How Many Million Sir?

The Prime Minister issued a statement a couple of days ago, when, I don't particularly care, but he did say that our little island can fit in a total of 6 million people. We have about 5 million odd now I think, so what he is trying to say is basically, "Let's play a game guys. Let's see whether this island will sink if we add the total amount of residents to 6 million. If this island doesn't sink, hey, we'll go for 7 million!"

"First of all, how are we going to contain 6 million people? Are people going to finally live on the streets? But most importantly, how are we going to make the figure grow, and so fast?" Star asked during a phone conference with Melanie and myself two days ago.

"Bring in more foreigners, what else!" Melanie groaned. I told them this is akin to playing the party newspaper game. You know, have four people stand on a piece of newspaper, and then folding it in half, and smaller half, and smaller half, until the four of you are practically breathing in each other's breaths and can feel each other's awkward hard ons? Yeah, something like that. Except this time, you are smelling odours similar to carcass and you hear the chattering of different accents at a deafening level.

I personally have no problems with foreigners. I have a problem with national identity. And English competency. A country and its identity is carved by its people. And right now, we are losing it, and losing it fast. I am all for foreign talent, but there needs to be a certain restraint in the acceptance of these talents in this country. And our government, bless their "meritocratic" souls, have no idea what restraint is all about. In this country, there is no restraint. Everything is with fervent passion, and not in a good way. But I won't talk much about politics. My mum told me if you are not good at something, don't talk about it. And hell am I awful in politics. If I am a politician my manifesto would be: Eradicate public body odour, English, English, English.

Which brings me to the topic about foreigners and English. Like I said, I have no problem with foreigners, but I have a problem with foreigners who cannot speak English. And granted, if you are a hard labour construction worker, then fine, English is not mandatory. But to employ foreigners in a service line and not being able to speak English, that is just asking for a spit from Melanie. Which was what she did yesterday at 7-Eleven.

We were at 7-Eleven Star buying her usual fix of Green Tea and Lays Sour Cream and Onion, me a Snickers bar and Melanie, her favourite Menthol cigarettes. We were at the counter and Melanie asked the China worker manning the cashier, "Viceroy Menthol Extra Light."

"Men...tos?"

"Huh? Menthol. Thol. MENTHOLLLL."

"Ya, Mentos. There." And she pointed at the rows of Mentos at the lower shelf beside me. Melanie said, "Harry get me five of those. I am going to throw it at her face." I of course said no, and looked at Star who shrugged and said, "She deserves it. Go Mel."

I quickly went over the cashier counter and moved forward and pointed to the cigarette pack in the glass display and said, "How much?"

"Oh, Menthowww. Not clear, she say Mentos."

"CUNT! I SAID MENTHOLLLLLLLLL!!!!"

All I could say was we were two seconds away from a fist fight. Six million people Prime Minister? Melanie wants to have a word with you.