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September 6, 2011

mid 30s rant

I fucking turned 35 a few days ago. That’s halfway to my 40. I literally have one foot already in the grave. So what has changed now? Many.

Everything’s super sensitive for me now. I find myself keep checking my hairline in the mirror, suspecting that it might be receding without me realizing. It looks suspiciously high, but nothing alarming like my childhood friend Pukemachine. That guy’s definitely botak now. I guess my hairline has been all along this high, as I cross checked with pictures from my childhood & younger days. I’m pretty positive of it. Well, fuck… either that, or I must have chided the chode with male-pattern-baldness at my workplace too much to start believing in karma.

Took less alcohol to get drunk now, that’s for sure. At least that’s what I found out from a night’s romp out with friends a few days ago. The hangover lasted forever, and it felt like having a double pneumonia. It was as if I had overdone a drifting event with an old junk and suddenly to realize the bill I have to fork out to fix the goddamn leaking radiator, misaligned wheel shaft and prematurely worn out expensive tires. Nobody told me it will be this bad at this juncture on.

Also, I seem to have developed this love for plants. I’ve never been interested in plants. It’s fucking sad really, and I just realized that a few days ago. I find myself keep checking out the bunch of plants outside at the patio, and been watering them all these while. Yesterday, I unconsciously Googled on how to start planting a goddamn Jasmine from a cut and what kind of fertilizers it fucking needs! In my heydays, the only fertilizer I worried about was the ones I made after a night’s worth of intoxication!

What the hell’s happening to me?? Fuck, getting old sucks.

michaelooi  | rantings  | 7 Comments
April 16, 2010


I saw this fat mamak (Indian-Muslim) guy when I was having my dinner with my family yesterday. He ambled into the coffee shop looking hammered, and teased the fat coffee shop lady owner who was frying some chickens nearby, who also seemed to know him. The lady didn’t give a shit about the guy, and then hollered to her husband (who was inside the premise) to make something (inaudible) for that almost shitfaced mamak.

Then the mamak guy went on his way towards a table – in a rhythmic gait like he was Mr. Fucking Bojangles – all smiling and talking shit to himself. When his drink was served, he even teased the fat coffee shop lady owner’s husband, who also didn’t give a shit about him. He then continued to talk and laugh to himself. At that instance, I started to get a bit disturbed and worried because I realized that he wasn’t really hammered, but more like out in the head. You see, he was just a table and a half away from us, which was really near. Trust me, when you have your own kid with you, you’d be worried when you see a madman within 100 meter proximity.

Anyway, I kept an eye on that mamak blimp, you know, just in case he goes amok or something like that. But luckily, he kept to himself the whole time, except for some really bizarre twitching and self cackling. Then suddenly, that guy turned to look at me, and it hit me like a train after I got a good look at his face. That guy was someone I knew! He was one of my primary school classmates! And if I remember correctly, I think I may have even pummeled him up before!

The guy’s name is Ahmad Anwar. Remember the story I wrote about my friend Pukemachine who stole a calculator belonged to someone named Maqbul? Well, this Anwar guy was Maqbul’s bitch. They’re always together. They came to school together, sat together, ate together and played together. In today’s society, they would have been duly labeled as ‘totally gay’. But they were just very close (ok, I don’t really know. Come think of it, they COULD be gay). So close, that the teacher thought they were fraternal twins.

I remember this Anwar used to be a skinny fart who was a very reserved character. He was always filthy and most of his exercise books were stained with curry (along with Maqbul’s as well), and he always get reprimanded by the teacher for having the curry stains on his exercise books (which was really funny to me at that time). He was always the last 5 in class (if not 3), and I remember he could not even recite the full list of alphabets in his late primary. The guy was lazy, a total mess and was destined to be a bum in his adult life. Looks like he got more than what he was destined for. He is now an orang gila, a madman, talking to himself and the parasites inside his bloated belly. This is just so frigging sad.

I was so goddamn worried that Anwar would come over to my table to remind me of something I don’t remember (like pummeling him up when we were in school?). But luckily he didn’t. He didn’t even know that I was me. So I quickly got my wife and kid to finish up and left promptly. Anwar gave me a smile before we were out of his sight. Creepy.

michaelooi  | flashbacks  | 9 Comments
June 26, 2008

road raging madman 2

[continued from here…]
Ah Beng, probably thinking that I was scared of him, caught up to my car a few kilometers down the bridge highway to give me a stinky eye from his passenger window. I don’t know what was he hoping to achieve by doing that but, I responded by flipping him a bird. And that was the third mistake I did that day. I should have ignored the motherfucker and drove on, but somehow, it happened. Emily yelled at me, “Don’t agitate him further, you dumbass! Why did you flip him a bird??”. Alright, I have to admit, that was pretty dumb… I acted solely out of impulsion because I was pissed (this somehow reminded me of what my friend PukeMachine did many years ago… To PukeMachine if you’re reading this – sorry dude, I now know how it felt like being massive tool acting like a fool… I should have been more empathetic…)

The bird a.k.a the middle finger salute, being somewhat a gesticulation of norm in our everyday traffic adventure, apparently, left a very deep impact on Ah Beng’s psyche. It must be something as offensive as seeing his own mother being beaten to a pulp with a steering lock on his planet. He was literally exploding with rage the moment he saw my finger. He was flailing his hands like a lunatic inside his car and attempted to swerve his Beemer into mine from the side (must be something he learned from the movies). I do not know if he was serious about doing that stunt but, my guess at that moment was – the loser was just trying to intimidate me. He wouldn’t dare to knock my car because his fucking car was double the value of mine. That was why I decided to play cool. When he noticed that he wasn’t getting any attention, he decided to do something more desperate. He overtook my car and force stopped me to look for a second confrontation.

He alighted and walked like John Wayne the cowboy towards my car, mumbling something which I couldn’t hear (I was still inside my car). I intended to get down to confront that scumbag but, my wife didn’t think that it would be a good idea and stressed that both of us should probably stay inside the car to be safe. So, we waited for him to come closer. I was half expecting him to rap my car for giving him the finger, but fortunately he didn’t. (if he’d done that, I would have gone apeshit and pummel him up). He would just stand there screaming at the top of his lungs looking like someone who had lost his mind. (I have to say that it was very stupid of him to do that, for he was definitely in the worst position to start a confrontation. I could have run him over with my car if I wanted to). Not intending to stay long to see him deliver a mute sermon, I made a sharp turn and sped off from the location. Ah Beng had to run back to his car and had me on pursuit. And because his machine was far more superior than mine, he managed to catch up on me easily.

He would hound my car for the entire journey along the bridge, and my wife was freaking out like hell. She frantically called the police from her cell – that we’re being terrorized by a madman on the bridge and the police agreed to arrange for a patrol car to meet us up at a petrol station nearby. So our plan was to drive to that location and see if the fucker would still show his antiques in front of a police officer. But luck wasn’t on our side, Ah Beng managed to steer trap my car to a halt short of a couple hundred meters before the petrol station. Right then, I could see that there was a massive jam behind us resulted from our dramatic showdown and again, he did the John Wayne walk towards us, screaming something that I could hardly hear from inside my car… Curious of what he was screaming, I rolled down my window for about an inch just to be able to hear him…

[conveniently translated to English from Hokkien]

I couldn’t make anything he said more than that because right then, Emily suddenly rolled up my window and locked the door (stupid me forgot to lock the fucking door). Knowing that he’s going to come over to deliver us a sermon, Emily and I sort of waited until he was far enough from his Beemer before we speed off again. And sure enough, almost as predictably, that stupid fart let his guard down by wandering too far off his car to get to us, and thus allowing us the buffer to speed off.

This time, I intend to really shake him off for good because it was getting to no end. The time I was speeding off, Ah Beng was seen making a hasty run back to his car to give chase. Having the 5 – 10 seconds advantage, I fucking floored the accelerator and wove through the jam packed traffic like what I learned from the movies and finally, managed to shake off Ah Beng for good. Quite a feat for outrunning a 323i (or perhaps Ah Beng was too much of a wuss to handle his machine? That explains him bumping my car at the toll in a slow traffic)

Anyway, we drove straight to the police station to lodge a report… but that was not the end of the story. The third part of the story, will be a little bit off topic from altercation with Ah Beng but more on the experience we had with a couple of police officers in that police station…

[to be continued…]

michaelooi  | traffic shit  | 11 Comments
July 28, 2006

bitter memories : the ralph in him

PukeMachine, like I’ve said before, I’ve seen him hurt himself many times when we were kids. Far too many times to be just average. Far too many times to be just stupid. PukeMachine, the epitome of stupidity…

Here are a few more of his preposterous acts :

playing with explosives
Firecrackers were pretty much legal back then. One fine weekend during the school holidays, PukeMachine decided to make a bomb for himself. What he did was – he unrolled those little red firecrackers to salvage its volatile powder, and burned a bunch of it at close range. Now, any normal kid with an average wit wouldn’t have deemed this as a good idea… no matter how fun it’s gonna be. All except for PukeMachine. He thought that it was a fun thing to do… and hurt himself pretty bad from the explosion.

His face was almost completely healed when he returned to school after the holidays, but was still bad enough for most of us to notice that both his eyebrows were cleanly burnt off, and the epidermal layer of his face carbon black, with some random peelings on his temple. When asked about it, he would simply claim that he was accidentally scalded by boiling water, but later, confessed to me (his best friend evarrrr) that his injury was inflicted by a homemade bomb. Everyone found out about it after that. (thanks to me)

the finger trick
PukeMachine came to me one morning, and told me that he discovered something awesome. I was like “yeah? what is it?” and he showed me one of his fingers. It was blistering at the region right above the fingernail. I asked “what happened to your finger?”. He then told me, “Mike, if you repeatedly rub your skin like this, the skin would come off! How awesome is that! Try it man… it’s fun”. He was chafing his own skin off and thought that it was fun.

I didn’t ask why would he do that for, nor did I question the sanity of that act. I just pretended that I was very impressed with his ‘discovery’ and told him I’m gonna chafe all the skin on my finger that night, and I would show him tomorrow. But of course I didn’t. He showed up the next morning with blisters on all his fingers, some even had dried blood still caked on it. I just bluffed him that I couldn’t get my skin off and he dissed me off like I was the dumbest fart on the planet for not partaking that skin chafing fun. Now that I think of it, he kinda reminded me of Ralph Wiggum.

cursed bicycle
PukeMachine was our class goalkeeper. Not that he’s good or anything, but because he was big enough to block a large portion of the goal box. He had a nickname to go with his goal keeping, “slippery fish catcher” – attributed to his clumsiness in catching even a slow rolling ball. But that was not relevant to what I intend to share here (but important to justify why he was chosen for the goalkeeping role).

Anyway, one day, he failed to show up for the class soccer tournament. Cellphones weren’t invented yet back then, and we were made to wait for the goalkeeper that never came. We then had to proceed the game with the reserve goalkeeper. Apparently, PukeMachine met an accident on the way to the game and broke his arm in two. There weren’t any details spared to give us an idea how the hell he managed to break his arm from a bicycle accident. He just said ‘he fell off’.

But I didn’t believe him. You don’t break your arm when you fall off a goddamn bicycle. Unless your bicycle is 3 storeys high or capable of speeding like a fucking motorcycle. He probably rode off a cliff or something, but I’m just speculating. He could have broken his arms from jumping off his apartment unit. For the fun of it.

cursed bicycle 2
I once asked to join in a bicycle trip with PukeMachine and my other classmate, Johnny, into gallivanting around a rural housing area which was known for its intricate network of dirt tracks. Because I wasn’t really familiar with that area, PukeMachine and Johnny would have to guide me around, lest I might get myself lost or something.

And that’s what PukeMachine did, or at least attempted to do – to take advantage of that situation to abandon me and then to live out to tell the tale about my misfortune. So, he rode faster, in hope that I won’t be able to catch up the lead and got myself lost in that maze of dirt tracks. But little did he realize that his bicycle didn’t have much traction on those dirt tracks, and he got himself gliding down at the first corner (just like how that T1000 cyborg glided on that overturned liquid nitrogen truck in Terminator 2), and landed flat right in front of a family relaxing on a bench, all who stared down at him like they’ve just witnessed a UFO landing right in front of their yard.

No he didn’t break his arm this time, just his pride, as Johnny and I laughed squarely at his face and spread the news like wildfire the next day.


Just thought of sharing all these so that you kids will not make the same mistakes like PukeMachine uncle did…

michaelooi  | escapades  | Comments Off
July 27, 2006

problems, who needs themmm????

I’ve been having this observation about babies… you know, the way their life works. The way their clock ticks. The way they go about making things happening. It’s so simple.

All they have to do, is bawl.

Soiled nappies? Just bawl. Someone will tend to them and clean up their shits.

Hungry? Bawl. Somebody will eventually scamper around for something and feed them.

Too hot? Too cold? Bawl again. There will be some poor souls worry about setting their weather straight again.

Don’t like somebody? Bawl some more. They’ll just disappear.

Or just simply bawl for the fun of it. Somebody will eventually figure out what could be wrong and do whatever that is necessary to keep them happy.

As you can see, their world revolves around that one universal act of opening their mouth and let out that nasty inconsiderate scream – and everything will set into their own gears and work towards that little guy’s expectation. How perfect is that. An all rounder solution for every frigging problems they face.

How I wish I could use that. Like when I am really distressed about my mounting credit card debts… or when I peruse that exorbitant timing belt quotation for Lorraine… man I really do feel like crying. But you and I know, that’s a myth. We as an adult, after gaining so much knowledge and secrets about life, will not be given the privilege to use that sacred bawling act. You’ll be a wacko if you do that.

It was as if, some higher being out there designed all these to fuck with us.

Babies who have less problems to worry about in life, gets to have that ‘universal problem solving’ privilege. While we adults who have to worry about bills and shits, get all stuck up and left to putrefy in our own anguish. Somebody tell me what the fuck is wrong with this world?? Why don’t we see kangaroos or rats get depressed about their lives? This is beginning to get into me.

I’m getting really sick about all these responsibilities lately. I came home today from work and told Emily, how I wish I can just lie down on the bed and hibernate (knowing that bawling won’t cut the mustard)… and wake up 10 years later at the same age… Things will be so much different then. If I’m not quite happy about anything still, then I’m gonna hibernate some more. I’ll hibernate through time, a few years in this century, another few in the next, and probably long enough to witness people flying around in the future with some piss powered jet scooter.

But sadly, that’s also a myth. I can’t be sleeping forever. I need food to survive, and I need money to buy food. Which, will be another problem to worry about if I’m planning to hibernate that long, because I won’t have a job for that money to buy food. Bummer.

Maybe I should just bawl, like the time when PukeMachine lost his school uniform, and pray that there will be a shapeshifter that would take pity on me and offer to pay off my homeloan, car loan, credit card debts and Lorraine’s timing belt… I’m willing to exchange a round of kinky sex for that.

(I don’t know what am I trying to say here, I was kinda ‘unstable’ today…)

michaelooi  | ramblings  | Comments Off