Oral Legalities

Just heard incredibly good news that oral sex will actually be officially legalised in Singapore. It used to be illegal, and then revised unofficially in court to allow it only if normal sexual intercourse followed oral consumption. No longer will men be able to say "Hey, I need to stick it to you now, legally I'm obliged to do so, or I'd be breaking the law.".

Oh wait. I just realised something. Even if its legal, I'm still gonna get squat, nada, nothing. Aw damn. Screw the law and its proposed changes, they can go suck it... well legally.

True Signs

I generally tell anyone who believes in horoscopes that they must have cancer in their pisces or their libra is too tight. But once a while, some truth emerges.

Go on, read it and discover yourself. Of course this generally only applies to people who actually have at least some kind of remote belief in the zodiac and those who read the daily horoscopes.

Trail of Evidence

Walking along the wondrous sea,
The waters wave their crashing hands.
I move towards their endless beauty,
And leave naught but footprints in the sands.

Umm...

Ok, maybe more. :P

Bird Brains

Been seeing that advertisement where Richard Gere appears, reprising the role of the supposedly bloody rich and horny man who paid for sex with a prostitute and then rather stupidly fell in love with the tramp. This time he looks like a paedophile, eyeing some underaged girl in India.

They should have some more realistic dialogue for the ad.

Indian guide: "If you release the birds, you get good luck. The more birds, more good luck."

Horny rich man: (Thinking "Hell yeah, whenever I get to release my bird, its pretty lucky for me too.")

Horny rich man: "Did you tie that turban too tight? Then who're the assholes who caught the birds and caged them in the first place? Won't they get a shit load of bad luck?"

Indian guide: "Oh, they don't really believe in luck sir, they believe in people with good money. Especially dumb tourists who have Visa cards."

Horny rich man: "Hey, I have one of those cards, lets buy all the birds for that sweet (ooh yeah) little girl and release them for her (I could get lucky)."

Bird sellers (making discreet phone calls): "Are you sure those pigeons have been trained to fly back to the market after they are released? Yes? Yes excellent, sell him the birds."

[cut to next scene, after releasing birds] Pedophile (whose white hair is now oddly tinged in a brownish hue) and little girl playing and splashing water while soaking in the Ganges.

[cut to next scene] Bird sellers still holding onto the Visa card.

One asks: "Now what?"

Another answers: "You idiot son of unknown numbers of malnourished men, I told you we should have applied for the credit card slider thingie."

Yet another mumbles: "Well, at least the birds came back ..."

[and cut]

Head Stoned

It hasn't been a good day. Halfway through a meeting with colleagues at Macs, my brains felt like rocks were beginning to form inside what little grey cells I currently have left. Must've been the screaming school kids that suddenly filled up the mall even as we were trying to talk business. Bloody schools should lock them up till dusk, before handing them back to their parents who should lock them up till morning before sending them to school.

Hadn't had a migraine attack for a long time now, and its sudden return felt like James Gomez being fed his minority forms up the ass by "well-loved" minister Wong (who) can't sing. Not particularly nice. (Editor's note: "well-loved" is used loosely here, perhaps similar to the love felt for huge hemorrhoids).

It felt like going through hell just to get home. I immediately popped 2 'panadol extras', and stripped myself as I headed towards the showers which I hoped would help clear my head's sudden decision to inflict some pain into my wonderfully monotonous life. Yup, if you picture me stripping right now, you might personally capture the gagging nausea I felt as I hit the showers.

I must've sat in the bathtub under the shower spray, for quite a long while. Was kind hoping for a cool spray, but of course the wonderful hot sun over Singapore seems to get its jollies by boiling the water tank above my HDB flat every afternoon. After I felt a little better, I towelled off and went to bed hoping to get some sleep. If you can picture me bummed out nude in bed, you might again fairly understand the mind-numbing nausea that still lingered, even as you try to control your own gag reflex.

Went off to pop another couple of 'panadol extras' before I finally managed to reach dreamland, where immense pleasurable possibilities exist. But of course, these possibilities usually hide away the moment they see me nearing dreamland's MRT station. Truly a reflection of reality. Positively cruel to know its there and yet unable to get some.

And now some hours later, I feel no pain. Its like my body has developed soft unfeeling heavy putty which covers me from head to toe.

I was just thinking how incredibly ironic that I could get no head, but I get headaches. Then the optimistic voice whispers in my incredibly stoned mind that things are getting better. The last time, I got laid up with a slipped disc, instead of just plainly getting laid.

Stoned Youth

As usual, my mind dreams up wonderfully idiotic stuff when I'm bored. This might happen anytime, but its happening right now. Guess thats better than some people indulging in what would be a short game of two-ball billiards with their sad little cues.

Beer would seem to make a person fat. And fat helps smoothen out wrinkles. It would thus appear that the more beer you drink, the younger you would appear to be. So drink up, you old farts!

Sadly, you'd hardly get any quality nookie looking like a young fat drunkard. Payoff's a bitch. And usually one helluva fat bitch too.

Apples and Fine Wine

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Men, on the other hand, are like fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to extract the juice out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Sounds good really, so now who wants to come extract some juice? I can go for dinner after that too.

Information Over Load’a Crap

Email as we know it can be absolutely great. Knowing that there are so many friends (some of whom you never knew existed) out there who may just want to keep in touch or share stuff and information you never thought you needed.

Sifting through the load of mails each day can be really informational and fun;

You can find out hot tips on the latest new stocks and shares that are guaranteed to make you money. These tips come from wonderful people who want to share with you their wonderful insight on the stock market, and help you make money investing in companies no one has ever heard of. You know the tips are right on the money, simply because the senders are usually someone famous like “Lljsjfhha” or even “Gashoo D. Fahkaiam”.

Another great source of easy money comes from secretly rich people from wealthy countries in Africa, and recently even Asia. Its so easy! All I need to do is give them my bank account number and they will wire millions of dollars to me, allowing me to keep a huge cut as commission too. Wow, people you don’t know can be so generous. I’m going to be rich soon.

After I get rich, I’ll help all those poor souls who need money because they have been stricken by rare or fatal diseases and conditions. I don’t even need to send them money; all I need to do is forward the mail to all my friends. You see, apparently there is an incredible breakthrough in email technology. They can monitor how many emails were forwarded and match each mail forwarded with money. Sometimes, you can even get money from prestigious companies like Microsoft or a car from Hyundai, if you are lucky enough to be sent an email from a secret survey, or something like that.

I admit though, I have been very evil and bad. I have always deleted emails that can help send money to poor sick hospitalized children etc. I also never bother with mails that promise me great luck, true love or a wonderful sex life if I forward it to at least 20 friends etc. I don’t have so many friends to forward the mail, so I guess I’m going to have an accumulated hundreds of years in bad luck and I’ll never ever to able to have sex. Yes, it is sad. Guess I’ll have to live with that. But wait, maybe I can have some luck from other emails that assure me of wild nights meeting with sexy nymphomaniacs in my neighbourhood.

I’ve been feeling down and depressed too, because I found out from some wonderful people who have somehow discovered that I am actually impotent and that I also apparently have a very small penis. Fortunately for me, they have special pills and vacuum pumps that can help me attain manhood that can reach my knees in normal circumstances and also stand strong and steady for hours or even from dusk till dawn. That should help me if I ever go camping. But I do worry if I have enough blood to maintain conciousness.

Its like a kid living in a candy store, I can’t make up my mind. Should I help the poor mother and child of a murdered dictator, or the generous banker who found a hidden stash of money in an unused account? Well, once I make my decision, I should be able to afford those wonderful pills and pumps to transform me into a sex god with a baseball bat in my pants. That should help me satisfy those lonely beautiful women living right in my neighbourhood and desperately looking for me. With so much money, I can even finance that poor skinny kid suffering from some weird condition. At least the kid won’t have to rely on selfish people who won’t even bother to forward a simple email to all their friends.

Wow. Soon, I’ll be so busy and happy; I won’t even have to time to write about it in this blog. I’m so happy.

Did you know that I can monitor how many times you read this blog? Each time you read it, I will send two dollars to a fund that feeds needy people in Singapore.

And if you read my blogs enough times, I will send you free pills and/or a vacuum pump that will help you become the love machine that you always wanted to be. In fact if you're an attractive female, I'll deliver it myself. Of course, if you ask more than 15 friends to come read my blogs, you will have 7 years of good luck and your true love will appear before you in three days, sweep you off your feet, and ride you off into the sunset on a horse. Well, either that or she will ride you like a horse or he will do you like a stallion.

The choice is yours.

Blown Away

What they say about how it never rains but it pours, can really blow your mind when everything seems to blow up in your face.

Its been so freaking hot recently, I turn on the fan in whatever room I may be, when I'm home. Sometimes its just hot air, but at least it feels better than nothing at all. Then somebody somewhere decides that they'd like to do some kinda check on the electricity at the block where I live, and so they switch the damn electricity off for an hour. With absolutely nothing to do at that time, I go out for a nice long cuppa.

When I return, the electricity is still off and I'm wondering how I'd know if it does come back on again, so I sit around and wait for some signs of life in the electrical appliances. Oh and a sign came, oh how it came. The fan came back to life suddenly and then boom. Black smoke blows into my face before I realise the fan in the study went the way of a suicide bomber. Bloody terrorist fan probably decided to believe in extremist Islamic teachings and claim its reward of 72 blowing virgins in fan heaven.

Another beautiful reason to spend money.

So now I have to carry the fan from the living room into the study when I'm working on the PC. And when I'm done, I carry it back so I can have some air blown on my hot body. Ha, funny how that sounds, hot body. By that I mean the temperature, and not how my body actually looks.

Maybe I can rephrase that. Lets see, umm... I'm really feeling hot and I need to get blown.

Hmm, that didn't come out quite right. Oh well. Probably a Freudian slip. Mmm, I like slips. Ok now I'm hot, gonna go shower.

Life sucks... well sort off.

Does life suck? Well, when you realize no one gets out of it alive, it does put a dampener on everything (well, at least for a while).

That’s not really the main issue I guess, come to think of it, I’m just feeling down. Life’s been sucking waaaay too much stuff from me. Energy, money and more money. I need money, hence I work. Then I realize I need money to work, but the work isn’t coming around to bringing money into my hands as and when I may need it. This is one major suck effect some people call a vicious circle. Anyway, it sucks so much I just need to blow it off.

I thought about it, first thing babies want to do when they come into the world, is suck. Kinda rings an ironical bell of impending warning of a life sucking future, doesn’t it? Well, maybe not for some lucky ones, I guess, like Paris Hilton. But her special video does demonstrate other forms of sucking in her life.

On another note, men may complain how it sucks that they are sometimes expected to treat women when they go for dinner or for some drinks. But we have to be fair to the fairer sex, after all, they need to save that money for stuff men don’t need to buy. Cosmetics and sanitary pads.

See, it all balances out, it sucks for both sexes.

By the way, if you happen to think there are men who buy cosmetics. I should assert that those aren’t men. They probably suck.

Scientifically, the laws of thermodynamics do point this out to us. They can be summed up quite simply as the following statements;

"You must play the game."

"You can't win."

"You can't break even."

"You can't quit the game."

Does that suck or what? Actually, the Bible, does tell us something about this too. After all, when Adam did what he did, God made it pretty clear, everything’s really gonna suck from then on.

Think I’ll have to eat less for now. At least that might actually help me lose some weight. That should allow me to hold on to more cash, and perhaps go out for a drink. That’s sounds pretty good I guess.

Hey, wait a minute. I just remembered that drinking can make me fat. Damn, this really sucks.

Mass Rancid Transit

Damn near fainted today.

Just finished meeting with some people to discuss the sale of their home, and well, things didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. Work sucks, but I guess I can't jolly well stop, since I need the money. Sad thing is I don't necessarily get money for working. Thats the frustration one gets after some time with no pay. I'm practically broke and soon I'll have to consider the lucrative gigolo career. Well, maybe after some intense plastic surgery, but that requires money, so I guess thats another highway to nowhere.

Decided to go home, so into the MRT train I went. Along with me, came hordes of noisy schoolgirls. And one really BIG sweaty guy. By the natural law of probabilities, he squeezes right next to me in the crowd, while I try to avoid molesting the pretty lady on the other side of me. I was wondering how the train got to smell this bad, and of course it turned out to be the big sweaty guy. It couldn't get worse. Then it happened. He raised his arm to support himself on the top rail, blessing me with a continuous whiff of a smell I can never describe.

It seemed like ages for the train to reach the next station, I just wanted to get away. By the time I got off the train to catch the next one, I had a headache that threatened to turn me bald.

Packed trains are just full of people you never knew could piss or set you off in so many new ways. Next time, I'm gonna just take a taxi. Oh wait, I can't. That means spending more money. Damn. I need a drink. Damn, money again. Oh wait, I just remembered the whiskey at home. Yeah. At least some things end on a good note.

*burp*

Incensed

Disclaimer: Some of the words used within this particular blog, like the word "fuck" and its derivatives are actually found in the 'scholarly' dictionary, and used herewith for its emphasis value only. If you find it otherwise after reading the blog, and find them vulgar and lewd, you're probably a lewd and vulgar person, to be able to place more meaning into what I intended. As for the other descriptions, I also learnt them from the same dictionary, so please complain to the publishers, and leave me alone.

I am pissed. And not just really pissed, but fuckin' pissed off right now. So I’m going to say that there shall be quite a disproportionate number of references to some very interesting words that may make some women blush and others, probably turned on.

It’s about an hour past midnight and the dark night is cool and beautiful. Of course something or someone always fucks it up somehow and tonight, I smell something burning. Damn fucking idiots burning their paper shit again, but I figured I’ll just ignore the smell and do whatever I was doing.

Of course, things never get better, do they? Things get a little blurry in my home, oh great. And wow, I’m beginning to cough too, wonderful. Oh yeah, I’m getting a fucking headache. Just beautiful, the night has turned into one smokin’ bitch with a major period.

I take a look out the window and see beautiful fires burning all over the bloody neighbourhood. Smoke rising from them fucking fires, straight up into the homes of other people. Like me. Oh great, look there’s some asshole burning shit right at the stairwell leading to my home. No wonder I’m getting a personal shit load of fucking smoke. It’s at these moments that I understand why guns are illegal.

There we have the government trying to limit the number of places people can smoke, so non-smokers won't get to breathe smoke, and I totally understand that since ciggies do stink. But here fuckers burn so much shit, and its ok. What the fuck?! I almost hope they deeply inhale the fucking smoke they are responsible for and join their fucking relatives soon.

Trying not to be disrespectful, but I always wonder about this thing about burning stuff to dead people. Lets imagine if it were real, I mean who the fuck knows who gets what after the fucking paper crap is burnt and sent to hell? Its not like they write the names of recipients on the shit they burn. Of course another reason could be they're burning shit to some god of pollution.

I remember watching some people who looked, and I guess they only looked intelligent, some time back, burning a paper house, a paper car and two paper women and lots’a other fuck shit. Soon they’ll come up with all sorts’a fucking shit to burn, and stupid fucks are going to burn them anyway. Who’s knows, soon they’ll get to burn a paper dildo for their female ancestors. I just hope they remember to burn some paper batteries for it too.

I hear it was for their grandfather. Then I see them placing some nice roasted chickens on the altar. I thinking, man, if they believe their ol’ grandpappy’s gonna be at the altar, he’s going to one fucking angry ghost.

Just imagine what the poor dead old man’s gonna be saying?

“Fuckers, never burn any fucking teeth for me, how you expect me to eat the fucking chicken? What the fuck am I supposed to do? Lick the fucking chicken?

“Oh yeah, great, burn me a fucking paper Mercedes Benz, yeah, and you forgot to put in the fucking engines. What the fuck, you want me to push the fucking thing around? Where the fuck am I supposed to get fuel for the fucking car anyway? Does it run on ghostly piss? And why the fuck is the car so fucking small?

“And don’t even start me talking about the fucking three storey bungalow. It’s not much bigger than the fucking car. My head won't even fit through the bloody fucking door. And what’s this with the two ugly paper bitches? Can’t they burn paper hoes who look like Fiona Xie?”.

I still have a throbbing headache, and not the kinda throbbing head I really prefer. Fucking assholes. They should have some small deserted island for this shit burning.

Hear The Buzz?

Woke up this morning and saw this really big housefly buzzing around my bed. Guess that does tell a lot about the way I smell. Little fella probably thought I was dead.

Seemed something always had to wake me up before I was ready to get up and that fly was really pissing me off. Fine, lil' fly, you wanna play, I'll play with ya.

Washed my face, brushed my teeth (whatever's left anyway), went back and there it was. Still happily buzzing away in my room. Good, stay there fool, I'm gonna get'cha. So I strolled over to my fish tank, got the fish net and before the flying booger knew it, it was trapped in my hands.

It was sad to watching it flounder, unable to experience the freedom of flying as it once did only seconds ago. So I let it go. Its flying away now, out the window. I know in my heart it will now fly freely. Fly little bugger, fly. In fact I made sure thats all it can do.

I pulled off all its ugly little legs. Now the little bugger can't land.

Sweet Sounds Of The Morning

Today’s really boring. Not much to do except some laundry.

So as I stand at the window at the kitchen, I hear the familiar (and unbearably irritating) blast of hand-held horns. Along with it came the catchy Hokkien version of the Karung Guni Song (Sell Me Your Junk ditty). Come on, sing along, you know you want to…

“Karung guni, po chua, sah kor….
… pai laylio, dian see keeeeeeeee…….!!”

(horn horn horn horn horn horn horn horn) *fucking airhorns*

(until someone gives you junk, or when you finally feel stupid)

This fella walked around the car park for about 10 minutes, playing with his horn and shouting the same shit over and over, like he was auditioning for Singapore Idol. I think this scene pretty much plays out the same in many other neighborhoods in Singapore. But this area where I live was quite exceptional.

Right after he gets up his van and drives to another part of the neighborhood, a lorry comes in and William Hung gets off and starts singing the same song (and yes, with the same bloody instrument). It’s incredible; I imagine the law against killer litter is really to protect these noisy farts with their noisy horns.

What fascinates me (besides the intense irritation at the bloody noisy ruckus) is that as this one leaves as well, another arrives. What the hell?!

What makes this clown think anyone will wait for him, instead of selling whatever crap they have to the first available “rag & bone” singer. And how much crap do they think people keep anyway, that they have to come daily to ask for more crap.

And so the show goes on, there are a total of 5 Acts. Each played out with different singers and slightly different “give me your shit” songs, and different “rhythmic” horn accompaniment. Each Act took about five to ten minutes to play out. All this time, no one got to buy or sell shit. Soon, the beauty of pristine silence returned.

Of course, tomorrow the same bunch (or maybe not, I don’t really care) of 4 to 5 fellas again taking turns to sing their song. It will begin at about 8.30 to 9am, almost religiously. Imagine trying to sleep off your hangover through this racket, after a party last night. You’d wanna put a racket through their karung guni heads. And I won’t charge for that racket too.

Oh well, its nice and quiet again. Think I’ll go look at my neighbors at the next block now. Hopefully, I can catch one of them walking around naked in the privacy of their homes, and then sue the fool for insulting my modesty.

Cock shrinks away when Dog approaches.

With the Chinese New Year approaching, something popped into my mind (well, whatever's left of it).

If I thought last year was a cock year, I can be pretty sure the new one is going to the dogs.
Gawd, I can be sooo lame.

Love Handles

Went out to do a little work and ended up going back earlier than expected. It was only 12.30 in the afternoon and I had nothing to do for the rest of the day. Wonderful. Things sure are getting exciting in 2006.

After a nice shower, I thought I should get some food. As I held my abdomen wondering if I was hungry enough to overcome the bloody hassle of going downstairs to actually buy some food, I began to realise this old body brought along a lotta baggage into the new year. Wow, I was actually getting fatter. I thought I was fat last year. I think the new year may have also given me a new inch of storage space for the winter. And I think I saw the mirror develop a slight crack too.

Oh screw the food, thought I'll go down to the gym, and I did. The last time I visited this place was over 3 months ago. The old man was still there. His body was still better looking than mine.

I went through my routine, working every muscle in my body I could, that was permissible in public. As I left the gym, I felt so satisfied and buffed that I nearly wanted to stop the bus with my bare hands. Some idiot flagged it down and I didn't get to test my newfound bravado, so I got up the bus and went home. Grabbed some food along the way and soon I was in bed.

I just woke up an hour ago. My body doesn't recognise what my brain wants it to do now. Now almost every major movement I make is accompanied with a groan. Only thing I can do without much agony is surf the web, and I end up here after some time. Writing about the pain doesn't make it better either. Think I'm going to go lie down in bed and stay really still now.

I was fat and I went to the gym. Now I'm in pain and just as fat. Wonderful.

Moving along at daybreak. A travelogue.

Opening my eyes so early made me realise the not-so-beautiful fact of life. Mornings suck.

I look forward to the cool darkness of nightfall. Oddly, I feel energised by the blackscape of the night. Wait a minute. What the hell is blackscape, you ask? I haven't a clue. It just looked pretty cool as I typed it out.

Anyway, as I moved off the bed towards a distant bathroom, I squinted at the bright new light of the new year. Yes, I realised this was my first morning of 2006. Wow. Mornings still suck. Guess some things never change.

Somehow my transportation (legs, in this case) decided to bring me to the faraway place that some people call "the door to my home". I reach it, open it, grab the newspapers and then I closed it. As I flipped through the headlines, I learnt about last night's miracle of people learning to count backwards. Then I realised I was weary from the long trip from my bed to the door and so decided to save what remaining energy I had left to make the return journey. I left the newspapers on the table, as carrying it back with me might slow me down.

As I travelled along another route round the dining table, I realised too late that it was the long way back and decided to make an emergency stop at the sofa nearby. Thankfully, I managed to make it, and rested till lunch.

Travelling in the mornings really does take a toll on me. I didn't take pictures, as I kept my camera in another land, called the study room. So no pictures for this travelogue, sorry, maybe next time.

First, sex. Lots'a sex.

Noticed how my first blog had to be under the sex category? Ahh. I've a feeling you might have clicked on the word sex for your own reasons anyway. I've even put the word in bold in case you can't see it properly (especially the lot of you who might've been playing with yourselves too much).

Sex sells, sex is all important. We all have a sex. We don't all have sex (some of us only type the word to feel sexy). But we all do have a sex. Well, some call it gender. But sex does sell, so I'm just going to say sex.

Oh by the way, we're all outta sex today. Nothing sexy happened. No sex today, as with yesterday (or the year before). But at least you did just read alotta sex. Now go on, get outta here... Shoo.