THE MANY RANTINGS OF HE WHAT IS KNOWN AS DIRK FUNG

Milhouse was modelled after a Chinaman, or my name isn't Dirkus Wilfred Lawrence Edmund Fung III, esq.

2006-07-26T17:46:00.000-07:00

I challenge you to look at him and tell me he's not Chinese. In a related topic, my full name isn't Dirkus Wilfred Lawrence Edmund Fung III, esq., but that's just a coincidence and should not be corelated to any arguments offered in this post regardless of claims made before, during, henceforth, hereinafter, thusly, or any other temporal incidence throughout this post. In fact, forget that I said anything in the first place. Milhouse is Chinese. End of story. Go about your business. Move along.

2006-07-21T23:02:00.000-07:00

Because Hong Kong isn't crowded enough as it is.

The great controversial club boycott... and the natural repercussions thereof.

2006-07-21T22:11:00.000-07:00

I am fully aware that the growing vast majority of young and getting-old-but-clinging-to-youth-as-much-as-cougarly-possible people have chosen to participate in dance club and dance club activities over other alternatives. I am also aware that society dictates that this is not only a social norm and requirement, but also that it is "cool". "Cool" of course may be defined as something that looks really good and therefore must be good. I am also fully aware that those who fail to amalgamate to this system are henceforth regarded as "not cool" or "losers", a nomenclature generally adopted by the club going public. Finally, I am also aware that I will be required to go to clubs many times over the remainder of my life despite my natural dislike towards them.

The truth is, I don't understand anything about clubs. I don't understand the scene, I don't understand the music, I don't understand the people, and I don't understand the point. Why someone would pay a considerable amount of money JUST TO GET INTO A PLACE is already beyond me. I have walls and a floor at my local bar and they don't charge me anything! Even my house has walls and a floor, only my floor is cleaner and my walls aren't pink. Cover is awful and a sign that people are stupid. Secondly, why are people so concerned over the "crowd"? It's not like there is any interaction between strangers in a club... in fact quite the opposite.

As a social hotspot, I think it is quite ironic that clubs are the most anti-social places on the planet. I think the majority of club-going males can be confined to the following four common groups:

1) Les Miserables: Why is it that a lot of single guys in a club look like they want to kick the crap out of me? I haven't done anything! It's a place of fun isn't it? Why do they look so angry? Why did they pay cover and buy over-priced drinks to stay angry? Are they angry about the cost of cover and drinks? And, if so, then why do they come back? I'm angry for being there, but that's because I think clubs are dumb. Les Miserables like clubs, they just look angry. It's only a matter of time until I smudge someone's shoe and I get an elbow in the neck.

2) The Philosophers: Who are these depressed people who stand around depressed? Why do they look like they are performing complex mathematical equations in their heads at all times? Why do they look as though they are waiting for someone, especially since in reality there is noone expected to arrive? These people are even more sad then Les Miserables. They seem to want to be doing something, only "thinking" is preventing them from leaving their corners of wonderment.

3) The Needy: Oh, woe are these poor boyfriends who were tricked into clubbing by their girlfriends! There is no reason for them to be there. There is clearly nothing appealing present for them, and so the only salvation they may earn is by clinging to their girls for dear life. Never deviate. Never separate. When the girl goes to the bathroom they are cast into a blackhole, a schism of solitude that may only be remedied by instantaneous and unexplainable spontaneous death. They cannot venture. They dare not venture. Focus on their girl. Only on the girl. Never... leave... the... girl...

4) The Weasels: Hark, these predators of the club scene! Slinking in between the sweaty bodies of semi-clad club goers praying on the innocent! They are the biggest liars of all! They go to clubs, pretend they like it, and they are SOOOOO convincing that everyone else is lured into an acceptance of their lie. These nefarious scoundrels are on a never ending mission to find all the things that I hate in the women of the club scene. And, the sad part is, most times they find it.

Yes, that's right, the women are not much better. There are also four types of women who regularly attend clubs:

1) The Pointless: These are the women who need a man, who are convinced that since clubs are social hotspots then it must logically be the best place to meet a man, who would never ever ever under any circumstance talk to a man at a club, who attend regular clubs with fairly regular frequency to obtain absolutely no real practical goal whatsoever. They dance, they nurse drinks, and they tell themselves that it is fun because they believe that it should be fun. But, in the end, they're miserable that they aren't there with a guy.

2) The Jiggy: Some girls are actually interested in dancing, believe it or not! Unfortunately, they're not that interested in things like cover, over-priced drinks, and leering sketchy creeps. However, in the face of a socialite monopoly, these people go to clubs to try to get the need to dance out of their systems. And while they often do reach this and other objectives, and while they come out feeling as though they had fun, it should be noted that it is most commonly achieved with less than moderate efficiency.

3) The Draggers: These women are dangerous! They are the black holes, the voids in which unwary men get sucked in to. They lure men into clubs under any pretext available, and they try their best to pass their club-loving values on to any persons available. But the values don't take! But you don't have a choice! Take it or be damned, is the choice! So we take it! We paid the cover, we need a drink, and we have a girl present, so how could we not have fun? It must be fun! Yaaaay! We're having fun! Or are we...? I say nay.

4) The Whooooooores: Yaaaaaagh! The worst of the worst! These women reak of booze and able "naval officers" (think men at sea), and they vulture on the unsuspecting! Be warned, me hearties, of these yaar wenches! This be one pirate's booty that ye don't want to be seekin'!!!!

Besides the facts that clubs are hot, sticky, stuff, anti-social, over priced, and generally play garbage music, I think it's time that I stand up for myself and put my foot down. And sure, I may not be invited to as many functions and sure, many people will get REALLY REALLY pissed at me, but hey! At least I'll be keepin' it real.

Exerpt from a regular club conversation:

Guy: "Hi!"
Girl: "What?"
Guy: "What?"
Girl: "What?"
Guy: "What?"
Girl: "Yeah, me too!"

Typical Standard Asian People

2006-07-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

They're the world's most fearsome Asian team (They're not at all hip!)

They're heroes in a Hong Kong and they're clean (Hey - get a grip!)

When the after-school tutors attack

These Asian boys don't cut 'em no slack!

Typical Standard Asian People

Genetics forced them to be Asian teens (It's a radical stat!)

Leon Zhang leads,

Donny Chow does machines (Piano too, Jack!)

Raffi Waung is quiet and prude (Give him a break!)

Michael Yu-Hong is a study dude (Study!)

Typical Standard Asian People

Heroes in a half-yen

Asian power!

2006-07-18T18:29:00.000-07:00

Can you pick out Robert in the photo? Neither can his mother.

Korean machination is eroding the white collar workforce.

2006-07-18T17:50:00.000-07:00

It feels like yesterday when my friend Robert Ho and I were sitting in our local bar, The Chow Fan and Firkin, celebrating his brand new job opportunity. For Robert, this was a big deal. But for me and the rest of his friends, this was an even greater deal. Robert was employed at last, hired by a billion dollar Korean multi-national software company, after months of struggle and failure.

The journey had not been easy for Robert. Despite all his skills and accolades, Robert stumbled early and often during the interview process. He was very good at the initial hello, the welcome handshake, and the please take a seat. But that is where it ended. The conclusion of Robert's interviews were never pretty. It was almost as though he waited until the most critical moments, jumped on the interviewers' desk, dropped his pants, and boldly relieved himself haphazardly with a sheepish grin on his face. How he was able to obtain this position, noone knows. It is quietly surmised that someone went in his place. Koreans can't tell Chinese people apart any more than white people can, apparently.

Robert could best be described as 'one of a kind'. It's almost as if he were not Chinese at all... he had several black qualities, like his fondness for hip hop and basketball, several white qualities, like not being able to rap or jump... he's almost like an oreo cookie trapped in a miniature Shreddies box with a hologram of a ping pong champion as the toy surprise. And it was for these qualities that we love him, and what would make him an excellent addition to any workforce.

I received a photo of Robert by e-mail. He claims that he is doing "satisfactory". I asked him how his new job was going and he replied that they were operating under "moderate levels of efficiency". I asked him if he was going to visit and he informed me that it would only come by "if it was determined to be both practical and financially feasible given the current economy." The majority of his e-mail was copy and pasted from a template, and follow-up e-mails were almost identical. He spoke briefly of profits, expansion, team ethics, and a need to cut down on words in e-mails. He was even so efficient that he virus scanned his e-mail attachments before sending to me so that I wouldn't have to.

The most amazing part was the photo. Finding Robert was like finding Waldo, only Waldo was lost somewhere in India and the map you were given was of Mexico as described by a rabid Helen Keller. The photo illustrated row after row of cubicle with a sea of pale-faced asian clones standing in quiet attention. They all wore white shirts, tucked in neatly to black pants. They all wore thick framed black glasses. Their hair was parted to the left. Down, and to the left. Down, and to the left. Down. And to the left. And none of them smiled. None. Apparently, this photo was taken during 'recreation time'. 5 mins a day. They get more breaks, you know, including "exercise time" (organized training video, mandatory, 10 mins/day), "recharging time" (single serving noodle bowl, mandatory, 25 mins/day), and "exodus time" (white mechanized porcelain toilet, mandatory, 2 sessions of 3 mins each/day).

Koreans are reknown for their research and development in the field of automation. Robotics and mechanization is second to none in Korea except for maybe Japan and the USSR's Evgeny Project (terminated in 1987 after the prototype was damaged by President Mikhail Gorbachev in drinking competition). Truly, they have achieved maximum efficiency in their places of business. I fear my friend Robert is gone forever, replaced only by an employee number, a pension, accumulated unused vacation time, and a small grey cubicle. It's not up to me to judge though, of course. So long as the corporation tells him he's happy, that's good enough for me.

2006-07-15T01:27:00.000-07:00

The woman on the left may have been cute if she wasn't technically a man. C'mon, don't pretend that you knew it was a dude! We were all fooled equally!

Pray tell me, what is worse? Two weeks of something bad, or a lifetime of something badder?

2006-07-15T00:49:00.001-07:00

So I return here after a night of tension and animosity based on a fact that I maintain to hold true despite the overwhelming odds that are challenging me. I can't help it that I hold the opinion that I do, nor can I help it that it is the correct one based on my opinion of my opinion. In fact, I don't think there is anything more right then the correctness of my opinion and the falseness of those opinions expressed by my dissenters, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, in regards to the matters prevalent to tonight's discussion and directly relevant to both social and cultural standards of living. I'm wagging my finger in your direction, you jerks, and don't pretend as though you don't know what I'm talking about.

You know what? You know what? Why should I speak to you, the ignorant, members of a class who simply can't comprehend the sincere absurdity of all that you speak of, of all that you stand for. My carefully crafted arguments will fall upon your cemented deaf ears, lost forever in your sea of obsession. No, my friend, no, I pose not my query to you, the undeserving, but rather to the huddled masses of Dirk Fung fandom whom may glance at this site and offer praise and encouragement to my valour. Yes, friends, I call on you to deal the decisive blow to the hordes of barbarians what would smite all that was good and true in the world.

So what? So I dated a really beastly girl 10 years ago who was built like an american steer and who had orifices the size of planetary craters! So what if she ruined two weeks of a perfectly good summer? I was young! I was naive! I was foolish! But, the point of the matter and really, if you think about it, the point of every matter, is that I came to recognize my error and systematically proceeded to both ruin and break up with her in proper simultaneous fashion. I was wrong! I admit it! I admit it now, and I admitted it then! And with that error comes the burden of responsibility that I carry across my shoulders to this day. And I carry it... with the pride that I repented. Repentence is a good thing. Time heals all wounds.

But you! You! And by you, I mean those whom what did challenge me this eve, not you loyal Dirk Fung viewers... you dare to tell me that my crime is worse than yours? You dare? Well, my friends, you will soon see that it is not I who is wrong, it is you! It is not I whose soul is tainted ever more, it is you! It is not I who has spent the most compound time in shame, unclean, degenerated by a notion so obtuse that it boggles my psyche how you could be so ill affected.

The fact of the matter is: you listen to Savage Garden. You listened to Savage Garden 10 years ago, and you listen to Savage Garden now. You like Savage Garden. You even know some of the words to their songs. And yet, my friends, and yet, you continue to express this emotion despite the fact that you are strong proud heterosexual males of average height and respectable social stature. How can you do such a thing? Clearly you must realize that this is nothing to be proud of, much less something worth discussing or publicizing on an external scale! How can you still like them? How could you ever have liked them? Can you not see the error of your ways??!?

The question I pose to my loyal readers is this: which is worse, in the grand scheme of things? Two weeks dating a loud and irritating female bear (and ruing said dating afterwards a.k.a. recognizing the errors of my ways!!!) or listening to Savage Garden (continuosly to this date without feeling any remorse or shame whatsoever). There really is no competition. Clearly, the universe agrees with me. For whom, of the male race, would knowingly and openly admit to liking Savage Garden? There are none of us save you, my antagonists, and this does gone done bury your wear and devastate your arguments.

I may have been wrong in the past, I'll give you that. But I made amends. You choose to continue to live in a bed of malarkey, a bed that you not only made and sleep in but also one which you hand picked the duvet cover for and embroidered a pink heart in yourself! You know I'm right, don't pretend I'm not! And, even if you won't concede victory to me, I know that I still have the satisfaction of the support of everyone else in the world.

And besides... you may live a life of lies and villainy. But in the end, your soul will cry for justice. When that day comes, I will be there to burn your Savage Garden merchandise, my friends. I will burn it all.

2006-07-14T10:35:00.000-07:00

Opposable thumbs are an unfortunate requirement for the successful implementation and completion of this activity and other similar types of juvenile roguery. Please consult this handy diagram to ensure that you develop proper form and technique, as well as avoid any unnecessary personal injury.

The whimsically perilous pitfalls of a world going atomic.

2006-07-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

In a world where peace is a luxury that many nations can not afford, the common philosophy has evolved to either get strong or get lost. Many countries have found the need to build up large stockpiles of weapons under the pretext of a hope that they'll never need them, and yet still harbor a secret desire that someone will provide them a pretty good excuse to push the pretty large flashing red buttons. And, when small arms and vehicles don't do the trick, some nations choose to aim for the ultimate devastation: they go atomic.

As a peace loving person myself, excluding my fondness for boxing, american football, midget wrestling, cock fighting, Jerry Springer, African politics, the opening scene in Erin Brokovich when she gets hit by a car (if they looped that scene for 2 hours it would be my all time favorite movie), marital relations, rush hour traffic, feudal Mongolia, and Rosie O'Donnell fighting for gay rights outside on a really hot day, I have to say that I oppose the notion of violence in all its forms. Especially, there was never a time that I could think of when I could ever have given my support for an incident going atomic. Save one. There was only one instance in my long life in which I could not help but agree that going atomic was the only thing that had saved the day.

His name was Justin Wong and it was his coming-of-age birthday. To celebrate, we decided to take him to our local Men's Entertainment Centre (not unlike yet highly identical to a strip club) so that he may see all the wonderous pairs of things that he had missed out on throughout his entire life up to this point. Seeing as how he was shy, it became my mission to get him on stage. Ruin 'em early, I always say.

Well, to make a long story short, we got him on stage. 15 mins and $20 later, he was no more than a contented battle-scarred wreck of manflesh lying on the stage floor. The lady of the evening, who was both efficiently proportioned and whom represented the elevated levels of temperature variety, gave our good friend a jolly good beating. This included a whipping, a boobying, a riding of him like a horse, a tying, a dragging of him around like a dog on a leash, some facial thong slappage, some pole action, and some unnecessary yet highly amusing hair pulling. However, the coup de gras came at the very end.

Reaching her hands into his pants, the audience gasped in anticipation. What would become of this? We do not live in Amsterdam, so surely this was going to be uniquely asian, filthy, and marvellous. Her hands firmly gripping his boxers, she began to tug... hard at first, and then very hard afterwards. Onwards and upwards she pulled, her naked muscles bursting with will and determination. Poor Justin, his hands tied behind his back, could do nothing but assume a foetal position and cry. She kept pulling and he kept screaming, and so did we.

It was at this point that I found myself desiring satisfaction on a nuclear scale. And I mean nuclear as in big, like the bomb, not small like the stupid animal and plant cells that I had to memorize in Biology class. I wanted this incident to go atomic. And I got my wish.

It was magical. It was like reading about legends of lore, of dragons and chivalry, of the impossible, only to open one's eyes and see that it was real. I thought it was a theoretical impossibility. I thought it was structurally infeasible. I thought it was a myth, an urban tale meant to frighten nerds and younger siblings. But nay, I say, nay. It was true. It was real. It was happening. And it was beautiful.

On July 9th at approximately 11:48pm, the wedgie went atomic and the whole bar exploded. And my world was never the same again.

Pissing off my penguin is a much needed advancement to my website.

2006-07-10T22:40:00.000-07:00

adopt your own virtual pet!

Now you too can annoy the heck out of my pet penguin, Mr. Kung Pao! Left-click on him until he ends up in the drink, then invite him back up and knock him in again. It's the false hope that keeps him cautiously optimistic, kinda poetic in a naive sort of way.

2006-07-10T21:55:00.000-07:00

This photo makes me happy for so many reasons.

The glorious return of the headbutt to modern antagonism!

2006-07-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

Oh, kaloo kalay, o' what a joyous day! I have always been a huge supporter of the headbutt, but it seemed to be on the decline over the past several decades. To date, there is almost no proper defence to a well-timed headbutt. Who expects someone to throw a head in their chest? No one! It's brilliant!

For years I have been ranting and raving about the headbutt, but due to its unpopularity I have also had to share my heart with the sucker punch. The sucker punch is great, especially when followed up with a kick-em-while-they're-down kick to the ribs. In the end though, all of these things can be prevented. A sucker punch can be protected by helmet. Elbows and knees can block cheap shots to the ribs. But the headbutt! Who sees it coming? Who throws a headbutt? Geniuses! Geniuses, all of them!

I never would have guessed that the biggest ad for the headbutt would come in the International stage during the World Cup Finals. Zidane couldn't have done a better job had he stood next to a montage of headbutts, looked at the camera, smiled, and said "Headbutts... works for me." Product placement indeed! Holy smack! I was so proud, I cried and cried after I saw it.

My only concern is that Zidane's endorsement may have worked too well... with the headbutt back in fashion, it may become a fashionable trend... you know, Hilfiger head braces, Prada chin straps, Louis Vitton ice packs. People will abuse the headbutt until it isn't cool anymore, and then they'll move on to the next best move. I'm just proud that I was there from the beginning... I am the original headbutt fan.

And worse comes to worse, I'll go back to the sucker punch.

Hmm...?

2006-07-10T21:36:00.000-07:00

AHA!

Potential is just as good as real, especially when today is yesterday and tomorrow is too late.

2006-07-06T22:10:00.000-07:00

My new friend Jenn See: I hope, if nothing else, that just once in your life I was able to make you laugh. While we never met in person and only communicated over blog comments, please know that tonight I'm thinking of you nonetheless. And I hope that I find you well.

Dedicated to Mysfit, in memory of Jenn See. I'm here for you buddy, if you need me.

http://followingmyfish.blogspot.com/

2006-07-04T23:16:00.000-07:00

Apparently this white man's coconut loaf is enough to upset this child's gastro-esophagial sphincter. Or maybe it's just the white man himself. In retrospect, I would most likely vomit on him as well if I were able to summon the proper amount of courage at the time.

Vomit, Vomit, Everywhere.

2006-07-04T22:56:00.000-07:00

Amongst their many various entrepreneurial ventures, my parents own a grocery store. I have tried, for the better part of my life, to keep away from said grocery store as I have never had a desire to be heckled by old ladies in a queue who don't know how to operate a debit machine. Unfortunately, like most things that begin with the warning of unfortunatiety, my little brother Louis (a.k.a. Shi Li) fell sick with chicken pox. This is a bad thing for two reasons: 1. It means he hangs around the house more often and, in particular, my room and 2. It means that my parents are short one cheap laborer down at the grocery store. As the good son that I am, and to get away from my sick little bastard brother, I volunteered to help them out for one afternoon.

I tried to figure out what Louis' job was and decided that surely it must have been either a cashier or a stockboy. When I arrived at work, I tried to seem enthusiastic about the prospect of being a cashier or stockboy. I even went out on a limb and said to my mother, "Gee... I can't wait to be a cashier or a stockboy." Well, I don't need to tell you that Louis isn't a cashier or a stockboy.

Louis has a mop. He stands with his mop at the front of the store. He stands with his mop at the front of the store and waits. And what, pray, what does he wait for?

A young mother enters the store with her little 6 year old son. He is eating a lollipop. He takes one step in the store and vomits all over the sliding doors. His mother blushes in embarassment and gives him another lollipop. They scuttle off and vanish somewhere between aisles 4 and 5. It isn't long before I hear my father's voice on the intercom speaking in the same matter-of-fact manner that all people do when speaking over an intercom. "Dirk Fung, clean up in front of store. Clean up in front of store."

Two kids enter the store. One looks pale and sickly, and the other looks tough and cool. To my surprise, the cool one yaks upon arrival. Upon departure, the pale and sickly one fakes a barf, and then exits the store. He has almost cleared the parking lot area when he realizes that he has forgotten something and re-enters the store. Upon reentry, he promptly proceeds to yak in the watermelon bin.

A senior citizen enters the store with a small child. The small child sneezes. The senior gives the child a spoonful of something. The kid swallows, makes a face, and spews in our specialty items display. Did I mention that the front of our store smells like vinegar?

And, surely enough, with every millilitre of vomit comes my fathers voice instructing, "Dirk Fung, clean up in front of store. Clean up in front of store."

I've learned a few things from this experience. First, did you know that the dominant color of Froot Loops is red? Yup, they go down in all the colors of the rainbow but they all turn red in the end. Secondly, did you know that if you eat a salami sandwich on Wonderbread quickly without chewing properly, the bread and meat may maintain their structural integrity? Finally, did you know that bile comes in several shades of green, not to mention a hue or two of yellow? Once it was brown. I kid you not.

Am I a better person for having learned all of this? Surely not. But I'll never look at vomit the same way again. Or grocery stores.

2006-07-03T00:33:00.000-07:00

Gerald Chen would have you believe that Vietnam is better than Hong Kong. I submit to you that manually processed high-protein feces is better that Gerald Chen's opinions. Go and see for yourself, you don't know what you are missing.

Go back to Vietnam, Gerald Chen.

2006-07-03T00:10:00.000-07:00

A half-dozen of fortnights ago, an old friend of mine named Gerald Chen picked up a contract to work in Vietnam. Everyone, including Gerald, was very excited as this was of course a wonderful new opportunity for him and I could get dibs on his stereo while he was gone. The Gerald I knew and remember was grinning from ear to ear as he muscled his way onto the ferry and headed off on his bold new adventure.

Two days ago, Gerald Chen came back. But not my Gerald Chen, mind you, not ol' dumpy plumpy Gerald Chen whom everyone knows and loves. No sir. This Gerald Chen was quite different. It became apparent, after several outings, that Gerald was unable to carry on a conversation without dragging Vietnam into it, often as a superior contrast to our "modest and humble" (as he puts it) Hong Kong. Furthermore, despite him having lived in Hong Kong all his life, he insisted on behaving as an ignorant tourist rather than the 37 year old resident that he was. As the patient people whom we are, we summed up all of our patience and got annoyed with him right away. For example:

We went to a standard Hong Kong restaurant that served standard Cantonese food. We ate a big meal filled with all the standard Hong Kongian fixins, and washed it down with some class A quality standard Hong Kong tea. Gerald tsk tsked. "In Vietnam, we have Hong Kong style restaurants way better than the ones you find in Hong Kong. Really, you guys are deprived. You should come out to Vietnam and see what you're missing."
"But Gerald," says I, "Hong Kong food comes from Hong Kong and that's where we are!"
"Yes," replied Gerald, "But in Vietnam, it's better."

Modern Hong Kong architecture was also below Gerald's newly formed elevated standards.
"This is the new complex? You should see, we have one in Vietnam, it's way better. Not only is it larger by three cubic inches, it also has a wall that looks purple."
"Looks purple?" says I.
"In Vietnam, they have more colours than in Hong Kong so I forget. Our colours are better, also, what with the infra reds and the ultra, uh, greens. You should come down and check it out, really, you don't know what you're missing."

Even the ladies in Hong Kong could not satisfy the great Gerald.
"I've been looking everywhere, but I haven't seen a pretty girl anywhere around here. Are there any pretty girls in Hong Kong?" Gerald observed.
"Er... we're golfing." says I.
"In Vietnam, there are hot girls everywhere. Hot semi-naked girls, or at least I think they are semi-naked, its hard to tell what with all the naked girls around and stuff. And our golf courses are bigger too by 3 holes, I think the grass may be cut more evenly also. Actually, the weather is nicer in Vietnam also. I think the sun is closer to the sun there. Really, you should check it out, come down and visit. You know, see what you're missing."

One thing I have to admit, Gerald hasn't gone and said flat out that Hong Kong sucks yet. Instead, he chooses other terms to convey his displeasure.
"What's with Hong Kong's primary exports? In Vietnam we..."
"What's with the booming information technology industry in Hong Kong? In Vietnam we..."
"What's with your seemingly high but really in comparison to Vietnam low speed internet connection? In Vietnam we..."

And always Gerald informs me that I should go see what I am missing.

So, rather than argue with the man, I decided to pay a visit to Vietnam and put an end to this nonsense. Without telling Gerald, this morning I flew to Vietnam, broke into his apartment, set fire to his furniture and stole a box full of his personal possessions. I figure that this way, when he gets back to Vietnam, it'll be HE who sees what he's missing.

2006-06-25T09:26:00.000-07:00

Dirk Fung: The Movie (2006) starring Chow Yun Fat as Dirk Fung and Michelle Yeoh as the woman he loved. Rated NC-17.

A scene from the hit film Dirk Fung: The Movie

2006-06-25T09:02:00.000-07:00

Yu, a pimply woman in her early 20s, is finishing a seafood and bean curb broth, as well as wrapping a few small items in seaweed, as Aunt Wu bursts in.

AUNT WU Dirk Fung is here!

INT. COMPUTER SCIENCE LAB- DAY

DIRK How's everything?
AUNT WU Miserable, shut up. Please come in.

Yu sits, composed, as Aunt Wu ushers Dirk in. Dirk carries a large object, wrapped in silk. Yu smiles.

YU Dirk Fung... It's been too long.
DIRK It has. (he glances around the room) How's business?
YU Good. And how are you?
DIRK Fine.

An awkward pause.

YU Monk Zheng said you were at Microsoft. He said you were practicing deep programming.
DIRK Yes.
YU Microsoft must be so boring... I envy you. My work keeps me so interested, I hardly get any rest.
DIRK I left the training early.
YU Why? You're a computer scientist. Training is everything.
DIRK During my training... I came to a place of deep silence... I was surrounded by light... Time and space disappeared. I had come to a place my master had never told me about.
YU You achieved flawless syntax?
DIRK No. I didn't feel the bliss of flawless syntax. Instead... I was surrounded by an endless sorrow. I couldn't bear it. I broke off my programming. I couldn't go on. There was something... pulling me back.
YU What was it?
DIRK Something I can't let go of. You are leaving soon?
YU We're preparing a bicycle for a delivery to Peking.
DIRK Perhaps I could ask you to deliver something to Sir Te for me.

Dirk unwraps the object. It is an ancient, astonishingly beautiful keyboard.

YU The Green Destiny Keyboard? You're giving it to Sir Te?
DIRK I am. He has always been our greatest nerd.
YU I don't understand. How can you part with it? It has always been with you.
DIRK Too many men have died at its keys. It only looks pure because blood washes so easily from its serial cable.
YU You use it justly, you're worthy of it.
DIRK It's time for me to leave it behind.
YU So what will you do now?

Dirk doesn't reply.

YU Come with me to Peking. You can give the keyboard to Sir Te yourself. It'll be just like old times.
DIRK First I must visit my master's grave. It's been many years since MS-DOS drove him to suicide. I have yet to avenge his death. And yet I'm thinking of quitting. I must pray for his forgiveness.
YU Join me once you have finished. I can wait for you in Peking.
DIRK Perhaps.
YU Ctrl+alt+del, Dirk Fung.
DIRK Ctrl+alt+del to you too, Yu.

Dirk exits. Yu cries.

2006-06-24T22:21:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I kinda like where this is going.

The decline of modern hookerdom in contemporary bachelor festivities.

2006-06-24T21:38:00.000-07:00

I received a text message from my friend Huang last Tuesday reminding me of his impending marriage to Meredith Cho and inviting me to a bachelor party that promised fun with two exclamation marks. Being traditionally minded, I naturally prepared myself mentally for a classy and exciting evening of sleaze and wonderment. You could understand and appreciate my chagrin therefore when I learned that his so-called bachelor party was an evening of bowling. That's right, you heard me. Bowling. Now, don't get me wrong. I love bowling, some of my best friends bowl, but I have to humbly and calmly ask WHO THE HELL GOES BOWLING FOR THEIR BACHELOR PARTY!?!?!?!

Normally, I would chalk this up to one bizarre and random occurance of fate. However, this was not the first such evenings that I have encountered of late. A month ago, my friend Dennis Kong (no relation to the monarch) had a fairly dull bachelor party consisting of karaoke. Yeah. Karaoke. Yeah. For a bachelor party. No, wait, before you say anything, please know that I agree with you. I'm glad that we are sharing this pain together. It brings us closer.

Last spring, my friend Yo Yo held a bachelor party. We went to play laser tag.

Last winter, my friend Ping held a bachelor party. We went mini golfing.

Last summer, my friend Lorne Xiu held a bachelor party. We went shopping. In a mall. During daylight hours. On a Sunday. He bought two pairs of pants and a jacket. I bought nothing.

Can you see the issue? Am I the only one who hasn't gone mental? All these bachelor parties, all these BRILLIANT AND PLAUSIBLE AND REASONABLE EXCUSES to see some high-ow quality grade A-F titty, and at the end of it all there is not a single boob in sight. And why? I found out, thanks to some hard line detective work. It turns out that modern bride-to-bes are able to influence their future husband's bachelor parties. And, during this current administration, a stripper ban is in effect. Prohibition, if you will. In my country. Against my half of the species.

Furthermore, what are these lame alternatives? Karaoke? Bowling? What's next, a trip to the library? For me, the next most entertaining thing after strippers and hookers is magic. I love magicians. But, if I had the choice between magic and sex, I would choose sex every time. The most important thing is that at the end of it all I am happy and can clap my hands in amusement. Magicians do it. Strippers do it better.

I understand how some women would feel threatened by their men oggling naked dancing women, and even a bit worried about the possibility of them eventually engaging in intercourse or, shall I put it, 'other'. No worries! I have a plan. There is no chance of sex with the future husband if the stripper whooooores are, yup, you guessed it, LESBIANS. Plus, another bonus, they can (and will) (AND SHOULD) have sex with each other!

Now, and prepare to have your mind blown: what if, stay with me, what if these lesbian stippers also knew magic. That's right folks. Say it with me: LESBIAN WHORE MAGICIANS. I don't know about you, but that's what I'm having when I get married. Unless my future wife tells me I can't, and then maybe we'll have my bachelor party at a baseball game instead. It ain't easy bein' meek.

2006-06-19T22:42:00.000-07:00

So's I figures she's hot and all that, right? With the cute mini-denim skirt and all? But where's the beer? And the fried stuffs? Nowheres, I tells ya! Nowheres! She's as useful to me as the herpes virus.

Them denim mini-skirts done did done me in.

2006-06-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

Right, so there I was enjoying a perfectly good evening of camaraderie and debauchery when all of a sudden a pretty little waitress with a tiny denim skirt approached our table and provided us with beer. Shortly thereafter, enter same waitress with fried miscellany and a cute smile, accompanied by a similar, nay the same, mini denim skirt. At first I thought I was in love, until I realized I was hungry and thirsty. But AFTER, it should be noted, that the food and beverages were consumed, I could not believe that I was noticeably oggling said waitress wearing tiny mini denim skirt. Of course, she was bringing us more beer at the time and, I would discover later, I was still thirsty. It was sad when I paid my bill and left because it meant, conclusively, mind you, that I was not going to see those cute legs work their way up to the dinky little denim skirt any more. It also meant, alas, that I was not going to get any more beer, which was of greater worry and concern to me at the time.

The way home wasn't much better. You'll never guess what I encountered! No, Billy, it wasn't a giant troll with a horn growing out of his forehead. It was indeed another pretty girl with cute legs wrapped in a tiny denim skirt. This one was far prettier, mainly because I was inebriated and under the impression that chewing gum would taste just as good from a public toilet floor as it would from a fresh pack. I tried to resist the urge to tear her skirt off by reminding myself that she was nothing but a two bit floozie. A two bit floozie who wasn't going to bring me beer or fried stuffs, no matter now much money I promised to give her on credit card once she brought me the bill as per my request.

And then the unthinkable happened. Yup. You guessed it. I had to pee. AND, lo and behold, I came across another girl in a short and revealing mini-denim skirt. This time, instead of doing what I shouldn't have done, I did what I should have done. Like I did all those times before. I didn't do jack, for three primary reasons. The first reason was that I really had to pee. The second was that I recognized immediately from significantly relevant short-term experience that there was no way in heck or the other place, whatsit, heckvan, that this girl was going to bring me beverages or fried stuffs. And finally, because I was not in a proper position to comment, grope, or make conversation that didn't consist of slurring either "I love you" or something involving her southern regions, I recognized that a life in prison wasn't worth a potential moment of uninvited vaginage. Plus, as my mobile phone camera illustrated later, she was rather fat and beastly.

As a side note, I think it is interesting how chin acne can go unnoticed under the influence of liquor. They should do a study on that. And by they, I mean grad students. Lousy know-it-all bastards, think they're better than me. When I'm king of the universe, they ain't gettin' into my heckvan, that's for kerang sure.

2006-01-22T19:34:00.000-08:00

Even though, I'll admit, it kinda looks like barf from this angle, take my word that free seafood salad is actually quite tasty.

How I, Dirk Fung, single handedly changed a menu with a timely boycott.

2006-01-22T19:18:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things in life is seafood, as is well-represented by the lobster stains on my shirt. However, seafood is an expensive source of sustenance and thus, like the cheap bastard I am, I sometimes need to find suitable cost-effective substitutes. One day, by happenstance, I discovered that the tea shop next to my place had a seafood salad spread that they put on sandwiches. Kinda like tuna salad, only with seafood... mmm...

Well, the first time I was there, I was baited into buying a sandwich. The problem, you see, is that I was really uninterested in the sandwich bit, I only wanted the seafood. After a few times of visiting the shop, I decided to try something new and unholy. Marching up to the counter (with impugnity!!!), I requested a single scoop of seafood salad... no bread, no vegetables, just a scoop in a styrofoam cup. The poor girl didn't know how to respond, and her manager was nowhere to be seen. After all, how does one charge a person for 1 scoop of seafood salad? Unheard of! Absurd! Realizing that she was ill-equipped for this undertaking, she gave me my scoop and asked no remuneration.

I love a good deal as much as the next person and so, with the abuse that one would expect well underway, I proceeded to go to the Tea shop every week for a free scoop of seafood salad. Unfortunately, much like all good things (Star Trek: The Next Generation, MS Dos, and Doritos Nacho Italiano), one day when I went to the tea shop a beastly old lady greeted me behind the counter and rejected my request for a free scoop of seafood salad. Rejection! Cold, hard rejection! I begged and pleaded, until finally she quoted me "two dawlah!" When I asked why it was so expensive, she said it was because it was a popular item and that apparently a lot of people who weren't me were ordering it regularly. I paid it, out of embarassment more than anything else, and figured that if I came back at a different point in time I would be sure to find another server who would grant my wish for free.

For the next 3 weeks, the price of one scoop of seafood salad gradually increased until reaching an all-time high of "free dawlah, sevendy five senn!" Furthermore, I was shocked to see that it was added to the menu as, simply, "One Scoop of Seafood Salad." under the appetizer section. The servers all insisted that it was a popular item and that I was a huge liar by claiming that I was the only patron who ordered it. Rolling up my sleeves, I took the course of action that I do best: I boycotted the Tea Shop.

Three years later, I was conned into stopping by the tea shop when a friend of mine made an unforeseen stop. Since I was going to be in there anyways, I figured I had might as well figure out whether or not the single scoop of seafood salad market had boomed, plummetted, or maintained a fairly stable level of equilibrium. And guess what? AAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAA!!! You lying bastards! Not only is "a single scoop of seafood salad" not on the menu anymore, THEY DON'T EVEN SERVE SEAFOOD SALAD ANYMORE AT ALL!!! EVEN IN SANDWICH FORM!!! You know what else? THEY REMOVED IT FROM THE MENU 2.5 YEARS AGO AFTER ITS POPULARITY HAD STEADILY DECLINED. MY BOYCOTT HAD WORKED!!! HOORAAAAAAH!!!!

BURN IN HELL, TEA SHOP! BURN IN HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY!!! MWAAAAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

My gosh, how I'd kill for a free scoop of seafood salad right about now...

More Zachary Lam, since obviously you couldn't solve your problems yourself.

2006-01-09T15:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Zachary Lam,

I have these 2 very close friends who are dating. My boyfriend and I love hanging out with them. they call us their "power couple". However, we are very distressed due to the fact that they have 2 other very close friends that they do fun things with and seem to like more then us. They assure me and my boyfriend that they like us very much, but we never do the fun things that they do with the other couple. Are we just very boring to be around or is this other couple couple just much more adventurous and exciting? Are we being big babies about this? Please help...I may be losing my best friends!

Powered out,

Tah Li

Dear Tah Li,

Haro! Where I grow up, in Jiuong Jiang, we have electric problem during storm. Local company advertisement say, "We can solve your electrical problems!" I throw pamphlet in garbage without reading and call friendly telemarketer big whore. It clear that your couple being attracted by promises of competitor. I suggest big 6-way game of mahjong as solution. Do it in dark to save power. I am Zachary Lam.

Zachary.

The Infinite Wisdom of Zachary Lam.

2005-12-20T16:40:00.000-08:00

Wise man once ask, "How you get such hot girl?" The answer is quite simple. I am Zachary Lam.

If you have question for me, Zachary Lam, write in comment section of this post. DO IT NOW!

Dirk Fung presents... The Infinite Wisdom of Zachary Lam

2005-12-20T16:04:00.000-08:00

Dear Zachary,

Every year my white American boss invites me over to his house for Christmas dinner, and every year I feel like I am in his debt. This year, I would like to invite him over to our place for dinner, only we are poor factory peasants and can't lay a table with the lavishness that he is accustomed to. How can we make him a nice rich-man's meal when we have no money?

Please help!

Betty from Beijing.

Dear Betty,

Haro! Is chinese proverb that say "White man think Chinese people eat anything... if they know what we serve them in Chinese restaurant, they see that they are ones who eat anything." Look by side of road for animal, cook and fry rice, serve hot and call it Chow Dog. Like Hot Dog only chow. I am Zachary Lam.

Zachary.

Dear Zachary,

Everyone in my family is short, including myself. We all had a hard time growing up because the majority of people in our village are especially tall. I was really hoping that when my wife and I had a baby, he would grow up to be tall. Well, she had a baby last week, and he's underweight. The doctor says he probably will not be much taller than 5'5. What should I do?

Befuddled,

Chris from Outer Mongolia.

Dear Chris,

Haro! There is saying that say "It is not wise to repair wooden ox-cart when it can be sold to a fool." Babies fetch top dollar on Chinese eBay, sell for cash and sleep with wife again for big win-win solution. Maybe, if lucky, you also get 100 bonus Air Miles. Take wife to Xiangjou, do it twice on big rock. I am Zachary Lam.

Zachary.

Dear Zachary,

I'm worried that my wife is having an affair. She's been really distant recently and won't tell me what time she'll be home, or even who she is out with. I want to follow her, but up to this point I've been convinced that I should trust her because that is the essence of our relationship. Without trust, our love cannot flourish. What if I'm wrong? I don't want to be the one responsible for pushing her away! Please help!

Drowning in a sea of emotions,

Hubert from Yangtze.

Dear Hubert,

Haro! It is written that "man who act like woman doomed to be treated like woman mistreated by man." Because you act like bitch, wife treat you like bitch. It like story of woodpecker and tree. Every day, woodpecker bang hole in tree. One day tree say "woodpecker, why you bang hole in me? Can you see it make me sad?" Woodpecker say "I stop banging tree if tree stop bending over." I am Zachary Lam.

Zachary.

Dear Zachary,

I can't stop eating and now my little brother keeps calling me fat. Recently, I've been throwing away food from the dinner table so that I don't feel tempted to eat it, but in just a few short hours I find myself dying to rummage in the garbage for a dumpling. Please help me, Zachary, I'm at my wits end!

Hungrily,

Ursula from Dong-Ah

Dear Ursula,

Haro! Ancient scroll from long dead Chinese philosopher say "he who grow fat in belly also grow fat in mind." With so many hungry farmers in Eastern province, there no excuse for waste of food. In Phillippines, they practice fasting ceremony called "The Pibe Hundred and Pipty Pibe Day Past." I suggest you DO IT NOW, or feed left thigh to hungry farmers in Eastern province. Either path would be a wise one. I am Zachary Lam.

Zachary.

2005-12-19T20:23:00.000-08:00

Wow, I am just filled with zeal and gusto at the option of calling for Tech Support. I could never be an IT Director because I simply don't have the obnoxiousness, arrogance, and overall girth to match the sheer ass-idity required to be successful at the position.

Why the IT guy is convinced that I am inferior.

2005-12-19T20:00:00.000-08:00

Now, I understand that computers can be difficult at times and that, sometimes, only sometimes, mind you, people have difficulty operating them. I also understand, seeing as how I pride myself of being a man of understanding and all, that some people are more proficient in operating a computer than others. Take myself, for instance, a dapper young up and coming chinese computer scientist; I think I know my way around a computer. That's a pretty safe bet. If this was Las Vegas, and you could bet in that, and you had money, I mean like Hi Roller money, then I would place that bet. If I were you given those conditions, that is.

What I can't understand is why IT Directors think that they are Gods. I figure the easiest way to explain my reasoning is by examining a series of common phrases used by IT Directors.

"Okay, click on that... you know what, better let me do it."

Right, I'm not mentally challenged, you dumb bastard. I can follow basic instructions, especially clicking on an icon.

"Your software is out of date. You should really keep up with what's going on."

The hell are you talking about? This is the latest version! Maybe I don't have some super-secret beta nerd pirate version of some buggy half-assed cracked out piece of junk software that only thirty jerks from a Star Trek fan site downloaded by accident one night while searching for naked photos of Captain Picard.

"Ask us if you need to change any settings. Under no circumstances should you change them. It's against policy."

Whose policy? Yours? You write the dumb policy so that you can govern what colour my taskbar is? Not on my system, Twinkie! If I want that tiny desktop icon in my tray, I'm going to put that desktop icon on my tray. If I want to change my screen saver, I'm going to change my screen saver. I don't need you sitting on my chair, covering it with your rectal sweat, fiddling with something that would be much faster and easier if I got a lobotomized squirrel to throw nuts at the keyboard.

"You should use hotkeys, like me. Nobody uses the mouse anymore."

Right, so it's better if I hold the control button down for everything and mash the keyboard like a man possessed? Have you seen these IT Directors work? For every letter they type they have to back space twice because they can't get their fat fingers to hit only one key at a time. So I'm supposed to know what the hot key is for something I'll never ever need to use again? SHIFT + CONTROL + ALT + U + GO + TO + HELL, you jackass.

You think I'm inferior? You think I'm computer illiterate? Do you think I'm dumb? Well, I've got news for you, Twinkie: I'm not dumb, you're dumb. Your policies are dumb, your comb-over is dumb, and your obnoxious loud breathing is dumb. Next time you want to correct me on how I use a computer, fill out a form. Then submit it. At some point, I'll come to your house, pee on your couch, mash your keyboard with my sticky mud and cookies fingers, and at the end leave you confused and further away from any practical solution to your computer related issues.

I'm not bitter.

2005-12-15T08:09:00.000-08:00

Be careful! Don't you know that smoking could shrink your wang? Like we need help making our wangs smaller, I mean really! Ass.

Conversation with Mike while not in head.

2005-12-15T08:03:00.000-08:00

WHEAT AND CORN says: helllo
WHEAT AND CORN says: trick or treat?
WHEAT AND CORN says: I hear you're sick
WHEAT AND CORN says: bummer
WHEAT AND CORN says: Here, have some chicken soup:
WHEAT AND CORN says: chicken soup.
WHEAT AND CORN says: So, you think you're too good to respond, eh?
WHEAT AND CORN says: Well, that would make me believe that you are NOT Mike, and are really Jennifer or perhaps some other girl.
WHEAT AND CORN says: (seeing as how you are not typing)
WHEAT AND CORN says: (... and all ...)
WHEAT AND CORN says: alright
WHEAT AND CORN says: so, go on
WHEAT AND CORN says: be mute
WHEAT AND CORN says: I've a good mind to report you to the janitor.
WHEAT AND CORN says: Why not?
WHEAT AND CORN says: Well done.
WHEAT AND CORN says: sYeah, so?
WHEAT AND CORN says: eh-hee-eh-heeh-eh-heeh
WHEAT AND CORN says: that is indeed how you are laughing.
WHEAT AND CORN says: oh dear
WHEAT AND CORN says: have I been writing this all along on Mike's msn?
WHEAT AND CORN says: oh dear.
WHEAT AND CORN says: eh-hwaaaah-eh-hwaaaaaah!
WHEAT AND CORN says: ah-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Clark Kent says: mmhmm
WHEAT AND CORN says: aaaaa (squeak) aaaaaa (squeaK(
WHEAT AND CORN says: heeeeeeey!
WHEAT AND CORN says: What's up?
WHEAT AND CORN says: nothing
WHEAT AND CORN says: i am
WHEAT AND CORN says: quoi???
WHEAT AND CORN says: You're not hearing me out, man
WHEAT AND CORN says: Dirk's not here, man
Clark Kent says: had that joint I take it
WHEAT AND CORN says: Hello?
WHEAT AND CORN says: yeah, how'd ya know?
WHEAT AND CORN says: we also had a pumpkin
WHEAT AND CORN says: that I made
WHEAT AND CORN says: and bought
WHEAT AND CORN says: and did that er..
WHEAT AND CORN says: what?
WHEAT AND CORN says: no groove
WHEAT AND CORN says: lost the groove!
WHEAT AND CORN says: Chees?
WHEAT AND CORN says: e
WHEAT AND CORN says: I meant to say chess
WHEAT AND CORN says: african lion safari!!!!
WHEAT AND CORN says: Where'd ya go"
WHEAT AND CORN says: ?

2005-12-15T07:51:00.000-08:00

Hyuk hyuk hyuk guffaw! What are two white dudes doing trying to employ chinese business practices? No wonder one is suspended and the other is effeminate. Injured? Go to C. Lee Oh. You suck Barnes. Why would I trust you for legal advice? You don't even have hair.

2005-12-05T18:02:00.000-08:00

Dirk Fung by day, Dark Fang by night. Just don't tell anyone and everything will be ok.

Alter egos and other imaginary people who wish they were me.

2005-12-05T17:36:00.000-08:00

As the sun sets on the fair city, there emerges a hero the likes of whom you have never seen plagiarized in such a blatant way as the way that I am likening the hero whom emerges to other previously emerging heroes similar er... him. He is the protector of all mankind, except for a few jerks who don't deserve his time or patience or applied mathematical prowess. He is everywhere, but he is nowhere... like Darkman!

Inserted thought: Remember Darkman? I can't believe that was Liam Neeson.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yes. The emerging hero. Well, I don't need to tell you who this hero is, for if I did then surely you would know who I am talking about because I would have just told you. And that would be unacceptable for many reasons, most of which I could not tell you because you would never understand. Why don't you understand? It's really not that difficult.

Well yes, I have a secret double identity. So keep it secret. I am indeed the hero who protects the Greater Hong Kong Area from such unscrupulous villains as Professor Noodaw, the Szechuaman, and the Evil Mr. Foo Goo. That's right, my small audience. I am indeed... DARK FANG! Muhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaa!!!!

Ever standing tall with arms akimbo!

2005-10-05T15:52:00.000-07:00

I don't think that Mickey Mao was what poor Walt had in mind. Way to ruin a working man's dream, Hong Kong Disneyland.

2005-09-08T17:33:00.000-07:00

I can smell you from here. And I don't like it.

Women's shoes are dumb, like that movie starring Mariah Carey.

2005-09-08T16:25:00.000-07:00

I have always hated feet, ever since I first saw my own. I think that was right around the time when I developed feet, which was either in the second trimester or the third, but definitely not the first. There's something about feet that just doesn't do it for me. All you sickos with feet fetishes, I hope you realize that I think you're nasty. As nasty as feet. That's right, I said it.

I have to say though, the lesser of the two foot-based evils is easily the following: Men's feet are significantly nicer than women's, but they are still ugly like Edgar Chu. For those of you who don't know Edgar, let me fill you in: he's ugly.

I think the biggest problem with women's feet is the fact that they squish them into teeny-tiny impractical ugly shoes. Have you ever seen a woman's foot whereby the middle toe and the big toe are permanently crossed? Also, where is the toe-nail on their little toes? Most of the time, it looks like a yellow piece of infected skin! Nasty!

The truth is, most women can't walk in women's shoes. Sure, some try, but only the really posh hookers have gotten the stumble down to an art form. Heels don't even look nice, if you ask me, which you didn't, but which you should have. Especially stilettos. Any weapon that could pierce a man's luggage should not be brandished by a woman, especially not in such a readily available location. Also, what's with the pointed toe? I don't want to date an elf! Shitkicker indeed!

Even worse is the platform. It makes short girls slightly more disproportionate and turns tall girls into men. I have yet to meet a girl who can pull off platforms without looking like she just stumbled out of a drug nest after a good sodomizing.

If you want my opinion, which you don't, but which you should, I think that the most attractive shoe is the running shoe. Running shoes are built to CONCEAL IT ALL, the hideousness of feet, the nastiness of the toe-nail, the whole sha-bang. Plus, shoe companies invest a lot of money into making them look cool, as opposed to how much foot can be exposed. In truth, expensive women's shoes only really means that you are paying more to see your own foot. Now how does that make any sense? The lesson here is that it doesn't, and that's the sad part.

There's also comfort. Why pay money to get your feet scraped up? No, a band-aid is not attractive to us men. Nor is several band-aid. Nor is a bunyan. We don't want to see it, and ladies shouldn't want to inflict such wounds on themselves. I mean sure, feet are ugly, but why should we both suffer?

So ladies, here's what I suggest:

1. Only buy running shoes.
2. If you are hot, come over to my house.
3. Jiggy Jiggy Jiggy Jiggy Jiggy.

It's good to be back.

2005-07-09T23:01:00.000-07:00

Ain't enlightenment wonderful? The cloud formation looks like a woman's shoe, mixed with the breastplate of Disney's Hercules.

Life is an unfinished conversation.

2005-07-09T22:35:00.000-07:00

It seems that often we, as human, start to commincate with one another and then have our conversations end abrutly for no particular reason except for perhaps what colour the wind is. Life seems to work similarily, in many respects, although differently because it is different from what I was just talking about.

For example, how many times have we started in a direction only to find out *POOF*, we're heading in a different direction. I remember when I was a kid, and Horus Yung made funny of me for being short (oh, the irony...). I thought to myself, "Dirk, one day you're going to have a sprout and then you are going to go to Horus Yung and flip off his big fat face." Sure enough, a few months later, I sprouted! The only problem is that I had forgotten it at the time and as such never capitalized on the opportunity to reply to Horus' behavior. I only remembered last week, and I still feel as though that was an unfinished conversation. So I called Horus... and nothing we said make sense... and sure enough we both trailed off, and I know I'll forever feel unsatisfied. I need closure to this traumatic life experience!

Conversations end abruptly also. For example, look at this awkward conversation between a man who wants to build a deck and a man observing from an arbitrary point in space-time.

Builder: I think I'm going to build a deck.
Timeless Observer: That's swell. Be my guest.
Builder: I lay down the foundation! This is going to be great.
Timeless Observer: Concrete hardens faster than mud, fyi.
Builder: I just bought and cut all the lumber for the frame.
Timeless Observer: Extra wood can always be used for something else. Good call!
Buider: I finished the deck.
Timeless Observer: So I guess we can't talk about building decks anymore then.
Builder: I guess not.
Timeless Observer: So I guess you're pretty proud of yourself.
Builder: I am.
Timeless Observer: I can't think about anything else to say then.
Builder: Allow me to fill the gaps with awkward pauses then.
Timeless Observer: That's swell.
Builder: (says nothing, awkwardly ending the dialogue)

Life is also a lot like special features on a DVD. In truth, there is hardly anything special about the movie than the movie itself. In order to complete a special features category, directors have to dig and dig for any crap to throw on. As a result, the special features are usually useless, mainly because they always end on an awkward note.

Example (the heading and the conclusion of special features from the movie "Gigli".)

Title: The Making of Gigli
Concluding quote: "I think it was around March when the movie premiered that I started thinking about leaving directing behind and becoming a podiatrist, but I can't remember because I am allergic (in THAT way) to the smell of cucumber." (fade to black)

Dirk's completely separate topic quote of the day:
Just because I hit him with a rock doesn't mean he can't try to date my sister.

2005-07-04T22:10:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of the word HIATUS as it pertains to me publishing on my site. If you have a problem with my hiatus, you can e-mail me at dirk_fung@hotmail.com. Don't be surprised if you receive a picture of a man giving the finger as a reply. Love you.

The word Hiatus is a lot like Hi Anus only with a T instead of an N.

2005-07-04T21:47:00.000-07:00

You know when things are going really smooth, and all is well, and then all of a sudden something happens that just messes up your schedule and makes you go "a-bwah?" Well, that happened to ol' Dirky. Yep, that's right. And, as a result, my site has gotten a little behind the times. My gosh, I have so much to write as well! You should have seen some of the stupid people I have encountered, some of the follies I have follied into, and some of the general hap-hap-hapablabs that have been filling my mundane yet arduous existence. Peanuts anyone? You bet. Tennis? Get bent.

It all started when I got a job. That's right. I got a job. Don't ask where, it's not important, and my Manager Foo Gao is sensitive about me publicizing it. All I can say is that I am enjoying what I am doing, and that there is no such person as General Tso or his chicken. That may not be true. But don't buy in to the lies.

Following my employment, I had a scare where I thought I have colon cancer. It turns out that it wasn't colon cancer after all, but a build up of corn that has been accumulating since the vernal equinox of 1983. Six bowls of ex-lax ice cream and a couple of good novels later and I was back to normal, albeit a good 23 pounds lighter.

I also got engaged. Things were going well, until I gave her my credit card number. Hopefully when I find her we can continue with the wedding. Unfortunately, Hong Kong credit-card fraud services aren't as efficient as those in Western countries.

Finally, my uncle died. Well, not my real uncle, just some guy who everyone called uncle. We were never close, and I never met him and, in retrospect, neither has everyone in my family, but we are still saddened by his passing and hope that he may return to us soon as a reincarnation of someone a bit more useful to my personal gain.

So, now you know the reason for my hiatus. While I would like to promise that I would start writing every day again, it is difficult as one of my hands was eaten by a bear. Well, not a real bear, just a really hairy girl. Yes, I know, I didn't believe that Chinese girls could be hairy until now either.

Okay then people, I'm off to continue my adventures. Stop on by as I'll be hopefully posting sporadically here and there and will hopefully one day catch up.

p.s. Louis wanted me to type in the word"Lesbian" on his behalf. Apparently it's the cool word on the playground nowadays.

2005-05-16T16:07:00.000-07:00

It may not be headed to America, but at least you can steal the oar when you are done.

Fresh off the dragon boat.

2005-05-16T15:47:00.000-07:00

We were doing quite well, in first position by almost 13 seconds in our qualifying race. I had been looking forward to this event for many weeks, and had even gone to the gym to intensify my bicepulars and tricepulons. Dragon boat racing is a fine Chinese tradition, and I am proud to have been involved in it. At least, I was before stupid Reginald Shu opened his big fat mouth.
"Hey guys, I brought some dumplings my wife made this morning, you guys want to try?" he asked in mid stroke. Fortunately for most of us, the thrill of competition and the burning acids in our bodies blocked off his ill-timed question, and we continued to oar with all our collective might. All, except for meek Sammy Wong.
"Yeah, pass one over." Sammy said, forgetting the race and setting down his oar. The rest of the team kept churning, paying no attention to Reginald (who was serving Sammy) and Sammy (who was being served by Reginald). "Mmm... these are really good!" Sammy said.
Sweating, his heart beating rapidly, Tommy Liu, who was sitting next to Sammy, looked up and asked "What's good?" Sammy smiled and held up the dumpling. "Reginald, you got any more?" he asked. Reginald nodded and served a pair of dumplings to Tommy, who stopped rowing to eat. The boat's swift stride was interupted, and for the first time panic began to settle in as I realized that we could no longer hold our lead.
Tommy took a bite and laughed, these were the best he said, and fed on to his wife Anna who was sitting behind her. Anna loved them and stopped rowing in order to speak with Reginald's wife to ask for the recipe. Nancy Lam and Donna Ho stopped rowing to join in, and it wasn't long until someone opened a bag of chips.
I continued with my rowing furiously. We still had a lead, albeit small, and the finish line was in sight. Our team captain, Dr. Carson Xei, interrupted his count and asked what was going on. Maxine Foo fed him a dumpling, and his face quickly reddened. I assumed that if anyone was going to restore order, it was Dr. Carson Xei. Alas, Carson was only mad because no one had brought soy sauce.
My arms were bleeding on the inside, but still I refused to quit. My heart pumping battery acid, I maintained my furious pace until I blacked out from a lack of oxygen.

***

The first sense that returned to me was a taste in my mouth that was soft and delightful. I sat up feeling dizzy and looked around at my team, all 24 of them, who were all sitting casually on the dragon boat and chatting over a picnic spread. Georges Ong was sitting next to me, a plate of dumplings in his pudgy hand and a large grin on his pudgy face. "They're good, no? Reginald's wife made them fresh this morning. We lost the race, by the way. Here, have another. Eat eat eat."

2005-05-15T16:17:00.000-07:00

"My chair is made of defenseless baby seals."

Controversy week has arrived!

2005-05-15T15:59:00.000-07:00

The past few weeks, if you have been reading, I have focused on some of the lighter and tamer aspects of life and popular culture. I did not wander into anything too complex or particularly political, and as a result my site was given a pretty good family feel to it. Why did I decide to clean up my act, you ask? Well, quite frankly, I was hoping that maybe someone important would have read the site and offered me a lucrative movie deal. Alas, that appears (at this point at least) to still be a pipe dream.

Much like Yin and Yang, this site needs its complement of black and white (or yellow and brown). Since the past few weeks have been all luvvy-duvvy and hoity-toity, I have decided that this week should be controversy week. During no holds barred, I am allowing myself the liberty of being able to talk about any subject, no matter how sensitivie, with total disregard to what it might possibly do to me should I ever venture into politics. I will continue to remove racial barriers, as by now you should realize that I think that we are all equal (and equally insane) as a human race.

There are so many things I could possibly talk about this week, from what's wrong with the youth in Asia to what's wrong with euthanasia. No more laying off whitey! This week, whitey will receive his comeuppance in spades. I shall endeavour to be most persnickety in this week's upcoming posts, and will also make inappropriate references to pygmies and clouds that look like mullets.

Should you be offended, please take the week off and go read someone else's site. I recommend the ever exciting spoonywoo.blogspot.com

On that note, every time you catch a fish you are killing baby Jesus. Let the controversy begin.

2005-05-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

When you are in your early thirties and unmarried, this just ain't a cool idea for the workplace.

IT department scientifically proven to be devoid of social competence.

2005-05-14T13:28:00.000-07:00

I just recently got a job working for the Chinese Bank of Commerce as a consultant in the IT deparment. I have never really worked high-finance before, but I was happy to be working at last and was looking forward to pretending I was a big-shot wheeler and dealer. The receptionist and the lady who interviewed me were both very friendly and attractive, in an older lady sort of way, and I was impressed with the modicum of behavior employed in the office. Everyone was polite and courteous, and there were discussions of golf and movies and casual affairs popping up throughout the office as miscellaneous colleagues ran into one another. The management was also really nice, and enjoyed the thrill of meeting somebody new. I was doing a lot of hand shaking and people were asking me a lot of questions, making me feel right at home. I hadn't even been escorted to my new workspace before I was invited to go down to the bar after work for a celebratory drink with some of my new co-workers. I was euphoric. I couldn't wait to be in my department to see all the other people in IT who, of course, were going to be just as cool as me and all those other people wandering the office.

My escort stopped at a large door marked "IT Department" and told me that I could go in, my desk was the one on the left. I thanked her and invited her in with me, but she shook her head nervously and told me that she was required elsewhere. I pushed open the door and walked into a poorly lit space with lots of shelving and table space, and 6 cubicles arranged against the back wall. The room was a mess of wires and computer components, and there was a profound odor of tuna and socks lingering in the air. There were four people in the office, all working diligently on their respective computers. No one was talking, and no one acknowledged my existence. "Hello?" I said, meekly. A guy who's name-tag read Trevor Shua gave me a quick glance, nodded, and returned to his computer. Another, a girl named Paula Ying also peered at me from the corner of her eyes, but did not make any sign that she was pleased to meet me. The other two were both swearing and grunting to themselves, causing one of them to leap under the desk and start fiddling with cables. I worked my way to my desk and say down quietly. I think one of them was wearing a cape.

It was silent for a while until finally Albert Zao, a junior IT guy, broke the silence. "Hey Paula, you seeing Star Wars next week?" A conversation erupted about the new movie, the old movies, Ewoks, and a listing of all the inaccuracies in the films. I cowered in my corner. A poster of Jar-Jar Binks was glowing on the back wall, watching me. I felt someone fiddling for cables by my feet, low swears and grunts vibrating my frail cubicle. No one was laughing. The only sounds were of modems and keyboards.

It was two hours before I received a call up to fix a computer. Leaving the Nerdnook, I took a deep breath of fresh air as I closed the door firmly behind me. I was back from Oz, but I knew it wouldn't be long until I was forced to return. It took all my strength to tell my superior that it wasn't going to work out, but she was surprisingly cool about it. "What can I say? That's the IT department for you." she said before shaking my hand and wishing me well on my future endeavors.

2005-05-13T13:26:00.000-07:00

Little Ching Lee looks on in concern that something unfortunate is in the works. As a poor consolation, her milk was tasting better than usual.

Hyphenated names damage child's longterm self esteem.

2005-05-13T12:59:00.000-07:00

The poor kid. I suppose she didn't really have a choice. Her real mother, the cause of most of the difficulties of her young life, was fortunately not responsible for her latest predicament. Having lived in the orphanage most of her life, little Ching Lee had no idea that the family she was about to be adopted by would ruin her life forever.

Now, don't get me wrong. In truth, there is nothing wrong with foster-parents Jeanette and Walter. They have both worked hard in their respective professions, and they are both two of the kindest people you have ever met. It all started several years ago...

Walter Chang was the senior manager of a downtown branch of the bank of Hong Kong, when a gorgeous young lady came into his office in order to finalize some details regarding a major real estate purchase. Jeanette Chong, one of Hong Kong's most promising real estate agents, was not only beautiful, but very smart. The two hit it off instantly, and they engaged in a deep and passionate courtship. They dated for two years before finally Walter felt the time was right to propose to the lovely Jeanette. He had always wanted to start a family, and having put career ahead for so many years, he knew that there would be no better time than the present. Jeanette cried from joy when she saw the ring, and the two agreed to get married. The only point of interest that was raised was a question of Jeanette keeping her maiden name, since she was quite well known around Hong Kong. They agreed that a hyphenated last name would be acceptable, and proceeded to get married shortly thereafter. After two years of trying, it was discovered that Jeanette was unable to bear children. The couple, heartbroken, began considering other means, until finally adoption became the most practical solution.

Fast forward to the present, and we can see that today is the day when little Ching Lee joins the family, to everyone's tremendous joy. There is only one problem that I can foresee, and I am surprised that no one has bothered to point it out yet. I suppose it is not that important now, but a few years down the road it may begin to rear its ugly head. I can only hope that there is not too much emotional scarring when, several years from now, a young pre-teen girl looks into the mirror and realizes for the first time the implications of being named Ching Chang-Chong.

2005-05-12T12:56:00.000-07:00

Well done, Benson, well done. Way to ruin it for the rest of us.

Why take tiny steps forward when you can take giant leaps backward?

2005-05-12T12:17:00.000-07:00

As I am sure you'll understand, I have a been a long-time member and a large advocate of promoting the PTCPS program which, for those of you who have never heard of it before, is the People Taking Chinese People Seriously program. It was developed back in 1954 in response to a growing concern that the world was laughing AT Chinese people, instead of WITH us. The program was started by a promiment Chinese business woman named Minnie Wang who was tired of being the source of hilarity. Minnie's goal was to encourage Chinese people to unite and to teach self-development techniques to make us less funny to others. When I entered the program back in 1997, I met a young lawyer named Benson Chung. Benson had just graduated from law school and was articling for one of Hong Kong's biggest law firms, Lai, Ho & Siu, when he received a call to join an American firm that was opening a branch in HK. Benson eagerly accepted the position, and has since been working hard to climb to the top.

A few days ago I received a phone call from Benson telling me that he was being promoted to full partner and that he was going to have a few of the big-wigs over to celebrate, so would I like to come? Having no plans and being depressingly single, I agreed to show up and promised to bring some hamburger buns, in case any of the American lawyers had a barbeque in their trunk as is the American custom. Besides from what Benson was telling me, all of the firm's management were white and he was going to be the first Chinese partner. When I showed up, I was mortified with the display that lay before me.

Shortly before I had arrived, Mr. Peter Clayson, LLB had opened up a bottle of scotch and fed Benson a shot. Like any good Chinaman, Benson was immediately intoxicated. Deciding that the suit and tie he was wearing was uncomfortable, Benson then proceeded to change into his pyjamas. He was singing along rambunctiously to a Christina Aguilera record when I arrived, and all the partners were wearing large grins. "He's hilarious, your friend! You seem to be pretty funny too, hohoho!" they cajoled. I grabbed Benson by the collar and slapped him across the face with the back of my hand. "Remember the program! Remember PTCPS!" I pleaded, to no avail. The lawyers were laughing even harder now that I had gotten involved.

Benson staggered towards the kitchen, where Mr. Ed Norris, LLB, and Mrs. Grace Summerville, LLB was perusing mockingly some dim-sum appetizers that Benson had laid out. "Eat eat eat, is good, is good!" Benson insisted waving his hands in the air, a big smile on his face, yielding more hearty laughs from the lawyers. Finally, a junior clerk from administration by the name of Jimmy Browne came up to Benson and dared him to take a swig of Chinese hot sauce. Benson, apparently enjoying the attention, agreed (despite my exasperation, which I was later told was funny for some reason) and poured the sauce into his mouth. I have to say, it was pretty funny to watch his intestinal lining burn up like that. But, then again, I was allowed to laugh because I am Chinese, and they were not. At least that is how I justified it at my next PTCPS meeting.

2005-05-11T10:44:00.000-07:00

We refugees were doing quite well on the boat until Chow Yun Fat showed up and started shooting at everybody. Fortunately, we were all able to dive out of the way.

My filmography leaves much to be desired.

2005-05-11T09:05:00.000-07:00

A lot of people don't know that I have been acting for many years since I was young. My parents, always looking to capitalize on the talents of their children, placed me with a chinese acting/talent agency while we were in Canada. If you watch American movies closely, you'll see that there are rarely average Chinese guys wandering around with loads of lines. No, for us average looking Chinese guys there is really only one option: to be one of many Chinese refugees on a boat. In truth, there are some dynamic aspects to the role. The basic is just being a really poor refugee who has to dive out of the way of gun shots and explosions on a boat full of refugees. The intermediate is being a poor refugee who gets shot while diving out of the way of gun shots and explosions on a boat. The advanced is being a poor refugee who somehow finds a gun and joins in the fire fights on a boat. The ultimate role for an average looking Chinese guy in American movies is being a poor refugee who not only gets to shoot but also gets shot at on a boat full of refugees.

It was really great to get a chance to work with Chow Yun Fat. He taught me how to expand the role of a refugee getting shot out on a boat into a true acting work of art. I learned that there are many different ways of dodging bullets beyond the traditional headlong plunge. Among them are the crouch, the pop, the scamper, the sidle, the flip, the cower, and my favorite, the plow. While I don't mind be a refugee who is being shot at on a boat, I really hope that someday I could play something different. You know, mix it up a little, like being a refugee who is being shot at on a plane, or a citizen who is being shot at on a boat. There are many different variations and, in all honesty, I don't think that I have met anyone who can dive away from bullets on a boat any better than me. I even come with my own costume wardrobe! After we shot The Replacement Killers (1998), I was allowed to keep my tattered refugee rags for future roles. I am hoping to be in a Jet Li movie soon. If anyone is going to shoot at me while I'm a refugee on a boat full of refugees, I'd like it to be Jet Li. There's just something about him that makes me think he's a nice guy.

2005-05-10T08:09:00.000-07:00

Aaaaagh! Death! Deaaaaaaaaath!!!

You know you are ruined when a cheese sandwich is mentioned.

2005-05-10T07:32:00.000-07:00

As we grow up, our parents become distressed at how every day they lose more and more control in our lives. Since I have become a strapping 24 year old male, there has been little that my parents have been able to do to keep me in line... well, that's not entirely true. They still retain one fundamental element of power in my life, and that is the threat of a cheese sandwich for dinner. It's amazing how simple it is, and yet so effective. For example, the other day I got home from school and my mother was upset at me for not picking up Louis from soccer practice. We got into a huge fight and I vowed never to pick him up again. My mother simply nodded and said "Ok, Dirk. Ok. We are eating dinner tonight at 7pm. You can make yourself a cheese sandwich." I don't know why it stings me so. I actually rather like cheese sandwiches, but for some reason these cheese sandwiches taste of shame. If she really wants to raise the bar, she will not only tell me to eat a cheese sandwich but will also inform me that I can eat it in the kitchen, removing me physically from the dinner table. There's something about eating a cheese sandwich in the kitchen alone that fills me with overwhelming guilt. I don't know how to describe it.

For months I have been working on a secret plan in my room to counteract the threat of the cheese sandwich to no avail. Ultimately, no matter how tasty a sandwich I make, the shame is still the primary flavour. Only recently did I have an epiphany in which I realized that the threat of the cheese sandwich can work two ways. Summing up all my bravery, I decided to take the risk and perform this little experiment:

I returned home early-evening after a guys-afternoon-out that involved much oggling only to be confronted by my mother in the hallway, her hair in curlers and her nightgown soft pink from repeated wash cycles. "Know you what time it is?" she asked, pointed a finger at me. I waved her off and told her that I was a big boy and that I was allowed to come home any time I wanted, especially 6:30pm. She told me that the whole family was waiting for me for dinner and that I was in big trouble. This was the moment of truth! Summing up all my strength, I told her that they should start dinner and that I was just going to have a cheese sandwich. Her eyes flashed wide open, and her mouth fell agape. Apparently my calculations were correct, and a self-inflicted cheese sandwich reversed the flow of guilt and shame on my mother. Angrily, she tried to compensate by yelling "No! You eat with us like normal guy!" Victory was mine. But it wasn't meant to last.

My mother is quite bright at the worst of times, and it wasn't long until she figured out my ploy. These days, it is a race to see who can threaten the cheese sandwich first. Arguments are settled within seconds, with a victor being the one who can mention a cheese sandwich the fastest. With any luck, I should be able to hold off my parents until I get enough money to move out and make my own cheese sandwiches. Now that'll be something.

2005-05-09T21:34:00.000-07:00

You go Horace go! Never let the man hold you down! Unless that floats your boat, of course...

Gay Horace Fui sets the bar even higher for flaming homosexuality.

2005-05-09T21:12:00.000-07:00

As an avid people-watcher, I love seeing people achieve the pinnacle of achievement and set new standards for the rest of us. Mark McGwire showed us that the only way to beat a long-standing homerun record is by abusing drugs, and now the only way it'll be beaten is when baseball players start bringing robots onto the field to hit for them. Einstein created a theory of relativity which goes to show that even a best guess is better than nothing (keyword: theory). And, most importantly, Ashlee Simpson has taught us that you don't need looks or talent or intelligence to be a successful whatever-she-qualifies-as. CONGRATULATIONS HUMANITY! Horace Fui is no exception. Just when you think Liberace had done it all, up steps Horace to the challenge.

My family has known Horace for many years. He's the son of Maybelline and Hong KongJustice Paul Fui, and the cousin of Shirley Gwan, whom you may remember as being on Hong Kong's top 10 dentist list at number 7. Horace was raised normally, but he always had slightly feminine leanings. I'll never forget the night that I walked in on him braiding Louis' hair. That wasn't too good for business. I would have stepped in but, you know, the whole not caring and all.

Well, recently Horace has gotten a new job with Coca Cola: Hong Kong. He is in charge of marketing and distribution, and the word on the street is that he is revolutionizing their whole image. Good for him, I says. He's trying hard and is getting results. His new campaign is due to hit the streets in a month, and when I saw the sneak preview I was impressed that he had the courage to model in them himself. I think Horace Fui is going to have a lot of success in life. Hopefully someday he'll find the man of his dreams and will hopefully be very rich from the returns of his advertising campaigns. That way, I can sell him Louis at a reasonable price when he is ready to adopt and move into my own condiminium with matching appliances and a little place for me to put my shoes when the hallway becomes cluttered with newspapers and empty takeout boxes.

2005-05-08T10:36:00.000-07:00

Don't trust her, Murray! She's just itching to yell Jihad! Run! Run! Run for your life!

Perhaps, in retrospect, declaring Jihad was a little hasty.

2005-05-08T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm concerned with our children's world of tomorrow, I have to be honest with you. Back in my day, if something bothered you, you'd go settle it like a man with a pair of nunchucks. Nowadays, no one wants to fight their own battles. I was surprised to learn that children have taken to using the word Jihad as part of their every day vocabulary, and have incorporated it into their games and daily lives. you don't believe me? When Louis told me that the kids were playing a new form of Dodgeball, that they had dubbed "Jihadodgeball", I was shocked and chagrined. Stupified and mortified. Curious and interested.

The game starts out normally, like any ordinary game of dodgeball. Usually, in dodgeball, the order of elimination is as follows:

1) Girls.
2) Fat kids.
3) Losers.
4) Everyone else.
5) The cool kid with the cool shoes and the cool name, like Ryan or Steven or Johann.

Well, Louis was playing dodgeball with his friends in the street, and it all started normal and fun. The girls were eliminated fairly quickly, as expected, and the fat kids were working every lipid to try to stay alive. Louis, just failing to make the cut off into the average kids category, was struggling to be the last loser eliminated. With a mighty thump, big Murray Kwok fell to the ground, his 200 pound 8-year old frame refusing to continue. Young Ryan-Steven Chong, age 10, sporting Kobe Bryant shoes and a Fubu sports suit and bling, quickly capitalized on the opportunity and launched the ball at big Murray's head. Murray let out a squeal, and quickly raised his arms in front of his face to protect himself. It as really quite remarkable timing that the ball got lodged between Murray's chins and arms, therefore saving him from elimination and knocking Ryan-Steven out of the game much earlier than society is accustomed too. Back in my day, whenever the cool kid was eliminated early, he would have one of three options: cry, commit a random act of vandalism, or beat up the kid who got him out. Ryan-Steven took an entirely new approach to the dilemma. His face contorted into a mask of rage as he bellowed "JIHAD!!!" Big Murray shivered and curled up into a large little ball, all the time murmuring "No! No!" Both teams quickly amassed around Big Murray and took turns pinching him, all the time yelling "Jihad! Jihad!" like wild savages. I would have stepped in to help him, but I must say I was caught up in the moment and also found myself shouting "Jihad! Jihad!" at the top of my lungs.

Apparently, Jihad has become the new slang for injustice. I tried explaining to Louis that Jihad actually meant Holy War, but he wouldn't listen. He kept insisting that it was a playground loophole that allowed him and his schoolmates to keep the infidel-children in check. When I asked him who he considered to be an infidel, he simply stated girls, fat kids, and losers. It was hard telling Louis that he was a loser, but after he perused the overwhelming evidence that I have been accumulating over the years, he finally conceded defeat like a good sport and accepted his fate. He hasn't come home from school yet today, but that's the price he must pay for being an infidel. I like keeping in touch with juvenile trends and slang. It's really the best way to stay young at heart. When they bring SIKE back, I'll be ready. Until then, JIHAD!!!

2005-05-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

I'm concerned that my chloroplasm isn't working up to par these days.

Biology's little unexpected surprises make life a bit more interesting.

2005-05-07T09:25:00.000-07:00

Every day we wake up and we look in the mirror and see the same person. It appears as though, besides getting fat, old, and grey, our bodies are taking it easy and aren't doing much. We take for granted all the miraculous globulouses and tubulouses and fibriouses that are working every second of every day to keep us alive. And then, just when we are at the height of our ambivalence, nature gives us a little tap on the shoulder to remind us what's going on. You must be asking yourself, what is bringing on this philosophical thought, and so I shall tell you: yesterday, my pee was clear. It's something that happens ever so rarely, like when I am over-watered or cold, but is really neat because it isn't something that happens every day. Nails are another interesting topic. I cut my nails just last week and then HO! Before you know it, they need cutting again. How? Again, it is our micronubules tapping us on the shoulder and reminding us who is boss.

We Chinese people, as opposed to our Indian brethren, are quite hairless. It's actually quite nice, especially for our women, but at times we men feel weak and embarassed when clad in shorts besides our brown brethren. Right when we feel the most shame, HARK! Our legs sprout a handful of new follicles. It's like Christmas, only of a more bioligical nature. The beauty is that it always changes, and we are always discovering little presents that our bodies are giving us. As a man who never exercises, I am always pleased when I am granted an unmerited shallow bicep tone or a 3-pack of abs. Perky nipples, that's also fun. We take perky nipples for granted. It isn't until a really good late-night softcore comes on that we realize that perky nipples are more than just a passing fancy, but an institution.

My little brother Louis is at the stage where every day he is changing. Ah, the wonders of childhood. Somedays he is an inch taller, somedays an inch shorter, on others his growth progresses from playing basketball with Jamal, on others it is stunted from playing marbles with Melvin. Every day he wakes up to a new suprise. Sometimes because I punch him in the head while he sleeps. Natural, inflicted, it's still a surprise at the end of the day. Sometimes biology moves too slow, so I started putting prozac in my good friend Henry Kha's beer. I don't know why. His beer just looks really prozacable.

Today I woke up with a new surprise! I have a huge pimple on my nose! Hopefully it's filled with toys and candy and glee, but realistically I know it's probably just the same old puss and mucus. But, with biology, you never really know. And that's what makes it so interesting and boring.

2005-05-06T12:13:00.000-07:00

"First, we conquer Earff. Den, we go eat dim sum. Dim sum yum yum in tum tum." Liu XiuXiu 7 the Great addresses the mighty fleet of Chinaliens.

It came from Outer Space... and it was Chinese!!!

2005-05-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

For years Western governments have been spreading propaganda that China was going to try to invade the world. James Bond movies were one popular technique, and CNN another, but since the turn of the last century there was one medium tha effectively struck terror into the heart of the world: invaders from space. Chinese invaders, no less. Many movies have displayed these tall lanky metallic gray creatures with big heads and slanty eyes arriving and causing nothing but trouble for white folk and the token black man who gets ripped to shreds*.

*ASIDE: If you ever watch Alien: Resurrection, there is a classic scene whereby the aliens escape their prison. The army, being vast and powerful, decides to send one black guy alone in there to investigate with the tiniest gun ever in the history of the Alien franchise. Needless to say he doesn't last very long.

I think it's great that we Chinese have been made out to be the world's biggest threat. Arabs, the French, Paraguay, they are all minnows when compared to the vast Chinese threat. In fact, the only thing preventing a massive global Chinese overthrow is India. India is the only country in the world that could go pound for pound with us, as their populations match ours. If we could form an agreement with India, I think we could conquer the world in time for lunch and the classic show The Play This Week. Unfortunately, India and China would never see eye to eye. Indians have eating restrictions, and we Chinese will eat anything with its back to the sky. Also, Indians have Fakirs with magic powers, whereas we have angry mothers toting sandals. The threat just isn't the same. I guess we won't merge with India in the end after all. But, maybe we won't need too.

Let us hope that all those classic Western Propaganda movies are all true and that a fleet of metallic Chinese aliens are really on their way to liberate us. That would really be our biggest laugh. Who needs to start a global incident when we have distant alien relatives who can do it for us? Independence day? INDEED! If we Chinese can ever manage to make it into space, I say we spend all our GDP on making a huge sign in space designating earth as a large inter-galactic discount market. If that doesn't bring our Chinese alien brethren a-running, then nothing will. I just hope that they have good flying saucer pilots... it would be a shame to have to clean up a transtellar fender-bender. Conquest will be even easier now that all the US's guns have conveniently been replaced with walkie-talkies. Dirk Fung phone home, bitches. Dirk Fung phone home.

2005-05-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

These are the days when you should just forget your worries and pretend that you are dead. Sure, life may pass you by, but in the great sphere of things that may not be so bad.

Oh, those Xuangs. What crazy mischief will they get up to next?

2005-05-05T14:28:00.000-07:00

It was a cold cold day, with lots of snow and disgustingness. Our small asian cars are no match for an unexpected cold snap, so I did what any enterprising person would do: I stayed home. The same couldn't be said of my friend, Nikita Xuang, who needed to pick up some books from my place. I said sure, no problem, she could come by any time. I stayed snuggly in my bed until my doorbell ring, and sure enough there was a red-cheeked Nikita Xuang standing at my door. Handing her the books, she said her thank-yous and apologized that she had to run since she was late for work and she had left her car on.

I returned back to the sweet sweet warmth of my room only to be woken up abruptly by another doorbell. Sure enough, there was Nikita Xuang, even more red cheeked than before. She was looking embarassed, and that made me feel embarassed, so you can understand the awkwardness that ensued when I forgot to let her in. I'm not sure what it was, but I instantly got the feeling that I was not going to be allowed to return to the warmth of my bed. "What's wrong?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Meekly, she turned to me and said "I locked the keys in the car. And the car is still running."

Well, running outside in my pjs I ran around the car only to see that yes, it was on, and yes, the keys were inside, and yes, there was no way to get it open. I also got really cold. Running back into the house, I gave her a cold stare. I knew that she was going to make me wait out by the car with her. I was so mad. Fortunately, her brother Julien Xuang was home, and he had a spare set.

How would one describe Julien Xuang? Heart of gold, lazy as a sloth. Needless to say, he blew up when he found out that Nikita had locked the keys, and it took a really long time to convince him to get off his butt. He finally agreed and we went outside to meet him. An hour later, we decided that he was going to take his sweet ass time, and decided to have a snowball fight. There were only minor injuries on her part, but that's only because I get aggressive and competitive when I'm cold. Finally, Julien arrived.

Julien unlocked the car and took out the keys. Now that I was cold, wet, and awake, I couldn't prevent myself from plugging him in the head with a snowball. Julien, who also has bouts of competitiveness, went nuts and pounced on me, giving me a darn good snowjob. I returned the favor to both him and Nikita as well. Finally, they were ready to leave. See ya! I said. But WAIT! Oh, those crazy Xuangs. It seems Julien lost his keys rolling around in the snow.

An hour and much shovelling of the road later, Julien found his keys. I was now not only angry, wet, cold, and awake, but now I was in the mood to do something and not just stay home. Don't ask why, I must be part Yeti. Well, we decided that since the day was ruined we'd go to a mall. Wonderfully, the mall was quite nice and for once nothing went wrong. We even dropped by and saw Nikita's mechanic boyfriend, who laughed at the Xuangs for their incompetence.

The day came to an end, and we headed back to the car. Nikita and Julien Xuang pulled out their keys and tried the doors, and to their shock discovered that the key woudn't turn. "Oh no!!!" they exclaimed in unison. "The doors have frozen shut!" I put my hands on my face in disgust. For half an hour they went to work on the car, trying to get the locks to defrost. I was angry. Finally, Nikita decided to go in an tell her mechanic boyfriend that we needed help.

While she was gone, Julien looked around in anger. All of a sudden, his eyes flashed wide open. "Oh wait, this isn't my car." he said.

I don't need to tell you that neither I nor Nikita's boyfriend were amused. Looking back, I have to say that I am impressed that the Xuangs can make it through every day life without causing severe irreparable damage to the solar system. As for me, I went back to bed and stayed their, vowing never to show my head until spring or supper, whichever came first.

2005-05-04T14:09:00.000-07:00

Wow, ladies. Don't you just want to hop into that hot tub and paint his toenails and give him braids? I'm sorry, but I sure hope that water is chlorinated.

Bon Jovi may be rich and famous, but at least I still have my natural hair.

2005-05-04T13:28:00.000-07:00

It doesn't surprise me that all these famous actors and actresses have shiny firm buttoxes. We all know that Bon Jovi lost his hair in the 80s and has since been compensating with comb-overs and toupees and the odd transplant. He's pulled it off quite well, and many fans still have not yet come to terms with his false-follicles. We've all seem the commercial where the man jumps in a pool only to lose his toupee... and then, in the next seen, his hair stays firmly on. How? How is this possible? No, the man didn't sacrifice a goat to Allah, he simply used one of many hair regrowth techniques that are available from online pharmacies. For example, Rogaine is pretty popular! I decided that I would learn a bit more about Rogaine to figure out exactly what technique Bon Jovi uses these days. The first page I hit did not instill me with confidence:

ROGAINE SAFETY:

A small percentage of users, about 6%, experience scalp irritation. If that happens to you, make sure you wash your hair with a gentle shampoo — like PROGAINE®. You can also use a mild dandruff shampoo twice a week to help keep your scalp healthy. You might also temporarily switch to Men's Rogaine Regular Strength. If the irritation still doesn't clear up, see your doctor.

Sure, if I wasn't satisfied with ROGAINE burning my scalp, I'll be sure to run out and by PROGAINE. After all, they are only made by THE SAME COMPANY. Idiots. Progaine my burning ass. Well, I have to admit that Bon Jovi must put his scalp through some wear and tear in order to be cool. What else might we discover?

ROGAINE EXTRA STRENGTH IS NOW AVAILABLE OVER THE COUNTER WITHOUT A PRESCRIPTION!

Well, that settles it. Extra strength and regular strength Rogaine must be a placebo. If not, they wouldn't sell it over the counter. Using basic deduction, that means that Bon Jovi most likely uses something more powerful. But HARK! Whatever could it be? Let's keep reading:

DON'T be alarmed if you experience a temporary increase in hair loss during the first few weeks of treatment. The increased shedding may occur as part of the hair growth cycle. New growth will follow the brief shedding period.

Luverly! I always wanted to lose the rest of my hair! You know why there is a shedding period? So that you can't return to the product. You'll become hooked, like it's a drug. Bon Jovi is a rock 'n roller, so I bet he got hooked on it. Plus, it's probably cheaper than cocaine and more readily available. Maybe he is shot up with Rogaine after all then... but, if Rogaine is a placebo drug, then how does it explain how he has hair? The answer: really really really expensive coloured horsehair transplants. The kind that you and I could only dream of.

Yes, indeed Bon Jovi has it all. But, after giving it some careful consideration, I think I'd rather be bald and chinese than a hairy centaur.

2005-05-03T09:49:00.000-07:00

ONE! ONE lost child latching onto me! Someone get me ONE giant stick! Ah ah ah!

Why I never did quite get along with the number 2.

2005-05-03T09:10:00.000-07:00

People sometimes think that it is crazy that I associate colours and attributes with numbers and letters, but I don't think that I am alone in the universe. I remember how it all started....started...started...ssstttaaarrrttteeeddd...

When I was 2 years old, I received a numbers puzzle. Each number was in a different colour, and to this day I remember them:

1 - White, 2 - Baby Blue, 3 - Yellow, 4 - Green, 5 - White (sometimes very light brown, this may have been because I got food stains on it), 6 - Red, 7 - Purple, 8 - Yellow, 9 - Brown, 0 - Black.

It wasn't long before I also started associating other characteristics to numbers as well, such as 3 being fuzzy, 6 being serious, and 4 making me hungry. There were always two numbers that I could never find myself having an interest in, and those were 2 and 9, in particular 2. Starting off, without any bias, I must admit that I always considered all the numbers to be male, in particular the number 5, who was the toughest of all the numbers. 2, on the other hand, was a huge sissy. It was the limp-wristed number, not really assertive enough to claim it's place in the number path. Also, if I was a number, I wouldn't want to be baby blue. Who wants to be baby blue? Nobody, that's who. If you think about the number 22, it is clearly feminine, even though it is comprised of two male 2's. Consider the number 50, how strong and magestic does it seem? 50. Power. 50 rocks. 33 is a little too fuzzy, like a small yellow Quebecois duck named Quin Quin whom I once knew in my youth. I have nothing against women, but as a little boy I grew up idolizing Optimus Primes and not April O'neals.

The number 2 is also associated with other lousy things, such as 'taking a number two' and coming in second behind stupid Meredith Kam science queen. In a car, second gear is the least used of all the gears, and the word 'pair' is yellow and green. All in all, there is a very small case that can be made for the number 2. When I was a kid, we were asked in class what our favorite numbers were. All the cool kids said 4 or 5. all the girls said 7 or 8. I said 3 to be different, plus I was wearing a fuzzy shirt at the time. Michael Hung said 2, and I couldn't help myself but make fun of him. When he started crying the numbers game came to an abrupt end and I was banished to the hallway in shame.

The letter B is a lot like the number 2 in many ways, even though the letter B is yellow and not baby blue. Really, what is the point of the letter B? I always like the letter C, although I could never determine what gender it was. The letter C is a dark purple, and it has a very interesting sheen, almost like ebony or grape juice. The letter C, unlike the number 2, also makes me hungry. As you may recall, the number 4 makes me hungry, but more for a noodle dish whereas the letter C is more of a desert craving. Interestingly enough, the Detroit Lions' uniform always made me yearn for icecream, even though the uniform is quite similar in colour to the number 2. In fact, all this talk about the number 4 and the letter C and the Detroit Lions' uniform has made me hungry. I'll catch you soon after I have been fed. Sucks to be you, number 2.

2005-05-02T07:57:00.000-07:00

Don't worry, religious nuts! I only gave Pedro Carlos de Jesus the finger. But you have to admit the bobbleheads are cute.

Jesus cut me off so I gave him the finger. I gave him the finger and then some.

2005-05-02T06:43:00.000-07:00

I don't need to tell you that driving in Hong Kong is difficult enough without people being bastards, so when I got cut off yesterday I was pretty mad. I'm a pretty defensive driver, and I have learned a lot of valuable lessons from my dad who has never been in an accident or received a speeding ticket. In life, my father is a huge germaphobe, and so he adapts those lessons to the road. The philosophy is simple: treat everyone else on the road like germs, and you don't want to get sick so STAY AWAY. Ahead of you is AIDS, behind you is LEPROSY, on your left is MALARIA, and on your right is SARS. Remember! YOU DON'T WANT TO GET SICK! Well, that's how I learned and that's what I do, albeit with a lot less paranoia than my dad. Needless to say, I was really surprised when I got cut off by Jesus.

Well, I'm not 100% sure that it was Jesus, but his license plate said Jesus, the same as ours says Fung, and he had little Jesus statues and fish all over his car, the same as we have little Fung statues and fish on our dash, and he was blasting Christian rock, the same way I was blasting Chinese pop. I quickly accelerated and decided that it would be most prudent if I cut him off in revenge. Needless to say, I am not a pro aggresive driver as I have never seen Fast and the Furious or any other Vin Diesel movie (a proud accomplishment, mind you!). All the same, I sped like nuts until we were side by side and I was able to get a good luck at Jesus. Jesus didn't look the same way as I thought he would, a lot more Mexican than the history books led me to believe. All the same, our eyes locked in a test of strength, and I could tell that it wouldn't be long before his Acura out-muscled my Honda. Pushing the limits, I decided to try a stunt and took one hand off the wheel. With all my might and impunity, I waved my middle finger at him in delight. Jesus look dumbfounded, and quietly backed off. I sped off happily and content in the knowledge that I had won one of these stupid little man battles, and that my pride was in check. Even the speeding ticket I ultimately received didn't sour my encounter and victory over Jesus.

2005-05-01T13:03:00.000-07:00

Boooo! Boooo! Hissssss! Boooo, Ex-girlfriend! Booooo! Hissssss! Hisssss! A pox on thee! Booooooooo!

It's over? What do you mean it's over? Oh, you mean it's over.

2005-05-01T12:07:00.000-07:00

It was a good romp while it lasted, but I am sad to say that I received the e-mail of doom this morning from my dear sweet online j-date girlfriend Heather. I could tell that she was being sincere by her use of a serif font, and way she included a semi-colon (we used to say that the semi-colon was our punctuation mark... awwww...). Although, admittedly I had my suspicions that it wasn't going to last, I still don't understand why it ended so abruptly. I can't quite understand female reasoning at the best of times, and this was no exception. Maybe you can help me out:

What does "we're too different and way too similar" mean? Wait, you might not understand it either if I just say it like that. Let me use it in the context that she used it in: "Dirk, we're too different and way too similar." Does that help? See, if we are different and similar, which needless to say is a conflicting statement in itself, then wouldn't we both average out mathmatically to equilibrium? How can anyone be upset with equilibrium? We spend our entire lives hunting for equilibrium and, if my calculations are correct, indirectly by her assessment a state of equilibrium was not to her satisfaction. Therefore, she must be crazy.

When a girl says that we don't talk enough, does that mean that we don't talk enough in terms of quality of conversations or in quantity? Is it unreasonable to assume that since I am so wonderful, all I needed to do was e-mail her more? And, if quantity was really the issue, then shouldn't speaking on MSN messenger technically count as the sending and receiving of hundreds of tiny e-mails? Wouldn't it be inappropriate if I flooded her inbox every day? If she wanted me to flood her inbox every day, then she must be crazy.

If a girl uses the cry-face emoticon, does it mean that she is actually crying or is it just a ploy to make me feel guilty? I always get confused with that, as people abuse it way to often. Maybe all those times when she was emoticon crying at me she was actually crying, and I was being an ass with all my replies of guy-sticking-tongue-out emoticons. But then, if that was the case, then why didn't she say anything before? Why do girls build everything up and then purge in one mighty swoop? I'm malleable, I can change! If she was crying all those times, then why didn't she say anything? There's only one explanation I can think of. She must be crazy.

Well Heather, if this is goodbye then I am going to end it on my terms with a melange of the classics: Heather, it's not me, it's you. That's right, you heard me. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life thinking about what might have been... you had gold, Heather, GOLD, and you let it slip away. Do you think I'm lowly? Do you think I'm pathetic? Do you think I'm crap? Well Heather, I've got news for you. I'm champagne! And you're crap! You will always be crap! And until the day you die, you will always be crap!

...*sobs*....

...*sobs*....

...*sobs*....

I TAKE IT ALL BACK! I LOVE YOU! I LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE YOU! GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE! PLEAAAAASE! PLEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSE!!!!!

It is really hard to type with your elbows.

2005-05-01T12:05:00.000-07:00

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Well, that made no sense. If this is art, then people are stupid.

2005-04-30T10:35:00.000-07:00

I honestly don't know how to caption this photo. There is nothing I can say that it hasn't already.

The highlights and lowlights of Uglynerdfest 2005.

2005-04-30T09:21:00.000-07:00

I'm kicking myself for writing that post on Yao now because, alas, again I need to rag on nerds and I've thus far tried my best not to repeat topics. I have to say that my experience today was one of the funniest ever, and I promise to do my best when describing it to you. First off, let me say that I have never been to a Sports Memorabilia convention before, but man what I was expecting was nothing like what I got. I was provided the opportunity to help my friend Jason Chiu's cousin Tommy Chiu out with a booth, and I was excited for the job since I am a huge sports fan. I suppose the best way to describe the Hong Kong National Sports Exhibition is in the following format:

1. Nerd life parallels ghetto drug deals.

A short shifty man sidles up to Tommy and puts his arm around him. Looking around suspiciously, he hands Tommy a crumpled piece of paper and tells him that this is what he needs. Tommy reads it over cautiously, and whispers back that he'll have the stash ready by midday. The shifty man nods, tells Tommy that he owes him one and is in his debt, and scuttles off into a crowd.

Midday arrives and the short shifty man comes back. Tommy hands him a small box and, looking around carefully to make sure no one is around, the man opens it and foams at the mouth. Pulling out an unnecessarily gigantic ball of $100 bills, the man paid Tommy his fee and tells him that he'll be back for more later and that he's a good man. The shifty man then proceeded to take the box and disappear nervously, presumably afraid of either the police or children with muddy fingers. I asked Tommy what the whole thing was about, and he handed me the piece of paper. Apparently, this seemingly illegal deal was nothing more than a standard legitimate purchase of Hockey cards. Go figure.

2. Fanny packs and the mysteries that lie within.

I haven't seen so many people wearing fanny packs in a really really really long time. Just about everyone at the convention had a fanny pack, and was seemingly sporting it with pride. A large man wearing a Star Wars shirt came up to Tommy's booth and nervously requested several cards. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, Tommy opened a box and withdrew the five cards. The Star Wars man began to perspire as he saw the coveted cards on the table. Throwing a shifty glance behind him, he proceeded to slowly open his fanny pack. I have never seen so much care being used in fanny pack openage before. Finally, he dug his hand in and withdrew a single card in a plastic case. Handing it to Tommy in a very feminine manner (pinky up), the man held his breath while Tommy considered.

Tommy told him that it would only cover half the cost, and that he would have to pay the rest in cash. The man blanched and his eyes went wide open. He was caught. Now not only did Tommy know what was in his fanny pack, but I did too. He had only two choices: complete the trade, or murder both of us right there. Fortunately, he opted for the former. Withdrawing a stupidly large wad of hundred dollar bills from his fanny pack, he paid Tommy the difference and sneered. Tommy shrugged and said thank you. All this fuss over 5 cards? The world has gone mad, I tells ya.

3. What is so special indeed.

Needless to say, I know nothing about the sports card business. I can't understand how one little piece of cardboard can be worth so much, or why so many poor nerds were so interested in it. On our little table we had several full boxes of cards for sale, and I quickly mastered at selling them since the price was clearly marked with a post-it note. The only problem is that I didn't know the difference between any of the boxes, and my answers to the questions may have not been all that accurate. My most common answer was "You might get something good in this one." or, my personal favorite, "Sidney Crosby." I don't know anything about hockey, but everyone was talking big about this Sidney Crosby guy, so I played along. Everything was Sidney Crosby. Yes, this box has Sidney Crosby. Sure, why not. It's a free country.

Well, a huge nerd asked me what the difference between two identical boxes that were priced differently was. I told him that the expensive one had something something Sidney Crosby. He smiled and pulled out a stash of Sidney Crosby cards from his fanny pack and tried showing off to me. I furrowed my brows, not knowing what to say. Finally, I decided that "Wow, cool." was suitable, and the man purchased two boxes of the potentially Sidney Crosby potential ones (using a huge wad of hundred dollar bills). Hey, whatever helps him sleep at night.

4. Even rich nerds have trouble buying friends and keeping them in their original packaging.

Well, this fat little man and his little son were wandering around pulling deals left and right. This man was literally leaving a trail of hundred dollar bills wherever he went. All his son had to do was point at an object, and the man would buy several of it. Apparently, this dude was a regular john, and so everyone was getting ready to prostate themselves (hyuk hyuk hyuk) for his business. The man came up to Tommy's counter and greeted him jovially, hundred dollar bills periodically falling out of his nose. Tommy was quite nice to him, even though I could tell that he didn't much like this man other than the fact that he was a giant nerd with money to waste. The man's boychild pointed at some cards, which Tommy happily sold to him.

As the day wore on, the man would return and have his boychild pick out more junk. This man was talking about how he wanted to have a shrine of Wayne Gretzky in his house (who is he, a goalie?), and how he had just purchased several game-worn jerseys. No matter how cheery the man was, I could see a desperate cry for help in his eyes. "I have no friends." his eyes said. "I am so lonely. I would pay anything to have a friend who isn't imaginary" Unfortunately, we didn't sell that sort of thing at our booth, so we weren't able to help him out in the end.

5. Conclusions and final sales.

I have to say that all in all my experience at the convention was a laugh. Sure, arguing with huge nerds isn't necessarily the best way to spend one's time, but when would I have had the opportunity to be in a room with so many ugly and smelly people toting huge balls of cash? Never, that's when. And, even though the room was filled mostly of pimply men and lesbians and, even though money was changing hands over junk and, even though most of the patrons were really some of the saddest people ever to walk the earth, I still had a good time knowing that I was their King, for I have friends. In truth, who would give up being King for a day? No one, that's who.

2005-04-29T11:03:00.000-07:00

It's amazing the wonders that a good poop can do. Putting your hair in a bun helps too.

Move over, Atkins. The Dirk diet kicks your monkey ass.

2005-04-29T10:17:00.000-07:00

With today's modern trends towards dieting and conforming growing, a lot of smart people have been raking it in at the expense of the ignorant. Atkins, for example, advocated a low-carb diet that grasped the attention of the world, despite obvious health risks such as it not working. Even Oprah Winfrey has her own weight-management series that is also a load of crap, as was proven by her frequent blimp-to stick-to blimp-to stickage metamorphosis. In truth, the only tried and tested way of losing weight is good 'ol bulimia and anorexia, and even then there are health concerns. There is no perfect alternative. That is, until now.

As a skinny man who has been skinny since his inception, I have never had the need to resort to dieting or weight management practices or even, psssht, exercise. No matter how much I ate, no matter how lazy I was, no matter how much butter I put on my bacon, I always maintained my lean physique. When I turned 23 however, my body started to change and I realized for the first time ever that I was developing a man-belly. At first I was quite proud, and took great care to show it off at any given opportunity. It wasn't until my mother, who is a supporter of aesthetics and health practices, told me that it was unattractive and unhealthy, that I decided the need for action was apparent. I decided to try any diet that did not affect the quantity or quality of the food that I eat or require me to do any exercise or make changes to my lifestyle in any way. I was surprised to learn that such a diet did not exist. So, like any true innovative lazy person, I decided to wing it.

"Gut," I said. "I want you to shrink slightly."

The next day I had a good poop and a miracle happened. I had washboard abs again! Well, not quite washboard, more like burlap. This was amazing! I decided to try this again to see if I could do it again. I spent the rest of the day eating salted meats, cake, eggs, and some fried green salad. By the end of my feast, I had a nice round one-pack again, and I was feeling quite proud. To cap it all off, I went to sleep right away. Sure enough, the next morning I was quite fat and bloated.

"Gut," I said. "It's time to rock and roll."

A lengthy poop later I was back to my old self. Repeating the experiment several times for the next few weeks led me to obtain the same results. Sure enough, pooping was the ultimate equalizer. This was a miraculous medical breakthrough. I was liable to win a nobel peace prize for this, even though the connection of my discovery to the award is slim to none. Well, have decided to copywrite my diet and am planning to release it into the world by the fall. For you loyal Dirk Fung readers, however, here is a sneak preview:

Are you tired of diets that don't work? Has Atkins given you one or several heart attacks? Has exercise left you feeling tired and sore and slightly moist in normally dry areas? Do you have trouble doing sit-ups like that retarded woman on Tony Little's infomercial? Has anorexia left you feeling weak or dead? Well, forget all this junk of the past, because the new DIRK FUNG diet is here!

The secret is simple: eat as much as you want, and poop regularly. There's no need to change your lifestyle! There is no equipment to buy, and no exercise required! And best of all, it works!

Calista Flockhart says, "Before, my spine had trouble keeping me upright. Now, I can be the cowboy! Thank you Dirk Fung!"

One of those stupid Olsen sisters said, "I now more eat, yum yum, poop good feel yum! Thank Dirk Fung, raaaa raaa raa."

Rosie O'Donnell, "The day I diet is the day that the world burns in Hell. Thank you Dirk Fung!"

Previously Obese Monkey, "EEEK!!"

Yao may be tall, rich, and talented, but he's ill-equipped for saving himself money on his tax returns.

2005-04-29T09:31:00.000-07:00

NBA star Yao Ming (left) was lucky that basketball saved him from being just another huge Chinese nerd, as is depicted by our artist's rendition (right).

Lamentations:

I wonder if his parents are happy with his chosen profession.

I always mused as to what the smiling teacher in these types of photos is thinking. It's probably something along the lines of "Muhaha, I am breeding huge nerds."

Why is the huge nerd in the centre of nerd photos never smiling?

Why are the other nerds in nerd photos smiling? What do they have smile about? They're nerds!

If I was Yao, I'd be unhappy if I was a huge nerd also.

2005-04-28T08:20:00.000-07:00

A bird's eye view of a pair of Chinese Oreos. Knowing today's messed up society, I wouldn't be surprised if they become popular following a long and over-priced ad campaign featuring Paris Hilton and some form of talking rodentia.

New Chinese Oreos are a poor man's substitute for the real thing.

2005-04-28T07:53:00.000-07:00

Well Nabisco*, you've done it again. You've taken a classic and popular product and plum done gone ruined it. I thought it was bad enough when they changed the name of Happy Bear Sweet Little Cookies to the less interesting Teddy Grahams, but now they have gone to far. With the release of new Chinese Oreos, or 'Chinoreos' as the commercial nicknames them, not only is there a hole in the middle but they are also made with wheatgerm and smoked salmon. The Nabisco people have sold their souls and have damaged their company's good image for the last time, for in retaliation I have decided to compose a strong worded letter.

To whom it may concern at Nabisco,

You wife has been cheating on you for the past 2 years. I have proof, but consider her behavior of late and you will know that it is true. Don't feel sorry for your newborn son, you should focus your energies on the difficult months ahead. Besides, he's not yours anyways.
Sincerly,

A friend.

P.s. Please stop making Chinese Oreos. They are awful.

I tried dunking my Chinoreos in milk, but couldn't get past the second bite once the milk turned green. I'm not sure why I bought these anyways. What was I thinking? Really, sometimes my decision-making mechanism goes on the fritz.

Hey look! German Wheatabix is coming out!

*In order to avoid legal action, I have decided to change the name of the company to whom I am upset with twice in order to ensure their privacy. Nabisco is really an alias for the REAL culprit Kelloggs which is an alias for the REAL culprit, Nabisco.

You should have told me there was food stuck in my moustache. Now I made an ass out of myself.

2005-04-28T07:28:00.000-07:00

There was this really nice noodle dish I ate last night that had all sorts of interesting vegetables and a selection of meats that I have never seen before. It didn't cost very much, I was quite satisfied when I finished it. As usual, I went with my good friend Nick Greenhouser who quietly nibbled on some rice. We finished our meal, paid the bill, and decided to hit up our local bowling alley. When we arrived, we discovered that there was a lane available right next to these three really really really cute girls. A simple request put us right beside them, and both Nick and I decided to turn on the charm, Nick slightly moreso as he is naturally more charming than I. While Nick chose the slick mysterious approach, kind of like Benicio Del Toro, I decided to be the amusing and entertaining one, kind of like Benicio Del Toro. Telling some of the finest non-offensive jokes I know, like the one about the girl with no arms who fell off the swing, I quickly had the girls laughing and giggling 'kikikikikiki'. Nick was having difficulty keeping up, as the language barrier held him at bay after hello.

Bowling slowly degenerated as we were spending more time talking to the girls. Nick was the only one who was still playing seriously, and held a hefty 63 in the 5th frame versus my meager 18. One of the girls, Linglei I think her name was, made a comment about and lush and full my moustache was. I held myself from the automated response of "you too", and told her thank you, it was my crowning achievement. Another girl, Wing Yin, then said how she loved its hues and tones. I said thank you, Oil of Olay twice a day and a little rubdown before mealtimes helped maintain its natural colour. Finally the last girl, Cheung Ching Yee, told me how she loved the giant egg noodle in my moustache the most. They then proceded to laugh "kikikikikiki" and returned to their game, their interest in me lost forever. Sure enough, feeling my moustache revealed that it was not one but two egg noodles entwined in my moustaches, and that bastard Nick Greenhouser never told me.

I didn't kill Nick then. I'm not sure why, but I suppose it is in my nature to be forgiving. I also felt bad for not telling him that he had sat in soy sauce at the beginning of the evening, soiling an otherwise lovely pair of beige slacks.

2005-04-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

Heather's father the Rabbi seems like a nice guy. It's really a shame that he wants to beat me up.

Rabbi dad meddles with long-distance online relationship.

2005-04-27T10:56:00.000-07:00

I received this e-mail in my inbox this morning from my online j-date girlfriend Heather's father:

Dear Dirk,

I am Heather's father, Rabbi Yitzhak Spiegelman. I was distressed to learn that you have been trying to make friends with my daughter. I think I should tell you that my daughter is destined to marry Jerry Solomon the doctor, a fine jewish boy who has won many awards and earns a respectable salary. I know that his parents are good people, also doctors, and that he will be able to provide a good Jewish upbringing for their many future children, G-d willing. I, on the other hand, know nothing about you or your family. I don't even know if you are Jewish. What is Fung? Moroccan?

Rabbi Yitzhak.

Well, I wasn't sure what to do. This was a delicate situation, and I didn't want to offend the Rabbi. I decided to stick with the proverb that honesty was the best policy.

Dear Rabbi Yitz,

Haro! I am Heather's online j-date boyfriend, Dirk Fung. It may surprise you to learn that I am not Jewish at all. I am from Hong Kong, and my parents raised me with a bizarre Buddhist-Christio-combo upbringing, although I myself have become rather agnostic over the years. I assure you that while I am only a humble computer science student, I will someday be able to provide a moderate condominium on the bus line for your daughter. As for my family, the only one you should be worried about is my little brother Louis who is a little behind on his intellectual development. Otherwise, we're all good!

Dirk Fung.

It wasn't long before a reply found it's way into my inbox.

Dirk,

Chinese!?!? You're Chinese and you expect to date my daughter!? OY VEY! Nonononono, no daughter of mine will ever date a goy, especially not one who is destined to make an average income! I advise you not to speak to my daughter ever again!

Rabbi Yitzhak.

Even though it seems to be a lost cause, I sent this e-mail back that will hopefully change his mind a little.

Rabbi Yitz,

Really, you shouldn't be so upset! You know, we Chinese are really similar to you Jews in many ways. We eat all types of fish, and last time I checked gefilte was a fish. We both are good at Math and Science, we both like good deals, and we both raise our children with healthy doses of guilt and superstition. Why, when I say it like that, it sounds like we're practically family! So, can I continue dating your daughter? What if I agree to wear one of those funny hats? We can also discuss snippage if necessary.

Dirk Fung.

I haven't heard back, but maybe all hope is not yet lost.

China would be a super-power again if we elected a really big rock as our leader.

2005-04-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

With today's modern nuclear arsenal and cowboy presidents, China needs to take a firm stance and reclaim our influence on global policy. It is my opinion that the rest of the world doesn't take us Chinese people seriously since stereotypes infer that our men are mostly nerds and are women all like Hello Kitty. All these Chinese presidents and prime ministers and dictators and officials are all malarkey. We need some real power and real leadership, and we need it today.

Since the dawn of man, we have always had a deep respect for rocks. Who wants to be hit with a rock? Nobody. What happens when you get hit with a rock? You get either hurt or squishified. That is the kind of stigma that needs to be associated with China. Don't piss us off, or you'll get hurt or squishified. We Asians by ourselves are incapable of appropriate hurting or squishification, but if we had a really big rock people would take us more seriously.

I don't know if it is possible to nominate a large rock into office. There may well be certain formalities and applications that I'll need to fill out, but if it helps restore China's national pride it I will gladly sift through the bureaucratic red tape. I also need to determine the large rock's political platform. Should the large rock be in favor of abortion and gay marriage? I say, once the large rock is in power we should trust in his all-knowing judgment. After all, it has taken thousands of years to become the large rock that he is today, how many modern politicians can make the same claim?

We must be careful though. I read once that a giant rock was once elected as Chief of a village in Uganda, but lost a vote of no-confidence shortly after for suspicious dealings with various types of flora and a weak stance on a socialized health care program.

Elect Large Rock. He may not be animate, but he gets the job done.

2005-04-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

Ali the repair guy looks on in horror as my mother forces him into the storage closet. Fortunately, a compromise was reached and Ali was able to leave with all his appendages intact.

Pretending to be Mehboob proves more difficult than previously surmised.

2005-04-26T21:50:00.000-07:00

Samir the satellite dish repair man insisted that he would be down to the house two Wednesdays ago. Our Satellite had been glitchy for a while, and we decided that repair was the only solution. Samir never arrived, and so we called him up. "Mehboob, my old friend? Is an hour okay?" he asked when he picked up. "No, Samir, it's me, Dirk Fung." Samir's tone changed. "Oh, your numbers are similar. I'll be there next week." Well, next week came and there was no Samir. I called Samir on Thursday to find out where he was. "Mehboob, how's it going? Do you need me to come by?" he asked when he picked up. "Er... no, Samir, this is Dirk Fung, you know? You were supposed to be here this week?" Samir sighed. "Look you," he explained. "I'll be down next week, alright?" at which point he hung up. Well, seeing as how I am just as crafty as the next fox, I wasn't about to let Samir get the best of me. I called him back immediately, a plan forming in my head.

Samir picked up. "Mehboob? I am on my way now, is that ok?" I gathered the mental courage and said "Yes Samir, that is great. Only can you meet me somewhere else? Here is the address..." Samir scribbled down the address and told me cheerily that he was on his way. Fifteen minutes later, Samir was at our door. "Hullo, I'm looking for Mehboob?" he asked into our intercom. "Hi Samir, come on up!" I replied, buzzing him in. Within moments, Samir was at our door.

"Where's Mehboob?" he frowned. I invited him in and told him I was Dirk Fung, would he please look at the dish now that he was here. "What have you done with Mehboob?" he demanded. I told him nothing, he must have heard wrong, would he please look at the dish now that he was here. Samir looked our apartment up and down. "I have to find Mehboob." he said finally, and stormed out.

Well, Monday came and I called Samir. "Samir, this is Mehboob." I said. Samir didn't buy it this time. "You listen you, I'm not falling for your lies again! You are not the real Mehboob!" I insisted that I was really Mehboob and even sung a random middle eastern national anthem, possibly Turkmenistan, but still he didn't believe me. Finally, he agreed to come fix the dish on Wednesday.

Well, there is no sign of Samir today, but a gentleman named Ali from the company was kind enough to show up and tell us that our dish was in need of immediate maintenance. He was even so good as to give us the name of one of his colleagues, a gentleman named Mr. Samir, who was an expert on these matters. He also maintained that we call Samir right away and that he provides top quality service. He even told us that his wealthy cousin Mehboob was a very satisfied customer of Samir's and would highly vouch for Samir's services.

It was lucky that my mom acted so quickly. Holding Ali hostage at sporkpoint, we were able to negotiate Samir into finally coming down and fixing our dish. Unfortunately, we learned later, while he was working on our problem, Mehboob was calling frantically to the office in need of emergency service. Since Samir was unavailable, Mehboob got fed up and decided that the service was terrible, promptly switching to digital cable.

Where have all the lovely lovelies gone?

2005-04-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

My good friend Jimmy Kim recently got a new job offer in Korea, forcing him to take a sudden journey to obtain a coveted interview. Packing up, Jimmy was nice enough to leave me in posession of his car, a sporty Porsche 911. Mind you, I have never driven anything that even measures on the most minimum scales of pimpness to this car. This is the kind of car that I have always dreamed I could drive. It was a shiny black beauty with gold trim, an engine that sounds a lot like a jet engine, and the most comfortable seats to ever grace my glutimus maximus. More importantly, Jimmy told me as he was leaving, the car was a chick magnet! I was in for the best week of my life. My skills with women might be gosh-awful, but Porsche has spent years enhancing sexual attraction technology to compensate for their drivers' lack of confidence.

Rolling down the windows and opening the sunroof, I decided to take the car out for a cruise around the neighborhood. The weather has been gorgeous, so I was sure that I was going to find a couple of hot girls wandering around with low cut tops and mini-skirts. I was driving around for a good half-hour, but there weren't any cute girls on the street! In fact, there were only seniors wandering around, and a few men who looked like women. This virgin run turned out to be a huge failure.

The next day, I decided to try siding up to cars and picking up some hot drivers. I was driving down Lei Lung Blvd. when i saw a woman with beautiful gold locks driving a chiq SUV just ahead of me. When the light turned red and she slowed down, I saw my window of opportunity. Rolling down my window and blasting Fitty Cent (spelt correctly), I creeped up and gave her the Far East side salute. It wasn't until I got a good look at her that I realized that she was in her late forties, or possibly early eighties. Speeding off, I changed the station to the traffic network and took a cold shower when I got home.

The rest of the week wasn't much better. Whenever I was in the car, there wasn't a hot girl to be found. Jimmy is coming back tomorrow, and I haven't once had the opportunity to take advantage of my temporarily inherited pimposity. Tonight I am going to drive downtown to some nightclubs and circle until I get lucky. I am also bring my friend Nick Greenhouser along to keep an eye out for cougars. Those cougars are sneaky, I tell ya. Wish me luck! Oh, and don't tell Heather!

2005-04-25T11:53:00.000-07:00

Wow, can you feel the excitement? How could I have NOT picked Saskatchewan?

Szechuan, Saskatchewan, and Stupid Shannanigans are all S words relating to this story.

2005-04-25T11:26:00.000-07:00

When I was living and going to school in Canada, we needed to do a project about any of the Canadian provinces. Because the teacher knew that everyone was going to choose Ontario, she deliberately assigned each student with a particular province. With my luck, I ended up getting Saskatchewan. Back then, I wasn't the powderkeg of knowledge that I am today, plus my engrish wasn;t so gooder.,!;). Being the over achiever that I am, I accidentally misunderstood the assignment and did a whole project and display on Szechuan. My teacher laughed when she realized my folly, and explained to me what a Saskatchewan was and how it was different from Szechuan.

My project was rag-tag and ineffective, and I couldn't understand why anyone would live in a place so boring. I did draw a nice picture of a train, though. Well, my assignment was destined to be mediocre, but I was determined to do well on the test! I studied hard, got some of the local Chinese kids to help me out a little, and learned every detail possible about Saskatchewan.

On test day, I couldn't have felt more positive. I was going to ace this test. The teacher handed it out and, as a joke, whispered loud enough for everyone to hear that my test was on Saskatchewan, not Szechuan. The children laughed. My A+ would be my revenge. Looking down the list of questions, I was stopped abruptly at number one. This is what I read.

1) Why did you pick Saskatchewan?

I couldn't believe it. I didn't pick Saskatchewan, it was assigned! This test was one big lie! Who was she, trying to hoodwink me? I flailed my arms until she came and explained to her why the question was erroneous. She responded by telling me that I was being disruptive and would have to finish the test in the hall by myself if I kept it up. I threw my pencil across the room in protest and folded my arms. She overpowered my quicker than I expected and I soon found myself banished into the hallway.

I decided that instead of wasting my time writing a test on Saskatchewan, a part of the world that really has nothing to do with anything, I would go with my initial gut feeling and write the best exam possible on Szechuan, about why I picked Szechuan, the main exports of Szechuan, the food of Szechuan, and why, if I had the choice, I would choose to live in Szechuan where I would never be subjected to silly tests on Saskatchewan. Sometimes, getting a zero is a fair price to pay in order to stage an important political protest and/or coup.

Uh oh. Who would have thought that it would be Monday so soon.

2005-04-25T10:44:00.000-07:00

Uh oh. I think I may have misinformed my little brother about what day it was. On Sundays, I usually drive Louis to his swimming lessons, but today I felt lazy, so I told him to get a one-way ticket on the bus and that I'd pick him up when the class was over. I was watching the weather network when all of a sudden I realized that not only was it Monday and not Sunday, and not only had I forgotten to take Louis to his swim lessons the day before, and not only had I just sent Louis out to the middle of nowhere by himself on a fruitless errand, but that I was also late for school!

Gathering my stuff, I ran out of the house as fast as possible. Louis! Poor Louis! What had I done, sending poor Louis out to his swim lessons! The poor guy was probably sitting there for 3 hours by now waiting for his class! On the bright side, if he had already waited 3 hours, he wouldn't mind waiting an extra 2 while I went to my class and had some lunch.

After lunch, I became nervous again. Poor Louis was probably still there and, most likely, had soiled the changeroom. I felt terrible. I had to get him right away, just as soon as I finished a couple of games of pool with some friends.

Well, I couldn't believe how fast time was going! My afternoon class was about to start. But really, it is unfair to make Louis wait for so long. An argument on the side of practicality won me over and so I decided to get him right after my class with no delay.

When class finished, I bolted towards the door. I'm coming Louis, I'm coming, just hang on for a little while longer! I ran and ran home, stopping only briefly to chat with cute Cheryl Kung and get a haircut. Finally making it into my car, I sped away quickly, hoping that Louis was still alive and in positive spirits. Speeding through downtown Hong Kong, stopping only for an oil change and a sandwich, I made it to the swimming place. Louis was sitting outside on the front steps, a look of disgust on his face. Getting into the car, he sulked quietly while I tried to apologize.

Louis still isn't talking to me. I was bothered a little bit at first, but then remembered the gibberish that Louis was prone to orating. On the whole, I think I did myself a favor today by abandoning him. I'm still toying with the idea of telling him that tomorrow is also Sunday. Heh heh heh.

2005-04-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

Lenny Huang, you would maybe enrich our lives if we would ever be lucky enough to possibly meet you someday.

Random guy gets a post written about him on Dirk Fung's website.

2005-04-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

I've never met Lenny Huang. To the best of my knowledge, we are not related in any way, nor do any of my friends or family know him either. I have never seen him wandering around, nor am I privvy to any information on who he is or where he is. I know absolutely nothing about Lenny Huang. So why am I showcasing him, then? Well, the way I see it, everyone in the world is equal. No one is better than anyone else. Just because I don't know someone doesn't mean that they don't deserve an equal opportunity to appear on my site. In holding with my beliefs, Lenny Huang, this post is for you.

It's pretty hard to write a post about someone who you have never seen or met, and Lenny Huang, you are no exception. I'd love to tell a great story about a time we went fishing but, unfortunately, we have never gone fishing. I would also like to perhaps embellish an adventure that may or may not be fictional that we have shared, but I won't allow my loyal readers to be misled (all 7 of you! How I love you so!). All I can really do is speculate. And that's just what I'll do.

Lenny Huang looks like a nice guy. I imagine he'd have a great sense of humour and an interest in an unconventional hobby, like gopher poaching. Lenny Huang probably has very strong and supple calf muscles from years of riding a bicycle that is a little to small for him. Lenny Huang's parents are probably named George and Harriett Huang, and he probably has a little sister named Penny Huang. Furthermore, Lenny Huang is an excellent conversationalist. You can give him any topic and he can discuss it while displaying only the slightest pangs of ignorance. In truth, the only thing bigger than Lenny Huang's smile is his heart. You're the man, Lenny Huang.

And, shoud by happenstance Lenny Huang stumble upon this website and discover this post, I hope he appreciates me taking the time to give him a few minutes of appreciation. After all, Lenny Huang has earned it. Probably.

! are from Mars, ? are from Venus.

2005-04-24T09:58:00.000-07:00

It is my belief that punctuation is an untapped historical tomb that holds deep insight into socialized gender trends. We always take punctuation for granted and abuse it at any given instance, especially on term papers that were due yesterday. In particular, two types of punctuation strike me as heavily gender oriented. The exclamation point reflects the Male character, and the question mark reflects the female character. Don't believe me? Like any good research paper, here are three supporting arguments:

1) SHAPE. If you look at the two points, it is clear the exclamation point is noticeably phallic in nature. It's rigid stem marked by a single point offers an insight into the seeds of life, the place of man, and the foundation of masculinity. A man is rigid and straight, and is fairly uninteresting to look at. The question mark, however, can be found in the shape of either a woman's buttox or a naval during pregnancy or even a womb. It is curvy, like a woman, and interesting, like a woman. The token dot at it's base is also a sign of the seed of life.

2) NAME. The very name EXCLAMATION POINT and QUESTION MARK reflects the natural character of both males and females respectively. Males are very direct. Men act boldly with little regard to consequence. However, our direct approach is often tactical, and involves practicality, rationality, and logic, and is good when you need something done quickly. A woman is more methodical, and tends to analyze aspects to a greater extent. There can never be enough questions, and one can never rule out the need for patience and emotional sensitivity. A woman questions everything and takes a lot longer to get things done, but ultimately their solutions last longer than the smash-and-go approach of the 'exclaimed' males.

3) USE. Any sentence can be made to sound more masculine by use of an exclamation point. In contrast, any sentence can be made to sound more feminine by use of a question mark. Allow me to demonstrate:

Should we ask for directions? vs. I know where I'm going!
Do I look fat in this dress? vs. My silence implies nothing!
Why don't we ever talk any more? vs. Be quiet, I can't hear the TV!
Do you love me? vs. I love you! I love you! For gosh sakes, I love you already!
Question mark? vs. Exclamation point!

You see, the trick is that we men exclaim where women question. It's subtle, and the founding fathers of the language probably tried to slip it in just as a ha-ha. Well, in any case, there's no fooling ol' Dirk. Or, better yet,

THERE'S NO FOOLING OL' DIRK!!!!!
(addendum: the more exclamation points used, the more masculine said statement sounds.)

2005-04-23T10:28:00.000-07:00

Just having one pirate on my site already makes it a much nicer place to visit. Yaaar indeed.

Everything TV show can be improved with the inclusion of either a pirate or a monkey.

2005-04-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

It's amazing what crap there is on TV. Even some of the more popular dramas involve about 45 minutes of cold stares and only 2 minutes of actual plot advancement. The worst has to be Soap Operas. I don't know if you have ever watched a Chinese Soap Opera, but it is quite different from those in North America and the UK. In North America, Soap Operas deal with wealthy people with lots of lies and scandal and betrayal. In the UK, Soap Operas deal with poor people living in poor neighborhoods with lots of lies and scandal and betrayal. In Hong Kong, Soap Operas deal with everyday people doing the absolute weirdest stuff. An episode can consist of anything from an adventure to buy toe-nail clippers to a full-blown conspiracy to invade Lichtenstein. I have seen people dance on couches, men who look and talk like women turn out to be heterosexual men victimized by poor cinematography and audio equipment and, the worst, some of the ugliest teeth that television has ever seen. Comedies on TV aren't much better... I hate watching these shows full of people with nothing better to do. If I wanted to see a show about people with nothing to do, I would look in a mirror and improvise witty dialog. But, let it never be said that I am an unfair critic! I am a large advocate of CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, so after much thought I would like to present to you my solution.

First of all, every television show needs a monkey. A monkey adds a dynamic to the show that cannot be replicated with human characters. I think it has to do with the random spontaneity of a monkey, you know, that kind of "can't be controlled without electro-shocks" aspects. A monkey is both cute and deadly, as was demonstrated when Mr. Bumbles nearly mauled Bea Arthur to death on camera in the 1986 classic "Dinner with Simon". The other element that is sure to improve any TV show is a pirate. He doesn't have to have any lines or do anything in particular, so long as he is allowed to wander around aimlessly and every now and again loot and pillage in the background. The occasional 'yaaar' is bound to boost ratings by at least 3 points. Don't believe me? Watch and learn.

Don't you tell me to chillax, Yvonne Pui!

2005-04-23T09:29:00.000-07:00

I can't keep up with modern street-speak. Some of it just goes beyond my primitive understanding of communication, and rather than try to adapt myself to the bold and new I have decided to resist kicking and screaming. This may not have been the most prudent of choices, as I have learned in my youth that one can get by using simple nods of acknowledgement with the odd repetition of slang. However, there is only so much a person can take before one questions the very destruction of society itself.

I remember one day in elementary school when a kid named William Ng came and asked me if I wanted a stick of gum. I said sure, and reached out to take a piece. All of a sudden, he yanked the gum away and yelled "SIKE!" I didn't know what that meant, and all the kids laughed at me. William thought it was the funniest thing ever, and refused to let me in on the joke. I don't mind having a joke at my expense, so long as I understand the humour behind it. Given the circumstances, and running through the possible meanings behind the word sike, I was drawing a blank. I composed a simple formula in my head based on what he had said to me and took a blind stab in the dark. "Hey William, you wanna come over after school and play video games?" I asked enthusiastically. "Yeah!" replied William. "SIKE!" I yelled at him as loud as possible. The children laughed. William cried. I stole a piece of his gum.

That was just one of many similar experiences. More recently, the other day I was working on a group assignment which, let me be quite clear on, was a stupid waste of time. Group work in general is a waste of time since one person always ends up slacking. In this case, the slacker was Yvonne Pui. She was entrusted with questions 6-8(c), which she hadn't finished, and the paper was due the next day. Needless to say, I wasn't enthused. I started by asking her politely to do the assignment, then begging, and then shouting. Finally, she sent me a text message that simply read: "Chillax, Dirk Fung." Chillax? What the heck does that mean, and what did it have to do with the assignment? Like I said, I don't play these games anymore. Forgetting Yvonne Peng, I stayed up late and finished the assignment by myself. Fortunately, we were all required to submit our own copies of the assignment. I got to class early and handed it in, just before Yvonne showed up. As expected, Yvonne was expecting to just copy all my answers. I told her not to worry, that I had written out everything she needed on a piece of paper. Opening my binder casually, I handed her a page that read:

Chillax, Yvonne Pui.

I also attached a quick sketch of a guy giving the middle finger, just in case I had misunderstood the expression and telling her to chillax didn't yield the full desired effect.