A couple weeks ago, my father’s sister and her husband (my aunt and uncle) came to my place for a visit. It had been some time since we last met, so, there were a lot of catching ups going on. Particularly on my daughter, Regine. The last time they saw Regine, was when she was just a few months old. But that afternoon when they came, Regine was ill and was taking her afternoon nap. So I did the next best thing for them - I showed them my daughter’s digital photos. Shitloads of them.

I brought over my notebook to the couch, and showed them a slideshow of Regine’s photos. You know how these senior people would go so enthusiastic about looking at children’s photos and all - so I was like making them happy or something, and at the same time, trying to reinforce their belief that me, Michael, whom they were so used to see as a fucking obnoxious devil, had grown into a responsible and debonair parent (oh yeah bebeh).

And so I was like, digitally flipping photos after photos of my daughter’s, wearing this super gay smile and making super gay remarks like “Oh look at her, how cuuuuuute awww” - you know, revolting behaviors that we adults sometimes unnaturally act in front of our seniors just to avoid any perception complications.

“This was when she was 8 months”
“This was the time when we brought her to the mall”
“Oh this was her first time on a swing”

You get the idea.

Just when I thought everything was going smooth and things would end well for me, it happened. The final few slides of the folder, weren’t of Regine’s. No it was not porn. It wasn’t me nekkid either. It was this picture.

My uncle squinted his eyes, and I panicked.

“Errmm, please ignore this uncle. This… errrr…. this is just a picture of my friend…. errr he buried his face on a roti canai… err…. because… errmmmphhh heheh… he was drunk” [close application and stifled from laughing]

And then we pretended we didn’t see the picture and moved on.

That was a picture of my friend Tony, which was taken when he was very inebriated on a very adventurous night some months ago (we’re all drunk). That night, someone bought some roti canai for a late night pig out, until one of my kooky friends slapped a piece of roti canai on Tony’s face and told him that it was a warm towel. I took that picture with my phone while I was wiping tears and phlegm from laughing too hard…

Happy moments, yes, but it was inappropriate at that time, you know, with these serious relatives around. I was suppose to be content and stable and shit, and showing them how much of a schlub I’ve been with my friends isn’t generally considered a very bright thing to do. It was a boner. If I had a piece of greasy ass roti canai at that warp of time, I’d have buried my face into it as well, no shit.

I told Emily that I’m going out to have only a couple of drinks with the guys last night and will be back before midnight. But we turn 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’ve 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 can’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 goes 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 goes 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’s 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 for 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 had a long hairstyle that looks like Reshmonu. Only that his wasn’t dread locked, but waxed with accumulated filth and gunk.
b) his dresscode was best described as ‘zombie fad’. You know, torn rags and stuff?
c) he was talking to himself.
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 reckoned 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 does 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 crap. 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 got back into the car and bailed. The last I looked into 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 have had a long walk. 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.

I’ve always been wearing this pair of denture on me. Yes, you heard me right, I wear a denture. How come? Long story. I was in a mission of rescuing an old man in an accident. Some misunderstanding took place, and I was suddenly assaulted by a deranged Indian guy with a helmet - which knocked me out cold. The assault has left me with a minor upper lip disfigurement (which had to be fixed with some minor cosmetic surgery) and I lost 2 of my frontal teeth in the process. And that pair of denture now fills that void of my former dental glory…

It’s a sad thing I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s just another unfortunate incident that happens out of my control, pretty much like 9/11… or the London bombing, victimized by some unscrupulous motherfuckers that never seem to be able to rationalize.

Of course, it wasn’t very comfortable to have that piece of plastic chewing mechanism lodged under my hard palate at first… but I eventually got used to it after a while. That set of plastic teeth soon became an extension of myself. I regained back the ability to masticate like any normal person… and in a certain degree, it has even enhanced my cunnilingus skill (alright, I was joking bout the last part you sickos)

For a few years, that thing managed to stay in my mouth without an incident, until one fine day in KL. You see, I was in this pub clubbing with my buddies and was thoroughly enjoying myself. I’m sure you people must have experienced something like this before - a night where you’re feeling uncannily high in the mood for a wild party and then everything seems to fall right into place. The music’s right, the crowd’s happening. Yes, it is THAT night for me.

Everyone was like going apeshit that night, swigging off whiskies like there’s no tomorrow and was dancing skankily like someone having an epileptic fit. In the midst of having that euphoric moment, I suddenly felt an overpowering discomfort brewing from deep within my throat. It was the kungpao frogs I had earlier that night at Jalan Alor…

With one hand clasping my mouth holding back the urge to puke, I quickly scampered to the restroom for the big hurl and was lucky enough to find an empty booth amidst the crowd of blokes in there. But before I could even lock the booth door, the semi-digested frogs resurrected back into this world through a torrent of projectile vomit, which amazingly out of my sheer drunkenness, managed to steer sloshing right into that puddle of water inside the porcelain bowl. It has to be one of the motherfuckest puke I’ve ever experienced, which came out of not only my mouth, but through my nostrils as well. Totally badass.

I puked shitloads for a couple of minutes, heaved a sigh of relief and flushed them chunks of frogs back into the shitty underworld, then walked out from that booth to the water basin to wash myself, hoping to sober up a little from my drunken stupor. Then, as I was schlepping out from the restroom, I suddenly felt a tinge of awkwardness in me. It was as if I’ve lost something but my intoxicated mind couldn’t seem to determine what it was. It took me about a couple minutes to realize what it was - my denture.

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CRAP! That was my initial reaction. I couldn’t even pronounce it properly under that alcoholic breath as I was confronted with that lispy speech impediment without a part of my frontal teeth. Panic sets in and I began my frantic search of my denture. I started with the basin, then around the booth - but it was nowhere to be found. The dreaded thought soon dawned on me - I must have fucking flushed it along with those frogs to their final resting place - a waste tank somewhere.

Stupefied by the entire boner, I left the restroom livid faced, first explaining everything to Emily, then to my friends - to which, they initially reacted with gasps and later with derogating laughs. It wasn’t easy for me, but I soon got over it… and amazingly, I somehow went on partying despite the ‘oral inadequacy’ (my lip shut tight) and lived through the night.

I remembered I had to endure through a couple more days before I get to go to the dentist (due to the National Day & it’s replacement holiday on that weekend) and stayed lip tight until I got myself a new set of denture. The first thing the dentist said upon learning about my misadventure:

“You know what? There was also one guy who came in earlier today with similar problem. He puked and lost his denture as well! Mannn… what’s the problem with you people? HAhahahh!”

It seems like I’m not the only one who lived to remember such a mortifying tale. What the fuck indeed. I have since learned how to puke with my nostrils so as not to repeat the same mistake again. -__-’

Kidding. I still puke hard, but not before removing my pair of denture. (heh, you won’t see it. I always do it inside the booth…)

Now, if you could remember that entry I mentioned about something embarrassing that has happened to me - here. This is what actually happened

I woke up feeling like shit yesterday. Head’s heavy, stomach’s upset and everything seems to be spinning. And what’s worse, I couldn’t remember what happened after that few rounds of alcohol imbibition at a friend’s sister’s wedding banquet. From what I managed to recollect myself and through some a lot of help from Emily, here’s what I’ve learnt :

- I drank like a thirsty camel on that night (yeah, as if it’s not obvious enough..)
- I was moving in between 2 of my friend’s tables to toast them up.
- I frolicked a lot with some girls and Emily didn’t liked that.
- I squeezed somebody’s arm and spoke something foolish to her.
- I racially discriminated a white guy.
- I puked inside my mouth and freaked Emily real bad.
- I puked on my own shirt and shoes.
- I puked onto my car park pavement.
- Emily hauled my ass back home and doused me with water. (and I kept uttering “ok, ok, that’s enough.. that’s enough..”)
- and a lot more …

Scary, isn’t it ? when you find yourself waking up not remembering anything that happened the night before … That’s when you felt really thankful to the person who painstakingly brought you back and cleaned your mess. For my case, it’s Emily.

Me : “Sorry for all the troubles… dear.”

Emily : “Please do not drink again ok ? It’s a pain dragging you back… you’re stubborn, reeked of puke and disgusting”

Me : “Heh … I don’t remember complaining that much when I dragged you back last time when you’re drunk…”

Emily : “Come on … you’re much heavier… I didn’t puke, ok ??”

Me : “Well, at least I did not dance skankily in public…”

Emily : “Says who ?? YOU DID. YOU DANCED SKANKILY …”

Me : [stress veins popping up] “Alright, but at least … I didn’t sing when I’m dancing, ok ? Coz I… wouldn’t do that”

Emily : “HAHHHHHH !! SAYS WHO ?? YOU SANG WHEN THAT BEE GEES SONG WENT ON AIR !!”

Me : “OMFG… You serious !? How did I dance ??”

Emily : “You and your usual hands-in-the-air dance … damn stylish like that…”

Me : “…”

And I reckoned none of my friends could remember that as well - coz the last time I checked with the guys, it was an almost 100% casualty. Which means, this is the motherfuckest of all drinking events we’ve ever had.

Right now, I’m still feeling nauseous and suffering from an upset stomach that never seems to be ending very soon. This is the kind of hangover that would linger for at least 4 - 5 days. It sucks. Just like what Charles described his hangover to me on the phone —
“Mannnnnn ! I felt like I’ve just gone through some chemotherapy for a cancer treatment !”

Nothing describes the feel any better.

*All tips/remedies to relieve hangovers will be appreciated

Have been real occupied since Friday night and finally woke up today as a free man.

Friday night.
Supposed to be an innocent night of simple outing with the guys at a local karaoke joint - you know, to flex my golden voice of mesmerizing and stuff. But instead of all that, it turned out to be a record breaking event of following :

- the night that we drank most beer in our partying history - 6 active person downing 22 over large jugs of beer.

- the longest karaoke event ever - 7pm till over 3am. That’s roughly the amount of time taken to fly from Tokyo to Los Angeles.

We were so blitzed that we actually kidnapped the bouncer of that karaoke joint and forced him to down 5 glasses of beer straight before we releases him. He was later found hiding in a dark secluded vacant karaoke room hiding from us.

End of the night - 2 casualties. They barfed their biles out and crashed without gaining consciousness (no, I’m not one of them).

Saturday morning.
I woke the next morning at 8 am with a really bad headache and drove to work. I smelled of alcohol and looked like a dude who’s having a financial crisis. I was slow at work, and was rubbing medicated oil on my head frantically from time to time. Headache sucks.

Saturday afternoon.
Got home and crashed. I dreamt of horrifying stuffs - of me losing my voice and diagnosed with the Armstrong syndrome (the guy who sang What A Wonderful World).

Armstrong syndrome = a very coarse voice with a lot of phlegm inside one’s throat.

Saturday evening
I woke up at 6.30pm. I was suppose to be at my grandpa’s place at 6.30pm. There’s a family dinner or something that my mom had asked me to join. I had to get dressed and ready pronto, then rushed to meet them up.

I drove dangerously and recklessly on the road. People hated me.

Saturday night
Ayamas messaged if I wanted to party and drink like a fish. I told him that I still haven’t changed back to my original human form .. from drinking like a fish on the previous night… and declined.

After fetching those bunch of senior citizens home, another division of the guys called for a hang out at Sega Fredo for some really expensive beverages - which, out of my addled brain, I joined them.

Hung out way past midnight, reached home at almost 1 am and crashed again.

I felt so exhausted. I used to be able to do way better than this. Signs of old age.