Pussy Phone

playing on my iPod:
Never Gonna Be Alone - Nickelback

“Dude, you have a fucking vagina on your phone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“This is so wrong. It feels like pressing a vagina on your ears every time you listen to the phone.”

“Every guy likes the feeling of being close to the best thing in this world.”

“But I am a girl, I feel so dirty after using your phone.”

“Don’t worry; I have a bottle of female hygiene cleanser at home. I’ll use it to clean my phone so that you won’t feel 'dirty' the next time you use my phone. “

“WTF?!!! Why do you have that cleanser with you?”

“Long Story, but to cut it short… it was a prank I played on a guy friend who came for a sleep over. He wanted to use a facial cleanser, so I gave him something to cleanse his face with. “

“Damn, you are not only gross, you are mean. Why can’t you be like any other normal guy who puts their girlfriend’s picture as the wallpaper? I happened to think that gesture is really sweet.”

“On the contrary, I have all my girlfriends’ picture on it. That picture pretty much sums it all.”

“YOU ARE REALLY SICK !”

“Thank you “

Tailor-Made for Penis Erection

playing on my iPod:
House of Jazz - AC/DC

It was a dull and boring Wednesday afternoon at Malibu's Bar; unattractive over-sized women draped in undersized clothes (think over-filled chinese meat dumplings "BAK CHANG") was floating around the bar like house flies hovering around heaps of trash looking for a juicy pile of crap to lay maggots.

*Yawns. Excuse my rudeness, but recalling that particular moment bored the fucking shit outta me.

I was down to my second glass of Long Beach Tea when I fucking saw her. Artificial blonde, black tube and an arm band tattoo; thick ass and pointy tits that look like she got it from a high class silcone grocery store. With a face of a Seraph and the body of a Succubi, she sat right next beside me. It was too fucking easy, just like a juicy piece of top grade choice cut placed in front of a famished cannibal, she was ready to be taken in.

You know I could smell her fucking hair and it gave me the thrill; her collar bones were sending me the chills and her fucking hips could make me fill…fill a cup full of semen juice. She stands for everything God have created women for, she was solely made for one fucking reason. Just like the Mother Teressa of all hard on's. She was tailored-made by the fucking divine to give men of all age, size and race a full frontal penile erection. Damnit, these are fucking days when every men with functioning penises are glad to be men. It was also the day when finally a wrenched like me agrees and understood God in the Holy Fucking Bible, when he said in Genesis 1:28 “Be fruitful and increase in number”. Seriously, you don't have to be a fucking bible scholar to understand that bible verse. Well, if you don't, here's the translation in layman terms… “Go Fuck”

But why God why? Fuck why? Why must it be on the day when I am still on a no-sex strike? Fuck that, I am so close yet so far. 11 more days to go before I remove the shrink wrapped around my penis and put it to full use.

*sigh. At the mean time, remember the mind is over the fucking matter and keep saying to myself…

Reunion?

playing on my iPod:
Canon in D - Vienna Boys Choir
(but it sounded more like "O Fortuna" to me today)

6:01pm First fucking day of the fucking Chinese Lunar New Year, I am looking at my own fucking reflection in the mirror, feeling like my whole existence is flawed and wondering what the fuck went wrong. You see I decided to stop being so Amish and drop my habit of plucking my eyebrow and usher myself into a new era of eyebrow grooming with my new electric eyebrow trimmer that I purchased from Watson. Just under RM13.00, this baby guarantees you an easy and pain free eyebrow shaping experience But it never said it was free of any grooming accident. Now with my hair tied back, I fucking looked like a transvestite; with a little eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss and a hot party dress; I would be ready to hit the street. Fuck that shit! But that wasn’t what that was really bothering me.

I needed a dosage of music to turn my frown upside down. Nope heavy ass metal won’t do, so I turn to some Baroque. I scroll down my iPod to find Vivaldi’s Four Seasons – Spring 1st Allegro. I was hoping that it would be uplifting but somehow today it sounded more like Winter to me. I let out a breath but it wasn’t of relief but of dreadfulness. In less than an hour, I will be in a 5 Star Restaurant having my annual family reunion dinner but with the amount of people that will be there, it felt more like a clan dinner. This is the fucking lowest point of my festivity because I am such a party pooper. If there was a party vigilante, I would fucking be on top of his hit list. But maybe it is just me growing into a full bloom green fur Grinch that fucking hates Chinese New Year or I am slowly turning into a fucking hermit who dislikes the presences of noisy cum nosey family members around me. I don’t see what is the big fucking deal with the whole reunion shit. They don’t call or talk or take notice of me on other days of the year but right now they wanna pretend to be interested in how my fucking life has been the past year and suddenly want me to be their buddy?

As usual my dad will be seated with his peers and if there is ever a conversation brought up about me in that table, it would be whether I am a fucking Goat or a fucking Monkey because I was the only one in the family who was born early January which raises the question of which Chinese Horoscope Livestock I fall into. While the talk about livestock rages on there, I am left seated in a table with my peers of which I am the youngest and only one without any offspring. Well, I could be seated with my nephews and nieces on the other table but I would have to communicate with them in diapers and nursery rhymes, so I rather take my chances seated in this fucking table.

And so with the ceiling mounted speaker playing Chinese New Year Songs above my head, I put on my fakest smile and try to be pleasant, merry and joyous as I try to survive this year’s dinner.

As the dishes started to roll out, the questions started to roll in. For crying out loud and for the 100th time, I am no longer in college and yes I am working...well, almost, but that wasn't the whole fucking point. You wouldn’t know the torment I was in, between the tiger prawn and abalone and also the steam sea bass and scallop , I was practically praying to all the gods and angels like a fucking pagan and if I was able to go on my knees I would have been praying like Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane asking the fucking almighty to take this cup away from me.



10:44pm my ordeal was coming to an end, now I just have to continue on holding this fucking fake smile as I say my goodbyes, get into my car and bullet from there like a bat outta hell.

With Bach’s Air on G string playing in the background(yes, today i was rather in the mood for some soft strings and cello rather than the sound of guitars in overdrive), my first day of the Fucking Chinese Cow Year draws to an end, and like usual I took out the red packets that I have collected from the dinner and was about to put them inside my car as emergency cash (now you know where i keep my red packet cash), I notice something that I never realized until now. My name was written on every fucking single red packet; I went through all the red packets that I have collected throughout the years and my name was on every one of it. You know what, that scribbled name on the side of the red packet meant more than the 100s and 50s notes inside of it; it meant that that particular red packet was for me and only me. I was fucking speechless, how could I be so fucking blind?

Now I fucking see that even though it is just so amazing; amazingly how much they and I have nothing in common, yet it has never stopped them from trying to get close to me and no matter how much of an alien, pariah, or an outcast I am to them, I was still fucking family to them and will always be.


So my festivity had a rough start unlike her's - it was a walk in the park all the way from the start... "Peanuts and TV"

Lastly, I haven't been getting much interesting hate mails lately except for this dude/babe who totally loath my anorexic post. And I thought the last hate mail was lenghty and hard to understand, wait till you see THIS ONE.

The Key Lime Pie Horror

playing on my iPod:
The Outsider - A Perfect Circle

Have you ever waked up at 3:01am in the morning and have an epiphany? Neither have I but it was some sort of a fucking urge to make Key Lime Pie. You must be thinking that at 3am in the morning with not a single shit ingredient in the kitchen, it ain’t gonna happened. But sometimes I just marvel at how the human brain works, the fucking strong will of wanting to fucking make this fucking pie; I unconsciously in my sleep made up a fucking list of substitutes ingredient that I can get from the 7-11 store which was just a block away from my house. So I fucking got up, put on something and drove there.

As I was making the turn to 7-11, it occurred to me that it was getting awfully chilly at this time of the year. It didn’t rain for days, and monsoon season was definitely over here in the east coast and I didn’t even turn on the car’s AC. But it was so chilly that it was making my nipples so hard that it could cut through glass. A fucking scary thought ran through my mind, what if it is a ghost or something? I read it from somewhere that when there is an evil presence near, the air would get chilly and cold. Alright, I didn’t read it but I saw it in the Exorcist; Father Merin went into the Regan’s room when she was possessed by an evil spirit. The fucking room suddenly turned blizzard cold and he was puffing smoke outta his fucking lungs. So that thought sorta slip and I reckon that I was in that fucked up situation and it sent chills down my fucking spine.

I pull over to the side of the fucking road, and then slowly reach for the rear view mirror. I didn’t wanna make any sudden movement because we have seen it one too many times in horror movies, the fucker who makes sudden movements dies the most horrible death. So I slowly adjust the rear view mirror to look back at the rear passenger’s seat. Nope, there weren’t any apparitions, ghouls or zombies there. But it was getting even colder now; maybe they cast no reflection in the mirror like vampires in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. So with a single motion, I turn back to have a look at the rear seat with my own two eyes, but in your brain you might wanna try imaging it like I am doing it a slow motion because it would be pretty cool, don’t you think so?

There it was when I realized that I was wearing nothing but my boxers. I was topless and I only have a lime green boxer cover in blue patches in the shape of flowers on (think Patrick Star). Fuck it, I forgot to put on any clothes when I got out of the house and I didn’t have any money on me. But I always carry some money in my car in case of emergency, so now all I have to do is check out who is on the graveyard shift at 7-11. If it was a guy, I am all good and I don’t have to go home and change.

I guess my luck was changing after all because the cashier was a guy and I happened to know that fucker. So with both hands I pull the top of my boxer up to the level of my my belly button and then rushed in 7-11 grabbed all the stuff I needed to make the fucking pie, pay and leave. Who would have known that I managed to pull it off with only a boxer? With a big fat fucking grin on my face that runs from my left ear to my right ear, I drove home and get ready to bake.

As I went in my patio, suddenly I realized something. Motherfucker, they have CCTVs in all their outlets and I was on 7-11 TV. Fuck me man, I fucking hope that no low life geek that works in 7-11 would fucking post up a video in YouTube with a fucking title like this “Idiot wearing only boxers getting stuff in 7-11”.

I am so messed up right now because I am on this no-sex strike thing and I am passing my 11th day without sex. But it seems to be disrupting my daily routine, I can’t even update my blog properly that is why I have ask a pretty looking ghost to do so for me. None of my friend’s thinks that I could get passed Chinese New Year without fucking anyone because they think I am a sex addict in the making and some of them think I am already one. But I am here to fucking prove to them I am wrong. Okay, wait, let me get this correct, prove them wrong. Just 3 more days to Chinese New Year and then another 15 more days of non vaginal penetration festivity for me and then I am so gonna rub it in their face for calling me a sex addict right after I fuck the first women I see. I wonder who would be that lucky girl when the clock strikes 12:01 after Chinese New Year? Tell you what, just to show you what a nice guy I am, I am not sparing you the details when I am through humping that lucky girl.

Anyway, for those who wonder how does a 7-11 Key Lime Pie look like and taste like, here's the recipe:

the xniquet-wiki articles for this post: 7-11 Key Lime Pie

Ghosts.

playing on my iTunes
( Because the ghost doesn't have an iPod ) :
Dream a Little Dream of Me - Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong


Hello world, Xniquet is officially dead. Therefore, this is his ghost typing these words out. You will see little or no profanity, experience the absence of sex and I have to apologize for the inability for you to orgasm tonight because his ghost is not him, hence you will not be able to read anything that will stimulate the clit of yours which grow in your brain, or should I say cock?

Oh, and I forgot. Since X is now temporary dead, don't forget the red packets for me.

Happy fucking Chinese New Year.



Old habits die hard.

The Perils of Women’s Sex Decadence: they aren’t as innocent as they used to be

playing on my iPod:
My Michelle – Guns N’ Roses

When you need to tilt your head just to look at a girl’s face…

…just to recognize her, you know you’ve fucked one too many girls in your lifetime and it is time for you to slow down before everyone thinks that you are a man-whore or gigolo. So you think it ain’t that bad being a man-whore right? You get to have every man’s favorite hobby as your job and the best part is she is the one that is paying and not you. But then again, if you are living in Malaysia, chances of you getting a young and beautiful girl as your client is close to zero; 90% of the man-whore’s client’s are wrinkled old women above their 50s; the other 10% are men who likes to suck and ride big cocks because their gay partner isn’t giving them enough. Regardless of what you see in Deuce Bigalow Male Gigolo, it totally sucks to be a man-whore in Malaysia and California. [The only difference between Malaysia and California is that in California the 90% consist of men and 10% are the wrinkled old hag.]

Yesterday my cousin Chris asked me why is it every time we go to the bar to pick up girls, I am the one who gets the girl while he is having problem getting one?

That makes me wonder what ladies see in me. I ain’t no pretty boy or some gay looking heartthrob that girls totally dig; my definition of humor are mean and blunt insults thrown at people which is funny to everyone except the one whom the joke is about; my manners are somewhat of a dandy that was raised in the gutter. On the other end, you could say that my cousin Chris is the benchmark of what every gentleman should be. He is funny, good looking (maybe 10 times or more better looking than me), great career, caring, articulate, well mannered and goes to church every week. He is every parents' dream son or son-in law while I was the inspiration of how a son or son-in law should never be. If he has a blog, I bet your fucking ass his blog would be about the environment, love, Jesus and shit like that; something which I totally cannot bring myself to write about because I am better at asking people to kill each other than to persuade them to hold hands, suck each other’s cock and be merry and gay.

If the two of us were made into characters in a Dungeon & Dragons game, Chris would be the Lawful Good Paladin trying to save the world while I would be the Thief with the Chaotic Evil alignment going around burning, looting, and pillaging everything on sight. Yet every time we go out ladies hunting, I would be the one going home with someone.

Time sure has change and I think it has something to do with the general acceptance of the decaying moral values in our society. These days, the more immoral you are, the higher the chances of you getting the girl. Don’t even try to go in a bar and try to impress a girl with your sophisticated knowledge of how to treat a women right. All you ever get is just a compliment saying how sweet you are and then you'll spend the night alone with your own hands rubbing your cock. On the other hand, if you just be a degenerate ass that treats the girl like a sex object, you are pretty much on your way to a night of fuck fest. Don’t stop telling her how you are going to make her scream tonight and make sure your hands is always all over her, i.e. ass or breast (for better result, make sure hands is underneath her clothes). Keep this up and before the night is through, you might as well sharpen your dick and get ready for some penetration time.

We are all fucking blessed with a brain which is suppose to help us but sometimes we tend to fucking over think things that are just plain ass simple. Why is it that we think the Yoga Sutras who invented yoga is an Old Indian holy man living in a temple trying to be as one with the universe by meditation, where the simple fact is that that bugger could be just trying to find another way to wipe his ass without using his hands and saving the TP* expenses for the temple. The general truth about girls in bar is that they are not there to look for someone to take care of them. They can do it themselves or hire people to do it. They are there to have fun and “fun” in their context means going home with someone and getting fucked. Forget what you read from a girl’s blog, about how she wants her man to be. It totally doesn’t apply here; you will be better off doing the total opposite of what she wants. Just like a Brahman worshiping Hindu believer eating a thick juicy sirloin steak which was once a cow grazing grass beside the river Ganges, we know all this is all wrong but it would very much secure a passage for your cock inside her.

I think I better stopped here before someone strangles me with a fucking sitar string.

TP* = toilet paper