Myanmar protests.

 

I’ve been captivated by the recent protests in Myanmar. Every now and then, I’ll waddle over to Yahoo News to get the latest news on this sad situation (Why sad? Well, that’s another posting in the making).

 

Last night, the military has regained control of the streets and country. They’ve sealed the monks – Myanmar’s highest moral authority – in their pagodas and took out their ire on aimless civilians. A diplomat is flying into the capital today. That move has been lauded by analysts as a sign of change and possible reconciliation (ever notice that diplomats love polysyllabic words?) by Myanmar’s iron-fisted junta.

 

All diplomatic behaviour is merely pretty speculation. Action is needed.

 

I know I’ll be hanged and gutted for my next statement: ‘Kudos to the Junta for their quick and ruthless suppression of a rudderless protest. Learn from them.’

 

Sound bites / Quotes:

"Why don’t the Americans come to help us? Why doesn’t America save us?"

– Why in the world should they? This is a domestic problem, it should be solved by their own people. A martyr usually cements the cause that’s being trumpeted about.

 

"It’s tragic. These were peaceful demonstrators, very well behaved," she said.

– Naturally these monks are well-behaved. They’re less ruly than most westerners. But here’s a thought of the day; since when has peace or good behaviour managed to get things done?

 

Sources: Yahoo News (AP) | Burma Net

 

What a fucker

 

This posting is about PORN. Now that I’m done with the under-18 warnings…

 

"You have a dickhead. You know, a head on a dick."

 

My friend continued for my beer-bleery benefit, "Guys think with dicks la."

 

These momentous words were spoken a few months back. I had passed over an opportunity for mind-blowing sex with someone else. Since then, I’ve always felt somewhat chastised by my mates for not rising to the occasion.

 

I guess I’ll have to live with it. However, one person does not. WC has created a blog about his quest to have sex with every prosititute in Geylang. It reads like a techno-ti-ko’s blog; it’s all about tits, fucks and blow-jobs. Personally, I think it’s repetitive and boring. After all, a good talking on sex should inflame the imagination and raise the libido. (NB: Roald Dahl’s ‘Switch Bitch’ does in so many different ways that I think it’s the British equivalent of Arabian Nights.)

 

What WC gives us, despite the titillating but fuzzy prono photos, are a Singaporean’s insight into Geylang’s sex scene. Now that’s something which I have neither seen nor read. 

 

What a fucker.

 

Source: Womanizer’s Blog 

 

Do we not learn?

 

It has happened before.

 

Once, on 08 Aug 1988, they’ve pointed guns at a thousand students.

 

A hundred triggers were pulled.

 

On that day, you could have dyed your old clothes crusty red for free. Blood overflowed the gutters and puddled in the cracks of the streets. On that day, the military eloquently delivered a message with bullets, "I’ll stomp on you whichever way I want to. Why? Because I’m a scared animal who’ll rape your bitch ass if you look at me funny." To dispense swift violence towards the opposition; now it is a valued tradition of Myanmar’s military junta.

 

Don’t the ordinary people ever learn?

 

This week, thousands of saffron-robed monks have marched into Yangon. They march in protest of high fuel prices – no doubt, it affects their monasteries. Their numbers grew as they walked; the local populace joined in step with the monks. Now at the heart of the country – where the monks would have doubtless kneel, pray and chant sutras – the animal has reacted. Shots were fired, people arrested. Surprisingly, not only 5 were killed.

 

This was quite unlike their previous suppressions.

 

Perhaps the junta is a little confused – they are made up of old power-mad fogeys. Perhaps they’re feeling magnimous – "Turn around, go home now. Before I break you." Maybe they’re, GASP, afraid of the UN’s finger-pointing and toothless condemnations. Somehow, I don’t think so.

 

Except for the low number of casualities, this is not new.

Expect to see a thousand dead soon.

 

Myanmar News Sources: Yahoo News (AFP) | Yahoo News (AP) 

 

A freezer tuk-tuk

 

I met Pierre, a Quebec-er, in Laos. We were heading north – I to China, him to luang namtha. The tuk-tuk wound around the mountainous regions enroute to Udomsxy. The ride was beautiful; towering pines, meandering rivers, authentic villages filled with dutsy and unsmiling hilltribe villagers in rags.

 

Oh yes, the ride was incredibly beautiful. It was incredibly cold too.

 

It’s like being dumped into a freezer full of water. My fingers quickly went numb and I swore through chattering teeth. The tuk-tuk swerved left and right – sometimes it barely skirted the road’s edge. Despite the possibility of plunging over the cliff to a fiery death, I was more worried about  having little bits of my body drop off.

 

So I devised a myriad ways to stay warm. I shifted from left butt to right butt. But one was always left out in the open. So that didn’t work. I crouched fetal-style against the back of the driver’s cab. For a while, it worked. That’s until the cold seeped into the metal flooring and up my pants. I bobbed up and down – in time to the tuk-tuk’s flying bumps – in a valiant attempt to get hot and bothered. But the wind always robbed what little I had. I tried good ol’ fashioned rub-your-body-until-the-skin-peels-off method. It’s a nice theory except having less skin made it that much colder.

 

In the end, I found that a combination of all the above was the most effective: I’d hide behind the driver’s cab, rub myself raw, hop from butt to butt while bouncing in time to the tuk-tuk’s flying rhythm. Peirre – he who hails from the land of growling huskies and frozen wastes – simply ignored the cold.

Sunday Morning rain.

 

It rained this morning. I didn’t see the downpour. Rather I heard it roar. The cool wind lashed into my bedroom, I hugged my blanket closer. If this rain fell last week, I would have cursed and swore at it – for it sounded too much like someone’s tongue lashing.

 

This morning, the rain was theraputic. It beat the crud out of my aching joints and irritable mood. Gratefully, I sank into my bed and burrowed my head under covers.