See Lai

Bonking In Hong Kong

Like a virgin dying to be laid, Bert is eagerly awaiting his wedding date. "Only a couple of weeks down the road," I told him, "just take it easy."

He smiled and didn't say anything, but the excitement in his eyes and his clenched fists spoke volumes. Ah Chig, on the other hand, had a lot to say. "Every night a different woman should be bonked (don't blame me, but yes, Ah Chig and Bert have started using the term 'bonk') by you before your marriage takes place, so that sadness does not take place after your marriage takes place."

There we go again. "Has taken place," "is taking place," or "will take place." Although, you have to admit that it is much better when he speaks (his) unique English, so that we don't have to speak in the world's most complicated language – The Chiu Chow language.

Anyway, Bert was extremely impressed by Ah Chig's idea. And so, while sipping coffee in the chilly garden, the two of them started asking me how Bert can bonk as many women as he can; before his "marriage takes place."

Shit Happens - A Song

Early evening, and Bert drags Ah Chig and me into the garden. "I just composed my very first song," he says, "and even Apple thinks it's great."

Ah Chig and I look at him in surprise as he pulls out his 3G phone, selects an audio file (probably recorded by Apple and Bert to the accompaniment of some Jazz music), and plays it. The rough and unsophisticated voice of Bert screams out of the speaker of his phone:

Shit happens,
Yes, it happens,
Happens, happens everyday,

(Female chorus* – happens everyday)

But don't you fret my dear,
Now, don't you fret my dear,

(Female chorus* – don't fret my dear)

Just take some toilet paper,
Or a roll of tissue paper,
(Repeat...)

And wipe it; wipe it all away,
Wipe it all away,
Just wipe it all away,

(Female chorus – wipe it all away, wipe it all away... fades)

"How 'bout that?" he asks us.

"Simply unimaginable!" I bark. Ah Chig doesn't look so sure.

"But why sing such songs when your wedding is just around the corner?" I ask Bert.

"No, no, no," he shakes his head vigorously. "I was inspired by Ah Chig's troubles, and therefore this song is dedicated to him," he says.

"Aha!" I nod. Ah Chig, on the other hand doesn't seem impressed and keeps staring at Bert. He is convinced that Apple and Bert are laughing behind his back. Well, I think so too.

Cheers!

* - Apple's voice alongside Bert trying to sing in a soft voice, before switching back to his normal voice after the chorus.

But Can She Lactate?

"But will creation of milk take place?" Ah Chig asked, as the three of us – Ah Chig, Bert, and I – sat in a bar enjoying our men-only pre-Christmas party. Chinese/Russian ballet dancer or not, Ah Chig's English teacher seems to have impressed in his mind that everything in this godforsaken world "has taken place," "is taking place," or "will take place."

Funny English aside, Ah Chig was asking us a serious question – Can a woman lactate after undergoing breast-implant surgeries? And would there be side effects?

BB

"Judge not a woman by her looks, but judge her by her heart." That was my only advice to Ah Chig, last Sunday.

But Ah Chig had a list of requirements – "Huge balls and hips will be necessary for healthy children to be born!" Balls? I started wondering and soon realized he meant boobs. "But fatness should not be present." Right! We can understand that. "Softly speak very necessary, and happiness is goal of life." All right! Brother Ah Chig is looking for a soft-spoken woman who is not bitchy, is harmonious, spreads happiness, and doesn't make life difficult for him. "Future life very important for family and not waste money outgoing and shopping taste."

Girl Needed For Marriage To Take Place

Like a solitary bolt of lightning striking the tallest tower on the ground, Ah Chig appeared in the doorway of our house. But that was last Saturday. A lot has happened since then. In fact, the constant action and excitement since Ah Chig's arrival has been so overwhelming that I could hardly find time to write about it.

Based on Ah Chig's (and Bert's) previous adventures, regular readers will have a mental image of the ever-exciting duo. However, it is time to reevaluate Ah Chig. He is no longer the village boy who couldn't speak English or Cantonese. Well, he still can't speak Cantonese. But English? Since he left and returned, he claims he has been learning English from a Chinese ballet dancer who used to live in Russia. Hmmm... Now that's amazing!

It Begins!

Ah Chig will arrive on Saturday, and he will stay at our house for three months. Holy shit!

Ah Chig is coming for Bert's wedding(s). And regular readers will know that whenever Ah Chig and Bert have been together, my world has turned upside down. Therefore, I will try to enjoy these last two days of mental peace and serenity.

And yes, since Bert's wedding (make that plural) preparations are in full swing, the coming two months will be... Torture? Fun?

I will try to write as much as I can, but right now, I must enjoy every single minute before Ah Chig comes and before I voluntarily admit myself into a mental asylum.

Cheers!

One Wrong Turn!

Bert has provided natural and thorough entertainment to us for almost two years. However, it seems that now even Ah Chig is trying to compete with him. Maybe I should start my own personal Magic Kingdom of Ah Chig and Bert in my garden.

The case I am about to describe, is fairly simple. It could have happened to anyone. However, in Ah Chig's case, one thing led to another and... Shit! Read on...

Hungry Ghost Festival (714)

Note: Click the links (in all related articles) to get a better grasp of this grand finale of Bert's "past life relatives."

Foolish is a man who looses an opportunity. And not many come by. One of the advantages of living in Hong Kong includes the random usage of Chinese traditions that can be blended with Western ideas at will. And with such ideas and inspirations, I decided to entertain myself with yet another prank on Bert.

"Tonight's the night," I told Bert and Ah Chig after our daily swimming session. The extremely superstitious Ah Chig, who by now can speak simple English, agreed that the 14th day of the 7th month of Chinese lunar calendar was a very significant night for most Chinese. In essence, 714 or the Hungry Ghost Festival is a bit like Halloween. Except that it is supposed to be devoid of fun.

It is supposed to be a serious day and especially night, when most believers stay indoors and avoid the wandering spirits and ghosts who are supposedly allowed to roam freely in "our world." In fact, seventh month of lunar calendar was the main reason why Ah Chig once again extended his visa and decided that he wouldn't return to his hometown during the ghostly month. Staunch believers insist that one should not travel, change residence, or move furniture during this inauspicious month.

"So what are we exactly supposed to do tonight?" Bert asked me with childlike innocence.

Bert's Betrothal

After several days of normal behavior, Bert reverted to his abnormal behavior. "You know," he told me with dreamy eyes while we were sitting in the garden; "I think I will be a good husband." I could only nod in agreement. Women, as far as I know, really love Bert-like husbands. Simple, naïve, and childlike, they are more than eager to jump up and execute any whims or commands of their women.

Underwater Sex In Paradise

Note:

1. The events in this post transpired during last weekend.

2. Extremely lengthy post, but read it if you want to learn techniques required for underwater sex.

3. Read more about Ah Chig, Apple, Bert, and other characters in this post by clicking the archives.

How would you feel if you were surrounded by eight beautiful women in two-piece bikinis on a distant (outlying) island? My wife, Mrs. Ng, Apple, Claire, Dennis, Elaine, Sandy, and Sheila looked simply gorgeous on a sandy beach away from the polluted waters of Hong Kong. Hong Kong has countless small islands with natural beaches that can be reached by a decent private yacht or a boat.

Hong Kong women generally avoid two-piece bikinis. But since we had the island all to ourselves, they didn't mind. Otherwise, on public beaches of Hong Kong, you either see women in a one-piece swimsuit, or with a T-shirt on their two-piece bikinis.

Bert Goes Swimming

If a woman has a big but shapely ass, she looks sexy. But how about men who have big fat wide ass? They look horrible, to say the least. And they look even more horrible if they are dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. Yes, I am talking about Bert.

DIY

While the family (including Mrs. Ng) was enjoying a DVD movie, Ah Chig and Bert sat in the corner of the living room. They were reading a book. In fact, they were reading the same book spread out on Bert's legs, and they were giggling.

Could they be reading erotic stories? A Who's Who of hookers in Hong Kong? Or a nasty diary belonging to someone? I felt a bit uneasy. But soon I dismissed such thoughts. It was highly improbable that either could read each other's language. Nonetheless, out of curiosity, I walked towards the living room bar. And I slowed my pace as I passed by Ah Chig and Bert. A quick glance at the book, and I saw pictures of a man dressed in underpants, and a bikini-clad woman. They were in an upside-down sprawled position.

It must be a book about the exciting positions of Modern Kama Sutra!

Return Of The Dragon!

Like a tsunami striking without a warning, Ah Chig appeared in our garden at two in the morning. We knew it was Ah Chig even before I ran down the stairs. Because, instead of ringing the doorbell, the genius started shouting and calling our names.

As soon as I opened the front door, I realized why he couldn't ring the doorbell. Our three dogs were surrounding the poor soul.

The Last Dance

Note: All links open in new window.

"Those who are not wearing any underwear, please raise your hands."

I didn't have to shout as everyone was quietly sipping his or her drinks. Mrs. Ng didn't raise her hand, but she blushed. And to my surprise, so did Brenda!

My mother-in-law was embarrassed. I am sure that she had her panties on, but she was startled by my sudden announcement in Cantonese. She is still under the impression that I am a decent and sensible person.

Ah Chig and Bert, the only two who couldn't understand Cantonese, raised their hands after I raised mine. Everyone started laughing, including my mother-in-law who realized that I was kidding.

The party on Valentine's Day, or rather evening, started off gloomily as everyone was melancholy. Sipping their drinks quietly and looking at each other, the scene in our living room resembled a funeral reception. Which is why I cracked off the underwear joke. Suddenly the mood changed and everyone was happy. After all, the last dance had to be the best dance, yes?

Chinese New Year

"Everything stale and unwanted from last year," Ah Chig spoke in simple Chiu Chow dialect, "must be thrown out of the house." Nodding my head in approval, I pointed at the nearest unwanted object next to me - Bert.

Under the expert guidance of Ah Chig, the army of three maids, Bert, Apple, Mrs. Ng, and my wife had decided to give a new and fresh Chinese look to our house for the upcoming Chinese New Year.

Urgency and tension also filled the air, because Operation Chinese Conversion had to be accomplished before the arrival of Her Irritating Highness – my mother-in-law, accompanied by a brave man who has tolerated her for decades – my father-in-law.

Having washed all the walls, floors, and even the ceilings with detergent mixed with water and disinfectants, the army then proceeded to wax and polish furniture in the entire house. Even lighting fixtures were brought down, washed carefully, and screwed back in place.

Next part of the ritual – place all the special Chinese New Year fresh plants (too many to list them or their names here) and flowers in auspicious locations around the house. “Will red imported fire ants (RIFA) crawl out and kill the family?” I had my doubts…

The Unfortunate Fowl

Perhaps, odd people are good chefs. Or, good chefs are odd folks. Take your pick. But it was announced that similar to Bert’s culinary skills, even Ah Chig carried a reputation of being a great Chiu Chow chef!

An afternoon with my wife and maid in Hong Kong’s wet markets, Ah Chig returned with two live chickens. To the horror of my wife and maid, Ah Chig insisted at the wet market stall that he would slaughter them in our kitchen, "so that the taste is fresh!"

As soon as Ah Chig was ready for his bird-killing spree, everyone gathered in the kitchen out of curiosity. Everyone that is, except the kids. My wife and Mrs. Ng stood near the door, the maids stood in a corner, while Bert and I stood behind Ah Chig to see it done.

Like a pro, Ah Chig washed his hands thoroughly, put on gloves, and held the first chicken by its neck. Soon he picked up a sharp cleaver and…

The Russian Connection

With eyes popped out wide, Ah Chig kept staring at Western ladies (gwaipo) in the Lan Kwai Fong bar. Had his eyes not betrayed his devilish intentions, he almost looked like an infant, eager for the embrace of his mother’s arms. But with every sip of beer he drank, the faint traces of saliva running down the sides of his mouth confirmed that his expectations were anything but tenderly.

Upon my wife’s suggestion, Bert and I accompanied Ah Chig to Lan Kwai Fong. "Take him to decent bars," my wife insisted. And I assured her that we would, provided comrade Ah Chig spoke simple Chiu Chow dialect that I can understand.

I gently nudged Bert and pointed at Ah Chig, who by now was desperate like a hunter hunting fowl. Conscious of our attention, Ah Chig turned his gaze towards us and flashed an embarrassed smile.

"Would you like to dance with gwaipos?" I asked Ah Chig in simple Chiu Chow.

The Swift Dragon

Out here, the show never stops. How a 5' 7" athletic man was able to send a 6' 2" and 230 pound giant crashing on the garden lawn; with a jerk of his hand, is beyond me. But on Sunday afternoon Bert was cradling his dislocated arm.

"I won't be able to go to work for a couple of days," Bert said sheepishly as Apple sat by his side. In the corner of the living room, Ah Chig sat with his hands clasped as he guiltily looked at me and flashed a stupid smile.

It all happened while I was at the factory in Dongguan. "Having seen demonstrations in the PLA Parade," my wife explained, "Bert wanted to learn how it was done, and Ah Chig obliged but wasn't careful enough."

Part of me was overjoyed to see Bert whimper with agony and pain. But the other part of me was depressed with the thought that now both Ah Chig and Bert will spend most of their time at the house. Most of the time that is, except during the tranquility when Ah Chig goes out on sightseeing tours of Hong Kong with Mrs. Ng and my wife.

"Intellectuals are never athletes, and athletes are seldom intelligent," I told Bert, "so it is really up to you whether you want to use your body or your brains." But my profound wisdom was lost on Bert, as it seemed he was looking for sympathy rather than a lecture.

After my family left with Ah Chig on sightseeing excursions, I sat for a while in the living room with Apple and Bert. However, I was soon fed up with Bert’s whimpering and Apple’s pampering. Therefore, I did what I really wanted to do – grabbed some peaceful sleep and much needed rest.

Cheers!

Sexy Thongs

After almost one week of harmony between comrade Ah Chig and Bert, Ah Chig requested us to move him to some other room and away from Bert:

"He puts on ladies underwear that exposes his big wide ass. And he keeps singing and dancing in the bathroom as he shakes his ass. I feel uncomfortable with this man."

"Could it be that Bert is a pervert?" I thought to myself, as I conjured up an image of teenage schoolgirls selling their soiled panties (used panties) to Bert for some fast cash. And probably Bert was the kind of person who found the constant excitement from their soiled panties clinging to his private parts irresistible…

A Helping Hand!

"Sir, he pee on the plants," the head-maid exclaimed as she came running to my study.

"Who pee on what plants?" I was confused.

But instead of answering me, she dragged me to the garden and accusingly pointed a finger at Ah Chig. "He pee on that plant, that plant." She pointed at two rose plants in my garden.

The Kung Fu Master

My wife and I jolt out of the bed as we hear Beethoven, Cookie, and Monkey, our three dogs; bark furiously - a sure sign of emergency. Dressed in nothing but a robe, I rush down and see Ah Chig standing near the closed French windows leading to the garden. The dogs keep standing in the garden and bark at him until I snap my fingers.

Moments later, Bert enters the living room dressed only in his boxers with his eyes swollen due to lack of sleep. But he soon ducks into a nearby corridor as my wife, now fully dressed, comes down the stairs.

I look at the clock in the living room – 03:45 a.m. Ah Chig starts talking to my wife and me in complicated Chiu Chow language, but unable to understand much, I flash him a Bert-like smile. Meanwhile Bert, embarrassed by his lack of adequate clothes, silently walks behind the couches and then runs back to the guest bedroom.

After my wife translates for me, I understand that as soon as Ah Chig started his Kung Fu or whatever practice in the living room, the dogs came up to the French windows and started barking at him. Of course Beethoven, Cookie, and Monkey might have felt intimidated by someone shouting "Hoo Hah" while kicking and punching in mid-air.

The Grand Arrival

Before Bert and I could unwrap and flash our embarrassing placard, an athletic and agile man came running towards us carrying two huge red, blue, and white striped nylon goods-delivery bags. Almost resembling Bruce Lee, Ah Chig greeted me enthusiastically, handed me an old Yashica camera with a detachable flash, and then ran back to the arrivals gate.

"Is he leaving already?" Bert asked confusedly.

"I guess he wants me to take a picture of him at the arrivals gate."

While Bert stood guard on Ah Chig’s bags, I followed Ah Chig and took pictures of him flashing victory signs amidst the scorn of other tourists coming out of the gate. The glorious moment safely captured, we returned to Bert and the bags.

With his 6' 2" frame towering above Ah Chig, Bert offered to take the bags, a thoughtful gesture; considering my health. But after three faltering steps, Bert put down the bags.

"This stuff's sore heavy," said Bert, inspecting the painful marks on his fingers. Meanwhile, we fetched a trolley. How on earth Ah Chig managed to run with them from the conveyor belt to the arrivals gate; is anyone's guess.

A picture here, a picture there, it took us fully twenty minutes before we reached the car park. And soon with Bert by my side and Ah Chig at the back, we finally drove out of the airport. Ah Chig kept talking in complicated Chiu Chow dialect, but I couldn't understand a fuck. Nonetheless, I kept nodding and smiling while randomly uttering "yes" and "oh" in Chiu Chow language.

Once on to the world's longest suspension, or second longest bridge - Tsing Ma Bridge, Ah Chig freaked out and started shouting "STOP" in Chiu Chow dialect.