Happy New Year

Listening to : PJ Harvey - Missed

…they’ll say but what is so fucking special about it?

+1 to last year; it is nothing but a change of calendar on your wall which requires you to spare some couch time to do so; yeah, maybe this is the best time to write your landlord an out of date check for the rental hoping that he doesn't notice, but it will still come back and snap you in the ass.   

Why ever be happy and jolly?

When the gut hanging on your belly that you are trying desperately lose still mocks you every fucking time you look at the mirror.

You can fucking smile but that smile on your face still doesn't makes you any prettier on New Year’s Day.

Unlike Pinocchio, your girlfriend’s fake ass titties don’t turn real.

No your penis size doesn't grow according to its age in fact it is quite the opposite, the moment you took your hand and started milking your dick.

No, your outstanding bills don’t pay itself.

Your fucking credit cards do not get clean slate

Your job feels shittier than ever and you find yourself stranded in your 2x2 cubicle spacing out and yearning for those same fucking holidays you did last year.

And if the 1^st of January falls on a Tuesday, congratulations, you just earned yourself two Monday blues in a week.

Fucking great start of the New Year huh?

New Year doesn’t make you more lovable and it doesn’t change the fact that your wife cheated on you with me. You can fucking argue that she is over me and yeah, I am over her too but not forgetting I was also inside her too.

And no, New Years doesn’t raise the dead.

What’s dead stays dead

I don’t blame you for drinking your way to the New Year because maybe a little temporary amnesia is what we all need but just remember when you wake up the next morning feeling like your head has just been hit by a jack hammer, all the yester-years’ shit still got you by the balls and it is just going to fucking get worse until you finally drown in that shit.

So…

Happy 2013, here’s to another year filled with mixed baskets of Sandy disasters, trigger happy looney with a valid credit card on Amazon , sand niggers with C4 clipped to their balls, the tag team rapists express and a bigger butt hole as a result of the government’s constant ass fucking.   

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

WTF We Have in Jesus

For 

Kim Jong iL 

(1941 maybe 1942 - 2011)

A big chunk of my fucking life, I've been a fucking Christian.


No, wait... 


I think I've got it wrong, even though I've spent a considerable amount of time in church but I wasn't always a fucking Christian and I definitely wasn't into Jesus and all of His splendid bullshit. So, I should fucking say that ever since I was young, I've been in and outta church so frequent that if the church and homosexuality were the same fucking thing, you would think that I'm a fucking fag.


Hey, don't fucking crucify me just yet? Let this brother-in-fucking -Christ explain his-fucking-self...
I'm not saying that the church is fucking gay in any way but I do think that the church is somewhat a breeding ground for homosexuality.


Look at the early church's monasteries; how they put a bunch of males together and teach them about brotherly love. If that isn't a nudge towards homosexuality, then I don't fucking know what is.


Imagine these monks, sworn to have a life of chaste; they will never ever have the chance to savor the nectar of a woman's pussy that flows beneath the bush and between the labia, foul yet sweet to taste; gross yet inviting to look at; nasty yet delicious in every fucking way!

Take away the fucking vagina from a man's equation and where the fuck is he going to stick his dick in? 

I guess the next best thing is the anus. Not only it is just an inch away from the vagina but in a fucking monastery, I'm sure there is an abundance of anuses to go around. The vagina and anus may have different function and secretion but they're a perfect fit for penises.


Do you ever wonder why they use altar boys instead of girls to service their clergyman? But enough of this gay shit because when I started writing this shit I had other shit in mind.



Like I say, I spent a lot of time in church when my fragile little brain was beginning to take form. So it’s no wonder I was mentally scar with all the bullshit that they fucking dump on me.

But I am fortunate that it hasn't turned me into queer.

My brain might have gone through the trauma but I'm still straight.


But every tale a survivor tells doesn't always have a happy ending. Even to this fucking day, when I'm doing my own shit like jacking off or something, I would unconsciously sing or hum hymns. Sometimes when I'm just sitting there with my guitar jacked into the amp, my riffs would suddenly turn into a fucking hymn.

If you're thinking…

"Yeah, that is so messed up" and I have to totally agree with you. I mean that is like the worst thing that could ever happen to a self proclaimed Satanist. Seriously, I have a fucking reputation to fucking keep.



But as messed up as my early days in church have made me, it is my inherent nature that refuses to fucking give in, for hymns that usually comes outta this foul mouth fucker are usually like this:

I assure you this is not Tourette syndrome but just the fusion between my past and current personality. Or it could be that God has finally come to his fucking senses and that he wants me take church music into a new direction and be the first person to come up with a church hymn album that carries a parental advisory sticker.

If this blog post makes your blood boil, you would be happy to know that the author of this blog post is going straight to hell... 

along side murderer, rapist, lawyers, politicians and free thinkers. 

The Tweet That Turned Into a Blog Post

I'm falling into words I've never knew, I've never thought I would bravely say those 3 words to you, but it was in my heart and it felt new.

Was it true for you?

Was it new for you?

I know you want to pretend and play the game of "we should just be friends". But it couldn't possibly stay that way because it is just impossible for me to hold these strong yet peculiar feelings in and to go on pretend.

Do you feel the same?

Do you want the same?

I know that you've been hurt many times but in the end, I want you to know that I am not one of those low life mutants that you once call your boyfriend. You know that I would gladly bare it all if you would just take in what I have to offer.

I'm glad you feel the same.

I'm glad you want the same.

Everything was great but things started to go wrong when I pull down my pants and boldly say those three words, you screamed and you left me dangling there.

Where did I go wrong?

What did I do wrong?

Maybe it was my choice of words but seriously where in the fucking world do a guy who only wants head would say...

...because the general term of

...should be use instead.

But if it is any consolation, from the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one...

whom I want for head.

I Like.

I like the sweet scent of your wavy hair as it sits right next to my pillow still bound to its scalp that I severed from your head.

I like it when young couples fall in love only to fall out of it faster than the speed of light because the girl was caught cheating with me.

I like the sound of your laughter but not as much as I like the sound of your pitiful cries begging for mercy after I've abused, tortured and put you through hell that doesn't even have a name.

I like being honest, truthful and trustworthy and if you believe in that, you've just been duped.

I like a self confident woman with beauty and integrity that has been cooked to perfection inside a pressurized pot and then served in the finest china with a side of turnips.

I like the fact that you love performance art and that you would still dance for me after I soaked you in gasoline and set you on fire.

I like that you've asked me to watch over your younger sister and I promise that I would not only watch over but from the top, under and behind her every time I bang her like a drum.

I like that you’ve always remember the very first time you had sex with your girlfriend; it was at the garden’s gazebo under the starry night sky where you two make sweet loving all night long but the only thing that you missed out is that you were too hammered and the person who mounted your girlfriend all night long was me.

I like that you have kept me so close and went out of you way to be been such a good and faithful friend to me all these years and also the fact you are just too dumb to figure out that I've always been the one sleeping with your girlfriend...my bad, it’s been too long, she's now your wife.

I like it that my best friend is getting married to a beautiful girl who has a face of angel; a face so soft and smooth because I used to cum on it. Who am I kidding? I still do it even to this day.

I like that you believe that technology today connects people thus making them closer and your constant status updates on your Facebook, Twitter and Foursquare has given me the chance to get closer to your wife but the only thing that connects us are our genitals.

I like it that your kid and I have some resembling features. Come again, who did you say your wife was?

*Out of boredom I read a blog that was on my blog roll and came across a blog post that I thought would be nice to steal. It’s such a pity that she has stopped writing and left her blog for dead because it would be nice to steal more ideas from her blog. *

My Dad is a Taliban

* If you can't stand having your precious God being mock at. I suggest you fucking leave *

What I meant was my dad is a Taliban of his church but he isn't a jihad monger that has a closet full of explosive rigged clothing as his wardrobe.

So, let me rephrase the sentence again; my mum always said that my dad is like a Taliban.

A Taliban holds a fucking AK in one hand and raises his Quran in the other, while my dad holds a cigarette between his fingers in one hand and the bible on the other.

Can you imagine that hymns of worship to the fucking almighty and dangerous second hand smoke actually come out of that pie hole for half a century?

50 years, 30 sticks a day, look where it has landed him? If you wanna know, that's half a million sticks of cigarette.

I know he isn't proud of it but I can assure you that he fucking enjoyed every single drag of nicotine that went in his lung.

But I don't blame him for that because god fucking made us with this insatiable lust for self destruction.

We all have our own poison and most of us haven't really realized it until it is too late.

I fucking think God has a sick sense of humor almost sadistic. He gave us life only to watch us die. Why did he even create us in the first place?

No No No...

If you are gonna say that if we all confess our fucking sins to Jesus and do all the fucking bullshit the fucking bible says, we can go to heaven and spent our entire eternity praising God in heaven.

*to all Christians who is celebrating Easter today, I'm sorry for calling your most sacred book the fucking bible, it should be the Holy fucking Bible instead.*

Now, who in the fucking right mind would wanna spend a whole fucking eternity sucking God's cock in heaven? I would rather take my chances down in hell.

To some, they reckon religion teaches us to be all good and shit but did it ever occurred to you that the single most influential force that drives a person to kill another person is their religion.

No, it’s not Charlie Manson or Adolf Hitler but God who is the biggest murderer of all time.

So ask yourself this the next time you close your eyes and put your hands together or when you're holding your joss stick or while you're bend over and on your fucking knees. What the fuck are you doing? Why are you praying to the single most destructive entity ever known to men?

If you are going to say the holy fucking bible tells me so, I suggest you read some Dan Brown, now that's a motherfucker who knows history.

Anyway, Happy Easter & don't choke on your fucking eggs.

Dirty Old Man

Have you ever felt like everyone around you has changed but you still remain the same?

Maybe it is just a post valentine syndrome or it could be that I'm noticing that almost all my peers are moving on with their life and I'm still here singing the same song, dancing to the same tune. I have yet to rearrange my fucking life.

Getting married, growing fat, having kids, going home early, being safe, eating tasteless food, listening to Jazz on a regular basis...blah, blah, blah ...and the fucking list goes on.

You may fucking laugh at how ridiculous lame and old your friends have become and you can always choose to mingle with other younger friends. But everything has an expiry date, eventual your younger friend has to move on and you find yourself in the company of even younger friends. The vicious cycle goes on until one day you fucking realized that you're that creepy old guy in the group.

Here's a hint to get it in your thick skull if you don’t:

You know, you’re that creepy old guy that doesn’t belong in that group when your friends call you old man, uncle, sir or the Ancient One.

Well, I am not quite there yet but I feel like I am getting there. It is inevitable, some of us choose not to think about it but eventual one day, you’re gonna wake up and look in that fucking mirror and realized that you are looking at the Ancient One.

But for now I’m still young and single and I’m ripping through young girl’s vagina like a piece toilet tissue.

But that day will come and my knees ain’t gonna be what they used to be after a whole night kneeling in between a girl's spread legs; or the minutes that it takes to erect again after a banging session is turning into hours. But that won’t deter me from partying like a Dirty Old Man.

You know the best thing of being a Dirty Old Man is that you get to fuck girls 20 to 30 years younger than you and you won’t be labeled as a pedophile.

Memoirs: The Shape Shifter 2 – Sounds of Impalement

Hello again, it has been an exceedingly long period of time since I penned down my thoughts but by and by I am glad that I am able to do so and resume my chilling tale of my rambunctious encounter with a shape shifter that goes by the name of Joyce but I reckon Joseph is a more suitable name for it.

*Paused* Please pardon my manners for I have just regurgitated in my own mouth thinking about it.

A lot of changed since I last wrote but I assure you none of my potency has depleted; I am coming to you from the sunshine state of California, seated in a diner; I'm having shots of caffeine over some slapjack while the background music is playing something from Dana Fuchs (Hmmm... I wonder if she gets her name misspelled all the time) but I would rather have something from the Ozzman. To be honest, I have grown increasingly fond of the song 'Crazy Train' because it sort of sums up what I am in this century.

*Longer pause* It's been far too long, my writer's lobe has been left unattended to and it is tremendously hard for me to concentrate with my brain all tangled up like a pretzel. But with the help of my friends in this century, I was able to conform to today's current writing standards; I was told just by adding a magic word to my writings, it would seem modern and updated. Let's see if you could spot what word I was referring to...

... if you ever fucking doubt me when I say that she was a fucking criminal through and through. Her fucking crime was being too fucking beautiful; her beauty could easily turned a crooked toothpick into a erected towering timber and believe me if a fucking rubber condom is used to denote the times that I wanna fuck her, I would be telling you that I will be wearing a whole fucking rubber tree.

All crimes must not go unpunished; her hideous atrocity must not go on un-noticed.

I am Azrael, God's little fucking angel of death and I am here to rain down fire and brimstone on her from my fucking erected flaming sword I keep in my crotch.

I am Vald the Impaler and my long hard sharpened stake made of meat is ready to impale her for all her iniquities.

My grandsire have always said that I have the blood of a vigilante in my fucking veins but today I can fucking assure you it flows in my penis for I have sacrificed myself to be her judge, jury and fucking executioner.

I really don't have to tell you what when down that night after we have left the club and into a private room. All I can fucking say that it was the sound of crucible; the shriek of agony; the scream of calamity; The fucking sound of impalement ringing from my torturing device that I like to call my meat stake.

I've pray earnestly to God and He has granted me strength... penile strength, all night long.

They say that time flies by so quickly when you are having fun and so it is too when you are torturing someone. It felt like only seconds when I gave my last thrust into the void that lingers between her legs, making her squeal like a pig at the end of its death march to the butcher pen.

I wish I could do more harm to her but alas I am only a mere human.

Morning comes and it was time for me to leave but I couldn't leave without stealing a peek at the beauty of my victim.

But I was in shocked when I did so, because the woman sleeping on the fucking bed now isn't the person I left the club to get acquainted with my dick. I am staring at a completely different person.

Whatever happened to her beautiful violet colored eyes and flawless eyelashes that captivated me? Her eyes looked like they belonged to a fucking pug.

The fuck happened to her perky breast? Now any man boobies would put her tits to shame.

Is that her hair or a stack of hay on her head??? And her face... I am just lucky I didn't turn into a fucking stone after I gazed upon it.

Oh fuck me; last night I didn't fuck an Aphrodite but it was a Troglodyte.

Right about then, I was having a 'derection' and I could feel that my penis was permanently shrunk by an inch and a half but it's alright. You can shrink my penis a dozen more times and I can still assure you its size and length is still way above any standard penis. (Standard Japenese penis doesn't apply here).

Later that day, I told my cohorts about my fucking encounter with the shape shifter and they told me that I was fucking lucky that it didn't grow a penis in the morning.

Or did it?!!! *glump*

This is just too much for me to fucking handle right now, so will you all excuse me for I am going to go back to my place to have a fucking heart attack.

TTFN "

if you've missed the first part of the Shape Shifter, here it is

Memoirs: Thou Shall Not Fuck Your Cousin

Here I am sitting in a chapel, anxiously waiting for her to march down that aisle and into the arms of the one she has chosen.

I wonder how she looks.

They say a bride looks the prettiest when she walks down that aisle because of the radiating happiness that comes from within her.

But we all know that's bullshit. That fucking look on her face is the look of satisfaction, the look of a woman who has got her vagina stuffed to her fill by her husband to be. That's the look of woman who has been liberated from her sexual deprivation; in a matter of minutes, she knows she can get dick action from her other half anytime she wants to. Regardless of how she fucking looks; even if her legs feels like cactus; or her cunt smells like the gutter behind a Chinese restaurant; or her armpit that she haven't attended to has chunks of talcum powder stuck on her curly armpit hair. Yeah, she's all set to go. Once they said their vows, her fucking husband is obligated to fuck her.

As you look to the altar, do take notice of the guy too; you might notice that he isn't as enthusiastic as the bride, because he is simply handing over his dick on a silver platter; when this ceremony is through, his penis is legally bound to a life of penis solitary.

The wedding march is playing, all heads turn and there she was looking like an angel. I am fucking sure that is what that is going through the minds of the many gathered here, but this rotten twisted brain of mine was thinking something else.

It was wondering how she is in bed? But then again it will never happen because she was my fucking cousin and I think there is an unsaid rule in our family that state:-


THOU SHALL NOT FUCK YOUR COUSIN


So I concentrate to the things above her neck and try very hard not to stare at her half exposed breast.

And a million thoughts races through my fucking skull…

That face, that smile is something that I’m going to hold dear for a fucking long time. Even though I have never been that close to her, most of our interactions are just courteous act by a well-mannered cousin; our banal conversations works better than a tranquilizer that could put an elephant into a coma. You may not have known this part of me but yes, underneath these foul-mouth chuckle head, there is a gentleman. If you don't believe me, get your sister or mother in something sexy and I guarantee you they will get an erecting even if they dressed up like a Skank ho, now if that isn't being well-mannered, then I don't know what is.

It was her that pulled me through all those painful yearly family reunion that I fucking downright detest attending straight to my very dark and rotten core. I 'm just going to be really honest with you; normally I would only be happy for someone when misfortune strikes because I take delight in another person's misery.

But this is an exception for me; it’s been so long since I am actually happy for another human being.

Let’s hope this one fucking last.

Memoirs: Too Many Religions but Only One Asshole

[For Cen]

The parents of a concern maiden came to me one day. They were strong believers and they’ve pledge their allegiance to God’s only and fucking begotten son but it seems that they are concerned about their precious daughter who is now dating a Mussie. They didn’t want to get involve with their daughter’s love affair but unlike those lukewarm bible bashers, they believed that their daughter should be in a healthy relationship with another Jesus freak and they’ll be damn if their daughter would one day give birth to another Jihad monger.


So I invited them over for stew and at the same time we had a Muslim and a Catholic for dinner.


At the end of the dinner party, the parents’ concerns have been put to rest and they went home to give their daughter their blessing.


I was glad that we had stew that night. I made the stew from all the ears, nose, pieces of face and belly of the Muslim and Catholic. I’ve added onions, carrots, turnips, celery, salt and pepper to the stew. It was good. So you see no matter what faith you fucking embrace, we are all the same when we become stew and end up in someone else’s belly. So who are we to judge a person by his/her religion? May it be Catholic, Buddhism, Islam and Hinduism…etc. Once you eat them, they will just end up as shit.






P.s. Seriously the color of their blood is exactly the same too. I couldn’t tell the difference when I was cleaning the blood stain off the wall after I fucking butchered them.


P.s.s. The Shape Shifter 2 will be up next.

Memoirs: The Shape Shifter

(Kept in shorthand)

I am actually from the year 1905 and even though I am of humble birth but unlike some of you, I am not confused when it comes to Father's day because I can precisely and accurately identify who my biological father is and I need not guess who he is from a list of candidates. A certain unforeseen event during one of my laboratory experiment has landed me in this current era where all the ladies dressed up like they were working in brothels.

This is one of the many memoirs that I kept here in this era; this is a horrific account of my encounter with a shape shifter which was able to manipulate her own aging process…


One day before the seventh day of the seventh month; I had the privilege… Na! The pleasure of accompanying my working counterparts to a ball. I assumed it was a ball because their exact words were "Let's go dancing". I was exhilarated because finally I was going to be able to put on my tuxedo and let my stylish top hat see the light of day again; everyone will finally get to see how devilishly handsome I looked when I am all suited up. But when I told them what I was going to wear, to my dismay, I was specifically asked not to overdress and anything lesser than what I had in mind will be good for me. Well, good for them I reckon; I can smell the stench of their jealousy from a mile away.


Nevertheless, I was really excited about the night because I was promised to be brought to the best club in town. In my head, I see images of a grand ballroom with shinny polished floor; there was a breathtaking chandelier above it which illuminated the whole place; the band were in shinny white tux and were playing my favorite dance pieces; waiters were going around carrying trays of glasses filled with champagne; and the ladies all looked stunning in their evening gowns.


But once again it was a major letdown. As our automobile pulled over, I was led into a smoky room with very poor lighting. The floor wasn't as shinny as I expected but instead it was filled with ashes and cigarette butts. Which Let me wonder how am I am going to show off my ballroom skill tonight? There wasn't even a humble chandelier hanging above our heads; just random colored light bulbs scattered all over the ceiling which would make you temporary blind if you look straight right at it. As for the band, I dare say that the owner of this establishment wasn't doing very well financially because he only manage to hire one person to be in the band and that person was just standing there the whole night trying to fix his broken musical instrument that was making awful noises. As for the ladies, they still looked like prostitutes who were on duty but the only difference is their dressing. They were clad in much lesser fabrics than usual especially at their bosoms.


Yes, it was just the beginning of the night and it was looking grave. But things started to change when I met this beautiful young lady named Joyce. She had long wavy hair and her straight fringe was just above her adulterated looking eyebrow. She wore a tight white dress that highlighted her perky breast and I would be lying to you if I tell you that the thought of groping her breast didn't crossed my mind even as I am writing this now. I am not trying to make you feel jealous or anything but I feel that Joyce was somehow taken by me too because I notice that she seems to take notice of my groin area a lot that night. But it was her beautiful violet colored eyes and flawless eyelashes that captivated me. She was like Venus, she was an Aphrodite. But little did I know then I was staring into the eyes of a shape shifter.


Talking about groins, a tingling sense around it I has; that means I gotta take a piss. So I am just going to leave you here today, but do come back to find out how I realized that I just had intercourse with a shape shifter.

You're Killing Me

Seriously, I am not sure what you’s people are thinking? What the fuck do you want from me? You say you wanted my honesty and sincerity and that you will not judge me; yet after bearing a chunk of my soul to you, all I can feel now is you distance all over me.

Your fucking silence is killing me.

This is worst than being cheated on and far gross than being raped upon. Not that I have been raped but then again if rape involves sex, just how bad can it be? So if you are being rape, why not just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Anyway, back to the rant.

I am motherfucking furious; I am a furious motherfucker. After all I have done and have not done, this is how you thank me? By your non reply and avoidance?

I can’t believe that you would pre-judge me, put a tag on me, nutshell me even before I did anything to you. Talk about you hating superficial person. Yeah right…

So where did I really gone wrong? I didn’t even try to sweet talk you to bed, I didn’t even ask you to show me them boobies on the cam. The only mistake that I did was telling you what I was like on the inside and you have chosen to tie this fucking noose around my neck.

Do you know how hard it is for me to admit that I like hitting women? Did you know how hard it is for me to confess that I take pleasure in inflicting pain to the weaker sex. The thrill of beating their cake–up faces into a bloody pulp just thrills me; the rush of watching their fake ass eyelashes fly off their faces as my fist crushes their faces; their screams of agony is just like Beethoven’s symphony to my ears. Why can’t you see that I am not just some sex crave pervert who wants to hook up with girls to have sex. If I wanted sex, I’ll see a hooker.

P.s. You should have just told me that you’re not comfortable with me asking for your used maxi-pads, I would have settled for your nail clippings instead.

P.s.s. It’s not like you keep them anyway.

I am Shiva, The Great Destroyer

The last thing I remembered was the fucking irritating sound of that damn kid screaming from the top of his fucking lungs.


Everything went blank and the next thing I know, I've pinned the kid against the wall with my hand choking him down. I don't know what the fuck was going on but I felt that I was biting my teeth and my other hand was in the form of the fist. It was fucking obvious that I wasn't going to pet him.


The thought of hurting another living soul has never crossed my fucking mind; well, except for this one time where I wanted to rearrange my dad's pastor's front teeth for talking too much trash... and maybe a couple of times when I fantasized about biting off a slut's nipple while having sex... and this one time I thought about crucifying my biology teacher upside-down to a tree, cut her up a little and then pee on her wound. Besides that I'm really a non- violent person. And…ermmmm... the wild thought of chewing a chunk of meat off a hot girls' ass doesn't count right?


When I realized what I was doing, I quickly let go of my choke hold. I didn't know what has gotten into me. Anger suddenly took over me, it turned me into one bad motherfucker, and in the words of Jules Winnfield, I was a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, every time that fucking kid opens his mouth I'm super-fly T.N.T. Right about now, I can proudly say this:

Later that day, my heart was filled with remorse but my remorse was that what I haven't done to that damned kid. I know its fucking wrong but there's a certain rush that excites me every time I think about what could have happened. The notion of striking fear into heart of the weak arouses my every sense; the thought of inflicting pain on that damn kid ignite my inner flame. That very moment all I wanted was to be Lord Shiva the great destroyer!


It's no secret that I am losing my mind. Violent thoughts is somewhat fun but actually translating my madness into reality is actually a beautiful rush.


I guess its happening sooner than I anticipated; I'm not sure how long will my sanity will be kept intact. Maybe I should seek help before I decide to liberate my madness by purchasing a fucking gun.

Do You Feel Love: She was on Death Row & I was the Executioner

I have a dirty little fable to tell, plucked from the very rotten core of my blacken soul; I bring you the human lust and the very essence that makes up every goddamn dirty old man. And this is my side of the story, the decadence of just how low of a scum I can sometimes be, but I hope it will send tingles that would prickle your mental vagina. This is a fusion of loath and lust; this is my moral standing laying flat on the ground…


part 1 - Do You Feel Love: Man Juice & Moist Vagina


As the flickering light hits her body, I could clearly see the humps and lumps forming a series of serious curves on her. With a body like that, it was enough to turn any ordinary monk sworn to chastity into a registered rapist. And they say that money is the root of all evil; well, I say watching a female with a body like that, shaking her ass could do more harm than having money. I couldn’t take my eyes off her that night but inside my thought that was not the only thing I wanted to take off.

There comes a time when we heed a certain call, and you definitely will know it when you feel the tightness in your crouch and the sensation of wanting to explode in your pants. It is the call for some action to be taken. It is a call for you to fucking get a room and get it over with.

Yes, I wanted her; I wanted to be inside her; I wanted to ride her so hard that she wouldn’t be able to walk the morning after. But all this wasn’t out of opposite attraction or the human lust but the masochistic part of me is trying to burst out. Simply fucking her brains out isn’t enough anymore; I wanted more, I wanted her to get acquainted all over again with pain, I wanted to humiliate her, I wanted to cum on the worst part of her body anyone could cum on. Maybe her hair but it has already the stench of a million cigarettes. So I guess aiming straight into her eyeballs would give her a good sting or maybe straight into her nostril, that would probably leave my dick’s malodor in her senses. If that happens she would smell nothing but my penis’s flavor for the next few days.

Yes, all of that went through my head as I was contemplating whether to bring her back into my room or not. Somehow the thought of not wanting to break my promise to my little niece of bringing her to the beach early next morning kept me from doing all the above. I should be heading home and not coming up with ways to torture this girl which I barely even knew.

If you live in a small town like mine, you would know that everyone here is somehow connected to someone you might know and a couple of days later I found out that the girl that I nearly fuck that night was my classmate’s niece. Seriously, if I had done what I wanted to do to her that night, I wasn’t a bit worried that my classmate would clobber me because in order to do that he needed to climb outta his grave. But what freaked me out was if I can choose to do what I want to do to my classmate’s niece, I definitely can’t stop some jerk from doing the same to my little niece when she is all grown up and that is a very scary thought.

I Want You to Taste My Pain

Dear friend,



It’s been awhile. I know you think that I have deserted you; you think that I have no need for you anymore; that I have not invited you into my world but I am here to reassure you that you are always going to be my sweet addiction and my infernal salvation.


I am sorry if I have been away, thinking that I could bend instead of break but time never can make the heartache stop; it just gets into everything and leaving you all twisted up on the inside. I laughed, I cried but the fucking hurt is still the same inside, Fuck God if he thinks his sorcery could ever mend this human wreckage.


Give me your anger; I want you to taste my pain. Be the pillar of strength that I need every time I feel like breaking that fucking bitch’s face; help me be the wrong that this self righteous world is lacking; come to me as the voice in my head that tells me that inflicting pain unto others as others have done unto me is common courtesy; grant me the muse to come up with a million ways to murder a heart; and be the devil that I would gladly give in and worship.


I remember what you said to me the very first time we met...

Well, it’s better late than never.

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.

I'm Looking for a Girl

You know what, I think I'm ready for a relationship...


I'm looking for a girl. I'm looking for a girl whom I can cherish. I'm looking for a girl whom I can show my affections to. I'm looking for a girl who likes to be pampered. I'm looking for a girl whom I can lavish my utmost care upon. I’m looking a girl who isn't afraid of gulping down a 16 oz. full cream milkshake to wash down the super size McValue meal that she just ate and then have room for more desserts. I’m looking for a girl who can fill up a full size Godzilla suit.

I'm tired of the norm; I'm sick of underweight girls who dressed up like Princess Leia in a golden toga or like a slutty nun holding a crucifix-like dildo; and at your very command, they are willing to go on their fucking knees and chow down on your filth or do anything to fulfill the every ounce of butt-hole pleasure you desire. No there's not what I want. I want a wholesome 100% fatty filled 350 lbs beauty to call my own.

So what if you've got supermodels for all your girlfriends, one of them 350lbs beauty has got more ass than all your girlfriends combined and even without the help of push-ups, you will never ever again have to complain about not seeing any cleavage on your girlfriend; cleavages can be found everywhere. Come on, why settle for a toothpick when you can have the whole fucking log to yourself?

There's nothing sexier than a girl who weights over 350lbs; the very thought of fondling her dangling flaps of body fat especially the thighs, arms, and back just fucking turns me on. The very sight of her oversize breast and everything else leaves me feeling so goddamn exhilarating and it makes me wanna pass gas every time I fantasize about how fucking tight the largest brassier looks on her. Inserting my manhood between the deep folds of skin of her obese body, using her sweat as lubricant and thrusting to orgasm is simply utopia. Seriously I don’t know why people sees fat as a turn off.

So if you are interested but not quite there yet. Why don’t we engage ourselves in a little feederism relationship where I can be the feeder and you can be the feedee; I can lavish you with acts of feeding, encouragement to eat, and serve you large quantities of food and pretty soon you will be the objectification of my fat fetishism.

I promise I'll be the wicked witch who feeds you if you promise to be my sweet 350lbs Gretel.

of Dying Alone

It doesn't really take a fucking soothsayer or a clairvoyance to figure out that at this rate that I am going, I can pretty much predict I am going to grow old and die alone, alright maybe not old but definitely die alone. Seriously, I don't know whether I have it in me anymore to be in a fucking relationship because I am already so used to living this life as it is now. I fucking do whatever I feel like doing, when I like fucking doing it and in whatever fucking amount I like doing it in. I answer to no fucking one except me and the last thing I ever need is someone to come and fuck it up for me. You know I seriously doubt anyone would want to share my unpredictable and ad hoc way of living. If there is, I pity the ones who’s willing to take a chance on me because it would mean a massive lifestyle restructuring and a whole lot of insanity to even consider being with me.



I saw this in today’s news:

Overdose of sex stimulants kills man

BANGKOK: A Malaysian man was found dead in a hotel room in the border town of Sadao, in what is suspected to have been caused by an overdose of sex stimulants. On Tuesday night, the 52-year-old victim and his Thai girlfriend (most likley a hooker if you ask me) checked into the hotel in Soi Thaijungloan after patronising a bar. “When she woke up in the morning, the man was already dead. She told us the man liked to take sex stimulants”



You know, I have always wondered how it is like to be dead and in the news; some people just has all the luck in the world. But seeing that I am pretty much on my way of dying a lonesome death, I could pretty much be that guy in the news, above, maybe 20-30 years from now. The ecstasy of overdosing on sex stimulant and having my cadaver discovered by my “girlfriend” (most likely a whore) the next morning is one way of leaving this world in style. So keep a look out, you might see my face in the news, somewhere down the road.

On another note, I’ve think I have just made a best friend. Since I came back, I have been relying on my friend for relieve, moral support and clarity in my head. This friend of mine doesn’t ask questions, it just does what it does best and that is keeping me intact. I’ve been living on these motherfuckers since the day I got back and so far they are doing a great job.

500mg per pop and I take two of these fuckers every four hours daily when I am awake. Seriously, I don’t know what am I gonna do without them.


Who the fuck says that you can't be friends with your drugs?

Tainted Sacrament

In my iPod: Bearing Witness - Collective Soul
[download]
State of mind: Confusion
Location: Mumbai, India

I guess a lot of you are still suffering from the aftermath of Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service, it was really a tearjerker. If I am not mistaken for most of you, it was the moment where Paris Jackson spoke. As for me, it was Magic Johnson’s story about Michael, himself and a bucket of KFC that left me all choked up. God, I fucking miss KFC; I am gonna get a bucket to myself later today.


So as Michael Jackson’s fans around the world are trying to cope and get over the sudden loss of their idol, I am too trying to cope and get over the fact that one of the most beautiful women in the world used to be a male. Just how fucking sad can that be? I know guys around the world must have had their tough time getting over Harisu when they found out about it a couple of years back but it was a very recent affair for me after I watched one of her movies.


Now how the fuck can this be? In my thesaurus, the word “Transgender” is always associated with synonyms like icky, gross, disgusting, revolting, repulsive, repugnant and it often brings out the meaning of words like puke, vomit, barf, spew, regurgitate, disgorge… you get what the fuck I mean right?


The term “Beautiful Transgender” has always been an oxymoron but Harisu has came out and proven it wrong. How can it be that a tranny can be so goddamn fine? If there is a beauty pageant regardless of sex, I think she would come up amongst the top. You see the disturbing part is even after knowing that she is a transgender, I was utterly disgusted when I caught myself Googling for pictures of her. Fuck man, when did this fetish for Harisu come about?


As you all may already know, she is now happily married with a guy which is pretty good looking I might say. But riddle me this, should I be happy or sad for him? Yeah, so he may have one of the most beautiful women in the world as his wife but dude, she used to be a dude like you. I wonder does he have mood swings and thoughts like this while fucking his wife: “Damn, I am the luckiest man on earth, I am banging the most beautiful women in the world” and when he comes to his senses: ”Ewwww… what the fuck am I doing? Technically speaking I am banging a guy that looks like a lady.”


For me, I fucking know that I really can’t get pass the same gender sex thing. Ladies might not fully comprehend the implication of this because generally all ladies are lesbian in nature but normal guys are generally homophobic; even talking to another guy on the phone or in a pub for more than 5 minutes seems gay to us. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if she was Susan Boyle that has gone through an extensive facial tweaking but a someone who used to have a penis is more than I can ever bear.


I really gotta get this Harisu outta my system before it turns me into a queer and the best thing to do is to go out to the streets of Mumbai to see some tranny that would put back the real meaning in the word “Transgender” which should rightfully mean “Ugly and Disgusting”


On another note, my search for an apartment and sitar guru have once again been put to a halt mainly because I just found out that my sweet computer technician (which is a FEMALE), installed Street Fighter 4 on my notebook and I was momentarily distracted. No worries, I told myself that I will be back on track…


… once I unlock all the hidden players and complete the game using all the characters. For the time being this is for all the mishap that happened to me in India:

Die Dhalsim! Have a fucking taste of your own medicine you yoga flame throwing curry motherfucker.


*Throws the peace sign

xniquet's journey across India

Die Smelling Good

In my iPod: Four Rusted Horse - Marilyn Manson
[download]
State of mind: slum
Location: Bhopal, India

I fucking asked myself, what the fuck am I doing? I am supposed to be backpacking around India; yet, I have been grounded in Bhopal for the pass seven days, vigorously doing shit that equals to nothing. The only thing closest I got to the role of a fucking tourist is seeing some tit-like Buddhist monument 46kms away from town. I don’t know if you even consider going in a shopping mall that looks actually like the ones in my home town (minus the curry scent) to get junk food as my daily staple an act of tourism?

Yeah I knew I was half-assed sometimes but I think this time I might have just lost it. I feel completely like a pile of useless thrash with no sense of direction. I think I have lost my wanderlust; my fucking need to fucking travel around to desecrate foreign places and de-virginize foreign vagina have gone flat and dead. All I fucking do all day is sip Slurpee and bury my fucking face in a huge pack of potato chips while watching the old F.R.I.E.N.D.S. series in my hotel room.

The beauty of being all alone on a trip with has no time limit is that you have no fucking one to tell what the fuck you should and shouldn’t do. But the fucking down side to it is you sometimes get in too deep into it and there is no one to give you a fucking nudge you or to save you from sinking deeper into that shit hole that you are in.

Yet another perk of being alone is that you can fucking continue to ignore whatever damage and destructive shit you are doing to yourself because you couldn’t fucking careless; It’s like suicide but this one instead of feeling pain , you are bloody enjoying yourself doing it. The only time you will regret is when you realized that you‘ve turn into a rotten decomposing corpse that was only discovered a week too late by those staying next to you because they couldn’t stand the smell that is coming from you anymore.

Fuck man, are you fucking outta your mind? I wouldn’t wanna die and be let there to smell. If I going, I am going to die smelling good; so I gonna wear cologne 24/7 from now onwards, even in my sleep.

Not only am I falling apart but I in dire need of a manicure…

P.s. I was suppose to write something that has been bothering me for sometime but I think I got sidetracked or maybe I haven’t kept it in me long enough yet.

xniquet's journey across India