You see, Emily has this big cow pillow, which I gave it to her eons ago way when we’re on our steady years. It’s supposed to be my double for her to hug when I’m not around.

But ever since we’ve been sleeping together, the cow has sort of became our virtual bed pet. At times of good, it’ll end up getting hugged, cuddled, slept on, etc. At times of bad, it’ll get it’s ass kicked to seek greener pastures on the cold hard floor, and sometimes, even became the speed bag of my kungfu punches. (yeah it’s kinda fun to beat up your wife’s/girlfriend’s soft toys… you guys should try it out…)

A couple weeks ago, that goddamn cow got lucky. It somehow ended up in my clutches when I was sleeping through the night. Coincidentally right at that very moment, Emily was getting out of bed for a night piss when she caught me doing this to the toy bovine :

Stroking the cow gently on its head, while wearing a wry grin on my face.

I have no idea if that really happened, but that’s what Emily claimed. The first thing that came into her mind? I was having an explicit/wet dream.

“You must be having a wet dream! HAHAHAHAHHHHH!”

Of course I vehemently denied that.

“Then why are you stroking the cow? Admit it lah! HAHAHHAHAHHHHH!”

Goddamn, if I had a wet dream, shouldn’t I be screwing the cow instead of stroking it’s head? Or perhaps licking it or something?

But no. Instead of that, a simple means of stroking-on-the-head would instigate her to conclude that I’m having an affair with an imaginary character, while remotely ‘molesting’ a fluffy cotton substitute in the form of a bovine to gratify my erotic fantasies… Riiiiiiiiight, that’s soooo rational.

“Then what are you dreaming about that you’ll have to stroke my cow like that? Hmmpffhhh” [She was stifling herself from laughing while asking that...]

I couldn’t answer her because I don’t fucking remember. Heck, I don’t even know if I’ve ACTUALLY stroked anything that night. Even if I did, it shouldn’t take a genius to guess from my simple acts, what I’m actually dreaming about:

1) I could be stroking the head of a kid? Not as a pedophile but as a caring brother? Just like how Jesus loved you miserable bastards out there? This dream might be divine in nature, not as obscene as you filthy people have imagined…

2) Or I could be stroking the head of an animal? A cat or a dog or something? Not as in the act of bestiality but as an animal lover? Like, I could be dreaming that I’m a hippie that smells flowers and loves everything that breathes? (except shapeshifters, of course)… How hard is it for you sane people to imagine that?

3) Or, if you’re imaginative enough, that act of stroking could actually be misconstrued from the act of kneading a dough to make bread? (not kneading tits, pardon me… coz I would have used both my hands). Now, that’s innocent enough…

So, dear, you’ll have to take my word for it. I wasn’t having a wet dream, nor did I molest your cow. I was just being a nice person in my dream… like I always am in reality…

I accompanied Emily to the blood lab last week for her routine checkup. Having been there for countless of times, I sort of knew the familiar faces around that area. Amongst the heaps of staffs there, was a good looking receptionist which I’ve always commended as “the cute looking girl at the blood lab”. Though I’ve never attempted to chat her up before, but she has always been my sole source of ogling entertainment at that boring place…

For the past couple of visits, I noticed that she wasn’t at her usual frontline post no more. Probably quit the job - I thought. But she was there again last week, but was looking very much different from her original looks. Gone were the curly locks and that effervescent glint in her eyes. She’s now sported with a boring shoulder length straights and a bland face as if she has just taken a tub bath in formaldehyde.

Me : “Oh my god, look at my favourite girl. She look terrible. What do you think has happened to her?”

Emily : “I don’t know… but she does indeed look terrible”

Me : “Mannnn, she used to look so nice… it’s really scary how much a person’s look could change in a short period of time…”

Emily : “…”

Me : “What a waste man, a total waste”

I was a bit drifted right there…

Emily : “Hey! What’s with you ogling at pretty girls haa??”

Me : “You don’t understand dear…”

Emily : “What?”

Me : “We’re actually doing these girls a favour here. Like, they’ve invested so much money to get their hair done, their nice clothes on and all that make up? It’s all to beckon for some attention, dear. I’m just making their spent money worth. It’s a good thing…”

Emily : [opens mouth and ... BLASSSSSSTTT!!]

Damn, I was just telling the truth!

I was reading some emails when the corner of my eyes caught someone standing at my apartment doorstep. It was Emily, home from work, flashing me this scintillating megawatt smile. Almost immediately, I knew something was wrong.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

She didn’t say a thing, but gave me a wider smile.

“Oh…no… something happened to Lorraine??”

Smiling stops. I was right.

You see, I didn’t go to work that day and hence, I was unable to carpool with her to work. That was why Emily’s driving my Lorraine for that day, while I proclaim myself clinically dead for half the planet revolution from partying too hard the day before (and no, it wasn’t even the New Year’s eve…)

That news was shocking enough to wake me up from that feeble state. ‘What a fucking way to end 2005′ I thought. And before I could even get myself to ask more questions, Emily went on detailing the damage of the car to me - A detached alphabet on my car registration plate. Odd but, that’s the only damage Lorraine sustained.

Apparently, it happened when Emily accidentally released the brake pedal too soon at a stop junction, and scooted the car forward to kiss the vehicle in front. Since there wasn’t any damage to the other run-down Kia either, both parties cooled it off without any settlement (there’s nothing to settle).

But Emily, fearing that I might go apeshit about this accident thing, got really miserable and started consulting around for advice. That was when her lady boss, taught her about the art of “keeping-secrets-from-your-husband”. To get the car fixed as soon as possible, and tell me nothing about it. Her lady boss has been following this same old formula all her married life - wreck the husband’s car, got it fixed, and kept it out of his knowledge - and it always worked for her. (I hope her husband reads this entry…)

Well, thinking that it’s probably a good idea, Emily followed her advice and got a colleague to help fabricate a new registration plate for my car. But that colleague, warned Emily that the consequences may be even more dire if I found out about the accident by myself. The brand new sparkling registration plate would stick out like a sore thumb and it would be easy for someone as awesome as me to spot it.

That’s why Emily chose to tell me in the end. And I’m glad she did, as I couldn’t have spotted the difference between my old versus new plate (as I later found out).
But I was even more glad, that her lady boss didn’t actually teach her to sell the goddamn car to some thugs, keep the money and claim that it’s stolen at the workplace carpark.

Goddamn!

I’m sure all of you have encountered those mysterious floating shits before. Those that usually take more than a single flush to get rid of. (these shits has baffled scientists for centuries…)

Well, I encounter such kind of shits quite frequently. For reasons unknown. Maybe it’s my diet… or maybe I’m special. But they sure hell are annoying because everytime that happens, I have to basically wait for the flush tank to refill before I can do another flush.

Now, that isn’t a problem for me, until when I’m in a hurry. Like if I’m late for an appointment or something. Usually, I’d just pop open the tank lid and pour water into it for another flush. But at times when I don’t have another second to waste, I’d just leave that styrofoam poo as it is until the next unfortunate soul discovers it and do some justice to it.

I guess that’s what happened a few days ago, when Emily discovered a brown floating asteroid inside our toilet. She reprimanded me only today:

Emily: “I’ve discovered some unflushed stray poo inside our toilet a couple days ago…”

Me: “Oh really? Whose poo was that?”

It didn’t occur to me that her remarks was supposed to be sarcastic in nature.

Emily: “It was your’s! Who else’s can it be??”

That was a direct hit.

I wanted to say it wasn’t mine, that the piece of shit crept out from the pipes on its own, but that’ll only make the situation worse. So, I decided to make use of her weakness… her caring inner self and her intrinsic sense of motherhood… to get out of the situation…

Me: “Dear, I gave birth to that thing… you should accept it like it’s one of your own…”

She just stares back at me, speechless. I think my plot worked.

I was driving on a busy street, when my radar caught a bright blip. “1 o’clock” it said. I slightly turn my head to scan that direction. Bimbo on target. Long hair, big racks, hot bod. I took a second wave of detailed scan … but was interrupted by some noise.

Emily : “Hoi !! Ogling at girls aa ?”

Me : “Errmmm yeah.”

Emily : “How can you be ogling at girls when there’s so much traffic around ??”

Me : “That girl has a pair of nice racks, ok ? She’s glowing in my radar…”

Emily : [opens mouth and blasssssssssst]

That was Emily’s flamethrower. One cannot be too honest at times. I learnt something today.