just minishorts.

I see lots of photos, I see lots of reports, I see gushings, and oohings, and show-offs who go 'Hey I was there, where were you?'

Chewah, very clever meh? I got something BETTER!

I've got something that peeps don't have. I mean you guys all have photos bla bla… photos blabla… maybe got Video from Alex later, but I got something way way better than all that.

Here's an MP3 recording of the Happy Birthday song, and sing to the song yeah, sing at the top of your voices, and it will be JUST LIKE you were there with me!

Nyek nyek! Because I CAN!

Here's the link again if you missed it, and OI, don't kill my bandwidth yeah!

Podcast 2: Happy Birthday PPS!! (1.96MB)

To give you something to talk about tonight… (Just in case)… I'm presenting you… Part Two of the Cinderella party (go read Part One first then come back later if you haven't read that one).

This was what happened at the ball.

Our little pretty in blue, nearly-deaf, kind-hearted, civil-conscious and super blur case Cindy had a pretty smooth ride in her pumpkin-grown carriage that took her straight to the Ball.

There was a mighty-huge crowd at the Ball.

Cindy walked down the long winding staircase that led to the Prince's ballroom, and just as we expected, there was a huge gasp from the crowd.

Oh my. People stared. 'What a babe,' this thought was running through every single person's head at the same time.

It couldn't be helped that the girl had a kind of ethereal look to her, giving her a surreal air of elegance, and a shining aura that just exuded 'class'.

She just stood there at the edge of the final step to the ballroom, and said sheepishly, 'I'm sorry I'm late.'

While the rest of the crowd came to a standstill at the shock of this willowy beauty's sudden and very late arrival, our host, the Prince, walked PURPOSEFULLY towards the new star of the Ball, offered his hand, and smiled at her.

'Welcome,' he said to her. Well she couldn't hear this (she was deaf), but an extended hand means 'welcome' anyway, so she took it, and before you could say 'awwww…' the royal orchestra started playing The Emperor's Waltz and the starstruck crowd swiftly gave the new couple the entire flourspace for them to, uh, do the waltz.

In a corner of the ballroom, Cindy's stepmummy almost in tears at the sight of her beautiful step daughter, who had finally caught the attention of the biggest catch in the entire Fairytale-land.

And her sister Amby and Bally were, well, seething with jealousy, BUT too bad lah, they cannot do anything else except watch enviously.

Blah. TOO BAD. TOO BAD.

When you're pretty and a babe, yes uh, you get everything.

Fortunately, blur cindy was so deaf and oblivious to all these societal-flaws that she just waltzed on and on and on with her new handsome boyfriend, who said a couple of very nice and enchanting things to her.

But our Cindy was so deaf she couldn't hear a thing. She just stared at him like she was awestruck or something.

How not to fall in love? I ask you? I ask you?

Of course the prince fell head over heels in LURVE with Cindy babes. I would have too, if I were a guy.

But anyway…

Time flies when you're having fun, and Cindy was having a helluva fun time at the Ball. She was the Belle of the Ball, and the Prince's new party-toy. What more can a girl ask for?

For time not to fly…

But it did. And twelve o'clock soon came a ticking. Hickory-dickory dock, and DONG DONG DONG.

A huge grandfather's clock by the edge of the hall started to chime twelve times.

And because poor Cindy was deaf. She didn't hear the clock chiming until it had did its seven chimes.

Like DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG

DONG yang ketujuh only she remember what her fairy godmother had said, 'YOU GET BACK BEFORE TWELVE MIDNIGHT TONIGHT. YOU GET BACK BEFORE TWELVE MIDNIGHT! OTHERWISE BAD BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN!'

So Cindy ran like the wind, boy did she run. People chased her lah, the prince especially, bless his poor heart, but they couldn't keep up with her…

And she ran and ran and ran…

And of course she left her little nice slipper behind, which our prince picked up…

But this is not the point of the story.

The point of the story is to tell you what happened… when Cindy got back.

See, when Cindy got back, she was in her ugly house pajamas and wearing only one single fibreglass shoe.

This didn't really matter, because apparently, there was some sort of ugly fishy activity happening in the house next to hers.

She saw… a guy in Bata slippers and torn white Pagoda brand singlet and ugly bang pants standing next to her stepmother's brand new Proton Savvy, and looking up up up, with an ugly looking camera on the Proton Savvy.

'Who is that?' thought Cindy.

She walked closer to the fishy looking guy.

He went on doing things to his ugly camera.

Cindy decided to leave the guy alone, and go into her house first.

Then she peeped through the curtains of her windows.

THAT FUCKER WAS STILL STANDING OUTSIDE, NEAR HER MOTHER'S CAR!

'What the hell is he doing?' Cindy thought again. All sorts of suspicions ran through her mind. She kept on looking and the guy was still there.

Finally she couldn't take it anymore.

She went out.

She went up to the guy.

And she asked, 'Scuse me, what are you taking pictures of?'

And the guy in the Bata slippers and the ugly half torn white Pagoda brand singlet pointed up to the sky and said, 'Nice moon.'

So Cindy looked up, and stared and stared and thought where got moon cannot see also and finally she said, 'Yes it is.'

Then she walked back to the house, thinking, 'Professional criminal.'

After which Cindy spent the entire night sitting by the window sill peeping through her curtains, making sure the stranger didn't steal her Mummy's car away.

Now, there is a featured blogger of the day in this story. Please place your answers in the comments section, give the name of the featured blogger, and his popular URL.

If you visit the guy as often as I do, please also tell me why you like the fella I have featured in this story.

The rest of the story will be continued in Part Three.

Well… imagine that I can rip those things out anyway.

WHY?

Oi… Kenny your quiz is SO INACCURATE.

What is this.

I put in 'minishorts', and did all the questions the way I feel that I would answer…

I got

Like I am JEFF OOI? Oi. Salah lah… OK nevermind. Screwed answer, but nevermind.

So I tried it again. I imagine whether I was different in people's eyes, so I did the 'Breasts only mah' response…

And I got

Again. I tried. I put a lot of new things ok, I changed the answers, I even did the chemical compound choice, see if I can change the outcome or not…

I even put, 'kennysia', 'jeffooi', 'chanlilian' in the blank.

I even put 'kenny you stupid fool' in the blank.

Then I put 'minishorts is a bitch' in the blank.

I also put 'die die die the whole world' in the blank.

AND I STILL GOT JEFF OOI!! TWELVE TIMES IN A ROW!! TWELVE FUCKING TIMES!!

OI SALAH OEY… WHAT DID YOU DO?

I think I now know how Joel felt when he did the test.

But here. This is another rant.

(I seem to do it more often recently hoh? Yeah so I'm pissed with the world. So sue me.)

A little bird (called technorati) gave me trackbacks to a certain little ex-reader of mine… who said this about my posts.

The earlier ones caught my breath with their occasionally rambling but thoughtful and oddly idealistic musings; the latter works practically exploded with angst. I could imagine her "pecking" away at her keyboard back then, and violently jabbing away today. She's registering far more hits today than ever before, in fact, Xiaxue has a worthy competitor, but….maybe it's just me, but i preferred the old minishorts.

OK nevermind the uncalled for Xiaxue reference, but after that she talks about how she lost interest in me.

And maybe the feistier, snappier her is still her, just older and more cynincal. But I couldn't help being troubled by the sneaking suspicion that she had sold out. That along the way, the fame had gotten to her head and she's no longer writing for herself. It had nothing to do with the fact that her new space was liberally strewn with ads. Oh if you don't know, if you click on 'em often enough, you help us become rich. In theory anyway.

OK. You lose interest in me… I don't give a damn about that you know. After that she went all 'well you see I'm lucky because…

First and foremost, I write for myself. I want to be able to write freely, unfettered by social expectations or commercial motivations. I started this blog not to make it an enterpreneurial entity - not now anyway. I can't deny that a couple of months down the road, when I'm still pounding the pavement with resumes and I've still not made a single cent from my writing thanks to my stubborn "artistic integrity", I may change my mind and start populating my blog with those nice images from adsense. But not now.

ARTISTIC INTEGRITY?

PTUI PTUI PTUI.

So clever, aren't you?

Now let me tell you what happened to my 'artistic integrity'.

Suddenly the moral policemen like you decided to appear and started to point fingers at me and say that I 'sold out.'

Like you know so well lah.

My comment to this girl (OK I appreciate that you USED to like my writings, but your post still dissed me ok? Here you go, honest and upfront):

wah how you know i don't blog for myself?
btw, adsense is there to help me pay for my hosting. it's suppose to at least contribute like 10% to the RM250+ that i have to fork out every year so that people can read my site for free.
so far i've only got like… USD 4.30 only. Since putting it up like, two months ago!
how's that for 'earning revenue'?
*OK sorry but you really dissed me with this one. and yeah so i grew fangs. ouch*

Artistic INTEGRITY my ass. BABY. You forgot one important thing, I am not a bunny wabbit. My name is minishorts and you have NO FUCKING RIGHT TO SAY THAT I SOLD OUT AND I DO NOT BLOG FOR MYSELF.

(As if cussing all the time brings the legions of fans in. Hah!)

That's almost like saying that SouthPark is a bigger hit than Disney.

Wait. It is?

Or is it not?

OK. Someone tell me the stats.

I said I was going to do one for the guys… We girls too like to oogle at cute people, girls AND guys (from around the world and Malaysia etc), but first, I have weird tastes.

If my choice is ugly/lousy or whatever, I'd like to place a disclaimer of (fill in the blanks). I will not be helf responsible.

Like I said, I like to oogle at cutie-pies, be they male or female. In Japan there's this mix-breed of a hunk, and BOY OH BOY HE IS UBER FUCKALICIOUS.

Great media gallery, great name (that reminds me of Yong Tau Foo but Yong Fook, Yong Fook, easy to remember, kan?), great food blogs.

Well, most importantly, EYE-CANDY and living proof that you can have both brains, beauty and brawn AT THE SAME TIME. .

Plus he's got a fun to do SKETCH BOARD that made me come up with weird things. (I don't have photoshop or any imaging program at the office otherwise I can show you some examples.

But check out this looker. Now go. Go.

Updates:OMG OMG, even Fuckstress agrees with me

Fuckstress says:
LOOKING AT HIS PIC ALMOST GIVES ME AN ORGASM

NOW I CAN'T BE WRONG, RIGHT?

Viewtru, masquerading as Mark in the Rapunzel scandals is a Malaysian bomb. Pity we don't know what he looks like.

I do, however, know precise what Mark Nam looks like, and he's … yummylicious (sorry Mark, can't resist).

And I love the pictures.

I love the way how he links his friends and bloggers-unknown.

I love the map on his site.

And he is so fucking good looking, I drool all over the monitor and keyboard everytime I surf there.

Pity not many Malaysian men are camwhores. I think there's the problem with us you see, we like to stare at other people who look good, only if they don't, well, blab out loud that 'Hey look here, look here, I'm a babe, I'm a babe.'

But we find its okay for people like Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt to take compromising pictures of themselves and sell it to the world for huge buckets of money.

Fucker, what's wrong with you guys man?!

I mean what kind of 'we're losers' attitude is this… why do we have to put ourselves into the 'shylah shylah' stereotyped barrel?

How the hell are we ever going to get out of our shells?

Oh no no, we, you know, we're SMART, we're CLEVER, and that just means that you know, we may not look good, but well, we have brains what, so who the hell cares?

Aiyeh, truth? Truth?

'You really think I'm such a babe meh?' Actually truth is, I'm not that pretty, well, not if you wanna compare me to Elaine or April and the bevy of beauties who I choose to be my friends. But my marketing techniques seem to sell quite well hoh, hoh.

Because of that everyone says I'm hot. Well, hot can also refer to my temper, blah.

But at least, we have smarties in Malaysia.

Like Captain Carcinogen, eg. The same guy who keeps getting killed y my Spam Karma (I suspect its because your nick has a 'carcinogen' in it).

He's funny.

He leaves stupid comments in my site well, of course. I like to boost my reader's egos too (and you know this means that if you're nice to me, I'll be nice to you too).

Well, if you're evil to me, I'll TRY to be nice to you, but no guarantees.

But Captain is hilarious. Now how to be hilarious when it comes to just words, just words, and no pictures? No parodies too, just you know, little snippets of his thoughts on his dailies.

And other obscure things.

Probe his mind. On the blog.

I sound like a freaking advertiser. But anyway.

I was THISCLOSE to featuring Tormentt on my Fabulous Females Part Deux. And then (s)he told me that (s)he's a guy.

Ey, actually I knew that adi lah.

But seriously.

I LIKE RAW HONESTY.

I like also, computers falling out of office blocks.

But while everyone else is either trying to suck up to suanie and me or trying to be on that side of the 'look what's with the big fuss' clane, Torment is open and upfront about his jealousy.

AND SINCE WE'RE ON THE TOPIC, eh of course its a big fuss, fucker, hey not every day that ORDINARY people get front page splat-ons in the local dailies. Yeah its an insignificant lifestyle pullout but who the fuck cares man?

Tormentt dug into his flesh and went all ballistics and did the PURE, PURE, HONEST post.

Now THAT, is what I call a damn good (tormented) blogger.

Time to go. See ya.