Butterflyand Reznor Gets Cop to Apologise

Men in blue, Five-O, Peacekeepers.. call them what you may, but my appreciation and respect for our friendly neighbourhood police has nosedived after Saturday's debacle. It only proves one thing. Driving a WRX makes you forget that behind that blue uniform, WE FUCKING PAY YOUR SALARY.

Naturally, if I got pulled over by some hot cop chick in a tight cleavage bearing top accusing me speeding, I'd have requested a mandatory frisk for marijuana and confessed to stroking up my engines displacement and using my dwarf hamsters to run in my wheels, just for that extra oomph all our non-Ferrari cars need.

But being stopped and 'intimidated' by some fat fuck who's got a secret penchant for big Macs and bullying people off mIRC, was the last thing I needed from keeping me inches and seconds away from the MoS doorstep.

It all happened in a flash. Reznor made a turn into the carpark from the middle lane because some cop's WRX was on hazard light by the road side and OBSTRUCTING the traffic. I caught a glimpse of the WRX inching forward then saw the cop stare right into me as if we just took the last oyster from the seafood bar.

A minute later, Reznor is eyeing the rear view mirror suspiciously.

Reznor: "Is the police following me?"

It was obvious given the car had trailed us all the way into the parking lot, had his beacon flashing and was keeping to our rear like gays on a Sunday night.

Me: "I don't think so."

Pulling over for the cops was the last thing I considered logical, not when a very good trance set was baiting me.

Reznor eventually pulled over to one side, blocking 3 on-coming cars as a result. He got off and I knew a bucket of shit was hitting the fan fairly soon.

FatCop: "IC.. Driver's license.."
Reznor: "What IC driver's license.. you got no manners?"

I was wrong. Shit was already spinning in the fan's blade. I just needed one to splatter right on me.

I got out, very reluctantly. Half pissed cos I was missing quality time by the bar and half laggardly because I'm a closet pussy. But I had to, knowing Reznor's recalcitrance towards accuse and civil servants, the longer I allowed Reznor an absence of a shealth for his temper, the sooner we'd both have your cheeks to the floor and cuffed with cable ties.

FatCop: "IC, driver's license."

The fat fuck's lack of a polite introductionay manners and summary of the perceived violation was getting to Reznor. He's continued defiance to produce the documents eventually drove the cop back to his car, whispering some jibberish to the radio, which I now believe to be a request for the SWAT team.

Reznor: "HELLO! MR OFFICER.. CAN YOU NOT WALK AWAY WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU?!"

All Reznor need now was a brass knuckle and we'd be taking in offers for assassination.

I eventually decided Reznor was too hot headed to handle the authorities and decided I'd discuss the matter with Free Willy's cop partner.

Me: "So sir, what's the problem?"
Cop2: "You ask my partner."
Me: "Ask your partner?! He doesn't evem want to entertain me!

FatCop finally comes over to exlain our 'offense'.

FatCop: Do you know you are not supposed to turn in from there? Your first time to MoS ah? Do you know you have to queue?!"

Reznor goes on to explain that he didn't realise there was a queue and he was right. All we needed was one other car and we could have qualified for an even digit. Two.

If you saw how arrogant FatCop was you'd have wondered if he just had good road head. He looked exactly like the kind you'd pay $5 to much all night just to throw sucker punches at. He was fat, clumpsy and had no idea to the how this was going to implode.

FatCop: "What if I decided to go straight? I'd have knocked into you."

*Insert* More arguing from us and he finally decided to let Rezor off with a warning. Now, normally people would sigh relief and take it as a warning, but Rezor wasn't ready to let anythingargue his point. He could have have accused eunuch's as a cause of pregnancy and still walked off with a Pulitzer prize.

Reznor: "What you mean give chance? I didn't do anything wrong."
FatCop: "you're supposed to queue up behind me."
Reznor: "So yor're telling me if you wait there for one hour, I have to wait behind you?
FatCop: *Pause* "Yes."

I giggled so hard I had to turn away from them. What fuck of an aswer is this? Do they even know what we're asking?

Me: "You had your hazard light on.. you can't move off like that."

And that was it. Arrogance faltered..

1 minute later, FatCop started apologising to us.

How To Date A Butterfly

I've been inundated with request to post on this issue. Okay, it's one formal request and a couple of other emails by other readers who've grown tired of my irregularities in blog updates and aberrance in content. Yes, I've a soft spot for personal emails and vulgarities.

Everyone in a skirt has a delicate attraction for the bad boys, you can disagree, but you are wrong. Santa only loves the people who've been naughty. Why else do you think I have a new handphone, pretty girls and a failing liver and you have nothing.

Dating a butterfly isn't as complex as you think it is. It requires two things; being hot and a striptease, preferably to have them both together. If you're hot, you can fall over while stripping and we'll still think you're sexy. You can be in Bridget Jones undies and we'll still believe if you said you got them off Victoria Secrets' retro collection.

That's cos all men are shallow. You can disagree, but you're either wrong or you're gay.

But supposedly. You go to a club, it's Ladies night and the bouncers insist on checking your ID and you're denied priority queuing. You go to the bar and the waiters ignore you. You strike your best pose, but the hottest thing about you is a heat rash and you have to block people's path for them to even say anything to you.

Then you really stand as much chance of winning over a butterfly as a child has of keeping his virginity at Neverland. If that is you, I'd warn you that this is a precursor for emotional suicide, but here's what you can do.

1. Drug him

One way of ensuring he goes out with you is to spike his drink, take him home and snap as many nude pictures of him as you can. Raping him isn't an option since flaccidity and drugs are complimentary brackets.

Remember, blackmail is only good for about 2-3 dates. If you're really ugly, really men would slit their wrist to end their misery.

2. Quid Pro Quo

Whoever said perseverance is the key to success is obviously a virgin and is still wanking off to transsexual midget porn. Listen to that bullshit and you will successfully force him to change his phone number. And if you're really good, you might even succeed in having him move his home address.

Everyone dates for a mutual benefit. Supported by empirical evidences, the one way to keep our attention is to offer us a novelty. Movies are common social mistakes, much like candle light dinners, star gazing and necrophilia.

You want us to think you're cool, take us to a strip joint.

3. Emotional check.

Always prepare to fail the first time, cos you will fail. Crying will only warrant a good quick jab to your throat with perferably our master hand. You'll be choking, coughing maybe and in danger of losing your life, but coughing is alot less irritating than crying.

If you're the type that cannot handle rejection well, it's probably cos you're hot and you've never had to content with 'No'. If otherwise, I'd hope you can slash your wrist well and die fast. The carotid artery is a decent place to start with.

The rule is simple. Playing a game is a matter of chance and choice. If you're not prepared to take a chance card, then don't roll the dice.

4. Playing their game.

There is never anything complex about men. We are defined by two things; Sex and Vodka. Add California Fitness if you're gay and Moschino if you're an Ah beng. We only desire the things we don't possess.

I'd advise alot makeup and patience. When we tire of pretty faces 14yrs down the road, we will start to think of you. Hopefully, you were an engaging enough conversationalist for us to store you into our limited 200 name SIM card folder.

You can start off as friends since it's the entry level for any excuse to send an sms. You can be nice with the occassional Paul Smith shirts for random presents but never show that you are at their back and call.

If they ask you out, pretend to check through your imaginary friends list for appointments. Then quickly cancel your appointment with your psychiatrist and take up their offer. A good guise to hide your obvious enthusiasm will be,

"No problem, but let me buy you dinner."

5. Sponge for bullshit

You have successfully subscribed to a month long process of 'mind-fucks' and disappointments. The current goal for you now is aiming for the reserve squad. Occassionally when he's bored or has had his date postponed, he will turn to the bench for substitutions. When he picks you, you mark down that date on your calender with "Yes! Got picked today!"

Expect to take alot of bullshit, but like blowjobs lacking emotional intimacy or enough $100 bills, you spit.. not swallow.

6. Complimenting

Pardon the equivocation, this has turned out to be an unintentional two tier factor. *insert self praises*.

Like all women, men love to be constantly praised. Yet this is the least important factor. Smart people will know how to record priases so that they can be replayed constantly while we are taking a well deserved dump after every Pizza Hut meal.

It's about keeping up your game with theirs. If they play it cool, you chill off abit and if he doesn't bait, you might one to stick to that drugged video of him. There will a come a point in time when we have to realise that chivalry isn't as productively and commercially successful as blackmailing.

7. Resolution

If you're smart enough to proxy caustic humour you'd understand one thing. Butterflies aren't meant to be caught. We need to stop for something.

I'd be honest with you. The one reason I've lost alot of interest in relational issues is because alot of people I've dated are dating me for the wrong reasons. If you're one of the many adopting the saviour mentality of being that one girl that will crumble us, then you've probably already failed even before trying.

Butterfly Meets The EX's Pt 1

Have you ever met your ex and felt absolutely great that you bailed out of the shit-hole called 'a relationship', so much that you ignored the calorie counts and decided to treat yourself to a tub of Ben and Jerry's? I know I have.

For the record, I don't have much ex's to begin with. I have one official count immoralised in the annals and that stands at 1. I'm adding another only because I did introduce her as my girlfriend and I'm still confused why I did it.

I haven't seen her for ages, but she's still the idiot she was. Since that span of 6 years, she's gotten slightly better looking, gotten herself a degree from some American institution with horrible faux accents included and a tongue stud. Which is the only focal point of our ensuing conversation.

Wan: "Hey I got my tongue pierced while I was in AMERICA."

I'm not being courteous on the caps, but she made it a point to emphasis that she didn't do it at some 50 cent back lane in Bangkok by meth induced prostitutes.

Me: "I saw.. it's great for blowjobs."

I'd safely say I didn't get the reaction I was looking for, which should be along the lines of a playful nudge to tell me how cheeky I am. Instead, her face mangled with exasperation and mild trauma, as if Michael Jackson had walked into her child care centre.

Me: "not.very.funny.."
Wan: "Don't think too much."

I paused. Did she think I was trying to hit on her?

Me: "Where's the boyfriend?"
Wan: "I'm single now..."
Me: "Good."
Wan: "You can start chasing me.."
Me: "Been there, done that, didn't like it one bit."

She was tipsy, I was tipsy and she looked like she was well ready to take more bullshit from me.

Wan: "I don't really remember about us actually.."
Me: "If you went through what I did? You wouldn't want to either...

And this was the sentence that proved, education is only valuable IF you are sober. Anything else, and your'e still the idiot you really are.

Wan: "Huh?"

I'd have celebrated my verbal counter with a cartwheel along the bar but I don't know if I can legitimately claim I won that retort, when the opponent had no comprehension of the slightest thing about what I just said.

The downside was that she hardly changed. Physically. I'd have imagine 3 years in the states would have properly educated her on the importance of silicone and rhinopast, but no. She was still the flat-nosed fashion victim of Wal-Mart shopping.

Lesson 4: Pick Up Lines

How to get drunk in 30 mins? Aced that subject. How to insult Whales? No one does it better than me. How to administer a break up? Pay attention to what I say. How to hit on trannies? Bow to me and thank God you found my blog.

But a discourse on pick up lines? I'm probably the worse person to be penning three sentences of this, but as of last Wednesday, I can tell you the merits of being sober and witnessing the "Don'ts" of pick up one liners.

I'll break it down for you (at the expense of a particular fisherman) on when you should never engage a conversation with,

"Can I buy you a drink."

1. Ladies night

For men, having to resort to purchasing power for a girl's attention, you are Shaq at a 3 point shooting contest. Yes, you can tickle the girl's pallette at Zouk with an offer that will save them $40 and contribute to their Monday manicure, but offering to buy drinks on a night when ladies drink for free?

You're better off extending your services to take food for me at a buffet.

You offer to buy the ladies a drink, they tell you "it's ok", so you say things like "I'll pay for your drinks" and "I'm buying". They are don'y not jump at your offer and you complain about the girls upmarketing themselves.

Do you REALLY need me to get Nancy Drew to solve this mystery for you?

If you've been out with TheCaptain, you'll salute him for his sheer tactical devices in formulating storylines and adequate preparation to see out his adopted persona. I'm talking deliberate (or accidental) bad dressing just to prove he's not local. That's until he gets drunk, then he loses that one pivitol factor that gels his game. Rationality.

The thing is, TheCaptain has only and I emphasize ONLY one medium of engaging communication. Drinks. He starts off with playing up that exotic factor of the accidental tourist cashing in his chips on a bad night with audibly passable music and fringe crowds. Everything angles to his one favourite arsenal,

"Can I buy you a drink."

Zouk has had a renovation, Wisma's gotten a new food court and Brazil aren't the soccer kingpins they once were, but you'll think couple of years on and TheCaptain would have learnt new words. But No.

It's the singularly most used (and failed) pick up line. I'm not discrediting the merits of free drinks or the actual effectiveness of it, but com'on, on ladies night? Isn't it a rule to foremostly understand the mechanics and subsequent reason for buying drinks? Buying drinks are like buying someone's conscience. Just so that our conversation with them will last the ensuing lag it takes for her to tip her martini glass from a sip to a gulp.

Chemistry? No. If there was any, the drinks would be the icing and not the ice breaker.

My reasoning with TheCaptain to exclude offers to add drinks to a trio's already filled table ended in failure, fell to deaf ear He approached, much against caution from me that one of them had already returned a jug to another table when the guy bought them a jug.

Me: "Babe.. don't bother. That guy just bought one...."

And before I even punctuated myself, TheCaptain proved that having too much belief in tactical superiority was suicidal.

TC: "Fuck! I will buy them 2 jugs!"

And he walked off to start something that I already knew how it was going to end.

2. A Filled Table

Which brings my story back into continuation.

I already knew TheCaptain was going to have his offer turned down. It's obvious. He just didn't know it yet but he was maneuvering himself into a foetal cock blocking predicament. The good thing about being inebriated is that shame, rejection and embarassment are water off a ducks back.

Why would you add drinks to a stock pile which they have problems finishing? It's like selling condoms to eunuchs. You know it's good for them, but they don't need it.

3. What really works..

A good pick up line is a good measure of rationality and logic. It works because it engages. I have great pick up lines but I doubt many of you have the fortitude or guts to exercise it. Plus, it usually only works for Ladyboys.

Me: "Your boobs are fake."

9/10 times I'll get a positive reaction. The one time it failed, she turned out to be a real woman, didn't think I was funny and said some nasty four letter words to me like "what?!" and "rude". If you said that and didn't get a reaction, she's probably deaf and she has no reason being at the club to begin with. Sneak out, call security and have her thrown out of the club.

Whatever you do, DON'T be yourself. Why be yourself when you can pretend to be an astronaut.

Butterfly's Tagged.

I really don't do chain letters but I've a cursed life as it is already and one more bane on it is seriously going to drive me into pennance. Well, since Vio has extended this invitation and I see it as one more excuse to talk about ME, I'm caving in to conformity like the 4 million other Singaporeans.

".....

Tagged!This is what you are supposed to do. Cut and paste if you decide to participate in the tagging game.

Each player of this game starts off by giving 6 weird things about themselves. People who get tagged need to write in a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state the rules clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names.

After you do that, leave them each a comment letting them know you tagged them and to read your blog

....."

1. I can NEVER spell "diarrhea" without spelling aid. If I was at a hospital run by the deaf, I'll write on my medical card,

"Lao Sai"

2. As much as I know the importance of good communication in a relationship, I've never fancied dating local girls much. In fact, for almost the whole of 2005 and part of 2006, I only dated foreigners. We don't (can't) talk much, but that's the good thing about having nice cleavages.

Local girls are too opinionated. I don't like it when I order carrot cake and I say "no chilli" and the auntie says, "put abit lah..."

3. I hate Fairytales. When I was watching Beauty and the Beast, I was the only one rooting for Gaston and I was almost in tears when Beauty chose some hairy monster over a normal man.

4. I haven't said "I love you" to anyone for over two years. Someone needs to tell 98 Degrees that they got it wrong. The hardest thing to do isn't telling someone we don't love them, that's easy. I can say that in at least 32 different ways, but the personnal favourite (and most effective) is,

FUCK.OFF!

You get at least 2 emotions. Shock and embarassment. And if you do it right like me, you'll have them in tears. Sometimes they'll yell back at you, but one well aimed punch to the jaw should end it.

I might not even be capable of pronouncing it.

5. My favourite compliment is "pretty" and I don't really like people telling I look like certain a Taiwanese celebrity. I look bad in pictures but I'm a cam whore.

6. I've always wanted to jeer at the Para-lympics. I don't know what's worse, that or joining the Michael Jackson is innocent foundation.


Just 6? Gawd.. and I had so much more.. and now the part which stuffs me. These just happens to be friends, the blogs I read or blogs linked to me in some way (My blog vocabulary is limited, I like reading me).

I pick..

1. Spinnee
2. HB ( I know Vio picked her...)
3. Mylene
4. Huixx
5. Wanjun
6. Cindy