Est.2016 , Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

It was a moody evening, rain clouds teasing away with pockets of light sneaking onto the walkway. A thick slice of frozen butter oozed away on the heated pan, awaiting cutlets of marinated chicken and lamb, glazed with honey, salt and pepper. The buzzing notifications start coming in as usual. Amidst the mess of messages, one particular note stuck out from a popular sports illustrated American swimsuit model, randomly liking 3 of our photos. Since our account was temporarily managed by a NY based company, I've been a little suspicious of their online activity.

The account manager said he would selectively engage fans from our genre, but here I am, staring at the news feed, trawling posts from "Peter the Child Beater" and "Camgirls XXX" while jogging through the DM's from Andrew, a random fan confessing to having bipolar disorder and borderline psychosis, warning us about UFO's, and reminding us that Trump is an Idiot. To be sure, I searched for "Idiot" on google images, and had a chuckle.

A quick check with a couple of girlfriends reveal that they too were not familiar with the swimsuit model, so I decided to pay no heed, focusing my attention to the wonderful smell of crispy buttered meat. Shortly after, the doorbell goes off with a ring, In comes our long haired fret master and there goes the rest of the evening, with him hammering away at his raging amped up guitar, in my not so acoustically treated apartment, an endless cycle of hitting the record on/off button through till midnight. The next morning arrives with the expected brain-fog-need-my-coffee symptoms, and of course here come the new DM notifications.... 

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