To the BATMOBILE

Saturday, September 17, 2005

hitting the books (and consequently everything else..)

*Edit : I took about 2 weeks to slave over this. Despite this not being the best post ever, any kind words of encouragement/monetary compensation/sexual favours (pardon?) will not be amiss*

After spending the majority of Friday afternoon despairing (and drooling spastically) over my "Advanced Mathematics for Experts", my sympathetic (and disbelieving) mother and sister invited me along on one of their weekly night forages into the unchartered territories of Mustafa's. Having lost control of my jaw, I managed to splutter an ungainly "yes!" and tossed my book into a corner, where it landed with gutwrenching splat.

Being a virgin to the "Mustafa experience", I followed with an innocent wide-eyed and slackjawed expression (partially due to the fact I have not sufficiently recovered from the trauma of several hours worth of trigonometry), though once properly introduced to the (extremely cheap) perfume section, my legs, through no will of my own, slowly inexorably drew closer to the aisle - it was there which I thought I had stumbled upon a secret underground network of drug-snorting Thai tourists.

A loud exclaimation of "The F**K?" drew the attention of half a dozen spandex-clad Thai men, each of them with a bottle of Chanel perfume halfway up their left and/or right nostril. Startled, and suddenly extremely fearful for my virginity, I backtracked several steps all the while executing flawless bows and attempted to appease them by swearing fealty unto the "Village People" (they seemed to be the sort who'd like to belt out a perversion of "YMCA" while stripping half drunk), before turning around and breaking into a full sprint to sweet, heterosexual normality.

After having written this, and quite set to publish this post, I realised with a certain amount of dread, that it is highly probable within the next 5 minutes for men in white laboratory coats to storm through my front door, and drag me away for the publication of seemingly racial abuse over the Internet (I have always claimed I spare no race nor religion the lash of my sharp wit!). Do not get me wrong, I still, and forever will detest people who have no respect for a particular race or religion (or me for that matter).

As always, a loud public declaration of "F**k it" (Butlerman's favoured method of solving his problems) would do the trick, and pass me a bottle of Boss in Motion au de toilette, it's time to get high...

"It would really suck to lose to a bunch of Negroes"
Team White Trash (I might have gotten it wrong somewhere) of the Amazing Race Season 400.
(Suddenly, Butlerman's previously discarded opinions of divine influence on the weather over America makes much more sense...)
TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 10:55 pm
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Monday, September 12, 2005

here to save the day!

This is a day to remember. A moment in history to rival that of the day when M.J. turned white (so it did not happen instantaneously, but neither did this transformation).

This would mark the very first serious post on this archive of ranting (I can hear the grumbles already. "Butlerman - Serious? What the hell was he thinking!" Yes people, I do get serious occasionally. I even managed to keep a straight face when I typed that out).

As with most things I do, I shall still cheat. The following is the lyrics of a relatively new, and one of my favourite songs.

Coldplay - Fix You

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face
when you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 6:11 pm
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Saturday, September 10, 2005

dressed to kill...

With much debate going on regarding the increasing trend of metrosexual males versus the decline of traditional Rambo-like icons of physique, it has managed to provoke and generate thoughts within my head to spark off another hours worth of writing (that and because I found nothing else to do on a lonely Friday evening).

It is at this point which I would clearly like to state that us Superheroes tend to be an exotic blend of both, with the clear exceptions of age-old icons of Superman and such, who go about doing their daily business looking nothing unlike swollen blue condoms.

Futile excuses made (and firmly unbelieved by the masses), I thus confess to having the occasional indulgence in narcissistic activity, such as the inherent urge to make growls and flex each time I pass by a mirror (or sexy ladies). I however, have to bear the unnecessary consequence of sweeping up the broken glass shards and/or dispose of her corpse in the most unseemly fashion.

Much to my consternation, this deep-set mentality of mine has led to greater peril for myself, where I nearly ended up being run over by a couple of petrol carriers after admiring myself in the sideview mirror on an SBS bus. Actually, all I did was trip over an old ah mah or two, and give the nearby post box a few raps with my forehead. Some awkward moments later, I found myself face down on the ground, with a poor lady's sandal within licking reach of my tongue, in one of those "how-the-fuck-did-this-happen" moments (you know, the ones that usually occur when you get your examination results back/find yourself lost in Woodlands with the only clear recent memory of yourself screaming aloud "One more glass" and all vision going black. I have yet to experience the latter, but I shall not speak too soon), and slowly gaining awareness of the cars slowing down to sneak glances at my obscene fetal position (I solemnly swear I heard an auntie whisper to her 4-year old son 'If you ever become like that ah, don't come home"). Crawling back to my feet, giving myself a dust down and a little curtsey to my newfound audience, I strode off purposely into the sunset, and making a small heartfelt vow never to give a SBS bus a second glance, nor lick a sandal.

I shall now deviate to a topic of great importance to myself, and as faithful followers of Butlerman's worthless rantings can attest to, it always is about the same thing. That being my unending devotion and worship of the Devil. Alternatively, it could be known as my more recent (unsuccessful, as always) adventures trying to woo the girl of my dreams. (I state this all down here for everyone's viewing pleasure because I have utter faith/ 40% sure that she would never read this, as much as I want her to understand my intricate fiendishly clever attempts at showing my affection and general affability), where within the last few days (recent enough to be newsworthy), she actually initiated conversation with me, which gave my heart a good old jumpstart to say the least, despite my best attempts to purge her life of all nightmares of myself (I tried that with all unwillingness possible). I state this with a certain amount of pride (hope notwithstanding) because I am nothing more then a number in the gazillion of her admirers.

The plot thickens.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 11:11 pm
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Sunday, September 04, 2005

rite of manhood...

With each progressing second, my knuckles grew whiter, my knees trembled move, and beads of sweat trickled down my shirt (which I was quite sure the uncle was looking down into). Screams of "mercy" and prayers leapt unbidden from my lips as I literally melted into pools of sweat in the expert hands of some man (Take it as you will - Ladies, just know I'm straight and highly available).

Finally I heard that anticipated *click* and shot into the air with a joyous "Hallelujah!", and rays of heavenly light speared through omnimous clouds, as they parted in a climatic chorus of angelic choir voices. Five, extremely surreal and ecstatic seconds later, I realised that it was just my belt buckle buckling (pardon the pun - one cannot help oneself) under the increasing pressure. Then followed a burst of fiery pain in my ample left earlobe, and I felt myself falling...

Rudely slapped into consciousness in order to pay for my brand new piercing (my virgin experience), I hastily wringed dry my shirt of tears, lamely citing the flu for the excessive production of snot, and then mopped up the amazing amounts of blood my nose managed to leak in the presence of a splitsecond of sharp pain.

An hour after the ordeal, safe at home away from the prying eyes of the world (being a superhero brings with it a certain amount of media attention), I spent an eternity practicing an imaginary (and very improbable) sequence of dialogue with the girl of my dreams. The trick of the whole thing (speaking from my vast experience of imaginary dialogues), would be to lie - alot.

Her : "So where did you get it done?"
Me : "Where? (Insert hearty laught) Why, I did it at home with a plier and a twisted nail"
Her : "Gosh, did it hurt?"
Me : "Hurt? Butlerman feel pain? Hah! (Hoist bag onto my broad shoulders, and give her the man-of-the-mountain wink)"

Speaking of surreal experiences, the following night, I had the most pleasant dream of recent times, where I was a ravishing entrepreneur in an important seminar, and I was seated next to a beauty not unlike Cheryl Fox (well, the woman from Singapores Brainiest Kids - whatever her name is), and ended up talking to her.

You ought to have dreams occasionally, don't you.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 9:44 pm
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