The 'Concert'

“Do you want to go for JJ Lin’s concert?”

In honesty, I’m not even an avid follower of the Mandarin pop scene and my only acknowledgement of JJ Lin, is that he is some beady eyed Singaporean with good vocals nonetheless, that made it big in the Taiwanese market. So when Niner asked me, I weighed it against throwing peanuts at spastic school children on a Sunday night.

I immediately relayed this to LB, who met it with a lot more enthusiasm after I said the tickets were free. He gave the nod and suggested we each take a date for this. By the following day, Niner had given me the tickets and my Sunday night was booked for a night of serenading and screaming fans.

I was only half right at that.

The first sign.

When LB saw the tickets, he commented on the duration of the concert with stretched from 7pm to 11pm. This was, as I’ve been duly informed, highly unlikely, unless of cos the singer is doing 7 lines of Speed and a full bottle of steroids. Naturally, we threw skepticism out the window and attributed this to perhaps being a medley of other performing artistes, who would be thrown into this foray.

Sounded like a great bargain already. I proceeded to drive 5km/h faster.

The second sign.

When we actually got up to the convention hall, everything that was supposed to be at a concert was, along with everything that wasn’t.

Crowds? Check. Along with what I would expect to be young adoring female fans and probably some male gay ones, were adults. By that I mean mid 50’s, post-parental age, sequins clad evening gown with enough hair spray for the fire department to cordon up the area and classify it as hazardously flammable.

Cheering? Check. Before we even stepped in, the crowd was cheering so loudly with whistles and clappers, I actually thought we won the World Cup.

Posters? Check. There were people carrying cardboard posters of people whom I have never seen before and it wasn’t even JJ Lin. They were middle-aged women in power suits that looked like they were ripped off from some property agent’s name card.

Idiots? Check. The place was flooded with it.

5 mins on and it became perfectly clear that this wasn’t a concert. I had walked right into some company’s awards night and this wasn’t your run of the mill presentation. For one, almost everyone in the crowd were enthusiastic about something which I had no idea about. They were cheering and shouting cheers and what made it worse, was that they were actually genuinely excited. It’s as if everyone had shot up a full bottle of Prozac and did a two rounds of helium, because everything was a high pitched fervor of mindless screaming.

Like what the fuck are they screaming at? Who the fuck are these people on the banners they are carrying? Is this some election for Housewife of the Year?

Apparently, this was some awards presentation for some huge corporation that was raking enough moolahs to have Forbes sit up and award them with some recognition, which started with “Best” and lost me thereafter.

LB started flipping through the handbook which came in a goodie bag tucked under the seats. It was an introductory flip page of the company, it’s profile and multi-million dollar sales personnels.

LB giggled, then prompted brought to my attention a certain page, which had on one column, pictures of the top performers and in the next, directly adjacent to their respective pictures, their names and a brief write up.

These were pictures of women, largely middle aged that looked like your middling neighbourhood housewives who took the afternoon off from cleaning the house, to go down to the mini-mart for milk and maybe gossip about who’s husband got a promotion that came with a mistress.

The first picture was some Tan XXX, with some write-up, which I can summarize as, “housewife did good, husband now cleans the house”. The next was some Lim XXX, with equally good achievements that will keep her off the mini-mart for the next year. And the third was called,

‘Uber Beauty’.

Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

I probably choked twice, but it was well worth it.

If I thought that was the highlight, I was wrong. The awards presentation was absolutely mind blowing. In tandem with this being a multi million dollar establishment, the ceremony was spared no expense, just that the grandeur was accompanied by hilarious (on my part) stage entrances.

You think they’ll just pop out from behind the stage, waltz down to receive their award right? No. They actually appear from UNDER the stage from one of those elevating platforms and they appeared amidst the smoke, waving to the crowd, with prompt music cueing.

This was absolutely hilarious to me. All they needed was a sash, a tiara and I swear this would qualify as a Miss Universe pageant.

The entire event felt like an extended motivational boot camp crossed bred with a charismatic church service. There were lead cheer-leaders, minus the pom-poms, skirts and sports bras, rallying the crowd to a two part reciprocal cheer, which begun with, “Best xxx” and to be responded with “Hip Hip Hooray, Hip Hip Go!”.

To not award them the best cheer of the month award, would have been a gross injustice. They were running around, half breaking out in skips, cheering for their respective directors in such fanaticism, I didn’t know if they were having muscle spasms of just putting Singapore Idol to shame.

As soon as the awards presentation ended, hordes of people actually ran up to hang garlands and present huge bouquets of flowers to the newly promoted directors, to a point where if you put them all together in a row, they looked like the Botanical Gardens.

To cap all this off was a cheer gone wrong. The emcee had prepped the crowd up and told them one of the founders would lead them in a cheer,

Emcee: “Dr XXX, will lead you in the cheer, she will say Best xxx and you will say..?”

Crowd: [In resounding harmonic enthusiam] “Hip hip Hooray! Hip hip Go!”

The moment Dr XXX got on the microphone, she shouted, “Hip hip Hooray! Hip hip Go!”. This entirely caught the emcee off guard and it mildly confused everyone else as to what to respond to it. I responded in the only way humanly possible.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

When JJ eventually got up on stage, he wasn’t even half as entertaining to watch anymore.

Butterfly Pitches For Bangkok

In a month, I am heading to Bangkok with the guys. It's a madcap return and we are leaving all moral reservations behind. From what we have planned, this is a celebration of decadence and we going to be drunk with debauchery. And from experience, it's going to happen.

Why Bangkok you ask? Why not.

If you haven't already been properly introduced to the city just 3 hours north of us, then allow me to initate you into sin city.

1. The Clubs

If you are fashionably into parties and drinking and yet don’t have the luxury of taking a week off, then there is only one place you should consider for the weekend; Bangkok.

You go to the clubs and they tell you a bottle of Black Label goes for SGD$45. You stare in disbelieve and wonder if you heard it right. You enquire about a bottle of Martell and they gesture to you SGD$90. You think this might either be an early April’s Fool’s prank or you found paradise. What do you do?

You say, “Fuck you, give me 3 bottles now and a plate of cheesy fries.”

Whiskey is so cheap, that you almost feel guilty for drinking water. It is also one place where you can party like you have a million bucks even with your pencil pushing desk bound salary.

No table in the club? Demand for one.

Being Singaporean automatically qualifies us for priorities in the club, but a couple of 100baht tips would even allow you priority queuing in toilets and your own personal waiter, who will dish out personalized neck massage services and hot towels. All this, in a club where people are grinding to Shakira and you start wondering if tipping any more would get you a handjob.

There is an entire spectrum from celebrity haunts of upmarket clubs to flagitious bartop A-go-gos at Patpong or Nana Plaza to maybe some peep-hole joint at the side alleys.

You have to remember that Bangkok is never a place couples should go to together. Petty squabbles and break ups were invented in Bangkok. You are going to stumble into some club with women dancing provocatively on the tables and before you know it, her tops starts falling off. Call it a wardrobe malfunction of deliberated action, but her reaction is going to be,

"This is a whore house. Let's get out."

And the guy's response is going to be,

"This is indeed a whore house. Let's have a beer."

Gentlemen, this is Bangkok. You do not want to be wearing a chastity belt around here, because you are going to walk into a club and have 3 women interested in fucking you before you even make it to the bar for your Jolly Shandy. (Just remember to flash your Singapore Passport).

2. The Girls

While the girls do not measure up to the ‘I-would-gawk-for-you-all-night’ quality you would find in Taiwan, they are decently hot if you head for the upmarket clubs at RCA. They however, make up for this with their over-zealous interest in Singaporean men. It’s like discovering your birth-right and realizing you’ve been living in the wrong country all these years.

For some reasons, hooking up there is so easy, it’s like dynamite fishing. You actually feel guilty for smiling at random people. If you think speed dating is a great way to make friends, then you are a moron and you have never been to Bangkok.

There, everyone becomes your long lost pen pal. They don’t really understand what you are saying but they are so interested in having a conversation with you, you actually wonder if you are on some new hidden camera show called, ‘I am a whore, you are my prey’.

3. How much to bring?

A ball park figure of S$1,000 is a safe figure if you intend to live out the weekend in luxury and maybe have some spare cash at the end of the trip to buy an elephant and have it sent back to Singapore via DHL.

We are planning a six men trip up in March and when you actually split the clubbing tab down the middle, to actually spend a hundred each on a single night is bordering impossibility if you actually discount wasting alcohol and sticking solely to whiskey.

Food there is relatively cheap. So cheap that I think if you actually re-arranged the words ‘Bangkok’, it actually spells ‘Everything is fucking cheap’. If you ever needed to wonder why shark’s are going to be slotted into the endangered species list (if they haven’t already), then you must know that Bangkok is major culprit.

When you can find a huge bowl with a full fin for like S$16, I’m not surprised if you have seconds or maybe even their penises for desserts. It’s a simple rule. When things are cheap, you exploit. If you don’t eat the damn sharks, some surfer is going to have his leg chomped of at Bondi Beach. Eat the sharks, save a man.


Sure, Bangkok is a torrid equatorial country with an afternoon heat wave so wicked, it’s a crime to even leave the house with anything more than shorts and sun block, but they make up for it with so much more when night falls.

From the underground clubs with women dancing naked on bartops to the Roman decorated spa’s with private jacuzzies and gold plated taps, I actually feel bad for the women because they don’t get to appreciate these salacious delectables with us.

I’m sure getting a dress down to S$5 from S$20 is a real joy, but I can never see how that can ever beat binge drinking whiskey and having someone lick your ass at the end of the night. I would have written a decent post for the women if I wanted to pitch about the wonders of Bangkok to them, but that post would have only 3 words,

"Great For Shopping"

Butterfly's Remix On Pickup Lines

It’s Valentine’s day and I’m almost as bitter I was last year. The commercial proliferation of this thing they call Love and they’ve actually successfully commodified it and people actually subscribe to it. Prices are up, and you actually call this a celebration of love. Unbelievable.

With regards to my date progress, I have to admit that this was a disaster. For one, people don’t really read my instructions. You send me an anonymous entry. I’m sure this is your idea of entertaining me, and I’m sure the story was great but where is the MSN contact details that I believe I mentioned?

Secondly, adding me on MSN and saying ‘you should pick me’, doesn’t really qualify as an entry.

And in a myriad of responses flooded to me, I also realize that I’m not exactly an ideal Valentine’s date. I know that while most of you are highly entertained by me, you are also intimidated by me. I wonder why.

While the rest of the world was busy wasting money on impermanent niceties, like flowers that will die in a week, or chocolates that will be gorged in seconds, I stayed home and decided to hone the romantic in me.

I’ve had some cheesy lines thrown at me over the years, courtesy of women who could give my handphone diabetes with their SMS. What better than to use this to my advantage. I am afterall, now a loving Uncle to my sister’s baby boy, so I’m pretty sure being a romantic can’t possibly be more difficult than coaxing a wailing baby.

Here’s Butterfly’s remix of pickup lines,

“Your father must be a thief. If not, who stole all the condoms and caused you to get pregnant.”

“Just checking if you were made in Heaven. Cos, I would never believe a pedophile like me would make it up there.”

“If I could re-arrange the alphabets, I would put ‘I’ next to ‘U’ and maybe squeeze ‘JUST WANT TO FUCK’ in between.

“If stars would fall every time I think of you, we might never get to see a shooting star. EVER.”

“If I could reach out and hold a star every time you made me smile, my arms would be never know what it feels like to stretch.”

“You must be tired, cos you are fat and I haven’t even started running you through my mind yet.”

“When you walked in, I thought you were an angel. Now, I know it was just the Barcadi 151.”

“I need a map, not because I get lost in your eyes, but you’re so fat I need it to find my way round you.”

“Roses are red, violets are blue, the last girl that gave me head, was better than you.”

I’m sure women will love me so much more after this.

The One About Designer Condoms

This is totally random and I know in the festive spirits of the Lunar New Year, I should be dishing out cheesy well wishes about ‘good luck’ and ‘greater success’ in the coming year, but have you guys forgotten about ‘great sex’?

I did some last minute shopping with MissFeb on Wednesday, while everyone else was busy slicing beef and preparing fishballs for their steamboat dinner. I bought one polo top from Agnès b. (some huge debate on the actual pronunciation, which should be around Ahnuse Bay) and they gave me complimentary condoms.

Designer condoms. This was like a dream come true. So what did I do? I did what every normal person growing up in our capitalist driven, can’t stop to take a break, everything must benefit me society would do.

Me: “Can I have 4 more?”

I cannot believe the haggle auntie in me sometimes and I was utterly disgusted with myself for not asking for ten.

Me to MissFeb: "Now you can use them on me."

She was not amused. The counter boy pretended not to hear. I am no longer funny.

These were condoms that came in a box with rainbow coloured stripes that totally spelt ‘I am a gay-pride sponsor’ if colours could be used as legitimate alphabets and it had the words “I want you’ on one side, and ‘to want me’ on the other. (I’ll upload a picture when I can)

The best part was that it actually came with a full feature instructional manual on how to wear a condom because I believe this hasn’t been properly institutionalized into the school curriculum yet. They should slot this somewhere between Home Economics and Biology.

The funny thing wasn’t about a ‘how to’ instructional guide, because I believe condoms can be a tricky device for the porn abstaining novice virgin, but the content of it absolutely cracked me up and I just giggled silly while MissFeb read it out loud.

This is verbatim. Seriously, I cannot possible make such shit up.

1. Put the condom on when the penis is erect, before there is any contact between the penis and your partner’s body. Fluid released from the penis during the early stages of an erection can contain sperm and organisms that cause STTs.

What the fuck is STTs? Did I not have sex for so long that they came up with new variants of diseases or have I not been paying attention in school? Is pregnancy still an STD?

2. Tear along one side of the foil being sure not to rip the condom inside. Carefully remove the condom.

3. Air trapper inside the condom could cause it to break. To avoid this, squeeze the closed end of the condom between your forefinger and thumb and place the condom over the erect penis. Be sure that the roll is on the outside.

Air trapper what? Seriously, I never knew wearing a condom consisted of a two-finger technique and could be possible hazardous.

4. While still squeezing the closed end, use your other hand to enroll the condom gently down the full length of the penis. Make sure the condom stays in place during sex; if it rolls up, make sure to roll it back into place immediately. If the condom comes off, withdraw the penis and put on a new condom before intercourse continues.

MissFeb: “Enroll the condom?! What English is this?!”

I giggled so hard on this I swear I might have ripped a nerve and developed tourettes.

5. Soon after ejaculation, withdraw the penis while it is still erect by holding the condom firmly in place. Remove the condom only when the penis is fully withdrawn. Keep both the penis and condom clear from contact with partner’s body.

Obviously, these aren’t sold in Japan. If people actually followed rules, Bukkake would never have seen the glory it has now.

6. Dispose of the used condom hygienically. Wrap the condom in a tissue and place in a bin (do not flush it down the toilet). NEVER USE A CONDOM TWICE.

Okay, this perhaps came to me years too late, because I was a moron once.

This was so detailed, I actually wonder if I’ve been doing it correctly because sometimes I have it worn with a mouth and I don’t think I’ve ever considered the fact that I needed to concern myself with ‘air trapper’, which sounds suspiciously like some part of a penis enlarger pump.

But now, I know better..

Date Butterfly

It's Valentine's Day round the corner again, which would usually equate to staying home alone, bitching incessantly about over priced food and flowers and laughing at moronic idiots carrying oversized plush toys around town. This year however, I’m doing quite the reverse and prepared to subscribe to this sacred day of being exploited by capitalism.

Yes, I am setting myself up for a date, a blind one for that matter. And with which unfortunate soul you might ask?

You.

It's a crazy idea that just might work. I am proposing a double blind date with LB and I for the Saturday after V-Day. We will be sponsoring dinner, a good one for that matter at some chi chi upmarket restaurant with prices you'd think the meals come with a free bicycle.

Here's what you need to do.

1. You need to be female. I don't date males nor do I entertain whales. You don't have to be gorgeous, you just have to NOT be fat and when I say fat, I mean anyone who's BMI is above 25. That's

Weight (in Kilos) / Height (in metres) squared.

Do not ever lie on this, because if you turn out to be a whale, I will personally deliver a flying kick to your face followed by a spit.

If you failed your math, I’ll make this real simple for you; Don’t bother filling in the equation if your weight starts with the digit ‘6’. I’d be honest and tell you now that I will not even turn up for the date.

2. A friend, also a non-whale female. This is a double date after all.

3. Send me an entry on "Your worst date ever" or on “why we should date you”. We are picking on merit here, so the best entry wins. Naturally, if you can't write and you happen to be very hot, a picture of u posing with a card that reads, "Butterfly, pick me!", will suffice.

4. To ensure that all entries are from genuine parties, I need you to send the entries to my email at thebutterflytales@hotmail.com, along with an introduction of yourself and your msn contact. I will only take your phone contact if we chose your entry, or if you are very hot and I wish to keep you all to myself.

5. Lastly, you have to be at least 18 years of age. I do not accept parental consent forms and I do not wish for your mum to join us at the table.

I’m well aware that this idea might not entirely materialize because for one, this has to be a double date. As if meeting a stranger isn’t enough, you now have to drag a friend into this foray and last I checked, people aren’t very adventurous anymore.

I do realize that I’m on the short end of this because I generally will have no idea who I’m dating and you on the other hand have 3 years of stories to know what a horrible person I am. You also know how I look and how to get me into your pants, while I have to reconstruct the whole ethics of dating and legitimately get to know you.

Contrary to the ‘no one hot will send in their application’ notion or the blog readership is largely male dominant, I actually have a few females on my MSN list that I would have a Miss Month, save for the fact that they are either attached or not in Singapore to begin with. So what better way than to reach out to the rest of the untapped catchment, then to pimp myself off my blog.

Naturally, you don’t have to sleep with me. I’m doing this not because I need sex, and I sure as hell do not need to blow $200 to wine and dine someone just to get them onto my bed. I’m doing this because of that intrinsic novelty value I’m ascribing to it and we all need new thrills in life.

Do not let silly inhibitions stop you.