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13-08-04- Nobody makes me bleed my own blood. NOBODY.

Welcome back to Drunk & Disorderly man-children, please take a seat and recline to a comfortable beer swilling position before turning your books to section erection. Last update saw a trademark incoherent recap of my overseas trip to the Land of stupidly cheap booze Bali and detailed a few events that I found amusing...ok so they were the only damn events I could recall but that’s the price you pay for one to many drunken benders. The update like usual was sloppily written and land-mined with poor grammar and spelling but we’re all aware that the rants are just a medium for my biggest vice…pornography! I often think of my updates as the poor unsuspecting host to the smut bacteria that feeds off it but I guess if the only side-effect is an erection then it sure beats fucking crabs…the STD not raping a crustacean you sick bastards. Bali was the first part of my international war on sensible & sober behavior and we soon took the battle to Singapore and figured at some point there strict no nonsense laws and my loutish antics would tango.

Thankfully the plane flight to Singapore was relatively short and I passed the time trying to convince the pensione r seated next to me that she and her Zimmer frame should assist me in joining the mile high club but she moaned about the altitude playing havoc with her arthritis…which we all know is code for DYKE. During the flight hot meals were served and mine looked like it had been freshly scraped from a vomit bag and labeled as “Creamy Chicken” which I wisely chose not to eat. A hot Asian chick was seated opposite us and somewhere during the trip she had lapsed into a deep coma. I watched with great amusement two Stewardesses attempt to wake the girl by first tapping her on the shoulder before shaking her furiously so she could wake up and eat her gruel. This girl was doing some hardcore hibernating and wouldn't’t budge so the frustrated lunch-wenches gave up and walked off with her meal. Not a minute later her eyes snapped open and she looked around with a scowl on her face clearly annoyed at the thought that nobody had woken her for the meal. If any other deep-sleeping hot Asian chicks are reading this I'd quickly like to point out that your welcome to sample my brand of "Creamy Chicken" and there's no truth to the rumors that I had slipped that girl a roofie...well not much truth...

Landing in Singapore was a breeze and despite my friends insisting that I would get publicly sodomized for customs for having long girly hair I scuttled through without as hitch. Unlike Perth where the airport is swarming with customs agents throwing suspicious glances at tourists and generally making innocent folk feel paranoid the Singapore airport was very relaxed. We didn't get stopped and asked inappropriate questions about why the X-Ray machine had detected numerous condoms in my stomach which I would explain was due to eating McDonalds far to much. My friend had a few wooden products that he had picked up in Bali and we thought it best to declare the suckers in the oft-chance that they contained wood beetles or geese. We wandered over to the declaration counter and was surprised to find that nobody was even manning the damn thing so we simply wandered outside. So take note Singapore, if you find your country decimated by wood-humping insectoids you have your lazy fucking staff to blame!

Stepping outside we basked in the trademark humidity which after Bali was actually quite bearable and we promptly flagged down a taxi and fed him the name of our hotel. Unlike Bali our hotel wasn't of the resort variety and while nice it wasn't somewhere we expected to spend allot of time at as the SG nightlife was apparently great. One shock was coming from a country (Bali) where every second local is trying to proposition you to a place where the locals are quiet and mind there own business. Upon our first stroll through Singapore I noticed that most people would scurry out of my way and would quickly break eye contact if I ogled them. I quickly realized that for some reason I intimidated most people, not sure if it was the long hair, the goatee or the obvious erection I was sporting. Ok so it may not have been obvious (lol small-penis lol) but hot damn were the women in Singapore fine. I mean if your into petite Asian women then Singapore is one giant fucking harem, my tastes lean to the above description and I was feeling like R-Kelly at recess time. Having declined the shitty excuse for food on the plane I was starving so we found a local food-market which was packed full of locals and checked out what was on offer. I'm notoriously fussy and am an utter wimp when it comes to sampling new or exotic foods so I lamed it up and had fish and chips while my mate grabbed some local cuisine. Once the meals arrived I realized that I had lost out as his meal looked fuckin' great while mine appeared to be an oven meal served up with a heap of cold baked beans.

Now I won't bore you with every fucking petty detail of my trip as most of it was bland touristy shit where we'd saunter around taking photo's of nothing in particular and scaring the local women with our lusty advances. A few moments on the holidays are worthy of the website treatment and they're as follows;

Myself and my buddy had spent the first day or two taking in sights like the zoo and riding the cable cars to Sentosa Island before deciding to contact another mate who had flown in the same night as us. We hooked up with him at his hotel which was located in an area called "Little India" which was swarming with those crazy Indian folk...kinda obvious huh? They had some shopping complex called "Mustafa's" which was open 24 hours a day and was at least 9-10 stories high. We decided to check it out and the first level was entirely gold jewelry, the next silver and finally I thought we'd have bronze but was disappointed to find a whole level dedicated to fucking shoes. The place was just to packed for my liking and you were constantly getting jostled and bumped as you made your way through the crowds. A taxi driver later told me that Mustafa's is a favorite hangout for pick-pockets as the constant jostle/dry-humping gave them ample opportunity to liberate a tourist of there wallet.

Despite this I don't think I've ever felt safer in a city/place before, It could have something to do with the strict laws but Singaporean's just seem so friendly and easy going that I suspect that it goes beyond the laws and is just the general attitude of the locals. You can stroll into a McDonalds at 2am in the morning and have people smile and nod in greeting to you. McDonalds at 2am in Perth is like a fucking battle-zone, if the drunken patrons don't murder you then the food sure fucking will, heh damn that's the second Maccas bash in this update. I had total strangers strike up conversations with me and enquire about where I was from and why I was intoxicated at 11am in the morning. Of course there's still crime but a local told me how two guys had kidnapped a young girl and held her for ransom, the authorities caught them and they were executed...jail may not be a deterrent to people but having the big sleep sure fucking is. Being typical idiots we tested the "Singapore=Safe" equation by withdrawing $1500 from an ATM and strolling through a dark park not having any idea where we were going...nothing happened of course but thinking about it our stupidity must have looked mighty inviting.

After hooking up with the other Aussie lout we decided to sample the night-life and took a taxi ride out to Orchard Road which is the main tourist strip and packed full of shopping malls and bars. Taxi's like those in Bali are dirt-cheap compared to back home and were out normal method of getting around the city. The drivers also spoke decent English and I had some great conversations with them and I'll touch on a particularly amusing one later on in the update. Rolling up to a bar called "Black Angus" we ordered a jug of beer and while waiting for it my mate took a hilarious shot of the bars sign. The waiter soon returned with a jug of Singapore's local beer "Tiger Beer" and 3 glasses and we drank up. Tiger beer tasted great and I slammed down my glass after knocking back my first mug in record time. As if on cue the waitress strolled up and filled my glass back up from the jug of Tiger beer. This was a custom that took me a few days to get used to as back home you buy a jug and distribute the golden nectar as you see fit so you have the opportunity to short-booze someone that failed to chip in or buy a round. I'm also a notoriously slow drinker and found myself constantly missing out on precious beer as my mates would guzzle down there beers and I'd watch in horror as the waitress would top up there glasses leaving me with the pathetic dregs. After finishing the first jug we decided to move on as we wanted to do some exploring so I signaled to the waitress that we'd like the bill. She came across with the bill for our ONE jug of beer and uttered some of the most terrifying words my soul has ever been witness to;

"Jug of Tiger beer...That will be $27"

What in fucking fuck!

"Sorry, I think there's been a mistake...we only ordered a single jug of beer and it sounds like we may have been charged for more"

"No mistake, jug of Tiger beer...$27 sir"

Twenty seven fucking dollars for booze, sure it was a nice jug of beer but mortgaging your house to purchase a keg of tiger beer just doesn't seem fucking right. Of course the impact of the bill was hitting a bit deeper after arriving from Bali where a jug of beer was $2 so I shrugged in defeat and payed the leech..err...lady. Over the next seven days we learnt that while alcohol was expensive due to the high tariffs and taxes that the government raped it with it still be found at a decent price if you stayed away from the areas frequented by tourists. I recall getting slugged $80 at some wanky nightclub for a few cocktails and the night after finding a quiet karaoke bar where a jug of beer was a mere $12. The Singapore nightlife is unbelievable as most of the pubs/clubs & restaurants are open until the late hours of the morning and it's refreshing to be able to stumble out of a bar at 2am and walk across the road and grab a full on a Tuesday fucking night. Shopping centers are everywhere and are open quite late so everyone finishes work and heads down to the shops so we'd wander about doing some shopping before hitting the pubs till the wee hours and wake up free of the hangover shackles which for me is unheard of.

New Years was rapidly approaching and I wanted to make it great so after chatting to a few locals and demanding to know where the poontang magnet was I decided that Sentosa sounded like the ideal location to drink ourselves retarded. A bridge and cable cars connect Singapore to Sentosa island and it had this cool little train that raced around the joint passing the beaches where we got many an inappropriate photo of Japanese bathers...FEMALE bathers. Deciding that my friends would have no say in the matter as they'd likely choose a gay bath house for the festivities I rang around to find out where I could tickets from. Some lady/robot gave me the name of a place and after interrogating the concierge I raced out and snapped up 3 tickets to the event. I informed my friends about the beach party plans and there skepticism of the plan was banished when I told them of the rumors that a foam-party would be taking place. Now I'm no expert but I'm sure the combination of alcohol, skimpy beach outfits and a foam party would have to work in the favor of a horny Australian tourist.

I decided against taking my camera as I'd get blind drunk and no doubt trade it for a jug of beer or a sandy handjob but my friend insisted on bringing his along. The event was limited to 10,000 people and all traffic to the island had been blocked so we had to catch a taxi to the Sentosa bridge where special buses would pick up the ticket-holders and take them across. The taxi-driver that drove off was really chatty and warned us that if any trouble started we should walk away and seek help. Silly taxi-driver, surely he knows that if there's trouble then there's more then likely a drunken Australian behind it. After catching the bus across we lined up and were surprised that we were near the front of the queue but dismayed that we had over-estimated the time it would take to get across and had close to an hour before the gates would open to the booze and busty wenches. Looking around the majority of the crowd were young locals with a light bukkake sprinkling of tourists, I spotted a nervous Aussie looking fellow behind us and nodded in greeting. Most of the people were dressed in swimming gear and I was delighted to see an abundance of hot Asian chicks in skimpy bikini tops that sent blood rushing to my head...heh not that head perverts.

As time ticked down the line grew to epic proportions and I was glad that we had rolled up a bit early so we'd be first to pillage the bars of there precious alcohol. Finally the gates opened and everyone with bags had to go through a checking station where they were searched for booze, weapons and inflatable pool ponies. Glad I had left my handbag at home we scuttled through and were one of the first people in. First thing I noticed was that the beach had been roped off using netting and I laughed and pointed it out to my friends and we all chuckled at the poor bastards who had dressed up in swimming and wouldn't be able to get close to the water. The start of the beach was occupied by an army of portable dunnies with the other end sporting a huge stage and scaffolding that looked to be the setting for the foam party. In between these two locations were a number of beer stalls and food venders and a few dozen wooden benches. Racing over we grabbed hold of a bench closest to the bar and lazed around while watching the crowd stream in...seconds passed before someone cried;

"Who wants a beer!?"

I hate to think how many times I heard and shouted this on that night but I know that somewhere deep inside my body my liver was already going into damage control and requesting that it be given the night off. It was only about 5pm and was still bright and it looked like I was the first person to hits the bars so I strolled up and said;

"6 beers please!"

"How many?"

"Six"

"Six?"...the girl serving me was frowning and clearly wasn't expecting to be selling six beers at such an early stage of the festivities.

"Yes...SIX" Maybe it was my weird Australian accent?

She nodded and at last started pouring gods nectar into small plastic cups before heaping them in a tray. At this point I was a bit worried about the price as such events would no doubt be trying to swindle the participants but was relieved when the beers were only $4.50 a cup which while not cheap was not wallet-raping. Taking the beers back to the table we devoured two each and I wandered back to the bar and was greeted by the same girl;

"6 beers please!?"

"Six?"...we may have a retard here folks...

"Yes Six"

She smiled nervously and poured another six which I took back to the table and we polishe d them off before heading back to the same bar;

"6 beers please!?"

She stared at me before laughing and spluttered "You Aussies are crazy!"

And so began our night of drunken debauchery, not long after this the Aussie I had nodded at earlier in the festivities sat down at our table and proceeded to look about and mind his own business. When drunk I'm utterly incapable of minding my own business and asked him where he was from, how long he was staying and if he was interested in viewing my elephantitus inflicted testicles. He explained that his parents were teachers in Singapore who he was over to visit and had intended to meet up with some local girls he had befriended on the internet but they had failed to materialize. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the girls were more then likely overweight old men who intended to use him as the plug for there bukkake bath figuring that my experiences were best kept to myself. After an hour of drowning ourselves in the sweet embrace of liquor we started chatting to a number of locals, three of which were brave enough to take a seat on the bench of booze. After chattering amongst themselves and staring at me for long periods of time the leader of the group nervously gulped;

"D....D...Do...you know who you look?"

I'm not sure how I was expected to respond to a question like this, I mean I'm often told I resemble a shorter & fatter Danny Devito but I thought I'd play it dumb and instead of answering just wiggled my eyebrows in a somewhat retarded fashion.

"Ozzy Osbourne!"

Fuck...so far this trip I'd been told that first I resembled a dead John Lennon now I was being mistaken for a guy that appears to have consumed more mind altering narcotics than the lovechild of Whitney Houston and Darryl Strawberry. I took it gracefully though and nodded...smiled and played some air guitar, they all laughed not realizing I planned on garroting them behind a Durian tree with tooth floss later in the evening. The leader asked me if I could go buy them a beer and I questioned why instead of pointing out my resemblance to mentally impaired celebrities he couldn't buy his own fucking brewskie. He revealed that himself and his crew were under-aged and thus unable to enter a dimension were acts of drunken public exposure and waking up next to strange humpbacked men are common and even applauded. Now normally I'd buy the guy a beer but this was Singapore and purchasing alcohol for minors could get me deported or dismembered. Throwing caution to a sunburnt English bloke doing the robot next to the port-a-shitters I flicked my fingers in the universal sign for "hand over the cash jockstrap". The group of three broke into grins and handed me a whopping four dollars, I chuckled at there poor attempt to scam a tourist and informed them to cough up more cash before my hulky friend converted there large intestines into scarves. The naive look on there face was unmistakable and I realized these poor clueless tards actually thought they'd get 3 beers for $4 and were distraught at not having the opportunity of assaulting there livers. Being a big hearted kind of guy I handed back there fortune and headed to the bar and got them two beers each and I must say that there grins could have swallowed planets. They didn't hesitate and drained them in Aussie-Like time and were about to hit me up for some more before the unmistakable sound of gangster rap flowed across the beach.

Back in Australia this wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary as most of our club scene has a hard-on for American music but in Singapore I hadn't thought I'd see the locals dancing to 50 cent sharing his pimp juice. My two friends had wandered off (bath-house?) so myself and the other aussie at the table decided to head down towards the stage and see how the locals got there groove on. Cradling a beer in each we approached the huge crowd surrounding the stage and chuckled at the scene before us. The music was blaring, the performers were leaping about on stage and the beach was packed full of people...we were...

Motionless!

The crowd was just standing there quietly and watching the stage with an occasional clap as the band belted out a cypress hill number which when delivered in an Asian accent is comedy gold. Quite drunk by now we weren't content to just watch the event so we dry-humped our way to the front of the crowd and started some old school whiteboy dancing. The locals couldn't believe there eyes and laughed and clapped as we randomly flailed limbs and apologized for spilling beers over anyone in our stumble radius. This continued for a number of hours and as time went on and the beer tally mounted more and more people joined in and soon drunken Indians were break-dancing in the sand and exhaustion was laying siege to my limbs. We decided to head back and find my friends so we slipped back through the crowd only to find the three under-aged weenies who I had purchased the alcohol for, after 2 beers each this is what they looked like;

Scary huh?

After resting for a good 15 seconds and embarking on a futile mission to find my friends in the dark while extremely intoxicated we decided that we should sober out in the most sensible location...

The Foam Party...

Now I'm sure many of you have experienced the soppy delights of a foam party but I was a foam virgin and after witnessing the string of drenched Asian women stumbling from it's embraces my hymen was itching for some suds. We stumbled into the middle of the foam party and I looked around the scaffolding to find which vent would next spew out the suds so I could make a mad dash for it and hopefully impregnate someone in the chaos. Then suddenly my vision was partially obscured by a stream of foam from directly above me, I giggled like a little girl before it hit me...well they hit me. I was positioned directly beneath the vent and upon seeing it ejaculate the crowd surged towards me, I was to busy giggling so I was knocked from my feet and ate a large meal of foam and feet. A hand reached from the crowd and yanked me to my feet and I was greeted by a smiling Indian who I saluted to in thanks before we were forced into a stampede for the next foam-vent. This went on for an hour or so and I had a blast gyrating next to hot wet women and tripping over for a good 20 minutes due to my shoelaces coming undone. The difficulty factor in doing one's shoelaces up are greatly increased by a charging crowd and the slick surface.

I recall a brawl breaking out at one point and two Japanese smacking the sushi out of one another but security swooped before much damage was done. I had actually marveled at the lack of security when entering the event but at that point realized that nearly all the security was under-cover.

By this time I was absolutely exhausted and my legs were cramping up so I crawled from the confines of the foam-pit and set about finding my friends. Once again the search proved fruitless and looking at my watch realized it was close to 4am and they'd probably given up on finding me and returned to the hotel. Piling onto a bus I took the trip back to the terminal and flagged down a taxi and convinced him that despite my sopping wet appearance and drunken walk I was sane and wouldn't disembowel him with a sharpened toothbrush. I got a number of shocked looks from the hotel reception staff as I washed into the elevator and into my room. Upon entering the room I noticed that my homie wasn't back but no doubt would be soon and collapsed into bed. About an hour later I was awakened by my friend who had finally tired of searching for me and had headed back to the hotel, I apologized then lapsed back into my coma. We were both woken by the phone ringing at 6:30 in the morning, my friend picked it up and it was other friend who we had gone with. He was still wandering around Sentosa looking for us in the daylights, heh I still laugh at the mental image of this and I both thank and pity him for caring so much!

The next few days we passed by shopping and eating and soon came to the conclusion that Singapore is just one gigantic mall. We finally arrived at the last night of our trip and agreed that we should hit the town and go out in style. Strolling down Orchard Road we decided to check out a joint called the "Orchard Towers" which a taxi driver had been wanking on about it and he assured us that many hot women frequented the place. Walking in we found a multi level building with each level housing a different nightclub with some levels containing two clubs. A number of scantily clad women passed us as we traipsed up the stairs checking out each club as we ascended. Hitting the top floor we found a club called the "Crazy Horse" and a number of very edible women were crowded around the entrance, noting this and secretly hoping that that the clubs name promised bestiality we stormed in.

Tempting Right?

Inside the Crazy Horse was dark and quite small with a stage to the left of the entrance and a bar to the left which a number of people sat around. We took a seat at a nearby table and I looked the crowd over, despite being small the place wasn't overly crowded and I guessed there were about 25-30 patrons. Loud techno music was raping my ears and the dance-floor was empty with most people seated around tables drinking. A hot little waitress with a spider tattoo on her neck approached our table and asked if we'd like something to drink so we old her to hit us up with a jug of tiger beer. The beer arrived and as I sat there sipping mine I noticed something wasn't quite right in this place....

Large stupid looking bouncers....CHECK

Deafening music that nobody seems to be enjoying...CHECK

Over-Priced booze served up by hot waitress...DOUBLE CHECK

Gender Ratio leaning towards a sausage fest...CHE...WTF!

Most bars/clubs have a male to female ratio of 4 penises to one vagina which makes swooning a lady much more satisfying as you know 3 chumps are getting emptied by the hand pump. Now the ratio in this bar heavily favored the vagina and as I dragged my gaze from the sweet embrace of my beer I discovered that the place was dominated by chicks. Upon closer inspection I realized that not only was the place swarming with poontang but that the poontang appeared to be exceedingly slutty. Most of the guys in the bar had women grinding in there laps and one lucky fuck had three women in his clutches and boy were there hands wandering. I looked over at my friend and his wide-eyed head rotation showed that he to had picked up on an unmistakable stench...

The stench of a whorehouse!

I mean the place reeked of cheap sex now that I had opened up my mutant nostrils, there were some pretty ordinary looking guys in there (including us) and they had hot women hanging off them (not us) so something was definitely rotten in Denmark. I signaled to my friend and said;

"You noticing something peculiar?"

"You mean the size of that chicks areolas?"

"No you pervert, these chicks are hookers...this place is just a big liquored up whore-house!"

"I think your right, which one are you going to bang?"

"That one over there, she looks kinda like your mum"

"Fuck you dude, your just bitter that the chicks are stealing all your clientele you dirty manwhore"

"Enough talk...it's time to get groped my friend!"

We drained our jug of beer and ordered a fresh one, the women were seated around the bar and would randomly drift over to a customer who appeared to be mostly older Asian tourists and start feeling them up. Most of the hookers were decked out in small figure hugging skirts or dresses that were low in all the right places and didn't leave much to the masturbation... errr...imagination. The drill appeared to be a concoction of flirting and a whole lot of fondling before they propositioned the customer with an offer for a few hours of fun for a small fee. We happily watched the action and were left alone in our dark corner and drained our second jug pretty quickly. The smoking hot tattooed waitress who I couldn't take my eyes off came over and asked if we'd like another which we agreed to and she sauntered off. Now one of the sharp-eyed hookers must have noticed this and she suddenly appeared next to my friend stroking his neck and smiling seductively. She leaner over towards me and said;

"Would you like to buy me a drink?"

"Not really" I chuckled

She acted offended but I knew this was a common occurrence and if I did agree to her offer then I'd get slugged $20-$30 for the drink with her getting a cut of it...I'm hip to your whore-games. She asked me again but I turned away and told her that if she wanted a drink she could have a glass of our beer, heh and she took me up on the offer...bitch. As we perved a super-fine Asian women in a tight white shirt sauntered in and grabbed the attention of every penis in the establishment. We watched her gyrate around the stage area with a few drunken aussie's quickly getting some photo's with her and doing there best to secure her services. My friend tapped me on the shoulder and said;

"Hot damn...now I'd buy that chick a drink"

"Which one...the hot one in the white top?"

"Yeah whitey"

"Me and you both...me and you both"

Oh how wrong we were...

My homie declared that he couldn't drink anymore and that he was going to head back to the hotel after this jug, I was just getting started and this joint had UPDATE jizzed all over it so no way I was heading back so readied myself for a solo flight. Up until now excluding the beer-pirate we hadn't been approached which was probably because we were both the youngest guys in the place and probably the scruffiest so the hookers probably pegged us as the most broke. The girls seemed to drift in and out of the club, probably to check out the action on the other levels and many of them left with a smiling tourist on there arms bound for a night of semen & STD's. My attention was largely directed at a very drunk and excited looking Asian guy who was busting out some ridiculous uncoordinated dance moves by himself on the stage. He would spin around in a hyper-active fashion and try to entice women to dance with him but none seemed game...I felt sorry for the poor fella...if a whore won't dance with you then who will. My head suddenly erupted with searing pain, I looked about thinking that someone had hit me over the head with a beer bottle but only found a juke-box. It was killing me and was intensifying, my friend noticed and giving me a concerned look asked what was wrong. Then I realized what it was, I hadn't felt this pain since 96 in my neighbors sand-pit...

My Boobie senses were tingling!

Swiveling my head I looked across the bar and found the glorious mounds, an petite Asian had lowered her dress and was exposing her breasts in my direction. Now it's not everyday this happens to me despite being a fully qualified bikini inspector so I bathed in there pert glory and ordered another jug of beer. My friend bidded me farewell and wished me luck in my adventures no matter what path they followed. Tiring of my tucked away location I decided to take a seat at the bar and hopefully get into some amusing sordid conversations with hookers. As I sat there the tattooed waitress walked by and I took this opportunity to make a move, I needed a witty opening line and here it was;

Oh..Hi...I like your tattoo!"

"What?"

"I LIKE YOUR TATTOO"

"Oh thanks..."

"Did it hurt?" Just when it can't get any worse I turn into Captain Obvious

"First one did, then you kinda get used to it and go back for more"

"I've got a tattoo" I haul up my leg to show her a tattoo that I got in Bali and hope that in the darkness she can't see that it's fake

"Oh wow...that's cool"

She then dashed off and I punched myself in the scrotum for being a complete dipshit but you readers no that dipshitting is my forte. Many beers later and many passes by hookers I saw a young Asian dude sitting at a table with an Indian guy who had a girl grinding the life from his crotch. The Asian guy made contact and we nodded in greeting as strangers do and he motioned for me to come over. Being somewhat bored I grabbed my beer and took a seat next to him while the Indian guy giggled and grabbed his lady friends mammaries. He leaned in and raising his voice to speak loudly over the music he said quite possibly the most shocking and innocence robbing words that my ear canals will ever carry;

"YOU KNOW THAT THESE CHICKS ARE GUYS RIGHT?"

WTF!!!!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

*Erection Wilting*

"HUH?" My ears must be deceiving me surely as I gazed at the boobs of a nearby woMAN?

"Yeah, they make look like girls but they have a dick bro...they're what we call lady-boys"

"I...Errrr...Urgh..." *Violent Twitch*

"Are you ok?, you're not making much sense and your hips are spasming

"I'm sorry, I'll be fine...it's just that...well...I'm just not comfortable in a situation where a flip of a coin decides who gets to take it up the ass you know?

He nodded in understanding and pulled me in close in which I figured was a conspiratorial clinch but was probably just an attempt to asphyxiate me before feeding my corpse to the lady boys. Slowly this strange Japanese man opened my eyes to the twisted penis-ridden culture surrounding me and it was exhilrating...and ok...yes..sickening. He was my Mr Miyagi of the Lady-Boy world but skipped fly catching and pedophilia and instead concentrated on identifying the key features of a Lady-Boy. With a closer inspection and my beer goggles well and truly banished I now noticed that many of the once hot women now possessed Adams Apples and were somewhat taller then most Asian women normally are. A voice that before had sounded somewhat husky now sounded downright fucking male and I was still in total shock. Thankfully I had avoided ANY form of contact through-out the night and watched on with disgust as unsuspecting tourists groped these manladies and often left with them manhand in manhand. Then a much frightening thought imploded inside my head;

Were they really unsuspecting?!...or did these sick fuckers actually know that the chick they were swooning had a pork-sword. Imagine the terrible not knowing scenario;

Wow this is great, this slut is all over my johnson...I'm so in...maybe I'll ask her back to the hotel room for a bit of the ol' in & out. Damn, she's asking me for money...I never pay for it...but she is hot and looks like she could be a wild one in bed...hell why not. Back in the hotel room, I can't wait to get a glimpse of that hot body of hers. Off come the shoes, now she's taking off her shirt...wow great tits...now let's get a look at that meat wallet baby...

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD...SHE HAS A COCK...AND...AND...IT'S BIGGER THAN MINE :(

I turned to Mr Miyagi and asked him this very same question, he smiled and informed me that most tourists know that the frocks conceal cocks and that it's just there fetish. Deeply worried I asked if ANY of the girls in the establishment had a vagina and he laughed and said yes before pointing to three ugly skanks at the bar...oh there's a relief. Stunned at this I then pointed to his Indian friend who was getting his earlobes sucked by a manbeast and asked what the fuck his friend was doing if they knew all this. Frowning he told me that both him and his friend come to the bar for some groping before heading off to greener pastures. I didn't ask what the greener pastures were fearing that if this was the appetizer then something like Hermaphrodites must compose the main meal.

You're all probably thinking "What the fuck are you still doing in there, run before someone penetrates you fuckface"...alas there was a greater calling...

The tattooed waitress, I still had my eye on her and now knowing that every other member of the bar was a certified anal commando I figured I'd make a move. I was intoxicated, on my last night in a foreign country and now unable to make eye contact with anyone else in the bar so I had nothing to lose. I waited for her to saunter past and simply asked;

"Wanna do something after work?"

"Sure, finish at 3...meet you outside"

Say what?...heh man why can't swooning be that simple back home, I mean there was no small-talk, no number swapping and no pepper spray. An intelligent person would have noted that it was 1:30 and got some fresh air and sobered up, not me kids...I stuck to the DnD mantra like a litttle Aussie battler. I celebrated my successful pass by hitting the beer with a vengeance and ignoring the advances of a manbeast who asked where I was staying and complained that the guy she had been grinding on stunk and needed a new play partner...*shudder*

The time passed pretty quickly and as it neared 3am a large gorilla looking security guard tapped me on the shoulder and growled;

"You know the drill right"

"Yup" I said it before consulting my memory and realized that No I had no idea what the drill was and just hoped it didn't involve any of my orifices. I tapped him on the shoulder and whispered;

"Actually...I don't know the drill...?"

He smiled "Finish your drink and get the fuck out"

"Oh...." Twas very strange as you're just not used to being spoken to in such a manner in Singapore...heh it was like being at home. I chuckled knocked back my beer and stood outside feeling drunk and stupid.

A good 30 minutes passed and I was thinking "hot-damn...I came to another country to get stood-up...way to go skidmarks!" As this thought ricocheted she came striding outside, smiled and asked if it was cool if her sister accompanies her. Her sister was equally as hot so I nodded, smiled and tried not to get an erection. Following her downstairs we walked down the road before stopping in front of a small group of people who looked about my age. The tattooed girl then laughed and introduced her two brothers and asked if they could come along to which I laughed and agreed to. Not exactly going to plans here, what had started as a late night casanova attempt had turned into "Meet the fucking family". Her brothers didn't seem to like the look of me and gave me an evil scare that radiated "we're onto you assgoblin"

We all piled into a taxi and headed to a nearby food court which like many of Singapore's eateries are open all night. I was having a great time and was chatting away to the chick and once comfortable I simply had to ask;

"So...lets get this out of the way...are you a MAN?!"

Not looking mortified she simply smiled and tried to assure me that no she wasn't a man. Still not convinced I asked her sister if her sibling was a man and she decided punching me was an appropriate response so I'll take that as a no. The meal was great and after 30 minutes of me drunkenly ranting her brothers warmed to my Aussie antics and chatted away at a rapid pace. Alas the night had to come to an end and she had to start work early so she needed some shut-eye but told me to drop into the bar. Being my last night that wasn't really an option so I thanked everyone, took a photo and jumped in a taxi. As the taxi sped off I realized in my drunken state that I had failed to register her name or even ask for a phone-number...real smooth huh?

Rolling back to the hotel at 6am I stumbled up to the room and collapsed on the bed before a voice next to me said;

"So how was it?"

"It was great...oh...you remember whitey?"

"The asian with the huge rack...how could I forget"

"Yeah...she had a dick"

"WTF"

The next day wasn't to much fun as our flight jetted out at 2pm and I had about an hours sleep before checking out so I was a shambling zombie by the time we got on the airplane. The trip was great and I recommend anyone looking for shopping, nightlife or a manlady to visit there. I could continue this damn update but it's stupidly obese as it is so I'll upload the sucker and update again in a few days(months) tie...till then transvestites!

Also adding the holiday photo's to the Events section this week heh mainly to make use of it.

02-05-04- What's your fucking side of the story?

So it's been awhile between drinks for the ol' website but that's not anything to write home about is it, unless of course your writing to inform your mum that yes you were the one that gave the dog herpes and Springer wants the exclusive. Many of you will be curious as to where I've been and many more of you will be wishing that I'd go back to whichever mountain-goat I'd been fellating and stop posting sad typo-filled tales of stupidity and semen. Over four months have passed since I last tainted the web and during that period I've scuttled overseas, moved house and developed a smelly rash on my left testicle. I'd be happy to divulge details on any of these topics but alas my memory is grossly defective and rumor's of it's instability has been known to even strike fear into Alzheimer sufferers.

I tend to find that when an event occurs, unless I scramble online immediately and ejaculate the details it fades into a shadowy occurrence that may or may not have been a dream. I promptly check my underwear and depending on the presence of an erection or the hand of another man I can normally deduct whether the event occurred or that my mind just wished it had. Didn't you fucko's miss my rambling "It...Makes...No...Fucking...Sense" style of writing or are you just here for the sweet poontang that you know only I can bring to the table.

Either way I'm back and this time around will make no halfhearted promises of weekly updates as we all know that I'm a lying colon and am infected with a serious strain of laziness. Imagine the movie 28 days later where instead of rage the monkey's and zombies had been infected with "Lazy" and instead of chasing people and eating them they just sit around talking about doing it, throw in an occasional interracial enema scene, a Burt Reynolds mustache ride and you've got an Oscar kids...the award...not that green faggot who sodomizes children in a bin. I'd like to claim that my experiences overseas and being the joint pimp of a swanky apartment has taught me restraint and a fresh injection of maturity but sadly I'm still the same old 'tard that you enjoy throwing dildo's at.

While it's on my mind I'd like to thank all the rednecks that emailed me calling me a "lazy fuckin' clownshoe" and to the guy that was convinced that Ninja's had abducted me but secretly we all knew he just wanted access to my chocolate ninja-star. Without this random abuse wedged in between the glorious spam I doubt this update would have occurred so you have those weirdo's to thank/blame for this. I don't get much feedback for the site and when I do receive some I get filled with joy and "normally" release the hobo's in my cellar. So if you're a hobo or have a fetish for them I urge you to email me as the more I get the more smelly wino's we have for future bumfight video's.

As I mentioned earlier I took a trip overseas to introduce the foreigners to my pimp-hand and hopefully score a cavity search on the plane-flight. Sadly no such searches were conducted despite my pleas that I had witnessed a stranger plunging drug-filled satchels in my ass after I had left it unattended next to a drink fountain. The company I work for closes down over the Christmas break so myself and a coworker decided that instead of doing the same old boring shit for Christmas & New Years we'd jet overseas and do the same old boring shit there. We had two weeks off so the plan was to spend a week in Bali then take a plane flight to Singapore for another week of boozing. I'd been to Bali a few years earlier but had yet to visit Singapore and was excited despite many people warning me that my long hair would get me publicly sodomized by customs.

The plane flight from Perth to Bali takes about three hours and I'm personally not a big fan of plane flights. They don't scare me but I find the environment uncomfortable and tend to pass the flight reading a book or liberating the liquor from the drinks cart. Didn't help matters that the in-house movies were shite and that the stewardess serving us appeared to have a mustache. We touched down without anything exploding and I was relieved to have escaped with my stomach-contents firmly in place. Passing through customs without incident we proceeded to the luggage belt at which point I started cursing myself for purchasing a generic looking suitcase that looked like every single one rotating before me. Next time I plan on obtaining a custom-made bright pink penis shaped bag that will be easy to identify and customs would be to disgusted to search. Moments before being arrested for "Luggage-Rage" my bags appeared and we trundled towards the airport exit. This process is always difficult and you're forced to navigate through the "Luggage-Lepers" who are Balinese looking to make a quick buck by carrying a tourists bags to the exit. Now this would be a useful service if the exit was located a long distance from the luggage-belt but it's only a matter of meters. I got caught by these sneaky bastards on my first trip and was forced to cough up $20 for a service that Marlon Brando could have performed without knocking up a sweat. I was hip to there game this time around and warned my friend to carry his own bags and ignore the workers who kept commenting on how heavy our bags looked and how they'd be happy to assist us.

Stepping outside you're suddenly free of the soothing air-con and are brutally met with Bali's trademark humidity that is stifling and uncomfortable. It's constant and you tend to sweat up a storm and I agree with someone who likened the humidity to having a hairdryer cranked up on high pointed in your face. We'd paid for transfers and were quickly pointed towards a small van which was filled with other aussies from our flight. On the trip to our hotel I chuckled at the guy behind me who was berating his friend for paying a "Luggage-Leper" while the guy that got burnt insisted the leper seemed friendly. Arriving at our hotel I was blown away by the sheer size of the place and due to touching down after midnight we had to pay for the room for he previous day or sleep in the foyer until the check-in counter opened at 11am. Not wanting to slum it on first night we paid the extra cash and headed over to our room which was decked out with the standard mini-bar and TWO VERY separate beds so don't expect any homo hanky panky you sick degenerate sinners.

I love Bali to death, everyone is so damn friendly and everything you do or buy is so cheap it's practically criminal. For the clueless the exchange rate is somethin' like 1 Australian dollar to 5-6000 Rupiah so we were getting a million rupiah for about 200 dollars. Then you take into account that a 1 litre bottle of Bintang beer is 3000R and you know that a seriously good time is going to be had...well that or alcohol poisoning. Cheap beer alone would make the trip worthwhile but after you've seriously fucked yourself up on cheap cocktails you've gotta have a means of transporting yourself to the next location where you'll continue to get fucked up on cheap cocktails. That's where the taxi's come in and they're fucking everywhere so flagging one down is normally just a matter of glancing at them or acknowledging the constant beeping of the horn as they drive slowly past tempting tourists. Our hotel was within walking distance of Kuta which is where all the action is had but due to the humidity we rarely walked anywhere and instead chose the air-conditioned comfort and amusing conversation of a taxi. One morning I approached the concierge and asked for a taxi and the conversation went like this;

"Where you going boss?"

"Waterbom Park"

"But that's over the road, you can walk there"

"I know...I'm a lazy Australian"

He just grinned, called the taxi and I then engaged in exactly the same conversation with the driver who seemed very amused at my laziness and noted that I looked like John Lennon, I laughed and thanked him for mistaking me for a dead guy. So if you're heading to Bali for an extended stay I suggest selling your legs on E-Bay as you'll never need the suckers.

Bali used to be plagued by hawkers who would attempt to sell there wares to tourists by swarming them and pestering them until they gave in. Many people were unable to cope with this sort of attention and stayed in there hotels only venturing out rarely. This of course had an impact on business so the government stepped in and put a ban on street hawking so the hawkers were limited to there stalls and the beach. There's nothing more strange than having a dip at the beach while a Balinese man wades in after you with a suitcase of watches loudly demanding that you at least try one on. I don't have any problem with hawkers and while they're supposed to stick to there stalls many of them sit by the side of the roads and offer you anything from scooters, gold rings to there best friends sister. If you're firm with them and convey that you're really not interested then you'll be left alone but the moment they detect that you're hesitating they descend upon you jabbering about the merits of there products. I tend to be left alone as I'm young and they probably figure I don't have much cash but having long hair meant there was one group of hawkers I couldn't avoid...

The Hair Platters!

The moment I went anywhere near Kuta Square they'd spot me and start touching my hair and asking me if I wanted my hair-platted which I promptly declined. This went on for 4 straight days with the same girl always pestering me, on the 5th day I walked past and after jumping to her feet she scowled and muttered "Not you again!" and walked off...even the Balinese have there limits. I especially like the selling methods employed by the hawkers trying to sell anything illegal like hash or girls. They'll troll past and whisper "hashish" or "Young Women" in your ear and when you turn around they'll stop at the mouth of an alley, glance back at you and disappear down the alley. I've yet to ever follow them down the dingy alley but I'm told by locals that many of them are working for the police and the moment currency changes hands the officer swoops. If you're fucking stupid enough to get yourself in a situation like this then you bite the fucking bullet and pay the man, it's a simple extortion scam and the only thing worse then a Balinese prison is a Balinese hospital. Trust me to make Bali sound seedy and dangerous which it isn't and we often stumbled around at night blindly drink and managed to stay out of trouble. When intoxicated I would often spot the hash dealers approaching me and as he readied to whisper in my ear I'd quietly mutter "Hashish?" and he'd stop dead with a stupefied look on his face, score one for the smartass tourist. In the wake of the Bali bombings the security is so high that every vehicle entering the hotel grounds has it's boot and underside checked by security for bombs, so if you think you can smuggle in some sweet foreign poontang via this method...think again turd-burglar.

Due to the kickass exchange rate you tend to feel like a bit of a rich playboy as you sit beside the pool sipping on cocktails and having hamburgers delivered to our pool-pony. The food was amazing with a huge buffet breakfast each morning which boasted four fuckin' types of bacon and some dude made omelets depending on what ingredients you asked for...anyone for a tubgirl omellete...Anyone?. Beer was in abundance and I opened my first one up at 7am and despite getting trashed every night I never awoke with a hangover, not sure if it was the humidity of just knowing that the only work I had ahead of me was opening the next brewskie.

I should have started a diary or at least updated the fuckin' site upon my return because after 4 months I can't recall what I did day to day there and even if I did who the fuck would wanna know?. Therefore I'll compile and describe in my dipshit incoherent manner the events that I found interesting...uninterested parties are welcome to eat my ass with a spoon. Being a typical annoying tourist I took plenty of photo's which I'll upload shortly.

Earlier in the story I mentioned two clueless tourists who got swindled by the "Luggage-Lepers" and these two guys ended up staying at our hotel and had a habit of turning up EVERYWHERE we went. I only mention this because one had a giraffe-like neck and everytime I spotted that monstrosity I'd laughed o myself and think of Mech-A-Neck from He-Man...ok...so I found it funny. Despite the stalking they seemed like alright guys and I thank them for sharing with me the most powerful "Relieved" facial expression that I will ever lay my retinas on. You see we were swimming in the pool and contemplating what cocktail to devour next when Giraffe and his mate came diving into the pool with a volleyball that they had found somewhere. A volleyball net had been strung up between two poles and after bashing the ball around for a few minutes they asked if we wanted to join in. My friend isn't a very good swimmer and I knew he'd have a tough time not drowning so we said no and marveled at how long his neck was. Not long after a ball was sent high over the net and one of the guys jumped out of the water and gave the ball a monster spike. Unfortunately the trajectory wasn't low and the ball went sailing at high speeds past my face, I dived out of the way and spun to follow the rapid path of the ball. We all gasped as we realized that it was heading straight for the pool bar or more importantly straight for the glass shelves that supported 50-60 bottles of spirits 7 wines. Everything seemed in slow motion as we watched the ball hurtle towards doom...it struck with tremendous force...

A wooden pole...

Somehow the ball missed the glass shelves and ricocheted harmlessly off a wooden beam in the middle of the structure. The noise was explosive and the barman all yelped and looked at us with a mixture of relief and anger. There look of relief had nothing on the look of the faces of the two guys next to us, both were drained of colour and were giving nervous laughs while no doubt attempting to hide the shit forming in there board-shorts. The look of relief was akin to that of a man urinating after an extended period of waiting or your weird neighbor finally fitting the dead hookers body into the woodchipper. We all celebrated the near-disaster by jumping in the hotels spa...until a hotel worker asked why were hanging out in the kiddy-pool...no I'm not some fucking pedophile but that was one spa-lookin' kiddy-pool I swear.

One night after an extended bout of booze we headed out to Sanur and told the driver to take us to a decent club, he didn't understand English very well but assured us that he knew of a strip with lots of clubs. After being dropped off an inspecting the clubs I realised he was full of shit and we were now god knows where with little to fuck all to do. Overriding this was the fact that I needed a piss so badly that my eyes were urinating tears of sympathy, I ducked into a nice lookin' beer and asked my friend to get me a beer from the bar. After sliding out back and emptying my penis I came out front and took a seat at the bar to drink my bintang. Glancing around I noticed the place was empty 'cept for a smoking hot Balinese girl who had an ass to die for. Being drunk I wasn't to inconspicuous in my admiration and she soon noticed and nodded at me and smiled, you're in I thought...Wrong. As I'm leering at her a Caucasian guy, possibly Australian appears from the back of the bar, he stares at me...stares at the girl then walks over to her and starts whispering in her ear. I'm watching this from the corner of my eye and I note him swig a beer down before striding towards me. I subtly spin around to put my back to him and act like I don't know what the fuck is going on but I know violence is in the air and trust me to fly all the way to Bali to get into a bar-fight with another aussie.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned to face the guy who appears to be around forty or so and pretty well built. Smiling I nod at him and he looks around the bar before looking me in the eye and asking;

"What do you think of her?"

No sound of malice in his voice but that could be an act, now does he mean how do I like the bar or how do I like the chick with the endless legs behind him...he could be her pimp or her fucking dad. Deciding I'd play the dumb tourist I mimicked him and looked around the bar before saying;

"It's great, reminds me of home"

He laughed and clapped me on the back and the violence seeped from the room and was replaced with a sense of curiosity. We got to chatting and the bar belonged to the guy, he was originally from England and after saving up some funds had headed to Bali and built himself a bar. I of course just had to know who the chick was and turns out it was his wife so I thank god I didn't respond to his early question with one of my trademark inappropriate replies like. We chatted with him for a good 20 minutes and I questioned him over the bar and how he went about building it. After the conversation I realised that this guy was fucking onto something. I mean, why save up all your life and retire semi-poor or having just enough money to guarantee your stay in some nursing home where your meals consist of oatmeal and shitflakes. Save the same amount of money, head over to Bali and live like a fucking king with a wife that looks and most likely is 18. Building a house over there costs very little because the labour and materials are cheap and according to the bar-owner he lived in a mansion on half of what he'd be getting on the damn pension...heh I'm so doing that once I wrinkle and ripen!

Two other items that must be on every travelers agenda when visiting Bali is Waterbom park and a whitewater rafting. Waterbom Park is a huge water park that boasts aqua tubes, water slides and even some giant fucking chess-set. The best part of the place is the "Lazy-River" which is a huge snaking pool that has a gentle current that you float along on inflatable tubes. You just lay back and let the water carry you along the river which is surrounded by plants and huge statues of monkeys that shoot water on you from...cool if the water wasn't shooting from the monkeys penis...heh I kid you not. At one point the river forks and this is where myself and my friend had endless hours of fun by tormenting other floaters. The fork to the left took you through a powerful waterfall that could knock you off your tube if you weren't careful. The right turn led to a an area where there was no current and once you drifted down there you were doomed as you had to paddle like crazy to get anywhere and you'd normally be forced to flip out out of your tube and paddle out.

Now being bored and self-confessed assholes myself and my friend would lurk near the fork and most people tended to float down the river with there eyes closed or in some blindly oblivious relaxed state. We'd wait till they neared the fork then would suddenly paddle towards them and gently propel them down the right path where there was no current. I took great pleasure in the sight of them opening there eyes to discover they were trapped and were forced to exit there tubes. Many people realised we were behind there misfortune and twice an old man or lady(old people and children are the best victims) would shake there fist and curse me in a foreign tongue. If we failed to send anyone down to the right we'd wait near the waterfall and wait for an old man to come floating down. Nine times out of time they'd see the waterfall approaching and try to avoid us but we'd make a habit of bumping them...ok...kicking them under the waterfall. Now the torment was not complete without us reaching with arms or legs to hook there tube and hold them under the waterfall until they cried out for help. Now I mean no lives were in danger but I was held under there on many occasions and the waterfall is pretty damn powerful and you were spluttering within seconds. Last thing I wanted to happen though was an old man drowning and I'd be the only one in the vicinity to administer mouth to crusty old-man lip resuscitation.

White-Water rafting should be chiseled into your itinerary no matter what, I mean seriously if your husband, kids or canine are against the idea...use there bloodied appendages as paddles. Hell my mate was game even though he couldn't fuckin' swim, now I'm not sure if that's an indication of his bravery or how effective my threats of going stars-wars-kid on his ass were. The rapids while not huge are still exhilarating and there's nothing more satisfying then plunging down a rapid and not soiling yourself. If your a fat unfit lard-mound then it's probably not your sort of activity as there's a load of paddling and the walk down the massive mountain (ok it may have been a hill) seriously cripples you. I laughed my lungs out when upon finally reaching the trail at the bottom of the mountain a tubby girl turned to her dad and asked;

"Dad...is the ground moving?"

No that's just your stomach growling you disgusting troll.

Myself and my hombre were lumped on a boat with four Japanese tourists who seemed obsessed with repeating WHATEVER our guide would say. The guide had informed us that if we were about to get crushed or hit something solid he'd yell "BOOM BOOM" and we were to hang on for dear life. Boom-Booming tended to happen quite often in our boat, not sure if this is normally the case or we were particularly shit at rafting. So we'd be rocketing towards a dangerous cluster of rocks and our guide would scream "Boom-Boom" which was immediately followed by three shrill high pitched Japanese yelling "Boooom-Booooom". By the end of the river I was about to strangle them and boom-boom there corpses but I was far to busy asking if they really had panty-vending machines back home.

I discussed hawkers earlier and at some point you're going to want to buy some of there cheap merchandise but you've gotta master before the art of haggling before they rob you blind. Being the kind and considerate scrotum I am I thought I'd give you 'tards a few pointers on the fine art of haggling;

1. Well the first and most obvious step is BE FUCKIN' READY TO HAGGLE, the haggling process is normal over there and many shop/stall owners will be shocked and even insulted if you take there items at the quoted price. The price of the items are bumped up at insanely high mark-ups so the haggling can take place and maybe take advantage of the more stupid tourists *cough Japanese cough*. Many people have difficulty in haggling and if you happen to be shy, speak bad English or are just a fucking pussy then I suggest hooking up with someone that had a set of balls and can haggle for you.

2. As mentioned above...DO NOT take them up on there first offer, my haggling calculation is pretty fuckin' simple...

Half the price...Half it again...then start haggling from there, so if you're interested in 60 pairs of sockets, a penis shaped bong and a teeth necklace and the hawker quotes you 300,000 Rupiah you just use my method. Half the 300k giving you 150k...half the sucker again giving you 75k then you offer say 50,000. Now of course the hawker will act shocked & mortified and shake his head while trying to drive up the price but stick to your guns and threaten to walk out. Nine times out of ten they'll chase after you accepting your offer, at the end of the day the guy isn't going to make a loss so you're not denying his children food. For instance this is a haggling conversation I got into during my trip, my friend wanted a couple of fake soccer jerseys, 2 pairs of fake oakleys and some socks.

Hawker *Surveys goods we have piled up "600,000 Boss!"

Me *Laughs* 50,000 dude (I went insanely low to show him I wasn't willing to be shafted)

Hawker: 50,000!!!...no way boss, you have soccer jersey and oakley sunglasses...very veryyyy expensive

Me: No I have FAKE soccer jerseys and FAKE Oakleys

Hawker: awww cmon...300,000 at least!

Me: Highest I'll go is a 100

Hawker: 150!!...Please boss!

Me: 100

Hawker: 150!

My uncomfortable friend: cmon dude just give him 150!

Hawker: Listen to your friend!

Me: 100 or I walk!

Hawker: Ok...you win...120 it is...

Me: *Laughing* 100!

Hawker: OK!

If your a persistent bastard you'll get your price but they attempt to make the process so long and drawn out and downright frustrating that many people just give in and cough up the cash. Sure the conversion rate is so good that it's not much money to me but the whole haggling system is rather fun and I enjoy tormenting them.

3. If you like an item...TAKE THE DAMN ONE YOUR LOOKING AT. Countless times I've heard and seen tourists taking a fancy to a particular wooden sculpture and after haggling the price it's handed to them. Only it's not the one they were looking at but an identical sculpture from the shelf that is normally of lesser quality and wasn't on display due to the defects. If you like an item and purchase it make sure to tell the hawker that you want that EXACT one and make sure he doesn't swap it. Wood carvings I never touch as customs always goes to town on them looking for wood beetles and shit, my sisters boyfriend bought a huge wooden eagle when we went and customs decapitated it opening the wrapping heh.

There's probably a dozen more tips I could dish out but I'm intoxicated which means we have a matter of minutes before this update descends into gibberish and vague references to bestiality. The update was rather longer than I had anticipate but will shortly be followed by tales of my Singapore trip which will include my close encounter with the lady-boys!. The website also had a change of servers which resulted in a bit of down-time but everything appears to be running smoothly now which I have that crazy pimp maherie to thank for.I won't give an estimate on when that'll be uploaded as I'll just break it but it'll be soon...maybe.

Till next time 'tards.

22-12-03- My father's weakness is vanity, hence the slut.

We've all had dealings with retards at one point or another, you may be related to a mongoloid, worked with one or just have one locked in your cupboard for those dull rainy days. Many people actually get there 'tard fix by reading this website and reassuring themselves that the world is littered with fucking stupid individuals. They also thank there lucky anus that my time is spent sharing my dimwitted propaganda rather than swooning my way into the panties of some nubile female/kangaroo. God help you all if I do find some marsupial willing to accept my fabulous seed. Though judging by my limited intelligence I have my doubts that my little guys would be able to work out something as complex as fallopian tubes. My retard related rambles are a side effect of bumping into one of the crayon consuming crackpots during the week. That last sentence was just fucking stupid...it was like one of those "Say these words fast" game...

As I was saying...I used to attend Primary School with a 'fella by the name of Rodney who had some severe mental issues. Rodney could be quite destructive and after he'd broken countless toys and limbs he was separated from the other children and attended his own classes. This was so the teachers could monitor how much glue he snorted and stop him from putting the crazy crabs in his underpants. This separation ended once recess or lunch arrived and Rodney was allowed to re-enter the playgrounds general population. Rodney was large for his age and as is often the case with many retards he didn't know how strong he was so a simple handshake to him resulted in a prosthetic hand for the recipient. The canteen had put a total Ban on Rodney from buying licorice as rather then devouring it he'd run about and brutally whip other children across the back of the legs with it. Luckily for the rest of us Rodney had bright orange hair so you'd be able to spot him approaching and due to this and his insanity he quickly gained the moniker of "Gingernuts". I tended to heed the cries of "Gingernut...Gingernut!" as a crying licorice whipped youth ran to the principles office to snitch on the slow-go. One day I failed to notice Rodney sneakin' up and I'm scarred to this day...here's what happened

This was way back in Year 3 to 4 when you were pretty much over the whole "Girls are weak...Chuck 'em in the creek" phase and instead you were entering handstand competitions to dazzle them with you balance and raw endurance. When god rolled up my character sheet he scored pretty highly in the dexterity field which meant I got +2 to Chinese burn attacks and +3 to all monkey-bar related activity. Knowing this I often hung out at the monkey-bars where I'd traverse them with my eyes closed and hang upside down to impress the ladies. During one of these lady impressing events I found myself having from a particularly high set of monkeybars and glaring down at all the uncoordinated kids who were forced to play on the wimpy road bridge or the injury plagued seesaw. I was so intent on glaring that I failed to notice Rodney slide into the playground behind me and the stream of terrified children that fled in the other direction. Rodney obviously sensing that I wasn't aware of his presence ran up under me and grabbed hold of both of my feet. Being in the middle of glaring I wasn't to happy about this so I looked down to abuse which ever punk had decided to fondle my beloved Rebook Pumps and anger quickly turned to undiluted terror

I was in the grips of a retard!

This was horrible!...my arms were stretched hanging from the bars and Rodney had my legs locked in a weird bear hug. I looked down at the slobbering idiot and tried reasoning with him;

"Hey Rodney...how bout letting go of my legs?"

"Silly Sultana!"

"Sultana's huh?....if you let go of my legs I'll give you some sultanas"

He just made some strange growling noise and started shaking my legs furiously, clearly the guy had some serious sultana issues and I'd inflamed them. Despite my prowess at monkey-bar acrobatics my arms arms were rapidly tiring and if Rodney continued to hug my legs it would mean a rapid freefall into a world of pain. I probably started crying at this point because It look as though I was going to die at the grubby hands of Gingernut...that and I'm a little crying bitch. My underdeveloped biceps were twitching in exhaustion and so I tried communicating with Mongo again;

"Hey dude...let me go and I'll buy you some licorice sticks!"

"I can lick my elbows...weeeeeewooooo"

What hope did I have against an opponent who could lick his own elbows?...all I could do is wait for the fall and hope that Rodney didn't set fire to my unconscious corpse. Then from behind me came a a strange low pitched motorized sound, I tried turning my head to spot what was the source of the noise was but my neck was one of those heap Taiwanese imports and wouldn't turn far enough as the instruction manual claimed. The grip on my leg loosened a bit and I peered down and saw that Gingernut had lost interest in me and was staring in the direction of the motorized sound I had heard. He was still clutching my feet but was clearly distracted, I readied myself for an escape but was robbed of the opportunity when Rodney squealed in what I take it was excitement and set off running. Weak and still traumatized I dropped to the ground and promptly wiped away the tears so I wouldn't have to lie to my classmates about having fallen eyeball first on an onion. I turned to see what had saved me from Rodney and found him sprinting after what looked to be a bloody motorized wheelchair!

Sprinting up closer I recognized that the wheelchair belonged to a child called Phillip who was in the year above us. Many children were jealous of Phillip and I'm sure many parents from our school engaged in the following conversation with there children

"So Thomas...what do you want to be when your older?"

"I want to be like Phillip"

"Who's Phillip?"

"He's a kid in a wheelchair"

"Why on earth would you want to be like him"

"He gets to drive everywhere"

Ahhh how stupid children/webmasters can be...Phillip was never satisfied with our adoration and spent most of his free time running over other kids feet or farting before speeding off and letting some innocent bystander take the blame for the pungent fumes. Rodney was gaining on Phillip who had dumped his wheelchair into second gear in an attempt to escape. It was a battle of the disabilities...in one corner we had Rodney the gingernut who was representing the mentally handicapped and in the other we have Phil Fartsneak making his physically handicapped homies proud. Now don't tell me that wouldn't make a perfect fucking reality TV program...we could call it..

DISABILITY ISLAND!...OUT-TWIT...OUT-GAY...OUT-CAST

The producers of the show could ship off 12 people with disabilities to a remote uninhabitable place like say...Canada and make them engage in tough but amusing tasks. We wouldn't have to vote them off as there disabilities would soon kill them one by one...I've read the script from round one and Terry the blind guy dies of dysentery after he unknowingly ate Larry the lepers index finger. There's of course be the obligatory celebrity spin off and Mohammed Ali is said to be shaking in anticipation....uh oh.

So back to the schoolyard fiasco, Phillip and his motorized wheelchair appeared to be bogged in the sandpit and Gingernut was grappling for the controls like it was fuckin' pacman. I couldn't live with myself If I just stood by and watched so I bounded over and and in an act of utter heroism I blindedsided Rodney with a sonic boom to the lolly-bags. He dropped to the ground like a sack of Arabs and began to wail like some dopey retard who'd just been kicked in the nuts. The wailing was bound to attract some teacher attention and If I got caught I'd spend the afternoon writing lines and would miss out of the exciting "Shoe-Lace-Tying-Contest!" so I beat a hasty retreat and hid in the urinal...Well not actually IN the urinal...that fetish didn't develop for a few years. The rest of the day went pretty smoothly and I came runner-up in the shoelace contest after some ambidextrous mofo called Simon beat me in the double-knot category. Following school I was making my way to my bike when I heard some fellow students whispering amongst themselves, curious I walked over and asked what they were whispering about;

Me- Hey guys...what ya whispering about?

Whiperer- Phillip got taken to hospital!

Me- oh shit...what happened to him?

Whisperer- He got bogged in the sandpit and nobody noticed, the bell rang and he spent 3 and a half hours trapped in the sun...a parent found him and took him to the hospital with sunstroke.

Me- So he not only gets to drive everywhere but now he gets to goto hospital...god how I want to be this kid.

Whisperer- That's not all...the same parent found Rodney curled up next to him, someone had kicked him in the balls and they had swollen up to the size of rock melons...the doctors say he may never be able to achieve wood...

Me- Urgh...what kind of sick freak kicks a retard in the balls?

Whisperer- Not sure...but once he gets back we're calling him "TenderNuts"

Ahh kids can be cruel!...parents can also be cruel and the majority of the time it's not intentionally. I recall receiving my first BMX bike on my 10th birthday and was overjoyed as I could now cruise around without the restraints of those lame training wheels which really dented my chick-pulling aura. It was bright red and I'd been hanging out for my birthday so I could ride it to school and do ghosties and wheelies etc. Dad wheeled out the bike and there was something odd about it...something VERY ODD;

Dad...what's that coming from the side of the handlebars?

They're tassles son, they look great huh?

"Ummm yeah...sure...and what is that thing?"

"It's a rear-vision mirror, so you can check for vehicles approaching"

So my new bike had not only tassles but a fucking rear-vision mirror, I know dad meant the best but following a week of vicious beatings and cruel taunts I removed both items and claimed someone had stolen them. I had no problems with the beatings either, after all they were justified as if I spotted some weirdo sporting handlebar tassles and a ridiculous looking rear-vision mirror I'd probably kick them in the face. That's just the harsh learning curve of puberty, you soon learn what's appropriate by the praise you receive or what's inappropriate by the bruises you stockpile. I recall attending school one day and was wearing some cheap surf shirt with the brand-name "Catchit!" emblazoned on the front of the shirt. It was a nice lookin' shirt so I thought I'd wear it to school and build up some of the ol' "Cool Points". Within minutes....no...within' mere seconds of entering the school some wanker roared;

"Catshit!"

I should have really seen that coming and I NEVER wore that shirt again and I'm sure that company went belly up because the dipshit marketing executive had failed to notice that the brand-name was remarkable similar to the word "Catshit". Kids also have a nasty habit or turning names into something sick and sinister which is normally something that rhymes with it...Simon at some point naturally gets called Hymen and if you attend a particularly cruel and creative school then names like;

Scott Sealer....turn into...Scott Sealer the Rottweiler Feeler.

This entire update was intended to be about an incident during the week but like many of my updates it gets derailed at some point and crashes into the absurd. I was working during the week...well ok...the word work is kinda misleading as I was actually playing Pinball and trying to beat the high-score of someone called "Henry Peniscream". Earlier in the week an elderly and possibly senile pair of senior citizens zimmer-framed in and after my sales pitch and a full nelson they agreed to purchase a computer from me. The computer was for there autistic grandson who loved despite his autism loved computers and probably knew more about the contraptions then I did. He'd purchased one of our computers a few years before and my only dealings with him was a mysterious phonecall which went like this;

"Good Morning Format-C Computers, Ralph speaking"

"Hello..."

*Uncomfortable Silence*

Hello...is there anything I can help you with?"

"My computer...it's not working...it keeps rebooting"

"Did this just start happening?"

"Do you think my motherboard is bonkers?"

"Do I think your motherboard is bonkers?"

"Yes...."

"No I don't think your motherboard is bonkers"

"Ok..Bye Bye"...*click*

And that was it, he rang up to clarify that his mobo hadn't gone bonkers on him and once I confirmed that he hung up and now 3 years later his grandparents were in here buying him a new computer. Whether that meant the problem simply went away or after three straight years of torturous reboots he had enough and dispatched his grandparents to purchase him a new machine. I think it might be an idea for someone to fill this kid in on a little secret...if it involves technology...DON"T send someone over the age of 60!

His grand-father stumbled in, nose-dived onto the couch we have set up front...grabbed a newspaper and muttered something about "these damn newfangled gadgets". The purchasing of the computer was left to his wife who just nodded and smiled at everything I said before writing me a cheque and departing....Man I need more customers like that. Maybe I should hire a bus, swing by the old retirement home...pile them in and dump them into our showroom. A few episodes of matlock and a cup of tea later I'd be selling 3-4 rackmount Xeon servers to the more senile members of the group. If any of them wise up I spike there lemonade with Viagra and show them D&D's galleries...though that would likely scare other customers and the mere thought of it has robbed me of libido for life. Anyway we knocked the computer together and phoned them to come pick the sucker up...I should have really dropped it off considering there age but old people and there crusty dentures just plain frighten me.

So they hobbled into the store and I was surprised to see they'd brought along the autistic grandson who no doubt wanted to check out the computer and witness that it wasn't outfitted with a "Bonkers-Motherboard". The kid actually seemed quite normal but seemed to have an intense dislike of making eye contact and I really felt sorry for him as his grandparents were quite old and looked to be the only people who looked after him. His gran signed the invoices which were actually a contract to star in a new "Golden Girls" movie...which would be like the TV show but Maude had developed a strange urine fetish. Rather then standing around and dreaming of the movie profits I offered to help the grandfather carry out the computer to his car. I grabbed the monitor and wandered outside followed closely by the autistic kid who was carrying a pencil-case?.

Gramps popped the boot and despite my assurances that he monitor was simply to large for the boot he insisted I try to fit it in...and as fate would have it the mofo was to big for the boot. Grunting something about "Monitors were smaller in my days" he pretended not to notice my rebutta l grunt of "Yeah and so were terradactals. He then tried opening the passenger door but the car next to it was to close and getting the monitor in there would result in a hefty paint-job bill. I asked him to reverse the car so I could slide the monitor in so he piled in and reversed up at typical senior-citizen/snails pace. The car pulled up next to me but due to having the bulky monitor in my hands I wasn't able to reach for the door handle. Sensing my distress the autistic kid stepped forward to assist me and opened the door...

I was thinkin' "wow that was really thoughtful of him"

UNTIL he sidestepped me and sat down...RIGHT where I was about to put the monitor!

I couldn't just push the monitor into him so I stood there thinking violent thoughts and watched in amusement as the grandfather turned around and noticed him sitting there;

"Peter...get out"

"No"...He whispered his reply and just stared straight ahead"

"Peter...Get Out"...much louder this time

"NO!"...Just as loud...we have a loud off people...

"PETER YOU FREAKIN' IDIOT....GET OUT!!!!"...we have a winner folks!

The grandfather screamed this and it made myself and everyone in a four block radius jump and frantically try to get out of whatever we were doing. Rumor has it that it was THIS shout that resulted in Paris Hilton getting a phone-call from Fred instructing her to tell boyfriend Rick Solomon to get out...we've all seen the video though and failed to pull out. Peter's face contorted into possibly the strongest clue that the world has had that alien life does infact exist...his expression had more rage in it then a bull in a vagina shop. The look terrified me and I backed up a few steps as he bolted from the car and under the wheels of a speeding bus. Only kidding chumps...Peter did what we all do after some crazy old men screams at you and makes those murderous voices get louder...he cried and ran to his gran...we all do that right?....Right?.

When purchasing the computer the grandmother had insisted that we sell her a surge protector as they didn't want any power spikes damaging the computer. The only one I could find was a powerboard with surge protection in one of our display cabinets that had a $20 sticker plastered on it so I lumped that with there computer. Twenty minutes after picking up the computer, Peter wandered back into our store and mumbled something about there being somethin' wrong with the urge protector. Curious I took it from him and opened up the box and was astounded when instead of a surge protector there was...

A bag of fucking screws!

Now if it was anyone else then Peter Autistic I would have looked at this with suspicion and maybe questioned whether this was just a devious plot to get a SECOND powerboard!. Clearly peter was trying to swindle us and it probably appeared to Peter that I was trying to swindle him. Now I'm an asshole but even I have limits, I don't think I could sink as low as selling a bag of screws to someone with autism...did I say I "think" I couldn't...heh ok...I KNOW! I couldn't. Apologizing I explained that the box was obviously a demo model and how sorry I was before hooking him up with a REAL surge protector. Can you imagine the lawsuits and possible lynching that would have taken place if Peter had gone home and pushed those screws into the power sockets convinced that it was a surge protector because I fucking told him!...Oh god...I could have been a fark article and peter could have won a Darwin award!. Much amused by this I came home and was telling my cyber-homie fubar about the whole incident and it related in this;

"So you replaced it in the end yeah?"

"Yup sure did"

"Did you chuck it in for free?"

"Nope...but I did chuck in a free bag of screws!"

"HAHA....you have no heart!"

One of my best buddies got married two weeks ago and seriously fucked with fate by naming me as one of the best men in an area littered with alcohol. It was a fine event and he managed to strip down the standard long and drawn out process into chunk size ceremony pieces that made the whole day very digestible...that shit made sense in my head I swear. We got to kick it in pimp style and rolled to the ceremony in a limo with plenty of champagne to make me forget that I looked like a penguin. The day was kickass despite those damn paparazzi taking over the event and taking photo after fucking photo...they even made us pose with some horses and one of the bridesmaids announced;

"I don't normally work with animals"

"That's not what I've heard"...ahhh how can I resist when they're served up on a platter...

The bucks party was held on the Friday night and normally my drinking sessions are never interrupted by a spew-session...until now. We'd been boozing pretty hard and I was fairly wobbly on my feet, one of my mates was drinkin' a pint of some english beer and his glass was nearly drained. Being the charitable and dimwitted individual I thought I'd top up his pint...with my corona which I promptly poured in. Noticing this my friend cursed me and refused to drink the pint stating that I'd ruined his beer and therefore was entitled to new one. In an attempt to convince him that his beer was in perfect drinking order I grabbed hold of his pint and took a large chug. It seemed to slide down pretty well but my stomach let out a loud groan of protest which was the first sign that something was amiss. The beer had clearly hit my stomach and my stomach had requested a blueprint of what a beer should taste like from my brain. My brain promptly sent the blueprint off and my stomach confirmed that this foul mixture of stellar and corona was indeed not a beer and blue-screened. Sensing the blue-screen I scuttled to the toilets and upon making eye contact with the porcelain god I let loose a small and rather pathetic baby vomit. I knelt above the toilet and waited for my body to be wracked by the dreaded "Dry Wretches"...nothing...I stood up...I didn't feel to bad...I felt great!. Normally after throwing up I feel like shit and look for some dark corner to crouch in and weep. This baby-spew had robbed me of all nausea and I felt downright sober...I'd have to do this shit more often...a few brewskies then a quick hurl. I better be careful as this method could become addictive and turn into some disorder like Anorexia...but It'd need a new name like...Chunderexia!

As of tomorrow I'm scuttling off overseas for a fortnight to sample foreign beer and foreign orfices...FEMALE foreign orifices. Site won't be updated till I get back but when I do I'll have a bunch of tales and some photo's to boot...till then homo's!

Oh before I go...some quick shout-outs...

That wacky German cyborg KJ4L had his website malfunction for a day or two so head over to his fucking motherfucker website.

Some guy who has a name starting with OJ also had his website perish so help the mofo get some traffic rolling again

Capeish!

30-11-03- Everything's green on my screen, skipper.

So the updates stupidly overdue, not exactly groundbreaking is it shitflakes?. Though I must admit some degree of shame at the realization that my updates are now monthly which cements my place as the tampon of the E/N community. Whilst I'd like to reach into my magic bag of excuses and conjure up some concocted bullshit tale of waking up drunk in a secret neverland bedroom I can't bring myself to...after all...I was sober. When the fuck will parents learn that under NO circumstances do you let your children attend a sleep-over at Michael's house. The conversation should go somethin' like this;

Little Tommy- Hey Mum!

Mother- Hiya Tommy, How was school?

Little Tommy- It was alright I guess, I ate 16 crayons and then caught cooties after drinking from the girls water fountain.

Mother- You should ask your father about cooties, he once caught a severe case of them after drinking from your Aunt Matilda's water fountain.

Little Tommy- Is that why you and Aunt Matilda aren't friends anymore?

Mother- Yes, she moved to a different trailer park after the dentist wired her cootie carrying mouth shut.

Little Tommy- Mum we're getting off the subject, this was supposed to be about Michael Jackson!

Mother- What about that pervert, he hasn't moonwalked his way into your pants has he?

Little Tommy- Michael asked me and my friend ballchef over for a slumber party this weekend...Can I pleaseeee go?

Mother- Absolutely not, I've seen this stuff on the news...he'll attempt to lure you to neverland with stories of amusement rides and hanging out with washed up child stars like webster and that Culkin kid.

Little Tommy- Those two don't need Michael anymore mum, they've got coke and hookers, Michael just wants us to help him remix one of his video-clips...

Mother- And what video clip is that?

Little Tommy- Smooth Criminal.

Mother- I guess it's ok...after all...it could have been "Blood on the dancefloor"

Once again my update starts innocently and takes a short sharp turn into WTF territory. Hard to know where to stand on the whole Jackson fiasco but my advice is to stand near the closest fuckin' exit before your either groped or accused of groping. On one side of the story you have a shady trailer trash couple who are accusing Wacko Jacko of molesting there son which is highly illegal anywhere 'cept Cambodia....or so Gary Glitter tells me. Then we have Michael who is claiming the accusations are a media fiasco timed to coincide with the release of his new CD "Music to Molest by". When questioned over whether it's normal or downright fucking weird that he sleeps in the same bed with young boys we find Michael responding with the same line;

"I'm just a little kid in a grown-ups body"

Which really should be modified to say

"I'm a young kid in the body of a sick and perverted 40yo man"

Ok Ok...enough talk about molestation, but as one of my cyber-buddies suggested...if Michael is found to have a diet consisting of prepubescent wangs then he should be melted down and turned into credit cards. Not just a standard fuckin' credit card neither, when swiped it makes an "Owww" sound like Michael does when he grabs his crotch. Of course if you rack up to much debt and are unable to pay the bill then we send Michaels dad round to dish out an old school ass-whipping.

Very short update this time around mongaloids, but the shit has hit the can and myself and one of my hombre's are giving this website a major overhaul in the next few days. As part of that overhaul you can expect an update every thursday...heh I'm not quite sure how I'll manage it but I'm sure I can conjure up more dick & fart humor on a regular basis.

ClamPunch

Drunk@College

EightySixed

05-11-03- My foreign policy? Fuck you!

Daniel Son turned 42 today, in honor of the legendary manchilds birthday I will delay my update for another day/week/year.