Cordon Bleau chicken anyone?

Before I begin this blog, please do note my watery chicken that I am about to flame your ass. I will grill it and BBQ it and ensure an even fry. Back in the windy byroads of yesteryear, I recall us animals and one man hanging out and very distinctly hearing chicken go," Dont worry goat, if my mom says I can goto australia, that means I am going to australia." I have deduced that either you heard your mom wrongly or you decided to ditch my ass. Thats right, It could never be Mrs Chicken's fault cause she is nice and feeds me and tells me what a nice goat I am. I remember another occasion where the monkey, me, you and the gay indian decided to goto Australia to go blow off some steam. I recalled you ditched us too that time and we ended up with one player short of a real Big 2/Bridge/Mahjong game. We had to suffer 7 days of 3 player big two and too much shuffling cause the gay indian didnt want to ruin his nails. This thus reverts me to comparative theories where I compare you to one Andy Liu Xiao Hui who ditched me bro's ass BUT still went with him to Australia on the second time he agreed to. When you are less dependable than Dao Hui, you are basically less dependable than a combat medic who tells you he will get the vein on his first try . He actually does get the vein... but after 15 minutes of poking that big ass needle in and out.
Instead, you go galavanting off to a backwater village in Malaysia and try to mark your destination red with a white marker (check your map). I swear that when I get back to Singapore, your white ass will be greeted by a deep imprint of my Vince Carters and I will make you my driving bitch till I leave or until you sate me with Kushin Bo. I attribute my change in mood with my brother's relative change in his. I think being told he is a little girl's privates in hokkien left and right has changed him for the better. Also, he seems more inclined to talk and has turned into some sensitive soft toy which I think I might be able to manipulate to my advantage (i.e. tell him I wont drive him around because I dont want to). I think a few more months of the marination he is going through will turn him into something I can bash around... All I get is abject bullshit, innuendo and insinuations in this bloody Kampong of a city (QNS: why don't they exploit foreign labour? Ans: so they can use the stupid part of their population) and frankly my good humour is wearing slightly thin. I think I really could benefit from some good old fashioned fisticuffs (i.e. violence) to ease some pressure off me.
Mark my words you crummy excuse for a farm animal, I will introduce you to a world of hurt when I arrive.