The Relationship Life Cycle - Male

Not many people realise this, but Happy Ever Afters are fairytales proliferated by Disney and fictionalized by Hollywood. They are make believes to have people make sacred their chastity and safe guard children from the greater purpose in life, Promiscuity.

Happy Ever Afters are myths and un-natural occurrences, much like Atlantis and the multi male orgasm, and are experienced by less than 0.7% of the human population. Happy Ever Afters are however possible, only when you marry at 70 and you both die shortly after before realizing the existence of erectile dysfunction.

Love, is like a commodified product. And in the dynamics of marketing, we learn that all products go through a product life cycle. Relationships blossomed by love, follows the exact same pattern of triumph and subsequent demise.

If you disagree with me, you are either blind, single and unwanted, never had a relationship without the medium of money or just simply, wrong.

I’ve decided to split this post into two parts instead because I believe there is a gender divide when it comes to the life cycle. So since the last I checked, I had a dick, I’ll write the male version first then follow up with the female one.

The Courting Stage.

This is the infancy stage or what would be commonly known and dreaded by men alike, as the chasing/wooing stage. This stage is characterized by several defining traits which shape the dynamics of the chasing game and the eventual foundation of what would be, a relationship.

1. High Cost

The courting stage has the highest propensity for expensive dinners. This is the one stage where women in general, reap the benefits of having a cleavage and men suffer the effects of social norms, because there is an unwritten rule that states, having a penis equates to paying for dinner.

Men will take you out for over-priced dinner, offer to pick you up even if you live on polar ends of the island and will even volunteer to book movie tickets online. Yes, we are disgusting. They will deliver lunch to your house, surprise you with your cravings and legitimately be interested in what you have to say. If they are stupid enough, they will waste their money on flowers as well.

People subscribe to the notion that generosity is a way to charm a woman. Some see it as a direct interpretation of penis size or maybe a disguise for it. I will point you to a fact that generosity is also a yardstick of stupidity.

2. Induced Interest

In this stage, the relationship of two people is usually skewed. One person puts in more effort, the other benefits from it. It’s like masturbating, you might feel good, but your hand or that dildo doesn’t.

Men have the highest threshold of tolerance when they are in the courting stage. They are easy going and they will take you up on your request even if they will under normal circumstance, slice off their ankles just to show you how much they do not want to do it.

This is the one stage men will shop at Spotlight with you and not have them complain. If they are really into you, they will pretend they are interested in cloth and glitter, or whatever crap they have in that Mardi Gras reject shop. If he isn’t pretending, he is gay. If you already knew that, I am hoping you are gay too.

People will also seem to still have endless things to talk about even after your date ended. Phone calls are known to be chalked up in hours on a single night, conversations will include past relationship expriences and men will say stupid things like, "I can't believe he did that to you. You deserve better", because they believe this will automatically unbutton the girl's pants.

They will even pretend to laugh at your stupid jokes, even if the punchline was so dry, that the deaf would cut out their ears, just so you think they are genuinely interested. Conversations are also sometimes largely towards the girl’s cleavage. They will think everything is a good idea, just because they will get to spend more time with you. They will regret this 6 months down, but they just don’t know it yet.

I know this for a fact because I was stupid once. She suggested a Sunday morning cycling session at East Coast and I agreed against my better judgment, when I knew damn well that Sunday morning sleep-ins’ were crucial for post-party hangover therapy.

3. Low Returns

The marginal returns for this stage are usually extremely low. Expensive dinners and wonderfully planned dates might generally get you nowhere further up the front steps with a goodnight kiss. Sex is generally non-existent or if society hasn’t entirely surrendered to decadence or sexual liberty, and retained a dose of conservatism, then sex could very well herald your graduation into the next stage of actual committal dating.

Honeymoon stage

1. High Attention Spans

In this stage, men are highly devoted to you. They are least likely to stray or stare brazenly at other women. They are willing to spend entire weekends with you and forsake other man duties like poker with the boys, prostitution and getting drunk.

This is one stage men will genuinely be interested to hear how boring your day was or hear you bitch about your colleagues, even if the word ‘sex’ or ‘blowjob’ was absent from the conversation. They will even offer to give you a back rub even if you haven’t done a single menial task except for chatting away on MSN all day.

2. High Cost

Like the Courting Stage, men will still generally spend on women and usually more so in the Honeymoon Stage. Expensive restaurants are still a staple diet, along with picnics on the beach or even sunset cruises.

They will travel insane distances, defying the oil cartel’s price explosion, just so that they can get you your favourite bean curd at Rochor and Nasi Lemak at Changi. They will also say stupid things like, “just as long as you are happy”, when you thank them for it.

3. High Marginal Returns

Reciprocation is at its peak. Buying flowers easily entitles you to a blowjob. If you take out the trash, you have a handjob waiting for you when you get back. This is the one stage where sex comes so freely, it’s like collecting leaflets at the Orchard underpass or having a True Yoga session.

4. Names Of Affection

This is also one stage where ‘I love you’ is often punctuated by ‘so much’. Pet names are also created at this juncture of the relationship and follow a generic typicality of cuteness and affection. Here are some guidelines to it.

A. Pet names usually have the alphabets ‘ie’ and ‘y’ at the end. For example, ‘Honey’, ‘Sweetie pie’. Just because it’s cuter that way.

B. If the pet name is two words, they should usually be either similar words, like ‘Be Be’ or ‘Zap Zap’. If not, then they are usually rhyming words like, ‘honey bunny’, ‘wormy squirmy’ or if you are a huge Lady Marmalade fan, I will suggest, ‘Mocha Chocca Lata Yaya’, just so you can follow it up with ‘where you think ya sleeping to night’.

C. Pet names always have a tinge of cuteness in them as if they were invented by Hello Kitty loving Japanese pre-school girls. It must always be void of masculinity, so you can rule out things like, ‘Power Ranger’, ‘El Diablo’ or ‘Godzilla’, but you can consider those for your penis.

D. If people squirm while hearing it, you know you picked a successful pet name.

5. High Stupidity

Men are also very likely to do other stupid things like agreeing to wear matching couple’s t-shirts with a picture of them printed on the front, having a joint savings account or going on holidays together to male exclusive sanctuaries like Bangkok or Phuket.

6. Low Propensity To Argue

Arguments are unheard of in this stage. Couples will have tiffs at worse, because the men will usually start to lose their testicles and give in to women the moment they frown. Men at this stage usually do not have the interest to make a strong opinion and will generally give in to women, even if she says the Original two piece meal was invented by MacDonalds.

When couples have their first big fight, then you know they’ve come to the next stage in the relationship.

The Maturity Stage

1. Low Attention Spans

Men are no longer entirely devoted to you. You will now have to wrestle for his attention with the PS3, Soccer on cable television and Entourage. Men will also start to make comparisons of other women with you or more subtly, make passing remarks on random hot women. You will also be introduced to a new concept previously unheard of, ‘Boys night out’.

Men are no longer entirely interested to hear how your day went and will generally reply with ‘mmm’ or 'uh huh’, when you give your dreadfully boring blow by blow account of the day. Men are only interested to hear if there are other men mentioned in your stories. Women can also forget about the back rub, unless it’s a special occasion like birthdays, Valentine’s day or if he hasn’t had sex in a week.

2. Low Cost

Men will start cutting down on visits to posh restaurants. Dinner dates will now be a regular affair with hawker food, fast food and if the woman is really lucky, Ichiban Boshi. Men will also stop buying flowers randomly or surprise you with gifts, unless of course there was a huge discount or that they’ve been naughty.

Men will no longer be willing to drive 30mins just to buy porridge or satisfy the girl’s cravings. They will instead try to lullaby you into believing that the one across the road tastes just the same. And even so, it might take the girl some degree of cajoling or a flying vase before the men will agree to buy it for them.

3. Medium Marginal Returns

Sex at this stage might have degenerated into a mechanical performance of routine. Sex is now not so much a reward, but an entitlement. The men no longer do things to impress, since everything thing has become a routine and there really isn’t a need to breach the norm anymore. Just as long as he does not piss her off, he will get to fuck her.

4. Names of Affection

Mushy Pet names are now fragments of memories, immortalized in text messages, birthday cards or letters. In place of it, are simple generic call words like, ‘babe’ or ‘dear’. It is also common for them to just use a derivative, shortened from the actual name.

5. Medium Propensity to Argue

Men are no longer as forgiving or tolerant. They will voice their opinions and displeasure like there is a suggestion box going round. Huge fights are common and men will no longer apologize voluntarily when they are not at fault.

Character differences and similarities are highly pronounced at this stage. Men, having the innate instincts to avoid places with yelling and conflict (unless he’s Bush), will generally try to avoid an argument, which will inadvertently piss the girl off more.

Arguments and fights are episodic and will pass over quickly. Having recurrent bouts of heated arguments are antecedent to the arrival of the final stage.

The Demise Stage

This is the buffer period between a possible revival and eventual break-up. This stage is generally short-lived, but has been known to be dragged unnecessarily long by masochistic idiots who do not know when to let go.

1. No Attention Span

Men no longer give a shit how your day went. You could have broken a leg, got fired or be terribly depressed and they will give you the same interest they will to watching Martha Stewart. However, they will still blow their top if you went out with other men.

Men will no longer even bother to call you. They will say everything they need to, over the medium of text messages. They will only call you if they are waiting for you and need you to hear how pissed they are.

75% of the World’s most prolific liars are in this stage. Men will lie even about playing poker just so to get you off their backs.

2. Low Cost

You can forget dinner dates. Men will try to meet you as little as possible and will cite anything from work commitments to colleague’s birthdays, just so that they will only need to meet you late at night for a short while, or blame fatigue and skip meeting up with you entirely.

Men who cheat on you in this stage will not be pricked by guilt so they will not have a reverberating conscience that will lead them to Tiffany or Marc Jacobs. Hell, they will not even buy you donuts for that matter.

3. Sex

Men will still fuck you even if they no longer love you. Well, that’s because we are assholes.

4. Names of Affection

You will be relegated to ‘Oei’, ‘Eh’ or any other mono-syllabic grunts and at dire times, you will be addressed by your full name, just so you know that they are mad at you.

5. High Propensity to Argue

Everything has the potential to blow up into a fight. Men will tell you to shut up before you even get five seconds into a nag of him not picking up his socks. Men will not only ignore you, but will slam the door or punch the wall, just to make sure you get the idea that he is pissed, is stronger than you and can break your neck in a fight, while having a cookie.

Men will pick on things like, ‘being controlled’ and not being able to meet up with his friends. They will also become paranoid if you are dating behind his back. They will also bring up new concepts like, ‘I need my space’.

Fights can last for weeks and can start from trivialities stemming from disagreement of movies, leaving the toilet seat up or suggesting an abortion. And in the finality of verbal abuses and tears, you become smarter.

Welcome back to singlehood. You know you miss it.

The Broken Rubber

If there is a conspiracy working to plunge me into a coerced submission of my rights for promiscuity and into early fatherhood, then I believe Durex is a part of it. There is either a grave degradation in quality or there is a higher power working against me.

And why the acrimonious swipe at Durex? It’s because I have two validate premise of resentment stemming from two product failures. When condoms were supposed to herald an age of promiscuity without immediate consequences and when condoms were meant to abolish the need for short-changing orgasms because of withdrawal, it failed me.

There aren’t many people who have torn a condom while fucking, and certainly there aren’t many who can successfully have it torn twice. And this was an actual breakage without deliberate tampering of it and I am starting to believe that perhaps, there IS some truth in the designer condom story after all.

This was entirely boggling to me, because in my repertoire of encounters with condoms, this has never happened and I have a lineage of women who can attest to this. I highly doubt I am a novice to this, or perhaps I have been spoilt silly by women who have taken this as their responsibility to slip it on, on behalf of me. Neither do I think there were hidden razor blades in the girl’s vagina, because she wasn’t Thai and last I checked, that concealment skill is an ascribed characteristic solely for Thais.

Ironically, it started with pillow talk that forced me to remember important texts from my secondary school biology lessons, largely bordering over the ‘safe period’ and had huge words like ‘ovulation’ and ‘menstruation cycle’, which being male allows me to be ignorant of it.

I said it wasn’t safe to cum in a girl even if she was having her period and I specifically remembered this because just a couple days ago, one of the girls corrected me that despite having their menses, there is still a margin for pregnancy. I don’t know if that is true, but she was vehemently certain on that and looked like she had an abortion cert to substantiate her claim, so I took her word for it.

The girl I was with thought that was, and I quote, ‘a super low possibility’ but chance was something I do not have the luxury of, not when it came with bothersome words like, ‘responsibility’, ‘abortion’ and ‘crying’.

The sex was the same, just that she (I shall call her Yua), like to be fucked hard. And I know this because, well maybe she said,

“Fuck me hard”

And that I did. If pain was her derivative pleasure orchestrated from Japanese AV, then pain was what I brought. If she wanted it hard, I complied, even against buckling knees and swelling balls. And that was it, carnal sex at it best without the pleasantries of kissing or sweet nothings. We were after all, working adults who knew the value of time and that romantic foreplay and love-making were best left to teenagers.

There aren’t many things that will mind fuck you during sex, other than finding out your chick has a dick, but discovering your condom has torn pretty much ranks up there. It kills an erection almost as effectively as being head-butted in the balls.

I didn’t realize it had torn until I looked down and saw an uncanny crease around my member as if I had slotted in an oversized Nigger’s condom onto a Japanese pickle. It was almost reminiscent of the Ivory condom debacle, except that I knew there was no way Yua had torn the condom.

Me: “Fuck, I think the condom is torn.”

She looked at me in disbelief, almost as if I had single handedly destroyed her faith in latex. Her eyes told everything. This was a special moment for us, a first of sorts if you might say. How could it have torn? Now, surely I couldn’t have been THAT rough. If there was that much friction, I'm pretty sure we would have started a fire and ‘abrasions’ would have been the word of the day.

Yua: “Are your condoms expired?”

And so, while one had failed, we kept the faith and attributed the anomaly to sheer misfortune and a singular product failure in the sea of mass successes. We weren’t about to lodge a formal complaint to the condom industry just yet, despite the massive interruption to our common utopia of a simultaneous orgasmic fervor.

So I slipped on a second one once the mood had returned and we were back to coveting under the sheets. Then 20mins and countless position changes later, that familiar crease greeted me again. Convinced that the condom could not have possibly torn again, I proceeded to invite her to inspect.

Me: “I think the condom tore again. Does this look like it’s torn?”

She veered closer, her face inches from the dick.

She: “Looks like it.”
Me: “What the fuck is wrong with the condoms today?”

Was this a sign? Was this a divine intervention? Was this my calling to evangelize for rubberless unsafe sex? Was I the man to crumble the condom industry?

The whole episode just re-affirmed the need to keep the lights on during sex. I am serious. There is a legitimate reason for this. Keeping the light on is a form of contraception, much like pills, condoms and anal sex. If there hadn’t been light, I would be naming my offspring by now and I might seriously have had to call him/her, Broken Rubber.

The PD Weekend Pt 2

By the time we dragged ourselves up and got ready to leave the next day, we had already lost an entire afternoon. It’s okay to sleep in during the morning because that’s what holidays are for, to waste the entire morning stretching in bed and not be disturbed by alarm clocks or silly mothers who think sleeping through the day is hazardous to health.

Tigerlily was the only tragic victim of a hangover and she looked like she took a dip in a pool of whiskey, got up and got hit by a bicycle. Everyone else was sufficiently rested, though not everyone could sequentially piece together the events of the night, or knew how we eventually got back to the room.

When I said there was nothing to do in Port Dickson, I wasn’t kidding. CokeWhore told us that RollerGirl had planned to fit some water sports into their daytime activity, but that was crippled by the low tides in the day. And when I say low tide, I actually mean the water level receding 50 metres from the coastline. So, you would actually have to drag your jet ski so far out the beach, you’d probably be half way to India.

We eventually decided we would catch a shuttle bus down to Port Dickson town, just to soak up the place a little and cherish our Singaporean passports more. I don’t know what shuttle we took, but I’m pretty sure it could time travel, because when we got off the bus in the town, I was pretty sure I was back in the 70's and I could find buffaloes pulling carts or maybe a rickshaw around the corner.

I immediately called Niner to warn him not to join us and that we would tweak our plans and buy food and drinks back to have a warm-up drinking session at his hotel instead. So we went to the supermarket, got a bottle of Vasparov Vodka, 12 packets of Ribena, 10 cans of Red Bull and pledged to empty everything. All that for under S$50. I love Port Dickson.

It was one of those pre party sessions which revolved largely around story-telling and we would be swigging vodka so fast, everything became hilarious. Adrian told us one story about his experience at our local KFC outlet.

It was about this Ah Beng who ordered a two piece original meal and told the cashier,

“I don’t want the co-les-tor”

He said, it caught the cashier entirely off guard and it took about a minute before she realized he wasn’t saying ‘cholesterol’ but ‘coleslaw’. I laughed myself silly.

When we finally cleared the room and made our way down, it was already 10ish. We had lost over an hour of Cosmic Gate, but my liver was already well lined with vodka so much so that I was even ready to pour beer down it.

Then ‘As the rush comes’ blared over the speakers and the entire place became a sing-along karaoke session. Everyone started getting on their feet, everyone except for Tigerlily, who was still plastered to the ground. I immediately set off to find TB and some other friends, and was subsequently rewarded with a beer.

When I got back, Tigerlily was gone.

Me: “Where’s Tigerlily?”
Faith: “Medical Centre.”
Me: “Why the fuck did you guys put her there?”
Faith: “We didn’t! She checked herself in.”
Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

As much as I’m truly concerned for the well-being of my friends, I just thought the whole idea of her voluntarily putting herself there just so she could sleep, was hilarious. She paid for a 2 day pass, travelled 4 hours up, took a day’s leave, got pissed ass wasted on the first night, didn’t remember a thing and now, she was sleeping in the medical tentage, while Tiesto was spinning. Truly amazing.

The rave was still very much as good as it was on the first day. They could blow ten speakers and still kick ZoukOut’s ass twice over. And the great part was that despite the security, dress prohibitions and the loom of religious values, this was still very much in tangent with rave culture. And by that I meant drugs, sex and frantic waving of light sticks.

There were people snorting lines in the toilets, breaking pills over the basin and furtively passing bags between one another. This was so widespread, it disengaged the norms of regular clubbing etiquette. For one, you have to understand that rave culture is a contagious erosion of moral education. It is an inversion of societal acceptance and a perversion of social mores.

Some of you might disagree with me that rave parties are not always associated to drugs, but that’s because you live in Disneyland, think Goofy should run for president and have probably never been properly educated on reality. In short, you are wrong. Rave parties without the presence of drugs, is like being a eunuch in an orgy. Bet that’s a lot of fun.

There was this particular individual who was a second degree friend, who went through both nights not having a single drop of alcohol or neither was she chemically induced. She was that clean, she was that hyper and she looked like she was having so much fun, I pointed to her and said,

“You’ll never see fat people having this much fun, without at least dying from heart failure.”

That being said, having a blog with quite an audience means that I have a responsibility to uphold, despite the moral vacuum I have created. I am not encouraging the use of drugs, and obviously you don’t need drugs to enjoy a rave, but you'll need people to collapse from drugs just so that you can laugh at them to make up for it.

The finale was insanely unbelievable. It was so good, I actually got goose bumps just standing rooted to my spot, while hundreds poured in to catch the fireworks. Instead of trying to describe the scene, here's the video.



There are tons of video uploaded onto YouTube that would have given it better credit. And yes, there were THAT many people. We were actually standing at the back where the tarmac area was, but by the time Tiesto played Adagio for Strings, people started flooding in and we became the middle. It was like the second exodus, only this time, this was the promise land.

Now, was that all that actually happened? Obviously not. Since when have you known me to behave?

The PD Weekend Pt 1

When Tiesto decides to do an Asian Tour and stops by at Port Dickson for a 2 day concert, there is only three things every avid Trance devotee should do. Apply for leave, discard all prior plans (even if you have to change your wedding) and head up for two days of hedonistic raving.

Plans for this trip started over a month in advance. As soon as Tiesto released his schedule for the Asian leg of his tour, we started drafting proposals and plans to head up as an entire group. This included logistics planning of a magnitude that will make Chan Brothers pee in their pants.

Naturally, as the days got closer and work commitments and deadlines became more evident in the light of reality, people started dropping out from the plans and we soon broke off into separate groups, banding together on complimentary availabilities.

The main bulk of our group was heading up on Friday evening after serving their offices duties and keeping upper management happy. The other 7 of us, excluding CokeWhore who had a last minute cancellation of leave, became the advance party. We were the ones who believed that work was prioritized somewhere after raving, alcohol and a good afternoon’s nap.

And so it became 7. Muthu, Adrian, Faith, Tigerlily, Niner, Lin and me. And to say it was going to be a debaucherous weekend of induced intoxication and carnal delights was a gross understatement, much like calling comatose patients, lazy. So began, our trip to the psychedelic wonderland.

There weren’t many things we knew about Port Dickson to begin with. As the name suggested, we knew it was by the beach and we knew Louis Vuitton did not exist in that state. We also knew it was in excess of a 3 hour drive up. Where it was exactly or what was there to do there, we didn’t bother, but thank God we made a quick stop-over at City Square to get my shoes and change money, because PD was a city boy’s nightmare.

For one, PD was like a settlement. I couldn’t even call it a town because there was pretty much a lack of infrastructure. It was like turning off the NS highway away from KL and watching civilization distance itself so fast, that I wondered if we were going on some humanitarian aid trip to some massively syllabled indigenous tribe.

What made it worse was that I wasn’t even looking forward to our hotel. It all started because procrastination and initial conflict of schedules delayed our booking of hotel rooms, and by the time we actually decided to hit the panic button, we were left with the parson’s nose of leftovers. What we found came as recommendation from TheBody, and we jumped on it not because it had a fancy name and an impressive site, but largely because there wasn’t anything left to choose from.

It was called, Duta Hacienda Rivera. It sounded like some Babylon theme villa by the sea and had several coaxing pictures of spacious rooms and fittings. I was impressed, but when CW told me the rooms amounted to SGD120.00 for both nights, we both did a re-check on the deal. She called them up for confirmation and I re-checked the website.

Me: “Guys, don’t be expecting much about the hotel. I looked beyond the pictures and there were two user comments. One started with ‘Don’t even bother’ and the other had the words, ‘I’m never coming back to this place’.”

I thought that was pretty hilarious. No one else did.

We finally checked into the hotel at the Palms Springs Resort’s makeshift reception lobby, which was missing a front glass wall, and I quickly realized the predicament we were in.

For one, our hotel was situated 15mins from where the event was held, and this was 15mins of driving at a place where taxis were an endangered species and car rental was a concept entirely unheard of. To make it worse, we also learnt that there was about 15km of unlit road between us and the event venue which made walking entire impossible, unless of course we started walking now and pray to make it before next Christmas.

Hands up if you thought we were screwed. I know I did.

Niner and Lin had a separate lodging arrangement which saw the putting up at Avillon, which would set them 2 miles away from the rave zone. So we split for the day. The 5 of us to our apartment for 6 and the two of them coaxing the coach driver to make a detour to their hotel.

Having survived torrid living conditions in Taiwan, I was prepared for the worst, but the great thing was that the rooms turned out to be great. They were huge, came with a living room, connecting doors and great beds. We even had the canal view, which made the Singapore River look like it was good enough to drink out of.

Finding food was however, like finding Atlantis. The place was so deserted, the 7 of us would have qualified as a quarter of total population. You could throw a stone and not hit a shadow. There were no evident public transport around and we had to get by with single file walking along the roadside and had every other car that drove past us mock us with whistles. I hate PD.

Me: “This place blows. God created the World and he forgot about Port Dickson. Entirely.”

Me: “Check out the banner of our hotel, it says prime location. I will seriously hate to see what the suburbs look like.”

Niner on the other hand, had a beautiful room built on supported platforms that extended right out into the sea. The lobby was great, his room was cozy, had a kick ass bathroom and a perfect view of the opposite room, which constantly had three girls parading around in bikini. The best part of it was that there was a free shuttle bus service that plied between the event at the marina and his place. Life is unfair.

We bumped into three girls while waiting for the shuttle service outside his hotel and I started a conversation with them. I knew they weren’t locals because they were dressed more for a club party then they did for an outdoor rave, but largely because they were conversing in Cantonese, had hair meticulously tied up with enough aerosols to puncture a hole in the ozone above PD and looked as confused as the rest of the non-natives.

Me: “Are you guys waiting for the shuttle bus?”

In honesty, I admittedly threw in a dash of slang just so that they would know I wasn’t part of this forsaken settlement.

Girl: “Yes, yes. To err Tiesto right?”
Me: “You girls from Hong Kong?”
Girl: “Yes! And you are from Xing-ga-por hai mai?”

They weren’t exactly the hottest people you would find, but the fact that they were from beyond the Peninsula made them by far the most attractive women on the island, but that was until we saw the rest of the crowd, and I started to gawk.

These girls missed the Tiesto set in Hong Kong in early April and decided he was too much of a god to pass off, so they specially flew here for him. I love them more suddenly.

Girl: “How many of you come here to party?”
Muthu: “At least another 8 more.”
Girl: “Wow, so good. Three of us only. So lonely.”

Tigerlily: “Ask them to party with us la!”
Me: “It’s okay, I’m only interested in the one in red. Then again, I have already done Hong Kong. I’ll hold out for Koreans.”

The red girl eventually said something to me just before they headed in. I don’t really understand Cantonese, she didn’t really speak English, and it wouldn’t make a difference if I got her to repeat, so I responded in the only logical way.

Me: “See you inside.”

And I said that not realizing I was never going to find them in the crowd of thousands. I amaze myself sometimes.

What surprised me were the security checks, which were comparatively more stringent than ZoukOut. They confiscated sweets, barred outside drinks, religiously frisked us and they even checked the wallets. It was a valiant but futile attempt to clamp down on the commercial consumption of drugs, which served more as time wastage than it did as deterrence.

By the time we got in, Ferry Corsten was already spinning. The lighting, the sound and the atmosphere was everything I had imagined. This was like ZoukOut all over again, except better. It was like every other typical rave. Women in bikini top, men in board shorts and hordes of people in sunglasses. Sweat, cigarettes and marijuana perfuming the air, while the thumping bass and pyrotechnics stirred up a euphoric frenzy of body mashing and lung bursting screams.

Welcome to the rave.

This was the Wonderland. The contagious concoction of hard bass, progressive beats, tireless shuffles, fireworks, drugs, booze and a visual parade of skin. This was the trance apteral, the congregation of an unadulterated infusion of vice and liberation, with the only censure to this chaos being that, we were after all in a Muslim country and had to thus abide by several regulations on dress codes.

This was the very reason why the crowds were missing in Zouk and MoS over the weekend. This was the reason commercial drug prices escalated over the last week. This was the reason more daughters will come home pregnant.

Niner and Adrian started going crazy with the beer. By the time Tiesto got up to spin at midnight, the group was already smashed. It was one of the only nights I was more sober than anyone else, which was a good thing, because as much as I enjoyed the event, the hilarity of the entire night revolved around the guys who were pissed high. And I was glad I was awake to sober enough to soak it all up and laugh at them.

12.30am: Niner, Adrian and Lin are still toasting away on beer. I know they are fucked, but they just don’t know it yet.
12.40am: Tigerlily can no longer stand, neither can she speak coherently but that does not deter her from talking incessantly.
12.45am: We still do not have a clue what Tigerlily is saying, but accommodate in her verbal diarrhea anyway.

1.00am: Faith has no idea what is going on, cannot dance to the beat and will probably lose to 7 year old spastic kids with brain tumor in chess.
1.05am: Niner laughs at them and declares his sobriety out loud.

1.15am: Tiesto spins ‘Lethal Industry’. The crowd goes wild, I start screaming, people are rushing forward. Everyone is ecstatic except for Tigerlily, who is still talking to Faith who has no idea what is happening.
1.30am: Tiesto does his anthem, ‘Traffic’. Fireworks go off, everyone starts dancing and in all the excitement, I nearly shit my pants.

By the time it came to 2am, I started to doubt if we were going to last the night. The casualty list was pilling up and I was taking the role of the matured friend by deciding not to drink and look out for the well-being of my other friends. This you have to understand is an unfamiliar role for me and not one that I welcome.

2.10am: Niner comes back and declares his fall from grace in the best way he could think of.

Niner: “Bro, I am fucked. I am not okay. I am fucked.”
Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Niner: “Bro, this is not funny, I am fucked. We need to go soon.”

2.15am: Adrian comes back and lies beside Tigerlily, who is still talking about random stuff to Faith who still does not know what is going on.
2.30am: Against the backdrop of Tiesto hamming up the dance floor, we decide to leave for what will be the longest 200m walk out.

There wasn’t a crowd streaming out of the place but if you have had to lead and guide a group of pissed out people before, you will know that Terry Fox will cream their ass in a 100m foot race. And this were the random events that happened along the way out.

Faith eventually sobered up and realized that Tigerlily was talking to her all night and she did not understand a word of what she was saying.

Faith: “What is this girl saying? I know I am high, but at least I know what I am saying. This girl is talking rubbish!”
Tigerlily: “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
Me: “Nope, I invented Google, I don’t have to work.”

Faith then decided that she would cross the road to hail us a cab, when firstly, she was almost pissed gone and needed support for walking and secondly, there weren’t any cabs available to begin with. Raves, evidently lowers our IQ drastically.

Niner on the other hand decided to bargain with the vendors on the cost of the drinks, which went for RM5 for a bottle of mineral water. He was too high to stay on for Tiesto, knew the beers were doing him in, but obviously sober enough to decide that RM5 was an exorbitant sum to pay for water.

Me: “RM5 for a bottle? What water is that? From the Alps?”
Guy: “Bro, standard price la bro.”
Niner: “How about RM1 for a bottle?”

I turned away for a second to pass the guys the drinks and next thing I know, Niner was mouthing off illegalities to the other peddlers and I had to drag him away before we had to spend the remainder of the trip in the police lockup.

Niner: “Let’s go back to your place for the after party.”
Me: “Babe, the girls are fucked. Let’s call it a night.”
Niner: “No, listen. We will go back to your place for second round.”

If you have tried reasoning with anyone who has peed on sobriety and embraced the consequence of alcohol, you will know that nothing you say will matter, unless it has the words, ‘Okay’, ‘yes’ and ‘you are right’.

We finally managed to get the shuttle service back to The Regency where CokeWhore, who finally arrived at 3am along with the rest of my friends due to the massive jam at the causeway, would pick us up. And this was a bus ride I truly enjoyed.

Tigerlily was still talking randomly and it amused me to no end. She would say random things like,

Tigerlily: “Sometimes I will look into the mirror and see myself..” or,
Tigerlily: “You see the girl infront in blue?”

I turned to see where she pointed, then around the bus. There was one problem; there wasn’t anyone else there, so I said the first thing that came to my mind,

Me: “Yes?”
Tigerlily: “She’s my wife..”

I giggled so hard, the other people behind me probably thought I was having epileptic fit. When we finally got on CW’s coach, Niner who was babbling about second rounds only minutes ago had passed out, which set the stage for the punch line of the night.

As soon as we woke him up at our hotel, it became apparent that Niner had no idea what was going on or what he had been pitching all night about.

Niner: “Where are we?”
Me: “My hotel room.”
Niner: “What am I doing here?”

We all stared at him in disbelief. Faith had collapsed onto the bed as soon as she got up, Tigerlily had no idea of what was happening but clearly had no interest and Lin was pissed because she wanted to head home.

Me: “Why don’t you stay for the night? There is no way to get back to your place.”
Lin: “We’ll take a taxi.”
Me: “There is no taxi around here.”
Lin: “We’ll hitch-hike..”
Adrian: “There isn’t even a single car around here..”
Niner: “Where am I?”
Me: “We are in my room!”

He gestured, “I do not understand what you are saying.” Which is also the international sign for “I am fucked, big time.”

The ensuing debacle finally led to them insisting that they would hitch-hike back to their hotel, but I was certain they would get shot, ass-fucked, then robbed, in that order, if they ever attempted to hitch-hike. 10mins later, Adrian and I made the trip down to the road to do something I never imagined myself doing, hitch-hiking.

15 mins later, a car finally made a U-turn and agreed to give them both a ride back, for a fee.

Samaritan: “How much you pay me?”
Niner: “RM10.”
Samaritan: “WHAT?!”

They finally agreed on the price and left. I quickly took down the license plate number and went back up to sleep. 20mins later, I gave Niner a courtesy call to check if he has been sodomized yet.

Me: “Are you back yet?”
Niner: “No, the guy is finding the place. And he just took an E..”

Amazing things young people do these days.

We Get Drunk

My liver gave a protest this morning after a salacious weekend affair of Trance and vodka at Zouk. I stumbled out of bed, battling phoshpene as I made my way to the toilet for what would eventually be my longest pee record this week.

Every memory was like a mosaic piece which I struggled to chronologically piece together for my personal detailing of everything that happened that night. What I did remember were anecdotes of what I said to various people throughout the course of the night.

It started over coffee before we caught a late night screening of Iron Man. I bought 7 tickets for the 11.30pm screening despite being well aware that the movie ran over 2hrs and that Sander was spinning very good music at Zouk and I was going to miss at least 2 good hours of partying. I am disgusted with myself.

The girls were talking about blog platforms and other IT stuff which draws little interest from me since my capacity for this is limited largely to MSN chat and YouTube.

Reznor: “LiveJournal is the one where usually all the hot people use right?”
Me: “Don’t spoil that then, just stick to blogspot.”

F: “Are there those that are for private viewing only?”
Me: “Yea, there are and you can call yours, I am a mistress.blogpot.com"

On that note, I would like to announce that I officially have my own domain, http://www.thebutterflytales.com/ , courtesy of a particular individual, who so kindly registered this out of her own pocket.

By the time we actually got to Zouk, it was past 2am and I had just over an hour to punish my liver again with alcohol. Niner was already inebriated enough to be enjoying Trance and WL was as I had feared, drunk again, and had the guys slightly worried.

And this, will be my formal introduction of WL..

There aren’t many people who can piss me off when I am drunk, but WL is one particular individual who will make you want to fill sandbags around you, just so to keep him away when he is drunk. For one, if you’ve been partying with me, you will know that I have a very wicked tongue when I get drunk and I will insult you just because you have a shoelace longer than the other. The only thing is, when I do start trash talking, it is usually amusing even though you know you shouldn’t be laughing along with me, because it’s mean.

However, WL is one particular individual who, when he gets drunk, is the one person you do not want to acknowledge as your friend, consider deleting his contact details, or simply just want to throw a punch. In proper defense, WL is a great person to hang out with, so long as he stays sober.

He is the very epitome of a bad drunk, the very kind you watch in redneck movies where it starts with a Budweiser and ends in a spousal beat down. He is Atila the Hun and he will lay absolute waste to your party if you leave him unchecked. He is so scary, if you took repercussions out of the equation, he will torch the bar down and hang everyone by the balls just for the fun of it, and then wake up 5 hours later and not remember a single shit.

Of course, he does have his entertaining moments, which is about when he is half tanked and still capable of holding his penis to pee properly. There was once he actually made a complain call to the Starhub service centre at 2.30am in the morning, just because I said he’s phone had a problem.

WL: “Hello? I have a problem.”
CustomerService: “What can I help you with sir?”
WL: “I sent my friend an SMS and he didn’t receive it until 3 hours later. What is wrong?”
CS: “Sir, maybe you can try to switch off your phone and restart it.”
WL: “Are you crazy? If I switch off my phone, how am I going to talk to you??”

Within 10 mins of me getting there, WL had already started his path of destruction. Twice, as I was informed, he had directly caused one of the girl’s phone to drop on the floor by hitting it off her hands. And through the entire time he was still able to stand, he was yelling into our ears despite having his mouth so close to our ears, it would have constituted as foreplay.

WL: “Where ee da fuck are yew going?!”
Me: “To get a drink.”
WL: “YEW HAR NORT FUCKING GOING TO GED A DRINK! I WILL GET YEW DA DRINK!”
Me: “Chill man, I’ll get it.”
WL: “I SAID YEW HAR NORT GOING TO GEDDIT! I WILL GED YEW WHAT YEW WAN TO DRINK!”

And this was against the throbbing bass and the periodic screaming from the crowds, and I still heard him echo through my ears so loudly, it sounded like my inner voice was speaking to me.

The eventual debacle with WL almost escalated into a physical altercation, which started with him throwing playful but VERY forceful punches at me, built up to a verbal warning I delivered and ultimately ended with me pinning him to the wall with my hands around his neck. Then 10 mins later, he was giving the toilet bowl the mandatory post alcohol digestion and regurgitation blowjob.

And that ended any chance of us getting thrown out the club or growing deaf. And because I was getting pretty sloshed by then, I actually missed him being around. And as I write this, I believe he truly deserves an entire post on our past clubbing chronicles.

Some drunk guy fell down while trying to shuffle and I responded with the only way I knew how sympathy should be dished out to idiots,

Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Someone chided me for being mean and insensitive to the physical well being of another human being. And you have to understand that this was when I was half tanked. Even when I am sober, I will not hesitate to laugh at the misfortune of others because I am a horrible person, so when I am drunk, 'conscience' and other stupid huge words like ‘consideration’ and ‘civic mindedness’ are not as important as words like, ‘taxi’ and ‘vodka’.

Me: “What are you? A fucking Care-Bear?”

I started talking to some random people at the smoking area and the conversation picked up on something about horoscopes and progressed to a point where one of them asked, ‘What are you?’

Me: “Largely an asshole, but also many other things. Child murderer included.”

They either didn’t get the joke, didn’t know I was joking or just plain stupid. Maybe I am no longer funny. They also stopped talking to me after that. I am not good with people.

Eskimos

It’s becoming increasingly hard to expose my true creativity when we are being censured for crude remarks and ethnically biased contents. I’m Chinese so the only ones I can make fun of are Chinese, because I learnt that this isn’t a racially offensive slur, since I’m not objectifying them, but merely subjecting myself.

What the fuck is Butterfly saying? I came to his blog to read about which poor soul he just fucked. Yes, I hear you.

Well, I’ve finally found something (or a ethnic group if you can consider them one) to poke fun of. Eskimos.

Eskimos don’t really exist and are fantasy creatures created along with unicorns, vampires and Mas Selamat. In proper Sociological influence, I believe the politically correct name for them is Inuit, but no one gives a shit and politics are unheard of in fantasy world.

You know why no one is going to give a damn about what I write? It’s because no one has an Eskimo friend. And even if you do and you want to squeal on me to them, you are going to have to inform them by slow mail, and even then, it takes about 3 years for postage to be acknowledged.

There aren’t many things we know about Eskimo’s, other than that they do not have access to Japanese porn and probably never seen a midget before. What I do know are the stories I’ve heard from friends.

Huixx (or better known as AgentProvocatuer), is a widely traveled individual who’s knowledge of the world’s best kept secrets far exceeds mine. Sometimes, I believe she travels to Tibet just to do Yoga and laugh at llamas. She informed me that unknown to the world, Eskimos are actually the world largest ice importer.

I did not see that and always wondered why they always looked like the Gucci’s Winter collection. I was so enlightened, I laughed and choked on my own saliva.

Eskimos live in Alaska, Greenland, Antartica and if you are really lucky, in your freezer. They cannot fathom living in a world hotter than zero degrees Celsius, do not understand the concept of air-conditioning and keep Huskies and mammoths as pets. They are also offended by words like, ‘summer’, ‘spaghetti-strap top’ and most importantly, ‘global warming’, because they do not have home insurance coverage on that for their igloos.

Their diet actually includes seals and their innets, and because of this, I believe Eskimos actually have Chinese blood in them, because we are the only race that will not let any body part go to waste when it comes to eating. If you are homeless and you fall asleep in Chinatown, you have a high chance of waking up and finding your testicles at the herbal shop next door.

Eskimos are excluded from the Olympics because they will win every canoeing or rowing medal there is to win. Despite their dominance in that, Eskimos are very lazy people who make dogs pull them around all day just so that they can conserve energy on walking. As such, they are not popular with the animal rights movement.

Eskimos are also used as calendar tools to anticipate any impending disaster of worldwide emergency. No one cares when Venice is flooding or if there are flash floods in Africa, but when Eskimos tell you say there is a flood where they live, you can safely start to panic.