The Last Blog Post about her Part 4 "readers, I am going to tell you who I really am…"

Fuck technology

Fuck Internet

Fuck social media 

Fuck Facebook 

Fuck instagram 

But most of all fuck me for discovering your pictures on instagram

These days, there are just so many ways to stay connected to a person and yes, there are just as many ways to be haunted by one. 

It took me more than 5 years to wipe my slate clean of you but it just took a tap of a finger on the fucking screen to make every shitty feeling that had been purged from me to resurfaced, like a forgotten murdered body washed to shore. 

Going through every fucking single slide of picture, detailing every single pixel and reading the caption over and over again, trying to look for a single speck of me in those recent pictures of her and trying to convinced myself that, yeah she is still into me. 

But every time I came close, I realized that the person she meant isn't me.  It kinda feels like being covered in warm spit, soothing yet disguising. It is not easy going through all the pictures of someone that you thought you got over. The images just scar your mind and make your fucking eyes bleed from the inside out.  

I went through your 678 pictures twice, and every smile you had on your face is like a fucking slit on the heart; but somehow I have come to realized that maybe leaving me on the outside is probably for the best. What we had was never rainbows and cinnamon; we had to fucking lie to the world just to be together. For a moment there, I thought we could live in our own world and fuck the world and its fucking existence, be completely immersed in each other but our lies caught up with us and we had to face everyone. 

But what you don’t know is that I choose to be the villain; lied to you, broke your fucking heart and sold my soul to the devil, just so that I could take the fall for you. 

I was the obnoxious customer sitting on at your counter that turned into your lover and now someone you fucking despite. 

It’s been 3 years 65 days and counting, since we last uttered a single word to each other. And not to be an “optimist” but I do foresee that it will not happen anytime soon or very likely we will never speak again. I just have to live with the fact that I am completely severed from who, what and where you are.   

But on quiet nights like this, these eyes of mine will never stop its rapid movement, dreaming about the what ifs and might have could have been…

If I could only be your greatest accident and not just a needle wound at the tip of your finger that you could hardly see.  

If I could only be the most excruciating pain you feel inside and not a tiny rash at the back of your palm, itch today gone tomorrow.

If I could only be your trusted confidant that you go to and not a faceless prowler that lurks on every single social media you sign in.

If I could only be the head that lay on your breast and not the greatest mistake that hang heavy upon your chest. 

Today my dear readers, I am going to tell you who I really am…

I am an apparition who got his heart broken because of a girl

I am the nobody who couldn’t be with the love of his life 

I am a pariah who took all the blame for a girl  

I am the desolated who is hated by the girl he loves

I am just like the millions out there who just refuses to move on, making the heart a tomb where our affection for that particular someone that we couldn't be with, lay cold and in decay 

This blog right here has always been a place for me let out these silence screams;  

But this is where it all ends…

FIN.

• The Last Blog Post... Part 3 This is the Fear That I Have Rehearsed 
• The Last Blog Post... Part 2 I am Who I am Because of You
• The Last Blog Post... Part 1 Four Letter Word

The Last Blog Post... Part 3 - This is the Fear That I Have Rehearsed

 that I have rehearsed so many times in my fucking head.  

The fear of having to undo, unwind,  unbend,  uncoil,  unfurl,  unravel,  unreel, unroll, untwine, untwist this buildup feelings that I have for you. Tearing down every inch of my emotive feelings and lingering cravings that my soul yearns for what you have and may become.

This isn't brand new; I am sure you have all heard this giddy love story one too many time.

This homemade love disease that has rendered me crippled; transmitting its baneful touch from my inside out.   

But today I choose to never want to feel your claws trying to break through this solitary confinement that keeps me from you.

I know I've done it to myself the day I opened my floodgate and all I feel is you gushing into me.

But how can I still love you when I don’t even dare to love myself?

To be continue in part 4

The Last Blog Post… Part 2 – I am Who I am Because of You

You know I've always whined about how I'm always a big fat softie. How I am always thinking about another person's feeling, so much so that I can't really be myself and most of the time vultures around me just keeps seizing the fucking chance to fuck me up my softie ass. 

And I loathe everything that is in me that makes me like that. 

It makes me feel weak. 

But you showed me that, putting another person's feeling before mine is something good and that it shouldn't be frown upon. It is these sort of action that makes and definite me into a more caring and compassionate individual. 

And all these that you have engraved into me has taught me to be a better person and I have you to thank for all my actions whether it is in the past, present or future. 

That is why whenever I feel like killing someone for any given reasons; may it be for sports, recreational, game meat or just to prove that I can, I will be more sensitive to my victim's feeling. Killing slowly and letting my victim enjoy the moment as they struggle to breathe or slowly bleed to death. 

A swift death will just not do it because I just don't want them to think that I am half ass about killing them. I care about sending them to hell and I would make sure they realized that I have put much effort in making their death as excruciating as possible. 

And don't think for a minute there that I never thought of it, because I did.  You see, I would never let a person die alone. 

Hell no, I won’t. Think about it, how fucking lonely they would get when they crossover. 

That is why, I will make sure, I would fucking kill every last person staying under the same roof with my victim. 

I am pretty sure that he would feel more at home when he is in the underworld. Heck, if I am in the mood, I might even throw in his favorite 3rd grade teacher or maybe his high school crushes in the mix.  

If I have the time I might even check his Facebook to see who are the ones he fancies. You know , just in case, he don't get to Facebook from hell. At least his murderer sent some of his Facebook besties to hell with him.

Yeah, I know. I am such a fucking saint. 

Sometimes I just wanna pat myself on the back and tell myself that I am doing such a great work in making this fucked up world a better fucked up world. 

I hope you sleep well at nights knowing that …

I am who I am today because of you; you should be so proud of yourself. 

to be continue in part 3

The Last Blog Post... Part 1 – Four Letter Word

Fuck, it’s been raining so much these days; I've forgotten how it is to feel dry. 

It must been the cold of the evening breeze that has brought the entire gloom of the fucking night  right back into this amnesia heart of mine; making my fucking heart bleed like it is some kind of vagina during its menstruation.  

Yes, tonight is the night where my spirits is destined to fall like how the sun did tonight. 

And the silver screen inside my fucking head keeps repeating the scene where everything we had and were came crumbling down; the part where you twist and turn, then left without even looking back. This cold and quiet night is letting me relive that every moment and split second in stunning high definition.

There were 100 things I could have said to make her stay.  Even though 99 of them were just lies to prolong the inevitable and kept that brief moment alive, just so I could have her for little longer to satisfy my male genitalia needs. 

But I choose to be a fucking mute as I watch her slip and slide out of my door and out of my fucking life. 

You know, that one thing that got us started at the first place was a 4 letter word 

 And now the one thing that could make her stay was also a 4 letter word

But I’m disgusted with love and what love makes me do.
I can never abide to what Love wants of me.
To me, Love is the filthiest four letter word.
Love fucking ruins everything
So, fuck it.  

 [long pause]

God, I fucking hate this emotional menstruation that turns my heart into some fucking ladies part that fucking bleeds out. 

[longer pause]

I think I am going to go drown myself in some whiskey before I stench of a used overnight maxi-pad.




To be continue in The Last Blog Post part 2

2. The Pain of Waking

I’m standing on this corner of my head where we first met;  I’ve got both feet camped in the sleeping bag and I’m not moving.

He kisses her; he goes to work; he drives into the porch; he takes out the thrash; he goes inside; the lights go off. 

I’m standing at this very corner, waiting, hoping, wishing that one day she would wake up and find out that she still miss me.

After the honeymoon, they spent three Christmases here; last year they went to Taipei.

I’m still standing on this corner. Rain or shine, I’m standing my ground. Anytime now she will be running out that door and into these arms where she belongs.

I may have been kicked outta her life and purged of everything that was us. At least, I still have this corner inside my head.

I’m still here and this corner of my head is getting cold and empty. I don’t know what am I even doing here anymore. Maybe I just wanted to fuck her in the bed where their wedding portrait hangs, and then leave her feeling guilty the next morning. Wait, been there, done that and I have been found craving for even more.

I don’t get what the fuck she sees in him? He is tall, good looking, rich and caring. I mean I am all of that and probably more but only in reverse.

I am still standing at this very corner, the very corner where we met.  It just makes no sense, but what can I do, when I am still in love with you.





Weeks, months, years… I am still standing at this corner




Maybe if I close my eyes and open them again, she would appear in front of me and beg me to take her back.








*close eyes.


*open eyes and look across the empty side of my bed, the radio clock is showing 6:55am.







Gotta be up in 5 minutes.

Spreading Joy

The year was 1995, most of you were still in diapers, learning to control your bladder & bowel and sucking on your mommy's titties counts as breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I was in my teens and was coming outta my obsession with the Cobain’s grunge movement. To some of us, grunge music fucking died the day Kurt decided to paint the wall with his brain details. I was lucky I didn't fell into the whole Boy Band plague that was spreading like a fucking disease. If I did, you wouldn't be reading xniquet's middle finger technology, instead this blog would be in pink (ahem!) and called 'I'm Justin Bieber's Whore', indirectly indicating that you who reads it would be gay or just somewhat damaged in the head.

Leisure was going into a video arcade and converting all my weekly lunch money into 20 cent coins, just so I can beat the crap outta M.Bison but I often get my ass served on a silver platter, courtesy of Sagat's Tiger uppercut.

Still in high school, I was a nobody; I wasn't smart, I wasn't a jock. I was your average Joe that no one would notice. Even if I was a wraith that haunts the school, no one would ever notice that the school is haunted.

The only sport I did with was munching a pack of Doritos’s while watching Stone Cold Steve Austin open a can of whoopass and placing a fucking sharpshooter on Bret 'the hit-man' Hart on TV. On important events like Royal Rumble and Wrestlemania, I would usually hang out at those Mamak restaurants because they usually buy the Videotape for those events and use them to attract customers like me. I would be there when they air it and I'll make sure my short glass of "the tarik" (milk tea) would last the whole 3 hour duration of the show.

Honestly then, I was a pretty down to earth guy. I go to church on Sundays and I would say grace before I eat but only when there's people around. It's not too much of a “between me and god” thing, it was just for show.

Occasionally, I would jack off to my dad's dirty videotape that was wrapped in old newspaper that he hides in his tool box. If you think that is nasty, wait till you see the video, the girls in the video hardly shave. Nothing is more repugnant than watching a guy fuck a girl with bushy armpit hair.

You know back then getting a boner was as easy as popping the lid off a soda. When you are young, everything seems to be extra sensitive, it doesn't take much, in fact I remember the first time a girl try to nibble my ears, I almost had a Spontaneous Semen Combustion in my pants but now it would to a hell lot more than just tongue fucking my ears.

Other than that I was a really promising young lad, born and raised to be nothing more than just a mere peasant.

But look at me now...

1995 was indeed a year for a lot of “Firsts” for me but I don't really wanna go there because this fucking piece of memoir is about Joy

I knew Joy since I was 10. Joy was the typical girl next door but she didn't really live next to me. To go to her place, you would have to walk a couple of blocks down my house and then take a public bus to town and then walk across a big ass sky bridge to the other side of a huge ass road and wait for a blue color bus then switch a couple more buses and cross a couple more sky bridges before you reach her fucking house.

But that didn't stop me from seeing her every Sunday. That's because she and her parents attended church every week. I don't know what the fuck their reasons were but mine was simple...

TO SEE JOY

I must have undressed her a million times in church during those long, dry and boring sermons, and I think I might have stick my long hard penis into her too during one of them long ass extended Easter Sunday service.

That was as far as how our sexual relationship went for the first 5 years but it all happened inside my head.

You see according to rule of the nature, I had no chance in hell dating a girl like Joy because If I was a 5, she would probably be an 11.

But a twist of fate landed the both of us in one of them Baptist Convention Bible Camp and it changed everything. I guess locking up a bunch of teenage together and the nonstop bombardment of bullshit Christian value into their fragile little mind would make any teen horny like hell. (I would say it was the Boy Girl Relationship 101 talk) It was then that I find myself making out with Joy on the last night of Bible camp during Pause & Ponder time that everyone should be spending in solitary.

I didn't hit a home run that night but it was really-really close. I was about a cunt hair away from plugging in my unit. But it was still good because I got to inspect every inch of her body and I have to say that Joy was perfect almost seraph-like , well except for that big mole on the right side of her breast which was really distracting but she was still consider what we guys like to refer to as a “Good Fuck”.

There she was clad only in her skin, on her back and wide open, waiting to spread her joy to this desperate, burnout, over-masturbated degenerate’s worthless life.

And I stood up like a man on a mission to receive the joy which I have been thirsting for. So I thrust my holy trinity namely Index, Middle and Ring into her moist unknown which made her squall so loud that I thought I was a fucking talented finger fucker.

The harder the scream the harder the thrust; I almost believed my god given talent was finger fucking.

But I found out that she was actually screaming in pain because three fingers were more than she can take. I think I did hear her scream stop but I thought it was like one of them porn moment when the girl pretends to not want it but with a little persistent and roughing her up a little and she would be like 'hell, fuck me harder...!'

1995 was also the year that I learned that things that happen in porn don’t really take form in the real world.

On our way back from the camp, I sworn she was walking funny, like there's something coming outta her ass.

And so that was the beginning of the end of us. What we were or could have be went straight into oblivion.

She never talk or even look at me ever since.

FIN.

Epilogue:

You know, a couple of years back, I was invited to my friend's wedding that was held in a Baptist church in Penang. As I look across the crowded room in the reception hall, there she was, standing next to a young pastor. She was still as beautiful as ever and that smile of hers was made for spreading joy to those who feast their eyes upon.

I wanted to go up to Joy and say hello but my feet just wouldn't allow me to do so. Not after what I've done to her.

I was glad I didn't because later my friend told me that the pastor besides her was her husband. I kept my fucking mouth sealed about me and the pastor’s wife. I imagine he wouldn't take it nicely because he seems to have a shit load of respect for that pastor.

As for Joy, what we had ended that night and I will never be anything more than just a cock stain in her life.

Memoirs: SYL

The greatest justice Facebook has ever done is to let "ugly-pork-chops turned choice-cut-models" get even with their ex-boyfriends that have left them while they were still a lump of saturated fat.

Having their newly formed body’s photo taken by little men with cameras much bigger than them; then posting up shameless picture of themselves portrayed as 'models' on Facebook. Making their ex-boyfriends remorsefully wished they should have never dump them.

But then again, I speak for all the asshole ex-boyfriends like me that the only regret we ever have is that we shouldn't have met before the transformation. It’s like moving into an un-renovated house; eating a banana that isn't ripe; going in a toilet when the shit odor is still there; or penetrating before it is properly lubed.

It's unpleasant but we've moved on and we are not coming back for seconds.

But if there's any consolation, even though you've haven't caused a ripple here but you have definitely raised a lot of cocks in the process. Cocks that belong to nerds that prowl on the Facebook in search of pictures of girls who likes to be clothed in more skin than fabrics to be added to their "for masturbation" folder.

Congratulations, you've given Facebook a new function: a free amateur soft-core smut page; a masturbation catalogue for 30 year old nerd who still uses their parents' computer.

I'm sure that there’s one or two of your pictures are in these nerd's folder. Stored away safely, so that their parents won't caught them jacking off to it. And since, it’s a global kinda thing, I'm pretty sure someone, somewhere is stroking his penis to your picture even as you are reading this.

Then again I'm not here to judge or criticize these models-wannabes’ pictures even though it's gross and shameful. Hey, who am I to tell someone that she can't be a model in this life or the next. I'm not here to say that their pictures are fucking distasteful. No, I'm not here to inform them that they're just masturbation material.

And I'm certainly not here to point to my readers who these girl(s) are.*pssst...you can email me to find out *wink *

I'm sorry if I've got carried away talking about smuts but they do excite me in a dirty way.

So here I am, sitting and staring at a picture of a face. Someone which I never had and never wanted to have, not because she grossed me out but because she was my best friend's girl and according to the 'bro code', even a tinge of thought about her would amount to betrayal and I was not about to take my chances.

What she and I had was the purest kind of friendship; we could talk, hang out and enjoy doing stuff without having any sexual tension between us. Nothing we did would sex us up because we both knew our places. You know, these days it’s hard not to spend a lot of time with a girl and not think about fucking them but she was the one exception. You might be thinking that she's probably was some fugly pork chop or the hunchback of Notre dame but on the contrary she was a major hottie. She walks in a room filled with guys and I can guaran-damn-tee you that there would be blood pumping into these guys' penises.

She can easily raise cocks but somehow not mine.

But that was a long time ago; she sorta faded into oblivion after her broke-up with my bestie. I've never had the chance of talking to her after my bestie officially labeled her a bitch and barred us all from ever having anything to do with that fucking Medusa.

I thought it will be for the best that I let my bestie get her outta his system before I go see her and pick up where we left off or maybe even more.But days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months into years. I've never seen her since, not even a cunt hair trance of her.

15 years passed and now my bestie is married and we never spoke of her again.

Somehow I just couldn't get rid of her chokehold on me. Once a while I think about her and when I'm not thinking about her, my subconscious mind would dream about her. Lately, it has gotten worse for every time I'm in a crowd, there would be someone with her face in it. You know the 'what could have been' is bitterly corroding me from the inside out.

I've been in a relationship limbo for far too long and maybe it’s time for me to reach up for that something more that I've always been scare to try.

It wasn't easy but I managed to find her on Facebook but I never had the courage to add her because I'm really not sure how she would react to a person who didn't stood up for her when her ex continuously called her a bitch in front of everyone.

But when I've finally grown a pair and gathered my guts to make myself known to her in Facebook, her account went missing; maybe she disabled it or something.

The only lead I have of her is that she is currently in LA.

So, here I am and I know there's millions in LA...

Maybe I'm just crazy

Maybe I misunderstood

Maybe I'm wishful thinking

But maybe, just maybe the next time the face I see in a crowd belongs to her and not someone else.

Memoirs: Everyone Keeps a Pocketful of Horrid Secrets

Evening finds me, home alone, jaded and depressed. My only solace would come if only I could get a shuteye.

Yet...

Morning mocks me as I woke up from a dream that I had of you.

Now…

Daylight haunts me as I realized that you not here anymore. How you fucking left me, and the life that I fucking toil for all disappear.

Sometimes you just haven't a fucking ass clue as to why things around you gets fucked up beyond your fucking imagination. Just when you fucking think that it is safe to let your fucking guard down, someone or something would just walk right up behind you, pull down your pants and fucking rape you right in the ass without even the courtesy of giving you proper lubrication before going in.

Eventhough I've never been cocked in the ass but I am sure coming home to find your fiancé in the arms of a total stranger holds the similar kind of fucked up feelings, far worse than snapping a thick yellow rubber band on your genitals.

I've faced rejections and I’m cock sure you fucking had your share too. But this one is special because I'm not even a cunt hair close to competing with your new lover...


Your new lover could be a better friend like the one you never had;

Your new lover could read a girl's mind far better than any guy;

Your new lover could feel the things that you feel;

Your new lover could share things that I never could;

Your new lover could understand your troubles and needs like I never could;

And you could definitely share your slutty dress, your 5 dollar whore-like lingerie, your deceiving push-ups, your fake ass eye lashes and your cheap perfume...


But one thing your new lover could never be...

This is written by a man who thought he could finally move on and settle down to have a normal life but nothing is what it seems.

Yeah, you might fucking look into your faithful girl/boyfriend’s or wife/husband's eyes and you fucking say you placed your fucking trust in them and that you think they won't ever betray you. [That is what they all said at first]

But how sure can you be, can you fucking see what the fuck is behind closed doors?

The late night working overtime, the frequent business trips, the so-called other gender outings; are they really what they are supposed to be? The increasing number of phone calls that tells you not to wait up for them; don't tell me there isn't a tinge of doubt in you.

Maybe he is on his knees fucking a stranger or maybe it is someone you know and is very close to. Maybe, she is spreading her legs wide apart for her boss or co-worker who could afford to buy her things your pathetic paycheck could never. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he could cum harder when he is with her? She moans louder and is so much more moist down there when another man other than you is fucking her.

Don't shove these thoughts aside because you and I know that we will never be 100% sure that these are just wild and ridiculous thoughts.

I've had a couple of married women before and usually they'll call their husband after we finished fucking. I guess it is an act of guilt to atone for the wrong doings or should I say the wrong fuckings they have committed.

So, I'm really sorry to say this, if you're always getting phone from your other half saying that they miss you for nothing. You know you' fucked! Or should I say your other half has been fucked.

Everyone keeps a pocketful of horrid secrets from their other half, what makes you think yours is a fucking saint?



So ask yourself this today, why doesn’t she spread her legs as wide as she used to? Or why all he gives you these days is just a half ass erection that could barely fill the void between your legs?

Boxing My Past and Packing it Away

I know that you've wipe me off like yesterday's shit stain on your white cotton panties the very day I left… But I got something to tell you, today is the day where I removed the last of our scab; the final piece of fitting where we used to talk on, sleep on, fornicate on; a place where we sow our memories, affection, secretion on; now it's but a place of dirt.


Over the year, our relationship was more like what Moses is to the Red Sea; every time I came near you, your legs seem to part. You know what, if telling lies was a key; I think we both have used this key one too many times to unlock almost every bodily pleasure we can fucking get from each other.


I've been boxing up everything and anything that smells like you. The things that reminded me of you are nicely wrapped in yesterday's news, sealed so tightly that not even a tiny whisper or a faint odor of our sins could ever escape.


This isn't what it looks like...

but yes I'm throwing it all away. I'm purging myself of you I am cleansing you from my very soul; I'm casting out the you in me, and hopefully before I fucking die, there's not a single trace of you slithering inside my fucking veins.


You are my fucking past and I'm...




But today I’ve learn that throwing away the mattress that we used to commit our sins upon ain’t enough to kill you. The cock stain on the underwear may be gone but the stench still remains; yes the crust-like surface may seem healed but beneath this scab the pain still fucking lingers.

So Nice to See You Again

It could be the bitter wind from afar that brought us here. I’ve never thought that I would ever be the one who would be out of words but somehow the frozen fear took over me as I never ever thought that I would come face to face again with someone that I would give up my very soul; someone who I would have given up everything; someone who I left…



I‘m so sorry if I never told you that it was so nice to see you again, even though you looked different than before but you are still the person that I adore.


You know, I’ve been saving all these words and feelings for us, for one last miracle but now I am not sure anymore. Knowing that you are still with him and it haunts me every single second, I don’t think I can go through with it.


You might think that I’m a cold blooded person now, that’s because I am all out of love but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember our past. I’m sorry for leaving a bitter taste in your mouth but you know it is for the best.


I don’t know if this is closure but I really mean it when I said...

It Felt Like My Childhood Had Been Taken Away

In my iPod: Man In the Mirror - Michael Jackson
[download]
State of mind: ...
Location: Bangalore, India

After admiring the beautiful round breast and nipples of the Thai girl that starred as a hooker in Bruce Lee's The Big Boss, I was about to make an early retire to bed. This is what went through my head, how come the girls in all those 70s movie look so bloody fine while when 80s came, all the girls suddenly turn butt ugly as if they were hit by an ugly stick? Damn, I totally dig the chics in the 70s flick. Enough of 70s babes of the silver screen; as I was saying, I was about to hit the sack, old habit dies hard, I had to reload Twitter once on my mini Opera and see if there is anything new that is going on in the world right now. Usually it would be just crap at this time of the hour. but this caught my eyes:

"Oh well, he wasn't as "Invincible" as he claimed to be..."

"Yeah, nothing like a little stay in the hospital to attract some media attention to his dying popularity..."

"Hmmm....seems to be getting pretty serious..."

"Huh? you gotta be kidding me..."

"See, it could be a publicity stunt..."

"Is this for real ??? One minute he is revived , one minute he is dead"

"Alive again???"

"Alright when you see Lim Kit Siang Twittering about it, I am pretty sure that Michael Jackson's fat lady has sung. "

I know this isn't what you would expect from a Pop hater like me, but as I try to sleep I just couldn't help but to feel heavy hearted by his sudden death. All the mean things we say about him, the jokes and insults that we throw at him doesn't alter the fact that he was indeed a great artist and in some way or another, his songs has influence our lives. Have the scandals and lack of popularity of recent years overshadowed what he has achieve or is it just us trying to ignore his contribution and concentrate on his negative side? I admit that I was one that was ashamed to have my friends caught me listening to his songs while I was in college and I joined in the laughs and mockery when who would. I don't know where all this hatred started but it took his sudden death to remind me that I was the 7 year old kid who tried stealing money from my mum's purse because I wanted to get a copy of Michael Jackson's BAD cassette. Of course I got caught and was served a whooping chorus of cane noodles but only to find the cassette on my bed the next morning. We all have our Michael Jackson moments and mine was some serious ass whooping for trying to steal. As a old fart who has lived his life for almost 3 decades,I practically grew up to Michael Jackson's music and today it almost felt like my childhood had been taken away from me.

26/6 Curry and Beer

23/6 At the Hotel Gym

22/6 Curry Lobster

21/6 Luncheon with Olivia from Sg

18/6 In a bookstore, looking for Iris Chang's book

17/6 Wacthing Angels and Demons

xniquet's journey across India

Disconsolate

In my iPod: Set it Off - Audiosalve
[download]
State of mind: brink of collapse
Location: in bed, home

I am tired. I am paled. I am sulky. I am fidgeted. I am talking to myself. I am complaining to myself just like that little girl who fell through the rabbit hole. No it isn't just thoughts running inside my fucking brain but my discontentedness is taking form and marching right outta my fucking pie hole; audible to my fucking surrounding.

The coffee that I am having is fucking cold; the fucking breakfast strawberry tart taste like a sugar coated cyanide that would give any healthy human being a diabetic pestilence; Ben and Nadia on the Fly's breakfast show is talking like the fucking Dormouse at the mad tea-party, blathering uncommon nonsense that would agitate even the most patient person. Don't even fucking get me started with the fucking sky; it is so gloomy that it would drive any happy shinny person to the brink of feeling disconsolate.

Just a week ago, I was at the notion that she has totally forgotten about me. I have finally come to my senses and is at peace; I realized that this is what she should have - a healthy and complete life with her family which has nothing, not a single tinge of me in it. Because I was the scarlet bloodstain on her white satin sheet, I was the rotting corpse inside her fucking closet, I was her vile untold secret that cannot even be whispered and I was her fucking shame that has corrupted her purity.

Everything was peaceful in my fucked up yet mundane life, up until the moment when I was about to have my morning breakfast, she called me and told me that she was still thinking about me.

20 minutes ago…

And I thought she had become a stranger to me like the many others before but right now,

According to Dante's Divine Comedy, my first stop in hell will be the second circle, where my fucking soul will be blown about to and fro by a violent storm, without hope of rest. That doesn't sound that bad right? But I guess the best part of it all is that I get to meet Semiramis, Dido, Cleopatra, Achilles and many others who were overcome by sensual love during their life. Maybe they can share stories about how most of them die voilently at the hands of their jealous spouse.

King of Fucking the Ladies

playing on my iPod:
The Shock of The Lightning - Oasis
[available for download here]

Let me introduce to my fucking time machine, take a seat, buckle up and let it spread its golden wings. Let’s rewind the cassette to my favorite retro track, so that we can play it while we take the trip as time fades from black to back. So now it’s fucking 1993, Kurt Cobain has just shot his fucking head off with a gun, Guns N Roses hasn’t turned all fucking Chinese Democratic, Metallica was still a rock band and none of the Back Street Boys have pubic hair yet.

I was your average 13 year old kid with average school results. Yeah right, if anyone who knew me back then is reading this, they would know that I lied because modesty was one of my best qualities. You could say that everyone have pretty much figured out my future then based on my academic achievement. It seems that I was destined to have a life of minimum wages, flipping burgers to make ends meet. But how I managed to get through my high school and finally get a college education was still a fucking myth and a miracle even to this day .

Back then, I was just coming out of my Purple Rain cassette daze and into a whole new level of Pearl Jam optical compact disc frenzy which is so fucking cool because you don’t have to fucking rewind or fast forward to get to the song that you fucking like; I was coming out from carrot cut pants and LA Gear sneakers with colorful thick ass shoe laces to deliberately torn straight cuts stone-washed jeans and fucking pair of Dr. Martin’s; I was coming out of using that hair mousse shit on my hair to find the many wonders of hair styling gel but only to find out that our fucking school discipline teacher do not share the same enthusiasm . So like many others who share the love of using that fucking gel substance on our hair during school period, we were to wash out our hair every fucking time there was a fucking spot check. Which makes me wonder did she ever question why all our hair are was always wet when she comes for the spot check? But most of all, I was coming out of from the “I hate girls (are the devils)” phase to the “I fucking love girls (are making me erect)" phase in life. Lust erodes me like cancer and horniness slithers in my vein. As soon as I found out that my penis wasn’t just for pissing, all I wanted to do was sticking it every fucking where; to boldly stick in where no teen my age has.

Her name was Jessica Ong and she was the daughter of a preacher man. It was on a Saturday afternoon, her parents were out visiting church members and I was at her place helping out in arranging chairs for Sunday’s service. But I was really there to help Jessica rearrange her chastity or should I say ours.

So there it was, Jessica, me and the whole fucking church to ourselves and with the fucking God Almighty as our fucking witness, we were ready to fuck in the bible study room. Both of us had no prior experience in fucking but it didn’t stop us from wanting to because we were horny like a couple of bunnies in heat. Even though I was 2 years younger than Jessica but I was the only one who did some sex research; when I say sex research, it wasn’t like reading up on some low life’s blog section on HTML: how to make love. Hell no, the fucking year was 1993 and in Kuantan, we were still a fucking Amish community, there wasn’t any fucking internet. The only thing closest to a sex guide then was the video tape that was wrapped in newspaper hidden in my father’s tool box. Yes, I have spent my hours watching that low grade porno flick, trying to perfect my fucking skills.

So equipped with only the knowledge that has been handed down to me by a fungus filled porno video tape, I was ready to deflower Jessica. I slowly peel off Jessica’s clothes, one by one to reveal her cherry like pink nipples and bushy lawn between her legs. No, Venus was not in fur but this one was in bare skin and she was so motherfucking damn fine that I was on the fucking verge of having a pre-matured spontaneous combustion in my pants but I knew that was all wrong because the guy is suppose to spray his cum on the girls face (I learned that from the porno tape).

So after a little stage one foreplay of tongue crossing, breast groping, nipple twisting and ass spanking, I was ready to move to stage two – licking the bush. So I went down on Jessica and not knowing that I shouldn’t take “licking” the bush literally. I was down there licking my tongue off on Jessica but somehow she didn’t moan or scream (like the girls in the porno flick), in fact she said she didn’t even feel a fucking thing. But I persisted and was determined to find the sweet spot that was going to make her squeal like the girls in that porno flick but it was taking far too long and we had to fucking pull the plug when we heard the church van pulling over.

The next Saturday, I call Jessica to get my second try out but somehow she wasn’t interested in it anymore. That was pretty much how we drifted apart. I was confused about it for a while but you know what I found out later? Motherfucker, did you know there was such a thing call the clitoris and you are suppose to lick that motherfucker instead of the fucking pubic hair. No wonder it tasted like pee and her pubic hair keeps getting stuck on my tongue and teeth. I told a friend about it and he tried to comfort me by saying that maybe the clit was only discovered in the late 90s. Yeah, I know he is a dick but a dick with good intention.

If you ask me how I feel about the whole thing, I would say with much regret... regret that I didn't get to go to stage three where I shove my whole fist into her vagina (just like the porno flick) and then maybe she would be calling out for more (well, the girl in the porno flick did). Technically, I don’t think that incident can be consider as my first time but one thing I know for sure. If I knew back then what I know right now, you know I’ll be the king of fucking the ladies.

P.S. To those who would like to know, stage four is where I am suppose to yank her head by the hair, spit in her mouth and then shove my penis into her mouth all the way. (Hey, I am just following exactly what the porno flick teaches)

P.S.S. For your Information, the title of the porno flick is call “Madam Barbara and the Chamber of Pain”