Archive for August, 2007

August 13, 2007

greatest gift from god

I was given a task to investigate a certain failure on a notebook computer returned from a customer. Upon completion of the OS bootup, I was greeted with a password request screen.

“Fuck!” I yelled. I used to be able to crack Win2K and certain version of XP passwords with a program that was given to me by a friend. But not Vista. That was when I smack the keyboard hard yelling another ‘goddamn!’ to illustrate my frustration, and accidentally pressed the ‘Enter’ key in the process. Sensing the wrong password being entered, the OS popped a line of hint under the password entry box – “Password Hint : Greatest Gift From God”.

Greatest gift from God.

Well, hell, it couldn’t be that hard, could it? The person who’s capable to come up with such a wussy hint must be someone corny, so I adjusted my thoughts to think of the corniest answer there ever was – “love”.

So I typed “love”. It drew an incorrect password screen.

Hmmmm, he’s not that corny after all, I thought.

I typed “woman”. Incorrect password screen.

I made it plural – “women”. Incorrect password screen.

Seeing the picture of the dog there, I even typed “dog”, still incorrect.

Fuck, this is harder than I thought – I said. And I tried some more. This time, I tried to be honest with myself.


I tried everything that was invented by God, but none came up as the right match. That was when I give up and made a phone call to IM’ed Ken, my colleague who was the one who gave me this case… and I got the answer finally – it was totally out of my scope.

But I ain’t gonna reveal it so easily here. I’ll let you guys guess yourself and see what you can come up with…

michaelooi  | work shit  | 56 Comments


What do you get when you cross a bunch of fat degenerates with another bunch of retarded dweebs with the charm of a pile of putrefying offal?

Company X IT department organizing an appreciation dinner for their counterparts with complementary level of mental retardation.

I had the most unfortunate encounter with these microorganism from the deepest bowel of the social food chain at a steamboat restaurant last weekend. These dipshits spoiled many people’s dinner that night. They were all over the place, laughing, shouting and snorting like the place was a sty belonged to their grandparents. Bunch of contemptible shitfucks.

Being an extrovert myself, I understand that a certain degree of noise are usually tolerable during a gaiety event with your bunch of cronies, but there’s always a limit to that. You never yell and scream like you’re getting anally violated by a really fat piece of fire extinguisher. No matter how happy you are, you should always check if your group does it too much to the point of annoying others. This is what we call – being civilized and considerate.

But not for these motherfuckers. It was as if they’ve never advanced from the days when they’re wielding clubs and wearing animal hides. It was a no holds barred night for them. They yelled and screamed like cro magnons running loose from a life sentence leash, totally apathetic to the looks of consternation from the rest of the patrons who were trying to have a normal dinner there…

What’s even more sad was, they’re all Company X employees holding senior and management posts. People that are suppose to be educated and stuff, and they are the ones who displayed a complete opposite kind of rustic bumpkin behavior. I have already suspected way before this, that these dopes are nothing but a bunch of delinquent parasites that never do their job most of the time in the company… but after this unexpected encounter, I realized that they are actually more than that. They are also socially inept (well, except amongst their wretched kinds, I guess).

That’s our IT department, ladies and gentlemen. A living proof that physical and mental advancement is not plotted on the same time scale for certain people.

michaelooi  | rantings  | Comments Off
August 9, 2007

an encounter with a credit card salesperson

I was coming out of the ATM from withdrawing my drinking fund a few nights ago, when I was approached by this porcine guy…

Porky : “Sir, sir, would you like to apply for our credit card with lifetime ffff…”

He was a credit card salesman. I cut him off before he could finish his first line…

Me : “No thanks.”

It was a simple and straight to the point respond – that I’m not interested in whatever he had to offer. But he kinda tagged along and badgered me further

Porky : “Please sir, just give me five minutes and I’ll explain our fantastic offer to…”

Me : “I’m sorry but, no thanks.”

His eyes fell wide and his expression turned into what seemed to be like he’d been denied entry into his girlfriend’s pants.

Porky : “I’ll give you free gifts. Like this cool transparent alarm clock. Please sir, sign up for a card from me…”

He was desperate. Like he hadn’t eaten for days due to lack of credit card con job. I think he added that piece of alarm clock junk as an element of surprise to get me impressed or something. Yeah right, like I’m gonna get so fucking thrilled about some goddamn alarm clock…

Me : “Look, I personally think credit cards are evil. I’m planning to cancel my existing cards and repent. So please leave me alone and let me get on my way, ok?”

An object that allows you to spend money that you have yet to earn – at the cost of a sky high interest. If that isn’t evil, then what is? That’s pretty much like a legalized loan-sharking business. But Porky didn’t get it…

Porky : “No sir, you don’t have to use the card. You just need to sign-up with me, then keep the card as long as you want, and get this awesome clock for free!”

That explains why he’s soliciting credit card service on a filthy sidewalk by the ATM at night rather than at some air conditioned mall with plenty of chicks – he hasn’t got much neurons in his brain.

Me : “Why would I want to do that lah?? Are you out of your fucking mind??”

Noticing my raised tone, that was only when he backed off and let me go on my way.

I wanted to tell him if that’s the case, I might as well pay him money and give him a blowjob out of the blues. But then, seeing that he’s not a very bright person, I’m worried he just might take my words seriously and demand for a fellatio.

Credit card sales people. Either you hate them, or you hate them a lot. They’re a bunch of desperate numbnuts that know no boundary when it comes to harassing the public. Their conduct simply annoys the fuck out of me all the fucking time. There was once a credit card salesman with heavily cratered face stood completely in front of me and tried to stop me from walking, which prompted me to warn him – “I’d stop if I want to stop, but DON’T FUCKING BLOCK MY WAY.” [if that person was a busty chick with a diggable look, I probably would have relented… but one must know his/her standard, you see…]

Bunch of dipshits they are.

I wonder if any of you blog readers out there peddle credit cards for a living. If you are, probably it would be good if you can tell us more about your occupation… like, does your management really press you guys so fucking hard that you have to cross all limit of courteousness just to meet that quota? Like, are you willing to wax my car (plus whatever free gift that you may have to offer) if I were to sign-up with you for a card? How about a hit job? Kill my neighbor’s dog perhaps? Are you desperate enough to do that?

michaelooi  | experiences  | 16 Comments
August 7, 2007

Who’s your dadddyyy?

Don’t you find it a bit intriguing that a lot of Chinese medicines seem to have a monochrome ‘face profile’ picture of the inventor/founder/whatever on its label? Well, that was why my Regine refuse to let go of a bottle of Chinese medicated oil she happened to find by the side of the bed the other day… after she saw a picture of a man on the bottle label…

She looked at the picture, then at me, then at the picture… and then uttered out loud…


I almost choked when I heard that. Emily was laughing like a hyena having a stroke.

I’m sure she was looking at the picture on the left. And I’m even more sure, that I don’t look a wee bit like that rotund fart. (The right one is totally out of the scope). Needless to say, it was a case of mistaken identity – attributed to her relatively new state of face recognition software…

In my desperate bid to redeem my self esteem, I tried to correct her

“Nooo noooo girl, that is NOT DADDY. That is some uncle who looks like William Hung… NOT DADDY”

But the effort was futile. She’d still go,


The more I corrected her, the more excited she got. I had to stop as I did not want that picture to get ingrained inside her mind. So I tried to steer her attention to something else, which kinda worked, but for only a short while. It was before long she saw that label on the bottle of medicated oil again, and went

“DADDDYYY!!!” [smile]

It hurts.

michaelooi  | 3-of-us  | 21 Comments
August 2, 2007

we ruined a madman’s pad

I told Emily that I was going out to have only a couple of drinks with the guys last night and will be back before midnight. But we turned out to have 20 over jugs of beer and hung out until almost 3 in the morning. Henry, my driver buddy for the evening, got especially wasted, thanks to his uncanny urge to drink like a psychotic camel.

So, being the more sober one between us two, I was automatically delegated with the task to drive the car home. The plan was to go back to my place first and he’d drive himself home from my place thence, which was just a couple clicks away.

The journey however, did not go as smooth as I had hoped for. On the way home, while I was waiting for a red light at an intersection, Henry suddenly beckoned for a code red attention,

“Dude, you need to pull over somewhere and let me out. I think I’m gonna puke”

Having experienced grave situations like this before, I knew that I do not have the luxury of time to look for suitable place for him to hurl. The vehicle had to be stopped pronto. But because we were still stopping for the red, I couldn’t just let him alight and hurl on the middle of the road. It will be dangerous because the traffic’s full of drunken bastards at that wee hour in the morning. So we kinda wasted a few precious seconds there until the light went green, with the deadly concoction of beer and yong tou foo (which we had earlier inside the pub) brewing inside his throat, ready to explode anytime soon.

Once the light went green, I floored past the intersection and pulled over the shortest distance possible at the curb… and coincidentally ended up stopping in front of a bus stop shelter. Henry wasted no time. He quickly swung the door open and leaped out from the car like he was about to pull a highway robbery stunt. I did the same because I was suppose to look out for my buddy at his most vulnerable state, lest he got attacked by stray dogs or something. And when I was scampering round the car to my friend’s aid, I took notice of a middle aged vagrant madman schlepping towards the bus stop shelter. I think he is a ‘vagrant madman’ because

a) he has a long hairstyle that looks like Reshmonu. Only that his wasn’t dread locked, but waxed with accumulated filth and gunk.
b) his dresscode is best described as ‘zombie fad’. You know, torn rags and stuff?
c) he was talking to himself when I saw him.
d) there was no bus service at that hour. Only drunkards like us and zombies like him. Or perhaps Mat Rempits. Having mentioned that, he could be a Mat Rempit gang leader in disguise.

I reckon that the madman must be heading towards the bus stop shelter for a night’s rest.

Anyway, I ignored him and continued to focus on the situation.

Back to Henry. Once out of the vehicle, my friend made a beeline to the nearby drain… but didn’t make it. Halfway through the distance, his puke gave way. It shot out of his mouth like a pressurized water cannon and he ended up hurling everything right under that bus stop shelter. Bits and pieces of frothy yong tou foo ricocheted all over the place. The whole hurling episode was just so impressive, that I actually remarked out of reflex – “Mannnnnnn! This is one hell of a puke!” and snapped a picture of the mess with my phone camera.

The Reshmonu hair guy on the other hand, stopped dead cold in his tracks and saw the whole thing unfolding before his eyes. I looked back at him while my friend Henry continued to regurgitate the remnants of his undigested food, and a feeling of fear suddenly loomed over my thoughts like an impending storm… “Oh shit, we’ve ruined his shelter for the night!”. I was afraid that the vagrant madman would charge and bite us or something for ruining his pad. We’d be in deep shit if he did that because I definitely do not want to mess around with people like him. Especially him with his stinking killer locks. It’s gonna take weeks to wash off the smell, that’s why it’s always better to avoid him if possible.

So he was like watching Henry’s performance with a shocked expression – the same kind of expression, I guess, if you were to catch someone puking all over your sofa with little regards of your feelings. I was expecting him to leap at us anytime soon and was ready to drag Henry out of the predicament if that were to happen. But it didn’t happen of course. Else I would now be lying inside a hospital somewhere all bandaged, instead of writing all these craps. He just looked on wearing that same expression, probably did a little thinking with that wacky mind – that we commoners must be no less crazier than him. To pay so much money just to get that short burst of happiness and suffer later like sick fucks. (If he’s thinking that, then I couldn’t agree more with him.)

Once Henry was done, we quickly went back into the car and bailed. The last I checked from the rearview mirror, he was walking back towards the direction he originally came from, fading into the night – off to look for another bus stop shelter perhaps. But as I’m quite familiar with the area, I don’t think there is another bus stop with shelter for another couple of clicks or so. He must had a long walk that night. Rough night for the guy, I feel so fucking sorry for him.

Homeless dude, if you’re reading this, please accept my apology for ruining your pad. I promise to give you a couple bottles of anti-dandruff shampoo and a Happy Meal if we ever cross path at a sheltered bus stop again.

michaelooi  | rompings  | 11 Comments