What the fuck is wrong with you girls, huh? What’s with the fluorescent mini flare skirt and that repulsive looking triple strapped Japanese schoolgirl blouse? Don’t you people have a sense of fashion no more?

You motherfucking cheebye Teriyaki bitches, please do us people a favour, go kill yourself and make the world a better place.

*Teriyaki girls/bitches/biddies/hags = a new term to describe somebody (a female) who has a poor sense of dressing up like a fictional doll, 20 years behind her real age.*

We have waaaaayyyy too many Teriyaki bitches around in Company X. Gotta find a way to snuck a burner beneath that skirt and toast a beaver or two…

I sent this to the World’s Local Bank today…

*****

I would like to voice my dissatisfaction about a recent bad experience with HSBC service.

Today, I was trying to transfer a certain amount of fund to a third party (who owns a HSBC acc) through your Internet transfer function. But however, when I was trying to do that, I was prompted with a message that my transfer limit has been reduced to Zero and was given a 1300 number to call.

I called the number and after being made to wait for approximately long enough to cook a pack of instant noodles, I was greeted with a helpdesk personnel who can’t seem to help me at all with my transfer problems. He later asserted that my transfer limit has been reset to ZERO due to my inactivity in transferring money to any third party accounts for more than 1 year, and subsequently, nulled my transfer capability. In order to regain my account’s online transfer capability, I’ll have to reinstate my transfer limit with the bank.

I asked if there’s anything the online guy can somehow help me reinstate that transfer limit, I was asked for my telebanking pin number (which I don’t remember, since i have been doing my banking ONLINE for the past couple years). I have my internet security clearance, my ATM pin and even all the information about my own self to prove that I am me, but I still need the goddamn telebanking pin to get my transfer limit set.

I asked again if he can help me get the pin, he said I need to personally go to the bank to get that. How convenient is that. All the troubles, so that I can comfortably sit on my chair to do my internet banking. Wow. I then politely thanked that helpdesk vegetable and hung up.

Then, I found a ‘request telebanking pin’ at the menu on your online banking page on the left. I lighted up like a bulb and clicked on it. Lo and behold, I was prompted with that 1300 number again - WHICH, I’ve already called earlier (and already learnt that it’s useless). I got frustrated and gave up on everything. I finally changed my mind about transferring that amount of money to my friend who’s probably starving to death waiting for that CD-R money he paid in advance for my squandering ass. Good for you HSBC, you’ve just psychologically influenced me to change my mind on executing an action in reality through your bureaucratic mind-numbing requirements.

I was wondering, what is the logic behind such a ridiculous rule (that stupid one year inactivity rule). If I had already set a limit previously, and why in the world would I want it to be nulled a year later? If I want it nulled, I would have told you myself, right? The purpose of online banking is to have that convenience of being able to exercise my banking at home, anytime at my discretion. Now this rule, voids that purpose.

If this is about security, then haven’t you guys already implemented that battery operated security code doohickey for us to press at to get online? Isn’t that supposed to prevent terrorists from unrightfully transfer our hard earned money into their camel’s account somewhere in the Middle east? I really do not get this.

This, clearly, is not my idea of a good customer experience. Probably this feedback of mine matters not to you, since I’m not a millionaire who’s going to make any difference to your corporate’s wealth reserve or something. But the least I think what can happen, is a few more unhappy customers like me, would relate our negative views to our relatives and friends, who in turn, would do the same to their friends too, and the idea would exponentially ramifies into a larger audience, and by then, all your credit card salespeople would have to peddle for pirated DVDs to make up for the lost income. It wouldn’t be good.

So, I hope that you - whoever’s logging this feedback message - would take this seriously, and use it to improve your future service.

Some new tenant moved into the unit above our apartment a few weeks ago. How did we know? Because of the change in the acoustic pattern of somebody walking above our head. From basically nothing, to THUMP THUMP THUMP. Twenty four fucking hours (apparently, they never sleep). It’s really annoying for the first few days, but after a while, we kinda grew accustomed to it.

So, life goes on.

Last week, the new tenant(s), started a whole new level of their noise making flair. This time, it’s CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK, of something being repeatedly hit with a heavy mallet. Sometimes, there were even sounds of furniture being dragged across the floor. Like they’ve just discovered the laws of physics and vibrations there. Initially we thought maybe these people were just adjusting their new furniture, you know, since they’ve just moved in not long ago and all that. So, we compromised, and thought that it would be over soon when they’re done with it.

But we were wrong.

The knockings not only became more constant, but louder as well. There were a few times, Regine got jolted up from her sleep and scared the living shit out of her. As a result, she began to suffer somekind of an insomnia, and eventually developed colic. Emily, being the most affected by all the commotion, decided to confront the bunch of uncivilized apes, lest that our daughter would grow up to be emotionally disturbed. She went up there, and subtly threw them a courteous but sarcastic remarks

“Hi I’m your neighbour from the unit below your’s. I noticed that you people have been knocking on something for the past few nights… I was wondering, if you can knock a little less harder? That’s because the noise is scaring the shit out of my infant daughter and it keeps waking her from her sleep.” [wide smile]

(the tenants comprise of 3 individuals: 2 blimp guys and a skeletal chick whom my mom described as ‘extremely repugnant looking piece of shit’)

They kinda complied, but there were still occasional furniture dragging. We kinda gave up on that one. After all, they’re just renting the place. You can’t expect those people to be considerate just because you have a sleeping baby. (being sensitive to noise is part and parcel of having a baby)

Again, we lived with it.

But this morning, something happened. I discovered a dent mark on my car door, which I was absolutely positive, that it’s induced by that retarded lowlife tenant. How so?
a) Their parking lot is next to mine (yes, very unfortunate indeed)
b) That fucking neighbour always park his car overlapping my lot, leaving a narrow space not big enough to walk through a midget.
c) I check my car for dents each time I alight my car, and the dent wasn’t there the last time I checked it.
d) I haven’t parked anywhere else except my workplace and my own parking lot for the past 1 month. My workplace lot is wide enough to park 1.5 cars and it’s ‘immune’ to swiveling door hits.
e) The dent mark MATCHES the height and swiveling radius of the tenant’s car.

I’m so fucking upset about the whole shebang right now. Having had to put up with those mongoloids at my workplace and enough asshole neighbours, now I had to deal with these neanderthals from hell. Why can’t just everyone be like any average civilized person? What the fuck is wrong with all these people? Why are there so many pricks inside my world?

I’m finding it more and more difficult to blend into the way of our society. It’s debilitating me off all the positive aspects of life. I don’t find interacting with a fellow human pleasant anymore. I’d rather do it with a lizard. At least I can expect a lizard to be less intelligent, and I know it won’t be able to wreck my car in any way (unless it was unfortunate enough to stuck in between the valves, which might fuck the engine…)

I have a hunch, that I’m not going to be a very healthy person when I grow old. Either I’m gonna fucking die out of stroke, or I’m going to develop an acute depression complex that’s gonna make me a psycho going postal around the neighbourhood. Perhaps I should stop taking everything in life too personal. Maybe I should take drugs haze up my brain or something.

Right now, I’m thinking of how to confront those cavemen after work today. The medieval way? Or the white collar way.

Emily bought :
my socks - 3 pairs for 10 bucks (size: extra large, no strawberry stitch-ons)
Regine’s socks - 1 pair for 9 bucks (size: infant, with strawberry stitch-ons)

But it wouldn’t have looked as good on daddy’s feet, those damn expensive socks… even if it fits, anyway.

I accidentally brushed the side of my chest against something last night, and felt a sharp sting somewhere around my left nipple. Fearing that there may be an insect feasting on my tit, I lifted up my T-shirt to inspect… and saw this ripened bead of zit on the left side off my left nipple.

It was a nasty one. Roughly the size of half a grain of rice and was inflamed at the area surrounding it. I looked at it in utter disgust, and at the same time, astonished as how this zit could have festered to this size right below my nose without even noticing it. This can be likened to the feeling of discovering that there’s a colony of wild hyenas breeding under your bed, and you only realized it like, yesterday.

I begin to poke it with my finger. Felt a small prick, but it was alright I guess. I think I can handle it. So, I decided to squeeze it off. Slowly, I applied some pressure on it with my index and thumb, kinda expecting it to pop out and be done with it (since it had ripened). But it didn’t pop. Instead, I was hit with that prick sensation again, only this time, it was amplified to a thousand folds.

The pain was so intense, that I had to actually clench my eyes shut to bear with it, with tears pouring out of the corner of my eyelids like it’s so out of control like that. I swear that it almost felt as if my nipple was trying to give birth to an ENTIRE colony of hyenas. The pain. Oh fuck. It’s indescribable.

I waddled into the kitchen in agony, took a sip of water and had another careful look at that monster again under the illumination of the fluorescent light. Shit. Looks like I’ll have to call for the Spasmodic Squeeze Protocol (SSP) to tackle this. You know, when you’re confronted with a difficult task that you can’t seem to follow the usual process to dispatch it? Like peeling a plaster off a sore wound? You yank the plaster off in a flash of light. You’ll feel a lot of pain, but for the same short amount of time to get the WHOLE job done. SSP follows the same concept. Squeeze it hard to pop the damn thing, and brace yourself for the next few seconds of pain (rather than to suffer under that slow painful spell). It a man’s way of solving problems. Simple, fast and objective driven.

So I got myself to prepare for that SSP thing. My left hand to lift my T-shirt and my right hand in the position to execute the act. I got myself ready, counted to three, took a deep breath and pinched that zit with all my might. And the time stopped. I was temporary blinded by a wave of vertigo, followed by a twinge of diarrhea inducing pain. My body started to convulse violently and I was unconsciously gritting my teeth to the brink of dislocating my jaw. The whole thing was almost like what Rambo had to go through when he lit up the gunpowder to cauterize his wound. Now this zit, this motherfucking zit, would have made Rambo himself keel the fuck over. No shit.

I had to squirm standing around the kitchen looking like a living dead with balancing problems for about 20 - 30 seconds… before I regain back my standing composure and opened my eyes. With my tit still sore, I stoop my head down to look at the damn zit. The zit itself has erupted and was gone, but left a whole deal lot of inflamed tissues for me to reckon with. Goddamn.