May

THE 5 DEGREES OF PDA

This is called the ‘air-hug’. A bit dramatic, but it sends the message that you’re in love. It’s funnier when the female is much larger than the male.

So today someone suggested that I comment on ‘PDA and the Singaporean’. Strange request. I suppose I’ve become an unofficial authority on PDA especially since I’ve watched all the Twilight movies without breaking out in hives. I’m pretty resilient like that. Also I have a habit of cuddling dogs I see in public, while totally ignoring the owners on the leashes.

For the record, PDA does not stand for PAEDOPHILE ASSOCIATION. It also doesn’t stand for POST-DRAMA ADDICTS (people who are not happy if there’s no drama in their lives), or the PHYSICALLY DEFECTIVE ANONYMOUS (people with third nipples and the like), although judging by today’s society, these support groups should have started long ago. One in four people on Facebook are eligible for such groups, you see.

What PDA stands for, you see, is Public Displays of Affection. These ‘displays’ refer to acts like kissing, deep-Frenching, groping, nuzzling, cuddling, grinding on the dance floor, and ~~straight out fornication in the company boardroom~~.

People who usually engage in PDA are new couples, horny teenagers, old people at nudist camps (OMG!!), self-important drunks, or cheaters. Sorry romantics, but that’s how it goes down. Life isn’t The Notebook, yo. Unless you’re dating me, which is another story.

Keep it tender. Keep It moist. Keep it private. As a rule, the hotter you are, the longer you’re allowed to kiss in public. Add 2 seconds for each time someone says you look like Ryan Gosling/Monica Belluci.

So here’re the 5 Degrees Of Public Displays Of Affection and What It Says About You if you’re into any (or all) of them. You should totally take this seriously because, you know, it’s on a BLOG.

DEEP-KISSING/NUZZLING: You think you’re very kissable and you look good kissing, and passers-by ought to be honoured by your locking of lips, because you show them peasants how it’s done. You like to purse your lips a lot in photos because in your mind, you’re Ryan Gosling and Angelina Jolie respectively, and everyone, after seeing how you kiss, would desperately want you to kiss them. The ‘duck face’ comes naturally to you whenever you see a camera. When you get older you’d most likely Botox your lips.

This tricky yoga position prevents her from escaping back to civilisation.

HAND-HOLDING/STRADDLING ON THE BEACH: This is sweet. BUT it may suggest you’re deeply insecure and are paranoid about your other half just running away. You know, just BOLTING from you. Like, flinging your smelly hand away and blitzing into a sea of frightened people like the final scene of Dances With Wolves, screaming, “I’m FREE, I’m FREEEEE!” Hence you need to lock them down with the straitjacket that is YOU. You are their metaphysical prison. Think about it.

It’s actually very difficult to walk like this.

PUTTING HANDS IN EACH OTHER’S BACK POCKETS: You’re either very fond of each other’s butt cheeks, or your boyfriend/girlfriend has an embarrassing habit of wearing low-slung jeans that expose his/her butt-crack. Eeew. By digging your hand deep into the pocket you are holding up your own dignity. #SAYNOTOBUTTCRACKSABOVEJEANS

This is Justin Bieber. And that’s gross enough.

BUTT-GRABBING/GROPING: You like jiggly things. Nothing says ‘elegance’ more than a man grabbing his lady’s peaches in public like he’s bringing home two pumpkins from the market and he’s lost his trolley. Why do you need to grab your lady’s lumps when there’s so much junk in the trunk? It might be his personal war against sagging assets, we’d never know. Try not to judge.

The classiest people in the club are the drunks who support each other.

GRINDING and DRY-HUMPING IN THE CLUB: You’ve considered a career in porn, but were rejected either due to unsightly tattoos or unsightly fat. You were pretty repressed as a child and you think dogs have it good because they can do it just about ANYWHERE. You’re an extreme narcissist and we hope you can dance, or are at least in rhythm, when you straddle that drunk stranger just trying to find his way to the door.

My work here is done.

22 hours ago Short URL Comments

Uncategorized

kiss/love/PDA/public displays of affection/showy love

Apr

THIS IS EPIC PDA.

THAT’S ME AND THE GIRL in the top square. We’re the ones in the sun chair. She’s the one in the hat (lucky me). I remember her lips tasting like butter.

I’m not big on PDA, but the people at H&M are donating a $1 for every kissing photo posted for #FashionAgainstAids #FAA2012. I’m a sucker for cool ideas, and it was a good enough reason for me.

I have never posted a shot of myself kissing anyone online. Uh uh. That’s a no-no for a double-Capricorn like me. I have intimacy issues in a public setting. I don’t need an audience, thank you. But there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Posting a kissing photo is kinda narcissistic and self-serving, and I don’t play like that.

But I did it this time because, in this case, it demonstrates how the realest relationships start – with a tender moment.

The kiss was taken a while ago, before I decided to be part of H&M’s campaign. It took me two seconds while going through my phone to think, “This is it.” We kissed like we always did; unannounced, unprepared and undeniably.

500+ Likes on the page is epic for me.

Thanks everybody. We might do it again next year.

Now post yours and make them pay. Kisses for everybody! http://campaign.hm.com/faa2012/#

46 days ago Short URL Comments

Uncategorized

H&M

Dec

COUGH LIKE YOU MEAN IT

I want her to sit on my back as I do commando-style push-ups. clap. clap. clap.

SO THIS IS A PIECE I WROTE – ON REQUEST – FOR A GOVT MAG BUT IT GOT CANNED BECAUSE OF THE INCENDIARY SUBJECT MATTER

(the truth, basically)

I’M RUNNING IT HERE INSTEAD.

The true story of what happened on my first day of National Service.

My first day in National Service can at best be described as traumatizing. I was emotionally scarred, and I think my soul died a little. It wasn’t fun AT ALL. There was no empathic tearing as the National Anthem played, or significant beating of the chest as the surge of patriotism overwhelmed new and nervous recruits group-hugging in camp as a drizzle fell. It was an EPIC non-event marred by a the fact that the powers that be mistook me for a Chinese triad gangster.

All names in this story have been changed to protect, er, ME. For obvious reasons, there will be no mention of camp names, platoon names, people’s names. You know what, no names at all. I remember sitting in a parade square with 400 others, getting in line for the ‘haircut of our lives’. By that I mean being almost completely shorn of what the rest of the human race have – dignity.

Clearly, the HAIRCUT was upsetting enough because I had cultivated a very palatable hairstyle – centre-parted and longer than decent – usually found on professional gigolos in the late 1970s. If the light was right and my Ah Beng dancing skills allowed, I looked like one of the Grasshoppers, aka those super sleazy back-up dancers of Anita Mui’s. But the hair clippers owned by the government are very democratic, in the sense that everyone comes out of that barber shop looking like a stage three chemo-patient.

So there I was, huddled with the rest on the ground, like freshly shorn sheep, when a large, very gruff man who needed better complexion – he would have won Mr Congeniality in a Manhunt – pulled 20 of us from the troop to go for a routine urine test.

This is getting better.

Firstly – You get your hair shaved off, so that you look like an immigrant laborer.

Secondly – You have to pee on command.

Thirdly – We were given little plastic cups and 60 seconds to fill them up. I had gone just before my haircut and the humiliating process can best be described as ‘sputtering’. That was also the day I learnt what ‘pressure’ was.

When all the recruits were organized and herded like cattle back into the troop, someone yanked my right ear just as I was about to march off with the rest. (I suspect he yanked my ear because I had no hair left)

“YOU, STAY HERE,” was all Mr Congeniality said. I felt like I had raped his unborn daughter.

The next few minutes were terrifying. I was ushered into an interrogation room, stripped down to my underwear and made to sit down on a too-cold stainless steel chair. I remember seeing the words ‘stainless steel’. I was amazingly observant in the midst of fear.

Four other officers, mostly sergeants, came into the room. Their grave expressions suggested that a lot of people owed them a lot of money. They had fists the size of claypots. One of them spoke like he was translating Hokkien into English, “Ey, tell me NOW, which GANG you join?! Where are your tattoos?!?”

My mind raced. My brain felt like exploding. ‘Gang’? I was part of the Debate Team and the Bookworm Club, and I roller-skated with a regular group of kids in a roller-disco that reeked of athlete’s foot, but I was never in a ‘gang’. What was the fuss about?

“WHERE ARE YOUR DRUGS?? We found drugs in your urine! Tell us now, where did you get the drugs! Are you a dealer? You sell to who?!” I almost shat my pants because these angry baboons looked like they were about to gang-rape and bukkake all over me in anger. Oh God Noooo.. I didn’t wanna die like this.

It took an hour of hair-pulling confusion, denial, raised voices and empty detention threats before someone asked if I was coughing out of fear. I said, “I’m sick. I took cough mixture this morning.”

The atmosphere in the room relaxed a like flaccid balloon. Two of the officers seem disappointed. They yawned and left the room. Mr Congeniality said, ‘You fucking idiot, why didn’t you say so. That’s why your urine was positive for narcotics.”

I was sent back to the herd, SICK & ABUSED. Codeine? I looked it up in a dictionary and it said, ‘CODEINE – An alkaloid found in opium, a narcotic whose effects resemble those of morphine. An effective cough suppressant used in cough medicines. It is addictive.’ NO WHERE DID IT BLOODY SAY ‘JUVENILE GANG MEMBER AND DRUG DEALER’. Mofos.

So there. National Service. If you don’t want to be accused of being a gang-member and drug dealer, cough your way to freedom. That, or get an doctor’s letter.

The Last Alpha Male found the rest of his National Service to be fulfilling and fun. Really. He talks to himself on Twitter.com/TommyWee

The Army Has Bigger Guns

167 days ago Short URL 7 Comments

Uncategorized

Sep

3 Diagrams To Help You Understand Your Problems

I like brunettes. Whenever I see hot brunettes, I imagine myself walking barefoot through their burnt midnight hair. It's creepy, I know. People usually just wanna snip it off and smell it, no?

So I keep seeing hashtags on Twitter about Girlfriends, Boyfriends, Exes and I’ve decided that people fixate on perfectly selfish reasons to COMPLAIN. I complain too, but I like to see it as getting something off my hairless chest.

But seriously, people whine so much about relationships that I’m usually prompted to ask: “Dear Whoever, you can date anyone you want, but why do I have to hear about how tough it is?” I don’t whine about my uneven tan lines to you right?

Tweeting your problems helps release them. They’re like brain farts. I tweet it, and it’s over. I don’t give a rat’s ass about it afterwards. If you read it and get offended, then it’s like voluntarily STANDING IN FART. That’s not very smart, yo. Farts are not like gas leaks in the house. You don’t go sniffing out the source.

ANYWAY, tweeting is cathartic. Not that I’m Catholic, but I think it works much better than a priest breathing heavily in the shrouded cubicle next door. Speaking of which, I’m starting to feel like one of them burdened souls.

Because I get a lot of questions about Men/Women issues, especially, “How would A Last Alpha Male deal with these problems”-type questions, I’ve helpfully scoured the Internet for meaningful charts to help you understand the opposite sex better. They work like the Periodic Table of Elements for Chemistry students, or the profit-and-loss charts of Koi Bubble Tea. (All profit, just starch at the bottom. No loss.)

The problems with Dudes & Chicks can be summed up with these two wonderful diagrams.

I like this Fifth Colour green. It's perfect for eye-shadow if SIA decides to update the make-up of the Singapore Girl.

What This Chart Tells ME about Boys:

1) Gay men love to be the centre of attention. And because they embody so much of other boyish qualities, masculine and not-so-masculine, they’re very complex creatures. If you’ve ever been to the wrong parts of Chinatown and Neil Road after 1am, you’ll see that the finding that ALL gay men are handsome, smart and nice is wrong.

2) Handsome boys prefer to be on top.

3) Nerds are like the anuses of the world. Everyone needs one.

4) Three circles squashed together look pretty.

5) Smart, Handsome Men have to be either an asshole, or gay. That’s a huge sweeping statement which also means this chart was drawn up by a bitter, jilted addicted-to-Chanel bitch who became a fag hag after her Wall Street Prince Charming dumped her whiny, high-maintenance ass.

NOW THIS:

If you focus your eyes at these three balls and concentrate hard enough, you'd realise after 5 minutes, "What the HELL AM I DOING THIS FOR??"

What This Chart Tells ME About Girls:

1) Since they’re always in the middle, the ONES WHO ONLY DATE ASSHOLES get all the action.

2) If you’re a Smart, Nice Girl, then you get the fugly brown colour. I would also replace the word ‘Idiot’ with ‘Boring’ but what do I know right?

3) Unlike the Boy Chart, which proudly displays the term, ‘GAY’, girls don’t understand the term ‘LESBIANS’. Because the state of Lesbianism is not a permanent state. Most of them go back straight after they realise they’re missing a major human appendage of joy. The word rhymes with ROCK.

4) The creator of this chart – most probably female and clueless – also forget to include names for female versions of ‘ASSHOLE’ and ‘NERD’. For which I’ll helpfully substitute with ‘BITCH’ and ‘SPINSTER’.

5) This chart was most definitely drawn up by a girl because she doesn’t hate herself enough to come up with more colourful language.

So there you have it. Charts that explain all your relationship problems at a glance. Oh wait, there’s one more to help you understand simple, low-expectations, easy-to-please men much better.

Good design is a lot like clear thinking made visual. — Edward Tufte

237 days ago Short URL 3 Comments

Uncategorized

Sep

I Have Blurry Photos Of AVALON

Generally, people look better in black and white. Unless you're Justin Bieber, then purple's your colour.

The 17,000 sq-ft Avalon at Marina Bay Sands. Very bling. It's like God dropped a cufflink into the water.

By now, you must have heard about the raging queues at Avalon when the megaclub opened at Marina Bay Sands last week on the 16th. It was one of those madhouse bottleneck situations because everyone received a glossy invitation card that said ‘VIP’, but arrived to find many, many, many other ‘VIPs’ waiting to get in also. I don’t have a photo of the many, many, many other ‘VIPs’ because it’s kinda weird to take pictures of people just WAITING in line. But trust me, it was a very trendy crowd, nicely suited up with appropriately bored expressions because they’re Very Important People.

But because I call it like it is, here’s what you need to know once you get inside.

As you can tell from the lighting and set-up, the Avalon dancefloor was inspired by every Alien movie you can think of.

The DANCEFLOOR: Huge and cavernous. mesmerizing, almost 360-view of the waterfront at MBS. The only description I can think of is ‘Star Trek meets Green House meets Thai Disco meets Old School Badminton Hall With A View’. As usual, those who can’t dance were relegated to the mezzanine level where they tried to peer down low-cut blouses.

It's great for people watching because, as you know, blue light is more flattering. It makes people more attractive, slimmer. Blue light turns less hot people into Decepticons.

The MUSIC: I was there for less than an hour and I heard pretty random Top 40s from the 80 – 90s. The music policy ain’t big on any one genre. The bass from the sound system was only really kicking on the dancefloor, and generally echo-ey throughout the club. It’s like they’re saying, ‘Don’t pigeon-hole the music ‘cos you never know what’s coming.’ Then Grandmaster Flash came on with ‘The Message’ and the place went crazy. No, not really, because every living thing on the planet has that track in their iPods.

THE DRINKS: So I went to the men’s room. It was one cubicle for 1,000 dudes with bursting bladders. So they had to stand cross-legged and funny while waiting in line. And with that sorta crowd you tend to overhear lively conversations. One conversation went like this.

A: “Hey Bro.”

B: “What, Bro.”

A: “Do you know what I paid for this double-shot of whisky in a plastic cup, Bro?”

B: “No Bro, what did you pay.”

A: “$65+++, Bro.”

B: “Plastic cup?”

A: “Plastic cup.”

B: “Two shots, Bro?”

A: “Two shots, Bro.”

Me: “You’re not really brothers, right?”

The architecture of the place, the magnificent glass walls, are pretty amazing. Meaning that if an ancient 500-foot tall sea-beast like Godzilla is awoken from deep slumber and decides to walk towards MBS to attack the shit out of it because it keeps shining lasers in its EYE every single night, you can actually see him plodding over, crushing buildings, and roaring. Very high drama.

245 days ago Short URL Comments

General Alpha Maleness

Avalon Singapore/Nightlife/Singapore Clubbing

Sep

The Mannequins At H&M Have Great Hair

This is Chinese actress Mavis Pan. She didn't appear at the H&M VIP Party, but I wish she did. Then she would be known as something else other than 'soft-porn' star.

So with shiny purple invite in hand, I hit the racks at the H&M VIP Preview Party / VIP Shopping Spree With 20% Off / 900 Bottles of Moet-guzzling Workout last Friday, and I must say it was super fun to be Shopping While Drunk. Shopping While Drunk is now officially my favourite past-time.

(Please recommend this post to friends who’re thinking of queuing outside H&M just so they won’t be left out of the conversation. They’re YOUR friends. Save them the embarrassment. You don’t see Swedish tourists here queuing outside Giordano or Charles & Keith, do you?)

But back to what I was saying…Have you tried shopping while drunk? It’s a cathartic, liberating experience. Everything looks good on you. Even feather boas. Usually, you can’t walk around shopping malls with a bottle of Moet in one hand while browsing through racks of Scandinavian clothes, red-faced and overly happy. They’d arrest you for not sharing champagne.

The red carpet for H&M VIP Shoppers. They took 'red carpet' literally. Very glad they didn't use awesome colours like teal or maroon for the carpet. I would have kissed it.

ANYWAY, we were ushered to the reception where pedestrians on Orchard Road gawked at us and wondered audibly, “What’s so special about them that they get to buy affordable Swedish clothes before we do?? No worries, we’d glare at them from the outside!” Together with tourists from Malaysia and Indonesia, Singaporeans actually decided to start queuing for the Day After to be the FIRST to get into the store. Does H&M stand for ‘Heaven & Manna’? Singaporeans can be very resilient for the wrong reasons.

The opening scene at H&M. A bit like Zouk on Mambo Wednesdays, with the mannequins/dancers on the podiums. But I must say these mannequins are more interesting to look at.

Here’re the things that makes H&M an awesome place to shop:

HIGH-CEILINGS: We’ve all experienced that moment when we found something we CANNOT live without, and like university graduates at convocation, feel the urge to fling the absolute discovery into the air with gleeful shouts of ‘Sex On Legs!’. These high-ceilings make sure your clothes don’t get stuck in the rafters or low-hanging air-conditioning pipes.

My friends, Ci'En and Luann, and some dude who's holding the face of another friend, Amelia, on a chopstick. There were at least 10 'Amelia' faces floating around that night. Amelia is a hardcore H&M fan and she hated that she wasn't in Singapore for the grand opening. So we decided to tag her to death on Facebook later. We're thoughtful like that.

If you can't make out what this shot is all about.... it's 'ART'.

EXCELLENT SERVICE (for now): Maybe it’s because it’s Opening Day, but I couldn’t walk 8 steps without someone at a rack or corner chirping to me, “Hello welcome to H&M! Shop around and let me know how I may be of assistance!” I’m very heartened by their support of an inebriated shopper. I’d be very surprised if the staff maintains this level of enthusiasm 6 months later, after Singaporeans make them fold the same T-shirt 10 times while constantly asking for a ‘new piece’.

These mannequins have green skin. Maybe it's like jaundice for plastic people. On a related note, the clothes are cute, wearable and made me stare.

VIVID MERCHANDISING: Aka ‘How They Make Stuff Look So Good You Want To Buy Everything’. H&M and IKEA. Masters of their craft.

This is what the cashier counter looks like. There's nothing to buy here, but it's aesthetically very pleasing. I asked how much the lamp was and they STARED.

Good thing these 'mannequin bottoms' had jeans on. Would have looked like a scene from 'Saw' or 'Final Destination' otherwise.

SWEET PRICES: $49 for a pair of jeans or chinos? $59 for shirt or dress-shirt? I’m sold like a HUDC in Toa Payoh. What’s more, everything has a 30-Day Return Policy. So long, ugly queues at Fitting Rooms! I’m buying by sheer faith from now!

2 floors of Ladies clothes. 1 token floor for Men and Kids. Why? Because men and kids don't know better? What do you call the shopping version of 'sexist'? 'Shopist'?

Clothes for boys to impress the ladeez with. Player, player!

HEADY SELECTION: There’s a cute lingerie section for women, although men won’t be harassed if they bought lingerie for themselves (I think). Also, the kids’ section is delightful, with ensembles for all occasions; miniature vests, denim jeans, polo shirts, cardigans etc. Why am I surprised? When I was a kid I walked around with clothes made out of Yellow Pages stapled together. It was not pretty.

Remember that feeling, when your heavy buttocks crushed that $450 pair of Dior shades while you were drunk in Phuket? And then you wept like a baby? Well, no more with these $10+ sunnies. Use and abuse, baby!

Another time-stopping artistic shot inspired by Moet. Remember, these cavernous walls at H&M provide echo, so if you see someone across the atrium grabbing the last pair of velvet chinos you're eyeing, just YELL.

Believe it or not, these people were queuing to Give Money To H&M In Exchange For Clothes. Strange but true.

More mind-bending shots of Purple Mannequins, and some with Great Hair.

'Look at me, I'm Cher!' (But more expressive)

PARTING SHOT: It's doesn't really matter that Borders Wheelock has closed for good. There's a new, more fashionable meeting place - and pick-up joint - on Orchard, yo.

261 days ago Short URL 6 Comments

General Alpha Maleness

H&M/Orchard Road/Shopping/Singapore Retail

Apr

THIS GUY IS EXCITED (Or, How To Have A Dry Orgasm)

He is far from brain dead, but he is repetitive.

He says ‘Oh My God’ 70 times in 6 minutes. I know because I counted. Took a lot out of me. I blasted the audio to count the number of “OMGs” and my housemate banged on my door, thinking I was freaking out to gay porn. So be grateful.

BACKSTORY: So these two guys are HUGE Britney fans. Duh. The one on the right is Kevin, and the other, Justin. (I don’t know why I bother naming them because embarrassment doesn’t need names.) They might be gay.

ANYWAY, all week long, Kevin has been avoiding snippets and blurps of the new Spears’ video ‘Till The World Ends’ everywhere. That is, till he gets to Justin’s house, because that’s where he’s dying to see the awesome video in its ENTIRETY.

Now, honestly, I’m not judging these kids because they’re squinty-eyed, or look funny, like sweet, 3-day-old gerbils. I’ve just never seen someone get so worked up over ANYTHING. I kept thinking he was gonna burst a blood vessel or something. Kevin (or issit Justin?) must be the most excited person on the planet. He’s like a high-pitched sperm with nowhere to go. I imagined at that point, if the broadband had choked and the Britney video had blacked out, he would have trashed the apartment. Then slashed his wrist before throwing himself off the roof.

I have plenty of questions. Does he strangle other fans at Britney concerts? Does he jack off to her posters, in public, while waiting to buy said concert tickets? Does he faint when a Britney song comes on in the mall? does he talk to a Britney Doll before he falls asleep? Is HE Britney every Halloween? Does he make his Mum dress up like Britney? Does he name his best friends Brit Brit 1, Brit Brit 2, Brit Brit 3? Questions, questions..

I’m not a mean person, but if he was next to me in a club and going “OMG! OMG! OMG!” 70 times in 6 minutes, I might nonchalantly trip him, step over his feeble carcass, head to the bar and reward myself with a shot of whiskey.

BUT… BUT… (the biggest BUT in the world).. If I was a rock star, I’d want a groupie like that. No, I won’t invite him on the bang bus, but I’d get him to wait at hotel entrances, concert front rows, press conferences and book signings as I appear. That’s gonna get attention. Nothing is greater publicity than someone shitting his pants in excitement, then dying.

I thought 5-year-olds getting an ice-cream was “Excited”. Noooo. I thought 8-year-olds getting their first puppy was “Excited”. Noooooooo. That’s play school. This level of excitement should be reserved for a talking penis.

What does Kevin mean exactly when he says ‘Oh My Gawd’? I’m pretty sure God heard him. Is it an exclamation for anything awesome? It’s even weirder when you transcribe what he’s saying. Because, while these phrases are uttered with immense gayness and drama, you don’t have a friggin’ clue what he means.

“Oh my gawd my heart’s beating… it’s beating!”

Really? You’re not dead? Dammit! I can’t believe it .. OMG!

‘Holy fuck, I can’t squeeze my hands… I can’t. I can’t. God help me.. I can’t.”

Have you tried squeezing Justin’s nuts?? That might help.

“My arms are numb… I’m scared… I can’t even feel my hands, my head is like numb. I’m gonna pass out.”

You’re scared? You’re scared of a Britney video? Wait till you land in prison, dude.

Bottom line, I don’t think he said “oh my gawd” enough.

Meantime, the video responsible. OH>>>MY>>>GAWD.

404 days ago Short URL 15 Comments

Uncategorized

Mar

I Now Hate Fridays.

THIS IS NOT REBECCA BLACK. HER HAIR IS NOT AS DRY. THIS IS SOMETHING YOU CAN LOOK AT. I HOPE SHE ESCAPED THE TSUNAMI.

I don’t want to judge a millionaire, 13-year-old white girl who did next to nothing to become world-famous with 40 million YouTube views (I contributed 6 views and have flogged myself for it), but I think the songwriting can be improved.

I hope you’re reading this, Rebecca.

HOW ‘FRIDAYS’ MAKE NO SENSE.

“(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)

Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah”

YEAH WHAT YEAH? Is that how you fill up the required 3 minutes for a song? What does a 12-year-old YEAHING mean? Are you trying to be jailbait? Who are you seducing? Winnie the Pooh? Christina Aguilera already rubbed yourself the right way many years ago. You can’t put so many YEAHS in an intro, unless you’re a rapper from the Wu Tang Clan.

[Verse 1]

“7am, waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein’ everything, the time is goin’
Tickin’ on and on, everybody’s rushin’
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)”

This has to be the most interesting first verse in the history of song. Everybody needs to know what a 12-year-old thinks when she wakes up. Which is NOTHING.

Of course you need a bowl for cereal. You can’t eat it out of a shoe. The shoe would turn soggy.

You’re basically telling me time is passing. Which is kinda old news. If you really wanna attract perverts, you should describe what you do in the bathroom. You know, get down to the waxing, lathering details. Instead, you get down to the bus stop and you see your friends? I never saw that coming.

Ps. About the music video: Who the hell carries a yellow haversack? And your hair looks dry as cardboard. Twelve years without conditioner is a very long time. And you need to tame your eyebrows. You’re starting to look like Elmo.

“Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?”

Your 11-year-old classmates have driving licenses? Amazing. And these over-achievers roll around in convertibles while sitting very dangerously at the back of the car. Your videos impress the young. If toddlers start dropping off the back of buses and get rolled under heavy traffic it’s all your fault.

Also, technically, there are not a lot of seats in the bus. Only windows and aisles. It shouldn’t be as confusing as how you make it out to be. I would hate to play tic-tac-toe with you.

“It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend”

What happens on Friday exactly? Especially for a 12-year-old? Are you finally removing your braces? Squeezing a new pimple? Getting a new sports bra? I know kids don’t really work (unless you’re Cambodian and NIKE is in your country) so why is FRIDAY special to you. You can basically watch all the cartoons you want from Monday to Thursday, no?

Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend

Can you sing this part with more conviction? Your eyes are a bit vacant when you sing this part. I know you have a naturally low, tranny voice but that don’t mean you have to sound mechanical. Work on the emotion. I can’t tell if you’re smiling or suffering menstrual cramps.

[Verse 2]

7:45, we’re drivin’ on the highway
Cruisin’ so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right
I got this, you got this
Now you know it

I’m starting to think there isn’t anyone with a brain in this video. You’re just stringing words you learnt last week into random sentences. “I got this, you got this?” I got NOTHING. You’re the one with an annoying hit song that my condo security guard loves. You’ve ruined my favourite day of the week. I hope you get a cold sore from that poor man’s Jonas brother driving you around.

Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?

[Chorus]

It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend

Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend

[Bridge]

Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today

Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after…wards
I don’t want this weekend to end

Today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes after? You just took me back to school. I was always confused about the order of the days of the week. I thought it was Tuesday, Saturday, Thursday, Monday, Sunday.. arrrgh see I forgot again!!!

You setting the record straight for the rest of mankind is a grand and noble gesture. Now I know.
[Rap Verse]

R-B, Rebecca Black
So chillin’ in the front seat (In the front seat)
In the back seat (In the back seat)
I’m drivin’, cruisin’ (Yeah, yeah)
Fast lanes, switchin’ lanes
Wit’ a car up on my side (Woo!)
(C’mon) Passin’ by is a school bus in front of me
Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream
Check my time, it’s Friday, it’s a weekend
We gonna have fun, c’mon, c’mon, y’all

I shall ignore this entire passage because the 40-year-old rapper looks like Usher’s loser uncle. He must be high or something, because his lyrics make less sense than yours. I hope he chokes on fried chicken in the back seat. On a Friday.

[ Repeat Chorus]

I hope you realize the demonic thing you’ve done. I hate Fridays now.

Are you gonna sing about Art Class next?

(“I’m colouring inside the lines now with a Blue Pencil, then I’m gonna use a Red Pencil, then I’m switching to Green, then Purple, and back to Blue Pencil, Blue Pencil, EVERYBODY LURVES MY BLUE PENCIL…..”)

Or how about Math Class?

“16 comes after 15, then it’s 17, 18, 19 and 20.

I’m so excited! Everybody it’s 20!

20, 20, EVERBARDY LURVES 20!”

You can write at least 12 albums in the next 3 days.

I want royalties, bitch.

424 days ago Short URL 5 Comments

Uncategorized

Jan

HOW AGYNESS DEYN FAILED AS A DJ (BERLIN PART 2)

AGYNESS DEYN IS A SUPERMODEL. SHE TRIED TO DJ. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED.

So I’m detailing my third day in Berlin, and I’m starting this post off with a supermodel called Agyness Deyn. I met her at the Bread & Butter after party last week and she was disappointingly asexual. By that I mean I didn’t have immediate fantasies about seeing her naked. She was host and DJ for the event, and she was, erm, as you can see, very blonde.

Quick aside: For the 5 of you who don’t know who she is and don’t wanna ask the person you’re reading this blog with out of senseless pride… She’s fronted countless fashion campaigns and made runways the world over a bit more “WTF?” with her androgynous, neither here nor there look. I say it’s a “neither here nor there” look because teenage boys look at her and can’t decide if they should get an erection or not.

Here, let me jog your memory with a campaign she did for Burberry.

The wind is so strong it's giving me a headache.

She’s unusually hot, and people usually look at her and ask themselves these questions:

“Why is her hair so short and spiky? Why does she look like a poor fish-n-chips waiter in London?”
“Why isn’t she sexy like Helena Christiansen or Cindy Crawford? Where are her boobs?”
“She wears sacks and trash bags and they look gorgeous on her. Why does God love her more than He loves me?”

Whatever, a face like that will raise questions. She’s cute, but I won’t bone her. NOT.MY.TYPE. (We’ll get into what’s my type in another post. I can’t discuss my type now because my type makes me frisky. And when I’m frisky I get distracted from finishing things. Things like blog posts.)

ANYWAY, she was DJing and the music, to be honest, was… erm… how do I put this delicately… UNDANCEABLE. It’s the kind of shit you get if you put a mentally-challenged person’s iPod on “shuffle”.

It’s more fun trying to tap-dance to train announcements at Orchard MRT station. You get the point. Do singers of great dance music all sound drunk and disinterested? Yes, according to Agyness Deyn.

So the moral of the story is… Supermodels make crap DJs. But because she’s adorable to look at, I’m posting two more photos for you.

I have professional DJ earphones around my neck.... yaaay!

THEN THERE’S THIS GUY, AMI JAMES

So I was checking out the Bread & Butter Berlin Show (a massive expo of mainly edgy denim brands like G-Star, Dr Denim and True Religion) and I ran into this dude. I’m not a big fan of bald, beefy guys who look like they can mash me into the grumpy, cynical pulp that I am, but this one is an exception. He was nice, didn’t act like a stuck-up TV star and most importantly, he said my jeans were cool. Before I said anything.

A fellow Alpha Male who notices the details and is MAN enough to say it? Damn right I’m putting him on my blog.

He’s AMI JAMES, co-owner of that tattoo shop in Miami Ink.

I asked him if it was fun to vandalise the God-given skin of fellow human beings for a living on TV, and he said, “Yes.”

Not the very exciting, fuck-you answer I was expecting, but unlike women, when a man says “Yes”, he means “yes”. So that’s his answer; simple, complete and whole. I accept it as “yes”.

He also asked if I had a tattoo and I said, “Yeah, I have a Chinese poem on my back. It’s a poem that talks about a mother’s love, hate, war, peace, and how to file your income tax on time.” I was trying to sound as gangster as possible. And lying desperately. As desperate as a goldfish in a leaking plastic bag.

Good thing he didn’t ask to see it or I’d have to excuse myself, find a penknife and come back 30 minutes later dripping in blood to prove it.

THEN THERE WAS THE RED-HAIRED CHICK

This red-haired chick came up to my friend and I, (i was hanging out with the awesome fashion photographer Skye Tan), and asked if she could take photos of us for some fashion magazine. She liked our style and our G-Star jeans. In reality, I think she saw us and thought to herself, “Where the hell did these two Chinamen come from? How wonderfully exotic! I have to get pictures for the mag to show that not all who come to Berlin are green-eyed and Aryan!”

THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR STALKING

You know how, when you walk into IKEA, one of the first things you notice in the chair department is this retarded-looking machine that pretends to be a fat human butt and presses itself into an innocent chair for like, 10,000 times a day? Yeah, they do that with boots too. Repetitive, but we all need to stress-test our boots and understand that if it doesn’t allow our toes to bend freakishly like those birds in Avatar, it’s not worth buying.

AN ORGASM TASTES LIKE THIS

Because Berlin is so cold during winter that some women there admit to not showering for days, orgasms have to take on forms other than those of a sexual nature. Such as hot chocolate. The Bread & Butter fare organizers knew this delicious fact, and they made hot chocolate on the spot for everyone coming in from the cold. See those giant bars of chocolate. They melted those into a thick, rich and all-consuming experience in a cup. Think about that.

I have a fondness for lightboxes. I gravitate towards them like moths to a flame. When that happens, I bump into things. These Adidas lightboxes are leaning the way they do because I toppled them like dominoes. The two security personnel you see in the photo are discussing what to do with me, because when they try to get me to help with a proper statement, I just pull my hair and whimper with eyes bulging like Japanese grapes, “I see dead people.”

See how Europeans enjoy posing? They’re also very capable of “relaxing one corner”, but because their corner happens to be 4 degrees and they’re covered in more clothes doing it, they appear cooler. Now picture this whole group in singlets, t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, plus maybe a guitar somewhere. Looks just like Bedok MRT station, no?

For their booth, Replay tried to simulate some sort of “overgrown living room”, where trees and shrubs invade your spaces and make you think about….er…. jeans?? Merchandising is a mysterious art indeed…

Presenting… the world’s saddest mannequin. Look at him. His expression says: “I’m sooo fucking bored. Everyone treats me like i’m invisible!” He’s unsatisfied and glum, ignored by everyone. Not a friend in the world. The only person who took notice of him is now making fun of him on a blog. *cue Foreigner’s ‘I Wanna Know What Love Is’*

Naturally, when I walked past these crazy eyeballs, they all winked. But it was the man who wolf-whistled. So I ran away like a frightened child.

This is a special limited edition backpack from Eastpack. If you absolutely need to carry a backpack like this, you also need more friends. Chances are, you were dropped on your head as a baby and you are now determined to suck up all the attention available in the world.

This poseur got in the way of my shot. But you see how he exudes cool and a “I-have-an-engorged-penis” attitude when checking his BB? He was probably waiting for his Mum to pick him up for dinner. But the point is, when you’re bald and not fat and you’re wearing a suit, you can wear your shades indoors.

They’ve made this mannequin do a handstand because, as you know, we all walk down the street every day only to see people breakdance on impulse. Wearing clothes like these. This brand believes that nothing brings out the denim more than a handstand. Are you tilting your head? Just rotate this image 180 degrees already.

Compared to the rest of the labels on show, Shine Jeans is supposed to be the new kid on the denim block. What I can’t figure out is this: What is this billboard model wearing that’s made of denim? A denim tampon?

Just in case you needed to know what owning 800 pairs of Converse shoes looks like.

My toppling of the Adidas lightboxes changed the ID and landscape of the show. I feel terrible to this day.

Now what I told this guy was, “I wanna try that pair of jeans in the fifth column from the left, and 23^rd pair from the top.”

Naturally, he went to some trouble to get the pair out and I decided I didn’t like the pair of jeans because it was the colour blue.

After some effort, crying for his mother, father and girlfriend, he put everything back again.

Two minutes later, I wanted to try the 24^th pair from the top. And the entire process repeated itself.

That’s why he looks pissed in this picture.

484 days ago Short URL 5 Comments

Uncategorized

Jan

WHAT HAPPENS IN BERLIN, STAYS ON THIS BLOG (I LIKE TO TYPE IN CAPS SO DEAL WITH IT)

My day In Berlin, that place in Germany.

Because I know a fair amount of Singaporeans might read this, I’ve decided to start with a photo of food. In Berlin, as with the rest of Germs, they serve food as long as it goes with beer. If it doesn’t go with beer, they’d fry it so that it goes with beer. I just made that up. I’ve not become a Food Blogger because I like to pay for my meals and talk shit about it. So here’s a pork knuckle, a yummy Bratwurst, and various garden variety salads.

This is not the Berlin Wall. It’s a fence near the city centre where concert organizers stick posters announcing upcoming gigs. They just rip old posters off, chuck them on the ground and stick on new ones. What you see on the ground is actual LITTER. Look! LITTER gives a place character. Imagine this fence just behind Orchard ION. Don’t try because you can’t.

This is a chocolatier. It’s a three-storied building. The store sells very high-end, exclusive chocolates. DUH. It’s all handmade and shit and produced expensively in Berlin. So I did what I had to do and went inside to look for KINDER BUENO. They didn’t have them. Didn’t think snobbery would exist in the happy world of chocolates.

It’s 2 degrees in Berlin and they have rather old buildings. And because the weather is so dark, gloomy and wet, I sometimes look up at these old buildings and get very rude shocks. Because I SEE RANDOM MEN STANDING ON TOP ON THESE BUILDINGS. They don’t move for a very long time. Even longer than me trying not to move so that they will. I mean, it’s fucking cold and they’re hanging out on rooftops by themselves. What the hell?

This building has not 1, but FOUR men holding up a ball. That’s damn gay. That’s gayer than a talking goose.

This is a nice old-fashioned retail mall which looks like the movie set for Burlesque and Chicago and Aliens all in one. If Tim Burton designed a place to buy bags and shoes costing more than the minimum annual wage of a flock of taxi drivers, it’d look like this. I can’t pronounce German words, much less remember the names of these buildings. So you just have to take my word for it that it’s on a street with “ZE” in it.

This is another place that sells gourmet meats, cheeses and wines.There are quite a few places like these because apparently the people here can survive exclusively on diary products. The HORROR. Everything is served in very clean pretty plastic boxes. Naturally, I asked them for Yang Zhou Fried Rice with Char Siew bits and sambal chilli.

This was on the side of a truck and I had to look because it says in attractive, pre-school fonts “Sexy Girls” and “Live Shows”. I was alarmed and I threw away my cone of gelato and chased the truck down and almost drop-kicked the driver in a bit to rescue the poor girls in the back. They must be freezing if they’re wearing so little in this weather.

I faked my best Samuel. L. Jackson voice and demanded to know if the girls were in the back of the truck. He said “no” and I was overcome with a mixture of relief and disappointment. I was prepared to just hop on, find my balance while the truck bounced along and get a lap-dance. Somehow.

Because Europeans are secure people and are not concerned with how people perceive the size of their dicks, they drive these sensible, efficient and cute cars. I have a small car too. Which means I have a BIG, no.. HUGE……… sense of RESPONSIBILITY towards Mother Earth.

The Street Sign says “CHARLOTEN STRAFZE”. That’s just one road. Although it sounds like an entire city. Speaking in German must be tiring.

A funny thing happened when I snapped this picture at the underground train station. The stylish woman wasn’t there. True story.

488 days ago Short URL 4 Comments

Uncategorized

So here’re the 5 Degrees Of Public Displays Of Affection and What It Says About You if you’re into any (or all) of them. You should totally take this seriously because, you know, it’s on a BLOG.

Follow “The Last Alpha Male”