Thursday, September 28, 2006

Butterfly goes Cleopatra

If you’ve never heard or been into Cleopatra KTV, it’s either because you are below 40 or you don’t have a disposable income of 10k a day.

If there was a dumber way to waste money than paying school fees, it has to be found here. This is the enclave of society’s upper echelon of wealth disparity with VERY little brains. It’s the niche market for money grubbing PRC women (who will eventually end up in body bags on TNP front page).

As soon as I get there, I realize I am the youngest male in the place and possibly the youngest ever to step in. Even the décor is older than me. The place is a cross between a chill out lounge splashed with cheesy A-go-go influence and a disco era relic conservation project.

Here’s what people there do.

1. Drink.

Cos this is life’s greatest pleasure and purpose. We all need to die one day, might as well be from liver failure or from a bar fight.

2. ‘Hang Flowers’

What basically happens in this shit-hole is a singer will come on stage to massacre a song. The dumb but rich patrons will cheer at anything in a dress, even one particular girl who had such huge nostrils, she only needed more pointed ears to qualify as a pig. Support is commodified into three items.

Flower - $50
Sash- $100 to $1,000
Tiara - $1,000 to $30,000

Dumb and drunk old men will purchase these items for the singer as a significant symbol to highlight that with age, comes stupidity. And with wealth, comes greater stupidity.

For every $500 trophy a girl is handed, whistles go off and you think you’re standing in the middle of a Bangkok traffic congestion police facilitation.

For every $1000, confetti rains from the ceiling and you have a new Miss Universe being crowned.

The only problem is…

These girls ain’t very pretty. Some of them would have been stoned if I was Prime Minister. There were about 4 of them who were pretty, had decent figures, just that the whole 70’s evening gown get up didn’t sit too well with me.

Whistles go off and a staff presents this singer with a tiara. I immediately turn to TheGodfather.

Me: “Who the fuck would pay $1000 for this pig? Bacons don’t cost that much..”

TheGodfather points to his friend, BaldingEagle.

TheGodfather: “Wait till you see him drunk..”

Soon as she ends and before the next girl even sings two lines, red and white confettis start bursting from the ceiling. I almost took out my Singapore flag to wave. Then I see the Tiara slotted on the crown of her head. I turn to the girl seated with me.

Me: “How much is that?”
Girl214: “$10,000”
Me: “$10,000?! FOR LOOKING LIKE THAT?!”

She thought I was being rude, but I knew the person who bought that HAD to be blind. I don’t blame him. Myopia is the number one family and financial wrecker in this place. From where he was seated, he would have paid for a Whale.

This 10k girl wasn’t the least bit attractive, save for her huge tits and porcelain complexion. If I had 10k to blow on PRCs, it’ll have the words ‘orgy’, ‘suite’, ‘more orgy’ and ‘a pet panda’.

The thing with this alopecic population is that the economics of marginal returns is lost in them. I’d be perfectly honest with you. If I paid $10k for anything with tits, I’d expect really great sex from it. Lots of it. If you’re gonna be paying anything in that region, you’d have to expect her going down on you as soon as your package wakes up and before it sleeps.

Yet even for great sex, $10k is a Devil’s price tag. The marginal returns for great sex should be somewhere along the lines of Free. So, what do you call men who pay thousands for the girl to sit and chat with them all night?


By the time it came to the first interlude, TheGodfather and his motley crew had spent enough
to buy a Yamaha R1 and the table diagonally infront of me was well into Honda Jazz region.

3. Talk

The female manager of the girls starts chatting me up. Naturally, since I’m the ONLY who isn’t gay, stupid and still functionally capable of lust. Whether she was flirting with me with a down blouse preview or if it was perchance to innocence and carelessness for that right nipple to pop up in sight, is up for debate.

She tells me she’s 27, but girls lie about their age, just as men lie about everlasting love. Barely 5 minutes into our conversation, she’s asking me for my number on a pedomorphic excuse that started from

If here fun I can call you to come..”. To, “maybe we can go party together next time.”

1.30am: BaldingEagle is drunk and randomly buying $500 sashes for the singers.
1.45am: I ask one of the girls if her gown is a family heirloom. She didn’t seem too keen to answer me.
2.00am: UncleMustacho orders food. Nothing beats eating duck while watching people with two left feet dance the Cha-Cha.
2.12am: Girl206 does a hip gyrate. This makes Beyonce frown over in New York.
2.16am: Too bored with the lack of any semblance of debauchery, I start spouting rubbish to the lady manager.

Me: “For that amount of money being spent, it’s surprising I haven’t seen tits yet.”

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Miss September

I'm called Butterfly for a reason and my failing attention span, which is shorter than Xiaxue on heels, is my call card.

Of late, I've come to define my months through the people I date, give precedence over or go to bed with. Its a collective thing for most of you, but for me, these mutable brackets can and will sometimes be mutually exclusive luxuries that I cannot offer.

When I saw her again last night, I remembered why I was so mesmerized by her that I gave up polygamy for a week. Call it my downfall, my kryptonite, the episodic bane of my aphrodisia for all things exotic. And not to deprecate the aesthetic importance of large earings, killer bodies and trucker caps.

I was initially worried that the temporal absence of physical contact, which is a month, would cause a bout of awkwardness to wedge itself between us. My qualms on this was quickly squashed by her ecstatic feint running towards where I was seated before giving me what I consider to be the best 'I missed you' hug.

She: "You miss me?"
Me: "Did you miss me?"
Reznor: "Som, did you cry?"

In between she hands me some handphone strap of a pig with wings, then dangles hers before mine. A matching strap only that hers is in white and mine's black.

She: "This is for you."

I stare at the absolute joke of a phone strap and imagine all the laughing everyone will be abusing me with when I pull this out. She had to be kidding. Even faggots will stone me for this.

Me: "For me?"
She: "Yes."
Me: "Really...? I have to put this on?"

I turn to Reznor,

Me: "You have to be fucking kidding me babe...." [whispers]
Reznor: "How long is that going to be on?"
Me: "Tonight... tops. It's coming off after I leave."
Reznor: "HAHAHA... You heartbreaker you"

I turn back to her.

She: "I'll be upset if you lose this."
Me: "Even if this accidentally drops?!"

She eyes me suspiciously. If I wasn't that much of an asshole, that might actually pass off as a legitimate joke.

The thing about Miss September is that I've never actually been anywhere remotely mean to her. Even when I'm particularly pissed at having her being around when there was at least two other women that I would have loved to hook up with, she only needed to do one thing to get my focus back on her.


That contemptuous non-chalance of her gaze as if all else was below her. Then she'll work her body. A masterful craft of poised seduction and well-executed choreography. And she'll tease, swaying her hips periodically while peering through her fringe. If any one can make a PCD song look good, it's her. If she made a living on how well her ass moves, she'll be buying Tioman tomorrow.

She's territorial. She scrubs my face when some other girl gave me a peck. She wedges herself between me and any other girl who's having a conversation with me. She constantly reminds me that my eyes should be on her at all times. She gets pacified with a kiss. She changes my wallpaper. She loves me.

Reznor: "I can't imagine if you met her in a supermarket... you'd be married by now."

Me: "You know what? I've found my September.."

Edit: Pics removed

Friday, September 22, 2006

Whale trips, gets laughed at

I have one more proof that if you are a Whale, you will be laughed at.

The only other friend a Whale has other then their existing (should be scheduled for execution) circle of social degenerates, is the Burger King counter lady. EVERYONE else hates you if you are a Whale, right down to the toilet attendant cos your ass is bigger and you deplete toilet paper faster than a double cheese burger on your tray.

I usually dread the MRT, other than this one particular girl whom I get to meet everyday at Outram MRT. Today, I correct myself for denigrating the entertainment value of taking an MRT, my disdain for public transport has been uncalled, but ONLY if everyday is like this one.

A Whale tripped on the gap in between the train and the platform and fell face first.

I don’t know which to laugh at first. The sight of the mighty Shamu lying prone on the ground or her purple cotton panties. She was the first in and with her lying on the ground, she effectively blocked everyone behind her.

So what do WE normal healthy Singaporeans do when someone is on the ground and the “Door Closing” warning is sounding?

We cross over her.

The closest help anyone even offered was this girl who pointed out to her that her shoe fell in-between the gap. I don’t blame her for extending that unwarranted act of social pity, she’s slightly plump and she’s probably in twilight to choose her future alliance. If she’s smart enough, she’ll choose humanity. No one should live like Whales do, marking dates to coincide with buffet promotions.

The Whale got up and started squeezing itself out, murmuring “my shoe” along the way. Not like we bothered. I started moving to the corner, trying hard not to giggle. Everyone else’s look was a kaleidoscopic picture perfect shot of constipated grin hiding and superficial sympathy.

I started taking out my phone on the pretext of reading a funny text message and giggled like a silly school-girl. I’m so sneaky. Then this couple seated diagonally across me started laughing. I’m in disbelieve on how mean these people can be.

I don’t understand how there are COUNTLESS reminders to MIND YOUR STEP and yet she manages to trip. Is it because Whales are dumb in addition to being physically distorted? It’s like tripping underwater. Or Singapore actually being democratic. These things just don’t ever happen.

When I got in to office I told Spinnee about this and asked her for the moral because the Whale tripped while smsing.

Spinnee: “if u're fat & ugly , dun multitask..?”

Whales should be totally banned from MRT’s after today’s incident. They are proving to be a hazard to commuters. The potential damage to the under-carriage from that fall, the obstructing of passage leading to a possible fire hazard and taking too much space during rush hours.

On last check, are they STILL paying the same fares as me?

Call it a morning anecdote, a Prozac pill or self-reflection (if you are a Whale). The moral is simple.

If you are Fat and Ugly, You WILL be laughed at. Giving equal chances to people who are clearly unequal is called Communism. We don’t endorse that.

Thursday, September 21, 2006


There are some holidays you embark on alone to ease your troubled mind. Some you take with your sweetheart because nothing beats arguing in a foreign city. And some you go with enough people to form a settlement.

This is officially the largest group I've been out of Singapore with, unless you count the one time I was abducted by aliens along with 4400. Any holiday of this magnitude of induced participation deserves a commendation on the logistical arrangements. Lodging, transport, weed, poker cards, French caps...

Minor set back on the transport up. I was half hoping for those first class coaches with private screens, massage chairs and hot towel girls in the skimpiest skirts playing peek-a-boo with me. The only thing I got was a free seat belt ass fuck when I accidentally fell back on the chair.

The only reason I went up to KL, was to party, which should be everyone’s priority if your parents brought up decently. And if you’ve been adequately educated and you have the decency to conduct yourself to the proper club ethics, you’ll know that it’s only proper to get to a club drunk on juice or stoned on organic desserts before you make your grand entrance to Rave joints.

Pardon my lack of proper introduction, this is my crew..

ED, Reznor, LB and Me – Single males with a high quotient for all things sinful.
Dek, RedBug – In love. Still blind, but I love them all the same.
Mun, WJ – Couple. Also blind.
Faith, Germ, Ash –Single women who lack my impetuous content for indulging in hedonism.
YJ- K12 Renegade.

And of cos, there was supposed to be..

Huixx. Who bailed out the last min. I called her in the morning and she said some horrible words like “not going” and “enjoy yourselves”, as well as others that made me smile a little. Like, “horrible hangover”. She was one person fully capable of starting a party and our appointed underground nightlife guide. Her no show has quickly relegated her down the Best Friend list and she's now commonly known as, The JC Friend.

The Clubbing..

Anyone who is a fan of trance or an avid lover of the Melbourne shuffle should catch the next shuttle down to KL. If you are a girl and you shuffle, you have to add, “Drop Butterfly a message”, before you book a ticket there. Girls are SO hot when they shuffle.

The only thing better than a girl shuffling, is a whole group of them. If only pre-mature ejaculation wasn’t exclusive to DOTA cyber geeks and was still physically possible to real men, I would have shot a load just watching 7-10 girls sweating it out on the dance floor with killer shuffles.

I’d tell you how much shuffling is a Prozac diet for me, but you, guilty of MTV commercialization and mass culture will never understand why I’ve moved from 50 Cent to Tiesto to a pure amalgamation of rapid beats and hard basses. If you shuffle, Holla.

The Highlight.. I could have died.

I’d have said nothing beats an ecstatic dose of hard trance and a bottle of whiskey, but that would be discrediting our return leg bus driver who rammed past the barrier at the toll booth.

I was half hoping this would escalate into a highway chase with 4 police cars, helicopters and a news crew with a hot reporter. That would have happened only if he was committing some class one felony charge. Like smuggling roasted pork slices.

Then it turned out to be some really trivial problem, a petty mechanical fault and some pussy gibberish about failed brake pads and how he couldn’t stop in time. I thought this was absolutely ridiculous. Just pedal the gas and when we need to brake, a hard swerve to the left or right lane barrier (depending on distance between each) would effectively stop the bus.

Best so if you can crash it into some other unsuspecting vehicles. Since it’s a possibility that their brakes might also fail, we’ll do the good deed and stop them before they can cause any harm to themselves.

Yes, the bus would have been in dire state. Yes, we’ll damage some public structures, but hey, it’ll only make us look like real wreck survivors. Nothing beats coming out of an accident unscathed, then proclaiming to the world that you are the next Super Hero.

The only thing that frustrated me was the bus going from winter to stuffy. A single fart was enough to kill everyone. The cops came, took some pictures and decided no vehicle with failed brakes should be on the road. What a dumb rule.

Look the equation is real simple.

No Brakes = More time for the accelerator = Getting home faster

When it comes to traveling, there’s no two ways about it. You either go safe and spend Christmas in the car or you speed. Yes, you’ll be more accident prone, more likely to kill an innocent pedestrian and chipping a nail from all that frantic gear shifting.

BUT, as long as your hair remains in place and you make it there 2mins ahead of everyone else, you’ll know it’s worth it. Cos, your life is only worth 2 mins. Safety and speeding are mutually exclusive, since one is a by product of stupidity and inflated ego.

What do we do when buses break down?

We get down to take pictures with the license plate. Only problem was the VERY ominous number plate.

AER 666

If you have no idea what this number means, it symbolizes the amount of time I will be delivering open palm slaps to you followed by your IQ and hopefully, your age. I’m a wuss and I only beat up idiots.

We ended up playing cards by the road shoulder because I’m an authentic Singapore and cards are our best travel companion. Except for condoms and tampons.

I can never have a normal holiday.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Expiry on Stupidity

I’ve not looked forward to any day with more anticipation, not since I was promised the World would end at the stroke of Millennia midnight. While that great Apocalyptic prediction turned out to be less reliable than Whales safe guarding chocolates, I ended up realizing that NOTHING is worth anticipating. Unless it involves nudity and me.

Today, Reena marked her last day at work and she did it like every other day. Marking her presence by spraying a trail of stupidity.

Nothing beats her running to me, hysterically mumbling,

Reena: “My email cannot send! My email cannot send!”
Me: “Ya, the office server is down… “
Reena: “But mine cannot send mail you know?”

I don’t know whether to shout for a cab or for joy that the Era of Stupidity comes to full closure.

With her immediate departure, the company will hold a champagne party. Our quotient for logical interpretation will finally be above the nation wide average.

I’ll miss,


I feel smarter writing this already.

Prelude to KL13:

I’m leaving for KL in under 10 hrs. With the ENTIRE vice group. This will be good, if not, I’m lying that we had dinner with Santa Clause.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Butterfly Gets The Last Laugh

It's funny how people try to get one over me but how I always find a way to get the final laugh.

The MRT Story:

Couple days back I was waking from the transit of the North East Line to the East West Line at Outram. There I was happily strolling when I started hearing "tsk" noises behind me. This was quickly followed by heavy sighing and grunting. She threw everything at me to verbally broadcast her petulance.

I of cos knew there was someone behind me because having a third eye at the back of my head is my chosen mutant ability. She was constantly shuffling from right to left, trying to find a passage through the crowd. Instead of saying 'excuse me', she barged her way through, pushing me aside.

My first thought was,

"Woohoo! Was that boobs that just grazed me?!"

Quickly followed by,

"That bitch!"

And what do I do when provoked by rude people? I bite back...

I started hastening my steps, taking longer quicker strides and because that girl is a midget on heels, I catch up to her in no time. This soon became a two way race to the platform and she quickly picked up her pace, possibly because she knew an ass whooping was coming her way. If there was a Olympic trial for speed walking held, I might have qualified.

Barely 30sec into this, I realised what too much alcohol and not enough sleep 4 hours before can do to my physical state. I started panting and could have sworn I popped a temporal vein. Since I risk dying from over-exertion, revenge is probably not worth this.

Then she HAD to cut into my path again. Was I going to win this foot race? Nope. I realised how childish this whole thing was and decided to do what all great sportsmen who are going to lose a race would do. I tripped her.

I swore it was a reflex action to lash out a kick with my right leg, catching her at the archilis. She stumbled, then immediately turn to give me a look of fervid exasperation. She was pissed. If pissness could be bought as a commodity, she would have enough to fill Noah's Ark. I started apologising profusely, then as she walked off, I giggled to myself for being such sore loser.

That bitch.

People, if your Mum complains to you about some punk tripping her at the MRT station, that would be me. She deserved it.

Girls Criticizing Me:

Girl's are weird people. They always say things that contradict themselves. They tell me stuff like,

"You make every other men look good"
"You have NO redeeming qualities.."
"Are they blind.. what do all these girls see in you.."
"I can't find anything good or faintly attractive about you.."

And you know what the irony of it is?

They all end up sleeping and falling in love with me.

The most classic thing I heard was,

"You know, I don't see why girls will want to fuck you. You're not drop dead gorgeous and you don't have a huge dick. And you say pretty mean stuff sometimes. Do girls really like guys like that? What do they see in you?"

5 mins later, she is fucking me. Here.

It never fails to amaze me why these girls love putting me down, especially in front of other guys. Well, look who's laughing now.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

People To Get Stoned

Suicide needs to be synonymous with obesity, stupidity and ugliness. I'm not suggesting to you who needs to die (or be killed), I'm telling you. If you ever put weapons of mass destructions at my disposal, make sure it comes with a selective extermination device and you'll soon find the world a better place.

Some people just don't get it and wonder why I'm perpetually vulgar towards the fore-mentioned categories of sub-species Homosepians. It's just like putting limb amputees at a World Series Baseball match, you just hate them but you can't blatantly jeer them. After all, it is an ascribed characteristic, because fate HATES you.

1. Whales

I don't care what you call people with the Equator for belt size. In my dictionary, they are called whales.

Wh-ale-s [adj]:
1. People who are excessively overweight and prone to constant self-wedgies from walking.
2. Usually synonymous with gluttony, body odour and cellulite.
3. Most probable suspect for stolen brownies and fudge cake.
4. Can be used as an expletive. Usually for verbal abuse on fat people. Always add profanities before actual word. Example,

"You fucking Whale!"

It's easy to understand why we ALL hate them. They exist at our expense. The club scene is one valid case to highlight our social stress caused directly by these behemoths. It's no secret that whales going to clubs are the principle evidence of inequalities and exploitation that exist in society.

WE are the ones being suppressed. Look, this is real simple.

Whales pay the same cover as us but they take up 3 times the room. Ever wondered why even when clubs are packed, the door management still allows people in? Well, empirical evidence has proven the presence of whales as a cause of this fatal flaw in crowd management.

I don't blame them, it's hard to quantify the equivalence of whales to men. I usually pro-rate them at 3 times, make them pay triple the amount, then force them to wear sweat shirts. I shan't even discuss at lengths about whales at buffets, but they should have discriminating pricing like,

Child : $9++
Adult: $18++
Whale: $52++

This is bullshit to normal folks like us. The next time someone tells you about Singapore being egalitarian and meritocratic, spit at their face then punch them in the nuts. How can it be fair when Whales get to save money?! This isn't even K-Mart!

Update on the Whale Story:

Last Friday, I bumped into the Whale again at MoS. There's alot of difference to what alcohol does to your nerves and guts. Much against my consent, Ash went up to talk to the Whale and brought her over.

I've never been more shit-housed nervous and scared than I was, standing there arms folded, nearly buckling at my knees while she walked over. I almost forgot how big and imposing she was as she towered over me. She was exactly how I remembered her to be. Tall, grossly overweight, flat-chested and impalingly unpleasant looking.

She scared the shit out of me. Even LB got a shock from looking at her and retreated to a corner. She came over to shake my hand, while I kept one hand still folded across my chest, showing as much disinterest as how monks would be at an orgy.

Whale: "How have you been?"
Me: "Ok."
Whale: "My cousin just came to S'pore today.. He's from Philippines"
Me: "Working here? Which house?"

I never felt so much intertwining of fear, repulsion and nervousness than I did standing half a metre from her. The constant fear of her throwing a bear hug at me and crushing all my internal organs was a deeply undesirable thought. Even I deserve to die more.. graciously. I'm pretty sure she'd have raped me after killing me. Necrophilia is a genetic dysfunction in most whales.

LB came up to me after the ordeal,

LB: "That's the Whale?"
Me: "Yes..."

Do I need to give a more valid reason for their extermination? They are always going to be the first on the barbeque pit when it comes to cannibalism anyway, so why not just kill them for pleasure now? Okay, forget the killing, but can I at least get to throw a stone at them? Would be fun..

2. Idiots

Life without them would be great. No more shit in urinals, no more squatting on toilet bowls and no more Justin Timberlake CDs. Great. They don't have to die but the government should at least allow us to periodically throw sucker punches at them. They won't know what hit them anyway.

My execration for idiots is at an all time high. It's always easy to hit the threshold limit, especially when I'm in constant working contact with one. My colleague aced the stupidity test by spelling her name wrongly. Me and idiots just don't go well, just like apodia and Nikes.

Stupidity is a congenital disease, like gambling, excessive talking and plane crashing. If you are stupid (if people are kind enough they'll tell you so), shut up and let the best thing to come out your mouth be a dick.

Which idiot would put spaces in email addresses? That would be my colleague...

Yesterday she did something that convinced me she that religiously takes a cupful of retardism juice every morning. Despite constant supervision, she managed to send wrong documents to a client, documents that happen to be VERY confidential. Coincidence or corporate espionage gone wrong? It's simply stupidity.

She: "How now... Die.. sure die. Boss sure scold."
Me: "Go take a cab there and take the documents back.."
She: "How to go? I dunno the way.."
Me: "REENA! That's why you take a cab!"
She: "But I don't know the way also.."

Not convince that anyone is THIS stupid, I hand her the address.

She: "I know the address la.. but I don't know how to go there."
She: "The taxi know how to go ah?"

I felt like I was being money shot with stupidity. Just when you think she cannot topple her own dumbness, she comes along and destroys a perfectly good morning.

She comes out one morning, hysterical about her email being down and how it's affecting her work. She starts lamenting about how she cannot receive client emails and how she won't get any work done should this persist. Then she, in all her IQ of 65, comes up with the best idea I've heard all year since planning a foursome...

She: "I ask the clients to send email to you.. can?"
Me: "And how are you going to get work done like that?"
She: "After they send you, you just send to me."

And this is only possible because my email is special and I can operate through all bad servers and system breakdowns. The next thing she'll be doing is sticking postage stamps on the screen, because to all idiots, e-mail requires stamps.

Me: ".. if your E-Mail is down.. do you think I can still send you E-Mail."

She stood there staring as if she's just heard the most ridiculous thing, flared her nostrils, then walked off. I heard faint mumblings of "that's right" .. or it could have been a "that's why".

Look, if someone you know is stupid, do not hesitate to dish out a decent amount of ass whooping. Kicks to the shin and jabs to the sternum, whatever it takes to bring on the pain. We need to hand out maximum punishment for minimum brain function ability.

3. Ugly People

Everyone wears a mask. I sometimes wonder if my caricature personality is a ruse to blindside reality. I sometimes wonder why anyone would want to be ugly. Correction, I wonder how anyone can live with being ugly.

Yes yes, I hear you say..

".. But Butterfly.. looks is secondary to character.."

I'll tell you how it works. Character can never erase the superficiality of reality. Humor can never surpass an eternity with alopecia, neither will being 'nice' ever get you anything more than cornucopian bullshit of,

"I think you're nice.. let's just be friends" OUCH!

Looks is still the primary meritocratic flag bearer. Want a good pay, be pretty. That's the difference between a walk down the runway and a walk down the library isle. Do not even start with me on the fundamentals of demand and supply to posit wage differential. I'll tell you the simple rule of life. Beautiful people make it, ugly people don't.

The thing about ugly people is that they scare the shit out of me. I don't know whether to feel sorry for them or jab them between the eyes. Ugliness like the two cardinal sins before this, is almost always ligated with self-delusion.

Simple rule. Anyone who says they are ugly, is almost always trying to act humble, so we ignore people like them. Anyone who says they are pretty, usually is. People aren't shameless enough for excessive self promotion, unless it’s me. Anyone one who says they are 'OK', is ugly. You can disagree, but you are wrong.

I've met ugly people. Some of them suspected and secretly guilty of perpetuating Halloween. I've met people who looked like they came out of a losing battle with the lawn mower and people who's facial arrangement looked like it was planned by astronomers. I once knew this girl who's eyes where so far apart, they only needed to be closer the top for her to qualify as a frog.

I worship the aesthetics and I love the beautiful. If only plastic surgery was made free and people didn't (and I don't understand why they should) frown on it so much, you'd realise that vomiting will no long exist. If only all ugly people vanished, children will no longer cry and you'd finally find raping to be worthwhile.

Stoning ugly people has been a practice since the heydays of John Galliano and Elle MacPherson. I don't see why it should stop either.

4. Moral Righteous Pricks.

For those of you, who are too dumb to see the greater social revolution that I am preaching, think again before you castigate. Think of me as a Ché Guevara, only with a bigger stock inventory of condoms and whiskey.

I condemn Communism and believe that people, who are clearly not equal, do not deserve equal chance. Fat, ugly and stupid people (collectively) deserve to be mocked and laughed at. The occasional stoning will be smiled upon.

I get a lot from people (guys usually) criticizing the way I’m nucleated in an ‘amoral’ lifestyle. Am I bothered? Only by the myopic principles you claim to adhere to. I’ll say this again, the only reason you cannot fathom a life less ordinary like mine, is because opportunities delude you.

If are a normal hot-blooded male and you get as much hook up offers as I do, without having the need to play the chase, would you still remain your virginal ignorant self? If you said ‘yes’ to that, you are either,

a) Gay (which would almost certainly mean you are innately promiscuous)
b) Lying your ass off

The only reason why you sit there and say “this guy has no morals” and you start throwing me words like “amoral”, “asshole” and “STD”, is because you are half as pretty as me and obviously you’ve never seen tits other then in the guy’s locker room after a TAF club get together.

Oh, but I do have morals. I’m the furthest thing from a hypocrite you’ll ever find. I’ve never and will never lie to get into someone’s pants. Promises are luxuries you may never get from me but I’ll offer you no frills for thrill.

So preach to me only if you’ve had hordes of hot women throwing themselves at you, with sex being only a whisper away and you’ve managed to abstain from it despite being TOTALLY heterosexual. In this case, only one thing is obvious.

YOU ARE AN IDIOT. This still qualifies you being stoned.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Butterfly's Birthday

If you haven't already realised (or wished me yet), the 31st of August is the single most important day in humanity. 25 years ago today, I was delivered and I have since fucked up about 20 people's life. Talk about making an impact. I'm going to come to a point when everyone at the market is going to compete over who got screwed worse.

My liver needs rest. I've not displayed a paralled imortality over the juice since I got back from Adelaide and neither have I showed the same passion and energy to party consecutively for days on end.

My Birthday has stretched for about 2 weeks. I've had people periodically wish me Happy Birthday, ever since I intentionally misled you guys with my MSN nick. Though it should be celebrated for at least a week, the actual date falls on the 31st.

And because it's my birthday, and I'm granted impunity for a week, I've been saying alot of rude stuff all week (2 weeks actually) long...

I told a lesbian, "You're perfect waste of good pussy", and

I told some girl who was attempting to blue ball me, "you are wasting a perfectly good erection."

Doesn't matter what I say. I'll always win in the end. I'll pick up from the trip back from KL.

Despite returning at about 9.30pm and not having decent rest, the responsibility to hold a decent birthday bash with ample amount of alcohol to keep my friends happy, is still paramount. The resultant effect was a substantial hole in the wallet. Alcohol truly deserves my monthly wage contribution. Nothing else fucks me up with regret more than a bottle of Chivas.

After waiting for like 6 years for my bottles to come, I had enough time to draft out my next birthday and subsequent retirement plan. When it finally came, I had to wait for the Champagne toasting. Champagne's are one of those permanent delectables that you must ALWAYS have. The others include a brithday wish, Tiramisu, condoms and kway chap.

5 glasses into the night, I began trash talking. I started telling everyone who tried to toast me,

Me: "It's my birthday.. You do not, talk to me.."

Some punk ass who was desperately trying to hit on Ash finally decided to be smart and chatted me up instead.

Idiot: "Hey what's your name."
Me: "Birthday Boy."
Idiot: "Hey Birthday Boy, I'm ....."
Me: "Doesn't matter to me.. I won't remember you or your name."

Idiot: "So how old are you man? 19?"
Me: "25.."
Idiot: "Hooo shit! Are you serious? I'm still a baby man.."
Me: "Yes."

I tried to sound as disinterested as anyone with a dick would be at a dildo discount outlet. Wooo.. I take that back. I almost got a stiffy just thinking about it. He finally leaves me alone after one of his other guy friend treats me to a round of tequila.

The remainder of the night remains a blur in my memory capsule. There's alot to what fatigue and alcohol can do to you... I do remember,

- LB leaving in the middle of the party to head home to sleep. Its a natural occurance when he's kissed about 5 glasses of whiskey.

- Me telling Totti to chat up this group of Eurasians. One Korean/British mix was exceptionally pretty, so I decided not to talk to them in case my incurable Assholism worked up again.

- Blaque getting drunk, sitting on the pavement with that same constipated look I remembered 4 years ago.

That was Sat.. by the time it came down to my actual birthday, I was too tired to do shit and I actually fell asleep at about 10.30pm. And because I'm so well loved by everyone, my damn phone kept ringing with well wishes till I got pissed and turned it off.

I ended up waking at 4am, too awake to get back to bed and too lazy to find good transexual midget porn to laugh over. I did the next best thing, something which I've greatly missed since coming back from OZ, lying in the open.

I went down to the backyard, grabbed a beer, went out to my car and climbed onto the hood. Except for the starless night, everything was tilted towards satisfactory. Then I started reflecting..

I actually miss some of the people who've been out of my life, either by default of circumstances or by direct relation to my lifestyle and reluctance to find a heart.

I suddenly remembered it was Minori's birthday too.

I turned the phone back and found 4 more msgs. One overseas from this girl (whom I had that one week addiction to), I wrote about her briefly here, and will get down to it later. She told me she tried calling but the lines were down. Instead of telling her it's ok and to save money, I told her,

Me: "Call again. Now"

I thought about my birthday presents, which I'm able to count with one hand, even if I have 2 amputated fingers.

That's of cos not counting the other presents which were given in immaterial kind. Sexual favours and birthday romps included, I actually surpass the material birthday presents. If I'm primed for moral castigation because smart and intelligent girls want to fuck me on my birthday, then call me a Ferrari cab, I want to get there fast. Cos I'd rather have my life like this.

Nothing beats having them sing you a birthday song while you work frantically towards bringing them to climax. For added excitement, have them sing it to you in backwards in Tamil. If they are able to do that.. I really won't think its funny, neither should you and you might want to make a run for it.

I sniggered to myself for some of things I said and wondered how I still managed to be get bed after saying all those rubbish. I still have one more present yet to be claimed from a certain individual (you know who you are).

Well, if having to contend to a plural of kisses and great sex every birthday is what fate has installed for me, then I'm living till 120. Even if I have to heavily invest in Cialis..