Where's my home?

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god. I so feel like I'm demising into this enticing world of eternal slumber and just get someone to tell me a joke and make me die of laughter.

Yes, I decided the best way for me to die is from laughing too hard. I have already thought of it since I was like three or four.

To digress a little, I really don't know if anyone actually died of laughter before, but I bet it'd be the coolest and happiest(duh) method to die. Imagine lying on your deathbed, with barely a few minutes left in your health meter(ala Street Fighter style), and you find your family and friends weeping, grieving and giving words of comfort whilst holding tightly onto your sweat-soaked hand.

You: Son, please don't. Sorrow does not run in our family. I vowed that I'd die laughing, and I want you to grant me just that.
Son: But dad, what can I do?
You: Just tell me a goddamn joke, son. Please, my only request for the RM5 million you're about to inherit from me.
Son: Wahlaoeh, RM5 millio... ahem, okay dad, this might be awkward, but here goes.
You: *cough cough* yes, go ahead my son.
Son: What's the difference between a bucket of shit and lawyers?
You: I have no idea, what?
Son: The bucket! HAHAHAHAHA.
You: It's not even a bit funny, and in case you've forgotten, I'm a lawyer.
Son: Woops. Er, lets see. Okay I have one! What Singh has a very foul-mouth?
You: Tiu-nia-singh. I told you this joke when you were 5 years old. *cough* Son, I'm really dying! Please, just make me laugh! Be serious!
Son: Dad! I really don't know what to do already-lah! How to be serious in making you laugh when you're dying! That is like the ultimate contradiction!
You: Okay, fine. Call your sister in, she tells better jokes than you *cough*
Son: Che che is not here, dad. She flew over to London to watch Mawi in concert.
You: *cough cough cough cough* Mawi is performing in London?
Son: Yeah dad, he's going international.
You: *cough giggle giggle choke choke giggle cough choke*
Son: Dad?! DAD?! MUM! Come in! I think I just told daddy a joke and he died laughing! *weeps*

Now, how cool is that? I even had this thought that St. Peter would grant people who died laughing a special VIP room up in heaven. For real.

Okay okay, get back to topic. I seriously so feel like dying. Here's why.

9AM: Out of bed. Get ready for work
10AM: In office. Work work work work work.
12:30PM: Lunch.
2PM: Work work work work work.
7PM: Dinner straight from office.
8PM: With Amy.
9PM: World Cup.
11PM: Have a drink.
12AM: World Cup.
2AM: Short drink.
3AM: World Cup.
6AM: Home.
7AM: Sleep.
9AM: Restart the cycle.



21 hours out of the house almost every fuckin' day! That's insane! Bah, I think World Cup kills, not cigarettes. I only get 2 hours of sleep per day, that is like equivalent to two TVB dramas you watch on Astro. And that is absolutely fantastically crazy for a month running. Better stop better stop.

Oh yeah, on a brighter note, I came out on Malaysia's Book of Records! Whee! Finally, a picture of me can be found in a bookstore! For those who didn't know, I broke the record for pulling two yachts with both my right and left testicles whilst playing the trumpet and dribbling a football. Wait no, I did not break the record, I set it. Hah.



=\ Sorry-lah, needed some ego-boosting for a moment there.