There he was again. Not Tony Blair. Not even Mahatma Gandhi. But "SUPERMAN".
This time, he looked even more majestic, his full 30-inch height, towering above the toppermost shelf at a Carrefour (oops, me hope me got the spelling right) store.
His handsome, chiselled face glances down menancingly at the hordes of humanity, hustling and bustling right under his brown, flapping (which by the way could double up as a short towel round your torso for pure exhibitionist fun and excitement at any sexy men's club ) cape and signature red underwear worn inside out. Oo.
The mere thought of being right under his watchful kryptonite eyes and sweaty sexy underwear is enough to set any heart of stone a-flutter. No? Think of all that fetishy fantasy you could indulge in just trying to get him stripped. Oolala.
This "action" figure (pardon the pun if you will) has limbs that can swing and a head that rotates 360 degrees. Imagine the oodles of fun you could have with limbs so nimble and a head so rotatable, blow-jobs by a human would be obscenely inferior to what "SUPERMAN" can do.
I SIMPLY MUST HAVE HIM! Someone please, spare moi the $69.90 to mop up this action hero figurine. I will be eternally grateful and we could split the fun and have twice the orgasm?
Now that I have time to sit still and ponder the wonders of the universe (even though Stephen Hawking's "The Hawking Paradox" has now proven to be false), I just realised my bodily mutilation lines along a left meridien, much like the "Rose Line" of "The Da Vinci Code" fame.
This can only mean one thing. MOI's body is the "Holy Temple Of Sacredness". TADAH! How's that for a real shocker! It could also mean that deep within me body lies buried the ancient treasures of the sacred feminine and masculine. The "yin-yang" of "qi" and "ji" (not the prostitution sort, mind you).
No wonder I have trouble trying to court Dwayne and his cousin/s. It must be my "qi" that "qu", so they exited the moment they sensed me "ji". What a lousy proverbial and antiquated wise Chinese belief. Dwayne and cousin/s, if you are reading this, please respond appropriately.
As I pen this blog, moi is awaiting the next moment of moi's life happening within the next two hours. I am supposed to meet up a real, hot, good-looking dude who lives near Mount Faber. I am supposed to rump him and I can imagine the screams and yelps as the "bonk bonk" sound reverberates around the entire circumference of the park.
The tourists up in the cable cars may even have a peek at us through the glass windows and decide they wanna try it out for themselves, man, woman or child. This way, the Singapore tourism dollar rises and we put ourselves on the world map for raw rauchiness in full public view.
Even the monkeys and birds inhabiting the park never will have it so good. The most they can is to bare their teeth or chirp a song. They can't moan or groan like a human do, can they?
Moi is still working out at this renowned gym. I like the ab machines very much but the older ones are creakily unhinged and loose so they have lost their intended salubrious effect. There are one or two very "weird" machines which don't seem to be built for human consumption. You can't move or work them very well without having to tip-toe . Any machine on tip-toe is not designed for the human body but for a ballerina.
In between, moi manages to steal a few snatches here and there visiting the public gyms (where the hunksters and youngsters are - somehow there is something temptingly succulent about a young dude's body and physique) and another equally renowned gym.
At this equally renowned gym, one branch has a breath-taking view of the sea and Singapore skyline. Equally breath-taking were the hunks showering and walking nude in the changing rooms. A handful had beautifully tattooed bodies. Yum yum.
It was an eyeful of sexually-exciting candies in colored lollipop flavors. I promised myself a "trial" test (meaning sampling the candies) of this equally famous gym some time soon in the future, right after I am done with the other equally well-known gym.
Did I mention all the time moi was lounging in the hall watching television that moi had never tasted a stir of breeze except for the very, very, very rare occasion. This shows that the "clustering" had not only obliterated the view but blocked all wind channels. Take this down, designers, the next time you plan your next monumental housing project.
And yes, Dwayne and company, when I surf at a public institution, your chatter-boxes somehow aren't there but at cybercafes, they miraculously appear for moi to post comments. Right now, I am sitting and blogging while gawking the incredible hunks that seem to traverse every sphere of my life wherever I go. Even right now at this moment. Beautiful.
I hope I get to ogle some LJs while peeing in the public toilets too. That would be the highlight of my life for sure. *Wink wink.
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