People Dies

Sally was quite angry. because i joked about her tits and fat ass the first time we met. i felt bad sometimes because i can be a total asshole that can be total insensitive to people's feeling. she is always embarrassed because i made her felt sorry to introduce me to her friends. i may be self centred and try to enjoy myself by harresting janitors or bullying woman with mustache.  she say pig like me deserve to die miserably 10 times a year, if i don't watch what is out of my mouth or things i write, just matter of time karma will come and wipe the ass of mine off this planet. 

she is right, i should be more sensitive in expressing myself. 

let me blog about my friend's funeral.

i wonder sometimes when i die, will there people bother to attend. perhaps if i still have some business that people still care passed on to my family member or my sister is a mafia leader that she threatens all my friends who dare not to turn up will have their testicles shoved into their asses, maybe there will be quite good turn up. otherwise.. why do you need to turn up for funeral service then? the fella died don't know, he cant be bothered too if u pretend sick and masturbate at home instead, the most he can do is turn up at your dream and chew ur ass? that's if he still got teeth

pastor says he was a great person, as far as he can remember woh. but he didn't know the fucker owed me 20 bux, he do bad things in life that no one knows, like own an aeroplane kind of blog. but anyway, why we care. after all he is dead, he died and to be sent to toast box in 15 min time. I'm the one carrying the flower because the fucker die before me. and maybe that's the only achievement i am proud of my self so far - not dead yet though i deserve to.   

if i  want to count how many people i actually helped in life, maybe there are one or two. if i start counting people that hates me, maybe they are more than my pubic hair. but be it good and bad ass, the only person touches u before toasting you, are the hands of few bangla who were paid to carry you to destruction. they don't know you, they don't like your smell either. but they love the salary because throw a bad ass like me to burning fire is good deed. 

Jessica once  asked my why i name the author of of this blog  Ron Jeremy and who the fuck is he. very obvious she doesn't know entertainment industry, but i don't blame her, because i spent too much on Ron Jeremy's DVD too. I'm one of his greatest loyal fans, and i think i want to be just like him. so Rich and So Big. but it doesn't seem matter anyway how a person lived his life, at the end of the walk, you are just part of the combustible and part of your penis are cooked to steam released to the air like any other sewerage foul air.   

after burning your ass, all i may get is to be kept by my sister someday in a jar of fuck to be stored in columorium. what it meant was , you are part of the ROWs and COLUMNs - to be MEMORIED. i may have owned a Perodua Myvi, i may have owned 80% of Puchong low cost flat (if i manage to finance it full) or if i may be lucky enough, i may own many enemies too. but it seems all i may have at the end is to be remembered (by handful of people who care to) in a jar. 

i like this great man, his family made this great grave stone for him that summarises his life well. obviously he was a great racer, must be a great hero. i wonder now, if i die, and i leave it to people to decide what they want to say about me and these words to be put on grave stones for next 10 years, what will be written on it? 

any suggestions?