Betta Under The Radar
A broken on-line papier machine
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Oh Batsy!
Been watching New Adventures of Batman the 2004 animated series in-between bouts of furious writing. My sofa loveth the feel of my rounded (more and more so with each passing day) ass. My heart beats for you, Batman, your classic v-shaped torso, your feral pointy ears, your dry and witty repartee, the hint of your nipples under your lycra suit. Dark, smoldering and… corny as hell. My favorite cheesy lines:
Officer: You better come with us, Mr. Wayne
B.W.: Very well, officer… …. But not right now! *runs off in another direction while officers stand flabbergasted at this flagrant breach of their authority*
Robin, after saving Batman’s ass and all he gets is a grunt for thanks: “Gee thanks for saving my bacon, Robin!”
Robin: “No problem-o Batman!”
Robin: You sure about this extortion ring?
Batman: Uh-huh
Robin: We’ve been here for four hours! You think they’re gonna show?
Batman: Uh-huh
Robin: Think they’re gonna be here anytime soon?
Batman: Uh-huh
Robin: Lucky for me you’re such a good conversationalist.
Batman, feeling her forehead: You’re hot.
Catwoman@Selina Kyle, drugged with something: You finally noticed.
Robin, to villain #11000345 holding a Samurai sword: Hey. Batman’s my pal. Sure he can be a jerk sometimes, but you gotta love him. Nobody’s gonna fillet him while I’m around.
Batman, you make me so happy.
^ A giant floodlight is no substitute for proper self-esteem, Mr. Wayne
^ See we love you just as much without one, although this isn't your good side.
^ There's only room for one jaw built like a brick in this town. Beat it, pussy!
^ You there! Stop licking that poster of me! Why I oughta...
Officer: You better come with us, Mr. Wayne
B.W.: Very well, officer… …. But not right now! *runs off in another direction while officers stand flabbergasted at this flagrant breach of their authority*
Robin, after saving Batman’s ass and all he gets is a grunt for thanks: “Gee thanks for saving my bacon, Robin!”
Robin: “No problem-o Batman!”
Robin: You sure about this extortion ring?
Batman: Uh-huh
Robin: We’ve been here for four hours! You think they’re gonna show?
Batman: Uh-huh
Robin: Think they’re gonna be here anytime soon?
Batman: Uh-huh
Robin: Lucky for me you’re such a good conversationalist.
Batman, feeling her forehead: You’re hot.
Catwoman@Selina Kyle, drugged with something: You finally noticed.
Robin, to villain #11000345 holding a Samurai sword: Hey. Batman’s my pal. Sure he can be a jerk sometimes, but you gotta love him. Nobody’s gonna fillet him while I’m around.
Batman, you make me so happy.
^ A giant floodlight is no substitute for proper self-esteem, Mr. Wayne
^ See we love you just as much without one, although this isn't your good side.
^ There's only room for one jaw built like a brick in this town. Beat it, pussy!
^ You there! Stop licking that poster of me! Why I oughta...
Labels: men
¶ 12:10 AM 0 comments
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Misguided white men who want Asian peacocks
What a bore it is to be in the company of someone who has a stiff and brittle mind. A more dreary way of passing time cannot be conceived. Conversation with such a person is like dropping stones into the water - all hope for some reaction only to see it sink to the bottom, dead with scarcely a ripple to show for it! How much worse is it when they proclaim themselves to be of an open mind, and when they boast of their wide travels and high education? And they insult one's nation - listing one minor vexation after the other - oh the roads are not symetrical, oh the food is too spicy, oh the weather too hot and humid, oh the assistants (locals) who do not bow and scurry at the click of their fingers. They say (with not even the grace to be sheepish about it) that they are here only for the money and 'better opportunities'. Why don't you put on some khakis and sit on an elephant and build yourself a tree-hut, you stinky, one-balled, mysogynistic, racist, condescending, uncivilised, uneducated idiot. Colonialism ended in this country half a century ago. Growl.
Labels: men
¶ 8:37 PM 0 comments
Thursday, June 01, 2006
The Unknown Man
There was a man who was not known. That is to say, in the building in which he worked, he went to great lengths to ensure that others should not know him.
He worked in a building with 26 levels.
Allow me to describe this building for you, for it was quite interesting in the fact that it was utterly mundane. It was a non-descript squarish block that offered no concessions whatsoever to aesthetics, only functionality. It was not very big, yet not very small; not very old, yet not very new. It had windows, I suppose, but they were never opened. Little rectangular air-conditioning coolers clung like strange parasites to its grey stone exterior. Inside, the air-conditioning was often far too cold, and the air smelt damp and stale.
We will not go too much into the man's profession, only assume that it was dreary beyond words and that he had the slight greenish tinge of a person who is bathed in the hard glare of florescent lights for weeks at a time.
You may wonder why any body should choose both an environment and occupation quite so depressing, but the truth was that when he entered the building of his workplace, he felt that all the distinguishing features of himself - his name, his secret longings and fears - were stripped away. From being some one, he transformed into no one at all (except to himself), and this condition was very agreeable to him.
Now, it might seem as if I have painted a portrait of a rather unhappy person, perhaps suicidal, perhaps abnormal. But really, he was quite happy. He read books, went to the theater, was interested in wine, swimming, golf. True, his social life was somewhat sparse, but it did exist. The anonymity of not being known was refreshing to him. He felt he did his best thinking whilst he was at work.
Then one day, a woman came to work in the building. She was not particularly beautiful. She was however, quite animated and spoke a great deal of her interests, her likes and dislikes. She fancied beach holidays, she said. She claimed she was quite spiritual and was reading a book on Buddhism.
Also, she wore a most alluring scent. It was one of those abstract oriental varieties, that are usually better carried off by an older person.
She being new, she worked on the first level. He was somewhere in the middle.
The man who was not known avoided her.
She however, seemed intent on pursuing an aquaintance with him.
'I shall give her a lie', said the man who was not known to himself, 'and then I shall be safe'. For he did like her, and he thought her figure very attractive. He was not driven by moral compulsions to be truthful.
And so the man and woman became close. He invented a persona of himself for her. He made it charming and thoughtful, considerate and kind. He made her quite happy, except for the disturbing fact that whenever he entered into the building with the 26 levels (which was every day, except sunday), he ignored her completely. He did not do it any coarse manner, for he was never violent towards her, whither in word or action. He simply pretended that she did not exist.
The woman was eager to please, and so she did not complain. But inside she seethed. For every woman wishes to be acknowledged that she is superior in a man's thoughts at all times of the day. She may know this is physically impossible, but she will still wish to be told of it as a certain fact.
Then one day a little while later, as they were walking side by side to the building of their workplace, she muttered, quite out of the blue: 'I know you, you are the man who is not known'.
The man who was not known was caught in a most awkward position. The glass doors to the entrance of the building had just slid open and he had taken a step through. He turned and stared the woman in astonishment. He felt as though he had experienced his death by her naming of him, and she was the figure of death who stretches out its hand to those who have no more time left to live.
For her part the woman was quite shocked to see that her chance shot had hit home. And then of course she felt not a little self-satisfied, for it was the first time she had seen this particular expression on his face.
The woman opened her mouth to say something simultaneously witty and conciliatory, but the man had turned and was striding away from her into the building. He entered the elevator and closed the doors without waiting for her.
He sat at his desk and immediately began methodically to work. But although he was in the building, he was now known as the man who is not known. The name haunted him from morning until sunset.
At sunset, he climbed to the roof of the 26th level of the building of his workplace. The last rays of the sun soaked his skin in a warmth that was unbearable to him. He could not find it in himself to look for another building in which he would not be known. The city spoke his name, and he whispered it back to the orange disc that hung low above it in the sky. He then flung himself from the roof of the building into the air and his own death, which he had recognized in the woman the moment he saw her.
He worked in a building with 26 levels.
Allow me to describe this building for you, for it was quite interesting in the fact that it was utterly mundane. It was a non-descript squarish block that offered no concessions whatsoever to aesthetics, only functionality. It was not very big, yet not very small; not very old, yet not very new. It had windows, I suppose, but they were never opened. Little rectangular air-conditioning coolers clung like strange parasites to its grey stone exterior. Inside, the air-conditioning was often far too cold, and the air smelt damp and stale.
We will not go too much into the man's profession, only assume that it was dreary beyond words and that he had the slight greenish tinge of a person who is bathed in the hard glare of florescent lights for weeks at a time.
You may wonder why any body should choose both an environment and occupation quite so depressing, but the truth was that when he entered the building of his workplace, he felt that all the distinguishing features of himself - his name, his secret longings and fears - were stripped away. From being some one, he transformed into no one at all (except to himself), and this condition was very agreeable to him.
Now, it might seem as if I have painted a portrait of a rather unhappy person, perhaps suicidal, perhaps abnormal. But really, he was quite happy. He read books, went to the theater, was interested in wine, swimming, golf. True, his social life was somewhat sparse, but it did exist. The anonymity of not being known was refreshing to him. He felt he did his best thinking whilst he was at work.
Then one day, a woman came to work in the building. She was not particularly beautiful. She was however, quite animated and spoke a great deal of her interests, her likes and dislikes. She fancied beach holidays, she said. She claimed she was quite spiritual and was reading a book on Buddhism.
Also, she wore a most alluring scent. It was one of those abstract oriental varieties, that are usually better carried off by an older person.
She being new, she worked on the first level. He was somewhere in the middle.
The man who was not known avoided her.
She however, seemed intent on pursuing an aquaintance with him.
'I shall give her a lie', said the man who was not known to himself, 'and then I shall be safe'. For he did like her, and he thought her figure very attractive. He was not driven by moral compulsions to be truthful.
And so the man and woman became close. He invented a persona of himself for her. He made it charming and thoughtful, considerate and kind. He made her quite happy, except for the disturbing fact that whenever he entered into the building with the 26 levels (which was every day, except sunday), he ignored her completely. He did not do it any coarse manner, for he was never violent towards her, whither in word or action. He simply pretended that she did not exist.
The woman was eager to please, and so she did not complain. But inside she seethed. For every woman wishes to be acknowledged that she is superior in a man's thoughts at all times of the day. She may know this is physically impossible, but she will still wish to be told of it as a certain fact.
Then one day a little while later, as they were walking side by side to the building of their workplace, she muttered, quite out of the blue: 'I know you, you are the man who is not known'.
The man who was not known was caught in a most awkward position. The glass doors to the entrance of the building had just slid open and he had taken a step through. He turned and stared the woman in astonishment. He felt as though he had experienced his death by her naming of him, and she was the figure of death who stretches out its hand to those who have no more time left to live.
For her part the woman was quite shocked to see that her chance shot had hit home. And then of course she felt not a little self-satisfied, for it was the first time she had seen this particular expression on his face.
The woman opened her mouth to say something simultaneously witty and conciliatory, but the man had turned and was striding away from her into the building. He entered the elevator and closed the doors without waiting for her.
He sat at his desk and immediately began methodically to work. But although he was in the building, he was now known as the man who is not known. The name haunted him from morning until sunset.
At sunset, he climbed to the roof of the 26th level of the building of his workplace. The last rays of the sun soaked his skin in a warmth that was unbearable to him. He could not find it in himself to look for another building in which he would not be known. The city spoke his name, and he whispered it back to the orange disc that hung low above it in the sky. He then flung himself from the roof of the building into the air and his own death, which he had recognized in the woman the moment he saw her.
Labels: men
¶ 7:50 PM 2 comments
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Virtual crush on senior blogger
Dr Liew turns me on on on.
Tee
Hee.
http://www.drliew.net/
Tee
Hee.
http://www.drliew.net/
Labels: men
¶ 11:15 AM 0 comments
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Some exploratory musings upon prostitution
Update: I think you'll find, Betta, that it's 'shepherd', not 'shepard'. Love from the Blogspot Spelling Fairie.
In terms of moral acceptability? At what point does a certain act become 'wrong', or immoral? And when one says immoral, do we really mean it as a blanket term for impure, unchaste, slutty, dirty, cheap?
Once a friend had written on his jeans in a red pen 'Take away the shepard and the sheep shall be scattered'. I remember reading it as 'Take away the shepard and the sheep shall be free'. I had gotten the last word wrong. It is unsettling to think that all rules, all standards, all those checkpoints with which we think we know who we are - are as mutable as the sea. One strays from the path, heart in mouth, full of fear, wandering into nightmare and sunshine, only to discover... there is no path but the one you make for yourself.
Then again perhaps all paths were laid out long ago, and we tread them with little choice in the matter - it is a borrowed journey, and it doesn't do to take it too seriously. A man is a man is a man is a man. And a woman can be like a man, and yet she is not.
Does a high degree of physical courage also equate moral courage? What is moral courage? And upon what grounds do we test it. Conrad once wrote that the sea may prove the true measure of a man. These days, people no longer speak of courage. As a race I believe we come to see ourselves as inherently cowardly, mercenary. Acts of 'goodness' or 'heroism' are broadcast across a media spectrum, and that is how we come to experience 'courage'. But the world is messy now, it no longer asks from us a thing like courage - because it knows the enemy is not an other, not a dark evil thing to fight against. It is not that we are not brave, it is rather we do not know how to be so, any more.
If I stand in front of a line of fire to save your life, does that make me brave? Perhaps there is only an act of bravery, and it doesn't last longer than a moment. For the situation surrounding this act could be a miserable, squalorous one.
To be brave does not mean to be good. A brave man is not necessarily a good man, likewise a woman, of course. Goodness is a definition without complexity. But sometimes one longs for that simplicity. Yet a proud and impatient nature cannot sustain it - and one veers towards self-destruction like a bee to honey. Not for any thing or because of any thing but for the insatiable, infuriating, insufferable love of Seeing. What. Will. Happen. ¶ 3:45 PM 1 comments
In terms of moral acceptability? At what point does a certain act become 'wrong', or immoral? And when one says immoral, do we really mean it as a blanket term for impure, unchaste, slutty, dirty, cheap?
Once a friend had written on his jeans in a red pen 'Take away the shepard and the sheep shall be scattered'. I remember reading it as 'Take away the shepard and the sheep shall be free'. I had gotten the last word wrong. It is unsettling to think that all rules, all standards, all those checkpoints with which we think we know who we are - are as mutable as the sea. One strays from the path, heart in mouth, full of fear, wandering into nightmare and sunshine, only to discover... there is no path but the one you make for yourself.
Then again perhaps all paths were laid out long ago, and we tread them with little choice in the matter - it is a borrowed journey, and it doesn't do to take it too seriously. A man is a man is a man is a man. And a woman can be like a man, and yet she is not.
Does a high degree of physical courage also equate moral courage? What is moral courage? And upon what grounds do we test it. Conrad once wrote that the sea may prove the true measure of a man. These days, people no longer speak of courage. As a race I believe we come to see ourselves as inherently cowardly, mercenary. Acts of 'goodness' or 'heroism' are broadcast across a media spectrum, and that is how we come to experience 'courage'. But the world is messy now, it no longer asks from us a thing like courage - because it knows the enemy is not an other, not a dark evil thing to fight against. It is not that we are not brave, it is rather we do not know how to be so, any more.
If I stand in front of a line of fire to save your life, does that make me brave? Perhaps there is only an act of bravery, and it doesn't last longer than a moment. For the situation surrounding this act could be a miserable, squalorous one.
To be brave does not mean to be good. A brave man is not necessarily a good man, likewise a woman, of course. Goodness is a definition without complexity. But sometimes one longs for that simplicity. Yet a proud and impatient nature cannot sustain it - and one veers towards self-destruction like a bee to honey. Not for any thing or because of any thing but for the insatiable, infuriating, insufferable love of Seeing. What. Will. Happen. ¶ 3:45 PM 1 comments
Friday, February 10, 2006
You're great, but...
Question: How does one let a man down gracefully? Do you:
a) Have the serious 'you're great, but...' conversation?
b) Ignore all calls?
c) "No, I'm not free tonight, tomorrow night either, yup and the night after. Look, I'll call you ok?
The thing is, should one be a bitch and therefore save them face by making them hate you, or does one play the nice game and come away clean? Perhaps passive aggression is best? Maybe mention an unfortunate highly contagious venereal disease?
Dating is a wilderness I am ill adapted to. I seek guidance. Pour forth on me your advice!
a) Have the serious 'you're great, but...' conversation?
b) Ignore all calls?
c) "No, I'm not free tonight, tomorrow night either, yup and the night after. Look, I'll call you ok?
The thing is, should one be a bitch and therefore save them face by making them hate you, or does one play the nice game and come away clean? Perhaps passive aggression is best? Maybe mention an unfortunate highly contagious venereal disease?
Dating is a wilderness I am ill adapted to. I seek guidance. Pour forth on me your advice!
Labels: men
¶ 10:30 AM 4 comments
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
I like sugar-plums
In general (of course, always in general), we women do not speak often of the good points of men. When we do it is usually in a tone of surprize, as if one has been handed a sugar-plum when one least expected it.
Labels: men
¶ 4:16 PM 0 comments
