To the BATMOBILE

Monday, January 26, 2009

lunar angst

As the great Protector, symbol of courage and hope eternal for all residents of Siglap, Butlerman has officially declared Lunar New Year to be absolute shite.

Editors note: Yes yes, I know I have a tendency to criticize/whine about every holiday or festivity that comes about, but this is entirely justified. I swear.

The traditional financial incentives aside, there's honestly nothing much to look forward to during this forsaken period in time. In roughly 12 hours time, I'd be drinking some soda that might have been flat coke out of a cup that tastes of old people (not in the cannibalistic sense; I'm sure you know what I mean - its a mix between the hospital smell and clothes that have been kept in the cupboard for too long). Then I'd have stale bakkwa forced between my defiant clenched teeth by an old aunty, who despite suffering from the most severe cases of Parkinsons, Alzheimers and various organ failures, is surpisingly strong. Once weakened by the blatant attempts at food poisoning, she will proceed to interrogate me in multiple dialects and languages (in reality a dark and deadly spell that leeches away my youth and vitality for herself to prolong her cursed existence) about my school, how I did for my exams, how the IB system works, my height, and the true meaning of life, despite having told her most of the answers every year before that since I learned to talk.

Having completed my arduous task, and after demanding I perform a lapdance for her with two oranges (something like that, anyway) I'd be rewarded with 2 dollars.

That's not actually the worst part. For if by some miraculous twist of fate that I survive this entire ordeal, I'd still find myself waiting for all my friends to finish collecting their million dollar bounty for being young fresh-faced members of the Chinese race, and counting down the minutes before I get enlisted for National Service to learn how to defend my people.

As if, as Butlerman, I don't already...

TO THE BATMOBILE.

posted by butler at 3:09 am
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Monday, January 05, 2009

4.55am ramblings

Slightly hungover, throat sore, eyes tearing in protest from unremoved contacts, Butlerman slouches in a surprisingly uncomfortable position in his spoilt computer chair... and waits.

He is, waiting of course, for one of three things to happen -

1) Sexy ladies to burst through his door in minimal clothing,
2) Some inspiration to conjure up a coherent piece of writing that a couple of people would enjoy reading (myself being one, in typical egoistical splendour) - this of course would be facilitated by various muses, hopefully in the form of sexy ladies bursting though the door in the above-mentioned attire, or more likely
3) His aching back and buttock region to dissolve into a soft painful putty-like blob.

Instead, he makes do with the company of Doom and Gloom, unwelcome yet not unexpected guests in the once-beloved superhero's secret hideout. Fresh from witnessing the sound thrashing of his favourite football team, and with the release of the likely catastrophic IBDP results around the corner, there are funerals with bundles of optimism more than the Butler household. And then theres the subsequent fortnight's wait for NS - because every Singaporean male wants to run around the jungle playing Soldiers.

Butlerman would also like to remind fans and friends in a friendly public service announcement that he would likely have to resort to keeping in touch with them via phone - in bid to maintain sanity and ward of encroaching homosexuality. Both of which could be easily addressed by sexy ladies bursting... If only MINDEF would take advice from superheroes.

As the late night becomes early morning, Butlerman stifles a yawn, and conducts a thorough inspection on his rippling muscles in the mirror, and as he readies himself to visit the nonsensical universe of his dreams, he would like to tell Doom and Gloom to go f*ck themselves. But he would probably get beaten up.

TO THE BATMOBILE.

posted by butler at 3:38 am
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