*long entry, don’t bitch*

My knee still ails whenever I tried to sprint. The physiotherapy helped a lot, but not to the extend of 100%. According to the physiotherapist, I’ll need to grow some muscles back to support my knee … to be able to fully recuperate. And to grow back the support muscles, I’ll have to exercise my leg - focusing on the knee area. But, that was fucking ironic - how do I exercise when my knee is in pain? And when I don’t exercise, the muscles won’t build and my knee will remain as painful as ever. It’s like a chicken/egg situation. I have to find a way to exercise my knee.

That was why I joined the gym. I’ve never joined a gym before in my life. I never really fancied to be a beefcake. Beefcakes give me bad impressions that they are intellectually slow. But I have no choice this time - I need to improve my medical condition… else, I will never get to play soccer again.

My first day at the gym was pretty ok. There was an instructor there to guide me - you know - how to use those beefcake doohickeys. Some of them looked so ridiculously complex that I actually thought that they’re the same thing they used to scour for lifeforms at Mars. It was alright. I did what I had to do and I felt good about it.

The second session was more interesting. I began to notice that there were several knockout pretty girls who frequented there as well. Maybe the gym isn’t such a bad place after all - I thought. I went on with my running, cycling and other exercises that focuses on my pair of legs. But after I’ve worked for about an hour or so, in came a bunch of guys with big biceps (aka beefcakes), beckoning for attentions with their big size and all. They looked at me as if I was some green guy from another galaxy, and then each of them changed into their body revealing attire.

A typical group of arrogant & snobbish beefcakes. I fucking hated them. So what if they have a body the size of a fully grown gorilla? That would only mean that their dick would be shorter than average to compensate for the muscles they’ve built. (which probably would be of no use at all)

I ignored them and went on with my business… until one of them came over to the section that I was in to pull some weight. It was just right in front of me. That was when I noticed something not very right about that beefcake. The guy had a set of big arms… big chest… and 8 packs. Obviously, with one look, he seemed to be quite well proportioned… but after some careful observation, I noticed that his pair of legs were very tiny! Like a bird’s legs ! And when I took a look around the room, I noticed that all the beefcakes have motherfucking tiny legs!

You see, the most important part of a man’s body (other than the dick and brain), would be his pair of legs. It must be muscular and hairy. A pair of good legs can determine your level of virility. But those bunch of beefcakes, despite having such a well built body, they somehow did not bother to work on their legs, and as a result of that, it kind of accentuated the sorry state of their legs - scrawny, fair and full of green veins. From far, these beefcakes look like pieces of soap impaled on a pair of toothpicks.

Seeing that those guys like to show off their body so much, I did the same thing back to them with my legs (FYI, my legs are approximately 60% more muscular and hairier than theirs, pffff.) - I pulled my bermuda shorts higher (errm, trust me, this isn’t as gay as you may have thought), and flaunted my ass kicker assets… at the same time, broadcasted this telepathic message - “Fear the wrath of my crotch stomper, you sissies with puny legs”.

And those ‘cakes dared not to lift any weight within the 10 feet radius around me after that. (ok, I made that up, it was actually 8 feet).

Never felt better.

Yesterday, when I was driving home from work, I noticed the car in front of mine had a flat tire. And when I checked my speedometer, I realized that we’re moving at about 70 kph! A car with a flat tire moving that fast? I went like “WTF?? Couldn’t that driver feel a thing?”. I followed the car for a good 3 - 4 minutes, with no signs of it stopping.

The person inside was obviously unaware that the car had a puncture. I reckoned that the car must have a bloody good suspension system or the driver is too fucked up to realize anything at all (on drugs perhaps?). The car’s metal wheel was basically rolling on top of the loose flapping rubber, and was already making a parallel-line mark on the road.

So, being a nice guy that I am(as always), I overtook this car in front of mine and tried to alert the driver that the car had a puncture. Who knows? I might save a life or two? Cool. But before I do that, I decided to check out the driver first from across our car windows… - the driver was a Chinese bloke in his early 20’s with a spiky hairstyle, dyed to the color of old coconut shell. A typical pirated VCD seller yokel kind of look. I could see that he was bobbing his head while driving - an indication that he was listening to some very loud music. *that was likely the reason why he didn’t know he has got a flat tire.*

Alright, let’s stop this for a moment here.
Do you think people like me, in this situation, should interrupt this Ah Beng who is listening to his super loud music, that his car has a flat tire? Please comment yes or no. And state your reason why.

Also, you may try to guess… whether or not I did the good Samaritan bit.

Many thanks.

Free gift… the ultimate bait to get more customers. That’s what I got when I bought 4 movie tickets on Friday. Free gifts. Nice isn’t it? But no. Instead of feeling nice, the gift that I got that night got me confused instead. Instead of getting conventional stuff like a pen or perhaps a food voucher… I was given 2 bars of soap. Soap! Sabun!

Now, who in his right mind would think of giving out bars of soap as free gifts in a cinema? And to make matter worse, the soap also smelled weird. It smelled like some canned fruit cocktail… or something like that. I took a careful look at the soap wrapper, and saw a very disturbing picture of a fruit. “Rambutan! Oh my god!” Emily exclaimed hysterically. But no, it wasn’t rambutan on the wrapper. It was LYCHEE! A lychee scented soap! (if you don’t know what a lychee is ..nevermind)

Why the fucking hell would anyone create a LYCHEE SCENTED soap!? I mean, aren’t soaps suppose to smell nice?? so that when we finished cleaning our body with it, we wouldn’t reek of our own sweat and perspiration? Now imagine that someone were to wash him/herself with a lychee scented soap and his/her friends would compliment “Oooh… you smelled like a… lychee”? Add a ‘bye’ behind the word if you like. Ridiculous… isn’t it?

Damn, it’s really a bad thing some stupid people tries to be innovative. I wonder what next, a belacan scented soap? langsat scented soap? Why can’t they just stick to the conventional nice flowery scents? What is wrong with these people?

And also, I noticed that we almost have everything with ‘menthol’. People seems to like it a lot. Well, I like it too… but only on certain products like toothpaste or maybe our good old hair shampoo… But not just anything, you get what I mean?

Like this body shampoo I was using. It happened when I was scrubbing myself with that bottle of free gift body shampoo as usual in the shower… and then I had the sudden urge to take a shit. I spent a good 1 minute over on the toilet bowl with suds still all over my body… crapping my intestines out. But little did I realize that the body shampoo has menthol in it, and before I could even finish crapping, I started to experience this uncomfortably cool sensation all over my balls, and when it spread to my bunghole, I had to cut the crapping business short and started to rinse off the suds before my balls freeze over. Not a very pleasant experience, I’d say.

So, basically, everyone has to accept the fact, that sooner in the future, everything will be mentholated and shit. We’re probably also going to have menthol on condoms, doctor’s anal examination gloves or even your broadband modem… just anything that you can imagine. And they probably will smell of lychee as well. That was when innovation goes wrong.

I accompanied my wife Emily to a beauty parlor yesterday. She actually wanted to inquire about a skin care product that she bought lately, so while she was doing that, I took a seat at the foyer to check some girls out. It was before long, one of the beauticians there came over to me and asked, “Have I seen you before? You look familiar…”

The moment I hear those words, I concluded the following :

She’s one fucking dumb bitch. — Many people may have seen me before. How the fuck would I know if she’s one of them?

In fact, I knew there was a hidden intention behind that question. It was aimed at my wallet. Specifically, my credit cards. No shit we haven’t met before. She was just trying to chat me up, and when if we ever got friendlier, she’s going to ask me buy some of her expensive but useless product. Fuck that.

“No, I don’t think we have met before. I’ve never been into any beauty parlor in my life.”

“I thought you are one of my customers maa. Interested in any treatment?” [Aha!]

I gave her that “excuse me please ?” look before replying her -

“In case you failed to notice - I’m a guy. Guys don’t wash their face with a few thousand types of chemicals.”

“Well, guys have to care for their face also maa… right? ”

“Of course we do. We use a soap. Ever heard of soap?”

“No no, soap won’t be able to remove blackheads… pimples… etc… you have to use this that bla bla… ”

I started to get really uneasy when she preached me about face care with some of her exotic terms and shit. The feeling was like, standing in front of a bunch of naked androgynous cultists who want me to join their lost cause. I didn’t stay to be pecked of course, so I directly made a beeline to the exit and disappeared, leaving Emily behind.

As I was trying to start my car, about 5 or 6 of them came to block my car, broke the windscreen and dragged me out like a rag doll. I tried to gouge an eye out of one of them, but I was grossly outnumbered and had no choice but to submit to their whatever malicious intent. I was then tied and brought into their hidden enclave inside, and repeatedly raped with their cosmetics laden clits.

Alright, that was just something to fuck with you (if you couldn’t tell). I bailed out of the place alright, leaving Emily behind. But she caught up with me outside and we got the fuck out of there.

Circa 1991. I was riding on a motorcycle with my childhood buddy - Wai. Both of us didn’t have a license to ride back then because we were still kids. But we’d get our father’s motorcycle during the weekend to ride around the off traffic network of dirt roads around the village.

It was the usual stuff for both of us that particular weekend afternoon - we rode to the further edge of the village to perfect our wheelie skills. When we were done having our dosage of fun, we rode home through a less traveled path, but one that was frequently traveled by both of us. We were like, riding side by side without our helmets… doing about 60 kph, and were chatting. But when we came round a curvy stretch of the road, we suddenly saw a fucking kid riding a cheap ass bicycle right in the middle of the road. For 60 kph at a curve, and the proximity of the stupid kid, it would have impossible to brake our bikes in time. So we did what was necessary and out of reflex - we dove our bikes off the road into some bushes to avert a possibly catastrophic collision.

Wai went to the left and I went to the right, and everything went blur after that. All I knew was seeing myself airborne and landed hard on the ground, and also the loud crashing sound of my father’s motorcycle. I didn’t know how it happened but, it was pretty nasty. When I got up from the fall, I noticed a few things around me,

1) my father’s bike was badly wrecked several meters away. The gear pedal was bent backwards and the brake jammed.
2) my knee was bleeding profusely.
2) Wai, was nowhere to be found, but his bike was in somebody’s compound.
3) a group of villagers was advancing towards our direction.
4) the kid was unscathed, but he was wailing like somebody had just punched him in the face.

I thought my friend Wai had ran off on foot, freaked out perhaps. So I shifted my attention to my father’s bike, that looked as if it had just been ran over by a truck. I was still groggy from the crash and the first thing that crossed my mind was to fix that goddamn gear/brake, and try to cover up as much as I can, or my father’s going to kill me.

I made a beeline towards a nearby house to borrow some tools - but I was instead yelled by a housewife for riding recklessly around that area. Already feeling nervous about my impending fate awaiting at home, I cussed back at that lady “Damn old cunt” and went back to my bike. That was when I heard the commotion from the advancing villagers, saying that ‘there is another guy unconscious in the bush’. I was like, “Shit, that must be Wai”. Sure enough, it was Wai. I saw a man pulling him out from the bush and carried him to a nearby clearing.

I wanted to help but, there were already a few of the villagers there helping him. I figured that I couldn’t be of help much anyway, so I decided to go off on my own - to fix my bike especially - and went back to attend the wrecked bike… made a few crude adjustments and finally managed to get that thing back on its wheels.

On my way pushing the bike out of there, I encountered some irritating housewives in pajamas jeering at me, but I ignored them - for I was too worried about the bike to give a fuck about anything else. The kid was unharmed… and that was the most important thing –> hell, that’s a hero’s mentality.

I pushed my father’s bike for about a good 200 meters, before I came to across house with an old man out at the compound. I requested to borrow a hammer to work on the gear pedal from the old man, and unlike those good for nothing housewives, the kind old man obliged.

Having gotten a hammer, I started to work on the bike immediately, and while I was busy working on it, a middle aged man who resembled George Harrison suddenly approached me from nowhere and asked… :

“Are you ok boy? do you need to go to the clinic or something?”
“I’m ok thanks… but my bike’s not doing good”
“What actually happened back there?”
“We were just riding like usual… and then there’s this fucking stupid kid standing right in the middle of the road”
“And then?”
“What do you think, uncle? We avoid him lah! And crashed.”
“Oh… ok”
“That stupid kid’s parents ought be put to sleep for letting him stray on the road like this… cheeeebyee… ”
“…”
“Do you happen to see my friend? I saw him passed out back there, do you know how is he doing?”
“He got a bad gash on his forehead. Need some stitches… someone already sent him to the clinic”
“What about that kid? Is he alright?”
“Yeah… he’s doing good. Just shocked… still crying”
“Fucking kid. Not even a scratch… cry like a sissy some more”
“…”
“Do you happen to know the kid’s parents? Perhaps you can yell at them or something…”
“Errrr… I’m actually the kid’s father”

I was stunned and speechless after learning about the fact that George Harrison was the kid’s father. With a beet red blushing face, I dropped the hammer and immediately bailed the place out of sheer embarrassment. I got a great deal of scolding from my father after that… but what hurt me the most was - to become back to zero for scorning the kid’s father without the blink of an eye.