Do you have that one friend who is bitchy as hell and doesn't keep her bitchy comments inside her head but chooses to offend everyone around them instead?
Well I have two.
See, Star has this pet peeve about men carrying their girlfriend's handbags. "Why would I spend three thousand bucks on a Celine tote and make my boyfriend carry it around with him? I don't want people to think that I have an anal astronaut as a boyfriend!" Star would always rationalize. Just now during lunch, as she was busy scrolling through her Instagram, our peaceful (and this rarely happens) lunch was suddenly interrupted by a shrilly "Eeeuw!"
"Did someone post a picture of his penis Star?" Melanie asked casually.
"Worse! Look at this!" Star said, showing the picture on her phone to Melanie and myself. It was a picture by "Cla@ire" and it was a picture of this beefy man carrying about fifteen paper bags and a shocking pink Balenciaga bag. The caption read:
"My strong baby! <3 So sweet of him to carry everything. See, even my handbag! Sharing of "burden", he says. Awww. I love my boyfie!"
"Fucking hell. If he is so keen on sharing her burden, why don't he wear her sanitary pads too when she is having her menses?" Melanie retorted.
"Right?!" Star exclaimed, eyes widening. "I don't understand women who insists on their boyfriend carrying their hand bags for them. I mean if its shopping bags, fair enough, what is the use of having a man around if he cannot do the heavy duty. But this is a shocking pink Balenciaga. It is an accessory, an extension of what we women wear. And for fuck's sake, it's not even unisex looking. That is not romantic bitch. Disgusting. And look at that smug smile on his face, like he is some knight in shining armour!" Star recoiled with a pained expression on her face.
"A knight in shining armour, with a shocking pink Balenciaga shield", I added.
"I want to snatch the bag and use it to beat the crap out of his face", Melanie muttered under her breath.
"And you all know how Claire is such a fucking showoff. You should see her Facebook. Oh my boyfriend this, my boyfriend that. Oh my boyfriend picked me up at work today, how thoughtful. Oh my boyfriend took me out for dinner, how sweet of him. Bla, bla, bla. She sure does talk a lot for someone who doesn't have any tits!" Star huffed, exasperated.
"What has the size of her boobs got to do with her being annoying?" I asked.
"Oh I don't know Harry! She is just annoying, and back in school she used to stuff her bra with tissue paper. I don't even know why she needs a bra in the first place. She was and still is flat chested. Back then we used to call he Plankie."
"That is so...random Star", Melanie laughed. I asked Star why does she follow Claire on Instagram and Facebook then if she is so annoying.
"It's a girl thing Harry", Melanie replied.
"Oh and you would know Mel? You grew up playing basketball and wrestling with other boys", I teased. To which Melanie replied, "Don't make me force you to carry my Chloé Marcie in bright orange. You know in Malaysia what they say about men who carry ladies handbags right? And I don't use to wrestle. I just grope. And. Fuck you."
Across me Star was busy typing on her iPhone. "What are you typing?" I asked. She showed me her phone. Star commented on the picture:
"Does your boyfriend mind to carry my Celine tote too? I could do with a little help sometimes. He does look like he could work a gorgeous ladies bag. Lol!"
Girls.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
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.
"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.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
At Your Cervix
My favourite comedienne is Joan Rivers and she has famously joked in many of her stand up routine about bravery and the trip to the gynecologist:
"I'll tell you what bravery is. You give a man a helmet and a gun, that is not bravery. You give a man a bazooka and a tank, that is not bravery. I shall tell you what bravery really is. Bravery is every single woman in this theatre who makes an appointment with their gynecologist, AND TO SHOW UP! That's bravery!"
"It's true though. Going to the gynecologist is one of the most mortifying things you can ever imagine a woman going through," Star said during one of our lunches last week.
"Why do you go to the gynecologist? To check if one of the men you slept with left his watch inside your vagina? Haha!" Melanie joked.
"You have no idea what a NATURAL vagina can store Mel," Star snapped, obviously taking a dig at Melanie's man made lady bits. Full of puns, that is Star for you. Melanie showed Star her middle finger. "I can take that in too. Make that five!" Star smiled, sarcastically.
"Girls, stop. We are in a restaurant. People are judging you. You're not in a whorehouse", I hushed them. Melanie smiled sheepishly and told me that it was the first time I called her "girl" and she flicked her hair and adjusted her dress and softly said, "Yes Star my love, you were saying something? Hmm?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Where was I? Yes. Every single time without fail, my gynecologist would always raise his voice in frustration at me going, 'Relax! Relax!'. I am lying on my back. My legs are up on the stirrups. My vagina is in his face, the door is opening in and out and you expect my vagina to relax?! My vagina is in shock!"
At this point of time a couple of middled aged women sitting on the table beside ours started staring at the three of us. I'm looking down and I'm praying fervently that the floor would open and take me in there and then. Oh, but that's not the worse thing that came out of her mouth. Star continued, "I mean, I barely know my gynecologist and he is asking my vagina to relax? Hell no. I mean, I sleep with random strangers like a dirty slut that I am but usually alcohol is involved. My gynecologist is not even cute. This scraggly old man, I wonder what his wife thinks of him and his profession, staring, talking and probing at pussies all day long", Star said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
"Why didn't you request for a female gynecologist then? I wouldn't feel comfortable if my gynecologist is of the opposite sex. It feels...intrusive." Melanie griped.
"Opposite sex, Mel? Wow, you're absolutely confusing me now with the gender irony", I joked. She took my bread knife and pointed it towards me, silently mouthing, "Shut...up."
"No I feel like male gynecologists are more gentle to your privates", Star explained. "I think with female gynecologists, because they know how much we can take in, they become this vicious and vile pussy explorers. The female gynecologist before this literally fisted me at every single visit. I feel like one of those Japanese schoolgirl porn actresses squealing in pain, except this time, the pain is real!" Star sighed loudly.
One of the ladies sitting beside us gasped in shock and I don't know what came over me but I started laughing uncontrollably. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and Star kept ribbing me to stop. "Harry stop! You're embarrassing me!" Melanie just got up from the table and said, "I need to go to the ladies. I don't know how many times I have to handle this...thing with the both of you. How can a conversation about Joan Rivers end up be about fisting?"
Star texted me later that night asking whether Melanie really did go to the ladies after that or she just chucked herself quietly in the disabled toilet, a habit she inculcated during the transformative years from being Melvin to Melanie. I texted Star saying it's the least of her concerns. Choosing the gender of her gynecologist is. And one that doesn't fist.
Star texted back: "Ur a sick fuck. Nights."
"I'll tell you what bravery is. You give a man a helmet and a gun, that is not bravery. You give a man a bazooka and a tank, that is not bravery. I shall tell you what bravery really is. Bravery is every single woman in this theatre who makes an appointment with their gynecologist, AND TO SHOW UP! That's bravery!"
"It's true though. Going to the gynecologist is one of the most mortifying things you can ever imagine a woman going through," Star said during one of our lunches last week.
"Why do you go to the gynecologist? To check if one of the men you slept with left his watch inside your vagina? Haha!" Melanie joked.
"You have no idea what a NATURAL vagina can store Mel," Star snapped, obviously taking a dig at Melanie's man made lady bits. Full of puns, that is Star for you. Melanie showed Star her middle finger. "I can take that in too. Make that five!" Star smiled, sarcastically.
"Girls, stop. We are in a restaurant. People are judging you. You're not in a whorehouse", I hushed them. Melanie smiled sheepishly and told me that it was the first time I called her "girl" and she flicked her hair and adjusted her dress and softly said, "Yes Star my love, you were saying something? Hmm?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Where was I? Yes. Every single time without fail, my gynecologist would always raise his voice in frustration at me going, 'Relax! Relax!'. I am lying on my back. My legs are up on the stirrups. My vagina is in his face, the door is opening in and out and you expect my vagina to relax?! My vagina is in shock!"
At this point of time a couple of middled aged women sitting on the table beside ours started staring at the three of us. I'm looking down and I'm praying fervently that the floor would open and take me in there and then. Oh, but that's not the worse thing that came out of her mouth. Star continued, "I mean, I barely know my gynecologist and he is asking my vagina to relax? Hell no. I mean, I sleep with random strangers like a dirty slut that I am but usually alcohol is involved. My gynecologist is not even cute. This scraggly old man, I wonder what his wife thinks of him and his profession, staring, talking and probing at pussies all day long", Star said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
"Why didn't you request for a female gynecologist then? I wouldn't feel comfortable if my gynecologist is of the opposite sex. It feels...intrusive." Melanie griped.
"Opposite sex, Mel? Wow, you're absolutely confusing me now with the gender irony", I joked. She took my bread knife and pointed it towards me, silently mouthing, "Shut...up."
"No I feel like male gynecologists are more gentle to your privates", Star explained. "I think with female gynecologists, because they know how much we can take in, they become this vicious and vile pussy explorers. The female gynecologist before this literally fisted me at every single visit. I feel like one of those Japanese schoolgirl porn actresses squealing in pain, except this time, the pain is real!" Star sighed loudly.
One of the ladies sitting beside us gasped in shock and I don't know what came over me but I started laughing uncontrollably. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and Star kept ribbing me to stop. "Harry stop! You're embarrassing me!" Melanie just got up from the table and said, "I need to go to the ladies. I don't know how many times I have to handle this...thing with the both of you. How can a conversation about Joan Rivers end up be about fisting?"
Star texted me later that night asking whether Melanie really did go to the ladies after that or she just chucked herself quietly in the disabled toilet, a habit she inculcated during the transformative years from being Melvin to Melanie. I texted Star saying it's the least of her concerns. Choosing the gender of her gynecologist is. And one that doesn't fist.
Star texted back: "Ur a sick fuck. Nights."
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
An Open Letter
Dear Singaporean Smellies,
I can't do it. I can't do it anymore. I can't go inside an MRT cabin at any given time of the day and be assaulted by your offensive body odour. It is so offensive, inhalant abusers are looking at you and going, "Damn, you smell."
I don't get it. In what parallel universe do you come from where it is impossible for you to buy a cheap deodorant to wear every morning before going to work? Screw perfume, a bath maybe? Why would you be seen outside smelling of garbage? I am asking a lot of questions because I am baffled, baffled beyond comprehension. I took a short trip to Cold Storage across the road and in a state of utter helplessness, I started counting the different brands of deodorants that are available in the market.
47. There are 47 different brands of deodorants out there in the market. 40 fucking 7. There is an entire section for it called Personal Care. You won't miss it. It's usually right after the aisles selling cat food and kitchen wipes. You're telling me that for every single time you make a trip to Cold Storage, you just waltz by the Personal Care aisle and not get something for yourself to use every morning?
And there are those of you who totally skip the bathing routine altogether. I stand next to you and I can see a pillow mark on your dirty face and yet I STILL have to inhale the scent of yesterday's drool on you. What did I do to deserve this kind of fuckery? Why would anyone in the right mind skip bathing in the first place? The government has spent millions of dollars converting shit water into drinkable, bathing worthy water and you decided to be a real asshole by smelling like shit and not utilize the breakthrough technology? Well shame on you. They should reverse osmosis you instead and maybe, just maybe, after it all we would get a cleaner, fresher version of yourself.
It is a pandemic. Foreign workers doing hard labour, I forgive them. They have been in the sun for far too long and the smell that comes with it is with reasoning. You, in that executive wear, sitting in an air conditioned office the entire day, and you smell like the insides of Kim Kardashian's pussy, what's up with that? And it's only 8 am in the morning. You have yet to reach work! This is beyond me! How do you get laid with that smell? What kind of animals are you attracting with that beastly scent?
I am reminding you again, 47 different brands and scents. You can play Pick The Deodorant game for all I care. But the next time you walk down the aisle, you HAVE to pick one of it and remember to wear it ever morning AFTER you shower. I can't stress personal hygiene enough. If I am a politician, I will, oh hell if I am a politician, I will charge you with treason and have you deported. And we will see which country will accept an executive who has never gotten laid nor is productive at work and has a scent similar to a dead rat. China probably. And they eat rats there. Hah!
Warmest Regards
Harry
Monday, September 24, 2012
Cold Dinner
Our lives are heavily dictated by social media and the fact of the matter is, it will only worsen as we progress on in our lives. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Path, Tumblr, YouTube, Skype and what have you. Every single aspect of our lives is glorified and technologically enriched by social media, one way or another. Relationships, events, food, birthdays and anniversaries, music, entertainment; there is something, for anything.
Many complain about the death of the human touch and the decline of EQ among the younger generation but one thing is for sure; social media is here to stay and damn is it addictive! I personally try to strike a balance but the appeal of social media is not, or shall I say, never, be lost on me. Star and Melanie however are obsessed with it. They have everything; Facebook, Twitter, Skype, MSN, Instagram etc. They each have their own favorite social media; Star Instagram and Melanie Twitter.
Every single one of us have our very own obsession. It's crazy, irrational and it consumes us. But when your obsession is social media, things get messy. Things like dinner. Earlier on, I had dinner with Star and Melanie and only today have i felt the imposing nature of social media. Here was what happened (and could potentially happen again if Star and Melanie's iPhones are not flushed won the toilet anytime soon):
Star: Guys, when the food arrive later, please don't eat it first? I want to take a picture and put it on Insta.
Harry: What is that?
S: Instagram.
H: But I'm hungry Star.
S: It won't take a minute!
H: But you will retake the picture twenty times. That's twenty minutes.
Melanie: Harry where are we?
S: Can't you just wait for awhile Harry?
H: Whose question do I answer first?
M: Mine. I'm already on Twitter.
H: What has the restaurant name got to do with Twitter?
M: Why are you answering my question with a question? I want to check in on Twitter.
H: And let everybody know where we are at this point of time?
M: Yes
H: Why?
M: Just because.
H: Aren't you afraid of being stalked and raped in an alley on the way back Mel?
M: At this point of time, I am begging to be raped. WHAT IS THE NAME OF THIS RESTAURANT?!
H: I don't know.
M: You're such a f...forget it! Found it.
(Food Arrives)
S: HANDS OFF THE TABLE! (banging table top)
H: I feel like I'm in a monastery, sharing a table with two cunts, I mean, nuns.
S: Harry can you shift your plate a bit more to the right where there's a bit more light?
H: The shadow of your tits is eclipsing the entire table. Should I carry my food on my head instead?
M: What shall I type on Twitter? "Dinner with Besties" or just "Dinner!!!" Wait, Harry, you don't have a Twitter account do you?
S: No he doesn't and he won't have his balls too if he doesn't stand up for a while for me to take a picture of his food. Harry, stand!
H: Star, my food is getting cold.
S: And so are my nipples. Do you see me complaining?
M: Ohmygod Star you're not wearing a bra?! Haha, that's hilarious, I'm so gonna tweet that.
S: And tell your followers I'm not wearing any underwear either!
H: That's...okay...wow. I'm speechless.
S: Harry which is nicest? In Hefe, Valencia or Brannan?
H: I just want to eat my food.
M: Star you heard of this Instagram joke? "Oh you're a model? What's your agency? Instagram?"
S: Haha, too funny! I'm so gonna Facebook status that!
....you get the drift.
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