Butterfly Goes Transmission

It’s been awhile since I’ve lost reservations on my misdemeanour but last night had just the right ingredients to concoct a brew, a subtle cocktail to welcome myself back to Assholism.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been partying regularly, despite my lack of post and it’s become quite a routine that to write about every event would be raising the quotient of meritocracy in my literary library that you’ve been secretly guilty of indulging in. Last night had a little more to offer me..

1. Alcohol. Check.

It’s a mandatory field to please my otherwise restless disposition. I had quite a few courtesy of women. Cokewhore sponsored a Sambuca and Serena bought me a flaming lambo and 3 whiskey soda. Yvonne insisting I call her ‘Da Jie’ capped it off with Redbull. Yes, just Redbull. Neat, double stirred on the rocks.

2. Group. Check

At a last headcount, there were in excess of 30 people. We’re at MoS and I felt like we were at some highschool reunion. It also helps that a healthy number of them are shufflers, so the un-holy congregation of us would naturally result in a miniature rave circus with enough glowsticks to light up Orchard Road. If we only had rollerblades on, we would qualify for Ching-gay.

And yes, someone would always be guilty of throwing talcum powder.

3. Girls. Check

Serena was absolutely generous with her cleavage.

She: “Go to Smoove with me..”
Me: “I’m having a decent conversation with your boobs, do not disturb me.”

4. Trannies. Check

Some guy thought two chicks were hot until I pointed out to him that they were in fact men.

Guy: “She’s hot!”
Me: “Chew’ mean HEEEEEE’S hawt.”

I was already into my speech slurring state, sustained indefinitely by bass and euphoric rhythm built up.

Guy: “No FUCKING way.”
Me: “Yes waayy fuckin’… hawt girls dounch dance like ‘em..”

Some of them egged me to pick them up. This is a stroll in the park for me. It’s like winning a table-tennis match against limb amputees or playing soccer with apodia kids. I never need to pick them up. I make them pick me up.

I stood right below ‘her’ and worked alittle charm and ‘she’ took the bait instantly. I think I probably made ‘her’ climax just by conversing with ‘her’ in Thai.

Me: “Now watch.. I’ll get them to make me squeeze their boobs.”

I turned to one of them and accused her of being a transsexual. She started a vehement protest and coupled with indignation over my refusal to believe, it eventually drove ‘her’ to force my hand to her chest to cop a feel.

That was easy.

4. Nira. Check.

I think I saw she girl who was on the cover page of Maxim a few months back. The one in the red bikini who’s Thai. She’s hot and I want her.

5. Side Shows. Check.

Muthu was cracking everyone up big time with his attempts on successfully accomplishing a front flip. He was drunk and there was a risk of breaking his neck. What do the rest of us do under the intemperance of juice?

We cheer him on.

Cokewhore had a Hong Kong stunt man friend who was in town for the Ren Chi Charity crap and I started cheering for the professional to show how it should be done. He did one flip off the couch and another one of those one handed cartwheels I used to do when I was 7 and playing Zero-point, and he slipped backwards onto table and nearly took out one of our vodka supplies.

6. R.O.C.K ROCK. Check.

Me: “Name of movie titles that can pass off as PORN movie titles.”

These were the few that cracked the others up.

“Enter the Dragon.”
“Fist of Fury”
“The Whole 10 Yards”
“Free Willy”
“8mm”
“Anaconda”
“12 Inch”

7. Music. Check.

There’s only one way I like music served to me. Hard.

It was a pretty decent Trance set with timely injections of Tiesto to keep the hype going. While it wasn’t awe inspiring, it was good enough to keep Reznor till the lights came on.

8. The Zouk lapdance chick. Check

Some girl I was looking at suddenly came up to me. For a moment I thought I had activated my superpowers on mind control and she was complying to my deepest desires. She knew my name and I had no fucking clue who she was until she re-introduced herself.

She: “Hey, I’m getting married..”
Me: “Pity.. and that means I can’t fuck you huh?”

She giggled and if she wasn’t so well adapted to cockteasers like me, she’d probably have blushed or given me two masterhand slaps across the cheeks. I don’t remember faces well, not even if you had me put my hand under your skirt.

Edit: well you can do my ladyboy test and see if you're any better than the guy was. HERE.

How To Be A Butterfly

I’ve been inundated with request for pointers on how to score with the girls. How do you have game? For girls, it’s easy, since men are generally cheap whores who will fall upon killer weapons like ‘school uniform’ and ‘plunging neckline’. Yes, you will massacre a good multitude of men. Me included.

And there’s the group of men whom society celebrates their ingenuity in sciences and academics and brandish tags of ‘role models’ upon them. Scoring in academia is probably the only thing they’ll excel in. If your pickup lines have words like ‘chemistry’ and ‘connection’, you’ve probably never seen tits in your life before.

Call it an insipid inspiration from Neil Strauss if you wish, but I’ll humour you with palatable pointers. How to be a Butterfly..

1. Knowing your strengths.

Success has no tolerance for delusions, nor does it digest ego well. Picking someone up is 30 % physical, 60 % conversational and 10% sobriety to entertain bullshit.

Firstly, know your niche.

I almost never pick up people from clubs for two simple reasons. I lose interest on superficial conversations faster than Britney changes husbands and I have a proclivity for scurrility under mild influences of alcoholic delights.

When I’m not inebriated and desperate enough to have intellectual asexual conversations with random hot girls, I size up my choices and make the move for whoever yields the greatest success rate.

I know my corner market, Thais. If I ever needed to write a book on how to pick up Thais, it’ll be one page long and bold fonts on the front page that reads, “YOU HAVE TO BE ME”. I know a best seller when I read one.

I’ll make it simple, if you’re farmer Joe, don’t expect to be fishing Giselle. Rule of the thumb allows you to hit on people 2 rungs hotter than you are. We only date upwards and we don’t expect charity.

Remember, always play to your strengths.

I’m bad at club banter so I generally do not wish to engage strangers in conversations, but if you ever need pointers on how to get a reaction from a girl, I’m the perfect guru. I have enough lived experience on this to bowl you over.

Me: “You have a sharp nose.”
Girl: “Thank you..”
Me: “Are they real?”
Girl: “Duh.. of cos they are!”
Me: “They are huge..”
Girl: “FUCK YOU.”

Eg. 2

Girl: “My friend thinks you’re cute.”
Me: “Is that the best you have?”
Girl: “FUCK YOU… WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!”

In both instances, I managed to get the girl to profess their desire to bed me. I get women excited all the time, they’re always yelling at me.

2. Never be nice

I may be an asshole to you, but how many of you can honestly say ‘I’ve never lied to get into anyone’s pants’. Yes, I’ve NEVER needed to lie to anyone to sleep with them and I won’t start for anyone. If you are dating me, you will know perfectly well that promises are luxuries I will not spoil you with.

I call it dating me at your own peril.

Girls love the bad boys, we all know that. MissFebruary said the one attractive feature in me is that I’m unattainable. The nice guys take you out for dinner, splurge you with material niceties and practice decency and chivalry. I spare you the compliments, yawn at your jokes, preach decadence and I’ll still have you take me back to your room.

Nice guys finish last. Don’t we already know that. Like I’ve always said, ‘if you open the door for them today, they’ll expect you to wipe their ass tomorrow’.

3. The conversational tease

The tease is the single most important verdict in your pending success. Good humour and wit drives the opposition deep into extra playing time and it’s your tease that will determine the game.

Two things, you’ve got to learn, ‘Conversational Punctuations and Continuations’. Conversational Punctuations are used when you want to end a conversation, used only when the subject is ugly or fat. Example,

Girl: “I think you’re very pretty (good-looking).”
Me: “I know, I think so too.”

Subject tries to fish a reciprocating compliment and fails. However, if the girl was hot, it should be played out like this.

Girl: “I think you’re cute.”
Me: “Are you reading my mind?”
Girl: “Why?”

You just managed to take the conversation one step further. Hold the champagne, but give yourself a sip of whiskey for the job well done, so far. I’m sure you can handle the situation from here on out. Look, if a girl compliments you, you don’t have to impress her, you only need to NOT fuck up.

Never be generous with your compliments. I’m never one to compliment, nor tell you anything remotely sweet incessantly. And the starvation from physical recognition and appraisal is quite a tool for seduction or so I’ve been told.

4. Divide Attention

I’ve a social disease which prevents me from focusing on one person for an extended period of time. My ailing attention and divided interest is a mirror of my emotions. I’m heavily compartmentalized, which is why no one affects me or upsets longer than it takes to clip my nails.

The downside to having my curse of serial dating is that one day, two women are going to fight over you and you’ll be punched in a club. I did. I teased one of the girls on being jealous and she responded with a sucker punch to the mouth.

Me: [clutching my mouth] “What the fuck was that!?”
She: “Nothing..”
Me: “YOU FUCKING PUNCHED ME!”

I was caught entirely off-guard. You can’t imagine how a sucker punch turns you into an absolute pussy. I turned to Unicorn and LB and bitched about getting punch before dumping her ass on the dance floor.

10 mins later, she’s calling me asking if she’s going home with me.

Me: “ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?! YOU JUST PUNCHED ME!”
Fiona: “I know, I was angry. Can I go back with you?”
Me: “YOU JUST FUCKING PUNCHED ME!! YOU THINK LEH?!”

It also helps if you date psychos.

5. A good introduction

First impression counts for a lot. The opening pick up line is going to determine how much time the opposition is going to entertain you with. I have several classics.

Me: “HOO shit, you are hot!”
Girl: [stares wide eyed]
Me: “Worst.Reaction.Ever”

She didn’t think I was very funny and the guys had to drag me away cos the girl was an absolute whale and I was drunk. I love my friends. I’ve gotten away with a lot of obnoxious demeanor and its surprising how forgiving people are to me. If there’s one thing you need to know, is that when people show any interest in you, exploit them.

There's only one oasis in a club with terrible music. Free drinks.

6. Arrogance

In small dosages, it’s a lethal aphrodisiac.

Me: “I will fuck you.”
She: “You can try..”
Me: “I’d love to hear that same arrogance again after I’m done.”
She: “Very cocky. Do you not know humility?”
Me: “Yes, that would be you kneeling over to kiss me.”

Yes, I can’t imagine life without me and when I through with you, you won't either.

Confession..

I’d be honest. I don’t like my Cleo picture at all and neither do I like the interview excerpt.

I look different in the picture and I definitely like look better in person, that much I can assure you. Everyone from Red to Spinnee to my colleagues have been laughing over the article like it’s the bar room joke notebook.

For one, if you read the article, you’ll find it almost hard to believe I said those things. Especially the one about my one chivalrous deed about giving up my seat to a pregnant lady. Yes I did that. Period.

BUT I sure as hell didn’t say anything about “conscience” and “until the right thing is done”. Are you kidding me? I don’t even have a conscience and conscience to me is a courtesy tap on the head during a blowjob. As if the milk didn’t make me look wholesome enough, this “courtesy campaign” reply made me look absolutely dorky. Next thing I know, I’d probably be asked to don the Sharity Elephant suit.

I’m sure it’s a good laugh for you, at my expense again. Spinnee spent the whole afternoon typing “HAHAHAHAHA” on MSN.

I’ve got new daily digests in my life and one of them is the prettiest thing I’ve seen this month, not to mention impressive vocals. Yes.. my second Quartet of dolls that’s giving me one wicked decision making session. I’m beyond impressed and encroaching addiction but I’ll be nice and post her picture in due time.

And now you know why they call me Butterfly…

This is how you vote.

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Here's my cleo blog page. I want everyone to be visiting that page at least 73 times a day. If your mum is home watching soap operas, place the laptop in front of her and have her click the refresh button periodically. I will be using some past post from here and updating non-storied post there so that I'll keep here primary for the stories.

HERE. Yes.. im not pleased..

Voting here > http://203.142.18.38/profiles.html

Flirting with disaster

Hands up if you’ve ever had 4 girls you’ve dated in the past 6 months cramped into one night out with the same group, with you in the middle. Recipe for disaster you say, but I see it as a test of mantle. I’ll play up this equation for you, just so you’ll know the actual quotient of a probable implosion

1. I’ve slept with all but one. You can’t really expect any less from me. I’m a slut. If you are hot, I will fuck you.
2. One is madly in love with me.
3. One is perfectly clueless
4. One is a potential February
5. One isn’t too pleased that I have a February fixture.

I’d also add that 2 of them happen to very hot and yes they have features from my past post. I’d quote Red who saw MissSeptember for the first time on Friday. “Wah.. She’s damn hot. Your pictures really don’t do her justice at all.”

And now she knows what buckles me at my knees and the entry level tease to end my promiscuity. Yes, I have a penchant for all things hot and better so if you dirty dance with another girl who’s your mortal equal. How else would I have been tickled, coax and pleased into spending nearly 3 months with her?

If you know me well, that’s ALOT of opportunity cost and we’re talking whiskey and late night parties in the company of beautiful people. My life is all about plurality but I make exceptions to negate this, only if you have me drooling.

I was secretly half expecting a stare-down, a carnal sizing up of oppositions. We’re talking calories counting, pimple scrutinizing and cup size flaunting. Then at the climax of it all, I’ll toss in a “she called you a whale..” just to see women brawl with heels and lip gloss.

But no.

There was the same civility and maturity outside the club as there was inside when I introduced them. There were exchanges of compliment mediated through me, largely about MissSeptember and MissFebruary but everyone else had something nice to say about everyone, that I thought I was caught at a Church camp gathering. All we needed to do was to hold hands and dance round the campfire and a miracle will happen half way round the world.

Before the trance set ended, I already had sufficient drama to giggle all night to. Fatigue and habitual eye rubs, meant I was waging constantly against those damn phosphenes and it nearly cost me a view of MissFebruary and Yan making out by the table. Suddenly, I actually believe monogamy might just work out perfectly for me.

5mins later, Red had to carry Yan’s drunk ass out of the ladies.

Almost unspoken, no one asked me anything about everyone. When I was alone with them, they’d wrap their arms around me under the guise of alcoholic influences. Red was smart enough to keep her distance. There was nothing for her to play for tonight, not against stronger adversaries and my ailing attention span.

And September came…

Her hair still parted the way I remembered and the hips still hypnotizingly sinful. She took two glances at the girls then at me again to validate their status.

She: “Girlfriend?”
Me: “Girlfriends..”

And yes I ended up going off with three girls. Three perfect strangers to the other two with me was their only degree of separation. Three, inextricably linked to me through a kiss and none with promises. There I sat, giggling at the absurdity of the situation and wondering what everyone else was thinking.

I’ve been cold and rude, careless with my flirts but cautious with the compliments. I’ve tempted retribution and faced its wrath and now I was pushing the mind games. Sure, you’ve put ex flings together in a room, but have you had 3 of them in the same cab? There are only a select few of us and I’m sure as hell you can fit us all into a cable car.

And yet, only one made it back to my place…

Butterfly Meets Angry Hobbit

There are mutually exclusive things in this world, like being hot and being a whale, me and commitment, celibacy and pregnancy and the list goes on. Just in case you’ve been part of the mis-informed, drop to you knees and thank me for reiterating (very strongly in this case) one more insert to this list.

Being a Hobbit and Rude.

I don’t care who the fuck you are. You are NOBODY if you cannot get that box of cereal from the top shelf of the supermarket without having to call for assistance. Yes, I believe this would actually qualify them to be in the Paralympics.

And being rude at the same time?! You’d better have something to show for other than being the tallest midget in Serangoon or Tampines or I don’t give a fuck where, not when you should be in the Shire with the rest of the little people.

I was on a high. One 3 min therapeutic session of intense hypnosis by the cutest swaying ass I’ve seen at my work place, does wonders to your anticipation for a night date with Michael Scofield and Myojo delicacies. Yes, maybe I’ll sneak in something naughty during commercials.

Then 5mins later, I made a hobbit mad.

I elbowed her right in the chin while cramped in the train and trying to remove my wallet from the back pocket. If she had proper facial features like shaped brows and lesser moles, I’d have wished she was taller just so that I’d have scored on the boobs instead of a measly chin(protected with one huge mole no less).

It’s ok to have one mole, provided it isn’t protruding and hairless, but this girl had enough to alphabetize them all. She only needs to get a facial tan to qualify as a chocolate chip cookie.

Perhaps she didn’t hear my apologies or perhaps I had forgotten to engage courtesy, but this is beyond excuse to roll eyes at me. And like all matured Hobbits, she called her friend on the phone and I swear the ensuing monologue went like this,

She: “Some idiot just elbowed me and dunno how to say sorry. These people ah.. “

And it went on.. and on. The resonance of irritation, personified by one under-developed Hobbit, pissed possibly because she was passed off the chance to bear the ring. The amplification of this oral aggression is usually only met with one consequence, a good ass whooping.

I was deciding between punching (in this case, downwards) or a swift knee thrust to her jaws. Either of which was at equi-distance and both of which would be generally sufficient to shut her up.

And for the distance between 4 stations, I had to hear her bitch about that ‘one idiot’ who refused to apologize to her. Yes, at the 3rd station, it became,

She: “…and he STILL hasn’t apologized.”

I murmured ‘sorry’ 3 stations ago and I’m not about to start regressing into a mea culpa with you just because you have ONE imaginary friend on the phone.

Why are the little people always so angry?

Don’t blame me if the world hates you or that you can’t take roller coasters due to severe violations of height requirements. You’re angry because jeans lengths don’t start from 15 inches. You’re pissed because in zero-point, when the kid’s say waist level, you have to hold the line to your chin. You’re upset because you need the kerb to get off bicycles.

But hey, at least you get to snorkel in the shallow pools. We can’t.

Butterfly introduces..

I'd be honest with you. I don't have much time to pen my stories and what more when I have to devote some time filling in blog entries as a 'mandatory' procedure for the mag. I have a few and if time permits, I'd entertain you over the weekend...

One on my elevation of status to Amatuer director and another on a particular individual (half if you consider people under 1.5m to be counted as whole).

I have a perfect substitute. Seldom would I do this, but this person is particularly dear to me and if there ever was a mirror of me, she would be it. Minus the intemperance for binge drinking, but twice the wit. The mistress of XinCity is back, without a vengence but wild as ever. Huixx, the closet SPG if she's ever guilty of anything other than being too witty for most local guys to venture a lesson on humility, has finally after much persuassion decided to immortalize her chronicles.

And you should be pleased.

Hybrid celebrity, Caucasian magnet, bona fide cock teaser, Butterfly's bestest friend. Call her what you may, but here's another education on how to play the game. Our way...