Off to Singapore, bitches!

Bring out the chastity belt and let the censorship begin!

On the plus side, scrumptious and faaaabulicious food!
(Je penserai à toi, Mags!)

See y'all bitches in a week!

Grands bisous à tous!

Photobloggin': Afternoon Siesta

Catching a few winks al fresco.



Mid-Levels Escalator
Cochrane Street, Central

Photobloggin': Dragon Boat

International Dragon Boat Festival
30 May 2006
Stanley

Photobloggin': AM Walk Along Waterfront

Photobloggin': Victoria Peak

The view from atop the Victoria Peak:
Buildings, skyscrapers, and haze.

What you're not seeing: Bus load of loud obnoxious tourists from 'you know where', reeking of vomit-inducing body odour, dude coughing without covering his mouth, people inconspicuously scratching themselves...

Consumer Outrage: Citysuper et les autres

Bastards at CitySuper. How dare you charge $10-$12 for a bloody cup of yougurt that clearly states "Not For Individual Sale"? Sneeky Chinks!

See, CitySuper is like Meinhardt or Capers in Vancouver. The difference being only about 10% of the products are organic (5% questionably organic) and pretty much everything is imported and so the company thinks they have the liberty of inflating their prices. And because it's just oh-so exotic and foreign, you see the expats hesitatingly forking over the dough for crap they can get for a fraction of the price back home, and locals of nouveau-riche extraction going muy loco over stuff that they think is, as Margaret Cho puts it, hot shit but just cold diarrhea. Says a housewife, adorned with the latest Chanel bag and gawdy jewellery, "It's American, so it's good stuff," as she points to packet of Velveeta.

Britney Spears may agree with you. I, on the other hand, think you're full of shit, you Chanel-toting bitch.

Anyway, I usually go into CitySuper for a quick snack or something to drink, and I never look at the receipt. But when I bought a crap load of stuff yesterday I finally looked over the receipt I realised what diatribe was written on the bottom of it.

S.O.S.

Be Nice to Earth!

Say 'NO' to bag
Offer to the world charity
Save the earth from pollution

Oh the irony of it all. I never thought I was a west coast tree hugger until I visited the supermarkets here. I don't know how many kilometres worth of plastic wrap they use each day, but I'm sure the volume is shocking. They package EVERY DAMN thing. For instance, say bye bye to the freedom of picking individual fruits from a big bin. Why spend that extra minute in the market picking fresh produce when you can have market staff pack them in twos or fours in a styrofoam tray, tightly wrapped in a meter of plastic wrap? It's appalling.

Jumping back to the receipt thing...it turns out CitySuper is not only an overpriced market, it's also a charitable one at that. Why else would they make a $0.20 (about 2 cents Canadian) donation from my $200 sale to an organisation not specified on my receipt? If CitySuper is as worldly as they claim to be on their receipt, how about upping that donation a bit?

When shoppers enter that store, shocked by their prices, it's no suprise the chain has an exclamation point in its logo.

"W T F !"

Kylie Minogue, irresistible to men

I was Youtube-ing Kylie tonight and came across this...Unbelievable.


You know you're officially a gay icon when...

No, not when gays dress up in drag as you and lipsynching to your songs...

No, not when your fanbase is composed of predominantly 'mos.

Yes, when one of your songs is featured in a gay porn movie.

Oh. My. G-. Kylie's 90s anthem "Shocked" featured in a gay porno...recited as a poem.

Disclaimer: While the following clip does not feature full frontal nudity and sex, it does feature some intimate man on man touchy-feely action. You might not want to view this in front of your fundy employees, your conservative parents, or on a laptop at any house of religion. The clip is of a mature nature, intended for mature audiences, and cheesy content may induce vomiting. Viewers' discretion is advised. May require Youtube login.

Party on!



Going down the list of all things queer.

Shirtless man. Check.

Buff bodies. Check.

Slight gay twang. Check.

Gay porn character named Tyler. Check.

Obvious reference to Kylie. Check.

A friggin poem. Check.

Calvin Klein tighty whities. Check.

Eventual full blown gay sex scene. Check.

This has to be the gayest gay porn ever, until one of these days they do some sort of weird orgy scene with drag queens dressed up as Liza, Judy, and Cher. And 'Madonna' is totally peeping through some glory hole and getting off on the "Glamorama Frolicmania". And of course the Village People don't want to be upstaged and start a 'counter-orgy' and get it on, all hot and nasty right next to the 'ladies'. And all this is happening while some other queen blasts Barbra's "Hello, Dolly!" on 'her' sparkle glued ghetto blaster, cheering them on with pompoms.

Kylie Minogue...truly brings men together.

Kung Tak Lam

This afternoon I went to Kung Tak Lam in Causeway Bay for some Shanghainese style vegetarian dim sum. The restaurant has been around for quite some time now, and it's usually quite busy, overlooking the crazy crisscrossing of trams and vehicles of midday Causeway Bay traffic. They claim that all their ingredients are 100% organic and dishes are free of MSG. Overall, the taste was not too bad. It was very light, but at times I found some of the dishes to be quite starchy. Like many restaurants in Hong Kong, they offer a decently priced late afternoon tea set which includes a bowl of noodles and a side dish, plus a drink for HK$28.

Vegetarian Hot & Sour Soup


Bamboo Fungus Dumpling in Soup
(tastes better than the name would suggest)


Vegetarian Shanghainese Thick Noodle Soup with Shitake Mushrooms and Chinese Cabbage


Stuffed Shitake Mushroom Dumplings

Kung Tak Lam Shanghai Vegetarian Cuisine
G/F, Lok Sing Centre
31 Yee Wo Street, Causeway Bay
Hong Kong
+852 2881 9966

Trapped in a Hamster Cage - A Series of Bitching

Part 1: Bathroom Bitterness

I never realised what a domineering clean freak I was until I got here. If there's anything I learned while living on my own was that there are certain household responsibilites that must be upkept. Now, when I have to live with two other men, it has become a remake of A War of the Worlds. But I guess that is to be expected when 98% of men out there still believe housework was appointed to wives, girlfriends, and domestics by God. And because of the majority of men have this mentality, households without maternal presence therefore go to shits, and hygiene slips into a gravely state. First, I think I was taught when I was 2 that when your house is equipped with a fully functioning bathroom (yes, a luxury in some countries), a roll of toilet paper goes into the toilet paper holder. It's logic as simple as hammering that blue Fisher Price triangle peg into the triangular opening. When toilet paper runs out, one replaces the roll and not merely unwrapping a new roll and leaving it on the toilet and wait for the TP Fairy to replace it in its right place. I'm not asking for a cure for polio, I just want the goddamn roll of TP in its effing holder. Second, let's be frank, I'm quite familiar with the male anatomy. Hell, looking below the equator right now, I'm pretty certain I've got one myself. Now, my question is for men out there, "is it that difficult to accurately aim your penis and piss directly into a toilet bowl as apposed to its vicinity?" It makes me wonder how the majority of men go to piss. If they can't even find the decency to fucking grab hold of their one-eyed snake and piss properly, they should either opt for diapers, or sit the fuck down onto the toilet seat and take a piss that way. Because I live for lavatory cleanliness (I don't have much else to live for), I choose to sit when I pee. You can say I'm girly for so doing, but I say "shove it" to those who ridicule cause it sure keeps me from having to scrub urine stains off the bathroom tiles every few days. I mean, think about it, men have to sit down to take a number two so why can't they park their asses down when they tinkle? I mean, what is their rush? And what's this prehistoric mentality that has persisted in men that they feel the urge to piss like they're tending to their rose garden? This also leads me to a related matter. Why do men think they need to leave their mark on toilets? I'm talking about pubes. If anything I really don't enjoy walking into a toilet and finding my toilet bowl embellished with pubes of different lengths. I'm not as bothered finding unsightly hairs on my toilet bowl every morning as I am wondering "who the fuck isn't trimming their pubes?"

A Test Score I Agree With

Never underestimate the accuracy of online personality tests. They should be the ones shrinks use.

Your Personality Is Like Acid

A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict. One moment you're in your own little happy universe... And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!

What Drug Is Your Personality Like?

AM Children's TV

This is what happens when you're caught bored on a weekday morning in Hong Kong. Watching Children's TV teaching kids one of the wonders of the world....

Behold... WATER!

I'm as astounded as you are, Michael!

It was either watching this or the propaganda on CCTV (Chinese state-run television). I opted for something truly educational.

I will always beat you!

Unless you have either a twisted mind like yours truly or are partial to the occasional ABBA number, you probably wouldn't enjoy the following Youtube clip du moment. It features a montage of scenes from the film Mommie Dearest, accompanied by ABBA's camp classic Mamma Mia. That Faye Dunaway sure made Joan Crawford look like one insane cocky coked-out lesbian muff-eating, random axe-wielding, daughter-whipping mofo. Who knew child abuse could be so entertaining!

But, hey, we all have our imperfections.

Joan Crawford herself already has a Fantabulous Rating of 8, ABBA quite deserving of a rating of 9. Combining the two gives this clip a score of 5,807, which means some gay guys on Castro St are already planning a "Resurrect the Dead But Fabulous" campaign and building a wax Joan Crawford to be next year's Gay Pride Parade Celebrity Marshal. She will of course melt under the unforgiving California summer heat and will subsequently be scrapped off the pavement and used for Cher's next botched surgery. The gays know how to plan!

Hat tip to Brad who linked me this and gave me an hour's worth of non-stop laughter.

Home Away From Home?

Random Sightings

The security guard probably thought I was either a stalker or a moron. Either way, I was a deranged fellow armed with a camera with an obnoxious flash.

Vancouver Mansion
6 Kingston Street
Causeway Bay

How the hell did they get Vancouver from the Chinese name for the building "Hon Ning"?

The Flying Pan

Leave it to the racist bastard who thought it'd be neat to name his diner that takes aim at Asians' inability to pronounce their Rs...

Cherie and Angel took me to The Flying Pan, a 24-hour diner in SoHo on Saturday for a good ol' fashioned brunch, and it was deRicious...both the food andthe clientele! I have a feeling I'll be spending my weekend mornings here drowning in a pool of my own drool. *sighs*

It definitely reminded me of Sophie's and Sunshine Diner back home, but you know what, it just isn't the same... For the same price (HK$70 = C$10), give me North American artery-clogging portions anyday. After all, nothing says 'good morning' like two sliced whole potatoes, a few burnt slices of bacon, two grease-permeated sunny side up eggs, and four slices of toast (whole-wheat, of course, the healthy alternative).

I didn't order that, though, and I opted for one of their specialties, the Eggs Norwegian - poached eggs and smoked salmon on an English muffin, complemented with a quaint little glass of pineapple juice! Sweet Jesus, it was yummy. We were so hungry we forgot to take pictures until halfway through our meal.

Just beware of people slamming the eye-catching but direly malfunctioning marine blue door behind them. The loud eardrum popping racket may leave you choking on your eggs benedict.

The Flying Pan
G/F 9 Old Bailey Street, Central
Hong Kong
+852 2140 6333

P.S. Cherie's husband is that guy behind me with the ponytail. He was a bit camera shy.

Oh my God....He's aliiive!

Yeah, bitches believe it. Blame it on either the constant eating (hooray to saturated fats), or the humidity, or both, I have been incredibly lazy in my updates. Didn't realise I actually had a mini fanbase out there who were left yearning for more of my senseless ramblings! I love you, all five of y'all... Anyway, so I thought I'd give this blog a little shake-up, as it was looking a bit drab, sort of like a drag queen without make-up and her 6 feet tall wig on the foam head on her brightly lit dressing room maquillage table.

Anyway, prior to writing this update, I was going through some of my comments, and I would like to take this opportunity to wave emphatically to Julia, whom I have called my muse. Hello Julia (a.k.a. Bob....or was it Ed? When is the reunion tour going to begin?) You're simply fabulous, my Jewess with sass. Thanks again for stopping by!

OK on with the updates.

I'm a bit low on my wit nowadays, I blame the water here. It's a bit shit.

And since arriving, I think the water has made me shrink about an inch.

...In height!

You dirty, racist bitches!