Sunday, June 26, 2005

Old friends and bachelor pads

Went up to meet an old friend, Z, last night. In fact, still meeting him. This is currently written from his computer while the dude's passed out on the bed. I don't remember us taking anything that strong last night...

Wanted to have breakfast, but was too lazy to make the 10 minute walk to the mamak stall. But, heck, who cares? I'm sure everybody knows the nutritional values of 5 cigarettes and a glass of wine in the morning right?

I'm staying over at his place, because my place happens to be at the other end of Klang Valley and the ERL's closed, at what? 12? Even if it was open, there's no train back to my place, and trust me, there really is nothing to do at KL Sentral.

Z's living in those smart apartments in Cyberjaya, where you get your own server with your apartment, and all kinds of alarms, where lights and sounds will alert you when something important happens, like your cute neighbour opposite you is walking around in her underwear. Or a thief is trying to break in. But if they both happened at the same time, I'm sure you know which one's more important, right? Right?

Z's apartment was the typical bachelor pad, you know the kind. Shoes near the door arranged like tea leaves in a cup, a football in the living room despite everybody being kaki bangku, and a mountain of trash that was one day away from being able to emit gamma rays. I wonder how long is the half-life for his piles of takeaway...

On the door to his room there was a sign that said, "No panties allowed beyond this point."

And I thought that sucked, because I happened to be wearing my best Triumph's that day. :
Thankfully, there's nothing that barring me from wearing my Manolo's though...

Talking about panties, does anyone ever notice how a woman's undergarment ALWAYS had this hot model wearing the garment? I thought that was a good marketing idea by these companies, because when you buy it, you get one for the wife, and two for the husband :D.

Anyway, like all meetings with old friends, there's the usual reminiscing of the good old school days. Z was bitching about how sad it was no teacher's really remembered him, and I thought that was a good opportunity to make fun of him...

CC: Well, probably with you being so thin, and how you always sat sideways in class, even if you had an erection he'll only see a thin outline of your nose. So, of course he can't remember you.

Z: Motherfucker.

CC: Maybe next time you should sit facing ahead, with your arms outstretched, a flare in each hand, then do a wave...

Z: Oh, shut up, bitch.

Hahaha. It's always fun being with close friends like that, making penis jokes and just exchanging insults.

I always wonder sometimes if girls say things like these too when they're with their close friends.

"My god! Your ass is so toned! I nearly didn't notice your cellulite!"

So, really, do you girls do that? The Captain's wondering...

By the way, I needed to take a pee, and, damn, when I entered the toilet, was I freaked out. Can you believe the size of his toilet? It's bigger than my room! My room! And my toilet is the size of my shoe rack. I sometimes accidentally pressed the flush lever when I pee. And my hands were in my pocket!

Now, this dude's toilet was huge. His toilet bowl was all the way to the end of the toilet. You can see the earth's curve from the toilet door. I had to do some stretchings and warm up just to take a leak. It's the equator here, the tempeture's warm all year round, but when you reach the toilet bowl it's autumn! Autumn!

Ok, shit, gotta go, now I'm really hungry. Going for a pee really taxed me out. I can feel the burn in my quadriceps already.

You guys be good now.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Wish I was there...

I didn't go to the PPS birthday bash, because, well, I'm too lazy to go to a blog meeting where people who blog meet and talk about blogging, then later they'll go home to blog about the blog meeting and how fun it was to meet other bloggers who've read their blog and give constructive and well-thought compliments like, "I've seen your nipples!"

But turned out you guys had a good time. Bugger. So, since I'm pissed at you guys for having a good time without me, I'll just make fun of your pictures. Well, at least some of them. And the best part can't do anything about it! Muahahahaha!

By the way, pay attention to howHB's hand seems to just hover over the females' shoulder...

Come on, HB, you can do it. Just rest your arm on her shoulder, come on.

Just a wee bit more...come on, you can do it...

That's it, HB!!! You're getting closer!!! Come on now people!! Cheer him on!!! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!

Atta boy! I'm so proud of you! *Cries and pops open a champagne*

HB's tentative tentacles aside, let's see the other bloggers...

10 points to Minishorts for finding fridge, I mean, earrings that match your shirt.

Elaine, from now on it is MANDATORY for you to post pictures of yourself from AT LEAST 7 different angles, your phone number, the time of the week when you are free AND AND AND the dishes that you can cook.

You have to feel very lucky, because after some consideration, I decided that I can live with the fact that you'll look like an Easter bunny in this.

So am I considerate or what?

Meanwhile, did anybody notice the underlying theme for PPS?...

"Project Petaling Street: We celebrate diversity..."

Shit. You other buggers are lucky I don't have so much time to make fun of everyone. A drink at Finnegan's with an old friend comes calling. Muahahaha.

Nighty night.

(Pictures stolen from ShaolinTiger, Suanie, HB, and Kimberlycun, because I'm wonderful.)

Friday, June 24, 2005

Q & A on the most important man in my life

I was too lazy to write a proper post about the most important man in my life who's been with me through thick and thin, through the ups and downs of life, and who thought me by example. So I'll just make this Q and A session then.

Q: So who is this guy you're talking about?
A: Thierry Henry

Q: Really?
A: Well, before that it was Tony Adams

Q: So the important man in your life is an Arsenal player, huh?
A: No, just kidding. It's my dad, you twit.

Q: So what kind of a guy is he?
A: Well, he's one stubborn prick.

Q: How stubborn?
A: While we were out for a drive once, he took a wrong turn and ended at a cliff. He drove of it. Broke my collarbone and three ribs, but all that is water under the bridge now.

Q: So you mean he would rather live with his mistake than change his mind and admit he was wrong?
A: Yes, which would explain why he stayed married with my mum.

Q: That's mean.
A: Hey, you're the one asking.

Q: Any other qualities?
A: Yea, he's damn tough.

Q: Just how tough is tough?
A: He didn't even shed a tear when MU lost to Arsenal in the FA Cup

Q: Whoa. No shit.
A: Yes. What's more, he once had a high fever, and was in bed under 2 blankets and 2 layers of clothes. But then he just swallowed his medicine, acted like all humans have a core body temperature of 39.6 degrees, then did his work.

Q: Say, if I chopped his leg off....
A: He'll just say it was a minor abrasion, then staple his leg back on. After that, he'll sign up for a 40K marathon.

Q: Can he really run?
A: Well, he once won eight place in a veterans marathon, so I guess yeah, that dude can run.

Q: Eight? Just eight?
A: Well, the competition was in Ranau, Sabah. And if you've travelled a lot or know people who do, you'll know that it's not uncommon to see wiry grannies climbing up Mt. Kinabalu with a full tong gas on their back, telling other pussy mountain climbers who are huffing and puffing, carrying only a 10kg backpack to move away because they're blocking her way.

Q: Who told you that?
A: My friend. Apparently, after seeing the granny run by him, his ball shrunk like hell and now it couldn't be detected with the naked eye.

Q: How small?
A: Physicists have brought him to science conventions to help demonstrate the size of string particles.

Q: So your dad can really run.
A: Nah, I think he walked.

Q: Walk?
A: Yes.

Q: Wait, I don't get it.
A: You see, my dad walks really fast.

Q: He can't walk that fast.
A: Yes, he can. Now ask me how fast.

Q: Fine, I'll humour you. How fast?
A: Yesterday, while walking to the car, he converted into energy.

Q: Why do you keep on making physics jokes?
A: Because that's the only class I ever go in besides English. Next.

Q: So do you talk with your dad?
A: Well, we have certain unspoken rules when we talk.

Q: Like?
A: When we're talking, the ratio of letters to period you can use per turn should be less than 10 to 1. The optimum words to use are the ones that have a ratio that is less than 5 to 1, like uh-huh, and mmm.

Q: So he doesn't talk a lot?
A: Well, if you didn't happen to be his offspring or is married to him, he's known to be very charming, generous, witty and humorous.. No matter who you are, he somehow makes it seem as if you've known him for a lifetime.

Q: You've seen it yourself?
A: Yes. Mothers talk to him like he's saved their kids from a burning building. Villagers crowd and talk to him as if he's help reroute the river to their drying up rice fields. Doctors act as if he found the cure for cancer. Villagers...

Q: I get the idea. So it sucks to be his kid?
A: What three letter word starts with the letter "d" and ends with an "uh"?

Q: ...

Ok, that's it for today. I need to sleep. Love ya dad. Happy Belated Father's Day.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Word of the day

Pronosaurus (prôn--sôrs)


A very large hard-disk drive kept primarily for pron, with some innocent looking files kept on the outside to delude you.

Example: Holy shit, John! You have a pronosaurus and you're not sharing it with me?

[Inspired by this Penny Arcade strip, and some conversations with friends, where I gathered that I am behind in this virtual stashing of pron.]

Sunday, June 12, 2005

When reality crashes on you

Oh my god, I'm a whore.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

My niece is cuter than your niece, and have I told you I can make a good soufflé?

Note: This post is about my niece, who is the cutest 2-year-old niece in the whole wide world, and how wonderful I am. If you disagree, then,'re a big doo-doo head! (hee hee, doo-doo head)

My niece recently got herself a jigsaw-puzzle set, and because I'm such a lovable uncle, she always calls me to help her finish it, and I always say yes, because how can you say no to the cutest 2-year-old niece in the whole wide world?

In uncle terms (if you have the cutest 2-year-old niece in the whole wide world, that is), "help" means she'll pour out the contents of the jigsaw from the box out, and I'll piece the whole thing together, then let her have the honour of putting the last piece in (awww...see how sweet I am?)

Of course, we do this always (awww...see how sweet I am?) because she is my favourite (only) niece, and I am her favourite uncle, because when she was born, I saw how cute she was so I deported her other uncles to Myanmar to eliminate competition for her affection. Here is how I duped them into going there.

Me: Hey, I'm sending you guys to a sweat shop...I mean, I got tickets for a tour that passes by a clothing factory. It's Gap. Really
One of the losers: It's in Myanmar. I don't want to go to Myanmar.
Me: They give free t-shirts.
One of the losers: Oh, ok. Let me pack.

I heard there are a lot of kids there, so they should be ok.

When she's bored of telling me how slow I am putting together the jigsaw, her grandma can do it faster (it's true!), we'll sit together and watch educational documentaries on the tv, like WWE, where we learn that being body-slammed across the ring is VERY VERY PAINFUL and you should not attempt it in real life, unless you have laid out two queen size matresses on the floor and your mother is out.

Then we play GTA and run down some hookers. I find the game has some useful life values to teach her, like making sure to back up over the guy you ran over, so there'll be no witnesses.

Recently, my niece has been seen roaming the neighbourhood on her tricycle (it's pink with frilly handles!), picking up stray cats then throwing them on the asphalt before running them over with her tricycle (it's pink with frilly handles!), making sure to back over them.

I swear, I don't know where she learnt that from. We only play Solitaire on my computer.

Nieces are wonderful, because you get to play with a cute little kid, but you don't have to change its diapers. In heaven, if there is a god that is, I imagine everybody would be given a niece who'll stay as a 2-year-old forever. People who go to hell will then be ordered to change your niece's diapers.

God: Your sins have outweighed your good deeds. You will now change Captain Carcinogen's niece's poo-pooed diaper for eternity.
Sinner: No! No! Burn me in hell! Rip my organs out! Have Jessica Alba rape me but I suddenly can't get an erection! Anything but that! Anything! Anything! Aaaarghhh!!!

Well, I don't mind changing diapers if it was my own kid. In fact, I would relish it, because my life long dream is to be a househusband. (By the way, any woman who is hot and has enough money to support me for life, give me a call. A yacht and a chateau in the South of France is not compulsary, but would help get you on the top of my list.)

Like all men who aspire to be a househusband, we are good with kids (and can make a good soufflé), and have a developed conversational ability. The latter was developed, because growing up, I learnt that somethings will never happen to me, like grow to be 6 feet tall, have chest hair the density of the Amazon rainforest and be able to bench press Sharifah Aini 100 times with one hand.

So I learnt how to be funny, so I can distract girls when men who possess the aforementioned qualities I can never have pass by. Of course, when worse comes to worse and I can't make them laugh, I will lean back on the tried and true method used by guys across the ages: do something stupid to impress her. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it is stupid enough, and funny enough, then you'll get the "Wow!" reaction, like this one, which will somehow make them agree to go on a date with you.

Female I'm trying to impress: Oh wow! You can gulp down a can of beer then squirt it through your nose across the room! With one hand! You're so funny! Ok, so maybe I'll think about that date.

We have seen evidence of this back to the primitive cave men, with drawings on cave walls showing stick men around a mammoth, which is actually a meticulously worked out plan on how to impress a woman.

Cave man: Ok, Bgrhu-gah, you distract the elephant, then when Jes-ghudah passes by, give me the signal so I can tickle its nuts and get stomped. That always makes her laugh. Hey, stop wedging my underloincloth up my head!

Oh, I can also make a good soufflé. Have I told you that?

Thus, with my developed skills--if you're lucky enough to get me, that is, you can brag about me to your friends ("you should try his soufflé!"), my wonderful qualities ("he can make a good soufflé!") and my inherent *EHEM* manliness ("we made love the whole night, then he bench-pressed a soufflé 100 times--with one hand!")

In addition to that, I also have a good eye for colour, so your kid won't look like they were dressed by Eyeris, and I'll drill them in English, so in addition to growing up to be a cute little glamour queen, they can go around and brag that they're the "Grammar Queen," like Minishorts (Hee hee, I made fun of Eyeris and Minishorts at one go, I'm so funny).

By the way, do you want to try my soufflé? Hey, what a coincidence. It looks just like my niece's poo-poo (hee hee, poo-poo). What are you doing? Don't throw up! I spent all afternoon baking it!

Calling out to rich, hot sugarmama's. Rich, hot sugarmama's who are single, give me a call...

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

I, male. I, fix things.

Men are the gender born with many illusions. Because of this they believe that no matter where they point when they pee, their urine while make a perfect S-coil in mid-air then land dead center in the bowl. Of course, women have illusions too, the most common being that any piece of clothing covering their ass would make them look fat, and any amount of assurance would not help them believe otherwise. But I have to assure you, that jeans doesn't make you look fat. It is because you have a huge bu....


Because of this too, men create gadgets, so they can satisfy the needs of men who have the illusion they can fix anything when it's broken, given they have a complete set of screwdrivers. The process of fixing is a simple, instinctual act, where we will take a screwdriver and open up the casing and stare at the inner mechanisms, with the illusion that if we stare hard enough, knowledge that has been pent up all this time within the casings would transfer through our optical nerves into our cerebrum. This will then prompt us to take apart everything in sight, then stare again at each piece, long enough to understand that we need to stare at things longer before attempting to put them back together at random. Our girlfriend/wife/mother, who has witnessed this forever, would shake their head and roll their eyes, then dial the handyman who's on speed-dial 9.

Sometimes, if they're very lucky, men would come up with something useful to the human race, like the beer hat, or, on the practical side, a washing machine, which was initially intended to be a multi-speed, revolving beer pyramid display, but we had ALL intentions to use it as a washing machine (this was discovered by Alva Fisher's drinking buddy, who, in drunkerdness, slipped pieces of broken underwear into the machine, which was ripped from Alva while giving him a super-wedgie).

Of course, men are also good at creating cover stories to hide their follies, so these men called themselves visionaries who could envision a future where manking need not spend so much time slogging on laundry. And, to make us look good to women, we say that this was intended to reduce a housewife's chore (because househusbands weren't a legitimate career back then) and ensure that they have more time to spend with their family, and--from my acute observations of my sister (the one who does not know this exists)--to watch Oprah, in some extreme cases, whilst doing tae-bo.

Women, on the other hand, know how to fix things. As a special representetive of the females, I have invited my mum to give her nuggets of wisdom on how to REALLY fix things, using the computer as an example.

"Now, when the computer hangs, just bang the sides until you feel comforted. Drum on it, if you feel the need, to a cha-cha beat. This will attract the attention of my son, who will whip out the screwdriver box set his dad bought for his 7th birthday, and attempt to open the casings, to "get an idea of how it works". I'll then call that nice man on speed-dial 9. His father used to fix things that my husband broke (Dad: Attempt to fix!). Now that he's retired, I'm glad his son could fix the things my son breaks (CC: Attempt to fix!)"
-Captain Carcinogen's mum on fixing things

But sometimes, when she finds that a handyman is not necessary, a woman would violate all laws of nature, and ask us for *GASP!* the manual!

This would automatically make us feel naked and vulnerable, and jump off from the couch and cower in the corner, covering our balls, even if we were watching football, as long as it's not the Champions League Final (duh).

We all instinctually know, from the wisdom of the ages, that consulting a manual is wrongwrongwrong, and would lead us into Dependence, a train on the railroad of Destruction, which is currently broken and being fixed by 12 highly skilled repairmen that were trained by my mum and are busy banging the railings with their spanners to the tune of Cinta IT, hoping to attract the attention of a real repairman.

I'm sure you've all heard of the man who consulted a manual on how to put together a swing set. He managed to put it together, and, unlike other swing sets, when your kids use it, they won't fly off into the neighbour's backyard when the swing detaches from the hinges ("Daddy! I'm flying!").


While sleeping, he was mauled by the brutal savagery of the spirit of the swing which rises at night and uproots itself from the concrete base, angry that a manual has desecrated the assembly of its spirit. It is last heard roaming around the Wangsa Maju area, sensing that one guy had used a manual to put together his kitchen shelf.

This is true. I heard it from a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who used a manual and is now DEAD.

Sunday, June 05, 2005

School ah?

School? I remember school. How can you forget something you hate.

I used to cut class a lot, because I always believed that if you're not mentally there, then there's no point in being physically there. Together with L and H, we'd go to a secluded spot behind the old science lab and have a smoke or two.

There was this old wooden bench there, the surface all splintered and withered and we'll sit on it, lean on the science lab's wall and watch our smoke billow upwards. After we've finished our cigarettes, we'll hang out for awhile to let the smell of cigarettes fade from our clothes and skin. We'd chew some Hacks to remove the smell from our mouth, then just talk nonsense until it's time for the next class, because what else is there to do behind an old, abandoned science lab with moulding walls and peeling paint?

Directly in front of it was the junior's vegetable patches, and sometimes if the toilets were locked or we were just too lazy, we'd pee on it, always choosing the ones that look the smallest, because we like to help out our juniors the best we can.

I couldn't help laughing when a few months after that, I saw some juniors merrily picking up the vegetables from the patch we peed on. I'm sure they felt proud, since the plants on that particular patch happened to grow taller than the rest of the patches. I don't know how they'd feel though, if they found out what made their patch unusually subur.

Let's keep this a secret between us, kay? Hahahaha.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

5 cool things to do at the PPS 2nd anniversary birthday bash

Can't think of 10. Currently preoccupied with Winning Eleven. Enough lah this.

5. Sneak a decaf into Eyeris' cup
4. Go jogging with Minishorts to pump more blood into your, erm, legs.
3. Massage Jeff Ooi's little bird. (Hah? He's not coming ah?)
2. Steal Cowboy Caleb's monogrammed gifts. You know, C.C., C.C.(You mean he's oso not coming? Aw...)
1. Play 'pocket billiards' with Kenny Sia, if you know what I mean. Well, if that doesn't work, we can have hairy leg showdown.

You blog ah? Hah? You oso ping at Petaling Street one ah? Then come here lah! Wah? You read oni ah? What lah ego meh? Hai, just come lah. Very empty one that place. Hahaha. Can get free food. Bring beer ah.

Shit. I hope a lot of people come...I don't want to be recognized. Not that I can help being noticed though, what with me being so good looking and all.