Tuesday, May 24, 2005

My First Time

I have in my hand, a box of g-strings. No, not the stringy, butt-floss female kind, but the male kind. The kind with a little more cloth and comes in boxes of threes. Now, before everyone brands me a fat, spectacled pervert, I would like to clarify here, truthfully, that I did not buy it. I would have to be crazy, amorous AND gay (yes, for fear of being beaten to death by navy boys, I would have to mention that straight guys wear them too) to have put my money into it.

I inherited the g-strings. From my uncle. Yes, the dead one. The stuff you don't want to know about dead people. Fact number 1, he was even more portly than I am. Fact number 2, he had a rather small bum, which would rationalize his g-string fantasy. Fact number 3, and I will repeat this as many times as needed, the g-strings were NEW and previously NOT worn. And now that I've mentioned fact number 3, fact number 4 was that my uncle used to have a problem with incontinence. I know fact number 3 because you can never fold underwear the way manufacturers do when they pack them into boxes. And you never leave tracing paper in between. And as you can see here, I am comforting myself for fear of having worn used, previously soiled underwear.

So I had to have a try. It was, well, small. Very small. Actually tiny for my size. Note for fat people. If you absolutely have to wear butthuggers (briefs), please do NOT buy g-strings. Not only is the cup extra small resulting in you sounding like Minnie Mouse, you'd have to suffer the agony of having a permanent wedgy at all times and burn your eyes everytime you look at yourself in the mirror. I burned my eyes looking at my pot belly hanging over whats visible of that g-string. However, on the plus side, you get to pretend that you're a german S&M gigolo, you'd never ever have to worry about skidmarks (because of the lack of cloth and because the g-string grips your asshole tight), and. And I cant think of anything else.

Maybe if I do end up with washboard abs and a butt women would crave, I might consider walking out of the house with it. However, I do not want to attract navy boys, or army boys, or Bai-is (yes, I am being racially insensitive here, but can someone please explain to me why is it a majority of my friend's parents think that Bai-is and anal intercourse go hand in hand). For now, I shall stick to my trusty boxers. I love boxers because my balls are free to dangle in delight everytime I pull a David-Hasslehoff-opening-credits-of-Baywatch-move. I will, on special request, entertain horny middle-aged aunties if they want me to strut around almost naked, in a g-string. Only if the price is right. Come on aunty! You can do better than 5 bucks!

Saturday, May 14, 2005

It's all about Science

Alternating between hot and cold only invites a sickly feeling. The gutted body sends messages to the brain, duly received, processed and equally as fast, messages are sent back to the body. The body collapses and subsequently shuts down. In certain cases, waking up from bed becomes too painful to bear. All you want to do is lie in bed, dwelling in and out of a parellel world. One created only in the mind, of subconscious desires and thoughts. In other more fortunate cases, the person is up and about in no time, as spritely as ever, until exposed again to the same unfavorable conditions.

It always seems better to just stick to either. To dabble in a mixture of the two always seems to bring undesired/disastrous results. Even more so, if the change appears so sudden. It seems sometimes that we invite this upon ourselves. Exposing ourselves unnecessarily to volatility and unpredictable shifts. We willingly walk in and out of conditions thinking that we can cope with it, stretching our own capabilities, our bodies, our minds, our souls and our senses.

We forget that we are no longer as elastic as the young ones. That sudden extremes, that violently swinging pendulums, will rip us apart. Being the jaded, weary person represents the inelastic curve of our lives. Long gone and forever missed were times when all that we did would not be enough to break the elastic limit. That we could wake up the next day, dandy, in normality, back where we started. The only things we could look forward to now, is the peak of ultimate strength before we wither in denial and snap to oblivion.

Then, just then, it'll be all over. Exposure to oscillatory conditions are dangerous because of one thing only. Unlike constant pressure, which has a predictable, controlled and progressive ending, oscillation creates a situation of fatigue. Fatigue works much slower. Fatigue works by exposing yourself to both extremities, as well as the neutral mid-point of no pressure. Back and forth like a ping pong ball. Fatigue is capable of destroying anyone, no matter how strong that person is. Worse of all, you can never, ever, accurately predict the point of failure. When it comes, all you can do is regret.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

The Chink In My Armour

Death in the family always strikes a chord in even the most hardened of souls. He lived a good life, and although he was a doctor's nightmare, he managed to go through every day very much acting like his jovial self. He stepped on many toes and stomped on many feet, but at the time of his demise, he had his entire family by his side, standing by him, supporting him as he breathed his last breath. His funeral went on smoothly, and turnout for subsequent prayer sessions was purely amazing. Though not many would have wanted his life, I'm pretty certain that there is no better way to pass on, then to be where he was, loved and supported.

Right now, I envy him. I envy not his position deep in his grave, but I envy the attention he received, even though it came too late. I envy the fact that although he was far from perfect, he had a wife that doted on him, and family that cared. I envy the thick and thin that he and his friends have gone through, and I especially envy the privellege of the good, honest and loyal company that he kept.

Day by day, I am turning into the loner that I didn't want to become. It has come to a point that not one of the persons that have crossed my crooked path can truly be depended upon. When it comes to the crunch, I seriously wonder who'd be there sticking by me, covering my back. When I am in the crunch that I am in now, I can't help feeling like the battle is mine to fight alone. I've become tired of companionship, tired of the work that has to be put in it. I've become weary of obliging and broken from giving in. I want to give up.

I try to be the person that I want to be, but I only end up wearing a mask that hides my feelings. I don't know how much longer the pretense will last, nor how much longer this facade will hold, before the glaring sadness in my eyes crumbles it all. I know for certain that a lonely death would be the only befitting ending to my drifting faith. I fear that. But more importantly, I fear living a lonely life. Friends and family will always be around me, but inside me, I am in darkness, in solitude.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Kopi-O Ideas

I really should be sleeping, but here I am, indulging myself in the one activity I have not been able to bring myself to carry out, blogging. It has easily been an overworked week for me, but maybe I'm just not used to the "joys" of work and the much maligned and dreaded, working life. Things do NOT look too bright at the current moment, as I immerse myself in paperwork. When I do manage to tunnel my way out of it, I will let you know. "Welcome to MITCO!" someone said to me the other day. Funny how he seemed to have the most mischievious of smiles. "I'm the new waterfish in town, so please use me!" the sign on my forehead read.

Was happily going through the papers this morning when I read the grimm headlines. No. No family perished in a 35 vehicle pile-up, and no, Badawi has not decided to make my life more miserable by increasing the prices of alcohol. However, some of his underlings/minions/kulibataks (pick the right noun) have managed to come up with a idiotic new ruling to flog to the masses. Apparently, someone, somewhere, decided during one of his/her (lets be gender unbiased today) many 10am kopi-O sessions that the best way to deter drunk drivers would be to suspend indefinitely their driving licenses. I have never imagined that the universe was actually capable of such stupidity.

Now, this brings a few things to mind. We are all aware of the legal limit of alcohol in the bloodstream, but really, how do we tell whether we are over or under the limit? One pint of beer really doesn't have that big an effect on the system as is led to believe by the government. Would it therefore, be a good business proposal to offer breathelizer services, especially to those who think they are borderline cases? (We could expand the services to the Im-going-to-puke-at-any-moment-but-would-still-like-to-take-
the-test-for-fucks-because-Ive-got-RM10-in-my-pocket-now, for the sake of it.) We could even organize contests for most drunk, most stoned and most able to walk straight with 4 times the legal limit in his blood. Oh the possibilities.

Right. So after I've won one of the many contests, and conned by my own business because I too decided to take several blows into my breathelizer, do I absolutely want to be conned by the taxi drivers too? More like, would I have any money left to be conned by them? This is when the seriousness and implication of such sordid and extreme rules comes to effect. I agree that in certain cases, it is right to take drastic measures, but steps have to be taken in order to ensure that the public DOES manage to get home safely, without being ripped-off by some taxi driver. Another business plan: why not offer value added services, such as a reliable and competitively priced fleet of taxis to cater to those who really shouldn't be driving. Services will also include the taxi driver ensuring that the customer actually manages to get into his/her house safely. When needed too, "other" services could be arranged. Everyone gets home happy.

See, this is the problem with bureaucracy. Ideas always seem effective at the mamak under the tree, but rarely any thought is given into enforcement, and ensuring that the interests of the public remain paramount. How come no one has decided to suspend indefinitely the licences of those taxi drivers that are caught ripping their customers off? My father said that they cant suspend the taxi drivers because politicians own the fleets. So, where do we, the non-politicians, the people that are just looking for a little bit of fun and stupidity, fit in?