To the BATMOBILE

Sunday, July 31, 2005

martin butler (is the) half-blood prick

Lightning-shaped scar on my forehead or not, it would not be overly presumptious of myself to claim that my life has (rather similarly to the tanker at Sentosa) run aground yet again.

With fluctuations in my fengshui, or chi (to your preference) that would render even the sturdiest contigent of Taoist elite monks to lose control of their bladders in fear, yesterdays torrents of bad luck virtually drenched me in... bad luck.

The signs were apparent even as I woke up (late again) at 8am, and it took my toothbrush about a dozen times to find my mouth, giving my right nostril, eye and ear several probes before choking myself on the blasted thing. In such a state, I could hardly put on my shorts without losing balance and collapsing sideways into sleep, yet in half an hours time, I was to report for a rugby match (of all bloody things - a quick wrestle with three bears would have proved less tiring). It was only through reliance on my packet of Fisherman's Friends lemon-flavoured lozenges that I managed to retain conscienceness throughout the entire day - the lozenges themselves tasting nothing less then toilet detergent, but I was adament throughout the day it was the untimely coke/muddy water swallowed during the match/a. math tuition that ruined the taste. Personally, I thought it was the math, but with three tests next week that I have no bloody idea about anything thats tested (more bad luck), I was forced to limp/shuffle/crawl into class, bloodied and bruised to sit through Hell.

4 pain-wracked, unlucky hours later (Every so often being victim to 5-minute-long), I was summoned upon to entertain a nice girl I still only know as "Maple Syrup" (for her inexplicable reasoning of not wanting to impart with that piece of knowledge) on the behalf of her friend (I so swear that was the only reason - "F*ck"). Knowing myself very well, I more or less accepted with deepest resignition, regret and shame later when I found out I slighted her. Which probably explains why I still remain a bachelor despite the good looks. What made it worse was the inability to say anything remotely close to an apology.

Some people call it "arrogance", some, "cowardice" (guys "no balls lah"), I just say it's because I suck at sentimental bullshit. Or bad luck. Bad luck sounds nicer and less detrimental to my swollen ego.

Martin Butler (a.k.a Butlerman) will forever be the half-blood prick.
Within 2 months (hopefully), he would be a "sexier, fitter, prick" he claims proudly, flexing his muscular biceps to reinforce his point. He also dully notes that his 4km should begin within 15 minutes if he wants to be back home and showered in time for "Little Britain".

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 8:30 pm
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Tuesday, July 26, 2005

sibling love...

Ah sisters, you just have to love them. I shall be the lazy bastard and quote my sister in her not-so-recent testimonial to my Friendster account (judging by the fact I was 60-odd kilos then)...

"since i've known martin since he was in
pampers, i suppose i get the privilege
of writing his 1st testimonial! if you
think this guy is some bigshot.. ac
rugger & all.. let me assure you, at
home he is nothing more than 60+ kilos
of idiocy. martin's basically full of
horse sh*t.. he spends hours in front
of the com.. although half the time is
spent screaming obscenities whenever it
breaks down. martin's also really
stingy.. he equates having a few
hundred in his wallet as being "poverty-
stricken". & he hates buying presents
for anybody.. not even a tiny birthday
present for his dear sister.. of course
now i understand he has to spend
considerable amts of $$ buying
boardshorts at rip curl with naked
chicks on the back.. so that's alright
then. it's a worthwhile investment.
martin cracks me up.. in all the wrong
ways, of course, but as they say, you

can't choose your family. what a

shame. martin.. i hate to say this..
but.. i love you! alright now p*ss off
ou f*cking piece of sh*t."

Disgusting punctuation really. Despite that, its hard not to see why I love my family... (How sweet... You can get them off me for a low, low price of $50 however - the dog's thrown in for free).

My sister, is perhaps one of the three extraordinary beings ever created on this very Earth (the other two being me, and the Oompa Loompas - Woohoo... Willa Wonka's coming to town). 3 years ago, if you told any member of my family that my sister would be topping CJC with... top-grades (my pride requires me to speak no more of it in fear of comparisons being drawn), we would not have been sure whether to laugh or cry, though we would have sent you for an all-expenses paid trip to Woodbridge Hospital for lockup (taxi fare included!).

While her name once used to be synonymous with "wildchild" and/or "small, secluded wooded valley" (she's called Dell, you ignorant fools), these days she's interviewing good ol' President Nathan (I'm serious!). And what the hell is Butlerman doing? Sitting on his lazy ass typing this shit out. Its no wonder my parents share the same "Will-the-transformation-happen-again?" expression each time I say that I'm going to stay at A Math tuition for 2 hours longer (to catch some sleep, do some homework, and more or less lower my pulse to about 2 beats a minute - who needs to go meditating in Tibet?).

There used to be a time where we actually looked alike, believe it or not, and the fact will burn within me in eternal shame. That was until she lost 20 kilos, and I gained 20 kilos (of muscle mass I may add). Though it did come as a shock when some Oolong Tea stall auntie in Old Airport Road Food Centre said "Tingtalingtong-tekchong" (which I found out, meant "You two look so alike - so pretty!" in Teochew), and gave her shrilly old-auntie laugh, until my undisguised glare of warning got across to her from underneath all 2 kilos of my eyebrows silenced her. To her credit, she did continue "Tak-hor chingchangchong whore" which meant "*fake shrill laughter* The girl looks more prettier hor". God knows what would have happened to the auntie if my sister got her hands on the poor lady before she saved herself ("The truth hardly ever is flattering" Martin Butler - Superhero cum Prettyboy).

Do not be beguiled by that innocent, half-assed stare. She will kick your ass. Like she did mine.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 9:04 pm
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Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Dying for a drivers license

Despite displaying great displeasure against Singapore's poor criteria for taxi drivers barely a week ago, I am appalled to find out that my distinction in geography in the first semester was ill-merited. Or rather, general knowledge as a whole. (I won't go as far as to say street-knowledge).

One of my few problems is that I tend to oversleep on public transport. It's fine when you awake one stop away from you're intended destination. In my case, I've gotten used to waking up back at Shenton Way, an decent half-hour away from school at 8 o' clock when my iPod finally runs out of battery and I'm awaken to the sound of the bus driver attempting to warble a Jolin Tsai song (not unlike the mating cry of the hippotami). Wait, get this - I'm taking a school bus to school. I admit, tuning in to my heavy-metal System of a Down playlist in vain attempt to deafen myself to sleep does make me slightly ignorant of other youths trampling by in the tiny bus. But dear Bus Uncle, how hard is it to notice a 1.8m long corpse collapsed on the THIRD seat of your bus? Done it more than once too (second time being at Bras Pasah Kopitiam, when I found myself locked alone in the bus. After deciding that breaking a window with the fire hammer would be a touch too extreme, I proceeded to squeeze myself through the driver's hatch into the harsh world beyond - nearly killing an auntie with the wildly swinging door and startling her husband as a massive ACS student stumbles out of the bus like a newborn child, bawling expletives, adjusting his bed-hair and stalking off with intentions to kill).

The other being my clear lack of the public transport system - but give me a break... Who knew 36 goes to Changi Airport? Rushing out of my condominium, frantically spraying deodorant on myself and everything in a 6 foot vincinity, and scrambling across the road in vain attempt to get on a bus to Bedok MRT so I could make my way to Kembangan to meet my friends so we could proceed to the ACS guitar night (which gave me first-hand experience what a slow death felt like). Of all the 8 buses that service the area, only 1 doesn't go within a kilometre of Bedok Interchange - and that's the bus I took. Good old 36. It struck me odd only 2 minutes later as we entered the ECP and passed the Bedok turn in. After enduring 15 minutes of torturous SMSes (i.e. about 700 "Where are you"-related messages), I had to dodge several 747s to take a cab ($8) back.

The latter journey did have its enjoyable moments though. After the obscenely boring guitar performance (apart from the song I could clap along to), and having my knowledge of Bedok being thrown aside like a paper bag of vomit and trampled on by others who wanted to make me know that Bedok was their backyard (Fine! keep your bloody Bedok!), we managed to settle down long enough to have supper... a.k.a. watch me have supper. Passably enjoyable in the end (I may be slightly biased as she did join us. If you are reading it now, please be suitably satisfied that you looked stunning that night and even as I type this out with trembling fingers, my bladder's trying to betray my false confidence).

Fear not - if I do not end up stranded in Potong Pasir or Johor one day, or mistaken for a suicide bomber on the way to Changi due to my crazed eyes and that intense look many women have fallen for, I will seek to gain my drivers license ASAP. Even then, I suspect a minutes drive to Siglap Centre to get some naan and chicken tika would end up as a road trip to Kranji. Until that fateful day!

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 8:16 pm
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Sunday, July 10, 2005

in the passenger seat

Everybody loves a good taxi driver.

Unfortunately enough, it's safe to say there aren't many around. Worse still within the past three days I have been subjected to, possibly the most inhumane dose of singaporean taxi drivers ever.

3 days ago

Collapsed on the curb of Dover road, I managed to raise a feeble hand to signal over a cab to drag my body home. Taking a moment to scan his face for any possible signs of insanity, I give him a pass grade (my marking scheme needs to be revised) and died on the backseat of his taxi, leaving my body in his seemingly-capable hands to bring me back to my parents and explain my demise to them ("Ah, I'm sorry ah Mr. Butler, your boyboy died in the backseat of my taxi lah. I show you a while? But please wear a shirt and some shorts before you step outside your house hor.")

Unfortunately, just before I got dragged through the gates of Hell, I was rudely awakened by my limp head banging on the door handle for the 50th time (judging by the amount of swelling it had gone through - I was quite surprised not to have sustained severe brain haemorrhaging), and I peered out the window to find myself nowhere near Mandarin Gardens, my beloved home. It seemed while I was blissfully getting my soul burned by Satan himself, my dear cabbie had attemped to bring me to the mouse, albeit not by the more conventional ECP route, but through the AYE to the CTE to the PIE, followed by ATU, the YUP, and finally the FUCK - Where am I expressway. When I finally arrived at the bottom of my block, I gave him the "I know what you did within the last hour" look and told him I wasn't paying anything remotely close to the $16 fare. (Until I realised I had my school uniform on).

Enter - Dennis Butler, 64 (I think), hairy chest (and everywhere else to boot), and dragging the family dog along for its walk (much to its consternation), and clad in a pair of faded red shorts and shoes. Even superheroes have to rely on parental guidance once in a while.

2 days ago

Its 11.30 at night, and my hearts racing, goosebumps arising from every millimetre of my body, and hormones pulsating (explicit details censored). I'm not doing drugs, thankfully enough. However, having just watched Fantastic 4 - Jessica Alba, well, has that effect on most guys.

Desperate to catch a cab to beat the midnight surcharge, I promptly flagged down the first cab I saw, which included the winner of the Most Incompetent Taxi Driver award consecutively since it was inaugurated when LTA was formed.

The following is a log of the dialogue that transpired in the taxi - starting from where we disembarked at Great World City.

Him : "So where to ah boy?"
Me : "Mandarin Gardens."
Him : "Orh. Mandaling. I know."
Me : "You better bloody do."
Him : "That one is the Hotiaow one right?"
Me : "No, thats Mandarin Hotel. I meant Mandarin Gardens. Siglap. You know?"
Him : "ORRHHHH." - and proceeds to throw the driving wheel in a mad spin to the right in bid to make an illegal U-turn , all the while cackling "I know liaoz" to himself.
Him : "That one is the one near... Ehh... ECP right?"
Me : "Theres quite a bit of stuff near the ECP, but yeah."
Him : "Aha! Told you I know" - Before driving into oncoming traffic on an one-way road, occasionally skidding onto the pavement to avoid collisions with 20ton trucks.

I arrived just in time for the last 20 cents to be charged 50% more, drenched in cold sweat and clutching the arm of the very man that tried to kill me. Weary and feeling oh-so-mortal, I collapsed on my bed, happy to be alive.

Having expected to wake up to the headlines of "High Security Woodbridge Mental Patient escapes and steals cabby and haunts River Valley", I passed the recent two days in relative security and safety. Though, I would love to distribute several lethal injections to put the two beasts, that probably raised my chances of having a stroke by tenfold, down.

Still alive and kicking-
TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 8:22 pm
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Thursday, July 07, 2005

to whom it may concern - dated 8-7-2065

"To whom it may concern,

If you are reading this now, it would mean everybodys dearly departed Siglap-residing superhero has met his untimely demise at either of these following several causes -

1) Liver failure from a bottle too many
and or
2) Very fittingly, a car accident involving the ultimate destruction of the last car in the world, the very fabled "Batmobile" a.k.a. Nissan Sunny

Despite living a life Hugh Hefner would be ashamed of, and having untold riches at his fingertips, the unforunate soul dies a bachelor, and as pure as the Virgin Mary, due to many mistakes on his behalf. Most glaring of them all being the inability to deviate from the same girl since the tender age of 13. What a _____ old fool (Activity time: Insert into the blanks any choice of words of your liking! 'Stubborn / Useless / Retarded / Incompetent / Strikingly Handsome')

Thus, it is his wish that he sends out deep gratitude to that lone woman, who as intelligence reports suggest, after having a successful rock career, and is married to ______ (Activity time 2: Insert any of the following words 'Bon Jovi's clone / Bono's clone / Some guy'*).

Before he forgets, he would also like to point out to Mandeep Singh (who at the age of 24 made an audacious bid to buy-over Milo and failed miserably**) that he "told you so".

The prophetic fool resigned to more or less be sentenced to rot in hell for eternity as he wrote this message to the general public. With the last whispers of respect he can garner from to whom this may concern, he would like to say that all these years as a siglap-raised superhuman hunk, he has tried his best to please the general public (excusing bengs, lians and the bloody aunties next door who never stopped playing mahjong) and most importantly his friends.

Over and out.
Dearly departed -

Butlerman"

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

*I would constantly turn in my grave if that were to happen. I'd come back to haunt the bugger.
**As the saying goes "Touch wood"

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 9:44 pm
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