So, two of the world’s craziest megalomaniacs are coming to Singapore to talk peace. Why Singapore? It’s neutral – we sleep with everyone – and we are safe because we are a fucking police state, with CCTV cameras aimed even at our toilet bowls, that’s why, and no one will have his face wiped with VX nerve agent in a public place like in an international airport, and we have had one such meeting before: between that Chinese despot Xi Jinping and that frigging pondant Ma Ying-jeou of Taiwan.
Truth be told, even before the summit next Tuesday, I am already suffering from summit fatigue. The asinine media has gone into a frenzy, even asking some local thick-skinned cooks – they call themselves “chefs” – to suggest ideas of what Trump and Kim should eat. Ludicrous. Made me laughed so hilariously my wife almost phoned the mental asylum to take me there in a straitjacket. (It is very rare that a newspaper article makes me guffaw out loud.) Almost threw out my expensive home-delivered, cold-pressed, freshly-squeezed breakfast orange juice when I read that this morning. Unknown local cooks suggesting dining menus for the summit. Give me a fucking break, puleese. Learn to boil eggs well first, lah, tolong.
What to do? The Straits Times, struggling to survive is imploring people to read more of its trash. Print is dead, my friends, and it is no wonder that the once venerable paper now resorts to running wine sales and nonsensical public seminars of questionable value in addition to its main duty of being the government’s mouthpiece.
How can anyone hope to gain any knowledge from these clowns when one of their writers was so quick to launch into a whole barrage of meaningless crap about Trump’s so-called flawed foreign policy when Trump walked away from the summit initially? Come on, it’s Negotiation 101, my friend. It’s what I teach. It’s what Asian business people do. See what happened in the end, after Trump walked away? Chubby the Shortie “got back on his hands and knees and begged” for the United States to revive the Singapore summit after Orange Man abruptly scrapped it last month, said Rudy Giuliani.
And our foreign minister little Vivian is scurrying around like a headless rat – first flying to the US, and next to North Korea. Yes, the same kid who made a mess of the Youth Olympics in 2010 (budget was S$104 million but in the end S$387 was blown) when he was Minister for Community Development, Youth & Sports. What can he add to the summit? I guess impression management – they call it “optics” now – is of paramount importance. I know. I spend a decade with IBM where some of the people right at the top earning millions a year have mastered the fine art of looking real busy while actually doing fuck all.
Roads will be blocked, airspace will be closed. People talk about nothing but the summit and some things I overheard these past few days made my hair stand.
Made me want to get out of Singapore. Made me want to join Anthony Bourdain. He was 61 when he called it quits. I am 61. Maybe it is a sign.
Was in a cigar lounge the other day and a wiseass was saying “Trump leaving the G7 summit to come to Singapore early cos he and Kim going to karaoke here.”
Jesus Christ, the shit in people’s rotting heads.
Another one: “Why our government spending money hosting this stupid meeting? Give the money to us citizens lah.”
I can only shake my head.
Don’t want to add to the cacophony of meaningless voices to those generated by the morons in that lounge, full of sound and fury signifying nothing.
Just don’t expect much.
The day when a bimbo blogger with dyed hair and famous for her mindless antics and shenanigans said that she wants to get into parliament was the day I told myself that for Singapore, the end is nigh.
Cry, my beloved country.