Misery

You know, that really creepy movie with that lady who kidnapped that guy and did stuff to him in a creepy way.

So, like, my first few days in Kuala Lumpur have been pretty uninteresting, aside from an embarassing sms faux pas which kept me up well into the night. Thank Jeebus for understanding friends.

I have no Internet connection, this is a friend's computer. I visited the college and I'm beginning to suspect that Miss Lainie was right about the lecturers. Either that, or I was talking to the janitor. Self sufficiency it is, I guess.

Cyberjaya is the most fucking despondent place in the world. My flatmates are potheads. Which is hilarious. There are five cats staring at me right now. No, I didn't smoke any of their stuff.

I'm going to my room to read. Because I'm a social butterfly who's got a tremendous ammount of sex appeal.

Your mother told me that she liked it doggy-style.

the pain the in the brain like the hole in the soul

Dear Penguin,

HOW COULD YOU?!?!?!

OH THE PAIN, THE PAIN.

YOU HAD CONVERSATIONS WITH HIM!!!

*twitch*

I...I need to lie down.

Brain shutting down from the horror. Oh, the horror.

YOU LURVED HIM!

Argh Argh Argh.

OMG COOTIES!!!

Love, hugs and kisses
Fishballs

PS: Argh!

conversations with a dangerous mind

Here is a piece of a conversation that I had with the ever-sparkly Miss Kim today. You will note that SHE started it first, not me (minor edits for coherence)

:: kim :: says:
Hrmmmm.

:: kim :: says:
I wonder

:: kim :: says:
If anyone has made, like

:: kim :: says:
Er

lechez ce poisson says:
Er?

:: kim :: says:
Glove thingies for guy balls

:: kim :: says:
Don't they get cold in the winter?

:: kim :: says:
It'd be ever so cute

:: kim :: says:
LOL

lechez ce poisson says: (10:54:31 PM)
    OMG

:: kim :: says:
Did I break your brain?

lechez ce poisson says:
Little woollen ones

:: kim :: says:
Yes yes

lechez ce poisson says:
With bobbles on them

lechez ce poisson says:
Striped

:: kim :: says:
Hmm

lechez ce poisson says:
I'm blogging this

:: kim :: says:
Those would be a tad inconvenient no

:: kim :: says:
Ahahhhaha

:: kim :: says:
Polka dotted ones make ur balls look like they got measles

:: kim :: says:
Hrm

lechez ce poisson says:
Tastefully coloured

:: kim :: says:
I wonder if balls get it too when you get measles

lechez ce poisson says:
Like, red and green for christmas

:: kim :: says:
Uhhuh

:: kim :: says:
Aquamarine and white if you're a water person

lechez ce poisson says:
Actually, I got a chicken pock thing on my ballsack

:: kim :: says:
Ew

lechez ce poisson says:
When I had the chicken pox

:: kim :: says:
I didnt need to know that

lechez ce poisson says:
It was itchy as

See the totally smooth way the subject changes from woolly testicle sleeves to diseased ball-sacks? More evidence for my singledom. I really should take a class in shutting up while I'm ahead.

(mental note: testicle talk does NOT get you chicks)

hot stuff

D'you know, I think I might be sexier today than I was yesterday?

'Tis true.

Just thought that I'd tell you, because, y'know, sharing is caring.

P.O.V.

You know, I could be wrong, so correct me if I am, but now that I'm here, I think Kuala Lumpur might be a wee bit bigger than Kuching.

But only a wee bit because we musn't get ahead of ourselves. Stiff upper lip and what not. Pip pip.

a-buuuuuuuuh

I got an unexpected gift today.

The sort of gift that takes away ALL your vocabulary for a good few minutes.

I sat there in a complete stunned stupor when I realised what it was I was listening to.

And then I blubbered like the pussy that I knew myself to be.

Thanks so much, Kim. You'll probably have no idea how much this means to me.

Well, you're clever, so you might.

But having someone make a gift of something this thoughtful makes leaving just a little bit easier to bear.

And because I am a complex, sensitive and unusually handsome guy, that much harder as well.

Jokes aside, thanks again, beautiful.

Harry Potter Spoiler below:

TONKS LIKES IT DOGGY STYLE.

That is all, carry on.

dangit! the 'chucks got pa! git that thar shotgun!

Small dinner with friends yay!

Kim molested my pillow, it now smells like her.

I'm assured that this is a choc vanilla scent. My pillow smells like cake, as opposed to its usual Eau de Fishballs.

This is an improvement.

Ivy drives a big car. Really fast.

I leave for KL in two days. I am not even close to being ready for another move.

Fuck.

woodchucks in the yard! save grandma!

It amazes me how some people can remain at the epicentre of a swirling firestorm of drama of others without being consumed in the muttonheaded supidity of it all. And you know what? They still have the capacity to care. Amazing.

I wasn't able to do it.

I have just heard the saddest damned song ever.

Insomnia is a whore with a floppy vagina. Watch how she wails away as she grinds herself all over you, ignoring the horrified look of disgust on your face.

I got a new toothbrush. Woohoo!

sometimes when we touch

Kim.

I've known you for about a week and we've been hanging out quite a bit, which has been more fun than stuffing ferrets into bottles.

But after lunch today, something flickered inside me. Something that I thought had died out long ago.

Words alien to the mouth from a long dormancy arose in my throat, nearly forcing their way out. But I said none of them because I treasure what we share.

But it eats at me. Consuming pieces at an alarming rate, washing away swathes of self-control and vast tracts of tact.

I'm left with no choice but to say these words, before they take me completely.

Call me callous and rage at my inability to express myself with the articulation and thought befitting a lady of your brilliance, but I hope you will deign to honour me by reading these words and at least consider them:

Penis fencing.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Jesus Christ in a parachute, I've been cracking up about it the entire afternoon.

Sweet dreams tonight. Tee hee hee!

bibidy bobidy boo

4.44 a.m in the morning and I have just finished the latest Harry Potter, courtesy of Miss Keem, she of the sparkly eyes and slidy specs.

Here's my review because I'm smarter than your mother:

If this book were a guy, it'll be a complete asshole standing around and looking at you with a shit-eating grin. You know, the kind of bastard grin that bastardly bastards get when they know something you don't. And they tell you just enough to get you hot and bothered. Bastards.

Bargh.

nougat in the chocolate, poetry in the soul

It's half-past-four in the bloody morning and I can't sleep. I'd dearly love to, but when Mr Sandman is cheating on your sorry ass, that's what happens.

Welcome to Insomnia, where even masturbation don't work right.

I've been severely disappointed by someone with whom I've been on generally friendly terms. I've known him forever, but he's always been a sort of benign presence in my life. Sort of in the background. Y'know, the sort of person with whom you share a "Hey, bitch. How're you doing?" and a drink from time to time. I've always thought of him as basically a decent guy. Others with whom I am closer have had a burning dislike for this individual, assuring me that he is a bastard of the highest degree and an asshole of epic aroma. My basic reaction has always been "Meh, he's never done anything to me. He's ok."

Well, in a few nights, he's proven to be a complete cunt-rag. Bargh. I won't go into the details, but his attitude and the way he treats people are just unspeakable. The supreme lack of tact and that remarkably large amount of inappropriate (see distasteful) comments made to strangers about yours truly just added that little extra piquancy to the flavour of the bile. I tried explaining it to myself by labeling it a combination of slips of the tongue and severe immaturity. But his consistent assholation (assholicity?) is really beating that argument down.

Compound all that with the fact that he makes some people that I actually like uncomfortable and, well, I am possibly faced with the most socially repulsive person I have ever known.

This bothers me more than I'd admit it. I guess it's got to do with that horrible feeling you get when you realise that you've been wrong about someone.

Bah, what a let down. One more for the dip-shit list, then.

Haiku for the disgruntled heart:

You are an asshole
Do you see this finger here?
Special just for you.

I am so fucking talented. Feel that emotion sear itself on your soul. I make Mother Goose cry.

once upon a midnight eerie

The Mermaid just left my house. It was an interesting visit.

She had driven me home.

Being the gentleman that I was, I invited her in.

She smiled and said yes.

We walked to my room together. I could smell her scent.

We sat down.

I offered her a drink, but she didn't want one. Her eyebrow arched and her nostrils flared.

It was obvious that she wasn't here for drinks.

She looked at me and reached over.

And arranged my books.

In rows.

By author, series and publisher.

Pratchett in front, Rankin at the back, stuff that didn't fit around the top.

And then she said that "they looked happier" like that, all "snug and stuff"

Oy vey. What a woman.

good golly, miss molly

First things first: This lady has the most animated face I have ever had the pleasure of coming in contact with. It's the coolest damned thing I have ever seen.

I'm utterly in thrall with her. But I'm not the only one, ho ho ho.

It was a rather fun night. Picked up the aforementioned lady and went for a coffee at that place where they have coffee. And we talked bad about other people for about hour before the penguin deigned to join us. Miss Keem was molesting an unhygienic pillow. Several inappropriate stories later, Miss Ivy and Mr Chung Siang joined us. Physical abuse from the dugong lady proceeded to happen. But I am told it comes from a place of affection so I suppose it's ok. No one ever died from some tough lovin'.

She SO wants me, I can tell. It's the boobs. Tee hee hee.

The festivities continued at the place with the alcohol and the groping, but not before Mr Nick and Mr Tak joined us for a wee bit.

I traumatised two manly men in the group by being offensively bisexual.

And as the night proceeded with it's irreverent tone towards everything respectful, I was informed that allegedly this dude asked this lady if I was a girl. Lovely. Just utterly fucktacular, I tell you.

So, we went to eat that that place that had food and then I drove Mr Tak and then Miss Dugong back. Miss Dugong forgot her keys and might have had to spend the night in her dad's car if it wasn't for her brother and his rebellious gaming streak.

I was right worried, I was. My mummy taught me not to leave wee little ladies sleeping in cars.

And then I got lost. That bit of town is a maze. And there were these houses with Roman columns and shit. Ye gods.

I got home at 3 am. Read till 6. Then slept. Then at nine, Mr Chung Siang called. 3 hours of sleep in 2 days. Whee.

Mr Caffeine is my new best friend.

PS: I saw 9 metrosexuals last night.

NINE.

IN KUCHING.

This makes me despondent.

Metrosexuals are the devil.

los cuatro fantásticos

Soooo, I just came back from the movie.

'Twas a very blah experience.

Damned shame, really. The comics are fun.

Jessica Alba, however lovely she looks in skin-tight spandex, was horribly mis-casted.

The rock guy was kinda rubbery and the rubbery guy was kind of a wuss, not in the you-feel-sorry-and-root-for-him way, but more in that you-want-someone-to-kick-him-in-the-fork way

The flamey guy had the best lines, but he was pretty much a prat. I swear he could pass as one of the Backstreet Boys.

Pretty sparkles are pretty.

Julian McMahon is an asshat.

Drinky-poos with the illustrious Miss Keem as well as that penguin with the perverted psyche are a distinct possibility tomorrow (well, later on, technically)

I'd be lying if I said my pants weren't ecstatic.

Dear Ladies, part quatre

YOU ARE NOT AS FAT AS YOU THINK YOU ARE.

Love, hugs and kisses,
Fishballs

PS: That top brings out the colouration of your skin something wicked.

PPS: No it does not make you look fat.

PPPS: I'm not going shopping with you anymore.

achtung! der Fisch kommt!

So a bunch of us went out for dinner last night at this place called "Jambu" Lovely ambience, above average food. Frightfully expensive. Then we went to Bing for dessert. There was a lovely waitress there who kept asking if everything was alright. I think she liked my boobs.

I told a few of my naughty stories, but I think they might have traumatised a couple of the ladies at the table.

Last night while reading, in a searing bolt of inspiration, I got two fantastic ideas. Ok, bear with me:

First, I'll open a restaurant run by exclusively by attractive ladies of vague-ish sexual orientation. And I'll call it "Eating Out"
hur hur hur. geddit? Eating out?

Then, I'll open a confectionary right next to it, run by attractive gentlemen of similarly vague-ish sexual orientation. And I'll call it "Fudgepackers" geddit? Fudgepackers?

hohoho, i am a funny one, i tell you.

I'm so sorry. I apologise for the overwhelming amount of cheese.

Anyhoo, this was another MSN conversation that occured between Sexbomb and me the other night. I think I traumatised her as well. I do that a lot. "Lechez ce poisson" being me in this case.

lechez ce poisson:
hey, guess what i just saw?

Sexbomb:
   what??

lechez ce poisson:
   a friend just sent me an email with a link to a video of a woman squeezing out live eels via her vagina

lechez ce poisson:
   colour me traumatised

Sexbomb:
   ewwwww i did not need to know that!!!!!!

lechez ce poisson:
   yeah

lechez ce poisson:
   apparently, someone put, like, 2 or 3 in there and she squeezed them out one by one into a basin and they were still swimming around

Sexbomb:
   EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

lechez ce poisson:
   didn't you eat eel the last time you were here at that japanese restaurant?

Sexbomb:
   oh shudup!!!

lechez ce poisson:
   probably cost so much because they were fresh from the vagina

Sexbomb:
   EW YOU ASS!!!!!!!

lechez ce poisson:
   was there a musky smell and taste?

Sexbomb:
   fuck u man!!!

You know, if nothing else, this blog has been a revelatory experience. Especially in terms of why I am still single. I should probably stop traumatising people.

monkeys have it all figured out

I have shaken the hand of celebrity. Last night, at that place that people go to drink and get drunk and grope each other, I had the distinct honour of meeting Miss Kimberly, she of the dugong-ian persuasion. A fascinating lady with sparkly eyes and pretty hair.

Being the suave lady-killer that I am, I offered my moobs (see: man-boobs, pecs, fun bags) for her groping pleasure for 20 cents. It is to her credit that she managed a quick and clever come back. Must meet up with her again. Yay!

"My goodness, why so cheap?" shocked ladies may ask. It's just good business sense. You let them have it cheap. And when they're hooked, you jack up the price. I knew that Economics class would come in handy eventually.

Everything written before this line probably explains why I've been single. Ho ho Ho. sniff.

Anyhoo, a good time was had by all. A very drunk Mr Arthur smooched me and another really drunk Mr Albert tried to grope Mr Nick in the happy bits. My poor friend Miss Jenny felt so out of place at the bar. Poor lady. Methinks we shouldn't have taken her there directly. Miss Ivy was little despondent. But she cheered up considerably later because, well, gratuitous amounts of alcohol will do that.

Caffeine must now be had because drawings need to be done.

My pants are happy. Yay!

(mental note: Sprite tastes absolutely vile right after mouthwash. It's like something small, furry and rancid decided to have a night of drunken debauchery in your mouth. With cockroaches. Compressed into a 10-second time period.)

beer!

I remember when drinking was a lot more fun.

It is not as fun as it used to be. This worries me somewhat.

And makes me sad in my pants.

fuck

Some degenerates blew up bits of the London Underground.

I have friends who live there.

Fuck.

Edit: They're ok. Overwhelming amounts of relief are now occurring.

literary endeavours

Everyone who knows me well enough knows that I devour books. Two to three books a day is the norm. Sometimes consecutively, sometimes concurrently. Comics as well. I have a shitload of books at home. Almost all the Terry Pratchett ones, Robert Rankin (he's like Terry Pratchett after a few magic mushrooms) by the buttload. All the Frank Herbert Dune books. The Da Vinci code (fascinating read. Crap story, great background stuff), Neil Gaiman's 1602, the Grant Morrison run on the X-men. Hellboy . Kingdom Come (hur hur hur...come). And heaps more. Most of this, as you can probably see, is geek stuff. Because, well, I'm a geek. Don't tell anyone. It's my dirty litte secret shame.

Anyhoo, here's the point: The book stores here depress me. I go there, as often as I can. And each and everytime, I'm disappointed. There's no new stuff. EVER. Sure, they have the Star Wars novelisations, but Star Wars has never been the epitome of good writing. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a delusional fanboy (tip for chasing Star Wars fanboys away: Midichlorians). Jeffrey Archer and John Grisham make me sick.

The ones in KL are way better. But their selections are still a bit hampered. Censorship or something, I gather. The one in that place, what was it called? The Megamall? Yeah, and I asked the lovely lady there where the Robert Rankin books were and she lead me to a shelf with Ian Rankin's stuff. She seemed awfully proud of herself so I smiled and said "Thank you."

Philip K. Dick (hur hur hur..dick) is nigh impossible to find. Ditto with Isaac Asimov and that Murakami dude.

I'll be moving to KL to live for three years on the 22nd of this month. If there's someone out there, who's reading this and lives in KL, could you, like, leave a few pointers on where I might find a nice comic book specialty store, a book store with a lovely selection of books and an art supply store? Preferably near Cyberjaya. I will love you long time.

dear Sexbomb, part zwei

Tom Cruise is prat. A PRAT, I SAY!

And Brad Pitt is a pillock.

Muahaha!

Nibbles, licks and orgasms,
Fishballs

PS: ALso, this dude read my blog. The magic fingers of celebrity have fondled me again. I feel dirty. I LIKE IT.

Dear Ladies, part trois

Most of you are smarter than you give yourselves credit for. So you probably know this already.

It's probably a good rule of thumb that the emotional depth of a prospective beau is directly proportional to the amount of time that passes between your first meeting and his hands trying to tweak your nipples.

If a man tries to grope you within the first 20 minutes of meeting you, HE MIGHT NOT BE THE ONE (Unless you want him to. In which case, I'm sure he's got a lovely personality to go along with the roving hands).

Telling him to stop it because "it's distracting" would probably not have the effect that you want.

Might I recommend a two-by-four to the balls or, if Madam prefers a more modern approach, a stun gun up the arse. Kitchen knives with suggestive slashing movements are also very popular this time of year. Of course, if Madam is a traditionalist, there is always the option of pepper spray, also known as capsicum spray in Australia. Hohoho, silly Australians and their funny English.

Love, hugs and kisses,
Fishballs

PS: I think the halter tops and summer dresses look lovely this season.

if i only had a brain

I had this conversation on Messenger a while back. It broke my heart. Seriously, I felt so disappointed. You think you know someone, and they pull a bimbo on you.

I'm not going to make up a psuedonym because I'm too lazy right now. Blargh.

Girl: Hey, Fishballs, do you know the guy who won that Wimbledon thing the last time?

Fishballs: Yes, yes I do. He comes over on weekends and we have little tea parties with scones and eclairs. He sure likes them scones.

Girl: Stop it, I think he's cute. I just wanna find pictures online.

Fishballs: Who am I to stand in the way of true love, eh? I'm not sure, but I think his name is Federer.

Girl: Oh, he's taken.

Fishballs: How sad for you. I'd offer you a tissue, but I just took a big dump, and well, you see how it is.

Girl: Ewwww. Anyway, Isn't he the guy who married Britney Spears?

(Some time passes)

Girl: Hello? hello? are you still there?

Fishballs: Just give me a second. I think you broke my brain.

war of the worlds

I just came back from the movie.

Tom Cruise is a prat.

Aliens passing pictures along to each other is funny.

Asswipes who don't turn off their phones during movies should have them jammed up their urinary tracts. WITHOUT ANY LUBE.

Also, rancid cows and their vapid boy-sluts who won't SHUT THE FUCK UP.

booty call

My dad gets up pretty early in the morning to get to work. While everyone else is asleep, in fact.

He calls my mom throughout the day because they are, like, so totally hot for each other and stuff.

So, today he calls my mom while she's driving in the car to say something. She starts to laugh her ass off all the way to breakfast.

This is what he had to say:

"God damnit, tell him to put on his damned pants when he's sleeping. Nobody wants to see that."

free willy

Y'know, it's a well known fact in this house that I like to sleep without my pants on.

You'd think by now people would learn to knock.

i have been touched by celebrity

Two famous bloggers have read my blog.

The gentle, warming touch of celebrity has sent me running about the house, squealing like an orgasming pig (who, from what I read, can orgasm for 30 minutes. Pigs, I meant, not celebrities. Mmm...orgasm.)

Miss Lainie and Miss Vanessa,

You will make me very happy in my pants if you would do me the honour of allowing me to link you in my "shit i read" column.

shits and giggles,
Fishballs

Also, to the misbegotten wretch (see: bastard) who blocked my car yesterday, I hope you catch a withering, but non-lethal, venereal disease. One that involves some sort of crusty build up and warts. ON YOUR CROTCH. Open sores are also a favourite. With lots of pus. You whorebag.

this is a public service announcement

To all straight males:

Blowjobs are not as fun for your lady companions as they are for you.

So why not return the favour once in a while?

Or stop insisting on them all the time.

Because this would save a lot of gagging and retching from those of us doomed to the steppes of platonic friendship with the obliging ladies.

We do not need to know about the details of how you like your balls nibbled.

This public service announcement was brought to you by the Ministry of God Damn, Woman, I Did NOT Need To Know That.

Dear Ladies, part deux

You're all lovely creatures. There's nothing about you that doesn't send tingles up and down my spine.

But try not to go swimming while you're surfing the red tide.

Especially when it's a HEAVY red tide

I had to take 3 showers yesterday.

And I still don't feel clean.

Love, hugs and kisses,
Fishballs

PS: I think you're doing a lovely job with the boobies.

so, like, on tv last night

They played THAT movie.

The one responsible for THAT song.

And the second bit is going to be on the tube TONIGHT.

Celine Dion and THAT song should be placed in an air tight (preferably sound proof) capsule, fed to a constipated female silverback gorilla (PMSing preferable), and launched, anally, into outer space.

And then do it again with that dude who played the dude who died in the last bit. Except with a rhesus monkey who's been intravenously fed with laxatives for a month. He really grates my mozarella. The dude, not the monkey.

But not the chick who didn't die, because she is ever so scrumptious on the eyes. But she should never try to sing again. Ever.

That is all. Carry on.

have you ever?

Looked into the eyes of the one you love.

Sighed at the prospect of being allowed to be this close to someone like this

Then uttered the words that never fade away

"Woman, you've totally got eye wax dripping out of your left eye. I mean, seriously, look at that shit. The weight of that motherfucker is actually pulling at the corner of your eye. Are you saving it up for something? Jesus Christ in a polka dot shirt! Look at it! FUCK! IT MOVED! I SWEAR IT MOVED! FUCK! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME I JUST TOOK A SHOWER!"

I am a class A romantic all the way, I tell you.