The Trench Chronicles

I'm back if any of you are still wondering, but never mind if you haven't realised the absence. It's been nearly a 3 week abstinence of partying, I am alot richer from it and my hair is alot shorter. And as of last Saturday, I am officially a trained assassin and a proficient trench digger.

After 36 hours of kicking at shovels and filling sandbags, I have a renewed respect for grave diggers. They are somewhere between rickshaw pullers and bodybuilders. They were great to have around, until Toyota and steriods came along and screwed their lives.

But Butterfly, how horrible can trench digging be you ask? I asked that same question myself. I was afterall, surrounded by men who were well advanced in years, if they could do it, now surely it can't be that bad. I was afterall, younger and well capable of holding an erection longer than them. Surely this had to be a breeze.

Apparently no. Not if you are me and have 5 years of physical inactivity and had at least 100 litres of alcohol passed through my liver and out my pee hole into several priviledged urinals at Zouk and MoS. I knew I was going to be the whore of fatigue and it was going to ass fuck me for the next four days.

10.15am : I start my survey of the site, hoping to find somewhere with soft soil.
10.30am : Everyone else has started digging. I pull on my gloves and decide I will find a spot near the trees with shade. I give myself a pat on the back for being intelligent beyond men. I start to dig.
10.45am : The guy to my right is muttering vulgarities. I am disappointed with his lack of fitness, but do not show my disapproval.
10.55am : My back aches and my hands are tired.
11.00am : I stop to have a chat with God,

"God, please give me strength. And a Bangladeshi worker to do this for me.."

11.05am : Strangely my prayers remain unanswered. And I begin to start cussing with several references to the human anatomy.
11.10am : I look up to see the guy to my left digging relentlessly. This is a guy who looks lke he is well into his 30's and digging so rabbidly that I wonder if he knows there really isn't any buried treasure under there. If he wrapped himself in aluminium, he would have qualified as an excavator.

I was tired, and needed to distract myself. So the only logical thing was for me to start a conversation.

Me: "Wah, that's damn fast."
He: "Technique.."
Me: "Heh, so what do you do? Work at a construction site? Hahaha.."
He: [looks straight at me] "Ya.."

Very.Awkward.Situation.

I am no longer funny. I decided to shut up, and continue digging.

11.20am : I start digging into small roots, which makes digging even more labourious. Is that why no one is digging near the tree? I am an idiot.
11.25am : The lower soil is soft, which makes digging a breeze. God loves me.
11. 35am : I decide that instead of digging deeper, I will pile the sides with soil to make my trench appear to be deeper. This will firstly, save energy on my part and secondly, not destroy potential earthworm habitat.
11.50am : I am done, but I piled on so much at the sides, it looks like I dug on a ramp.
12.00am : I join the rest of the men over their lunch time conversation of where is the best place to have their ass licked.

If it's one thing I realised about men, it is that there are two social adhesives in life that are geographically defiant; Cigarettes and Sammyboy.

God bless their wives.

The Signaller

There are a few ways to get me to write a post about you. Being penis cleaving psychotic is one way, breaking your nose during sex is another, and so does having a disability.

Generally, I am not one to laugh at apodia or alopecia and the only disability I will outwardly scorn at is obesity. Maybe on occassions I have laughed at people with short tongue committing to a varsity debate, tussling with words like 'scrutiny' only to emerge with 'trunity'.

For the whole of last week, well, a vast part of it actually, I was stuck to a very peculiar individual whom I shall refer to as Gary, because that is his name. Gary was like every other normal white collared working male.

He was married, had a decent well paying job, had a few girl-friends on the side who worked as GRO's in KTVs or dancers at the Thai pubs, played golf, devoted a portion of his income to vice and Martell, over turned his car and had to do reservist. He was normal, save for one minor disability, he had a minor hearing problem.

This I assumed was just a 'minor' problem since he didn't have one of those hearing aids on him and he was perfectly capable of hearing words like 'sex', 'massage palours' and 'book out'. The only problem, was the vocation in which he was assigned to, that entirely perplexed me and wondered if SAF was taking a rib out of this and making it a joke.

He was a Signaller.

In case you are not familiar with this particular vocation because you don't have a penis and need not serve national service, or if you had one but you declared your love for other penises and they threw you into solitary confinement or where ever is it they post you, then allow me to break this down for you.

As a signaller, you are expected to do many un-neccessary things, like run around, carry a weapon, lay communications lines and totally disrespect the work Singtel has done for men. However, the most important job a signaller has, is to communicate via military devices that looked like a phone Sir Stamford Raffles brought when he arrived here.

In short, their job was to LISTEN to what the other party had to say and relay it to everyone else. Sounds easy? Not when you are Gary, the hearing impaired signaller.

It's bad enough that he had problems hearing people speak on a daily basis, and now he had to communicate information via distorted lines? This was going to be interesting. This was like putting a polio midget in the NBA. Sounds like a great idea, let's just wait and see what happens.

Obviously, this gave us alot of problems and it didn't help that Gary was also soft spoken, which was unexpected because I always thought they would be loud just to hear themselves echo in their heads.

The first spark ignited with his inability to relay messages to the commanders. And the scenarios always played out as such.

Gary: "Roger. Over and out."
Commander: "Gary, what is the message?"

Silence. It would be an eternity of silence as if we half anticipated Mary Poppins to jump out from the trench and engage us in a song and dance.

Gary: "I don't know, I can't hear them."
Commander: "Then why did you say 'roger' when you don't know what they are saying?"

Silence again.

Gary: "What did you say?"

This entirely killed me. Half the time I thought the long pauses where meant for him to collate his reply, when in actuality, he was struggling to figure out the question. I started giggling so bad, I was biting my hand just to stop myself from choking.

Gary kept me amused for the week, just because it was hilarious to watch him in action. He had this problem of hearing people call for him and if he did hear them, he had a problem with finding where the person was.

He would be in the trench and someone would call him several times progressively louder at each subsequent time before he finally responded, and I would watch him. He would always first spin around to ascertain where the voice was coming from and then blindly reply, 'yes?!' while continually looking for the person.

Most of the time I would just point to him to whoever was calling, but the worst was when someone called for him and people around started echoing out his name. This would entirely confuse him but it entertained me to no end. This was like laughing at the special Olympics, but I am an asshole and conscience is a detachable word in my life.

Naturally, his disabilities gave the commanders tons of problems because he was giving them wrong information and their patience was beginning to wear thin. Now surely, the moral card can't be entirely imputinised. Surely, there must be a threshold of tolerance even to disabled (or in this case partially disabled) people.

This was a faceoff between patience and understanding versus a physical disability and played against the backdrop of poor military allocation of resources. And I was loving every minute of it.

He was also great to have in group conversations because he always provided a sort of a communicative lag. He was like a dial up modem caught between the advance of modernity and thrown into the fray of broadband fanatism.

We would start a topic and then discard it entirely within seconds, and Gary would always pick them up like a revival quest and it didn't matter that we stopped talking about politics 6 minutes ago and were now idling between soccer and beer.

He would always start talking even when someone else was talking and interupt sentences and at first I thought he was the kind that only bothered about his views and it slowly occured to me that he was missing entire conversations and even had problems catching words said in the slighest dip in volume.

There was once we were talking about gambling in general and lunch came,

Me: "It's chicken rice again." [mumbling]
Gary: "No why?"
Me: "Huh? Isn't yours chicken rice?"
Gary: "Mine? Ya it's chicken rice."
Me: "Then you said no?"
Gary: "You asked me if got dice right?"

I smiled and thank God for giving me Gary. I think he is great, but I don't want to go to war with him by my side. Next, I want a blind medic.

YouTube's Best Contribution Pt 1

YouTube has done alot for the world, with the only exception being the proliferation of porn, but that will change very shortly when I acquire the entire company sometime this year as a Christmas present for my mum.

In honesty, this is perhaps the single greatest site on the entire web, coming in just a close second to my blog, and that itself is already a achievement. I am a great fan of YouTube for many reasons, free anime being just one of a magnitude of reasons why I believe this is the only site I will ever need if I were made to choose.

I am actually going to be on a sabbatical of sorts, so this would be quite an unorthodox post to buffer until I get back. I give you, the first part of the Best of what YouTube has given to us.

1. Pinoy Singers

For the ethno-jargon challenged people, Pinoy is a term coined to describe Philippinoes, simply beacuse its much easier to spell and has about 2 million less syllables.

Where Germans were born with knowledge on how to build cars, Indians to write computer programs and Japanese to give blowjobs, Pinoys were born to sing. If the whole country sang their national anthem simultaneously, it would be like listening to Angels whisper. Non-Pinoys should never sing their anthem, because we will make it sound bad.

The newspapers actually ran an article about Pinoy's who are flooding the internet with self-recorded videos of them doing covers of various songs, following the success of 2 of their fellow countrymen, Arnel Pineda and Charice Pempengco. I thank Reznor for making me want to be part Pinoy.

Arnel Pineda, was what you would call a Rock 'n' Roll Cinderella story. He started off as a lead singer for The Zoo, playing live gigs at pubs and posted their video's online. Eventually one night, Neil Schon from the group Journey (of Open Arms and Faithfully fame), stumbled upon a video of Arnel doing a cover of Journey's Faithfully and was amazed at his vocal resemblence to the original singer, Steve Perry.

As I type this, Arnel is now the new lead singer of Journey, stays in America and no longer needs to see his fellow countrymen fly off to Singapore to be domestic workers.



Charice Pempengco, is the latest export of the Philippines to the World's music industry. Charice was discovered after a video of her doing a cover of a song off the Dreamgirls soundtrack started circulating. It caused such a stir, she eventually got flown to the states to be on the Ellen DeGeneres Show.



They are both amazing vocalist, who can keep me from charging down to the clubs for free flow. Everytime I hear them sing, I commence a labourious search on the web for voice implant surgery. No luck on that yet.

2. The Melbourne Shuffle

If you haven't been to the clubs of late, then you might not be aware of the revolution the Melbourne Shuffle has brought to the local Trance scene. And for this, YouTube is perhaps the pivitol culprit.

2 years ago when I started blogging about shuffling and it's merits to being picked up in clubs, only handful of people knew what the Melbourne Shuffle was. People would stop me to ask what dance I was doing and that eventually led to free drinks and sometimes, a blowjob. There were also less than 5 people at the clubs on any given night who shuffled then and if they did, we eventually became close friends. Today, people are shuffling at carparks and in toilets at the club and if I believe the videos, basketball courts.

Once upon a time, I always wished to meet more Shufflers (which is what people who do the Melbourne Shuffle call themselves), since that was such a rarity and it was always cool to have someone dance the way you did. Today, the scene is saturated by a less than impressive montley crew of boys. In short, it has degenerated into a showboat fest.

I'm disappointed not because I'm no longer unique, but because the scene has skewed from what I have come to love. To begin with, I was never a pioneer in this, although I started way before the trend hit. However, I believe I was a catalystic influence to the explosion of it, through writing, my public demonstration and introduction of it at the Cleo Bachelor roadshow last year and direct conversion of at least a dozen of my friends.

Today, idiots come up to me to challenge. Challenge? Since when did you have to challenge shuffling? Couple weeks back, this Malay guy actually came up to ask me how long I've been shuffling and this is verbatim,

He: "How long you learn how to shuffle eh bro?"
Me: "What?"
He: "I mean you start this year? I shuffle for a year already."

A year?! And you want to fucking brag to me about A YEAR? Look, I'm sure you shuffle great and all, but I fuck more women than you, so I'm really not interested in competing. I am just going to put this straight to you. If you JUST learned to shuffle a year ago, shut up and dance in your own spot, and don't even talk to me. I really don't want to know about you or your shuffling history or lack of it, because I know how it goes.

"Learned from YouTube"

There is no shame in that of course, since I had to learnt it through that too and at my time, if you typed "Melbourne Shuffle" on YouTube, the search result was ONLY about 10 videos. The only thing that pisses me off is when people are DAMN proud they can shuffle. Like dude, Malaysia was already into this 3 years ago, what's so proud about being slower than them?

The reason why this is listed in here, is because despite the evolution and assimilation of it into the mainstream, I still like the dance and it is one of the best ways to appreciate Trance.

Till then..

The L Word

I have a disease. It's the very same plague that has ravages the lives of youths around the world. It causes us to lose our social life and systematically decays our body, or even the very fabric of our existence. I believe I have contracted the deadly virus known as, Laziness.

Unknown to many, Laziness is actually incurable and airborne, much like Cholera, stupidty and homosexuality. There are various strains of this virus, the most common of which is Procrastination, and it is common amongst young adults and has frequent outbreaks during examination periods.

As much as some people believe that Laziness is a benign infliction, it is actually viciously malignant behind that guise of dormancy. Laziness actually causes bodily parts to fail in function over a prolonged period of diagnosis. It usually starts with the legs and ultimately, the brain.

For instance, men's over-reliance on remote controllers have tragically led to reduced walking, which have resulted in smaller calves over the generations. With the remote control, you practically do not need to walk. The only thing worse than not having a remote control, is not having a maid, because you can actually get them to change channels for you when you want to.

I'm probably in the incubation stages of Laziness, but I can already feel it's symptoms. The only time I am not lazy, is when I'm watching television, because I channel surf so fast and religiously, I can ascendingly surf from MTV to HBO in 4 seconds, which I believe is the current record in my estate.

Laziness, isn't quite as destuctive as it is disruptive. It causes work to be delayed, projects to pile up, economies to slow down and communism. However, nothing in the entire gamut of consequences is as terrifying as the prospect of gaining weight.

Yes, Laziness is actually one of the biggest contributors of obesity. If the government would accept my proposal of corporeal punishment for being a Whale, then Laziness will lead to more executions than the Nazi's could ever achieve, and the world who be a better place. Slimming centres would go bust, but they would eventually find some other scheme to con the general public on.

The penultimate consequence to laziness is almost always weight gain. You are too lazy to chew, you get fat. Too lazy to exercise, you get fat. I know this for a fact because I've seen many people degenerate into such a state.

I used to have this platoon mate who would take those GNC mass gainers everyday. And while most people would hit the gym for a workout, he figured the most efficacious way to gaining weight was to actually NOT burn the calories, but store it. So he would almost immediately hit the sack and give us specific instructions before he slept.

Dan: "Don't talk to me, I will waste energy. I'm also going to cut down on breathing.. too tiring."

He eventually piled on 4 kgs in about a fortnight. True story. He is a genius.

People say, 'there is no such thing as an ugly girl, but only a lazy girl'. I say, 'shut the fuck up you morons, if you don't know what you are saying'. Laziness causes alot of things, like pregnancy because you were too lazy to wear a condom, or maybe even poverty, but it most certainly does not cause ugliness.

Ugliness is caused usually by genes, disapproval of cosmetic surgery and puberty. And there is no such thing as an ugly girl? Well, I have $100 that says Facebook says there is.

Laziness should also be exclusive to the male genotype. When women say they are lazy, they are actually just baiting for stupid men to do the work for them. Unless they are hot and have huge tits, they shouldn't be and the best way to respond to that statement is to immediately tell them that you are lazy too.

Of late, I really lacked the motivation to do anything. For awhile, I was actually excited about the idea of writing a book and I've actually gotten the foundation of it pretty much laid out, but Laziness just paralyzed me and I went back to believing that dreaming is an acceptable form of meditation.

Laziness is truly addictive as much as it is a cyclical regression. It's like wasting your life away and feeling good in the process of it. It's also one of the best excuse to avoid doing anything and piss people off in the proccess.


"I'm lazy."

It's the shortest explaination to why you are not going to be doing what you are told or supposed to do. When we confess it out loud, people give up trying to make us do work and eventually get it done themselves.

Thus, while Laziness is a general plague, is a mutually exclusive disease for when it comes to having two or more people. The general rule, and I know this because I am extensively well versed in the medical field, is that Laziness affects the majority, but not entirely. There will always be one person suddenly cured (voluntarily or coerced) of it and that person will clean up everyone's shit.


As you see Laziness is frown upon by the capitalist society because they associate the word 'beggars' to it. I on the other hand believe beggars are associated to words like, 'chicken', 'project superstar winner' and 'Steven Chow'.


There are certain people whom I can tell you aren't lazy off hand. People who,


TyPe LikE ThIS


These are people who have too much time on their hands and think they are being cute, when they are actually morons. Do you have any idea how fucking tedious it is to read, let alone read text that have a dysfunctional Caps lock?


Honestly, if you are a guy and you type like that, you will be laughed at. Or you probably already have been laughed at. I'm serious. My female friends show me text of people who type like that and they use words like, 'idiot' and 'moron' interchangeably when addressing you.

There is perhaps only one cure to Laziness other than complete hypnosis or hiring a slave, and that is Nagging. Nagging is like an antibiotic, you might not like the taste of it, but it can sometimes be good for you. I stress, Sometimes, because most of the time it is not worth paying attention to.

The best medium of application for Nagging is usually through a girlfriend, since it is already part of their job to be obnoxious and to get angry over nothing. Nagging actually gets us to do something. It's like a catalyst for an action, even if it means punching them in the face. And if this holds through in practise as it does in theory, then my only escape from Laziness is to get attached.

Impossible.

Butterfly And The Cleptomaniac

When I said I've met weird people in my life, I actually meant it. Not just the ones with rock hard silicons, or the ones that thought sticking their hands down my pants was amusing or some whom I believed breached the realm of bimboism and was plain retarded. Once upon a time, there was a cleptomaniac..

For the uninitiated, a cleptomaniac is someone who suffers from kleptomania, which is a degenerative mental instability, resulting in an uncontrollable impulse to steal. It is frowned upon in society much like paedophilia, obesity and beige panties.

Cleptomaniac: [noun]

1. A person suffering from Kleptomania
2. Crazy muthafuckers who need to steal
3. Winona Ryder

How we actually met was what you would call, a 'right mistake'. I, of course did not know she was a cleptomaniac, not like it mattered at that point and it was not like they carried the bane of their psychology around like 60 pounds of fat spilling over the hips.

I was at the club smiling at two girls dirty dancing and she walked pass with her friends, thought I was smiling at her and returned the smile. 5 minutes later, while I continued to be assiduously studying two women gyrating their hips against one another and wondering if they might get groin abrasions tomorrow, some chick started talking into my ear.

She: "What's so interesting to watch?"

I turned to see the same girl who was smiling at me earlier.

Me: "There are two girls making out. What isn't interesting in that? If you start making out right infront of me, you will have my attention."

She: "I told my friend that there was this cute boy smiling at me and that I would come over and talk to him."

I was tipsy, not too interested in having my dick sucked by anyone that night and left my egoistic persona in the toilet right after I mis-aimed my piss and leaked a couple drops on my pants.

Me: "Did I smile at you?"

It was an expression of shock, embarassment and the kind of face people give when they have the wrong answer. In any instance it was the perfect example on why I generally do not hit on random women.

She: "Fine."

I'm well versed in Women's Bullshit 101 to know that 'Fine' (with a silent punctuation at the end) is never really 'fine'. I also know that the immediate action to the recoil of taking a snub is to turn and walk away. Since I knew all the reactions, I easily formulated my re-introduction to her because I was well prepared to pull her back by the arm.

I ran through the gauntlet of mandatory trivialities like, her name and age, which the former I knew I was never going to remember till I had her saved in my phonebook and the latter, just so I know it would be perfectly legal to remove her clothes. She dished out a barrage of compliments and I responded by the only way I knew how; by making out with her.

There are girls you meet and wonder how many boring dates and chloroform pads you need before you can get her into the sack, and some who would play the virginal whore and make you recite your prayers before you even get to foreplay. This girl, was the girl you know would fuck you even if your bed was being renovated or at the back seat of your campy Hiace (if you even have a backseat). And that was a good thing.

She was pretty much the spark that made my night out worthwhile. For one, she was drunk, very vocal, made out with some Caucasian lady and seemed appreciative to my decadance. It was one of those women that I knew I didn't have to impress, but only needed to simply suggest. I am truly blessed with luck. I love being me.

The only downside was that the best time we had were that 30mins in the club. As soon as we got out and left for supper, she started complaining about the top she was wearing and wanted to changed out of it.

Me: "What? You brought change of clothes?"
She: "Nope, but I stole a couple of tops in town just now."

Stole? Now, surely she was kidding..

Me: "You what? I thought I heard you said you stole some tops."
She: "Yes I did. Look!"

She proceeded to show me her bag stuffed with about 4-5 blouses, of which, all still had their price tags on. My expression was the very mimic of her half an hour ago. Shocked, consternated and the face people have when they choose the wrong chick to fuck.

Me: "Are you fucking serious?"
She: "Yea! I think I'll go back to XXX, the things there are real easy to steal."

If I had the ability to think pass an erection, I would have punched her, called the cops and be forever celebrated as a hero, but that would have spoiled the fun and this girl was getting interesting, despite turning out to be some klepto-crazed chick.

For one, this girl took alot of my bullshit. I was obnoxiously cocky in almost everything I replied, but she constantly fed my ego till I eventually got bored.

She: "So why no girlfriend?"
Me: "Don't need one. I fuck more people this way."
She: "A player, but you have the calibre anyway. So why not pick up some other girl?"
Me: "Why do I need to pick anyone up, when I have you to pick me up."

Beyond that, she was very much like the other girls. They would start out by saying they would never do one night stands, or would never get into bed with me. They would thin out the compliments and bring out several of my shortcomings. They would associate me as a craftmaster of the game and a perennial asshole. They would play up the very impossibility of standing in front of me naked.

Next, before they can even find new vocabulary to sustain their vituperation for my very moral fibre or self being, we are either banging at the back seat of the car or quivering from an orgasmic wave. It's funny how this happens and I constantly wonder why people even bother to say 'never'.

Naturally, where most people are contented to spoon quietly at the aftermath of furious hip thrusting or cock sucking, this girl decided that she would burn up the remaining of her calories from that 2 lychee martinis, by reiterating her point of me being a horrible person, with very little redeeming qualities.

I always found this an amusing pillow talk conversation, since I last remembered sex was largely a consensual activity between two adults, or sometimes one kid and one sick adult or one adult and an ignorant animal.

This girl was castigating me on moral issues. She, who has emotional issues and needs to resort to stealing, telling me about how wrong my life is. Wow, this was like having Bill Clinton give a speech on marital fidelity. I'm sure it's good advise, but let's not teach prostitutes how to do an ass rim.

While this girl could take anything from a blouse off the shelf or a cock in her mouth pretty well, she couldn't take jokes. And that was a huge problem when it comes to being around me, because I partake in caustic humour, which some people cannot dechiper and handle well and they end up taking it personally.

And the fact that she got so easily offended, amused me to no end. I'm serious. This girl would play along as a China prostitute on one night and then never want me to remind her of that scabrous rendezvous the next day. And I thought it was another one of her role play, this time as the virginal nun, so I continued to pour a visual cinematic epilogue of how our last meeting ended.

She got pissed even more and I thought she was just a natural at role-playing. Apparently, I was wrong and she eventually told me that she was serious and how emotionally volatile she was. I was obviously smart enought to know that being around her was like shuffling on a Cambodian mine field. So I did the only chivalrous thing I know,

I ignored her.