IJOK Before and After

I was in Ijok just before their ADUN died and I saw this (above). Last night out of curiosity, since I heard the government was pouring in money by the tons and development in Ijok was unprecedented, I decided to pay Ijok another visit and saw this (bottom).

Who do you think will win?

Heart Stopper

If you have been observing carefully, of late, I have been avoidING reporting on Mancester United matches. It was one of those things you do for no apparent reason, but that does not mean that my love affair with the greatest football team in the world has ended, far from it. The affair is going strong.

Last night's match against AC Milan in the first leg of the Champion's League semi-finals was a real heart-stopper. If they had known it was going to be a scintillating dispalay of free flowing football, I 'm sure they would have put up a warning that this match is not for the faint of heart or for those suffering from any heart conditions, broken heart included.

The early goal by Cristiano Ronaldo, the newly crowned player of the year, promised a night of United domination but it was not to be. The gallant Milan players bogged the United players to their own half for much of the first half restricting them to occasional but dangerous counter-attacks. Then the equaliser by none other than the magnificient Kaka, who incidentally was reported in a blog to have confided to a former MU player Kleberson that he harbours hope of playing for United one day. It was followed by a gift goal due to the unusual line up in the defence but all the same we should not deny credit to Kaka for the way he manipulated the disarrayed United defence.

Then United shifted a gear and it was all United. Milan could have thought that they should shift to a gear lower and go into defense mode but that was their own undoing. In one of the many raids, Rooney, the last English hope, equalised for United.

The match ended in a nail biting victory a minute into time added time by none other than Rooney again after being fed with a delicious through ball by the evergreen Giggs. And if Chelsea thought they are masters of the late goals, then United certainly showed them that they are also as capable. Coming so late in the game, the equaliser then sent Milan into panic gear.

As I was going back to sleep I received a message from zorro. I knew he would be watching. Now for the return leg. And congratulations to Ronaldo for being awarded the PFA Player of the Year 2007 and PFA Young Player of the Year 2007, a rare double.

Glory, Glory MAN UNITED.

22nd May 1979

My father died while I was working in Pasir Puteh Kelantan in 1979. Somewhere in April I received a telegram saying that my father was sick. I did not panic coz 2 years before that, during the emergency in Kelantan he was admitted. I rushed back then only to see him smiling at me in his hospital bed.

That evening I took a bus for Penang and upon arrival late the next day I rushed to the GH. He was not smiling, but was in a coma. I was told that the hospital erred in not discontinuing his valium injections. Prior to that he was violent and they had to give him valium but the initial dose did not keep him down so the doctor gave him another dose. When he got up, he was violent again and the doctor perscribed more valium. After that, every four hourly they gave him more valium and when confronted by my cousin who worked with a doctor, they discontinued the valium but my father was to get up only after about 2 weeks.

I spent about 4 days with him in the hospital and not once did he regain consciousness. I knew it must have been because of his drinking. He was an alchoholic. He quit abruptly and the withdrawal made him violent. I left Penang without being able to talk to him.

About a week after returning to Kelantan, I received another telegram asking me to go home. That very night I took a bus back and reached home the next evening. Again I rushed to the hospital. I was pleased to see that my father was conscious and it looked from afar like he was talking to my mother who was beside him. As I reached his bed, my mother's face told a different story. I asked her why and she said that my father does not recognise anyone, not even her, his wife for 29 years. Yes he was talking, but it was just nonsense. It seemed that he had overdosed on valium and that affected his brains and it was irreversible. The damage was permanent. I was not ready for another development that I saw. His stomach bloated like a football.

I stayed another 4 nights with him and yet did not get to speak to him coz he never knew that it was me there beside him. I was a total stranger. On my last day at the hospital, my mom told me that she heard the doctors say that he is suffering from terminal cancer of the liver and that he has no chance whatsoever. The bloated stomach was the result of his liver having completely failed to function.

I left for KL and and as usual tried to get a ticket to KB but this time there was no ticket. I had to sleep on the stone bench at Puduraya. The night was cold and I did not get much sleep. The next day I took a taxi to another bus station, I can't remember where, and got a nine o'clock bus to Kuantan. From Kuantan I took a taxi to Pasir Puteh. All along I tried to hold down the tears. I did not want anybody to see me crying.

The 22nd of May, Tuesday, was a holiday. I can't remember what occasion it was. I was in school training the school choir. I got home in the afternoon and seeing no one at home I took a nap. I got up in the evening and only then realised that it was my 23rd birthday. I never celebrate birthdays anyway so just brushed it off. I decided to take a bath. My housemates were all in KB enjoying the holiday. I heard a knock on the door. I quickly dried myself and with only a towel wrapped I ran to open the door. I was met with someone I did not know. He introduced himself as a police officer and that had they received a phone call from Penang. He broke the news about my father's death. I did not cry. I could see him looking into my eyes as if ready to act if I were to take it badly. That did not happen. I thanked him and head for my room.

I sat on the bed dazed but did not cry. When my friends got home I told them the news and they were sadder than I was . I did not want to take a bus that night coz that would mean I would only reach Penang late in the evening the next day. I decided to take a flight the next morning and could be in time for his burial. At about 2.00 am I got up. I couldn't sleep. I opened the front door, sat on the concrete verandah and cried my heart out. I was alone and I preferred it that way. No wonder he insisted on me getting married that year. He had wanted me to get married in April but my wife's side wanted it in November coz they needed time to prepare. He was not happy but relented.

I remembered him as the father who never laid a hand on me. When he first knew that I had started smoking, at the age of 18, he called me into the room. He said 'Saya ingat you satu orang dalam ini famiy tadak hisap rokok. Those were his exact words. He asked me to get out of the room and the next morning he left me 4 sticks of Benson & Hedges. He said he doesn't want me to steal money from my mom to buy cigarretes. His Malay was not good coz he came to Malaysia from Pakistan in his late teens after the war. His English was also not that good coz he picked up the language while serving in the British army. He did not have much of an education but his last post was that of a manager. I also remember something that others would say is odd for a father to say to a son. " You can drink, gamble and play with women, I don't care but if you take drugs I'll kill you".

Yes, I got back in time for his burial and did what a son should do but I did one more thing. I promised to quit drinking coz that killed my father. I finally managed to completely quit about a year later.

Poetic Justice

I have always wanted to blog about this to see if I am the only one suffering from this disease or there are others like me here on this earth. I can't be alone I'm sure coz that would make me a freak and I don't exactly cherish being called one. No this is not something that is earth-shattering serious that warrants debate by the United Nation or even a change in the rules the game is played. This is not even that serious that requires Sheih to have another look at how he makes movies.

When I was younger I do go to the movies like any other normal Malaysian. Now what do you have there in the movies? Of course there is the hero, heroine (is that spelt right?) and the must have not so good-looking villain or crook I chose to call him. The hero almost always works alone maybe with a sidekick thrown in onece for good measure and the crook would have an army.

To make my point clearer lets create a scene in a make-believe movie which is not so make-believe anyway coz you may have seen such a scene in one of the movies you have seen before. There is this gang of filthy, low-down, useless and ruthless plunderers. They roam the land and since I called them plunderers, they plunder any god forsaken town or village they come across. No one is spared. No a bullet in the head is not good enough. They would rather round-up their victims, tie them to stakes and lynch them or drag them with their feet tied until there is not an ounce of blood left. This only happens to men and not so good looking women. The good looking dames pay for being so delicious in their attributes. They do not do it alone but in fours and on all fours.

Their eyes will role exposing more of the white in their eyes. More often then not they have not had a bath for about a month and their moustache and beard are thick and dirty and sticky and all yucky. The hero stumbles upon this group to which he is pounced on by about 30 dirty men. They tie him up by they feet and dragged round in their horses to the melodic music of Bangawan Solo or is it Bangali one so long? Anyway he bleeds like hell and they left him for dead.

Are you still with me? Need I throw in some explicit scene or excerpts from 'Liverpool Library' to keep you here with me? Anyway our hero it seems carry spare blood 'AB' negative, so rare. It takes him about 2 months to recover which includes many visits to Madam Zora's bar whose girls played a crucial role in his recuperation. These girls by the way are also victims of these band of plunderers. Look at their 555 books, a long list of unpaid bills. These bastards not only rob and rape they also do not pay for their occasional visits at Madam Zora's.

Anyway our hero gets better and rode off in search for the villains who incidentally in one of their raids killed his wife, do the Mona Fandey on his mother and father and sold his children to a Myanmar couple in Sentul. Boy is he enraged. He is so angry that he could kill a minister, no not the church going one. Anyway he was ambushed and caught, deja vu?

The group leader decides that he has had enough of this no-good, refuse-to-die, meddling son of a bitch. He opened up his ' A Thousand and One Torture Positions - A Sicilian Kamasutra' by Don Torturo and flipped the pages. Then he did the meanest things perscribed which had Satan flying down to him pleading him to stop, promising to be a born again whatever, if he did. The hero, a Richard Gere look alike ended up looking like a certain minister who accused women of being lying bloggers and that made the audience all scream in fear at such an ugly sight.

As the crook looks down on the hero with his shot gun (don't get any ideas) pointing at the hero's forehead, our hero somehow manages to get a gun, obviously conveniently planted by the director, come on Sheih, you can do better, and shoots the crook square in the forehead and he drops dead.

That's it? That's all he gets for the millions of women he raped, thousands of villages he razed, billions of children he sold to Myanmese couples and all those unpaid bills at Madam Zora's? A bullet in the head and he didn't even feel it and drop down dead? You call this justice? You must be sick. I will not accept this. Sheih you must really go to directing school if you buy this ending. Come on people, we can't accept this. Ideas, ideas someone. How would you actually want it to end? The more graphic the better.

Rated 18+

I am just in the mood to share some of the jokes I learnt when I was young. We use to call them rugby jokes. Some are of course new and some made-up at the point of typing. If You find them or the language offensive then forgive me. If you have heard any before sorry to bore you but I welcome anyone who cares to add to it.

1. What is the height of frustration?
Running around a banana tree with your cock in your hand trying to screw your own arse.

2. What is the height of laziness?
Putting your cock in a hole in the ground and waiting for an earthquake to shake for you.

3. What is the height of agony?
Sliding down a blade naked using your balls as brakes.

4. The author of the book The case of the Flooded China.
Wan Long Pee

5. The author of the book The Case Of The Pregnant Cow
Bullgonin

6. What are the fuckawee people?
A pygmy tribe in the Savannas. When hunting one will stand on the shoulders of another and say Where the fuck are we?

7. What is George Bush to Dick Cheney?
Dick's Bush

8. The difference between Circus Girls and Choir Girls.
Circus girls have a cunning array of stunts and Choir Girls have a stunning array of cunts.

9. At Pearly gates both Princess Diana and Dolly Parton were asked to show their attributes. Dolly exposed her hugh breasts and Diana peed in a glass. Diana got to go in. When Dolly asked why the answer given was 'A royal flush beats a pair anytime'.

Can't think of anymore at this time. If any would like to add, I welcome it. If you want to express your displeasure you are welcomed to. If they are not funny don't laugh.

A CALM BEFORE THE STORM? A MIRACLE?

Last week, as usual I spent 2 days with my brother at his place. Visitors came in droves that sometimes I felt that we could do without some. I know they meant well. My brother has many friends, many of whom are people he had helped and it is heartening to note that these people had not forgotten him. They came and recited the Yassin. Some came with traditional medicines and some with 'Air Yassin'.

My brother was just lying there, with tears trickling down his cheeks as each visitor approached him with words of encouragement. He couldn't speak. Each time he tried, he was inaudible. He could not even lift his hands. He was lying down watching. Every few minutes or so he would slip into a slumber. He had not eaten for many days. We had to spoon feed him water and juice.

On Sunday evening a relative came. I could see that he was visibly shocked by the sight of my brother lying down listless. I left them to go out for a smoke. The relative came to me and I was shocked to see him crying like a baby. He said that he couldn't bear to see my brother and that he would try his best to do something. This relative of mine is known to claim that he is a part-time bomoh. He practices what is called 'Metaphysical Healing'. I am known in the family to be the one who do not believe in bomohs.

He offered to help and I saw no reason to stop him since the doctors had given up all hopes. After some of the visitors had left, he started. He chanted verses of the quran and was very animated with his hands, catching invisible objects, crushing them in his fist and pressing them down to the tiled floor. He went about it for about an hour. Then he took an egg, wrote some something on the egg and started rolling it all over my brothers body. In the end he wrapped the egg in tissue and put it in a plastic bag and asked my nephew to throw it into a river or the sea.

What I admired about him is that, he knows some would laugh at him at his style of healing but he didn't give a damn. When all was over he left. About half an hour after that I left. When I got home I received a phone call from my sis-in law asking for the relative's phone number. I asked why and she said that my brother drank his first half glass of water. He drank and not spoon fed. I passed it off as a mere coincident but gave the number anyway.

Though I do not believe in all these mumbo jumbo, I still called him and thanked him for I could feel that he was sincere in wanting to help his way. Everyday I called my brother's house and was given very encouraging results. My brother is now able to sit on the sofa. Of course he had to be carried to it but all the same he could sit and prop his head against his hand which is strong enough to withstand the weight of his hand. I promised to go over on wednesday night but had to cancell since the bridge was closed and roads leading to it was jammed because of the bomb hoax. So I decided to video call him and was surprised to see him sitting on the sofa and talking to me in quite a clear voice. I was also told by my sis-in-law that he finished a whole fish that day. I couldn't and did not want to hold back the tears.

The next night, last night, after school, I rushed to his place on the mainland and sure enough there he was sitting on the sofa, without the usuall oxygen tube. He smiled when I entered. As I greeted him, tears began to trickle down both our cheeks. I was unashamed to cry for I was very happy with what I saw. We spent quite a nice few hours talking and watching tv.

I still do not have too high a hope because I know what stage 4 cancer could do. This could be the calm that preceeds a violent storm. I am not saying that my relative has nothing to do with this sudden change but neither am I saying that he is responsible for this small miracle but I am grateful. I believe that if God wishes, then it happens. Deep inside, underneath the fear of the impending storm amidst this calmness, I pray that this small miracle would evolve into a big miracle.