Butterfly does not make it to ZoukOut

As i write this, 15 000 people are dancing half naked at Siloso beach. I belong to the minority who do not show respect to the biggest outdoor party of the year. I'm ashame of my non-participation in the mecca of parties. If u didn't already know, ZoukOut is like the Superbowl of parties, it doesnt get any bigger.

So why is it missing me? Well, i figured ZoukOut would make excellent blogging material, but since i don't have pre-sale tickets (too lazy to get), $48 is not worth blogging, unless i get laid, which is pretty tough. Firstly, ZoukOut is just another excuse to flaunt that month long training regime to get abs. Its all about hot bodies and hotter asses. I have non of the fore-mentioned qualities. I have a pretty face and a killer personality. I say so, i own this blog. Hence, no one's gonna give a shit about me, which leads to ZERO pussies.

In honesty, I actually tried going there. I was on a date before actually deciding to go down. So i had to convince her to not go with me. I barely make it to the gateway to Sentosa when i see this MASSIVE jam. Lee texts me to tell me "I suggest if ya not already there don't go. It's jammed to hell and back."

So im there stuck in traffic and i see people getting of cabs to walk there. Guy next to me in the Honda climbs out of his car (yes climbed out of his window. I think maybe the doors don't work, Honda's.. ) to see whats going on. I make a call to Reznor and GT4 to get a sit-rep on the party. GT4 tells me "the chicks are happenin' !!", the traffic on the other hand tells me to turn round and grab a hot fudge sundae at Kallang Mac's before i head home. I listen to traffic.

I call up my date again to meet her, telling her that i changed my mind on going and that its probably gonna be boring. The key words are, "i'd rather spend time with you". Im so cheap, i cant spend a Saturday night alone.

I get back in time to see Miss World on cable. Miss Philippines is HOT. Dear judges, you picked Miss Korea over Miss Philippines who had perfect features and an absolutely scorching body. You guys are idiots, all of you. You DO NOT pick someone just because she is more inclined to charity and have a better track record with humanitatian aid. The motto is Beauty with a Purpose. Beauty comes first. PICK the one with the huge boobs!

Post-script: I got Lee to fill in for me.

Hello, Lee/Cockhead here. I’m writing this entry for Butterfly ‘cause he couldn’t make it to Zouk Out. He detailed why he couldn’t go so I’m not gonna fucking bother explaining another time. Typing is hard work on the fingers and not to mention the brain. On a side note, how come I don’t have a fucking cool nickname? I should like to be henceforth known as X-0.*HungLikeHorse*.0-X. Even though horses aren’t known as the best lovers in the world, their penises are extremely large, and big cock = fantastic sexual prowess. Well, according to Blaque anyway.

Firstly Zouk Out is a steaming great pile of equine fecal matter (horsecrap to all those without a dictionary handy) {Note recurring horse theme}. The only reason I’ll touch Sentosa with a ten-foot pole (not mine) on Zouk Out night is ‘cause I was getting paid to be there. And being paid fucking crazy money too, like oh, say 30 bucks an hour to stand around and do fuck all. Ah, bless the good people at British American Tobacco. Gotta love it; good pay, free drinks and free smokes. Every job should be this good and/or easy. And I got to ogle girls wearing very little clothes too. This was free: call it a job perk if you will.

I got to drink free double-strength cosmopolitans all night. Pity I was working, I’d definitely would’ve have taken more than the 3 I skulled. I was nicely buzzed the whole night, which made “work” a breeze. Did I also mention I had free smokes? Life is good, very good indeed. That is until around 3.30 when it starting PISSING WITH RAIN. This wasn’t too much of a problem ‘cause the cosmo’s made me nice and mellow. Alcohol does that to me. Nothing affects me when I’m on the piss, insults are water off a duck’s back. So anyways, it starting getting windy too. Suddenly not so funny anymore. Cold weather sobers me up and I wasn’t in the mood to party anymore. They ran outta drinks and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna pay for some more. So there I was, sobering up fast, cold, wet and hungry. When it was was time for me to fuck off from there I couldn’t wait for home and a hot shower. This wasn’t going to be till almost 2 hours later.

I started walking back towards the end of Siloso beach, where I found zero cabs. This was a surprise to me, I was expecting a line of cabs up to fucking Malaysia. Dead fucking wrong. Ok, I walked up to Sijori and asked the dickhead at the desk for a cab in my best New Yorker’s drawl. Why the fake accent? Firstly because I can and secondly, hotel people are generally nicer to people with foreign accents and will most often bend over fucking backwards to accommodate them. I must’ve did a pretty fucking good one ‘cause the Ah Beng didn’t understand a word I said.

Me: Anywhere I can get a cab ‘round here, man?
Beng: We don’t have any taxis around here.
Me (internal monologue): No fucking shit, asshole.

So yeah, it resulted in me speaking much slower and more clearly for the benefit of our culturally impaired friend. And I don’t think I did a bad impersonation ‘cause he was speaking in that tone a dodgy camera salesman at Sim Lim would use on a hapless white tourist. Score one for the fake accent but zero for getting him to call me a cab. I walked out and called one. No dice. I kept on walking and calling and next thing I know I’m at Harbourfront. Very much not a happy camper at this point. Still no cab, too many Yank fuckwits taking one too. Every day in every way, I like Americans less. With frustration levels rising I took a train back home. Outstanding end to an outstanding event. Dance music festival, my ass. More like get sweaty, get sand in your shoes and insane queues to the toilet festival. Well fucking done Zouk, you have perpetrated the biggest scam in recent history since that Nigerian bloke decided to send out a couple of emails.

Wait you say, what about the girls? We don’t wanna hear your fucking whining. Well, there were lots in bikinis. BIG FUCKING DEAL. And why so? Chances of scoring are absolutely jack-squat, unless of course you happen to drive something red and very, very fast. Tsk. You may look but you may not touch. Pity though, there really were some very potential targets. Then again, I could be wrong. As I always say, with the right lighting (dim) and the right amount of alcohol (lots), ANYBODY can look good. Want proof? Just ask how many people have woken up next to absolute dogs.

Right then. That’s it for me. ‘Til next time and don’t catch any funny diseases.