Category: General

Freeze, you have been scammed

Almost everyday, all my email accounts are littered with emails from scammers wanting to give a few millions Dollar to me for save keeping. The latest was a Desmond Tucker from Liberia, claiming to have $21.5m in a vaults of a classified International Security company in Monrovia (Where on earth is that?).

The email written by “scammer” Des
As I had received his email in all my 4 email account on the same day,I decided to write him back, to show appreciation of his enthusiasm:-
Dear Des,
It is a pleasure knowing that you trust me with $21.5m. Why don’t you drop the money at my door step tomorrow morning? I promise that I will sleep on it every night. Until then, may God bless your kind heart.
Yours sincerely,
Frank
Now just when I thought that I had to be the dumbest person in the world to ask a scammer to do that, I saw the story of “scambaiter” Mike from UK.
Mike received a random email from a man claiming to be Prince Joe Ebon, chairman of a subsidiary of the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation. Eboh said he needed to get money out of Nigeria and was offering to transfer $US25 million to Mike’s account if he would send his bank details. Mike was promised $6.25 million if he helped.
Mike sent an email back, calling himself Father Hector and saying he would love to help but he could only have business dealings with members of his religious order, the Holy Church of the Order of the Red Breast. Eboh said, of course, he would convert. Mike sent him details on how to paint a red circle over his breast to join. Eboh duly sent Mike a picture of himself with painted breast and signed a membership form vowing not to covet his neighbour’s ass, to never listen to hip-hop and to honour the words of church guru Shiver Metimbers. Eboh pleaded for $18,000 to register the church in Nigeria so he could transfer the $25 million. Mike hit back, saying that under church rules he had to pay a clearance fee of $80 before he could withdraw $18,000. As a monk he had no money and asked Eboh for it.
Surprisingly, Eboh sent Mike the money by courier, which cost him $49.Eboh was down $129. He then got a message from church elder Father Mike Myers saying Father Hector had run off with $18,000 in church Funds. Father Hector sent a last email telling Eboh he had lost the money investing in a business exporting snow to Siberia and run off to join a circus.
NOTE: The story of “scam baiter” Mike was published in Melbourne Age and Sydney Morning Herald

god damn blogging script

Hello people,
Sorry for the non-updates, I cant seem to get my movable type script working after transfering it to a new server. I cant login to my script or even post comments on my posts.
I’ve read the troubleshooting manual but it doesnt seem to work. I dont know how to reinstall MT with my old archives in it! Anyone has any idea? 😀 email me!
Anyway, a little update about myself.
I was called for an interview with one of the prestigious law firms in Kuala Lumpur.
I hate interviews. I hate the awkwardness feeling and questions such as, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years time?”.
If I had the choice, I would say….
“Sitting on your chair most likely”
“The boss of this company”
Well, I was brought to an empty room with a table and 4 chairs. I was left alone for more than 30 minutes to fill up my application form. I got so bored till i started snapping pictures of the room.



Few minutes later, my interviewer came. He’s one of the partners of the firm. Let’s call him Mr. G.
The interview went well until he asked me, “So what is the latest you heard about this firm?”. I was shocked. I was totally unprepared for that question. I knew I had to answer that question. If I fail, I wouldn’t get the job. If I did, my future is secured. It was a matter of life and death!
With zero knowledge about what large cases the firm has handled, I said, “Well…..my friend Daniel updates me with the latest happening of the firm. But lately, I haven’t spoke to him…”. Mr. G then said, “Which Daniel?”
From there, my strategy worked! I immediately diverted the conversation and managed to avoid that question. He never asked me anything about the firm again. *phew* or the question “where do you see yourself in 5 years time”.
Mr. G commented that he is very satisfied with me. I got a call from the firm 2 days later 😀
I’m starting work on the 1st of December!

George, God here …

“George?”

“Yes?”

“This is God here …”

“Hi, God. What can I do for you?”

“I want you to stop this Iraq thing, George.”

“But you told me to do it, God!”

“No I didn’t, George …”

“But you did! You spoke to me through Karl, Rumsey and Dick and all
those other really clever guys!”

“How did you know it was me talking, George?”

“Instinct, God. I just knew it!”

“Do you really think I’d want you to unleash all this horror and
bloodshed on another lot of human beings?”

“But they’re Muslims! They don’t believe in You, God!”

“But, George, they do believe in me. Jews, Christians and Moslems all
worship the same Me! Didn’t you do comparative theology at school,
George?”

“No, of course not! You think I’m some sort of peace-waving
dope-headed liberal faggot-lover, God?”

“No, of course not, George, but I expect you to know something about
the people you’re bombing.”

“Oh, come on! I know it’s right to bomb those oily rag-heads until
there’s not one left to wipe a wrench on!”

“How do you know that, George?”

“Cause You tell me that’s what I should do, God.”

“George, I do not tell you to do that!”

“But I hear You, God! You speak to me! You tell me what to do! You
tell me what is Right and what is Wrong! That’s why I don’t need to
listen to any soft-baked, mealy-mouthed liberal Kerry-pickers!”

“George, you’re deluding yourself.”

“God! How can you say that? I got some of the most powerful people on
this planet down on their knees every day in the White House just
a-praying to You! Now are you gonna tell me You ain’t listening?
Because if You ain’t listening, God, that’s Your problem – not mine!”

“George, of course I’m listening – it’s you who is not listening to
Me!”

“And I’ll tell you why! ‘Cause You ain’t addressing me right.”

“What d’you mean, you jumped-up little Ivy League draft-dodger?”

“If you’re so ‘omniscient’, God, you oughta know that you gotta go
through Karl Rove, John Ashcroft, Rumsey and Dick … those fellas
know what they’re talking about! I can’t listen to just any deity who
can pick up the phone!”

“But, I’m God, George!”

“Does Karl say you are?”

“But why do you believe Karl?”

“Because my gut tells me he’s right!”

“Listen, you ignorant little pinch-eyed Billy Graham convert! Can’t
you get it into your head that I’m God and I’m telling you to stop all
this ‘pre-emptive strike’ nonsense! Stop destroying Iraq! Stop
supporting that monster Sharon! Stop picking a fight with the only
other human beings on the planet that believe in Me! You’re leading
the world into unbelievable chaos and horror!”

“That’s enough, God! That’s just the sort of defeatist crap that I
won’t allow in the White House! Get out of here!”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing this, George.”

“Well you better start believing, God, because this is the new
reality. Don’tcha know that a recent Gallup poll shows that 42% of
Americans identify themselves as ‘born again’? That cuts across
Republicans and Democrats, rich and poor, white and black! This is a
real political power base, God, and you’d better believe it!”

“Look, all I’m asking is for you to show a little compassion to your
fellow human beings!”

“I’m not going to debate this with you, God! You’re beginning to sound
like you belong to the reality-based community!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well by the ‘reality-based community’, we mean people who believe
that solutions emerge from their judicious study of discernible
reality.” “Sounds fair enough…”

“But, as one of my advisors told Ron Suskind of the Wall Street
Journal: ‘The reality-based community is not the way the world really
works any more. We’re an empire now and, when we act, we create our
own reality. And while you’re studying that reality – judiciously, as
you will – we’ll act again, creating other new ealities, which you
can study too, and that’s how things will sort out. We’re history’s
actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we
do’.”

“You mean…you don’t give a damn, George?”

“I mean You speak through me, God, not the other way round! Is that
clear?”

“Yes, Mr President.”

This article is written by Terry Jones, and was published in The Guardian, UK

P.S. Vote for Kerry or Bush after you see their moves here

Lessons learnt during tragedy

I got this from Janet. My condolences to Citizen Nades.

Hi all,

Those who read the Sun newspaper would know Citizen Nades. He recently lost his daughter in a car accident. Below is the article he wrote in the Sun newspaper few days later.

Columnists :: Citizen Nades – By R. Nadeswaran

THIS scribe has never believed in using his tools and the space provided for any personal agenda. On the rare occasion it was used for something he went through some 20 years ago, his interests were declared.

Otherwise, it has been and will continue to be issues that affect society as a whole.

This week is no exception but is related to the personal trauma and anguish I have gone through for the past five days.

As I write this, I had just sent off the parents of Kughanesan Mageswaran, who too was killed with my daughter Sumitra in the accident early Saturday morning.

Kughanesan was driving while Sumitra was seated behind him.

Personal grief, someone once told me, tends to give one a different perspective of things.

Close to 2am on Saturday, as the police Land Rover arrived at the Universiti Malaya Medical Centre with a body bag, I was hoping against hope and saying a prayer that it would not be that of hers.

Like a man lost in a desert seeking an oasis, I asked:

“Ini dari accident di mana?” (Which accident is this?)

“Jalan Selangor, Encik.” (Selangor Street, Mr.)

“India?” (Indian?)

“Ya.” (yes)

“Perempuan?” (female?)

“Ya.” (yes)

“Boleh saya naik cam muka dia?” (May I identify the body?)

He helped me on to the vehicle and followed me with a torch. I opened the body bag to see the blood-stained, lifeless face of Sumitra.

The policeman helped me down and led me to a seat to do my crying.

I have on several occasions talked about inconsiderate and crooked policemen.

Here was a man who was not obliged to help me, but went out of the way to do it.

He could have told me to wait until the investigating officer arrived and go to the mortuary to do the needful the next morning.

No.

He understood the plight of a father who lost someone close to him.

That was lesson No: 1.

As I drove home to break the news to the family, I called friends who were close to us.

As the family huddled together and shared the grief, they turned up.

By dawn, a small crowd had gathered and words of comfort and their handshakes and hugs gave some solace. Each offered to help in their own way.

Despite the unearthly hours, they were there when you needed them most — lesson No: 2.

At the mortuary a few hours later came lesson No: 3. The pathologist on duty said there were four bodies in the morgue.

“I have already got a call. I’ll do your daughter’s first,” he told me.

Just, then another pathologist walked in and said he would work on the other accident victim.

An hour later, the first pathologist pulled me a aside and comforted me: “She had no chance. It was instant death.”

As the clerk on duty was doing the needful, I pointed out an error in a document, to which he replied: “Thank you for pointing it out. If we don’t rectify it, you’ll have problems when applying for the death certificate.”

At the police station, the bleary-eyed investigating officer who had been on duty since eight the previous night, went out of the way to understand the anguish I was going through.

“I know what you are going through,” he said. “But just give us a short statement on how you came to be notified of her death,” he said.

Having done so, he apologised for having to make me go through the procedures, explaining why he needed such information.

I brought Sumitra home just after noon.

Lesson No: 4 — Friends, relatives and people I had not met before, offered me their shoulders to cry on.

Lesson No: 5 came on early Sunday morning before the funeral proper.

A middle-aged Pak Cik, in his baju Melayu and sarong, perhaps after his subuh prayers, walked up to me outside the house.

I never met him before and I never even asked his name.

He talked about her death (he said he had read it in the newspapers) and the role of the Almighty. I felt relieved. Here was a stranger, whose heart went out to me. The racial and religious barriers one often talks about seemed non-existent.

Grief, I have learnt, transcends all barriers.

As I said earlier, it tends to change perspectives.

Were my earlier views reinforced by other strong opinions and beliefs?

I don’t have an answer. But I can only ask this: Why should people be nice and kind only when tragedy strikes?

Why can’t these good traits be contagious on everyone and in everyday life?

I don’t have answers either. But the only consolation we all can take is that such brotherliness, a trait we treasured in our days in the kampungs and villages, has not been forgotten.

It is still there, but it takes a little jolt to keep it alive as we get caught in the rat race.

Just a Boy Named Joy

English is the world’s language of business, but people with Asian
names often find something is added in the translation” Nury Vittachi said.

Read her little tale about Names and identites:-
“I HATE MY NAME. I always have and expect I always will. Asian names
(such as my girlish one) are a burden in an English-dominated world.
That’s why we often change them. We like to re-brand ourselves by
flicking through English dictionaries.

In my home town, Hong Kong, examples literally abound. Meet Anorak
Chen, Sicky Tang, Green Show, Pubic Ha, Chocolate Lin, Alien Lee,
Twinkie To, Ivan Ho, Piano Chow. These are all real people. In my
younger days, I used to eat at the McDonald’s in Tsim Sha Tsui,
Kowloon, served by staff whose personal names were Army, Incredible
and Normal.

Sometimes Asians have stunningly unsuitable names. I hadn’t the
courage to tell He Man and Truly Man–two girls from Kowloon–that
their names lacked femininity.

Sometimes names are ideal. The official appointed in mainland China to
deal with music copyright was a Mr. Song. And a garage employee in
Hong Kong carries the name To Bar, pronounced “Tow Bar.”

The habit of adopting memorable English names doesn’t just apply to
China, of course. In the Philippines, Resurrection De Jesus is a
personal name (and a lot to live up to). In India, people often have
English names summing up their jobs. Reader Noel Rands told me of a
friend named Yasmin Sodabottlepopbottleopenerwallah. That’s her real,
legal name. If she ever gets to be India’s premier, we’ll never be
able to fit her into REVIEW headlines. This alone should surely
disqualify her from standing.

My personal name (the full version is Nuryana) is an Islamic one that
unfortunately sounds extremely feminine in English-speaking
communities. I spent my entire childhood listed on the girls’ register
at various schools, and for the last 20 years have received mail
addressed to “Ms. Vittachi.” In the past few days, I have met a
Bangladeshi man named Joy and a Chinese chap named Penny who live
similarly miserable lives.

Yet one can’t just abandon one’s name. The underlying meanings of
people’s names are believed to shape the lives of the people who carry
them. My name and my brother’s were chosen with the help of an
Indonesian mystic and spiritual leader. My name means “illuminator”
and my brother Adil’s name means “justice.” Since I grew up to become
a journalist and my brother became a lawyer, this is clear proof of
one thing: God has a fine sense of irony. Lawyers? Justice?

Also, there’s a belief in Asia that if your name changes by itself
(for example, if a nickname becomes more commonly used than your given
name), then your actual character will be fundamentally altered.

Some people have tried to comfort me by pointing out that as the
influence of China grows, Asian names will stop standing out like sore
thumbs. Don’t believe it. The vast majority of Chinese family names
are a single syllable like Ho or To or So, so things will be worse for
people with mile-long Indian or Sri Lankan names like Maharajapuram
Kanagaratnum. And what about people in Bangkok (which in Thai is
Krungthepmahanakorn) who also sometimes have many letters in their
names?

For this writer, “Chinese-ification” has been an interesting
experience. Cantonese accents change some standard English sounds. At
the shop near the REVIEW office where I buy my breakfast, the staff
have been struggling with my name for months. The first month: “Noo
Ree.” Second month: “Noo Wee.” Third month: “Loo Wee.” Fourth month:
“Lewis.” Now, staff politely addressed me as “Louise.” I don’t object.
Louise is a nice name, though it’s not really “me.”

But since my name has changed, does this mean my fundamental character
is changing? Am I no longer an illuminator, but a French female? I
don’t notice any change in my dress sense, but if I start hankering
for Chanel-scented Gauloises, I’ll let you know.”

Note: This story is taken from Far Eastern Economic Review ,Issue cover-dated October 28, 2004.

the world needs me!!!

not ME, per se. as in peace, love, joy, harmony, & above all, brains. whilst i was driving to ikea/ikano today, i’ve managed to land myself moronic acquaintances on the road. it’s true what they say – some malaysians are truly idiotic when it comes to road rules/safety driving. so PLEASE, okay?

* hello ferarri-red x-trail. i know you’re big. you’ve got the size, you’ve got the height, you’ve got the wheels, heck..you’ve even got the ego. but MUST YOU take up BOTH lanes on the highway whilst travelling @ less than 40km/h to get where you’re going? HELLOOOOOOOOOOO?!

* how do you do, neon yellow proton satria? your colour stands out, so does your very badly tinted windows, plus your watermelon-sized exhaust, & the low hoarse hmm-maybe-my-car-is-broken rumbling from your lil baby of a car. you don’t HAVE to tail my lil silver baby’s ass in such manner…ESPECIALLY WHEN I’M ALREADY DRIVING ON THE SLOW LANE! …moron *makes a face*

* oh sorry, i didn’t see you, big-truck-that-refuses-to-stop-swerving-in-&-out-of-lanes. you’re on a job, you’re transporting goods. some probably fragile & undoubtedly breakable. others probably highly expensive. so SAVE your ass [or the goods’] first before you decide you want to dance a lil heavyweight ballet on the roads of m’sia. danks ar. urgh o.O

venting done :o) just my two cents ;o)

*muahs*

BBQ @ HHH’s place

Getting into HHH’s apartment was one hell of an adventure. It involved many turnings and landmarks. Giving direction to someone on the phone is another thing. If I were HH, I would have burst out in anger.

The food was great. Thanks to the master chefs, you know who you are. Booze was abundant. I think we had about 6 – 7 bottles of liquor. By the end the night, it was all gone.