The Schizo Flasher

MoS is great for many things. Occasionally good Trance sets, good selection of cubicles to vomit in, Vodka promotions, an umbrella of varied genre of music and a pickup joint for Ladyboys. As of the last couple of weeks, I am inundated with requests to submit one more line in that list of ‘greats’; meeting crazy chicks.

It all started weeks ago when Atila (formerly known as WL, because of one clubbing incident which have documented on Facebook) picked up this Viet chick and ended up being face fucked by her tits at the sofa. If I hadn’t been standing in front of him, while she pulled down her top and nursed him back to sobriety with her left breast, I would not have believed that decadence roamed the floors so freely.

It did, and I brushed that off as a Blue Moon incident. She was after all, a foreigner, very drunk and tit to face slapping was probably a cultural welcome back where she came from. Now surely, local women would never be this courteous with such a gratuitous flesh parade.

I was wrong.

A year ago, when I gave my lecture on how to differentiate the women from the Ladyboys, I would have told you that anyone who would voluntarily flesh their boobs at you in a club, would have two things; Silicon breast and a surgically constructed vagina. A year on, I stand corrected.

The other week, I headed down to MoS on a mid week. Where most white-collared adults would be coaxed into an early night by nagging work commitments and parental responsibility, I opted for a night of alcohol induced debauchery.

It didn’t matter that we started the night with cheap intoxication at Dbl O, or that I nearly broke a girl’s finger in retaliation to being bitten, because nothing would have highlighted the night more than the incident at MoS and the subsequent supper.

When we wrapped up with Dbl O, Atila threw in the towel for an early night, while the rest of us morons decided that early nights were left for pansy men, and that real men do not surrender when we’ve had at least 7 glasses of vodka in our blood, waiting to stream out our pee-hole. We did the logical thing and headed for the next nearest club. Best decision all night.

When I got there with the guys, the alcohol in me had almost nearly surrendered to sobriety and I allowed myself to retoxicate with a glass of sambuca and then decided I’d be contented to sit out the night without another fill of anything alcoholic.

Sometime later, Reznor dragged some chick back with him to our table. She wasn’t pretty, had a white hair-band round her neck in nostalgic Ah Lian fashion and was visibly drunk. She eventually started dancing in-front of me and I was hardly interested until she took off her tube top.

She wasn’t pretty, but she had quite the body. It now became one C-Cup Chinese girl with a bikini top dancing seductively in-front of me, and she now had my attention. I, of course, being the mischievous instigator, milked this for all that it was worth and attempted to escalate the visual audacity of the whole temporal carnival.

Me: “That’s not enough.”

She eventually flashed her left breast at me and added a quick tweet of her nipples. The guys erupted with approval, but I was not to be done. There was now easily an audience from the peripheral of my group and I was going to satisfy the crowd.

Me: “That, is still not enough.”

It was like a challenge, almost as if I was beating her ego down and denigrating her libertine performance. Since when was flashing your nipple not ever good enough in Singapore? Since when did men become such hard pleases, when it didn’t even come with a tip? It was like driving a bus and doing a hairpin turn at 180km/h. It would either have turned out spectacular or entirely disastrous.

Without backing down and almost as if to win over my reciprocation, she quickly proceeded to untie her bikini top. And she did, only to be stopped from dancing topless by our very emphatic protest of,

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”

The men at the table next to us must have hated us, but we were still sober enough to not want to be the cause of any ensuing drama between her and the club management (or the police). Xed hurried over to offer his assistance in helping her tie back her bikini top, which I thought was the dumbest move ever made by a male.

For one, when a girl is trying to tie her bikini back on and is yelling “Get away!”, you do not insist on providing assistance. You should NOT even be standing anywhere near her because proximity is always a yardstick in assessing the culprit.

She eventually got it back on and it somehow progressed into her coming along with us for supper. I might have been a culpable cause of that, because I believe that at some point I think I actually said, “Let’s go for supper.”

More drama ensued in the car because she was getting really drunk and Xed was trying to get her phone number and she was yelling a lot, so much so that we actually contemplated leaving her in the car.

It finally erupted over supper, because she was implosive and she got easily irritated by almost anything the guys said. I don’t remember if I actually said anything, but I did glare at her and that was all it took for her to get offended. And this followed in sequence,

1. She crushed the nearest chrysanthemum can and smashed it on the table
2. She got up, kicked the chair to the side
3. Stormed off to 7-11

What did we do? We did the only logical thing any person would do. We broke out into a hearty laugh and I congratulated myself for a job well done.

Niner eventually came by to join us and we briefly recounted what happened. Then 15 mins from her hasty departure into her convenience store refuge, she returned as if NOTHING had ever happened. She was neither pissed nor seemed to remember any trace of animosity.

5 mins later, I don’t know what Niner said to her, but I think it should have something to do with checking her mental health status, because she took the mineral bottle and splashed it at him and said something about,

“You don’t own this water loh, and this is not your house.”

It proved that even with huge tits, when you are drunk, you still say stupid things. Then the following happened,

1. She crushed the mineral bottle and smashed it on the table
2. She got up, kicked the chair to the back
3. Stormed off to 7-11
4. Stopped only to shout, “You fucking bastard!”

And I don’t know why people say the same joke isn’t funny twice, because we laughed our ass off again and Niner congratulated himself for chasing her off, only to be informed that this was actually an encore performance. And only an hour ago, she was well gamed to take five cocks at a go.

Then 10 mins later, she returned again as if NOTHING had ever happened. She was all cordial again, was frowning a lot less and polite in her speech. We didn’t need any more drama for the night so we pointed her in the direction of the nearest ATM so that she would leave us alone. Reznor was convinced she was schizophrenic, but if that’s a nice word for ‘crazy’, then I’ll have to nod to that.

If that’s how much drama I have to take as a consequence of a boob flash, then sign me up for theatre studies, because drama just became my favourite reality program.