Takeshi at Genki
I’m stuffing myself at Genki when who saunters in but Takeshi. I’m sure John and Adrian will find this very unimaginatively nicknamed person familiar. He’s the model/self-professed philosophy aficionado who always sat sulkily alone in class. But then again, when you’re a model who’s constantly engrossed in deciphering Kierkergaard’s Knight of Faith rubbish, you don’t really need company.
So Takeshi sits down literally right in front of me and I see that he’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a COAT. A damn business coat in Sunny Singapore! This confirmed my theory that models are in fact cold-blooded organisms from a distant, and as yet undiscovered, piece of rock in the proximity of Mercury, banished to Earth to lead a life of constant pouting while staring at distant objects. The average temperature of Earth is also 1,000 oC below what they’re used to. Hence the coat.
Anyway, I must have been gawking, exposing the contents of my mouth, which at that moment, happened to be a half-chewed spicy tuna handroll, for he glanced in my direction and quickly turned away. (Of course, in terms of grossness, this pales in comparison to the time when Adrian tastefully opened his mouth after filling it with banana milkshake bringing to mind a certain word starting with a capital “B”.)
Then Takeshi’s friend decides to talk to him. Ah… I have not yet described his friend. I suppose he’s sort of a Mini-me meets big lump of tofu kinda guy. Shaven-headed, creamy-white, and fat. I might add that he had no neck as well. But, lest you think that he has no charm, he speaks with an American accent. WOOOH! This automatically makes him cool to the average Singaporean. However, being atypical ones, neither Suyi (my unfortunate dinner companion and Honkie-at-heart) nor I (being simply maladjusted) were impressed.
I might add, at this point, that I made all these observations while cunningly looking preoccupied with eating sushi, sipping Sprite, making small talk with Suyi and generally appearing uninterested in anything else. I am now convinced that my true calling is really in private investigation.
Surprisingly, after only 10 minutes of this excruciating pretense, they went off, which left me able to be genuinely preoccupied with eating sushi, sipping Sprite, making small talk with Suyi and generally appearing uninterested in anything else.
Once they were out of earshot, I told her that the guy in the coat who just walked out with the funky hair and lips that looked like they very recently had a nasty experience with a fishhook was a model (MAWWWWDEL). To which she suffered a vicious pang of unimpressedness.
“He looks so gay!” was her reply.
From which I had the epiphany that the criteria for becoming a model are simply being 6 ft tall and looking gay. Which I guess is pretty fair compensation.
So Takeshi sits down literally right in front of me and I see that he’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a COAT. A damn business coat in Sunny Singapore! This confirmed my theory that models are in fact cold-blooded organisms from a distant, and as yet undiscovered, piece of rock in the proximity of Mercury, banished to Earth to lead a life of constant pouting while staring at distant objects. The average temperature of Earth is also 1,000 oC below what they’re used to. Hence the coat.
Anyway, I must have been gawking, exposing the contents of my mouth, which at that moment, happened to be a half-chewed spicy tuna handroll, for he glanced in my direction and quickly turned away. (Of course, in terms of grossness, this pales in comparison to the time when Adrian tastefully opened his mouth after filling it with banana milkshake bringing to mind a certain word starting with a capital “B”.)
Then Takeshi’s friend decides to talk to him. Ah… I have not yet described his friend. I suppose he’s sort of a Mini-me meets big lump of tofu kinda guy. Shaven-headed, creamy-white, and fat. I might add that he had no neck as well. But, lest you think that he has no charm, he speaks with an American accent. WOOOH! This automatically makes him cool to the average Singaporean. However, being atypical ones, neither Suyi (my unfortunate dinner companion and Honkie-at-heart) nor I (being simply maladjusted) were impressed.
I might add, at this point, that I made all these observations while cunningly looking preoccupied with eating sushi, sipping Sprite, making small talk with Suyi and generally appearing uninterested in anything else. I am now convinced that my true calling is really in private investigation.
Surprisingly, after only 10 minutes of this excruciating pretense, they went off, which left me able to be genuinely preoccupied with eating sushi, sipping Sprite, making small talk with Suyi and generally appearing uninterested in anything else.
Once they were out of earshot, I told her that the guy in the coat who just walked out with the funky hair and lips that looked like they very recently had a nasty experience with a fishhook was a model (MAWWWWDEL). To which she suffered a vicious pang of unimpressedness.
“He looks so gay!” was her reply.
From which I had the epiphany that the criteria for becoming a model are simply being 6 ft tall and looking gay. Which I guess is pretty fair compensation.
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