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Me
And My Stupid Dictionary The boss (who fancied himself an English expert just because he authored a teeny-weeny book) bought the ultimate dictionary, and it came in two volumes. Hard not to get jealous when they cost more than my pay then! Naturally, the first thing I tried to look up on the sly was the ‘F’ word. Mind you, during those bad old days, X-rated dictionaries were only for the rich, like my boss. There I was, whispering aloud to my male colleagues the official definition for you-know-what. Suddenly, I realised I was alone. And then I smelt it – the scent of doom. The boss’s wife was looking over my shoulder, staring at where my finger was jabbing! Boss’s Wife: You know you’re a bad influence on others? Me: Y... y... yes, ma’am. BW: You want me to tell the boss? Me: Y... y... yes, ma’am. I mean, n... n... no, ma’am. Never mind about me almost wetting my pants in front of the old battleaxe. I was dead embarrassed by the typing pool’s snickering over my predicament – getting caught at being “hum sub”. I’ve always been a poor speller. While other students were running around like mad during recess, I used to hide quietly in a corner trying to memorise words for the next spelling test. Well, it did me no good because basically, I’m weak at enunciation and pronunciation. Can’t blame the teacher for yelling at me, “You blooming idiot, simple words also cannot spell.” Like how I spelt “sex sir phone”. You know, the curvy thing with a small, small hole at the top and a big, big hole at the bottom? The one item that Bill Clinton didn’t get himself into a quagmire with? Failing that, I always opted for another word - “drumpet”. You know, that amazing thing you blow at one end and what comes out the other end can make your neighbours scream their heads off? Maybe I should just stick to single sillyble words, like “horn”. History test? No problemo, as long as you don’t ask me about “Nutpollen Ketupat”. You know, that Frenchman whose photos always show him hiding his hand behind his coat, playing with himself? Thus, I always have this inconspicuous little pocket dictionary with me. It has served me well despite its limited vocabulary. Indeed, why do I need an overstuffed dictionary when I can always use my powers of deduction? For example, strip = shed clothes. Therefore, striptease = teasing that can give uncle here a heart attack. Strip joint = a place where uncle sneaks to when he needs to get into trouble. Strip mall = a cluster of strip joints. So what is a bit of doubt? It definitely won’t cause uncle to suffer from hernia. If parents want to expose their children in strip malls, I say, let them do it, but please don’t accuse me of being a voyeur. If my English was so bad, how did I manage to pass my English tests? You want to know my secret? Well, I read a lot, especially those slim books by unknown authors. And how do I know that they’re written by unknowns? Because it’s clearly stated on the covers: “Anonymous”. My blood boiled whenever some self-appointed moral guardian went on a pogrom on this group of writers. As a mark of respect, I always read their works discreetly. I tell you: for the best literary effects, they should be read after midnight, using flashlights. Although they have a defining vocabulary of only a few hundreds words, these charming little books were more than enough for me to practise my English. Astonishingly, now I can even write to MOE. I don’t wish to brag, but you can use me as a role model. A word of caution, though: books by anonymous authors are unsuitable for “story-telling” to little kids. If you want to know why, here’s an excerpt: Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. Nevertheless, for big kids, I would humbly suggest that these truly stimulating English books be included in the curriculum. And you can take my words to the bank - there won’t be any need to teach Science and Mathematics in English after that. Indeed, their level of English would render MOE redundant overnight. Normally, it would be unprofessional for me to disclose which explicit book I got the above words from. But as a social service to readers, let me give you a little hint - the dictionary (but I’m not telling you which one). Sad to say, my pocket dictionary and I have had to part company due to some sex problems. Not that I want to talk bad about that little fellow but after 20 years, it’s stuck with knowing only five “sex” words, i.e. “sex”, “sextant”, “sextet”, “sextuplet” and “sexy”. What about “sex kitten” and “sex pot”? How will I recognise them if I don’t know what they are? As a peace-loving man (especially the loving part), I say: NO TO SMART BOMB, YES TO SEX BOMB. Have to go now ... have to wave the placard, you know.
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