24 January 2015

The Poopy

I am weary and baffled.

I am also bleeding.

Weariness and bafflement are common states for any expatriate living in Singapore - but this week has been particularly tiring and strange.

Whilst walking into my condominium this evening I heard the now all-too-familiar roar of a Harley Davidson soft tail motorcycle approaching behind me – then a squeal of rubber on the driveway as my deranged Danish neighbour Jens screeched to a halt.

As I turned to confront my maniacal nemesis, I was unsurprised to see his crazy grin leaking through his unkempt beard.

For a man of such a large girth he has surprisingly little teeth.

“Hoopy New Year skeepy modderfokker” the Dane roared.

The spell check function on my Mac unfortunately does not accept lunatic Danish-English and it is most annoying having to manually correct the utterings of the Dane.

“Hoopy New Year to you crazy one” I replied.

“Can you please turn off the bike so I can hear you properly and so I do not choke on the disgusting fumes?”

“Ya ya” the flaky Scandinavian retorted.

Then he gave the bike a couple of loud revs and he tossed back his head and he roared “modderfokker” once again.

The man is nuts.

As is usually the case when Jens appears – the two security guards of my complex - the Sikhs Raj and Raj emerged from their hut.

Both snapped me very smart salutes – which am unable to stop – and in perfect synch stated, “Good be evening to you Mr. Peter sir”

“At ease and good be evening to you Raj and Raj” I replied.

I have found that commanding the Raj to stand at ease is the only way to stop them from saluting. They would otherwise stand at a stiff attention all day.

Jens visibly cringed and looked sheepish at the Raj arrival. Whilst he routinely roars “modderfokkers” at them as he arrives and leaves our building – he is acutely aware that both Raj are extremely protective of me and will not hesitate to assault him at my command.  The Dane is a very big, unpredictable and slovenly unit – however both Raj are also very large men who are ex Indian military boys and who have been trained to kill.

A couple of years ago – after a confrontation with the Scandinavian crazy one, I asked one of the Raj to shoot Jens for me. He replied that he could not do so immediately - as he did not have a gun – but he informed me that he would be happy to beat him with a stick. Jens looked most panic stricken at this turn of events and even moreso when I suggested that a steel rod would be preferable than a simple stick.

I should advise that I had to instruct the Raj not to beat Jens after all but he is now aware that I have the capacity to order his demise.

At a whim.

“The Danelander has something that is being moving in his pocket,” one of the Raj informed me.

To my surprise I saw that there was in fact something wriggling in Jens pocket.

“Ya ya dat is my poopy” Jens grinned.

“Your poopy Jens?”

“Ya ya” he repeated.

As he reached into his battered leather jacket both Raj visibly tensed.

As did I.

The mere mention of the word ‘poopy’ rang alarm bells.

Nearly 3 years ago a very large floater was found in our condominium swimming pool.

By floater I mean a poo.

A piece of shit.

A turd.

I was there and witnessed the discovery of the floater. I was heading down for my normal morning swim and found the entire swimming pool cordoned off and half a dozen policemen in attendance together with the Building manager of my complex – Mr Tan.

The police had managed to push the offending object against the wall of the pool and were proceeding to photograph it from every conceivable angle. Mr Tan was looking most anxious – as he often is actually – and when I enquired what all the fuss was about he told me that ‘a most terrible thing had happened’

I agreed that it was a most terrible thing.

Despite the cordon that had been set up I went and had a closer look and commented to both the police and Mr Tan that it appeared to be a very large turd indeed and I suggested that it was from both an adult and a meat eater.

There were nods of agreement.

I was a relatively new tenant at the time and had yet to formally meet the lunatic Jens - however I had witnessed his drunken debauchery and he frequently snarled at me and made disgusting guttural noises when I passed him in the lobby.

I would also occasionally see him passed out drunk poolside.

He seemed like an obvious potential culprit so I suggested to both Mr Tan and the police officers present that they should look to him as the offender. I suggested this only semi seriously but the officialdom actually interviewed the Dane who maintained a furious denial.

Unfortunately Jens became aware that I was his accuser and we became instant enemies.

Despite my demand that DNA analyses be conducted on the faeces and the Dane be kept under constant surveillance – no one was ever charged for the offence. Like many offences in Singapore – shitting-in-a-pool is punishable by multiple lashings with a cane, incarceration for a decade, death by firing squad – and then setting on fire.  

So too is stealing a chicken.

I remain convinced that Jens is the culprit of this heinous offence.

So when the Dane said he had a poopy in his pocket my first thought was one of excrement.

“You have not got a piece of shit in your pocket do you Jens?” I enquired of the Dane.

“Ya ya” he replied.

Whilst “ya ya” translates into “yes yes” in English – I discovered long ago that “ya ya’ is something Jens says in response to many things.

Both the Raj and I retreated a step as Jens stepped of his bike and put his large mitt into his pocket.

To my great surprise he pulled out what I at first thought was a rodent of some type.

Upon closer inspection – I saw that it was in fact a little dog.

A very little dog.

“That is a dog Jens?”

“Ya ya it eez a poopy skeepy modderfokker”

“What the fuck are you doing carrying it around in your pocket?”

“Ya ya” he grinned manically.

“That is as cruel as it is unusual you Danish fruitcake” I accused

“I love dees poopy” he replied – looking somewhat hurt at my assertion.

The poor little creature looked a little bedraggled and fit snugly into the big Dane’s hand. It wagged its little tail as Jens somewhat tenderly patted it.

“What is the poopy’s name Jens?” I enquired.

“Dis is Dag”

“Dat is Dag?”

“Ya ya”

“But Dag is your brother.”

Dag is Jens identical twin brother who lives in Copenhagen. He visits occasionally and I then have dual Danes to deal with.

It is a nightmare.

“You have named your poopy after your brother?”

“Ya ya modderfokker”

I wasn’t too sure what to think of that.

“I am not sure if you are capable of looking after the dog Dag Jens. Carrying it around in your pocket may in fact be illegal in this country”

“Ya ya” he predictably replied.

“Raj and Raj could you please keep an eye on the welfare of this dog and if you witness any sign of mistreatment please beat Jens soundly with a stick”

“We will be doing this with the most greatest of pleasure and respectfulness” one of the Raj replied.

Then both snapped to attention and saluted again.

It is bizarre.

Jens looked somewhat panic stricken and muttered, “modderfokkers” – as is his want.

“At ease boys” I commanded and both Raj stood down.

I then took a step forward and endeavoured to pat the little poopy.

The little fucker snarled and bit me.

Which is why I am currently bleeding.

No comments :

Post a Comment