Saturday, May 31, 2008

How I Became a Reader of Books

My friends have the impression that I am 'serious' or 'heavy' reader. They think this because my reading list these days tends towards mostly classic or serious literature, terribly boring current affairs books or Sahara dry philosophy or psychology books. What I found interesting about this impression is how they imagined that in all probability I was also an avid reader read those the entirety of Enid Blyton and Ladybird's catalogue of books in my youth. In short, they thought my reading development from young until now was respectable, diligent and therefore no doubt agreeable. Little did they know that my reading origins were quite sordid and my attitude towards books then was quite deplorable.

Until the age of about 12, the only books I really enjoyed were those with lots of pictures. And if they had Donald Duck, Goofy, Pluto and Mickey Mouse in them so much the better. It was still reading right? I mean, if a picture told a thousand words, I was reading lots of words and pretty damn quick too! So the more pictures there were, the better the book. The aesthetic quality of the pictures or cartoons were my primary concern. The present words were merely to assist in making sense of the picture and were entirely optional.

My parents bought me those Enid Blytons and Lady Birds. My dad would extol their virtues to me relishing his anecdotes about how the Famous Five had enthralled him and inspired his reading. I couldn't tell him then, but I felt none of that when I read those books without any pictures. I remember the Famous Five book he brought home for me one day and told me it was his favourite then. So with such high recommendation I set about reading it only to lose interest completely by page 5 before the adventure even started. The damn thing was just too wordy for me. This is probably why I am so impressed with any kid under 12 that doesn't read picture books.

You would think this more ironic if you knew that since my youth, I have always been surrounded by books. In my old house in Damansara Utama, there were a lot of books. My father was and is a book freak and read as much as he bought and he bought a lot. Just outside my room was a tall shelf jam packed with books (the entire Sherlock Holmes collection was stored there with most of the hardcovers) as was the family living room upstairs (that's where the Brittanica Encyclopedia was stored with the other serious fiction) and downstairs in the guest room rounded off the third part of our collection of books. The shelves in my room too had many books but as you would guess by now, they were mostly picture or cartoon books. There was one shelf reserved for those books that I was given but not interested at all. That's where my dad's Famous Five book to me eventually ended up.

My interest in books was awakened by sex. Not that I knew what it was at 12. Back then I still thought people had to get married first before they had a baby. And I must have laboured under the impression that the stork brought me over because I don't recall having any theory about how baby's came about until my literary explorations. All I knew from my sheltered existence then was that people only had babies after they were married. I never troubled my parents with how babies were born or sex. And they never troubled to tell me.

So I'm not quite sure how I came to have this overwhelming curiousity about sex, but possess it in abundance I did at 12. Instead of asking my parent's directly, I thought it best to find this out myself discreetly. I think I did this because even though it was not said outright, I sensed that there was something taboo or forbidden about the topic of sex so asking my parents was out of the question.

I set about educating myself about sex was therefore to turn to our library. I mean if we had so many damn books, there must be something about sex in there. So what I did was to seek out those books in our collection that had a beautiful or sexy lady on the cover with a provocative pose. That image smelled of sex and so I assumed that the book would have something about sex in it. Now as luck would have it, books possessing those covers were authored by Sydney Sheldon, Harold Robbins, Eric van Lustbader, Jackie Collins, and other such writers known for their intensely arousing and completely impossible sex scenes. I still remember one scene from Collin's book 'Lucky' where after the guy brought her to an explosive multi orgasm and ejaculated his spunk into her and then went on to pleasure her some more with a fantastic demonstration of cunnilingus and climaxed with him sucking out his cum from her vagina. Now being a virgin then, I had no comprehension whatsoever about the act but thought it quite impressive all the same because he did not need a straw to get it out. Ah, the ignorance of youth!

Now though I had discovered those books, I did not actually read them in their entirety. I started just flipping pages randomly at first to look for sex. I think it was because I was successful in my first few attempts at finding a scene that I intensified my efforts and slowly became more methodical in my explorations. I would now flip each page of the book and scan each page quickly for words like 'cock', 'breasts', 'fuck' and other such words that would indicate the presence of a sex scene. Once I found it I would dive in like a happy dolphin and swim about for a few paragraphs (or pages if you read Jackie Collins). But the cover method of identifying sex scenes in books though generally successful had its failings as well. Sometimes the damn cover or the title of the book was thoroughly misleading and I would find myself flipping through 300+ pages without even so much as a show of skin. Eventually, I began to realize that sex scenes had to happen by 2/3rds of the book and if there wasn't one by then, there wasn't going to be one nice long multi paged sex scene waiting for me at the end. I refined my methodology with not just my collection but with every book shop I hit and other's people's collections when the opportunity presented itself. I also came to realize that at the bookshops my life was actually made easier because there were other filthy minded bastards like me around who sought out such books and homed in on the sex scene. I don't know whether it happens these days, but if you look at the spine of authors like Jackie Collins, you will notice creases at certain areas. It was those creases that indicated that those particular areas were accessed more and held open longer than others. And voila! that's where the sex scenes generally were.

By this time of course I knew what sex was all about but found myself taking immense pleasure in reading the sex scenes. I even fancied myself a connoisseur and could anticipate the quality of sex scene of the various writers.

My methodology came under severe review one day when I was browsing one of those type of 'perused' books that we also had at home. I forget which it was now, but what I noticed was that the spine crease on the book at the shop indicated 4 sex scenes whereas to my recollection of the book I had at home, I only found 3 sex scenes. Despite my page by page scan I still missed out a sex scene! How could this be? I quickly opened the book to the 4th visible crease and there it was - the 4th sex scene that eluded me. Though it was not terribly memorable or outstanding in quality, this seriously casted doubt on the thoroughness and accuracy of my methodology and left me feeling insecure; insecure because there may be many more sex scenes that I may have left out in my previous explorations.

It was about that time that a cousin of mine who was staying with me lent me Virginia Andrew's 'Flowers in the Attic'. If you don't know what the story was about, it was about 2 brothers and 2 sisters who were kept in the attic by a mean relative and how they coped. Incest was therefore definitely on the agenda. And incest = sex scene. So it was game on.

When I was passed the book, I contemplated trying out my methodology again but with greater focus and concentration. But I think that episode made me cast serious doubt on my abilities that I thought that the best way to make sure I don't miss out on any of the sex scenes was to read the whole damn thing. And that's what I ended up doing and that I think is the first work of fiction that I read in its entirety. And though I wouldn't read any more of her stuff, I thoroughly enjoyed the book then. I went on to devour all of her books after that though I can't remember any of them now. And after I was done with her, my reading development exploded and I just couldn't read enough. However, my genre however was still questionable and limited to the heavily sex scened books. A few years later, I graduated to the classics mostly from the French side with classics by Dumas, Maupassant, Laclos, Rostandt and Flaubert. Dumas' 3 Musketeers was the first book that I finished in double time. I holed myself in my room over a weekend and remember finishing that book at about 3am in the morning. I could not sleep until I had finished the book and after doing so wished I could start it all over again.

Soon after, I moved into contemporary fiction and stayed there for a long time, occasionally dipping into the classics so I could gauge the general quality of the former. I could not read non-fiction then even when I hit University. I could take the boring legal crap but textbooks, current affairs, essays, etc. were all out of the question. Funnily enough, it as only after I came back and worked for a year that I began to take an interest in non-fiction. I think it started with Scott Peck's 'The Road Less Travelled' and carried it on from there.

Nowadays, whilst I usually prefer non-fiction, whether it is a current opinion/affair book, or one about science, or the original texts of the groundbreaking books, to fiction. And the supreme irony now being that I abhor sex scenes in my literature and think them almost embarassing these days (unless it was there for a meaningful purpose and not merely as a masturbatory stop). One of those exceptions to the rule is Cleland's 'Fanny Hill' which I get a huge kick out of reading because of the antiquated language used to describe nasty sex scenes. Careful though, it might give you a boner or wet your panties (or both!).

Having reflected on this, I have concluded that there are many ways to discover the joys of reading and that sordid beginnings need not necessarily continue forever that way. I realize now that for me, if it were not for that curiousity about sex, it is likely that I may have developed an interest much much later or perhaps not even at all, which I think to be the greater tragedy. Jackie Collins was necessary for me to get in touch with Francis Bacon. So for that I thank all those writers of sex scenes both famous and obscure for facilitating my reading development and saucily and sensually ferrying me over to my current stage. And know that books should not be judge by its cover or its introduction or sex scene.

Thursday, May 29, 2008



8.3.1980. I had finished my MCE and was waiting for my result. Sudirman came to town.

He was my idol of sorts. I remember trying to sing like him, dance like him, dress like him and be like him. When he got back from a tour in Japan, he transformed himself from being just another Malay singer to a Malaysian superstar. I remember his curly hair, baggy pants, linen vest worn over linen shirts complete with a long scarf over his neck.

As a kid, I was overwhelmed by Sudir. And so, on 8.3.1980, he had a concert somewhere near my town. I borrowed my friend's bike and rode it to the concert even though I had no licence!

He was a real superstar. He had none of the attitude which would turn you off. Friendly. Chatty. Earnest. Watching him live, I could almost felt his honest desire to entertain the folks. Singing, to him was not merely a profession. It was a mission. A mission to entertain the audience. Communication came as second nature to him. He made you laugh effortlessly, the young and old. He would make you shed a tear or two when he sang a sad song. He would coax an old man to dance with one of his dancers on stage. He would sing English, Malay, Tamil and Chinese songs to make his show as multi-racial as possible. I think he was the first Malaysian artist to command a truly multi racial audience in his concerts. He was just, a superstar of no equal.

During a break, I sneaked backstage. I was stopped by a guard but fortunately, Sudir saw me trying to gain entry and he signaled the guard to let me in. And there I was. Alone backstage with Sudir. He was smaller than I thought. A lot smaller than the singer I saw on stage. He smiled and extended his hand. I shook it. And I told him my name.

He asked me how old I was and I told him I was 17 and I had just finished my MCE. He smiled. "How was the exam", he asked. "Erm...okay", I said. He looked into my eyes and asked, "what do you intend to do after MCE?" I hesitated. "What would you want to be?", he followed up his earlier question. " I don't know, I just want to pass my exam..." I answered nervously. "Probably I want to be like you...a lawyer and a singer", I continued. He smiled. "You will be okay", he said. "I know you will...", he said as if my future was foretold.

I had to have a memoir from that meeting. It meant so much to me. Here, in front of me, is my idol. A person who encapsulates success to me. A law student and a great entertainer. If only digital cameras were already around those days.

I put my hand inside my pocket. Pulled out a one ringgit note. "No, please don't give money to me", he said with a smile. I looked at him and I said "no, I just want you to autograph it for me". He smiled. "How very original", he said. He took a marker, wrote my name on the note, with a message "Hormat dari" and signed "Sudir" on the note. I later added the date with a ball point pen.

That moment lasted a lifetime to me. 28 years later, I still have that note. As crisp as new.

Sudir, thank you for all the memories. Thank you for all the good times. You are missed.

May God bless your soul. I am sure you are smiling at me now. And if you hadn't known, I am okay.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Some thoughts on Love

Love is the emotional sun of a human being. Like plants, we creep, we crawl, we bend, we twist to seek its rays, to feel its warmth. Until we receive enough to radiate our own glow and so be able to see and bask in the glow of others. It is the sun that can make fertile the barest patch of the heart's soil and make the smallest seedling become a tall and mighty oak of trust and love.

Without it, we wither, we wilt. Without it, the soil of our heart slowly becomes acidic. The taste of life's bitterness envelopes our tongue and then consumes the rest of our body. Without it, we turn upon ourselves, inflicting ourselves with loathing, regret and helplessness, scarring our heart so the pain blocks out that taste. Feeling something is better than wanting to give without having anybody to receive. And once we have so completely and thoroughly despised ourselves, our darkness shall escape into the world.

Monday, May 26, 2008

'cuse me, but I just don't freckin' get it - part 3




Mercedes CLS. "....a 'four door coupe,' the CLS recalls the fastback saloon designs of Robert Opron in the 1970s....the CLS-class was produced to combine the "strong, emotive charisma" of a coupe with the "comfort and practicality" of a saloon. Save for its four-door design, the CLS's design tends towards a coupe, as its sleek body reduces the rear passenger room to a 2+2 arrangement...." So says the blurp.

'Scuse me, 4 door coupe? Like what the fuck? From the litlle I know about the word "coupe", it means a short carriage with a seat for 2  at the back and 1 seat for the driver.  Translate that to a modern auto world lingo, "coupe" would mean a car with 2 doors which could accommodate 2 persons and which is a smaller version of the same model in saloon form. Not some behemoth 4 door saloon with sporty curves to disguise it's grotesque monstrosity, size and vanity wise, which could probably  take 7 passengers and the whole kitchen! Stupid Germans!

"...produced to combine the "strong, emotive charisma" of a coupe with the "comfort and practicality" of a saloon..." Sorry, I puke on your forehead, you meisterbullshyter! Like, what's the big idea? If somebody wants a saloon, he would go and buy a saloon. Likewise, if he (or she - just in case some female says I am a chauvinist, which I am not, you bitch!) wants a coupe, he or she, would just go and buy a coupe. Why would anybody want to buy a half coupe and half saloon combined together? Tell me. WHY? Why would anybody want to mess around and blend a saloon together with a coupe and buy a freaking behemoth called a "coupe with the "comfort and practicality" of a saloon", to borrow your own meaningless words? To have the best of both worlds huh? How could one have the best of a coupe (or saloon) if only half of the coupe (and saloon) is present in that car? That means I only have half coupe and half saloon. How could I then have the best of both a coupe and saloon? You fuckin' moron! I tell you, people who want the "best of both worlds" are the people who go for this kind of thing! Yes, this car speaks for itself!

By the way, you Germans, haven't you heard of GT? Yes. GT. No, not Gesunt heit. GT for Grand Touring, or Grand Tourer.  It is auto lingo for sports car which could accommodate a 2+2 siting arrangement and comfortable enough to be driven on a long journey. You know? So, a GT is a better bet if one wants a big sporty car which could take on 4 persons on a long journey. If one wants it to go fast as well, well, one could opt for a GTR, or in case you dumb assed don't know, Grand Tourer Racing. Which means the car is a GT and it runs very fast too, like it is a racing car. GT or GTR. Not a half coupe half saloon thingy.  Stupid Germans! Monkeys!

Ooh...wait...wait...look at this. " The lineup starts with the CLS550. It's equipped with a 5.5-liter V8 developing 382 horsepower and 391 pound-feet of torque. The CLS63 AMG has a 6.2-liter V8 that makes 507 hp and 465 lb-ft...Mercedes says the CLS63 AMG needs only 4.5 seconds to hit 60 mph." Huh? 507 horse power for a half coupe half saloon? Are you all Germans out of your mind? Picture this. The boss is at the back of the car, and he suddenly tells the driver "Muthu, accelerate to 60mph in 4.5 seconds please". Like duh? Why would a half coupe half saloon need that kind of power? Is it going to be driven on the track ah, this car? Is this car going to take part in a drag race? Or fancy driving it at 260kph on the highway? Someone with the money to buy this car would of course have the money to buy a proper, and very fast, sports car. Why would he buy this piece of crap?

German crap!

Sunday, May 25, 2008

The Boring Introduction

Lawyers write a lot. Corporate lawyers have to draft long but nobody reads unless there is a dispute agreements and litigation lawyers write long affidavits and submissions to the opposite party. In between, they write opinions and articles where again, nobody can comprehend. At least, I don't.

If you think that all these writing and stuff make them more creative, nah ah I don't think so. I am just focusing on lawyers here because these days, most of the articles I read are written by lawyers or at least what I am about to write is more apparent amongst lawyers. Except for some, I normally hate these articles, especially the introductions.

The article maybe heavy with knowledge, helpful and interesting blah, blah, blah but an introduction that starts with a definition will normally give you the feeling that what you are about to read is nothing more than a vomit.

If you do not believe me, tell me how many times have you read a legal article that did not start with the phrase "It is an establish legal principle", "It is an established law", " It is almost settled proposition" In the case of so and so" or "section 4 of the Lazy to think Act 1840 states". I believe the answer is not many, at least to me.

Agh..... Why, Why Why? I think a 12 year old can write better introductions. I cringe every time I have to read an article that starts like that.

While we cannot judge an article by the introduction, an introduction is still an invitation to read. Some may write the introduction last but that does not matter, an introduction creates the first impression of the writer to the reader. It is almost like saying hello to someone you just met, you quickly take a good look of his face, clothes etc and make up an opinion whether you will like this person or just throw him off the friend's shelves. Things can go awfully wrong just from the way you say hello. The same with articles, a boring introduction might throw people off and since they don't read, you never get your message across. What a waste of effort then.

Fine, write whatever you want, show everybody that you are smart and know lots of stuff in law but introductions like that made me wonder whether you are lazy. Does not matter if the rest of the article states otherwise, you bore me already like I am bored with myself, right now. No particular reason, I just started this with a boring introduction.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Well, Fried Kuey Teow

That was my lunch yesterday and the topic of today's discussion. It is also an exemplary picture of a well fried Fried Kuey Teow (WFKT, fer short). It is theoretically not difficult to produce WKFT.

Firstly, you need a roaring flaming fire, the type that flicks and leaps threateningly into the trembling air. If it doesn't roar, it ain't hot enough.

Secondly, you need an old regularly used big ass beat up wok to do the cooking. It's got to be large enough that if you wore it on your head upside down, the edges should reach your chin. If it reaches any lower, you're Einstein and Bob's your uncle. The more used it is the better because that means some of the goodness from earlier fry ups that didn't get dished out with it might come unstuck in yours. Yeaaahahaha. You sometimes see those black flecks or odd shaped thin black slices in there? That's the good stuff. Now the most important part about the wok is that it must be fwoking hwok! If it ain't fwoking hwok, it ain't fwok.

Thirdly, you need a big assed scarred and mean looking stainless steel spatula. You don't need to know why. If you don't have this then please go home and place it carefully where the sun doesn't shine. And yes, I mean the drawer. Sheesh. Like grow up people.

Fourthly, ideally it would be great if the kuey teow is made by virgins from China with the most gentlest hands, long hair and big breasts dressed in red cheong sams with high slits on the sides because those are the best. If you can't get then eat lah what you can. Try and by them fresh as you can. Don't buy the preserved one. It's bad for our health and for men it can cause koro.

Fifth, you need to have the freshest eggs (free range), huge prawns (cos they shrink a whole lot), fat and juicy kerang, thin slices of squid (no janggut please, so tak kelassss ), small cuts of red snapper, scallop, New Zealand flown muscles, a bit of lala ready to be thrown into the mix and also have a bit of some barbecued marinated salmon and crayfish on the grill plate. Throw in some green onions, chopped garlic, soy sauce, and a bi' a chili paste to the fwoking hwok wok.

Sixthly, you need to have the passionate cooking face where you make all sorts of 'meaningful' facial contortions to reflect the passionate drama of the fusing of the ingredients as you, with feeling of course, crash the spatula noisily against fwoking hwok wok (it's rather annoying isn't it?).


You may by now have noticed that I said not one word about the tau geh. This is deliberate. And this is a little known fact but a WFKT should not have tau geh. It should be bereft of this monstrous culinary weed because it is so high in water content that it tends to dilute the good and delicious taste of a WKFT. This is because the good taste molecules easily bonds with water molecules especially those kept in tau geh and seeps out of the WFKT. That is why when WKFT is fried with tau geh, it always tastes weaker or less intense. Try it without the tau geh. You will find the taste is more potent, imagine the muscles on the shoulders of a huge male bull those that die in the bullfighting ring - it's something like that. Powerful. Raw. Tasty.

Well, Well Fried Kuey Teow.

Get the hell out of here now and get some.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

and the last dice is thrown...or is it?

What's the difference between politicians and women? Well, you can live without them! If you are facing a cobra and a politician, and you have a gun with one bullet, what should you do? Don't do anything. The cobra would bite the politician anyway!

Seriously, Dr Mahathir, the mother of all politicians, appeared to have thrown the last dice early this week by announcing that he was leaving the party, his life membership notwithstanding. Which brings me to a technical question. If he is (or was) a life member, how could he leave with him being still alive? Or for those of you ninkomps out there, let me put it another way. Read this slowly, real slowly. If he is (or was) a life member, which means he is (or was) a member for life, which also means as long as he is alive, he is a member, than, how could he leave the party unless he is not alive, or in other word, dead? Get it? Well I don't. I mean, I don't get the answer. I have googled "life membership" and I still don't get any answer. I had also searched "life membership" in Wikipedia and I am still non the wiser. A trip to had also yielded me with no stuff. So, I don't know. Go figure.

Than today, I read that daddy's boy, Mukhriz, had refused to leave the party. He however subscribed to daddy's position that Pak Lah should resign. ah? On one hand he support his father. On the other foot, he doesn't supports his father. Can ah? I mean, isn't that like, so lame. Sorry, let me repeat that question with more vigour. Isn't that like, so fucking lame? I thought he was daddy's biggest supporter, no? Or is it just about maintaining the balance ah? I mean, one fellow can now shout and scream outside the glass house while the other one fellow can throw pinggan mangkuk inside the glass house? Hmm...make sense. First, we were foisted with Mahathironomics. Now it is Mahatantrumism.

Mahathir Mohamad. What shall I write now? What does your name evoke? Well, let me say this. I see you now as a clown. A clown who has lost his place in this big and very entertaining circus. A has been. That is you, Mahathir Mohamad. The funny thing is this. You are now so fucking funny. You were not funny at all when you own the circus. In fact you were downright pathetic then. But now, after you had left the circus, you are freaking funny shit man. I fucking laugh at the very mention of your name. And when you speak, I just ROTFLMAO! Really.

So now what do you expect? Your own son is not accepting your call for members to leave the party. Are you now expecting 1 million UMNO members to leave UMNO? Fat chance mate. I think this time you have miscalculated mate. Have you not noticed that UMNO members had always come together when there is a threat, or perceived threat, from outside the party? I am disappointed if you, off all the political creatures, failed to notice that fact. I think you are going to lose this gamble joe.

Anyway, it does not escape many people that last week you made the headlines as well. The Royal Commission had implicated you in the Linggam scandal. Hmm...I put 2 and 2 together, and it sure doesn't come up with anything else but 4. Or is it just me having a fertile imagination huh?

So, if my postulation is correct, what is your next move? Let me guess. Cut your testicles? Naah...don't be silly okay. This is what you should do. First option. Get back into UMNO. Then run for UMNO Youth Deputy Chief with your son, Mukhriz, as the Chief. Why UMNO Youth you may ask. Well, UMNO Youth got keris mah...gagah la sikit like that. For Presidency, you can ask Sanusi Junid, your mate, to run. Tok Mat Rahmat (is he still alive ha?), can run for Deputy President. Something like that la.

Second option. Sue UMNO. Get it de-registered. Then form UMNO terBaru. Then you can get another life membership bearing number 001. Waddaya think? Awesome eh?

Third option. Go and mintak ampun to Anwar Ibrahim and masuk PKR. May be Anwar will form a new wing in PKR -just like Puteri UMNO in UMNO- for people like you. Perhaps it can be called Nenekanda PKR or something like that. And you can head it. Like tawdally cool man. Sorry. It should read, like tawdally kewl man. Ya. Like that.

Fourth option. Well, why don't you just shut up?

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Leadership Qualities

These days everybody wants thinks they or their children need to be a leader to get ahead in life. And 'to get ahead in life' is usually measured in terms of income earning ability, not in terms of personal self development or a wide, mature and wise view of the world. If only life were so simplistic. But since people live in hope - they hope for the simplistic and so it is not uncommon to see 'leadership courses' for 10 year olds with words written inside an explosive word balloon promising 'Straight A's', 'CEO Position In the Future', 'Possible High Earnings in the Future'. They promise everything except Einstein like genius and Ron Jeremy like sexual abilities (and maybe penis) but I think they just haven't figured out how to work that angle. So you'll probably hear crap like that in 2 to 3 years (unless they get the whole penis angle going earlier).

This thinking is not just simplistic, it goes beyond, all the way deep into the realm of the stupid. Firstly, leaders need not be the smartest men or women in the room. Intelligence is not the only thing that makes a leader although a reasonable amount of this quality is important and encouraged. Hitler was not the brightest chap in the Nazi regime but he certainly was the most powerfully charismatic and psychotic of the lot, but he was a leader because he could lead. He led a nation into the second World War against other countries. He could command the confidence, minds and hearts of millions who hung on his every word like Jenna Jameson hangs on Mason's turgid and hard cock in Jenna's Playhouse.

This brings me to my next point. A leader is first and foremost someone who people tend to follow naturally or is able to command a following from people. He must have that undefinable quality of having people want to know what he thinks or does. And for that reason I think charisma to be the far greater and important quality to have as a leader. If people don't want to hear, see or be with you then there's no way you can utilize any of the other important skills as a leader such as intelligence, maturity, decisiveness, initiative and some outrageous fallibility or poor quality that always threatens to overshadow and wipe out his other good qualities in the realm of public opinion.

And this is why I think those leadership classes or seminars or little tuition groups that give leadership lessons to be full of leadershit and just a waste of time and money. You just cannot 'teach' either children or adults how to be a leader because charisma is natural. Sure you can work at it, make yourself look better, lose some weight, take elocution classes, completely slaughter the lambs at a Toastmasters dinner (hah!) and be a CEO of a company but you will never, ever have the gravitas, effect and power of natural charisma. To better explain this let's turn to the world of golf. Now there are a lot of good players out there - some with bags of natural talent and some who didn't have talent but worked very hard at it and came out on top. But none of them can match the sheer ability of Tiger Woods, God of Golf, whose natural talents alone outclass almost 70% of the field (his training eliminates the other 29%, that 1% is bad luck or bad tournament). No matter how hard you train, you will never beat him one on one when both of you are at your peak, because your peak is only half way up his peak. Puns are intended unless advised otherwise. That's how it is with natural charisma and cultured charisma, but with this difference: just because you do all those things, it does not necessarily mean that your efforts aggregate towards success.

And this is the other thing - not everybody can be a leader and I don't think everybody's supposed to be one. If everybody was a leader and busy giving orders, who's gonna do them? And leaders best quality is just that - leading people. Their other skills tend to pale into comparison with this one. So though leaders are the most visible point of focus for media and the public perception, there are others that 'make' the leader - his advisor, his lawyer, his public relations officer, etc, the waiters, waitresses, the trash collectors, right down to the janitor that keeps histoilets clean (thank you so much good sir and madam or miss! I want you to know I appreciate you!). Alexander the Great would not have been great if he did not have good and dependable generals and soldiers, in fact he would be Alexander the Dead.

Finally, J. Paul Getty in his terribly readable and interesting instruction cum biography 'How to be Rich' talks about what a leader is from a business perspective which I think to be of general application: 'The successful businessman is a leader - who solicits opinion and advice from his subordinates, but makes the final decisions, gives the orders and assumes the responsibility for whatever happens.' And this is not the kind of leadership you see much of in Malaysia. Making the decisions and taking responsibility for it. There are a lot of pretenders around here. Alot of the so called leaders you see around here take the consensus based approach to decision making.

You can guess by now that I'm the type who thinks this 'consensus based decision making' to be a lot of nonsense (this is as polite as I can be to describing just what I think about it without using a whole jizzload of four and several six and seven letter words that would make even Pedro's grandmother's blush [he's some Colombian 23 year old plumber I never met and admit I am taking improper liberties with him and especially his grandmother]). Whazzat mean? To me, how I see it is that the leader now just turns into a manifestation or mouthpiece of that collective consensus. So he is like a speaker phone, merely a conduit. And a conduit certainly cannot lead people much less find its own arsehole, so a leader who takes that kind of approach is a leader in the fake sense of the word.

If it's so obvious Mr. Daef, why do they do this? Well you snotting little piece of shit to ask, because these fakers have what all politicians always need - someone to blame. And that in politics is priceless. So since whatever cock decision was done consensus based the faker can now place blame on everybody and claim that since they were only translating the will of the majority, they cannot be at fault and therefore have to resign or sacked. Ducking the bullet they are supposed to take. That is what passes off for leadership around here these days.

And that is all I have to say about that today.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Chinese Drug Dealers

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
16 May 2008

Hey, you a Chinese Drug Dealer, mister?
You having problems with police?
Sign ups now!
Chinese Drug Dealers Association, Federal Territory and Selangor.
Membership having its privileges and bulky discounting.
Be a registered Chinese Drug Dealer.
Be a man.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Book Stocking in Malaysian Bookstores

Of this I am certain. At least 95% of the people working in bookshops in Malaysia don't really read. And when I say read I mean current affairs, serious or classic fiction and other non-fiction books like psychology, history, physical science, philosophy, etc. instead of magazines with more pictures than words (except adult men's magazines - those need as few words as possible and most tasteful close ups) and those books devoid of anybody's time. The truth is I am usually amazed that most of the books in our local bookstores are shelved right. But you can tell whether the staff are reading or not if you look closely at the shelves.
A person who reads tend to be particular about where books are placed. So I'm fessing up - I hate to see books put in their wrong place. It annoys the piss out of me. So one shite day when I saw the above book in that place, I snapped. Actually, it was more like a crackle but I thought snapped sounded a bit more dramatic but seemed to hint at violent intent of which I had absolutely none. But anyway, maybe I shouldn't have gone over to the bookstore after a long day. It was one of those weeks you just want to survive through. I thought I was coming in here for a little M&A (Manga and Alternative).
And just as I was heading out of The Borders branch at The Curve, Mutiara Damansara, almost breaking into full stride with head leading the body, afraid that if I lingered any longer the pile of books would be like a magnet to those other books, sucking them into my basket, I made a break for the cashier. So beginning from the Philosophy section at the North East corner of the store, I rounded the bend and there about to launch into a full stride when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the above. I mean like, if there was a book police right there I'd write the report. Jail those illiterate bastards.
Now I've read the book. So I know that firstly, it is not 'self-help' in a sense that it is to help you help yourself. No, it is more self-help for the author, now he's got a regular source of income and some claim to fame as a 'writer' (we have a low threshold of what constitutes writers in this country). So it should not be there. And check it out, where is the Self-Help section housed under? The goddamned Psychology column. And look how prominent it is almost three quarters of a bookshelf! Talk about far off, these guys were up Uranus. And if you think there was nothing to help these Uranians, the subtitle of the book was "In Good Faith: Articles, Essays and Interviews". I was thinking, how on earth did it occur to these aliens that it should be slotted there.

I was so annoyed that I went straight to the customer service counter and told them of the offence. I tell ya Jed if I had 'em cuffs, I would have read them their raghts (to be read with a thick Southern I screwed my cousin accent). The guy at the counter got all worried about what I was worked up about. Even though he appeared to have heard everything I said about the book and how it was inappropriately placed, he understood nothing. I could have been speaking to him in Uranian and he still would not know any better. So I pointed at him with my index finger and then pulled it in as I pointed my thumb at me and motioned him to follow me. He managed to grab a more senior assistant on the way there (he was coming towards us) and together the three of us made our way down to the crime scene. I pointed at the book, opened it, and read the back to them to prove to them that the book was not stocked in the right place. They asked me where they should stock it. So I saw that just opposite that column is the 'Malaysiana' corner and pointed there. They nodded pensively and then very politely asked me to wait at the customer service so they could get their manager to come see me.
The poor chap came running down and almost out of breath when he got to me and hurriedly ask if I was the author of the book. Hilarious. I told him I wasn't and then he seemed befuddled. He then asked me what was wrong with the place where it was put. At least he understood the human English language. He was very nice about it and said he will move it accordingly and thanked me for my alertness. It's a damn shame these poor chaps don't take an interest. I think one turn around the bookstore just before opening in the morning will cut down the more glaring errors. I wish there was one bookstore in Malaysia that was immaculate but I cannot. I have time and time again found errors in all the major bookstores in the Klang Valley.
I don't think we are anywhere like those Australian, English or American bookstores where the staff read a fair bit themselves and give personal recommendations that they pin up next to the book and explain why they enjoyed it, especially for less heavily marketed books, which I absolutely love. These bookstores are immaculate and you tend to find some very interesting and compulsive books that you may not have read about or that has appeared in any chart list. In those countries, I love those huge book marts and especially those cozily run independent stores that have a charm all of their own and their book selection to be very thoughtful and cultured. And you will never find Zaid Ibrahim's book shelved in the psychology section.
Unless, those Uranians know something that I don't.
Goddamned aliens.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Things people say which really, they shouldn't say, coz they mean absolutely nothing!

1. First on this list is the oft repeated/used phrase: I apologise if I had offended you; I apologise for all inconvenience caused; I apologise for being correct but you cannot appreciate that I am correct and you are offended because of your inability to do so and therefore you are a moron and so I apologise for your feeling so as I now know that you are a moron...or any phrase to that effect.

I have written about this here. And so I am not going to say more. Except for saying that politicians, stupid morons who think others are as moronic as themselves and lobotomised monkeys are so fond of this useless, insulting, meaningless and totally irritating phrase. To those who is fond of saying this phrase, let me say this. You are a fucking moron! If you are offended, well, I am sorry.

2. Second on this list is: I know that this is the very thing she/he would want me to do if she/he is alive; If she/he is alive, she/he would do this very thing which I am about to do now; She/he wouldn't have done it any differently had she/he been alive or phrases to this effect. You know la what I mean.

Hello? You are quite a piece of work aren't you? Fucking bullshit! He/she is as fucking dead as a door knob you idiot! How would you know that? Duh! Some months ago, the British icons of squeaky clean living and mother's boy, Prince Harry and Prince Williams, decided to have a big bash. They had no tangible reasons for wanting to do that. So they said they knew their mother, the dead Lady Diana, would want her to be remembered on the anniversary of her death, in a big party. Yeah rite....they knew. And how old were they when their mother got bumped off the airbags in that dreadful Mercedes (Mercedes is a stupid car, by the way!) driven by that drunk Brits? Yo! If you want to do something, just do it. Don't say you are doing it because some dead people had wanted you to do it. Idiots.

3. Third on the list: If I could turn back the clock , I would or wouldn't put his/her head in that crocodile's mouth at the zoo. Well, you get what I mean.

Awesome! This phrase is just awesome in its uselessness, meaninglessness and irritatingness. Unless I have been so out of tune with scientific reality, which I think I have not - and you are an idiot if you think so, and I am sorry if you are offended by that last remark, tho' I think you are a klumptz for feeling so - the last time I read my science book, I notice that yes, you can of course turn your clock backward (if it is an analogue clock, as opposed to a digital one, coz it is not possible to "turn" a digital clock back!), but it is not possible to go back in time. Yes, it is impossible for you to travel back in time. And that is notwithstanding you having turned your clock (analogue, mind you, not digital - please read the preceding sentence). No. You just can't go back in time. Losers, sentimentalist (please emphasise the "MENTAL" part when you read the word "sentiMENTAList"), hopeless nothing-better-to-do romantics, guilt ridden virgin killers and politicians who have just lost their seats love this utterly stupid phrase. What an arse! Really.

4. Fourth on this list is this utterly self-serving -confident-for-no-reason-other-than-to- declare-one's-arrogance phrase, namely, "If I were to relive my life, I wouldn't have changed it a bit" or "I would have done the same thing all over again" or "I would have lived my life in exactly the same way as I don't have any regret" bla bla bla ...

Yea rite! Bullshit of the year! Why, you mean you would relive your life all over again in exactly the same way? Including the time you were caught wanking at the back of the classroom by the very teacher who was the object of your self-relief? And you are saying you would have betted for Liverpool to win the Premier League in 2000/2001/2003/2004/2005/2006/2007 and 2008 all over again? And what about the night you puked on your girlfriend's boobs while trying to shag her after a party at Hard Rock? Or the time your mate kicked the beejeezus out of your teeth while you dived head on for a flying header during the football practice? You would relive them all over again? You are either an idiot or a liar. Or both.

By the way, it is impossible for you to relive your live. Please see number 3 above. Bullshit!

5. Fifth on the list is favoured by people who can't really understand English, simple minded people and stupid people, which come to think of it, are the same bunch of people. The phrase sounds like this: "I wouldn't do that if I were you..."

Well stupid, you are not me. And I am not you. I did what I did because I wasn't and will not be you. Also because you weren't and will not be me. Ever. If I were you - on the assumption that that is possible in the first place, which I think is not (but then again, you might know something which I don't know, because I am not you and you are not me) - than of course, I would not do that thing which I did, because you obviously would not do that thing which I did when I was myself and not you. Get it? But the phrase which you had just uttered, well, I wouldn't have uttered it if I were you, because it does not make any sense. You know why? Because if you were me, you would become me and you would act my way, because you had become me. So, if you had become me, then surely you would have done the very same thing which I had done, because you are now me and not yourself. The correct phrase is therefore, "I would have done the same thing you had done if I were you". Correct? Well, if you did not understand, it is truly understandable, because you are not me. If you were me, you would have understood it. That is because I am the one who had thought of it and written it. And since you are now me, you would have understood it. But of course, you are not me. Not before. Not now. So, perhaps that is why you did not and do not and will not understand it. Get it? Moron!

6. This is interesting. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world!"

Really? You mean you wouldn't have missed this funeral of your boss' father for the world? Even for Scarlet Johansen waiting for you in a tight leather pants with red bra and panties together with Jessica Alba who coincidentally is tagged along by Rhihanna? You wouldn't have missed it. Would you? Well, if I were you, I probably wouldn't too. But I tell you what. If you were me, you would have given it a miss. Even if it was my own funeral. You twerp!

7. This is favoured by UMNO leaders. "I would contest if the members want me to do so."

Well well well. Bro, if you had wanted to contest, say so la. I WANT TO CONTEST. Because I had always wanted to be the Prime Minister. I don't care what you all think. All I know is that I want to contest. Because I think I was born to contest this post. And I tell you what. I am good. I will be a really good leader. Well, at least, I would be a better leader than the current one. So, all you stupid people, this is your chance. Nominate me. Now. If I were you, I would do so now. And if you were me, you would also do so now.

This is the most faggotsy-flimsy-no-balls-non-committal phrase which is ever so popular among UMNO leaders come party election year. They are afraid to make a commitment, because they might not get enough nomination later. So, they utter this utterly useless no balls phrase. So that if they had enough nomination, they could say it's not me who want to contest against the incumbent, it's the people who want me to do so. And who am I to deny the people rite? If only they could just take the bull by its horn and go for it. Show some balls. Faggots!

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


Sometimes, sometimes, I get those muscle twitches you know. It's not dramatic or anything. I don't flail about and foam at the mouth. None of that stuff. I just feel it right there on my forearm for example. See, I can see the skin, just there, ha, ha, that area trembling ever so slightly there. I can only imagine the threshing and twitching of the sinewy rope of muscles along my forearm. I get that once in a very long while. Not that often. It's not a common thing. Now and then kind of thing. This time it was my forearm. The other time it was my thigh. I wonder why it does that. Not sure whether I felt it around my right shoulder the other day. Maybe I was tired. It's as if that part of my body took a breather on behalf of the rest of the muscles in the body and chose to do so at that convenient and optimal spot. I mean it does not impede with the more important areas. I mean I don't get the twitchy feeling on my ass, or head, or, or my internal organs like my heart for example. So that's a good thing, I suppose. I should be happier, I guess. We must be thankful for little mercies because uh I don't know what large or big mercies are. Uhm thankful for little mercies because because nothing's free these days. Na, ah. No sir-ree. Not that it matters. I'll take those any day because, because no, this is isn't happening, please, no, I, twitch

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

How to do Banana Leaf Properly

This guide is primarily meant for foreigners with proper visa to Malaysia who are unacquainted with our beautiful, affordable and accessible culture and country and want to know how to experience it best where it concerns Banana Leaf meals. If you don't have a proper visa to come into our country, please stop reading and rub a banana all over your body after you sat on it for 3 hours you sick bastard. Now, a banana leaf meal can only be obtained in Mamak joints like the one below. You cannot obtain meals like this in a hotel, at the KLCC mall or by the side of the road at a gerai. Banana leaf meals ideally need structure and so they tend to be housed in shoplots. One of my favourite joints is Restoran Sri Paandi (TTDI) which is shown below.

There are no doors to the restaurant, so you just walk right in and find yourself an available table. When it gets too crowded, you can join others at tables after smiling at the adjacent patrons and making the correct facial contortion to ask whether the seat next to you is occupied. You are not advised to use any words because it may not be interpreted correctly and you may start a fight in the restaurant. After you sit down your unfriendly disinterested Indian national waiter who has not had enough sleep and only bathed 2 days ago will come over to take your order. Don't make small chat. If you do he and his 23 other friends will end up staying at your house. Instead, state precisely what you want. These days you have to ask for your banana leaf because the owners prefer to give you some shitty metal plate with the appropriate indentations in it to put the kuah and roti. Don't take the metal plate. There's no kick eating from that device. You might as well be eating off the carcass of a 10 day old buffalo that's been submerged in the nearby river. If they don't give it willingly, demand for it. Say, 'Saya mau itu daun kalau tak saya berak dalam seluar saya.' Say those precise words. Don't worry if they laugh at you. That's how they deal with criticism. Finally, you should get the leaf which looks like this.

Take a close look at the leaf. Do you notice how the right side is cleaner than the left side? That's because I've wiped the right side with a tissue. You are encouraged to do this. The left side hasn't been wiped and looks like there are dried cum stains on it. If this is not reason enough for you to wipe it, you are a sick bastard/bitch and if I ever bump into you I'm gonna be your pimp. And don't you dare worry, I'll give you a better fee split than your regular pimp.

You should also order your drink. I recommend teh tarik manya manis. Never you mind what it means. It's good stuff. And if all goes well, it should look like this:

Now that you've got your drink, you can move on to the food. Now if you are in a banana leaf joint before 11 am then you are entitled to order a roti canai. This works best before 11. If you order rice before that, you will not get it because it won't be ready. If it is ready though and you eat it, you will explode 30 minutes later after releasing an explosive potent curry smelling fart. You have been warned! After 11 the owners will try to force you to take the rice because it means you take more side dishes. It's all about the money honey. If you want roti you can still fight for it and make a scene. I find that throwing myself on the floor or running around and hiding behind the restaurant pillars whilst singing Koosh Koosh Hota Hay poorly does help significantly. The only problem is that this doesn't help your reputation. But hey, whatever works right?

And while waiting for the roti, ask your waiter to bring the 3 Amigos over which looks like this:

The 3 Amigos is where they store the curry. The usual curry they have in there is fish curry, chicken curry and dhall. These are the holy trinity of curries. Ye shall know them vell. And if you want the 3 Amigos you don't say, 'Apu, I want 3 Amigos.' What you will get is 3 hefty Indian chaps with massive penises who would bend you over the aircond compressor at the back giving you the Madras Backdoor Special. As mentioned earlier, you do not speak. What you do to get the 3 Amigos is make like you are carrying a small bucket and swinging it in front of your face. If you want it faster, make an angry face and hope he doesn't piss in your teh tarik. When you get the 3 Amigos, you put the curry on your banana leaf like this (I know you are not a stupid bastard but I took the picture already so let me lah okay? See the mister in the picture also wiping his big fat banana... leaf):

Now, the roti should be here once you've sorted out your drink curry and wiped the stains of your leaf and it should look something like this:

I won't go into the kazillion variations of the simple and humble roti canai. A good roti canai should be fluffily brittle, soft and light. The one above is not too bad and is typical. If tearing it to pieces is to difficult for a foreigner like you, you can ask them to cut it up for you too. So how to eat this is you tear a piece, dip it in the curry, chew 28 times and then swallow. If you want to make it more tasty then you should order some side dishes. My favourites are the freshly fried fish and chicken featured below. And you gotta tell them you want it fresh off the burner. If not they're gonna serve you that chicken their grandmother fried for them in India 5 years ago and still sits in the food buffet near the cash counter.

And once you have whacked the food as hard and as plentifully as you can, your table should look like this:
If the table doesn't look like that after you have finished, kindly ensure that you arrange it so that it does conform to the example above. If you fail to do this as a foreigner you can be charged under section 33(1)(g) of the Mamak Restaurants Act 2003 and should you be found guilty sentenced up to 3 years imprisonment or a fine or in lieu of both, 3 consecutive rounds of the Madras Backdoor Special in 12 hours.

Welcome to Malaysia, truly Aysia.

Monday, May 12, 2008

6 reasons why I do not like to refuel my car

I wish my car can refuel automatically.

Imagine how much time you can save when you don't have to go to the petrol station to refuel your car. I really hate going to petrol stations.

First, I have to allocate some time to go to petrol stations for refuelling purposes. My car usually becomes dry at the most inappropriate time, when I am busy, sleepy, tired, rushing to go to work, catch a movie, appointments, dates etc etc and at the most inappropriate place, which is a place where the closest petrol station is more than 1km away. For instance, there are no petrol stations on the way from Pantai Dalam to KL. Sure I can always make a turning to Bangsar but I want something along the way and not when I am almost in KL, at a petrol station near Menara Tan & Tan, wishing helplessly that my car will not go dead on me!

Second, these stations are normally out of the way from both my house and office. It was okay before because there were three petrol stations before I reached my house. Now, if I wanted to refuel after work, I might as well wait until the next day. There are no petrol stations at the new KL-Putrajaya highway and NPE. When I get home, no petrol stations either! I have to turn all the way to the road on the way to my house and straight ahead for the far away U-turn. That's a waste of fuel!

Third, I do not like the smell of petrol and somehow every time I refuelled, the smells linger for about half and hour or so. The only way to let out the smell is to wind down my car windows but that will opened me up to other dangers, the mat rempit might grab my handbag or molest me! OK, the odds of that happening are small but winding the car windows may invite other forms of nuisance inside the car like smoke and heat.

Fourth, I have to walk to the main to pay for my petrol. Sure I can pay by credit card but I have made a point that I shall not pay by credit card. Credit cards are for shopping and other emergencies. Some petrol stations have attendants at the island where you can pay to them without walking the 1 minute walk to the main. Hm.. okay lah this is alright, at least I don't have to sweat myself by walking to main just to pay for my petrol.

Fifth, after I finished refuelling, I have to drive out from the petrol stations and they are usually located at busy roads and I find it difficult to get out. Besides, the moment I refuel, I have this feeling that I am letting other cars that were behind me go ahead. I feel like at the moment I am back on the road, I have to start all over again.

Sixth, is what I hate the most because after the fifth day of my last refuelling, I have to go to the petrol station again for refuelling. I did a quick research on fuels. If I bought the more expensive fuel and not speed, it could last me for 7 days if I do not go anywhere else besides my office. The normal petrol will last about 5 days, if I decided to gallivant, it would last for 3 days. If I decided to go home to JB, I have to refuel twice ,once before I hit the highway and another when I want to drive around JB. The amazing thing about JB is that I need not refuel for 8 to 9 days because everywhere is so near.

I am just lazy and it will be nice to have someone who can refuel my car and maintain it for me. I just want to drive.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Disease to Go

Mutiara Damansara TNB Substation, Selangor
May 2008

Call 'em. You know you needs it.
Cos you don't have enough on your plate.

Saturday, May 10, 2008


The Courier. It's a classic. Everybody would have seen it. How could they not? IBM commissioned in the 1950s for use in its typewriters it rapidly spread to become the de facto standard for typewriters. So naturally it's a standard on even the most basic word processors. It's up there with the greats - Arial and Times New Roman.

But I hate it. I used to like it when I actually typed on typewriters but not these days. It's fat, takes up a lot of space, awfully square and fearsomely predictable. And not just I think so. The US State Department changed its standard typeface from 12 point Courier New to 14 point Times New Roman citing the desire for a more modern and legible font. Yeah, Yeah. The Americans get an A plus for giving some formal bullshit for a straightforward and simple answer.

Basically, it's ugly.

Friday, May 9, 2008


Sometimes when I am so neck deep in the vagaries and vicissitudes of living, I try to remind myself to step back and marvel. The best example I can give by way of explanation is times when I sometimes find myself looking over a beautiful landscape of sea or stone and then see an aeroplane slowly but steadily making its way across the sky as if it were set on invisible tracks across the often deep blue sky flecked with migrating giant herds of cumulus clouds. Sometimes it is so far that it is like a small black sliver.

And then for a moment, I try my best to suspend all thoughts and ideas and induce complete ignorance of whatever I have learned, and try to experience the imagery in that mental state. And when I look at the aeroplane in that mental state, I find myself in awe at the marvel of it. I'll probably be even have some stupidly serene look on. But there you have it. The average 747 has a maximum take off weight at takeoff of 870,000 pounds. It can achieve average (in terms of configuration) maximum speeds of 800 m/ph for commercial ones. More than 200 people can fit in such an aircraft. It is probably the fastest and most powerful transport vehicle that nature has probably ever seen (though I will not be surprised to be disappointed).

Then I look down at my hands. Rub them together and feel the softness of my flesh. Flick at my nails to feel my calcium brittleness. And then think to myself how amazing human ingenuity is. From putting 2 sticks together to light a fire in a cave, fast forward to about 8000 BC when agriculture first began in the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia and then to Neil Armstrong landing on the moon barely 9,000 years later and here we are sitting in front of our desktops isolated yet at the click of a button instantly connected to somebody, anybody. And if you don't like them, no problem, click again. What genius we are as a species. The rest of the living stuff prefer to be in the water splashing about, or on all fours and naked, or whatever. And if we round it up generously we achieved that in about say oh about 20,000 years. That's more than double time if you ask me. Wooosh like quick.

And after recovering from that pleasant reverie and after fully recovering all that I had so surprisingly easily suspended (there was so little to do apparently), I think what a stupid bunch of idiots we are as a species.