STICKY: Tulis Surat Kepada PTPTN

NOTA: INI ADALAH ARTIKEL 'STICKY' YANG TIDAK AKAN DITURUNKAN SEHINGGA BAYARAN PINJAMAN AKU KEPADA PTPTN DILANGSAIKAN (OLEH AKU SENDIRI) ATAU SEHINGGA PTPTN MENUKAR CARA MEREKA MENDAPATKAN KEMBALI PINJAMAN YANG TIDAK BERBAYAR.

NOTE: THIS IS A 'STICKY' POST, AND WILL NOT BE TAKEN DOWN UNTIL I COMPLETED PAYBACK TO PTPTN OR UNTIL SUCH TIME WHEN PTPTN CHANGES ITS METHODS IN RECOVERING UNPAID LOANS.

Sebelum aku berhenti bercakap pasal PTPTN dalam usaha aku memberi tumpuan kepada urusniaga menjual bontot demi membayar 12% faedah pinjaman PTPTN, ini aku kepilkan alamat-alamat berkenaan.

Aku bercadang untuk menulis surat kepada mereka untuk memberitahu perihal masalah PTPTN. Senang je. Surat rasmi. Ko bayangkan, kalau satu juta surat, hard copy, sampai kat diorang ni. Soft copy, dia delete je. Hard copy, dia kena failkan.

Mintak tolong mak bapak dan adik-adik ko tulis sekali.

Kalau korang semua ada pengalaman buruk dengan PTPTN, sila hantar kepada diorang. Jangan hantar pada aku.

Perlu diingat: AKU TAKKAN MERAYU UNTUK KURANGKAN FAEDAH yang dikenakan pada aku. Atau nak mintak duit free. Kalau ko nak mintak duit free, ko boleh buat kempen ko sendiri. Ini semua bukan tujuan aku.

Aku memang berhutang, dan aku harus bayar. Wajib. Pasal bila aku tuntut apa yang orang lain patut bayar pada aku pun, aku nak diorang bayar.

Tujuan utama aku cuma untuk memberitahu masalah yang dihadapi peminjam PTPTN apabila ingin membayar balik.

Kalau dah cakap, ”Kami takkan terima apa-apa pelan pembayaran.” dan ”Kami akan mengheret ke mahkamah dan mengecaj kadar faedah 12%” serta ”Terpulang pada PTPTN untuk menerima pembayaran daripada kamu”, aku rasa macam berurusan dengan Ah Long je.

Fokus aku pada:

1. Layanan khidmat pelanggan PTPTN daripada semua bahagian yang aku hubungi.
2. Masalah dengan saman dan protokol perundangan.
3. Cara pembayaran kepada PTPTN.
4. Pengenaan kadar faedah sejak beberapa tahun lepas dan BUKAN pada tarikh pengeluaran keputusan penghakiman.

Lepas aku hantar, aku letak kat sini. Korang nak copy, go ahead.



Datuk Seri Najib Tun Abdul Razak
Perdana Menteri Malaysia
d/a
Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister
Office of the Prime Minister of Malaysia
Main Block, Perdana Putra Building
Federal Government Administrative Centre
62502 PUTRAJAYA
MALAYSIA


Y.B. DATO' SERI MOHAMED KHALED BIN NORDIN
Menteri Pengajian Tinggi
PEJABAT MENTERI
ARAS 7 BLOK E3 PARCEL E
PUSAT PENTADBIRAN KERAJAAN PERSEKUTUAN
62505 W.P.(PUTRAJAYA)
minister@mohe.gov.my
TEL: 03-88835010
FAKS : 0388891952



En. Yunus Abdul Ghani
Ketua Pegawai Eksekutif Perbadanan Tabung Pengajian Tinggi Negara (PTPTN)
Wisma Chase Perdana,
Off Jalan Semantan,
Damansara Heights,
50490 Kuala Lumpur.

Oh ya. Simpan semua dokumen yang kau terima, terutamanya daripada firma guaman.

Dapatkan khidmat nasihat peguam. Juga ada Unit Bantuan Guaman untuk mereka yang miskin atau tak kenal lawyer atau bukan lawyer di semua bandar utama.

Lepas dapatkan khidmat nasihat mereka, sila hantar aduan berkenaan firma guaman berkenaan kepada Bar Council:

Salina Lim Abdullah
Malaysian Bar Council Executive Officer

Address:
No. 13, 15 & 17, Leboh Pasar Besar
Kuala Lumpur
Malaysia
50050

Telephone: +603-20313003 (Ext.189)
Fax: +603-20316640

Juga, Ahli Lembaga Pengurusan PTPTN:


Y.B Dato’ Dr. Mohamad Shahrum bin Osman
Pengerusi
Ahli Parlimen Lipis


Y.Bhg. Datuk Idrus bin Harun
Peguam Cara Negara
Jabatan Peguam Negara


Encik Nik Hassan Shah bin Nik Ab. Rahman
Timbalan Setiausaha Bahagian
Bahagian Kawalan dan Pemantauan
Kementerian Kewangan Malaysia


Y.Bhg. Datuk Dr. Zulkefli bin A. Hassan
Ketua Setiausaha
Kementerian Pengajian Tinggi Malaysia


Y.Bhg. Tan Sri Dr. Zulkurnain bin Haji Awang
Ketua Setiausaha
Kementerian Pelajaran Malaysia


Encik Che Omar bin A. Rahaman
Timbalan Ketua Pengarah (Pematuhan)
Lembaga Hasil Dalam Negeri


Y.B. Datuk Halimah binti Mohamed Sadique
Ahli Parlimen Tenggara


Cik Mariany binti Mohammad Yit (Mariany & Co.)
Ahli Yang Dilantik Oleh Y.B. Menteri

Aku dapat daripada:

http://www.ptptn.gov.my/web/english/corporate/management

Kalau salah, gambar, sila rujuk di laman web berkenaan.

Diorang semua ko boleh hantar kat pejabat diorang sendiri atau kau hantar je kat alamat PTPTN:

Wisma Chase Perdana,
Off Jalan Semantan,
Damansara Heights,
50490 Kuala Lumpur.

Kalau kempen aku yang pertama ni tak berjaya, aku akan carikan alamat pejabat diorang dan juga alamat rumah, kalau sampai ke tahap tu.

Perlu diingat, tak perlu maki diorang macam orang gila. Kita ni, orang Malaysia, orang berhemah. Cuma, berikan penjelasan berkenaan masalah yang ko hadapi.

Lagipun, kita ni penghutang yang hina.

Aku sibuk sekarang, jadi aku takkan tulis sampai first week of June. Pastu aku akan hantar. Kalau korang nak tulis dulu, korang tulis lah. Aku akan buat templat kalau korang nak, pasal aku penulis – ini memang kerja aku.

Korang print, tukar nama dan IC, pastu hantar. Hard copy, tau. Soft copy boleh delete je.

Aku jugak akan dapatkan khidmat nasihat dari peguam yang aku kenal untuk pastikan aku tak langgar undang-undang.

Kalau aku dapat respon yang wajar dikongsi, aku akan letakkan di sini. Kat website aku.

Sambil tu, aku akan berusaha keras untuk membayar kembali pinjaman PTPTN. Perlu diingat, kita di pihak penghutang. Hak kita sama macam hak anjing kurap je. Tapi aku takkan membiarkan pengalaman buruk aku berurusan dengan PTPTN hilang begitu sahaja.

Daripada ko undi pembangkang, baik ko hantar surat kepada semua orang ni.

Ingat. Takde sapa yang akan tolong kita melainkan diri sendiri.

Dan jangan lupa untuk menyimpan semua surat yang ko hantar/terima. Pastu hantar kat aku imej scan nya.

Saya Yang Menjalankan Tugas,

Setan Kuning

The Last Voyage

Captain Yusof, the blogger known as The Ancient Mariner passed away last night.

I did not know him for long. I knew that he was an old sailor, and I have always liked listening to tales from old sailors. And that maybe if I'm rich enough one day, I might even take up sailing. If I can ever deal with my fear of big things underneath dark waters.

Earlier this year, he went on a journey to retrace the route his ancestors - the Bugis - took in the old days. Sea routes, that is.

Apparently the Bugis left their seed all over this region. I listened to quite a few Bugis pirate stories from the man. And near-rambunctious, swashbuckling tales of his own youth.

How he decided to run off and become a sailor, drawn to the sea, and only coming back years later.

Always jolly - easy with a laugh and a chuckle. He reminded me, of Harlan Ellisson, whom I never met. And of my own maternal grandfather, who often recounted tales of his pilgrimage to Mecca, aboard a bloody ship.

The Captain lost his mother recently - last week, in fact - which I did not know until today.

These two months - June and July - have been months of sickness and of death. For all of you out there, stay safe.

And for the Captain, may you sail to whatever land we Bugis go to after we die. And they bloody well have a good beach.

Remember, second star to the right, and straight on till morning.

Freestyle Association

Kangkong, in English, is 'morning glory', which, when translated lackadaisically, means 'seri pagi', which is a Malay kuih.

It has two layers - one white and another - the one on top - green. The white layer is made up of glutinous rice, and the green one is pandan and rice flour(?).

'Jaket karet' is Bahasa Indonesia for condoms.

I believe the etymology is because 'karet', maybe carrots, is a reference to the shape of a dick.

A cock jacket. Makes sense, I guess.

Cilantro looks like 'daun sup'.

Talking abour carrots, I recently found out that 'carats', with a 'c' is for diamonds. Because of carat seeds, I guess.

'Karats', with a 'K', is for gold. It is the purity of the thing.

Gold is only created at supernovas. Only when a star blows up, since it's fucking stable. So stable, it doesn't react with oxygen, so no oxidisation, hence no rust. Therefore, valuable.

There is an industry in Japan where they buy old electronics and mine it for gold. Because a tonne of electronics yields more gold than a tonne of gold ore. And gold, as well as silver, is used on circuit boards as super-conductors or some shit like that.

Carrots also have beta-carotene. It was the subject of a study recently, in 2006, where it was suggested that beta-carotene raises the risk of cancer by 80++ per cent.

So eat lots of carrots, improve your eyesight, and have cancer?

Condoms, are not that effective. Around 86 per cent for most things. And lower, in some cases.

Chris Rock said, "If AIDS can creep through the skin of your dick, then what about your NUTS?"

Makes sense, I guess. Condoms should include the nuts.

You know what they used as condoms in the old days? Sheeps' intestines and galvanised rubber.

Galvanised rubber is poisonous.

The chewing gum used to be manufactired using rubber. Nowadays, they use a sap from a tree. Jelutong, I think.

Karpal Singh. He should go bald. And say, "Come to me, my X-Men!" And Anwar would come running.

Okay then. Am off to bed now. Am done for the night.

Cheers!

House of M: Pride AFTER the Fall

As one of the most arrogant motherfuckers ever, and possessing the world's biggest ego, I can safely say a lot of shit about hubris.

For one, arrogance is stupid. It will make you complacent. You will start taking things for granted. Things will do things by itself. The keyboard will write the story on its own.

Things will be okay, no matter what you do.

Well, in a Buddhist way, it will be. In astronomical views, nothing matters. People who study astronomy are generally more relaxed. Why? Because they see the big picture. No. Bigger.

I never studied astronomy, but some freaks who do, whom I know, you know what they talk about? Well, the smallest thing would be the survival of the species.

When you look across aeons, or eons - I fucking hate the dual spelling - everything seems trivial.

Things that could be so big on the moment, like a sharp comment or a cynical, even snide remark, a praise - everything - it is all inconsequential. We all are inconsequential, in the end. We are the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

Pride got the old media. New York Times. Washington Post. Baltimore Sun. All of it. All the shit. Everything.

You can see this especially in big businesses, big companies.

When you constantly screw the little people, when you believe you are above people - anyone - you set yourself up for the fall.

The higher you think you are, the bigger, the steeper, the longer the fall.

It's like in Dragonball. I'll get to that later.

The media is simply a collection of, well, shit through which information passes through.

We are cooks. We do not create the data. We are not the source of information. We merely present it in a way that is perhaps easier to digest.

All the media, several decades ago, were more or less a bulletin board in print.

When the media took on a personality, or personalities took on the media, that's when they - we - started our long fall.

Going back to the cook analogy, if people don't like our shit, they might go to a different restaurant, or simply cook up the ingredients themselves.

There will always be a need for cooks, as there would always be a need for content creators.

Stupid shit you do, like if the food or the news is late. Or if it's not cooked up to perfection, as ordered, or if it gives poisoning or indigestion, will affect the one thing that is the life or death for restaurants and newspapers - reputation.

Like in Dragonball. Every time you use Dragonballs, a small crack appears inside. One day, the seven Dragonballs will hatch seven dragons whom Goku has to fight. Spoiler alert!

And as we have our heads in the clouds, people fill in the vacuum with something else. Better? Worse? Who cares? It's something else. Something OTHER.

People can only eat the same shit for a limited number of time. After a while, they'll swing to something else.

That's why Madonna re-invented herself many times over the years. Why the late Michael Jackson came up with different dance moves for each album. Why the most successful artists throw variation into their theme. I mean, the Coen Brothers would always have a character who is the Unstoppable Evil in their movies, but it's never the same story. Guy Ritchie does great caper movies, but it's never the same movie.

Point is, the content may stay the same, but the forms must change.

One-trick ponies end up in Vegas. And not at Caesar's Palace. Maybe at a sad, small hotel-casino, where some B-grade star died, hoping, praying for budget travellers with a penchant for the old. And even those guys - the proprietors - would change every so often.

In Thailand, the girls would stay at any establishment for as long as they feel they are in contribution to the thing. As soon as they think they have become boring, they most probably will move on.

There is a place for consistency, and for loyalty. Always, always a place. In a world which will not stop spinning until a few million years more at least, a constant is just as priceless as a chameleon.

Omnia mutantor, nihil inherit. Everything changes, nothing is truly lost.

Look at these frailties, ye mighty, and be humbled. The geeks shall inherit the earth.

Bakat...Bakat...

MC: Memperkenalkan! Kumpulan Penulis Alamorphosis De Gil!

MC: Di depan sekali - Orang Utan! Dan dibelakangnya, ada tiga orang lagi...

MC: Dan...memperkenalkan...penulis yang tidak perlu diperkenalkan lagi! Bakat Penulisan Ranjang - Amir Hafizi!

Crowd: YEAAAAAAHHHHH!

Awek Lucah Lincah: Aku baling bra aku niiiii!

Mak Nyah: Merembes air mak!

Aku: Akulah Raja di Bawah Kelangkang.

Catch-Up 22

I will be spending the whole day today, catching up on my writing. I have loads to do, and my appointments just cancelled.

So none of you bother me today, okay? I'm going to go into the Speed Force...after this short nap.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Routes

Someone was talking about lineage just now, and something just pissed me off.

Si Tanggang. You know that story? In Indonesia, they call him Malim Kundang. A son left his mother in search of riches and managed to marry a princess. Upon going back to his village, his mother went to greet him with his favourite food.

And yet, he was so ashamed of his mother and the 'barbaric dish' that he cast her off and denied that he was her son. That she was a mad woman.

The mother cursed him and his whole ship, along with the princess, turned to stone. Tanggang either turned to stone of became a crow, forever to call out "Mak! Mak!" to beg forgiveness from his mother.

Some people claim a man-shaped stone in Indonesia is Malim Kundang, while people in Kuantan has some queer-looking rocks in Bukit Charas whom they believe to be Si Tangang.

What I hated was the fact that compilers and historians sanitised Si Tanggang's tale.

In the original, Tanggang's favourite food was 'siamang panggang' - barbecued monkey. In later texts, including a movie starring Neng Yatimah (I think), he was written as having liked 'pisang salai' - smoked bananas.

Fuck that, man.

It takes an especially gritty, tough people to capture monkeys and eat them. Any pussy-whipped metrosexual can scarf down smoked bananas. Only barbarians and pirates can eat monkeys.

Malays used to be pagans. We ate monkeys. And we should be proud that we fucking ate monkeys. We didn't fuck monkeys, I hope. But we ate them.

That's so fucking cool.

What is this sanitised pablum bullshit?

My own ancestors were royal pirates and holy men who walked the earth like Kwai Chang Caine. Cantonese and Kelantanese landowners. Cattle-herders. And later, teachers.

When I first came to KL, most Malays I meet were fucking apologists. For what? We were not African slaveowners. We were Malay slaveowners. Our slavery was with our own race. The whole JWW Birch thing in Perak (again!) was because of, amongst other things, slavery.

And even white Americans - a lot of them came to America long after slavery was abolished. Some, after World War 2.

And we're not fucking white!

Malays are a shade of brown.

We need not apologise for the NEP. First of all, what the fuck is the NEP? The only thing I got from the NEP were two free bags of manure.

Sure, I got into a full-residential school(cause I ranked top 400 in the cunt-ry for UPSR). Ooh. Big fucking deal. I had to watch my ass for five years. I'd trade my glorious SPM results - 8 aggregates, foo! - for normal teenage memories at a normal school.

UM? Hell, man. I spent five years eating roti canai, maggi goreng and the only pussy available were Malay pussy. I would have loved to trade all that with experience at overseas universities where you can fuck redheads, man. Or Thais.

And PTPTN? Hell, you know the kind of fucked up trouble I got into. I won't be like stupid MARA loan-defaulters. I'll pay, and never run away. But it's all fucked up. And that PTPTN is available for everyone. NOT NEP.

I don't believe anyone should apologise for being anything. Malay, gay, lesbian, lactose-intolerant, hardworking or even intelligent.

Except Jonas Brothers', Harry Potter and Twilight fans. Yeah, that, you HAVE to apologise. Profusely.

The Jonas Brothers can't help being Jonas Brothers, but you have a choice in that fucked up shit. I JUDGE THEE!

If the Jonas Brothers come here, I'd feed them barbecued monkey and see if they like it or refuse local hospitality.

Anyway, I do not apologise for shit I didn't do. And if I'm too smart, too talented, too fast for you, then fuck off and die.

The only person to ever intimidate me completely was myself. I reserve and observe respect for some people, especially those who demonstrate skills I currently do not have.

Now that I am beyond being insecure, I don't get insecure people. People who compare and compete with everything. EVERYTHING!

Look, the worst thing you can do for yourself is to believe in your own hype. You get complacent. You don't grow. You stagnate, and you die a monkey. Barbecued. Smoked.

I mean, check this out. Things NOT in my resume: I wrote two poems in a delirious, flu-induced shit, and Lisa Surihanie and Rahim Razali read them on TV. My name was like, six feet high. Never said this, but it was an honour, sir.

Now, if I believed my own hype, I'd fucking go and be a poet. I could fuck more girls, but my books would never sell. I have written no books - just A book, singular, so far - but if I was a poet, I'd have published books. Books and books and books. Books of crap.

I'm no fucking poet. My parents didn't raise any poets. Cheese-eating surrender monkeys.

Poetry, in some cases, is cheating. Free verse my ass.

I've written and am writing what, seven? 10 movies? I wrote in every medium made available to me.

Big screen, small screen, LCD screen, CRT shit, whatever the fuck.

If I believed I was fucking fantastic enough, and could never get any better, I'd fucking kill myself tomorrow.

Cause the old media, that's what's killed them. What's killing them. Complacency. Believing their own hype. New media was heading that way.

"Oooh, I'm a blogger, nyeee!"

"I got 8,000 hits a day, nyeee!" - trivia: whenever I reach 8,000 hits a day, I delete my blog.

Media is the gateway where information passes. It is not the source. We are cooks, chefs. We are not cows. We did not make the beef, we handle the meat and turn it into meatloaf.

For every person who thinks blogs are fucking cool, there would be 10 who think it's shitty and inconsequential. Trivial and fake.

If you can handle that, you'll be fine. If you can't, well, my name is Inigo Montoya, prepare to die!

Humility need not be demonstrated with bowed heads. You can have humility in your work. Not in your demeanour.

And don't worry about God.

God is fair. He giveth and He taketh away. Awayeth.

I mean, I may be the most good-looking person ever. EVAR! Especially with this new haircut. But I don't think I'll ever be rich enough to buy The Binjai apartments. Or a Lamborghini. I don't think I even want to. What the fuck for, man? Malaysian roads have speedbumps. After a week, that Lambo will have fucking potholes INSIDE the car.

Fuck it! Fuck the beat! I go a capella!

Fuck a clock, fuck a dock fuck everybody! Fuck all a-you doubt me!

I am a descendant of monkey-eating pirate-barbarians, and I say it proudly.

Here, tell these people something they don't know about me.

National Pornographic Sexual: The Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud

Early on in life, I had decided that one thing women will have over men is their sex. As in cowgirl, or reverse-cowgirl positions.

I mean, it would be very easy for women to get an advantage by offering or suggesting sex. Especially with a libido as huge as mine.

Therefore, for the past few years, I have decided to train, in the crevices, nooks and crannys of Thailand. I decided to train, with the Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud.

CUE THEME SONG

Tet tet teeee tet! Tet tet tet tee tet tet tet tet teeeee - doong-doong!

I climbed a mountain in Phuket. There are no mountains in Phuket, as they cancelled Thaksin's Hooter's restaurant. But there was one when I was there.

I climbed, for three days and three nights, neither eating, sleeping, drinking, nor masturbating.

I reached the top a haggard man.

The Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud consists of hundreds of prostitu-nuns in neon-lit cloisters with poles in them.

But all their doors were closed, when I reached there, especially that big gold door with red trimmings.

Exhausted from my journey, I sank to my knees and waited.

I had lost track of time when a Whore-Priestess of Shabda-Oud came into view. She was followed by four other whore-priestesses, and they made a Power Rangers pose before the one in red spoke.

Red: You came here?

Me: I...climbed the...mountain because I...heard that...your order is...up here. I wish...to train with...you.

Red: Hiiiii-yah! Your clever disguise will not fool us, William Shatner!

Me: Wait, wait my...speech might seem...similar to William...Shatner but that's just...because I am...breathless from my...climb. For three...days I...had nothing to...drink or eat or...masturbate to. I...am tired.

And with that, I passed out.

When I came to, Red was there, in front of me.

Red: My apologies for mistaking you for William Shatner, Mr Walken.

Me: What? But -

Red: Save it, Mr Walken. Or should I call you Christopher? You need to rest. You have indeed shown your resilience by nor masturbating for three whole days. In a week, we shall begin our training.

And thus, as she said, my training began in a week.

MONTAGE!

Red: These pole dancers will make eyes at you and ask for 'lady drinks' which is nothing but watered-down Coke in shot glasses but costs just the same as a regular drink. You must resist the temptation to buy them any drinks.

Me: Oh...Oh...man, that's gotta hurt! Okay, I'll buy her one.

Red: Didn't you hear what I said?

Me: But she just did a 900 degrees turn on the pole and landed on her vagina, on the hardwood floor.

Red: You have much to learn, young Walken.

TIME!

Black: Women use subterfuge and subtle machinations. They hate each other, and are only loyal to themselves. You must remain sitting in the lotus position as these women give you a lap dance. You must not fuck them.

TIME!

Yellow: You will masturbate as these women lick you and dance for you. You must not come.

Me: That's easy enough.

TIME!

Yellow: Oh, my Lord! You have lasted for over three hours. The Farce is strong with this one.

TIME!

Green: Erogenous zones. Everyone has them, and yet it is different for everyone. We shall find yours, and focus on that. In time, you will be able to move your zones to anywhere on your body.

TIME!

Pink: It is just not the physical bit, but the mental aspect as well. Most of sex happens in the mind. You must train your mind to become more powerful than your base instincts. Learn to control everything.

Me: How?

Pink: Know, realise that sex is only worth RM50.

Me: And in some p-laces, RM6!

Pink: And so, is it worth taking anyone to an expensive restaurant or buying them stuff?

Me: No!

Pink: Therefore, sex is worthless. Some prostitutes-in-denial will try to convince you otherwise, but you know the deal. You know the score.

TIME!

White: Nothing is static. Everything is evolving. Everything is falling apart. His name...was Richard -

Me: You're just reading Fight Club.

White: Shut up! Everything is maya - a falsehood. Nothing exists. Everything is a joke. Even that hot woman over there. You must not deny your lust, but accept its existence. Do not fight it. Only when you are self-aware will your ego and your lust be fully under check.

TIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Red: You have been with us for five years now, Young Walken. There is nothing left for us to teach you. Only one thing remains.

Me: Pray tell, Mistress Alpha Female.

Red: Young Walken! Prepare to fight!

Me: Fight what?

Red: Here! The 18 Shabda-Oud Jailbait Formation! 18 virgins under 18 years old will try to make you succumb to their temptations!

Me: Ooooh...yeah...

18 girls under 18 tried everything in their power to get me to jail.

But I got back safe and sound, didn't I? Why? Because five years earlier, I took three days to climb that mountain (even though there was a cable car going up) because I had planted explosives inside the mountain.

I reach for my detonator, depressed the switch, and...

Me: So long, suckers! Literally!

And I jumped as the explosion threw me all the way down to a bar stool in Phuket's Bangla Road.

And so I remain the last student of the ancient secrets of the Whore-Priestesses of Shabda-Oud.

Until their Bangkok charter sent sex-assassins to kill me. But I shall always remember the training by Mistress Alpha Female.

Red: Remember, given a long enough timeline, everyone's survival drops to zero.

Tales from the Drunk Side: O Ye of Little Faith

Oh well.

What can I say?

Excuse my dust.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Casino Royale with Cheese

It wasn't until 2am when the cards started talking to me.

7 of Diamonds: We all have a function. We represent something.

Me: What the fuck is this, man?

Chongker: Enough?

Me: No, wait. Let me get this.

7 of Diamonds: See if you know...or rather, remember.

Me: Let's see now. I read about you...in a children's activity book, written in the 70s, therefore, I can't determine the veracity of its information.

Ace of Spades: Or the persistence of memory.

Three of Hearts: Bada bing!

Me: I trust my memory. Let's see...the suit of Diamonds represent the wealthy. The King is a depiction of Julius Caesar. Can't give a fuck who the Queen and Jack represents.

Me: Hearts was formerly the chalice. A communion cup. Representing religion. Your King is Charlamagne, one of the most successful Christian kings ever. Ditto on Queen and Jack.

Me: Spades came from the Spanish word 'Espada', meaning either 'soldier' or 'sword'. The symbol is representative of the sword, connected to the military.

Me: Clubs are, well, cudgels carried by the people. And as such, the suit of Clubs represent the people. Your King is Alexander, Queen is Elizabeth and Jack is Lancelot of the Lake.

Jack of Clubs: We are important people!

Ace of Spades: And important symbolism!

Me: No. There have been themes of four before. Earth, Air, Water, Fire. Coin, Song, Knife and Stick - particularly reflecting your own four suits. Claw and Name, Blood and Feather. And tri-symbols - bell, book, candle. Griffins with head of an eagle, body of a lion and tail of...a donkey? Face of a woman, body of a lion, wings of an eagle - sphinx?. Variations, but one and the same.

Queen of Hearts: And what of you, Old One? Prince of Darkness, Devourer of Worlds?

Me: My card...is the Wheel of Fortune. Rota Fortuna, of the Major Arcana.

Jack of Spades: The fuck you got that?

Me: The paginarum fulvarum - the yellow pages.

Four of Clubs: Pig Latin! Pig Latin!

Me: O, ye of little faith. I don't need to be told that I am right. I KNOW I am right.

Chongker: Banker delcare 20.

Me: 21!

Oh well. It might have been.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Destruction

Some people asked me about my political stand.

Well, YOU. ASKED. FOR. IT.

Tet tet tet tet tereeeeee...!

I live in a democratic society, more or less. And while I am particularly intrigued by the Socialist utopia of Star Trek, I believe I am an anarchist sympathiser.

In the Holy Text V for Vendetta by Alan Moore, it was stated that:

"...anarchy does not mean without order. Without order there is simply chaos. Anarchy simply means without leaders."

A vision of ordnung, voluntary order. Which perhaps might only rise after a period of verwirrung.

A cycle of destruction depicted in many civilisations, traditions and religions. For example the 'kaliyuga', the Mayan thing, as well as clues set in nature. The human body renews itself after every seven years. We only die because the human body - our human body - loses its regenerative properties after a while.

Wear and tear. Even though it is possible for any human to live up to 190 years with our current biological configuration. Add some cockroach DNA and we might even be able to travel to distant stars and actually survive cosmic radiation.

If asked what character in the Sandman comics I most identify with, I could say that all of them. I walk the path of Destiny, am obsessed with Death, fancy myself a Dreamer, fights Desire all the time, and sometimes live in the bottomless pits of Despair. My writing can go into the realm of Delirium. Where I stay most nights these days.

However, honestly, I believe that I am Destruction. Without the red hair, of course.

Emm...never you mind.

Anyway, anarchy.

True anarchy does not mean wearing a t-shirt with a big red A in a big red circle on it. That's fake anaychy. That's 'Anarchy in the UK'. That's anarchy by spraying paint on the fucking walls.

That's pussy-footing. Form. Not content. A placebo for real anarchy.

In a true anarchy, there will be no well-defined structures. Maybe no structures at all. Because all structures are unstable.

In Chuck Palahniuk's novel Fight Club, an anarchic society is depicted as people wearing leather clothes that will last them a lifetime as they hunt for bison on the decaying remnants of an abandoned super-highway. Or something like that.

A destruction of modern civilisation for a more hollistic approach to living.

Ironic, since I was configured to live in a modern age.

Right now, I am itching for someone - anyone - to push that big red button. I am waiting for the bomb to drop. Kill all the humans. We have all turned into metrosexuals, PIS people, Jonas Brothers' fans, Twilight droolers and control freaks. Evolve, and let the chips fall where they may.

Ultimate Arrogance

I don't need people to tell me I'm right.

I KNOW I'm right.

KL Mencarut

Aku bukannya di atas kertas...

Aku bukannya melancap

Sambil menengok filem kartun lucah

Dan gambar perempuan tetek terdedah

Biji kelentit mu nampak sugul

Seperti menanti hajat tidak terkabul

Dalam burit pasti ada jawabnyaaaaa...

Sekuntum mawar merah...

Sebuaaaaahhhh pussy

Dari gadis pelacuran

Di bulan Febuari

Pabila konek bersegi

Dan kekerasan

Dibelai jari-jari

Pantat makkau aku nak minum lah!

Panjang Juburnya

Aku duk cakap dengan bos lama aku. Tok Guru aku.

Zainal Alam Kadir.

Kitorang start nyanyi lagu member Kitorang.

Panjang juburnya, panjang juburnya,

Panjang juburnya setahun laagi...

And thennnn...?

Repeat until you die.

Gambar Tanpa Penjelasan, Lirik Tidak Keruan

Put your legs on my shoulder
Hold me in your cunt, baby
Squeeze me oh so tight
Show me that you love me too

Put your ass next to mine, dear
Won't you fuck me once, baby
Just a fuck goodnight, may be
You and I will fuck like rabbits

People say that fuckin's a game
A game you just can't win
If there's a way
I'll find it someday
And then this fool with rush in

Put your legs on my shoulder
Whisper in my anus, baby
Words I want to hear
Lick me, lick me on my balls

Put your legs on my shoulder
Whisper in my rectum, baby
Words I want to hear, baby
Put your legs on my shoulder

Almanak Masakan Bumi dan Langit: Nasi Goreng Kari Kambing

Nasi goreng paling hebat dalam dunia kepahlawanan adalah Nasi Goreng Kari Kambing.

Aku tak suka makan kambing. Hampir sama benci aku pada daging kambing dengan daging babi. Baunya memang tak menyelerakan langsung. Hamis semacam je.

Pertama kali aku makan Nasi Goreng Kari Kambing di Kelab Tekan Kebangsaan pada tahun 2003.

Secara serta-merta, aku menjadi Syaitan. Azazel. George Washington. Baphomet.

Aku: Bertukar! Putaran cahayaaaa! Putaran cahayaaaaa!



Caption: George Washington menggilai Nasi Goreng Kari Kambing sampai dia pun bertukar menjadi Baphomet pada tahun 1492.

Kehebatan Nasi Goreng Kari Kambing terletak pada rahsia penyediaan bahan-bahan, termasuk daging kambing yang dimasak dua kali.

Sama macam teknik memasak daging babi dua kali untuk menghilangkan baunya, teknik sama digunakan ke atas daging kambing.

Kari kambing juga dibiarkan semalaman supaya daging itu menyerap semua rempah-ratus yang ada.

Nasi yang digunakan pula, harus nasi sejuk! Kerana nasi yang panas dan masih basah akan menjadikan hidangan ini lembik dan tidak sekata resapan kari kambing dan bumbu penyedapnya.

Sesuai dimakan ketika mendaki gunung, kerana pertukaran menjadi makhluk separa kambing sebagai reaksi, akan menyebabkan si pemakan boleh mendapat kebolehan kambing gunung.

Malangnya, Nasi Goreng Kari Kambing hampir pupus, dan hanya akan muncul kembali selepas pemilik resepinya membuka kedai makanan baru di Bangsar.

Aku tak sabar ingin bertukar menjadi Baphomet, kerana menjadi Setan Kuning tidak cukup untuk mengkesimakan audiens antarabangsa.

Malam Penuh Estonia, Pagi Tanpa Kopi

Aku bangun dan terus tersekeh kepala perempuan Estonian kat sebelah ni.

Estonian: Opocot mak kau!

Aku: Apa sama benar Bahasa Estonian dengan Bahasa Malaysia ni? Ko ni....tulen ke tiruan?

Estonian: Tulen, bang!

Ah sudah. Terkesima, aku terus pergi berak.

Tales from the Drunk Side: Suck My Dick?

Apparently, you can end or punctuate any conversation with the question/invitation: Suck my dick?

Example:

Me: Hey, how are you doing there? Suck my dick?

---

Me: Looks like rain...

Bitch: Yep.

Me: Suck my dick?

---

Slut-Ho Whore-Priestess: You just stepped on my foot!

Me: Suck my dick?


And if you're lucky, they really will suck your dick.

Off for the Night

Turned off my laptop.

Am not doing any more tonight.

I am done!

Hehehehe.

I'll think about it tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day.

KENdiri KENtal - KEN-KEN

Dalam dunia ni, aku sorang aja yang sibuk. Aku sorang aje yang ada keje. Hebat gila siut aku.

Dunia ni dicipta untuk tontonan aku, untuk interaksi dengan aku. Semua orang lain adalah pelakon, dan hanya aku yang betul. Hanya aku yang ikhlas. Walaupun Setan Kuning. Hahahaha.

Bila aku berjalan, dalam dua kilometer kat depan, ada orang bina set. Kat belakang, dua kilometer, ada orang pecat set. Kalau diorang lambat atau ada accident, dia kasi jalan jam.

Aku beraksi untuk tontonan dunia. Akulah Harlequin yang periang. Akulah Pulcinello yang murung. Akulah Mr Punch, yang original, tanpa Judy.

Aku Silvio yang berlagak Al Pacino untuk Tony-tony Soprano dan Tony-Tony Chopper yang sedang duduk di pub sambil bertaruh dengan siapa aku nak toron lepas ni.

Akulah Alfred yang memakai mekap Joker.

Dan aku baru siapkan kerja 'cahaya bulan' aku di Kelab Tekan Kebangsaan. Bak kata pepatah Melayu, "Sambil bekerja, minum air...Genius Juice. Untuk jadi genius."

Kerja aku siap. Tapi esok ada lagi. Bermulanya lembaran baru seperti sudah menyapu taik di jubur dengan kertas tisu, dan mendapatkan helaian yang lagi satu.

Aku rasa seperti penari can-can di Rumah Kitar Angin Merah. Lesu dan palsu. Mekap tebal, dan tak cukur bulu.

Roxxxxxxxxanne!