The Battle of Porkiesburg

By UnkleBus
I know I should be out partying right now but what happens when u add common sense to your social life? You get a bloody boring night. There’s Ghetto Heaven at Zouk, Maison and Atrium at Heritage Row, Poppy and Passion, not to mention the Jeng-est of the Jeng… Rum Jungle and Thai club/bar/whatever. It would all do me some good to go out and drink a little, have a ball but I’ve to be up early tomorrow morning.

Hundreds and thousands of nubile females out there partying and getting drunk but here I am, infront of the proverbial tube writing about my day and thinking of what to do early tomorrow. I try to avoid the word mundane but it is a lost cause. I should story you, my day… and how it went…

Today was a benchmark day, where the following month will be measured against. I woke up in the morning, somewhere close to 9 out of instinct unfortunately, had my first ciggarette and then another as I waited for msn to connect. I did my usual routine of stalking someone elses electronic life, savouring every packet of electronic-bits-and-bytes induced dose, of which is nothing different than any other day, except I wasn’t wearing my pants. (Metaphorically speaking of course…)

Then I had this tingling sensation, from inside my abdomen. Brushing the feeling aside at first it quickly grew into a wave, and then waves and I knew at that very moment that I was hungry. So I set on out to get what I would imagine delicious yet “cost effective” food and settled on a coffee shop behind SMDU. Initially I had wanted to get green mermaid ground coffee but the price seriously put me off. The wanton mee wasn’t cheap by normal standards though, but for every cent spent there was an explosion of taste at each cell on my tongue sporadically washed down by some cool and subtly flavoured yee-mai-peng

Several moments later I was back in my room already anticipating what lunch would bring. Ms M&C had earlier told me about some pork noodle place in subang; it took hours to be served, had loads of green bottle flies, was hot… but all worth it. She even brought me a magazine in case I got bored waiting but with an acomplished conversationalist such as her, the magazine; Pamela’s eyes watching in contempt as to why I chose not to drool over her, lay there mostly ignored.

She was right

It was brilliant. The soup was clear, dotted with oil and what were tiny bits of minced pork and deep fried lard. The aromas lingered in the air and catching the tiniest waft of it excited the senses. Even before I finished chewing my eyes already darted back and forth planning the next line of attack. Like a general on a field of battle instructing his forces to control one green vege stalk, to destroy some mai-funn, capture a strip of pork and annahilate a portion of soup. I was merciless… and so were the green-bottle-kamikaze-flies. I can still hear their buzzing in my ears but the victory was sweet nonetheless…

(At this point I get very lazy to write and wanna go smoke…)

I got home later and decided to be a couch potato. Then cook megi mee for dinner and now this entry.

How… drama can write book or not?

I thought so too. :P

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