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Heil Hitler
Earthquack
Pak yu

Bung in memoriam

2-3 years ago, got plenty cases of people dropping dead fast from lung infection. In all cases, they were vaccinated against Covid.

Anyways, RIP Pak Yiu.

This post has been edited by Hobbez: Today, 07:46 PM

RIP. Tercapai juga kemenangan sehingga akhirat. Beemula hari ini, sudah takde Bung story.

Rip pakiu

the legendary pakiu.

Now waiting for Najri Ajiz. this one even worst, the whole family like gangster. just lucky (or really pandai, he is a lawyer anyway) not to get caught.

Bung Moktar laid to rest in Kg Likas cemetery after Friday prayers

Sabah Barisan Nasional chairman and Kinabatangan MP Datuk Seri Bung Moktar Radin has been laid to rest at the Kg Likas Muslim Cemetery near Kota Kinabalu at around 2pm on Friday (Dec 5).

Condolences to his family.
No matter how loud the world gets, every life ends quietly, leaving echoes behind.
May those he leaves behind find strength in the memories and the moments that mattered.

THE FINAL CAMPAIGN OF BUNG MOKTAR RADIN

In Sabah, the air hangs heavy with heat, humidity, and half-forgotten promises.
Men rise, men fall, and the jungle swallows whatever lingers too long.
Bung Moktar Radin was one of the last old warhorses still pounding the pavement long after others had limped off the track.

Then came the fight he couldn’t see.
Couldn’t debate.
Couldn’t negotiate his way out of.

A slow killer crawling through his bloodstream like a whisper in the dark.

Chapter 1 - The Transplant

2016. The year fate rolled the dice.

A kidney transplant. Medicine’s sleight of hand, life borrowed on credit.
The fine print?
A cocktail of immunosuppressants turning the body into an unlocked house on the wrong side of town.

Bung walked out of the hospital alive, but not untouched.
From then on, his immune system was a guard dog without teeth. All bark, no bite.

He went back to work.
Talking big, shaking hands, playing the part.
Everyone thought he’d bounced back.

But biology keeps its own score.
And it always collects.

Chapter 2 - Age, Stress, and the Immune System

Sixty-six years old in 2025, still bulldozing through politics like he owned the streets.
Schedules that would break younger men.
Meetings stretching into the night.
Stress piling up like storm clouds in monsoon season.

Science doesn’t lie.
Chronic stress is gasoline on the fire; high cortisol, slow healing, an immune system folding like cheap paper.

For most men, stress is a nuisance.
For a transplant recipient, it’s Russian roulette.

And Bung kept pulling the trigger.

Chapter 3 - The 2025 Sabah Election

Elections are war without bullets.
Crowded halls, sweaty markets, handshakes by the thousands.
You don’t see viruses in the crowd, but they see you.
They follow.

For the healthy, a cough is an annoyance.
For someone behind immunosuppression, it’s a loaded gun.

Somewhere between the speeches and the handshakes, the wrong microbe slipped past his defenses.
A cough.
A fever.
Just another campaign cold. Until it wasn’t.

Doctors would later say it started small.
Everything fatal starts small.

Chapter 4 - The Biological Collapse

When infection hits an immunocompromised body, it’s like tossing a lit match into a room full of gasoline.

Pneumonia.
Inflammation.
Sepsis.
A cascade of systems giving up one by one.

Organs already scarred from past battles started to fall.
The kidney went first. The old veteran that had already done its time.
Once one domino toppled, the rest followed.

By the time he reached the critical phase, modern medicine couldn’t pull him back.
Some fights are unwinnable.
Especially the ones waged beneath your own skin.

Chapter 5 - The Outcome

BN walked away with 6 of 45 seats.
A small victory on paper; a hollow one in reality.

Because the biggest casualty wasn’t political.
It was personal.

For Bung, the campaign trail became a final march: A gauntlet of germs, exhaustion, and the quiet ticking countdown of a body held together by willpower and pharmaceuticals.

On December 5, 2025, the clock finally ran out.

Epilogue - Legacy and Biology

To the public, it looked like a seasoned politician pushing through another grind.
But beneath the surface, nature was writing its last chapter with cold, clinical precision.

His final battle wasn’t fought in a chamber full of microphones.
It wasn’t fought in front of cameras, or critics, or rivals.

It happened in silence. On the microscopic frontlines where every human life is eventually decided.

And like all endings written in the language of cells and blood… it came quietly.
Inevitably.
Long before anyone saw it coming.

The final chapter.