I went down to
the pool of the condominium in which I live this morning for my now ritualistic
and exceptionally slow swimming of laps. I am trying to burn off blubber. When
I arrived I was greeted with the sight of my deranged Danish neighbor Jens
floating on the water. He was floating on what we Australians would refer to as
a lilo.
A lilo is also
known as an inflatable air mattress or an air-bed. These are also now very
commonly made to be pool accessories and they are referred to as 'pool lounges'.
The word
'lilo' is not being recognized by the automatic spell-check function on my
laptop. It first placed a red-score underneath the word, which indicates a
mis-spelling - and it then endeavoured to change it to the word 'milo'.
Milo is a
chocolate malt drink that was invented in Australia and it is coincidentally a
very popular drink here in Singapore. It may in fact be the national drink.
Singaporeans really love it. The name lilo is a trademark brand name and it has
no other meaning. The trademark name is actually "Li-Lo" - but the
inflatable devices are branded and are commonly known as 'lilos' to we
Australians.
Many people
with small children - or small children themselves - would more likely
associate the name "Lilo" with the animated Walt Disney film titled
"Lilo and Stitch". I know very little about this movie other
than the fact that Lilo is a main character - I think female - and it or she is
not an inflatable pool accessory or an air mattress.
I do not
generally watch animated Disney film productions.
They are an
abomination.
The lilo that
the great Dane was floating upon was in the shape of a very large duck and it
was yellow. Jens is a huge and flabby man and such is his size that
the lilo upon which he was lying was semi submersed.
I have
described Jens many times before but I will do so once again. Imagine if you
can an enormous and fat and hairy Viking with wild and unkempt hair and a bushy
red beard. His eyes are normally bulging and he has crooked little yellow
teeth. The Dane normally roars around the place on a Harley Davidson motorcycle
wearing a motorcycle helmet that has two small horns stuck to the top of it.
Like a bull.
This is
Jens.
I have never
before seen him attired in only a pair of swimming trunks but I was unsurprised
to see that his whole upper body was covered in thick mats of hair and there
were what looked like prison tattoos scattered over his torso. I have used the
term 'prison tattoos' because they are crude and non-artistic works that appear
to have been done by someone other than a trained tattoo practitioner. Someone
who I strongly suspect is most likely a convicted serial killer in a Copenhagen
prison and who used the ink from a ballpoint pen and a blunt needle.
I know good
tattoo art when I see it as my son Tom has much of it. He is all inked up.
"Good
morning Jens" I announced as I placed my towel on one of the pool-side chairs and
started to put on my swimming goggles.
I nearly
jumped out of my skin when I heard the word "Modderfokker"
bellowed behind me. I was so startled that I dropped my swimming goggles.
When I turned
around - to both my shock and horror - there was another Jens. This one was
fully clothed and was holding a half-drunk bottle of beer.
"Dat
is my tween brodder skeepy" the lunatic Dane responded.
"Jaysus
there are two of you?"
"Ya" the Dane cackled.
Jens then
roared some guttural Scandinavian sentences to the other Dane who was on the
lilo, and he then belched and took a large swig of his beer.
"For
fuck sake Jens" I replied.
"It is
seven thirty in the morning and you are drinking beer? And you have a
twin?"
"Ya
skeepy modderfokker" he responded.
Jens calls me
'skeepy' in reference to 'Skippy' who was a famous television kangaroo. He
calls everyone 'modderfokker'. Jens - not Skippy. Kangaroos do not talk.
My automatic spell-check function keeps changing the word "skeepy" to "sleepy" and it is beginning to really piss me off.
My automatic spell-check function keeps changing the word "skeepy" to "sleepy" and it is beginning to really piss me off.
Fuck. It just
did it again.
Jens twin
brother had now paddled over to the side of the pool and in his endeavor to
extract himself from the yellow duck lilo he spilled out of the vessel and was
momentarily submersed. This act caused Jens to cackle insanely again and as his
brother rose to the surface a further tirade of guttural Danish was exchanged
between the twins.
"Dis
is Dag" Jens said to me as the twin paddled his way to the side of the
pool.
"Dis
is Dag?" I repeated.
"Ya
dat is Dag" said Jens.
"Ya I
arm Dag" said Dag.
The name 'Dag"
was pronounced "Darg" by both brothers. 'Dis' is of course 'this',
'dat' is 'that' and 'arm' is 'am'. They are spoken thus when one is Danish and
mad and is speaking in English.
Writing the
words phonetically is sending the spell check function of my laptop into
overdrive.
Jens twin
brother Dag heaved himself out of the pool and then lurched over to where Jens
and I were standing and then he grabbed my towel off the seat and he started to
dry himself.
"Hey
that is my towel Dag" I said.
This elicited
a further manic cackle from both of the Danes.
Now that he
was up closer I could see that Dag was even hairier than I first thought. His
chest and arms and back were covered in mats of thick and dark hair. It was
nasty. Dag attempted to hand my now sodden towel back to me but I let it fall
to the ground. I am loath to touch it now that it has been in contact with his
body and I shall likely have to burn it.
Jens began
explaining to me that his brother Dag was here visiting him from Copenhagen
when the two Security Guards of my complex - the be-turbanned Indian Sikhs Raj
and Raj - suddenly appeared poolside. They looked resplendent in their
guard uniforms and they marched in complete unison up to where we were
standing. When they were about a meter away they stopped and snapped to
attention. Then - as is now unfortunately always the case - they gave me
elaborate and indeed extravagant salutes.
The Dane that
is Dag looked quite bemused and his insane brother Jens looked a little
alarmed. Both Raj and Raj are aware that I have had my run-ins with Jens before
and they have taken a vow to protect me from the madman. Mr. Tan -
the Building Manager of the complex in which I live - incorrectly informed
the Raj's that I was someone of importance in our Condominium - which I am not
- and since they started on the job they have been incessantly saluting me.
"At
ease guys" I commanded.
Saying this is
the only way I can get the Raj's to stop the salutes.
"Good
morning Raj and Raj" I said.
"Good
morning Mr. Peter sir" both of the Raj's replied as they dropped their
salutes.
Jens was
eyeing the security guards warily. The Raj's are very big boys and Jens has
called them 'modderfokkers' many times before. My relationship with Jens
has been checkered in the past - to say the least - and the Raj's are well
aware of this. I have previously instructed both Raj and Raj to shoot the Dane
if necessary but they informed me that they were not permitted to carry guns in
Singapore and they could not do so.
I have written
about the Jens saga many times before so there is no point in elaborating
again.
"Is
everything being alrightest Mr. Peter Sir" a Raj asked.
"It is
fine thanks Raj" I replied.
"This
is Jens twin brother Dag who is visiting from Denmark"
Raj and Raj
nodded politely, Dag grunted and Jens shuffled about a little nervously
muttering 'modderfokker' to himself.
We all stood
there silent for a moment. The Raj's were at ease but they had a protective and
assured air about them and Jens nervousness seemed to intensify. Despite the
vigorous rubbing that he had given himself with my towel, the Dane who is Dag
was still dripping from his mass of body and facial hair.
"Did
you know that in the English language a dag is a term than can be used to
describe someone who is a bit nerdy and it is also a matted piece of shit that
hangs from a sheep arse?" I said to the Danes and the Raj's.
I said this
because there was a bit of an awkward silence and also because it is
true.
In Australian
slang a dag is indeed a person who is considered to be somewhat uncool. The
term 'daglock' refers to a dung-caked lock of dried faeces tangled in the wool
that hangs from the hindquarters of a sheep. It is most commonly abbreviated to
the word 'dag'.
The word 'faeces'
is also not being recognized by the spell-check function on my laptop computer.
That is weird because it is most definitely a real word that means excrement or
shit.
I am also very
serious about the Australian-English uses of the word dag.
If you have
any doubt look it up for yourself.
My comments
elicited some more guttural Scandinavian between the twin Danes - and the Raj's
seemed to tense up a little.
"Vee
are going now skeepy modderfokker" Jens announced.
"Please
get your brother to remove that monstrosity of a duck from the pool first
please Jens and also ask him whether he has used the pool as a toilet." I replied.
Jens has a
history in such despicable and disgusting behavior - which I have
once again written about previously - so I will not repeat it here.
Jens grunted
and cast a nervous look at Raj and Raj whilst the brother Dag shuffled back to
the pool and removed the duck lilo. Jens did not give me an answer to my
question.
Then both
Danes and the duck lilo quickly departed.
"Would
you mind asking the maintenance guy to throw a couple of extra buckets of
chlorine in the pool please Mr. Raj and Mr. Raj?" I asked.
I had decided
to err on the side of caution and forego my swim this morning.
"Could
you please also get him to pick that up for me and burn it immediately" I enquired -
pointing to my wet towel that was on the ground.
"Most
certainly we will Mr. Peter" one Raj replied.
"Thanks
guys" I
said.
They were
still saluting as I walked to the lift lobby and went back up to my apartment.
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