chaka chaka

usually i leave my msn status blank. sometimes it has an office joke or BFF inside scoop. last week, for reasons i can’t remember, it was “TAKSEDARDIRI”. probably just channeling my thoughts out into the big blue world. quite a few people asked me about it. “like, yo, dawg, who is it?” and as i tried to form an answer, i realised, that there are just too many people who are unaware of what big gaping turds for brains they are aka what super inflated bloated ideas of their soggy selves they have aka geez louise please, wake the fuck up, you douche.

i mean i do believe it your perogative to be insane and whiny about things. but oh, to be such a towering hypocrite. oh, the agony it causes me, marring my perfect existence. but to survive the mundane passing of the minutes (oh the grind) i’ve taken it upon myself to indulge in a 20-minute rant.

1. kids (ref: age)
   what are kids smoking these days? it’s like someone secretly bumped up the legal age of thinking because they’re just such deluded, arrogant sons-of-bitches history has ever seen. if you haven’t yet had to lift a finger and earn you own goddamned money, what right then, little princess piehole, do you have swaggering around in your branded goods, feeling like you are 10 times better than a regular human being? brag brag brag oh my tokidoki, my laura mercier, my daddy’s citibank platinum card, my mercedes benz, i’m such a giant human bloodsucker, me!
2. kids (ref: attitude)
   oh con-fucking-gratulations, you’ve managed to sweat/breeze your way into advertising – the fucking cutting-edge industry where office walkways are paved in gold bricks shat by the messiah love child (of mr. french and mr. droga no less) – and suddenly you’re a god. o ye runty accountants and programmers, bow down before me, the great telco copywriter. hey douchebag, feigning exhaustion from “all the parties we creatives get invited to” and giving writing tips (like blogging) and acting “blasé” about beer in the office fridge just means you are not. nonchalance is something you fail at. so why not squirt your pants everytime the CD gives you a smile. burn some incense to that golden pencil totem you keep under your desk. but please, stop that my-balls-are-as-big-as-edwin leong’s head swagger. you bragged about working on DiGi to a fucking multiple cannes winner. why not just shoot yourself and spare the world another alcoholic has-been  in the making.
3. being underground
   yes, darlings, we know. if you listen to a band that no one else in Klang Valley has heard of, you not only get dibs, but you also win hippest elite indie hipster award which entitles you to your own tropical island, 20 tonnes of hash, and the respect and admiration of all around you. continue believing that. and have fun listening to music that sucks, movies that induce vomitting and nausea and literature that you cannot fathom without the 18-book Oxford dictionary set.  have fun making snide comments about the general population and their plebian tastes. asswipe.
4. being non-conformist
   i hope one day you cultivate the intelligence to appreciate the irony. i’m very sure you actually created a wholly original thought/ideology/theory which is so out of the box, you win at life. just like how i’m sure you liked tattoos before they were cool. or maybe your tattoos actually have real intrinsic meaning (read: fugly as a million deformed hipsters) unlike those other posers. and oh, you refuse to discuss their meaning lest it completely disfigures the beauty of the faceless kurt halsey monstrosity you have on your back (btw, your mom was too nice. i would have disowned any retard who’d pay legal tender for something that hideous). you might as well throw out all your lesportsac bags too, seeing as how it’s suddenly gotten all commercial, y’know after you read about it on the fucking internet and in fucking fashion magazines.
5. unhappy family
   daddy substituting his attention with bribes? cry me a fucking river. went to a local college, deprived of that once-in-a-lifetime overseas experience? there’s still something called mail-order bride service, go on, sign up for it. parents “hate” you? ha! my mom is crazy and she still loves me, you loser! your family not well-off enough to your highness’ liking? why not exchange your cushy terrace house for a low-rent flat, we’ll throw in a free handful of perspective. ungrateful whiny bitches.
6. c00l g33ks
   now that thousands of socially awkward, bespectacled dorks have paved the way by 1) making shitloads of money 2) making shitloads of money and 3) making shitloads of money. and now everyone wants in. and no no no. tweaking html or php or MySQL databases does not make you a 1337 programmer. posting photo how-to guides does not make you an uber blogger, you’re probably just a ninny-pated 14-year old girl. reading QC does not make you a 1337 indie freak. knowing every single release date of every single from every big band screaming “MUSIC IS MAI LAIF!” does not make you a music g33k. playing quake does not make you a g4m3 g0d (unless your name is whir or guitarman or otakon). you, are just a trendy, band-waggon-hopping douche with a twitter account.
7. has-beens without ever being
   “i’ve been working for 20 years. i have bla bla bla in my portfolio. i rubbed shoulders with so and so and so.” of course, a quick fact check brings up no such thing. delivering papers for 19 and a half years and art directing for 6 months does not equate to 20 years of industry experience. half the work in your book sucks; the other half, you merely tagged your name on while the real brains behind it was too busy doing actual work. and by the way, nearly all the aforementioned people have any idea who in frozen hell you are, the rest hate you. so stop name-dropping. the only way you’re every going to reach the top is by boot-licking, rim-jobbing, dog-walking, and other household activities too vague and unmentionable. go, you, new creative group head.

so down me a warm, steaming cup of shut the frackin’ hell up.