You Got Served

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Seriously, after dozens of times being regularly taken for granted I rarely ever take it to heart. And I am beginning to feel like a total idiot. I have a friend who has a bad habit of making me look like a gate-crasher by making me go to functions, gatherings and parties which I am not invited to. I have my suspicions on his intentions of doing so, but I shall not elaborate. Usually I will turn up, despite huge misgivings and much protest, solely because I take the role of "friend" way too seriously. So most of the time I end up in events where I stood up like a sore thumb with most attendees wondering why I was even there in the first place among unfamiliar peers - possibly questioning amongst themselves if I was actually even invited. Out goes my dignity through the window like a ready whore with legs akimbo.

And so came one day when I decided he should return the favour, though not in the same manner as gate-crashing. It was just doing something for someone he knew anyway. And the reply I got was:

"No. He asked you not me."

The very same words I use - every time he cajoles me into gate-crashing. Suffice to say, I wasn't amused. Snapping back would be pointless since he would just go on the defensive and behave like I just had something sandpaper-y and hard shoved up my ass and not worth paying any attention to. Someone just put me out of my misery already.

You.Complete.Meme.

I am bored so sue me. There's work to be done but I can't haul my sorry ass to finish it. Give me a break.

1. I've come to realise that my last kiss was one that I did not mean.

2. I am listening to the dead silence of the office and some chinese song playing on my colleague's pc.

3. I talk only when the key fits. At other times I have been said to be cold as ice.

4. I love not having to care about anything if I could.

5. My best friends are are people whom I could talk to. Not necessarily close, it's just that they have been around for a long time.

6. My car is a small affair but it gets me places.

7. My love life is like Ally McBeal, which spells comically tragic.

8. I hate it when people ask or spread rumours about my love life. Often I hear fantastical stories of my exploits which surprise even myself.

9. Love is something I hardly can remember anymore. I often live in fear that I will never love again.

10. Marriage is farcical and a relationship with guarantees of payback when it ends.

11. Somewhere, someone is thinking about me in a fond manner but I am thinking about running away.

12. I'm always fantasizing of a better life.

13. I have a secret cheesy crush on someone at the gym who can barely speak English.

14. My cell phone is mostly silent and is an irritant mostly because of unwanted messages and calls.

15. When I wake up in the morning,I always feel like I have died a little in my sleep.

16. When I go to bed at night, I wish I can have some peace of mind.

17. Right now I am thinking about what a troubled person I am.

18. Babies are, smelly weird pudgy creatures which may or may turn into a good looking person.

19. I get on MySpace, only to find that it's such user-unfriendly piece of trash.

20. Today I wish I could tell someone I do not love him.

21. Tonight I will probably be still thinking of the same thing.

22. Tomorrow I will be hoping that I could finally do it

23. I really want to feel at peace

24. Someone that will most likely repost this is someone who is just as bored as me.

Beauty & The Beast

It pays to be pretty. When you're good looking, you simply can do no wrong, even if you're a serial child molester who dines on your neighbours' pets. It is not unusual to find a pretty boy ranting on his blog about "all the injustices of the world" and the mindless fans from near and far who quickly rally on his comment string to offer their support and sympathies. All in hopes of either consciously or unconsciously getting into pretty boys pants. Pretty boy's dilemmas by the way will usually consist of trivial things like:

"Oh why does no one understand the poor little ugly boy behind this pretty face?"
(To which fans will usually will attempt to dispel pretty boy's "insecurities" by telling him how pretty he is inside out)

"Oh why does no one like me?"
(Yeah right!)

"Yeer, I have a pimple on my face... not pretty anymore liao"
(Again fans will rally to comfort pretty boy on how he is still pretty to them)

And they can write the most outrageously pretentious poetic rubbish that no one really understands but yet fans will nod approvingly and praise pretty boy on how intelligent and talented he is. I am tempted to cut and paste examples of such comments here but that would be an act of provocation so I will just have make do with general examples. Trust me, the things that pretty boys' fans say are so cliched they make Jack and Rose believably tragic.

I will not deny that I get envious at times from how pretty people seem to get all the good attention so it tends to raise my hackles whenever pretty people start complaining about their love lives when they could almost easily have whoever they want by flashing their million dollar smiles. I have been known to my friends to be quite merciless with my comments, even if I happen to be dating a pretty boy. I simply refuse to fuel their need to have their egos stroked. You know you're pretty so shut up and be pretty. So when it comes to me, they are rather aghast and taken aback at my bluntness which is uncommon among their legion of fans. So yes, pretty boys don't expect me to offer you candy, but if you want to see the uglier side of life, baby, I'm your man.

Beyonce Shmyonce

If I have to hear another queen whine about Beyonce canceling her scheduled concert in KL I will bust a nut. I don't give a rat's ass about whether or not the reasons she canceled was due to the government's strict dress code for stage performances. Don't get me wrong, I am not exactly fond of the government's dim-witted conservative backward mentality or the Muslim hardliners' fondness for women to be wrapped up like popiahs.

If you want to look at it from a religious point of view, seriously if God wants you to be all wrapped up He wouldn't have made Adam and Eve naked. Rather He would have made them equipped with unremovable jubahs and burqas. The whole concept of feeling shame of one's naked flesh came not from God, but from humankind's own incurable curiosity to disobey His strict orders not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. And stop sneering you dumb male chauvinists, Eve didn't force the fruit down Adam's throat. The damn fool took it willingly. God didn't only throw Eve out, he threw BOTH of them out because both were equally guilty. And be reminded that men's first clothing were fig leaves, so all they covered were their privates, nobody said anything about hair, shoulders, knees or whatever.

In any case, I am rambling. Yes, I don't care if Beyonce is coming or not. I would not waste good money on that talentless over-the-top hack. I would pay to watch her tumble down 12 flights of stairs again though. I will pay extra if she lands flat on her face. Anyone who has to cancel their appearance because they are forbidden to flaunt and shake their boobies and booty on stage to cover up their lack of talent is better off not coming anyway. Tells you something doesn't it? Religious fanatics and Beyonce fans, don't bother arguing. You're dumb and I'm brilliant. Such narcissism, I know, Laynie would have been proud.

Me

Most days I feel like I am constantly abusing or punishing myself for something. The only problem is I don't know what that something is.

Maybe it is for the one night stands which I thought will make me feel better but only made me feel worse.

Maybe it is for the times I could have made a difference in someone's life but I didn't.

Maybe it is just for the reason that I am never satisfied with myself.

Maybe it is just because I plain hate myself and I am constantly at war with my soul.

It is on days of such that I do impulsive things so that I don't have to look like myself. So if anyone is wondering about the dyed hair, there's your answer. Last Sunday after torturing myself in the gym, I decided I just decided I did not like the person in the mirror so I got a haircut and changed my hair colour. I don't feel like I am living for myself, like I am some perverted caricature person that my peers, family and society expect me to be.

And so I go on day after day denying myself the enjoyment of life. Little things I could always do to make myself feel better, like go on a holiday. But I keep telling myself I cannot afford it even though I know very well I could. It would set finances back for a few months but do I really need to be so thrifty? And there are the occasions that I keep feeding myself junk simply because I feel stressed and depressed only to regret it later on. All it takes is someone telling me that I have put on weight and I will feel like I have put on a 100lbs. Rejection makes me feel like I am unwanted and ugly. Acceptance fills me with dread and phobia.

Right now I just don't feel like doing anything. I know I am not happy but I don't know what can cheer me up. I just feel like going home, strip off everything and hide under the covers, sleep and never wake up.

Garden Of Souls

People will say I am morbid but I love cemeteries. Sure they are places of death and mourning but they are also very peaceful. Back in my hometown, I used to live walking distance from a chinese cemetery probably as old as the town itself judging from some of the crumbling tombstones. It's a pity I don't know how to read chinese or I would know this for sure. There were evenings which I would spend jogging at the cemetery rather than the noisy human infested Lake Gardens.

Don't I find it scary? I guess not. In fact after a while, the dead almost seem like old friends with their familiar tombs. Like one of those crazy in your head moments from Six Feet Under where characters speak with the dead, you can almost imagine them lounging among their graves greeting you as you go by. I guess that is why some people call cemeteries, gardens of souls. Of course I have never seen anything out of the ordinary amidst the broken stones so I generally think the whole concept of cemeteries being horrible places is pure codswollop perpetuated by Hollywood horror films. Nothing much other than the occasional squirrel, some monkeys and yes, even farm animals like chickens, cows and goats live among the dead - which can be a real nuisance if you ever seen the size of cow crap.

I think jogging in the cemetery is among one of the things I missed the most after starting life in KL.

He Will Be Loved

I must have at least seen this video a dozen times with no audio, thanks to Fitness First's Astro broadcast. For those who are not familiar with this, you have to plug in headphones to sockets mounted on the treadmills, steppers and exercise bikes to get the audio of at least six different channels that they have on different TV sets at the same time. Because I rarely if ever use the aforementioned machines I don't get to hear whatever I am watching, so using my imagination to fill in the gaps have become somewhat a norm.

So anyway this particular video tends to get a lot of airplay whenever I am either working out with weights or waiting to do my class. Every time I see it I've always wondered who the hot guy in the video was. Before you shriek how can I not know who that is, let me finish my story first OK? My imagination tends to lend him a deep sexy masculine voice not unlike that of Chris Daughtry or perhaps J.D. Fortune of INXS. The music, judging from the video, I would imagine it to be somewhat along the lines of INXS or U2. As for some reason I always seem to be missing out the credits displayed at the start or end of the video, I didn't even know what band or who the singer was.

OK now you can shriek at my ignorance. Only did I realise last night that I was oogling at the lead member of the band (for three months at least), whose music drives me up the wall and makes me switch stations everytime they play on radio - Maroon 5. I was oogling at Adam Levine, whose voice makes me want to strangle the owner. Seriously, it's a crime for such a handsome face to have such an irritating voice. It's like David Beckham, such a manly face (I still think he's gay though), but with a voice that induces an imagination of me slapping him repeatedly with my sandals. What... I never really liked them so I never did bother to find out how they all looked like OK? And despite the irony that I now find the lead singer highly attractive does not change my opinion that the music is like fingernails across a blackboard to my ears. Can God like switch his body with that of new INXS frontman J.D. Fortune? Don't get me wrong, J.D. Fortune is hot but looks totally gay. Besides I think that will make me appreciate Adam Levine more.

The Fool

I don't know what has gotten into me or why I agreed to the date. Maybe it was at first I thought he was cute in picture and most importantly he had a nice personality. Then when I met him and he turned out not as cute as I thought he would be. But he could be, if I put him in one of my classes everyday for the next 3 months. I know, call me superficial but I think in recent years I have learned to accept that all living things are biologically superficial. It helps strengthen the gene pool. Natural selection favours the strong and the pretty, though being gay kind of negates that theory since we don't breed. We just imitate the act.

Anyway, I don't think I am ready after my disastrous attempt at a relationship 3 months ago. Considering the guy himself seems to able to talk about nothing but his ex. Who is he kidding, he is barely over his ex. Everything he liked about me, he compared to his ex, down to how my weight feels the same on his motorbike. Yes, he took me on a "joyride" on his motorbike. It was so romantic I could have threw up from how cliche it was but I felt nothing because I just didn't feel physically attracted to him. Being a piscean as well makes him a bit way too intense for my liking. I seem to have an affinity to these fish types and in the end they always make me feel like I want to go on a morphine induced coma for the rest of my life. The other thing being he didn't even realise he had a piece of vegetable stuck between his teeth for the whole duration of time he was speaking to me since dinner and that he forgot to zip his pants after a visit to the men's room. Me being too polite, just kept my mouth shut and had my Ally McBeal moments in silence.

Which boils down to the question, why did I even agree to it. Maybe I am being too nice to say no. I told him to expect nothing, that it was nothing but just a try at dating. It that warning enough? Or perhaps I am being too judgmental of his appearance to let it overshadow his nicer personality? So maybe I am not wrong to give him a small chance, right? RIGHT?

In Memoriam

Luciano Pavarotti
1935 - 2007

Impermanence

There is a scene from Neil Gaiman's Endless Nights (yes that is what my blog's name is based on) in the story Destruction on the Peninsula, where an archaeologist often have visions of a post apocalyptic hell in which everything is in ruins and every person on the street was dead and decomposing. For the past week since Robin's death I have often returned to the memory of his disturbingly "restored" corpse lying in the casket. I am no stranger to the topic of death but it's often like a revisit through an old photo album of the subject whenever someone close passes on. And then I imagine the body decomposing underneath the silent earth in its claustrophobic box. In the enclosed oxygen deprived environment it would probably mummify. In a few years, the casket will eventually give way to rot, finally allowing further decomposition to continue. In a decade or so, nothing left but bones. In a few hundred years, the gravestone would have weathered, perhaps rendering the identity of the grave occupant anonymous. A thousand years, nothing more than graying bones. All those who have lived with his memory had long since been lost - me included.

I stepped into the gym and after a grueling workout, I stood on the balcony surveying the floor. Overweight people huffing and puffing on the treadmills while the others half-heartedly heaving on the various exercise machines. Their personal trainers stood by, goading them on. Pretty people with their fine sinewy bodies effortlessly punishing their bodies to further perfection. Suddenly before my eyes, all of them became decayed corpses, dead, jaws slack and opened - worm food. As pretty as we are now, we will all come to the same destination eventually. Death waits at the crossroads with a patient smile. I echoed her smile.

The Wake

To me it is always a good thing to die young, however it is a tragedy for those you leave behind, I mean if you really do go somewhere when you die. Nowadays I must say my faith in the afterlife is not too strong. For some reason I am surrendered to the notion that when the heart stops and the brain dies, that's it. No light at the end of the tunnel, just nothing. The person we once were is just snuffed out to make way for the next generation. Yesterday's leftovers in the cycle of life.

Whatever my beliefs are, young deaths are never easy to accept, as in my cousin's case. I will not relate the cause of death but I would say in my personal opinion, was senseless. Funerals are for the living and so family and friends gathered last night, or at least those who could come anyway. I am never one too keen on family gatherings but being one who valued familial bonds I was compelled to attend the wake. What can I say? In reality, wakes of those who die of natural causes are rarely ever sombre. Mildly depressing maybe but never sombre. In a way they are no different from weddings, there are laughter and there are tears. Mostly tears but the laughter is always present. Most of all you find revelations and questions about the deceased that no one ever spoke of before.

I was pretty hesitant to view the casket and I knew I would regret it when I did but I went ahead with it anyway. And as I anticipated I did regret my decision. When the person is gone they just cease to be the person that you know. That was not the cousin I know lying in that wooden box. No offence Robin but we should sue the funeral director for the poor caricature they made of your body. One of the cousins commented he looked happy, I begged to differ. Maybe it was an act of self reassurance, but he certainly didn't look happy to me. The photo of him laughing on display, now that is him. Speaking of not happy, I immediately found myself whored to eligible female friends of his sister whom I am close with, much to my chagrin. But it wasn't a night to take centerstage so I held my tongue and led myself to be introduced as the eligible "good looking cousin".

I am most concerned for my aunt. Her hair is already too white for her age. Losing my uncle was one thing, but losing my cousin was probably a blow to her that I couldn't even begin to imagine. The old should never have to send off the young. The funeral is today but I am not attending due to work commitments. Why do I feel so guilty?

In Memory of Robin

Eat My Ass

Normally my only reaction to Axcesticon is a roll of eyes or a snort of contempt at yet another attempt to glorify gayness. Last year's was pretty cheesy at most. This time around, my eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when I logged in and was greeted by this picture. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean it in a good way. Can someone point out to me what's wrong with this this picture? What they heck, I will say it anyway. If I were the guy in the middle I would be totally terrified that I have a perverted looking character peeling my pants and looking mighty pleased like as if he was about to eat my ass.

Seriously, no offence to any of the contestants, but if I found out that I am being portrayed like a pervert about to chew someone's ass I would go all out to block this image from ever seeing the light of day. Murder, if that is what it takes. It's not even pornographic. It's just plain salah.

Well Blow Me...

The amazing Annie Lennox is back! Her PR machine clicked into high gear today and it was formally announced that the singer's new album is titled "Song Of Mass Destruction" and will be out in stores on October 2.

Click on the image above to get a better view of the very theatrical and slightly eerie cover art for the new album.

Highlight on "Song Of Mass Destructions" is the song "Sing" that includes Madonna, Sarah McLachlan, Celine Dion, Fergie, Faith Hill, Pink, Dido, Gladys Knight, kd Lang, Angelique Kidjo, Bonnie Raitt, Shakira, Melissa Etheridge, Anastasia, Joss Stone, KT Tunstall and many others.

The song was inspired by Annie's involvement with Nelson Mandela's 46664 and Treatment Action Campaign (TAC) organizations fighting for human rights, education and health care for those affected by the HIV AIDS virus. (Kudos to Matt for having the scoop a few weeks ago and giving me heads up.)

Read the entire press annoucement about "Songs Of Mass Destruction" after the jump.

NEW ALBUM “SONGS OF MASS DESTUCTION” TO BE

RELEASED OCTOBER 2nd 2007.

"I feel closer to my own cutting edge than before and my voice seems to be in it's prime" - Annie Lennox

(NEW YORK) - July 18, 2007 - Multi-million selling, iconic artist Annie Lennox will release her fourth solo album, “Songs Of Mass Destruction,” on October 2nd, 2007 through Arista Records. The album was recorded in London, Los Angeles and Miami with veteran producer Glen Ballard (of Alanis Morissette’s 'Jagged Little Pill' fame).

In a career that has spanned over 25 years, including the 15 years since Annie released her first solo album, Diva, no other British female artist has achieved so much recognition. Over 78 million in global sales, and 33 hit singles compliment the 4 Grammies, 11 BRITS, 5 Ivor Novellos, the Oscar, and the 2 Golden Globes amongst other accolades.

“Songs Of Mass Destruction” showcases an artist who is unafraid of pushing boundaries and challenging herself. Annie delivers thought provoking and intelligent lyrics matched with her distinctive pop sound. She says that this album is the closest she’s been so far to that authentically raw and emotional place, infused with the contrasts of beauty, yearning and sadness. The result, from the haunting introductory song, 'Dark Road' to the closing epic, 'Fingernail Moon', is a sumptuous musical soundscape within which Annie's soulful voice shines and soars.

In addition to being an incredibly successful artist, Annie is a celebrated activist and humanitarian. The new album features the soaring and powerful feminist anthem 'Sing', born out of Annie's involvement with Nelson Mandela's 46664 and Treatment Action Campaign (TAC) - organizations fighting for human rights, education and health care for those affected by the HIV AIDS virus. The track 'Sing' features 23 of the most recognized and successful female solo artists in the world, invited by Annie, to raise awareness and finances for TAC initiatives. Included among the group are superstars such as Madonna, Sarah McLachlan, Celine Dion, Fergie, Faith Hill, Pink, Dido, Gladys Knight, kd Lang, Angelique Kidjo, Bonnie Raitt, Shakira, Melissa Etheridge, Anastasia, Joss Stone, KT Tunstall and many others, as well as TAC activist members own vocal group known as 'The Genetics', whose CD of music inspired Annie to make 'Sing' a reality.

This article is lifted from arjanwrites music blog.

Oh I can hardly wait! She sounds absolutely great with her new single Dark Road which seems a return to prime after her dismal sounding last album Bare!

A Comparison

A topic that I have often discussed with friends is why gay relationships usually fail in comparison with straight relationships. Not to say our straight counterparts have it any easier, they probably have their own troubles as well. So what is it that makes straight relationships last longer in comparison to our often two months flings? Here's an easy pictorial journey:

In an average heterosexual's life:

The teenage years

The adult years

Marriage

Pregnancy

Family life

The kids grow up and have their own families

And then they grow old together

In an average homosexual's life:

First year of coming out

...average of 10x during the first year

5 years in the gay scene

...already lost count after the second year

10 years in the gay scene

...no longer counting

30 years in the gay scene

No more "I love you's"... (At 50 years)

Your funeral, and that's the only guy who ever loved you but you didn't realise attending in drag

Any questions?

Scout's Honour

I remembered the time I was passed over from being selected for scouts. It was back in primary school and I was given a miss over the excuse that the quota is full. Right, what rubbish. In any case, I wasn't overly disappointed, considering the scout teacher was a total psycho case. If he was still a teacher today I think he would have long since found himself behind bars for abuse and assault. Seriously back then, Mr. Psycho had a reputation for excessive use of force. Rumour had it that he had drew blood before from past students and that his wife left him because of spousal abuse.

Anyway, bitter and disillusioned about being rejected from the "exclusive boys' club", I ended up becoming a member of the St. John's Ambulance instead. Go ahead, laugh and call me a fag. In times of emergency, a medical officer can strip anyone of their rank for being medically incompetent and take charge. Take that you testosterone filled brats. In any case, the scouts are not as manly as one would assume. The founder, Robert Baden-Powell was speculated to be a repressed homosexual who often praised the male anatomy and denigrated the female one. He also enjoyed seeing his underlings stripped down for a swim and had a special youthful "friend" whom he fondly refers to as "the boy". So the next time you scout boys think you're so manly, just remember you had your origins as an old pervert's fantasy.

A Message From The Dark Side There Is...

I am not as guiltless and righteous as I may seem most of the time to most people. More than often many have had the notion that just because I rarely seem interested in the issue of coupling means I rarely if ever participate in carnal desires. I had my fair share of empty passions, usually to just temporarily fill a void. But no, this does not happen often, and I can still count such encounters with one hand thankfully. As are all one night stands, the remedial effects usually last as long as the act itself. After which, leaves one feeling more empty than ever and at worst, bring undesired attention later on.

Retribution finally caught up me this morning when I was rudely awoken at 6am by a message alert which all my friends know is a loud Yoda declaring, "Mmmm... a message from the dark side there is...". It couldn't be more appropriate. Turns out the message was from someone I did the dirty with over a year ago as fuck therapy after having my heart broken. Let's call this someone, "Ray". After having slept with Ray twice and toyed with the idea that maybe we could see each a regularly (though knowing for sure that the idea was as stupid as putting a can in the microwave), I cut off contact with him after a brief period of silence led him to not remember who I was on MSN. Talk about major blow to the dignity. So imagine my surprise at the message this morning. Ray wants someone to hug him because he is feeling the blues. This one will go down in my books as the most odd request made the most odd hour. Certainly one does not message a fling from a year ago for hugs after a long period of silence do they? It is almost an invitation for a bitch slap.

However ever the nice person, I just told him to just go to sleep and he will feel better when he wakes up and left it just at that. Bewildered by the strange exchange, I could no longer go back to sleep. It's one of those days when I wish my life was a lot more simpler, where I live in Tuscany with dogs and an olive orchard and my neighbours are weird Italians who are forever jolly and eccentric.

BEEFCAKE!!!

7 months ago I hauled my sorry ass for a long delayed trip down to Singapore for the first time in almost 20 years and I returned with this book.



Honestly, I haven't heard of Vincent Ng until I saw this book. Supposedly he is a former national athlete in Singapore and is currently now a MediaCorp artiste. Actually I don't know if I should use the word "artiste" considering most reviews about him speaks of how he acts like a block of wood and the only saving grace about him are constant scenes of him topless. I admit, my shallowness got the better of me when I bought the book but I did rant for a long time I wanted to work towards achieving a body like Mr. Ng. The book is a hoot, with language an amateur could beat without trying. But what healthy hot-blooded gay male wouldn't give in to such wanton display of muscular man flesh, right? RIGHT??

7 months later and I am nowhere near this. Don't blame Vince's book though, I am not exactly the most disciplined person when it comes to eating but yet I work out more religiously than religion. One of the reasons why my recent attempt at a relationship failed was because I preferred working out to paktor-ing. When I tell people I am a gym instructor, the first reaction I usually get will be, "Wow, you must have six packs!". Yes I do have six packs, but they come in a convenient bargain of ONE large pack. OK maybe I am being a bit too modest, it's not exactly a large pack but it is not definitely something I would flaunt around shirtless without sucking in my breath. RPM everyday takes a chunk out of my attempts to bulk up but the good side of it is that it keeps me on the lean side, except again, on the abs part.

So now on the seventh month of owning the book and leaving it languishing at my bedside, I am finally making yet another attempt to turn myself into a Vincent Ng clone, just his body that is, heaven forbid, not his wood block acting skills and horrible England. As I told rpmnut, he can't act to save his nuts.

Good luck to me. For the amusement of my readers, here is an excerpt of an interview with Vincent Ng just to show that the only desirable part about him is his body.

Q : Which muscle best describes who you are and why?
Vincent: “I guess it might be my stomach muscles. Most people I meet in photo shoots normally ask me how I achieve my abs but I actually don’t do much to achieve my six-pack. If you ask me which muscles I like best in my body, I’ll say my back muscles; I think they are neglected hahah!” His manager muttered to us nonchalantly: “Aiyah, Vincent can get a six-pack just by sneezing!” Hahah!

Q : Did you go for any waxing or body hair removal for the photos in the book?
Vincent: “Never.”

Q : Weren’t you worried about any hairs peeking out?
Vincent: “They (the photographers) did find a nipple hair lah… the hair on my right nipple is quite long lah… but it can’t be seen in the photo.”

Q : What about the lower part of your body? After all, you wore only briefs in some photos.
Vincent: “No mah… can’t be seen… ok lah… it’s quite well-hidden. I tucked in everything.” (Stifled chuckles all around at Vincent’s choice of words)

Q : Well, did you trim yourself?
Vincent: “A bit lah… nothing drastic… I tucked most of them in lah…”

Elliot Almighty

Now what would happen if God in the guise of Morgan Freeman decides to grant me omnipotent powers to teach me a lesson due to my discontent towards life in general. I would say it would be His biggest mistake after Lucifer... and humans. OK, before I get trashed for being sacrilegious, this entry is not meant to offend the Almighty. Honestly if I were a god, mankind would tremble in fear. They would be sacrificing everything from their pets to their children in hopes of placating my wrath. For one thing I would have no qualms about making dramatic appearances and demonstrating my awesome powers to terrorise mankind into submission.

Forget burning bushes, angels, prophets and saints, I would be making personal appearances Godzilla style. I would smite disbelieving humans in an overkill display of godly powers.

Puny human: You're not God... you're a MONSTER! I don't believe in you!!!
*KRAKOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!*
*Puny human disintegrates in a pile of cinders*
Spouse of puny human: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
*KRAKOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!*
*Spouse of puny human also disintegrates in a pile of cinders*
*Laughs maniacally*

I would be parting traffic jams like the Red Sea everyday on my way to work, or rather I would just blast them out of my way. Wait, why would God even need to work? On the good side, there would be no extremism because zealots would be too busy worshiping me in terror, of which there would still be no respite anyway because I would still be busy zapping at random just because I like doing it. Why bother worshiping then? Don't do it and I still smite the poor sods with a giant fist from the heavens. I will erase the troublesome Middle-East with but a stroke of my thumb and turn everyone there gay just because it seems ironically amusing to me. I will turn all the Chinese into tree hugging hippies and the Americans into fabulously campy cross dressers. FEAR ME!!!

Unfortunately, it is just another boring week day in the office, and God I am not. But one can still daydream no?

Harry Potter & The Gay Innuendos

I was among the throngs of Dementhors... excuse me, demented people who embraced the throngs to watch the fifth big screen adaptation of Devil's henchwoman... I'm sorry, J.K. Rowling's piece of hacked-up cat furball of a book, Harry Potter & The Order of the Phoenix. My question is, what order? Judging from my none too kind opinion, I am sure one would have already guessed without much difficulty that I am not much of a fan of the geeky one who survived because some baddie without a nose didn't have much sense to use more traditional methods to murder a baby instead of sticking a wand where it didn't belong.

Sean had to bribe me with this to watch the movie

But anyway, back to the question, yes, what order? I don't know if it was because the original plot of the book was heavily condensed for the motion picture, but it sure fits poorly especially when the aforementioned order only makes up less than 10 minutes of screen time. That refers too to the ensemble of Oscar winners and nominees and A-grade thespians who make an appearance. One would wonder what Emma Thompson's Sybill Trelawney or Maggie Smith's Minerva Mcgonagall was doing in there or Helena Bonham Carter's Bellatrix LeStrange too other than to screech wildly before despatching Gary Oldman's Sirius Black (which I understood had fans protesting and sobbing buckets). And if anyone is thinking Ralph Fiennes' Voldermort is the main villain, you are gravely mistaken. In fact he just ends up looking retarded with every close up, noseless. What a waste of Mr Fiennes' good looks. The honor instead goes to the annoying Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton), whom I must praise, made the character absolutely hateful. Enough to make you wish you did not have to tolerate another appearance of her pussy obsessed character.

Other than that, the whole movie was just nothing more than a rollercoaster of amusement decked with all the trappings of yet another Hollywood blockbuster, nothing more. I thought it had plots and effects shamelessly stolen from Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. What kept me entertained was the variety of unintentional (or was it?) gay innuendos riddled throughout the movie, including Sirius Black's unabashed gushing and adoration for Harry's late father James Potter. Albus Dumbledore's last line, "I care for you too much, Harry" had me in stitches. I am sure you do you dirty old fucker.