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.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, September 3, 2010
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.
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.
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