Tuesday, February 23, 2010

You say Stalking, I say Voyeur

I've been feeling like a museum exhibit the past few days. I'm of course referring to the way my blog and me have been used by Watts as an exercise in getting over Michelle and Michelle being.. Michelle. The end result of this little run in is that I've lost a reader(meh) but have also gained quite a few new readers(Ooh!) thanks to the now infamous but unfortunately non sexual threeway between myself, Watts and Michelle. I know this because I've done quite a fair bit of reading myself. In a way I guess we're all just suckers for voyeurism. We just love to watch other people's shit and get off by the fact that the other person doesn't know we're watching them. Look, but don't touch. That's why strip clubs always do well. It's the restraint that turns us on. Boobs are in my face and I think I felt just a bit of crotch on crotch action. But no touchy touchy or the bouncer named Little Mikey's going to leave you with a few less usable fingers. It's some weird reverse psychology that's for sure. Probably Forbidden Fruit syndrome. Of course, we could all just be really curious about how the voyeuree is doing, but I don't think I'm too far off the mark in saying that this curiosity springs from a deep seated emotional response for the said person, I.E. you/I still do feel something for me/you. But to reconnect again would be too remiss on our part , not too mention too painful or too complicated for others, so I guess we're all just going to have to be content to look at each other from across a chasm mute by choice and paralyzed by past actions. Meh... one of the many many many many idiosyncrasies in this so called life. I'm not going to be losing any sleep over it.

And just like that I have nothing else to talk about. So I'm going to let Jim James and My Morning Jacket lead you out

if we could all cum melodically that's how I would cum.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

I don't think about a title till afer I'm done writing

A lot of people have it in their head that I'm here to entertain them. While I may write in a style which addresses the lot of you sometimes, I'm under no delusion that my blog's the best thing since individually wrapped slices of cheese. That in itself allows for a lot of freedom from restriction, the best of which I consider to write whatever the fuck I want and in the process swear so often that even a Coprolaliac would blush. Most of you should be under no assumption that I'm funny or entertaining. I never made such claims. This blogs does not bring me any income whatsoever and is purely an outlet for the shit that's in my head. I do not have to adhere to some gold fucking standard and reproduce shit that will consistently be funny. In other words, I'm not here to fucking amuse you and if you don't like what you read, you can very well just fuck right off.

Ms Watts; there you go again with your could have's and what if's. How many times do I have to repeat myself? I'm fucking over Michelle. We have both moved on and I really don't need you to come here and tell me that we were fucking meant to be together or some other bullshit. If we were meant to be together we would already have been. But the plain fact of the matter is, we're not and most likely never will be and I think it's a fucking waste of time to dwell on water that's already passed under the bridge. It honestly feels like you're using me as a sort of recreational getting over drug. Yeah, I get the fact that you're heartbroken and shit about her. But please don't try and use me and my blog as a part of your getting over therapy. I have nothing to do with you or her and I would appreciate being left alone. I know I can't stop people from reading this blog and if you enjoy it, thank you sincerely. And sure, you do have the right to your own opinions. But I'm not some pseudo shoulder to cry on. I'm not the guide to getting over Michelle. That part of my life is over and despite the initial pain and sorrow I've just moved on. You can read about our history together but that's just what it is. History. It has no impact on what we both do now other than the fact that yes, we did love one another at one point in time, but are no longer what we once were. The show's over. Get on with your life.

Regarding yesterday's quote-o-rama, here is the list of movies I quoted. For your benefit dear sister. In sequential order;

Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist
Chasing Amy
There will be Blood
V for Vendetta
The Wrestler
Devil's Advocate
Kingdom of Heaven
The Crying Game
Reservoir Dogs

Yeah, I do love that Kevin Smith.

Thursday, February 18, 2010


So this is starting to become a very bad habit. I get all worked up about a particular topic and write the shit out of it and after in done writing, I take a long drag from my cigarette and realized what a waste of time that was. I'm practically deflated, my anger lost upon the sea of near inane and futile rantings. I mean yeah, it says ju-rants, but sometimes you just get tired of ranting. No, I don't want to change the name from ju-rants to ju-contemplates and analyzes current socio-political events. The cliff notes of it is, I basically gave a big fuck you to people who love to talk in the cinema. We've all been there, the fucking commentators, the in cinema critic, the fucking guy who answers the phone and KEEPS talking, the high pitch laughter guy, etc. etc. general douchebag behavior. But how does ranting about it help if at all? The person's I'm referring to will suddenly stumble onto this blog and say, "OMG. That was me. I can't believe I was such an asshole. I shan't be doing it again in the cinema, golly gee"? Not fucking likely. So that whole paragraph was basically an exercise in futility at which I am still mildly frustrated and the douchebags will continue to keep talking in the cinema. Oh yeah, kids should be fucking banned from the cinema or any public place/event which requires some level of attention and silence. Kids are kids, you know they can't sit still or keep quiet or have our levels of attention and courtesy. I blame you inconsiderate parents.

So since I've run out of things to talk about, I'm just going to post random movie quotes. Thank you IMDB

"Look, other bands, they want to make it about sex or pain, but you know, The Beatles, they had it all figured out, okay? "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The first single. It's effing brilliant, right?... That's what everybody wants, Nicky. They don't want a twenty-four-hour hump sesh, they don't want to be married to you for a hundred years. They just want to hold your hand."

Banky Edwards: Alright, now see this? This is a four-way road, okay? And dead in the center is a crisp, new, hundred dollar bill. Now, at the end of each of these streets are four people, okay? You following?
Holden: Yeah.
Banky Edwards: Good. Over here, we have a male-affectionate, easy to get along with, non-political agenda lesbian. Down here, we have a man-hating, angry as fuck, agenda of rage, bitter dyke. Over here, we got Santa Claus, and up here the Easter Bunny. Which one is going to get to the hundred dollar bill first?
Holden: What is this supposed to prove?
Banky Edwards: No, I'm serious. This is a serious exercise. It's like an SAT question. Which one is going to get to the hundred dollar bill first? The male-friendly lesbian, the man-hating dyke, Santa Claus, or the Easter bunny?
Holden: The man-hating dyke.
Banky Edwards: Good. Why?
Holden: I don't know.
Banky Edwards: [shouting] Because the other three are figments of your fucking imagination!

Here, if you have a milkshake, and I have a milkshake, and I have a straw. There it is, that's a straw, you see? You watching? And my straw reaches acrooooooss the room, and starts to drink your milkshake....I...drink...your...milkshake!

Voila! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran,cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulant vermin van guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honour to meet you and you may call me V

I just want to say to you all tonight I'm very grateful to be here. A lot of people told me that I'd never wrestle again and that's all I do. You know, if you live hard and play hard and you burn the candle at both ends, you pay the price for it. You know in this life you can loose everything you love, everything that loves you. Now I don't hear as good as I used to and I forget stuff and I aint as pretty as I used to be but god damn it I'm still standing here and I'm The Ram. As times goes by, as times goes by, they say "he's washed up", "he's finished" , "he's a loser", "he's all through". You know what? The only one that's going to tell me when I'm through doing my thing is you people here. You people here, you people here are the ones who are worth bringing it for, because you're my family. I love all of you. Thank you so much

Let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch. He's a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do, I swear for His own amusement, his own private, cosmic gag reel, He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time. Look but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, don't swallow. Ahaha. And while you're jumpin' from one foot to the next, what is he doing? He's laughin' His sick, fuckin' ass off! He's a tight-ass! He's a SADIST! He's an absentee landlord! Worship that? NEVER!

I put no stock in religion. By the word religion I have seen the lunacy of fanatics of every denomination be called the will of god. I have seen too much religion in the eyes of too many murderers. Holiness is in right action, and courage on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves, and goodness. What god desires is here [points to head] and here [points to heart] and what you decide to do every day, you will be a good man - or not.

...and as they both sink beneath the waves, the frog cries out, "Why did you sting me, Mr. Scorpion? For now we both will drown!" Scorpion replies, "I can't help it. It's in my nature!"

Myrmidons! My brothers of the sword! I would rather fight beside you than any army of thousands! Let no man forget how menacing we are, we are lions! Do you know what's waiting beyond that beach? Immortality! Take it! It's yours!

Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. And so we ask ourselves: will our actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear our names long after we are gone, and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?

Let me tell you what Like a Virgins's about. It's all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick. The entire song.. its a metaphor for big dicks. Like a Virgin's not about some sensitive girl who meets a nice fella. That's what True Blue's about. Now, granted, no argument about that. Let me tell you what Like a Virgin's about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular fuck machine. I'm talking morning, day, night, after... dick,dick,dick,dick,dick,dick,dick,dick,dick.. Then one day she meets this John Holmes motherfucker. She's getting this serious dick action and she's feelin' something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain. It hurts. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her. You know, her pussy should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat fucks her, it hurts. It hurts just like it the first time. You see, the pain is reminding a fuck machine what it was once like to be a virgin. Hence... Like a Virgin.

The humans have besmirched everything bestowed on them. They were given Paradise, they threw it away. They were given this planet, they destroyed it. They were favored best among all His endeavors, and some of them don't even believe He exists. And in spite of it all, He's shown them infinite fucking patience at every turn. What about us? I asked you... once to lay down the sword because I felt sorry for them. What was the result? Our expulsion from Paradise. WHERE WAS HIS INFINITE FUCKING PATIENCE THEN? IT'S NOT RIGHT, IT'S NOT FAIR.

yeah it only just occurred to me that this was a very cinema themed post, what with the rant about cinema's a movie quotes.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Annual V day rant

fuck me.. (I meant that literally and figuratively. I haven't had sex for so long it's not even funny anymore. When I tell people how long I haven't been laid I just get looks of pity.) I've been sitting here for the past hour just typing utter nonsense. The last thing I wrote here was just one long diatribe about how much I hate other people who blog and tweet endlessly about infinitely boring shit before realizing that I'm doing the exact fucking thing. I then proceeded to highlight everything and press backspace. So yeah, fuck me, I can only write good shit when I'm slightly inebriated. Which is quite an oxymoron because I don't generally like drinking. The occasional can of beer or 2 yes, but not quite the levels I was reaching in my younger days. So here I am, sober, and unable to blog.

I suppose I could do my annual Valentines Day rant about how it's all fucking bullshit capitalist tactics to get you to spend your hard earned cash on expressing your love to someone on 1 of 3 days of the year where it's supposedly a significant day to show your significant other how important they are to you, never mind the other 362 days. I guess that's what I hate the most about Valentines day. It applies false significance to just another goddamned day. What, I can only have 3 days to show my love for someone? Birthday, Anniversary and Valentines Day? Fuck, if that person was worth it, I would buy her 365 roses for every single day she's with me. In fact, why the fuck do I even have to buy anything? Because that's love nowadays. Material wants and gains. It used to be that all you had to do was hold someone's hand and tell them you love them while looking deeply into their eyes. Roses, rings, steak dinners, holidays, what the fuck would it all matter if you were fucking someone else behind my back? People love to affix some great cosmic significance to the most minute and useless things in life when all it is is just some primal gesture to show your mate that yeah, I'm the big man, I can provide for you. See this rose? Didn't even make a dent in your wallet. I'm a worthy mate that can provide shelter, food and care for our offspring. So yeah, that's what Valentines day is, just an exercise in false pretenses and nonsensical affiliation and affirmation of "love". Here's the score; if you need to keep fucking asking for some affirmation of love from someone, then it's not really working out is it? Get a fucking clue and just be glad you found somebody already for fuck's sake.

Fuck Valentines day.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

buah kalam minuman keras

So in times of alcohol consumption, I find myself in contemplation. Needless to say, the past year was just absolutely shit. But like my past relationships I just have to keep moving on. I mean fuck, what the hell good does it do me to watch the world go by as I stand still and brood about what ifs and could haves? That's the epiphany I had in the emo park in TTDI. Just keep fucking moving on. I don't know what lies ahead of me in life. I could walk across the street and bam, right into a bus sans the cartoon effect. I could wake up tomorrow and find out I have cancer and life live like everyday's my last day. I could find the woman of my dreams or I could find an awesome fuck buddy and fuck her while shouting "IM THE KING OF FUCK MOUNTAIN!"on a daily basis. Come to think of it, the future is one big could be as well. Bottom line is, I don't know what's going to fucking happen, but I do know that I'm going to live my life day by day and face whatever shit God decides to put in my path with a wry, tired smile and a carton of cigarettes.

This next paragraph is an ode to the girl I never knew but wish I had. She's the kind of girl where, whether you take her out for a gala level dinner or just having a roti telur bawang at the mamak, you feel so special just being with her and so grateful that she's with you that if you were the religious type you did be in church everyday kneeling before the big imaginary friend called God and weeping your thanks and gratitude for being blessed with the most special person in the world. She makes you feel great even when you feel like slitting your wrist. She anchors you in the great tempest of doubt and uncertainty and helps you find your way. She doesn't have to say anything at all but you feel like you've just had the greatest conversation in the world with her. She can say something mundane about the weather and you did pay rapt attention to the way her lips move, the way the light catches her. You can sit for hours just looking at her and feel like you've seen the greatest art piece in the world. You would construct the greatest monuments rivaling the seven wonders of the world in her honour and write poetry that would make even John Keats feel like he's inadequate, a mere footnote in the literary world. Even a second away from her feels like an eternity. You want her to meet your parents and not worry if they'll like her or not. You want her to be the mother of your children and you want to grow old with her but still feel like a kid when she holds your hand when you're both old and gray and sitting on the porch watching the world go by. You wouldn't even care, because to you, she is your world. The girl does exist, but she is not mine. To the guy that got her, I just want to hate you so bad but I can't because you're just too fucking nice. Take care of this century's Helen you lucky bastard. Godspeed your love and her happiness.

Even with that heart wrenching realization, we must keep moving on. To tarry even one second would spell doom and gloom and near endless nights of weeping and melancholy. There is a difference between indifference and moving on. Indifference infers that we blind ourselves to the fact that a wrong has been done but nothing will be done to address it while it slowly festers. Indifference gives a silent consent to being fucked over. Indifference means allowing wrong to triumph over right. Indifference means you stopped caring about the world and would rather stew in your denial than face your problems. Moving on however....

Closing quote : "Courage is not the absence of fear, but simply moving on with dignity despite that fear"

Yeah. I wrote all that and I'm drunk.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Results of Unemployment

so here's the nitty gritty of it. I've resigned from Project Malaysia effective from the 25th of February 2010. It is liberating on the one hand while on the other, I feel, like all my other past relationships, I could have gotten so much more out of it if the other side had just put in more effort into making it work. Unlike my past relationships however, it is not an acrimonious split and I thank my employer for at the very least giving me a pseudo job that allowed me to say to other people "I have a job and I'm not living off daddy and mummy". No great feat by any measure of course, but in this life, you take what you can get. Sure, it's not as glamorous as say, a lawyer or a doctor or even an accountant or one of those corporate exec. jobs, but I never went hungry nor was I ever found wanting except during the last few months due to the lack of job satisfaction. I don't know what's next. Contemplating the future is scary. But so is the inevitable realization that one day the money will run out and you cant even afford to eat plain rice with just a dash of soy sauce. I will find something or other soon. But for now, me and employment need our own space.

So now that I'm just another unemployed 25 year old graduate with a degree, I do in fact have more time to blog. Not that I'm about to give Kenny Sia or Tucker Maxx a run for their money of course. Their pedestal in the blogsphere shall remain untouched and under no threat from someone who sometimes spells plain "plaine" if not for spellchecker. Fuck, I don't even post pictures of remotely hot and socially accessible through invites to club events girls and/or videos unless its from youtube. In hindsight, I wouldn't want to either. I like my private life to remain private unless I wish for you to intrude upon it like a rape fantasy. So no big J in a red ball in front of Bangsar Village to show that I approve and endorse eating at said premise for me then. "So why complain about it in the first place?" I can imagine you saying. Because Im vocally neurotic and an unashamed approval whore. That's all I have to offer you, my sort of wit and my neuroticism. Lets face it, I, like the rest of you, mostly, lead a very dull and unexciting life and I'm hardly a contender for Cleo's most eligible bachelor or even it's make belief spin off reality show Pity Dating. I make up for that by saying socially unconventional things and trying to fight awkwardness with perverseness. In a sense, I out awkward you by being disturbing. Yes, I'm like that. I hate losing. Colloquially called kiasu in Malaysia/Singapore or even insistent in some more English influenced areas. Most if not all of you will blame it on me being a Virgo but I'm here to tell you that my horoscope has nothing to do with my character. Pseudo science hardly impresses me and mere correlation and happenstance does not lend credibility and certainty when trying to ascertain someone's character in regards to when they were born. In a word, utter crap fuck bullshit. So sit back and relax as my wordpenis enters your warm wet consciousnessvagina and let yourself non-cum to a relentless barrage of inane nonsensical rantfucking while you question yourself why you ever visited here in the first place.

I don't know if I already mentioned(and if you've heard me rant about this, skip to the next paragraph) this but most girls I know are like cooking shows. Hey look, its awesome looking medium rare filet mignon that just came off the grill and served with a side of mash potatoes and a garden salad with a tangy vinaigrette. If it was a girl it would look like Megan Fox just coming out of the swimming pool with a bikini so skimpy that there's a little bit of under boob and areola showing. And that analogy nicely moves the point that once we get all gastronomically hard for the food, the chef then looks up and says, coyly, "That's all for today, join us next week" before digging in him/herself and the screen fades to black and the credits roll. We are therefore left gastronomically unsatisfied and make do with a cheap hooker sandwich or at the very worst go to bed hungry and dry eating our pillow. For those with an IQ lower than the ringworm in your intestines, I'm talking about how girls love to posture and tease but don't have an endgame involving the bed and a cum filled condom or face. Less on the less sexual point, boring as that may sound, stop teasing if you aren't going to bring it. Stop showing a little midriff and layaning our aroused minds and then saying, literally and figuratively, "You ain't going to get some of this". Stop it. Hooker sandwiches and appointments with Ms Palm are getting very boring.

Shit, now I feel horny and hungry. *Cue montage of images consisting of a female silhouette eating a banana, taco filling being licked, a hot dog being laid on a hot dog bun, a mcdonald's cone being licked a little too sensually, a champagne bottle being popped open, Nigella Lawson licking chocolate sauce that "accidentally" got on her middle finger, a banana split ice cream with two mounds of ice cream topped with cherries, a burrito being eaten by a woman who just put on fresh lipstick.. etc etc.

Ok.. so this blog got sexual really fast after the wordpenis metaphor

I hate 500 days of summer. I hate it because it so realistic. If I wanted to see a movie about lost and unrequited and frankly fucked up love I would have gone all Truman Show/ EdTv on myself. I wanted to be entertained by the notion that at least in movie land a fella can hope and dream a little for at least 1 1/2 hour before drudging back to his own monotonous and unfulfilled life. I though that's what movies were for. Instead we get an Indie grade production about a woman who tells the protagonist that she does not want a boyfriend but then ends up getting married to someone else while having the fucking gall to invite him to the engagement party and the wedding while our poor sod still harbors some unrequited love for her. Sounds too fucking familiar for me. I hate how she plays him, how she tells him she does not want a relationship while at the same time willing to rent porno to watch with the sod before telling him that they could totally do what the professionals are doing. I hate how she breaks up with him after watching the Graduate. I hate how she can let him get close to her again at the co workers wedding and then invite him to a party which is actually her engagement party I hate how she invades his personal spot in the park even after taking his heart crushing it into a thousand pieces. I HATE HER! Oh yeah.. Spoiler alert.

Alright, so my porn entitled sasha grey fucked dirty has already finished loading and I think I'll close with a quote;

"If Tom had learned anything... it was that you can't ascribe great cosmic significance to a simple earthly event. Coincidence. That's all anything ever is. Nothing more than coincidence. "

No, I have no filter. It got taken away from me by alien lesbians.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Quantum Problem or How I should really write for tv dramedy

Thank you for your continued readership Ms Watts. People have been put off by far less vitriolic posts. It leads me to believe that you're either really thick skinned or you're a kindred spirit. I do not cope with something which I can't help. Like I said, the Michelle ship has sailed a long time ago and there's nothing I can do to bring it back, nor would I really want to. I do not pretend that I can just forget her. How the hell do you forget someone who's fucked you up so many times? I just try to live day to day and keep it all out of sight and out of mind except for masturbatory purposes. End of the day, she is her own person. Her world view is basically: it's her world and we're all just living in it, and if you don't like that, you can very well just fuck off from it.

So you want to know how to cope? You don't. You just try to live your life on the run from that which is the Michelle quantum and hopefully one day you get tired of running and realize how far behind you left her. For fuck's sake, we're only running away from what if's and could have's. God knows the actual person herself couldn't give a damn if you ran off the edge of the world. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can stop running from her and start running to something better. Sorry for the running euphemisms and analogies. Am on a current running(the actual physical one where you put on a pair of running shoes) kick.

Hah... Im fucking commiserating with one of Michelle's partners. I never thought I did see the day.

Neurotic Vitriolic

Miss Watts, I have no idea about what song you're referring to but would be very interested to listen to a song that successfully incorporates the words "guile" into it. Furthermore, I have no idea why you're trying to contact me. I know who you are and I want nothing to do with you. Do not try to commiserate with me about Michelle. That ship has sailed a long time ago and it shan't be returning to port anytime. Honestly the only time I think about her is during the brief interludes of sleep and dreams over which I have no control over the content being shown by my subconscious mind. And when I masturbate, because she gave extremely good head. She has made clear her position to me that we shall never ever be anything, platonic or otherwise, again and that is the final chapter of our little novella. The last time I spoke to her? After her house got burgled. I sent an email with my condolences and support, as any civil person would. Of course seeing as she hates my guts because im too fucking emotional, I never got a reply, but then again I wasn't expecting one anyway. So why send it? Because im fucking neurotic.

Yes, she can be and is sometimes a bitch. She can't keep a relationship because she doesn't know what she wants and if the supposed "love of her life" turns into something that she will not/could not deal with in her own skewered view of the universe, she breaks it off like a a gardener would a flower that has suddenly stopped blooming. 7 relationships in 7 years should have really clued you in on that but I suppose, like you said, this "love" blinds us all and is just so fucking boundless.

Thank you for your concern about my supposed rut but I can assure you that it is absolutely none of your business whether I'm in a relationship or if I some neurotic emotional fuck who smokes too much for his own good but is secretly trying to kill himself from lung cancer. Or whether im happy or sad or in an emotional rut. Or how many times i masturbate a day thinking about your ex sucking my dick. What's it to you anyway? Do not pretend to be nice to an enemy of your enemy and play on the fact that we are somehow connected by the fact that we both got fucked over by the same person. I'm not your friend and I don't need more friends. And in regards to your healer cum tarot card reader, you don't really need to see a peddler of hocus pocus nonsensical bullshit to know what Michelle's character is like.

Good day to you.