cameronian cranks

During my travels of late, I happen to notice that the women of Cameron Highlands generally have perfect complexions and willowy figures, characteristics that are highly prized by men. Therefore, I would like to urge readers who are looking for some high-altitude hanky-panky to extend their search hill-ward. Of course, I do not know if said beauties are partial to said hanky-panky, so that is something the reader should undertake at their own risk. The returns, however, are pleasurable. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the men.

Also, I would like to caution the inhabitants of a certain hotel about the towel rails in the bath. Do not drape the towels across the aluminium rod. Roll it and balance it on top. You do not want to yank too hard on said aluminium rod when you are still luxuriously steaming like a boiled lobster. The rod will come off and bounce right onto your foot to stamp a circle of blood like a cookie cutter cuts out a gingerbread man.

My blood staineth a twin of thee

And when your reflexes disregard the fact that you are in a wet bathtub and make you step back from the source of bodily injury, you invariably gain much more injury, in the form of a bruised butt and the cold hard steel of the bathtap trying to fuse with your spine.

Which is why I wonder why I have so many lustful couples as fellow lodgers. Ah. They probably never use towels. But there sure was a lot of them making out behind me as I poke the fireplace in the lobby. Toe-wrestling at the bar. Playing tag around the fountain. The brother was highly amused and would try to take pictures. In a particularly embarrassing incident, the whispering newlyweds started hugging in the lift. The brother snorted, pointed, elbowed me in the ribs, and I started laughing. Probably because the guy was shorter than the girl, but still. I feel like I have placed myself at a sub-oceanic level of maturity.

There you go, Yan. I am still capable of saying something without mentioning anime and manga. Aren't you proud of me?