*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…

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…)

I was having my lunch with Emily at Nandos the other day, and in came a group of whipper snappers. 4 boys and a girl. The girl had a kiddy face and a pair of fully developed tits, I presume those bunch must be at the age range between 12 – 14. Ahhhhh, the golden itchy age. When everything starts to look very different, and our hormones would circulate in high pressure to make us that rebellious hero against our ever so wrong parents.

And I reckon that was what must be going on in those kids’ lives. Dress to impress – branded sneakers, chic watches, funky hairstyles, phone with mp3 players, etc. And where did I see those kids again? Nandos. That’s hell of a posh restaurant for me, at any stage in my life. As an adult, I only dine there like… once in a while… just for the sauce, it’s still damn expensive for my standard. But those kids walked in as if they’ve been there thousands of times. They didn’t even need to look at the menu. Sheesh.

Thinking back… when I was at that age, I didn’t even get enough money to take a bus there. My mom only gave me 1 ringgit per day as pocket money. A buck that could buy no shit even in the late 80′s. I’d hoover my lunch at a shoddy economic rice stall after school, I remember, for a hardly filling plate of rice.

white rice – 30 cents
a scoop of sour vegetable stew – 30 cents
plenty of curry gravy – free
total – 60 cents.

If I ever got thirsty, I’d buy a pack of soy bean drink for 20 cents and I would still have another 20 cents left. That was not enough for a bus ride even if I was in my school uniform. I would hence spend off that 20 cents to buy a few guppy fishes and release it to the nearby stream to gain some good karma.

Kidding.

You’d be a spastic if you believed that. Kids at that age have no conscience. That 20 cents, I would spend it inside the local arcade game outlet for a round of ‘Double Dragon‘. Oh yeah.

In the age when there were only 3 channels on TV, personal computers as expensive as your family car’s gearbox, and everything on the console looked like a calculator on steroid, ‘Double Dragon’ became a big thing for the kids. 20 cents for a 10 minutes’ worth of orgasmic ass kicking entertainment – it was every kid’s desire – just located around the corner of the street. It was as addictive as a bar of chocolate (only that it’s much much cheaper than a bar of chocolate).

Who would have thought, fast forward a decade and a half later, kids would each own a personal computer right in their own room, with unlimited source of porns, games and friends online? And as if that’s not enough, they even have a fancy cellphone to go with them (which, is powerful enough to host the ‘Double Dragon’ game!), and enough pocket money to afford a late afternoon snack at some expensive family restaurant with their buddies… Goddamn.

That makes me think a bit, how would I feel if I were to be showered with all those goodies like the contemporary kids in the 21st century? For now, I’m gonna imagine myself as a very happy boy with all these gadgets to keep me entertained. But in reality, I know I’m not going to be as happy as I have imagined. That’s because I know, when one has the riches around him, he’s not going to enjoy the wealth. Any goodness is best enjoyed if it is scarce and hard earned…

But right now, I’m worried about my own kid. I dread of having to spend money for her to have
1) a personal computer with unlimited source of porn, games and friends online
2) a fancy cellphone powerful enough to host ‘Double Dragon’
3) enough pocket money to afford a late afternoon snack at Nandos

Perhaps I should just toss her a buck and ask her to figure everything out herself.

*excuse me for the looking-back-the-old-days reflections. I’m right now at the juncture of advancing to an advanced stage of my life… such behavior is kinda expected… according to experts. So, bear with me until I reach 40, which then, I’m gonna step into middle age crisis and you’ll get to read something different then. And oh, you people may call me uncle if you want, I just don’t give a flying fuck anymore.

I just learned from Emily last night, that my 14 year old niece got very depressed lately due to some social problems at school. Apparently, one of my boy-cousin, who is of the same age as her, has been calling her ‘Chicken rice’ inside the school bus and she’s mad about it. And because she’s so mad about it, every other student got even more excited and now it sort of became her permanent callsign in and out of the school bus.

I was like “Mannnnn, Chicken Rice… what a creative name!”. Strangely enough, my niece’s name is nothing of that sort or of that may suggest anything pertaining chicken or rice. I guess some of you people are right, that when somebody wanted to aggravate you, they’ll be able to somehow pick a name to vex you off. But still, what a creative name.

This ‘social problems at school’ thingy sort of triggered a string of memory burst of my good old carefree days when I played an important part in upholding the equilibrium of good versus evil. Which side I was in, you make your guess. At the age of 12, I was the epitome of all negative influences at school. A problem child. A miscreant. And if there was anything bad that ever happened inside the class, I’d be the first to be blamed. Like, if it’s not Michael the menace, who else could it be? It’ll be so much more convenient to close the case by blaming the only meanie.

Hell yeah, how can I forget those days. I was consistently made the framing target, and that only fueled my diabolical ways even further. Unlike my niece, I wasn’t particularly anal about myself being able to socialize around. That’s because I couldn’t get along even with my own sister, and I sort of inured to the ‘hardships’ of being alone. That’s why, I never really had a good friend (I mean, a REAL good friend) in my primary schooling years, except for PukeMachine. But he’s a bit of a not-very-bright kind of person, hence I’d say he was just plain unlucky to have met me (he could have met a four legged animal anytime, it’ll be his best friend too… no shit)

But then, I’m glad that I got along just fine in life. No I didn’t end up in jail. In fact, I did quite well compared to the majority of those teachers’ pets, and outdone many of them in life. (though I’m a bit of an antisocial and racist sometimes… especially behind the steering wheel). My colorful childhood.

Now back to my niece’s case. Upon hearing about her problems, I began to cackle like a hyena… “HAHAHHH! CHICKEN RICE! I’m so gonna use this name the next time I scold her!”. My irrational reaction triggered a series of disapproval from Emily – that I should be helping her (my niece) instead of rubbing salt into her ailing wound. She’s now completely flipped out, and according to my dimwitted sister, she might send her to see a psychiatrist if she ever starts to mutilate household animals (so I learned that not only my mom that needed the treatment…)

I guess it’s inherent in me to see people get pissed over nothing, but ‘chicken rice’ sure is a good one. Anyway, as a former school ruffian myself, I can understand that it would only intensify the excitement of her adversaries if my niece were to get riled over the remarks/name-callings. The more she gets annoyed, the more orgasmic it would be for them. So, the only way to get out of this, is laugh over it, and eventually, they’ll lose the thrill and move on to another target (or another name). And so the advice was conveyed… may my niece feel smarter already.

Having given off that advice as a trial, I think I’m ready to become somebody’s father. *pssshhh*

*****
The legendary insult I complimented (many years ago) to a fellow school bus fat-girl-student whose legs were full of mosquito bite scars:

Hey damn fatty girl! Your legs are so full of 5 cents and 10 cents coins, that if you were to collect them together, you’re gonna get a few hundred bucks out of it!

I think that remark scarred her deeper than the nastiest mosquito bite she ever experienced. (and god knows how many more souls I had scarred in my juvenile years…)

If there was to be a particular year that had brought significant changes to my life, this would be it. One year ago, I hung out with different group of colleagues. One year ago, I laughed about different things and was a happier guy. One year ago, I had so much less problems to worry about. One year ago, I was a different person from today.

Some of my close friends got hitched. Good colleagues quit their day job. One of them even retired. I changed 2 bosses this year. My new car’s warranty was over and it’s not new anymore. My neighbor’s cute dog was nowhere to be seen now. Probably dead. Then the old man bit the dust, sealing the upper generation door shut. My mom now becomes the geriatric and me the protagonist of the family.

The changes were rife and rapid, it’s badass. The only thing that remains unchanged is my dick’s girth and length. (and my humping skills, yeah bebeh)

The weird thing is, I kinda flowed along with these changes that I didn’t even realize it myself. I was as productive as an impotent old man in a hardcore porn flick. I’ve been hibernating these whole 361 days wasting oxygen. I was idling by watching these changes unfold before my dormant eyes and did nothing to catch up with it.

This realization only intensified when I was at Doug’s retirement dinner the other day. I sat with a bunch of senior directors and managers (most of them were old friends) hearing them talking about high leveled strategical baloney’s. For the first time in my life (alright, maybe not the first time), I felt very left out from the group.

That was when I thought to myself, hey, I used to be like them. I used to have that enthusiasm and vigor and was very passionate about my job. I suddenly realized, I am now just a shell of my former self. This is like waking up from a coma to suddenly discover your infant son has already grown enough pubic hairs to choke an alligator and yourself withered into a wrinkled corpse bitten by ages of oblivion. It’s not fun at all.

I don’t know what happened to my aspiration to be the best goddamn engineer company X has ever hired (let’s call my workplace company X from now on). I don’t know why I never got my first 100 grands before 30 and but instead, a negative 150 grands of financial worth. I don’t know what had happened to me.

Somewhere in the middle of the heaps of accomplishments I’ve attained, I’ve failed to gain the credit I hoped for… and never wanted to savor another round of disappointment again. I learnt the hard way that no matter how good you are, you’ll never be better than those cock sucking politicians and ass licking hypocrites. I don’t know if I was right but, it happened to me. I’m a victim of the vicious food chain in the corporate world. Maybe, all these are just some quarter life crisis shits that I’m experiencing, things would probably be ok after I move on to middle age… which by then, I’ll be worrying about a different set of less intricate problems instead. Like hairloss or something.

Because I have been so screwed up, that’s also probably why I never did any REAL resolutions for 2005. But I lived up to some of the goofier ones, which if it’s not considered too pathetic, is not bad for an underachieved loafer like me. I finally got my dSLR. I’ve got only 1 credit card to clear now. Nearly went on a trip to Korea and gonna miss Denmark in January due to some unforeseen circumstances. But I’m all cool about those – that’s because I haven’t been earning enough anyway… (what’s enough?). I never got myself a desktop PC, but got myself a new notebook instead (it’s not so new now though…). Scissors and stones. Trivial achievements.

For 2006, I’m gonna be aiming for higher objectives. I’m gonna be searching for my lost passion (hey, it shouldn’t sound that obscene if your mind’s right) and get back what I’ve been missing all these while. I’m gonna be more matured in dealing with stupid people and use them to my advantage. I’m gonna save more, and spend less (fuck booze, fuck gadgets). I’m gonna scrutinize at every single opportunity and get the best out of everything like a shapeshifter (like beating up a petrol station guy for trying to fleece a bottle of mineral water from my Bonuslink privilege). I’m gonna do something to gain back my self-confidence and give my career a wake up push (man, if I’m a woman, a boob job and a push up bra is all I fucking need)

Now, I’m gonna be sleazing through the remnants of 2005… I’ll be blogging again when the new light of 2006 rises to illuminate the troubled sky.

Happy new year people. Remember to puke considerately. Don’t hurl on your pet or your significant half.