How I almost got beaten up by a group of girls (Part 2)

Okay, maybe the previous entry was a little too long. If you've actually read through the entire thing, I appreciate it and promise to punctuate long entries with graphs and pictures of tits in the future.



Okay, maybe that was too soon but why are you complaining? I, for one, do not mind looking at pre-crack-and-weight-loss-fueled-decline Lindsay Lohan's tits.

After things got calmer with me and girls deciding that I wasn't an evil women-pushing bastard and that they weren't completely insane bitches, I went back in and they stayed outside. After a much happier hour in the club, I went out to look for Jules and found her talking to some of the girls from the group. Angry Girl was talking to her and when I approached, she went away to talk to someone else. The mood was noticeable less hostile so I inquired around a little and found out that one of the anti-me girls knows Priya and she was pretty friendly without the whole me-bumrushing-her-friend thing bothering us. We actually managed to talk a bit and then I fou - Oh what? More pictures of tits?



Yeah, I figured this entry was getting too dry with text.

Anyway, here comes the good part. I found out from Jules afterwards that she chatted with Angry Girl for some time before I came out from the club. Some choice (paraphrased) excerpts from their conversation:


Angry Girl: You know, I'm strangely attracted to you.
Jules: ...Okay.



Angry Girl: There was this bastard in the club just now...(blablabalbab you already know what happened).
Jules: The one in the grey shirt?
Angry Girl: Yes.
Jules: That's my boyfriend.
Angry Girl: Oh.


Angry Girl: You should tell your boyfriend to learn Jujitsu, so I can fight him.
Jules: He knows Jujitsu.
Angry Girl: Oh.


Angry Girl: You know, if he wasn't such an asshole, I would propose a threesome with you two.
Jules: ...Okay.


Apparently when they saw me walking towards them, she buried her face in Jules' tits during a hug and nuh-uh, my fiesty little friend, those are mine. Looking at it objectively though, she's quite cute and knows Jujitsu? And she hates me?

Well, Shit.

But really, you can't make this shit up. I know I can't. I incur the wrath of a few girls because I knocked into one of them. We got into an argument and one of them was intensely angry at me. She turns out to be lesbian and fucking hits on my girlfriend. She even jokes about a threesome if not for me being such a heel. The whole thing is a raining scene short of a John Cusack film.

If you found this blog because you were searching for that evil (but hot) asshole who's the boyfriend of that girl you used her tits for pillows, Angry Girl, I'm always up to trade arm-bars and heel hooks. And it's alright, you're welcome to come without underwear, unlike Windy Groin.

How I almost got beaten up by a group of girls (Part 1)

Like I have written before, I like Home Club and it's something I look forward to after a week's worth of work. For the first time in almost three years of Friday nights there, something unpleasant happened to me there.

The club was having their anniversary party last weekend, with free flow of alcohol (albeit for just an hour and with a jacked-up cover charge) so it was no surprise to see the place overflowing with tight black jeans and converses. And young girls. And tight black jeans. Young girls in tight black jeans. Free flow of beer. Young girls and free alcohol. Unfortunately, things didn't turn out as fine as it should have.

The party really starts at 1 a.m. when everyone is sufficiently pumped and warmed up to the music and the dancefloor gets really fun and sometimes, a little rowdy. When I say rowdy, it's never in the "HEY BRAH WERE U LOOKIN AT MAH GIRL" faux-Alpha Male kind of way. There's light moshing but as far as I know, everyone has looked out for one another because it's more or less the same old crowd who are genuinely enjoying themselves.

I managed not to get too kiasu on the free alcohol so mind you, I was still sober at that time. In fact, I wasn't buzzed enough to go flailing around like a moron like I would have liked myself to do on Friday nights. A relatively fast and loud song hits and it's the cue for the Same Old Crowd to do their usual bump-into-each-other thing but today's Free Flow Day and the pit got a little more violent than expected. Normally, I don't join much because no matter how much the guys there know each other, shit happens and I like my arms enough to keep them connected to my body.

So, it was a little more violent than usual but I thought, ahh what the fuck and jumped right in. Oh shit this is really quite violent, the pushing and bumping is more furious than a regular Friday night. Oh shit someone falls, I know him and a few of us help him up with the usual "Hey you alright?" and then the "HAHA YOU'RE WEAK!" from everyone after we are assured that he didn't get paralyzed by a stray elbow to his neck. And then we go back to what we were doing and I get bumped pretty far back.

And it was at that time when I found out that I've backed up into this girl who was part of a group who were just having their fun by the wall. With all the adrenaline rushing through my entire body, I'm not surprised that I didn't realise that I almost killed the poor girl who almost crashed through some glasses and other assorted dangerous hard pointy stuff. I was taking a break and being all "Whoa that was crazy" to my friends when I felt a tap on my shoulder and when I turned around,

BOP!

I got a palm shoved right into my face. (I realise how I could have used a less 60's-comic-book-sound-effect other than "BOP!" but that's really how I remember the hearty shove into my face sounding like. Bop.) Of course, I was bewildered as fuck and even got ready to physically defend myself when I realised it was just this tiny girl in white (not taller than 160cm and not weighing more than a my left thigh) who gave my face a nice whack. Looking back, I'm so relieved I was calm enough not to bop! her in the face as that would have given me a very nice charge of assault on my name, which is something not very pleasant.

Of course, I would be lying if I said that I remained calm, ordered a Gin and Tonic, taking a small sip from it and asked her "Young lady, what do you think you're doing?" with a raised eyebrow. I shouted at her "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" and her friends all crowded around us and shouted back at me, telling me how I pushed her friend and other stuff about me being not so much of a nice person, to say the least. I told the girl in white "Hey this is not your dancefloor." which was actually a reference to one of her friends spilling a drink on Nicholas before the Bopping on my face. Yes, I have noticed that group of girls earlier that night and I got rather annoyed by how nonchalant she was about pouring a quarter of a glass' content into my friend's back. But of course, not enough for me to cause bodily harm to any of them or to spoil my Friday night with.

And this is where the fun really began, a huge chunk of the crowd just stopped dancing and were trying to peel us away from each other but I was very insistent on having a good talk with the girls. I think this was what made my friends go "Oh you're drunk, forget it Arthur" because you know how drunk people always try to push the peacemakers away while trying to get within bopping distance of the other party? I was like that but God, I just got smacked in the face. ? And it didn't help that I had this "This is fucking ridiculous" half-smile going on, so that probably added to the "Wow he's a drunk motherfucker" image I had. But I got smacked in the face! Would you have taken that lying down, even though it was from just a girl?

After a lot of peeling away and persuasion from everyone around us, we gave it up and I went back to, you know, actually enjoying myself in the club. Even though I was kind of asking for it when I was singing "TAKE HER OUT" at the top of my lungs to Franz Ferdinand which was playing at that time but hey, that was slightly creative. After that song, I decided I really needed a break so I went out to look for Jules but the girls just had to start cheering and applauding the fact that I was leaving. I'm sorry but I just couldn't take that and I walked back (very calmly this time, may I add) to them, "What do you want, really?" Then it got pretty ugly again with them crowding around me and shouting stuff I can't make out so I just shook my head and tried to walk out again. I thought, I can only take so much in one night, this is enough.

The girls then started shouting at my friends, and that REALLY FUCKING pissed me off. I walked back again and told them, "Look, I'm right here. What do you want to tell me?" The girl who was talking very angrily to Zhi Wen kept quiet and had nothing to say at all. Let's just call her "Angry Girl" for the ease of your understanding because she re-appears in the second part of the story. I had to settle the matter right there so I asked the one standing closest to me "Are you calm enough to talk to me?" and she said "Alright, let's go."

We went out and I was standing against the railing, with the entire group of them surrounding me and we proceeded to talk things out. The Calm One was a butch, called "Chris" and we even shook hands after introducing each other. That should give you a good idea of how level-headed she was, as compared to some of her friends. We ended up concluding that everything was accidental and no one really wanted to cause harm to the other party even though there were a lot of side-tracking from the other girls: "BUT YOU'RE A GUY AND SHE'S A GIRL!" (which was quickly shot down with my "Are you sure you want to bring that into this discussion?")

So, things settled down, Chris and I even managed to joke about how "that side of the dancefloor belongs to me, not you" but no, the night was even close to being over yet. Part 2 will be about the same incident, but with a slightly...erotic twist. I'm not trying to milk this for what it's worth but I really wrote a lot in this entry and I need a break so don't think that I really enjoy getting shoved in the face by random girls.

I'm amazed I managed to finish this entry without joking about how the most masculine member of the group of girls turned out, not ironically, to be the most rational one. Oh wait, I just made it. My bad.

Umm, sorry.

There's this Indian buffet restaurant on Circular Road, right opposite Central Mall, called Riverwalk Tandoor. If you believe in getting your money back in terms of quantity during buffets, forget it. Even though it's just 20 bucks (for weekend dinners, no less) for a spread of 8 - 10 dishes, ranging from good to fucking excellent, I doubt you'll be able to go more than four rounds. Sure, you can cheat and not eat the carbohydrates but I'll pity your cheap ass.

The white and biryani rice are perfectly-cooked, none of that soggy and clumpy shit you get at chain Indian-Muslim restaurants with mediocre food and service because the customers don't give a fuck anyway. But really, the main star of Riverwalk Tandoor is the naan. You have to order it because the restaurant knows how beautiful freshly-baked naan tastes and looks. You seriously have to take a good look and whiff of it, naan can compare.

If the naan's the stereotypical broad-chested Bollywood leading star with a head full of hair and an upper lip full of moustache, the Butter Chicken must be the stereotypical broad-chested love interest with a forearm full of body hair. Everything else is good too, don't be mistaken, but the Butter Chicken and naan are perfect together, that combination almost justifies the full cost of the meal for me.

You might want to go light on the dessert though, a couple of them were too bold for my tastebuds. The very same tastebuds that had chewed-up fragments of a duck foetus' beak and kinda enjoyed it. Not to say that the selection of dessert was nasty but they are very heavily-flavoured and might come as a surprise to anyone who thinks that Roti Prata is Indian food.

For some reason, the last two times I've been there, I had the intense urge to do a number 2 after the meal. I'm pretty sure it's not because cockroaches and rats frequently take leisurely swims in the vats of gravy in the kitchen but because of the bowel-rocking ingredients used in the food. Anyway, I rushed to the toilet in Central Mall after the meal last Saturday, with lots of shuffling about while waiting at the traffic lights to ease the intestinal pressure.

I got into the toilet and heard a little boy's voice in one of the closed cubicles. Hey, no big deal, he's not old enough to be in the toilet by himself. I entered one of the cubicles and was again, shuffling about while unbelting because Goddamn, the pressure's always the most intense when you're actually in the cubicle because it's the anus' way of making sure it gets to let out the torrent of shit being held back by its friend, the rectal muscles.

Then, I hear a woman's voice. It's the boy's Mom. She's telling him to get up from the toilet seat. One of us was in the wrong toilet. I look at the bin beside the toilet bowl. Why is there a bin in the cubicle? My shit literally stopped forcing its way out for a minute while I was figuring everything out.

I opened the door and stepped out. There was a woman looking into the mirror, checking on her eyelashes. She was talking to the boy, "Tyrus, are you done?" And then she saw me, she froze for a second. She then panicked, looking around for clues to re-assure herself that I was the blind one who bull-rushed into the wrong toilet, not her.

I said, "Umm, sorry." and rushed to the correct toilet (Not that it was possible to get it wrong the second time around) and took a huge dump. I had a good shit.

First, a story...

...I hover my lips over her shiny, black top, making sure she feels my hot exhale glide up her lightly-covered skin. With glimmering eyes, she looks at me. It's the pause. The pause that comes before the next verse. The pause that says "I'm ready, are you?"

Her waist twitches forward as my fingers find the way to the zip. She smiles at me and buries her smooth, flawless cheek into my chest. I find the zip and her coyness melts in one smooth tug, into a pool of liquid desire. I've been expecting this for a long time, after months of teasing and waiting, it's her in nothing more than the thinnest layer of fabric possible.

I see, and feel, her body tremble lightly in my hands. What I see now sends me into a dizzy spin, I compose my vision and heartbeat. I can't just stop now, she wants it as badly as I do. The tips of my fingers lightly rake down her torso and I start lifting that last piece of garment up but she stops me.

"No, you can't."
"What, wh-why not?"
"Th-This is my first time, I'll...I'll scratch."
"I'll make sure you won't, I'll be gentle."
"No. Even then...you will leave smudges on me. You don't want to happen, do you?"

Her eyes mean it. We want it so badly but a wave of rationality just swept over us. I release her plastic membrane and say, "I understand. I can wait."

No, I didn't just write a piece of faux-erotica about an iPod Touch. I'm not sick so I found it on the web instead of spending 18 minutes on a passage that arouses as much as a bowl of soup Yong Tau Foo. Not the dry kind because there's something about the purple sweet sauce drizzled over the yellow noodl - Anyway, I've used the iPod Touch for a couple of days now and I must say, it's worth almost getting cheated over.

Like I the writer mentioned in the quoted passage above, it's a total darling and you will hesitate removing the thin piece of screen protector but then you realise, leaving that layer of plastic on is your equivalent of Auntie Helen not removing the remote control's wrapping because "it will last longer that way". There's a sexual innuendo somewhere in that previous sentence but I really need to stop digressing.

However cheap it looks, you will leave the screen protector on until you buy a $50 protective casing from a licensed Apple retailer and no matter how hard you've tried to avoid it, you're now a stereotypical douchebag Apple owner who spends as much money on accessories as you did on the Apple product itself. At that point, you will also develop a strange craving for a double-shot Caramel Macchiato (You even know how to pronounce it, out of nowhere) and using the in-build Google Maps software on your cute little device, you find the nearest Starbucks and ease into the faux-wooden chairs. All's well with the world, iPod in your right hand, a venti cup in your left. Trees around you blossom with the lushest pink you've ever seen and you feel a spring breeze caressing your face. Steve Jobs materialises in front of you and you waste no time in unzipping his dark blue straight-cut jeans and start licking his...uh...pod.

The above might have been a little too sharp for my own good but I really felt an urge to get a drink at Starbucks just so I can be seen using MY IPOD TOUCH HEY GUYS IPOD TOUCH in public, poking away on Facebook and YouTube on the IPOD TOUCH. The YouTube viewer on the iPod Touch/iPhone is absolutely perfect, by the way. Great for outdoors viewing of videos you can view at home.

There I go, veering into Contemptuous Sarcasm Land again but I can't help it, I hate myself for being such a bag of pretensions sometimes. Seriously, YouTube, iMail and Safari are great and Google Maps, Contacts and various little home-brew apps are cool but after a while, you just want it to play music and organise your songs nicely.

It's like how your wife can juggle twenty knives blindfolded, mime the entire opening scene of The Shawshank Redemption and be a Nobel Prize Winner for discovering the cure for AIDS but after a while, you just want a nice blowjob whenever you feel like having one.

Perhaps, this is better and less offensively described by the graph below:



I mean, once in a while, you'll still notice how beautiful she is but eh, nothing you haven't seen before, now suck my c play my music. That's not to say that I don't appreciate its functions and I'm sure it happens to all cool tech gadgets as well. Then again, I'm not too worried because we're still dating at the moment as I'm still finding out new things about her and what she can do. Apparently, there's a GameBoy Advance emulator that allows me to play Pokemon on the go.

Pros: You can play Pokemon in public.
Cons: You are playing Pokemon in public.

Oh well, she's still lean, smooth and agile now, better enjoy it for all I can.

How it feels to get Jew'd (Part 3)

Well, about Goddamn time.

How it feels to get Jew'd (Part 2)

This is, of course, a continuation of Part 1, where a Jewish girl took my $400USD in exchange for an iPod Touch that never arrived. A week or so after that post, a forum member who happens to work in her university's IT department managed to get us (Kevin Gorman being the other sad, gullible bastard) the sellers' student email address and the contact details of the campus police and head of the IT department.

So, we emailed the sellers (There's Justin and her girlfriend, Elizabeth Woody/Lisa Tsibur) with the following email:

The people at SA Mart have pushed this far...to get your IP addresses and the courses you're doing...just return us our money before this whole thing escalates...I might as well tell you that we are able to contact...the NDSU Campus Police, as well as...the ITS Security Officer.

Severely shortened, of course. The rest is just, looking back, pretty retarded posturing and threatening from my part but hey, it worked! Two days after that email was sent, Justin replied with the following:

"Your ipod has been sent. It was sent last week. Elizabeth was supposed to send them, but she left the country for Ukraine (she's originally from there) and failed to inform me that they hadn't been sent. Yours should arrive in a few days, if it is not there already. I'm really sorry about the delays, it was a misunderstanding between her and I."

Ahh, interesting. Still doesn't explain some things though, so I pressed on and here's his reply:

"Lisa told me that she would take care of answering PMs and sending the units, and obviously, she failed to do so. You've only sent me one email-- which I responded to as soon as I could, I was out of town--, if I am not mistaken, and Lisa is in Ukraine at her grandmother's house, so she doesn't have internet access.

And I think that her PayPal account is under the same name. Also, she was bumping my thread since it is customary to only bump your own thread once or twice.

Also, have you received your unit yet? It should be there soon."

That means, Lisa/Elizabeth posted in his "[FOR SALE] iPod Touch 32G" thread to bump it to the top of the list, under the guise of an interested buyer. Still pretty shady, but not as bad as what we thought.

But wait, why is Elizabeth Woody = Lisa Tsibur? Here's what he said after I emailed him about it:

"Ahh, I can see how that is confusing. Lisa (which is short for Elizabeth) moved to the US from Ukraine. She was born as Elizabeth Tsibur, however, her father died, and so when her mother married an American missionary, whose last name was Woody, she took his name as her last name. She uses the two interchangeably."

Well, you can't make that shit up. Then again, Justin might have but I was too tired at that time so I just gave him the benefit of the doubt, as long as I get my stuff.

--------------

Despite me writing so much about Justin and his girlfriend (who has never contacted me at all), this post is really about vPost.

They Jew'd me.

The whole concept behind vPost is that you save on shipping from the US or Japan because you're able to consolidate a few items before they get sent over here to Singapore so you pay for just one base shipping charge, and the only thing that increases is the charge for the items' weight. Unless you're shipping a Puerto Rican wife over, the weight costs shouldn't be more than a few dollars and even if you are shipping a chica over, it would be worth it eh, eh eh, you get what I mean, eh? Eh? I meant sex, eh? Eh? Get it?

So, for my iPod and two shirts, which weigh a lot less than a Latina (even if she's not the stereotypically curvaceous kind), everything would've added up to $22.40, in SGD. However, there's this GST that they charge for items over USD400 and I didn't read about it until I was asked to pay up. I end up having to pay $61.62 for the shipping of an iPod and two dress shirts. Not sure how much I managed to save with vPost.

Till now, I'm still not sure if Justin is shipping me an actual iPod or just an empty box with a note inside saying "YOU GOT JEW'D, AGAIN!", which in that case, I will fly over to North Dakota and personally execute the Final Solution on him. Yes, I went there.

What can we deduce about Arthur from this entire ordeal?

1) He is gullible as fuck. Trusts people too easily, online, no less.
2) He is illiterite as fuck. Can't reed instructions on vPost.
3) He is gay as fuck. Shops for dress shirts online. In my defense, they were fucking cheap alright?