chewing on my LV sunglasses case.
We finish up and I'm packing up to go. I would later find my shades cases gnawed and battered, but I'd be relieved to find my glasses unscathed. I put them on and strut to the train station. In the next scene, I'm at the train/plane station and Saks and Hulk are with me. They're asking me if I can hang out with Hulk on the next flight to London. I'm apprehensive, but the flight is only a couple of hours and for some reason all the flight attendants in my dream look like Alessandra Ambrosia. They're all wearing blazers and only thongs, so I could see their cheeks bounce and jiggle as they stomp up and down the platform. So I'm thinking about taking this flight with Hulk. The dream ends, and I wake up with a hard-on so painful, my legs hurt. I'd rub one out, but I'm late for work.
Thank god it's Friday. Traffic is so easy these days on Hong Kong island now with more and more expats leaving and fewer Porsches on the road. I normally don't have to wait longer
than two minutes for a bus. I can't imagine going back to Canada - sitting on the 401 for hours at a time, scheduling my entire day around a bus schedule that frequents once every 22 minutes assuming it's on time and not counting the 5 minute buffer time. Don't even get me started on shoveling snow.
****
3 weeks ago we had a big KTV night. The whole crew was there, but a few of us were drinking harder than the rest. Well, 3 of us were drinking harder. Thor, Hulk, and myself. Saks, Kal, Johnson were being responsible and stayed close to the sofas. The rest of us were screaming off the walls giving our best over backstreet boys crowdpleasers and, quite frankly, pretty awesome rap covers of Will.i.am "I got it from my mama."
Standard issue mixer in Hong Kong is the greentea. I picked up the taste years ago during my toxic days rolling with the small time gangsters in TST. It's now pretty mainstream. The funny thing about mixing anything with greentea - be it whisky, vodka, or in this case, cognac - is that you don't really feel wrecked before or after, and there's a reduced hangover effect in the morning. The anti-oxidant effect of the greentea keeps you from feeling the drunken 'lactic acid' lethargy we normally get with regular drinks. This doesn't mean you don't get hammered - you do, but it jumps on you very very quietly, and it makes you feel a lot stronger than you really are. So KTV never ends with just KTV. There's always an afterparty. Tonight, that after party was at Volar.
I was at the foyer bar at Volar with the girls waiting for the boys to arrive, and we were just ordering our first drinks. Fifth and Tiff were with me, and maybe they looked like mainland hookers or maybe they were just too friendly, but some dudefella in a suede black jacket made a play at them while we were at the bar. Obviously, I didn't look threatening enough. He whispered something in their ear and took Fifth by the hand, turning them away, and started introducing the girls to his buddies. Let me introduce you to my little friend. I moved in quickly and touched one of the girls on the elbow. As they turned, so too did Dudefella. He looked at me quizzically.
I really didn't have anything to say, and I was drunk as fuck from cognac and whiskey still pouring through my veins, and somehow I found his intrusion more funny than offensive, so I was smiling incongruously whilst mumbling something terse, "... mumble mumble very sorry." I tipped my head down ever so slightly. I think I was trying to keep my balance. But Dudefella gave me the strangest reaction, pulled his hands away from the girls... and then he bowed at me.
Maybe the music was too loud or maybe I was being too courteous; maybe it was the way i tilted my head or how with a touch, the girls responded to me. Maybe it was the way the girls acted dumb but friendly, because Fifth thought he was Tiff's friend, and Tiff thought he was Fifth's friend; when, in fact, he was neither. They were just being accommodating. Maybe the whole package of me and two hot tall girls who look like mainland hookers, but are in fact under dressed Australian-born Asians - made him cautious. Whatever the reason, something made him think I was Japanese. It was ridiculous and I read it. So I went along with the play.
So I bowed back.
Then he bowed back.
I started laughing, but I think mistook it for embarrassment, because he then put out his hand as a friendly gesture.
So I shook his hand.
And while shaking his hand, I bowed again. Of course, he bowed back.
And we were shaking hands, bowing at each other - mumbling apologies at each other, "Ah. verysorry. veryverysorry. Ano - verysorry. No. very very sorry."
It was fucking hilarious. It was an apologetic Japanese cockblock. What the fuck.
Finally, they left us alone, and I took the girls back to the bar, and they asked me if I knew the man. "No clue."
That had to be one of the most awkward cockblocks I've ever executed.
***
There's a house party tonight that will attract models, gangsters, and blow. It's been a long time since I've rubbed elbows with the dark side, and I'm mildly excited about the prospect of getting fucked up again. We've given ourselves a midnight deadline. If there's no clear path to getting laid by 12am, we're on the next ferry to Macao. I'm thinking of Aces rolled over Kings, punishing flush draws, and stacks and stacks of other people's dirty money. Aw yeah.
Phalimus Prime rolling out...
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