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.

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