Thursday, August 30, 2007

Where have all the nouvo bimbos gone - I'm blogging about blogging, I'm officially a blogger!

The roads are darker - brand new, manholes are being patched up due to elevated tar, some trees are trimmed. Kids, the elections are a-coming! I would love to give a fuck but if I gave a fuck the fuck will end up nowhere and I'm better off keeping the fuck to myself. I'm building a prison cell for my fuck so that it'll never stray. Fuck all'a'yall, fuck me.

I'm comfortable this way. When everything is fucked up, it won't make much of a difference if you fuck up, so you can basically fuck up all you like as long as you know how to spurt excuses which comes naturally since they say I have a little bit of malay blood in my welshness.

A lot of bloggers love to blog about blogging. I've read some blogs of people who I think are douchebags and they just love to blog about blogging.

Well fuck that, to me, the essence of blogging is = female + bimbo + gossip. That's the main reason I started reading blogs back in 2003 or suttin'. I did start my own blog but it's NOT WORTHY. This blog is just for me to scribble. Look, back in university I'd have a small sketch pad in which I would scribble whatever to get through class. This blog is my small sketch pad to get through life. You don't really have to give a fuck about me or what I'm writing, cause yeah well fuck whatever bitch yes cunt. But a proper blog, the supreme optimum chosen race blog is all about female + bimbo + gossip. I think they're extinct, every bimbo alive have been brainwashed by douchebags into thinking they're not good enough and now they think too much and start to even think about the meaning of life.

You fucking douchebags, I'll shove a hose up your ass and squirt hot coolant fresh from an overheated car engine through it.

Let bimbos be bimbos, I love them, I loved their blogs. I loved the gossips and the stories and shit, oh yeah that bitch took her best friend's boyfie, that slore thinks she's cooler than her she stared at her and she backed off, she went clubbing the other day and some whore was feeling up her boyfie she bla bla that bitch is a cunt that whore is a slut bla bla bla lots more I can't think of anything cause honestly, I'm merely a male specimen unworthy of trying to think like you, dear bimbos. It takes a higher level of intelligence only Einstein could figure out if he went further with his 4th dimension study.

Thanks to the douchebags, they're a dying breed, everybody has some form of made-up intellect these days, everything has to have a thing about it that is a thing that makes it a thing. Well fuck off, bring back the bimbos. Bring back the ruthless gossips. Bring back the i-got-backstabbed-by-a-whore stories! GALOREEEEEEEEEEEE!! Bring back the fucking monkeys! Kill any blogger who don't include the words female, bimbo and gossips if they're writing about blogs or blogging.

Look to make you understand better:

Chosen race = whiteys, jews, and arabs

Chosen race = bimbos

And no I don't wanna hear about shopping or products or hanging out with friends, I wanna hear about backstabbing sluts, clubbing, sluts, cunts, and whores.

There's probably a lot of fun I'm missing, so if you know of any blogs keeping this old school tradition link me up I'm running out of blogs to enjoy.

And don't give me tranny blogs, I know they're fun for a while back then when I was an intern bored in the office with nothing to do *kosser mak*. But at home with a lot of wanking and crying looking at all the friendster/myspace chicks who will never pay attention to me - to do, they're not that great. You can only know something's great when you'd be going out your way to enjoy it. Like the bimbo blogs, back in uni, I would have a research thesis to finish which is very tempting since I just LOVE DOING WORK wakhuegaddhdauhkga but I would go out of my way and spend a few hours to read bimbo blogs for inspiration. Run out of money to pay for the cyber cafe. It's okay I'll have time for the project, I could do it tomorrow, I could extend another semester, no problem, bimbo blogs bring it on. End of that.

So what's up with this whole hype about having adverts in blogs and making money off it. It's quite dope innit. Well as long as it doesn't make your blog look like a pile of shit, cause I've seen this one blog belonging to this super "religious" douchebag who I swear will eventually end up in hell. "but I'm religious and shit?!?!" STFUSTFU DOUCHEBAG *THROWS DOUCHEBAG INTO HELL*. His fucking blog is a fucking mess, the ads were distracting as a mufucka. As much as I would like to thank his inability to have accessible content on his blog as it avoided me having to read his shit and get pissed off, a douchebag's a douchebag and he should get shut the fuck down.

Monday, August 20, 2007


IS singing along to Boyz II Men's "fallin'" while treading the planes of oblivion using the daedroth's massive physique as shield against the long range shock of spider daedras after slaying daedra princes and guards with my self-enchanted *pedang pelanchau.

Listening to Public Enemy's new songs in the stereo then stopping by the local supermarket. Walking past the entrance as the newest hits of today dominate the ambience (specifically that "suuuuicidalll" song) - this is reality welcoming me back to it - IS knowing I only need to face all this till I finish paying for the maggie. And then I can go back to the car and tell reality to shut the fuck up.

IS eating that maggie while reading a Tucker Max article about trying to buttfuck a hot chick. Halfway through savouring the cocaine noodle comes the not-expected-but -should-have-been-expected part where the hot chick shits herself, dude gets shit mixed with lubes on his dick, dude phukes on hot chick, hot chick goes wtf then phukes, secretly planned by dude cameraman plunges out the closet and phukes, and finally, hot chick phukes while cursing and trying to stand failing miserably then falls into a pool of shit, lubes, and phukes. At which point noodle is finally finished and I'm licking my lips.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Let's go to the moon where they have misplaced that shop from the past in seremban that had chicken chops that rocked my paedo aged groins

Aku memang penyabar walaupun hati aku cepat panas atas sebab genetik. Walaupun bila drive keta. Walaupun bas pukimak kat belakang nih flash flash suh aku laju padahal aku kat lane paling kiri pegi ah potong dua lane kat sebelah aku kosong, bahana bahalol.

Walaupun kereta kat belakang nih horn suh aku jalan kat trafik light padahal lampu hijau baru muncul dalam 0.001 saat pukimak pantat kau tak geti sabar kau ingat aku tak nampak ke puki enggkau aku pakai cemin mata hitam yang mahal lens dia terang bodoh bukan macam cemin mata sungai wang kau yang tinted macam cibai pasal nak sorok kenyataan yang dia takde nilai-nilai penjagaan optik yang piawai, pantat.

Walaupun awek kat keta sebelah nih chun gila pastuh balak kat sebelah dia yuppie macam bagus pakai shirt putih dengan muka pukimak dia, padahal tah-tah dia sebnarnya dia ok tapi saje je nak bengang pasal ada awek cantik kat sebelah dia sebab kat sebelah aku hanyalah ada wallet dengan handphone aku yang aku letak situ sebab aku tak selesa drive dengan diaorang kat dalam poket aku.

Walaupun macam-macam senario lagi.

Tapi .. semua kesabaran itu buleh hilang dalam sekelip mata, kalau aku tengok bahasa kita dirosakkan. Bahasa itu cermin budaya.

Mengayat itu bukan kelebihan aku, tapi aku ada kuku yang nampak macam milik kaum hawa, dan cakaranku lukanya dalam macam pantai dalam

Step foot on the wood panels towards Balmora's entrance. Realm of vision, base of two specific-gender exploring devisers I am to meet. As I concentrate on the agenda, out of fucking nowhere glides a headwrapped cutie seed to one of the two. Only two seconds of meaningless eye to eye glaze can a shy male specimen collect. Not enough to command my heart but just the right look to warrant physical adoration not involving boobs and ass. Yet the heart is blue by age and by tomorrow I will forget all this. But only till obligation requires me to come back and if blessed by her presence again, rekindle the most fucked up feeling in the world, hopeless idolation of cute ass females. You fucking cute females. You fucking. Torture muthafuckah what. What's a fat, broke and ugly negro to do. And she will say if you didn't spend your cheese on a big spinner-equipped bulk of digital pleasure you won't be broke enough to not at least impress a yeast between my two a-cup it seems breasts. And I say, beyeatch, I only need to impress a hair on your eyelashes to be at ease with myself. For that face is from muthafucking heaven. Paradise. For the sake of reality, I hope you're not married, for the sake of taboo lusting imagination, I hope you are.

If I park my shadowmere mobile and hit a curb that is the fault of my mind wandering away on your soft soft skin softly softly admiring every single sweat glands you possess. Haha what the fuck.

If I spend tonight zombie travelling the roads of serene west side KL I will come across legions of biker mice from mars. Like the emperor's very own horse unit they scower the land protecting our soil from heathens. Heathens who do not erect the "american" flag on their apartment balconies or semi-d gardens, local car rooftops or Japanese motorcycle rears. I say freedom is a lie but the queen of MY country would say please at least honour the freedom fighters. They do not know politics, they only know that tomorrow, they want the people in their village to be able to live peaceful lives. And that if those rifle wielding imposing muthafuckaz come they shall get fuck all so they can fuck off. Please respect those who lift their fists and stomp their flip flops to say fuck off to our fucked up enemies. Screw the "american" flag.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Milk Gets Me High

Again, woke up from a dream. It's so bright, my room. All the lights are on. And so to switch them off I floated towards all five, one by one. Fuck. Again, I'm still in a dream.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Dear Doggy,

I don't have anything against you. But your voice straight up scares me, petrifying. Come on doggy, you know I had to park on the grass opposite your house cause there's no space left near mine. And you fucking well know that all those 4 ghetto doggies who guard the street and stay outside, they cool with me. Yes, even that dude that looks like a wolf + fox hybrid (what's cooler than this?). Everytime I get out my car, sure they can fucking chase and bark at me anytime they want, but they cool, they be givin' me the approval look as if they be telling me in low tone voices "aiyo whut up dawg .. we chillin' .. goin' home already? aight, safe".

Sometimes they bark at my car when I'm passing by sometimes they don't. I get it, whenever they do they just wanna scare the flies away so the flies don't end up in my nose. They cool with me doggy. They chill. You? whassup with you? are you just pissed off you're not as free as them, locked up in those weenie black gates, or are you a napoleon? with your small ass physique.

But your bark homie, that shit don't fly with my bladder control. I can't describe it, it's a bit husky, a bit distorted, a bit oddly-timed, ALL HORROR. It's like you figured it out dawg, you figured out the sonic dread assault.

And what's with barking at me from when I was outside the car, to when I'm walking through the back alley, through my street, and while I'm opening the house door. I can't even begin to concentrate on twisting dem keys, yo.

Please, I might be going back out in a while, I will be within your radar.

Please, I beg, stop barking.

Please, I am only human.

I can't go through with this. Celia, pass me dem happy pills.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Hey Sucka Flya

I was surfing the net while picking my nose just now when some kind of unnaturally big sized dust or something entered my nosal system and I had to pick harder to get it out. So I felt a dejavu.

One time I was shopping for clothes, a big ass fly flew straight into my nostrils with the speed of an x-wing. It was so deep inside I had to phuke it out onto my tongue and then spit it out. All the while maintaining a poker face so as to not let anyone at all suspect that A FLY JUST ESCAPED THE WORLD INTO MY NOSE AND I HAD TO SPIT IT OUT.

With that being said, I'm flying to NY tomorrow in my private jet to shop for some fresh threads.


I just bought a new hybrid camera, it's an olympus 2.56 xfgh77 model. Since it's hybrid I'm gonna be taking pictures and at the same time help prevent global warming.

This picture of where I live is taken with a 5.66 focus lens and then overlapped with a 6.66" 2.5mm + 5.55CC vatican whitening lens and with a zoom of 32.1mm and the holy settings on and tuned in to +5.55CTHLC

I used a different camera for this picture of my parking lot. My old 4 inch konika which when erected could go up to 10 but it must also be fitted into a 5 finger tripod and the movement when taking the picture must be alternated between front and back. Notice that once the film is developed it will be engrained with a whiteish substance.

This is a very nice place to drive through. You know what it is. I used my new camera but I needed to install a fishofillet eyeball lens to get the yellow red effect, allthough sometimes it's best to use a 7.99 or 8.99 effect transmitter.

If you look closely at the tree, you will see a monkey climbing down. The detail is frightening. This is because I used a powerful 17.17 setting on the hue and contrast level which is named the gerrard setting by camera experts. I also used a scouse cunt limiter switch F.0.ff which I bought during my trip to Liverpool.

This one might look like I applied photoshop filters but believe my ass I didn't. It's not too hard to capture, I just used a handphone camera with crappy lighting and a moving car.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Brown Black

Despite the fact that this blog was erected on fundamentals made out of the pure unadulterated need to crap, I am beginning to crap too much. This is of course, unintentional and intentional. Unintentional because it was effortless and just another day in the office, intentional because I want to make this blog so inaccessible that nobody wants to read it except me in the right mood. I am intent on creating an imaginary reader-base consisting of only hot malay women, hot other races women, and slimy MILFs which will replace the actual readership of a maximum 3.5 persons (0.5 for the lovely spambots) a week I have achieved so far.

I've been doing some mathematics.

And also. I'm starting my own clothing line labelled "penyangak". Here are some fine ladies (whose faces I won't reveal out of courtesy) putting on my designs (e-mail me at for orders):

So here I am 1:13 AM (this is real time don't trust blogger timestamps). Early morning obligation tomorrow. Still not asleep. Listening to The Temprees - out of my reach but I'm not emo-ing. I'm a robot, I'm trying to learn all about human emotions, but everytime I try to learn I get hit by a train. A train that does not exist, a fucking coal train, straight from Muzium Negara (National Museum).

Aku penyangak nak cerita (Woohoo I'm totally pissing off blogger's spell check with this part of the entry). Aku suka minum susu, lepas minum susu perut aku rasa lega setengah minit, pastuh tros rasa cam nak berak. Maksud aku, rasa macam KENA berak. Dulu aku selalu makan bende pedas, setiap hari, sampai warna taik aku hitam, jadi aku berhenti. Aku sedar bende tuh bahaya. Tapi kadang-kadang aku makan jugak, sampai aku menangis makan, tapi enak.

Aku lahir sama hospital dengan Ryan Giggs.

Semalam, ataupun lebih tepat malam ahad. Aku tengok bola dengan sedara-sedara kat hartamas. Manure lawan Chelski. Manure menang dan patut menang sebab main best. Moaninho seperti biasa lepas kalah apa-apa macam cacing kepanasan, kalau Fergie my hump my hump kalah dia bukak champagne pastuh lepak dengan Moaninho. Hish budak-budak kecik nih tak cool dan gentel kelentit langsung. Tapi dia memang macam cacing kepanasan pun sebab kat Chelski, dia nak manage Manure sebenarnya, jadi assistant Quieroz. Lagipun Moaninho sangat gay-kan Ronaldo dengan Nani (sebab Carvalho buruk, dan Ferreira pulak bulehlah tahan tapi tak ada gunanya langsung). Nani amek corner chun, bola tuh terbang tinggi pastuh tron balek elok elok antara keeper dengan siapa-siapa kat tengah tengah tuh. Aku happy sekarang Manure ada pakar corner. Sekarang aku nak tanya Ronaldo kau tak training free kick ke masa off-season? Kimak kau buang duit aku kasi tips melalui sms, dasar bencong loe. O'shea sperti biasa, penuh cool, pemain cult manure season lepas setelah dia memaparkan gaya Bergkamp setiap kali membwat finishing. Van De Sar seperti biasa mengaktifkan lawak psychology dia masa penalti walaupun dia bukanlah seorang goalkeeper yang mengada-ngada macam Barthez. Van De Sar suka sikat rambut, pemain Holland semua smart, sikat rambut, Nistelrooy je anak aram. Pemain Italy semua setiap pagi sebelum match seterika rambut jadi rapi dan lurus. Pemain Argentina sebelum match kena lalu hutan semua nak pergi stadium jadi diaorang takde masa nak fikir pasal rambut. Heinze nak masuk Liverpool, lanchau kau lah Heinze, kau nak ranapkan hati aku ke? Puki engkau ah.

Spaaaanish bombs!! tequirooo bonitoooo yo tgequiraaa oh ma corazznznonnnnnnn. And jaaaaneeee she is a pantat.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Louie Louie

Woke up and I'm still on this fuckdammed island. I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I still am. "umpama mimpi dalam mimpi" sang the malay rock band frontman in that infamous chocolate commercial.

Went back to sleep on the fucking sands.

Woke up and I'm back in my room. I was dreaming afterall. Phew. Glass of water is needed. Got up and streched like a fucking cat, but not too far cause I've only got 4 out of 9 lives left. If I lose one I'll have only 3 left, if I lose 2 after that I'll have one left, and I'll be back to square one. I could just live again and regain the 9, but that would take too much work.

And too much work.

Is something.

I'm allergic to.

Too much work.

Won't work.

I know. Oh I know. Cause my heart told me so.


duhfchsdkuv skbuhvvq dajkakaj kahdjkahkUwa.

Back in the room with a glass of cold water.

Suddenly a knock on the door. Lou Reed was wearing an oversized Wu Tang t-shirt looking at me with a poker face. "you're still dreaming, this is still a dream"

this is STILL a dream, and I'm STILL dreaming? no shit. Thanks for the one sentence double confirmation.

Fuck this. I slammed the door shut. Fuck you Lou. I could go back to sleep but being in my room yet not actually in it is not too bad. Turned on the laptop. Got to thinking, if Kurt Cobain had a pussy instead of a dick he would definitely be as desirable as Jessica Alba. Drools. Jessica Alba with a shotgun, pointed at her own head. Droolz.

The laptop automatically opened up mozilla firefox. For whatever fucked reason I don't know. Surfed. I'm chatting with a girl and she's about to take off her clothes on her webcam. I tried wanking but nothing happens. Argkh fucking hell. I wanked and I wanked. Nothing's happening. Oh shit something's coming out. It's warm. Oh fuck I pissed all over myself.

I can't wake up in this state. I was originally asleep in a hotel besides a fine girl I just met at the milk bar. She can't see me like this.

But urine and anything associated with it, especially smell, don't go away even when dry. I can blame it on the meth that I didn't take and would never dare to take back in the wood-panelled bar. Nobody wants to pissoff the milk bartender, he scorns all competitions or signs of it on a customer. Even pure forms of milk. No daisies, no hi los, no cow tits for me if I'm in his presence. At ALL cost. I wouldn't want a comb-over haired old man chasing me with a mannequin's detached leg.

The girl. Oh yes the girl.

I know what to do. I'm just full of ideas. This would work. I woke myself up by squeezing my anus tight. I pretended to still be in slumber. I opened 10% of my eyes to see where she is and if she's still sleeping. She is. She's snoring loudly, as loud as the robot mill I used to work in.

I slowly moved towards the floor and ultimately towards the toilet. At least I tried to.

She suddenly woke up. Stood on her knees, on the mattress. And screamed.

"FUCKER YOU ALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Oh yeah? Shut up bitch. Sleep the fuck up. Just another one of her bizarre sleepwalking moments. Yeah bitch, shut the fuck up and sleep.

I ran to the toilet, only to find my boxers all clean and spanky clear. No piss. Fuck. I woke up and got myself screamed at for this. There was no piss.

I was so pissed off I just pissed on myself. While laying down. While hanging onto the bathtub bar. While drowning in the sink water. While screaming and trying to write my name on the mirror. Yeah fuck you.

It's revolution.

Fuck you!

Fuck all of you!

Fucker you all!

The revolution is pissed off!!

The revolution is not about to come. It is about to piss!!

The revolution will piss on all of you!!

All you shitheads.

All you cunts.

Fuck you!

I piss on you like I was Dave Chapelle parodying R. Kelly.

Fucking whores. Fucking sluts. Fucking..

..Door slams open

"excuse me, what the hell is going on here?"

There she was. The girl of my dreams. From my hotel room. She looked just like Scarlett Johanson. In an oversized Mobb Deep t-shirt, with two mashed up ponytails. Oh we did it last night baby, we fucking did it, I did you, and I did you real good Scarlett, you'll never be done like I did you, all other do-ers are not doing it like I do it. That's why you came back with me to my small square of ethereal fuckness.

"hello, are you listening, who are you?"


"oh shit you're that "cute" guy from the bar aren't you?"


"shit i must've been really drunk, you just.. look "different" now.. shit"


"i should stop drinking.."


"no don't bother, here's your oversized who are these black dudes? t-shirt, i'll let myself out.."

Aakhgh. Fuck you whore I thought to myself. I'm fucking depressed. She just pissed me off real bad. I snapped.


I expelled my last drip of sweet sweet urine. Savagely smashed the mirror, picked up a big sharp piece. Held it tight in my blood-dripped arms, now bleeding both sides. Opened the room door and started to chase her.

Only to be stopped by Lou Reed, again, in an oversized Cypress Hill t-shirt instead. "you're still dreaming you gullible fuckface!".

I caught my breath. Both hands on knees. Looking down, hair falling. This is the definition of fucked up.

Fuck it.


I woke up.

The RZA was playing chess on my table. He was wearing an undersized Loudness t-shirt, black jacket on it, michael jackson gloves. "oh you up already, peace". He opened my door, his scrambler bike right in front. He's off to either college or the bus stand to fuck around with chicks who could or could not be one of his substitute lecturers.

He was there to make sure I woke up, and am really awake.

I have an appointment with The GZA today. Learning the art of wise words.

He's waiting on top of one of the nipples of KLCC twin towers. I'll be in the other one. Listening. Paying close attention.

If any of you got this far reading this stupid random shit I don't know what to think of you. Wkhuagjanv,.gaguhkuhkga. bkakfa.