Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

Here are some two sentence stories from my not-so-big brain (except for one brilliant piece by Godop). If you want to add on...please do:

Dream Man

She killed the man of her dreams. She then wondered if he'd still be dead when she awakens.

Two Men I
by Godop

Two men facing each other in a train coach, one asked the other,

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

"No," he chuckled, then vanished.

Two Men II

Sadness overcame the first man. He lamented to no one but himself,

"Why am I only visible to people who believe."

Rejected Calls

For the past two hours I've been rejecting tonnes of calls from her and then she sends a text,

"I'll be waiting for you at home."

I was at her funeral.

Best Friends

Although we've grown apart, Tommy and I were best friends since we were boys. It must hard for him to talk to me now ever since his mother convinced him I don't exist.

My Son

My six-year old son James was always fascinated to see how things work by taking them apart.

His sister's dolls, his race cars, his brother's guitars and now I'm digging a hole in the backyard to hide our neighbour's kids.

My Wife's Headache

Even though she has this constant pain at the side of her head, my wife never fails to provide me three meals a day and a kiss on the cheek before I leave for work.

How am I going to tell her that she's been dead for two years and headache is because I smashed her head in with my sledgehammer one drunken night.



Staying Alive

The moment I saw my limp body on the operating table, I knew the pills worked. The only problem is there was this horned man coming in my body and the heart monitor started beeping again.



Beautiful Eyes

Ever since he was a boy, he had an undying passion for a woman's beautiful eyes. Now on his deathbed, he insists that his collection of 300 pairs of eyes be buried with him.

I wish all of you the worst of nightmares and hope Freddie pays all of you a visit..

Have fun! 

Why I want to drink like a Sir?

Most probably the manliest drinks of all time, aligned with the fight scenes in Fight Club and probably with the amount of manliness the new Expendables movie has, is the full flavoured, unassuming scotch whisky.

Known as the Water of Life in the early days, Scotch whisky was said to have healing properties. No, instead of being sloshed, William Wallace had real guts and gusto to take on the King of England, HRH King Longshanks!

Over the years, like everything typically American (go see how they and the rest of the world play football), they tried to distil Scotch, fucked it up and came up with this whiskey drink they named after a county in Kentucky, Bourbon. I ain't dissin' the drink, but the primary difference, to me is the spelling and the usage of sour mash. 

Now if you look at Jack Daniel's you could ask yourself: What is Tennessee Whiskey or you could say that Mr. Daniel's could be pulling off and American within America..Americanception; or you could do what I do and shut the hell up and drink!

Now, to distract you from the fact that Jack Daniel's isn't a bourbon, here's a poem on spelling:

Whisky or Whiskey

A Scotsman who spells

Whisky with a n ‘e’,

should be hand cuffed

and thrown head first in the Dee,

In the USA and Ireland,

it’s spelt with an ‘e’

but in Scotland

it’s real ‘Whisky’.

So if you see Whisky

and it has an ‘e’,

only take it,

if you get it for free!

For the name is not the same

and it never will be,

a dram is only a real dram,

from a bottle of ‘Scotch Whisky’.

In KL, regardless if we hit the clubs in Changkat, pubs in PJ or the fuck coffee shops in Brickfields..as long as there's a few friends feasting over a/a few bottle(s) of blended or single malt scotch, there'll be different styles of drinking.

I'm not saying you are doing it wrong..I'm just going to evaluate the whisky drinkers by their mixers..beginning with the all time Malaysian favourite:

The Basic Drinkers

Many a times we see the wannabe Ah Beng-sters, Ali-sters (kinda cool, actually) or even Raj-sters buy bottles and bottles of whiskies and when the waiter comes to them and ask: Mixer? Out comes the cola and ice.. Oh Lord, not only are they killing the whisky's taste with the taste of the cola, but the ice actually waters down the whole thing leaving nothing to be enjoyed besides cold sugar water!

These people usually:

Don't like the taste of whisky

Believe the added caffeine and sugar will help them get high faster

Stick to milk if you don't like the taste of whisky 

The Hipsters

Now they might choose a non-cola mixer, but don't get me wrong, these people also aren't able to enjoy a nice glass of whisky.

At one glance, you'd think they are more refined by mixing a non-cola drink in their whiskey. But in reality regardless if they indulge in a dash of green tea or even a quart of hot chocolate (I don't know how it tastes like), this way of drinking whisky is only good for their hobo-looking, iPhone dialling, empty framed, snow cap wearing sorry asses.

Oh, these are also the people who fuck up wine by adding 7-Up, grape juice, lemon, etc... Bastards!

The 9.5s

These guys, almost pure class. They are the type who know not to fuck up the drink with A&W Root Beer or bastardly tomato juice but yet don't want the full dosage of the flavour of whisky in their mouth.

These guys can be spotted drinking whisky with water and ice, ginger ale, soda or even on the rocks. Almost close to pure perfection but not quite.

Ladies, these are the guys you should date and will be great lovers in bed..

The 'Like a Sirs'

Now these guys take it to a different level.

These guys are the epitome of exquisiteness of whom celebrate art as they yearn to take on and overcome the greatest challenges in life.

Whisky with a splash of water in a proper whisky glass, a tulip shaped glass.

A splash of water, they say will ignite the full taste of the whisky and its aroma will rise boldly according to the shape of the glass and evoke every nasal sense, sending euphoric signals to the brain to raise the glass and let the fluid flow past the lips to caress every inch of your mouth leaving it indulgently lost in the golden comfort of malted barley provoking a deep hunger for this perfectly crafted elixir which for years matured patiently within the confines of the sturdiest of oak casks ensuring the body and colour is preserved over at least three years.

This man doesn't down his whisky, he toasts every sip to the craftsmanship and beauty of producing a gentlemen's drink

This man drinks not because he can, he drinks because he is

This man will develop a strong passion towards the arts and a deeper appreciation towards artistry

This man is worldly with oceans of knowledge and wealth of opinions that he is ever willing to share

This man, sadly, is not me...yet

A manly drink, maybe...but it's drinkers can be pussies - Darian Henry (with Vishaal Vickram while setting Diandra Soliano right)

Notice there are no damn pictures today..Why? Because Nuffnang already has fucked me over for the past 4 years without giving me a cent...so, why should I promote another brand?

Word of the Day: Refulgent

Before I do this, let me assure you, I'm not gonna do this every day.. Only when I find interesting words..


So

WORD
refulgent (adjective): [ri-FUHL-junt]


MEANING
Shining brilliantly

ETYMOLOGY

From Latin refulgere (to radiate light, to reflect), from re- (back) + fulgere (to shine). Earliest documented use: before 1500.

USAGE

"Michael slowly walked into the water yesterday, his board tucked under his arm and his sun-kissed blond hair refulgent even in the dull light."
Mark Bode; Surf Tribute Farewells a Great Dad; The Sunshine Coast Daily (Maroochydore, Australia); May 9, 2011


NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH
The way Edward Cullen shines


Living for centuries as a pedophile vampire, Edward sits silently at the window, pants down to his ankles with the tremendous urge to jack off as he watches Bella sleep soundly into the night. Knowing that he is indeed a vampire that doesn't breathe, has no heartbeat and the blood doesn't flow in his veins, he couldn't muster a simple erection. But Edward is not the type to give up; he tried for hours!

With this realisation and the uprising sun, he flees the room in panic and as the rays of the sun catches his legs, there was a shine coming from his skin. Seeing that how Edward isn't that brilliant, that shine wasn't a refulgent one.

How Hari Raya is manipulated!

Hi..Selamat Hari Raya and Happy Merdeka (really?) 


So, I'm back to take a swipe at another festive time of the year as I've done with Chinese Christmas and Chinese New Year earlier this year. 


Honestly, I'm only doing this for two reasons: so I don't seem like a racist bastard by not posting about Raya (Chinese people have gone all sensitive after the 8TV thingy) and because I like doing stuff like this.

The Anti-Thrill of Hari Raya

When I was little, my classmates will tell me stories of how they'd gather round the TV before Hari Raya and Puasa just to listen to some old man announce the date. This old man is the Keeper of the Royal Seal or Pemegang Cop Mohor Raja-Raja Melayu. We shall now refer to him as Pak Cik.


As I grew older, I too began watching because I have Muslim relatives to visit and more importantly Raya means HOLIDAY!


So I began to notice how Pak Cik's announcements always fall on the same day as the calender and I honestly thought that Pak Cik was like a soothsayer (of course at 9, I did not use that word) until one day after having my awesome Lorong Char Siew Rice, my mum and I were in a goldsmith. 

3rd from right: My 9-year-old self and my oldest friends in the world

The thing about any goldsmith on Jalan Bunga Raya is when you sit there, they'd give you a boxed drink, usually wintermelon tea (UGHH) and when you buy stuff, they somehow will always give you another gift. 


This time it was next year's calender. The kind where the paper is thin and there are horses printed on every Saturday, Sunday and Wednesday. The kind where there'll be 11 pictures of animals and a Chinese character   at the bottom where you can associate your birth year and see if you were born a bitch, swine or 10 other animals.


I flipped the pages, looking to see how awesome Miss July was and I kept on looking till I saw the dates for next year's Hari Raya. Boy, was I pissed. I was thinking they were sure gonna piss Pak Cik off when he sees this. 


In a fit of rage I complained to my mom, demanding her to write for me a letter to Pak Cik to alert him of this conspiracy of the World Chinese Calender Makers Association (Malaysia). She refused. I think she feared for our safety. If you've watched Young & Dangerous, you'd be scared too.


Let's get some things straight here: I can write on my own, but in children's writing. I doubt that Pak Cik would take my theories of conspiracy seriously if I sent him the letter and the WCCMA(M) is a very secret organisation that even Google doesn't have any record of their existence.


As the years rolled on, my belief in Pak Cik's powers faded in the same manner when we realised things we believed in like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and Democracy were indeed just stories made up to help us sleep at night.


This year however, with the WCCMA(M) announcing Hari Raya on the 30th while Puasa started on the 1st, I thought there was a glitch in the system, a calculation error. 


I waited for Pak Cik to announce the date and make the WCCMA(M) look like assholes. I was getting more nervous as the seconds drew closer. My heart was racing. Sweat dripping into my socks and out of a sudden it was a deathly cold embrace that I felt as Pak Cik concurred with my sworn enemies. Was he afraid to go against them too? Or was he on their payroll?


Here is my call to you out there: Help me regain Pak Cik's honour!


This is how it's going to work:

1. We raise RM 200,000.00
2. We meet the WCCMA(M) with Pak Cik
3. We pay off the WCCMA(M) 
4. We insist that they mess up their announcement of Hari Raya
5. Pak Cik announces the correct date
6. We win!


Nevermind that the last minute change will cause chaos and massive traffic overcrowding as well as dysfunctions of corporate and manufacturing establishments. We'll have Hari Raya that's not predicted by the WCCMA(M) and Pak Cik will again be the nation's most reliable source for Hari Raya..


Till next time!  

Five Ways to become a HARIMAU

Seeing that it is about 26 hours till kick-off at the National Stadium between bitter rivals Malaysia and Singapore for a ticket to the World Cup Qualifiers, I've decided to let you in on a few ways to get you in the mood.

How to prepare for a Harimau Malaya (Malayan Tigers) game?


1. Secure Entry


Make sure that if you aren't as Lucky as Ramon and Mario, you get your tickets early! Don't go around like a fucking hooker on crack trying to ask everyone, anyone and anywhere..including Twitter for tickets the moment the word is mentioned.

So, I bought tickets for 9pm..

Dei, the match is at 8.30pm! You better go early..and you got how many tickets, hor? Got extra ke?

The tickets...Captain America la!

Memang Douchebag la lu, bro!




2. Energize


Remember that games kicking off at 8.45pm can end at midnight. So, make sure you have enough water, food, rest, etc to sustain your energy levels.


Frankly speaking, cheering is almost as tiring as playing the damn sport because when we cheer, often or not our levels will peak in direct retaliation to what's happening on the field - be it a wrong offside call, a Jewish lad kicking the ball..or even dismal performances by our own lads. Therefore, the more often things happen, the more you peak in excitement and you get tired..




3. Seat Right


Generally, there are a few sections when it comes to seating at a stadium.


VIP Boxes
Here's where politicians and big names watch the games. It's believed that within the tinted glasses is a room where you can indulge to your heart's desire.


There even was a rumour that there were strippers, cocaine and midget whores inside a Manchester United - Cardiff or something game.


Grand Stand
This is where rich folks pay more to see the same game from the same distance as the Rakyat Jelata from the other side.


Usually occupied by kids who were bullied in school and think they are cool now.


Home Seats
The whole stadium except the top corner of the stadium and a few more rows


Ultras Malaya
Look out for people at top corners of the stands usually singing and drumming..sometimes dancing and most importantly cheering.


They'll most probably be wearing black tees with yellow scarfs held high









Away Seats
Whatever's left. Possibly 3 rows in some corner with a fucked up view.


For this occasion, look out for an awkward looking group dressed in either red and white (Singapore, not Indonesia) or Blue.






4. Get in the ZONE


To get in the zone, you'd need to prepare your mind and body for the experience. Here's the simplest way to shift to a football fan mindset:

I know the beer is Singaporean but the name is Malaysian but 6 of this, you'll be massive!

If you can't drink, Tiger biscuits also counts!




5. Lose Your Voice


Shout, scream, sing...tell the referee what a cunt he is, taunt the away fans. Go ahead! Don't just sit quietly, you have bloody libraries for that!


Here are a few songs and chants that might help you out tomorrow:


Negaraku


Inilah Barisan Kita

How it is



How it should be sung




Malaysia Chant






So, see you tomorrow in Black and Yellow!

My Shitty Day (Official Story)

Against all my wishes, I went for today's meeting with the label. Although it was fruitful to a certain extent, I might have bitten off more than I can digest.

After lunch, I took the MRR2 back to my proposed location of choice, Cyberjaya. I didn't make it back, of course..

See, about 500m before the nearest petrol station, I felt the Shits* growing. So, I decided to speed up and hurry to the toilet. I made it there, of course and I only had one option, a squatting cubicle. I rolled my pants and undies and did my business well but as I reached for the hose, yes, I wash, my pants slipped from my armpit grip and fell in the toilet bowl.

I laughed then realised that I had nothing to wear but my pink-polka-dot-motif-boxers. I panicked! In my mind raced a million thoughts and the huge hole in my boxers was as useful as a one-legged man in a football match.

Please pay attention to only the boxers

If this ever happens to you, here's what you should do:


1.  Damage Control


If it's just a small patch, wash and pretend nothing happened. However, if like me once upon a time ago, my undies got soiled, roll the damn thing and throw it away. Then go commando and enjoy the soft touches of the fabric on your skin.


What happens if the toilet is full of people knocking on your door asking you to hurry the fuck up?
Shove the son-of-a-bitch in the toilet pump thingy and please have the decency to off the tap.




2.  Do the right thing


Like what I did today, I called my boss who thankfully is my childhood friend, Mrs Violet Francis-Monterio and explained the situation:

Lett, I have something to tell you. Please don't get angry and try not to laugh

What's that?

My pants fell in the toilet bowl

(I swear she had the how-did-you-shit-that-your-pants-can-fall-into-the-bowl thought in her mind)

How can happen?

(I explained the situation)

I'll go home and change my pants then I'll come back to office

Hahahahaha..No need la..

So, I ran out of the toilet, wearing only my boxers and pants wet and rolled in my hands.

 P.S. I'll explain what Shits* mean some other time

Bend it like Reina

With modern football being somewhat of a fashion statement nowadays...all of the men boys I know have or still are idolizing some football star.

Walk down Drive to your nearby playground and you'll see kids dressed in the same manner their stars dress..from their kits to socks..even the laces on their boots mirror football players.

Here's where it gets interesting..their hairstyles.

Over the years..many people have been copying Beckham or even than Portuguese Prancing Pony Ronaldo..even Edgar Davids and Fellaini hair had followers

Edgar Davids' Predator look

Fellaini..I swear I play fustal with someone that looks like him

Confession: As a boy..I too had dreams of donning hairstyles like these people above. Sadly tho..the way my head is evolving, my only hope is to have hairstyles like Raul Meireles, Gary McAllister or Pepe Reina

Meireles

 

 

 

 

McAllister

Reina

 

 

As you can see..all of us share the same trait..baldness Liverpool FC.

YNWA!

Speaking of football...

Today's Lesson  

Football is not the gayish game Americans play with pads and helmets. 

Football is 22 men running around a field trying to get a ball into a net while Howard Webb one Jackass blows a whistle and two others play with flags while another holds up certain numbers on a board from time to time.

The Americans play: Gay Rugby

She can play on my team...anytime XD

How to live longer

So, a few more days to Christmas and I realised I wanted better health and a long life this year..how am I ever going to get that?

Staring at boobs

It's scientifically proven that boobs will help us MEN live longer.
Here's the math:

10 minutes of Boob-watching a day = 30 minutes of Exercise WILL increase the life-span of a male by up to 3,153,600 minutes = 6 years

Think I'm lying?

I'm NOT!!

Therefore, I've coined up a Christmas tune on my own to give to good ol' Saint Nick..

All I want for Christmas

Every body pauses and stares at she
These two tits are round as you can see
I don't know just who to praise for this discovery!
But my one wish on Christmas Eve is as plain as it can be!

All I want for Christmas
is your two round tits,
your two round tits,
see your two round tits!

Gee, if I could only
have you two round tits,
then I could wish you
"Merry Christmas."

It seems so long since I could say,
"Sister Susie has a nice left nipple!"
Gosh oh gee, how happy I'd be,
if I could only suckle (thhhh, thhhh)

All I want for Christmas
is your two round tits,
your two round tits,
see your two round tits.

Gee, if I could only
have your two round tits,
then I could wish you
"Merry Christmas!"

 *To be sung in the same tune of All I want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth

10 minutes starts.....NOW!

There's NO shit on Mondays

As busy as I am at the new job, I've been observing the terms: Shit has Hit the Fan and I Hate Mondays quite closely and I've decided to once again put my GENIUS to great use and ANALise the term and how it works at a TYPICAL week in the office and have concluded that:

Mondays are cool 

I <3 Mondays!

I'm SCARED of THURSDAYS!

Data Presentation:

After WEEKS and WEEKS of taking samples from my office and 2 other offices, I've come up with this chart

 Which naturally translates to this GRAPH:

As you can see, Shit hits YOU at 0.7 (70%) or at 6.3 hours* on a Thursday which is at about 3.18pm!* 

With that, I leave YOU afraid of Thursdays and hopefully be more like me, with a BRAND NEW appreciation for Mondays!

I might be wrong, but YOU are most definitely not right

*Calculations based on a 9.00am-6.00pm, 9-hour (8 work hours + 1 lunch hour) working day; tea time, overtime and cigarette breaks not included; batteries sold separately

How to keep your Astro/Celcom/P1 Services (Temporary)

Just last month I started a NEW job..so naturally some bills were unpaid delayed. And a few customer service personnel were given the task of calling me..and I think somehow their weeks and weeks of training did not prepare them for an encounter with me.

Here's how it went:

*Ring *Ring

Hello

Hello sir, I'm ******* calling from Astro. 

Yeah, can I help you?

Actully sir, just checking, Your name is Darian Henry, right?

Yes...again, can I help you?

Err...Sir, there's a problem with the payment for this month

Knowing I haven't made a payment, I answered:

What problem? There cannot be a problem..

Err..Sir, according to our system, there is no payment for this month and I have to disconnect your services today.

Wait, you said there's a problem with the payment, now you are telling me there is no payment...

Yes..err......

So now, there is NO payment, correct? 

Yes

Naturally, it means there's no problem with the payment...correct?

Yes...but..

So stop trying to be funny and leave my Astro alone..

Thank you Sir

OK, bye..

Bye, have a nice day..

*Click

The fellas from P1 and Celcom also called..same method..same results..

TRY IT!

p.s. They did cut my services..some 3 weeks later after adding a few pages to their Manual ;)

When you've gotta go (Pt 1)

Although this sounds familiar..I'm talking about my FRIEND..

HE...
...is in a band
...sings
...plays the harp
...shits whenever he wants ...shits wherever he needs

Of all places, one day after following a few friends get a tattoo and eating the legendary Satay Celup,


he felt a huge bowel movement (Praise Jesus for blessing him with lightning fast movements) and warned the driver of the car:

"I gotta shit lah, balls,"

The driver shot back a look through the rear view mirror, an evil scowl forming, menace building in his eyes unveiling deep demonic thoughts which have already masked the pain of the freshly inked tattoo.

However, despite all that build-up, what came out of his mouth sounded like Johnny Lever.

Johnny Lever

It's not important what he said, but the dick made me..I mean HIM go round and round in the car as the driver took wild turns and accelerated vigorously over speed humps.

His face reflected the motions of his stomach, twisting and turning, churning in discomfort. Then, it happened. My friend looked serene, calm and poised. With one hand on the safety rest and the other on pulling his pants and underwear away from his body, giving a 3-inch gap.

Little did they know, he already soiled his pants...a little bit... and was waiting for the smell to hit the car, knowing that it's air circulation would let the smell linger.

In a matter of seconds, came the question: "Who farted?" Of course with delight, He answered: "I just shat, balls..buahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Let's just leave it at that because the driver started cursing and swearing so bad, Lucifer would've closed his ears.

So, till we meet again, here's a song that has no connection with the story. And another thing, there's also a fountain story.

How?

Little did she know, moments before the fight, he was trying to move into his new house today. While munching on two cookies he was pestering Bitch Boy to get the keys. It was on his fifth trip to the car where he loaded about thirty-five kilograms of stuff as he received her call.

In his mind, he was calculating if he could finish moving today as the weather has already turned gloomy. He thought he made a SMRT! move by not worrying her. Hence, he did not mention anything about the plan to move.

He wanted to finish moving today n follow her tomorrow but at the same time did not want to get her hopes up by prematurely agreeing to follow only to cancel later on. All he wanted to know was what exactly will she and her friends will be doing.

She cut him off. He got annoyed. Now, he is sitting and waiting for her to call even though she already swore not talking to him anytime soon. He now waits. He loves her...

About Her

The Subuh prayers hits the quiet night breaking the silence slowly. This is the type of feeling that would just creep in and suddenly blindsides you, changing the whole ambiance suddenly into a depiction of divine serenity. I guess it works everywhere from the chanting of the monks to the opening prayers of an old priest, solemn and yet embracing.

Anyways, the azan signals my night is up and I wasted most of it on stupid “what if” innuendos about our relationship. I must admit that whichever way I look at it I have only myself to blame. I knew that falling for her would be a humongous mistake…catastrophic to me.

Well, I got my head stuck so deep, now I’m eating out of her hand. Like how a taxidermist lures a squirrel to come to him right before he knocks it out cold. The best part is the squirrel won’t know when it gets knocked out.

I have good friends who told me to just wing it and take my chances with her but; I also had better friends saying I shouldn’t get involved however, hats off to my best friends who just refused to get involved my twisted little romance.

What do they know? I bet none of them ever felt this way. I bet none of them can comprehend the feeling I had when from under the spotlight, smack in the middle of the stage, I saw her sitting in the corner of the room, moments before my drummer kicked up a monster beat from Led Zeppelin.

They wouldn’t know what it was like singing their hearts out for that one particular person. How with every love song or when my band does it we like to call them rock ballads, in your heart you are just screaming, “This one’s for you, baby”, or how there’s no more tiredness when you go off stage just to see her smiling at you with beautiful eyes gleaming in pride and awe.

Need a woman gonna hold my hand
Won't tell me no lies, make me a happy man

Black Dog, 1971

This Time Around

I felt it even before I awoke. The gloominess arose slowly like the scent of cheap perfume on a woman; disturbing yet unavoidable. I refused to open my eyes. I feel it. I feel the sadness of a thousand deaths and I know I can’t hide in bed all day.

I open my eyes. The depression squeezes me; it smashes my heart as I get out of bed only to see a glimpse of happier times through a picture of us. We looked perfect. It was like a shot taken from a Hollywood movie. I had her in my arms with our faces cheek to cheek. We were just too perfect together. Nothing could ever bring us apart until that night…

My nostalgic trip down memory lane was cut short by a phone call. Mom called. She too sensed my depression. Well, with my attempted suicide a couple of years ago, Mom did not have to guess what kind of mood I woke up to today. Mom insisted I spend the day over at their place. The idea doesn’t sound half bad. A home cooked meal for a change. I assured her I was fine and will be coming after I finish doing my stuff.

As I stood in the bathroom I imagined how the bathroom used to smell. Rosewood, lemon grass and all other fancy scents she used to buy. I wept. I really couldn’t take it. I haven’t even brushed my teeth.

I walked out of the bathroom not even bothering to have the decency to cover myself in a towel. I had to find two of my best companions over these past eight years, Mr Jack Daniels and Mr Johnnie Walker. I have to admit that they have brought me through all my hard times.
I turned on the television and flipped through the channels. I was hoping to watch some kind of lonely man comedy but all I got was talk shows. I hate them. Oprah’s show is such a drag for me to watch with all the mushiness radiating. I took another gulp of scotch and looked to the left. My guitar lay there ever so patiently and still tuned ever so perfectly. I picked it up and strummed E Minor, arguably the saddest chord in the repertoire.

As I hit the chord, grey pearls of my past burst in my mind, transforming my funeral themed room to a sunny day with an old oak tree in the middle, a picnic basket with food so much even gluttons cannot eat. I swear I heard her voice again. It was an angelic voice, which could make hell seem cheerful, even if it was just for one second. The best part about all this was she was there vivid and real, I can smell the white musk perfume that stole my heart.


The nostalgia was shredded by the reminder alarm from my mobile. It’s been ringing fervently this day every year for me to go to the graveyard. I have never done it. Somehow, I blame myself for what happened. The regret I have burns deep inside me till this very second. I have gone to the deepest depths just to see her again. I’ll say that the Spirit of the Coin game doesn’t work, neither does paying some shaman to contact her. I’ve even tried to sell my soul at some crossroads, like the Robert Johnson legend, but the devil never came.