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..