Archive for 2006

November 16, 2006

bitter memories : encounter with brutus (part II)

*this is a continuation from the previous entry… *

I tried to pry that bastard’s lock open but he was too strong. I even attempted to gouge his eyes (like what they always do in the movies) but it didn’t work. I was growing weak by the microseconds, as I was sapped off my strength from the desperate struggling and oxygen deprivation. I struggled for about 15 seconds, and when I was at the verge of passing out, he finally released his grip and stood there coldly to watch me gasp for fresh air. I don’t know why he did that. Like, he could have bolted off or something… but he didn’t.

Well, whatever his reasons were, it mattered not to me – for I did not waste another second to pounce at him like ravenous beast and began to assault him. I then pinned him down on the ground and continued to work on his face – with some quick but clumsy punches driven by sheer exasperation. Surprisingly, he remained unusually dormant throughout the entire beating. He did not even try to block or fend off my blows. He was like, a roti canai dough and me working on him like a bangla baker.

Having noticed his peculiar behavior, I stopped the biffings (while still pinning him down). I was a bit worried that the pussy might be too weak to take anything more than a few punches… So I decided to just let him off with a stern warning and left him be. But just as I was leaving, he got up and walked briskly towards me and taunted :

“Why? You chickening out? I could do more punches from you…”

I was freaked, needless to say. That wasn’t a conventional confrontation that I’d expect to come from a guy. You know, I have my principles – I would never ‘beat up’ anyone who is immobilized, defenseless or just plain fucking out of his mind. When I’m into physical confrontation, I expect a two way and fair fight. That’s why I decided to digress this face-off right there and then, there’s no glory in creaming up an intellectually challenged person’s ass.

“I’m not chickening out Brutus. If you want me to punch you, put up a fight like a man”

Right after I said that, he came walking straight towards me. Thinking that he was making another sneaky move, I reflexed by throwing this really serious jab, hitting his left cheekbone. He absorbed that punch hard, then stumbled a few steps back and almost lost his balance. The impact was such that it got his cheek swelled up like he had half a boob job on his face and his face-tit hanging under his fucking eyeball.

“Back off, Brutus. I don’t want to fight a retard like you.”

“Oh really? You’re done then? Fine. Now, can you see the swell on my face? Well, that’s going to be your bane.”

He went on to threaten me, that he’s gonna show that swell to his cronies and then he’s going to issue me a ‘code 36 protocol’.

“What? A ‘code 36 protocol’? What the fuck was that? Some secret war code you share with your imaginary friends from outer space?”

“You’ll see.”

And he peeled off. The strange encounter with Brutus left me in a state of agitated mind. Throughout my class sessions, I kept thinking about his ‘code 36 protocol’ threat. Somehow, I had a feeling that it wasn’t simply just something about his imaginary alien friends. It’s something more sinister than that. I could see it from his wily eyes. And so, I went to ask around, and eventually, it came to my understanding that the ‘code 36 protocol’ was actually a slang adopted by the local gangsters – to order a hit on an identified target.

Of course I was damn worried upon learning that fact. You know, school gangsterism was very rife back then and getting cut up with machetes by gangsters was a very possible scenario. The thought of ‘code 36 protocol’ would haunt me for days, and it was like a thorn inside my flesh. For the first time in my life, I was worried about my safety inside the school compound. The matter was made worse when Brutus started hound me around the school compound, crooning the ‘code 36 protocol’ out of rhyme tune like a psychopath sicko… It was a psychological stress.

One day, I lamented this to one of my friends, who used to be in the same class with Brutus. I told him what happened and all about that ‘code 36 protocol’ I heard from Brutus… and that I’m gonna fucking die soon. That friend sniggered, then said

“Dude, have you got any idea how many ‘code 36 protocols’ had Brutus issued in his life? Innumerable. I have beaten him up myself a few times before… and each time, he would issue me the same stupid threat. Gangsters won’t give a damn about kid fights in school. And Brutus is not a fucking gangster. He’s just another pathetic moron. Don’t worry. If he keeps harassing you, we beat him up together. How about that?”

That was one of the most relieving assurance that I’ve heard in my life before. Sure enough, my friend was right; after about a week or so, Brutus stopped harassing me with his antics and moved on. He dropped out of school about a year later and the last I saw him, was in an illegal horse-betting arcade center… which I greeted him with a snigger. Wanted to send my regards to his imaginary alien friends then, but I eventually didn’t. He might have issues, but it would be unbecoming of me to goad him to his limits. Who knows? He might issue me another ‘code 36 protocol’ again? I’m going to be so dead if he did that again. Oboy…

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November 15, 2006

bitter memories : encounter with brutus (part I)

That vindictive and unrelenting cop character in recent episodes of “House” kinda reminded me of someone I acquainted with many years ago. I was still schooling back then, and there was this guy from another class. (Let’s call him Brutus for convenience’ sake). Brutus wasn’t really a friend of mine, but was the kind whom I’d exchange a nod or two when we walked past each other. Often sported with an unkempt hair, wrinkled uniform and a pair of shoes with enough dirt to grow a tomato plant, one could instantly tell that he’s a consummate sleaze and has issues. And lucky me, I learnt about his ‘issues’ the hard way… on one fateful morning at the school corridor…

I was chatting with another friend of mine then, when I felt a sharp swat behind my head. It wasn’t really a hard one, but I got very annoyed. I petulantly turned my head to look, and saw Brutus sitting behind me… pretending to look at the sky/bird or something. There wasn’t anyone else within the reaching distance. Knowing that it was definitely him, I issued him a mild warning not to repeat that again

“Hey, don’t do that again, you hear me? It’s not funny.”

“What? What did I do?” – He denied with half a snigger on his face. Obviously, he was jesting with me… but really, whatever that ticked his clock that morning, it didn’t tick mine. Swatting people on the head is not my idea of fun. It’s an invitation for trouble.

But I chose to ignore him instead… you know, the last thing I ever wanted was trouble with a guy like him… a guy with issues… whose filthy hair that reeked like a motherfucking skunk. Besides, I am picky when it comes to choosing my fights. I always refrain myself from fighting people with hygiene problems – like those Indian kids with cheap ass coconut hair-grease or people just like Brutus. Their smell stays on your hands and they’re always revolting. So, I tried to continue what I was doing before, chatting with my friend and minding my own business.

Just as I was about to resume my conversation, I was swatted for another time on the head. This time, I decided not to be so friendly. I turned to Brutus, and lashed at him verbally

“HEY! What the fuck is your problem!?”

“What? Can’t you take a joke?”

“How about me swatting your head in return and call it a joke, you stupid fuck!?”

“I dare you. You think I’m scared??”

His dare kinda pushed my patience to the limit. Like any impetuous 14 year olds, I didn’t hesitate to give him a reasonably hard clout on the head and got myself ready for a violent confrontation. But surprisingly, he didn’t fight back. Instead, he bolted off from the corridor and disappeared from the scene. Thinking that he probably chickened out, I didn’t pursue the matter any further and went on with my usual business.

But that was a very big mistake that I shouldn’t have done. I should have seen it coming that he couldn’t have fled from the scene just like that. And I was made to pay for the stupid mistake about a couple minutes later, when Brutus sneaked behind me and gave me a nasty headlock, immobilizing me.

(to be continued)

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November 11, 2006

dolt – take 7

The lab phone rang.

dolt : “Hello, is this the lab?”

me : “Yes, you are currently calling the lab extension”

dolt : “Errmmm… is there anyone inside the lab right now?”

me : “Well, I’m currently answering your phone call from the lab extension… I guess there is…”

dolt : “Errr… no, I mean later. Will there be anyone inside the lab later?”

me : “It depends dude. You’ll have to define your ‘later’. If the ‘later’ you meant was 9pm tonight, then NO. There won’t be anyone here.”

dolt : “Ahaks, of course of course. I mean, now. Will there be anyone inside the lab if I were to come now? I need to use the lab facility.”

me : “I’m here alright” [DUHHHHH]

The guy came to the lab shortly after that. He looked just like a Chinese version of Sudirman, but with a heavily cratered face like Laurence Fishburne. (the bald guy called Morpheus in Matrix)

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November 9, 2006

skeleton in the closet

I was hanging out with Ken at my office cube today, when Ken’s wandering hands stumbled upon a piece of priceless archeological artifact. It was found lying on top of a document tray at Elliot’s seedy cube (he’s now my cubical mate, remember?). It was a gospel scroll containing details of some very ancient language used by the neanderthals… I didn’t have a camera with me to share this historical find with you all, but I did the next best thing – I stole the artifact and brought it to another colleague of mine to scan it out instead. Here’s the picture of the sacred document:

Alright, I was just kidding about the gospel thing (if it isn’t that obvious to you), I have no means to disrespect to any of you religious cocksucker bigot out here.

That thing was actually a book. An English language revision book for 13 – 15 year olds (for you non-Malaysians who don’t know what a ‘PMR’ is). Do you see what’s coming already?

Ok, let me re-emphasize… English language revision book for 13 – 15 year olds. You know… those idiots with raging hormones and a face full of acnes? Teenagers. Form 1, 2 and 3 teenagers.

Now comes the million dollar question – what was this book doing inside Elliot’s cube? Elliot the grown-up’s cube? Elliot the ENGINEER… who had gone through high school presumably with enough credit to gain a place for him to enroll and complete his engineering degree… and subsequently, land a job in the multinational Company X as an, ENGINEER?

My reaction upon seeing that book was – “WHAT THE FUCKKKKK??????” [with my eyes wide open and mouth agape]. It was actually more dramatic than that. I kinda took the book, and paraded around the office to show my colleagues about the bizarre find.

“CAN YOU PEOPLE FUCKING BELIEVE THIS??? ELLIOT HASN’T ACTUALLY COMPLETED HIS HIGH SCHOOL!”

Well, that sort of explains everything isn’t it? The inability to think, the uncanny annoying behavior, hell… even the body odor. It was all because he has the mentality of a 13 year old. And because his brain hasn’t advanced like a normal person should, it kinda still malfunctionally instructs his glands to produce hormones by the buckets… and screws everything up.

But that’s just based on what we FOUND and SAW. Who knows, Elliot might have more skeletons hidden in his closet. Like a hospital receipt or something confirming that he had had some major cosmetic reconstruction surgery to hide his Down Syndrome condition, then applied for the post engineer at Company X with forged documents…
Far flung logic, but still a possibility.

michaelooi  | what I saw  | 41 Comments
November 6, 2006

almost bit the dust

Accompanied Emily to the blood lab again last Saturday. But it was a bit crowded in the lab that morning and we had to wait for our turn. While waiting, I, for some inexplicable reasons, made a stupid remark about the cute receptionist (again) to Emily.

Me : “Man, her attractiveness sure has gone down the drain ever since she became a mommy…”

Yes, the girl sort of evolved from a cutesy looking attractive lass into basically, a tragic looking creature with terrible hair.

Emily : “Hmmm, she looks all the same to me.”

Me : “Are you even serious?? Just… look at her! Look at her hair! She’s not as pretty as she used to be anymore.”

Emily stared at me… and laid a trap.

Emily : “Oh yeah? So how do I look then… after becoming a mommy?”

Me : “You? Aisehman… of course you still look pretty, dear… of course… ahaks”

She snickered. She must had thought that it was a fucking lie. But it wasn’t. The truth is, no matter how much my Emily changes, she’s going to look all the same to me. Like the day I first discovered her sparkling eyes… lushy lips… and the imperfect nose with dark heads. I love you, my dear.

**phewwww**

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