The following are the things I am not:
- Gainfully employed
- Living in a domicile separate from my parents
- Young enough for this to be socially acceptable
We may then infer that as a consequence of these premises, neither am I:
- Possessing of any material wealth
- Sexually attractive
- Safe to talk to in public
However. Let it be stated for the record that not once have I ever given a fuck about the above three. (First lie.) For, inasmuch as these factors may contribute to a general despondency and sense of worthlessness in the average Malaysian Malay Male Hermit (or a mmmh, if you will), I have no such compulsion to pull myself down to those murky psychological depths. This is aided in no small part by the fact that I am:
- The Internet
- Snarkier by half than damn near anyone you will ever meet
Second lie: this isn’t going to be in three parts, after all. I’m a freelance (read: poor) writer and photographer, and a hip hop musician. I was raised on P Ramlee and Disney movies up til The Black Cauldron and Star Wars (original trilogy only, please) and Indiana Jones and The Goonies and Transformers and GI Joe and He-Man and fuck off I’m 31 and nostalgic. I’ve never held down a job for longer than two years, and it shows. There is a distinct possibility that I am violently bipolar. I am lazy, idealistic, sympathetic to causes bearing no weight whatsoever to my own immediate well-being save in some kooky liberal butterfly effect way. I am also a kooky liberal. I have deplorable personal hygiene, and threadbare moral fibre. (It looks like cornsilk laid out to dry in the scorching desert sun.) I was a ravenous reader of books and comic books; now I only read funny Top 10 Lists on blogs run by equally smellily amoral thirtysomething men. I am sexually frustrated. Holler. There was once upon a time, in my early youth, when people used to call me bright. Now they call me only when they need to Google something and they’re out driving with their 3G connections down. I am almost always asleep. When I am not asleep, I will be attached in one way or another to a gadget. Usually it’s my laptop (nee Anne Marie) or when I pluck up the courage and hold down my gorge long enough to be outdoors, my camera Marcus. And my laptop Anne Marie. I do not speak to strangers very well. Once I’ve ascertained I’m far, far stranger than you will ever be, and you’ve either not realized this yet or already have but have not yet found an exit route, I will talk your genitals off. I also like to re(rererere)read any and all posts I put up online, to check for grammatical mistakes or clumsy sentence structure. Fuck you I don’t type anyting wrong.
The third lie is in here somewhere.