this is a coconut shell, and i am it's frog

Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Footie rambles
"Can Messi be suspended for acting? Barcelona is a very cultural city. You know all about theatre. You have theatres of high quality" - Jose Mourinho accusing Lionel Messi of play acting to get Asier del Horno sent off.

My goodness, wot a laugh. That Mourinho dude's really got his extremely oversized head up in the clouds. Have you ever seen a worse loser? He sounds like an angry little kid who just broke his favourite toy and is accusing someone else of doing it. Don't get me wrong, I think Chelsea are playing some really er... effective football at the moment thanks to Mourinho, but the guy's just plain irritating sometimes.

In my opinion though del Horno deserved to be sent off. He had already sank his studs into Messi's thigh a few minutes earlier, an offence that should have produced a yellow card, but escaped with nothing. He was getting turned inside out by Messi's dribbling brilliance and was constantly cutting down the Argentinian with ugly, badly timed tackles. A red card is all he deserved.

Everyone's a critic.

So Manchester United wins the Carling cup. 4-0, nonetheless.

Wayne Rooney, that wunderkid, scores his second against Wigan. John O'Shea does a jig in the background as two Wigan players look dejected.

The traditional wasting of perfectly good champagne!!

I've supported them since before Cantona, but to see the former champions of Europe reduced to chasing a single, and shall we say, less important trophy is a distinct downturn from the glories of 1999. We should be playing against the likes of Barcelona and Juventus, not competing with Wigan Athletic (all due respect to them) for a tournament that we used to field 17-year-olds in. Even the trophy looks small and insignificant. Ever seen the Champion's League trophy? You could hide a two-year-old kid in it. The size of a trophy seems to be directly corelated to the glory of the tournament .

How times have changed. I used to laugh at my Chelsea-supporting friends whenever they lost in the league, way back in highschool. Good thing I've lost contact with them, or they'd be gloating my eyes out at the recent rouble-funded Stamford Bridge success.

I do so hope that these two will catalyse a new generation of red devil success. Oh, the shirts say "for you smudge" in reference to winning this trophy for Alan Smith, who had incured a nightmare of an injury the week before. Such team spirit.

Makes me wonder. Remember Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, the baby-faced assasin? The poor guy who scored the winner against Bayern Munich in that epic 1999 Champions League final (sealing his place in Man U folklore) has been injured for two years plus with a long-standing knee injury. Why can't we win the Champions League or Premiership for him? That's probably what was going on in his head as everyone pulled on the t-shirts at the end of the match, and could explain his somewhat bemused/dejected look as he ambled around the pitch, thinking "vinner noe for meg dum..." which is Norwegian for "win something for me ler pan..."
posted by theycallmecruel @ 5:59 AM   0 comments
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Another emo post
Posts don't get more emo than the previous one, what with the comtemplating life and death and all that nonsense, but since I'm in the emo-post groove, might as well bug all you faithful oilfriedghost.blogspot visitors with yet another emo, though not as emo as the last, but emo enough, post.

That two and a half years in IMU was fun. Yeah, I did lotsa stupid things, rubbed some people the wrong way, but hey, all's well that ends well eh. Break it all down though, it was fun. A lot of it. How fun?

The first ever birthday celebrated at IMU. I think. Man I miss cinta ria!

After nouvo's one night. Crud I miss carrefour mamak. Where ais kosong was free, and a bill of rm4.10 always became rm4.

This photo is just wrong. Thank goodness I'm not in it. The things that happen when you're stuck on an island for too long.

Check out Su-Ann's expression. Priceless.

Our 1st IMU cup foosball team, plus photo whores. They won silver. The next year Pok Chien and I joined, and we won gold. huhu.

One of our many nights in Zouk. When we used to have to beg for transport there.

hoHO. Can't see it here, but I remember the words "koko help me" written somewhere on her.

This pic is a classic, and just too good to not be included. Ahhhhh orientation...

The infamous sports bra. sigh. What was I thinking???

IMU cup glory. Too many glory pics, can't post them all up. Heh.

That cake says "Happy birthday horny-ann!!"

Carrie, that pondering lass, pondering her ice cream at Zk and squeaky's 21st. William, perusing pondering Carrie.

Hn's 21st. LBs + WJ

And of course, the culmination of that two and a half years. B+ baybeh!!

Our last dinner as one big group. Yes there were people missing but lobsterman is only so big.

We are convocated. So close to being doctors, I can almost smell the hospital bleach.

That's how fun.

So so so many more photos. So many more memories. So many more friends that will drift into the grey murky bog-mists of distant memory. Into the dark, hushed shadowy corners of whispered thought. Into that silent grave of human limitation known as the past. So many more personalities that have coloured and touched and thought me, yet I will probably not see them again for as long as I live. This is a tribute to you all, pictured or otherwise.

There are so many more pictures I would like to post up, such as the tennis team and our smurf-like shirts, all the wonderful IMU Ball pictures, the progression from basketball whipping-boys to champions, the many more birthday and clubbing night photos but there are just way too many. I'm afraid might delete my account for flooding. haha. Maybe next time. k k emo overload. A man can only express himself too much.

I'm nowhere near as good as cm at editing videos and inserting emo music (in fact, I have no idea how too), so it's all old school cut and paste stuff here.

Cheers, M103. We rawked.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 5:55 PM   0 comments
Saturday, February 18, 2006
I had an accident early this morning around 4 am. No not the bed staining type. Haven't had those for a while. This was a little more solid. Very much so actually.

Was driving home from mamak in subang eh. One of the corners is a bit of a blind corner. Not seeing any lights or car, I just drove on without stopping.


Keith was in the front passenger seat and he elbowed me hard in the ribs, such was the force of the impact. A white evo VII was staring down at me from the left windscreen. Literally kissing my car. Neither of us had seen him right up until when his bumper was attached to my door. His rm4000 lights weren't even on. But then again, I came out of the junction without stopping. My bad. My very bad.

He was about 19 years old. Orangy-brown hair. Kinda like a leaf in autumn. About half a head shorter than me. He leapt out of his car screaming bloody murder. Not at me actually. Just at the sky and road and buildings and scurrying cockroaches in general. He screamed and screamed some more for about 5 minutes before he realised I was standing next to him trying to settle him down.


In another ten minutes, he had called about 20 friends to the scene. What for, I shall never know. To intimidate me? I doubt it. Drama queen, most def. For the record (and all the guys will ask the question anyway) his was quite a souped up evo VII. Turbo and all that stuff. Mine was a 1992 proton saga, bordering on the edge of road-worthiness.

It was the worst accident I've ever been involved in. My entire front passenger door couldn't open. Even the glove compartment was banged up. The rim on my front left tire was cracked. I couldn't steer the car properly so there was probably some other damage I can't recognize. Brushing aside the obvious complications and hassle and driving around for the report and all that boring nonsense, the incident kinda really brought home a couple of things to me.

If mr evo VII had been going any faster, Keith might have had much more than a bruised lower chest wall.
It only took a second's lapse of concentration on my part. That's all. Just a second.
I never knew my dad could look so angry. He's a pretty calm guy most of the time but he's got this really intense flame in his eyes when he's angry. He'd wilt grass just by staring at it. Must be to make up for the loss of skeleton-warrior summoning ability (inside joke).

Life has never seemed so fragile to me.

Sure, I've done some minor ward rounds and seen people die, but the fragility of life never really hits home till something bad happens to someone you actually know. And I'm not talking about a friend's cousin's mother's twin's brother-in-law's granduncle twice removed kinda thing. Someone you interact with on a fairly regular basis.

You know those old drunk driving adds? The one where the guy insists that he's ok to drive, ends up in an accident, and only he survives? As he lies in his hospital bed, a myriad of tubes stuck into him with the prerequisite hospital ICU beeping in the background, he says "john... john... I killed my brother..." and then the scene fades to black with the words "jangan minum dan pandu" in big bold white letters, followed by company endorsement logos.

That coulda been me in that scene. Except that I wouldn't be saying john, but Keith. And I don't have a brother so I can't say a killed my brother eh. But you get the picture. I couldn't focus at all today. Could just stare at my books and absorb nothing.

Imagining trying to explain what happened to Grace should anything more had happened to Keith. She'd kill me. But I'd kill myself first if anything I did caused a friend to die. So she'd have to strangle me first before I hang myself. erhm getting a bit too macabre.

Before you call the shrink and the anti depressants down on me though, I'm ok eh. Just a bit on the brooding side today. Close (ok maybe not so close but close enough) shaves do that to you. But the fact that I can write about it says more about my mental health than anything I can say to convince you I'm ok eh.

Oh, and about the resolution of payment and all that, he's claiming from his insurance and I from mine. Gotta pay me dad the compound fine back though.

Incidently, I seem to be pissing people off quite a bit these past few days. Pissed off a good good friend the other day, and today, my dad. I hope that this isn't the beginning of a trend...
posted by theycallmecruel @ 3:46 AM   0 comments
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Valentine's day
di·ar·rhe·a also di·ar·rhoe·a - Excessive and frequent evacuation of watery feces, usually indicating gastrointestinal distress or disorder.

Have you ever had a nasi lemak so freaking spicy it burned your gums? Yah man no joke. Diarrhoea like anything this morning. Or as we like to say here, lao sai!

Having had Valentine's plans been reduced from Luna Bar with big bunch of friends to La Bodega with small bunch of friends to Coffee Bean with even smaller bunch of friends to dota with a bunch of guys, I suppose a nasi lemak that burned your gums and gave you diarrhoea kinda makes an uneventful night somewhat eventful. And I am grateful to that nasi lemak for making it so.

Luna Bar offered me a table for 1.6k RM. *knees buckle* Crazy. Even if I had that much money to spend, I wouldn't spend it on a girl. Hmmm. Must be why I'm still single.

aNyWAys... Comments on my love life (or lack of it) will be unceremoniously deleted.

So dota it was with a bunch of guys... Comments on my sexuality will be as unceremoniously deleted as comments on my non-existant love life. I'm straight as a straight pvc pipe k. Haven't you heard that misery loves company?

So came that nasi lemak. woah, what a nasi lemak. My gums burned for about 10 minutes after it was gone. And not just burned mind you, positively sizzled. I could feel the borders between my molars and my gums just melting away. My tongue was on fire. I had to stuff ice into my cheeks to help with the stinging.

Undoubtedly a cheap conspiracy by the mamak guy to get us to buy more drinks. But I stubbornly refused. The institution's got nothing on me, nothing! My burning gums bear the scars of rebellion. Dead cheek mucosa epithelial cells, martyrs for the cause.

mamak man thinks to himself *eh ini orang tada mau minum kah?*
"oi Salleh, kasi itu nasi lemak pedas sikit! ini budak tada mau minum lah!"

*This is a re-enactment. Names have been changed to protect the participant's identities* Why Salleh? Cause if I was a mamak man, I'd be called Salleh.

I remember once when my dear ex-housemate Chia Ming tarpau-ed some mee goreng for me.
"boss, mee goreng tambah tambah pedas yah!"
"tambah tambah pedas?" *indian head wobble thing*
"yah boss, tambah tambah pedas!"
*mamak man (probably Salleh) turns around with big smile on face, clapping his hands with glee*

Every bite of that mee goreng had at least one cili padi in it. Tambah tambah pedas indeed. I lou-sai-ed exactly 4 hours later. Almost missed the beginning of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory cause of it eh.

Happy Valentine's day! Though it means nothing to me. 'nuff said.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 2:44 PM   1 comments
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
100 hits old! has hit 100 hits! In the 5 days since I figured out how to add a counter, no less.

'gratz wj. You must be really funny. One day I shall be more popular than Kenny Sia.

*pat on the back*

I've a feeling visits to my blog are gonna start falling from now on.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 1:55 PM   0 comments
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Of chicken ball rice and durian cendol
"We were jamming all the way"
She was talking about being stuck in a traffic jam.

"Yaler, all for those stupid bicyclists"

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to my sister. It's difficult to believe that she graduated with a degree in English Literature. Obviously ye ol' english don't be caring much for modern day english. Bicyclists? Indeed.

We were in Malacca. Bandar bersejarah itself. Curse the sejarah-ness of Malacca, for it became one of the stops for the Tour de Langkawi. So all the roads into town were blocked, as were all the highways leading to it. At one point, we sat in the car for a full hour and a half not moving an inch because the main road was blocked. Idiotic m'sian police didn't bother blocking the road that led up to the main road, causing everyone to turn into the small road and jamming it up tighter than a singaporean's pockets when offered free stuff.

There were easily tens of thousands of cars just idling on the roads of Malacca that day. I don't believe that not one of them had something urgent to do. But apparently none of them did.

My sister wanted to check out a campsite for the church's youth camp. She had bribed me with a free lunch if I went with her. Me being the pig that I am couldn't resist. I mean, free chicken ball rice and durian cendol? Who in his right mind will give up such gastronomical pleasures? And free, no less!

Alas, I was to be denied those most famous of all Malaccan foods. After aimlessly driving around the outskirts of Malacca town trying to get into it, we gave up, turned around and headed back to KL. My sister never got to check out the camp site. I never got my food. It was, putting it lightly, a complete, total and utter *enter appropriate synonym and curse here* waste of a perfectly good saturday morning.

I grabbed my sister's head and proceeded to shake it violently. Like a rattle. Hoping that some passerby would notice my borderline psychosis and placate me with chicken ball rice and durian cendol. Or that somehow, chicken ball rice and durian cendol would miraculously drop out of her ears. Or from the sky. Or pop up from the road. Or somewhere, anywhere!!

No such luck. Sigh.

We reached KL a very irritated brother and sister. What proceeded to happen next is too violent to be reported. I escaped with minor bruising. She, with 50 bucks less in her wallet. The joys of being a little brother.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 11:19 PM   0 comments
Friday, February 10, 2006
Warning: Long angst-filled post!
It was 2:30am. Like a trained seismologist, I sensed rather than felt the familiar rumblings gathering beneath the surface. Soon, the tame rumblings grew to a threatening growl, then rose to a deafening thunder, with subwoofer on max too boot. Tectonic plates moved. Seismic shock waves emanated from within. Oh no, I thought. Not again.

I had the munchies.

And judging from the sharp oscillating lines on paper in black ink printing machine, I had 'em bad. rawr. Thank goodness I live in Malaysia, where food is readily available no matter what time of day, and not in some God-forsaken backward country like Australia where everything closes at 5pm. A country's progress should be measured by the availability of food at all times of the day. That way, Malaysia would be top of the world's socio-economic ladder and the States will be pegging their dollar to our ringgit. hoho. And I wouldn't have to worry about the fees for freakin' medical school.

Back to the munchies. The stomach god demanded meat. Meat I had to offer, with a vanilla coke and fries too. McD's nuggets at 2:30am? Hanya di Malaysia! Or so I think lah. The roaring began to cease as the stomach deity was satisfied with my sacrifice. Soon, the stomach was purring like a satisfied kitten. miao.

While munching on my bbq sauce-accented nuggets, I idled through the tv channels. I was confronted with the worst, and the best of the entertainment industry. Let's start with the worst because I like to complain and I find it difficult to say anything good about anybody anyway.

There was a show called Pterodactyl on. I loved dinosaurs as a kid (then again, which 6-year-old boy doesn't??) and decided to give the show a shot. What a mistake. With the tagline "they've waited millions of years too feed... they won't wait any longer!" I should have known what to expect. But noOOoOoo, I used to love dinosaurs, this should be ok what! Stupid inner child.
The CGI looked as if it were done by a 5 year old kid with only a vague idea of what a pterodactyl should like like. The big ol' flying lizards were superimposed so badly, only a half-blind (can't be fully blind, else he wouldn't be able to see at all eh) retard high on speed could have believed that the actors were actually interacting with the dinosaurs. The script was so generic of B-grade films, I swear that all they do is change the monster and the character names from shows like crocodile! or piranha! or *insert scary carnivorous animal name here* attacks!

The pterodactyl in the show looked slightly worse than this. Notice the artistically coloured wings, neck and tail, and jaw dripping with blood.

Yes, there was even the compulsory heroic sacrifice at the end (though not by the lead actor of course) by one of the ca-le-feh actors. Soaking in blood after being ravaged by little baby pterodactyls who apparently have waited millions of years too feed and won't wait any longer, he yells at his companions (as usual an innocent group of travellers/scientists making the discovery of a lifetime) to leave him behind as he triggers the bomb that will make everything all right. Ca-le-feh to die is given a patriotic salute accompanied by a stirring string ochestra. His companions then run off, and he gives the usual run of the mill speech (to himself) about how he's fought them, bring it on bring it on, you gonna get it, bad boy! and then triggers the bomb with his last breath and boom! Everything's ok. And yes, in the final scene of the show, after hero and heroine are done making out, mysterious organ music begins and the camera zooms in on the one egg that somehow survives the bomb blast. The egg cracks, and as the little pterodactyl screeches, the screen turns black, then cue inspiring music and in big bold letters, as if anybody could be proud of producing a show like that, the words "DIRECTED BY".

The cantonese have a phrase for shows like this. OU HIUT. Vomit blood!

3 nuggets to go. Let there be something good on tv!

America's next top model was on. oho! Should be worth a watch. I caught the show halfway through, one of the contestants was having, very obviously, and eczema breakout. Having been victim of this allergy all my life, the lesions were readily recognizable. Dear model was having a fit, crying and crying about how her face is destroyed. Being in a show where beauty is numero uno, I suppose her distress could be understood. What really took the biscuit was the conversation between two other models, which is probably the stupidest scene I have ever witnessed on reality tv ever. Ever. Ever. I repeat, in case you haven't got the point, ever. Ever.

snooty model 1: you know what,*soft whispers* I've heard of things like this. Flesh eating bacteria. They eat you alive. We'd better not go near her, they're contagious.
snooty model 2: *suprised look*

FLESH EATING BACTERIA?? GROW SOME BRAINS CAN?? ATOPIC ECZEMA LAH PAN!!!! Just slap on some hydrocortisone and potassium maganate and she'll be fine in 2 days!!! wahlao eh!! The very definition of dumb blond man I tell you.

Still 3 nuggets to go. The sheer brainless absudity of the models threatened to trigger my vomiting reflex. As the cantonese say, OU HIUT.

Now onto the best.

As I flipped the channels in disgust, I stumbled upon a repeat of the Grammy Awards. Yay!
A tribute to Sly Stone's music was being performed, led by Joss Stone, that soulful blues songtress and Fantasia Barrino of American Idol 3 fame.

That's Fantasia, grooving with Sly Stone, the guy in the silver suit and mohawk. He's 61 years old by the way. I'll never be able to imagine my dad, let alone my grand dad in something like that. That's one cool old dude.

Joss Stone leading a posse of musicians in Sly Stone's tribute. Good stuff I tell you. That's Steve Tyler and John Legend there, no less.

And wahlao! The opening riffs were so amazingly groovy and jazzy and soulful that I almost jumped on my sofa and yelled "you sing it, sistas, you sing it!", spirit fingers er... spiriting. Times like these, I wish I was born black. As fate would have it, I'm a yellow-skinned, nugget-chomping chinaman with as much talent as Fantasia Barrino has in the nail of her little finger. All she has to do is twitch that little finger, and I'm outta my league.

As long as I'm on the topic of talent and angst, I might as well put in a mention of Eminem. Anyone heard his latest single, "when I'm gone"?

Have you ever loved someone so much you'd give an arm for?
not the expression, no, literally give an arm for?
When they know they're your heart
And you know you were their armour
And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm 'her
But what happens when karma, turns right around and bites you?
And everything you stand for, turns on you to spite you?
What happens when you become the main source of her pain?
"Daddy look what I made", Dad's gotta go catch a plane

Just listening to those opening lines I feel all crummy all over, as if I was the one pouring out my raw emotion into the song. The rhythm's amazing. The lyrical plays immaculate. The presentation, powerful. The emotion, feral. Now that's a song. Amazing stuff. I would post the rest of the lyrics here but they're just way too long. The moment that first bass beat and line comes in, you can just feel the raw honesty and desperation. You can almost see the pacing, growling lion that is his psyche. You can hear him hate himself for treating his daughter badly, how he craves reconciliation in her eyes. A true musician makes his audience feel what he's feeling, no matter the genre. Pat Methany does it with his guitar. Dennis Chambers, his drums. Victor Wooten, the bass. Eminem, his lyrics. I never thought I'd find such honest musicianship outside jazz. Genius indeed.

Alas, the nuggets have run out, and I'm done licking the sauce container (it could pass as a new, empty container now), so at long last I shall give myself to sleep. Munchies no more. Oh, and happy 25th birthday Wong Mei Fern. You're a quarter century old! wahahaha.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 3:40 AM   0 comments
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Stewie who??
Lois: I'm gonna go get some oranges Stewie. Here, hold the rest of these bags for mommy."
Stewie: Oh, what brilliant parenting Lois. Leave a tiny infant with a plastic bag. You know I might asphyxiate myself just to teach you a lesson. Here I go. Just like that boy from INXS..(Stewie tries to put bag over top of his head.)
Stewie: I'm going to do it! (Tries to put bag over left side of his head then climbs into it and tries pulling it over his head.)
Stewie: BLAST! Good Lord Lois, either I was a c-section, or you're Wonder Woman!

Stewie: I was under the impression the name of the show was "Kids Say the Darndest Things," not "Old Black Comedians Never Shut the Hell Up."

Bill Cosby: Stewie, what do you think candy is made out of?
Stewie Griffin: Sunshine and farts! What the hell kind of question is that?!

Let me introduce you to Stewie Griffin, the world's most cynically sarcastic little kid. For a BIG dose of freaking hilarious, guffawing-out-loud style sarcasm, click here. You have been warned.

All credit to psycho K for pointing me in this direction.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 10:56 PM   0 comments
These are the friends that I have
I need new friends.

su-ann says:
u're gonna fail
su-ann says:
n waste all your dad's hard earned money
theycallmecruel says:
thanx for the vote of confidence
theycallmecruel says:
you will die an early death
theycallmecruel says:
a slow painful one too
su-ann says:
ah well
theycallmecruel says:
too blur right now to come up with a proper retort
su-ann says:
as long as i can make life difficult for my few friends
su-ann says:
su-ann says:
n tim
su-ann says:
life is worth living
su-ann says:
even if my death's a long painful one

And it's not just coming from one person

<carrie>: the title of my next post would be 'usmle ownz theoilfriedhghost'

*cue gasp of exasperation, looking like a goldfish out of water, eyes bulging, tachynpic like.*

Insulting me on my own blog nonetheless. ouch. Can someone get this knife out of my back? I'm not sure where it came from. Hurts though. Someone? Anyone? No one? Wah. I need new friends.

Hey you! You there! Yes you, the random stranger walking down the street. Wanna be my friend? Can can? Eh wait! Don't run away! Come back! I just wanna be friiiieennndddsssss.

*turns around, spots a girl*

How yOU doing?

*proceeds to massage face from the slap just received*
posted by theycallmecruel @ 3:07 PM   0 comments
Monday, February 06, 2006
my 3 minutes of fame, to add to the 3 minutes from last Christmas
I promised Lavinia I'd put up a nice photo of her to make up for insulting her so much in my last post so here it is. Imagine coming home to this every day. 'grats, Tim. woohooo

Now imagine coming home to THIS everyday. My sympathies go out to Li Na. What WERE you thinking? Amortentia, perhaps? Ignore the guy on the left. Some random stranger.

This one is a totally unrelated random photo. It's Tim in a helmet and a pink shirt.

Actually it's not. Made you wonder didn't I? Gotcha, you noob, Rudy and JJ style. That's Tim's sister, Amelia, in her oh-so-cute mushroom hair do. They'd pass as twins, those two. For those wondering bout the 'do, surf on over to Marilyn's blog. Her link is somewhere there on my sidebar.

Now to the subject of the title. By a strange quirk of events, I ended up singing backup for Jaclyn Victor at Juara Lagu 2006, along with 20 other fellas. For the uninitiated, Jac's the 2004 Malaysian Idol, and Juara Lagu is the Malaysian version of the Grammys. It was a who's who of the Malaysian entertainment industry. Notable judges on the night included Siti Nurhaliza, the darling of Malaysian pop ballads and that infamous Malaysian Idol judge, Roslan Aziz. Click here for the Star's initial coverage of the event.

Her song, Gemilang, won song of the year. Congrats, Jac! If anyone deserved it, it's her. It's amazing to hear her belting out the high runs from the song. Where does that voice come from? We thoroughly expected her to win best vocals too, but for some incomprehensible reason a malay guy named Hazami won it. Even his backup dancers were adamant.

"Best vocals? Mestilah Jac!!"

So we had this black gospel choir thing going, with the black shirts and gold sashes, and I must say, we did a pretty good job of conveying the energy of the song. *Pat on the back* The best part of the evening was walking out from the hall after the repeat performance (best song winner performs again), and being greeted by raucous applause from Hazami's choir. Woah. That's sportsmanship for you. They were actually WAITING for us to exit the hall. Macam superstar. Curi glamour, fer sure. I had completely no idea how to react. Being the humble guy that I am, I waved to the crowd, flashed them a winning smile and autographed the masses of paper being shoved my way.

Yeah right. I looked down and scurried away, hedgehog-style.

The entire event was live on tv3 yesterday night. Too bad no one saw me. Must be cause I didn't tell anyone till after the event. Indeed. No one I know watches tv3 willingly nowadays. Pics and stuff soon. oh, and Cheryl Samad is a LOT prettier in real life. Like, wow. If you're interested, surf over to and there's coverage of the event there. But Malaysia being Malaysia, and malays being malays, the link to the videos do not work. Go figure. *shrug*

Oh and if anyone caught it, I was on tv2 last Christmas eve. Same choir. Hoho, indeed. That's 6 minutes more of tv appearance than 99.95% of you can claim. I rock.
posted by theycallmecruel @ 5:04 PM   0 comments
Thursday, February 02, 2006
pwned by a bimbo
I was pwned by a bimbo. I never thought the day would arrive, yet it has. As fortune would have it, this monumental occasion occurs just days after I start a blog. The world is a funny place indeed. It seems painfully obvious that the fates want me to publicise this immensely humiliating moment.

First, let's name the bimbo in question.

Her name is Lavinia. Or Lavi, for short. Or Lav-Lav. I mostly just call her "oi". Some people call her lavatory when irritated with her. Which I am at this point. So for this post, she shall henceforth be known as Lavatory. Here she is, running in her bimbotic way, trying to do a Baywatch-style jog, with a thoroughly bimbotic expression on her face. Pamela Anderson she ain't. Looks-wise. Brains-wise, maybe. Then again, good ol' juggly jumpy jumbo jugs might be smarter. It IS a funny ol' world.

Anyhoo. Enough slamming her or her mom might run me over with her white proton wira. Then shift into reverse. WDsomething 3028 FTW *bonk* Drive *donk* Reverse *ge-de-bonk* etc...

What conspired to happen was, after convincing Han Nien that he's a horrible friend if he doesn't go see our last remaining IMU batchmate off (not counting me, the Bmeds, and Sam), AND getting him to drive, we left for KLIA expecting to reach there about 820pm. I had called dear Lavatory earlier and she said she's only going into the gate at 845pm. So ok lah.

At 810, Lavatory calls
"Eh wei jin where are you?"
"uhm, on the way lah. why?"
"I need to go into the gate now!"
"WHAT?? But I thought you said 845??"
"yah I know, but I have to go in now!!"

We begged her highness miss merry prancing dancer to wait. She condescends to do so.

815 pm, HHMMPD calls again.
"where are you wei jin??"
"we just passed the toll gate, wait a while lah!"
"how much time do you need?"
"uhm 5 to 10 minutes lah..."
"ok ok 5 minutes!"

820 pm, with hn's old wira coughing and wheezing, we reached the outskirts of the terminal. HHMMPD calls yet again, sounding like a constipated old lady.
"wei jin, I have to in NOW!"
"arghh... k lah k lah. Go in lah!"

We say our goodbyes, she speakes to hn for a bit, he says bye bye, she puts the phone down, and hn and I make a U-turn and head back to KL... me having rushed from KL where I was having a drink with some friends and Jaclyn Victor, would you believe it, spending in total an hour plus on the road, missing dinner, and hn missing a WoW raid.

The sacifices we made does not end there. While speeding to KLIA, hn's car makes some weird coughing, stuttering noises. We squint at the bonnet, hoping that the matte black paint will suddenly become transparent and we can see what's going on inside.


yeah. klunk. something falls out of his engine, with that exact sound. klunk. We see the klunk-ee in the rear view mirror as it rolls about happily, celebrating it's liberation. We can almost hear it going "whoopee!!!". The car behind dodges round the klunk-ee, brakes screeching, horn honking, middle finger waving. We have yet to figure out what it is, but must be something to with the aircon cause after that the airconditioning no longer blows cold air but weird warm dank musky smelling air. hmmm.

I shall end this post with another picture of dear HHMMPD Lavatory.

Can you see the little bit of elbow poking out from under the sheets? Yeah, this is a particularly scandalous photo of Lavatory and her man at Damai beach resort. hoHO. And her shirt says "i love wei jin, he's so cute." You gotta squint a bit, look at it from about 72.36 degrees, turn down the lights a bit, but yeah, it says that.

In the spirit of true friendship though, I'll throw in some other photos besides the ugliest ones of her available.

pwned by a bimbo~!
posted by theycallmecruel @ 6:59 PM   0 comments

    LIFE is like a glass of coke, it may seem full but it's actually just all froth.


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ribbit Chinaman in Canada, no more. i still can't come up with a better phrase.
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