Laika

Watching this video made me cry.

Other Words to Describe a Homeless Person Besides "Beggar"

Kids, did you know that there are many other words which are used to describe a homeless person? For instance, you can use vagabond, tramp, vagrant, beggar, bum, derelict, mendicant or panhandler besides the generic "beggar."

Something New For Dun Wan Lern

This is an actual newspaper cutting from The Star:


(Click on the image for a larger view if your eyes are too small)

The plot thickens...

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Howlin' Babysittin' Dog?

now this is actually pretty scary.

Mongoose vs Cobra!!!

i just love the awesome way it runs off with the snake.
(yeah, the music sucks)

The Honey Badger RAWKS!!!

more information on this animal can be found here.

The SUCKLIST

Well, so it's December, and I don't feel much like blogging, despite all the pleas and death threats, especially from an albino assassin called Amelia. Okay, tell you what. I'm starting a SUCKLIST, and I will need your help to make it a resounding SUCK-CESS. The SUCKLIST will provide a catalogue of the things that suck in Ipoh or anywhere else. For those of you who are not familiar with the lingo of cooltalk, if something sucks, it means that it's bad, very bad. Horrible to the core. Deplorable.

For instance, if you've just tasted the most awful cup of coffee in a coffeeshop, you simply exclaim: This coffee really sucks! And when you've been wrongly accused of some shameful deed, you don't just complain and whine, but you lament instead and utter "This sucks!" with a sigh and a grave tone of resignation. Simply put, it's the cool version of "Aiyah!"

Okay, as I was saying, The SUCKLIST will be an ongoing compilation of all the things that suck in Ipoh and anywhere else. There will be different categories of course, but for now I would like to initiate the first category, which is under Food and Beverage Outlets That SUCK. The F & B outlet that gets the honour of being the first on the list is the PizzaHut outlet in Tesco.

On Saturday night, the wife and I had just finished shopping at Tesco, we thought we'd spend some of our hard-earned money on some imitation Mexican/Italian food. And when it comes to imitation Mexican/Italian fare, where else is a better place than PizzaHut? And so we headed to the outlet, which was, interestingly, located right next to the entrance of the ground floor washrooms. Seeing how there was this huge sign with the words "PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED" written on it, we hovered around the entrance of the restaurant while we pretended to be browsing through the menu. A minute later, a Cik Malay waitress led us to our seats, which was a table by the glass overlooking the corridor that led to the washrooms. Awesome view, but we couldn't really be bothered, since we were starving.

After we sat down, we noticed that around us were three other tables which were each occupied by a Malay family. The strange thing was, being Malay wasn't the only thing which these three families shared. It was also the look on their faces. And this particular look on their faces was unmistakably the look of HUNGER. So we sat there and waited. As we waited we looked around the restaurant and also at the people who were making their way to the Tesco washrooms. We waited a minute more. We looked at the pakciks and the makciks. The pakciks and the makciks looked back at us. It was absolutely comical. One of the Cik Malay waitresses brought a rather unappetising-looking plate of spaghetti to one of the tables and the pakcik started attacking it with a fork. After stuffing his mouth with two forkfuls of spaghetti, he pushed the plate to his wife. As his wife was eating, he eyed the plate of spaghetti like a starving Ethiopian child.

After close to ten minutes, the wife and I became increasingly restless, and angry. All the Cik Malay waitresses were walking around, but all of them buat tak tau, pretending that they couldn't even see us. The wife gently suggested that we try the double-storey outlet in Ipoh Garden South instead, and I was standing up, one of the uglier Cik Malay waitresses came over, presumably to get our orders. But it was a little too late. I picked up the menu, dangled it in front of her with my thumb and index finger before letting it drop with a soft smack on the floor.

Kung Fu Rabbit vs Loser Snake

Fecal Matters (S. S. P.)

I have a friend who's presently working illegally in the United States, but this is not the point that I'm getting at. He used to work in a cybercafé, and he told us how he had to do his business there one time. "Doing his business" here means taking a dump, or berak, if you prefer it in the national language. Anyway, according to him, the washroom in the cybercafé was, if you'd excuse the pun, a real piece of shit. Poo stains everywhere and reeking of week-old urine. He had some nasi lemak for breakfast earlier in the morning, and by lunch time, he was letting out these ultra-stinky farts. He was simply dying to answer the urgent call of nature, but there was no way in hell that he would step into the messed-up washroom.

So what's a desperate man to do in such a desperate situation?

He took a large piece of newspaper and took it to the back of the shop, unfolded it on the floor, pulled down his trousers, squatted down and let it rip all over the newsprint. After he was done, he wrapped it up, put it into a plastic bag and threw it into the dustbin.

If you think this is bad, read on.

Just a couple of days ago, a couple of friends and I were having a spot of supper in Ipoh Garden East. We ordered some satay and chicken wings. When we were eating, one of them (my friends, not the chicken wings) started telling us about how he shat into a styrofoam box (the kind used to pack take-away food) the other day. Naturally, we asked him why he did that. He said that he was helping out his friend with some construction work in some recently-constructed houses, and there were no toilets there. So once again, desperate times call for desperate measures.

"But why didn't you use some newspapers, like Joe did? Didn't you have any newspapers handy?"
"I did."
"So why didn't you use it?" I asked, all the while munching on a piece of chicken dripping with delicious satay sauce.
"Well, it gets difficult with the newspapers because I tend to urinate when I'm shitting, and it's difficult to wrap it up with newspapers when there's piss."
"Ohh..."
"And you know something?"
"What?" we asked in unison.
"My shit that day looked just like this satay sauce, man. All nutty and shit and a little spicy too."

My other friend stopped eating and looked as if he was about to throw up; when I saw this, I laughed so hard I farted and almost shat in my pants.

But just imagine some drunken beggar going through the dustbin and stumbling upon one of those "surprise shit packages." After all, people are becoming more wasteful these days, and the poor beggar might just assume that it's a pack of discarded curry rice from your friendly neighbourhood mamak store. I mean, if he's so drunk, maybe he won't even notice the difference. After all, curry does resemble the watery kind of faeces, with the chunky, half-solid pieces resembling bits of tomato or potatoes. And if gets there in time, the package might still be warm...

I don't know about you, but all these talk about food has gotten me real hungry. So, bon appetit!

Who Can Tell Me Where This Is?

Muscleman and Robberman

Chung Ching Chong, Master of Wuxia, Tambun

My Name Is Loo See Fer, and I Am Funky

do you think my eyes are sexy?

^^^Hecho En Cuba^^^

Imperial Trooper Spotted At Jusco

Somebody Loves Amber and It Isn't Me

Crazies and Links Galore (Click on the links!)

I finished reading Paul Auster's City of Glass during one of my insomnia-driven reading binges a couple of days ago. There are some rather vivid descriptions of the mad and the homeless in the book. And yesterday, I realised that while some men are chick magnets, I'm a crazy people magnet. See, I was walking down the street in downtown Ipoh yesterday when this crazy old man nodded conspiratorially at me like we were members of the same Fight Club. Well, I sure hope that I haven't been sleepwalking like the Narrator in the said movie and busy setting up Fight Clubs all over Ipoh.

And this afternoon, I saw the Hip-Hop Makcik again, sitting at the corner of a street, sucking on a cigarette, but seemingly without her trusty boombox/ghetto blaster. I see her there without fail every Saturday afternoon at around four in the afternoon, and today, I was suddenly compelled to compile a mix tape of dirty, lazy beats for her, featuring Beck, Brad Sucks and Jay-Z, among others. By the way, if you believe in the saying that "the best things in life are free," do check out Brad Sucks. He put together an entire album and made it available for anyone to download for free. You have to hand it to the man for such generosity. There's even a Wikipedia entry on him. If you really have to know, I've been listening to "Dirtbag" and "Bad Attraction" pretty much non-stop. Do check it out.

Sorry for digressing. What I really wanted to say is that, since there are so many crazy people around Ipoh who seem to enjoy greeting me, I suppose it's only fair that I venture on a little project to compile a sort of report on the nuts of Ipoh. What do you think?

__________________________________________________________

Mini Glossary

1. a chick magnet is someone, usually a man, who attracts women like bees to honey.

2. a boombox or a ghetto blaster is a moderately loud stereo that is usually battery-powered and small enough to be carried on one's shoulder while walking down the sidewalk.

Hong Kong Television Drama Series Centre

My mother's watching some Hong Kong television drama series.
My wife's watching some Hong Kong television drama series.
There's so much Hong Kong television drama series going on that I've got Hong Kong television drama series coming out of my anus.

Desperation or Creativity?

Miss Teen USA 2007 - South Carolina Answers A Question

"I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, um, some people out there in our nation don't have maps and, uh, I believe that our, uh, education like such as, uh, South Africa and, uh, the Iraq and everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., uh, should help South Africa and should help Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future."

Maybe she's just nervous, but I don't think so.

Happy Farts

This morning, the wife wanted to get a birthday gift for my mother at Jusco. I didn't feel like walking, so I sat down on a bench close to the taxi stand. I promptly fished my phone out of my pocket and started playing High Roller Casino. I was winning loads of virtual cash when all of a sudden, I heard a big, loud, obnoxious fart that went:

PPPWWWAAAAAAARRRRPPPPPPP!!!

I turned to my right, and right there was this taxi driver comfortably lying on a bench. In less than two seconds, he immediately let out another fart.

PPPRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP!!!

It was not as generous-sounding as the first, but still, it was pretty amazing. I'm sure that there were major skid marks* in his underwear. And then, he started singing!

Naturally, I pricked my nose to see if I could detect any farty smells in the air, but the smell of carbon monoxide was far stronger. The lesson of this? Well, if you're happy and you know it, let it rip. Enjoy your long weekend, kids.

________________________________________________________________

*Skid marks are "a line of fecal matter in someone's underwear that varies in thickness from thin to thick. Usually a result of poor ass wiping skills."

For example:

"Hey Ah Chong! Check out these skid marks on your younger brother's underwear!"

"Aiyah! These skid marks on your father's underwear is so hard to wash away!"

For the proper definition of skid marks, click here.

My Nostrils Know You But I Don't

This afternoon, I was sitting at a café in Kinta City with the wife when I had this terrible urge to wash my hands. As I was heading towards the wash basin, I caught a strong whiff of body odour. When I turned around to find out the source of this celestial stink that was sulphurous to smell, I saw this man who was dressed in a cornflower blue shirt with white pinstripes. Before I could mutter an expletive, one of the waiters who knows me by sight opened his mouth to say something.

"Oh, do you know Mr Bothi?"
"No, but I have just been introduced to his body odour."

Walagodinkdonkuku

Once upon a time, in an asteroid belt far, far away, there existed a country called The Republic of Walagodink & Walagodonk. Everything was fine and dandy in this fine land until one day, one of its denizens, who was named "Myvi", decided to compose a lap song called "Walagodinkdonkuku." See, a lap song is a kind of song unique to the zeitgeist of that time and the spirit of a lap song lay in its potential to make certain people uncomfortable. In a sense, a lap song is almost like a lock song, but then the latter is noisier, so most people couldn't really tell what they lyrics were. But in lap song, you could always hear what was being sung, loud and clear.

Anyway, after this naughty denizen of Walagodink & Walagodonk had composed the lap song, he decided to upload it onto the Netnet, which was something like the Internet, but faster by about a trillion times. They had only one Internet service provider as well, and the company was called SuxNet. Within the span of less than six months, the said lap song became an underground hit. Most people thought it was a very creative effort, and even more people that thought that it was very funny. "Walagodinkdonkuku" became so popular that even grandmothers hummed the tune while they were shopping for sexy lingerie in the bazaars. Such was the power of lap. However, unbeknownst to most, trouble was brewing in the horizon.

See, The Republic of Walagodink & Walagodonk was controlled by a group of people called The Giddyupidiots and the Matterfeathers, and they would fuss and fight day and night. Sadly, only a handful of denizens knew about this internal strife and power struggle. Myvi was one of those who knew, which was the reason why he decided to compose the lap song and upload it onto the Netnet. And one day, the Giddyupidiots and the Matterfeathers got wind of the "Walagodinkdonkuku" video and as they watched it, they became so enraged that some of them bit off their own walahaha and walahuhu.

The Giddyupidiots and the Matterfeathers failed to see the error of their ways although to a large extent, the lyrics in "Walagodinkdonkuku" spoke the truth. Perhaps they were too drunk with power to see the point, or perhaps they simply refused to be criticised, but whatever reason it was, a death warrant was issued and served on Myvi, who was on holiday in Lilliput and Blefuscu at that time. At one point, Myvi truly feared for his death and made an apology to the powers that be. Although the ever-foolish Giddyupidiots and Matterfeathers accepted his apology, they maintained that if arrested, Myvi would still be sentenced to Unga-Unga, which was death by multiple forced penetrations of the rectum administered by feral Negroes. However, as fate would have it, the once-glorious republic of Walagodink & Walagodonk was destroyed by a huge mother of an asteroid on the eve of the new millennium. Rumour has it that Myvi lived to the ripe age of 106, and passed on peacefully during a jam session with some Shakespearean monkeys.

Baby Fair

As I was reading the papers in a coffeeshop this morning, something horribly funny caught my eye. Supposedly there's a 'Baby Fair' happening at Tesco until 27 August 2007 (The Star, N23). Well, at first glance, it's probably nothing to shout about. A baby fair, right? Something like a book fair, right? Well, if a book fair is an organised event where books are sold, then it follows that a baby fair is an organised event where babies are sold. So, do your part and visit Tesco where they're having this baby fair, and tell them that you need to buy one. Or two, if the price is right.

Keseronokan Translasi (Maaf, Bahasa Malaysia Aku Menghisap)

I must've been tired, because when I sat down at the mamak stall after my class ended, I looked at the menu and saw Minu Man, instead of minuman. Now that's an idea for another one of my comic series: The Misadventures of Minu Man. Then this got me thinking about how funny it is whenever you translate an English proper noun into Bahasa Malaysia. For instance, My Mind Is A Stinking Camera becomes Minda Aku Adalah Satu Kamera Yang Berbau Busuk. To prove my point further, allow me to demonstrate with the following translations:

1. The Chemical Brothers ---> Adik-Beradik Kimia
2. Spice Girls ---> Perempuan-Perempuan Rempah
3. Pet Shop Boys ---> Budak-Budak Kedai Binatang Kesayangan
4. Radiohead ---> Kepala Radio
5. Coldplay ---> Mainsejuk
6. Bent ---> Bengkok
7. Buena Vista Social Club ---> Kelab Sosial Buena Vista
8. Everything But The Girl ---> Semua Benda Kecuali Perempuan Itu
9. Johnny Cash ---> Johnny Tunai
10. Kaiser Chiefs ---> Penghulu-Penghulu Kaiser
11. The White Stripes ---> Belang Putih
12. Britney Spears ---> Britney Lembing
13. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ---> Charlie dan Kilang Coklat
14. Mission Impossible ---> Misi Yang Tidak Mungkin
15. Die Hard 4.0 ---> Mati Keras Empat Perpuluhan Kosong
16. Ghost Rider ---> Penunggang Hantu
17. Fantastic Four ---> Empat Yang Hebat
18. Mr Bean ---> Encik Benih
19. Spiderman ---> Orang Labah-Labah
20. I Know What You Did Last Summer ---> Aku Tahu Apa Yang Kamu Buat Musim Panas Yang Lalu

Now, I encourage you to come up with some of your own translations. It's a good way to practise your language skills. Who knows, you might even end up being a translator in the future, and in case you didn't know, translators make big bucks. This way, you don't have to end up as a part-time rubbishman/plastic bottle scavenger like me. : )

piggies

i've just realised that there are a couple of pigs in the above image. kewl!

Imperial Lather

This was the reason why I haven't been updating my blog.

The Box That Killed Air Soles

It's really quite amazing what I can find when I'm roaming the streets of Ipoh looking for plastic bottles and cardboard boxes to recycle for cash. I was rummaging through a large pile of rubbish in the rain when I found a note written on a piece of curry-stained A4 paper. Allow me to present its cryptic contents to you.

To whomever who is unlucky enough to find this,

I beg you to ignore this. It's not as simple as you think. We do not truly know who we are. Would you feel the same if you found a box that could kill all the flies in the world? Well, maybe you would. And that's because you're not a fly. But imagine if a fly found the box. Do you think the fly would press the button? Do you think the fly would still press the button if the fly were aware of the fact that it is a fly? Because once the button is pressed, every single fly in the world will die. And that would include the fly that pressed the button.

That's pretty weird. Maybe it was written by a drug addict. Or one of Dun Wan Lern's friends. For all I know, Dun Wan Lern wrote it. I was about to chuck the note away when I noticed something else. Right beside some empty Guinness Stout bottles was this box that seemed to be calling out to me. It was as if the box was sending a direct signal to my brain. It said: "Hold me, touch me and check me out, bay bee." And so I did. The message was so strong that I simply couldn't resist.

I got hold of the box. It looked just like any other cardboard box. The only obvious difference was that it felt heavier. On the top flap were written the words "Pray Hard If Ye Be An Air Sole" and a large asterisk (*). I haven't the faintest idea what the words meant. Who or what is an AIR SOLE? And that large asterisk --- which looked like a huge star --- made me scratch my head even more. I was stumped. I decided to lift the flap.

Imagine my surprise when I found another box inside the box. And another. And then another. It was ridiculous. There I was, squatting under the pouring rain with this phony Chinese box. If it was a Matryoshka doll, I could've sold it to someone for 20 sen, but nobody wanted a Chinese box made out of cardboard. At that point, all I wanted to do was to stomp on the boxes until they became as flat as roti canai.

And then I saw it.

Right in the middle of the smallest box was this red button that looked like Rudolph's nose, but smaller. It also reminded me of a gorilla's nipple, but smaller. There were some words written above the button but it was too tiny so I pulled out my magnifying glass and held it close to the tiny words. It said: "Prez Da Barten Yeef Yuh Wan 2 Keel All Dee Air Soles In Dis Werld." Needless to say, I was crushed. It was written in Benglish, and I failed my Benglish. All I could make out was "Yuh", which meant "you." I looked up at the sky and screamed at the rain clouds.

"WHY MEEEEEEEEEEEE? WHYYYYYYYYYYY???????? I AM FORTUNE'S FOOOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Blinded with rage, I flung the box against the wall and walked away from the rubbish dump. Later that night, I was sitting in a mamak stall watching some free tv and drinking an ais kosong when I overheard this conversation between these two rich-looking old geezers who were smoking cigars. When an adorable black and white kitten walked past, one of them intentionally stepped on the poor kitten's tail. As the poor kitten ran away mewling its head off while leaving a trail of cat poo on the five-foot-way, the wicked old men laughed as if they had just won the lottery.

Old Geezer #1: Hey, so did they find the box yet?

Old Geezer #2: Not yet.

Old Geezer #1: That's bad. Very bad.

Old Geezer #2: I know. But what can we do? It has been raining every day.

Old Geezer #1: Do you think we should pay them more?

Old Geezer #2: Aiyah, no point in doing that. They don't like working with rubbish when it's raining. They don't like to get their hands dirty.

Old Geezer #1: Maybe we should find someone else. What do you think?

Old Geezer #2: Who do you have in mind?

Old Geezer #1: Ape Yoghurt.

Old Geezer #2: Isn't she taking her Masters now?

Old Geezer #1: I don't think she has a choice. She owes me a few favours.

Old Geezer #2: Then we'd better get in touch with her ASAP.

Old Geezer #1: I'll call Monkey Butt.

Old Geezer #2: And don't forget Sam Seng.

Old Geezer #1: That Doctor Cess was a real fool. I mean how could he not know that he himself was an air sole?

Old Geezer #2: Yeah, he should've consulted us before he pressed the bloody button. If he had done that, he would be here with us tonight, smoking a fine Monte Cristo while drinking a hot glass of teh tarik halia and farting non-stop.

Old Geezer #1: It would've saved us a lot of trouble too. And now the box is lying somewhere while air soles continue to be born every minute. We must find the box ASAP and rid the world of air soles, once and for all.

.................................................................................

I had an epiphany, and finally understood everything. As I walked up to them, the two old geezers instinctively shrank away from me. After all, I smelled like all the baths that I hadn't taken for two months. I slowly raised my right hand, pointed at them both and said, "THE BOTH OF YOU ARE AIR SOLES. WHEN THEY FIND THE BOX, YOU'RE THE NEXT IN LINE TO GO." Then I laughed, the way I haven't laughed, for a very long time.

The Bus of Death Is Not A Joke

I understand that I started this blog in the spirit of fun, but after reading the newspapers today, I realised that I simply have to get something off my chest.

Our 50th celebration of Merdeka is coming up right? Well, twenty people won't be celebrating with us come the 31st of August this year. Why? Because they were horribly killed in a road accident this morning. Road accidents, however horrible, are really nothing new. As they say, bad things happen. But what affected me the most was the back story of the incident.

Supposedly the driver of the bus --- who was killed along with the other nineteen --- had 19 summonses issued against him since 1991. Imagine that: since 1991. That's 16 years ago. How old were you 16 years ago? Oh wait, most of you were born 16 years ago right? And since that time, while you were growing up, there's this criminal who was walking our tanahair with the potential to kill. Well, he's done it now, hasn't he? Twenty lives, including his own. And it seems that one of the dead was a pregnant woman, so that makes twenty one.

Sixteen years is a long time. And nineteen summonses is a lot of summonses. Why was nothing done? Why was he still driving? Who issued the summonses? Even a child knows that if Daddy gets a saman, he will have to settle it right?

"But Daddy, what happens if you don't pay?"

"If Daddy doesn't pay, then the people who issued the saman will come look for Daddy."

But our Bus Driver of Death somehow managed to evade the people who issued the nineteen saman. Or perhaps the people who issued the saman were too busy doing something else.

And now that the proverbial taik has hit the proverbial kipas, a minister was quoted as saying that there is a need for "refresher courses." Whoo-whee! Jumpin' jelly beans! Hey man, how about making sure that all bus companies are doing everything by the book, for instance, running a thorough check on all their drivers to make sure that they do not have NINETEEN outstanding summonses, and making sure that Puspakom is really doing their job? Apparently, the bus that crashed was last inspected in May.

That's all for now. Regular programming will resume tomorrow.

"TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE!"

I was watching 'Hot Fuzz' at home the other night --- well, it was actually about half past midnight --- when I heard the sound of metal knocking against metal going "TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE!"

Unlike a typical character in a typical PMR English essay that I often teach to an atypical class of Form Three students, I did not "decide to walk over and have a closer look." It wasn't that I wasn't curious --- I was --- but I was simply too lazy to get up. And it wasn't because I was scared either. After all, what could possibly be scarier than being poor and having to collect plastic bottles and discarded card boxers to supplement my meagre income from PTPM? Nevertheless, the noisy racket continued --- TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! --- and yours truly was getting truly irritated. I mean, what the federation was going on? The movie was just becoming excitingly violent, what with Sergeant Angel getting ready to open a proverbial can of whup-ass on the bad guys.

"TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE!"

I paused the DVD, reluctantly got up from the comfortable sofa and went over to the window. I flipped open a pane and took a peek outside. It was the old lady who lives across from us, looking like she has just climbed out of a coffin. She could only see my two flaming eyeballs of course. She pointed half-heartedly at me, as if I've just said something really stupid to her. My mother told me that she became senile several months back, and her condition was becoming progressively worse.

"TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE! TONGUE!"

She was relentless. I couldn't take it. So I swung the door open, all wide-eyed and scary-looking, and demanded to know what on earth was going on in Cantonese.

"MEHHHHHHH SEEEEEEEEEE???????!!!"

"Soli...Janet ng high dough ahh...?" (Sorry, isn't Janet here?)

"Ng high ahhh..." Then I crumpled my face like a dried prune and gestured for her to, well, buzz off, like she was the most irritating fly in all of Tambun.

I waited for a complete minute before I resumed watching the movie, just to make sure that I didn't have to pause it again after I have un-paused it. Nothing. Just my growling stomach and the ceiling fan going FOOKFOOKFOOKFOOKFOOK. Peace at last, and so I continued watching till the end credits rolled.

When I saw my mother the next morning, I told her what happened.

"Ma, chum marn lay phang yau want lay ahh." (Mom, last night your friend was looking for you)
"Ha? Been gore?" (Huh, who?)
"Doy meen gore gore auntie law..." (That lady who lives opposite)
"High meh?" (Really?)
"High law. Koi want lay hui meeting ah." (She asked you to attend a meeting)
"Meh meeting?" (What meeting?)
"Meeting law." (The meeting)
"Mutt ye meeting?" (What meeting?)
"Tamoon Low Yarn Chee Ngoi Cheng Meeting." (The Alzheimer's Club of Tambun meeting)
"Choy gore lay ah!!! Dye cut lie see!!! Meet lay ge see futt ahh!!! (Meet your backside ah!!!)

Darth Vader Is Such A Loser For Reading Harry Potter

Just Another Day at the Tuition Centre (click image to see full size)

which one is you?

A joker answered the phone when I called the Traffic Police

This is a real life conversation that I had a couple of months back, when I was still naive enough to think that the traffic police were serious about their jobs. The reason I called was to complain about how people were making illegal U-turns near the Jabatan Hasil building. Perhaps your parents are guilty of it too.

For those of you who are interested in knowing exactly where this is, visualise this:

You're at the junction that's presently all kelam-kabut on Jalan Tambun. If you go straight --- twelve o'clock --- you'll head straight into Tambun. Now, you'll first pass the Pantai Hospital, then the Jabatan Hasil building (that's the building that taxes your parents' hard-earned money). And as you go further, you'll see a bunch of cars lining up on your right, waiting to U-turn. Now, that's illegal because the actual U-turn is further down, near the Caltex petrol station. But people don't care. They're probably saying, aiya, go so far, for what? Here oso can turn what. Ne'er mind one...

Ne'er mind one? Well, allow me to enlighten you.

For the simple reason that people who are coming from the opposite direction do not feel like killing you when you suddenly swerve into their lane, illegally.

So this is what went on when I called the Traffic Police Department to make a complaint:

earthquakeduck: Er, hello? Polis Trafik?
Mr Comedian: Ah ye, slamat petang, polis trafik ipoh...
earthquakeduck: ah slamat petang. saya nak buat komplen la...
Mr Comedian: Ah, apa komplen nye?
earthquakeduck: Hampir dengan Hospital Pantai, kan ada satu U-turn...
Mr Comedian: Kat mane nih?
earthquakeduck: Kalo pegi karah Tambun, blah kanan la...
Mr Comedian: Oh, U-turn tu...
earthquakeduck: Sebenarnya, U-turn ya sebenarnya dekat Caltex...
Mr Comedian: Ah, kami memang tau tempat tu...
earthquakeduck: Ah, teruk la...bahaya lagi...keta tu semua gile-gile...!
Mr Comedian: Ah, yang mati pun ade...
earthquakeduck: !
Mr Comedian: Ha, tapi apa yang kita bole buat? Kita memang tak bole kat sane 24 jam...kalo meka mati, kita hanto ke hospital, kalo kita nampak, kita beri saman...
earthquakeduck: !!
Mr Comedian: Ha, trima kasih kerana membritau kami...thankyoobye...

Well, World Taekwondo Federation, right?

McDeath

According to DWL, "McD delivery is so incredibly cheap, they only charge an extra RM2 for delivery." If this is true, the lives of those McD delivery boys with Mat Rempit inclinations are truly cheap as well. You'll know what I mean if you've seen the way they ride their motorcycles.

They ride as if Ghost Rider is after them.

"Rempit! Rempit! Rempit! McD Delivery! Delivery! Delivery! Untuk dua ringgit aku tak kisah kepala pecah, otak meleleh, tulang patah, jadi cacat! Rempit McD Delivery! Yee-ha!

Fungi Girl

There was a girl who became homeless after her PMR English Essay parents were killed in a PMR English Essay blaze. Since she had no place to stay, she decided to fungi. After she fungi for about a week, she realised that some fungi had grown on her arms. She looked up into the sky and this thought came to her:

"When we fungi, we will get fungi. When we die, we will say goodbye."

Note: If you don't understand this, consult your friends who speak Cantonese.

ekcherlee

I woke up this afternoon, defecated, brushed my teeth and sat down for lunch. Then, my phone rang. I picked it up. My mouth was still chewing.

Me: Hayyo...? Nieeehhh...
Him: Er, harlow, er, soli ser, but my name is Jeksen and I am koling from NIAMAH.
Me: HMMm? YAMA?
Him: That is light ser, NIAMAH ser.
Me: Ho won...

I quickly finished chewing and washed it down in a hurry with some grape-flavoured Vitagen.

Me: Yes, you were saying, that you're calling from NIAMAH?
Him: Yes ser.
Me: If this is a joke, you'd better hang up now. It's a Sunday, it's my only rest day of the week, and consider yourself lucky because strangely enough, I'm in a pretty good mood today.
Him: No no, no joke ser. I am really call from NIAMAH.
Me: Haha, niama?
Him: New Inter-nay-senal Ay-so-see-ay-sen of Mar-der Er-gain Homoseksuels. You never hear before?
Me: You're kidding right? New International Association of Mothers Against Homosexuals?
Him: That light ser.
Me: Which light? Oh, I'm sorry, I got what you mean. So, are you looking for donations?
Him: If you wan, can oso la. But ekcherlee, we wan you ser to join awer ekteeveetees.
Me: What activities?
Him: We will be gather at the Ipoh Padang next Sayterday.
Me: I'm not free next Saturday.
Him: Aiyo, pleese come la ser. There will be got lucky draw, can win car you low!
Me: No.
Him: Plee...

I hung up before he could plea any more. What a bummer. And now I've got a headache. I think I'll got to the toilet and have another nice, long session of defecation.

How was your Sunday?

Flaming Eyeballs, Genius At Work

i'm busy as a bee! check back in a day or two!

road rage blues

i woke up this morning,
got into my wira,
and started the car.

as i turned the corner,
this old beemer,
driven by an old geezer,
he cut into my lane,
and then gave me the finger.

ohh, as my heart filled up with anger,
i wondered: why are people such stinkers?
when they turn, they put on no blinkers,
and then there are the bikers,
weaving in and out of traffic like their backsides are on fire;
and seniors who act like the road is their grandfathers'

i woke up this morning,
and realised that people are mostly @#$%ers.

45 my car

if i could have it my way, i would fortify my car with durian spikes.

Is it wrong to be wrong?

The following is yet another conversation I overheard while wandering the city looking for plastic bottles and cardboard boxes I can sell for some money to buy pirated DVDs:

"What's the answer for 1 + 1?"
"3."
"Wrong. Try again."
"Um...4?"
"No!"

*piak*

"What do I send you to school for??? Huh?? Tell me!!!"
"..."
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
"..."
"I didn't send you to school to become stupid. You can't even give me the answer for 1 + 1!"
"I told you the answer!"
"What?!"
"I said I told you the answer..."
"I asked you what is 1 + 1. You said 3, then you said 4."
"That's right."
"No, that's wrong!!!"
"What's wrong with wrong?"
"What?"
"Is it wrong to be wrong?"
"What?"
"I said, is it wrong to be wrong?"
"What?"
"What is wrong."
"What??? What is wrong?? What are you talking about?"
"Sorry, what what is wrong what are you talking about is wrong too. Try again."
"What?"
"Can't you answer a simple question? I said what is wrong."
"What do you mean what is wrong???"
"What do you mean what is wrong is wrong too."

I might be wrong --- and I'm often wrong --- but I think the moral of this conversation is this: do not be so sure of someone else's shortcomings when you yourself are full of these same shortcomings. gabish?

rhyming with ling

oh, so early in the moling,
my alarm clock go ling ling,
i opens my eyes screaming:
*** *** LING!!!

i put on my bling bling
without showering.
then my handpon go ting-a-ling.
i pick up, it was ah ling, my darling!

The Raid (Part 2)

As the men made their way up the tuition centre, I noticed with amusement that three teachers have quietly escaped through a back door and were now climbing over a fence. One of the them was rather portly, and as he struggled to clear the fence, he became stuck. Instead of helping him, the other two just left him there. I thought it was rather funny and giggled.

Meanwhile, there were some shouts and screams up on the first floor of the tuition centre. Moments later, a dozen primary school students ranging from eight to twelve were led out of the centre. Some of them were crying and sniffling, asking for their mommies. They were made to line up against a wall. Then one of the men called out the children's names one by one.

"Tai Choon Toy!"
"Chang Ching Chong!"
"Huat Yew Min!"
"Abu bin Api!"
"Low See Fun!"
"Lawrence Teoh!"
"Kupukupusamy a/l Ramarama!"
"Dylan Wong!"
"Chow Chee Wai!"
"Dun Wan Lern!"
"Sukasuka Kunjitaro!"
"Balan Singh!"

Out of the blue, I heard the sound of running water. I looked up. It was bright and sunny with nary a rain cloud in sight. There must be some mistake. Then I heard a shout.

"Dylan Wong!!!"

I took a closer look and saw Dylan, this scrawny kid with a PokeMeMan tee shirt, crying. He was so good at crying I almost shed a tear myself while looking at him.

"I WAN MAI MAMMMIIIIII....I WAN MAI MAMMIIIIII......!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Oi, apa dia cakap la?! Apa dia mau??"
"Lia kata ah, lia mau lia munya amak oh..."
"Ape??? Dia nak emak???"
"Ehhh #@%$*& betul la budak ni! Kencing lagi pulak!!! Betul-betul #$%@#&* la!!!"

So it turned out that this Dylan Wong was wetting his pants from all the ensuing tension of the raid. The men continued their discussion. Soon, the two men dressed in suits joined them.

"Cam ne skarang?"
"Takde choice, I rasa the best thing is to call his parents..."
"Oke. Check depe punya student record."
"Ya tak ya juga...okay...Dy...lan...Wong...ha! 0167-3425-3425..."

He pulled out a satellite phone and started dialling.

"Ah, hallo...yes, dis is...(er, cam ne nak cakap ya...?)"
"Ish...kata je la, you calling dari Pusat Tuisyen Belajar Banyak..."
"...ah yes, dis is calling from Pusat Tuisyen Belayar Banjak...ah, you punya anak ah...Dylan Wong...dia tak sihat, puan bole datang kemari? Okay...thank you you, see you..."

A minute later, a woman who was presumably Dylan's mother, arrived at the centre. When she saw that her son was crying while standing in a pool of urine, she practically flipped.

"APA YOU BUAT DINGAN ANAK SAYA AH???"
"Er puan, kami..."
"APA KAMI KAMI??? LU TENGOK DIA MANYAK TAKUT SAMA YOU..."

He tried to explain further, but before he could get a word in, she gave him a tight slap across the face.

"SAYA BRITAU YOU AH, YOU JANGAN INGAT YOU BESAR, WA REPORT POLIS NANTI LU TAU!!!"
"Tapi..."

She ignored him and promptly dragged Dylan away. As they walked away, I thought I saw something brown trickling down the poor boy's legs. Seeing this made me want to visit the toilet, so I quickly made my exit and continued my journey home.

The Raid (Part 1)

One day, I was on my way home from school when I passed by a tuition centre. In case you were wondering, I was not going to tuition. This was because I was going home. Anyway, I saw something rather strange as I was walking by the tuition centre. A large military truck was parked in front of the tuition centre. Several intense-looking men were standing beside the truck, and one of them was talking into a walkie-talkie. The rest of them were checking their weapons. Each of them was armed with a Heckler & Koch MP7. All of a sudden, I heard the sound of an approaching helicopter.

"Chup-chup-chup-chup-chup..."

The helicopter sounded exactly like a helicopter in an action movie watched in DTS. As the helicopter prepared to land, its spinning rotor blades kicked up a lot of sand, dust and La Biss. Fortunately, I had brought my trusty goggles along. Just as I was putting them on, a dead chicken flew in my direction and almost hit me smack in the face. I applied some snappy kung-fu footwork and the dead chicken went splat against a Perutdua Valva instead.

As the helicopter touched down in the middle of the street, the door swung open and two men dressed in badly-tailored suits stepped out. Even though the blades were high above them, they bent their heads very low. I guess they must love their heads very much. They approached the men beside the truck and spoke to them briefly. After pulling a balaclava over each of their heads, the men synchronised their watches and prepared to enter the tuition centre. When I saw this, I was so excited that I wanted to go to the toilet. However, there was no toilet around, so I tried my best to suppress the load that was nudging against my rectum. I even farted a few times in the process. Later that night, my mother gave me a sound scolding when she saw the 'tire marks' on my briefs. What made it worse was the smell. My poor mother said it reminded her of a soya sauce factory.

The men who were armed with the MP7 got into position. It was great because it looked just like in the movies. They even made those fancy hand signals that I could never understand. It was so cool I farted and almost emptied my bowels there and then. This was why there were 'tire marks' on my underwear. Then came the moment of truth. One of them kicked the door open and rushed into the tuition centre. The rest followed suit.

Grandmother Words

One day, certain things will be lost forever. This is why there are museums. Anyway, what I want to say is, there are certain linguistic artifacts --- by the way, the word 'artifact' can also be spelled 'artefact' --- peculiar to Malaysian Cantonese which might be lost within a generation or two. Specifically, the words that I'm referring to are the words used by our grandmothers, so let's call them Grandmother Words. Below is a list of several words that I can recall off the top of my head, and I encourage you to contribute to this list if you happen to remember any other words.

1. kee-chee-miau --> cartoons

2. see-kee-ling ---> ice-cream

3. hor-lan-sui ---> literally, "Holland water," meaning soft drinks.

4. ma-see-lee ---> Mercedes Benz.

5. or-feet ---> office.

Harry, I am a Potter!!!

This is part of a conversation that I overheard in one of my dreams:

"Harry, I am a potter."
"What's a potter?"
"A potter is someone who makes pots."
"Oh. I thought it was someone who carries your luggage at a hotel."
"That's a porter. I'm not a porter, I'm a potter."
"What about a reporter?"
"That's someone who works for a newspaper. A reporter is someone who reports."
"It's quite confusing, don't you think? Potter, porter, reporter..."
"Well, you just have to take the trouble to find out and remember, that's all."

Then someone lets out a slow-sounding fart.

"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That sound."
"What sound?"
"Didn't you hear it?"
"No."
"It sounded like 'port'."
"Heh heh, sorry son, I farted."

Ah Lee bin Ah Boo ((( earthquakeduck muhibbah remix )))

A little bird told me that the best place to search for La Biss would be in Penang, Darul Sampah. And so, early this morning, I set off in pursuit of La Biss. I did not bother arming myself with any cumbersome protective gear because I love the smell of La Biss in the morning. It reminds me of victory.

I reached the dump site in Pulau Tikus as the sun was rising. Hills upon hills of La Biss silhouetted against the rising sun was truly a sight to behold. I reached into my backpack and took out my Leica. The images I captured were so breathtaking tears started to well up in my eyes. I opened my mouth wide and inhaled a lungful of La Biss-flavoured air. As the micro-particles made their way into my bloodstream, my mouth started to water. It was as if I was swimming in an exquisite mixture of belacan, soya sauce, salted fish, laksa, cencaluk, smelly feet and funky armpits! I just wished I could swallow all that beautiful La Biss in one gigantic gulp.

Then I started walking among the dump site like a zombie high on syabu. I would stagger around for a while, and when I felt like it, I would let myself fall onto the soft, decomposing La Biss and then roll around in them. I have never felt so good before. It was the ultimate feeling! I was laughing and laughing and laughing when all of a sudden, a whole heap of fresh La Biss was poured on top of me. Chunks of rotten tofu almost choked me to death. Fortunately for me, an old computer landed inches from my family jewels. The rest were mainly rotten vegetables and La Biss from the home of a typically wasteful Malaysian family.

After I swallowed the rotten tofu, I started going through the fresh heap of La Biss. What caught my eyes was this bright pink Hello Pussy notebook. The cover read, 'Mai Not Buk, Ah Lee bin Ah Boo.' From the name, I immediately knew that this Ah Lee bin Ah Boo was the product of a muhibbah marriage. I sat down on a pile of old newspapers and turned to the first page.

'Studi is difikel. i am no unersand wat teecher teech. why must dey mak so hard 2 studi? i am very hate skoo. stoopee skoo.'

'Saterrday. affer i were play wif my dik, my dik got pain. i very scary. so i were told mak. i oredi scary, mak is socold me sum more. she is say, what you are do with your dik?! you are always abyuse your litel brader. he so small you shud take care for him.

'den she are tooked my brader to spesialis kleenik. i is say to dokter, what wrong wif my dik?' dokter is say dik is sik. so i is say wat you meen? i is speak LOUDLY: DIKISIK OR SIDIKID??? stoopee dokter onli smail. i is want to say bad word but mak was dere so i is only say SHRRAP!!!'

'then mak are say, we taking my dik home. he few mash better after we taking him to bomoh.'

And that was all there was in the notebook. Except for a few gulai stains, the rest of the pages were empty. I closed the notebook and just sat there for a few moments. I thought about Ah Lee and his life. All of a sudden, I felt sad.

You Sharrap!!!

I found this in the tong sampah this morning, next to the fishbone and the cartoon tin cans:

Mai teecher she lone low the dipperence beetwin Skoo and Tiew Shen but she are ask me to sharrap one. One lay, I ask her like this one: Cher, y outside got so many Tiew Shen centaur??? And you low what she are say lu me? She are say: Beecost they only want lu make marney. Lend I are answer, "but why got so many pee pole go?" Cher are say: Becost pee pole are stoopee. I are say: I are go many Tiew Shen, but I are not stoopee! Cher are say: You sharrap and stop asking so many questions!

Sam Seng the Samseng went to Tuck Seng for some yum seng

I once knew a samseng, whose name was Sam Seng.
One day, Sam went for some yum seng, at a restaurant called Tuck Seng.
Maybe Sam was drunk, but he thought he saw an Ah Singh.
When he stepped out of Tuck Seng, after the yum seng, he looked up the sky and saw many sing sing.
"Wah, the sky is so beauty make me want to sing!"

I Saw An Act See Dent Law

One day, I was walking to school when I heard a deafening bang. "WORLD TAEKWONDO FEDERATION was that???" I exclaimed. I was curious so I decided to have a closer look, just like another character in an essay taught by my English tuition teacher. When I saw that a Can Chill had crashed into a tree, I became so excited that I started trembling with excitement. There are several reasons why I became so excited.

First Lee, whenever there is an accident, there is money to be made. This is what The Blue Monkey in my dreams told me. It said, "Uuuuuuu, arr-arrr-arrr, Huuuuuu, arrrrrrrrr-arrr-arrrrrrrrr..." I am not a monkey, so I do not speak Monkeyish, but in my dreams, I always understand what The Blue Monkey says. Nevertheless, sometimes I do not dream of The Blue Monkey, but The Blue Moneky or The Blue Moenkey instead. I have noticed that this usually happens whenever I have studied too much Sir Jar Rah or Jee-O-Graph-Fee.

So anyway, I walked closer to the scene of the Act See Dent and saw that the backside of the Tikus was dented. Then I remembered what Sir Jar Rah told me yesterday. He said, "It is a good omen when you see a dent in an Act See Dent." When I asked him what 'omen' means, he asked me to look it up in a Dik Shen Ner Ree. And you know what 'omen' means? It is an expression that we can use whenever we do not understand something, for instance, "Omen, this test is so difficult!!!"

Anyway, this was what happened that day. I continued my journey home after the two Weak Teams were sent to the nearest Hot Spit Tall.

"What's He's name?"
"He, of course."
"He what?"
"He He He I think."
"And you, what's your name?"
"He."
"He what?"
"He Too. And you?"
"Huat."
"Huat what?"
"Huat Yew Min."

He Shot He

He stepped into the room silently. He was watching television. He reached into his jacket and slowly took out a gun. He aimed it at He and shot He twice. Then He continued watching television.

Dun Wan Lern's Essay (click on image to enlarge)

Samseng Run 2007 (Qualifying Rounds)

My friend's mother passed away on Sunday, and so last night, I went over to his house in Pasir Puteh to attend the funeral service. I left after about thirty minutes, because The Yapster wanted me to join him for supper in Ipoh Garden East.

I had a sandwich, because my favourite "Ma Por Spicy Bean Curd" rice dish, according to one of the 'diks, is only served till 9 pm. Anyway, the café closed when the clock struck 12, so The Yapster and I continued our world domination discussion outside the café, near my car. As we were about to leave --- we had chatted for about an hour and a half, just standing there alternatively gesticulating or with arms akimbo --- when all of a sudden, there were some shouts and lo, and behold, a pudgy guy running past us with another skinnier guy armed with a big stick in hot pursuit.

"YEAH, KEEP RUNNING, you 668437382537!!!" the skinny guy yelled.

After the dust had settled, Yapster said, "Hey, let's make a move." To which I replied, "What are you worried about? I'm here, aren't I?"

Heh heh, tuition teacher samurai.

The Electric Café (Part 4)

He signalled for one of the waiters to come over, but it wasn't Wan whom he signalled. It was this tall, skinny Chinese guy with a horrid crop of cybercafé hair.

"Why don't you get Wan to come over instead?"
"Oh Wan. Ummm...he's a really good waiter, but I don't really want to get in trouble for being racially discriminating."

This statement of his really boggled my mind. I mean, why one earth would calling a Malay waiter over for a demonstration be considered racially discriminating? For this reason, I was determined to ask him after the demo.

"May see ah low sigh?" (What's up, boss?)
"You joe gor demo..." (I want to do a demo)
"Ng high ya ma? Yau lye??? (Are you serious? Again???)
"Yard chee gum door la... (Just one more time...)
"Low sigh, gum demo fart, ng dim girl wohh...(Boss, we cannot keep this up...)
"Gum ngo gar nay yarn gung la...(I'll increase your wages...)
"Gar gay door?" (How much would you increase it by?)
"Gar yard mahn..."(Add RM1...)
"Gum siew mehhh..." (That's not a lot...)
At this juncture, it was obvious that the boss was getting a little agitated.
"Gum lay you ng you? Ng you ngo wan die yee gor..." (So how is it going to be? If you don't want to, I'll ask someone else...)
"Aiya hou la hou la..."(Alright, alright...)

The Electric Café (Part 3)

I wanted to raise my hand and let him know that we wanted to speak to him, but apparently, he was on his way to our table.

"Hi, you must be the boss."
"Well actually, I'm one of the bosses."
"I see."
"Is there anything that I can help you with?"
"Well yes, as a matter of fact. My wife and I are really curious about that little piece of jewellery that your servers wear around their neck. Is it for sale?"
"Well...no." As he finished the sentence, he gave me a look that I didn't fully understand.
"Oh, okay. So it's just for your servers."
"I suppose you can say that."
"So it's a part of their uniform?"
"You can say that as well. Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Umm, yeah..sure, of course!"
"Well I don't really know how to put this to you, but the collar thing that you see around their necks is actually a part of our efforts to ensure good service."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Well, you know how everyone's complaining about terrible service these days, and as you probably already know, the F&B line is terribly competitive."
"..."
"And so my partner and I, we came up with this strategy to maintain our service."
"Okay..."
"But I think the best way for you to understand what I'm saying here is through a demonstration."
"That would be great!"

The Electric Café (Part 2)

"Did you see that thing around his neck?"
"Yeah, and I don't think it's from Tiffany."
"I wonder what it is..."
"Let's ask the waiter, shall we?"
"Yeah why not."

When Wan came over, I waited till he had safely placed our drinks on the table before venturing to ask him what that piece of bling around his neck was all about.

"Ey 'dik, amende kat leher you tu?" (Hey dick, what's that thing around your neck?)
"Ahahha...encik tanya boss lahhh..." (Why don't you ask the boss?)
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I noticed a slight twitch on his face as he walked away.

"That's weird."
"Yeah I know eh."
"Aiya, should've asked him about that stupid button on the table too."
"Never mind, I'll ask the boss. Ehhh, who's the boss la?"
"Must be that hairy guy with the calcium-deficient body."
"Which one? The one who's talking to the fat guy?"
"No la! The one who's sitting at the table in the corner."
"Him? What makes you think it's him? Doesn't look like a boss to me."
"I saw him ordering the waiters and waitresses around."
"That doesn't make him a boss. Maybe he's the supervisor."
"Well does it matter? If he's the supervisor, he's in charge, so he'll definitely know what's up with that collar thing around the waiter's neck and that oversized nipple on every table."
"Hey I think every waiter and waitress has that same piece of thing around their neck. I think it looks pretty cool lahhh, maybe they sell them here, some sort of jewellery. Maybe that's why they get the waiters and the waitresses to wear them. Advertising mahh..."
"Don't know lahhh, hey look the boss is coming over..."
"Maybe we can buy a pair, one for you, and one for me..."

The Electric Café (Part 1)

The wife and I are always on the lookout for new cafés and restaurants to hang out in, so when we spotted a new one on the corner of A Street and B Street, we decided to give it a try. What attracted us --- like a couple of moths, I should add --- was the huge signboard brought to life in psychedelic neon with the words The Electric Café emblazoned across it. As they say, the signboard itself was worth the price of admission.

It was a Wednesday night, which probably explained the sparseness of the café. Soon as we sat down, an impeccably-dressed waiter came over and handed us the menus before rattling off the specials of the day. Then he gave us several minutes to pore over the leather-bound menu. Once we've decided, the wife and I started chatting about something that I couldn't remember now. And whilst chatting, I noticed a sort of plastic cup on the table. It was more like a bowl actually, but placed upside down. The bowl was transparent, and hence we could see that it was actually placed over a button that was built into the table itself. Ah, so we got it. It wasn't a bowl but actually a cover placed over the button to prevent someone from accidentally pressing it.

How strange we both had thought, for what purpose could that little implement serve?

By then the waiter had returned, and as I recited the orders to him, I noticed something equally unusual, if not more so, than the button on the table. The waiter, whose name I believe is Wan, had a strapped-on collar around his neck. It looked more like a sort of bracelet than a collar, and there was a tiny blinking light on it. I had wanted to ask him what it was, but seeing how he was so earnest and professional, I didn't. As we waited for our food and drinks to arrive, we looked around the café and noticed that every table was equipped with an identical button, each covered by that tiny dome of transparent plastic.

A Burglar's Worst Nightmare

More information can be found here and here.

you can count my 3425!

The wife and I were having an early dinner at a café in Ipoh Garden East this afternoon. When it was time to pay, I signalled one of the Mat Waiters and said, "Ey 'dik, tolong kira, 'dik!" I realised it the moment I finished the argot-enriched sentence.

'dik, which means "little brother" in colloquial Malay, sounds just like "dick"in English. Jadi, kalo dalam Bee-Ai, o-ang cutter "Hey dick, please count dick!"

My Mind Spilleth Over

Sometimes, my mind fills up with so much thought they leak out in words and phrases, fragments. When I arrange them into sentences, that's when a piece of writing is born. This, to me, is the essence and raison d'être of writing.

who yoo fink yoo foolin', foo?!

Nowadays, everybody's a critic. Because of this, students are becoming increasingly harder to fool. I'm not that old, but I've been told by more than one old geezer that it was totally different back when they were in school.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was taken ill on Monday, and Mr Rockefellar stood in for me. This afternoon I received some rather colourful feedback from the class.

"His jeans are torn all over!"
"How torn were they? I mean, could you see his bum?"
"Well no, but they were ripped up pretty badly."
"Is it true that when he reads something, he pushes the paper so close it touches his nose?"
"Ya lor, ya lor!"
"What else?"
"His jokes are not funny at all, and even Gaymond is better."
"You got to be kidding."
"I'm not!"

So for all you teachers or tutors who are trying to make a quick buck, two things:

1. Teaching is not a walk in the park. You need to work harder than your students.
2. You can fool some of them some of the time, and all of them some of the time, but you can never fool all of them all of the time. (Abe Lincoln said this first)

The Story of Saya Dun Wan Lern

Saya Dun Wan Lern is a Form Three student who was bored to tears with school. "School's slowly killing me," she would lament to her parents who, in turn, would conveniently ignore her, since which student does not complain about school these days?

One day, the stars aligned in heaven, and Dun Wan Lern stumbled upon this absolutely crazy idea. "I will write these obnoxiously bad essays and hand them in to my English 'cher!" she thought to herself. Naturally, it was hell writing them since it's not easy writing in bad English when one's command of the language is impeccable. Nevertheless, it was a brilliant exercise in creative writing and she enjoyed writing every bit of it, down to the part where she wrote: "Later I wear people say I pretty." See, it was a report about a trip to the seaside, one of the many types of essays which are practically useless in the real world. After all, why and when would a student write a report about a trip to the seaside?

And so she handed it in, and 'cher promptly decorated the essay with deftly placed correction marks. You could see that 'cher was rather serious too. The irony was completely lost on the retrogressive 'cher. Here was this student with an almost perfect grasp of English who wrote an absolutely atrocious essay in Manglish peppered with Ah Beng inflections ("White and find sand, on top got beach chalet, say my teecher") and yet, 'cher took it to task to correct it as if Dun Wan Lern couldn't actually write!

Like the tagline for Tamin ("Cuba Sekali, Nak Lagi!"), Dun Wan Lern simply couldn't stop after that. Rejuvenated by the bright spark of mischief, she found herself looking forward to going to school again.

"'cher, please check my essay for me," Dun Wan Lern would meekly say, and then drop a pile of essays on the 'cher's table. "I am really want to improve," she would add with a sigh. Judging from the look in 'cher's eyes, Dun Wan Lern could tell that 'cher was reluctant, so she added yet again, "Pleeeese 'cher, my father are scold me every day. They are say I is lazy no good. I sad, so please help me 'cher."

the more you lern the stupider you got

see, i have a theory. and this theory that i have, it might offend some people. and the people who will get offended are most likely teachers, as in government-employed teachers in government schools. so here goes: i have a theory that, students, under our present education system, are becoming increasingly insipid, instead of becoming smarter.

because of this, a school is no longer a place most students look forward to. i'm a full-time tutor and i provide English tuition in several tuition centres so i see this every day. and the people in high places are wondering why teachers are not garnering enough respect from their students? respect is earned, not given. apparently, this is a befuddling axiom for some people to grasp, so allow me to repeat it: respect is earned, not given.

look man, there's already enough talk about how this and that should be, but how about doing something for real? it just boggles the mind to see how uniformly bad most students are when it comes to something as simple and clear-cut as grammar. ask any random chinese secondary school students if "please wait me at there" or "the shopping centre have many people" are correct, and they'll probably tell you yes. (at this juncture, it's time for an expletive, but i'll refrain myself, knowing some of my students might be reading this)

the first against the wall

perhaps this has partly to do with the fact that i become a different person whenever i step into my car and start driving. but what i fail to understand is this: why on earth are there so many idiot drivers on the streets? my favourite type is the kind who are in such a hurry when they're turning into your lane, and once they're in your lane, they slow down to the speed of a bloody snail. i mean, wtf? maybe some people are just wired to irritate, wherein their sole purpose in life is to make life miserable for everyone else.

ability to cope < dreams of expansion

if you ask any trader or businessman if they want their business to expand, they'll definitely give you a resounding yes. but yet, you see so many business owners unable to cope when they are hit with a sudden jump in volume. it's like they want something, but are not prepared to receive it. strange, isn't it?

what doesn't kill you will make you stronger

despite the impending haze, people are still burning their shit (garbage, dry leaves, furniture, unwanted children) out in the open. i find this amazing. perhaps one day, malaysians will evolve into creatures that can breathe carbon monoxide and thrive within an environment of noxious fumes and poisonous gases. we'll become CO people. yeah, that'd be waaay cool.

the flavour of indonesia

well, we'll be damned! the annual haze is upon us again!

don't call me uncle

we went to lunch at sun lok yee this morning, and overheard the lady boss calling her husband, the boss, "uncle." this reminded me of my buddy joe, who's defected to the united states. he told me that there was once when this kid came to his house to sell some joss sticks. when the kid called him "uncle," joe decided he wasn't buying any joss sticks that day.

i suppose it's the same with women. a tip for everyone who cares about social networking. whenever you come across a middle-aged woman who looks like she cares a great deal about her appearance, don't call her "auntie." This is especially true when you see her together with her daughter or someone younger. Even better, ask her if that young lass is her "sister," as opposed to her "daughter." However, if for whatever reason you wish to infuriate her, ask her if that's her granddaughter.

panties in a bunch

when a crisis happens, it brings out the idiot in some of us.