Archive for 2006

July 21, 2006

road brawl

I witnessed a brand new Waja almost reared another car the other night. The Waja was driven by an Indian bloke with his family. Apparently, he thought the car in front was about to beat the red light, and decided to tailgate real close (just so that he would save himself some precious minutes which he could use to pick more cooties from his greasy hair). But he got it all wrong. The car stopped for the light. As a result, Indian bloke had to floor his brakes and screeched for a few feet, before managed to halt his Waja just about a couple inches away from hitting that car.

I was over the adjacent lane witnessing the whole incident, and gave that Indian bloke a “you’re one hell of a fucked up piece of humanity tumor” gawk. (I was disturbed with the fact that he did that stunt with his family inside). What a jerk, I thought. Someone could get hurt from this, all because of his compulsive behavior.

That Indian guy noticed me gawking at him of course, and he tried to justify his embarrassment by gesticulating at the front vehicle, all the while with his eyes locked towards me. Seeking for empathy, I reckon. I decided to look away, lest he might think I wanted to look for trouble. I’d be glad to cream his brown ass, but not on that night. I was already late for an appointment, and I did not want to be any more tardy than I already was.

So I looked away. About a good 5 or so seconds later, that Indian bloke got out and walked over to that car which he nearly hit. He then turned over to look at me, and warily glanced around if anyone else was looking at him. Yes, he had all the attention on him and that was when his guts perked. In quite a dramatic fashion, he began to flail his hands all over, like someone having an epileptic fit or something … and then pointed at the car driver – who happened to be a scrawny Chinese dude in his 30’s.

Scrawny guy tried to ignore that Indian bloke initially, but was eventually pissed enough when that guy continued to harass him by exhibiting some violent gesticulations (which, I reckoned was learned from various Hindustan fight flicks). Then Scrawny did the unthinkable, he flipped Mr Amitabh Bachan a bird. That was when I saw our Hindustan hero basically went nuts and began to yell like a madman out there on the open road. Like a hostile gorilla taunting for a mate competition. It was quite a sight.

Just as I thought things were about to get interesting, the traffic light suddenly turned green and it was all over for Amitabh Bachan. When most of the car around started to engage their gears to move, he bolted back to his car and had to call it a night for his short episode of roadside drama (unless of course, if he intended to extend our entertainment by getting himself run over by the hordes of vehicles behind him…)

So, no physical contact was made. How disappointing. But then, even if given the chance to, he’d probably just make plenty of noise out there without action. I’ve seen people like him around. They only spell trouble when there’s enough of them to form a mob. When they’re alone with enough attention, they’re just irrational. Just out there to extravagantly display his bravado. To bask on attentions (Had there been a bus full of Indian chicks witnessing the event, I reckon that he’d probably tear off his clothes and start assaulting the car trunk with some exaggerated mouth induced sound effects. No shit). To show off to his wife and kids that daddy can be like a macho Hindustan hero too. Bullying undersized pallid Chinese guys, breaking his bones and all the stupid traffic rules in the country. Nothing else.

And that guy definitely reminds me a lot of the people around here in Company X. They’re slugs, worms and invertebrates when alone… but when the boss’s around, they all would suddenly turn into dramatic Hindustan actors, licking clits, sucking dicks and picking ticks.

michaelooi  | what I saw  | Comments Off
July 20, 2006

my lab technician is paralyzed from the neck up

Today, while I was productively flipping through a stack of filed documents in a ring file, I noticed that some of the documents were terribly misaligned from the rest of papers. Like this…

Now, on any normal day, this would have been ignored, since it couldn’t have hurt nobody being that way. But not today. Today, I was feeling kinda hyper. (Maybe due to the Van Buuren mixes that I’ve been listening). So, I decided to get really concerned about it, and determined to find out who was behind all these fuck ups.

And so, I scrutinized every form that was misaligned in the ring file. First document, it was John. The second document, it was John again. The subsequent misaligned documents – they were all John’s. I flagged John over.

Me : “Dude, do you even know how to file documents?”

John : “…”

Me : “Look at these” [shows him the misaligned documents inside the file]

John : “…”

Me : “This is unacceptable. Now, be honest, do you know how to properly punch holes on documents and file them nicely like the rest of us?”

John : “Errmmm… no”

He said that with a sheepish expression.

Me : “FUCK! You’re hopelessly unbelievable! Now… I do not want to sound like an anal retentive freak here, but to be frank, it is little things like this that will make you lose your job in future. Do you get what I’m saying here?”

John : “I understand…”

He understands. I’m impressed, duh.

Me : “You see this little arrow here on the puncher?”

John : “Uhmmm yeah”

Me : “Now THAT arrow, is your center indicator. Every puncher has it. You just have to fold your documents into half, and align that folding line to the arrow… like this… and then you fucking punch it. That’s how we do it. Do you understand?”

John : “Ohhhhh ok ok”

Simply unbelievable. High school graduate who doesn’t even know how to punch proper holes to file paper documents. Now if you’re as clueless as my lab technician John here, be fucking thankful… for I have liberated your ass from getting that big envelope on your desk.

michaelooi  | characters  | Comments Off
July 19, 2006

bitter memories : the great escape (part III)

[continue from here]

“What’s wrong, PukeMachine?” (like I said, we 9 year olds used to speak all so weird like that)

Tears began to pour out of his beady eyes, and he sounded like some retard with speech impediment. I could hardly understand him, but from the way he looked, I reckoned that it must be something very serious. It took me about 5 over minutes to register what was happening there – he had just discovered that his school uniform shirt was missing. He was actually asking me this:

*sob sob* “Hav yu zeen my sgool univorm???? uwaaa waaaaa!”

To which I answered, “Yes”, and enjoyed that few microseconds seeing him light up like an LED display on some hippy’s cellphone from that false ray of light … His tears and mucus temporary ceased and he was looking at me like I was supposed to lead him the rightful path to his salvation… or something like that.

“I saw it on you. You were wearing it this morning”

His wailing resumed. Hey, I was just being honest. Sure enough, it wasn’t on him at that time. All the while walking home from the creek, he had been wearing his undershirt, which was a white perforated cotton singlet he wore under his school uniform everyday. And he didn’t even know his shirt was missing until when I was about to call it a day. What the fuck indeed.

Speaking of undershirts, I really don’t understand why most kids would wear them during my school days. I mean, it was so fucking hot around where I lived, and wearing something underneath was… is… a bad idea. When I was 9, I was all naked underneath that layer of uniform. No underwear, nothing. Just uniform. It’s the smart people’s way of living. Had he been as pragmatic as I was, none of this could have happened – as he would have realized it was missing, since he’s gonna be naked from the waist up, and it is so much easier to realize that.

Anyway, back to PukeMachine’s woe. His school uniform was nowhere to be found. Not inside his school bag, not tucked under his pants, not stuffed inside my schoolbag either (that was a bit ridiculous but, I searched my schoolbag nevertheless, just for the peace of his mind). If he had crowbar, he would have used it to pry open his puckering sphincter to search inside him too, but then, it was still nowhere to be found.

So where could it be?

“PukeMachine, back at the creek, you did dip yourself in the water, right? Did you do it with your shirt on?”

He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. I already knew I hit a bullseye. His reaction to that question betrayed what was going on in his mind. The very thought of his shirt lying wasted at the base of the murky creek agitated his emotion so fucking intensely, that he had to release it by opening his mouth and let out a louder wail. He now looks like a kid who had just lost both his legs, his parents and several pet dogs, all at once. For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for him…

Well, the whole episode of that dramatic event actually took place at a very busy spot, where there were a lot of passer-bys. And because PukeMachine was bawling like he was not gonna see tomorrow, it kinda grabbed a lot of unwanted attention (it was embarrassing yeah). Just as I was getting real uneasy about the mounting attention, a middle aged shapeshifter materialized out of nowhere to offer PukeMachine some sympathy.

She then asked him in that goosebump inducing buttery tone, her hand draping across PukeMachine’s shoulder… “What’s the matter, little boy? Why are you crying? Tell aunty why…”

I was about to reveal that we’ve been skipping school, swam at a creek, and how PukeMachine’s shirt is now lying at the bottom of the creek as a sanctuary for stray catfish to have sex… playing an important part in some marine ecosystem… But eventually, I decided not to. Instead, I had an idea that it might be good to let them catch up their good old times together without me.

So I chose to bail. I bade a quick insincere farewell, and made a beeline to where I was suppose to go minutes earlier, leaving that stranger with my still crying best friend (evarrrr). I did not feel very good about it at first, but then, I managed to convince myself to see things at an optimistic angle. Who knows? that nosy hag might buy PukeMachine a brand new school uniform? And send him home? (in exchange for sex?) It’ll be better for him, because there’s basically nothing I can do to help him. So, fuck it.

The next morning, I was all nervous about school again. I was worried about all the things that had occurred the way it weren’t supposed to. Questions kept popping up in my troubled thoughts – did PukeMachine survive his trip home from that imaginary pedophile? Did his mom find out we skipped school? And the most important of all, what to expect from my class teacher after skipping a day off and failing to summon our parents?

I found out soon enough. Miraculously, PukeMachine was all smiling on that day. He told me he lied to his mom about misplacing his school shirt somewhere after feeling too hot. Probably cried somemore to add credibility to his story

“Then what about your trip home? How long did it take for you to complete the journey?”

He bragged that it only took him another half an hour or so, and his mom did not suspect anything. I think he lied. But what do I care, really, at least he wasn’t kidnapped by that weird shapeshifter or gotten ass raped by rabid stray dogs (come to think of it, how I wished he was kidnapped, or at least ass raped by something).

But the most surprising thing that happened that day, was that the class teacher seemed to have forgotten all about the calculator incident, and didn’t ask us or anyone about it. She was all smily too, just like PukeMachine’s cold, lifeless and spastic smirk. It was as if… nothing had happened.

michaelooi  | escapades  | 11 Comments

bitter memories : the great escape (part II)

[continue from here]

The long walk home with PukeMachine. We skipped school to avoid the scheduled disciplinary trial for the calculator heist I never committed. It was a day of dread that was somehow turned into an exciting adventure… thanks to the ingenuity of yours truly.

We must had walked for an hour or more. We were both thirsty and perspiring profusely from the thick sweltering humid plod alongside the burning tarmac. It all started to look like a big mistake then. Like, what’s a whip of a cane or two compared to this? Man, does this worth the blisters that I’m gonna get from all these walkings? – I thought. The journey gradually developed into a quiet business as we lugged along our 9 year old asses in a marathon of desperation to cheat fate.

Halfway through our journey, we came across a creek that ran through my school bus’ route home (we were following that route to go home). Of all my kid life inside that school bus, I had always wanted to swim inside the creek for a long time, but never got the chance. And that day, I spotted the opportunity to do it, and without thinking much, I jumped into the creek. I didn’t bother about my uniform. Just jumped. I was soaked from head to toe in that yellowish murky water, and continued to swim about inside it, totally ignoring PukeMachine who was totally stunned with what I just did.

Not long after that, he joined in. I was too busy enjoying myself, and I didn’t quite notice him soaking himself into the water. Or did he? I don’t remember. But he was around alright. Probably just sloshing the surface of the creek with his doughy feet, but that was not important to me. The most important thing for me that day, was to have lots of fun, to forget all about the troubles at school.

After dicking some dogs for a while, we moved on. We still had a long way to go after that creek pitstop. Another 3 – 4 clicks. It took us another hour and a half to reach my final destination (PukeMachine’s half journey stop) – my home. Didn’t really feel like an hour and a half, it felt like forever. I had blisters on my feet that day (from the wet creek water) and I smelled like an eel with hygiene problem.

The sight of my apartment foyer couldn’t have been sweeter. I did not even have the capacity to think about PukeMachine, for I was too exhausted to be thankful for his company. So I didn’t plan to say much. Just before I slither myself up to my apartment, I turned around to bid my partner-in-crime a wave of farewell, and hoofed the final few meters to eternal bliss.

But I didn’t make it for more than 10 feet, for I was startled by a loud shriek from behind me. More or less sounded like a fowl who learned that it was about to go through an ancient throat slitting ritual. “Wheeeekkkk!!!! Wheeeekk!!!!”. It was unmistakenly PukeMachine’s voice. He was in trouble. I frantically turned around to check him out, and saw him with an Oh-My-Fucking-God look and acting all alarmed like he had lost his mind.

I stormed over.
[to be continued here]

michaelooi  | escapades  | Comments Off

brazilname

If I were to play for Brazil, what would my name be?

And I would not headbutt when I’m angry. I’m gonna plant my boots on the person’s face instead.

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