Big lump of positivity, easy going, understanding, intelligent, jack of all trades, lazy bum, self-mockery, green hair, sarcastic, metal on the inside, half Singaporean, balanced, secretly creative, breaking stereotypes, I have a TMNT bag shaped like a shell...
Love motorcycles and tattoos, though I don't have any myself. Might have plans for them in a far future. If I do get a tattoo, it shall incorporate a gingerbread man as an homage to Dexter's Laboratory, the first memory I have that made me want one. Looking for an artist who also loves sci-fi.
I've dabbled in knitting, painting, weightlifting, reading, playing ukulele, writing, kickboxing, building models of things like airplanes and gundam, aerial, sudoku and many other things, but except for reading, they all fade away.
Movies: all kinds, but I do love disney and feel good movies.
Shows: Star trek (ALL OF THEM), NCIS, criminal minds, adventure time, Rick and Morty
Foods: everything that isn't spicy, with a special place in my heart for cheese and steak.
Music: It seriously goes from Combichrist, pendulum and nine inch nails to taylor swift, rick astley, metallica and all kinds of shit. I really love 80s, 90s and 00s. Whitney Houston is amazing.
insecticide, a towel
Medium rare steak... <3
Now let me sketch a scene for you. You sit there, with your cutlery in hands. You stare at your plate on which a beautiful sight has been placed. You close your eyes and take in the godly smells, wafting up your nose and into your brain. Your eyes open again to behold the well cooked outer layer, seasoned with a simple mixture of salt and pepper, shining with the butter and decorated with scars of the flaming grill.
You stick your fork tenderly in the meat and cut it open with the sharp steak knife. Blood flows out of the cut, surrounding the steak with a puddle of it's own delicious juices. Medium rare you ordered, medium rare you got. You can't hold back any longer, that steak is yours. Stab it, cut it, stab it, cut it, repeating actions that you perform as if in trance. When you get to the last piece on your plate, once harbouring a delicious piece of meat, you suddenly realise that the constant orgasm in your mouth with the tingling sensation of the meat gliding over your tongue will be over soon. You stop to admire this last piece, think about how you will savour this moment, this last piece of meat heaven.
And there it goes, hidden from sight behind your wet lips, followed by the quiet, yet final swallow. You lick your lips, trying to get the last bit of that taste, when you realise your plate still carries a parting gift for you: the fries and the red juices of blood, mixed with the seasoning.
Even though the fries are unworthy of this holy mixture, you still dip them in. If you were at home you could drink it and lick the plate clean, but out in public you must restrain yourself. So you take some fries and drown them in the juices, trying to get every last drop in your body, not letting any go to waste. Damn fries, they don't do as well a job as your tongue! You feel every fiber of your body trembling under the stress of behaving yourself, but you hold on. By the time you finish your meal, the plate is cleaned up thoroughly, as if it had just been licked clean or been through a dishwasher. You are satisfied. The vegetables are untouched.