I come from the land of the constant summer, where there's hazardous haze and the motorcycles blow. Tools of a governor! I'll parkour my way through the traffic jams while crying "Oh dear, here comes another Indian macha(brother-in-law)..."

On we sweep, with threshing Nokias! Our only goal will be the mamak(one of those cheap footstalls by the road) stall! *Back to the starting Immigrant Song beat*

Well, that's the stuff I go through most of the time.