Saving a life.

I kept on thinking. What if I had just looked away? What would've happened if I was like any of the three-quarters of society that honestly couldn't be bothered to give a fuck. What would have fucking happened if I just brushed it off as a joke, or a mood swing and continued watching a movie or some shit?

Well, obviously she'd die innit?

The responsibility that comes after that though... That sucks in a way, there's always that awkward shit that goes on when you help somebody you know? That look. It's not bad I guess, I mean all the free meals and drinks, hell that's awesome but really, it all comes down to one thing, basically the both of you are no longer on the same level. And that, that sucks big time.

I might not be a saint and frankly, I couldn't care less if you die. That's one step forward for the global population control. But fuck, I will not have your fucken death on my head, on my twisted conscience. Just imagine this situation. Suicide, girl, phone, last message to : Me. Contents of message: I'm sorry for everything yeah?

Not pictured: Me on the ground, presumably acting dead.

And of course, it goes without saying that the police are always fucking right while we citizens are bound by the nature of human beings in which we sin etc etc thus proving our homo sapien-ness. The conclusion? The police are fucking Terminators.

Oh well, I might be rambling just a tad bit there. Anyways, I remembered this childhood memory of mine when I was still in Penang; i.e. less than 7 years old in which my mom would give me these sweets, what's it called... Fox, yeah something like that.

Yeah. That's the shit.

Back in the days, it tastes literally like heaven and it's like this secret thing my Mom would give me. Well, I thought it was a secret, but then again, I thought everything was a secret back then. Digression.

Anyways, I'd creep walk into her room real quiet and ask her for one in this secretive fucken manner or some shit and she'd act like it was also a big thing. Sometimes it was mints and I fucken hated mints but she'd tell me that you just gotta accept some shit sometimes. Funny, I bought the same candy when I was in High School thinking that it'd taste sublime but fuck, it just tasted like every candy out there. Maybe worse. Actually, yeah, worse. Hmmm... I have no idea though why the thought of that memory really makes my day, probably withdrawal syndrome from not seeing my mother. Ah well, you gotta accept some stuff ey Ma.

As a closing passage, here's the depressing song of the week:

Anathema - One Last Goodbye (Acoustic Version)

Honestly, the song literally fucked up my day.

Sleepless Night's 30 - A lecture on honesty.

Well she's walking through the clouds
With a circus mind that's running round
Butterflies and zebras
And moonbeams and fairy tales
That's all she ever thinks about
Riding with the wind.

When I'm sad, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It's alright she says it's alright
Take anything you want from me,
Anything.

Fly on little wing,
Yeah yeah, yeah, little wing

Honestly, how can you not see the beauty in that song?

Anyway, there's been this thing going on, something about me being too 'brutally honest' and whatnot. Which is funny really, because I don't remember, not even once, that ever happening.

Yeah, yeah, you guys go round saying shit like 'Damn, that's mean but it's true. But mean. Yes, mean. Meanmeanmean. Meanie.' And all I can think of is really, how you would give up a lot just to be able to say what I could. Truth is, we all are so deluded by our interest in keeping the so called 'balance' of the world that we end up sucking up to each other. I'm not saying I'm exempted from it, hell I'm as bad as anyone else, particularly if certain, well uh, criteria are met. You know. Fuck it, if a hot chic comes by, for the survival of the species, I will lie. In the mask of honesty. Damn, this manipulation thing is getting to me.

You so don't look fat in that dress, babe. Your friend, on the other hand...

Where was I...

Ah yes. Honesty. It's funny how we're literally bred to fucking tell the truth but the moment some fuck comes around and gets labelled as a friend, we immediately become fucking hypocrites. I mean, really, if you look fat, I'll tell you that you look fat, it's reality and hell, in this world, that's the only thing that matters. You want to blame me, go on, but it doesn't change the fact that people will look at you and say the same thing. And fuck it, since when has being fat make you less worthy? Of course, I forgot, it's your friends that told you that. And when they say that, that's like totally trustworthy right? According to my logic, if you're genetically engineered by the Ooperwalla to be a tad bit heavy, then fuck it. Yeah, most of you are going on saying 'Pfft, you're thin, you don't know what it feels like.' Yes, of course I don't, wanna blame God now?

Everybody wants the truth, but in reality, nobody can handle it. Yes, that includes me, my superiorism only goes so far. Further than you though. Onwards to the main point. Being brutally honest.

You gotta be fucking kidding me if you think I'm even on that level.

Why not?

1. Suicidal tendencies. I refuse to have your death on my head.
2. Enemies. I already have enough, and I don't need your whining to add to it.
3. Obstruction to parasitism. In my big plan of doing nothing except manipulating, it'd be hard to get people to allow me to expand my vision when all they see when I walk by is a block of pain.
4. To separate the important from the non-important ones. See, this one is kinda corny but important as well. I can only be brutally honest to people who I recognize as being one who is important in my life, that way, I can lie all I want but still keep the good juicy pumpkins ones I care for close, even if it might torture them half to death first. Yes, that's proof of my superiority.
5. To not be that much of a douchebag. In my defense, I really enjoy being one, however, due to point 3 I cannot afford the luxury. Priorities first, as they say.

It all really comes to a thin line between being honest and just being mean. Yes, there is in fact a clear separation between those two. By being brutally honest, it's like doing fucken ballet on a cliff, on wrong step, one wrong statement, just a little tiny phrase, and you fall into the abyss of mean-ness.

That. Only there's abyss. Abyss. ABYSSS!!!

Words are swords laced with cyanide, once it cuts, there can be no healing. That's why it's different when it comes to people who are extremely close to me, they know how my mechanism works hence, they understand. It's a well known fact how I cannot (or refuse) to suppress my tongue, come to think of it, why should I. You call it cursing, I call it expressing, that's why I don't mind anybody cursing, it's a way of expressing. Simple.

Though I must say, I'm rambling now. Damn.

One last thing. It appears that for some reason, you little superficial bitch took a hit at a family member of mine. And you used my name. For some reason, I feel that we are gonna have a real long chat and things are going to get intolerably messy. Since everybody thinks I'm brutally honest, I'll give you a chance to see how fucked up it can really be. Heh, I can't fucking wait.

Ma Jaan.

You know, people wrote stuff, speeches, poems even to describe their mother's and shit and I thought of doing that but I somehow it seemed kind of... fake. I guess it's not for me, writing all mushy stuff and shit and expecting people to go 'Aww, that's cho chweet you lil muncy wunchkin!!11'. Nope, thank God it isn't.

Anyways, momzies. It's funny really how a word can literally build and destroy empires, the meaning in 'Ma' has such an impact, like a blow right to your solar plexus. Which is probably what love is.

See, I will never be afraid to say that I'm a mommy's boy because fuck it, I am and I'm damn proud of it. I don't mind going out with my mom to wherever the hell that she decides to take me, I couldn't care less about the stares or silent giggles from the eyes of the oh-so glamorous teenagers coz fuck, that's the only way I can show my appreciation to her, for all that she's done, for everything that she went through. Raising four of us is probably dipping her head into each and every circle of hell there is but she never quit. She never went 'Ah, fuck this shit I'm going to Havana'. Because I would. I don't have that strength that she has (Quite literally in fact, she's like Hulk. Only nongreen and non-beefy, Hmmm...). So yes, I'm a mommy's boy and heck, nothing makes me happier. Yes, grovel all you rebellious teenagers!!! GROVEL!!!

I sent her a message to day and she called us kids 'exasperating'. I know you're crying Ma, hah, that's what you get when you have a writer as a kid. Uh. If any family members happen to read that last sentence, please erase it from your memory and not tell Ma. Please? PLEASE?

Google search result for 'exasperating'. What?

I can, as a matter of douchebaggery fact, write pages about my mother and how she's more awesome than yours. But, since it's 2 in the morning and I havent slept for to days, I'll let this slip. Wouldn't want you to be shot down while you're writing that poem now.

For the heck of it.

Thank you for bearing with me for 18 years and 9 horrifying months when everybody else turned their backs on me. Thank you for the never doubting me and pacing all that trust and faith in me when everybody else saw it as a lost cause. Thank you for all the beatings because I know that deep inside it hurts you to even lay a hand on me. Thank you for your wisdom and your laughter because nothing helps me more in my time of need. Thank you for being my mother, I cannot imagine another soul more capable of taking care of us the way you did. My words still fail to capture even the tiniest fragment of you Ma, but for what it's worth, I will always be your son, to forever love you and forever protect you.

HAHA!!!!!!!!

Life, summed up into two people.

The disadvantages of having a splinter lodged in a toe: A study executed at 2:36 a.m.

To whoever it may concern.

As explained by the title, I shall proceed to explain the disadvantage of having a splinter i.e. a small, sharp piece of wood pierce and nestle itself in a toe. This will be done through a step by step analysis and finally, a conclusion.

1. Discovering said splinter.

Discovering a splinter can occur in various ways. Mostly unpleasant, it is usually surprising in nature and somewhat fucking irritating. The moment a splinter decides that a persona will be it's next home, it embeds itself rather fast into the extremities, usually the fingers, palm, toe and soles of the feet though the last one might be rare due to the thick layer of keratin. Regardless, once this process happens, it is accompanied by a sharp, shooting pain which immediately causes a startled high pitched gay-like scream roar of various profanities. An example;

Subject A: So I was like fuck that man, there are limits you know.
Subject B (Friend participating in an active conversation): And then?
Subject A: I wanted to think of some kind of rebuttal that's not gonna- FUCKCIBAIBABIANJINGSIALKIMAK. Ah. Adeh. Fuck. Shit. What the hell?.

As demonstrated above, the profanities which are cried out in a painful manner are usually assorted in terms of languages, followed by minor, low volume inquiries; usually monologues, of what happened.

Pictured: Pain. Not Pictured: Splinter entering toe.

Now, with the splinter embedded neatly in skin and flesh, there are two possible scenarios on what happens next. It depends on the position of the splinter. If it is directly the toe (The why the fuck is my toe hurting when I walk position), discovery will be immediate and extraction (refer to number 2) will be swift. However, there comes a point in which the splinter is placed on the side of a toe (The Devil's Dick position) which is rare but the complications are high. This will be discussed later. In the Devil's Dick scenario, the splinter might be discovered much later when it causes much fuckery irritation.

2. Extraction.

As discussed before, the Why-The-Fuck-Is-My-Toe-Hurting-When-I-Walk position is much easier in which the splinter is fairly new and if lucky, has not fully embedded in the skin and flesh. Henceforth, extraction will be easy by using tweezers (recommended) or nail clippers (fairly risky). This will usually lead to zero complications and a well lived life forever after.

However, in the Devil's Dick scenario, it could take a turn and spiral out of control. Due to the nature of the splinter embedded, it is not easy to locate and all the more difficult to extract. This is largely due to the fact that earlier on, the splinter is only firmly attached in the keratin layer but as time goes by, the friction between toes and obstruction leads to tunneling or piercing of the splinter into the raw unprotected flesh below. When this scenario occurs, pain ensues and while 85% of the population would sit down and proceed to executing a full body search, the remaining 15% always have a positive outlook on life and disregard the pain as just a minor fluke. Strangely, studies have proven that this 15% are usually not fucking retarded. In fact, they're actually pessimist but it could probably mean that the two negatives makes a positive theory is true. Digression.

The extraction process in this scenario is mainly difficult and often complicated because the splinter has embedded deep in the skin and often into the flesh area. Tweezers are usually contraindicated in these situations mainly due to the fact that it tickles. A lot. Therefore, the nail clipper is preferred, even when it could cause some damage. The first thing that must be done is to clear or cut off the skin covering the splinter itself. This in its very entirety poses a threat due to the chance that the splinter being pushed even deeper and causing more pain and possibly bleeding and let's face it, trying to operate on your own feet is very fucking taxing on the back and also on the mind. Regardless, once the skin is removed, the splinter must now be very carefully pinched by the surprisingly not-so-easy-to-pinch nail clipper and removed slowly and all this must be done while the subject is squirming and cursing. Possibly kicking you in the face and spitting but that's the occupational hazard. 75% of the time, the not-so-easy-to-pinch nail clipper morphs into the very-easy-to-cut nail clipper and then... Then there's suffering.

The most common reaction. Minus the dark lord look.

It is inevitable, therefore there has been a solution. While preferably sedated, the subject must now watch and bear the pain as the pinching method is deployed. The area around the splinter must be pinched as hard as possible so that a minor but of it is exposed and the nail clipper must be used again. This has lead to countless arguments over the use of euthanasia because the subject usually cries out in agony and begs for mercy. This is the last chance of extraction and if there is failure, any more ideas of extraction must be shunned from the possibly twisted mind for the good of the subject.

3. Complications.

Common in the Devil's Dick scenario, it could range to minor discomfort to a full blown what the fuck situations. Pain will not be discussed due to it's life preserving mechanism (Message from the author: Remember kids, pain is t3h gewwwddd...) The most common complication is having to walk around with a constant irritation in the foot. This has been known to cause CURIPUBS or CUrsing In Public Syndrome or to the bat shit insane where subjects manually amputate the affected toe using household appliances. However, for those who persevere, the pain usually goes away mainly thanks to the Oompa Loompas in the body going round sprinkling pixie dust. Or something. Whatever.

Death has been reported mainly due to the fact that the splinter enters the blood stream through random wormholes and they sprout into trees in the body. Mental instabilities and substance abuse is also common due to the depression which sets in after the subject realizes that he or she can't even extract a fucking splinter.

Not pictured: The Devil's Dick. Also, wounds from substance abuse. Damn make up.

Others include mainly moronic trials of extraction with fire (NOT fireproof), acid (NOT invincible), sucking said splinter (strained back), and so on.

4. Conclusion.

The increase in splinter cases and their outcomes have been on the rise and due to the fact that it's a splinter, subjects usually laugh at the notion of going to the doctor. It is, of course, quite outrageous for one to be charged a fucked up amount of moo-lah just for a piece of wood. Researches are now furiously trying to come up with a device which would allow swift and painless methods of extracting splinters. Some include the SplinSor which senses the presence of potentially harmful splinters and explodes when it detects one. It's supposed to be attached on the subject's foot, somehow, having your foot explode into tiny chewable pieces is one of the solutions to the unsolvable problem. 'If you don't have a foot, you can't get a splinter' is their motto. Many great figures have recently joined this group of researches, including Dr. Frankenstein, Jack the Ripper, Botakchin, Vlad the Impaler and so on.

Dr. Frankenstein was too busy in his lab to participate.

And dude.

Splinters suck.

Thank you.