Wow, we are already two days into the new week, and I'm still recovering from the weekend that was. The super long nights (I don't recall crawling into bed anytime before 5AM) have really made it very, very difficult to wake up for work. Really felt it this morning especially; what's in your head, zombie. I hope the power nap (felt like 15 minutes) helps later in the day; do need to do a spot of cross-skiing (that's elliptical trainer to those not in the know).
Just a quick note: Mist is definitely the new Bangsar. No, it's just one building. But the crowd, well, it was just one flashback after another. Faces last seen at Modesto's or Big Willy's or Gasworks. Which puts the club in perspective, a homing beacon for the Bangsar diaspora long dispersed for the past decade, a homecoming of the prodigal children. And now that you know, doI need not mention the demographics of the patrons? The music oscillates between great and grating. Drinks are expensive, but I guess that's the only way to keep out the pariahs. And finally, las chicas there will leave you misty eyed. Hot Peri-peri all the way.
I was sitting down with some fellow wise men (pardon the presumption) for nasi lemak last night; oddly enough, our conversation steered towards the subject of sex. Philosophically, of course. Or, we'd like to think it was philosophical, and not downright perverty (copyrighted word alert).
Anyways, where was I, yeah, sex. Specifically, the hardware needed to perform the action. Too technical? How about sticks and pits? Better? Good. So basically, over the years, I've read some literature on the 'erotic arts'; mainly Chinese and Indian (in English, of course). And it's very apparent that Eastern eroticism (henceforth Ee) emphasises more on technique and spirituality for orgasmic satisfaction, rather than the specs of the tools involved.
Think about it, I doubt it's mentioned anywhere in the Kama Sutra that for best enjoyment, the two key figures are 36 D and 12 inches. Neither does Ee stress again and again on methods of elongating appendages and ballooning up mammaries. All they espouse, in a nutshell, is learn how to blow (breathe that is, breathe) and you'll be a bedroom Eros or Nymph.
Admittedly, some societies who practise Ee take things to the extreme; tiger penises and rhino balls and antler horns are not going to make things jiggy in the bedroom. Many wannabe Romeos in the Orient have contributed to the drastic reduction in a number of fauna species. Stop fucking kidding yourself. Cheaper alternative, fool, Viagra.
For all the sexual liberation brought on by Western erotica, it's obvious that a second, more discrete phenomenon has followed. The need to supersize. Now seriously, does anyone really want to be the next Dolly? The singer, not the sheep. Or perhaps, the modern Long Dong Silver? And if these names sound Greek to you, then obviously you missed out on the greatest of decades, mate.
But like I was saying, what's so erotic about plasticky (c.w.a) sandbags or a vericose garden hose? I mean, really.
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