The Fast and the Furious

Some would say that my biological clock is ticking away but turning out to be a raging homosexual hasn't dampened my growing enthusiasm for fatherhood even a little. Certainly has made it a bit more problematic - since fertile uteruses aren't exactly a dime a dozen - but resourcefulness has always been my middle name ( and not skank as most people would wrongly assume ).

Sometimes I watch my friends, mostly my peers actually - some of whom are starting young families of their own right now - and I wonder what sort of father I'd make if I had that chance. Although I'd hope that I'd be the kind, loving, good-natured papa who'd allow his teenage kids free rein to do what they chose, I seriously doubt that ever happening. Chances are I'll probably turn out to be a stern, unfeeling Victorian-minded draconian monster who'd lock up his eligible sons and daughters after midnight.

Had my suspicions confirmed early this morning when I crawled out of my bunk at some ungodly hour to admit a 17 yo semi-hunky jailbait with a crushed leg. Turns out the little mat rempit suffered a devastating motor vehicle accident at 2 in the morning after a mindless motorcycle joyride with his cronies. Doctors are trained to be somewhat detached from their patients but I could already feel the smoke rising from my head. Surely every other sane physician would be running about offering pain meds but the first thought in my head was 'what the fuck is a schoolkid doing out at 2 in the morning on a school night?!'

Surely good samaritans would decry such an unfeeling prejudiced statement by hastily babbling all sorts of suitably Lifetime Channel excuses for the kid. Seriously. Trust me, he didn't look like he'd been out doing charitable work at 2 in the morning. He wasn't out earning a living to support his desperate orphaned siblings. He wasn't even out purchasing herbal tonics for a terminally ill grandmother.


Come ride with me!
Let's face it, there is a distinct urban breed of teenage motorcyclists in Malaysia with near-psychotic suicidal tendencies who transform the city at night into a literal showcase of traffic anarchy - possibly in the faint hopes of emulating the unthinking speed demons on the Fast and the Furious.

These juvenile teenage boys and their illegal motorcycle races. What exactly are they thinking of in the early hours of the morning? What are they searching for? That brief shining moment of deluded glory? The indiscriminate hand of the nearest slutty fluffheaded bohsia? That sheer, indescribable adrenaline-laced thrill moments before that wild ride runs smack into a stationary brick wall and 17 years of dubious education ends up in a bloody splatter on the cold, uncaring cement?

Seriously.

If I were the father, I'd probably have given him a hard spanking. And not in a good way.