Busok.

It was raya time, and I went back to JB Because, lets face it, its Raya Time, baybeh! (yes, this post is that late. heh.) Anyhoot, as per customary, me and my cousins hung out the local cybercafe for our usual game of DOTA. From 10pm till late. Which pisses my mum off.

Now, the thing about dota is, its pretty much a no brainer game. Unless you're an idiot. But things can get a bit on the crappy side if you happen upon a few hardware glitches, like, say, your mouse acting all messed up and refuse to NOT be a little son of a bitch and move the damn cursor like its fuckin' supposed to.

Also, sometimes, you get the occasional keyboard button not working and the rare random reboot, resulting in having the game restarted because one of your teamates got unlucky and had his pc reboot for no reason whatsofuckingever!

These problems generally result in your team losing badly (or you having to forfeit the game) that its not even funny. Theres the other losing factor that maybe, just maybe, your teamates suck worse than a blind man entering a three legged race with a guy with no legs. I dont know.

However, there are... other reasons.

Me and my team got our assigned pc's and I had the luck of sitting on the furthest end next to this dude. All was well, and I was playing like I never played before (not sucking. too much.) when suddenly, IT came.

Out of nowhere, like the invisible demon that it was, it crept up, surrounding me, going through my soul and psyche like an evil force that was Not.Of.This.World!!! Probably from Segamat.

The neighbouring dude had bad breath.

Wait. I wish to correct myself. Bad is something that you say when somethings not good, like, say, a bad exam result; or a bad piece of chicken looks good but tastes like fried taugeh (I hate taugeh); or bad as in you're playing Street Fighter on the PS2 and your housemate kicks your butt over and over and over again and you silently take revenge by sneaking into his room and let one rip on his sleeping pillow when he's watching tv in the living room...

I have said too much.

But understand this: What I had experienced nasally was not a mere BAD breath. This breath, had no name because the name would probably crack and turn to dust if ever it were to be assigned to that smelly entity. This is the kind of breath that took the advanced degree at its university. The kind that would get chased by other breaths with pitchforks and flaming torches and get thrown in the face with Oral-B Toothbrushes, cartons of Fresh Mint Listerine and Industrial Anti-Septic cleaners!

It was that bad.

For hours I endured this barrage of nasal chemical warfare, not being able to concentrate on the game at hand. At times, I nearly gagged. Occasionally, I had to drape my collar up to my nose so that it could filter out the gunky air particles. It didnt stay on for long. It was as if my collar was made limp from the sheer terror and couldnt hang on to my face. The worse part of the ordeal came when the guy sneezed!!! Oh God! I'd type out the whole sordid experience, but kids might be reading this.

Several question raced through my fogged mind- Why didnt he breath like a normal person would. Ie: Through the nasal passages?

Why does he not realize that his mouth smells like the inside of an ass?

Okay, that was 2 questions but still... WHY?!

Finally, after a few hours, salvation! I dont know if the antics of me draping my shirt over my face did the trick or because it was just his time to go home. He left. A burden had been lifted off my shoulders. And if my nose had shoulders, it'd be lifted off 'em as well. But the outcome was not pretty. We had lost the game... and everyone wondered why I didnt perform as well as before. And I think my nose went numb for a few days.

I had endured hell and survived to tell this tale. Who the guy was, I will never know. But one thing is for certain in the tragic tale of smellyness: I will never be the same again. This type of things scar you for life, siak!! Gile busok ah! Siolla...!

p.s: Whatever exagerrations above also applies to my housemates feet. By default, this applies to his socks and shoes as well. Not that I go about shoving my nose on these things, but these type of things waft, dammit!!! And it wafts like nobody's business. Dude, I've said this before and I'll say it again: you need a foot transplant, bitch!