It’s true that men are becoming pussies.

I was at a restaurant today having my breakfast, when I saw an uninvited guest came ambling in. A stray female cat (no balls, had to be a female). One of the restaurant helpers, a scrawny Indian bloke (let’s call him Appu for conveniences’ sake), was given the simple task by the manager, to evict the animal from the premise. Now, this would have been a simple task for virile men like you and me. But for Appu, he had a problem. He looked as if he was given the task to diffuse an armed nuclear warhead!

Appu literally stood there for about 20 – 30 seconds, before he decided to pinch that flab of skin behind the cat’s neck to haul its ass out of the restaurant. But because the cat was quite big, the ‘grab’ didn’t quite hold, and the cat didn’t even leave ground. Instead, for some strange fucking reasons, the cat became somewhat aroused and then lolled promiscuously to its side like it was expecting Appu to give it an oral sex or something… and started to purr softly. Appu then became confused because he expected hostility from the animal, but instead he found an unlikely suitor in match, which probably was considered an epic regression from even the tragic bride his mother chose for him back in India.

So the whole thing comically repeated for like, half a dozen times, with each time the cat becoming more and more aroused. If the cat could speak, it would have said “Oh yeessss come fuck me bebeh!!”. I almost barfed out my breakfast from the severe gagging. But eventually, Appu managed to drag the cat-in-heat out of the restaurant, with a choke hold rather than a pinch of skin. Not really a good way to treat a lover, but nevertheless entertaining, albeit in a pussy kind of way.

If you’re somewhat like Appu, scared of any four limbed animal bigger than the size of an apple, you should probably just contemplate to undergo a sex change operation at Thailand. Or, you can use the PCK maneuver.

1) P for Position with left foot (or right) next to the cat.
2) C for Cock back the other foot.
3) K for Kick, as hard as you can.

The result will be – a confused feline achieving flight at high velocity without the aid of wings or technology, out of the unwanted area, of course.

And I mistakenly thought people from India are tough or something, with the violent fighting and stunts in their action movies and whatnots…

Say you go out for lunch with 3 of your buddies. All of you ordered the same type of drink, and the total came to RM7.20. Since being a miser is pretty much the main theme of your group, each of you decided to go Dutch and pay separately. So, now the question is – how much do you reckon each of you have to pay?

It’s just simple arithmetic really. But for a bunch of well dressed good looking young women I saw at lunch today, it was a problem. They couldn’t seem to figure it out. It was at this seedy coffee shop place, and they were served by a rather loud old man (you know, being in this kind of trade for so many years). The old man brought them 4 glasses of iced lime juice, and quoted them RM7.20. Almost instantly, all the 4 of them went brain dead and hung for approximately a few seconds, before one of them mustered some guts to ask the old man this

“So… uncle, how much for each glass of these?”

The lady thought her charm could save her from this predicament of utter stupidity, but little did she know that the old man, with his long retired libido and bitten numb with old age, doesn’t have the slight of interest to be blithe with a no brainer like her. So quite predictably, the old man shot her down scornfully…

“Aiyoo! RM1.80 per glass lah!”

My respect for that old man immediately shot up a couple dozens of notches. If I were to be that girl, or any of them for that matter, I would probably bury my head in the nearest toilet bowl, and flush until I die. It was so damn embarrassing. I was thinking, there you are – dressing up like you’re so damn sophisticated like that, and act like the whole world’s giving you the only attention, only to be shot down by a coffee shop helper, who seems to be better at arithmetic than your phony ass.

If this is not an epic fail, then I don’t know what is. (epic win for old man)

I was having my lunch with my family at a food court in a mall, when a Malay chick at a table next to ours accidentally spills her cup of iced chocolate on the floor. Then the janitor came (an old guy in his 60s), but that guy didn’t do anything about the spill. He just looked on, seemingly amused with the whole thing…

“Isn’t that guy suppose to wipe this up?” my wife whispered to me.

“I have no idea. Maybe he’s waiting for that lady to clear the table first.” I remarked.

But he wasn’t. He was actually scheming on something. With a smirk, the old janitor then went off to summon another scrawny guy to do the job. From the first glance of that scrawny guy, I could tell that he was a drug addict. His actions were slow, and he wasn’t in his healthy color. And the next thing I noticed was, the scrawny guy was getting yelled at by the janitor, even before doing the job. And then throughout the mopping, he was constantly being screamed at and even insulted with the foulest of words by the old guy janitor.

It was pretty disturbing, actually. Scrawny guy was doing the thing right – he brought a mop to clean the spill, but he got yelled at by the janitor for just doing that. He was a bit slow and stim stim, yes, but that still does not warrant for him to be yelled at. Time is not a critical factor for anyone in this case. This is clearly a discrimination. The scrawny guy was discriminated by a much older guy, even for doing his shit right, just because he’s a drug fucking addict.

I don’t know you guys but, I don’t think this is right. You don’t yell at people because of his background or identity. So fucking what if he’s a drug addict and he’s using his wage to buy his next fix? Just as long as he gets his job done, right? But apparently, some people are just full of shit like that. They set a perception of you based on your background, identity and affiliations – not on your ability get the job done. Alas, this happens in all levels of our society. People getting marginalized for the wrongest shit reasons, and no matter what you do, you are always someone’s ‘drug addict’ in this judgmental society. And it is even sadder for me to know that my child is going to grow up seeing all these filth in humanity that make us no different than a pack of wolves.

After mopping the floor, the drug addict went ahead to pour himself a mug of coffee, and retired behind a fire exit door, hiding himself from the public view and humiliation.

but-ter-face [buht-er-feys]
Chick with a hell of a nice body, but the face is ugly.
“She looked real good… but her face (butterface)”
[source]

That was what I saw at a Japanese restaurant the other day. I was with my wife and daughter for lunch and saw a young girl that resembled a fucking catfish, but with a knockout body wearing a very revealing top (seriously, the neckline of her top was so low, that if I were to throw a rock at her blindfolded, I could hit her sternum). The girl was sitting a couple tables away, but my sitting position was strategic enough to be able to see her very clearly.

The most standout thing about her was her pair of delectable tits. Fair, plump and half exposed, it took very little processing energy for a gawker to imagine how the rest of her chest looks like. I wasn’t able to concentrate very well on my food, needless to say. There was a time when the girl choked on some wasabi and coughed, sending massive ripples on her tits, and actually made them bounce. Almost made my eyes teary (wait, that could be my own wasabi effect…).

I was secretly hoping that one of her tits would bounce out and made my day, but I think she caught me gawking, and became very animated when she talked to her friend (she was with a friend). She would speak with such eloquence, you know, flailing her arms, pointing up and down like she was giving a political speech, and her huge bouncy motherfucking tits would resonate along. If there was an earthquake happening, I’d probably be impervious to it because watching her tits bouncing would cancel the vibration out. No shit.

That was when my wife Emily caught me looking over the table and said,

Emily: “Busy ogling at titties? Don’t know how to eat already?”

I snapped back into reality and quickly came up with an excusable excuse,

Me: “Yeah, did you see how that girl dresses? Man, her tits are so massive and exposed. I’m so worried that Regine would comment something about her rack…” [concerned expression]

I was referring to the time when Regine said “I can see your boobies!” when she saw my cousin wearing something revealing.

Emily: “Yeah, that’s what I fear too.”

Close call indeed. I cut down the ogling after that. There’s only so much silly excuses one could make. But on and off, I still checked the tits out (not her please)… but they didn’t bounce out or anything. You can imagine my disappointment. She left the premise a while after that, and only then, I could eat my lunch with a clear mind.

Saw a girl at Company X cafeteria with thick makeup, fake eyelashes, GRO grade garbs and a beehive hairstyle. I then turned to my boss (who was with me at the time discussing stuff) and commented, that it is probably a bad idea to hire an employee like her.

Boss asked ‘Why?’.

I said – because a person like her will either

a) Show up late at work – because she’s gonna need the extra time to treat a few thousand kinds of chemicals on her face to look artificially fake like that, precision-attach her fake eyelashes and to set up her ridiculously intricate network of beehive hairstyle. And then she’s going to need more time to select which garb of the week to wear to the office.

b) If she’s early, she’s going to be inefficient – If she’s not late, that would only mean she probably wakes a couple of hours earlier than most people to do all the prep work. Most likely, compensated by having less sleep/rest. It is a known fact that lack of sleep could cause mental, emotional, and physical fatigue. And when the weariness tolls on the body, the chick’s going to have to use more chemicals to cover it up and subsequently, takes even more time to prep, and eventually shows up late at work.

c) If she’s early and efficient – Even if for some miraculous reason she manages to overcome (a) and (b), she’s still going to affect the performance of her workmates, which could be worse. With all the accidental flashings and thick fog of perfume, those who are working around her will be distracted and underperform.

My boss didn’t say a thing – probably a silent acknowledgment that I must be given a raise/promotion pronto in view of my mental elevation towards assholism.

In all seriousness, I understand people need to look good at work – but hell, do they have to go to the extend of making themselves look like a harajuku tramp?