The Wild Brunch

The glamourous Upper East Siders might party all night - waving their hands up in the air shaking their derriere - but they certainly don't waste precious time dreaming after when waking life is so much better! Why laze in bed till noon when there's gossip to be made?

Seriously. Who better to emulate? The gals and I don't do lazy weekends either. So what if you're post-call? So what if you just rolled out of bed after a late night? Certainly no excuse. Breakfast is brunch and it comes with a dress code, drinks and the Lushes.

Eventhough I might have gotten a mild hangover from the night before. Add sangria to a lil vodka afterward and I get the sniffles again.


Damn. I need my caffeine!
So the Lushes and I caught up over pancakes, bacon and barrels of coffee. You know doctors love their eye-opener caffeine shots! Fabulous Fiona gave a quick rundown on the fashion flirt event the night before while Statuesque Sarah caught us up on her desperate search for the perfect examination heels.

Forget about last minute mugging. Come on, you know a pair of slinky Manolos would just about guarantee a distinction during a viva! Think about a Basic Instinct femme fatale criss-crossing her legs during questioning. No red-blooded heterosexual male could possibly think about the oxygen cascade or hemoglobin compounds at that moment.

Unless you get someone like me during the exam of course.

Sarah : Oh, could you rephrase the question? Oh wait, I need to lace my lovely shoes.
Paul : Alright. Do it.
Sarah : Umm... aren't you feeling anything?
Paul : Sorry no. Now tell me about antihypertensives.
Sarah : Oh look. A Chris Evans lookalike is cleaning the windows shirtless.
Paul : Oh.
Sarah : Antihypertensives are a group of...
Paul : Whatever. You did well. You may leave. I think I see a dirty spot on the windows.

Come on. Won't you take a look as well? Whoever said that good looks doesn't matter needs a rethink.

Me, I told them the woeful tale about Charming Calvin extending his trip to Beijing for yet another month. But that wasn't the biggest shocker of the morning. Our usually prudent Shameless Shalom purchased a cutesy bag ( looks like a genuine Radley! ) on sheer impulse. I don't know which one of us was the most astonished!

Guess the shopaholic Lushes are rubbing off on her.

And our early brunch got us talking about travelling. Who knows, we might be having brunch in Bali one of these days!

Fashion Flirt

See that slinky model sashaying down the runway with the flashbulbs bursting while the marveling audience ooh and aah over the avant garde designs? Bet you've been wondering who exactly gets invited to such fashionable events.

I've wondered as well. Turns out it's fabulous singletons in skyscraping heels with their gay boyfriends in tow.


Eh, he invited me for this?
When Zany Zinedine sent out the invitations, I turned it down almost immediately. Contrary to popular expectation, girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes are not one of my favourite things. Change that to boys in white boxers with blue satin bows and I'd be more inclined to join the party. But Zinedine assured us all that it would be a fun night for all - and that he needed the support - so we all gave in.

Guess he didn't need all that much support since half of Marketplace had come along for the ride. :)

Me, I had corralled Fabulous Fiona and Graceless Grace to lend me some support. Don't know what critical Grace thought of the entire fashionable affair since she supposedly has no inkling about my sexual inclinations - obvious though they may be. Rather than spell it out, I was hoping the obvious gay factor of the fashion show would snap the lightbulb on in her head.

I know. I'm so procrastinating in telling her. Not sure what's stopping me either.


Fiona : OMG. Did you see the hunk who just passed by?
Paul : You mean the cute one with the boyfriend? Or the scary-ass Amazon girlfriend?
My fellow Lush, Fiona had no such qualms about letting me wallow in the closet of course! Certainly lost no time in pointing out the surrounding hunks. Doubt she had much fun ogling though since quite a number of the cute guys around only had eyes for one another.

Fiona : Ooh, he's cute.
Paul : Take a closer look - I think he's flirting with that guy. But I love the way his gray boxer-briefs hug his cute tush.
Fiona : Haven't reached that low down yet, ya skank.
Paul : Wonder whether he'd punch me if I copped a feel.
Grace : What are you guys talking about?
Paul : Ooh, look at that pretty dress!

Yes. Fortunately we had the dresses to draw our attention.

To-die-for, I swear. And for once I think it just might look good on a regular person rather than those stick-thin models on the runway :) Hell, I was half tempted to try squeezing myself into a daring Darimeya tunic dress if a fellow fashionista in killer boots hadn't gotten to it first. Even the incomparable Miss Blair Waldorf would have deigned to give them a second look.

Ampang Medikal : Siti Gets Her Groove

Totally forgot about Ampang Medikal this week but I managed to find a quick replay on the website. Though I do have my gripes, I couldn't give up on the newbie drama series that soon so I gave it another try!

In the second episode, the enthusiastic interns in Ampang Medikal finally get down to business - taking care of their shockingly few patients. No wonder they have all the time in the world to weep and whine about their problems. :) Though I don't doubt that the titular character Dr Siti has her basket full. What with her father getting a heart attack ( what a cliche! ) to being singled out as the dummy amongst the latest batch of house officers, it's no wonder Siti's looking so blue.

Dr Siti : The patient is gasping. He's turning blue. His symptoms are unusual, he could be having myocardial infarction probably as a reaction to the...
Nurse : His blood pressure is falling. We can't find a pulse.
Dr Siti : I don't know what to do! Call someone.
Nurse : Well, you're the doctor. Do something!

Well they didn't exactly put it that way but I think most first-time house officers have been thrust into a similarly nightmarish situation where they've literally been tossed into the deep end without a lifejacket. Where there's no one else around to consult and you have to put all that book-read knowledge into clinical practice.

Fortunately it's television and Dr Siti's patient comes back to life in magical milliseconds. Quite a feat.


A suitably inspiring muhibbah shot for the coming independence day!
Undaunted by her trials, Siti still manages to find the time to trace a patient's long-lost son by turning to her fellow house officers for help. Just amazing how quick ( and how unnatural! ) these total strangers all bonded as instant friends despite never having met before! Was there a secret ice-breaker moment in the locker room that we never saw? Isn't there even a lil strife between them? No initial bitchy catfights?

Fortunately the token minority doctors - Dr Rajesh and Dr Wong - are finally getting their own lines. Which is a relief since I've gotten to like Dr Wong who shines far more than her colleagues even with her woefully short scenes. Which did include a memorable one where the poor gal got splattered with vomit.

Trust me, we've all been there.

And yes, Dr Rajesh is cute enough when he tries to charm a staff nurse into handing over a patient's records. Though I'm curious why the records were kept from the attending doctors. The four interns all need more characterization though to keep them from turning into bland, interchangeable characters.

The interns ( and oddly enough the patients! ) are all still speaking in Malay though which I find utterly peculiar! Unfortunately certain words, phrases and jargons in medical-speak simply can't be translated so presenting a case from beginning to end in Malay would be near impossible. Wonder which utopian hospital this is! Maybe speaking in perfect Malay is the main criteria for admission!

And what's this talk of changing residencies? Isn't Dr Siti still a house officer?

But fortunately they have better monitors on display in the wards now. I swear I even saw a blood pressure monitor! Heavens! And they did show a reasonably crappy cafeteria with appropriately lousy plastic food and neon-coloured drinks! Little wonder most of the interns didn't seem to have much of an appetite.

Better second episode. Still dislike the whispery, winsome Siti and her dull anecdotes though. Where is dark twisty Meredith with her sharp witticisms when you need her?

The Truth about Cats & Dogs

I'm starting to think that boys are far more susceptible to overblown romance than girls.

Can already hear the loud, vociferous protests from the macho guys out there! But seriously, just take a moment to think about it. Who writes sickly sweet, schmaltzy stanzas for their beloved? Who sends posies of rosebuds tied up with pink bows? Who makes grand gestures of love with fireworks, champagne and sky-written messages? Not to mention cards full of hearts-and-flowers with mirrors in 'em :)

Trust me, it's usually the guys who go all out when it comes to dizzying courtship.

Even reasonably sensible, down-to-earth fellas get a bit crazy cuckoo when they finally fall heads over heels! Abandoning all sense of pride and self, these fellas literally go out on a limb - risking it all - trying to woo their loved ones. While the girls are usually able to distance themselves to look at their relationship critically, these boys are usually so carried away by their emotions that they can hardly think straight.

In a matter of speaking.


Jake : Believe me, I love you. Come with me.
Lily : Hmm... let me sleep on it.
Trust me, I've seen enough lovelorn, acne-ridden teenage boys back in school to know! Though I'm sure their oblivious lady loves never had a clue to how much they agonized over writing just a simple message. Hours scratching their heads just to come up with the perfect birthday gift. Faced with such unabashed romance, even a hardened cynic like me can't help but feel mushy inside sometimes.

So how can I not melt when a determined fella drunkdials a sweet sentimental message to a friend of mine? For instance let's say a guy sends you a message like this.

Jake : We're miles apart, my love. There is a woman here who's perfect for me, just the woman I should marry but I can't. You're crazy. You're maddening. You're everything that's wrong for me. But you're the one I love.

Okay, I condensed his message just a little so the immediate swoon effect is a little lost. But if a guy had sent me such a persuasive heartfelt response, I swear I would have immediately booked passage to wherever he was! Whether it be Alaska or New Guinea.

And damn the consequences.

Jake : We're miles apart, my love. There is a woman here who's perfect for me, just the woman I should marry but I can't. You're crazy. You're maddening. You're everything that's wrong for me. But you're the one I love.
Paul : Dump the cow. I'm on the next flight. Wait for me.

Me, I zoomed right in on the heart of the message disregarding the petty lil details. That other woman? Nah, no matter - I'm sure I'd be able to deal with such trivialities. Obviously I'm by far the more impulsive one - since my friend had a far different answer prepared. In a far less cordial tone.

Jake : We're miles apart, my love. There is a woman here who's perfect for me, just the woman I should marry but I can't. You're crazy. You're maddening. You're everything that's wrong for me. But you're the one I love.
Lily : Who is this other woman!

See that! Now, that's a girl for you :)

Breakfast With Rolf

Who knew! It's so much more fun to flirt with other guys when you're already in a relationship - with an entirely different fella! Granted, the stakes are entirely different since there's nothing to be lost - or gained for that matter.

Precisely the reason I was so brazenfaced as to go smash up to seriously cute Randy Rolf and plop myself right down beside him for breakfast. Social schmoozing at work certainly isn't common and the cafeteria at work's usually segregated into departments and job hierarchy. Hence you have the scalpel siths at one table, the DC-shockers ( the cardiologists ) at another and the nurses at the other end.

Seriously. It's like medical apartheid.

So I bet Rolf wasn't expecting my appearance at his empty table. Have a feeling Rolf wasn't even expecting company though since he had the newspaper pressed up to his aquiline nose. Well he did invite me for breakfast before but I don't think he expected me to avail myself of his invitation right at that moment.

Paul : Looks like you're the hottest guy around here. May I sit here?
Rolf : Uhh... what? Sure.
Paul : Nice buns by the way.
Rolf : What?
Paul : On your plate.

Seriously shameless. I am so developing a reputation. And I haven't even told you about the day I stage-whispered God, I need sex aloud in the hushed library. Certainly got the nerds out of their books.


Beats eating sandwiches alone in the morning
But unlike his delicious morning rolls, I bet poor Rolf hasn't even digested half the naughty innuendoes I ad-libbed throughout the conversation - where I hinted about his deft way of handling the scalpel and even threw in mention about his suggestive VBL.

Could I be any more of a raging fag?

What's gonna come of this? Nothing of course. Totally harmless since the oblivious fella's most likely straight - probably even happily married with a passel of wailing kids since it's rare to find a hot malay guy that age unattached. Certainly gives rise to suspicion. Going by prevalent racial stereotypes - by the mature age of thirty, usually the entire lot have been auctioned off ( whether willingly or no ) on the marriage mart. :)

At least this gives me something to do during breakfast besides stuff my face with hot coffee and catch up with the latest headlines.

All About the VBL

Caught my galpals the Lushes busy complaining online about the horrors of VPL the other day.

Really. If you're a guy, you'd be thinking WTF as well.

Even had me wondering! And I'm the kinda guy who actually voraciously reads through the latest Cleo magazine while I'm waiting at the hair salon. How could anyone resist finding out the Ten Ways to Land a Hottie? Obviously I skimmed too fast through some of the pertinent panty, tampon and make-up pages ( like why would I read all that! ) since I totally missed any mention of VPL.

But when the Lushes griped about the VPL disturbing the line of their dresses, a dusty lil bulb finally blinked on! Visible Panty Line. From the way the Lushes wailed over it, obviously one of the endless nightmares visited upon innocent ladies the world over to torture them. Along with cellulite and cramps.

How peculiar. I'll admit it's not uncommon to see a panty line on the ladies - and believe me, I check out their asses quite as often as I do the boys. An equal opportunity ogler, that's me. Actually gotten quite good at gauging bra size as well!

Can't see the reason for the Lushes to scream taboo over this great fashion misdemeanour though.


Wonder if anyone's gonna notice my VBL!
For guys I do notice that we all have a VBL - a Visible Brief / Boxers Line - whenever we wear thin slim-fitting trousers as well. Short of wearing pouffy parachute MC Hammer pants - or going wildly commando, the faint line's almost impossible to hide no matter the build.

Honestly though, I don't find it distracting. Find it seriously hawt in fact. Seriously, doesn't it make you wanna tear the pants off with your teeth to see what's underneath? And the firmer the bubble-butt, the more obvious the VBL's gonna be. Delish.

Frankly most guys - apart from an underwear connoisseur or two - aren't built to appreciate the intricacies of a panty line! So being boys, I figure my breeder brothers would think the same! To the Lushes, I'll have to say this... I doubt any red-blooded heterosexual guy would even care less about the VPL. All they care about is getting that damn panty off!

The Last Communist

Otherwise known as Lelaki Komunis Terakhir.

So beware of sending your boys back to the mainland!

After just a year of living in the Beijing, Charming Calvin has been brainwashed by peking duck, red communist flags and now with the daily repetition of the national anthem during the recent Olympics - into an alarming communist.

You can imagine what a shock that is to a liberal democrat like me!

In just the space of one year, he has morphed into the perfect Mao soldier not seen since Lei Feng walked the dusty hills of Hunan. Our recently dubbed Comrade Calvin in his Soviet floppy-eared winter hat waving that little red book while chanting revolutionary dogma exhorting the rise of the proletariat slaves to shed the chains of class struggle and overthrow the dictatorship of the imperialist bourgeouis. 起來！不願做奴隸的人們! Wouldn't surprise me if he'd volunteered to slave away in the internment gulags in the western counties to help the common people - as the proverbial revolutionary screw that never rusts.


The perfect soldier
Quite obvious that he'd changed into a junior Lei Feng when we had this conversation snippet.

Paul : I wonder whether I should buy that pair of boots. Costs a bomb but the leather's soft as butter.
Calvin : Shed the chains of bourgeois materialism! Donate to the common proletariat! Support the rise of the great nation!
Paul : The boots are probably made in China.
Calvin : Learn from Lei Feng! Live a frugal life!
Paul : Sew my own shoes from fallen reeds?

Maybe I shouldn't tell him how much I spent on my glasses.

In case you're wondering, Lei Feng was a young PLA revolutionary whose selfless devotion to his people and the motherland made him a role model for the Chinese. To learn from Lei Feng was at that time an important moral assignment for schoolchildren who would do selfless voluntary work in their neighborhood, helping the elderly with their chores, bringing a lost child home or carrying luggage for passengers. A posthumous lesson though since he got struck down by a falling telephone pole. Taking his lessons to heart is reason enough for the rise of cellphone usage in the country.

No doubt if they'd repackaged Comrade Lei Feng as an aspiration for the modern China, he'd be a slick fast-talking entrepreneur in Armani trotting out his new shiny Mercedes and an even shinier supermodel girlfriend.

The Holy Book

Though usually irritating pests by nature, religious freaks can occasionally be a source of genuine amusement! For instance, this political issue cropping up recently on the reluctance of an accused sodomizer ( is that even a word? ) to swear on the holy book. Overzealous factions have rallied behind the cause condemning the accused's refusal.

Seriously. Why should he even bother swearing on the holy book? Is swearing on a holy book even vaguely admissible in court? Seems like simple logic flies out the window each time religion is brought into the room.

Look at it this way. Let's assume the fella's guilty. By virtue of murdering, raping and committing every sin known to man, an accused fella ( if he was guilty of the above ) has already broken every religious law written in the book. Would one more - meaning lying - even matter at all? After contravening every other holy statute, would a patent disbeliever even care that divine wrath might strike him dead on that very spot in a blaze of hallowed lightning?

And if he's innocent, would swearing get him out of his criminal charges?


Bang. You dead.
Swell. Does this mean I could run amok slashing innocent folks and then profess my innocence by clutching on to my Bible as lawful protection? I could rename myself the Preacher and join the Fraternity.

Victim : OMG. You stabbed me.
Paul : No, I didn't. Look, I can swear on the Bible if you want me too.
Victim : You're still holding your bloody knife in my chest!
Paul : Oops. Sorry. Lemme remove that.
Victim : Urgh.

Hell, I could swear on a dozen books from the Bible to the Torah.

I think the religious freaks need a rethink. It's the Word that matters - not the recycled paper it's printed on. And the Word wouldn't even matter if there's no faith. Do they honestly think there's a saintly printing press out there that consecrates every publication?

What next? Claiming penitence as a way of getting out of prison?

My Uncle ISO

Today my ISO met the new man in my life.

My new man is cheery and bright with a gamine, wide smile that could charm the birds out of the trees! If only he was as articulate as he is visually arresting... but then again, the strong, silent types are always a popular draw. I'll give him time to come up with the right words - since Rambling Raoul - already past the age of one - is babbling unintelligible gobbledygook these days.

It wasn't the most propitious of meets.


The bane of my ISO's life
After today, let me retract my erroneous assumption that all men would be delighted to be fathers. Obviously homo-panic can strike more than one fellow. Seriously. Since my mom had gone for a brief appointment at the nail salon, I took the opportunity to meet up with my ISO for tea. Dragging our wee Raoul - who was already tuckered out from all the speedwalking - in tow.

Seriously. I found my ISO's achilles heel. Turns out he might be able to handle hunky college jailbait but the younger ones in blue shorts freak him out more than a little. When he saw my toddler nephew, the mixture of horror and trepidation on his face was... priceless to say the least. He looked like a man who'd been handed a live ticking bomb.

If I hadn't stopped him, no doubt he'd have already thrown a fastball and dived for cover under the table.

Paul : Watch him for a minute.
My ISO : Are you crazy? How can you leave a child unsupervised?
Paul : I'll be back in a flash and the toilet's just around the corner. I'm not leaving you with the baby forever.
My ISO : What am I supposed to do?
Paul : He's sleeping in the stroller. Just pat him gently if he wakes.
My ISO : And if that doesn't stop him from struggling awake?
Paul : Restrain him with your sculpted arms la. Didn't you go to the gym for the express purpose of manhandling underaged boys?
My ISO : Bitch.

Raoul didn't wake up fortunately - and later when he did, he just stared at my ISO. Obviously wondering who this broad-shouldered uncle gentleman cringing away from him in fear was.

Anatomi Kelabu / Ampang Medikal

Translated loosely into English from our local Malay, that actually means Grey's Anatomy. Heard from some trusted sources that a new series Ampang Medikal will begin this week based on the hit American drama series with overenthusiastic interns running amuck on the hospital grounds in their first year.

Of course I clapped my hands with glee initially. Not only would it be fun watching poor doctors stumble around like we do, this time we get to see them do so in a local setting. Brings back old memories - imagine a Dr Siti and a Dr Wong squabbling over Mat Steam ( our own version of McSteamy ) in front of a moribund DNR patient.


Spot any Mat Steams ( or McRempits ) amongst that lot?
Well it was originally supposed to be set in Malaysia.

Seems like it's set in a utopia state instead! A nationalistic world where everyone speaks in perfect Malay ( how patriotic! ) during rounds without falling into local slang or even the odd foreign dialect whether Hindi or Cantonese.

And obviously all of us friendly natives no speakee Engleees here.

Which is utter rubbish if you ask me. Somehow despite the rapidly falling standard of the language here, the hospital remains the one area in the government service which deals primarily in the English language. Pathetically broken though it may be, our ward rounds are conducted in English, our orders are given in English and yes, even our notes are written in English.

With nary a written Malaysia Boleh in between.

Trust me on this. It's rare to have a Malaysian Chinese grandmother speak to her grandson in any other language but her own clan dialect ( unless she's Peranakan but that's a whole other story! ). Even more peculiar to have an Indian doctor being spoken to in Malay by an elderly patient of the same race. That almost never happens.

I'll agree to the need to cater to the kampung heartlanders but I believe we're underestimating them! You're talking to a hardy breed who can sit through hours of Venezualan dramas and Korean weepies depending on unreliable subtitles. Surely a bit of local dialect wouldn't faze them.

Isn't it time we accepted that Malaysians speak in an enchanting patois of rojak Malay / English with bits of Indian and Chinese dialects tossed in? After 50 years of independence, isn't that something to be proud of? Of course, Ampang Medikal boasts of a multiracial United Colours cast - so let's hope the token minority Indian / Chinese doesn't get permanently cast into the shade.

Other gripes about the first episode?

1) Wish they'd consulted some local doctors and nurses

Hire a series consultant pronto! Some minute details need to be worked out. Working shifts for house officers that last only 12 hours. What a luxury. Have they ever heard of torturous 24-hour oncalls?

Can someone tell the writers hardly anyone runs all over the hospital in scrubs and crocs in Malaysia - unless they want a serious scold from the persnickety matrons? And removing masks immediately after surgery without taking off their bloody gloves? Eeew. Thank God they called the interns housemen and the residents medical officers. Let's not forget that the British colonials left behind more than their language!

Not to mention the nurses have their own hierarchy as well - probably even stricter than ours. I doubt the nurses would laugh at their sister / matron - oh well, maybe a smirk behind her back. And why does the sister wear the same uniform?

And did anyone notice that the sad monitor in the emergency department only had the ECG onscreen? How tragic. No wonder the patient almost died.

2) Focus on the characters

Seriously. I know Grey's Anatomy focused on patients but it actually took a while before it got to that. The first few episodes dealt mostly with the doctors themselves. We need time to get to know the cast of characters to care.


The cast of Ampang Medikal
No one particularly likable in the cast as yet other than the bubbly Dr Melissa. At this rate, I felt like bopping Dr Siti on her silly lil featherhead too. Getting all weepy over that minute amount of work - judging by the three case notes in front of her? Oh please. That weepy wimp ( who pouted over a little criticism ) wouldn't even last a truly grueling week. WIthout wit nor humour, I don't see how her monologues are gonna carry the show!

And rather than being just plain hawt, their version of McSteamy ( or Mat Steam ) was disgustingly smarmy / sleazy instead - hard to believe any woman ( or man! ) would go for him! Any self-respecting lady would have dealt the womanizing braggart two bitchslaps.

And I believe there were two token minority characters sadly fading into the wallpaper - a Chinese and an Indian - given brief introductory lines each.

3) Damn the soundtrack

Look, I don't need the teeny pseudo Psapp soundtrack playing in my head while the interns run about. Drop that overly familiar soundtrack. We have plenty of local bands around just dying for a break. Isn't it time we gave them a chance? I don't even mind if it's keroncong, I swear.

4) Step up the tempo

Seriously. The pace was so slow, I almost fell asleep waiting for the action. Even the supposedly tense scenes in the emergency setting seemed a lil draggy. And for the lighter moments, we need better scriptwriters with snappy, witty dialogue FAST. A lil comedy, people! Not stupid slapstick but some really sharp oneliners!

As much as I've griped, it's still a welcome beginning for the local media - bravo! - and I do hope it's a roaring success. It's a start.

Chain of Command

And it's finally my turn.

Not sure where Lanky Lex got such a kooky idea as to write a chain story online but what the hell! Doubt anyone's gonna meander through the entire chain story but I bow to the majority! Think of it as a hysterical Venezuelan dramedy. Just like the crazy mad-libs my ISO and I used to play, the story's getting more convoluted - and even more fantastic - as it continues. Utterly confused as to how the plot's ( if there's any! ) moving along but I'll try my best.


Well it is a dark and stormy night.

Alexander
It wasn't a dark and stormy night - that's really a clichéd beginning for a story. For Julien, it was bright enough to see the faint outline of Philip's naked body. Philip was sleeping soundly on the silk satin bedsheet, but Julien just couldn't even get his eyes close on that full moon night. He was looking out the dusty windows, lightly holding the almost empty wine glass. Then, he caught a glimpse of a shadow... who was this stranger in the night?

Janvier
Julien silently shut the window and kept in the shadows, to avoid being silhouetted in the moonlight. "Must get the job done quickly now," he thought while appreciating Philip's physique, "before he gets back." He downed the remains of the wine, then took out his garrotte. Why do I always get the good-looking ones? he pondered as he got into bed, cradled Philip's head and slid the garrotte around Philip's neck. Then Julien yanked and Philip jerked awake, only to have Julien flip him facedown on the bed and pressed his body down on his, his face smothered by the pillow and Julien still strangling him, when the bedroom door slammed open.

Fable Frog
Julien retreat off of the bed leaving Philip's lifeless body. Swiftly he reached for his shirt, knocking the wine glass off the side table. "What have you done?!!", a loud voice came from the door, "Not this one, not right here!!". Julien stood by the bed quiet as a mice, with his head hanging low. The light from the door shine into the dark room, as if spotlighted onto Philip's body while a shadow grew longer reaching the face of Philip.

Adrien
But then it stopped. The creeping shadow halted, as if time stood still, and the approaching figures outside the door had frozen in place. Julien kept silent, his eyes and ears, vigilant, knowing that even the slightest of movements could trigger the shadows - the frozen figures that spoke of undesired calamity.

“For Hera’s sake, could you please keep that aside?! I strictly told you to refrain yourself from using the powerful one... Wait. He’s still in there. I can sense his energy. His fear. Even so, our beloved Phillip is far too devious to just play dead. Fine. Use it.”

It was a man, and he was not alone.

Ban
One of the men produced a verrrry suspicious-looking phallic instrument about 8 inches long which he flicked on. Brilliant white light shone forth from it to illuminate the scene at the bed but Julien wasn't anywhere in sight.

"I really wish you didn't bring that obscene looking flash light of yours here. Couldn't you be a little more serious about work?"

"Oh, don't bother about me and keep concentrating on finding him."

Lifebook
"Just switch on light, dimwit!!"

Julien looked around him. Now he had to get a way out of the room, and it had to be quick before the guys found him. For the moment, jumping out from the windows was his only option. After a minute of rummaging around, one of the guys managed to find the light switch.....

QR
"I found it!" he says and flicked the switch but nothing happened. The light wouldn't turn on and both of them turned their attention to the faulty switch.

This was the diversion Julien has been waiting for. Swiftly, he sprinted fast and silently like a cat towards the opened window. It was freezing cold with winter winds but he had to get out of there.

Legolas
"Stop right there if you still want to be in one piece." Julien froze as his mind was turning quick about what to do next when the light suddenly came on.

"You idiot, told you to switch on the lights and you got the socket." The man had a gun in his hand, pointing straight at Julien. "So you think you can get away this time? I don't think so."

"You must know, bullets won't do me any harm," Julien replied calmly, while still thinking about a way to get out of this situation.

"Heh heh... I have the powerful one to help me this time. It's game over for you now."

Jason
"Is that so? Let's see how fast your bullets are," Julien replied and he dashed to the door with supersonic speed, knocked the second guy who is blocking at the door to the floor.

The first guy fires his gun towards Julien continuously but all of them misses the target, and without any hesitant, Julien sped to the main door but his steps stopped there.

"Hi Julien."

"Freddie... Get out of my way."

"Awwww... Why the rush? How long we haven't seen each other? Don't you miss me?"

Chief
Julien was immediately stunned by that statement. Yes. Julien used to have a wonderful time with Freddie. Freddie, being a pilot, was required to fly around at least twice a month, for a period of two weeks each time. Whenever Freddie was in another country, he would definitely give Julien a call, started off saying, "Don't you miss me?"

Jin
"GET OUT OF MY WAY! I SAID"
All of a sudden, the temperature of the room dropped drastically.
25… 22… 15… 5… 0… -10
Everything in the room became lifeless, frozen in a black thick sheet of ice. Julien's eyes were glowing in green and his lips curved into a sinister smile.
"I told ya".

...***...

And now you have mine.

Paul

But even as he turned to make his getaway, Julien found himself tensing as he felt something cold and sinister slip between his ribs. Green eyes widened in silent astonishment as he slid lifelessly to the ground clutching at the slim dagger piercing his side, teardrops of scarlet dripping heedlessly to the ground.

"Tsk tsk... I knew you would betray me, Julien. I'm not the man you thought I was. Do you think I'd be such a foolish dupe? You're certainly not the first assassin who has tried. Ever since you first accidentally bumped into me, I've had your moves tracked. I know who you work for, Julien. And I decided to test your loyalty as Freddie as well."

That familiar voice was chillingly clear even as Julien's vision blurred with every moment that passed. "W-what? Phillip? But I killed..."

"Tried to kill me twice, didn't you?" Freddie's face changed like liquid metal metamorphosing into the face of the man he loved. Phillip?

...***...

And it's Scott's turn.

Manikins & Monocles

Unlike my parents, teaching has never been my forte. Not only do I lack the necessary patience, I also lack sufficient knowledge since I'm pretty much a dumb himbo in glasses ( without the boytoy looks unfortunately ). Seriously. I'm still literally befuddled by some of the newfangled stuff that comes out in journals.

But in medicine, age comes before beauty. And there is a certain amount of expertise gleaned through experience rather than clinical text - which I hope to impart to the interns if I can. Though personally I sometimes feel like it's the one-eyed man being king in the land of the blind. Even then, sometimes I feel like I can't see through the trees in this vast forest of medicine as well!

But one does try. With indifferent results.


God, that was embarassing! When do I leave?!
Today wasn't one of the better days though. Should have guessed since I've always had a bitter relationship with our practice dummies after all. Halfway through an enthusiastic explanation of the modern techniques of resuscitation, my hand slipped and the vengeful choking manikin delivered a blow to my head.

Snapping my prescription glasses in two.

Seriously not the most elegant way of presentation. I doubt the Three Stooges could have choreographed it any better. Pretty sure the interns tittered inwardly though I tried to smooth over the faux pas as much as possible.

What else could I do being bereft of 20/20 sight but exit stage left with as much grace ( if any! ) as possible! After all I could hardly see stumbling oafishly to my car for the spare specs. Help was at hand though. Fortuitously the friendly neighbourhood optometrist lay just a handy stone's throw away so I blundered my way there. Purely by instinct - the blinded man's grope!

With a sexy obstacle or two in the way.

Paul : Excuse me.
Hunk : Oh, I'm sorry. Am I in your way?
Paul : I can't see. Feeling my way. Whoa, this is brick-hard.
Hunk : That's my chest you're groping, not the wall.
Paul : Oopsie. Sorry!

Or at least I think it was a hunk. With my blurred sight I could hardly tell. It could have been a talking giraffe in khakis for all I know.

Ain't easy choosing spectacle frames with dozens of lookalikes to choose from - especially when I can barely see the selection. Found it amusing that those hideous thick frames I wore back in school are seriously back in fashion now! Ended up getting talked into an expensive pair of frames with photochromic lenses. How could I possibly resist lenses that change colours like a chameleon!

Hell, they certainly know how to take advantage of the visually disadvantaged!

Return of Spiderman

Years back in medical school, I had a notorious classmate we all dubbed the Amazing Spiderman for his intrepid acts of spanning hostel blocks by leaping across deadth-defying four-storey heights. Though we all suspected his lecherous intention of playing dirty voyeur over in the girls' hostel, the pathetic worm claimed that he preferred the water supply in the girls' washrooms. Hence his evening runs.

A likely story.

And this from a zealot who preaches about religious every morning to an unappreciative, scornful audience - i.e. me.

Even worse... when caught redfaced, our brash Spidey had the gall to appear in our classroom hall - utterly unapologetic - blaming a lascivious phantom demon for inciting his uncontrollable lusts. If I had my way, I'd have had him whipped and hung from the nearest belltower. But I was a shy unassuming sort back then so I only jeered and shot him a finger over his lame-o excuse.

Look, I don't blame him for playing voyeur. If Chris Evans showered next door, I'd be installing high-definition spy cameras all over the place. But I'd willingly admit to committing the crime of passion - have you seen those deliciously furry pecs? - rather than pointing the finger at someone else. It was Love in the First Degree after all!


If I'm already breaking the rules anyway, I'd have gone up the stairs!
But according to his version of the truth, our hyper-religious ( and thoroughly sanctimonious ) Spidey claimed that the aforementioned demon of lust had preyed on his innocent mind wickedly twisting it. A handy scapegoat if you ask me. One of the reasons I've never trusted preachy religious fellas.

A real man would have taken the fall instead. Seriously would have appreciated him a lot more if he'd just admitted to climbing over the fence to drool over naked boobs.

Once I left medical school, I thought that would be the end of Spiderman's lascivious reign but like a bad penny, he has resurfaced again. Just yesterday in fact - though in a totally different guise. Seems like someone else has decided to take on the mantle of Spiderman and foolishly climb up the towers of the girls' dorm.

Only this time Spiderman's promising protege fell to the ground in a decidedly final splat.

Hope he rests in peace but... whatever possessed him to try the feat?! What possible motivation could drive them to attempt such a near-suicidal act? For a lil midnight nookie? To impress the girls?

Don't they ever learn? Rapunzel's beau got blinded - possibly injuring his occipital region when he dropped like an unwieldy rock from her tower. Even Romeo was smart enough to remain safely on the ground while he delivered his soliloquy to his Juliet - and when he made the climb, I bet it wasn't all that high up.

Unsanitary Pads

Today I bravely went where angels would fear to tread. Not because of the sheer unholiness of the place - since the inhabitants had long rebelled against the Holy Father - but because the sheer grime was far from godliness.

Forget what I said before about Handsome Hui's Hovel or even Charming Calvin's Crib being completely unlivable. I've found a serious contender for the gold making the rest sadly forgettable also-rans.


Ahh... Home Sweet Home!
Precisely what I thought when I accidentally stumbled into Dashing Dan's Despicably Dirty Den. Obviously taking his cottontail nickname to heart by turning his home into a warren.

Be it ever so humble... okay it's shabby. Not only did it seem bereft of creature comforts such as electricity and warmth, there seemed to be a layer of dust - no doubt unmoved since the golden age of Mesopotamia - covering the stack of boyish paraphernalia ( books, comics, video games, clothes ) piled up on the disused billiard table in his living room.

Paul : Why is it dark here in Silent Hill? Did the lights get cut off?
Dan : Umm. I like it to be dark?
Paul : Would the lights scare off the rats and the bats?

And I did say billiard table.

Can I add that there was a petrified jungle of dead flora lying beside the table along with a tortured, tattered punching bag? That didn't stun me as much as the military parade of hair products standing at attention by the toilet door - no doubt placed there to battle it out with the battalion of kitchen knives stabbed onto the counter directly opposite.

I had a sudden crazy urge to run out for a scouring brush! With a lake of detergent / bleach. Like my boys dirrrty but not unsanitary!

Look, I'm far from the neatest guy around but I do try to keep my things in some semblance of order. Oddly enough, I seem to be in a dying minority. Most bachelors seem to pride themselves on the sheer squalor of their unsanitary pads! When a man's home is his castle, it's obviously his inalienable right to pillage and plunder till rack and ruin.

Fortunately Dan's moving to a new place. You can bet Zany Zinedine and I will help him tzsuj the place up. Though hopefully a reliable weekly maid service would be at hand to deal with the inevitable detritus.

Geishas Reborn

Let's face it, we all like to flirt with danger every once in a while.

I'm definitely not immune as well. Why else would I give the occasional flirtatious wink to Karate Kai? Knowing full well that I'd be literally karate-kicked into a blue-black pulp ( or tortured with endless sudoku puzzles! ) if I ever grabbed his toned ass.

But hey, I like the challenge.

And I can run fast enough.

Still I always found it peculiar that despite the raging homosexual badge that he wears proudly, Kai seems to be so unaccountably hostile towards men. So today after an exilarating round of sake, he finally admitted the reason he eschews men in a touching haiku.

He was... raped.

Well not exactly Kai.

Seems like Karate Kai's actually the reincarnation of a vengeful geisha from the Edo Period. The tragic Lady Karate Kitana. Brutally manhandled by a marauding samurai who robbed her of her innocence - and then refused to pay for her invaluable mizuage! Worst of all, the dishonourable bastard then proceeded to tear her one and only precious silk kimono to ribbons.


Hmmm... how do I talk her into giving up her mizuage?!
For that Kitana decided to take her feminine revenge using the secret geisha technique #4 - fighting for the sake of her dishonoured silk kimono with paper umbrella and stiletto-sharp hairpins - as cherry blossoms and samurai blood splattered across the tatami floor. The remaining bodyguards were dispatched speedily with a solid shamisen slam which left their ears ringing. Cleaning up the bloody mess, Kitana buried the brutally murdered samurai under the zen garden and then ended her life harakiri style.

So that summarized tale explains the endless man-hate of Kitana. And now Kai.

BTW turns out I was once Kitana's devoted manservant Paolosaka - who also helped bury the scurrilous lot - so we remain tied even in this life. No wonder Kai understands my inexplicable inner rage so well - though I don't express it quite as he does.

Will just have to make sure to keep the hair pins and umbrellas safely away when he's around.

Lovin Robots & Slippery Nipples

Thank God It's Friday.

Seriously. Working overtime at work has given me an even bigger craving for a night out with drinks on fridays so it's getting to be a weekly event meeting up with the Lady Lushes!

Of course I arrived unfashionably late - though I wasn't the only tardy soul - since I actually stole away for a quick afternoon matinee to catch the fabulous WALL·E with my ISO. Shared a popcorn and coke for tea while we delved into the polluted garbage world of the innocent, wide-eyed WALL·E and his serious-minded lady love with the endless directives, EVE. With the recurring Hello Dolly references, it was quite obvious they had a musical-lovin gay man onboard thinking about his Streisand and his Sunday clothes :)

WALL-E is the only one still truly living. And what is the ultimate purpose of living? To love. And WALL-E falls head over heels with a robot named EVE. Now, WALL-E's feelings aren't reciprocated because, well, she has no feelings. She's a robot, cold and clinical. WALL-E is the one who has evolved over time and garnered feelings. So in the end, it's gonna be WALL-E's pursuit to win EVE's heart, and his unique appreciation of life to become mankind's last hope to rediscover its roots. In short, it's going to take a robot's love to help make the world go round.

Andrew Stanton

Make sure you don't miss the obsessive lil clean-up bot M-O as well. And stay for the credits seriously - beautiful homage to all the great artists!

One of the reasons I finally reached Bangsar sweating after a desperate run to catch the Lady Lushes for dinner! And Pious Peter who came along to add sobriety to the occasion. No doubt our tardiness would have earned a severe scold from him - only he was too worried we'd pranked him and left him there.

Come on, doesn't he know us well enough by now to know we don't do simple pranks? :)


And here I thought I'm late!
So what did I do with the girls? Other than sipping the usual cocktails, slagging the wandering skanks and slurping the delicious man-candy, we also shared multiple orgasms, checked out slippery nipples and finally met McFrenchy.

Paul : Wait a minute, where's my orgasm?
Waitress : You ordered only one, sir.
Paul : Definitely two. I don't share my orgasms. Not with a woman anyhow.
Fiona : Bet you'd prefer a quick fuck.
Shalom : Or a cock-sucking cowboy.
Paul : Don't see either here.
Waitress : Uhh... one orgasm coming up.

Our poor Fiona tried to run over to meet McNuggets next door but we kept detaining her with more - and more - drinks. Past midnight, her mojito-ed heels couldn't even walk straight.

Certainly an eventful night - though we still couldn't get the reticent Pious Peter to spill about his long-lost love. The way he kept backsliding and changing the subject, you'd think we were torturing him to reveal highly-classified state secrets! Even Statuesque Sarah offering to bare a boob in exchange didn't have the cucumber-cool fella blinking an eye - though he did start reading a stern lecture on the evils of promiscuity.

Then again, Shameless Shalom would say I'm quite as secretive about my ISO as well - since she kept wondering about his identity. Honestly - though I try to drive her insane my keeping mum about him - I doubt she even recalls his name :) Maybe I should just claim him as a figment of my imagination to curb her curiosity!

All About the Numbers

Don't worry, folks. Not gonna ring up the medal tallies for the Olympics :)

Just that I was extra busy at work last night. Make that 3 deaths, 4 discharges, 5 admissions and 6 ward referrals. Doesn't sound a lot but for a place used to a steady trickle of patients, this raging flood certainly is unexpected. And that's not counting the poor fella who had a horrific midnight meeting with a container truck.

Totally blame one of my hyperactive colleagues for being a jinx :)

Since I've already adjusted to the more... shall we say... relaxed atmosphere of work around here, Ive found little opportunity to bare my fangs. Perfect gentleman I swear. Hardly any reason to throw down with Scalpel Siths these days - especially when they helpfully provide cute male eye-candy in the hospital.


Could you do me a favour?
Seriously. I've said it before and it still holds true. Whoever said good looks doesn't matter is a sad blind fool.

Because it does. Not only does the work get done faster - since even the usually grumpy nurses swoon at your every word, it even gets your referrals seen in a jiffy. Bonus points if you have a deep, sexy baritone to boot! We all know what a turn-off whiny wimpy voices can be to a total hottie, right?

The Beckham Syndrome, anyone?

So you can imagine how sweetly obliging I was when I received a midnight referral from Randy Rolf. Think hot, sexy Austro-Malay melange with dreamy brown eyes. Best of all, he has a brain.

Rolf : Hello Paul. Do you mind seeing my patient in Ward C.
Paul : Not a problem. Any other services you'd like me to offer? I'm always ready to serve, Rolf.
Rolf : Uhh...
Paul : Any toys you want me to bring along?

Ah, fantasies.

Of course I didn't say that. Obliging I might be but I'm well known to act a tad differently in my workplace. Somehow, naughty come-ons don't mesh that well with my icy-cold, standoffish professional persona.

A pity. I'd have liked to proposition Rolf. After all, you know our surgical tables can assume dozens of positions? Providential :)

Speechless

They say that truth will set you free. But what if your jailors won't believe it?

Despite having a reputation for being extremely garrulous, there are rare extreme moments when even I find myself at a loss. So trust me, I can still be left speechless. And not just because of acute laryngitis.

You see, I just came out at work. Again inadvertently.

Remember how I wished my overenthused colleagues could find something other than dreary academia to interest themselves in? You know what they say - be careful what you wish for, you just might get it?


Blair : You know, I found the perfect girl for Paul.
Paul : Grrr. I'd rather fuck that hot piece of man eye-candy.
Well, a chance comment at work had a few of my Gungho Ginny colleagues collectively abandoning their textbooks en masse to lecture me on the patent evils of singledom. According to them - and evidently Jane Austen too - it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

They certainly lost no time in persuading me. So these budding matchmakers busied themselves searching through their address books to introduce a dozen or so unmarried fillies to me. Seriously. What is it with hospitals, women and the fine art of matchmaking?

Is it infectious?

Genny : How about Dr Doomette? Isn't she pretty?
Paul : Not my type. I prefer broad hairy shoulders.
Ginny : How about this girl I know? Bimbette's a teacher...
Paul : You know what, I don't need a girl. I already have a boyfriend.
Ginny : OMG. You'll say anything to get out of a blind date.
Genny : HAHAHA.
Paul : Seriously. A guy. We fuck around and all that.
Ginny : Gosh, just take the number will ya? And call her.

Damn motherchucker is right.

I think I preferred them raving over medical journals rather than hypothetical nuptials. But nothing could have prepared me for their response of course - well, nothing like abject disbelief to leave me speechless! Were they all temporarily deafened by fantasy marriage schemes? Were their overworked brains so clogged with dry medical facts that they couldn't accept the notion of homosexuality? Did I phrase my coming out incorrectly?

Wait a minute, don't I fit into the regular fag stereotype? Don't know whether I should be insulted! Who knows, next time I'd probably prepare a detailed slideshow to drive home the point that I'm a raging homo!

Semen Fairy

Some wouldn't even contemplate coming into contact with it. Some squeal like a schoolgirl even when a dash lands on their face. Some look dismayed at the unfortunate misdemeanour, run to gargle with mouthwash and quickly spit it out.

And then there are the rare few who prefer to swallow.

Me, I once sat through an entire early morning lecture on Parasitology in crusty cum-stained boxers - not even mine - smiling inwardly to myself. But then I've always been just a wee bit dirrrty.

Spunk. Cum. Semen. Jizz. Splooge. Whatever you call it. All of us have different reactions to it. And yes, that even goes for the guys. Most especially the guys since believe it or not, some guys do get thoroughly freaked over it. Honestly you'd be surprised by the number of guys who have never even tasted their own cum.


Eeeww. Like it tastes funky, bro!
You'd think the damned thing was fuckin radioactive. And here these finicky guys are expecting hoover-blowjobs till heavenly harps play.

Fortunately I'm not one of them. Neither is my ISO.

Paul : I can't believe you'd go vegetarian. What about roast pork!
My ISO : Don't tempt me. It's only for a week.
Paul : Paying penance? Have you tried flogging instead?
My ISO : Hardly. I...
Paul : Like you can't tell me la.
My ISO : Experiment. Was wondering whether my cum would taste better.
Paul : Okay. That was TMI.
My ISO : Like that time you slipped into the toilet bowl was any better?
Paul : Touche. So does it taste better?
My ISO : Not sure. Would you like me to cum for you to try?
Paul : Maybe with some soy sauce.

Hell, I'd wallow in it if I could :P

I imagine the waitress must have freaked over our talk of vegetarian cum.

Dirty Sexy Priests

Holy Mother of God.

According to Shameless Shalom, I have a serious fetish for uniforms - specifically for a man of the cloth. Seems like I've always cherished this filthy fantasy of getting the holy father out of his black cassocks, then getting down and dirty in the musty confessional booth.

I can't deny that of course. Sadly, years of mission school, spotty bible study lessons and the occasional catechism will do that to ya :)

So it should come as no surprise that the man I'd prefer getting dirty and sexy with in Dirty Sexy Money ( one of my latest obsessions ) is none other than Reverend Brian Darling. Foul-mouth, bad attitude, sexy black cassock and all! Doesn't it make sense that I'd fall for the grumpy bastard of the series? The one who obviously needs anger management desperately! The self-righteous man of God who mouths curses in every other breath, commits adultery and then forces his illegitimate son to assume the role of a Swedish orphan.


How could anyone be so heartless as to deny that adorable lil tyke as his son?

But hey, I've always liked a challenge.

Brian : What are you doing here again, you son of a bitch? This is the house of God. Fucking get out!
Paul : You have a foul mouth, reverend.
Brian : What? You want to confess for all your manifold sins? There's isn't enough time in the whole wide world for that! Just go burn in hellfire.
Paul : Shut up, bitch and kiss me.

Obviously I have some issues as well :P The monstrous jerk does have his good points though.



Dirty Sexy Money tells the story of main protagonist Nick George ( played by Peter Krause ), an idealistic do-gooder lawyer who finds himself irresistibly nudged into the role of personal lawyer ( and overall go-to person! ) for the sinfully wealthy Darlings of New York after his father's suspicious death.

Even worse - after swallowing the entire ten episodes in a desperate gulp, I had this hot dream where the lawyer propositioned the priest.


Brian, meet me in my suite an hour from now.
And they do turn out to be half-brothers btw.

Hawt. I know.

Original Sin

Rambling Raoul remains a man of few words.

Coming up to the age of 2 in a few months time, my nephew Raoul still remains stoically silent preferring to let his actions speak for himself rather than using verbal expression. While his prodigy of a sister - Chatty Carmen - had already started doing dramatic monologues not seen since Emily of Emerald Hill by that time.

Not that he's incapable of speech! But although he babbles detailed, convoluted tales full of secret pathos to his imaginary friends when no one's within hearing range, he stubbornly keeps mum when questioned by everyone else eager to hear him speak.


On a secret rendezvous!
No doubt a secret agent from the cold war in his past life.

Especially since Raoul seems to be forever having something to hide. Every once in a while, there'll be a quick look of mischievious devilry followed by a childish giggle. Yet no one has a clue to exactly why.

Perhaps I've got an idea though. Since I frequently laugh to myself - for what seems ( to everyone else at least! ) to be no apparent reason. Psychotic breaks aside, I actually have lots of wicked ideas in my head that I rarely carry out to fruition. If I did, I'd have been branded a homocidal psychotic by my enemies ( numbering hundreds ) and locked up in bedlam long since.

So I restrain my malicious impulses when I can.

And cackle hysterically to myself as I imagine the wildly contrived demise of my enemies. So each time I snicker gleefully to myself, you'll know why. Raoul would empathize, I'm sure.

Raoul : How dare that lil brat in tacky hand-me-downs steal my Legos? Hope he chokes on the red piece. HAHAHAHA. Maybe I'll hand a bigger piece to him.

Fierce.

Sticky Rice

Despite the fact that my friends and I are sticky rice by convention ( as the term is called ), we actually rarely have Chinese dinners!

You know the kind - loud, boisterous meals with main dishes set out in the front for all to partake and share ( or to partake before it's inevitably hoovered by Strapping Shane! ) while everyone's busy chattering away with chopsticks clamped on their lips. Last sit-down dinner we had was months back when Charming Calvin - a stickler for convention - returned from Beijing.

So we decided to have a small reunion last night. Fitting since we were celebrating Dashing Dan's birthday. Of course the boy was unabashedly despondent the entire day since we'd kept knowledge of the surprise celebration from him ( orchestrated by Shane ) till the last moment letting him think that we'd all forgotten his special day.


Why am I all alone on my birthday!
How could we when we had Facebook to remind us!

Even dragged him out for a speedy lunch while the preparations were made at the party area. Then we all literally ditched him en masse. Possibly feeling lost and abandoned like he'd been kicked down the proverbial rabbit hole, our woebegone Dan couldn't have been more astonished when he finally returned to find the birthday cake waiting at home.

Certainly a surprise. Think he almost saw God again when the cake was lit.

Though I had some reservations about the semi-botched lunch plans to mislead him.

Thinking Dan deserved a worthy dinner as well, we all adjourned to an elegant Chinese dining establishment in Bangsar - fittingly named Reunion as well. Not my first time there since my ISO and I had trashed the place once in a semi-drunken fest of pork and wine. *ahem* Fortunately no one remembered us!

This time I was sober. Certainly dressed for the occasion since we'd been prepped by Shane to be in our Sunday best. As usual with a bunch of raging gay fellas, that called for a cam-whoring vogue session.

But we certainly settled down when the pork arrived. Did I say pork? I meant food.

Nah, I meant pork. And the thicker the layer of fat, the better! Never understood folks who whine and moan over the fatty layers. If you want lean, stick to dried turkey dammit! Had a few kosher dudes around but the rest of us cleared the plate fast enough so that they barely noticed the oinking offender.

Could compose an ode to the meat but I think Calvin said it best when he said, Share pork with someone you love.

And he wasn't drunk at the time.

Beijing Beckons

Well it certainly turned out to be an auspicious beginning for the Beijing Olympics yesterday with an awesome opening ceremony combining the rich cultural tapestry of a millenia with their technological achievements today. No doubt most of their naysayers ( plenty of psychologically-embattled western critics around ) have thankfully been silenced by the dazzling spectacle.

Then again I might be biased :)

Showcasing the four great inventions of the Chinese, the opening sequence was represented by different sections dedicated to the gunpowder, the paper, the moveable-type print and the compass. Of course my favourite scene from the opening had to be the relentless army of Confucian scholars in watery shades of gray sweeping across the hushed terraces to the rhythmic snaps of their ancient bamboo scrolls.

有朋自远方来，不亦乐乎？
四海之内皆兄弟也.


Rampaging Confucian academia!
Wonder whether I quoted it right or Confucius is gonna come hunting for me. Ah, the plight of the speechless Chinaman. Supposedly quoting from the analects of the philosopher Confucius and telling all about the delight in greeting travellers from afar while musing that all men are brothers.

And here you thought those gray men were chanting hoodoo.

Of course Charming Calvin will have it that the unofficial coming out party for China ( as most are calling it! ) was held purely for his sake. No doubt aided and abetted by his colluding colleagues who brought a cake to celebrate his birthday this week! Don't have to tell you that they had a magnificent fireworks display to commemorate the birthday as well! :P

Me and My Gals

Fortunately when the stress at work - and the scarily enthused Gungho Ginnies with their endless tutorials - get to me, I do have an escape route ready at hand. Otherwise I'd probably be running amuck in the hospital with machetes flying.

Have I said that I'm blessed to finally find these buncha gals in the hospital? Well, I am! Searching through the endless haystack of Gungho Ginny clones wasn't easy but I certainly managed to find them. No better group to hang with to talk medical trash with while sipping cocktails.

Not to forget checking out the men eyecandy strolling by.

Yes - in that group of lovely ladies I call Lushes, I have a sinking feeling that I'm the Stanford Blatch unfortunately ( without the glaring purple / pink accessories ). Though I desire to be Charlotte York. Come on... lovely apartment, wealthy husband, adopted baby - it's all good.

Still as I looked at the group of Statuesque Sarah, Shameless Shalom and Fabulous Fiona ( with Lissome Lorelei gone MIA ), I knew it wouldn't be long before this brief summer idyll is over and we'd all be separated by our career paths - bringing a couple of them to vastly disparate corners of the globe - to our mates.

Fortuitously though they are all in between boyfriends at the moment.

And mine's more than a thousand li away :)

Fabulous Fiona might be getting over her latest McNugget soon enough though - especially with the latest juicy titbit that he might just be a little too oedipal for her tastes. Never knew the ladies would object that much to a bit of maternal interference! Unless it's really all about the footwear :P


Beijing Olympics!
Brought our planned outing forward when we realized tonight was the official opening ceremony of the Olympics - and let's face it, almost everyone of Chinese descent ( no matter how nominal! ) around the globe is gonna be tuned in to Beijing tonight to wish them well :)

北京欢迎你

Losing My Religion

Seriously. With the amount of space dedicated to homosexuality and sodomy in our press these days, ignorant folks are probably wondering if the country's being overrun by militant gays.

For the past month or so, our very own local news agency has been publishing radically homophobic articles full of such awfully vitriolic right-wing propaganda that it makes me sick to the stomach. First you have Melati Mohd Ariff's Homosexuals' life of moral decadence and then Soraya Jamal's When lust has no boundaries. Reason enough that I now avoid Bernama articles whenever I can.

So much for our press remaining purely neutral and unbiased.

The gist of their articles? As usual, we have our righteous pitch-fork waving heartlanders who insist that homosexuality is a growing disease that should be eradicated since it goes against the doctrines of their religion. Supposedly their proposed panacea for all these diseased deviants is to shove religious text down their collective throats.


God help these heathens!
Look, I hate folks who talk about religion. Or even worse use religion as a relentless hammer in all subjects! Do these rabidly orthodox zealots automatically assume that everyone else shares the very same opinion? Come on, there are dozens of religious faiths in the world - so please stop imposing your all-encompassing rules on the rest of us. Your high-minded morals are not mine. We don't want them. I don't go around waving blessed crosses and tossing holy bibles at disbelieving heathens, do I?

All this rampant homophobia only tempts me to start a new gay fucking religion. Maybe I could have a shiny, sequinned temple of orgiastic defiance ( with the magical glittering disco ball ) with weekly foam parties, thursday tea-bagging parties and leather dungeon wednesdays. Hunky inductees to the new religion would have to undergo a rigorous initiation ceremony involving frequent recitation of the holy pink word, daily buggery and light sado-masochism.

Not to mention a baptismal dip in the sacred sauna.

Zealot : Buggery! Sexual deviancy! That's against my religion!
Paul : Well, you're not getting your cock sucked in the public changing rooms! That's blasphemous in my book! My Gay God advocates such teachings!
Zealot : What holy book is that!
Paul : More like sacraments handwritten onto dingy toilet walls.

Now what do you say to that? Would you like me to impose my own wicked rules on the rest of the world as well?

And all this fuss from a culture well known for its easygoing tolerance. We Malaysians already have a saying for this... Jangan jaga tepi kain orang. A subtle way of saying mind your own fucking business. And stay out of my bed.

Unless you're a gorgeous hot intern.

Now go take a look at Farish Noor's hilarious take on this issue.
Buggered by the Victorians

That Steamroller

I hate surprises.

You'd all guess by now that most physicians are just a tad anal-retentive. Usually when the day starts I've already outlined a general plan for the day - with a couple ( hundred? ) of contingency plans ready to suit almost every eventuality. Short of an unexpected quake. With a pretty flexible schedule that changes by the minute, it's hard to predict what's going to happen - and yet I always have something prepared right up my sleeve.

Don't like to be caught unawares - so ask me at any given moment what I'm gonna be doing later - and usually I'll have some vague idea.

Not that I'll ever tell.

Usually when asked for a general opinion on my next move amongst my group of friends, I usually remain uncharacteristically silent. Even plead some degree of himbo-like indecision rather than speak what's on my mind.

Friend : What do you wanna do?
Paul : Uhh.. don't know.
Friend : Where do you wanna go?
Paul : Uhh.. not sure.
Friend : Who do you wanna see?
Paul : Uhh.. don't know.

Surprised? Don't be.


Indecision!
Of course sometimes I really have to bite my tongue when the rest of the group remains maddeningly indecisive. You'll see it often enough!

Friend : We don't know what to do either.
Friend 2 : Should we have lunch first? Or take in a movie?
Friend : Don't know. Maybe have drinks?
Friend 2 : Maybe. Karaoke? What lunch?
Paul : FUCK! Make up yor mind dammit before I take off your heads!

It's self preservation honestly. I know better than to decide. If I had to make all the decisions, I'd be worst than a steamroller. Just give me an inch and I'd probably roll all over you - and probably make all the decisions thereafter! Yes, I'm a monstrous control freak. Love holding the reins unfortunately!

Just don't tell my friends.

The Art of Bomohpathy

We like to say that the relationship between a surgeon and an anaesthetist is akin to a marriage of convenience. No matter their marital troubles, the unfortunate pair are irrevocably tied to each other by virtue of their jobs - despite the fact that the surgeon and the anaesthetist can be distinctly different in character and nature!

Usually the more subdued and passive of the pair, the anaesthetist learns to handle his cases with more tact than his rowdy, aggressive surgical colleagues who are far more eager to throw down the gauntlet. But of course, that's plain stereotyping since you do find the occasional mavericks here and there :)

Surgeons come in all shapes and sizes after all. From the benign powers of good to the demonic ones who wield their jedi-like strength for evil like the Scalpel Sith. Though I didn't think I'd ever meet one who'd leave me gaping.

Jedi Jampi himself!


Does this actually work?!
Despite the modernization sweeping the country, not all of its inhabitants have seen fit to lose the old ways. Hence the ancient practice of alternative medical therapy ( what else would you call bomohpathy? ) are still very much in vogue. As a practitioner of Western medicine, I'm obliged to abhor such unlicensed work. Not that I don't believe in their patchy successes but I do wish the work's scientifically documented as a retrospective study in the Asian Journal of Arcane Bomohpathy at the very least.

Rather than to have it leak out in hearsay as an urban legend of the healing wise man in the hills. Let's not even talk about the infamous sinsehs who go around fooling naive ladies into giving up their hard-earned savings - and occasionally more.

But some relatives are awfully persistent so I find myself - if not condoning - at least not barring them from trying their luck. As long as they don't forcefeed my patients dubious-looking miracle cures or douse them in bacteria-laden drainwater, I'm quite agreeable. Since it usually involves a few chants, some songs, perhaps a rain dance or two.

But of course I never quite expected spiritual surgery being done by our very own Jedi Jampi. Seriously. You have never seen the like! Sure I've heard the local legends but I've never seen tumours being shrunken by faith healing before. I almost wondered whether he'd want help decontaminating the surgical area but I was informed by the Jedi that the area had been cleansed with prayer.

Hell, what are we autoclaving for! Might as well scare the bugs away by breaking out the Bible!

Still... nice unassuming fella, this Jedi Jampi. No knives. No flashing blades. No magic wands. Just a tense, controlled muttering and brief waving of hands. Without the benefit of anaesthesia even!

Of course I gotta see his results before I give my nod of approval. Who knows, we might yet call Jedi back for a surgical consult. Maybe I could learn how to sedate patients by whispering a few magic words. Imagine the things I could do! Chris Evans won't see it coming!

Paul : Could I buy you a drink?
Chris Evans : Get lost, creep. What are you bothering me for?
Paul : Aren't you feeling sleepy already?
Chris Evans : No, I'm not! I'm just... *yawn*
Paul : Lullaby and good night.

Need I say more?

Ballers, Brewskis & Barry

What five TV Characters would you do?

Seriously. I don't know how the tone of our conversation descended into such lurid degeneracy but during the circuitous drive back home - after a spate of comparing recent television dramas - we suddenly stumbled onto this gem.

We - as in Big Bicep Barry and me. Just back from another diving expedition, he looked as gloriously tanned as the surfer bum I always imagined him to be. Seemed like he'd closed up his beach shack for the night ( seeing that all the superstitious folks are hiding at home this Hungry Ghost Month! ) which gave us an opportunity to hit the spanking new cineplex in town to catch the Mummy : Tomb of the Dragon Emperor.


What the fuck am I doing here!
Certainly says something that I got more of a rise from riding Barry's car after than during the entire two hours of the latest Mummy instalment :) Sure Brendan Fraser was watchable as he reprised his role of Rick O'Connell but that's about it. The plot was so-so, poor Jet Li was ludicrous as the two-dimensional baddie and even the fabulous sight of post-war Shanghai couldn't save the show.

Hell, even the brewskis we smuggled in didn't make the movie any better.

Which is how we ended up talking about television instead.


So many guys to choose from! How can I only pick five!
Surprisingly it took me a while to come up with an answer. Five fine fellas on the small screen I'd rather be doing? Now, how am I going to confine myself to only five! Well ... that and the fact that Big Bicep Barry was staring at me with raised eyebrow might have distracted me from replying as well.

Nathaniel Archibald from Gossip Girl
Sure, he's broody, faithless and given over to fits of dejection but hell, I'd still do him. Especially in his preppy St Judes uniform! Don't you just wanna tear it off?

Kirby Atwood from Lipstick Jungle


For obvious reasons - golden six-pack, toothpaste smile and all. And also for the fact that he stood by the resident bitch Nico Reilly even though she rejected him in a thousand painfully emasculating ways.

Eli Stone from... well it's self explanatory
Actually sweet Eli's more a guy I'd bring home to mama. Successful, handsome lawyer with a wicked sense of humour? Now, isn't that perfect husband material? Well, he does have a brain aneursym but that has been operated on!

And these two guys from more obscure sources - French and German television series in fact.

Kevin Laporte from Les Bleus
Sweet, sincere, intelligent - at least from what I gathered off the subtitles - and the adorable man's also a buff french copper. And did I tell ya he's out and proud as well?

Christian Mann from Verboten Liebe
And this one from a German soap called Verboten Liebe. A tough amateur boxer who's just starting to feel his way out of the closet. Now wouldn't you want to get into the ring with such a guy? Go look at those yummy lips.

All subject to change of course.

When I turned the question around on Barry, he smiled enigmatically while keeping an eye on the road ahead. Thought he was obviously not going to make a reply as usual. Then yet again, this fella surprised me.

Barry : Trust me, I'm so horny these days I could fuck a goat.
Paul : Well I'm available for a fuck.
Barry : Not while I'm driving.
Paul : At a measly 50 kmph. I saw a granny hobbling past on a cane.
Barry : I'm a good boy. Sex in a moving car? I don't do such things.
Paul : You're obviously not drunk enough. Stop by the sundry store and I'll get another six-pack.
Barry : That might help!

Fortunately I wasn't the designated driver or I'd have swerved into a ditch. Yeah, I talk a good game ... but after all this time, if he'd said yes I'd probably have leapt out of the car in hysterics.

No Lil House on the Prairie

Location. Location. Location.

That's not my real estate agent speaking. That's Charming Calvin.

Seems like our nomadic Beijing expat has decided to sink his hard-earned disposable yuan into real estate. Blew a sigh of relief hearing that since I figure it's time for him to finally buy instead of rent. Especially when he's been blowing his cash renting an entire apartment here for an entire year - only to spend a measly four weeks in the place.

I call it his storage apartment.

Of course buying an apartment in the city isn't quite as simple as I imagined. When I bought my own place, all I did was drive by the show unit, scope out the area and sign the agreement. Of course I'll admit I was swayed by the fact that the house lay only a stone's throw from the place I grew up in. :) Certainly a selling point for me.


Be it ever so humble!
Landed properties are of course preferable - but in the city, the price of purchase for a minuscule lot barely the size of a jockstrap would cost more than a king's ransom. Certainly not to be thought of - unless an excessive wealthy long-lost of uncle of mine ( or Calvin's ) succumbs to a mysterious illness clutching his last will and testament naming one of us his sole beneficiary.

Unfortunately crusty old nabobs are hard to find these days with money boys aplenty on the catch for them!

So it's an apartment Calvin's looking for - with a reasonably spacious area larger than the grotty bedsit I had all through university :) Hopefully a step up from his previous rented place with amenities such as a pool or a gym in the same building ( the better to ogle the hot guys! ) and guards to keep out the great unwashed. Preferably within walking distance of a sizeable train station.

And of course, it shouldn't be in the back of beyond. Being a small town boy, Calvin simply can't conceive of staying more than ten minutes away from the city centre.

So you can see how hard it is to find such a gem of an apartment for such a shockingly low price! Short of a local housing recession in the next few months, the only way we'd get such a place is to voraciously hunt through the obituaries! Getting rid of the blood stains on the carpets should be easy enough but I wouldn't know how to get my hands on a reputable bomoh to spiritually cleanse the place.

But let's not get too far ahead.

Have to admit the first thought that came to my mind was 'Ooh, what kinda interior design theme should we have?' Maybe a chic, modern Chinese interior as a nod to Calvin's traditional upbringing? Simple white Ming-style furniture with lattice frame screens and green accents? A little less fussy and understated than my own place - though with his predilection for making a mess, the minimalist look would soon turn into trashy Bohemian.

Wait a minute... didn't he mention that the company pays for luggage transport ( in a 4 X 4 ) when he comes back from Beijing?

A Farewell to Drew

I seriously doubt most of my colleagues can remember all their patients. With the sheer volume of patients passing through their doors on a daily basis, it's almost impossible to recall them all.

But there will always be a handful who will stand out throughout our careers. For me, it's the awful tragedies that always remain crystal clear in my memory - from the teenage boy who succumbed to dengue shock syndrome on my first month of work to the Vietnamese worker who lost his fingers in an industrial accident ( how I met Big Bicep Barry incidentally ).

And of course the man I met yesterday. Drew.

Rare indeed that I meet a self-confessed gay man - especially in the hospital setting! Last one I met had attempted suicide - and I wouldn't even have guessed if my nurses hadn't dropped a hint into my ear.

Drew was different though. Not only was his sexuality brazenly splashed all over the notes, Drew was also unabashedly out and proud, almost ferocious in his defence of his raging homosexuality. Guess he figured he obviously didn't have much more to lose - seeing as his once healthy body was already riddled with the dire hallmarks of AIDS. Reason enough for him to lash out bitterly at his loved ones even as he struggled to breathe his last.

Not the first time I've had patients with HIV but it's rare that I find them well enough to tell me a story ( much too late once they come through to intensive care! ). Yet once I shut the curtains, Drew - no doubt recognizing a kindred spirit - poured out the usual coming-out story of prejudice, intolerance and alienation. Then the endless partying with the sexual promiscuity so prevalent in certain niches of gay life.

As he spoke, what struck me was the thought that it could have been anyone of us afflicted with the same. Could be any one of my friends lying there in that cold nameless hospital cot with the half empty intravenous drip and the miserable hot water bottle.


You ain't tapping this ass, man, till you rubberize.
Gosh, this is gonna sound like a public service announcement. According to recent studies, HIV infection among gay men in Asia is rising - possibly due to a number of factors including less funding for programs that target men who have sex with men and the fact that there are new groups much less aware of the risks of unprotected sex.

Look, it certainly would be hypocritical of me to preach about safe sex methods when I know I've been regrettably lax a time or two in the past. Impossible to demur ( or to make that embarassing run to the pharmacy ) when the the lights are dimmed, the hormones are raging and the hunk's baring his sleekly muscled flesh in front of you. Foolish mistakes were made.

But this certainly acts as a stern reminder. Sexual promiscuity isn't wrong ( to a wicked fella like me at least ) but it does increase the chances of catching a sexually transmitted infection.

So be smart. Be safe.