Sunday, October 27, 2013

25 Ways To Deal With A "Fat" Friend

We all have that one skinny friend who goes on and on about how fat they are, with total disregard of more genuinely bigger sized friends in the same group.

1% of the time, it is a real mental problem (body image issues bla bla bla). 99% of the time, it's just to seek for attention and have someone coo and tell them otherwise.

Well fuck you skinny twig bitches. Here's a list of what we can do to combat aforementioned attention seekers.

1. They should be treated like ducks in the process of making foie gras; force fed with a garage.

2. Slap them on both cheeks with a double cheeseburger.

3. Backhand them on their "fat" skull with a weighing scale. Repeatedly.

4. Have someone really fat sit on their stomach till they involuntarily excrete.

5. Deny them food for two weeks. After which they will die and tadaa! One less annoying person to handle.

6. Substitute their spaghetti with Spanx.

7. Smash their heads on a slimming mirror.

8. Sign them up involuntarily to a medical facility that deals with chronic bulimia and anorexia.

9. Ask them to consume copious amounts of Slim 10. If their liver fails, go and visit them in the hospital and laugh, "Pierre Png already gave one of his liver away muahahaha!"

10. Ignore.

11. Good them further by reconfirming that yes, they are fat.

12. Tag them on Facebook with a picture of a pregnant cow and caption it, "You".

13. When you go to the zoo together, point to the hippopotamus and loudly scream, "Oh my god your folks are here too!"

14. If possible, oven them. Tell the police afterwards that all you wanted to do was to "help them burn the calories".

15. Play a game of dodgeball with them but instead of a regular ball, pour liquid lard into a plastic bag and tie that shit up.

16. At McDonalds, take away their Big Mac and give them only the lettuce and pickles saying that "it's for the better".

17. Stop being friends with them because you "only make friends with skinny people".

18. Tie them up to a fat person for a day just to fuck up their social life.

19. For their birthday, instead of a birthday cake, buy a loaf of who meal bread and a few candles.

20. During dinner gatherings just tell the waiter, "Only plain water for him/her".

21. Blindfold them, tie them up to a chair and repeatedly hit them with a crispy KFC drumlet.

22. Go to their house and secretly install a "Fat Cam" and upload it on YouTube.

23. Roll your eyes when they say "I'm fat!". After that mutter audibly behind them, "Fuck off." Screw it. You don't need that kind of friendship.

24. Instead of a kinky dildo birthday gift give her a zucchini instead.

25. Ask her/him to read this list.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

The Annoying List

In conjunction with Taylor Swift's annoying 22 hit song, here are 22 annoying things that I have graciously listed down.

1. Body odour in public transportation. If you're not going to take a shower in the morning, you're most definitely not welcomed on public transportation.

2. Excessively negative people. And it's worst if it's attention seeking. Like I would gladly push you off a cliff to end your "misery".

3. Parents who bring babies to movie theaters thinking that the loud sound system would not startle their baby and making them wail. Throughout the movie. Cause common sense is overrated.

4. Sales assistants who say, "It's all there". Well if I found what I wanted, I wouldn't be asking you in the first place would I?

5. Wet cutleries at foodcourts. Is my dish more delicious with a generous sprinkle of tap water or what?

6. People who jut their legs on the seat in front of them. I'm not interested in a free back rub thank you very fucking much.

7. Faulty elevators. Why? Why? Why? I pay my taxes. I have every right to be a selfish lazy bastard if I want to.

8. Soup served cold. Reheat and repeat please thank you very much.

9. Persistent flyer distributors. Stop following me, I am not interested in a $38 Thai body massage.

10. ATMs only capable of dispensing $50 notes. The death of me.

11. People who wear glasses without the lenses. Hello? Stupidity also got limit okay?

12. Beliebers.

13. Mediacorp Channel 5. I know it's a free to air channel but we've seen Con Air and Face Off on your channel a grand total of 897215309827314576 times.

14. Taxis that don't accept NETS as a form of payment. GET ON WITH THE PROGRAM.

15. Starbucks on weekdays. If I had wanted to see a whole lot of people studying, I would go to a library. Fuck off.

16. The Last Page on 8Days. Uninspiring, unfunny and absolutely unreadable.

17. Unresponsive EZLINK card readers.

18. Homework. But then again I'm Malay and we're naturally lazy.

19. Jennifer Aniston.

20. Weak Public Wifi. Nothing sets me off than being on Wifi weaker than Amanda Byne's level of sanity.

21. Price tags that don't peel off clearly.

22. The audience in every of The Ellen DeGenerees show. Were they fed with ecstasy before the show or what? Ridiculously happy people are very dodgy.

Halloween Horror Night

To be honest, I've never thought highly of the Halloween Horror Night in Sentosa's Universal Studios (3rd year running now) and was more than ready to dismiss it as another run of the mill costume party, albeit with a giganormous budget and an elaborate publicity campaign.

So off I went, on the 12th of October 2013 (and that too upon much coercing and incessant begging from Star, Melanie and Steve) to the Halloween Horror Night 2013 at the Universal Studios, Singapore (armed with an express ticket of course at an additional sixty bucks because I wasn't interested to wait for hours to get inside a fucking haunted house).

Let's talk about the Haunted Trails. This area is filled with talents (and not so talented) dressed up as ghosts and ghouls and their main job is to scare the crap out of visitors and to indiscriminately be in hundreds of photos taken from and with ticket buyers.

Some were really into character and tried their level best to scare people and some are generally bad "actors", just writhing meekly in corners.

"In five minutes, I can writhe better while being tied up in bed and with my eyes closed than these girls can in their entire lives," Star said at one point, loudly to one of the poor girls at the entrance of the first Haunted Trail. She was dressed as this bloodied Victorian vampire.

First up was Vampires and I groaned and rolled my eyes. See, I grew up with an insufferable fear for Pocongs, Pontianaks, Toyols, Hantu Teteks, Hantu Galas, Pelesits, Penunggus, Hantu Rayas, Penanggals and the likes of it.

Vampires? Not so much. It has and will always be a Western concept for me. And in truth, they don't scare me at all. Show me a bloodsucking vampire and I'll show you a Malay housewife who sucks more than her husband's blood; and that too on a daily basis.

The next trail was The Covenant Of Evil, or something like that and it was filled with witches and shamans and again, boring. The only way I can be reduced to tears is if there is a Bomoh somewhere performing a real exorcism right there in front of everyone. Hey, go big or go home.

There was also a Haunted Jungle trail filled with sweaty bare bodied men posing as some kind of animal spirit and Steve was like, "Oooh, I would lick that sweaty body dry" and that that pretty much sums up the level of sex, I mean, scariness that trail had to offer.

Never change Steve, never change.

The last trail we went was filled with Pocongs (wrapped corpse ghosts) and Pontianaks (female ghosts who dies during childbirth) and it was a feeble homage to the Asian folklore and I was like, "Okay, now we're talking". There is something about coming face to face with the horror that you grew up with that really hits home.

I've always been terrified (and make no qualms or effort to conceal that fact) of Pocongs. It is possibly the only type of ghost that I am terrified of. I have no idea why but for some reason, it just scares the shit out of me.

And so Steve and I, hand in hand (please bear in mind that these are tow fully grown man holding each other's hands in public), walked slowly into the trail.

There were about 8 to 10 of these Pocongs lined by the side of the bridge and in the darkness of the night, we couldn't tell which is real and which is just a mannequin. About 20 people have walked past them in front of us and after three minutes to no movement, we both concluded that those were in fact, just mannequins. I mean, which talent in their right mind would want to be wrapped from head to toe throughout the entire night?

And then three of the Pocongs hopped.

"Fuccccccccckkkkkkk!!!!!! It moved! It moved! It moved! It moved!" I kept screaming and running; Steve equally hysterical. Star and Melissa were nowhere to be found and when we stumbled upon them about 50 metres ahead, hand in hand, Star sharply said, "You look like to gay men running away from a Catholic clergyman with a machete in his hand. Stop embarrassing me!"

"The Pocongs moved, it hopped! It was real!" Steve spoke between breaths, still clutching my hand.

"Shut up faggots," Melanie hushed.

The rest of the night was more fun because after that damn Pocong incident, Steve and I became jumpy with every passing moment and the Haunted House became an abyss of "Stop it!", "Oh my god!", "Fuck you!", "No!" and god knows how many shrieks and screams. Many times I found myself screaming at random staffs just working there as ushers in The Haunted Houses.

All while holding Steve's hands.

Halfway through the third Haunted House Melanie said, "Let's just go for the rides. I'm tired of you two ass lickers screaming at everything and anything!"

Porn And Her Dough Of Bread

24 hours.

That is all you have for your birthday. In that 24 hours, you are at the liberty to do anything you please and 75% of the time, someone else is going to pay for you. In that 24 hours, you are allowed to shamelessly ask any random stranger to wish you a "Happy Birthday" and 92% of the time, they will. In that 24 hours, you are allowed to be obnoxious and ask for a gift from any of your friends and 68% of the time you will get the gift.

This 24 hours is yours and yours to exploit.

I've never been the kind of guy to celebrate birthdays with much pomp but this year is an exception. This year, I decided that for my birthday, I would like to get out of the country and not be reminded that there is so much a middle class person like myself can afford to celebrate.

That means you go to any country where the currency is much weaker than the Singapore Dollar. Middle-class problem, solved!

Having a birthdate in October also means that it is the monsoon season in every South East Asian country (where the currency is much weaker than the Singapore Dollars thank you very much). But I wasn't prepared for the kind of weather that greeted me in Krabi on the eve of my birthday.

The rain was torrential and the whole trip there was wetter than Miley Cyrus' vagina after writhing on top of a wrecking ball. I practically spent my holiday there with an umbrella in hand and a scowl on my face.

But never one to excessively complain (especially during a holiday because that would be fucking annoying), I made a decision to enjoy my holiday by doing things indoors instead.

So I treated my body like a Play-doh and went for a body massage for two days straight and by the second day, my body was so relaxed that if you pushed me by accident, I would fall on the floor and immediately fall asleep on the floor.

Oh boy was the massage good. As it is with Thailand, you can't make out the women from the woah-men. On the second day, my masseuse, or "massage therapists" as they are popularly known nowadays, was this pretty girl in her mid twenties by the name of Porn. Please, don't start.

She spoke in an almost inaudible whisper and it wasn't until I laid down and saw her Adam's apple that I knew that Porn is actually a man. By then, it was already too late. I was already fully naked with the exception of a see through disposable underwear hanging precariously on my hips.

Nowhere to hide.

Her quiet, almost shy demeanor quickly evaporated when she started kneading my back like a dough of bread. Porn is biologically still a man and the brute strength was evident in her massage.

The food in Krabi, Thailand, as expected was exceedingly delicious. There was surprisingly a great number of Italian restaurants that could be found in Krabi. I had a ball of a time slurping copious amount of spicy, intestine damaging Tom Yum Goong, made more delicious and enjoyable against the cool, wet weather for the entire duration of my trip.

But back to the massage story.

"I bet Melanie would make an excellent transsexual masseuse in Krabi," Star Whatsapped me yesterday right after I regaled to her my slightly uncomfortable messaging incident in a group chat consisting of the usual suspects.

"And Star would make a good whore. Oh wait, you already are a whore," Melanie texted back in retaliation.

And with that, I was transported back home immediately.

Thailand though. Everyone was warm and genuine and it more than made up for the fucking shitty weather. It doesn't hurt either that I stayed in a villa and is equipped with a balcony that is directly facing the sea.

Something a middle class like myself would never ever afford in this god forsaken country.