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Thursday, April 21, 2005
Behold, For I Am The God Of Clubs

This is basically going to be a rambling, narrative entry, for reasons that will become clear presently.

All pleasures have to be paid for, some say. However, sometimes the price is manageable. Yesterday, I felt like dancing and so I started texting this old clubbing friend of mine who shall not be named, asking if she was clubbing. She said she was undecided, but told me that a mutual friend of ours, J, who is a raging queer, was heading down to Zouk and told me to call him. I did not have his number, because I'm not gay, so I did not call him. J is cool, though. He's really quite good-looking, in an effete kind of way, and he's a DJ. The only thing is he tends to try to grope me a lot when he thinks I'm drunk. I'm flattered by the attention, of course, and I know it's done in the spirit of fun, but sometimes it gets tiring having to fend him off. I always wear jeans when I club with him. Thick jeans. I blame myself, because the first time I clubbed with him, he thought I was a faggot because of my dancing and I led him on for fun. He's been getting payback (with interest) ever since, the bastard. Well, he would actually prefer to be called a bitch, but whatever.

So later J texts me instead, asking me if I wanted to join him. I was initially reluctant to do so, because I did not know any of his friends, but eventually decided to go anyway, because I knew that Zouk would be empty enough for dancing to be enjoyable for once since everybody was having exams. Also, my pudge was getting larger and the exercise would be good for me. I text my psychotic godsister Alyssa at the last minute asking her to go, but as usual, she did not reply. We have a funny relationship, Alyssa and I. I seldom reply when she texts me and she seldom replies when I text her and yet we always accuse each other of not keeping in touch whenever we meet up. Then again, considering that she's psychotic and I'm an Evil Genius, perhaps it's not so strange after all. Thus it was that I went down to Zouk with low expectations for the night, since only one Crazy Clubbing Friend (CCF), J, was going to be with me. Boy, was I ever wrong.

Allow me to say something about CCFs before I continue with the story. Alyssa is one of my Crazy Clubbing Friends (CCF), and so are J and the chick I contacted first. I used to have a whole bunch of them when I used to club regularly, and they were all either male and rich, male and an alcoholic, female and pretty, or just great dancers. They all had one thing in common, though, which is that they were all loco when clubbing or drunk. Alyssa, for example, will keep telling me to carry her, either on my back or with my arms. What the fuck is up with that? It's totally - I don't even know what it is. Being a CCF myself, however, I always oblige, and it's fun to make her squeal anyway when I start swinging her around. Injenue used to be a CCF before he stopped clubbing. Having CCFs along at a party kicks ass because you never know what's going to happen, and with CCFs, the more there are, the better. It doesn't even matter if they don't know each other, because CCFs are the friendliest people on earth. Anyway, ever since I stopped terrorising clubs on a regular basis, I've either lost touch with most of my CCFs or they've burned out like Injenue.

Ok, where was I? Oh, right. So I went to Zouk with low expectations for the night, but when I reached there, I got my first indication that I might have been wrong. See, R was there as well, and he's another gay CCF. However, there were only another two guys with us. Great, I thought. 5 guys with not even one chick. See, usually when J parties, he has a whole bunch of lesbian chicks with him, most of them at least moderately hot, and what's a party without hot chicks? The fact that they're lesbians is a plus, since nothing would happen no matter what we did. One of them humped my leg once. Well, actually we were doing the bump and grind real close, so it would be more accurate to say that we were humping each other's legs. Anyway, the fact that nothing could happen between us is a good thing because I am faithful when I'm involved with someone. My definition of faithfulness, however, is not the typical anal Singaporean definition. I think there's nothing wrong with casual hugs between friends, even if either or both of them are attached. I mean, come the fuck on, it's just a fucking hug lor. There's also nothing wrong with a bit, or a bundle, of innocent flirting. It's fun, and so long as everyone knows where the lines are drawn, it's harmless. Anyway, when I reached Zouk, I saw two chicks sitting near our group whose dress sense and hairstyles screamed "lesbian" and I thought they were friends of J, but they were not. This night was going to be shitty.

The night started uninterestingly enough. I reached Zouk at around 11 and there was no fucking queue. When I found R and J, there were still no fucking people on the fucking dance floor. I was beginning to have serious misgivings, because usually by that time, there were already a bunch of losers dancing on the dance floor. There weren't any people dancing where we were either. For those of you who have been to Zouk, we were right in front of the bar opposite from the big screen. All the people were just basically either sitting around chilling and drinking, or standing around chilling and drinking. That sucked because what's a club without people dancing? I can chill and drink at any kopitiam, for fuck's sake. I got me some baccardi breezers, my favourite tonic when it was 1 for 1, because I felt bad about always taking J's drinks. When he saw me returning from the bar counter with them, however, he acted insulted and forced like a quarter jug of Long Island Tea down my throat. Yes! My subtle plan totally worked.

After a while, people started to dance. The two lesbians were joined by some 3 other chicks, and they'd started dancing too. J kept asking me to drink and the alcohol had started to kick in by then, so we started dancing as well. The good times were starting to roll, yeah, baby. I decided that I could have fun even without chicks along, because I am a CCF. One of the lesbians was obviously tanked, and one of our guys decided to move in for the kill by offering them (the dykes and their friends) drinks. Funny dude. You don't move in on lesbians, you schmuck. As Adri so aptly put it, we're not invited, and trying to gatecrash will only get you thrown off the premises. R, J and I were unanimous in our verdict that these were indeed dykes, and when our guy moved in, the 3 of us looked at each other, doing the "what the fuck is he doing? He's just wasting his fucking time." mime thingy. Sure enough, he got shut down and returned in disgrace. He finished the drink himself. Dykes 1, our guy 0. Bah. I was dancing.

The other straight guy, who was smarter because his name is the same as mine, did not move in at all, I think. I didn't really notice because I was busy dancing. I gotta hand it to the first guy, though, because the bugger has persistence. He just kept moving in with everything he could lay his mitts on. Drinks, lighters when they put fags in their mouths, drinks and drinks. He got batted down at least three times, the poor sod. I didn't really count, because I was busy dancing and getting steadily more sloshed. I did notice, however, that by midnight, his nose was starting to bleed a little. I refrained from sneering at him too much because he seemed to be a nice guy, but seriously, there were other chicks around, who at least appeared to not be carpet chewers. So there I was, having a good time dancing and drinking, totally ignoring the dykes, their friends and indeed, all the other chicks in the place. Our guy was wiping blood from his nose and perhaps resting up for the next round. It was at this time that something interesting happened.

The drunken dyke was doing something silly (I forgot what it is, but I think she was sort of weaving around) and I was looking at her with an amused expression on my face. Her friend spotted me doing that and she grinned at me and mimed as if to say "yeah, well, what are you gonna do, eh?" So I smiled back and shrugged. The drunken one turned around to see what all the fuss was about and started dancing with me, her friend joining in as well. Well, that's more or less the way it happened, I think. I was experiencing all this through the haze of alcohol, so I may not have gotten all the details right. Anyway, the point is this. I was in! And I wasn't even trying!

Dykes like, 99 or something. Our guy 0. Don A.Q. 100000. MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

I danced with them and got their names. Call them M and H, with H being the drunken one. So I was dancing with them and the other Adrian spotted us and rushed to back me up, saying something like "I also want", so I introduced them. Soon enough, our guy got in on the act too. Man, I rock so hard. I took one for the team, yes I did.

Amusingly, they'd thought that I was gay as well. I told them I wasn't. Even more amusingly, they weren't. Then, Alyssa the psychotic sister texts me to let me know that she was coming after all. My night was complete. When she arrived and got her CCF act on, my guys were even more impressed. I started doing my CCF schtick of walking up to everyone, pointing at my dick, and hollering, "who's the man?! WHO'S DA FUCKING MAN??!!" I also hollered at the other Adrian, asking him, "AM I THE LIFE OF THE FUCKING PARTY OR WHAT??!!" No dissent, because he probably thought that I was fucking nuts and was afraid that I would chop him up or something if he gave me a fucking wrong answer. Predictably, Alyssa challenged me to carry her with her customary "you ain't strong enough" taunts. So as usual, to prove that I have a big dick, I picked her up and swung her around a few times until she begged for mercy. I love myself so much. Everyone thought that she was my blood sister at first, probably because insanity can be hereditary.

So I was dancing with M and H again, and they seemed to have taken quite a fancy to me by this time, with M pointing to my cheeks and repeatedly telling me that my dimples were so cute. Err . . . yeah ok, cool, whatever. Then, J did his CCF schtick of being possessive over me and staring daggers at them, so I turned around to dance with him, because I'm not the sort to desert my friends for a couple of twats. M tried to join in, saying, "wo ye yao" (Mandarin for "I also want"), but this time, it was one of our team, J, who shut her down. He turned his face away from her and did the infamous "talk to the hand" thing. Goddammit, I love that guy's style. M laughed and said, "wah, like that meh?" And I was the one who started it all. MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Dykes", like, 99 or something. Our guy 0. Don A.Q. 100000. J 2000000.

I went through the polite gesture of exchanging numbers with H, though in all probability we would never see each other again, since I don't call people. Just before 3am, J wanted to leave. I was dancing with H, but as I said, I'm not one to desert friends over chicks, so I politely excused myself and left them crushed with despair. Well, ok, they probably weren't. We had bah kut teh, talked a little and went home. By the time I'd finished showering, it was fucking 5 in the morning and I had only two hours in which to sleep.

I woke up at 7 this morning, still fucking drunk and red as a lobster (I'd drank a lot), and staggered to work. Not one of my best mornings, sure, but was it worth it? Definitely. Curiously enough, I feel much better and not at all tired after writing this. Must be good karma from helping the team score with the chicks. Well, they didn't actually score, but they could have if they'd been me.

P.S. Come to think of it, I remember spotting some chick on the ladies' platform and thinking "that chick sure looks like Celly", but then I thought. "Nah, she's having her exams, she can't be that crazy." Next time must jio me ah!
Wow. You make the craziest shit sound so fun.

Damn I miss clubbing...
Haha...I'm a retired clubber myself - my friends and I, though, we were ... err ... a different breed of clubbers, I guess.

Maybe one day I will tell clubbing stories.

I'm not going to lie. The consumption of Bacardi Breezers and Long Island Ice Tea by an alleged heterosexual male remains really questionable to me. In fact, where I grew up, in Backwoods Northern Canada, we have a name for people like you.
Luckily, I like to hesistate from making lewd references towards people I can tolerate.
The End.
Glad you had a good night, and worked towards aborting the baby, aka the pudge. I wish I could claim the same, but I've been drinkings lots of beer as of late.
And do you know what beer is? A man's drink. That's right!
You could design this poker card that's one above the King of Clubs...
I hate to say it, but the lady's right. Beer indeed is a man's drink. You can also be forgiving for drinking hard alcohol neat. Come on, man - bacardi breezers?

Oh, Mr. Donaq...
Glad I don't go clubbing. It sounds.....sleazy.
Ivan: Yes, we are fucking nuts.

Big Fuck: Haha, I'll be breathlessly waiting for your clubbing stories then.

Big Fuck and Jess: Since you guys talk such a good fight, tell you what. You come drink with me. First one to surrender pays, how does that sound?

suspiciousbastard: Glad you don't go clubbing too. You sound.....boring.
metalfyre: Haha, that would make 53 cards in a deck, which means that we cannot play chor dai di anymore.
And I'll be the first to admit that.
Aww, c'mon, don't be so hard on yourself. Clubbing != interesting. And it wasn't sleazy, it was just good, clean fun. :D
ARGHHH<>> TMDDDD shd have known u went mambo too!!!
Wouldve been so fun!
I love orgies! ha harrrr..

eh.. I meant mambo with u must be so fun!! DEF GG AGAIN AFTER EXAM!!!
I LOVE MAMBO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Haha, ok after exams jio more people go. :D
Haha... if I learnt one thing in my drinking days, it's not to go one for one in drinks with people who are bigger than me.

While I am, on some days, 1000 feet tall, in my resting state, I figure you would probably be bigger than me. I'm just saying that beer is a much more manly drink than girly girly drinks, which I don't advertise my fondness for. I might make myself a fruity Singapore Sling from time to time at my bar (yes, I have a bar at home, I'll send pictures), but when I hit the town, it's always beer, beer, beer.

That being said, I will fucking hell nahbeh cheebye drink with you, steady bom bi bi. And the first one to puke, well, better come back and drink somemore ... stomach empty already, what, right?
Haha sure, dude, when you come back and if I happen to have money at the time, we'll disgrace ourselves in public together.
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