To the BATMOBILE

Sunday, May 03, 2009

help i'm alive!

Few people outside the SAF would understand the agony of having the delightfully enviable choice between getting eaten alive by primordial man-eating mosquitoes and the less-than-gentle burning of army-issue industrial insect repellant (recommended as a cheap and effective form of prisoner interrogation). Thankfully for myself, the Great and Wondrous Butlerman (trademarked), the experience was relatively short-lived... only a matter of 5 soul-sucking days in a desolate camp, where despite the sympathethic allowances of bringing a handphone - Starhub apparently doesn't service jungles (can't imagine why not! Think of the customer base... Surviving orang laut villagers and various supernatural ghosties of malay folklore).

Stranger still, is the fact I seem to be the sole member of the human race (or the last remaining son of the planet Butlertron, sent to Siglap, Earth to serve as its protector cum ill-equipped poster boy - whichever way you look at it) who can emerge from the heatwave equivalent of an SAF operations exercise looking as pale as Edward Cullen after skin bleaching.

Fastforward to today, 4 hours from needing to wake up to head to the godforsaken wastes of Kranji (and I thought Sembawang was bad - the gods make a mockery of my complaints), and as much as I would have liked to bemoan Butlerman's well-exposed social ineptness and history of failure around the opposite sex as encapsulated by a surreal saturday night in Zouk, I rather get some sleep.

TO THE BATMOBILE
and then to Kranji?

posted by butler at 6:15 PM
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Monday, March 23, 2009

to sembawang, then infinity and beyond

Butlerman has had little or no knowledge of what trespassed in the outside world since his introduction into the vomit and lettuce coloured fatigues of the Singapore Armed Forces. While this is nothing new, being force-fed cardboard chicken on a daily basis, and the occasional treat of muddish chocolate, amidst other SAF's worldy pleasures, does tend to alter one's view on the world and the trivialities of hygiene and maintaining a social life.

----

As much as I would like to divulge scandalous, gossip-y material on the varied colourful personalities of his dear company mates (many of whom seem to possess more than one), there are several logical reasons to prevent such a hasty decision from taking place. One being the fact that a generous proportion of them are actually bearable (moreso then some of the people I already know). Two would be the likely outcome of a less-than-pleasurable death-by-parang should one of the more... opinionated members of Mohawk Company stumble across this. Provided they have read this far without succumbing to a brain aneurysm. They too, provide lovely companionship, usually after they've tired of attempting to beat the phone numbers of my female relatives, friends and fans out of me.

Instead I ready myself for the 50-hour long journey through the centre of the Earth, past the uncharted realms of El Dorado, skirting around Timbuktu in the process (not necessarily in order - I've not touched Geography since O-levels), to reach Sembawang to engage in a ~~lifelong~~ 10-week journey of self-discovery and complex material management courses to achieve the lofty heights of becoming a 3rd Sergeant Quartermaster (one assumes that it takes another 30 odd weeks to complete the status of becoming a Master... Geddit geddit? Quartermaster..?). Ewan McGregor, played by Obi-Wan Kenobi who is of Trainspotting fame and the star of many pointless ozone-killing yet extremely cool and sexy motorcycle journeys across various incredible distances and Charley Boorman, famous for being the aforementioned Scotsman's motorcycling companion and otherwise pathetic unknown (it's true!), would be proud of the journey yet to be undertaken.

Until then, as I bemoan my miserably-failed attempts of securing a Singapore Press Holdings Scholarship (Damn you, I can write coherently and logically! Just read the above... Oh fuck), and request for various gifts and messages of condolensces from women worldwide, I need to pack my dirty great fieldpack.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 11:24 PM
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Monday, January 26, 2009

lunar angst

As the great Protector, symbol of courage and hope eternal for all residents of Siglap, Butlerman has officially declared Lunar New Year to be absolute shite.

Editors note: Yes yes, I know I have a tendency to criticize/whine about every holiday or festivity that comes about, but this is entirely justified. I swear.

The traditional financial incentives aside, there's honestly nothing much to look forward to during this forsaken period in time. In roughly 12 hours time, I'd be drinking some soda that might have been flat coke out of a cup that tastes of old people (not in the cannibalistic sense; I'm sure you know what I mean - its a mix between the hospital smell and clothes that have been kept in the cupboard for too long). Then I'd have stale bakkwa forced between my defiant clenched teeth by an old aunty, who despite suffering from the most severe cases of Parkinsons, Alzheimers and various organ failures, is surpisingly strong. Once weakened by the blatant attempts at food poisoning, she will proceed to interrogate me in multiple dialects and languages (in reality a dark and deadly spell that leeches away my youth and vitality for herself to prolong her cursed existence) about my school, how I did for my exams, how the IB system works, my height, and the true meaning of life, despite having told her most of the answers every year before that since I learned to talk.

Having completed my arduous task, and after demanding I perform a lapdance for her with two oranges (something like that, anyway) I'd be rewarded with 2 dollars.

That's not actually the worst part. For if by some miraculous twist of fate that I survive this entire ordeal, I'd still find myself waiting for all my friends to finish collecting their million dollar bounty for being young fresh-faced members of the Chinese race, and counting down the minutes before I get enlisted for National Service to learn how to defend my people.

As if, as Butlerman, I don't already...

TO THE BATMOBILE.

posted by butler at 3:09 AM
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Monday, January 05, 2009

4.55am ramblings

Slightly hungover, throat sore, eyes tearing in protest from unremoved contacts, Butlerman slouches in a surprisingly uncomfortable position in his spoilt computer chair... and waits.

He is, waiting of course, for one of three things to happen -

1) Sexy ladies to burst through his door in minimal clothing,
2) Some inspiration to conjure up a coherent piece of writing that a couple of people would enjoy reading (myself being one, in typical egoistical splendour) - this of course would be facilitated by various muses, hopefully in the form of sexy ladies bursting though the door in the above-mentioned attire, or more likely
3) His aching back and buttock region to dissolve into a soft painful putty-like blob.

Instead, he makes do with the company of Doom and Gloom, unwelcome yet not unexpected guests in the once-beloved superhero's secret hideout. Fresh from witnessing the sound thrashing of his favourite football team, and with the release of the likely catastrophic IBDP results around the corner, there are funerals with bundles of optimism more than the Butler household. And then theres the subsequent fortnight's wait for NS - because every Singaporean male wants to run around the jungle playing Soldiers.

Butlerman would also like to remind fans and friends in a friendly public service announcement that he would likely have to resort to keeping in touch with them via phone - in bid to maintain sanity and ward of encroaching homosexuality. Both of which could be easily addressed by sexy ladies bursting... If only MINDEF would take advice from superheroes.

As the late night becomes early morning, Butlerman stifles a yawn, and conducts a thorough inspection on his rippling muscles in the mirror, and as he readies himself to visit the nonsensical universe of his dreams, he would like to tell Doom and Gloom to go f*ck themselves. But he would probably get beaten up.

TO THE BATMOBILE.

posted by butler at 3:38 AM
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Sunday, December 14, 2008

midnight madness

To the uninitiated, the spiced XXL Chicken from the Cathay's Taiwanese Shilin-or-something-like-that Street Snacks would sound somewhat tantalising. Only the well-experienced culinary veteran would steer well clear of this particular and innocent-looking death trap. Butlerman does not fall under the said category. The consequences are both painful and... painful. Indigestion is never a pretty sight. The ominous growl that follows an unwelcome meal usually heralds the sensation that the Wile E Coyote's decided to test out an Acme rocket that's wedged in your sphincter. Someway or another there is always a detestable old auntie with rotting teeth who always notices your obvious discomfort and cackles in glee as she observes the vultures slowly circle. You're forced into a stumbling gait, in attempt to maximise comfort and gastric stability whilst rushing for the safety of the closest toilet.

The true leading cause of indigestion

Your situation is of course usually worsened by the fact the toilet is in severe disrepair, or populated by man-eating cockroaches, or better yet, you're stuck on a crowded bus. Movement is not recommended, because you're hemmed in by a couple of cosplay gothic Ah Lians, fresh from a night out at Plaza Singapura (only attractive to serial perverts/Ah Bengs) - physical contact will undoubtedly transmit some form of fatal cosplay disease (symptoms include uncontrollable pouting and disproportionately enlarged eyes). In immense pain, and without an avenue of escape, you eventually explode, showering everyone with the remnants of a once-tasty meal and leaving an embarassing smell behind.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the unenviable life of Butlerman, as he steadily navigates his way through the seasonal festivities. It must be said, however, in the wake of the exams that being bored has never felt so good in my life. Since then I've been attempting to cultivate some form of facial hair to the mild amusement of both my parents and a couple of primary school kids in my block who like to giggle at the man-boy with pubic hair on his chin. I take small comfort in the fact, judging by careful observation of his gene pool and current appearances, he be forever condemned to having a fat face. So there. And I hope he gets acne.

This is Siglap's resident superhero Butlerman fighting crime (and boredom), and losing spectacularly.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 5:21 AM
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Monday, October 06, 2008

carrot cakes and objects of less importance

This is a story of a time long ago: a time of myth and legend. When the ancient gods were petty and cruel, and plagued mankind with suffering. Only one man dared to challenge their power: Butlerman! Butlerman possessed a strength the world had never seen, and strength surpassed only by the power of his heart. He journeyed the earth, battling the minions of something or another, such as the all-powerful queen of the gods. But wherever there was evil, wherever an innocent would suffer, there would be... Butlerman!

Adaptedly shamelessly from Kevin Sorbo's only memorable role of Hercules in "Hercules : The Legendary Journeys", once and always a favourite of Siglap's one true hero - myself.

It's been a while since Butlerman graced the pristine halls of the World Wide Web with his crimefighting presence... The masses would be pleased to witness my not-so-dramatic reentry to the world of literary garbage (happened so many times it's become rather embarassing, really.) Reasons aplenty for my disappearance, though it's mostly due to boredom and lethargy induced writer's block - I would like to shoulder the blame on studies but to be frank I haven't really hit the books that often (I'm fiercely opposed to study pugilism - I'm a study pacifist, as you will).

As I decided to sample the culinary delights of the Ngee Ann City (the Orchard Takashimaya to the intellectually challenged), the spectacle of watching my 3.50 carrot cake ("small, black and a bit spicy, my dear woman" were my exact instructions to the disinterested cashier. It sounded alot more appetizing then) being fried left a lot to be desired. I was always under the impression that the Union of Carrot Cake chefs only employed lean, wiry, tattooed survivors of the Japanese Occupation who boast a hearty Yan-can-cook-so-can-you smile. The Smurfette that was entrusted with the divine responsibility of satiating my hunger only proved that the Singapore's vast human resource is still unable to meet up to my high expectations.

Ngee Ann City's resident carrot-cake specialist
(granted, I haven't perfected the art of captioning with this blasted inflexible blogger mechanism)

Hailing from either one of the two possible destinations of the Smurfville or the Philippines (I'm not trying to be racist - she was quite obviously pinoy, albeit with a confusing disposition towards smurf caps and bordering around 4 foot tall), her background seemed to have a taming effect on her cooking. Other chefs tend to assault the poor cake strips with fifty foot-tall flames and wild rodeo shouts - she on the other hand fearfully massaged and stroked my carrot cakes (of the culinary variety I re-emphasis) as I watched on, close to tears out of pity for the carrots whose lives have been severely devalued by this woman's timidity. The resulting consequence of the debacle meant I was left with a plate of carrot cake strips tasting and looking like french fries prior to being deepfried. The upside of all of this is that I've been witness to the entire procedure of cooking carrot cake in psuedo slow-motion. I'm only just waiting for my induction into the earlier mentioned Union ofCarrot Cake chefs.

Until then, and seeing as I have nothing left of interest to write about and waste not-so-valuable internet space with, and my steadily drooping eyelids (out of tiredness, and not of any strange affliction), I bid thee Butlerfans (hence christened at a time immemorial)

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 1:19 AM
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Wednesday, May 21, 2008

public service announcement

You know those double-sided Clean Colour highlighter markers that's been all the stationery rage since the 15th century? You probably do - seeing as you already own at least one in any shade of pink or red (I prefer maroon - speaks of passion yet with an air of sophistication). Ever felt the inexplicable desire to deface the limb or body part (common sense and good taste withstanding) of a friend? Please don't. This comes as a desperate plea to all would be perpetrators after having both arms vandalized - literally painted upon - with said markers.

It wasn't the way which I received it which irked me the most. Admittedly being pinned down by someone with his fully flexed thighs around the facial region is not the most glamorous of all positions I've been in, resembling at the most a pornographic wrestling maneuver. It wasn't the million messages scribbled across my forearms that did me in. No, not in the least the vile lies of "I love Zac Effron" or even the blatantly obvious truth of being labeled "Sexy beast".

Rather its the fact I've spent a good portion of the last 45 minutes in my shower skinning myself with a brush that has the texture and comfort of nail-studded sandpaper attempting to scrub it off. Hannibal Lector would've been proud of the amount of self-inflicted pain I had to undergo.

This has been a deeply personal heartfelt public service announcement delivered by Butlerman himself. He only has your interests at heart. (Editors note: This was written with a vile bitter taste in my mouth due to the immense cheese that much of this article seems to radiate - lack of creativity and the desperation to post something has resulted in thus much).

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 2:14 AM
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