Saturday, August 31, 2019

Musings on the momentous date, August 31st...

The Nuclear Family in 2013

Every time August 31st rolls around I am reminded of two things. The more significant event of the two, of course, is my very first fuck.

At 14 or 15 I was still wearing stripes & checks
I mean, with a woman. A digression is necessary: you see, at 15 I had ventured, with a few classmates, to Singapore's infamous Bugis Street, where we had decided to collectively put paid to our virginity. The middle-aged hooker I engaged for my initiation into malehood looked fairly attractive in the low-wattage lighting, but when we removed our clothes I noticed she possessed a rudimentary penis. She seemed enthusiastic enough - and who wouldn't be delighted to get paid to fiddle around with a cute 15-year-old, unless they're compulsive virtue-signalers? The scientist in me took charge of the situation and decided that an experience is, after all, an experience.

Besides, I didn't have the nerve to demand my money back and couldn't afford to go shopping elsewhere. After some 20 minutes of awkward fumbling around I thanked "her" and got dressed. I didn't ask my friends if they had had a similar "initiation." We were all too embarrassed by the whole excursion and never spoke about it again.

Beloved mother of my two lovely girls
Coming back to my first fuck. For three whole years I had been courting a feisty, flirtatious femme two years my senior. We maintained an increasingly passionate and playful correspondence while she was at university and I was in New Jersey as an exchange student. Upon my return in early August 1968, she wrote and told me she would be in Singapore on a geography field trip and would be free on August 31st to meet me for a hot date.

Now why does Singapore feature so prominently in every erotic initiation I can recall? Could it be the Merlion Singapore has chosen as its national totem, which combines Leonine and Piscean qualities - masculine rationality (lion) with feminine intuition (dolphin)?

Soulful reunion in 2016
Well, the date August 31st will always symbolize a pivotal moment in my life, a rite of passage, when I not only experienced the exquisite pleasure of being fully plugged into the sacred feminine, the holy of holies, but also claimed my adulthood by becoming a father to my first daughter.

Which explains why my earlier plan to study filmmaking in UCLA, California, had to be scuttled. But 25 years down the line, my second daughter graduated summa cum laude from TCU, Texas, with a filmmaking degree. She also fulfilled my desire to marry a German and produce gorgeous babies, but that's another story.

So for me the 31st of August will always represent a major life initiation, totally unexpected but gratefully embraced. How could I not rejoice to be father of two exceptionally beautiful, honest, and accomplished women who have bestowed quintuple datukships on me?

All grown up, my beautiful girls & their amazing mama

Daughter #1 with her 2 sweeties
As for the other thing, national independence, I must confess I have been indelibly imprinted with the thoughts of Kurt Vonnegut who introduced me to Bokononism in his 1963 novel, Cat's Cradle, wherein he distinguished between two categories of social bonding: the Granfalloon and the Karass. (I suggest you read Gregory Macnamee's instructive essay "On Vonnegut's Karass vs. Granfalloon" for a fuller understanding of this important distinction.) If you can't be bothered to look it up, I shall attempt to paraphrase Vonnegut's definition of a Granfalloon - which is precisely what every nation-state, football club, old boys' association, or ethnic grouping actually is: an assembly of humans drawn together by a common delusion - that there is "strength in numbers" and that people can feel united through loyalty to some corporate brand name or logo.

A Karass, on the other hand, is what Vonnegut calls a true soul family, drawn together by natural affinities and a deep sense of kinship beyond appearances and ideological constructs.

Daughter #2 with her 3 sweeties
It goes without saying that I have never been fond of Granfalloons nor will I ever be. Therefore the thought of celebrating something as meaningless as a brand name (Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Great Britain, America, Estonia, Afghanistan, Transylvania) and a corporate logo (Jalur Gemilang, Stars and Stripes or Union Jack) simply makes me chortle till I churn up some loose spittle or awaken a clump of mucus from its slumber.

Go ahead, folks, and wave those plastic flags. It really makes no difference to me if they are emblazoned with a giant M (for Mahathir, Mekdi or McDonald's), a cluster of stars, a few stripes, a maple leaf, a stylized axolotl, or a Mandelbrot Set. Corporations and corporate-states are essentially social engineering constructs, ant-colonies, beehives, designed to gather and accumulate energy (the sweet stuff) for those who commissioned and invested in the project. They may appear to be almighty, indomitable, and indestructibly totalitarian - until you catch a glimpse of colossal ruins such as you will find in Göbekli Tepe, Egypt, Rome, Cambodia, Peru. And here I am reminded of visionary historian William Irwin Thompson's classic observation:

"Civilizations, like the penis, rise and fall, and when the towers and battlements crumble into the earth, they return to the embrace of the Great Mother."

Antares Maitreya
31 August 2019

Monday, August 26, 2019

Where Malaysia is headed (Part 1) [Originally posted April 2009]

Somebody pointedly asked a few days ago: WHERE IS MALAYSIA HEADING? My response is: if Umno/BN continue to hog the political stage (not to mention the public purse and the police force), we're headed straight for unmitigated disaster.

Rather than waste more energy whacking those scaly-skinned troglodytes (or tempurung dwellers) who cling like overfed, bloated ticks to power, I decided to start jotting down my thoughts on where I'd like to see this country headed.

It's going to be a many-layered, multidimensional, non-linear exercise in visionary thinking and there's no way I can cover sufficient ground with just one blogpost. So I'll make this the first of a series, to be written and uploaded as and when inspiration strikes. In between I shall be posting other material, including other people's work, whenever I stumble upon something that says more or less what's on my mind.

The most essential human quality that's grotesquely lacking in Malaysia (indeed, the whole world) appears to be HONESTY.

We would like our public servants to be honest - whether they happen to be a minister, an office clerk, or just a police constable. But how honest are we? I mean, really...

I have dear friends who are for the most part truly decent folk and as honest as humanly possible - yet they conceal trivial things from their parents.

One, for instance, has never smoked in front of his parents - though he's been a regular smoker for more than 40 years. Other friends never once revealed their own sexual preferences to their parents for fear of shocking them. So the old folks died wondering why their offspring never reproduced.

A few other friends confessed that their parents don't know they're actually cohabiting with their boyfriends. I had a friend once who dated a guy for five years before finding out the fellow was already married with 3 or 4 kids. She immediately ditched him and married a man of dubious character who already had two or three other wives - but that's a whole different story.

I've made a lifelong study of why humans become dishonest and the conclusion I've reached is extremely straightforward:

Humans lie mostly to avoid punishment - or to save others from pain.

The only way we can unlearn this deeply ingrained survival mechanism is to disinvent the punitive god who punishes the disobedient (or mutinous) and rewards the docile (or hypocritical).

Imagine, instead, a completely simpatico deity who's more like a trusted confidant(e). One who is totally aware of your little quirks and shortcomings - and loves you all the same without harsh judgment. Such an intimate friend can be relied upon to stick with you through thick and thin. However, if you abuse this trust by doing something terribly stupid and shortsighted - let's say you cheat this dear friend or tell ugly untruths about him or her - the only consequence would be the loss, temporary or permanent, of your cherished friendship, and that would be punishment enough.

There are specific instances when being honest is countersurvival and universal laws are supended: for instance, if you're traveling in a train and bandits come aboard to rob the passengers. You wouldn't be labeled "dishonest" if you failed to hand over the diamonds hidden inside your boots. Nor would you be required to reveal to the bandits that you just saw your traveling companion stuff a thick wad of currency notes inside her brassiere.

In effect, the more accommodating our fellow humans become, the more likely we are to become truly honest.

Here are some imaginary scenarios that graphically illustrate the tremendous benefits of rejecting and disabling the punitive deity program hardwired in our DNA from countless generations of hand-me-down erroneous data.

Let's say your 16-year-old daughter goes to a friend's birthday party. She's supposed to come home before midnight but doesn't show up till way past two in the morning. As a worried father, the programmed response would be to interrogate her sternly and demand to know where she has been and what she has been doing and with whom. What if your daughter is innately honest and simply says: "I know I was supposed to get back at midnight, dad, I'm sorry to be so late. But I met a really goodlooking guy named Joe, he's about 20, and he suggested I go for a drive in his new car. We had such a great time talking and looking at the stars from the hilltop, neither of us remembered to look at our watches. Suddenly it was 2:00AM and he drove like the wind to deliver me safely back to my doorstep. He told me to apologize to my parents on his behalf for bringing me home so late, and he would really like to take me out again next Friday."

An enlightened father would take a deep breath, sigh, and smile. He might mutter: "Well, you got me really worried, you know. Next time you do something like this, at least send me an SMS before turning off your cellphone!" It's always a shock to realize your baby has grown up, and is ready to do adult things.

However, an unenlightened father would slap his daughter around and threaten her with the wrath of god, thereby forcing her to become a compulsive liar and a sneak. You can bet your last dollar all the lying politicians in our midst had fathers who were in the habit of slapping, caning or humiliating them for every minor transgression.

Let's see how problems easily resolve themselves as soon as HONESTY is brought to bear on the issue...

The biggest problem I can think of right now is that Malaysia is saddled with a crime minister instead of a prime minister.

Allow me to take on for a moment the role of God (I've had lots of practice and it comes natural to me). One morning, the crime minister gets up after a sleepless night in a cold sweat and decides to pray to me. Because I can sense he is sincere in pleading for some sound advice, I decide to manifest in human form in his bedroom.

The crime minister is stunned. "Dear G-g-g-god," he stutters. "Forgive me, please forgive me for never having actually believed in you... till NOW!"

"It's okay, Pink Lips, you aren't the only one!" I chuckle benignly, patting him on his bald pate. "If I had a dollar for every human who only pretends to believe in me, I'd be billionaire several times over. Not that I'd know what to do with all that cash."

The crime minister is silent and contrite. Obviously, he's unaccustomed to conversing with God.

"So... what's the problem, kiddo?" I enquire gently, though I already know what's troubling the poor rascal.

"I-I-I... I've been a very b=b-b-bad boy," he begins. "Done so many terrible things. I know I'm not f-f-f-fit to be leader of this country...."

"Well, it's a good start you're admitting to this. Where's that witchy wife of yours?"

"Oh, er... she's... she's in the bathroom.... stomach upset... be out in a minute, I think."

"Well, let's wait for her," I suggest, "since the worst of your really serious problems began when you met and mated with her."

The crime minister's wife emerges from the bathroom and screams.

"Who the hell is that?" she quizzes her trembling spouse more in anger than in shock.

"Er... er... you won't believe this, honey... but it's God... it's really God! I asked for help... but didn't expect him to show up so soon!"

"We don't need his help!" the witchy wife shrieks. "Tell him to leave at once or we'll get Khalid to deal with him!"

"I don't know how he can live with someone as uncouth as you," I say quietly.

"Listen, you!" the witch shrills, approaching me with her chubby arms akimbo.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and plonk your fat arse on the bed... right now!" I order.

Her eyes widen in horror and for a moment she is struck dumb. Whimpering audibly, she obeys, casting an anxious glance at her husband who, at this moment, does not at all resemble a real crime minister. Indeed, he looks just like a fat choir boy who's been caught wanking behind the altar.

[to be continued... first posted 12 April 2009, reposted 12 April 2013]

Sunday, August 25, 2019

All The Best Limericks Are Lewd (revisited)

Abraham was a wily old Jew
Who kept company with the Chosen Few
By forswearing sin
And his own foreskin
He proceeded the whole world to screw

It was a limerick that got me my first job as a junior copywriter. I had just turned 20 and was living with my parents in the house where I was born. I knew it was time to leave the family nest and learn to stand on my own feet - so when a friend mentioned that an ad agency in KL was looking for new blood, I immediately wrote to them. A few days later I received a test in the mail and was asked to compose a limerick; then write a news report about it, followed by an editorial. This was the limerick I came up with (of course I had to keep it clean):

A grand gourmand named Gus
Decided to devour a bus
But as he began to chew
He said, "Oh no, this won't do,
The passengers are making a fuss!"

Needless to say I got the job and soon found myself turning into a professional wordsmith, churning out readable text by the column inch. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't cut out to be a hack. Within 18 months I quit, after winning $5,000 in a slogan writing competition for Hall's cough drops, and began a checkered career as a freelancer and creative consultant. I continued to compose the occasional limerick - but somehow they were never quite lewd enough...

A fair mädchen was having her lüncheon
In a very chic cafe in München
Well, I got bold and told her
That I wanted to hold her
"Ja ja," she said and we got engaged pretty sünchen

As clean limericks go, this one ranks as an all-time winner (unfortunately I didn't write it and I don't know who did): 

A wonderful bird is the pelican;
His beak can hold more than his belican.
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week,
Though I’m damned if I know how the helican!

But enough of clean limericks! Bring on the best and lewdest ones I have collected over the years. I must mention here that some of the dirtiest limericks ever written came from Isaac Asimov, acclaimed writer of sciencefiction novels. Here are a couple I like:

Said an ovum one night to a sperm,
"You're a very attractive young germ.
Come join me, my sweet,
Let our nuclei meet
And in nine months we'll both come to term."


"We refuse," said two men from Australia,
"Bestiality this saturnalia.
For now, we bethink us,
The ornithorhynchus
Is our down-under type of Mammalia."

And I have a gut feeling we owe this classic to Asimov:

The astronomer's crime was heinous:
"We mustn't let convention restrain us;
Though I've made a career
Out of Venus, my dear,
I'm tempted to switch to Uranus."

Let's open the floodgates of debauchery and prurience, shall we? But first, a limerick defining what limericks are really about...

The Limerick's furtive and mean, 
To be kept under close quarantine, 
Or she'll sneak to the slums, 
Where she promptly becomes 
Disorderly, drunk and obscene!

It's almost impossible to trace limericks back to their source. The memorable ones tend to get circulated and recirculated over time till they end up attributed to Anonymous (presumably an obscure Greek lyricist). Here's the rest of my collection to date:

There once was a girl from Ealing,
Who said she had no sexual feeling.
Until a cynic named Boris,
Touched her clitoris,
And they’re still scraping her off the ceiling.


There was a young fellow from Kent,
Whose prick was so long that it bent,
To save himself trouble,
He put it in double,
And instead of coming he went.


A lesbian girl from Khartoum
Took a gay young man up to her room. 
At the start of the night 
She said "Let's get this right. 
Who does what? And with which? And to whom?"


There was an old bishop from Buckingham 
Who spoke of young girls and of fucking 'em 
But a bishop from Wales 
Took the wind from his sails 
When he spoke of young boys and of sucking 'em

From the crypt of the Church of St. Giles 
Came a scream that carried for miles 
Said the Vicar, "Good Gracious, 
Has Brother Ignatius 
Forgotten the Bishop has piles?"


There once was a man from Peru 
Who fell asleep in his canoe 
As he dreamt of Venus 
he played with his penis 
And woke up with a handful of goo.


There was a young woman from Yale 
Who offered her body for sale 
For the sake of the blind 
She had her behind 
Tattooed with her prices in Braille


There was a young fellow from Leeds,
Who swallowed a package of seeds.
Great tufts of grass,
Sprouted out of his ass,
And his balls were all covered with weeds.


There was a young man from Lynn,
Whose prick was the size of a pin.
Said his girl with a laugh,
As she fondled his staff,
“This won’t be much of a sin.”


There was a young lady from Maine,
Who enjoyed copulating on a train.
Not once, I maintain,
But again and again,
And again and again and again.


There was a young actress from Crewe, 
Who remarked as the vicar withdrew, 
The Bishop was quicker 
and thicker and slicker, 
And two inches longer than you.


There was a young plumber from Lee 
who was plumbing his girl with great glee, 
she said,  "Stop your plumbing, 
I think someone's coming..." 
Said the plumber, still plumbing, "It's me!"


A kinky young girl from Coleshill, 
Tried a dynamite stick for a thrill, 
They found her vagina 
in North Carolina, 
and bits of her tits in Brazil.


There was a young man from Pitlocherie, 
making love to his girl in the rockery, 
she said, "Look you've cum 
all over my bum, 
This isn't a shag, it's a mockery."


There was a young lassie from Morton, 
who had one long tit and one short'un, 
on top of all that 
a great hairy twat, 
and a fart like a six fifty Norton.


There was a young man from Harrow 
who had one as big as a marrow. 
He said to his tart, 
"Try this for a start. 
My balls are outside on a barrow."


There was a young girl from Hitchin, 
who was scratching her crotch in the kitchen. 
Her mother said "Rose, 
It's crabs, I suppose." 
She said "Bollocks, get on with your stitchin'."


There was a young girl from Devizes, 
who had tits of different sizes. 
One was quite small, 
almost nothing at all, 
But the other was big and won prizes.


There once was a young man from Brighton,
Who said to a young lass, “You’re a tight’un!”
She said, “Listen, Hon,
You’re in the wrong one.
There’s plenty of room in the right one.”


A lady while dining at Crewe,
Found an elephant’s dong in her stew,
Said the waiter, “Don’t shout,
Or wave it about,
Or the others will all want one too!”


There was a young woman of Croft,
Who played with herself in a loft,
Having reasoned that candles,
Could never cause scandals,
Besides which they did not go soft.


There was a young woman named Sally, 
who loved an occasional dally, 
she sat on the lap
of a well endowed chap, 
Crying, "Gee, Dick, you're right up my alley!"


There was a young gaucho named Bruno 
Who said "If there is one thing I do know, 
A woman is fine, 
a donkey divine, 
But the llama is numero uno."


There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose schlong was so long he could sucket
He said with a grin
Wiping spunk off his chin
"If my ear were a cunt I could fucket!"

Nantucket seems to have inspired more than its fair share of limericks, not all of them lewd - but they do merit a passing mention, if only for their literary value:

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.

This soon spawned a sequel...

But he followed the pair to Pawtucket,
The man and the girl with the bucket;
And he said to the man,
He was welcome to Nan,
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket.

What better way to end this post than with a mathematical limerick composed by Leigh Mercer (1893-1977) who came up with this poetic equation:

Translated into plain English it reads:

A dozen, a gross, and a score
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.

[First posted 26 April 2017, reposted 18 September 2018 & 31 March 2019]