SeaDemon Says

I’m sure you know how some people have the uncanny ability to converse in different dialects. Normally, they would be dialects other than their own. Some people would just try to mimic sounds, or guess how certain words would be spoken in certain dialects, and then get themselves in an imbroglio.

For example, Kelantanese (people from the state of Kelantan) have this linguistic rule that words ending in a _ang, or, _am, or _an, that ending syllable is to be pronounced as _ae (rhymes with the English ‘care‘). So an imbroglio one would get one’s self into would be going to a market buying a mango (which is Mempelam, or Pelam, in official Malay, but in Kelantan is refered to as Buah Pauh). Example:

Foreign Man: “Mek, demo jua buoh pelae dok?” (Miss, do you sell any testicles?)

Fruitseller: “Buoh pelae? Buoh pelae ado celoh kakae demo!” (Testicles? You can find testicles in between your legs!)

One can only imagine the kind of predicament one could get into.

Back in the late 1980’s when I was stationed on the island of Penang, I used to frequent the trunk road to get to and from Kuala Lumpur. Those were the days when the North-South highway was only between Seremban and Sungai Besi on the southern side, and Jelapang to Changkat Jering on the northern side. There were various roadside restaurants along the way where express buses would stop for coffee breaks and what-nots. And the ones found in Perak would have a jukebox in them.

On one of the trips, a colleague, who was a senior in the Air Force than I was, was travelling with me. We were on our way back to Penang and had stopped just after the junction to Taiping, having exited earlier at the Changkat Jering toll plaza. In that area of Perak, people spoke in the northern dialect, similar to the ones spoken in Penang, Kedah and Perlis; where the syllable that ends with an ‘r’, sounds like it ends with a deep ‘q’. And this friend of mine would have a nimiety of weird northern words peculiar only to him. He saw this fair (and cute) maiden who was the cashier – and next to her was the jukebox. Trying to impress her, he spoke loudly to me:

“Mat, bak mai dua kupang! Aku nak main juboq!” (Mat, can you give me 20 sen? I want to play the anus!)

And I am sure he could feel the malevolent gaze that came from the girl as he walked away from the jukebox, finally realising what it actually meant.

Last night was great.  Gemgem held his closed open-house do (co-sponsored by Da Ma Cai) at Lobsterman in SS2 for us.

Anyway, one of the things we had was the Shelter’s Garlic Lobster that had so much fried cili padi (Capsicum frutescens…what is its name in English?) and garlic laced on it. By the time we headed back for home, Wifey and I were trading burps and farts inside the car itself. We would trade salvos against each other and I could imagine how those soldiers on the Somme during World War One must have felt being exposed to the mustard gas released by the German army.

Well, true to my character, I never hold crap for long. The moment we arrived home, I just rushed for the porcelain throne and dumped all that potent stuff – clean!

Now, Wifey at that time had been constipated for two days. She’s so famous for that, that at times, enema had to be administered. And who will always have to go to the pharmacy to get her supply of enema and KY? ME! M-E, ME! I get funny looks everytime I buy enema and KY. I don’t mind so much if I were to put on my MCOBA t-shirt (MCOBA stands for Malay Champions of Buggering Asses), but in plain t-shirts, they look at me as though I am a pervert.

Not that I am not, though.

Now back to Wifey, she’s blogged once about her ability to dispense killer farts. And I shit you not. Excuse my pun, if you must. You can read all about it HERE. But this time around, her previous killer fart would have been whipped up by Christian Dior or something for being the sweetest discovery of the year. She kept running into the bathroom everytime she had the urge to fart. And somehow, the smell would seep out through the bottom of the bathroom door, into this bedroom. I cannot imagine how the tiles on the wall of the bathroom could stand all that torture without sliding down onto the floor!

To cut a long story short, in the end, we fell asleep at around 3am after she had taken some laxatives. I was slipping into Lalaland, and occassionally gave that involuntary muscle spasm jerks, when I heard that familiar, silently-loving sound that went ~PUuuuUUussSSSssSSssss~. Klaxons shrilled, the tannoys blared ‘Battle Stations‘! This was the real thing. This was no drill!

I hurriedly got up to try to make airtight the comforter that was covering her sleeping body. The gaps in the fibres couldn’t have been more than 0.1 microns in size, but somehow this killer gas managed to seep out. I cannot imagine the discolouration that was taking place on my sarong nearest to her rear orifice. OH, THE SMELL!!!

THIS WAS WHAT KILLED THE DINOSAURS!!!

And lingered in the room it did. Wifey never reacted to the smell except that little “UUhhhHH!” that escaped her mouth – almost silent. I can imagine the sudden increase in booger production just to help plug the nostrils.

Anyway, as they say, as Snake Kings will die because of snake-bites, Wifey almost had her end when she finally managed to dump three days of toxic waste collection. Even she had trouble breathing.

After that episode, I don’t mind being called a backdoor person. I WILL buy her enema and KY without a single whimper so as to help her ease her mind…and bowel movement.

And what of this whole episode? Her killer farts are one of the things that makes her unique – things I would miss about her whenever we have to be away from each other.

And her unique traits are one of the reasons I love this woman very much – gross or not.

Damnant quodnon intelligunt. And that is so true.

I don’t know which is worse: when I was younger or as I am now. I would say when I was younger, although some may have some reservations on that. Gone are the days when files would fly, or subordinates wouldn’t go for lunch because they would have to pass in front of my office door that was always open. One thing that is somewhat constant is my being dogmatic. Not my plus-point earner, but sometimes it is good that I have such a trait.

Whether I am more irascible than I used to be is a very subjective matter. Many think I have mellowed and can smile more than what I used to be like some 15 years ago – my bouts of anger ephemeral. But nevertheless, there will be times when some people want a test of that.

Just last Friday, an odious bastard whom Wifey once trusted as a good friend, castigated me on my past marriages. The problem is, it wasn’t done to me in my face, but was related to one of Wifey’s uncles. Now, there are times when I am not known for my coruscating wit; and being judged by a person whom I have only met twice certainly didn’t arouse any witty reaction from me. I would call his a craven act by someone who is only able to sleep better knowing he can step on others; and there are millions of such scum.

It is fallacious that a man who’s gone through more than one marriage is just someone who cannot seriously be in a marriage for long – or marriage, to such a man, is just another ephemera. It can work both ways too. This idiot, who is also known for his garrulous streak, was implicated by Wifey’s ex as one of the people responsible for the failure of their marriage. Well, Wifey’s ex (whom I nicknamed the Glaucoma Monkey) is a very insecure person. Although most of his allegations were baseless, this idiot I call an odious person, is known for being a casanova-wannabe: he is old (definitely older than I am, judging by the creases of skin beneath his collarline), but makes himself up as a younger person, always wanting to be seen in the company of good-looking and almost always younger women. Ball-less as he is, he fears his wife. On my first meeting with him, then without Wifey, he told me how the Glaucoma Monkey had accused him of having a crush for Wifey, and scoffed at the allegation. Thinking back, I am inclined to believe the Glaucoma Monkey.

Despite having seen him walking with younger women after office, I have never had bad thoughts of him. That is his personality and that is his character. I hardly know him, and stories I gathered of him from people who work in the same organisation as he, had never influence my thinking of him.

Until Friday, that is, when he decided to blurt something damaging without knowing what he was talking about. I sometimes find myself stare into the yon in disbelief – he talks about me as if he knows me already, but how can he not know, based on my past, that I can easily extirpate him?

And today is Monday. When he enters office, he is going to find an E-mail waiting for him. In it, are some less-than-civilised words that I have reserved for him, the imbecile.

Caveat actor!