When I grow up, I want to be like him:

But why should I wait?

Projekt Rob Downey Jr. begins…in a week.

I’m going to attempt to grow a goatee of respectable length, and shed off all the weight that I’d shedded off previously that I’d put back on.  All in time for Iron Man 2.  I will truly be an…iron man.

At least I can try.

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 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.

I spent Friday night realizing that I’m bound to have a lot on my mind these next few weeks.  The idea of having the ‘tireless soul of an artist’ might come to realization soon.  Some people might say that running away is obviously a coward’s key to living; I fully agree.  But I never claimed to be a brave bear, although I have to admit that I should rightfully see what I’ve started to the bitter end — if only because it’s righteous.

[I usually hide my non-existent Christianty by harping about how I don't have to show God how much I love Him because living righteously is a great way of giving Him the slip.]

I’m rather happy that I still have the urge…strike that…I’m quite happy that I still have the will to want to make a change.  I’d usually be a complacent cow and take things as they are, but the fact that I’m flirting with the thought of reining in a catalyst for change is a sign that I’m starting to really think.

I only wish that I could think like that more often.  It’s getting easier for me to get swayed by a consensus, rather than my conscience; it doesn’t help that my conscience is seldom clear.

So, yeah: why don’t I throw a prospective curveball into the mix and see how it goes?

** * * * * * *

I saw a quick recap on the news about this.  The source of the report may be a bit biased, but focus more on the story than who’s behind it.

I think I’m growing old in a sense that it outright saddens me to take a look at conflict between different people.  The EDL have every right to state their case and represent their fears, but some might see it as scarily extremist behaviour.  It’s very iffy.  I’m always behind a moderate stance [fencesitting is a smart Chinese thing to do!], so I can only say that the Leftists have every right to be miffed at the EDL.  Is the EDL a league full of fear mongerers, or is their case really justified?

After all, when your doors are open wide, anyone can come in.  You don’t even need to place a Welcome mat.

The times are not changing.  Not anytime soon.

I haven’t had a schedule this packed in what feels like a long time. My weekends have suddenly come alive, and things are going at full speed…my only fear is that I’m not able to play catch-up with the world around me. I suppose that I should be thankful, but there’s that lazy idiot in me that wishes for the occasional six hour marathon FIFA session — please note that it’s been duly taken care of (if you’re a fan of accumulative, abridged entertainment — hardly what you’d call a ‘marathon’).

I’ll be in Kota Kinabalu in a week, and I’m looking forward to that. The last true vacation I had involved a mystic quest, but now, things have changed — I’m totally focused on doing absolutely nothing at all, and having all the time in the world to reflect upon what my next steps will be.

I got wind of some startling news at the beginning of this week that substantially rocked my world. It’s still tugging around at the back of my head, but I’ve filed it under a WIP folder in my mind for further action, if the need should ever arise for action to be taken. I’m not really a man of action; I’m more of a man of sloth. And gluttony. Gluttony is good.

Greed is good.

These last few weeks have been pleasant, to say the least. The second issue of the magazine was released to rave (self-anointed) reviews, and we’re making sure that the third issue will be better. There’s no such thing as a marked improvement — everything’s a constant cycle, and resting on your laurels only means that you’re letting complacency set in. Though to be honest with you, the whole idea of dedicating a volume of a magazine to weddings/marriages scares me.

Aside from the magazine, there’s something else that’s been going on that sort of leaves me with a strange feeling of wonderment. And befuddlement. I live my life being befuddled, so it’s really nothing new. I’m just antsy, I suppose. And befuddled. And sheepish. I’m in another one of those things that leave me scratching the back of my head, staring at a game plan and truly wondering what comes next. I suppose a small part of me is looking for some sort of affirmation, while the rest of me is being overly cautious.

Anyway, it’s just one more week to go.  Anything can happen.

Affirmation is a pain.  Seeking it is even more of a pain.

Here’s an image underneath for what I can expect from October.  I’ll leave it to you to speculate the meaning.  Let’s just say that it’s another line to cross along my way to learning how to be financially independent.

I hope.

Save me, Artoo!

We all seem to hold on to ghosts of the past, as if a piece of ourselves would be forever lost if we let go of it. Then again, I’m probably only speaking for those ‘good’ ghosts…the ghosts that left some indelible bittersweet imprint.

It always hurts me whenever I think about how easy it looks for someone to forget about another. That situation when someone leaves you astray and then they suddenly become happier for it; I suppose that the process of becoming happier hurts the most for the other guy.

It’s the same old story about not sharing the same dream; it’s the same old story about life getting in the way.

Why bother with something if you already know the outcome? Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave it? Why bother with trying?

Why am I such a mousy git at 9 in the morning on a public holiday?

I should be happy.

Since then, life has been one big cataclysmic adventure.

I suppose that I’m still on some strange trip to find myself.

It’s funny: I’m 26 and all I want to do is to go back to being 16. I probably would’ve known how to react back then. These days, I’m just a stodgy old goat.

No, my heart’s not broken. It’s simply not around.

I don’t know why I’m even posting this, or what relevance it has for anyone.  In my opinion, it looks incredibly surreal for a lot of reasons: for starters, he’s still relatively black, and secondly…he’s does a spin with his hair on fire.  That enough should take the cake.

I can’t possibly imagine the amount of pain that he was going through, and most speculate that it was this particular incident that sparked off an addiction to painkillers.  We’ll never know, really.  And maybe it’s better that way.

I need another major readjustment.

I’m a little over 2 weeks away from surviving a quarter life crisis, but to be honest with you, although my doubts have been waylaid to some strange cavern at the back of my head, I still feel as if there’s a lot of work left to do.  Life is a work in progress — there’s no running away from trying to fix it.  And of course, there’s always the issue of having to fix ourselves in the process.

I don’t think I’m a nice person.  I genuinely think that my sole purpose for living is to be a secondhand scoundrel.  I’ll never be able to take the mantle of Reggie Mantle, but I’ll always be his understudy.  This isn’t some cliched form of self-loathing; I honestly believe that I can only cause problems for those who enter into my bubble of a world.  And quite a lot of people have come in.

Of course, this could be me talking after only having four hours of sleep last night.  It depends, really.

There were a few separate, unrelated occasions these last few days where I was labelled as ‘nice’.  I despise ‘nice’.  It’s as bland as spam (although I kind of like spam).  It’s vanilla (though I really do quite fancy the flavour).  At the end of the day, all I am to people is this white-bread, comic-guzzling potential pothead who loves everyone.

Though there’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose.

It’s just that I have to try to break some preconceived notions, and I have no idea where to start.  Or if it’s even possible.

I still don’t know who I am yet.  It’s not set in stone.

I’m too much of a mix for my own good.

I don’t know where I’m going.

Oh, well.

Let’s face it.  Malaysians like myself are obsessed over the most sordid stories that make their rounds to the press.  Whether or not it’s an article about a grandfather who stuffed a metre-long stick up his grandson’s anus (true story!), or Perhentian Island being a haven of sorts for sexploits — these are the stories that stab at the heart of the average Malaysian.

But we’re not all average Malaysians, are we?

First off, we have those in the higher echelons of the shithouse — I hate to tell you this, Mr. Prime Minister, but pulling out of a fight only makes the rest of us think you have shit for balls.

You think I’m being a little unfair?  Not really.  Read this, and tell me what you think.  Now, there’s no doubt that every party has its own problems.  But we’re all quite sure that the PR would more or less dispose any candidate who walked its way in Penang.  I applaud the Tuan for his logic of saving our tax dollars, but please — the harder you try to sweeten it up, the more we think you’re just cowering under your wife’s britches.   Your wife has bigger balls than you do.  And a steelier resolve.

I thought that the Barisan cared enough for the people to field a candidate that they thought would’ve served the people in a way that they deemed right.  Who wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of sowing the seed of a ‘One Malaysia?’ in the heartland of the Opposition?  The very man who claims to have crafted the concept, it seems.  Genius.  Though it’s only right for them not to ‘dance to the Opposition’s tune’; after all, you already have two left feet.  And the ruckus that’s going on in Perak is overflowing the brim, so to speak.

But not everything’s lost in the news.  Going back to the topic of Perhentian (I’ve never been there), here’s my favourite quote of the day:

“I can’t disclose more facts as the council has lodged a police report on the matter, but I can tell you that there were activities associated with sexual intercourse on that night and this was substantiated by the discovery of sex paraphernalia,” Razman said yesterday.

Those gentlemen at the Besut District Council don’t seem like the type to kiss and tell, do they?  I’m sure that they’ve hardly opened up a can of worms as to what can and cannot be disclosed.

Fabulous.

* * * * * * * * * *

Enjoy your Wednesday.

This post has been brought to you by:

(Because I’ve got nothing else to read on a Tuesday night.)

When the fuel prices were spiralling a few months ago, Malaysians were told to change their mindsets and to adopt a lifestyle change by the government.  This obligatory annual rant went down well with some of us, as the streets and highways were clear for a few weeks due to overzealous neophites wanting to take public transport for a change.  However, they swiftly went back to their gas pedalling ways once they realized that our public transportation system wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

Or maybe it was already too cracked.

This month, I’m going to attempt to only live on RM 1000.  It isn’t as hard as it seems, as most of my living expenses are shoved to my father, who still esteems himself to be the man of the house.  On average, if I’m keeping to a RM 1000 budget, I should have around RM 600 to play with once I deduct my commitments.

Let the Austere April begin.  Jawohl?