A Night of Scenery

On Tuesday night I met Police Car, Chicken, and his wife for steamboat in Bugis. I was late so they had already started on the slop by the time I reached the slophouse. Without further ado, I settled down and attacked the slop.

There was a really good-looking hussy seated at the table next to ours. Initially she set perpendicularly to me but then she changed seats and faced my direction. One look – I took many – confirmed that she is not a Shitholer. From her porcelain white skin and delicate features, it was obviously she was from China. She was very pretty. As she stood up from time to time, I feasted upon her lovely and shapely form. Like any normal bloke, Police Car also admired her, and as I ate I could barely take my eyes off her. Occasionally she glanced in my direction and I felt I could spend an entire night staring into her gentle orbs. She had a jaded, world-weary look which made her even more attractive.

Inspired by this magnificent sight before me, I started to narrate my frustration with the hostile scenery at UniShit and praised this angelic creature to the heavens. As I described in lurid detail my bitter disappointment with the shite I see in class and Shitholer females in general, I became more articulate. My standard of Mandarin was elevated, my tone increased in passion, and my diction became as smooth and unstoppable as the raging and unstoppable as the raging Yellow River – I would have made a fine orator then. My slop mates were of course astonished and entertained by my vehemence. I even said that I should have gone into some arty-farty course instead of this blasted business degree. Both give you crap papers in returns, but at least the former affords you much superior scenery.

Upon hearing how miserable my existence is, Chicken’s wife suggested that I go to work in Shanghai. She said that “entire streets are filled with beauties.” I have never been to China but I trust her judgment in these matters. If the Chinese “ladies of virtue” I see in the Holy Land are indicative of the general population in China, I wouldn’t mind migrating there even. With my degree and English proficiency I’ll sign on as an officer in the People’s Liberation Army and volunteer to be posted to areas blighted by religious separatists. I will round these faith heads up and re-educate them through productive work in labor camps. For the hard cases who refuse education, I shall have them executed publicly. As for Tibet, I will lead an army and raze the monasteries, round up the monks for re-education, and shoot the Dalai Lama. These useless buggers have been living off the fat of the land and the blood of the people and their parasitic behavior can no longer be tolerated.

But my atheism is getting ahead of me and I am digressing. I mean, since the Shithole and China are both totalitarian states, there will be hardly any difference in many things. The best things are the lovely moving scenery and the fact I can bitch about religion without risking some stupid sedition act on my head. Sure, the public transport may be overcrowded, the public toilets non-existent and the food may even be dangerous, but I know for sure I can get extremely fast internet access, watch football for free, and never get to see fucking bastards in white telling the people what to do and rewarding themselves with huge bonuses (the Chinese politburo are corrupt but at least they don’t ejaculate so much moralistic bullshit). Hell, to be honest, after so much railing, I think the moving scenery is still the primary reason why I want to get out of this shithole.

I also asked Chicken’s wife whether it is easy to get dog meat in Shanghai. I expressed my frustration with my neighbours and their stupid cur and told them one of my goals in life is to eat dog meat. She replied that it is quite common in Shanghai. She also said the dog is best eaten roasted, and the soap is not bad as well. In the winter they even eat puppies. I was shocked and asked her if she feels this is too cruel. Not at all, she said. Indeed, we Chinese eat everything. We are truly the gourmets of the world. The French can move aside please.

An hour into my slop fest, the Chinese darling left. I felt as if a piece of my heart had left with her. A sense of despondency came over me momentarily. If only I had such lovelies in my class. I would definitely be highly motivated, but alas, life sucks.

Below our level were two tables of Hong Kongers. The table farther away sat a family, and the wife, despite having a few children, still maintained her shapely form. I was particularly impressed with her creamy white skin, which is even better than the dolly’s. A group of young people sat close to us. A lass looked really pretty; she held herself and the assets Nature had so lavishly bestowed her. She was like a beacon, a lighthouse, in the dark stormy sea – all who see her rejoice.

Deeply moved by these glorious sights and by the snippets of Cantonese reaching our ears, I started to tell my slop mates it would be a pretty good idea to relocate to Hong Kong, since I can speak Cantonese. I went on to say how much I abhor this shithole that works its denizens to death. Chicken’s wife replied that Hong Kong and Shanghai were even more fast-paced than this shithole. That I must see for myself. It’s hard to imagine any other reasonably advanced city being more stressful than Shithole. I replied that I’d would have gladly gone, but for the lack of opportunities. She said that opportunities are created, not given. I was most impressed by her wisdom and nodded in agreement. If I manage to graduate from UniShit, I’ll be sure to include on my employment cover letter my burning desire to migrate.

We left the slophouse at around nine. As the night was still young, we decided to walk around to aid our digestion. On our way to Bugis, my mates were saying that one of my ex-colleague’s wife has got pregnant and now looks utterly ugly. Before she got married she looked like the local singer Rui En. I was ogling the broad standing outside a nearby shop and upon hearing them try to describe her, I instinctively blurted out, ‘Fuck Rui En!” My mates were taken aback by my outburst and Chicken’s wife smiled and gave me that “boys will be boys look”. I think I am really losing patience with the mob here.

We reached Parco Bugis Junction, walked around, and had ice cream. The scenery was not too bad, but it was a pity the shops were closing up for the night. Chicken told us he would be sending his wife back and we said our goodbyes.

After they left, Police Car and I, having decided that the night was still young, walked to the back streets of Bugis. As we walked next to the shop houses, we basked in the exuberance of this wonderful night. Signboards advertised various goods and services, and the star attractions of this silent marketplace promised massages both exotic and erotic. We scrutinized each as we passed, and sometimes we peered into the shop, and unfortunately the merchandize were disappointing in quality. We arrived at a couple too late. Even those providing temporary reprise from the drudgery of daily existence must take a break themselves.

Police Car showed me the establishment where he had a soothing massage prior to the slop fest. As we passed by a stairway leading to an “establishment”, we saw a hussy leaning against the wall and talking on the phone. She looked pretty so Police Car and I waited for her to finish. Sure enough, she accosted us and Police Car asked her the rates. She quoted a price and said, “We normally close at 11pm, but if you are interested I can do it for you.” Seeing that the time was late, I replied that we would be return tomorrow. I guess she got the idea, but for a hussy in her 30s, she was not half bad looking.

We then crossed the road to the shopping centre known in knowledgeable circles for its night-life. A bored looking security guard was evidently trying his best not to sleep. An “Indian shop” near the entrance functioned as a 7-11. All the shops were closed save for the pubs and KTV lounges on the upper floors. Occasionally feminine laughter would shatter the relative quiet, and the traffic consisted of night owls on their personal discrete but no less compelling missions.

Having explored most of the area, we tried the corner where the pubs were. There weren’t any establishments to be found and left with no other forms of entertainment, Police Car and I decided to make our way home. It had been a lovely night indeed. I determine to get out of this Shithole so that my vision will not continue to suffer from the lack of aesthetically pleasing scenery.