Issue: If Only I Were Her Bicycle Seat.
A few days back, I went to check the update on one of the Yahoo clubs I am a member of. One of my favorite clubs is the Charlotte of Monaco Club and there was a new posting on the club's page when I visited it. A new member of the club was browsing through the club's photo albums and saw the one that I posted on among the other three or so photo albums there. My album was entitled 'Charlotte of Monaco: If Only I Were Her Bicycle Seat' and that made the new guy really mad. In the club message board, he berated me for being a sick bastard for thinking of such a vulgar title for a photo album of a nice little girl and that I am a pedophile because the princess was 14 years old and I was 20. I don't mind that he is pissed off with me for writing that nasty title (it's not that nasty, just playfully naughty) for the photo album but what the hell is wrong with me hitting on younger girls? (It is totally wrong for girls to do the same on small boys. Why? I don't know, just feels wrong). Anyway, she's not that young. A mere six years of gap doesn't make that much of a difference does it? She's hot and I am hot (yeah, right). So? My mom and dad are six years apart and they are still cool. To imagine that kind of a gap, then it would be like an SPM-taking boy flirting around with an UPSR-taking girl, right? So what? Haven't you folks done a similar thing like that? (The author wishes to decline answering that question). Anyhow, I blasted the damn idiot back in the message board after knowing that he wrote his interest in his Yahoo profile as into 'Supermodels'. Nice going there dude, as if them thin models would fall for your shriveled ass. So much for debating high standard of moral values.

Issue: At Last Somebody Realized The Obvious.
Mamat my roommate wrote 'Lalat is a fruitcake' (that's a street term for 'crazy person' from my 'hood) in an email to our former high school mailing list. I made fun of his midget appearance in an email prior to that in response to a friend's question on how tall I am now. Well, I wrote to that friend that compared to Mamat, I am as tall as the last time he saw me. I also added that even if Mamat were to grow tall at a certain rate, I would still be taller than he would because my growth rate is faster than his is. At the end of the day, I will always be taller than my short roommate-cum-ex-school-mate, I concluded. It was all in the spirit of roommate-bashing comedy when I wrote about his puny size but I guess he was really disturbed by that joke. However, it is not his angry reaction that triggered me to write this issue. It is actually that I have realized several things from this experience. One is being that I am rather proud that people see me differently. Being labeled a weirdo seems cooler nowadays and a crazy nut is not that damaging as it once had. I am rather glad that people around me perceive me as of a different kind and this is beneficial because then they would treat me in a special manner. Every time I enter my living room, all the others who were visiting my apartment would act awkwardly before requesting to leave early. Each time I walk up to a group of people in a barbecue party, they would stop talking and look down at the grass. I think there is this gradual acceptance in the society that acknowledges the existence of us freaks. Come on people, just look. My kind is not even in the five-percent marginal error of the population statistics and still we rule the world. Just look at Bill Gates and Alan Greenspan. Did you think they were hip students in school? I could only see a wealthy and glorious future for me. Second thing is now I know that Mamat do have feelings. I thought that he was just a perfectly coifed mannequin that girls like to play mom-and-child and house with.

Issue: Yesterday Was Fun, Wasn't It?
How many of you enjoyed the issue of that dating bases yesterday? Ah, you like it that much. I am happy that you find it entertaining and hopefully informative too. I have a lot of stuff like that in here [tapping own head] in my head. I just can't find the right moment to talk about them. Did it change the way you think of me before and after? I hope so. Just imagine how blissful it would be if you had the chance to have a private conversation with me on matters similar to that or maybe something more bizarre that will keep you constantly at the tip of your toes, entertained and astounded. (And still no girl digs me, ah? What a bunch of blind idiots they are). Maybe under a shady green tree with the warm summer breeze blowing smoothly into our sweaty faces and a glass of cool ice tea in our hands to keep us from dehydrating, I would talk for hours and hours and never cease to amaze you with the things I know and you would listen and smile and laugh at my jokes. Sigh. Too bad for you. This is where all of that late night readings and deep thinking and acute observation pay off. I read a lot and I don't discriminate the things that I read. From the childish Teen magazine to the scholarly Atlantic Monthly and from the quasi-porno Maxim to the inspiring Readers' Digest, I delve into subjects that most of the time would just bore you to death. This is also where all that peer alienation and roommate exclusion and people isolation that have been going in my life for years pay off. The rather unusual thing is I am often seen as a passive, non-talkative recluse. I can't blame you if you were to say that of me, but the reason for my rather taciturn being is even more unusual. I hate to have a shallow and meaningless conversation. If I see that all this talking will lead to nothing, then I will stop talking myself and show that not-interested look on my face. So far, nobody I know is good enough to entertain me back with his/her part of the conversation. I am not trying to say that everybody else is stupid, but it's just that the things that they have interest in do not intrigue me. Then after feeling really bored by the subject, my attention would get distracted by her fluttering eyelids or the saliva bubble at the edge of his lips. That's why I end up talking to myself every time I needed to talk to someone and Mamat was somewhat correct when he said I am crazy. I think so too.