The New Blog

Michael Stone's Day Off

The Last Story

The air was heavy with thoughts left unspoken.

In the wet sand, two lonely sets of footprints made their way along the shoreline. After a long uncomfortable silence, Mike sighed loudy. Deliberately to get a respose from me. I pretended not to hear him, turning my head heavenward.

The sky was black. No sign of stars or a moon.

"You wanna go first?" Mike finally said.

I stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. He wasn't gonna like what I had to say, but I still needed his full attention. Mike turned to face me, his face an expressionless mask.

I asked him if he remembered the night of the traffic roadblock.

"That night I got a 300 ringgit saman for my number plate?" he laughed. "What about it?"

I didn't answer. Waves crashed against the beach.

"That's when it started?" there was rising panic in his voice.

I nodded.

The words were heavy in my throat, but I told Mike the truth. That he didn't actually exist.

His face went pale. His lower lip trembled.

"No..." That was all he could muster. The way his eyes widened, I could tell there were a thousand other things racing through his mind. But unfortunatley for Michael Stone, that was it.

In the sand, only one set of footprints left the spot where we were standing.

The Cheater

From what Mike could remember of her, Davina Ng was one cool chick:

She was on the varsity volleyball team.

She had the body of a volleyball player.

She could go toe-for-toe with Mike at any arcade racing game.

And as Mike later discovered, she was also a good kisser.

...Oh, and did I mention she had the body of a volleyball player?

There were times when Mike had actually considered asking her how she felt about adding 'Stone' to the end of her name. This was one of those times.

Mike and Davina were leaving the exam hall, having just sat for their Applied Thermodynamics paper. And from the way Mike dragged his feet all the way to the car park, you could pretty much tell how the 3 hour exam had gone for him.

As he got into the passenger seat of Davina's blue Kelisa, Mike leaned his forehead against the dashboard, praying she would hurry up and get the aircond going. It was a pretty bonehead move considering the dashboard was scorching hot.

Davina giggled watching Mike go from despair to physical agony.

"What're you so happy about?" Mike tried not to show he was peeved, but as usual it was pretty darn obvious anyway.

"Come on la," she consoled. "The paper was ok what,"

"Ok?! The short fuck threw every equation in the book at us!" Mike said, referring to the notorious Professor Jabil. "And please don't tell me you got them all correct, cos I know you didn't."

Davina smirked. "I had some help la..." she admitted coyly as she put the car into gear and drove out of the car park.

"Some 'help'?" Mike raised an eyebrow. "How did you sneak it in?"

"I put it somewhere they'd never check," her trademark Chindian grin grew wider.

Mike raised the other eyebrow.

With one hand still on the steering wheel, Davina reached into her bra and slid out a neatly folded piece of paper. She handed it over to Mike.

Mike was just glad he wasn't the one driving, or the car would definately have crashed at that point.

The Four-Legged Devil

Mr Chua couldn't believe his eyes. He carefully crouched on the wet tile floor and raised his spectacles over his forehead. He rubbed his eyes and counted again: "yī... èr... sān... sì..." 

Yup. There were four of them, alright. Two lefts and two rights.

Honestly, though, Mr C.K Chua was overqualified to be doing this shit. He earned a Bachelors Degree in Applied Mathematics from the nation's leading public university. Crouching on the toilet floor of a boys' school was the last thing he expected to be doing.

All he wanted to do was teach Add Maths to bright young minds who would display their enthusiasm through classroom participation. Maybe even by doing their assigned homework. He would get the weekends off and everyday would be half day. A simple but rewarding life.

However in a school with student testosterone levels this high, it became necessary that every male teacher carry a rotan as long as his arm. Mr Chua's job title now included 'Guru Penolong Disiplin 3'... (not that he got paid for it or anything). 

And trolling the toilets for smokers became the norm. 

On this particular day, this particular toilet had in store for Mr Chua something he had never seen in his 12 years at the school. 

It was just after recess time and the toilet was empty except for one occupied stall. Most students were obediently squared away in their classrooms, minding their lessons. Out of habit, Mr Chua tilted his head to glance under the door of the stall. That's when he saw it. 

Four legs. 

He froze for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell was up.

"Keluar! Keluar!" he quacked as he urgently rapped at the door with his palm.

From the other side of the PVC surface came the sound of panicked whispering and the rushed flushing of the toilet bowl. Evidence was being disposed of.

"Hoi!!..." Mr Chua called out louder, still beating away at the locked door. "...Jangan sampai saya masuk sana!"

After a moment, the Dulastic door creaked open to reveal Mike Stone and Loo Kar Weng sardined awkwardly shoulder-to-shoulder.

"What are the two of you doing in one toilet stall?!" Mr Chua fired away. He wasn't even gonna give the two a chance to step out of the stall before explaining themselves.

"There is only two possibilities here," said Mr Chua. "One is the two of you were sharing one cigarette."

"The other is the two of you were doing homoseks!"

Kar Weng looked at Mike, trying to telepathically decide which story to go with. 

Mike cautiously eyed the rotan in Mr Chua's fist, trying his best to recall whether or not boys making out in the toilet was against school rules.

The Double Date

How on earth did you end up here, Mike? I whispered over the back of Mike's seat.

The truth is, Mike didn't know how he ended up there. But he did know how he didn't end up someplace else.

If Mike hadn't failed the entrance exam, he'd be an MAS pilot by now. Flying across the globe, banging air stewardesses in his free time.

If Little Mikey's cousin hadn't pulled him out from under the parked train before it started moving, he would be wheelchair bound today. Probably a social activitst of some sort. 

If Papa and Mama Stone had decided not to succumb to an arranged marriage, right now you'd be reading some other idiot's blog. Probably one with more pictures.

But I know how Mike ended up there.

It started one Saturday afternoon during Mike's first year in university. He was in the hostel cafeteria, sipping cendol by himself and watching a 1980s Hindi movie on TV2. If you know Mike as well as I do, you'd know that he isn't particularly fond of cendol. And he practically hates Hindi movies, let alone retro Hindi movies. But being a freshie, there's only so much you do in campus on a weekend.

Then came an all-too-familiar clap on the shoulder. Mike turned to see a long haired figure towering over him. He would have been a little less anxious if it happened to be a pontianak. Unfortunately, it was his final year senior Sureish. 

"Macha, my favourite junior!" Sureish squeezed hard the back of Mike's neck. Semi-paralyzed by the grip, cendol oozed from the corner of Mike's mouth.

"Senior..." he gurgled. 

"Wat you doing, da?" he took a seat next to Mike. "Watching Hindi movie all? Come with me tonight. Pirates of the Caribbean. "

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Tickets, you don't worry. This one on me." Sureish seemed to have the habit of speaking in four-word sentences. "Sareke also I provide."

If someone says they're taking you out to a movie, paying for your ticket, and bringing a date for you, you'd be sceptical. But this wasn't just someone. This was Sureish - the same guy who once tried to get Mike raped by a female weightlifter.

Mike wanted to say verygraciousofyoubutnothanks, but Sureish still had a firm claw hold on the back of his neck. In front of them, Mithun Chakraborthy and his backup dancers grooved, singing "I am a disco dancer..." 

"Ok." Mike squeaked.

*    *    *     *     *

Mike knew his night had reached the edge of the cliff when he saw the pair of girls they were picking up from the oil palm estate outside their campus.

Sanjana was a plain looking Indian girl, nearly as tall as Sureish. She had endearing bunny-like front teeth and pimply cheks. Her most defining features, however, are the ones a guy would buy FHM magazine to oogle at.

Lalitha was Sanjana's 4 foot cousin who looked like Shrek... No, not Princess Fiona... Shrek. With an afro. No surprise who Mike's date was.

But growing up, Mama Stone had drilled it into Little Mikey's cranium that it's important to be a gentleman at all times. Treat every girl like a lady, she'd say. Besides, Mike was optimistic that Lalitha would have a nice personality. Somewhere beneath her flabby neck and pot belly.

*    *    *     *     *

In the cinema, the cousins sat next to each other, bookended by each of their dates.

Lalitha was already pretty peeved at the heavy flirting and cuddling going on between Sureish and her cousin. Lalitha couldn't even hold on to Mike's hand for more than ten seconds before it wriggled away and she would have to try again five minutes later.

As the movie started, Mike hoped the combined feminine good looks of Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom would be able to keep his date occupied, at least for the next two hours.

"Too bad this is an English movie," Lalitha cooed, hugging Mike's arm. "If Tamil movie, we can whistle and shout and make a ruckus." She giggled.

That was also when Mike first noticed how hairy her cheeks were. 

Two seats away, a full-on make out session was in progress. Sureish was already getting his money's worth for the tickets. Lalitha casually leaned her bushy head on Mike's right shoulder.

It was only a matter of time, Mike feared. He turned to the row behind him and mouthed the word "HELP!"... I shrugged. What exactly did he expect me to do?

With puppy dog eyes and pursed lips, Lalitha looked up to face Mike.

If there was ever a time Mike wished he hadn't been born, this was it.

The Shooting Range

The average government issue M16 assault rifle weighs 3.5 kilos and is 1000mm long. 

For how long do you think you could hold one of those vertically on the top of your head? Mike could tell you this: after the first half hour, it's just a matter of which would give out first - your arms or your consciousness.

By his third year, Senior Midshipman Mike Stone was one of the top two M16 riflemen in his university. The funny thing is, the person who taught Mike to be a better marksman was not his Gunnery Instructor. It was an Indian taxi driver at Puduraya - who happened to be a former army sniper. But that's a different story.

Mike remembers clearly his squad's first trip to the outdoor shooting range. Most of them couldn't even see the target 200 meters away, much less load and fire their weapon. At the end of that afternoon, the 5 cadets with the lowest scores were lined up front for everyone else to see, in order from worst to worstest.

Needless to say, Cadet Mike was part of that notorious lineup. However, he wasn't the biggest cock-up that day . That honour went to Cadet Shazni Hafizi.

The officer on duty was Sub Lieutenant Radzi Abdul Razak - six feet of tanned muscle and sadistic hatred of cadets. He lowered his cigarette from his black lips and stared down the Fab Five, one by one. He ordered them down onto the push-up position.

This isn't going to be pleasant, Mike thought, dropping to his palms and toes.

"Kadet!... Korang tahu tak 'askar' tu apa?!" Radzi began his monologue. Yup, this was gonna take a while. "Aku Seksa... Kerana Aku Rela!"

He proceded to remind the Fab Five that all that they had accomplished that day was waste the navy's supply of bullets. Noone dared to respond. The afternoon sun was equally merciless.

"Engkau, kadet!" he nudged Fizi with his boot. "Berapa markah kau dapat?"

"4 per 100, tuan!" Fizi called out, his chin two inches away from the grass beneath him. Droplets of sweat tickled his face as they rolled over his eyelids and sunken cheeks.

"Empat?!" Radzi wasn't pleased. "Tu skill tahap BERUANG kau tahu tak?!"

"Kalau aku tangkap beruang kat hutan nu..." he pointed across the rolling hills. "Aku pakaikan dia uniform navy... Aku bagi dia M16 sebijik... Sama je markah dia!"

Despite his mounting anxiety, in his mind Mike pictured Papa Bear lying on his belly on the ground, snout pressed against the butt of a rifle. Squinting over the barrel, his fat furry paw hugging the trigger. Waiting... Eat my porridge, will you, Goldilocks?

Mike felt a laugh rising from the pit of his stomach. With every ounce of willpower, he tried to stifle it. He couldn't. 

Radzi's face turned sour the moment he heard faint chuckling interrupt his serious speech, but he immediately regained his composure. All the other cadets cringed at what was going to happen next. 

Radzi smiled menacingly.

"Oh, kau suka ye, kadet?" he mocked. 

He went to pick up one of the M16s lined up by the truck. 

"Woi! Sini kau, macha!" he called. Leaping back onto his feet, Mike immediately began to regret his own sense of humour.

45 minutes later, the only person chuckling was Radzi. Mike's consciousness had given out before his arms did.

The Showdown

22-year old Seaman 1st Class Fakhrul Fazli is what's officially called a Special Forces operative. To civillians, that means he's a navy commando. His superiors in tactical strategy consider him a secret ops agent... The enemy, however, knows him as the black ghost.

Regardless of his many impressive aliases, Fakhrul was now getting his ass kicked by a snooty college boy officer. Sub Lieutenant Michael Stone swung hard at Fakhrul and the strike connected. Fakhrul tried to counter with his own flick of the wrist, but missed.

Fakhrul is an elite killing machine. A trained expert at close quarters battle. Forget the M4 rifle he's usually issued with - if he wanted to, he could sneak up behind someone and with his bare hands snap their neck in one swift move... or do the same to their fingers one at a time.

But he fidgeted from one foot to the other, eyes darting wildly, trying to anticipate Stone's movements. Stone, on the other hand, moved in one fluid motion, effortlessly delivering smack after smack. He admired Fakhrul's determination, but this was essentially a contest of skill.

Both men carefully watched the other for mistakes. One wrong move would be enough.

Fakhrul was beginning to wear down, his intense concentration giving way. Then, he stumbled. Without missing a beat, Stone swung with everything he had. Fakhrul leaped to counter the shot, but once again he missed - unfortunately for the last time.

"Ha! Amik kau!" Stone taunted from across the table. "21-8!"

"Fuh..." Fakhrul said, flapping the sweat out of his jersey. "Kalau main ping pong, tuan memang power."

Back in university, Stone had spent enough Saturday nights playing ping pong pissed drunk to deseve being 'power'.

"Jom," he called. "Kita pekena nescafe tarik dengan cekodok pisang."

"Beres." Fahkrul replied, gathering his paddle and plastic balls.

"Tapi sebab hang kalah hari ni," Stone got on his Modenas Kriss and kick-started the engine. "Hang la kena blanja aku."

"Errr... okeh, tuan." Fakhrul said, getting on the motorcycle. He tried not to show it, but his ego was slightly bruised.

"Esok," Stone continued, grinning. "kalau hang kalah dengan aku lagi, hang kena belanja aku chicken chop pulak."

Sitting silently behind Stone, Fakhrul wondered if snapping this cocksucker's neck would get him to shut up.

The Lost Girl

Off the top of my head, I can think of plenty of reasons why Mike is an asshole:

His personal record is dating three different girls in 24 hours.

He once stuffed an underwear into the exhaust pipe of somebody's car.

He wears aviator shades.

And the list goes on.

But every once in a while, he pulls off a little good deed to balance out his karma. The other day Mike and Putri were browsing through Borders Bookstore when a little girl no taller than Mike's knee wandered by.

"Mommy..." she cried, tears in her eyes. "Mommy..."

The funny thing was, because no one else seemed to notice the whimpering little girl walking around the bookstore alone, it didn't immediately click in Mike's mind that something was wrong. Only after a while did he realise that there were no adults with this girl.

"Wait up, sayang," he told Putri as he went to approach the kid.

"Hey, girl," he said, going down on one knee to match her height. He figured the last thing a lost child wanted to see was a bearded Indian guy staring down at her. "Are you lost?" 

What else does it look like, Sherlock?

"I'm looking for my mommy," the Eurasian girl sobbed, a little less frantic than she was before.

"Ok, my name is Micheal," he extended his palm. "What's your name?"

"Olivia," she responded, taking Mike's hand.

"I'll help you find your mother ok, Olivia?" he said. It must really suck being 3 feet tall and lost in a giant maze of book shelves, Mike imagined.

Olivia nodded, wiping her tears with her palm.

"What's your mother's name?" Mike asked.

"Mommy."

This was gonna be slightly harder than expected, Mike thought.

Putri, who had been watching the whole thing like a scene from TV Pendidikan RTM, piped up: "Girl, you know your mother's handphone number?"

"Zero one nine..." As Olivia recited the digits, Putri keyed them into her iPhone.

Noticing the weirded out expression on Mike's face, Putri asked, "Why, what's wrong?"

Mike leaned in so that Olivia wouldn't hear him. "Even I don't know my mother's handphone number by heart."

The Video Game

As far as Mike could remember, Super Mario never used a shotgun to rob a prostitute.

Sonic the Hedgehog never ran over policemen with a stolen pickup truck.

But Vic Vance, however, had more flexible morals.

11 year old Ravin Manickam was Mike's cousin. And he had the one thing that Mike wished he had when he was eleven: a PlayStation 2. Which is why every time Ravin dropped by the Stone family house carrying the little black sling bag and the bright orange folder full of DVD games, Mike was ecstatic.

And since Cousin Ravin's parents knew nothing about the video game rating system, their kid got to play any game he friggn' wanted, regardless of how profane or violent or gory it was.

Need for Speed: Most Wanted.

WWE Smackdown vs RAW.

Resident Evil.

The game Mike enjoyed the most was Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Set in a fictional city resembling Miami in the 80's, the player assumes the role of a dishonourably discharged soldier Vic Vance as he performs various 'missions' for several crime bosses - all the while rising through the ranks of the underworld. These missions include repossessing cars, picking up 'packages' and collecting protection money.

One particular day saw Mike furiously thumbing the PS2 controller trying to get Vic Vance back to his hideout as the Vice City Police Department sirens blared close behind him. Cousin Ravin was beside Mike yelling out directions as Mike's sister Patsy watched all the action from the couch.

"Turn left!" Cousin Ravin screamed. "Turn left!"

"Cannot la!" Mike said. "Dead end!"

"Got secret way out la!" Ravin yelled.

"Blardy hell! They shooting at me!" Mike hollered.

Mama Stone pretended not to notice the mayhem in her living room as she walked by with a basket full of laundry.

Finally, having gotten back to his hideout, Vic is shown handing a suspicious looking white package over to his boss Jerry. The 3D characters cussed at each other and discussed further strategy. Jerry is seen cutting open the package with a knife and loud sniffing noises are then heard (off screen, of course). 

Curious of whether the boy actually understood what was going on in the game which was obviously designed for adults, Mike elbowed Cousin Ravin.

"Weih," he said. "Whats the fella doing there?"

Cousin Ravin looked at Mike with a blank expression.

"He snortin' coke la!" the 11 year old boy said. "That also you dunno, ah?"

Mike and Patsy exchanged glances.

Neither of them remembered Pacman doing that.

The Bottle Dive

If it wasn't for the fact that he shouted too damned much, Physical Training Instructor Othman Saad would be an awesome dude.

Today PTI Othman would be demonstrating to the junior midshipmen the proper technique of doing a bottle dive. His lesson objective was simple: teach these bratty college-kid officers to jump off a diving platform and into a swimming pool without killing themselves. 

But of course, he wasn't gonna do it himself, so he demanded that a volunteer from the group step forward. All 42 junior midshipmen shuffled anxiously from one bare foot to the other. Tiles around the swimming pool were scorching their feet.

"Aku nak jantan sorang volunteer!" Othman yelled. "Cepat!"

Everyone looked at the intimidating diving platform two storeys above them. Nobody wanted to know what the view would be like from up there. Especially if it involved taking the quick route back down.

"Cepaaaat!!" Othman prodded.

"PTI," someone finally stepped forward with enough fake confidence to make Othman grin menacingly. No points for guessing who that someone was.

"Ha, macha!" said Othman. "Kau naik atas tu."

Mike made his way up the stairs to the diving platform. His knees began to feel like jelly. His heart pounded like crazy. Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's ok," Mike convinced himself. "It's all in my head... I'm a hero... This is nothing la Mike..."

His squad looked like ants from up there. Othman joined him on the platform and began to yell instructions so everyone, including those on the ground, could hear him loud and clear.

When you dive, you're supposed to cross your feet and point them straight downward, so your whole body slides through the water surface as smoothly as possible. Mike knew that. He had studied it in Fluid Dynamics already.

Most people when diving make the mistake of looking down at the water. This might cause them to tip forward in mid-air, sending them plunging head first. You're supposed to keep your shoulders back and your chin level. Mike knew that. He had studied it in Solid Mechanics already.

You're supposed to pinch your nose with your right hand as you dive because the sudden rush of water into your nasal cavity is likely to create the illusion of drowning, even when you actually aren't. Mike knew that. He had watched a Discovery Channel feature on it already.

He was all psyched to take the step forward across the edge of the platform. The water would be there to cushion his fall with open arms, he told himself. He took a deep comforting breath, even though it felt as if his heart was pounding in his throat. Just before he could shift his weight forward,

"Hoi, macha!" yelled Othman, pointing between Mike's legs. "Pegang pelir kau tu! Penting!!" 

All of us on the ground roared in laughter.

Mike didn't know that, of course - it was common sense.