THEFT

Crooning on my STEREO: In My Arms by MYLO

TO A CERTAIN BITCH-THIEF WHO NICKED MY STUFF LAST NIGHT:

HELLO CHICKEN SHIT,

You fucking little puny criminal PUSSY.

Have you FUCKED yourself yet? Oh yeah, you CANT do it. YOU HAD TO BE A THIEF BORN OUT OF A SHITHOLE.

Tell me, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO NICK 30 RINGGIT OUT OF SOMEBODY'S WALLET?

THATS 30 FUCKING RINGGIT!!!!!!
THAT'S, LIKE, 5 QUID. 7 DOLLARS.

Happy? You are 30 ringgit richer now. It COULD have paid for my BREKKIE the next day. It COULD have bought me a crap CD. I COULD have bought MYSELF another round of Magarita Presidente.

YOU PRETTY LITTLE CHINK FACED BITCH,

I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL.

I HOPE YOU USED THAT STOLEN DOSH TO GET YOURSELF A CRACK FIX AND DIE from it.

I still remember your bullimic, slutty face of a CUNT.
YOU DUMB WHORE. You even forgot to nick my credit card. Were you too pissed to bypass free dosh staring at your face? Oh no. You have never seen a credit card before.

YOU EVEN STOLE MY FAVOURITE MOTIVI BELT. YOU ULTRA CUNT.

So, what are you going to do with it? Embark on a steamy S&M fuck session with your HIV PLayboy? If so,
I HOPE YOU STRANGLE YOURSELF FROM IT.

Damn you, BITCH.

France

Crooning on my STEREO: Torero by CHAYANNE

I am saying this for the very last time:

I am going to CANNES*
NOT PARIS!!!!!

If you want to spread the joy, GET IT RIGHT.

Media's Most Wanted

Crooning on my STEREO: When the Lights Go Down by ARMAND VAN HELDEN

Yesterday, I swear I almost killed off the entire TV Industry at work.
Until a phonecall from Paris saved the day.



NO. I didn't manage to leach on for corporate F1 tickets this weekend. Nor a free ride to the biggest RAVE in town. In other words, you wont see me at either of these two events.

I SUCK

Thats what the toilet rolls are for.

HAIL THE QUEEN

Crooning on my STEREO: She Wants to Move by N.E.R.D

Today I am going to bitch about my friend's aunt

A dumbass journalist was raving about a particular Malaysian woman who made it into Tom Ford's fancy portfolio of dumbass actresses in March's edition of Vanity Fair. The entire nation should kiss her feet for putting our insignificant nation onto the tinseltown map.

Our dear journalist goes on to glorify her painstakingly painful steps to stardom:

"....... how she gave up her dream of being a ballerina after an injury, was crowned Miss Malaysia and then married and divorced Hong Kong billionaire Dickson Poon before her career really took off..."

Oh wow. How tearjerking. I wanna CRY. I am SO SORRY that she fucked up her dreams of becoming a twinkle-toe ballerina. (A few years later we even saw her overcame all odds by managing high-action splits as a Bond Girl. Sure, the injury is permanent. )

It is so highly fucking inspiring how she rose mightily from the depths of all catastrophes to becoming the MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN MALAYSIA by winning the most bimbotic pageant ever held on Planet Earth. For social security purposes, she is going to marry the father of all toads JEAN TODT. I am so in awe of her consideration to marry an amphibian.

Tough life, isn't it? So much of BLOOD, SWEAT and TEARS. Even Ang Lee's impoverished trade with his blood just to buy his first betacam camera can't beat our heroine's courageous strive for success.

Read this again:

.... MARRIED AND DIVORCED HONG KONG BILLIONAIRE DICKSON POON BEFORE HER CAREER REALLY TOOK OFF....

Wow. Amazing.

HELLO??!?!!? SHE MARRIED SUCCESS.

Don't be STUPID. Don't be RIDICULOUSLY STUPID.

"We all hope to see bigger things from our Hollywood Star...."
Shut up, you dumb ass.

MONDAY SUCKS

Crooning on my STEREO: For An Angel by PAUL VAN DYK

7:45 am: ALARM BEEPS.
Me Thinks: Heh?........ What?........... WHY???

7:50 am: SNOOZE ONCE. I WAKE TO REALITY.
Me Thinks: God damnnit why in all heavens name cant this be a SUNDAY MORNING?? God please not let this be a MONDAY!!!!! this can't be true!!!!! oh heavens NOOOO!!!!!

7:50 am: I SIT IN THE LOO.
Me Thinks: Fuck the world. My life sucks. My life sucks. My life sucks. My life sucks....

7:52 am: I BRUSH MY TEETH.
Me Thinks: I look shit. I look shit. I look shit. I look shit. I look shit.....

7:56 am: I PUT MY CLOTHES ON.
Me Thinks: Fuck this skirt I look like a turnip. Screw my bloody fatty arms I've got chicken wings...

8:00 am: I EAT MY BREAD WITH PEANUT BUTTER
Me Thinks: May this stale bread give me diarrhoea and a tummy gag so that I can take a half-day leave...

8:05 am: I TURN ON THE TELLY
Me Thinks: Come on.... give me a national crisis so that all roads leading to the city will be closed...

8:20 am : I GET INTO THE CAR
Me Thinks: Shit. The engine works.

8:30 am: I AM CAUGHT IN THE TRAFFIC
Me Thinks: The janitor has a better job. I think I should resign this week. Maybe tommorrow? Or Friday when boss is in a less shitty mood.

8:50 am: I REACH THE OFFICE LOBBY
Me Thinks: Damn it. Office is not flooded.

9:00 am: I GET INTO THE ELEVATOR
Me Thinks: Why can't there be a lift suspension error on, let's say, the 21st floor?

9:03 am: I GET TO MY DESK. I SWITCH ON MY DESKTOP.
Me Thinks: 9 hours to go. My life sucks. I wanna get pissed.

9:05 am: I COMPLAIN TO ANY SOUL WHO WALKS PAST ME ABOUT HOW ANNOYING MY AFFILIATES ARE. I PLAY BLUR's GREATEST HITS ON MY SPEAKERS.
I sing to Blur's Universal. And it really, really, really could happen.... tra la la la...... SIGH.

AND THE DAY FOLLOWS UP WITH MORE BORING SHIT.

Now sing this:

DON'T CHA WISH YOUR WORKING LIFE IS COOL LIKE MINE ??

OSCARS

Crooning on my STEREO: Rainsong by the MOSQUITOS

When you're in the industry, every Tom Dick and Harry talks cock about Oscar nominees. Exactly a year ago a girl from my drama class scored a leading role in a short film which eventually led her to her (or rather her director's) first Oscar win. I thought that was so cool that she did it. And I didnt. WTF.

Anyway, check this. DID I HEAR IT RIGHT?

KEIRA KNIGHTLEY IS NOMINATED FOR AN OSCAR

Oscar for WHAT?

OSCAR FOR BEST ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE

FUCK.

Time to question the world. Nominating Keira for an Oscars is equivalent to nominating Josh Groban a Grammy fot Best HipHop artiste of the year. But then again Scarlett Johansson had won a BAFTA in the Best Actress Category in her excruciatingly deadpan i- am- so- impoverished- and- I- need- a- fuck role of a servant girl in The Girl With A Pearl Earring last year. (or the year before. whatever.) That same unoriginal deadfish performance was then emulated in Lost in Translation.

Suddenly an ocean full of male spectators lusted over her constipated portrayal of a tortured flawless beauty.

Nevermind that. I thought Scarlett's case was a tragic definition of amateur screen acting. One fine summer's day, several footie blokes spotted a particular dumb blonde fiddling with a football in Bend It Like Beckham. GOAL. Say hello to KEIRA KNIGHTLEY.

LOOK. THIS "QUEEN OF POUT" CANNOT ACT.

She just bloody CANT, okay? I aint going to explain further.

You know the natural order is fucked up when some dingbat decides to nominate
KEIRA KNIGHTLEY alongside JUDI DENCH.

What the crap were the Academy dudes thinking? This is purely an execution of a vile sin.
JUDI DENCH IS THE EPITOME OF SCREEN PERFORMANCE IN ALL ITS GREATNESS.

KEIRA KNIGHTLEY DOES NOT ACT. SHE POUTS.

Get it? If the Academy dumbasses had included ZHANG ZIYI into the Best Actresses' Category, I WILL FLIP.

We are actively embracing a whole new generation of useless actresses who do nothing but BROOD, SULK and POUT

Apparently they call that sexy.
Stupid or what?

KARMA'S A BITCH

Crooning on my STEREO: Por Que Te Vas by JAVIER ALVAREZ

You see, I AM A GOOD PERSON. I don't plot murders. I don't nick your lunch. I don't spike my enemy's drinks. I don't commit adultery. I don't sniff cocaine. And I don't run animals down on the road.

THE BIG PICTURE IS: I AM KIND.
EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT.

I KNOW THAT TOO. The point is, karma NEVER reciprocates the slightest bit of my good will to granting me some GOOD LUCK with MEN. (and my acting career, too.)

THAT SUCKS. AND I AM COMPLAINING BIG TIME.

MAN CASE #1

Hot bloke asked me to meet him for lunch. I gleefully agree. So the date's set at 2pm. I set out at 1:30pm. Waited for the bus. There was a SNOWSTORM. My new dress was endorned with mud splashes. My hair was reduced to strangly bits of over-boiled pasta. And I got there at half two. Hot bloke wasn't impressed.

RUINED

MAN CASE #2

Nice Boy set a date to meet me on HOLY GROUNDS (aka. Church) on a sunny and chirpy Sunday morning. Happily strolling out of my student home to the bus stop, I saw a sign. BUS SERVICES ON STRIKE. Nice Boy did not have a mobile. And I didn't make it to the holy mass.

RUINED

MAN CASE #3

Met Cute Boy at the local chipper. Had a nice chat on Arsenal's Glory Days while waiting for our kebabs. As I took my mayonaise- drenched- chicken donor- delight from the chipper counter.... by all means of supernatural intervention, it SLIPPED out of my hands onto his workbag.

RUINED

MAN CASE #4

I was walking with Sexy Boy across Tottenham Court Road. Happy Happy Joy Joy. Until my kitten heels decided to part with my soles as we took the pedestrian crossing. I limped back to my flat without a shoe. Pret A Manger patrons watched me in absolute delight. Sexy Boy never asked me out again.

RUINED

MAN CASE #5

Recently I had the greatest blessing of sharing the lift with the ULTIMATE MAN OF MY DREAMS. We chatted. We parted. My hormones raged in teenage ecstasy. Shortly I met my reflection on the mirror. A massive blood-red lipstick stain was, all that while, engraved on my front tooth.

BLOODY RUINED


Fate can be such a total bitch.

Santiago Valentino

Crooning on my STEREO: Attention by ROUGE ROUGE

My mobile rang. I picked it up.


Me: HELLO?

Idiot: Hi... its me. *beep*

Me: Oh hello. How are you?

Idiot: Good good. I hope I am not disturbing you with all the missed calls...

Me: Oh no no, I have been busy with work and all....
(me thinks: I detest people who disguise calls under 'Withhold ID.' I smell a fish.)

Idiot: So, I don't want you to get the wrong idea but I wanna date you.

Me: Uh huh...
(me thinks: stupid cow. Wrong idea of WHAT? you've only known me for 2 days. )

Idiot: Yeah, but dont get the wrong idea. We should go out sometime.

Me: Erm... You have not even asked me if I was single.
(me thinks: QUICK... QUICK... think of SOMETHING!!!!)

Idiot: Oh yeahh... are you single?

Me: NO.
(me thinks: GET THE DRIFT??)

Idiot: Oh I see. I am NOT either.

Me: THEN?
(me thinks: WTF???)

Idiot: You see, i have a girlfriend but she's really quiet and all.....I don't really want to be seen with her ..

Me: Look dude. I'd love to take down your girlfriend's number and have a girly chat with her.
(me thinks: You stinking cow of a chav you should just burn in HELL)

Idiot: But you see... this whole thing is complicated. But I will sort it out with her and THEN I CAN DATE YOU.

Me: Yo shitback, WHO DO YOU THINK I AM? Some random girl on loan to deprived boyfriends?
(me thinks: COMPLICATED? Why draw ME into your screwedup pile of sith )

Idiot: Like I said, dont get the wrong idea... I am sure your boyfriend is away from this country and my girlfriend wouldn't know......

Me: Listen townie I have fantastic news for you. My phone is on SPEAKER MODE and my fiancee is seated right NEXT TO ME.

Idiot: oh.....

Me: Ciao bugger. I am going to pee.

----------------------------
DON'T EVEN TRY. I am better off dating an APE this coming VALENTINE'S DAY.


SUCKERS. YOU LOT TIRE ME.
----------------------------

Note: I figured out that I've lost a fair number of stalkers due to the lack of updates. Well, i apologise for this growing inconsistency. Blame it on my job.
Pimpin' aint easy, y'know.
I suppose that a single post every week should suffice. Now, run to the corner and CRY.

MY CNY PLEA

Crooning on my STEREO: Outer Space by T.A.T.U


MR. PAUL VAN DYK,

WILL YOU MARRY ME ???


Off to the beach to learn some German.

DOG DOG CHANG

Crooning on my STEREO: I Believe In A Thing Called Love by THE DARKNESS

ANG POW
Originally uploaded by slamducky.

It is Chinese New Year and tis the season to be jolly- IN THE POCKET. I've got a week off from pimpin' and I am slacking about getting all fat etc.

One thing I have been thinking alot lately is how long it takes one to realise shits about him/herself.

By this I mean:

It took me 2 months to admit that I am SAD. Lusting over poster boys (ie. IL DIVO) is threatening my social skills.

It took me 1 year to REALISE that my blog template looks completely SCREWED UP on some computers. And I cant seem to do anything about it. (Blame this on macintosh)

It took me 2 years to see the light: JOSE REYES WILL NEVER BE THIERRY HENRY'S SUCCESSOR. See? I am such a goddamned cow.

It took me 3 years and two albums to open my ears to a single fact: DAVID BUSTAMANTE CANNOT SING. He just can't, okay?

It took me 4 years to face the truth that I can sing as well as WILLIAM HUNG. Fuck, if only someone could have told me EARLIER.

It took me 5 years to acknowledge a simple truth about myself: I LACK PATIENCE with nitty gritty issues. Contrary to what people think.

It took me 10 years to SEE that my legs are replicas of TREE TRUNKS in short skirts. Okay I get the drift: This explains why men do not want to be seen around me.

The list goes on. The moral of the story is simple. YOU ARE WHAT YOU ARE.

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR TO YOU MATERIALISTIC LOT .

Pah, kidding. Woof Woof.