We’re at this hypermart and Emily wanted to buy some muffins from a deli stall. Regine was making a hell lot of a fuss wanting me to carry her, so I was given the task to safeguard the princess while the queen went ahead to buy some muffins.

I was kinda like standing at a distance away with Regine, and I just happened to catch a glimpse on the guy who was running the muffin stall. A somewhat rotund short guy, with an unshaven face. His dorkish face reminded me of someone I probably knew… but I wasn’t quite sure. I didn’t give much thought about it then, until Emily returns and said

“Hey, you saw that muffin guy? Does he look familiar to you?”

“He sure does. I think he’s one of the neighborhood kids from that old apartment block we used to rent many years ago…”

“Yeah! He’s my student, isn’t he? He’s so grown up now! I wasn’t sure at first and now you confirmed it!”

Indeed, he was Emily’s student. You see, Emily used to run a small scale tuition service for the extra bucks many years ago (when we’re young and times were difficult), and this muffin guy was one of them…

It was circa 1999, and muffin guy was just 10 years old. A lazy tike he was. He’d come to our apartment once a week to brush up his Maths, English and BeeEm with Emily for a little fee, but he’d waste his time refusing to learn and play with his stationery instead. Emily was having a hard time teaching him. She complained to muffin guy’s mom (whom I remember to be an overdressed lardass with excessive makeup as if she’s auditioning for a scary clown role in a horror film), but the mom would not do anything but to encourage Emily to ‘whack the shit out of him’ if he’s being difficult.

Emily of course couldn’t get herself to do that, because she simply wasn’t badass enough. She tried to smack the kid’s hand with a wooden ruler, but apparently, it wasn’t hard enough to discipline him. Little muffin guy would scoff at her and went about with his annoying ways. It wasn’t too much of a problem for me though, because I couldn’t care any less if that kid decides to destroy his own future or kill himself… I just wanted to play my games (I was having the hots for Dungeon Keeper 2 back then, I think). But Emily would persistently complain to me about him, that it kinda disrupted my gaming sessions and affected my life. That was when I decided to take action, you know, to let the kid know the hard way on how to show respect to his tuition fucking teacher - once and for all.

I don’t quite remember how I yelled at him, but I remember giving him the motherfuckest whack he ever had in his kidhood, on his knuckle with a ruler’s edge. He looked like he had been shot with a gun, was about to let out a loud squeal…but he was so piss-scared of me that he only let out a muffled bleat while complying with Emily’s request to hold his pencil right and be a good kid like what Uncle Michael (her ultimate badass discipline consultant and enforcer) had decreed him to be…

He never gave Emily anymore problems after that day and I was able to continue my games without any unnecessary disruption.

I was thinking, that delinquent fatass, had he not gotten that life altering whack from me, would he still be a muffin seller? Probably not. Maybe jobless, or maybe even a jobless Chinese Mat Rempit… who knows. I might have done him a favor, and he probably don’t even know it. Despite being able to recognize us, muffin guy would just pick his muffins like it was just another day in his mundane life… No thank you’s, not even a greet. So much for teaching a stranger to be a refined person… that ungrateful little prick.

“Dear, you should have ordered 8 muffins and see if he knows how to work the math. Just so you know, he needs another whack…”

And I would have whacked even harder.

Man, I so fucking hate driving on Sundays.

It seems to be the day where brain damaged people come out of their hiding place like earthworms wriggling out of dirt after a rainy day.

Man, I so fucking hate driving on Sundays.

In just a little less than 3 hours out on the streets today (Sunday), I’ve encountered people who:

- drives at 40 kph hogging on the middle of 2 lanes
- changes lanes without indicator.
- remains static on green.
- stops on the middle of the fucking road out of no reason at all.
- parks their fucking car haphazardly all over the place.

Man, I so fucking hate driving on Sundays.

If I was to die out of heart attack or a stroke, I’d bet my ass on fire that it’ll happen on Sundays, when I’m behind the steering wheel.

Man, I so fucking hate driving on Sundays.

Although I had a near death experience contending with stupid people around me today, the tradeoff was worth it… for I have never seen my Regine so happy before… on her first time going out to a shopping mall.

But I still fucking hate driving on Sundays.

In a vile effort to cloud its employees’ minds that they’re not in anyway being taken advantage of by having less pay and more work, Company X management sent out a campaign memo a few days ago to promote a Japanese production control ideology…

But little did they know, that in Malaysia (and Singapore), the word ‘lean’ can open up to a whole new level of meaning… like this one…

lean
[lee-an]

“That cinema has been flocked with shitloads of stinking ah leans since the premiere of that Para-para Sakura flick yesterday… fucking hell man…”

So, what is Lean actually? It depends on who you’re asking, people. If you ask me, I’d say pay me more and shut the fucking hell up.

I always make full use of my brain when I walk. I think a lot. Work stuff, you know, like how the hell could that distant transient fuck a MOSFET on a separate circuit, was that a C or D cup on that chick’s rack, etc. It’s the nature of my job - to think a lot.

As a result of that, I can sometimes paint a false impression of a poker face to the public. It scares people sometimes, which is kind of cool… but occasionally, the effect can be dire, like how it piqued one of the shapeshifter security guards’ attention at Company X one fine day.

[The guard was doing a metal detector scan on my body...]

Shapeshifter guard: “Eh Michael, kenapa you selalu tak senyum? Senyum ler”
(translation: “Eh Michael, why are you always so gloomy. You should smile more.”)

It wasn’t said in jest, but in a way that made me feel like extremely uncomfortable. It was as if, she was trying to hit on me. More like a flirt or something. I shudder at the very thought of it.

She was like what, 45? 50? And her size was like an aged walrus with eating disorder. I can hear snores when she breathes. Why the hell would a creature of that wretched stature hit on me man? What kind of injustice was that?

Feeling repulsed, I concocted a stale and uninteresting reply to get out of the situation, delivered in a cold way

Me : “Saya tak senyum kerana gaji saya rendah, kerja saya banyak dan kucing saya mati semalam”
(translation: “I didn’t smile a lot because I am underpaid, overworked and my cat croaked last night”)

She didn’t say another word after that.

Looks like a mid-life crisis beckoning, but I’m not giving in. I’d mope a few more days and I’d be alright again…

Super license (to race at a Formula 1 circuit).
A term coined by one of the BODs to describe the act of obtaining permission from their significant half, to have a private all-guys night out to romp at pubs.

For the past week, we’ve been talking about applying for a super license this weekend for a drink. But one of my buddies suddenly send out an email saying that he’s pulling out of the ‘race’. I messaged to check him out:

MichaelOoi: “Pull out of the race? What happened lah?”

Friend: “kanneh… dunno who go n tell my wife… i haven’t apply for the license yet…”

MichaelOoi: “So your wife ok? Or not ok?”

Friend: “of course not okay la…”

MichaelOoi: “i think your wife is an understanding person. She definitely will give you the license lar… don’t worry”

Friend: “she is, but i dun feel good la..”

MichaelOoi: “well, you will feel good after a couple of drinks…” [oh yeah bebeh]

Friend: “nvm la… i already decided to stay at home…”

MichaelOoi: “alright then, we’ll drink on behalf of you. I already got my super license.”

Friend: “yeah… u guys enjoy…”

I salute my fallen comrade for being such a loving husband and father. I know he’s just fulfilling his duties as a responsible man. If it’s not him this weekend, it’s gonna be me or any of the guys in the frat.

People, that’s life after marriage. Everything that you want to do, will have repercussions like a ripple in a pool of calm water. Many years ago, when the BODs wanted to go anywhere, we’d just plod our asses there. No second thoughts. Like a wall of tsunami… we basically stop at nothing.

Now, at 30, everything’s so different. I wonder what the future holds for us when we’re 40… get a lawyer to bail us out just to get a couple of drinks? Fuck. I so frigging pine for the old times.