Freedom In Malacca - Pt 2

When we got to the place, it brought back memories of last year. It had almost replicated an identical venue, from the event girls in short skirts to the laborious journey on foot from the drop off point to the actual event ground.

This year, it looked like it tied up with the circus because there was a huge ferris wheel and some spinning ride right in the middle of the venue along with a myriad of fast foods and product sponsor booths. All this needed was a horror house, an elephant ride and midgets selling tickets and we would truly have had a circus.

It was no longer the carnival of meth that I was hoping for, or maybe there was but the blatant use – or abuse - of it publicly was so absent that I wondered if the recession actually increased literacy and people finally understood the ‘no drugs’ signs around.

I know I was well intoxicated because I have quite a bout of acrophobia, and under no circumstances in the presence of sobriety, would I ever volunteer to take a ride on the ferris wheel, let alone stand while it is moving. This is for a fact because the last time I took a cable car, my hands never left the grip on the seats and my legs were shaking so badly, I wouldn’t know if I shat my pants.

The bad thing was that the music was teasing at best, until Ferry Corsten came on and it became a lot more audibly simulating enough for me to break out into spurts of shuffle. And you know that the night is not going well when your ‘friend’ who is a guy, hits on you.

Ken came up to me and in his most gay tone and stance – which is the default, one arm under the armpit and the other arm perpendicular to it with a bent wrist – and said,

Him: “She say she will lend you to me for one night.” *giggles*

I'm not even sterotyping; right down to the giggles, that was how it is.

I took it like how any straight heterosexual men would, with stone cold silence, shock and a lot of fear. I don’t know if he was waiting for an enthusiastic response, but I might as well have been a eunuch in an orgy.

Which fucking part of me looks like I will remotely be interested in having a man suck my dick? Sure, sometimes LB and I bicker and he tells me to suck his dick, but surely Ken was smart enough to know that homo jokes are only funny in gay-land. And to straight men they are only funny, like NEVER.

And as if like there was a private competition between Ken and Anse on who was going to piss off the most heterosexual people in the world, Anse who is a lesbian by hobby – I say so because she claims to have a boyfriend but I can totally understand lesbianism because I too prefer pussy over dicks – decided that she would out do him by feeling up Heather’s ass and Poca’s abs.

Next thing I know, I get a call from Dennis telling me that he cannot get tickets to enter. If I wasn’t so beyond sympathy and comprehension of the matter because of the swirling of vodka and tequila in my blood, I would have felt remotely sorry, but this debacle cracked me up to no end. This is what happened.

Dennis called me in the afternoon informing me that he was going to hitch a ride up with another 2 guys. His plan was to leave Singapore at 8 and arrive in Malacca before 12, which allowed ample time to party. This was however, a utopian mirage that I knew was never going to materialize because of certain factors.

1. Some years ago, LB, Ash, RoundEyes and I had a similar plan to drive up to KL for a night of madness. That was when I realized that if you leave Singapore at 8, you are fucked because man invented a horrible plague known as traffic. You will be stuck. Period.

2. Transport was a huge issue. There was no way he could bunk in with us to travel back to Singapore.

3. The event was only till 2am and I had no idea on what time the ticketing counter ran till or if there was even available tickets to be purchased at the door.

He’s responses to every of my concern all started with, “Fuck it” and was punctuated with “I don’t care already”.

Me: “How are you going to go back?”
Him: “Get a bus from the reception.”
Me: “The reception? Our resort is in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a bus station here.”
Him: “Fuck it. I will just go get a cab to drive me back. I know this kind of thing have to spend a bomb. I don’t care already.”

It was characteristically him, not so much the impulse, but he was always doing things that we could never find a practical stem in. So when he turned up at the event and was denied entry because the ticket sales were closed, it amused me to no end.

Apparently, one of his friends turned up late and they ended up leaving Singapore at 10pm and reached the event at after 1am and was denied entry, despite the fact that he tried to bribe them. He was pissed because not only did he miss the event, his friend who was late had gotten himself high and was bitching incessantly about not being able to go in.

And that wasn’t even the most ridiculous part of the whole debacle.

We dropped him off at one of his friend’s place along with LB, which he later told us was a chemical haven because people were kicking down doors and drawing lines on dishes and he was so scared he hardly slept.

The next day, Dennis took a cab back to Malacca town and from there boarded a bus bound for Singapore. When I heard this, I only had one relax response.

“What the fuck?!”

He had travelled almost 4 hours to Malacca, missed the first night of the event, crashed over at a friend’s place, and now he was heading back to, wait.. brace yourself..

Catch a movie, because he had already bought tickets for it.

Like WHAT?! Why would anyone even travel up all that way, missed the first night and not want to go for the second night? Why would anyone after going through all that misadventure, not want to maximize his stay? Did movie tickets inflate to $200 a stub while I was away? One week on, and sober as I type this, I still cannot digest this in any logical light

His response to that?

“It was an experience of a lifetime” – complete with his two thumbs up and a smile.

The worst thing about the event was that there was no alcohol being sold at the premise. Let me stress. We are at an outdoor party and there is NO alcohol. This is as ridiculous as not selling condoms at a sex shop.

And when you have people like me who have been on alcohol for the whole day and in need of maintaining that state of inebriation for better functionality, you get a displeased person, much like not giving a Catholic priest a little boy to work with.

Collectively, this becomes a disaster because anything that does not have alcohol, sucks. This is a simple premise upon which society has come to function and it is a base concept really, because alcohol is the solution – and creation – to all life’s problem.

If I thought the finale was going to salvage the night, then I was grossly optimistic. Last year, there were insane pyrotechnics that lit the sky enough to make National Day look like some WWE entrance. This year, it started with huge sparkles lighting up the sides of Ferry Corsten’s console. I charged forward when I saw this.

Me: “The fireworks are starting! The fireworks are starting.”

A minute later, and still no fireworks or any more sparkles.

They: “That is it?”
Me: “No la, the fireworks will be at the end.”

2 minutes later, Ferry Corsten is off the stage, the music has stopped and people are walking out. No fireworks.

Me: “Yep, I think that was it.”