Prelude: An Analingus Tale

With all the Chinese Lunar New Year still in the air, it is hard to shake off all the New Year’s fucktivity, I mean festivity. You know all I can think about now is the fucktivity that my dirty friends did when they made a sin trip up to Bangkok during the holidays. All the senseless orgy, butthole pleasure and dirty ass rimming that they do behind their wives’ back is simply legendary. After a night’s out with the boys, my mind is polluted with their live to tell stories. The places they stick their penises in is simple jaw dropping. I have been told that Analingus is the new sex a la mode; forget about the conventional blow jobs. Analingus of the way to go but that will all be revealed in another post call An Analingus Tale. But for now, this is just a pseudo blog post with no essence, just lame ass mundane shit that I did during the fucktivities, I mean festivities, after which you will see how pathetic my life really is and you will maybe learn to appreciate what you have even more.

So here are some pictures taken during a trip to a friend’s vegetable farm. I was actually trying to pick up some trade secrets on growing my own spice garden but everything about what I have now just seems to scream wrong.





My friend’s farm is located in Sg. Sol (about 9 clicks from Kuantan); this fucking farm is fucking huge and it is filled with chives which are great on garlic bread [recipe here];

There are baby Sarawak pineapples too;

This weird looking motherfucker is called “Misai Kuching” in Malay which translated means "Cat’s Whiskers." It is to be made into tea and it is great for you anorexic freak;

Not sure what this mother fuckers are called but they are great if you stir fried it with some wolf-berries;

And last but not least this is not a picture taken from the farm but from my very own spice garden. All fucked up by some fucking pest. I may not be Martha Fucking Stewart but I know that my mint leaves are screwed.

P.S. I was approached by a website and was asked to submit some of my writings; so currently I am working on a short story entitle “Father of All”. So that means less time to blog but I will definitely update y’all on what the short story is about.

Right Next Door to Amityville Horror

Do you believe in ghost?

Well, at least I want to believe that it is true. I have never seen one with my own eyeballs nor feel or smell the scent of one, heck I never even encounter a strange happening in my whole fucking life but if you consider scamming hot transvestite in the middle of the night as a paranormal activity then maybe yeah.

But right until now I am still a paranormal virgin and no ghost or apparition has yet to pop my fucking cherry.

[I had something planned for this week entitled Fast & Furiously Trying to Get Laid but something came up and I thought I blog about this first]

This morning as I was watering my spice garden (which only consist of mint plants and more mint plants), I happened to strike up a conversation with one of the kindergarten teachers who was working next door. (Yeah, I live next to a Kindergarten, it is a great place to find a hot girl who would tolerate you when you feel like acting like a 5 year old) I was asking her if she knew about all the ruckus that was going on a month ago with the house behind me. And a shocking revelation was unfold to me, it seem that the house is haunted. No one really talks about it but everyone knows that it is the Amityville of this area. Five fucking families have lived there and all of them moved out within a month. Another common thing about the families is that they are all Indians. You might think that Prima Facie-ly this is because of the irresponsible money-hunger Chinese Realtor that thinks the Indians are suckers for haunted houses. But the true fact is this Chinese Realtor is actually very responsible for only letting Indian family in that haunted house because it goes without saying that Indian is somewhat immune to ghost because it is generally assume that ghosts can’t see them at night. Then again the exorcism (if needed) perform by the Indian is by far the cheapest of the other races here. Come on, how much do you think a few sheets of banana leaves cost? As for a full blown Chinese exorcism, just by asking advice from them, it would cost you a red packet containing nothing less than RM888.88 (a very auspicious figure to the fucking Chinese) and did you know that it will cause you a bomb if you are required to burn paper effigies to appease the fucking spirits which I think it is more like appeasing the blood leeching exorcist than the ghost. Come on who you think the Realtor would let the house to if they are liable for exorcism cost. Take a guess, take a wild guess…

I was greatly disappointed because I've moved in a house next to a haunted house and not into one. You know the fucking feeling of being one number short of the jackpot or having some fucking idiot shout “Bingo” when you are already so close to winning. I feel cheated, just because my skin isn’t black, I’m not always drunk and I don’t reek of coconut oil, it doesn't mean I don't wanna move in a haunted house.

But what is done is done, but that doesn't kill my fascination for that haunted house. I believe every evil has a beginning even Lord Lucifer started as a choir Boy in God’s choir. That is why I really wanna know more about what is going on in that house and also the history and when it started becoming haunted.

Now I fucking feel like Sam & Dean from Supernatural but the only difference is I'm not that good looking, I'm alone & my car booth isn’t filled with guns armed with salt rock shells. But that ain't gonna stop me from getting to the bottom of it.

Happiness after Love

Love is a many splendid thing; love can lift us up where we belong; all you need is love; but pretty soon you'll find out that love is actually the road to your ruin...yeah, all you need is love to fucking ruin your life.

Love is a fucking parasite that lift you up like the sweetest angel and then it will tear you down like a bitter whore, before you even know it, it'll leave you feeling like the dirty spit of the world.

It is a common misconception that the fucking weird feeling that you feel in your stomach when you are in love are butterflies flapping around, the actual cold hard fact, it is probably hook worms or tape worms. Because when the love is gone, the one feeling that your fucking senses can’t lie to you is the feeling of being worn out, chewed up and cast aside like unwanted underwear filled with skid marks.

So what the fuck do we do after the love is gone and we are back being sober again? Are we ever going to be back in the state of euphoric as before or are we just going to remain feeling like stained undergarment?

You know, some of us would become story tellers, telling tales of your previous relationship with your ex. The thing about living in this darn generation is you can have a worldwide audience to listen to your WTF love story. You can fucking blog about how Jesus Christ you were for her; or you can fucking facebook all your pictures together, showing your so-called “Friends” on the internet how great you two were together; or you can twit every 5 minutes on Twitter, whining about how much that relationship has taken its toll on you; better yet you could video yourself crying and sobbing while you tell the world about the greatest love story (not Christ but your WTF love story) on YouTube hoping to gain fame through the sympathy of others. As ridiculous as it may sound but yes, there are some of us who does that and I am guilty of some but not all of the above.

Then there are some of us that just can’t get off feeding from the sympathy of our illusive friends on our facebook account, soon we become the fox in Aesop‘s fables. I think you know which fox I am talking about; yeah it’s the same old fucking fox that couldn’t reach the grapes, hence “sour grape”. Seriously it doesn’t take much to have one of these sour grape session, all you need to do is gather a bunch of your close friends, drink lotsa beer and start bad mouthing about your ex, heck you can even create your very own tall tales about how fuck up your ex is; the fucking sky is the limit. The more you drink and the more bad things you mouth off about your ex (whether true or not), it will eventually become a fact to you and your buddies that your ex is just a fucking sour grape. But if your friends are not as delusional as you, you would probably have to switch to something harder like whiskey.

But a person with a rationale mind would know that none of the posted “facts” on your blog as a whinny blogger or becoming a delusional sour grape creator would ever wipe your fucking relationship slate clean and place your back in your previous state of bliss. He would tell you to clean up your act and strife for a better self, and then find someone new to love and fucking live happily ever after.

But we all fucking know that is bullshit, you may have the finest things in life, a great job, big cars, a big house with furniture that matches the latest Ikea’s catalog and a girlfriend or wife with much bigger breasts than your ex but every fucking time you think about how happy she looks after the breakup, your blood begins to boil; Her every laughter is an abomination to you, and all you wanna do is just break every single fucking teeth in her mouth, kick her in the stomach until her next menstrual start flowing, chew off her nipples and spit it into her mouth.

No there is no happiness here but just another bottomless void that just keeps eating you up like cancer; and you ain’t getting out of it until you fucking see the bitch in misery. Seriously the breakup cliché “I just want you to be happy” is a load of crap.

So if you ask me is there really happiness after the love is over?

“Yes”.

There is “Happiness after Love” but it only comes after you watch that fucking bitch break.