Curry Favour

I have always loved curry and consider it something that's very close to my heart.

When I had my first sip of red wine at the ripe old age of nine -- right after Christmas Eve midnight mass -- it was with curry and bread.

Since then, I've always regarded red wine, curry and bread as comfort food.

And last week, I decided to whip up comfort food for the boys Stanley and Carl.

"Any food that's close to the heart is dangerous," reasoned Stanley. "It often leads to death in the form of clogged arteries," my fey friend said, licking his fingers and reaching for another piece of toasted French loaf which he promptly dipped into his bowl of curry.


That night, I asked the boys over for supper mainly because I hate wearing masks outside, but partly also because I was eager to try out a new curry recipe.

It was the recipe of my partner J's mum.

The family's prized recipe was imparted to me about a month ago, during a family dinner.

I was standing around J's kitchen where his mum was stir-frying the nonya dry curry, when she offered to teach me.

It was a tedious dish that involved throwing in candlenuts, shallots, garlic and lots and lots of pounding, as well as stir-frying of chili and curry powder.

Stanley my sex bunny friend was particularly looking forward to the dish.

Anything that involves lots and lots of pounding was always promising to Stanley.

"I can help you stir you know," Stanley said that evening as he hovered over my shoulder.

"I'm surprisingly good at one-hand action even if it means stir frying," he said.

Not wanting to be left out, Carl the gym rabbit flexed his python sized biceps and made guttral noises in the hope that his body of work can also be considered for the stir-frying job.

After some two hours, I was finally ready.

My first attempt at recreating J's mum's curry -- which was in fact a recipe passed down by J's grandmother -- was rather successful.

I followed her instructions to a tee (which meant pre-deep frying the chicken drumsticks before cooking them in the thick curry gravy).

"Adam, this is good and while I won't say this is better than sex, I dare say your curry is as good as sex," Stanley remarked, and proceeded to fit a large drumstick into his mouth to make his point.


Carl looked away like a modest nun but nodded eagerly and stuffed a curried potato in his mouth.

It was a hearty sight, seeing Stanley and Carl stuffing their faces over my near-perfect curry that was meaningful because it is a dish that's passed down from generation to generation.

In a way, I felt like a legit daughter-in-law who's been endorsed by the matron of the Peranakan household.

Also, I enjoy hosting.

Feeding friends has since become an endearing habit formed after getting my own place years ago.


"When my own place is ready," Stanley said in between chewing, "I'll also form a habit to have lots of people over for feeding," he added, making inverted comma signs with his fingers at the word feeding.


It took the boys 1/4 the time I had taken to cook the curry, to polish off their plates.

"I am so full from dinner that I think my stomach would explode and my intestines would spill out," said Stanley, who's never known for his subtlety.

"And it would be a departure from my norm because whenever I explode, it's something else other than intestines that would spill out," continued Stanley, who's never known for his subtlety.

Carl looked blue and bloated from his seat, and I wasn't sure if he was in that condition because of Stanley's visuals or my curry.

Then, Carl let out a satisfying belch, closed his eyes and smelt the air, and said "compliments to the chef".

As I brought out a tray of coffee for everyone to aid digestion, Stanley lay on his side and said "After all the activities I had been doing that mimic the steps to pregnancy, I think I finally know how it feels to be heavily pregnant."

Carl the dense one responded by patting his own tummy.

"Adam, if I die from indigestion, know that it was a good last supper. Go forth and tell everyone that I had indeed led a very full life -- right to my last breath," Stanley said gripping my wrist and speaking like someone was strangling him. 

Carl drowsily made the sign of the cross at Stanley, blessing our very full and theatrical friend.

"Adam, Carl, pen down the words I'm about to say," Stanley the drama queen said as he continued to lie on my couch as if it were his death bed.

"Listen carefully. These are the words you would engrave on my tombstone if I die," he said tearfully.

Stanley Ong

1979 - 2020
All his life, he'd been dying to be laid (to rest) and now that he's officially and eternally bottom (of this grave), Stanley is happy. 

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

I love Singapore

It's August.

The time of the year again when some of us reflect on what it's like to be Singaporean -- and hopefully, count our blessings to be born in this country.

Of course, Singapore is far from perfect.

And there are people who genuinely dislike being Singaporean (I know a handful who have nothing good ever, to say about our country, our culture, our food, our transport system, our blablabla, and, oh, of course, our government).

But today, I'm not talking about those negative, toxic people who have so many opinions, so many views, so many complaints, yet take no action to leave the country and take up citizenship in Guatemala.

I love my country.

I love that I'm born here.

I have even begun to love the flaws that the Western World had pointed out about us: We can't put chewing gum into our mouth, we can't urinate in lifts even if our bladders are bursting, we can't spit in public though the Merlion can, we can't have consensual gay sex legally, we don't have press freedom nor the freedom to burn our bras anywhere outside of Hong Lim Park.

While there are things we can definitely work on, I would do anything for my country.

If Singapore needed a kidney, I'd donate one to her.

If Singapore were bullied in a girl gang fight, I'd back her up with a rolled up newspaper in my left hand and a sharpened pencil in my right.

If Singapore were dumped by a bastard and got drunk and wasted, I'd gently hold up her hair while she puked outside Butter Factory, beside the Merlion.

"Why can't Singapore be a guy," Stanley my sex bunny friend wanted to know.

"I mean, why must countries all be referred to as women?"

"If we can think of Singapore as a cute, hunky guy, do you know how many gay men would willingly lay their lives down for him?" asked Stanley, who won't think twice about willingly laying himself down for any cute, hunky guy.

But the point is, we all love Singapore -- in our own unique way.

Some of us love like we're Romeos: Loud, proud and outrightly romantic.

The kind who would not only display flags outside their condo balcony and decorate their car with mini flags, but would also go the distance to wear red and white clothes for the entire month of August.

Then there are those who love Singapore like a traditional Chinese father.

The type who don't hug you and say I love you when you come home, or shout well done when you get 10 upon 10 for your Chinese ting xie spelling test.

But who would quietly put his palm on your shoulder when you break your arm in a motorbike accident. Or quietly slip $50 in between your textbook after your mum violently objects to giving you extra money for a class birthday chalet outing.

And then there's Carl.

Carl our dense friend, who up till this day cannot recite the pledge in full nor sing the national anthem without massacring at least 6 Malay words, is at a loss for all types of words right this moment.

Carl is struggling to list one reason why he's thankful to be Singaporean and how much he loves his country, so he chose instead, to post in the group chat the gif of Merlion spouting water.

Stanley immediately responded with the gif of a Tang Dynasty princess vomiting blood.

But even though Carl is dense, Stanley is slutty and I, hmmm, let's see, am intelligent, the point I'm trying to make is that regardless of personality types, we are all capable of loving our country.

I know that if there were a war, Stanley and I would gladly take up arms and fight for Singapore.

Years ago, when Stanley and I were in National Service, we talked about how we felt moved to tears when we took our oath to defend our country.

Stanley later clarified that it was because he thought he was too young to die, and we both had a very good laugh in camp.

But don't get us wrong.

The Red Berets -- trained to attack and defend, and also protect and care with those same pair of hands -- are the cream of the corps, and we will fight for honour and glory.

"Honestly if I have a choice, my pair of hands will be doing other fun things, but yeah, I'll fight and claw and pull hair for my country," said Stanley, ever the team player, player being the operative word that describes his sexual life.

Later that night, Carl replied the group after giving it a great deal of thought over Stanley's question.

"I love Singapore because..."

Stanley and I waited.

Then Carl continued typing:

"This is home, truly. Where I know I must be. Where my dreams wait for me. Where the river always flows."

Stanley later messaged me privately that if we ever go to war, Carl the dense one can be sent as an advance party to spy on our enemies.

"Because if he ever were caught, he would never divulge any of our operations secrets because he is truly clueless."

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

Friends for Life

It's International Friendship Day and I feel very obliged to write about this low-key event.

There are days dedicated to love, mothers, fathers, beer, HIV / AIDS and even the growing of moustaches.

Yet, the all-important International Friendship Day -- the foundation of human interaction -- is often forgotten.

It's such an underdog.

I ask in my group chat "Just the Boys" to see how much they know about International Friendship Day.

Carl the dense one -- who doesn't remember his mother's, father's, brother's birthdays, and who doesn't know the difference between Hari Raya Puasa and Hari Raya Haji -- responded with an icon of a girl who seems to be shrugging.

Stanley my sex bunny friend who is very in tune with worldly affairs, current affairs and all other types of affairs, responded with a gif of a half-naked man who seems to be shagging.

"All hail friendship day," Stanley wrote.

"@Stan are you making this up," Carl asked as if Stanley were a scammer who's about to make him wire money to an offshore account.

And so in the spirit of friendship day, I want to dedicate this blogpost to the people in my life who may not be related by blood to me, but have become my loved ones.

They say you can't choose family.

But when it comes to my circle of friends, one has full control.

And I'm glad I do.

Today, if I were to clutch my heart and fall gracefully and die from a heart attack, I know I'll have four pallbearers who had verbally promised me they'll carry my coffin.

I'm not joking.

I had this conversation many years ago with some of my friends.

Two of my pallbearers are familiar characters in this blog.

Stanley my sex bunny friend, and Terry my straight best friend.

"I hope you die of a disease that shrinks you to bones," Stanley said matter-of-factly when I asked him if he'd carry my coffin if I died first.

In keeping with this spirit of friends who'd go all out to love me, here's a little list of what I love about them.

Nisa 
Best girlfriend since Sec One

Nisa is whom I'd describe as someone with big love. And she expresses it with actions. Always showering friends with homecooked food, gifts that add value to their lives -- like traditional Chinese medicines that nourishes one's health. And always literally going the distance to run errands for them.

Terry 
Straight best friend since Sec One

Terry is the one who introduced me to endurance sports like marathons. He's one of the country's fastest runners on record, but whenever we run a race together, he never overtakes me, always pacing me from start to finish, encouraging me to never give up -- just as he does in real life.

Stanley  
First my NS pal, and now one of my best friends 

Not only is Stanley the protagonist of my blog, he's also one of my strongest cheerleaders in life who would never fail make me laugh, drive me around whenever I needed him to, would never judge me for whom I am.

Carl
One of my first IRC friends 

Carl may be dense but when you truly need him to wake up and save the village he gets the job done. Carl's not the mushy group-hug, air-kissing type of friend -- in fact, his love as a friend is very much that of a traditional Chinese father. He loves you, but he doesn't show it.

Sasa
One of the pillars of my universiity life

I first met Sasa in university. At the campus bus stop, I remember clearly. I used to call her Bimbz -- short for bimbo -- because she has a giggly squeal and laughs at almost every damn thing. Life without Sasa in uni would have been very dull. But how Sasa has grown. She's now a successful career woman (living the life as a tai-tai on weekends) but she's never lost that girly, hearty laughter. I see Sasa as the best of both worlds. To others, she's that intimidating Devil who Wears Prada but to me, oh, if they only knew.

Bella
My first work friend, my first work wife

We always have one of those -- best friends from work whom we refer to as our work spouse. Except in my case, Bella and I never snogged in the office pantry, nor swept the office table clean of stationery to have a quickie. Bella has a beautiful voice and we hit it off when we hit the notes at office KTV sessions. Soon, Bella and I shared more than just work problems with each other, and we grew so close that although we're now world's apart (Bella moved to the US with her husband), we still keep in touch to keep the care and love going.

There are, of course, a lot more people whom I'm thankful for and this list is non-exhaustive.

Cliché as it's gonna sound, I'm gonna leave some space here.

Because my future will be filled with more friends to come.























Happy friendship day guys.

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

Key Decision

It's official.

Stanley our sex bunny friend has news.

Two weeks ago, Stanley stirred the group chat to life.

"Boys, let's meet 9am on Sat - pick y'all up at yr place."

The next day, the three of us gathered only at 11.30am, true to our unbecoming habit of disregarding any form of punctuality.

As Carl our dense friend steps into the car, Stanley turns from his seat to face us and announces.

"I have officially bought the Queens Close flat!"

That was quickly followed by a continuous and collective squeal by the three of us in Stanley's car.

Anyone on duty at the weather station that morning would be alarmed by the sudden spike of seismic activity seen only in Tiong Bahru.

When the squealing finally stopped, Carl our dense friend started round two by clapping rapidly.

Stanley and I joined him, our group applause working up yet another unexplainable wave of tremors.

It must have been a busy and puzzling day for whoever was at the weather station.

But first things first.

Stanley wants us to be the first to view his flat.

Ten minutes later, we arrived at the neighbourhood.

"There," Stanley said proudly as if he were the town mayor.

"No, no, no, Carl. We're not going anywhere. We're viewing the unit from outside. I only get the keys two months down the road."

Carl's python-size biceps shrank in disappointment as he gloomily glared ahead.

"But there's nothing down the road," he said with a pout as if Santa isn't coming with presents.

Turns out, there is lots to see down the road.

First stop, Stanley brought us to the nearby Mei Ling Street Market where we would have a first-hand taste of brunch there.

As we sat before our spread of char bee hoon, fish ball noodles and black char tow kway, Stanley clasped his hands and said: "These are what I'll eat with my furture handsome husband when we wake up on Sundays after a rough night of sex on Thursday."

Carl, who has already put a fish ball in his mouth, counted with his non-chopstick holding hand, and with a sudden realisation of horror, slowly pulled out the fish ball and closed his eyes to compose himself.

After the cheap and good brunch, Stanley the Scout brought us on another adventure.

"This is the lush, green trail that I'll sometimes take evening strolls on," Stanley said with his arms spread wide as if to introduce us to the Amazon Forest.

"Over there, that's Queenstown MRT station. And over here," Stanley pauses for effect, "is the quarters of the elite police force."

Carl perked up at the revelation, his swollen biceps throbbing to life.

Carl is always fascinated by policemen.

As kids, one might say when I grow up I want to be a policeman. 

For Carl, it's when I grow up I want to do a policeman.

Carl especially likes the beefy ones who look like they can lift five burglars with one arm but have trouble chasing after one because of their bulky frame.

Carl stood near the fence of the quarters and began constructing a love story involving a very strong abang polis.

Wanting to be encouraging, Stanley stood beside Carl and put his hand on our dense friend's shoulders.

"Some day, my friend," Stanley said to Carl, "you will have a beefy policeman stopping you and asking you to blow his stick."

Carl's eyes lit up with hope.

"But let's hope you'll never be caught for drink driving." 

It was soon time for Carl to say goodbye to his short-lived romance and he reluctantly parted ways with the police quarters because Stanley our tour guide is rushing us already.

Next stop, the green corridor.

A stone's throw from Stanley's block is the beautifully revamped railway track that, in one direction takes us to Tanjong Pagar and the other, towards Rail Mall, near Stanley's and my family home.

Stanley even went to the extent of introducing us the neighbourhood cat, a grey and white tabby, who stirred awake from his noon nap, glared at his intruders, then proceeded to stretch and yawn.

By 1pm, all three of us felt the need to join the cat from all the exhaustion but no, Stanley has plans.

We were to move on to Ikea to source for furniture.

Carl licked his lips instinctively thinking of the famed meatballs there.

"There'll be so much to do from now on - there's no time to waste. I'm putting dating and one-night-stands on hold for now," said Stanley switching from sex bunny to energiser bunny mode.

"What do you think of this sofa? What do you think of this bed? What do you think of - wait, where's Carl? Did he sneak off to the restaurant?!"

Indeed, there's lots for Stanley to do, but there's only that much that can be done in one day.

By 4pm, Carl, who can lift weights for 3 hours and not complain, looked like he was about to crumble.

His human spirit and endurance have been put to the test.

"I will give you any top, official secret you seek - please either release me or finish me off," Carl begged.

Stanley the new home owner smiled.

"Yes, darling. I do seek some of the things you mentioned: Top, official, and especially releasing and finishing off".

"But let's be patient shall we? I don't have a place. Yet."

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

Child's Play

This time last year, I was travelling in a more rural part of Myanmar when I spotted a group of village kids at play.

It was fun in its most engaging, most raw forms - no sophisticated toys nor hand phone app games.

Stanley my sex bunny friend often agrees that fun in its most engaging - and especially raw forms - would be exceptional even if there are no sophisticated toys involved.

But today's topic is honestly wholesome.

Nothing of the Stanley's type of sexual nonsense.

The kids - ranging from five (I think) to as old as 13 (I think), were running around with sticks and tree branches, pretending they're machine guns.

It's a refreshing sight, to see such unadulterated play among kids.

I cannot ever recall seeing any kid in Singapore (my godson included), playing without expensive, sophisticated toys or without the aid of mobile apps.

Singapore is a society that breeds successful children who would be engaged in either designer play or intellectual games. There's no room for letting children's imaginations run wild and have them pretend to be astronauts using make shift spaceships made out of card boxes.

No. Not when we are so wealthy and can shower our kids with these toys.

Perhaps, kids today won't know what they're missing if they haven't grown up in the 80s like my siblings and me.

Of course, we did grow up with Nintendoes and the Brick Game, and later on the Play Station.

But when we were much younger, we had very little toys.

While our mum believed in showering us with toys, granny strongly objected to it, saying it's a waste of money.

So when we were toy-deprived, my siblings and I would make up games to play - which proved to be some of our happiest childhood memories.

Thanks to granny's addiction to TVB drama serials, much of our childhood games were inspired by the period dramas that involved sword-wielding heroes who could fly from tree to tree with ease.

I remember fashioning a sword out of a long ruler - pasting one end of the stationery with paper (which would be my sword handle) and making a sheath out of newspapers for my Heavenly Sabre.

My elder sister's choice of weapon was a deadly Chinese fan which she claims can slice a person's throat and kill him in under two minutes.

My sister was that dark and detailed.

Younger brother Barry chose a whip as his offensive weapon, made out of rubber bands plaided together with the help of our mum.

Our play time would often be before dinner, when our mum allowed us to run around the front and backyard of our house, working up an appetite for dinner.

Our pugilistic games would often revolve around one of us battling for the title of the Formidable One.

Very often, it would be a team effort - usually my whip wielding brother and I would combine forces to attack our fan slicing sister.

My sister would, however, be the one calling the shots, deciding if a particular blow my brother or I gave her was lethal or strong enough to injure her, which, as you can guess, was never the case. She was always somehow immune to our attacks.

She on the other hand, decided that her fan moves could injure me or my brother and she always ended up being the Formidable One.

My brother and I would be left with no choice but to heal each other with our inner strength, which often involves one of us pushing his palms against the injured party's back, causing him to fake-vomit blood to recover from sis' fan slices.

And then there were peaceful, non-battling days.

I would play dress up with my sis, helping ourselves to mum's collection of jewellery especially her many clip-on earrings.

Sis would always take pride in decking me up, pleased to have transformed me into the little sister she never had.

Meanwhile, Barry, who would run away the moment sis tries to dress him up, would end up playing the role of the male servant to his two princesses.

Those were such happy memories that I messaged my siblings in our group chat, asking if they remembered those precious days.

Of course, sis remembers but denies ever using her authority to bully us into making herself the Formidable Fighter.

Barry has no recollection of having two older sisters but recalls being healed by me after sis's fan attack.

That day, I spent the entire day reliving my happy childhood games, wishing we never had to grow up.

Stanley my sex bunny friend does not have such happy child-play memories with his sister Cindy Ong whom Stanley hates with a passion.

"She never shares her barbie dolls with me," Stanley said to me. "So one day, when she was in school, I took one of her dolls and cut her hair, thinking it's okay because hair would grow after all."

Stanley was in Sec One when he did that.

"Why are you asking?" Stanley said, unable to believe that I'm running out of more exciting topics to write about that I had to resort to writing childhood games.

"If you lack inspiration, all you have to do is ask," Stanley said.

"I have a hell lot of childhood game stories I can tell you about, which would leave your readers lusting for more," Stanley the Slut offered.

"And trust me, like you, I fashion toys but instead of using them to attack, I use them for pure enjoyment."

God bless Stanley and his scarred childhood.

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

Elections, Elections

The people of Singapore have spoken.

And Stanley Ong my sex bunny friend has voted.

"This one, I don't mind. I approve," Stanley said licking his lips and reaching for another handful of Kettle chips (honey mustard).

"This one too -- but I think he seriously needs to lose his paunch. And his pants. I honestly don't mind, 'cos he has such a baby face."

It's the one night when almost all of Singapore stayed up and stayed glued to the screen to watch national TV for once, and not Netflix.

On polling night, Stanley and I were at Carl our dense friend's condo to watch the real-life drama develop.

Stanley was exceptionally excited. The election show is one show he doesn't mind staying up to watch, the way he would stay up at night to watch Asian porn, which Stanley argues are similar. 

There's group action, there's one-on-one action, they all lead to a climax, and eventually, there'll be a clear division of the top and bottom role.

The show, expected to start at 8pm but ended up being broadcast at 10pm, really spoilt our plans.

Carl was most disappointed.

He had timed our pizza delivery orders such that at exactly 8pm sharp, we could sink our teeth into pipping hot chilli crab flavoured pizza and take a swig of ice-cold beer (Little Creatures -- Carl said it has no calories) and start commentating on newscasters and their clothes, the stupid things they'd say, and hopefully, catch some exhausted reporter tripping on their lines and making memes out of them.

For Stanley, his focus is way sharper.

He wants to endorse candidates not just by what they can bring to the table, but also by what they can potentially bring to the bed.

"I don't need you to be my voice in Parliament -- I just want to whisper lovingly into your ear," Stanley said, singling out one young candidate whose photo he produced on his phone.

"I love some of the new faces that the parties are fielding this time -- young and supple and I definitely want them to take care of me during this crisis, hug me lovingly and shield me from the harsh downturn from this pandemic," says Stanley, now looking straight into the TV screen and speaking directly to the young, handsome candidates.

For Stanley, what's important is not the COVID-19 or jobs package. It's the package that matters.

"I think this fella has a big tool," Stanley would say, just as the newscaster says something serious and political over the candidate's footage.

Carl, who has no interest -- nor knowledge -- on Singapore politics whatsoever, is still enjoying the night.


Any gathering is a good gathering to our dense friend, who would delve deep into party politics -- from his glassware and snacks choices, right down to what time he plans for the pizza man to arrive.


That night, the three of us sat and ate snacks as we zestfully took part in the making of Singapore.

"He has nice big arms -- I like," Carl said, referring to one young candidate whose half-naked photo was circulated online.

Stanley agrees, but points out that he prefers another older candidate who looks like his hairy arms can fend off enemies one minute, and protectively spoon you from behind and cuddle you to sleep the next minute.

"I've always enjoyed scrutinising the PAP candidates very carefully," Stanley said the moment the boring analysts started talking. "Given that in my sec school days, I've always found SJI boys very cute, I find myself gravitating towards them... and my eyes too, will gravitate towards their buttocks 'cos, sometimes, if you stare hard enough, you can see the colour of their underwear."

Carl spurted out his Little Creatures and starting coughing.

As the night went on, more drama unfolded.

Ooooo... Workers' Party won Sengkang! 

This new breakout star is kinda cute no, I said.

Stanley immediately agrees.

Carl, who has no idea whom we're talking about, began to frantically google search for some answer but true to his pigeon-like attention span, got distracted by a WhatsApp message followed by Candy Crush.

"I think Jamus reminds me of an endearing, eager-to-please retriever," Stanley concluded, adding "and I want him to sit! give me your hand! and roll over!".

I was scared to ask Stanley what he meant.

"I truly want to know to what extent Jamus means when he says he wants to serve his residents."

Eventually, Stanley grew tired of ogling at the male candidates and turned his attention on other things.

At one point, Stanley morphed into Mean Girls mode, commenting that one of the new female candidates looked like a giant teapot.

"Dear PAP, when you want to field a political heavyweight, you shouldn't go by a person's BMI," Stanley said to the TV.

Even the innocent show guests weren't spared.

"Can someone tell the political analyst that he looks ridiculous in his half-Safari; half-batik outfit? He looks like someone you'd find at the entrance of an Indonesian restaurant."

As night turned into near dawn, Carl started fidgeting like a child getting impatient at an arthouse movie his parents brought him to.

"Shh, take this bottle and play with it," Stanley said to Carl dismissively, brushing him off as he focused on listening to more election results.

Carl was confused but clearly hesitant to clarify with Stanley exactly what he means by play with the bottle.

At long last, seven hours later, the show came to an end with the PAP winning 83 of 93 seats.

As we wrapped up the night at Carl's, Stanley echoed what our prime minister had been asking for: Voters' strong mandate.

"I totally can understand why PM wants a strong mandate," Stanley said seriously.

"I think any man date who is strong is very promising."

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

Flat Hope

Stanley my sex bunny friend had been very busy of late, and he has an update.


He'd been visiting random strangers' homes nearly every weekend, seeking that one mystical sensation before satisfyingly releasing his deposits.

"I thought it'd be a breeze with all the practice I've had in all my adult life, but girls, house hunting is a whirlwind," he typed in our group chat titled Just the Boys which we also share with Carl our dense friend.

"What is that feeling you all keeping speaking of?" Stanley demanded to know, referring to what every house hunter has cryptically mentioned during the course of his search: "You'll know it when you find the right place".

"I am 40, and have stepped into enough random strangers' bedrooms and I have felt many sensations that would put the human spirit to the test - trust me, I've done the legwork - but I'm just not getting it when I'm house hunting," Stanley wrote, his text reflecting more desperation than frustration.

Carl replied with a gif of a nuclear explosion. 

"Morning activity," he typed.

"Time to catch up on all your messages," Carl wrote.

"Then you'll have a lot to catch up on, darling," Stanley replied without missing a beat.

Carl, who has trouble naming at least three other planets in the solar system, lives in a world of his own, often unaware of what's going on in the world. 

His world revolves around work, gym, and us. 

But at this moment, Carl's world revolves around just his bedroom.

"I'm ill," he wrote, changing the topic of the morning.

"And I don't think I'm going anywhere today," he typed, adding a few sad faces for effect. 

"In my world, Carl, living life in bed isn't something to be sad about," Stanley replied, before expertly diverting our attention back to his situation, "now back to me."

Stanley had been visiting various flats and there are some which he really liked. 

One of them is a flat in central Singapore that made the news for the wrong reasons. 

An elderly woman had died in the flat which caught fire some four years ago, which led to the government adjusting fire-hazard policies along cluttered corridors. 

The unit had since been left unsold.

"And you want to buy that flat why?" I ask with genuine concern. 

"I do like it... it's very breezy and airy," Stanley said. 

"Plus, it's going for a good price..."

Carl replied with a gif of Casper the friendly Ghost. 

And then, there's another flat in the west that Stanley also likes but suspects was the site of a murder-suicide case some years ago.

Carl replied with a gif of a petrified Snow White retreating into the woods. 

To his credit, Carl typed: "Are you house hunting or ghost hunting, Stan?"

Having been a dog owner for a large part of his life, Stanley immediately rewarded Carl with a series of applauding hands to encourage him to keep himself relevant, engaging and witty. 

Carl responded with a smiley face. 

Hours later, Stanley stirred the group chat to life again.

Turns out, Stanley has almost made up his mind.

He is leaning towards the unit in the west.

After pressing his agent for information, Stanley proudly announces that the unit has no ghosts.

"No murder, no suicide took place at Queens Close, so there are no ghosts there," Stanley reported. 

"If there were, the agent is bound by law to tell me," he said. 

I wanted to ask if the agent is bound by law to tell him about ghosts or suicide cases but decided not to take on Carl's role. 

Stanley then proceeds to post various photos of the four-room flat in the group chat.

"You know I'm serious when I produce photos," said Stanley, who often shows us photos of men he's flirting with.

"Whaddya think?"

Truth be told, the unit Stanley's looking at is indeed lovely.

Although Stanley's family home is a three-storey house, the flat is big enough for one person.

Big enough to host parties (the sort that involve wines that make you high) and big enough to host parties (that sort that involve whines that make you high).

In a bid to strengthen his case, Stanley argues that although Queens Close is in the west, it's arguably a stone's throw to Orchard Road. 

"It has to be Hercules throwing that stone then," Carl pointed out, outdoing himself for the second time of the day.

Maybe being ill is a good thing for Carl after all. 

The body is in repair mode and his cells are rewiring his clueless brain at the same time.

Stanley replied with a gif of a dog gobbling up dog biscuits. 

"And girls," Stanley typed and paused dramatically for two minutes for effect.

"I have placed a deposit with the owner.... I'm now waiting for the valuation report!"

Carl replied with actual words: "Wow, Stan!!!!! Congrats!!!"

"I'm filled with excitement and joy," Stanley replied, adding "and I'm not even referring to two nights ago, which is another story for another day."

"Right now, I want all of you to be happy for my would-be flat."

"And what better place for me to live in, than Queens Close," Stanley said, wrapping up his case with aplomb.

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