Two gems from the commentary for the France / Brazil match, which I loved and you may quite possibly hate:
Tee hee. I suppose the UK powers that be can’t be expected to run the names of all new agencies through the “unintentionally amusing” filter, but Soca (the new Serious and Organised Crime Agency) is delightful. Fighting crime…WITH RIDDIM!
The Guardian article where I read about it makes me giggle a bit, especially when you take some of the sentences out of context. “Sir Stephen admitted that the formation of Soca had been ‘quite a bumpy time’.”
On Saturday afternoon, we headed to the Polo Club to watch the Hurling All Stars Challenge. As you of course know, hurling is…er…um…an Irish sport I have no hope in hell of explaining properly to you. See here for description.
Here are two hurling-related exchanges.
#1 (On the way to the match.)
Me: Traffic is bad, it looks like we might be late.
Alec: Oh, it’s all right. Each half will be 40 minutes long.
Me: But by the time we show up, it might be hurlf time!
Alec: ……
#2 (Shouted conversation in Zouk later that night.)
Me: Pity you couldn’t join us for the hurling.
Jacob: Yeah, pity. It’s got some nostalgic appeal for me.
Me: Oh, why?
Jacob: When I was at boarding school, at end of term there would be this traditional ________ [insert name of Scottish equivalent of hurling, I didn’t catch it] match, and it was between the normal pupils and the prefects.
Me: I WAS A PREFECT YOU ASSHOLE WHAT DID YOU DO???!!
Jacob: Well, my “favourite” prefect lost a tooth.
While having a cuddle with Alec and prattling on about the various bits of my day, I also mentioned wurh’s recent and rather endearing (yes, really) post about her pap smear.
And then one bit of pap smear humour led to another bit of pap smear humour and soon I was on a roll.
Me: What do you call it when you have a pap smear and it’s really badly done?
Alec: What?
Me: A crap smear! Hahahahaha!
Alec: I think it’s time for you to go home now.
Me: Have you heard of that high-tech kind of smear you can get over your mobile phone? It’s a wap smear! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
[For ease of reading, I’ll present the next few in Q & A form, omitting Alec’s groans and my HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!s.]
Q: What kind of smear does Yoko Ono get?
A: A jap smear!
Q: What kind of smear does L’il Kim get?
A: A rap smear!
Q: What do they call it when the woman falls asleep halfway?
A: A nap smear!
Q: What kind of smear do you get if you slept around a lot when you took a year out from uni?
A: A gap smear!
Q: What do you call a smear which reveals that the woman does actually have a STD?
A: A clap smear!
Me, finally running out of ideas: I’m so funny.
Alec: ……
Me: Why aren’t you hugging me any more?
A dinner conversation. Context: Alec freaking out about the ants in his flat, which always seem to traumatize people from temperate countries a lot more than us from the tropics. During the day he’d managed to track down and poison two ant colonies, but had then found a third where the residents seemed worryingly resistant to annihilation.
Alec, ranting: So I bet when I get home tonight there’ll be this little ant rave going on in my living room, with their little ant glowsticks and their little ant dance moves. (Does little ant dance moves in restaurant.)
Me: And their little ant DJ, ANT-hony Pappa! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Alec: …
Me: Followed by special guests, BUGZ In The Attic! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m so funny! Aren’t I funny?
Alec: Why me?
After Alec got a haircut yesterday, he tried to make his way from Circular Road to the Ritz-Carlton to attend a wedding. Due to National Day Parade rehearsals in the vicinity, various roads were closed and crowds were packed solid outside the parade areas waiting to see the fireworks. Usual routes to the Ritz-Carlton had hence been rendered impassable, but in a situation where a lesser man would have given up and resigned himself to his fate, my boyfriend stood strong and forged a creative MacGyveresque solution.
Either that or the following text-message I received from him, explaining why he wasn’t at the hotel yet, was rather hastily typed: “Have to take a cumboat to cross the river”
[Non-Singaporeans might find this contextual link useful.]
[I verily believe this is the worst-titled entry ever on this blog! Any contrary views?]
I have always been upfront on this blog about my penchant for vile humour and my lust for Johnny Depp, and this Yahoo! News headline (via Defective Yeti) symbolizes the proud union of those two fetishes.
Work is stressful today, but even on bad days the law gives me little gifts. Like discovering that there exists a case called The Dong (citation: [1979] 1 MLJ 152).
(Apologies to any Edward Lear fans reeling in agony at the punniness of this entry’s title. I’m too tired to think of anything remotely witty.)
Number two in an occasional series of stunning witticisms I make in conversation which I feel the need to share with the world. This is from last night at Hideout with Dom, Ida and David.
Ida: Remember that pumpkin I stole from ____ bar around Halloween? Well, we went to _____ bar after that and the bartender stole it from me.
Me: You were brandishing the pumpkin while ordering a drink?
Ida: I put it on the counter. So anyway, now every time I go back there he keeps saying, “I’ve got your pumpkin” and flirting with me.
Me: I guess you’re his jack-off-lantern.
I kill myself sometimes.
We found out from a Singapore guidebook that the Sultan Mosque was designed by an Irishman named Denis Santry. This delighted me.
“So, in Denis Santry’s salad days, when he was a young wild man living on his own, what did they call his little flat?” I asked Alec.
“What?” asked Alec, in a voice already steely with pain and resignation.
“The SANTRY PAD!”
I’m so witty.