The Placard of Justin Guber

I had only seen cows through moving car windows or behind gates. I never had one walk into my bedroom.

The cow stared at me. Her nose huffed and puffed. This wasn’t one of those pretty black & white New Zealand cows, no. These were local, skinny and stringy. Her skin was brown and her udders were coated with random strands of hair that looked like afro-curled pubic hair.

I could’ve sworn I saw milk dripping from it.

The cow stepped closer to the bed. I lay perfectly still except for my intensely beating heart as my mind wondered: What the fuck is a cow doing in my bedroom? What time is it? Who’s cow is this? What’s its agenda?

Before the cow could answer my questions, it’s head blew up. Standing at the doorway was a rugged man in his late forties sporting a double barrel shotgun and Nike Air Force One’s.

“You can’t hide from me,” the man sighed, “that’ll teach you to eat my children.”

A moment later two midgets dressed in bondage gear walked in and started dragging the cow carcass out.

“Will we be feasting tonight, boss?” asked the one in buttless chaps.

“No, spanky,” the man replied, “this one’s personal.”

And with that, they left.

“If I melt dry ice can I swim without getting wet?”

Some very funny comedian said that. Deadpan delivery. Can’t remember who.

Just a thought.

"You’ve been more focused on business than on play lately, which definitely isn’t like you. Your friends are a bit taken aback by this, especially because it’s the weekend — and you really can’t blame them. Explain that this is all due to the fact that you’ve just about had it with bowing down to other people’s professional whims, and you’re thinking of making an impressive exit. That, they’ll understand."

That’s what it says on my horoscope for today on Friendster.

Bollocks.

There has been no understanding whatsoever. The shit has hit the fan and splattered all over the place, coating me with remnants. I feel like God has farted in my face.

I’m feeling kinda numb.

My neck hurts, my arms ache and my brain is numb. Very numb. Events of the past have caught up with me.

The rollercoaster is not going up anymore.

Fuck.

So, as if The Ballad of Justin Guber and JustinGuber.com weren’t enough, I’ve gone and started a blog on Friendster because it’s free and I’m Malay.

Us Malay’s love our free shit.

In retrospect, it would be comparatively easy for someone to dig up dirt on me. To discover my entire life, and most of it isn’t firewall-ed. I’m on Friendster, MySpace, Flicker, 20six, Yahoo Mail, Amazon, Exabytes, Register.com, all of it.

With a little simple hacking you can find out my full name, address, telephone number, occupation, credit card details, educational history, sexual history, photographs, past achievements, past failures, thoughts, ideas, wishes and regrets.

I’m on-line. I’m connected. I’m wirelessly wired.