To the BATMOBILE
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Wednesday, December 22, 2004
hey look! its a bird! its a plane! its A FAT RED MAN WITH A BEARD! its A SOUTHAMPTON SUPPORTER! (my father really) we happen to be the only few southampton supporters in singapore. i have facts to back that up. and our faith is slowly fading away after a 5-1 thrashing by 'spurs. bastards. anyway. i have to rush off to lunch at 11. its 10.50 now, so, MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MY FRIENDS. i've allowed more leeway on my selection on friends in a desperate bid to seem as if i have a social life, and therefore the 'friend' criteria is now - YOU MUST AT LEAST HAVE TALKED TO ME THRICE AND I MUST HAVE RESPONDED WITHOUT SWEARING. (hard.. i know) so all you lucky buggers out there should be happy! and now you must work your way up to the 'good friend' catergory. i know you just cant wait. unfortunately, the jump is quite big. very big. very very big. i only have like 8 good friends, from all those 'normal friends' (comon butler, think, think of a big number of friends to impress everybody), yup all 671 'normal friends'. i know, its alot of people arent there. aren't you IMPRESSED? dont answer all the 'gors' and 'jiejies' (the strange teenager blood-brother-sister-mother-father phenomenon i explained earlier in this blog), cos all of you have like tribal clans the size of china's population. this years prezzie budget is low, so i'll just have to send everyone packages of my love... how sweet. unless you happen to get my something, and i'll try and make an effort to repeat the gesture. anyway, strange ramblings aside, merry christmas, and its just 7 more days till we meet (online) again! and the next time you see a message posted by me..... i'll still be here (christmas eve) but after that..... watch out singapore! your idol has come to town. your idol... has come... TO THE BATMOBILE Wednesday, December 15, 2004
its 3 in the afternoon, i'm snug next to a heater in the Cowes (yes thats the town's name) library writing an entry for this pathetic piece of literary excuse for a journal. could it get worse? in 32 mins when my com's session runs out and i'm forced to walk home in a blistering 3 degrees celsius (excluding the sea breeze) in an ecko t-shirt. i have never more felt so loved in my life. my futile smses, certainly not cheap at the cost of around $.50 or (very much hopefully $.40 - it makes alot of difference) have scarcely been replied to despite my ill-disguised attempts to strike up a conversation. you know who you are.... but you aren't reading this. or so i gather. no replies to emails as well. im isolated from society in my very own Alcatraz. is this the end of butlerman? i should certainly think so. be it the end of my (social) life. blasted weather. blasted tagboard. blasted people i know. blasted heating system in my house not working. blasted crone affectionally known as grandma. -if you want to save me aka butlerman please waste 40 cents to msg me a simple message (thats one simple message. i have to pay to recieve as well) or you could just post on the tagboard which occasionally seems to disappear to the bottom right hand side of my blog. bloody wimpy cusspot. other than that, please donate TO THE BATMOBILE Tuesday, December 14, 2004
its roughly 3 in the afternoon, and i'm snug and cosy in the community library wearing off my fingerprints typing on a rock hard keyboard. can life get any worse? after my 1 hour free session it will, when i have to brave 5 degree celsius winds in an ecko t-shirt in a mad rush to get back to my family's freezing tiny flat where it seems as if the heating has broken down. this is my life in england! 8am - attempt to wake up (if i do, i go for a jog in freezing conditions. "to keep myself fit" i kid myself sometimes) 9am - wake up for breakfast (an egg and hot chocolate. ummm yum?) 9:27am - rush to library to check gmail account (martinbutler@gmail.com) only to realise that nobody has mailed me, and slow down to a walk 10.30am - finished trying to amuse myself / com session runs out 11.15am - father rushes everyone to get to lunch "on time" 11.45am - reach pub, doesnt open to 12 and is forced to stand in freezing weather for 15 mins 12pm - stagger into pub 12.02 - has to decide between a tbone steak/ribeye steak/ sunday roast which is beef. all of which are strikingly similiar really. 2pm - stagger back after dessert to house to watch black and white tv (which was borrowed from neighbour) or i come to the library again much to the stares of librarians. that really sums up my "holiday" as it gets dark at 4pm and i cant do much after that. unless i want to get raped and bundled up to South Africa and work as a slave in the dark. so says the granny anyway. this is your BBC correspondent in the UK, freezing to death, slowly, all for the sake of your enjoyment... goodnight. don't give me the cold shoulder now. hahahha. as poor humour sets in, i make my way TO THE BATMOBILE Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Six thirty a.m. in heathrow airport london 9th december. a tall handsome fellow steps out of his private jet into the adulation of a 8,000 strong crowd as their chant his name. "butlerman! butlerman!" with professional sexy strides, and a few waves to the crowd send the 90% crowed-majority of the women swooning. carrying a fashionable cane and in an armani suit, he walks out of the airport- AND OUTTA HIS DREAM. damn. TOMORROW THIS TIME I WILL BE IN THE AIRPORT. WOOHOOOHOOHOHOOHOHOHOHOHO. WILL YA MISS ME. WILL YA MISS ME? but until then. damn. and why is my TAGBOARD NOT BLIMMIN WORKING. i shall not update this junk in england. due to the fact i have no com/tv/anything vaguely resembling an electronic equipment in my spartan 3 room flat in a cosy lil town on an island (same size of singapore with 1/6 the population) south of southampton (i hate repeating that. it sounds GHEYASS strange).... and 1 hour on the internet cafe they have there is 5 pounds. thats FIFTEEN SING DOLLAR. and what does butlerman do in his rented car while in a 5 hour drive from airport? +1 hr ferry ride? PLAY HIS FRIGGIN GAMEBOY. COLOUR. not some newfangled gameboy colour advanced ultimo power. thats old skool for you - and guess what game it is.... -dumdumdum- POKEMON RED AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. IMA HYPOCRITE. all that i have stood for in the last 3 years has gone to waste. the walls are crumbling, my life has no meaning! -what i have revealed today. shall not be talked about under any circumstance. unless you know how to get pikachu. (shudder) "why dont you bring a book"? well. only book in my house i havent re-read over and over again due to fact i just got it is hardcover and quite large. and last time i tried to bring that sorta book there/back, my father just looked at me, swore and scolded me for bringing "half the house" with me. i never lived in a library... (hahahahahah joke joke gettit? book * 2 = library -> sue me). whereas he tugs along his binoculars+camera+bigboots+funkyorangejacket+fadedshipjeans for SHIPSPOTTING. HE'S DOING HIS WORK ON HOLIDAY???? (yes hes in the shipping business). while in england. im gonna run everyday. or rather 3 or 4 times a week to keep fit for rugby. yes. even though its 5 degrees celsius disregarding the wind. STOP LAUGHING. i will do it. sometimes. or i can just stick to pushups/situps. and belly dancing to keep my figuuuureee.. (yes.. its a joke you gay bastard) and now i shall leave you to your misery. no more butlerman for you. not unless its cheaper than 5 pounds/$15. or you pay me to blog overseas as your overseas correspondent for bbc/butlerman blog channel. i leave you now, or rather tmr 12pm (sms me to say goodbye, and i might get you a prezzie!) I LEAVE YOU. TO ENGLAND. (listening to the aptly titled and sung LOTR:ROTK song - Into the West, go dl if you want to see what i mean) TO THE BATMOBILE Saturday, December 04, 2004
somewhere, beneath a certain condominium named "Mandarin Gardens" lies the secret hideout of mankind's saviour... -voopvoopvoopvoopvoop- red alert! to battlestations! red alert! ah, "what is going on" you ask... well... if my sources are correct, a fellow rugby compatriot has just read my blog. this does not bode well indeed. "why?" you may ask. in addition to an already unstable physical state of my body, of which i have an incredibly painful case of tonsilitis where my mouth got many many ulcers with big big sore tonsils and very very muchas muchas pain (muchas muchas = latinoooo heaaaat), having my state of mind bombarded by humiliation is not a good thing. never is. however, considering he is one of the people i would trust with the secrecy of this... -tense drums DUMDUMDUM- SURVIVAL OF HUMAN RACE, my heart calms. but until the future unfolds! i shall be vigilant. and very very much in pain. to battlestations! TO THE BATMOBILE Thursday, December 02, 2004
"and they were dancing, and singing, and moving to the grooving, and just when, it hit me, somebody turned around and shouted 'play the funky music white boy', 'play the funky music RIGHT'" damn that hurt. it always does. today, i've played my worst rugby match in my entire 2 year career. but butlerman is strong! both mentally - and physically. butlerman must pull himself together. butlerman must get stronger! and heavier, taller, muscularer, fitter, skillfuller and other stuff. not that he's not strong, big, muscular, fit, skillful. and single! besides the point really. -to do all this, butlerman must GO OLD-SKOOL! -dj scratches in the background- -whips out nun-chucks and starts whirring them around- yeaah yeaah yeaaaaaaaaaaaah! -more scratching- ICE ICE BABY yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... (vanilla ice - ice ice baby) strange funky 20th century hiphop aside, i have to confess. my life... is in TURMOIL. "f**k theatrics, you ain't no actress" (2 live crew - hoochie mama) im not lying! and i'm no ho faking an orgasm! well i'm no ho anyway. however my trip to UK is ON BABY! ON! 8-29! ON! UK! and i'm going to watch 2 live EPL matches! (everybody gasps in envy) southampton vs charlton! and southampton vs middlesbrough! (everyone walks away - bastards) FANS STILL TO THE END! MORTAAAAAAAL KOMBAAAT! -mortal kombat theme starts- bring it charlton & middlesbrough! -does strange Neo hand taunting 'bring-it' thing- -going crazy- and before i hit 'delusional' on the crazed scale, if i already haven't, i shall leave you with this ending tune -spins cd- can't touch this... dumdumdumdum... can't touch this.... -curtains close onTO 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
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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 
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