This is Saiful Bukhari Azlan.  You have to admit, he’s quite a good-looking guy, complete with fair(ish) skin and sharp features.  He claims to have been buttfucked (albeit, politely) by Anwar Ibrahim, Malaysia’s de facto Opposition leader.

This is Anwar Ibrahim.  He’s been charged (again) for sodomy, which could threaten to end his political career (again), and he’s arguably getting the short end of the stick (in more ways than one…again).  He’s not a spring chicken, but look at that face: you can’t help but be enthralled by its strength.

I belong to the unique camp of people who believe that Anwar is possibly a bit limp-wristed.  But in a “I’m-going-to-gag-you-and-whip-you-endlessly-while-you-moan-and-groan-in-pain” kind of way.

I also belong to the very unique camp of people who believe that being (allegedly) hit on by Anwar is an absolutely compliment.

Anwar wanting to ram his meat into your bum is akin to being bestowed a halo by the Almighty.  Or being knighted by the Queen.  Or winning a year’s supply of Krispy Kremes.  It’s a once in a lifetime experience that you can tell all your friends about…or at least the taxi driver who’s spiriting you away from the scene of the crime.

Now, I’m not saying that Saiful is a liar, and is doing a Dick Dastardly because the Powers-That-Be in the Federal Government have given him a blank cheque to go AWOL.

Nay!

I’m saying that, if he’s telling the truth, he’s had the privilege and the opportunity to see things from the other side of the tunnel.

And despite all his bamboozling, Saiful could’ve just said no, right?

But, honestly, wouldn’t you want to be fucked by Anwar Ibrahim?

It’s kind of hot.

I wish I had the patience and tenacity to upload all the latest aspects of my life in a sweeping cavalcade of synergy.  I can never discipline myself enough to ensure that all facets of my lifestream are updated…and it’s terrifying, as you realize that we’re all trying to fight off the impending threat of anonymity.  You want to be somebody.  Or, more precisely, you want to be that ’somebody’ that Anthony Followill’s singing about — the one that he could use.

With all the Facebook, Twitter, Flickr, Youtube, Myspace, Reverbnation and Friendster (!) profiles in the world, it makes you wonder how much time we have to think about what we want to be before it’s published to the world.  I still have to find the link — nay, the common denominator — that underscores it all.

What’s it mean to be a Tai?  What’s a Tai theme?

How do I plot my course to greatness?

How do I meander through life, constantly ensuring that there’s no such thing as overexposure and saturation?

How do I find the time to do all this?

Meh.

I have this tendency to rush through things without taking a second look.

And I’ll keep on harbouring this tendency for the rest of my life — it’s one of those things that I probably won’t be able to pry myself away from.

I need to fart.

Ahhhhh.

Better.

If the government’s already showing its strong willingness to appeal against the ‘Allah’ ruling, why does it even bother to drag out the legal proceedings?

Can’t it just wipe it out like everything else that doesn’t strike its fancy?

It’s like everyone else is a zionist overlord. This vibe of distrust and intolerance really shouldn’t be fostered any longer. 1 Malaysia is a sham.

Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah Allah!

It’s been a whole month and a half since I last said anything on this jolly little diary of mine.  The occasional tweet doesn’t really count, because, let’s face it, I didn’t pay money for the server space and the URL for the world at large to enjoy a 140 character rant.

No, really, it might seem that way, but I didn’t.

This year is promising to festoon into something monstrous; work is going to find me spread out to the four corners of Malaysia, while things couldn’t be better at home — I’ve forged a deep connection with Uno, due to her increasing dependence on me through this period of sabbatical that my folks have enjoyed.

Okay, that sounds very formal, but I’m trying to toughen up for the New Year.

Among the resolutions I’ve made to myself (that will very likely be broken):

1. Eat less, and get fit in time for Iron Man 2 (which is in May),
2. Spend less, due to the sudden reactivation of my unit trust fund (that’s RM 600 a month!)
3. Quit smoking, or at least leach off another fellow smoker (it works better)

It’s just three resolutions, and it can be said that none of them will be fulfilled by 2011.

Onwards!

Wahey!  In an attempt to appease myself, I got to work last night and worked out a little ditty.  I had someone in mind when I churned this out, and funnily enough, she probably knows who she is…if she were to watch the video.

Or at least I could hope so, yes?

It’s another night of non-writing, but on the bright side, you get to see a fat Chinese boy croak.  What more could you ask for?

I’m actually not that nervous.

I really adore Amy Winehouse.  Despite the fact that these days, she’s more of a trainwreck than a trainspotter, she’s still cool with me.  Even with the weird lashes.  Even with the honeycomb.  So, in that respect, this is my tribute to her.

My God.  I’ve just finished churning out a very rough draft of a press release (my very first one)…only to realize that it was pure trite.  Which I’m hoping that the people I’m sending it to don’t realize.

Sigh.