Issue: [The Three Lies] I am sorry. I won't do it again. I promise.
[To be read in a sad tone] Hi. Just want to say that I am sorry for the previous post in my blog. Some were really disturbed, some were pissed off and some were utterly confused. Rafique is the nicest guy; there is nobody else in the whole world like him. I feel bad making fun of his cute ass (which I have never had the chance to see) and exposing that he was seeing somebody else (to the dismay of some girls, I hope). Tom Hanks was not guilty of what role he played in Castaway; I just didn't like the movie. A feminist activist was really mad at me for saying that male-chauvanistic-pig's motto: Slam, bam, thank you ma'am. Even the 'reaching second base' stuff was considered degrading the female species; although I am sure a lot of you do not understand what it meant. I'll get back to this later. The 'humping a blow-up doll' joke was way too much, wasn't it? Yeah, I was disgusted myself. When I was reading my own blog yesterday, Mr Moral Values kicked the base of my skull: "What was I thinking?". Also to blueicecube, I am sorry it didn't worked well for you in the past; although it was great fun [for me] digging up such old secrets. Oh, I feel bad opening old wounds. However, there is still light up ahead. Just bear with me for a few days as I am working on my next campaign: "[Brutal] Honesty is the Best Policy". I promise you, Jae, no more homemade sarcasm. Just plain honesty.

Issue: My Blogspot Resolution.
From now on, I will try to be the best webjournal dude ever. I will be the posterboy for a model netizen. I will be the lovable goof with a witty sense of good humor. A fun and easy-going and likeable and attentive and sensitive and cheerful son of a gun is what I am going to be. I will try to be your Mr Perfect, your knight in shining armor, your horseback-riding, wind-blowing-my-hair romantic savior. That Prince Charming, that Dream Guy, that Laughter-Inducing Sidekick, that Lovable Goof (Oh, already said that one). I will be the woobly, duddly, huggable fuzzy wuzzy teddy bear of the blog-world. I will be a kooky, cheekity, mooshy-mooshy, humpety-doo little boy you girls have always admired to. That skipping, blushing, smiling, sad puppy eyes chatterbox little angel on earth. That cookie-eating, blanket-biting, parents-kissing, milk-spilling obedient and innocent cutey-pie, that honey-pumpkin. Oh, wait a minute. That's Mamat my roommate I am describing. Oh well.

Issue: Who Threw Away My Toothbrush, Man?
Funny. I woke up this morning and found out that my toothbrush was missing. There were only three toothbrushes near the sink. I tried looking for the damn bastard under the sink, above it, in the mirror-box, near the light bulbs, beside the toilet seat, under to the toilet seat, inside the toilet bowl, inside the flushing water storage, around the bathtub, at the water taps, up on the showerhead, in the folds of the shower curtain, on the floor tiles, in the soap box, near the shampoo bottles and even in my towel. Weird. This has never happened before, not even when the toilet could not be used becuase it was repaired by my caretaker. Thus I arrived at the conclusion that one of my roommate is waging a silent war against me by taking away my toothbrush and hiding it or maybe flushing it down the toilet. "Haha, now you can never talk to others! Your mouth will smell like dog poop!". He must have been really pissed off by something I wrote here or in the email mailing list. Maybe he thought that I was using his pimple lotion or that I made fun of his bathroom-singing voice. Maybe it was that I know he spends a lot of hours shaving his armpits or plucking out his butthole hair. Maybe he did not like me getting too cosy with my readers or that I was posing a threat to him in this never-ending woman chase, eh? Hm. This calls for a counterstrike. A retaliation! Resistance is futile! I am going to eat all your children! Huargh! [Better buy new toothbrush first before starting eating again.]

Issue: Lalat, Tell Me What is that Second Base Stuff?
Okay, okay, come up closer to me. Sit together. It's time for 'Lalat, Tell Me What is that Second Base Stuff?' session of the day. Now, how many of you actually do know about this stuff or have heard about it but not sure what the other bases are for? One, two, three...yes. Three people. Okay, how many do know about baseball or softball or rounders? Oh so many hands, put them down, put them down now. Listen here kids. First of all, I would like to admit that I am not a reliable source for matters like this because, well, I am not an expert in dating. Okay, okay, you got me. I have never ever gone out on a date, not even the in-group ones. So don't jot me down in your research paper as a citation: "...[I]f the girl kisses you back with the same force you did to her, [...] don't probe your tongue yet. Keep your hands idle at all times" (YBLalat sec. "Issue: Lalat, Tell Me..."). You won't get marks for that. Now, make sure nobody is watching you before you start reading the next paragraph.

Ready? There are four bases in a diamond (that's the square field in baseball) and as a hitter/runner, you need to run past every base before you earn a point. The first base that you step on is actually the home plate, which is your final destination. On this plate (which is not the first base), you'll hit a leather ball with a wooden bat and run to the first base. Analogously, if you manage to hit the pitch (the thrown ball), then your love journey starts. That is when you asked her out on a date. The run to first base is the toughest; you need to hit good. If she said yes, then you got a run to the first base and if she said no, then you are striked-out. If you are striked-out, you walk back to your dug-out (or team chair) in shame and wait until the next inning or change of turn (or the next love season or whatever). The first base is basically a successful date. You two go out, have fun, get to know the other better and give good impression to go home to. You remain at this base if you are dating for the second time or the third and so on and yet still nothing happened. The second base is when you two start getting physical. No, wait, wait Mat Jan. Not that one yet. That one is far away still. Take a cold shower, will you?

Let's go on. Second base is actually kissing. Other versions claim that holding hands while walking side by side to the movies is also considered a good second base run, but I think kissing is the more significant feature of the second base. So, in my case for the previous entry, I would stop here at the second base, after managing a really flirty quick peck on the cheek near her upper lip (or something more wet or closer to her tongue if opportunity arises). Once you reach out to kiss her and she do not pull out a pepper spray to your face or head-butt your chin with her thick glasses, then you have finally been given the green light to go and touch second base. (Do not even think of going to second base if she is the daughter of a guru silat. I repeat: Do not!) The best part about the second base is that if the girl kisses you back with the same force you did to her, you would know that all that dressing up and brushing your teeth and fancying your hairdo is paying off just as desired. I wish to remind you that the first kiss should always be a lightning-quick closed-mouth kiss, unless she was the one darting your throat first. Remember, don't probe your tongue yet. Keep your hands idle at all times. These two are essentially third base stuff. You will freak her out if your hands start exploring her topography at that early of a date.

The third base run is really naughty stuff, man. I don't think I am strong enough to describe you this stuff. I could even go to Hell if I continue on describing. "What were you doing, teaching these little kids with pure hearts and innocent minds, such a graphic smut?" "Oh God, I am sorry. I was just trying to be more adorable." [Sound of whip-lashing and cry of agony heard later]. Let's just say that this is when you two get really cosy with each other, like making out in the back of your father's car at a movie drive-in or lip-locking on the living room couch in front of your 2-year-old kid brother. French-kissing and rubbing off each other thighs and long hugs and going to her place are the core stuff of a third base run. No, Mat Jan, still not there yet. Relax. Calm down. Have a drink.

Upon reaching the home plate (or the fourth base), you have won yourself a point. Yes, Mat Jan, you have scored! You one, Lalat zero. This is where you two play the game of 'hide the salami' or 'bury the flagpole' or 'stab the frog' or 'crack the safety seal' or whatever you want to call it. This is where jerks would proudly say: "You are of no use to me, woman." Normally, the run from third base to the home plate is an easy slide downhill. The second base is more or less the upward climb of a hill. The trip to second base is the most money- and time-consuming because you have to shower her with a lot of attention and serenade her with praises; so that she would feel that she is secured now ("I have found my food provider and protector") and is ready to willingly succumb to her greatest animal instinct. Unfortunately, some of us dudes never had the chance to see what's on the other side of the hill because girls dump dudes first after sucking their wallets dry. How cruel. All we want (read: All Lalat craves) is a nice peck on the cheek. But...sigh. Time to move on, I guess.

Just want to remind you kids that there are other version of the same thing that I have just told you. This one is the normal one - the loser version. One version (the US High School Stud-Slut version) describes that second base is the physical making-out part while its third base is the oral sex part (I am not going to describe you this one. I am not that eager to go to Hell). Lastly, please don't do any of the nasty things I said above. Read this piece wisely and have a good (but with a better understanding) laugh after that, alright? Enjoy your sense of humor.