Lara Conteur;

Stupid Arguments Made by Whitey

2008-05-24T14:02:00.000-07:00

I'm not even black and I've encountered all of these on predominantly white forums, particularly the arguments denying racism on their part (disturbingly, "get over it" makes the most appearance, that and the young whitey entitlement issue™). This list is missing something though; how whitey disguise their racism by directing the hate towards hip hop instead. I guess the genre hasn't been completely stolen, perverted and sucked its soul off by them enough, you know, like rock music.

Look at all the cool music I listen to meme

2008-05-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

I got this one from Syar

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question.

How does the world see you? -

Will I have a happy life? -

What do my friends really think of me? -

What do people secretly think of me? -

What should I do with my life? -

What is some good advice for me? -

How will I be remembered? -

What is my signature dancing song? -

What do I think my current theme song is? -

What does everyone else think my current theme song is? -

What song will play at my funeral? -

What type of men/women do you like? -

Yes, I left the answers blank intentionally. Why you asked? Well, I don't have an actual playlist that I could play everytime I'm on the computer (really). Plus, even if I did the answers wouldn't make a lick of sense seeing as how they're randomly generated. But fret not, you can always check out my Facebook to see all the cool music I'm into, here;

http://profile.to/alifomar/

BATMANIME!

2008-05-16T10:34:00.000-07:00

Behold..... Batman: Gotham Knight

Kevin Conroy returns to voice Bruce Wayne/Batman after a long while, yay.

Possibly the worst rapper alive next to Soulja Boy

2008-05-10T20:14:00.000-07:00

The guy's wearing an Atmosphere tee. I wonder what artists who can rap and actually do hip hop think of his faux-indie meets hipster hop sensibilities. I'm guessing annoyance.

My elder brother is an inconsiderate cunt

2008-05-10T18:30:00.000-07:00

Who the fuck plays anime loudly while the person he's sharing the room with is still sleeping? Shit, it would be at least understandable if it was afternoon, but in the morning? What the fuck? This isn't the first time either you pull off shit like this. What's the thought process there? Tell me. Fuck, I'm sorry, I forgot your mind is a nigh vacuous space only filled with inanity and selfish bullshit. You fucking cunt, I'm the younger brother here and I have to tolerate your bullshit all my life. Even if you were the younger one, you're still way into your 20s; fucking develop some maturity already, man.

You probably aren't even ashamed of this, are you? I mean, you're a cunt. Cunts and shame are mutually exclusive.

Asshole.

Why do Myspace Malays write in meters?

2008-05-09T03:22:00.000-07:00

I'm quite befuddled by this phenomenon that I've come to call "Rempit Haiku"

Confused? Here are some examples;

buat ape tew?

thx 4 da approvel ya..

komen my pic..

lol... saje jeww

i x buat ape2 pon...

u ni hawt la..

Seriously, what is up with that? Listen, I'm all for colloquialism, but fuck, this is the raping of the Malay language on an unprecedented scale. It's like the elephant anally ravaging the mouse, and then left it stranded to be butt-fucked by other animals below the mouse's strata in the animal kingdom.

Gargh, the mind boggles.

Impersonal Personal

2008-03-23T14:18:00.000-07:00

At the time of this writing, I have so far attempted to blog 3 or 4 times. With each endeavour, I would hit a juncture, or rather an impasse, where I find myself incapable of writing anything remotely coherent. In fact, I’m having one right now, admittedly the figurative wall of bricks isn’t as brobdingnagian as usual. Quite penetrable in fact, more your neighbour’s fence than the Gaza wall. But I’m digressing to borderline non sequitur there, what I meant to say is I know why I can’t write – I’m incredibly impersonal when it comes to telling stories of my life. I know, an eponymous contradiction there seeing as how my blog title is a play on the word raconteur.

All this time I led myself to believe that I can’t write objectively (think journalistic articles), but my short stint at Juice is quite illuminating in hindsight. While I don’t particularly enjoy having to write objective reviews – which is a self-defeating phrasal of two words in itself – I did the job quite well. So were the reports, ad editorials, newsbits and what-have-you. It helped that the magazine gives leeway to the style of language you’re allowed to use, hence you can afford to be creative (really euphemism for my-grammar-is-out-of-place-so-imma-use-colloquial-language-as-an-excuse, whoa hyphens).

What I do have problem with is descriptive narrative, you know, prose that goes:

She feels the contour of my head as it rest on her warm, Freudianly maternal
lap. Studying every protuberance with her light fingertips, as if phrenology is
no longer a lost science but the art of lovemaking.

That kind of crap. Except better.

Consequently, this little imperfection in my writing skills results in my being distant. But it’s not even just textual, my verbal communication skills are just as bad. And I think it relates.

Maybe my mind moves faster than my mouth, maybe I hit my head on the way out of my mother’s womb, maybe I have mild autism. I don’t know, I just can’t construct a proper sentence. It’s not so much a mental block, it’s a complete disability. I used to tell people I stammer but it’s not even that, I could be eloquent at one time but then certain words would just cease to exist at another. Or sometimes I’d just lose track of what I’m saying, like I still know what I wanted to say but I can’t put the apropos words together because I can’t connect them. I noticed that it's especially true when I'm trying to articulate my emotions or stuff related to them.

On some subconscious level, all these words lost in some mental pocket dimension are just gone to me, even in writing. When I do succeed at articulating some manner of thought, it doesn't feel genuine. Take this post for example, I'm not sure if this is really me. It feels like I'm improvising a feeling rather than writing a reflection of myself, like I'm constructing a persona. Maybe that's why I can't write about myself; the author is creating himself.

Oh look, I believe I've just created the very first metablog.

"I just discovered Asian films!"

2008-03-07T11:52:00.000-08:00

............

............

Why do you even need to 'discover' Asian films (or any foreign films for that matter)? And why are you suddenly in love with them? As if suggesting they're inherently superior to Western films. Have you not heard of Sturgeon's Law? 90% of everything is crap.

Fuck. This statement is already prepostorous coming from a whitey, but when it's said by an Asian person......

............

I'm sorry, I don't even know how I managed to type this. My brain imploded five minutes ago.

I DRINK IT UP!

2008-03-02T10:53:00.000-08:00

DRAINAAAAGE!

Bad Comedy 101

2008-02-09T07:50:00.000-08:00

SEXUAL INNUENDOS

When within proximity of a person of the opposite sex, engage a conversation. Then, attempt to conjure a nonexistent sexual allusion out of a harmless phrase coming from said person. Make sure it's a question and don't worry if it makes as much sense as Scientology, double entendre is a dying art anyway. Here's a real life example:-

Girl : Do you want to eat my crust? (referring to her pizza slice)
Not-very-witty : Euw, you want her to eat your crust? That sounds so wrong.

Remember potential comedians and comediennes, if you imbue any word with enough meaning (make sure this word is as abstract as ever, don't explain it) it can pass off as a euphemism for something sexual!

More sadistic and propaganda-laden than anything Mel could come up with

2008-01-27T10:41:00.000-08:00

Danny : Is it true that there is a place in a man's head where if you shoot it, it will blow up?

Nicholas : Yes, Danny. There's a catch though, it only works if you were an American Vietnam vet using American bullets against a foreign enemy. In a flurry of gory-cum-bodily non sequiturs, all laws of physics will then collapse under the pressure of 80s action flick logic.

Danny : Oh.

Nicholas : MmmHmm. This is, a tasty ice-cream.

Little known fact: Watching John Rambo increases your testosterone level by tenfold, it also has the same effect as steroids sans the penile-shrinking.

And yes, this is a positive review.

The Dawkins Delusion

2008-01-25T01:23:00.000-08:00

Why the big furor over Tom Cruise's batshit insane video? Other religions are just as crazy as Scientology! Oh snap, I'm so fucking edgy.

- Thomas, 18 year old staunch forumer of a video game website.

I don't know about you, but I think mankind will always find some sort of belief - whether divine, philosophical or political - to justify their cruelty. To think that the world is better off without religion is not only silly but also ironic, you're being as myopic as all the organised religions you hate so much.

Puisi Ikan Babel

2008-01-24T11:22:00.000-08:00

This little bit of discovery has stirred quite a commotion in the local blogging circle, apparently (well, evidently actually) up and coming actress Natasha Hudson released a poetry book containing no less than three plagiarised works. Now if it were just a copy and paste job, it would have just been pathetic but Miss Hudson inadvertently took a comedic turn by translating these poems into Malay without paying any attention to meter and rhythm. As many had opined, they read like she used Babel Fish. In all honesty though, I find it more hilarious that a generally unknown celebrity like her got her shit published and that she had people of some literary credence buying her book, enough to get her exposed. I guess she underestimated our reading habits.

Here's an example;

Kek Coklat by Natasha Hudson

Saya mahu satu kehidupan
Kamu mahu sesuatu yang lain
Kita tidak dapat makan kek coklat
Jadi kita makan sesama sendiri

Cake by Roger McGough (original poem)

I wanted one life
You wanted another
We couldn't have our cake
So we ate each other

21

2008-01-24T08:36:00.000-08:00

1.

On the 16th of January 2008, I turned 21. For some reason this number had some level of significance before the aforementioned date, and even before that the number 20 held as much weight to its name. Not 10 days into my tenure as a young adult, it had completely lost meaning, much like Tupac’s death after 15 posthumous releases featuring the worst of RnB singers. But nevermind that piece of unnecessary pop-culture snarkiness, I’m inaugurating this blog with a simple statement – chronological age shall never be a mental hinderance to me from now on.

Now if you’re wondering what I meant by this, allow me to elaborate; I tend to set goals for me to reach at a certain age and I can safely say right now I’d never fulfilled any of them. After each year passed without my accomplishing any of them, I’d just get discouraged and not try anymore. Well fuck that and a half. I promised myself I’d get a girlfriend by 21, I didn’t, now I’m not gonna give up on that shit just because I failed to go through some rites of passage at the appropriate age. I simply refuse involuntary celibacy!

2.

The year is 2023. Joe (bukan nama sebenar) is your average Joe - he hates that phrase so if you ever meet him, please refrain from usage (assuming you know the Malay equivalent of it) – Melayu, blinkered and a dedicated motorcyclist. One night, around 3 in the morning and after a rowdy race involving a lot of Superman simulation, numerous stunts that you can get to be on your movie for cheap and two casualties, Joe decided to round his favourite red light district that every gomen (slang for government servant) would deny existing.

Strangely, the inherent male proclivity to desecrate a woman of another race overwhelmed his inherent Melayu bigotry, Joe was looking for the exotic; a Burmese hooker. A Chinese one would have been just fine, but that would clash with his brown power sensibilities.

Mere minutes into his search later, Joe found the ever elusive barely Malay-competent Burmese hooker. They fucked. He paid less than requested because she talked funny. 21 days later Joe realised he had contracted about a dozen or so of an assorted mix of STDs, but he sighed a relief knowing that Melayu-melayu still have their special rights to fuck with other races both literally and figuratively.

3.

There were 21 children living on a certain road in a certain housing area.
Now there are 20 left.
Now we get to see a supposedly Islamic state advertise superstition in the news.