the only means of survival for such hardship, is to compromise. To achieve that, we office people tacitly honours a specific set of conduct codes to make our co-existence a more bearable affair. These conduct codes, though unwritten and rarely discussed openly, is kinda easy for anyone with adequate common sense to figure out. It’s like a part of the working life.

But then again, sadly, not many people have common sense nowadays. More often than not, we see these codes getting violated like a cheap whore on a broad daylight. And from the way I observe things going on around here, it’s the matter of time before we all became zombiefied by these stupid motherfuckers, and turn into mindless walking schmucks that have no respects to even our own shits.

So before things start to get out of hand, let me do this for the one final time - to preach the codes out here in my blog, READILY WRITTEN, so that you young people who lacked of common senses due to biological screw-ups or who has yet to start working, will understand, and fucking honour these codes as well, so that you won’t be that much contemptible when you grow up…

*****

CODE #1: Mind your own business
I can be doing something that MAY or MAY NOT be of interest of your’s, or I can be not doing anything at all. But whatever it is, IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS. You’re paid to do whatever that you should be doing, not nosying around other people’s business.

CODE #2: Keep your volume down
Everything that you do, it should only be loud enough for yourself to hear. You don’t broadcast your voicemail like you’re trying to auction blowjob services with a bullhorn. You don’t shout at your mother-in-law from your office phone. You don’t fucking stir your coffee loud like you’re trying masturbate a mug with a giant vibrator. I don’t want to hear all that.

CODE #3: Shut the fuck up
If you’ve got nothing intelligent or productive to say, don’t say it. If you want to act like you’re so goddamn friendly like that, don’t do it. (I hereby acknowledge that you’re friendly, so shut up already). If you don’t like how messy my desk is, don’t comment about it. Just, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

CODE #4: Be hygienic
A cube usually has limited space, so for fucks sake, keep yourself hygienic. Bathe at least daily. Wear only clean clothes. Use deodorant if necessary. Keep your(our) cube clean, and don’t eat inside the cube. The smell’s gonna stink up the place like a rat hole and the leftovers/crumbs are going to attract your relatives - rats and roaches. I don’t want your sleaziness to become part of my life.

CODE #5: Be considerate
A cubicle is not a place for you to hold open discussions. It’s a place for you to do your deskworks. If you want to have open discussions with a bunch of your retard team members, do it somewhere else. Meeting room, lobby, cafeteria, the smoking bay, inside the toilet, anywhere… I don’t fucking care. Just SOMEWHERE ELSE.

CODE #6: Keep out
DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ANYTHING ON MY DESK. If you need anything from my desk, ask me for it. Depending on my mood, if I feel like lending it to you, then I might just be that charitable and let you have it. However, if you’re refused, then you’ll have to understand that I’m not by any means a bad or selfish person… and you shouldn’t bitch about it. Just fuck off and borrow it from someone else (or buy it yourself).

*****

Like I said, it’s very simple. If you couldn’t understand the rationale behind these etiquette, then you’re probably a retard and you shouldn’t be working at the office in the first place. *shrugs

Print this out if necessary, frame it, and hang it inside your cube to remind your cube-mates.