Ban The Bangla
Today the gf informed me of reports about foreign workers molesting some of our home-grown women during the recent Christmas celebrations in town. Of course, when we now refer to foreign workers, we're referring to the dregs like Banglas and Thais and Sri Lankans and what not.. you get the picture. Of course, heaven forbid we ever call the white man foreign workers... the obvious politically-correct term is foreign talent. Granted, these foreign talents have also been treading on thin ice due to their antics with respect to our local women, but of course that's a white-collar crime altogether. They can easily just say that they were really trying to hit on the women and hopefully offer them a better shot at life itself, since their expat status grants them superiority - political, social and economic.
Honestly, I couldn't care less. Who women end up with is ultimately not my concern, nor am I worried about how the much-revered foreign talent treat our women, since our women are independent enough to know what they're getting themselves into.. and if they end up short.... oh well just too bad, just gotta learn I guess, same as everything else.
However, the bigger issue at hand is where our women are being openly harrassed by these dregs. I would love to say that of course you get the rarely occasional foreign worker who's nice and gentlemanly, but I'm sorry I can't say that. Even for me, a person with less than desirable moral standards, it is a chore.
Sure, I can consider the argument that these people are from societies where behaviour like this is commonplace. I can even go so far as to accept that philosophically, there is NO right or wrong, and that sexual harrassment and womens' rights are concepts thought up by society to keep things in order and that there is no actual right or wrong, since if we agree to right and wrong then we're living by someone else's standards of right and wrong, and inherently to fully agree with another human being is just impossible. Hence, it'll ultimately be an imposition of one's values on other peoples. Sure, it is a circular argument, so that is not my point.
However, I do feel that in any culture or society, when a situation arises, for a conflict not to arise the parties involved obviously have to agree that the steps taken during interaction have not crossed the barriers of acceptibility. Once any of the involved parties start to feel that his or her comfort zone has been infringed upon, then civility has been breached.
Of course, those poor party-starved foreign workers may not understand the culture here (I'm giving them a huge benefit of the doubt) and they may not feel they have gone overboard, but shouldn't a scream, tears, shouts, protests, vulgarities etc., obvious primal symbolic reactions, tell them that there's something wrong? Hence, being from a different culture, is not a valid excuse.
Of course, its' difficult for the police to do their jobs as well, due to the sheer immense volume of human traffic. In that case, shouldn't bystanders and other part-goers help? Shouldn't someone out there have some sort of conscience and snap out of that "Oh it's not really my fucking problem is it" phase? Finally.. seriously.. shouldn't Singaporeans do something worthwhile with their brains? It's how fucking disappointing to see people just ignore whatever's going on around them. Sad to say, being educated has not changed the attitude. In that case, we should do away with Dear Mr Policeman, Moral and Civic Education, and probably hang the classic Constable Ah Cai. They're just reminders and references to how our education system has failed miserably to nurture the Singaporean with some common sense. Instead, in its place we've grown up as selfish, overly-competitive individuals all with the same goals in mind.
I'm guilty of not doing my civic duties at times, but I do try. I may seem brash and crass and uncouth, but at least I know my intentions are real. In some cases I do not care about tact, because tact won't help people who need the help. I guess all I can hope for is that one day, I'll see someone actually stepping forward to help a person getting beaten up, more than one person willingly giving up his/her seat to a physically-challenged individual, someone at least bothering to help the victim of a crime. How that would really make me want to stay on in this country to fight towards a life of democracy that we can actually be proud of, towards an econoic and social system where our ideals are realised; and even if we are still being controlled and coerced relatively subtly, there is still some hope that things may change, and that it's worth staying on to improve this soil that we were born on.
The Merlion, The Bitch and The HDB Flat
Watched Chronicles of Narnia with the missus yesterday. It was amazing! I really really enjoyed it.. but of course there are a few things to gripe about.
First, the lion has a malay name. Aslan.. wassup man.. might as well call him Asman... like the bodybuilder.. I'm alright with that of course, since I'm not racist and would love for our native people's characters to infuse themselves into film... and also I can't be cos I would be jailed by YOU KNOW WHO.
Second, I hate that White Witch woman.. she's like damn tall... damn evil and she fights with so much grace! I wanna fight like that too!!!!
And the bleeding wardrobe is like a 3-room HDB flat lor.. it's no bloody wardrobe!!!!! Who has a wardrobe so huge??!?!? Damn unfair.. and our wardrobes cost from 100K up.
I better leave now.. I'm running late..
Wah Lau
Dammit... i need money. I need to pack up my desk. I need to get a new sleeker monitor. I need to get new shoes. I need to get new sandals. I need to get new shirts, T- shirts, jeans, pants. I need to stop wasting time and get moving, else I'll be late.
Oh and other than the first two on the above list, the rest are all desires. Sigh, what tough choices life brings. Tragic.
The Season To Give
I figured since it's the season of giving, I should make a real effort at giving. Instead of presents that end up useless due to lack of thought put into it, I shall give something straight from the depths of me.
For those whom I like: A pile of my shit strategically boxed and prettily wrapped up
For those whom I dislike: A pile of my warm shit right smack on their living room rugs, preferably while they're watching.
The only problem with the latter is how I could get into their homes.
Truly The Season For Giving
Once again, Christmas is round the corner, and it's getting all these emotions in me all messed up. I absolutely LOVE giving some things, while I absolutely HATE giving others.
For example, I love giving and offering my help to friends, I love giving Bagel food that my mum doesn't allow him to eat, I love giving people the benefit of the doubt (usually just makes them feel like I'm giving in to them even though I really think that I'm right and it makes them think twice about their own arguments), I love giving head, and I haven't done this before but I'd love giving rat poison to the socially inapt who challenge and inevitably molest me by opposing my outgoing mass when I get off the trains.
On the other end of the spectrum, I hate the giving that is required of me in Decembers, because somehow there're so many birthdays that fall in December, and there seem to be so many movies to catch since it's the holiday season, plus not to mention Christmas, although I've never really bought any Christmas gifts, so I can't really be complaining about that.
So it's oft-postulated that giving is a wonderful gesture, but December really confuses me. I really love giving, but now I peer conscientiously into my bank account, and I instantly detest giving up the money that I have. I detest that I have to make a decision as to whether I should give my 80 bucks to Kenneth Cole for his bloody sandals that are slimily discounted by 60%, I detest that I should give Singtel any money for last month's phone bill when I could be using that money to acquire the sandals from Kenneth Cole (or of course buy the gf a nice dinner of potato salad, mashed potatos, and rosti) because obviously Singtel have never given me anything concrete while continually sucking me into the deep dark web of sms-addiction, I detest that I have to give myself small inklings of the irrevocable temptation to want to just give up all my financial prowess in this world to designers who overcharge with absolute disregard to the poor of the world and at the same time try to justify to myself that it was money well-spent, and I guess I detest that I have to give myself the option of spending money that could be saved and better spent elsewhere. The long and short of it, most definitely.
However, I guess after all that's said and done, it can be quite nice and fulfilling to give willingly and receive a simple acknowledgment of your presence in this world, a nice little "Thank You, Mama", but of course undoubtedly I'd much rather prefer to give, and receive a huge wad of thousand USD bills in a thick enough money clip from Tiffany's. At least I'll be able to occupy myself with thoughts on how to strategically give away that stash once I go to the money changer.
He's Back!
Ladies and gentleman!!! My best friend Butcher Tan a.k.a. My-Name-Is-Really-Andrew has returned from Adelaide, Australia, land of the recent racial riots.
Actually, he's been back for almost two weeks, but I've been too busy to call all my friends up to tell them that he's been back for almost two weeks.
In any case, the other day I brought him to Little India to try the Chapati served on pungent Indian hotties in purple saris.. and he was so amazed by the experience that he was lost for words. He was, however, in a last ditch effort able to pose for a photograph after the magnificent encounter with the goddesses of Mustafa Centre.
What's Up
Just a few moments ago I experienced my orgasm for the day.
The ears were feeling a wee bit irritable and decided to cause me some discomfort. Seeing that my fingernails are still in the process of growing (see.. they've been bitten for the most part of the 23 years I've been alive, so obviously they need to get used to growing), I wandered off to the parents' room. In the bathroom, I seeked out the much coveted brass (?... bronze? platinum?.. bah whatever I'm not good at metals.. it's some type of alloy) ear digger. I'm not exactly sure of its patented name, but I shall just refer to it as the Eargasmatron.
The Eargasmatron did wonders for my ears... they were tickled and teased and treated to a magnificent array of pleasures... all this while getting cleaned!
So get out there and treat your ears better... I love the person who invented the Eargasmatron!
Photos That Haunt My Dreams
I recently amassed a small collection of disturbing photos that have the ability to haunt any child's dreams.
First up, William Hung as a baby. Baby Valerie's born in the same hospital as him!!!
Spotted at Downtown East.. polar bear hanged for having fur made up of cocaine.
Ever wondered what happened to all the discarded Baju Kurung and Saris and what not... yes they fucking sew them into bears and give them to poor kids at Downtown East. This is Malaysia's method of psychological warfare.
Crossbreeding between a cheetah and a cow gone wrong. Very very disturbing. I sure as hell wouldn't dare squeeze the tits on this cheetow.
