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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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