Stranger Things

One of the most mundane things when chatting up with strangers is getting questions like what are your hobbies. 

And Stanley my sex bunny friend is certainly not entertained by them.

In fact, in Stanley's world, entertainment is not defined by engaging in conversations because actions speak louder than words.

And when Stanley is speaking during actions, it's always very loudly, often expressed using a variety of vocalising techniques from moaning and groaning to emitting high-octave squeals inspired by crying girls in Jap porn movies.

"Why do people want to know about other people's hobbies," asked Carl the dense one -- whose only hobby is pumping iron in the gym -- taking a sip of his protein shake while resting in between his home workout.

"Exactly. Amen, sister," Stanley replied, raising his glass of red wine in his bedroom.

"It's 9am, Stan," I exclaimed into our group video call. "Why the heck are you drinking this early?"

"I'm Catholic, girl," Stanley snapped back, as if his by-birth religion gives him the birth right to drink.

"We don't call it the holy spirits for nothing," he reasoned.

"Plus, Jesus endorses alcohol. We are the only religion that drinks wine in sacred ceremonies. Some Taoists do too -- but they always spit out the wine unto lit candles to chase away Chinese zombies," said Stanley, professor in Religious Studies.

Carl cocked his head sideways as if he were digesting Stanley's argument, then let out a burp and said "man, this protein shake is filling".

"And," Stanley continued his line of argument.

"Jesus even made miracles by turning water into wine. If wine were harmful, Jesus would have turned the water into Coke Zero or something."

"What's wrong with Coke Zero," Carl the weight watcher asked, insulted by Stanley who's using the name of his favourite drink in vain.

"Anyway, let's not go off topic," says Stanley who started it all and wants to end it all, the way he treats all his potential dates.

"I'm just so fed up with people who can't hold a conversation," said Stanley, who is currently adopting a very safe approach to managing his sex life -- by going on Tinder and Grindr and, if things go well, move on to have cyber sex.

"So I've decided to turn the situation around. When someone asks me what my hobbies are, I'll ask them what their fetishes are -- like, do you drink sperm?"

Carl choked on his final sip of his protein shake, which sparked a series of heckling coughs.

"Eew, go away you disease spreader," Stanley said fanning his arms to clear the air in his own room.

Our Saturday group chat ended unceremoniously.

Later, Stanley's topic got me thinking.

Fetishes.

It's something that is not often talked about.

So I thought, hey, this is something I should write about.

And so I turn to Stanley whom I'm tight buddies with, for further consultation.

"Darling, firstly, may I please suggest you never again coin us as tight buddies, because that's wrong on all levels," Stanley said when I messaged him for blog advice.

"Face it, both of us are no longer tight anymore for reasons you and I are acutely aware of.

"And I can't look at you to think you and I are buddies of any sort because in my dictionary," Stanley said, stressing the dic syllable for effect, "buddies are those who share very exciting benefits."

It's the price I have to pay for consulting Stanley, who never fails to turn anything sexual.

To him, everything is R-rated.

When I was still working in Singapore, our regular Saturday night dinners with Stanley is always a sexual experience.

First there's the harassment of cute waiters (Oh darling, that server's pair of pants is so tight I can hardly breathe) and fellow cute diners (OOooooo, look at that lean daddy -- can dinner be on you?).

And then, Stanley takes it to the next level by even turning inanimate objects into sex.

I simply love spoons and forks. 
Is it me or does the leg of that table look like a big, fat dick.
Oh, look at my runny egg yoke... waiter, this cum seems expired -- it's extremley yellow. 

But it's worth it.

"All fetishes boil down to childhood experiences or sexual awakenings," said Stanley.

Some people have SM tendencies.
Ohers have soft spots for labourers.
Then are those who have fetishes for cum-eating.
And those who have a kinky liking for women's underwear.

"You name it," Stanley said, as if he were giving an online lecture.

"But these fetishes all are linked to the deepest recesses of our minds."

"Think of the human mind as a house. It has several rooms and in each room, we have storage space: Cabinets, drawers, rusty tin biscuit boxes where your granny keeps cash, and her dildo."

"But some storage spaces can spark off knock-on effects," Stanley said.

I wasn't quite following, but I waited.

"For example, you use the fridge as a storage space for meat. But somehow, that fridge short-circuited so there's no power. Naturally, the meat will rot and it will of course give off toxicity."

"And let's say you have a cardboard box placed on top of the fridge... because of the fridge condensation, that storage box starts to get damp and moist -- which, Adam, in another context can be a really good, sexual thing.

"Eventually, the fridge degenerates and the cardboard box starts to rot and whatever is inside the box also starts to fester," Stanley said.

Think of the fridge and cardboard box as storage for our childhood or early sexual memories... because of the power trip -- which in the real world can be interpreted as any form of experience -- the memories become contaminated."

"For instance... as a child, let's say you caught a glimpse of your cute next-door neighbour boy crush being caned by his dad -- on his bare buttocks. While that is a scary experience, the fact that it's your boy crush being caned and you're seeing his cute buttocks at that is a mix of guilty pleasure.

"Eventually, that forms the root of your future fetish -- SM tendencies because you relate your sexual experience to your early memories."

I was truly enlightened.

"Stan, did you take any psychology modules in uni by any chance," I ask, truly impressed.

"No -- and it's my talent. I can't even say it's common sense because it takes only truly intellectual and sexual people like me to come up with such analysis," said Stanley, who couldn't resist stressing the word anal for effect.

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

Zoom Dinner With The Boys

And.... we're online.

After dealing with tech issues -- mic volume, lagging platforms and frozen visuals -- Stanley, Carl and I are finally starting our Zoom dinner.

Thanks to current rules that forbid any type of human interaction, my gay best friends and I have jumped on the bandwagon of catching up and doing all things Zoom.

Zoom work meetings, Zoom drinks, Zoom dinners.

My uni classmate Sasa has taken it to a whole new level, doing Zoom yoga with an instructor who gives tips real-time.

Not to be outdone, Stanley my sex bunny friend invented Zoom dates. 

"It's basically going on first dates with your Tinder matches," Stanley explained, setting his table for our Zoom dinner. 

"And it's so hot and sexy."

"Think about it. We are meeting for the first time. And we are forced to engage with each other using wits and charm and showing off personalities and intellect. And the fact that intimacy and sex are off the table all the more makes such Zoom dates hot and sexy," Stanley said.

Carl looked up from his table and frowned, clearly starting to worry about our evening's dinner topic. 

"Chicken or fish?" Carl said chirpily in an attempt to start dinner on a wholesome note, holding up both deep fried morsels with each hand.

"Spoon or fork?" Stanley the sex bunny responded sultrily. 

For dinner, Carl ordered Korean fried chicken (thanks to cravings from his newfound hobby of watching Korean dramas on Netflix) and threw in air-fried fish fingers for variety. 

Stanley meanwhile, cooked a one-pot meal for himself, pouring peas, carrots, chopped luncheon meat into his rice cooker.

"I am so talented," Stanley said.

"You should be. All witches are good with their cauldrons," I said dryly.

"If we are witches,  then surely I'm Sabrina 'cos I'm so damn hot and sexy. Carl the dense one will be Wendy the Witch who gets all her spells mixed up," Stanley said, pleased with himself. 

"You, Adam Lee, will be a classic witch, the type who has a crooked nose and wears a pointed hat and -- Carl, what the heck are you wearing?" 

Carl beamed and asked: "Nice?"

"No.... please sit down and never ever prance around in your yellow Sponge Bob Square Pants boxers. Promise me you will burn that vile thing after our Zoom meeting," said Stanley. 

Soon, we gathered in front of our computers, ready to start dinner. 

It's surreal. 

We would never have believed that someday, our friendship would live to see this day, where, instead of hanging out in person at some pretentious eating place, we're each in the comfort -- and safety -- of our own place.

"These days when I get out to buy food, I see so many hot guys, and there's this extra layer of mystery, which makes me want to rip off these cute guys' masks followed by their skimpy army singlets," Stanley said hungrily, officially starting the dinner topic rolling.

Carl, who can talk about sex anytime of the day except during meals, slumped his shoulders dramatically, his python-size biceps throbbing with disapproval.

"What if, after ripping off their masks, you find that they have buck teeth?" Carl asked, hoping to switch gears.

Stanley paused, digesting this food for thought. 

"You are right," Stanley said, adding "and this is worth discussing further."

Carl looked at me worriedly

"I think in general, a man has to be judged as a whole -- though some guys are judged as a hole," Stanley said, unable to help himself. 

"Think of a man like a test that has different sections. Section A -- the face, comprises 30 marks. Section B -- the body, 70 marks."

"And if you build a good bod, you naturally score full marks for section B so even if you fail Section A miserably and get zero, you still get an A2 for the overall result."

"This is why even if you have an ugly face like Adam's, if you work hard and build up your body, you still can pass your gay looks exam."

Carl immediately put down his fried chicken drumstick, and used his oily fingers to do some mental calculation.

"I don't know what logic or what test this is," I said coldly. 

"You didn't attend Gay Academy -- that's why you have no idea what I'm talking about."

Carl stopped counting and looked quizzically at Stanley. 

"Every boy who realises he's gay would receive an invitation from his Gay Drag Mother to attend the Gay Academy where he would learn everything, from Fashion 101 to Body Building modules, before choosing his specialty in his final year."

Carl, who loves listening to stories, clapped his greasy hands. 

"I scored full marks for every subject in the Gay Academy and I was the top student," Stanley said, dribbling a lone eyebrow suggestively at the word top.

Carl burst out laughing, spewing tiny morsels of chicken bits into the air.

"Carl obviously scored nearly full marks for his Body Building module."

As if on cue, Carl flexed his python size biceps and said excitedly: "Look, I have at least an A2 for Section B!"

"Meanwhile, Adam, you obviously were homeschooled so you skipped all the Year One modules."

"You missed the fashion, body building, skin care and gay pop culture modules obviously. Fortunately for you, you did fairly well for your Year Two gay modules, particularly in the intellectual subjects of arts and literature." 

I rolled my eyes and helped myself to a forkful of sambal kangkong. 

While we were still on the topic of looks, Stanley paused eating and showed us a graph.

"This is how the Japanese categorise looks," he said, making full use of Zoom's technology to show us his computer screen. 

It was a chart that comprises nine drawings:

• Bulky Bison (a rhino)
• Wild bear 
• Chubby piggy
• Muscle wolf
• Athlete Kong (a chimpanzee) 
• Sporty panther 
• Lonely dog (which looks like a cute puppy)
• Cool monkey
• Slim cat

Gay Academy top student Stanley Ong, who scored full marks in Japanese gay pop culture, continued his presentation. 

"Generally the Japanese categorise looks using these charts. The most popular types of looks are the Wolfs and Dogs."

"Carl, you're a muscle wolf. I'm a combination of a sporty panther, lonely dog and a cool monkey."

"Adam... you're so unique you're literally out of the box. You belong to none of the above, and therefore, for your own sake, you should never step foot into Japan."

"I partially agree -- Carl is a wolf, but you're somewhat like a dog. A bitch to be exact."

Carl laughed, truly entertained by our exchanges and clapped his greasy hands for the second time of the evening. 

Ignoring me, Stanley conjured a photo of a half-naked Japanese man.

He has chiselled cheek bones, nicely trimmed facial hair, defined muscles and large, piercing eyes.

Apparently, this guy's eyes aren't the only things that are large and piercing. 

Oh, he's also dead.

"This is Jap porn star Koh Masaki who is a classic example of a wolf," Stanley said. 

"I know him!" said Carl the dense one, who cannot name at least three of Singapore's past presidents.

"Sadly, he's dead. Died some years ago," Stanley said, making the sign of the cross. 

"I really feel for his partner," I chimed in. 

"Yes, it's very sad," said Carl, who carried on biting off the cartilage of his drum stick, making crunchy noises as he chewed.  

The late Japanese porn star Masaki was partnered to a hot China man when he died.

Stanley revealed that he mourned the porn star's death by watching all his past movies for two weeks. 

"You know what's sadder?" Stanley asked.

Carl was too scared to answer so he focused on stuffing an entire fish finger into his mouth instead. 

"Masaki's China partner died years later in a car accident!"

Carl stopped chewing and thought about the topic, unsure if we had gone from wet dreams to nightmares. 

"Oh, that's new to me," I said. 

I've always had a fascination of gay people who die and leave their loved ones behind. 

This is why, for years, I've been intrigued by the love life of the late Hong Kong movie star Leslie Cheung who jumped to his death on April Fool's day, leaving behind his (equally hot) banker boyfriend Daffy Tong. 

By now, Carl had lost focus of the topic and could no longer multitask by holding a conversation and eating, so he chose to work on his fourth fried chicken wing. 

"This porn star death and his partner's death... it's so bitter sweet," Stanley said. "I wonder if they would meet in heaven."

"Speaking of which," Stanley said, brightening up. "This makes for a good porn film. You have hot guys, you have the elements of romance, horror, and of course, the essential climax and a happy ending."

Carl stopped chewing and waited for more indications before deciding on his next move. 

"And if we have cross-racial porn stars, we can name the horror porn movie 'Pacific Rim'," Stanley said proudly. 

Carl took the cue and took a sip of beer to drown his sorrows. 

"What happened to your diet, Carl? Why are you eating fried food and drinking beer?"

Carl, whose staples are mainly protein and never carbs, smiled guiltily.

"I have been watching Crash Landing On You and I have since picked up the bad habit of eating Korean fried chicken thanks to the show," Carl said sheepishly.

"THAT is your takeaway?! You watched that whole series that features hot and sweaty cute North Korean soldiers and fried chicken is the only thing you want to put in your mouth? You're hopeless," Stanley scolded. 

Carl pouted, put down his fried chicken wing, and chomped on the fish finger for the time being, to avoid further trouble.

By the time we were done with our respective dinners, Stanley was groaning like he needed exorcism by a priest.

"I am so full," he said in a low guttural voice. 

Carl stood up and began doing squats.

"Carry on talking, I'm just trying to digest my food immediately," our dense friend said in between each set. 

"I can't focus with your family jewels bouncing in your shorts. I beg of you Carl... either stop or put a bullet into my head," said Stanley, who continued to sound like he was possessed by an inhuman entity. 

Eventually, the poor connection on Zoom forced all of us to hang up and move on with our lives.

Before we knew it, we had spent three-and-a-half hours with one another on Zoom.

It was like any good old Saturday night -- it started off with us talking about sex, before winding down to more serious topics.

By the end of our Zoom dinner, we all came to realise just how much we've missed one another. 

This Circuit Breaker period is pushing us to new boundaries.

To tap technology and continue keeping in touch with our loved ones.

"I would never imagine that one day, we have to meet via some online platform like Zoom," I wrote on WhatsApp in our group chat that night.

"I certainly miss you boys and I hope all of us continue to be safe. We'll get through this."

Carl replied with the gif of Xena the Warrior Princess raising her sword.

Stanley, who was slightly tipsy by then, posted a gif of the Golden Girls coming together for a group hug. 

"Be safe boys," he wrote.

"I would never imagine that one day, being safe means donning masks, and not condoms."

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

Reinventing Our Lives

The best way to convince yourself to stay at home during this period is to imagine there are zombies running around, waiting to bite you, says Stanley my sex bunny friend.

"And trust me, in another context, the prospects of a wild, hungry and stiff crowd chasing after me and wanting to sink their teeth into my fair and firm backside turns me on," Stanley typed in our group chat titled "Just the Boys".

"Like Kingdom!" chimed in our dense friend Carl, who recently discovered Netflix.

Indeed, I feel like I'm in the cast of a Hollywood film where my community is infested with zombies, and I'm going out only at certain times of the day to quickly loot the local supermarket, making a point to also load up on batteries and random electronic gadgets so that I can fashion makeshift communicative devices and reach out to other stranded survivors.

It's not easy changing our lifestyle amid this new "circuit breaker" month, a term coined by our government to get us to stay the heck at home to break the virus transmission.

These days, most of us work from home.

And although I'm back in Singapore and sorely miss my partner J and my boys Stanley and Carl, we've chosen to wait it out and put off all physical meetings (even before they were made illegal by the government).

In fact, we've been on Zoom so many times that even if we're not turning into zombies outside, we're turning into Zoobmies in the confinement of our respective homes.

The other day, Stanley captured a screen grab of one such meeting -- my partner J, Carl our dense friend and me looking stoned in our respective zoom boxes -- and captioned it "Daze of Our Lives".

"It is super hard," Stanley complained the other day.

"And trust me, I never thought I would use the words 'super hard' in such a context," wrote Stanley who is obviously on a dangerously dry spell.

But we all do what we can.

Carl our dense friend, who's also a gym rabbit, has taken to torturing himself, groaning and moaning in his living room with YouTube tutorial videos.

Stanley the sex bunny has also taken to torturing himself, also groaning and moaning in his bedroom but with other types of tutorial videos.

To each his own.

Point is, we do what we can to survive and thrive.

During this period, some of us have developed habits that are actually good.

My sis, for instance, has taken to cooking.

That woman never had to cook all her life.

Even as a working adult, she had free meals at her tech company (and it's actually really, really good).

But now that she's working from home too, my sis has been experimenting with different kinds of recipes.

Paella was on our dinner menu last evening.

On other days, we decide to give in to our own cravings.

She ordered pizza to reward herself from a sweaty session of home-based yoga, while I ordered Indian food.

"I had craving for Briyani the other night so I ordered it on Food Panda the next day," I updated the group of every of my daily decisions, a habit I formed since I started confining myself to my sister's apartment.

"I also have craving -- can I order a Food Panda guy online?" Stanley responded, doing his part to supply us with useless facts.

My partner J is also benefitting during this period.

As a responsible citizen, he rarely steps out of his apartment except to buy food and exercise.

My partner J, who was an avid footballer and hockey player in his secondary school and JC days, and a one-time competitive swimmer in his early adulthood, has not been exercising regularly.

Thanks to this circuit breaker period, J has picked up the habit of outdoor running (alone, of course).

The other night, I was chatting with J online when he took off his top to show me what two months of exercising has done for him -- once again, my partner is athletically lean and has abs.

Oh how I wish this circuit breaker thing will end soon.

Meanwhile, on a more wholesome note, Carl the dense one is really taking this time to reinvent himself.

Our friend is revisiting his old hobby of baking.

Yes, our bulky friend who has biceps the size of obese pythons, can lift 80kg of pure iron on some days, and can, if he so chooses to, also gently knead dough like Teatime Party Barbie.

Among the goodies Carl has baked in his lifetime included chocolate brownies (one of his first attempts in his youth), as well as fruit cakes.

Last week, Carl took photos of his kitchen, showing us how well-stocked his cabinet is.

There are at least seven different types of flour, three brands of rainbow crinkles, multiple bottles of food dyes and also various types of chocolates.

"Are you being hired by the Hansel and Gretel witch to build another candy house?" Stanley asked.

Carl, who has no childhood memory nor can he sing any nursery rhyme, did not reply.

"God, if you do build such a house, you'll be under the sex offender's watch list -- watch out children. Pervert uncle on the loose," wrote Stanley who is losing control of himself.

Earlier this morning, Carl snapped a photo of yet another type of flour, telling us he's buying it to bake bread.

"Easy, crazy flour lady," Stanley wrote. "How many types of flour do you need?!"

"I need the yeast for bread," Carl wrote.

"Oh girl. In my heydays, I don't even have to buy yeast. It comes to me naturally," said Stanley who obviously needs to get some action right now.

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

Science of Personalities

I have always thought of myself as an extrovert.

The type who can walk in to a party - any party - and strike a conversation with anyone.

I had a chat about this with my sex bunny friend Stanley, who is also an extrovert.

The type who can walk into a party - "party" - and strike (and stroke) anyone.

This topic comes to mind because of late, I have been revisiting the status of my personality,  thanks to rules that require many of us to stay home and minimise interactions with the physical world.

Am I still an extrovert? Am I an introvert? 

Stanley cannot understand why I am so obsessed with fitting myself into a pigeon hole.

This coming from a man who is himself obsessed with fitting into holes.

All my life, I had been raised to believe that I am outgoing and sociable.

I mean, I tick all the boxes of an extrovert: I have no problems with interaction, I enjoy making new friends, and I make conversations easily with strangers.

Friends would definitely say I'm an extrovert. 

But of late, I have reason to suspect I'm not.

The reason I raise this topic is simple.

If I had mis-categorised myself, have I been living a lie all this while?

Who is the real Adam Lee?

Okay, let's back up a bit.

When I returned to Singapore for the Chinese New Year holidays earlier this year, I had spent almost all my waking hours meeting family, my partner J, as well as all my close circle of friends.

Every day was a happy day filled with good food, good coffee, good alcohol, and definitely good company.

I was in full extrovert mode: Engaging, lively, sociable.

But I found that draining.

I started craving me-time, which I usually have because I do enjoy spending time alone.

When I flew back to Yangon where I'm based, I took two more weeks off just to recover.

My plan was simple. Be alone.

On the plane back, I filled up my calendar with activities.

• Read new novel at a cafe (I had finished Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn back in Singapore and, just to pace myself with crime thrillers, I promptly bought a Cecilia Ahern chick lit)
• Grocery shopping (stock up on food and prepare healthy meals)
• Workout (I miss running near the serene lake outside my condo)
• Massage (there's a cheap and good local massage place where I would do an hour head massage followed by two hours of foot massage... all for less than fifty Singapore dollars)
• Relax at sauna (I go to the one at Sule Shangri-La where, for around 25 Singapore dollars, I get a whole day of me-time)
• Watch movie alone (there's a theatre just downstairs from where I live)
• Sip red wine by my balcony (and write entries for this blog)
• Watch Netflix guiltlessly (and not worry about work)

One week later, all that I did were to wake up in the morning, eat healthy food, laze around the house, decide that I would spend the day watching Netflix and before I knew it, that was all that I had done.

Me-time, sure I did have - after all, I did spend time alone.

But I was cooped up in my home and the longer I stayed indoors, the more lethargic I got.

And I didn't even have the energy to get out of the house.

The more I stayed indoors, the more I realised just how much I loved being alone... but the problem is, I felt drained too.

Therein lies the problem.

Too much of going out with friends drains me. Too much of spending time with myself drains me.

Stanley says maybe the real Adam Lee is Goldilocks who needs to find something that fits me just nice.

Fortunately, I have interfriendtion here in Yangon.

One of my closest friends Claudia - a feisty go-getter from Singapore - decided to drag me out of my me-time coma.

That was in mid-February.

For the first time in weeks, I had actual human interaction.

We both went for a swim (Claudia's also a triathlete so it's not the frolicking, you-splash-me-with-water, I-splash-you-with-water and then we start giggling type of swimming) and then we rewarded ourselves with a spread of burger and beer at a nearby pub.

And boy, did that feel good.

Claudia breaks it down for me.

I'm a mulit-vert who has a switch.

On occasions when I need to be extro, Adam Lee comes out to socialise. On occasions when I'm tired of meeting people, Adam Lee turns off the switch, covers himself with a blanket over his head and snoozes.

But there has to be moderation.

The more I socialise to no end, or the more I keep myself inward to no end, the more I will be drained and self-destroyed, Claudia says, wiping ketchup off her upper lip with the back of her hand.

"So you'll have to get the hell out of your apartment no matter how cosy it is, and actually interact with the elements of the outside world while being alone," she says.

Wise words, even though this guruji in front of me is talking with her mouth full and has bits of beef stuck in her teeth and she's licking her oily fingers dry so that she can take another swig of her beer.

The next morning, Claudia messages me and tells me to "Get out of the house now".

She then posts a photo of herself at the local gym, saying "let's rock the world".

Today, with Claudia's wise words, I finally get it that I'm one who enjoys both indoors and outdoors.

So while I'm stuck at home trying to keep away from COVID -- and enjoying while it lasts -- I too, can't wait for my next party of interaction, when all this is over.

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

COVIDIOTS

"I am fuming and I am not pleased," Stanley said, breathing extremely hard into the phone.

The last time my sex bunny friend breathed this hard into the phone, it was in 2010.

I remember because Stanley had famously given us a blow by blow account of his one and only phone sex engagement.

Right this moment though, it's Stanley's blood pressure -- not hormones nor any form of bodily fluid -- that's shooting through the roof.

"Is it that difficult to follow instructions?" Stanley asked, exerting his breath forcefully again.

"Stan, you need to breathe in and out calmly."

Stanley is very worked up.

Not too long ago, our government came up with a circuit-breaker measure, urging everyone to stay home as much as they can, so that we can stop transmitting COVID19 to one another.

To that extent, our lovely prime minister ordered all non-essential businesses to close and encouraged everyone to please stay the heck at home.

Stanley, who recently found freedom from his Stay Home Notice, was on board.

"Anything to save the country, I will do,", Stanley said.

God bless the drama queen.

"Including adopting all the cute and fit foreign workers from dirty dormitories and nursing them to good health," added Stanley.

God save the drama queen.

Shortly after the prime minister gave a deadline to the partial lockdown, Stanley began receiving messages from friends who asked him to hang out.

One last swim!
One last meal!
One last gathering!

Stanley gave it nicely to all his friends.

"Yes, one last swim. It could also lead to your one last breath. One last meal -- you could well have your wish cone true soon enough: Water drips on your death bed" Stanley wrote on his Facebook page.

I agree with Stanley that there many idiots out there.

Just the other day, I saw a suicide mission at my sister's lift lobby.

A family of seven -- that comprises the young and old -- and five other strangers entered the lift together.

And mind you, the lift isn't exactly huge. And as the doors closed, I watched in horror as everyone stood nearly shoulder to shoulder.

Why don't people feel responsible at all, I really have no idea.

"So, as I was saying," Stanley said in a raised voice but no longer breathing like he was an asthmatic Darth Vader, "I chided two groups of people just now."

Stanley should go around being a safe distance ambassador.

Back in our group chat, Carl the dense one asked how everyone was.

"Staying home and trying to avoid idiots".

Carl didn't reply immediately.

"What about you," I ask.

"Erm…. I'm at the gym... trying to clock in one last workout," our gym rabbit friend wrote timidly.

Stanley didn't reply immediately -- likely because he's counting one to 10 in his inner most zen voice.

"Carl," Stanley began.

"You do know that if you die from COVID that you catch from the gym, Adam and I can't go to your funeral because there's a limit of 10 people for such events right?"

Carl attempted to change the topic into something more light hearted.

"Stan, we can order wine online right? How much was your last order?"

"$250," Stanley wrote coldly.

"Cash?" Carl asked, eager to engage him in another topic.

"No, pebbles," Stanley snapped back.

"Oh," Carl wrote.

"I meant was it cash or credit card," he explained like a hurt child.

"Carl, do us a favour and get the heck out of the gym and back to your home please. Now's not the time to be so flippant about this," Stanley wrote seriously.

"Don't worry, Stan. Everything is fated. If we have to go, we have to go. If it's our time, it's our time," Carl attempted.

"Okay, Dailai Lama," Stanley said, and exited the group chat.

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

Panic, Panic

Last week, our prime minister gave the whole island a little scare.

Well, he didn't really mean to do it.

At around 2pm on April 3, news alerts flashed on mobile phones across the country.

At 4pm that day, Singapore's PM Lee Hsien Loong were to address the nation on how the sunny island is handling the dark, toxic COVID-19.

The words "further steps" were used in describing how the government would tackle the god-damn virus.

Naturally, the news alert sparked nationwide panic, the way bee colonies would fly in multiple directions if one were to smash a hornet's nest with a hammer.

By around 2.30pm Singapore time, supermarkets across the island were packed with people yet again.

My group chat, Red Berets, which I shared with 30-over friends from our National Service days, was abuzz with fake news.

"Singapore is going on lockdown!" wrote one of our friends Richard, in caps and bold for effect.

"Bro, my wife is at NTUC already," said Chang, the fattest of our group.

Stanley my sex bunny friend who's also my NS pal, couldn't help it.

"What the fuck guys, why's everyone panic buying again," he wrote.

Nobody paid attention to the level-headed comment.

In fact, at that moment, panic had risen to above all recommended levels.

"Bros, Singapore is going to be locked down -- get food NOW!" Ronnie Ng, who seldom posted anything in the group, wrote. And judging by the typos he made, Ronnie obviously was in an unstable state of mind.

At around 2.45pm, another news flash popped up in mobile phones across Singapore.

"NTUC will remain open 'come what may'," was the message.

"GUYS! COME WHAT MAY... IT MEANS SG WILL BE LOCKED DOWN SOON!!!" Came yet another message from Ronnie Ng, whose blood pressure must have shot up for the second time within hours.

Stanley gave up and messaged me separately.

"Are you panic buying Adam?"

Well, my answer is a definitive no, given that at the point of the news flash, I'm still serving my two-week Stay Home Notice and I am bound by law that I cannot step out of my home -- or in this case, my sister's home.

But my sis the typical Type A had been progressively stocking up food and she has 100 per cent faith that when our government says there'll be enough food for all to eat, there will be enough food for all to eat.

"I really cannot understand why Singaporeans -- highly educated as we all are -- would run out to buy and stock up cans of sardines which is by the way one of the yuckiest things on earth, sparked by possible fake news," Stanley wrote, his text obediently reflecting his exasperation.

"At least let the man in pink tell you what's to happen," Stanley said, predicting correctly that our prime minister were to wear a pink shirt in his address later that day.

Just then, Carl our dense friend typed in our group chat "Just the Boys".

"Guys, PM is locking down Singapore," said the clueless Carl, who on normal days cannot name all continents of the world and have no idea who Singapore's health minister is.

"Who's your source," Stanley challenged Carl.

"Did Gan Kim Yong personally tell you that?"

"Who's that?" Carl replied, reverting to his clueless self.

Sadly, fake news and anxiety of a looming lockdown that day had given a lot of people mental breakdown.

Mental being the operative word here.

It's like people had suddenly gone crazy.

In Stanley's office, Pauline Soh the office clerk dramatically proclaimed that she needed to go to NTUC.

"I can starve but my kids need to eat," Pauline shouted as she packed her bag to leave for the day.

Stanley later told the office it's a waste Pauline Soh wasn't scouted by Mediacorp's Channel 8 to be part of the cast of a 1945 period drama on World War II, given that Pauline would need little acting training to portray the role of a hunger-stricken villager who would cry pitifully while munching on a dirty sweet potato in the jungle.

Minutes later, Carl snapped photos of the NTUC he was in, informing us that the supermarket was jam-packed with housewives and grannies who were out on a shopping spree mission, their baskets and trollies filled with food items.

Carl meanwhile, stocked up on eggs, milk, chicken breast and nothing else.

Even in a lockdown, Carl the gym rabbit was determined to get his protein fix.

Stanley later told me that IF Singapore were to really be locked down, and that there would be no food, he'd be happy about it.

"All my life, I had been wanting to be thin. If there's really no food, then I'll really be thin," Stanley said blithely.

At exactly 4pm on April 3, our pink-donning PM started his nationwide address.

The key messages were that for a month, non-essential businesses would close and schools would conduct online lessons.

People can still go out, but they're discouraged to do so.

Stanley later told me he wanted to scream on Facebook, and shame all his fake-news sharing friends.

"But I don't have time now," Stanley said.

"I cannot afford to starve," he said.

"PM's speech may have stopped panic buying but it's sparked my panic fucking," my sex bunny friend explained.

"There's not much time left before all the cute guys obediently stayed at home."

"There's much to do -- I need to tie up my loose ends before next week."

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

Home Sweet Home

In view of this very dire, very crazy, and especially fluid situation, I found myself getting on board a plane last week from Myanmar to Singapore.

"I'm very excited! Stanley my sex bunny friend squealed the moment I updated him of my movement.

Stanley the slut is always excited by fluid situations.

My bosses had summoned me back for my own safety and I were to return to my lovely country indefinitely.

"Is your job safe?" Stanley asked with concern as I waited to board one of the last few SQ planes flying out of Yangon.

Well, from what I know, my job is safe -- for now. And I'm determined to count my blessings, given that some of my friends in the aviation sector are taking a significant pay cut.

"Well Stan, if I lose my job, realistically, I still have savings," I said.

"If not, I'll just sell my body for money."

"Adam darling," Stanley replied in a dull tone that sounded like an Catholic Convent head mistress about to get impatient with her stupid, naughty girls.

"I don't think you'll make a lot of money -- if not, at all -- from selling your body."

"You'll be better off selling your organs and other useful body parts."

Those were, unfortunately, Stanley's last words to me before I was forced to turn off my plane for takeoff.

And it was the most surreal plane ride.

Everyone was masked.

The crew too.

I can only imagine how they look like beneath their masks -- a task Stanley would certainly excel in given that he sometimes goes as far as to imagine how people's groins look like beneath their pants.

It was a mix of apprehension, anxiety, excitement, relief all at the same time.

I really didn't know which emotion to choose.

"Chicken with noodles or fish with potatoes?" my masked crew who looks more like a surgeon asks.

"Chicken -- and white wine please."

Time flies and soon, I landed at our world's finest, and emptiest airport.

What ensues next was a fair amount of waiting and queuing.

"Waiting to fill up forms," I updated the group.

Stanley, who had served his two-week Stay Home Notice before I did, was quick to offer me tips.

"While you can, take a good look at all the cute men and their packages. Take them all in. It's gonna be a long and dry journey darling," my sex bunny friend advises kindly.

"Gtg... they testing me for COVID".

Stanley was furious.

"Why did nobody swap me for COVID tests when I touched down, I want to know," he demanded.

"I would willingly let anyone swap me -- anywhere in my body -- for samples. In fact, if that swapper is cute I would even recommend he collects other types of samples from me," the obviously sex-denied Stanley continued.

"And Adam, if they take your temperature by way of inserting the thermometer into your anus, I am writing an official complaint letter to the health ministry for unfair treatment."

After what seems like half a day, I was finally out of the airport after having filled up the obligatory paperwork to register myself as a responsible citizen who would solemnly commit to a life of nunnery for two weeks.

I cannot imagine how my two weeks would be like after progressively hearing -- and seeing -- Stanley in various stages of nervous breakdowns during his two-week confinement.

At one point, Stanley admitted he had not showered in four days and had been wearing the same tee-shirt and boxers, proudly telling us that if he so much as to accidentally catch fire while cooking he would rapidly combust because a thin layer of oil and sebum had coated his entire unwashed body.

Fortunately for me, I were to put up at my sister's large designer apartment (god bless her wealth) after she willingly risked her life to have me with her (god bless her health).

So at least, I will be in the company of kin.

I decided it was best for me to stay with her than my partner J, who would have a lot to answer to, if he ever caught COVID from me.

As a welcome-home gift, Stanley imparted valuable advice to me on how to past time.

He even had the cheek to tell me to watch my personal hygiene.

"Adam, take it from me. On some days, you'll feel like life is not worth living for."

"You'll lose the will to do things, like showering."

"You must not give in."

"When I caught a glimpse of myself during my two-week Stay Home Notice, I was horrified," Stanley said.

"My hair was oily and matted and I looked like Medusa."

"I swear if any guy were to look at me in that state, he will turn into stone immediately."

I swallowed my saliva in a gulp, my body's natural response to dealing with shock.

"But now that I'm out and am super well groomed, anyone who looks at me now, will still turn into stone," Stanley said.

"The rock hard kind."

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