The main reason I don’t tune into Malaysian radio stations anymore is because of the ads. Oh so hang me if I’m not a Hitz fm whore. So I’m not cool la. I hate pop music and I don’t know any of these hip, new DJs, and I’m not sure I want to either. Not to shit on any of you ‘disc jockeys’ out there, but seriously some of you with your fake accents make me want to overdose on sleeping pills.
This is the problem I have with these fucked up radio ads. They try to be too ‘over- Malaysian’. I don’t think anyone in real life even talks like that any more. It’s like they opened up a Pendidikan Moral textbook and brought out every racial stereotype in there to work in the voiceover business. You follow me? I’ll show you.
Ah Chong: Horrr!! I so happy! Me so happy liao!
Ali: Eh, Ah Chong. Why you so gembira, brader?
Ah Chong: You don’t know, meh? Cibai (Ok maybe they won’t say that la). Jaya Jusco got speshur sale on tampons this week, man. Velly good deal, horr.
Ali: Eh, bagusnya. I can take my Siti and then later she won’t komplen to me “Abang, I got bad flow this month, so tonight cannot hantam from belakang ok, Abang.”
Ah Chong: Yah, yah. Eh Muthu, remember to bring your J Card also. Don’t drink so much toddy and forget.
(This is the part I hate the most – when they bring the Indian bugger in)
Muthu: Aiyoyo! Roti canai, roti canai, Rajinikanth, Sentul, Klang, roti canai. Aiyoyo!
Ali and Ah Chong: Ha ha ha. Drunk wife beating fuck.
Which also brings to mind something Hitz fm or Fly fm or one of those stations did some time ago. For some reason everyone thought this was freaking hilarious except me. It’s that stupid Pussycats Doll song which they remixed into a clichéd ‘Malaysian flavour’.
Oh, oh, throw in the words ‘macha’ and ‘mamak’ and whatnot and suddenly it’s the funniest thing ever since my overweight alcoholic aunt fell down the stairs. Shit, you know what I’m talking about. Every idiot out there kept asking me again and again if I’d heard it yet, and even if I said yes, they’d sing it to me. “Dohhhhh, doncha wish your girlfriend ate nasilemak like me. Dohhhh.” I think I died a little each time. I’ve heard labour pain screams that were funnier. I’ve seen skidmarks inside a public toilet bowl that were more original.
“Aiya, Rajjiv, its kinda funny la what.” No, it’s not. It’s horse shit. It’s the same type of desperate humour attempted at every school/college play, where they try to win laughs by HAHAHAHAHA dressing up a guy like a girl and HAHAHAHAHA making him talk like a Chinese vegetable seller from Jinjang. I hope the smart ones among you have started to sense a sick sort of pattern going on here.
God, I am so full of hate.
Stuck Up Malay Expat – Hey didn’t your Hitz fm steal our Rick Dee’s Weekly Top 40 show? Yeah. That’s our show. Not yours.
Retarded Indian Nazi – Ha, ha ha, the Indian guy said Rajinikanth. I can relate to that, because being an Indian, I know who that is and therefore find the reference humorous. I am also the main reason ads like these still run. Lol, did he say roti canai?
Faggy Christian Youth Chinese Guy – LOL, once during our play, we dressed up Cynthia Goh like a guy, and she acted as Michelle’s boyfriend and it was so funny. But later the pastor told us homosexuality is a sin, so…..yeah. Wasn’t so funny after that.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
What They Forgot To Mention
“Ask anyone, all the bouncers in Hartamas know me……….by know, I mean waved at once or twice.”
“Back in
“Please, the new BMW’s steering is damn lousy la…….I should know since I ride a bicycle to work.”
“When me and my friends drink, each fella will down two bottles la………and I still wonder why they’re all dead.”
“I’m the biggest supporter of
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Fake Accents Piss Me Off
This goes out to all Malaysians who go overseas to study/work. I don’t care where the hell you go to – you can go to Turkmenistan for all I care – but if you come back with an ACCENT, you should be taken to the vet and put to sleep like the rabid mongrel that you are.
I will renounce my worldly possessions and make a pilgrimage to the Himalayas and sit in meditation with monks till I grow a long white beard, and then finally after years and years, God will come before me and say “Behold, My child, with thy infinite penance, thou hath shook the heavens and silenced the worlds. Even with thy perfect devotion, thou hath earned Mine wisdom and love. Speak now what is that which thine heart yearns for?”
“Well, God. You know that son of a bitch who spent one year in US and came back speaking like Justin Timberlake? Please give him AIDS. In the ass.”
Oh god, I just can’t stand those motherfuckers. Just came back from London after a year and act as if they were born and bred there. They’ll go to a McDonalds in PJ and order a diet coke and then turn around and say “Oh, YOUR McDonalds doesn’t have diet cokes.” DUDE, YOU’RE FROM SUNGAI PETANI!
Let me settle this issue once and for all. There is NO WAY you can spend a few years overseas and come back speaking with a different accent. No way. I don’t care what you say.
I have lived for almost two years in Australia in the same house with an Aussie. I am the only non-Aussie in my course. In my last job, I had to speak with Aussies for eight hours non stop. HOW COME I STILL SOUND LIKE A MALAYSIAN?
Pussified Apologist: Oh, Rajjiv, you don’t understand. They only speak to white people over there, that’s why they come back with accents.
Me: Oh and all this while in Australia, I was using bloody African clicking language. I live, eat, study and work with them. Have any of you ever heard me calling you ‘mate’? Fuck…
Pussified Apologist: No la, actually you are different because you can always talk to your Malaysians friends over the phone, so that’s why you still sound the same.
Me: Dumb fuck, listen to me. All these posers go overseas WITH OTHER MALAYSIANS from cunting KDU and LIVE WITH THEM. Don’t give me that shit that they don’t. Even in the rare occasion that they don’t, don’t bloody tell me whichever country they went to doesn’t have phones. Bitch ass probably calls his mom everyday.
Pussified Apologist: (desperate) No…they…actually.. because..
Me: Someone please put this retard out of his misery.
I really, really hate these fake accent fucks. I hate them more than some of our local DJs who have American accents but still say shit like ‘The new Mummy movie is sucks.” You is sucks! It’s all put on, I tell you. Asking for a fucking Kleenex in the mamak – we say TISSUE, asshole, or have you forgotten that?
Do you know why I, although surrounded by whites every day, still speak like a Malaysian? It is because I am secure with who I am and do not need to go back to Malaysia reinforced with a shell of insecure bullshit. These are the same cumstains who spent two months overseas and say shit like ‘Oh Sydney is my real home.” No, last I heard your ass was from Kedah. Your home is in Kedah! Go back home, you paddy field Felda bitch!
Hell, long as I stay overseas, I’m still from the ghetto, fool. Wherever I go, I’m bringing a little bit of Klang. Shit, there’s gonna be a Klang scene in every major city. Tokyo-Klang, that’s the shit – our Klang machas starting our own 2-4 Yakuza Top and then getting fucked up on sake.
Let it be gospel – the day I come back to Malaysia with an accent, feel free to throw me to the wolves.
Stuck Up Malay Expat – Hey pal, I’ve been overseas for ages too and I don’t have an accent either. By the way, what is this ‘la’ thingy you guys keep saying at the end of each sentence?
Retarded Indian Nazi – Brother, I know you are trying to do a jokes, but sometimes we must be careful of the language. Why must you say paddy field Kedah b*tch? Paddy field is like our mother, it give us rice. It’s not nice to call mother ‘b*tch’. Please watch the language, da.
Faggy Christian Youth Chinese Guy – LOL, really funny, man. People should always be themselves, ya know. Sometimes when we come out of prayer meeting, right, some people who aren’t comfortable with their own selves laugh at us and call us gay. Yeah. Gay for Jesus, man. Gay for Jesus.
I will renounce my worldly possessions and make a pilgrimage to the Himalayas and sit in meditation with monks till I grow a long white beard, and then finally after years and years, God will come before me and say “Behold, My child, with thy infinite penance, thou hath shook the heavens and silenced the worlds. Even with thy perfect devotion, thou hath earned Mine wisdom and love. Speak now what is that which thine heart yearns for?”
“Well, God. You know that son of a bitch who spent one year in US and came back speaking like Justin Timberlake? Please give him AIDS. In the ass.”
Oh god, I just can’t stand those motherfuckers. Just came back from London after a year and act as if they were born and bred there. They’ll go to a McDonalds in PJ and order a diet coke and then turn around and say “Oh, YOUR McDonalds doesn’t have diet cokes.” DUDE, YOU’RE FROM SUNGAI PETANI!
Let me settle this issue once and for all. There is NO WAY you can spend a few years overseas and come back speaking with a different accent. No way. I don’t care what you say.
I have lived for almost two years in Australia in the same house with an Aussie. I am the only non-Aussie in my course. In my last job, I had to speak with Aussies for eight hours non stop. HOW COME I STILL SOUND LIKE A MALAYSIAN?
Pussified Apologist: Oh, Rajjiv, you don’t understand. They only speak to white people over there, that’s why they come back with accents.
Me: Oh and all this while in Australia, I was using bloody African clicking language. I live, eat, study and work with them. Have any of you ever heard me calling you ‘mate’? Fuck…
Pussified Apologist: No la, actually you are different because you can always talk to your Malaysians friends over the phone, so that’s why you still sound the same.
Me: Dumb fuck, listen to me. All these posers go overseas WITH OTHER MALAYSIANS from cunting KDU and LIVE WITH THEM. Don’t give me that shit that they don’t. Even in the rare occasion that they don’t, don’t bloody tell me whichever country they went to doesn’t have phones. Bitch ass probably calls his mom everyday.
Pussified Apologist: (desperate) No…they…actually.. because..
Me: Someone please put this retard out of his misery.
I really, really hate these fake accent fucks. I hate them more than some of our local DJs who have American accents but still say shit like ‘The new Mummy movie is sucks.” You is sucks! It’s all put on, I tell you. Asking for a fucking Kleenex in the mamak – we say TISSUE, asshole, or have you forgotten that?
Do you know why I, although surrounded by whites every day, still speak like a Malaysian? It is because I am secure with who I am and do not need to go back to Malaysia reinforced with a shell of insecure bullshit. These are the same cumstains who spent two months overseas and say shit like ‘Oh Sydney is my real home.” No, last I heard your ass was from Kedah. Your home is in Kedah! Go back home, you paddy field Felda bitch!
Hell, long as I stay overseas, I’m still from the ghetto, fool. Wherever I go, I’m bringing a little bit of Klang. Shit, there’s gonna be a Klang scene in every major city. Tokyo-Klang, that’s the shit – our Klang machas starting our own 2-4 Yakuza Top and then getting fucked up on sake.
Let it be gospel – the day I come back to Malaysia with an accent, feel free to throw me to the wolves.
Stuck Up Malay Expat – Hey pal, I’ve been overseas for ages too and I don’t have an accent either. By the way, what is this ‘la’ thingy you guys keep saying at the end of each sentence?
Retarded Indian Nazi – Brother, I know you are trying to do a jokes, but sometimes we must be careful of the language. Why must you say paddy field Kedah b*tch? Paddy field is like our mother, it give us rice. It’s not nice to call mother ‘b*tch’. Please watch the language, da.
Faggy Christian Youth Chinese Guy – LOL, really funny, man. People should always be themselves, ya know. Sometimes when we come out of prayer meeting, right, some people who aren’t comfortable with their own selves laugh at us and call us gay. Yeah. Gay for Jesus, man. Gay for Jesus.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Important Update - WE Spit On Your Grave
Single minded and selfish as I am, I’ve decided to open up a little and share my blog with a few others. These guys are really cool in their own ways and I can’t wait for them to contribute some neat articles to the blog.
Here’s a little bit of an intro from each one of them. Hope you like their writings as much as you like mine. Thanks.
Stuck Up Malay Expat – Hey guys what’s up? I’m Stuck Up Malay Expat, and I’m a 30 year old Malaysian currently working as a graphics designer in Harrisburg, PA. By PA, of course I mean Pennsylvania, but then again I’m assuming everyone out there knows that. I’ve been in the States for about two years now, and I’ve already forgotten how to speak Malay, what ‘terima kasih’ means, and if Perak is a place or a type of Thai dish. My hobbies include pretending I’m white, pretending I’m white and, during the weekends, I sometimes, if not often, enjoy pretending I’m white.
Retarded Indian Fanatic – Hello, everyone, and Vanakam. Let me tell you a bit about myself. I am the classic stereotypical Indian fanatic – you know the sort which went through Tamil school in Sungai Petani and went on to become head of the Indian Society in UKM. I only know and love Indian people. I really, really hate Indians who are not exactly like me to the dot, and though I picture myself as a warrior for the Indian people, deep inside I am actually a very frustrated virgin who masturbates himself furiously to sleep every night.
Faggy Christian Youth Chinese Guy– Hey, gang! I’m so glad to be here. I’m always positive and uplifting and infuriatingly upbeat. I’m 22 and a VERY active member of the Christian Youth faction of my church in Subang. I look a bit like John Lennon with my long hair and glasses and especially with my guitar, which I use to play hillsongs with the CY band. I have this retarded notion that Jesus is ‘my friend’ and I’m the type of faggot who writes down ‘worship’ as a hobby. I’m always slyly encouraging my non-Christian friends to attend our Youth Rallies, which coincidentally have a lot in common with Nazi Youth Rallies – we both recruit confused teenagers and worship a funny looking guy who’ll shit all over you if you don’t believe in him enough.
So, dear readers, I really hope you’ll enjoy reading our new bloggers’ works, as you have mine.
Here’s a little bit of an intro from each one of them. Hope you like their writings as much as you like mine. Thanks.
Stuck Up Malay Expat – Hey guys what’s up? I’m Stuck Up Malay Expat, and I’m a 30 year old Malaysian currently working as a graphics designer in Harrisburg, PA. By PA, of course I mean Pennsylvania, but then again I’m assuming everyone out there knows that. I’ve been in the States for about two years now, and I’ve already forgotten how to speak Malay, what ‘terima kasih’ means, and if Perak is a place or a type of Thai dish. My hobbies include pretending I’m white, pretending I’m white and, during the weekends, I sometimes, if not often, enjoy pretending I’m white.
Retarded Indian Fanatic – Hello, everyone, and Vanakam. Let me tell you a bit about myself. I am the classic stereotypical Indian fanatic – you know the sort which went through Tamil school in Sungai Petani and went on to become head of the Indian Society in UKM. I only know and love Indian people. I really, really hate Indians who are not exactly like me to the dot, and though I picture myself as a warrior for the Indian people, deep inside I am actually a very frustrated virgin who masturbates himself furiously to sleep every night.
Faggy Christian Youth Chinese Guy– Hey, gang! I’m so glad to be here. I’m always positive and uplifting and infuriatingly upbeat. I’m 22 and a VERY active member of the Christian Youth faction of my church in Subang. I look a bit like John Lennon with my long hair and glasses and especially with my guitar, which I use to play hillsongs with the CY band. I have this retarded notion that Jesus is ‘my friend’ and I’m the type of faggot who writes down ‘worship’ as a hobby. I’m always slyly encouraging my non-Christian friends to attend our Youth Rallies, which coincidentally have a lot in common with Nazi Youth Rallies – we both recruit confused teenagers and worship a funny looking guy who’ll shit all over you if you don’t believe in him enough.
So, dear readers, I really hope you’ll enjoy reading our new bloggers’ works, as you have mine.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 4, 2008
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!
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