Friday, April 24, 2009

I Want To Be Your Asian Slave

Aziz, you make my life complete

from childhood i never knew
why i was born as an asian
all those years i watched norwegian sitcoms
i looked up to and loved all them caucasians (though at the time i only knew them as white people)

i want to be your asian slave
and you gonna leash me my white master ching chong
lets make fuck together
lets make fuck together

why did genetics deal me this card
i want all that intelligence and beauty that ive never had (or will ever nurture)
in white skin blue eyes golden hair
there, even that brunette will do
and definitely eurasians too! (because im desperate)

i want to be your asian slave
and you will leash me my white master
lets make fuck together
lets make fuck together

i know they have better skin
though ive never confirmed this
and i want to be as smart as the whites
so i fixed my engrish

i want to be your asian slave
and you will leash me my white master
lets make fuck together
lets make fuck together

i want to have white children
i want to have all those superior white genes to give
though my whole life i now know
i will always be an asian slave

i want to be your asian slave
and you will leash me my white master
lets make fuck together
lets make fuck together

you are my beautiful white master
and i am your ugly half deaf stuttering stupid asian slave
i never knew beautiful people could be so benevolent to love ugly people
its good to be easy

Thursday, April 23, 2009

I Have A Friend

I have a friend... Let's just call her A*. A likes to hang out with B,C, and D. A comes along to dinner with B,C, and D all the time. B,C, and D likes to eat Arab food. After numerous trips to the Arabic restaurant, B,C, and D begin to realize that A would eat nothing but the Hummus and eggplant thingy, which is actually damn yummy. B says 'perhaps, A doesn't like Arab food'.
B,C, and D would like to find out if A likes Arab food or not, but somehow A has not been entirely honest on the issue. B,C, and D wonders, 'How can we find out what she feels about Arab food'

Sigh... some mysteries are left to the universe to answer. Jai Guru Deva Om.

*All names are changed to protect the identity of said persons.

Wow... 450th Post

What should my 450th post be about.
I suppose it should be about my 450th post.

I'm looking forward to my 500th post

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

One day...

One day I will open a cafe...
There, you will get slapped if you ask if you can have a frappucino or some ice-blended bullshit.

for example

Customer 1 : Can I have a latte
Me : Small, Medium, or Large?
Customer 1 : Medium
Me : Skinny, Full Cream, or Soy
Customer 1 : Full Cream
Customer 2 : Can I have an ice blended mochachinno extravaganza
Me : (SLAPS CUSTOMER 2) Fuck you, we don't do ice blendeds.
Customer 2 : Sorry... Can I have a Grande Cappuccino
Me : (SLAPS CUSTOMER 2) Fuck you, I don't understand what do you mean by 'Grande'. We only have small, medium, and large.
Customer 2 : Sorry... I'll have a medium cappucinno... with soy
Me : (SLAPS CUSTOMER 2) Fuck you, I don't do soy milk here. Soy are for losers.

Conversations with you (9 of many)

Me : The internet is broken
You : Huh?
Me : You are not online

Sunday, April 19, 2009

The Way You Make Me Feel

sometimes, even words can't express the way I feel.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Wow... are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Conversations with you (8 of many)

Me: I like olives
You: You get 'I love' if you rearrange 'olive'
Me: What's the point if there is no you in it

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Digital Pleasure


Monday, April 13, 2009

Saya Sebatang Pen

Saya sebatang pen, nama saya Pilot. Saya sebatang pen hitam. Saya dilahirkan di sebuah kilang di Bayan Lepas, Pulau Pinang. Sebagai sebatang pen, saya cukup tampan sekali. Badan saya panjang dan kurus, cukup seksi. Demikian itu memang tidak hairanlah kenapa penutup pen di muncung saya tidak serik serik berada di sana.

Walaupun saya cukup tampan, saya tidak faham kenapa saya sebatang pen hitam. Kenyataannya ialah, saya lebih rela menjadi sebuah pen biru. Sekurang kurangnya pen biru itu berwarna, hitam itu... bukan warna. Hitam adalah keaiban segala gala warna. Ia tidak berwarna. Mungkinkah itu sebab kenapa sudah sekian lama saya tidak dibeli. Sekarang sudah genap 5 bulan saya menghingapi rak di kedai buku Popular ini... sudah lima bulan... tidak ada seorang pun yang membeli saya.

Sekali-sekala, ada seorang dua pelajar sekolah yang mengambil saya, mereka membuka penutup saya, lalu menulis ayat-ayat yang tidak bermakna. Kadang-kadang, jika saya tidak mengeluarkan dakwat, mereka mengoncang saya, ada yang mengoncang saya dengan perlahan, ada yang mengoncang saya dengan rakus sekali. Seandainya saya yang bersalah.

Apakandaya, kadang-kadang prestasi saya kurang memuaskan. Bolehkah saya dipersalahkan? Tanyalah mana mana pen yang lain, kalau dah duduk di rak kedai buku selama 5 bulan, siapalah yang bersemangat lagi untuk melakukan yang terbaik. Bukannaya tidak mahu berprestasi, tapi bak kata orang, kalau lama tak turun padang, mestilaj karat sikit.

Oleh itu, saya tidak pernah dibeli. Kadang-kadang, jika saya mampu mengeluarkan dakwat, budak-budak akan tulis ayat ayat seperti... seperti... aduh... tidak sanggup saya katakan disini, saya pun segan.... seperti... 'fuck', 'pukimak', 'i love you', 'nak hisap kote? telefon 012 6349876', dan lain-lain. Tidak, kenapa budak-budak zaman sekarang begitu biadap sekali. Aku tidak faham, apakah makna hidup saya, apakah tujuan kewujudan saya. Apa ni! Aku tak faham! Aku bingung....

'ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH' aku jerit dengan sekuat hati. Budak yang sedang memegang saya sambil menulis 'Farah pant...' terus menjatuhkan saya ke lantai, terkejut akan pen ini yang mampu menjerit dengan begitu kuat sekali.

Aku jatuh ke lantai dengan kuat sekali, Kesakitan yang terasa tajam sekali... Tiba-tiba... aku terjaga dari tidur. Rupa-rupanya itu semua hanya mimpi sahaja. Aku berasa lega yang saya sebenarnya bukan sebatang pen hitam.

Saya sebenarnya adalah sebatang pensel.

Conversations with you (7 of many)

you: peux je voir votre passeport
me: voici mon passeport
you: est ce vraiment vous dans l'image

Sunday, April 12, 2009

I feel compelled to write another blog entry.

Conversations with you (6 of many)

Me: I don't believe in soulmates
You: I don't believe in soulmates too
Me: Maybe you are my soulmate?

What Would Jesus Do?

These past couple of weeks, I've been reprimanded a couple of times for taking Jesus's name in vain. All these 'what would chisus do?', 'chisus loves you', 'chisus saves', and whatnots have apparently raised the irk of the true followers of Jesus.

Guess what? I am a true follower of Jesus too, and I'm not irked.

In fact, if anything, I'm asking myself 'What would Jesus do?'

And this is what I believe Jesus would do..

Jesus Christ : Eh chi, that's damn funny... I think we should work together.

Yes... let's give Jesus some credit. I don't reckon He is half as uptight as any of you Christians out there. Heck, I don't think He is even any uptight at all. Seriously, this man turned water into 40 vats of wine on his first gig, he's a lot more fun that what you would like to think he's not. I'm beginning to believe that if there was any wine at the feeding of the 5000, he'll also feed the 5000 with wine... unfortunately there was no wine to begin with. Yes, of course he can simply just make wine out of nothing, but you're missing the point here, that miracle was about duplication, not creation.

There you go. Jesus is quite awesome. Me on the other hand, am merely chisus, and chisus is not Jesus, and has nothing to do with Jesus... I'm just a fanboy of Jesus.

The most chisus can do is turn a baguette into a croissant.

Happy Easter Day.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Things That I Should Be Worried About

I can sing Flight Of The Conchords songs by heart...

'and when you're on the street, depending on the street, I bet you are on the top 3, good looking girl on the street... depending on the street'

Thursday, April 09, 2009

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

chisus lays down his red cross
I am amazed at how I can simply type without even looking at the keyboard at such high speeds... The human body is an amazing thing.

When I grow up

I want to paint...
I want to make lots of short films...
I want to write like a bitch...
I want to make numerous installation pieces...

But I can never be an artist.

I want to be Richard Tuttle,

on top of that, I also want to be H.G. Wells and Stephen Hawkings.

I have a strange feeling that very soon, I'd want to be Hunter S. Thompson.
Could today be the day?

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Conversations with you (5 of many)

You : Are you OK?
Me : Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *&%&Q@#%$@&!!#$ WHAT THE FUCK Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh arghhhhh arghhhhhhh &^$^%$^%*^^%*^%$