20 minutes later…

as i pull into subang, a car 15 meters in front brakes, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it ever-so-slightly. then as i’m passing him on the right at not-so-safe-on-a-bend 80kmh, he veers abruptly into my lane, forcing me to stop and honk (meeeeeep). the bastard (8-letter triple score), then flops an arm out of his window in apology. or what i assumed was an apology. it better have been sorry you fucktard (8-letter win!).  i stay well and good behind this chromosomally-challenged mofo who, drooling down his popped-collared polo tee,  proceeds to veer right, flicking his right signal on 30-seconds later (WTF) before cutting across 3 lanes to the left at a 60° angle. swerving back to the right, he stops at a traffic light, and just as i was about to count my lucky stars, fucker (6-letter score) guns it into my lane, hogs two traffic lanes and signals left ONCE before cutting in front of me again (foiling my desperate attempt to get home with my temper in tact) before crashing into USJ6.

yeah, so maybe i can’t go a full 24-hours without swearing. but i can launch into a 30-minute swear fest, starting. now.

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.

months and months back, the usj5 residents (WHOOPS, NOW YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE) were protesting against a telecommunications tower somewhere next to a frackin’ playground. and what do you know? majlis perbandaran subang jaya actually took their complaints/petioning/whining seriously and disabled the tower.

so currently maxis is searching for a nice shiny place for their new tower. ‘scuse me? no lockdown on location, permit etc. i’ll be living in a black hole until then.

who the fuck complained about it being a health hazard? are they all fucking technophobes (or techno-ginists)? phone waves screwing up your astro wah lai toi service isit? STFU. go do some sewing and cooking like a real grandma. health hazard? how long do you think you’re gonna live anyway? your crappy canto-serials all have sucky endings anyway: the main guy dies, the heroine is a slut, and everyone else are losers, so fuck you!

ARGH

how do you explain disappointment or genuinely hurt feelings without coming off whiny?

WELL, SORRY, BITCHES BUT YOU CAN’T.

i’ll preserve this macho façade (which protects my warm chocolate centre) with this non-confrontational, passive/aggressive stance.  think i’m getting more and more comfortable with it.

oh, but if you are someone who has voluntarily distanced yourself from me or who has irreparably hurt me, you still have no right to wonder how i am or miss me.

*W*

maxis is really fucking with us. what happened? did someone lop down a telecommunications tower in usj? fucking hell.

and mr adam mathews did promise free entry plus a jug of something. well, fuck that. i don’t want your damn drink. wtf.

if i’m posting on the damn wall, it’s obvious that i am a member, duh.

if i wasn’t a member, could i do this? truth be told, i’m way more cheesed off at the lack of IT savvy than i am at the perpetual screw ups. if karma wants to make it so hard for me to go to lapsap at barsonic, so be it. there’s always palate (walaupun twice a year).

fuck. i’m not going to zouk any more.

may your jeans always be too tight at the ankles but loose at the waist.

may you one day miraculously awake with the most acute sense of smell known to humankind and in turn be afflicted by a million body odour-wafting pits.

may your mother always be regaling the most embarrassing childhood moments to your colleagues and superiors (and potential mates, as if, you loser!) like that time she found a used, well-lubricated carrot in your underwear drawer.

may you grow a luxuriant coat of back-hair that reaches all the way up, indistinguishable from your hairline and sideburns, turning you into walking human beard.

well, what i’m trying to say is:

FUCK YOU

TERMS & CONDITIONS:
This event is BY INVITATION ONLY. Entry with the E-Invite is restricted between 7.30pm – 10.30pm only. Entry is restricted to patrons 23 years and above only and club rules apply. Zouk Club KL reserves the rights to refuse entry.

so, no patrons under 23 and no sunnies, hats, beanies, jerseys. no exception.

unless you’re an attractive female blogger/party-goer.

then you can be 19.

come on la. if you want to be douchebags, still have to play fair.

no round-collar tees

no football jerseys

no hats

no beanies

no sunnies

why don’t you call my mom and ask her what else i like, then you can add it to your list of don’ts. cibai.

short hair means women uninterested in sex?

Is short hair a conscious – or unconscious – signal that a woman is not interested in sex? The question was raised this week by sex therapist and former comedienne Pamela Stephenson, who believes ‘deliberately reducing one’s attractiveness’ can sometimes be a way of repelling men’s interest.

i’m so sorry i’m so damn unnatractive and repulsive with my short cuts. i never imagined it was linked to some deep-seated misandry and a general frigid cow-ness. o woe is me, bereft of any charm or beauty and deprived of sexual advances and in dire need of male attention to survive.

commedienne and sex therapist indeed . wtf!

*cue girly high-pitched SCRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAM*

p/s yes, i’m evil too. your point?

some great story to pass around, innit?

it may be over and done with and fucking hilarious to everyone now, but do any of you, any of you who were involved directly and indirectly, know how much fucking pain you put me through?

yeah, and that’s not enough.

keep it alive till today why don’t you?

FUCK!

wow.

well, it is the first week. it’s like hanging out at home, but at the office… methinks me lost the plot.

anyway, tragedy befalls those who, well, deserve it. people who don’t suck tend to have close girlfriends who send them random cute, quirky and often meaningless text messages. we awesome people have girlfriends (and some times their boyfriends) who talk about sweet girly things or kinky nasty dirty shit with (while mr. bf goes “lalalalalala” with his hands over his ears).

i have a super shopping companion. who is also my someone to have coffee with, to get smashed with and go for TAG with. to exchange awesome clothing and to chain smoke with.

and now even to mario kart with. yay!

aiyo, pantat face, it sucks to be stuck in prolonged adolescent angst (in your 20s) caused by being a materialistic, self absorbed, holier than thou, rich snob brat, i’m-too-good-for-this-world beeeeeeeyotch.

in other words, it sucks to be you!

then again, there was never any doubt in my mind about the mental instabilities of this wannabe journalist (baby would hurl seeing how any retard today can claim dibbs on the journalist label), seeing as how she once sent me a message about a ‘friend’ and how he “told her the truth about me” *insert psycho bitch statement here* thing is, it was zachary. i mean that was so 20 million years ago and who in their right mind even gives a shit anymore? i guess key words here being “right mind”.

can ms. grammar advise me whether i should tuck my periods in or keep it out? it’s supposedly british vs american, so it doesn’t make a difference says she. might as well drop your u’s as well, you twat!

here’s the full post in all its eye-twitching, knee-jerking glory. i’d say just in case the original post is taken down, but am guessing someone has too much “integrity” for that.

When you first graded my in-class writing I was miffed that you picked on my touchy spot – grammar. As an aspiring journalist, NOBODY…and I mean NOBODY gets away when they pick on my English. In my 11 years of primary and secondary education I never ever got below an A for English so hands off, you grammar mama. But I let it slide because I admit that I could use less words to express myself instead of the lengthy, long-winded way I write. When C complains how senile and forgetful you are, how talkative and boastful of your achievements, I reasoned that you are not as bad as she thinks, just that you’re experienced and mature.I tolerated your long-winded lectures, your constant memory lapses and grammar-correcting ways but you took the cake when you downgraded my Credit to a Pass! 68% to 59%? I was 2 marks away from a Distinction and now I’m a mark away from Credit just because you thought that I should not use American English but I should use British English? There is no difference in meaning with the words “organization” and “organisation”, Ma’am.

Majority of lecturers I know don’t even bat an eyelash when they come across minor “grammar” mistakes like you do. In fact, they don’t even consider it an issue but you make it sound like I wrote lYk DyS in your paper. I have prided my blog as a place for no vulgarities but here’s a big Fuck You!

btw, comments are moderated. fuck you too!

Suddenly, a group of plain cloth police officers appeared at my front gate. The person who started to identify the group and the purpose of this visit was a woman officer. She was also the only one in her uniform.

Through the gate, she told me that I have to follow them to the Police station, in response to that I told her that unless they have a warrant of arrest, I will not open the gate. At the same time, I immediately rung up the legal adviser of our company and my direct superior, seeking their advice.

Later, the female officer told me that they are arresting me under Internal Security Act, therefore a warrant is not required. On hearing that, I was immediately was prepared for the worst.

I have to act calm, comforting my parents and reassuring them that my colleagues would be waiting for me at the police station to render assistance. When I was taken away, my parents acted strongly, they kept on asking the police to accord me with proper treatment.

I was brought to Seberang Perai Tengah IPD (district head office), and I was placed in a chilling cold room while waiting for the police to begin their paperwork. I was accompanied by a female officer who seemed to be trembling as a result of the low room temperature as well. To break the silence, I initiated a conversation. She told me, “You seemed to be very calm.”

I told her, “I am arrested under the Internal Security Act, even though I am scared, I have to face this reality. But I am worried about my parents, friends and relatives, they must be very worried about me.”

To be frank, I was very cool-headed. I believed that there must be a lot of people out there supporting me, giving me the strength that I need, so I must stay strong, to be with these people who are supporting me.

The police recorded all my personal belongings, these were later taken away from me. After that, I am considered ready to be sent to the Police Contingent Headquarters in Penang. When I was brought out of the police station, I realised that a lot of my colleagues in the media, together with representative from different parties and groups were already waiting outside the Police station to show their support. Seeing this,I was deeply touched, I could no longer hold my tears.

When the police car arrived at the station’s entrance, my superior, Puah Eu Peng, our Northern Region Manager, tried to halt the car with his body, to slow the police car’s movement. He knocked at the window, to make sure that I was in the car and gestured to show me his support.

I instantly wiped off my tears, I realised that a lot of them are staying with me, I must be with them as well.

After taking my thumbprints, I was given my dinner and arranged to spend my night in remand. It was not to my knowledge that my colleagues in the profession and people from different groups and parties were there to show their support, right outside that station.

I requested the female officer to keep the lights on. She told me not to worry, she will not switch off the lights. The police also informed me that I would be meeting my parents tomorrow morning at eight. I have spent a very long time, thinking of everything that I have to tell my parents. I have lost touch with the outside world this is my only opportunity, I must cherish it, to clearly explain everything to my parents.

After clearing my mind and organising my thoughts, I tried to sleep while lying on the wooden bed with the company of the mosquitoes and the noise of water dripping. I have no idea what tomorrow holds for me, but I know I have to be in my perfect condition to handle everything.

I have never suffered from insomnia and this very night, I finally experienced it. Deep down in my heart, I know that those who care about me, would also be experiencing the same, my heart wrenched thinking of that.

At 6 o’clock in the next morning, when I was about to wash up, the female officer passed me the clothing brought by my parents. I was surprised; everything was new, the toiletries, t-shirts, shorts, panties.

I later discovered that the ‘parents’ that the police officer was referring to were a bunch of my colleagues. While waiting outside the Penang Police Contingent Headquarter, they have prepared all these for me. They were uncertain when I would be released, but they told themselves that they must get these necessity items ready in the briefest time possible.

I met my parents and bided them goodbye, the police informed me that they would bring me to the Police Headquarter in Bukit Aman in Kuala Lumpur. My heart sank, I told myself this is the beginning of it, I must brace myself for everything.

After few turns of event, I was eventually brought to the Perak Police Headquarter in Ipoh. After a brief interrogation session, I was brought back to Penang Police Headquarter again.

It was here, where I was interrogated further. I told myself to keep my mind clear, I must tell them the truth, and respond appropriately.

After the interrogation session, I was brought to see another higher-ranked officer, he told me, “We can both go home now!”. Both of us turned to the clock on the wall, the time was 2.25p.m.

This my 18 hours under ISA. I have gone through a lot

After being released, I received a lot of messages, telephone calls and bouquets. My colleagues in the press, representatives from political parties, society leaders, schoolmates, classmates, friends and relatives have visited me at home. Of course, not forgetting the readers and the public who called up or visited Sin Chew Daily’s office in Penang or the Head Office in Petaling Jaya.

Calls, messages, well wishes, and visits from readers and friends. To all of them, I have to express my deepest gratitude. During that 18 hours which was filled with a lot of uncertainties, I felt that there is some unknown strength that has supported me throughout, I knew it must be from you all, those whom I knew or have not met!

I realise that our journey is still full with challenges and obstacles, so we have to continue the same righteous spirit and courage that we have all shown this time! Our society needs this spirit, to build a better tomorrow.

I have finally been freed, but I hope Teresa Kok and Raja Petra Kamaruddin and all those detainees under the Internal Security Act, could be released as soon as as possible. If the authorities think that they have broken the law, they should brought to the court of law to receive transparent and fair trials.

By TAN HOON CHENG via TheStar.com.my