Title: The audacity of these Yishun PRC teens… “My father drive Muscle 垃圾”??
I cannot make this up. I was just at Northpoint City grabbing some KOI, minding my own business, when I ended up walking behind this group of three or four “mainland princes.” You know the type: head-to-toe Essentials or Balenciaga, smelling like a duty-free perfume aisle, and talking at a volume that suggests they think they own the entire North-South Line.
As we’re walking towards the bus interchange, one of them starts whining—literally whining—about his transport situation for the weekend. And then he drops this absolute gem of a line:
“My father drive muscle 垃圾 (lā jī)…”
I almost choked on my golden bubbles. I spent a solid three seconds buffering, trying to figure out what a “Muscle Trash” was. Is it a new gym brand? A weird Douyin slang? But then he gestured towards the pick-up point and it clicked.
The kid couldn’t even pronounce the brand of the supercar he was complaining about. He was trying to say Maserati, but his pronunciation was so botched it came out as “Muscle 垃圾.”
Bro, the irony is actually poetic. You’re trying to flex your family wealth in the middle of Yishun, but you’ve managed to accidentally call your own father’s luxury Italian sports car “Trash.” I’m standing there behind them, shaking my head. In Singapore, where the COE alone costs more than some people’s entire education, this kid is out here accidentally trash-talking a quarter-million-dollar machine because his linguistics can’t keep up with his bank account.
The sheer “Main Character Syndrome” was off the charts. Imagine being so detached from reality that you’re loudly discussing your “Muscle-Laji” while walking past uncles clearing plates at the food court and aunties lugging groceries from NTUC. It’s the ultimate Yishun experience—getting a front-row seat to the most expensive linguistic fail in the North.
I honestly don’t know what’s worse: the blatant entitlement or the fact that you’re flexing a car you can’t even name properly. If you’re going to act like the world is your playground because of your dad’s “Muscle 垃圾,” at least learn how to say it so the rest of us plebes know exactly which luxury brand we’re supposed to be jealous of.
To that kid: If the Maserati is truly “Laji,” please feel free to swap with my Ez-Link card. I’ll gladly take that “rubbish” off your hands so you can experience the true luxury of waiting 12 minutes for the 812 feeder bus in 90% humidity.
End of rant. I’m going to finish my bubble tea and try to forget that “Muscle Trash” is now rent-free in my head.