Asswhole

What happens to friendship when your friend falls in love
with a total asshole?



We have all gone through this at some point of our lives. It's that part of a wedding ceremony where the minister goes "Let those who oppose this union speak now or forever hold your peace" and the part where people burst into tears... maybe both for the same reason: that they will lose the person they love to a total asshole. Truth is, does it really matter to speak at all? The silly girl is going to marry the bastard no matter what anyway (like did you see the size of that bloody ring that is like, the niece of the giant diamond from the movie Titanic?) so best we kept our piss, erm peace. Or wail. Because most likely you WILL see the last of her.

But let's rewind the track a little. What if the wedding hasn't happened yet? OK so even if they did have an engagement party at some swishy holiday resort villa (yes, the one with the pool) and the caterers wore tuxedos and music that was played by real musicians... so what? The real papers haven't been signed, and the girl can obviously afford the stone on her own. Do we have time to slam-dunk the sense into her? Can we get the exorcist in to drive out the demon of dumbness that got her into thinking she found true love with some foreigner after four months of wine and dine shmaltz? (We can drop the exorcist because he did turn up at the engagement and the asshole is still there) Can we make it before the saying comes true. You know, the saying that once two people get together in the name of true love, they slowly (gasp!) BECOME each other. It's like a bad sequel from Aliens. Next thing you know, babies are hatching and then you know it's really TOO LATE.

Now it can't be THAT bad can it, you ask. Well yes it can and here's why.

Well this friend whom I regard highly is all shacked up in some love nest in some faraway mediterranean island somewhere with Mr Asshole as we speak. And this is the part I don't get, especially from someone so sensible. How can she even hang around someone who makes Hitler look like a Pound Puppy? I have met the man like three times and swear that I'd rather be running into an alsatian on crack. Now I have travelled far and wide (and yes, even into territories where the KKK would have felt right at home) and as an Asian person of Chinese origin have never suffered any kind of humiliating bullshit like I did when meeting Mr Asshole. Not that it was racial, don't get me wrong, but just by getting the vibe that he sends you that lets you know that he is right up there with Donald Trump, and that you are right down there where the maggot from the rotting chicken wing was last stepped on. And people, this is HOW he does it:

You: Stand two feet from him and say hello with a big warm welcoming smile (after all wasn't he the prince who stole our little girl's heart?)

Mr Asshole: (looks away) (walks away)

You: Pat him on the back and ask him how his evening is going and you're still smiling as you ask him if he enjoyed dinner.

Mr Asshole: (looks away) (walks away)

You: Raise a glass to toast everyone at the table (Mr Asshole included)

Mr Asshole: (looks away)(takes glass away) (walks away)

You: Smile, say something (anything) nice to the twat.

Mr Asshole: (looks away)(walks away)

I take comfort that I am not the only unfortunate soul who is unworthy of Mr Asshole's presence, so there is really no need for therapy. Others like myself have reported similar close encounters with this same divinity and out of sheer respect for our darling friend, with-held their tongue. We make polite little excuses like "Oh maybe he's just shy." "Oh he needs time to warm up" That's what I thought too but people: "warming up"... what do we think he is? A bowl of soup? Last heard he was God's piece of gold that's what! I have gone past being understanding now after some very horrible experiences. People who know me marvel at my threshold of patience but once you meet Mr Asshole you will believe me when I say that even Gandhi himself will grab the nearest broomstick.

Oh alright I will be nice. Maybe you're right. It's hard for a foreigner of non-English speaking origin to fit into cosmopolitan Singapore isn't it? It must be so tiring at the end of the day being professor at the university and all. It must be so demanding to know that Singaporeans want that foreign talent so desperately because the hopeless weaklings are totally incapable of intelligence of their own and must resort to importing them from his country, isn't it? Of course this does not apply to every Singaporean, no no, not his darling would-be blushing bride from the finer, upper crust part of silver-spoonville who will become the demure, submissive little asian wife. Well Mister Asshole, listen up and listen good: from where we come from, the expression "Ciao" (pronounced "Chow" which in hokkien means stinking, putrid, stale, filthy, revolting etc) yes "Ciao" is usually used with two more expletives that only medical professionals from the centre for communicable and venereal diseases can explain with grace. We also use "ciao" with other nouns revolving parts of our bodies that excrete anything we cannot digest like very bad pasta. Depending on the mood and energy of the swearer, "ciao ** **" is directed at the subject's mother or father. Very popular on the roads and on dark corners where coffee shops serve cheap beer till late. Yes Mr Ciao-Asshole. I am saving them for you.

Now what about the blushing bride to be? Is she aware that the Divine Dickhead is so unpopular with her friends? Maybe not. But then again, it is a frightening thought isn't it? That in time, couples become each other. It's happened before, like I said. So you will want to consciously (or unconsciously) avoid any occasion where they are both found together. You start by mysteriously contracting measles on their wedding day, having a bypass on their housewarming party or stranded in East Timor when you're invited to anything that contains his holy presence. Ask yourself if you have successfully kept in touch with all those friends who have copped off with freaks or have you (whoops!) deleted their names altogether from your address book? Maybe we still have time for our downed Black Hawk. But then again it's really none of our business. I guess I will know if I make it to her wedding invite list (my name will definitely not be on HIS because I have obviously not yet evolved from the single cell stage in his eyes) but I am quite certain she will get the hint when I decline politely and inform her that my colons were being cleaned that day and the specialist is like, so hard to get hold of. If she is smart she will know that nothing is washing up my asshole: it's washing off hers, all five foot tall and seven inches of it.