This is a continuation of a previous chapter to my novel entitled, Summer of Hope. This chapter, however, I dub, Spring of Forever.
Spring of Forever: Cunt
There I was sitting alone.
Cold plain water, cuddled inside my hand in its waning firmness.
What was to happen, was a number, conjoint with the very same number.
2-2 it says.
Urawa Reds ..2, Manchester United .......2
Fucking hell. This was good pre-season practice. Urawa Reds played like a low-ranked but determined EPL team. They defend well, might be a little bit sloppy in the passing department, but don't need too many players to cause the opposing keeper trouble. The type of teams Man Utd are very weak against. No new players fielded, boring. Whateva, hope there's some for the next one.
Spring of Forever: Doo
I realized the best time to listen to music while driving is after waking up during the night followed by a nice shower. What I mean is for an example - start sleeping at 8 and wake up around 10-11. Your mind is in this fragile state where every bit of the rythm affects you in a very pleasant way, as you might find yourself subconciously enjoying the music more than usual. This cannot be compared to the effects of the ganja of course. Not that I have tried it. Maybe I should one day try that shit in a digestive form. I can't really explain it. It's also quite dangerous as your mind is in a very passive state in terms of impulse, so drive at a very slow speed. I'm guessin' this phenomenon occurs because of a sluggish heart rate, I don't know, what the fuck do I know.
This is also, however, very different from sleeping at around 4-5 and waking up anytime during the night, most of the time around 7-8. This is madness, this is a brit pop ska band. Erm. Yes. In this instance, instead of a pleasant feeling you would normally get a lingering supressed headache, and total fuckup sense of logic. It's a thin line between Jimi Hendrix pleasant, and Fallout Boy supressed headache.
Spring of Forever: Pee
So there I stood, clad in my black leather jacket.
Oh black leather jackets, yet another substitute for testosterone, or a big genital.
There he was, in his own testosterone armour. Proud bearer of his posse's logo. Flames, skulls, bones, eagles, tigers, wolves, more flames - any other form of graphics tremble in fear at the sights of these, except maybe, a giant centipede.
Butterfly knife inside his tight grip. No object of any kind inside mine. Oh I will manipulate this napoleon-syndromed barbarian. I shall make him twist and turn anticipating a piercing of my flesh only for his devised agenda to crash and burn inside a deep deep ravine that he will never leave, and it, will never leave him.
And then I will fuck his girlfriend senseless while she shouts for help in a denial of pleasure. For it is with pleasure as my wingmen, I invade your body. I build an empire. And I anticipate a glorious celebration as you slowly but surely reject all denial and accept me as your master. Your master of pleasure.
you know there's this hot amongst common people tv series called manja lara about some phony fat chick. It's basically shite. But it's got quite a lotta cute malay actresses. There's this one that caught my mind. Nadia or suttin', strangely enough she was credited as babyfaralia, did she just use her former irc nickname as her stagename or is she some singer I don't know about seeing as the malaysian music industry is highly ignorable. I don't know. Is she really hot or was it just because of her slightly tanned skin. Or her slimy role as the obligatory evil but not too evil young malay slut. She is slimy. I wanna slime into her. Dayum. Dayum. Muthafucka Dayum.
Spring of Forever: Whore
Malaysia 0, Iran.. 2, and the Malaysians didn't play too bad either, plus this was fucking Iranians mind you, world class
The only Malaysian match I watched. I have concluded, the reasons we sucked so bad in this tourney are:
I didn't watch the other matches. If I did we would lose 1-2 to China, then shockingly win 1-0 against Uzbekistan.
We had far too many light-skinned players. It got me confused, I had to press info just to make sure this was a sports channel, for a few moments I thought I was watching an Astro Ria drama. Most of the players looked like actors. Not that the Iranian players didn't, but that's how most of their people look like. Where have all the payu baka people gone? The most kampung player was Shukor Adan, and he was a badass. He was a total badass. I remembered back when Malaysia had a minor peak in football with a marvellous team a few years ago doing well in the Tiger Cup, he was only a substitute defensive midfielder. How he has grown into a badass. His composure is unmalaysian. And at one point he tried to chip the iranian keeper, forcing the keeper to stretch his persian ass. Commentators were praising him like fuck.
Moving on.. did you see the indonesian team? It was made up of construction workers. Dark and kampung as hell indonesian construction workers. That's why they gave some of the tourney's favourites a hard time. Not that Indonesians don't have light skinned fucks, they have in abundance. But apparently after extensive research I found out that their footballing association automatically rejects any aspiring footballers who don't have access to mud nearby their housing estate, can't destroy someone else's soul through a stare, and don't look like construction workers. You do not fuck with Indonesian construction workers. I tells you. They are total badass. The presence of them alone inside our country has injected a high level of masculinity into our image as a whole. Come on. Don't fuck with them. One time I was driving around Cyberjaya and I just flipped inside my car then found myself in the back seat before flipping back to the front after I caught a glimpse of this dude who was on a ladder inside an unfinished walless building he was constructing, just a few centimetres from the edge. He was on the 4th floor. That's just the bottom feeder of scenarios. Don't ever fuck with these dudes. Don't ever stare at them while driving either. The type of situation they're in makes French free runners look like puppy eyed amateurs. Fucking hell.
We must train our players in paya bakaus. You know? In swamps, yes, in the hot sun, till they all look like construction workers. We should include orang asli and borneoans in the selection. You ever seen a borneo fuck play football? These fucks could be somewhere in the peninsula playing 5 matches back-to-back then walk back home to the borneo islands. Before resting for 5 minutes, then walking back to the peninsula to play another 5 matches back-to-back. They eat lizards and shit for supper, they have the stamina of gandalf's horse. We have to utilise all these options. Have the borneoeans play defence and defensive midfield, they'll run muthafuckaz off the pitch. Then an orang asli as the keeper, so he will use his magic to make the goal virtually impenetrable, letting a few goals in only as cover up. Indians also usually have massive strength and stamina, plus they run very fast tirelessly, we can have a few in fullback positions, or as wingers, they'll run the fuck up and down that flank like a mufucka. We'll have a chinese as a central midfielder, chinese people are usually very technical and sharp, so this guy will plan everything perfectly, he'll pass the ball around like riquelme. Then we'll have a few fanciful malay rempits in the attack, these muthafuckaz will use their flippedy skills to get through everything, they have excellent acceleration, imperious balance, and when needed that extra bit of flair, I mean did you really expect that dude to just lie down and let his helmet touch the road?. They will use their butt ugly exterior to fool the enemy and BzaMM! ..beautiful move, score. Like they usually do with chicks and fancy bike tricks. Infact, as strikers usually play the game facing the wrong side as they're always anticipating balls, rempits would be most perfect as strikers, as they're always facing oncoming traffic when executing their fancy tricks. Plus, the opposing defender trying to stop them will only fail as we all know rempits don't give a fuck about a red light. We'll have a few northern or town or city malaysian folks too though, light skins and all, in the subs bench. Having been exposed to too much breezy winds and air conditioners and shit. This particular crew will be responsible for distracting the enemy with their lovely complexion, petite malaysian exterior and Astro RIA drama actor faces, cause we all know everybody loves tight 7-year old girl asses.
Fuck it just ignore 1 and 2. We just simply suck. Seriously we need to consider making footballing a "mulia" (holy) career. Muthafuckers in the slums of ghetto ass brazil grow up wanting to wear a boot and kick balls. That's why they're good at it. Face it, we're not that cerebral. We're not that developed. We're not that modern. Fuck all that cat. Let's all walk the streets of KL city wearing fur fresh from a squirrel's ass. We shall all sing melodies of content. I am free from neckties and microsoft excel. Let's all just find a nice lady to be with till the end of time. And fuck her till the end of time. Fuck fuck fuck. Glass of water. Fuck again. Fuck Fuck Fuck. I love you baby. "Penetration is the ultimate condemnation of a condemned nation" - Fancy Name. Let's all make our female companions cover themselves with the Malaysian flag, as their only clothing. Then chase them all over the city. Let's all go to Port Dickson and clean up the beaches, put clorox in the water and watch as everything turns to haven. We shall have clear waters in Port Dickson. We will have filmakers shooting scenes there. Let's all encourage our footballers to sport thick moustaches. Shall we.
Spring of Forever: Five
I gave her one. We're friends and all. But she never knew what I felt for her. She often walks around the college with George of Famous Five in mind. There were rumours that she preferred her end of the field, that she liked to wet not spread, the hole, that she was an all out cunt licker. Confusion reigns. I don't know whether to feel sad or turned on by the stories my friends who invade diaries would tell. Should I one day sneak a hand inside her bag and read her daily musings. If I get caught there would be no more high fives, no more late night conversations on an unplanned drive to nowhere, no more debates about diving in modern day football. Or is she just like any other girl and will mellow down after a few months of relentless begging. Maybe I'm thinking too much. Maybe love can bend and mend sexual preferences. Maybe she's not a "scissor" sister afterall. There's nothing wrong with thinking too much, just if it is fueled by worriments.
My worries aside, at least I'm not the lead actor in Chasing Amy, at least I was prepared if she was to usher the prom queen downstage and french kiss. Fucking french people, with their croissants. How I would love to feed her my croissant. Rub the oil off onto her flesh. I always have the tendency to stray from my initial stream of imagination, I also tend to look on the bright side too much. I mean come on, worst-case scenario, at least she's just a dyke, not a tranny. But then again, am I that sure she isn't? Fuck, vagina confirmation needed, gotta get that diary.