To the BATMOBILE
|
Saturday, November 21, 2009
40 minutes of duty left to go, and whilst attempting to find a quote from Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere for his sister, Butlerman stumbles across this - and has 3 points to make. "Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up a whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love" The character "Rose Walker" in The Sandman #65 1) Butlerman would trade his left testicle/soul to write like that. 2) Grand sweeping statements seem that much cooler when it rings true. 3) It's easy to jump to conclusions when a reader stumbles across something like this on this blog. Don't. 32 minutes left to go. TO THE BATMOBILE. Friday, November 20, 2009
After 2 cans of teeth-rotting Coke (totalling 1000 ladles of sugar), and a lifetime's worth of Bejeweled Blitz, Typing Maniac and Word Challenge, Butlerman finds himself with 8 hours left of SAF duty before his blessed release back into civilisation. And reminds himself to get an iPod before the next dreaded shift, for fear of being driven insane by the melodramatic squeals of the countless Channel 8 serials that the other duty personnel survive on... The will is strong... The will is strong! TO THE BATMOBILE Monday, October 26, 2009
It lives again! Not the title hopes of Liverpool FC after an against-the-odds victory over the league leaders (because frankly, nobody reads this pile of dribble for sports news. Nobody reads this pile of dribble - period), but rather totheBatmobile, the biggest waste of Internet bandwidth since the birth of Christ. This is actually a modest self-appraisal by the author himself - after noticing Photobucket could not spare 82kb worth of memory to keep the background to this tripe sustained. As a form of literary Hors d'œuvre for those new to the Batmobile experience, this blog has the moral depth of a baby's wading pool, and rarely, if ever, approaches anything vaguely intellectual. Instead Butlerman, Siglap and quite possibly Singapore's Where does it all go wrong? What strange phenomena takes place which renders a fine physical specimen with wit and charm to boot incalculably helpless to any good-looking female? With the help of leading scientists, Butlerman undergoes a systematic dissection of his latest failure (his attempts are few and far between, for the information of the general populace). Butlerman usually adopts a calm and aloof demeanor in any nightclub, adamant that the night's not going to be a good night (Black Eyed Peas be damned), and so cuts his losses as soon as possible. Nose in the air, he patrols the ground, condemning all the desperate long-sleeved bespectacled guys or bald new National Service enlistees to lifelong virginity and cold lonely bachelorhood. Tip-toeing around vomit, or dragging his shoes through sticky spilt alcohol mixes, he tries to ignore the few cool/beautiful ladies. Some guys may find this familiar (I can't be the only crazy person in this world). Sun Tze probably once said "Nothing spoils your plan more than sexy lady who smiles at you", and he actually made sense. Because then you smile back - and the night's over. You force yourself outside under the moonlight, where surrounded by the unforgiving eyes of your fellows, you commit seppuku. Neil Strauss, famed author of the Or you compound the mistake by staying. Maybe she actually meant to smile at you. She could not possibly be drunk (it's only 2am in a club! Impossible!). She's talking to another guy - likely to be a muscle-bound California Fitness trainer boyfriend. There she goes! Knew you were over-reacting. Nice song this- She's back! She's back! Good Lord she's smiled again. Perhaps an introduction is in order? After this song - you're not ready. She doesn't look ready. What do you say? What would she say in return?... By which time, either nothing happen, she introduces herself first (after you suspect she's acknowledged that you're actually gay or a coward), or the club closes. No matter what, all the king's horse and all the king's men, could not put this back together again. To further complete the misery, you blog about it so the 4 people that read it can erase all semblances of your remaining dignity. Sleep beckons - the solution to the above problem will have to wait. Any more delays and with Butlerman's lack of required sleep for the day ahead in the army, the SAF's fighting capabilities will be severely compromised. The rest of the world would immediately pounce, invading via an assortment of bicycles, tanks, submarines, flying saucers and tuk-tuks, and school children will be singing Glory to Syonan-To once again. TO THE BATMOBILE Disclaimer: The author would like to stress that he read The Game for mere entertainment purposes, because there was no other reading material available. Dead-honest. Sunday, May 03, 2009
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? Monday, March 23, 2009
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 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 Monday, January 26, 2009
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. Monday, January 05, 2009
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. |
The Writer
highly confidential Martin Butler, or affectionally known to others as "Butler", "Butlerman", or just "Butt". -Most eligible bachelor of 2004-every year henceforth - step aside Mr.Clooney -Doesn't particularly enjoy much anymore having been desensitized as part of a cruel torturous regime a.k.a IB... -Dislikes everything he doesn't like... Nov 8th - Remember the date! MSN - butlerwantsu@hotmail.com (Add with caution) Archives
November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 April 2007 September 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 October 2008 December 2008 January 2009 March 2009 May 2009 October 2009 November 2009 Links
Under permanent state of reconstruction - you may start by asking me to link you If I have forgotten anybody (or maybe I just don't know enough people...), let me know Blogger Yahoo! MSN Photobucket the Garage cum Batforum
a tense atmosphere of hot air, greasy stains and the endless grumbles of the engine - and that's only me 
|
|
Designed by mela | Image from stock.xchng
|
|
