Category: What da f***!!

As usual, idiots voted into Parliament will once in a while show their true colours.

Syed Hood Syed Idros (BN-Parit Sulong) and Datuk Mohamad Aziz (BN-Sri Gading) should learn more about Islam.

The former asked if the crucifix on missionary schools will be removed, and the latter commented that in an Islamic country, the statue of the Virgin Mary should not be allowed to adorn the entrance to missionary schools.

First and foremost, it is because this country IS an Islamic country that the crucifixes and statues should stay. If these two people were to exist during Muhammad’s time, I am sure they would be among those ordered to be put down when Muhammad wanted to rid the Arab peninsula of false prophets.

Luckily I am not a Member of Parliament, otherwise I would ask for the banning of the tudung, serban and beard (goatees) because those are so unIslamic.

As a matter of fact, they are more Christian than they are Islamic. Tsk! Tsk!

These pics were taken on the boat on the way to Semporna. This sequence is called “Sifu and Apprentice” starring Aaron Wong and Calvin Lim.

Aaron: “Calvin, let us bow our head and pray for our safety on this boat. Remember what happened in Tioman recently?”
Calvin: “Yes, Sifu.”

Aaron: “Since this is a 40-minute boat ride, I think we better pray harder and bow our head lower!”

Calvin: “But, Sifu, do I have to pray THAT hard?”

Aaron: “Haiya! Don’t ask so many questions lor! Just do as I say otherwise I will not teach you how to take nice photos!”

Calvin: “Okay la Sifu. I will do as you say. Is this low enough?”

Cameo appearance by Blackbear

Blackbear: “I tell you la. These two can really sleep! Lazy to story la!”

An SMS went out to my father this morning stating that I am ill. The SMS did not come from me but from someone who has authority to verify that I am ill. He must have forwarded the SMS to my elder sister who in turn SMS things like, “Don’t disturb my father. I love my father, you only love him for his money.”

Hello?

First of all, I have never asked him for money for any of my business ventures like some people did that in the end failed, amounting to either close to a million Ringgit, or actually surpassed that.

I was never given a piece of land on a hill at Damansara Heights that was sold together with the bungalow built on it.

I have never asked for my father’s help, or that of his acquaintances, for a reduction in traffic summonses, let alone for contracts with Genting or Petronas or Maxis or the Independent Power Producers.

I never asked for money for any of my children who want to take up Commercial Pilot’s License, or study in Melbourne, or ask for my son to be bought an apartment for him to stay in in Melbourne.

When my father invested in the company I worked for, I advised him against doing so, but he did it anyway.

But everyone came to my house when I showered them with gifts…and kind words were in abundance ad nauseam.

Where was everyone when I underwent surgery?

Where was everyone when I lie alone in the Intensive Care Unit, my life on a limb?

Where?

When my younger brother was down and out, did I abandon him?

When my younger sister had a fallout with my parents did I not bring her back to the family for them to patch up?

Who kept me out from knowing that my father is also ill? Wasn’t it my elder sister who told people to keep that knowledge away from me?

Who wants his money now?

Me?

When I worked for Malaysia Airlines, I found the job myself.

When I joined the Air Force, I went through the interview myself. I got all my promotions on my own merit. I passed all my promotional exams. I excelled. I was a rising star. But I quit the Air Force to save my marriage (which failed a year later anyway). All the subsequent jobs I had was my of own effort.

The only time I worked for my father was when I was asked to help out. I helped turn that company from having problems to pay RM600++ for repairs to a door frame, to having a monthly turnover in access of RM400K. Then I found irregularities in the accounts that pointed to pilferages done by my father’s old time friend. My father never believed me, and to save his friendship, I quit because I thought blood is thicker than water.

Obviously this family defies that logic.

I’m out.

I don’t care if no one wants to talk to me.

My heart will just grow cold and colder as each day passes.

I was born alone into this world, that is how I shall die.

I just got word that the brother of Taiwan’s superstar, Jay Chou Jie Lun, Lan Chou Ha San (picture above), who is also an alumni of the nation’s most-favoured MNC like I am, has been hospitalised because of backpain.

According to Besut Stud a.k.a Ah Keong, Mr Lan Chou suffers from backache because of too much doggy-style done: that is, his wife has been doggying him.

According to hospital sources, it is not clear when Mr Lan Chao can be back in action.

It must have been a pretty boring Hari Raya for me.

It did not occur to me that this is still the second day of Hari Raya until a Hari Raya song played on TV at the resort.

Raya really is for kids only.

Maybe I should stay on this island longer.

Ah…it rained heavily yesterday.

The roads were slippery too.

I made a wise choice driving my manual-shift Proton Saga to meet the guys at the usual rendezvous point.

I went past the toll-house and turned off onto the highway, picking up speed as I moved for a slingshot onto the highway.

Suddenly this lorry swerved into my lane ahead of me and was slowing down drastically. Obviously the bastard did not have any brake lights. I flashed my beams at him and towards the end honked non-stop but to no avail. Applied the brakes gently and obviously the car could not stop as the highway was slippery. My car was sliding. Somehow, the training I underwent for VIP Protection 18 years ago kicked in.

Clutch pedal down full, accelerator on half, wheel slight right, gear down from 5 to 2, visual contact to what’s on left (the lorry) and right (oncoming traffic). Less than two meters before my left side could impact the rear of the lorry, I let go of the clutch a bit and let traction kick in. Once traction was there, slow turn back to left, eyes now on the oncoming lorry on my right which was flashing its beams, and I’m sure the driver was also pumping his hydraulic brakes, and the car in the center lane.

On the car is 45 degree-angle to the culprit, I pressed the accelerator a bit more and let the car gain speed while losing the wheelspin before I let the clucth off full, then quickly change gears upwards as I pick up speed.

One finger up to the lorry driver, and I was well on my way again.

Muscle-memory, they call it. The body remembers.

Someone sent me an e-mail and asked for my forgiveness. I told that person that all is forgiven. She wanted to leave me so I let her leave. She is now happy, things are good for her now, and I am very happy for her. I told her not to think about it so much but just remember that she had made me happy once. It is only fair that she is now happier, and that makes me happy too. She will be spending this Hari Raya happily at her in-laws’ place somewhere up North.

So Hari Raya is in two days time.

I will only see all my children tomorrow night, on the eve of Hari Raya. I will not be celebrating Hari Raya with them. On the first day, I am going to go to the mosque, then come back home and sleep, wake up around lunchtime, and go to Forelorn Soldier‘s house and also maybe to Bakawali‘s. Feed myself with as much cholesterol, fat, uric acid, sodium. See what that does to my BP as I have been off medication since sahur this morning.

As it is right now, I can feel neckache, stiffness of the shoulders and my scalp feels warm. Two months of betablockers and ACEs have not done much for me. Taking more will only give me toxicity and organ failures. So it’s better for me to die of one cause only and not as a direct result of what was supposed to help me.

Then come the night of the first Hari Raya I will be going diving. I will pack clothes for a week and just rotate if I plan to stay longer. Extended stay during the monsoon would be good. Incommunicado.

After all, I only celebrate Ramadhan. Hari Raya is only for kids and suicide drivers.

I read Spena‘s blog tonight. It seems that she has been mistaken for a person of another nationality twice. Previously she had a woman from South Africa who asked her if she is South African, then in tonight’s posting, she’s been mistaken for either an Italian or a Spaniard.

Forelorn Soldier, who is a full-blooded Limey, if you must, who has been away from Blighty for ages, had one fine day called up an acquaintant in England. After a while of talking, the lady on the other end of the line asked him who he is, and he told her who. And she went, “You sound like a Paki(stani)!” Well, I had to add “stani” at the end of it because it’s a derogatory term. Then again, “stani” on its own is derogatory (pronounced STAH-NEE).

Some 7 years ago I was at the Thalad Santisuk in Hat Yai buying some Thai silk from this middle-aged lady. I was with some Malaysian friends when I spoke to this elderly lady and bargained in Thai. Her eyes widened. She then asked me how long have I been working in Malaysia because I then looked like a Malaysian. I laughed and told her that I am a Malaysian. She didn’t believe me.

Well, at least that’s better than the Australian-sounding advertisements on our radio.