Wednesday, May 09, 2007


As a Chelsea fan, the last 7 days has been very shitty. Ousted from the Champions League and losing the Premiership title, both in acrimonious fashion, has been a very bitter pill to swallow. And it has not been helped by the extremely biased reports from the sports section of The Star and NST respectively, exceedingly glorifying Liverpool and Man Utd that they might as well print them on red paper. It makes me sick just thinking about it. It’s like high school all over again. Thankfully, over the years, I have managed to rid myself from some very distasteful so-called Man Utd fans who know twat about football and yet claim to be die-hard fans as if they were actually born in Manchester. Fuckin’ wankers.

Well, anyway, Spidey 3 sucked. I’ll post my review of it on Friendster. Nifty little thing that review section. I have probably written a dozen of ‘em already. It’s a nice little space where I can lambast all the movies which I deemed not have been worth my time or money. The most recent example being Ghost Rider. And I can’t believe Spidey 3 followed suit. But more of that on Friendster.

What was I going to talk about just now? Oh right, striptease. Striptease is such a beautiful concept, don’t you think? It’s the ultimate turn on. I don’t know a single guy who would turn down such a thing. Well, some prefer the art of role-playing, but hey, whatever works for you.

I’m bringing this topic up because I have been exposed to a few decent versions of it for the past week or so. For starters, remember that naughty website that I mentioned. Yeah, well, I’ve managed to persuade 2 of the girls, on separate occasions, to do a lap dance for me – for free! Haha it was so much fun. One of them actually did it topless. What a dupe. They were terrible dancers, of course, but I attribute that to the lack of proper background music to spur them on, but more on that later.

And then, I went to this night spot called Sugar last Saturday, located at Crowne Plaza, and there was this band that was making its debut on that very night and they were awful. They totally fouled up Starlight but it was understandable because copying Muse can be very tricky but still foolish of them to even try if they know they’re not up to it. However, when they managed to do even worse for Smack That, that was it. I mean, hard rock and electronica with classical and prog rock elements is one thing, but how the hell can you mess up hip-hop? Hip-hop is not even singing. It’s just talking in rhymes. How difficult is that? They made me wish I was listening back to Akon. And that is a terrible wish. But then, they threw a surprise at everyone when they unleashed their secret weapon.

The band consists of two lead female singers. One of them is hot while the other is not. Up until then, the less hot one was monopolizing the mike and leading the band (quite badly, if I might add) while the hot one was resigned to do back-up singing. Now, they’ve exchanged places and their next song of choice was Inul Daratista’s Kocok-Kocok. And my life after that, ladies and gentlemen, would never be the same again.

The song Kocok-Kocok itself is not alien to me. I first heard it when Kak Nieta performed it during one of our karaoke night-outs. Just like any dangdut songs (and Inul’s for that matter) the lyrics were provocative and lingers around the suggestion of sex. But of course, with Inul, it is meant for mass distribution, meaning there’s a limit on how dirty you want the song to sound like. But at a nightclub, well, you’re not bound to such a rule and this band, Take 5, was free to take it to the next level much to the delight of the male audience (including me who was jumping joyously barely 2 metres away from hot female lead).

For one thing, she has a much more refined ass than Inul so when she does the famed gelek, it resembles more to Shakira’s rather than the Indonesian provocateur. And the sight of her skimpy skirt, flapping at her butt cheek every time she does it just adds to the gratification. But the real pleasure was every time she sang the words ‘kocok-kocok’. According to the lyrics, it was meant to refer to the emotions of love but this chick suggested a different meaning when she made a hand pumping gesture towards her hips as if to indicate she was thrusting a dildo into her crotch. With a pitched voice to match, it just blew the crowd’s mind away.

Then she reaches the line ‘baru keluar ah…’, and, my goodness, her expression of an orgasm even topped that of Meg Ryan’s version from When Harry Met Sally. If I remember correctly, I think, for a brief moment, I lost my mind a bit back then. And as the song came close to the end, she gave a final blow, very slow and very sexy ‘kocok-kocok’, to a resounding applause from the crowd. With that show, I could only imagine what a lap dance or a striptease would actually feel like. Man, I have to visit Amsterdam one day.

You know, it is such a pity there are no strip clubs here. They would be such a cool place to hang out. A couple of drinks, a few laughs, a naked woman dancing around a pole, it’d be perfect. But we don’t live in an ideal world so I don’t think strip clubs would be making its way here anytime soon. But all hope is not lost. If you’re lucky enough, and have the guts to ask for it, you can have your girlfriend to do it for you. It won’t be easy though. Few girlfriends would agree to such a thing and even fewer who would do a good job at it. Which is why, a good background music is key to a good striptease because it would help her settle into the mood. With a little help from, I have managed to compile a collection of 10 songs to do just that.

Some of the songs are already quite popular so you wouldn’t have much trouble finding them. For instance, Britney Spears’ I’m A Slave 4 U. Another one is Pussycat Dolls’ Buttons. Also in the mix is Nelly’s Hot In Here though I can’t put the picture of Jimmy Fallon out of my head so it might be a turn off for me. Some lesser known songs would include Madonna’s Justify My Love and my ultimate favorite, Lovage’s Sex (I’m a). That song is full of moans that you can’t help but wanting to be making some of your own with the missus at the end of it.

All of these songs just don’t have the beats but also the naughty lyrics to go with it. From Britney there’s ‘I cannot hold it, I cannot control it,’. From the Dolls, it’s, ‘And the heat comin’ from this beat, I’m about to blow’. While Lovage talks about virgins, one night stands and making love together. I’d say those are perfect anecdotes.
So the next time you find yourself out of ideas of things to do with your girl, pull the shades, dim the lights, bass up the stereo, sit back and enjoy the show.

With that bombshell it’s goodbye for now and good luck. Cheers.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Forgive Me, God, For I Have Sinned

Damn, how do I always get screwed by that Aritha woman? (And how do I wish to have meant that in the literal sense). She always manages to get on top of me (again…how I wish… literally).She knows something, I know something, but we wouldn't tell each other what it is. It's an endless loop.

Anyway, my attempt to relocate the blonde hair, blue eyes girl through Friendster has, needless to say, failed. It’s not that surprising anyway. The idea was to search the site for female, aged 25, located in Malaysia and has SRK Gombak 1 listed in her ‘School’ box. As you may have guessed, not many people actually bother to put down the name of their primary school on their profile. Especially people from Gombak. Hell, even I left it empty. But I did get a lot of hits of people studying at IIUM. Of course, almost all of them are shuttles. Big dis-o, even for a side entertainment. I guess the search shall be continued for another time then. Or better still, forget about her, move on and find a fresh new one. God knows I need one.

I went by the studio again today. To be on site when the people from Ikea delivers Pidot’s new bed. They said they would arrive by 5 pm. Cipoi and me waited for nearly 2 hours when they finally came at about 7. Those fuckers. Just so you know apart for some saucy magazines, there aren’t any entertainments at the studio. A TV coupled with Astro would do wonders for the place. Instead we just waited there and eventually dozed off, occasionally woken up by the continuous barking of some stupid dogs skimpering outside by the road.

As soon as Pidot’s so-called flat-packed bed components are neatly arranged by the wall of the living room, we head to NZ for some refreshments. Oh by the way, the Kinky Room already has a red carpet. I wonder how I missed that that the other day. It’s definitely kinky now.

Nothing much happened at NZ. Actually nothing happened worth mentioning. We were supposed to watch spidey at MBO Ampang but the person who floated the idea decided against it at the last minute. That’ll be my former head boy aka Macho aka Musangkas aka Chewbacca. I’d get a smack in the head if he ever finds out I call him that last name.

Anyway, I do wanna talk about credit cards. Yes, those evil little plastic cards that have lead so many to the dark side. And for the first time, I must admit I’m beginning the feel its power of attraction.

You see, I don’t have any credit cards since I’ve never actually felt that I need them. I always prefer to use cash. It makes you feel guiltier when you spend a shit of load money on a single transaction. And that I consider that to be a good thing. But now I have discovered a tiny flaw in my said principle – the Net.

I still couldn’t get my hands on Liberty Meadows Book 3: Summer of Love. It’s not that I don’t have the dough but it’s just not readily available at our local bookstores. It’s frustrating. What’s even more frustrating is to know how easily it is to purchase one through But I can’t because I got no fuckin’ credit card! Not to mention some cool looking original movie posters. I surfed the other day and I found this one taken from Pulp Fiction, showing John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson, standing side by side, in their suits, pointing their guns in black and white. That would look awesome in my room. And there’s this original Rat Pack poster, also in black and white, of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and the likes. That too would look awesomely cool on my bedroom wall. But what really made me gone bonkers with this online transaction thingy is a website that was introduced to me recently by a word of mouth.

I can’t tell you the exact address of the site but I can tell you this - it’s a very, very naughty site. And what I can do, or gain, from having the ability to pay online, is to see this lady here (pic) get naked - Live!!! I mean, how fuckin' cool is that!? It's mind-blowingly awesome! Sorry, but I can't help it. I'm a man. It's biological. I think about sex every 20 seconds. And if my calculations are correct, I shouldn't be spending more than RM20 for this particular alone. And it wouldn be that bad. Just think about it. I've spent more money on petrol for 3 days worth of driving around KL. How could this even compare to some fossil fuel? Haih, temptations are so evil. And this girl? She has lot more friends from where she came from. A teasingly seductive idea. Seriously, the idea of sex is totally bewitching. Seeing naked women is one thing, but the idea of seeing her naked is another. And in this case, it's enough to make you go crazy.

Haih, that's it. Good night, people. And for those in possession of credit cards, I envy you. Cheers.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Sunset to Dawn, on Labour Day

None for April? Oh that is just so wrong (Jeff Anderson, Clerks II). Okay, for the simple sake of updating this blog, I’m just gonna put down something. And thank God I did something yesterday which, more or less, provided me with some points for elaboration. Even though it did end on such a down note.

I had relatives coming in droves yesterday and since someone had to send my youngest brother back to school (which was conveniently located at Kuala Selangor) it was left to me to do it because my mother who initially planned to undertake the task had to stay and play host to the unexpected gush of guests, while my elder brother, well, he’s busy preparing for his wedding this coming July. Oh didn’t I tell you? Yes, he is getting married. I mean, good for him, but not so for me. Y’see, being the second child, I’m next in line and situations aren’t ideal for a guy, who just received the most devastating news in his not-the-least love-aspiring life, to be in. as much as I’d like to share this life-changing piece if revelation but sorry, mates, we will not discuss moopy issues here. It’s a guy thing. Plus, it’ll get me into a whole set of new problems. And (back to my brother’s wedding discussion) to top it all off, he’s marrying to a MAS stewardess. Let me emphasize the word ‘MAS’ here. Not AirAsia, not FireFlyz, but MAS. Wet dreams, hello! I mean, talk about pressure for the second son. A stewardess! Now, how the fuck am I suppose to top that? Hitchin’ a stewardess could only be bettered if I were dating a model or a celebrity. Someone the likes of Natasha Hudson. But I couldn’t even make a move for a girl at a video store! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! A stewardess? You fuckin’ me? Seriously? Fuck, man! Huh, could I just say ‘fuck’, one more time, please? (Robert Downey Jr., Kiss Kiss Bang Bang).

So there, my brother’s getting married to a stewardess and I know, I shouldn’t be so hard on myself to live up to that standard, I mean, it’s all about love, right? It’s all that matters in the end. At least, that’s what people have been saying to me. Couldn’t say I totally believe in that concept. Besides, my brother’s been a ladies’ man since he was 12. I know it since we went to school together. I was 9 then and at that age I have yet to view girls as objects of affection. They were simply the opposite of boys. And boys were cool so go figure my mindset. And now, years later, occasionally I’d look back and made wishful thinking if only I had had that girl’s phone number. You probably remember I wrote something about her for a Valentine’s Day post. 2006, I think. She has blonde hair, blue eyes but she has a Malay persona. I didn’t give much thought about that back then but now, I’m guessin’ mixed parents. At 25, she would most definitely turn out to be one hell of a babe. And we had it good. We were both prefects in those days and on occasions during recess we would get assigned to hold watch in certain parts of the school and we would talk while I sat on the stairs and she played her imaginary hopscotch. It was like a scene direct out of Mukhsin. I’m just saying that even though I have yet to see the movie. I’ve managed to catch Gubra only just recently. But seriously, after 2 movies, I’m beginning to grow tired of Orked. Please, Ms Yasmin, give us something new. Anyway, that’s all I have left. A piece of memory, etched in time. Just me and… oh for fuck’s sake, I couldn’t even remember her name! What a darth prick (Rhys Ifans, Notting Hill). So much for that memory bullshit and I can’t even remember her name.

Wait, how the fuck did we get here? I wanted to talk about the studio and Carmen Electra in a bikini, and somehow I ended going down memory lane. Oh yes, that’s right, my future sister-in-law. Good luck topping that, mate. And if I should consider my ‘brilliant’ cohort’s advice (aka Watai), I should use her as a bridge to her other stewardesses friends. It’s certainly is a bright proposition but I think it’s still too early for that move just yet. I need to bond with her first before I can go say, ‘Oh since my brother has netted you, how about giving the younger brother exclusive access to your other lonely, perfectly shaped, fine-looking, high-flying stewardesses friends?’. Watch this space, people.

Fuck, I did it again. Wait, let me read what I’ve written. Oh yes, Kuala Selangor. Well, it seems irrelevant now. I wanted to talk about Ijok but fuck that, stewardesses are much more interesting. But enough about that. Some other time, perhaps.

Change of scenery: last night.

For the first time in 2007, Aritha called me up out of the blue yesterday evening asking me to join her and Sasa for dinner somewhere decent in a ,as she put it, ‘a Sex and the City like outing’. Except that it’ll involve me and I’m no Chris Noth. We went to Chef & Brew at Bukit Damansara which I must say the ambience is quite nice. And best of all, less crowd. But in hindsight less chikas to look at. Yes, yes, I know. Two ladies and a bloke at a nice restaurant, I was lucky as it was but looks can be so deceiving. Especially in my case. But it is not my place or right to discuss those matters. Maybe some other time. Maybe never. Most probably never. Anyway, Chef & Brew, you couldn’t miss it if you want to try and find it. The neon signage is so huge it would put strip clubs to shame. The food was not bad but the service could be better. One of the waiters actually forgot that I asked him for the bill. I had to do that air signature gesture twice. Like, hello, the place wasn’t even half-full. More like running at 12% occupancy. And get some fuckin’ deodorant. But overall it was okay. Maybe worth a second visit. But then the thousand dollar question looms – with whom the second visit shall be with? Sasa even mentioned another lovely Italian restaurant at Jalan Yap Kwan Seng and sure, I’d love to try it sometime but again, with whom? On top of my head I can think only a list of friends and Jes only eats salads. I explored her fridge the other day and it was so bare even the ice cubes indicated a significant presence. With how things are going, it’s probably only a matter of time before I start borrowing my friends’ girlfriends for decent night out with the opposite sex. And I know I wouldn’t have to deal with all that boyfriend paranoia hullabaloo. If only I can get myself over how stupid the idea actually sounds.

Anyway, back to Bukit Damansara. Everything was cordial and laid back when right after the main course Aritha had this sudden urge to play her version of ‘what if’ and began hounding me with me with these speculative questions about my possible initial attraction to the other females in our circle of friends (and slightly beyond who just happen to fall into the picture). Now, from what I know, there two different types of nightmares. One is the one you get when you are asleep and get chased by monsters or you discover you have a third nipple. The other is a real life situation in which you feverishly hope that you’d never find yourself in that would cause you much shame and anguish and with no direct route of escape. This is the latter. I don’t know if the situation came about because I am about the only straight guy that she could afford to forward these questions to or I just happen to stand too close to the spotlight. Either way, too late to ponder that by now. She mentioned every possible name, one by one, that she know that I’d be familiar of and for each one she asked the question, ‘Let’s say you are strangers and you saw (name) sitting at a table in a nice restaurant not far from you (and not in the middle of a date), as far as attraction goes, would I take the trouble to go and talk to her? If so, why and why not?’ Seriously, I’d rather have another go on the Solero Shot than to endure this at that time. You don’t ask these things to a guy in my position. Why do women need to know about all these? It’s a can of worms. But at the same time it’s not like I wanted to be a spoilsport so reluctantly, I played along. But I knew I was venturing into dangerous territories by doing so because the brain mechanics of a woman differs with that of a man. They decipher things quicker and better with issues pertaining to emotions and feelings. We men don’t bother to decipher them at all. So for every answer I laid I tried to apply as much damage control as I possibly can. But even so, I didn’t think I did pretty well in the end. I did manage to dodge, however, about…. y’know…. Zabrina. Yes, tiny accomplishment for me. But suffice to say, even though Aritha has found my closet of skeletons, I’m relieved she didn’t probe any deeper because there’s plenty more where that came from. That is, until she reads this. You know how women would tell you that they know something new and juicy about someone but they wouldn’t tell you the whole story? Or can’t or whatever bullshit. Well, she did the exact same thing to me last night, repeatedly. And guess whose turn is it, now? Hahah! The tables have turned. How you like me, now, baby? (who am I kidding? I’m so fucked).

Anyway, we left the place about 10.30pm and personally I was just glad that the interrogation has ended. Even though Sasa did manage to swing one at me towards the end on how does a person know if the man/woman he/she is with, is the right person to get married to. I say, Sasa, I don’t watch Oprah nor do I subscribe to Cosmo, so the answer is ‘I wouldn’t know’. Or quite simply, you’re asking the wrong person. For this I know I just happen to stand too close to the spotlight.

So, the ‘berpeleseran’ with the ladies has ended because Aritha has to go to work today. But the night was still young and luckily for me, the con of man, Watai, rang me because if he hadn’t, I would have. It was time to chill with the boys and I headed to Nasi Lemak Ampang. A name we coined for this nasi lemak spot between Ampang Point and the building that houses the CIMB Bank where every night a nasi lemak truck would park there and roll out the tables and plastic stools. It’s not the most flamboyant of places but we have grown to love it ever since the early years of our university days when we would get together during our semester breaks. So, the boys and I were chillin; and I considered it like a cooling down session. From a glass of orange juice which cost RM7 to a RM1 the o ais. We talked about work (or the lack of it), Bulu’s proposed birthday bash and a disgusting but nevertheless funny account that involved a shower head, among other things. We stayed until about 12 when our butts started to get cramps. I was ready to head home thinking there was nothing else to do when Watai invited me to the studio for a little closure.

The studio is the 1st floor of a shop house at Taman Pinggiran Ukay which came with atrocious and filthy ground floor neighbours (it’s a motorcycle workshop, go figure). It’s a project between Cipoi, Watai, Pidot, Kalut and Manjit, to turn this non-chalant place into a photography studio cum bachelor pad. It’s an enticing idea but it’s still in the early process of development. Thankfully though, the inside is quite nice. Lots of empty spaces still but initial cleaning had been done. And the stairway has been carpeted and so is the living room. So, lots of places for lying around and occasional sleepovers. Then there’s this room which I personally call the Kinky Room because of its all black painted wall. All that’s missing is red carpet covering the floor. Put some neon lights and you’re good to go. But the best part was that Manjit was already there with his girlfriend, Shaz, when Watai, Kalut, Pidot and me arrived. And Shaz was has some really nice legs. She has such fair skin and she was wearing a very short skirt. Manjit’s friends were so happy. That is until Manjit unsportingly began making noises about wanting to leave barely half an hour after our arrival. Based on our experience, it is usually the girlfriend who would initiate the long face and the desire to leave when her boyfriend was hanging at his friends’ place for far too long for her liking. It was the other way around this time. Anyway, we were left downbeated because a woman’s presence is always welcome at a (yet-to-be) bachelor pad and to see one leave just hurts. But they left anyway and the four of us were void of any entertainment. Thankfully there’s an FHM mag lying on the floor and it’s the US version albeit from 2003 and it has a centre spread of Carmen Electra wearing a bikini frolicking on a beach so, yeah, I was happy again. I wonder why Malaysian mags couldn’t be more like this. It’s so refreshing. And then Watai asked me to come along with him to his office at Jalan Pekeliling to return the company van that he borrowed to bring Pidot’s stuff from South City to the studio. He needed some company as the place gets very dark at night and so deserted it’s creepy. Okay, okay, whatever. I’ll go.

One thing for sure, traveling around KL in a van is so uncool. We had zero chance of anyone checking us out even though Watai did pretend as if he was driving the BangBus van.

When we arrived at the office it was indeed creepy. I went up with Watai for him to return the keys of the van while I took a leak and later explored the office’s fridge. Why do people always keep the extra chili sauce packets they get from McDonald’s? Classic waste not, want not case. We left the building and took off in Watai’s blue Satria which he had left there earlier when exchanging for the van. And Watai being Watai, we just had to do something before we head back to the studio. It was about 1.30am so we decided to check out Heritage Row hoping for some niceties along the sidewalk. Unfortunately though, all of them were inside. Not surprising since it was about peak time around that hour. So we headed back to the studio.

Back at the studio we talked more about Shaz’s legs, female officemates’ butts, the role of thongs to the ogling eyes of men and Jessica Alba. I was close to dozing off on the oversized pillow when Watai decided to head home and call it a night. Besides, Liverpool vs Chelsea was already starting and the studio lacks a TV set let alone an Astro decoder.

I stopped by at McDonald’s Taman Melati for a take away snack for the football game and I drove like mad to get home as soon as possible, not wanting to miss any more precious minutes.

Needless to say, I was very sleepy the moment I got home but nothing will stop me from watching the game. I went into lapses of sleep countless of time but I managed to held on up to nearly 5 am for the decisive penalty shoot-out. And you know what? Chelsea lost.

Chelsea lost.


I had a great dinner, I had a good laugh with the boys, I saw Carmen Electra half-naked and to end it all, Chelsea lost. Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?????

I woke up today feeling extremely unhappy. For the moment I have lost my appetite for football. I wonder if Spider-man 3 would cure this. I know a trip to Geylang would but Singapore is just too far.

Lydia? Laila? Layla? Oh God, it has to be one of those. The blonde hair, blue eyes, braided pony tail girl from primary school. Okay, I didn’t mention the braided pony tail because I realized I forgot to mention it earlier. Or was it Nadia? You know what? I think I’ll try to look it up on Friendster. With that bombshell, I’ll see you again next time. Good night.

*picture of me at the studio with an FHM US mag, courtesy of Watai (yes, he has a thing for photography)