Last Saturday, all the gay men in town were lining up outside the alley by Propaganda to get some. Why? The natural result of watching that topless, testosterone-dripped mantertainment from the Mr. Hong Kong contest on TVB Jade. Even starlet Yumiko went there after the show to manifest her destiny.

Was I out that night? No, I was deathly ill again. This time even I couldn’t will my phlegm and disease away with my awesome mental powers. It was my prarabdha. I was mean to delusional colleagues all last week. It was my own evil karma fructifying. I accept it with gravity. Oh well, I’m going to interview Mr. Hong Kong winner Michael Chu next week anyway.

Hello! What’s up with all you freak-a-ma-leeks standing in the DJ booth when you’re NOT the DJ? Either you’re a selector, an emcee or a vocalist: otherwise there’s absolutely zero reason for you to be in the DJ booth standing next to the DJ. Just because you know the DJ, it doesn’t make you automatically HOT. You need to have a fierce ‘do, look fabulous getting your groove on, or be able to grind like a pole-dancer with a python. Yes, then you can be up there as part of the amusement.

And models, if you think your status as living mannequins exempts you from pulling shapes, NO. Don’t just stand there pouting in that stupid logo tee. Your cheek bones bore us after 10 minutes. In order for us to enjoy staring at you for an unlimited time, it’s mandatory for you to be drop dead gorgeous AND dance like a stripper. Don’t just stand there holding a glass of champagne and having a conversation with the DJ: he’s busy making sure everyone who’s actually on the dance floor is having a good time.

If you’re a guy, it’s even sadder, because it means you’re desperately trying to let us know how attractive you are, just ‘cause you’re the DJ’s friend. Trust me, it ain’t that attractive, not even on a gossip-level: it’s not like you know the DJ in a biblical sense like that hoochie mama to the left of him does.

Betches, puh-leez. Step the fuck down. It’s for your own good. You have NO idea how many girls and boys on the dance floor are asking, “Who the hell is that loser up there?” I know a lot of DJs. I know a lot of DJs’ wives and girlfriends. The cool ones aren’t standing up there, back to the wall of the DJ booth, pretending to be cool. The cool ones are BEING cool. They’re having fun, and dancing on the dance floor. Or graciously offering drinks. Clubs should put another booth next to the DJ booth and call it the groupie booth, and have all those sorry nightlives stand there instead. That way, if the sight bores you, you’ll know that they’re just groupies with no discernable talent.

Crank it up give it to me come on
Crank it up give it to me come on
Feedback, feedback, oh.
Feedback, feedback, oh?