Objects in the rear view mirror...

…may appear closer than they are. Sort of an apt saying to kick off the new year. Looking back, we had one helluva year in 2011 didn’t we? While the past was touted more as the year of the “leaks” (Assange, BP, Chef Riz’s resume) 2011 was more a tale of change, and those awkward moments when most of us would go “Hooray!” at first, “Ermmm” in the middle and unfortunately “Uh-oh…” towards the end.

Ousted Mubarak? Awesome. In it’s place is a shaky government, not knowing really what to do as they’ve been sitting around listening to the old geezer for the past 3 decades.

Found Gaddafi in a ditch? Rejoice! Now the 3^rd largest oil reserves are up for grabs for the next big thug to pillage.

Kim Jong Il died? Gom Bae (cheers)! Now we have his son in his place with a more illin’ haircut and probably a bigger bloodthirst for pulling the moon out of its orbit and hide it in North Korea.

Osama? Let’s not go there, shall we.

Truth is, 2011 was a year that had us sitting on the edge of our seats, jumping up to celebrate on occasion with short bursts and squeals of victory, and then watched in horror as the enemies scored an equaliser into the net every time in response.

Closer to home, KL city saw the promising start of an integrated, connected sky walk system being constructed, linking major shopping malls to…err, major shopping malls. Perhaps this is a precursor to what we can expect to happen during the next rainy season as we watched in horror when Kajang was half submerged in floodwater. Even Jalan Tun Razak wasn’t spared of flooding, but at least for the first time, there was an actual, physical reason that caused a traffic jam on Tun Razak.

We won the Tiger Cup, but we lost to Singapore for the World Cup qualifiers.

We launched a new Proton, and it looks like a Mitsubishi again.

The future always looked so promising back in 2011. But when we finally get there in the present, we end up checking our receipt to see if we’re actually paying for what we ordered before.

So let’s try to approach 2012 a bit more cautiously, I say. Avoid spasming into premature ejaculation the minute we think we’re gonna get laid.

That one night stand you were working towards might end up in a long term psychotic relationship.

Happy New Year!

2012 ReSOULutions

2011 was like a bad girlfriend for me. One that didn’t put out much or wouldn’t swallow, but still had me run around doing errands and forced me to get in touch with my inner feelings. Like a lesbianic transvestite, it propelled me to continuously roger myself for 12 months on end.

Therefore, 2012 will be touted as the year yours truly will do some soul searching. And with every other new year that comes along, a proper resolution is again needed, as a checklist of awesomeness to keep me in check. Because though you may not have noticed, I am an advocate of not just content with awesome, when I can awe-all.

So as I leave 2011 in the rear view mirror, here’s looking at the list of 30 important things I intend to achieve for daunting year ahead….

     1. Develop spidey-sense

     2. Stop ordering Pure Vanilla at Coffee Bean

     3. Try not to look like an angry gopher while cycling        uphill

     4. Add Julian Assange in my FB friends list

     5. Guess the name of Samsung Galaxy S II’s replacement model (Galaxy S IV? Galaxy S XII?)

     6. Become a YouTube singing sensation

     7. Catch a snatch thief

     8. Invest in a new BB….without buying a fancy cover for it

     9. Stop checking under hotel beds for dead corpses

     10. Get a Licence to Grill

     11. Master the art of jiggling my pectoral muscles

     12. Buy a samurai sword umbrella

     13. Memorise a Pitbull rap song

     14. Sing in my own voice when karaoke-ing

     15. Learn a more macho way of shooing a rabid dog from chasing me while cycling (in 2011 the benchmark was a frantic, gasping “Hoish! Hoish!”, scissor-kicking while trying to pedal with one leg)

     16. Learn how to dive head first into a swimming pool….gracefully.

     17. Stop verbally threatening my belly before doing sit ups at the gym (You gon’ dieeee mafakah!)

     18. Accept the fact that the perfect porn movie does not exist on BitTorrent

     19. Delete Foursquare app from phone

     20. Stop secretly watching Keeping up with the Kardashians

     21. Read a book when NOT taking a dump

     22. Realise that shaving pubes does not make me look like a porn star

     23. Learn to flip food in a frying pan

     24. Stop saying “Dunhill Lights 20 satu!” when buying ciggies

     25. Finish all levels of “The Biggest Loser” on my XBOX 360

     26. Learn to bowl like a man and spin that ball, b!tch

     27. Pop my knuckles without wincing in pain

     28. Stop inspecting freshly cut toenails and wondering how the corners turned green

     29. Learn to love taugeh

And last but not least…

     30. Stop writing nonsense to try and make sense of nonsense.

So here’s to a hectic wedding schedule for the 20^th of December 2012, as come 2013, there’ll be no more nonsense of “that cool wedding date” for people to antagonise their families and friends with. Now that, is something I’m definitely looking forward to for 2013!

Stay safe, stay whimsical and stay true to yourself, mafakahs. See you on the other side!

The Cycling Diary of The Blue Boroi : Entry 3. Day 17.

Upped my game to an average of 30 clicks on a triple-loop round Melawati with a final BDSM session with K2 (K-Klub Hill, not in Nepal). Cadence getting more consistent, and I now manage to do my uphill burn pedals without grimacing like an angry gopher.

Still deciding when I'd want to try off-roading, as that will determine whether I get suckered into spending on that Cannondale full carbon roadie and fill my wallet with pretend money for the next six months.

Currently feel : Like A G6, like a G6...tat-tadat-tadat

But I still look like : The Hindenberg

The Cycling Diary of The Blue Boroi : Entry 2. Day 12.

Chased by 2 dogs on 2 separate sections of my route. My staff must've been right, I've been acting like a bitch lately. Either I was smelling like one, or those were gay dogs in heat. Either way, in those 2 instances, of which we never actually rehearse how we'd actually react to, the best I could muster was shouting "Hoish! Hoish! Hoish!" while frantically scissor kicking with one leg while the other was trying to pedal full rotations.

I feel like : Teen Wolf

But I still look like : Pumba

End of Day 12.

The Cycling Diary of The Blue Boroi : Entry 1. Day 10.

I've been cycling nearly every day for the past 10 days now. Since I noticed most fitness geeks keep a log of every freakin' thing they do, I thought what the hey, it might be of some motivation for me to keep on going.

I'm gonna keep it concise and short, relevant and insightful. Maybe some day it may spawn some other weakling such as myself to also take control of their lives and health. As the parking ticket machine in Wangsa Walk Mall always says..."Change Is Possible!"

So here goes....

Day 10 of cycling

Thigh and calf muscles don't hurt as much. Either I'm getting stronger, or the pain inflicted on my balls from my awesome professional bike seat has numbed my whole nervous system.

I feel like : Hugh Heffner

But I still look like : Paul Giamatti

End of Day 10.

The Road Less Traveled

I’ve just started cycling again. My shiny blue & white Polygon, complete with blue gloves and helmet, blue digital chronograph watch and fake Oakleys from Batu Ferringghi (blue as well) makes me look like a smurf when I roll out on my lazy Saturday morning.

Every day as I pass by my parked shiny blue bike in my front porch, it felt like it was calling out to me. “Ride me, you Viking” it would whisper. It was like an elegant wench, always in a ready and bent position. It was also my Excalibur, a weapon of mass destruction. And by mass I’m referring to the mid-section, specifically.

I even created an alter-ego of myself. The Blue Boroi. A mythical cycling God that can only be seen by the lucky few on alternate Saturdays of the month (best I can do for now). The Blue Boroi rolls out of its cave, awakened by its weeks of slumber, motivated by the nasi lemak stall by the bus stop that always ‘habis stok’ by 830am.

Geriatric joggers tremble in fear. Stray cats in danger of spitting pebbles. Wild dogs stunned into submission. A whizzing mass of blue and white may seem pretty unnerving to the neighbourhood folks of Taman Melawati.

Whilst I was childishly playing trigger finger on my gears last weekend, pretending I was Luke, on the last run deep in the steel canals of the Death Star, with R2 in the back. I chanced upon a pack of multi-colored spandex wearing, co-ed middle aged tribe of cyclists. No, not middle aged. Close to retirement. They looked amazingly bright and flashy, yet mind bending when you try to imagine all the folds of old people skin trying desperately to breathe through the scientifically designed cycle suits. They moved in unison, silent and focused. I on the other hand, was a lone and solitary bulbous blob that winces at even the slightest undulating incline on the road.

Yet they were composed. Looked fit. And oblivious that their chaotic color coding frightens little children and squirrels.

I decided to pace my attention back on my burn session, veered in the opposite direction and continued my self-torture.

After about 16 kilometres of pain (verified by Endomondo on my HTC Desire S) and crushed ball sacks, I glided to the local kedai runcit for a bottle of Tangy Tangerine 100 Plus (because I truly believe I outdid myself) I sat next to the Reverse Osmosis water dispensing machine, flanked by the kelapa parut machine, on the steps of the kedai. Time for a fag (which coincidentally is also a pack of blue Lights).

Suddenly they appeared. Like a scattered pack of Skittles, they descended upon exactly where I was, and decided to park, hang out and grab some drinks. I paid no attention to their chatter, or the fact that I had sweaty, wrinkly legs in ball-hugging spandex around me. In various shades of crazy.

Then I also noticed that at the mamak stall opposite, there were other packs of two-wheelers, equally gay in colors and shiny materials, but different age groups and demographics. There were the husbands and wives club (which I suspect is actually a swinger group by night), the yuppie brigades (since I saw their Touaregs and CRVs nearby with roof and rear rails attached. And they also called each other Bro a lot) and also the hardcore, lean machines that were obviously serious cyclists. They were all in packs, and I was all alone.

Was this a cultural phenomenon that I’ve missed out on, having just initiated into a world of cycling without knowing the do’s and dont’s of the two-wheelers’ code? Will I be a social pariah in the world of cycling, alone and amateurish? Should I step up and say hello to one of the groups and make friends? Find strength in numbers? Modify my wife’s old swim suits and fashion myself a belly hugging jersey?

And then, as I was still deep in thought, 2 little boys walked past and into the store. As they came out, they were giggling something about ‘Telur’ and ‘Geli’.

And I felt good about myself again.

And so I dedicate my unwavering insistence to ride solo for the rest of my days, in normal man sport shorts and plain ‘ol rugby jersey, to a dear friend named Robert Frost, who wrote :

Two roads diverged in a wood and I –

I took the one less travelled by.

And that has made all the difference.

Thank you Rob. Thank you.

Now, time for that ice pack. Someone down there needs some TLC.

Crux

Self realisation can be an awful thing. I stood in front of the mirror one day and took a good, long look at myself. I realised there and then that though I’ve tried every conceivable hairstyle known to Esquire magazine, the problem actually lies on my f*ckin thick, triple-chinned neck, and portly belly.

Am I merely shifting blame to another sad excuse to why I’m not as good looking as Colin Farell? Maybe, but call it what you want, it’s one of those self realisation moments that hits you and hits you hard, and forces you to accept it one way or another.

To my wife’s annoyance, this has led me to one of my man-pondering moments this whole week. There was much more to discover. I felt like putting on a single white glove and shrieking out Man In The Mirror fiercely in front of her dressing table just to keep me in the zone.

Looking through the looking glass, a world of paralleled yet opposed dimensions started opening up to my consciousness. I viciously jotted everything that popped into my head, like when Sam Witwicky started getting bizarre visions from the Allspark that was trying to communicate with him, projecting bizzare symbols only know to the Ancients of Cybertron. Or more like a blind man trying to fill out a deposit slip at Maybank.

Did I save on that 20% discount, or did I lose by spending that 80% unnecessarily?

Did all the pants makers in this world sneakily manufactured size 34 and labelled them 36?

Have all my clients banded together and adjusted their clocks 15 minutes faster?

Did they purposely make all karaoke minus one versions 2 keys higher than my kontrol macho voice?

Did the earth’s rotation slow down to stretch every second by 15 times whenever I’m in bed, leading to my mere 33% achievement rate according to a global survey?

Did I really do what I did or did the whole club hallucinate me taking off my clothes on the table at Chinois?

I took a good long look at my list. And it wasn’t a pretty sight. Summing up the answers to those questions led me to the self realisation that I was gullible, fat, always late, a bad singer, bad in bed and a lightweight at the bar.

Have I always thought that I was pleasingly analytical, with an OK bod, more or less punctual, with the voice of an angel, the stamina of Ron Jeremy and the drinking capacity of 6 vikings?

Apparently I have, and perhaps, just like all of us do, never really looked at the real crux of why our girlfriends, wives, bosses, clients, strangers at the bar - nag, bitch, complain, gossip about us whether we like it or not.

So here’s to you, MJ, cause from now on, I’m gonna turn up the collar on my favourite winter coat, and let the wind blow my mind. Cause no message, could’ve been any clearer, if I wanna make the world a better place, I’ll take a look at myself and make that change.

Shamone!

Don't Forget To Remember

Guess what people, I don’t know if you know it yet, but we’ll be celebrating ‘Malaysia Day’ this 16^th of September. What’s it all about, you ask? It’s about commemorating the establishment of the Federation of Malaysia which consisted of Malaya, North Borneo, Sarawak and Singapore back in 1963. But get this, we only started celebrating this in 2010.

It’s like someone woke up 47 years later and said “Hey you know what, that was actually an important day, Dude. Hey Sabah & Sarawak, sorry we didn’t throw a welcoming party back then and treated you just as a major natural resource all these years with no regards to your indigenous tribes and holding back on a lot of citizenship issues. And hey Singapore, you’re not invited to this par-tay any more coz you left, suckaaa!”

Aside from that, there’s really nothing much to look forward to this month. Raya has passed for the Malays and we’ve had enough of rendangs and ketupats and lemangs. We would’ve been too traumatised by that last 18 hour traffic jam crawl from Butterworth to Gombak to do anything else. The Indians have to wait until the end of next month to get their groove on for Deepavali. It’s business as usual. And boy, do Malaysians hate business as usual.

Technically in Malaysia we’re celebrating something every month. Work is what happens in between bursts of desperate escapisms. We constantly need to get away, go somewhere, make the most of what little time that we have, or have been given.

It doesn’t matter if that upcoming 3 day weekend was to celebrate a day of remembrance for fallen heroes. As long as Hard Rock Hotel doesn’t charge school holiday rates, you should be fine with whatever.

It doesn’t matter if that mid week break was to pay homage to the King’s birthday, to you it would mean finally going head on, on a ladies’ night and not having to worry about a hangover the next day.

Have we lost the sense of meaning, or the ability to appreciate something for what it is, rather than what it allows us to do. Sort of like immortalising the bong rather than the chronic itself. Like keeping trophies of empty exotic beer bottles when you’ve pissed out the good stuff on the floor next to the urinal instead of in it. Like watching Vanessa Hudgens going ape shit on a 50 calibre wearing tight spandex and ghetto hair, in fishnets and ripping bullets through a chasing dragon. Okay, that last bit was out of topic, but Thank God For Sucker Punch.

Case in point Malaysia, it doesn’t take too much to stop for a moment and listen to the sounds of the past. Trust me you’ll feel a lot more wholesome and patriotic while you lounge about near the pool bar on your next mini break.

In the meantime, I feel like a reminiscing some scenes from Sucker Punch myself….

Augmented August

It is August. Three quarters of the way into 2011, fast approaching 2012. Super ark-like submarines are near completion somewhere in Africa, and John Cusack will soon be thankful that his ex-wife hooked up with someone that knows how to fly a plane.

But more excitingly, in true Malaysian fashion, were headed to yet another double whammy of a celebration this year with Raya and Merdeka set for a collision course with each other come this 31^st. But what’s even cooler is that both celebrations mark the significance of the same message.

Freedom.

For Hari Raya, it’s a day of celebrating triumph of the soul after 30 days of fasting from food, drinks and sin. (All the 3 elements that makes up a bloke’s DNA, of course. So that’s why us Muslim boys whine like bitches for 30 days, OK)

For Merdeka, well, obviously it’s about celebrating the country’s independence. What? You mean you didn’t know? Hell yeah, we’ve been independent and free to lead our way of life for the past 54 years. What? Doesn’t feel like it? Then put that yellow PicBadge on your FB profile pic, Sir. And join the war of the primary colors of yellow, blue and red (you probably know which is which). It’s like watching sports day at your local SRK I tell ya.

But no thanks, Sir, thank you very much, not for me. At least not for this month. Screw y’all and all your grand agendas, both of you! This month I’ll be reflecting on Me. Moi. Gua. Aku. To quietly meditate internally and find out who I really am, and who I really ought to be. To free my soul, instead of my superego. To tell everyone else that if they’re cooler than me, that means I’m hotter than them. To realise that I shouldn’t harbour any more intentions to kill Justin Bieber, or any superficially hot persons in this world. I would kill the hottest person in the world if I could, but suicide is illegal in this country.

The explosion of celebration of freedom will be internal for me this time. Like a woman’s orgasm. On the outside I will portray self control. Instead of jumping around waving flags, I’ll say a silent prayer for the fallen ones. Then probably do something meaningful like get my CRV tyres rotated.

But damn, it’s Raya season so I guess the workshops will be packed with people desperately trying to get back to where they think they came from.

Well I don’t know about you guys, with the way shit’s going down all around us today, I’d probably be mapping out a route to Africa right about now, and join my good ol’ buddy Mr. Cusack before we hit the new year.

Because instead of being so fixated about where we came from, to the point of national insanity every year, let’s try a little to focus on where we want to be in the future ey? Who knows, it could be the key to solving a lot of shit in this country.

To all my Muslim friends, salam Ramadhan! Fast, don’t be Furious, haha.

Reduce? Reuse? Recycle?

There’s an article in a recent Newsweek magazine which highlighted the amusing fact that now, since the handful of Middle Eastern coutries have come together to oust their dictatorial regimes, the CIA have lost valuable allies in their counter-counter-intelligence efforts in these hot zones.

Apparently, syphilis-ridden despots have been playing a crucial role in assisting the CIA in going after the badder bad guys. These include pulling people off the streets and straight into torture cells, assassinations off the radar and the seasonal run-of-the-mill car bombs.

Apparently, the trade-off for a clean government for the good of the people comes with the sacrifice of losing control of lurking terrors, safe in the constitution of renewed democracy and the sanctity of human rights. Yes, even suicide bombers can exercise their rights if they need to.

I wonder what the trade-off would be for us to have a cleaner, Singapore-like, by the book government. We keep demanding for it, sneering at Buletin Utama every time a minister is seen declaring some new policy. Scoffing is so second nature to us Malaysians that it’d be practically unMalaysian like to watch the news without giving a ranting comment about something. Even if your audience was limited to your mother in law, Indonesian maid and 2-year old daughter.

With all the brouhaha about BERSIH gaining a strong sarcastic momentum, let us not deny the fact that as clean as we want the government to be, these are the top 10 things in my list that we openly could not live without:

1. Neighbourhood pirated DVD guy.
2. Unlicensed, yet oh so good Ramly burger stalls
3. Roti man
4. Illegal nightclub valets
5. Kakak jual air outside your kid’s school
6. Highway durian sellers
7. Newspaper guys next to the bus stop on Sunday morning
8. LowYat AP underwater phone guy
9. Ops Sikap discounts
10. Fengtau Nightclub toilet Mentos and asam selling Uncle

So how squeaky do we really want to clean ourselves up, eh? As we sift through the rubbish, probably there some items worthy of being recycled before somebody really comes to take out the trash.

April

I was born on the 28th of April. April is a good month for me. And my adventures in April 2011 were no lesser than feschizzle. And I know I shouldn't start a sentence with the word 'And'. And I'm sorry, Cikgu Zuhuriah.

My wife bought me a Yamaha sound system. It looks awesome in my living room. I think the manual also says it can play sounds. But I like the beautiful silent types.

My family bought me a shiny blue bike. I had the privilege to choose it at the bike store. "You want a road bike?" asked my cyclemaster of a brother. "Nope" I said. "A racing bike?". "Nope" I repeated. I chose my shiny blue bike based on its awesomeness. It spoke to me, hanging up on that wall. I will make you look awesome. "Ride me, you viking" said the wench of a bike. Just like my very own personal Merlin, the pimply sales boy heeded my bidding and brought me my Excalibur. I rode it 2 days later. Wind in my face, spitting loose pebbles at the cats I whizzed past. I felt alive. I felt the freedom of the open road. But my balls hurt the next day.

I secretly sold my HTC Legend at a humiliating second hand price. I bought the HTC Desire S, although it hasn't launched officially in KL yet. The Chinese man at the booth was like a Shaman with magical powers. He sold me great power, that does not necessarily come with great responsibility. My magical phone has awesome powers now, such as throwing a variety of birds at wooden boxes, glass blocks, monkeys and evil frogs. And when my heart desires, I can summon free music from a mysterious source. It also comes with voice navigation, by someone that sounds like an expat's wife trying to negotiate in a pasar malam (Turn left at Jelen Toon Rezuck). Now I lead a secret double life. Posing as a Blackberry by day. And awesome bird catapult specialist, in toilet cubicles.

I bought a book written by an ex-Prime Minister. I try to read a chapter every night. I learn new things from this book. You can justify what a badass you were by writing a book about your bad ass-ness in future. Even the people that hated you will eventually buy your book to find out just how bad-ass you were. And later realise that you are SO bad ass, that you managed to rip them off of a hundred bucks without even getting your nearly 90 year old ass off of the couch. I hope my ass is as bad as that when I'm his age. I will laugh at everyone from the comfort of my kickass mansion, eating smoked salmon. Which I will call "gravad lax" just like Ikea does. Coz Im a bad ass that way.

Speaking of being a bad ass, this April was also the first month I lost my temper with a staff member. I ended the phone conversation by throwing my office phone all over my desk. Then I went to Wangsa Walk Mall and bought me some awesome looking, orange colored laptop speakers. I then rushed back to my office, switched on my Itunes and played songs by Korn out loud. I spent 79 bucks just to ensure that my other staff outside my room knew I was angry, instead of thinking I dropped my phone on the floor.

I also started on 2 freelance jobs back in the ad industry. One of them required me to present the campaign deck since I was a suit. I even wore a suit to the presentation to make sure they did not mistake me for anything other than a suit. Back at the lobby, passer-byes looked strangely at the odd man in the suit, in the hot sun along Lebuh Ampang, taking slow drags from his cigarette, imagining when Stirling Cooper was going to make him partner. Or fantasizing going back to an office filled with Joan Holloways, and celebratory single malt shots. My arm pits were damp under the suit. But Don Draper never gave a f*ck about his arm pits.

My wife also bought me an early anniversary present. It was a Puma watch that can read my heart rate by communicating wirelessly to a thingamajiggy that's strapped to my chest. Excited, I decided to try it at the gym that same night. I strapped the magic awesome chest strap around my upper torso under my gym t shirt. Upon reaching the gym, it was closed at 10pm when I thought it opened until midnight. Grumbling, I had to walk straight to the parking ticket machine. It was raining. I looked like I was wearing a bra from behind.

Now the month of May is upon me. Anniversary, wife's birthday and Mother's Day rolled into one. Luckily, I saved up enough money to buy the wife extraordinary gifts. My daughter is starting to role play and make up her own lyrics (and Middle Earth language). She's sleeping in between us tonight, with pig tails intact. The wife has dozed off after getting her fix of Unifi-downloaded god-knows-which-season-of-which-series.

It was a good April, thanks to them. And to my brother and sisters, mom and dad. April comes and goes, and hopefully the next ones will be just as satisfying. But hopefully, a bit easier on the balls.

The One's For The 30 Somethings...

Feeling a bit nostalgic today. Not in a sappy way. The kind that makes you want to feel silly about yourself. Usually memories are encapsulated in images in our heads. But words can stir up a rush of emotions and nostalgia just as powerfully. So tonight I’m racking my brain for all you 30 somethings out there. Sit back, and immerse yourselves in 99 words that acts as a mini time machine. Then tell me how it made you feel. This one’s for the 30 somethings!

1. 5 zigen

2. Jun Saito / Cardin House

3. Bawah 20

4. Tali pinggang buckle

5. Gila siaaaallllll

6. Starlet Turbo

7. Body Shop Dewberry perfume

8. Fahrenheit

9. Salem Power Station

10. Pogo party

11. Airwalk

12. Ollie and kickflip

13. California Pro

14. Centurions : Powweerrrr Extreeeemmmeee

15. My little pony, my little pony, tadadat tadadat tat tat taa…

16. Pop Ice!

17. Kum-Kum

18. Ding Dang / Toooo-raaaa!

19. Heathcliffe, heathcliffe no one should…terrorise the neighbourhood

20. But Lagen

21. Doc Mart

22. Chicago Bears / Tatanka

23. Mix Grill Bangsar

24. Boom Boom Room

25. Finnegan’s

26. Barbarran’s

27. Chinois

28. Backroom!

29. Echo’s

30. Forum

31. Picadd(ily)!

32. Dunhill 7 satu, ane.

33. Le Run

34. Aliph Hi Cut Riders, Pallas Jazz

35. Boot bola Fung Keong

36. Kasut takraw Carefree

37. Cross Colors

38. Anything Fluorescent

39. Boy London

40. GQ, brown/purple slacks, silky soft shirts, rambut belah tengah

41. Sundal Bolong

42. Mr. Os

43. Proton Knight

44. Honda Mayat

45. Kawasaki Kips

46. Yamaha SS100

47. K&N Air filter

48. Super Drager

49. Airwolf, Blue Thunder, Street Hawk!

50. Grandy’s

51. Sate Ria!

52. Kuwahara

53. Guns n Roses : Patience

54. Kuntum

55. Subbetteo

56. Double Dragon

57. Abuuugggen

58. Sagat! Sagat! Sagat!

59. Daytonnnnnnaaaaaaa (rolling start!) – Last corner, drop gear 4 to 2, then 1, back to 2,3 and 4.

60. Time Crisis

61. Gitar Kapok

62. #mamak #kampung #salleh’splace

63. Hypercolor t-shirts

64. Menulis beribu-ribu perkataaannn…kilometricooooo

65. Apit-G

66. KH (Kemahiran Hidup) and ERT (Ekonomi Rumahtangga)

67. Pijas (Pendidikan Jasmani) ????

68. Gua ada kaum / Dia ada kaum siootttt

69. Vitagen order form

70. Chicanos vs Skinhead Vs rappers vs skaters vs GQ vs …..

71. Kami rappers yo, yo,yo

72. Fionaaaaaaaa

73. Bergema takbir di pagi raya. Menyambut syawal. Bulan mulia

74. Allawannadosummazoomzoomzoom anna pom pom

75. Orait stop. Korekburit and listen

76. Sambolita sente moya heeyy jumbo jumbo. Somebody teteknya goyang. Heyyy jambu jambu

77. Lan-tak lan botak lan makan taik katak (??!??!)

78. Polis and thief, want to jaga. Polis mati pencuri ja-ga (??!??!)

79. Lat tali lat lai li tamplom

80. Sep sep sep. Pom Pom Pom.

81. Aaaa-was (parap pap) aaaa-was (parap pap) awaaaas gerak langkah mu oo-oohh

82. Black Widow jamming studio

83. Nissan AD Resort

84. Ricky the dragon steamboat / Tito Santana / The British Bulldogs

85. Missing In Action

86. Rick astley music video running up a wall and doing a backflip (nevergonnagive nevergonnagive, give you up)

87. It all keeps adding up, I think im cracking uupp, am I just paranoid, owhowhouhou!

88. Die. By my hand. I creep across the land, killing first born may-y-yaannnnnn

89. Bee Dees Club catalogues

90. TV Pendidikan

91. Babyrina

92. Piyapong Piu On

93. BMW – Bas Mini Wilayah

94. Yaohan The Mall

95. CBN open day

96. Dia dah clash la / aku baru clash dengan dia

97. Micro genuis

98. Contra

And last but not least….

99. Demi negaraaa….yang terrrrcinta…kucurahkan, bakti penuh setiaaaaaa

Sigh….brings tears to my eyes…