Best Review Of My Blog.........Ever!

There's nothing that makes you feel more like a celebrity than hatemail. Whoever made the comment below clearly knows me better than my own mother. 'Nuff Said. On with the show. (Dear anonymous commenter, I hope you don't mind that I've corrected your grammar and spelling and made some comments of my own in brackets. Even though I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being, I still have standards. High ones. Which I make lists about in all the free time I have). So here it is. Not THE funniest thing I've ever heard about me but somewhere in the top seven.



Loving_Hamza said...

Absolutely pathetic. This guy makes Britney Spears' Oops I Did it Again sound like a Shakesperean (ShakespEARAn. Petty aren't I?) masterpiece. That's right, he's done it... again. (Oops!)

It would help if Hamza had better things to do in life than watch every single show on telly like some pimply teenage girl (*Chuckles*. I love sexist humor. Too bad there are no jokes about retards here. sigh!). I can see this chap going really "far" in life (I'm sorry I don't get this insult. Too cryptic for me. Anyone else?). In fact, he has so much useless junk in his head after watching tv all day that he feels the need to come and rant about it on his blog (So true).

What would he do without the Hollywood celebrities and the mediocre American shows? (Answer: Find a cure for AIDS) He religiously reads every gossip about Hollywood stars like all bored housewives do (And yet, I still don't have a husband. Oh woe is me).

To justify all his lame behaviour actions (Unnecessary redundant repetition on a loop) he calls himself gay and uncool... he even admits to NOT having a life (but I AM gay. Everybody says so. Why won't you believe me? Is it my undeniable manliness? Maybe if I suck your cock for you huh?). This he does in order to make himself feel good because if somebody else says it to him first that would hurt his ego and make him look like a total dork. Insecure li'l baby (Don't go calling me baby yet. The Pussycat Dolls have taught me not to put out so easy).

He is (was, sugar, WAS!) very insecure about his weight as well, which is why he tries (used to try and succeeded I might add) to laugh it off and make jokes about it.

His favourite website is thesuperficial.com... people who visit such sites are either girls with too much time on their hands or virgin little perverts who can only dream of "those good things" (again with the quotes. This kind of highbrow jabbing escapes me. Sure, if you take your glove off and slap me on the face with it, I'll know that means it's on but that's only 'cos I've seen it on TV) that they can't have. If the guy got pussy (I do. I do. I have the Syphilis to prove it) he wouldn't be snooping around these sites everyday jacking off to cellulite on celluloid (nothing compares to a good self-administered handjob. I guess you're not a man or else you'd understand. Right fellas? Woop Woop).



That was all folks. I wanna print this, frame it and put it on my wall. And of course jack off to it like a pimply teenage Britney Spears. Whoever wrote this. I wanna shake your hand (so that you'll contract my Syphilis!!!!)

**Update: Well whaddaya know? It IS "Shakespearean". That must mean...could it be?...Yes! I'm not god after all!!! *gasps*. I guess I should cancel my plans to jump off the peak of Mt. Everest into that strategically placed tank of piranhas. What will I do this weekend then? *Looks hopefully through TV guide*

Big Boy Blues

Life is like an onion. Layers and layers of tear-induce-y goodness. Still better than a peach I say. Yeah it's all juicy scrumptiousness when you start nibbling at it but once that's all bitten away you're left with a poisonous pit. Wait, maybe life's more peachy after all. Ah hell! I guess I could even make puppies and chocolate seem gloomy in my present state. Have a listen to Billie Holiday singing Blue Moon as only a bitter and broken crackwhore who died without ever finding love could, while I go find some bleach, a razor and a roof-ledge for....uh..a project.

For Male' - I Love This City

There's no other place with quite so many losers.
We're all really Muslims but most of us boozers,
Too.
"Slavery's not dead", said the Bangaalhee.
Rhyming is hard with a word like Bangaalhee,
Oh pooh!

We can hate it or love it,
But can't rise above it,
Like the rest of the world can do.

'cos Male's the place where i was born.
It's not just a coop that this pigeon has flown.
It sometimes gets boring but my heart is torn.
I can't really leave it, I'd rather just moan.
Ooh!

Posing's perfected like an artform in Male'.
Borrowed concepts and words form most of our parlay,
Don't they?
Masood and Khalil and Heena Waleed,
Seezan or Niuma or Ablo Hameed,
Euppey!

You can hate it or love it,
But you've gotta admit it.
This place is so happy and gay.

'cos Male's the place where i wanna be.
It's more than just palm trees, the sun and the sea.
London, New York and KL's not for me.
I don't wanna leave it so please let me be.
Hooray!

This One Goes Out...

*Update:- By the by, I think I forgot to mention that the song down yonder is by a comedienne and not my usual wannabe-artsy-fartsy fare. This is seriously the funniest thing I've ever heard in a long time. Watch it please, if just to prove me wrong when it doesn't make you laugh.

Heartfelt thanks are in order to iwatchstuff.com for pointing me in the general direction of this clip (see y'all, ripping off someone else's ideas can be done with class too). Anyway, there's nothing I could say that would trump this video (except for [bleep] [bleep] you [bleepin'] [bleeps]) so I'll let Sarah Silverman do her thing. I dedicate this to anyone who's ever been unlucky enough to make my acquaintance. Enjoy the song you losers. I heart you.

Me, My Blog & I

Lately, I've been neglecting this poor thing so much. It's like this with every pet project of mine. I start out nurturing and obsessive about the poor thing's health to the point of being maternal (minus the breastfeeding - I've tried that when I was a 108 kg with my fire-point Persian. Contrary to schoolyard wisdom, man-boobs are still technically chests). But after a few weeks of TLC someone has to call in the RSPCA.

I guess I could pick from a whole list of possible excuses;

• I spent the whole of Easter break (spring break for you Americans - neo-colonialist bastards the lot of you! *shudders with rage*) doing absolutely nothing consequential (except for saving the world once or twice. It is rumored that if I don't jack off more than three times a day the apocalypse is bound to ensue. Butterflies' wings people, butterflies' wings) so I was left with two days to put together random bits of incoherent gobbledygook off the top of my head under an important sounding title (basically what George W. Bush's speech-writing staff do on a daily basis. Zzzzing!).
• My dad's not doing well (awwww).
• I found a goldmine of old Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes on www.projectw.org (there you are lads. Free publicity. Now let my girlfriend go! *violin music*) which I still enjoy although I am aware that teenagers and twenty-somethings don't really spout that kind of pop-culture commentary.

OR I could just tell you the truth. Which is kinda sorta in the general area of the last excuse, which I thought deserved a position on my list of justifications right after the possibly fatal illness of my father (ah go figure). In all honesty, I've just been lazy and careless.

*Looks intense* Me and you, we've been through so much, blog. It's sad but I guess the honeymoon phase is over. I still love you and I'm prepared for a commitment but....that spark. It's missing. All we've got left is a warm, cozy little fire which I'm hoping is enough to sustain us in our golden years.

So to give you a sample of my newfound interests. Here are a few tracks produced by Mark Ronson, who I believe may be the second coming!! Hallelujah!!!!!

The first one is a cover of the Kaiser Chiefs' Oh My God. Which was literally my first response to this addictive club refunkification of the original track (which - to the horror of most purists - I liked but stopped liking before it got to the love phase). What's even better than the jazzalicious horns and dance-ey vibe are the vocals by Lily Allen. Love that girl. No one can out-ironically-sing her.



This next track, another cover, namely, of The Smiths' Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before, has vocals by Daniel Merriweather (he of the unfortunately ponce-like surname). It takes some getting used to - an acquired taste as far as I'm concerned anyway. But even for those who hate the first listen, the last part where Daniel launches into a soulful rendition of The Supremes' You Keep Me Hangin' On is guaranteed to titillate.



Ah! This reminds me of my short stint as a dj at VOM last summer. Hope to be back there in June boo (yeah you pesticles). So people, remember my name, I'm gonna live forever.......

Attention Adults!

Today is the start of a new year for me because I just turned twenty-two yesterday. Don't get me wrong - I got loads of love for the first of January but the tenth of April was when I came into this world and being the self-centred narcissist I am, that's when a year really ends as far as I'm concerned.

A lot of us semi-educated, so-called liberatis (I could write lyrics for Alanis Morissette) reflect on our personal growth and our achievements after the candles are blown out and hangovers are cured but barring the continued extension of certain generous endowments, I know I've barely changed. As a close friend reminded me, I'm still the "kiddy kid" (still a fan of redundancy too) I was two years ago and I have no delusions about my place in this world which will go on sucking donkey dong way after I'm covered in six feet of dirt. So I dedicate Pizzicato Five's Baby Love Child, below, which I earnestly believe was written for me, BY ME (Oh look! I'm still deluded too. Yay!)

When Taught By The Best

Broad beginning statement to sweep it all up : There isn't that much honesty in being funny.

So I refuse to be in this post. I feel like a little corazon-a-corazon with anyone who reads my blog on the subject of friendship. Mainly regarding its expiry date. Some friendships are like a carton of milk. It eventually gets old and sour, and you feel absolutely nothing or next to nil when you throw it away. You might not ever drink milk again or you might go for flavored. Hell you might go out and buy yourself the exact same brand and volume (never let it be said that Hamza Latheef cannot stretch a metaphor to the point of annoyance). But the point is that it never really mattered that much in the first place.

But then there are people close to you that you tend to think of like an expensive video game console (whether it's a PS3, Nintendo Wii or Sega Saturn is totally a matter of taste). It get's broken and you fix it over and over like a maniac. You ignore the fact that it really doesn't work as well as it did at the start or that there are some games that you just can't play anymore no matter how hard you try. Then it get's to the point that it won't even respond anymore and you sit there staring at something you loved so much lying completely still. No way to resuscitate it any longer. Well that's when you feel real loss.

Sometimes it's your fault. You were careless with it. Sometimes it was flawed to begin with. Most times you can't explain why it had to end. That's the hardest thing for me. Some sodas just lose their pop and you can be like me and go on drinking it regardless until there's nothing left (if at a loss for analogies, look inside your refrigerator). However, once it's gone and there's no way to get it back, it's just, well, for lack of a better word, sad!

Not as sad as when Randy Jackson (God will he never stop talking about that show, right? That's right I won't!!! Not until the season finale at least) proved to the world, just what an out-of-the-loop dinosaur he is in terms of being a producer. He praised that despicable Chris Richardson for squeezing out all the emotion from a song that I (and most other sane people) absolutely adore. I didn't even think it was possible to sing Don't Speak with that much anti-passion (why bother looking for antonyms when you can do this people?). I'd like to apologize to Gwen Stefani as a fan of No Doubt for that horrendous display which I hope she was too busy to have the misfortune of watching. Also, if you're supposedly a big man in the music industry (pun intended regardless of the conditionality) aren't you supposed to know when a song's been covered by an artist from a different genre (and masterfully I might add)? Putting an RnB (by the way nasal over-singing isn't RnB 'dawg'!) spin on the song was fresh? Then what's this doing on YouTube?