Talk to the Hand!

I finally collected my university textbooks this morning. This season I have two Law modules, another two on Accounting, and one ‘enrichment module’ on Personal Financial Planning. After flipping through the pages I came to the conclusion that I will have many orgasmic experiences in the next few months.

The Law textbook is filled with legal jargon that will excite any law student with masochistic tendencies. At first impression it is almost like sales. If you can’t convince them, confuse them. There are many precedent cases of ‘Sue Your Ass Vs Cover My Ass’ which serve as ammo in any legal battle. If this does not work, legal wranglers (in this case, clueless part-time students) can combine legal jargon with powerful English and try to obfuscate one’s arguments as much as possible to confuse both judge and opposition. Do whatever you must to win. In the end the winner walks away with the cash, the losers go to hell. Business ethics is an oxymoron. My friend said I should have no problems with Law. He also confidently said that he could manage his university studies – before he dropped out. Oh joy.

Accounting may drive me to leap off a tall building. I scored a D7 for Principles of Accounts in my ‘O’ Levels and I hope history does not repeat itself. The debit and credit columns, the many accounts that link to the balance sheet, the subjectivity of whether some cost is fixed, sunk or variable – I shudder to think how I am going to cope. By the end of the season, I hope my efforts will account to a pass. Make that two.

I took up Personal Financial Planning because it has only two seminars. Thinking with Mathematics is a one shot module but I may be inspired to use the textbook when I run out of toilet paper. I really hate maths. With the worst of the economic crisis looming, I feel quite amused that I am learning Financial Planning. Stupid policies by some overpaid big shots in the banking and financial sector can leave you jobless and bereft of support, whether you have sound financial planning. The book was quite funny. There is a line in the paragraph about retiring at age 51 – 60:”Even the rocking chair can get boring eventually.”; the retirees should take up part-time work. I suppose picking up empty cans at food centres, scavenging cigarette butts and beer bottles from rubbish bins, and selling tissue papers on the streets are much more interesting than that plain old silly and boring rocking chair. Apparently, so is going to Geylang, judging by the number of senior citizens who do their 'shopping' there.


Speaking of GL, my Xtian friend, Police Car just cannot get enough whoring. Chicken and I met him a few days ago. We went to a movie but he lost interest halfway into the film. Police Car claimed he was running a slight fever, but his illness did not dissuade him from visiting a ‘fish tank’. After he had his pleasure, Police Car proclaimed that his fever was cured. I don’t know how to explain his miraculous recovery. Maybe Gawd did it.

Police Car told us that he went to a massage parlor in Orchard Towers last Friday. It was a sleazy establishment – the whore charged only $30 for a hand-job. Evidently impressed with the service provided by the aforementioned professional, Police Car tipped her an additional $20. She was so happy she asked him to be her boyfriend. (Chicken and I rolled our eyes in disbelief. Both of us thought ‘carrot-head’.)

Since that Saturday night when he had his first whore, Police Car has gone whoring four times in three weeks. Although Chicken and I believe he is better off spending his money on whores instead of giving it to his overfed pastor, we feel Police Car has succumbed to yet another vice. His prior investments in the EPL and Spanish league have enriched his bookmakers while reducing the size of his treasury. His tithe to the church and his new hobby will compound his financial woes. He is lucky that he is currently wasting taxpayers’ money (WTM) in the military and getting well compensated for his lack of effort. Were he a civilian, he would be eating grass in no time. Personal Financial Planning for Police Car then! I jest.

Anyway, where whoring is concerned, there are no limits to the hypocrisy the religious deploy in order to assuage their conscience. Police Car justifies his whoring by some very agile ethical gymnastics. On one hand he expresses sympathy for the whores who spread their legs to strange men for a living. On the other, he argues that this moral outrage is alleviated by the amount of money these whores will earn at the end of a few years of prostitution. They know what they are doing. They have families back home to feed (that ennobles their sacrifices) and they will end up rich when they return home (prostitution is now a very profitable career). Nobody will know that they have been whores. The girls will find some guy to settle down with, start a small business and live happily ever after. (Why isn’t my paper mill of a university coming up with a Bsc in Prostitution?) Still, he pities the girls because he is apparently a compassionate Xtian. (So why is he exploiting them and then complaining that so-and-so girl was bad because she didn’t allow him to kiss her?)


I have been writing left-handed for the past few days. While going down a trail on my bicycle, the chain skipped and my bike bounced precariously. I tried to slow my descent by pressing the brake but the slope was terribly steep and undulated by rocks, furrows and small crevices. My bike skidded sideways and I went with it. I was thrown off and I instinctively broke my fall with my right palm. It was bleeding like hell. Chicken returned and bandaged my hand with my handkerchief and he guided me to the village. On our way there I rode into a muddy ditch when I failed to negotiate a bend. I escaped unscathed.

At the NEA office Chicken applied alcohol to my wounds. It hurt abominably. One officer said I was lucky. Over the years, people have either died or ended up in hospital. His friend cracked dirty jokes with me. I looked at him and knew he was a staunch patron of GL. He must have a wonderful time doing his WTM job, which mainly comprises ogling sweet young things and taking smoking breaks.

(If you do not wish to look at my palm, you can just stop at the cat. I met this darling at a Chinese shrine last week.)

How sweet...

Last warning. Please, before you lose your dinner.

Included for the sake of completeness.