Damn, I sure am exhausted. Walrus Mastur and I took the day off to tie up some loose ends that we were too fat and lazy to attend to previously. Admittedly, after what I'd been experiencing at the law firm, it was about time I did some serious tying up of my own. We rose earlier than usual and finally settled the stack of bills and fines (overdue library books, various criminal charges) that had steadily accumulated over the past year.
More importantly, we decided to clear out our our spare room, which involved sweeping up cobwebs, relocating rusty, rarely-used equipment (the Catherine Wheel had to go), and disposing of its only inhabitant.
Benedict the Seal came into our possession, I mean residence, several years ago when we lured him over under the pretext of agreeing to hear him sing in his rich baritone and skilfully play the accordion. He's a good seal, but often makes the mistake of being too friendly. Since then, he lived in our spare room where we locked him up interminably - until Walrus Mastur decided we needed more space for our academic journals and pornography collection. It was strange to see him bathed in daylight. Albeit paler but otherwise unharmed, he seemed to have survived his stay. We stuffed him into the back of our helicopter where he lay huddled in resignation, trussed up like a turkey and his mouth doubly duct-taped. He seemed to be trying to mutter what sounded like "mmf mmf grmmph". It might have been a very futile "let me go". Or it might also have been "what the fuck".
We disposed of him on an isolated desert island by ejecting him out of our aircraft and hovered silently above, watching him regain his composure and accustom himself to his unfamiliar surroundings. Discernible relief washed over his handsomely whiskered face, but it rapidly gave way to severe alarm. After all those years, I could still read him like a book. "Hey!" he shouted, waving his flippers around helplessly. "Hey! Come back! HEY!"
Truth be told, looking down on the forlorn heap he had crumpled into, I was almost sad to see him go. It hit me that I would no longer enjoy hours of threatening to roll him off the brick roof, denying him fish and callously kicking away his handphone. I even shed a tear of regret and contrition for not having treasured him a little more. Until Walrus Mastur smacked me upside the head with the yellowed map of deserted deserts and said I was degenerating into a "a sentimental fucker teeming with fuck-ass tears at every opportunity, much like other individuals we know of" and that "hos are not to be wept over". Then we bumped bellies, chuckled and ouwred in a conciliatory fashion.
When we got home, I washed the pile of dirty dishes left over from Christmas and Walrus Mastur strategically laid ant traps all around the flat. Pesky ants are headed for a better place.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Fine with her
Dear Diary,
I think I have found a way to deal with my boisterous students. Now, instead of teaching them as a class of three, I split them up and give two assignments to do while I focus intensely on one. That keeps the pups from barking to each other all the time. The other teacher at the centre told me that I was a "nazi" in my methods, but I take my job of teaching Seal Communications very seriously. It is imperative that they mastur grammar and elocution before September because that's when they get dispatched into seal territory. I don't mean to be arrogant but they could not have a better mentor. In fact, I speak such convincing Seal that sometimes I wonder about my true parentage---and then I shelve the awful thought. ("Your father's a ho!", my other dad used to shout at me when he was drunk.)
Meanwhile, I must confess that I'm very worried about D Lim. I feel as if a part of her is always at work, and sometimes--more sinisterly--that a part of work is in her. It's been like this ever since she got that new job at the law firm. She can't stop talking about her boss: "Mr ____ wants this", "Mr ____ wants that", "Mr ____ wants me to purchase a nylon rope". Today, she took a call from him when we were out for dinner, and immediately sent back her sirloin steak, asking the waiter to remove three peas from the plate, bring them back on a separate dish, and discard the remainder. When I gently asked with great concern why the fuck she was being such a weird-ass anal shit-head, she replied "Mr ____ wants me to eat three peas on a big white plate for dinner."
I also noticed that she had difficulties sitting down, as if she'd bruised her bottom or something. I hope everything's fine with her.
I think I have found a way to deal with my boisterous students. Now, instead of teaching them as a class of three, I split them up and give two assignments to do while I focus intensely on one. That keeps the pups from barking to each other all the time. The other teacher at the centre told me that I was a "nazi" in my methods, but I take my job of teaching Seal Communications very seriously. It is imperative that they mastur grammar and elocution before September because that's when they get dispatched into seal territory. I don't mean to be arrogant but they could not have a better mentor. In fact, I speak such convincing Seal that sometimes I wonder about my true parentage---and then I shelve the awful thought. ("Your father's a ho!", my other dad used to shout at me when he was drunk.)
Meanwhile, I must confess that I'm very worried about D Lim. I feel as if a part of her is always at work, and sometimes--more sinisterly--that a part of work is in her. It's been like this ever since she got that new job at the law firm. She can't stop talking about her boss: "Mr ____ wants this", "Mr ____ wants that", "Mr ____ wants me to purchase a nylon rope". Today, she took a call from him when we were out for dinner, and immediately sent back her sirloin steak, asking the waiter to remove three peas from the plate, bring them back on a separate dish, and discard the remainder. When I gently asked with great concern why the fuck she was being such a weird-ass anal shit-head, she replied "Mr ____ wants me to eat three peas on a big white plate for dinner."
I also noticed that she had difficulties sitting down, as if she'd bruised her bottom or something. I hope everything's fine with her.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Working Walrie Bringing home the Bacon.
So Walrus Mastur and I are getting used to the Working World. It is a brutal combination of heaven and hell, or rather it's heaven for Walrus Mastur and hell for me.
Walrus Mastur is giving part-time lessons in Seal Communications. Seal Communications comprises an in-depth understanding of the habits and lifestyles of seals, including their limited speech and gestures. It also explores controversial topics such as Seals: Horrific Hos, or Just Hopelessly Happy? After all, it's important to understand one's prey. The little pups Walrus teaches are youthful, furry and boisterous. What they do not know is how much they resemble seals. Walrus Mastur likes them very much*.
I work long, hard hours in a law firm. Since I started, I've been promoted from Typist, to Lawyer's Personal Secretary, to Lawyer's Personal Slave. The pay is mediocre. My boss is a steely, noble man valiantly fighting to legislate the ownership of dungeons and cattle prods as a personal right. Everybody respects him tremendously, especially me, and it's not just because I have to. I spend most of the day drafting important legal documents and the rest submitting to his commands. It's quite difficult to type and brew coffee (the way he likes it) when my wrists are cuffed together. He also likes feeding me lunch while I kneel by his mahogany desk. What he doesn't know is my knees get rug-burn and I don't like food but I could really do with some of that coffee.
Walrus Mastur is giving part-time lessons in Seal Communications. Seal Communications comprises an in-depth understanding of the habits and lifestyles of seals, including their limited speech and gestures. It also explores controversial topics such as Seals: Horrific Hos, or Just Hopelessly Happy? After all, it's important to understand one's prey. The little pups Walrus teaches are youthful, furry and boisterous. What they do not know is how much they resemble seals. Walrus Mastur likes them very much*.
I work long, hard hours in a law firm. Since I started, I've been promoted from Typist, to Lawyer's Personal Secretary, to Lawyer's Personal Slave. The pay is mediocre. My boss is a steely, noble man valiantly fighting to legislate the ownership of dungeons and cattle prods as a personal right. Everybody respects him tremendously, especially me, and it's not just because I have to. I spend most of the day drafting important legal documents and the rest submitting to his commands. It's quite difficult to type and brew coffee (the way he likes it) when my wrists are cuffed together. He also likes feeding me lunch while I kneel by his mahogany desk. What he doesn't know is my knees get rug-burn and I don't like food but I could really do with some of that coffee.
Heartily dislike his monkey
Dear Diary,
As you remember, Des and I visited the zoo and caught their infamous animal show some days ago. It was then that we encountered Carlos the zoo-seal. I have to admit that we were somewhat contemptuous of him for being a shiny, vapid, odious ho who'd wave his flipper inanely at the gawking audience just for a fish, but he might not be as simple as that after all.
Today, I went back to the zoo to return some extra change that the Ben and Jerry's cashier had given me the last time I was there. I guess the guilt overpowered my laziness. While I was there I thought I might as well catch the show again, to see if they'd varied their act. But by the time I reached the amphitheatre the show was over and Carlos was bouncing offstage. I was slightly disappointed.
I didn't want to collide with the crowd so I went behind the stage area, hoping to find an exit. But I must have taken a wrong turn because instead of getting back on the path leading to the African Baboon exhibit, I landed up in a seedy little trailer park with lots of old, lurid, glitter-mottled trailers. Some of the doors had stars with cursive names on them. Just as I was examining a blue-and-yellow striped trailer with some interest, a familiar seal bounded past me and headed in the other direction. I immediately called out to him and gave chase, thinking that he'd escaped from his handler. To my surprise, he burst into a gleaming green trailer and slipped into the incongruously oppulent marble jacuzzi inside. I clicked my tongue and waved my box of Hello Panda at him, hoping to coax him out. I said in my kindest voice, the one I reserve for children and dogs, "heeyyy, Carlos, come here, that's a good seal..." and other such things. The response I got shocked and knocked the wind out of me. He spoke.
"The photo-session is over. Get out and close the door behind you." His voice was low, gruff and slightly raspy. I just froze. I may have attempted to stammer something, I don't know, but when I looked back at the star on his door, I noticed the name "Carlos" emblazoned on it. I glanced back at him and gawked. What else could I do? To his credit, Carlos maintained his composure. He looked me up and down and said, "Look kid, I don't normally do house calls--- especially when you people barge into my house---but make me an offer and I'll consider."
My face was burning with embarrassment. I stammered an inaudible apology and willed my feet to move. Then a most incredible thing happened. Carlos barked sharply and slapped his flippers together. Immediately, a dapper little monkey in a crisp green uniform emerged from some sort of trapdoor and scampered to him. The monkey decorously took a cigarette from one of his pockets, rested it between Carlos' lips and lit it. Sensing my growing incredulity, Carlos turned to me wryly and waved a flipper at me. "No fingers," he explained lazily. "If you're not getting lost you might as well have one," he drawled, slapping the pack of Marlboros over to me with his flipper. The monkey scampered away.
I held the box in my hands, not intending to smoke anything. The last time I smoked a shisha pipe I got nicotine poisoning. It was awful. Anyway the whole situation was so ridiculous and bizarre that I began to regain my composure. "Wow," I said, "I always thought they'd keep you in a miserable little tank or something."
"Compared to what I had in the wild, this is a little tank," he said flatly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean---I mean, this is a nice little place, you've got a jacuzzi---"I stammered.
"Ocean currents are far more exhilarating," he said in a bored voice, "although these jacuzzi jets provide more precision if you know what I mean!" He barked with laughter and clapped his flippers together with lewd glee. "Anyway I'd like to see you try living in a 'nice little place' like this. See how you'd like being trained with electric prods. "SPCA approved" my pinniped arse. And the trainers! Condescending pricks! Do they give a walrus'-ass about my emotional needs? I am eighteen, EIGHTEEN years old for God's sake and I have not achieved self-actualization. God!" He spat his spent cigarette butt on the floor and barked for his monkey to bring another.
I got a little uncomfortable learning more than I wanted to. I was also disturbed by what he'd told me. It completely messed up all my preconceived notions. I didn't know what to think so I muttered a polite goodbye. But just as I turned to go, Carlos called me.
"Hey, kid!"
I turned around to face him and for a few seconds we faced each other squarely. It was one of those special moments when the world has stopped spinning and the stars have stopped shining and you know, you just know, that your souls have touched and you can never go back again.
It was also one of those moments when I believed all that bull. "Leave those if you're not having them," was all he said. Then his monkey came out from nowhere, snatched the cigarettes from me, showed me out and shut the door behind me.
I heartily dislike his monkey.
As you remember, Des and I visited the zoo and caught their infamous animal show some days ago. It was then that we encountered Carlos the zoo-seal. I have to admit that we were somewhat contemptuous of him for being a shiny, vapid, odious ho who'd wave his flipper inanely at the gawking audience just for a fish, but he might not be as simple as that after all.
Today, I went back to the zoo to return some extra change that the Ben and Jerry's cashier had given me the last time I was there. I guess the guilt overpowered my laziness. While I was there I thought I might as well catch the show again, to see if they'd varied their act. But by the time I reached the amphitheatre the show was over and Carlos was bouncing offstage. I was slightly disappointed.
I didn't want to collide with the crowd so I went behind the stage area, hoping to find an exit. But I must have taken a wrong turn because instead of getting back on the path leading to the African Baboon exhibit, I landed up in a seedy little trailer park with lots of old, lurid, glitter-mottled trailers. Some of the doors had stars with cursive names on them. Just as I was examining a blue-and-yellow striped trailer with some interest, a familiar seal bounded past me and headed in the other direction. I immediately called out to him and gave chase, thinking that he'd escaped from his handler. To my surprise, he burst into a gleaming green trailer and slipped into the incongruously oppulent marble jacuzzi inside. I clicked my tongue and waved my box of Hello Panda at him, hoping to coax him out. I said in my kindest voice, the one I reserve for children and dogs, "heeyyy, Carlos, come here, that's a good seal..." and other such things. The response I got shocked and knocked the wind out of me. He spoke.
"The photo-session is over. Get out and close the door behind you." His voice was low, gruff and slightly raspy. I just froze. I may have attempted to stammer something, I don't know, but when I looked back at the star on his door, I noticed the name "Carlos" emblazoned on it. I glanced back at him and gawked. What else could I do? To his credit, Carlos maintained his composure. He looked me up and down and said, "Look kid, I don't normally do house calls--- especially when you people barge into my house---but make me an offer and I'll consider."
My face was burning with embarrassment. I stammered an inaudible apology and willed my feet to move. Then a most incredible thing happened. Carlos barked sharply and slapped his flippers together. Immediately, a dapper little monkey in a crisp green uniform emerged from some sort of trapdoor and scampered to him. The monkey decorously took a cigarette from one of his pockets, rested it between Carlos' lips and lit it. Sensing my growing incredulity, Carlos turned to me wryly and waved a flipper at me. "No fingers," he explained lazily. "If you're not getting lost you might as well have one," he drawled, slapping the pack of Marlboros over to me with his flipper. The monkey scampered away.
I held the box in my hands, not intending to smoke anything. The last time I smoked a shisha pipe I got nicotine poisoning. It was awful. Anyway the whole situation was so ridiculous and bizarre that I began to regain my composure. "Wow," I said, "I always thought they'd keep you in a miserable little tank or something."
"Compared to what I had in the wild, this is a little tank," he said flatly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean---I mean, this is a nice little place, you've got a jacuzzi---"I stammered.
"Ocean currents are far more exhilarating," he said in a bored voice, "although these jacuzzi jets provide more precision if you know what I mean!" He barked with laughter and clapped his flippers together with lewd glee. "Anyway I'd like to see you try living in a 'nice little place' like this. See how you'd like being trained with electric prods. "SPCA approved" my pinniped arse. And the trainers! Condescending pricks! Do they give a walrus'-ass about my emotional needs? I am eighteen, EIGHTEEN years old for God's sake and I have not achieved self-actualization. God!" He spat his spent cigarette butt on the floor and barked for his monkey to bring another.
I got a little uncomfortable learning more than I wanted to. I was also disturbed by what he'd told me. It completely messed up all my preconceived notions. I didn't know what to think so I muttered a polite goodbye. But just as I turned to go, Carlos called me.
"Hey, kid!"
I turned around to face him and for a few seconds we faced each other squarely. It was one of those special moments when the world has stopped spinning and the stars have stopped shining and you know, you just know, that your souls have touched and you can never go back again.
It was also one of those moments when I believed all that bull. "Leave those if you're not having them," was all he said. Then his monkey came out from nowhere, snatched the cigarettes from me, showed me out and shut the door behind me.
I heartily dislike his monkey.
Friday, March 2, 2007
CRASH COURSE IN SNUDDY-SPEAK
Fuddy: Fuck-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you fuck.
Cuddy: Cuddle-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you cuddle.
Snuddy: Snail-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you snail.
Usage:
Des: Oh Snuddy, I really need a fuddy.
Walrus: Well, all I need is a Cuddy. I used to think I was this fat horny fuck but I now realise that I would give up a lifetime of fuck just to hold someone and fall asleep together every night for the rest of my life.
Des: That's bullshit.
Walrus: I'm hungry. Is the spaghetti ready?
Des: Yeah it is.
Walrus: Later we can snail.
Des and Walrus: (walrus high five) Ouwr! Ouwr!
Cuddy: Cuddle-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you cuddle.
Snuddy: Snail-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you snail.
Usage:
Des: Oh Snuddy, I really need a fuddy.
Walrus: Well, all I need is a Cuddy. I used to think I was this fat horny fuck but I now realise that I would give up a lifetime of fuck just to hold someone and fall asleep together every night for the rest of my life.
Des: That's bullshit.
Walrus: I'm hungry. Is the spaghetti ready?
Des: Yeah it is.
Walrus: Later we can snail.
Des and Walrus: (walrus high five) Ouwr! Ouwr!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Scampered Away
Dear Diary,
As a waiter I have to deal with dishearteningly unsanitary conditions. Yesterday night I swept up a huge pile of debris on the floor. Then some of that debris got up and scampered away.
Walrus
As a waiter I have to deal with dishearteningly unsanitary conditions. Yesterday night I swept up a huge pile of debris on the floor. Then some of that debris got up and scampered away.
Walrus
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Even snuddies have good clean fun. Sometimes.
Today we went to the zoo and encountered a sea lion named Carlos who'd do anything for fish. Black, shiny whiskered ho! Walrus Mastur imagined him smoking outside his trailer, bitching about the trainers in a husky voice.
We also noticed a pair of ostriches copulating. There was a lot of flapping and neck-whipping involved.
We also noticed a pair of ostriches copulating. There was a lot of flapping and neck-whipping involved.
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