i'm fat. i'm so fat, that an official medical weight-height chart dictates that at my weight, i should stand about 6'4" to be within the normal range of things. heck! i stand 5'7"! fuck!
i'm fat. always have been, and i guess, always will be. some people look at me with mother theresa pity like: "awww.. the poor kid is fat, it must be hard for him.." while some look at me as a jay leno joke like: "hey fat kid, ever tried diet? no it's not a chocolate bar.."
but hey, like i've said, i've been like this all my life, and i have this fear that if somehow i go on a diet and lose weight, people would start noticing less of me. it's like, being fat is part of the "paningit brand," it's part of the whole package and it's non-negotiable. i'm one of them persons, you see, that you either love or hate. there is no middle ground or gray area when it comes to liking me -- you love my jokes but you hate my cursing; you love my charm but you hate my fat ass -- no, there's no middle ground in it; you either adore me or you hate me -- my charm and my fat ass included.
through the years i've been comfortable (somewhat) with my body. believe me, i've learned to use it to my advantage. and i've learned to go on minor diets too... if i start noticing that i can't pick up something i dropped on the floor anymore.. i'd go on and lose about 10 pounds.. then viola, i'm back to being me again. and believe it or not, i've learned to be confident (somewhat) with my body, on good days that is. i've had lucid intervals where i strip down naked in front of a mirror and yell, "holy mother of god! i'm a sexy bitch!"
but mostly, i've learned to accept the cold, hard fact that my body metabolism is shit. my body can't burn fat even if my life depended on it. some people, they eat as much as they want, then they sweat like pigs after and burn all the calories and fats away. not me. i eat much, i eat little, and i still stay the same. i don't even sweat like a pig. sometimes i think it'll be better to sweat like a pig than look like one. but i eventually dropped the idea and accepted that my body metabolism is so bad that mere breathing helps me gain weight.
so, i love being fat. it's part of who i am and i can't do anything about it. to put things further in perspective, lemme give you the top 10 things i like most about being fat:
(10) the jokes -- there's nothing like a good fat joke to make some poor miserable fat person feel as if they belong living amongst wild animals somewhere on a planet very far not here. i have friends and family who get out of their way and become extra creative just to come up with brand spanking new ways to make fun of my fatness. i'm such an easy target (pun intended).
but if you know how to play your cards right, this can be a very useful way to start a conversation and gain acquiantances. you can build a whole network of friends that can get you elected in public office someday all because you had the spirit to laugh at yourself a little bit. and the best thing about this is, when you' re friends already, you can fight back. and most of the time i fucking win. because fat jokes tend to be dragging sometimes... but their ugliness fuckin' ain't.
(9) the excuses -- when you're fat, you gain access to a select amount of excuses (lame or otherwise) other, more lightweight folks do not have. like the times when my wife will have to tie my shoes because i can't bend over because i'm so fat (ok... that was a joke). or, say i'm laying on the couch and i want some fudge brownie and coffee, but i'm too fat to get off my ass to retrieve it. someone will get it for me. i like that. or, how i can always use bathrooms only made for the "other-abled" only because in some parts of this country, being fat is a disability.
(8) extra large clothing -- because fat people are fat (shit! tell me something i don't know), we need to wear clothes that are big and baggy and loose. and they are so very, very, very comfortable. if i were skinny, i would have to start buying those tight-fit, loose-fit, sexy-fit shit that everyone's just dying to wear. then i'd have to start paying close attention to those annoying gap commercials, those annoying bench commercials, those annoying girbaud posters, and those lewd and suggestive guess commercials (wait. i already drool over guess models.. er.. commercials i mean).
the word snug will be a fuckin' permanent fixture in my vocabulary like: "gee, that feels snug." "does it feel snug enough." "is there anyway we can get more snug out of those snug snugs" yah fuckin' slug!
(7) looking tough -- underneath all this fat is a very weak and frail person. i can't fight, box, do karate, sumo, wrestle - nothing. absolutely nothing. i'm a lost cause. heck! i can't even run! but when you're fat, you're naturally big. and big equals scary. i have perfected this "really mean scary guy" look that i use everywhere i go. no one ever fucks with me.
(6) extra time in the bathroom -- normally, fat people spend an extra 20 minutes inside the bathroom, whether for expelling large chunks of crap or for scrubbing those hard to reach areas where the sun doesn't shine.
if a skinny guy milks a half-hour in the bathroom, people will immediately think he's masturbating. but if a fat guy walks out, they give that understanding nod as if to say, "oh okay, you're fat. take your time big boy. take your time."
(5) more room on the bed -- even with my daughters (four year-old tornado and a six month-old rugrat) and my wife, currently, i'm allowed to occupy a third of the bed's useful area because my large body needs special access to secure spaces. thank god my kids are still young. because my conscience just can't bear the thought of asking them to sleep on the floor (just kidding).
(4) being an authority on food places and food in general -- by default, my friends respect my opinion on where to eat and what to eat. that's because my being fat somewhat suggests that i am a professional in this area.
(3) taking more than one helping and getting away with it -- you know that guy at parties who's always standing right next to the dip or right next to the tray of freshly grilled barbeque as if it were prepared just for him and not for any of the other 50 guests? yeah. i'm that guy.
(2) not having to work out -- i love not having to go to the gym and not having to stand next to people who say things like "yeah, so today i'll be doing bi's and tri's, then tomorrow i'll do legs and chest. hey man, need a spot?" spot this assmunch! i hate it when gym rats and buffs stand in front of those big gym mirrors and make agonizing faces while lifting heavy objects. sooner or later (and i wish sooner rather than later) they'd rip their fuckin' rectums out of their tight spandex suits and they'll wish to god they were fat!
(1) food -- i love food. enough said.
so that's that. leave your comments. if not, you'll die in approximately 14 seconds.
i'm out.
1.31.2005
1.28.2005
let me waste a minute of your time...
so i'm feeling a bit narcissistic today. actually i feel that everyday.
but today, i would like to waste a few minutes of your precious time talking about myself. don't worry, it'll be short, i promise. so here it goes...
first off, let me get this out of the way... yes, i have an inflated idea of my own importance and existence. which is a bit ironic considering that i don't really feel "that" confident about myself. actually, i'm often insecure about me. and yes, my body is also inflated.
i'm a little bit obssesive, if you haven't noticed yet. hey, life's not worth living if you don't have an obssesion. i'm also stubborn. the obssesive-stubborn combination is always a real winner.
i'm so stubborn that if i do something stupid, i'm determined to follow it into the ground. i'll take my previously stupid action, and compound it with other stupid actions in an effort to somehow justify my first mistake. then of course, i have to do something even dumber to make up for doing all those stupid things in the first place.
but then, if i do something stupid, it's something that'll haunt me at random times for almost ever. like, now.
there you go. thanks for letting me waste a few minutes of your time.
i'm out.
but today, i would like to waste a few minutes of your precious time talking about myself. don't worry, it'll be short, i promise. so here it goes...
first off, let me get this out of the way... yes, i have an inflated idea of my own importance and existence. which is a bit ironic considering that i don't really feel "that" confident about myself. actually, i'm often insecure about me. and yes, my body is also inflated.
i'm a little bit obssesive, if you haven't noticed yet. hey, life's not worth living if you don't have an obssesion. i'm also stubborn. the obssesive-stubborn combination is always a real winner.
i'm so stubborn that if i do something stupid, i'm determined to follow it into the ground. i'll take my previously stupid action, and compound it with other stupid actions in an effort to somehow justify my first mistake. then of course, i have to do something even dumber to make up for doing all those stupid things in the first place.
but then, if i do something stupid, it's something that'll haunt me at random times for almost ever. like, now.
there you go. thanks for letting me waste a few minutes of your time.
i'm out.
i'm a fan
i don't know about you guys, but i've enjoyed reading this:
love, cinderella and the gay frog prince – (purely from figments of my imagination)
the author of the post and the blog blind_beggar_genre is a damn good writer. hey, i'm a fan myself.
or you can just look at it this way... i'm too tired to write a post of my own that's why i'm back to my own sinister ways of linking to other's blogs. anyway, click on the link and read the friggin' post. i'll be back later as soon as i get my mojo goin'. promise.
i'm out.
love, cinderella and the gay frog prince – (purely from figments of my imagination)
the author of the post and the blog blind_beggar_genre is a damn good writer. hey, i'm a fan myself.
or you can just look at it this way... i'm too tired to write a post of my own that's why i'm back to my own sinister ways of linking to other's blogs. anyway, click on the link and read the friggin' post. i'll be back later as soon as i get my mojo goin'. promise.
i'm out.
1.27.2005
oh shit!
i lost all your comments! all your precious comments!
in the effort to improve this pathetic and boring blog that does nothing but take up space in a space-strapped universe called the internet, i tried to install haloscan's comment and trackback manager. automatically. and while commenting on this blog may be better now than it was before, i have lost all the comments past (anonymous or otherwise) of my readers.
fuck! technology's such a friggin' bitch!
anyway... ok... calm down.. 3...2...1... ok, i'm calm. hey, think about it this way, everyone who needs to comment would need to leave a name and email address on the board.. pretty cool eh? it's like taking two steps forward and one step back... hmm... that sounded like a cheap paula abdul song.
so, just leave your comments, suggestions, rants, prayers, poems, unpaid phone bills, suicide notes, and whatever you want to leave in our new and improved comments board, ok. fine.
i'm out.
in the effort to improve this pathetic and boring blog that does nothing but take up space in a space-strapped universe called the internet, i tried to install haloscan's comment and trackback manager. automatically. and while commenting on this blog may be better now than it was before, i have lost all the comments past (anonymous or otherwise) of my readers.
fuck! technology's such a friggin' bitch!
anyway... ok... calm down.. 3...2...1... ok, i'm calm. hey, think about it this way, everyone who needs to comment would need to leave a name and email address on the board.. pretty cool eh? it's like taking two steps forward and one step back... hmm... that sounded like a cheap paula abdul song.
so, just leave your comments, suggestions, rants, prayers, poems, unpaid phone bills, suicide notes, and whatever you want to leave in our new and improved comments board, ok. fine.
i'm out.
ZZZzzzZZZ
ha!
here's something to blog about... the letter "Z." it's my most hated letter in the alphabet. why? i don't know. maybe because you can write a whole damn book without ever using it. i hate Z so much i want to apply a latrel sprewell choke hold on it.
but apparently some morons who think the right hemisphere of their brains work better, were so creative and artistic, they started using Z in words where Z isn't supposed to be used. i mean, i have no problems with words like "biz" (slang for business) or "coz" (slang for because), these words have been here for ages... but you know stupidity has risen to a new high when you start reading words like "guyzzz," "gurlzzz," "mizter,"clipz," "soundz," and the like.
well, yipee-ki-yay motherfucker!!! what the fuck is this?! change S to Z day?! oh, excuse me, do you somehow think you're "cool" when you change S to Z? do you think you can get laid by changing S to Z, huh? fucking startrek geek! or would you rather zound like a friggin' german everytime you zpeak englizh? you zhithead! well boohoo.. excuze me but what you're doin' iz not cool, not cool at all yah bavarian azzmunch!
but if it makes you happy... why not, go ahead, be my guest... change all S's to Z's for petesake... and i hope you have a fuckin' aneurysm in the process you mo-fo!
i'm out.
here's something to blog about... the letter "Z." it's my most hated letter in the alphabet. why? i don't know. maybe because you can write a whole damn book without ever using it. i hate Z so much i want to apply a latrel sprewell choke hold on it.
but apparently some morons who think the right hemisphere of their brains work better, were so creative and artistic, they started using Z in words where Z isn't supposed to be used. i mean, i have no problems with words like "biz" (slang for business) or "coz" (slang for because), these words have been here for ages... but you know stupidity has risen to a new high when you start reading words like "guyzzz," "gurlzzz," "mizter,"clipz," "soundz," and the like.
well, yipee-ki-yay motherfucker!!! what the fuck is this?! change S to Z day?! oh, excuse me, do you somehow think you're "cool" when you change S to Z? do you think you can get laid by changing S to Z, huh? fucking startrek geek! or would you rather zound like a friggin' german everytime you zpeak englizh? you zhithead! well boohoo.. excuze me but what you're doin' iz not cool, not cool at all yah bavarian azzmunch!
but if it makes you happy... why not, go ahead, be my guest... change all S's to Z's for petesake... and i hope you have a fuckin' aneurysm in the process you mo-fo!
i'm out.
1.26.2005
and the winner is...
so someone finally joined one of my stupid blog games and actually made me laugh to the point of crappin' my pants.
the winner for our january 19 blog game is no other than.. drumroll please max.. lisiepeasie of singapore. and her winning piece is:
"i'd like to create a blogsite that discusses relevant worthy causes and various political views, but i can't because..." My ultra-conservative baptist upbringing has brainwashed me into believing that all politicans are actually the devil incarnate. So now I can't watch the evening news (or Sex and the City, for that matter) without my mother chanting out Bible verses repeatedly, my father singing hymn songs and my dog getting a hard-on. Afterall, it's kinda hard to break away the link of Sharon/Abbas/Bush/Blair/Hu Jin Tao/Lee Hsien Loong (insert desired politican here) to an erected dog's penis.
holy shit from the promised land!!! her entry literally blew me away and had me laughing my guts out for days. congratulations lisiepeasie. too bad i can't give you anything other than a gmail invite, but you've already declined to claim your prize so...
anyway, what i suggest you do is to brag. yep. brag and be proud to be the first ever winner of paningit's senseless blog games. take a bow. congratulations. and i appreciate your joining very, very, very, very much. and in my opinion, you are one of the most underrated literary geniuses of our time.
till the next blog game. and i hope you fuckers have learned a valuable lesson or two from lisiepeasie here.
i'm out.
the winner for our january 19 blog game is no other than.. drumroll please max.. lisiepeasie of singapore. and her winning piece is:
"i'd like to create a blogsite that discusses relevant worthy causes and various political views, but i can't because..." My ultra-conservative baptist upbringing has brainwashed me into believing that all politicans are actually the devil incarnate. So now I can't watch the evening news (or Sex and the City, for that matter) without my mother chanting out Bible verses repeatedly, my father singing hymn songs and my dog getting a hard-on. Afterall, it's kinda hard to break away the link of Sharon/Abbas/Bush/Blair/Hu Jin Tao/Lee Hsien Loong (insert desired politican here) to an erected dog's penis.
holy shit from the promised land!!! her entry literally blew me away and had me laughing my guts out for days. congratulations lisiepeasie. too bad i can't give you anything other than a gmail invite, but you've already declined to claim your prize so...
anyway, what i suggest you do is to brag. yep. brag and be proud to be the first ever winner of paningit's senseless blog games. take a bow. congratulations. and i appreciate your joining very, very, very, very much. and in my opinion, you are one of the most underrated literary geniuses of our time.
till the next blog game. and i hope you fuckers have learned a valuable lesson or two from lisiepeasie here.
i'm out.
1.24.2005
been out
oh yes i have. for about five days. dang! no matter what the date blogger.com says this post was allegedly posted, don't believe it. i had this drafted out three days earlier.
anyway, five days felt like eternity to me. anyway, it's nice to be back. why was i out? well, if you really must know, some of us still need to work here. yep. us employees. work. four-letter word. W-O-R-K. can't say all of it sucked. but most of it does. you come in the morning and you see papers, and deadlines, spilled coffee, dull pencils, more papers, and of course more deadlines.
but hey, i've got a lot to be thankful for... whoa! wait a minute... i'm supposed to always, and i mean ALWAYS, be pissed off... that didn't sound right. what i meant was, i did have fun the past few days. lemme see...
(1) went out bowling with my friend marlon. yep. and kicked his ass in every game... we had twelve, but i let the poor guy win a couple. i was hitting strikes and spares silly while he was sitting down chugging his beer, scratching his head, and asking where his mom went wrong.
we had twelve games and i hit four strikes total. four strikes! i was wicked! yeah! y'know what that means. that means that i hit four strikes more than what i've ever hit my entire fuckin' life. i know, i know, i'm pathetic. what kind of a bowler am i? the kind who doesn't bowl that's what i am. but hey, if you think my sorry ass was pathetic, just imagine the other guy. he was practically hitting ditch after ditch after ditch after ditch which makes you think he was working at the department of public works and highways or somethin'. dang! i never knew bowling was this fun!
(2) so after bowling and a "few" bottles of beer, i got home and did the laundry. of course in between wash and spin cycles i was zappin' through the tube and somehow managed to get glued (trapped) to hbo's feature presentation which was.. gasp.. a walk to remember. mandy moore's one hot schwing babe! dare i say more. schwing!
ok. enough happy thoughts already. now let's rant!
so i'm stuck here at the office for days because of work. i haven't had a good shave, a good meal, or even a good night's sleep for weeks now. and the lack of sleep and proper hygiene can really make you more observant sometimes. what have i been noticing around the office lately? well:
(1) no free coffee - that sucks. hey, top management, yeah i'm talking to you... think you're so smart eh?! haven't you been told that coffee is one of the basic food groups needed by man to fuckin' survive?! well, where's the coffee then?! what the!!! i'm not going to drink these cheap 3-in-1s you sick half-sedated bastard! what? whaddaya mean i'm fired?...
(2) office chairs suck - so you haven't had sleep. and your back is killing you. and yet they still expect you to work and be productive?! what the fuck gives?! the one thing that can help boost my productivity up by... i don't know.. 4%.. is if you guys get me one of them kickass executive series office chairs with a built-in electric massager. yeah! what do i need it for?... duh! like, i need to sit on it while working and getting a massage you assmunch! no i don't need the vibration dickhead.. i need the massage. it's not like i'm goin' to dry hump the chair or somethin'.
(3) carpal tunnel syndrome and mice with no balls - haven't you heard of ergonomics you dumbass! yeah, there are ergonomic keyboards to prevent us from suffering carpal tunnel syndrome. oh. you haven't heard about carpal tunnel syndrome? well, it's that thing that happens when i type too much on an outdated keyboard.. my right arm extends and my fist balls up in front of your face, and my middle finger suddenly sticks out... that's carpal tunnel syndrome stupid dumb fuck! and while you're at it, get me one of them wireless optical mouse too. yeah, the one with a wheel and an ambidextrous design. why? you dare ask me why? well, let's just say i don't like cleaning out balls that aren't mine. intiendes? good.
so leave your thoughts on this, comments, suggestions, hate mail, unpaid phone bills, or suicide notes.. i don't fucking care. i'm out.
anyway, five days felt like eternity to me. anyway, it's nice to be back. why was i out? well, if you really must know, some of us still need to work here. yep. us employees. work. four-letter word. W-O-R-K. can't say all of it sucked. but most of it does. you come in the morning and you see papers, and deadlines, spilled coffee, dull pencils, more papers, and of course more deadlines.
but hey, i've got a lot to be thankful for... whoa! wait a minute... i'm supposed to always, and i mean ALWAYS, be pissed off... that didn't sound right. what i meant was, i did have fun the past few days. lemme see...
(1) went out bowling with my friend marlon. yep. and kicked his ass in every game... we had twelve, but i let the poor guy win a couple. i was hitting strikes and spares silly while he was sitting down chugging his beer, scratching his head, and asking where his mom went wrong.
we had twelve games and i hit four strikes total. four strikes! i was wicked! yeah! y'know what that means. that means that i hit four strikes more than what i've ever hit my entire fuckin' life. i know, i know, i'm pathetic. what kind of a bowler am i? the kind who doesn't bowl that's what i am. but hey, if you think my sorry ass was pathetic, just imagine the other guy. he was practically hitting ditch after ditch after ditch after ditch which makes you think he was working at the department of public works and highways or somethin'. dang! i never knew bowling was this fun!
(2) so after bowling and a "few" bottles of beer, i got home and did the laundry. of course in between wash and spin cycles i was zappin' through the tube and somehow managed to get glued (trapped) to hbo's feature presentation which was.. gasp.. a walk to remember. mandy moore's one hot schwing babe! dare i say more. schwing!
ok. enough happy thoughts already. now let's rant!
so i'm stuck here at the office for days because of work. i haven't had a good shave, a good meal, or even a good night's sleep for weeks now. and the lack of sleep and proper hygiene can really make you more observant sometimes. what have i been noticing around the office lately? well:
(1) no free coffee - that sucks. hey, top management, yeah i'm talking to you... think you're so smart eh?! haven't you been told that coffee is one of the basic food groups needed by man to fuckin' survive?! well, where's the coffee then?! what the!!! i'm not going to drink these cheap 3-in-1s you sick half-sedated bastard! what? whaddaya mean i'm fired?...
(2) office chairs suck - so you haven't had sleep. and your back is killing you. and yet they still expect you to work and be productive?! what the fuck gives?! the one thing that can help boost my productivity up by... i don't know.. 4%.. is if you guys get me one of them kickass executive series office chairs with a built-in electric massager. yeah! what do i need it for?... duh! like, i need to sit on it while working and getting a massage you assmunch! no i don't need the vibration dickhead.. i need the massage. it's not like i'm goin' to dry hump the chair or somethin'.
(3) carpal tunnel syndrome and mice with no balls - haven't you heard of ergonomics you dumbass! yeah, there are ergonomic keyboards to prevent us from suffering carpal tunnel syndrome. oh. you haven't heard about carpal tunnel syndrome? well, it's that thing that happens when i type too much on an outdated keyboard.. my right arm extends and my fist balls up in front of your face, and my middle finger suddenly sticks out... that's carpal tunnel syndrome stupid dumb fuck! and while you're at it, get me one of them wireless optical mouse too. yeah, the one with a wheel and an ambidextrous design. why? you dare ask me why? well, let's just say i don't like cleaning out balls that aren't mine. intiendes? good.
so leave your thoughts on this, comments, suggestions, hate mail, unpaid phone bills, or suicide notes.. i don't fucking care. i'm out.
1.21.2005
are we there yet?
i've been longing
for the longest time
for a long road trip
you
me
the road
the wind in our faces
a change of scenery
a change of tastes
change
we'll find a place
that we both not know
and during the trip
we'll be asking each other
are we there yet
who cares
we're into this together
us in this trip now
is all that matters
where we'll end up
is of no importance
we have us
we have the road
we have the trip
i've been longing
for the longest time
for a long road trip
now
if i can only
figure out
how to get a car
for the longest time
for a long road trip
you
me
the road
the wind in our faces
a change of scenery
a change of tastes
change
we'll find a place
that we both not know
and during the trip
we'll be asking each other
are we there yet
who cares
we're into this together
us in this trip now
is all that matters
where we'll end up
is of no importance
we have us
we have the road
we have the trip
i've been longing
for the longest time
for a long road trip
now
if i can only
figure out
how to get a car
al pacino
i’m pathetic. that’s what i am.
i am desperately looking for snippets of life’s meaning from al pacino movies. friggin’ al pacino movies! now, where the fuck will that get me? farther than where robin williams and tom hanks movies can take me i guess.
hey, it could be worse. i mean, i could be trippin’ on some other stupid stuff like drugs and shit... or those senseless pauly shore cameos and ecino man re-runs.
heck! i don’t even have the slightest clue on what the fuck i’m saying here. yes, a serious hangover from guyabano juice and watching american fucking idol can do this to you.
truth is, i'm hungry, i'm sleepy, i'm fatigued, i'm confused, i'm out of focus, i'm tired, i'm dead-tired, i'm numb, i'm cold... and i miss my wife.
and oh, i almost forgot... i'm out.
i am desperately looking for snippets of life’s meaning from al pacino movies. friggin’ al pacino movies! now, where the fuck will that get me? farther than where robin williams and tom hanks movies can take me i guess.
hey, it could be worse. i mean, i could be trippin’ on some other stupid stuff like drugs and shit... or those senseless pauly shore cameos and ecino man re-runs.
heck! i don’t even have the slightest clue on what the fuck i’m saying here. yes, a serious hangover from guyabano juice and watching american fucking idol can do this to you.
truth is, i'm hungry, i'm sleepy, i'm fatigued, i'm confused, i'm out of focus, i'm tired, i'm dead-tired, i'm numb, i'm cold... and i miss my wife.
and oh, i almost forgot... i'm out.
1.20.2005
sample this!
here's an emphatic declaration: i'm not a fucking' writer, and i'm not a fuckin' comedian!
there.
now a lot of you might ask how the hell did i get in this mood again. you haven't been paying attention have you? i'm always in "this" mood. but for the benefit of those who need the benefit of explanation, i'll explain.
now let's rant!
i'm just so sick and fucking tired of people who ask what you do for a living, then after being informed, they go and proceed to ask for a "sample" or demo of your work. now what the fuck is up with this!? i mean, seriously... a sample!? you're asking me to give you a friggin' sample of what i do!? you motherfucking pitiful waste of an asshole!!! me give you a sample!? you gotta be kidding me.
i don't know in other countries, but the practice is very much rampant here in the philippines i tell you. for instance:
example#1 - at a family reunion
cousin robert: "hey uncle jerry, you remember israel don't you?"
drunk jerry: "why yes. so how you doin' son? i can see you still haven't found a way to reduce those baby fats hahahaha!"
pissed off israel: "doin' fine uncle jerry; and thanks for noticing."
drunk jerry: "so what do you do now?"
pissed of israel: "i work for an energy company as their corporate communications officer."
drunk jerry: "corporte commentator what?"
pissed of israel: "corporate communications.. it's PR work... in a nutshell, i write stuff for a living."
drunk jerry: "so yer a writer eh? c'mon, sampol (as in sample).. c'mon sampol only... write me something.. c'mon don't be shy.. sampol... SAMPOL!"
pissed of israel: "you need to sober up man."
drunk jerry: "i thought you said you were a writer... c'mon sampol! write me something.. anything.. a poem.. something inspiring.. a slogan or something.. just a sampol."
pissed of israel: "do you have a pen? i'll write you your obituary if you want to."
example #2: at a funeral
random guy i just met: "hey man! how you doin'? israel, right?"
pissed of israel: "the last time i checked, yeah."
random guy i just met: "i heard from mr. so and so that you're a funny guy; he said you were their emcee last year in their christmas party."
pissed of israel: "oh, ok."
random guy i just met: "so you're a comedain eh? a stand up comic is that it?"
pissed of israel: "not really. actually i'm a.."
random guy i just met: "c'mon man, tell me a joke. c'mon, crack me up. c'mon man, gimme a sample."
pissed of israel: "excuse me?"
random guy i just met: "you know.. a sample.. a joke.. let's hear how funny you are... c'mon, any joke."
pissed of israel: "well, this isn't exactly the proper venue to crack jokes.. so please..."
random guy i just met: "aww, c'mon man, just a sample."
pissed of israel: "ok. so i met this limped-dick motherfucker at a funeral one day, and he was so drunk and he asked me to amuse him with my jokes. so i asked him... what do you call a flightless bird that has a brain size smaller than his set of nuts? then he answered i don't know. and then i said to him, an ostrich."
random guy i just met: "hahahahaha.. you crack me up man.. hahahaha... i don't get it."
pissed of israel: "me neither ostrich-breath."
***
now do you get my point?
you see my friends, i'm not one of those assholes who ask for "samples" from other people. now why the hell do they have to do that to me then!? those fuckers!
when i met a doctor, an OB-GYNE, sometime last month, i didn't ask him for a sample. i didn't tell him: "c'mon doc, let's see what you got. sample. why not do a dilatation and curettage procedure on my mother right here on the dinner table.. c'mon." or when i met a furniture maker, i didn't tell ask him for a sample of chair. or when i met a singer, i didn't ask her to sing to me celine dion's annoying titanic song in the middle of a fucking party.
but some of you might say.. "but you're a writer aren't you?"
no. i'm not a writer. i hate writers. as a matter of fact, fuck writers. most writers do nothing but staple their enormous egos to their pathetic know-it-all foreheads and parade around papers, magazines, books, and the internet like some super human word god, or worse, a spell-checking freak and a grammar-correcting whore.
though i admit that my ego needs a bit of stroking from time to time.. but that's beside the point and a different story all together.
but i know what you're thinking right now as you read this. who the flying figola does this guy think he is? what has he ever done with his life to bash writers like that?
i'll tell you.
nothing. i've done nothing. in fact, i've done less than nothing. if nothing were at the top of a mountain, i'd be at the bottom digging a hole.
and i'm not a friggin' comedian either. comedians, especially in the fucking filipino context, is a moron dressed in drag working in some dingy karaoke bar, cracking jokes and performing toilet humor gags in front of half-drunk-half-desperate yuppies who'd rather listen to readily available and galacticaly obvious offensive punchlines rather than think.
i'm not a writer, and i'm not a comedian. i'm a guy who likes to write and tell jokes. and make fun of people. and eat. you can't box me in some stereotype character then proceed to ask me for a fucking sample of who i am. i swear, if somebody ever, and i mean ever, asks for a "sample" from me again, i'd strangle him until his head completely turns blue. fucking sample whore!
wanna sample of me bitch!? here's my middle finger... sample this!
i'm out.
there.
now a lot of you might ask how the hell did i get in this mood again. you haven't been paying attention have you? i'm always in "this" mood. but for the benefit of those who need the benefit of explanation, i'll explain.
now let's rant!
i'm just so sick and fucking tired of people who ask what you do for a living, then after being informed, they go and proceed to ask for a "sample" or demo of your work. now what the fuck is up with this!? i mean, seriously... a sample!? you're asking me to give you a friggin' sample of what i do!? you motherfucking pitiful waste of an asshole!!! me give you a sample!? you gotta be kidding me.
i don't know in other countries, but the practice is very much rampant here in the philippines i tell you. for instance:
example#1 - at a family reunion
cousin robert: "hey uncle jerry, you remember israel don't you?"
drunk jerry: "why yes. so how you doin' son? i can see you still haven't found a way to reduce those baby fats hahahaha!"
pissed off israel: "doin' fine uncle jerry; and thanks for noticing."
drunk jerry: "so what do you do now?"
pissed of israel: "i work for an energy company as their corporate communications officer."
drunk jerry: "corporte commentator what?"
pissed of israel: "corporate communications.. it's PR work... in a nutshell, i write stuff for a living."
drunk jerry: "so yer a writer eh? c'mon, sampol (as in sample).. c'mon sampol only... write me something.. c'mon don't be shy.. sampol... SAMPOL!"
pissed of israel: "you need to sober up man."
drunk jerry: "i thought you said you were a writer... c'mon sampol! write me something.. anything.. a poem.. something inspiring.. a slogan or something.. just a sampol."
pissed of israel: "do you have a pen? i'll write you your obituary if you want to."
example #2: at a funeral
random guy i just met: "hey man! how you doin'? israel, right?"
pissed of israel: "the last time i checked, yeah."
random guy i just met: "i heard from mr. so and so that you're a funny guy; he said you were their emcee last year in their christmas party."
pissed of israel: "oh, ok."
random guy i just met: "so you're a comedain eh? a stand up comic is that it?"
pissed of israel: "not really. actually i'm a.."
random guy i just met: "c'mon man, tell me a joke. c'mon, crack me up. c'mon man, gimme a sample."
pissed of israel: "excuse me?"
random guy i just met: "you know.. a sample.. a joke.. let's hear how funny you are... c'mon, any joke."
pissed of israel: "well, this isn't exactly the proper venue to crack jokes.. so please..."
random guy i just met: "aww, c'mon man, just a sample."
pissed of israel: "ok. so i met this limped-dick motherfucker at a funeral one day, and he was so drunk and he asked me to amuse him with my jokes. so i asked him... what do you call a flightless bird that has a brain size smaller than his set of nuts? then he answered i don't know. and then i said to him, an ostrich."
random guy i just met: "hahahahaha.. you crack me up man.. hahahaha... i don't get it."
pissed of israel: "me neither ostrich-breath."
***
now do you get my point?
you see my friends, i'm not one of those assholes who ask for "samples" from other people. now why the hell do they have to do that to me then!? those fuckers!
when i met a doctor, an OB-GYNE, sometime last month, i didn't ask him for a sample. i didn't tell him: "c'mon doc, let's see what you got. sample. why not do a dilatation and curettage procedure on my mother right here on the dinner table.. c'mon." or when i met a furniture maker, i didn't tell ask him for a sample of chair. or when i met a singer, i didn't ask her to sing to me celine dion's annoying titanic song in the middle of a fucking party.
but some of you might say.. "but you're a writer aren't you?"
no. i'm not a writer. i hate writers. as a matter of fact, fuck writers. most writers do nothing but staple their enormous egos to their pathetic know-it-all foreheads and parade around papers, magazines, books, and the internet like some super human word god, or worse, a spell-checking freak and a grammar-correcting whore.
though i admit that my ego needs a bit of stroking from time to time.. but that's beside the point and a different story all together.
but i know what you're thinking right now as you read this. who the flying figola does this guy think he is? what has he ever done with his life to bash writers like that?
i'll tell you.
nothing. i've done nothing. in fact, i've done less than nothing. if nothing were at the top of a mountain, i'd be at the bottom digging a hole.
and i'm not a friggin' comedian either. comedians, especially in the fucking filipino context, is a moron dressed in drag working in some dingy karaoke bar, cracking jokes and performing toilet humor gags in front of half-drunk-half-desperate yuppies who'd rather listen to readily available and galacticaly obvious offensive punchlines rather than think.
i'm not a writer, and i'm not a comedian. i'm a guy who likes to write and tell jokes. and make fun of people. and eat. you can't box me in some stereotype character then proceed to ask me for a fucking sample of who i am. i swear, if somebody ever, and i mean ever, asks for a "sample" from me again, i'd strangle him until his head completely turns blue. fucking sample whore!
wanna sample of me bitch!? here's my middle finger... sample this!
i'm out.
1.19.2005
another bloggame
let me make this ultra fucking simple.
the first blog game we had before christmas was an utter failure. only one person had the sanity to join, but apparently didn't have enough sanity to leave his/her name on the board. the prize back then was a brand spankin' new shirt, which he/she didn't get, and which eventually ended up at a relief good box headed somewhere in indonesia or thailand.
anyway, like i said, lemme keep this darn simple. this time around, the prize wouldn't be a shirt, but as attractive nonetheless.. ok, ok, it's not as attractive... it's actually mundane.. but i'm giving it out just for the heck of dishing out a prize for a game.
the winner for this edition of paningit's blog game will get a free (they're actually free to begin with) gmail account invite. well, if you don't know gmail, it's a free email account that has 1,000 fucking megabytes of space. four times that of yahoo. and a friggin' gazillion times bigger than that of a free hotmail account. so if you want it, then join in. it's all in the spirit of fucking fun!
for this blog game, i'd ask you guys to answer or complete the following sentence:
"i'd like to create a blogsite that discusses relevant worthy causes and various political views, but i can't because..."
pretty interesting eh? ok, as a sample, i'd go first:
"i'd like to create a blogsite that discusses relevant worthy causes and various political view, but i can't because... I DON'T READ MUCH OF THE PAPERS AND WATCH THE EVENING NEWS THAT OFTEN ANYWAY; AND BESIDES, EVERYTIME I TALK ABOUT POLITICS, MY DICK SWINGS TO THE LEFT."
so there you have it folks. entries to this blog game should be in a form of a comment directly made to this post. the participant should leave his/her name or nickname and email address at the bottom of his/her entry. faliure to do so would result in massive internal bleeding and asphyxiation. and he/she will be disqualified from the contest. a participant can send as many entries or answer as he/she wants.
criteria:
actually, criterion. i have only one requirement. just one. your answer should be funny enough for me to shit my pants.
so c'mon people. put your fucking brains into good use and join our bloggame.
deadline for entries will be monday, january 24, 2005.
i'm out.
the first blog game we had before christmas was an utter failure. only one person had the sanity to join, but apparently didn't have enough sanity to leave his/her name on the board. the prize back then was a brand spankin' new shirt, which he/she didn't get, and which eventually ended up at a relief good box headed somewhere in indonesia or thailand.
anyway, like i said, lemme keep this darn simple. this time around, the prize wouldn't be a shirt, but as attractive nonetheless.. ok, ok, it's not as attractive... it's actually mundane.. but i'm giving it out just for the heck of dishing out a prize for a game.
the winner for this edition of paningit's blog game will get a free (they're actually free to begin with) gmail account invite. well, if you don't know gmail, it's a free email account that has 1,000 fucking megabytes of space. four times that of yahoo. and a friggin' gazillion times bigger than that of a free hotmail account. so if you want it, then join in. it's all in the spirit of fucking fun!
for this blog game, i'd ask you guys to answer or complete the following sentence:
"i'd like to create a blogsite that discusses relevant worthy causes and various political views, but i can't because..."
pretty interesting eh? ok, as a sample, i'd go first:
"i'd like to create a blogsite that discusses relevant worthy causes and various political view, but i can't because... I DON'T READ MUCH OF THE PAPERS AND WATCH THE EVENING NEWS THAT OFTEN ANYWAY; AND BESIDES, EVERYTIME I TALK ABOUT POLITICS, MY DICK SWINGS TO THE LEFT."
so there you have it folks. entries to this blog game should be in a form of a comment directly made to this post. the participant should leave his/her name or nickname and email address at the bottom of his/her entry. faliure to do so would result in massive internal bleeding and asphyxiation. and he/she will be disqualified from the contest. a participant can send as many entries or answer as he/she wants.
criteria:
actually, criterion. i have only one requirement. just one. your answer should be funny enough for me to shit my pants.
so c'mon people. put your fucking brains into good use and join our bloggame.
deadline for entries will be monday, january 24, 2005.
i'm out.
here's something for mike
actually here's something about michael jordan for all michael jordan fans, especially my buddy mike_dlp (cool alias eh mike?).
anyway, mike_dlp is such a huge fan of his airness (hairless) mike jordan. i swear he is. he's like the biggest fan of the guy based in the philippines, who lives in baguio city, and works for an outsourcing call center company. that's mike alright. name it, he has it.. jordan shirts, shoes, memorabilias, past championship videos and dvds, trading cards, a mouse pad (?), posters, a fan club id (?), a used set of jock straps sealed inside a vacuum glass container completely preserving the color, wrinkles and odor.. ok i was making that up.
but mike_dlp is a legit fan. you get the picture don't you? he's a bull (chicago) from bone to skin, and became a wizard (washington) when jordan moved there... or was it he became a wizard when he started reading those stupid harry potter novels. sheesh.
he used to drink cetrin (orange juice concentrate) when he was young.. then upgraded to tang when he got older.. then became a strict gatorade drinker when "his airness" started endorsing it.. that was after jordan dropped his endorsement for cutty shark.
which brings me to the meat of my post today... gatorade.
it's been said that jordan was given by gatorade a lifetime contract to endorse the thirst quenching, rehydrating, overpriced drink. so with no fat basketball contract and an insatiable need to satisfy his thirst for gambling, jordan cordially accepted the offer. now, gatorade marketing gurus quickly thought of ways to tap into new markets and further exploit the charm and star power of its lifetime endorser, jordan.
so, knowing jordan is now an ex-athlete, past his 40, enjoying his millions of retirement money spent on exhorbitant golf club shares (face it, he's still black no matter what.. and white golf club members still give him a hard time), expensive cuban cigars, rolex watches, hootchie mamas and strippers, casinos and shit... gatorade marketing gurus thought, we oughta tap a market that relates to the michael jordan of now, not michael jordan of yesterday.
so, after carefull product study,research and development and more market survey, segmentation, and analysis... team gatorade contacted jordan to present gatorade's newest brand / flavor. team gatorade said the new product will tap into the "jordan demographic" and cater to the needs of a newly developed market, something gatorad ice, fierce, regular, frost, xtreme, and x-factor with all its flavors haven't done.
the new gatorade flavor is... drumroll please... the new GATORADE PRUNE JUICE.
the tagline for the new brand is.. "because ex-athletes and rich snotty geriatrics need all the digestive help they can get!" plus, the product has some added features and health benefits.. it has added calcium contents to reinforce those brittle old-school bones.. and a dash of viagra to help men combat the dreaded erectile dysfunction due to old age. a fitting jordan drink indeed!
pretty wicked drink if you ask me. i can see jordan sticking his tounge out now.
i'm out.
anyway, mike_dlp is such a huge fan of his airness (hairless) mike jordan. i swear he is. he's like the biggest fan of the guy based in the philippines, who lives in baguio city, and works for an outsourcing call center company. that's mike alright. name it, he has it.. jordan shirts, shoes, memorabilias, past championship videos and dvds, trading cards, a mouse pad (?), posters, a fan club id (?), a used set of jock straps sealed inside a vacuum glass container completely preserving the color, wrinkles and odor.. ok i was making that up.
but mike_dlp is a legit fan. you get the picture don't you? he's a bull (chicago) from bone to skin, and became a wizard (washington) when jordan moved there... or was it he became a wizard when he started reading those stupid harry potter novels. sheesh.
he used to drink cetrin (orange juice concentrate) when he was young.. then upgraded to tang when he got older.. then became a strict gatorade drinker when "his airness" started endorsing it.. that was after jordan dropped his endorsement for cutty shark.
which brings me to the meat of my post today... gatorade.
it's been said that jordan was given by gatorade a lifetime contract to endorse the thirst quenching, rehydrating, overpriced drink. so with no fat basketball contract and an insatiable need to satisfy his thirst for gambling, jordan cordially accepted the offer. now, gatorade marketing gurus quickly thought of ways to tap into new markets and further exploit the charm and star power of its lifetime endorser, jordan.
so, knowing jordan is now an ex-athlete, past his 40, enjoying his millions of retirement money spent on exhorbitant golf club shares (face it, he's still black no matter what.. and white golf club members still give him a hard time), expensive cuban cigars, rolex watches, hootchie mamas and strippers, casinos and shit... gatorade marketing gurus thought, we oughta tap a market that relates to the michael jordan of now, not michael jordan of yesterday.
so, after carefull product study,research and development and more market survey, segmentation, and analysis... team gatorade contacted jordan to present gatorade's newest brand / flavor. team gatorade said the new product will tap into the "jordan demographic" and cater to the needs of a newly developed market, something gatorad ice, fierce, regular, frost, xtreme, and x-factor with all its flavors haven't done.
the new gatorade flavor is... drumroll please... the new GATORADE PRUNE JUICE.
the tagline for the new brand is.. "because ex-athletes and rich snotty geriatrics need all the digestive help they can get!" plus, the product has some added features and health benefits.. it has added calcium contents to reinforce those brittle old-school bones.. and a dash of viagra to help men combat the dreaded erectile dysfunction due to old age. a fitting jordan drink indeed!
pretty wicked drink if you ask me. i can see jordan sticking his tounge out now.
i'm out.
1.18.2005
fart faces
it's been a while since i made fart faces.
well, just in case you're wondering, fart faces is the kind of incexplicable expression your face gives out everytime you smell fart... or everytime you see, feel, taste, or hear anything that your sorry brain can associate with fart.
back in the day when i was in a band... again i reiterate that it was not a marching band.. it was a kickass rock and roll band... actually it was not.. it was more of a non-equity band.. whatever the fuck that means.. anyway.. what the fuck am i saying here!?
back in the day, when me and three other desperate souls were in this band and we jammed at parties and shit... all of us used to make fart faces.. whether on stage while performing or in the confines of a rehearsal studio, (shit.. who am i kidding, our rehearsal studio was nothing more but a garage, or the single-detached bachelor's pad our bassist owns) we'd make fart faces because of either one of three reasons:
(1) our sound smells like fart - yep. we sounded so bad most of the time that the music we make usually blurs the senses, and our sound ends up as a sonic hodgepodge of foul smelling flatulence.
(2) we saw someone in the moshpit that looks so bad, he/she smells like fart - it was like.. "dude, check out that chick in tight jeans and a spaghetti-strap shirt... whoa! she's really diggin' us.. check out the way her bottom grooves with our beat... man she's hot!" [then chick turns around and fronts the band]"... man! goddamit! she's a man!!!" then we'd make fart faces.
(3) someone actually farted - we do this whether on stage or inside a sound studio... especially in a sound studio which is usually padded and enclosed... we end up wasting every minute of rehearsal time blaming each other on who farted.. then we end up blaming the equipment. on stage, we take special pride of farting especially when the crowd is getting too close.. that'll teach 'em to stay in their own area and let us do our thing!
anyway... it's been a while since i've been with the guys... hence, it's been a while since i did my last fart face... besides, we're all grown up now ...
but if there's one thing this whole grown up business does is that it makes you forget how to make fart faces. it's like, the more you grow old, there'd be less and less opportunities for you to smell fart and distort your face.
i mean, technically you can't make fart faces when you smell your own gas.. because you're immune with it (yes you are, and don't deny it you lying scumbag!).. same with your wife's... trust me, you'd be immune with it to.. just give it time, don't worry, you will. and people at work are all professionals and shit and they always remember to excuse themselves to go to the john to fart.. aww.. that sucks! then all your friends are all grown up too, and they too remember to excuse themselves and detach from a crowd whenever they feel like farting. and there's no point in discussing children's farts because.. well.. they're not foul smelling.. they're cute. so you see, chances of me making fart faces from now to the time i die would be slim. shit! i hate that!
somebody please fucking fart for me!
i'm out.
well, just in case you're wondering, fart faces is the kind of incexplicable expression your face gives out everytime you smell fart... or everytime you see, feel, taste, or hear anything that your sorry brain can associate with fart.
back in the day when i was in a band... again i reiterate that it was not a marching band.. it was a kickass rock and roll band... actually it was not.. it was more of a non-equity band.. whatever the fuck that means.. anyway.. what the fuck am i saying here!?
back in the day, when me and three other desperate souls were in this band and we jammed at parties and shit... all of us used to make fart faces.. whether on stage while performing or in the confines of a rehearsal studio, (shit.. who am i kidding, our rehearsal studio was nothing more but a garage, or the single-detached bachelor's pad our bassist owns) we'd make fart faces because of either one of three reasons:
(1) our sound smells like fart - yep. we sounded so bad most of the time that the music we make usually blurs the senses, and our sound ends up as a sonic hodgepodge of foul smelling flatulence.
(2) we saw someone in the moshpit that looks so bad, he/she smells like fart - it was like.. "dude, check out that chick in tight jeans and a spaghetti-strap shirt... whoa! she's really diggin' us.. check out the way her bottom grooves with our beat... man she's hot!" [then chick turns around and fronts the band]"... man! goddamit! she's a man!!!" then we'd make fart faces.
(3) someone actually farted - we do this whether on stage or inside a sound studio... especially in a sound studio which is usually padded and enclosed... we end up wasting every minute of rehearsal time blaming each other on who farted.. then we end up blaming the equipment. on stage, we take special pride of farting especially when the crowd is getting too close.. that'll teach 'em to stay in their own area and let us do our thing!
anyway... it's been a while since i've been with the guys... hence, it's been a while since i did my last fart face... besides, we're all grown up now ...
but if there's one thing this whole grown up business does is that it makes you forget how to make fart faces. it's like, the more you grow old, there'd be less and less opportunities for you to smell fart and distort your face.
i mean, technically you can't make fart faces when you smell your own gas.. because you're immune with it (yes you are, and don't deny it you lying scumbag!).. same with your wife's... trust me, you'd be immune with it to.. just give it time, don't worry, you will. and people at work are all professionals and shit and they always remember to excuse themselves to go to the john to fart.. aww.. that sucks! then all your friends are all grown up too, and they too remember to excuse themselves and detach from a crowd whenever they feel like farting. and there's no point in discussing children's farts because.. well.. they're not foul smelling.. they're cute. so you see, chances of me making fart faces from now to the time i die would be slim. shit! i hate that!
somebody please fucking fart for me!
i'm out.
how much does it take...
to change your life?
to have a life?
to realize?
to figure out?
to sense?
to solve?
to change your perspective?
to change your life?
to discover a side of you?
to hurt yourself?
to appreciate silence?
to find passion?
to kill yourself?
to love yourself?
to fuck yourself up?
to fuck someone else?
to see part of someone?
to choose a path to follow?
to make a decision?
to enjoy the ride?
to apologize?
to believe?
to feel awkward?
to feel confident?
to be stupid?
to be blind?
to hate?
to love?
to feel the way i feel?
to see the things i see?
to laugh the way i laugh?
to hurt the way i hurt?
to touch me the way i touch you?
to cry the way that i have cried?
to think of the things that i have thought about?
to try to stop the time that i have tried to stop?
to bring it all back to where it used to be?
the answer? one...
moment, time, second, minute, hour, day, week, year, eclipse, space, lifetime, prayer, poem, touch, word.
just one.
to have a life?
to realize?
to figure out?
to sense?
to solve?
to change your perspective?
to change your life?
to discover a side of you?
to hurt yourself?
to appreciate silence?
to find passion?
to kill yourself?
to love yourself?
to fuck yourself up?
to fuck someone else?
to see part of someone?
to choose a path to follow?
to make a decision?
to enjoy the ride?
to apologize?
to believe?
to feel awkward?
to feel confident?
to be stupid?
to be blind?
to hate?
to love?
to feel the way i feel?
to see the things i see?
to laugh the way i laugh?
to hurt the way i hurt?
to touch me the way i touch you?
to cry the way that i have cried?
to think of the things that i have thought about?
to try to stop the time that i have tried to stop?
to bring it all back to where it used to be?
the answer? one...
moment, time, second, minute, hour, day, week, year, eclipse, space, lifetime, prayer, poem, touch, word.
just one.
1.16.2005
i'm so drained
i can't even think of anything to say. anything at all.
well here are some random thoughts that'll either corrupt your mind, or open it to new and exciting worlds:
:: in my next life, i'd be reincarnated as a cockroach. that's how bad i am in this life. so how can i work out my karma if i'm a cockroach? beats the hell out of me. go ask shiva. just don't piss her off lest you get bitch-slapped by a four-handed hindu goddess. remember, don't piss her off. trust me on this. because i did.
:: have you ever thought that SANTA, that jolly ol' st. nick of christmas gift-giving, knows-who's-naughty-or-nice, chimeney-trespassing, fatass-fart-breath character is evil. yep. he truly is. think about it. SANTA is an anagram for SATAN.. pretty fucking creepy if you ask me.
:: what's up with amsterdam? i mean, seriously, what's up with AMSTERDAM?
:: ever heard of the word "woot?" what's up with that too?
:: i'm contemplating of shaving my head clean... with butter knife that is.
:: i once drank two bottles of strong beer in 42 seconds flat. that was after drinking 12 bottles of the same kind of beer an hour before. and having six shots of vodka about an hour before. after that, i never knew what fucking hit me.
:: my wife and i will be catching this movie later. it's called ocean's 12. well, the title certainly opens a lot of possiblities when it comes to making sequels. maybe 20 years from now my daughter would watch ocean's 28 with frankie muniz as the lead star. i heard from the grapevine that the next ocean's sequel would come out sometime june next year. the title? ocean's 12.5. why? because they'd be adding verne "mini me" troyer in the cast. i'd definitely watch out for this.
i'm out.
well here are some random thoughts that'll either corrupt your mind, or open it to new and exciting worlds:
:: in my next life, i'd be reincarnated as a cockroach. that's how bad i am in this life. so how can i work out my karma if i'm a cockroach? beats the hell out of me. go ask shiva. just don't piss her off lest you get bitch-slapped by a four-handed hindu goddess. remember, don't piss her off. trust me on this. because i did.
:: have you ever thought that SANTA, that jolly ol' st. nick of christmas gift-giving, knows-who's-naughty-or-nice, chimeney-trespassing, fatass-fart-breath character is evil. yep. he truly is. think about it. SANTA is an anagram for SATAN.. pretty fucking creepy if you ask me.
:: what's up with amsterdam? i mean, seriously, what's up with AMSTERDAM?
:: ever heard of the word "woot?" what's up with that too?
:: i'm contemplating of shaving my head clean... with butter knife that is.
:: i once drank two bottles of strong beer in 42 seconds flat. that was after drinking 12 bottles of the same kind of beer an hour before. and having six shots of vodka about an hour before. after that, i never knew what fucking hit me.
:: my wife and i will be catching this movie later. it's called ocean's 12. well, the title certainly opens a lot of possiblities when it comes to making sequels. maybe 20 years from now my daughter would watch ocean's 28 with frankie muniz as the lead star. i heard from the grapevine that the next ocean's sequel would come out sometime june next year. the title? ocean's 12.5. why? because they'd be adding verne "mini me" troyer in the cast. i'd definitely watch out for this.
i'm out.
1.15.2005
oh how i love school
i hate school. i hated it then, i still hate it now.
well, maybe not that much in the masters... i mean, i am having fun (a bit) from making fun of my classmates and professors. and i have more fun when my classmates and my professors make fun of me. i mean, c'mon, it's post grad studies... it's supposed to be where the "real" learning happens right? a bunch of smart asses all bunched in the confines of a four-walled classroom, supposedly discussing and solving real-world fucking problems while drinking mocha lattés and pondering the benefits of super-democracy in the consumerist's point-of-view at the same time applying the concepts developed by adam smith, karl marx, che gueverra, sig freud, and donald trump. that really really really sucks! but it's where the learning happens. afterall, UP is the seat of educational excellence in the country. where smart-ass and wannabes all fucking mesh to mold the future of this rut we call philippines. bullshit! double fucking bullshit! double fucking bullshit with cinnamon... hmm.. tasty.
[news break: donald trump is one of the richest guys in the fucking planet. please explain why the hell does he have to wear a fucking doiley over his head? hey trump, wanna fire someone, fire your toupee stylist yah fucking turd!]
to tell you the truth, the most remarkable and significant parts of my education (or miseducation for that matter) were (1) from first to third grade, and (2) post graduate studies, which i am currently finishing.
why is that? why did i leave out highschool and college in the mix?
well, ever heard of that saying.. "everything you need to know in life, you learned in the first grade.." or something like that.. well, that's exactly how i feel. basic math operations, the alphabet, reading, writing, some biology and shit.. all i got until the third grade. everything else that came after that were either duplications or corruptions of the essential facets of knowledge.
highschool and college for me were just necessary evils we all had (have) to hurdle to gain that ever elusive and semi-prestigious piece of paper that society forces us to get in order to have a future... a fucking diploma. yes, ladies and gentlemen, especially those of you who's had the "honor" of graduating from college, we've all been fucking had. oh you didn't know!? you didn't know we were asked politely by society to bend over and pick up that fucking proverbial soap, only to have it hard and fast right up in our tight asses? my ass still hurts i tell you!
anyway, i did go to highschool and college and half-pretended to have enjoyed the fucking ride. actually, it was my excuse to party and meet people.. so there.
what really bothers me though, is the inability of schools / educational institutions to teach kids what they really need in life. and that is... drumroll please... to make more money and to get laid more often. don't get me wrong, i mean, learning about math, science, and english is nice and all, but i think, kids who are good in math, science, and english make for good employees... nothing more.
i mean think about it. geeks land great jobs in multinational corporations and they are paid well. but they don't get laid. tell me, since when did being a fan of startrek ever get someone laid? i mean, seriously. on the other hand, there are jocks who often get laid, but don't have enough gray matter and emotional quotient to even land a decent job much less keep one. so they get their brains fucked silly, but if they don't make it to the pros, which most of them really don't, they end up as either used car salesmen, grocery baggers, porters, or bellboys. talk about poetic justice for these bullies eh?
those who make the real bucks and get their brains fucked silly are the movers and shakers of the world. those who have crazy, out-of-this-world ideas. and there are no fast and hard rules on how to be one.. but don't you think it's high time for schools to device a curriculum specifically designed into molding kids to be a donald trump minus the toupee? or to be a bill gates minus the erectile dysfuntion? or a to be an alan greenspan minus.. er... minus.. ah... did i just say alan greenspan back there? fuck!
i'm out.
well, maybe not that much in the masters... i mean, i am having fun (a bit) from making fun of my classmates and professors. and i have more fun when my classmates and my professors make fun of me. i mean, c'mon, it's post grad studies... it's supposed to be where the "real" learning happens right? a bunch of smart asses all bunched in the confines of a four-walled classroom, supposedly discussing and solving real-world fucking problems while drinking mocha lattés and pondering the benefits of super-democracy in the consumerist's point-of-view at the same time applying the concepts developed by adam smith, karl marx, che gueverra, sig freud, and donald trump. that really really really sucks! but it's where the learning happens. afterall, UP is the seat of educational excellence in the country. where smart-ass and wannabes all fucking mesh to mold the future of this rut we call philippines. bullshit! double fucking bullshit! double fucking bullshit with cinnamon... hmm.. tasty.
[news break: donald trump is one of the richest guys in the fucking planet. please explain why the hell does he have to wear a fucking doiley over his head? hey trump, wanna fire someone, fire your toupee stylist yah fucking turd!]
to tell you the truth, the most remarkable and significant parts of my education (or miseducation for that matter) were (1) from first to third grade, and (2) post graduate studies, which i am currently finishing.
why is that? why did i leave out highschool and college in the mix?
well, ever heard of that saying.. "everything you need to know in life, you learned in the first grade.." or something like that.. well, that's exactly how i feel. basic math operations, the alphabet, reading, writing, some biology and shit.. all i got until the third grade. everything else that came after that were either duplications or corruptions of the essential facets of knowledge.
highschool and college for me were just necessary evils we all had (have) to hurdle to gain that ever elusive and semi-prestigious piece of paper that society forces us to get in order to have a future... a fucking diploma. yes, ladies and gentlemen, especially those of you who's had the "honor" of graduating from college, we've all been fucking had. oh you didn't know!? you didn't know we were asked politely by society to bend over and pick up that fucking proverbial soap, only to have it hard and fast right up in our tight asses? my ass still hurts i tell you!
anyway, i did go to highschool and college and half-pretended to have enjoyed the fucking ride. actually, it was my excuse to party and meet people.. so there.
what really bothers me though, is the inability of schools / educational institutions to teach kids what they really need in life. and that is... drumroll please... to make more money and to get laid more often. don't get me wrong, i mean, learning about math, science, and english is nice and all, but i think, kids who are good in math, science, and english make for good employees... nothing more.
i mean think about it. geeks land great jobs in multinational corporations and they are paid well. but they don't get laid. tell me, since when did being a fan of startrek ever get someone laid? i mean, seriously. on the other hand, there are jocks who often get laid, but don't have enough gray matter and emotional quotient to even land a decent job much less keep one. so they get their brains fucked silly, but if they don't make it to the pros, which most of them really don't, they end up as either used car salesmen, grocery baggers, porters, or bellboys. talk about poetic justice for these bullies eh?
those who make the real bucks and get their brains fucked silly are the movers and shakers of the world. those who have crazy, out-of-this-world ideas. and there are no fast and hard rules on how to be one.. but don't you think it's high time for schools to device a curriculum specifically designed into molding kids to be a donald trump minus the toupee? or to be a bill gates minus the erectile dysfuntion? or a to be an alan greenspan minus.. er... minus.. ah... did i just say alan greenspan back there? fuck!
i'm out.
1.14.2005
nang
(isang walang katuturang tula para sa aking asawa... maliban na lang kung gusto nyang lagyan ng halaga)
naaalala mo pa ba
nang
minsang kinailangan kong mag-kape
pinahiraman mo ako ng pera
nang
minsang kinailangan ko ang mag-yosi
binigyan mo ako ng lighter
nang
minsang kinailangan ko ng kasama
para mag-kape at mag-yosi
sumama ka
naaalala mo pa ba
naaalala mo pa ba
nang
minsang kinailangan kong mag-kape
pinahiraman mo ako ng pera
nang
minsang kinailangan ko ang mag-yosi
binigyan mo ako ng lighter
nang
minsang kinailangan ko ng kasama
para mag-kape at mag-yosi
sumama ka
naaalala mo pa ba
i had no sleep because of a bitch!
i'm cranky. that's what you get when you don't get enough sleep.
why? i don't wanna talk about it.
i'm out.
nah.. i'm just messin' with you. of course i'm going to fucking talk about it. this is my show remember? and i'll talk, rant, and talk, and rant some more about anything and everything i want to. it's just a wonder you guys are still there... honestly speaking... it blows my mind that people are still reading this shit! anyway,
so i couldn't sleep to begin with. you see i have this friggin' sleeping disorder that's called "can't-sleep-when-too-tired-as-against-people-who-can-just-fall-flat-on-their-faces-when-tired-from-work-or-from-other-shit-they've-been-doing-all-day syndrome!" yeah. i swear this has got to be one of the longest medical terms i've ever come across with.
i was watching connan o'brien and was having a fairly good time listening to john fartface mayer's interview. he was discussing with connan (the librarian - hahaha shit!) about how it feels like being a woman and shit. because like women with big tits being stared at by men, he too is being stared at being a musical artist and all. he said people at times just stare at him because he's a celebrity and he has a multi-platinum fucking album. he said he too has big "tits" but he'd like to call 'em "musical boobies."
what the fuck!?
i don't know where john the baptist gets his analogies... but lemme tell you something johnny... men stare at boobies, not at musical fucking boobies yah turd! fucking arrogant, quasi-humble, ivy league golf sweater-wearing queer!!! men stare at boobies because they are drawn to 'em stupid... if you'd like to be stared at and "feel like a woman with big tits" then i suggest you head to the nearest nip/tuck store, get implants, and teach your tits to play the guitar while your navel sings "your body is a wonderbra... your body is a wonderbra..." you fuckface!
so after the show, i surfed and zapped through different channels before sleep came knocking at around 2:30 in the morning. as i was about to hit the sack... my dog, vinnie, went on a non-stop barking rant.
hold up. wait. backtrack. my dog vinnie can no longer bark. she yaps. the dog is about 14 years old. in man-years (multiplying 14 by 7), she's already 98. when you have a bitch that old, she just yaps and yaps and yaps. non-stop. case in point, notice how our grandmas yap about the weather, the traffic, about drugstores not honoring the senior citizen's discount, how hulk hogan should still be the WWE world heavyweight champ, and the "walang-ganyan-sa-states" mantra. that's pretty much how vinnie was yappin' last night. very high-pitched and very irritating.
so i went outside to see what the yappin' was all about. vinnie was furious, and i would too if i were in her shoes.. er... paws. she's looking at two dogs outside our gate.. getting frisky and busy... in other words, fucking their brains out! the male dog was a black furry askal stud (i think it was vinnie's ex-boyfriend), while the female dog was a petite light-brown askal that happens to be vinnie's daughter. awww man! talk about jerry springer material! the two were really getting it on.. back to back... pumping it real hard... while vinnie was watching it and somehow thought that she died and went to doggy reality tv hell. her daughter is fucking her ex-boyfriend who happens to be her daughter's father... very jerry springer material i fucking tell you. this is actually way above the realms of doctor phil and that fat tub oprah.
so to put vinnie out of her misery, i took a gun out of the house, cocked it once, aimed it at vinnie, pulled the trigger, and put her to sleep. nah, just kidding. i chased the two fucking dogs (pun intended) away from the gate and away from vinnie's sight. the two dogs scrammed while still very much "connected" to each other... and they say siamese twins are freaks! so that took care of that problem. vinnie settled down inside her cozy dog house and slept. she was snoring. i have a 98-year-old bitch who snores. what a life.
as for me. i couldn't sleep anymore. i lighted a cigarette. went inside to watch some more tv. then finally hit the sack at around 4:30. which brings us back to where we started:
i'm cranky. that's what you get when you don't get enough sleep.
why? i don't wanna talk about it.
i'm out.
why? i don't wanna talk about it.
i'm out.
nah.. i'm just messin' with you. of course i'm going to fucking talk about it. this is my show remember? and i'll talk, rant, and talk, and rant some more about anything and everything i want to. it's just a wonder you guys are still there... honestly speaking... it blows my mind that people are still reading this shit! anyway,
so i couldn't sleep to begin with. you see i have this friggin' sleeping disorder that's called "can't-sleep-when-too-tired-as-against-people-who-can-just-fall-flat-on-their-faces-when-tired-from-work-or-from-other-shit-they've-been-doing-all-day syndrome!" yeah. i swear this has got to be one of the longest medical terms i've ever come across with.
i was watching connan o'brien and was having a fairly good time listening to john fartface mayer's interview. he was discussing with connan (the librarian - hahaha shit!) about how it feels like being a woman and shit. because like women with big tits being stared at by men, he too is being stared at being a musical artist and all. he said people at times just stare at him because he's a celebrity and he has a multi-platinum fucking album. he said he too has big "tits" but he'd like to call 'em "musical boobies."
what the fuck!?
i don't know where john the baptist gets his analogies... but lemme tell you something johnny... men stare at boobies, not at musical fucking boobies yah turd! fucking arrogant, quasi-humble, ivy league golf sweater-wearing queer!!! men stare at boobies because they are drawn to 'em stupid... if you'd like to be stared at and "feel like a woman with big tits" then i suggest you head to the nearest nip/tuck store, get implants, and teach your tits to play the guitar while your navel sings "your body is a wonderbra... your body is a wonderbra..." you fuckface!
so after the show, i surfed and zapped through different channels before sleep came knocking at around 2:30 in the morning. as i was about to hit the sack... my dog, vinnie, went on a non-stop barking rant.
hold up. wait. backtrack. my dog vinnie can no longer bark. she yaps. the dog is about 14 years old. in man-years (multiplying 14 by 7), she's already 98. when you have a bitch that old, she just yaps and yaps and yaps. non-stop. case in point, notice how our grandmas yap about the weather, the traffic, about drugstores not honoring the senior citizen's discount, how hulk hogan should still be the WWE world heavyweight champ, and the "walang-ganyan-sa-states" mantra. that's pretty much how vinnie was yappin' last night. very high-pitched and very irritating.
so i went outside to see what the yappin' was all about. vinnie was furious, and i would too if i were in her shoes.. er... paws. she's looking at two dogs outside our gate.. getting frisky and busy... in other words, fucking their brains out! the male dog was a black furry askal stud (i think it was vinnie's ex-boyfriend), while the female dog was a petite light-brown askal that happens to be vinnie's daughter. awww man! talk about jerry springer material! the two were really getting it on.. back to back... pumping it real hard... while vinnie was watching it and somehow thought that she died and went to doggy reality tv hell. her daughter is fucking her ex-boyfriend who happens to be her daughter's father... very jerry springer material i fucking tell you. this is actually way above the realms of doctor phil and that fat tub oprah.
so to put vinnie out of her misery, i took a gun out of the house, cocked it once, aimed it at vinnie, pulled the trigger, and put her to sleep. nah, just kidding. i chased the two fucking dogs (pun intended) away from the gate and away from vinnie's sight. the two dogs scrammed while still very much "connected" to each other... and they say siamese twins are freaks! so that took care of that problem. vinnie settled down inside her cozy dog house and slept. she was snoring. i have a 98-year-old bitch who snores. what a life.
as for me. i couldn't sleep anymore. i lighted a cigarette. went inside to watch some more tv. then finally hit the sack at around 4:30. which brings us back to where we started:
i'm cranky. that's what you get when you don't get enough sleep.
why? i don't wanna talk about it.
i'm out.
1.13.2005
something guru-ish?
this one's for an old friend.
i got an email from her yesterday asking me to say something that could enlighten her perspective in life. wrong person to ask, rizza, wrong person to ask. she said she had the worst day in her life.. i don't know. i still think i'm the worst person to ask for things like this. what the heck! this ain't guru-ish... but here goes nothing:
:: think about it, if you can somehow figure out how to bottle the sexual tension between fox moulder and dana scully (of x-files fame... especially during the first, second, and third seasons)... then you can completely obliterate the energy crisis in the philippines.
:: ok, i read this somewhere in the internet yesterday... about a 400-pound guy who lost 122 pounds in just a month. 122 pounds!!! in a month!!! that's absurd! i can probably lose 1 pound in 122 months. but 122 pounds!? that's a backstreet boy for crying out loud! or half a nick carter, depending on which side of the coin you're looking at. 122 pounds in a month is insane!
hope that helped you out.
i'm out.
i got an email from her yesterday asking me to say something that could enlighten her perspective in life. wrong person to ask, rizza, wrong person to ask. she said she had the worst day in her life.. i don't know. i still think i'm the worst person to ask for things like this. what the heck! this ain't guru-ish... but here goes nothing:
:: think about it, if you can somehow figure out how to bottle the sexual tension between fox moulder and dana scully (of x-files fame... especially during the first, second, and third seasons)... then you can completely obliterate the energy crisis in the philippines.
:: ok, i read this somewhere in the internet yesterday... about a 400-pound guy who lost 122 pounds in just a month. 122 pounds!!! in a month!!! that's absurd! i can probably lose 1 pound in 122 months. but 122 pounds!? that's a backstreet boy for crying out loud! or half a nick carter, depending on which side of the coin you're looking at. 122 pounds in a month is insane!
hope that helped you out.
i'm out.
death by country music
it was an improvement of sorts.
i got to the office 8:37 am, 37 minutes late but 22 minutes earlier than yesterday. that light breakfast conversation with god yesterday morning sure did help; anyone noticed the improvement in our early morning weather since i told that fuckface to do his job? yeah. no need to thank me for it, though.
so i got up earlier. so what. i was still late. knowing there's no chance in hell i can possibly catch the free bus ride for work, i flagged down a cab and braced myself for the 30-minute ride to the office. what do i do during these long (relatively long when you live in baguio) rides? i smoke and sleep. not at the same time, though. sometimes i annoy the cab driver. but this morning was different, i was the one annoyed. annoyed and irritated all the way to kingdom come i tell you.
i was annoyed by the devil's music... country music. having lived in baguio for 20 years now, i never got to train my ears and appreciate country music much less get accustomed to it. it's... how do i put this... it's... it's just so god damn irritating!!! folk music.. a bit tolerable. i mean, james taylor- simon and garfunkel- david gates folk music is fairly tolerable.. country music is just too much for me. it's a sonic assault for chrissakes!
the driver was so into this country shit too. he sang every word of every song played over that fucking country music radio station. well, every word, except when he spits outside his window. fucking unsanitary. we're battling a possible epidemic outbreak and he spits outside the window. that turd!
anyway, the music was suffocating me. i can't breathe. i can't even think right. so i decided to fight back. i saw this large "no smoking" sticker on his dashboard. aha! so i lighted a cigarette. if he's going to kill me with his music, then i might as well kill him with second hand smoke! yeah! die yah fucking garth brooks scum! die of second hand smoke cancer! and i was doing a good job at it too. instead of puffing the smoke outside my window, i let it out inside his cab. everytime i puffed out, he'll give me this slightly threatening look from his rearview mirror.
ooohh... i'm soooo scared. not!
"got a problem with this fuckface!? say what!? i can't smoke in your cab!? fuck you! drive!"
i didn't say that, but it sure made him drive faster.
finally, about 2 kilometers away from the office, we hit a deadspot. and for a few precious seconds, the radio was silent. ah yes.. finally, i said to myself. unfortunately, the driver couldn't agree with my newly found inner peace... so he turned the dial and tuned in to the next station that played.. oh shit.. songs from air supply! now how's that for suffocation? actually the radio station played an air supply song, then that song from karate kid done by peter cetera (argh!), and finally a song from minni fucking vanilli (double argh!!!). fortunately, we reached the office before we got to the "blame it on the rain yey yey" part of the song. jesus christ! i thought i was going to die... i swear, half my life flashed before my eyes and i was starting to see this white light.
good thing i tried to fight it off. i kept repeating to myself "stay away from the light... stay away from the light.." this ain't right. i can't die like this.. death by country and sucky 80's music overdose ain't right by any means.
so i got off the cab. got down on my knees and kissed the ground. i was starting to fervently thank god, complete with closed teary eyes and hands clasped, when the driver asked for 78 bucks.
so this is god's way of getting back at me after i called him fuckface yesterday eh? pretty nasty!
i'm out.
i got to the office 8:37 am, 37 minutes late but 22 minutes earlier than yesterday. that light breakfast conversation with god yesterday morning sure did help; anyone noticed the improvement in our early morning weather since i told that fuckface to do his job? yeah. no need to thank me for it, though.
so i got up earlier. so what. i was still late. knowing there's no chance in hell i can possibly catch the free bus ride for work, i flagged down a cab and braced myself for the 30-minute ride to the office. what do i do during these long (relatively long when you live in baguio) rides? i smoke and sleep. not at the same time, though. sometimes i annoy the cab driver. but this morning was different, i was the one annoyed. annoyed and irritated all the way to kingdom come i tell you.
i was annoyed by the devil's music... country music. having lived in baguio for 20 years now, i never got to train my ears and appreciate country music much less get accustomed to it. it's... how do i put this... it's... it's just so god damn irritating!!! folk music.. a bit tolerable. i mean, james taylor- simon and garfunkel- david gates folk music is fairly tolerable.. country music is just too much for me. it's a sonic assault for chrissakes!
the driver was so into this country shit too. he sang every word of every song played over that fucking country music radio station. well, every word, except when he spits outside his window. fucking unsanitary. we're battling a possible epidemic outbreak and he spits outside the window. that turd!
anyway, the music was suffocating me. i can't breathe. i can't even think right. so i decided to fight back. i saw this large "no smoking" sticker on his dashboard. aha! so i lighted a cigarette. if he's going to kill me with his music, then i might as well kill him with second hand smoke! yeah! die yah fucking garth brooks scum! die of second hand smoke cancer! and i was doing a good job at it too. instead of puffing the smoke outside my window, i let it out inside his cab. everytime i puffed out, he'll give me this slightly threatening look from his rearview mirror.
ooohh... i'm soooo scared. not!
"got a problem with this fuckface!? say what!? i can't smoke in your cab!? fuck you! drive!"
i didn't say that, but it sure made him drive faster.
finally, about 2 kilometers away from the office, we hit a deadspot. and for a few precious seconds, the radio was silent. ah yes.. finally, i said to myself. unfortunately, the driver couldn't agree with my newly found inner peace... so he turned the dial and tuned in to the next station that played.. oh shit.. songs from air supply! now how's that for suffocation? actually the radio station played an air supply song, then that song from karate kid done by peter cetera (argh!), and finally a song from minni fucking vanilli (double argh!!!). fortunately, we reached the office before we got to the "blame it on the rain yey yey" part of the song. jesus christ! i thought i was going to die... i swear, half my life flashed before my eyes and i was starting to see this white light.
good thing i tried to fight it off. i kept repeating to myself "stay away from the light... stay away from the light.." this ain't right. i can't die like this.. death by country and sucky 80's music overdose ain't right by any means.
so i got off the cab. got down on my knees and kissed the ground. i was starting to fervently thank god, complete with closed teary eyes and hands clasped, when the driver asked for 78 bucks.
so this is god's way of getting back at me after i called him fuckface yesterday eh? pretty nasty!
i'm out.
1.12.2005
a light breakfast conversation with god
stange morning i tell you.
as usual i woke up late and started the morning in my own sluggish way. got up, went to the bathroom to do my early morning rituals (that is if can call 8:00 am early morning), fixed myself a cup of coffee, got my towel, draped it over my head, went out the front yard with my mug, lighter, and my pack of luckies, and smoked my breakfast away. pretty usual if you ask me.
anyway, outside was a cool 12 degrees. i was practically chilling as i drank my coffee and puffed my cig. and the sun wasn't anywhere in sight too. it was all dark and cloudy, misty and foggy. then after alternating coffee gulps, cigarette puffs, and scratching my balls, the sun's rays managed to pierce a hole through the thick dark clouds. stranger, the rays of the sun shone directly at me. it was like a spotlight. it amused me too. tell you the truth, i was tempted to do one of my 15-minute comedy acts right there at the front yard. just as i was about to do so, i heard a booming voice from the sky. the voice, i thought, came from the faint rays of the sun that was warming my face.
it was god. and he said (in a very godly and transcendent manner): "you fat lazy fuck! you woke up late again!!! what the fuck is wrong with you you big pile of steaming fat!? can't you even pretend to drag yourself to work you shithead!? you good-for-nothing breathing mass of cellulite canvass!!!"
so i said (in the most respectful manner i can): hey you assmunch!!! you want me to wake up on time!? fix the weather! do your job! and don't go calling me lazy! that hurts.
then he went on and said: "i'm sorry my child, but i'm just a bit concerned on your habitual tardiness at work. so hurry up, finish your coffee, finish your cigarette, stop scratching your balls because they're all red now... take a bath and go to work you ungrateful horsefucker!!!"
me to god: "dickhead!"
god to me: "asswipe!"
me to god: "cocksucker!"
god to me: "premature ejaculator!"
me to god: "at least i have a dick!"
then god threw me one of his famous lightning bolts (pretty unoriginal if you ask me considering that zeus used to do it everytime)... and i ran inside the house, took a bath, got dressed, and went to work.
strange morning it was i tell you.
i'm out.
as usual i woke up late and started the morning in my own sluggish way. got up, went to the bathroom to do my early morning rituals (that is if can call 8:00 am early morning), fixed myself a cup of coffee, got my towel, draped it over my head, went out the front yard with my mug, lighter, and my pack of luckies, and smoked my breakfast away. pretty usual if you ask me.
anyway, outside was a cool 12 degrees. i was practically chilling as i drank my coffee and puffed my cig. and the sun wasn't anywhere in sight too. it was all dark and cloudy, misty and foggy. then after alternating coffee gulps, cigarette puffs, and scratching my balls, the sun's rays managed to pierce a hole through the thick dark clouds. stranger, the rays of the sun shone directly at me. it was like a spotlight. it amused me too. tell you the truth, i was tempted to do one of my 15-minute comedy acts right there at the front yard. just as i was about to do so, i heard a booming voice from the sky. the voice, i thought, came from the faint rays of the sun that was warming my face.
it was god. and he said (in a very godly and transcendent manner): "you fat lazy fuck! you woke up late again!!! what the fuck is wrong with you you big pile of steaming fat!? can't you even pretend to drag yourself to work you shithead!? you good-for-nothing breathing mass of cellulite canvass!!!"
so i said (in the most respectful manner i can): hey you assmunch!!! you want me to wake up on time!? fix the weather! do your job! and don't go calling me lazy! that hurts.
then he went on and said: "i'm sorry my child, but i'm just a bit concerned on your habitual tardiness at work. so hurry up, finish your coffee, finish your cigarette, stop scratching your balls because they're all red now... take a bath and go to work you ungrateful horsefucker!!!"
me to god: "dickhead!"
god to me: "asswipe!"
me to god: "cocksucker!"
god to me: "premature ejaculator!"
me to god: "at least i have a dick!"
then god threw me one of his famous lightning bolts (pretty unoriginal if you ask me considering that zeus used to do it everytime)... and i ran inside the house, took a bath, got dressed, and went to work.
strange morning it was i tell you.
i'm out.
1.11.2005
kitchie nadal
speaking of mtvs... have you seen kitchie nadal's "wag na wag mong sasabihin" mtv? that's the bomb, man!
i can't even begin to tell you how much i am drawn to the tv screen everytime i chance upon her mtv over at myx. i can literally feel my eyes melt everytime i see her on screen. plus it also helps that the production value of her mtv is so cool.. you have the camera fixed at her innocent face all the time, then you have varying colors of lighting hitting her every facial movement. everything's perfect except in the end when that turd onemig bondoc is shown sheepishly smiling at her. that fuck face.
i'm out.
i can't even begin to tell you how much i am drawn to the tv screen everytime i chance upon her mtv over at myx. i can literally feel my eyes melt everytime i see her on screen. plus it also helps that the production value of her mtv is so cool.. you have the camera fixed at her innocent face all the time, then you have varying colors of lighting hitting her every facial movement. everything's perfect except in the end when that turd onemig bondoc is shown sheepishly smiling at her. that fuck face.
i'm out.
jet set crash and no star
the last sonic youth album i've ever heard. then i heard their frontman / lead axeman, thurston moore, bailed out on the band for a while to do a solo side project. then about four years later i heard sonic youth released a new album which i never had the chance to purchase. their single on the new album had an mtv which featured juvenile man-child maculay culkin of home alone fame. culkin, who looked like he was zoned out on dope and spiked eggnog shots, was doing guitar riffs along side moore while both of them bang their heads to the depressing and totally outlandish tune (hey, it's sonic youth, what do you expect?) of the song. that mtv was really chilling.
i'm out.
i'm out.
1.10.2005
mistakes
so you've made some mistakes. so you failed. so what? it's nice sometimes to dwell on your failures.
because someday, when you're old and gray and all alone reading the sunday morning paper and sitting on your rocking chair as your dentures fall off your mouth; when you're old and you can't even remember your wife's name; when you're old and the highlight of your everyday is eating processed food; when you're old and you get a kick out of doing petty misdemeanors like not taking your daily pill; when you're old and you forget once in a while that your underwear goes inside your pants; when you're old and you get ignored... you'll realize that success has been your greatest liability.
you work all your life to succeed... eager to get to the next level and cease that life-altering opportunity of hitting it big time. and when you finally get there, you'll be so proud of the rush you'll surely feel knowing everyone is below you. after that you stop and think, what next? then you'll see that there'll be nothing left to conquer.
you see, success is a lot like a bright, white tuxedo. you feel terrific when you get it, but then you're desperately afraid of getting it dirty, of spoiling it in any way. so you stay paranoid; you live in fear; you fear failure. but i don't want to fear failure anymore.
to tell you the truth, i fear success more than i fear failure.
today, i am as nostalgic for the bad as i am for the good. so i say fall down, make a mess, break something occasionally. but remember that the story is never over. and always, always, always remember, when all else fails, there's always delusion.
let me leave you with a thought:
if you can laugh at yourself loud enough and hard enough every time you fall... then people will think you're just drunk.
i'm out.
because someday, when you're old and gray and all alone reading the sunday morning paper and sitting on your rocking chair as your dentures fall off your mouth; when you're old and you can't even remember your wife's name; when you're old and the highlight of your everyday is eating processed food; when you're old and you get a kick out of doing petty misdemeanors like not taking your daily pill; when you're old and you forget once in a while that your underwear goes inside your pants; when you're old and you get ignored... you'll realize that success has been your greatest liability.
you work all your life to succeed... eager to get to the next level and cease that life-altering opportunity of hitting it big time. and when you finally get there, you'll be so proud of the rush you'll surely feel knowing everyone is below you. after that you stop and think, what next? then you'll see that there'll be nothing left to conquer.
you see, success is a lot like a bright, white tuxedo. you feel terrific when you get it, but then you're desperately afraid of getting it dirty, of spoiling it in any way. so you stay paranoid; you live in fear; you fear failure. but i don't want to fear failure anymore.
to tell you the truth, i fear success more than i fear failure.
today, i am as nostalgic for the bad as i am for the good. so i say fall down, make a mess, break something occasionally. but remember that the story is never over. and always, always, always remember, when all else fails, there's always delusion.
let me leave you with a thought:
if you can laugh at yourself loud enough and hard enough every time you fall... then people will think you're just drunk.
i'm out.
the bush boys
no. they didn't help the bush campaign during the past u.s. elections yah turd. god knows they'll cringe and die first before they help that chimpanzee bush get re-elected.
they are my friends. and i miss them.
back in college our little group was known as the "bush boys." we had our "tambayan" situated at the EH grounds - a worn out bench strategically placed under a ten-year-old pine tree. our group was a cross sample of every known type of human species, but we got together and stuck together because we shared the same interests.
like other 16-year-olds with hormones going berzerk and trying to figure out our own little place in the scheme of things, we shared a lot of things - stupid sexist offensive jokes, non-sensical stories; our two cent's worth on how to make music; how the government should function; how to make effective crib notes to pass an exam; how to date girls; how not to get them pregnant; we shared problems; we drank gin until it was time go; we drank beer until it was the last call; we smoked weed and hash even it wasn't time for it; we laughed; we cried (or did we?); we exchanged opinions; got into heated debates; got into fist fights; but we always stood by each other's side.
we started out as batchmates, having graduated from the same highschool in 1996. but since, our "barkada" grew, accomodating people from all walks of life. we welcomed everyone who shared our interest... well, we welcomed them mostly because they just wanted to smoke weed and drink beer and gin, anyway.
and at the center of all the things that ever happened at our tambayan, every story, every tear, every laughter, every puff, every shot, the lone witness of it was that pine tree. i tell you, if only the police could make that tree testify, it could incriminate all of us into serving at least five years of jail time.
we were juvinile. and at the same time we were free. free from the troubles of the real world. we lived on our daily allowances. and we never have to worry about anything until the bell rings and you have to go up and attend your class.
we were the bush boys. we were delinquent, yet friendly. we were depressed and happy at the same time most of the time. and we were always in our element for the four or five (in my case, three-and-a-half) years that we've been together.
this is a tribute to sev, arvin, marvin, jhunie, m3, makol, bhee, teepee, wilver, cardz, jun, nichole, anthony, and everyone i failed to mention.
may the beer and gin never stop to flow for all of us. and more importantly, may the weed in our bloodstream never be traced by the n.b.i.
i'm out.
they are my friends. and i miss them.
back in college our little group was known as the "bush boys." we had our "tambayan" situated at the EH grounds - a worn out bench strategically placed under a ten-year-old pine tree. our group was a cross sample of every known type of human species, but we got together and stuck together because we shared the same interests.
like other 16-year-olds with hormones going berzerk and trying to figure out our own little place in the scheme of things, we shared a lot of things - stupid sexist offensive jokes, non-sensical stories; our two cent's worth on how to make music; how the government should function; how to make effective crib notes to pass an exam; how to date girls; how not to get them pregnant; we shared problems; we drank gin until it was time go; we drank beer until it was the last call; we smoked weed and hash even it wasn't time for it; we laughed; we cried (or did we?); we exchanged opinions; got into heated debates; got into fist fights; but we always stood by each other's side.
we started out as batchmates, having graduated from the same highschool in 1996. but since, our "barkada" grew, accomodating people from all walks of life. we welcomed everyone who shared our interest... well, we welcomed them mostly because they just wanted to smoke weed and drink beer and gin, anyway.
and at the center of all the things that ever happened at our tambayan, every story, every tear, every laughter, every puff, every shot, the lone witness of it was that pine tree. i tell you, if only the police could make that tree testify, it could incriminate all of us into serving at least five years of jail time.
we were juvinile. and at the same time we were free. free from the troubles of the real world. we lived on our daily allowances. and we never have to worry about anything until the bell rings and you have to go up and attend your class.
we were the bush boys. we were delinquent, yet friendly. we were depressed and happy at the same time most of the time. and we were always in our element for the four or five (in my case, three-and-a-half) years that we've been together.
this is a tribute to sev, arvin, marvin, jhunie, m3, makol, bhee, teepee, wilver, cardz, jun, nichole, anthony, and everyone i failed to mention.
may the beer and gin never stop to flow for all of us. and more importantly, may the weed in our bloodstream never be traced by the n.b.i.
i'm out.
let's rant
this meningo situation in the city has been clearly blown out of proportions. you got inconsistent reports coming at you left and right. we got the city government saying there's nothing to be alarmed about (then still promote baguio as the premier tourist destination spot in the country). we got the local health department saying otherwise (while hoarding tons of medicine and vaccines for their own benefit). then of course the national health department trying to contain the situation by.. dig this.. shooting an infomercial about it (i was just so pissed about the infomercial that i can't seem to write a sarcastic quip inside these parentheses). then there are these honest employees of department of health baguio who are willing to talk about the real score, but unfortunately, has been given a strong gag order to be mum about it.
then you hear news about supply of anti-meningo vaccines and antibiotics running out; and all you have in abundance are supplies of surgical masks that, at ten bucks each, can't even seem to guard you from a simple cold much less from a deadly bacteria. and of course, it doesn't help to know that the price of a bottle of ascorbic acid (vitamin c) rose by almost 150% since the outbreak!
simply put, what's happening here is plain, old-school bullshit!
to the city government and to whoever it is running this circus... if you're gonna lie to the public, then at least come up with a consistent and formidable lie. Not that "hindi-kami-diyos" bullshit you said last week on television.
do you think the people of baguio are stupid or something? you better pray to brhama you don't get your 78-year old ass infected with meningo, because that'll just be the perfect irony in all of this.
i'm out.
then you hear news about supply of anti-meningo vaccines and antibiotics running out; and all you have in abundance are supplies of surgical masks that, at ten bucks each, can't even seem to guard you from a simple cold much less from a deadly bacteria. and of course, it doesn't help to know that the price of a bottle of ascorbic acid (vitamin c) rose by almost 150% since the outbreak!
simply put, what's happening here is plain, old-school bullshit!
to the city government and to whoever it is running this circus... if you're gonna lie to the public, then at least come up with a consistent and formidable lie. Not that "hindi-kami-diyos" bullshit you said last week on television.
do you think the people of baguio are stupid or something? you better pray to brhama you don't get your 78-year old ass infected with meningo, because that'll just be the perfect irony in all of this.
i'm out.
after the storm
what do you do after a storm?
well, first you check yourself. make sure you're intact. your head is sitting on the right spot. no limb missing. everything's in place. then you check your loved ones. make sure they're ok.
then you go outside. you start to pick up the pieces of you blown away by the wind. you start to clean up. then you rebuild from whatever it is you have left. and start anew.
finally, you brace yourself, for yet another storm.
i'm out.
well, first you check yourself. make sure you're intact. your head is sitting on the right spot. no limb missing. everything's in place. then you check your loved ones. make sure they're ok.
then you go outside. you start to pick up the pieces of you blown away by the wind. you start to clean up. then you rebuild from whatever it is you have left. and start anew.
finally, you brace yourself, for yet another storm.
i'm out.
1.08.2005
basketball
tayo ay kasalukuyang
naglalaro ng one-on-one
sa basketball court
ng ating buhay
pagod ka na
kita ko sa iyong pawis
na walang tigil dumaloy sa iyong mukha
pawis na mukhang luha
ako pagod na rin
maliban sa pawis
hindi ko na mahabol ang aking hininga
hindi ko na rin mahabol ang iyong pagtakbo
ngunit bola mo at depensa ko
ikaw na ang may kontrol
kung sino ang mananalo at matatalo
sa huling mga sandali
sa ilalim ng naglalagablab na araw
ikaw ay humingi ng time out
alam mo at alam ko
na kapwa nating kailangnan ito
ngunit pagkaraan ng time out
sabay tayong aapak muli sa basketball court
at ipagpapatuloy ang ating laro
ang ating sayaw
balang araw sabay tayong magtatanong
bakit kailangnang may matalo
maaari namang iwanan natin ito
at pareho tayong mananalo
ngunit sa ngayon
tabla ang tala
ihahagis mo ang bola
ako ay titingala
pareho nating pipigilin ang hininga
hanggang mahulog ang bilog
sa loob ng isa pang bilog
na walang hanggan
ako ay patuloy na magdadasal
na sana ay walang matalo
na sana ay mapagod na tayo sa larong ito
na sana ay mag-badminton na lang tayo
naglalaro ng one-on-one
sa basketball court
ng ating buhay
pagod ka na
kita ko sa iyong pawis
na walang tigil dumaloy sa iyong mukha
pawis na mukhang luha
ako pagod na rin
maliban sa pawis
hindi ko na mahabol ang aking hininga
hindi ko na rin mahabol ang iyong pagtakbo
ngunit bola mo at depensa ko
ikaw na ang may kontrol
kung sino ang mananalo at matatalo
sa huling mga sandali
sa ilalim ng naglalagablab na araw
ikaw ay humingi ng time out
alam mo at alam ko
na kapwa nating kailangnan ito
ngunit pagkaraan ng time out
sabay tayong aapak muli sa basketball court
at ipagpapatuloy ang ating laro
ang ating sayaw
balang araw sabay tayong magtatanong
bakit kailangnang may matalo
maaari namang iwanan natin ito
at pareho tayong mananalo
ngunit sa ngayon
tabla ang tala
ihahagis mo ang bola
ako ay titingala
pareho nating pipigilin ang hininga
hanggang mahulog ang bilog
sa loob ng isa pang bilog
na walang hanggan
ako ay patuloy na magdadasal
na sana ay walang matalo
na sana ay mapagod na tayo sa larong ito
na sana ay mag-badminton na lang tayo
twelve monkeys
baguio's like hongkong during the time of SARS.
almost everyone you meet at downtown wear face masks. no, the face masks are not spider man /zorro masks, they're surgical masks, N95s and shit. i even saw a korean guy wearing a SWAT-like tear gas mask while doing his groceries. that was extreme. can you blame the guy? nah, of course not, but he was funny to watch, though.
blame it all on meningococcimia, a flu-like, plague-like disease that is currently the "in" thing in the city of pines. the damn "flu" is said to be so deadly that once infected (and not treated immediately), you could be dead in 36 hours. dang! seems like meningo is working extra hard to claim its own chapter in the medical books eh?
well, it has created quite a scare in the city. i don't really know how many died from it, but i got a funny feeling that i'd be next. and it's giving me the creeps. now my hair is starting to stand on end.
oh, about that korean guy. what was so funny about him yesterday was, he was walking around with that tear gas mask, and he was with his daughter and his daughter's mother? nanny? mother that looks like a nanny? i don't know. and both of them were not wearing any mask or protection at all. it was like "mr. hyung soong nak" wanted to be the only person to survive the end of the world.
what can i say? long live the 12 monkeys!!!
i'm out.
almost everyone you meet at downtown wear face masks. no, the face masks are not spider man /zorro masks, they're surgical masks, N95s and shit. i even saw a korean guy wearing a SWAT-like tear gas mask while doing his groceries. that was extreme. can you blame the guy? nah, of course not, but he was funny to watch, though.
blame it all on meningococcimia, a flu-like, plague-like disease that is currently the "in" thing in the city of pines. the damn "flu" is said to be so deadly that once infected (and not treated immediately), you could be dead in 36 hours. dang! seems like meningo is working extra hard to claim its own chapter in the medical books eh?
well, it has created quite a scare in the city. i don't really know how many died from it, but i got a funny feeling that i'd be next. and it's giving me the creeps. now my hair is starting to stand on end.
oh, about that korean guy. what was so funny about him yesterday was, he was walking around with that tear gas mask, and he was with his daughter and his daughter's mother? nanny? mother that looks like a nanny? i don't know. and both of them were not wearing any mask or protection at all. it was like "mr. hyung soong nak" wanted to be the only person to survive the end of the world.
what can i say? long live the 12 monkeys!!!
i'm out.
1.07.2005
adolf
i wonder how many kids born from the year 1950 onwards were actually given the name "adolf."
i know adolf is a bad guy... but c'mon... it's a cool name! i don't see any problem with it. do you? i mean, seriously, not a lot parents named their kid mahatma or jesus or kofi anan, anyway. why? because while these people are as good as an eagle scout or as a saint or as a "god," their names suck!
adolf is the way to go!
i'm out.
i know adolf is a bad guy... but c'mon... it's a cool name! i don't see any problem with it. do you? i mean, seriously, not a lot parents named their kid mahatma or jesus or kofi anan, anyway. why? because while these people are as good as an eagle scout or as a saint or as a "god," their names suck!
adolf is the way to go!
i'm out.
desperation
define desperation.
desperation. noun.
(1) means a loss of hope and surrender to despair. (2) means state of hopelesness. (3) also means entertaining chain letters at 9:00 in the morning, forwarding them to virtual contacts and friends over the net, and actually hoping against hope that the promise these chain letters bring somehow materialize.
i'm out.
desperation. noun.
(1) means a loss of hope and surrender to despair. (2) means state of hopelesness. (3) also means entertaining chain letters at 9:00 in the morning, forwarding them to virtual contacts and friends over the net, and actually hoping against hope that the promise these chain letters bring somehow materialize.
i'm out.
1.06.2005
pig!
talking to myself, i said:
you fat, senseless, insensitive pig! why can't you just roll over and die just like the others?!
i'm out.
you fat, senseless, insensitive pig! why can't you just roll over and die just like the others?!
i'm out.
some questions i'd like to answer III
or also known as the questions you would like to ask the author of this stupid and pathetic blogsite but you felt you'd get a senseless answer anyway so why ask.
i have been asked these questions through emails, chats, phone calls, sms, casual conversations, spontaneous assemblies, press conferences, and the like. i'd try to answer them with as much sense as possible for as long as the question merits it.
:: what's busting out of my player right now?
"pain lies on the riveside," by live from their "awake, the best of live" album.
:: the most recent song i learned to play on my guitar?
"wag na wag mong sasabihin," by kitchie nadal. after which i'd like to officially change my name to kajo logan.
:: the song stuck in my head right now?
"amsterdam" by coldplay.
:: what do i want to do this very moment?
oscillate wildly then die.
:: if you were a song, what kind of song would you be?
i'd be a catchy, witty, addictive, one-hit wonder. the kind of song that'll be sung by either weird al yankovic or adam sandler.
i'm out.
i have been asked these questions through emails, chats, phone calls, sms, casual conversations, spontaneous assemblies, press conferences, and the like. i'd try to answer them with as much sense as possible for as long as the question merits it.
:: what's busting out of my player right now?
"pain lies on the riveside," by live from their "awake, the best of live" album.
:: the most recent song i learned to play on my guitar?
"wag na wag mong sasabihin," by kitchie nadal. after which i'd like to officially change my name to kajo logan.
:: the song stuck in my head right now?
"amsterdam" by coldplay.
:: what do i want to do this very moment?
oscillate wildly then die.
:: if you were a song, what kind of song would you be?
i'd be a catchy, witty, addictive, one-hit wonder. the kind of song that'll be sung by either weird al yankovic or adam sandler.
i'm out.
chiclets
i've been chewing on lemon flavored chiclets for the past six hours.
my jaws are so sore right now, i feel like they're going to fall off my face. and these chiclets (i chew six at a time) can really taste like paper maché after you drink your eighth glass of water with 'em in your mouth. i just like the chiclet box, though. before throwing it away, you can actually blow on one open end and make music... it's like a flute, a harpsichord-flute (if there ever is such a thing).
i'm out.
my jaws are so sore right now, i feel like they're going to fall off my face. and these chiclets (i chew six at a time) can really taste like paper maché after you drink your eighth glass of water with 'em in your mouth. i just like the chiclet box, though. before throwing it away, you can actually blow on one open end and make music... it's like a flute, a harpsichord-flute (if there ever is such a thing).
i'm out.
1.05.2005
sorry
the most abused word in my vocabulary.
i don't just use it often. i abuse it. i offer sincere apologies when the situation merits it, but i also throw token apologies even if it's uncalled for. i abuse the word "sorry" to the point where i don't know if people even believe me anymore, or if they even take it seriously. i abuse the word "sorry" to the point where people even mistake it as a punchline sometimes.
that's what you get when you're me i guess. when you've mastered the art of self-depreciation and you think self-respect is nothing more than a psychology buzzword, then that's what you get. you become me. and you start thinking you owe the whole world an apology. but i think it's better instead of thinking the whole world owes you one.
well i'm sorry (there it is again).
i don't just use it often. i abuse it. i offer sincere apologies when the situation merits it, but i also throw token apologies even if it's uncalled for. i abuse the word "sorry" to the point where i don't know if people even believe me anymore, or if they even take it seriously. i abuse the word "sorry" to the point where people even mistake it as a punchline sometimes.
that's what you get when you're me i guess. when you've mastered the art of self-depreciation and you think self-respect is nothing more than a psychology buzzword, then that's what you get. you become me. and you start thinking you owe the whole world an apology. but i think it's better instead of thinking the whole world owes you one.
well i'm sorry (there it is again).
choices
i'm on unchartered teritory. haven't been in this position before. but yes, i have to bear the consequences of my choices. no matter how hard. no matter how painful. all i ask for are two things: (1) if ever i do get out of this ordeal alive, i wish i could come out of it as someone who knows himself better after the dust and smoke settle; (2) if possible, she gets out if this mess unscathed. which is near impossible as the mistakes i made may have caused her irrepairable damages.
but what i do know now is this... that we cannot be defined by the mistakes we made. we cannot even be defined by the choices we made.
choices. we make them. we have to live with them. we even have to live with the choices we don't like. everybody does. what can define us is how we stand up to the consequences of our choices and mistakes.
i'm standing here right now. for as long as i can. for as long as i will.
but what i do know now is this... that we cannot be defined by the mistakes we made. we cannot even be defined by the choices we made.
choices. we make them. we have to live with them. we even have to live with the choices we don't like. everybody does. what can define us is how we stand up to the consequences of our choices and mistakes.
i'm standing here right now. for as long as i can. for as long as i will.
1.04.2005
amadeus
ngayon
ako'y hihiyaw sa abot-kaya
ng aking mga baga
hanggang walang matirang hangin sa aking katawan
bukas
ako'y iinom ng lason
maglalaslas ng pulso
at makikidalamhati sa aking lumbay
pagdaka'y
papatayin lahat
ng emosyon
at makikiramay sa aking sariling pagluluksa
ngunit
hinding hindi ko malilimutan
ang kaisa-isang maulan na hapon
na tayo'y nag-usap sa piling ni amadeus
yun lang
ang aking pinanghahawakan ngayon
ang kaisa-isang alaala ng isang maulan na hapon
ng kahapon
ako'y hihiyaw sa abot-kaya
ng aking mga baga
hanggang walang matirang hangin sa aking katawan
bukas
ako'y iinom ng lason
maglalaslas ng pulso
at makikidalamhati sa aking lumbay
pagdaka'y
papatayin lahat
ng emosyon
at makikiramay sa aking sariling pagluluksa
ngunit
hinding hindi ko malilimutan
ang kaisa-isang maulan na hapon
na tayo'y nag-usap sa piling ni amadeus
yun lang
ang aking pinanghahawakan ngayon
ang kaisa-isang alaala ng isang maulan na hapon
ng kahapon
repentance
i will
endure
self-inflicted wounds
and have dogs lick my scars
as my body lay flat
frying under the under
the sun
i will
plead
for all the gods
to hammer me with punishment
and all the demi-gods
to spite me
with laughter
i will
feel pain
and i promise to feel
a more painful pain
than what you feel
or have felt in
your life
this will be
my penance
to atone for my sins
i will endure
i will plead
i will feel pain
then i will have some more
endure
self-inflicted wounds
and have dogs lick my scars
as my body lay flat
frying under the under
the sun
i will
plead
for all the gods
to hammer me with punishment
and all the demi-gods
to spite me
with laughter
i will
feel pain
and i promise to feel
a more painful pain
than what you feel
or have felt in
your life
this will be
my penance
to atone for my sins
i will endure
i will plead
i will feel pain
then i will have some more
1.03.2005
excommunicado
emptiness
and the unbearable
sadness
coupled with deafening
silence
leads to the unspeakable
madness
of the soul
and the unbearable
sadness
coupled with deafening
silence
leads to the unspeakable
madness
of the soul
my wife
if i had my way... she would not feel this pain. if i could only take it away from her chest, put it in a black box, chain it twice and drop it at the bottom of the ocean... i would do it;
even if it meant that i would have to be that black box, and i would have to spend the better half of eternity at the cold bottom of the abyss;
even if it meant that i would have to catch every tear that rolls down her cheecks, and drink the bitter taste of guilt and suffering , i would do it.
even if it meant my happiness, i would do it;
even if it meant my life, i would do it.
because she is my life. without her i am a mere spec in this world of ashes and dust. she validates me and my purpose to breathe and live.
because she is my happiness. she is the end all and be all of my existence.
because right now, it is not about me. everything is not about me. it never was and never will be about me. and i should have understood it from the very start. i should have never taken it for granted. i should have never made any excuses. it never was, never is, and never will be about me... it's about us.
but i am in hell.
hell is not a place where, as others say, bad souls go after death. if so, then i would have to await death before justice is served and my soul burns in its fiery gates, that is if i have one. no, i am in hell because hell is being out of her grace. but i would accept such fate if it meant that she will no longer have that pain.
i am an evil person. i do bad things to good people. i deserve nothing. and i ask for nothing. just forgiveness. and her love. i may be asking too much, but even evil, sometimes, has the right to love. i love my wife and i want her back. and i will do whatever it takes to get her back.
even if it meant that i would have to be that black box, and i would have to spend the better half of eternity at the cold bottom of the abyss;
even if it meant that i would have to catch every tear that rolls down her cheecks, and drink the bitter taste of guilt and suffering , i would do it.
even if it meant my happiness, i would do it;
even if it meant my life, i would do it.
because she is my life. without her i am a mere spec in this world of ashes and dust. she validates me and my purpose to breathe and live.
because she is my happiness. she is the end all and be all of my existence.
because right now, it is not about me. everything is not about me. it never was and never will be about me. and i should have understood it from the very start. i should have never taken it for granted. i should have never made any excuses. it never was, never is, and never will be about me... it's about us.
but i am in hell.
hell is not a place where, as others say, bad souls go after death. if so, then i would have to await death before justice is served and my soul burns in its fiery gates, that is if i have one. no, i am in hell because hell is being out of her grace. but i would accept such fate if it meant that she will no longer have that pain.
i am an evil person. i do bad things to good people. i deserve nothing. and i ask for nothing. just forgiveness. and her love. i may be asking too much, but even evil, sometimes, has the right to love. i love my wife and i want her back. and i will do whatever it takes to get her back.
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