You take your own medicine

It’s yet another shit week for me; things are seriously not going quite my way. I don’t expect anyone to know how my week was and I never intend to share one and it’s normal for me to not give a shit about being shitfaced at work but things are getting a little bit out of hand. My life has never ceases to be so amazing, if you tell me your life is boring I beg to differ because the world always seems to have funny endings for me. I have no idea why and I’m quite tired of searching for an answer to a question which has no answer on a daily basis. On the day I felt I could see the light at the end of the tunnel only for me to find out the light coming from the headlamps of an incoming train. And yet on my wonderful day, when I run at full speed, I run into a shithole.

I can’t tell you how I manage to refrain myself which seriously not an easy task at all, wanting to scream to the world what is not right and how things should be but I came to my senses and realized the answer to the ultimate question of the world, “Do they give a shit?" is actually NO. In fact it’s more of a feeling of disappointment with myself, how could it be possible for someone to walk into the same shithole for two fucking weeks in a row, that’s me you idiot and how could it possible for someone to be made a fool by the same person twice, that’s me again. That fucking shithole hurts but ironically my subconscious mind still thinks the shit actually taste better. On top of that, I have let myself down considerably on what I thought I had in me that was the master of supreme self confidence most of you have accustomed to hate. Being emo, I spent my weekend staring at the wall (partly thanks to being immobilized from banana leaf that I had), depressed, nostalgic and consumed lots of pineapple juice. I don’t know about you but pineapple juice calms me down. It hurts so badly that it aches physically, that the frustration and grief welling up inside is close to drowning me, that it left a scar on my heart that will take years to heal and that every fiercely hidden drop of sorrow endlessly streaming down my cheek if you believe me. All these have to be stop, I said. I sat down and began to ponder on my next move. My eyes turned to the waiter, “I’ll have air kelapa mix vodka kurang manis.” It tastes good, just the way I like it. Four years into the job, motivation level has dropped below zero but the pleasing aspect of the comfort zone coupled with the idea of facing tough interviews; achieving an IQ score of not less than 90%, 5 case studies in an hour, 3 essays writing in half an hour, public speaking in front of 25,000 spectators and finally a resistance test of swimming from Cuba to United States had put matters into perspective or rather not. No more pussiness, I’m getting a new job and Goldman Sach will have my first honour.

My friends were late. While waiting for them, I managed to make a few key observations about myself. Yes, that’s what we auditors do, we observe. We observe every movement of yours, you losers. Now, go buy me some drinks and I will write a good report. Two nights ago, when I was driving around PJ, I stopped at a traffic light beside a well polished Mitsubishi Lancer (many said a direct competitor to my civic) and I was taken aback when I turned and saw the driver; a stunningly hot, long-haired creature of such beauty that I literally caught my breath but it was only lasted a good ten seconds for after that she started to dig her nose, stuffing a slim, feminine finger up her nostril and started violating the hole in obvious pleasure. "Holy fuck!!” I shouted. It was like getting into bed with Jessica Alba and finding out that she has a penis. Okay, back to main topic, I realized 3 key points about me that highly contributes to my shitweek: 1) Ability to talk in such convincing manner people around me actually thought I was good despite the fact I absolutely know nothing at all on the subject which then translates to me being given extra responsibilities which I had so much difficulties in completing it. 2) Inability to stop thinking; you know when you had an interesting conversation with someone or you had read something fascinating or you picked up a new hobby or you had experienced a significant event, you can’t stop thinking about it and your brain will take some random thoughts from each event and churns it together and make a good storyline that will occupied your mind which then makes sleeping impossible. 3) I get bored easily and I can’t focus on one thing for long. I truly suffered when I look at the set of accounts which I need to rush for Bank Negara because I spend at least 40 minutes worrying about paying my credit card bills, another 30 minutes on how to turn from one pack into six and what to have for my dinner, when my job is hanging on the line and I know I'm going to complain about lack of time.

Needless to say, I’m able to draw line between such formless thoughts/dreams with reality. There is nothing to worry about although sometimes when I speak I use 3 different languages in one sentence. I rather see these as mental conditions and not problems. It’s who I am and I hope I come across as pretty much normal to most of you. To allay any fears, a post mortem was immediately carried out with a hastily assembled group of highly acclaimed professionals in their respective fields. It was agreed that my mental conditions is nothing more than a state of existence where you wander around without any clothes on and no one notices until it is too late. It is often metaphors of your suppressed thoughts and feelings; it is possible that your mind induced to believe that you are a butterfly you will wake up to find yourself a dragonfly. Many argued that such unstructured behavior is the Jews way of controlling your mind and despite being heavily mixed I am not a Jew and hence I’m perfectly fine.

And out of sudden, it dawned on me, a solution to the above: I need a holiday! I had the bright idea to bring my close mates together for a mad-ass holiday getaway to Phuket, Thailand, getting together for a jaunt to a beautiful tropical island to dive (maybe not), eat (gorging on wonderful Thai food), drink (yes, getting piss-drunk) and make the acquaintances of a large number of attractive foreign ladies with loose bikini strings but I know like many times before to get this faggots for a holiday is like braving Africa dessert alone and killing at least two tigers along the way. For now, air kelapa mix vodka kurang manis seems more a realistic option for me. Apart from getting it cheap, I feel this entire process is healthy for the mind; it’s a vital form of release where you forget everything that happens to you though excessive consumption will lead you to talk extra loud and fast (first warning sign) before you proceed to spit on people’ faces while talking to them.

I know exactly what went through your mind when the news of censoring the internet filtered out, both you and I aware we are facing our worst fear but thank God, it did not materialize. There is some light after all.

10 things I should do before I'm 30

It’s been well documented that turning 30 is the point of no return not because the genetics is against you (which actually quite true in a sense because you cannot get fat around any part except the face and the belly and your hairline is desperate to meet your lower part) but rather the 30-year-old-syndrome-I’m-too-old-for-this-you-should-ask-me-five-years-earlier. On your 30th birthday, the not-so-forgiving Zeus will knock on your dream and say, “Son, turning 30 is no laughing matter, especially your hairline is receding rapidly and you are soon to be father for first time ever although the Supreme Council is yet to identify the identity of your child bearer. You will be engulfed by the feelings of fear, anguish and the unknown lay trapped beneath a mountain of questions and self-doubt. Let me emphasize this once and for all, your body will undergo a gruesome transformation and your soul will yearns to stay attached to the adventure of the 20’s which of course something of a past. My advice is simple; throw away the mirrors and you better get married before it’s too late!”

Let’s not reflect on what will you accomplish before you turn 30 or rather what you should accomplish before you turn 30 which in this case you are actually me. After months of consideration with much bloodshed, tears and zen-ness, I managed to trim down from a list of 1,548 items to just 10 as I'd rather not bother you with too many details.

1) Make my first million - 27 years ago, the not-so-forgiving Zeus knocked on my mom’s dream and told her “I don’t want to confuse you with the complexity of our situation but in a nutshell, your son should be born from February 20 to March 20. Traditionally, he will be ruled by the planet Jupiter but because the Almighty Aristotle is still recovering from alcoholism Pluto is no longer considered a planet and Neptune has taken over Jupiter’s place. He’s a Piscean but he has no talent in swimming and with all other Pisceans, he’s a dreamer armed with a lot of ambitious plans. But Madam, your son is the special one. He might be talking a lot about plans and ambitions and achieving little but you need not worry, your son will prevail!"
2) Date Jessica Alba or her resemblance at least - Without a doubt, she is the sexiest/absolutely stunning/hot actress ever. I got the feeling she might be a dumb bimbo but who cares! Her acting may not be great but sheer beauty makes you watch her do anything and do anything for her you will. Damn to hell the tricks nature plays on human males. Blessed with a body to die for, most straight guys would probably need a cold shower after seeing her. I could die a happy man if I had the chance to even say hi to her.
3) Visit at least one of the seven natures of the world - Imagine witnessing the awesome power and magnitude of Mother Nature first hand. You stood corrected, bewildered, entranced, enamored and wondering what has come over you, you'll realize that the answer is simple; it's pure bliss.
4) Watch the Champions League final live - For me, World Cup is overrated. Disagree? How many of the games actually live up to the reputation that precedes them? In all the matches I had seen so far, it’s either end up being heavily one sided or simply very drab and defensive-minded. Champions League football is much more entertaining and of course there is Manchester United element in there.
5) Watch a strip show - Watching strip show is just not about satisfying lust. After all, how much satisfaction one can get when all you see is silicone fake plastic boobs which feel no difference than a car tyre. But knowing the sacrifices that these women made and the sufferings they had been through had actually brought tears in my eyes and truly deserved my support.
6) Participate in an extreme sport - There are many strange and bewildering phobias, many of which are yet to be discover but acrophobia had always been associated with my species. Skydiving anyone?
7) Buy around-the-world air ticket and run away - That includes Antartica! The bottom of the world isolated from the rest, larger than Europe and United States combined, the last unspoiled place on the planet, clearly nature is in charge here, you will be amazed at the abundance of diverse wildlife that seems to be untroubled by the presence of humans. Its peculiar beauty will haunt you for the rest of your life!
8) Learn to cook at least one signature dish - You would not believe me if I am to tell you I managed to came up with a few creations of mine which is not just extremely deliciously-tasty-heavenly-appetizingly-nice-to-eat-bar-the-consequences but dead-easy to make but unfortunately I misplaced the goddamn recipe.
9) Stop walking into the same manhole twice - You see, God is fair. If you don’t learn your lesson, God will make sure you walk to the same fucking manhole but the only difference is that the next hurts more than the previous but of course my retarded genetic never able to grip with the fact for I would repeat the same fucking shit again the next day accidentally.
10) Say “I love you” to both of my parents - “You have no guts to do it, you Asian farts!” Hannah Montana.

Idling into an idle mind

When I was 16, an acute “gentleman” an ex-teacher of mine bathed me with his wisdom's pouch, used to say he never knew a boy who could do less work in more time; and I remember my poor mother once incidentally observing (truly more than once), in the course of an ordinary business, that it was highly improbable that I should ever do much that I ought not to do, but that she felt convinced beyond a doubt that I should leave undone pretty well everything that I ought to do.

I am afraid I have somewhat belied half my mom’s prophecy. Dear God, what have you done to me! I have done a good many things that I ought not to have done, in spite of my laziness. But I have fully confirmed the accuracy of her judgment so far as neglecting much that I ought not to have neglected is concerned. Idling always has been my strong point. I take no credit to myself in the matter; it is a gift. Few possess it. There are plenty of lazy people and plenty of slow-coaches, but a genuine idler is a rarity. He is not a man who slouches about with his hands in his pockets. On the contrary, his most startling characteristic is that he is always intensely busy.

Conspiracy theorists have speculated over the years that there is indeed a mysterious cult named Idleness that exists and is hell-bent on spreading the epidemic onto people with high density of indolence, potential people like you. Their cult leader is said to be the great Charles Darwin who is rumored to be the same person as Donald Trump. For many years, their existence was disputed among well-known scholars, until in the year, 1982 on March 13th when it was officially announced by a very joyful father that mass idleness is very much in the scene.

People like me according to the common mythology would able to survive in various generation that may exist. Working alongside workaholic nazis has never been an issue. All of us are busy; the only difference is mine is an act. It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness must be stolen. I like idling when I ought not to be idling; not when it is the only thing I have to do. That is my nature. The time when I like best to stand with my back to the fire, is when my workload is insurmountable with brutally tight dateline. When I like to dally longest over my dinner is when I have a heavy evening's work before me. And if, for some urgent reason, I ought to be up particularly early in the morning, it is then, more than at any other time in the world that I love to lie an extra half-hour in bed. No issue there.

Ah! how delicious it is to turn over and go to sleep again: "just for five minutes." Snooze button? Yes. Just for five minutes, I promised. Snooze button? Yes. Another five minutes, please. Is there any human being, I wonder, besides my father who ever gets up willingly? Ah! My father, he’s my faithful “alarm clock” for 15 years. Back then, there’s no such thing as five minutes. Before even two minutes past, a kick on my backside is reckoned.

There are some men to whom getting up at the proper time is an utter impossibility. If eight o'clock happens to be the time that they should turn out, then they would lie for another half-hour. If circumstances change and half-past eight becomes early enough for them, then nine o’clock would have its honour. They are like the purveyor of their own principle; always punctually half an hour late. They try all manner of schemes. They buy alarm-clocks (artful contrivances that go off at the wrong time and alarm the wrong people). They tell Oprah Winfrey to knock at the door and call them, and Oprah Winfrey does knock at the door and does call them, only for them to grunt back "arrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhh, go away you fat racist bitch!" and then go comfortably to sleep again. I knew one man who would actually get out and have a cold bath; and even that was of no use because afterward he would jump into bed again to warm himself which does reminds a little bit of myself.

I think I could keep out of bed all right, no issue if I once got out. Now, come the hardest part. It is the wrenching away of the head from the pillow that I find so hard, the comfyness, the softness of the touch, the restfulness that befalls on the head and no amount of over-night determination or any other temptation makes it easier. I say to myself, after having wasted the whole evening contemplating, "Well, I won't do any more work tonight. I’m done here; I'll get up early tomorrow morning and I’ll continue my work;" and I am comprehensively resolved to do so, before I jump to bed. However, the next morning has its own story, I feel less enthusiastic about the idea and reflect that it would have been much better if I had continued last night.

It is a strange thing that this bed, this little comfy grave of ours can do. "Oh bed, oh bed, my lovely bed, I love being in my bed, while I lie and dream at night, the stars and moon are shining bright, then I wake up the next day, the bed is so warm till I headache, so I go back to sleep again, but if I sleep I would be dead, so I’ll wake up for work which I hate, and go to work and I’ll be late."

Good night, everyone.