Indian Girls + Arabs = Just Wrong for the Rest of Us

Why the hell are Indian girls constantly with Middle Easterners these days?

When I was with MMU, some of the hot proper Indian girls (I’m talking about the ones not in some preconceived Indian clique with a clichéd moniker, who only go out with guys from the same clique) were always hand in hand with some oily sand nigger from Iran/Iraq/Shitistan.

You see, the Indian Girl is a beautiful and delicate creature. By beautiful and delicate, I mean spiteful and materialistic. And by creature, I mean venomous, spitting basilisk purged out of Cthulhu’s octopus anus.

When an Indian girl realizes she’s hot, it’s like when Peter Parker realized he had super powers. Except this time, with great power comes great bitchiness.

And this hotness can bring two types of thinking into their heads: 1. I’m so hot that I won’t even look at your ass, or 2. I’m so hot that I will only go out with a foreigner.

I’m not being racist here. Who am I kidding, I’m being racist like a motherfucker. A few years ago, you could see tons of Indian girls in Bangsar, with white guys. Ugly ass white guys who were like ten years older than them, usually advertising execs with some studio apartment somewhere in Ampang, who think that Phuket is their second home. What happened to that shit? I miss that shit. Wasn’t it damn funny when those Indian girls used to speak with fake accents, especially when they ordered drinks? Funny la what.

The terrorists I used to know in college only knew three things: getting high, getting high and getting high. That’s all they did. Seriously. Most of them seemed to come from affluent families, so that meant they had the cash to get fucked up most of the time. Fucking oil price raising motherfuckers.

I suppose the main reason Indian girls get attracted to these Arabs is because they look like ‘improved Indians’ with ‘better bodies and looks’. Ok, so the guy is fair and tall and has cash. I don’t give a rat’s ass. Terrorist is a terrorist for all I care. Can’t take the bugger to KLCC without him getting ideas. Fuck all of yall, I’m just being realistic.

Seriously, try going to Asia Café sometime and count the number of Indian girls hanging on to some oily Taliban bugger’s arm. Repulsive! Go to Club Seven – sometimes you can see a whole bunch (or cell) of them, and there’d be one awkward looking Indian girl in the middle. Christ on a stick. Wonder what your father would have to say, seeing your ass hanging out with half the Taliban.

What the fuck is you thinking going out with Saddam Hussein? Great choice, sweetheart, wait till he takes you back to his shithole desert country and puts you in a cage. What the fuck did you think this was – Aladdin? Shit, that’s not a magic lamp, that’s a bloody Molotov cocktail. This isn’t Arabian nights, bitch. This isn’t bloody Prince of Persia. Fuck, this isn’t Sinbad and his bullshit Voyages, this is your ass getting beheaded in Youtube. Fuck’s sake..

Conclusion – you hos who are going out with Middle Easterners – do what you want. But don’t come running back to us when Ali Baba tells you that he wants to take you home to become his 5th wife.

Of course, I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I was getting some regular hot Indian ass la. This is the sore loser talk. But fuck you, you ain’t getting any either. Unless you are, and I express my apologies and admiration. But seriously, fuck you.

Malaysian Superstitions You Must NEVER Mention to ME

‘The toyol inside the Gentings Casino’

Sometimes when I make fun of this to friends, some people actually laugh and then say ‘Eh but seriously I heard they got something inside there la.’ Sigh. Let’s not even touch this. I’ve even contemplated murder.

‘Security guards who say that whatever place they’re working in is haunted’

Every damn guard has the same damn story. Every bloody warehouse, library, apartment complex, mall, etc, seems to be haunted. EVERY place is haunted! Yes, dear readers, it has to come to that level of retardation. And summore, it’s always haunted by the most ridiculous ghosts – hantu tetek, hantu bungkus, blah blah. Jesus, I mean at least it wouldn’t be so bad if the place was haunted by something decent la what. Come to think of it, how sad a ghost you must be if you’re actually called a hantu tetek.

‘Wash your feet before you enter the house in case something follows you inside’

I don’t mean to shit on an Indian belief, but actually I do. I have a better idea to stop something from following you inside – lock the fucking door.

‘Ask permission from the spirits first before pissing in public’

Listen, my tax money built the park, and I have every right to even take a shit on a bush. In fact, each time I take a drunken piss in Taman Botanic, I whisper ‘How do you like this, you undead fucks? Am I peeing on your grave? Salty enough for you? I’ll be back in fifteen minutes for seconds, drink up.’

‘The reason he’s so attracted to her is because she put a charm on him’

No, it’s because she has what is known as a vagina.

‘Sometimes when I sleep, I feel something sitting on me’

Mention ghost stories, and there’s bound to be a retard who brings this up. Why the fuck would a ghost sit on you? Not for one second did you consider that it might have been your uncle who came to your room that night and touched you, but you didn’t want to say anything because he’s paying your way through college and your parents wouldn’t believe you anyway, so you’d rather live in denial all your life whilst bottling up your frustrations deep inside, only to break down and realize years later that you can’t stop touching your kids, right before you shoot yourself in the mouth.

Blood Fucking Legion

I'm going back to Australia tomorrow. Fuck! Seriously, fuck! But I want to tell you about the biggest fucking highlight of my vacation.

I wet myself with multiple orgasms watching Blood Legion in Paul's Place.

But let me first start with the night earlier. The guys were going to have their final jam before the big show, and they called me to hang out with em in the studio. They also told me they were going to drink. I must admit I was a bit confused - were we going to drink before jamming, or after jamming? But then... wait... wait...oh shit on a stick... I can't believe I never saw it that way... we can drink while... try to follow me here... we ...can...drink....WHILE JAMMING! We can drink WHILE we jam! Yeap, I took some time alright, but I got there. I got there.

I can only describe the night as a whirlwind fuelled by cheap liquor and metal. I couldn't believe how fucking awesome these guys were! I mean, seriously. I was totally rocking out like a motherfucker. Me and David were totally going crazy over that shit. And I mean crazy like Evangelical Church crazy. But let me get on to the real deal.

The next day, we were joined by more of our kaigez - Vishnu, Kamal (good to see you after so long) and Dinesh. Fuck man, the moment Blood Legion went on stage, I can promise you guys that all of us got totally fucking insane over that shit. Watch the video and see man.

Jai exceeded my expectations on the guitar. I always knew he was fucking brutal. But this time, he was so brutal that if he was a pornographic film, he would be Farmsex.com. Insane tapping, dude! I think the big fat bald guy next to me cummed. Gross.

Shan, you took that stage and made it your bitch, man. You took that stage and said to it, "Get in the fucking kitchen and make me a sandwich, you diseased bitch of a whore!". Then later you took into the bedroom and fucked it in the ass while saying SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. You owned that stage, man.

Pathma, well, you do know that I never really ever saw you play bass, right? The last time I actually saw you play bass in front of me, you were just a beginner. Dei, this time you totally fucking rocked. I'm not kidding. I watched the video twice. Next time I come you'll be rolling all over the scales, man.

Awesome fucking show. I'll be back to see more. And who knows.. one day I'll join you guys on stage. Oh hell, I might as well write my own thing now itself:

And Rajjiv...wow. You were nothing less of a golden god. You made love to that guitar and made it reach unspeakable orgasmic heights. You breathed life into that guitar and whispered into its ear the secrets of life. You are infinite. You are a god!