This morning, I heard from a friend relating about how his boss was so bitter about an asshole manager who instigated some of his ‘talented’ workers to defect to another department. That was when I remarked to my colleague – “Your boss is a sore loser”.

That’s right. For whining like a cheebye. Instead of figuring out why his employees left his department, that guy chose to whine and bitch about how unethical it is for someone to woo away his workers. Boo hoo. It is as if his employees belonged to him like a commodity, and are destined to work for him forever.

Then I said to my friend – “Didn’t your boss read ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’?”

You can’t keep a great general in confinement doing menial things. A great general is born to do great things, expecting great rewards. If you do not provide enough for him, it will be a matter of time before that great person decides to leave for a better prospect. If for some strange reason the general choose to be a bum working for you for a lesser reward, then that general must not have been that ‘great’ in the first place, or he must have hurt his head pretty bad when he was a kid.

Same here. You can’t expect your employees to be happy with their job if you do not provide enough to keep them there. Common sense 101.

Think we’re all here working for the company? We’re here for the money, numbnut – if you don’t know that already. No money, no honey. And even if the money’s good, it still pretty much boils down to how satisfying and rewarding the job itself is — to sustain my psyche — although that can still be compromised with a huge paycheck. There you go.

If you’re one of those whiny boss, be a sport. This is strictly business, nothing personal. Just shut the fuck up and spare your generals’ backs please.

Chinese New Year. It is a period when you get to see all these people trying to dress to impress. They’re like a bunch of creepy crawlies hiding under a rock for the whole year, and suddenly, all appear at the same time to show everyone that they’re doing real well or something. Especially the housewives. Having been staying at home the whole year, they’d go all out to look like a motherfucking clown. You know, extreme makeover, and expensive hairdo held by a shitload of hairspray.

Things that I don’t fucking understand.

Scorching 33 degrees C, and I can’t believe that there are people who’d still hairspray their hair and put on an inch thick of makeup just to visit some relatives. Imagine the discomfort. The hairspray will melt, and release all these noxious fumes in the car. Some of it would plop down and pave another layer of sticky substance over the face. And as they dab the mixture of sweat, hairspray and chemicals off their wrinkled face with a tissue paper, bits of the paper would stick on their face, and then they’d use the same fucking tissue paper to wipe their mouth – ingesting the chemicals in the process, and subsequently suffer some form of brain damage. And then throughout the whole year (with the damaged brain), they’d give us a hard time by being irrational, driving like a stupid fuck endangering lives and being a consummate bitch.

The other day, I saw a lady in her mid 70’s sporting this Michael Jackson wig hairdo near my place. Visiting relatives or something. I couldn’t help but wonder, how embarrassing it must be for her children (whom I reckon must be in their 50s or 60s). Well, at least it would be for me. I’d imagine myself make up stories to the host that my mom’s not feeling well and the drugs are making her wacky. And how hard it would be for them to be in the same car with her, slowly suffocating from the strong hairspray fume – crowbarring their lungs and livers.

So much for an auspicious New Year. I wonder if hairsprays are made flammable for a specific reason…

I don’t understand why Company X management likes to give out mandarin oranges during CNY. They’d order a truck of those crappy mandarin oranges – which taste like a can of paint – and have a bunch of its high level employees wasting the whole day, just to coordinate the distribution of those cheebye oranges.

I was pissed because one of them had to excuse himself from attending a meeting of mine to participate in the so called 1Malaysia spirit to distribute the oranges in the office. Like we’re all dying to eat the fucking oranges. It was mind boggling to see execs like that lowlife of a scumbag giving priority to this trivial matter over a potential million dollar deal.

And what’s even more fucked up, was after a whole day’s work of being busy doing real work, I was greeted by this mound of oranges on my office desk. There were 4 different types of them, and about a dozen in quantity. Half of them, came without a plastic bag or a holder. In other words, I can’t fucking carry all of them home unless I can find a plastic bag, which I can’t, or if I have 2 extra hands. So the bunch of soggy headed motherfuckers must be expecting us employees to hoover at least half a dozen of those crappy tasting oranges in the office to boost our productivity, until the number’s good enough for us to handcarry them out.

Why can’t they just fucking give us a 5 ringgit angpow instead? They would have saved all the trouble ordering, transporting and distributing those goddamn oranges! Fucking idiots.

This is so gay.

Yes, I am referring to the picture on the left. In case you can’t tell what it is, it’s a gift hamper. It is from my mom’s ‘godson’. No I’ve never met him before, but from the way my mom described him, he’s got to be the gayest guy ever. Mom said he is the most polite ‘boy’ she’s ever met, kind, obedient and most important thing of all, he gives my mom a hamper every year during the CNY. My mom is so all over him, that gay of a godson of hers.

First of all, who the hell gives out gift hampers during CNY? If that isn’t the gayest thing ever. Gift hampers are extravagant, attention seeking and they’re usually fucking cheap because they encompass of unwanted or expiring goods – that makes it gay enough. Why can’t that ‘boy’ just bring over a bottle of wine, or perhaps a can of cookies? Nice and simple, just a gesture of goodwill. That oughtta do. Nobody’s going to mind. Why has it got to be a gaudy, cheap fucking hamper? I really don’t understand. He’d just drop off the damn thing, and ask to leave. And he’d do it every year, like he’s paying a 10 minutes pilgrimage to a gay totem pole (my mom). That’s just gay.

And then, who the hell adopts a godmother? I understand that this could be a normal thing for girls, but a guy?? Come on man, that’s just too gay. A milksop that hasn’t got enough mother, but asks for a second one. That’s not normal. What’s even more abnormal, is that my mom isn’t exactly an affable person to begin with. You see, my mom adopted this queer at her ex-company, which was also the subcontractor for Company X (where I work). I personally knew a few engineers there, and when I asked them about my mom, they’d tell me

“Dude, no offense but, your mom is quite a bitch”

I’d respond them with something like this “Thanks. I totally know what you’re talking about. Just bear with her. You can do it. Be strong.”

And that’s not even a joke. My mom’s possibly the most difficult person ever to walk on the soil of Penang. She is like North Korea. She’d shut everything else out and she’d go hostile on everyone. That is not the kind of person you’d want to become your godparent. Hell, I could have adopted a plate of greasy chicken rice as my godmother and would have gotten way more value out of it (if that’s what everyone’s looking for out of that stupid ass ‘god-relationship’).

Things that I don’t understand. Just get real people. Don’t ever give out hampers. Or adopt a god-something. It is so very the fucking gay.

It’s true. They’re there. Hidden minefield in shopping malls. But only the people with children can see them. They’re called ‘kiddy rides’.

These kiddy rides, they aren’t usually confined to a specific area, but are scattered all over the fucking mall. Most of the time, you’d least expectedly run into them at strategic places that you can’t avoid like the walkway to the escalator, or the foyer right next to the lavatory. You won’t exactly know they are there either, until you see them, which is already too late.

And these ‘minefields’ are not like any regular minefield. It does not mean that if you are careful enough not to step onto a mine, you won’t get hurt. The mines in the minefields are alive. You don’t have to step onto any of the mines. The mines will come to you. Just like that ‘magnetic mines’ you see in Terminator Salvation. Only the difference is, instead of using a magnet to do the trick, the ‘kiddy ride’ mines use bright colors and exaggerated cartoon characters to daze kids, and entrance them to do the evil bidding of parting money from their parents.

Each ride costs about 1 to 2 bucks. Not much to many of you, but consider this – all a ride ever does is repetitively move up and down (or sideways), and lasts a little less than a minute. And they’re basically all identical with seemingly limited entertainment value, only with different shapes. One can basically get more by driving a car with stiff absorbers through the ubiquitous bumps and potholes on our Malaysian roads. But for some fucked up reasons, kids can never get enough of them. They’d scream and squirm out of clutches, and their parents would get a momentary glimpse into the future on how their kids would misbehave when they see their favorite boy/girl band. And before you know it, you’re paying for a few rides, just so that the rugrat won’t spoil your day any further. And that’s just one minefield. A few more to go.

And I got an extra a couple days ago. While lifting my almost 20kg daughter onto one of the rides, I hurt my back. And now, I am having difficulty to pick up a bar of soap on the floor without looking like I just had my dick circumcised with a can opener. I think I’m gonna blindfold my daughter the next time I go to a fucking mall.