Predator

I am going to terrorize my prey.

Going Random

Several Premiership games were cancelled in the past fortnight due to the deep freeze. Word has it that it is the worst winter in fifty years. Perhaps this is a sign that the world is ending soon and the next generations may well be the last of a civilization that will soon be reduced to dust. No big loss there. Nature would be better off without this particular parasite.

Chicken told me that one of his colleagues injured himself while lifting a tow bar. This pathetic specimen slipped and scraped off the skin off his hand. For a staff sergeant to make a hush of such a simple task is laughable. My friend’s next statement was sobering though. He said that while we dismiss local specs as inferior, they are not wrong in their criticism of us either. “If they were on the scene, “ he went out, “What would they think of us local guys?” He had a very good point. I refuse to be associated with my ilk.

My martial arts practice will only resume after the Chinese New Year. This leaves me with little opportunity to practise my skills, for the area in my neighbourhood is not secluded enough. It is hard to concentrate when some riffraff and stray animals are gawking at you with a noticeably lack of intelligence. Maybe I should join XH, assuming his master allows it. This arrangement comes with its own difficulty, as our styles are as disparate as day and night in many ways. I will have to locate some dark location.

It appears that many people are catching the flu these days. I am not surprised. The weather in this shithole is about as predictable as a emo woman on premenstrual syndrome. One moment the sun is out, the next a drizzle, and then it is sunny again. Even the sun does not give out as much warmth as it used too. The winds are another phenomenon. Gentle as they are, they chill the bones and with the sun reduced in intensity, it is all too easy for disease to spread. We may yet witness a plague in this shithole. It would be quite….entertaining.

Xmas Eve

While the rest of the world were partying the night away in the city area, Chicken and I spent an hour or so in the Holy Land. The merchandise were out on display, thanks to the fuzz having the good graces not to spoil the festive mood. I noticed that business was brisk. It is not uncommon on other days to see many shoppers but few buyers, but obviously with the year end bonuses and the joy that comes with sharing and giving, consumers were willing to indulge themselves and so boost the economy.

Fuzz Car wanted to join us in the city area but opted out at the last minute. His phone message to us, although short, was straight to the point and betrayed his secret need: “I won’t be joining you. If halfway you want to go to GL (the Holy Land), call me.” This was not the first time he ‘launched airplanes’ on us and it certainly would not be the last. Chicken and I cursed him vehemently. This is a bloke who professes to believe in his invisible sky fairy, goes to his church and puts on an act with the fellowship thing, and indulges in gambling, goldbricking, lying, and whoring. A hypocrite and a pathetic one at that.

Unlike our wretched friend, the staff in the Holy Land stuck to their tasks. They knew they had a job to do and in spite of the holiday, still provided entertainment to needy consumers. I have nothing but respect for these ladies of virtue, who could teach the slackers in the military and government sectors a thing or two about diligence and professionalism.

Chicken and I sat down, had coffee, and shot the shit. He fantasized about catching his boss in the act of soliciting a lady of the night and getting rich persuading him of his worth. We guffawed at the joke, at the same time admiring the statuesque beauties a few yards from us. I would have enjoyed our little chat even more, but for the fact that my stomach was clenching uncomfortably from some slop I ate. I believe it was caused by that horrible swill which the Brain and I had the misfortune to order when we ate at Thai Express. I had been stricken with flu, am suffering a cough, and become more susceptible to stomach aliments. I need lots of Chinese slop, in particular holy meat, to restore me to health.

The Great Escape!

A miracle has occurred: I have escaped relegation! So despondent was I in my belief in my relegation that I dreaded this very day. But no! The Lard and the Almighty Curve had deigned to deliver me from my endless trials and tribulations and by Their Glories – praise be Their names – I shall no longer be compelled to endure hostile scenery and work with retards both garden-variety and functional.

The farewell lunch my gulag mates treated me felt like my last meal. I trudged towards my gulag, trying to delay the inevitable – for it had seemed like a confirmation of my collapse – but I knew I had to face it sooner if not later. I sat down on my seat, worked on some issues, thought of logging on to check, decided not to. And so I tallied, until I decided to get it done and over with and then go to the holy temple to assuage my depression by dumping.

I logged on, but the connection was shaky. Obviously many desperate people were clogging up the system. When I got the page, I realized to my chagrin my password had been rendered invalid. I attempted to reset it but to no avail. I called up their technical support and miraculously someone actually answered the call! I could barely contain my surprise as I told the support staff to reset my password. She said it would take thirty minutes to an hour. I asked her why and she replied it was because they reset passwords by batches! Batches! I had never heard of anything like this and told her in no uncertain way what I thought of their infernal IT system. Of course, since she was quite professional I added that it was not her fault of course. It was just that their system sucks. I thanked her for her help and ended the call.

So I settled some issues and toyed around with my own IT system for a while and about forty minutes later I tried and true to her word, I was able to log on. I went straight to the ‘Exam Results’ button. As the page refreshed, I braced myself. For all I knew it could be a straight three defeats and bottom of the table.

It was not to be! Imagine my shock when I saw that I have escaped to victory! I could barely believe my eyes! Like Iniesta who kneeled and threw up his arms to the heavens upon the final whistle of the World Cup final, there I was, both my arms raised, fists to the ceiling as I leaned backwards in my seat. I looked at the screen again. No. My eyes had not deceived me. Just to make sure, I clicked on my ‘Academic Profile’ and they showed me the same results. My GPA was not too bad either – by the standards of my school my overall grade should place me in the ‘second uppers’ tier.

I printed out my Course Offer Letter; it displays my results for this season. I messaged the Brain of my deliverance. Still shell-shocked, I returned to my seat, stood, and started muttering to myself. My gulag mate, who was sitting behind me, asked me what happened. I told her the news. She offered me her congratulations. I thanked her, walked aimlessly around the gulag, decided yet again not to go to the holy temple, got a cup, walked to the water cooler, filled it with cold water, rinsed my face, and then splashed the water into my stoned face twice. My gulag mate saw water dripping off me and was quite amused. I told her I needed to make sure I was sober. I then ambled to the big room where my other gulag department mates were, and then one offered her congratulations. The other two followed suit and I told them it was a miracle and how relieved I was. When told that I could now concentrate on getting a better job, I said my immediate aim is to sleep the next month away to make up for three years of sleep deprivation. Some new graduates buy themselves gifts, others party away the night. Me? I sleep.

As I have to wait until the middle of next year to receive my hard-earned piece of paper, I will need to write in to get my attestation letter. I do not know how much they will charge me. My ex-senior said she was thinking of attending her graduation ceremony she missed due to work commitments. It is nice to put on that robe but the thought of going to see hostile scenery does not appeal to me. Regardless of my decision, I am delighted to leave that Gehenna with a piece of paper I richly deserve.

Miracle on Saturday Night

A miracle occurred:

CHELSKI: 1 EVERTON: 1

We were negative in the first half, deservedly trailed, but came back roaring in the second half and battered the vulgarians. The excellent Baines weaved past four defenders on the left flank, whipped a cross into the box, Cahill beat his marker to head it back across goal, and Beckford made no mistake from close range. A beautiful goal!

Beckford has been lampooned for missing a host of sitters against Sunderland and West Brom but at least he was enterprising enough to get into positions to squander them. Contrast him to Saha, who looked like he could not be arsed, and I cannot remember the last time he scored. On current form I won't mind if we ship him out and free up some wages.

Despite struggling in the first half, the central midfield pairing of Fellaini and Rodwell recovered to boss the middle of the park. It was a blessing in disguise that the out-of-form Arteta was suspended. Heitinga, who is definitely no Makelele, did not play. We should just persist with Fellaini and Rodwell when we play the Pie-Eaters next weekend.

More Moans

There is much hullabaloo in the local media about a Caucasian bloke French-kissing a sgspec on the train. Apparently they were petting heavily for six stops, seemingly oblivious to the glares of their fellow passengers.

I do not understand what the fuss is all about. Some condemn their actions, arguing that Shithole is an Asian country and such behavior is simply unacceptable. Others lament that local blokes are losing their women to foreigners. While it is certainly true that our overpriced women no longer give a damn about us, I do not see it as a big loss. Insofar as the local specs are concerned, these gwailos can take them all. Just leave the cnspecs alone.

I remember Chicken telling me that the Thai blokes hate having us in their country. We go to Thailand and have our way with their women while they helplessly look on. I do not blame them. Sometimes I feel exactly the same when I see a gwailo pawing an attractive cnspecs or sgspec with impunity. It makes me wonder why the Hell we have to waste two years of our existence serving this miserable cuntry so that foreigners can come here and fuck our specs. It is, of course, pride talking. Most sgspecs (who are not up to mark anyway), should just be carted off to the gwailos. I should thank them for doing us a good turn.

I believe I may have been banned on www.toffeeweb.com for being too strident:

“Michael, I am offended by Oakes’s language too.

HE’S BEING TOO MILD!

A rag-and-bone man will actually give you a few coins for your trash, but with Kenskint you’ll be lucky if he does not charge you for waste disposal! Why in the Hells is a beggar like that fat twat running a Premiership club? If he had any decency he should just put the club up for sale and shut his smelly trap about seeking investments 24/7 and not finding anyone to buy the club. He clearly cares NOTHING about the fans except to think that we are all retards. That skunk should be thrown in a gulag in North Korea and re-educated.

As for that ginger-furred mongrel, he can join Kenshite in North Korea and take Osman with him. Overrated, overpaid, uninspiring, tactically staid, obstinate he is; watching Everton play is about as entertaining as watching paint dry. I wouldn’t mind if we swap managers with the Shite. Hodgson made no excuse for his team’s dismal showing; all that ginger twat could say in defence was to blame a fucking water bottle. A fucking water bottle! Why, it’s that fat Spanish waiter blaming the beach ball all over again!”

Most of my subsequent comments were not approved, even though they were on other topics. Everton is a shite club and even its fan site sucks. I curse the day I support the Toffees.

Everton Horror Show

David Moyes play 4-6-0 against Chelski. Everton ship four goals in first half and two more in the second. The final score? 6:0.

Anichebe and Hibbert start on the right flank against Chelski. All six Chelski goals come from that flank.

“Feed the Yak and he will score,” the fans chant. A well-fed Yak puts on the pounds while his teammates lose weight from covering for him. Besides, on current form, the Yak cannot even score in a brothel.

After hearing Heitinga’s declaration that he would cycle to Barcelona to join them, the reigning Spanish league champions send him a stationery bike.

David “Golden Balls” Beckham rejects a loan move to Everton to play for S-League outfit Tampines Rovers.

Barcelona score after stringing 30 passes. Everton concede a goal after stringing 29 passes and then making the 30^th pass to the opposing striker.

Everton drop into the relegation zone following their dismal collapse at Stamford Bridge.

Former British prime minister and interfaith dialogue facilitator Tony Blair reveals he supports Everton. The news does not surprise the Everton faithful, who have been subsisting on faith that Moyes will grow some brains.

In a desperate move to solve his players’ striking woes, Moyes takes his squad to a Merseyside brothel for team-building over the weekend. The Blues duly lost the game the following day 10:0, citing exhaustion and learning from the ladies that “since we are cunts, we might as well behave like cunts and surrender our cunts.”

Excellent Videos!

Some excellent videos!

This is one cringe-worthy commercial. The spec is good though....

This must be one of the best army recruitment commercials ever! The song is catchy too. For the slightly less inspiring version, click here.

Forget "My Boyfriend Our Army". This is the real deal!

It is like watching Everton.

Thoughts

While we were in the Holy Land checking out the merchandise, Scandinavian Blonde Lover remarked that he was still a virgin. I thought he was just bullshitting at the time but during evening slop yesterday, Chicken said it could be true. He added that a 35 year old virgin was something he could never abide. I jokingly said that this sounded like a job for Pastor Ho a.k.a Fuzz Car. Under his tutelage, the Scandinavian Blonde Lover shall surely become a libertine in no time. My friend agreed with my assessment.

Chicken told me of this champion and his exploits. When he was still a fuzz, he jerked into his colleagues’ drinks on two occasions. After they nabbed Champion, they found around 150 pictures of up-skirt shots in his computer. This bloke is truly a most impressive specimen. Chicken wondered why such a thing had happened in our society. He should not be so surprised. Big cities are potentially pressure cookers, and the strain of eking out a miserable existence in such overcrowded environments will naturally drive some people to suicide or inspire the execution of extraordinary feats. It will not be long before we have a serial killer running loose. Mark my words.

The news has been quite entertaining these days. North Korea fired artillery shells into South Korea, killing four civilians. The South Koreans, despite their policy of compulsory military conscription, have not the balls to retaliate. Seeing their lapdog being kicked around, the U.S have made the obligatory responses by condemning the North while doing nothing concrete. It’s basically handbags at seven paces and now they are asking China to get in the act. The master of a dog urges the master of the dog that bit its dog to tighten the lease on its dog. It amuses me to no end. China is fighting a proxy war and doing pretty well.

I found this article while site-hopping. While I quite agree with most of it, the last paragraph irks me.

Why should the Chinese change their way of life as Westerners dictate? Is it not so long ago that the 2009 global financial crisis, which started in the U.S., was caused, to a large extent, by people spending beyond their means and racking up crippling debts in the process? How easy it is for Westerners, with their high purchasing power, good social support and benefits, to demand the same laissez faire attitude towards spending from people who are not as fortunate! There is nothing wrong with retirement planning and saving for healthcare. The only thing that is wrong here is the arrogant attitude of the West and their insistence that the world pander to their self-serving policies.

Contrary to the beliefs of some people, the universe does not revolve around the U.S and the western hemisphere. With Western economies in tatters and the rise of Asia as an economic power, Westerners should refrain from telling other people what to do. The guai lo will just have to face up to the fact that their dominance will not continue for much longer. Besides, if the Chinese have to spend more to boost their domestic consumption, it stands to reason that their wages will have to be adjusted to increase their purchasing power. As Chinese workers’ wages increase, so will the prices of Chinese-made products. Will consumers and companies in the West be willing to pay more for goods then?

Oh Idiots!

Everton may well add on to this video when we play Chelski this weekend. We are a joke!

Click here for the original link.

Ramblings

Everton were humiliated 4:1 at home to mighty West Brom. Next week we are away to Chelski and it is a pity that the local bookmakers are not opening odds on the Toffees playing in the Championship next season. It is not exactly a bad idea if you think about it. At least we will get to lift some silverware for a change. Maybe.

Chicken told me he is having the flu. I urge him to drink more water and ogle at superior specs more often. Studies have shown that men who stare at big boobs live longer in general. Who are we to argue with science?

It seems that more women are taking up dancing these days. Given my lack of scoring opportunities, I think I should start learning. What worries me, however, is that with my two left feet, I will end up doing Peter Crouch’s horrendous ‘robo dance’ goal celebration routine. I don’t think I’m being able to score even in a brothel after the dance instructors refer me to the comedy troupe down the road.

Children should receive the right kind of education. Chicken and I agreed that we should impart to his son the importance of hitting on the right kind of specs. It would be a tragedy if he comes back with a sgspec who wants to be a man. Worse, he might follow Uncle Police Car’s footsteps and be an unwitting carrot to some thspec or vcspec. As guardians we have a sacred duty to our next generation. We shall have slop at GL more often.

Barcelona annihilated Real Madrid 5:0 at the Nou Camp and in the process, inflicted Mourinho’s worst defeat in his managerial career. This is a great result for decency and football. Real are where they are now only because they are allowed to run up huge debts that would have put any other club into administration. Such is the ineffectiveness of their youth academy that without their highly paid foreign mercenaries they would just be on par with neighbours Atletico Madrid.

Contrast these vulgarians to the their conquerors on Monday night. While it is undeniable that Barcelona boasts less than exemplary financial management, their playing style, steeped in history, driven by a passion for aesthetics, powered by the brilliant products of their wondrous youth setup, and ably supported by their talented foreign contingent, is breathtaking to behold. A well and deserved victory for Barcelona!

And Messi is still better than Ronaldo.

My head has been pounding the entire day. I have to learn to take things easy. People are asking me funny questions and half the time I ignore them. This gulag is getting from bad to worse. Sooner or later some champion will step off a ledge. One old staff told me that she saw a pair of legs without nothing above in the storeroom. I do not believe in ghosts but I do think that the longer you stay in this gulag the likelier it is to start seeing ghosts

Need for Strength

My shin is a bit sore after the ball game I had. This is not normal. I don’t remember getting kicked or involved in a clash tackle so why is my shin slightly bruised? Are the years finally catching up with me? On second thoughts, perhaps it would be more accurate to assert that my three stressful years in UniShit have finally caught up with me, for during this time I have never enjoyed the best of health and fitness.

Now that my torture is over – or at least until I receive confirmation of my relegation! – I have a month to do whatever I want. I fully intend to bulk up my emaciated frame, for although I retain a measure of physical superiority over many people a decade younger, my competitive edge is becoming blunt from disuse and the ravages of age. My loss of speed is irreversible I fear, and for this deterioration I have no remedy save to compensate it with faster thinking and the anticipation that comes from experience and intuition.

20 pounds of solid muscles will more than compensate for my weaknesses. With greater strength I hit harder. With enhanced endurance I can afford harder hits in situations where speed and anticipation fail. These superior attributes can only be gained through a brutal eating and weight regime, the former to defeat my furnace of a metabolic system, and the latter to accommodate my physical system to the exertion of greater power.

Such Lovely Friends....

I have had some bad advice over the years. Before I enlisted in the army, one sod (whoreson A) told me to put total effort in my training and not to be a goldbrick. Another (whoreson B) got me to sign on the military, saying that it had all kinds of benefits. An ex-gulag mate (whoreson C) encouraged me to enroll in UniShit, believing we would be receiving a good education.

It would have been better for me if I never had such friends in the first place. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions but in my case, these intentions were guided more by ignorance rather than morals. I was posted to an infantry unit and spent the next two years or so suffering like a dog while the rest of my friends had an easier time at better units and earned better slave wages. Whoreson A, due to his ‘delicate’ constitution, ended up in a 8-to-5 military unit, a bloody holiday camp.

I suffered some bad shit when I was a military regular and all I have to show for my five years are regrets and five bloody wasted years. Whoreson B, who was with the fighter squadron, rejected his chance of an overseas attachment in the States and had since left the military. It felt like a kick in the teeth for me, since I always wanted to work in the States.

I suffered three years in the aforementioned paper mill for a piece of paper that has lousy branding. The textbook and assignments were riddled with mistakes and poor English; I had to do group assignments with idiots and scum; overworked, I lost much of my health and fitness; and to cap my misery off I had to flunk my last paper (and possibly a couple others) in my very last season. Whoreson C dropped out during his second season in order to tend to his business.

With these kind of friends, who needs enemies?

Relegation

My reward for slogging through the entire year is relegation. I stared at the paper and the goddamn paper stared at me back and in the end we did not know each other. I answered the first question, scribbled whatever my desperate mind could conjure for the second, wrote a few lines for the third, and copied some paragraphs I found in my course notes for the last. The seat next to my left was empty, and the one to my right was occupied by a bloke who was just as sorry as I was, only that unlike me, he could not really give a rat's ass about the piece of shit in front of him. I flipped through my notes in a kind of feverish delirium only those who have lost all hope could understand. I looked left and right at my fellow course mates, sneaked furtive glances at the clock in the examination hall (more like a torture chamber) every now and then. In the end, I could only bitterly rant and struggle to keep myself from taking out my pain on some unfortunate sod.

To come so far only to suffer a collapse at the final hurdle. Such was the wretchedness of my performance that even The Curve cannot save me this time. It was insane, this accused paper. Two hours to analyze a case study, no time to think and less time to write and articulate your jumbled thoughts on paper. While my peers will celebrate the festive season knowing that they have graduated and that their torture at this detestable paper mill is at an end, I would be cursing and sweating and contemplating what to write in my appeal letter, should I decide to spend over $50 on what would probably amount to a meaningless gesture.

It had been a fatal mistake, working with my friends on preparing my case notes for my capstone module. Too much time was wasted on asserting our opinions and arguing who was right. In terms of understanding the concepts, we were a pathetic bunch. The definitions in the textbook was in plain English and clear enough but even with my repeated explanations, it took a Hell of a time getting my friends to even understand them. We were so concerned about getting our English right in our preparation notes that we spent more time proofreading than analyzing the case. I kept insisting to one fellow that this was a Business examination. We did not have to write in perfect Shakespearean English. As long as they could understand what we were trying to express, it was good enough for them and what was good enough for them would certainly be good enough for us! Sadly, we had to make concessions to two guys whose English is not as good, and to be honest, even our designated typist's command of English is inferior to mine. After writing our script, we further spent another two days to proofread and compile, to make everything perfect, to make our stupid report deserving of our final examination and fit for posterity, something to show our fucking grand children. I still do not see what is so glorifying about the shit we wrote. Seriously, if it were up to me alone, I would never have given a flying fuck about the English in my report. I would have written most of it in point form and if necessary I would just convert them into complete sentences during the examination. Big fucking deal. I could have finished the fucking analysis an entire week before my other two papers, giving me considerably more time and energy to prepare for them. Maybe I might have survived this season instead of writing this and bemoaning my fate. As it stands, I cannot even be sure that I won't end up flunking all three and going through the same shit next season.

For the umpteen time I find myself wondering why I did not take up Arts instead. The course work is light, and the best thing is, since the assignments are done individually, I do not have to waste my precious time and energy poring over other people's patchwork English to try to make sense of their balderdash sufficiently for me to turn it into something coherent. It is not my fault that some people have poor linguistic abilities. I suck at numbers but never have I made anyone suffer for my weakness so why should I be made to suffer for the inadequacies of others? Why can't they pay instead?! I have had enough of this bullshit. Since my supplementary paper is six months away, in the meantime I can only use my lousy and useless diploma to seek employment and getting shite pay and this is provided that by some miracle I do manage to land a job!

This is it. I better stop ranting. I might just burst an artery and bleed to death. Not a bad thing in itself perhaps, but I do not deserve to die in this shithole. I am simply too good for it. I deserve better!

I'm Appalled!

Surely, this is a gross infringement on human rights, an obscene assault on human dignity, and a crime against humanity. Amnesty International and other human rights groups should swiftly condemn the Chinese regime for such deplorable actions.

From China Daily

Hostesses stay away from clubs following police raids

University grads made good money as hostesses because they learned never to talk back, customer says.

Hostesses have apparently disappeared from KTV and other entertainment venues, just weeks after police began an anti-vice crackdown in the city.

The operation has also resulted in a dramatically reduced flow of patrons to these venues.

At Heaven VIP Club, which is next to Passion Nightclub, a male staff member surnamed Wang told METRO the number of customers have been reduced by 40 percent.

"At this critical moment, there are no hostesses at all," he said. "Even if you offer more money, you will not get one."

But customers will not be stopped from bringing girls to the club, he said.
At the No 9 Spring Business Hotel, a manager, surnamed Yang, said the number of customers have dropped by 30 percent.

"Anyone wanting to check in must show their IDs, and massage girls are not allowed to enter guest rooms to provide services," Yang said. Notices of this are posted at each door.

On May 11, Chaoyang police raided entertainment places, including Passion Nightclub, No 8 Plaza KTV and Night Banquet Club. Some of the places were allegedly providing obscene shows and were believed to be shelters for prostitution.
During the raid, 557 hostesses were detained, including 118 from the Passion Nightclub.

The nightclub - one of the most famous in the city - has a reputation for 170 cm tall "pretty and elegant" hostesses, all 18 to 25 years old with high education, perfect figures and fair and delicate skin.

A man surnamed Su, who often visited Passion, told METRO many hostesses are university graduates, speak standard Mandarin and never quarrel with customers.
Even if they were angry, they would keep silent and smile at customers, Su said.
"Compared with the other hostesses, who always talk about house, car and brand-name clothes, they are more cultivated," he said. "They can cover topics from electric technology to history and culture, and even politics and finance."

Su said a private room at Passion can cost up to 5,000 yuan, with clients spending 20,000-30,000 yuan in one night in total.

Su said the last time he was there was in March when he went with three friends, including two real estate bosses from Zhejiang and Fujian provinces, and they spent 7,820 yuan.

They were greeted warmly by a "Mami", a woman in her 30s wearing a black suit, followed by five pretty girls for them to choose, based on appearances and even artistic talent, he said.

Drinks are costly, Su said. Imported drinks, highly recommended by the Mami, would cost 3,600 to 20,000 yuan a bottle. Even a beer costs 70 to 80 yuan, and cocktails 200 yuan.

Su said the hostesses would accompany them in singing, drinking or playing dice. Many can dance, sing folk songs and play the piano or a zither-like instrument.

"Usually, the customers have relatively high status in society and wouldn't misbehave," Su said.

The girls are divided into three levels, based on education, looks and body shape, and talent in performing. Their tips range from 500 to 1,000 yuan.

Su said they paid 7,820 yuan, including 2,600 yuan for the VIP room with an additional 15 percent of service fee, 2,400 yuan in hostess fees, 4,000 yuan for drinks and 400 yuan for waiter services.

On June 5, 2010, Nanjing police raided their local entertainment places.

Business PolyGram Nightclub and Nanjing Red Cube KTV, which allegedly provided obscene shows and were believed to be shelters for prostitution, were all ordered to suspend business.

Over 100 suspects were arrested by police during the raid.

One day later, Guangzhou police also arrested 600 suspects in a downtown KTV center, five of which were involved in drug-related crimes.

The Beijing ongoing crackdown on prostitution will continue to the end of this year and will continue to make surprise inspections on KTV clubs, nightclubs and bathhouses.

He Angang, political commissioner from the public security division, told METRO a special police force will target five-star hotels, nightclubs, large KTV clubs and private top-end business and hot spring clubs.

He said if an entertainment place is found to provide obscene shows, organize prostitution or provide venues for prostitution, it could have its license revoked.

"These entertainment places are usually backed by criminal gangs. Carrying out the clean-up is conducive to fundamentally attacking these criminal groups," he said.
Last week, 35 city entertainment places, including the Heaven Earth nightclub, No 8 Club KTV, and Sunworld Dynasty Hotel KTV, were also closed for offences involving prostitution.

Around 1,100 people were detained during the one-month crackdown, which kicked off on April 11

Atheist Meetup

We had our third Atheist Meetup at Vivo City on Tuesday evening. Being the first to arrive at the scene of the crime, I went to the alfresco part of Pacific Coffee and admired the dusk as it fell upon the sea. I had endured a torrid day at my gulag. My eyes hurt from staring at the computer screen and I nearly lost my temper during one incident at work. Leaning against the railing and staring into the deepening shadows, I began to feel a measure of calm. The dusk is indeed the most beautiful part of the day. Its colours are ever so subtle, their hues far deeper than any shades of colour viewed in harsh glaring sunlight. Where the dawn ushers in false hope, the dusk heralds the coming of night and its sibilant promise of blissful oblivion which awaits us all at the end of this arduous journey we call existence. Ah the night….

I am digressing. Alfie arrived soon after me. I hadn’t seen him since he went emo on us two years ago and I was struck by how much weight he put on. He bought along a youngish and nerdy-looking bloke, who introduced himself as David. He is a clerk in the air force, and looking at him, it is easy to see why he will never be selected for a combat vocation. We said hi and then got our refreshments at the counter.

Our right to stay secured, we introduced ourselves a bit more. Alfie gave him a summary of our atheist group’s history and explained the schism that happened the last time. I told him it was all water under the bridge and assured him nobody is bearing a grudge. I said that we have no time to keep the group going so it’s been a hiatus for quite a while now. The update concluded, we started to go into the main topic.

It was the same old question about how atheism could move forward, and despite our numerous attempts over the years, we still could not come to a fixed solution. Alfie said religion provides emotional benefits to its followers and it could be quite hard to substitute that. I totally agreed with his views and for now our little operation (if it be called even that) would be just a social network of sorts. I suggested that if any atheist group must be run like a business to stand a chance of prospering. Alfie thought I was thinking of making money out of it but I clarified that a business mindset didn’t necessarily entail an insistence on monetary gains. People who joined an organization always want to gain from it. These people (customers) must perceive that the product/service they will receive outweigh the costs they incur for joining the group. We must make them an offering they cannot refuse, and must constantly offer them the same level of and/or differentiated service. I also explained the importance of getting rid of unfavorable customers. Unfavorable customers include the following: People who join purely for ulterior motives (insurance agents and their ilk); nimrods (pseudo-intellectuals who seek to glorify themselves by quoting philosophies nobody cares about); non-committed people (the ‘see see look look’ kind); and other disruptive elements. David and Alfie also commented about the difficulty of setting up an official atheist organization in this shithole. Our regime would cramp down on any element they perceive as even marginally disruptive elements to the status quo. In the end, our consensus was that our internal and external analyses did not support the viability of establishing an atheistic movement in this shithole.

I asked Alfie about the previous atheist meetings. He said that two cnspecs turned up for the previous meetup. Apparently one was a serious atheist while her friend was less committed to the cause. This bit of intelligence interested me greatly, and I made further inquires. Alfie or David said they are studying in a local paper mill and are ‘all right’ in he looks department. I was appalled that I actually missed the previous meetup. If I could kick myself I could have done so. Surely, the fates are against me. The ONLY time two good broads turned up in an atheist meetup and I had to $^#@ miss it! It’s a fucking disgrace!

Speaking of cnspecs, at this point the topic shifted to the sorry existence we endured in this shithole. We spoke about how intellectual incapable our fellow Shitholers are, with me adding that it Shitholer women behave like dead fish in bed, are generally unappealing and quite incapable of independent thought even with their degrees. I was in my element. Alfie looked at me, mildly amused or shocked; David was quite….stunned. I then talked about how going to the Holy land improved my grasp of business fundamentals and explained, as I during slop with XH the other time, the strategic and tactical actions these entrepreneurs took in order to survive in the volatile environment in which they ply their trade. Funny how an atheist meetup can turn into a business lecture. I should be a lecturer.

We discussed more on politics and existence, and was soon joined by Samuel. This bloke is roughly my height but considerably wider in girth. He was held up by his sergeant major for spotting long hair. He is a clerk in his army unit. Funny how atheists tend to be young male with intellectual leanings and little physical inclinations (I am partly making a generalization against clerks).He was more expressive than David, who really should be more confident of himself. We continued our conversation in pretty much the same vein. It was quite notable that political discussions about this shithole and its regime often shift to an analysis on the U.S. political scene. The two are not really synonymous with each other but somehow we always find a way to make parallels and discuss them, sometimes relating one to the other, other times separating various aspects. Anyway, Samuel asserted that we would not be seeing a regime change and a change in sociocultural attitude even after the Old Dog Thief dies. Alfie and I agreed with him to a certain extent. Shitholers are just too apathetic and pathetic. We disagree insofar as the inevitably of change is concerned. As a lecturer of mine once said, “No dynasty lasts forever.” The real question is not whether change will happen, but the length of time it will take for them to occur. On the U.S portion of our discussion, it was more on the usual things about how the States is being dominated by religious fundamentalism and corporatism. Samuel seemed to think that the U.S will continue to remain a world power on account of its diversity and innovativeness. I quite disagreed, reasoning that other countries will soon catch up with it in the military and economic arenas.

Any further discussion was cut short with the Pacific Coffee staff announcing they would be closing the café soon. As we made our way out I suggested that we should have some sort of barbecue or other fun activities in future. After all, it would be boring if we sit at cafes all the time. They agreed but I doubt this will happen in the near future if it would at all. (Ah! Change….) Alfie said the next meetup is in two weeks time. Maybe more people will turn up, maybe not.

The Class of 85 Everton FC

EVERTON: 1 Stoke City: 0

A hard fought victory, and richly deserved. It was our first goal scored by a striker in this campaign! YAKUBUUUUU!

Will we ever recapture our glory days?

Linked from here.

A Beautiful Friday Night

As is our custom, Chicken and I went out last Friday night to relax after a long and dreadful week. First we had holy meat and soup at our favourite slop house in Lavender. The soup was fantastic as always, and the moving scenery, as defined by the occasional sexily dressed broads prancing about in the vicinity, was as palatable as the pork we enjoyed. We noticed that a staircase leading up to a respectable establishment was just situated next to the slop stall. From the economic point of view, this is a complementary relationship. Blokes can have slop before going up for swill and boobs and even if you approach it from the reversed angle, broads who have had their fill of swill and boobs can come down and replenish their energies with some good slop. No wonder business is always brisk.

After our slop we decided to go to Illuma to catch a show. When we reached the nearby carpark, a high-end car turned in, and what emerged from it was a most delectable sight, worthy of the attention of the angelic hosts and the infernal powers. Dressed in a slinky black outfit which accentuated her feminine form, this slim and shapely beauty made her way down the sidewalks, her hip swaying delightful with each step she took in her stiletto heels. She had a Buddhist mantra tattooed prominently on her back – she was clearly Thai. Chicken and I mused about how much it took for the lucky whoreson to maintain such an exquisite beauty. Some animals just have all the luck.

We made our way into Illuma and purchased our tickets. I found that I quite like Illuma. There are not many shop; the floor space is very spacious, there is plenty of space for you to take a leisurely stroll and look at beautiful things from a bird’s eye view; and the crowd is sparse and prettier compared to the mobs found in horrible places like Jurong Point and West Mall. The aesthetics of the crowd could also be due to the fact that there is more cnspecs than Shitholers. Chicken and I asserted we should go there more often.

As there was still time, we had refreshments at the food court at Parco Bugis Junction. It was truly a beautiful night. There were quite a few good specs around. One nubile young thing sat beside us; two well-formed broads had slop at another table - from our position we enjoyed a very good view of them – and the best of the lot in my opinion, sat at the far end. In spite of my ogling, I could not ascertain her nationality or race. She had beautiful eyes and exotic facial features; she was slim and fleshly, yet no overly so, in the right areas; and her waist was gently formed and tantalizing. My friend and I praised the virtues of this magnificent creature and while we were at it, we denounced the low standards of our local specs.

We whiled away enough time for the movie to start. Taken was quite okay: lots of shooting and blowing people away. It was still no A-Team though. While leaving the cinema, we saw an ex-gulag mate and her girlfriend. I felt happy for her. She has finally found happiness and I think it is a beautiful thing. I did not manage to get a good look at her girlfriend but from the back she looked okay. Chicken told me he heard from the slackers in my ex-unit that the girlfriend was quite rich. Maybe it is time for me to contact my ex-gulag mate. Her girlfriend may have sisters who are heterosexual. I can do with a bit of money.

There was only one place to go and that was the Holy Land. We reached there soon enough, and although this iconic area was quiet by its usual standards, tits night scene was enchanting as always. The cnspecs were at their seductive best. Such ample were their assets that their filigree shifts came close to bursting at the seams. (What a sight that would have been!) A couple called out to us as we walked past. I think they have been seeing us so frequently that we are a part of their life as much as they are an irreplaceable feature of the red-light district.

Half an hour after our arrival, the alarm rang. As one, all the trollops dashed into the nearby hotel with a speed Usain Bolt would have admired. The evacuation was executed with almost military precision. The relations managers zipped about on their electric bicycles, their eyes watchful for any fuzz, plain-clothes or uniform. They communicated with one another using an electronic piece fixed to their ear. I was highly impressed by their professionalism. Our army should hire these managers as security consultants.

Across the road, some cnspecs continued to conduct their business. Now, these are different from the cnspecs mentioned earlier. These cnspecs are generally older and charge less for their service. They appeal to the MILF-lovers. I believe they offer superior services to that offered by the cnspecs in the vicinity of the Darlene Hotel. Experience always counts and their comparative lack of attractiveness may induce them to work harder at pleasing their customers so as to ensure customer loyalty.

As Chicken and I strolled around the vicinity of the CBD, we occasionally saw blokes and their girlfriends. I do not understand why some blokes have to walk their girlfriends next to the merchandise. Are they trying to imply to them the need to be as aesthetically pleasing as the merchandise? Still, I generally do not have a problem with couples walking around in certain districts. As long as they do not insult the cnspecs I am fine with them.

The alert was off after nearly an hour and the business scene, like the economy, began a gradual recovery. We went on our last round of ogling and made our way back home. It was an enchanting and enriching evening, and the sight of the bevy of beauties strengthened my resolve to be like the dying man in de Sade’s literary masterpiece The Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man.

Happy and Living an Impossible Existence

EVERTON: 2 SHITE: 0

Happy Sunday! Now for the suck.

My existence is getting more ludicrous by the minute. Following the departure of my colleague for greener - and more bountiful - pastures, I am now the ONLY ONE left in my department.

We did not have a proper handover, to be honest. Right up to her last day, my ex-senior had to rush for meetings to clear up shit for people who should have cleared theirs up long before she had her last day. Her last week was taken up by training - my boss felt it would be helpful to clear up any lingering doubts our system users might have so that they could be more independent. It turned out quite differently though. Some did not attend. Those who did asked more questions we could possibly solve and now I have an entire back log of problems which probably dated back to the time of the dinosaurs.

It was brutally obvious to any attendee that our business process was shite from the start. It is little wonder why we are not making any money. As if this is not bad enough, our strategy, product development, and marketing teams are either clueless as a whole or headed by people who should be in a home for retards.

Now I have a whole pile of shit and about 150 employees under my charge. Can't log in - who do they find? Me. Invoice processing got stuck? Me. Variances in the accounts? Me. Some idiotic director doesn't know how to read a bleedingly simple sales report? Me. Every thing comes to me, every damn thing happens to me. If I hadn't lacked money, I would have bid this sorry excuse for a gulag good riddance and walked out of it strutting like a peacock. The Feisty Old Bag told me that two of her editors are leaving soon. I feel happy for them. I'll be leaving at the end of the year and even if they double my paltry wages I'll still not stay on. I feel sorry for the new staff who takes over my senior's position. She/he/it can forget about having some resemblance of work life balance, because there is none to be had.

Possibly the only good thing I could have gotten out of this sorry stint is the kind of shit I can put on my job application letter and resume. "Supported the entire IT infrastructure alone", "Designed and implemented business processes", "Managed international stakeholders" sound just about right. During the course of my short existence I have shown myself capable of doing impossible things. If I get through this, it will be yet another notch on my blade.

A Potentially Tragic Sunday

Everton take on the Shite in an hour and Evertonians are more optimistic than pessimistic. The Shite are in the relegation zone and we are just above them. A loss means that the loser drops into the bottom three. It could be a miserable weekend for either group of fans.

Fellaini, Pienaar, Rodwell, Jags, and Rodwell are out. Most likely the Shite will try to intimidate our boys by kicking lumps out of them in the first ten minutes. That pair of ugly twats Gerrard and Lucas would probably take turns elbowing Arteta and then we will lose our focus along with our pluck and let them attack us. It is a pity Moyes sold Yobo. Heitinga will surely partner Distin in the centre of defence, but it remains to be seen who offers the back four protection.

Osman should be deployed to tidy things up in the centre of the park, as he did so effectively against ManUre last season. Moyes will surely get Cahill to support the strikers, leaving Arteta to spray passes behind them. The left flank is problematic through. Shorn of the excellent Pienaar and Osman (who did a decent job there against Birmingham), the only player who is technically good enough to play there is the Russian enigma Bily, who has been anonymous so far this season. On the right, Coleman adds pace and directness on our much maligned right flank, with possibly Neville defending. Moyes will play 4-5-1 and try to sneak a goal from a set piece. I have been very critical of this formation, but given the circumstances, maybe it is the most viable. If anything, it should allow us to suffocate their midfield and stop them from scoring, even though we may not score ourselves.

This may be the weakest Shite squad in three decades but I do not foresee us twating the bastards. Too often we have bottled it in derbies and this time may not be different. Moreover, our propensity to concede silly goals, coupled with our strikers’ inability to score in a whorehouse, means that we must be delighted with a point.

A Bit on Hedonism

Nature is becoming a pale shadow of what it used to be. In the States a woman drove off a bear by throwing a vegetable at it. At home, some cats don’t even hunt mice and birds anymore. Many dogs cannot survive without their stupid owners. Even the cockroaches in my house looked about as fast as Leon Osman. Humans are becoming physically weaker and short-sighted. A friend told me that the ancient Mayans predicted the end of the world in 2012.

As we don’t have much time left, we should seize any opportunity to indulge ourselves. A veiled excuse for hedonism it may be, I am inclined to agree with it in principle. I don’t put any store in Doomsday prophecies but I do think it’s always possible that I will have my existence terminated by some twat of a driver who thinks he’s fucking Hamilton, or by some idiots who should never be allowed to take a degree course for the purpose of feeding off their poor course mates who work like slaves to cover for these scum.

I have reached a point in my existence where I now believe that most conventional moral values are hogwash designed to befuddle the masses; existence is intrinsically meaningless and the only thing we should be concerned about is ourselves, the only god we should worship is ourselves, and the meaning of our existence is to indulge in what we desire as much as possible.

I came across this forum thread on the army website. Its title was ‘why do married women cheat?’. Insofar as I could see, nobody attempted any explanation or justification but there were certainly plenty of people who asked this fundamentally importantly question: ‘Where do we find these women?’ This is surely the most honest and refreshing response to what is a morality-related question. Blokes want to have a good time.

We may get our pants up in a knot if/when we get cuckolded but we are more forgiving if/when we do the same to another bloke. Would I bed a married woman? Why, if she’s hot and willing, why in the Hells not?! You can talk about morality and quote some philosophical bullshit from some long-dead philosopher to justify or defend your philosophical position but in the end all the philosophy in the world and multiverse are a load of bollocks, not fit to wipe a smear off my polished boots.

There are always people who purport to adhere to this and that principle, to promise all sorts of things, but only a few deliver what they preach. We are all animals, sometimes better than our four-legged cousins, often worse, and because of our so-called mental and spiritual development, has made us the most vicious animal of all. Moralists, religionists, champagne socialists and guardians of values shout from the top of the parapets of how responsible they are to the community, society, country, state, god, and king, but ultimately they are responsible only to themselves. For all their moral platitudes and bombastic rhetoric, despite their success in using their holistic humanism to hoodwink the gullible, they should – and must – admit to themselves that all the verbal onanism is but an indulgence to their pride.

Defending Rooney

I know Wayne Rooney has been done to death already, but I don’t know why he is vilified so terribly. Like any other man, Rooney had had his pleasure with whores and that was that. The only people he should be responsible to are his wife and the other members of his family. There is no reason why his sex life should be a matter of national discussion when Britain’s economy is in shambles and so many of its youths are unemployed or not in school. If he wasn’t a celebrity nobody would have cared what he did.

Sanctimonious scum are condemning him for his actions, arguing that as a professional player Rooney has an obligation to be a role model to youngsters, to conduct himself in an exemplary manner befitting his status. Such arrant bollocks! Wayne Rooney is paid to play football, to win matches for his club. As long as he does his job well, why should we be concerned about what he does off the field? He is not paid to be a role model and has no obligations to behave like one.

There is basically no difference between a man who earns $10,000 a month and another making $100,000 a week. Both have the financial resources to play the field and chances are that they will indulge themselves. The only attribute which really matters is the celebrity status (or lack thereof) of the philanderer. Journalists, column writers, and their detestable ilk know all too well the public’s need to revel in another’s misery and will satisfy that need. To the working Joe who works like a slave to make ends meet and who is unappreciated in the bargain, it is gratifying to see ‘winners’ who have the best things in life embarrassed and treated like a rat on the run by the masses who despite of their secret jealousy of their ‘superiors’, still aspire to become like those they despise.

Humans are animals and will therefore look after their own interests. Attaching some spiritual value or otherworldly quality to ourselves in an attempt to deny our animalistic nature is perfidious to say the least. Like our quadruped cousins, we eat, drink, sleep, shit and have sex. We help one another because it is beneficial to do so, and not because of some intrinsic moral values or godly decrees. Scattered and disunited peoples do not have the collective strength that comes from mutual cooperation, and it stands to reason that a united tribe is stronger and can survive better than ragtag bands of disparate individuals, and it is precisely this collectivism that allows them to more easily pass on their genes. Humans are pack animals and creatures of habit. They require a common structure by which they can share a common identity. It is from this need that arises culture, religion, social norms and tradition. New-Agers and pseudo-intellectuals who argue for human ‘universality’ and argue against the relevance of culture understand not the principles of evolution. They are sadly, out of touch with reality.

Back to Rooney. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” said the ‘Good’ Book. Are those who are bent on reducing Rooney to smithereens with their moral platitudes not without fault of their own? I think not. The people who are the most ‘moral’, who are the quickest to condemn, to tell others what to do and expound this and that moral rule are often the worst offenders themselves, culprits of all kinds of infringements and perpetuators of a variety of crimes. Throughout the sad history of the human race such charlatans have always existed to prey on the gullible and desperate. From the ascetic who demands expensive contributions while proclaiming the advantages of a life of abstinence to the priest who rapes children and then hides behind his institution, professes his regret, seeks forgiveness from his non-existent deity and thereafter given the licence to go forth and sin again, these people are but a subspecies of the common masses on which they ply their despicable trade. I rate them lower than parasites and brown slime; they are indeed the greatest hypocrites of all, psychic vampires and a waste of the planet’s resources.

The Power of Motivation

Friday nights are meant to be enjoyed, so Chicken and I went out for slop and a show. The show ended just before midnight and it was just right for an excursion to the Holy Land. We were in high spirits on the way, buoyed by our philistine’s humour and the prospect of seeing lovely things we expected to see. We soon reached the Holy Land without incident.

As was our custom, we bought coffee. Chicken had a smoke near his bike and we shot the shit a little as we prepared for our night walk. I told him I had to take my annual physical fitness test the next morning and I wanted to gain some inspiration from the sights in the land. Hearing this, Chicken suggested that we should not stay out so late. I quickly assuaged his fears for my safety, saying I had no desire to die for my country and I could very well do it another day should I deliver a poor performance. Convinced of my ability to take care of myself, we proceeded to take a leisurely stroll down the hallowed lorongs of the Holy Land.

There were a few items on display at $60 China Street and I thought I saw a few fresh items. Turning round the bend into the $80 China Street, I saw the usual goods. Continuing onwards, Indonesia Lane was thronged with the products of that country, along with crowds of gawkers, many of whom well unwashed and probably infected with crabs and other aliments that mostly afflict the unhygienic and inferior.

By now, Chicken and I could see from far small crowds at the Central Business District (CBD). Peering past our fellow window-shoppers, we could see the distinctive curvy shapes which are characteristic of the high-priced merchandise typically sold in the area. The build-up of the traffic on the narrow road gave us hope, for we knew it could only mean one thing. In great haste we ambled forward, and our reward for our endeavor was the magnificent sight of the superior China merchandise lining the entire street leading to the CBD’s main building. A few made eyes at us, one tagged at my sleeve and asked me to ‘go up’. Tall and provocatively dressed, their assets were tantalizingly displayed, showing just enough to suggest the possibility of seeing their full glory – at the right price.

We soon settled at our usual place at the CBD building and sipped our coffee as we talked. There were three lovely specimens standing in front of the building. One wore red/pink and looked reasonably pretty; the next was dressed in a black cocktail dress which accentuated her height but obscured part of her assets; and the one in white blouse and black shorts was the loveliest of them all. All three have nice, creamy white, slim legs which seemed to go on forever, but the ‘white one’ was stood out. About 5’ 7” in height, she was like the prettiest of vase, her tiny waist was like a handle you want to grip, and her impressive rack screamed to be caressed , and her legs! Imagine having her porcelain white thighs around my neck as she awaits the sweetness of congress….

So moved I was that I immediately started waxing lyrically about her virtues, and such was the conviction in my voice, backed up by the seductive creature before us, that Chicken gave affirmative nods at every praise I heaped on her. We both asserted that every man would love to have such a beauty for a girlfriend. Imagine bringing her out to shop in the city area. All the males would surely ogle her and curse the guy beside her. How dare this bastard have such a girlfriend! And all the females would surely look away in anger and jealousy, trying in vain not to admit to themselves their own abject inferiority. It is a crime against humanity and an affront to moral and social justice that this beautiful thing has to stand for long hours hawking her wares while ugly girls become models and appear in fashion mags. However, having said that, I must say that this miscarriage of justice has ironically made the likes of her accessible to people like us. I told Chicken I was ever more motivated to do well for my physical fitness test so that I may have the funds to enjoy her. We finished our coffee, and as we walked past her, I saw that even her face was about as perfect as a male would want her female to be. A vixen’s look, but with a touch of innocence and a hint of experience….She has such exquisite genes!

Our stay in the Holy Land took a while yet and by the time I got home it was two in the morning. I did not fall asleep until three. Three hours later a pounding headache greeted me as I greeted the wretched day with much reluctance. I did not have much appetite for breakfast; my muscles ached; and I even forgot my travel card and had to waste time and energy running back to my house to retrieve it. To compound my misery, my friend was late. I had to go to the test centre alone and when I reached the place the test was already underway. I quickly got myself a number tag, and even in this the fates seemed to conspire to make my existence more miserable than it already was. It had no slot for the identification card and I had to hold it in my hands.

Despite the inauspicious start, I cleared the static stations with only a little fuss. My friend came and sadly, he did not enjoy the best of fortunes. He had a torrid time with the jumping and sprinting stations. I shouted encouragement and advised him on technique, but alas, my efforts were in vain. Done with the static stations, we moved to the carpark for the 1.5 mile run. My headache had now subsided to a dull ache behind my eyes and I thought I was going out of breath. When I started running I felt like giving up immediately, but my ego and the thought of that hot gorgeous broad I saw hours ago, spurred me on, kept me going in the tortuous nine minutes, and I heaved a sign of relief (and spat some spit from my dry mouth) when I hit the finish line and found I had achieved my objective. It was a poor performance by my standards, but money is money and this is what counts.

After our exertion we went to my university for some well-deserved refreshments. I was bitterly disappointed at the insipid scenery and I delivered a rant at the inferior quality of specs we have to make do in this shithole. I could see that my friend was quite impressed with my vehemence and this encouraged me to repeat what I told him earlier at the test station about the powers of motivation. (I told him of how the bevy of beauties I saw in the Holy Land the night before inspired me to victory.) Surely, when a bloke has to look at so many unsightly and arrogant things every day, it’s little wonder why he has little motivation to carry on! If only our women were like that angel….Wars and natural disasters would cease; the people happy, and peace reign on earth.

Sunday Night Out

Nothing ever happens in this shithole, and this was particularly true last Sunday. To alleviate our boredom, Fuzz Car and I decided to meet to shoot the shit. Disgusted by the sight of the unsightly mobs that thronged Jurong Point, we decided a change in scenery was in order and went to town.

Vivo City was not as crowded as Jurong Point and the scenery was considerably better. We had slop on the theatre steps and thereupon Fuzz Car told me of his ambition to be a social escort/gigolo. It doesn’t take much to be a paid companion in this shithole. As long as you aren’t ugly, have a sense of humour and some basic listening and conversing skills, you should be able to satisfy your customers. There is a potential market for male companions. Rich men are never known for being the most faithful of husbands, as temptations abound to make them stray. Why should some tycoon remain attached to one withered flower, when he can enjoy a harvest of fresh flowers of scintillating colours and hues? The flower in the house, thus neglected, pines for nourishment, and having been deprived of the essential care and nutrients on which it thrives, grows ever more desperate for sustenance. This is where people like Fuzz Car come in. When there is a demand, there will be a supply to meet that demand. Simple economics.

Besides our discussion on his ambition, the both of us also talked about the merits of women from different countries. We had debated this topic on the bus to Vivo City, much to the disgust of some ugly Shitholer woman who was sitting nearby. After I told him of the possibility of procuring Thai professionals for his enjoyment, he grew excited and bid me to tell him where such services might be found. Eager not to disappoint him, I rang up my friend who had had prior experience and asked him to send me the contact. (It has been five days since and I still haven’t heard from him. The useless bugger.)

As the night was still young, we decided to check out the night life in Tanjong Pagar. Fuzz Car showed me the bar where his Thai ‘girlfriend’ used to work at. He said she was dismissed by the management because one idiot beat up another idiot over her. The establishment was closed and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had closed permanently. We walked around the vicinity looking for interesting things but were left disappointed. For a district known for its pubs and discos, Tanjong Pagar was surprisingly quiet. We checked out a massage parlor but was turned off by the ugly woman at the counter. We made some excuse and beat a hasty departure.

We soon found our way to Chinatown – on the way we saw one gorgeous KTV hostess – and Fuzz Car’s need for sex grew more desperate. I told him to be patient, for I knew certain establishments there offered the services he craved for. Sure enough we saw a few ‘spas’ and ‘massage parlors’ and the first one we checked out offered high class massages. Sammyboy described this establishment as over-priced and this could not have been truer. Paying $150 for a 45 minute massage was ridiculous and I told Fuzz Car to get out before his loins overrode his common sense.

The next one we hit offered genuine Thai massage. Before we went up I told him it was the real thing but he didn’t believe me and egged me on. I was a bit irritated that he was behaving like a schoolboy. He was the one who wanted sex, so why rely on me to do the asking? And it was not as if he was a blushing schoolboy! His insistence that I asked, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girls (to see if they were pretty) while we were inside the establishment, was infuriating. He might as well ask the receptionist to arrange for ‘a pretty one’. Now, wouldn’t that have been a lot easier?! In the end, I was right and his hunger was left unsated.

The third – and last one – had very good ambiance. The receptionist, a pretty lady of probably Japanese or Korean ancestry, answered our inquires in a friendly and professional manner. I would not have minded if she massaged me, such was her attractiveness. It was by then 10 pm, and we were told we had to wait for 30 minutes for the massage, which would have been fine if the shop didn’t close at 11 pm. I made some excuses about going for our slop first and discreetly dragged my besotted friend out. If I were not around he would have waited and then ended up paying for a rushed job.

In the end, he didn’t manage to get what he came for. I sympathized with him, but he really deserved a bit of a rollicking. I have friends who whore regularly and none are as pathetic as my friend. Fuzz Car is in serious need of some re-education. It is fortunate for him that he has friends like me.

A Very Enkish Friday

I had half the Friday to myself and I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. I was so bored I spent the afternoon playing Mafia Wars and Fish Wrangler and surfing sites randomly. My Strategy assignment is not released to us yet so there is no way I can begin work on it. I called my friends and they too, had nothing to do. This shithole is suicide-inducing. Nothing ever happens, if you discount the shit our overpaid regime throws at us.

So bored was I that I even joined the Singapore Paranormal Investigators. They are organizing some ghost walk in Choa Chu Kang on Tuesday night. I am going to give it a miss. Seriously, being stuck on some isolated plot of land in the middle of the night is nothing to feel fearful about. The only things you ought to be concerned about are mosquitoes, muggers, and the occasional lost soldier.

Anyway, SPI’s webpage is nothing to shout about. It is not updated frequently and the forums are full of unintelligent comments which are grammatically hopeless, irrelevant, or both. I wish intelligent people like Genius would sign up. The problem with Shithole-based forums is that their participants are generally incapable of writing coherently. I don’t see why people have to use sms language or ‘friend-speak’ as if everybody in this pathetic world has their language standards and subscribes exclusively to their babbling lingo. The webmaster should have stated in the application that all rubbish would be removed from the forum. Unfortunately, like most Shitholers, the webmasters seem to value quantity over quality. This is a sad country.

The Brain showed me a forum and I was quite impressed with the comments in it. Genius’s rants on Shitholer females are spot on, and his insights on the sexual economics in this shithole are astounding. As usual, there are the female apologists defending their ilk and the occasion whitey giving his two cents’ worth. I was tempted to join in but this being a Shithole forum, I am not certain if there are any sore losers who will complain to the regime about the profound wisdom I would have dished out.

After two hours on the forum I grew sufficiently inspired to educate my mates, even though it was by then midnight. I found two of my mates whom I knew had fudgy girlfriends and I wasted no time in sending them the link to the forum. The first, my team mate in football, said he had read the forum before and punctuated his approvals/disapprovals with LOLs. (To be more accurate, a lot of his comments were ‘LOLs’.) Seeing he needed some help, I told him that he deserved a superior – and foreign – product for a girlfriend. Although he went LOL again, I would not be deterred and ranted on how terrible and suicide-inducing our women are and that it is a good idea to set our horizons beyond these flat and barren wastelands in search of greener and mountainous pastures. He had to tell me to relax and not get worked up over a forum.

The next guy was my cohort mate in the military. Poor sod. Having invested four years and over eight times of what his Shitholer girlfriend invested in him in monetary terms, he still hasn’t had sex with her. As a result, he has to take pleasure with Thai freelancers at $90 for two shots every few months (by my estimate). I asked him if he understood the forum and what it meant. After three minutes he replied, saying that he needed some time to read through. I was appalled. He spent two years in the United States and he still had problems reading simple English. I should have been given the chance to go instead. There is no justice in this fucking world.

Anyway, I started my ‘sales script’, telling him in no uncertain terms what I thought of his $#@^ relationship and stated my reasons for my vehemence and on why he should terminate this cancer. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation and said that he had everything under control. Under control?! Oh fuck me! Surely he meant that she had him under control!

I have failed to dissuade them from persisting in their dire path and I feel I should have done better. Truly, it is sad that my ilk has such low standards in choosing their females. I sincerely hope that they do not procreate and produce more of their spawn. This world is ugly enough as it is. We don’t really need more shit.

Love in the Shithole

Male meets female. She’s not half bad looking and he is not too shabby either.

Male approaches female; female plays hard to get.

Male tries again.

Female decides male is boyfriend material.

They start to date, spending most of their time in the shopping malls.

Male invests in anniversary, birthday, and Valentine Day’s celebrations; male spends $1,000 on female, and female spends $125 on male.

Both have sex with each other for the first time. Both go at each other and try to make a game of it.

More dating and the occasional lovers’ tiffs.

Sex becomes less spontaneous.

Male proposes to female. “Should we get a flat together?”

Female agrees.

Couple register themselves as mated pairing with the authorities.

Couple spend $10k on a two hour reception to exchange engagement rings.

Lull period. Couple earn, save, borrow, beg, and extol to raise funds for their new lives.

Couple apply for pigeon-hole of a flat and spend $100k and six months preparing for a three hour engagement reception and a three hour wedding dinner.

Pigeon-hole application is approved. Couple spend a further $100k on renovation and down payment, and $20K on honeymoon.

After returning from their honeymoon, couple immediately return to their gulag and slog for long hours to pay the bills.

Work takes precedence over married life. Less time together, more time at work.

Love becomes a sense of duty; sex becomes mechanical: the male thrusts like a robot, the female lies there like a piece of dead fish.

Male decides to enjoy himself with ‘ladies of the night”, subscribing to the time-honored principles of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’, and ‘what she does not know does not kill you’. Working life, meanwhile, continues, albeit with less sex in the couple’s bedroom and more sex elsewhere.

Working life is punctuated occasionally with family gatherings and the obligatory dinners together.

Female is pregnant. Couple argue about whether it is financially viable to keep the child, saying they need time for careers to take off.

Female aborts the child. Unbeknownst to the couple. a crack starts to appear in the relationship,

Male works late more often. Female stays out later than usual.

Female has a fling with some random male she met, feels guilty, and promises herself not to do it again.

Marriage is now less a duty and more a confinement. Couple are united by the bed they share and the bills they pay for their tiny flat.

Male has affair with married colleague who has been neglected by her husband.

Couple now has sex once a month, sometimes going without sex for more than a month.

Male and female start to quarrel over bills and inconsequential things. She cries that, ‘You don’t love me anymore. You have no time for me.’, while he belts out, ‘I work so hard for the family – why don’t you understand?’

Male and female take turns threatening divorce.

They try to make up after each quarrel.

A lull period happens in which there is no argument. Meanwhile, the male enjoys sex in a different bed from his own.

Couple are now just two persons living in the same house together.

Female has affair with random male who ‘cares for her’.

Couple now enjoy a cordial relationship: work, making small talks, the obligatory sex, and finding love in another’s arms.

The couple continues to drift apart, by almost imperceptible degrees.

Male discovers that female is secretly bedding another male.

Male flies into a rage and threatens to divorce female and beat up the intrusive male.

A tussle ensues, with enraged male posturing aggressively, female appearing contrite, and the intrusive male keeping under the radar.

After much deliberation, female apologizes and announces break-up with her second male.

Male is somewhat pacified, as he subconsciously or consciously realizes the male of the female he has been bedding on the sly will probably feel the same way if their affair is discovered.

Couple try to make things work again.

Quarrels break out more frequently since that 'incident'.

This time, their drifting apart becomes more perceptible.

Couple pay good money to consult a marriage advisor.

Sex becomes now an infrequent affair, a medicine the marriage advisor prescribes to 'keep the flames alive'.

Couple try harder to salvage what is left of their relationship.

The bonds in their relationship become more tenuous and one day, the 'final straw' snaps them.

Couple announce they are splitting due to irreconcilable differences.

Couple sign the divorce papers, and at the same time, try to divide between themselves their pigeon-hole and the things they have in it.

Despite occasional pangs and thoughts of reconciliation, and half-assed attempts at it, both eventually realize that things can no longer work out.

They move on with their own lives by remaining as 'friends'.