Wednesday, April 16, 2008

January in April

Today, I was wallowing in self-pity and checking out my well-developed triceps in Bangsar.

I have such grotesquely beautiful triceps, such strong ones, that I think if I ever hit somebody with my triceps, the guy would explode.

Biceps are for gays. Triceps are better. Cause it's like, three and shit.

So anyway, I put them away when January Low walked past. Didn't want to kill hot chicks and innocent bystanders.

I was like, "January Low."

And she, knowing that I knew her name and possibly had a Death Note stashed somewhere on my ass, stopped and turned to me.

Me: I heard from your friends at Lim Kok Wing that you're anal.

Me: I was like, "ANAL?!"

January: Those are not my friends.

A cold wind blew from the North Pole and dumped Halls on my ass. She can be that cold.

But she's hot, so who gives a shit?

I always have a soft spot for dancers. Actually, a hard one. Even though, from experience, they're not really that good in bed. I would like to, one day, fuck a dancer till she bleeds on the dance floor. While playing that stupid song.

I'd be like, "DANCE! For MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" Like, Phantom of the Ampitheatre or some shit.

I narrowed my eyes, and these green schematics popped up around January.


Name: January Low

Job: Rich Kid, Dancer

Specialty: Bharata Natyam, Odissi

Weakness: Can't do Butoh for shit. That's a dance, fool! One of 'em technical classical precision and timing dancers, is January. Or so I heard.

Scale of HOT-HOT-HOT-HOTAS (Hands on Throttle and Stick): 9 out of 10, with 10 being Natalie Portman and 0 being yo mama.

Status: Has goofy boyfriend hanging over her. Dick size unknown.

Education: Lim Kok Wing, Ramli Ibrahim.

Anyway, we shot the breeze.

Me: So what you doin' now?

January: I'm this and that and whatever shit.

Me: Fucking rich kid.

January: I am NOT rich.

Me: Fucking rich kid.

The boyfriend was friendly enough to invite me to join their little thing at This Club. I said I'd drop by, if I was so inclined. Had to take care of something first.

So about an hour later, after I took care of business, I went to That Club. I saw that their group was like, 1.76 billion people or something. And I hate people.

So I left and took a cab home.

But, MAN. January Low. I mean, she already got a boyfriend and as a rule, I never fuck anyone I've interviewed, which in most cases is a relief.

But, DAMN. If there was one person I would like to have sex with and then die, it would be someone who looks and moves like January Low.