Wow, I am totally gonna piss people off with this one.

You know what I can’t stand?



Tattoos. Yeah, I said it. Ohhhh wow, the Constantly Dramatic One doesn’t like tattoos. Call the Cool Police, some bitch is not bending to what the masses think is cool.

Here’s the thing, I don’t hate them….I merely think that they are tacky. Some of them turn out to be great, works of art in fact. Elfie has a bitchin tattoo on her back that even I have to admit, albeit, begrudgingly is pretty awesome. But most tattoos….not so much.

Here’s the thing, tattoos are tacky. I mean, there’s a chance of 3 out of 5 if you would to go to any tattoo parlour that you might possibly come out with a tacky-ass tattoo. And here’s the deal: it is a permanent. Sure, you can laser it off but it just ends up with a bigass scar. And a bigass tattoo scar is just one step down from a massive neon sign on your forehead saying “I am a fucking dumbass”.

Now, I know at this point I am offending a shitload of people who thinks tattoos are so cool. Or maybe I’m not. Who reads this crap anymore anyways? Fuck if I know. I just got a giant beaver crawled up my ass and now I am overcome with the need to bitch about it.

People say they get tattoos cause it symbolizes individually, cause it makes them look edgy and badass, cause its cool. Bitch, ain’t nothing individual about something that every other Tom, Dick and Mariah can get. I know people here who have never left the country, who have never participated in any cultural activities that is not part of their cultural background, and have never ever been in contact with an indigenous person- suddenly, think they all deep and shit because they got some tribal tattoo that says “faith” or “hope” or “love” or some other lameass shit like that.

Fucking with me.

Who the fuck are you to have a tribal tattoo? Who? Back in the day, tribal warriors are tattooed because they fought for something. They proved themselves. They have to kill a jungle cat or a crazed baboon or something...but definitely not a koala. Therefore they get tattoos to show what a big deal of a warrior they are. They earned it. It’s their reward.

You on the other hand: is a white collar, spoilt piece of fuck that thinks he’s all that cause he paid some tattooist to inked some kind of tribal shit on his back- that makes no sense to either the tattooist or himself. But hey, that’s what getting a tribal tat all about right? Being badass cause you inked some shit you don’t understand on your skin. Unless of course “badass” in this plane of existence means “dumb piece of fuck”, which of course is what you are.

And then there those people who have Chinese calligraphy that says something like “destiny” or “other lameass bullshit”. And again, not understanding squat of Chinese. Cause its cool. In fact that’s a pattern that I’ve noticed. People getting words or language they don’t understand tattooed onto themselves. Like Chinese, Sanskrit, Latin or any other fancy schmancy languages. Why?

You don’t understand it. Your tattooist doesn’t understand it. The chance of you fucking it up is so high, it makes Mount Everest looks minuscule. So why do it? Whose to say that, that translation of the word or the phrase is correct? I speak Malay and you don’t so I’m gonna tell you that “Gampang” is “Destiny” and now you gonna walk around with a bigass tattoo of “Gampang” on your back cause you think its destiny. But its not bitch, its not. And now you're stuck with that for life.

And don't get me started on the naked women tattoos. Goddamn sonofabitch, that shit is tacky. Ain’t nothing else could seal your fate in the Douchebag Hall of Fame or secured you a permanent position in the Misogynist Fucktards biweekly club meeting faster then a tat of a blond girl, with big boobs and skinny waist getting tentacle rape by a giant octopus in a field of skeletons on your arm. Oh yeah, that’s sexy. As a woman, I have always want to marry and have lots and lots of babies with manly, tattooed men who like to watch their women getting tentacle fucked in a field of skeletons. Oh yeah, what a dreamboat.

And those lower back tattoo for women? They are called “Tramp stamps”. When I was growing up, I wanted to become a detective, a zoologist, a journalist, fuck- even the first female Prime Minister of Malaysia…but never have I ever wanted to be a “tramp” or want a stamp of being a tramp be branded onto me. Seriously.

I have to admit that some tattoos are pretty awesome. But very few and far between. Most of them are just tacky, and in the long run- a really fucking stupid decision that you can never take back. But I am alone in this one. No one else I know, or know of have anything against tattoos. The consensus is they’re cool.

And I’m the uncool fat kid standing in the corner realizing how stupid all you sheep are. Life’s tough like that.

Bish plz, you don't want to be messin with my homegirl now....

My life has now been reduced to fighting with 13 year old girls.

 

 

Seriously.

 

 

See, my family and I are close with our neighbours. One family in particular. My dad is best friends with the well…the neighbour’s dad. When my dad wanted to start his company back in the 80s, it was the neighbour who lent him the capital he needed. We have been living in this neighbourhood for 19 years…and so has our neighbour. He got married late though so his kids are years younger then my siblings and I. Nonetheless, those kids grew up running in and out of my house.

 

 

I practically watched them grow. I’m kinda close with the eldest one. I used to help her out with her homework back in primary school, take her and her siblings for movies and babysit…for free. I don’t like kids, but I make an exception for these kids. After seeing them day in and day out…..them kids just grew on me you know.

 

 

So Clara* is 13 years old this year. The first year of her secondary school. And as fate has it, her parents have taken her out of her co-ed primary school and transferred her into an all-girls secondary school. I am a veteran of all-girls primary AND secondary school and being thrown into all-girls secondary school at the age of thirteen where all the crazy hormones just started acting up is not easy. I’ve been there. And so have you. And to top it all….Clara is well….geekish. She’s tall you know for her age, about a head taller then everyone else in her class. She’s tall, lanky, slouches a bit and wears glasses. You know the type. There’s nothing wrong with being geeky of course…later in life. But a geek at the age of 13?

 

 

It’s a fucking death sentence.

 

 

Clara came over to hang with me over the weekend. So were in my bed exchanging stories and I noticed that she kept on changing the subject whenever I asked her about school. After a while I got sick and tired of probing and I was like “Fuck investigative journalism” and asked her point blank what the fuck is up. Then she started crying. Like seriously, we’re talking the quite kind of crying. No hiccups, no drama just like this never ending stream of tears. I freaked out! I was like “Motherfucker! What the fuck? Does she have cancer? Is that the big secret?!! Bloody hell, I should not have asked! I cannot deal if she has cancer!”

 

 

But outside I was all cool and I was like “What’s wrong babe? Tell me.” All the while hoping it’s not cancer…..cause you know. She’s 13. That would totally be fucked up.

 

 

Then all these stories came out. These three 13-year-old skank whores have been picking on her since the beginning of the year. Calling her names, telling her ugly to her face, pushing…elbowing her in the halls and in class when she’s getting to her seat so she’ll trip instead. They whisper behind their hands as she walked by. All these hideous, adolescent, mind game, bulliying fuckery. But what she kept on repeating again and again was that these whores call her ugly. I think that really cut into her self-esteem. I mean I know. I was bullied. I was bullied cause I was fat. I am still fat. I was bullied when I was 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9. That’s 5 years of fuckery before I became a total badass when I was 10 and beat up the kids who bullied me. No really.

 

 

I. Beat. Them. Up.

 

 

I was 10, they were 12 and I beat them up. And I kicked one into the drain. Cause he was on his bicycle and he was mocking me so I went over and kicked his bicycle which happened to be by the drain so asshole and his bicycle both fell into the drain. I beat another one with a piece of wood. Asshole was asking for it. True story. I’ll blog about it someday.

 

 

So yeah. Me. Badass.

 

 

So by the time I hit 13, no one messes with me. Clara clearly, has not achieved the badass status that I had at her age. So she cried and I listen. And I remember all those years when I was bullied…you don’t forget this shit you know. I was picked on because I was fat. She’s being picked on cause she’s tall and lanky…and geeky.

 

 

Same shit. Different era.

 

 

It was with that thought that I went to her school yesterday, on Monday. I actually cancelled plans I made to watch the new HP movie with my friends so that I can go to her school during recess. You don't mess around with my homegirl and think you could get away with it. I made a point to dress up. I wore this maroon dress, 4 inch high heels and made sure the make up made me look older then I am. The point to drive home here was :

 

 

“I am a woman. You are 13-year-old skank whores. The End.”

 

 

I went there during recess so that Clara can point out the miniature bitches to me….and then I waited for them after school. No point causing a scene during school hours. We all could get in trouble. So I waited and just like Clara said, all 3 of them came out together. I went over with a smile and introduced myself. I was like

 

 

“Hi, I’m CD*…that’s Kak CD to you.”

 

(For those not in the know, “Kak” means “older sister”, it’s a term of respect we used here in Malaysia to address a female that’s older then you.)

 

“How are you girls today? Good?”

 

 

By these time, them miniature bitches were like taken aback by me. So I went on with a smile on my face.

 

 

“Can you guys see that girl standing over that red car over there? Yeah, that’s Clara. I’m sure that you guys know her cause the 3 of you have been bullying her since the beginning of the year. You know….pushing her around and calling her names?

 

 

“See…when she told me that you guy have been calling her “ugly” and “buttface” and whatever else….I was imagining that the 3 of you would be like these hot shit you know. That’s why you girls could go around calling people names cause you are just sooooooooooo attractive. But now that I actually met you guys…..I’m surprised that your parents did not kill you at birth.

 

 

Seriously. Have you guys looked into a mirror lately?”

 

 

Should have seen the look on their faces. It was a mixture of panic and shock. So I went on.

 

 

“See I have known Clara all her life. I watched her grow. She’s like my little sister and frankly I don’t like hearing all these bullshit I have been hearing. Seriously, would you like it if I call you Acne Face to your face?”

 

 

One of the girls has a serious case of acne.

 

 

“Not very nice now is it?”

 

At this point one of the girls opened her mouth to protest....but I held up my hand and gave her a look. Not when I’m talking bitch.

I'll Crucio all of them. Miniature skank whores.

 

 

“So here’s the deal. Stop this fucking bullshit right now. If you don’t….I’m not gonna go to the teachers. That’s soooo highschool. And I am over highschool. I am going to go to your house instead and speak personally to your parents. I have lived here longer then you do. I know people. And trust me….it’ll be easy to find out where you live.”

 

 

This is of course bullshit. I don’t know that many people. And I don’t think I will be able to find out where they live…but hey it’s not like these miniature bitches know that. Also by this time, one of them have started crying. Man…I feel bad for that. But you don’t go around bullying people and not be ready to face the consequences.

 

 

And then I pointed at Clara again.

 

 

“That’s Clara. Know her name. It’s not “Slouchy”, it’s not “Ugly”, it’s not “Buttface” or all these other unimaginative lameass names that you gave her. It’s Clara.

 

Learn it.”

 

 

And then I walked away.

 

 

When I think about it now, I should have made them apologize to her but I didn’t. Also while this was all going on, Clara was being all scared and staring at her feet. I wish she would have given them skanky miniature whores dirty looks or something. I guess growing a backbone takes time.

 

 

I’m worried though. I’m worried that these miniature bitches would retaliate. Cause kids these days are not like kids back then you know. And if that happen, I won’t be around cause I’m flying back to Aussie next Monday. I told Clara if anything was to happen she should go straight to the principal.

 

 

I do hope this is the end of it though.

 

Clean, my ass

Well hello there, here we are back again at yet another instalment on Dramatic Musings in which I bitch about Mr. Clean. Otherwise known as the Australian-fucktard-I-live-with. Well then, settle in, get comfortable and enjoy the post.

 

See, I dunno whether I mentioned this before or not but when I moved in here I was told by the Australian-fucktard-I-live-with that there are a set of rules in which I am supposed to abide by when living in this house. The rules are as followed:

 

1)     No guests stay over more then 2 nights in a row. In fact he would prefer it if I bring no on home at all.

 

See I am totally cool with this rule. To tell you the truth I kinda like it cause it gives me the privacy that I crave and it would stop people from always wanting to crash at my place. Also, I have never mentioned this before but the bedrooms doors in this house have no locks. Only the front door, the backdoor and the bathroom have locks on the door. See this is a house based on the “Concept of Trust” or some fuckery right that. The rule is thart when you leave the house, you don’t close your bedroom’s door. You leave it wide open. When you’re home, you close it. It works as a signal too. And the system works to certain extend cause I have lived here for 2 months now and none of my stuff have gone missing. So yeah, okies.

 

2)     No dishes stay out all night long.

 

It’s more of a hygiene issue. You wash the dishes as soon as you used them, leave it out to dry and then keep them at night. So no dishes stay out at night. Sometimes once a while I don’t keep mine or the other 2 do the same and it’s cool. As long as you keep it the next morning but the ultimate thing is that no dirty dishes in the sink.

 

3)     “Don’t come home late at night, if you need to come home at 3am you might as welll don’t come home at all.”

 

He said that to me. I told him seeing that I am paying the rent which technically makes this house my house as well, I come home anytime I want. I’ll keep the noise to a minimum.

 

4)     Don’t turn on the music or TV too loud.

 

Understandable.

 

5)     No showers above 15 mins or we have to pay extra.

 

I take one hour showers everyday, I told him I’ll pay the extra. Stupid fuck. I blame my parents for making me stay here.

 

6)     People have to do chores according to the duty roster.

 

Okay so the house has a duty roster. Dissapeara and I share one bathroom, and le Fucktard has the master bedroom. So let me break it down to you.

Dissapeara and I take turns washing the bathroom and vacuuming the top floors cause its carpeted on alternate weekends. This has changed now seeing that she hates vacuuming and I hate washing the bathroom. So now she does the bathroom every weekend and I vacuums.

 

The downstairs floors is not carpeted. So on alternate week, either on Weds or Thurs, Dissapeara and I take turns moping and le Fucktard does it over the weekend. Cause over here we wear shoes inside the house and the floor get dirty real fast. So the floors get done twice a week. Supposably.

 

The kitchen, well its understandable that you should clean up after yourself after you use it. Wipe the hot plate, the counters, the microwave, what not.

 

We have a lawn. Le Fucktard supposed to mow it once it gets unruly.

 

 

So basically those are the rules, in a nutshell.      

 

Last Sunday, while I was doing the laundry, I noticed that le Fucktard was in the kitchen making sandwiches. Fine, then about an hour later after I’m done hanging up my clothes I noticed that he did not clean up after himself in the kitchen. There are bread crumbs on the counter and unwashed dishes in the sink. Fine, I was feeling charitable so I wiped the counter and did the dishes. Sometimes this happened. People are late for class and then all kinds of shit happen and did not clean after themselves. After I’ve cleaned up after that asshole, then only I realise that it was Sunday. And there’s no class on Sunday.

 

Fine, shit happens.

 

Then same shit happened on Monday and I’m like…okay. Interesting. Then on Tuesday the dishes piled up. I asked Dissapeara and she said it wasn’t hers. And then microwave dinner boxes started turning up all over the kitchen counters. Le Fucktard didn’t even bother to fucking throws it into the bin. See, after the whole fish-incident…I have stopped buying TV dinners and now I just cooked for myself. Plus those things taste like crap. Dissapeara cook for herself too and the only one who eat that shit is him. See now I am getting pissed but I have not bumped into him and I’m like “Maybe he has exam and is just stressed out. Maybe his mom is sick. Maybe maybe maybe….” Then this morning I went downstairs for breakfast and lo and behold what should greets me in the morning but his leftover TV lasagne on the kitchen counter and apparently a bunch of ants have made their home there overnight. No seriously, imagined lasagne that was left overnight. And then ants swarming all over it. It was disgusting. I could clean it, I could but I just pour myself a glass of orange juice and drink it while watching the ants have a mighty feast over that lasagne.

Then I washed my glass, went upstairs and knocked on his bedroom’s door.

Die stupid racist fuck! Die!

 

 

It was about 9 in the morning. I woke him up cause I could hear him grumbling as he gets up and walk towards the door. The fact that I woke him up made me happy.

 

 

 The moment he opened the door I was all smiles.

 

“Hey Chris*, did  I woke you up?”

 

“Yeah, you did.”

 

“Good. We need to talk.”

 

“Bout what?”

 

“Are you okay? Are you sick or something? Do you have an exam that you are stressed about round the corner?”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Cause I thought that might be the reason why you have not been pulling your weight around here. The reason why you haven’t done the dishes or clean up after yourself in the kitchen.”

 

“No I just don’t want too.”

 

Le Fucktard totally said that.

 

“Oh, and why is that?”

 

“Cause Tanya* haven’t done the floors.”

 

Seriously, he said that.

 

“She done the floors yesterday.”

 

“Yeah but I told her to do it before and she didn’t and I won’t do my dishes because of that.”

 

See what I have noticed that le Fucktard is a racist bully that thinks he’s better then Dissapeara and I just because he is white. The thing with Dissapeara is that she doesn’t fight him back so he walked all over her and make her do shit.

 

“So how does that make sense? She doesn’t do the floors and then you don’t do the dishes and we all live happily ever after? See Chris, the lawn is getting unruly and one of these days snakes are going to move in and call it their home cause you haven’t mow it. But you don’t hear me or Tanya making noise about it or see us not cleaning up after ourselves and leaving the kitchen in the disgusting mess that it is just cause you don’t pull your weight around here.”

 

He just shrugged.

 

“Listen we are all busy here. Tanya works. I have assignments, just because we can’t do the house chores on time doesn’t mean we are not going to do it. We do it. We are all adults here, not a bunch of 12 year olds playing the blaming game. Seeing that you just woke up you wouldn’t know that a whole bunch of ants are downstairs in the kitchen, having a feast with the lasagne you did not clean up last night. Now you see, I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like it either.”

 

“Then why do you do it?”

 

“Cause Tanya….”

 

“No. This is not about Tanya. This is not about her. This is us talking now. This is about you being immature and trying to put the blame on someone else when you are the one not pulling you weight around here. When I decided to move in here, I was led to believe that this was going to be a clean house. That people actually respects each other in this house. And quite frankly, with the way you have been acting I feel that I was lied to. By you. And I don’t like being lied to.”

 

“No CD, why don’t we talk about this later. When all of us are home, when Tanya is home.”

 

“Good. Tonight then.”

 

I did not yelled when I talk to him. I was calm, I spoke slowly and I did not once broke eye contact. Fucker. After that I went out. Wah I am damn pissed off okay. There are so much shit I hate about him. He is very condescending towards me. He thinks just cause he is white he is better then me. Fuck that shit. I let it go for a while but the ants were the last straw. Fuck that. Tonight I’m gonna say it all to his face. When I got home bout an hour ago, the kitchen was clean though. So I’m happy bout that.

 

Tanya’s home now. I asked her in the kitchen just now if she wanna have the talk with Chris. She said she didn’t’ want too. She wants to go out with her boyfriend. The woman doesn’t like confrontations. I thrive on it. I’m waiting for her to leave the house and then I’m gonna call Chris and we gonna have our “talk”.

 

Stupid fucking asshole.

The Constantly Dramatic One's Shit List: Part 3

Okay this post has been a long time coming. I realise that my ass will get flame after this but then you know, it’s not like having haters on this blog is anything new. Haters on Dramatic Musing is like the sun on a bright shining day. They keep things spicy here and over time I have come to rely on them for my perpetual craving for drama. Yes….. haters complete me in ways no lover ever could.

 

And for that, I thank you.

 

Anyways, I dunno bout you guys but as much as I am into this whole blogging thing right, there are just some shit out there that bugs the fuck out of me. Just some random things regarding the blogging world so let me just list them out for you. In no chronological order:

 

1) Tedious bloggers pissed the fuck out of me. You know those kinds, the ones that have to give you a play by play of their whole life. Every, mundane, minute details have to be described and exploited. Dunno what I’m talking about, let me give you some examples:

 

 

“Today I went shopping. I drove there in my silver Volvo. Eric came with me. He sat in the passenger seat next to me. He wore a red hoodie. I told him it makes him look gay. I laughed. Haha.”

 

“Oh today I woke up. Then I went to the bathroom. Then I took a dump. I wiped my ass with recycled tissue paper. It was pink in colour. I think it is pretty. Haha.”

 

FYI, no one wants to know about every little mundane shit that goes on in your insignificant little life. Really. Contrary to your singulary belief, you are not as fascinating as you thought. If you want to write shit like that out, get a damn diary. Not a goddamn blog. Reading your blog is so fucking boring that upon setting my eyes on it, watching paint dry and grass grow seem utterly attractive to me.

 

2) Okay now I understand that you love yourself. That you are in fact, the shiznit. That you are the most beautiful, the most drop dead gorgeous human being that has ever walked God’s green earth. See, I understand that. I understand that some amount of self love is needed for a healthy self esteem.

 

See I know I am not the most gorgeous woman around. I know that. But sometimes, on good days I look into the mirror and I go “Daaaammmnnnnn giiiirrrrrlll. You are fiiiinnneeee. Now shake that ass baby, shake that ass. Cause you are fiiiiinnnnneeee.” Moments like this would not be complete if I do not pull some Tyra Banks-es poses in the mirror. It’s fun. It keeps me happy. Keeps my self esteem healthy as well. But when I am overcome by moments of narcissism like this, I do not however take 3000 pictures of me and paste it all over my goddamn blog.

 

Yes, yes ...we know you think you’re gorgeous. We know. Unfortunately we do not share the sentiment. But really huney, no one wants to see you in 1700 different posses and faces in the same outfit. Also you know that shit that you do when clearly you are taking a pic of yourself and not looking into the camera, yeah that shit is lame. It does not make you look mysterious. It just heightened your douchebag factor.

 

3) See I have crappy taste in music. So crappy that whenever I tell people of my favourite artists, people visibly cringe in horror of it all. I listen to shallow pop music and I am not ashamed to admit it. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Kelly Clarkson, Beyonce and so on and so forth are the singers that are on constant reply on my mp3. I know a lot of people think of pop music as crappy. So much so, that a friend once told me; “When we meet my other friends, please don’t tell them that you listen to Britney and those other crappy music cause then I am forced to abandon this friendship of ours.” It gets to that point okay.

 

So I understand completely on how other people do not like my type of music. And I respect that. I do not shove it into their ears and I do not force them to like it. I like what I like and vice versa which brings us to that fucking, fucking annoying instant-play-music-widget fuckery.

 

There are many blogs out there who have music widgets that start playing the moment a reader visits their blog. Let me just point out that those things are the most ridiculously annoying shit I have ever come across. Have it ever occurred to you that the rest of the damn population do not share the same taste in music as you do? Have it ever occurred to you that they might find the music that you oh so love and adore worst then the sound of a cat makes during giving birth? Have it occurred to you that your reader might be listening to their own music, and have no wish whatsoever to listen to your lame ass music while blog surfing? Get rid of that shit.

 

When I listen to Britney, I do not like to be interrupted.

 

4) I have issues with advertisings on blogs. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind if you have like only one of those widgets things. Just one. Big one, small one…whatever you know. In fact whenever I go to any blogs that have advertising I make a point of clicking on that ad. Why not? Help out a fellow blogger you know...

What bugs the fuck out of me is when there are multiple ads crisscrossing on the page. I can’t fucking stand that shit. Or that shit when you move the cursor around and the ad follows the movement of your cursor. That shit is soooo fucking annoying okay. Stop it.

 

Your blog is nothing without your readers. Stop shoving shit into their faces. They come there to read what you write and what you think. Appreciate that. Be grateful. Do not fucking advertise like an asshole just cause you are greedy little piece of shit. Keep it to limited advertising and put that shit at a corner of your page. Not all over it. Have some respect for your readers and in turn they would respect you too.

 

 

5) “Hello. You have a nice blog. Link me.”

 

Really asshole, really?

 

This shit bugs me in more ways then the others could. I hate this okay. I can’t even describe to you how much I hate it. I hate it so much that I kinda wanna buy me a shotgun and kill all the motherfuckers that come my way and leave this in the comment box.

 

It’s soooo undignified. Listen, I linked to blogs that I like. Blogs that in some ways amuses me. If these bloggers feel like they wanna link me then they can go ahead and do it, if they don’t then no big whoop. Just because you linked my ass doesn’t mean I want to link yours mmmkay? Why do you need to come to my blog and do that shit? I know it sounds like nothing to the rest of you but I think these people who do these are like the hobos of the blogging world. The ones that stand at street corners asking for a buck. Only these ones troll the comment box asking people to link their boring ass when I have no wish to do so.

Write more interesting shit. Maybe then people would link you without you having to whore yourself out. Was that too harsh? Well, excuuuuuusssse me for not sugarcoating that for you. I ain't Mary Poppins, asshole.

 

Okay…that’s it. I got that out of my chest. Now tell the Constantly Dramatic One of your blogging pet peeves. Or flame my ass. Or defend your case. Or stop reading my blog all together. Doesn’t matter really. Unlike those douchebags that constantly put up pics of themselves, I am not here for the….what do you call it…"popularity”. I’m here strictly for the bitching.

The Constantly Dramatic One's Shit List: Part 2

Today on the second installment of "The Constantly Dramatic One's Shit List", I would like to bitch about......pronunciations. Yes, that's right. Pronunciations. But before that a little introduction first.

This is the section on Dramatic Musings in which I just wanna bitch in, okay? Just let me be. Most people think I have unresolved anger issues. Most people think that my unresolved issues exhibits itself especially when I'm behind the steering wheel. Most people think I should deal with whatever it is that's making me angry. To most people, this is what I say:

Now I'm no grammar Nazi like some people, nor am I a language elitist but there are some shit that need to be pronounced properly. Such as names. My name is the Constantly Dramatic One. I expect you to pronounce it as the Con-stant-ly Dra-ma-tic One. Okay? Such as you expect other people to pronounce your name pro-per-ly.

I notice lately and by lately I mean on TV that some TV personalities like to pronounce Malaysia as "Maleeeeziaaaaahh". Bitch, wtf? Listen, I understand that you think that you are cool, that you are in fact on TV after all and I'm not. Okay, fine, whatever. But really the fact that you are so inherently Malay and so inherently Malaysian and I know bitch, I know you grew up in Sungai Petani, Kedah* gives you no fucking excuse whatsoever to mispronounce the name of our motherland.

It's Ma-lay-sia you little skank whore. Not Ma-leeeee-zi-aaaaahhh. What the fuck is Maleeeeezzziaaaahhh anyways? Sounds like a fucking venereal disease. Do you have it bitch? That's why you find the need to educate the public about it? I'm sorry that you have "Maleeeezzzziaaaahhh" on your vagina now, but that's not my fault nor it is the country's. It is yours.

By affecting yourself with what clearly is a damn stupid accent does not up your cool factor. It makes you look like an affected, wannabe, venereal-disease-having-skank-whore. Just let it be. If you weren't born in the UK, why the hell do you find the need to speak like you are? You are not Bristish, you are from Sungai Petani. Embrace your roots. Be proud of it. Don't try to cover it with your idiotic, affected accent.

So the next time you feel the need to speak out loud the name of our motherland, please acknowledge its pronunciation and adhere by it. If your name is Dipship, you wouldn't want people to call you Asswipe now do you?

It's only common courtesy.

*******************************
Footnotes.

1) The use of "Sungai Petani, Kedah" is just to drive home a point. She is not from Sungai Petani. I do not know where she if from but I'm sure it is not from the UK. However, I am just trying to make a point here.

2) For part one of "the Constantly Dramatic One's Shit List" go here.

3) To give me a piece of your mind, please key in GO-FUCK-YOURSELF on your mobile phone.

That would be all. Thank you for your attention.

My haters ain't got no balls

Sometimes there are unexplainable things that go on in the universe that we cannot even begin to explain. Such occurrence such as the Milky Way is still a mystery to the scientists over in NASA. The Bermuda Triangle still evoke the hibbie jibbies in the hearts of all the sailors of the world. The fact that some women still find Tom Cruise hot is a perpetual source of confusion that keeps me up at night, wondering why oh why would they think he's hot when that dude is clearly insane......and sad.







But such is the universe. Who are we mere mortals to question it? But question it I do however.





I question it when I wake up this morning as I brush my teeth while staring at myself in the mirror, I realise something that is ridiculously perplexing to me. The fact that my life is going well right now. The fact that I am happy. The fact that I ain't got no drama.








What. The. Fuck.





The Constantly Dramatic One with no drama? With none at all? WTF? WTF? How does it come to this? How come I let myself be contented with life? Why did I not watch any movies that pisses me off? Why is no one up all over my face making trouble? Why do I not come across ridiculous articles online that get me all riled up? But most of aaaaallll, where the fuck are all my haters? Why have they got no balls that a little reproach would scare them away? It's disappointing that one teeny post with subtle sarcasm and a little disclaimers in the comment box would drive them away. Don't they know that I need them for the drama? Why do they not leave me anymore hate filled comments? Where are they in my time of need?!!!



You know there's a particular hater of mine that have grown near and dear to my heart. I adore her, I sayang her. Not only that I think she is a loathsome, no-confidence, self-hating, consumed with jealousy over the fact that she's not as ossum as I am, or that she does not have an ass like mine, and overall, a 2 cent hooker that even the most desperate sailor that have been stranded at the sea for 7 years wont go near with a 49-feet-pole cause she is just that fug and....... smells, but I admire her. Cause she can spell well. Most of my haters can't spell for shit but this one at least got 6th grade under her belt and can use the online dictionary properly. I'm very proud of her.



But lately she hasn't left me any hate filled comments. And this makes the Constantly Dramatic One a very sad girl. It makes me feel not ossum. Have you stopped being jealous of me sayang? Why are you not leaving me anymore hate comments? I know you still read my blog cause you're addicted to my ossumness........ also I tracked your IP address down. Amazing what technology can do for you. Don't you not want to be me anymore? But I'm ossum. Everyone wanna be ossum..............................



I'm sure most of you dunno what I'm talking about. So let me copy and paste what my favourite hater left me over the months:

1)
Anonymous said...

Maybe they're just giving you some encouragement. For someone obese, dressed in 10 sizes smaller, of course you are screaming for ATTENTION. They just bagi muka la so you tak tersinggung. Jangan la marah sangat. You should be happy sayang.

Translation for the brown part:

They're just making sure that you are not slighted. Don't be so angry. You should be happy love. ("Sayang" means love or dear, according to the context. Let's assume its "love" in this context.)

This is taken from this post.

2)
Anonymous said...

Just lose weight and stop commenting on other people. They are much better looking than you and are much slimmer and have better bodies than you. So please don't try to make up for your hideous and fat self by condemning these chicks.

p/s: Sayang, i hope fasting has helped you lose a few pounds. Though it seems impossible...but my prayers are with you. Tak baik tau mengata orang masa ramadhan.Muacks

Translation: It's not nice talking shit bout other people during Ramadhan. Muacks.

Taken from here.

3)
Anonymous said...

Fat bitch, i dunno what's riding up your ass....but seriously, you have a huge problem. Not only are you like obese, you are condemning other ppl. It's ramadhan bitch. Kesian your mom. Her butt hole was torn so badly when she purged you out coz you are such a fat shitty bitch

Translation: Pity your mom.

Taken from here.

And then of course I wrote this post in which I was subtly sarcastic. Cause I'm classy like that. But after that my sayang disappeared. Like poof. Well she didn't disappear all together. She still reads my blog. Ahhh...the infinite joy of IP tracking. I'm just like a drug you can't quit right....sayang? I know, I have the same effect on Clive Owen too. But sayang, why didn't you leave me any more hate comments? Did you get scared sayang? You are my ultimate source of amusement and with every comments that you leave behind you stroke my ego for being far more superior than you. And I appreciate that. I like being superior. So please won't you come back?

You can even insult my golden hamster, Ghendut. I don't mind. And oh sayang, even though I come across really bitchy and like someone who is good with confrontations in this blog, I want you to know that it is not the way so in real life. I am not bitchy or good with confrontations in real life. Really.


I'm better.


And thank you sayang for giving me the hint in that first comment you left. I knew you went to the same college as I do and now.........recently, I found out who you are. I'm looking forward to meeting you in real life. I thrive in confrontations, I hope you do too. It'll make our upcoming meeting even more interesting than our online relationship already is.

Miss you sayang, and looking forward to seeing you.
Muacks!

Et tu, Tinesh?

You see, I have this term of endearment for my friends. Sunflower. I know it's weird as hell but sunflower is my favourite flower and when I really like someone, I call them Sunflower. As a term of endearment. Sunflowers are only given to the ones...well the ones that I really like who I think above all, are the family I chose for myself instead of the ones that have been dealt to me by the hands of fate. Not that I don't love my family, of course I do. I mean I have to put up with disturbing shit that they do and the harsh words they say and find it in my heart to love and cherish them still. No family that have been dealt to you by the hands of fate is internal, everlasting love. Where else, the family you chose for yourself are the ones borne out of camaraderie, understanding and most of all respect. And oh yeah, also good times, in-jokes and random moments of stupidity.....which always involves plans that at the moment seemed like a fucking genius plan but when executed is just fucking stupid and will collectively get everyone in trouble. Yes...these is what friendship is all about.











So anyways there's a couple of my sunflowers right here in the blogsphere. There's Gypsy who have been there all they way since the high school years. There's Cheesecakeerian and 3kc/ who goes to the same college as I do for the last 2 years. There's Elfie, who I've known for a short term but grown to be close with and then....there's Tinesh. I don't have that many close guy friends who are non-gay. Seeing that I'm a fag hag and all (as Peter have pointed out) but yup....Tinesh is a close guy friend. A sunflower. Well....he used to be.











Until I stripped him off the title.

Why?

He betrayed me!!!!! Traitor!!!









Omg, you guys remember that little annoying tit that I wanted to stab in the eye with a blunt pencil and then strip her naked, pour honey on her, tie her to a tree and then watch as red ants eat her alive as I cackle my evil laugh? Tweety? Do you remember her? Yup, that bitch.








He went out and party with her.








Traitor. Okay lah, fine....he was invited to a party that she was just so happened to be there. Okay lah. Fine I get it. And he didn't even danced with her on anything but still......Imagine my shock when I logged onto Facebook and then go "Hey Tinesh been tagged".....or "Look he went to a party"........."Looks fun.....hhhmmmm......eh.......Wait. A. Fucking. Minute........................WHAT THE FUCK? IS TWEETY THERE? AND TINESH? MY SUNFLOWER? FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY??!!!" Dude, I almost died.








You traitor!!! You are no longer a sunflower, I disown you. No, seriously. I disown you. You traitorous non-sunflower. Dude, how could you party with her? How do you even stand being in one room with her? Did you feel your IQ trickling out of your ears just being in my room with her? I mean......ewwwwww.............didn't you just felt her stupid disease just attacking your stupidity-immune system? I mean....dude, macha, formerly-a-sunflower....how do you even stand being in a room with her without wanting to smack her face until it bleeds? How?








In an event, you betrayed me. You are no longer a sunflower. In disown you. You are hereby strip of all special privileges that comes with being one of my sunflowers. Stripped!!! And the only way you can make up to me is if you get me a life-sized cut-out of Clive Owen so I could dry hump it. No, seriously. Life-sized cut-out. Dry hump. Failing that, teh tarik at Ali Maju followed by a session of groveling. Your choice. But if you bring your "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series on Wednesday, I'll forgive you 1 day and half faster than I have planned.





But for now, it stands: You traitor!! I disown you.

Vagina. Sorry, that was completely inappropiate.

Rules of differentiating between a skirt (image 1) and a napkin (image 2)

Skirt

Napkin

Rule 1

If a straight woman takes one look at you and the first thing that comes to her mind is whether or not you had a bikini wax....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 2
If a gay woman look at you and the first thing that comes to her mind is "Uuuuummmm carpet" .....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 3
If a straight man look at you and the first thing that comes to his mind is "Ooooo punani. I wanna squeeze it first." ....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 4

If a gay man take one look at you and the first thing that that he says to you is "Girl, you are nasssssty. Cover up."...than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 5
If the first thing that comes to mind when random people look at you is "Damn, what was the plot to Octopussy again?" .......than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 6

If the first thing that comes to my mind when I see you is "Whoa, she has a napkin on her vag....oh wait....that's her skirt......damn. Vagina. Shit I just said vagina out loud. That's completely inappropriate. Oh wait...I didn't say it out loud. I was just thinking. Hhhmmm...... Vagina. Vagina. Vagina.Vaaaaaaaaaaaagina........." ....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 7
If the length of your skirt is making me blog about it and repetitively using the word vagina, than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

See, there are miniskirts. And then there are napkins. Napkins are something that you use to wipe your mouth and hands with after eating. It is not however, something that should be use to barely cover your ass and your.....va-gi-na.

My parents, they foot the bill for my college education. They do that so that one day I could become a productive member of society. So with that in mind, and my aspirations to become said productive member of society I go to my classes to learn. I expect to know what journalism is all about. I expect to know the theories and the power of the media. I expect that what I learn in class would later help me in the industry. What I don't expect is to be assaulted by your napkin-covered-vag during the last class of the day.

It makes me queasy to know that I am "this close" to tapping you on the shoulder to ask you where you get your bikini wax done. I never had bikini wax before. I heard it hurts like a bitch. Maybe you can validate that for me? But then I realise what's the point when its not like I'm getting laid anytime soon and I always make a point of covering up my own vag with more than just a napkin.

Which would bring me to my second point, why do you feel the need to share you vag with the whole world? I mean...seriously. I'm sure that your intentions are good. However skewed they are. But here's the deal. I have my own vag. And it is prettier than yours. I don't need to look at yours okay. Thanks....but no. Cover yourself up woman.

I'm all for self esteem and that whole "confidence makes us beautiful". I do. But your legs............yeah. Fug. I'm sorry. Kudos for the self confidence though but really. They're fug. I was of course distracted by that napkin you were wearing....coz its was just like......half an inch away from exposing your vag to the whole world that for the first 10 mins I did not realise how fug your legs are. But they are huney, they are.

So the next time you come to class. Please don't -under any circumstances- try to share the view of your birth canal with me. I can go on with my life without ever knowing that. Seriously. Cover yourself up. Your vagina is your treasure. Cherish it. Guard it. Give it a wax once in a while. Don't turn it into a friggin sideshow attraction.

Get that, Napkin?