“U seen my lighter man?”

“EASY come easy go.” Am goddam sure this phrase was invented the same day disposable lighters were. Dont matter if you’re a smoker or not, but if u ever owned a lighter and used it regularly, chances are u would have lost one or a two hundred by now. Where dafuck do they go?

A lighter can look like crap, but there's always a fucker out there ready to swipe it

A lighter can look like crap, but there's always a fucker out there ready to swipe it

But no fear, u can easily replace them – just borrow n forget to return, or swipe that lighter lying around ”unclaimed”. Easy when everyone’s drinking & high.

Though normally associated with clubbing, it happens all the time. Every second of the day, everywhere around the world, lighters are being lost and found. It’s probably d most shared item in the world (after beds).

So I conducted an experiment. I bought five lighters, marked them, and passed them to five friends to see what happens. After just a week, three of them were using different lighters (fuck-knows whose). Out of which two had lost theirs within 24 hours!

No, there’s no syndicate involved. Just da way it is.

Yea sure it’s a negligible cost to lose one. Still, any lighter in my ‘possession’ is set at full flame. “Waa, wasting gas” u say? Why dafuck would I wanna save gas?? I’ll never have the satisfaction of seeing the lighter die of ol age anyway. So burn bright, baby. Just be careful you don’t fry your nose. A really good lighter can even toast your eyebrows.

Yea, max it out

Yea, max it out. The flame should be taller that d lighter itself

Maybe we should be philosophical about the whole thing. Maybe we should consider ourselves ‘Guardians of Lighters’ rather than owners. U never really own a lighter. They just go around, passing through your hands in the process, briefly lighting up your life and then… they’re gone; gone to brighten up some other lives.

Who knows how many folks a lighter passes through before it fizzles out. I have – or rather had – one i borrowed one all the way from Yunnan, China. (Obviously it has been re-stolen by someone else.) If lighters could speak, imagine what tales they could tell…

(If u wanna have sum fun, buy 50 lighters to give away and write your email address on them, saying email me on xx date (like 2 months later) on where u are. Am sure u’ll get mail from all over d country / world. Haha)

If u ask me, (c’mon, ask me!) – matches are d way to go. They maybe relics of an unsophisticated past but they’re also the future. They cost 10 times less than a lighter and which dumbass is gonna swipe it? A fat matchbox with a graphic of a man flying somewhere aint very cool.

But then some might find Mr Flying Man quite fit n sexy. All sorts of weirdos out there. And he’s in tights n shit, all superhero-like. So maybe sum chicks might steal it anyway.

Mr Flying Man's gotta tight ass

Mr Flying Man's gotta tight ass

I actually got to interview one hardcore case. A confessed lighter thief / robber.

He wasn’t in prison. Maybe he should be. Dude’s name is Sam. A kleptomaniac. He has a suspicious collection of about 40 lighters.

“It just happens, man,” he shrugs, and puts a fag in his mouth and reaches for a friend’s light.

Well, it don’t “just happen” this time coz the friend watches his every move, making damn sure his lighter doesn’t end up as statistic No. 41.

“Some nights when I get home from a bar, I empty my pockets and “What the…!”  There’ll be like,  five lighters in there. I don’t know how it happens. I try to recall their owners, but can never remember.”

Right.

”None of my friends ever ask for them, so I never know who to return them to,” d fucker says.

Comon, 40 lighters dat are not yours is way too much. Best remedy is to burn all d lighters in a huge bonfire n throw Sam into it. Death to lighter thiefs!

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“How can you have an alcohol blog…

..without mentioning Frontera’s Agave Margaritas?!!”

That was d mail i received from Larry Martin of Frontera Bar & Grill (at Jaya One, PJ. 03 7958-8515) after he checked out this blog.

Hmmm.

Frontera, a Tex-Mex joint, is one of few places where u can get REAL tequila – which is those that are made of 100% blue agave, a plant. The others are mixed, with minimum 51% blue agave, the rest sum other shit. Maybe gasoline. Coz the stupid plant takes 8 damn years to mature.

Real tequila is a lil similar to mezcal, which is also 100% agave. Great way to take your vegetables huh?

Whoever told u tequila is made from cactus has had too much tequila.

The natives in Mexico, the Aztecs, were brewing dis shit many centuries ago before d Spanish arrived and raped their women and stole their booze.

Not one to back-out of a booze challenge, i was at Frontera pretty soon. And got fucked up. Wingman Henry had to take medical leave the next day.

Larry was merciless. But we took it for d team. Mehican style. No salt, no lime.

The best relief for them hot days

The best relief for them hot days

Two shots of tequila as soon as we arrive (the panel was made up of me, Sargeant Henry & Private First-Class Joleen (who reviewed d food here once), d high-ranking officers from the Drinking Army), followed by a pitcher of margarita. And countless more tequila shots, and another pitcher, as well as one of the world’s hottest chili! Crazay.

Anyway, Larry start us off on the fine Monday evening with a shot of this:

Dont fuck with da Don

Dont fuck with da Don

Great choice. This is an anejo, meaning it’s been aged for between one to 3 years. (The most common one is the reposado label, aged 2 months to a year. The others are blanco or Silver (clear, unaged) and oro (gold, mixed, with caramel usually).

The Don Julio has the aroma of caramel, and the flavours of caramel and a hint of vanilla. Real smooth, and no need for lime.

Then Larry asks d bartender for a shot of Patron Silver. This is unaged, and served chilled.

Clear plant juice

Clear plant juice

This one is more tangy. I prefer d Don Julio, and Henry prefers the Patron (pronounced par-tron).

Then comes the pitcher. Larry, who’s from Houston, says margarita aint a girl’s drink. He says over there, its common for guys to go out and “get fucked-up by having pitchers of d stuff”. Few places serve pitchers here.

The ritas served here are well-made, with generous amounts of tequila – 7.5 shots per pitcher, but u dont really taste the liquor. Its made with Sauza Hornito, a reposado. It goes down easy, and is definitely one of the best i’ve ever had. They use agave nectar rather  than sugar syrup as sweetener, as well as only fresh limes.

Larry, a very gracious host who was determined to get us thoroughly fucked-up, serves the pitcher into rock glasses, rather than the normal wide-rim glass, cos he says

"This is what i call a fag glass"

"This is what i call a fag glass"

Then things turn bad for Henry. Larry asked “U like chili?” and i point straight to Henry. He’s some sort of chili junkie. Freak.

Straight from Mehico, appears the habanero, a very effective stomach-remover.

When u swallow a bomb, u get hurt

When u swallow a bomb, u get hurt

Henry eats the whole damn thing! Chews on it too! Nutcase. RESPECT.

Nothing happens for d first 20 seconds. But then he pays for it – it’s hot as hell! I thought his head was gonna explode and splatter some brains into my drink. He starts shaking and quivering.

It was the world’s hottest chili until 2007, rated in the Extreme category on the Scoville scale. Way hotter than birds-eye (cili padi). I try a little slice n immediately spit it out. And my mouth burns intensely for 15 mins. So Henry is really about to explode. The good part is u get a trip after that, like a drug. “Extremely intense, extremely euphoric!” is what Henry said when he could talk again. “Like u just came” and “Thank you for d experience Larry” were his other words.

I never knew u could trip out on chilies man. Maybe i could be a dealer. That sure would be a first.

The capsaicin in chilies makes your brain release endorphins. Hence da trip. Nice.

“Eat five more and u’ll break the record at Frontera” Larry says. Henry decided to pass. Good. He’s my ride home, so i didnt want him to die. He warned that Henry will suffer a “second attack” in d morning when he craps. “There’s a solution,” Larry says. “Dont shit for four days.”

The next morning Henry was up at 7am crapping. He didnt stop, so went to the doctor had d day off.

Larry gets fresh habaneros and jalapenos from Mexico for Frontera’s kitchen. And to torture customers.

Frontera should serve habaneros with free butt-plugs.

Next was the Don Julio Reposado. This one had more neutral flavours. Then a shot of Jose Cuervo 1800 (anejo). I thought this one was awesome! Sweet and smooth, almost like a cognac. Then Larry serves us a shot of jalapeno-infused tequila, which is done in-house. Not as spicy as i expected. We also had the Gran Centenario Reposado. This one is low on flavours.

Lined-up for execution

Lined-up for execution

Pure yummy

Pure yummy

We end the nite with a shot of Two Fingers, described by Larry as cheap shit coz its a mixto, meaning not 100% agave but 51%, like many common tequilas.

Prices for the 100% agave tequilas range between $18 and $28, while the regular tequilas are at $12. Pitchers cost from $110.

Take your pick

Take your pick

We were wasted by the time we left. An explosive nite in many ways. And an explosive ass for Henry in the morning.

.

Brain damage rating: 8.5/10

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What’s your worst drinkin experience?

Mine was in Kelantan, of all fuckin places.

A few years back me n my bro wanted to go to Penang to party. So we went via the East Coast – Terengganu, Kelantan. Cos we’re adventurous. Haha

Anyways, ended up in hotel room in Kota Baru that belonged to my bro’s friend from Sabah, TK, who was there for some doctor convention.

(His exact words, which he later regretted, were – “U guys passing thru KB? Why don’t u come and use the ‘facilities’ here?”).  Some five-star hotel la. Suited us boys just fiiine.

So we partied that night in d room, lotsa booze n all. It was me, Volume, The Ship, Ron (short for Moron) and TK.

Music’s rockin, booze is flowin, Volume gets plastered, then sinks his teeth into my arm (bicep) while I was chillin on d chair, drawing blood. Fuckin dracula move. Watdefucked, I push him off. Somehow he gets behind me and this time REALLY sinks his teeth into my back, that it tears my shirt n draws a lot more more blood. (All this without any provocation or issue.)

The boys in d room were slow at reacting, no doubt still tryin to process the weird scene. I managed to get Vol’s fangs outta me, turn around, n throw him on d bed. He seems delirious. I jump on him n lock his arms behind his back, and yell at d other dummies to help hold him down, which they do.

Eventually he seems to calm down. Of course I’m pissed at getting these free love bites, so later I fuck him up n provoke him until we have a skirmish in d hotel corridor!

Right then my bro returns from wherever he was that nite, and asks “watdefuck is goin on?!” Volume tries to take a swing at my bro. This time I’m really pissed, so I fist the puta in d face, and wrestle to try n get him down on d ground. I manage to do that. Of course I proceed to kick da shit outta him, while yelling shit about his mama and his dead father.

No mercy. Tony Montana mode.

Like I said, I was pissed.

The boys didn’t try to stop me.

Although it was quite a riot, the other hotel guests wisely stayed in their rooms. A couple of guests wanted to leave their room but u-turned. No one called security. Good.

I left him lying in d corridor. (I haven’t seen Volume since.)

Now I’m back in da room. I got major teeth holes in my back. So I pour vodka over them.

The boys say I have to get to a doctor to get a jab, an ATT i think (for tetanus, as a human bite is more dangerous than most animal’s). Tho they’re all doctors, obviously they don’t go partyin with ATT on them. Some other stuff maybe, but not ATT.

It’s 3am, i need a medic, we’re all high, I’ve got blood on me, and we’re in goddam Kelantan. Great.

So we hit the streets on foot, wanderin around looking for a clinic that’s open 24 hours. We find one, go in there, and the nurse wakes d doctor up, and shows us into the room.

Doc rubs his eyes and eventually asks “apa jadi?”

I answer “kena gigit.”

“Kena gigit apa? Anjing?”

I answer “manusia.”

“Hah?? Apa???”

Dude was taken aback, obviously a first for him.

We decided to come up with a more ‘believable’ story. So – we went karaokeing, then while walking back to hotel, some hobo jumps out of an alley and asks for money. We told him to fuck off, then he attacked me, and bit me. Maybe he had rabies. Or sum junkie. (Yea sounds far out, but which story’s more ridiculous?)

The poor doctor and nurse were shocked, obviously unhappy that out-of-towners were attacked in peaceful little KB. They then said that these things don’t happen over here n all. KB is actually a nice place, nice people, safe town, etc, etc.

No shit. Just gimme d jab man. I’ve had a long nite.

He patches me up n we head back to d room. We have a coupla more drinks n crash.

TK, the shell-shocked doctor from Ranau (Sabah) who told us to “come over and use the facilities” at the hotel, was up very early d next morning, stepping over our bodies and makin calls to the airport. “NO, I said I want the first flight you have!” He was outta there man, back in KK before we were up. O yea, Volume had also puked all over TK’s bed during d kecoh, among other damage (to d room and to TK’s good rep.)

I was reasonably satisfied as I had got Volume good, coz d next morning my hand hurt from slammin mafucker’s face and my foot hurt from kickin him in the stomach n ribs.

Moral of d story? Some punks can’t drink. Period.

His upper teeth and lower teeth marks are still visible on my skin. If he ever dies in a plane crash or is crisped in a fire, I will gladly provide his dental records, as I carry them around IN my back.

Brain damage rating: 7/10

For Volume: 10/10

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