Backpacking: Day 1

All The Reasons To Be Happy.

Currently backpacking Northward and United won one of the very few games I missed watching. Dimitar Berba on the score sheet again! Yay! :D

:)

My first serious b&w edit. hope you like it as much as i do.

Deluded, Disgraceful Arsenal Fans.

I'm sorry. I'm just sorry but I just gotta go out on a limb here. But the rants of 'fluke goal', 'paid referee' and that 'United isn't very good' don't win you games you fucker. People have been talking about how weak and supposedly exposed United is all season long. But we're still unbeaten in the League. And you motherfuckers are just limp on your dick for not being able to crush the apparently 'isn't very good' United team then.

The 'isn't very good' remark is what gets me on my nerve so much. Fuck you bunch of deluded cockneys. And in the famous words of my friend -

'You aint Peter Pan and this aint Neverland'

Keep on massaging that ego while we fondle the trophies.

The Morning Where Park Is Sung.

the author: in the search of gleeful definition

Park Ji Sung loathes Arsenal. There he was again flinching a header past debutant Arsenal goalie. United 1 - Arsenal 0. Perhaps I need to say more, but I'm content - for now.

Gleeful. Just gleeful.

Oh What A Feeling!

pic possibly related & the author might be feeling something like this.

Oh what a feeling. To be signing off from a damn fuckin hectic week. Not to mention signing off from the people who, I loath, just by a mere thought of. OK, those are the 6 most space consuming words of my life.

Why ruin a good weekend to come for the likes. OK. Another life shortening span of words. Enough.

I'm happy.

1. Training Course in Labuan 16-17 Dec.
2. Backpacking Up Yours The 24-29 Dec.

Oh what a feeling. :D

And this. I dedicate this to one of the fiercest rivalries in modern football. Lets toast it up for United & Arsenal. Both great teams with great histories. And 2 of the most respectable figures in English Premier League - Sir Alex Ferguson & Arsene Wenger.

Match is gonna happen Dec 13. I am not really optimistic about the fixture but excited nonetheless.

2-1 win for United. I hope. I sincerely hope. Pretty please ? :|

Backpacking Travel

Just so sexcited by this backpack travel plan - Up Yours! err, I mean up North!

p/s: Will come back with the travel's tid bits later!

p/s/s: Can't help but notice the bimbo-ness tendencies in my recent posts. But eff it! (you know just to complete the whole bimbo-ism innuendo)

Paradox. Just Paradox -
Nota Kaki: How in the hell can someone be in love with someone but wishes to hate her all the same ?

I just couldn't see her. Again. It all falls back to the same pattern. Now I couldn't forget the smile. The carefree laughter, the adventurousness - and am sorry, the slight, unintentional, innocent touches. She's just damn good.

I avoided contacts for a few brief weeks, and now I'm not sure anymore.

I love you Goddamnit. I fuckin' love you. And thank God, I'm alive. This feeling. This urge tells me so.

I love you IMC.

Its That Movie Quote Time Again.

"But I know I'll see you again. This side or the other."

- Doug McRay, The Town.

Schweeeeet.

..of Windows, In-Laws & Wives.

Forgive me XP-tan I know I've been bad. Please take me back. =(

I officially hate Windows 7 by now. It practically blocks out any attempts it deem 'delinquency' therefore leaving me feeling I have no control over my PC. Its the feeling you husbands felt when your lovely mother in laws dip their hands in every family pies that were supposed to be you and and your wife's for the telling.

Yeah, it exerts that kind of feeling.

Now I miss the good ol' XP who is stuck with a polygamous husband but one who never complains. Instead she serves her husband obediently - with a smile. Never resisting, never talking back.

Pardon the all too appropriate analogy. And please don't mistake it for male-chauvinism, I love women.

Weddings.

pixies might somehow be related =)

Just got back from an old friend's wedding down in Semenyih. The journey was rough - on my Kancil. The road was cracked all over the place I thought a hormone strung adolescent's face could have been better.

Everything changes at a pace I'm afraid to admit. I can't keep up. Old friends became fathers, mothers. It seems like it was just yesterday that we were punished to do frog leaps at the mercy of the whole school occupants' humor. And how she was pulled out from the 'delinquent' bunch by our ever so caring homeroom teacher alleging that she had ... "Kamu tak payah buat. Kamu sakit jantung kan ?" when in truth, her father had told the teacher that she had actually contracted 'RESDUNG' .

Wargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh. Seriously WHAT THE FUCK.

Jantung dengan Resdung ? That was Jupiter - Mars distant man. Adeh. We couldn't help but laugh our asses off when we talk about the stuff. But that was back then. But now what remains is the specter of the past threatening to surface at moment of solitary.

Sighs. Why the hell does it come out so melancholic ?

Guess I'm getting old. I should better start practicing the dry cough sound, the hallmark of - Respect comes with Age.

*cough*cough*

The 10sighs Post

I'm just sad. :(

Keadaan di ofis tidak cukup dengan keje yang aku tak suka tapi kene buat sebab boss specifically mentioned my name for the person he wanted on the scope. Not to mention the rambling of the ever-unappreciative co-workers.

I don't like what I'm doing and what a good feeling it is to know that you're being hated on because of something you were forced to like. Give me a break. I don't like what I do and its just too damn bad that I'm good at it while you suck at practically everything that were laid your way. Tough luck Piggy.

And what is sadder even is that you're MY superior. And for you to be dwelling on petty stuffs like 'bos puji this or that person' makes me shrug at the thought of the future of this company. Small minds just don't fit into the bigger picture. Get Management101 you fat pig.

God I hate you with a passion.

Draft. A Little Story About Not So Little Fat Pig.

There was once a Fat so Pig. They called her Huge. No she wasn't from any descendants of Mark Hughes, the Manchester United great whatsoever. And you're mightily mistaken if you would think that she's a cute cuddly black pig a la Ryoga.

And this is a draft. Rest assured I shall come back and and cum at the back of your mind.

Get Off Your High Horses Malaysians.

Humanity who ? Malaysians are so full of rhetoric it makes my inside feels like its tied to a knot. Humanitarian effort here, Mercy there - When foreign workers are being raped in our OWN BACKYARD.

Seriously, why bother sending fleet of ships 100 miles away when foreigners are being treated like 2nd class human being on our own soil ? Drain them dry, put them to work double time, then you send them back to their homes using the oh-so legal way through immigration gateway because why ? - They didn't have any valid travel documents when you were the ones who hired them in the first place.

How did these animals escape unscathed and these immigrants sent back without question ? How fucked up of a logic is that ? Are we so blind that we cannot see this happening in our own backyard ? Are our law experts so dumb not to see this loophole being manipulated by these fucking bastardized leeches ? And are we so inhumane to let these starving HUMAN BEINGS conned into working without being paid ?

OR ARE THEY SIMPLY LESS HUMAN THAN US HIGH HORSE RIDING MALAYSIANS full of Godly rhetoric ?

Malaysia hold so much to answer for.

4-0 Demolition.

Babi. If you were gonna lose, why THE scoreline ? What THAT scoreline ? What the fuck. I cannot bear to read the quick analysis because it would end up sounding like anal-is-this. Whose ? Ours. Seriously what the fuck I held back to look at the results expecting to see some youngsters on the score sheet and ended up being sick to my stomach looking at the whore shit.

Now I don\t even have the appetite to reply my superoprs' email. And I leave the miospell all uncorrected so that I'd get a clerarr picture of my feelings whdn it finally sibdisde. subside.\\

No fuyck you, you.

7-1

I'm not good at recording my feelings when I'm feeling good. But 7-1 scoreline just has to be mentioned and not to mention Berba at the heart of things again. 5 goals and was a tad unlucky to be denied a penalty, else he would have created history by being the only player to have scored 6 goals in a Premier League game.

And look he's smiling! lol

The Bimbo Post

Ergh why do you have to look so cute and adorable when I've decided to hate you ?

I Am Elmotional & Am I Rusty

Tonight the heart swings heavy
Pendulum, this emotion springs uncertainty

Was never lost, as a matter of fact I only led Astray
To the near distant of Kingdom Far Far Away

This isn't rant its just raw emotion
The bruising sound when it beats me to Confusion

Tah, Sebab Saya Suka.

A couple of new additions to the Blog. But most importantly, I like the above pix and I think I could enrich your dull lives by sharing it.

p/s: do tell me what DO you notice. (additions to the blog, obvious right ?)

Rantings of Various Very Unorganized Thoughts.

A Painting Is More Than The Sum of Its Parts. (this is what was supposed to be the title. A quote from the movie Flipped)

The more used we are to each other the more I feel like I didn't know her enough. The more questions asked. And wow, InSecurity is creeping in. I've just realized it.

I've just gotten back from dropping her off dekat rumah dia. And a sudden melancholic sensation swept in. And seriously what the fuck ? More and more uncertainties surfaced and more questions than answers dangle the temple of my mind.

Then *tenenenenet*

Her SMS reads, OK I'll just vertically challenge the content : "Sorry of I blurted out something that bothers you.." or something like that.

Owe Em Gee. Did I look distant ? Ergh crap crap. I don't ever want to hint that persona to any of My Intended. Especially not her. Even conversations weren't that Haha-able. Sheesh what did I let slip.

But the SMS was all it takes. I'm feeling, guiltily, relieved. And now the clock is ticking faster towards me clinging to her every response in order to determine what I should feel. And th..

OK, that was Yan. Coming back from Ipoh. =) =) =) =) =) =)

Ok. Happy ? Not quite. As a matter of fact I felt for a couple of paused seconds, clueless of what / how to feel. I felt happy she's finally back from Ipoh. A tad melancholic because she's in the condition of having to brave the pain. And the even harder task of being so used to pain that she'd expect pain to surface at any moment's crack.

And there she was. She's losing weight at a very rapid a rate. Her arms both bony and scarred. Her jaw, I couldn't bear to look at her lower jaw. It makes me sad. My beautiful little sister is scarred and her jaw metal plated.

Check.

I have to somehow look strong. Or else, look away. But no I'm not about to. This is my sister and I helped getting her off the van. She was fidgeting. No she looked frantic. The expectation of pain surging all over her fragile body. That was all. But just looking at the frantic state she was in made so sad. I told her she was strong and God has tested her to this length for a reason. For one reason that she's reasonably strong. Strong enough to cope with it. And God is All Knowing.

This is a very unorganized thoughts, random, raw and naked I present to you for this has been a violent emotional roller coaster ride in the space of few hours.

Cold Souls

Just watched another movie and apparently there's a genre known as Dramatic Comedy. Well I tell you its so dramatically comedic that I was laughing my ass off once or twice in the space of around 2 hours. That funny.

Wasn't bad a movie but I was expecting a Will Ferrel-ish kind of comedy. But Paul Giamatti wasn't too bad either.

Woman character, talking, beautiful night showered by lights view, against the backdrop of George Washington Bridge.

: Its so nice to be here with you..

Paul *indifferent face*

: Lets go somewhere and have sex.

Hahahaha. The dude is just dry.

The whole dramatic comedic thinggy doesn't appeal much to me. But the idea, the concept of the movie itself isn't bad. In fact I find it pretty inspiring.

It was about a run-down actor, Paul Giamatti. But he's more of a stage actor if anything, so yea, he was having bad days at the office. Kept messing the dialogues up, fucking up everybody's rhythm.

He felt empty.

So to cut the story short, as with every adventure (and not to mention, cliche) a friend had to suggest something and how it was a huge success for one of his friends or relative.

Soul Storage.

The idea was to extract your soul, place it in a container. And from thereon its pretty much your choice. To develop a whole new soul of your own, get another soul - buy or rent it. The objective was to be happier, more purposeful in life. I find it rather intriguing. I mean to be able top extract your soul and get a look at it. That'd be damn. Right ?

And I forgot to mention that the extracted souls took various shape depending on how the person is. Paul's morphed into a chickpea-like substance. Wargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh. No wonder he refused to eat his meal of you guessed it - chickpea salad!

Wargh kargh kargh kargh kargh.

Good movie nonetheless. Not really my cup of tea, but still good movie. I mean we all have a point in life where we start questioning our belief and where has it taken us. And we cannot escape the feeling of emptiness. The only difference should be the frequency of recurrence. Frequent enough, you too should start flipping your Yellow Pages and browse for Soul Storage.

Her Bloody Clothes

Adik.

When I saw the bundle of your bloody clothes, I feel guilty of even smiling. Smiling while you're braving raving pain all over your frail body.

I hope you're fine. I hope you're well. I can only pray. I know it shall never be adequate. Proof of my own incompleteness.

I hope you're fine. I hope you're well. I really do.

Flipped.

Just watched Flipped.

A beautifully narrated movie from 2 characters with VERY different perspectives. The cinematography of the movie just complements the whole beauty told in 700 megabytes.

I took a couple of likings in genres of movies I watched. The Sci-fi & fantasy(ies), The all guns blazing & shoot 'em all(s), zombie movies (lol) and the message-ly loaded & well substantiated -

The heavy ones.

Some of the movies that I have watched down the road that fall under this category are:

• The Bucket List

• Into The Wild

Flipped has all the ingredients I look for in Heavy movies.

• Quotes

• Beautiful cinematography

• Colourful characters

• The emotional elements

• Wide, colourful skies

And the most important element - it made me dream. Takes me places, well literally. But movies watched in such fashion reminisced me of the more innocent yesteryears. Heightened the long I have for company. I've always dreamed of going places with My Intended and just watch the beauty of the world as she passed us by. Haven't had the luxury. But. =)

Sighs. Dreamer I am such.

I recommend it to anyone who is willing to sit down and contemplate. And oh by the way it was inspired by a novel of the same tittle. Lets hope you know how to type Google.

Disclaimer: Heavy, of which I'm referring to is purely of my own opinion. So its foolish on your part to assume that this is the generic Heavy that the industry and the masses' own ignorance refer to.

Happy Birthday Adik.

This is a third time re-entry for this. For I keep dabbling on the backspace for each stuff I typed. For I think none is good enough for her. For her, I would want the sunniest metaphor to depict the brightness she wrapped us around with. She has always been the most frail amongst us. But she too has always been the bravest. Though I know for years, only the nights have had the privilege to be drizzled by her tears.

She has probed into some of the most less humane territories we chose to avoid and proving critics time and again that obstacles are made of some holographic projection of our brain cells to keep us safe, sheltered in the comfort of our norm. She braved them all and came not unscathed. But somehow stronger each time.

For her I would want to weave each and every syllable of a beautiful poem so that I could patch her patchy backdrop of painful early years.

For her I would trade blows and exchange knuckles if you ever were to choose to stand in her path. I couldn't help but be emotional in this entry for I know now how painful it is to be watching her writhing in stinging pain all over her fragile being.

And I finally realize just where she's placed in my heart.

Happy Birthday Norazyan Binti Ahmad.

I love you much. So much.

Kinda Feels Like Deja.

Kinda feeling, you know Deja Vu. Madly in love with someone. Fooling around with someone else. Maybe I will, maybe I wont. Shoot I almost lost count on the How Many's.

Sheesh

Your Intended.
Nota Kaki: Liyana Fizi is just damn. Inspiring. The urge to light write again. Thanx for the inspiration.

You know you found your Intended
When you struggle to craft mere words

You know you found your Intended
When you struggle to craft just those 3 words

You know you found your Intended
When its so hard to say "I've just farted.."

"Will You Have 5 Kids With Me ?"

Its the combination between The Prick and The Chivalrous that create the magic. Too much niceties will only elevate you as far as a chauffeur goes. Too much Pricks and you'll come across as arrogant. And not to mention, InSecure.

And so yeah, I miss you. And me being a prick is as stretched as my attempts at 'I miss You'. For this has been the only way to communicate to My Intended that she is the one.

Am sure Yan would understand. For I feel a bit wrong in delving in my little rants with emotional stuffs while she is bedridden braving her pain. Yes, I love you Adik. And am sure you would understand.

Oh and on that note, "Will you marry me ?" is getting old faster than the speed at which the light travels.

So I'm thinking - "Will you have 5 kids with me ?" instead.

I Love You, Adik.

Apart from the compulsory adoration between siblings. I have always admired how she could have faced through what she had to in most of her early years. Up until the fight she had to brawl she faced off to ensure a place in her master study.

Health wise, she was always so fragile. I remember she used to need to carry her inhaler everywhere and there was one time our father had to take her to a clinic where she needed to be assisted with her breathing.

I wondered sometimes, how something so frail natured withstand the batterings of life. Despite the obvious difference in strength she was always the one looking composed and know what to do when times are not so kind. Sometimes its just like she was meant to be the first born. And its a statement supported by the fact that people had always mistaken me as her younger brother. And trust me that is not one bit flattering.

That's why it is so gut wrenching to see her struggle for a mere word.

"Air.." (water)

She was thirsty. God. I couldn't help but break.

Nil orally. She wouldn't, for quite sometime be fed and neither that she can drink. Not through her mouth at least.

My sister had a crushing accident. 8 out of the 10 passengers who were inside the van broke their legs. A few of them unconscious. Some still thought they're still in Penang. Yan was the hardest hit as she was the one driving. She broke her mandible and was quickly transferred to Ipoh's Tuanku Bainun Hospital from Manjung district hospital.

I kissed her forehead for a long time since I can remember. And realized how much I love her.

Dicking Around

Feeling a little fucked up here and there. And when I'm feeling fucked up I tend to poke fun at others and laugh at the expense of your agony.

Hence when I saw the always-fluke ESPN report about United courting Pepek Reina of Liverpool I just cant help but be irked by the joke.

To top it off, the never failing, ever past-glorifying of the Scouse shitheads commented. And I just gotta take a swipe. Fuck you you Scouse cunts. Get familiar with those relegation spots, pretty soon you're gonna follow the Leeds. Yes every fuckin' pun intended.

That. There. The 3rd comment epitomizes why Liverpool will never be as good as United. And why will they stay a mediocre team with past glories histories as their only bragging right for a long long time to come.

Wargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh kargh.

Yuck Fou You Cunt.

Fuck off Wayne. After all those 'lack ambitions' remarks. Do you think we will ever find ways to forgive you ? Should've sold the bitch.

Lest we forget..

Shitty Cunts.

Did you premature ejaculate your pants off dimwits ?

Lest we forget..

Greetings, Peasants.

I just remembered something from way back. A cause for a schmile. And yes United will bounce back. And we will come back even stronger.

What don't kill us, will only make us kill them.

United Melancholic Resistance Anthem commences. What better way than to start it off with the King himself.

Lest we forget..

Lest We Forget

52 years ago, the whole world bored witness to the event that buried Manchester United, supposedly forever from the arena of world football. We were at the top. The Busby Babes haven't even reached their full potential. Yet the flair they exerted when plying their trade on the pitch has made centuries after them wondered what would have they been should they survive the tragedy in the bitterly snowy winter in Munich.

8 players from the main squad never did see the lights of day ever again. Matt Busby, the legendary manager who was responsible for the development of the Busby Babes and most importantly, the man responsible for rebuilding the team post the Busby Babes from the ashes of Munich, and few others survived.

Indeed we struggled to replicate the form that put fear into our opponents' eyes. But we are Manchester fuckin' United. 4 years later we were the European champions.

The whole fucken' point here is we should remember just who we are. Just why the hell does everybody hate us so bitterly. Just why the hell our downfall would be such a cause for celebration. Loads of great players come and go just to write in their autobiographies few years down the road, how leaving Manchester United was the one of the few regrets they had in football and/or how leaving Manchester United was the biggest mistake they ever made in their entire footballing career.

Hence if Rooney does leave, it is indeed a very sad day for me, for the team I hold so dear. But no players, NO FUCKEN' PLAYERS will ever be bigger than the club. Period.

So pack your bags and this shall be where we part.

Lest we forget..

Because We Are United.

Wayne, should you ever walk out of the door, trust me its gonna be so painful its gut-wrenching. We will have to hate you so much, simply because we adore you so much. Dark skies billow over our heads, rainy days ahead but we will NEVER FUCKIN' DIE. Simply because we are Manchester United!

This is just so sad that words fail to fail me. I fumbled.

Talking To Myself.

In pursuit of a more chameleon-ish, politically & socially irresistible personality. I am so afraid of losing the essence that made me who I am. The essence that got me celebrated as a non-celebrity. Can't be appreciated by all notwithstanding, I appreciate and love the way they do when they love me. They love that cocky, no-holds-barred asshole with punchlines and comebacks up his sleeve. Crass though he is, that's who he is. That's what made him - HIM.

And that was what was appreciated. And I love it.

But comes by a time when he realized that there was a hidden angle to this whole alter ego thing. And he decided to add yet another dimension to his personality's Tree of Life. He was this stuttering, self hating mofo who sweats whenever he met a stranger regardless of the social setup a couple years back. And he's now able to stand in front of a crowd, look them in the eyes - alas, with speech impediments here and there. Fumbling here and there. But hey who would've thought right ?

Cockiness and a mixture of funnies have done a great deal for me. Its not everyday that I win friends, there are some girls who still turn to the other cheek whenever I'm within a breathing radius. But trust me I've had some great times and people down the road, equipping myself with this newly found edge. For me, this game is whether you soar your ass up high or you fall down to the pit, straight into Dungeon Dragon. There's no middle ground.

Thus when I repel people, I'm doing a much better job than insect repellent a bug.

But that was back then. 5ive in a matter of a year or 2 was a feat I never thought I'd live to smell when I was thinking of marrying off a girl I'd force myself onto. Or in a more civic sense, rape, back then.

Hence I'm reminding myself to constantly remind myself of who I am. Who I really am. And what has taken me thus far. DO NOT ever dispel what have made me a happier man now. Its practically a process of moving it from the center of my universe to an integrated part of WHO I AM.

This was a reminder from Raizzen, The Cocky Asshole who's got this in-built craving to make the mockery out of your spluttering non-sense, to his new personality celestial body.

One Heck of A Week

It's been one hell of a week. In and out of the house like hotels. Open houses, back at working cubicle, partays. Loving it. As a matter of fact, was just back from a supposedly 'Syawal luncheon' from Cyberview Lodge in our very own Cyber city. What remnants of Syawal in the luncheon though is anybody's guess. Fun time though. Nice food. OK, seriously, niceeeeee food. It's been a while since I've complimented hotels on their food. Well not exactly because they weren't nice but for one thing, the taste has grown a tad too familiar.

Hence Cyberview has just worked my lazed taste buds. Thanx.

Well but the whole point of this entry is I miss her. Despite the many faces, despite the many laughters. Thank God for once, the feeling's real.

IMC. =)

LOL'd Strike Three.
Nota Kaki: Based on a very true & tragic story

A fella I know from way back when I was working my ass off as a promoter in Tesco once attempted English manners & etiquette, apparently one of the first few attempts he ever managed to pull. So here's how it went down in the pantheons of history.

Location: Packed manned counter and he was the cashier. There were four people behind the counter.

Fella: Can I pass away ? *politely gesturing his hands for us to make way for him*

Me: Pass away ? *still lembap-ly trying to digest the something-wrong with the phrase*

The other 2 fellas: Yes please. Please do. *innocent face*

The 2 fellas were some of the most fucked up assholes I know walking on the face of earth. Dried face with a drier sense of horror humor.

El Chicarito.

El Chicarito kissing the United badge. Makes one proud to be a Devil.

Mode - Depressed.
Notes: We only managed a draw against Bolton. What the fuckin fuck is that ?

Too lazy to update my FB status for it will only expand the gulf of my anger. But somehow I just gotta let it off my chest. Off to read a book where Imaginations are allowed to roam as they please.

For The Sake of Posting.

This is a post just for the sake of posting. Yes, you're most welcomed. And wow 5 followers! :P

With such twisted wit didn't think I'd have even one ! Thanx guys. Muah muah.

Still Basking In In The Glories.

It felt good. Feels like a mother bird who's finally sent off her nestlings to the vastness of air. It is still so. I have loved the Genius from the day he put on United shirt. Never have I doubted the air of nonchalant brilliance circling about the man. It was just a matter of time.

And now he's done it. Goals that helped United down their utmost hated rivals in our sacred ground. Not to fuckin' mention, a hatrick at that. Words failed me. Emotions have long overcame the gulf of my mind.

Thank you Berba. For long has Stretford End awaits for its King. Ever since 7he Emperor parted company with us. And you, thank you for showing us a glimpse of the majesties.

Us humans, we crave to be led. And I think we have found a Leader - In Berbatov we trust !

Berba-top !

berba: i told ya.

See ? I told you Berba is not a flop. Guy's a genius. And geniuses are characteristically lonely outcasts who the world would never figure. For what is genius if he does the exact amount of what the world think he should deliver.

I stood by him when the goings were harsh. And I'm glad I did. He was the first player to have scored a hatrick against Liverpool, our sworn enemies, in the space of 64 YEARS !

His bicycle kick was just outside of this world (I actually knock my Abg. Yong off his sleep for celebrating the goal - the extend of just how awesome the goal was!)

/me feeling superbatov!

LOL'd Strikes Back.


Guys, seriously.. lol.

News That Everybody Talks About

Actually, I don't wanna delve into the matter for there shall be nothing that I'm gonna say that haven't been said yet. But it's gotten so big to choose the bliss of ignorance. So here goes. The Sosilawati's murder saga.

One of the first questions that crossed my mind was;

Whether there was a higher hand involvement in this ? For first, the swiftness of of the nabbing. Second, its scale. I mean its not easy to kidnap 4 persons, 3 of them all grown up men regardless of how strong and well organized you are. Largely because they were split between 2 vehicles and potential resistance.

Unless you were deploying not less than 10 person strong death squad. And not to mention heavily or moderately armored team, experienced, meticulous and battle ready.

I mean it must've been a handiwork of the pro to be able to pull such precise operation and yet leaving not a single shred of evidence behind. Except for 2 abandoned vehicles which were largely muted witnesses to the crime.

To spice up the conspiracy theory, the prime suspect was one of the faces that you often catch besides those who walk in the corridors of power in MIC. And MIC has had a notorious history of assassinations in their backyard.

Well, I'm not saying that MIC was directly involved. Only, whether by coincidence or what have you, quite a number of their leaders were assassinated execution style in the past.

Secondly, the Dato' prime suspect, has had trails of past crimes against him. 4 missing persons in the space of a year. Not to mention, right after business deals with him.

Yet No Further Action against him ?

I think standard rule of law would have at least dictated that he be at least, investigated. But he was let go Scot free to go and run his killing spree.

It would take another level of ignorance from PDRM's end to overlook this altogether.

Only this time, as history would have it, powers that grew beyond their resources stretch, blew out of proportion. Eventually undone by their own doing. Roman empire in their pomp, conquered almost all of modern day Europe but they didn't know when to stop.

You got away with 4 murders in the space of months, now you've stretched your luck too thin. For this time, the fish is just too big to ignore. What a way to do it.

There Goes My Fcukin' Week Again

4-5-1.

O'Shea.

Neville.

Evra's substitution.

Berba's lone role.

To lose is just plain painful. But to surrender a 2 fuckin goal lead is ANOTHER MATTER ALL TO FUCKIN GATHER.

P/S: I was there when we won rest assured that I shall be there when we lose. Hence its just so fucken sad.

If you're my everything - then they're my WORLD!

Liyana Fizi is Love!

The day that Liyana Fizi replied me. lol. I feel so lame about being genuinely happy about it. It feels like schoolgirl obsession. But seriously, its Liyana Fizi ! It was worth an eyebag or two for I haven't met Schleep since she disappeared yesterday.

The evident that she's being missed is the fact that I'm feeling overly hyper and violating my keyboard's chastity bombarding comment boards and harassing innocent bystanders.

Seriously, Laters. Before I inflict any more damage towards ecosystem than I should've.

Something Smells Fishy.

I wanna keep goldfish as pets. It all started when my father brought back with him a cute little vase and 3 adorable little goldfishes. At first, they all swam quite happily in the vase, though there's nothing really to venture in the tight little vase except for a couple of pebbles lying at the bottom of the vase. I wondered though whether goldfish get claustrophobic too.

However, a couple of days later, one fella went and met his Maker. I think that was just too bad, I still think the idea of keeping them fishes in the vase is still viable - even without the help of those filters and air pump devices.

The next day, much to my sadness, the remaining two fella did a little backflip and never flip their tiny fins again. I should've done something when I saw them gasping for air the night before. Silly silly me.

After coming to terms with the lost and a few sleepless nights, I went and godek the internet for proper goldfish keeping. Much to my surprise, internet holds loads and loads of valuable information in regards of proper goldfish keeping.

Here's what I could sum up from the goldfish study:

1. Goldfish if really cared for could live around 10-15 years. Or was it 25 ? Well results may vary depending on how we handle them. And its gruesomely common for goldfish to die after 2-3 days with a new owner, especially beginner owners.

2. That keeping goldfish in cute little vases is doable but not advisable. Due to the tedious nature of the caring part and some even went as far as the method is cruel for it shortens its life span due to stress. Yerp, you read it right. STRESS. And organ damage. (Oh My God.) - Err seriously ?

3. That overfeeding goldfish might result in speeding up its demise due to first, because goldfish are a naturally messy species in which they poo poo anywhere and anytime they see fit. Secondly, because of the fish food itself. This deadly duo might just intoxicate your whole tank.

Hrmm. But after all have been said, I still think keeping them in a vase is sexy.

Myself is not to blame, I used to have this quite a huge aquarium where I kept around 15-20 varying types of goldfish just for them to be terrorized and died by the hands of my cousins and nephews when we were small. And yes my nephews could be just 1 or 2 years younger than me. So figures. I was devastated but I didn't know how and who should I vent my anger on as the culprits were quite and still close to moi. But still, had they survived what a cool collection I'd have now. And back then they were cheap. I could get a black goldfish, the one with them eyes popping for just about 2 Ringgit for 2 of them.

I'm gonna get it I don't care. I'll get a vase with a pump then if its so cruel.

Night of The Hunter
Nota Kaki: Again, my own reference rather than your normal reading tid bits.

Warning: Long piece. Read at your own peril or leave it altogether - unless you don't mind popping a vein or 2. I am ever ready to extend an olive branch.

It's "the Wet" in Australia's Northern Territory, which means tropical cyclones, monsoon rains and stifling humidity. Out in the bush, 80km south-west of Darwin, heavy rainfall turns the red earth to mud and swells the Finniss river, partially submerging the trees along its banks and flooding the whole area. It was at this same time of year, and in similar conditions, in December 2003, that friends Ashley McGough, Brett Mann and Shaun Blowers came to a spot near the Kangaroo Flats to race their quad bikes. Their day out was to end in unforgettable horror when a crocodile killed Brett, then returned to circle relentlessly beneath a tree in which the other two had taken refuge.

Crocodiles have killed about a dozen people, locals and tourists, across northern Australia in the past 20 years. Many attacks are attributed to people ignoring no-swimming rules. But in this case, says Sergeant Garry Casey, who was in charge of the rescue effort that day, the boys were just unlucky. "They were in a spot they knew well and where they had never seen a crocodile before," he says. "They weren't being reckless or doing anything stupid. It was simply bad luck."

Four years on, the survivors are getting on with their lives, shielded by family and friends. After a couple of brief statements and a press conference at which the boys, pale and visibly shaken, paid tribute to their mate, none of those involved directly, or indirectly, has since spoken about the tragedy. Crocodile attacks in the Top End of Australia are not uncommon. But there was something in the boys' ordeal that ensured that their story continues to resonate. The events at Finniss river have sparked two killer croc films - Rogue, released in Australia last year, and the forthcoming Black Water, released next month. The latter claims to be "based on true events", but both are essentially monster movies. For horror, neither comes close to the factual account of the boys' experience.

On Sunday, December 21 2003, Brett, 22, and his two friends, both 19, left their homes at 11.40am, arriving an hour later at their usual racing area, south-west of the Kangaroo Flats and on the edge of Litchfield National Park. They often drove out to this spot, past the Tumbling Waters Holiday Park and down dusty gravel roads, passing through a landscape of eucalypt trees, pandanus palms, mangrove trees and giant termite mounds, until they reached flat salt plains - it's an ideal place for mucking about on quad bikes. Shaun later said he knew the area like the back of his hand because he had been camping there with his family since he was five and had "never, ever" seen signs of a crocodile. The trio spent a raucous, enjoyable day, spraying each other with mud as they roared around on the bikes. At 4.30pm, they went down to the river, to a spot 200 metres downstream from Walkers Ford, parked their bikes just up from the bank, and began to wash their clothes and boots, which were covered in sand and mud. They had noted that the water was fairly high; they thought this was normal for the time of year, but did not realise how much the river was in flood and that a strong tide was coming in.

Shaun's police statement detailed what happened next: "The three of us walked into the water among some stringy trees. The water was running a little bit at this spot... and Brett went out a little farther and was washed away. I don't know if he lost his footing or the current was a bit strong for him. After we saw Brett washed away, both Ashley and I went out after him. Ashley and I caught up to Brett and we both got in front of him as we went with the flow. I was in front, Ashley was next and Brett was at the rear. We were all within arms' reach of each other. It probably took us about 300 metres to catch up with Brett and then we began to look for a place to get out of the river. We all spoke to each other to check that we were all right. There was no real panic at this stage."

The three young men, caught in the current, travelled for 700m-1km as they looked for a way to get back to dry land. Shaun's police statement recounts the next part of the story: "Ashley yelled out, 'Croc, croc, I'm not joking, there's a fucking croc. Head for a tree, get out of the water.' I didn't see a croc, but swam to the nearest tree and climbed up into the first fork. I helped pull Ashley up into the same tree. We looked around for Brett and called his name out. I didn't see Brett anywhere or hear him call out. I didn't hear a call or a splash or anything. It wasn't very long after we got into the tree, maybe two minutes later, that I saw a croc pop up with Brett in his jaws. Brett wasn't moving, he was lying face down in the water and the croc was gripping him by the left shoulder. I know it was Brett because he was wearing his O'Neill riding gear, which was mainly yellow with black and white stripes. The croc was only about five metres away from us at the time. It was only a couple of minutes that the croc remained looking around at us. It went under the water with Brett and swam away. I did not see Brett again."

The two survivors described the crocodile as "big, black and aggressive" and around four metres long. Five minutes later, it returned and remained at the foot of the tree, bobbing up intermittently. The traumatised teenagers spent the night in the tree, keeping each other awake. Shaun was in the second fork of the tree, Ashley in the third. Just on nightfall, Shaun tried to move higher up and, in a heart-stopping moment, fell into the water. Terrified, he scrambled out again within seconds.

As night closed around them and the temperature dropped, Ashley moved down to the second fork so the two friends could huddle together and try to keep warm. Throughout the long night they didn't say much, apart from checking the other was all right. "Because we couldn't see each other, because it was dark, I had my hand on Ashley's foot," Shaun said later. "Whenever we moved, we'd say, 'I'm moving', and just check in on each other and make sure we weren't going to sleep. We were worn out from hanging on to the little tree. The tree was swaying all night because there was a lot of wind and rain."

The boys had been due to return home at 7.30pm that evening and when they didn't show up, friends went to look for them. They found the boys' abandoned car and empty trailer. By first light the alarm had been raised and search parties from the Marine and Fisheries Enforcement Section and the Territory Response Section made their way to the area. The search was difficult because of the rugged terrain, flooding and poor weather, but at about 10am Ashley and Shaun heard the shouts of family friend Wayne Mitchell, who was with police officers. They were on dry land and could not see the boys, but they could hear them. Shaun yelled back in their direction, telling them what had happened and warning them not to enter the water. He could still see the crocodile. The boys remained clinging weakly to the tree.

Sgt Glenn McPhee, an experienced police officer, was one of the team involved in rescuing the teenagers. "At about 7am we'd got the heads up that the kids were overdue," he says. "A million things could have happened to them - they could have been trapped by the flood waters, their bikes or their car could have got buried in mud, or they'd got lost in the bush. I don't think any of us thought it would be more serious than that."

As news came through of what had actually taken place, and Shaun and Ashley's precarious position was relayed back to police headquarters, it became clear they had to be rescued quickly. The river, normally a small channel about 10 metres wide, had flooded so much it was now at least 5km wide and the water level was still rising. Telling the boys to get out of the tree and swim towards the rescuers on dry land was out of the question. "We couldn't get a boat to them or bring one in because it would have taken too long," McPhee says." The weather was bad and we were conscious that the boys were distressed and probably hypothermic."

Bristow Helicopters usually flies work crew to Timor Sea oil rigs, but the firm can also be deployed for rescues around the territory, so when police called it offered one of its 15-seat Super Puma choppers. A six-man crew - pilot Captain Wayne Silby, senior first officer Max Neill-Gordon, winch operator Gordon McRae, wireman Milton Ellis, paramedic Michael McKay and McPhee - flew to the scene as mist closed in and drizzle came down, reducing visibility.

"We came into a hover above the tree with the intention of winching down to pick up the boys," McPhee says. "They were perched up in the forks and acknowledged us, but it was a pretty flimsy, dead tree, maybe a paperbark."

The downdraught of the rotor blades, equal to about 150-200km an hour, broke off the top branch and it fell into the water. "We aborted straight away because we were fearful we might blow the boys into the water or the tree would break up even more."

There was a marine life raft on board and it was decided that McPhee and Ellis would use that to rescue the teenagers. There was a tiny island in the middle of the river about 100 metres from Shaun and Ashley's tree, and the men were lowered down to it, where they inflated the raft. McPhee laughs as he remembers the moment they found out there were no oars and had to improvise using rubber flippers left from someone's diving gear. "We started paddling for all we were worth, but the current was pushing us the wrong way. The air crew saw what was happening and positioned the 'copter so that the downdraught blew us in the right direction."

The men had to augment their paddling by grabbing at vegetation to pull themselves along, always conscious that their small craft could itself be overturned by the force of the downdraught. "We knew we were sitting in a flimsy bit of rubber with the croc still out there, and that it was a big one and we were in its territory, but we were just focused on getting the job done," McPhee says. "We got up to the boys and said, 'Right, this is what you're going to do. Get yourself balanced and each of you is going to jump out of the tree and into the boat.' They hesitated - they were scared to move - and we had to persuade them a little bit, but they did it and we started to row back against the current."

McPhee believes the noise of the helicopter had by now scared off the crocodile, but it was still an anxious journey as the heavily laden boat crossed back to the little island. He says the boys were dazed, cold and wet, but in good shape considering what they had been through. In the dinghy the atmosphere was tense. "There was bugger all dialogue - we were committed to getting back safely," McPhee says. When they made it to dry land, all four were winched to safety. By 3pm the teenagers were back in Darwin and taken to hospital. They were both in good physical condition but deeply upset by the death of their friend. At a press conference two days later, Shaun said of the 22-year-old mechanic, "He was a quiet sort of fella, the best bloke I've ever really known."

For days afterwards, even on Christmas Day, searchers went back to the river in a futile attempt to track down the crocodile and retrieve Brett's body. Persistent rain, the aftermath of Cyclone Debbie, saw the flooded river rise by another two metres and become congested with floating debris as trees broke up and were swept out to sea. At times, it was too dangerous to search by boat, but helicopters flew over the area daily. As soon as the weather cleared, the ground searches recommenced. A week after the attack, a Parks and Wildlife Service ranger shot a 3.8 metre crocodile not far from the spot where Brett had been taken. The crocodile submerged, apparently dead, but its body failed to surface in the days afterwards. No one can be sure it was the killer as its stomach contents could not be examined. Neither the body of the 22-year-old nor any items of his clothing have been found.

In an interview with the local paper, Northern Territory News, Brett's parents, Jeff and Christine Mann, said they had encouraged Brett and his brother, Ben, to enjoy the outdoors and that the three friends were well aware of the potential danger of crocodiles. There was "no blame, no reason, no excuse. It was just one of those things... wrong day, wrong time," Jeff said. Emotions ran high among young people in the community, however, with Shaun's sister, Melissa, writing to the newspaper angrily: "I personally want this croc as a handbag."

The tragedy reopened a debate about culling. Many people in the area believe that there are too many crocodiles in the Northern Territory and that the reptiles, which used to be fearful of men when they were hunted, are now quite brazen. Culling does take place in a limited manner - crocodiles involved in fatal attacks are almost always killed - and in 2006 the local government considered allowing controlled hunting before eventually deciding against it.

Until any cull takes place, the crocodiles will continue to thrive. There are an estimated 70,000 now living in this part of Australia, their numbers having recovered dramatically since the 70s, when commercial hunting left only 3,000 in the wild. They are now a protected species and have become a major tourist attraction. Hiding half-submerged at the water's edge or sunning themselves on mud banks, they are a sinister presence, but an encounter with one - at a safe distance - has become a vital part of the Northern Territory experience. A study by Charles Darwin University found that crocodile attacks have even been shown to boost visitor numbers - lecturer Pascal Tremblay says bookings to the Northern Territory from Germany rose in the two years after a German tourist was killed by a saltwater croc in 2002. Crocodile farms, where the animals are bred for their meat and skins, have been developed alongside crocodile tourism, and the region has pioneered the commercial management of the crocodile population as a way of conserving the species.

Back in the 70s, the Finniss river became notorious among Australian croc-watchers as the home of Sweetheart, a 5.1 metre crocodile famous for taking bites at fishing boats. A real-life version of Jaws, the box-office star of the day, Sweetheart became a legend and its skeleton is preserved in the Darwin museum. Crocodile killings play to our primal dread of wild animals, a fear packaged and exploited by films such as Rogue, with which director Greg Mclean progressed from the outback psycho of his debut movie, Wolf Creek, to that other antipodean horror-staple, the man-eating crocodile. And for audiences the terror is thrilling - that's the point.

There have been three fatal attacks in the Northern Territory since Brett's death; in two the victim was snorkelling in the sea, in the third an eight-year-old girl was snatched and killed by a crocodile as she stood at the edge of the Blythe river. Yet tourists continue to flock to the region. The Jumping Crocodile Cruise, which lets passengers view crocs from the safety of an air-conditioned boat that travels along the Adelaide river, is one of the most popular tours. The reptiles are lured to jump out of the water by pieces of meat dangled on long lines by guides, and as the huge creature snaps at the meat, cameras flash wildly and tourists applaud before the animal disappears back into the brown water. "That's what you came to see, yeah?" says a guide.

In Darwin and the surrounding area, however, it's a different story. "It's something [the boys] will never completely recover from," Sgt Casey says, "but they're doing well and trying to get on with their lives." Now in their mid-20s, Shaun and Ashley still live locally. Shaun works for his family's business and one of his jobs is cleaning swimming pools. He tells customers that if they have any blow-up croc toys in their pools to make sure they are out of sight before he arrives. Ashley took the longest to get over what happened, and is said to be still very affected by the ordeal. Brett's parents are now divorced and both moved away after their son's death. Every year, however, Brett's family, Ashley, Shaun and their friends return to the spot where he died to remember him. "It's a nice occasion, obviously very sombre and emotional," Casey says. "Everybody arrives in their cars and goes down to the river to where he disappeared. Some people say a few words or maybe there's some music. Afterwards we have a barbecue and a couple of drinks in his honour."

McPhee and Ellis were given bravery awards for their parts in the rescue, and the search and rescue teams as a whole were commended by police commissioner Paul White for helping to save Shaun and Ashley's lives, and for their dedication in trying to retrieve Brett's body. "I still hope from time to time that we will find something, even if it is a piece of bone that we can run DNA on," Casey says. "It would be a nice closure for all of us."

P/S: The 2008 Australian movie, Black Water is based on these events depicted by the survivors. Watch it. Worth it.

Note: The Source.

Nazi's World's Largest Gun
Nota Kaki: rather my own reference than your normal reading tid bits.

The largest gun ever built was the "Gustav Gun" built in Essen, Germany in 1941 by the firm of Friedrich Krupp A.G. Upholding a tradition of naming heavy cannon after family members, the Gustav Gun was named after the invalid head of the Krupp family - Gustav Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach. The strategic weapon of its day, the Gustav Gun was built at the direct order of Adolf Hitler for the express purpose of crushing Maginot Line forts protecting the French frontier. To accomplish this, Krupp designed a giant railway gun weighing 1344 tons with a bore diameter of 800 mm (31.5") and served by a 500 man crew commanded by a major-general.

Two types of projectiles were fired using a 3000lb. charge of smokeless powder: a 10,584 lb. high explosive (HE) shell and a 16,540 lb. concrete-piercing projectile. Craters from the HE shells measured 30-ft. wide and 30-ft. deep while the concrete piercing projectile proved capable of penetrating 264-ft. of reinforced concrete before exploding! Maximum range was 23 miles with HE shells and 29 miles with concrete piercing projectiles. Muzzle velocity was approximately 2700 f.p.s.

Three guns were ordered in 1939. Alfried Krupp personally hosted Hitler and Albert Speer (Minister of Armaments) at the Hugenwald Proving Ground during formal acceptance trials of the Gustav Gun in the spring of 1941. In keeping with company tradition, Krupp refrained from charging for the first gun - 7 million Deutsch Marks were charged for the second (named Dora after the chief engineer's wife).

France fell in 1940 without the assistance of the Gustav Gun, so new targets were sought. Plans to use Gustav against the British fortress of Gibraltar were scrapped after General Franco refused permission to fire the gun from Spanish soil. Thus, April 1942 found the Gustav Gun emplaced outside the heavily fortified port city of Sebastopol in the Soviet Union. Under fire from Gustav and other heavy artillery, Forts Stalin, Lenin and Maxim Gorki crumbled and fell. One round from Gustav destroyed a Russion ammunition dump 100 feet below Severnaya Bay; a near miss capsized a large ship in the harbor. Gustav fired 300 rounds during the siege wearing out the original barrel in the process. Dora was set up west of Stalingrad in mid-August but hurriedly withdrawn in September to avoid capture. Gustav next appeared outside Warsaw, Poland, where it fired 30 rounds into Warsaw Ghetto during the 1944 uprising.

Dora was blown up by German engineers in April 1945 near Oberlichtnau, Germany, to avoid capture by the Russian Army. The incomplete third gun was scrapped at the factory by the British Army when they captured Essen. Gustav was captured intact by the U.S. Army near Metzendorf, Germany, in June 1945. Shortly after, it was cut up for scrap thus ending the story of the Gustav Gun.

Credits: Printed in the American Rifleman, February 1998. Page 26.

Notes: The Source.