As I sit here, slowly decomposing in my extremely comfortable brand new -leather- chair, I must admit, the thought of being left alone in Singapore does not bode well indeed.

With the advent of the holidays (or rather, the ending of the exams), I've unleashed my inner child and to quote James "King of Soul" Brown (claims the New Paper, if anything they say is true) -

"Fellas, I'm ready to get up and do my thing,
I want to get into it, man, you know
Like a, like a sex machine man,
Movin' and doin' it, you know"

However, within 3 days, my dearly departing friends (hopefully not within the context of dying) with whom I "did my thing" (thankfully without sexual context) will be abandoning me to face the horrors of rugby training. Fine - leave me! I'll still have my dog.

Ah Owen (the dog)... possibly the only sane member of the Butler household. (My father's perpetually drunk, my mum is into gambling, my sister got 8 points for her O's and went to CJC, and I'm just plain sexy) However the disturbing thing is, my dog is slowly succumbing to the pressure of becoming like my father. Not a pretty sight. The urban legend of "Like Owner Like Pet" actually applies.

Owen is - getting old, bald, fat, and rapidly becoming addicted to Tiger Beer, and has the disturbing habit of peeking up ladies skirts (my father does this less often - he has a habit of flirting with my friends that I bring round, regardless of gender. Not to say hes homosexual, rather, he cracks lewd jokes)... Take caution all females if you see a bald red-faced bearded ang moh walking to you with bad fashion sense (he has the tendency to wear a horizontally striped blue t-shirt with a huge anchor on it, with faded red shorts. No Dad - you do not look like anything remotely out "Popeye the Sailorman") or a rabid thigh-height ankle-snapping mongrel dragging me or my Dad, if you ever stray near Mandarin Gardens. They're (both Father and Pet) otherwise docile.

I've just been informed that more then 300 people have visited my blog! Everyone join in and applaud the 10 people who actually bothered to visit this site for about 30 or so times! Well done! That made my day.

Another fun-filled, adrenaline-pumping day has passed for everybody's favourite hero, and I shall end off by wishing all my friends (Judas') out there a safe journey and Yi Shyen a happy birthday in advance, provided I forget to congratulate him on the actual date.

TO THE BATMOBILE and the lounge (wow! a.k.a. living room) to watch CSI

Today has not been a good day. neither was yesterday. and tomorrow doesn't seem so bright and cheery... No no no, it's not the exams. I was kind of expecting to fail social studies, e maths, physics, and chem (note: not a. math nor chinese! woo).

Failings not so bad really, not when you have something else to fall back upon. As it seems, I'm neither the big pimp nor the scholarly ace. Now, if that's the (sad) case, what the hell do I have!?

1) Not very good grades
2) No girlfriend
3) Little or none girl friends
4) A massive headache
5) Hot body

Number 2 to me, is rather the most pressing problem. Despite the fact my friends have reassured me "It's not that important, lah", they more or less carry on within the same sentence "though my girlfriend is the best person in the world" (well I never... She ain't no superhero like I am!). Nah, not that reassuring. I've more or less been doomed to die a bachelor (despite my overall good looks and wonderful personality).

Never one for good pick-up lines, I have never been able to surpass the "Wow! A Zara plastic bag - I've always wanted one like that. Anyway, how do you do? I'm Butler" standard. Which to be frank, ain't gonna get me a girlfriend anytime soon.

Then again, it's not as if I don't have someone in mind. ("She's the one" to quote Robbie Williams). Though before I confess of any affection (well, I sort of did in november, last year. probably did something wrong), I've more or less been dealt the killing blow as she confesses to having sorted out a relationship with someone else, whereby mutual feelings are concerned. Oh the pain. Everybody's favourite superhero has been reduced to nothing more then a puddle of tears after that statement. Butlerman shall never more amount to anything then a good friend on her contacts list I suppose. (I'm not amounting to much by just wallowing about in it here, but I can't really say anything after she confessed, can I?)

To help, please dial 1900-112-6969-HELP to donate $5
Or just add me to offer your consolations on MSN. (butlerwantsu@hotmail.com)
It's that simple (If only it was. *breaks down*)

A very depressed superhero says goodbye
TO THE BATMOBILE (as he knows it - and says hello to an unloved life)

"3....2....1.... Gentlemen, start your engines!!"

With my foot on the peddle, hand on the throttle, bladder perpetually bursting, eyes wary of old ladies crossing the road, and my mouth half-open and salivating uncontrollably (which passerbys notice with a kind of guarded amusement, then something not unlike pity), I could not resist the temptation to let loose a scream right from the core of my primal being. "I'm winning!" You had to excuse me of course - it was the first time in 3 races and lasted roughly for a second (before I drove into the barrier at 296km/hr). This made me immensely happy. Even now I feel like a kid who had a very full day at the county fair, tired but deeply satisfied.

Since young, I've always been thrilled by the notion of backstreet racing, of burning rubber, and heart pulpitating action of weaving in and out of city streets, and girls in short skirts (who isn't?). I still remember myself furiously chugging though Parkway Parade in a miniature cheap plastic red motorcar - the epitomy of speed. Till this date, I still insist of spending a dollar to squeeze into a tiny cubicle with seemed to be fitted for a dwarf and lose 4 times consecutively to my friends in a virtual racing game either called Daytona, HotWheels, CyberRacing, SpeedRacing or something else thats made by Konami. In the above-mentioned scenarios, I always seemed to have an inherent desire to carry out several tree resiliency tests every few seconds by veering off the intended path.

I still have dreams of myself pulling up next to a club in a hot pink (sexxxy!) cadillac and having an armful of scantily-clad girls hop into the back before driving off into the night. Such wishful thinking followed others of similar intent (e.g. picking up singing/the guitar to serenade a girlfriend) to a quick demise. Well, that is, if I get a girlfriend.

On a slightly different note, it was a shocker for me to find out after conversing with Shane Gan's girlfriend, that a more or less complete stranger knows I actually exist. Butlerman - the man behind the scenes, the living mystery, the unknown one has been found out! (wipe that disbelieving look of your face... disbeliever. I used to wallow in self-pity that nobody knew me. It was nice to know anyway.)

Maybe this time round, I'll stick to public transport.

Till next time, my dearly-beloved readers!
Drive safely,
TO THE BATMOBILE

vroom vroom.

Alright. so I meant "butlerman talks business", still, an awful pun injected here and there can't hurt, can it. well not that badly anyway.

A not-so-recent post by an unknown bypasser left me in deep thought. (very deep thought when you realise it required more or less a month before I could come up with the answer to his question). why the hell did i choose To the Batmobile, as my extremely riveting blog's title? Why, when I have more knowledge of Quadratic Equations than comic book lore (which to be frank, isn't alot).

*cue X-files theme song* this journey would take you into the world of occult, meaningless nonsense and god-knows-what-else. welcome to earth as I know it.

The batmobile represents batman's "mojo", the ultimate sex symbol for comic book addicts, black, sleek, curvy and alluring, confident and rearing to go. and it can more or less do anything.

I, tend to differ slightly. i'm not black, well, rather sleek if i say so myself, but not as sleek. Not particularly curvy, thankfully enough, and I'm about as lethargic as a sloth on dope. It gives me great relief to announce that i am not a geek sex symbol (but i can be yours! try not to choke when you read this). i cant muster my knees to keep still when a girl smiles at me and as it seems, recently i can't do anything right, from remembering to bring my calculator to math exams, to using chopsticks. then again, i could never use chopsticks. (i find chopsticks most distressing. that and chinese restaurants. i could never tell when the chinese waiter is saying "one fried rice for the imperialist dog at table five". And i don't think i'm alone in thinking it odd that a people ingenious enough to invent paper, gunpowder and... kites, haven't worked out that using two sticks for knitting is no way to eat food) this would explain why every time i've finished eating, my table looks as it was in the centre of a violent arguement and i have a new row of buttons in the form of rice beads. and asian girls are cute. slightly irrelevant (but not when it comes to you, babe)

This I hope, would suffice in explaining why it is TO the batmobile. where I attempt, if anything to be that sexier, more confident superhero. and not to be the geek sex symbol.

pardon the occasional poor attempts at pick-up lines, but i'm getting them ready just in case i meet some dream girl on the bus or during tuition (or the next time i see YOU. "you look faint, want some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?" nevermind) and the horrible punctuation.

until I reach the high echelons of being a Supreme Being, I shall continue to update this horrid journal of mine and expose my deepest darkest fears to all you horrible horrible people (except you, sexy...)

TO THE BATMOBILE

ahhhhhhh walking the dog - such a joyous occasion.
strolling/being dragged along the beach, without a care in the world, apart from that niggling feeling that perhaps i should be studying instead. but hey, i was doing my fair share of the house work since my family is rather busy at the moment with various problems et cetera et cetera. i admit it was fun to be pretending to be one of the Hendrix's while listening to my iPod and being chewed alive by my dog, amidst the stares of countless cyclists who must have thought their favourite superhero was having a heart seizure judging by my feeble wailings/attempted wild cries a la "the Darkness".

oh well, its times like these which you learn to appreciate the wonders of the earth.
and that little bit more.

take sand for example. you could plonk of on a beach for a millenia with my dog and i wouldn't realise i could burn the bloody thing and make something called glass. much as i admire glass and all (and who i see in the mirror you sexy thing), i can't really stand it in its natural form...
its primarily a hostile barrier that stands between me and those lovely bunch of girls in bikinis. (what a lovely bunch of coconuts? pardon my language). It blows in your face, gets in your drink/burger, swallows your house keys (much to my horror). While hot, it makes you dance barefooted like a madman that bikini-clad girls find amusing. When wet, it sticks to you like cement and cannot be shifted with a fireman's hose (But- here the strange thing, the moment you step into your house/room it all falls off). For the past week, i've tipped astounding, undiminishing piles of sand onto my floor each time i shook my shoes and quantities more when you peel off your socks. sand stays with you longer than most contagious diseases... for all i care, you could take the whole of East Coast Beach as far away as me from possible.

from a shunned superhero (i feel like im on a nationwide ignore list),
cheers to the end of the mid years, though its not been good for me these several weeks,
and -
TO THE BATMOBILE

"give me Ice Cube!
give me Vin Diesel!
give me the O levels now! (on second thoughts, i'll pass)
give me the Devil and more!
and i'll take them all on (and lose terribly)!
i'm KING OF THE WORLD!"

these were more or less the words i screamed as my father and i stumbled outside our house at 12.04, half naked, perspiration running off our brow, smelling of beer (more my father than me i must say), bleary eyes now gleaming crazily, but undeniably, triumphant, we fully believed we were the rightful heirs to the world's throne (well, some throne. we more or less knew it our hearts we were deservingly, of royalty). unfortunately, my mother hasn't struck the big one, a.k.a. the $3,000,000 first prize of toto, despite her disgustingly obscene luck in gambling.

rather, we've just witnessed a miracle of sorts, southampton having just beaten norwich 4-3 after brilliant 85th minute goal by god (henri camara anyone). to the 3 of you who don't support southampton (shame on you!), or don't watch football (well, i'm speechless really. as an brit, or partly brit, i don't really believe these people exist), this is one step to southamptons great escape from relegation to the depths of hell (lower divisions) . followers of the footballing faith should know that this feat was once tantamount to me getting full marks for chinese. now it's more or less similar to the chances of me getting a B. still quite hard to achieve, but won't give my mum or chinese teacher a heart attack.

speaking of marks, and heart attacks, the mid-years are more or less looming in my beautiful face... and regardless of the wild streak in me tempting me to spit in its ugly rearing face, and continue mucking about the house for 2 more weeks till its over, i have decided to attempt to study! this after having consulted and alerted the relevant authorities (parents, teachers, hospital staff) to make sure they are on highly responsive just in case my brain/heart activity slips to zero. ah exams. the bane of the child within, just like how carbon dioxide is the limiting factor to photosynthesis (Bio! the first subject i've studied!)...

anyway, a desperate call to all those who are going to the ACJC play as I need company to go with... despite the fact its 1 month away. (my social agenda revolves around such activities, and the occasional spontaneous activity that leaves me half dead *cough*paintball*cough*) oh well. it has been an eventful day. wake up... brush teeth.... eat breakfast... lunch.... dinner.... football!! running about half-naked!!! waking up neighbours!!! i plan now to brush my teeth and shower and keep some semblance of hygiene, before i sink into unconsciencess.

a salute!
to SOUTHAMPTON!
to the KING OF THE WORLD!!
TO THE BATMOBILE