Sayonara 2006, Bonjour 2007

This would be a short community message to all who will be at home or outside waiting for the last second of 2006 to click.


A very Happy New Year wherever you may be. Remember. It is not important where you are. Just greet the new year with hopes and not be imprisoned by fear.


Do not listen to people who tell you that you are not happening to be at [insert location here]. It is your night. They are not that great either.


Can somebody pop the fucking champagne already?

All rise, all rise

It seems like there is no need for a New Year's Eve party anymore. No more dancing right under the stars. Wet floors and sands all over. The numb walk over a stretch of a kilometre perhaps to the car.


I had it all last night.


When Judge Jules took over the stage, you know you won't feel your legs when it all ended. You know you won't stop to see the thousands of head all around you. Couple of boobies bouncing on stage and all you have to do is to shout the motto, "Hurray for the boobies!".

Then after, the day became slow. The slow Internet connection is not helping at all. The mind became slow too.


Then again it is too early to say it. After all 2006 has not ended yet. What bring more extra 'ummph' than surprises itself?


Well, I think my mind is still dancing. It seems like I cannot even form a sentence anymore for now.

The Great Pretender

Sometimes I like to pretend to be someone I know I am not. Take the example below for instance. I mean hey, it could be a great honour to be featured in Dilbert don't you think?





Then again do I really care about what you think, nobody knows.

The timer

Many of you who do not know must be wondering why is the Internet was so fucking slow today. Many curses their ISP. Many could have started a riot.


But do most of you know why the Internet was slow?


Two years from the time the earthquake shocked the Indonesian island, the earthquake strikes again. This time somewhere near Taiwan. A small tsunami was also triggered after the quake hitting certain point of the Phillipines.


This time it did not cause too many lives.


But I may sound selfish to say this but it fucking destroyed certain international Internet link. Why the fuck must you hit the Internet?


Yes people. That is the sole reason all your surfing and downloading seems so fucking slow today. It's not your modem. It's not Streamyx. It's not that your network engineers was sleeping in the server room, or jacking off to new updates of Linux Enterprise. It's not the server from where you are connecting to.


It may looks like I have to sleep early today, because I don't have the mood to stomach Babel yet.

Rest in peace, Mr. Brown

As some of you might know already, the godfather of soul James Brown left us on Christmas Day. While many are busy celebrating and anxiously waiting for the next day for Boxing Day, he had a heart attack at the age of 73.


He indeed said it loud, he's black and he's damn proud. Most probably, without him, the genre of black music would not begin. From Soul to RnB to HipHop. Genre conscious motherfuckers would think otherwise as they say Rap is not a skill. They say anyone could go up stage and rhyme to the music. I would love to see them go up a stage and try to do it.


Of course now the favourite tune is Borat's Kazakhstan anthem sang to U.S.A national anthem.


"Kazakhstan is the greatest country of the world. Other countries are run by girls..."


Let's have a moment of silence for Mr. Brown and of course the tsunami victims last two years.


Okay now you can launch the fireworks and party like it was 1999.

Hello my name is Borat. What is your name?

I finally get to watch Borat in that puke inducing green whatever you call it. Though it would be like what others would say, it is a movie so stupid, you burst out laughing. First there was Napolean Dynamite.


Though I am still rooting for Pedro. The other day I saw someone with Vote for Pedro tee shirt. I felt like I want to strip him and take the tee shirt home.


Borat, however, though being stupid most of the time, would make you realise how stupid it is yourself to blindly hate something.


Borat, being a Kazakhi, a Muslim, hates Jews. They potray them to hate Jews so much, they have something like a bull run. But the bull was replaced with huge green monster which they use to symbolized Jews.


On the way to California, he and Azamat have to stop by a Bed and Breakfast because the posh hotel could not let him stay when he came in speaking like a Nigga, and wearing pants half down -- with his underwear wrapped over his shirt.


They later realised the BnB was opened by this two old harmless Jewish couple. They begin to fear. They refused to take the sandwiches offered. They did not sleep all night. When two cockroaches appear in their room, Azamat shouted, "Oh no, they shape shifted into them." They ran away throwing money on the floor.


So inside the stupidity of it, you tend to realise it's stupid to blindly hate anyone because of their race or background.


Let's just say I laughed like a mad man watching it.

Santa Klaus is coming to town.

This Christmas Eve as usual does not have snowflakes falling down the sky. In fact I heard snow was a bummer. People seems to be stuck at their home under the snow rather than going out trying hard not to fall on the slippery snow glaze.


Nonetheless, I would love to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and to New Year with no fireworks. Well remember the year when we were all supposed to have a quiet New Year due to the tsunami. Let's just say it didn't stop anything. Some even shoot up their own fireworks. You cannot just stop people from being themselves you see. In the New Year approaching the millenium, cops were all over the place stopping the biggest party crowd I have been with. I end up running into the crowd as I showed a big middle finger sign to the Inspector who was with the microphone on stage.


We had our Xmas Eve early last night. It could not be helped when we have our own Santa Klaus.


A normal chill out night involving beers, Guinness and Strongbow suddenly turns into a warfare. Towards the last half an hour of the night, Santa Klaus once again comes up with his antics. He came down the fucking chimney with a bottle. It finishes so fast, like we were Sierra Lone's refugee after weeks of no water. It's like how the Sierra Lone's people strip off a cargo plane in one night in the movie Lord of War.


In no time, we were all singing loudly to Man Bai's Kau Ilhamku when the DJ spin that song. Though we change the lyrics from Kau Ilhamku to Kau Santa Klaus, directed the song towards Santa Klaus.


To think back again, I think our faces will be pasted all over the entrance of that place. Banned for life or something.


One bad thing about celebrating something early is, when it comes the supposed day, you don't feel like doing anything anymore. In fact I am so fucking hungry now, I have to dash out for food. I am so hungry I could eat your grandma's cunt.

Oh my fucking God.

Today I saw the most gore things ever to happen in front of my eyes. Driving through the slow menacing Federal Highway is one thing, witnessing an accident right in front of you is another if I might add.


When the motorcycle fell down, the lorry's rear tyre went over it. I saw red all over. It was like putting 11 tonnes of weight over a watermelon. It smashes into pieces probably flying all over. You can see bits of brains and flesh sticking to the side of your front bumper.


My eye sight was on slow motion mode when I could see the tyre went up and down the fallen motorcyle.


Then reality struck.


It did went over the motorcycle. But the red I saw was the break lights smashing under the weight. No bits of brains or flesh. The two person who was on the motorcycle has better reflex than David Carradine on speed.


I suddenly felt so sick when I had a tinge of disappointment when there was no blood involved. Maybe it's time I go make an appointment with the nearest psychiatrist. I wonder if we could walk in a session wearing just only boxers. I also wonder if they would let me choose a selection of DVD, maybe Spike Lee's Bamboozled for me to watch while they try to analyze me.

Inter-species erotica

I could be bias, but Clerks II is the best closure I have come across. Tommy was not lying when he said Kevin Smith is back to his magic again. I am not even going to say anything smart or cough up a long winded review of what I just saw. Well, not like I ever said anything smart before.


Clerks II made me forgive Jersey Girl.


It was just like old times. They gather around couple of friends, each having little characters in it. I was expecting Scott Mosier's egg man though, but I didn't even recognize him as the Concerned Father. Small budget.


I love the fact that Clerks pound Lord of the Rings trilogy to the ground. Randall was right. He always fucking made sense. Lord of the Rings was three movies about walking. I could be bias again, because I didn't even fucking watch Return of the King. Randall was right again, there is only one Return and that is the Return of the Jedi. Even the Swordsman trilogy fare better.


I love the Tuck Dance with Goodbye Horses playing in the background. Jay has never been that gay. Fuck it even rhymed.


But what I love most is also yet again what Randall said. A person who loves you for who you are and not try to fit you in their box. Do people even think why I am not in a relationship? It is because one way or another, people wants changes. People want achievements. People forgets who you are, and seems to not like the idea how you are.


This is what I am. If someone could not love me for who I am, and try to make me be someone who I am not, then they could just try and never get the whole me.


Wait, what the fuck am I on again?

RTFN

So we have all heard of the infamous RTFM. Read the fucking manual. Today I want to talk about a new term, RTFN. It's about time someone read the fucking notice.


The people back here rarely read notices on notice board. Be it on the wall. Be it on all the fucking places. I only don't read one notice for all that matters. The 'No Smoking' sign.


The last two weeks of the year, our workplace closes every weekday by 530pm. This means no night shifts. No weird shift where you come in at 10 in the morning and leaves by 7 at night. Notices were put up way earlier before. It was put up online. It was put on notice boards. It's all around the place. There was no way you will miss it.


Then this couple of days, we closed up as usual. There are still people in it. Sitting down like there was no meaning to the ball rang or people packing up.


When you approach them and tell them that we are closing soon. They have the nerve to ask, "Why closing so early ar?".


I wanted to tell them the ultimate reason why. I want to walk up smiling at them and give them the tightest slap they ever received. A slap so tight they go either go autistic after that. Or they will forget that they are actually human.


Then again once again, I lose to the cost of living.


Maybe if I see them outside, I will put rat poison into their food or drinks.

Are you brave enough?

Yesterday, we brothers went for dinner at Petaling Street. It has been a while since we went there. The usual bustling crowds. The vendors become more of a variety now than the usual Bangladeshis and the Chinese.


He went there though only for one thing. He love watches. Because he couldn't afford the real luxury watches, he gets the grade A imitations. He is currently wearing a Tag Hauer Carrera. He owns another IWC. He also some other watches with stupid names which would cost thousands if original.


The only watch that I would love to steal and pretend it's mine is his original Luminox. The official diving watch for Navy Seal. Tokyo Edition. It's worth is about a thousand plus. A gift from his ex-girlfriend's sister. He told we will have to fight to our death if I want to wear it.


On the other hand, I read on FHM's Bar Jokes Section, a joke that really tickled me so bad, I almost toppled over the toilet bowl.


You may have heard brave men crossing jungles, climbing mountains, surviving the most cruel imprisonment, fighting for truth, and all sorts of things that they do to be considered brave.


The joke starts with a question, "What will be the bravest man in the whole world?"


The bravest man in the world would come home staggering drunk. Lipsticks all over his face and apparel. He smells of perfume. He would walk over to his wife and slaps her ass saying, "Ok, you're next, Fatty."


I almost toppled over the toilet bowl and we mutually agreed that sure is one brave man.

Floating on cloud nine.

We had a post stag night for Tommy last weekend.


Why does it sound so weird? Post stag night? What does it mean a post stag night?


Well it was called a post stag night because Tommy is already married at the point of the night. This also means there will not be any hanky panky like the traditional stag night. No women allowed, including strippers or whoever we would like to include. If we do that, the wife would have cut out our balls and sell them to Darfur.


Well then what could a bunch of guys do? We are straight enough not to be blowing each other in Taboo style. We do what we do best and happy enough. We drank. We brought enough alcohol up to the joint to kill a whole farm of weed growing hippies of the Golden Triangle.


A cheap room up in the hills. Cold foggy weather. Weird knocking sound from below and swallows flying round and round in a room next door. The weird sound goes louder and louder when we ignored them. Two drunk people sitting out at the balcony. Something wants us to notice it's there. We were just too drunk to give a shit about it. It goes loud and faster. I threw a beer can below. Let's hope it didn't follow me home.


The payment of the room came free for me as I won the poker game that night that cover my share of the room. Besides I went up with one bottle of Vodka. But I came down with less than 15 cans of beer and a quarter of Johnny Walker Green Label. It must have been my lucky weekend.

Genghiz's nemesis

Many of you do not know that the biggest fleet to ever sail across the sea belongs to the Mongolians. Kublai Khan led 4000 plus ships across over to Japan, but unfortunately was eaten up by the sea before they even get to take over the country. It was not Troy's thousand ships. The closest amount of ships that comes near to it was the D-Day fleets with about 4000 of them.


Caught you by surprise doesn't it to know that the biggest fleet was achieved hundred of years ago.


But what is more surprising is the development of the Mongolians themselves. From documentaries and movies, we could see that they usually live up in the mountains. Most of the time separated by miles away.


But they are evolving now.


Take for example, the Mongolians who are here at my work place.


During the first week, they are usually quiet. Walking among themselves. Speaking no English. They hardly make eye contact.


The second week arrives. They get to know basic conversational English. They started to be a little more chirpy than Wednesday(Addam's Family) last week. They began borrowing Friends box sets. All they want is comedy. No other genre. They always nice and prompt when they say, "With subtitles please."


By the third week, the transformation begins. Heavy make up applied. The jeans became shorter. Tee shirt is not an apparel anymore. They become much more tiny than they used to look. A little proficiency in English shown. They began interacting with other students. Most of the time with fellow Intensive English Programme classmates. They adopt an English name, which is a relief. It is always hard to pronounce their Mongolian's name. It spells different and sounded not like what you figured out.


Then the 4th week is here. All hell breaks loose. Micro mini starts to get in the trend. They have join the feminist by burning their bras. You walk down the road and you could not even recognise them anymore.


The worst thing is, I, work in the coldest place in the whole block. I could just feel myself getting blind day by day. 'Morning morning up' is no more a joke. Someone should at least have the courtesy to tell them it's hazardous to turn on the spotlight so early of the day.


Then again I guess the nice person who are willing to walk up and at least try to tell them crashed into the gutter as well. They cannot wipe their grin off their face anymore. They becomes a zombie. They never see the same lights again.


Of course this is just an observation.

Silent Bob and Jay returns.

The television is back. Somehow or rather, Uncle J did not want to let it a go and brought it over to the shop to fix it. Again. I reckon it would last that long, as it has followed us for many years to count.


But I shouldn't complain. It is back and it seems fine last night for the test run.


Having critisized for the last film he did, Jersey Girl, Kevin Smith is said to be back with his better work with Clerks II. Apeq, however, was not eager to watch it. He has a different taste of movies. He is the one that would eventually buy the top ten blockbusters. And he doesn't like much dry humour.


He never understood why I would sit down and watch The Office at times.


"Macam orang bodoh je. Cakap cakap kat opis."


He is sceptical about Clerks II. He said Clerks was just few people talking and worst in black and white.


The irony is he's a funny chap. I mean if he's not, we could not be bursting out laughter by just looking at people at times. Maybe he just doesn't like watching people just talking, and slow camera movement. He called me a wacko for watching Kar Wai's 2046.


Of course, different strokes for different folks. This applies also even for masturbating.


So back to a one million dollar question, who sat down and watched Clerks and hated it? Come on, you can say it out loud. Jay would not take the plane down here and ring your door bell just to whack you up.

Trackers and harsh times.

Ever since I saw that boy playing with reflections from his hotel window and started the bombing of the nation, I knew he was something. Back then who would had known the name of Christian Bale. Who will know the kid running around town eating millets and trapped in the warzone?


American Psycho, however, was when he shined. Then again, not much people have watched American Psycho. Especially those who trusted our cinema system. I love the fact that when he was angry with the ATM machine, he tried to shove a cat into it. Call me a sadist, but that was the most hilarious scene ever. Although it is not reality per se. Till this day I am still waiting for it to happen. Headline on newspapers. Man shoved cat into ATM machine.


The Machinist showed his determination and how far would he go for art. None other explanation needed.


Now he would be pulling his best performance ever with Harsh Times. In it, he plays a young man turning into a disaster after he was turned down from being a cop. Many people said that film reminded Christian Bale as a young Gary Oldman. It relates much to life though, as the movie does not concentrate as him, the character Jim as the victim of society. It concentrated on how he take it so badly and turn it around. From good guy to bad guy in a snap.


What's more that we have Eva Langoria on it too. She, alone is a good enough reason to watch it.


On the other hand, I recently thrown away the site counter from Social Cafe and got a new one, an invisible counter. What's stated on the count is merely not important. But the various information that could be siphon out is interesting.


Let's just give a little preview. I know from where some readers log in from. RHB Bank. Islamic International University. Bank Negara (I know who's this though.). Just to name a few. No pigs sighted lately. Maybe I should put down more controversial topics.


But as you may noticed, I cannot be that coherent nowadays.

The splash from afar

From the 9th floor of the hotel, we could see two views. One the Straits crawling all over the town, like a huge anaconda in mating season. The other view was a little bit further. The view of the ocean. The view I missed most.


It went to a point where I miss the beach so much, I end up lying down tanning on one of the chairs provided beside the swimming pool. Chair was laid out in the sun. The glaring hot sun. All I had to do was to lie down on it. Close my eyes. And pretend that I was at the Bahamas waiting for my monkey to fetch me the coconut.


For more than 15 years, I have not been to the state. I hardly remember anything. I don't remember the face of the girl who grinned as she walks down the stairs. Frankly I don't even remember how the fuck A' Farmosa looks like.


What amazes me this time, was walking along the Straits. If we take away sight of a little rubbish in the water, it almost look like as if you're in Venice. Sadly, no full moon reflecting on it's dark murky water. No mermaid appearing with coconut shell bikini. No gondolas.


It was just me, walking fast ahead of the rest. Cigarette on my right hand. Thinking maybe I should hit the beach when the time comes.


We usually call it, 'Panggilan Pulau'.

You fucking drunkard.

Malacca was highly exciting. Actually it was the high part that was more. The company went out for a big field trip with a proposal coated to let the board directors think that we are having some corporate meetings of sort.


Which I believe most company do that.


I learn a lot of new things when a bunch of 90 plus people -- some whom I never ever said a word to after four years working -- were altogether having a ball of great time.


Discovery is very important if you are in any sort of trip. You discover something about people. People discover something about you. In between all that, the venue usually play a part too.


I discovered that many of my colleagues were hiding their real self all this while. On this journey, besides the full Saturday being in a talk/games/team discovery session, we had our Annual Dinner and a BBQ dinner in between.


Many of them were running and hiding away drinking the beers provided. Some of them didn't even drank a sip during earlier annual dinners. Yet on this trip, their true self was unleashed. Being the more open drunkard I am, I was the victim of admitting to all the drinks we had. Some of them waited till other Muslims go away from the dinner before they pull out their mask and drink away.


I thought to myself, "Why so troublesome?"


Maybe they don't want to be perceived as someone bad. In the Saturday session, I was also convinced by the trainer that we all do judge a book by its cover, although we are told to not suppose to.


Many crazy things happened too.


For one, while dancing away on a rooftop, with wind blowing away, a female colleague unbutton my Hawaii shirt together with the song from Pussycat Doll. It left me topless in the middle of a small crowd. Maybe it left unwanted memory to some of them as I am not a hunky six-packed man like they fantasize about. The guys was trying to pull my board shots down.


I could tell they were surprised to see my tattoo. More suprising than my fleshy body.


On the last day, everyone was knackered. I was still excited. Who wouldn't be if they had red wine pre-packed in a mineral bottle walking all around St. Paul's Hill anyway. Right under the hot afternoon. They were all in my pocket, while some of them pull me all aside when they want to have a sip.


With all this happening, I can not wait to have another field trip with the company.

Jonker bonker.

I remember I was a 12 year old kid. A huge 12 year old kid running down the stairs of St. Paul Hills. A young girl also in school uniform from another school was around. Butterflies in my stomach, flying around like it has lost its orbit. Back then, who would know that was called infactuation.


Many years passed now since I visited the historical Malacca. I heard it was vastly changed. Though many historical places was still around, other new buildings erected too like when you first discovered porn.


Tomorrow, after so many years, I would get to visit Malacca. This time also in a bus. No more school uniforms. Two buses of working adults will embark their journey down the historical town and hopefully don't paint it red.


The only color that would be painted is the 'phunky purple' hair color gel that we bought for our annual dinner over there. I never had my hair colored purple. I have done red, copper, ash brown, natural bleached and even orange. Purple would be my virgin color.


Video camera crew would film the making of Purple Rain. If lucky, we would also get to shoot a movie called The Color Purple.


Guess who's going to be Whoopi Goldberg?

Double tap.

Audits are a pain in the ass. The only time where everybody gets together creating a whole web of lies. Everything hidden away. Some went a step further by even taking files and hid them in their car. Perhaps having standards meaning having no truth either.


In my next job -- if I ever change -- I will make it a point to not walk in a organization that practise ISO standards.


Every single person have their dream job. People list down in a crumpled note stating the favourite 5 dream job. I have a few too.


One being a bartender. Cocooned inside a surrounding bar. Every single person there wants to know you. They want to get acquainted to you, in a hope to get more generous amount of alcohol in their drink. Strangers sit at the bar, at times, telling you their darkest secret of their life. You can create your own string of cocktails and pretend that you are one half of the Cocktail Kings. You can be the cock talk of the town.


The other dream job of mine is being an assassin. Cold, cruel, precise and efficient. Double tap to the sternum and one through the center of the forehead. Sharp steel pokes right through the medula oblangata leaving all the nerve system dead before you can even feel the pain. A bullet through it would do the same effect. No identity. Different names. Different places. Different skills.


A stealth killing machine. You need no one else in this world. The only price to know my identity would be death.


I better stop dreaming.

Gar. Your booty shivers me timbers.

I always liked my living hall simple. Minimal to the core. I only need what essential. A home theater system, a television (preferably cable television) and a coffee table which most probably will never have coffee on it. An extra bonus would be a nice rack of my DVD collections displaying. I would not complain if there is a 'rack' standing there forever lighting up the space too.


Recently the television that was repaired broke down again. I guess it's time to send it to television heaven, where the media doesn't give out anything but the truth .


What killing us is the other spare television -- a very old working Panasonic -- does not have the ports to connect the DVD player. It's an old model for fuck sake, there were never DVD/VCD/VHS invented for a 14 inch television that old. From a 29 inch to a 14 inch, you can tell that we are missing out on a lot of things. We used to see flies flying around in a film or so, now all we can see -- if we are lucky enough -- are Elizabeth Taylor's mole.


So my pirate mode yesterday was all going down the drain.


I usually call that pirate shopping. I've bought Ludacris's 5th album, Release Therapy. I've bought Clerks II and Hostel. I've bought Partition Magic Family Pack. I've bought a CD holder. I've bought a shirt. None of it are original.


Now bursting with long awaited ejaculated feel of watching Clerks II, I am left with a television with no opening for the insertion.


It's like you kidnapped an angel from St. Peter's Gate. All ready to ravish her lovely body you have been glancing at through the silk she's wearing. You ripped off her silk thread by thread, exposing every bit of her body, brushing the cold air. You begin to throw her around, bending her over and begin to spit on your cock. Only to realise, she's an angel. She has no sexual organ. No opening. All you see is a bush and snowy skin which looks like an extended ass.


If you had a gun, you would have pulled the trigger before you could shout, "FUCK!"

Spirited away

The work place now have a new policy. It allows us to take home one copy of the film for three days. Considering there are many DVDs here that are not obtainable even with the help of Uncle Ho himself.


However, they still have not obtained Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress, even after a myriad varities of other Kurosawa's work. And I personally think Kurosawa's Dreams is my favourite amongst his work.


I finally got myself to watch Miyazaki's Spirited Away the other day, but only halfway through it.


The idea of a spirit land separated away from reality is not that far fetched. A town that only live at night. I was more amazed by the idea of the town itself rather than the humanity message passed on by the film. Maybe I am more of a fantasy guy, whose imaginations could run like Ben Johnson.


I believe in spirits. I am touched by one. I smell them. I almost seen a face, if I didn't run fast enough after watching floating hairs and a forehead.


In our folkslore, we also heard of the Bunian community. A spirit land, in parallel with our reality. Some say it is so beautiful, many who went there never wanted to come back. We have also heard of inter-dimension marriage. Spirits in a lock of love with a human.


In fact it is all these spiritual and mythical beings that made life a notch more interesting. But if you are reading this, all your spirits out there; No, I still do not wish to be face to face with you yet. At least if you do, please talk a little. It's hard having a conversation with a face that is half rotting and saying nothing but groaning.


Don't use your true face, and speak like a champ. I might even buy you a drink. If that's not too much. Or if all these doesn't apply, I will have to call upon the Soul Society on you. My Zangetsu might be a little branch with a leaf on the end of the twig, but it could cut you up like a Hattori's katana.

I'm Rick James, bitch.

The night was magnificient.


Before Premier went up to take over the deck, Stufunk and I was checking out the 'honeys' all around. This is usually what happen when you stay in the cave for too long.


Poison came in a tray. Little shot glasses arranged filling up the tray. People dancing merrily. All of them are like little fairies high on rare forest weed. I was high, but not exactly from the alcohol. When Premier begin his first vinyl, I could feel it kicking in.


The people who expected Crunk and Raggaton was left dumbstruck. They lost their step. They are literally zombified. They end up sitting down and most probably on the way of leaving the room in a minute or two. They felt like they are in the wrong dance class. If only they know it ain't about the dance.


"Hip hop is real. Funk is real. R n' B is real. Rock is real. Most importantly, when it's played by me, you fucking know it's real"


Premier greeted the crowd, and hell was let loose.


The night slide through beginning with a ride through history. Rick James's music was filling up the air. Everybody was feeling the love. After all, he's Rick James, bitch. As it glide through the years, slowly more familiar music bringing the house down.


Towards the middle of the set, I realised my dream was coming true. Finally, a club playing my kind of music. No big beats. No annoying new age ragga. It was a night of killer beats. A night of lyrical assault. Most importantly, you don't get the music you get poisoned by Hitz.fm and Mtv like every fucking day. You don't walk in a club where you feel they were playing the same music for 10 years.


We have Nas pumping the speakers. Biggie Small. Gangstarr. Jeru the Damaja. Tupac (I get around). Wu Tang Clan (I get to do the 'W' sign up in the air. You don't get to do this because no clubs in KL spin Wu Tang Clan.), Run DMC, classic Dre and Snoop. Dilated People. Boogie Down Production. Redman. Jay-Z (nothing with Beyonce on it.) The list goes on, as I feverishly move the night away.


Another thing about last night was I get to see people that I have not seen for years. Somehow my instinct tells me among the few people who were putting up the 'W' sign in front of me, Dr. Ony would be there. Some people back in the days that were missing in action was reunited last night because of Premier. You damn know everyone came for him.


It is worth it. Every fucking cent. It was even worth the only 2 hours sleep that I got. I bet it was worth it for Stufunk too who end up sleeping the last hour in the car.


Like what Mrs. Stufunk told me, "Fariz mabuk gila sial."