So here’s a notice to my regular readers. I will be off blogging for some time now. When I am back, I will be revamping this blog to suit my real persona. Same goes to my photoblog. By then I will have to work hard on reclaiming my regular readers, but that’s something I have to do.

I am still active on Twitter. Add me up at www.twitter.com/kavilan. You can stay connected with my usual rants there.

Take care, dudes and dudettes!

Everyday as we move closer to out independence day, I can’t help but wonder whether did we ever achieve true independence. Forget the proclamations in a stadium and all those signatures on a piece of paper. Not that I am condemning and making fun of all those things, but to me, independence is a lot more than that. I am doubly sure that some people would actually agree with me. I am presented with a dilemma every year. Why? Coz every year, whenever I get the urge to plant the flag majestically at my house, I end up thinking. I question the purpose of raising the flag. I question MY intention of raising the flag. I question every single fucking thing that going wrong with the way we live in this blessed country.

Why is it that everything in this country seems so fragile? Why does someone jump their heads off when something “taboo” is spoken out in public, when it is clearly not “taboo”? Why do some quarters get left behind in some quarters get left behind in certain public actions? Why is it that I fear my children, and their children will forever be regarded as a person of the other colour? Why am I even writing this in the first place?

I need to ask all this. Why do some parties police the internet looking for blog contents that, according to them, incite hate and create disharmony among races? When did the freedom of expression got bottled up in the name of national secrets and/or security? Why does a man gets questioned by the police when someone incompetent in language skills makes an absurd police report? And why do some people blind the eyes of the people they serve with pointless finger pointing but never with beneficial actions?

Am I inciting hate? Or am I creating disharmony? Am I insulting my rulers? Or am I insulting a religion? None of those. Achieving independence is about learning to broaden our minds in every aspect. It is about mending old problems. It is about paving new ways towards advancement in skills and knowledge. Independence is about letting go of outdated policies and believes and replacing them with new ideas for the benefit of all of a country’s residents. Independence is about being able to think for yourself, and be free to voice out ur displeasure. Be damned those politicians who think that I owe my allegiance to them. Be damned those politicians who think that their policies are in place to protect me. I am protected by the constitution, thank you very much. It is the retards and idiots who bend the constitution to suit their own will that I am afraid of.

I want to see a future for me, where I am not discriminated based on petty differences of man such as the presence of facial hair or underwear colour AND skin colour. I want to know that I have the freedom of choice. I wanna be able to support any football team I want, without the government asking “Support our loser players!!!”. I wanna buy and watch porn without being afraid of being arrested. I wanna walk around with tattoos without being labeled as a “punk” or “gangster”. I wanna express opinions without having some shit-faced asshole make a police report on me just coz he is NOT smart enough to understand my comments. I wanna go to concerts and watch Beyonce shake her booty. Does this make me immoral? Why do I have moral police watching over my shoulders, trying to “protect” me?

I was born in this country. So did both my parents, all 4 grandparents, and 6 of my great-grandparents (only 2 were immigrants). Why should I be thankful to anyone except this land I call home? I contribute to society with equal zeal and honesty, yet I cannot brush off the feeling that I am unwanted by some quarters. I am labelled by communal stigma and although it is a burden most of us have to bear, it is one that I wish it I did not have.

52 years of independence has brought us much advancement and achievements. But none would be so foolish if he were thinking that all of this is enough. There is a long, long way to go. Even after 52 years, there are some aspects still with closed doors and closed minds. Let’s just hope they open up by the time the next 50 comes up. I want to be able to raise the national flag and call myself a Malaysian without racial references. I know that this concept is very, very far in our eyes, yet I do not fail to hope and dream.

SELAMAT HARI  MERDEKA KE-52

I’ll be crude. I’m above 21. And it’s my fucking right to be drinking beer anytime I please. As a civic minded person, I am responsible enough to not make a ruckus at 3am on the road driving around drunk as a mule. But I still want to be able to fucking buy a bottle of Tiger at 3am if it pleases me. Why? It’s my right to do so. Nowhere does it say in the constitution that I cannot consume alcohol to my liking. And why is PAS trying to piss on my right?

Let’s go with the fact that PAS doesn’t want alcohol to be consumed by Muslims. Fair enough. I respect the Islamic religion, and would never actually compel a Muslim to consume alcohol. At the same time, I would still want to consume alcohol in my own privacy. Where’s the respect in that sense? Shouldn’t these things work in the other way around as well? Now, if PAS doesn’t want Muslims to consume alcohol in Shah Alam, then by all means, ENFORCE it. Prohibit selling to Muslims. Punish those who consume. It is your religion, and you are free to dictate the terms. But please do not infringe upon my right to consume alcohol.

Referring to GH Kok’s letter to MalaysiaKini, I can say that I totally disagree with the writer. Koy says “I’m a non-Muslim but I’m not particularly keen on my “right” to buy beer at 7-Eleven at 2am.”. All I have to say is, that please do not try to shove your values down my throat. Your values are your values. Not mine. Nor the majority’s. Sure, it may not be a religious issue. But goddamnit, I say it’s an issue of rights. My right is to be able to purchase beer at 7-Eleven at 2am. And by principle, I want to be able to do that. And looking around for beer-selling outlets at 2am is no fun. That’s when people really get cranky.

Don’t go straight ahead blaming alcohol for the evils of man. Don’t blame the alcohol for being easily available when an underaged kid buys it. Blame the enforcement. Where the fuck is the enforcement? Who’s the idiot who sold alcohol to the 16-year old kid? If there’s ruckus being caused by drunk monkeys around your house at 2am, call the police. If the police aren’t busy arresting peaceful protesters in KL, perhaps they’d have more manpower to deal with the real errant members of the society. Just because of a few bad apples, you want to deny the others of their rights?

And Khir Toyo, where the fuck where you before Pakatan Rakyat ruled Selangor? You’re acting like there’s never been alcohol sold in Selangor while you were visiting Disneyland with your family and maid. And Hassan Ali, was this matter of beer seizures agreed by your peers at the Selangor assembly? It’s still a power sharing system, the last time I checked.

Let me remind you that I do not wish for moral values to be shoved down my throat. Drinking an ice-cold beer to refresh myself on a hot day or to let loose and free my mind at 2am is none of your fucking business. Unless I go around smashing flower pots along the street or shouting obscenities at the moon at the top of my lungs, it stays my business, and not your business, coz I ain’t actually giving you any shit from my drinking. So lay off the beers.

It’s called Kav’s Pyxels and can be found at www.kavpyx.com. So set your bookmarks and suscribe to the RSS for updates!

PS: I just thought I needed a break from nonsensical articles and irrelevant politicians, hence the photoblog.

How much is one share unit worth now? Let me explain to you just like how Apple advertised their Macbook Air.

Madhatter’s hair is still intact coz it’s afraid of being put in the ISA if it ever disobeys him and falls off.

The boogieman under his bed was afraid of Madhatter – coz Madhatter made it feel like a 3rd class citizen

Lately it has been discovered that Madhatter’s tears can now cure cancer – too bad he finished using them up a few years back announcing his resignation as Pee Em

Madhatter doesnt donate blood – he writes cock articles till Malaysians bleed their eyes reading the comments

Madhatter is currently suing Jeeb, claiming that the sodomy script was originally his.

Madhatter wasn’t birthed like a normal child. He jumped out of his mother’s womb shouting “I’m not a Malayaleeeee!!!”

Madhatter can control minds. He puts his shoe in his mouth and thousands of people will do the same. Sadly, this isn’t reported in the press because Madhatter farted once many years back, and newspaper editors all over the country shat their pants. Such is the power of Madhatter’s mind. And fart.

Sticks and stone may break your bones, but Madhatter’s blog articles can liquify your eyes.

A blind man once bumped into Madhatter. Madhatter asked, “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Madhatter!”. The mere mention of Madhatter’s name cured the blind man of his blindness. Sadly, his happiness was shortlived as the blind man was put in ISA for bumping into Madhatter.

The grass is always greener on the other side, unless Madhatter has been there. In that case the grass is most likely the product of the evil West and must be shunned to promote harmony and growth of the grass on our side.

Lately, I feel that I’m not having enough time and/or to do anything, though. Weird, huh? It’s not like I do much around. I mean, I wanted to make another parody video, and with my new toy, I’m able to take videos already. I’ve got this great sock puppet idea that’ll (probably) be a riot, but of course I can’t do the whole shoot at home. I live with my parents and of course I can’t be saying out certain words out loud as no parent would like to hear their son uttering explicit words towards a camera. Imagine me doing a sock puppet show and using such dirty words like government, MACC, conspiracy, racial taunts, Samy Vellu and etc. My mom would be reduce to tears hearing her son succumbing to explicit verbal spewings.

And last week, I went to the Manchester United – Malaysia XI match. And also the training session. No pictures here folks. Wait for it at my new photoblog. Which I haven’t actually got around to even finalising the theme to use. I keep deciding and undeciding and then I get sleepy just enough to proclaim to myself “What the fuck are you trying to do?”. Neways, the match was awesome. The chicks were awesome as well. But I gotta say fuck you to some of the fans who couldn’t even sing Glory Glory Man United and also to those who cheered the house down with Owen’s name but stared at me and my friends when we were chanting Scholes’ name. It’s Paul-Fucking-Scholes, bitches. You guys don’t fucking deserve to be Manchester United fans. Go be a bluenose, will ya? Kthxbai. At least Giggsy was given an awesome cheer.

Neways, back to my photoblog. I’m at a loss now. I have no idea what theme to use, and I am a fussy person when it comes to aesthetics and functionality. Don’t blame me. It’s one of the vices of web developers. Especially the ones who are as “busy” as me to be editing the looks of an available theme to suit my needs. It’s not to suggest that I never do that, but it’s that I need the right “mood” to be doing it. Not to mention that I don’t have as many photos that I would like to have to be added in a photoblog.

I’ve also have been busy with reading. Actually, that’s like half true la. I’ve actually been trying to be busy reading. Last month, I exchanged most of my Jeffrey Archer collection with my friend for her books. While she’s halfway through the whole set, I’m still hanging on to the first book I opened. I hope to finish it by this weekend, but you should know that many things might come up and I might get distracted. Here are the books that I am trying to finish before Anjhana requests them back.

 

Basically, I’m not doing much work, and at the same time, I’m looking for more new ways to waste my time and say that I’ve been busy. I think I need a girlfriend.

Going to the barber is very much like going to a doctor. You should settle for the same guy as it builds trust and forges a good relationship between you and the barber. After all, here’s a guy who’s gonna be holding a sharp blade to your throat when you’re asking for a good ‘ol shave. One of the many pleasures of life for me, of course, is going to the barbershop to have my hair cut. Why? Coz it’s an experience of comfort and pampering.

Cine Fashion Magazine

The typical Indian barbershop will pretty much contain the funny-as-hell barbers who have plenty to talk about Malaysian politics. Lucky for me, my barber isn’t much of an MIC fan. So, we have something in common after all. We then have the television with our favourite Tamil shows going on and on non-stop. ASTRO is a must-have, and it’s movies, songs and dramas all the way. Most Indian barbershops will also have the basic Indian movie magazine that you can buy in any magazine store owned by an old mamak man wearing a kopiah and sporting an untrimmed beard like Osama bin Laden.

A female friend of mine once asked me to bring her along when I go for my haircut sessions. I strictly said no. The barbershop is a holy place for men. It is our refuge from the crazy ass world outside. In the barbershop, we have barbers and their customers exchanging lewd jokes, nasty political commentaries and of course, the latest news in Tamil movieland. It will be totally obvious that whenever a woman enters the barbershop, a deafening silence befalls the place until she leaves the premises.

Not A Crowd Favourite

The barbershop is a sacred place where a man sits for 20 mins having his hair and beard trimmed by another man using clippers he bought in Tesco and stainless steel scissors which are ice-cold after being left on the counter under the air conditioner. The icy steely touch of the scissors give you a small but delicious jolt at the back of your ear when it touches your skin. The humming of the clippers continue as you see your locks falling down in small clumps. And you just lie there, eyes closes, smiling away.

The barber then realigns the seat. I open one eye to show him that I’m not asleep, and continue listening to the Tamil song playing in the background. Shaving foam is applied on my face, and a minute later, a clean, new blade shaves off my beard cleanly. All the while the barber is telling me which place should I go visit when I make the trip to India.

After it’s all done, a dirty joke is cracked. The barber now tells me how to get the best treatment at certain tourist spots in South India. I just nod, putting it all as a mental note. Some cologne is applied to my face. Aaaaaahhhh… It stings nicely. The barber then proceeds to massage my shoulders and my neck, moving down my verterbrae with hard punches. He then cracks my neck on each side, another small neck massage, and proclaims all is well.

I get up, check my face on the mirror, and hand him RM 12. It’s good that I didn’t bring my female friend with me.

[Verse]
If I were a girl,
Even just for a day,
I’d wake up so damn early
And take 3 hours to get prepared then go
Have lunch wit the girls
And gossip like hell
I’d talk about my makeup kit
And I’d never get bored talking ’bout it
Cause they’d love what I said

[Chorus]
If I were a girl
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a man
I swear I’d be a better girl.
I’d let him drink beer
Cause I know he loves it
When he’s busy watching football
Cause he loves his team so damn much
And Man United won the league again

[Verse]
If I were a girl
I would stop nagging him
Tell everyone I love him
So they’d be jealous of me all the time
I’d plan his birthday
And give him a power drill
Cause I know all guys love it
Even if they dunno how to use them at all

[Chorus]
If I were a girl
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a man
I swear I’d be a better girl.
I’d let him drink beer
Cause I know he loves it
When he’s busy watching football
Cause he loves his team so damn much
And Man United won the league again

[Bridge]
It’s a little too late for you to cook dinner
Say it’s just a mistake
Think I’d forgive you like that
If you thought I hate McDonald’s
You thought wrong

[Chorus 2]
But you’re just a girl
You don’t understand
How it feels to love a boy someday
You wish you were a better woman
You nag all the while
Asking “Does my butt look big?”
Until you get a beer belly
Cause you drink a shitload of beer
And your fuckin’ diet got destroyed
But you’re just a girl…

-END-

Coming soon: If I Were A PM

***only if i have the mood***

Johnny Inggebish had gone through a lot in his life. He had been a great champion of rights for his people. They adored him, or at least provided him the illusion that they adored him. Fuck that. It had taken a lot outta him to be here, at this place. A few more years, a decade at most, and he’ll be the one looking down at all the others. All those years of hard work; all those years of snaking his way in and out, is now under threat of going to waste. All because of a set of documents presented to him in a language he is unable to read in. And the people were demanding for an immediate answer. By not being able to comprehend the report, he’d look like a total idiot.

Beads of sweat formed on Johnny Inggebish’s forehead. How is he going to get out of this pickle? This isn’t some issue that he could throw a smokescreen and make a dash for it. His name is stapled to the issue now since he’s the man-in-charge for this whole agenda. There’s only one thing for him to do now. The report’s findings shall not come out, whichever side it favours. And he’s got the perfect plan.

Johnny Inggebish buzzed his secretary and told her to put forward a request to his boss. He needed all the warlords to agree to this. There’s no other way. He then waited. He knew the big kahuna wouldn’t dare waste time on this matter. Something important for the whole team was coming up, and they need a good leverage. This would be it.

The call came soon enough. The meeting was scheduled tomorrow. Johnny Inggebish sneered. Enough time to prepare his whopper. He slept soundly that night, even managing to enjoy some Dom Perignon before victory was even proclaimed. The man had enough cheek to act so confidently.

The next day

Johnny Inggebish looked at the assembly around him. Time to start the propaganda, he thought to himself. He lifted the documents that were given to him yesterday. He cursed the foreign language. He told his comrades about how foreigners are still burrowing into the country’s young minds and trying to colonize them with television and T-shirts and cars and most importantly, their language. This foreign language must be killed off instantly. He drilled into their heads regarding scientific terms and mathematical equations being the mind-control mechanism of the foreign invaders.

Johnny Inggebish smiled to himself. He thought to himself about how stupid his “comrades” are. They didn’t know that he doesn’t know how to read the foreign language. That was his plan. He needed to demonize all foreign languages so that his shortcomings would be excused. They failed to see that it wasn’t about national integrity or unity or any of those off-key issues. It was about him. Him alone. Johnny Inggebish’s plan was, if he couldn’t understand the language, then no one else would. And since his plan to get to the top would only come into fruition ina decade or so, he needed the younger generation to be as oblivious as he is now. It is much easier to rule ignoramuses, he thought. Nowadays, EVERYTHING is political.

Johnny Inggebish looked up. He then spoke in his native language.

“Saya menyarankan agar PPSMI dimansuhkan dan kita kembali kepada pembelajaran dalam Bahasa Melayu. Anda setuju atau tidak, sidang kabinet?“

“SETUJUUUUU!!!!!“, came the deafening approval.