Sunday, July 30, 2006

Butterfly does Snuff

For the glorified Hollywood depiction of snuff, the reality of it is somewhat less erotic and alot more awkward. The sole infirmity to deconstruct my statment is that I lack the enthusiam and apparent experience to bring this to full swing. What ever angle you take on this, suffocating someone is erotically less enticing to me than playing strip poker with folks at a retirement resort.

For the armchair ignorant bigots, who's myopic perception on sex is strictly margined by vanilla sex and have no idea what so ever of anything beyond that, snuff is the act of bringing a person to the edge of death to heighten (apparently) orgasm. Usually, through the medium of suffocation. It's one thing to spew explelatives during sex, but suffocating?!

Like all grave mistakes in my life that is spurned by curiosity, this one started out pretty much like the others. My penchant for new avenues have almost always been met with disasterous effect and this is a puzzle fit to it.

Snuff to me, is void of a novelty factor. My only motivation for an active participation was to keep the sex going. There was only one simple rule I had abide by, 'Choke that bitch till she tells me to stop'. How easy can this get. I feel like the Chess Champion of the Spastic Association already.

She: "Have you tried snuff?"

4 words that challenged my capacity for all things deviant. It was obvious that the night was steered in the direction of a bedlam fest of chokeholds and grapples. I was going to name myself, Chokeman and she was to be The Snuff Master and we'll be facing off for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship.

Naturally, I highlighted to her my inexperience at this, given that my only contact with snuff was a miserly porn flick to which I scrambled the forward button to end what I would have dubbed, worst porn. Only the porn starlet fucking a retriever rivalled this and I promptly switched my favourite dog to Huskies. Next time if your son bears an uncanny resemblence to your neighbour's dog.. DON'T say I didn't warn you.

The following session became a tutorage. An instructional process I subjected myself to, only on a pretext that everything should be tried once.

She: "I want you to strangle me. Put your hand on my neck and squeeze."

I did. 15 years of WWE watching has adequately equiped me with an arsenal of chokeholds.

She: "Noo.. you need to choke me.. not just squeeze the neck."

Usually, I'll flood whoever tells me I wrong with a barage of insults. Not today. For now, I'm a pig, led by the nose with a string of bacon. The sex, as I'd assumed, would not make a difference for me since the one on the receiving wasn't me. So I complied, albeit reluctantly.

Me: "Eh, this is weird.."
She: "Too much for you?"

Nothing challenges me. At that point, I was ready to take a dump on her.

With one hand applying enough pressure to kill rabbits, and the other furtively trying to find a support, I deduced that snuff is void of all erotic merits. I was merely moving along for a ride that was offering less excitement than Monopoly on a Sunday morning.

She: "When I tug at your hand hard, you need to stop."

I, am not amused. Not when someone is enjoying at my expense.

She: "Cover me with the pillow."
Me: "WHAT?!"
She: "Use the pillow to cover my face."
Me: "Are you serious?"

This girl is a pro in what she does. I know so, cos she said,

She: "I do this all the time."

Had I not been so disturbed over the pillow request, I'd swear she said it with enough pride to wear her snuff badge on the chest. While we all boast of sex conquest and blowjobs, her count is on "who's strangled me". Obviously, she goes to a club and thinks, "this guy is hot, I want to be strangled by him."

Me: "It's too weird for me.. I don't think I can do it."
She: "Don't worry, I'll tell you when to stop.."

A coupling of her breathless whisper and her come hither glare took all reservations from me. Maybe, just maybe this might actually work. It didn't help that I was out of rhythm and losing my balance with the absence of a master hand support.

Barely a minute into this, the intricate resemblence to nercophillia starts to play out in my mind. Her faint grunt beneath the pillow and her murmuring, "Harder", was the last straw before I started giggling over the whole ordeal. I was caught between freaked out and amused. And I've laughed enough during sex to know that it ruins everything.

In the middle of me grinning at the sheer absurdity of it and wondering how Heather Graham made it look so passionately beautiful, I realised I was losing an erection faster than fat people at a Pizza Hut buffet.

Me: "Seriously.. I can't do this.. can we just fuck normally?"
Girl: "But this is really good.."
Me: "I can't fuck anything thing without a head. I don't mind choking you but the pillow is too much lah."

She: "You want me to do it on you?"
Me: "Noooo.."

She was alittle taken back by the way I replied. It was like as if someone had told me something ridiculous like fat and ugly people being part of humanity. The disappointment on her was priceless, like I'd refused her payment for a good day's work.

For crying out loud, it's ONLY snuff. What's so good about suffocation? And, given my track record of messing things up, I'm the LAST person you want to be choking you for foreplay. I'm perfectly capable of crushing your larynx, and you'll be choking blood. It'll be quite funny if that happened.

She: "Really..?"

That's the last I heard before I offered to bodyslam her instead.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Butterfly writes lifestory

Dominic the nerd actually wrote a 6 page history about his life for my friend, furnished with a comprehensive resume which he created an Annex for. I laughed my ass off because the letter started off with,

"I realised that you may want to know more about my history as a person, like the schools that I have been to, to get to know me better. So here I am writing this letter to you for your information."

I, in all my ingenuity for narrative bullshit can NEVER possibly come up with a letter that capsuled the epitome of a nerd life. Look, unless your lifestory includes in one point of time, sex, it shouldn't be documented into anything more than 8 words. That would be,

"I wished I had a life like Butterfly's"

Naturally, I cannot be eclipsed by a nerd, so I'm writing one, following the 'matter-of-fact' delivery he had in his article.

"Dear ALL,

Its obvious that you'd rather know more of me than some bromidic school teacher, like the schools I've been to and my prosaic interest before sex and alcohol weaved into the equation.

I was in Bethel Play Centre for my kindergarten, one that I attended with my sister (26, now married). In school, I learnt that ALL the other kids were morons who took hours figuring the alphabets. During nap time, I also realized that it’s appropriate for girls and boys to be sleeping together as well as holding hands. For some reason, they made us hold hands alot. I believed this to be my earliest informal education on foreplay. Ain't kindergarten's great? Who says we're faced with an insitutional lag on sexual education.

I was a genius at the English language by the time I was 6. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know how to count because I always got the other idiots in class to do it for me. I never understood the need for subtraction and wondered why anyone would want less, when they can have more.

Kindergarten was also my first contact with the Lord Jesus Christ, and I always thought he was a cool dude. Largely because he turned water to wine and he had an endless supply of bread. Now that, is cool.

I went to St. Gabriels Primary. The kids there were still the same breed idiots, except when it came to Chinese. I wondered why everyone was breezing through it, especially when I didn’t understand a word that bitch ass teacher was saying, so I ignored that bitch. BIG MISTAKE.

I picked up badminton in primary 3. It was the only sport that didn't require direct physical contact with the opposition and it beats holding a rubbered paddle. By the time I was in Primary 5, I was the best in school. I ruled, and I tried to change my name to Rudy Hartono. Soon, We won the North-East Zone title and made it to the nationals, our only victory there was from a team that didn't turn up (YEAH!!). Don't you just love walkovers.

By the time I was in Primary Six, I was ugly. Thanks to big ugly specs, but everyone loved me because I was a sports hero.

In Secondary, I continued badminton and soon grew tired of it because my China coach hated me. Largely because I had no idea what that bitch was saying and she thought I was being difficult. That Bitch. I hated PRCs until 3 years ago when I realized that beyond the unshaved armpits, they were generally pretty and good in bed.

My other ECA was NPCC, I messed that up too. I got suspended because I refused to participate in some lashing lesson. Whatever. My ECA points still kicked ass because of my badminton. Idiots..

My grades sucked a lot. In sec 4 mid yrs, I scored - -. That’s for only passing English and screwing up EVERYTHING with F9s. I also topped the level in English in sec 1, which is the only high point of my ecademic career, unless you count 'getting an A because the teacher thinks I'm cute'. When the prelims came, I scored 35 points and MOE gave me $150 for Good Progress, what a bunch of morons. I was also the 5th best in class with that joke of a grade. Amazing.

I finally made it to JC with 16 points. Despite picking xxx as 4th choice, behind TPJC, CJC and SRJC, I still made it to that torn down junk. Great, because I was an idiot not to pick it in the first place.

The first year in JC. (DELETED FROM MEMORY)"

Com'on.. Do you really want to listen to my lifestory?

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Ass Rimmed!

There are things in life which defines us, like getting a tattoo, that first kiss, suicide bombing.. the list progresses beyond even my comprehension. For me, a certain definition came after hearing how my friend related his ass-rimming experience. Like a salesman, he absolutely slaughtered whatever self-reservations I had about having someone's tongue in my A-hole.

I came to believe that it was 'THE DEFINITIVE' product, the Lamborgini of foreplay, the promise-land. You should have sat through the story, I did and I would have bought a bottle of cleanex along with it, if he told me to buy it. It sounded THAT good. Usually, I have some skepticisms about anything either than toilet paper in my ass, but after what I heard, I was ready to stuff a teddy bear in there.

I forgot about this whole episode shortly after. Stored away, dormant in a sub-concious domain, but it took one single act to trigger a rude awakening. A Blowjob.

As I lay there with her kneeling between my legs giving a kind introduction to my member, it hit me. I had to try ass rimming, and I had to do it now. The only thing that stood between me and sexual infamy was the execution. I was again presented a path of deviancy, and I do what I always do when tempted by chance. I give in...

As she went down on me, I decided that no verbal communication was best. All I needed to do was to angle this with a good guise of reflex action. I'm a master at play acting, easing all un-natural acts like its mandatory for sex. All I needed was to identify the problem and come up with a counter-acting solution. This will be as easy as winning some 90 yr old brain dead Chilean at a English Spelling Bee contest.

The primary objective was to get her tongue to my ass, without blatantly telling her to. Discretion is usually not part of my merits at the School of Sex but if I ever needed the cover of night and stealth, it was now. The solution was simple. All I needed to do was to bring MY ass to HER tongue. Im a genius.

With her flickering her tongue away, I slowly lifted my hips upwards towards her face, while sniggering to myself for being so sneaky. I must have tilted a good 2 inch off the bed, leveraged by my now aching calves, before she finally took the bait and licked away.

Strangely, it had NONE of that fairytale effect I heard so much rave on. Perhaps it was the lack of professional aptitude for ass-rimming or the non-existent verbal coaching on my part, but it was like wiping my ass with a good hand of wet tissue. Not only did the 30 sec ordeal fail to meet expectations, I was also blind-sided by the repercussions of 'non-commercial' ass-rimming. Kissing..

Soon after her ass feasting, she started looking at me which by anything, spelt 'DANGER'. It was that look of desired recognition. A simple kiss to award the hard work. I quickly looked away, eliminating all vibes of a reciprocal kiss. It's one thing when you've just blown me and want me to kiss you, but it's a complete other when you've just been to Charlie's Chocolate factory and you want me to kiss you.

Everytime she came close I'd push her head away, then burrowed myself at her neck. I just played it like it was part of foreplay, another contest between the dominant and the submissive where I'd pin her down and forbade her to taste my lips. Then I'll smile to myself for being so sneaky. Haha.

I don't care if that's my ass. Kissing is out. I don't care if you tasted anything weird either, its an asshole, not a strawberry farm. Do you really expect to be kissed if I just licked your ass and have shit nuggets still tucked away between my incisors?

Added: I might be overspending. The shopping list here. For now..

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Butterfly Causes Guy Great Distress

In case your wondering if the tragic fate of being in the work force has gotten to me, no it hasnt. I still have my regular dose of partying and being an asshole. I have 2 stories, one on snuff and one on ass-rimming (you'll love this one) thats being drafted.

I got off a pretty interesting conversation the other day. No credit to the other party, I was the one escalating the intrinsic entertainment value of an otherwise dead boring talk that will put valium out of commission.

My friend Snow had been telling me for a week now about this guy who messages her his entire repertoire of daily activities and projected doings. It goes something like this.

Guy: "Hi (Snow), I have just woken up. I will be taking a bath soon after which I will be doing preperations for my work, upon completion I'll take a quick lunch."

This isn't verbatim but it's close. You don't need anymore clues to figure that

1. This guy is a total NERD. I can picture him already. Draw a mental picture of him and see if you're right.
2. This guy obviously hasn't been laid... BEFORE.
3. He needs to start a blog.
4. Him + Me = ALOT of entertainment

Snow: "I'm like his personal blog!"

This guy is 30, a former criminal lawyer turned Primary school teacher (What?), and his name is Dominic. For privacy purposes, I'll refer to him as.. well, Dominic. He needs all the attention he can get anyway.

The only reservation Snow had of me meeting him was that I'll turn the whole conversation into a farce and he might get offended be me. I reassured her that I'll take it slow, coax an entry before I get rude and she could / should censure me if I got out of hand. Besides, she could never resist the entertaining possiblities of letting me have a wicked take on the guy.

The moment I spotted him, I almost wanted to shout "Bingo" and run up to collect my prize because he fitted my physical impression of him to a T. He's a nerd in 90's fashion of a ear peircing, specs and decently parted fringe that will make window curtains proud. Skinny, fair, no where as pretty as me. Just go to a science lab.

We made small banter then I decided to take it up a notch.

Me: "So wait.. I need to clarify some stuff about the law. Let's say one day, I go home to find a stranger in my house holding my TV. I suspect him of stealing it.. can I beat him up?"
He: ".. I suppose so.."

Me: "Can I beat him to within an inch of his life?"
He: "I guess so.. but unless he really is stealing your TV."

Me: "How bout if he's holding my remote? Can I suspect him of trying to steal my TV and still beat him to an inch of his life?"
He: "Ermm.. maybe.."

Me: "What if I come home and I see my wife fucking some man.. can I kill him?"
He: "Yup, cos its not right."
Me: "So who do I kill? Do I kill her too? Adultery is a sin right?"

He started asking me about my work and expalained why I should consider teaching as a career.

Me: "Are you sure? I'll be slipping your kids vodka twice a day. Nothing beats having drunk kids."

The good thing is that being a nerd gives them a semblance of aptitude to recognise and credit humour. While he wasn't too please with my blend of humor, he did acknowledge it with a grin. I was throwing everything at him, hoping that the next line would break the courtesy for me he had till now played out.

I said almost everything I could, from beating kids up to telling him why he should be teaching kids at his school the importance of alcohol. Then, I found the break through.

Me: "If your girlfirend used to fuck around alot, would you still date her?"

The look on his face was priceless. A postcard worthy shot of shock and repulsion, with eyes that pierced with contempt for breaching the sacred conversation ground. Snow held her breath as Dominic went from smiling idiotic nerd to not-smiling still idiotic nerd.

Dominic: "Ermm I don't think so."
Me: "So you'll dump her just because she used to fuck around?"
Dominic: "Then I wouldn't want to know about it."

Me: "So you think promiscuity is wrong?!"
Dominic: "Yes. Its wrong to sleep around."
Me: "How am I going to find the right one if I don't fuck the wrong ones?"
Dominic: "You don't need to sleep around to find the right one."
Me: "ARE YOU KIDDING?! What if the girl I end up marrying absolutely sucked in bed?!"

I'm a natural when it comes to pissing people off, like strippers to a pole. 5 mins of me telling him how much promiscuity rules, his face showed enough constipatory discomfort to be put on a strict milk and papaya diet.

He: "You must be rich, since you live around here and considering the way you talk about work."

This came totally out of the blue, in the middle of me explaining why sleeping around does not equate to degenerating morals. The only thing I said that could have prompted him on this was that working was a waste of time and that I make more money eating chips at home. Then I realised why he brought this up.. He lives in Sixth Ave. Sneaky nerd.

I got back to messing with him the only way I knew how,

Me: "Very hard to find non-virgins these days... Does it matter if your wife is not a virgin?!"
Dominic: "I think sex is sacred and we should all save it till after marriage."

I fail to see the value ascribed by virgins to virginity. It's like the Fried Kway Tiao hawker telling you he's Kway Tiao is the best. This guy is 30 and he's a virgin, which only means his master hand works doubly overtime. If you tell me you are virgin at 30 and you don't masturbate, I'll tell you to go fuck a cow.

He abruptly ended the session on pretext that he needed to do some stuff. At least one things for sure. He's either a virgin or a liar.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Why Alcohol Is Good

When I run for Prime Minister soon, I'll officially hand this out and make sure EVERYONE reads this. I'll probably get stoned to death by some parent watch group but after I die, everyone will realise the sheer brilliance of my manifesto and I'll be celebrated for eternity. Of cos, I'll come back to life, because that's what alcohol does.

1. Alcohol for kids.

Alcohol should be introduced to kids somewhere along entry to kindergarten. When you send them of to school, pack in a bottle of vodka. This is especially helpful to the teachers when it comes to siesta. One shot should be enough to knock them out for a solid hour.

If your child shows early promise to be a good drinker, you might want to slip him/her something like absinthe or bacardi 151. If that fails, 1 pack of weed should do the trick. Look, nap time is important and should never be compromised, even at the expense of brain damage. I don't care what you think. I'm starting my kid early on booze. While other kids are out at the playground tossing marbles into sand, my kid is going for wine tasting. There after, I'll teach him to unhook bras.

If your kid talks back at you and they flee at the sight of your cane, just slip some whiskey into the milo. Drunk people run around ALOT slower and when they pass out, you can hand them that corporeal punishment you sadist sons of bitches always dreamed of.

Alcohol is a very good pain killer. No one feels shit when they have whiskey for pee. If your child is hyperactive and you constantly worry about him/her falling over and getting hurt, 2 shots of tequila will be enough to ensure they stay pain free. Sure, they'll fall down alot more often, ram into walls and probably puke quite often, but they'll just get right up and do that same stunt all over again. Perfect afternoon entertainment.

Lastly, if your kid is ugly and fat to begin with, just pile on the juice. Excessive alcohol is bad and last I heard it kills brain cells, but hey, if you're fat and ugly, might as well be stupid too.

2. Alcohol to get over heartaches.

The stench of denial is almost unbearable. Almost everyone has done this or at one point envisaged this to be appropriate. Naturally so since alcohol numbs the senses. Most importantly, it makes us do things we'd never in our sober outfit conceive. Like burning shit outside the ex's door, sending anthrax in a mail or watching Superman Returns.

When you're drunk and people get too close to you at a bar, punch them. Spit again at them to reiterate that this IS your territory and if they should ever come within spits length again, you'll not hesitate to kick ass because you know Drunken Fist Boxing. We're Asians, we all have Kung Fu starter kits at birth.

I never understood why people drink when they're depressed or scorned by cupid. It's perfect waste of good liqour. If I was depressed cos someone dumped my ass, I'll go out and fuck some chick at the bar. You should too. Have some self worth, go find a prostitute if you have no game. Think of it as charity.

3. Alcohol, getting ugly people laid.

The only way I would EVER fuck anyone above my weight category is if I was shit housed drunk, can't aim my pee into a swimming pool and put at gun point. If so, you'd have to convince me that fucking a whale is not considered sex. But that's me.

The thing about alcohol is that everyone starts to look better after the 5th glass. The ones that still look like there here for the sumo convention after the 10th glass should just slit their wrist with the glass shards from the bottle that I WILL be smashing them with. Hey, if you don't die, you'll probably lose weight from the blood loss. Either way you see it, you're doing society a favour.

4. Alchohol, the social adhesive

Com'on, do I need to receipt all evidence of this? You drink, you get drunk, you start talking trash. Next thing you know, you have an ashtray coming for your head. You hit the floor hard because you had one too many shots and your reaction is on par with 86yr old grannies at the Dance Revolution arcade machines. EVERYONE joins in the ass beating because nothing beats kicking someone when they are down. Never tried? You should.

Don't you love how it brings us together?

The thing is, alcohol is a stimulant. As much as you'll want to deny it because you are a bad drinker and no one loves you when you're sober, it really is. If you are a NERD, the introduction of alcohol into your system will result in. what will be for you, a social epoch. A fleeting moment when you escape your mundane life and you contribute to society in ways other than updating Warcraft patches.


I become extremely sociable when I have a good amount of juice in me. The other night we went Geographers (Thai Disco) and I continued my trail of social suicide.

Me: "How old are you?"
Dancer: "30."
Me: "30??!?!?! Are you kidding me?! DOES YOUR KID KNOW YOU"RE HERE?!"

Me: "What's your name?"
Waitress: "Alicia."
Me: "If you're gonna work here, you gotta get a name I can remember. Something like Lulu or Lucy."

Did you really think I was going to propagate farcical dogma about how alcohol makes people friendlier. Do you want to know why they're friendlier? That's because they covet your drinks and your chick if she's hot. The ink of such rapacious stare, I see it a mile coming. Fat people will never experience this, because no one will give a fuck about them, unless of cos they have a bar replica on their table and they don't have body odor that will kill Pepe Le Pew. RARITY.

Seriously, people are shameless. GT4 and I go round telling people it's my birthday just so that they will offer us drinks. Did I just hear you snigger and call me cheap?

5. Alcohol as an excuse

When sex goes bad, blame it on the juice.

You: "Sorry, I'm drunk.."

Then proceed to pee on them just to convince them you really are drunk. Trust me, naked people take bullshit alot better then clothed ones. Just imagine all the shit that happens after sex. Cuddles, empty promises.. shotgun... pubes on the bed.. *shudders*.

2 months later, you're a single mum, knocked up and you'll think that night was bullshit.
20 years later, your kid is fat and ugly. And you'll wish you'd had fucked me instead.

We blame everything on alcohol. The next time someone tells you,

They: "Sorry but I was drunk..."

Jabbed them hard between the eyes. Then say,

You: "Well I guess I'm drunk too.. I actually missed the eyes."

*Girls only. Read on.
Ladies, punch them in the groin,

You: "I missed? Im either drunk or it's smaller than I thought..."

Well, the next time someone tells you, you're ugly. Tell them you're drunk, then stab them with the edge of a broken stool. When you're drunk, you have to beat people up more viciously. Its really a status thing. Drunk = Macho = Unglamourous. Its a mutually exclusive thing.

If someone tells you you're fat... They are usually right. Kill yourself. Please.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

The Booty Call Story

Ever since I've lost the privilege to drive, I've spiralled down in battle to conserve a decent amount of conscience, least so as to justify my age of decadence. I'm plagued with a bout of moral aphemia, nothing I say in words will change your perception of me, hence the only logical solution is to exacerbate this.

Say it, YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. I'll add another to my list, I am a slut.

For the curious, yes I get offers for sex. Be it through this blog, clubbing, accquintances, a booty call is a booty call. I'll break it down for the few NERDS that might be reading because through me you live vicariously. Stop wanking off to T3 magazines. Basically, a booty call is in crude layman's tongue, a sex call.

The power dynamics is simple, by booty calling someone, you objectify them and hence suppression. Sociological minds here will appreciate the forces at work here. Basically, you 'prostitute' yourself if you're on the receiving end. The best part to this is, EVERYONE GETS LAID. I seriously cannot see why this is not officially made a public holiday. Would be great to have one day made mandatory for hooking up.

Have I been booty called? Duh. This is going to be long.

The One that Paid.

The first time ANYONE 'engaged' me for sex was sometime back. This girl got to know me through the net. Several corresponding msgs later, I finally caved and gave her my MSN. Judging from the time lapse, you can tell she's no where near 'Butterfly needs to fuck' status hot.

In under a week, she's asking me out on MSN. ALL of which I turned down with excuses varying from "No." to "Nope.". Finally, I got bored of my answers and I decided to spice it up.

She: "So what did you do today?"
Me: "Working. It's hard to find customers these days."
She: "Work? As what?"
Me: "I'm a social escort..."

The time lapse from my last reply to her typing was about 5 mins. In between there was the 'xxx is typing a msg" appearing and disappearing. Finally, she proved to be the idiot I always believed her to be.

She: "How much do you charge?"
Me: "About $50 an hour."
She: "Wow, you're pretty expensive.."
Me: "You can try again tomorrow. Off-peak charges are about $49.50."

The banter went on for a while until I believed she her to be provocatively witty. I met her 2 days later at a club. After her formal greeting, she proceeded to hand me $50.

She: "Can $25 an hour? I only have $50 now. Quite broke la.."

She was actually serious. I correct myself. She is an idiot.

The good thing about idiocy is that its innate and it tends to extend its occupancy in people. Stupid people rarely become smart, which is good because one bad prank snowballs and it eventually becomes a good one. She never realised I was kidding on the body for hire part, perhaps because of me saying,

Me: "I'm serious. You need to pay me for my time."

The climax to this, was she finally asking me for a birthday fuck. This was her msg, verbatim,

She: ".. I wanted to treat u drinks. Btw, are u free tmr? I booked a hotel rm for my bday... But noon i'll be alone..As my frnds will come aft wrk."
Me: "Wat u need me to do? Fuck huh?"
She: "if both parties is willing ya.. unless of cos u don't wan 2 do it with me..."

I laughed about this for a day, because till then, no one had 'employed' me for an occassion specific celebratory romp. I am now in league with strippers and cake popping dancers and other selected few who make cameo's at birthday parties, catered solely for the gratification (sexually or asexually) of the host.

Torrential rain that day and japanese porn movies deterred me from going to the hotel to fuck unattractive girls, so I stayed home and wanked off to midget wrestling. I'm kidding, but it'd have been cool if I did.

The Red Story.

I wouldn't actually consider Red a booty call but she did say something pretty interesting to me when I told her I was turning down a booty call from some other girl.

Red: ".. everyone should just be like me and go back by myself after sex."

Anyway, the relationship I had with Red is beyond comprehension to straight jackets who castigate my decadent lifestyle ONLY because they get NO action and I might have fucked more girls in one day than they have in one year. Do not pass your judgement upon me, let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

The One that tried to tease me

When someone offers to come to your place to pick you up for sex, you need to make quick executive decisions.

1. Is there a good show on cable worth giving up sex for. If Spanglish is airing, sex can wait.
2. Question yourself if you are prepared to be objectified, then also question if you really want to fuck the part in question.
3. If you've not had sex for 1 week. GO, dignity and self worth can wait.
4. Is she paying for supper? If yes, Spanglish can wait.

Remember, the only thing better than FREE sex, is FREE FOOD.

The Hook Up Proposals.

I've a couple of things to say. If you are trying to hook up with me so you can write about fucking me on your blog, then you are obviously doing the right thing. BUT, if you are hoping I'll write something about you, you've gotta do alot more. Like breaking your ribs while riding me. That will be humorous. I will definitely write that.

One girl who msged me on friendster was particularly hilarious. I called her Free Willy, because she looked like a stranded whale on a beach in one of her pictures. You think I'm joking?! I laughed my as off looking at ALL her pictures.

Am I allowed to paste the link for your viewing pleasure? Trust me.. it'll be a good afternoon laugh. Parents, use it to tell your kid to stay off hamburgers if they EVER want to get laid. Girls, if you look like that, DON'T EVER pose like that. Who ever said it's okay to be fat is obviously the biggest liar after OJ. FAT is not subjective. I don't care if you are a nice person, if you are FAT and you pose like that, YOU WILL BE LAUGHED AT!

Giving people who are clearly unequal, equal chance, is called Communism. We hate that.

edit: I always said I was an asshole. She sent a smile, but the only pic I smiled was the one with her sis. If that's your sister and you feel I'm mean about calling her an orca, dating me is a good way to get back at me.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Butterfly goes to Attica, pisses girl off

Wednesday night has been whirlwinding. For one, I finally succumbed to the working class ethics and ended up exchanging hugs and superficial banter at Balaclava. Such is the live of a proleterian slave, caught in an a social crisis.

Two things I heard at Bala which were polar opposites.

1. My Jap doll is coming back to attend my friend's wedding. Best news all night.
2. VERY disturbing news that my pride will not allow me to reveal.

We head off to a Tiger Beer party at Club Momo. The only thing driving us there is the promise of free beer.

Me: "My favourite word is 'Free', followed by 'alcohol'. Best when they come together."

Two girl's holding a platter of finger food walks past. I see patrons picking off the tray.

Me: "My other favourite word. FREE FOOD."

Not that the party sucked, but free food and beer only keeps me rooted to a place with no insanely hot people for that long. Huixx's friend was heading down Attica so we joined her while waiting for LB to come down.

Here's the catch. I went to Attica with a girl, GT4, Huixx and Niki. The focal point here is of cos the female companion of mine, and the complication between us. She was of course not as thrill as I was on the news of my Jap doll returning, neither was I in the frame for dishing out niceties to make her feel better.

At the bar, some Caucasian guy messes my hair while I'm on the phone. He looks tipsy so I take it as a joke. Then he says some stuff to me which I didn't get. It takes me 3 lines to realise he's actually imitating Singlish. I laugh along while eyeing his bottle of red wine. Perhaps a laugh-a-long will get me some.

I'm amused at his Caucasian rendition of our local quips. With quite a few beers in me, I laugh along to his silly remarks. GT4 goes to talk to him and he continues his slaughtering of our proud native tongue. Then it hit me, like impotency at 60. THE FUCKER WAS MOCKING US.

What do I do?

The only thing I'm good at. Stealing other people's girl.

Me: "I'm going to steal that fucker's chick. He fucks with me, I'll fuck his chick."

GT4 cheers me on, then changes his vote when my female friend frowns on it. I wasn't going to do anything at first, but too many things suggest otherwise.

1. The guy's chick was hot. She was also very busty which gave her some value added points.
2. Normally I won't try for things I'm not confident of, but this girl was flirting with me WAY before this FUCKER came to pee on the wrong tree.

In the middle of my friend hugging me very tightly, I make a conversation with the chick when she smiles at me. 2 sentences into the conversation, my female friend walks off and remains completely sullen. What do I do? Continue the conversation with the chick or stop to console the other girl.

Raise your hands if you pick option 1. You are now in perfect symmetry with me.

The girl turns out to be a Vietnamese who's been living here for 3yrs and working as a make-up artiste.

She: "I work as a makeup artiste."
Me thinking: [Prostitute]

She: "My working hours not fixed"
Me thinking: [Bingo! Prostitute]

She: "Maybe you can call me if you need make up.."
Me thinking: [Prostitute wants to take my number.. sneaky bitch] "okay.."

note: Most foreign girls (Viet, Thai and China) who tell you they work as make-up artiste usually turn out to be prostitutes or KTV PRO (that's what they're called these days i think). I've met enough to say this.

Caucasian loser leaves us. I rule.

I leave mid-way through the conversation to find the others and we leave shortly. I, of cos knew my friend was pissed at me, it was written on her. If I plugged a sign board to her, it'll be beaming, "I'm so pissed at you".

A few things she said gave me a clear idea of where this was going to lead.

She: "You really enjoy being an asshole don't ?!"

Then alot of other words started to pop up. She started using huge words like, "upset", "insulted" and my all time favourite, "Disappointed". Slowly, but surely I'm begining to get use to this. That's why people should never impose expectations on me. She reads this blog. What did I do?

Head to Dbl O with Huixx. Nothing beats clubbing to take away all the negativity people pass on to you.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Butterfly Goes For Commencement

Commencement, convocation.. graduation ceremony, call it what you may, it's a time to just show how many friends you have to take pictures with. Such occasion accords the sociable with well wishes and warm hugs. For the desolate few like me with friends accountable with one hand, it's a calender date I mark with the same importance as, 'buy cup noodles'.

Since friends in school are luxuries I can afford only at a cost of abstinence from late night parties and coming to school sober, I only surround myself with a select few that will ensure at the very least, someone to eat with and someone to print my notes. My life out of school is lined with wine, fashion shows, disastrous foursomes, a bedlam of alcohol and dance.. Regret for not making school acquaintances will have to take a raincheck.

There was only one way I could enjoy my commencement ceremony, being drunk. I told my mum, she didn't take that comment well and I had a verbal lashing. Well, fuck her if she can't take a joke, even if she's my mum.

If there was one thing I anticipated, it was staring. Considering how my hair has been a trademark, the therefor lack of it raised a few brows. And the only thing worst than staring is people asking rhetorically obvious questions,

They: "Did you cut your hair?!?!!"

Everytime someone asked me that I was glad this was an Arts and Social Science faculty and not optometry.

The robe fitting room was compounded product of ebullience and vanity. Everyone busy tucking away loose hair, continuosly adjusting and re-adjusting their robes, all while their high pitched exuberance rang echos in the hall. I came, not knowing how to tie a tie and no idea how the gown was worn.

As soon as I robed and was ushered off to be seated, I realised what a farce this was going to turn out to be. They were screening some interview crap on 4 nerds telling everyone how much NUS had enriched their lives and how fulfilling their time here has been. Do people actually realise the bullshit coming out of their mouths some times when there's a mic to it?

They should be interviewing me. I won't have gotten a better reaction from the crowd even if I'm half as pretty as I once was.

Me: "I love NUS, no other institution will allow me to come to sch half drunk on the tail-end of a hangover and still be able to the graduate. That's how easy the school gives it to us."

Turns out my friend was seated next to me and we spent the next half hour paying no attention to the crap going on stage. I start insulting the scholars,

Me: "These have to be the biggest nerds ever. Look at him, I bet he's never seen a vagina before."

Me: "She's so a virgin..."

Me: "I bet he dreams about fucking his books every night"

Some of these scholars are actually decent looking, like they actually have a life beyond books and warcraft and they've seen tits outside porn. The rest look like they masturbate to iPod commercials.

Some First Class Honors dude comes on stage to give a speech. He sounds exactly like he was ripped from some period drama dubbed in English. Everything he said was so poetically Chinese Kung Fu.

Me: "This fucker sounds like a fortune cookie."

He was saying ridiculous stuff about NUS being a great school and was using fictitious adjectives like "fulfilling", "enriching" and "nurturing". I waited for someone to drag him off stage and give him a good ass whooping, but no one had the guts. So I did the next best thing, and had a blowjob discussion with Lynn. This was of cos after she told me how she found my blog and her friend was asking if the stories are real. (YES, I've repeated many times. They are.)

Lynn: "So what makes a good blowjob?"
Me: "No teeth, eye contact and alot of imagination."
Lynn: "So what's the best blowjob you've had."
Me: "Anything Japanese, they give the best blowjobs. They're born with a natural flair for sucking dicks"

Lynn: "My friend told me about this girl from hall, apparently she puts ice into her mouth while giving it."
Me: "YES and then hot tea. Cold hot cold hot.. orgasmic."
Lynn: "Sounds damn pain for the guy, what if the tea is too hot."

The video camera starts panning across the hall.

Me: "If they screen me, I'm going to perform a blowjob on my certificate holder".

I'll break down the after ceremony, mandatory phototaking session for you. Total friends taken picture with.. 3.

My photo's are a recycle of us, in various pose and background. LB hasn't grad, RoundEyes didn't go, and this effectively reduces my friend count by half.

Me: "This sucks, I have no friends."
Mum: "We walk the other side see if you can find friends."
Me: "Mummy, I spent 3yrs here and I made 5 friends. Do you really think I'll make more friends on my way over there?"

Monday, July 10, 2006

Butterfly debates with Taxi Driver

Two words that will pre-empt you on a bad cab ride.

Cabbie: "Where's that?"

Its one thing when you're giving a road name totally unheard of in the journals of road mapping or if you stay in unhabited areas like Jurong or Choa Chu Kang where you are in a different time zone from civilization, but its another when your response to,

Me: "Uncle, Orchard Cineleisure."


Cabbie: "Near where ah?"

Is this a joke? Boy scouts in ugly green shorts and picnic scarfs can find Atlantis with a Casio watch compass faster than this cabbie can find his indicator signal. People, it's mandatory to know at least 4 ways to get to Orchard, you'll never know when you'll need to become a cab driver. Mid life crisis and too much indulgence in prostitution can hit you out of nowhere. It's an inevitable fate for some of you, much like nercophilism, penile dysfunctionalism and rape.

A sweltering heat wave outside and the putrid mixing of my Ralph Lauren Silver and perspiration was all the buffer I need to ignore the cabbie's obvious stupidity and enjoy the voice over telling me to, "Please fasten your seat belt". A rest was all I had hoped for, but Fate hates me.

Me: "Near HMV."
Cabbie: "HDB?"
Me: "Uncle, HMV, the place that sells music records."

I must have been giving him the worst day of his life because everything I said to him was like unwrapping the biggest mysteries of Orchard road. I've said in two sentences, two prominent landmarks that Gay Pride activist would seige to coerce authorities into making Orchard the new capital of Homoland. Hey, what better place than this, when you get to have high fashion, iced latte and a huge fountain at the Civic Sq to wash your condoms at. Recycle.

Two landmarks that seemed entirely Greek to him was all I needed to know the root of his ignorance. Of cos, how could I not see this. He followed the white rabbit out of Wonderland.

Cabbie: "Oh, I know. Near Shaw Tower right?"
Me: "UNCLE, not Tower records."

I would have told him Tower closed at the turned of the 10th Century after being overthrown by Vikings, but at the rate of him frowning over Cineleisure, I'd probably never make it out of my neighbourhood by sunset.

Me: "Uncle, you go by CTE exit Cairnhill Hill."

Then it got WORSE.

Cabbie: "Boy, CTE don't have such exit."
Me: "There is, it's after Upper Bukit Timah..."
Cabbie: "Boy, Uncle drive taxi more than 10years already, CTE don't have such exit. After Upper Bukit Timah is Orchard, yew want to go Plaza Singapura issit?"

The only thing I was more positive about being correct in my life than the exits of CTE, was that teeth + blowjob = hospital.

Cabbie: "Issit you want to go by PIE?"

The next 2 mins was a courtroom classic. Me sitting at the edge of my seat, absolutely antagonized by his ignorance, yet subtly disturbed at my obvious victory over a cabbie on street locations. Next I'll be giving druggies a workshop on how to snort lines.

My hysteria was matched only by the cabbie's smurk, which slowly evaporated as soon as we passed Moulmein. Then he came up with the best statement altering line that left even me speechless.

Cabbie: "Oh, you want to go CRANE-HILL ah!"


Saturday, July 08, 2006

Butterfly Goes To Work

The big inevitable has finally hit me. I am now pushed into the rat race, not that I'll be effectively running the gauntlet and tussling with the other worker bees though. Still, this has taken away several luxuries in my life, some of which I've come to espouse as a lifestyle neccessity in living decently as a human being. My appropriation of time and wealth to these hedonistic acts are simple but full of sense.

- Spend all the money you have on important stuff like Hermes wallets, Gucci sunglasses and LV bags. Do not forget your friends like Jonny Walker and Martell either. Spend all the money you have before you start wasting it on birthday gifts and dinner treats, or before your asshole of a partner starts eyeing that Rolex or Tiffany.

- Slouch over the couch and make it a personal challenge not to walk more than 50m a day. You'd need a good remote, cable TV and a urine bag. It also helps if you have a maid like me. Tell them to bring you food and water periodically. Reject anything that is not served fresh.

- Sleep in. You'd want to at least clock 12hrs of sleep a day at least once in your week. Wake up way after lunch, that way you save wasting time on breakfast and lunch and you can just have brunch.

- Divide your time between partying and sex. I usually have these two mutually exclusive since most of my partying ends in me being drunk enough to fuck doorknobs. This is good preparation for time management. Even better so when you have to juggle more than one women at a time.

The night before work was horrible, considering that 12mn is usually when I'm most lively, I managed to overcome this by reading Harry Potter under dim lighting, while tucked away in bed. 3 pages later, I'm asleep and drooling on the page. Great way to have my page bookmarked.

The next day, I get that familiar introductory to working life, RUSH HOUR. Not funny at all. The only thing more unbearable than having to wake up early is living with inconsiderate Singaporeans. NO ONE gives up their seat to me. Lazy ass worker bees.. all they think about is themselves.

The occupational line I'm in has nothing to do with my field of studies in the uni. Then again, Sociology was all about being in the major with the most interesting modules and classes with the prettiest babes. No, neither am I in the media industry like some of you guessed. I am in this line no so much by choice than it was by persuasion.

You see, I'm being groomed for a managerial role. An undergrad with no experience, having my career path drawn out before long before I graduated. The pay isn't great, the perks aren't good and the road ahead is daunting. While waiting for work to be passed to me, I sat at the desk thinking about all the stuff I could have done.

I'd wanted to be a journalist, since I love writing. I'd wanted to be a banker, since I love money. All this when I really should be a KTV prostitute since I love drinking and fucking so much. I thought about how sucky it was to be away from the CBD area, cos it meant less office ladies to look at, then I teared when I realised the office only has one young girl who is on attachment. It was a toss up between the girl's serious overbite versus the aunties, some of which looked like they strolled over from the HDB to buy milk. Totally depressing. Will not be interested in sex for the next 8hours.

Work was like how I imagined it to be, a total waste of time. I kept eyeing the MSN icon on the screen with suspicion and it took alot of maturity and sheer resoluteness to prevent myself from clicking it. It might have been a test to assess my work ethics and professionalism. I felt victorious after 15mins and decided to reward myself with a 30min coffee break. I obviously aced it.

Soon I was having a meeting with the big boss. He threw alot of big horrible words that I didn't like to hear much. Stuff like, "We're counting on you", "responsibility", "in-charge of huge clients in future", "in 2yrs time..". Word like those absolutely do not go down well with me. I start thinking of after work drinks at Balaclava, that Paul Smith shirt I like and how nice it'll be to fuck in the pantry. After 2 mins and the boss asking me a question I wasn't paying attention too, I blurt out the most diplomatic answer I could think of,

Me: "I'll do my best."

There was also no mention of more pressing issues like, "pay increment", "more off days" and "extended lunch and shortened working hours". I kept my ears on high alert for remotely similar phrases. The closest he got to was, "there's a yearly increment". That gave me mix reactions. Its like a mouse trap. To get the cheese, I have to endure the pain.

My work team is also less than flattering on my already wailing excitement to work. I'm tasked with idiots. My colleague is a VERY slow learner who likes job specialization because its in tangent with her limited brain capacity. Learn less work faster, was the one point she was desperately trying to put forward. Despite me taking a liking to her motto, she was a complete idiot,

She: "You know if you want to find the total, you have to add them up. You must click the + sign."

No shit! I would never have figured that out, I guess Nancy Drew here has solved the biggest mathematical code in history. I don't know whether to shout 'bingo!', or shout louder for a taxi to take me home. I took the nearest stapler and punctured it into my thigh. No effect. Well I guess nothing is going to be more painful than working with her.

I gave myself a second well deserved coffee break and went on a stroll downstairs. Then, a bright idea struck me, I'd go to the smoking area. Hey, if there's any hope of finding girls below 25 here, its going to be there. 5 metres from the loading area where they smoke, I see the unlawful gathering of 3 ladies.

One, in yellow top and turquoise skirt. I'd have called the fashion police and have her arrested for publicly flaunting '90's Ah Lian' colours, if not for her ankle tattoo. The other one had beautifully long wavy brown hair, fluttering with the gust of that hot afternoon breeze. Too bad she was about 40kg too heavy and her calves looked like turnips on Bruno Magli. The last was the best looking of the three, except for that she was also the oldest and completely flat chested. I wondered if she had scotch tape for bras, then decided not to waste any brain cells on her.

I headed up to take a piss. The toilet was great, it smelled like the aftermath of a fark attack. The humidity was baking a recipe for suffocation and I took quick glances to see if someone was fermenting shit in the afternoon sun. I took a quick piss, holding my breath at the same time. Might have sprayed a couple by the wall, but its not going to make any difference anyway.

The day was just great. At least I don't have to worry about getting unneccesary stiffies at work. And my colleagues don't have to worry about me hitting on them. I think I'll enjoy myself just fine..

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Butterfly Cuts Hair.. depression ensues

Only one thing has been able to make me depressed all week, my entry into the work-force. The rat race, the economic struggle, the blunt reality. Call it what you may, its the great denominator that ends all late night parties. Why am I depressed then? I had to have my hair cut. Yes, those precious locks of mine...

I hate normality. I loved my hair because I stood out from every other mundane cut. I loved my hair because as much as some girls hated it, more loved me for it. On my last night out, I had 2 dancers come up to me to tell me how much they loved my hair and they kept pleading with me not to cut it. It's a bi-polar effect. More people begun reading my blog because of my hair than the number of people who should go watch King and the Clown.

The last time I felt this depressed was when I found out Kelly Lin was 30 and Takeshi Kaneshiro was gay. Two very depressing news that took more than a MOS Burger coffee shake to get over. I contemplated suicide until the hot Taiwanese girls gave me a new reason to live. Two words. Rainie Yang. She's damn cute, until she acts cute, upon which I would punch her nose till she speaks properly again.

The hair's badly tied because I just got up and I was running late for my haircut appointment.

The things I miss the most... well I guess that's my affair with long hair. Unless of cos, one of you offers me a REALLY good paying media job that allows me to keep my hair again. OR, you are a sugar mummy, looking for a boy toy. *raises hand*, that would be me. Pick me.

Oh yes, and how can I forget the plenty of fags out there. Here's one for you, Brokeback style. This was of course unintentionally gay. It's taken from my trip to OZ. That's Lee next to me. Naturally I'm topless becaused we just played strip poker and I lost everything on one hand. Somehow the picture here is very pixelized, the original one is immaculately beautiful.


I've taken down the pics because like I said it's only for awhile. If you've seen it, good. You're know in the prestigious 400 strong club that knows me by face. Why undo what I've set upon the public?

Call it damage control if you may. There are simply some people whom I hope never find this blog. Since putting up my pictures, the following have occured,

1. 8 Friendster messages. 4 of which are guys. I don't know if they are readers, but I have to make one thing clear. Despite what it looks like in my last picture, I'm not gamed for a sausage feast. Neither would I appreciate you anywhere near 30cm from my ass. I don't ooze manliness, but girls in short skirts often reassure me that women are still very much my thing.

2. One hook up proposal.

3. As you can read on my tagboard, there's a polarizing conflict in opinion. A couple of the Friendster messages I recieved also contains comments on my pictures. I have 4 words,


The only ones that matter to me are the ones that compliment me. Seriously, unless you look better than me, you should never say anything bad about me. We go to hell for saying nasty things about people.

One girl wrote in her message, verbatim,

">>>I've been following your blog for sometime now and I think the stuff you write is totally hilarious. I'll be lying if I said I wasn't curious about how you looked but I guess that was part of the appeal to me, so you can imagine my shock when I saw your pictures. Don't get me wrong, I think you are pretty good looking in a boyish/pretty way but I think the mystery of your looks is a huge factor in the appeal of your blog. This is just my opinion and I thought it'll be nice to dorp you a line since I really enjoy reading it so much that I laugh out loud while reading it to." [sic]

Maybe she's right. I intended the pics to be a tease and I was going to take it down when I clocked 200 views. The thing I never really thought about was this whole "mystery" factor bullshit. Isn't the content more important?! I'd love reading my stuff if I wasn't me.

Do you really think I'd post pictures of myself to generate hits? I've taken enough marketing modules to know that controversy sells, thats why in our postcard moral society, sex always screams for attention. So pics of me just won't do. Anyway, I just had a bet that I won't be able to double my daily readership in the next 2 months. The thing is I'm not allowed to spam my URL in emails. Hence, I need to find a way to win this bet. I will need your help.

I'll end this. Unless you're telling me how much you love me and how much I rock, save all negativity. I hate it. If you really have to try bring me down, send me a picture of you, I'll post it and we can have a public opinion. Don't you just love public shaming?

Sunday, July 02, 2006

The Butterfly Breakups

Firstly, I hope everyone here has a brain. If you're smart enough to make me a daily digest, then I'm sure you're smart enough to realise that I was kidding in my last post. Look, everyone needs a catharsis, and this happens to be mine. I've people asking me on MSN if I actually did those.

No. Although I do wish I did for a couple of them. However, these are what I did.

1. The First GF

I don't even know if I can legitimately classify this as one, since I was actually the Third Party. Now now.. before you start ostracizing and threaten to impale me with your pencil and Ferragamo heels, I need to set one thing straight.

I never knew I was the mistress. I always thought that bitch was secretly seeing someone else. OOPS. Well, when I did find out I kicked up a big fuss and refused to talk to her on the bus ride home. REAL mature. I was 17. I worked assiduously over what I would say to her for the whole ride back and came up with a real gem.

Me: "I think we should stop seeing each other."

REAL smart aye me? I was 17, just barely figured out how masturbating worked and that kissing doesn't lead to pregnancy.

Did I also mention I did the super macho jerk of the shoulders when she tried to reach for me? I also sulked alot at the bus-stop because I couln't think of a better portrait for displeasure. 10 points for my Man-Hunt worthy pose. Anyway, we eventually remained good friends. She's modelling for Up-Front Models now, last I heard.

2. The Possessive Psycho

For one, I opted for the "I think we should remain friends" and "I think the timing is wrong" combo. She knew where I was heading with the talk and started crying. I stress, CRYING, on the bus ride back to her place. What a wuss.

I punched her to stop her from crying, then 10 men descended on me to stop me from killing that bitch. Nah, I'd wished though. At the point of her bursting into tears 20mins after I just said, "We need to talk", I went soft.

Me: "It's not that bad lah..."
She: "[sob] you.. you are going to dump me [sob]"
Me: "No lah, don't be silly."

10mins after I said that, I dumped her. I lied, through my teeth. I eventually told her how she freaked me out and that I needed space. You're allowed to say all these if you go for the "I think we should remain friends" option. I faked some template upset demeanour, like quivering of lips, deep breathing and some bullshit about "this being such a waste". The moment she left for the lift, I sprinted off half breaking into a celebratory dance on a strawberry field.

Nothing could ruin the moment. Not even me missing the last bus and having to take a cab back.

3. The one that lasted 5 years.

Say what?! Yes lesser beings, I've been in a 5 yr relationship. How did the break up go? 2 words, wait, make that 3.


Interestingly, she was perhaps the only person I truly ever really loved. Not that she was a horrible girlfriend. Well, she was after the 2nd year, we broke up a year later and I felt sad for the first time. I went home, sent a petition to Webster to have them change the definition of 'women' to,

Wom-en (noun. plural) : Horrible bitches that breaks promises and makes me upset. Needs to be burnt on a stake like the McCarthy era. Evil creatures.

They rejected me and I fell asleep thinking of a second definition. I also took a huge dump and thought the dough resembled her.

Well, we eventually got back and 2 years later, I was ruining everything. She was a good girlfriend actually. Pretty, smart, great body and she earned alot. Everyone else thought she was hot and that I was lucky to have her, except me. The great thing was that she was hardly ever around cos she had to fly, which gave me a lot of time to do my other stuff.

Contrary to what you might think, I actually never cheated on her, not even once. I wasn't a good boyfriend, I was GREAT. I cooked, wrote poetry, left the toilet seat down and allowed her to watch her favourite shows.

She on the other hand was totally obnoxious at times. She disapproved of tattoos, disallowed me watching Wrestling, hated me playing Mahjong and was constantly insecure about letting me club. It finally took its toll on me and everything crumbled.

I remember snippets of what I said.

Me: "I think the timing was all wrong.."

Me: "Maybe we should remain friends..."

Me: "Its not you its me.."

I probably nailed a 5 hit combo on that breakup talk, which had enough bullshit to fertilize Bukit Timah Hill. I was upset at that point, right until I drove off from her place. I thought about how this was going to be my last time here, about how I was going to miss her.. about my next tattoo.. about finally fucking the girls who've been hitting on me. Suddenly, the world just got better. I turned up the volume and sang along to Backstreet Boys all the way home.

I spent the next week partying hard and laughing at attached couples. I felt bad naturally so I planned a 5 month abstinence plan. I wasn't going to date anyone nor was I going to sleep with anyone. 2 months later I found out she got attached, even after all that bullshit of waiting for me. That Bitch.

Feeling cheated, I resumed referring to her as "that bitch", then went out to find myself someone to fuck. I also sent in my 3rd draft for Webster's dictionary.

Wom-en (noun. plural): Horrible lying creatures. Still needs to be put on a stake. Cannot pee further than men.

They haven't gotten back to me since.

By the way, if you haven't been reading, she's married, we're still friends and I'm hotter than her husband. For one that lasted 5yrs, I actually got over this pretty quickly. If you know me, you'd know that almost nothing is worth me getting depressed over. Hence, I never understand why my friends get so upset over breakups.

Take it from me. It's better 2yrs than 5 years. When you break up, you should NEVER recount how much you put in and see it as all being a waste. Love is not measured in effort, wake the fuck up. If you gave everything and it still failed, than be glad it did now and not later. It takes two hands to clap. Period.

note: I'm bad at consoling, neither should you drown me with your sorrows, unless of cos you are my friend. BUT, if you ever need to be set straight, I'm the best person you can turn to. In your time of despair, I offer you rationality.

4. The one that keeps coming back.

The whole Ivory debacle is found here. You need to read every one of the entries on her in the hook up section. The final fallout was the infamous foursome debacle.

To begin with, we never seriously dated. She loved fucking me, she was cool to hang out with and I needed to earn karma points, so I offered my body as a vessel to reap good deeds. Think I'm a slut, wait till you hear my booty call stories. I must have at least 'broken' up with her 3 times. Each time I used,

Me: "I don't think we're suited for each other."

The ensuing debate always ended awfully. Usually because I got pissed at her persistence to digress from the topic and counter with "I can change..". This usually ends with me going hysterical at her vulgarities, like "love", "change", "promise".. words that totally puts me off.

We'd always end the day like it was going to be the last. Two weeks later, she'd always re-appear, asking me out for coffee like nothing happened. Then she'll start her nonsense and say nasty words like, "I missed you" and "I've been thinking alot about you". It took me alot of courage to finally admit this to her,

Me: "I think you're psycho and I hate you."

The final blowout was the day after the notorious foursome story. I bumped into her and MissBangs at MoS..

MissBangs: "Where's my toyboy?"
Me: "Seeing fishes."
MissBangs: "Why he never come out with you."
Me: "Cos he'll rather fuck a fish than fuck you again."

Ivory: "I miss you already.." [tries to kiss me]
Me: [pushing her away] "You're messing my hair.."
Ivory: "Is that all you have to say?"
Me: [still trying to stop her from kissing me] "FUCK OFF LA! YOU"RE TUGGING AT MY BRAIDS!!"

Classic delivery by me there. I managed to get her and everyone in a 1m radius to stare at me. Then she runs off crying in the club. Hands up if you've made someone cry with just two lines at a club. I now belong to a select club of assholes. You are not.

The thing is, guys should never hit women. NEVER. Unless its foreplay, yummy. However, some guys really need a good ass whooping to see things right. I'm not kidding. Read the last post, call me if you have problems. I have a pre-essembled ass-whooping crew to deal out the best ass kicking your money can afford.

Girls, beat your man if he refuses to break up.

Guys, if your girl beats you, break up with her. If not, run away shreiking until your voice breaks then turn around and whoop that bitch. Squeaky voiced men are women in disguise.