Back from Wuhan and Chalet

Incase you aren't updated. I'm back from wuhan.. Okay it's been like a week.

More recently back from chalet. One discern able pattern that becomes more and more dominant over each stayover would be that we rely more and more on substance abuse or rather, vice, for sustenance. In this chalet, we call it alcohol.

Day 1

It begins with me running errands like sending the spite shirt to print, then celebrating my bro's 21st with the family.

I reach at about 10 plus to find them already restless. All it takes is some wise-guy to come up with the bright idea of abusing liquor before our night of inebriation would begin. Now if you by now, are still pondering who lacks restraint to ensure that we dont leave the chalet with more people then when we originally came in, then you need to start a new diet. Stop drinking detergent for breakfast. Enter alfred.

Perhaps its his background of No.4, or his inner inhibition to sign-on, whichever is stronger, alfred feels the need to lower the senses and release his inner Mr.Hyde and hunt his prey. Although it particularly ridiculous, it infact isnt. Beneath the alcoholic charade lies a viciously voracious vendetta for vengeance, a votive of vox populi to vanquish the vermin and its vice. (Enough V) He lays low, and simmers the mood, like a hunter to his prey. A little of the bait is used as sacrifice, but such an expense for the greater becomings is superfluous.

Anticipation unfolds as his prudence finally pays off. Unsuspectingly, it enters, obvious to the requiem of intent and scent of death. alfred moves quickly, becoming one with the night. Like the song of the siren, he coaxes and persuades. The plan is perfect, power almost infinite, as it enters the circle of death. He orchestrates the false pretence seamlessly, the pieces fall into place and it enters the dreamworld of intoxicated fantasy. Dazzling is his skill, flawless is his scheme closing on the borders of being enigmatic.

Much like good meat that dosent get served alone, alfred knows when to engage comrades. Second to none in deceit, nat begins his trickery. Not that it was really extravagant, but that some were really too inebriated to realise the sham behind the game. It drinks, shot after shot, diluting the blood and hazing the mind.

It wasn't long before the deed was done. So deep the stab, so critical the hit, wolverine wouldn't have stood a chance. Recovery here was beyond redemption. It was now at the mercy of the sane. Laughter streaks the sky, shattering the silence of the melancholic darkness. Pity flowed like liquid out of me when I realised the night had only just begun.

It staggers, deadlocked in combat with the greatest enemy of all, itself. The force is too great, as the seeds sown began to manifest their malice. Finally, it collapsed, succumbing to the gods above.

What ensues becomes a violation of the Geneva convention and of course much less constitutes acceptance of mankind. I shall redeem my sins in hope for salvation by observing the secrey of silence.

If you want to see the award winning, National Geographic documentary, only alfred has exclusive rights. I will say no further.

This post is penned at 2am with Hotel California as ambient, maybe it is perhaps so that the colours flow and give life to the post. This, even I do not know.


Understand me,
that it really isnt there,
Hate me,
for you have none of the lefts,
Know me,
I feel sin in every tear,
Forgive me,
for what I'm about to do.





EDIT: The CHEL-edit : This is what happens when people have too much time...


In case you aren't updated, I'm back from Wuhan.. Okay, it's been like a week.

More recently back from chalet. One discernable pattern that becomes more and more dominant at each stayover is that we rely more and more on substance abuse or rather, vice for sustenance. In this chalet, we call it alcohol.

Day 1

It begins with me running errands like sending the spite shirt to print and then celebrating my bro's 21st with the family.

I reach at about 10 plus to find them already restless. All it takes is one wise guy to come up with the bright idea of abusing liquor before our night of inebriation begins. If you, by now, are still pondering who lacks restraint enough to ensure that we don’t leave the chalet with more people then when we originally came in, then you need to start a new diet – stop drinking detergent for breakfast. Enter Alfred.

Perhaps it’s his background of No.4 or his inner inhibition to sign-on, whichever is stronger, Alfred feels the need to shed his inhibitions and release his inner Mr.Hyde to commence the hunt. Although it seems particularly ridiculous, it really isn’t. Beneath the alcoholic charade lies a viciously voracious vendetta for vengeance, a votive of vox populi to vanquish the vermin and its vice. (Enough V.) He lies low, allowing the mood to simmer, a hunter stalking his prey. A little of the bait is sacrificed, but in the face of the greater good, it is easily overlooked.

Anticipation builds as his prudence finally pays off. Unsuspecting, his prey enters the fold, utterly oblivious to the requiem of intent and scent of imminent death. Alfred moves quickly, becoming one with the night; like the song of the siren, he coaxes and persuades. The plan is perfect: infinitely dazzling in its power, as the prey enters the circle of death. He orchestrates the false pretense seamlessly and the pieces fall into place. In a show of flawless skill and scheme bordering on the impossible, he traps his victim in the dreamscape of intoxicated fantasy.

Much like good meat that dosen’t get served alone, Alfred knows when to engage comrades. Second to none in the art of deceit, Nat begins his trickery. Not that it was really extravagant, but that some were really too inebriated to realise the sham behind the game. It drinks shot after shot, poisoning the blood and fogging the mind.

It wasn't long before the deed was done. So a wound so deep and fatal, Wolverine wouldn't have stood a chance. Recovery here was beyond reach. It was now at the mercy of the sane. Laughter streaks the sky, a comet shattering the silence of melancholic darkness. Pity flowed like liquid out of me when I realised the night had only just begun.

It staggers, deadlocked in combat with the greatest enemy of all: itself. The force is too great, as the seeds sown germinate to blossom their malice. Finally, it collapses, succumbing to the gods above.

What ensues is a violation of the Geneva Convention and, of course, much more than that which is within acceptance of mankind. I shall redeem my sins in hope of salvation by observing the secrecy of silence.

If you want to see the award-winning National Geographic documentary, only Alfred has exclusive rights. I will say no more.

This post was penned at 2am with Hotel California as ambient, perhaps it is that to which the credit due for the colours that flow and give life to the post. This, even I do not know.


Understand me,
that it really isnt there,
Hate me,
for you have none of the lefts,
Know me,
I feel sin in every tear,
Forgive me,
for what I'm about to do.

A note from the sub-ed: Your post is hilarious – dramatic to almost a fault. So ridiculous it becomes a brilliant use of sarcasm. I have no idea if you meant it that way. But gosh, I was trying not to laugh out loud on the bus. It made me queasy. (Or it could just be the cheap coffee.) Hahahahahaha. I had too much fun subbing this.

A note from me: YOU ARE ANNOYING. LEAVE MY BLOG ALONE. ALL THOSE WHO DIDNT GET UR FA2's SUBBED BY CHEL THIS IS THE REASON WHY. STONE HER !