Gay or Asian

Breeder boys would stereotype the homos as the lisping, limp-wristed nancies who flamboyantly strut by with an exaggerated swish.

Of course the girls know better.

These days the gay boys have diversified. In fact it's hard to differentiate the aspiring metrosexuals with their perfectly coiffed curls and their manicured nails from some of the true gay boys these days. Short of flashing a generous boob to get a response, the girls only have a couple of hints to clue them in.

Such as the infamous Gay Clone look - or at least our localized prepped-up Asian version. Carefully spiked hair, collared tees ( with the collars nattily upturned ), knee-length khakis with cloth belts and athletic shoes with short socks. Bonus points if matched with an ear stud or a duck-bill cap.


Come on, do I look gay to you?
When they proposed the theory to me, the Lushes claimed that it worked almost 76% of the time. Would have laughingly dismissed the theory off-hand - except I thought about it, looked around me and realized that it was so true! Seriously. There's a virtual gay army. Starting to wonder whether it's a standard uniform handed out with the feather boa and the pink passport these days!

Certainly worked like a charm when Submissive Sandy got tagged from a mile away. Even without the giveaway limp wrist, the hints provided by his uniform were enough that a sister managed to sniff out the lone fag in a herd of wandering breeder boys!

Just from his popped collar alone.

Of course the gay-dar dings twice if you catch them sashaying down the street in pairs - the oh-so-distractingly-cute pair of gay boys who happen to look like cum-copies of one another. Another benefit of a gay relationship? You get to double your wardrobe so not only do you get one but then you have two fellas with the same tastes in clothes.

God forbid the tees have a matching slogan. Top-Bottom. Pitcher-Catcher. Now that would be 100% definite.

God Manwatching II

Just to prove to you that there is a God - for all our naysayers out there.


Oh yeah I have a brother.
Chris Evans has a gay brother. Just see what the man has to say from an excerpt of his interview in Advocate.

'Yes, I do have a gay brother. I’m down with the gays. Mostly I’m hanging out with him and his gay buddies, who are fucking hilarious. They’re the funniest people I know. They’ve invited me out to gay bars before, and I said, 'Look, guys, I’ve got to draw the line there.' That’s where a photo will get taken, it will run in magazines, and before you know it, I’ll be living down the gay rumor for the rest of my life.

[My brother looks like me], but he’s about an inch taller and about four shades tanner than I am. He’s a very fit young man. Believe me, he does quite well for himself.'

Taller, tanner, fitter, younger. Sounding better each time. Guess God took time off to improve his already stupendous work in Chris :) Just take a look at what God made in Scott Evans.

Don't Stop the Music

The dearth of culture and arts in our country shouldn't come as a shock to all, I'm sure. With the numerous constraints and bureaucratic red-tape placed on the performers, it shouldn't be surprising that most of them feel literally straight-jacketed. Though change is coming slowly but surely with indie acts sprouting up here and there about town, our country's still a very long way from encouraging.

Like poor Rihanna trying to make it to our conservative, prudish shores! Picking Kuala Lumpur as one of the destinations on her concert tour of Asia, Grammy-winning artist Rihanna obviously plans to show us how a good girl goes bad!

But even before she's started selling the tickets to our concert, the rest of us are already hit with a note of trepidation. Disturbia! Will her concert actually make it to the stage? Or will the usual god-fearing rabble rousers threaten to mar the peace with their endless protests? Get your umbrellas out, folks. I expect it to rain religious zealots.


So Adam, you think my concert will go through?
Isn't it tragic that we already expect the concert to be cancelled due to our country's strictly Victorian rules? Under government guidelines, a female performer must be covered from the top of her chest, including her shoulders, to her knees.

Obviously makes any good girl wanna go bad.

Seriously doubt Rihanna would want to perform in a shapeless burqa. Or behind the delicately latticed screens of a harem. Though I'm sure the brainy babe from Barbados could flout the archaic rules if she wanted to by prancing about in a figure-hugging leather catsuit - since it does cover all the important bits.

Honestly think the overzealous rabble rousers should give it a rest. Let's make it simple ( since complex sentences might confuse the addlepated fools ) for our self-appointed moral guardians.

You don't like her songs, just don't come to her concert. You don't like her dressing, just don't come to her concert. You can all remain in your religious places praying for our immortal souls while harping about licentiousness corrupting the youth. Don't stop the rest of us from enjoying it. We don't mind getting corrupted. Why should you care?

Could I put it any more plainly? Yet again I gotta say this... Jangan jaga tepi kain orang lain. I don't like rap, heavy metal or nasyid. You don't see me making a fuss, do you?

Got a question existing for the authorities though. Why are we pandering to these mindless fools ( who should be in rehab instead )?


A final word from Rihanna herself.

Baby iBlair

We have a new baby.

Or at least Charming Calvin has.

Like any expectant father, I didn't have as much input into this blessed baby bargain other than a lazy nod at its inception.

Of course the proverbial stork didn't drop by our doorstep unexpectedly! Been quite a while since Calvin started dreaming of having it. Ever since a couple of my friends started having babies of their own, he's been hankering for one of his own to teach, to nurture and to love. The one year he spent in Beijing only underlined the urgent need to fulfil his budding parental instincts ( not to mention providing the necessary infusion of capital! ).


So we'll get the baby?
Parenthood isn't something to be taken lightly. I figured it was timely to wait till we were ready but Calvin was insistent enough.

There were plenty to be had in the market of course - legal or otherwise - but Charming Calvin decided to take the safer course by waiting patiently while the necessary bureaucratic red tape was negotiated. The man doesn't believe in shortcuts. After reviewing various bits of literature, friendly advice and also his conscience, Calvin decided to make the daring leap.

Calvin : I need to get it.
Paul : This is a big step. You know you can't turn back. You sure you're ready?
Calvin : I can take care of it. I'm sure.
Paul : Doesn't come in that many colours.
Calvin : I'm happy with what they have! It'll be mine! We'll love it!

So the baby was left on the doorstep, wrapped up in its leather vinyl bassinet. All black, shiny and surprisingly lightweight.

Despite its shockingly varied functions.


That's not the baby I ordered!
And we got it from Machines at a bargain. The iPod Touch he's been waiting for. And though it might be chips and bytes out of a developing third world nation rather than his own flesh and blood, it doesn't make him any less attached to it. Even just yesterday I caught him cradling the iPod Touch while cooing inane babytalk. Could have sworn the lil baby protege sang Celine Dion's My Love in return.

Genius.

He's calling it baby iBlair.

Though not particularly huggable, at least the baby's cute in addition to being intelligent. So how about some cigars then?

Medical Freaks

If you need any further proof that medical doctors are freaks, look no further.

And I'm not talking about me.

Case in point, I have Gungho Ginny. Or at least one of the many - interchangeable! - sadly desperate workaholic Ginnys that seem to hatch out of clandestine experimental clone pods in the dark, dank basements of medical school.

Or aliens. I still haven't decided.

And they all come complete with a sad lack of social life.


Where are they keeping the damn Gungho Joes. I could reprogram them!
Of late the busy bee bureaucrats in the civil service have come to realize that the days of leave allowed to the peons seem highly extravagant! Confusion reigned till they decided to allow the government employees the right to choose whether to retain their current annual leave entitlement or to have it shortened instead by five days. One reason for the reduction was that civil servants already had too many days off with the public holidays, and that many did not finish their annual leave.

I'm sure there are some cushy sectors of the civil service languishing in such luxury - but there are weeks when I've worked 7 days straight without rest ( with sadly lacklustre pay! ) so there's no way I'm relinquishing the only lil meagre perk I have left.

So it seemed like a moot point to me at first. Till I bumped into a fellow Ginny in the hallways.

Paul : Stupid question innit?
Ginny : Definitely. Everyone's gonna choose to have less days instead.
Paul : WTF. You want less? You want to work more days?
Ginny : Yes. What would you do during your leave days? Better to go to work.
Paul : What the hell are they feeding you!
Ginny : Well the folks in the private sector have much less.
Paul : And to compensate, they are paid much more. Have you seen your paycheck lately?
Ginny : Well it's not terribly fair to the private sector.
Paul : Fair? No one's stopping them from joining the civil service.
Ginny : That's true. Honestly though I just don't know what to do with my leave.
Paul : Holidays. Shopping. Recreation.
Ginny : I don't do all that. Better I go to work.
Paul : Are you pre-progammed to say that by your nefarious creators?

See. Medical freaks. I toldja. There is stern dedication to the work and then there's overzealous insanity.

Aliens or clones, you decide.