The Brew

Sure, getting together takes a bloody a good intervention, divine or not. But fuck me, being together takes a hell lot more than just some dusty pink sprinkles from some deluded aging fairies. Add a year or two being together, and double fuck me, it's certainly an uphill task for Jane and her Elaine !

Some keeps the fire burning by doing smoochy stuffs. Shoving each other's arse mind with poetry. Lick the cream off each other. Or maybe go for a love cruise or sumfink.

Me and Minge, sadly well, being romantic ain't really our dang.

Reading poetry to each other is certainly out of our league. We are more likely to burst into a verse from Cracking Whitney than say, murmuring Tagore. Lick cream off each other ? Like hello ?! Like why waste it. It taste better with ice-cream than say, on some pole.

How bout love cruise, you asked. Oh yes, we did give that a shot, but what a kerfuffle it was ! Instead of ravishing each other with our longing gaze while letting the cold sea breeze enraptured us or something liddat, that minge went for a nap. Oh yes, he went for a nap. Apparently, the view overlooking Venice was boring and there's nothing to see. And Piazza San Marco is just an icky square with lotsa icky pigeons.

And don't even get me started on how he celebrated my barf-day this year. Well, to keep the story less bitchy and bitter, he wrote this on the b-day card - I suck at writing, so can I suck you instead. Fair enuff, I thought. But damn, did my cheese gets any scrapping that night ? Hell no ! He was tired after cooking the dinner and well, like all tired fags, went straight to sleep.

So, what is the basic fundamental of our relationship, eh ? Surely being romantic ain't one of them. And, jewnowhat, I'm no longer a Mariah too. Days of deluding myself that being romantic is all we need in a relationship no longer applies, just like days of looking into the mirror and admiring my perky manboobs.

On my end, I guess what kept me latching onto him was the fact that he is real. No gloss over and certainly no pretense. Just raw and urgghh... real. Telling me just like it is and nothing more. No whipped cream on top or caramel drips.

Which is a good thing, really. For every fake jennnies like me, we really do need a real jenny to spank our arse. So, yeah, I guess that's basically it. We keep brewing because the stock is real, yes, no, minge ?

So, yeah, screw you, Jane Austen, like me like the current dang bet-ah ! Now, minge, please buy lotsa backdated Heat mags back to Msia, kay ?