On The Road

While driving I saw these:

The sticker says: ONCE I WAS A TKC GIRL

The TKC girl in now a TKC guy
The TKC girl is now a TKC man

Stoopid England
Stupid England. This is a direct translation of KAMI ANTI ISRAEL DAN U.S into English. It says: WE ANTI ISRAEL & U.S. Idiots.

I’s Speaking Good England

Wifey’s latest (as on 27th July 2009) Facebook status begs ASTRO to stop having multilingual options for English programmes especially on Playhouse Disney Channel. She was seething with rage when she discovered her two younger children have been watching English cartoons dubbed in malay. My younger kids did that too when they were staying with me, and they received the literal rap on the knuckles whenever I catch them doing so. ASTRO should really think of the impact such options have on the ability of the children to have a good grasp on the English language. Even I still have trouble with mine.

This brings me to an event I attended last week, that was also attended by members of a foreign (mainly White) company that is a client of the host. When you do not have a good grasp of the lingua franca, you stand a good chance of making yourself a laughing stock. I know for sure that the MC had had a script written according to the running-order of the event; to say what after what and so on. Despite the script, her English was as good as mine when I was seven years old. Among the things she had said on that day were:

“Good morning to all. I’ms the MC for today’s events.

Mind you, she’s the Corporate Communications Assistant Manager from the company that was hosting the event. And after each guest’s speech, she’d say things like:

“That was a good speech by Mr So-And-So. Please give him a round of applause!”

Then, the representative of the foreign company was invited to speak. The relationship between the foreign company and the host has never been cordial. So, the representative did not mince his words, whacked the host for giving the former a product that did not quite meet the specifications, so much so that the CEO of the host’s company’s face was red with probably both embarrassment and anger. And guess what the MC read from her script:

“That was an outstanding and inspirational speech from Mr Pissed-Off. We hope that this very goods relationship betweens our two company will be carry on like this. Once again, let’s give Mr Pissed-Off a round of applause!

I cringed and looked behind me, at the other guys from the foreign company, chuckling with disbelief. They clapped their hands in the manner that one would after watching a good stand-up comedy act. It was obvious the MC did not have a hint of comprehension of what had been said in the speech.

Trust me. When the Language Nationalists finally have everything their way, we’ll hear more from the likes of this MC…or worse.

Because You’re My Wife

I wrote this when I was doing the ‘D’ on the Porcelain Throne just now. This is for Wifey, and it’s called “Because You’re My Wife.

I write this because you’re my wife

Sometimes in the morning you forget to kiss me
But I know you can’t always please me
Because you’re my wife

There are times that you get grumpy
But I try not to feel all lumpy
Because you’re my wife

You steal the blanket sometimes at night
But to me that is funny and quite alright
Because you’re my wife

And sometimes you’d fart in your sleep
I smile even though the smell makes me weep
Because you’re my wife

Despite some shortfalls and come what may
I’ll love you forever, not just today
Because you’re my wife

John F SeaDemon
The master toilet of Villa 6A
Swiss Garden Damai Laut,
Lumut, Perak
26th July 2009

I love you, Baby!


Among the things I miss most about England are its Fish and Chips, and Cod Roe and Chips. While the former is the more famous export of England, the latter is not very well known in England itself. Apparently, some English friends of Wifey never knew that they serve pressed cod roe (cod roe cakes) with chips at the local chippy. Then again, they hail from the south of England, by the coast, where the ordinary working class flock; while I lived where the bourgeoisie and the nobility live – around Buckingham (in Bucks) and Watford (Herts). Therefore, all the good food from the sea get shipped inland whilst the crap remain on the shoreline.

Anyway, I have been in constant craving for a good old English Fish and Chips. I still remember those days when I’d stand outside the chip shop in the cold with friends like Stuart Tinson whacking steaming fish and chips, or fish and cod roe and chips, with lots of vinegar, wrapped in good, educational newspapers like The Sun’s Page 3 or something.

Anywhere else outside of England, the fish and chips is crap. The batter isn’t the same (I love those beer batter – the ratio of flour to beer is 2:3) and they don’t use those traditional fish such as cod, haddock or flounder. And they use french fries instead of good old slab-cut potato chips (they call them Steak Fries in the US).

So, last year, my craving took me to the closest and reportedly the best chip shop in Malaysia. No breadcrumbs used as they would in most hotels and restaurants here in Malaysia. It’s a joint along Changkat Bukit Bintang called The Magnificent Fish and Chips Bar. I think it’s more Australian than it is English but anyway, here goes:

The venue
The Venue

The Menu
The Menu: mainly Australian

This is what you eat with fish and chips...not chili sauce
Now, this is what you eat with real fish and chips…not chili sauce or ketchup!

Barramundi and Chips..not quite the fish and chips I wanted
I had Barramundi and Chips…not quite the same as the good old English fish and chips, but the best there is in KL

As for Pressed Cod Roe Cakes, I found that Hock Choon on Jalan Ampang and also Cold Storage outlets have the John West’s Pressed Cod Roe (NOT the soft cod roe). To satisfy my cravings, Wifey fried me some using her homemade breadcrumbs. Maybe next time I’ll tell her to make the other English batter replacing beer with milk using the same ratio. No, English batter does not have water in it.

Pressed Cod Roe in Breadcrumbs...prepared by Wifey
Pressed Cod Roe cakes in Breadcrumbs – Wifey’s recipe

Howling and Mooning

It’s 3.21am, it’s been raining heavily outside for the past hour or so, and I am here typing away as I sit on the porcelain throne.

As I walked into this bathroom, and saw the reflection of my butt in the mirror, I thought to myself,

“How could man land on the surface of the moon 40 years ago, using only a 32k computer on board?”

You tell me.

Nazri Aziz the Boor…the Boar…the Bore…the Boer

Simply put..he is a Rude Pig
Simply put, he is one rude pig son-of-a-swine

I am perplexed by Nazri Aziz, who has boorish attitude and total absence of decorum, because he was retained in the present cabinet as a minister. It is safe to say that he is one of the jokers the rakyat would have liked to see gone…or rather not see at all, upon Najib’s taking over the helm of the government. I mean, if that is the kind of person the Prime Minister saw fit to be given a ministerial post, then I, for one, think that I should demand for a cabinet post as well. After all, profanity is my forté.

Some time last week, in a press conference, this son-of-a-swine referred to three people, namely the former Prime Minister Tun Dr Mahathir, Chairman of SUHAKAM Tan Sri Abu Talib Osman, and my father, as crooks. CROOKS.


Such a big word for someone as crude and as rude as he. I hope he knows the meaning of that word too.

Or, does he?

The Cambridge Dictionary defines CROOK (KRΩK) as:

a very dishonest person, especially a criminal or a cheat:

and goes on to give an example of the word CROOK:

These politicians are just a bunch of crooks.

How apt.

Well, I hardly see things eye-to-eye with my father, but he was no, was never, and will never be – a crook. I’ll let Mokhzani, Mirzan and Mukhriz defend their own father; the same goes to Abu Talib’s children.


Equipoise is a word not listed in the Cambridge Dictionary. For the learned, it also means ‘equilibrium‘. For idiots like Nazri, I’ll use a simple word: BALANCE.

The military and the police, are two instruments of the King’s Government. Although our chiefs report to the Minister-in-charge, our loyalty is towards the King and his country. We are here to balance things between the extremes. We are not chosen by the people to represent them, like in the case of politicians, we serve the King and the country. Unlike Nazri, whose loyalty is towards his money-churning post, and possibly or probably UMNO, we see the King as our head and nothing else. Well, for the police, it was as such at least until my father retired in January 1994, after heading the force for 5 months short of 20 years – having served at the (various) King’s pleasure for 33 years. He did so selflessly, and the sacrifice was great. He belonged to the King’s government, and never to his own family; this blogger included. He was the target in numerous assassination attempts, especially by Chin Peng and his cohorts, as we were targets in kidnap attempts. I never had a normal childhood. I couldn’t go out as I pleased, and I was always happy to go to school as that was the only time I could become a normal child. My 5-year stay in the Malay College saw numerous pockets of visits by either the Officer in-charge of Police District (OCPD), the DSBO (District Special Branch Officer), or their men. I went through primary school taking only a butter and sugar sandwich each day; my father’s pay was miserable, but he put his all into making sure we all could sleep in peace.

On Nazri’s charge that my father served and defended the administration, I can say safely that he was always apolitical…and maintained that equipoise so well, that he showed no fear nor favour when executing his duties as the Inspector-General of Police. None of his children got preferential treatment, and we always paid our traffic summonses in full, without any chance for reduction in fines. Unlike Nazri’s children whose party-pictures are splattered on blogs and other internet sites.

My father was loyal to his King, and to his men, and protected the sanctity and image of the police force. And he served them well. And it is a known fact that he submitted his resignation at least thrice to the two Prime Ministers: the late Tun Hussein Onn, and Tun Dr Mahathir; but got his request rejected. And even when he was asked to stay on contract when his imminent retirement was approaching, he declined, giving others the opportunity to head the police force that he had nurtured and loved so much. On the other hand, Nazri and all other politicians, forget that they are mere servants of us. We chose them to be our representatives, but they forget that fact and behave like VIPs. As Nazri once said on prime time news when he was in charge of taxis etc:

“Saya ni menteri tau! Menteri!”

Which means jack-shit to me because menteris are just trash and nothing but slaves to the rakyat. Those who worship money put them on pedestals and stick straws into their assholes and suck up for projects.

After bringing the police force to the apex of public trust and respect, my father retired, living in his double-storey terraced house, very much unlike Nazri, whose maids ran away with RM350,000 worth of jeweleries and cash 4 months ago. He must be paid very well as a minister.

Unless, of course…


Well, since Nazri is free to say what he likes, I can say that he is a crook too. No honest minister or public servant can ever have anything like that while he is still serving the government and people. He can never maintain the equipoise because he is a crook.

And a swine at that too.

For that, I know I am not voting for the government that has Nazri Aziz as its member. His display of sheer stupidity only reflects his upbringing, as well as the stupidity of those who voted him to win the previous elections.

This time around, I really should go diving during the general elections.


Hana and Wifey - October 2008

I was away in a jungle north of Perak when she was born. From the time she was 3 months old through 4 years old, she would sleep with me or alone if I am not around.

That’s my eldest child, Farhanah.

And because of her closeness to me, she became the subject of mistreatment by her mother after the divorce; and those were the days, during the Asian Financial Crisis, I would scrape whatever notes and coins I could find just so I could drive up from KL to the Thai border, just to visit her and her sister, Fazira. Everytime I had to leave her at the end of that day trip, she would hold on to my thigh and begged me not to leave her, or to take her along. Parting with her has always been a heart-wrenching experience. I would take her for a walk to the park near where she used to live with her mother, and taught her how to look at the stars of the night sky, show her where south is by teaching her to recognise certain stars, and tell her if she misses me, all she had to do was to look at those stars, and I’d be in that general direction thinking of her too.

She now lives in the house I used to live in, with her mother and her sister. Her younger siblings, Farhan and Nisaa, are with the bitch their mom somewhere else.

Yesterday, Hana sent me a text asking me what was I doing later that night. So I called her. She told me she had to represent her school in a district-level bowling tournament, and if I could pick her up that night as she would be going to the venue with her friends by cab. When I said I could, she broke down and cried. It was a full half a minute before she regained her composure and told me she was okay. I sensed that something was wrong.

Wifey and I had to go to the university to send some provisions to her brother, Shah. When Shah said that he was hungry, I suggested that we go for mamak food somewhere near where Hana is in case she couldn’t get a cab. True enough, Hana called me soon after, and sobbing, she told me she could not get a cab.

I asked her to walk to the mamak joint, some fifteen minutes walking from the house. So, Wifey and Shah alighted the car. Wifey gave her a good hug and told her not to cry. On the way to the bowling venue, she never said a thing. I asked her what was wrong but she never said anything. Suddenly, she held my hand, put her head on my shoulder and started sobbing again. Softly I told her that I love her and it hurts me not to know what was bothering her, that she’d always have my ears and shoulders if she needed them.

The first thing Wifey and I noticed about her was that she had lost some weight. In the photo above, she looked fine, but when we saw her yesterday, we could see that her cheeks had shrunk. I gave her a good long hug when I dropped her outside the house, reassuring her that I’d always be there for her. From the conversation I had with Fazira, it was clear to me that Hana was not being treated as well by the mother again. And I am so worried as she will be sitting for her SPM examinations later this year.

As Wifey said, if only we live like five to ten minutes away from them instead of the ‘almost-an-hour’ per way trip to get to them, both Fazira and her would be staying with us, or at least come home from school to us before going home later in the night.

As a father, I can only pray for the best for her. But for now, I guess I will have to make more effort to be with her more often, to give her strength again, and to be that guiding star in her life again.

Idea Ini Bodoh

Troubled South

Martin Luther King Jr once said:

“I have a dream!”

Of course, he was shot dead and his actual dream had died with him. Well, no one really knows what were those dreams that he had…the ones he never mentioned. And one witty sarcasm would sound something like:

“Even if you are on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”

If you look at the title closely, the first letter of each word resembles a familiar acronym to many people in Johor…or maybe not: IIB. And why not? Because I think that this whole idea of the Iskandar Malaysia region is a stupid one. Maybe not totally, but stupid nevertheless. I’m not going to do analysis after analysis etc etc when I read this because I am going to write this as how I see it, and as how I feel about it. One thing that you have to remember throughout this posting is that ISKANDAR MALAYSIA IS NOT MADE TO COMPETE WITH SINGAPORE, BUT TO COMPLEMENT IT IN THE WAY SHENZHEN COMPLEMENTS HONG KONG.

The core of the Iskandar Malaysia region right now is what is known as Nusajaya – a piece of land owned by UEM that has been developed into landed properties. That project began long before my father was part of UEM (this was like back in the mid 1990s), and made its first sales two decades after it started. I mean, who in the right mind would want to move to JB? Personally, I wouldn’t mind going there once in a while to eat – food’s good but getting more expensive nowadays (a glass of Teh O panas in DUNGU Bay costs RM2.00). But unless I have a real reason to move there, I wouldn’t give it a thought. My only reason for wanting to relocate there last year was because the company that Wifey worked for then, moved there from KL. They bought several shoplots at DUNGU Bay, moved everyone there, then maintained the KL office so they can have meetings with clients there. Therefore, they spend like 3-4 days in KL having meetings with clients and investors. They leave for KL on a Friday, spend the weekend in KL, then conduct meetings in KL on Mondays through Wednesdays, then work in their JB office on Thursdays, and the whole cycle starts again Fridays. So, imagine having to move your family to JB, then you spend more than half a week in KL having meetings. They should just shut down the KL office and get their potential investors to stay and have meetings in JB. After all, the products they plan to sell are in JB.

Apart from the announcement of Legoland wanting to operate in IM, nothing else have actually taken off. And why Legoland? Who on earth would want to go and play with Legos there? The new state administrative center located there is causing civil servants to complain. Previously, they didn’t have to travel far to work. Now not only do they have to leave home earlier, they even have to pay toll to get to work. Unlike Putrajaya, I don’t think there are any quarters there for the peasants working for the state government.

The whole idea of Iskandar Malaysia is to have one huge development project in an area of 2,217-sq km. Initially, there was to be a monorail system or something that would run from the eastern side of south Johor, to the west. That’s over 100km long. But of course, that, and the fact that there is a glut of office space, houses as well as abandoned housing projects, in that region, don’t seem to worry those people at IIB/IRDA at all. Back in 2007, they planned to have 13 million people housed in the IM by 2025. The whole of Malaya, in 1957, only had about 7.3 million people in it. 43 years later, it only had about 23.27 million people. That’s a growth of 15.97 million people over 43 years, or roughly an annual increase in population by 371,400 per annum. The whole state of Johor only had 2.7 million inhabitants in 2000. Even with that kind of proximity to Singapore, Johor still has problems getting people to move there for good – unless they come from Johor and have been working in KL, and would like to retire there. So, how on earth does IIB/IRDA plan to have an exodus of 13 million people (more than half the population of Malaysia now) to the IM region? Even KL with a population of more than a million cannot create enough volume for its mass rail transit systems to make money; what more having a rail system that runs more than a hundred kilometers within the IM?

Then there was this idea to turn IM into a medical hub, more for recovering and recuperating surgery patients etc from Singapore to rest and get proper medical care. So I’m in Singapore, they cut up. Then, instead of pushing me into the recovery room, they put me into this luxurious ambulance and transfer me across the Gelang Patah-Tuas link (Second Link), into a hospital located within the IM. How absurd is that? Here I am just stapled back into one piece (just), and I’m being wheeled here and there, and having to go through the (probably better than the normal) Immigration and Customs processes, from one country to another, to recover from the surgery. The only thing I may have to declare by the time I get to the Malaysian Customs complex is that I died during the transfer. Imagine also the hassle for my family members to go and visit me everyday. Toll, Immigration, Customs, traffic jam etc. Well, I don’t suppose they would build hospitals in IM to compete with Singapore as competing with Singapore was never the idea for having IM in the first place.

Then, there is this rebranding exercise of JB. IIB bought over DUNGU City Mall that was left empty for quite a long while, and plans to buy the Kotaraya Complex and turn it into an upmarket shopping mall, catering for high-end products probably like what The Gardens is to MidValley in KL. The Kotaraya complex has always been THE center for el-cheapo stuff, mainly for the malay population of both Johor and Singapore. On the other end would be Plaza Angsana due to its proximity to the Second Link. I suppose IIB has not learnt the lessons of the JB Waterfront City project that was abandoned in 2003. Some smart alec thought that having a floating city in front of JB would be a good idea, and the JB Waterfront City was to be its precursor. What they didn’t realise was that JB people needed a floating city as much as they would like to have a hole through their head. Now all that remains of this floating city are dozens of piles that were driven into the seabed that remain to this day as another blight on the JB seafront.

They should also learn that Singaporeans throng JB to buy cheap goods at Giant, Tesco, Carrefour, Extra etc. And if they want to buy stuff like Gucci, Coach and what-nots, they’ll go to Holiday Plaza. Now, that is one shopping mall that does not need rebranding to stay alive. It has been there since 1985, and probably named so because it was built next to what was the Holiday Inn Johor Bahru. That hotel has since changed its management and name, but Holiday Plaza is a brand in itself. If you look at its neon signage, it has old school disco font. Ask any el-cheapo shoppers almost anywhere from the central to southern part of Malaysia (and even Singapore) and the name Holiday Plaza would be the first thing on their mind. Reputation builds brands. Therefore, Kotaraya, Angsana and Holiday Plaza, all have their own brand and brand name. Efforts to re-brand them into something else would, in my opinion, end up disastrously.

I can go on and on about IM, there’s almost no end to it. Development is all about explosion. It explodes outwards, grow in strength, where one development creates satellite developments, much like KL, PJ, Shah Alam. It expands when it is saturated. You do not implode and call that development. There is no sense creating infrastructure when you cannot have the kind of saturation and volume you need to sustain that development. I don’t have to be an urban planner or an economist to know that. That is why it is called DEVELOPment.

Oh, and of IM complementing Singapore much like Shenzhen complementing Hong Kong, remember, in the end, Shenzhen and Hong Kong are in one country. Two different countries never complement each other. They always compete.

My Missing Childhood

I had trouble making my mind up on what to have for dinner last night. The kind of food that I had in mind included Satay, Roti Canai, Char Kuey Teow, and either a Big Mac from Son of Donald’s, or a Whopper. In the end, I settled for something that wasn’t on the list: KFC’s Snack Plate and Cheesy Wedges.

Sitting at the KFC outlet with Wifey, I mentioned to her that prior to going abroad to further my studies, I only had less than 5 visits to a KFC outlet (I left Malaysia in 1983, and McDonald’s only came to Malaysia in 1984).

If my memory serves me right, I only had my first roti canai when I was 10. And that was on one of the days the driver (arwah Pakcik Ramli – he passed away from a heart attack after my father’s retirement in 1994) picked me up from school, and we went to this restaurant called Yusof Restaurant along Jalan Masjid India – I think mainly because the waitresses were good looking, more than anything else. I was able to whack like 5 rotis canai in one sitting, something that would be a mammoth of a task for me these days. My personal record remains at 8 rotis canai – when I was in Form Two.

I can’t remember when, during my childhood years, did we ever go out for meals as a family. I mean, just us, as a family, without my father’s friends and their family. I remember when I was 7 or 8, we would frequent the Medan Selera in Section 14 PJ (where the Digital Mall and food court are now), but those trips were always made with family friends. It’s only after my father had retired from the police force, that all of us, go out for meals together…siblings, parents and all. By that time, I already have 2 kids while my elder sister, 3.

I had my first Japanese food when I was 16. And that was at the Federal Hotel. My favourites then were Tempura, Sashimi and Chawanmushi. Nowadays my Japanese menu is much more elaborate.

Well, at least I’m learning to eat lots of stuff I’ve never had, now that I’m married to Wifey.

Star Whores: The Clone Whores and the Cloned

This world is filled with posers.

Millions of them.

They go around claiming that they are who they aren’t, and the effort they put into believing their own lie(s) is unbelievable.

I have met some. And they are funny. For the record, I went to the North Pole with 22 others (16 were skydivers, 4 were from TV3 while the other 3 were support staff such as a doctor, media relations, and an administrator) back in 1998. Obviously I would know who my team mates were. Then there were those who went to the media some years later with our pictures, running their story and giving those pictures as theirs, claiming they were part of the team. I had to issue letters to the respective editors denying that they were ever part of my team but those letters never got printed because it would mean the editors were stupid for not editing the story.

Then came the story of people who claim they went to the South Pole when they never did. One guy, happily interviewed by the press for being part of an expedition to Antarctica claimed to be the first Malaysian to ever reach the geographical South Pole. All he did was stood on the edge of Antarctica where South Africa had control over. Then a group of people claimed they were at the South Pole when they were some 1800 kilometers away, on the Antarctic continent. These people should be ashamed of themselves as they were from a group that are supposed to be the best at map reading.

Then there was a guy who claimed to be an ex-navy commando, when all he really is is a former signal apprentice at the Armed Forces Apprentice Training School. Another I met, claim that he teaches commandos how to dive rebreathers when he himself cannot explain the parts and mechanism of a Draeger Dolphin semi-closed rebreather, let alone a LAR-V CCOBA rebreather.

Another person I know, keeps claiming that he is doing millions of jobs for various government and private agencies, events and what-nots; but at the same time beg for a job at his/her former workplace. Then, when the job has been secured, tell people that going back there was of the last choice, and only because people begged the person to return to that office.

I also met a guy who claimed he knows me well. Sat with him for tea, and I asked him if he could help introduce me to myself so I could pass my gun license application form to the me he knows. So, he went on and on about how he and I have been close since before we were born and all that. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him who I am.

But this incident beats them all: I met the person who impersonated me.

This person, whose name differ slightly to mine, but with the same father’s name, went around conning people to buy pieces of land. Some people fell for the trick. So, one day, an old acquaintance I met asked me if I was into real estates. Me? Real estates? Apparently this guy knows of a victim personally. So, I demanded that I meet the victim. The victim, a Dato’, was surprised to see that the eldest son of my father looks so much different to the eldest son of my father who conned him.

So, I set a trap. I went to meet my clone. And at that meeting, he gave me his name card – his middle name was RAHIM. Went on and on about this piece of land that I should buy. Again, you should have seen the look on his face when I showed him my driver’s license.

And don’t ask me if this guy is still alive or otherwise.

The morale of this story is: we should all expose these clone whores before they turn into stars.