October 4, 2019

I don’t get high school reunions

Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of people posting about their high school reunions. Like it’s a big fucking deal. Some 15 years, some 20 years, hell, some even 40 years. They’d go with matching T-shirts, and there’s one even complete with school uniforms. They hugged each other like they’re long lost siblings, and they looked like they’re damn happy to see everyone from their high school. My thought is, if they’re so happy to see each other, why didn’t they keep in touch and stayed friends? That’s why I don’t fucking get high school reunions.

I see it as an opportunity for those smug assholes to gloat over their less fortunate schoolmates/classmates. Or maybe a chance to compare dick sizes. More often than not, if you noticed, these reunions are often started by one that is quite successful in life. One who has made enough dough to be curious. It’s never the guy who’s a laborer still struggling to make ends meet. These organizer assholes, will be proud and loud, and they disgust me.

There’s one organized by this phony bastard for my school a few years back. I was invited of course, and I naturally turned it down. It was easy, really. High school was my most depressing period. It was a time when I felt most inadequate and I hated almost everyone (still do). Those who eventually became my close friends, do not need a reunion for me to meet them. Because we’d have fucking stayed in touch all these years regularly. So, a reunion, for me, is nothing but a redundant act of needlessly meeting smug assholes who didn’t make the cut to be my friends… So, why bother?

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September 10, 2019

priority in life

I just shared this with some of my friends, thought of sharing it here.

The rule of life is the same everywhere in this world. It goes by priority. Priority #1 is always self or family survival. A person or his family needs to eat to survive. There’s nothing else that is more important than this. That is why, you can never convince a low ranking wage earner or laborer that he needs to have a vision for a better world or protect the environment for the children or that kind of mushy shit. They’ll flip you a bird because survival takes precedence over global warming or the environment or your goddamn vision.

When this basic need is fulfilled, that person will move on to comfort. With hard work, of course. He’ll work harder for a roof over his family’s heads, better meals, basic transportation, a little entertainment like a radio or TV, a phone perhaps, maybe some upgrades like better education for the little tykes. A person in comfort level is usually very committed, having tasted the rewards from his hardwork. This is the ripe time when a manager or a mentor can impart those bullshit ideas to make him into a corporate drone with lies such as ‘work like it is your own company, money is not the most important thing’. He may or may not be convinced but, know that he’ll do it anyway for HIMSELF. Pay him a little less, he’ll still flip you a bird, and go work for another company without batting an eyelid.

Once this comfort level is met, the person will move on to luxuries or nice-to-haves. Better houses, better rides, vacations, premium watches, gaming machines, private school for the kids, spa for the goddamn dog, mistresses, you name it. At this stage, the person starts to slack on the word ‘hard work’, is very self entitled and feels that he has sound advice for everyone because he ‘has made it in life’. At this stage, he’s going to have many visions, most likely about ways to change the world/society into a better place… Ideas get pitched all over the place, because he now can afford to lose. Throw a bunch and one is bound to hit, and he’ll have more reasons to gloat, gets even higher in life. It’s the fundamental of chances, and the basic rule of life.

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September 8, 2019

Penang mainlanders vs islanders

If you’ve been to Penang or know someone from Penang, I’m sure you’ve heard the term – mainlanders and islanders. Referring to the Penang dwellers who are from the mainland on the peninsula, versus the dwellers on the island. Non-Penangites would ask, is there a difference between mainlanders and islanders? Aren’t they all the same? Most Penangites would avoid that question like a plague. The truth is, there is a ‘perceived difference’ among the Penangites. It is thought that the mainlanders, are the bunch of least urban or uneducated people, and they are mostly perceived as less well-to-do. i.e. they’re the hillbillies of Penang.

How come? One would ask. It’s because the city and capital is on the island. In the old days, this means only the well-to-do’s are all located on the more happening island. The demographics on the island comprised of businessmen, professionals, skilled workers, government servants, just like any big city – while the mainlanders are mostly farmers or laborers who lived in cheaper and smaller houses/shanties on the mainland with more pastures for their farm animals and stuff (where do you find pastures in Georgetown, you numb nuts?) So that’s how the stigma began. Mainlanders = hillbillies.

But in the modern days, this is no longer true. The hillbillies have since fanned out and spread across the country like a plague, and a lot of them have called themselves ‘the islanders’, simply because they’ve earned a few bucks from the sale of their buffaloes. Now, they look down upon their comrades who are still on the mainland, and even those well-to-do’s who moved there to exploit the cheaper price of bigger houses, and these island hillbillies even had the gall to label them “the hillbilly mainlanders”. It’s like a pot calling kettle black. The island is just a place, the people are the same. The fact now is, the whole Malaysia is now full of mainlander hillbillies. There are no more islander left, except maybe me.

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August 28, 2019

nut-shot

You know sometimes how our sock would get balled up from the laundry? Instead of putting my hand into it to loose it out, I do the flick maneuver. You know, flick the sock until it unravel itself. I’ve been doing this since the beginning of time, and never had a problem until the other day. For some reason that day, the sock just wouldn’t unravel even after a few flicking. So I flicked harder, and the centrifugal force made it balled up tight, and it became like an elastic flail weapon.

I was seated on the sofa when I was doing that, and during one of its out of control elastic flailing, the ball of sock ended up hitting my right nut. Now, I’ve never been hit in the nut that hard before. I’ve been hit in the nut with a soccer ball back in the school days, but it wasn’t anything like this. I reckoned that most of the force were absorbed by my hip or something. But this? This was a direct hit. Ball of sock of about the size of my own ball, came into direct contact with my right nut. I had no idea it was that bad. The next few minutes, I had to lie down on the floor, paralyzed in agony. The feeling was like a really bad stomach ache after a bad case a food poisoning, and I almost puked on the floor. I bet if there’s a hyena nearby, I couldn’t even get up to run for my life. I’d have been eaten alive right there and then.

Fucking nuts. I don’t think Archilles was hit in the heel, it must have been his nut. Our nuts are our weakest point, that’s for sure. I’ll never flail a ball of sock near my nuts ever again.

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August 15, 2019

horror stories

My mom used to tell me horror stories when I was little. Real horror stories. Kids are such pussies nowadays, that their stories had to be rated. Mine were all real.

One of the worst that mom liked to tell, was about the deaths around the low cost flat I used to live in. Back in the 70’s and 80’s there had been a spate of suicides around the neighborhood, and they were freaky as fuck. The freakiest was this Indian guy who jumped from a high floor, and landed on the concrete right in front the arcade center I used to patronize. The guy landed in such a bad way that his brain was splattered all over the place. Mom said one of his eyeballs, flew off in such velocity that it got stuck right on the door of that arcade center (it wasn’t an arcade center back then. It was a grocery store or something).

So there were blood and gore all over the goddamn place, curious people surrounded the ground zero. They didn’t have cellphones back then so, they just gawked. Then there came this fucking stray dog, who got too excited of what seemed like an open buffet of dog food, ran into the mess and ate the eyeball on the door. And that made everyone retched. It was a story that everyone remembered, trailed by the various sighting of the Indian ghost near the arcade center door without an eye. Everyone stayed away from that section of flat at night… and many years went by and it was forgotten. But my mom remembered, and told me about it. I went in and out that very door many times during my youth, but I’d only seen those pixelated arcade ghosts on CRT screens in the arcade center…

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