You've Been Served

Dear Diary, 

I think I might die here.

My stomach is full (from instant noodles) but my heart is empty.

I'm lonely.

Nobody loves me. 

No one is talking to me.

My best friends have ditched me.

Adam is in Myanmar where he might die from COVID.

And Carl my ever-clueless pal is STUPID. 

Talk to me, boys. 

TALK. TO. ME!!!

As if the current ongoing drama in the real world isn't enough, I woke up to Stanley's theatrical monologue in our group chat.

It's 9am in Myanmar where I'm currently based, and 10.30am in Singapore where Stanley is currently based.

To be precise, Stanley my sex bunny friend is based strictly within the four walls of the serviced apartment he's booked in central Singapore, as part of his two-week Stay Home Notice.

Stanley is serving Day 11 of his two-week home stay.

"No, Adam, it's not four walls, okay. It's 10 walls. I counted because I'm so bored," Stanley says later that morning via a group video call. "See?"

Stanley then proceeds to take Carl our dense friend and I on a virtual tour of his apartment.

At first glance -- despite the shaky camera movement like it's a Blair Witch Project sequel -- the room does look rather luxurious.

Floor to ceiling windows that overlooks a bed of greenery of plants and trees, a nicely equipped kitchenette, and a comfortable looking room with a queen sized bed.

Stanley ended the tour by plonking himself dramatically on the mattress, lifting his phone up to show us a frown.

"This bed is so empty... it's meant to be a bed for two or more, but every night, I end up sleeping alone in this lonely apartment..."

Stanley began to wail animatedly.

Carl sat very still in his living room, unsure how to respond to people who are mentally unstable.

At this point, Stanley looks like he's on the brink of a total meltdown -- his hair unstyled, slanting leftwards from a whole night of pillow contact.

Stanley then began digging his nose, rolling the booger diligently with his thumb and forefinger.

He brought the offending piece near his phone camera.

"I wonder how booger tastes like," Stanley said.

Carl -- who once told us he ate his booger up till he was 8 years old -- was suspiciously quiet.

Stan, you need to snap out of it, I said.

"Easy for you to say! You're NOT in my position. You don't know how hard it is, Adam....YOU DON'T KNOW!" Stanley screamed into the phone his face all scrunched up, and then started wailing loudly like he had lost his husband and six children in a tragic village fire.

Carl looked like he wanted to cry, but I'm unsure if he was mourning alongside Stanley's widow status or because he didn't know how to carry on this video call.

"But I'll manage," Stanley says calmly, switching characters all of a sudden.

He walks into his kitchenette, pours himself a glass of Pinot Noir, swirls it, and takes an appreciative sip.

"Erm, Stan, it's 11am," Carl says nervously.

"Try being in my position and see if you'll drink," says Stanley, Black Widow.

Our fey friend is indeed bored.

Later that day, Stanley updated the group chat with useless facts.

I shower once a day. 
My total step count per day, on average, is a grand total of 231. 
By now, I know all the names and twitter handles of the ugly reporters and presenters on CNA by heart.
I am beginning to forget how you both look like now.
Is there still ice cream in the outside world?

Carl replied Stanley, suggesting he can kill time with Netflix.

"And Stan, you can always depend on these YouTube tutorials to work out your abs," Carl the gym rabbit wrote.

Stanley the sex bunny says: "At this time, no amount of YouTube or Xtube clips will keep me entertained."

"I crave human interaction. I crave the human touch, touch being the keyword," Stanley wrote back.

"Can Carl or Adam come by to my door and sit outside, and talk to me? We can lean on the door on either side and feel the human touch through the door," our resident drama queen said.

"You'll be freed in no time, bitch. It's just a few more days," I said.

"Oh yes... when I'm uncaged, I'll unleash," says Stanley, his remark coming across effectively as a national threat.

"But don't worry," Stanley adds.

"I'll practise social distancing.

"When I'm out cruising at public toilets, I'll stand two urinals away from the cute gay guy, I swear."

"And when we get down to having sex, there'll be condoms, gloves, masks and hand sanitisers."

"Good, clean fun has never been this serious."

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

Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people 

Stay Home Sweet Home

Part of Stanley my sex bunny friend’s job requires him to travel around rather frequently.

And in his words, that’s not the best part of his job.

I love seeing the world, and getting paid for it, Stanley would say.

“And with the travelling and seeing around comes the sleeping around. It’s a great day job which comes with great night jobs – namely hand and blow jobs,” says my friend who would sleep with any Tom, Dick and Harry.

“Excuse me,” Stanley indignantly corrects me.

“Not any Tom, Dick and Harry, mind you,” he chides me over the phone.

“Dick, definitely. Hairy, that’s arguable. But Tom, certainly not. Tom sounds too average and darling, Stanley does only those who’re above average, Stanley continues over the phone.

My high-flying friend has just touched down in Singapore after a regional meeting in Cambodia.

And thanks to Singapore’s recent regulations, Stanley has found himself in an inevitable position.

“I can handle compromising positions. I can even handle difficult or awkward positions. But this is something I never saw coming,” says Stanley who can always accurately predict any form of coming or climax. 

Stanley, who landed not too long ago, was so stressed he had to form this group voice call.

In another context, Stanley enjoys groups too.

But right now, Stanley’s group call to me and Carl our dense friend is chiefly to air his grievances.

 “It’s not fair! It’s just mad,” Stanley says, sounding breathless, partly from lugging his American Tourist luggage and from exasperation.

Stanley is pretty annoyed that while he was having important meetings in Phomn Penh, the Singapore government decided to implement strict measures to prevent further spread of COVID-19, the damn virus that has been going viral faster than any leaked sex tape.

And as a result, Stanley has to serve a two-week Stay Home Notice.

And that means Stanley will have to, at all times, stay indoors or risk breaking the law.

In another context, Stanley would have no problems with staying home and breaking the law – particularly Section 377A – but this is a whole new ball game to him.

Carl our dense friend who still cannot list all 10 ASEAN countries, nor correctly spell the name of Singapore’s prime minister, had no contribution to the discussion, apart from an ‘oh,’ which indicates that he’s hearing this update for the very first time in his life.

“I mean, if they only knew that I, Stanley Ong, takes precautions,” Stanley says.

“When I see the ICA officer later, I’m going to tell him that for a responsible person like me who can protect himself from STD by wearing condoms, they can trust me to wear a mask and protect myself from COVID,” Stanley says.

Still having no idea of what the Singapore government has implemented to tackle COVID19, and still having no full grasp of where Cambodia is exactly, Carl our dense friend wisely kept quiet, offering only an innocuous “oh, I see” in the group chat.

Thanks to the rules, Stanley – who was totally caught off guard while he was in Cambodia when the Singapore government rolled out those stricter measures – will now have to be quarantined.

“I mean, a heads up would have been good,” says Stanley who would on normal days, prefer getting head rather than a heads-up.

“Sorry to stop you there guys,” Carl says finally, “but what on earth is happening?”

Well, Stanley is going to be served a Stay Home Notice for two weeks is what’s happening.

According to the new rules, Stanley will either have to prove to the authorities that he is staying put in his own home for the next fortnight, or show health and immigration officials that he’s checked himself into a hotel and is confined to the premises for that period.

“I have always thought that being caged up for two weeks is a good way to take a break,” Stanley says. “But in my fantasy, I would have at least three hot guys who’re in bolts and chains trapped with me.”

“Hey, should I go grab wine at the airport while there’s still time?” Stanley asks, clearly revealing his priorities.

I can only empathise with my poor friend Stanley.

I cannot imagine being locked up for two weeks and not go anywhere during that period.

Not even stepping out of my home to buy chap chye png or to mindlessly shop at Cold Storage.

For Stanley, he prefers checking himself into an accommodation outside his home, although home is a three-storey mansion where, if he so chooses to, can be a place he can be confined to and still carry out his cardio exercises by doing bunny squats up and down the stairs.

Our sex bunny friend would very much prefer to isolate himself to protect his family just in case he caught something while in Cambodia.

To be fair, the chances of Stanley catching some strange sex disease is higher than COVID19 but who’s to blame him for being careful and protective of his family?

And so, before boarding the flight back to Singapore, Stanley had efficiently checked himself into a premiere one-bedroom serviced apartment central Singapore.

“It’s an expense I’m willing to part with for my sanity,” says Stanley, adding “but the damned one bedder is only some 60 square metres – it’s so tiny!”

And then, realising his faux pax, immediately followed up with: “Oh, Adam… that’s the size of your apartment in Singapore right? Don’t get me wrong – yours is perfect. It’s cosy, I love it!”

I don’t blame Size Queen Stanley.

Having lived in a really huge mansion and used to large spaces, it mustn’t be easy for him – considering that he’ll have to be confined to that space for 14 days.

“I’ll manage,” Stanley says wistfully.

“Before I got off the plane, the head air stewardess who can thrive as a mamasan in any night club with her social skills, kept plying me with wine, probably knowing that I’m going to be deprived for a while,” Stanley says.

“Speaking of deprived, guys, I’m going to be sexless and man-less for two weeks. That’s the worst part!”

Although my well-liked and popular friend Stanley has already received kind offers from friends who swore to him that they’d help him buy whatever he needs and send it to his serviced apartment, all Stanley wants is not meals-on-delivery but men-on-delivery.

“I can imagine that after day 9, I might finally open the door and drag the poor Food Panda guy into my room,” Stanley says while waiting to speak to an immigration officer.

“First, I’ll eat the delivery guy the way my sexual fantasy calls for. And then, I’ll literally eat him alive partly due to pure physical hunger and mental anguish from being jailed for such a long time."

“And two weeks later when they come and uncage me, the serviced apartment staff will probably find a half-eaten Food Panda delivery guy and fingernail scratch marks on the wall.”

“And they’ll find me in sitting in a corner, my arms protectively wrapping around my knees, cradling back and forth and humming creepily to myself.

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

Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people 

Manners Maketh Man

Let's talk about manners and upbringing today.

This topic came to mind after Stanley my sex bunny friend shared some really horrific stories with me.

But it's not one of those stories - most of Stanley's sex partners have excellent bedside manners, who would, in Stanley's words, "fuck you in bed, and then tuck you in bed".

Recently, Stanley attended a colleague's gathering.

It involved a large pool, booze, and quite a bit of squealing.

Although such partying elements are not unfamiliar to Stanley (who once told us about a mass gathering with fellow beefcakes on a yacht where "nobody went home dry"), that party was far from exciting.

The large pool was filled with squealing kids.

The saving grace though, was the booze.

There was a wide variety of alcohol - including a full cocktail bar that came with a hairy bartender.

Stanley was basically at a straight party and he's already not excited by it.

But that's not all.

Stanley was shocked by the manners of his colleague's family and friends.

And mind you, these are supposedly the rich and powerful, he said.

The host had booked the entire bar and pool area of a certain five-star hotel in Orchard road.

But that's as fancy as it  gets.

Despite being in the company of these obviously rich and influential people, Stanley felt disgusted.

"I think rich people have no manners," Stanley said after the party.

He went on to support his argument with various case studies.

Case study one: The Devil who Wears Prada.

Stanley had met a married couple all decked out in luxury labels.

The scrawny man, who looks to be in his fifties, had a constant pinched expression and looked like he badly needed sedatives to help ease his blockage.

The woman, the size of a polar bear but shorter, and was constantly chewing something, also looked like she badly needed bypass to help ease her blockage.

While the couple were well mannered and polite to Stanley, the chewing polar bear was really rude to one of the waiters who brought her the wrong type of bread.

Stanley held his breath as the woman barked at the poor boy, spewing micro bits of whatever she was chewing in the air.

Okay, back off very slowly, everybody. The polar bear is hungry and god only knows if she would maul the waiter to death and eat him up instead of "Ciabatta with a brush of olive oil".

Case study two: The Incredible Sulk.

Though Stanley hates kids, his own social manners force him to be polite even to children especially since he's in a party in a professional setting.

So when Stanley was introduced to some guests and their 11-year-old daughter, he was appropriately polite.

The socialite parents of the girl were well-versed in the art of laughing on cue and responding to small talk topic with suitable holding lines.

But their daughter - oh I love that skinny li'l bitch - was starkly different, Stanley said with respect.

She's so real, unlike her parents. Doesn't smile. Doesn't look at you in the eye. Takes her time to respond to questions. And when she does reply you, it's with a grunt. Give me a bitch with a real attitude anytime, Stanley said.

Case study three: Double Trouble.

As Stanley settled down to eat with the rest of the guests later, he was horrified by their table manners.

The adult guests were understandably excited in their chatter and can be boisterous - which is fine - but Stanley found it very uncomfortable that while the guests can be so warm with one another, almost all of them can code switch when addressing wait staff: They were all cold and rude to waiters.

One man even snapped his fingers at a waiter for his attention and as expected, did not mind his Ps and Qs when served.

Meanwhile, the man's beautiful companion - though not rude - was also interesting to watch.

She's in her thirties, has with long, black hair and an extremely svelte figure.

The model-like girl was obviously watching her weight, sulkily pushing her salmon fillet back and forth before reluctantly forking a tiny morsel which she took an eternity to nibble.

Two seats away, a set of 13-year-old twin boys were also battling with their food.

The boys were eating with such mess that their mouths were dripping gravy like Hannibal at lunch break.

What's worse, Barbaric One and Barbaric Two were eating with their hands... and wiping their saucy fingers on the white table linen.

B1 and B2 were also throwing chicken bones - and Stanley kids me not - onto the floor.

Stanley watched wide-eyed when the boys' parents said to them casually "just leave the bones there. They'll clear it".

Even before dessert was served, Stanley excused himself and eloped alone, retreating from the rich and famous.

Stanley, my well-travelled, highly knowledgeable friend who has seen the world, was traumatised.

He had personally peeked into the bedrooms of the rich and famous and had seen them in their full glory and lived to tell the tale.

But his recent experience of glimpsing into the dining habits of the rich and famous - and had seen them in their full gory - was too much for Stanley to bear.

Which begs the question.

Why are the rich so ill mannered?

In the decades I've known Stanley - who comes from a privileged background; his house a three-storey bungalow and his family wealth enough to last the Ongs three more generations - he's never once been ill-mannered.

Sure, Stanley's mum the formidable Mrs Monica Ong - who is loud and authoritative and who wears her hair in a fashionable bob - may not be the softest bibik on earth.

But Mrs Monica Ong is a strict matriarch who's brought up her kids well.

Stanley thinks that it's the new rich that are so kurang ajar (a Malay term that means ill upbringing, which Stanley the Peranakan nyonya uses with appropriate authority).

These people are suddenly blinded by their new money that they live their lives with full abandon.

Money can buy you big houses and cars, but it cannot buy you kindness and good manners, Stanley said.

On the contrary, those from humble backgrounds aren't necessarily disadvantaged - because parents, no matter how poor, can still impart values such as manners and kindness to their kids.

I can't agree more.

Of course, there are exceptions.

I've seen poor and rude people.

I've also seen rich and well mannered ones, like Stanley.

And he's humble too.

Despite Stanley's family wealth, my sex bunny friend has always been known for downplaying his wealth.

In fact, in Stanley's words, he's also known to down play all things rich and girthy.

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

Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people 

Shitty Experience

Today's topic isn't exactly appealing to most of the human population.

We do this (nearly) every day yet don't talk about this enough.

Shitting.

Carl my dense friend, who was about to sip his latte, paused in mid-drink and looked at me nervously as if seeking clearance to go ahead with his beverage.

Stanley my sex bunny friend who is immune to anything that's filthy, proceeds to nosily slurp his Sunrise (over-blend, no whipped cream, and yes, extra large for the size queen please).

The three of us were at Coffee Bean, Rail Mall near Stanley and my mum's home and Carl was once again outnumbered and bullied into joining us in that part of the world.

It was a warm day and we were planning to set off for a house-hunting expedition with Stanley after brunch, who decided it's time to get his own place.

"Why are we talking about this, I want to know," Carl the dense one demanded.

It's a refreshing change that Carl - who doesn't care or know much about what's happening in the world - wants to know something. Anything.

"Well," I began with one of my favourite opening line when explaining complex concepts to five year olds.

"The other day, I was reading some gay forum when I came across a post where someone shared his experience of shitting in a cab or something," I said causally like it's the most common topic to talk about during brunch.

Carl allowed his lower jaw to droop in shock.

Stanley cut in, saying, "hey, that's exactly how my One-Night-Stand the other night reacted when I dropped my pants."

Carl shook his head rapidly like a wet dog, as if that very action could clear filth from what he's hearing - both from me and Stanley.

"I don't know if I can still eat my Caesar Salad," Carl said with concern, looking rather pale.

"Oh don't be dramatic now, Carl. Of course you can. Your salad, this coffee - and whatever you put into your mouth is going to turn into shit the next day anyway. Deal with it," Stanley said, then turning to me, added "Go on, Adam. Any topic that revolves around from my favourite orifice in the human body is of interest to me."

Carl covered his ears and wailed a mock cry of protest.

So like I said, someone in that gay forum wrote about how he shat in that driver's car... and had to deal with the embarrassing aftermath of cleaning it up for him, and pay for professional cleaning.

"Interesting," Stanley said.

So anyway, I shared my experience of having shat in my pants too, I said without anyone urging.

Stanley turned towards me, raised his eyebrows and said "interesting".

Years ago, in a previous life when I was still in my late-twenties, I was a fit triathlete and marathoner.

And during one of the yearly marathons when I was dying to beat my personal best timing of 4 hours 15 mins, I shat in my running tights during the marathon.

Carl gagged.

It was I think at the 23rd km mark when I let out a series of farts.

One of those came with a little something extra.

It was wet and slimy and I immediately knew the rest of my run would be shit.

Still, I carried on running - I was on form and my body was in full momentum of putting one foot in front of the other, my pace in tip top condition.

So I clenched and carried on.

Carl clenched his teeth, scrunched up his eyes and nose and let out a long eeew! that lasted 13 seconds.

By the time I crossed my finishing line that morning (timing was 4hrs 35mins - didn't beat my personal best), I had to quickly rush to the nearest toilet to deal with my aftermath.

And boys, let me tell you, it's not a pretty picture.

Stanley leaned in closer, enthralled by the squirmy, filthy elements of my story.

It was, let's just say, a widespread problem.

Lucky for me, I always have clean shorts to change into after every sporting event.

That was the last time I saw that pair of tights.

That afternoon, when I got back home, I scrubbed myself clean of that region using nearly one-third of my shower foam.

"Amen," Stanley said. "Scrub away - that's what responsible bottoms do."

"Boys, trust me. When you have shit around your anus for a prolonged period of time, it burns your sensitive bits as if someone had rubbed sambal blacan all over your asshole," I said.

Carl immediately gave up trying to pepper his salad with chili flakes and looked at me accusingly for not only ruining his brunch but also his favourite spice in the world for the rest of his life.

"Can we please, PLEASE put a pause button on this topic while we eat?" Carl said in exasperation.

And so we did.

We paused, and polished off our brunch with full concentration, careful not to let any disturbing images creep into our minds.

"Okay, we're done!" Stanley said, licking his fork clean of marinara sauce. "Faster, faster, carry on the story, Adam!"

Erm, that's all... that's the end of the story. How many times do you expect me to shit in my pants, bitch, I said.

"You're no fun," Stanley said. Then he pointed at Carl. "You. Carl. Surely you have shat in your pants before!"

"Shhhh!!!!" Carl whispered sharply.

"Keep your voice down please," Carl begged, knowing fully of how Stanley is capable of embarrassing anyone at will.

"Okay, okay. I have and I'll tell you. Just keep quiet ok..."

So for Carl, it was during NS where Carl was serving as a dog handler with the SAF.

He was washing his dog's cage when he felt especially farty.

And you know how it feels so free to fart loudly and openly without caring 'cos you're the only one around?

Yup, so that's how Carl felt and he went on a wild, farting spree while spraying his dog's kennel.

And for his finale, Carl thought he'd give an extra push so that he can end with a grand finish and that was when it happened.

Carl's final push turned out to be so effective he felt a warm rush of liquid spill all the way down to the back of his thighs and to his calf.

"Eh it's not funny ok," Carl said to a giggling Stanley and me, sounding hurt.

Anyway, Carl immediately wrapped up his washing of his dog cage and tip-toed awkwardly back to his bunk to begin the washing of his unleashed cage.

Carl said he remembered his friends commenting on how Carl must have worked so hard 'cos he smells like the dog kennel.

"I have since sworn never to exert any fart ever," Carl said seriously.

"Okay, your turn Stan," we both said.

Not one to be shy, Stanley said sultrily.

"Mine was really just recently."

Stanley, who takes it very seriously to douche before sex and cleanse after sex, had not expected that the combination of having sex with someone with a big tool and a heavy meal of malar (spicy stir-fried of assorted foods, China style) could be such a disaster.

"So there we were, going on humping intensely like there's no tomorrow when it happened.

Mr Big Tool drew out his probing stick and just then, a slush of diarrhoea flowed out like The Day After Tomorrow.

"EEwwwww!" both Carl and I said on cue.
 
"I've always wished to have hot, dirty sex, and God, I should have been more specific."

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

Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people