Recipe For Instant Power

Guess what? in my Megalomania class today, I finally learned the age-old Recipe for Instant Power ( with proven results! ). Or what we call shortcut to World Dominance. Simple enough, really.

*****
Recipe for Instant Power
Just add one megalomaniacal monster.

Ingredients

A Bag of Disenfranchised Souls
A Handful of Hooligans - preferably with low IQ
One Religion - with holy text heavily subverted
Megalomaniacal Monster with a pinch of Charisma

Unfortunately you can't just run out to the store and purchase a Bag of Disenfranchised. Gotta look for them in the mean streets. For the best results, find the Disenfranchised most easily converted to the cause. Gently drizzle the Megalomaniacal Monster into the bag of Disenfranchised. Add the pinch of Charisma in just before you mix the entire potent blend together.

Then toss in the one Religion after heavily subverting their holy text. Religion is always good but there are always some who'd prefer to subvert it to their own perverse tastes. Almost impossible to argue with the Word of God after all.


A disbelieving skeptic converted after just one bite!
Of course just before the mix hardens, the handful of Hooligans ( preferably with less IQ than brawn since the IQ just messes things up ) get tossed in randomly. Folded well into the Bag of Disenfranchised, just note the terrifying bubbles of trouble they make in the brew.

Shake well for instant mayhem.

*****
Supposedly an almost perfect recipe for disaster. According to my teachers, this particular recipe received raved reviews even a millenia ago in ancient Alexandria! Just watch the visually imposing epic Agora for some hands-on tips. Secular humanists personified by the ill-fated scientist Hypatia get crushed when religious fundamentalists gain power. Since then potentates, tyrants and despots the world over have continued using this proven brand of wickedness repeatedly.

In fact I believe there are some wily folks out there in the country who have already learned this explosive secret.



Simple enough recipe for any wannabe megalomaniac to use.

So who wants to rule the world?

Objectification of Man

For rabid feminists who have long railed over the sexual objectification of women's bodies in every form of media known ( no thanks to drooling teenage fanboys ), they need cry no longer.

The men are certainly getting their fair share of objectification these days. Observe the increasing number of times soap opera fellas strip off their shirts to reveal toned abs - sometimes for no apparent reason. Obviously the more tolerant guys of the Noughties find nothing wrong with being regarded as sexual objects by the girls ( and gay boys ) - thanks to the hypersexualized boys of Abercrombie & Fitch.


You don't mind me shirtless, do you?
Or even the fellas flaunting their abs on Jersey Shore.

Seems like not even in the patriachal stronghold of computer games are the boys safe from the perving of voyeurs.

Of course I'm not complaining :)


Seriously. Talk about Heavy Rain.

Usually I only play strategy-based games such as Civilization and Sims since action-oriented games leave me with a massive throbbing headache. All that jarring meaningless Blair-Witch movement, you see. Not to mention the persistent rat-a-tat of the ever nihilistic weapons.

But Heavy Rain tempts me. Really, why even include a gratuitous scene where the main male protagonist named Ethan Mars takes a shower? And the engineers made the scene playable! As a test of the joystick, we get to toy with the skimpy towel rubbing across the broad expanse of his dripping wet torso. Wonder what else we'll be able to do with his joystick.


Ethan says hi!
Since it's clear from the story that Ethan's happily heterosexually married, I doubt we'll find him shacked up with a sexy boyfriend at the end. But who knows with these open-ended games.

Maybe I really should get my hands on a PS3.

Valentine's Day Massacre

I actually learned several things about Valentine's Day this year. The movie I mean. Well, apart from imagining Bradley Cooper as a hot gay man.

1. Unpredictable Chemistry

Love doesn't follow rules.

Just like the beginning of a relationship, you can never predict chemistry. Kinda like this movie. Despite pretty people, formulaic script and a kick-ass music score all being thrown into the potent mix, sometimes it just doesn't work out. Tries really, really hard with the predictable gooey Valentine cliches but somehow it misses out on the heart.

Ironically enough. Even a wide-eyed romantic like me remains untouched. So it remains a sad Love Actually wannabe.

Kinda like the guys who look so great on paper - oh gosh so dateable - but somehow in real life... just no sizzle.


Plenty of sizzle with Bradley Cooper though!
2. Unbelievable Blindness

Love does make people blind.

Observe the unbelievably lovestruck fellow who goes around blithely proposing to a commitment-phobic girl that everyone - and that includes friends and coworkers - knows isn't right for him. Subtle hints lie everywhere and yet he doesn't see it.

Lovesick guy : She said yes!
Friend : Yes?
Lovesick guy : I proposed!
Friend : Good God.
Lovesick guy : She said yes to my proposal!
Friend : She did? Umm... that's great?

Seriously. Then later he pretends that no one ever told him! Should we just whack the hopelessly blind fool with a sledgehammer?

3. Unabashedly Silly

Love does make people silly.

Love isn't restrained, polite and structured like this movie. It's crazy, wild and unpredictable. In the Brit rom-com Love Actually it makes people do silly things - stand up in churches to sing out their love, write proposals on billboards and learn how to play drums just to impress someone. Even gets a seemingly sensible fellow abandon everything to learn an entirely foreign language and fly cross-country to proclaim his love to someone he has never spoken to.


Although I have to admit the surprisingly ditzy Taylor Swift hit just the right note of crazy silly adolescent love.

Better an Adulterer

The recent Tiger Woods controversy has the newshungry media hounds in a tizzy. Near-perfect Tiger Woods being toppled from his pedestal by the scandal of adultery certainly makes the front page!

Me, I don't see all the brouhaha. I think this sordid affair should be a private matter between a man and his wife. And the rest of the world should just butt out. Don't tell me you purchased Tiger Woods endorsed products because he's a committed family man. Bullshit seriously.

But obviously not everyone's ready to let go. Even our radio deejays have jumped on the wagon with daily morning discussions on his racy adultery - and his seemingly endless line of buxom mistresses.

Deejay : So what do you think about adulterous men?
Woman : Well at least it's other women.
Deejat : You'd prefer he sleep with women?
Woman : Imagine if he'd slept with men instead! Wouldn't that be worse?

The tic at the edge of my mouth started twitching. You can imagine how furious I was to hear that.

And more than a little puzzled.


Wonder whether she knows I'm sleeping around!
Better an adulterer than a homosexual?

Shouldn't it be the other way around? For a woman, isn't it worse to be cheated on by her husband with another woman? Wouldn't she be more pissed if he was stepping out with another woman? Wouldn't that mean something was seriously wrong that he'd have to find solace in another? As all women do, she'd probably start soul-searching with a bucket of rocky road and end up questioning her feminity. Was she not sweet enough? Was she not clever enough? Were her boobs not big enough?

Husband : I'm cheating on you with another woman.
Wife : Fuck! What the hell does she have that I don't!

But if he had bonked another man... she'd probably just shrug heedlessly. Eh, the husband's gay. What can she do about it after all? Not that it's much consolation but at least the problem's clearly on his side.

Husband : I'm cheating on you with another man.
Wife : So it wasn't me! You're gay. No wonder!

So what do you think?

All About Pemberley

Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it.

So why Pemberley?

Kinda an odd name choice for a new apartment, don't you think? For the uninitiated, Pemberley is the fictional country estate owned by the quintessential Regency hero, Mr Darcy from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Certainly not coined by me if that's what you're thinking.

Since a friend of ours - the Legal Beagle - has dubbed his palatial abode Kensington, Charming Calvin has decided to christen his new, much humbler home Pemberley. Probably in honour of the first Regency novel ( first unabridged novel?! ) he ever completed. Or at least I think he's close to the final chapter.

A commendable effort, I must say!


Master of all he surveys?
Then again, maybe Calvin was thinking of the book when he bought the apartment.

From dithering home owners to inattentive solicitors, from meddling mates to flighty salespeople, Pemberley was an apartment sale quite as fraught with drama as the much-lauded novel itself. Not to mention the marked disparity of wealth that exists between the numerous characters involved. Unfortunately this particular rewrite came with a serious lack of dashing heroes such as Fitzwilliam Darcy. Unless you'd content yourself with a shlock like me.

Don't see Calvin in the guise of the feisty ( though ultimately prejudiced ) Elizabeth Bennet though!

Isn't it odd that Charming Calvin - the fellow who went through the Chinese-medium school system - is the one to pick a thoroughly English name such as Pemberley? While I would have chosen something like Serene Villa of a Thousand Blossoms. Or been content with the Mansion of Heavenly Peace and Splendour.

The Message in a Bottle

The bottle sits there on the porch.

With a flirtatious red bow jauntily tied at the neck, the slim green bottle itself encased in pastel pink wrapping.

And there's me practically five feet away in a haz-mat suit poking at it with a long stick. Anyone else would already be guzzling wine from a glass while celebrating. Me, I'm busy trying to sort out my short-list of enemies while deliberating on whether to alert the authorities. Do we have bomb disposal experts in our employ?

Obviously I have trust issues.


I knew that bottle was trouble!
I'm sure my more naive, trusting friends would have taken the bottle in, given it a home and possibly taken a few sips after. I'm wondering whether to have it tested for poisons at the chem lab.

So who placed the sweet bottle of merlot on my porch?

I considered the wandering gardener but I doubt he could afford it. And since the bottle was unopened with the seal unbroken, I presume he didn't use it to place insecticide poisons ( like the horrid ads used to show! ). Always a fear.

None of my friends and colleagues sent me a gift since I went around interrogating them under hot lamps to no avail. Can't be Charming Calvin with a Valentine's since he would have left a note - or at least a message on the phone. An enemy? Possibly. But I haven't pissed off anyone lately. Doubt the apathetic waiters around here would bother sending me a Merlot for revenge.

Hope it's a sexy secret admirer the likes of Chris Evans. Fingers crossed then.

Till then though, I'm keeping the bottle far, far away from the porch. Maybe lean it against the tree opposite. After all what if it's an incendiary device?

Crouching Lions

Hiring a lion dance troupe to the house : RM 200
Refreshments for the lion dance troupe : RM 50
Oranges and pomeloes for the performance : RM 20

Front row seat to watch a cousin get teased mercilessly during the performance : Priceless

There are some things money just can't buy. For everything else, we have money pooled together from our substantial red packets. The generous Fuzhous don't believe in pitiful packets.

Remember I mentioned a black sheep of a cousin called Richie Runt? Seems the troubled teen got tired of scamming little kids and patronizing gambling halls masquerading as cybercafes. Instead of concentrating on scholarly activities, he has decided to focus his attention on lion dance instead.

Much to everyone else's dismay.


Lion dance!
And no, he isn't the goofy fella with the mask and fan!
But I prefer to focus on the positive side. The dance troupe certainly keeps him away from less wholesome elements. Hey, at least Richie's not into juvenile delinquency anymore. My fears of having to bail the brat out of lockup are silenced for the moment.

A bit taller now so Richie's not that much of a runt anymore. So for the new year he has been going around houses with his juvenile troupe performing lion dances for a minimal fee. Got a lil tired, sunburnt and evaporated - but still a pretty good scam if you ask me since most ethnic Chinese around this year would hand out admirable largesse for almost anything vaguely auspicious. Our coffee shop certainly couldn't be left out - and though Richie specifically warned us not to - we managed to bribe his troupe leader into putting us on the route.

So that we could scare the black pants off him.

Which we then proceeded to do. Lispy Lori and the unruly band of perfectionista cousins- what I'm starting to call the Mad Maenads - accosted the troupe on the way to our house with catcalls and whistles. Seriously, in their new year slutty best, it was like the Suzie Wong district going for a bargain! Such unabashed public admiration from a gaggle of scantily clad girls would have had any red-blooded fella beaming with pride. But for a kid of barely 16, Richie shrank into the seat, his face flushed scarlet.

Poor fellow. No wonder he could barely hold the lion's head straight.

Quite a problem with the oranges in the house all hidden in unexpected corners.

Then the troupe members had to make the thoroughly frustrated rebel ( surely without a cause ) kneel down to my grandmother for the obligatory red packet much to his apparent disgust - and to our amusement. Catcalls ensued - with a lil celebratory dance from the Maenads.


Definitely a new year Richie Runt won't forget anytime soon.

Pineapples, Papercuts and Prosperity

Since I found the coffeeshop a little lacklustre and sombre for the boisterous new year, I decided to liven up the place. Conscripting my cousin Lispy Lori's help, we raided the few stores still left open to tszuj up the place. Filled up our bags with enough decorations paint the town red - and then some.

Which actually means only a paltry half compared to what I spent in Miri.

But my austere grandmother specifically requested that I keep my fabulousity to a minimum. Especially since she finds such grandiose bling bling decorations shockingly offensive. Possibly remnants of her more frugal immigrant days in the past.


Painting couplets at the door!
Unlike her profligate descendants. Lori and I disregarded her advice somewhat while purchasing pineapples, papercuts and prosperity couplets by the dozen. Probably went overboard just a little and only came to a stop when we realized in our enthusiasm that we almost bought a red lantern large enough to fit an entire coffee table in.

Had one of my other cousins drag my granny out while we redecorated the coffeeshop with papercuts and lanterns.

Grandmother : Good gracious. What have you done?
Paul : Added a little fabulousity.
Grandmother : Fortunately I have cataracts! Otherwise I might have been blinded by all that red and gold. And what are those giant pineapples doing here?
Paul : Ushering in wealth and prosperity?
Grandmother : We don't need that much wealth. Our family aspires to be scholarly!
Paul : Good gracious!

Talk about an unexpected response. Coming from the old-school way of thinking where boundless scholarship matters more than endless taels of gold, my grandmother finds herself embarassed by such an ostentatious display of material wealth ( or a desperate wish for wealth! ).

Wonder what she would think of the two five-feet pineapples at my house!

The Eternal New Year Conundrum

One of the most important events of the new year has to be the reunion dinner. It's the one time of the year where the entire extended family is gathered around a table over a shockingly decadent spread to celebrate the coming of spring.

Which brings about the eternal conundrum for my legally married friends. Legally meaning the straight married ones of course.

It's also a time for them to play the Guess Where We're Going For Dinner game. Wasn't as complex in the past since patrician values advocated that a woman left her own family on the day of her marriage to join her husband's. Chinese tradition would then have it that the new couple would naturally celebrate the reunion dinner at the home of the paternal in-laws!

However things are changing these days. Blame women's lib for the dilemma with the husband and wife deciding on the yearly venue at the toss of a die. After all the lady of the house can't very well abandon her parents, can she? Usually a compromise is struck between the two whether to travel alternately biennially or to have separate reunion dinners at two occasions.


Guess Where We're Going for Dinner : The Gay Version?
Of course that's a moot point when it comes to a gay couple - where both are male and Chinese. Tradition would state that both should return to their hometowns - meaning a definite separation for that time of year. Certainly no way to bring another fella home for the reunion dinner since probing questions will arise for sure ( apart from the eternal marriage question ).

Uncle : Why you bring your friend home for new year ka?
Paul : Oh yes.
Uncle : Why isn't he at home leh? He not Chinese ah?

Hmm. Maybe not such a great idea. So obviously this is one family reunion that will always have the both of us separated by the Big Puddle ( South China Sea ). At least that's what I reasonably expected till my sly mother brought it up.

Mother : Maybe one day Charming Calvin should follow us home.
Paul : As an ambassador from the east?
Mother : As a member of the family. Just see how new year is celebrated at home.
Paul : An observer from the NatGeo team?
Mother : Why not? It's a good idea.
Paul : Huh.

Seriously what does she mean by that? Disavowing any knowledge of our relationship and then suddenly throwing out a shocker like this? Another wily Jedi mindtrick?

Raise the Red Lanterns

Hard not to realize that Chinese New Year is upon us.

Especially in a town like Miri. Forget what I said about the place being a humdrum sleepy village. Once the spring festival rolls in, the entire place seems to come alive. Red lanterns line the streets, lions roam the streets and folks crowd the streets in search of last-minute celebratory goodies.

So how could I not join in? Don't believe in going into things halfheartedly so... my house is plastered all over with red prosperity papercuts, vermillion lanterns adorn my porch and yes, I do have the prerequisite lanterns at my door. Even have a lovely lime tree with gold taels hanging in my living room.

You can imagine what my office looks like. After all we only get the license to be tacky and gaudy once a year :) Why not go all out?


Still not red enough?
Something I can't say for my colleagues.

Paul : So it's the new year. Gotten newly minted cash from the bank yet?
Colleague : What for?
Paul : You're married, aren't you?
Colleague : So?
Paul : Did you forget about red packets?
Colleague : Eh, must give ah? So difficult man.

Seriously. No red packets? Scrooge much?

You can imagine how the entire crew balked at the very idea of buying new clothes! Seems hip kids these days are too cool for such old-fashioned foibles.

Come on, is that new year tradition so unreasonable? Certainly wouldn't occur to me not to dress up in new finery for the first day of the new year. None of my cousins would even consider breaking that rule! My grandmother would be horrified. Imagine all the bad luck that could ensue!

Certain traditions - such as freakish supernatural superstitions - we can toss out the backdoor. But some of the sweeter harmless ones I think we should try to cherish as much as we can. Modernization doesn't mean leaving all our myths and traditions behind. Without new clothes, red packets and the reunion dinner, what differentiates the new year from every other lacklustre celebration day? It's what makes us particular Chinese, doesn't it?


So make a special effort.

Why else would I have walked down to the new year market just to get myself some extra decorations! I figured my house needed some extra flash. Even sat through an impromptu concert with little kids being paraded on stage to regale us all with raucuous new year songs. Made me wonder with a smile if Charming Calvin had been part of this particular children's show way back when!

Just hung up a set of brilliant couplets at my door. No idea what the supposedly auspicious phrase says but it has to bring good luck, wealth and prosperity, right? Wonder if a couple of lion dances would increase my luck this year.

恭喜发财

Bare Your Love

Forget about the traditional champagne and roses for Valentine's. Much too old-fogey for the tweens of today. According to the kids of the new generation, if you want to show your love, take off your panties. Supposedly a note passing around the hip teens through mobile messaging networks all over the country - Bare your love, no panties during Valentine's.

No doubt soon they'll come up with a catchy jingle.

A novel idea. One that already has the uppity religious conservatives up in arms. Or their collective panties in a wad as it may. A couple of moral watchdogs have already threatened to take action by passing out pamphlets urging amorous young couples to keep their panties on.

Hmm. Like well-meaning prosy advice is ever gonna work. Isn't that what prudent parents all around the world have been trying to do ever since the proverbial Adam & Eve? With the hormonal adolescents wanting to go all biblical, I bet daddy Adam went hoarse reminding his numerous daughters to keep the damned fig leaves on.


Sir, could I check for underwear?
Still, it made me curious. What about the college boys? Surely with the girls all going commando, the boys should follow suit as well? Can't very well do anything remotely indecent with the fellas completely dressed.

You know, I totally would volunteer to check them out.

Paul : Hey boy, you with the roses. Are you out on a date for Valentine's?
Teen Hunk : Yes?
Paul : Drop trou now.
Teen Hunk : What?!
Paul : Get your kit off now. You can't very well show your love with your briefs on.

All for the sake of true love.

Oil Makes Ya Slow

I blame the oil.

Seriously someday a brilliant professor will publish an article explaining how the components of oil seeping into the groundswater actually turns the inhabitants around into slow-as-molasses sloths. Really. But you heard it here first.

So it's not Charming Calvin's fault. It's the water!

Or at least that's the theory I'm sticking to. Otherwise I'd probably run amuck down the streets waving a sharp utensil at the crappy service providers here. Not only are the wait staff irrationally surly, they seem to move at a retarded crawling tempo. Geriatrics with a broken cane move faster. I know indolent country folk like to take things easy - and I'm supposed to slow down as well - but this is ridiculous.


Well if the waiter looked like that, I might have been a lil nicer.
Now whoever said good looks don't matter.
I swore I wouldn't lose my temper at another member of the service industry but after twenty minutes of standing in line at a fast food joint, my patience wore thin. There were only two patrons in front of me by the way. Unfortunately the phlegmatic waitress serving them - and in fact everyone else working there - seemed to have been struck by a time machine.

Forcing them to work in slow-motion.

I've reamed one of them out before - when I first arrived. Prior to drinking the water here. Didn't know how much I've been affected till then.

Waitress : Here's your burger and fries.
Paul : I need to pay for this? This is hardly fast food.
Waitress : Yes, it's 10 dollars.
Paul : L-e-t m-e g-e-t m-y d-o-l-l-a-r.

Due to the oil I'm inadvertently ingesting these days, I've been subconsciously affected as well. So instead of tearing her a new one, I only let her go with a pretty lame remark.

How the mighty have fallen. Though I did take the entire five minutes to dig out a few dollars and multiple cents.

While the waitress waited apathetically. And earned the ire of the six customers behind me.

New Girl in Town

Well that's Garrulous Gwen for you.

A recent transfer. Unfortunately the roster of doctors over here in Borneo seems to rotate faster than an overused turnstile at Grand Central. Hardly any time to settle down to business before they're gone again. The inexplicable reluctance of Borneo-bred physicians to return ( for reasons I have yet to ascertain ) has led to a regular transfer of manpower from other states. But that's a rant for another day.

It's all about Gwen. Though if you're imagining a shy, demure blossom trying to find her footing in a new milieu, you'd be way off. Newcomer in our hospital she might be but our outspoken Gwen's far from diffident. Already made quite a few ripples at the workplace by ruffling a few feathers. Obviously the reigning Pink Ladies here are taking a while to accept the new girl in town.

Even Ebullient Eve has her own reservations.

Since I know what it's like to be new, I've been showing Gwen the ropes. From nights on the town checking out the red light districts to selecting paints at the hardware store in the weekends. All suspiciously domestic but from what I've heard, she's desperately attached to her hometown hero of a boyfriend so it's all good.


So where do we stand?
But like all girls with a penchant for matchmaking, Gwen simply can't keep her curiousity down for long.

Then again I might have talked about furniture and paint swatches for Pemberley just a bit too much. With Charming Calvin already busy dotting the is and crossing the ts on the contract for his new apartment, I can't help but imagine the future layout.

Gwen : So what is this apartment you're talking about? You keep talking about getting paints and cabinets.
Paul : It's somewhere in the Klang Valley.
Gwen : So you're going to be staying there alone?
Paul : Definitely not alone.
Gwen : With a girlfriend?
Paul : With my partner who would definitely object to being called a girlfriend.
Gwen : Oh.

Yes. I'm getting a little impatient about keeping things discreet when I want to announce the fact on a tacky mile-wide airplane banner. Possibly noting the militant glint in my eye, Garrulous Gwen was wise enough not to bat an eyelash.

Well what else would I call Calvin? Boyfriend's just a little trite and sophomoric. Husband's just a bit too much - a traditional fellow like me would need at least a ring on my finger before I'll say that. I ended up settling with partner - despite the fact that I always think it sounds like we're close to setting up a law firm.

Discrimination

I'm discriminatory.

There I've said it. Unfortunately there's always a patient or two that we all subconsciously discriminate against because of some irrational, puerile reason. Sometimes far too absurd to imagine. Something I'm terribly ashamed of - so I have been working doubly hard to crush that ignoble feeling. And to treat the patient doubly well if possible.

Though most might deny such a fallible weakness, doctors are unfortunately human. Try as we might, our unreasonable prejudices don't just disappear the second we don our white coats. However I try my best to check myself the minute I think of such biased thoughts.


Forgive me for I have sinned!
Unlike one of my far less enlightened colleague.

Paul : So you didn't bring the patient in last night?
Colleague : She doesn't deserve it.
Paul : Eh?
Colleague : She has AIDS.
Paul : What the hell? Did you just turn a patient away for AIDS? You're kidding, right.
Colleague : I'm sure they're better served elsewhere.
Paul : OMG. You're serious.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Talk about blatant discrimination. I was shocked to hear such words come from a fellow physician. So much for the Hippocratic Oath on her part.

Getting a brief reprimand from me only served to put her back up. Despite logical facts presented on my side, she refused to budge from her hostile stand that people living with HIV should be treated as second-class patients. According to her, these diseased folk deserve all they get after indulging in indecent behaviour. Don't think it would need much of a push to have this junior Nazi insist that such patients get branded with HIV. Possibly in bold red font across the forehead.

I'm not naive. I know there's still discrimination aplenty against people living with HIV but you'd expect some misinformation from the uneducated yokels. But coming from a learned colleague of Generation Y ( someone I assume graduated from a reasonably reputable medical institution ) I find it seriously appalling. What the hell. All the speeches, all the lectures, all the media shows - all of those seem for naught. If someone like her really believes such detestable calumny, I can imagine what the rest of her less informed peers think.

Sadly it's almost impossible for a gay man these days not to have at least a friend - or two - with HIV. It could easily be any one of us. Hell it could even be me. So the more she bitched, the angrier I got. I think she might have noticed the throbbing vein on my forehead since she abruptly stopped her hate speech.

Nothing I said changed her inflexible stand however. Doubt anything short of a baseball bat to her head would change it. Who knows! Next I might hear a crazed diatribe against diabetic patients for some obscure justification on her part.

Can I F*** You Today?

Seriously.

Isn't that the lamest come-on ever? Seems like the latest catch-phrase bandied about our courts today in the sensational sodomy case involving an infamous politician here. Seems our wordy politician allegedly tried to pick up a boy-toy using just such a provocative phrase.

Certainly no beating around the bush for the straightforward fellow.

Supposedly the prudish courts here were appalled at such a profanity - and not by how pathetically lame the seduction scene it was! According to the boy-toy victim, he was accosted by the politician in a hotel room. Armed with only that suggestive catch-phrase - and possibly a come-hither look, our libidinous politician managed to talk the supposedly reluctant boy-toy into bed. Obviously it wasn't as ineffectual as we imagined it would be.


No, you can't fuck me. At least let me change into a towel first!
So not only are we to accept his incredible testimony ( that he fell for such a paltry pick-up line! ), we are supposed to believe that the victim in question then disrobed in the guestroom to don a skimpy towel, possibly whispering nay all the while.

Not exactly an unshakable refusal, is it?

Makes me wonder exactly which lousy B-grade gay porn movie the spindoctors have been watching! I don't think any sane fellow would fall for such a line. But at least it has given us boys a helpful new come-on to use in indecent proposals.

Hunk : Yeah?
Paul : Can I fuck you today?
Hunk : No, but let me shower first.
Paul : Then you'll stand in front of me in a towel?
Hunk : Okay.

Well, it's a start.

Modesty Outraged

You'd expect me to be a serious advocate of public nudity but you'd be wrong. Unfortunately if ever such an indecent law passed in our prudish courts, we wouldn't have hunky male models dropping trou on the streets to reveal stunningly ripped muscles. Instead we'd have a bevy of octogenarian grannies showing off their droopy bits.

Hardly eye-candy.

Adam - that lucky bastard who by all biblical accounts was pretty much a stud - can of course pull off a minuscule fig leaf. But for the rest of us, clothes were made for a reason. To cover our unsightly bits. Hence the more bits unsightly, the more cloth should be used for coverage. Which means pretty soon I'll be graduating into a black shapeless djellaba.


OMG I am half-nekkid. If I hide against the wall, maybe no one can see me!
That of course doesn't explain the ethics of the changing room.

While the flabby elderly folk don't seem to have any qualms about getting horrifyingly nekkid, the younger fellows these days seem to be shying away from the spotlight like vestal virgins. Even in the locker rooms, the boys here have queues just to change in the men's room.

Seriously. We're talking about fit, lean 20-something fellows scurrying into the toilet to slip into scrubs. Modest lil prudes surprisingly, shy to flash what their papa gave them. I can hear squeals of embarassed horror if even a patch of skin is revealed. Surely these striplings have nothing to be ashamed of. Even then... hell, they already have their damned white boxers on!

And then outside in the public area we have portly middle-aged surgeons stripping down to their skimpy thongs.

Sigh. My modesty is outraged.

That Treasure Trail

Never could quite understand manscaping.

Certainly not advocating hairy beasts with luxuriants tufts even in their ears but a neat trim and groom once in a while would do just fine! There has to be a delicate balance between dating a grisly orangutan - and burping a bald baby.

So tell me, what's with the pretty boy models enthusiastically going at their bushes with bulldozers? Overkill much? Paring that pubic patch, even the delicious treasure trail's sacrificed in their bid to shave and wax every bit of hair off. The recent obsession with turning macho men into sleek, super-smooth plastic mannequins annoy me. Am I the only fella left who adores the flecks of curls marking the trail leading into the waistband? Didn't we use to worship slightly hirsute he-mans way back when?


You wouldn't date me unless I shaved?
What prompted this sudden diatribe on excessive manscaping? A friend of mine ( no Chewbacca! ) mentioned - not sure whether in jest - that he's thinking of shaving his legs.

Seriously?

As adolescent boys waiting for virile manhood to arrive, even the slightest hint of hair ( whether facial hair or otherwise ) seemed like a moment of joyous celebration. No doubt offers to purchase drinks for all would be on the table if we were of age then. And now we want to regress back to childish adolescence by going bald?

Or worse, turn into women?

To the wookies out there, I'm not saying leave your back hairs untended. But the bit on your chest, your armpits and the short-and-curlies? I certainly don't want to go treasurehunting in a dense tropical rainforest but that doesn't mean I'd want to go teabagging in a manicured lawn kitted out with pink flamingos either. Trim but there's no need for deforestation.

And unless you're knotting French braids with your leg hair, leave them alone.