There's this cooooool place near Jurong Bird Park which is like JB (Jurong Bird, geddit?) where you - get this - pay money by the hour to sit by this blue pond filled with what looked like black water in it... to fish prawns!
Like, how cool is that?
Here's how I ended up going to Prawn Palace (I am calling it that ‘coz it was so dark when I got there I couldn't really see, plus I was too blown away): I'd spent pretty much the day with the dogs at the new house. Derrick and Jarell came to hang out, and they helped to cut the tree branches and clean up the pool (ain’t that sweet…).
We had an awesome time playing with the dogs, checking out monkeys across the yard and trying the cocoa fruit in the yard. After a hard day's work, the dashing duo invited me to join them at their favourite haunt. It was almost 9pm and I was way past my bedtime, but I decided, sod it, I am over 30…. C’est la vie!
So off we went... and went... and went... Wah, damn far this place. Somewhere near Jurong Bird Park. Machiam must bring passport one. We sat ourselves down for some zi char, and settled down to watch the Aunties and Uncles put the Taufiks and Kellys to shame with their musical prowess. Complete with LIVE band, disco lights and a Disco Mama.
Then we spotted her. A girl, whose looks were so bland they made bran taste like foie gras. There she was. Perched on a plinth, a fishing rod dangling nonchalantly like a cigarette from her right hand. She scanned the pond, as if reading into the blackness and summoning her crustacean minions to her. Every two minutes, she simply flicked her wrist and plooooop! out came a mega prawn.
Without fail, they simply offered themselves into eternal damnation. Plooooop! Plooooop! Plooooop! She just kept fishing without the slightest effort. She was THE Prawn Fishing Machine; I don’t reckon the Prawn Palace made any money out of her that night…
What blew my mind (and write this entry) was this 50-something-year-old Uncle Uncle type, to whom Prawn Fishing Machine would with a yawn pass her rod upon hooking her latest victim. He would with the greatest of care and slightest of touch transfer the shelly one into a basket in the pond – also known as prawn purgatory – while she looked on. And immediately, he would prepare her bait. Not for her the box standard cockle the rest of us plebeians were using. No, no, no. She used only LIVE bait (which probably explained her success rate although I still think there was some kind of marine voodoo going on there…)
This chap has got it figured out, I suppose. I mean, why bother laying down 25 buckeroos if you can simply sit down and let Prawn Fishing Machine do all the work, right? The rate of return just does not make any sense.
Rather, simply be ready to tack bait and move the latest damned victim.
Rather, be the Prawn Pimp.
I suppose I wouldn’t be much good to Prawn Pimp. For one thing, the motivation is not there.
See, I am allergic to prawns.
