This is suppose to be a slasher flick. I repeat, SUPPOSE to be a slasher flick. Judging from the title, one would assume that the plot would have to do with somekind of job vacancy, probably to lure unsuspecting victims to the killing fetish of a calm but psychotic slasher.

Well, had it been that, it would have been a neat plot. But no, it wasn’t like that at all. Apparently, the word ‘vacancy’ in this film is referring to the level of intelligence one needed to be able to enjoy this film. I have only 1 word for this flick - BORING.

It was about an estranged couple who got stucked in the middle of nowhere at night when their car broke down after taking a shortcut off the interstate highway. Fortunately for them (or rather, unfortunately), there was a motel nearby and they decided to spend a night after couldn’t get themselves a mechanic. But that motel, turns out to be a den of a bunch of snuff film makers - who murders and records their victims inside their motel room. Adventure ensues (and both of them miraculously survived the ordeal).

Sounds like kookily fun but trust me, it is not. I shit you not but, it is more interesting to watch Fun Song Factory on Astro Playhouse Disney Channel than this crap. The film lacked of blood, lacked of gore, lacked of serious stunts and lacked of even a decent storyline. The villains (note the ’s’ - there were more than 1 slasher in this film) were a bunch of clumsy farts and the antagonist looked like the senile version of that lewd Lieutenant Jim Dangle from Reno 911. Heck, even the chick’s not hot. (I used to have the hots for Kate Beckinsale, but after a horrific episode of seeing her semi-exposed tits with crack marks from a forwarded email, I kinda dumped her). From what I reckoned, the budget probably did not exceed 2,000 bucks had it not for the couple of moderately famous actor/actress in it. It still sucked even if it was to be marketed as a B grade movie, that is how bad it was (for me).

My rating for this movie : 2 out of 10 - this is a slasher-flick wannabe, but far from qualified to be called one.
(I think I’m gonna start giving grades for the movies I review from now on - so let’s start with this one).

How I wish we humans are able to communicate through telepathic means. Like, through the language barrier and shit, we can just be within a coverage range of each other’s brain signals, and send the message away (pretty much like how wireless works… only biologically). If such were to be the case, then life probably would be so much less stressful for me and Emily - since our baby Regine can just beam us up whenever she wants something instead of bawling out in the middle of the night (there’s only so much we can interpret from the loud bawl of a baby). Just like this…

[telepathic message]
“Daddy? Are you awake?”
“I am now. What do you want?”
“Milk. I’m hungry daddy.”
“At this hour? You should be sleeping, girl.”
“I repeat, I want milk, else I’m going to start bawling.”
“Alright, alright, relax. How many bottles do you want, criminal?”
“What do you mean how many bottles? I just want one fucking shot! Do it already, old man!”
[walks to kitchen, prepares milk and returns with milk]
“Here’s your one fucking shot. Now suck fast and sleep already!”

The whole thing may sound like a complex conversation, but in reality, you’d only see the poor father walking to the kitchen to get the milk (probably with a distressed look on his face, but at least he knows what he has to do). It’ll probably last a little less than half a minute.

But of course, that isn’t happening anywhere in this world at all. If there’s one thing that our evolution failed us, that has got to be our way of communicating with each other. As fucking intelligent or advanced we humans can ever get, there’s still one simple thing we can’t do - to communicate with our offspring, until he or she knows how to listen/speak of course, which I think, is fucking pathetic.

Just look at the animals. They don’t seem to have that kind of problem. Their offspring don’t just simply cry or wail incessantly sending their parents panic attack. Take for example, the wildebeest. Just how do you reckon that a baby wildebeest knows that hyenas are evil and knows when to fucking run for their lives when they’re being attacked? Do they ever attend preschools or watch Barney to learn that? Fuck no. They just know it. Like they have somekind of telepathic shit going on there. And that probably explains why they know it when disasters are bound to struck

“Guys there’s a big fucking tsunami heading this way! Run for your lives! Don’t tell the humans!”

But then, that’s probably a power too big to ask for. I just want to have the ability to interpret what Regine wants. Regine had diarrhea for the whole last week and both Emily and I went through hell of not knowing what she wants when she was screaming for attention. We gave her everything, but none of them seems to be what she wanted. And those were the times when I really wished that I have this special ability to communicate with my daughter - things would be so much easier for both of us.

(come think of it, even if we were to be given that ability, it probably might not be of much use after Regine reaches her puberty. She’d be too engrossed with her dipshit teenage friends by then, than wanting her old man/woman to understand her better…)

I’ve noticed that a lot of people have disdained the way I write, about how I was always right in my daily encounter with general public. It was as if, the whole fucking world looks inferior to me, and I lone ride a badass horse down the town shooting people with my righteous gun. (that was never trueee)

So for this post, I’m gonna try to change that perception - you know, instead of making myself sound like a martyr, I’m going to make it sound like I’m the villain.

Ok, the whole thing actually started last week. I was being a bad parent and was sending Regine to the nursery, as usual. You know, I got to fucking work and stuff, so it has been a bad habit of mine to abandon my child into the hands of a couple of self-proclaimed professionals who have 20 over years experience in handling kids (bah, who gives a fuck about that? I just want to jettison my responsibility somewhere…)

So I was speeding like a shitfuck along this residential street doing approximately neckbreaking 30 km/h. Emily was at the back seat abusing Regine by reading her boring storybooks. I was about to reach the nursery, when I saw this nice newspaper vendor riding his motorcycle in a zigzag manner towards my direction from the front. Apparently, he was riding like that not because he had a pile infection out of his bunghole, but because was trying to make a living by flinging A LOT of newspapers to his subscribers. (picture this: he kinda had to ride really close to the gate, fling a roll of newspaper and ride to the opposite side of the street and do the same, and then repeat from the opposite side).

He was doing that at a rather innocent speed, like, 50 - 60 km/h. Real slow yeah. So I kinda drove on, you know, had to cut my speed a bit lest he ends up wrecking my car and waste my NCB… and so I thought he’d be smart enough to stop whatever he was doing and fucking let me pass. He did that alright, stopped by a curb and looking at me. But it wasn’t any ordinary look that he was giving me. It was a hostile look, his eyeballs was at the verge of popping out, like he was passing judgement on me for being the person responsible for the spate of rape cases in town. Whatever.

Then just as I was driving past him, he suddenly hurled something in Hokkien dialect at my car - “SIAO LANG!!!” (which roughly translates to “CRAZY MAN!!!”). Oh boy, was I crazy…

him - riding a modified bike (for storage) zigzag across a 2 way traffic, in 50 - 60km/h, with one hand handling the bike, and the other flinging newspapers, without wearing a helmet, swearing in front of my kid.

me - driving a black shining automatic car with airbag and ABS, straight, on the correct lane, under 40km/h, looking smart because I have enough education to not look like a street urchin like him (despite being approximately twice my age),

Hell yeah, I’m crazy alright (maybe I landed on the wrong planet). No doubt about that. I could have fucking killed him had I been sane enough, but that didn’t happen because I’m fucking crazy and I chose to ignore him. Like, WEEEEOOEEEEOEEEOOOOO.

But I did myself proud yesterday. I bump into Mr.Nice-Newspaper-Vendor again. I was standing at the curb this time (after dropping off Regine). He was doing his routine bike slalom at the neighborhood and I had a moment to decide if I want to reciprocate his kindness the other day. I was thinking of brushing him down on the tarmac from the side and then fucking burn all his newspapers - it would be so cool (and I don’t have to worry about getting into trouble since I’m fucking crazy and I can do anything I like). But then, the plan was scrapped because it was a rather wet morning and I don’t have a lighter in handy (I don’t smoke).

So, I finally decided to do things his way, like a sane normal person would - I yelled back at him in Hokkien, “SIAO LANG!!!” - from behind, which startled him enough to almost cause him to crash into a nearby gate. It felt so fucking good to see him react like that.

It’s cool to be ‘not crazy’ sometimes.

[back to work...]

If we shouldn’t call them people from Indonesia as ‘Indons’, then what should we call them? Any idea, people?

How bout ‘chimneys’? Or ‘pollutants’? Or just ’shitbags’? ‘morons’?

I was having lunch at a Taiwanese food outlet the other day with Regine and Emily at a local hypermart, when I noticed a guy park his 2 carts full of groceries by the side and came walking in. I noticed him because he kinda looked smack dab like Jimmy Choo… only with a mullet and a pair of mutton chops (which I initially thought I knew him from somewhere, wtf). I thought he was all alone until his wife yelled like a skanky motherfucking bitch behind him.

“ERICCC!!”

Eric answered his wife’s rather agitated call with a perturbed look. His white blonde middle aged and somehow emaciated wife, whose face is prematurely riddled with wrinkles of surface area big enough to cover a rugby field… was upset and refuse to step into the outlet. The way she was so loud like that, I almost mistaken that she must have broken one side of her pelvic bone or something… but then, that didn’t happen to be the case…

“ERICCC! THE FLIES! THERE ARE FLIES HERE!”

Well, there were indeed a couple of fucking flies hanging out at a nearby table. Nothing to be alarmed of. At least not enough to warrant for such a magnitude of screaming in public like that. Eric looked on at his wife, deeply concerned on her fucked up demeanor. Like, there ARE actually people eating in there! She could at least show some respect and bitch in private, see? But hell no. She somehow had to act like a bitch over a couple of flies… I feel bad for Eric for having such a fucked up fuck partner (or worse, wife)

“ERICCC! I CAN SEE FLIES!”

Yeah, as if Eric couldn’t differentiate between a housefly and her glob of dehydrated clitoris. If I was Eric, I would have asked her to kill herself just to make this world a better place. But Eric was more composed than I am, so he didn’t do that. He just acknowledged her bitching with a nonchalant cold stare. The hag sorta felt the sting up in her pride when she realized she was doing a monologue all by herself, and decided to get louder. This time, she tried to make sure that everyone in that outlet understands her (and perhaps show her some support by torching up the place or something) - by creatively adding multiple postdeterminers to her already plural noun (as if none of us Malaysians understand English…)

“I SEE FLIES! MANY MANY FLIES! THERE ARE MANY MANY FLIES IN HERE!”

She was starting to get really annoying and was putting a stretched test on Eric’s shit. But Eric stayed put through the whole trial and remained consistently composed. He just sent her this really mean glower and telepathic message combo (yeah it was so cool that I can read it all) - “YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME WOMAN! Just shut the fuck up before I lose my temper and shove that cart full of groceries up your uterus!!”… And then he sealed it off with a simple remark (the only thing he ever uttered) - “Just get in here”, which she servilely complied without another word… and ate in harmony with the same company of flies romping on the table next to their’s.

The uber coolness.

I could have given Eric the ‘Man of the Century’ title, but then I’ll have to discredit him for hooking up with such a tragic white hag with stinking attitude in the first place - so he just got the next best thing that I can give instead - just ‘Man of the Year’

Seeing this from the positive angle, I can only imagine - what if all the male species in this world have this special ability to hush up rampaging bitch skanks like Eric, wouldn’t it be awesome? The world would definitely be a much better place without all the unnecessary domestic violence. Like, that guy can just do it with a glower… he was like, in total control of the situation man.

So, my salute to the Man of the Year - Eric, the purveyor of hope in hopeless situation. (we could really use talents like this to negotiate with those terrorists holding people hostage, you know what I mean?)